InsaneJournal

Current mood:

cynical

For AngelofWar ( BtVS/SG1 patchwork verse)



I had no intentions of posting this as WIP. But time life and chaos finishing up the trick or treats, here's chapeter one.

title: Pieces Out of Place
author: lisa roquin
rating: 15+
fandom: BtVS/SG1
series/sequel: Patchwork Universe Arc
characters/pairings: implied Xander/Daniel,
disclaimer: all copyrighted characters and their "universes" belong to their respective authors, writers, creators, production companies, producers and long lists of people that are so very much not me. Quite simply, if you recognize it, it isn't mine. No profit made, no harm intended, just having fun.
summary: Things went wrong five thousand years ago, very wrong.
warning: AU. Massive AU mangling of SG1 S8 eps Moebius I & II
author's note:
word count:



"Sir, Dr. Carter, Dr. Jackson and Mr. Harris have arrived at the gate."

General George Hammond nodded sharply. "See they are brought to Briefing Room Three."

"Yes, sir."

Hammond stood and gathered the files from his desk. He wondered just how futile this effort really was going to be.

He barely contained his shock when the three entered the briefing room. He'd seen Major Doctor Samantha Carter on the tapes, a brilliant competent soldier by the facts she relayed and her composure. This woman was...a frumpy haggard librarian. Major Carter was a pilot, this woman had thick glasses. Yet the resemblances were there, easily picked out.

Dr. Daniel Jackson was nothing like the man on the tapes as well. The man on the tapes had military short hair and a military-influenced carriage and confidence. The man who walked over the briefing room nearly tripped over his own two feet, was perhaps fifteen or so pounds too pudgy with shaggy hair. The neat wire glasses of the man in the tapes replaced with thick ugly plastic frames that Hammond was surprised were still made and if he wasn't mistaken had been badly repaired with superglue.

Mr. Harris wasn't on the tape but mentioned repeatedly by Dr. Jackson, and according to the Other-Jackson on the tape, Mr. Harris was very high up in an international historical preservation society that also dealt in unusual threats to the safety of the world despite the man's youth. There had been a picture included though. In that picture, Alexander "Xander" Harris had been sprawled in a chair with a beer in hand but the powerful build and dangerous air were easily conveyed. Along with the eye patch.

The Alexander Harris that sauntered into the briefing room, shaggy haired with two tired jaded eyes. He was leaner by far than the man in the photograph, and evidently a popular stripper at a club in Los Angeles.

The man in the photograph had something about him. Brawnier, not a soldier but the description made by the Dr. Jackson on the tape was that of a competent experienced warrior, a protector and fighter. The lithe man that sauntered in bore a resemblance to the man in the picture but was far leaner, lacking the purposely developed muscle, dressed in leather pants and a clinging shirt of some sort of shimmery navy blue material. This was no protector but a conniving whore.

He was at a loss as to what to do.

He had the tapes of the original experiments with the device found on the Giza plateau during World War Two. The contingent that had been assigned to guard the strange device for years had always been small, random tests had been made, or attempted to be made as technology had improved over to the mechanics of the thing, or even what it was made of. An unknown alloy with unknown mechanics, inscribed with unknown runes of some sort and created an unknown energy pool that was speculated to be some sort of vortex or wormhole.

Dr. Burkle and Dr. McKay were both still howling over the last attempt to convince Dr. Hawking to join the project--which he had no interest in, especially when all he knew about it were Burkle and McKay were involved and both had publically attempted to disprove some of his theories at one point or another.

He had an SF missing, though thankfully, however distasteful that thankfulness might be, Sgt. Tara McClay's family seemed to have no interest in what had happened to her and had said no more than good riddance and I hope you don't expect us to bury her ungrateful body before hanging up.

"General Hammond, this is absurd!"

"Dr. McKay, your opinion has been duly noted--and voiced more times than appreciated or appropriate."

Dr. Winifred Burkle made an amused squeak in her seat next to Rodney McKay who was nearly as temperamental as he was brilliant.

He wondered momentarily who he had pissed off badly enough to be sent to deal with this whole mess and with this unbelievable group sitting in front of him. Dr. Carter and Dr. Jackson were both wide eyed and nervous curious, Mr. Harris was sprawled in his chair with watchful suspicious eyes, when he wasn't leering at everything with a pulse that was.

"In front of you are non-disclosure statements. Which means you cannot speak of anything you have learned here or have seen here under penalty of life imprisonment. If you refuse to sign these documents you will be escorted to the base gates--"

"And what about the trip home, and compensation for missed wages..." Mr. Harris wanted to know.

"You will be provided a return trip home and reasonable compensation, Mr. Harris."

George Hammond barely managed not to groan as Mr. Harris leered at Dr. McKay and signed his non disclosure papers without another question or much of a glance at the papers, which he really didn't like. He wondered what Mr. Harris would rather not be dealing with in Los Angeles that someone who was watching everything so suspiciously was so quick and willing to sign off such a document.

"Well, I want to know why I'm here," Dr. Jackson said and mimicked Mr. Harris' actions.

Dr. Carter did the same a moment later after chewing her lip and making a rather disgusted and unnerved face at Dr. McKay's very open appraisal. "I do too," she agreed scooting her chair a little further from Dr. McKay.

"Do you have something in your eye?" Dr. Jackson frowned in Dr. Burkle's direction.

Mr. Harris laughed low and husky, leaning further towards Dr. Jackson and his hand disappearing under the table. Hammond really didn't want to know where that hand landed exactly when Dr. Jackson yelped and jumped three inches into the air. "She's battin' her lashes at you, wants your geeky ass, blue eyes." Harris all but purred into Jackson's ear, causing both Burkle and Jackson to blush.

Two more months. This was his last assignment before retirement. The frontlines of a war zone would likely be less aggravating to his ulcer than four multi-doctorates and an exotic dancer recruited to deal with an unknown device which a US Marine had been forcibly dragged through and a modern camcorder, even slightly more advanced possibly found in a 5000 year old burial site, with...two of the five in front of him featured on the recording on it.

"People!" Hammond barked. "Do endeavor to keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Harris. Dr. Burkle, if you need your eye drops for your contacts, do go see to that before we start the presentation. Dr. McKay, keep your chair where it is."

Harris stretched like a cat settling into his chair again in a sprawl he situated himself into seemed almost obscene and smirked. Dr. Burkle ran from the room, grasping at that bit of mercy. McKay sighed and propped his chin on his elbow staring at Dr. Carter, whose expression greatly resembled his seven-year-old granddaughter's upon seeing spinach on her dinner plate. Dr. Jackson's brow furrowed in absolute confusion.

Two months.

He hoped he could survive.