Challenge #32 on LJ – If I told you, I'd have to kill you.
oOoOoOo
Freya McAllister wondered just when exactly she became Brendan Dean's keeper. Yes, they were partners. Yes, they worked together like a well-oiled machine. But they didn't spend all of their time together.
When she entered the New York branch office of the NSA, Kunzel seized her arm, frantic. Brendan had missed an early morning meeting, and Harper was furious. The agent's inner turmoil and concern was more for his job than Brendan's well-being, but Freya could understand his distress.
Director Harper, on the other hand, was more concerned than angry. He knew about Agent Dean's extra-curricular activities, Brendan still felt he needed to make up for lost time.
It had been six months since Brendan was kidnapped, and in his opinion, three weeks of recovery had been purely unnecessary. Nevertheless, he worked himself into the ground, as per usual, and now it was Freya's job to dig him out.
Two weeks ago, Agent Dean had been tossed a case by the CIA involving one Doctor Rodney McKay. Finally getting one step ahead of the resourceful astrophysicist, Brendan caught him and sent the man back to his own reality. The building burned to the ground, taking with it all evidence to catalog.
Soon after, Brendan received strange phone calls, and a small package arrived on his desk yesterday. The agent took the package home last night; Freya watched him tuck it under his arm along with other files.
Just a regular Monday.
Brendan had walked her to her apartment, then presumably, to his own, eight blocks away. Freya had tried to listen to his thoughts, but they were scattered and erratic enough to keep her at bay. It was the way his mind worked, especially during cases.
Freya finally reached Brendan's third floor apartment, more than a little miffed. While she was still in the observatory phase, she wanted very much to take the training classes for the research department at the NSA. Also, the books Michael gave her about interrogation techniques were already devoured, whetting her appetite for more.
Raising her hand to knock, Freya cast out to see if she could hear her partner inside. The only sound was a faint thud, almost like a body hitting hardwood.
"Brendan?" Fumbling in her pockets, she pulled out spare keys. "I'm coming in, so you better be decent."
Opening the door slowly, Freya was assaulted by the tangle of confused thoughts and images. Brendan sat on the floor with his back against the sofa, shaking violently. His head rested on his drawn knees, lanky arms wrapped tightly around them.
"Brendan!" Kneeling down, Freya gently touched him to examine his body.
Lifting his head, Brendan squinted up at her. :Who are you? Where am I?: Flinching away from her touch, he opened his eyes fully. "What… What do you want? I –" :I don't know you! Stay away! Where's Rodney? What's going on here? God, I feel sick. What did you do to me?:
Freya raised both hands, hoping he would calm. "Brendan, I need you to focus. Are you hurt?"
:Brendan?: Squeezing his eyes shut, the man in question thought of his past day. A shining pool of water and light; his hand on another man's shoulder. Snatches of a conversation between them; the other man calling him an idiot, as he flashed amused blue eyes.
Oh my God! That's Rodney McKay!
Freya sat heavily on the floor. "You're not Brendan Dean. Who are you?"
The man who was not Brendan Dean smiled a cruel smile, and opened his eyes. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."
oOoOoOo
To say Radek Zelenka was an ambitious man would be an understatement. He strove to be the best in his field, and only wanted the finest in all things material. Everything was going along at a fair clip, allowing Zelenka total dominance over Lockton Engineering's theoretical division. Then Rodney McKay swooped in, taking everything Radek had worked for on its ear.
Glancing over at the boxes of notes and items, Zelenka cringed at the knowledge the boxes contained. He would never admit defeat when it came to Rodney McKay. As McKay climbed higher, Zelenka's star dimmed. Soon, the rival scientist was in Elizabeth's pocket. Unfortunately, the man was good.
Damn good.
The man said he was a genius, and there was no doubting his words when he could back it up with irrefutable evidence.
McKay started the Pegasus Division, centering on strange and unusual items obtained by a secret branch of the U.S. Military. He didn't have any interpersonal skills whatsoever, but Rodney McKay handled generals and other military staff effortlessly. Zelenka was surprised to find the abrasive doctor even had a sense of humor.
Soon after Rodney McKay arrived, he usurped Radek's position as resident brainchild. Not only that, McKay knew exactly what some of these objects did, even turned them on. Zelenka was out, moved to the Atlantis Division without so much as a thank you, working for idiot marine biologists and oceanographers.
Then suddenly, things went sideways. McKay was pursued by every alphabet organization in North America. The arrogant man vanished without a trace, and it seemed the only person who could catch him was Brendan Dean of the NSA.
Dean was barely a step behind McKay, somehow anticipating his next move. The agent caught up with McKay, but the scientist managed to slip away, destroying all evidence in a secret location. Dean brought a box to the main office recovered from McKay's apartment. The man looked exhausted as he dropped the box at the front desk.
One object had caught his attention; Dean was entranced by a glassy green orb. Zelenka had watched the surveillance over and over until he was sure. The orb dimmed until it was dark, and the agent blinked several times.
Looking over his notes, Zelenka smiled. Yes, Brendan Dean was a perfect subject. And that box was a ticket out of Lockton.
Even with his clearance, it took Radek nearly a day to get the agent's home address. Adjusting his binoculars, he could see the object of his obsession staring blankly out the window. Radek thought himself fortunate being able to spy on an NSA agent instead of the other way around. The corner apartment he had rented for the week would pay off – he was sure of it!
Brendan Dean had finally opened the package Zelenka sent a week ago. The agent studied it for a few minutes then tossed it back on his cluttered desk. That was all the object needed; once it was on, it drew power from whomever touched it last. Rodney McKay's notes were extensive, and somewhat cryptic regarding this device, but Radek was a genius too. He would figure out what it did soon enough.
The evening came swiftly as Zelenka kept notes. "Subject seems exhausted hours after turning on the object. Whether the object has a specific On/Off switch is undetermined; nevertheless, it is on. Object is faintly glowing a blueish-green color, getting brighter when the subject is near."
He watched Dean pick up the orb once more and gaze out the window. The agent's vacant eyes zeroed in on Zelenka's location, looking directly at him. The scientist shook the odd feeling off, laughing at himself. He moved to the left, only to have the other man track him. "That's impossible. He cannot – There is no way he can see me."
Dean blinked slowly once, and stumbled away from the window. He appeared in the window of the bedroom, dropping heavily onto the bed. The agent listed sideways, asleep before his head hit the pillow.
"Note: Subject may have acquired extra-sensory abilities through object. Search McKay's notes for enhanced abilities."
Watching the sleeping man, Zelenka's plan changed.
oOoOoOo
John woke with a start. Reluctantly, he rose from the amazingly comfortable bed. He didn't like feeling so drained; the last time he felt like this, he had been playing light switch for Rodney all day.
Which gave him an idea.
Sitting upright, he closed his eyes, concentrating on his surroundings. There. A slight hum to his left. On. Ononon.
"Oh my God. What is Ancient tech doing here?"
Standing, John walked around the enormous bed. Holding his hands out, palms up, he tried to feel out where the tech was hidden. The longer he sought its location, the more sensitive his body became. A slight tug came in the direction of an antique chest of drawers. Opening the top drawer, John found a softly glowing orb.
"Now where did you get this?" Sending a thought to the object, the greenish glow winked off. Immediately, the draining feeling ceased, allowing John to relax. Taking a deep breath, he palmed the orb, and walked out of the room.
The woman who had helped him earlier sat in a recliner, flipping channels. She smiled, hearing John walk into the room.
"Hello," he drawled. "I didn't know you stayed." Toying with the cool glass orb, he eyed her closely. "Thanks, by the way."
Turning off the TV, the woman let her eyes rove over the stranger. Same body, different thoughts. She opened her mind to his scattered thoughts as he turned Brendan's paperweight in his hand. "Ancient tech? What's that? And where did you find that?"
John felt his brows scramble upwards; he was unable to maintain his usual schooled bland expression. "I didn't say anything."
She rose smoothly from the chair to stand in front of him. "Sorry. You don't have his memories, do you?" Sighing, she knew the answer. Looking him in the eye, she held out her hand. "Freya McAllister."
Recapturing his mask, John smiled and stepped back from her outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you. Look, I don't want to keep you, so –"
Freya took a step forward. "It's okay, John."
:I didn't --:
"Yes, you did tell me. I'm a telepath, John." She felt his mind still within; it was an odd feeling when someone stopped thinking. "And you, my friend, are a disturbing individual."
John laughed low and dangerous. "Well, that's a little too science fiction-y even for me."
"That's not even a word." Putting her hands in her pockets, Freya tilted her head. "You know, telepathy is normal around here. Body switching is definitely sci-fi."
"Touchè," he said, smile finally reaching his eyes. "So, any idea where this Brendan guy got this?"
Moving to the cluttered desk, Freya picked up a small box. "Looks like it came from Lockton Engineering." She handed it over to John. "That's where Rodney McKay worked."
Images of McKay and other people flashed through his mind as he grabbed the box. McKay scowling, laughing, talking incessantly, waving hands, drinking cup after cup of coffee. "This is the reality he came to? Why would – How –"
"He didn't send it," Freya answered, hearing his thoughts. "Someone named Kavanagh –"
A dark glare stopped her; this wasn't a good look. In fact, she couldn't recall Brendan ever having that look in his eyes. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the dark cloud lifted.
:Rodney's gonna be pissed.:
Freya chuckled at his thoughts of a ranting McKay. Sorry I didn't get to know the guy. "Who's Kavanagh?" she asked.
Images of a man with glasses and a ponytail assailed her, along with vicious thoughts of bugs and monsters.
"An ambitious, deceitful, weasel-like creature who calls himself a scientist. And, apparently, thoughtless and selfish to have sent this here. It means he's up to something."
"So this guy exists in your reality."
John shrugged. "He can't be too different. In theory, most alternate realities retain the personalities of its subjects."
"Well," Freya sighed. "We have a place to start."
Pointing to the address on the box, his eyes hardened. "How far? It's been a long time since I've been to the East Coast."
Freya puzzled at this statement, but thought better of asking him about it. "Hour, hour and a half. We'll have to get a car though."
John's brows scrunched together. "What?"
"Since you – um, Brendan – didn't go to work this morning, he hasn't signed out a car."
"Okay," he drawled. "And where does he work?"
Flopping back into the chair, Freya crossed her long legs. "The NSA," she said, casually bouncing her foot. "So you better get dressed."
"Hmm," John straightened, and tossing the object to Brendan's partner. "I definitely better get dressed. The NSA, huh? Cool."
Showering quickly, he tried and failed not to look at the body that was his, but not. Brendan was just as lean as the colonel himself, however, the pale skin lacked the amount of scars John had accumulated over the years. He was a little concerned with the bruises. :A pencil-pusher should not have this many bruises.:
John dried as he chose clothes from Brendan's closet. :This guy was probably born in a suit.: Finally he found a pair of jeans, grabbed one of the many white shirts, and a black sports jacket. Sometimes, John felt this was his uniform while on Earth; it was comfortable protection. For the first time all morning, he felt better. The shoulder holster and Walther P99 inside it helped a little, too.
Leaving the bedroom, John felt he could face whatever this reality threw at him.
"Well, it looks like you clean up nice, too." Freya said from the kitchen. "Not sure about the hair, though."
:Everyone picks on my hair.: As she approached, John saw a travel mug in her hand. "Oh you are an angel," he said gratefully. If it weren't for Rodney, John would never know what decadent coffee tasted like.
"Brendan considers good coffee his only vice. With the hours he keeps, it's a wonder he doesn't have an IV pole dragging behind him."
John tilted his head thoughtfully. "If he's in my body, and has interacted with McKay, they should get along well enough." Taking several sips, he arranged his questions internally. "So. The NSA. What do I need to know?"
Smiling a bit sadly, Freya took a few sips from her mug. "First thing. Agent Brendan Dean has an eidetic memory."
John let a low whistle escape. "Wow. Really? I'm good, but not that good."
"He has amazing recall, even if he's in motion."
"Great. Hope there's no pop quizzes," John grumbled as he shrugged into his jacket. "The next thing?" When she didn't respond, he turned to face her, and caught her staring. "What?"
Snapping out of it, she gave an embarrassed grin. "It's just... Well, Brendan would never wear that."
"It's his day off. Why wouldn't he?"
"Well, you did mention something about being born in a suit."
:That is unnerving.: he thought, but said nothing aloud.
"Sorry." Freya followed him out of the apartment, fumbling with keys. "Okay, so since he doesn't wear that, be prepared for questions and stares. Terri is gonna flip!"
"Terri?"
Again, she felt his mind still, ready to receive information. Pulling a badge and another set of keys out of her pocket, Freya thought of the next point on her list. "Merriweather. She's your right hand researcher, and she thinks of Brendan as her little brother."
:Is there anyone who doesn't fuss over this guy?: "This just gets better and better. All right," he frowned, opening the door to the street. "A badge, and I'm guessing pattern rec, plus a swipe."
"Yep. Regular spy stuff."