((Found a very detailed list of Immortals on the web and yes Ramirez's real name is 'Tak Ne' and he was from Egypt around 836 B.C.; sorry for the delay, muse has been napping and I've been addicted World of Warcraft. And as for whole Capital Hill deal, no one there notices the Assistants, they're phantoms.)) ((Thanks to Saffron Angel for being the beta for this chapter.))

Denver
Palace Hotel Room # 317 – 11:00 pm

She puttered around the room silently. There wasn't much left for her to do. The last of her wardrobe was safely tucked away in the suitcase she had purchased. She finally wandered across the plush room, coming to a stop before the low coffee table where the long black sword case rested along its smooth polished surface. Slowly, she unlatched the case, and swung the top open. Reverently, she unfolded the soft velvet wrapping that encased the rapier and dagger.

She reached into the case, her slim hand grasping the grip. Bringing the sword out of its cocoon and turning sharply on her heel, Janet spun effortlessly into the classic en garde position with the sword held at chest level.

The blade was perfection, crafted in the long forgotten art of Damascus steel with a balance and length designed to complement her slight frame. In the silence of her room, she slowly wielded the blade through a kata of slow and controlled cuts, thrusts and parries against an invisible opponent. This was a dance she had danced countless times since she first grasped the hilt of a sword all those centuries ago under Rebekah's guidance. A dance she tried to impart to every fledgling she had tutored.

Time vanished under the simple, graceful movements till, at last, the complaints from her muscles reached a volume that she could no longer ignore. Her breathing was a slight panting from the strain brought about by the controlled movements. Only now did she realize that her silk top was clinging to her body, soaked with sweat. Chiding herself for this slip in discipline, the slight woman muttered, "No more hiding behind the U.S. government, my dear. You're now back at the tender mercies of your fellow Immortals and the 'Rules of the Game'."

She turned and gently placed the rapier back into the open case. With a gentle turn, she walked back across the room toward the bathroom. Glancing at the small alarm clock on the nightstand, she was surprised to learn that she had spent roughly three full hours lost in the slight meditative trance of her practice.

Peeling the soaked maroon silk top from her shoulders and setting it on the sink, she continued to undress. Just before setting the temperature of the water, she glanced at her reflection. She examined herself closely, twirling an errant strand of hair between thumb and forefinger. Her hair was currently auburn with blonde highlights and the cut was the shortest it had been since the 1920's, barely reaching the curve of her shoulder, a style that Cassie had convinced her would 'make the guys check her out'.

"New life. New hair color." It came out of the blue in a vocal rebuke of the melancholy that she felt encroaching upon her. "Maybe it's time to return to my natural color?" she asked her reflection.

Turning on her heel, she reached into the shower to adjust the temperature. As the steam rolled out of the glass enclosure, she stepped slowly under the torrent of hot water, letting it wash away the sweat and soothe the ache of muscles long dormant. The water worked its magic on the aches that had developed in her shoulder muscles as her mind drifted to the cause of the dull ache and more importantly the person who had cared enough to craft it specifically for her all those centuries ago.

(Flashback)

Royal Court of Charles V - King of Spain and Holy Roman Emperor
Spain - 1535 A.D.

The room is massive. Resplendent in gilded gold and fine silks and softly lit by a myriad of candles, the soft sound of music mingles together with the conversations that are scattered around the room. She stands engaged in polite conversation with the High Mayor of Toledo about the growing trade from the King's new colonies in the Americas and the siege of Vienna by the Turks. As she listens to the continuous prattling, she is assailed with the familiar thrumming buzz that starts at the base of the neck and spreads to encompass the entirety of her head. Keeping her calm outward appearance, she scans the room to see if she recognizes the Immortal that just entered the room.

The moment her eyes find his the buzz vanishes only to be replaced with a wholly new and welcome sensation as a blush creeps up her cheeks from the attention of his eyes as he unabashedly examines her from across the room. Slowly she unruffled her silk fan and begins to cool her heated face as he slowly approaches.

The High Mayor, completely oblivious to all things except his own needs, hastily makes polite introductions upon noticing for the first time that they are no longer alone.

"Ah! My dear, this is the King's chief Metallurgist, Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez," he says with a rather dismissive air. Then inclining his head toward Kallisto, he continues, "Señor Ramirez, allow me to introduce the Lady Mirabelle Wolfstein, who is here as a representative for the Duke of Wurttemberg to His Majesty's court."

As she extends her hand, Ramirez gently brings it to his lips, gracing the back of her hand with a kiss as his eyes remain fixed on hers. As the trio makes polite conversation she can not resist as she steals sidelong glances at the very handsome gentleman across from her.

Finally, the High Mayor becomes distracted by the appearance of the Papal envoy, leaving the two Immortals alone at last. Ramirez inclines his head toward the balcony and both slowly walk outside into the cool summer night. Turning to face her, he smiles warmly, a smile that is mirrored on her face. "Kallisto, you are as beautiful as ever," he says, taking her hands in his once again and bringing them to his lips.

Inclining her head at his attentions, she whispers softly, "And you, my dear Tak Ne, are still as handsome and charming as ever. How long has it been since we last met, 600 years?" She softly glides closer to him.

Wrapping his arm around her slim waist, he leads her further away from any prying eyes, down toward the garden. "Oh, my dear, much longer than that. I believe it was in France. Charlemagne's Court as I recall." They stop behind one of the many lush green hedges that line the paths of the garden. She turns to face him as his arms encircle her slender waist.

"Oh... well are we going to talk or are you going to kiss me?" she whispers huskily, her head tilting slightly up as his lips move closer to hers.

"Who am I to ignore the request of such an enchanting lady?" he whispers just before their lips meet in a deep kiss....

Shutting off the water, she reached for a towel, thinking sadly, "You would have so loved the twentieth century, Tak Ne. May you burn in hell, Kurgan."

…

Stargate Command
Level 27 -- General Hammond's office - 10:00 am

The silence of the room is broken by the knock at the door. "Enter," the General called out as he closed the cover on SG-6's post-mission report regarding their mission to P65-X4F.

When the door opened revealing Major Davis, he stood up.

Stepping into the room, the Major shut the door behind him before quietly coming to attention with a crisp salute.

Nodding slightly in greeting, Hammond commented, "Major, I hope your unannounced visit means that the situation has been resolved."

"I'm afraid not, Sir." As the Major removed his cover, he let out a soft breath as the General gestured for him to sit. "I just came from both Peterson and the Academy Hospital. The head of the Medical Facility at Peterson had no knowledge of a body being shipped to his morgue two nights ago. Furthermore, we did a physical count of all bodies in their morgue and none even came close to matching that of Major Frasier." Before the General could say anything, the Major continued. "There is more, Sir. I felt it wise to err on the side of caution and had a forensic team accompany me to the Academy's morgue."

"And what did you find, Major?"

"Sir, we found Major Frasier's fingerprints on the lip of the morgue locker. In fact, we found her prints on the doorknob of a supply closet and the door to the morgue itself. Places they shouldn't have been. Places she had never been even when she visited the Academy hospital." General Hammond noticed the grim look marring Major Davis's features.

Leaning back in his chair, George closed his eyes and let out a slow breath as he looked at Major Davis. "What are the Pentagon's orders?"

"General, the Joint Chiefs have decided to play this one 'close to the chest' as it were. Their orders are that, for all intents and purposes, Doctor Frasier is, in fact, dead. Furthermore, no one outside this room, save the Joint Chiefs, is to know for the time being that we have a foothold situation. The planned memorial service is to go forward as planned," announced the young Major.

"Major, I cannot keep my 2IC in the dark regarding this situation. Hell, son, Dr. Warner says that the Colonel has tried to sneak out of the infirmary once already in order to be there for Doctor Frasier's daughter," replied the General as he sat taller in his chair. The thought of lying to his second in command left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Yes, sir. The Joint Chiefs are very aware of how close SG-1 was to the doctor. After the memorial, they will be informed of the situation. At that point, your orders are simple. Retrieve Doctor Frasier at all costs and, with the help of the Tok'ra have the Goa'uld that has taken control of her removed." The Major ran his hand through his hair, knowing how dicey this situation could get and how quickly it could get that way.

"Major, may I ask why the Pentagon has decided to keep up the ruse that Janet Frasier is dead?" Hammond asked.

"Because Senator Kinsey has recently gained the backing of someone very rich and powerful it would seem, with serious connections in D.C. The rumors are that he is all but assured the Vice Presidential nomination this year," said Davis. "And news of this security breach could be just the lynch pin he needs to convince the current administration that the SGC should be under civilian control."

"With Kinsey picking the civilian director, I take it."

"Yes, Sir."

…

Colorado Springs
O'Neill Residence - 1:34 am

The room was silent save for the snap and hiss of the slowly dying logs in the fireplace. The room was decorated in simple yet tasteful tones of brown and green. The lone occupant of the room was sprawled in the corner of one of the matching pair of larger leather chairs. A half-empty glass of water sat on the dark oak coffee table, next to the bottles of pain medication and antibiotics that Dr. Warner had insisted that he take if he was going to check himself out of the infirmary against the doctor's protests.

He was still exhausted from the shouting match he had gotten into with the obstinate doctor, but some things in life were more important than one's own comfort.

(Flashback)

"Colonel O'Neill, you are NOT ready to be released. You could have a relapse or collapse your lung if you overexert yourself," insisted the exasperated doctor.

Slowly he turned on his heel and glared at Dr. Warner. "Look MAJOR Warner, I am more than capable of taking care of myself. Besides, SG-1 is grounded while I'm on medical leave so there is no chance that I'm going to pop anything."

"Colonel!"

"Look the only stressful thing I am going to do is get dressed in my Alphas and go inform a young woman that her mother won't be coming home ever again," he said in a soft tone. His brown eyes were cold and his posture brooked no argument.

Warner knew that he could pull rank, having two SFs and a nurse force the Colonel back into bed but he had a feeling that the ensuing fallout would make his life hellish. As he observed the Colonel he realized what was driving him to leave the hospital, it wasn't his well-known hated of the Infirmary but was, in fact, his ingrained sense of duty and personal honor.

With a resigned air Warner pulled a prescription pad from his coat pocket and scribbled out two scripts. "Colonel, I want you back here by 0900 tomorrow for a check-up. Now one of these is a prescription for an antibiotic, you need to take these otherwise you'll wind up back here and no alcohol at all while on these. The other script is for painkillers, which I know you won't take, but if you cannot sleep take one. You need to rest in order to fully recover."

…

Jack glanced slightly over his shoulder toward the staircase that lead to the second floor, his mind automatically focused on the young woman cocooned in the guest bedroom.

It was never easy to look another human being in the eyes and tell them that those they loved.... those who were their whole world would not be returning to them. It was worse when you cared about the recipient of the news. While Cassie had tried not to break down, she had, understandably, failed.

And, as she had clung to his arms, sobbing over and over again that one simple word, 'No', Jack had felt his own tears slip down his cheeks in sympathy. Sympathy mixed with the grief that he felt as well at the news that it was Janet that hadn't returned.

He glanced toward the couch. The sleeping form of Daniel Jackson lay the length of the leather couch with his right arm flung across his eyes. The slight rise and fall of the archeologist's chest was accompanied by a soft snuffling. The other members of his extended family had gone long ago, with Carter needing to return to the base to oversee a critical experiment and Teal'c accompanying her as well.

Rubbing at his eyes and knowing that he needed sleep, Jack slowly got to his feet and, after checking on the fire for a final time, made his way slowly up the stairs to his bedroom.

As he slowly walked down the hall, he stopped to glance in on Cassie. The young woman had curled across the bed in a fetal position, clutching her pillow. The silence of the room gave Jack the impression that she was finally resting.

Quietly, he walked into the room, stopping next to her and gently reaching out to stroke her tear-streaked cheek. The shifting of the bed and a soft sniffle told him all he needed to know. That she had been sitting here all alone with her demons.

Looking down, he saw her eyes in the pale moonlight staring up at his. Though her face was that of a young almost adult woman, those eyes that gazed up at him were more akin to a scared and hurt child. He acted more on instinct that anything else and moved to sit on the bed. She scooted over slightly and, as he stretched his legs out along the length of the bed, she moved to his side, pressing her head lightly against his chest (thankfully not over his still healing wound).

In the silence of the room she needed no words, no hollow platitudes. Only comfort from the man she publicly referred to as Uncle Jack but in her heart saw as her surrogate father. They stayed that way until morning.

((More to come))