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Fic: Obvious Solution

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Summary: Making team players out of slayers is like herding cats. Mini-Jack has a solution.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Stargate > Xander-Centered > Theme: FriendshipnorgcoFR718627318,99016 Mar 0616 Mar 06Yes
Fic: Obvious solution
Author: norgco
Type: Crossover with BtVS post Chosen.
Rating: 15
Summary: Making team players out of slayers is like herding cats. Mini-Jack has a solution.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Stargate, Buffy, or for that matter Special Ops Paintball.
Authors note: Special Operations Paintball actually exists. I found it at http://www.specialopspaintball.com/ and thought a teenage Jack O’Neill would see the fun and potential immediately.


Experimental Advanced Slayer Teamwork Training Centre, Colorado Springs.

“…and he told me of his life
in the land,
of submarines
of submarines

We all live in a yellow submarine
Yellow submarine
Yellow submarine…”

That was the first thing Xander ever heard John Rodgers say, or rather sing. The incongruous sight of Giles singing the old Beatles tune at the top of his lungs next to a seventeen year old, both clearly drunk – they were waving the glasses around as they sang – would have totally weirded him out if he hadn’t been briefed on the new guy. They dragged the former Sunnydalian into the study and insisted he join them, though he stayed sober out of African developed habits. The g-man headed off for Cleveland the next day, slightly hung over but seeming more relaxed than he had in a long time.

Xander was in Colorado Springs after his years in Africa partly as a transfer from the council and partly as a transfer from his job. Willow’s girlfriend Kennedy had explained to her VERY wealthy family – who knew about slayers - how Caleb had shoved a thumb into Xander’s eye as punishment for saving her life. Officially he was a ‘Consultant’ for their firms construction division, and earned every penny they paid him. And now he ‘just happened’ to be working near the Slayer Academy.

The second time he heard his voice was something that would also have been peculiar if he didn’t know John’s history. The slayers were all attending the same high school, the same one John was going to, and the story was really about him.

“…and Lindsey is all snarky ‘cause he doesn’t take her out…”

“Like she’d have a chance anyway the skank.”

“And then she turns to Cassie and say like ‘we all know Rodgers is gay’ …”

“And she’s just babbling away not realising that Cassie’s stopped walking and is looking at her like she’s…”

“A cockroach?”

“More like something with too heads.”

“…and then Cassie says ‘you think he’s GAY?”

“…Lindsey is like totally ‘well of course he is or he’d be with me’…”

“…and Cassie just says ‘GAY?’”

“And the bimbo goes ‘Like Duh’”

“And Cassie says in this way loud voice ‘UNCLE JACK?!”

The whole room broke up laughing, remembering the incident and the way the story had spread from one corner of the schoolyard over the whole school at about half the speed of light. Well all except the boy in question, who had been sitting in a corner working on the girls training schedule. He got up and walked over to the slayers with an odd look on his face.

“Cassie called me Uncle Jack?” He said, clearly fighting to keep the hope and wonder out of his voice. He was a member of the Hockey team and Robot building club, but other than that John’s social interaction with the other students was apparently minimal. Most school gossip just went right by him without him ever being noticed.

“Yes Coach.” Coach being the agreed term for what the individual who was, physically at least, 17, did for them. The more accurate ‘Drill Sergeant’ would be hard to explain is they slipped up and used it in public and his Colonel O’Neill persona rankled at the idea anyway.

“Uncle Jack.” He chuckled to himself and walked back to him work with a wondering smile on his face. Of course the slayers knew the story of who he was/had been, why he had a tracking spell ‘implanted’ as soon as he was taken on, and all that. “Uncle Jack.”

A hot girl a year older than him calling him Uncle Jack would probably upset most seventeen-year-old boys. Most seventeen-year-old boys don’t have a music collection that Giles borrowed from whenever he was in town. Most seventeen year olds were not chosen as the president’s personal liaison with the Watchers council. Most seventeen year old boys have not lost 51 years of personal history, family and friends and suddenly found out that at least one person from that history remembers him the way he wants her to remember him.

John had pushed relentlessly for his solution to the watcher shortage, team slaying, and then been placed in charge of teaching that. Weapons and fighting training came from others, but making team players out of solitary predators – which is what slayers are – was Johns job.

His solution was somehow typical of the man. A good cover story has to explain the observable facts, after all, and so far the experiment was a roaring success.

Most 17 year olds are not the coach of The Colorado Springs Slayers, a Special Operations Paintball team. One that had a return grudge match with the Air Force Academy team in two weeks.

Most 17 year olds were not as happy as John Rodgers was to be making a contribution again.

The End

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