Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Stargate.

Prologue

"Buffy!" Dawn hollered. "Call for you! Sounds like some old guy!"

Buffy pulled her head from the sink full of cold water, feeling the liquid drip from her chin onto her shirt as she stared at herself in the mirror, not reaching for the towel she had set aside to dry herself. God, she looked awful. Her cheeks were hollow and her eyes were sunken into her face. Also, she smelled like burger grease. And that was after the two showers she'd taken since finishing her shift at the Doublemeat Palace last night.

"Buffy!" Dawn shrieked again. "Phone!"

Buffy blinked, shaking herself. She grabbed the towel. "I'm coming," she said, but her voice cracked and only a whisper came out. Clearing her throat, she shouted, "I'm coming!"

She trudged down the stairs to where her little sister was holding the phone and rolling her eyes in annoyance.

"I'm here," Buffy said.

"Finally," Dawn huffed. "I'm gonna be late for school now."

Buffy knew she should be bothered by Dawn's attitude, but couldn't quite build up the energy to care. "Go get ready," was all she said, taking the handset. She waited until Dawn tromped away to say, "Hello?"

"Ms. Summers? Is this Buffy Summers?" Dawn was right. It did sound like some old guy.

"Yes," she said cautiously, wondering who it could be. Child services, coming to assess her as a caregiver yet again? Someone from the bank where she owed quite a lot of money? It couldn't be the Doublemeat Palace—she had enough dirt on them, at least, to avoid being fired. Although this call could make her late, which could cause her trouble with her boss…"Who's this?"

"Henry Hayes," he said.

She snorted. "Uh-huh. Tell me another one."

There was a pause. "Ms. Summers, I'm sorry I haven't contacted you personally a lot earlier than this. The things you have done for this country—for this world—should not have gone so unaddressed."

Buffy hesitated. "Uh…Mr. President?"

"Yes?" He sounded amused.

"Just checking," she said hastily, leaning against the wall as she felt her cheeks flush. "Go on, Henr—er, sir. Please."

Another pause. "Ms. Summers—"

"Call me Buffy," she interrupted.

"Buffy, then, I was only recently made aware of your existence, and of the events surrounding your…encounters…with the Initiative. Certain elements in our government had been keeping the whole incident under wraps. When I learned about you—about all you'd done. Well, can I just say, you have my wholehearted thanks."

Something warm ran down her cheek. She was surprised to realize that it was a tear. How long had it been since someone had thanked her for what she had done, for what she continued to do on a daily basis? Certainly not her friends. With them it was expected, just part of who she was. The martyr.

"That's—thank you, sir. Mr. President." Her voice was only slightly choked.

He chuckled. "Call me Hank, Buffy."

She was pretty sure she was supposed to call him Mr. President regardless of what he asked her to call him. She wasn't that sort of girl, though. "Right. Hank." Was she sitting down? She checked. Yup, sitting down. "Can I ask, not that I don't appreciate it, but why exactly are you calling? And, aren't there, like, security concerns or something about calling on an unsecure line?" See, Professor Walsh? She had learned something in her time with the Initiative.

"Your line is secure, Buffy," the President said, sounding surprised that she didn't know. "We had a team secure your home as well as those of your friends shortly after the Initiative fiasco, and it's been updated a few times since then.

I would have called earlier, but I was under the impression that you were dead. We only realized that you had been…resurrected…when your renewed IRS forms were flagged a few weeks ago. Since then, I've been trying to think of the best way to properly thank you for all you've done."

"Oh. Well, a phone call is definitely a good way to convey thanks. Maybe not as good as an in-person visit, or a trip on Air Force One, but—"

Hank coughed, cutting off her babble. "Buffy Summers. On behalf of the United States of America, as its president, I would like to thank you for your services to our country over the past seven years. To that effect, I would like to arrange a private ceremony to present to you with the Presidential Medal of Freedom. That is the highest medal that can be given to a civilian in this country."

Buffy tried to breathe through her nose and found it clogged. She grabbed a tissue from the coffee table and blew. "Sir, that's—"

"I'm not done yet, Buffy," he said. She could hear the grin in his voice. There was a shuffling of papers from his end. "Now where was I? Oh, right. In addition, it will be my honor to award you the Medal of Honor—the highest medal that may be awarded to a member of our armed forces."

She frowned. "But I'm not in the—"

"In addition," he said, in a voice that would not be denied. "I need to apologize to you for our failure to pay your salary for the past seven years."

"Salar—"

"Somehow our accounting department failed to realize that you had been a member of the Initiative since you were fifteen, and therefore a member of our armed forces, eligible to receive a salary for your work. Therefore, beginning today, you will receive a weekly paycheck, in addition to the back pay that is owed to you, plus interest—which comes out to roughly two million dollars."

Buffy blinked. Two million dollars. Had he just promised to give her two million dollars? Plus start paying her for patrolling and averting apocalypses? Also…she had never been the best math student, but she was pretty sure that there was no way seven years of government salary, even plus interest, should come out to even one million dollars. Not that she was complaining. Oh no. In fact, she should probably say something. Now that he seemed to be done talking. Any minute now. Right. Talking.

"That's—incredibly generous. Sir. Hank. Incredibly. As in, I don't have words."

"I wish I could do more, but my hands are a little tied by certain factions in our government right now. As far as I'm concerned, we owe you a couple billion dollars."

"Well, uh, this is pretty good anyway. Thanks."

"No, thank you."

Buffy was tempted to say "thanks" again, but sensed that this might turn into an endless mutual appreciation cycle. A hesitant silence settled between them.

"Um, not to be rude—because now I'm, like, totally quitting my job, which is the best thing that's happened since James Spader—but was there another reason you called?"

"It's funny that you mentioned a job, actually. You see, Buffy—that is to say—have you ever met an alien?"

Her grip tightened on the phone as she remembered the alien who had tried to kill her mother, just before her mother had died of natural causes. "Yes. Once. It's called the queller, and it comes to kill crazy people."

"Um. Right. Well, not exactly where I was headed. You see, Buffy…have you ever heard of the stargate?"

She tilted her head to one side, slouching on the couch. "Nope. Can't say I have."

"Okay." She could hear him take a deep breath. His next words came out in a rush. "The stargate is a portal that takes people to other planets. We have one. In Colorado."

"Uh-huh," Buffy said slowly. Right. People were going to other planets from Colorado. It wasn't the craziest thing she'd ever heard.

"For a little over five years, we've been running missions through the stargate, exploring other planets, meeting aliens, fighting against the Goa'uld—well, I can't explain all the details very well. Let's just say that we've been fighting a secret war. Not entirely different from the secret war you've been fighting all this time."

"I…see. Why are you telling me all this?" She felt a rising tide of dread. She could think of a couple of reasons. None of them good.

"I have a proposal for you, Buffy." He seemed to know her pretty well, because before she could refuse outright, he said, "It's just that. A proposal. You're under no obligation to take me up on it, and nothing I've said thus far is contingent on your acceptance of it." She let out a breath of relief. The phrase "I have a proposal" was just a little bit ominous, but at least she had his assurance he wasn't about to take away all he'd just promised.

"The premiere team operating out of Colorado is called SG-1. They've saved the world nearly as many times as you have. One of their members, a Dr. Daniel Jackson, passed away two months ago from radiation poisoning in the line of duty. The team is not handling his loss well, and so far they've gone through eight possible replacements. I would like you to take his place."

"Sorry if I'm being a little dense, Hank, but…I don't know anything beyond basic field medicine. What good would I be in replacing a doctor?" Buffy asked.

He chuckled again. "Daniel Jackson wasn't that kind of a doctor. He studied archeology and languages. And I wouldn't be asking you to serve exactly the same function as Dr. Jackson—I would be asking you to offer whatever services you felt comfortable with. Fighting, tactics, even your sense of humor. It would help if you tried to pick up some languages as well, but—you would be a great asset just as you are, Buffy. I'm not asking you to change."

Okay, that was pretty flattering. She was feeling guilty now that she'd voted for the other guy when Hank was running for office. "Pick up some languages?" she said. "I think you're overestimating me a little."

"You can't fool me, Buffy," he chided lightly. "I've got the FBI and CIA working for me, you know. I've seen your SAT scores. And your college transcripts. And your grades from before you moved to Sunnydale. Even the results from that IQ test you took when you were a kid. I have a feeling you've picked up more than a few things from Mr. Giles and your friend Willow, including some languages. You're not a dumb blonde."

Buffy bit her lip to hide her smile. It was really, really, really nice to be appreciated sometimes. "I guess you caught me, Hank," she said. "I'm not a genius or anything, though. Don't expect too much."

"I don't. Just whatever you've got to give. Please, Buffy. Think about it."

"I'll need a little time," she said uncertainly. "I mean, I've got a life here. Dawn, my friends…" Even as she spoke, she wondered whether her words were true. What kind of a life did she have in Sunnydale these days? Long days, longer nights, trying to avoid Spike's advances, missing Giles, trying to prove that she was strong by not bowing beneath the impossible weight of providing for Dawn and Willow and herself and saving the world on a regular basis.

"I understand. Think about it, then give me a call at this number to let me know." He rattled off a phone number and a series of authorization codes that would get her straight to his office. "Regardless of what you decide, I'll get the ball rolling on your recognition ceremony for the medals. And you should be getting a check later today with that back pay we discussed."

Buffy nodded, knowing he couldn't see it. The mention of that check brought another bright smile to her face. "I'll get back to you. Soon. And…thanks again. For everything."

"No," he said. "Thank you. Goodbye, Buffy. I hope to hear from you soon."

"Bye, Hank," she said, and listened to the click as he hung up.

She lasted maybe thirty seconds after that before she broke down sobbing, curling up on the couch with her legs to her chest, feeling as though her very soul were being torn apart. For the first time—the first damn time—since she'd been torn out of Heaven, she felt…happy. It was a truly amazing sensation. One she'd missed desperately.

Three hours later she called to accept his offer.