A/N: I don't own anyone but The Major aka Alex.
Welcome the following readers: RenegadeMarine, Avoc, CHH-666, Alisseil, and marsbonde!
Guantanamo Bay...One year earlier...
"For once, I agree with you."
XO Slattery looked sideways at the Major. He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by this statement. While he was bemoaning the fact the pain in the ass major was hanging around for a little longer he had to hear this.
"Like I told Captain Chandler, Ruskov is not stupid. We're wasting our time."
"He studied the man; even has a book Ruskov wrote all in Russian. I told him it wasn't a good idea."
"What is he hoping to achieve? Does the Captain even know what that is?!"
"I don't have the faintest idea. The only thing he said was he had to look him in the eye."
The Major shook her head, sighing loudly and in frustration.
"Shouldn't you be in the lab? I thought you were anxious to get back to work? To get back to whatever it was you were doing?" The snide remark caused the Major to narrow her eyes and twist her body around so her faced the other officers. Her shoulders turned pensive as muscle between the blades tensed.
"My samples, my work are being processed and when I mean processed I mean going through analysis. I have to wait so I figured I would come up here and make your life that much more miserable."
She added a bitchy smile to top it off. Slattery bit his tongue, wanting to lash out. But he refrained, finding every bit of will channeled into keeping collective.
"The faster you and Dr. Scott get a vaccine, the faster we can go home."
The air was charged between them. Both barreling one another with icy glances and rigid postures.
"Yeah, I completely agree on that. But, for now, you're going to have to just put up with us a little bit longer; have to see us each and every single day. Don't think for a minute that I'll shed any tears when we finally part ways."
"Feeling's mutual Major." Acid saturated each word that slipped between his lips.
Master Chief caught the heated exchange. The Major was walking away, keeping her posture tall and confident. XO wasted no time in forgetting her presence and scanning the bay. The way his jaw had clenched, threatening to lock together was seen when he was extremely bothered by something...or in this case someone. He worried for the young officer. The things she may have seen, heard, or experienced clearly wasn't contributing to her current state of mind. It wasn't helping she and the XO were at odds.
Lost...
That was the word he was thinking of.
The Major was lost only she didn't know it or want to admit it. The adage of oil and water swirled in his thoughts. That's exactly what those two were.
She reached her cabin and slowly shut the door; locking it so she wouldn't be disturbed. The small shoulder bag sat on the bottom bunk with the Army insignia etched proudly on the front. The Major felt her upper torso drop, releasing the strain between her shoulders. Fucking XO! She attempts to be civil and he acts like a dick. No surprise there!
"Not going to let him get to me. Nope. He is so NOT worth the energy," she shook her head but it was easier said than done. It was akin to having bile breach the back of the mouth and tongue or a hemorrhoid perhaps. Still, there was work to be done.
The Major clutched the tiger top Vacutainer tubes, red top plastic tubes, holder, and needle, laying them out in a neat row along the sink. Next, she retrieved the alcohol swabs and placed them alongside the tubes. It had been easy, swiping the needle, tubes, holder, and swabs from Doc Rios's supply.
"Alright," Doc Rios secured the final strip of tape on her arm. "Leave this on for the next 10 days. Then come back down and I'll remove the stitches."
"Right," she sighed and leaned back against the chair. The doc gave a short smile then departed to examine Chief Engineer Garnett and Cruz. Rachel was fussing over Tex who continued to behave like a five year old. he Major was left alone. No one paid attention to her.
It was as if she was back in high school again. The juvenile delinquent. Always up to a challenge.
This time it was testing supplies. When she was 16, her skills had been perfected on lifting small items at first. Trinkets and other cheap plastic goods that somehow found their way into her pocket. Then it graduated to clothing. Her brush with the law had come when she was brazen enough to attempt to swipe a 60 dollar bra from Victoria's Secret. The clerk, no older than 21 at least, had been rough in her grip, digging into the slender wrist leaving narrow bands of rose. Being dragged out in cuffs for all in the mall to see didn't affect her. The ride in the cop car had not cracked her youthful hubris. In fact, she had begged the cops to whip on the lights and sirens with an almost maniacal glee. The cocky smirk plastered wide on her lightly freckled face didn't falter once.
It had been when she came face to face with her father that it sunk like a rock. An officer's child being entangled with the law could spell disaster. His CO could easily demote him or worse! She had taken her game one step too far. Her mother shrieked and cried like she was mourning her daughter's death though she was seated a few feet away at the kitchen table. Surprisingly, she hadn't ripped her hair out ...yet...
That had been the beginning of her journey from societal burden to government burden. Her grandfather came up with the brilliant idea to sit her down before a microscope the summer she had been arrested. Her whole world changed. Priorities and goals replaced childish wants and foolish desires. The microscopic world was hers.
Now she was on the Nathan James; using those same drives to find a way to keep humanity from going the way of the dodo bird. Rachel had voiced her enthusiasm for getting closer to a breakthrough. But they didn't know what exactly the gene inserted into the virus was. The Major remained steadfast in her conviction it had been weaponized and not something that slipped out from a lab on accident. Then again, that was how the Major viewed the world. Things didn't happen by chance. There was always a plausible explanation for the outbreaks and emerging infections. The Ramses strain was no different.
Blinking twice, the Major pretended to stretch and crack her neck before rising and slipping behind the door.
Time was short and she had to act fast.
The swabs were easy to spot; top cabinet peeking through the glass pane. Hurrying, she pocketed a small stack and spotted the Vacutainer holder. That went into her right pocket. The door latched with a soft click but no one indicated they heard such. Next, she riffled through the top drawer, finding bandages, tape, and gauze. Cursing under her breath she dove into the middle. Yes! Needles and tubes. Collecting her bounty, the Major slipped the drawer shut, wincing at the soft whine of metal against metal.
"What's going on?" Doc Rios could be hear rising from his chair in the adjacent room. The Major thought fast, lining up against the counter and twisting her back left then right. The doc hurried in to find his ambulatory patient bumping into the counter with her hip.
"Sorry Doc," she felt her face turning red. Her heart was hammering but that couldn't be detected if one went on her outward appearance. "I was stretching from being in that chair for so long and I hit my elbow on the edge. I'll be heading out."
"Right," he nodded but hesitated before returning to his other patients.
Making a fist was easy. The veins in both arms were what the nurses back at USAMRIID referred to as arm porn. Arm porn! A nice way of saying many places to stab or poke her! The Major thought it was only made in reference to men but when it came to the medical field, gender was not a factor. She swept the area with a swab in several circular motions before putting the needle and holder together. Taking a deep breath, the Major aimed the hollow point for the narrow river of blue. The needle tore a hole with ease, breaching the layers of skin. The tube was thrust into the holder, hungrily accepting the red ore. The narrow stream pulsed in cadence with her heart, quickening then falling with each beat. It was fascinating, really, to watch a simple wonder of the human body. It was in times of crisis she found herself making such observations.
She repeated this process, letting all the glass and plastic vials house the thick swirls of cells, blood, plasma, DNA, and the billions of other equally important components.
"Let's hope I'm right," she talked herself up while retracting the needle. The hiss slipped from her mouth. It always hurt more when it was coming out! Never failed. But it was a minor inconvenience when looking at what was at stake.
Gathering the evidence of her deed, the Major stashed it in a bag before securing it in her cargo pants before taking off.
The lab was quiet. Rachel was nowhere to be found and Qunicy was with the Captain's group. Quickly she donned her suit, keeping an eye on the tubes as they rested next to the satellite phone. Once she was ready to go, her hand cradled the precious cargo until they were nestled in the new centrifuge procured from the hospital pharmacy. It wasn't really new but for them it was a godsend.
The time was set for 10 minutes; the standard for running blood samples to properly separate. While the machine conducted its song of high whirling and whizzing, the Major took the opportunity to scope out the lab. It was smart using the helo bay for it. They had negative pressure set up to keep any virus particles from escaping. The plastic was flexible but restrained by the usual red bio tape. It was a nothing short of a miracle the set up was holding. The fume hood was to her right; loaded with tube racks which each had samples of different dilutions and strains. She encroached, wondering just what they had been working on since their communications had been severed. All she knew was that they had the primordial strain, the strain obtained from an Egyptian patient at the start of the pandemic, and from a dying Italian man aboard a luxury liner drifting listlessly off the coast of France. That was three strains. The Major had isolated six including the one that had been altered.
It was a billionth of their size and it scared the shit out of her.
But viruses were the perfect killing machine.
Neither living nor dead, they were simply genetic material that had the instinct to seek a compatible host, infect it, and replicate more of itself. Basic but efficient.
Perhaps that was what drew her into its domain. It was a challenge.
The series of clicks and gradual decrease in the speed alerted her to the end of the cycle.
"Finally," she hurried over and carefully plucked a tube out one at a time. The factionation process had done its work. Three distinct layers resided in all three tubes: The clear to pale yellow layer, plasma, rested on top with a a narrow band of buff or whitish tan color, called the buff layer, pinched between it and the final layer, the red blood cells.
"Let's rock," she nodded to herself and placed each tube in a vacant row of a rack.
"Out of the frying pan huh fellas?!" Tex marched out with a shit eating grin plastered on his face. Green and Burk stared disbelievingly at their newest comrade.
"You're coming too?" Burke was taken aback but his reaction didn't hamper Tex's bright disposition.
"Captain thought I could be useful since you're all in my backyard. The Cantina's where we'll be heading. Old Juan Carlo made the BEST carnitas locos around!" Damn how Tex missed those spicy greasy rolls of tortilla, cheese, pork, and few extra spices to boot. His mouth watered as his senses played out the nostalgic aromas.
"God help us," Green shook his head and fastened the strap on his helmet. Tex laughed heartily as he descended the ladder to the rip. Green and Burk traded glances before each took their turn down.
The bio suits were stifling the recon team but each man didn't pay heed to the gathering beads of sweat along their torsos, legs, arms, asses, and feet. Admiral Halsey was panting hard, taking each breath hard and fast. German Shepherds were not built for these climates. Tex wasn't bothered by the extreme concentrations of moisture but Berchem and Smith were sweating like two hookers in a church. The Captain, despite his initial discomforts, tolerated the oppressive conditions. Made the contractor ponder if the man even had sweat glands!
"It's this way," Tex pointed to the left.
"Smith, Berchem establish the perimeter; everyone, masks up." It wasn't necessary to use a hardened tone in dispensing orders. The team fell in, fitting their masks, now set with FR 15-CBRN canisters. Major Koch had reassured him prior to departing they would be sufficient in keeping them safe. The Cadillac of filters was what she referred to them as.
Once masks were on, the team proceeded with caution, a well oiled machine so to speak. Chandler took lead with the others falling back but close if their commander needed help. The Cantina was a dilapidated hut if one was to base assertions on the exterior persona it projected. The roof was rustic, if one could call it such. The sides were whitewashed with a few windows that were dingy on the outside. Chandler approached the door, turned the knob and slowly crossing over into a wider accommodating area.
Pool tables were lined up two by two with balls and sticks left as though waiting for their patrons to return to resume the games abandoned. Sunlight breached the dirty and grime plastered on the glass, casting enough light for the team lay eyes upon the group at ease around a single table.
Vice Admiral Constantine Ruskov poured a plentiful serving of vodka from the nearby bar, taking a few moments to glance up to see the heavily suited and masked men fanning out before him. He laughed inwardly at their over-zealousness. His right hand occupied with a Cuban cigar.
"You can drop the masks, we're not infected." The thick Slavic accent carried upon the air. "It must be hot in those costumes no?"
Tex rolled his eyes, glad no one could see his face at that particular instance. If the Major had been here she would've said something snide. Good thing she wasn't.
"We'll test you all the same." Chandler insisted. Ruskov obliged, humoring the American by depositing the cigar into an ash tray and rolling up his left sleeve. Dr. Tophet took two steps forward, freezing at the sudden action of guns drawn and cocked. His eyes nervously counted five but he succeeded in finding his voice.
"I'm not armed," the Brit insisted and lifted his hands as a show of good faith. Ruskov nodded, catching the hatred simmering in the brown pools. He motioned with a finger to the man, acknowledging him like a peon.
"Stand down," his men obeyed. Like the good little sailors they were they heeded their commander's orders. Dr. Tophet readied the rapid test kit.
"Make a fist," he put every drop of disgust and venom he could into his demand.
"How can you wear those costumes in this heat? Still, better than the Arctic no?"
"If I recall the Arctic was bad for both of us Admiral. You lost five airships." Chandler couldn't but help to dig that little fact in.
"Helicopters are easy to replace Commander," Ruskov dismissed the pathetic attempt. "Look around you," he leaned back and gestured with his arms in a grand sweep of the space around him, "The world is ours for the taking." The smug expression resurfaced. The short beep of the rapid test broke the looming tension between the two factions.
"He's clean," Dr. Tophet announced.
"You see," Ruskov laughed, knowing it would be what he told the stubborn Americans in the beginning. "Clean!"
Chandler removed his mask with the team following his example. The repugnant stench of the cigar irritated his nose. But his face stayed stone cold. He had studied this man, even admired him to a degree for his intelligence and tactical genius but now, he was slowly thinking otherwise.
"You're wondering, and I know you are, about how is it we're still alive and not dead like our comrades." Ruskov continued taking shots of vodka. "Unlike you and your little war games, there was a recall order for all ships and personnel to return to home ports. But I knew if we were to survive this plague we had to remain out to sea. I took it upon myself to remain out to sea. So what you see is the last of the great Russian Navy. Of course there may be others out there but we haven't seen them. So the uniform you see matters no more."
Green and Burk couldn't believe the arrogance of this man!
"It matters to me," Chandler dead panned. "Whether mine is the last or one of several ships remaining in the United States Navy."
"Of course you are. Still, we're alive and it is cause for celebration," Ruskov offered a loaded shot glass but Chandler stared at it like it was poison.
"You have a funny way of showing it. Dropping a nuke on France? Tell me Admiral, how many people do you think you killed? Five? Ten million?"
That seemed to strike a nerve with the older man as he bristled and straightened in his seat.
"France was already dead. That missile was fired to keep you from refueling and sneaking back home with the vaccine. Do you have any idea what was going on while you were up in the Arctic playing your little war games?" Sarcasm was one of his tongues it seemed as the men caught it plain as the jungle rain. "The virus, Ramses strain, spread like an invisible wildfire. The fear was further reaching than the virus itself. I'm sure Major Koch and Dr. Scott highlighted some of the finer acts of man."
"What do you mean?" Steel blue narrowed into identical daggers.
"Don't play coy Commander. Do you really think that governments were taking care of their people!? That they were doing all they could to keep them safe!? That is naïve in thinking. They were killing their own people!" His fist slammed on the table, rattling the cigar and shot glasses. Droplets of precious vodka splashed along the rims with a few splattering on the dirty green. "In China, 60 million people were slaughtered. Culled like little piglets. In Brasil, the slums were set ablaze with people inside. 5 million were burned alive. The screams of the dying playing painfully upon those who were sent to carry out the task. In South Africa they were gunning people down who attempted to breach the so called safe zones. It didn't matter if they were infected or not. Bodies piled up like mountains. Families killed their own blood. So you tell me if the world is still worth saving."
"I believe it is. The vaccine is for the world."
Ruskov shook his head, nauseated at this heroic but stupid response. "So what you want to keep the vaccine for yourself?"
"What I want is of no concern to you." Ruskov put the cigar out then polished off his final round.
"Well we don't have a vaccine. At least not yet."
"Besides, Dr. Scott and Major Koch are lacking an important component to creating a vaccine that only I possess. Now you will give me what I want: The primordial strain, all of your research, Dr. Scott, and Major Koch. Speaking of which, how is the Major? I imagine she is still a pain the ass as she was at 17."
A narrow smile cracked Ruskov's lips as he saw the shift in temperament.
"Ah, she still is." He chuckled.
"You won't fire on my ship as long as we have what you want. This game of chicken you're playing will only cause millions more deaths. So how about I leave here with my best offer."
The Russians drew their guns with ease as Chandler reached into the pouch. Green, Burk, Berchem, Smith, and Tex returned the gesture with their automatic weapons trained and ready. Hearts were racing and sweat beading across skin but no one fired. Chandler took a long drawn out breath and placed the tin given to him by the Major.
"A sample of the primordial virus with my compliments." His finger tapped randomly on the top. His hope was Ruskov would accept it and move on.
The cruel laugh cracked the Russian's lips. "No, sorry Commander as that will not do. Not do at all."
"You aren't getting them or the research."
Ruskov leaned in, piercing Chandler's stare with his own hardened expression. "Don't be foolish Commander. You cannot win. We will send you out on a mushroom cloud."
"You heard the Captain, Boris," Tex interrupted with a bit of glee. "You're not getting our scientists."
"That is a shame then." Ruskov shook his head, disappointed in this road Chandler was taking.
"I'll go! I'll go! Take me! I know how to run the machinery and what to do-" Dr. Tophet volunteered, offering himself in lieu of Rachel only to have a chilly reception from Ruskov. The pain in his eyes only made the Russian smirk, compounding the man's misery.
"No! No you will not do! Dr. Rachel Scott and Major Alexandra Koch are the ones."
"We'll that's not going to happen." Chandler remained steadfast in his resolve.
"We can outlast you! We have enough nuclear fuel on our ship to patrol the harbor for the next 25 years!" Ruskov leaned back with the joints in the seat groaning at the pressure.
Chandler swiped the tin and rose from his seat. He countered with a bit of pretension, "And how are you going to feed your men when the Americans have all of the food on the island?"
Ruskov looked to one of his officers. "Peter, pistol." The Russian didn't hesitate to pass the firearm over to his superior. Without hesitation he put the muzzle to Peter's temple and pulled the trigger. Blood, bone, and brain matter splattered the wall like a macabre Picasso. The remaining officers were paralyzed; in disbelief over what had transpired. Their eyes registered the body of their fallen comrade but their brains couldn't and wouldn't accept it. He was one of the Admiral's trusted officers! Why?!
"One less mouth to feed," his defense was cold like the Russian winters with eyes matching the tone. Chandler felt his heart stop. This man, this military genius he admired to a certain level had stooped to a degree lower than swamp scum! A coward's act!
"Let's go."
The Major began with growing the primordial virus in culture. Viruses, unlike bacteria and fungi, required different means to thrive and replicate in. Where plates provided the ideal habitat, viruses required additional finesse in that regard. Where jelled agar appeased the bacteria and fungi, living cells were required to sate a virus. She prepared a row of eight tubes with cell lines that would provide the perfect breeding grounds for the strain. The rack would be imbedded with the others, but just enough out of the main line of activity that her samples wouldn't be adulterated.
To keep her activities low key, she took samples from each tube, keeping the levels consistent. One plastic pipette per tube and done. Now she had to wait and let the virus proliferate. It would take several hours, perhaps a day but at least she was getting back on track. The diversion to Guantanamo Bay and the ensuing loss of her work took her back at least a month. Time was the enemy.
Her thought drifted to the small group of men who had deployed back to the base. Had they been successful? Would they be allowed to leave this godforsaken place? Sadly, the nagging voice front and center in her head carried a sadistic tune.
Not gonna happen! Not gonna happen! Not gonna happen!
Waiting was the game now. She had to acquire enough of the strains to conduct the next step in her work. The tubes with the freshly segregated layers of her blood would be alright for now. She spotted a space in the back of one of the coolers that Quincy and Rachel would overlook. With the main bulk of their samples up front, they wouldn't bother to check the far back.
Quickly, she gathered the tubes and slipped the small rack in the center row, along the back wall. A small half smile broke the somber surface as she secured the door.
"Major Koch," the Captain's voice boomed over the headset. She jumped an inch from the floor, finding the CO's handsome features darkened. Her heart accelerated at the sight, knowing that look as she had been on the receiving end of it from her dad on more than one occasion: She was in some kind of trouble. What had she done this time!? Was XO Slattery's panties in a bunch?
"Sir," her voice rattled.
"When you finish up, your presence is requested in the Wardroom." That wasn't a request. She forced the burgeoning lump in her throat back down, attempting to calm her shaky nerves.
"Of course," her words staggered as anxiety washed over like waves. Chandler turned and marched away, leaving her alone. The Major looked down, discovering her hands were trembling. She snapped her wrists, hoping the sharp crack would cease the jitters. "Damn it," she resorted to curling her hands to fists with fingers contracting and expanding. "Get a grip. You haven't done anything wrong." With a inhale of filtered air, she made her way out to dress down.
Her body never abated in tormenting her. It only worsened the closer she approached the door. No need to be afraid. She could run with the big boys! There was no way in Hell they were going to bully her! Blocking the insecurities, the Major twisted the handle and made her way inside.
Chandler and Slattery jerked their heads up to see the Major coming in.
"Major, shut the door." Chandler spoke in a quiet tone, a stark contrast to the harsh pitch utilized an hour prior. He watched as she shifted her weight and crossed her arms uncomfortably.
"How does Ruskov know you?" Slattery didn't hesitate. His toned physique pressed against the back of the chair. "Because he sure seems to know who you are."
"What is this an inquisition?" The Major darted her eyes nervously between the two men.
"Ruskov mentioned knowing you at the age of 17. Why is that?"
The Major shook her head and flung her hands up as if to say 'seriously?!'
"We asked you a question Major Koch. Now answer it," XO Slattery was digging his fingers into the back of the leather cushion. "Why does Ruskov know you?"
"You two think I'm in cahoots with him is that it?" Her anger surged until it simmered beneath the surface. Now her hands shook in anger. "Because I'm NOT."
"Why should we believe you Major? We don't know you." The XO continued, thriving in watching her squirm.
"Why would I be XO?" She fell back to her defensive stance. It was her survival mechanism. "Why would I want to work with someone who is Hell bent on sinking us? What in the HELL would make you think that?!"
"You tell us!"
"What would I have to gain!? I lost EVERYTHING and EVERYONE I loved!" Her voice cracked. The whites of her eyes streaked with minute trails of red.
"That's the point. You have nothing to lose now. Why not go for the hat trick? Hmmmm? A little double agent work?"
"That's low," she pointed her finger at him. "But if you wanna play that card I can do it too. How about your family XO? Are they dead? Did they make it to a safe zone?"
"You're out of line Major!" Slatter pushed away from the chair and began to round the table.
"Did I hit a nerve XO?" She stood a little taller in challenge.
"Enough!" Chandler hollered over them possibly breaching the door for anyone passing by to hear. Both froze at his command. Slattery faced his CO while the Major went rigid with arms hanging at her sides. Neither one escaped the cold fire raging in his eyes.
"Ruskov met me when I was 17. My dad was part of a series of joint naval exercises in the Pacific. He served on the USS Antietam which was a part of the dog and pony show. I crossed paths with him at one of the dinners that was being hosted for all of the personnel. Yes, he saw me when I was an juvenile pain in the ass. When I was a teen I acted out...A LOT. He got a glimpse of my colorful persona. There! Does that make you happy now?"
She felt the iron wall corroding and leaned against the closest chair.
"He probably said that to plant a seed of doubt in your minds. He wants that. He wants you to turn on me so you'll cut me loose. Please," she shook her head and stared at the speckled gold scatted across Carolina blue. "Please don't doubt me. XO, I told you before I left Bethesda I found out someone was keeping tabs on Rachel and I. You gotta believe me!" Her head lifted up showing the clear streaks staining her cheeks and neck. "I want to find out who and why. Rachel and I want to create a vaccine for the world. We WANT to save humanity."
"Well, that's very impassioned," Slatter just glared.
"Who are you gonna believe XO? A Russian who would rather destroy put a bullet to the head of one of his officers to make a point? Or me? You really don't have much of a choice."
"Major," Chandler stepped in and passed a box of tissues over. "I think you have said enough." He went to get her a cup of coffee.
"Now I know how Rachel feels," she collapsed in the seat. Chandler passed the mug across, sliding it over instead of letting her take it with unstable hands. "Thanks."
Just then the good doctor made an appearance. She immediately picked up on the uneasiness in the air.
"Dr. Scott," he acknowledged the civilian.
"What's going on?" She didn't have to be told there had been a confrontation as the Major's face and posture said it all.
"Ruskov said you and Major Koch were missing someone or something to make the vaccine. Do either one of you have any idea what that or who could be?" Chandler was more subtle in his approach. Rachel looked to the Major who shook her head and took another drink. XO Slattery was hurling daggers at her but remained quiet.
"He's bluffing." She spat. "He's hoping we'll fall for it."
"What could he have that we would need?" The Major spoke up. Her voice was solid. "I can't think of anything or anyone. All of our colleagues are dead and the only people who know about the research are on this ship. Well, who's still alive that is."
"What do we need to do?" Rachel asked the obvious.
"You said you're making progress on the vaccine. You and the Major keep working at it. That's all we ask of you."
"Sounds good to me," the Major muttered in her drink. She caught the incredulous stare Slattery was casting at them both. "I can help Dr. Scott interpret the data."
"Fair enough," Chandler nodded. The Major finished off her coffee and followed Rachel out the door.
Once they returned to the lab, Rachel caught the Major by the shoulder. "Alex, what happened in there?"
"Slattery being a dick. That's what happened. He accused me of being in bed with Ruskov. It seems our local neighborhood whack job dredged up the past which only created mistrust." She shrugged it off like water on a duck's back. "And Slattery decided to interrogate me. Well, I threw his shit back in his face and he didn't like it."
"Can't blame you," Rachel snorted. "He's had it out for me since the Russians showed up on the ice."
"How you haven't blown up at him is impressive. I guess you have more resolve than I do."
Together they entered the lab and went to work.