(no subject)
Right. So here it is, the first chapter of a still-unnamed GH/SGA crossover. See Rens? That's how little I intended to post this thing; I don't even have a name for it. Oh, well. It's not like I'll ever update this. It's here for amusement purposes.
...Maybe I'll think up a name.
Dammit, Rens! I blame you! You and Jenna!
Um...This takes place in July, after Atlantis episode 3x02 (canon goes out the window after this), and roughly in the middle of the Robin/Patrick breakup.
Chapter 1: Curiouser...
The briefing room had long since descended into barely-contained chaos. It was only because she didn't want to give the International Oversight Advisory a reason to fire her so quickly after being reinstated that Dr. Elizabeth Weir wasn't murdering her senior staff with her bare hands.
"You cannot be serious!" Dr. Rodney McKay scoffed.
"And what's wrong with wanting extra medical personnel?" Dr. Carson Beckett asked. "Given how much time you lot spend in the infirmary, I'd think you'd be happy with the extra staff there."
"You don't want extra emergency staff," Rodney replied, "You want more voodoo practitioners."
Carson pinched the bridge of his nose. "It is not voodoo, Rodney, it is medical research that is substantiated by scientifically quantifiable data--"
"Sure, if by 'quantifiable' you mean, 'We have no earthly idea what this will do, but hey! Inject the staff anyway and see what happens!'"
Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard snorted. "This coming from a man who's staff usually ends up in the infirmary by thinking, 'Ooh! Big red button of unknown consequences!' and then presses said unknown button, just to see what happens."
Rodney gaped. "Well...I...that's just..."
"True?" Carson offered innocently.
"No," Rodney snapped. "It is not true. While I've come to learn that most of the science team averages the brain power of a monkey on crack--"
"Crack monkeys?" John blinked.
"--And are, as such, no match for my sheer brilliance and invaluableness to this expedition--"
"Nice and modest, our Rodney is," Carson chuckled.
"--But nonetheless, they occasionally serve as catalysts for me to find new ways to save everybody from the imminent threat of painful, bloody death that seems to follow us like a plague." Rodney paused and thought for a moment, before turning to John. "Actually, that whole 'bloody death' thing is more often than not your fault, so maybe we should take less military personnel."
The humor left John's face in a flash. "My fault, Mr. 'Blow Up Five-Sixths of a Solar System'? With fewer military officers, who, exactly, do you intend to fight off the bringers of those painful, bloody deaths you're so fond of ranting about?" He stared flatly at his teammate and friend. "Are you going to pick up the big guns, Rodney, and move to the front lines of the fight?"
Rodney snapped his mouth shut. "Right, okay. Fewer medical personnel it is, then."
Carson pushed his chair away from the table. "And just who do you expect to clean up the messes you lot make, then? Fewer medical staff means fewer people to treat the wounded. Have you ever actually looked at the med bay's duty rosters? I've had all of my staff pulling doubles at least three times a week because there's just never enough doctors to take care of the wounded in Atlantis."
"We wouldn't even be able to be in Atlantis without the science team!" Rodney shouted back, "So don't expect me to back down from this--"
"Gentlemen, please!"
All three men immediately fell silent at the words of their expedition leader. They all knew Elizabeth very well after two years, and they all knew that when she used that tone of voice that it was prudent to shut up and listen.
Elizabeth suppressed a grin at the contrite looks on the men's faces. She cared for and respected them all a great deal, much more so than any other colleagues she had ever worked with, but it was always good to know that they respected -- and perhaps feared -- her enough to remember that she actually was their boss.
"Now, gentlemen," she continued, folding her hands atop the table and leaning forward just slightly, "You all have understandable reasons for wanting your sections expanded, and believe me, I wish I could find a way to accommodate all your requests."
"Elizabeth--"
She held up a hand. "Please, Rodney. I know you want the science team's roster increased more than it already has been, but that's just not possible at this point in time." She let Rodney pout silently, because sometimes that was just the only way to handle him, and turned back to Carson. "Now, I understand that you're encountering some problems from certain members of the IOA regarding one of your candidates?"
"Aye, and it's a bloody shame, too," Carson sighed, his Scottish brogue becoming thicker as he talked. "She's a brilliant neurological researcher, and I'm only having problems with a few of the more, how shall we say, conservative countries."
Rodney snorted. "And by that you mean upside-down and ass-backwards?"
"Rodney," Elizabeth warned.
"What, am I wrong?"
Carson rubbed a hand across his forehead. "I hate to say it, but I'm glad that Rodney was less than tactful with that. And much as it pains me to say it, he's right."
"Gee," Rodney grumbled, "Don't hurt yourself saying that."
"Rodney's lack of tact had a use?" A corner of John's mouth quirked up. "Well, I suppose stranger things have been known to happen. Like Elizabeth managing to get fired for doing her job while most of her senior staff were trapped on a Wraith Hive Ship that was heading towards Earth." He looked at Elizabeth. "You seriously have to answer to these idiots?"
A half-smile was returned to him. "I wouldn't let anyone outside of this room here you calling the IOA representatives idiots, John," she said. "But we're getting off track. Carson, why is the IOA giving you so much trouble with this particular candidate?"
"Well, the US, Great Britain, and France are all in support of her, as are most of the Western countries. It's the representatives from Russia and China who are raising concerns."
Elizabeth took the personnel file from Carson's hands and canned it. "Dr. Robin Scorpio," she murmured, "Yale, the Sorbonne, public and private grants for research on catastrophic brain damage and memory loss, now working in New York at a private hospital..." Elizabeth's eyes raised slightly as she continued reading. "Published five times, and she's not even thirty. Hm, I couldn't even manage three times."
"Two times," Carson pointed to himself, though his tone showed more respect for the candidate in question than it did professional envy.
"I was published...oh, no times," John added.
Three pairs of eyes turned to Rodney, who was still sitting quietly. "I was published seven times before I was even twenty-five. What? The only person on this planet who's even remotely as smart as me was working on classified projects before she even got her doctorate, so it's not like I had any competition in my field."
"You were right, Doc," John said to Carson, "He's oh, so modest."
"I don't see where you would be running into trouble, Carson," Elizabeth frowned, turning the conversation back to the task at hand. "By all accounts she's unbelievably qualified." She raised her eyebrows. "Not to mention how useful her research would be now that we've gotten the go-ahead to continue refining the retrovirus."
Carson nodded. "Aye, that's my argument as well." He sobered and reached across the table, flipping the file three pages back. "There are...safety concerns, as well as liability concerns, that the representatives are raising." Carson sighed. "She'd be perfect, Elizabeth. I don't care about the rest. Atlantis and the planet Earth need her."
Elizabeth read the page Carson had shown her, her mouth settling into a tight line. John leaned over, curious as to what had rankled the normally unflappable Elizabeth Weir. He felt his own eyebrows raise slightly as he read the personnel file and understood why both Carson and Elizabeth were so upset. Of all the narrow-minded, bigoted excuses to not take an overly-qualified person to Atlantis...
"What?" Rodney asked. "What is it?"
"In the infinite wisdom of politicians," John grimaced, "We are unable to take a doctor who's research could turn the tide of the war against the Wraith back to Atlantis because she's HIV-positive."
Rodney's mouth twisted in distaste. "Are you kidding me? She's healthy enough to be a practicing medical doctor but she's scary enough to make Russia and China dig their heals?" Off of everybody's surprised looks, he rolled his eyes. "What? You expected me to agree with those idiots? Please. I'm Canadian. We're the progressive country, remember?"
John sighed. "Oh, right. Mustn't forget how wonderful Canadia is."
"Oh, don't start in with your little Canada digs--"
"Gentlemen!" Elizabeth snapped the folder closed and stood up. Following protocol, John stood as well, while Carson and Rodney stood so as not to be the only ones sitting. Elizabeth looked at the three men, men who had become her most trusted advisors and, somehow, her closest friends. "I want final decisions from all of you regarding new personnel by the end of the day. As for this," she held up the file. "Leave Dr. Scorpio's inclusion in this expedition to me."
***
Robin hated Tuesdays.
Life, she mused, never went very well on Tuesdays. When she was in her third year of medical school, she had had a schedule that forced her to slide into her first class at 8:15 in the morning and not leave her last class until 5:45 in the evening, usually followed by two to three hours in the chemistry lab. When she was in her second year of residency, Robin calculated that the likelihood of spending overtime hours in the pathology lab because of emergency room cases at nearly three-to-one on Tuesdays versus any other day. And when she returned to Port Charles, Robin had found that the only day an Ashtanga yoga class was offered anywhere in the city was at 7:30 on Tuesday mornings, which meant she was always up two hours before her shift than she would otherwise need to be.
In short, Robin was convinced that Tuesdays were cursed. The four Marines currently standing near the Nurses Station desk did nothing to dissuade her of this belief.
Robin slowly walked up to the desk and stepped up onto the platform. "Are you...has anyone helped you?" she asked.
A woman -- a civilian, Robin guessed, in a sharp business suit -- answered with a friendly smile. "Yes, actually. We're here to see you, Dr. Scorpio." The woman extended her hand and ignored Robin's widened eyes. "My name is Dr. Elizabeth Weir, and this is my colleague, Dr. Carson Beckett."
Another civilian, a man, smiled brightly and shook Robin's hand. "A pleasure, Dr. Scorpio."
Robin forced herself to go through the motions. That man's accent, dimples, and blue eyes were all very, very dangerous. "Um, hello," Robin smiled slightly. "What can I do for you?" Robin knew both names, but she couldn't figure out why a diplomat and a doctor who hadn't published anything in nearly three years were suddenly seeking her out while surrounded by armed Marines. Her parents' words from her childhood echoed through her mind, keeping her on guard.
"If something doesn't feel right, then it probably isn't. There is no more important skill to master than that of knowing your own instincts."
Her instincts were screaming at her just then.
"I'm actually pretty busy at the moment," Robin said, hoping to buy some time to investigate; there were some good things that would come out of her parent's being alive, after all. "If you could make an appointment with the path. lab receptionist, I'd be able to find time to speak with you."
"Dr. Scorpio," Elizabeth interrupted, gently but firmly, "This won't take much of your time." She quirked her lips. "And I think you'll be very interested in what we have to say."
"Is there someplace...a bit more private we could go?" Carson asked, smiling. "It's a wee bit crowded out here, an' this isn't something that can be heard by prying ears."
That piqued Robin's interest. She remembered seeing Elizabeth Weir speak when she was at the Sorbonne; Paris was an international political center, and Elizabeth's disarmament stance was well-received by the French public. The woman had been notoriously anti-military during her time with the United Nations -- although Robin, who had grown up understanding the darker side of human ambition thanks to her parents' work, was inclined to be a bit more sympathetic towards untenable situations than most scientists were -- and Robin knew that something big had to be happening in order for the woman to stand so comfortably around soldiers. In fact, she noted, Elizabeth seemed used to their presence.
And what was Carson Beckett doing with her? Robin distinctly remembered reading his last published article nearly three years ago. The man had sequenced a portion of the human genome that affected cerebral swelling potentialities in 90 percent of studied cases; the last time she had heard anything about him, he was working on a way to integrate gene therapy into neurosugery as a way to minimize the invasiveness of such procedures. Carson Beckett was, quite frankly, a genius, and he had fallen off the face of the earth.
Now here he was, standing beside a woman who was also quite well-known and who, like him, had disappeared years ago from the radars of people who knew of them. Nothing about the situation struck Robin as normal, but she knew more about this than most people; she had grown up in the shadow of the World Security Bureau, and she knew that when well-known people fell off the face of the earth, it meant one of two things: one, that they had been "removed" permanently from the world's view; or two, that they had been secreted away for something of the utmost importance to the safety of the world. That Elizabeth Weir and Carson Beckett had suddenly reemerged in public, with Marines who were quite obviously there as protection, not as guards, made Robin quite certain that she was dealing with the latter scenario. That meant that something huge was happening, and that it somehow involved the UN's foremost negotiator, a leading genetic researcher, and the United States military.
And now they were there to see her.
Another lesson from her parents ran through her mind. "Investigation is good. If you can do it in a controlled setting and get your answers without risking harm to yourself, then you have to take the chance when it arises."
Robin couldn't deny it: she was curious. Whatever Carson and Elizabeth wanted to talk about, Robin had the distinct feeling that it was world-changing important. And after the last few weeks, she could definitely do with a change of pace.
Maybe she was her parent's daughter, after all.
She put down the patient file she had been holding and motioned towards a hallway. "My office is just down that way. Can we talk there?" Elizabeth and Carson exchanged a brief glance, but Robin caught the traces of excitement in their smiles. Okay, she thought, I officially have no idea what's going on. "Follow me."
Robin walked away from the Nurses Station and headed down the hall. Sparing a brief glance behind her, she saw that the Marines had taken a flanking position around the two civilians. Robin frowned in confusion; they couldn't possibly expect to run into any sort of trouble in Port Charles, could they? She knew Elizabeth Weir and Carson Beckett were well-respected within their relative fields, but what were they now involved with that was so important that the United States Marine Corps were acting as though even walking through the hospital could pose a threat to their lives?
"Thank you, gentlemen," Elizabeth said to the Marines when they reached Robin's office. "But you can wait outside." She smiled, her eyes crinkling in the corners. "I'm quite certain that nothing will happen to us while we're with Dr. Scorpio."
One of the Marine's nodded sharply. "Yes, Ma'am." He waved a hand at the others and they took guard positions on either side of the office door, leaving Robin more confused than ever.
She had no idea what Elizabeth and Carson wanted with her, but Robin was now determined to find out.
Her instincts were screaming.
...Maybe I'll think up a name.
Dammit, Rens! I blame you! You and Jenna!
Um...This takes place in July, after Atlantis episode 3x02 (canon goes out the window after this), and roughly in the middle of the Robin/Patrick breakup.
Chapter 1: Curiouser...
The briefing room had long since descended into barely-contained chaos. It was only because she didn't want to give the International Oversight Advisory a reason to fire her so quickly after being reinstated that Dr. Elizabeth Weir wasn't murdering her senior staff with her bare hands.
"You cannot be serious!" Dr. Rodney McKay scoffed.
"And what's wrong with wanting extra medical personnel?" Dr. Carson Beckett asked. "Given how much time you lot spend in the infirmary, I'd think you'd be happy with the extra staff there."
"You don't want extra emergency staff," Rodney replied, "You want more voodoo practitioners."
Carson pinched the bridge of his nose. "It is not voodoo, Rodney, it is medical research that is substantiated by scientifically quantifiable data--"
"Sure, if by 'quantifiable' you mean, 'We have no earthly idea what this will do, but hey! Inject the staff anyway and see what happens!'"
Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard snorted. "This coming from a man who's staff usually ends up in the infirmary by thinking, 'Ooh! Big red button of unknown consequences!' and then presses said unknown button, just to see what happens."
Rodney gaped. "Well...I...that's just..."
"True?" Carson offered innocently.
"No," Rodney snapped. "It is not true. While I've come to learn that most of the science team averages the brain power of a monkey on crack--"
"Crack monkeys?" John blinked.
"--And are, as such, no match for my sheer brilliance and invaluableness to this expedition--"
"Nice and modest, our Rodney is," Carson chuckled.
"--But nonetheless, they occasionally serve as catalysts for me to find new ways to save everybody from the imminent threat of painful, bloody death that seems to follow us like a plague." Rodney paused and thought for a moment, before turning to John. "Actually, that whole 'bloody death' thing is more often than not your fault, so maybe we should take less military personnel."
The humor left John's face in a flash. "My fault, Mr. 'Blow Up Five-Sixths of a Solar System'? With fewer military officers, who, exactly, do you intend to fight off the bringers of those painful, bloody deaths you're so fond of ranting about?" He stared flatly at his teammate and friend. "Are you going to pick up the big guns, Rodney, and move to the front lines of the fight?"
Rodney snapped his mouth shut. "Right, okay. Fewer medical personnel it is, then."
Carson pushed his chair away from the table. "And just who do you expect to clean up the messes you lot make, then? Fewer medical staff means fewer people to treat the wounded. Have you ever actually looked at the med bay's duty rosters? I've had all of my staff pulling doubles at least three times a week because there's just never enough doctors to take care of the wounded in Atlantis."
"We wouldn't even be able to be in Atlantis without the science team!" Rodney shouted back, "So don't expect me to back down from this--"
"Gentlemen, please!"
All three men immediately fell silent at the words of their expedition leader. They all knew Elizabeth very well after two years, and they all knew that when she used that tone of voice that it was prudent to shut up and listen.
Elizabeth suppressed a grin at the contrite looks on the men's faces. She cared for and respected them all a great deal, much more so than any other colleagues she had ever worked with, but it was always good to know that they respected -- and perhaps feared -- her enough to remember that she actually was their boss.
"Now, gentlemen," she continued, folding her hands atop the table and leaning forward just slightly, "You all have understandable reasons for wanting your sections expanded, and believe me, I wish I could find a way to accommodate all your requests."
"Elizabeth--"
She held up a hand. "Please, Rodney. I know you want the science team's roster increased more than it already has been, but that's just not possible at this point in time." She let Rodney pout silently, because sometimes that was just the only way to handle him, and turned back to Carson. "Now, I understand that you're encountering some problems from certain members of the IOA regarding one of your candidates?"
"Aye, and it's a bloody shame, too," Carson sighed, his Scottish brogue becoming thicker as he talked. "She's a brilliant neurological researcher, and I'm only having problems with a few of the more, how shall we say, conservative countries."
Rodney snorted. "And by that you mean upside-down and ass-backwards?"
"Rodney," Elizabeth warned.
"What, am I wrong?"
Carson rubbed a hand across his forehead. "I hate to say it, but I'm glad that Rodney was less than tactful with that. And much as it pains me to say it, he's right."
"Gee," Rodney grumbled, "Don't hurt yourself saying that."
"Rodney's lack of tact had a use?" A corner of John's mouth quirked up. "Well, I suppose stranger things have been known to happen. Like Elizabeth managing to get fired for doing her job while most of her senior staff were trapped on a Wraith Hive Ship that was heading towards Earth." He looked at Elizabeth. "You seriously have to answer to these idiots?"
A half-smile was returned to him. "I wouldn't let anyone outside of this room here you calling the IOA representatives idiots, John," she said. "But we're getting off track. Carson, why is the IOA giving you so much trouble with this particular candidate?"
"Well, the US, Great Britain, and France are all in support of her, as are most of the Western countries. It's the representatives from Russia and China who are raising concerns."
Elizabeth took the personnel file from Carson's hands and canned it. "Dr. Robin Scorpio," she murmured, "Yale, the Sorbonne, public and private grants for research on catastrophic brain damage and memory loss, now working in New York at a private hospital..." Elizabeth's eyes raised slightly as she continued reading. "Published five times, and she's not even thirty. Hm, I couldn't even manage three times."
"Two times," Carson pointed to himself, though his tone showed more respect for the candidate in question than it did professional envy.
"I was published...oh, no times," John added.
Three pairs of eyes turned to Rodney, who was still sitting quietly. "I was published seven times before I was even twenty-five. What? The only person on this planet who's even remotely as smart as me was working on classified projects before she even got her doctorate, so it's not like I had any competition in my field."
"You were right, Doc," John said to Carson, "He's oh, so modest."
"I don't see where you would be running into trouble, Carson," Elizabeth frowned, turning the conversation back to the task at hand. "By all accounts she's unbelievably qualified." She raised her eyebrows. "Not to mention how useful her research would be now that we've gotten the go-ahead to continue refining the retrovirus."
Carson nodded. "Aye, that's my argument as well." He sobered and reached across the table, flipping the file three pages back. "There are...safety concerns, as well as liability concerns, that the representatives are raising." Carson sighed. "She'd be perfect, Elizabeth. I don't care about the rest. Atlantis and the planet Earth need her."
Elizabeth read the page Carson had shown her, her mouth settling into a tight line. John leaned over, curious as to what had rankled the normally unflappable Elizabeth Weir. He felt his own eyebrows raise slightly as he read the personnel file and understood why both Carson and Elizabeth were so upset. Of all the narrow-minded, bigoted excuses to not take an overly-qualified person to Atlantis...
"What?" Rodney asked. "What is it?"
"In the infinite wisdom of politicians," John grimaced, "We are unable to take a doctor who's research could turn the tide of the war against the Wraith back to Atlantis because she's HIV-positive."
Rodney's mouth twisted in distaste. "Are you kidding me? She's healthy enough to be a practicing medical doctor but she's scary enough to make Russia and China dig their heals?" Off of everybody's surprised looks, he rolled his eyes. "What? You expected me to agree with those idiots? Please. I'm Canadian. We're the progressive country, remember?"
John sighed. "Oh, right. Mustn't forget how wonderful Canadia is."
"Oh, don't start in with your little Canada digs--"
"Gentlemen!" Elizabeth snapped the folder closed and stood up. Following protocol, John stood as well, while Carson and Rodney stood so as not to be the only ones sitting. Elizabeth looked at the three men, men who had become her most trusted advisors and, somehow, her closest friends. "I want final decisions from all of you regarding new personnel by the end of the day. As for this," she held up the file. "Leave Dr. Scorpio's inclusion in this expedition to me."
***
Robin hated Tuesdays.
Life, she mused, never went very well on Tuesdays. When she was in her third year of medical school, she had had a schedule that forced her to slide into her first class at 8:15 in the morning and not leave her last class until 5:45 in the evening, usually followed by two to three hours in the chemistry lab. When she was in her second year of residency, Robin calculated that the likelihood of spending overtime hours in the pathology lab because of emergency room cases at nearly three-to-one on Tuesdays versus any other day. And when she returned to Port Charles, Robin had found that the only day an Ashtanga yoga class was offered anywhere in the city was at 7:30 on Tuesday mornings, which meant she was always up two hours before her shift than she would otherwise need to be.
In short, Robin was convinced that Tuesdays were cursed. The four Marines currently standing near the Nurses Station desk did nothing to dissuade her of this belief.
Robin slowly walked up to the desk and stepped up onto the platform. "Are you...has anyone helped you?" she asked.
A woman -- a civilian, Robin guessed, in a sharp business suit -- answered with a friendly smile. "Yes, actually. We're here to see you, Dr. Scorpio." The woman extended her hand and ignored Robin's widened eyes. "My name is Dr. Elizabeth Weir, and this is my colleague, Dr. Carson Beckett."
Another civilian, a man, smiled brightly and shook Robin's hand. "A pleasure, Dr. Scorpio."
Robin forced herself to go through the motions. That man's accent, dimples, and blue eyes were all very, very dangerous. "Um, hello," Robin smiled slightly. "What can I do for you?" Robin knew both names, but she couldn't figure out why a diplomat and a doctor who hadn't published anything in nearly three years were suddenly seeking her out while surrounded by armed Marines. Her parents' words from her childhood echoed through her mind, keeping her on guard.
"If something doesn't feel right, then it probably isn't. There is no more important skill to master than that of knowing your own instincts."
Her instincts were screaming at her just then.
"I'm actually pretty busy at the moment," Robin said, hoping to buy some time to investigate; there were some good things that would come out of her parent's being alive, after all. "If you could make an appointment with the path. lab receptionist, I'd be able to find time to speak with you."
"Dr. Scorpio," Elizabeth interrupted, gently but firmly, "This won't take much of your time." She quirked her lips. "And I think you'll be very interested in what we have to say."
"Is there someplace...a bit more private we could go?" Carson asked, smiling. "It's a wee bit crowded out here, an' this isn't something that can be heard by prying ears."
That piqued Robin's interest. She remembered seeing Elizabeth Weir speak when she was at the Sorbonne; Paris was an international political center, and Elizabeth's disarmament stance was well-received by the French public. The woman had been notoriously anti-military during her time with the United Nations -- although Robin, who had grown up understanding the darker side of human ambition thanks to her parents' work, was inclined to be a bit more sympathetic towards untenable situations than most scientists were -- and Robin knew that something big had to be happening in order for the woman to stand so comfortably around soldiers. In fact, she noted, Elizabeth seemed used to their presence.
And what was Carson Beckett doing with her? Robin distinctly remembered reading his last published article nearly three years ago. The man had sequenced a portion of the human genome that affected cerebral swelling potentialities in 90 percent of studied cases; the last time she had heard anything about him, he was working on a way to integrate gene therapy into neurosugery as a way to minimize the invasiveness of such procedures. Carson Beckett was, quite frankly, a genius, and he had fallen off the face of the earth.
Now here he was, standing beside a woman who was also quite well-known and who, like him, had disappeared years ago from the radars of people who knew of them. Nothing about the situation struck Robin as normal, but she knew more about this than most people; she had grown up in the shadow of the World Security Bureau, and she knew that when well-known people fell off the face of the earth, it meant one of two things: one, that they had been "removed" permanently from the world's view; or two, that they had been secreted away for something of the utmost importance to the safety of the world. That Elizabeth Weir and Carson Beckett had suddenly reemerged in public, with Marines who were quite obviously there as protection, not as guards, made Robin quite certain that she was dealing with the latter scenario. That meant that something huge was happening, and that it somehow involved the UN's foremost negotiator, a leading genetic researcher, and the United States military.
And now they were there to see her.
Another lesson from her parents ran through her mind. "Investigation is good. If you can do it in a controlled setting and get your answers without risking harm to yourself, then you have to take the chance when it arises."
Robin couldn't deny it: she was curious. Whatever Carson and Elizabeth wanted to talk about, Robin had the distinct feeling that it was world-changing important. And after the last few weeks, she could definitely do with a change of pace.
Maybe she was her parent's daughter, after all.
She put down the patient file she had been holding and motioned towards a hallway. "My office is just down that way. Can we talk there?" Elizabeth and Carson exchanged a brief glance, but Robin caught the traces of excitement in their smiles. Okay, she thought, I officially have no idea what's going on. "Follow me."
Robin walked away from the Nurses Station and headed down the hall. Sparing a brief glance behind her, she saw that the Marines had taken a flanking position around the two civilians. Robin frowned in confusion; they couldn't possibly expect to run into any sort of trouble in Port Charles, could they? She knew Elizabeth Weir and Carson Beckett were well-respected within their relative fields, but what were they now involved with that was so important that the United States Marine Corps were acting as though even walking through the hospital could pose a threat to their lives?
"Thank you, gentlemen," Elizabeth said to the Marines when they reached Robin's office. "But you can wait outside." She smiled, her eyes crinkling in the corners. "I'm quite certain that nothing will happen to us while we're with Dr. Scorpio."
One of the Marine's nodded sharply. "Yes, Ma'am." He waved a hand at the others and they took guard positions on either side of the office door, leaving Robin more confused than ever.
She had no idea what Elizabeth and Carson wanted with her, but Robin was now determined to find out.
Her instincts were screaming.