Web Counter by TrafficFile.com
|
Title: The Assistant 07 - Grapevine Notes: This is for Charlotte who sent me the perfect email when I needed it most. And for Julia who (continually) is helping me remove my feet from the ceiling. And yet another reason to hate exercise. One minute I'm mindlessly running on a treadmill (a little too much chunky monkey if you know what I mean), and the next thing I know I'm pulling off my headphones to join a half dozen soldiers gawking at something fascinating out in the main hall. If I weren't so interested in what was happening, I'm pretty certain I'd be disgusted at myself for acting like a lemming; I swear I don't stop and check out car accidents. "What's so interesting?" I ask one of the airmen. At least I think he is an airman - we have a lot more Air Force personnel on base than Marines, so he while he probably is an airman, he could be a private. Still, I'm going to go with my gut here and guess Air Force. On the plus side, I think I'm getting pretty good at telling officers from enlisted personnel - although I do admit to a little profiling when it comes to age and rank. Acne? (mental check of yes) Definitely an airman (or else a private). The airman (sic) before me is trying, unsuccessfully, to take off his boxing gloves with his teeth before heading off to join his friends in the doorway. All his friends are already gawking out the door, so that leaves just me to give him a hand. "Give me your hand," I instruct him as I motion towards the gloves. I readily admit that this isn't just altruism on my part; I want information! "So, do you know what's going on?" I ask casually. "They're moving Colonel O'Neill," the airman replies, as I pull off one of the gloves. You know that feeling you get in elevators? When you move super fast between floors and your stomach sometimes takes a few seconds to catch up to your body? That's what I'm feeling right now. It isn't pleasant. I finish unlacing the glove and wordlessly hand it over. Not waiting to see if he needs my help with glove number two, I wiggle my way between people in order to get a look myself. At the far end of the hallway, I see two medics carrying something that looks suspiciously like a coffin. I can't make out any facial expressions, but I'm pretty certain that's Teal'c near the back (he's kind of hard to miss) and Sam by his side (she tends to stand out as well. We don't have a heck of a lot of 5'10 blonde women either. I think Jonas is across from her, but from my vantage point, he just looks like any one of a dozen cute twenty-somethings in military fatigues. "Is he dead?" I ask quietly. My voice sounds strangely calm, as if it's coming from far away, I might sound normal, but if one of these soldiers does indeed tells me yes, I swear, I'll lose it in an instant. I'll head straight to my desk, type out a formal resignation, and then sign out of this damn mountain and never set foot in this place again. There's just no way I can handle losing Jack so soon after Daniel. None. "Nahh, he's not dead," someone answers as I begin to breathe again. Wordlessly, I give thanks to any god who might be listening. "Not yet anyhow," another voice adds. Instantly, my stomach begins to feel queasy again. Not yet?! Before I can ask anymore questions, the procession escorts a hermetically sealed Jack O'Neill right past us. I can actually see an unconscious Jack with an oxygen mask strapped to his face; the image terrifies me. Sam catches my eye and attempts to give me a reassuring smile - it doesn't work. "Where are they taking him?" I'm met with shrugs and blank stares. "I'm guessing the Tok'ra," someone finally says. Tok'ra? The good Goa'uld-guys? "Wonder why it's this bozo and not Jacob?" Another person remarks, pointing towards the retreating figure of a dark-skinned man wearing (I swear I'm not making this up) a tunic. He must have been behind Teal'c which is why I missed him the first time. So that's a Tok'ra, huh? Suddenly my brain registers the Jacob part. Jacob? What's a Tok'ra doing with an old biblical Earth name? Before I can give this too much thought, the procession rounds the corner and disappears into the elevator. I know I should probably stay put, maybe even take a shower, or head back to my lab. Heck, I probably should just go on home. But I can't. I have to see where they're taking Jack. I don't have permission (or the access codes) to enter the gate room on Level 28, but all SGC personnel are allowed on Level 27, as it contains the SGC briefing rooms and General Hammond's office. Luck is actually on my side, as its a little past 2000 (oh God, I actually said ‘twenty-hundred' in my mind!) and there isn't a lot of activity around. I have no problem entering the briefing room. I nod to the two guards on duty as I solemnly join them by the large observation window. Together we watch as Sam, Teal'c, Jonas and the unknown dark-skinned guy (clearly dressed in non-Earthlike clothing I can now see), enter the gate room. General Hammond is waiting grimly in front of an established wormhole. An already established wormhole. I stare at that shimming pool that is going to take Jack away. Absently, I wonder if it's as cold as it looks. I can't hear what's being said, but General Hammond is obviously exchanging words with the strangely-dressed Tok'ra. Hammond steps back as the man bows slightly before leading everyone (including Jack) up the ramp and through the Stargate. "Does anyone know where they're taking him?" I ask aloud. The guards shake theirs heads. "Sorry, no," "I haven't heard." After giving me what I'm sure was supposed to be looks of encouragement, they turn away and head back to their stations. I remain at the window for a long, long time. I've given it a lot of thought and I have come to the conclusion that those Tok'ra guys must have some medical or technological gizmo that is going to save Jack. I mean, that has to be it, right? Jack and I never had a long heart to heart on either the Goa'uld or the Tok'ra, but from what little he has said, I'm pretty certain Jack doesn't really like either one. Sure the Tok'ra are our allies and the Goa'uld are the bad guys, but still - Jack would never agree to have a symbiote put in his head. Which means, it has to be a technology thing, right? "Cheer up Meyers," I hear an unwelcome voice say, interrupting my musings and reminding me that it isn't always safe to eat alone. "I'm sure Colonel O'Neill will be back any day now." Ryan. Damn. Pretty much the last person on the planet I want to see right now. Where are my powers of invisibility when I need them?! I hastily pick up a journal I had brought with me to lunch and pretend to read. "You'd have an easier time convincing me, if the magazine weren't upside down," Ryan advises snidely, as he picks up my magazine and makes a show of turning it around the right way. "What do you want Dr. Drexell?" I ask. Although Ryan made a big deal of ‘just call me Ryan' on the first day of work, he has subsequently made it abundantly clear that only his peers are allowed to call him Ryan - the rest of us peons must refer to him as Dr. Drexell. I was careful to remove as much pissiness as possible from my voice, so hopefully he'll just take the hint and leave. Ryan shrugs. "Just wondering if you knew anything more about Colonel O'Neill." "I only know what you know," I reply curtly. "Oh, I truly doubt that," Ryan replies with a sneer. I'd like to think he's being smug due to the fact that he's smarter than me, but I'm pretty sure it's because he's itching to know more gossip about Jack. I'm really too tired for his crap. I'm trying to think of a suitable reply that might not get me fired when suddenly we hear a big crash and there's a whole lot of commotion coming from the kitchen. Both Ryan and I (and the rest of the room) turn and see a red face enlisted man bending down to pick up what appears to be fried chicken. Lots and lots of fried chicken. "Sergeant, what is the meaning of this?!" Uh oh. it's bad enough that the poor sod dropped his tray of food in public, but now he has to deal with his supervisor as well? I totally feel for the guy. "I was tripped," he mumbles, still red-faced as he gathers his chicken parts back into a large pan. "You tripped?" Ah man, give the poor man a break. don't embarrass him in public! My only experience managing anyone other than myself might be with a few baristas, but even I know to take it away from the public. Everyone is fixed on the poor sergeant and his angry lieutenant. Everyone. Including Ryan. I contemplate what I'm considering for about half a second before I do it. Quietly, I grab my magazine and slowly back away from the table, the entire time keeping my eyes firmly on the back of Ryan's turned head. I know this little escape trick might come back to bite me in the butt, but I can't help but seize this little opportunity that has been presented to me. As I leave the room, I say a silent prayer of thanks to the Trip Fairy. "You can't avoid him forever, you know?" Chloe tells me as she lustily eyes the chocolate cake. "Be strong," I advise, leading her away from the deserts and over to the bowl of somewhat fresh melon balls. "I never should have asked you to help me stay on my diet," Chloe grumbles. "But you did," I reply cheerfully, scooping up a big spoonful of fruit, and dumping it on her tray. Of course the downside with helping a friend diet is that inevitably you end up doing a little dieting yourself. I really wanted a piece of that cake. "And don't think I didn't notice how you changed the subject." Chloe gives me a look as if daring me to deny it. Seeing how I did artfully change the subject, I just shrug and attempt to look innocent. "He doesn't have the balls to approach me when I'm with someone," I say with conviction. "And you don't have the balls to just sit by yourself and face the inevitable." Damn. I really hate it when she's right. I grab a chocolate pudding (in lieu of cake) and we head to a table. We sit down and Chloe looks around the room like she's checking for a tail or something. "I heard something," Chloe whispers. "About Jack?" I ask eagerly. Chloe cringes as if my voice is too loud. Geeze, she really needs to stop watching those cloak and dagger-type movies. "Yes, about Jack," Chloe answers quietly, rolling her eyes as she mouths the word 'Jack'. She still finds it rather disconcerting that I call Jack by his first name and not 'Colonel O'Neill' like everyone else. Chloe doesn't actually know all my assorted history with Daniel and Jack (oh God, that sounds bad even to me), but she does know that they're my friends. Sometimes if I go off on some anecdote or story about Daniel, I catch Chloe's attention faltering. Not because of my storytelling ability (which is just fine I'll have you know), but because she just isn't interested in Daniel. That's when I have to remind myself that Chloe actually never met him. She has no clear visual (or intellectual) image of him. Tragic! "Dr. Felger told me that he had heard Dr. Carter talking to Teal'c about Colonel O'Neill," Chloe continues, pausing as she is want to do to go all moony over the word ‘Dr. Felger'. "And?!" I try not to sound too impatient; she is giving me some good information after all. "Sorry, Kira," Chloe apologizes. "I sometimes get carried away with Jay..." Dr. Felger's name comes out as a sigh. Oh brother! "Its okay, Chloe," I tell her hastily, as I try to get the subject back to Jack and not Jay. "What did Dr. Felger overhear?" I resist putting 'over' in quotation marks. I already know he was probably eavesdropping. "Colonel O'Neill had a symbiote put in him," Chloe replies without preamble. I gasp. How could they do that to him? "You mean a Goa'uld?" I whisper, bending my head down towards hers. "Yeah," Chloe confirms, nodding her head. "Apparently," Chloe pauses. "Well, according to Dr. Felger, Dr. Carter helped convince Colonel O'Neill to accept a symbiote in order to save his life. Dr. Carter is really happy he's going to be all right, but feels horrible about the way she convinced Colonel O'Neill to agree to the blending." "Blending?" I repeat, as I feel that ever increasing crevice in my forehead pucker. I'm certain I'm going to have a moon-size crater there by the time I'm thirty. Chloe shrugs. "I guess it's what you call it when a human and alien merge." Ewww. I really don't like the image of Jack merging with one of those worms. We saw slides of those things and they are pretty gross. "So Jack agreed to this blending and...?" "And apparently he's okay now and hanging out on some planet while the Tok'ra search for a new host." "So the symbiote will be removed?" "Well, if Dr. Felger heard Dr. Carter correctly - yes." "Wow." I lean back in my chair and contemplate. Chloe nods. "Jay and I thought it was pretty significant as well." The week passes with agonizing slowness as I wait to hear (or overhear) any further news about Jack. At our Friday staff meeting, we were finally told, officially that is, where Jack was. We heard all about the Tok'ra and how Jack had accepted a symbiote that was able to cure his illness. Everything had gone well and Colonel Jack O'Neill was scheduled to return to the SGC the following week. Next week! This kept me cheerful and buoyant both at work and at home. Stefan even commented on it, but all I could tell him was that Jack had become ill while working abroad (which is technically true as he became infected with that virus in Antarctica) and would be returning home next week. Still, knowing Jack would be home soon, and having to wait for it, were two entirely different matters. I'm not sure if I would have survived the following week if it hadn't been for Judie. Every year Judie attends the annual American Library Association conference. She only takes a few days off of work, but appreciates the opportunity to get together with her colleagues from other institutions across the country. The scientists do this as well. We constantly have folks heading off to a physics, engineering or medical conference. The SGC scientists might be the best in the country, but they can still learn a few things from non- SGC colleagues. Plus, it's an opportunity to be 'normal' for a few days - something we all highly cherish. I'm getting ready to leave for lunch when Judie makes her appeal Friday afternoon. It seems that she was all set to fly out on Tuesday (conference to begin on Wednesday) when she found herself one assistant short. Her usual aid was out with a bad chest cold and Judie didn't want to leave her library to the SGC temp pool. Not that she had anything against them of course (where would we be without them?), but she wanted to leave her library to someone she trusted, and I was number two on her list. "Can I do it, Dr. Edwards?" I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful. "This would be an excellent opportunity to learn new skills." Supervisors are always keen on having employees learn something new. "It would only be for a few hours this afternoon and three additional days," Judie adds, looking suitably needy yet respectful of Dr. Edwards' time. "I'd be eternally thankful," she adds as an afterthought. "Eternally?" Dr. Edwards asks, his lips curving ever so slightly upwards. Judie nods and ducks her head. I think she's trying not to smile. "Eternally." I look back and forth between Judie and my supervisor and realize with a shock that they know each other! I mean really know each. It takes all my self control not to gasp aloud. Oh my! I've heard that it's quite normal for offices to have a little intrigue and gossip, but the stuff that goes on around here would seriously be enough to entertain a weekly television audience! "As long as Ms. Meyers is back on Monday, I suppose I can spare her for a few days," Dr. Edwards agrees magnanimously. I flash him a grateful smile. This is going to be great! "I'm returning from Atlanta Sunday afternoon, so you'll definitely have her back by Monday." "Sunday afternoon, you say?" Dr. Edwards repeats, looking straight into Judie's eyes. "Three o'clock arrival," Judie adds, flashing Dr. Edwards a huge grin. Wow. Judie has dimples. I didn't know Judie had dimples. I want to run and tell someone all about this, but Chloe never uses the library so she wouldn't know who I was talking about. I wonder if Jack knows? "Ms. Meyers," Dr. Edwards says after several seconds of looking longingly into Judie's eyes. "You may head down to the library after lunch and meet with Mrs. Johns. "I expect you back in this office first thing Monday morning." "Thanks, Dr. Edwards!" Judie, I'll be up right after lunch!" I leave the room and can't help but wonder what those two are going to talk about next. Judie has rather strong feelings about metal furniture in libraries, so I find myself sitting behind a comfortable old oak desk reading the New York Times online. Wow. I could really get used to this! I hadn't been at work for more than an hour before Jonas walks in. I'm the only person in the room so I really can't run away. Not that I really would run, but I might have ducked behind a book stack or something. I hadn't talked with Jonas since finding out how Daniel died. I don't blame Jonas, directly that is, for Daniel's death, but had things gone differently, it might have been Daniel who was walking through the front door - not Jonas. "Kira, Kira Meyers!" Jonas says cheerfully in greeting. "What are you doing in Judie's library?" "You know Judie?" I ask. Jonas dips his head a little and looks sheepish. "I come in here a lot." "Me too." We look at each other for several long moments before I break eye contact. "Judie is away at a library conference," I explain. "Is there anything I can help you find?" "I'm looking for some information on Doctor Richard Flemming. Maybe he wrote and article or two? I know he's a scientist - maybe in genetics or molecular biology?" "Hold on, let me see what I can find." I bring up ISI's Web of Science database and type in ‘Richard Flemming'. A large list of periodicals and research papers flash across my screen. "It looks likes he is indeed a biologist," I say after glancing through the article summaries. "And a professor at Stanford." I read a little further. "Make that ex-professor. He retired a few years ago and went to work for a think tank." "Do we have anything by him that I could read?" Jonas asks. I scroll back to the top of the page. "Well, it looks like he made quite a name for himself developing disease resistant corn. I can print you out an article he wrote for the American Journal for Evolutionary Science if you like." "That would be great, Kira. Thanks!" He gives me a warm, grateful smile. I bring up the PDF article and click print. "So why are you interested in Dr. Flemming?" I ask, needing to fill in the gaps of silence with words. I'm guessing Jonas won't readily bring up Daniel's death unless someone asks him about it, but I really don't want to take the chance that I might be wrong. He is an alien after all, who knows what normal social etiquette is for them! "Major Carter received a cryptic phone call from Dr. Flemming this morning," Jonas explains. I don't really know any of the details yet, but SG-1 is meeting in a few hours to talk about it and I thought I'd find out what I can on Dr. Flemming before we meet." "Sounds like a good idea," I say politely. The article finishes printing and I hand it over. "Here you go." Jonas reaches for the papers and touches my hand lightly. I look down at his hand and then up to his face. He's looking at me with overflowing compassion. "I'm really sorry about Dr. Jackson," Jonas says softly. "I heard you two were close and I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry." I'm so flabbergasted by his words that I struggle to find words to reply. "How...?" Jonas shrugs and gives me a small smile. "I'm really good at reading people," Jonas says self-depreciatively. "And I thought it was something you needed to hear from me." I remain speechless. Jonas gives me another smile. "Thanks for the article, Kira." He holds the papers to his chest and gives me a little nod before he turns around and exits the library. I remain pretty much speechless for the rest of the morning. I'm not sure if I enjoy my three days on Level 18 because of the library per se, or because of the fact that Ryan is out with the flu. And from what I hear, it's the kind that causes you to return to work ten pounds lighter, and several shades paler. I try not to take pleasure in Ryan's discomfort, but I'm only human and the guy is kinda turning into my nemesis. I spend a pleasant three days chatting with friends and colleagues in the commissary and doing a bit of light research in the library. I head home for the weekend content with my job and looking forward to seeing Jack again next week. it's amazing how good one can feel when you aren't worried about yourself or your friends. Stefan is now only two quarters shy of receiving his MBA, interest rates are falling so fast that I actually might be able to afford a condo next spring, and Jack O'Neill will be returning to the SGC on Monday. Life is good. My euphoria is crushed into bite size pieces less than an hour after signing into work. Ryan is back from having the flu, Dr. Edwards is out with the flu, and Jack O'Neill is missing. Now missing is much better than ‘dead', or ‘presumed dead" or even ‘ascended', but it's still not very good. What makes it even worse is that he still has that thing in his head and no one has a clue where he, or it, might be. Personally, I think they accidentally put a Goa'uld in his brain rather than a Tok'ra and now the Goa'uld is going nuts and taking Jack with him. Hey! It's a theory. It takes all my self control not to run down to Level 27 when I hear the klaxons blare unexpectedly. Someone is coming through the Stargate and I already checked with Chloe, who heard from Jay, who was told in a senior staff meeting, that no SG teams were due to return today. It does make me feel better that I'm not the only one anxious to know who is stepping through that Stargate - I see other people looking through doorways and calling up friends on different floors to see if anyone knows the identity of our gate traveler. I'm lucky: I find out in less than ten minutes. "It's not Colonel O'Neill," Lt. Hailey informs me as she pokes her head into my lab. Jen is both military and one of those physical scientists, but we short girls need to stick together. I think Jen also has some history with Jack. Not creepy history, but some kind of military thing. I keep meaning to ask her about it, but seeing how I'm back to taking my meals in the lab, it isn't going to happen any time soon. "Are you sure?" I ask. Jen nods. "It's the Tok'ra," she says. "The one who escorted Jack back to their planet has just returned. She pauses and gives me a worried look. "Alone." "This can't be good." Jen nods. "No. It can't." Throughout the day, I watch a lot of people running around. A tech over in the astronomy lab was asked to bring up the latest maps of a particular star system, and then later some additional soldiers were geared up and sent to the Gate Room. Teal'c and Jonas are holed up in Sam's lab, but no one really knows what they're doing. It isn't until after lunch ( spent in my lab), that I find out that the Tok'ra representative, a guy by the name of Thoran, was denied a return trip to his planet. I'm guessing we're keeping him here until we get Jack back, but I don't know any of the details. The next two days are quiet. Not only is Dr. Edwards still sick, but that Tok'ra guy is apparently under house arrest. Everyone is walking around on eggshells as we wait for someone to find Jack. Each day I head home exactly at 5 o'clock, and each day I come to work with baited breath hoping this will be the day we hear something. Not everything makes it to the SGC grapevine in a timely manner. I actually didn’t hear a darn thing about an unexpected IDC-encoded message from the Alpha Site. I didn’t hear Teal’c running down the hallway (some said, he ran so hard, his footsteps could be heard two floors below). I had no idea that over in the infirmary, Dr. Janet instantly stopped what she was doing (suturing Sgt. Siler) when she heard the news. Apparently, she quickly handed the needle off to a nurse, peeled off her gloves and ran out the door with a fully equipped med kit. I had no idea that there was a flurry of activity as Sam, Jonas, General Hammond and several airmen met an out-of-breath Dr. Fraiser, and a not-breathing-hard-at-all Teal’c in the Gate Room just as the iris opened. No, the SGC grapevine didn’t fill me in on any of this until much later. All I heard was that one tired, disheveled, but gloriously alive Jack O’Neill had made it home. It was enough. Notes: First - the definitions: an MBA is a Masters in Business Administration. That database Kira was using? It's real: ISI Web of Science Okay, now the other stuff...Now, before you all get upset with me, do know that I'll be writing the true Abyss story next (the one Lynette is chomping at the bit to read). I didn't intend to give you so much backstory with this one - it just happened. Would you rather I delete all these words above and head straight to the depressing stuff? (No Lynette, you're not allowed to vote). You will get an angsty Abyss story. In fact, I already have a pretty good idea on how it's going to be written (which is unusual for me - usually I don't have a clue until I start typing. Scary, eh?) And to show you good faith, I'm going to leave you with a preview. This scene probably won't be what starts the next story, but it will be a part of it. Notice the pov change? Another reason why I wanted/needed to end here and have a different story for Abyss - I want access to Jack's head! (*rolls eyes* Slashers in the front row, would you please sit down?) Next on the Assistant.... "Hiya Jack," Kira says giving Jack a little wave. More soon! Written June 26, 2006 |