Excerpts from "Strong Enough"
The Other Woman, by Doggy J (Stargate: SG-1)
"Put it on; activate the shield." Sam did as she was told as Darlien stepped to the other side of the device. She pulled another ribbon device out and fitted it over her hand. When Darlien and Sam activated their devices, they created a shield that covered the device between them. "Close your eyes," Darlien instructed.
Sam did so just in time. A brilliant flash of light flared through the room as a giant hand threw Sam back against the hard wall. Shaking her head, Sam blinked several times to clear her sight. She pulled herself painfully up the wall and stared at the smoke drifting through the room. The pounding in her ears turned out to be the alarms sounding, responding to the blast.
Darlien was moving forward, and Sam walked carefully to the middle of the room to meet her. The two women stared at the molten lump fused to the concrete floor of the gate room. "Well, that was close," Darlien commented.
Exceptions to the Rules, by Sheila Paulson (Real Ghostbusters)
I knew it was true, though. Of all the Ghostbusters, I was most like Peter. And that was one hell of a scary thought. But we were both quick tempered, smart-mouthed, didn't like being pushed around, with a wicked sense of humor. And then there was Egon. All the Ghostbusters were close buddies, but Egon was Peter's best friend. A more unlikely buddy combo you didn't see this side of Lethal Weapon. Egon wasn't the type of guy I'd ever fallen for before, either. Maybe people like Peter and I related to guys like Egon just because he was different.
Of course there were the rules. Peter might be my adopted brother, although we would never speak of it, not even if somebody threatened to rip out our toenails. But that didn't stop us from getting on each other's case at every possible opportunity. It didn't stop his teasing me about Egon or my teasing him every time he broke up with one of his kazillion girlfriends. Well, every time but the ones where his heart was really broken. Then I teased him about other things, just so he wouldn't think I was going soft on him. Our ongoing war was real. We could each go for the jugular. Didn't mean I didn't love the boy. Sort of. On alternate Mondays.
Comes the Dawn, by Linda Stoops (Buffy: The Vampire Slayer)
Passing a particular area, Dawn turned her face away, as if avoidance would
make the headstone and the plot it marked cease to exist. She would look
at it when she had to: Buffy's and her birthdays, Memorial Day, fifty weeks
from now...but not tonight.
The wind from that
direction, however, brought a sound that made her pause and look despite
herself. A growling murmur, punctuated with what might have been the
occasional chuckle, wafted across the cool, damp grass from That Spot.
Someone was laughing
over her grave.
Rage added weight to her
footsteps on the way, leaving imprints between the slabs and statuary.
Breath hissed through gritted teeth as she hefted the bat repeatedly in her
right hand, ready to knock at least one head out of the park.
The figure leaning on a
headstone across from the foot of Buffy's grave was draped in a black leather
duster, a combed curve of yellow-white hair at the bowed summit.
Recognition stopped her advance.
"Spike?"
What's a Girl to Do?, by Blue Topaz (Stargate: SG-1)
Of course, we keep in touch with phone calls and emails, but it's not enough. At least for me, it isn't. Not to mention that she's often gone missing for a few days, sometimes even months, scaring me half to death. On several occasions, she was declared MIA or even "killed in action"--Uncle George always informed me if something like that happened--and it was horrible. I don't know where and how she is.
What does she do inside that mountain anyway? And how the hell can you be declared MIA there? Do you get lost inside somehow? Take the wrong turn and suddenly you don't know where you are?
I know that there is more than meets the eyes to her "deep space radar telemetry" assignment than what she's told me. However, I often find myself staring at an exiting and enthusiastic person when she describes her job. I can't bring myself to ask more and dig a little bit deeper.
She's happy, and that's all that matters. Isn't it?
I used to think that it was. But now? Now, after I experience firsthand how wrong I was, I'm going to ignore that little voice in my head that keeps saying, "It's her life, not yours. Stay away before you do something stupid."
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