fic: Back Home [Pt.7]
TITLE: Back Home - Pt. 7
AUTHOR: renisanz
SUMMARY: Settling down won't be easy for either of them. A sequel to “Making Up the Past.” Ronon/Keller
RATING: PG-13
WORDS: ~2600
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em, but they're fun to play.
NOTES: No spoilers for any episode in particular. Events of this chapter occur around the same time as “Midway”, but I'm changing things around a bit.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Back Home - Pt. 6
The twenty-four hours spent in quarantine on the Midway Station was thankfully uneventful. Their passage through Stargate Command was rather pedestrian as well. To Jennifer's surprise, no one seemed too phased by the idea of Ronon coming home with her. She suspected Col. Carter may have had a hand in the reaction, or lack thereof.
Jennifer had left Teyla to get settled into her assigned guest quarters at SGC, and then waited for Ronon to get changed for their trip to her hometown. Her heart stopped when she first caught sight of him strolling down the corridor to meet her. She could kiss whoever had chosen his Earth attire, as the clothing did nothing but compliment his strong physique. He wore a dark grey, long sleeved knit shirt. The sleeves were pushed up to show his forearms and tribal tattoo. His dark rinse jeans fit perfectly as well, but he wore the clothes, rather than them wearing him.
He had a uncertain look on his face as he came to stand before her. Jennifer allowed herself to blink for the first time since she saw him.
“What is it?”
“What?” She tore her eyes away from his body to look into his face. He looked. . .uncertain?
“These clothes?” He prodded.
Jennifer laughed. Was he serious? Then she realized that he'd taken her look of shock in a negative way. “You look, uhm. . . really good.” Oh, that was so lame, she chided. She thought it funny her extensive vocabulary went out the window when presented with the challenge of summing up the man's sheer attractiveness. She smiled up at him, though. “We're definitely going to have to get you more of those shirts when we get to Chippewa Falls.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
It was when Jennifer and Ronon were riding in the back of a cab on their way to the airport that things began to fray a bit.
“Ronon, you can't take these on the plane,” Jennifer stated.
“Why not? They're hidden,” Ronon shrugged, no hint of humor in his voice.
“They have machines called metal detectors to keep people from bringing weapons on the plane,” she explained. As she turned the long thin blade between her fingers, she felt Ronon's gaze and turned to meet his eyes.
“I know,” he said, his eyes sparkling with some mischief. “It's not made of metal.”
“Really?” Jen lifted an eyebrow in a mixture of doubt and surprise.
Ronon leaned forward, his face only a breath away from hers, and her cheeks flushed involuntarily at the proximity and heat of him. She was still undecided as to whether she loved or hated that he had such an effect on her.
“Really,” he breathed, before pressing a teasing kiss to her lips. “John told me about it a while ago,” he smirked.
Jennifer was sure her face was fully red now. She opened her eyes to see him smirking down at her.
Jennifer rolled her eyes and huffed as she leaned back against his arm that was draped across the back seat and around her shoulders. She let her eyes be consumed with the uninteresting texture of the car ceiling as she tried to collect her scattered thoughts. She twirled the blade in her fingers, as the action soothed her.
“You're pretty good at that.” Ronon rumbled. His voice startled her as it broke the brief moment of silence between them. Though she was a self-proclaimed klutz, she didn't drop the blade. Instead, Jennifer caught it between her thumb and index finger and then flipped it between her index and middle finger before handing it out to him.
“Yeah,” she said, suddenly self-conscious. “Guess I'm used to handling something similar. Scalpels,” she supplied.
“Uh-huh,” Ronon eyed her suspiciously as he gingerly took the blade from her fingers.
“What?” Jennifer prodded, leaning away to regard him.
“You don't twirl them when you're doing surgery . . .?” He looked doubtful, but his eyes twinkled.
“No!” Jennifer giggled. “I just. . .” She thought back to when she first discovered her. . . talent. “Back when I was an undergrad, I was dissecting a fetal pig in Biology I lab. I was going over my notes, and I picked up the scalpel instead of my pencil, and started twirling it like normal.” She smiled at the memory. “It freaked out my lab partner, but it just became a habit.”
She watched as Ronon imitated the action she was describing. “It's hard to explain. It's thrilling and calming at the same time, ya know?”
“Yeah,” he agreed. The corner of his mouth curled as he looked from the blade and back to her, and then slid it back to its concealed place within his dreads.
“So. . . anything else you want to tell me?”
“Uhm. . .” Jennifer figured he was referring to her experience with sharp, lethal objects. Or just things that he might find surprising. They were still getting to know each other, after all. She thought back to her teen years in Chippewa Falls, weekends spent out on the firing range with Dad. It had been a secret up until now. It wasn't even in her personnel file, as she wasn't military and still had yet to have any formal weapons training. The handling of firearms wasn't what she had been hired for, and she reasoned that if no one knew of her skill, she could avoid anyone having to depend on her to use it.
“I'm a pretty good shot,” she let her eyes flick to Ronon as she began to pick to at her nails. Ok, she still wasn't being completely honest. “Actually, I'm a really good shot,” she amended, turning to face him now.
Jennifer would have laughed at Ronon's expression if it weren't so serious. At first his eyes widened and his lips parted like he wanted to ask her more, but couldn't decide what to say. After a moment, however, he simply nodded and said, “You'll show me?”
There was a touch of humility in his tone, and Jen was heartened by the fact that Ronon simply believed her, without demanding a demonstration of her abilities like most other men would.
She smiled. “Well, you'll have to wait about seven months, but sure.”
“Ok. Cool.” He beamed, as if he was truly looking forward to it.
She spared a glance in the rearview mirror to see the driver's eyes trained on the highway ahead. If he thought this crazy, seemingly mismatched couple that was his current fare were insane, as they twirled knives like it was no big thing, he didn't show it. Thank goodness for the partition.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
“Sir, could you step out of line please.”
Jennifer felt Ronon tense behind her, and she turned to see an officious looking man wearing a plain black suit. This was not happening. They had gone through the metal detectors without incident, and now they were standing in line, waiting to board the flight to Eau Claire, Wisconsin.
“Why?” Ronon asked, as he took in the man before him. He was shorter than him, but not small by any means. He was flanked by two other men who wore similar attire but seemed to be there only for intimidation purposes. Obviously they didn't know who they were dealing with.
“Please step out of line and come with us, sir,” The main repeated.
“Wait,” Jennifer stepped forward, placing a placating hand on Ronon's arm as she did so. “What's this about?”
She glanced around to see the people beside them in line taking notice of the situation. Jennifer wanted to avoid a scene at all costs, but she knew that Ronon was not the type of person to go quietly. And she was pretty sure he wasn't about to leave her alone, either.
“Ma'am, this doesn't concern you,” the man said. His dismissive tone struck the wrong tone with Jennifer. All she wanted to do was board the flight and get home so she could finally see her father.
“It's standard procedure to pull random people and check their stories.”
“You're serious.” Jennifer said. “You just happened to pick him out at random?” Jennifer's voice was challenging, but for some reason she didn't care. Later, she would chalk it all up to stress and hormones.
The man seemed to sense what Jennifer was implying, but didn't address it verbally. “Ma'am, are you with him?”
“Yes. I am.”
“Ok, you can both come with us,” he moved to grab Jennifer's arm to direct her out of the line.
That was a mistake.
There was a flash of movement to her right, and then she heard a sickening crack, a cry of pain, and then people were gasping and screaming. In shock, Jennifer stumbled backwards and tripped over her carry-on bag, landing hard on her butt.
When everything stopped spinning, she looked up to see Ronon crouched down with his back to her, his hands raised in surrender. She looked past him to see the two “agents” with their guns trained on him. She really wished she had hit her head and been knocked unconscious on the way to the floor, because it would explain how she had awakened to a reality that was a cross between The Matrix and The Bourne Identity.
Ronon Dex was a lot of amazing things, but bulletproof wasn't one of them.
She looked down and slightly to her left to see the agent who'd done all talking the crouched down, cradling his right arm against his body. Oh, God. Ronon had more than likely broken the man's wrist. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as she was suddenly overcome with a wave of nausea. This was so not happening.
“Hey, just take it easy,” Ronon was saying.
“You broke my wrist!” the man shrieked.
She opened her eyes, and the scene was still the same. Ronon looked back at Jen, a strange mix of frustration and remorse crossing his features, “Are you ok?” he asked, pulling her up as he kept himself between her and the agents.
Slowly, Jen rolled onto her knees. She didn't want to make any sudden movements. She had no idea how trigger-happy these men were. “Can everyone just calm down,” she said. She met Ronon's eyes. “I'm fine. Really,” she stressed. “I. . .I'm pregnant,” she said to the men in an effort to explain the Satedan's extreme reaction.
All three men turned their heads to her, their eyes full of shock, and then, understanding. Even the guy with the maimed wrist looked a little regretful. Jennifer would have laughed if there weren't still creating a spectacle being held at gun point by air port security with people cowering about. Nevertheless, the men lowered their weapons. Jennifer nearly collapsed with relief, exhaling a long breath.
She allowed Ronon to pull her up, but glared at him all the same.
“What?” he asked.
“You don't think that was a bit unnecessary?” she whispered, as she tried to rub the soreness from her bum.
Ronon opened his mouth and then closed it again. Obviously, he hadn't anticipated her falling in the commotion, and she could tell that he was beginning to regret his rash reaction. “Maybe,” he grunted. “He shouldn't have tried to grab you. Sorry,” he said finally.
“It's fine,” Jennifer sighed. She brushed a hand over her abdomen.
The men gestured for the two of them to follow them. Jennifer started to pick up her carry-on, but Ronon stopped her and slung it over his shoulder before turning to follow the men. Jennifer followed as well, her fingers threaded through Ronon's, but once they were away from the crowds and about to be led down a corridor, she stopped. The agent looked back at her questioningly. “I need to see some ID or something,” she stated, crossing her arms defensively.
“I'm sorry, ma'am. This is a huge misunderstanding,” one of the agents who'd had the gun explained. He reached in his jacket and produced a badge. He flipped it open, and Jennifer saw that they were with the NSA.
“I'll bet,” Jennifer mumbled. “So, are you going to tell us what this is all about, because I really need to get home to my ailing father and tell him about his unborn grandchildren, ya know, sometime today?” she seethed.
The man looked truly apologetic, but she didn't care. And her butt hurt where she'd fallen on it earlier. She was pretty sure there was going to be a nasty bruise. Which was a perfect thing to have when you're gonna be sitting down for five hours on a airplane.
Seconds later, woman appeared from around the corner of the hallway, walking briskly towards the group. She was attractive despite her stern expression, with olive skin and dark brown hair pulled severely away from her face. Taller than average with an athletic build, she wore a tailored black suit and high heeled shoes Jennifer would kill to be able to pull off, and, if Jennifer accurately gauged the nervous looks traded between the agents, this woman appeared to be their superior.
“Myers,” she was speaking to the man with the broken wrist, “what in the world did you do? You were asked to detain them, not nearly kill them!”
The men exchanged embarrassed glances. The didn't exactly cower in the woman's presence, but it was close enough.
“Williams, could you escort Myers to the infirmary. I'm certain that's not just a sprain he's got,” the woman smirked.
“Yes, Ma'am,” Williams nodded.
Then she turned her attention to Jennifer, genuine concern in her eyes. “Are you alright, Dr. Keller?”
“Yes. . .I'm fine-,” Jennifer answered while she wondered how the woman knew her name.
“Who are you?” Ronon interjected.
“Agent Ana Ramirez, NSA,” the woman nodded as she held up her badge for their inspection. She wasn't discreet about the quick, appraising look she swept over Ronon's form, and Jennifer felt something tighten in her gut. “A thousand apologies for the inconvenience. There may have been a breakdown in the chain of command,” She glared at the remaining agent behind them. “We have a coded message for Mr. Dex that he needed to receive before you departed.”
“Why didn't your boys just tell us that in the first place?” Jennifer asked.
“They were instructed to be discreet. However, I suppose they missed the lesson on why it's not advisable to draw your weapons on an unarmed man in a crowd of civilians,” Ramirez answered. At the very least, Jennifer was glad that the woman did not appear to condone the actions of her subordinates. She chose not to take issue with the woman describing Ronon as “unarmed.”
They stopped in front of a private elevator and Ramirez swiped a key card to open the doors. “It should only take a few minutes, and you'll be out in time for your flight.”
“Huh,” Jennifer said. She jumped when she felt something vibrate against her hip. It was her cell phone. She fished it from pocket of her jeans and looked at the screen to see who was calling. She flipped it open as she stepped into the elevator.
“Hey, Aunt Jo. Is everything ok? Yeah, I'm fine. We-I'm at the air port,” Ronon cocked a questioning brow at her but said nothing apart from rolling his eyes and adjusting her bag on his shoulder as he stepped into the car to stand beside her. Jennifer blushed and looked away from him. She had not told her Aunt Jo that she was bringing someone home with her.
“I'll be home later this evening, just got delayed a bit.” That's the understatement of the year, she thought. She sighed as she listened to her aunt fill her in on the latest information about her father's condition.
Ramirez and the other agent stepped in the car, and the elevator doors slid shut.
Jen had a dreadful feeling that they weren't going to make their flight.
I would stand in line for this
There's always room in life for this
Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, it fell apart
-“Extreme Ways” by Moby
TBC.
Back Home - Pt. 8
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
A/N: This story decided to take a crazy turn into left field. I just thought that it would be funny if Ronon got held up at the air port, and things just snowballed from there. Apparently my muse has been smoking crack. Thanks to
journeyman07 for being an excellent beta, as always. Thanks to
lizbet0 for doing an awesome job on her first time ßeta'ing. :)
As far as pregnant women handling firearms (particularly on a firing range). . .The little bit of info I could find on the topic suggests that it can be done with special precautions taken. However, the main concerns are exposing the unborn fetus to lead and loud noise.
Feedback is so much appreciated.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
AUTHOR: renisanz
SUMMARY: Settling down won't be easy for either of them. A sequel to “Making Up the Past.” Ronon/Keller
RATING: PG-13
WORDS: ~2600
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em, but they're fun to play.
NOTES: No spoilers for any episode in particular. Events of this chapter occur around the same time as “Midway”, but I'm changing things around a bit.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Back Home - Pt. 6
The twenty-four hours spent in quarantine on the Midway Station was thankfully uneventful. Their passage through Stargate Command was rather pedestrian as well. To Jennifer's surprise, no one seemed too phased by the idea of Ronon coming home with her. She suspected Col. Carter may have had a hand in the reaction, or lack thereof.
Jennifer had left Teyla to get settled into her assigned guest quarters at SGC, and then waited for Ronon to get changed for their trip to her hometown. Her heart stopped when she first caught sight of him strolling down the corridor to meet her. She could kiss whoever had chosen his Earth attire, as the clothing did nothing but compliment his strong physique. He wore a dark grey, long sleeved knit shirt. The sleeves were pushed up to show his forearms and tribal tattoo. His dark rinse jeans fit perfectly as well, but he wore the clothes, rather than them wearing him.
He had a uncertain look on his face as he came to stand before her. Jennifer allowed herself to blink for the first time since she saw him.
“What is it?”
“What?” She tore her eyes away from his body to look into his face. He looked. . .uncertain?
“These clothes?” He prodded.
Jennifer laughed. Was he serious? Then she realized that he'd taken her look of shock in a negative way. “You look, uhm. . . really good.” Oh, that was so lame, she chided. She thought it funny her extensive vocabulary went out the window when presented with the challenge of summing up the man's sheer attractiveness. She smiled up at him, though. “We're definitely going to have to get you more of those shirts when we get to Chippewa Falls.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
It was when Jennifer and Ronon were riding in the back of a cab on their way to the airport that things began to fray a bit.
“Ronon, you can't take these on the plane,” Jennifer stated.
“Why not? They're hidden,” Ronon shrugged, no hint of humor in his voice.
“They have machines called metal detectors to keep people from bringing weapons on the plane,” she explained. As she turned the long thin blade between her fingers, she felt Ronon's gaze and turned to meet his eyes.
“I know,” he said, his eyes sparkling with some mischief. “It's not made of metal.”
“Really?” Jen lifted an eyebrow in a mixture of doubt and surprise.
Ronon leaned forward, his face only a breath away from hers, and her cheeks flushed involuntarily at the proximity and heat of him. She was still undecided as to whether she loved or hated that he had such an effect on her.
“Really,” he breathed, before pressing a teasing kiss to her lips. “John told me about it a while ago,” he smirked.
Jennifer was sure her face was fully red now. She opened her eyes to see him smirking down at her.
Jennifer rolled her eyes and huffed as she leaned back against his arm that was draped across the back seat and around her shoulders. She let her eyes be consumed with the uninteresting texture of the car ceiling as she tried to collect her scattered thoughts. She twirled the blade in her fingers, as the action soothed her.
“You're pretty good at that.” Ronon rumbled. His voice startled her as it broke the brief moment of silence between them. Though she was a self-proclaimed klutz, she didn't drop the blade. Instead, Jennifer caught it between her thumb and index finger and then flipped it between her index and middle finger before handing it out to him.
“Yeah,” she said, suddenly self-conscious. “Guess I'm used to handling something similar. Scalpels,” she supplied.
“Uh-huh,” Ronon eyed her suspiciously as he gingerly took the blade from her fingers.
“What?” Jennifer prodded, leaning away to regard him.
“You don't twirl them when you're doing surgery . . .?” He looked doubtful, but his eyes twinkled.
“No!” Jennifer giggled. “I just. . .” She thought back to when she first discovered her. . . talent. “Back when I was an undergrad, I was dissecting a fetal pig in Biology I lab. I was going over my notes, and I picked up the scalpel instead of my pencil, and started twirling it like normal.” She smiled at the memory. “It freaked out my lab partner, but it just became a habit.”
She watched as Ronon imitated the action she was describing. “It's hard to explain. It's thrilling and calming at the same time, ya know?”
“Yeah,” he agreed. The corner of his mouth curled as he looked from the blade and back to her, and then slid it back to its concealed place within his dreads.
“So. . . anything else you want to tell me?”
“Uhm. . .” Jennifer figured he was referring to her experience with sharp, lethal objects. Or just things that he might find surprising. They were still getting to know each other, after all. She thought back to her teen years in Chippewa Falls, weekends spent out on the firing range with Dad. It had been a secret up until now. It wasn't even in her personnel file, as she wasn't military and still had yet to have any formal weapons training. The handling of firearms wasn't what she had been hired for, and she reasoned that if no one knew of her skill, she could avoid anyone having to depend on her to use it.
“I'm a pretty good shot,” she let her eyes flick to Ronon as she began to pick to at her nails. Ok, she still wasn't being completely honest. “Actually, I'm a really good shot,” she amended, turning to face him now.
Jennifer would have laughed at Ronon's expression if it weren't so serious. At first his eyes widened and his lips parted like he wanted to ask her more, but couldn't decide what to say. After a moment, however, he simply nodded and said, “You'll show me?”
There was a touch of humility in his tone, and Jen was heartened by the fact that Ronon simply believed her, without demanding a demonstration of her abilities like most other men would.
She smiled. “Well, you'll have to wait about seven months, but sure.”
“Ok. Cool.” He beamed, as if he was truly looking forward to it.
She spared a glance in the rearview mirror to see the driver's eyes trained on the highway ahead. If he thought this crazy, seemingly mismatched couple that was his current fare were insane, as they twirled knives like it was no big thing, he didn't show it. Thank goodness for the partition.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
“Sir, could you step out of line please.”
Jennifer felt Ronon tense behind her, and she turned to see an officious looking man wearing a plain black suit. This was not happening. They had gone through the metal detectors without incident, and now they were standing in line, waiting to board the flight to Eau Claire, Wisconsin.
“Why?” Ronon asked, as he took in the man before him. He was shorter than him, but not small by any means. He was flanked by two other men who wore similar attire but seemed to be there only for intimidation purposes. Obviously they didn't know who they were dealing with.
“Please step out of line and come with us, sir,” The main repeated.
“Wait,” Jennifer stepped forward, placing a placating hand on Ronon's arm as she did so. “What's this about?”
She glanced around to see the people beside them in line taking notice of the situation. Jennifer wanted to avoid a scene at all costs, but she knew that Ronon was not the type of person to go quietly. And she was pretty sure he wasn't about to leave her alone, either.
“Ma'am, this doesn't concern you,” the man said. His dismissive tone struck the wrong tone with Jennifer. All she wanted to do was board the flight and get home so she could finally see her father.
“It's standard procedure to pull random people and check their stories.”
“You're serious.” Jennifer said. “You just happened to pick him out at random?” Jennifer's voice was challenging, but for some reason she didn't care. Later, she would chalk it all up to stress and hormones.
The man seemed to sense what Jennifer was implying, but didn't address it verbally. “Ma'am, are you with him?”
“Yes. I am.”
“Ok, you can both come with us,” he moved to grab Jennifer's arm to direct her out of the line.
That was a mistake.
There was a flash of movement to her right, and then she heard a sickening crack, a cry of pain, and then people were gasping and screaming. In shock, Jennifer stumbled backwards and tripped over her carry-on bag, landing hard on her butt.
When everything stopped spinning, she looked up to see Ronon crouched down with his back to her, his hands raised in surrender. She looked past him to see the two “agents” with their guns trained on him. She really wished she had hit her head and been knocked unconscious on the way to the floor, because it would explain how she had awakened to a reality that was a cross between The Matrix and The Bourne Identity.
Ronon Dex was a lot of amazing things, but bulletproof wasn't one of them.
She looked down and slightly to her left to see the agent who'd done all talking the crouched down, cradling his right arm against his body. Oh, God. Ronon had more than likely broken the man's wrist. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as she was suddenly overcome with a wave of nausea. This was so not happening.
“Hey, just take it easy,” Ronon was saying.
“You broke my wrist!” the man shrieked.
She opened her eyes, and the scene was still the same. Ronon looked back at Jen, a strange mix of frustration and remorse crossing his features, “Are you ok?” he asked, pulling her up as he kept himself between her and the agents.
Slowly, Jen rolled onto her knees. She didn't want to make any sudden movements. She had no idea how trigger-happy these men were. “Can everyone just calm down,” she said. She met Ronon's eyes. “I'm fine. Really,” she stressed. “I. . .I'm pregnant,” she said to the men in an effort to explain the Satedan's extreme reaction.
All three men turned their heads to her, their eyes full of shock, and then, understanding. Even the guy with the maimed wrist looked a little regretful. Jennifer would have laughed if there weren't still creating a spectacle being held at gun point by air port security with people cowering about. Nevertheless, the men lowered their weapons. Jennifer nearly collapsed with relief, exhaling a long breath.
She allowed Ronon to pull her up, but glared at him all the same.
“What?” he asked.
“You don't think that was a bit unnecessary?” she whispered, as she tried to rub the soreness from her bum.
Ronon opened his mouth and then closed it again. Obviously, he hadn't anticipated her falling in the commotion, and she could tell that he was beginning to regret his rash reaction. “Maybe,” he grunted. “He shouldn't have tried to grab you. Sorry,” he said finally.
“It's fine,” Jennifer sighed. She brushed a hand over her abdomen.
The men gestured for the two of them to follow them. Jennifer started to pick up her carry-on, but Ronon stopped her and slung it over his shoulder before turning to follow the men. Jennifer followed as well, her fingers threaded through Ronon's, but once they were away from the crowds and about to be led down a corridor, she stopped. The agent looked back at her questioningly. “I need to see some ID or something,” she stated, crossing her arms defensively.
“I'm sorry, ma'am. This is a huge misunderstanding,” one of the agents who'd had the gun explained. He reached in his jacket and produced a badge. He flipped it open, and Jennifer saw that they were with the NSA.
“I'll bet,” Jennifer mumbled. “So, are you going to tell us what this is all about, because I really need to get home to my ailing father and tell him about his unborn grandchildren, ya know, sometime today?” she seethed.
The man looked truly apologetic, but she didn't care. And her butt hurt where she'd fallen on it earlier. She was pretty sure there was going to be a nasty bruise. Which was a perfect thing to have when you're gonna be sitting down for five hours on a airplane.
Seconds later, woman appeared from around the corner of the hallway, walking briskly towards the group. She was attractive despite her stern expression, with olive skin and dark brown hair pulled severely away from her face. Taller than average with an athletic build, she wore a tailored black suit and high heeled shoes Jennifer would kill to be able to pull off, and, if Jennifer accurately gauged the nervous looks traded between the agents, this woman appeared to be their superior.
“Myers,” she was speaking to the man with the broken wrist, “what in the world did you do? You were asked to detain them, not nearly kill them!”
The men exchanged embarrassed glances. The didn't exactly cower in the woman's presence, but it was close enough.
“Williams, could you escort Myers to the infirmary. I'm certain that's not just a sprain he's got,” the woman smirked.
“Yes, Ma'am,” Williams nodded.
Then she turned her attention to Jennifer, genuine concern in her eyes. “Are you alright, Dr. Keller?”
“Yes. . .I'm fine-,” Jennifer answered while she wondered how the woman knew her name.
“Who are you?” Ronon interjected.
“Agent Ana Ramirez, NSA,” the woman nodded as she held up her badge for their inspection. She wasn't discreet about the quick, appraising look she swept over Ronon's form, and Jennifer felt something tighten in her gut. “A thousand apologies for the inconvenience. There may have been a breakdown in the chain of command,” She glared at the remaining agent behind them. “We have a coded message for Mr. Dex that he needed to receive before you departed.”
“Why didn't your boys just tell us that in the first place?” Jennifer asked.
“They were instructed to be discreet. However, I suppose they missed the lesson on why it's not advisable to draw your weapons on an unarmed man in a crowd of civilians,” Ramirez answered. At the very least, Jennifer was glad that the woman did not appear to condone the actions of her subordinates. She chose not to take issue with the woman describing Ronon as “unarmed.”
They stopped in front of a private elevator and Ramirez swiped a key card to open the doors. “It should only take a few minutes, and you'll be out in time for your flight.”
“Huh,” Jennifer said. She jumped when she felt something vibrate against her hip. It was her cell phone. She fished it from pocket of her jeans and looked at the screen to see who was calling. She flipped it open as she stepped into the elevator.
“Hey, Aunt Jo. Is everything ok? Yeah, I'm fine. We-I'm at the air port,” Ronon cocked a questioning brow at her but said nothing apart from rolling his eyes and adjusting her bag on his shoulder as he stepped into the car to stand beside her. Jennifer blushed and looked away from him. She had not told her Aunt Jo that she was bringing someone home with her.
“I'll be home later this evening, just got delayed a bit.” That's the understatement of the year, she thought. She sighed as she listened to her aunt fill her in on the latest information about her father's condition.
Ramirez and the other agent stepped in the car, and the elevator doors slid shut.
Jen had a dreadful feeling that they weren't going to make their flight.
I would stand in line for this
There's always room in life for this
Oh baby, oh baby
Then it fell apart, it fell apart
-“Extreme Ways” by Moby
TBC.
Back Home - Pt. 8
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
A/N: This story decided to take a crazy turn into left field. I just thought that it would be funny if Ronon got held up at the air port, and things just snowballed from there. Apparently my muse has been smoking crack. Thanks to
journeyman07 for being an excellent beta, as always. Thanks to
lizbet0 for doing an awesome job on her first time ßeta'ing. :)
As far as pregnant women handling firearms (particularly on a firing range). . .The little bit of info I could find on the topic suggests that it can be done with special precautions taken. However, the main concerns are exposing the unborn fetus to lead and loud noise.
Feedback is so much appreciated.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .