Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS, Ats, or SG-1.

Code Name: Pedestrian

Chapter 3: Improper Use of an Egg-Flipper

Sam was used to seeing strange things. A few years spent chit-chatting with aliens and brushing off extraterrestrial flirts could do that to a girl. But, usually, she saw such odd sights on other planets, not standing next to her Mustang, dripping goop onto the black-top.

The creature dove toward her, but Sam dodged the blow that its claws inevitably would have dealt, reaching for a side-arm that she wasn't wearing. (She resisted the urge to slap herself on the forehead at her second major mistake of the evening—her first being the talking English pedestrian who didn't have a pulse.) Before she could move, she saw a flash of black jump over her legs and tackle the monster. Apparently, the lack of a heartbeat wasn't keeping said car accident victim from throwing a few punches.

"Watch out!" Sam shouted, as the blond Brit took a crackling blow to his collar bone. He rolled away, looking up at the monster. . . But there was something wrong with him, some deformity that appeared out of nowhere and sent chills down her back. His face was distorted, brow a layer of primitive folds of skin, eyes those of a predator, and mouth bearing a set of long canines.

"Fangs?"

Pushing the remaining questions to the back of her mind, Sam pulled herself up, ducking away from the creature that was now focusing its energies on her. She delivered it a back kick, leaving it staggering away, and grabbed hold of the driver's side door, crashing it into the monster's backside and shattering the window in the process. Sam slid into her car, grabbing her cell—it was time to phone for backup.

A "witch". There was an attractive woman claiming to be a Wiccan witch presently digging through his kitchen. Also a "demon" was on its way to devour him, or so said witch and cursed text claimed. And, apparently, she didn't like the way he'd preferred to "set-up" his kitchen because there were no visible items she could use in her "magical barrier".

Daniel found himself using several mental air quotes and Jack-style means of expressing his frustration including sarcasm, eye-rolling, and finger drumming.

A particularly loud crash sounded from another room, breaking Dr. Jackson from his thoughts. He glanced up, seeing the red-head peaking shyly back into his room. "Nothing broke," she assured him. She disappeared again and reemerged with a small grin on her face. "You should think about buying some groceries. And maybe setting up a decent spice rack—I couldn't find anything to use in setting up a proper barrier other than powdered coffee creamer, which probably wouldn't do the job very well. . ."

"Is that an egg-flipper?" Daniel interrupted, seeing the long metal instrument in her hand.

"Actually, I think it's for the grill—you know, one of those super-sized ones that you can use on your burgers," Willow babbled, waving the cooking utensil.

"And what do you plan on doing with it?"

"Freeing you."

Daniel's eyes widened, his mouth forming a little, open pout. "How?" he asked slowly. "Where do you plan on putting that?"

Willow cocked her head, absorbing what he'd just asked. "Oh, nothing like that! I don't plan on prying you off the chair by sticking this. . . Anyhow, it's to conduct. It's a bit like a conduit for channeling magic."

The archaeologist released a breath. "Conduct . . . Magic? Because it's steel?"

"In a way, but not because it's steel exactly. I'll be concentrating on that element, though. I picked the flipper because it's durable and flat," the witch answered. "I needed something thin enough to slip under a leg of your chair. See, the magic holding you in place can't be very strong, because it's not even enough to restrict your movement completely—you can still use your torso freely, so long as you don't stand up. Theoretically, I can give it a little jolt and off-set it long enough to push you out of the way. The binding should dissipate afterward."

"Jolt?"

"Little jolt."

"OK." Daniel frowned. He was liking the idea of a so-called magic jolt less and less. "You've done this before?"

Willow shook her head. "Not really. But it should work. In theory. Didn't I say that?" The sat down on the floor beside his chair, studying the legs carefully.

"And if it works, then what?" Daniel asked.

"Then we run away from the demon."

"Oh. . . Mind if I make a phone call?"

The witch shrugged. "Your phone."

Backup came in the form of a busy signal. The base was apparently still in chaos, and the lines were probably being used by the officials. Sam groaned, canceling the call. Before she could shift into drive, however, her phone rang. She glared at it, pressing the talk button.

"Daniel, I'm on my way," she answered quickly.

"Good. Because my problems are beginning to pile up," Daniel said.

"I ran into some trouble," Sam explained. "Hold on."

She held the phone against her chest and leaned over, staring out the broken driver's side window. The creature was gone. Sam let out a shaky sigh of relief, leaning over and pulling her side arm out of the glove compartment (she'd taken to keeping her weapon with her even when she wasn't on the base—her lifestyle had gotten too dangerous for her to go without it).

She heard a thump and the grating sound of someone grabbing hold of the passenger's side door. The blond man that she'd hit was standing outside of it, waving.

"Would you unlock the door already?" he asked, a frustrated expression on his bleeding face. "Come on! I need your car."

"Move and I shoot!" Sam shouted. Hearing Daniel's cries, she lifted the phone back to her ear, gun pointed toward the dead man. The irony of that thought stunned her. "Daniel?" she asked.

"Sam? Sam, are you alright? I heard shouting. Are you. . ."

"I'm alright," she answered. "You won't believe what I just hit with my car."

"Sam, you need to get here. There's a witch here and . . . Something happened to your car?"

"Daniel, did you say witch?" Sam raised a brow, still staring at the angry pedestrian outside her Mustang. He wasn't human—that much she was aware of—but something stopped her from driving away. Curiosity? Or perhaps she simply felt bad for smashing him into her windshield.

"Yes." Daniel was quiet a moment. "The important thing is that the text that may have caused my current situation with the chair would have also awoken what it calls a "demon"—a creature that's currently on its way to devour me. Now, I'm not sure about the demon part, but I'm fairly certain that some sort of hostile might be on its way."

"Demon?"

Sam's eyes widened. She knew that there was no such thing. But she also knew in her heart of hearts that if a demon were to exist it would probably look something like the creature she'd just fought. Coincidence? As a scientist, she wanted to answer yes, as a soldier, her gut said no. Demon, alien, or human creation, it was definitely a killer and most likely the thing headed toward Daniel.

"Listen, love. I'm takin' this car, whether you want me to or not. Shoot me if you like, but I'm catching that bloody demon," the man hissed. He leaned back and threw a fist through the glass.

Sam didn't scream. In one smooth movement, she took off the safety and squeezed the trigger.