A/N: Welcome to a new AU series! Like my others, this is going to have an episodic structure, but I'm posting everything in this one fic instead of as separate episodes. It's not necessary to have seen Warehouse 13; I tried to write this in a way where the details of that universe get explained as needed. Hope you enjoy it as much as I have!
Chapter 1: Warehouse Agents
Rios picked up a flask and checked it over. Another replica with "Made in China" stamped on the bottom. He tossed it into the growing dud pile and reached for another. Cannon and musket fire resounded outside the tent from the Civil War reenactment going on full swing.
"I can't believe how many there are," Raffi groused.
She and Rios were literally sitting knee-deep in old flasks, some fake, some real, but so far not the one they were looking for—Ulysses S. Grant's. The artifact had the nasty effect of making anyone who drank from it believe they really were fighting in the Civil War. The Warehouse had first been alerted to its reappearance when at the previous enactment site on the tour, a soldier had stabbed two actors with a real bayonet. So the two agents had been sent to retrieve it before it could cause any more harm.
Rios picked out the last flask from the old trunk, looked it over, and then dropped it with a frustrated huff. "It's not here."
Which meant it was probably out on the field with one of the reenactors.
He ran a hand over his hair. "Now what?" They couldn't risk waiting for the reenactment to be over and everyone to turn in their props.
Raffi straightened at something past Rios's shoulder, and he turned to look at a pair of uniforms hanging on a clothes rack.
He turned back. "No."
"We have to keep a low profile, so we can't just go waltzing out onto the field," she argued, getting to her feet and grabbing one of the uniforms to check its size. She then started shrugging her coat off so the uniform would fit over her shirt. "Come on," she goaded.
Rios grudgingly took his jacket off and picked up the Southern uniform. "We're on the wrong side."
"Grant was a Union soldier. Whoever's got his flask will be drawn to attacking Confederates rather than his own side."
"Great plan," Rios muttered as he finished donning the uniform.
Raffi struggled to fit the cap over her buoyant curls.
Once they looked the part, they grabbed some rifles loaded with blanks and headed out onto the battlefield, keeping to the periphery to avoid the main action. The blasts of the cannons rattled Rios's eardrums like thunder right overhead.
As they made their way through the melee, they spotted a man hunkered down behind a log, a hand clamped over one arm as though injured, so they veered toward him.
"Hey," Raffi said, crouching down beside him. "You all right?"
The man looked up in shock. "He shot me!"
Rios removed the man's arm to inspect the wound. He'd been shot, alright. "Who did?"
"Private Johnson." He looked down at his bleeding arm. "Oh God."
"It's just a graze, you'll be fine," Rios assured him. "Was this Private Johnson drinking out of a flask?"
The guy squinted at him in confusion. "Uh, yeah."
Rios shared a look with Raffi; that was their man.
A Union soldier suddenly came charging up and shot at Raffi. Rios reflexively whipped his gun up and shot him in return. The soldier's face skrunkled in annoyance, then he scowled at Raffi.
"You're supposed to die!"
"Yeah, whatever," she muttered.
"You have to fall down," he insisted.
She arched a pointed brow at him still standing, and he huffed as he dropped "dead" to the grass. But then he lifted his head to say,
"You're not even period accurate."
"Excuse me?" Raffi took a step toward him, and Rios grabbed her arm to hold her back.
"Keep a low profile, remember? Just, take this guy off the field to the medical tent. I'll find Johnson."
Raffi glowered but nevertheless helped the man who'd been shot to his feet and away from the action. Rios glanced at the "dead" Union soldier still lying on the ground all huffy. He shook his head and continued into the battle, ducking musket fire and trying to avoid any direct confrontations.
He finally spotted a man drinking out of a flask who had a crazed look in his eye. Rios cautiously approached him.
"Hello, sir," he called. "Uh, Private Johnson?" he asked, even as he got close enough to read the name tag on his uniform, confirming it was him.
Johnson's eyes blazed with fury. "Southern dog!" he screamed as he lunged to attack.
Rios leaped back and threw his rifle up to block a bludgeoning blow from Johnson's weapon. With the rifles locked, he tried to snatch the flask off Johnson's belt.
"I- just- need-" he grunted as he struggled to keep the private back with one arm.
Unfortunately, the artifact made him berserk, and with a raging cry, he wrenched his rifle free and swung it down to knock Rios's legs out from under him. He landed on his back hard, and Johnson held the tip of his bayonet ready to plunge into his chest. Then a shot of squiggly blue energy came flying out of nowhere and hit Johnson, stunning him unconscious. Rios craned his neck to see Raffi was back, dressed as a Southern belle now, with a Tesla gun in hand.
"Still not period accurate," he grunted as he sat up and scrambled to grab the flask.
"You're welcome," she snipped.
Rios pulled out a foil-lined neutralizing baggie and stuffed the flask into it, then turned his head away to shield his eyes from the resulting sparks and pops. The artifact was now neutralized, and Private Johnson there would wake up a bit confused but back to normal.
Rios got to his feet, his lips twitching as he took in Raffi's bonnet and very poofy hoop skirt.
"Don't," she warned, gesturing the Tesla gun at him.
He merely smirked as they turned to make their way off the field. They passed a soldier who shook his head in irritation.
"Damn Trekkies always crashing the reenactment pretending to be time travelers."
The drive back to the Warehouse was short, given the reenactment had been in the same state. Rios veered the SUV down a long mountain road that led to seemingly nowhere. At least, that was what any wandering travelers would find. The Warehouse was well isolated.
The dirt road turned to gravel as it ended next to a scarp of a mountainside. The doors looked as though they'd been carved into the rock itself centuries ago, even though that wasn't the case. The Warehouse moved locations, though the when and how was a mystery the agents weren't privy to. This one was number 14.
Rios and Raffi left the SUV parked outside and entered the compound, crossing the Umbilicus corridor that then let them into the main office. There, they found that Seven had dropped in for a visit. Five years Rios and Raffi had worked here and they still didn't know Seven's real name. If she even had one. She was the seventh caretaker of the Warehouse, and therefore just went by "Seven." In a prim business suit skirt and maroon blouse with a black blazer and necklace of pearls, she looked more like she belonged in a high profile courtroom than a rusty old warehouse hidden inside the Appalachian Mountains.
By comparison, sitting in front of the computer terminal beside her, Jean-Luc Picard looked like an old librarian in his brown sweater vest and spectacles. He used to be a field agent but was now on the equivalent of desk duty. When asked why he didn't retire, he simply shrugged and replied that the Warehouse was his home. He had no family or loved ones, he might as well continue to offer his service and knowledge.
Picard swiveled in his chair at their arrival. "Did you get the flask?"
"Affirmative," Rios replied, holding up the bag as confirmation.
"Good."
"What's up?" Raffi asked, eyeing him and Seven curiously. They did look as though they'd been in the middle of an intense discussion.
Picard exhaled audibly. "Someone has been trying to hack into the Warehouse."
"What?" Raffi exclaimed.
"I thought that was impossible," Rios said.
"It is," Picard replied.
"And yet," Raffi gestured at the computer.
"They haven't succeeded," Picard pointed out. "I said there have been attempts."
"And yet, not comforting," Raffi rejoined.
"The firewalls are impenetrable," Seven spoke up. "But this does mean someone out there knows about the Warehouse. We'll need to be on our guard." She looked back at Picard. "Keep me informed of any further attempts."
He nodded.
"Well, that's not good enough," Raffi said, striding forward to nudge Picard out of his seat. "Have you attempted a backtrace of the hack?"
"Yes," he said with mild exasperation.
Raffi interlocked her fingers and cracked the joints, then began typing. "Let them try to evade me."
Rios turned to go put the flask in the Warehouse storage, noting that once again, Seven had simply vanished when no one was looking. Caretaker voodoo or something. But, another day's work done. And tomorrow there would be more.