Disclaimer: I own no rights to any of the characters or settings appearing within this story. Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog is the property of Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy. Stargate: SG-1 is the property of Brad Wright/Gekko/MGM/Sci-Fi/many, many other people and companies. The city of LA belongs to the the City of Los Angeles, California. I am not making a profit from this work, and intend only Fair Use of the borrowed materials therein.

A/N: I am planning this as a two-story fic, with the first half as a crossover and the second being primarily a Dr. Horrible story. While I could probably have gotten the whole concept into a pure Dr. Horrible story, I'm a big SG-1 fan, and once a few parallels started lining up in my head, the idea of a partial cross stuck.
Spoilers for all of Dr. Horrible and through at least S6 of SG-1.

Three weeks, two days, nine hours, and fifty-eight minutes. The rest of the world may have moved on, but for a man known to his friend as "Doc", every second of those three week, two days, nine hours, and fifty-eight minutes had been pure agony.

Make that fifty-nine.

'It wasn't supposed to be like this,' he thought, as he sat alone in his apartment, illuminated only by the sickly yellow light from the streetlamp outside, staring blankly at an equally blank computer screen.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Sixty.

Another hour gone.

Five-hundred and sixty-two of them, now, since it happened.

Since everything went wrong.

Since the last light in his ever-darkening world went out.

Since Penny died.

Since the last shreds of her "Billy-buddy" died with her.

Since his arrogance had gotten her killed.

There was anger. Oh, yes, there was plenty of anger at... him (he still couldn't bring himself to even think the smug bastard's name). He had ignored the Doctor's warnings, and stupidly pulled the trigger, after all. But while the five-hundred and sixty-two hours hadn't yet dulled the shock, it had given him plenty of time to think over the events of that evening.

To realize that his dependence on villainy, his unreliable and unwieldy gadgets, and, most of all, his selfish need to impress Penny had been what set the stage for her death.

To realize that his inventions had killed her.

To realize that he had become obsessed with using his inventions to bring her back.

Over the past twenty-some-odd days, there had been little food, and even less sleep. Time spent eating was time that wasn't spent experimenting, and all sleep brought him was nightmarish visions of a world where he failed. One where he couldn't find a way to save Penny.

That was how he thought of it, now. Saving her. Not "bringing her back". The latter made it sound like she was already gone (she was, he knew that, but was still having trouble facing it). After those first few attempts at resurrection using an inverted Death Ray on pig carcasses, which had failed rather messily (and turned the Doctor off of bacon for life), he had given up and moved on to time travel. If he could just stop her from getting hurt in the first place... But after over two weeks of feverish work, he'd been about to flip the switch when he suddenly collapsed to the ground, hit with a massive headache and with a shout (in his own voice) of "DESTABILIZING PARADOX" ringing in his ears. He'd almost gone through with his plan anyways, but realized that, since any "him" would want to save Penny as badly as he did, he would only have sent himself a warning if things turned out really badly.

He decided he didn't want to know what kind of world could possibly be worse than this.

This morning, the Doctor woke up in bed, the nicely tucked and slightly clammy sheets indicating that he'd had a visitor since he succumbed to exhaustion after his most recent failure. He'd gotten up and dressed on autopilot, walked into his lab, reached for a sketch pad and pen, and came to a halt. He was out of ideas. He, with his Ph.D. in Horribleness, was completely out of inventions. He'd then walked back out into his living room, collapsed into his computer chair, and started thinking.

He needed ideas.

Anything would do.

Anything.

His thoughts got more and more outlandish, but when he reached the point where he was seriously considering using his new Evil League of Evil contacts to find an expert in necromancy, he knew that it was a lost cause.

It was over. She was gone for good.

Which left Doctor Horrible sitting in a chair, staring at a blank screen, wondering how this world, a world that had been without Penny for three weeks, two days, ten hours, and twelve minutes, could possibly be worth living in...

Wait a tick.

This world.

This world.

Maybe he couldn't change this world.

But maybe, just maybe, he could find a better one.

At 3:47am, a maniacal laugh echoed down the deserted alleys of Los Angeles, as, for the first time in over three weeks, the supervillain known as Doctor Horrible had a plan.

Miles away, the girl known to many simply as "Hourglass" whimpered in her sleep, and pulled her blankets a little bit tighter.

A/N: One chapter down, several more to go. As you can tell, I can get a bit verbose at times, so if anyone would be interested in beta'ing and keeping my long-windedness in check, I would be forever grateful.