Czech Guide to the Multiverse (Multi,XO,Mature,UC) 1/12[WIP]

[Whimsicality]

Title: Czechoslovakian Guide to the Multiverse
Spoilers: All of Roswell is up for grabs
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, all characters and original Roswell settings belong to other very lucky people as do all other universes used.
Pairings/Couples/Category: XO/UC, possibly some CC
Rating: Mature
Warnings: There will be references to death, sex, violence, and the use of adult language, but nothing too explicit. If needed, more specific warnings will be posted.
Summary: So I’m stealing a page from KiaraAlexisKlay’s book and finally writing down all of the crossover ideas I’ve had floating around my head forever. Most will be one to two parts and unconnected, though some may be longer. Most will also probably be Liz centered, but you can expect to see the occasional Alex, Isabel, Michael, and Tess centered pieces as well (Maria and Max are less likely, sorry). I’ve got a whole long list of universes/plot bunnies I want to use, and quite a few already written (so no worries about this delaying my other stories) but if you have ideas/requests feel free to let me know, although I can’t promise I’ll be able to write them.
And that’s enough babbling, so enjoy!

A/N: So this is an angsty one shot cross with Vampire Diaries (show verse, not book verse and if you haven’t given it a chance, trust me, once you make it past the first few episodes, it is freaking amazing and even better than the books IMO, which I never say). For Vamp Diaries it’s set just after the first episode of the second season, and for Roswell it’s set just post an AU Departure where Michael stayed, but they didn’t catch them in time to stop the others.

Not You

It was always Stefan. It’s always going to be Stefan.

Nine words, fifteen syllables, simple and straightforward. Not that the word choices matter, the meaning is clear. You are not enough. That is what those words really mean, whether they are being spoken with casual indifference by the bitch who owned him, destroyed him, and reformed him in her image, or her descendant, whose core of innocence, of good, draws him in like a suicidal moth to a bitter flame. The words burn, sinking into his blood and rushing towards his brain, more painful than vervain or some faux scientific vampire killing device.

Pain makes him crazy, makes him more crazy, and he lashes out, knowing it is what the bitch expects, but unable to help himself, unable to stop himself from making her hate him again, from unleashing the chaos he originally turned to in the bitch’s name, and now revels in for its own sake. Watching Jeremy crumple to the floor, pain and hate blooming in Elena’s eyes, it is soothing balm and stinging salt.

Kiss or Kill; he should have picked kill. Then he wouldn’t have heard those words from either set of poisonous lips; then he wouldn’t have spread the pain that is his disease, his cure. He knows he’s a sociopath, or near enough, and sometimes he even manages to care enough to wish that he wasn’t. Especially at times like this, when he fails so miserably at not caring, at flipping that damn switch.

He leaves, unable to face her, but not knowing where to go where he won’t be reminded of her, or her, or him. He steals his brother’s little red sex machine and drives, recklessly, until he reaches another stupid tiny town, finds another bar empty of familiar faces. When he walks in, he sees a flash of dark hair and almost walks back out, but the girl, woman, turns, and though she also has dark eyes, she looks nothing like either of the women who he burns for, and so he smirks, channeling his pain into that reckless charm that all women love, teeth aching for a bite.

Maybe blood will wash away his sins.

I wish this all could have been different. Not like I love you.

His final words keep playing over and over again in her head until she wants to scream because there’s no room left for anything else. He wishes, he loves, he fucks up, and once again she is left to deal with the consequences, to try and pick up the shattered pieces of her life. Her cell phone vibrates again and she chucks it under the seat, Maria’s unceasing calls more than she can deal with right now. Maria got to keep her man; Maria has someone to comfort her over the loss of Alex, and someone she should be comforting over the loss of his family. And Kyle, he already left for the summer, without looking back once, not that she blames him.

So now it’s just her, and her father’s truck, a large bundle of bills, still withdrawn from her aborted trip to Sweden, and the open road. She’s been driving for almost thirty hours and finally decides to stop, because if she keeps going, she’ll soon be driving into the Atlantic Ocean. She finds a small town with a seedy bar and slips some of her stash of bills into her pocket along with her fake ID from Vegas.

The bored and tired bartender doesn’t even ask for her ID and she quickly orders, and just as quickly downs, a rum and coke. Spinning the empty glass idly in her fingers, she debates between ordering another, or sticking with beer from then on out. Something prickles the back of her neck, and she turns to see someone walking into the bar, oozing sex and pain and danger, and looking just as out of place in this worn down flea trap as she does, although for a completely different reason. He catches her eye, smirking with confident charm, and instead of blushing like Perfect Miss Parker would (because really, what the hell has Perfect Miss Parker done for her lately?), the reckless part of her that just doesn’t give a shit anymore grins invitingly, signaling the bartender for two shots of tequila like a pro, and sliding one down to him when he claims the stool next to hers.

They don’t speak, not in words, just knowing glances, rough chuckles, and perfectly casual brushes of fingers and hips, downing shot after shot until she’s feeling warm and electric and forgetful. He pulls her to her feet, fingers locking around her wrist, and half walks, half carries her towards the door. Once outside, the shock of freezing cold air jolts her enough that she can stand on her own, and when he pushes her against the wall, one hand sliding around her waist under her shirt and the other grabbing her hair and tipping her head back, she pulls him closer, desperate to feel.

Their lips meet and their tongues clash, tasting of salt and lime, and she moans as they feed off each other’s rage and pain, her nails digging into his chest as he rocks into the cradle of her hips. He suddenly rips away from her mouth and goes for her neck and she gasps as instead of the expected kiss, there’s a shock of pain and teeth and the copper smell of blood, followed by a staccato flash of images across the back of her eyelids – him in the uniform of a confederate soldier, a beautiful and vicious woman, a brother he loved and hated, and actions driven by love and madness.

A sudden fierce swell of electricity rises within her and her back bows with pain and pleasure.

When the aftershocks of bliss fade, he’s pulled away from her, her blood staining his mouth, and is staring down at her in shock as the wound on her neck heals with a crackle of green lightning. He cocks his head to the side, idly licking his lips, and scans her from head to toe before smirking. “I don’t know what you are, but that was the best drink of my life.”

Her breath is coming in sharp, short pants as faint shudders send tingles through her body, and after a moment she starts to laugh, the absurdity of the situation overwhelming any chance of fear, and she doesn’t stop laughing until her whole body is shaking and tears are trickling down her cheeks. When she stops, he’s still holding her, lips still curled up faintly and face dark with the reflections of demons she doesn’t want to see. She reaches up, pulls his head down to her level, and whispers. “I don’t care what you are, but I want you to make this the best night of my life.”

He takes a step back and suddenly she thinks he’s going to leave, but then he holds out his hand, dark eyes glinting with challenge, and she takes it because she thinks she’s finally met someone who’s done even stupider things than her in the name of love, and she can’t wait to taste him again.

[Whimsicality]

stacie.r: Thank you very much for the feedback! I'm glad you enjoyed it, I definitely had fun writing Damon . I don't have any plans now to write more in that cross as a linear story, but more oneshots are definitely a possibility since they're two of my favorite shows.

A/N: So this one is crossed with Blood Ties, if you never watched that fun little show, go here and feel free to ask me any questions. Basically though, it’s about a vampire (who we’ll see) and a PI (who won’t) and it is cheesy, sexy goodness. For Blood Ties, it's set early in the series, for Roswell figure sometime post season three, although not completely canon compliant. Liz POV.

No Escaping the Rabbit Hole

Toronto, home of the tallest building in the western hemisphere, the Maple Leafs (damn Michael for making her like hockey), Hollywood North, and at least one alien hybrid. If that was the right way to classify herself; despite her extensive vocabulary and scientific instincts, she wasn’t quite sure how to categorize someone who was born human, and was no longer, thanks to a series of chance events and a rather unusual ex boyfriend. Freak worked, but made her wince, even when said in the silence of her own mind. But whatever you called what she had become, it was the reason she was in Toronto, a city as a far from her home and the people, both agents and aliens, who wanted her (for reasons she cared not to dwell on) as she was willing to go.

The alien abyss had been drowning her and so she had escaped before it could swallow the rest of her soul, eventually leaving the country when she realized that there wasn’t anywhere in the States big enough or far enough to take away the feeling of suffocation. Toronto wasn’t as far north as she’d originally been planning to go, but something about the city had felt like home.

So, new home found, she went about remaking herself as completely and thoroughly as she could. Liz Parker, science nerd, loyal daughter, and faithful friend, lived in Roswell then disappeared, never to be seen again. Claudia Alexander (the one bittersweet homage to her former life she allowed herself) would be unrecognizable as anything more likely than a distant cousin. Her hair was short and choppy with an auburn sheen it had never held naturally, although thanks to her ‘gifts’ she didn’t need to use foul smelling chemicals to maintain the color. She wore fashionable, black rectangular glasses, prescription free since her vision was even better post alien alteration than her prior twenty-twenty, and her clothes had a certain alternative edge that would have made Maria proud if the blonde had had any idea where and who she was.

Claudia made a very comfortable living writing novels about werewolves and vampires and other denizens of the night that teetered on the edge between trashy and pure horror. Her agent called them erotic thrillers, Claudia thought she was insane, but happily praised her for finding people willing to buy them.

It was all as far from the bookish girl turned conspiracy theorist she’d been before as she could be, but somehow, even in this brand new life that was supposed to be free from her old life’s problems, she’d picked up a stalker. She didn’t think said stalker was related to Liz Parker or her former friends, or at least she desperately hoped he wasn’t, but his presence still royally pissed her off. This was her fresh start, her stress free, slightly insane, fabulously freeing new life, and whoever it was, was threatening to ruin that. Something she intended to make them regret with a vengeance. No matter how good they were at remaining inconspicuous.

Someone normal probably wouldn’t have noticed the shadowing presence, always just outside her range of sight, but she had enhanced, and extra, senses that were decidedly not normal, and whoever found her so fascinating was about to get a rude surprise. Liz Parker had never been shy of confrontation, and if anything Claudia was more aggressive, not to mention the fact that she was now in possession of some nifty powers to back up her bravado.

Her mystery shadow had been haunting her steps for several weeks, and she had finally hit her limit on waiting for them to make a bolder move. She wrote at a local coffee shop every night, reveling in the cliché and the delicious scents, and almost every other night she had been followed home, including that night. She had years of repressed rage and helpless frustration just itching to be unleashed on the poor bastard who thought her an easy target, and the deserted alley up on the left would be the perfect place to clue him into reality.

~

Henry had first caught her scent when he slipped into the large corner bookstore down the street from his apartment to look at his latest release, a habit that had led to several willing snacks slash bed partners over the years. She had been signing books for a small crowd of eager fans and out of curiosity he had picked up one of her novels, curiosity that quickly shifted into amusement when he discovered the subject matter. Joining the line waiting to greet her, he had been shocked when he got closer and detected something definitively not human in her scent. Who would have thought that someone besides himself would go with the hide in almost-plain-sight approach?

He couldn’t tell what she was from her scent, although it made his mouth water and his teeth ache for a taste, just that she had power, power that didn’t have the stench of magic, which would have killed his budding interest. Their eyes met and locked as he handed her the book to sign, and her friendly but professional smile faltered ever so slightly as the power in her recognized the predator in him. Fear, anger, and suspicion, had flicked through her dark chocolate eyes with lightning speed and intensity, but a bare second later, her mask had slipped flawlessly back into place. “Who should I sign it to?” She asked in a soft, husky voice that sent pleasant shivers down his spine.

“Henry Fitzroy.” He replied with a charming smile, waiting for a flicker of recognition in her eyes, and finding himself both relieved and disappointed when it failed to appear. It pained his ego, and limited his means of furthering their conversation, but also prevented any preconceptions other than whatever she thought of him from first glance, something he found himself burningly curious about as she signed the first page with small, loopy spirals.

“Thank you for choosing my novel Mr. Fitzroy.” She said with another empty, polite smile as she handed it back.

“Thank you, Miss Alexander. It was a pleasure to meet you.” He replied, upping the warmth in his gaze and finding himself more amused than disappointed when she failed to notice or react. The young girl standing behind him had begun to shift restlessly, an annoyed mutter reaching his ears, and he had walked away after one more appraising glance; he was not done with the mystery of one Claudia Alexander, and he deeply looked forward to discovering the secrets behind those bottomless, espresso colored eyes.

Unfortunately, she proved to value her privacy as much he did, and without involving Vicky, something he had no intention of doing, there was little information to be found. He was able to discover where she lived, the places she frequented, the brief biography on her author website, but it was all a two dimensional picture, no hint of the real woman lurking beneath the surface, the woman who made him tingle with whatever power she possessed.

He was growing impatient with the game of cat and mouse, especially since he was quite sure that the mouse was aware she was being stalked, although he doubted she suspected him, the random stranger she’d met once, for less than five minutes, weeks ago. As he followed her home for the sixth night in a row, he contemplated his next move, wondering if he should go for the direct approach, or try to set up something through his agent, maybe suggest a collaboration? He froze suddenly as his quarry disappeared, slipping into an alley that he knew did not open into any other streets. What was she playing at?

Arching one aristocratic eyebrow, he shrugged and followed. Curiosity had already killed him once, and it had yet to cure him of his impulsive streak. Clearly the mouse had decided the game was to end, and he was more than willing to play along with whatever she had planned. Stepping into the mouth of the alley, it took him a moment to find her slight figure in the darkness. The moment his eyes locked onto hers, the shadows were chased away by lines of crackling, green light that slammed him against the wall. The power, her power, hummed through his body, painful, but oh-so-close to the line of something much more pleasant.

She stalked closer, eyeing him warily as he gasped for breath, and he saw the moment recognition lit her eyes. “Henry Fitzroy?”

He managed a shaky, but charming, smile. “At your service, Miss Alexander.”

Her lips twitched for a moment, but the almost smile quickly faded into a glare. “Why in hell are you stalking me?”

Fascination, attraction, and the barest hint of anger swirled through him as he let his eyes shift to black. Ignoring her startled intake of breath, he bared his fangs. “You’re the one who came to my city, Miss Alexander. I merely wanted to know what you are.”

~

Taking a step back from the man who suddenly radiated with energy that rippled against her shields, she flashed back to their first meeting weeks ago, and to the sense of ‘other’ she’d felt then, but ignored, because it didn’t have the all too familiar taint of alien energy. She’d thought her mind was playing tricks on her.

Now, faced with gleaming white fangs and obsidian eyes, she knew she shouldn’t have dismissed what she’d sensed so easily, and felt hysteria began to bubble inside of her. “You first, Mr. Fitzroy.”

He pulled away from the wall and straightened his clothes, in no way diminishing his predatory aura as he grinned at her, fangs still peeking out from behind his sensuous lips. “Surely I don’t need to spell it out for you, Miss Alexander.” She didn’t reply, just glared, and he chuckled, a low sound that sent shivers down her spine. “Very well, I am Henry Fitzroy, illegitimate son of King Henry the Eighth, born in 1519, died in 1536.” Cheekily baring his fangs once more, he winked. “I think you can fill in the blanks now, don’t you?”

She could and she finally let the hysteria out, laughing for several moments until she cut herself off when his fangs disappeared and his eyes faded back to blue. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Hadn’t one life changing revelation that humans weren’t alone on the planet been enough? Clearly the universe had it out for her, and ignoring his concerned and curious glance, she leaned back and flipped off the sky before looking back down and glaring at him again. “I am no threat to you Mr. Fitzroy, I am nothing you’ve ever heard of before, and I want no part of your life. Good bye.”

He watched her walk away, small but vibrating with anger and power, and smiled. Vicky’d just gotten her wish, he’d found much more fascinating prey to stalk.





















A/N: That’s it, already longer than I originally thought it would be, shouldn’t be any follow-ups unless I get a burst of inspiration, but if someone else wants to take this and turn it into a real story, feel free to pm me.

[Whimsicality]

KiaraAlexisKlay: Yay! I did a little happy dance when I saw your feedback, so delightfully long and flattering It is definitely not an awful thing to enjoy DarkAngst!Liz, lol, because I definitely do too and there will be plenty of that in this series (not to mention Fighting Fear...I still can't believe I wrote some of that...) And oh you so need to watch Vampire Diaries so that you can love Damon just as much as I do, even though he is a sociopath...*sigh* And I'm glad you liked Henry! he can so stalk me too, yum! My muse may ended up being tempted to do a followup to that one, showing more stalking Anyways, thank you so much for the feedback, and I hope you enjoy this one too!

A/N: And for something less esoteric, but much shorter, here’s a Twilight crossover. It’s not my favorite series, but, sparkling aside, I do like the possibilities of the mythology created. No pairing and a follow-up isn’t planned, but is a possibility. Also, I swear I’m not vampire obsessed, there will be other crosses…*sigh*

Becomes the Hunter

The stone chamber was icy cold, although none of those who stood beneath the domed roof noticed the chill, their skin as cool and hard as the marble floors beneath their motionless feet. There had been no visitors yet that day, and it was not yet time for their meal, so the small court had been silent for hours in the way only their kind could – until now.

“Jane.” The voice that broke the silence was far too cheerful for the morbid setting, but only one reacted, her tiny, angelic face, turning towards her master, glowing with anticipation. “Bring me your new sister.”

“Yes, Master.” she replied, her high voice tinkling and innocent as she curtsied before turning, slippered feet carrying her gracefully across the floor as she disappeared down a darkened, unobtrusive hallway at the back of the chamber. Moments later she reappeared, leading another figure equally as petite, wearing the same dark robes, but with the hood pulled up to conceal her face.

Aro’s smile widened and his clouded red eyes gleamed with excitement as the two came to a stop in front of him. Jane took a step back, her own eyes shining with unidentifiable emotions as she bowed her head subserviently. “Show me your new face, child.”

Pale, delicate hands reached up and lowered the hood, revealing chocolate tresses so dark they were almost black, and large, blood red eyes framed by long dark lashes. Her face was paler than ivory with no hint of its previous olive shade, and flawless, no sign of former scars and blemishes. Her lips were a light peach only a few shades darker than her skin, the bottom lip full and sensuous while the top was a small, perfect bow.

“Perfect,” Aro stated, satisfaction clear in his tone as he regarded her almost lovingly, “and your gift?”

One of her small hands slipped out from the draping sleeves and a ball of gold, crackling energy appeared in her palm, humming with power that every being in the room could feel. His smile grew again, eyes darkening as his perfect white teeth gleamed. “Ah, Elizabeth, you are a most welcome addition to our family.”

She closed her fingers over the ball of energy, absorbing it back into her skin, and bowed her head, not indicating any agreement or disagreement with his words. He shifted imperceptibly towards her before stilling again, a faint frown sliding over his aristocratic features. “It is a shame that the rest of your family did not survive the transformation, such power and potential…” he trailed off and sighed, then reached out and placed his fingers under her chin, eyes widening for the barest fraction of a second before resuming their former peacefulness as he lifted her face until she met his gaze.

“Are you happy with your new form, child?” he asked gently, never taking his fingers away from her skin.

“Yes, Master,” she replied, speaking for the first time in a soft and husky voice. “It is beautiful, and strong.” Her tone grew fierce on the last word and his smile faltered briefly.

Finally, he lowered his hand from her face and flicked his gaze to Jane, who immediately straightened. “Jane will take you hunting.” Elizabeth nodded demurely, but her ruby eyes sparkled with excitement and something else as Jane laced their fingers together and led her away.

Once the two of them had disappeared from view, Marcus and Caius appeared at his sides, Marcus as blank faced and empty as ever, while Caius raised one suspicious eyebrow. “Though Chelsea had no effect on her, she is loyal. For now,” Aro stated thoughtfully. “We should arrange an opportunity for her to deal with some of her past enemies, a…present.”

Caius directed a sour look at him. “And if she chooses to leave us, despite the present?”

Aro shook his head. “She will not. Chelsea may not affect her, but Jane and Alec do. They are her family now, and if necessary, they will be her jailors.”

Caius seemed unconvinced, but did not speak again, and Aro waved his hand towards the large, main doors, the sounds of a milling group of people on the other side reaching their sensitive ears. “Let us eat; we have a new, powerful, family member. This is a time of celebration.”

No one seemed like they wanted to join him in celebration, although once the doors opened and the scent of the humans now walking into the room began to perfume the air and the screams began to echo, they did seem almost happy as they fed. But Aro doubted Elizabeth had anything to do with their satisfaction.

More fool they.

[Whimsicality]

A/N: This is a cross with Terminator, the Sarah Connor Chronicles, another of my favorite shows that ended too soon, it’s a bit angsty, and a bit hopeful, set post season three for Roswell, and not taking into account the finale of TSCC.

All Fall Down

As a child, fall had been her favorite season. The world turned red and gold, a wonderland that changed every day and crackled beneath her feet as she jumped from leaf pile to leaf pile. The air was crisp and cool, even in her desert home town, the perfect balance between the baking summer months and the frigid days of winter. In the fall, she got to go to school, she got to spend time with her beloved books without being considered a freak by the other kids, and she had the chance to learn new things every single day.

Fall was magical.

When she was sixteen, on the cusp of fall, she was shot, and her world began to change, faster than the leaves on the trees could keep up with. She fell in love, learned to lie, lost her grandmother, and heedlessly took her first steps down a dangerous, life altering path.

When she was seventeen, he showed up. He told her that the world would end, that all of the people she cared about would die, and that only she could fix it. So she pushed away her love, forgot the lessons of logic she had learned in school, and didn’t notice the perfect temperature because she was always cold inside.

When she was eighteen, she changed, or rather, became aware of her changes, of just how far she’d gotten from the book loving, completely human girl who never would have dreamed she’d go to her best friend’s funeral, or go against the FBI, or be stupid enough to push away friends and family for a boy who terrified and thrilled every fiber of her being, who she wasn’t even supposed to love, for reasons she shouldn’t have forgotten.

When she was nineteen, the boy died. The world stopped changing, stopped moving, and she stopped caring. She’d given up everything for him and he was gone and she didn’t know what to do anymore.

When she was twenty, she decided to start living again. She changed her name, went back to school, and learned to appreciate fall again, and though she never forgot the danger of a world that changed, she chose to let that knowledge make life sweeter, instead of darker.

The next time her world stopped, the leaves were turning red, red to match the blood that was spilled in a shocking and senseless reign of terror. She was twenty-nine when the world ended, not because of aliens, but robots, unleashing an apocalyptic holocaust she’d never seen coming, and wondered deep down if she’d unwittingly been the cause of – would the Antarians have been so wantonly destructive? Would the humans have had a better chance?

The instincts she’d honed as a teenager with a deadly secret kept her alive in the new world, and before long she and her skills, both human, and other, were in high demand in the resistance. A resistance where she met a man, who used to be a boy, whose life had been less normal than hers, who knew what it was like to be told that the fate of the world rested on your shoulders, and who knew what it was like to know that you’d failed.

She loved him and this time it didn’t scare her, because there was nothing left to be scared of. Until he told her that she could go back, go back to a world that could change, go back to a world with trees and books and hope, where she could have one more chance to stop the world from ending. She knew, and he knew, that if she went back, their best hope was for her to go to her first love, to use who he was, who he could have been, to give Earth an ally against Skynet, and that if she went to him, in that new world, he would be her only love.

That John and that Liz would never hold each other in the middle of the night, their hearts beating in time with each other, as they found the strength to fight another day, and that was a harder price to bear than she’d understood at seventeen. She listened to his plan, made it better, then crawled into his arms and wept for the first time since she was nineteen. Then she kissed him, kissed him like she was drowning, like she was Pandora and he was the bit of hope left in the box, and then she went back.

It was fall when she arrived, naked and shivering, the faint remnants of electricity crackling in the crisp cool air around her. She stared down at the pile of red and gold leaves she’d landed in, one of many on the homey, non-war-torn street, and smiled crookedly.

Maybe she could find the magic in Fall again.

[Whimsicality]

Traitor: Thanks for the feedback! I'm so glad you like them, I've had lots of fun writing them. And I agree, Damon and Liz are hot, lol, I have been thinking of ways to continue that particular drabble, melding the following seasons of each show, so we shall see.

A/N: Look at this! No supernatural elements at all! Human Target XO, post grad, polar hints, but can be read either way. No follow-ups planned, but again, if it inspires anyone, let me know. My only disappointment with this is that there isn’t more Guerrero, my soulmate, so I may have to do another one…

Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast

The young woman was beautiful, despite the dark circles under her eyes, and her gaze was older than it should have been, but steady. The young man looming protectively over her radiated danger and competence, making Chance wonder why they had come to him, what protection he could provide that the brooding hulk couldn’t, and just how bad this particular job was going to be.

Her next words answered his unspoken question, her voice quiet but strong. “We need your help and protection in leaving the country. There is a group of individuals determined to capture or kill us, and despite our best efforts, we have been unable to evade them long enough to successfully cross the border in either direction.”

Chance raised his eyebrows and exchanged a curious glance with Winston, who looked as wary as he felt about this ‘group of individuals’. Before he could express those concerns, and ask some pointed questions, the girl, Elizabeth no-last-name, gasped and went white. The young man instantly stooped to meet her gaze, hands wrapping around hers protectively. “They found us,” she whispered, and then all hell broke loose.

The windows shattered as gas grenades were thrown through, instantly filling the room with noxious green smoke. Chance hit the ground, gun out and ready to fire as he checked to make sure that Winston was equally prepared. He was, and before Chance could reach into his bottom desk drawer for the gas masks kept there for just such an occasion, Elizabeth waved her hand. He frowned, wondering what the hell she thought she was doing, and then his jaw clenched in astonishment as a pocket of clean air bloomed around her and the young man, before growing to include him, Winston, and Guerrero, who had just crawled into the room.

She met his eyes and smiled faintly. “Well, now you know why they want us. If you don’t want to help, we’ll understand; but, we won’t surrender ourselves, so you will probably want to cooperate with us until this has been dealt with.”

Winston snorted and Guerrero grinned, a lethal flashing of white teeth. Chance smirked confidently. “I’m not so good with cooperation, but I’m not a fan of people assaulting my place of business either, so I think we can handle it just this once.” Elizabeth’s smile widened and even the young man, Michael, also no-last-name, looked vaguely amused. Then the man in black suits came through the doors and windows, with their shiny shoes and government issued guns, and everyone’s smiles vanished.

Michael moved first, low to the ground and deadly as he took two of the men to the floor, soft thuds followed by the familiar sound of a snapping neck, then another. Guerrero took out the two who came through the window equally as fast, although slightly less clean as he used a vicious looking blade that glittered in the sunlight. Chance and Winston took out the next three between them, and after Chance looked up from his second body, he saw that Elizabeth had killed the last two, although he wasn’t sure how, just noting with cool detachment that their bodies were smoking and that the smell of charred flesh had joined the miasma of blood and gas in the air.

“You don’t look like you need much help in the protection department,” he commented dryly, once Guerrero had returned to the room after checking the perimeter, and nodded to indicate that any potential reinforcements had fled, if they’d been there at all.

“There used to be six of us, Mr. Chance,” the dark-haired girl murmured softly, leaning into Michael as he wrapped an arm around her waist, his eyes still cautiously scanning every entry point in the room. “We’ve been running and fighting for three years and we’re tired; it only takes one mistake, and then we’ll be gone too.”

He still didn’t know who, or what, they were, but the matching looks of exhaustion, grief, and desperation that flashed across their faces convinced him that he didn’t particularly care, and he could feel the agreement of his partners, despite, or maybe in Guerrero’s case because of, the dead bodies surrounding them and the high likelihood of more to come.

“I’ll help you.”

Wouldn’t do to ruin his reputation for impossible cases after all.

[Whimsicality]

Feedback: Thank you so much for the feedback you two! I'm glad you guys are enjoying the results of all the random crossover scenes that pop into my fandom obsessed head

A/N: For Roswell this would be an AU post grad, for Stargate Atlantis, it’s set immediately post episode 5.19, Vegas, in the alternate universe. Also, I apologize for the delay in posting, some intense things have happened in my life lately, and there may be a bit of a delay before the next one as well. Thank you all for your patience.

Solitary Man

She had been tracking the cold hunger for days, an alien sense of menace different than any she’d felt before. Well, that wasn’t completely accurate. Once, some weeks ago, a similar presence, only much much stronger, had impinged on her dreams before being shattered in a wave of rage and terror that had woken her with a searing headache. Something told her that whatever being she felt now was a remnant, or a survivor, of whatever that great evil had been, a remnant she intended to eliminate.

When it was so close that she could taste the bitter metallic flavor of its essence on her tongue, could feel the anticipation building in her muscles for the kill, something else interfered. Two planes, fast and deadly military aircraft, came screaming overhead, guns blazing, and moments later a plume of flame and smoke spat into the desert air, the cold presence vanishing with a furious mental shriek. She kept her foot on the gas when it became clear that the planes weren’t going to land to inspect the wreckage, and soon was pulling off the road next to the still burning metal bits, all that remained of what was once a trailer.

To her surprise, there was also a survivor, a man, handsome in a scruffy sort of way, lying unconscious on the red dirt with several bullet holes riddling his torso. Stepping out of her sedan, she walked cautiously towards him, warily watching for the slightest twitch. His chest was still rising and falling shallowly, but it wouldn’t continue to do so for long, judging by the amount of blood pooled in the dirt around him. She wasn’t in the habit of saving random strangers, more of a roving, alien-hunting vigilante than a do-gooder, but something about the weak consciousness she could feel flickering inside of him, a beaten but not broken man, called to her.

She grit her teeth and gave in to the nebulous urge, lowering herself to her knees at his side and tearing away the tattered shreds of his shirt to reveal the wounds staining his skin crimson. Resting her hands on his chest, she grasped that tentative mental flicker with her mind and pushed energy down the link she’d established, a healing golden glow that made him arch beneath her fingers, a strangled moan escaping his throat as bullets exited his flesh with wet pops and the ragged holes sealed shut behind them.


~


John gasped painfully as something burned beneath his skin, his blood boiling with foreign energy. When the fire faded, his eyes snapped open, widening in shock as they met a pair of dark brown ones, cool and distant, in a feminine face hovering above him. Shifting his gaze downward, he stared at his smooth chest, only marred by a few rust brown streaks of dried blood, and no bullet holes. “What the hell?”

The woman’s mouth curled up in a half smirk and she gracefully rose to her feet before turning to walk away. “Wait!” She stopped, glancing back at him through a curtain of coffee-colored hair. “Are, are you an alien too?” She shook her head. “But different?” She hesitated, and then nodded. “Were you trying to talk to this alien?” he asked, gesturing towards the smoking wreckage. She shook her head sharply, an expression akin to anger flashing across her face. “To kill it?” he guessed, and she smiled, slow and dark.

Turning again, she walked towards a black sedan almost identical to the ones the supposed FBI agents had used. Scrambling to his feet, John staggered after her, pausing only to reach into the bullet riddled and battered hulk of his car and pull out the duffel bag of money. “Wait! I want to come with you,” he called out, the woman not pausing after his first word, but halting after his last. Hands on her hips, she rotated on her heel and stared calmly at him before raising one eyebrow quizzically. He shrugged. “I have nowhere else to go.” She looked doubtful and he hefted the duffel bag, pulling down the zipper to reveal the stacks of cash inside. “I have this.”

That slow, dark smile made another appearance and she gestured towards her car, speaking for the first time in a low, husky voice. “Get in.”

John obeyed, clutching the duffel bag and wondering at the mad impulse that had led him here, and now to leave with some strange woman who killed aliens, and who had saved his life, a life not really worth saving in his book. Maybe that Rodney fellow was right, maybe one incident could change the course of his life, this time for the better.

Or more likely, it would just get him killed, again.

[Whimsicality]

Feedback: Thank you so much for the feedback you two! I also enjoy a badass Liz And I would like to do more with the various Stargate Universes, even if not in the same verse as that ficlet, so we'll see. In the meantime, I was inspired to do a follow-up to the first cross in this series, so I hope you enjoy!

A/N: Sequel to Not You, AU post Departure for Roswell, and set during season two, episode four of Vamp Diaries. A note on timelines, clearly we’re pretending that 2001 and 2010 are the same year so I don’t have to deal with the fact that Liz should be 27/28, also, from fan made timelines for Vamp Diaries (which is WAY worse than Roswell when it comes to comprehensible time continuity, it’s ridiculous) it’s sometime mid July, so no one’s in school. Also, I’m not sure exactly why I switched from present to past tense, but there shouldn’t be any more switches in any ensuing vignettes, hope it’s not too confusing.

Perceptual Constancy

Liz closed her eyes and let Maria’s near hysterical babble wash over her as she leaned against the counter, breathing deeply and resisting the urge to rub her temples where her perpetual headache was worsening by the minute.

“Unless you want us to be late to the movie, you need to go change,” Michael’s gruff voice interrupted them and Liz opened her eyes and smiled at him gratefully as Maria disappeared into the back with a squeal. “Get some rest, Parker, you look like hell,” he stated dryly, sinking onto the stool next to her.

Propping her chin on her palm, she grimaced. “Thank you for that sensitive appraisal.” He chuckled and she rolled her eyes at him. “I’m actually thinking of getting out of town for a little bit, maybe visiting some friends on the coast.”

He raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “Be careful.”

She managed a tired grin and waggled her fingers at him, allowing green sparks to crackle between them. “I will; you try and keep your girlfriend sane, and from inciting her soon to be step-brother to homicide.”

Michael snorted. “The midget knows better, I’d zap his Buddha-loving ass.”

They exchanged slightly sad smiles, banter not quite covering the gaping hole left by the loss of half their group, and were saved from an awkward silence by Maria reappearing through the swinging doors wearing a short purple dress and a forced smile. “Let’s get this date night going!”

Liz watched them go, glad that Michael had proved the strongest of all of them despite losing the most, before shoving all thoughts of their fucked up lives out of her head and heading for her room to grab the bag she’d already packed. Michael had been promoted to assistant manager and they’d hired two new waitresses so her working was more of a distraction than a necessity, and a failing distraction at that.

Her parents were out of town for yet another restaurant convention, and she’d told them that she planned to visit the house Grandma Claudia left her for the first time, with the intention of possibly staying there for the next month. She might actually visit the house, but mostly it was the perfect cover to see a certain vampire, who was more than capable of making her forget that anyone else existed.

~

Damon smirked bemusedly at the brunette in the passenger seat, still not exactly sure what nebulous urge had led to him inviting her to the barbeque instead of screwing her brains out in the backseat and sending her on her way. Not that he didn’t intend to at least do the first part later, possibly multiple times.

Something about her presence soothed the restless fury that had raged relentlessly inside of him ever since Katherine reappeared in their lives with her usual flare for destruction, and something about her made him twitch with an entirely different kind of restlessness, a craving for that electric, hit by lightning taste in her blood, a craving for the way he could feel himself drowning in her emotions instead of his own when his fangs sank into her.

Elena hating him, Katherine doing her best to destroy their lives, again, and the sudden threat of death by werewolf bite, all faded into insignificance when touching the golden skin of the spitfire from Roswell, whose mind resisted his every attempt at manipulation, and who had proven to be explosive in the sack – he thought he’d seen and done everything, but even he’d never seen stars after sex before.

Her very existence was an enigma, even more so than Elena’s; he found a doppelganger easier to believe in than aliens after nearly two centuries as living proof of the supernatural. And the fact that she could see into his head, had seen his bloodiest, most violent memories, and never batted an eyelash. Well, he was pretty sure it was a sign of dangerous mental instability, but it was also a welcome change from the ceaselessly judgmental do-gooders he was surrounded by in Mystic Falls.

Liz raised an eyebrow at him at his continued silence and intent stare, her dark eyes glinting. “You can eat me, or we can go to this dinner thing, not both. And you apparently have a werewolf to catch, so….”

“Never doubt my ability to multitask,” he advised with a suggestive leer. “And you don’t have to sound so amused by my life being in danger.”

She grinned and flipped her hair back, teasingly baring her neck. “I can’t help it; it’s so refreshing to watch someone else deal with life threatening situations that no one else believes even exists.”

He narrowed his eyes and moved, appearing on the other side of the car and opening her door with a flourish and a slight bow. “Well then, Miss Parker, let’s go entertain you and flush out the mangy mutt.”

~

Jenna was sweet and hilarious, reminding her of a younger version of her Aunt Elise. Alaric was handsome in a damaged way, his tangled and conflicting emotions tasting like Damon might have a century younger. Elena and Caroline were beautiful, with eyes full of secrets, making her nostalgic for the days when her life revolved around Alex and Maria, a perfect triangle of friendship now shattered beyond repair. And Mason, well he was charming, ridiculously good looking, and radiated a primal energy that made her alien-induced sixth sense tingle with images of fur and teeth and rending flesh.

She made sure to touch him when she passed him the pencil for Pictionary, and followed silently when he confronted Damon in the kitchen at the end of the night, listening in the hallway and rolling her eyes as they proved once and for all that neither age nor species mattered when it came to the ridiculousness of male territorial displays.

“He’s lying,” she said quietly as she stepped into the room after Mason walked away, “He’s not here for his family, or at least, not entirely.”

“Obviously,” Damon declared with an eye roll, running his finger along the edge of the silver knife he was handling with gleeful menace.

Ignoring him, Liz continued. “And his head is full of Katherine.”

Damon’s grip tightened and the knife bent in half, she smirked slightly. “So you might want to scrap the ‘kill him’ plan, and change it to the ‘find out what the fuck is going on’ plan.”

[Whimsicality]

A/N: This is a Eureka/Roswell cross and I’m playing fast and loose with the timelines. It’s definitely AU for Eureka after Stark’s death, as well as an alternate future for our two Roswellians. Also, I am not a scientist (yet), just remember that this is fiction, and that Liz and Alex might have had more than human technology on their side .

Back From Oz

Sheriff Jack Carter stalked through GD, grumbling to himself under his breath as he brushed futilely at the fading drops of spilled coffee on his uniform shirt. Of course the disturbingly new friendly head of the corporation, one Eva Thorne, had to call him on his upgraded cell phone just when he poured his first cup of the day, startling the living daylights out of him since he hadn’t yet figured out how to change the obscenely loud standard ringtone. And he was sure that the oh-so-important meeting would consist of yet more redactions he had to hand out – the six months since Allison had left had been a nightmare, and he’d half considered leaving Eureka to escape the memories, or at least staging a coup to get rid of the Thorne in their side, pun intended.

Stalking into the redhead’s office and feeling the familiar pang at not seeing Allison in the room, he ignored the presence of two scientists he didn’t know, and barely reacted to Stark’s usual friendly glare. The handsome man opened his mouth to speak, probably to deliver some insult about the state of the Sheriff’s uniform compared to his impeccable attire, and Jack cut him off with a raised hand, then felt his jaw go slack. Stark?!

A strangled croak emerged from his suddenly burning throat, followed by the slightly more coherent, but definitely hysterical statement; “You’re dead.”

“Really, Carter, and yet I feel so very much alive,” the man drawled, voice dripping with amused disdain, although there was an unsettled glint in his brilliant green eyes that made Carter bite back his instinctive retort.

“He is indeed alive, if not quite the same as before,” Miss Thorne purred, her smile disturbing Jack more than ever.

“I watched you dissolve into specks of light,” Jack managed to say with some degree of decorum, surprised by the urge he felt to touch the other man, to reassure himself that this wasn’t some dream, and that one of the two people he’d lost six months ago, one he’d missed a hell of a lot more than he’d expected, really had returned.

Stark grimaced. “I fortunately have no memory of that event, but I am sure you did everything you could.”

Jack blinked, not sure how to take that statement, and felt a flicker of relief when the two scientists he’d been ignoring stepped forward, both radiating barely suppressed excitement. The woman, pretty, petite, and dark-haired with a name tag declaring her to be one Dr. Elizabeth Parker, grinned excitedly at him. “You see Sheriff Carter, this isn’t precisely Nathan Stark, at least not the exact same Nathan Stark you’ve always known. Dr. Stark’s genetic material was on file in our cloning lab, and he was one of the employees chosen to use an experimental device of ours,” she gestured between herself and the man standing next to her, tall and lanky with sparkling blue eyes, “to routinely back up his entire mind, not just his memory, but the essence of who he was.”

Jack blinked again.

The male scientist, one Dr. Alex Whitman, spoke up next, his whole body practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “After the accident, it took us a while to figure out how to get him off of our device and into the freshly cloned body – we couldn’t exactly plug his brain into a computer like on the Matrix after all,” he stated with a laugh, making Jack smile uncertainly as he glanced at Stark, who was Stark, no matter how he’d come to be here; Jack would know that look anywhere – part stoic disregard, part calculation, and part gentle mockery, the remnants of what had once been a decidedly less friendly antagonism.

“In essence, we had to rebuild his brain layer by layer, with the cellular imprints of every single detail stored in our device,” Dr. Parker picked up the narrative again, giving Jack a very strange mental picture and making the unsettled look in Nathan’s eyes deepen. “And there was still no guarantee that it would work, that the result would be Dr. Stark, and not just a very convincing simulacrum. But luck, or maybe something else, was on our side, and here he is,” she finished proudly, waving her hand at the tall, brooding scientist before linking her arm through Dr. Whitman’s, both of them still grinning widely.

Jack and Nathan stared at each other for a moment, and the Sheriff could practically feel the unease radiating off of the other man, the doubt that Jack, or anyone, would really consider him the same man they had lost. Finally, Jack smiled, and clapped the other man on the shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Nathan.”

Waving jauntily at Eva Thorne, who still looked far too smug for her own good, something he’d have to discuss with Stark later, once the other man had settled back into being alive, he turned to leave, humming ‘If I only had a brain’ under his breath and laughing softly when he heard Stark growl. Oh yes, it was good to have him back.