Disclaimer: I own nothing and I don't get anything for writing this.

A/N: I know, I know. I should be working on Lions and Tigers and Jaffa (LTJ) instead. It's a little ailment called writer's block. And a busy schedule. Hope you enjoy, though. This was fun to write.

A/N 2: For all future reference, this piece will be referred to as NLE.

A/N 3: This is un-Beta'd, so all mistakes are my own.

Chapter One

"Look, I already told you people; I don't need your protection. Can I PLEASE get back to work now?"

Mary hated cocky flyboys. Their egos were incredibly annoying and gave her huge headaches. "You witnessed a powerful gang leader killing his subordinate, Colonel Mitchell. There's no where you can go, no where you can hide, unless we help you."

Mitchell paced back and forth in his living room, while Mary leaned against a wall and Marshall lounged on the sofa. The team had all been at Jackson's house for a movie night, but a certain archeologist had forgotten to stock up on the popcorn. Mitchell volunteered to pick up the popcorn, but found himself at a grocery store in the worst part of Colorado Springs…

Mitchell left the grocery store, five boxes of popcorn in a bag swinging at his side. He heard shouting as he threw the bag in the passenger seat.

"What'cha tryin' to pull, Shanton?"

"Nothin', Cuzz; I ain't done anythin'."

"I can't afford losers like you, Shanton."

Mitchell circled his car, crouching down next to a pickup to his left and peeking over its bed to watch the scene. A group of African-American teenagers, all in blue sweats, had circled around two other teenagers. These two were the ones locked in an argument. Mitchell memorized their faces; the first speaker was taller and in the glint of the parking lot lights he caught a glimpse of a scar running down his left cheek. The second speaker was younger, but heavily built.

"Cuzz, you gotta believe me. I don't know what happened to that bastard."

"The hell you don't. You were with him the entire time, Shanton. That bust cost us money. And I know you don't have money. So I'll have to get it from you some other way." He pulled a knife out of a pocket.

Shanton jumped back ten feet and put up his hands. "Woah, Shaudell, cool it, man. I ain't done nothin'. Ja'kari just disappeared, Cuzz."

"Yeah? I don't believe you." With that Shaudell shoved his knife through Shanton's chest. Shaudell looked around and, before Mitchell could duck, saw the airmen peeping over the pickup truck. "HEY!" Shaudell shouted. "Get that SON of a BITCH! I want him DEAD!"

Mitchell scrambled to his car, hastily locked the door, and turned the key. He dialed 911 as he pulled out of the parking lot, scattering the group of gangsters out of his way. After talking to the police, who told him to return home and wait for them there, he called the SGC and informed General Landry of his situation. He had no idea how long it might take to get through with the police, and he knew they'd want him to stick around until the court date.

Luckily the police were able to react fast enough to catch Saudell. They confirmed Mitchell's suspicions when they told him to stay at home; actually, they had gone even further than that. They'd placed him in Witness Protection, despite his vehement protests. He knew he could take care of himself, even against a gang. He had resources most people didn't have, combat training that those gangsters could only dream of getting. But the police didn't want to take any chances- they finally had enough evidence to pin down Saudell Sepling, a main ringleader of the Crips; and Mitchell was the main witness for the case.

And he was getting no where with this U.S. Marshall. Mitchell knew only one person that might be willing to lend him a favor; that might be willing to bring these people in on the program. He grabbed the pen out of Mary's hand. "Do me a favor, will you? Call this number and talk to General Jack O'Niell." He jotted a number on a napkin that he had left on the table in front of the sofa.

Mary glanced at Marshall and handed the napkin to him. Marshall's eyebrows perked in curiosity. "D.C. area code? How high up is this guy?"

Mitchell stopped pacing and looked at Marshall. "Classified." He sighed and started pacing again. "As is why I have to get back to the base."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Everyone thinks the world will end without them around. Once you get it through your thick skull that that's not true, the quicker you'll be able to adjust to a new identity."

Mitchell swore. She didn't know how wrong she was. If he left now, just when they were finally making some headway against the Ori, things could get ugly. SG-1 would have to find a new leader, since Sam was commanding Atlantis, which meant that they would be out of commission until someone new showed up. Then they'd have to break the new guy in. "Call O'Niell and I'll prove you wrong."

Mary thought for a second. It was obvious that Mitchell wouldn't come quietly. What good would it do to fight him? If calling this general would make her job easier, then why not call him? "Alright, Mitchell, I'll call this O'Niell character for you. As long as you agree to come quietly if he tells you to come with us."

Mitchell nodded, knowing that O'Niell wouldn't let them take away the leader of Earth's flag team. "Sure. Just call him."

Mary stepped outside to make the call. After fighting her temper for five minutes as she convinced the secretary to put her on the line, she was finally greeted by an irritated "What?!"

"General O'Niell-" Mary started.

"Two L's" O'Niell interjected.

Mary bit her tongue for once. She didn't think it would be wise to pop off to an Air Force General. "I am U.S. Marshall Mary Shannon, with the Witness Protection Program."

She got no further before O'Niell interrupted her again. "You're calling about Mitchell, aren't you? I was called in the middle of the night."

Mary fought hard to hold her tongue, but his smart alec remarks weren't helping. "Yes, I am. He told me he could protect himself and asked me to call you, for some reason."

"He can protect himself. He's an Airman, and a damn good one at that."

"He's also being hunted down by the Crips."

"We have ways of protecting him that you don't, Shannon."

Mary gritted her teeth. She didn't like people telling her that they could do her job better than she could. "The Crips have over 30,000 members. You can bet that Mitchell's face has been beaten into the memory of every one of those people, that his license plate has become a part of their gang signs. He cannot go anywhere in this country without being in danger. Unless we help him get a new identity."

"You are not taking my officer, Shannon. That's final."

"And you aren't telling me how to do my job, O'Niell." She had finally lost it, and she knew she'd pay for it later. Stan would have her head for this.

"I'll stop telling you how to do yours if you stop screwing with mine."

"I'll stop screwing with yours if you can tell me how you can protect him."

O'Niell hesitated. Letting those two in on the Stargate Program would give him a ton of paperwork, not to mention grief from the IOA. On the other hand, he would probably loose Mitchell if he didn't, and they couldn't afford to split up SG-1 right now. "Call General Landry at the Cheyenne Mountain Complex. Have Mitchell talk to him. Tell them that I just gave you and your partner security clearance to see what they're working on."

"And why should I do that?"

"You wanted proof, you've got it."

Mary wrote down the number he gave her for General Landry. "If I still don't believe that he can be protected enough, I'm taking him into the program."

O'Niell laughed. "Oh, that won't be a problem, Shannon." And the call ended.

Mary sighed. She knew today was going to be a bad day. And yet, she still got up. She wondered why as she dialed the phone again.

Once Landry had cleared the two WITSEC employees, Mitchell gleefully drove them two the complex. Marshall theorized on what programs could be underway in Cheyenne Mountain on the way, with Mitchell giving vague hints to match his guesses.

"Ice age men?"

"Nope."

"Recreating dinosaurs?"

"Nope. Think about the cover story. Would we say we were working on deep space telemetry if we were recreating dinosaurs?"

"Good point. Has to be something with aliens."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Marshall. I thought you were older than that."

Marshall glared at her and fell silent as they pulled up to the gated tunnel into Cheyenne Mountain.

"Here we go," Mitchell said, climbing out of the car. He showed his ID to the security guard and told him Landry had cleared the other two as guests. Mitchell led them to the elevator and punched the button that would take them to the Gateroom. He figured Landry would want to be at the briefing.

"How far down are we going?" Marshall asked.

Mitchell frowned. "Don't know for sure, but it's far enough down that we can't get cell signals."

"And you're working on deep space telemetry?" Mary asked incredulously.

"Yeah, I have to admit it's not the best cover story they could have come up with." Mitchell conceded.

"A four year old wouldn't believe that one."

Mitchell laughed. "He would until he found out what deep space telemetry was." Schwoop! The elevator doors slid open as they reached their desired floor. Mitchell led them through the halls until they reached the door to the conference area. "Wait here. There are some things visible from this room you shouldn't see quite yet." Mitchell explained and opened the door before Mary could argue.

"'Quick! Hide all of the cool stuff from the civilians!'" Mary said as she lounged against the opposite wall.

"Oh, don't worry, Shannon, you'll get your chance to see what I'm really doing here, but not until you sign nondisclosure agreements." Mitchell said, making them jump as he came back out of the room. He motioned for them to enter. "Well, come on. We don't have all day." They followed him into the room.

"This is what you had to hide from us?" Mary asked. The computers and maps littering the area looked just like normal computers and maps to her.

"Hey, Walter." Mitchell acknowledged one of the computer techs against the wall to the right of the room. "You'll see what all the secrecy is about in a little bit." He led them through another door.

In this room was a large table with mildly comfortable-looking chairs around it. In a chair at the head of a table sat a graying, heavy set man in an Air Force uniform. The man rose to greet the newcomers. "Welcome to Cheyenne Mountain. I'm General Landry, the CO of this base." He shook Marshall and Mary's hands. "Before we begin, you need to sign these forms." He gestured to papers already on the table.

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking, where's my team?" Mitchell inquired.

"On a mission, Colonel. You didn't think we'd postpone at such a crucial time, did you?"

"No, sir. Just wondering why they weren't here." Mitchell glanced at Mary and Marshall, who were still reading their documents. "Oh come on, just sign them. They're no different than the ones you had to sign to join the Marshall Service."

Mary had to admit, they did look a lot like the ones she signed to get the job. "What the hell, I've got nothing to lose." She said and signed the page. Marshall followed suit.

"Now that that's all in order," Landry collected the papers as he continued, "We aren't studying deep space telemetry down here."

No shit, Sherlock, Mary thought. "Oh really? I had no idea. What has the government been hiding from its taxpayers now?" Mary asked sarcastically.

"Well, Jackson's really the best one to explain this, but we'll do the best we can." Mitchell started. "Marshall wasn't too far off when he suggested aliens earlier."

Klaxons suddenly went off. "Unscheduled off-world activation," a voice informed base personnel over the loudspeakers. Mary looked quizzically at Mitchell, who shared a worried glance with Landry before the two jumped out of their seats and left the room. Shrugging at Marshall, Mary followed the Airmen, figuring they'd signed what they needed to sign to see everything on this base.

"What's going on, Walter?" Landry asked the computer tech.

"Receiving an IDC… its SG-1, sir." Walter turned to his CO. "Incoming transmission."

"Patch it through."

"We're under heavy fire. Close the iris as soon as we're through!" Marshall could hear some sort of weapons firing in the background; a bomb went off in the distance.

"Understood, Colonel Carter; the iris is open. Get your people out of there." Landry instructed.

Marshall stared at the giant ring through the blast windows. It was unlike anything he'd seen before, and he couldn't help but wonder what it did. Suddenly the metal plating in the center of the circle withdrew, revealing a large puddle of… water? What the HELL is going on here? He asked silently.

Mitchell smiled slightly at the expressions of his guests. They were not too far from his expression when he first saw the Stargate. But he was too worried about his team to make any comments.

Jackson came through the gate first, dragging an unconscious Vala behind him. Staff blasts shot across the room below, causing the observers to jump back. Teal'c appeared next, followed lastly by Carter, who dived through the gate and rolled down the ramp before someone caught her.

"Medical team to the Gateroom!" Walter shouted into the loudspeaker. Mitchell was down with the rest of SG-1 before the computer tech could make his announcement.

"Cam!" Sam shouted in surprise.

"You alright?" Mitchell asked as he came up to them.

"We're fine," she looked at Vala. "Well, mostly. She's lost a lot of blood."

"What happened?"

"That's what I'd like to know." Landry stopped next to Mitchell, followed closely by Mary and Marshall.

"We'd love to tell you, sir, but we're more worried about Vala right now." Jackson interrupted irritably. "WHERE'S THAT MED TEAM?!" He shouted as the medics dashed into the room.

Mitchell didn't know what happened, but he sure as hell one of his team members wasn't about to die.

A/N: Yay cliffhangers! That should be enough to get people interested. All comments and criticisms are more than welcome, but please refrain from saying "you suck, stop writing". If you don't like it, don't read it. If you can tell me why you don't like it in a nice manner, please review.