Things had just gotten way out of hand, and Smith wasn't sure exactly how to fix it. Normally, when he bullied someone – especially when he had backup – they did what he said. They either blustered and threatened, or they whined and pleaded, but they capitulated. Never did they pull a gun – and who the hell jogs with a gun anyways? He had to get the situation back under control, because he could tell already that he was losing ground fast.

"Mr. Brooks…"

Ian's other hand came up, working the action on the Glock, and the noise was loud and clear in the sudden silence that had followed the appearance of the weapon.

"Look, kid-"

Ian turned the gun from Smith to Bennett, who had spoken up, obviously thinking the same thing Smith had been – they needed to regain control of the situation.

"I'm not a fucking kid, ass wipe. I don't know what you guys want, but you're not going to find it here. Get-"

"Are you going to shoot us, Mr. Brooks?" Smith asked, giving Ian a slight smile that was forced. The gun was steady and the eyes were cold, but he really doubted that the kid had it in him to kill any of them. He didn't have a killer's eyes. "It's very messy, you know…"

"Not as messy as slicing someone's throat," Ian said, bringing the gun back to Smith. The way he said it, it made them all believe that he actually knew just how messy it was to slice someone's throat – and how would he know that?

"Ian-"

"Get going."

"I don't think so," Smith said, even though Bennett and Pleasant – the other man behind Smith – were both more than ready to turn around and head back to the suburban. "I don't think you'll kill any of us…"

"I don't have to kill you," Ian said, shrugging. To make the point, he lowered the gun, and now it was pointing at Smith's groin, and then it was aimed at his knee. "I just have to make sure you don't bother me anymore, and-"

"Jesus, kid!" Smith couldn't help but take another step backwards. "We don't want to do it this way. We were just sent to bring you to-"

"I'm not going. Go back, and tell your fucking boss that if he wants to talk to me, then he can call my secretary and make a fucking appointment."

It wasn't like any of them could do anything but just that. Brooks had the drop on them – there was no doubt about that – and Smith really believed that while the kid didn't have the guts to kill him, there was no way he wouldn't shoot them. Him, at least. He wouldn't have to do more than drop him to get the other two to bolt, and Smith knew it. Pale and sweating – even though the morning was chilly – Smith backed up another step.

"Fine. We just got off on the wrong foot, kid, that's all… I'll go talk to my boss, and see what he says. No hard feelings…"

He raised his hands slightly, showing Brooks that he wasn't going to do anything stupid, and started taking a few more steps backwards.

Ian didn't answer. He just watched as the three men backed up a bit, and then turned and walked across the field back towards their rig, every now and then looking over their shoulders as if to se if he was still watching them. Gun in hand, Ian followed them at a fairly safe distance, making sure they actually left. Only when they got into the suburban and drove off, turning the corner and going out of sight, did Ian lower the Glock, and then he leaned against the hood of the convertible for a long moment, taking deep breaths and trying to figure out what the hell that had been about.

He put the Glock back in the glove box and got behind the wheel, not at all interested in jogging, now. Who was so interested in him that they might send some guys out to get him? It couldn't be the military. The military knew where to find him. And they didn't really have to ask, they just had to tell Jack or General Hammond, and one of the two would tell Ian what was going on. Which meant civilians, of course – although Ian didn't have enough background in politics to know what kind of organization might be interested in talking to him. Or what they'd want to talk about.

Probably, if they knew about the Stargate, they were interested in hearing more about it from him. Maybe they knew he was helping Sam with her experiments and figured that he'd be a lot easier to approach for obtaining those secrets than she would – and who would be brave enough to try to go through Jack to get to Sam, even if she wasn't able to take care of herself? He shook his head. The last thing he'd ever do was betray the secrets of the SGC – especially to a bunch of piss ants. He wondered if they really did know his dad, or if that was a lie. He knew they weren't friends with him, that was for certain – and he debated calling Jack and telling him about what had happened.

Jack was stuck in the infirmary, though, and Ian was loathe to bother him with something that probably wasn't important when he was already feeling like shit with a stab wound to his leg. As he drove home, he decided that he'd make a couple calls himself – just to see what he could find out – and then, depending on what he heard, he'd decide what to do from there.

OOOOOOO

"Hello?"

"Dad?"

Nathan Brooks sat up a little, his blue eyes suddenly intense and worried, although no one was with him to see it.

"Ian? What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You're not hurt?"

"No."

"Not in danger?"

"No."

"Oh."

There was a hesitation, then, because Nate had absolutely no idea why his son would be calling him if he wasn't hurt or in danger – although Ian hadn't ever called him when he was hurt or in danger, for that matter. Others had.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, dad."

Ian seemed to understand the hesitation, because there was none of the usual annoyance in his voice, and Nate relaxed just a hair, deciding he'd called to talk to Maggie.

"Your mom's not here, son. She's-"

"I called to talk to you."

"Oh." Another hesitation. "You're sure you're okay?"

Ian couldn't help but chuckle. He knew he'd thrown his dad for a loop, but it had been a long time since he'd heard Nate so flustered, and never because of him.

"I'm fine. I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions – if you have a minute?"

"Sure, son. What's up?"

When was the lat time Ian had ever called him to ask him anything? Never was the answer that popped into Nathan's mind.

"Do you know a guy named John Smith?"

"John Smith? That's his real name?"

"He said it was," Ian replied. "He came looking for me – telling me that a guy he's working for wanted to talk to me, and that this guy knew you – so I was wondering if you knew anything about it."

"Military?"

"No."

"Spooks?"

"I don't think so…" Ian said. "But I'm not as familiar with that kind of thing as you are… you-"

"I don't know a John Smith off the top of my head, Ian," Nate said, interrupting. "But that could just be an alibi – and a bad one – for someone I might know…"

"It's probably just some guy trying to get free tickets to one of mom's shows or something," Ian said, deciding that he probably shouldn't have bothered his dad with this. "I was just hoping you might know something I didn't."

"Not this time, son." Nate was quiet for a moment, trying to think if he knew anyone who used that particular alibi. The trouble was; no one ever would. It was so dumb that it would draw more attention to a person than they'd want. "Let me think about it and get back to you."

"Okay, dad. It's not important or anything. I was just curious."

"I'll call you, Ian," Nate promised. "You're okay, though? Don't need anything?"

"I'm fine. Really."

He was touched that Nate kept asking – although the year before he might have been more annoyed than anything. It was amazing what a year could do to someone.

"Okay. Let me know if you do."

"I will, dad. Thanks. Tell mom I said hi…"

The line went dead, and Nate sat back in his chair, holding the receiver and staring off into space for a long moment. Then he dialed a number, and waited for an answer.

"Colonel Ian Piper, please. Tell him it's Nathan Brooks."

There was a wait of no more than thirty seconds before a very familiar voice came on the other end of the line.

"Nate?"

"Ian. You busy?"

"Not too busy for you, sir. What's up?"

"Do you know anyone who goes by the name of John Smith?"

"Military?"

"No."

"John Smith, huh?" Even Piper sounded amused by the name. "It's not very original, is it?"

"No."

"What's this about?" Piper asked curiously.

"Ian just called, and was apparently approached by this guy, telling him that he – or his boss – knew me. I don't know anyone named Smith, but I want to know who's trying to talk to Ian."

"Kinsey, maybe?"

"Maybe. Do some snooping for me, will you, Ian? Keep it low key, though. I don't want anyone knowing we're looking."

"Will do, Nate. Is Ian all right?"

"He said he was, but you never know with that kid."

"I'll check it out. If someone's messing with him, I'll find out who."

"Thanks, Ian."

"That's what godfather's do, Nate."

There was a chuckle, and the line went dead, and this time Nathan hung up the phone as well. He didn't know anyone named John Smith, but if someone named John Smith knew someone who knew him, Ian Piper would find out for him. Ian was very good at finding things out, and Nathan was definitely interested in this.