Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the Stargate franchise or its storylines. My intention is not infringe upon those rights, so please don't sue me.
A Place for My Head
Chapter 2: The New Guy
Woolsey scrambled to tidy up his document-ridden office. Sheppard simply leaned against the wall, watching him run around like a maniac.
"You seem a little nervous," Sheppard smirked. Woolsey made no response except for nervous banter interspersed with various where is its and not enough times. "This guy can't be that terrifying, can he?" The maniac stopped in his tracks for a split-second glare then continued about lining up the stacks of paper and pens on his desk. "Woolsey! Stop!" and for some reason he obeyed. "Your office looks fine. What are you so worried about?"
At that moment, nine security officers Woolsey had previously requested arrived at the foot of the office entrance. Sheppard exchanged glances between the officers and the lead administrator in confusion. Before any of the men could say anything, Woolsey popped his head out from behind his laptop to directly speak to them.
"As of right now, you will be absent from any Gate activity watches or off-world missions you have for the next week," Woolsey rushed.
The young soldiers' minimal reactions were preempted by Sheppard's intrusion. "Whoa! What? No!"
Woolsey ignored Sheppard's outburst. "You are all assigned on guard to Naima."
"Hold on!" Sheppard exclaimed. "We're spread thin with the SGA teams as it is!"
"There is a doctor coming in from Stargate Command today," Woolsey clarified. You don't let her out of your sight, and under no circumstance do you let her into his."
"Alright that's enough," Sheppard concluded. "Sullivan, Gates, Aguilar, and Stemmer: you'll be switching off with SGA-12 who is currently on Naima duty – everyone else: back to your posts."
While Woolsey objected to the officers' departure, Sheppard closed the door behind them. "What the hell is going on with you, Woolsey? We got a psychoanalyst coming in and you're already acting like a nut!" The lead administrator continued to nitpick at is desk. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
Woolsey glanced at his watch, the Stargate, and peered out to the control room through his transparent door. He finally told the colonel about that morning's conversation with the IOA representative.
"That's just perfect," Sheppard reacted, "we got half a galaxy of enemies breathing down our necks and now we gotta worry about downsizing."
"Which is why we need to keep Naima away from this doctor," Woolsey maintained.
"Do you really think we can hide her?" Sheppard scoffed. "We can't stash her anywhere – she's…unstashable. Sooner or later, this guy's gonna find out she's here."
"She's not authorized to stay on this base, Colonel," Woolsey glared, "you letting her remain here is against protocol. If the IOA finds out we're breaking protocol, they'll definitely shut us down. I'm not going to let this program implode because of one girl."
"We can't assume it will either," Sheppard countered. "Optimism is key in this situation, right? Maybe it'll work out for the better."
They turned to the Gate at the sound of its whine. Both Sheppard and Woolsey exited the office and descended the steps into the Gate room. As the shield was lowered, they stood before the device in anticipation.
Out of the rippling liquid plane came a tall Caucasian man wearing a white uniform with a white rimmed cap. Sheppard's optimism quickly faded away as he recognized the uniform. Navy, he thought, just what we need.
The man removed his cap while gazing around the room in amazement. He tucked it under the arm holding his suitcase and shook hands with Woolsey.
"Dr. Kyle Scofield," he started then shook Sheppard's hand, "Stargate Command has issued me as the base psychologist."
"Of course, doctor, we've been expecting you," Woolsey maintained formality. "Welcome to Atlantis."
"Wow," Scofield mused as he continued to take in the room, "this place is everything they say it is."
Woolsey motioned to the south bridge. "Colonel Sheppard will be showing you to your quarters."
The colonel's enthusiasm shined through as he bit his tongue to lead the naval officer out of the Gate room. Halfway down the hall Sheppard waved his hand against the module mounted on the wall and a set of doors slid open. The two men entered a small compartment before Sheppard tapped the screen behind them. One flash of light later, the doors slid open again to a completely different corridor.
They stepped out into the hallway teeming with security and science officers. All eyes were drawn to the solitary white uniform out of the sea of grey and black. The female staff stopped in their tracks and turned to see the very handsome doctor. His deep blue eyes drew in Major Teldy and Sergeant Mehra as they zipped up their off-world combat jackets.
At the turn of the corner, Sheppard opened the entrance to Scofield's room. "I'm sure you're used to an enclosed space on the USS…whatever…but there is an ocean view." Scofield marveled at the crystal waters beyond the glass paned windows as Sheppard monotonously listed off the room's features. "You got your bed, desk, washroom over there," he unpocketed a small black wire device, "here is your earpiece, and if you need anything, just…ask."
Before Scofield could respond, Sheppard was out the door, leaving the doctor in the luxury room with the female passer-bys still ogling from the hallway…
Naima sat on her cot visually combing over the room that had been assigned to her. She got up to walk to the adjacent wall where a vent was located, and rattled it to confirm its stability. With one last glance around the room, she looked directly above her to find a small camera in the tight corner. Her eyes rolled at the obvious distrust still demonstrated by the people occupying Atlantis.
While still scanning the space, Naima remembered the infinitely expanding waters she had discovered when last brought to the base. Panic flashed back to her mind when she saw no land in sight. She realized that besides the small ship and the Ring, which would certainly kill her, she had no other means of escape in the event of an emergency. Damn ocean.
At that point, Naima hadn't left her room in days, and cabin fever had begun to set in. So she decided to try to get her mind off her impending danger. She walked over to the entrance and waved her hand over the wall module like she had seen done before when the officers took her to the room. When the doors parted, she immediately saw SGA-12 along with five marines crowding the hallway space in front of the entrance.
She stepped out into the hallway to see Sullivan, Aguilar, Gates and Stemmer approaching from the right. "Colonel Sheppard sent us to relieve you boys," Sullivan grinned, "have a nice day."
The men of SGA-12 maintained their guise of alertness but signs of fatigue soon set in. They bumped fists with Sullivan and the others as they walked away. "Tag – you're it," the captain joked with Sullivan. "We're still on for Wednesday, right?"
"Wouldn't miss an opportunity to take all your money," Sullivan jabbed. "See you later, Cap." He turned back to see Naima's annoyance. "So, where to, missy?"
"I'm touched," Naima mused, "you need to have this many burly men guarding me to feel safe."
"Just keep the mischief to a minimum, sweetheart," Sullivan reiterated, "where're you headed?"
The aggravated Satedan sighed. "I'm looking for my father, errand boy. You seen him today?"
"Why, no I haven't," he spoke to her as a teacher would to a child, "but from what everyone knows about Ronon, he's probably in the gym."
"Let's get one thing straight," Naima corrected, "you people don't know a thing about my father. Don't try to pretend like you do."
"The gym is this way, princess," he indicated the way with a curtsy. One of the Marines started walking in that direction and Naima reluctantly followed.
Sullivan fell back to the party's aft with Airman Stemmer. The junior officer spoke up nervously, "Look Sully, I'm not sure we should be messing with her so much. It's too likely she could go off at any time."
"Don't be so skittish, Airman," Sullivan reassured confidently, "colonel said she'll play nice so long as Ronon's here. Pretty much guarantees she won't go skitzo on us." Stemmer experienced little relief. "Only thing to worry about is you breaking my marksman record." Both men continued chatting as the 10-men party descended the hallway…
As they turned the corner towards the gym, Naima's demeanor changed rapidly at the sound of Ronon's instruction. Nervous anticipation overcame her previous annoyance as she saw him teaching combat techniques to a room of young soldiers.
They were grouped in pairs holding each others' banded forearms. Ronon addressed the entire room: "Now, when your partner demonstrates either the side swipe or the low strike, or a combination of both, you must react – or end up on the floor." The room emitted a low chuckle.
Naima got chills from how familiar this scene was – almost a perfect cutout from her childhood.
Ronon peered around the room for a moment. "Strike!" At the sound of his command, each pair initiated a different fighting sequence before half of the men were sequentially subdued. "Good! That's it for today. Get out of here," Ronon joked. After they cleared the room, he went for a towel when he noticed Naima at the door.
She immediately straightened up from leaning against the wall. "You can relax," he assured, "I'm not going to drill you."
"Sorry," she released her tension, "force of habit."
He moved about somewhat awkwardly around his supposed daughter. "How is your room? Are you comfortable?"
"Anything but, sir," Naima responded, "but it's ok. It still feels weird being here without wanting to…run for my life."
"It'll get better," he affirmed, "first couple weeks aren't easy." He meant this as a way to lighten the conversation, but instead she peered at the nine guards spread around the gym.
Ronon twisted around his towel anxiously then threw it to the waste basket. He side-glanced at Naima. "In your…world…you're part of the Satedan military?"
"Yeah," she cautiously responded, "but where I come from, the Satedan military is only one part of it."
He scoffed as he plopped down on the window-side bench, soon followed by her. "How did I convince you to join the military?"
"You didn't," she corrected, "I kinda had to convince you."
"Yeah?" he chuckled, "how did that work out?"
Naima shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she looked around once more at the armed guards. "Look, I've already said too much. It's not that I'm not willing to tell you at all."
"No, I understand," he nodded.
"But I can…I can show you," she stammered. Naima offered her hand to Ronon, which caused all the officers to react by pointing their ARWs in her direction.
"Whoa! Stop!" Ronon raised his head to them. "It's alright." He hesitated before finally grasping her hand with his own. And unlike his previous mind probings from the Replicators, a warm flash of light overtook his sight…
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When the light dissipated, Ronon found himself in a warm workroom with a large desk on each wall encompassing a chestnut-colored table in the center. He stood in the east-most corner still holding Naima's hand.
At first, the noise of the room was garbled and indistinctive, but it soon focused to a warm bass voice which Ronon found to be eerily familiar. "We need to figure out a way to target their weapons quicker before they have time to react."
"It seems almost impossible," another male voice sounded. He could make out the voices if only their backs weren't turned away from him and Naima.
"I don't see any difference between the machine ships and those of the Terulians," a female voice interjected. "Both drop their shields when they have to open fire. We strike them then."
"Ok," the first bass voice summarized, "how many did we take down today?"
"Reports confirm four small warcraft were eliminated," a more tenor male voice asserted. "Three were lured to uninhabited planets, but the fourth tracked us to Edowin. We evacuated the settlement to be certain."
"Good," approved the base voice, "hopefully, we'll be able to move out of guerilla warfare and fight with these machines face-to-face." He paused and took a deep breath in. "I know we've lost a lot of people this week, and I've asked a lot of you since then…thank you…this is good work. Dismissed."
They all gathered large expanses of rolled paper and weapons before they made way for the exit. Ronon finally recognized two of the voices. As they strolled by, he saw the sadly familiar faces of his late junior officers Marika and Hemi. The tenor voice remained behind for a moment before following the others, Ronon's good friend Tyre.
He turned back to the man still at the table and saw his own unrecognizable face. His short waved hair and minimal facial hair reminded him of the cocky kid who first went into training. But despite his young appearance, he took on the facial stress of an elder.
The young Ronon exhaled and was continuing with the other paperwork when he heard a bump at the empty doorway. An almost silent coo followed the bump and he knew. "Naima?" A small head of mousy brown hair poked out from behind the door. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"
"I can't sleep," the little Naima whispered. He bade her towards his desk. The petite daughter took small strides to him until he took her into his arms and placed her on his knee.
"What is it? Is your room too cold?" She shook her head with a droopy face. His expression mirrored his daughter's sadness.
"Are you still thinking about Manara?" She bit her lip to hide emotion. Ronon's heart ached as he watched on – despite the depressive atmosphere of the scene, all he wanted was to experience it himself.
The little Naima reeled in her tears to mask her face with determination. "I wanna join the infantry," her puny voice asserted. He scoffed in response to his precious daughter's request, but straightened his face when he saw that hers hadn't flinched.
"Naima, no," he brushed it off.
She hastily wiped her face of tears with her unscarred forearm. "Me and Torren are the same age. His people sent him into the forest alone when he was six! Why can't you teach me to do the same thing?"
"Because you don't need to learn that," he qualified, "that's why you have me and Tyre and Tenek."
"I need to learn how to fight for myself, Papa," her tears made a comeback. "I can't let anyone else die because of me…"
His head furrowed at his daughter's painfully good intentions. No words came from his mouth at first. "Naima…" he searched for an answer, "I know the last couple of days have been really scary for you. And…I can understand that you want to do something about it. But, kinia, no beautiful little girl like you should have to worry about something that." He cracked a smile. "And even though you came from a long line of military men, I have a feeling you're more of a healer…like your mother. I heard you bandaged up one of the boys after a rough game of sprint."
A chuckle crept up his throat. He tousled her hair a bit before holding her close. "Besides, if you join the infantry, you can't call me Papa anymore – you'd have to call me sir." After a tiny peck on her nose, he lifted her off and shooed her. "Now, go back to bed. I'll see you in the morning." She slowly made her way back across the room but before she left through the door, she turned back."
"I'm gonna learn how to fight, Papa," she sternly finalized, "and if you won't teach me, I'll find some other way to learn."
"Bed." He ordered. "Now." At this, she turned and stomped back to her room.
The room darkened and disappeared into a wisp of smoke. After it settled, light gained back entry into the space and they were sitting in the gym with the nine other armed guards.
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"You alright, sir?" Gates broke the silence.
Still staring at the matured Naima, he shook his head to break the trance. "Yeah," he assured, "I'm fine."