Chapter Text
Aftermath: the consequences or aftereffects of a significant unpleasant event.
“General O’Neill’s office, this is Master Sergeant Thomas.”
“Put him on the phone.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, General O’Neill is in a meeting at the moment. May I take a message?”
“Don’t give me that bullshit, Sergeant. You and I both know he’s in his office playing computer chess. Poke your little head in there, tell him Colonel Baran is on the phone, and if he doesn’t talk to me right now I’m going to break into his condo and dye every article of clothing he owns bright fuchsia! Then I'm going to come to his office and-”
“Yes, ma’am. Please hold.”
Thomas clicked the hold button on the phone, cutting off the ranting woman on the other end, and walked over to knock twice on the General’s office door before opening it and stepping inside.
“Sorry to bother you, sir,” Thomas said politely, “But Colonel Baran is on the line. She says if you don’t talk to her immediately she’s going to dye all your clothes fuchsia.”
Jack rolled his eyes and moved away from his computer to pick up the phone as the man excused himself from the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
“I’m not sure how good I look in fuchsia, EJ,” Jack said in lieu of greeting, “Maybe we can go for peridot instead.”
“I’ve been debriefed the last five days in a row, Jack, for fourteen plus hours every day,” EJ nearly growled, “They ask me the same questions over and over and over and I’m about to snap and start stabbing people in the face because I cannot handle these….these…politicians any longer! You have to do something to get me out of this. Tell them the City is sinking and I have to go back. Tell them Rodney blew up another solar system. Tell them I’m defecting to the Genii. Tell them something, anything, or I swear to whatever local deities are listening I will not be responsible for the consequences!”
There was some jostling and mumbled voices on the other end of the phone before Colonel Sheppard’s calm voice came over the line.
“Jack,” John started evenly, “Sorry about that. EJ’s in time-out in the other room now. She snuck the phone in the bathroom with her while I wasn’t looking.”
“I gathered,” Jack replied dryly, “I take it the IOA debriefings aren’t going well?”
“It’s a worse than we expected, sir,” John lowered his voice, “Not the debriefings exactly, those are going as well as can be expected. It’s her reaction to them that I’m concerned about.”
“How bad?” Jack frowned.
“If it were anyone else,” John continued in the quiet tone, “I’d recommend she go see a therapist for treatment of PTSD.”
“But since it’s EJ, that would only make things worse,” Jack sighed, scrubbing a tired hand over his face, “Even if we could get her to agree to it.”
“She’s not getting enough sleep or eating properly because of these debriefings,” John admitted, “and it’s affecting her healing process. It’s been two weeks since we got her back and there are still visible bruises, Jack. That’s not normal for her.”
“Having the IOA pick apart her career since the two of you started seeing each other certainly isn’t helping matters.”
“Too late to do anything differently now, I guess. Unless someone in the program finally manages to make a working neuralizer.”
“That would be sweet,” Jack grinned, “Is someone actually working on one of those? That could solve a lot of problems for us.”
“I think a couple of scientists in the City have been trying to make one in their spare time,” John drawled, “But they're also trying to make sonic screwdrivers and lightsabers, so I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
“I'll talk to the IOA, John,” Jack promised with a laugh, “I’ll get you both a couple days off. Stay at the hotel, order room service, do whatever you two do when you’re together that I never want to hear about. I’ll call you in a couple days to let you know when she has to be back.”
“Thanks, Jack,” John gave a sigh of relief, “I’ll let her know.”
“Keep your wife away from my house,” Jack insisted, “I like my clothes the color they are.”
John laughed as he hung up the phone.
*NCIS*SGA*NCIS*SGA*NCIS*SGA*NCIS*
“Did we ID the body yet?” Gibbs came into the small group of cubicles, addressing his team as they gathered in front of the flat-screen TV.
“We did, Boss,” Tony clicked the remote and a military ID came onto the screen, “Meet First Lieutenant David Baumann of the US Marine Corps. According to his file, he’s currently stationed at Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado Springs, Colorado, under the command of an Air Force Major General Hank Landry.”
“And?” Gibbs prompted when neither man spoke.
“And that’s it,” Tim admitted sheepishly, “His file is classified beyond that.”
“So un-classify it,” Gibbs ordered evenly.
“I’ve tried every way I know how, Boss,” Tim insisted, “There's nothing else on this guy. It's like his entire life has been scrubbed clean. The only other information I was able to find indicated Lt. Baumann collects every kind of combat pay that exists and several that don't exist, year-round since he started his posting at Cheyenne.”
“I put in a call to speak to his CO,” Tony added, “But I think they were giving me the run-around. They’re supposed to be calling us back any time.”
“You’re telling me we've had a dead Marine Lieutenant in the morgue for three hours,” Gibbs asked carefully, “And you two don’t have any more than his name and where he’s stationed?”
“Gibbs,” Director Vance called from the balcony above them, “MTAC now.”
Gibbs looked up to see Vance turn around and enter MTAC.
“Find out who he is,” Gibbs ordered firmly, walking towards the stairs.
“On it, Boss,” two voices chorused behind him.
Gibbs went up the steps and leaned in front of the retinal scanner, opening the door to MTAC when it beeped in recognition.
“Director,” Gibbs acknowledged, receiving a short nod in turn.
“Call’s coming through, sir,” the tech said easily.
An older man with gray hair came on the screen, dressed in a plain black uniform, his name and service stitched in white on the front, three white stars stitched into each of the epaulettes, and two large rectangular Velcro patches on the shoulders.
“Director Vance, I’m Lt. General Jack O’Neill, USAF,” the man introduced himself, “Word has it you might have one of my Marines in your morgue.”
“We’ve identified the body as a First Lieutenant David Baumann,” Gibbs spoke up.
O’Neill frowned slightly before yelling at someone off-screen, “Thomas! Bring me the file on Lieutenant David Baumann. I need to know who he belongs to.”
“My team said he was stationed at Cheyenne Mountain,” Gibbs informed him, “under the command of General Landry.”
“That may be, Agent…” O'Neill prompted.
“Special Agent Jethro Gibbs,” Gibbs responded easily, “My team is the one investigating his death.”
“He may be stationed at the Mountain, Agent Gibbs,” O'Neill said calmly, “But that doesn't necessarily mean he’s under Landry’s command.”
“How does that work, General O’Neill?” Vance asked warily.
“Classified and complicated, Director,” O’Neill took a file folder from the outstretched hand of a man off-screen, “Thank you, Master Sergeant.”
O’Neill opened the file and flipped through the first couple pages.
“Well, shit,” O’Neill said under his breath, “That’s just fantastic.”
“Is there a problem, General O’Neill?” Vance questioned.
“He’s not one of Landry’s,” O’Neill flipped over a couple more pages, “He’s one of Sheppard’s, which makes this infinitely more complicated. You guys are in DC, right?”
“We are,” Vance agreed, "Can you tell us what Baumann was doing way out here?"
“I can’t tell you what he was doing in DC,” O’Neill looked up at the screen again, closing the file.
“Can’t or won’t, General O’Neill?” Vance scowled.
“Can’t,” O’Neill shrugged, “I honestly don’t know what he was doing there. I have good news and bad news for you, however. Which do you want first?”
“Good news,” Vance insisted.
“The good news is,” O’Neill explained easily, “The CO for the base he’s currently stationed at and the person he works for are in your area now. They'll be able to give you background on Lt. Baumann and let you know, at least vaguely provided you understand scientific mumbo-jumbo, what he was doing in DC.”
“And the bad news?” Gibbs prompted.
“The bad news is,” O’Neill leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over the top of the file, “Because of the extremely classified nature of the work Lt. Baumann is involved in, you'll be working with two of my people for the remainder of the case. They'll have access to every part of the investigation and will be kept in the loop at every stage.”
“On whose authority?” Vance raised an eyebrow.
“The President’s,” O’Neill smiled dangerously, “And either you agree to my terms or we take the investigation from you entirely. Your choice.”
“And if your people are involved in his death?” Gibbs narrowed his eyes.
“The two you’ll be working with aren’t involved,” O’Neill waved a hand dismissively, “They’ve been otherwise occupied catching bad guys for the last month. What’s your decision?”
“We’ll work together, for now,” Vance agreed cautiously.
“Great,” O’Neill grinned, “Lt. Baumann’s CO is Colonel John Sheppard. He’s staying with Dr. EJ Baran, the person Baumann's been working under, at the Hay-Adams. They’ll be the two you’re working with for the investigation. They're currently under a communications black-out, and ignoring me completely, so you’ll have to send a couple agents to pick them up. Ask for Emily Jameson at the front desk or you won’t get the right room. Tell them to call me if they need verification of their orders.”
“Anything else, General?” Vance asked easily.
“Both Colonel Sheppard and Dr. Baran are authorized to carry their personal weapons at all times,” O’Neill's expression turned not-quite-serious, “Do not attempt to disarm either of them for any reason. It will not end well for you. Or me. Do you have any idea of the sheer amount of paperwork I'll have to do if those two yahoos injure your agents? Master Sergeant Thomas won't let me leave my office for a week.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Gibbs replied calmly.
“Thanks for your cooperation,” O’Neill grinned widely again, “Oh, don’t bother to call the new SecNav, Director Vance. She hasn't been read into the program and can’t do anything to help you.”
O’Neill reached forward and the screen cut-off.
“That was certainly interesting,” Vance turned to face Gibbs, “Your thoughts?”
“I think Lt. Baumann was involved in black ops for the Air Force,” Gibbs said evenly, “And I think General O’Neill is a lot more dangerous than he seems.”
"I thought he was kind of easy-going," Vance pointed out.
"I'm sure he wanted us to think that, Leon," Gibbs replied as he headed towards the door.
“Better go pick up his people then,” Vance agreed, "Be careful. I'll make a couple calls and see if I can find out what General O'Neill does exactly."
*NCIS*SGA*NCIS*SGA*NCIS*SGA*NCIS*
Tony walked up to the front desk in the hotel, Tim following neatly at his heel, a charming smile on his face as he spoke to the young brunette woman at the desk, “Hi there,” Tony dropped his gaze down to her nametag for a moment, “Claudia. Can you tell us which room Emily Jameson is staying in?”
“Just one moment, sir,” the brunette stepped away from the desk into a small office. She returned swiftly, followed closely by a short, balding man in a perfectly tailored black suit.
“My name is Charles. I am the head concierge here," the man spoke in a rich, cultured voice, "I understand you are looking for Ms. Jameson?”
“That’s right,” Tim said easily, “Could you tell us her room number?”
“Ms. Jameson and her guest have asked not to be disturbed until tomorrow afternoon,” Charles answered carefully, “You can come back at 3 pm tomorrow or I can take a message, if you would prefer.”
Tony reached into his pocket and flipped open his badge, letting the man get a good look at it, “I’m afraid we need that room number now. We’re federal agents.”
“Very well,” Charles bowed slightly, “I will escort you up to Ms. Jameson’s room.”
“That’s not necessary,” Tim insisted gently, “You can just tell us which room it is.”
“I’m afraid I must insist, Agents,” Charles came out from behind the counter, “Ms. Jameson and her guest are valued patrons of this hotel and I will not have them unduly disturbed. This way please.”
Charles led the way to a bank of elevators and pressed the button for the top floor. When the doors slid open again, he stepped out in front of the two agents and walked quietly to a room at the end of the hall. He knocked politely on the door and waited with his hands clasped behind his back until it cracked open a minute later, revealing a tall man with spiky, dark hair wearing a worn gray USAF tee shirt and a pair of black cotton pajama pants tied tight around his slim waist.
“I apologize for the intrusion, sir,” Charles apologized, “There are two federal agents here who wish to speak with Ms. Jameson. I’m afraid they insisted on seeing her immediately.”
“Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo,” Tony flipped open his badge again, “And my partner Special Agent Timothy McGee. We're from NCIS.”
“Thank you, Charles,” the spiky-haired man opened the door wider, leaning against it, “I’ll take it from here.”
“Yes, sir,” Charles bowed slightly, “Please let me know if there is anything else you or Ms. Jameson require.”
“We just ordered breakfast from room service about five minutes ago,” the spiky-haired man drawled lazily, "It looks like we're going to be going out instead. Could you let the kitchen know please? I apologize for the inconvenience."
"Of course, sir," Charles nodded, "Would you like me to call for Ms. Jameson's limo?"
"That won't be necessary, Charles. We'll be driving this time," the spiky haired man smiled, "Thank you."
Charles turned smartly and headed back towards the elevator.
“Come on in then,” the spiky-haired man stepped to the side, keeping half his body behind the door as he let Tony and Tim into the room ahead of him and closed the door.
“We’re looking for a Colonel John Sheppard and a Dr. EJ Baran,” Tony started, “Are you Colonel Sheppard?”
“I am,” Sheppard answered as the three of them came into the living room.
“Keep your hands where we can see them,” a low, feminine voice spoke from behind them, “Turn around slowly.”
Tony and Tim both turned around, keeping their hands in the air, to face a short blonde woman, dressed in a fluffy white bathrobe that covered her from neck to mid-calf, standing next to Sheppard, both of them aiming large black guns at the agents.
“Who sent you?” Sheppard asked evenly, “And how did you know we were here?”
“We’re from NCIS,” Tim answered nervously, “We were told to come to this hotel and ask for Emily Jameson by a General O’Neill.”
"Badges out where I can see them," the blonde commanded easily, "One-handed, slowly."
Tony and Tim reached carefully into their jacket pockets, using two fingers to pull out their badges and hold them out for Sheppard to take.
“I got them,” the blonde said evenly, gun aimed squarely at Tim's chest, “Call Jack on speakerphone so he can verify.”
“Stay there,” Sheppard ordered firmly. He walked over to a nearby table, setting the two badges down open to the photo ID, and picking up a slim cell, all while keeping the gun aimed at Tony. He swiped a finger across the screen, hit a button, and the phone began ringing.
“General O’Neill.”
“General, did you send NCIS agents to our hotel room?” Sheppard asked evenly.
“I did,” O'Neill answered calmly, “Please don’t break them. If you break them, I'm making you do the paperwork.”
Both Sheppard and the blonde woman lowered their guns.
“You could’ve warned us first,” Sheppard drawled, “We almost shot them.”
“I would have warned you,” O'Neill said dryly, “If you both weren’t blocking all forms of communication.”
“What’s going on, Jack?” the woman walked over to trade her gun for the phone.
Sheppard put both guns on the table and picked up the badges, tossing them back to the two agents.
“NCIS positively identified Lt. David Baumann’s body this morning,” O'Neill stated evenly.
“Baumann?” Sheppard frowned, “He's one of my Marines.”
"He reports to me though," the blonde tilted her head, "Works out of my tech lab, except when he's doing follow-ups with one of the engineering teams."
“Hence, NCIS agents in your hotel room,” O'Neill replied matter-of-factly, “You’re both on loan to NCIS until this gets sorted.”
“What about my debriefings?” the woman asked uneasily, turning away from the interested stares of Tony and Tim.
“Do you want to go to those debriefings, EJ?” O'Neill questioned softly, “I thought you'd be glad to have an excuse to get out of them.”
“I’d rather be locked in a closet with Rodney for a month, sir,” Baran replied quickly, “But I was under the impression the IOA had more questions for me and that the sessions were mandatory if I wanted to return to my former position.”
“I’ll take care of it,” O'Neill insisted, “Just keep the civilians away from classified files and find out what happened to Lt. Baumann. Keep me updated.”
“Yes, sir,” Sheppard and Baran chorused.
Baran tapped the screen of the phone and returned it to the table next to the two guns John had set down.
“I apologize for the welcome,” Baran turned to smile at Tony and Tim politely, "It's been a rough couple of weeks for us."
“You always greet your guests at gunpoint?” Tony asked curiously, placing his badge back in his pocket.
“Only half a dozen people on the planet know we’re at this particular hotel,” Sheppard explained easily, “And of those, only four know we’re staying under the name Emily Jameson. You can see how we might be suspicious if armed men show up at our door, knowing our full names, with no forewarning, badges or not.”
“Plus, I haven’t had any coffee yet and I've been told I'm mean when I'm un-caffeinated,” Baran shrugged, “I’m Dr. EJ Baran, this is Colonel John Sheppard. I assume we’re going back to NCIS headquarters at Quantico?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Tim agreed.
“Give us five minutes to get dressed,” Sheppard headed to the bedroom.
“We’ll be right out,” Baran picked up both guns, sticking them in her robe pockets as she followed Sheppard, pulling the door shut behind her.
“Well, that was fun,” Tony huffed, “I’m not sure if I’ve ever been held at gunpoint by a woman in a fluffy bathrobe before. Guess I can take that off my bucket list.”