Crossing the Line

Chapter Three

There was, of course, training they had to do as a team before they went on any off world missions. Not that all of the teams on Atlantis did, but most of them - especially Col. Sheppard's - but then again, Marcus' team didn't seem to be gifted with the amazing sort of luck that Team Sheppard was. It also may have helped that he didn't have a 6'5" alien, a woman who had spent her entire life training to fight, and the most brilliant astrophysicist in the galaxy. . . but, all things considered, Marcus thought his team did pretty well in the field.

However, that didn't mean he was going to let them rest on their laurels; no sir. Apart from whatever personal training they already did - and he encouraged them to do as much as possible - he had planned, for two weeks, ten hours a day of drilling, training, and what Cadman not-so-lovingly referred to as "deficiency exorcising:" each member was given a skills test on the first day and subsequently assigned, for three hours per day, to train specifically at those skills they were worst at.

Marcus, of course, believed in leading by example; therefore he spent two hours a day with Schweinsteigger and Ronon, who was showing the two of them better techniques of taking down a larger opponent. This was particularly important in the lieutenant's case, as not only was she particularly lacking in this area, but, unless they went up against a planet of pigmies - knock on wood - most of her opponents would be larger than her.

He had to give her her due; she was one of the hardest workers he had ever seen. It was like she was addicted to it. She was there before the sessions started, practicing, and she always stayed after the sessions ended. Though she wasn't yet as good as most of the military stationed in the Pegasus Galaxy, her skills had improved immensely since she had started, and it was a credit, not only to her ability to pick up on things easily, but on her drive to improve as much as there was room for.

Of course, with every new team member came both assets and defects, and Marcus soon found out his favorite lieutenant was far from perfect. She had, so it seemed, quite the temper when provoked. Not that he had found out for himself; no, she was too sensible to display it to him or one of her fellow officers. Apparently, her rage in this incident was directed at Kavanagh, who was back in Atlantis for a week or two, and who by all accounts had been stupid enough to insinuate something about just how much she liked training with Marcus and Ronon. As they had both been off duty, and, in fact, Kavanagh had accosted her when she was returning from the mess, Marcus thought it really wasn't necessary that he reprimand her. Weir had, and that was good enough for him. In the lieutenant's defense, she hadn't actually started yelling until Kavanagh asked her, in some sleazily worded way or another, exactly what the two men were training her in; and there was a certain amount of restraint to show in that she had only threatened to hurt him instead of actually going through and sucker punching him in the throat. Of course, this behavior, while many considered it justified, was out of line, and Weir had given Lt. Schweinsteigger a very voluble dressing-down in her office, threatening everything from demotion to court-martial for a second offense, then handed her off to Sheppard to be assigned disciplinary duties: cleaning out mucky jumpers, to be exact. Marcus thought that was enough and didn't mention it, but he did assign her an extra hour of training for a week and figured she would understand what it was for. It's not like she didn't do it already, after all.

Well, if she could keep her temper around him and the other officers, then she would be able to keep it when it mattered - when they were off world. Disciplinary problem? Maybe, but not more than Cadman's mouthing off excessively or Riley's sometime hesitance to take orders. Tactical problem? Not so far as he could see.

The only reason he was convinced of now was that Lt. Schweinsteigger was just a human; and that only made her better fitted for an all-too-human team.

It had probably been wrong of her to make such a scene, but really, when- would that smudge never go away? Anna swiped at the floor of the jumper with the mop, then sighed and got on her hands and knees. Where had she been? Ah yes, the fight. Well, after training with Ronon had left her with bruised ribs, Kavanagh certainly hadn't scored any points when he'd lightly punched them to get her attention - as if he couldn't have just tapped her on the shoulder; wearing headphones did not mean she was incapable of taking notice of anything except excessive force. Eww, had someone thrown up in here? Nasty. And, after all, since when had asking someone ever so subtly if she was having group sex with her superior officer and a member of the flagship team been considered simple, innocent curiosity? Ahh, this must be the jumper where Major Lorne had discovered how to do barrel rolls - with Radek and doc Parrish in the back; no wonder. And speaking of Major Lorne, there was something strange about the way he had reacted to all of this. Everything else had been right: the up-and-ups had given her a punishment, and the scientists had given her a lemon meringue pie and a textbook on the history of archaeology - both of which she found equally exciting, to tell the truth. But Major Lorne, from whom she had expected at the very least a scolding, had quietly assigned her a token punishment - which she already did anyway - and said nothing whatsoever regarding the incident.

No, that was enough. She might be stubborn, but she wasn't - well, usually, anyway - pigheaded; what was true was true, and Anna had to admit it. Her CO had developed a preferential fondness for her; in short, Major Lorne liked her. Well, well, Katie Brown was right after all. Perhaps she should listen to people with a PhD more often. Oh well. She could only hope that this would be the last time he would let his feelings cloud his judgment; not only would it be unfair to the others if he pulled something like this in the field, she wanted nothing to do with advancement or promotion that came as a result of a man's libido.

Well, she had to admit that, whether it would turn out to be a problem or not, it was a bit flattering in its own way; out of all the women he had met in Atlantis and off world, and he grew a crush on her. Strange, but flattering. And, if she were completely honest with herself, it wasn't entirely one-sided; he was, after all, a kind, intelligent, and hard working man - and it didn't hurt that he was uber good looking, either. But that was irrelevant, as nothing would ever come of this, and - good Lord, had Sheppard tied them to a merry-go-round inside the jumper?

"You should widen your stance a bit - it would give you more balance, I think." Marcus watched Lt. Schweinsteigger pause and shift her stance accordingly.

"How long have you been standing there, sir?" she asked, continuing her routine.

Marcus was pleasantly surprised. She hadn't so much as flinched when he spoke, and he had purposefully been quiet in his approach. She would be a good person offworld for that; surprise was a tactic very often employed by the wraith. Her routine, however. . .

"Long enough. Where did you learn to use the sticks like that?"

She grinned. "Actually, Teyla just started teaching me earlier this week; I thought I'd get some extra practice in if I had time."

Marcus bit back a laugh. "Eager, much?"

"What can I say? I'm a bit competitive, I suppose." She smirked and jabbed sharply at the air.

Marcus ducked back and watched her as she made a series of lunges and feints. She reminded him of his kid sister sometimes; so intent on what they were doing they forgot anything else existed, so energetic. . .so young: there were, really, only a couple of years between Leah and the lieutenant. Had he been wrong, after all, in choosing her for his team? Could he really order someone so young to go out and die someday? Someone like her. . .

There was a graceful quality to her as she ducked and spun and weaved, something Marcus had never noticed before. But there was still something wrong with her stance, something in the way she lunged.

"Oh, here," he said, walking over to her. "Keep your left arm like that and you're opening up for a hit."

He stepped behind her and gently grabbed her arm, moving it forward slowly. Strange, he had never noticed how tense she was before. Probably just the exercise. She jumped slightly when he put his hand above her knee, then eased when he simply bent her leg more parallel to the ground. He wondered what she was thinking momentarily, but stopped. None of his business, really, just like it wasn't a -- a wisp of her hair brushed against his lip. It was sticky, smelled of sweat and shampoo, but he leant into it. Strange, he'd never noticed how her head was at just the right height to rest his chin on, but amazingly it was, and suddenly Marcus was aware only that he was alone in the gym with the woman he found most attractive in any galaxy he had been in, and he was about two seconds away from screwing military protocol and ki-

"Major? Is this right, or should I hold my arm higher?"

Think baby sister, think baby sister, think baby sister. Lorne cleared his throat; his voice was raspy. "No, that's, that's perfect. Uh, yeah, perfect. I, uh, I have to go."

He backed off the training mat, stumbling a bit as he went. She was staring at him with a strange expression on her face, and he hoped she hadn't realized what was the matter with him. He was a sensible man, and he knew what it was; he had known for a bit, now, but he just hadn't wanted to admit it.

He was falling for her.

Her first mission with the team was checking up on what had been a happy, friendly planet the last time anyone had checked. Unfortunately, the natives had since broken into a state of civil war, which the team only found out when they were captured by a rebel group and had to hide out in a small cave after they escaped. Also unfortunately, this planet was densely populated by gigantic spiders and centipedes, which the small cave they were crouched in was teeming with, and which, perhaps most unfortunately of all, Anna had failed to mention she had a little phobia of. Danny, always the gentleman, had gamely let her hold his hand when the bugs started crawling over them. Dr. Beckett said the scars from the nail gouges would fade eventually - probably much faster than it would take for Lorne and Cadman to forget about that particular incident.

On her second mission she had gotten to know Jason Riley a whole lot better and in ways she had never wanted to. They had known the planet was slightly misogynistic in its customs and physical contact between men and women in public was limited, but since when had patting someone's head been considered proof positive that they were married? And how had it ever become a custom to welcome a married couple by shoving them both, naked, into a sleazy tent at night instead of giving them regular sleeping accommodations? The amazing thing about that one was that, after the villagers turned angry and burned both their clothes, the team had actually walked, with her and Jason wrapped in blankets, three-quarters of the way back to the gate before Major Lorne said anything. Of course, he was doubled over with laughter most of the way after that. Cadman, of course, had been thoughtful enough to radio ahead so that most of Atlantis was standing by the gate and awaiting their arrival. The look on Sheppard's face. . . she had never been so close to strangling an officer. And Danny, from whom she had expected at least a modicum of discretion. . . . Well, it was several weeks before he would stop draping a blanket over her shoulders every time he saw her.

It just wasn't fair, really. Her first two missions off world, and this happened. Ridiculous. After all her team had done before she got there, all the wraith they had killed, she went and got attacked by giant bugs. Honestly. It's not like she had been expecting some great adventure her first time out, but still. The only thing that kept her from holing up in her quarters between missions was, of course, Major Lorne. He had stopped by one day when she was in the weight room and hovered over her while she did bench presses.

"You know," he said, his grin broad, "the first time I went off world with the SGC, I took about two steps away from the gate and fell into an abandoned well. Took four hours to get me out. And Dr. Jackson's first, and fondest memory of me? I'm standing by some trees, bent over, puking my guts out." Lorne bent over and helped her settle the weights onto the bar. He paused, then straightened and made as if to leave, but patted her on the shoulder before he did. "You'll do just fine, lieutenant."

Anna watched his back as he walked away, and not for the first time wondered how things would have been had her life been just a little different, and she had come to Atlantis as a civilian.

Marcus was finding it difficult to sleep; he would go through the motions, close his eyes and lie in bed for hours, wishing, just wishing he could find rest. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many sleeping pills he bothered Carson into giving him, he simply couldn't sleep. He would just get into bed and the questions, the doubts, the worries would pop into his head and refuse to leave.

Had he made a mistake?

It echoed in his mind, consuming him.

Had he chosen her unfairly? Had he chosen her just because he found her attractive? Would he have chosen her if she looked and acted like Rodney Mckay?

Yes, he would think. Yes, eventually, he probably would have chosen her. Had this been a completely impartial decision, then yes, he would probably have ended up choosing her anyway.

Probably.

But now, of course, he could never be sure.

What if she messed up? What if she did something stupid off world? Her first two missions hadn't been spectacular, and while he had faith that she could pull something good off if given half a chance. . . what if she couldn't?

What if she did something that caused someone to die?

Could he live with that? Could he live knowing that a choice of his, a choice made in cold blood, a choice which had been affected by his personal feelings about someone, had caused another one of his team member's deaths?

What kind of a major was he, that he broke one of the most sacred unspoken military rules just in order to get closer to a woman - a girl, almost - that common sense told him he was never going to have? Was he fit to be second-in-command on one of the most important bases the military had ever been involved with, when he made decisions as important as this simply on wanting to get to know someone better? After all, could he honestly say that the reason he had chosen her was for her skills as a soldier and linguist - or was the truth that he found her intelligent and intriguing and had based his final decision on that fact and that fact alone?

Had he made a mistake?

The major, Anna mused as she poked at her food in the mess, had been a bit grumpy lately, and he looked exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, headaches, the works. Strange; it's not as if he were doing anything particularly stressful at the moment. Poor thing. Maybe he was an insomniac? Anna hadn't heard anything about that from anyone, and she probably would have: Atlantis wasn't exactly manned with a lot of people to begin with, and as most of them had been here a good year or two, what wasn't known about a person was either intensely private, which insomnia wasn't, or just wasn't worth knowing. She even knew what flavor of kool-aid Colonel Caldwell liked best, for crying out loud.

But, eventually, it wasn't really any of her business. Just as long as it didn't affect his decisions in the field -- and, considering just how much they had been going off world since the blanket incident (not once, to be exact) -- that wasn't likely. The day he started going crazy from sleep deprivation was the day she would start to worry. But until then she did her drills and training like a good little airman and kept her mind off of Major Lorne's sleeping habits.

Hmmm, that almost sounded dirty. Almost. Ahh, what she wouldn't give to know what- but that wasn't any of her business either, and was probably prohibited by any number of rules and regulations. Bah. In some ways, the military was one of the most boring things on earth. True, as Rebecca had always said, the military was not a monastery, but. . . in a situation like this, it was about as close as you could get without shaving your head and putting on a robe. Things like that weren't much talked about, and were very much frowned upon, but they happened nonetheless; she had never herself broken those particular regulations, but she knew some who had, and had gotten away with it. They would never make it to general - or anywhere near it, as a matter of fact - but they had had their fun before they put in for a transfer to another country.

All well and good for the regular soldier or airman, especially enlisteds, but ultimately, whether or not the relationship worked out, transferring elsewhere didn't mean knowing you were probably never going to see him again, didn't mean lying awake at night and wondering if, at that moment, he was in pain, dying, going on a suicide mission. On earth a transfer was just a transfer; she would keep on doing exactly what she had been doing in a different part of the world, and if he died, she would be told how he died, and she would have had no doubts that it was true. On Atlantis, a transfer meant that, having the knowledge of what there was out there in the universe, you were cut off, forever, from doing anything to stop it from taking over. She, who had been one of the key players, would suddenly swept to the sidelines, bound, gagged, and blindfolded, and she would have to sit there, knowing she could have been of help and being powerless to do anything. And if he died on Atlantis, they would never tell her what had happened. They would make up a cover story - or, if they trusted her very much, they would say that it was classified, and every time she thought of him after that, that thought of his life would be accompanied by the inevitable: how did he die? Suicide mission? Did the wraith get him, torture him, feed him? Was it the Genii? Or was there, maybe, an accident when he was in a jumper? Was his last breath a defiance of those who were killing him, or was it sucked out of his lungs when he was flung into space from his broken F302? Was it a plague? Blast shot? Experiment gone wrong? Did he suffer? Did he think of her before he died? Did he say anything? Did he die alone, or were his teammates, his CO with him? And, worse: if she had stayed on Atlantis - would she have gotten to see the end with him?

No, there were reasons the military involved with the stargate program was so strict when it came to things like relationships, and she understood it. There were things, after all, worse than letting someone you cared for never know that you did.

It was a moot point, anyway, because there would never be anything between her and Lorne. Err, Major Lorne. See? Distancing yourself. It wasn't that hard. Nah, that was all good and settled.

But there was still one thing that bothered her, one thing she had to know - ah, speak of the devil, there was the man himself; she could ask him, now.

Anna picked herself up and started walking towards him.

"Major Lorne - sir!"

Marcus had been so wrapped in his glee he hadn't noticed her until she ran up behind him, slamming into his shoulder when he slowed.

"Sorry, sir, there's just-" She broke off as she saw his face; he supposed he must have been grinning. "Is there something wrong, sir?"

"No, no; everything's great - great." Lorne clasped and unclasped his hands. "Just got off the radio with Weir, actually. We've got a mission, Schweinsteigger - we leave in three hours."

She fell into his pace as he walked towards the gun room.

"What planet, sir?"

He was euphoric, he supposed. Happy just didn't cover it.

"M4X-591." He almost giggled there.

"But- but that hasn't been explored yet."

"I know - exciting, huh?"

"Ummm, sure thing, sir."

It was a long way to the gun room, up several stairs, and by the time they reached it they were in a deep and important discussion about which was better - soccer or football. He could have taken the shorter way, he supposed, but he was enjoying chatting with her.

There was something good about this, something that felt right. All the last times he had spoken with her, he'd been irritated and short with her, or thinking about how he wished she'd kept quiet that day in the gym. They hadn't had a normal conversation since she had gone on her first mission. Granted, this one wasn't of much substance, but still. It was a good omen of things to come.

She looked relaxed, comfortable; she blushed when one of the scientists walked by and winked at her.

Katie Brown, he thought, the one Rodney was seen with periodically. Strange how a woman like that would end up with Rodney, but he was intelligent, and, Marcus had to admit, a much better person than he had originally thought. Actually, he and the scientist had grown a bit friendly since they had first been paired up that time on that sunny planet - not too much, but enough to go by first names. Maybe Rodney knew what was going on between Brown and An- Schweinsteigger. Marcus would have to ask the next time he saw him.

"-and why do you all call it football if you don't even use your feet? Honestly - it's just one more thing that doesn't make sense, really, when you-"

She cut off as the doors opened. The gun room, though not particularly large, was a formidable thing, and not to be taken lightly. One of the few parts of Atlantis that had been changed by the expedition, the gun room was sparse, its only furniture being three benches in the middle of the room. But on all the walls, from floor to ceiling - even over the door - were rows and rows of well-illuminated shelves stocked with hundreds of P90s, 9mms, and every other sort of weapon favored by the Atlantis expedition. If NRA members had a heaven, this was probably it.

Team members, such as Danny and Rodney, and all military personnel had their own guns with their names etched on them. Marcus took his off the rack and patted it lovingly. Ah yes, this was what being in the military was ultimately about: getting to go out there and fight. All the rest - the respect, the self-esteem, the dress blues you got to wear to your friends' weddings: those were all well and good, but, when all was said and done, joining the air force was something he had done, not to prance around Washington in a blue suit, but to fly planes and use P90s, to do what he could to help save the lives as many people as he could. The rest. . . for him, the rest was just a nice little bonus he generally forgot about. And besides - who wore their dress blues in another galaxy? He'd brought his, just in case, but he doubted he would ever have the need -- not to mention the opportunity -- to use them.

He was just slinging on his pack and heading out the door when he remembered something. He looked back; Schweinsteigger was grabbing some ammo from a rack.

"Lieutenant."

She looked up, clearly distracted.

"Sir?"

Marcus cleared his throat; his face flushed a bit when he remembered that day in the gym.

"You were going to ask me something? Earlier, in the mess?"

She fiddled with her gun nervously, and he found himself wondering what would happen if she accidentally shot it.

"That's all right, sir, it'll keep. Really, I-"

He walked over and put his hand under her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

"No time like the present." He placed his hand on her shoulder. "Come on, spit it out."

"I- I was thinking, and-"

"Lieutenant?" There, his no-nonsense tone. Maybe that would work.

She looked up and took a deep breath.

"Did you pick me for your team because you thought I was the best choice for it, or was there something else that made you pick me?"

Oh Lord. In retrospect, he should have told her to keep it to herself. Never, never, never, never - oh, yeah, she was waiting for him to answer.

He cleared his throat.

"I, uh-"

He cleared his throat again. Where were the wraith attacks when you needed them?

"Lieutenant, I picked you because- because you-"

He stopped as his earpiece buzzed.

"Major Lorne, gather a team and meet in my office. Colonel Sheppard's in trouble."

He looked at Schweinsteigger. This would just have to wait.

"Yes, Dr. Weir."

An- Lt. Schweinsteigger looked at him; her expression was intent.

"Flagship team?"

He nodded and put his hand to his earpiece, but paused.

"We'll continue this conversation when we get back, all right?"

She nodded and sprinted out of the room, probably going to get Cadman - if, as he suspected, Cadman was with Beckett right now, she wouldn't have her earpiece on.

As Marcus made for Elizabeth's office, he sighed. It looked like things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.