Fandoms: BtVS, Harry Potter, Stargate Atlantis
Pairings: Spike/Xander, Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, McKay/Sheppard,
Spoilers: Chosen for BtVS, Deathly Hallows for Harry Potter, Reunion for Atlantis
Disclaimer: None of these characters nor their worlds belong to me.
Summary: Instead of writing a birthday fic, I wrote a collection of drabbles and double drabbles about things Suki Blue's fandoms have in common. Happy Birthday, suki_blue !
Spike crouched on a rooftop and stared down at the courtyard where Xander was waiting. He was fidgeting, shoving his hands into his pockets and pulling them back out again, and Spike knew he was wishing for a stake. Didn’t matter that a stake couldn’t do shit against a Frabnar demon, and it didn’t matter that the treaty had insisted Xander come unarmed. Pointy bits of wood were security blankets for Xander. For all the Scoobies, actually.
The treaty had also required Xander to come alone, which had put Buffy into a strop for days. She’d shouted and whinged, but she’d obeyed. This was an important treaty; it could win the Slayer school protection from a whole host of demons. Xander had insisted that they not risk it just to baby sit him. Spike hadn’t bothered to protest, but he hadn’t bothered to obey, either.
When the meeting was finished, he’d jump down from the roof and hand Xander the stake in Spike’s pocket. Xander would roll his eye and huff about being a big boy now, and Spike would make the expected innuendo about proving it.
But until then, he’d wait here. Some things were more important than treaties.
Harry envied the expression of smooth superiority Draco wore. It went right up to his eyes, crystal grey and cool, showing no sign of the hatred Harry knew Draco felt for a man who had betrayed the Malfoy family.
Borgin held out a long, cold hand for Harry to shake, and Harry suppressed a shudder. He knew where those hands had been. But they would never track down the last pockets of resistance without inside help, and Borgin could be bought.
“Welcome to our home,” Draco said, and Harry marveled again. He was like ice. Harry yearned to melt him.
“You know we can’t trust them,” John said, checking his ammo for the fifteenth time.
“I’m not asking you to trust them,” Rodney protested. “I’m asking you to work with them.”
“Because we’ve never gotten into any trouble just working with the Genii,” John scoffed.
Rodney looked into John’s eyes and wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. “It’ll be okay. We go in, we trade our medicine for their heavy metals, we get out.”
“It’s never that easy,” John grumbled.
“It will be this time. Trust me.”
John swallowed hard. “I’ll try.” That wasn’t so easy either.
“I have solved your stalker problem,” Willow said, dropping into the chair across from Xander.
He straightened from his slouch. “You did? How? Did you turn him into a rat? Magic a shield around me? ‘Cause, really one more day of romantic serenading, and I won’t stop Spike from yanking the guy’s lungs out.”
Willow shook her head at him and gave him a smug, satisfied smile. “Xander, Xander, Xander. Rats are so high school. And force fields? You’ve been watching Dune with Andrew again, haven’t you?”
“So what did you do?” he nagged.
“I took out a restraining order.”
Hermione had been pulling at her hair again. Usually it was hard to tell, because her hair was as madly messy as Harry’s, but she’d started the day with a neat ponytail, and it was now hanging in hanks around her face.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked. Hermione faced him, and he braced himself for the tragedy that was causing the lost expression in her eyes.
“I can’t get this calculation,” she wailed. “If I cancel the Wunjo, then Thurisaz conflicts with Othala.”
They’d been trapped in the ‘jumper for four hours now, and John was considering going insane. It would be better than listening to Rodney explain *again* how impossible it would be for the rescue crew to get them out, or to Teyla and Ronon’s descriptions of the grossest foods they’d ever eaten.
When he heard the crack and hiss of the hatch unsealing, John jumped and stared. “You got us out!” he cheered when he saw Radek.
“Of course he did,” Rodney said, grabbing his pack.
“You said it was impossible,” John countered.
Radek grinned. “Impossible is what we do.”
The Christmas lights danced in front of Dawn’s eyes like vivid lightning bugs, and Dawn thought she might have overdone the rum when she’d tried to recreate her mom’s eggnog.
“This is nice.” She wiggled her toes in contentment. They brushed against Spike’s stomach, and he gave a startled laugh.
Spike grabbed her toes and held them still. “It’s not safe to tickle vampires, Niblet. How’d you grow up with the Slayer and not learn that?”
“I’m safe with you,” she said.
Xander’s hand was soft on her hair and Spike’s was rubbing her feet. “Yeah,” Xander said. “You are.”
Sometimes, his team reminded him of the rodents he’d caught and eaten years ago when he was Running. The animals had huddled together even when they didn’t need to share warmth, chattering and snatching food from one another the whole time.
Ronon glared at his tray and thought about rodents as his team settled around his table.
“We’re having a Godzilla marathon tonight,” John told Ronon. “You in?”
Ronon jabbed at his meatloaf viciously. “Some other time.”
“Come on, they’re classics,” Rodney protested. “Plus, you never know when we might come up against a radioactive lizard. Call it combat research.”
“Some other time,” Ronon repeated.
Teyla nudged his foot under the table and said, “Do you have plans with Jennifer tonight?” in a teasing voice.
“No,” Ronon bit out. He ground his roll savagely into his mashed potatoes. “Jennifer has other plans.”
“Oh!” Rodney said. “Did you guys – Ow!” He cut off as John smacked the back of his head.
“You should come anyway,” John said, bumping Ronon with his shoulder.
“I will bring the popcorn,” Teyla added, pressing her foot back against his. Rodney slipped a cookie onto his tray.
Maybe the rodents had been sharing warmth after all.
“Ron and I were thinking,” Hermione began, tucking her hair back behind her ear in a useless attempt to tame it. “That, as Harry is going to be in the wedding party, and he means a great deal to us, and you mean-“
“Spit it out, Granger,” Draco said.
“You’re invited to the wedding,” Ron growled. “If you act a git, I’ll grind cake into your hair and Harry will be angry at both of us.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “I’ll come, and I’ll be impeccably polite.”
“And, Draco?” Hermione said sweetly. “Your gift had better not be cursed.”
Spike knew he wasn’t going to like whoever was knocking him up at 2.00 in the bloody afternoon. Everyone he liked knew better. He bet himself five quid it was another reporter on the trail of the “real” Sunnydale story.
“What?” he snarled, opening the door a bare inch.
“I’m looking for Alexander Harris,” the man said, twisting a notebook in his hands. Spike owed himself five pounds.
“He ain’t here,” Spike said, slamming the door.
“But- Do you know what happened to Sunnydale?”
“It died,” Spike yelled. “Give it a rest.”
Some things didn’t come back from the dead.
Teddy never had to ask about his mum. People would take one look at his hair (which was often pink or green), at his nose (which ranged from bulbous to pert), at his feet (which he tripped over constantly), and tell him about a prank his mum had pulled or a Dark wizard she had helped defeat. Gran always told Teddy that Nymphadora would be proud of him.
No one talked about his dad, though. Teddy waited and waited, but no one from Dad’s family ever showed up for his birthday or dropped by for tea. When he asked Gran what Dad was like, she just said, “He was a good man.” He heard a whispered conversation once and learnt that his father had been a werewolf. He wondered if he would lose his family, too, if he ever got bit.
Gran didn’t like to take Teddy out much, so he really only knew a few people. So he was startled when he looked up from his book one day to see a dark haired man staring at him. The man smiled, bright white teeth and bright green eyes and said, “You’re so much like your father.”
Teddy smiled back.
Rodney was a petty, arrogant man. Everyone knew it, and he had never been more grateful for that in his life. When he sniped at Carter’s suggestions, no one thought anything of it. No one wondered why he rolled his eyes at her in meetings or glared up at her when she stood in the control room monitoring their departure through the ‘gate.
After one particularly vitriolic briefing, John elbowed Rodney in the side and said, “Take it easy. It’s not her fault.”
Rodney knew that. It wasn’t Carter’s fault that Elizabeth was gone. That didn’t mean he forgave her.
Xander didn’t own a nightlight. He hadn’t slept with one since he was six and his father had told him to stop being a baby. But he owned a flashlight.
Xander lay in bed, staring at the spot of light shining up onto the ceiling and trying to stop his mind from assigning an evil, Xander-killing cause to every creak and thump. A branch scraped against the side of the house, and he flinched. He was never going to get used to this. He could fake it around Willow and Buffy, but he knew the truth.
He wasn’t hero material.
John’s hands were steady at the controls and his eyes were calm and even behind his glasses. He’d always been able to lie with his body like that. Inside he was a turmoil, roiling and bubbling with bitterness and indecision. He’d been in the military for years, and he knew how to take orders. But he hated this guilt trip, this pressure to take something that wasn’t an order.
O’Neill had said he didn’t want John for the mission if John hadn’t decided by the time they reached base. John hoped that was true.
He didn’t want to be wanted.
Once Dudley went to a party with a piñata, and he’d come home dripping sweets from his pockets. Harry had snatched a handful before Dudley noticed he’d dropped them. He’d felt a thrill every time he’d unwrapped one of those sweets, savoring the fact that no one else even knew about them to take them away.
He felt like that now, clutching the knowledge of magic and wizards to him like a stolen humbug. No one else knew what it was to be Harry and to learn that he could escape Privet Drive.
It was his. And it was sweet.