FIC: Lesser Gods 1/5

Jun 12, 2011 19:01

Title: Lesser Gods
Author: KathGrey
Rating: R
Fandom: NCIS/SG
Genre: slash G/D
Warning: Goa'uld nastiness
Disclaimer: Never mine, never will be. No profit made, no harm meant.
Summary: The government should have heeded O'Neill's advice and prepared instead of sticking their heads in the sand. Now that the false Gods have sent an invasion force they have to live with the consequences.

Written for the Get Well, Xanthe H/C athon, organised by taylorgibbs : http://kink-a-thon.livejournal.com/791.html Not beta read.

.-#-. (part one with emergency beta by Riazendira)

Of course they had shown no consideration for their captives' well-being or dignity. To them the humans were not much better than cattle. Annoying cattle. The big stoic aliens - Jaffa? - had searched every surviving member of Gibbs' group. Forced them to strip down to their underwear and then, at the advice of a human-looking woman who had accompanied them, taken away those last garments as well and done a cavity search. On everyone. They didn't spare the children or the elderly.

To find any hidden pills or weapons, to prevent another Manhattan, the woman had said. Gibbs knew what she'd been talking about. Information about what was going on might have been hard to come by, but he doubted that the smallest resistance cell somewhere in the boondocks hadn't heard about the mass suicide in New York. Thousands of people dead, with one message scrawled on the walls of the underground bunkers: Better dead than enslaved.

Gibbs couldn't say he approved. It wasn't that he was a coward and feared death. The Grim Reaper had lost his dark appeal long ago, somewhere between a Middle Eastern desert and a Mexican one. Taking one's own life had become the ultimate defeat in the gunnery sergeant's eyes. The last several months had shown Gibbs one thing: that you could win against the invaders, they weren't invincible, just very hard to kill. You can't kill aliens if you are dead.

Gibbs looked around in the dark of the transporter hold, identified his people by their postures and soft whispers, by their pained moans. McGee and Juniper, Haswari, Green; Karin Riley, competent field nurse, was huddling to his left, clutching her son to her chest. Her eyes were dull and dry. He had seen Lieutenant Riley go down during the last attack, his head blown off by a strange energy beam, and they had lost Moss a week earlier when they retook the water plant in a stealth attack. Gibbs should have known that it had been too easy but like everyone else he had been to happy about having a good supply of drinking water again to look too closely at their victory.

The transporter stopped rattling, shook one more time and then stilled. Gibbs squinted against the too bright light that suddenly flooded the room when the ramp was lowered. Jaffa with their staff weapons prodded the group in direction of the exit and they stumbled and limped where directed.

“Oh shit.”

Yeah, Gibbs didn't echo the sentiment aloud but he certainly shared it. They were standing in a well known area. This looked nothing like the Navy Yard he remembered. The main building was the same but instead of statues and canons a strange stone circle mounted on a stage was decorating the parade ground. Hieroglyphs over the doors instead of letters, platoons of soldiers wearing metal armor instead of camouflage were standing to attention left and right of the strange dais with the ring.

Gibbs assessed the situation. It seemed as if his motley crew had been dumped into the middle of some officious ceremony. Hopefully not as the main entertainment.

On the left side of the Chappa'ai, yes, that was the alien terminology for the thingy he had read in the reports, a sleek aircraft sat like an alabaster colored blob. And in front of it, with their backs to the captives, three figures in full earth style military uniforms were kneeling before a throne.

Army two star general, Marine colonel and a Navy one star admiral, according to their collars, Gibbs noted with disgust. That either meant that the invaders were in the process of assimilating Earth's ranking system into their own army, or treachery.

The figure on the throne stood up and Gibbs got his first good look at his enemy. Tall, maybe taller than himself by inches but not as tall as a Jaffa, clad in gold and silk in a vaguely ancient Pharaonic fashion but without the bulky headgear. Good looking, it would not have looked out of place on a Hollywood movie set, but that was not unexpected. The parasites could chose their host, why would they take an ugly one. So, this was the new Overlord everybody had whispered about, sent by Anubis to squash any resistance and rule the planet after the previous wanna be ruler Ptah had found out the hard way that Earth people would not give up that easily?

A pair of eyes, their original color obscured by a strange white glow looked around the assembled people and paused to concentrate on the group of naked humans, guarded by the Jaffa soldiers.

“These are the fierce rebels that bested you, in the middle of your own territory, for over one and a half years?” The thing mocked its officers. “They look very intimidating indeed.”

The thing's voice was jarring to Gibbs' ears, as unnatural as the glowing eyes.

“Don't underestimate them, my Lord. They proved themselves to be treacherous and cunning.” The marine spoke and turned around. His face provoked a low, dangerous growl from Gibbs' throat. Stan Burley! All that held him back from hurling himself forward and ripping that asshole to bloody shreds was Karen's hand on his arm.

“Don't forget that one of them managed to kill Anraph.” Burley cautioned his new master. Always the one who knew which side the bread is buttered on, that was good old Stan.

The parasite ignored him and instead prowled over to the captives, inspecting them. It stopped in front of Karen and her son and then reached out. One of the Jaffa guards stepped behind the woman and his solid body and hard hands prevented her from leaning away. Gibbs twitched and promptly found himself with his own alien soldier forestalling any intervention.

“Don't hurt Ben! Please, please, ...” Karen begged. The five year old in her arms was staring at the alien creature like a bunny faced with a deadly snake. The boy wasn't uttering one word, was hardly twitching.

It paid the desperate mother no mind, touched the discoloration on the boy's stomach, stroked with manicured fingers over the burn marks on Ben's arms. The contrast between the healthy, slightly olive skinned hand and the sickly white skin of the child could not have been more hurtful.

“Very dangerous, oh yes.” It purred and painted some strange pattern on the boy's sweaty face. “I must congratulate you on your tremendous courage, General Hopkins. The situation must have been very dire for you to discard the original plan and bomb their camp down instead of simply drugging their water reserves and collecting them while they sleep.”

The Army guy stood up. He was sweating too, standing ramrod straight, licking his lips. “My Lord Dante?”

“I can only imagine how threatened you must have felt. They must have planned an attack, maybe an assassination that didn't allow you to wait. Your initiative deserves a reward, don't you think?” It finally stepped back, away from Ben.

Gibbs must have made an unintentional sound or movement to draw attention, the creature turned its head and strange eyes met icy blue ones before concentrating on the General again.

The creature waved its hand and a servant hurried out of the alien aircraft and presented an ornate box to Dante.

Hopkins' breathing increased.

Was it out of greed or out of fright? The close up look into the alien's eyes supported one of Gibbs' suppositions, that this creature might wear a human's skin, but the thought process behind those eyes was nothing he had ever encountered before and therefore couldn't readily predict. But even that strangeness was not enough to counter the mocking tone of voice it had used. Surely the officer wasn't blind enough to miss the displeasure the alien radiated?

The alien reached into the box and removed a metal contraption from its depths, fastened it over its right hand and then, smiling like the cobra it was, twisted and cold, focused on Hopkins. “This is a healing device, among other things. You have an old war injury, right hip, that prevents you from going into the field anymore, yes?”

Hopkins nodded.

Dante reached out in his direction, the thing glowed on his hand as bright as its eyes, and a second later the general crumbled where he stood. Pained whimpers where a sure sign that he wasn't dead, but in a world of hurt.

Gibbs couldn't say that he felt sorry for the asshole.

The alien wriggled its fingers and poked the prone man with its right foot. “Tomorrow the joint will be as good as new. Doesn't my generosity deserve a thank you, according to what I know about the concept of polite Taur'i manners?”

The general garbled something that could be, with a lot of good will, interpreted as a thank you. “I heard you complain about incompetency in the field and how, when you were fit enough and not desk bound, things were so much better. I will grant you that wish and since we cannot send a general out like a common soldier, thus I will demo- oh, sorry, promote you to Lieutenant.”

This time no response came and none seemed to be expected. One of the Jaffa grabbed the ex-general and dragged him away. Dante, arrogantly ignoring the staring soldiers, returned to the captives. Without asking for permission it directed the device at Ben, again unimpressed by the pleading mother and Gibbs' stare. A minute later the boy was unconscious but his injuries were healed.

“I don't want my property damaged needlessly. I don't waste good. Now, who is the leader of this little rebellion?”

None of his people answered the creature or looked at anyone else. They all tried to restrict their responses for fear of giving away non verbal clues.

“Such touching loyalty, but unneeded.” Dante honed in on Gibbs. “Why rely on chancy situational intelligence if you can look it up easily in one of the databases you humans love to fill with so much detail? There are some notable individuals missing among your ranks, which would make you, Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs, USMC, Sniper, retired from active duty 1991, NCIS Special Agent, four times married, thrice divorced, reactivated 2005, the one they follow.”

That creature liked to hear its own voice. Gibbs didn't answer but raised his chin stubbornly and focused his eyes on a point slightly to the right above the alien stone circle.

Dante stepped closer until its breath feathered over the Gunny's face. Something cold touched Gibbs' throat and slowly dragged downward. Over his chest, followed the sweep of his lower ribs, outward and then inward again to come to rest over the belly button and the hard lump underneath.

Hot-white pain flashed through him and Gibbs bit down on his tongue until he could taste coppery liquid filling his mouth. It was over as fast as it had begun. The creature rested the fingertips of its unadorned hand against the corner of the captive man's mouth and then smiled at the hot red liquid that coated them now.

“I have read so many fascinating reports about you, Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs. I was looking forward to meeting you and it would be a shame if a ruptured organ cut our acquaintance short. As I said, I don't waste good.” With those words Dante stepped back and addressed one of the Jaffa soldiers instead.

“Take them to a detention center, they will learn to integrate into the new system. All of them, but him. See to his wounds, give him a haircut and bath him before taking him to my quarters! He stinks.”

The monster masquerading as a man lazily swept the metal device off its hand and let it drop back into the box. Then it focused its attention on Stan who was nervously waiting beside the throne. Another imperious gesture.

“You! Something I have seen in the video files caught my attention.” The alien, instead of sitting down, strode back in direction of the aircraft. It seemed to have already forgotten about the huddled group of people.

“Of course My Lord. What may I explain to you? Troop movements? News from the manufacturers? I can assure you, the new improved tanks will be ready within the month.” The traitor - Gibbs wished for five minutes with Burley, it would be enough to strangle the weasel - bowed deeply and hurried to his new master's side.

Gibbs couldn't see the thing anymore but he could still hear the metallic voice.

“Tell me about... Armani.”

.-#-.

Part 2: http://kathana-grey.livejournal.com/27986.html

fic, gibbs/dinozzo, ncis, fandom, sga, slash

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