Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alex liked life with the Pleasures well enough. It was quieter, for one thing. With MI6 finally out of his day-to-day life, he could almost pretend he was a normal teenager. He went to school, did his homework, picked up old hobbies—MMA at a local gym, rock climbing with the school team, and surfing with Sabina on weekends when she wasn’t off on an adventure with her friends.

He was walking back from an early morning surf session, board tucked under one arm and hair still dripping, when he saw something that didn’t fit.

A man emerged from one of the maintenance shelters at the edge of the golf course that bordered the beachdunes, carrying a heavy metal case. He moved furtively, glancing around before lugging the box into a waiting golf cart.

Alex knew he should ignore it. Half the trouble in his life had started because he couldn’t. But Sabina was gone for the weekend, and the Pleasures were out until dinner. The alternative was going home to finish calculus homework or slog through a few borrowed language textbooks.

Homework was less appealing than whatever was happening on the edge of the course.

He hid his board in the bushes and crept after the man. Maybe it was just a drug drop. But the box—sealed, metallic, burnished—looked disturbingly familiar. Alex couldn’t shake the memory of the containers Sayle used to ship his modified virus in Cornwall.

The golf cart buzzed to life. Alex trailed it across the dew-damp fairway, keeping to the tree line. The driver wasn’t speeding—he was being careful, almost reverent, as though worried the cargo might explode if jostled too hard but Alex still needed to move at a fast clip to keep up.

By the time they reached the far edge of the course, Alex was out of breath. The man ditched the cart and continued on foot toward the nearby San Francisco State University campus.

Alex followed at a safe distance. At sixteen, he blended in easily with the few Uni students awake early on a weekend, rushing between labs or the library on last minute projects. The man’s destination seemed to be the Science Building.

Maybe he’s a professor, Alex thought. Maybe this is nothing.

But the man’s stiff posture, his habit of glancing over his shoulder every few steps, told a different story. Alex’s therapist called it “hypervigilance.” MI6 had called it “good instincts.”

When the man slipped through a side entrance and descended a stairwell marked Basement Closed for Decontamination – Chemical Leak, Alex sighed, pulled out his phone, and made a call.

Joe Byrne had given Alex his personal cell number the day he’d arrived in the U.S. It was both a gesture of goodwill and a safety precaution.Everyone in the intelligence world knew that Alex Rider was essentially a heat seeking missile when it came to conspiracies, he hunted them down and then destroyed the cartel, or terrorist operation, or whatever it was that he had found with a great deal of fire and explosions. 

Byrne had learned that it was better to know what Alex was doing before the explosions.

So far, it had worked. Mostly.

Alex would stumble across a criminal operation and would drop the intel off with Joe by texting or calling, and on one memorable operation by turning up on his front porch bleeding with half a dozen rescued children trailing after him like ducklings. It was, in all honesty, a bit like having a pet cat leave dead mice at his door, except the mice were packets of information that even Joe’s best analysts and agents hadn’t managed to dig up, but Joe Byrne had come to accept that Alex Rider was just like that. 

Joe actually has the whole weekend off for once, he had pulled enough strings and called in a few favors to make sure he could spend a quiet weekend at home with his wife, helping clean up the kitchen and attempting to fix the leaky part of the shed roof. 

It was only natural that, given the effort he had put into getting the weekend off, a Rider situation would arise. Still, he held out hope that all Alex was bringing him intel on was a nice, simple drug ring that he could pass off to the FBI without further involving himself. 

The fact that Alex had called instead of texting was his first hint that this would not be the case. Alex only called if a situation was urgent, like most teenagers he preferred to communicate through text whenever possible.

With his hopes for a nice calm weekend withering faster than his brief attempt at a garden Joe stepped outside to take the call.  

“University of San Francisco,” Alex said immediately. “Science Building basement. I tailed a man from the golf course—mid-forties, brown hair, tall, about two meters. Picked up a metal case from shelter 7. Looks sealed for biohazards.”

There was a faint clatter on the line, like Alex shifting position.

“One moment. Sending a photo.”

“Wait, Alex—don’t hang up—”

“Joe, you can take and text a photo while on a call. It’s not the 1900’s.”

Joe sighed. “Right. Forgot who I was talking to.”

The image arrived seconds later. The box looked exactly like something Byrne’s analysts would flag in three separate threat databases. The man’s face was also familiar—one of the many files that had crossed Joe’s desk, tagged classified and foreign cooperation.

“Alex,” Joe said slowly, “do not engage. I’m sending people now.”

“Bit late,” Alex replied. “He’s opening the box—ten-digit code—oh, ew. There’s something inside. It's some kind of worm thing, looks like something that you'd only find in Australia or the island with the weird trees - I'll try to get another picture”

Joe straightened. “A what?”

Before Alex could answer, there was a series of dull thuds, a sharp intake of breath, and the line went dead.

Joe Byrne was already running for the car. “Get me a direct line to SGC,” he barked into his phone as he ran for his car. “Rider turned up something beyond our scope”

Chapter Text

Alex wakes up and immediately wishes he hadn’t. The world is spinning around him, and even the faint light in the gloomy room sears his eyes. Situations like these were old hat to Alex, concussion and all, and whoever took him hadn’t bothered to tie him up. He pries himself off the ground and leans against the nearest wall, legs trembling as he fights to stay upright.

The room is dim and small, looking like the backroom of an auto shop or warehouse. Dust motes float in the weak light filtering through a grimy, too small window. A door on the far side probably leads into the rest of the building. He tries it, finds it locked from the outside. There’s nothing in the room to pick the lock or pry it open, and until his legs stop shaking, he can’t risk kicking it down. He resigns himself to waiting for his captors and settles next to the door to listen.

Alex doesn’t have to wait long. Heavy footsteps approach. From what he hears, there are five distinct voices—four with American accents, one he can’t place. Only one of the American voices is female. He knows he can’t fight his way out in his current state: weaponless, likely concussed, against five adults.

He shifts, bracing his feet beneath him. He might need to get up fast. Choosing not to fight yet doesn’t mean he won’t be ready.

The man who opens the door has a militant bearing. The one who actually walks in has a politician’s bearing. ‘Politician’ sneers down at him, and Alex knows this will be unpleasant even as the soldier moves to drag him out of the backroom.

5 hours later, tied to a chair in front of a massive metal circle with weird markings, Alex wishes the politician prick in a fancy suit and copious amounts of gold jewelry hadn’t decided to prove him right. Although, in a refreshing change of pace the bastard had beat Alex himself during the impromptu interrogation instead of having his goons do it. The guy is weirdly strong though, so it actually might have been better if the goons had done the beating.

The questions are standard for Alex’s experience: Who are you? Who sent you? What do you know? Who were you calling? Alex plays up the part of a frightened teenager. He lies about his name, only admits to calling “Uncle Joe” when asked. Otherwise, he tells the truth: he barely knows anything, and no one told him to follow the creepy professor.

They run him through the same questions dozens of times, waiting for inconsistencies. Politician smacks him whenever he hesitates. Alex stumbles, changes details about his route from the golf course, the time he left the beach, stutters now and then. All expected for a stressed, kidnapped teen.

Hours later, they seem satisfied. Alex, bruised and concussed but otherwise unharmed, exhales shakily. Now, the captors consider their options: kill him now, lock him back in the room, or move him to a new location. Alex silently hopes for option number two. More time means more opportunity to escape.

In the chair, a few meters from the base of the big metal ring, Alex watches. The man who opened the door is soft- wants to threaten Alex into silence and let him go. Another, whom Alex calls ‘Bad Haircut,’ comments ominously about his usefulness. ‘Quiet Guy’ merely grunts, agreement or disagreement impossible to tell.

The only lady in the group wants to kill him and be done with it, she’s a nostalgic reminder of Alex’s classmates from his brief time at Malagosto with her dedication to vicious efficiency, and despite how little Alex wants that ruthlessness aimed at him he can at least respect it. It really would be the smartest option.

All four watch Politician, waiting for his verdict. His eyes flare gold as he surveys them, making Alex wonder if the concussion is worse than he thought—or if something else is at play. Alex mentally puts his money on “mad scientists experimenting on humans,” in the CIA betting pool he’s not supposed to know about. Maybe the not-worms are being used for drug production and the side effects include glowy eyes.

Finally, Politician decides. “Toss him through the gate,” gesturing lackadaisically at the giant metal ring “Any address will do. I doubt he’ll survive long, and even if he does, he won’t be able to make it home to tell anyone from here anything.”

Alex muses internally: Well, I think that counts as being moved to a new location.

Quiet Guy strides to the improvised console wired to the ring and starts mashing buttons. The machine grinds deafeningly as it spins, making Alex’s headache worse. Liquid splashes outward, then whooshes back in, like someone decided to break gravity.

He hopes:
A. A commotion will let him escape before being thrown through the ring.
B. He’s not the first human trial.
C. It spits him somewhere like L.A., not Alaska or Everest.

His pulse races. The smell of ozone is stronger now, almost metallic, making his stomach churn. He notices the hair on his arms standing up—electrostatic charge, maybe—but the sensation is oddly warm, like the air itself hums with energy. He wonders if the worm-like things in the box are part of the mechanism, maybe a power source, or if they’re merely a side effect of something much bigger.

Politician leans in, gold rings catching the dim light. “You’ll find your death quick,” he hisses. “But not before you learn… why curiosity can be fatal.”

Alex swallows an inappropriate burble of laughter. It's not the worst line he’s heard, but it's certainly up there. 

The liquid ripples gently now, backlit by a light source not in the room. Quiet Guy and the soldier lift Alex, chair and all, and toss him bodily into the vertical pool of liquid standing in the ring.

And then, Alex Rider is no longer in the room.

Chapter Text

Getting chucked through a glowy portal by a mad scientist’s goons is not Alex’s preferred way of being released from captivity. Especially since he was still tied to the chair when he was thrown in.

The tumble itself was disorienting, spinning and twisting in ways his body didn’t want to obey. And yet, somehow, he wasn’t shredded into unrecognizable pieces by the wormhole. Not paste, not a vaguely Alex-shaped jigsaw puzzle. He landed hard on packed earth, the impact jostling his head but loosening the ropes further. One twist, a small tug, and he slipped free, rubbing at the raw skin along his wrists.

He felt microwaved and deep-frozen at the same time, and the world still spun slightly—but that was probably just his concussion playing catch-up with gravity and momentum. He gulped in the air. Warm. Dry. Breathable. A win: he wasn’t plopped on top of Everest or floating in some subzero hellscape.

Slowly, he sat up and took stock. Waist-high grass rolled around him for as far as he could see, a mile or so in every direction. To his right, a mix of pine and deciduous trees reached skyward. Behind him, gentle slopes of small hills blurred into the distance. Ahead and left, the grassland stretched, empty and silent. The landing zone formed a semicircle of barren earth, with a wide dirt path winding toward the forest.

He tested the portal. Impulsiveness was absolutely his style but charging bodily back into the portal would be stupid even for him. He snagged a long grass stem and poked halfway through. 

Pulled it back out. Gone. Crumbled into nothing. Alex swallowed, suddenly thankful he hadn’t leapt in headfirst.

The portal itself would be his landmark, for now. Beyond that, only the dirt trail offered direction. No phone. No food. Very little water. Swim trunks, flip-flops, and a hoodie designed for pre-dawn surf sessions—hardly survival gear.

Not everything was useless. His captors had been careless or arrogant. The small pocket knife he always carried was gone, taken during the search, but he still had house keys, and the hydroflask Sabina had gifted him with a teasing joke about being a “real Californian,” that he’d jammed into his front hoodie pocket before he began trailing after the man with the case. The broken chair and leftover rope could be improvised into weapons or other gear as needed.

Once he unshackled himself, walking became easy. The dirt path beckoned. Clear signs of civilization, a guide through the tall grass, and easier footing than clambering blindly across the plains. The path also led to the forest—the most likely place to find water, edible plants, and resources for fire. Alex knew how to forage, how to identify safe vegetation, how to set snares if necessary. SAS survival training wasn’t theoretical.

Twenty minutes later, he reached the forest edge. Shade offered relief from the sun, and the taller trees dampened the wind. He noticed the undergrowth was thin, scorched in places. Signs of a fast, low forest fire. The trees themselves bore little damage, but the ground beneath looked barren. The surrounding grassland had grown back, but the forest floor showed slower recovery. Winding paths led further in. He moved cautiously.

Alex’s unease didn’t fade. Something was off. He couldn’t explain why this forest felt… wrong. Even the tree cover didn’t settle his nerves. He kept glancing back, stepping carefully over roots, forcing himself to slow after tripping five times.

Part of him remembered his captors’ confidence: “He won’t survive.” They assumed a remote location, no supplies, and nature would do the work. Yet here he was, close to signs of civilization, in a landscape that didn’t outright threaten him.

He scanned the path, the grass, the trees. No other humans. But the prickling along his spine—the tiny hairs standing on end —made him certain he wasn’t entirely alone. Paranoia, maybe memories of Damian Cray's deadly game was making him so certain he was being hunted, but maybe someone else was really there.

His hoodie, damp from earlier surf, clung to his skin. His flip-flops, sand-gritted and flimsy, slowed him, and each step on a hidden root or stone sent a ripple of pain up his leg. Still, Alex kept moving, calculating every risk, thinking through contingencies.

If he kept walking, he’d eventually find water. Wood for fire. Shelter. Maybe a hidden clue about where he was or who had sent him through the gate. Each step was measured, but with his pulse quickening, every rustle in the grass made him tense.

The forest’s openness worked against him. No dense undergrowth to hide in. He tried listening, noticing every snap of twig or flutter of leaves. The thought of someone—anything—watching, or waiting, put him on edge.

He tested for tracks. Nothing human. No clear animal prints, either. Just scorched earth, wind-shaped patterns in grass, and occasional furrows that might be deer.

Then he saw it: a faint metallic glint in the sun between trees. 

He moved slowly, listening. The forest seemed to stretch, elongate, like the shadows themselves were stretching to see him. The glint resolved into a small, skinny piece of metal, almost like a tie clip. Whoever or whatever had been here last left traces. Alex crouched, rolling it between his fingers. Cold metal, inscribed with tiny symbols. Technological, almost alien.

He pocketed it and kept walking.

Chapter Text

The sun is dipping lower and lower as the afternoon progresses and Alex knows he’ll need to figure out where to sleep for the night soon. Currently he’s hunched over a stream filling up the hydroflask Sabina gave him. Alex is already dreading how smug Sabina is going to be about the bottle saving his life.

Briefly he wonders if he’ll have to rupture the vacuum seal of the hydroflask when he boils the water in it in case the fire makes it explode or do something equally unpleasant. And then he gets tackled out of nowhere. The sound of the stream having covered up the sound of his attacker's approach - so much for keeping his head down and avoiding the locals.

Alex twists violently out of the grip his unknown attacker had around him and goes splashing into the shallow stream. The man that attacked him stands on the shore glaring and snarls something in what sounds a hell of a lot like the language that his kidnappers from the warehouse were using. He’s wearing weird armor too - unhelpfully Alex’s brian suggests that he's found himself in another Feathered Serpent video game situation.

Then Alex doesn't have time to think as the man lunges at him again. He’s never fought a man in metal armor before and finding weak spots is tricky, the last thing Alex wants to do is to break his hand by punching one of the metal plates. He slams his palm under the man's chin and watches as he goes stumbling backwards, chasing his advantage Alex lashes out with a solid front kick and the man goes down, but Alex must have gotten too close and goes tumbling to the ground as well as his ankle is hooked and pulled by one of the downed man's feet.

His opponent heaves up onto his feet while Alex is still trying to get his breath back on the ground. In a real fight outside of competition and practice, the last place you want to be is on the ground. Alex feels a frisson of fear but forces it to the side in favor of action. He had practiced with the wrestling team at his and Sabina's new school a few times before deciding that wrestling wasn’t a fighting style that suited him, he's grateful for those practices now as he rolls to his knees and shoots in from the ground in a move he must have drilled dozens of times in his first wrestling practice. Arms hooking behind the man's knees Alex drives him over and onto the ground again and begins to shift so he can pin him and try to get a few answers out of the man.

And then for the second time in as many days Alex is struck from behind.

Alex is really sick of waking up in cells after being knocked out. He doesn’t even want to think about how much damage his head has taken in the past two days, and not just because thinking hurts at the moment.

There's a groan from across the dim cell he's found himself in and Alex slowly lurches upright so he can see his new roommate. He's floppy haired and wearing clothes that look fairly militant but the patch on his shoulder doesn't look like any that Alex can tie to military or paramilitary organizations that he's encountered. It does look a lot like one of the symbols he had seen on the portal.

The man, who looks just as bad as Alex feels, is assessing him right back but with considerably less wariness than Alex is feeling.

“Hi,” the floppy haired man says “I’m Daniel”

Daniel is speaking slowly and gesturing along like he thinks Alex doesn’t speak English, which is another checkmark in the ‘teleported very far away’ category.

Sardonically Alex repeats Daniels greeting right back at the same pace and with the same gestures but with his name in place of Daniels.

Suddenly wide eyed the man scrambles forward even as Alex jolts back. It's a mistake on both their parts. Once Daniel has finished clutching at his head and Alex grabbing at his suddenly very bruised feeling ribs, as if either action will help with their pain, the man perks back up to start asking questions.

“You’re from Earth?” the man inquires as he scoots his battered glasses back up his nose.

Alex really doesn’t like the implication that they're not on Earth.

“Please tell me that I didn’t get abducted by aliens,” Alex hopes he doesn’t sound as frazzled as he feels “I would literally never live it down, my foster sister would tease me about it for the rest of my natural life”

The man winces, which confirms things in a way a spoken response simply couldn't. Whoever has their money on ‘alien abduction’ in the CIA betting pool is going to make a killing when Alex gets back. He hopes they give him a cut of their winnings.

Refocusing on the issue at hand Alex starts figuring out what his cellmate knows.

“Ok,” he says just a bit too brightly “give me the sitrep, who, what, when, where, how, and why.”

Daniel looks startled, probably expecting Alex to spend a bit longer processing. Luckily for both of them, Alex has years of experience dealing with unbelievable situations and a track record for hairbrained escapes. He just needs a better read on the situation before he can start blowing things up.

“We're on P3R-5-something-something, we’re still somewhere in the Milky Way. My team and I were on a mission to explore the area; there’s some facinating ruins the drone we sent through the gate saw.”

Alex cuts him off “Explain the Gate, is that the weird portal I got tossed through?”

“Yes,” the man says “It’s called the Stargate, it connects to a vast network of other Stargates throughout the galaxy, all you need is the right gate address. The U.S. Air Force has been sending missions through the Gate in search of scientific and medical advancements.”

Daniel pauses to gather his thoughts but Alex impatiently gestures for him to continue.

“We encountered the species our captors are from on our very first trip through the gate. They’re called goa’uld, they claim to be gods but they're really a parasite that controls the hosts body-”

“The weird not-worms from the lab” Alex breathes with disgust and fear sloughing down his spine.

“You’ve seen one outside of a host?”

Daniel looks visibly alarmed and Alex grimaces knowing the man is really not going to like the news he's about to give him next.

“Yeah - on Earth, in California right before I got kidnapped”

“Oh this is bad, we need to find my team and get out of here to warn General Hammond”

“Got a plan?” Alex asks hopefully

Daniel shakes his head “If we were locked up with the others we could probably fight our way out, or Sam could figure out how to force the door open. But with just the two of us we may have to wait for rescue.”

It figures that the first time Alex is held captive with an adult he still has to handle everything himself.

“I’m more useful than I look” Alex snaps and wanders over the bars of their cell.

The lock on the door is bulky and intimidating but doesn’t actually seem that complex on closer inspection. He fishes his keys out of his pocket and then glances at Daniel.

“Do you have wire or something that could be used as a torque wrench?’

Daniel staring at Alex in bewilderment is rapidly becoming the norm for their interactions but he obediently takes his glasses off his face and offers them to Alex. The arms of them look thin enough to fit into the lock and Alex won’t even have to bend them.

“Please try not to break them.” Daniel almost begs “My insurance is going to stop paying for new glasses if I go through too many more”

Alex laughs and Daniel responds with a wry smile

It's tricky to pick the lock, Alex’s house key is barely small enough to be used as a rake and eyeglasses don't make the best torque lever. It would be far easier to bump the lock, but they’re not at a great angle for that, and they don't have anything that could be used as an improvised hammer. Alex keeps at it despite his swimming head and the way his ribs twinge at his awkward position. Eventually, Alex and Daniel are rewarded with the faint snick of the lock slipping open.

Alex beams at Daniel “Let's find your team and get out of here”

Without Daniel, Alex would be completely lost. The structure they're in seems to be built like a maze and there's little to distinguish one dim hallway from another. More than once Daniel has to steer Alex away from a hallway they've already been down. It’s frustrating that Alex’s usual instinct for this kind of thing is failing him now.

Daniel, on the other hand, seems completely unaffected by the muddling corridors.

“It’s going to be trickier for you Alex,” the man reassures, “you’re used to modern Earth-based architecture. I’ve studied Ancient Egyptian structures and I’m familiar with the way the Goa'uld design things by now”

Alex huffs, it’s good to know that it’s not really his fault for being so turned around, but at the same time, Alex has always needed to be able to drag himself out of these types of situations on his own. Being so dependent on someone else, especially a stranger, is almost as alien as the structure they’re trapped in.

The next turn brings Alex and Daniel face to face with a pair of Jaffa guards. Alex reacts without thinking, slamming his fist into the gap between the high collar of the nearer guard's armor and his chin in hopes of striking the man in the throat. It hits and the Jaffa stumbles, gagging, backward.

Alex wrenches the guard's staff weapon out of his loosened grasp and clobbers the man in the head with his own weapon - he goes down.

The other Jaffa is bringing his own weapon up but Alex batters it back down with his captured staff and then clips the man in the temple with the weird bulging end of it.

Daniel is staring wide eyed at Alex but they don’t have time for the questions Alex is sure the man wants to ask.

He shoves the staff weapon into Daniel's hands with a clipped “hold this.” and begins dragging the unconscious Jaffa into a nearby alcove, hoping the action will hide their escape for a bit longer.

A quick pat down reveals a medium sized knife but no other weapons aside from the staff weapons carried by each guard. Alex slips the blade, still in its sheath, into the pocket of his hoodie. Rising slowly he turns to face Daniel, wishing the fight and the subsequent clean-up hadn’t aggravated his ribs again.

“We need to hurry” Alex all but orders “someone will find these guys soon and sound the alarm”

Daniel nods his agreement and stoops briefly to snag the other staff weapon in addition to the one he’s already holding but hesitates slightly before handing it to Alex. Seemingly making up his mind, the man sighs and hands over the staff.

“They also function as long range weapons, they shoot energy if you just…” He demonstrates what to do without actually firing the weapon, before wincing at the way Alex beams down at his prize.

The two of them set off again, far more alert than before. It's not long before they hear the sounds of a fight echoing down a corridor from up ahead.

“That way?” Alex asks without needing to know the answer, already trotting away before Daniels' long-suffering sigh of agreement confirms things for him.

Alex has his staff weapon armed before they even round the corner to the brawl. At this range it’s child's play to pick off the Jaffa strangling a man wearing the same uniform as Daniel.

Further down the hallway a woman wrenches the staff weapon out of a different Jaffa’s hands to shoot him and the third Jaffa who’s looming over downed man that Alex wants to think is Jaffa based on the gold marking in the center of his forehead, but the way the woman came to his aid and the uniform that the man is wearing causes Alex to reserve his judgment for now.

“Danny-boy you made a friend while we were gone! Why don’t you introduce him to the class.” the grey haired man exclaims, but despite his jovial demeanor, there's something sharp in his expression as he assesses Alex.

Alex recognizes someone who is a lot more dangerous than they like to appear and knows the man has caught a hint of the same in him. Diffusing the situation before the man decides he’s an enemy plant or something of the sort becomes priority number one.

“Hi I’m Alex” he chirps as passive-aggressively as he can “I enjoy surfing, not being on alien planets, and long walks on the beach”

The woman startles at that “You’re from Earth!”

“Surprise!” Alex says “and I have bad news for you, but we should get out of here while we discuss that.”

“This way” the maybe-Jaffa intones as Alex nearly walks down the wrong corridor again.

“Hand the staff weapon over to Teal’c kid” the grey haired man orders as they set off.

Alex briefly considers not complying, but he still has the stolen knife stashed in his hoodie, and the man looks like he’ll try to make Alex give it up if he doesn’t hand the weapon over voluntarily.

Alex passes the staff weapon over to the maybe-Jaffa who he assumes is Teal’c, sulking a bit just for show. And then, just to see what will happen, Alex holds his hand out to Daniel in a clear demand for the staff weapon he’s holding and hides a smirk as the man passes it over without thinking about it.

“Daniel!” the woman blurts, mildly scandalized

“Ah,” Daniel realizes what he’d just done “oops.”

“Kid.” the grey haired man warns and Alex reluctantly passes the weapon back to Daniel

“I would not worry about arming the boy, Jack O’Neill.” Teal’c states “He carries himself like a warrior”

“He’s a kid” Sam protests

“Kids shouldn’t be handling firearms.” Jack snaps at the same time

“Obviously Alex shouldn’t be treated like an adult” Daniel weighs in “but he can handle himself pretty well. He’s the one that took down the Jaffa we ran into on our way here. Both of them”

The revelation causes Jack to turn assessing eyes on him, while Sam looks startled and Teal’c unmoved.

“You took down two Jaffa by yourself?” he asks

Unhelpfully Daniel offers up even more information “He’s injured too, I think his ribs were hurt at some point before we ended up in the cell together.”

Alex goes back to looking as harmless as possible.

“You wanna tell me how you took down two Jaffa by yourself while injured”

It’s not really a question Alex wants to answer but he’s never been the sort to avoid a confrontation so he shoots Daniel a glare and turns to Jack.

“My Uncle had me taking Karate classes for years before he died.” he shrugs “I started taking Martial Arts lessons again after my adoptive family moved to the States”

That's not the whole story which Jack, Alex, and Teal’c all know, for all that Daniel and Sam seem content with the explanation.

Alex had shot the Jaffa attacking Jack without hesitating, even knowing that the weapon could kill. He had helped hide the bodies and scavenge the weapons from the fight without flinching. It’s not something a person can do without experience in these kinds of situations, Jack and Teal’c both know it, and Sam probably does too (even if she won’t acknowledge it).

Still, the midst of escaping enemy territory isn’t the time or place to have this interrogation. Jack will let the issue rest for now, Alex knows, even if he will be watched more carefully.

Chapter Text

Joe Byrne has misplaced the asset he was assigned to watch. Worse, he’s misplaced a kid that he's genuinely fond of by now, for all that Alex would try the patience of a saint.

On top of that, from the brief description Alex had managed to give him before disappearing, and from what little evidence remained at the scene, this seemed like exactly the kind of case that required contacting General Hammond and the NID.

Hammond was an old acquaintance and a profoundly reasonable man, so coordinating with him didn’t fill Joe with dread. The NID, on the other hand, were as slimy as they came. He considered delegating the NID angle to his assistant under the guise of needing to focus entirely on Hammond—but Agent Connor would sniff out the lie in a heartbeat.

Sighing, Joe picked up the phone to dial Hammond. Sometimes it was better to deal with a friend first and save the snake pit for last.

“Hammond,” the familiar voice barked the moment the line connected. “Make it fast, Byrne. We have a situation here.”

Gruff, Texan as ever, and slightly too frazzled for comfort.

“I have reason to believe there’s a Goa’uld presence on Earth,” Joe said, keeping his tone measured. “I’ll be reaching out to the NID, but I also seem to have misplaced an asset of mine—and I was hoping you could keep an eye out for him.”

“I’d like a description of your asset,” Hammond said. “And your reasoning behind suspecting a Goa’uld here on Earth.”

Joe braced himself. Hammond had never liked the CIA’s tendency to refer to people as assets. And he knew the next words would make the man even less pleased.

“My asset is Alex Rider. White, male, blond hair, brown eyes, 5’8”, British,” Joe paused, bracing for the reaction. “Seventeen years of age.”

Silence. A deep, steadying breath. When Hammond finally spoke, his voice had quietened, his accent thickened.

“Right. I’ll have my people keep an eye out for the boy for you, Byrne,” he said steadily, despite the obvious ire. “Tell me about the Goa’uld now. We both know the real reason you called me—you don’t trust the NID half as far as you can throw ’em.”

The real reason Joe had called Hammond was because he trusted the man to try to return Alex to him alive a hell of a lot more than he trusted the NID. His contacts within the NID could keep him informed, but they didn’t have the reach to protect Alex if things went sideways

Alex was too useful for his own good. And it took someone with a strong moral backbone not to weaponize a kid with his skills. Joe had been disappointed the first time the CIA had used Alex, guilty for his own role in that farce, and he was determined never to let it happen again. Hammond was the man to have on his side—reasonable, politically influential, and unflinchingly moral.

“My asset, Alex, stumbled across suspicious activity and decided to follow up on his own,” Joe explained. “He called me after tailing a man to a university lab. The description of what he saw suggested a Goa’uld, and DNA from the site had markers associated with them.” He let out a heavy sigh. “He was captured before he could get any significant information to me. It’s likely he’s still on Earth, and the NID and my people will have to find him—assuming he doesn’t escape on his own. But knowing Alex, he’s probably in the most inconvenient place possible, hence the call.”

Hammond grunted in agreement “Well, I’ll have my people keep an eye out both planetside and out there just in case. I’ll call back if we find anything but I have a missing team of my own to track down. Send over any other relevant information - I have to go”

The line went silent. Joe glanced hopefully at Connor’s desk, then resigned himself to calling the NID. Hopefully, that conversation would be as quick as his one with Hammond.

Joe stared at the silent phone for a long moment before exhaling. He’d bought himself five minutes of peace with Hammond’s calm, grounded voice—but that peace was over. The NID were next, and he’d rather wrestle a skunk barehanded than deal with them.

“Connor,” he called toward the open office door.

Agent Connor appeared almost instantly, tablet in hand and an expression that was far too alert for this late in the day. “Yes, sir?”

“I need you to get me Barrett at the NID on a secure channel. Tell him it’s urgent and I’d rather not go through his secretary again.”

Connor’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but he didn’t comment—just nodded and left to make the call. Joe knew he’d be rolling his eyes the second he turned away.

A minute later, he returned. “Barrett’s on line two, sir. He didn’t sound happy.”

“When does he ever,” Joe muttered, and picked up the receiver.

“Malcolm,” he greeted, tone carefully polite. “Appreciate you taking my call.”

Barrett’s voice came through crisp and cool. “You said it was urgent, Byrne. What’s the situation?”

Joe pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got a missing asset—teenaged male, British national, may have made contact with a Goa’uld before vanishing. Circumstances suggest abduction.”

A pause. “A Goa’uld on Earth? That’s a hell of a claim.”

“I don’t make claims without evidence,” Joe shot back. “We pulled residual energy readings at the scene—consistent with what I’ve seen classified as ‘wormhole activity.’ And DNA traces consistent with the Goa’uld.”

Another pause, heavier this time. “You’ve been talking to Hammond.”

Joe didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

Barrett exhaled audibly. “Alright. Send me what you’ve got. I’ll put a team on it. But let’s be clear, Byrne—if this kid really stumbled into SGC business, the NID will need to debrief him. Thoroughly.”

“Not happening,” Joe said flatly. “If he’s found, he goes through Hammond. I’ll forward my report, but the NID isn’t laying a hand on him until I say so.”

Barrett gave a humorless laugh. “You don’t get to make that call.”

“Watch me,” Joe said, and hung up before Barrett could respond.

For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the receiver. Then he leaned back and said, “Connor?”

He appeared again—he’d clearly been eavesdropping. “Yes, sir?”

“Start pulling every satellite feed we can get over California. I want vehicle traces, heat signatures, anything. If Barrett sends someone poking around, I want to know before they do.”

“Yes, sir. And if the NID asks for updates?”

“Tell them I’m busy coordinating our international interests,” Joe said with a faint grin. “Which, for once, won’t even be a lie.”

Connor smiled slightly, and for the first time that day, Joe felt a flicker of relief. If Alex was still alive—and Joe had no reason to doubt he was—then between Hammond’s people and his own, they might just find the kid before the NID did.

Joe’s office was quiet again, save for the faint scratching of Connor’s pen outside the door. The “Foreign Cooperation” file sat open on his desk. The face of Lucien Varga stared back at him. A broker on the international playing field, known for his involvement in biotech, medical research, rare materials — anything that blurred the line between civilian science and military application.

He flipped through the file for what must’ve been the fifth time. Several agencies had an interest in the man — MI6 among them. Conveniently, the British contact listed on their side was a name Joe recognized: Ben Daniels. Callsign “Fox.”

Officially, Joe wasn’t supposed to know a thing. Unofficially, word traveled fast in the intelligence community. Daniels was the one who’d helped put an end to Blunt and Jones’ rogue branch of MI6 — the same one that had used minors as covert assets under the guise of “consultants.” Daniels had been pulled from his SAS unit to assist in the internal investigation, back when MI6 finally decided to clean its own house.

Joe remembered hearing how Daniels had made sure the kid—Alex Rider—walked away from that mess clean. The man was the reason ALex was set up nice and cozy in the US with his foster family.

By all rights, Joe should contact MI6 about Varga anyway. The name alone justified coordination. But with Daniels attached, it gave him an opening — a chance to tip the scales in Alex’s favor before the NID started leveraging the situation for themselves. He could frame it as international cooperation. It would force everyone to coordinate with the British rather than letting Barrett dictate the terms.

He reached for the phone. “Connor,” he called.

His assistant appeared almost immediately. “Yes, sir?”

“I need a secure line to MI6 — specifically to a man named Ben Daniels. Pull the contact authorization from the joint ops file.”

Connor blinked. “MI6? You’re escalating.”

“I’m covering my ass,” Joe said dryly. “And protecting a kid the NID would love to carve open if they got the chance.”

Connor hesitated, pen tapping against his tablet. “Sir… do you trust him? Daniels?”

Joe smiled faintly, a tired but genuine curve of his mouth. “Daniels took a bullet for Alex once. I’m confident he’d do it again.”

Connor nodded and moved towards his desk. “I’ll make the call.”

“Do it,” Joe said, leaning back in his chair. “And make sure it’s secure. The last thing we need is Barrett sniffing around MI6 channels.”

Connor disappeared through the doorway, and the office fell silent again.

For a long moment, Joe stared at the open file on his desk — Varga’s photo staring back with that faint, professional smile. A man who traded in secrets and technology without caring who got hurt by the fallout.

Somewhere out there, Alex had crossed this man’s path.

And if Joe’s instincts were right, so had the Goa’uld.

He rubbed a hand over his face and exhaled. “God help us all,” he muttered, and reached for the next file.

Chapter Text

The corridor shook again, a low vibration that traveled up through the soles of Alex’s boots. Somewhere behind them, the Ha’tak was dying—metal screaming as fire crawled through its innards, courtesy of the explosives they had rigged in the hanger bay after retrieving their gear. SG-1 didn’t slow down.

Alex kept pace between Sam and Teal’c, breath sharp in his throat, the barrel of Jack’s P90 flashing ahead in rhythmic bursts.

“Left, then down the main passage,” Sam called over her shoulder. “We’ll hit the ring platform in sixty seconds—assuming the ship doesn’t blow itself apart first.”

“Sixty seconds?” Jack muttered. “Plenty of time for something else to try and kill us.”

Alex almost grinned despite himself. You get used to it, he thought, and ducked as a staff blast tore through the wall where his head had been.

He’d lost count of how many near-deaths that made. Too many for one field trip.

Alex’s fingers lingered on the golden tie clip in his pocket. He’d been thinking about it since the corridor—about the hum, the pulse, and pulled it out to turn it over in his hands. He’d study it later, but for now there were more pressing priorities.

Sam caught the glow from the corner of her eye. “Alex—what is that?”

“Found it,” he said quickly. “After I got tossed through the Stargate, before I got caught again. Figured it was important.”

Before she could reply, another blast shook the deck.

They rounded a corner—and the firefight found them first.

A wall of Jaffa stood, staff weapons raised, surrounding a man with the same taste in jewelry as the last guy who had kidnapped Alex. Teal’c surged forward, staff firing, and Daniel ducked for cover, shouting something Alex didn’t hear.

He’d moved before he could think about it. Years of missions, reflex replacing fear. He saw the nearest Jaffa lining up on Sam—saw the energy build in the weapon’s core—and tackled her out of the way.

They were pinned.

Jack lunged across the hall to hunker down with Alex and Sam behind their pillar, Daniel and Teal’c tucked in their own alcove meters ahead.

“A weapon would be nice now, please” Alex demands.

“Used a handgun before?” Jack assesses

“I’ve been to the range a few times”

Jack offers him a stern look and his sidearm before hitching the staff weapon back up to provide suppressing fire for Daniel and Teal’c.

The corridor shudders with another blast, heat rolling through the air. Alex presses his back against the pillar, trying not to think about how quickly the stone is shattering away. He risks a glance — half a dozen Jaffa with staff weapons, advancing in formation.

“What happens if one of those staff weapons breaks?” he blurts out before he can stop himself. His voice sounds steadier than he feels.

Jack glances over, disbelief flickering across his face. “What?”

“The staff weapons,” Alex says, forcing the words out fast. “They’ve got to have a powerful fuel source, right? What happens if one ruptures?”

There’s a beat of silence, broken only by the hiss of plasma. Jack frowns. “Even if you’re right, kid, none of us are gonna hit one of those things from this distance under these conditions.”

Alex exhales once. Fine. Then he’ll do it.

Alex hadn’t spent long enough at Malagosto to learn everything they had wanted to teach him, but he’d learned enough. 

A sense memory of the range at Malagosto washes over Alex, the sun blazing down on his head while stifling humidity stole the breath from his lungs. The coarse sound of Ross snapping out orders in counterpoint to the sharp rapport of firing guns.

Something inside him stills — all the noise, all the panic — gone in an instant. The world sharpens, narrows to a single point. He leans out from cover, sighting down the barrel, and squeezes the trigger in one smooth motion.

The shot finds its mark.

For half a heartbeat, nothing happens. Then the Jaffa’s staff weapon detonates. The blast rolls through the chamber — a white-hot concussion that hurls Jaffa and their Goa’uld God backward and slams Alex against the pillar. His ears ring, the world spinning in slow motion.

He blinks through the haze, realizing Jack’s yelling something — grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie, dragging him upright. Across the way, Sam, Daniel, and Teal’c are already moving, taking advantage of the chaos.

Jack jerks his chin towards the the ring platform. “Move!”

Alex stumbles after him, smoke and heat biting his lungs.

The rings stack around them and then fall away, revealing open air and a familiar dirt track leading into the woods - and from there to the Stargate.

The forest air was cool and clear- a relief after the Ha’tak’s smoke-choked corridors.

They ran.

Alex’s endurance was nothing to sniff at, but between the concussion and the beatings he'd taken over the course of the last day the pace felt grueling. 

He’d handled worse for longer, Beacon Beacons had been just as miserable, and he’d had to watch out for sabotage from his team then, not the case here.

K-Team had warmed to him eventually. A few run ins before Blunt’s rouge ops had had come to light and Alex could go back to normal life had done plenty to build rapport between him and his old training team.

Just when Alex wasn’t sure his legs or his lungs would hold out the forest thinned and the Stargate loomed ahead.

“Dial us out!” Jack barked, voice hoarse. He looped an arm around Alex’s waist and steadied his faltering form.

Daniel was already at the DHD, fingers flying over the symbols. The Gate roared to life, blue energy surging outward before collapsing inward into the shimmering event horizon.

“All clear” Sam called from where she held the IDC transmitter.

“Go!”

Teal’c went first, disappearing into the light. Sam and Daniel followed close behind. Jack gave Alex a shove between the shoulders.

“After you, kid.”

Alex hesitated only a second—long enough to see the glow of fire spreading through the treeline, the Ha’tak above them starting to break apart in orbit. Then he stepped through.

The universe inverted.

Cold, light, motion—then the blinding white of the SGC gate room.

He hit the ramp on his knees, air rushing from his lungs. Klaxons wailed overhead; soldiers flooded the room, weapons raised until Hammond’s voice cut through the noise:

“Stand down!”

Jack emerged behind him, coughing hard.

“Medical team to the gate room,” the intercom blared.

Alex blinked up at the familiar concrete and steel. After everything—the fire, the Goa’uld, the ship tearing itself apart—it looked almost absurdly ordinary.

Sam crouched beside Alex. Her eyes flicked to the golden tie clip still in his hand. “We’ll need to take a look at that once you’ve been cleared.”

“Yeah,” Alex said softly, voice rough. “I figured.”

Hammond appeared in the observation window above, arms folded. “SG-1, debrief in one hour.” His gaze landed briefly on Alex. “And Mr. Rider—welcome home.”

The words hit harder than Alex expected. Home.

The infirmary was quiet except for the steady hum of equipment and the soft rustle of fabric as medics moved between beds. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and smoke—the latter still clinging to everyone’s skin after their trip through the blazing Ha’tak.

Alex sat perched on the edge of a cot, hoodie singed at the cuff, watching as Sam turned the tie clip over in gloved fingers. Under the bright medical lights, its golden sheen looked almost too perfect.

“Doesn’t match any known alloy in the Goa’uld database,” she murmured, brows furrowed. “But it’s definitely off-world. I haven't picked up any energy readings.”

“Maybe it’s broken,” Alex offered.

She glanced up, a faint frown tugging her lips. “Or maybe it’s designed not to be found.”

Across the room, Dr. Janet Fraiser was making her post-mission rounds. “Major Carter, your turn,” she called, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves.

Sam offered her arm without looking away from the device held in her free hand. “Just a quick blood sample,” she assured Alex.

Janet drew the vial with practiced ease, labeling it before turning to Alex. “You too, Mr. Rider. Standard post-mission check for off-world exposure.”

Alex extended his arm without protest.

Minutes later, the lab monitor pinged softly. Janet frowned, leaning closer to the readout. “That can’t be right.”

Sam straightened. “What’s wrong?”

Janet tapped the screen, eyes narrowing. “Your bloodwork. There’s no trace of naquadah.”

Sam blinked. “That’s impossible. It’s never—” She stopped, looking from Janet to the device in her hand.

Alex followed her gaze. “You think that thing did it?”

Sam hesitated. “If it can mask a Goa’uld’s presence in bloodwork… maybe it can do more than that.”

Alex leaned back instinctively. “That’s not comforting.”

Janet crossed her arms, voice low. “If it can erase naquadah signatures, it would make hosts undetectable to our standard checks. Anyone could be carrying a symbiote—and we’d never know.”

The thought hung in the air like static.

From the doorway, Jack’s voice broke the silence. “Well, that’s just what I wanted to hear before lunch.”

He stepped inside, glancing from Sam to Alex to the glowing object. “So, let me guess. The kid brought home the alien equivalent of a stealth device, and now we’re back to not knowing who’s possessed?”

“More or less,” Sam admitted.

Jack sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Fantastic.” He looked at Alex. “Next time, kid, souvenirs stay off the packing list.”

Alex tried to smile, but the weight of what they’d just learned sat cold in his stomach.

Because if this device worked the way Sam thought it did, then the Goa’uld could be anywhere.

Chapter Text

The conference room was silent except for the faint buzz of the fluorescents. Hammond sat at the head of the table, jaw tight, pen tapping a steady rhythm that said someone’s about to have a bad day. SG-1 sat in their usual seats, still dusted with the fine grit of an off-world firefight.  Jack hadn’t even had time to wash the dust out of his hair before making his way to the briefing. Carter’s hands were folded neatly; Daniel’s notebook was open but untouched; Teal’c looked like he could wait another twelve hours without moving a muscle.

And then there was the kid.

Alex Rider—supposedly a civilian asset to the CIA, unofficial headache, and apparently a magnet that drew every three-letter agency in the book straight into the SGC’s conference room. He sat at the far end of the table, posture calm, eyes sharper than they had any right to be for someone who looked like they’d been dragged through a hedge backwards.

Across from him were the outsiders: Deputy Director Joe Byrne, CIA, and Ben Daniels, MI-6 liaison. Between them sat the reason everyone’s blood pressure was spiking—a little containment case holding a golden tie clip that looked like it belonged on a banker, not a battlefield.

Hammond finally broke the quiet. “Doctor Fraiser’s full report came in an hour ago. I assume you’ve all read the summary.”

Jack leaned back in his chair. “Read it. Didn’t like it.”

“None of us did,” Sam added. “The device emits energy signatures that don’t match anything we’ve catalogued. Not Goa’uld, not Tok’ra, not Asgard. And…” She hesitated. “The naquadah in my blood was gone.”

Daniel blinked. “Gone as in neutralized?”

“As in removed,” Carter said. “Completely. Then, when Doctor Fraiser retested me—without the device in the room—the naquadah was back.”

Jack rubbed a hand over his face. “So we’ve got disappearing alien metal in people’s bloodstreams. That’s… new.”

Byrne leaned forward. The man had the kind of sharp, understated authority that said he didn’t usually explain himself twice. “We’ve seen hints of tech like this before. “Or at least, of shipments moving through intermediaries. The broker Alex encountered before his capture—Lucian Varga—has been moving pieces like this. Tie clips, cuff links, small ornaments. Below his usual pay grade, which is why our analysts flagged it.”

Hammond’s eyes flicked to Ben Daniels. “MI-6 concurs?”

Ben nodded, voice low and calm. “We’ve been tracking Varga’s financial network for months. His usual clients deal in bioweapons, not jewelry. Lately he’s been meeting with individuals who have no connection to the black market. Researchers, diplomats, legitimate business figures.”

Jack crossed his arms. “So our tie clip dealer suddenly decides to branch out from bullets to alien bling. That about right?”

Byrne didn’t smile. “Right enough that both our agencies are worried.”

Hammond’s pen stilled. “Our immediate priority is containment. Major Carter, I want you to continue testing under secure protocols. We don’t move the device, we don’t share samples, and we do not involve the NID.”

Jack raised a hand. “Now that’s an order I can get behind.”

Hammond ignored him, eyes on the two intelligence officers. “Deputy Director Byrne, you’ll coordinate with our teams from Langley. Agent Daniels—since you’re already our liaison to the British government, I’d like you to remain on-site and assist Major Carter with the investigation.”

Ben inclined his head slightly. “Of course, General.”

Jack couldn’t tell if the guy was agreeing or filing the request away under terribly inconvenient.

Finally Hammond looked down the table at Alex. “Rider, your participation in this investigation is voluntary. You’re not under obligation to stay involved.”

Alex’s voice was steady. “Understood, sir.”

Jack caught the look in the kid’s eyes, though — calm, resigned, too old for someone that young. He wasn’t going anywhere.

The meeting adjourned with the scrape of chairs and the rustle of folders. Byrne lingered just long enough to catch Alex by the shoulder.

“Everything alright?” he asked quietly. The man’s voice had a heavy weight that came from too many years of briefing agents who didn’t always come back.

Alex gave a small, tired grin. “Yeah. Got out. I live to be a pain in your ass another day.”

Byrne’s eyes softened for half a second—enough that Jack almost missed it. “Good. Keep your head on, kid. We’ll coordinate from Langley.”

As Byrne stepped away, Ben Daniels adjusted his tie, eyes flicking toward Alex with that assessing calm Jack was already coming to dislike. “I brought some old friends along, ‘6 didn’t want me poking around in all of this without some backup” Ben said mildly.

“Ugh,” Alex replied in teenaged disgust.

Daniels huffed a laugh, “They’re in a room down the hall, apparently there's an orientation video”

“Ugh” Alex repeated, even more emphatic than the first time

When they finally cleared out, Jack leaned against the wall beside the door, watching Byrne head for the transport lift while Ben lingered just long enough to exchange credentials with Carter.

Spooks everywhere, Jack thought. Just what we needed.

He pushed off the wall and followed his team toward the lab, muttering, “Naquadah’s disappearing, CIA’s calling, MI-6’s moving in, and we’re babysitting a teenager with a target on his back. Just another day at the office.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Alex walking beside Ben. The kid was listening, but his eyes were on the containment case Carter carried.

SGC Labs weren’t built for crowds, but today Carter’s workspace looked like someone was running a clearance sale on brilliant people. Cables snaked across every surface, monitors hummed, and the faint metallic glint of the containment case sat dead center like the world’s most suspicious paperweight.

Carter was in full-on science mode — goggles rucked up in her hair, muttering energy readings to a laptop that blinked back in quiet protest. Daniel had annexed a nearby table, surrounded by open books and half-translated notes, one hand absently flipping pages while the other cradled a coffee that had long since gone cold.

Alex Rider was perched on the edge of a nearby desk, feet in the chair, elbow braced on one knee and his chin propped on his fist, watching Daniel flip through pages with the kind of focus that suggested equal parts curiosity and suppressed impatience. Every so often he’d lean forward to glance at a line of text, eyes narrowing like he was trying to translate it.

The kid had that look again — the one that didn’t fit his age. Too aware. Too steady. Jack filed it away with everything else about him that didn’t add up.

The door swung open behind him, a puff of slightly less stale air entering the room. There was only so much air circulation you could get with your base under a mountain.

Ben Daniels stepped in first, his MI-6 polish intact despite the mountain air, four men who looked like they’d rather be anywhere else clustered in the doorway behind him.

Daniels’s promised backup, right on schedule.

Jack recognized the type instantly: men walking into rooms where they didn’t trust the walls, only each other. These weren’t just soldiers. They were a unit — trained, tested, and too damn good at keeping their expressions neutral.

Carter glanced up from her instruments, eyebrows lifting in mild surprise. Daniel barely looked up. Alex froze for half a second, then straightened.

The lead of the new arrivals grinned faintly.

“Well, I’ll be damned. You’re still alive.”

Alex’s face flickered through about three expressions before settling on exasperated affection. “Yeah, sorry to disappoint.”

“Not disappointed,” the man said, crossing the room to clap him on the shoulder. “Just surprised. We heard the rumors.”

“Rumors?” Jack muttered, stepping closer.

The rest of K-Unit filtered in behind their leader. One with sharp eyes and a perpetual smirk gave the lab a once-over, another hung back, already cataloging exits, while a dark-haired one with a Glasgow accent muttered, “Bloody hell, this place is like the ESA on steroids.”

Ben Daniels shot them a look that was equal parts fond and warning. “Gentlemen.”

Jack stayed back, arms crossed, observing. The reunion had an ease to it — teasing, familiarity, a shared weight that only came from field time together. These men didn’t just know Alex. They trusted him. Which raised more questions than answers.

“Alright,” Jack said finally, voice cutting through the chatter. “Since introductions seem to be optional around here, care to enlighten the class?”

Daniels obliged smoothly. “Colonel O’Neill, this is K-Unit — Wolf, Eagle, Elk, and Snake.”

“Those are callsigns, right?” Jack asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Depends who’s asking,” the one called Eagle replied with a grin.

Alex rolled his eyes. “Don’t encourage him.”

He let it play out while he drifted closer to Carter’s station. The device laid open under a containment field, faint gold lines pulsing along its surface like a heartbeat, the faint hum pitched up in key as he approached.

“Any luck?” he asked.

“Some,” Carter said, eyes still on her readings. “The outer shell has an alloy consistent with known Ancient materials — the same type of trace element we found in the drone chair in the Ancient outpost. But the energy pattern’s wrong. There’s a Goa’uld frequency superimposed on it.”

Jack frowned. “So, what — this thing’s Ancient tech that the snakes tweaked for themselves?”

“Looks that way,” Carter said. “Based on Jolinar’s memories… There were rumors of a Goa’uld scientist who experimented with Ancient shielding tech. It was supposed to hide symbiotes from certain types of scans — naquadah signatures, primarily. But Jolinar thought it was lost.”

Daniel glanced up from his book. “Guess it wasn’t.”

“Here’s the kicker,” Carter went on. “When the device’s field was active, my naquadah signature disappeared. Completely. The sensors couldn’t even tell I’d ever been a host. Then, when we removed it — poof, back again.”

Wolf eyed Carter’s research station and the alien tech it contained dubiously but moved deeper into the room to stand next to Alex.

Alex didn’t look up from where he was leaning over Daniel’s shoulder, fascinated by an illustration of ancient symbols.

“Going to pick up a new language in your retirement?” the man teased

Jack drifted closer to the exchange — the quiet jokes, the undercurrent of trust — and couldn’t shake the thought that the kid had been through far more than anyone had deigned to read the SGC in on. CIA asset or not, there was training there- and experience. Real, hard-earned experience.

Carter called from the other side of the lab, breaking his train of thought. “Colonel, the device just emitted another pulse. Low frequency this time.”

Jack’s gaze slid back to the containment case — then to Alex, who was now sitting on the desk edge near Daniel’s books, flipping a pencil between his fingers, half-listening. The device gave a faint hum. Carter noticed it too; her eyes flicked between the readings and the kid.

“Sir,” she said slowly, “the energy spike correlates with proximity.”

Jack stepped forward experimentally. The hum deepened, a soft golden light threading through the etchings. “Still humming,” he said.

“Now, Alex—could you step closer, please?” Carter asked.

Alex shrugged and moved nearer. The glow brightened, but not as much as before.

“Interesting,” Carter murmured. “It reacts to both of you. Stronger with you, sir — weaker with Rider.”

K-Unit shifted subtly closer to him, instinctive. Protective.

Daniel leaned closer over the book. “I think i have a working translation here. It says the device was designed to ‘mask the divine spark within chosen hosts.’ I’d bet that refers to the energy signature the Goa’uld give off — but if it’s originally Ancient, that language might’ve meant something else entirely.”

“Like what?” Jack asked.

Carter hesitated. “Like… it was meant to hide people with the ATA gene.”

Jack blinked. “Come again?”

“We know the ATA gene facilitates interaction with Ancient technology. It emits a subtle bioelectric frequency. The Ancients may have developed tech to suppress or mask it — maybe to hide from whatever drove them to our galaxy. If the Goa’uld modified that system to hide their own signatures, it could explain why this thing reacts to both Ancient and symbiote energy patterns.”

Daniel glanced up. “So he’s got the gene too?”

“Maybe a recessive or partial expression,” Carter said.

Ben, who’d been standing by the wall, finally spoke. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Jack said, folding his arms, “the kid’s a key to the same ancient toys I am. Just our luck.”

Carter shot him a warning glance. “It also means this device could be targeting or selecting for ATA carriers. If the Goa’uld wanted to infiltrate Earth through people who could access Ancient tech—”

“Then they were planning ahead,” Daniel finished quietly.

Jack exhaled through his nose. “Well. That’s not terrifying at all.”

Jack’s gaze drifted back to the kid surrounded by his old unit, half-soldier, half-civilian, entirely too calm for his own good, and too damn young to be caught up in this.

Chapter Text

His team had left the lab late that night, Sam and Daniel doing their clever little macguffin routine. Sam, narrowing down a way to ID the ATA-seeking/Goa’uld-hiding devices, had last been seen consulting with colleagues over at ‘51. Daniel, on the other hand, was piling more and more books around himself like a fortress; Teal’c had been stationed behind the battlements to consult, taking Daniel's academic fervor with his usual warrior stoic. The kid had somehow wrangled a spot at Daniel’s side, like he was angling for a junior archaeologist badge. Eventually, Jack had managed to pry everyone away from their respective assignments and shepherd them off to the bunkrooms for rest—but it had been closer to morning than night by the time the last lights went out.

The next morning, Jack was up far too early, even for a career military man like him, but when a crisis made its way through the gate to Earth, it was all hands on deck. After this, he promised himself, he’d put in for some leave. Maybe go fishing. For now, first order of business: breakfast.

K-Unit was already in the mess by the time he arrived: Eagle arguing with Snake over some detail of the previous night’s lab, Wolf corralling Alex, who somehow managed to straddle the line between annoyance and polite obedience.

Jack snagged some cereal for himself and settled in to watch.

“Thought you were a wolf, not a motherhen,” Alex muttered, trying to wriggle free from Wolf’s grasp as the taller man guided him toward the breakfast table.

Wolf didn’t break stride, but Elk leaned over, grinning, and gestured at Alex. “Wouldn’t that make you a chick instead of a cub?”

Alex rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath but letting himself be steered along. Wolf’s jaw tightened slightly, though there was a flicker of amusement at the exchange.

Jack raised an eyebrow at his team, who had just wandered over with their meals just in time to catch the exchange.

Carter leaned in, whispering as she stirred sugar into her coffee. “Last night, when everyone was exhausted, Snake slipped and called him ‘Cub.’ Alex didn’t hesitate—responded like it was his name.”

Jack frowned. “Cub, huh? Interesting.” He took a sip of coffee, eyes flicking back to Alex. The kid sat quietly now, scanning the room, alert but saying nothing. Daniels drifted over to join the group of Brits, and Alex finally relaxed enough to dig into his breakfast. Jack noticed the ease between the two—the quiet way Alex responded to Ben, the subtle trust in their interactions. Whatever it was, the kid clearly took cues from him in a way he didn’t with the others, and Ben let it happen without making a scene.

Daniel piped up from across the table. “I don’t know what the nickname means exactly, but… maybe a field name?”

Jack nodded slowly. “The SAS assign animal code names during training,” he mused.

The mess hall chatter blended into the background as K-Unit continued their quiet banter. Jack watched the subtle dynamics, filing everything away—the teasing, the protective gestures, the unspoken hierarchy. Alex and Daniels moved slightly apart from it all, a touch removed but connected in ways the others wouldn’t notice. One day, he’d figure out exactly why Alex had the instincts of a soldier—and then see if there were any heads he needed to bust. For now, all they had to do was get through the morning briefing and the next phase of the investigation.

The breakfast chatter lingered in the mess as trays clattered and coffee steamed. Jack finished his cereal and stood, stretching. “Alright, time to see what everyone dug up overnight,” he muttered to himself.

K-Unit moved with quiet efficiency. Alex joined them but didn’t fall in line like a recruit. He matched Wolf’s pace as the man ushered his team toward the briefing room. Ben stayed just behind him, calm, letting Alex set the pace. It was subtle, but Jack noticed: Alex didn’t defer—he negotiated his place in the group without saying a word.

SG-1 trailed them to the conference room, which was already set up. Carter had her laptop open, projecting graphs and readings from overnight analysis. Daniel’s stack of books looked even taller than the night before, their spines annotated and worn from late-night study.

“Morning,” Hammond greeted, voice brisk. “I trust everyone got some rest.”

Jack loosed a weary sigh.

His team ignored the dramatics, but the kid caught his eye from across the table with a little twitch of a smile.

Carter wasted no time beginning her presentation. “Overnight, we cross-referenced the device’s energy signatures with known Ancient and Goa’uld tech. I’ve confirmed, to the best of my ability, that this device contains both a symbiote-hiding function and an ATA-gene seeking one. Clever—and not something the Goa’uld could have figured out themselves.”

Hammond’s eyes hardened. “Implications, Major?”

Carter hesitated. “Sir, if the Goa’uld are distributing modified versions of this tech, it means they could be infiltrating organizations without us detecting them. The masking field blocks naquadah sensors, biometric scans—everything. Someone could walk through base security right now and we wouldn’t know they were a Goa’uld without an MRI.”

The room went still.

Daniel looked up from his notes. “They’d need a power source to run that kind of field, right? You can’t just clip it on and go.”

“Correct,” Carter said. “Localized power surges—minor, but noticeable. If enough of these devices are active, we’d see spikes in regional grids. Especially near where they were manufactured or tested. On a smaller scale, I’ve modified an EM sensor to identify the specific signature of these devices if the wearer is within a few yards.”

Agent Daniels nodded slowly. “We can pull domestic power anomaly reports through the Department of Energy’s backend. If there’s a cluster, Langley can find it. I’ll contact Byrne and have one of his analysts pull the data.”

“Do that,” Hammond said. “Dr. Jackson—your report.”

Daniel jumped to it. “Between what we saw on the ha’tak and the information we’ve collected so far, I think I’ve identified the Goa’uld involved in this conspiracy. Three main players stand out. Aker—an Egyptian deity of the horizon and the underworld, guardian of the sun’s gateways. Ereshkigal—Sumerian queen of the underworld, associated with death and the unseen. And Chachapuma—less familiar, an Andean feline spirit said to guard hidden places. All three share one thing in common: dominion over thresholds, concealment, or what lies beyond. That fits perfectly with what we’re seeing in their operations.”

“Another thing, sir,” Carter said, glancing up from her laptop. “Area 51 confirmed that the Antarctic gate is still secure. I’ve been trying to determine where the gate Alex was transported through came from—and where it is now. Some contacts at Space Command reached out about an object they were tracking about a month ago. It entered Earth’s atmosphere on an unusual trajectory before they lost it. They assumed it burned up. I compared its projected path and calculated a possible landing zone.”

She pulled up a map and highlighted a shaded region.

Alex rose and crossed to the projector. “That’s where I was taken,” he said, pointing to a spot right by the coast of San Francisco.

Carter nodded her understanding. “Furthermore, I’ve been tracking surges in Stargate power output—similar to what occurred when Colonel O’Neill and I were inadvertently sent through the Antarctic gate.”

She zoomed in on the map. “Using CIA resources, we tracked unusual power fluctuations in California overnight—likely the location of the rogue Stargate. You’ll notice it sits near the center of that landing zone. I suspect the Goa’uld behind this conspiracy salvaged a Stargate from an unknown planet and flew it here in secret, using it for covert off-world transport.”

Jack threw up his hands. “For crying out loud. You’re telling me the snakes have had complete access to Earth for over a month and no one caught it?”

Hammond’s jaw tightened, his hands steepled on the table. “I want the exact location of this Stargate found immediately. Carter, coordinate with Area 51 and the CIA to cross-check any recent anomalies in power grids or Stargate activity. As soon as it’s found, we’ll establish a containment perimeter.”

His gaze swept the table, resting briefly on Alex. “We proceed on two fronts. First, containment. Second, intelligence. We identify the devices, we track the rogue Stargate, and we determine exactly what the Goa’uld intend. Any unnecessary movement or exposure, and the operation fails. Mr. Rider, I’d like you to assist Major Carter in her search. Any detail you recall from your capture could help us locate this rogue Stargate.”

He paused, then nodded to the group. “Dismissed.”

Chairs scraped, screens shut down, and the quiet hum of the base resumed.

Jack glanced around the room. “Looks like we’re in for a long day.”

Alex shouldered his jacket and gave a faint, dry smile. “Could be worse,” he said.

Ben Daniels inclined his head toward him, expression unreadable, but there was an unmistakable edge of reassurance in his posture.

As the teams filed out, Jack lingered a second longer, watching the pair. There was something in the kid’s composure—alert, disciplined, more recruit than hapless teenager.

There was something up with Alex Rider, the brits all knew what it was. Jack didn’t know what it was, but the way the others moved around him, like he was one of theirs…

Yeah. He’d figure it out soon enough.