Balancing Act 4/7 (AB/SG1)
Balancing Act part four of seven
by Mhalachai
Disclaimer: Laurell K. Hamilton owns all things Anita Blake. MGM/UA, Gekko Productions et al. own all things Stargate SG-1. I am but borrowing the characters for a brief time and shall return them intact at the end.
Summary: After being "asked" to change schools, 16-year-old Jack O'Neill moves to St. Louis. His new school looks as if it might be better than the last; the teachers seem halfway decent. And yet, there's something sort of odd about his new science teacher, Richard Zeeman...
Timeline: A year after season seven "Fragile Balance" for SG1 (the mini-Jack episode) and a month after Incubus Dreams for Anita Blake (Not going to be Danse Macabre compliant).
Rating: PG-13
Note: I shortened the number of chapters to seven, as I wanted to start the action in this chapter.
Words: 4,817.
Previous parts here
~~*~~
Jack waited until the last sophomore wandered out of Zeeman's classroom after last period before ducking into the room. The school always emptied early on Friday afternoons. Everyone had been acting weird all day; Jack wasn't sure if it was the approaching weekend, something in the food, or the full moon the following night.
If one more person looks at me like I'm going to get all furry tomorrow, I won't be held responsible for what I do.
Zeeman was shoving things into his briefcase. "Hey, Mr. Zeeman?" Jack said.
Zeeman jerked his head up. "Jack," he said, recovering badly from his surprise. "Is it important? I have to go."
"It was about the term project," Jack said, shifting his backpack on his shoulder. "Can I change the topic you gave me? I really suck at physics--"
"No." Zeeman picked up his briefcase. "I gave you those topics for a reason. It's a learning experience, not a picnic."
Jack wasn't sure what to say. He had never heard Zeeman be so abrupt before. "Fine, I just had to ask."
"Jack, wait a sec," Zeeman said. He rested his hand on the edge of the desk. "I didn't give anyone anything I didn't think they could handle." He took a breath, as if he was going to say more, then convulsed and fell to the floor.
Jack dropped his backpack and ran the dozen steps to the front of the room. Zeeman's back arched up off the ground, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
Seizure: clear the area, Jack thought frantically as decades of military first-aid training kicked in. He grabbed his teacher's arms and jerked him away from the desks, into the open patch of floor at the front of the classroom.
The man convulsed again, then went still.
"Oh fuck," Jack muttered, unbuttoning the man's collar and jerking his tie down. His fingers felt for Zeeman's pulse. There it was, pounding irregularly beneath the man's too-hot skin.
A fever?
Quicker than Jack could follow, Zeeman grabbed Jack's hand and jerked him to the side with inhuman strength. Jack slammed into the wall, his head smacking into the concrete hard. Zeeman was on his knees, his hand grinding the bones in Jack's arm. Whatever Jack was going to say stuck in his throat when he saw his teacher's face.
Zeeman's brown eyes had changed to amber.
Wolf's eyes.
Panic pressed on Jack's chest. This can't be fucking happening, my teacher can't be a werewolf and he can't eat me in science class, that sort of death would just be too ironic.
Something passed over Zeeman's face, and he quickly let go of Jack's wrist before skittering backwards on the floor until he hit the side of his desk. He pulled his legs up against his chest and buried his head in his hands.
For a long while, the only sound in the classroom was Zeeman's heavy breathing.
I guess that explains how he always sneaks up on me, Jack thought dizzily. He rubbed at his wrist. Nothing felt broken or sprained, but he'd have a hell of a bruise tomorrow. He contemplated running, in case Zeeman couldn't pull it together, but discarded that idea quickly. Jack was fast, but nowhere near fast enough to outrun a werewolf. And Zeeman doesn't look like he's going to freak out anymore.
"So, uh, are you okay?" Jack asked finally.
Zeeman looked up, his eyes back to normal. He blinked a few times, then his gaze traveled down to where Jack was cradling his wrist. A horrified expression spread across his face. "Jack--"
"It's fine," Jack said quickly. An anxious werewolf on the night before the full moon was not something Jack wanted to deal with. "See?" He held up his arm. "It'll be fine."
"That's not..." The man's voice broke. "I've never done anything like that before, I swear."
"Do you know why you fell over?" Jack asked, deliberately misunderstanding. He wondered who else knew the man was a werewolf. Surely the school couldn't know; they'd never have let a lycanthrope teach. But a certain federal marshal had to know. No wonder Anita Blake didn't tell us how to spot a lycanthrope in human form, in that lecture last week, Jack thought. She would never give up Zeeman like that.
Richard hesitated, then shook his head. "Everything's fine now."
"Okay." Carefully and slowly, Jack stood up. "You need any help out to your car or anything?"
"No." Just as carefully, Zeeman got to his feet.
Even though he knew Zeeman, Jack suddenly wanted to be as far away as possible. He knew his teacher wasn't going to attack him in the empty classroom, but the memory of that Russian werewolf's claws ripping into Bill Harris's chest was as vivid in his head as the day it occurred. "Great," Jack said, backing towards the door. "Then I'll go. Now."
"Jack--"
"Bye. Have fun tomorrow night." Jack felt like kicking himself as the words came out of his mouth, then he was out the door and almost running down the hallway.
He wasn't freaking out. No way. He was just making a strategic retreat. Bullshit, he told himself disgustedly as he burst out the doors into the parking lot. You're freaking out because you can't deal with the idea of Captain America in there being an animal one night of the month.
Jack kept moving, fumbling for his keys. He reached the old Chevy he'd bought second-hand with his increased allowance and got in as quickly as possible. He wanted to be out of the parking lot, away from all this crazy shit, away from lycanthropic teachers, from school, from his goddamned fucking life.
~~~
He made it back to his apartment without a problem. Once inside, he kicked the door closed and bolted the lock before he dropped his backpack on the floor.
"Okay, now what?" he asked the empty room.
As usual, the room didn't have any answers. Frustrated, Jack kicked his backpack against the wall and stormed into the kitchen. The only thing in the fridge was an almost-empty box of Chinese food.
Jack grabbed a take-out menu off the fridge and wandered into his tiny living room. He flopped onto the armchair and dialed up the restaurant. After ordering his usual, Jack hung up the phone and let his head fall back onto the chair.
What was he going to do?
He rubbed at his wrist. Zeeman hadn't done any permanent damage to his arm, and the teacher had seemed totally freaked out when he realized what he'd done. But why had he done it? Was it the upcoming full moon? He'd seemed fine in class earlier in the day.
No one Jack had talked to had indicated Zeeman had done anything weird, in the time they knew him. So the freak-out after class was probably an isolated incident.
I can't imagine that Anita Blake would let him get away with anything, Jack thought. He'd spent a couple of nights on the Internet, reading all sorts of things about the Federal Marshal. It had taken a lot of digging to get through the tabloid speculation about her vampire lovers, but Jack had found enough news stories to tell him that Blake wouldn't put her personal feelings above the public safety.
So now what?
The phone rang in his hand. Thinking that it was the restaurant, Jack didn't bother to open his eyes as he lifted the receiver to his ear. "Yeah?"
"Jack?"
Jack opened his eyes. He knew that voice. "General Hammond?"
"Yes."
"What's wrong?" Jack demanded.
"Nothing's wrong," the General said. "And I thought I said you can call me George."
Jack shook his head. "Why are you calling?" Something occurred to him. "Did Davis say something to you?"
"No, he did not." George's voice on the phone sounded almost light. So no one's dead this time. Jack's stomach began to unclench. "I called to see how you were doing."
"Doing? I'm having to suffer through my junior at high school again and I keep being the subject of 'adult intervention'," Jack said, leaning back in his chair. "Is that really why you called?"
The slight hesitation on the other end of the line gave Jack his answer. "No," George said. "Major Davis indicated that prior to his visit, he learned that there have been rumors arising that indicated you were--"
"A gay werewolf, I know," Jack said. "But I'm not." He paused. "On both counts."
"I have to say I'm glad to hear that, Jack."
"Yeah, can't get back into the Air Force like that," Jack quipped humorlessly.
George sighed. "I know about what happened with Bill Harris in Russia."
"It's not that." Jack rubbed his eyes, then winced at the pain in his wrist. "I've been thinking about the Air Force policy on lycanthropes. That's all."
"Well, I'm not sure if you've heard, but there is a proposal before the Joint Chiefs to have any Armed Forces member who is accidentally infected with lycanthropy to be honorably discharged with pension."
"Instead of the old bum rush? How damned sweet of them," Jack said.
"Jack."
"I know, I know."
"You will remember having this discussion with me, back when we were staffing the SG teams."
Jack barely had time to marvel at how cool George seemed to be, referring to conversations he'd had with the other Jack. "I remember the nice 'offer' we got from the Pentagon, to send werewolves through the gate as canon fodder. I remember you turned it down for a whole hell of a lot of reasons."
"The doctors couldn't verify what might happen to a shape-shifter once removed from Earth's influence," George said. "Let alone the civil rights nightmare of placing a different value on human life based upon a genetic condition. I wasn't going to have that happening under my watch."
"Yeah," Jack grumbled. "It's just..."
"What?"
"What if some of those guys could have made the difference in a fight?"
"Or what if a Goa'uld infected a werewolf? Jack, the Goa'uld are already so difficult to kill, adding lycanthropic healing and speed could have potentially been a disaster."
"I know." Jack stared down at the developing bruise on his wrist. "But the Goa'uld have to know about lycanthropes, they were on Earth for thousands of years. Why didn't they take furry hosts?"
"I can't say," George said.
"Daniel probably knows."
"That's likely."
Damn it, Jack wanted to ask how his team was, even his other self, but he knew George wouldn't tell him. He hated this. "So yeah, I'm not a lycanthrope, I'm keeping out of trouble, and I'll be back in the Academy in no time," he said to change the subject. "If you guys can keep the world safe 'til I'm back."
"We'll try. You take care of yourself, and if anything happens, you call."
"Davis gave me a number to call."
"Jack, you can call me."
Suddenly, Jack was hit with a wave of homesickness that almost made him gasp. I can't go back to that, so stop thinking of it! "I appreciate that, George. Thanks."
~~~
Richard bounded down the stairs to the Master of the City's lair underneath the Circus of the Damned, anger stirring in his gut. He was pissed at Jean-Claude for that power drain earlier in the day, mad at Anita for not being able to stop it, and furious at himself for losing control around a student.
And Jack, too! That kid was too observant. He hadn't had a moment's hesitation to pull together what was happening with Richard.
If Jack went to the school board, Richard would certainly be fired. There was also the distinct possibility he'd be run out of town. People did not want animals teaching their children.
Richard knew a wave of anger and power crackled around him, but he didn't care, not even as he swept past the werewolves Jean-Claude kept down here. Stephen and Jason, who had been sitting in the living room, both collapsed into cowering heaps as Richard strode past. Still, Jason managed to squeeze out, "Richard, wait."
Richard whirled and took the few steps to Jason. The blond werewolf rolled his eyes up at his Ulfric, as submissive as he had ever been. "What?" Richard growled.
"Jean-Claude wants to see you," Jason said, trying to hold himself still and small.
"Good." Richard glared at Jason, angry at how he wasn't standing up to him, how he was acting so submissive. At this point, Richard would almost have welcomed a fight, even with someone as low in the pack as Jason.
He stalked off before he could do something stupid.
Jean-Claude's bedroom door was open, and Richard barged on in. Jean-Claude lounged on the crimson sheets, dressed in one of his stupid lacy white shirts and those leather pants Anita liked so very much.
Speaking of Anita, she sat on the edge of the bed. When Richard came through the door, she looked up at him with wide dark eyes.
"What the hell happened?" Richard demanded. "What kind of shit were the two of you pulling down here?"
"Mon ami," Jean-Claude began, but Richard suddenly, violently, didn't want to hear the seductive French words coming out of the vampire's mouth.
"Shut up!" Richard shouted. "Anita, what happened?"
Anita's wide-eyed innocent look quickly turned into a heated glare. "I'm so sorry we interrupted your prep time, Richard," she said sarcastically. "We were too busy with Gretchen going psycho down here!"
"What are you talking about?" Richard remembered Gretchen, one of Jean-Claude's little minions. The one who tried to kill Anita and Richard's friend Louis a few years ago. "What about her?"
"Gretchen has not been doing well in recent months," Jean-Claude said, oozing bonlessly up off the bed. "I believe that I underestimated the fragility of her mind when I shut her into a cross-bound coffin for so long."
"So what?"
"So she went feral when she woke up today," Anita said, bouncing off the bed and walking over to Richard, her hands on her hips. "She tried to eat Valentina."
"That little kid vampire? She's still here?"
"Oui," Jean-Claude said, tendrils of cold power leaking around the room. He glared at Richard. "It is only thanks to Asher and Damian's close proximity during the attack that spared Valentina any permanent damage."
"Gretchen's back in the box," Anita said. "And Valentina's going to be fine, she's just really pissed off."
"I drew upon my ties with you, Richard, in order to subdue Gretchen." Jean-Claude regarded him with narrowed eyes. "If I had not, if Valentina had been damaged, we would be in a most dangerous position, as I am sure you can see." The sarcasm was thick enough to chew on.
Richard had no idea what Jean-Claude was talking about, and looked at Anita. She let out an exasperated sigh and flung up her hands. "Valentina's not our vampire, she's Belle Morte's vampire! If Valentina were hurt badly because of one of Jean-Claude's vampires went crazy, then the Council could demand payment because of it!"
"That's barbaric," Richard said before he could think.
"It is the Council," Jean-Claude said. "Belle Morte is a most creative mistress. She could ask for anything. A tribute of ma petite's leopards, or the deaths of several of my vampires. Perhaps even you."
It took all of Richard's willpower to hide the cold shiver of revulsion that ran down his spine at Jean-Claude's words. He remembered the visit of Belle Morte's envoy only a month ago. "But you stopped it. I mean, you stopped Gretchen."
"We did," Jean-Claude said. "Luckily, ma petite spent the night in my bed, and with her so close we could raise power."
Anita threw Jean-Claude an unhappy look over her shoulder. "Jean-Claude, can you not do this now?"
Jean-Claude gave her innocent eyes. "Do what?"
Panic and fear and anger coiled in Richard's stomach like bad meat. "Are you okay?" he asked Anita.
"I'm fine," she snapped. "What the hell was so important that you freaked out over it?"
Richard paced across the room, partly to let off his nervous energy and partly so he wouldn't have to look at Jean-Claude anymore. "I was with a student when it happened."
Anita's sharp intake of breath seemed loud in the still room. "Did... did something happen?"
"Yes. No. Almost." Richard reached the far wall and pressed his palm against the cold stone. "Jack O'Neill came to see me after class." He pressed harder, feeling the stone bite into his skin. "I... um..."
Anita appeared at Richard's side, her small hand warm on his arm. "What happened?" she asked in a soft voice.
If Richard tried really hard, he could pretend that Jean-Claude wasn't listening to every word. "I collapsed and Jack tried to take my pulse. I thought... It was like he was going for my throat. I couldn't help myself."
"What did you do?"
"I grabbed his wrist." Richard remembered what the boy's thin wrist felt like in his hand, remembered how it felt to hover on the edge of pulling back, and shifting and eating his enemy. "I think my eyes changed. I don't know." He pulled away from Anita. "I let him go, but he knew what I was."
"Oh God," Anita breathed. "Is he going to tell?"
Richard shrugged. "He didn't freak out."
"So there's a chance he's not going to tell the school board," Anita said, her voice growing stronger. "Look, we can talk to him, explain--"
"Explain what, Anita?" Richard demanded. "Explain how I'm a werewolf but oh, it's okay because I never go around attacking children and he should just forget that I was going to eat him?"
"Richard, calm--"
"I'm not going to calm down!" Richard shouted. He turned around to leave, but Jean-Claude was standing just behind him. Richard took one step forward, getting in Jean-Claude's face. The vampire had to raise his eyes slightly. "Move."
Jean-Claude's eyebrow arched. "You experienced a large power drain the day before a full moon, had a child reach for your throat while you were helpless, and yet you refrained from doing anything more dangerous than grabbing his arm. Yes, I can see why you consider yourself a threat to all."
"Jean-Claude, would you stop helping?" Anita demanded.
"If the Ulfric wishes to continue to berate himself, I will not stand in his way," Jean-Claude continued dryly. "But I grow weary of this. Come, Richard, tell me of these rumors of alien wolves in my territory." He stepped back and walked to the bed.
Richard blinked. What had just happened?
"These rumors have come to me through Jason, who is quite adept at gathering such information." Jean-Claude leaned against the bedpost. "These wolves, I hear, are interested in St. Louis?"
Richard shook his head.
"Richard, this is how it works," Jean-Claude said. "You help me maintain my powerbase, and I return the favor to you. How can I assist you in protecting our pack and territory if you do not give me all the information?"
Anita wandered across the room. "Look, Jean-Claude, there's still the deal of Richard being outed to the school board to deal with!"
Jean-Claude carelessly waved a hand. "One boy can be dealt with."
"Just what the hell does that mean?" Richard asked, bristling.
Jean-Claude gave him a look. "Why do you always assign nefarious purposes to my every suggestion?"
"Because he knows you?"
"Ma petite,, your words wound me. I simply mean that a boy can be reasoned with, be convinced that what he saw was only a trick of the light. Without any influence on his mind," Jean-Claude added when Anita frowned.
"I don't know about that," Richard mumbled. "Something's just a little... off, about Jack. He's not a normal kid."
"Then it will be easier to handle him," Jean-Claude said. "Today's teenager is a strange creature."
Anita's eyebrows went up. "And how would you know?"
"The number of teenagers that come to the Circus, ma petite, make it an easy deduction." Jean-Claude settled on the bed. "Come, Richard, let us get back to the business at hand. We can not decide what to do with Gretchen until the message has reached Belle Morte and we hear her demands. If we are lucky, in light of Valentina's minor injuries, then Gretchen's death will suffice."
"And if we aren't lucky?"
"Then I will deal with that issue." The expression on Jean-Claude's face signaled that the discussion was closed. "Tell me of werewolf rumors."
Richard really wanted to sigh, but managed to hold it in. Why was he doing this? Some days it was more trouble than it was worth to argue with Jean-Claude. "Jamil says he's heard that it's three of them, and one's making noise about being a better Ulfric than me."
"That's it?" Anita asked. "No idea where they are, or even who it is?"
"None. Shang Da wasn't surprised; the reputation of the pack is pretty low with the recent problems we've had."
Jean-Claude was tactful enough to avoid mentioning that most of the problems were related to Richard. "But still, for such rumors to come instead of a direct challenge," the vampire mused. "It does not sound like the wolf in question has much faith in his ability to defeat you in a fight."
"Yeah, but Chimera was going to do the same thing," Anita pointed out.
"But that's not how it works!" Richard exclaimed. "If another werewolf kills me, then Sylvie becomes Ulfric!"
Anita shook her head angrily. "Can we please not talk about you dying?" she shouted.
"Ma petite, it is all right," Jean-Claude said. "If this is not a challenge to the line of succession, then we may both help Richard in any way possible."
"Yeah, anything to prevent the two of you dying if I get killed," Richard said, unable to keep the cynicism out of his voice.
Anita glared at him, something deeply wounded in her eyes. Without a word, she pushed past him and left the room.
"Oh, well done," Jean-Claude mocked. "She attempts to help you and you dismiss her feelings for you."
Richard knew he wasn't in the right, but being told so by Jean-Claude made him mad. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" he exclaimed. "My life is falling apart--"
Jean-Claude moved so fast that Richard didn't even have time to put his arms up before Jean-Claude slammed him into the wall. The vampire's eyes were glowing blue, and his lips were pulled back to show his fangs. "Do not speak to me about your life ending," he hissed, his hands balled up in Richard's shirt vibrating with coiled, deadly energy. "I made Gretchen into a vampire, promised her my protection. She went mad because I shut her in a cross-wrapped coffin for trying to kill Anita. I will have to kill Gretchen now." He shoved Richard hard, and stepped away. "This is not protection, Richard. Do not speak to me of disaster, if one child finds out your dirty little secret."
Richard didn't know what to say, and the room fell into an uneasy silence.
~~~
Jack spent most of the weekend doing homework and playing X-Box. By Sunday afternoon, he'd had enough of being stuck in his apartment. Ignoring the growing cold outside, he laced up his runners and went for a run. He got back to his apartment just in time to hear his cell phone ringing. He scooped it up as soon as he got inside. "Hello?"
"Hey. Is this Jack?"
Jack didn't recognize the young male voice. "Yeah, who's this?"
"It's Pete."
"Pete who?"
"Pete. We met at Sandra's school that time?"
"Oh, yeah." Now Jack remembered the punk teen. "What's up?"
"Have you seen Sandra?"
Jack frowned as he unlaced his shoes. "Not since class on Friday. Why?"
"Her old man said she didn't come home from the library this morning," the boy said. "You sure you didn't see her? He's freaking the fuck out."
"Look, Pete, I haven't seen her." Jack kicked his shoe across the floor. Just great. He had to deal with a jealous boyfriend. "Maybe she's still at the library."
"No, man, she didn't show up for her shift at the coffee shop," Pete said. "And she ain't answering her phone, neither. She always answers."
That certainly didn't sound like the girl Jack knew. "Did her dad call the cops?"
Pete made a rude noise. "They aren't going to give a fuck if some girl from down here misses her job. Look, if you hear from her, you tell her to call her folks."
The connection died. Jack stared down at the phone in his hand, wondering what the hell was going on.
Maybe Sandra just decided to bail on her job for a day. It wouldn't be the first time a teenager had played hooky. Hell, Jack had done it himself as a kid.
But still, something felt off about this. Not sure what it was, Jack uneasily went to have a shower.
~~~
Okay, something is very wrong.
Jack stood up with the dirty piece of paper in his hand. He'd found it at the bus stop outside the library.
He hadn't been able to shake Pete's phone call, and after his shower he hopped in his car to drive around a little. He had ended up at the library Sandra had told him she went to a lot to do her studying.
Wishing it was a mistake, but knowing that was unlikely, Jack read the paper again. It was Zeeman's assignment page from Friday, the personalized one he'd handed out at the beginning of class. This one had Sandra's name at the top. It had been freshly ripped and had a shoe-print on it, and it had blown against the back of the bus stop. It hadn't been there long enough to gather any other dirt.
Once Jack found the paper, it was blindly apparent that something had happened to Sandra. A few yards down the street, he found her pencil case, and another dozen yards after that he spotted her history textbook beside a trash can.
Shit. Jack pulled out his cell phone. Should he call the cops first? Or... No, he didn't have Sandra's parents' number. He could call Pete back from the number on his call display, or--
His phone rang. Frowning at the familiar number, Jack hit the call button. "Hello?"
"J-Jack?"
"Sandra?" Jack exclaimed. "Where the hell are you? Your dad is--"
"Jack, I need help," Sandra whispered. "I tried calling home and Pete but they're both busy! I don't know where I am, just some people grabbed me and I don't want to be here!"
"It's going to be okay," Jack said. "You need to stay calm. Do you know where you are?"
"No," Sandra sniffled. Her voice grew stronger. "There's lots of trees, like in the woods outside the city."
"Do you know who grabbed you?" Jack asked, already bolting for his car.
"I didn't know them, but their car was blue with rust spots in the passenger side door, and no mirror on that side."
"Good. How many of them were there?" There was no noise on the line for a moment. "Sandra?"
"Hello," a different voice said. Male, older, Jack catalogued in the back of his head. "Who is this?"
"Jack. Who is this?"
The man laughed, scratchy and low. "You ever want to see your little girlfriend again, kid, you do exactly what I tell you."
"What's that?" Jack asked, fumbling with his keys in his car door.
"You in class with this pretty little girl?"
Jack's hand froze on the car door. "If you lay a hand on her, I'll kill you," he said. It wasn't a threat, it was real. If whatever psychopath had grabbed Sandra touched her like that, Jack was going to cause him some serious damage.
"She is a tasty looking morsel," the man said. "But here's the thing. You don't want her to get eaten, you call up that science teacher of yours, and you tell him to open the letter we left at his house. Oh, and don't call the cops. We're monitoring the emergency lines." The phone went dead.
Jack tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. He didn't know what the hell he was going to do, but he could try and figure that out while he was on the move.
"Motherfucking goddamned werewolves," Jack swore as he peeled into traffic. Give him the Goa'uld any day; they at least didn't eat teenage girls.
After Sandra was safe, he was going to have to have a long talk with Richard Zeeman. Now all he had to do was find the man.
Next Chapter
by Mhalachai
Disclaimer: Laurell K. Hamilton owns all things Anita Blake. MGM/UA, Gekko Productions et al. own all things Stargate SG-1. I am but borrowing the characters for a brief time and shall return them intact at the end.
Summary: After being "asked" to change schools, 16-year-old Jack O'Neill moves to St. Louis. His new school looks as if it might be better than the last; the teachers seem halfway decent. And yet, there's something sort of odd about his new science teacher, Richard Zeeman...
Timeline: A year after season seven "Fragile Balance" for SG1 (the mini-Jack episode) and a month after Incubus Dreams for Anita Blake (Not going to be Danse Macabre compliant).
Rating: PG-13
Note: I shortened the number of chapters to seven, as I wanted to start the action in this chapter.
Words: 4,817.
Previous parts here
~~*~~
Jack waited until the last sophomore wandered out of Zeeman's classroom after last period before ducking into the room. The school always emptied early on Friday afternoons. Everyone had been acting weird all day; Jack wasn't sure if it was the approaching weekend, something in the food, or the full moon the following night.
If one more person looks at me like I'm going to get all furry tomorrow, I won't be held responsible for what I do.
Zeeman was shoving things into his briefcase. "Hey, Mr. Zeeman?" Jack said.
Zeeman jerked his head up. "Jack," he said, recovering badly from his surprise. "Is it important? I have to go."
"It was about the term project," Jack said, shifting his backpack on his shoulder. "Can I change the topic you gave me? I really suck at physics--"
"No." Zeeman picked up his briefcase. "I gave you those topics for a reason. It's a learning experience, not a picnic."
Jack wasn't sure what to say. He had never heard Zeeman be so abrupt before. "Fine, I just had to ask."
"Jack, wait a sec," Zeeman said. He rested his hand on the edge of the desk. "I didn't give anyone anything I didn't think they could handle." He took a breath, as if he was going to say more, then convulsed and fell to the floor.
Jack dropped his backpack and ran the dozen steps to the front of the room. Zeeman's back arched up off the ground, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
Seizure: clear the area, Jack thought frantically as decades of military first-aid training kicked in. He grabbed his teacher's arms and jerked him away from the desks, into the open patch of floor at the front of the classroom.
The man convulsed again, then went still.
"Oh fuck," Jack muttered, unbuttoning the man's collar and jerking his tie down. His fingers felt for Zeeman's pulse. There it was, pounding irregularly beneath the man's too-hot skin.
A fever?
Quicker than Jack could follow, Zeeman grabbed Jack's hand and jerked him to the side with inhuman strength. Jack slammed into the wall, his head smacking into the concrete hard. Zeeman was on his knees, his hand grinding the bones in Jack's arm. Whatever Jack was going to say stuck in his throat when he saw his teacher's face.
Zeeman's brown eyes had changed to amber.
Wolf's eyes.
Panic pressed on Jack's chest. This can't be fucking happening, my teacher can't be a werewolf and he can't eat me in science class, that sort of death would just be too ironic.
Something passed over Zeeman's face, and he quickly let go of Jack's wrist before skittering backwards on the floor until he hit the side of his desk. He pulled his legs up against his chest and buried his head in his hands.
For a long while, the only sound in the classroom was Zeeman's heavy breathing.
I guess that explains how he always sneaks up on me, Jack thought dizzily. He rubbed at his wrist. Nothing felt broken or sprained, but he'd have a hell of a bruise tomorrow. He contemplated running, in case Zeeman couldn't pull it together, but discarded that idea quickly. Jack was fast, but nowhere near fast enough to outrun a werewolf. And Zeeman doesn't look like he's going to freak out anymore.
"So, uh, are you okay?" Jack asked finally.
Zeeman looked up, his eyes back to normal. He blinked a few times, then his gaze traveled down to where Jack was cradling his wrist. A horrified expression spread across his face. "Jack--"
"It's fine," Jack said quickly. An anxious werewolf on the night before the full moon was not something Jack wanted to deal with. "See?" He held up his arm. "It'll be fine."
"That's not..." The man's voice broke. "I've never done anything like that before, I swear."
"Do you know why you fell over?" Jack asked, deliberately misunderstanding. He wondered who else knew the man was a werewolf. Surely the school couldn't know; they'd never have let a lycanthrope teach. But a certain federal marshal had to know. No wonder Anita Blake didn't tell us how to spot a lycanthrope in human form, in that lecture last week, Jack thought. She would never give up Zeeman like that.
Richard hesitated, then shook his head. "Everything's fine now."
"Okay." Carefully and slowly, Jack stood up. "You need any help out to your car or anything?"
"No." Just as carefully, Zeeman got to his feet.
Even though he knew Zeeman, Jack suddenly wanted to be as far away as possible. He knew his teacher wasn't going to attack him in the empty classroom, but the memory of that Russian werewolf's claws ripping into Bill Harris's chest was as vivid in his head as the day it occurred. "Great," Jack said, backing towards the door. "Then I'll go. Now."
"Jack--"
"Bye. Have fun tomorrow night." Jack felt like kicking himself as the words came out of his mouth, then he was out the door and almost running down the hallway.
He wasn't freaking out. No way. He was just making a strategic retreat. Bullshit, he told himself disgustedly as he burst out the doors into the parking lot. You're freaking out because you can't deal with the idea of Captain America in there being an animal one night of the month.
Jack kept moving, fumbling for his keys. He reached the old Chevy he'd bought second-hand with his increased allowance and got in as quickly as possible. He wanted to be out of the parking lot, away from all this crazy shit, away from lycanthropic teachers, from school, from his goddamned fucking life.
~~~
He made it back to his apartment without a problem. Once inside, he kicked the door closed and bolted the lock before he dropped his backpack on the floor.
"Okay, now what?" he asked the empty room.
As usual, the room didn't have any answers. Frustrated, Jack kicked his backpack against the wall and stormed into the kitchen. The only thing in the fridge was an almost-empty box of Chinese food.
Jack grabbed a take-out menu off the fridge and wandered into his tiny living room. He flopped onto the armchair and dialed up the restaurant. After ordering his usual, Jack hung up the phone and let his head fall back onto the chair.
What was he going to do?
He rubbed at his wrist. Zeeman hadn't done any permanent damage to his arm, and the teacher had seemed totally freaked out when he realized what he'd done. But why had he done it? Was it the upcoming full moon? He'd seemed fine in class earlier in the day.
No one Jack had talked to had indicated Zeeman had done anything weird, in the time they knew him. So the freak-out after class was probably an isolated incident.
I can't imagine that Anita Blake would let him get away with anything, Jack thought. He'd spent a couple of nights on the Internet, reading all sorts of things about the Federal Marshal. It had taken a lot of digging to get through the tabloid speculation about her vampire lovers, but Jack had found enough news stories to tell him that Blake wouldn't put her personal feelings above the public safety.
So now what?
The phone rang in his hand. Thinking that it was the restaurant, Jack didn't bother to open his eyes as he lifted the receiver to his ear. "Yeah?"
"Jack?"
Jack opened his eyes. He knew that voice. "General Hammond?"
"Yes."
"What's wrong?" Jack demanded.
"Nothing's wrong," the General said. "And I thought I said you can call me George."
Jack shook his head. "Why are you calling?" Something occurred to him. "Did Davis say something to you?"
"No, he did not." George's voice on the phone sounded almost light. So no one's dead this time. Jack's stomach began to unclench. "I called to see how you were doing."
"Doing? I'm having to suffer through my junior at high school again and I keep being the subject of 'adult intervention'," Jack said, leaning back in his chair. "Is that really why you called?"
The slight hesitation on the other end of the line gave Jack his answer. "No," George said. "Major Davis indicated that prior to his visit, he learned that there have been rumors arising that indicated you were--"
"A gay werewolf, I know," Jack said. "But I'm not." He paused. "On both counts."
"I have to say I'm glad to hear that, Jack."
"Yeah, can't get back into the Air Force like that," Jack quipped humorlessly.
George sighed. "I know about what happened with Bill Harris in Russia."
"It's not that." Jack rubbed his eyes, then winced at the pain in his wrist. "I've been thinking about the Air Force policy on lycanthropes. That's all."
"Well, I'm not sure if you've heard, but there is a proposal before the Joint Chiefs to have any Armed Forces member who is accidentally infected with lycanthropy to be honorably discharged with pension."
"Instead of the old bum rush? How damned sweet of them," Jack said.
"Jack."
"I know, I know."
"You will remember having this discussion with me, back when we were staffing the SG teams."
Jack barely had time to marvel at how cool George seemed to be, referring to conversations he'd had with the other Jack. "I remember the nice 'offer' we got from the Pentagon, to send werewolves through the gate as canon fodder. I remember you turned it down for a whole hell of a lot of reasons."
"The doctors couldn't verify what might happen to a shape-shifter once removed from Earth's influence," George said. "Let alone the civil rights nightmare of placing a different value on human life based upon a genetic condition. I wasn't going to have that happening under my watch."
"Yeah," Jack grumbled. "It's just..."
"What?"
"What if some of those guys could have made the difference in a fight?"
"Or what if a Goa'uld infected a werewolf? Jack, the Goa'uld are already so difficult to kill, adding lycanthropic healing and speed could have potentially been a disaster."
"I know." Jack stared down at the developing bruise on his wrist. "But the Goa'uld have to know about lycanthropes, they were on Earth for thousands of years. Why didn't they take furry hosts?"
"I can't say," George said.
"Daniel probably knows."
"That's likely."
Damn it, Jack wanted to ask how his team was, even his other self, but he knew George wouldn't tell him. He hated this. "So yeah, I'm not a lycanthrope, I'm keeping out of trouble, and I'll be back in the Academy in no time," he said to change the subject. "If you guys can keep the world safe 'til I'm back."
"We'll try. You take care of yourself, and if anything happens, you call."
"Davis gave me a number to call."
"Jack, you can call me."
Suddenly, Jack was hit with a wave of homesickness that almost made him gasp. I can't go back to that, so stop thinking of it! "I appreciate that, George. Thanks."
~~~
Richard bounded down the stairs to the Master of the City's lair underneath the Circus of the Damned, anger stirring in his gut. He was pissed at Jean-Claude for that power drain earlier in the day, mad at Anita for not being able to stop it, and furious at himself for losing control around a student.
And Jack, too! That kid was too observant. He hadn't had a moment's hesitation to pull together what was happening with Richard.
If Jack went to the school board, Richard would certainly be fired. There was also the distinct possibility he'd be run out of town. People did not want animals teaching their children.
Richard knew a wave of anger and power crackled around him, but he didn't care, not even as he swept past the werewolves Jean-Claude kept down here. Stephen and Jason, who had been sitting in the living room, both collapsed into cowering heaps as Richard strode past. Still, Jason managed to squeeze out, "Richard, wait."
Richard whirled and took the few steps to Jason. The blond werewolf rolled his eyes up at his Ulfric, as submissive as he had ever been. "What?" Richard growled.
"Jean-Claude wants to see you," Jason said, trying to hold himself still and small.
"Good." Richard glared at Jason, angry at how he wasn't standing up to him, how he was acting so submissive. At this point, Richard would almost have welcomed a fight, even with someone as low in the pack as Jason.
He stalked off before he could do something stupid.
Jean-Claude's bedroom door was open, and Richard barged on in. Jean-Claude lounged on the crimson sheets, dressed in one of his stupid lacy white shirts and those leather pants Anita liked so very much.
Speaking of Anita, she sat on the edge of the bed. When Richard came through the door, she looked up at him with wide dark eyes.
"What the hell happened?" Richard demanded. "What kind of shit were the two of you pulling down here?"
"Mon ami," Jean-Claude began, but Richard suddenly, violently, didn't want to hear the seductive French words coming out of the vampire's mouth.
"Shut up!" Richard shouted. "Anita, what happened?"
Anita's wide-eyed innocent look quickly turned into a heated glare. "I'm so sorry we interrupted your prep time, Richard," she said sarcastically. "We were too busy with Gretchen going psycho down here!"
"What are you talking about?" Richard remembered Gretchen, one of Jean-Claude's little minions. The one who tried to kill Anita and Richard's friend Louis a few years ago. "What about her?"
"Gretchen has not been doing well in recent months," Jean-Claude said, oozing bonlessly up off the bed. "I believe that I underestimated the fragility of her mind when I shut her into a cross-bound coffin for so long."
"So what?"
"So she went feral when she woke up today," Anita said, bouncing off the bed and walking over to Richard, her hands on her hips. "She tried to eat Valentina."
"That little kid vampire? She's still here?"
"Oui," Jean-Claude said, tendrils of cold power leaking around the room. He glared at Richard. "It is only thanks to Asher and Damian's close proximity during the attack that spared Valentina any permanent damage."
"Gretchen's back in the box," Anita said. "And Valentina's going to be fine, she's just really pissed off."
"I drew upon my ties with you, Richard, in order to subdue Gretchen." Jean-Claude regarded him with narrowed eyes. "If I had not, if Valentina had been damaged, we would be in a most dangerous position, as I am sure you can see." The sarcasm was thick enough to chew on.
Richard had no idea what Jean-Claude was talking about, and looked at Anita. She let out an exasperated sigh and flung up her hands. "Valentina's not our vampire, she's Belle Morte's vampire! If Valentina were hurt badly because of one of Jean-Claude's vampires went crazy, then the Council could demand payment because of it!"
"That's barbaric," Richard said before he could think.
"It is the Council," Jean-Claude said. "Belle Morte is a most creative mistress. She could ask for anything. A tribute of ma petite's leopards, or the deaths of several of my vampires. Perhaps even you."
It took all of Richard's willpower to hide the cold shiver of revulsion that ran down his spine at Jean-Claude's words. He remembered the visit of Belle Morte's envoy only a month ago. "But you stopped it. I mean, you stopped Gretchen."
"We did," Jean-Claude said. "Luckily, ma petite spent the night in my bed, and with her so close we could raise power."
Anita threw Jean-Claude an unhappy look over her shoulder. "Jean-Claude, can you not do this now?"
Jean-Claude gave her innocent eyes. "Do what?"
Panic and fear and anger coiled in Richard's stomach like bad meat. "Are you okay?" he asked Anita.
"I'm fine," she snapped. "What the hell was so important that you freaked out over it?"
Richard paced across the room, partly to let off his nervous energy and partly so he wouldn't have to look at Jean-Claude anymore. "I was with a student when it happened."
Anita's sharp intake of breath seemed loud in the still room. "Did... did something happen?"
"Yes. No. Almost." Richard reached the far wall and pressed his palm against the cold stone. "Jack O'Neill came to see me after class." He pressed harder, feeling the stone bite into his skin. "I... um..."
Anita appeared at Richard's side, her small hand warm on his arm. "What happened?" she asked in a soft voice.
If Richard tried really hard, he could pretend that Jean-Claude wasn't listening to every word. "I collapsed and Jack tried to take my pulse. I thought... It was like he was going for my throat. I couldn't help myself."
"What did you do?"
"I grabbed his wrist." Richard remembered what the boy's thin wrist felt like in his hand, remembered how it felt to hover on the edge of pulling back, and shifting and eating his enemy. "I think my eyes changed. I don't know." He pulled away from Anita. "I let him go, but he knew what I was."
"Oh God," Anita breathed. "Is he going to tell?"
Richard shrugged. "He didn't freak out."
"So there's a chance he's not going to tell the school board," Anita said, her voice growing stronger. "Look, we can talk to him, explain--"
"Explain what, Anita?" Richard demanded. "Explain how I'm a werewolf but oh, it's okay because I never go around attacking children and he should just forget that I was going to eat him?"
"Richard, calm--"
"I'm not going to calm down!" Richard shouted. He turned around to leave, but Jean-Claude was standing just behind him. Richard took one step forward, getting in Jean-Claude's face. The vampire had to raise his eyes slightly. "Move."
Jean-Claude's eyebrow arched. "You experienced a large power drain the day before a full moon, had a child reach for your throat while you were helpless, and yet you refrained from doing anything more dangerous than grabbing his arm. Yes, I can see why you consider yourself a threat to all."
"Jean-Claude, would you stop helping?" Anita demanded.
"If the Ulfric wishes to continue to berate himself, I will not stand in his way," Jean-Claude continued dryly. "But I grow weary of this. Come, Richard, tell me of these rumors of alien wolves in my territory." He stepped back and walked to the bed.
Richard blinked. What had just happened?
"These rumors have come to me through Jason, who is quite adept at gathering such information." Jean-Claude leaned against the bedpost. "These wolves, I hear, are interested in St. Louis?"
Richard shook his head.
"Richard, this is how it works," Jean-Claude said. "You help me maintain my powerbase, and I return the favor to you. How can I assist you in protecting our pack and territory if you do not give me all the information?"
Anita wandered across the room. "Look, Jean-Claude, there's still the deal of Richard being outed to the school board to deal with!"
Jean-Claude carelessly waved a hand. "One boy can be dealt with."
"Just what the hell does that mean?" Richard asked, bristling.
Jean-Claude gave him a look. "Why do you always assign nefarious purposes to my every suggestion?"
"Because he knows you?"
"Ma petite,, your words wound me. I simply mean that a boy can be reasoned with, be convinced that what he saw was only a trick of the light. Without any influence on his mind," Jean-Claude added when Anita frowned.
"I don't know about that," Richard mumbled. "Something's just a little... off, about Jack. He's not a normal kid."
"Then it will be easier to handle him," Jean-Claude said. "Today's teenager is a strange creature."
Anita's eyebrows went up. "And how would you know?"
"The number of teenagers that come to the Circus, ma petite, make it an easy deduction." Jean-Claude settled on the bed. "Come, Richard, let us get back to the business at hand. We can not decide what to do with Gretchen until the message has reached Belle Morte and we hear her demands. If we are lucky, in light of Valentina's minor injuries, then Gretchen's death will suffice."
"And if we aren't lucky?"
"Then I will deal with that issue." The expression on Jean-Claude's face signaled that the discussion was closed. "Tell me of werewolf rumors."
Richard really wanted to sigh, but managed to hold it in. Why was he doing this? Some days it was more trouble than it was worth to argue with Jean-Claude. "Jamil says he's heard that it's three of them, and one's making noise about being a better Ulfric than me."
"That's it?" Anita asked. "No idea where they are, or even who it is?"
"None. Shang Da wasn't surprised; the reputation of the pack is pretty low with the recent problems we've had."
Jean-Claude was tactful enough to avoid mentioning that most of the problems were related to Richard. "But still, for such rumors to come instead of a direct challenge," the vampire mused. "It does not sound like the wolf in question has much faith in his ability to defeat you in a fight."
"Yeah, but Chimera was going to do the same thing," Anita pointed out.
"But that's not how it works!" Richard exclaimed. "If another werewolf kills me, then Sylvie becomes Ulfric!"
Anita shook her head angrily. "Can we please not talk about you dying?" she shouted.
"Ma petite, it is all right," Jean-Claude said. "If this is not a challenge to the line of succession, then we may both help Richard in any way possible."
"Yeah, anything to prevent the two of you dying if I get killed," Richard said, unable to keep the cynicism out of his voice.
Anita glared at him, something deeply wounded in her eyes. Without a word, she pushed past him and left the room.
"Oh, well done," Jean-Claude mocked. "She attempts to help you and you dismiss her feelings for you."
Richard knew he wasn't in the right, but being told so by Jean-Claude made him mad. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" he exclaimed. "My life is falling apart--"
Jean-Claude moved so fast that Richard didn't even have time to put his arms up before Jean-Claude slammed him into the wall. The vampire's eyes were glowing blue, and his lips were pulled back to show his fangs. "Do not speak to me about your life ending," he hissed, his hands balled up in Richard's shirt vibrating with coiled, deadly energy. "I made Gretchen into a vampire, promised her my protection. She went mad because I shut her in a cross-wrapped coffin for trying to kill Anita. I will have to kill Gretchen now." He shoved Richard hard, and stepped away. "This is not protection, Richard. Do not speak to me of disaster, if one child finds out your dirty little secret."
Richard didn't know what to say, and the room fell into an uneasy silence.
~~~
Jack spent most of the weekend doing homework and playing X-Box. By Sunday afternoon, he'd had enough of being stuck in his apartment. Ignoring the growing cold outside, he laced up his runners and went for a run. He got back to his apartment just in time to hear his cell phone ringing. He scooped it up as soon as he got inside. "Hello?"
"Hey. Is this Jack?"
Jack didn't recognize the young male voice. "Yeah, who's this?"
"It's Pete."
"Pete who?"
"Pete. We met at Sandra's school that time?"
"Oh, yeah." Now Jack remembered the punk teen. "What's up?"
"Have you seen Sandra?"
Jack frowned as he unlaced his shoes. "Not since class on Friday. Why?"
"Her old man said she didn't come home from the library this morning," the boy said. "You sure you didn't see her? He's freaking the fuck out."
"Look, Pete, I haven't seen her." Jack kicked his shoe across the floor. Just great. He had to deal with a jealous boyfriend. "Maybe she's still at the library."
"No, man, she didn't show up for her shift at the coffee shop," Pete said. "And she ain't answering her phone, neither. She always answers."
That certainly didn't sound like the girl Jack knew. "Did her dad call the cops?"
Pete made a rude noise. "They aren't going to give a fuck if some girl from down here misses her job. Look, if you hear from her, you tell her to call her folks."
The connection died. Jack stared down at the phone in his hand, wondering what the hell was going on.
Maybe Sandra just decided to bail on her job for a day. It wouldn't be the first time a teenager had played hooky. Hell, Jack had done it himself as a kid.
But still, something felt off about this. Not sure what it was, Jack uneasily went to have a shower.
~~~
Okay, something is very wrong.
Jack stood up with the dirty piece of paper in his hand. He'd found it at the bus stop outside the library.
He hadn't been able to shake Pete's phone call, and after his shower he hopped in his car to drive around a little. He had ended up at the library Sandra had told him she went to a lot to do her studying.
Wishing it was a mistake, but knowing that was unlikely, Jack read the paper again. It was Zeeman's assignment page from Friday, the personalized one he'd handed out at the beginning of class. This one had Sandra's name at the top. It had been freshly ripped and had a shoe-print on it, and it had blown against the back of the bus stop. It hadn't been there long enough to gather any other dirt.
Once Jack found the paper, it was blindly apparent that something had happened to Sandra. A few yards down the street, he found her pencil case, and another dozen yards after that he spotted her history textbook beside a trash can.
Shit. Jack pulled out his cell phone. Should he call the cops first? Or... No, he didn't have Sandra's parents' number. He could call Pete back from the number on his call display, or--
His phone rang. Frowning at the familiar number, Jack hit the call button. "Hello?"
"J-Jack?"
"Sandra?" Jack exclaimed. "Where the hell are you? Your dad is--"
"Jack, I need help," Sandra whispered. "I tried calling home and Pete but they're both busy! I don't know where I am, just some people grabbed me and I don't want to be here!"
"It's going to be okay," Jack said. "You need to stay calm. Do you know where you are?"
"No," Sandra sniffled. Her voice grew stronger. "There's lots of trees, like in the woods outside the city."
"Do you know who grabbed you?" Jack asked, already bolting for his car.
"I didn't know them, but their car was blue with rust spots in the passenger side door, and no mirror on that side."
"Good. How many of them were there?" There was no noise on the line for a moment. "Sandra?"
"Hello," a different voice said. Male, older, Jack catalogued in the back of his head. "Who is this?"
"Jack. Who is this?"
The man laughed, scratchy and low. "You ever want to see your little girlfriend again, kid, you do exactly what I tell you."
"What's that?" Jack asked, fumbling with his keys in his car door.
"You in class with this pretty little girl?"
Jack's hand froze on the car door. "If you lay a hand on her, I'll kill you," he said. It wasn't a threat, it was real. If whatever psychopath had grabbed Sandra touched her like that, Jack was going to cause him some serious damage.
"She is a tasty looking morsel," the man said. "But here's the thing. You don't want her to get eaten, you call up that science teacher of yours, and you tell him to open the letter we left at his house. Oh, and don't call the cops. We're monitoring the emergency lines." The phone went dead.
Jack tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. He didn't know what the hell he was going to do, but he could try and figure that out while he was on the move.
"Motherfucking goddamned werewolves," Jack swore as he peeled into traffic. Give him the Goa'uld any day; they at least didn't eat teenage girls.
After Sandra was safe, he was going to have to have a long talk with Richard Zeeman. Now all he had to do was find the man.
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