Title- The Surgeon
Author- Captain PJ
E-Mail- S/J, Catherine Cordell/Thomas Moore

Season: Crossover from Stargate and book by Tess Gerritsen called "The Surgeon"

Category- Angst People... Die Hard Angst. Contains bloody details.

Series/Sequel- No sequel that I am considering at the minute, but can be a series full of chapters.

Rating- Suitable for 16 years and older due to heavy details about dissection and medical terms and crime scenes.

Content Warning- Medical language with strong language by characters
Spoilers- None Sadly
Disclaimer- Stargate SG1 is owned by MGM and all the other people who do own it and I cant remember their names. All the writing that is taken for the crossover is all the property of Tess Gerritsen. She has written about all the characters and I don't intend to use it for any other purpose but to entertain my friends with this fan fiction. SO PLEASE DON'T SUE ME!

Authors note: My fourth fiction (excluding the pad fic for Jack and Sam's pad). It has been in the making for past four months. But my laptop was broken for two and since exams and school life had taken over, it's been hard to write. But now since I have my holidays, I think I will write the whole lot up. So hope you like this fic.

Prologue

Today they will find her body.

I know how it will happen. I can picture, quite vividly, the sequence of events that will lead to the discovery. By nine o'clock, those snooty ladies at the Kendall and Lord travel agency will be sitting at their desks, their elegantly manicured fingers tapping at the computer keyboards, booking a Mediterranean cruise for Mrs Smith, a ski vacation at Klosters for Mr Jones. And for Mr and Mrs Brown, something different this year, something exotic, perhaps Chiang Mai or Madagascar, but nothing too rugged; oh no, adventure must above all be comfortable. That is the motto at Kendall And Lord: 'Comfortable adventures.' It is a busy agency, and the phone rings often.

It will not take long for the ladies to notice that Diana is not at her desk.

One of them will call Diana's Back Bay residence, but the phone will ring, unanswered. Maybe Diana is in the shower and can't hear the phone. Or she has already left for work but is running late. A dozen perfectly benign possibilities will run through the caller's mind. But as the day wears on, and repeated calls go unanswered, other more disturbing possibilities will come to mind.

I expect it's the building superintendent who will let Diana's coworker into the apartment. I see him nervously rattling his keys as he says, 'You're her friend right? You sure she won't mind? 'Cause I'm gonna have to tell her I let you in.'

They walk into the apartment and the coworker calls out: 'Diana? Are you home?' They start up the hall, past the elegantly framed travel posters, the superintendent right behind her, watching that she doesn't steal anything.

Then he looks through the doorway into the bedroom. He sees Diana Sterling, and he is no longer worried about something as inconsequential as theft. He wants only to get out of the apartment before he throws up.

I would like to be there when the police arrive, but I am not stupid. I know they will study every car that creeps by, every face that stares from the gathering of spectators. They know my urge to return is strong. Even now as I sit in Starbucks, watching the day brighten outside the window, I feel that room calling me back. But I am like Ulysses, safely lashed to my ship's mast, yearning for the sirens' song. I will not dash myself against the rocks. I will not make that same mistake.

Instead I sit here and drink my coffee while, outside the city of Boston comes awake. I stir three teaspoons of sugar into my cup; I like my coffee sweet. I like everything to be just so. To be perfect.

A siren screams in the distance, calling to me. I feel like Ulysses straining against the ropes but they hold fast.

Today they will find her body. Today they will know we are back.

TBC