Chapter 9: Who's the Kid?
"You look like shit, Sheppard."
John jerked upright, then squinted into the bright lights. The movement set off a burst of pain behind his eyeballs, striking down into the back of his neck, and sent the world swimming. "Fuck."
General O'Neill, in shiny pressed dress blue uniform and all, was standing in front of him and had the gall to look amused. "I think that would be, fuck, sir."
He was going to throw up. It felt like a certainty. His system was overtaxed. Overloaded.
"Sheppard?" This time there was a note of concern in O'Neill's voice.
"He was released AMA from the infirmary, sir."
John swiveled his head to stare at Sergeant Mackenzie. "That – is not true."
"Dr. Lam only let you go because there were extenuating circumstances. PZS requires a 12-hour minimum observation period."
John peered at him, wondering just where this information was coming from. "They released me, free and clear."
"And who was going to tell me that the Colonel here got zatted as well?" O'Neill sounded rather put out.
John let his head drop back down, blocking out the majority of the light. "Told you, sir, trouble runs into me." He felt awful. Like he had been run over with a truck a couple times. Or like a puddle jumper had slammed into him once or twice. It was like before only not quite as bad.
"Well then, we're going to kill two birds with one stone." O'Neill clapped his hands together, the sound echoing loudly in John's brain. "Colonel Sheppard, you are ordered to report to the infirmary for treatment. In the process, you can call off your guard dogs there who refuse to let anyone through without your authority. You'd think being a general meant something around here…"
John could almost grin at that, but getting up required all of his energy. A splayed hand on the table reminded him that he had been all but sleeping on the careful notes Mackenzie had taken during the interviews. "Here, sir."
O'Neill took the notebook and regarded him carefully. "And this is?"
"Notes from questioning SG-4 and associated team members." The words swirled around his head, but John forced himself to focus. "Major Brigham is the only one missing." He took a couple careful steps forward, willing his legs into motion.
It couldn't be too far to the infirmary.
Maybe he had let it go a little too long.
His legs felt weak. His whole body felt weak.
He was just going to shoot dead the next person he saw with a zat.
O'Neill grabbed his arm, steadying him as he crossed the room. "Christ, Sheppard, there is such a thing as taking care of yourself too."
That brought a smirk. "Used to having my team bully me into it."
Mackenzie took up a position on his other side and John felt all but boxed in. He wasn't complaining though. It was clear he was currently incapable of walking in a straight line.
It was going to be a long walk, no matter how short it was.
His brain more or less tuned everything out at that point. Nothing was more important than continuing to put one foot in front of the other, even if the very act of walking made him nauseous. Arriving at the infirmary was a blur, with him supposedly slurring out a coherent set of words to convince the SFs to stand down for the general.
Then there was someone prodding him into a bed and the promise of the good drugs.
If only they would turn down the lights…
There was no telling how long it was before he felt marginally alive again, but once he did, John could practically feel the life flowing through him again. The migraine was just a dull ache at the back of his head and he could definitely string together a coherent sentence once again.
Dr. Lam wasn't letting him out of her sight though, no matter how much he protested that he really was okay. She had just shot back that she had let him out once already and he had come back in worse shape. They weren't risking it again. And she claimed that the IV of pain medication was the only thing keeping him coherent at this point.
She may have been right…
So, John sat in the bed and stubbornly refused to pout now that he was officially out of the chain of command. Airman Patrick was still guarding the curtain and no one else saw fit to tell him what was actually going on. If anything.
He was itching to get up and check on Alex though. Reassure himself that the kid was still there and still okay.
Perhaps because he was the only one who Alex had allowed himself to interact with. And if John had been feeling as horrible as he had, after being zatted once, he didn't doubt that it was much worse for Alex.
Who was refusing all medical treatment.
"Colonel?" A nurse appeared at his side, looking uncertain. "It's been about eight hours. Alex…?" She twisted the name, as if unsure if that's what they were really referring to their mysterious patient as. "He needs another dose, but Dr. Lam said you're the only one he'll tolerate."
Perfect. And it had really been only eight hours? Mitchell should've been back long ago…
"Yeah, sure. Just…" He waved at the IV holding him hostage.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Only for a few minutes. You're not getting tapered off for another two hours." She started fiddling at the tubing in his arm, disconnecting it in a few swift movements. She taped the access line down, a subtle reminder that he wasn't getting out of the place.
"Same dose as before?"
She shrugged. "It's the maximum. Unfortunately, he spiked a fever. You can swap out the compress too."
John took the proffered supplies and pushed up from the bed. Much better than a couple of hours ago. Patrick stepped to the side to let him through the curtain. The lights in the curtained off area had been dimmed even more, setting the area into soft relief.
Alex was still curled up on the bed, arms tucked tightly against his chest. He was breathing heavily and there was a sheen of sweat on his face.
John approached cautiously, before gingerly sitting down in the chair. "Alex…?" The last thing they needed was to startle him and set him off again. It was like working with a ticking bomb.
"Nooooo…" He moaned into the pillow, face scrunching up.
"Hey, I've got some more medicine."
The tremors had died down some, but not entirely.
"Bbbbbbyrne?"
"He's coming." At least, John thought he was. O'Neill had seemed worried enough about it, anyway.
"Thank, fuck." Alex threw out a hand, letting it flop palm side up toward John. "Give."
Wow.
Slightly more coherent then. And more trusting.
John tipped the pills into Alex's hand and watched as it took three tries for him to successfully find his mouth.
"Some… someone's gotta find… those electric thingies… and destroy them," Alex slurred into the pillow.
John raised an almost amused eyebrow. Of course, he didn't know what zats were. Electric thingies were probably an apt description.
Alex seemed to settle though, offering no more commentary about the weapons used against them. John took the opportunity to replace the compress and was rewarded with a slight sigh.
"Someone will let you know when Mr. Byrne gets here."
That earned a slight giggle and John wasn't quite sure what, exactly, Alex found funny in that sentence. He watched him for a moment longer, before levering himself back up out of the chair. Better to go back before the nurses came to hunt him down.
O'Neill was standing at the curtain's edge watching him with an amused glance.
John wasn't quite sure he was ready to hear whatever his superior had on his mind and slipped past to his bed on the other side of the infirmary. O'Neill followed, looking mischievous.
"I didn't know it was bring your kid to work day."
John did his best not to glare at the man.
"No, seriously. Good work with him." O'Neill pulled a more serious face, before settling down in the chair next to John's bed. "He clearly needed someone to talk him down."
John looked away, unsure what he was supposed to say. It wasn't like he could've just walked away. Someone would've gotten hurt worse.
"Joe Byrne is on his way and is pleased that we have Alex in more or less one piece. Kid apparently has a phobia of needles."
John raised a sardonic eyebrow. He never would have guessed. "And who is Byrne exactly?" Because if he was coming here, he was definitely someone important.
O'Neill grimaced. "Well… He's the non-public facing director of the CIA."
CIA.
Fuck.
It.
All.
That was the last thing they needed. Another federal agency to start breathing down their necks. And to try to throw weight around in an investigation they already had to do.
The NID was probably sneaking around somewhere too. Or would be, once news departed the base.
"And Alex?"
"A protectee, of some sort. That's all he would say on a secure line – and I've known Joe for nearly 20 years."
That raised the question of just what a teenager could get mixed up in that would require CIA protection. And what the Trust had been planning to do with him in their facility.
How long had he even been missing for?
"This is all a cluster, but you did good Sheppard." O'Neill leaned carelessly back in the chair, crossing a leg over his knee. "Only Major Brigham got away and we've got Colonel Stadler in for questioning yet. And smart move sending Daniels to deal with the IOA."
John ducked his head. "Thank you, sir." He wasn't sure that he had really done that much. Just held things together where he could.
"Sergeant Mackenzie is taking care to clear and release base personnel. Mitchell's going to be thrilled with the shake-up we've done on his off-world day." There was an almost gleeful expression on O'Neill's face. Which only matched with the stories that O'Neill was truly batshit crazy and you only called him when shit was really going to hit the fan.
Because otherwise, he could make your life a living nightmare.
John usually liked to keep an entire galaxy between himself and O'Neill, but for now, he was thankful for the backup.
Joe Byrne did not match the mental picture John had created in his mind in the slightest.
Though he had never had any interactions with the CIA, he didn't expect the director to look so open and welcoming. He was taller, hair greying on the edges, but looked no different than any other mid- to late-fifties dad.
Perhaps that was what made him good at his job.
He was unassuming.
John had turned daggers on Dr. Lam, all but demanding to be let go. He didn't want to miss the rest of this briefing. Thankfully, it was deemed close enough to his target release time, that she unhooked him with nary a word and sent him on his way with only a mildly disapproving glare.
John crept over to the curtain, where O'Neill was waiting while Byrne spoke with Alex. Their voices were hushed and the words didn't make any sort of sense to John, but then, spies and codes seemed to go hand in hand. He wasn't going to ask there.
O'Neill glanced briefly in his direction, before nodding toward the man. "Byrne," he said, softly, confirming the man's identity.
Whatever Byrne said to Alex, it was enough to get him to fully relax. Subtle tension that had been present just lying there, disappeared. Perhaps he would finally be able to get some decent rest.
Byrne patted Alex's hand, then turned back toward them. He sent O'Neill a significant glance, then led the way out of the infirmary.
John trailed behind. O'Neill hadn't ordered him away yet, anyway.
They made their way silently down the hall and into one of the secure conference rooms – where it looked like O'Neill had temporarily set up office. O'Neill waved each of them into a chair, before settling into his own behind the desk.
"Joe, this is Colonel Sheppard." O'Neill waved a hand in John's direction. "He's the one who found Alex and figured something was off in the base."
John ducked his head. It had all been pure chance that he had stumbled onto the right floor in the first place.
"Although I'm concerned that something occurred on base here, I was very thankful that we got your call." Byrne settled back into his chair, lacing his fingers together. "Alex has been missing for over 72 hours and we had no leads. All the usual suspects were… silent."
Usual suspects. That was an ominous phrasing.
"Yes, Joe, why don't we just jump to the point a teenager is being followed by the CIA." O'Neill regarded the man carefully.
Byrne's knuckled whitened momentarily, before he nodded slowly. "This is, of utmost secrecy. Though, it is widely known among the security agencies of the world…" He shook his head in despair. "Alex, Alex Rider, was… convinced to work for MI6. At the tender age of 14."
Convinced.
Coerced.
Same thing, really, for a fourteen-year-old. John shuddered at the thought.
"He left that line of work, but has a long list of enemies. I'm… ashamed to say that the CIA utilized his services at one point. That's how I came to know him. He moved to the states, looking for a new life, when someone uncovered a consular report of birth abroad. It gave me a certain amount of… latitude in assisting him that I wouldn't have had if he were still considered a British citizen."
A teenaged spy.
John couldn't even wrap his mind around it. He could hardly wrap his mind around adult spies, sometimes.
And if he had a lot of enemies… then what great deal was it to add the Trust to that list?
"But no connection to the Trust that you're aware of?" O'Neill asked.
"None," Byrne spread his hands and shrugged. "There have been several kidnapping attempts over the past twelve months, but my sources have always alerted me to them. We know who to watch for."
"And who, exactly, do you watch for?"
"SCORPIA, mainly. Though there are admittedly few remnants of them remaining."
The name niggled a memory in John's mind, but he couldn't quite place it. O'Neill's horrified expression suggested that they were no good news.
"SCORPIA? What the hell was a teenager doing associating with SCORPIA?"
"There was some… miscommunication regarding the exact, um, employment of his father. His father was an MI6 spy that was undercover in SCORPIA for several years. Alex didn't know that he had been undercover and went searching for them, for answers."
And curiosity struck? John wondered just how someone could go searching out a terrorist organization.
"He mistakenly thought MI6 had killed his father," Byrne said.
"But it was SCORPIA?"
Byrne inclined his head. "The Cromwell crash in '93 was a set up by SCORPIA. Alex was staying with his uncle at that time."
Fuck.
He couldn't have been more than a few years old at that time. And if the right people were manipulating the information he received, John could see how someone might think that better answers could be found somewhere else. Especially if he had been coerced into spying for MI6 in the first place.
"You said the last twelve months, what changed? Why'd he come here?"
"His uncle was killed three, four years ago. He was blackmailed into working for MI6 with the visa for his guardian. She was killed last year, at which point he officially retired. He was sent to live with friends here in the states, but applied for emancipation not long after. When we found that he was a dual citizen… I started helping him out as much as I could. Got him to a safe place, helped figure out schooling, kept an eye out for his enemies, made sure he had access to the therapy he needed." Byrne shrugged. "The intelligence community in general did a lot of wrong turns by him, so it was the least I could do to help him out. He did save the world a couple of times."
O'Neill leaned back in his chair, clearly mulling over the implications. And implications there were many.
Someone, perhaps someone with a grudge, had tipped the Trust off about Alex's existence. He had survived as a spy for an indeterminate amount of time – he clearly had some sort of wanted skills. And perhaps for the exact same reason he had been pegged to be a spy in the first place – teenagers ended up in all sorts of places they weren't supposed to be and no one really thought twice about it.
It made John shudder to think that if someone hadn't been looking out for him this long, Alex may not have made it very long in the real world.
"So now he's got the Trust on his back too." O'Neill leaned against the desk and fixed Byrne with a stare. "Joe, you realize that there is nowhere on earth that he'll truly be safe now that the Trust has their eyes on him. I don't know what they want with him, but…"
"There were the dozens of dead symbiotes found with him. Sir," John added belatedly. Implanting Alex seemed the obvious choice.
O'Neill nodded. "Of which no one bothered to bring back a sample of." He rubbed at his forehead. "And thanks to Stadler, we now have a teenager inadvertently exposed to some of the buzz words in this facility, making him an even better target."
Byrne's shoulders drooped and he suddenly looked decades older. "We're running out of options. I've spent the last three decades of my career dealing with the worst of this world. I don't have the resources to start dealing with aliens trying to take out my people."
And John wondered just when Byrne had been read into the project. Recently?
"Would you believe it that he just wants to go to school, get his degree, and put everything that's happened behind him?"
"Just how old is he now…?"
"Turned sixteen in the spring. Started college then too, because he didn't feel comfortable going back to high school."
Sixteen.
Started spying at fourteen.
It seemed he had done more in two years than most twice his age.
God, John had been an idiot at fourteen. He couldn't imagine being responsible for anything, aside from maybe making sure his little brother didn't kill himself messing around.
"Maybe…" O'Neill was regarding John carefully, a hint of a smirk on his face. John was pretty sure he wasn't going to like whatever he was thinking. "You all managed mini-me pretty well that one year."
Oh no.
No, no, no, no.
"Yeah, but he was…" John made an expressive gesture with his hand. Mini-me was a de-aged clone of O'Neill – a fifty-year-old man's mind shoved into a seventeen-year old's body. Though few had realized, he blended in with the younger Marines remarkably well. So well, he had gone to join them officially once he reached his technical majority, much to General O'Neill's chagrin. This was different. "Sir…" This was literally uprooting a teenager, telling him aliens exist, and oh, by the way, you'll be safer if you leave the galaxy.
It seemed to cement O'Neill's decision though, because he turned to Byrne with a slight grin on his face. "Joe, I think I've got the perfect solution to your problem. We don't want the Trust getting their hands on him, but nowhere on earth is safe. So, we'll just take earth out of the equation – at least until we can suss out exactly what they're trying to do."
Byrne nodded thoughtfully. "That might work, but… You'll have to convince him. He's been very focused on getting his degree and doing something with his life."
No good deed goes unpunished.
Though he didn't think Alex was a bad kid by any means, Atlantis didn't really need another… mascot. It was a dangerous place, after all. That's what they were trying to spin to the IOA and keep them from turning it into a rich person's vacation destination.
They were going to have a hay day with this.
"And when the IOA finds out?" John asked.
O'Neill waved it off. "They'll have no reason to find out until it's too late. And his identity can be protected under the witness protection of the CIA. That would give at least two hoops for their hackers to jump through."
"And the wraith?"
"The Trust will be looking specifically for him. The wraith don't have a particular reason to kill him aside from the fact he's human."
Somehow, O'Neill had had this planned out before he ever entered the room. Convincing Woolsey that John really hadn't had a choice in the matter was going to be difficult though. There would probably be some subdued headshaking in his future.
"Alright, say this is the best solution for him—"
O'Neill beamed in his direction.
"—do you have a non-insane way to propose the plan to him, sir?"
"Danny-boy will be back in a few hours, once the backlog of dial-ins are dealt with. Dr. Lam said side effects of PZS should mostly be gone by the morning. We'll have a briefing then." O'Neill stood up from his desk, clearly ending their meeting. "Consider yourself stood down for the night Colonel, but I suggest you don't leave the base."
John took the dismissal for what it was, saluted the general, nodded in Byrne's direction, and made his way out to the hall. Somehow, he had a feeling that not everything was going to go the way they all thought it would.
Rodney was never going let him live down bringing another stray home…
A/N: And the suspense continues. Now to convince Alex this is the only way. We'll get to see a bit of Alex's perspective in the next chapter. What did you think?