Chapter Text
26 January, 2020 0200 AEDT
The air hung damp and cold over the deck of the USS Theodore Roosevelt. Chief Petty Officer McCullough drew the zipper on her windbreaker up around her jaw as she breathed in the salty night air.
Life on the ship could be consuming. Her shift was the overnight surveillance watch. It wasn't a popular posting but she didn't mind. She'd made a routine for herself over the last four months at sea. If she wasn't careful though, she could go days without seeing the sky or breathing air that hadn't been recirculated into the bowels of the aircraft carrier tasked with over watch of the Northern Pacific Ocean.
On that night, she took her "lunch break" the same way she had for several weeks - eating her meal quickly in the galley and then escaping to the quietness of the deck for 30 minutes to breathe.
She identified the star shapes she'd found every day of her life - or night of her life. She found solace in the fact that there, halfway around the world from her Midwestern American home, she could look up and find the same constellations she'd loved since she was a girl.
Taking one last inhale of the ocean kissed twilight, she descended quickly through the ship, stopping briefly to procure a sleeve of mini donuts for her superior. Having lost a bet earlier in the week, she took this opportunity to square with him. The ancillary perk of his improved mood would only bode her well in the second half of their nightly shift together.
She tossed the package over Senior Chief Petty Officer Luschek's shoulder as he adjusted his headphones. The two of them were responsible for monitoring radio chatter over several standard and covert channels in Chinese territory. They each covered four channels simultaneously, alerting the other to tune in to anything they heard that merited another set of ears.
Most nights held few to zero interesting moments but every once and awhile, they heard something worth noting in the log that got sent to the Master Chief each morning following their shift.
McCullough rolled her eyes as Luschek went to work on his powdered donuts, white sugar dusting the entirety of his khaki uniform shirt. She relieved the Second Class Petty Officer who was covering her lunch break, taking her place next to her boss and adjusting her own set of headphones over her ears.
They settled in for what promised to be an uneventful four hours. Luschek pretended to tackle the NY Times crossword on a paper that was easily two months old. McCullough reached for the romance novel she recently started and opened it to the page with the folded corner.
Her head tilted to the side quickly as her ears honed in on the frequency controlled by her second dial.
"Boss, bring up 1350," she tapped the monitor with her pen as she straightened in her chair.
Turning his dials to match his counterpart's instructions, he quickly initiated a recording of the frequency. After only a few seconds, he picked up a receiver and made a request he'd never made in his countless hours in charge of the radio room: summoning the Master Chief in the middle of the night.
Three minutes later, the highest-ranking officer aboard the vessel entered the radio room slicking his thinning hair back with a cheap black plastic comb.
"This better be good, Luschek. I was in the middle of a very steamy dream involving my high school sweetheart and a can of Easy Cheese."
Luschek rose to salute the Master Chief, his face pale. "I think you need to hear this, sir."
Caputo donned the extra pair of headphones while Luschek cued the recorded conversation from several minutes earlier. Caputo's countenance visibly shifted over the course of the three-minute recording Luschek had translated from Mandarin.
"You're sure this translation is accurate, Senior Chief?" The intensity of his eyes left no room for levity or jest.
Luschek met the gaze with confidence, "I would bet my life on it, sir."
"Fuck me." He turned to his subordinate, "Get me the President. Now."
27 January, 2020 1500 EST
She'd spent her last day at Quantico packing up her few belongings from the dorm-like room she'd called home for the last 16 weeks and exchanging numbers and email addresses with the few people she had connected. Finally, she found herself rounding out her afternoon in the gym.
Taking her stress out with gloved fists at a heavy bag was her happy place. Though she wasn't necessarily anxious about leaving for her first placement the next day, it would undoubtedly be a big change and her thoughts about it needed an outlet. Combinations of jabs and crosses gave her just the medium she needed to release her simmering angst.
She'd spent the entirety of her adult life in school pursuing a PhD in Chemical Engineering. Every moment of her days had been consumed with that goal. Her time was structured around it. Her decisions were made in light of it. And as soon as she achieved it, she spent a grand total of 46 hours between walking across the stage to receive her diploma and packing up for FBI field training in Quantico.
"Who you hitting today, Vause? The Easter Bunny? Hit it like you mean it!" Nichols' voice taunted from the edge of the mat.
"Did you want to jump in for the rabbit, Jackass?" Alex doesn't break the rhythm of her fists on the bag.
"Nah, I'm just wrapping up. You coming to the Burrito House after this?"
Dropping her gloves to face her friend, she took advantage of the interruption to steal a few sips from her water bottle, "Yeah I'm gonna be another 45 though, easy."
"I'm gonna clean up and then we'll head over. I owe you a beer anyway," the bushy redhead raised a half wave as she turned out of the doorway.
"Or ten." Alex resumed her punishment of the bag with renewed fire at her friend's good-natured teasing.
She had always been exceptionally smart, though not always as dedicated to traditional expressions of her brilliance. Halfway through her junior year in high school, an acquaintance introduced her to the nuances of chemical composition in a less than legal capacity. She cooked crystal meth in her garden shed and was damn good at it. Alex had been impressed with the process and even though she was never into the stuff, she was drawn to the precision required to come up with a pristine product.
That turned her on to Chemistry overnight and before she knew it, she was graduating with honors from NYU and had been accepted to a graduate program to pursue her passion.
She'd always been fascinated with forensics, which is where her doctoral thesis centered. When she applied to the FBI earlier that year, she had zero expectation to even receive a response, let alone be accepted. The professor who had encouraged her to apply never had a doubt, though. She was young, brilliant, and had all the right credentials lined up behind her name. Not to mention a glowing review from one of the most prestigious graduate schools in the country.
"Miss Vause." A sharp, unfamiliar voice filled the nearly empty gym with what was more a statement than a question.
Turning quickly, Alex straightened at the sight of a female uniformed officer flanked on each side by men in black suits with ear pieces coiling down the sides of their necks.
"Yes, ma'am. I'm Alex Vause."
"Your presence at your next posting is required immediately. Please collect yourself and your belongings and meet me at the Director's office in ten minutes."
Alex immediately understood this was not a request so she skipped verbalizing the litany of questions formulating in her mind and stuck with, "Yes, ma'am."
Gloves and wraps landed haphazardly on her gym bag as she strode past her locker to the showers. She tossed the sweaty pile of clothes in the same general direction and rinsed quickly as she tried to harness the thoughts swirling in her mind.
Something big was going on - or something was wrong. She was supposed to leave at 0700 tomorrow for her first actual job at a forensics lab in Chicago. It was supposed to be a pretty straightforward gig - provide data and clarification on evidence submitted by the field officers there in the Chicago office.
Alex was excited to be able to spend time in the lab all day and help solve some mysteries with the power of science. She was also excited to have some autonomy over her schedule for the first time in years. She'd been on a mission but that commitment had meant sacrificing her free time and essentially letting someone else tell her where to be and what to do every day. She was ready for the personal freedom that a 9-5 job afforded. Hell, maybe she'd even have time to go on a date.
Completing the field training was just a formality - a basic requirement for all employees of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It had been fun to "play army guys" for four months but that wasn't ultimately part of her life plan.
She was a brain girl through and through, though she wasn't unhappy with the physical results of the field training. Her body had always been a head turner but after four months of intense training and a newfound love of boxing, she really liked what she saw in the mirror.
She didn't have time for self-admiration now, however. As she threw on the gray tank and black warmup sweats she had arrived in, she bolted out of the gym and down the hall to her room. Since she already had everything packed up for her departure, throwing her phone charger in her duffle was the only thing she needed to do before making her way to the Director's office near the front of the complex.
She grabbed her FBI jacket, slung the lanyard of her brand new badge over her neck, and closed the door to her room for the last time.
27 January, 2020 2100 EST
The kettle sang urgently from the stove, tearing her attention away from the novel in her lap. Under duress, the physically exhausted woman rose from the warmth of her spot on the sofa. She had quickly melted into the comfort of her couch and briefly battled the urge to stay there in favor of getting up to fix the tea that had sounded so good only moments before.
Content to stand against the kitchen bench while the leaves steeped, she let her mind recap the events of the last week. She'd given the keynote address for a high profile academic conference held on her home turf. The Global Summit for Preventative Healthcare focused this year around the preparedness of the world at large for a pandemic-level outbreak.
The top medical minds from around the globe descended upon Johns Hopkins University to discuss and strategize the best way to prepare a planet for what was, in many expert minds, an inevitability. As the woman spearheading the most cutting edge immunology techniques the world had to offer, Dr. Piper Chapman was the obvious choice to keynote this topic.
Her approach had always been contentious. Her philosophy was grounded in the belief that the human body was designed to withstand and combat threatening viral and bacterial opposition with minimal outside interference. While her counterparts flocked to the traditional approach of designing a vaccine for every ailment under the sun, her research broke decidedly from the pack and focused on the proactively building latent immunity in human physiology.
Her research was compelling. Her results were undeniable. The strides she was making in global health were record-breaking, particularly in the realm of underserved members of developing nations.
Chapman took the approach that each community had access to natural, underutilized compounds that would strengthen local immunity and hedge out common sickness among people groups. She championed the idea of empowering people where they were, using what they already had instead of relying on a manufactured, outside cure to be brought in. Education was a huge part of her agenda, as was the belief in listening to and observing the healthy people in an area to learn from them first before attempting to teach them blindly without context.
The work was difficult and came with a truckload of obstacles from language barriers to governmental red tape. Dr. Chapman took it all in stride, tackling the roadblocks head on with poise and dignity that left her naysayers speechless at nearly every turn.
This simultaneously made her both a hero and a target. There was big money in pharmaceutical drugs. Her commitment to teaching people instead of drugging them was a big problem for the industry that peddled those drugs. Her success in educating people was an even bigger one.
The conference had been a resounding success…and she was beat. After returning to her Baltimore townhome several hours prior, she had gone through her standard routine of winding down after big events.
Long soak in her Jacuzzi tub, tomato soup and grilled cheese delivered from her favorite cafe just around the corner, and now her favorite chamomile steeping as she prepared to settle in with the rare treat of some reading that didn't somehow revolve around the health of the human race.
Satisfied with her tea, she carefully poured the steaming liquid into her favorite mug and moved back toward her final destination in the living room. A quick knock at the door required her to detour. She wasn't expecting anyone. She pulled her robe tighter around her waist as she opened the door.
"Permission to clear the premises, ma'am." A direct but kind voice met her from the secret service member standing at her door.
As she stepped to the side with her arm outstretched in a welcoming gesture, she smiled and said to the man, "Sure, Charlie. Do your thing."
The rest of the small crowd accompanying Agent Charlie Dawson filed in and scattered quickly through her residence as she waited with two more men stationed by the door.
Now finished with their task, the four agents who had performed a sweep of her home briskly descended her front steps and escorted the two occupants of a black SUV quickly inside.
Piper sat her hands squarely on her hips, her gaze landing curiously on her unexpected houseguests.
The familiar face of the President's Chief of Staff began the conversation apologetically, "Dr. Chapman, I'm sorry to turn up like this so late. The President needs to speak with you urgently." He stepped to the side to make way for the most recognizable face in the world, which happened to smile softly at the woman before him.
She returned the smile and moved toward the President of The United States, enveloping his midsection in a tight embrace, "Hi Dad."
Piper Chapman hadn't always had a close relationship with her father. Growing up, the Chapman kids fended largely for themselves. Even through most his campaign for the Presidency, Bill Chapman did himself few favors to garner the respect from his own family that he so desperately sought from his voter base.
Over the last six years, he had been working diligently to reestablish his role in his children's lives. He confessed to them that the ship of his impact on them as a father had sailed, but that if they were willing, he would like to try again - this time as a friend and confidant.
Piper was the most receptive to his efforts. Now, nearly six years later, she smiled up at him with admiration in her eyes. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?" She asked with a knowing intonation that given the time and nature of his arrival, it couldn't be good.
"Honey, I'm afraid we have a situation," the President began. "I know you've been working your tail off this week and probably just want to get to bed. Unfortunately, that's not in the cards for you tonight. This simply can't wait.
Piper made eye contact with her father, "Do we need to leave immediately?"
At this point, Frank Griffin, President Chapman's Chief of Staff, chimed in. "Sir, given our timeline, I think you should brief Ms. Chapman in the car."
"For God's sake, Frank. If you don't start calling me Piper, we're going to have a serious problem," Piper eyed Frank, smiling but serious. Her father raised his eyebrows and gave Frank an almost imperceptible nod.
"Piper," he enunciated awkwardly, "How soon can you pack a bag?"
27 January 2200 EST
Alex absorbed the breathtaking view of the eastern seaboard lights out of the chopper window. She had been briefed, (if that's even what you call it) quickly in the Director's office before being whisked off in a military helicopter with the woman she now knew as Captain Warren and her two black-suited sidekicks.
She had no information on where she was going except that it was classified. She also knew that she wasn't flying from Virginia to Chicago in a helicopter. She said nothing on the flight even though she wore a headset, mentally preparing as much as she could with the shred of information she had to go on.
Not knowing exactly what to feel, Alex chose instead to focus on the facts. Whatever was going on, it was big enough to merit a sudden and immediate change to her assignment. It was classified, which could really mean anything so that didn't give her much. She felt important, though. Whoever decided she was the person who needed to be retrieved from Quantico by helicopter thought she was the woman for the job – whatever the job was.
The chopper's sudden descent quickly pulled Alex from her thoughts. They landed on the roof of a warehouse just north of what she recognized from the air as Baltimore's Inner Harbor.
Upon disembarking from the chopper, the small herd shuffled her toward a rooftop door and the four of them descended flight after flight of stairs until Alex lost count of the steps. She was completely unprepared for what she encountered as they finally exited the stairwell.
The room looked like something from a movie: High tech, transparent screens filled the middle of the room displaying maps, blueprints, and diagrams of various kinds. A raised platform occupied one corner of the room where people who looked more "in charge" surveyed the goings on of the main floor, which buzzed with frenetic energy.
The fluorescent lights overhead cast an unmistakable blue tint to everyone's skin. Whoever designed this room obviously never heard of natural light, Alex internally mused. Low hums of hushed conversations punctuated by the persistent clacking of several dozen keyboards created the room's soundtrack. Their entrance went unnoticed by every person in the room except one.
A short man dressed in a military uniform approached them as they entered the room, ushering them along the side wall and down a short corridor to a large, glass walled conference room. He held his hands out toward the chairs, "Please, sit down. Dr. Vause," Alex's head swiveled sharply at the mention of her name. "Can I get you anything to drink?"
Startled to be singled out among the group, Alex cleared her throat and responded with a voice that she hoped sounded more confident than she felt, "Water, please." The man nodded and disappeared through the door they had just entered.
Alex noticed the two men who had escorted Captain Warren and herself were flanking the door behind her as they sat stiffly at the conference table. The silence in the room was thick and awkward. No one spoke and Alex was beginning to get the feeling she was the only one in the room who didn't know why she was there.
Moments later, the door opened and a tall man strode in authoritatively. He was dressed in black trousers and a white oxford that had long since been unbuttoned at the collar and rolled at the sleeves. He sat across from the two women and introduced himself, looking directly at Alex. "Dr. Vause, I'm Deputy Director Tate Crawford. I run the FBI field office here in Baltimore. Thank you for coming." He lowered his head to the folder in front of him.
Alex couldn't stop the scoff from escaping her throat. He made it sound like she had a choice in the matter. Crawford's head shot up to meet Alex's eyes. They didn't falter under his gaze. "Will you explain why I'm here?"
She could tell he wasn't used to being questioned, but Alex knew she wasn't in trouble and was quickly tiring of the feeling of being kept in the dark. She interlaced her fingers over the table and raised her eyebrows, waiting for a response.
Crawford closed the folder on the table, leaned forward and folded his own hands to mirror the woman's posture. "Last night one of our surveillance ships in the Northern Pacific intercepted a covert Chinese communication that leads us to believe the Chinese are in possession of a novel biological compound."
His eyes scanned the face in front of him before continuing. "We believe they intend to weaponize it to use against an unidentified human target within the next 14 days. You are here as part of an elite task force assembled by the office of the President of the United States to identify this compound and advise on courses of action to prevent and mitigate the spread of a biological weapon. As part of the larger task force, you will be working primarily with our lead Immunologist along with our senior lab technician to accomplish these objectives. Any questions?"
Alex took in the information and was having trouble connecting some of the data points. She tilted her head to the side and responded, "Yes, I do." The man across the table from her leaned back in his chair.
She continued, "I'm sure all my questions will be answered when I meet the team. When will that happen?"
He stood quickly, indicating his time in the room was coming to a close. "Agent Bennet will escort you to the team now. Dr. Chapman will provide you with a detailed briefing of all pertinent information."
Alex let out a long breath as she stood and turned toward the door. Her thoughts began to fire rapidly, Chapman…lead Immunologist…surely he can't be talking about Dr. Piper Chapman, could he? Alex had read several of her papers. She was fringe and that was putting it lightly. One thing was certain, this was going to be a very interesting night.
Agent Bennet stepped forward, "Right this way, ma'am. I've arranged for your bags to be taken to your room three floors up."
Confused, she looked to Captain Warren for clarification. "We're here indefinitely. I hope you're not overly attached to daylight."
Alex tried not to be obtuse as she rolled her eyes at the realization that she was stuck in this glorified bunker until they figured out how to save the world. She muttered to herself, "Fucking perfect."