A/N: I got a lot to say before this chapter. First of all, the Halloween spirit hit me hard this year and I couldn't get the idea of putting a Halloween scene into this fic out of my head. I had to do it! I wrote this chapter about two weeks before Halloween, but unfortunately didn't get it posted in time, so I'm sorry that it's a bit late. If you need, put on some Thriller or Monster Mash, turn your clocks back two weeks, and get into a spooky mood for this chapter and next!
Second of all, I wasn't sure about all the Spanglish in the first part of this chapter, but I wanted to include it for a specific reason. In Scars, Emma mentions that she had a friend who dragged her to Salsa/Bachata club every week in college. For the purposes of next chapter (foreshadowing duh duh DUH), I wanted to make it pretty clear that this is that friend and so I thought the Spanglish and the Dominican slang (which I tried my best at) were the best way to reveal that. I dunno. Hope it works haha. Don't know how much Spanish any of you know, so I hope you can still understand!
As always, thank you for reading and reviewing. :) Oh! And jynxieminxie, I named a character Vivian for you!
Emma reclined back in the brightly-colored armchair, computer in her lap and legs outstretched as her friend, Amanda, disappeared into her closet.
"Oye, put esa maldita computer away," her other friend Vivian scolded, pushing herself off the bed and trying to snatch it from Emma's hands.
"Ay, que me dejes en paz," she said defensively, precariously holding the laptop over her head and out of Vivian's reach. "I gotta finish this translation for the FBI real fast," she offered as an excuse, placing the computer back in her lap and continuing to type.
"Should you really be translating top secret stuff in the middle of your friend's apartment, while getting ready for a girls' night out, on a relatively insecure Wi-Fi connection?" Vivian asked, arms crossed against her chest and her eyebrows raised.
"It's not top secret," Emma replied, glancing up at her from behind the screen.
"Then it can wait," Vivian retorted, slamming the lid of the laptop shut with a snap, narrowly missing Emma's fingers.
Emma grimaced and begrudgingly shoved the laptop back in her bag with a dismissive "fine."
"Mira, cuando Amanda me dijo que habías regresado, I decided to come all the way from New York to visit you two; the least you can do is put the work aside por una noche while I'm here," she scolded.
Emma nodded. "You're right," she sighed. "I'm being rude. Sorry," she reluctantly apologized.
"Someone come zip me up!" Amanda called from inside the closet.
Vivian got to her feet to go assist, but turned to face Emma again before disappearing into the closet. "You better not be typing on that thing when I come back," she threatened, waggling a finger toward Emma's bag.
Emma got out of the chair and made her way to the mirror. As she started to fix her hair, her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She pulled it out and slid the red lock button across the screen so she could see the email that had just arrived.
Sender: USAF
Subject: Urgent – Pegasus Translation
This message has been flagged as important
She let out a frustrated groan and deleted the email. It was the fourth one she had received that day.
Amanda and Vivian emerged from the closet, Amanda now dressed in a skin-tight red jumpsuit and wearing glittery devil horns on her head.
"Subtle," Emma commented sarcastically, gesturing toward Amanda with her chin.
"Hey!" Vivian interrupted upon seeing the phone in Emma's hands. "What did I just tell you? Put the work away! Dame esa vaina!" she demanded, trying to take it from her.
"I'm done!" Emma exclaimed, stuffing the phone into her pocket again and then holding her hands out in front of her in surrender. "I promise!"
"Ok. That's it. You're wearing the costume," Vivian declared, glancing over to Amanda who took that as her cue to return to the closet. She reappeared with a pair of ears, a tail, and a black leotard dangling menacingly from her hand.
"No," Emma firmly stated, "I am a grown-ass professional woman who has been contracted as a linguist and interpreter by the Air Force, CIA –"
"Don't forget the NSA," Amanda chimed.
"And the FBI," Vivian added, rolling her eyes.
"We get it," Amanda groaned, "You're very smart and important."
"Point is," Emma continued, talking over them, "I will not be dressing as a kitty tonight."
"Hey!" Vivian shouted defensively, "We went to MIT, too. You don't hear us saying that we're too good to dress up."
Emma's eyes narrowed as she thought how ridiculous the devil and pirate standing in front of her looked.
"You'll have more fun if you dress up," Amanda argued. "I don't know what happened to you this past year, but you've been so…gloomy and antisocial since you got back."
Emma licked her lips and raised her eyebrow.
"Not that I don't enjoy spending time with you," she quickly backpedaled, "It's just…" she sighed, "when was the last time you got super drunk and totally let loose?" she asked.
Emma looked down at the floor. She could almost taste the burn of the tequila in her mouth… the bite of the lime…the salt on his skin.
"Just the ears?" Amanda pouted, holding them up.
"Fine," Emma growled, looking back up. "I'll wear the damn ears." She took them from Amanda and shoved them on her head. "Happy?" she asked.
"Can I paint a nose and whiskers on you, too?" she asked as a mischievous grin spread across her face.
"Over my dead body," Emma snarled.
The large black SUV rolled slowly through the suburban neighborhood. Large orange pumpkins with spooky faces cut into them illuminated by candlelight decorated nearly every porch. Skeletons and monsters were plastered in windows. Some yards even boasted gravestones in their otherwise perfectly manicured green lawns.
"Is your planet always this…creepy?" Ronon asked Sheppard with a frown.
"It's Halloween," Sheppard replied with a shrug.
Ronon shook his head showing his lack of comprehension.
"It's a holiday where people dress up and try to scare away evil spirits," he explained.
"Evil spirits?" Ronon asked suspiciously. "I thought your people didn't believe in ghosts."
"Well…most don't, but…" he stammered, "To be honest I'm not familiar with the whole history of the holiday. It's now more of an excuse for little kids to dress up and get candy, and for adults to get stupid drunk and make terrible decisions while behind the protection of the anonymity a mask," Sheppard carried on.
"Your planet's weird," Ronon grumbled.
"All right, I think we're here," Sheppard announced as he turned the steering wheel and pulled up the driveway toward the house they were looking for. It was beautiful big house, Ronon thought; it almost reminded him of Melena's parents' house on Sateda. Sheppard brought the car to a stop, turned the key in the ignition, and wrenched up the parking brake.
"Sheppard, this is a bad idea," Ronon muttered as he released his seat belt, his stomach in knots. "Me and Emma…we didn't end things very well."
"If you wanna stay in the car, stay in the car," he suggested. "But you agreed to come this far with me, so I know that at least some part of you wants to see her. We'll just ask her to translate the thing and then we'll go."
"Fine," Ronon growled, getting out of the car. His desire to merely lay eyes on her conquered his reason.
The two men walked from the car to the front door and rang the doorbell. They heard a dog barking from inside and then footsteps coming closer to the door. The blood rushed in Ronon's ears. When the door opened, Emma's sister – Michelle – was the one who answered it. Ronon had only ever seen her in pictures or videos, but he thought the family resemblance was even more striking in person. She tilted her head upon seeing them. "Aren't you two a little old to be trick-or-treating?" she asked with a smirk.
"We're uh…not here for the candy, ma'am," Sheppard began, "We're actually here looking for Dr. Emma Rogers."
Michelle's smile faded as she looked warily from Sheppard to Ronon, her suspicious gaze lingering on him in particular, and crossed her arms. "Regarding?" she asked curtly.
"I'm Col. John Sheppard, this is my uh…associate Ronon Dex," he started. "We're with the Air Force," Sheppard explained, showing her some identification. "This is the current address we have on file for Dr. Rogers. Is she here right now?" he asked.
"You've got the right address," she affirmed, "But she's out right now. Will be for most of the night, I imagine," she told them.
Ronon wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed by her answer.
"Would you mind telling us where we could find her? We need to speak with her as soon as possible – it's urgent," Sheppard continued.
The woman opened her mouth to say something, but the sound of a child's voice from inside interrupted her. "Mommy Mommy!" A small red-headed girl of about four or five that Ronon could only assume was Emma's niece Allie came running to the front door and wrapped her arms around her mother's legs, burying her face against her stomach. "Mommy hide me!" she giggled, "Dracula's gonna get me!"
Michelle put her hand on Allie's head and turned to look back into the house. Behind her a man who must have been her husband was wearing a black cape and false pointed teeth, crouching down and pretending to stalk the little girl.
Allie squealed and ran away from her mother. Her father intercepted her with a fake snarl and hoisted her up into his arms. "I'm going to suck your blood!" he mock-threatened, baring his teeth. The girl laughed and he held her against his chest, her chin resting on top of his shoulder. "Bedtime, sugar," he said, taking his teeth out and kissing her loudly on the cheek. The man turned his back to the front door so that Allie's face was at last angled toward Ronon and Sheppard standing there.
The breath caught in Ronon's lungs and his stomach lurched. His gaze darted from Michelle's dark brown eyes and then back to the little girl's. Staring back at him were two familiar emerald green eyes that he would recognize anywhere.