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City of Atlantis, New Lantea, Pegasus Galaxy, 2014
Fourteen weeks ago, Master Sergeant Brad Colbert was approached on base by a polite dark-haired officer dressed neatly in Air Force dress blues offering him a unique opportunity to further his career. Brad replied with a polite ‘no, thank you, sir’ and had a Lance Corporal show the officer the way out of the building.
Thirteen weeks ago, the same Air Force officer showed up at Brad’s house. He was told he had been specifically recommended by someone well-connected in the chain of command and that person was being quite persistent about recruiting him into the top-secret program. This time, Brad asked for more information, including the name of the person who had recommended him. The officer told him the information was classified until he signed the large stack of non-disclosure agreements in front of him, then swore on his Grandmother’s grave it would be worth it. Brad signed the papers.
Twelve weeks ago, Brad reported to Stargate Command under Cheyenne Mountain, several floors beneath NORAD. He learned that aliens were real and the Air Force had been traveling to other planets for over fifteen years. He learned that the City of Atlantis was not a legend, but actually a flying alien city, complete with an intelligent AI that had telepathically bonded to most of the senior staff. He learned Atlantis was an international base of operations in a different galaxy, currently under the command of an Air Force Brigadier General by the name of Samantha Carter. He also learned that he had a unique gene, present in less than four percent of the Earth’s population, which would allow him to interact with certain kinds of technology.
Ten weeks ago, he reunited with HMC Timothy ‘Doc’ Bryan, who had also been recommended for the Stargate program by an unknown person. They spent an evening comparing stories while eating in the commissary inside the Mountain, where Doc informed him that although he didn’t possess the ATA gene like Brad did, he was being shipped to Atlantis as well. Doc also told him that they would be joined in a couple days by their former LT, Nate Fick, now a civilian, who was also being shipped to Atlantis, albeit in a diplomatic capacity. The LT had already started his training several weeks earlier and was currently off-world with one of Earth's allies.
Four weeks ago, Brad, Doc, and Nate finished their training in the Milky Way galaxy and stepped through the Stargate with six dozen other people into the City of Atlantis. After the ‘gate cut off behind them, they were hurried out of the gate room in different groups. Doc and the other medical personnel were led away by a slightly intimidating, perky blonde woman named Dr. Keller. The civilians and scientists, including Nate, were led away by a somewhat loud and extremely rude man by the name of Dr. McKay, who Brad found out later that evening was the new husband of Dr. Keller. Brad and the rest of the military personnel were led away by the base’s XO, a sturdy Air Force Lt. Colonel by the name of Evan Lorne, with the explanation that the CO was on his currently on his honeymoon and would be returning to the City in two weeks.
Three weeks ago, Brad was introduced to the City’s AI during a VR training session, run by an honest-to-god alien who was as big as Brad with long dark-brown dreads named Ronon Dex. He was introduced to his first Wraith, even if it was computer generated, and was unashamed to admit he was a little scared of the thing. He had three days of weapons training on some really amazing alien weapons and was cleared on several different automatic weapons and pistols. He volunteered for the base’s advanced hand-to-hand combat training, run by a couple of obnoxious, loud Marine Captains by the name of Winchester, who he found out five minutes into the first session were brothers. The Captains Winchester were subbing for a Colonel EJ Baran, who they referred to as ‘Bad-Ass Barbie’ and assured everyone that she would be resuming her instruction when she returned in a week.
Two weeks ago, Brad was finally introduced to Colonel John Sheppard, the Military Commander of Atlantis, and was relieved to find out that the man was humbly competent, secretly smart, and surprisingly laid-back. He noticed the Colonel had an intricate pale-blue tattoo covering his right forearm from wrist to elbow of what he now recognized as Ancient writing. He noted that the Colonel, as well as his XO and several other senior members of the expedition, had the odd quirk of stopping randomly in the halls to rub their left hands over the nearest wall before continuing on. The Colonel also had an uncanny ability to know when something was about to go wrong, which everyone in the City referred to as his ‘Spidey senses’ and took very seriously. Brad saw the soft, unfocused look Sheppard’s eyes got right before he threw up a hand to the earpiece in his ear, speaking to the control room just before the emergency klaxons started blaring.
One week ago, Brad went on his first off-world mission in the Pegasus Galaxy as part of a team called officially named AR-8, led by the younger yet taller Captain Sam Winchester, who turned out to be much less obnoxious without his brother around. AR-8 also included a NCIS Special Agent named Tony DiNozzo, who talked constantly, mostly about movies, and Senior Airmen Jake Bosworth, who had the driest sense of humor Brad had ever encountered. AR-8 escorted a small group of corpsmen and medics, including Doc Bryan, to a local village where they provided free check-ups to the natives, a long-time ally of Atlantis that provided fresh vegetables in exchange for manual labor planting and harvesting the crops, as well as occasional medical care.
Twenty minutes ago, Brad was sitting in the ready room on Atlantis, talking with a small group of men when the alarms started blaring. Lt. Colonel Lorne poked his head in the room thirty seconds later, telling them to gear up and that they were going off-world to rescue AR-1, again. There were several groans from some of the Marines stationed on Atlantis permanently and one very heavy eye-roll from the LT on Lorne’s team as they stood up and ran quickly to the gear room, getting themselves set. There was some speculation as to whether it was Dr. McKay or Colonel Sheppard that had gotten them into trouble this time, as well as several reminders to place bets with a guy named ‘Chuck’ for how many times AR-1 would have to be rescued this month. The general consensus as the twelve heavily geared Marines came into the gate room was that it was Dr. McKay that had gotten them into trouble this time and that AR-1 would have to be rescued from at least three of their twelve missions this month.
One minute ago, Brad looked up to the control room to see General Carter speaking with Lt. Colonel Lorne and shorter blonde woman, both in full tactical gear, presumably filling them in on AR-1’s situation. Brad looked away as the gate began dialing, springing to life in front of the waiting Marines. The gathered Marines parted as Lt. Colonel Lorne and the blonde woman, who Brad absently noted as she walked past had black Eagle insignia pinned to the collar of her black BDUs indicating she was a Colonel in one of the US military branches, came down the steps and turned to face the group, giving them a brief explanation of what they were about to head into.
Now, Brad saw the face of a person he hadn’t expected to ever see again; the person he realized must have recommended him, Nate, and Doc for the program; a face he hadn’t see since Baghdad, Iraq in 2003. Her violet eyes scanned the crowd quickly, meeting his ice-blue ones for a moment before she offered a quick smile and turned to follow Lorne through the wormhole.
*GK*SGA*GK*SGA*GK*SGA*GK*SGA*
Baghdad, Iraq, Earth, Milky Way Galaxy, 2003
“We’re Oscar Mike in five,” Nate tapped on door of Brad’s Humvee.
“Roger that, sir,” Brad responded evenly, nodding to his LT as he walked away.
“Well, that was a waste of another fucking day in Iraq,” Ray piped up from the driver’s seat, “I mean, seriously, why the fuck are they even sending us out on these patrols if we’re not actually going to do anything?”
“Just to piss you the fuck off, Ray,” Brad replied. He secretly agreed with Ray, but he would never give the loudmouth the satisfaction of saying it in his hearing range.
“Are we coming back to this neighborhood tomorrow?” Reporter asked from behind him.
“Not as far as I know,” Brad said, “We’ve got orders to report to the base just south of-”
Brad’s statement was interrupted by three rapid gunshots, the sound of breaking glass, followed by a body falling from somewhere above them to land on the hood of his Humvee in a shower of glass shards. The person was dressed in digital desert BDUs and Kevlar, with a tan scarf covering the majority of his head, only the lightly-tanned skin around the eyes visible.
“What the FUCK was that?” Ray yelled, voice carrying over the shouts coming over the radio.
The mystery person on the hood of the car pulled a sidearm from a holster attached to his left thigh and fired four rapid shots, aimed high in the air, and two more bodies fell to the ground amidst scrambling locals. The person turned to look through the windshield and wide, violet eyes met Brad’s before a bloody right hand slapped the glass.
“Stay in the vehicle, Sergeant,” a low, feminine voice yelled in clear, unaccented English, “Tell your men hold their fire. All hostiles down.”
Brad lifted a hand to his radio, automatically obeying something in the tone of her voice.
“All Hitman Two Victors, this is Hitman Two-One Alpha,” Brad said quickly into the radio, “Hold fire. I repeat, hold fire.”
The woman unclipped a strap across her chest, rolling off the Humvee, leaving a long, wrapped rifle where she had been laying.
“And don’t touch my fucking rifle or I’ll break your fucking fingers,” she yelled over her shoulder as she advanced towards one of the bodies lying still on the ground.
“Hitman Two-One Alpha, this is Hitman Two-Actual,” Nate’s voice came over the radio, “Sit-rep.”
“A…person just landed on my victor, sir,” Brad supplied, opening his door and stepping out of the Humvee, gun held ready in front of him, “Armed, but appears friendly.”
Brad glanced at the hood of the Humvee as he spoke, noting the smear of red blood from where the woman had rolled off, “Also injured. Suggest you bring the corpsman up here for more information, sir.”
“Roger that,” Nate agreed carefully, “On our way.”
Brad watched warily as the woman rifled through the black pajama clothing of the second body, collecting his AK in addition to the one already slung across her back. Apparently satisfied that she had gotten everything off the body she was looking for, she walked over to the closest wall, unslinging both AKs from her back and swinging each one in a wide arc, shattering them into pieces as they hit the concrete. She collected the magazines from the shattered guns, shoving them into a pocket at her knee, before reaching up to pull the tan scarf from her head, revealing pale blonde hair cut to her chin. She looked over to the Humvee then, eyes narrowing as she saw Brad standing outside the vehicle. She walked towards the vehicle purposefully, tying the tan scarf haphazardly around the bloody gash on her right arm as she came close.
“Did you touch my gun?” she asked as she came up to the Humvee, looking completely unconcerned that a platoon of Marines were aiming weapons at her.
“No, ma’am,” Brad lowered his gun slightly, shocked by how incredibly young the woman appeared, “Who are you and who were those men?”
“I told you to stay in the fucking vehicle. Those men were Fedayeen, looking for good spots to set up ambushes against US troops in Baghdad,” the woman looked down at her Kevlar, pulling two slugs out of the fabric and dropping them to the ground, “What the fuck is a Marine unit doing here? No one is scheduled to be in this part of the city until tomorrow.”
“I can’t speak to that, ma’am,” Brad continued evenly, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m getting shot out of a third story window by an asshole with an AK and getting questioned by what appears to be a fucking six and a half foot Viking carrying an M4 with some admittedly nice optics that I’d like to get my hands on,” the woman looked up, her angry violet eyes meeting Brad’s again, “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?”
Brad heard the braying laugh that Ray couldn’t contain and the woman’s hard stare shifted to Ray as the LT and Doc Bryan came up behind Brad. The woman gave her body a swift shake, sending glass shards falling to the ground at her feet.
“Sergeant,” Nate looked over the woman standing in front of the Humvee.
“Are you in charge of these idiots?” the woman reached up onto the Humvee to pull her wrapped gun closer to her.
“Lt. Fick, ma’am,” Nate replied steadily, “And you are?”
“American,” the woman deftly untied the laces holding the fabric wrapped around the gun and ran her fingers carefully over the weapon, checking to make sure it was okay.
“Do you have any way to verify that?” Nate narrowed his eyes at her.
“Nope,” the woman redid the laces, "I must've left my ID in my other pants."
“You expect us to just take your word that you're American?” Nate asked incredulously.
“You basically already have,” the woman shrugged, “You haven’t shot me yet, even though I’m obviously armed.”
“That can easily change,” Nate said evenly.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the woman rolled her eyes, “If you were going to kill me, you would’ve done it when I landed on the Humvee and pulled my gun. Jolly Green Giant over here,” she motioned towards Brad, “already decided I wasn’t an immediate threat to his men and you trust his judgment enough that you got out of your vehicle and came up here based solely on his word.”
When the men exchanged a quick look, then went back to staring at her, the woman sighed heavily, “I’m an American intelligence agent. I’ve been working an op in this shithole for the past two weeks.”
“US forces weren’t in Baghdad two weeks ago,” Brad pointed out.
"The US military wasn’t in Baghdad two weeks ago,” the woman corrected, “I was.”
“What is the nature of your op?” Nate questioned.
“Classified…well beyond your pay-grade, Lieutenant,” the woman pulled a cell phone from a pocket in her vest, frowning at it. She shoved it back in the pocket and looked up to Nate again, “Is there any way I can catch a ride with you guys? The fall damaged my phone. I need to get out of this area before the wrong people find those bodies.”
“I don’t give rides to strange women whose names I don’t know,” Nate’s mouth twitched into half a smile, “Even if they do claim to be US intelligence agents.”
“I think it’s the least you can do after getting me shot out of a building,” the woman countered, “But if it makes you feel better, you can call me…Eris.”
“Is that a first name or a last name?” Nate asked dryly.
“Neither, obviously,” the woman snorted, “But it’s what you can call me if it will get me a ride.”
“You’re not going to even tell us your real name?” Brad asked carefully.
Eris raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at him, “I don’t know how the Marine Corps does things, but I take OpSec seriously.”
“You can’t seriously expect us to believe your name is classified,” Nate remarked.
“My entire existence is classified,” Eris stated seriously, “You wouldn’t have known I was here if the fucking morons I was meeting hadn’t gotten spooked.”
Eris straightened, looking directly at Nate when she continued, “I assure you, Lt. Fick, I mean your men no harm. If you are truly uncomfortable giving me a ride, I’ll take my things and be on my way. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to provide my own transportation out of somewhere I shouldn’t be and I’m sure it won’t be the last. There won’t be any hard feelings on my part.”
“Sergeant?” Nate looked to Brad, the question clear on his face, “Your opinion?”
“Have Rolling Stone ride with Rudy to the base, sir,” Brad said easily, “She can ride with me. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“You sure?” Nate asked quietly.
“She’s right, sir,” Brad lowered his gun to his side, “If we were going to kill her, we would have done it already. She’s carrying a standard issue M40 rifle with two dozen rounds, in addition to the Glock 22 on her left thigh, with eleven shots left, assuming the clip was full when she fell. She also has a Ka-Bar strapped to the back of her vest and another knife concealed in her right boot. Nothing my team can’t handle.”
“You’re very observant,” Eris tilted her head to one side, “Sergeant…?”
“Sergeant Colbert, First Recon Batallion, Bravo Company,” Brad recited easily.
“I’ll remember that, Sergeant,” Eris tipped her head in acknowledgement, “Now that we’ve all been introduced, can we please get out of here?”
“Doc,” Nate prompted, motioning to the man behind him.
“Ma’am,” Doc Bryan stepped forward, pulling on a pair of white surgical gloves, “Why don’t you let me take a quick look at your injuries?”
Eris took a quick, involuntary step back, fear widening her eyes, her left hand moving to hover over the gun at her thigh, “I don’t doctors and I don’t like to be touched.”
“I’m not a doctor,” Doc said easily, holding both hands where she could see them, “That’s just what they call me. I’m a corpsman. HM2 Timothy Bryan. I just want to make sure you’re not hurt too badly.”
“I’m fine,” the woman insisted quickly, body tensing up as Doc took another step closer.
“You fell three stories,” Brad reminded her, “You pulled two AK rounds from your vest and you’re bleeding through the scarf on your arm.”
“Blood loss is minimal,” Eris took another small step back, shaking her head, “It was just a graze.”
“Ma’am…” Bryan stopped moving forward and spoke in a soothing voice, “Eris, I promise not to touch you anymore than necessary, all right? I just need to assess your injuries before we leave. We can have you cas-evac’ed to a hospital with female nurses when we get to the camp.”
“It’s not because you’re…” Eris started nervously, “I just…I don’t…”
“You just fell from a building, killing two Hajis when you landed,” Brad said harshly, “and you’re afraid to let a corpsman check out your injuries? What the fuck did they teach you at Quantico?”
“I wasn’t trained at Quantico, asshole,” Eris bristled, taking a step closer, “I was trained independently by experts in more fields than your tiny Neanderthal brain can comprehend.”
“Didn’t realize American spies were such pussies,” Brad shook his head, “Maybe you should go back to high school where you belong, little girl, instead of playing secret agent out here with the big-boys.”
“Didn’t realize Recon Marines were cock-smoking, brainless morons,” Eris shot back, “I’ve been doing this for longer than you have. And I know what you’re doing, dickhead.”
“Is it working?” Brad asked cockily, "Or shall we continue?"
“I feel the need to break your pretty face, so you tell me,” Eris narrowed her eyes at him before turning her attention back to Doc, “Do what you need to, but no needles.”
Eris reached up to pull the flaps of her vest open, slipping it carefully off and setting it on top of the Humvee. She untied the bloody scarf from her arm and quickly undid the buttons of her cami blouse, pulling it gently off her injured arm, and giving it a quick shake, getting rid of the few remaining glass shards before adding it to the pile on the Humvee’s hood.
“Make it quick,” Eris turned and offered her injured arm to Doc, “The locals in this neighborhood are likely to get agitated seeing a woman in my state of dress being handled by a man with a gun.”
Doc moved forward to pull up the short sleeve of her drab olive-green tee shirt and started cleaning the bullet graze on her arm as Nate turned around to head towards the door in Brad’s Humvee.
“Rolling Stone, you’re riding in Rudy’s Victor on the way to base,” he opened the door to let the man out.
“Uhhh, okay,” Reporter agreed.
“Reporter,” Eris called and the man came into view around the hood of the Humvee, “I don’t exist. One word anywhere saying otherwise and they’ll never find all the pieces of your body. Got it?”
The reported chuckled uneasily.
“Do I look like I’m fucking joking?” Eris asked evenly.
“No, ma’am,” the reporter gulped, “You don’t exist, got it.”
He turned around quickly and Nate escorted him back to the other Humvee.
“Natives are getting restless, Sergeant,” Eris whispered quietly, flicking her eyes to the growing crowd of men gathering next to the building across the street from them, “Eyes open.”
Brad followed her gaze, noting the increasingly angry looks the men were shooting in their direction, and tightened his grip on his gun as he spoke, “Wrap it up, Doc. We need to be gone.”
“You could do with some stitches, but we're done for now,” Doc taped off the bandage on Eris’ arm, “I can check the bruises on your back and chest when we get to the base.”
Eris quickly put her blouse and vest back on as Doc made his way back to his own vehicle. She looked between the wrapped rifle still on the Humvee hood and a smaller group of women gathering a small distance away and Brad saw her tilt her head to one side as she came to a decision.
“Don’t touch my gun,” she warned, walking towards the women with the blood-stained tan scarf in her hand, “I’ll be right back.”
She spoke in quiet, perfectly accented Arabic, showing the women the stained scarf she held loosely.
“What’s she doing, Sergeant?” Hasser asked from his place behind the Mark 19.
“No idea,” Brad admitted, “Stay alert.”
One of the women disappeared into a nearby building for a minute, re-emerging shortly with a bright sky-blue scarf in her hands. Eris tilted her head obediently as the woman wrapped it neatly around her head, covering her short blonde hair and most of her face, thanking the woman in both Arabic and English when she was done. The group of women dispersed quickly after that, happily going back into the buildings they had come from.
Eris walked across the street, bowing respectfully to the group of gathered men, keeping her head ducked as she spoke politely, making a couple gestures to the two black pajama’ed bodies still lying in the street. The men nodded in agreement and Eris came back to the vehicle, picking up her gun and climbing into the Humvee.
“Start it up, Ray,” Brad slammed his door shut, “All Hitman Two Victors, this is Hitman Two-One Alpha. We are Oscar Mike.”
Two minutes down the road, Brad spoke again, “You speak Arabic?”
“I’m currently fluent in twenty-two different languages,” Eris responded easily, “Arabic is number eight.”
“Sounds like you have a very talented tongue,” Ray grinned lewdly.
“I have a very talented everything,” Eris sighed.
“I’ll just bet you do,” Ray agreed with a quick eyebrow waggle.
Eris closed her eyes, leaning against the side of the Humvee, “My hands are so talented that I could have my knife out and your throat slit open in less than three seconds.”
Ray’s jaw snapped shut and Trombley’s face split into a grin.
“Don’t threaten my R.T.O.,” Brad warned easily, “I’d hate to have to kill you.”
“It wasn’t a threat,” Eris mumbled, “Simple statement of fact. How long until we get where we’re going?”
“About an hour and a half,” Brad glanced back at her, “Why?”
“I haven’t slept in close to fifty hours,” Eris yawned, “I’m taking a nap. Don’t touch me or my gun while I’m asleep or you’ll end up with a broken limb.”
Ray managed to stay quiet for a record-breaking ten whole minutes before he launched into another rant that Brad only half paid attention to. He kept glancing back at the young woman occupying the last seat in his Victor, who appeared to be deeply asleep despite the combined noise of the Humvee and Ray’s rant.
They arrived at the base right on schedule and the men dismounted, unloading their gear from the trucks. Eris didn’t move from her spot in the Humvee, still sleeping soundly as the noise grew around them. Nate and Doc came up to peer through the open window.
“She’s sleeping through all this?” Nate wondered aloud.
“Yes, sir,” Brad replied, “Said she hadn’t slept in close to fifty hours and she was taking a nap. Of course, that was after she threatened to slit Ray’s throat open.”
Nate turned his head to meet Brad’s eyes and Brad shrugged, "Ray was being Ray, sir."
The woman mumbled something in a foreign language as she blinked open her eyes and pulled the bright blue scarf from her head, stuffing it in a pocket in her vest.
“That was Greek,” Nate furrowed his brow at her, “You speak Greek?”
“What did she say, sir?” Brad asked.
“I said it wasn’t actually a threat,” Eris tilted her head to the side as she opened the door, strapping the long rifle to her back again, “You understand Greek, Lieutenant?”
“I majored in classics at Dartmouth,” Nate admitted.
“And?” Eris prompted, stretching her arms above her head, “You wouldn’t be in the Marines with just a degree in classics. What else did you study?”
“Government,” Nate’s mouth twitched into a smile.
“Interesting,” Eris turned to Brad again, “Is there anyone in your unit that could fix a cell phone? I have to check in with my employer.”
“Corporal Person is pretty good with electronics,” Brad responded easily, “I can ask him to take a look at it. And if he can’t fix it, I’ll give it a go.”
“Huh,” Eris shrugged, pulling the phone out of her pocket, “Guess there is a reason you keep him around. It’s certainly not for his charming personality. Tell him just to make it work again, nothing else. It’s heavily encrypted and if he fucks around with it, I’ll know and he won’t enjoy the consequences.”
“I told you not to-” Brad started, taking the phone from her hand.
“It’s not a threat, Sergeant,” Eris interrupted, holding up her hand to stall the words coming out of his mouth, “My employer is somewhat temperamental about me sharing classified equipment with other people. It was only a friendly warning.”
“Ma’am,” Doc spoke up politely, “I’d like to check the rest of your injuries now. We can go over to the med tent and set up a privacy curtain for you.”
“Is that really necessary?” Eris questioned, “It’s just some bruising and I heal fast. It’ll be gone in a couple days.”
“Do you need me to come with to hold your hand like a child?” Brad sneered.
Eris turned to face him fully, drawing herself up to her full five and a half feet tall, tilting her head back to meet his eyes.
“You ever say something like that again and I will end you,” she said evenly, before turning back to Doc and nodding, following him as he led the way to the tent.
Brad watched as she accidently-on-purpose bumped into the reporter, apologizing quietly as she slid his little black notebook into her back pocket while he walked away oblivious.
“Someone needs to keep an eye on her,” Brad said absently, “She’s dangerous.”
“To us?” Nate asked quietly.
“I don’t think so, sir,” Brad responded, “There’s just something…off about her. I can’t put my finger on it. I mean, what are the chances that a female spy that…young is running a solo op in Baghdad, Iraq for two weeks?”
“She’s very careful about answering questions as well,” Nate agreed, “Responding without really answering.”
“I’d like to make a suggestion if I may, sir,” Brad turned towards Nate.
“Of course,” Nate nodded.
“Keep her away from Encino Man, sir,” Brad smirked, “She seems to have a lower than normal tolerance for bullshit. She might shoot him…on second thought…”
*GK*SGA*GK*SGA*GK*SGA*GK*SGA*
Brad was startled awake the next morning by loud shouting right outside their long tent. He immediately grabbed his rifle, hurrying out to see what the commotion was about. He was somewhat unsurprised to see Manimal pressed face down into the ground, rifle thrown out of reach, Eris’ knee pressed hard into his back, her hand gripping his arm twisted up between his shoulder blades, and her Glock pressed against the skin of his neck. There were several other men gathered around, rifles currently aimed at the young woman dressed in a tight olive-drab tee-shirt and BDU pants, boots laced tight to her ankles and a thick gauze bandage on her right bicep.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Brad yelled.
“Good morning, Sergeant Colbert,” Eris spoke in a calm tone, “I apologize for waking you. The situation is under control. Corporal Jacks and I had a minor disagreement.”
“Minor disagreement?” Brad asked evenly, looking over to see Nate and Gunny Wynn stomping over towards them.
“Corporal Jacks apparently thinks it’s acceptable to put his filthy hands in places they don’t belong,” Eris answered dryly, “I disagreed and things escalated from there.”
“I didn’t-” Manimal started.
“Did I tell you that you could speak?” Eris pressed the gun harder against his neck, voice growing harsh, “Shut the fuck up before I decide to show all these nice boys what the inside of your skull looks like.”
“I’d appreciate it if you refrained from killing any of my men,” Nate spoke evenly, “Let him up.”
Eris looked up at Nate with an odd expression, “Is that an order, sir?”
“Do you need it to be, Agent?” Nate responded in the same tone.
“Not at all, Lieutenant,” Eris suddenly let go of Manimal, stepping away and swiftly holstering her gun, “I was just curious as to whether you felt the need to order me around like one of your men.”
“Corporal, get up out of the dirt,” Gunny Wynn commanded, “And get the fuck out of my sight. I’ll deal with you later.”
“Don’t forget your gun, Corporal Jacks,” Eris taunted as he stood carefully, “Might want to keep a tighter grip on it from now on. It was awfully easy to take away from you.”
“I will fucking-” Manimal took one threatening step towards her.
Brad noticed Eris didn’t flinch back, instead a wide, wicked smile appeared on her face, and she took a step forward, getting into Manimal's personal space.
“You’ll what, Corporal?” she interrupted dangerously, putting a hand on her hip, “Get your ass kicked by a girl again? Eat some more dirt? Run into the barrel of my gun with your head again?”
“Jacks, leave now,” Nate said, order clear this time, “Gunny, get him out of here.”
Manimal reached down, snatching his rifle from the ground and stomping off, followed closely by the men that had been pointing their guns at Eris and escorted by a stoic Gunny Wynn. Nate and Brad shared a quick look as she watched the men walk away.
“Have a nice day, Corporal Jacks,” Eris called after him, “Do try to remember to keep your hands to yourself.”
“Is it necessary to antagonize him?” Nate sighed.
“If I said it was necessary, what would you do?” Eris questioned, smile dropping from her face.
Nate narrowed his eyes, “What are you doing here, ma’am?”
“Here as in Iraq?” Eris asked innocently, “Or here in a more general ‘meaning of life’ sense?”
“Here as in this base,” Nate specified, “in Iraq.”
“I told you,” Eris shrugged, “I was on an op the last two weeks.”
“Was,” Nate picked up on her specific word choice, “You were on an op. Let me be more specific. Why, out of all the US troops in the entirety of the city of Baghdad, did you drop onto my platoon?”
“The decision was made for me,” Eris replied smoothly, “I’m sure you can understand how that goes.”
“That wasn’t really an answer to my question,” Nate frowned.
“Yes, it was," Eris turned to Brad, "Was it you or Ray that fixed my phone last night?”
“I fixed it,” Brad answered evenly, “Are you going to return Reporter's notebook?”
“Very interesting,” Eris commented, narrowing her eyes fractionally, “I returned it last night, as soon as Doc finished poking at me. Reporter never even knew it was gone. I was just coming to thank you both for the ride yesterday. My employer is sending a chopper to pick me up in half an hour. Lieutenant, I made some additions to your map of Baghdad. All the locations of potential ambushes that I’ve gathered in the last two weeks.”
“Why not give that intel to Lt. Colonel Ferrando,” Nate asked evenly, “Or Captain Schwetje?”
“Because if I came within arm’s range of either of those two idiots, I might have to hit them,” Eris rolled her eyes, “Which would mean a lot of explaining and paperwork on my part that I’d really rather avoid. Plus, if I give the information to you, it will actually get to the people that matter.”
“How can you be sure of that?” Nate questioned.
“I’m rarely wrong, Nate,” Eris smiled sadly, before stepping closer to him and leaning up to whisper in his ear.
Whatever she said had a confused expression coming across Nate’s face as she stepped back.
“It was very nice to meet you, Brad,” Eris nodded to him before turning to walk away.
“What did she say to you, sir?” Brad glanced at Nate.
“Nothing important,” Nate shook his head, “We have to inventory everything before we leave.”
“I’ll get my team on it, sir,” Brad nodded.
*GK*SGA*GK*SGA*GK*SGA*GK*SGA*
City of Atlantis, New Lantea, Pegasus Galaxy, 2014
The day after the AR-1 rescue mission, which resulted in seven dead Wraith worshippers and an overnight stay in the infirmary for Sheppard’s team, but otherwise only minor injuries, Brad was eating lunch and hearing stories about Nate and Doc’s first month here on Atlantis when a familiar feminine voice came from behind him.
“Mind if I join you?”
“EJ,” Nate grinned, “Please, sit down.”
“Colonel,” Brad nodded politely.
“Unless we’re working,” EJ sat down in the empty chair next to Nate, setting her bottle of water on the table, “Please call me EJ. I’m glad the three of you decided to come to Atlantis. We can use all the good people we can get.”
“Lt. Colonel Davis was especially…convincing,” Doc rolled his eyes, “He wouldn’t leave my house unless I agreed to hear him out.”
“I’m afraid I was quite adamant about recruiting the people on my list,” EJ smiled wryly, “Especially you, Nate.”
“I’m not sure whether I should thank you or punch you,” Nate sighed, “The Coalition has got to be the biggest collection of stubborn idiots I have ever met. And I worked in Washington.”
“That’s why we need someone that can handle them,” EJ replied easily, “and someone who isn’t afraid to shoot them when it’s necessary.”
“Fortunately, it hasn’t come to that,” Nate returned her smile, “Yet.”
EJ turned towards Brad and took a quick sip of her water, “I hear you were unfortunate enough to have a couple training sessions with the Wonder Twins, Brad. I hope that didn’t put you off. I resume instruction tomorrow.”
“You’re Bad-Ass Barbie?” Brad asked curiously.
“I hate them. I really do,” EJ looked up at the ceiling and sighed heavily, “One day I’m going to drown them and make it look like an accident.”
“You probably shouldn’t say that out loud, ma’am,” Brad smiled, “Plausible deniability when the authorities come to question us.”
“Not ma'am either, Brad, EJ. I'm fairly positive it would be considered justifiable homicide. Anyone who has spent more than five minutes in a room with the two of them at the same time would understand completely,” EJ insisted seriously, “You’re on AR-8, right? Sam’s a lot more mellow when his brother’s not around. Although, Dean’s not nearly as bad now that he’s getting topped by Cam on a regular basis.”
Doc almost choked on the bite of food he had taken and Nate laughed out loud.
“So, how are you a Colonel now...ma'am-EJ?” Brad thumped Doc on the back, “I thought you were some sort of secret agent.”
“I was,” EJ shrugged, “It’s kind of a long and complicated story. I was granted a special commission in the Marine Corps Special Forces as a Colonel in 2005, five years before I came to Atlantis. General O’Neill had me sign a contract with Homeworld Command before he retired last year. He decided it would make his life easier if he let me keep my rank.”
“Did it make his life easier?” Brad questioned.
“Not even a little,” EJ admitted unabashedly, “He still threatens to…”
She trailed off and looked towards the door just before Colonel Sheppard came in, a scowl on his face. He stomped up to the table and pointed a finger at her angrily.
“You evil, evil woman,” Sheppard growled, “You damn traitor.”
“Something the matter, John?” EJ smiled innocently.
“You told McKay I finished my thesis,” Sheppard accused.
“Oh,” EJ blinked a couple times, “Was I supposed to keep that a secret from him?”
“He’s been calling me Dr. Sheppard in front of my men. He spent three hours this morning arguing with me about some ridiculous math proof that I couldn’t possibly care less about,” Sheppard complained, throwing his hands up in the air, “We were trapped in the infirmary, Emmaline. I couldn’t escape.”
“Two things,” EJ held up a finger, “First, you didn’t have to argue with him about the proof.”
“Yes, I did,” Sheppard insisted hotly, “He was wrong.”
“Second,” EJ laughed, holding up a second finger, “I told you there would be retribution if you stole the last cookie from Momma Mitchell. They were double chocolate chip, John. You know those are my favorite.”
“I….your…” Sheppard spluttered, then narrowed his eyes at her.
He reached over, wrapping his long fingers around the back of her neck, and hauled her up out of the chair. He pulled her in for an extremely thorough kiss, drawing several whistles and cheers from the crowded room. He released her suddenly and stepped back.
“Family dinner in Jack and Sam’s quarters,” Sheppard stated evenly, “at 1900. I have to go find a place to hide from Lorne before he makes me do paperwork.”
Sheppard cringed at the last word.
“You’d better hurry, carissime,” EJ replied just as evenly, “He’s on his way here. I’ll try to stall him as much as I can.”
“You’re still evil,” Sheppard mumbled as he left.
EJ grinned after him as she sat back down.
“Sorry about that,” EJ apologized politely, turning her attention back to the men at the table.
“They let two married officers work together in combat situations?” Brad raised his eyebrows.
“I convinced the IOA to relax the fraternization rules at the SGC and on Atlantis,” EJ explained with a one-shouldered shrug, “and since it's an international base, no one ever took DADT seriously even before it was repealed. As long as the people sleeping together aren’t on the same team and as long as no one's duties are affected, no one here cares who you screw, date, or marry. Well, unless you're sleeping with the enemy, but I don't think anyone really wants to get it on with a Wraith. There’s a weekly orgy, hosted by the Marines, in one of the dark rooms on the North Pier that none of the senior members of the expedition officially know about, Dave Parrish in Botany married a partially sentient tree six months ago, and there's at least seven different committed threesomes in the City, one of them being Lorne, Cadman, and Zelenka.”
“This place is so fucking weird,” Brad shook his head.
“Weird, but really fantastic. If you’ll excuse me,” EJ stood, “Evan’s here. I have to go distract him so my husband doesn't have to do paperwork today.”
“See you tomorrow, EJ,” Nate nodded at her.
EJ leaned down to whisper in Brad’s ear as she walked by, “Talk to Stacks or Chuck about the orgy. They'll let you know the details.”
Brad’s fork clattered onto his tray as she bounced away happily.
“What did she say to you?” Nate looked at the flush spreading across Brad's cheeks.
“Nothing important, sir,” Brad replied automatically.
“You know she’s empathic, right?” Doc looked between the two men, “She gives some really good advice. She set up my first date with Marie two days after she got back from her honeymoon. Whatever she said, you should probably listen to her.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” Brad said calmly.
“Do you know what her mission was in Iraq when we met her?” Nate looked over to meet Brad’s eyes.
“Do you?” Brad asked.
“She was there looking to recruit Recon Marines to the CIA,” Nate said quietly, “You and I were two of the Marines she was gathering intel on.”
“You’re joking, sir,” Brad scoffed.
“Nope,” Nate shook his head, “I didn’t find out until I met her again here, though. She knew almost everything about our platoon before she ‘accidently’ landed on your Humvee. Everything she did was designed to test our responses, right down to the freak-out with Doc and the fight with Jacks.”
"She didn't have to do much faking when it came to her dislike of doctors," Doc interjected, "The medical staff has special instructions to inform her any time we have to touch her."
“So what, we failed her tests?” Brad frowned.
“No, we passed with flying colors,” an odd expression came across Nate’s face, “Before she left the camp in Iraq, she told me she was going to do us a favor and report that she had failed her mission.”
“What does that mean?” Doc wondered.
“I’m not sure,” Nate shrugged, “After she told me the story last week, she also told me to look up the meaning of Eris.”
“Which was?” Brad prompted.
“Eris was the Greek Goddess of chaos, strife, and discord,” Nate recited.
“Holy fucking shit,” Brad’s fork clattered to his tray again, “She’s Chaos.”
“Huh?” Doc looked over at him.
“She’s one of the top spies and assassins on Earth,” Brad looked to the doorway she had left through, “Or she used to be until she disappeared four years ago. She’s a fucking legend.”
“How do you know that?” Nate wondered.
“Classified, sir," Brad turned back to his meal with a shake of his head, "But she really did do us a favor."