CATEGORY: D/J, Challenge fic (Tok'ra Queen from Dan/Jan Archive), Crossover (Highlander, SG1, and a few others)
SEASON/SEQUEL: Future (Heroes never happened in my world, thank you very much!)
SUMMARY: When muses run amuck, chaos ensues. Oh, and never trust Maybourne when he says something's harmless.
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret Productions. This piece of fanfiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author. In other words, I only own the muses. Everybody else is owned by someone else. Dammit.
CONTENT WARNING: This contains sex and body paint and various other things that may not be suitable for small children.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: My muses all ran away, so I'm ultimately responsible for this bit of insanity. If anyone should find my muse, please send her home. And if you should find her wrapped around a studly immortal formerly known as Death, please send him home too. BTW, the title refers to the translation of the name "Sekhmet"--literally, "She Who Is Powerful." Don't worry, it'll make more sense as the story goes on.
When a Goa'uld speaks, it is denoted by "…."
Sekhmet's thoughts are denoted by "…"
DEDICATION: Gotta dedicate this to all of the great authors on the list and to Pam V., my fabulous beta (yup, dear, that's what you are) who's put up with this coming in dribs and drabs for weeks now. The gal has the virtue of patience in droves. And all of the great fic you ladies write is keeping me sane while I study logic.
Title: She Who Is Powerful
Prologue: Muses Behaving Badly
"Think anyone saw us?"
The man crouched beside the petite strawberry blonde lifted an eyebrow and smirked at her. "What, Sekhmet, you frightened of your author?"
The woman dropped to the ground gracefully, her lion's tail curling into her lap, and pouted. "I am not afraid of a little fan fiction author, Methos. And I'll remind you that you ran from her as well, my dear Death. Do you really think that our Shannon will forgive you for running any quicker than she will me."
The lanky immortal grinned impishly and shrugged, dropping to a sprawl on the cement beside his fellow muse. "You're her SG1 muse, my dear. I just happen to be the studly immortal that inspires her lusty Immortal stories." For a long moment he studied the fidgeting Egyptian goddess of divine retribution. "Of course, my dear," he murmured, hazel eyes narrowing, "that doesn't explain why you dragged me to Cheyenne Mountain. Do you not think our patroness will look for us here?"
Sekhmet shook her head decisively, reddish blonde curls bouncing, then risked a second look around. "No. She's gone to look for me in Cleveland."
Methos was strangely silent, his eyes widening incredulously. Sekhmet smiled weakly at her fellow muse.
"A very long story, Methos"
Methos shook his head, trying to clear the questions that sprang into his very old mind. "And Cheyenne Mountain? Home of the SGC? I thought you were running from your duties as a muse."
Sekhmet grinned as she slowly got to her feet. "That is what Shannon thinks, Methos. No, we are here to fix her fic. A mission of mercy, you might say. Right now our poor author is stuck without even the merest glimmer of hope for any of her stories. Lord above, dearest, she's practically posted a bounty on my head."
Methos glared up at the curvaceous woman from his not-too-comfortable seat on the ground. "We're here to fix her fic? That's your solution for her writer's block?" He stretched out his hand for her to take, his expression one of impatience.
Sekhmet easily hauled the tall man to his feet and stretched on her tiptoes to kiss the Immortal. "And that's just the beginning," she whispered to him. "Not only are we going to fix her fic, we're going to play matchmaker and have a little fun for ourselves."
Methos groaned. He was stuck. A beautiful muse and a mission. Might as well accept it. Shaking his head, he risked a glance around him at the cars in the parking lot. "So, my Goddess, what is your plan?"
Sekhmet grinned and grabbed the tall man's hand, tugging him towards the imposing guards at the entrance of the SGC. "We have to get inside."
Methos frowned. "Um, Sekhmet? I don't relish the idea of being shot trying to enter a very secure government facility." He would survive it, he was sure. Or, rather, rise from the dead. But he was tired of trying to explain the bullet holes in his favorite overcoat to his tailor. Besides, he really wasn't sure what would happen to his fellow muse. Wait, when had started caring about anyone other than himself? Something to ponder later, he decided.
Sekhmet stopped in her tracks and turned to face her fellow muse, a look of disbelief on her face. "Methos, don't be dense. One of the reasons that I'm Shannon's SG-1 muse is that I'm a goddess. As in divine." When it was obvious that Methos wasn't getting it, she blew out an exasperated breath. "Meaning super powers." At the lifted eyebrow, she arched one of her own. "They can't see us unless I allow it." She shrugged and started forward again, once again pulling a reluctant Methos towards the mountain. "Now, we have a few people to track down. The general, of course...I can't believe that fic is giving her fits. Then Janet and Daniel. And Sam and..."
Sekhmet glanced over her shoulder at the Immortal, who shrugged. "Hey, you talk in your sleep." Sekhmet blushed and continued on.
Score one for the Really Old Guy, thought Methos. Closing the distance with Sekhmet, he allowed himself to look around. "So, how do we get in, oh Invisible One?"
Sekhmet scowled at him and shook her head. "We follow someone. Now shut up and pretend that you're not here. Oh, and hold onto me--otherwise you'll pop out of the invisibility field."
That gave Methos a moment's pause. "You mean I have to hold onto you the entire time that we're here?"
Sekhmet sighed again. This was getting old. "No, you fool. We just have to be careful. We can't very well do muse business if we're invisible all the time. Now, come on." She started to drag the old man again towards the gate. "I see someone heading for the guard. This is our chance."
Methos shrugged. "If I die, I'll kill you Sekhmet," he mumbled.
Sekhmet shot his a flirtatious look. "I look forward to it. Now, let's invade the SGC."
Ten minutes later, the elevator containing one Air Force lieutenant and two muses was stopping at one of the SGC's subterranean levels. A look of abject worship graced the goddess's face, her apparent target not the oblivious lieutenant. But, since it was "quiet time," Methos couldn't exactly ask his fellow muse why she was staring at him like she was a cat and he'd just invented catnip. Then again, he thought ruefully, maybe the comparison wasn't that far off. All it took was one glance down at her leonine tail to see it twitching maniacally. The elevator doors slid open and the three occupants stepped off. And into the SGC. Methos swallowed and glanced at Sekhmet, whose look had suddenly shifted to determined. But, again, he couldn't ask her why she was looking that way. Sometimes he really wished that he'd killed Cassandra just so he could hear other people's thoughts. Bad thought, he decided quickly, stepping closer to the still single-minded catwoman. He really didn't want to know what Sekhmet was thinking. He'd never sleep again.
Sekhmet pointed down the hallway, guiding the taller man past closed doors along a twisting maze of hallways. Finally, the muses halted in front of an oddly deserted infirmary. "Sekhmet?" whispered the rather ancient muse, suddenly nervous.
"Uh-hum?" responded the petite blonde, her attention riveted on a distant supply closet.
"What are we doing here?"
Sekhmet's eyes skittered up from the doorknob to meet Methos's. "We're breaking and entering, dearest. Now be a darling and reach into my bag for that silly jar." She had started moving forward, very aware that an empty infirmary was a rare thing and their time was definitely limited.
The strawberry blonde glanced over her shoulder at Methos, a grin touching her lips. "Yes, Methos?"
"This is a canopic jar. As in an Egyptian canopic jar."
Methos was right. The jar appeared to be Egyptian and appeared to be a canopic jar that would ordinarily have been found in a tomb's funeral goods. "You're right. Now bring it here," she ordered imperiously.
Methos started forward, then frowned, his skin paling. "You're not going to do what I think you're going to do, are you?" His voice was barely above a whisper as he neared his fellow muse.
Sekhmet grinned and took the jar from Methos. Opening the supply closet, she laid the jar onto a pile of linens and carefully shut the door. "Now, Methos, don't worry. Maybourne..."
""Shush. Yes, Maybourne, Methos. He swore to me that the jar is completely safe. It'll just help things along in this musty old place."
Methos decided that since discretion was definitely the better part of valor, he would just shut his mouth about the entire situation. Maybe there was a nice fic author who wouldn't mind hiding him from his own author. It was definitely a thought. "Well, Sekhmet, I won't have to kill you. Shannon'll do it for me."
Sekhmet finished closing the door and turned to face Methos, taking hold of his arm as they faded from view. "Don't fret so, Methos. Nothing is going to go wrong--I promise." Pulling her fellow muse from the infiirmary, she headed back toward the elevator. "Now, you mentioned Vegas?"