SG-1 and an Agent, part IV
A/N: This is a sequel to “The League of Extraordinary Women”. It will make a lot more sense if you read that first.
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. If you want details on ownership and all that jazz, you’ll want to read the appropriate intros in “The League of Extraordinary Women”.
A/N2: This is the sequel to ‘SG-1 and a Spy’, as well as ‘SG-1 and a Brit’ and ‘SG-1 and that Brit’.
Jack O’Neill was a tired puppy. Dealing with the day-to-day and ordinary at the SGC was tiring. Dealing with the aftermath of Danny’s death had been… exhausting. And agonizing. And he didn’t really know if Danny had died or… or whatever. Had Danny really ascended? He really wanted to believe that his friend had moved on to some sort of higher plane of existence where Dannyboy could float around and argue about languages or whatever else he might want to do now.
Jack wanted nothing more than to go home and drink a couple too many beers and watch Simpsons reruns until his eyes fell out. Maybe hockey. But he had other people he had to worry about, and Sam wasn’t dealing with this very well. He didn’t think Teal’c was dealing all that well either, but the Jaffa had really different views on death and dying. And getting The Big T to spill his inner feelings was about as easy as taking him in a sparring match. Meaning: not happening. So instead of burying his head in the sand for a night, Jack needed to be Mister Fun Party Host.
He drove into his driveway and parked. Teal’c hadn’t said a word since they left the mountain. Danny would have been chattering away non-stop about something insanely boring. Maybe even Olympic-level competitive boring. The disparity was downright painful.
Hey! He could use words like ‘disparity’ when he wanted to!
And… crap. There was a rental car in his driveway, and a perky Air Force woman standing stiffly on his porch. This could not be good.
He muttered, “Teal’c, I have no idea who this is or why she’s not coming to the base. Stay sharp.”
“Indeed. I will.” Teal’c adjusted his baseball cap so the mark of Apophis was properly concealed, and he stepped out of the car first.
Jack got out and closed the car door. He didn’t lock it, just in case. And he made with the chit-chat. “So Murray, you don’t know what you’re missing. The Simpsons is the best tv show in history!”
The little officer in her cute little skirt snapped to attention and saluted crisply while holding a valise in her other hand. He noticed that the skirt was maybe a hair too short for regulations. He lazily returned the salute.
Then she moved so the light was on her face, and he recognized her.
What the hell was Buffy Summers doing here? And in an Air Force uniform? He instantly knew something was very wrong.
Teal’c stopped and spoke in his usual deep tones. “BuffySummers, why are you here? Is there another apocalypse?”
The official smile vanished, as the little valise fell to the floor revealing the Uzi she’d been hiding inside it. The Uzi came up sharply to point right where she could cover both of them. She snapped, “Who the hell are you, and how do you know who I am?”
Oh great. It wasn’t Buffy the Vampire Slasher from another universe. It was his world’s Elizabeth Summers. The NID agent. And she had the drop on them.
Liz Summers was used to operations going off the rails. ‘No battle plan survives contact with the enemy’ and all that jazz. But she wasn’t used to having the entire plan go to hell before she even opened her mouth.
She pulled up the Uzi and carefully moved into position. “Both of you. Hands on your heads.” Neither was wearing a hat you could conceal anything bigger than a wiresaw or a few lockpicks. She was still going to be ready if one of them flicked his hat at her face before attacking. “Now. Hands on the wall. Then move your feet apart and back. You know the drill.”
Big, Black and Buff calmly said, “I do not know any tools for boring holes, nor do I own any.”
Weird guy. Seriously weird.
O’Neill tried hard not to laugh out loud. Then he tried to cover for the other guy. “Take it easy, Buffy. Murray here is actually from Mauritania, so he doesn’t get a lot of English idioms. I just call him Murray because I can’t pronounce his real name.”
“Yeah. Right.” She totally bought that explanation. So maybe Big Guy’s weirdness was causal. Maybe this was all part of ‘Deep Space Radar Telemetry’. “So how do you know who I am and what I look like?”
O’Neill glanced over at ‘Murray’ and just said, “Classified.”
How could that be classified? She tried again. “You knew what I looked like, even when I was in a little bit of disguise. But you didn’t know that I really go by ‘Liz’. Care to explain that little bit of the weird?”
“Nope.” O’Neill even popped his ‘p’ just to be a smartass. She noted that he wasn’t worried. Well, if he had years and years of spec ops experience so black that his files were mostly blacked-out sections, then it probably took a lot to rattle him. Big Guy looked like it might take an attack by King Kong to rattle him.
She figured at least one of them was armed. And she figured there was no way she could safely search one of them for weapons without getting jumped by one or both of them. Hell, she was only 5’2” and Big Guy’s upper arms were so out of her reach.
And she really needed to get some intel out of O’Neill. But that was blown. He knew who she was, and he knew intel that she needed. Even worse, she could tell by his expression that he knew it too.
The thing that really had her worried was that Big Guy had dropped the word ‘apocalypse’. And he hadn’t meant it in some kind of codeword-y way. He had meant an apocalypse. ‘Another’ apocalypse. As in ‘end of the world’. And he’d thought she knew something important about one apocalypse. At least one.
She tried, “So… Murray. Would you like to tell me about this apocalypse I’m supposed to already know about?”
O’Neill interrupted, “He said ‘ALpocalypse’. He’s a huge Weird Al Yankovic fan. Has all his albums. Goes to Al’s big concert at the California state fair every year.”
‘Murray’ just stared at O’Neill for several seconds and then calmly turned to face the wall again. In that deep, unruffled voice, he boomed, “Indeed.”
She recognized O’Neill’s anti-interrogation technique. It was pretty much what she used, only she went more for ‘ditzy bimbo’ to aggravate and derail the interrogator. O’Neill went for ‘snarky smartass’.
So she tried to derail him in turn. She sighed, making sure to give O’Neill a little look at some booby-bounce. “Look, I didn’t want this to be a remake of ‘The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly’. I just wanted to fake some ‘need to know’ and get you to tell me enough about your real program underneath Deep Space Radar Telemetry that I could tell if you’re really the good guys.”
“Hey! We are the good guys!” O’Neill insisted angrily. “And we really are Deep Space Radar Telemetry.” He didn’t manage to be as convincing on that one.
She explained, “No, you’re totally not. When you poked around looking for intel on me, a whole bunch of NID trigger-ness went off. So I went looking. You’re black ops. Samantha Carter is writing papers on wormholes that move matter somewhere far, far away. Daniel Jackson believes aliens built the pyramids earlier than previously thought. I put those together and I get…” Shit. She should have tumbled to this one a couple minutes ago, because she’d been to Western Africa, and places with famines did not turn out guys who looked like they could bench press the entire WWE. “…Murray, who’s not from Mauritania and I’m guessing not from this planet. I have some extreme dirt on the NID, and I need to know you’re the right people to turn it over to. But if you’re committing treason by letting aliens run loose on our planet, I’m gonna have to try and stop you too.”
O’Neill tilted his head back a bit and called out, “Carter, you heard that, right? Don’t shoot her. Yet.”
Shit! That was definitely a woman’s voice. A very determined woman who sounded like she’d had years of military training. Even worse, it was an armed woman who was out there somewhere and Liz had no idea where.
It would’ve been pretty handy if the armed woman had fallen over a log or something and given away her position. Liz couldn’t tell a direction from a voice that had bounced off a few hundred trees before it got to the porch.
Liz didn’t turn her head away from her two ‘prisoners’, but she yelled, “Doctor Carter? If you shoot me, I’ll probably fire off this Uzi by accident, and that could be of the unfortunate.”
Jack pretend-whispered, “She prefers ‘Major Carter’.”
Ooh, that was informative. It told Liz that she was being targeted by a serious threat, and not a desk jockey who had a well-pressed uniform but not a lot else. Okay, Liz had figured that part out when she read Samantha Carter’s file. A hundred hours in a fighter in a warzone with enough kills to be listed as an ace. Marksman’s medals. Purple hearts. More medals than anyone Liz knew of who hadn’t been in a major war. Major Samantha Carter was not some wimpy little Chair Force cadet. Carter was not someone to dick around with.
Liz adjusted her position so there were fewer easy lines of sight for Carter to perforate little Summers girls. Then she crouched down and made sure she could shoot both guys at the same time. If she really had to. ‘Murray’ looked like one of those guys she had run into who had to be hit in instantly-lethal spots or else he would just keep coming at you until you were crushed like a coke can. O’Neill had apparently survived a hell of a lot more badness than Liz had seen in her admittedly-brief career, so dropping him wouldn’t be a piece of cake either.
She gave O’Neill a smile. “You know, I really hate Mexican standoffs. They usually end in lots and lots of bulletholes. And I just pressed this uniform.”
Jack tried to work it all out before things went to hell and he got shot. Again. Getting shot was never fun. Plus, all the scars he’d picked up over the years tended to make dates get really squirrely when things got to naked time.
Liz Summers had a load of intel on the NID. Allegedly. She had no clue about any other Buffy Summers, which he was marking in the ‘good things’ category right now. He had obviously screwed up massively when he went poking around for information on a Buffy Summers of his world. She had used NID assets to find him in Deep Space Radar Telemetry and to figure out way too much about what was really going on. She moved with that Uzi like someone with black ops background and serious firearms training.
He tried, “What, you didn’t want to come visit me in my office and play a few rounds of Mortal Kombat on my Playstation?”
She gave him a brittle smile. “I totally am of the doubtful that a U.S. Air Force colonel has a Playstation in his office underneath Cheyenne Mountain. And I am not going anywhere I might get ‘disappeared’ through a wormhole to some alien hellhole, even if my disappearance would be extremely bad for you and Carter and Jackson and all of Project Bluebook, because I’m totally sure you do not want what you do to get spread all over the internet like lolcats.”
But this Summers didn’t know about Buffy the Vampire Staker, and she didn’t know what he knew about that Buffy’s old pals. He took a wild swing in the dark, “Would that be courtesy of Willow Rosenberg?”
She blanched. She twitched. She did not accidentally pull the trigger on that Uzi, which was a good thing for him, and which also told him a lot about her levels of experience with firearms. Then she tried for the save. “Wh-who?”
Since his first wild swing had accidentally gone over the centerfield fence and ended up in the nosebleed seats, he took another swing. “You know. Willow. Your old buddy the computer hacker. Like your other bestie, Xander Harris.”
She looked for a second like she might really shoot him. But she didn’t. She flipped the safety on. She set the Uzi down so the business end pointed at his front door. She stepped back from it and put her hands on her head. “I have no idea who you’re talking about, but I surrender.”
He knew that look on her face. She knew she was screwed. She knew she was trapped. She knew she was never getting out of this mess. But she was not giving in. He knew that desperate, trapped feeling from the other side of the gun barrel, and he knew she would no more cough up any intel now than he did when he got left behind and spent four months in an Iraqi prison.
And he wanted that intel. If she could fuck up the NID and maybe a few of their powerful supporters, then one Jack O’Neill would sleep better at night.
Was it possible that some Ascended spacemonkey was fiddling with things so all of this looked completely accidental?
He’d never know the answer to that, but he did know the next few seconds would make or break this deal. Carter came smoothly out of the woods at an angle behind Summers, and she was aiming her service automatic at Summers’ center of mass. Teal’c swiftly slid over and snatched up Summers’ Uzi. He loomed over her, but she refused to look up at his face. Man, compared to him, she looked like Air Force Barbie.
Carter got to the point. “Sir, according to official guidelines, we need to call this in. If Agent Summers does have intel on illegal NID actions, then we need to notify the general and provide information to the DoJ and the Joint Chiefs. And if she was trying to obtain classified information illegally, then-”
He sighed in fake exhaustion. “Yes Carter, you are absolutely right, only I doubt we can call this in without alerting the NID, and I also think that right now Agent Summers would dive out of a moving car into oncoming traffic rather than go with us up to the mountain.” Christ, the look in Summers’ eyes told him he was on the money with that guess.
He added, “Carter, I also figure Summers is about as unarmed as you are, and I figure she’s a hell of a lot more worried about her hometown friends than she is about herself.” He looked over at Summers and mock-whispered, “See? I have my very own Rosenberg.”
“I do not know what you are talking about, sir,” Summers said as stiffly as she could.
Teal’c pointed out, “BuffySummers was prepared to battle a god to save her friend, so I foresee ElizabethSummers acting similarly.”
“Yeah, I agree with ya on that one,” Jack muttered.
“Prepared to battle a GOD?” Liz Summers looked pretty much like Jack had when he had been briefed on the Stargate Project. Just like him, she wasn’t going to admit how shocked she really felt. “What’s he smoking, and how can I get me some?”
Jack made a decision. He just hoped it didn’t explode in his face. Some of his instinctive choices had been awesome. Case in point: Teal’c. A couple had not. But… what the hell.
“Summers? Put your hands down. Carter? Holster it. We’re gonna go in my house and sit down and talk. And Carter? Your little trip to Hermione’s house is not officially
part of our stuff, so you can tell Summers.” He turned back to their little prisoner. “Is it okay if we call you Liz?”