Elle woke up slowly, groggily. The bed had morphed into a hard couch at some point... wait. She felt eyes on her and lifted her head. She reared back in alarm, away from the person staring at her. "Ugh," she said, grabbing her aching head as the room spun wildly. "Where am- what- did you drug me?"
"You're still in DC," the man assured her, leaning back in his chair. "And yes, Miss Wilcott, we did. A harmless sedative. It'll wear off soon enough."
"Who are you?" Elle asked warily. She glanced around the room. It looked like a breakroom, just a couple of couches and chairs, a table, and a snack fridge. One door, closed. No windows. She glanced down at her feet and stared at her thin black socks. "Where are my shoes?" she demanded.
"I'm Michael Peters," the man said. "National Intelligence Department."
Elle groaned. "NID? Seriously? You guys are worse than Section 31."
"We're all on the same side here," Peters said. "In fact, we're here to help you."
"By kidnapping me?" Elle asked dryly. "Because that's not winning you any favors right now."
"No, not at all," Peters said, offering her a bottle of water.
She eyed it suspiciously and kept her hands in her lap.
He put it on the ground in front of her. "Let me be clear. We are aware of your unique circumstances. We want to offer you a job with the NID. The SGC is dangerous for one of your background and talents. Frankly, you're wasted there. You would be much happier further away from the front lines."
"What, you want to stick me in Area 51 and see if I'll build you any future technology?" Elle asked and withheld a satisfied smirk when Peters winced. "Yeah. Not happening. I'm more useful to Earth and the galaxy as a whole at the SGC." She frowned. "Do you even represent the NID as a whole? I'd like to speak to your director."
"That's something you don't need to be concerned about," Peters said, waving a hand.
"Oh, really?" Elle asked. "Because I don't think it's in the NID mandate to go around abducting prospective employees and holding them in abandoned office buildings. It's not even in the mandate to go around abducting prospective prisoners like that. I should know, I've read it." She'd read it thrice, actually, trying to find something productive for the NID to do instead of wandering around DC, stirring up senators and rich people and sticking their noses into things. She was definitely dealing with the same rogue faction that caused so many future problems, which is probably why everyone had agreed with her way of restructuring the entire department.
Peters was still going on about her future. "See, you're an American, Miss Wilcott, aren't you? You're a good American citizen, and you have a duty to-"
"Dismantle dictatorships," Elle said.
"-to your country," Peters continued, ignoring her interruption. "You're so young, Miss Wilcott. Fighting aliens isn't a career. It's a death sentence. It won't provide you with a future. With the NID, you could invent the most amazing things, attend a real college, and build a reputation with people who offer opportunities. You could become one of the most influential people of the century."
Elle had to admit. If she really were an American-raised young capitalist like he was thinking, she would have fallen for it. Maybe. Stability, a future, money, power. "The American dream," she said distantly.
"Exactly," Peters said, a gleam in his eye.
"You forgot one thing, though," Elle said.
"What? What do you want? Name it."
"The American dream was freedom from oppression and not having to pay taxes," Elle said and punched him in the face.
He fell backward with a shout of surprise.
Elle bolted past him and threw the door open, running into the blank hallway. A green exit sign glowed at the end of the intersecting hallway. She turned towards it and ran past another open room, where three people in suits stood around laptops.
They saw her at the same time, and the shouting started. One of the men started running after her. "Stop!"
"Uh-oh," Elle breathed. She hit the emergency exit door at a run and shoved it open, startling another man who was standing guard just outside.
"Hey!" He started chasing her.
Go go go go go, Elle chanted, pelting down the block of office buildings. Where was she? She'd just come out of some random commercial building, and all these buildings seemed closed for the evening. It was night-time. How long had she been sedated?
A whining blast from a zat shot past her and hit the ground.
"Hey!" Elle hollered, offended. She dodged around the corner of another building and found the parking lot. She kept running. "This would be so much easier with shoes," she panted. "DC, gonna end up with a needle in my foot." She dashed across the street and between another two buildings, picking at random. The NID operatives hadn't wired cameras into the office building they'd borrowed, which meant this was a low-key operation. It also meant two important things. One, they had operatives in the SGC who knew about her arrival, but they didn't have an operative in any position to read the proposal she'd submitted to the president, or they would have never attempted this stunt. Two, they were desperate enough to kidnap her out from under Jack O'Neill's nose, which meant this was their only shot at it. Hopefully, that didn't make them desperate to keep her permanently.
Another zat shot rang out, hitting six feet away. That was the thing about zats. Terrible for long-range.
Elle muttered dire threats under her breath. She didn't have her backpack, she didn't have anything, and she was on an alien planet. Well, alien to her, at least. First things first, shake the NID. She paused in the shadow of a dumpster and patted herself down. No bugs, no trackers. That was one good thing, at least. They didn't have the technology to make them too small to find. She stuck her head out cautiously, listening for sounds, and upon hearing silence, kept running.
This was 1999. No security cameras to speak of. But there would be a payphone eventually. Right?
Wrong. On the next street, the buildings turned into houses. It was a residential area. Elle kept low and kept running. If this didn't turn back into a business area of some sort, chances are, she could find an open shed or basement door or an empty house and hole up there until morning. In the morning, she could find a phone, call the SGC, and get picked up.
Her lungs were beginning to burn. Maybe running for your life while fighting off a sedative wasn't the best idea. Gotta find a place to hide. Now, before you lose all your adrenaline.
She stopped in the middle of the block and hid in the shadow of a trash can. She surveyed the houses near her. No, no, no. What about that one? The house down the street. One car, no toys. Neat garden. Probably single or a couple, probably already asleep. What time was it? I really need to get a watch. Okay. She walked down the street towards the chosen house. Don't be suspicious, don't be suspicious, she sang to herself. Keep it cool. As cool as one could be in a rumpled skirt suit and no shoes.
Elle walked around the side of the house. No shed, unfortunately, but they did have a basement door. Ha. Success. She looked into the door's glass window. Dark. Just some tools and a workbench. She tried the doorknob, and to her surprise, it opened. Thank the Great Bird of the Galaxy. She swung the door open and went in, squinting in the gloom. There was a, was that a boat? A half-built boat in the middle of the basement? She gaped at it for a long second and then shook it off. As long as whoever lived here didn't come downstairs until after dawn, she didn't care. It did look like a good place to hide, though. If she could shimmy underneath the boat, be completely hid-
"If you're looking to steal something," a male voice said, making her freeze, "I'd rather just give you fifty bucks. And if you're looking for food, you can have a full meal if you need it."
Elle lifted her hands, palms facing out, and turned towards the stairs as the light clicked on. "I'm not a thief," she told the man who was standing on the stairs. There was a gun in his hand. Oh, great. An American with a gun. Not an ideal combination for someone who'd just been shot to death three months ago. She raised her hands higher, her heart hammering with sudden fear. "I swear. I'm not here to steal or to hurt anyone. I'm just looking for a place to rest for a few hours."
He lowered the gun, taking in her bedraggled appearance. "Where's your shoes?"
"I don't know," Elle said, suddenly acutely aware of her aching feet. "The men who took me took my shoes."
"The men who took you?" the man repeated, alarm on his face.
"I was in D.C. for business," Elle said, cautiously putting her hands down by her sides. "With my team. I was in my hotel. I was taking a nap before dinner. And I woke up in an empty building, uh, that way." She gestured in the general direction. "There were these guys. He said that they'd sedated me. I punched him in the face, and I ran. They tried to shoot at me, but I hid behind a dumpster. I ran this far, and I was just going to hide until morning and then find a phone. I don't actually know where I am. Is this still Washington, DC?"
"Yes," the man said, putting his gun in his belt. "And you came to the right house. My name is Jethro Gibbs, and I'm an NCIS agent. That stands for Naval Criminal Investigative Services. Can I show you my badge?"
"NCIS," Elle echoed, surprised to find another fictional character come to life. "Jethro Gibbs. You have a boat in your basement."
"It's my hobby," he said with a wry smile. "Building boats." He drew a wallet from his pocket and tossed it over to her.
Elle flipped open the wallet and inspected the badge and ID card. "Leroy Jethro Gibbs," she read aloud. "Senior special agent. Huh." She closed the wallet. "Can I, uh, have some water?"
"Sure." He waved her forward. "Come on. I have a phone. We can call your family and get you back to them."
She followed him up the stairs to the main house and sat down on the sofa when he gestured. He filled a glass from the tap and handed it to her. "Thank you." Elle drank slowly, her muscles trembling from the combination of adrenaline and fatigue and, she guessed, the drug wearing off.
"Do you know what they gave you?" Gibbs asked, picking up a flip phone off the table.
"No," Elle said, draining the water. "They didn't say. Who are you calling?"
"My team," he said. "Someone should have put out a missing persons report, and I want a doctor to check you over."
Elle winced. "Don't, don't spread it around," she said. "The men who took me were from the NID. National Intelligence Department. I think they were rogue because they don't usually do stuff like that, and their mandate change is going to make abducting people completely illegal."
Gibbs squinted at her. "The NID. They don't usually make a peep. Why did they take you?"
"I'm a civilian consultant for the Deep Space Telemetry Program," Elle said, remembering her cover story.
"NORAD," Gibbs said.
"Yes."
"What do you do for the program?"
"I know things," Elle said.
Gibbs frowned. "Like what?"
Elle smiled faintly. "Like, I know an ex-Marine when I see one. I work with the Air Force. Lots of Marines on my base."
"Oorah," Gibbs said quietly, giving her a grin. "All right. I recognize a prodigy when I see one." He dialed a number. "Ducky? Yeah. Sorry to wake you. A young woman in trouble escaped from a kidnapping. Yes. My house. Okay, thanks." He dialed another number. "McGee? Yeah. Got a situation here. A young woman escaped from a kidnapping. Name's-" He paused and looked over. "What's your name, kid?"
"Elle Wilcott," Elle said, amused.
"Elle Wilcott," Gibbs said into the phone. "Taken by rogue NID agents from her hotel earlier today. Yes." He glanced over again. "What hotel?"
"The Central, Room 409," Elle said.
Gibbs relayed the information. "Yeah. If a missing persons report is filed, don't answer it. Get back to me with who filed it. Yeah." He made another phone call and sent two persons named Torres and Bishop to check out the place where Elle had been held.
By the time he got off the phone, Elle was sunk deep into the couch, half-asleep. Her mind wandered, musing on the strangeness of Stargate and NCIS coexisting in the same universe. Made sense, even though there was some shifting of timelines... it wasn't even the 21st century, and NCIS already existed. Wasn't it called something else back in the day? Anyway. There were people from NCIS who, in the show, had been way, way later in the seasons. It could be reasoned that after the Stargate program went public, all the genres of all the lives on this planet would turn to sci-fi, and this was the only time it could be a true detective show, no aliens about it. The timelines were all mixed up, but it was fiction anyway. Well, it used to be fiction. Here and now, NCIS was real and currently saving her life, or at least her sanity.
"Elle?"
The gentle call roused her from her half-sleep. Gibbs was crouching in front of her, a fair distance away. "Your team lead's name and phone number?" he asked.
"Colonel Jack O'Neill," Elle said and then blanked. "Does he have a phone? I think he has a phone. Oh no. I don't know his number." She facepalmed. "I don't know anyone's number. That's, that's an oversight for sure." She facepalmed again. Going to have to add that to the 'Welcome to Earth' primer. When you leave the safety of the base, MEMORIZE PHONE NUMBERS.
"That's all right, we'll find it," Gibbs said. "Who else were you with?"
"Dr. Daniel Jackson. General George Hammond. Major Paul Davis." Elle almost added, "the president," but decided that was probably classified.
There was a knock on the front door.
Elle stiffened, bracing herself to stand.
"Hang on," Gibbs said and went to the door. "Who is it?"
"Ducky," a Scottish voice called.
Gibbs opened the door and let in a Scottish man wearing a bowtie. "Ducky. Thanks for coming. This is Elle."
"Hello," Ducky said, coming over. "I'm Dr. Mallard, but my friends call me Ducky." He set down his brown doctor's bag and sat in the chair across from the couch. "You've had an exciting evening, haven't you?"
"Extremely exciting," Elle said, stifling a yawn. "Sorry."
"That's quite all right, my dear. Can I check you over for injuries?"
Elle nodded.
The vitals check went all right, though her pulse was slightly high. Her feet were bruised and shredded on the bottoms. "Definitely going to have to clean these cuts out," Ducky said. "I'm afraid I can't give you anything, considering you're coming off a sedative. I don't want to risk an adverse reaction."
Elle waved a hand. "It's fine, doctor. It's only pain."
Ducky and Gibbs shared a glance. "That's an interesting thing to say," Ducky said as he gathered warm water and clean towels.
How was Elle supposed to explain that she'd learned to control her own body's pain signals and brain waves through Vulcan-style meditation and that at her age and esper levels, it was actually expected for her to be able to do so? "It's a neuroprogramming thing," Elle said finally. "Pain is just an electrical impulse. You can control your responses."
"That's true," Ducky said, intrigued. "There are some cultures where, through meditation, they can achieve a state where they don't feel anything."
"It's pretty useful," Elle said and winced as Ducky poured water on her feet. She took a deep breath and forced herself to focus. "Ouch. If you don't mind talking, that would definitely, ow, help."
"No hardship for me, my dear." Ducky kept up a lighthearted stream of commentary of interesting facts about dead bodies since he was a chief medical examiner.
The background noise did help her, and Elle managed to turn off the pain signals from her feet. She stared at her lap as the doctor worked, wondering what Daniel and Jack were doing, if they were searching for her. The rogue NID agents were going to be mincemeat by the time those two got done with them, and Elle was kind of hoping she would be there to see it. It was probably not good for her psyche to focus on revenge, so she switched to thinking about when she'd learned these techniques. That time on Vulcan with Spock, restructuring her two sets of memories from the Klingon war that never was, had been a good time, packed with all sorts of learning.
"I believe this is a good time to learn an-prele, the second stage of enok-ka-fi," Spock said at breakfast.
Elle took a moment to parse his statement. "Uhhh, oh. The pain control meditation, Essays in Discipline, essay 7," she said.
"Exactly. You already have the first level due to the standard meditation ability. Generally, Vulcan teens learn the second stage at this time as it requires more focus."
"How long does it take to finish all the levels?"
"An entire lifetime," Spock said dryly.
"Oh."
"It is most effective for one's own pain, and can also be done with someone through a telepathic link. The only problem is, you cannot do it with head trauma, as it affects the centers of your brain you need for concentration and emotional control."
"What do you do if you get hit in the head?" Elle asked.
"Suffer," Spock said dryly and quirked his eyebrow as she laughed. "That is when you may use a mantra to control the pain. A subconscious override instead of a conscious one."
"How do we do it?" Elle asked.
"Like all things. Focus. Acknowledge your reality. The sensations. The circumstances. Accept that your body is trying to communicate with you. And turn off the signal."
"That's it?"
"That is the most simplified version," he said.
"Oh." Elle picked at her hangnail. "If I yank this, can we use it as a test subject?"
Spock rolled his eyes. "I am not going to have you inflict pain on yourself to practice it. We will practice turning off the sensations in your body. It is the same principle."
"Cool." Elle yanked the hangnail anyway. "Ow."
He sighed in the way all Vulcans sighed when faced with illogical humans.
"K'atini," Elle told him. "It's only pain."
"And what language is that?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow
"Mando'a," Elle said. "Star Wars. Those warrior culture guys that remind me of the Klingons."
"neh'oy' 'oH," Spock said, in perfect Klingon. "It's only pain."
Elle tilted her head in consideration. "That's what Worf said when Data accidentally whacked him in the face during sparring the other day."
"There you go, then. Even non-telepaths have a word for it."
Elle grinned. "Teach me."
"There," Ducky said, putting the last bandage on her foot. "I think with some rest and a good cup of tea, you'll be just fine, my dear."
Elle blew out a measuring breath. Her feet hurt, but not unbearably. "Thank you, doctor."
He patted her on the shoulder, and Gibbs took him into the kitchen to talk.
Elle leaned back, propping her feet up on the couch. Their whispers were faint but comforting, and it was almost like having the TV on in the background. She fell asleep.
Voices woke her up. "-not listed anywhere," a voice was saying.
Elle woke up to find another person in the kitchen with Gibbs and Ducky, conferring. "What's goin' on?" she asked, sitting up groggily. "Did you find 'em?"
"The office building you described was empty," the newcomer said. "We did find evidence that people were there, but they'd gone. No bullets, though."
"They weren't using bullets," Elle said, stifling a yawn. "They were using some sort of tazer." She scrubbed at her eyes and tied up her hair in a ponytail.
"And," Gibbs said, "none of your team are listed in the phone book. We're waiting for results to come back from the military databases." He checked his watch. "Let's go to your hotel. We'll see if we can't find them in person. McGee, check the perimeter before we leave."
"You think the kidnappers will try again?" McGee asked.
"They might," Gibbs said.
Elle stood up on shaky legs. "They won't," she said, rubbing at her gritty eyes. "They won't dare cross Colonel O'Neill more than once."
Gibbs looked at Elle for a long moment. "Colonel Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill?" he asked. "That's the O'Neill you're talking about?"
Elle looked at him curiously. "You know him?"
"I might," Gibbs said neutrally, which meant he and O'Neill had been on the same mission at some point and mutually agreed never to speak of such things again. Stoic men were stoic in all the same ways. Once you learned to read a Vulcan, you could read anybody. "If it's the same O'Neill, though, you're right. Let's go."
"Shoes?" McGee asked, offering her a pair of slippers. "These are my wife's. I figured you wouldn't want anything hard on your feet."
"Thank you," Elle said gratefully. "Your wife is, uh, Dinah? Delilah? Something like that, right?"
"Yeah," he said, looking at her oddly. "How'd you know that?"
"Oh. Even in Colorado Springs, we get the news," Elle said idly. "She's pretty cool."
"Yes, she is," McGee said, smiling.
They headed for the hotel. Elle almost fell asleep again, but McGee kept her awake, talking about his kids and the next book that he was writing. "You solve mysteries and write mysteries?" Elle asked. "Isn't that a little much?"
"It's my favorite thing to do," McGee said. "Plenty of people watch sci-fi and go to work at NASA. It's the same thing."
Elle smiled. "I don't have any room to talk," she said. "I love sci-fi, and I look at planets all day, so..."
The parking lot of the hotel was swarmed with black, unmarked cars. "Uh-oh," Elle said as they got out of the car. "Something happened. Did they get someone else?"
"Stay behind me," Gibbs ordered, and they entered the hotel.
There were Secret Service agents everywhere in the lobby and no hotel guests in sight. Daniel, Jack, and Hammond were in a small huddle with a few agents at the far end of the lobby.
"Stop there," said an agent, blocking their way forward. "Are you a guest at this hotel?"
"No," Gibbs said dryly. "NCIS, Special Agent Gibbs. We found someone you might be looking for."
Elle stuck her head around his shoulder. "Jack!" she called.
All 3 men whipped their heads around, spotted her, and hustled over. "Who are you?" Jack barked in full Colonel mode. "Identify yourselves immediately."
"NCIS," Gibbs said calmly. "This is my team." He stepped to the side to let Jack charge forward and take Elle's weight from McGee.
"Are you okay?" Jack asked, looking Elle over with a sharp-eyed paternal air. "Are you hurt? What happened?"
"Yes, no, NID rogues," Elle said in sequence.
Ducky cleared his throat. "Actually, Miss Wilcott did suffer some injuries, mostly on her feet, running without shoes."
"Your shoes were still in your room," Daniel said, letting Elle lean on him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Dr. Mallard cleaned and wrapped 'em," Elle said. "I'm fine."
"Get a doctor," Jack ordered an agent, still in his squinty-eyed stare off with Gibbs. "Gunny Sergeant Gibbs?"
"I wondered if you would recognize me," Gibbs said evenly. "Colonel. Nice to see you again."
"You, too," Jack said and finally relaxed his shoulders. "This your team? Vouch for 'em?"
"Yes."
Jack nodded and looked at the Secret Service agents. "They're fine to come through. Carry on." He waved Gibbs over to the circle of couches, where Elle was already half-sprawled. He sat down in front of her, his tone softening. "Elle? What happened? Report."
"Took a nap. Woke up, uh, six hours later? Empty office building. It was the rogue NID faction we were worried about. An agent, name of Michael Peters. Offered me a job in a safer position. More influential. I punched him in the face and booked it. Ran for ages, couldn't find a phone, didn't know your number, and decided to hole up and find my way back to you guys in the morning. Turns out the unlocked back door belonged to Agent Gibbs, here." She waved a hand.
"Once she told us what was going on, I sent my team over to the office building," Gibbs said, picking up the story. "There was no sign of them, and we didn't find any missing persons report or any of your phone numbers."
"They're not listed for security reasons," Jack said, putting a bracing hand on Elle's shoulder. "That was my fault. I should've made sure you had a way to contact us."
"And after we exhausted all options, we decided to come to the hotel to see if we could find you," Gibbs said and gestured towards Jack. "Jackpot."
Jack snorted at the pun. "Thank you for taking care of her."
Hammond's cell phone rang. He flipped it open and answered. "Hammond. Yes, sir, we've found her. Yes, sir, mostly unharmed. The NID rogue faction, sir. Yes, Mr. President. No, sir. Yes, sir, that'd be step four. Yes, sir, I will tell her. Thank you, Mr. President. Yes, sir." He hung up the phone. "Elle. The President sends his regards."
All the NCIS members turned to look at Elle, questioning. "The President?" Gibbs said. "Of the United States?"
"That's the one," Elle said weakly. "We had a meeting yesterday."
"So when you said high-profile, boss," McGee said slowly.
"I didn't know it was that high-profile," Gibbs said.
"Explains the Secret Service," McGee said.
Gibbs shot Jack a curious little smile. "What are you doing in that mountain base of yours, Colonel, that your consultants are on speaking terms with the president?"
Jack winced. "Classified, Gibbs. Highly classified."
"Actually," Elle said, craning her head to look up at him, "we should tell them. They're very, main character vibes."
Jack frowned down at her. "What does that even mean?"
"Good cast of people," Elle said, giving him a Look. "Like they could be on a TV show."
"You're kidding," Daniel said, his jaw dropping.
"Nope. 23 seasons. Well, 30, where I came from later. What wasn't taken out by World War 3."
Hammond cleared his throat. "Is this strategic?" he asked.
"It is," Elle said, sitting up straighter. "We're operating at a higher level than normal. It would be nice to have a ground point of view as things start happening. And, honestly, the more pairs of eyes we set on, ah, artifact retrieval, the better."
Hammond and Jack shared a glance. "I trust Gibbs," Jack said.
"I'll tell Major Davis to bring the NDAs," Hammond said. "Find us a secure room."
"Yes, sir." Jack grinned at Gibbs. "Want the full story? It's a good one."
"Not really," Gibbs said slowly, squinting at him suspiciously.
McGee cleared his throat. "Yes," he said. "So much, yes. We would love the full story."
Gibbs turned to give McGee a flat look.
"Boss, if this is what I think it is, we really want to hear this," McGee said, shooting him a semi-apologetic glance.
Elle stood up gingerly, leaning on Daniel. "You know something or other, don't you, McGee?" she asked as Jack led them to the conference room the Secret Service had co-opted.
"Uhhh, no comment," McGee said.
She looked over at Daniel and realized he was wearing her backpack. "Oh, you have it with you. Can I have it back?"
"Of course." He swung it off his shoulder and handed it to her. "I didn't want to leave it behind in case we found you."
"Thanks." She dug around inside of it and pulled out her tricorder. "Colonel, give me a moment, I'll scan for bugs."
"Go ahead," Jack said.
"Is that a tricorder?" McGee asked at that exact moment. "A working one?"
Elle belatedly realized it was 1999 and that there were two entire Star Trek shows still airing at that time. "Uh, yeah," she said. "Give me a second." She finished the sweep. "No bugs," she reported to Jack. As Hammond and Major Davis came in and closed the door, she set the tricorder to generate interference. "Room is secure, sir."
Hammond nodded. He sat down and waited until Major Davis gave their three guests their NDAs. "Elle, it's your show," he said. "Go ahead."
"Thank you, sir." Elle met Gibbs' eyes. "It's aliens."
"I knew it," McGee whispered furiously as he signed his NDA. "I knew it."
"Aliens, like, aliens from Star Trek," Gibbs said slowly
"Yes," Elle confirmed.
Hammond spoke up. "As of, well, today, Agent Gibbs, we come under a new department called Homeworld Security, dealing with aliens both on this planet and off-world."
"Off-world," Ducky echoed. "So there are other planets capable of supporting life?"
"Yes," Daniel told the older man. "We are part of a front-line team. We go to other planets and explore."
Ducky nodded slowly. "That means you managed to get the Stargate running," he said.
Everyone stopped. Stared at him. "You knew about this, Duck?" Gibbs asked, not looking surprised at all.
Ducky gave a little smile. "I was approached by a very interesting woman, Catherine Langford, about twenty years ago. I did an autopsy on a very interesting mummy. That man had lived a long time with a parasite wrapped around his spinal cord. It was nothing from this world. She told me all about it. I've kept an eye out, of course, but I was sworn to secrecy, and nothing ever came of it. Until last year, with those 'asteroids' in the sky."
"Yeah, those were alien ships," Jack said. "We were up there, saving the Earth."
"I thought you retired," Gibbs said.
Jack shrugged. "I found something worth fighting for."
Gibbs nodded slowly. "It makes sense."
"It does," Elle agreed. "Those parasites you saw, Dr. Mallard. They take over a host body and pose as false gods with the use of advanced technology. They tried to take over the Earth two thousand years ago, and they enslaved most of the galaxy. We're trying to stop them. They've taken exception to that and tried to blow us up. They will keep trying, so we're going to step up our operations. That's why I was here, presenting our new course of action to the president. He's agreed to it, effective immediately."
Hammond nodded. "He's currently contacting the director of the NID for a little chat."
"Excellent." Elle smiled. "Then, by the end of the week, they'll be under new management, and we won't have to worry."
"A change in management is going to get rid of this rogue faction of agents you were talking about?" McGee asked skeptically.
"No," Elle said. "We're sending most of them undercover as spies on alien spaceships and liaisons to the other good guy spies off-world. They can't make trouble for us if we have them making trouble for the enemy."
Gibbs raised both eyebrows. "That's one way to do it," he said mildly.
"But why is there a Star Trek tricorder?" McGee asked, still stuck on that point.
"Oh yeah." Elle gave him a smile. "I'm a time traveler. From two universes, no, three, technically, four, away. Where your team, NCIS, and the Stargate program, SG1, are television shows. And so is Star Trek. And Doctor Who. Which are also real. So this is a real tricorder. Don't worry about it. You're never going to interact with them."
Jaws dropped all over the table. "What?" McGee said faintly.
"Oh, that's really satisfying being on the other side of that reaction," Jack said, leaning back in his chair. "Their eyeballs pop all the way out."
"It's kind of great," Elle agreed. Their flabbers were certainly gasted. "Sorry."
Gibbs shook his head, visibly compartmentalizing that information. "So now that we know, what do you want us to do?" he asked. "I'm guessing we can't tell anyone on pain of death?"
"Not on pain of death," Jack said. "On pain of deportation from planet Earth."
"My point stands," Gibbs said dryly. "What do you want from us?"
"Things are going to be changing," Elle said. "In the next year, at least. We would like you to have an ear to the ground. Is news of our operations coming out around D.C., around the intelligence community in general? How are people taking it? What are they saying? Is anyone or any organization getting real shifty all of a sudden? That sort of thing."
"You're taking it public?" Gibbs asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No," Hammond said. "But it will be on the books instead of off the books. And you know how things spread."
"I would like more details," Ducky said, "but I'm afraid Miss Wilcott will fall asleep on her feet. Or off her feet, I'd better say."
Elle stifled a yawn and gave a guilty grin. "Sorry."
"Major Davis, if you could escort the NCIS team back to their headquarters," Hammond said. "He'll answer any of your questions. And if your director has any questions about the confidentiality forms you've signed, you can direct him to me. We'll be in touch, Special Agent Gibbs. Thank you for taking care of our consultant."
"General." Gibbs looked at Elle. "Come see us when you're back in town," he offered. "And let me know if you ever need an investigative team off-world. I wouldn't mind seeing a ship in space."
"I'll let you know," Elle agreed. "I'm trying to convince these guys we should have a space navy instead of an air/space force."
"Blasphemy," Jack intoned.
"Captains should be in charge of ships," Elle stressed. "That just makes sense!"
"I changed my mind," Jack said, "you can have her back, Gibbs. We don't need her."
"Oh no," Gibbs said, straight-faced, "sounds like too much trouble. We're a straightforward op. We don't need all this drama."
"Thanks for the save," Elle said. "I really appreciate it."
"You told us about aliens," McGee said, still starry-eyed. "We're even."
Ducky patted her on the back. "Go easy on those feet, young lady. Safe travels."
Major Davis escorted them out.
Hammond checked the time. "I'm going to call the SGC, stand down our Marines, and then call Jon," he said. "I have a meeting with the president and the NID in two hours. Jack, with me." He stopped at Elle's seat. "I'm very glad you are safe," he said. "Rest up. When we get back, we can talk about accelerating step four."
"Yes, sir."
They left. Elle, assisted by Daniel, made it out of the conference room and up to her own hotel room. Daniel helped her take off her borrowed slippers and winced at the sight of the bandages. "That looks like it hurts," he said.
"Oh yeah," Elle agreed. "Big time." She opened her backpack and got out her first aid kit. "Thank the Great Bird for dermal regenerators. Aw, I should've done it earlier. Ducky would've flipped out."
A few minutes of 24th-century medicine took care of the problem, and Elle had smooth, pain-free soles again. She showered, and Daniel ordered them room service. "Are you going to stay here the whole time?" she asked, sitting on her bed to eat her stack of waffles.
"Yes. If I let you out of my sight, Jack will really kill me," Daniel said. "When you disappeared..." he trailed off. "I don't think anyone slept a wink."
"Sorry."
"Not your fault," Daniel said, shooting her a smile. "We all get kidnapped as political pieces. This was just your turn at it."
"At least there's no whiteboard of shame," Elle mused. "I think I need to sleep."
Daniel took a post on the couch, watching the morning news at low volume.
Elle conked out before she even heard the weather report.
"Elle? Elle honey, you alive?"
Elle twitched a hand at the voice. "Nnn," she muttered.
A gentle hand tapped her on the back. "Elle, you really should get up and drink some water."
She lifted her head and stared balefully at the person who'd interrupted a perfectly nice dream about Andorian sheep. "Whuh?"
"Water. Food," Jack said, presenting her with a water bottle and a bag of, were those fries? "Uh-huh. French fries." He shook the bag enticingly.
Elle sat up and chugged at the water bottle. It was awfully bright in the room. Midday, maybe? "What time is it?" she asked.
"1:30," Daniel reported, still on the couch. He was eating a gyro. "Jon's here."
Elle blinked. She'd been asleep for almost six hours, but it wasn't nearly enough. Her brain was slow to boot up, disoriented by the periods of unconsciousness and too much dozing off during the night... "Hang on," she said, halfway through a fry. She swallowed it whole and took another sip of water. "Hang on. To be clear. Was I kidnapped by the NID and found by the real-life members of NCIS?"
Jack sat down on the edge of the bed, eating a handful of fries. "Oh yeah."
"And we told them the truth," Elle said, the early morning events coming to her.
"Yup."
"And Hammond went directly to step four, hostile takeover of the NID by your clone?" Elle pressed.
"You betcha."
She squinted at him. "Wait, you said Jon was here. That's you. Mini-you. He's here already?"
"He was only 3 hours away," Jack said. "We already explained everything to him. He wants to meet you."
Elle gave him a grin. "He couldn't take your word for it?"
"Nope. Neither would I if I were him."
"You are him," Elle said. "You guys are the same person."
"Exactly, and I know how I am. Would you trust this face?"
"Yes," Elle said promptly and earned a pleased grin.
Jack offered her another bag with a gyro. "Here. This is yours. Also, you have a giant pillow crease on your face."
Elle traced the indent on her cheek with a finger. "That's how you know it was a good sleep." She ate her gyro and fries and got up, washed her face, and fixed her hair. "Clothes," she muttered, looking through her bag. She put on her other set of clothes and tied her hair up into a basic bun. "Ok, I'm ready, I think. What are we doing today anyway?"
"Just talking to Jon," Jack said.
"Question," Elle said, raising her hand, "Are we calling him Jon because you were the first Jack or because he actually requested being called that?"
"Both," Daniel said after a second.
"It's not like I can actually call him mini-me," Jack said. "That'd be rude."
"How old is he?" Elle asked as they left the room.
"As old as me," Jack said.
Elle gave him a Look. "You know what I'm talking about."
"Yeah, I know. He's like, eighteen, visually." They went over to the other set of rooms, and Jack opened the door. "Your proof," he said and guided Elle forward to meet his clone.
Jonathan O'Neill, the Younger, was a contradiction in body and spirit. He looked like he was Elle's age, but the set of his shoulders and the look in his eye were the mirror image of Jack. When Loki, the Asgardian scientist, had cloned Jack O'Neill two years ago, no one had expected this to happen. Well, Thor had obviously expected someone to eventually try and tamper with SG1's DNA, hence the modifications if anyone tried to clone them. It would never be successful, and they would always come out shrinky-dinked. Thankfully, both Jon and Jack had been recovered, and Jon had been given a new lease of life. He had gone off to Virginia to finish aging up in relative obscurity, and according to reports, he was starting to get another degree, this time in mechanical engineering instead of literature.
Elle decided to treat him like a Vulcan embarking on their second career. It was basically the same thing. "Hello," she said, offering her hand. "Nice to meet you."
"You too," he said, shaking her hand. "They tell me you're running this new program."
Elle quirked an eyebrow. "Running it? Hardly. I'm just a consultant."
He eyed her with amusement. "I don't believe you for a second."
Elle laughed. "The face may be young, but the frontal lobe is intact, huh."
"You betcha," he agreed. He shoved his hands in his pockets, slouching like any teenager. "I hear you want me to run the NID. Why should I throw in with that group of crazies?"
"Why wouldn't you?" Elle asked, giving him a grin. "They'll be running point on gathering intelligence on the various Goa'uld forces throughout the galaxy. We need someone who knows what they're doing and knows what's at stake. Someone I personally can trust."
"You don't know me. You haven't even had enough time to know that Jack." He pointed at the older one, who was watching them both with a mildly constipated expression.
Elle met his gaze. "I've known you since I was a child. I know exactly the kind of person you are, and you would rather do this than languish at a university with a bunch of lizard-brain kids who don't know up from down. Don't tell me you're not bored already."
Jon sighed. "She's good," he said, looking at his progenitor.
"I know," Jack said. "You should've heard her first speech."
"Ugh. Is this my version of Daniel?"
"Might be," Jack said mildly. "If you take the job."
"We retired," Jon pointed out. "Twice."
"And yet, even at this age, here we are," Jack said. "Are you going to keep kidding yourself?"
Jon rolled his eyes at the pun and turned back to look at Elle. "Fine," he said, the sparkle in his eyes belying his grumpy tone. "I'm in."
"Great!"
Elle was not invited to the NID meeting with the two O'Neill's, to her disgruntlement. Her, Daniel, and two Air Force MPs went back out to the Smithsonian instead, this time the Air and Space Museum.
By the time the two O'Neills came back to the hotel, Elle figured the rogue agents might have actually died of fright. "How'd it go?" she asked.
"We have a shortlist of people who have, ahem, volunteered, to go off-world," Jon said. His young-looking face was grim.
"Are they alive?" Elle asked cautiously.
"Let's put it this way. They won't be bothering with affairs on Earth." Jon patted her on the head.
Elle bristled. "I will not hesitate to hit an old man," she told him.
"Good," Jon said and went for another head pat.
Daniel cleared his throat, trying not to laugh. "So you're taking the job, then?" he asked.
"For sure." Jon pointed at Daniel. "Now that I'm back in the game, you guys better come up and visit me."
"We will," Daniel said. "Promise."
"How'd it go?" Sam asked when they were safely back in the mountain.
"Oh, it went fine," Elle said. "Met the president. Saw a weird dino skelly."
Jack stared at her in disbelief. "Elle, you literally got kidnapped."
"What?" Sam asked, almost dropping her coffee cup. "I go home for two days, and you get kidnapped? That's on me. I should've overworked, and I would've been here for the call."
"No, no," Elle said hastily. "It was fine. I was totally fine. No one died. I was fine. Well, I say no one died, but Jack might have killed a dude."
"Sir?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Lightly maimed, at best," Jack said. "And it wasn't me, it was Jon."
"Same thing," Elle said.
Sam looked at Daniel. "Any elaboration here?"
"Found another TV show in real life," Daniel said and sipped his coffee.
"Guys!" Sam protested.