Title: For Your Eyes Only
Author: karen
Fandoms: Stargate SG-1/Dark Angel
Rating: PG
Claim: Stargate, general series
Disclaimer: Dark Angel is the creation of James Cameron
Stargate SG-1 belongs to Gekko Film Corp, Glasner/wright
Productions; it is not mine
Prompt #002 Middles
Crossposted to FIC on Demand.
Notes: it's more of a fusion than a strict crossover, but we're going
with that Set during the 2nd season of Dark Angel.
recipient: written for meredevochan's multifandom 'ends' request.
Request Details: http://community.livejournal.com/fic_on_demand/659134.html
"For Your Eyes Only" by Karen
Logan Cale has seen and done much in his lifetime, some of which he can point to say and say, yes, I have nothing to be ashamed or to hide. It's been a while since he lost the use of his legs, and sometimes, it is a burning inside of his core and one, which drives him onward. He doesn't blame the natural disaster like the Pulse for his situation; it is an impersonal and indifferent fact of their world and existence. It happened, life goes on, so deal with it.
If not for his own self-appointed crusade, the project that he built from bare bones to a growing concern, Eyes Only, Logan might not know what else he would occupy his time. Max Guevara and her fellow Manticore X-5 siblings are one possibility
Max stops her forward momentum longs enough to wait for the traffic light on the congested cross-town freeway to turn green. She blocked out the distractions of honking horns, shouting motorists, along with the screeching of wheels on the rain-soaked concrete.
Slung across the back of her bicycle is her trademark duffel bag containing all of her belongings and the container that had once held her latest delivery? Max is not the type to snoop or peer too closely into the contents or the details of her missions.
Any good courier could do a straightforward drop and deliver, it took a special kind of personality to do so with a degree of professionalism and promptness that her employer Eyes Only, and her boss, Logan Cale, demanded. It was also a point of personal pride. Besides, she wasn't entirely certain that her current non-working relationship was at a level that she could be comfortable with.
It was more than mere proximity, more than the knowledge that they both held back secrets, both were unwilling to make the first move. If she had been the type to analyze the nuances of their relationship, Max would have to see they'd hit a proverbial snag. The problem was, she didn't know if she wanted to go to the work of untangling that snag. Manticore and the secrets it held would always be a wall between them, one they had once believed they could scale, not Max is not as certain as she once was.
In recent weeks Max had developed a decided groove in the skin in the back of her neck, from the constant turning to snatch guarded glances back over her shoulder. She is positive someone is following her, or at least some one is keeping track of her movements, it’s annoying and she should be angry about it, but she's just too damn tired to do anything about it right now.
She has always had enemies, it's just something that comes with the job. Then she recalled readings something in the local circular pulp newspapers she'd picked up at the Jam Pony, that the paranoid would inherit the earth." Well, no matter how much else in thier rag is sheer rubbish, they got at least one thing right," Max muttered, tapping the tips of her boots against the wet pavement. The light turned green and she pedaled forward, along with the other motorists.
Several car lengths away and in the opposite lane, the driver of 1988 Chrysler Impala the windows tinted, crossed into the lane opposite of the bike path and drove onto the shoulder. He had spiky black brown hair, the eyes covered by dark glasses, and a thin-lipped mouth. He had the cord of a wireless phone in one ear, freeing up his hands to drive. Coming off the freeway he drove his car onto the edge of the bottom off ramp and pulled over to a stop. White spoke into the phone for several minutes before stopping to listen to whatever the other party on line had to say, nodding in apparent agreement.
Elsewhere
Senator Kinsey knows that his presence is not welcome among the senior staff of the SGC, and he also knows how best to take advantage of a situation that will drive his personal, self-appointed nemesis, Colonel Jack O'Neill crazy.
He does not consider himself a bad person, he simply a determined and patriotic man trying to do what he considers best for the general interests of the United States government and the American people. When the NID contacted him via his private line at the White House office with information of a West Coast based secret solider project and he, of course, was skeptical. A project code-named Manticore. "Someone obviously thinks quite well of themselves, perhaps overly so." Kinsey said.
Kinsey is aware that such things might conceivably occur, when was a young man drafted during the Cold War, and the Russians certainly concocted enough crazy plans like that, but history proved that super solider programs have a high tendency to backfire on the creators.
His skepticism is health and well-founded, and seasoned with a good dollop of paranoia, which is why the folks running the Star Gate program probably liken him to an old troll who can't see the value of continuing the funding to back exploration through the Gate.
The fact that the President would not agree to pull the plug on the Gate project even after reading his extensive and lengthy documented report on the cost, and the immediate request to deny any further funding to the project was denied.
"That hurt," Kinsey thought to himself, waiting in the mostly empty coffee shop, sipping his iced cappuccino, reading the late edition of the Seattle Tribune newspaper, and wondering if the contact he had be assigned to meet with, a certain Mr. White, would ever show up. Kinsey hoped that wasn't actually the man's name, merely a cover.
Right when he was about to give up waiting, and write it off, the man called White walked into the coffee shop, darting hasty but through glance in all directions, in the manner of a ferret. The man was medium height, medium build, and dark average clothes. Overall impression: White appeared bland and none-descriptive, just like his name. If Kinsey were pressed on the matter, he would have to say that the man's face was that of one someone you would never stand out in a crowd, one the average person would never remark upon.
And in a sudden flash, Kinsey realized that very blandness was what the man called White counted on, and that made him dangerous.
Meanwhile Max showed up at the Jam Pony shortly before midnight and the bar/store closed. She came to a halt, got off her bike and parked it the stall by the entrance grabbed her duffel back, rummaging around for the lock and key for her bike.
The rain had not let up and the leather of her jacket had molded to her like a second skin. She didn't mind, but it was a little uncomfortable. Walking towards the front door and noticed that crowd was thinning out, checking her watch Max realized that it is getting close to midnight and the bar closed. Alec sat at the far end nursing what appeared to his first and last drink of the evening, the half-full wine bottle resting at his elbow.
Alec was there, nursing what appeared to his first and last drink of the evening, and a wine bottle sat at his elbow, still half-full.
White nodded and removed a card from his the pocket of his coat. Kinsey nodded and waved for the other man to join him at his table. "I do hope you are not expecting a campaign donation, Senator." White quietly said.
"Very funny, but if that were all we hoped to accomplish by this meeting, than you might as well have wired the money." Kinsey replied, tapping his fingernails on the edge of his empty coffee cup. "I hate the rain, does horrible things to my arthritis, why anyone would want to live in Seattle is beyond me. Speaking of which, I saw the reports, I also reviewed the documents and photos of the project's leading lady, as it were."
"Direct and to the point, I like that, " White replied.
"Some of that initial doubt from when my associates and I first contacted your office must have worn enough to get you out here. I apologize for the rain, it never stops." White sighed. "But getting back to business, I can deliver everything I promised and more, but you have to understand that there is one minor snag in the plan."
"One minor snag?" Kinsey echoed.
"The lady in question."
"My god, you allowed the test subjects to escape!" Kinsey whispered.
"Allowed is not the word I would have picked," White warned in a lone hissing whisper. "And before we proceed any further you have to understand, it was not my project. "It was the creators of the program that screwed up there, which allowed all of the test subjects to engineer their own escape."
"Have there been an attempts to round them up again," Kinsey thought, appalled at the image of a bunch of unsupervised and undisciplined super soldiers running around the streets of Seattle. He couldn't imagine and briefly considered ordering another coffee, then discarded it, he had to leave early the following morning to catch his plane back to D.C, he didn't to be wired from the over dose of caffeine intake. His blood pressure couldn't handle it.
"Let me worry about that," White sneered.
"If you'll pardon the expression, I feel like a man you are trying to sell a piece of the Brooklyn Bridge, that it’s too good to be true. How I can be absolutely certain everything that you offered is as advertised?" Kinsey demanded.
"Trust me." White replied. "Whether you like or not, Senator you've gone too far to back out now. "Why don't we discuss the matter of payment?"
"Don't worry, that's all been arranged, and you don't get paid until we receive delivery of the goods. If she's been damaged in any way…."
White interrupted the rest of what Kinsey would have said with a timely and well-placed palm over the older man's mouth. "I wouldn't complete that sentence if I were you.
This isn't a threat, or a demand, or even a means to try to get more back for your buck. I merely want to avoid any fuss or confusion for both interested parties."
"In other words, if I don't do what you want, you'll ruin me?"
"Hardly," but it's a tempting possibility. "From what I understand you have certainly have
more than a few rivals that would like to see you fail." White replied.
"How dare you!" Kinsey exclaimed, moving forward in his chair, fists clenched.
"I have my moments. Sorry, I do have my moments. " You'll get your X-5, although I must admit I am personally reluctant to part with the prize package. I'll be sorry to see her go."
****
Interlude
Shortly after Max got her jacket off and hung off the back of a chair, that's when the bartender Zack, tonight serving double duty this late for the owner, notices her and with a nod a crook of his finger, beckons her over to the serving counter. She strides over, noticing in passing but ignoring the inquiring stares of other late-night patrons. "What's up?"
"Look, this might be an unconfirmed rumor and I don't want to worry you, but I've got a vibe that you've just made somebody's to do list." And guess what, Max-baby, rumor has it that you're on the top of the list." Zack announces this last bit in both an excited and hushed tone, darting cautious glances around the half-empty bar as afraid he would be overheard.
"That's not news," Max shrugged. "That's just another day at the office." Max sat down at one of the barstools, and Zack picks up a glass filling it up with her favorite frothy brew from the nearby tap then slid it over to her. "Thanks, for this. Something wet going down to make up for the wetness outside. Do you know, it's still pouring out there?"
"Yeah. Look, this rumor, they're after you, after all of us, actually. But then when have our previous 'employers' not been after all us?" It's been more than a year since her escape, and she has gotten to the point where she can handle the psychological trauma of what Manticore did here and the other X-5 siblings. The scars are mostly faint white lines now, but the ones on the inside will take much longer to heal. She's gotten past the anger, the desperation; not it is more of a determination to never let it happen again.
Maybe, maybe not." Zack shrugs, but you and I both you, that's not the usual roundup of a search and retrieve, this is hunting bear."
"Possibly, but I can handle White."
"Maybe, I recall that too long ago, it looked pretty bleak, and it's not White I'm worried about."
"Then who are you worried about?"
"I sent out feelers, and the intel that they brought back is pretty interesting.
"Seems White is out-sourcing."
"What the hell are you driving at, Zack," Max demanded, her patience running out, her enjoyment of her beer somewhat lessened by Zack's talk of unconfirmed rumors and military lingo, and conspiracy theories.
"I'm saying, White was last seen talking to high muckety-muck senator from D.C."
Max finished the last of her beer before she replied. "Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. Did you ever stop to consider that he might need to butter up the politicians to get more money for his projects?" Maybe that's all it was, so you can stop worrying about me."
"Okay, okay, I give. I'll back down, but promise me something, Max, be careful, will ya?"
"I promise. I gotta get going, it's getting late, and I have a date with my pillow." See ya, Zack, and take care."
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