“Who are you?” asked the weary voice of an older man. He suffered from male pattern baldness, but his remaining hair was gray, and his eyes held within them the profound weariness of a man who had seen too much.
Groo turned towards the man who had spoke. He could see no reason to lie to the man. “I am the Groosalug of Pylea.”
“Good. Cooperation will make this easier for you, Groosalug. I am going to ask you a series of questions, and I expect you to be entirely truthful.” The old man gestured to the machine that Groo had been connected to. “If you should lie, the machine will know.”
Groo nodded imperceptibly. He understood his position as prisoner all too well. He had seen the fate of the cows that refused to cooperate with their questioners on Pylea, and he had no wish to meet the same fate at the hands of these earth-cows. And besides, they obviously thought him guilty of something that he had not done. The sooner he dispelled this illusion, the sooner he could move on.
Move on to a world in which he no longer had a place.
Groo forced himself not to sigh.
“Pylea is the name of your world?” the older man asked.
Groo nodded. “It is.”
“What are the Stargate coordinates of your world?”
Groo blinked at the unfamiliar word. “Stargate?” he asked.
“Did you arrive her by Stargate?”
Groo shook his head. “I do not know that word.”
“The chappa’ai?”
Groo shook his head. “No.”
His questioner looked frustrated. “It’s a big stone ring, looks like it’s full of water when it’s turned on?”
“I have never seen such a thing.”
“I see. So you came here by ship?”
“It would be a mighty ship indeed that could cross the distance between Earth and Pylea.”
The old man struggled to maintain a straight face.
After a moment, Groo smiled faintly. “I did not come by ship, old man. I came to this world by portal.”
“But not by Stargate?”
“No.”
The older man nodded. “I see. And those that came with you?”
“I came alone.”
“What about the woman who was with you?”
“Illyria?” Groo asked. The other man’s expression revealed nothing. “She was a native of this world. I knew her once, when her name was Winifred Burkle, but no longer.”
That seemed to satisfy the older man, for the time being at least. He disconnected Groo from the za'tarc detector, collected his equipment, and departed.
But even as he opened the cell door and departed, Groo knew that he would be back again later, and with more questions.
There were always more questions.
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Epigoni
by P.H. Wise
An Angel crossover fanfic
Chapter 3 – Of Snakes and Groosalugs
Disclaimer: I don’t own Angel. I don’t own Stargate. Please don’t sue me. This story contains spoilers for the final episode of Angel. This chapter contains material from the Angel season 3 episode, ‘Waiting in the Wings.’ I don’t own that either.
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“Jacob, I wanted to thank you again for coming on such short notice,” said Hammond, smiling as he shook the other man’s hand.
Jacob Carter returned the smile. It was now three days after Illyria’s escape from Stargate Command. Jacob had come through the gate three hours earlier along with several other Tok’ra in response to the SGC’s request for assistance in identifying a heretofore unknown alien species. Although Jacob and the other Tok’ra did not know what species the Groosalug belonged to, they had still been willing to lend their aid in other matters.
“It’s not a problem. When we learned what had happened in Los Angeles, of course we were eager to do all that we could.” He glanced at his daughter, and there was love in his eyes. “Not to mention, it was an opportunity to come visit home.”
They stood in the briefing room of the SGC. Jack and Sam were with them, as was Daniel Jackson, though Teal’c, without the benefit of a symbiote to heal the damage done to his body by Illyria, was absent, still recovering from his injuries.
Major Carter smiled at her father.
“Were you able to get anything out of the prisoner?” Hammond asked as he sank into his chair at the end of the table.
The others were quick to sit.
Jacob nodded. “Quite a bit, actually. He said he was the Groosalug of Pylea, Pylea being his world of origin.”
“Groosalug?” Jack asked incredulously. “He-Man was the better name.”
Hammond raised a hand. “Jack, please.”
Jack grinned. “Ya, sure, you betcha.”
“The Groosalug is probably a title, and not his real name,” Dr. Jackson surmised.
Jacob continued. “He arrived by portal, but NOT by Stargate. He came alone, which presumably means that he either arrived before the main strike force, perhaps as a scout, or perhaps for some other related purpose, or that he was not connected to the attack, and was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“What about Smurfette?”
Jacob raised an eyebrow, so Jack clarified that statement.
“The woman he was brought in with.”
“She’s a native of Earth, apparently. Her name is Illyria, and the Groosalug knew her back when she was going by Winifred Burkle, but he claims not to know the new her.”
Samantha Carter nodded. “That would seem to go along with my theory that she was altered in some way by these creatures.”
“So, Winifred Burkle,” Dr. Jackson said, “If she’s an Earth native, she probably has family here. Do you think she might try to contact them?”
The others grew thoughtful at that. After a few moments, it was Sam who answered. “It would probably depend on how much of Winifred Burkle is left in this... Illyria, and whether or not it’s a true symbiosis, or more of a parasitical relationship.”
“But it’s possible,” Dr. Jackson argued. “We should probably find out where she came from, and put a watch on her family in case she tries to contact them.”
General Hammond nodded his agreement. He paused a moment. “The hospital’s report on Cassandra Fraiser’s injuries indicates that it was probably not Illyria who caused them.”
“Do we know what did cause them?” Sam asked.
Hammond nodded. “We do.” He smiled grimly. “I put in a few calls. The perpetrators should be brought to justice very soon.”
“Either way,” said Jacob, “You’ll want to keep the Groosalug’s presence here under wraps. From everything we could determine with our scanners, although he is not fully human, he is physically superior to humans by a significant degree. He’d make quite a prize to any Goa’uld who managed to get their hands on him, and Niirti was not the only one in search of the Hok’taur.”
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Somehow, no matter what efforts are taken by men and women to make it otherwise, it always comes back to a girl. One girl in all the world with the power to stand against the demons, the vampires, and the forces of darkness. One girl to capture the hearts of two vampires, and Immortal, and an Iowa farm boy come super-soldier; one girl who lived, and died, and lived, and died, and lived again. One girl to lose your soul, and one girl to gain it back. One girl dead to call another, that girl dead to call another. There was one girl to challenge the First, and one girl to call forth all of the one girls across the world - one girl to choose them and empower them.
Now there were many where once there had been one.
And now, the one girl who called herself Faith was passing through Colorado Springs.
She was here on account of a couple of recent deaths that had listed ‘barbeque fork accident and accidental exsanguination’ as the cause of death. Well, that, and because of a phone call from Giles. From the sound of it, a nest had moved into the city, and recently.
For Faith, the sound of it had become a reality shortly after her arrival.
She had always loved the dance of death that was her birthright as Slayer. The thrill of battle. That final gasp. That look of peace. What's it like? Where does it lead you? It was probably not normal for dealing out death to the unholy monsters of the night to make a girl hungry and horny, but Slayers were hardly normal.
And now, in the middle of the nest, surrounded by six angry vampires, with blood singing in her ears and the dust of the seventh vampire still settling on the ground, Faith felt alive.
“What’s the matter, boys?” she taunted, twirling a jagged wooden stake in her hands. “Lost your appetite already?”
The vampires charged.
They charged, and she leaped easily into the air, back flipping up and behind them.
The charging vamps collided heavily in the center of the cluttered room.
Hey, nobody ever said they were SMART vampires.
Faith took the opportunity to stake two of them, which swung the odds slightly more in her favor.
Their nest was in an old abandoned warehouse, filled with whatever knicknacks they had brought with them from the remains of their human lives, little reminders of Charlie, Rob, Mark, Jason, Danny, Bill, and John. But the group of friends was gone now, turned by the very same vampire whom Illyria had staked several days earlier; in their place now were demons wearing human faces, and carefully controlled hatred had replaced the friendship that had once existed between them.
Now, one by one, Faith was ending their miserable existences. And it was making her hungry and horny.
Some things never change, it seems.
Inhuman eyes were upon her, she knew. Not necessarily unfriendly eyes, but eyes cold and crystal blue.
Even as she reduced the last vampire to dust and stepped out into the cold Colorado winter night, Faith could sense the thing that watched her from the rooftops. She considered ignoring it, but ignoring things had never been her style. So she climbed easily up the side of the warehouse, using whatever hand holds she could find, and then flipped up to the roof.
Illyria was waiting for her there.
Seeing the other woman’s inhumanity, Faith immediately dropped into a fighting stance. “Well, Bluebird, want to get it on, or do you just like to watch?”
Illyria looked at Faith curiously. “Do you lust after me?”
Faith grinned. “After your death, maybe.” She suddenly realized how that sounded, and she made a face.
Illyria’s look of curiosity turned to one of sudden remembrance. “I remember you. You are Faith, the Vampire Slayer.“
Faith raised an eyebrow. “You’ve heard of m...” she trailed off, suddenly recognizing the woman who stood before her. “Oh shit. Fred? Fred Burkle? Is that you?” Faith did not relax her guard. Last time she had checked, Fred had been human.
“Connor challenged your authority,” Illyria mused. “You put him in his place.”
“Who?” Faith asked, slightly confused. She didn’t remember anyone named Connor. Well, at least not in connection with Fred, Angel, and the others.
Illyria nodded faintly, speaking more to herself than to Faith. “Yes. The false memories. I had forgotten.”
Faith frowned. “Last we heard, you were dead. So was Angel, Wesley, Gunn, and Spike. Not really sure how he managed to be not dead after his Sunnydale escapade, but I guess the whole resurrection thing didn’t take.”
Illyria flinched upon hearing the names of Wesley and Gunn. “Do not speak their names so lightly. They are Champions, fallen in battle with the Circle of the Black Thorn.”
Faith nodded. “I heard. Pulled a Samson. Brought the temple down on their own heads.” She grimaced. “I KNEW that Angel wouldn’t have gone over to evil that easily, but I was outvoted.” She looked Illyria up and down. “So what’s with the makeover from Hell, Fred?”
“You speak the name of my... “ she hesitated ever so slightly, “... shell.” She drew herself up proudly. “I am Illyria, and I am as far beyond Winifred Burkle as she was beyond the ant.” She looked Faith in the eye. “Do you seek battle, Vampire Slayer?”
Faith narrowed her eyes. “Any time, any where, Illyria.”
“Then battle you shall have.” Illyria’s voice became thick with emotion, and she very nearly growled. “Outvoted or not, you will pay for not being there to save Wesley and Charles.”
*FLASH*
Fred looked down at the impromptu first aid that she had performed on Gunn’s injury. They were in the basement of the dance hall; or at least it should have been a basement. The magic of the enchanted dance had transformed it into a corridor that stretched infinitely out in both directions, and every inch of infinity filled with the most lavish furniture, clothing, and decoration.
"That's good,” Gunn said. “That should hold.” (Fred lets out a shaky breath) You okay? You hurt?"
Fred let out a shaky breath.
“You okay?” Gunn asked. “You hurt?”
“I’m fine. I just thought...” she took a deep breath and looked away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t fall apart like this.”
Charles Gunn smiled slightly. "You scared I'm gonna die on you?"
That obviously upset her. “Charles, don’t even...”
Gunn looked up at the ceiling, and spoke dramatically. “And all I ask is one last kiss, as the light is dimming.” He laughed.
“You think that’s funny?” Fred asked, horrified at the thought.
“Fred, it’s just a scratch.”
“I thought it was... I...”
“Hey,” he reached out and pulled Fred in close. “Hey.” He stroked her shoulder, and then looked into her eyes. “You really that worried about me?”
Fred didn’t look at him. “You probably think I’m an idiot.”
Gunn spoke quietly. "I think if you care that much, the wound is definitely deep."
Fred’s eyes met with his, and she spoke softly. “The light is dimming?”
Gunn looked at her lips. “And all I ask,” he slowly leaned forward, “Is one last...”
They kissed gently, and yet full of passionate gentleness, and for a moment, all the troubles of the world melted away.
*FLASH*
Illyria’s fist collided heavily with Faith’s face, and the dark slayer staggered back, but quickly recovered, grinning widely.
“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about. Let’s dance, Bluebird.”
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Deep within Cheyenne Mountain, a presence stalked unseen. It watched, waiting, hoping for the chance to get at his target; waiting for a chance to be alone with the prisoner. Even as Generals and leaders made decisions that directly impacted the survival of the Earth, the unseen presence descended upon the brig.
Joe Marsters, a young private assigned to guard duty, peered carefully about, wary for any sign of an intruder.
It didn’t help.
Though he looked directly at the Goa’uld infiltrator, he did not see him.
The last thing Joe saw before his death and the subsequent disintegration of his body was a flash of blue light; the last thing he heard was the telltale sound of a zat blast.
The air shimmered around the black clad form of the Goa’uld infiltrator as he opened the door to Groo’s cell.
The prisoner was asleep.
Good.
Carefully, he removed his stealth suit and placed it close by so that he could quickly put it on once he had taken Groo as his host. He knelt down over the sleeping Groosalug, and prepared to leave his current host.
Just as the Goa’uld symbiote had left its human host, Groo sprung into action; for although he had never encountered a Goa’uld before, he was quite familiar with parasitic demons, and well he wist how to deal with them. He caught the Goa’uld in midair, rose to his feet, and crushed it in his hand before throwing its broken body to the cold floor of the cell.
Groo glanced at the door. It was still open. He turned towards the discarded Goa’uld stealth suit with a thoughtful look.
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“Sir, the prisoner has escaped.”
“WHAT?” Hammond thundered, his face nearly purple with anger.
The soldier reporting to him flinched, but went on. “There’s no sign of Private Marsters, sir, and we found one of the Tok’ra delegation lying dead on the floor of the cell, with the symbiote, also dead, not far away. It looked like it had been snapped nearly in half, sir.”
“Care to explain?” Hammond asked, turning towards Jacob Carter.
Jacob was at a loss. “I wish that I could, George. And Selmac is as shocked as I am. The only reason I can think of that a symbiote would leave the body would be to take a new host, but no Tok’ra would ever do such a thing without the new host’s consen...” he trailed off.
“I think you may have been infiltrated, Jacob.”
Jacob nodded, a horrified look on his face. “I’ll check and see who’s missing. It shouldn’t take long.”
“I’ll have to call the president. Two prisoners lost in less than a week.” Hammond shook his head disbelievingly. “He is NOT going to be pleased.”
“George, it might be a bit early for that. We don’t actually know what happened to the prisoner yet. He’s out of his cell, but if no sightings of him have been reported by the guards, chances are, he’s hiding somewhere in the base.”
Hammond nodded. “True.”
“If one of mine was a Goa’uld spy, then we’ll take full responsibility for losing the prisoner. You shouldn’t get it TOO much hot water over this.” Jacob smiled faintly. “And look on the bright side – at least he wasn’t taken by the Goa’uld.”
Hammond nodded wearily. “Thank you, Jacob.”
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Illyria and Faith fought furiously on the rooftop of the abandoned warehouse, striking one another with everything that they had. Ordinarily, Illyria might have tried to dodge, but such was her rage that she could barely bring herself to block; nearly every bit of her effort was directed towards the end of causing Faith injury. And Faith had never been much of a dodge-and-avoid type to begin with.
Snow drifted gently down from darkened clouds, settling on the metal roof all around them.
Even as they fought, Illyria’s rage grew ever greater. This was what she was reduced to: little better than a vampire slayer. She, who had once been god to a god, who had survived for five years in a place where her kind were butchered like... no, not her memory. Not her memory. The shell’s memory.
Her momentary distraction allowed Faith to get in a few solid blows, and Illyria staggered, but did not fall. They fought on, and the old one’s anger grew ever stronger, and with it, a profound sense of betrayal. It wasn’t her own sense of betrayal. She herself had never been betrayed by Faith. And yet, as her human emotions waxed, the barrier between her own memories and the shell’s waned.
Faith blocked what would have been a brutal haymaker with her forearm, only to receive a kick to the face that sent her tumbling. She recovered from the fall just in time to avoid taking another brutal blow to the face. Quickly gathering her wits about her, the Slayer blocked yet another blow before going on the offensive. She unleashed with a devastating combination of punches and kicks. Some landed, some didn’t.
Illyria let loose with another powerful punch, but Faith caught the old one by the wrist and flung her over her shoulder and onto the far side of the building’s cold metal roof.
“You weren’t THERE,” Illyria hissed, her fury driving her ever onward. Blows rained down on both sides. They were fairly evenly matched, the Slayer and the Old One bound in human flesh.
“I know,” said Faith. “But I wanted to be.”
“Angel told me all about what happened with you,” Illyria sad, breathing heavily now more on account of her emotional state than anything else. It did not occur to her to distinguish the shell’s memories from her own. “How he refused to give up on you even when everyone else did. When even Wesley did.”
Faith leaped up and over Illyria, landed behind her, and kicked her solidly in the back.
Illyria slid across the metal roof for about a dozen feet before coming to a stop, still standing, still furious. “You abandoned the man who refused to give up on you, Slayer.”
Faith had grace enough to look guilty, yet mixed with the guilt was shock and surprise. “Fred?” she asked. Faith’s thoughts went racing. She hadn’t known Fred particularly well, but she’d known that the slender Texan had been a Champion, and for that reason alone she felt that should have gone to help when Fred had needed it.
Something snapped inside Illyria, then. The air rippled around her as she regained access to the smallest portion of her old power over time, and with it came the song of the green, great and glorious, all around her. It wasn’t much, but it did mean that Faith was moving just ever so slightly less quickly as compared to Illyria.
It was enough.
Blow after blow rained down upon Faith, and Illyria spoke in Fred’s voice, “If you and those other Slayers had only trusted Angel, if you’d been there, then I wouldn’t have DIED!”
Faith fell beneath her onslaught. Yet still the Old One rained down blows upon Faith’s prone form.
The Dark Slayer lifted her head, her face battered and bloody. She knew that she couldn’t take much more of this. She’d always wondered what death would be like, but she’d never thought that it would happen like this.
But at the last possible moment, Illyria stopped short. As if coming from far away, she heard Wesley’s voice. “If I were to help you find your way... you have to learn to change. You mustn't kill.”
Illyria sank to her knees, tears in her unnatural, crystal blue eyes.
Faith looked at the other woman for a long moment, and her compassion was stirred within her. She saw in Illyria a reflection of herself on another night, long ago, with rain pouring down all around her, and Angel holding her, whispering that he was there, and it would be ok. She sat up, and gathered the Old One up into a crushing hug, Faith’s brown hair mingling with the blue and brown strands of Illyria’s, and the snow drifting gently down all around them.
“I’m sorry,” Faith whispered, again and again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry...” her voice cracked with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Fred.”
And Illyria wept, the memories of the shell sweeping up all around her. The tide of memory that she had been keeping at bay ever since Fred’s unaltered memories had been restored when Wesley had crushed the Orlon Window came rushing over her, every memory bathed in emotion, and she quailed before it.
Home.
Mom. Dad.
Pylea.
Handsome man saves me from the monsters.
Returning to Earth.
Mom. Dad.
Wesley.
Charles.
Love.
Connor.
Angel, Cordy, Lorne, Wesley, Charles, her family.
Holtz.
Connor’s return.
Angel’s disappearance.
The summer spent with Charles and Connor.
The Beast.
Angelus.
Faith.
Cordelia.
Jasmine.
Wolfram and Hart.
Knox.
Wesley.
Spike.
Eve.
Harmony.
Lindsey.
Wesley.
Love.
The sarcophagus.
Wasting away.
Dying in Wesley’s arms.
Illyria.
The long slumber.
The betrayal at the hands of her trusted advisors.
Opaline towers, and seas that rippled with insensate lust.
Her rule as an old one.
Fred.
Charles.
Wesley.
Awakening in a human body.
Wesley’s death.
“My worlds are gone,” she managed to say. “Long gone.”
Memories of Fred’s life and memories of Illyria’s life bled together until she could no longer distinguish the difference between the two. Illyria had once boasted of living seven lives at once; now there was an eighth. And through it all, even in the happy memories of love and of hope, was grief: the possibility that at any moment all of this might be snatched away. As it had, in fact, been.
Gone in the split second that it took to be betrayed by those closest to her.
Gone in the split second that it had taken to inhale a breath of mummy dust.
Illyria shuddered like a leaf in a gale. “Wesley, why can’t I stay?” she asked in a small voice, sobbing so hard that she could barely speak.
And the snow fell gently around her.
And the Dark Slayer held her awkwardly but as comfortingly as she could, unsure of what, exactly, she was supposed to do with this broken hearted Old One.
End Episode 3
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Next: The Late Great Winifred
