BtVS & Stargate SG-1
in a crossover Fan Fiction
What Happened Here?
The Stargate timeline has been adjusted so that Daniel Jackson is about fifteen years older than Dawn Summers.
On the Buffy side, this takes places several years beyond the series finale.
Disclaimer: I own it all, every show in Hollywood that's worth owning is mine! All mine! Oh wait, that's in a alternate universe; in this universe I own little more than the contents of my cat's litter box, and that not for long. Stargate SG-1 is owned by people who aren't me. Buffy the Vampire Slayer is owned by Joss Whedon and others, none of whom are me. I derive no income whatsoever from this story. This is distributed under the Creative Commons license, others may play here as long as correct attribution is maintained. No commercial application is allowed or even possible.
Rating: T (or PG-13) for a couple of swear words, nothing more.
Spoilers: Surely anyone reading this has seen all 144 episodes of Buffy at least a half-dozen times, right? Stargate SG-1 up to somewhere around the 7th season.
A short summer rain had just passed through Colorado Springs, leaving the beautiful afternoon atmosphere clean and refreshed. The sun was halfway between the horizon and twelve o'clock, the light sparkled where it hit the damp ground. Daniel Jackson walked along a sidewalk not far from his apartment, lost in thought. He noticed an outdoor café and decided he could use a break and some coffee, so he turned in and found a table with a view of the mountains. He opened his briefcase and searched though until he found the documents that most concerned him. He knew that General Hammond would be more than a little ticked at him for taking these off-base, but really, there were only a few dozen people in the whole world who could read Sumerian; what were the odds one of them would wander by just as he sat down in a public café?
"The Goddess of Wind and Fire will release the High Priestess of the Sun from her Royal Obligation when the..." Daniel heard a voice from over his shoulder translating from written Sumerian to spoken English on the fly as she read from the photograph in front of him. He looked up in amazement and saw a young woman, a tall California girl with dark waist-length straight hair. She was wearing a white tank top that left her midriff bare while emphasizing her form, a weathered jean jacket, boots that looked expensive and were probably stylish but Daniel wasn't sure, and a short garment that had a name other than skirt or dress that Daniel couldn't remember. She looked to be twenty-something and Daniel thought she was truly beautiful. On top of her stunning physical attributes, she was reading the inscriptions in his photograph as easily as if it were a popular magazine. Daniel was floored. He was also completely and instantly smitten.
"Hi," she said, "my name is Dawn. May I sit here?"
Daniel mumbled incoherently, Dawn took it as an assent.
"May I look at these?" she asked as she picked up the prints without waiting for permission. Daniel looked into her eyes.
"Ooooh, this is so cool. See this part? This is where the high priestess talks about the Slayer of the Night-Fanged Creature. And then she says, 'From beneath you it devours!' Emphasis mine. That's a pretty amazing prediction for a tablet that's what, three, maybe four thousand years old?"
Daniel, suddenly getting yanked back to earth, said, "Wait! What? Wait, you can read that? I mean, it's incredible enough that you know Sumerian, but this inscription? Even I haven't been able to translate it, and that's what they pay me for."
"Yep, she switched to the private dialect of the Sisterhood of Watchers. Mere mortal males weren't supposed to be able to read it. It was a secret: a deep, deadly, dark secret."
"She? Why do you assume it was a woman writing this?"
"Because this was written by the High Priestess herself. You can tell by her chop: Nikja." Dawn pointed to the bottom of the tablet.
"Uh, OK. This is news to me, and I am an expert in this field."
"Well, Nikja was a real person. I've translated her works before. And, this was a prophecy. Too bad I didn't know about this a few years ago, it might have saved a lot of trouble. But then again, it might not have helped; in my experience prophecies are rarely helpful before the fact."
"What on Earth are you talking about? And what is the Sisterhood of the Watchers?" asked Daniel with as much dignity as he could muster. Spoiled unfortunately by his accidentally knocking his coffee cup off the table; luckily the splash of hot coffee missed Dawn.
"This prophecy concerns events that have already been concluded, so it won't do any good to worry about it. Still, if you could see your way to mail a copy of this to my friend Rupert Giles, I'm sure he would appreciate it. Oh, and the Sisterhood of the Watchers was taken over by men over the centuries. The men don't care to mention the part about the sisterhood anymore. Although, to be fair, women have been welcomed back in the ranks of Watchers for at least the last century or more."
"Hold on, you're going way too fast for me. First, how is it that you can read dead languages? And Watchers of what?"
"Hey, howza about introducing yourself? I'm Dawn Summers, and you are ..."
"Oh, yeah, I'm Dr. Daniel Jackson."
"Oh! You're a doctor?" asked Dawn as she playfully added a little valley girl to her demeanor, "I've got this bruise on my leg that's not going away. Look!" Dawn swiveled sideways a little to put her knees in Daniel's view. She deliberately put two fingers on the hem of her short skirt and slid the fabric, already a couple of inches above her knee, up another inch, until a bruise on her thigh was exposed to Daniel's view.
Daniel's eyes were riveted on Dawn's legs. He said, "That's a nasty bruise, how did you get it? Umm, but it does look like it's clearing up. You should be all right," and then a thought rose unbidden: If only you'd pull that skirt a few inches higher—my god, I'm such a pervert! Goddamn but she really turns me on! But she's, what, twenty five? Twenty four, twenty three? I hope! No one would care if I slept with her. Especially since I think she's coming on to me! But she's so young! And she knows Sumerian! And she's so fucking gorgeous! Surely she's at least twenty-one. It looks like that bruise is clearing up. God, if she isn't at least eighteen I deserve to be imprisoned just for my thoughts ...
Unproductive images followed one after another in an ever-faster spinning circle, an organic infinite loop of thoughts, circling endlessly until Dawn said, "What do you think doctor?" which finally crashed his train of thought with a figurative boot to his head.
"Uh, well, I have advanced degrees in in ancient languages and archeology, but not medicine."
"Oh, oh!" Dawn squealed joyfully, "me too! I have degrees in classical and medieval languages from Oxford, and I'm working on my master's!" Dawn actually bounced in her seat a little.
Daniel, with visions of delectable thighs dancing in his head, asked, "How did you get interested in dead languages?" He marveled that the girl could've made it through three or four years of musty Oxford matriculation and still be capable of squealing with excitement and better yet, that meant she was at least twenty-something.
"That's a long story really, lets just live in the now, for now." Dawn finally let go of her skirt. Daniel was mesmerized by the thin material drifting and floating down Dawn's legs. She stroked her leg deliberately to smooth the hem. He pulled his eyes away just as a waiter walked up to the table. He looked at Daniel with a knowing grin.
To Be Continued