oOo Chapter Three – Friends and Enemies
Jack blinked slowly, not sure of much other than that everything hurt. He was very cold, laying on his right side in some swampy mud and looking at barren brown mountains below a starry sky. In the distance, he could see tiny figures moving along a cliff. A rescue team? Coming to save him from...
Wait.
He was a POW on planet PS-something-or-other. There were rolling foothills nearby, but the mountains had been miles away. How had he ended up here? Maybe the rescue team would tell him. It was too painful to move, and thinking didn't seem much easier. He'd just wait for them, and for his mind to clear.
He watched the tiny figures advance. There were four of them, with one slightly ahead, two in the middle, and one trailing behind. Standard configuration when treacherous terrain didn't require single-file. His hopes soared that it really was an SG team coming to save him from whatever had happened. The leader crouched suddenly, the middle pair coming to his side. The last one approached the group, and that tableau summoned the missing memory.
The Mayree men. He remembered the sick feeling as he faced the angry crowd of them. There would be no scaring them off this time. He'd assumed Keyna would document how he fought back, to make sure he had the pleasure of inflicting the same on Jack later, and would send someone in to stop it once the others had beaten the resistance out of him. So he'd tried to cut to the chase, curling into a defensive ball as soon as they knocked him down. He remembered how eerily silent they'd been, probably so the kids wouldn't notice what was happening. They'd forcibly un-curled his body, and it went suddenly dark as the curtain of fists and feet descended. The lack of sight emphasized the hollow thumping sounds of the blows all the more. Then there was just pain, nothingness, and now the mountain.
He checked the progress of the rescue team, which had moved a hearty distance along the cliff. *Good job, fellas, keep it up,* he encouraged silently. He allowed himself a pleasant daydream of home, of safety and warmth and people who didn't hit him. The rescuers obligingly continued at what had to be a brisk pace, especially considering that it looked like they were all carrying heavy packs.
Jack blinked, trying to focus. That wasn't an SG team. Those heavy packs were the chubby little bodies of bugs. And that was no mountain they were trundling across. He was still in the Mayree pen; they must have dumped his body here in the bathroom corner behind the pile of feces. In ultra-close-up, it looked like a mountain. Talk about being in deep shit.
He tried to accompany the little mental joke with a little snort of derisive laughter to lift his spirits, and the tiny motion sent a bolt of pain shooting through his gut. A ribbon of blood oozed from his throat and trickled over his lips to explain the swamp beneath his right cheek.
He must have internal injuries in addition to the obvious external ones. Keyna hadn't sent anyone to get him, during or after the ferocious beating. Was Keyna giving up, and letting the others throw him away? It was a crappy way to die. He cringed as the unintended humor sent another jolt through his belly. When he'd recovered from that, he reminded himself that there were worse ways to go. Someone had even posted a list in the locker room; a joke mainly, but also cold comfort that lost teammates could have had worse fates. What had been on top? Being locked into a sarcophagus with a man-eating beast, and eaten alive for centuries. Stuff like that made being beaten up and thrown away pretty appealing. He'd just watch the SG-Bug team on their little mission and drift away into death. It would be better than facing Keyna again.
Facing Keyna. Jack's blood ran cold at the thought of it. Would there be punishment when he was unable to respond to the enforcers' call in the morning? Keyna was cruel enough to do it.
He tried to roll over, so he could start crawling toward the gate. If he made it before the enforcers came, maybe there would be mercy. Or if the others saw him, maybe they'd finish what they'd started and he'd escape Keyna that way.
He wobbled forward, and this time a small gush of blood flowed from his mouth in concert with the sheer agony in his gut and a rushing in his ears. When the rushing stopped, he was on his side again. There was a small kitten somewhere nearby, its pitiful mewling barely audible. It sounded as near death as he felt.
He realized abruptly that *he* was the kitten. No, that wasn't it. He didn't want to be a kitten. He wanted to be a bug. Jack-Bug of the SG-Bug team, adventuring over mountains. But he was making kitten sounds. What should he do about that? It was so very hard to think, especially with those whiny kitten sounds. Close his mouth. Yes, that was it. Close his mouth to make the kitten go away.
He closed his mouth, congratulating himself on the achievement. Now he could be Jack-Bug and have his last adventure with SG-Bug. Where had they gone? He looked around, finding them hiking off into the sunrise over the mountain without him. He tried to move, to follow them, but everything hurt. He called out to them, but they didn't hear, probably because the kitten was mewling again.
oOo
General Hammond reviewed the holiday party plans. Again. Most years, he did a cursory review of what the volunteer team came up with. But this wasn't most years. This time, he had to consider two warring factions within his own command. Morgan's return had not settled the dispute as he had hoped. There were some who believed her and now supported O'Neill and the assertion that he had to set the enemy on the rescue team to prevent something even worse. But others took the same story to mean that O'Neill had put his own concerns ahead of a whole team's safety and thought him more traitorous than ever. Hammond was seriously concerned that opposing groups without work to occupy them would take the O'Neill debate too far and there would be an incident. He took what preventive measures he could.
He'd contacted General Welton upstairs at NORAD and offered to have a shared celebration, ostensibly as a cost savings to both, and had been cheerfully accepted. Hammond would have paid for the whole thing just to have the extra people to distract his own. Welton was contributing food and facility and Hammond decorations and drink. All the liquor would be creatively watered down into festive drinks themed to the multiple year-end holidays. If anyone noticed, they would surely put it down to budget limitations. Or security precautions. Both NORAD and SGC staff held classified information. Therefore, if liquor was allowed at a party, it had to be held on base where security could watch for accidental over-indulgence or anyone being plied with alcohol. Welton was providing the plain-clothed security. Hammond would "accidentally" forget that, and send his own as well, effectively doubling their numbers. He had also informed his staff that they were expected to be especially friendly to NORAD's, to ensure this first combined party was a success. It also meant they would have less time to talk to each other.
Three floors above him, others were quietly making their own plans to make it a memorable event.
oOo
Jack roused from pleasant dreams of hiking over mountains with SG-Bug when he heard the gate open. It had a menacing creak when it opened, and an ominous thump when it closed. *The better to scare you with,* his mind supplied in a Wolf-talking-to-Little-Red-Riding-Hood voice.
He wiggled a little in a vain attempt to rise. The pain came again, and when it eased he saw one of the enforcers coming toward him. The man was impossibly huge when seen from the ground. Jack steeled himself for the dreaded command to come, and for what would follow his failure. The giant bent down, and Jack instinctively cringed.
He could not have been more surprised when the enforcer scooped him delicately up in his arms. He floated past the other Mayree, seeing surprise, anger, and fear in various faces. The ride continued smoothly into a small and blessedly warm room, where he was set carefully on a table. His head lolled to the left, and he could see a fireplace with bowls warming in front of it. The kitten had followed them here, and he hoped the bowls had milk so it would stop its incessant mewling.
"Eat. Kitty." He hoped it would hear his encouragement.
The enforcer's face came into view, blocking the image of the bowls and the fireplace. "What?"
"Feed. Kitty." His words were barely above a whisper.
"You want to be a kitty?" the enforcer asked in confusion.
Jack tried to shake his head, the motion bringing up more blood. "Wanna be bug," his voice was just a sigh now, hardly audible between the cries of that kitten. "Eat. Kitty."
"What did he say, Eramo?"
Even the kitten was afraid of Keyna. It's mewling died to a tiny whimper at the sound of his voice.
The uncertain look on Eramo's face was comical for an enforcer. "He wants to be a bug and eat a kitten, Master."
Keyna came into view now, frowning. He seemed to consider, then turned away and picked up one of the bowls. He mixed a powder into the warm contents.
Jack's belly clenched as he recognized the excruciating healing powder, and he vomited blood. The kitten was nearly as panicked as he felt, its whines high and fast now.
Keyna approached, setting the bowl down nearby and picking up a cloth to dip into it.
Jack cringed as the cloth approached his face, remembering the agony of his prior healings.
Keyna paused, cloth in clear view. "You're afraid," he murmured. "I understand," he reached out a hand and set it on Jack's cheek. "Guilt is what makes it hurt. And you've been very bad for Keyna, haven't you?" He moved his hand, nodding Jack's head for him. "You weren't bad this time, were you? If you didn't do anything wrong, this won't hurt."
The cloth came down, a small light stroke bringing soft glorious warmth instead of searing pain as it had in the past.
Jack gazed at Keyna with gratitude and wonderment.
Keyna smiled down at him, and repeated that Master didn't hurt good Mayra, following it up with another slow touch of the warm cloth. And another.
It was the first gentleness Jack had felt in days, and in his miserable state it nearly moved him to tears.
It continued, reminders about good Mayra accompanied by healing and warmth, until he was clean and healthy on the outside. Jack lay still, limp with the relief from both the physical pain and the fear. He'd been so afraid of what Keyna might do, but Keyna didn't hurt good Mayra. Keyna said so himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jack knew there was something wrong with that thought, but it was still too hard to think clearly.
Keyna had a new bowl in his hand now. And a spoon. "Eat, Mayra." Keyna lifted a mouthful to Jack's lips, and Jack obediently opened his mouth.
The pain inside was incredible. Jack convulsed, coughing up blood, and gasping for air. It took several moments to recover. Blearily, he realized Keyna was standing over him.
"Mayra," Keyna said reproachfully. "It hurt because you were bad." He paused. "I will give you another chance. Eat, Mayra." He offered the spoon again.
Jack hesitated, then opened his mouth. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, so he couldn't be sure how to do it right this time. But kindly Keyna was giving him another chance, and he would take it. The liquid hit his tongue, a bittersweet flavor he hadn't noticed the first time. His hopes soared. Surely that was a sign that he hadn't repeated his mistake. The liquid was thick, almost a gel, and he could feel it slide toward his throat. He swallowed, sure he'd do it right this time. It was agony. He felt his body curl, and blood exploding out, the resulting coughs adding to the pain. He could hear Keyna's voice, but he couldn't follow the words over his own rasping breath.
"Stand behind, and use the same words each time." Keyna handed the bowl to Eramo. "He will heal a little inside with each swallow, even if he then spits it up. When he keeps two spoons down in a row, send for me and I will finish. He should come out of this with a belief that he causes his own pain by being bad, and his master helps when he is good." He shook his head. "Pity he's confused. He might have broken if we could have given him more painful healing and punished him for crying out or vomiting."
oOo
"Happy Holidays," Mrs. Welton said warmly, as Colonel and Mrs. Jefferson went to join the dancing. She patted her husband's arm. "They're a lovely couple."
General Welton covered her hand with his and smiled at her. "Yes, dear," he agreed with a perfunctory tone and a twinkle in his eye. Mrs. Welton gave him a playful little slap on the arm.
Hammond privately agreed with her assessment. He was standing with the Weltons, making things easier for the senior officers to approach both Generals at once and exchange the expected formalities. He had noticed Jefferson maneuvering to get between Colonel Wood and Teal'c, helpfully avoiding potential conflict at this holiday party. Jefferson's wife had played right along, the normally reserved woman exclaiming over another's dress and drawing that woman along. Jefferson then had an easy opening to make wry comments about dresses with the other husband, which conveniently meant Jefferson did not have to choose between talking with Wood or Teal'c. Situation averted, and no new hostilities begun.
Yes, Hammond thought they were a lovely couple indeed.
Teal'c approached next, accompanied by Major Carter and Daniel Jackson. Mrs. Welton was no slouch at the role of officer's wife herself. She had needed few introductions, remembering most names from the prior year's party, and complimenting many of the ladies on changes in their hair or the colors of their dresses. Hammond wondered if she, like his own late wife used to, had specifically prepared by reviewing pictures from the last party and chatting with other wives at recent social events on base.
True to form, Mrs. Welton called each of the trio by name. She had a remarkable memory for people's interests as well. She asked Daniel for his opinion on the new exhibit at the museum, and Carter about how her restoration of the Red Chief motorcycle was coming along. With Teal'c, the topic was hockey, and his opinion on the Avalanche's chance this year. He expressed his own opinion, and O'Neill's.
Mrs. Welton laughed. "Dear Colonel O'Neill! He reminds me so much of my grandson."
"Our grandson is six," her husband remarked dryly, earning an elbow in the ribs from his wife and grins from everyone else.
"You know, the first time I met him I was in an elevator on the way up to see Joseph. Must have been a dozen kids from the day care on it, too. Total pandemonium. The kids got off, and I made a joke about how Joseph had once quieted the house by suddenly calling 'hurry, hide!' The kids all scattered, and Joseph smiled at me and said he wasn't going to look for them for a while." She grinned widely now. "The elevator door opened, and we stepped into a busy office area. Colonel O'Neill told me that it still works. Then he called out 'hurry, hide!' and the junior officers all disappeared!"
"They didn't really," Daniel half-asked.
"They did," said a waitress who had paused to hear the story. "I accidentally found one of them hiding in the pantry. He said he couldn't allow his location to be revealed, and took me and a box of éclairs hostage until the end of his shift." She put on a mock serious face. "The éclairs didn't make it."
Everyone laughed.
"Is this really true?" Daniel still couldn't believe it. "Well, I can believe Jack saying that. But people listened?"
"Yes," General Welton confirmed. "Obeying the order of a senior officer." He rolled his eyes. "I'm sure it had nothing at all to do with it being inventory day."
"You should have seen the look on Colonel O'Neill's face when he saw Joseph!" She made the kind of face a child would when caught being very naughty. "That's why he reminds me of my grandson."
General Welton smiled wryly instead of joining the laughter. "So where is the little snot?" Mrs. Welton elbowed him sharply, and he corrected with a chuckle, "er, tot?"
Major Carter's hand swept up to cover her face, and she turned partly away. Teal'c put an arm over her shoulder and spoke quietly into her ear, then led her away along the wall.
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Welton put a hand on Daniel's arm. "I'm so sorry," she said, even though it was her husband's remark that had upset Carter. "We didn't know anything had happened to Colonel O'Neill."
"It's alright." Daniel didn't meet her eyes. "We're, um, we're still hoping everything will turn out ok." He glanced after his companions, seeing Teal'c turn away a concerned man's approach with a warning look.
"Go on," Mrs. Welton gave him a gentle push. "Give them our apologies."
Daniel headed off after the others.
"Sorry about that, George," General Welton said. "I didn't think to check the lists." The military kept lists of casualties, and soldiers missing or killed in action. It was common courtesy in war time to check the lists before any gathering to avoid just the sort of unfortunate comment he had made. But NORAD and SGC were stateside bases whose troops were all deployed domestically. It would be unusual for their people to be on any of the lists.
"I'm the one who should apologize," Hammond said to the pair. "I should have told you there'd been an incident. A controversial one, actually. But since I can't say much other than that, I didn't bring it up at all."
Welton nodded sagely. "This wouldn't be the real reason for the joint celebration, would it, George? Some fresh faces from my command to distract yours from their controversy?"
"A little intrigue for the man who has everything?" Hammond eyed him cautiously, waiting to see whether he was annoyed about his actions or would take it in stride.
The wry smile was back. "Merry Christmas to you, too, George."
oOo
Jack followed Keyna toward a large, dimly lit structure a hundred yards or so behind the main building. He wondered with trepidation what normally went on in there, and, more importantly, what was about to happen now. He thought frantically about what he had done wrong -- if he couldn't guess, Keyna always set him up to repeat a mistake. As they entered, he heard tiny voices crying out for their mothers. Did they keep the youngest Mayra children in a barn while their parents worked?
Keyna, undisturbed by the tiny cries, led him to the back where a half-wall partitioned off a section perhaps five feet square. He stopped, turning to Jack with a wicked smirk that sent chills down Jack's back. He could feel the blood draining from his face, maybe even his whole head, as he dizzied with fear. What horror had the malevolent Keyna dreamed up involving a baby...
The oily smile widened, clearly enjoying the moment.
Jack stood, frozen, eyes on Keyna, refusing to look in the pen. He could avoid the sight, but not the sound. Innocent little voices, calling for their mothers. Some quavered with the cold, and Jack trembled, too. Would all of them see their mothers again?
Keyna gestured at him.
"I...I don't understand, Keyna." He was permitted to ask for clarification of tasks, if not rules.
"Go inside. Keep them warm until their mother returns from hunting in the foothills." The devious glint in Keyna's eyes did not match the innocent words.
Jack moved woodenly toward the door, dreading what means of keeping babies warm he might find in there. Keyna had said that their mother had gone to the foothills. That was a solid two-hour walk away; whatever he had to do would continue most of the day.
There was nothing in the stall except some straw. And the babies. Except they weren't baby people, they were baby...somethings. He had a brief glimpse of exuberant puppy-ish gamboling before they quieted to watch him enter.
They were puppy sized, and had dog-like muzzles, except for the fangs curving down past their chins, but that was where the similarity to dogs ended. They had oversized round ears, like Mickey Mouse, which exaggerated their cartoon expressions. Their bulging eyes swiveled like a lizard's and, like the amphibians, matched the greenish-brown color of their skin. A twitch of motion caught his attention and he realized that they had prehensile tails like monkeys, two of them holding tufts of straw in the curl of their tails.
"Warm, Mayra," Keyna reminded, walking away with a chuckle.
"Warm," he repeated quietly, wondering just how you kept dog-lizard-monkey-mice warm.
"Mommy warm, Mommy warm," the 'puppies' chanted, dancing around in the straw.
"You understand me?"
"Mommy warm, Mommy warm!" Their little voices grew more urgent. "Warm me!"
So they didn't understand, they just sounded like they were talking. "Mommy's not here, guys," he said sympathetically.
"Mommy gone! Mommy gone! Mommyyyy!" They were almost frantic now, leaping at the walls and door, howling for their missing mother.
Jack pressed himself against a bit of wall, still doing reconnaissance, deciding what to do. They did understand him, at least partially. "Shhhhh." He drew out the sound, trying to get their attention.
They dropped suddenly, silent and wary. "Quiet, quiet, quiet," the little voices whispered. Tiny ears, noses, and eyes twitched around in barely concealed excitement. "Prey? Prey?" It wasn't long before they focused on the only new object in their well-known little home. "Prey!"
Jack's eyes widened as the little beasts clearly began to stalk him. They weren't very big, or strong, but they had numbers on their side. And the pack mentality. Two of them came directly at him, double rows of sharp white teeth now showing between the long fangs, while the others tried to circle behind in the small stall.
"Oh, shit."
oOo
Denby Croeller doodled on the back of a status sheet, feeling sorry for himself. He was the unfortunate one to draw duty on the night of the big holiday party. It was supposed to be really good this year, too, since NORAD had thrown in with SGC on it. Good food, good drinks, a live band. He sighed. Did they really need someone to sit here and stare at the closed iris?
The door to the Control Room opened, and he swiveled casually in his chair. "Hey, Buddy." His only entertainment tonight would be talking to the janitor. He jerked to a fully upright position when he saw the Colonel frowning at him, hands on hips. "Can I help you, sir?" He'd long ago given up "ma'am" and referred to everyone higher than himself as "sir." It was considered gender-neutral and nowadays a guy was more likely to run into women who were feminists and preferred "sir" than those who were feminine and preferred "ma'am."
Morgan stared at him for a few more seconds, then grinned and turned her hands around to show two brightly colored drinks. "Happy Holidays." She offered him one.
He looked at it with mingled desire and distrust, clearly wondering if he was being tested.
"Don't worry. No alcohol in it. I'm not about to get you in trouble for drinking on the job." She chuckled. "Or me in trouble for contributing to the delinquency of a Major."
"Sir, I'm just a sergeant."
She nodded. "A sergeant who got stuck with duty on the night of the big party." She took a drink out of one glass. "I'm just a Colonel who needed an excuse to get away from the noise of the big party." She set his drink down near him. "Stop worrying, Sergeant. It's true. I'm expected to attend, but I'm not a party type." She stepped back and reached for something just outside the door.
He watched, still semi-suspicious. Since when did ranking officers bring drinks to guys like him?
She pulled a small plastic cart into view. It was covered with a colorful cloth and carried a dozen glasses like the one she'd given him, along with several dessert plates. "I volunteered to be the welcome wagon this year."
Morgan stepped forward with a plate, leaving it and a plastic fork on the table, then hit the intercom button. "Garmond? You there?"
"Yes, ma'am," a cheerful voice answered. "Ready, willing, and able to neutralize any extra cake on your command!"
Morgan laughed. "Croeller here is understandably suspicious of the unexpected. Can you pass on any intel?"
"Go for it, Croeller. It's not much, but it's all we're gonna get. And it's the only time you and I are gonna get served by a Colonel."
Croeller laughed. "Ain't that the truth!" He glanced quickly at Morgan to make sure he hadn't upset her.
She toasted him with her own glass and took a sip.
"Thanks, Garmond. Happy holidays."
"You, too."
He switched the intercom off and picked up the cake. "Sorry about that, sir. I just didn't expect anything."
"Just doing your duty, Croeller. You *should* be suspicious, and you did the right thing to check out my story." She took another sip of her drink. "You can check with anyone else on the lower levels if you want. I'm working my way up."
He smiled. "No need, sir." He took a bite of cake.
She smiled back. "This welcome-wagon thing is actually pretty good. I'd rather talk to real people than schmooz about the weather and 'how lovely everyone looks!'" She shrilled the last part in a flouncy girlish voice.
Croeller laughed and toasted her with his glass before taking a sip.
She caught his head just before it hit the frosting on his cake, and eased it down onto the table. "Not suspicious enough, Croeller." Morgan bent over him and hit the button to open the doors to the Gate Room. Carter, Teal'c, and Jackson walked in, in full gear. It hadn't taken them long to find a comment to inspire Carter's crocodile tears, so they had had time to gather everything they wanted to bring.
Morgan gave them the thumbs up, then got to work. She opened the iris and keyed in the symbols. The gate connected with its usual flash of blue. Morgan stood, seeing the trio looking up at her. She clicked the intercom to them. "Good luck."
"You, too." Daniel returned.
The three of them walked up the ramp and through the gate. Morgan closed the wormhole, and the iris, and set about putting the console back to normal so it wouldn't be obvious what had happened. Hopefully, Croeller would think he had just dozed off on a boring shift.
"Colonel!"
She froze, then turned slowly. "General."
"What did you just do?"
"I'm not sure, sir," she answered carefully. "I have a bit of a head injury from an accident in the gym. I *might* have just sent a team through to retrieve Colonel O'Neill."
"You might have?" he clearly didn't believe her.
She nodded. She was happy to help with a rescue, but she wasn't going to get court-martialed if she could avoid it. Since she could hardly use the classic slipped-on-a-bar-of-soap story to explain multiple actions, a head injury in the gym seemed her best bet. There was no sense lying to the General about anything else though – and honesty would encourage him to go along with the head-injury claim instead of prosecuting. He wanted O'Neill back as much as they did; he just hadn't been ready to send another team into the same risk as Wood's.
"And what might you have done to Croeller?"
"I might have accidentally dropped some of my medicine into his drink. If I did, he should wake up in another ten minutes or so."
"You realize these are court-martial offenses?"
"I might, if it weren't for this head injury. Is an injury a mitigating factor in a court-martial?" She knew it was, but it couldn't hurt to point that out.
"Come with me, Colonel." He turned and walked briskly away.
She followed him to the briefing room, where he ordered her to monitor the Gate and keep watch on Croeller's behalf until he woke. He strode into his office, returning shortly with a manila file folder in his hands.
Hammond stood and glared at her for a solid minute. She looked uncomfortable but did not break eye contact. "Who did you send through the Gate?"
"I'm not sure I recall, sir."
He glared at her again. "I need names, Colonel."
She stiffened, but didn't answer. Yet. She just wanted him to know she was reluctant to inform on fellow officers. This wasn't like the last time, where she'd defied all his requests, orders, and demands to know how O'Neill was being controlled. The names of the rogue team would be on file soon enough. O'Neill's control mechanism never would, if she could help it.
"To put on this." He pushed the folder toward her.
She opened it, expecting to see charges documented.
It was an authorization for a mission to rescue Colonel O'Neill. "You had this already filled out?"
"Someone had to go." His tone turned icy. "*I* usually choose who and when." He paused for effect. "Unless you'd rather stick with the court-martial approach, I suggest you fill in some names."
She stared at him for a moment, some things just now sinking in. "You knew." It wasn't a question. "You arrived just *after* they went through. Too late to stop them. You, personally, not a security team. You let us do it." She should have realized as soon as she saw the General himself. "You knew." He must have let it happen this way to get a team out with no risk to himself.
"I suspected," he corrected coldly. "I *hoped* that my officers would come to me if they had a feasible idea of how to rescue Colonel O'Neill. But I *planned* for several possibilities." His voice softened. "I'm disappointed in you, Colonel."
She dropped her eyes. "I'm sorry, sir. We're sorry." She wrote the three names on the authorization form. She handed it to him, and he took it without even glancing at the names. He probably could have written them himself.
"I suggest you get back to Sergeant Croeller. I can protect the others with this," he indicated the folder. "But there's not much I can do if he wants to prosecute you for poisoning him."
Her eyes widened. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." She hurried back toward the Control Room. Now that it would be known they went out on Croeller's shift, she could hardly try to convince him he'd dozed off and missed a few empty moments. And he wouldn't believe he'd been sleep-working. He probably wouldn't accept that he'd fallen asleep talking to her and she'd done his job for him instead of just waking him up. She thought frantically about what else she could say.
If she could have seen Hammond above, still watching, she might have realized he was trying to teach her a lesson.