Fic: Not in Kansas Anymore (7/23)
Title: Not in Kansas Anymore (7/23)
Fandom: Stargate/Star Wars
Rating: M
Genres: crossover, romance
Summary: When Laura Cadman and Evan Lorne woke up in a storage room, they never thought it would be in a galaxy far, far away. And now they need to find a way back home, past Special Operations agents and stormtroopers, between the fronts in a war they thought they knew (from television, mind you). But no one ever said it would be easy.
A/N: As mackenziesmomma pointed out, I'm a leeeeettle behind on posting so... have a new chapter! It's introducing one of my new favorite OCs. We're very much alike. Okay, I wish we were. But he does resemble me when I'm really irritated and hate the world enough to take it out on just about everyone. Sadly, I don't kick ass as much as he does. Also, what happened to starwars_fanfic? Is there still a moderation queue? Will I ever be able to post anything there again? Questions over questions... Also, am still promoting yappichick's fanart!
( Not in Kansas Anymore 1/23 )
( Not in Kansas Anymore 2/23 )
( Not in Kansas Anymore 3/23 )
( Not in Kansas Anymore 4/23 )
( Not in Kansas Anymore 5/23 )
( Not in Kansas Anymore 6/23 )
Seven
Again, he wonders if he's losing it. Mostly, because he’s starting to get used to the slaps to the back of his head. It was bad enough to imagine feeling them but it seems to be even worse to get accustomed to it. However, it’s also hard not to, seeing as he’s practically skidding from one idiocy to the next. It wasn’t enough to tell a squad of full armored that he’s member of some kind of top secret organization within the evil galactic Empire, no, he also had to go and keep playing that role in front of the damn commander of the entire fucking installation.
The commander who’s currently trying to stare him down, sitting behind his desk in a crisp olive grey uniform, probably trying to look right through the walls around his mind, to find out who the hell he is and what he’s doing here. Or maybe he’s just trying to kill him with his eyes. The anger and hostility he’s radiating off would sure be enough. It’s definitely enough to cause him a fucking headache because by now he’s starting to realize that there’s more behind those headaches than just a dimension travelling hangover. And that’s not actually making him feel any better. At all.
“So you’re saying you’re Major Evan Lorne, of a branch of Imperial Intelligence so secret that no one save the Emperor knows about it?” Yeah, that’s about the thing he told them, reasoning that if this Empire is really anything like Nazi Germany, all the middle management types and probably most of those higher up as well are too afraid to question anything of their Führer that they’d rather go and believe any drivel fed to them than actually get up the courage and ask.
“Yes, that’s right.” He probably should have added a “sir” but the guy in front of him is, according to his XO who was nearly falling all over himself to brief him, a Major, going by the name of Wilrun Davikoff and he figured that the type of guy he’s trying to impersonate would never stoop so low as to call a fellow field grade officer “sir”.
“And you honestly want me to be believe that kind of hogwash?” No, not really but you better, seeing as I might end up dead if you didn’t.
However, that’s not quite the right thing to say, is it? “I’m not telling or wanting you to believe anything. Believe me, don’t believe, I don’t care. Just don’t get in my way.” Jesus fucking Christ, he’s pretty sure if Cadman heard him say that he’d not be standing upright anymore. So thank God she’s somewhere else, hopefully safe from type like Davikoff or his XO, a Captain Warrayan or something.
“You Intelligence spooks all think you’re something better, don’t you?” He doesn’t really want an answer to that, right? “All hush-hush, roaming the galaxy, thinking your work is glamorous and oh so important.” No, he never thought that what he did was glamorous, but then again he actually isn't Intelligence, either. “But not here, not on Dimas base. You’re to be given basic medical treatment and then confined to your quarters, until further notice.”
That… oh good God, he won. Because if he hadn't, Davikoff would have had him executed on the spot, he’s pretty sure about that. But he’s still standing here, and he’s being confined to quarters, not the brig. No one is ever gonna believe him that. And that’s just assuming, of course, people will actually believe him having landed himself in a goddamn Star Wars movie, of course. So… what else to do than keep up playing his role? “Suit yourself. I’m pretty sure it’ll be sorted out.” And now… in for the kill. “One way… or the other.”
Davikoff looks at him again, eyes narrowed, hostility almost palpable in the room… bordering on hate, and he chooses not to think about why he could pinpoint it as exactly as that without even knowing the man. “Are you threatening me, Lorne?” Yes, of course he is.
“I’m pretty sure that’s unnecessary. You wouldn’t be scared by it anyway, would you?” Good God, he’s gonna get one hell of a lecture from Cadman, if he ever gets to see her again and yes, he chooses not to think about why he’s willing to admit and accept that a junior officer will have his guts for garters so easily, either.
As it is, though, it surprises him a little because despite the frown, Davikoff grudgingly says, “It takes more than a little spook to scare a graduate of the Imperial Army Academy.” Luckily for him then, that he isn't a spook. “And we’re finished here. You’ll be escorted to the infirmary first and then to your quarters.”
Well. To be honest… even basic medical treatment sounds like Heaven sent right now because adrenaline is really starting to dissipate and that’s not good, in regard to that pesky little graze wound on his calf. Not good at all.
So he’s even almost relieved when Davikoff hits a button in his console and almost barks, “Trooper, take over the prisoner.” Prisoner, huh? “We don’t want to blow your cover, do we?” He’s not quite sure what’s more disgusting and disconcerting; Davikoff’s weird wink or the menacing undertone that accompanied it.
However, he’s not given more time to ponder it - and maybe that’s mercifully so - since the door behind him opens and he can hear the heavy step of stormtrooper boots again and the trooper’s presence behind his back seems as clear as he were standing right in front of him. He can somehow feel that the trooper being about to grab his arm and drag him out of the room but Davikoff seems to be kind of on a roll now, “Easy, Trooper. That one’s… a special prisoner. Get him to the infirmary first, then confined quarters, Block 4C. The Sergeant on guard duty will have the details.”
“Yes, sir.” Something… weird just happened. He felt… something spike, from behind him, where the trooper must be standing, right when he acknowledged the order with that impassionate robotic voice that they all seem to have down pat. Something that… that… that just served to intensify the damn headache that’s starting to be aggravating enough together with the graze wound that he’s ready to call it a day right here and now.
Thankfully, though, he doesn’t get to really blow his cover because well, that was their cue and he turns to follow the trooper, to wherever their infirmary is. Well, actually, he hopes that he’s going to go to the infirmary because otherwise he’d be in deep shit. Even though until now he had the sneaking suspicion the shit couldn’t actually get any deeper than now.
As they silently make their way to wherever their infirmary is located, he gets the leisure to ponder the reason why he’s being escorted by exactly one trooper from Davikoff’s office when he’d been escorted by two squads to Davikoff’s office. Yes, okay, one of the reasons why he’s pondering that is that pondering other things is not what he really wants to do now. And he really… Wait, what’s the weird…
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right here on the spot you dirty spook ass hat.”
What the hell?
“Actually, I don’t think I need a reason not to shoot. So…” Where… where did that… why is the trooper suddenly training his rifle at him, ready to fire… wait. Essentials.
“What about “I’m not a dirty spook ass hat” as a reason?” And… not dead. Oh. Well. Yet.
But at least it’s a step in the right direction, isn't it? Or at least it’s still a step away from the wrong direction. “Funny.” Yeah, isn't it? “You got any more jokes like that?”
“And here I thought infantrymen don’t even posses something like a sense of humor.” Why, why, why can’t he just stop channeling Cadman?
Well, maybe it is because he could damn well use her assistance here now? Since Cadman is one of the rare infantrymen - or something close to infantry, anyway - who actually do possess a sense of humor and… “Holy fuck.” What? “You really ain’t no godsdamned spook. You’re a fucking flyboy.” What… how… huh? “Only flyboys are dumb enough to insult a grunt’s sense of humor.” Ah, right. Uh-huh.
But… the rifle… was lowered a couple of inches. He can’t help swallowing and putting a little more weight on his good leg, in lieu of shifting from one foot to the other. “So,” he says and can’t help licking his lips a little nervously, because yeah he’s still looking into the muzzle of a rifle, “where do we go from here?”
“Well,” the trooper answers, his voice still bearing lingering remnants of distrust, “beats the shit out of me.” Oh great, he’s inside an Imperial military stronghold somewhere in the vast expanse the Lucas galaxy is, at the mercy of some faceless stormtrooper who was ready to shoot him on the spot just a moment ago… and is now utterly clueless as how to go on. Just what he needed.
So… whoever that guy is, he’s probably senior rank around here so he should damn well act senior rank. “How about you explain to me what the hell this is actually about?”
“No time.” Oh really?
“You seemed to have enough to shoot me just a moment ago,” he points out succinctly, and mostly only because something tells him that… that he’s safe with that guy now. Imagine that, he can’t help adding with a mental snort, safe with a fucking stormtrooper.
“Security cameras in this sectors. They’re gonna be back up in one… two… get marching.” What? “ Get marching.” Oh, okay. This is just getting weirder but just as something told him giving himself up to the Imperials was the thing to do, it also tells him now that just going with the flow is what will save his ass in the end. So he just… starts following the trooper again and he hopes to God and George Lucas and every known and unknown deity that he’s doing the right thing. Because otherwise he’s gonna be in some really deep shit.
~*~TBC in Chapter Eight.
Fandom: Stargate/Star Wars
Rating: M
Genres: crossover, romance
Summary: When Laura Cadman and Evan Lorne woke up in a storage room, they never thought it would be in a galaxy far, far away. And now they need to find a way back home, past Special Operations agents and stormtroopers, between the fronts in a war they thought they knew (from television, mind you). But no one ever said it would be easy.
A/N: As mackenziesmomma pointed out, I'm a leeeeettle behind on posting so... have a new chapter! It's introducing one of my new favorite OCs. We're very much alike. Okay, I wish we were. But he does resemble me when I'm really irritated and hate the world enough to take it out on just about everyone. Sadly, I don't kick ass as much as he does. Also, what happened to starwars_fanfic? Is there still a moderation queue? Will I ever be able to post anything there again? Questions over questions... Also, am still promoting yappichick's fanart!
( Not in Kansas Anymore 1/23 )
( Not in Kansas Anymore 2/23 )
( Not in Kansas Anymore 3/23 )
( Not in Kansas Anymore 4/23 )
( Not in Kansas Anymore 5/23 )
( Not in Kansas Anymore 6/23 )
Seven
Again, he wonders if he's losing it. Mostly, because he’s starting to get used to the slaps to the back of his head. It was bad enough to imagine feeling them but it seems to be even worse to get accustomed to it. However, it’s also hard not to, seeing as he’s practically skidding from one idiocy to the next. It wasn’t enough to tell a squad of full armored that he’s member of some kind of top secret organization within the evil galactic Empire, no, he also had to go and keep playing that role in front of the damn commander of the entire fucking installation.
The commander who’s currently trying to stare him down, sitting behind his desk in a crisp olive grey uniform, probably trying to look right through the walls around his mind, to find out who the hell he is and what he’s doing here. Or maybe he’s just trying to kill him with his eyes. The anger and hostility he’s radiating off would sure be enough. It’s definitely enough to cause him a fucking headache because by now he’s starting to realize that there’s more behind those headaches than just a dimension travelling hangover. And that’s not actually making him feel any better. At all.
“So you’re saying you’re Major Evan Lorne, of a branch of Imperial Intelligence so secret that no one save the Emperor knows about it?” Yeah, that’s about the thing he told them, reasoning that if this Empire is really anything like Nazi Germany, all the middle management types and probably most of those higher up as well are too afraid to question anything of their Führer that they’d rather go and believe any drivel fed to them than actually get up the courage and ask.
“Yes, that’s right.” He probably should have added a “sir” but the guy in front of him is, according to his XO who was nearly falling all over himself to brief him, a Major, going by the name of Wilrun Davikoff and he figured that the type of guy he’s trying to impersonate would never stoop so low as to call a fellow field grade officer “sir”.
“And you honestly want me to be believe that kind of hogwash?” No, not really but you better, seeing as I might end up dead if you didn’t.
However, that’s not quite the right thing to say, is it? “I’m not telling or wanting you to believe anything. Believe me, don’t believe, I don’t care. Just don’t get in my way.” Jesus fucking Christ, he’s pretty sure if Cadman heard him say that he’d not be standing upright anymore. So thank God she’s somewhere else, hopefully safe from type like Davikoff or his XO, a Captain Warrayan or something.
“You Intelligence spooks all think you’re something better, don’t you?” He doesn’t really want an answer to that, right? “All hush-hush, roaming the galaxy, thinking your work is glamorous and oh so important.” No, he never thought that what he did was glamorous, but then again he actually isn't Intelligence, either. “But not here, not on Dimas base. You’re to be given basic medical treatment and then confined to your quarters, until further notice.”
That… oh good God, he won. Because if he hadn't, Davikoff would have had him executed on the spot, he’s pretty sure about that. But he’s still standing here, and he’s being confined to quarters, not the brig. No one is ever gonna believe him that. And that’s just assuming, of course, people will actually believe him having landed himself in a goddamn Star Wars movie, of course. So… what else to do than keep up playing his role? “Suit yourself. I’m pretty sure it’ll be sorted out.” And now… in for the kill. “One way… or the other.”
Davikoff looks at him again, eyes narrowed, hostility almost palpable in the room… bordering on hate, and he chooses not to think about why he could pinpoint it as exactly as that without even knowing the man. “Are you threatening me, Lorne?” Yes, of course he is.
“I’m pretty sure that’s unnecessary. You wouldn’t be scared by it anyway, would you?” Good God, he’s gonna get one hell of a lecture from Cadman, if he ever gets to see her again and yes, he chooses not to think about why he’s willing to admit and accept that a junior officer will have his guts for garters so easily, either.
As it is, though, it surprises him a little because despite the frown, Davikoff grudgingly says, “It takes more than a little spook to scare a graduate of the Imperial Army Academy.” Luckily for him then, that he isn't a spook. “And we’re finished here. You’ll be escorted to the infirmary first and then to your quarters.”
Well. To be honest… even basic medical treatment sounds like Heaven sent right now because adrenaline is really starting to dissipate and that’s not good, in regard to that pesky little graze wound on his calf. Not good at all.
So he’s even almost relieved when Davikoff hits a button in his console and almost barks, “Trooper, take over the prisoner.” Prisoner, huh? “We don’t want to blow your cover, do we?” He’s not quite sure what’s more disgusting and disconcerting; Davikoff’s weird wink or the menacing undertone that accompanied it.
However, he’s not given more time to ponder it - and maybe that’s mercifully so - since the door behind him opens and he can hear the heavy step of stormtrooper boots again and the trooper’s presence behind his back seems as clear as he were standing right in front of him. He can somehow feel that the trooper being about to grab his arm and drag him out of the room but Davikoff seems to be kind of on a roll now, “Easy, Trooper. That one’s… a special prisoner. Get him to the infirmary first, then confined quarters, Block 4C. The Sergeant on guard duty will have the details.”
“Yes, sir.” Something… weird just happened. He felt… something spike, from behind him, where the trooper must be standing, right when he acknowledged the order with that impassionate robotic voice that they all seem to have down pat. Something that… that… that just served to intensify the damn headache that’s starting to be aggravating enough together with the graze wound that he’s ready to call it a day right here and now.
Thankfully, though, he doesn’t get to really blow his cover because well, that was their cue and he turns to follow the trooper, to wherever their infirmary is. Well, actually, he hopes that he’s going to go to the infirmary because otherwise he’d be in deep shit. Even though until now he had the sneaking suspicion the shit couldn’t actually get any deeper than now.
As they silently make their way to wherever their infirmary is located, he gets the leisure to ponder the reason why he’s being escorted by exactly one trooper from Davikoff’s office when he’d been escorted by two squads to Davikoff’s office. Yes, okay, one of the reasons why he’s pondering that is that pondering other things is not what he really wants to do now. And he really… Wait, what’s the weird…
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right here on the spot you dirty spook ass hat.”
What the hell?
“Actually, I don’t think I need a reason not to shoot. So…” Where… where did that… why is the trooper suddenly training his rifle at him, ready to fire… wait. Essentials.
“What about “I’m not a dirty spook ass hat” as a reason?” And… not dead. Oh. Well. Yet.
But at least it’s a step in the right direction, isn't it? Or at least it’s still a step away from the wrong direction. “Funny.” Yeah, isn't it? “You got any more jokes like that?”
“And here I thought infantrymen don’t even posses something like a sense of humor.” Why, why, why can’t he just stop channeling Cadman?
Well, maybe it is because he could damn well use her assistance here now? Since Cadman is one of the rare infantrymen - or something close to infantry, anyway - who actually do possess a sense of humor and… “Holy fuck.” What? “You really ain’t no godsdamned spook. You’re a fucking flyboy.” What… how… huh? “Only flyboys are dumb enough to insult a grunt’s sense of humor.” Ah, right. Uh-huh.
But… the rifle… was lowered a couple of inches. He can’t help swallowing and putting a little more weight on his good leg, in lieu of shifting from one foot to the other. “So,” he says and can’t help licking his lips a little nervously, because yeah he’s still looking into the muzzle of a rifle, “where do we go from here?”
“Well,” the trooper answers, his voice still bearing lingering remnants of distrust, “beats the shit out of me.” Oh great, he’s inside an Imperial military stronghold somewhere in the vast expanse the Lucas galaxy is, at the mercy of some faceless stormtrooper who was ready to shoot him on the spot just a moment ago… and is now utterly clueless as how to go on. Just what he needed.
So… whoever that guy is, he’s probably senior rank around here so he should damn well act senior rank. “How about you explain to me what the hell this is actually about?”
“No time.” Oh really?
“You seemed to have enough to shoot me just a moment ago,” he points out succinctly, and mostly only because something tells him that… that he’s safe with that guy now. Imagine that, he can’t help adding with a mental snort, safe with a fucking stormtrooper.
“Security cameras in this sectors. They’re gonna be back up in one… two… get marching.” What? “ Get marching.” Oh, okay. This is just getting weirder but just as something told him giving himself up to the Imperials was the thing to do, it also tells him now that just going with the flow is what will save his ass in the end. So he just… starts following the trooper again and he hopes to God and George Lucas and every known and unknown deity that he’s doing the right thing. Because otherwise he’s gonna be in some really deep shit.
~*~TBC in Chapter Eight.