Michael slept through most of the ride back to the Fist of the First Men.
The Sergeant had insisted, the look on his face when he had done so telling the reason why. As embarrassing as that reason was, Michael was immensely grateful. He hadn't slept more than two hours in a stretch, between the times he was on watch, his conversations with Mance and the previous night's brief but intense combat against the undead.
Luckily, no wights made an appearance the entire time. Even when O'Neill woke him up again, as they came into sight of the mass of watchfires stretching throughout the valley around the hill from the forest to the river called Milkwater. It seems the Others had thought better of attempting to add to their army of dead for the moment.
There were plenty of far softer targets.
Mance had said his army did not represent even a quarter of the people north of the Wall. The reason he knew that was because there were three other armies out there, marching to join this one, all about the same size as it. But there were also plenty of people who refused to join. Refused to follow anyone called King. They would soon be calling Death that title, Michael knew.
The welcoming committee was waiting for them, as promised. Giants stood guard on the trail. The watchfires at their back cloaked their fronts in shadow. The Crows stopped without orders, fearful of the massive figures. Zheng applied the brakes hard. The jolt was enough to nearly throw everyone from their seat and O'Neill from his perch on the roof.
Time for yet another roll of the dice, Michael thought to himself, as the sasquatch squad advanced. "Sergeant, shout to the giants that these are our prisoners and to the Crows that they're to follow the giants."
"Yes, sir."
Though both the giants and the Crows objected, O'Neill was able to smooth over things. Michael did not listen closely. He felt the fatigue in his bones. Which meant it was more than his body that was hurting, he knew. He had been without real sleep for longer than this before without the sensation seeming to be that deep.
The giants did not lead them to Mance at the peak. Instead, they went back to their own camp where the southern treeline met the river. As they got closer, Michael woke up fully as his eyes and nose showed him something new.
In amongst the flora, woolly mammoths stood.
Shaggy, long-haired elephants, some with massive tusks. Some even had riders, that approached. The Crows being on horseback had apparently been unexpected.
Michael had once seen elephants up close in a zoo in Québec. Though they had been African elephants and didn't have hair to protect from the cold, he still remembered the smell as being overpowering and bad. The cold kept the mammoths' scent from spreading very far, or numbing the nose enough, but they smelled just as bad as their cousins back in the zoo.
Ammonia and crap and dirt. A small price to pay for what we needed, Michael reminded himself as they passed by a mammoth and rider closely. He was nonetheless grateful when the giants directed them to a place away from the pens of the animals.
There was a nook in the ground created by a large rock, easily large enough to shelter from the north wind. To say nothing of the army of Crow-hating Free Folk. Out of sight, out of mind, Michael thought. Zheng pulled the crawler parallel to the rock, the Crows moved their horses to a set of nearby trees, and all dismounted.
The 'leader' of this particular clan of giants was waiting for them, a massive being that towered over the others. At least, he was the one nominated to guard and watch over Michael's group. "Magic ones," he greeted, his voice rumbling loudly like an avalanche, "Have place, as promised."
Michael had to summon the giant's name from his memory, after drawing a blank for a second. "Thank you, Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun," he replied, "We've brought the men of the Wall as prisoners."
Wun looked at the Crows as other giants shepherded them towards the rock. "King will be pleased. But other small men will not."
King will absolutely not be pleased, Michael's mind whispered to him, But best not tell the giant that. "If there is trouble, tell us," he said instead, "And if you can send a message to the king, that would help."
Wun inclined his head in what was probably a nod, but it was hard to tell.
"You tell stories now," the giant said. It was a casual demand, but not one to be waved off as something to fulfil later.
Michael called for O'Neill, Sayer and Ygritte. They came, the Sergeant replaced on the GPMG by Zheng as the Crows flinched, another two giants dumping a pile of firewood beside them and a sack of apples.
"Sergeant, Private, set up over there and tell the giants about sasquatches like we agreed," Michael ordered, pointing to another clearing nearby, "As much as you can remember. Stay in sight, and make sure you eat something." Because we need guest right again.
"Understood," O'Neill said, "Though I'm not sure some story from a drunken Yank soldier at Fort Campbell about Bigfoot is going to translate well."
"It's more than I know," Michael replied, "And since Sayer knows sasquatch stories too, you'll have to make do between the pair of you."
"We'll try, sir," Sayer said, "Giants though… If we ever get home, this'll be some story to tell."
"No one will ever believe us," O'Neill complained, "I thought the air assault guy at Campbell was crazy at the time. We'll sound crazy even compared to him."
"We'll take what proof we can back," Michael reassured him, "Sergeant, on the other thing… I need to gather some information, but can we speak tonight?"
O'Neill scowled, not wanting to be reminded of the situation. "Yes, sir. But I'll insist on the others coming along too. Get in front of this thing before they find out on their own."
Michael agreed and the man saluted in return.
The Sergeant made to leave, but was interrupted by the fourth person present.
"What about me?" Ygritte asked.
Michael had called her but hadn't so much as looked at her. Time for a bluff. "You'll want to hear the stories too. Go listen as a witness of the Free Folk, while I deal with the Crows and change Ryk's bandage."
Ygritte looked at him, no doubt suspecting the truth; that Michael was preventing her from taking any more action on her feelings by directing her to other tasks. But when O'Neill and Sayer left with Wun Wun, to his relief she went with them.
First thing is first.
Michael went back to the crawler. He returned food, tents, basic tools and personal property to the men of the Night's Watch. Now that they and their horses were under guard by giants, there was little fear of them being able to escape. They knew it and began setting their own tents up, getting a fire going. They also ate the donated apples quickly, getting that vital guest right.
Michael grabbed two apples himself, one for him and another for Zheng. He received no thanks for returning the Crows' property, nor expected any.
Except from Qhorin Halfhand.
The man received his saddlebags back with the motions of gratitude but not the real warmth of it. The things had been thoroughly searched for weapons before and the man knew it. The only reason Michael returned any of it was because he was obligated to.
Perhaps the Crow Ranger sensed the hesitation. The questions came the second his bag was slung over his shoulder.
"I asked you something before. You did not answer," Halfhand said, "Since then, I've seen you move this carriage without horses. You speak the Old Tongue, like it was the one you were born with. I ask again. Who are you?"
Knowing this had been coming, Michael waved the Crow to follow. They went to beside the crawler. Zheng watched with one curious eye while the other watched the other prisoners. Ryk was inside, laying down to rest. It was still warmer in the crawler than elsewhere, for the moment. Or maybe he's just checking out the Corporal's ass, Michael thought as noted the man was positioned to achieve that with ease, Man will be dead if she catches him.
He leaned back against the crawler, and delivered his prepared response to Halfhand's question. "Foreigners from as distant a land as you can imagine," Michael said, "The name of the place wouldn't mean a thing to you. We were shipwrecked here."
"If you're from so far away, how do you speak our language?"
Michael saw no point in lying about this point. "Magic. Same thing that brought us here, though that was not intentional."
The Halfhand scratched his chin with the single digit left on his 'half-hand', looking up at the tops of the trees. That fits a piece of the puzzle he has in his mind somehow, Michael thought.
"Let us suppose you are from so far away. Do you have a name?"
Here, Michael knew he had to lie.
If this man ever returned to the Night's Watch and the plan failed in any aspect, it would be best if the kings south of the Wall did not know the name Michael Duquesne. Or Canada, for that matter. I am tempted to say my name is No Man, he thought, Like I'm Odysseus in the cave of the Cyclops. The temptation gave him a far better answer than that.
"You can call me Ulysses," Michael said, "We are from Ithaca."
Zheng let out a noise that may or may not have been amused, but she was quick enough about it that she played it off as a sneeze by the time Michael had looked up at her.
The Halfhand hadn't failed to notice her either. "You're lying to me."
"Yes," Michael admitted, "I'll happily tell you my real name and where we are from, once we are safely south of the Wall. With the Free Folk."
The Halfhand stared and bit into an apple, holding it with his good hand. "Hostage or no, the Lord Commander will never let a wildling army south of the Wall. Though now I know you're telling me the truth about being foreign. No wildling would ever be so mad as to think five captured Crows could be the toll price at the gates of Castle Black."
Michael became curious. "Wildlings? They call themselves the Free Folk."
"Wildlings is the more truthful title for them," the Halfhand replied, chewing, "Do not mistake me. These people you have fallen in with have many virtues. They are brave, stubborn, resourceful. But they are also a menace. Their way of life is thieving, raping and murdering. They share that way with the people in the south more and more each year. It is my duty to stop them. You would be wise to leave them."
Given what he had seen and heard, Michael believed the Crow Ranger, and easily. The attack by Rattleshirt's warband, the strength of the guest-right culture… and what Ygritte had said to him a few hours before. You stole me under the stars.
He suppressed a shudder, moving his talk with Ryk on the matter up a notch in urgency. But it still didn't trump the main issue.
"I think your Lord Commander will be more willing to talk than you think."
"Why is that, Ulysses?"
"Because dead men are rising to kill the living. Because the White Walkers are the ones responsible. Because soon every 'wildling' will be a part of their army and your Wall is not guarded by enough men to stop them."
There was silence. Would he believe?
The Crow had stopped chewing his apple, and hurriedly swallowed whatever was in his mouth. "You have seen this," the Halfhand breathed, "You have seen the White Walkers."
Michael's voice dropped deeply, beyond his control. "A few. One of them up close, as close as you are to me now. It was almost the first thing I saw when I landed here. The weapons we used against your men only slowed it down, though the dead men with it did not like being tickled with them."
"Is that why the villages are emptying? Why hillsides are surrounded by watchfires every night?"
"Yes. Safety in numbers."
Recognition clicked in the Crow's mind. "This is Mance Rayder's camp. He plans to attack the Wall with those numbers, invade the Seven Kingdoms. Get clear of the things."
"I don't know what the King intends to do once past the Wall, but if some agreement isn't reached, an attack is certain. First by the Free Folk. Then by the dead."
Halfhand nodded to himself, and Michael saw it. He knew. He knew all along.
"You knew," he accused the Crow, "You knew there were dead people attacking the living and you're still more worried about the 'wildlings'."
The Halfhand glared at him. "A ranger went back to Castle Black claiming that an Other had killed his patrol. We did not know what to believe. The man deserted the night after he returned. Took a horse and rode south, so hard he killed his mount. He is now dead, executed for his crime by Lord Stark. We did not have time to find the whole truth of it from him. And I ride from the Shadow Tower, I only heard of this by message, not with my own ears."
Michael had no intention of letting the matter slide that easily. "But you noticed all the wildlings have packed up and left their homes. It didn't occur to you that they did that for a good reason? You call this an army? It's more of a refugee camp. People getting their families out of the way of the 'Others'."
"Wildling families are well armed. It matters little."
"Every single one of them deserves a chance to live if dying means being a slave to the creatures I saw." Michael was surprised with how strongly he felt that way, but it was the truth as he saw it.
The Halfhand's lips curled back, revealing his teeth. "You may be right. It does not matter, as I said. The lords of the Seven Kingdoms will never agree."
Michael crossed his arms. "You're the ones guarding the Wall. Practically speaking, you can let whoever you want through your gates."
"The lords would march on us. And stop granting us gifts of food and steel."
"Only if what happened was a threat to them."
"Or if they saw it as an insult, which they will," the Halfhand replied sourly, "How could it not be a threat? You think you can control these Free Folk?"
It was a good argument. The name 'Free Folk' gives away the problem, Michael thought, They don't seem to want to bow to any law but their own individual conscience and a couple of shared traditions. Yet they were still together here and hadn't murdered each other. And there was one man responsible for that. The man with the plan, a plan to be changed.
"No, but Mance can. We'll negotiate. It's the reason you are still alive, the reason I set out to capture you in the first place." He purposefully left out the real reason for his wanting south of the Wall. It would have sounded truly crazy to someone who hadn't seen magic or dead men walking.
"Negotiate with the Wildlings," the Halfhand half-laughed, "The mere suggestion would kill any Lord Commander tried. Many of my brothers would never allow it. Especially the anointed knights and the southerners. I would be a dead man for agreeing to it."
Michael shrugged. "We'll bring a dead man to convince them, then." He did not need to clarify what he meant by that.
Qhorin Halfhand paled. "You have a wight? Here?"
Michael shook his head. "Not yet. But this camp was attacked only last night. The things stalk the forest. Finding a few shouldn't be hard. It's finding one without the damned White Walker to go along with it that might be an issue."
The thought of the Walker he had shot again and again came without being asked. Michael felt his face contort, the thing's eyes glowing in his infrared night vision, staring at him from his memory.
"A wight or two would convince many to talk, especially if we could send it south," the Halfhand admitted, "But I do wonder why none of my brothers have ever seen them, even from a distance, and lived to tell the tale?"
"The Walker I saw was as intelligent as a person, easily. Maybe it knows to stay just far enough away for you to mistake wights for wildlings. Or maybe it knows you are the vanguard of an entire civilisation. That would make me hesitant to attack your Wall."
The Halfhand had 'gotcha' written all over his face. "This is the reason you won't give me your true name."
"I see you're intelligent yourself."
The Halfhand gave a mirthless laugh. "Very well. I'll sit down with Mance."
Michael cocked an eyebrow. "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
Too easy, Michael's mind calculated, He's up to something. His hand went to the pistol on his hip, a movement the Crow Ranger followed with his eyes. "I wouldn't recommend trying anything. I'll be there when you meet the King. If you've got some hidden knife under all that black fur, it won't do you any good to try and kill him. Or me. I'll riddle you with holes before you can draw blood."
Halfhand smiled. "You think me a man who would violate guest right?" He took another bite of apple, as if to remind Michael who had given him it.
"I don't know. Maybe you take your vow to your brotherhood more seriously than that right?"
"My vow to the Night's Watch says we are the shields that guard the realms of men. The Wildlings are such a realm. Our brotherhood was created and the Wall built to fight more than wild men."
Halfhand opened and closed his wrecked hand, as if it still hurt him. "Lord Commander Mormont will want to hear everything you have said to me. He will want to see a wight. Killing Mance would serve my vows well. Reporting all of this to the Old Bear serves them better."
Michael's doubts rose further. He didn't know a single command officer back home that would believe that the dead were rising or would move an inch to see a wight. That this 'Lord Commander' would believe depended only on the proof being brought and thrown on the floor in front of him. The Halfhand's quick willingness to talk had something else behind it.
Perhaps they're too weak to defend the Wall, Michael thought, Or he fears my weapons enough. "Then I guess we'll find out if you're lying," he said.
The Halfhand made to leave. "So we shall."
Michael watched the Crow Ranger return to his brothers, who gathered around their campfire and listened as he explained, quietly enough that he couldn't be heard.
"He's a slippery one, sir," Zheng commented from above, "But I hope the King agrees to talk with him."
"Mance will talk," Michael replied, "He likes talking, he knew this guy and he has nothing to lose at this point. It's if and when we go see this 'Lord Commander' that the stakes will rise."
"Or 'Mance' will be pissed that we didn't kill this Crow," Zheng countered, "And he'll send his massive army after us."
Michael smirked. "At which point we shoot our way out, run with Mr. Crow there to the Wall, a new alliance in hand."
"Negotiations or a free ticket past the wall…A win-win situation. Clever, sir."
"I try. It would be nice if you had a little more confidence in my abilities."
"Don't know you long enough for that, sir."
With the top priority item dealt with for the moment, Michael turned to deal with the other thing. He peered through the window of the crawler. Ryk was asleep in a corner seat at the back opposite, leaning his weight away from his wounded shoulder.
"Corporal," Michael called to Zheng, "Unfortunately I have to damage your confidence in me a little. I need you to be a witness to the conversation I'm about to have. It'll almost certainly be evidence for a disciplinary."
Zheng looked down at him with a carefully neutral expression. The many scandals that the Forces had seen over recent years hung over her next question. "What did you do, sir?"
Michael couldn't explain. "I don't know exactly," he sighed, "That's the problem. I'm going to wake our friend there up and talk to him about it. I'll need you to take notes."
Zheng rummaged around under her camo overcoat, producing a notepad and ballpoint pen. "Can do, sir. There are enough giants that I don't think the Crows will try anything."
Michael opened the door and called to Longspear Ryk.
The man stirred awake quickly, before letting out a breath through his teeth in pain, his rapid movement ill advised. He searched for the person calling him sleepily but angrily, before his annoyance subsided when he saw who it had been. With a flicker of a look towards the weapon hanging off the front of Michael's chest.
"Michael Duquesne," Ryk said, "What's wrong? Where's Ygritte?"
"Ygritte is listening to a story with the giants," Michael replied, "I need to talk to you. She said something earlier I don't understand. I was hoping you could explain."
Ryk climbed out of the crawler, pulling his fur coat around his wounded shoulder. "What'd she say?"
Michael glanced up at Zheng, who was watching and listening intently, notepad at the ready. Looking like a journalist a little too much there, Corporal, Michael thought. With reluctance, he took the leap. "That I 'stole her under the stars'," he replied to Ryk.
A knowing smile spread over Ryk's face. "Told her you didn't know what you'd done," he said, before explaining exactly what he had in fact done and what Ygritte's attitude towards it was.
"Bride kidnapping."
O'Neill flinched at the words. "Bride kidnapping?" he asked, no one else in the crawler willing to speak.
The giants had greatly enjoyed the stories of sasquatches of all kinds. Michael's fellow Canadians had gathered for a different story now; the Ygritte situation. Necessary witnesses to the conversation to occur, so it simply was not a conflict between a lieutenant and his sergeant.
"They practice bride kidnapping," Michael repeated, "If a man wants a woman, he goes to a different clan and tries to steal an unmarried daughter. Not a wife, that sort of thing leads to war. If he succeeds and the woman doesn't kill him or escape, they're married."
"So basically, rape," Zheng added with disgust, "A lot of the time anyway."
"Qhorin Halfhand did say that rape was a part of their way of life," Michael confirmed, "Though Ryk clarified that they had teas that stopped pregnancies and women who end up kidnapped by men they don't like almost always kill the men."
"Doesn't make it right," Zheng said.
"No, it doesn't," Michael agreed, "But it does put me right up the creek without a paddle. The argument that it was kidnapping or attempted rape isn't a thing here. I took Ygritte from Rattleshirt's warband and bundled her into our vehicle, exactly as expected if I were out looking for a wife. Except the vehicle part."
"And he did it at the absolute best time," Zheng added for the benefit of the others, "When a certain planet appears within one of the constellations, it's a fated time to take a woman. Because the cosmos wants you to rape."
"Don't forget the distance thing too," Michael added wearily, "Taking a woman from further away is considered better than a clan nearby. And we're from as far away as anyone could ever get."
Sayer raised a hand, like he was still in school. "So, you're married, sir?" he said.
The Sergeant cleared his throat. "They don't have the rule of law, so he isn't really," O'Neill replied, "She just thinks they are, because he inadvertently made all the moves to do so."
The Corporal and the Private both waited, expectantly, to hear about what moves had been made.
Michael did not want to admit the truth. Particularly as it might lead to a breakdown in discipline. If he couldn't follow the rules, why should they? There were no MPs waiting to take them to a cell if they disobeyed him now. "I doubt that will be much comfort to Ygritte," he answered, "I did return the interest, after all."
"How?" Zheng asked, an edge in her tone.
"She kissed me, and I was tired and stressed enough to let it happen. We had just put those Crows through the meat grinder. Then I went around cutting off their heads with that sword so they wouldn't rise and kill us. I stared at the blade, wondering if we'd ever get home, if that sort of thing was all we had left. That's when it happened."
There was silence for a moment.
"Told you I should've done the chopping. That was a piece of utter fucking stupidity, sir," O'Neill said, nearing outright insubordination in his tone, "I understand a little better now. But it doesn't lock you into a marriage. You have to reject it. The regs are clear. Fraternization can have detrimental effects on unit operation effectiveness due to potential threats to the security, morale, cohesion and discipline of a unit. Task force commanders must issue orders and guidance on fraternization appropriate to the situation in their area of operations."
Michael was not surprised the Sergeant had that particular reg memorised. "I'm the task force commander for all intents and purposes here," he countered.
"You are, but I am the ranking NCO," O'Neill stated with absolute authority, "You issuing the order on your own fraternisation with a local inhabitant isn't going to fly here, or at home. And you know it. We're in a position of obvious power here. True consent is a big problem, especially in the cultural context."
Michael nodded. "I know," he said, "But I think rejecting her outright may impact negatively on our operation effectiveness. Ryk said that the entire camp knew that I 'stole' Ygritte. That I gained approval and respect for it, because she's considered a beauty and Rattleshirt is, and I quote, 'a prick'. Even the comments that guy Tormund threw around make sense now. I reject her and we look weak or foolish or too much like the kneelers. I accept her and we tie ourselves to the Free Folk in a way most recognise. I'm trapped, but one way is definitely less of a problem than the other."
O'Neill glared at him. "Do you want to marry this girl, sir?" he asked.
Michael glared back. "No I do not, Sergeant. I will admit being attracted to her, but even that might just be the shared trauma effect. Most likely is, if I'm being honest. I don't really know her. I view it as my duty to get us all home, first and foremost. Beyond that, not dying in an ice zombie apocalypse is next. I'm weighing this against those duties. If I get cashiered or charged when we get back as a result, that's a price I'm willing to pay."
To hell with staying in Hell, he thought.
Zheng h'mmed to herself. "There is something you are not considering, sir," she said, "She knows more about us than anyone else on this world. If you reject her, given everything that has happened, I don't think she'll be happy about it. She won't accept our 'cultural context' as an excuse to break it off."
"Why does that matter?" O'Neill asked.
The Corporal straightened up. "The leaders of her people would want to know everything the second they heard you had fallen out. How exactly our weapons work, how much ammunition we carry on our persons, the fact we can see in the dark a certain way. Given they're not idiots and they have the numbers, that could really screw us. Especially if the Crows aren't cooperative. Turns everything into a lose-lose, sir."
"Don't the Free Folk know everything already?" Sayer asked, "They questioned Ygritte for most of a day."
"That was before they saw us in action at night against the wights," Zheng replied, "I doubt the questions they were asking were tactical in nature. They get her alone again and the next ones will be."
Both Zheng and Sayer looked to their lieutenant and sergeant for comment.
Michael thought Zheng had reasoned it out well, though he required the Sergeant to agree. "So I can't reject her," he said, "It would cause reputational damage and grant an intel source to people we can't fully trust, both of which are threats to our survival."
O'Neill leaned forwards on his knees. "You absolutely cannot sleep with her, sir."
"I know," Michael said, "But there are plenty of sexless marriages out there."
"I don't think that's the case here," O'Neill disagreed, "And you can't even have an outward appearance of sleeping with her. We're in uniform, in the same unit."
"You are both thinking too rigidly," Zheng stated matter-of-factly, "Who said anything about marriage? Ygritte wants to be with the lieutenant. She can't be, at least until we know for sure if we're actually able to get back home. Then we either leave or you can do whatever the hell you want. What we need to do is delay her until we know which it is, since rejecting her could get us killed. Or in my case, raped. And fuck that."
"Corporal, you and I are going to have a chat of our own about the regs on policing your flapping mouth," O'Neill said coolly, "She said he stole her. That's marriage here. What the hell do you mean delay her?"
"Marriage means joining our clan or something, I'll bet," Zheng replied, ignoring the reprimand, "Well, our 'clan' has regs. Rules we follow. Accept the whole 'the lieutenant stole her' thing, but impose those rules on her. Until she masters them, she can't be with him. Like she was a member of the unit, or an allied force if that's too far."
Sayer held up a hand again. "Maybe even bring Big Dick Ryk in too, and anyone else who's willing to follow our orders. We could use some more allies."
O'Neill frowned. "Doesn't fix the problem," he said, "It would no longer be fraternising, assuming they'd accept the idea of an allied unit back home. But the lieutenant would still be in a personal relationship with someone he is in command of. That'll go down like the fucking Hindenburg."
"They have to make some allowances back home," Zheng complained, "We're on another world! If command is such a problem, we'll create two fireteams. One under your command, Sergeant, one under the lieutenant's command. Ygritte can go to yours. Or if more people want to sign up, you can command an allied unit with Ygritte as your second or some shit."
Michael saw where she was coming from. "What you're saying is that you think best efforts will be enough? If we deliberately separate Ygritte and myself as much as possible, leadership will accept the circumstances."
"I think we're stuck here," Zheng corrected him, "But if we do get home, I think the letter of the law is going to be far less important than the image of what we do. You reject her and I think we'll have to kill a lot more people, if we even survive. That looks far worse than fraternisation, and it won't just be on you. It'll be all of us on trial. Killing the indigenous after we violated their cultural norms? That's what would go down like the Hindenburg."
"A compromise solution…" Michael mused, "It might be worth a shot." He looked to the Sergeant, whose opinion was the deciding vote on the matter.
O'Neill sighed, and threw up his hands. "I surrender. The compromise is the best we can do, for now at least. It preserves the letter of the law. But sir, if I hear you're fucking her…"
Wanting to roll his eyes, Michael nonetheless chose his words with sincerity. "I'll try and resist the massive temptation," he said, with no small amount of sarcasm.
O'Neill grinned. "You think it's easy now," he said, "Wait until Ygritte's crawling into your tent. I have noticed the way she looks at you. After all this BS talk about how we're dead if you reject her, don't expect me to stop her. I'll just be there to say I told you so and relieve you of command."
"Who knew you were an ambitious man?" Michael replied flatly, promising himself it would never happen.