Chapter 1: Raised eyebrows 1; The elevator.
Summary:
Elevators .... go up and down.
Chapter Text
The corridors are dimly lit on level 17, eerie enough to give me goosebumps as the elevator halts and the doors screech open. First I take a deep breath, then I peer around the corner. The place is deserted. Storage they say, creepy cavern I say. I step out, the hall lit by overhead lighting, red lamps along the wall. Red enough not to light the corridors branching off from the main hall and I cuss at myself for not bringing the big honkin’ two-handed torch I have left in my car. In the parking lot. Miles above my head. I almost expect a bunch of bats in death-glider attack formation coming at me and I duck back inside.
“Come on, captain crap-your-pants,” I scold myself as my eye catches something that shouldn’t be in an elevator, nor on a floor, and definitely not in a dingy cavern.
No one leaves clothing here, this isn’t the laundry room, doesn’t even resemble one. I sure don’t leave my clothes behind, anywhere. I walk back, tentatively, look down, even more tentatively. Yep. No one leaves that anywhere, not in sight anyway, maybe a locker with an advanced numerical code derived from the enigmatic number pi divided by polynomial equation of the fifth degree. Black lace panties. If you can call them that, as it’s not more than a couple strings tied together with a little silver heart on, well, the backside of the, well, tied string-thing. I hear a muffled sound. Like a stifled cry and a deep moan. Uh oh. I know what that is. Two people engaged in some frenzied waltz that’s fast leading up to a full-blown kizomba. I have an inkling, a tiny one, but one nevertheless. I quickly take the pen from my clapboard and scoop the lace up. Now where to put them? I take out the last page from my clapboard, the so-called shopping list, and fold it into a rudimentary envelope. I dump the panties inside, and the envelope in the back pocket of my combats. I take a deep breath as the muffled cry becomes a plea, and I know I definitely shouldn’t be here.
“Jack, please.”
Nope, I definitely definitely shouldn’t be here.
“Sam.”
Okay-o, I’m in deep trouble. That plea was throaty and deep, the response even deeper, almost raw. I freeze as something drops on the cement floor. It rattles. I hear a stifled giggle and a shuffling of clothes. Close by. I chew on my cheek, a nasty habit, sure, but it helps me think. I know who they are. Major Carter and colonel O’Neill. Embarking in … what exactly? Something that … should be kept quiet. I exhale, my mind going in overdrive. Only one option. The emergency button, blame it on clumsy me with bad eyesight and an absolute fear of the dark. Yeah, that’ll work, and all the other yadda yadda, blah blah I can make up on the spot.
“Jack …”
It was a trembling cry. I can almost hear the need of major Carter as if it had bounced off of my own skin. Right, I need to either wait or action now. I hold my breath and listen. Voyeur sure, but I can’t see shit so insert auditeur. Just as bad, but I can’t bring myself to interrupt. The cries too full of passion, the need ringing out against these creepy concrete walls. It makes me feel a little sad, needing a spookhouse to be together. CoC, rules and forbidden moments. Needs quelled in a cold place like level 17, needs needing to be answered. They were answering them alright. I cuss myself again for not taking that position at area51, choosing SGC instead. But this, what I’m hearing, is too much of a treasure, too much to reveal, a treasure to be kept hidden. I nod to myself. I’ll wait. Just hoping and praying it wasn’t going to be hours, secretly praying it would be hours. I crouch down in the dimly lit elevator and take deep breath. I hear scuffling, I hear a bang on something metal, I hear a moan, a groan, another bang on something metal.
“Jack!”
The cry rang through pretty much all the walls, devoured concrete, melted metal and summoned whatever critters lay below. It was too soon, for me at least, but not for my calves as they protested with cramping pains making me winch. I heard another bang, another muffled cry, a moan so deep I actually believed some volcano was about to erupt. And surely, it erupted. Boom, there it was.
“Sam! My … Sam.”
I ran my thumbs across my eyebrows, straightening them, removing the sweat they’d build up in that cramped friggin’ elevator. I got up. So, now what? The stairs would have alerted the ‘red light’, elevator would have been heard going up and down, big fat red button would set the whole base on alert. Okay, so … I passed out. Scared of the dark and that malarkey, that could work. I wait until I hear scuffling, wait until I hear muffled giggles, wait until …
“C’mere.”
“Mm, gently. Ye went a little rife.”
“Couldn’t help myself, ye make me lose control.”
“Good to know.”
I let go of the breath I’ve been holding for God knows how long, feeling the tingling sensation of blood filling veins in my legs as I slowly get up, steadying myself against the elevator wall. Voyeurism has just gotten another meaning and I feel slightly bad, but not by much. Nope, not at all. I hear another shuffling, another giggle and soft laughter.
“Come on, Jack. Where are they?”
I hear a faint shuffling, a murmured ‘come on’, a breathless ‘those are mine’ followed by a giggled ‘Jack’, and I freeze again, holding my breath as I hear a gentle rattling and a surprised ‘ah’. I pat my behind. Of course. Panties. Shit.
“Where … are they?”
“What? No, you’ve got to be kiddin’. Jack, come on, I’ll get you a pair.”
“Nope. Not kiddin’. Don’t have ‘em.”
“Crap.”
Alright. Now what? I bang the metal grate, stumble out and hit the emergency button. Red lights flare and I’m seriously hoping the alarm sets them on alert. I scramble to my feet as two airmen rush towards me, guns at the ready. Now, let’s see what I can recall from drama 101.
“Captain!” an ebony face shouts to mine. “You alright?”
“What happened?” curly gingerbread man demands to know.
He pulls me up and I shiver as best as I can. “Molemen, big fat bats in complete attack formation and the elevator doors opened but the floor is lava so you should jump.”
“’Scuse me?”
“I panicked, completely, utterly panicked,” I say quietly, cussing the time I slept though the courses at college. “Sorry about the false alarm. Where’s my clapboard? I’ll get reprimanded if I don’t finish the inventory this very evening.”
“Here captain,” gingerbread man shoves the clapboard into my hand and hoists me up.
Out of the corner of my eye I see major Carter and colonel O’Neill walk up. I straighten myself and greet them as I would greet any senior officer. They look a little disheveled, flustered perhaps even caught in the act. I have to do something... Come on, silly brain!
“Colonel, major,” I stammer. “I apologize, for panicking. I’ll report to general Hammond straight away. About spooky level. I mean, what I thought I saw.”
“Right you are captain,” O’Neill says with a look at the two airmen. “After your inventory is done I assume?”
“Of course, sir,” I mutter, catching major Carter’s confused glare. Shit. The colonel knows! Now what? I purse my lips, flip through the pages on my clapboard and smile as innocently as I can. “An hour, tops.”
“Airmen,” O’Neill practically barks. “See to it captain …?”
“Keane, sir,” I mutter as I walk past major Carter. “Recently transferred and … yes, considering a transfer again, sir.”
“See that captain Keane as no more panic attacks.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” the airmen say in unison as they follow me though that cold, creepy corridor. I glance back, just once, and pat my rear with a wink. Major Carter smiles but purses her lips to hide it as she follows O’Neill into the elevator.
Chapter 2: Raised eyebrows 2; Storage cabinet across from the elevator
Summary:
Another part of level 17. I've completedt the story arc so 6 chapters in steamy total.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Right, sure, here we are, again, dratted level 17. Spooky level, a level that should be reserved for some mega-level-boss-battle-action-scene in a FPS game where you’ve just shot your last round at a moleman critter and you’re facing a raging monster with too many arrows. Or GTA. Or whatever. ‘Please check storage for’, ‘Yes sir’, ‘Need an inventory of’, ‘Right away, sir’. I really need to learn to say: ‘No sir, you go down to lava-level and sort it yourself, sir, with all due respect, sir. With honors. Where the sun doesn’t shine, sir.’
At least I was clever enough to take the stairs, with a shiny plastic pass, to enter and exit without setting off any alarm, red, white or yellow, and clever enough to chew on gum instead of my cheek. I open the door and the damp, musty smell greets me like a hug I really don’t need. I tap my clapboard and wait, just in case there is something living here. Just in case someone is dancing with someone. I close the door behind me and as soon as I want to use my shiny pass to turn on the actual lights I hear something. Something that not a regular sound heard down here. Oh, hell, not again! As quickly as my feel allow I skitter off into the first corridor I can spot and crouch down.
“Come on, captain crap-your-pants,” I scold myself again.
And again for not bringing the big honkin’ two-handed torch that’s in the back of my car. Above. On the planet’s surface. Far away from level impossible. A thud brings me back to my senses, briefly, as what I hear next blows my mind.
“Jack!”
Explosion. Eruption. Earthquake. Shit. I look up and see a perfectly decent elevator with the doors open. I look back and see a shitty lit corridor behind me. I know my calves have to endure the crouch am settling into. I check my clapboard to ensure I have enough paper for makeshift envelopes should the need arise just like last time. I have, but am silently praying she’s wearing standard uniform air-force regulated brassieres and not one of those reinforced metal contraptions in black lace with feathers, or whatever. Took me enough courage to send them in an internal mail envelope marked ‘private’. Without a return address. Thankfully it hadn’t bitten me in the rear, and no eyebrows were raised in my direction. Another thud, another deep moan, male this time. Definitely male. Deep, throaty, almost guttural, almost primal.
“Exquisite.”
Alrighty then, I need to look for a decent retreat here. Corridor, nope, elevator, nope. I sit back, head against the wall, insert auditeur. Insert some decent origami as I sort of know I need an envelope that is 1) big enough to conceal any metal braces and 2) fits into my back pocket. Maybe fake an early pregnancy, smuggler’s pocket at the front smuggling … unsavory army pants, or perhaps even a third boob. Anything is possible with that stargate. Alas, halfway in my hands give out. They’re too friggin’ close, far too close as I can actually hear...
“Don’t stop.”
“Not going to.”
“Jack, please, don’t stop.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“You.”
“Don’t have …”
“Don’t care.”
The thud that follows launches me forward. Fuck, they’re in storage four, shit, the one am supposed to check, crap, now what?! I scatter to the opposite side, a little further into the worm-cave and crouch down. Okay, I’ll wait. Patiently. Not so patiently as I seriously wish they’d go somewhere nice, decent, off-base, hotel, pillows and blankets, fireplace, fishing. My calves agree, totally, but my mind, and pretty much every fiber of myself, really wants them to have their moment. Sparse as they are, one moment is more than no moment at all.
The thud that follows settles in a soft rhythm. Moans dance around groans in perfect harmony, neither ringing out over the other, answered in perfect unison. I can almost see them through the damp, gray concrete walls. Different shades of gray, moving into one wondrous shade of all colors combined. Their dance so coordinated, as if they’d been practicing for years, as if the music is lodged into their very being. Another thud and a soft cry.
“Oh Jack.”
“Head,” a guttural mutter comes loudly through the walls. “Let me …”
Let you what? Tone down a little maybe. Advisable, very much so, as there is no one down here. No one. And please don’t conjure up any critters. Molemen. Lavamen. Another cry rings out in the dim corridor.
“Please Jack.”
“Sam.”
Right his voice is like so too loud!
“I want you …”
Yeah? Guess what? I want to get outta here!
“You have no idea.”
Yeah I friggin’do! Believe me.
“How ‘bout I retire.”
“How ‘bout we keep sneaking?”
“Gets you hot?”
“More than I’ve ever been.”
“Hotpocket.”
“Ye’re joking? Right now. How ‘bout I do this …”
“Sam. Seriously?”
Yeah, seriously whatever, I don’t seriously want to know. I get up and tap the shiny card against my thigh. Okidokes. My turn. Stairs, no go as it’ll alert too many people. Elevator, no go as it makes too much noise. I look at the card and with a foul swoop toss it into the direction a giant worm ought to live. Of course it elicits a cry. A cry of need, of want, of desire.
“Come into me!”
“Sam … You.”
“Jack!”
“Sam!”
I wait. I want them to have that moment. That satisfaction, a need met, a desire answered and a dance finished. Right now, I decide too. What I know, I forget, what I can rectify, I shall, what I can hide, shall remain hidden. Love blossoming between the rules, shall be hidden within those rules. I take a firm hold of my clapboard and chew my gum like it’s the last thing I’ll ever chew in my life. How to fake a panic attack, lesson two. With a hard slap I press the emergency button. And with a hard slap the sounds of impending doom ring out in the corridors. The pounding of boots quick, too quickly for my liking. May have to get a timer, or something.
“Captain!” the ebony-faced airman calls. I muster a little smile. “You alright?”
Gingerbread man smiles at me and says: “Molemen again, captain? Floor is lava?”
“I swear I …” but I pause. If I’d said I’d seen something, this level would be closed down. I don’t want that. “I just panicked. Am sorry. Am really sorry.”
“You again?” colonel O’Neill asks with a frown, but he sees me tucking in his shirt.
“Sorry, sir,” I mutter. “We have to get some lights down here. Or not. Or maybe.”
“What is it captain?”
“Get a tattoo that says: bring your own flashlight, sir?”
He smirks as Carter walks up, flustered. Shit. Now she knows as well. I sigh, heavily, as gingerbread man hands me my clapboard.
“Best get this done, sir, again I apologize. I shall report to general Hammond as soon as I’m done. Sir.”
“Get to it captain,” O’Neill orders me. I purse my lips and say: “Yes, sir. Amen, sir.”
Amen? Really? Am I that much of an idiot? I wait till they leave, see gingerbread man smile at me and I smile back with a nod. Right. Taking stock. Stock as in pants. As in … Holy Hell Am Not Touching That.
Gingerbread walks back but I nod, again. “Am fine, airman,” I mutter, blocking his view.
“It’s … well, it’s Henry.”
“What is?”
“My name.”
“Ah, well … Uh. Henry. I need to get going. Thanks.”
“Sure. Just call out. Kay?”
“Sure thing.”
I take my pen from my clipboard and scoop up a pair of boxers. Wet boxers. Soggy boxers. Used and … Nevermind boxers. I take the last page of my clap... clip... board and fold a crude origami box. I dump the boxers inside, poking it a little with my pen to make sure I can fold the box close. Seal it. Tape it. Put a radioactive sticker on it. Now how to send it? Seriously. Shit.
Notes:
Note to this chapter; believe it or not, I wrote this over breakfast with a shrimp pot noodle. ← let me do this for you: you have pot noodle for breakfast?
Yes, leftover pizza was gone. ‘Nuf said me thinks.
Chapter 3: Raised eyebrows 3; Tango in the pantry
Summary:
Lost of things falling down and the three little words.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
I’m prepared this time. I switch on the mega big honkin’ flashlight and shine into the first corridor I pass. Much better, so, so much better. Lord said: let there be light, and I thank whomever invented flashlights ten times over. And the one that invented sour candies. Wonka’s Super Sours. The one that’s now stuck behind my front teeth helping me keep my wits. Now for that pantry, wherever that’s hidden away in this labyrinth. ‘Check stocks’, they said. ‘Two new teams’, they said. Of course they need to be fed, and fed well. I shine the beam of superbright light onto the wall. Corridor B-17/1 … and soon I’m at dash 15. No pantry. I flick through the pages of my clipboard to find the map and frown because it’s almost indecipherable. Where do they get these things made? Kindergarten? I flip it over where on the back the numbered dashes are explained, and find the pantry halfway up corridor B-17/5. I turn on my heels and walk back the way I came, counting as I go.
“Eleven … ten … seven … ah, here we are.”
Talking in yourself, out loud even, is permitted. Now, if you start answering yourself, then there is cause for worry. The worry of the mental kind. I push the beam of my torch into the corridor that’s lined with shelves and boxes, make a note to have this all cleared out, tentatively set one foot forward, and freeze. Shuffling down the far end, a guttural moan to which a gentle moan answers. My flashlight doesn’t reach that far and if it’s the same … thing … as the other two times I was down here, I should definitely keep quiet. As a mouse. My brain goes in overdrive at the thought of mice down here. Next to the molemen, critters and lava-floors. I can’t lose my cool. Not since Gingerbread Henry has appointed himself as my bodyguard, not since he’s sitting on a dingy chair near the creaky elevator in the damp underground. Every damn time.
“Come on, captain crap-your-pants,” I scold myself once more. Maybe I should get a fake medallion made, an award stating: ‘CYP’. A yellow one.
With a sigh I move a little closer and my eye catches something yellow and blue. I shuffle forward and shine my flashlight across it. Why the hell is there a stuffed animal giraffe on this shelve? Who the hell brings a stuffed animal to work, to SGC for all places? I pick it up and tuck the head of the little animal in my back pocket when I hear another shuffle.
“Jack.”
It’s a whisper, but an urgent whisper. A whisper followed by a commanding tone.
“Touch yourself.”
More scuffling. I click off my flashlight before I move deeper into the dinginess. When I pass the door to the pantry I freeze again. Oh, seriously?
“How come banana’s aren’t your favorite?”
“Only one kind I favor.”
“Do you now?”
“It’s not the yellow variety.”
“Open up for me.”
I think, seriously, that if my eyes grow any larger my eyeballs are going to pop out of my head, roll across the floor like dancing marbles and stir up things that should be left alone. I rush to the far end of the corridor, crouch down and wait. Yes. My calves have by now become super trained running muscles, which, seeing as where I find myself right now, is a bonus. Any crittin’ mole-lava-thing coming at me shall see me running like Usain Bolt-of-Lightning.
“Like what you see?”
A whisper with a lot of breath, almost teasing. I sit back, head against the wall, insert auditeur. I can’t help a little smile. Sure they’re breaking every damn rule in about a thousand rulebooks and then some more, and more than once, but I’ve started to feel bad for them. Sometimes I see them walk side-by-side, small glances, soft smiles and little giggles. Sometimes even a delicate touch. It’s so much more than little escapades in dinginess. More than the time they get allowed, outside, off of base, doing whatever they want. It’s a love that needs to be answered. A need, maybe, a desire for more than what they were, a desire to be together.
“Sam.”
His voice has become deeper, a baritone rumbled with utter desire. Involuntarily I blush. My hands have pretty much glued themselves to the flashlight. I put it down and rub my cramped knuckles. I need to have an escape, but I need them to have it first.
“Oh, Jack,” a mutter comes. “You’ve been on edge since we woke up.”
“Just for you.”
“Let me then.”
“Sam.”
A thud follows which almost makes me jump out of my skin. Alright brain, see what you can come up with, dealing with colonel O’Neill, major Carter and Gingerbread Henry all in one go. I know the colonel and the major will be suspicious than am here again. Gingerbread would come to my rescue with his endearing self. Another thud, heavier than before, is met with something I can barely repeat, ever. A raw need, met with more raw need and my head almost shuts off …
“Take me.”
The command that follows is almost primordial. “Turn around.”
I head scuffling, something dropping to the floor, and I bite my lip. I hope Gingerbread has fallen asleep, or is wrapped up in the sports pages deciphering the point-allocation in cricket. A sport I said I liked. More things fall down. Another thud follows and I rub my face. The thudding becomes rhythmic, a slow tap-dance of falling items in between muffled cries that quickly become an orchestra to which they tango in a frenzied rhythm. I secretly pray he’s going to send it home in a way that leaves her reeling, breathless. Of course, that prayer got answered pretty immediately.
“Jack!”
“My Sam.”
I hear a lot of breathing, deep guttural breathing and breathless panting. I hear a giggle, soft laughter, gentle moans and more giggling. I feel my calves have increased in muscular density as I slowly get up.
“I love you.”
“Love you more.”
Okay, okay, okay, time to move, time to … insert skitty captain CYP. I grab the flashlight and dash out, practically throwing the damn thing at Henry. He startles and gets up, dropping the sportspages, dropping his bag of snickerdoodles. He comes over and grabs my arms, training his green eyes on me, shaking me back to reality.
“Bat, bat,” I stammer. “Bat-bat-bat. Bat.”
“Bats?” he quizzes with a frown. “No molemen?”
“Battery. Dead. Doornail dead battery.”
“It’s okay,” he says with a grin as colonel O’Neill walks up. He eyes me with a frown and a curious nod, tucking in his black t-shirt into his green combats. Carter is wiping her lips, mussing her hair, pursing her lips. “Sorry sirs, it’s a dead battery.”
“Dead battery?” O’Neill asks, still frowning.
“Sir, yes, sir, sorry, sir,” I stammer. “Still think we should have more light in here, sir.”
“Right,” the colonel mutters just as major Carter takes my flashlight.
“There’s some corrosion here,” she says, eying me. “They not got any new ones?”
“Was going to check. Definitely. Checking. Now. Sir. Excuse me. Sirs,” I stammer, taking back the flashlight.
“Airman,” O’Neill orders gruffly. “See to it captain Keane has new batteries. And no more panic attacks or do I have to repeat my order?”
“Yes sir,” Henry says, but I nod at him with the last little coolness I can muster. I want … need to go alone. Remove evidence, return evidence, if there is any evidence. Damage control. Ya think they’d be more careful, right? I only have myself to blame for that. Damn.
“Am – am fine, sir,” I stammer. “Am. Going. To get the batteries. Sir.”
“You sure about that?” O’Neill asks as he looks at me sternly.
“Sir. I’ll face the molemen myself, sir.”
“Ye’re doing what by yourself?” he asks with a frown.
“Get over my fear, sir. The dark, sir. Sorry, sir.”
I see Carter purse her lips. “Why is there a toy giraffe in the back of your pants, captain?”
“You know three-horns don’t play with long-necks, sir?” I say, mustering my best drama 101 face and seriously praying molemen do not have three horns.
I keep looking studiously at colonel O’Neill, major Carter and Gingerbread till either my eyebrows fall off or I develop facial lines that look like a map of Switzerland. I stand and bite my lip. I see major Carter is trying to make sense of my comment. And then a realization flashes across her face.
“As you were, captain,” she says with a bewildered, caught-in-the-act, nervous smile.
Henry is right by my side and says: “I’ll stay here, sir.”
“Best idea,” O’Neill mutters as he and Carter walk to the elevator. “Even better. Much better. Best idea I’ve ever heard.”
“Yes, sir, please stay near the elevator,” I demand. Henry almost sprains his legs saluting. “If I call out, I mean. When I can’t find batteries. Sir.”
“You do that.”
“I’ll be right here, captain,” Henry says and I turn. “Alex.”
“What’s that?” he says with a challenging grin.
“Random letters that form a name, airman.”
He blushes and nods, just as the colonel and the major enter the elevator. O’Neill shoots me a questionably look but I stand erect. Lots of light. Precious light. I give him a shiny smile as I venture off into the cavern. Yep, cavern, because you can’t call this anything other than a cavern. Chew, chew, chew. A sour mass congealing into a sticky mass.
Tentatively I push open the pantry door. It’s a mess. A huge mess. How two people manage to do what they did and practically dump every pot, pan, ladle, and … glove (?) off of sturdy shelves is a mystery to me. I close the door behind me and start clearing up when my eyes catches something that definitely should not be in a pantry trashcan. A used condom. You. Have. Got. To. Be. Joking. Another case of caught-in-the-act. Swell. Well done captain CYP.
I take out the gum that’s been chewed into something quite sticky and elastic, and make a sort of, well, noose with it. I just hope it’s sticky enough to grab the … thing … laying on the floor in front of me. Out of my pocket I take my Wonka’s Tube of Sour Surprises. Now, where to put the candy? They’re too sour for me to gulp down, a sink would leave a rainbow of colors, a drain is nowhere to be seen. I look down at my boots, army boots. I untie my laces and drop half the contents in both shoes. That’s going to be comfortable, not. The rest I divide into the various pockets of my combat trousers, my panties (super uncomfortable) and my bra (don’t even go there). With a little magic and chewed-beyond-belief gum I manage to stick the sticky thing and dump it inside the Wonka Tube. Am so never going to look at a Tube of Sour Surprises the same again, ever again, ever never.
Notes:
Cleaned up all the notes.
Chapter Text
I step out of the elevator, followed closely by Henry, into the dim lit corridors of level 17. I’m armed this time, and not just with a big honkin’ flashlight but with a 9mm Beretta that’s tucked neatly on my right leg, and five brand new spanking batteries. As the elevator doors close, I sigh and rub my forehead in what almost feels like despair. Why I always manage to get the creepy level assignments is a mystery to me, and I have a vague feeling it’s major Carter’s doing. Henry touches my shoulder and I almost flinch.
“Whoa there, captain,” he says, visibly startled.
“Just don’t do that,” I mutter as I turn on the flashlight. “Would you? Would, eh, you stay here? Please?”
“Sure. So, who do you think? South-Africa or Pakistan?” he asks, holding up a newspaper.
“’Scuse me?” I ask, not following his quick-step.
“The cricket?” he asks shyly. “Got a sub to this sports-channel. Been following it, yanno, something to talk about aside from jumps, missions, lava-floors and molemen.”
I frown. Was he taking the piss? I could order him to scour FPS level impossible if I wanted to, or tackle the Big Boss with a friggin’ coconut on a tricycle, or fish out … things … from a trashcan without HazMat gear, hide evidence, return evidence, pretend your nose bleeds and my nose has bled pretty enough recently. Somehow he’s become a part of the cover story. How? Beats me, but he is. And he’s damn well playing it out too, I’ll make sure of that.
“India,” I mutter a little dazed as I stalk off.
I feel Gingerbread’s eyes on me as I walk forward and check my clipboard. A new SG team has joined us, and they need a fitted out dorm, cabinets, uniforms, and whatever else is on this humongous list. ‘Go find out and take stock’, they said. Alright, let’s do this. I pull the map from my clipboard, flick it over and look-up ‘material storage’. I let my finger trail down the list and find that the storage I need is unit 17 corridor B-17/9. Seven-teen. Lots of seventeens, I muse as I suppress a smile. May need to look that up sometime.
“Ye wanna go watch a game sometime?”
Startled I turn and frown. Henry frowns back.
“What?” I ask, totally confused.
“Watch a game sometime,” he says shyly. “Yanno, with hotdogs, couple of beers?”
“I best get on with this,” I mutter, waving my clipboard. “Get’s me audi in seventeen.”
“Audi?”
“Out of here?”
“Right.”
I nod as politely as I can, and walk off. I switch on my big honkin’ flashlight and shine ahead of me, taking deliberate steps towards the corridor stated and pause before I go in. Best have a little listen first, just in case we’re in for Voyeur Episode 4, but it’s dark and quiet. I walk forward, slowly, and see two doors. One is marked ‘Apparel’, the other ‘Sundry’. I check my tasks and decide on apparel first, as that door is closest to me. No need to tempt fate, just yet. I take out my keycard, run it through the slot and push the door open with a soft creak. I walk in, flick the switch for the overhead lights but, of course, nothing happens. I close the door, put the flashlight on one of the shelves and almost stay in it. A soft flicker of golden light shimmers through the dim dungeon. I look up and see two small, reinforced windows at the top of the wall farthest from me. As soon as I take one measly step with a trembling foot I hear it.
“That’s a fire hazard,” a gentle voice says with a soft giggle.
A equally gentle, but baritone voice, asks: “Fake candles?”
A giggle is followed by laughter.
“They look very real.”
“A little romance on-base. C’mere.”
No. No, no, no, no, not this again. I hear shuffling and back away ever so slightly, focusing on not making a peep. And surely, am thinking about mice again. Big hairy mole-like mice with fangs and horns. I purse my lips as I look at my clipboard. Four sets of basic uniforms, one S, one M, two L. I grab the two L-uniforms and put them in the oversized shopping cart standing to the side of the door. I take a step towards the other shelve and my big fat army boot makes a hollow noise. Shit. I don’t want to disturb them. Not after colonel O’Neill’s grumpy face this morning, not after he just simply walked away from major Carter, who’d looked just as royally pissed off as she followed him out. I decide they needed a little time together. And I need to be quiet. I crouch down and feel my calves protest as I undo my laces. I take my boots off and put them next to the cart before getting back up. On socks, I shuffle about till I find the M-uniform and see the S-uniforms on the top shelve. Next to the window with the soft candlelight. Of course. They have to be on the top shelve next to a window I do not want to look through.
“Lie down.”
“You ordering me, major?”
“Damn right I am.”
There is more shuffling, something plastic being torn and something tinkling. I hear some guttural approval, a slap on skin (why?), another approval, and walk back. I have to get the uniform. Somehow. Then I can get out of here, on time, for the new team to at least have something in their lockers, like underpants, any kind of pants. Clothes. But how to get up there? And how not to see?
“Sam,” a guttural baritone moans.
“Let me. I need this,” a moaned whisper replies.
“Shove back a little.”
“Like what you see, eh?”
“Sublime.”
I check if the shelves are properly attached to the wall, and for once the universe favors me. They are. Now I can simply use the dang thing to climb up and grab that dratted uniform from below the window. I put my socked foot on the lowest shelve and hoist myself up. Of course there is a creak. Soft enough to be a mouse, a skittering moleman, but I pause despite my brain conjuring up the most horrific critter ever invented.
“Jack.”
“Scoot back.”
I breathe out as quietly as I can. They’re still … comfortable … doing … whatever they are doing. I reach up. One more step. Naturally the dang plastic wrapper is stuck in some metal hooky thing. Of course I can’t pull it free. Now what? I take another step up, tugging at the dang plastic and my eyes travel to a scene … of utter primordial passion that would have taken me, post position, three weeks at a chiropractor. I see major Carter lift up, scooting a little backward and sit down. Craning her back, neck, craning her entire body … Colonel O’Neill’s hands on her hips, squeezing, pulling her in.
“Ye feel so good.”
“I need this … I need you.”
“Take me. Take what ye need.”
“Jack.”
Why do eyes have a tendency to glue themselves to things you seriously don’t want to see but somehow have to see? And why is she doing it that way round? And why is he … Fuck. I got to get out of here. I scuttle back down and look up at the window where the dancing lights mimic what I hear. A brighter flash eliciting a deep moan. A lighter flash a sigh. When do fake candles burn out? Not near as quick as the dang batteries in my big honkin’ flashlight. Poof. Done. Now what??
“Need.”
“Always.”
I freeze up again. The sounds of their exotic impossible lap dance are too much for the little fake candle flickering. And why the hell am I blushing?
“Sam. Need a …”
“No. No more. I want to feel you …”
“Turn ‘round. Need to see them.”
I hear shuffling, a giggle, and I scoot back a little farther into the dinginess only to have something drop on my head. Fortunately it went unnoticed to the two tango dancers and I scratch my head as I pick up … a video tape box? There are no TV’s down here, so who would leave that here? Moreover, why? I open it, take the tape out, and place it carefully underneath one of the shelves. ‘Woodstock’ it says on the label, next to a couple of X’s denoting the type of content I pretty much saw a second ago. I never knew a woman’s body could bend like that, nor a man who could even do that, not without getting cramps in places I don’t want to know about.
“Alex?”
Seriously, Henry? Right now? WTF? I keep quiet and hear his footsteps recede. I know they now know we’re down here. And sure, my earlier assumption is confirmed. Thank you major Carter, thanks very much.
“Sam, we’ve to … get.”
“Sh, it’s fine.”
“Sam – Ah!”
“Give it to me, Jack.”
“Samantha.”
“That’s it … Oh Jack …”
I wipe the sweat off of my eyebrows and think. My befuddled brain refuses to cooperate a moment but somehow I remember Gingerbread Henry. I get up, my legs are shaking, and I can only think of one thing. Providing an escape for the forbidden rule-breaking love that is ever present, never denied but answered in a dingy cavern. I hear some scuffling, giggling and a gentle voice saying again ‘it’s fine’. I grab the dratted uniform, grab my boots, put them on, fuck the laces, and push the cart out of the storage room at Usain Bolt-of-lightningspeed.
“Almost!” I yell back.
“Alright. India is playing any moment now.”
I think I damaged the side of the elevator with the speed I pushed the cart into it. Henry is on me like a bluebottle on pile of shit. He looks wide-eyed at me.
“Ye okay?” he asks, startled.
“Shit! These … yeah. Shit,” I growl as I throw the flashlight atop the cart. “Yeah thanks, am watching at Masala tonight.”
“What’s with these things?” Henry asks as he picks up the flashlight and clicks on the switch a few times. Nothing happens.
I almost sigh with desperation when I hear footsteps behind me. Crap. I just hope, no pray, that there’s nothing to be found in the dingy cavern marked ‘Sundry’. But I know better. From experience. A lot of experience.
“Staff sergeant Collins,” O’Neill bites angrily, tucking in his black t-shirt, eying the cart with items smashed into the side of the elevator door. “What’s going on?”
Henry looks at me, and for some strange reason I jump to his rescue. “Sir! It was me, sir.”
“You? Again?”
“Sorry sir, battery crapped out.”
“Battery did what, captain?”
I muster a smile as major Carter walks up. She tucks in her black T and musses her hair.
“It … died on me. Again. Sir. Major.”
“The flashlight?” she asks confused.
“In … on … at … level 17, sir. Boss level, sir,” I mutter.
“A what level?” O’Neill demands with a stern gaze.
“Sorry sir,” Henry stammers, and I feel sorry for him.
“It’s not his fault sir,” I apologize. “I thought I could make it out alive.”
“Out of what, captain?” O’Neill asks confused.
“Lava-floors, molemen, critters, big mousies, three-horns and long-necks. Sir. And cricket, lots of crickets sir,” I stammer. Sure. O’Neill looks at me like I’m a complete idiot, Henry looks away with a bright red face of shame, and major Carter dips her head to hide a smile. “Best … get on with this, sir, new team joining and all. Sirs,” I say as I turn on my heels and stalk off.
“Don’t forget the batteries,” O’Neill calls after me. “Collins, watch her.”
“Yes sir!” Henry almost shouts.
Despite the inevitability of god-knows-what’s lurking in the dingy creepy shadows, I walk as quickly as I can with unlaced boots to the door marked ‘Sundry’. I close the door and grab a cart, bend down to lace my boots – secretly thanking whomever wherever that neither major Carter nor colonel O’Neill noticed – and take a deep, shaky breath. I fish out the video cassette, put the box down atop the crumpled bedding and look up. There, dangling on the dead overhead is a back lace bra. Just for the record, you don’t play basketball with bra’s. They can be impossible to retrieve. Especially when there are no stairs handy, the dang light is in the middle of the room and I’m 120cm too short for a 3m room height. Why do they do this, for fuck’s sakes? A broom. There has to be a broom somewhere.
Yet, all I find is a coat hanger. That’s going to take some doing, alright, but once again the universe likes me. And am starting to like the universe. I pick up the black lace bra and smile. One of them has real good taste. Exceptionally so. Patterned roses, little gemstones, set in delicate fabric that could melt if it got too hot. I grab the video cassette box and find the courage to actually fold them decently. Yes courage, knowing where they’ve been and knowing what’s been done to them. I close the box, put it into the left pocket of my combats and let out a breath I’ve been holding for what seems like half a year. Bedding, check, uniforms, smashed into the side of the elevator so check, heartbeat too fast, nerves shot to hell, eyes soiled, ears burning, but overall presentable. I sigh, grab the cart, push it out into the corridor and fish out my reserve flashlight batteries. Yeah. Am getting real good at this.
“Hey, there ye are.”
Crap. Henry. I completely forgot about him.
“What’s Masala?”
“Oh, uh, it’s a restaurant. Sorry, I forgot,” I mutter as my left legs starts to hum pleasantly on its own. A tango, for sure. A very steamy tango too. “Sorry, Henry, this was booked months ago.”
“It’s okay,” he says before jumping to salute. “Major!”
I look up and see major Carter salute back. “Staff sergeant. Captain,” she says with a frown.
I salute back and push the cart forward, dropping a pack of batteries demonstratively into the cart. Why the hell she’s back down here is a mystery to me but it’s probably got to do with what’s inside the video cassette. Carter picks up the flashlight and looks at me with a questioning look.
“Sorry major Carter, batteries ran dead. Forgot I had spare batteries. Panicked. Yanno?”
“India is playing …?” she asks with another frown and a crooked smile.
“Cricket, major,” I say. “Bit of a weekend.”
“Weekend?”
“Well, yes,” I mutter a little embarrassed. “You know, Indian take-out, watch them win, get drunk and watch … Woodstock?”
Carter frowns and nods questioningly. “Woodstock?”
“Picked it up as I came in major,” I say with a hidden grin. “Here.” I fish out the cassette from the pocket of my combats and hand it to her with the best smile I can muster. “Got it for the week.”
She looks down and purses her lips to hide a caught-in-the-act smile. “Thank you, captain, you’ll get it back Monday.”
“Have a good weekend, major,” I say before I push the cart into the elevator and press the button. I turn and hide a smile. Carter looks bemused, Henry completely phased and demure.
Notes:
I actually looked it up. Fringe science, but there we are. The number 17 often represents a blend of the practical and the spiritual, symbolizing balance, triumph, and the potential for both good fortune and challenges. ← whoa... I rest my case ;-)
Chapter 5: Raised eyebrows 5; Emer-gency exit
Summary:
Stuffed giraffe and base-wide alert
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ever since I found it, my little giraffe has become a trusted friend. I feel foolish. An air force captain with a stuffed toy, a 9mm Beretta and a flashlight big enough to have gravity of its own. I scuttle forward. This morning I put in my papers, a transfer, a scientific science transfer. Then I got promoted. For what? Chickening out every time am down here? My CYP medal? What? At least the caverns have as little more lighting now, it’s a little cleaner, but it’s still an unbeatable level of dingy creepiness. I look at my clipboard with the simple instruction to check all in- and outgoing exits, relevant security measures, and in- and outgoing personnel … and whatever else it says. Handwritten instructions, yeah thanks for that. How about getting some more printer paper? Or printers in general? Or decent handwriting?
“Sam?” a baritone asks, and I hear unveiled concern. “Ye okay?”
“Yeah,” a gentle voice comes.
Oh god, not again! I immediately walk into a random corridor, sigh deeply, switch off my flashlight and plonk my forehead against the wall. Yeah, that hurt. I scoot back as footsteps approach from behind me and walk into a seriously dark little grotto. Great. Whatever lurks down here has surely picked up my scent, but I have no choice as the footsteps come closer. With lightning speed I duck behind a stack of shelves, push my flashlight next to a box with … x-rated magazines (?? who the hell stashes that shit down here??) … tuck the giraffe next to it and crouch down on my Thomas Evans calves.
“Come on,” the unmistakable voice of colonel O’Neill asks with a soft plea. “Ye been sick every mornin’ the last couple days, ye rush out without any explanation and I find ye here at base, practically dragging me off down here. Critter level. What was it? Molemen?”
“Jack. I didn’t want to do this alone.”
“Do what?”
“I think am pregnant.”
“You … Think?”
I close my eyes at this delicate moment. Oh boy. My calves start to protest as I scoot back a little further, holding my breath as major Carter and colonel O’Neill pause right in front of my dingy molehole. Sure, couple steps to the left would have been better but it allows me to see a little more of the love that has surfaced and grown despite the awful rules that would have kept them apart.
“C’mere.”
Colonel O’Neill pulls major Carter in a hug that almost looks like a gentle waltz. She pushes her nose into his neck and after a brief moment he tucks her head under his chin, stroking gently across her back. One of his hands comes to a stop on her behind and I see him squeeze gently. Carter runs her hands across his arms, up to the sleeves of his black T and pushes her body flush with his.
“Jack, what if I am?” she asks as she dips her head into the nape of his neck.
There is no answer but a gentle breeze of nothingness wafts through the shady corridor. I see him frown, then smile and then he kisses her forehead, nuzzling her, pulling her in close.
“Then we become parents.”
Carter moves her head to look up at O’Neill. A small frown, then a gentle question. “Jack?”
O’Neill cups her face with his other hand and I see him squeeze her backside again, to which she smiles. He kisses her, gently and lovingly, and the kiss deepens quickly as Carter opens her mouth to him. I just hope Henry is engrossed in the cricket scores as India was unfortunately beaten by a mere three points and he’s been badgering me again to go watch a game.
“I’ll retire,” O’Neill whispers against her lips. “Or train at Nellis. We’re doing this Sam. Anything. Whatever it takes. For us. I love you.”
“I love you. Just …”
“Love me just?” He says with a wonky smile.
The ensuing laughter even has me smile. It rings clear through the caverns and I purse my lips. I look back to where Henry is munching on snickerdoodles, frowning heavily at his newspaper, and I thank my lucky stars. I decide that maybe I can ‘help’ out one last time, before my transfer.
Carter kisses the wonky smile off of his lips and mutters: “Doc said it would be weeks, even months, for my hormones to go back to normal. The implant yanno …”
“I could’ve told ya your hormones were back to normal,” O’Neill says with another squeeze of her backside. He lets his hand travel upward to her waist and tickles her belly just under her shirt.
Carter giggles and I see O’Neill hug her tightly. I move back, behind one of the shelves stacked with foiled packing boxes and take a deep breath.
“Alright, let’s find a bathroom. Then see a doctor off-base.”
I hear soft footsteps retreating and hear my breath thunder out. I get up and peer around the corner, heart hammering in my chest. I see colonel O’Neill frown at something in his hand, see them round the corner, and hear a door open and close. That gives me in all five minutes to either duck out or take the elevator where Henry is waiting for me. Always asking me after molemen and boss-levels, cricket scores and trying to enthuse me to football. Which is, of course, entirely my fault. I decide on a little exploring myself. Can’t be that hard with a huge flashlight, Baretta and a stuffed giraffe, surely. And surely, as soon as Henry sees me, he smiles and gets up.
“Almost done?” he asks, folding the paper and wiping cookie crumbs off of his shirt. “Holler if ye need anything, am goin’ to find a bathroom.”
What!? No. No, no. No friggin’ way. No, this can’t be! Inadvertently a moan escapes my lips. I am just praying they’d had enough time to do whatever it is that needed doing. I rub my forehead and look up into a pair of concerned green eyes.
“You alright?” Henry asks me.
“Headache. Splitting.”
“Well go see doc Fraiser then?” he says as he saunters off towards the bathroom at the far end where major Carter and colonel O’Neill have just gone in.
Oh come on brain! Think! Think, think, think. I see the door to the left is alarmed. I see the elevator door open, a chair, newspaper … With one desperate leap I run up to the door and press the handlebar down. I knew those things were loud, but what’s screaming through the dingy caverns could be heard all the way in China for crying out loud! I see Henry rush back, eye me with concerned amazement, I see major Carter walk out, eyes large and I see colonel O’Neill look around with an angry face, a very angry face. Shit. Alright. Bring it on.
“Staff sergeant! Major! What the hell is going on here?” O’Neill’s voice is almost as loud as the blearing siren echoing off of the walls.
I immediately grab my key card, run it through the slot, hammer in the level code, cracking my finger, and turn around to three pairs of angry eyes. Yet Carter’s eyes soften a little as Henry excuses himself for some urgent business and ducks into the bathroom.
“Major? What this time? Lavamen? Spiders?” O’Neill demands.
“Headache,” I mutter.
“’Scuse me?”
“I was going to see doctor Fraiser,” I mutter. “Wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m sorry, sir. Should have taken the elevator.”
“Yeah, you should have. Much better idea than setting the entire base on alert,” O’Neill says through gritted teeth as two heavily armed SF rush op, FPS most-wanted shooting devices at the ready. “At ease guys.” They salute and walk back the way they came. “Right get outta here, am sure there’s another level ye can annoy.”
“Yes sir,” I say meekly. Oh, the shit you get for doing good. I watch them walk off to the elevator, O’Neill pointing pointedly at me, and I follow demurely. He practically drags me, yes drags me ‘cause my right sleeve is an inch longer I swear, to the infirmary. He pushes me inside and I sit down as Fraiser walks up.
“So,” she says with her soft, gentle voice. “What have we here?”
“Headache the size of a full-wide base alert,” O’Neill says gruffly.
“Right,” Fraiser says, eying O’Neill curiously. “Perhaps you let me talk to the patient and you go annoy general Hammond.” O’Neill looks from me to Janet before turning on his heels and stalking off. “Now, what is the pain level and what do you do normally?”
“It’s just a hammered pounding,” I mutter. “Usually I take peppermint or chamomile tea, cold compress, willowbark.”
“No pills? Only natural remedies?”
“Yeah.”
“Try this,” Janet hands me a cup of tiny pills. “Paracetamol, it’s similar to willowbark. Would love to talk a bit more about that.”
“Thanks,” I say as I swallow the pills. “Best get back and get this done, right?”
“Sure,” she says as I hop off of the bed. “Let me know if it gets any worse, alright?”
I enter level 17 for hopefully the last time. Fortunately, Henry is nowhere to be seen and I can scout around in relative private. I see his throne and newspaper, the thermos of coffee and packet of snickerdoodles, and smile. He did his best, but when you’re – even at my age – have a distinct adversity to the dark, it’s an almost impossible task. His boss-level thousand, I chuckle as I walk off to the bathroom in question. I open the door, walk in and groan. Crap. Another case of caught-in-the-act carelessness in a trashcan. And this time I have no idea how to deal with said items. A pregnancy test, and by the looks of things a positive one. Packet, instructions, and test results haphazardly dumped in a trashcan in a dingy bathroom with one shower and one toilet, and nowhere to hide. Alright, brain, what can you come up with? I look at my stuffed giraffe. The neck long enough to potentially hide the test. Packet and instructions can be origamied into a … flower box. Right, plan made. Now to grab … the thing. I look round and find a decent amount of toilet paper, which I can use to create a makeshift glove.
I take out my pocket knife and cut the seam on the back of the giraffe’s neck. I take out enough stuffing, toss that in the toilet, flush, and take a deep breath. With enough toilet paper to fell at least seven trees, I fish the test out of the trashcan and stuff it hastily in the giraffe’s neck. I stuff it’s little head in my back pocket and fish out the box and instructions. I dump those in the left pocket of my combats, button it up and exhale deeply. Next part of the plan. Major Carter’s lab is on level 18. I know she and O’Neill have gone off-base so I’ll have time to carry out my plan. I first rush back to my own dingy office on level 19 as I have to sow/staple/tape the giraffe’s neck back up lest the contents disappear to the bottom of her drawer, forever irretrievable. As soon as I shut the door behind me I get to work with a stapler, stapling the neck, stapling the little flowerbox and pushing the instructions, carefully folded, through the last little gap. One more staple and done. Right. Now to carefully hide it in one of major Carter’s drawers. Lock-pick. That must be around here somewhere. I rummage through my crap-drawer and utter a delighted ‘yes!’ as I find them tucked behind a box of toffees underneath a bag of Tayto’s crisps. I check for rust, put them in my bag pocket, take the evidence and my crisps and walk out.
Of course. Henry. I can’t just walk past him, seeing what he’s done for me, so I smile.
“Hey,” he says, pointing at my treasured bag of Tayto. “What’re those?”
“Crisps, well, chips,” I say. “Crispy potato things.”
“Ye never said ye liked those?”
“It’s an uncommon flavor,” I say, walking towards the elevator.
“Heard ye put in yer papers?”
I turn, and nod with a smile. “Yeah, they got rejected by general Hammond. I’ll keep trying tho. Look, am better off studying alien tech, yanno? Serves the SCG better than me going to dark planets …”
“Yeh never know,” he says a little demure. “Lavamen, molemen … Playing cricket with the Tok’ra? Baseball with the Jaffa? FPS with a Goa’uld?”
I blink. Tempting, but no. “Got a few errands to run before my vacation, best get on, eh?”
“Yeah.”
“Look, Henry, thanks. For what ye did.”
“Anytime,” he says with a small smile.
I nod once more and head for the elevator. I push in level 18 and watch the doors close. Mission accomplished. Bloody hell.
Notes:
Some comments are borrowed from apt sentences in other series. Like the crap-drawer and "crisps vs. chips".
WARNING: always follow your doctor's orders. Do not eat willowbark at random. Rest is supersafe.
Chapter 6: Raised eyebrows 6; Exit stage left, AKA audi
Summary:
So ... Area 51.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Whoop-tie-doolally, or whatever they say. My transfer has come in, finally, and am audi. A transfer I requested over two months ago, and after a rejection was almost immediately approved by none other than the Brilliant Brain herself! Yay, Area 51 here come! Doohickeys, alien artifacts, undecipherable languages, strange weapons, cloaking devices, morphing objects, all soo much better than dark dingy crevasses, moles, mice, lavamen, and creepy corridors. I’ve never packed as quickly as I’ve done today. I practically smash the lid of my suitcase down as general Hammond walks in. He eyes me, and I think it’s a suspicious eye. He smiles, and I think it’s a suspicious smile. He salutes, and I think it’s a suspicious …
“Major Keane,” he says.
Waits.
“Sir?” I ask whilst saluting, and wait as well.
“Colonel Carter was quite happy you accepted the assignment,” Hammond starts. He walks around my teeny office like he owns the place, which, technically, he does, and grabs my last bag of Tayto’s. You better not, my good man. That will cause an international, interstellar, big-boss-level impossible, all-out Goa’uld war and I’ll recruit the friggin’ mole-lava-men myself for that one.
“Any good?” he asks, looking at the the cheerful potatohead in a red jacket.
“Salt ‘n vinegar, sir, not … very popular.”
“Mm,” he says as he puts the bag into the last box on my desk. Then he takes the framed picture from my desk. The one I always pack last. My wedding picture. Happy, carefree and smiling wedding picture. He looks at it and smiles before also putting it in the box that I’m still packing with all sorts of crap. From the crap-drawer. Crap, does he suspect? Oh no. No, no no, that’s impossible.
“Your mother?” he quizzes me a little too curious.
Yeh the what? I purse my lips. Sure there’s an age difference but what the hell? I shake my head. Private life is still a private life, general, so back off. I feel my wedding band move against my heart and take a deep breath. “My spouse, sir.”
“Hence your initial request.”
“Which you … denied, sir.”
“I needed you here.”
“Sir?”
He turns and eyes me, then smiles. “Then colonel Carter found out you requested a transfer to Area 51. R&D? She was adamant we got you to R&D like yesterday. You know what she can get like.”
“She … was?”
“Yes. Apparently you outdid her once?”
“I … did?”
“Yes. Why – why are you surprised?”
“I … Well, eh, sir, I just did my job, sir.”
Yeah, awkward level thousand. Incoming boss level thousand. No clips left, a coconut in your back pocket and a slingshot at your side. Thanks. I need that. Not.
“Your record has been excellent, major, am really sorry to see you go.”
“Thank you sir,” I say as I put the last photo’s away.
“You’ve never been off-world?” he quizzes.
“No sir,” I say with a demure chuckle. “Think my fear of the dark was a bit off-putting.”
“Area 51 isn’t much brighter,” Hammond says with a smile. He dumps a large pack of batteries in the box then turns. “We’ll always be glad to have you back. Flashlight’s on the house.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say before saluting again. “But I think I’ve found my little corner in this world, sir.”
“As you were, major. Oh, before I forget,” Hammond puts an envelope in my box. “Staff sergeant Collins asked me to deliver this in person.”
He nods with a smile, turns and leaves. I exhale and turn to the box. In clear, square block-letters the envelope reads ‘Major Critter’ and I can’t help a smile. I pick up the envelope, open it and read what could only be the worst poetry in the world. Yet I smile. Again, as I read the last few lines.
‘Hey, Alex, well, level 17 won’t be the same without you. I may need to invent another boss-level, or maybe even another type of lava-man seeing as you’ve beaten most of them. Good luck at Area 51. Drop me a line sometimes. Henry.’
I fold the paper, stuff it back into the envelope and drop it into the box. I tape it up and sigh. Yes. My corner and no more corridors, dingy crevasses, lightless dungeons for me. I pick up the box, look back one more time, sigh and leave.
“Colonel Carter?” I almost squeak at my new superior officer welcoming me to the R&D facility at Area 51. The slight bulge on her lower abdomen absolutely revealing the aftermath of their adventure escapades on level 17.
“Major Keane,” Carter says with an imperceptible smile and a slight nod of her head. “Welcome to Area 51.”
“T – t – thankyouverymuch,” I mumble, saluting haphazardly. That surely would have given me max scores at scrabble or superbad credits as an Elvis impersonator, probably followed by soggy tomatoes, rotten eggs, stale beer, throwable things. “It’s a privilege, sir.”
She eyes me with that sunny, all-knowing smile and salutes me back. “Oh, it surely is mine, major, your resume and record stood out. I’m really glad you accepted the position. And, besides, the nation’s top secret facility does need someone with your talents.”
“It … does?”
“It does.”
Carter turns and hold up an internal postal envelope. The internal mail envelope thing I sent her a two years back. Black lace panties. I look down and sigh. Then she puts a small brown origami box on her table, the soggy boxers, followed by an a stuffed animal giraffe, positive preg test, an empty cassette box reading ‘Woodstock’, black lace bra, and a Wonka’s Tube of Sour Surprises. Yeah let’s leave that one, shall we?
“Yeah that,” I stammer, awarding me that supernova smile that’s usually reserved for that one man. “Those sours will give you tummy ache. Nausea. Yanno.”
“Yeah,” she says before laughing. “Why did you? I mean. You could have reported us?”
I look down at my shoes, sensible black army boots devoid of sticky sour candies and securely laced, and I can’t help a little smile. Little things that go a long way.
“You’re not the only one that broke a couple rules. More than once.”
“’Scuse me?” she asks with a unconcealed grin.
I look up, secretly pleased with the outcome of my almost panic-attacks and stash of random containers in the dungeons, foldable or invented on the dang spot. Carter looks radiant, almost carefree, happy. A good thing. All I saw was a good thing.
“Just saw, yanno,” I mutter. “You and the colonel, back then. A good thing, as I saw a good thing back when … ever. My physics professor, at Cambridge.”
“What happened?” she asks with mirth.
“I married her,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.
Carter starts laughing and I can’t help a chuckle.
“Thank you,” Carter whispers. “Took me a bit to convince Jack ye were on our side.”
“Any time, colonel,” I say with a smile. “So … All good?”
“Massively good,” she says as she gently caresses the little bump. “Big impossible boss level massively good.”
“How …?” I stammer, because how the hell would she know what I was thinking? Doing?
“You wrote it.”
“I did what?”
“Wonka’s,” she giggles. “Boss level thousand?”
“Oh, that,” I stammer shyly. “Yeah well. That was one heck of a thing to conceal. Without gloves, mask, HazMat suit, multiple injections from Janet, whatever.”
“Jack says thanks,” she whispers. “Maid of honor. He insisted.”
“Thank you, colonel,” I say with a grin that almost splits my face in half. “I should … stow away … conceal … obfuscate … put up a massive cloaking device … as in duty calls, sir, ma’am, colonel.”
“Sam,” she says with a smile, putting everything back in her desk drawer.
“Sam,” I echo shyly.
“Not that big on rules,” she says with her trademark giggle.
Laughter escapes me as I reply: “Rules are for … donkey’s I suppose.”
“These, well, we laugh about it when we talk about it.”
“Am – I’m really happy,” I say, pointing at the little bump. “For both of you. And the little one. Congratulations. Just – yanno, just saying. A good thing. Yellin’ and pullin’ included.”
“Thanks,” she smiles. “So are we. And little one thanks you too.”
“For what?”
“Everything I guess,” she says with a sunny smile.
“Don’t mention it,” I say with a wink before turning. “Anytime.” I can’t help thinking about Henry, but I’ll drop the periscope and leave him to fight the next level boss on his own. God knows what damage snickerdoodles can do.
Sam laughs and shakes her head. Next she motions to a desk to the right of her own, a very clean desk, with a shiny new computer, a laptop and a glass jar filled with candies, and one massive big honkin’ lampshade with a gravity of its own. I nod again and walk over, snatching one candy, chewing and sitting down. Yes. Best decision ever. Best obfuscation ever. Top that you cloaking device people, friggin’ molemen with your lava-floors, scary critters, bats in death-gliders, rampant horny mice and damp corridors. I beat the impossible Big Boss level with a coconut, a tricycle, a big honkin’ flashlight, a hostage (yeah, ‘cause, yanno, Henry, my unknowing side-kick), a stuffed animal and a blearing alarm, and no gun involved.
Max score. Max … everything.
Notes:
Maybe it’s just me, but once I started writing this little thing, I needed a nice, happy ending for Sam & Jack. And yes, this is actually something I would do for people I see being in love, awe, admiration, I’d be the CYP. Bye bye rulebook! Anyone got a decent flashlight, FFS?
Sim (Guest) on Chapter 1 Thu 07 Aug 2025 02:07PM UTC
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Little_Blue_Alien on Chapter 1 Fri 08 Aug 2025 09:39AM UTC
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GWhite on Chapter 1 Thu 07 Aug 2025 07:48PM UTC
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Little_Blue_Alien on Chapter 1 Fri 08 Aug 2025 09:40AM UTC
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