Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate: SG-1 or BTVS/ATS. All of the people that own those shows make far more money than I do.
Warnings: Discussions of child abuse and sexual abuse. Foul language – it's Jack O'Neill, people. Hurray for canon slash with Willow; I haven't decided if I will include male slash in here as well; I'll change the warnings per chapter if that happens. I HAVE decided that in keeping with my Xander's characterization in this story, he will not be included in any male slash pairing, period. That doesn't mean I won't be picking on someone else though…
Chapter 7: Cue the Darth Vader March
*beginning of dream*
"This can't go on forever. Sooner or later, your strength will give way. And you'll be left all alone. Help is not coming."
The room was a cold one, both in temperature and in looks. Sheer gray stone walls, stone floor, with no visible door or window. Three lanterns burned with a yellow, flickering light, hung in opposite points of the vaguely square chamber. There were no decorations, no sign that it had ever been inhabited, save one.
A stone chair, more of a throne really, stood on what could be considered the far side of the room - the side furthest away from the unsteady light of the lanterns. Heavy chains built into the arms and base of the seat bound its occupant securely. The chains had been there as long as the chair had - millennia - but they still shone as though they were newly forged.
The woman standing before the throne was a tall, imposing figure, elegantly built. Her hair was a rich chestnut, cut just below her chin and fly-away. Her face was proudly beautiful, with sharp, proud features, graceful eyebrows, and a full red mouth. Her eyes, though, were the disturbing feature - dead black, a black that filled the entire eye, with no whites to speak of. Dangerous, compelling eyes, easy to drown in.
"Do you still believe in those foolish values - loyalty, honor?"
The man's eyes flickered open for the first time, and he looked rather amused. "Foolish, are they? Who won the last battle, Power?"
He appeared to be in his early twenties - a man of great beauty. His hair was crimson and black; fine, dark eyebrows arched over black-lashed eyes that gave away the fact that he wasn't completely human: they were the rich crimson color of the rarest rubies. Tanned skin that never paled, never grew sickly under the influence of the dark chamber gleamed. At the moment, a mocking half-smile lifted the corners of the full mouth that gave his face a deceptively vulnerable look; his eyes showed no emotion.
"You did, I believe. But who's sitting on the throne of imprisonment, Shadow Guardian?"
"Why do you call me that?" the man countered in a lazy tone. "I no longer have anyone to Guard."
"Do not attempt to play ME for a fool." The woman's lower lip curled. "Those whom you guarded are symbols, a means to an end. If you have not yet realized that, you are a greater idiot than I thought you."
"Your insults are unimaginative, Power." The man closed his eyes again. "You're beginning to bore me."
"Am I, Prince?"
The man's eyes snapped open, and his entire expression heated with anger. But when he spoke, his voice was cold, devoid of emotion. "I set aside that title, and all other claims, when I chose to accept the power of the Shadow Realms. You know this."
"You could not completely set it aside though, could you?" the woman shot back, having found the chink in his armor. "It is in your BLOOD, your love for the land your family was chosen to rule. You could no more look upon it with the distance the Shadow Guardians are supposed to show to all lands, than cut out your own heart. And there lies your flaw, Prince. You care too deeply about the people you were chosen to protect, in particular those of your own kind. You were tied too closely to it all."
The man laughed tiredly, once again closing his eyes. "You WOULD think that a flaw. But you are mistaken in one aspect, I think. Yes, I cared more for my own people at first - how could I not? The humans have suffered the most in this war, Power, and that is a simple fact. But the key phrase here is 'at first'. Humans learn, Power. Slowly, through pain, and loss, and suffering, but we do learn. I learned." His smile remained, but the mockery was gone from it; in its place was a certain ruefulness, a self-recrimination. "I was an idealistic child when the crystal that made our choices for us glowed for me. I hadn't ever thought that other people besides humans might have problems." Bitterness touched the smile now, too. "Oh, I learned."
"You learned, but not enough," the Power pointed out. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have walked into my trap."
"I knew it for what it was. I'm not that stupid."
"And you still came." The Power shook her head at him, scolding.
"The lives of those people were more important than my freedom."
The Power sneered, and turned away to magically transport herself out of the chamber.
"Power." She glanced over her shoulder. "My strength won't give way."
"Every living being has a breaking point, Prince. You'll reach yours soon enough."
The man paused thoughtfully, then shook his head. "No, I don't think so."
Driven to the human emotion of curiosity, the Power turned back. "And why is that?"
The man smiled, and this time it was a full, easy sort of smile. "Because I still have the one thing that's kept us going all these years, Power. I have hope."
The Power snickered. "Hope - peh. That concept is even more foolish than those other values you believe in so much. As for your 'us' – you are the last, fool. There's no one left who even knows you exist."
The man's smile widened. "Hope can be a fool's game, or the salvation of us all. I just have one. Hope, that is. I don't need any more." He leaned back in the stone chair and actually appeared to relax. "He'll come for you – THEY'LL come for you. And a day will come when you will regret locking me in this cage outside of time." His smile grew mocking. "Regret is what one feels when one's face is being ground into the dust, isn't it? I wouldn't know, but YOU would."
The Power went rigid with fury. "I will find this hope of yours." She hissed it slowly. "And I will crush it before your eyes."
"He," the Prince corrected, "not it." He smiled again. "My heir will destroy you, and he will tear down every last work of evil you have ever created in your false 'Balance'."
"We shall see." In a blaze of cold, black fire, the Power vanished.
"Yes," the man said aloud musingly, "I suppose we shall." His gaze rested on a point in the room that seemed as empty as the rest of the place. "It's up to you now, messenger. Best hurry. The shields that protect this planet won't last much longer – they weren't intended to hold up for millennia instead of centuries, and the Go'auld are already in this."
*end of dream*
Buffy jerked awake in London, grabbed a notepad by her bedside, and scribbled, "Go-Ah-Oold" on it. She then jerked to her feet and raced to the library, where she knew Willow would be doing an all-nighter to prepare for an exam at Oxford University. The redhead was taking classes there in her spare time for fun.
"WILLOW!!" she bellowed down the hallway as she ran down the stairs in her nightgown. "We've got an apocolypse coming!"
*beginning of dream – simultaneous to first dream*
I want to run away.
*So why don't you?*
I'd leave so much behind.
*That's the point, isn't it?*
Yes, but...
*But what?*
Not everything here is –
*Terrible?*
Yes.
*There must be a way...*
To what?
*To keep the things that are okay, and get rid of everything else.*
Nothing that's good lasts.
*True.*
Y'know, I thought you were supposed to cheer me up.
*I'm your other self, not a miracle worker.*
Gah. Go away, why don't you.
*No use fighting me. Voices in your head always come back, you know.*
So why don't you do something useful besides bug me?
*Like what?*
Like....
*No. That's the one thing I can't - won't - do.*
Why not?
*If I did that, do you know what would happen?*
........
*Do you?*
If you won't do it, then never mind.
*I asked you a question.*
And I'm not answering it.
*That still gives me an answer of sorts.*
Shut up.
*...You're going to do it, aren't you?*
I said to shut up.
*Hah. What are you going to do to stop me?*
This.
*Hey! Don't!*
(quiet laughter)
*You bastard. You really had me scared. What's WRONG with you?*
You know that better than I do.
*Huh. I meant BESIDES that.*
I....
*Don't know.*
Finishing my sentences now?
*Our sentences. We're the same.*
Maybe.
*What's that supposed to mean?*
Nothing. Go away. I want to sleep.
*Whatever. You're the boss.*
Right. So shut up.
*(sigh) You must be the only person in the world who can order around the voices in his head.*
If I can order you around, then do as I say and let me get some rest.
*Shutting up now.*
Good.
*Good night.*
Good night. Now shut up.
*I have.*
Then why are you still talking?
*I'm not. You're the one making all the noise now.*
....I give up.
*Good. It's about time.*
Aargh.
*end of dream*
Xander woke with a jolt. As he lay flat on his back, he cursed silently in multiple tongues. He hadn't dreamed about his…childhood alternate personality in years; indeed, he had dared to hope that the persistent voice in that corner of his mind had finally faded away, leaving only the instincts Xander valued so much, though he should have known better. After being possessed by a hyena and a Vietnam War veteran, he REALLY should have known.
He hadn't thought about that particular conversation in a long while, either.
*You're going to do it, aren't you?*
It had been late when Xander had finally persuaded Jack and his companions to return to their hotel. Delighted as he was by the fact that he wasn't related to Tony Harris, it wasn't enough for Xander to invite five people associated with the United States military to sleep over at the Jenny Calender School for Gifted Girls – he wasn't ready to explain why the older teenagers were split into patrols through certain areas of the city that lasted until dawn. It had been hard enough to get the scientists to back off of why he'd known Teal'c was different, and even harder to get Jack to back down on his demands for information as to why a seven-year-old held daggers with such competency.
His cell phone began singing: it was the Foo Fighters' "Break-out." Xander snatched it up to his ear instantly. "Buffy?" Xander had chuckled when he'd first heard the song Buffy had chosen as her ringtone, then thought about it a moment and said "Hey!" in an indignant tone to her amusement.
"Slayer dream, Xan," Buffy said in a breathless tone, and Xander, who was still partly asleep till then, snapped to full alertness. Buffy didn't get Slayer dreams anymore unless they involved apocalypses.
"What's the what?"
"I need your Watcherettes to find anything they can on something called the 'Go-Ah-Oold.' It's the only real clue I got from the dream, that and some guy that was chained in a throne for several thousand years 'cause he pissed off some girl called Power."
Xander, who should have realized the instant his flashback to a childhood incident occurred that something wiggy was going down, groaned. "Ah, Buffy, about that…"
