TMB spoilers (but does not reveal culprit). Beware.

Sonny tumbled out of the jet bridge, stretching his arms and then covering a yawn.

He hated flying.

Which was weird, seeing as he did so much of it.

Then again, life wasn't supposed to make sense.

If life made sense, he wouldn't be here just to talk to someone he had never met in person.

A phone call wouldn't do, he decided. Besides, if she was where he thought she was, Abdullah's latest dig, she might not have had signal anyway.

And this girl was different.

Sonny knew enough about the word. He'd grown up with it, hearing it muttered among the adults in his life when they thought he couldn't hear. When he appeared in front of them, blinking and asking "What's different?" they always either frowned at what they perceived to be boldness or looked away with expressions of embarrassment or shame. He'd never understood why they looked embarrassed or why the word was bad. It never upset him, and it upset them when it never upset him.

None of that changed when he was an adult, except "different" was replaced with "crazy," and they mostly said it to his face.

After that he had started to understand a little, but it still didn't upset him.

Different set off the conformist crowd. It was true when he was a kid, and it was still true now. Even some of his colleagues at S.P.I.E.D. hesitated to explicate their beliefs outside of work. And it wasn't that they weren't imaginative. If their beliefs could be compared to trees, everybody else snatched glimpses of the branches mostly covered by leaves; he saw the network of roots.

Which was why he went halfway around the world with just a letter in his hand.

People in S.P.I.E.D. lied about being in when they were in.

Not when they weren't.

Not when Sonny had never even heard of them.

He pulled the letter out of his pocket and unfolded it with his thumb.

Jamila El-Dine.

He must have read that name a million times. No answer came to him. Now he found himself going with the one that was the least ludicrous, that she had been doing her own exobiological research for years now and wanted to find out if she was on the same wavelength of organizations with similar goals. She wanted their knowledge. She wanted complete knowledge.

Sonny paused.

Or maybe she was just shy. Wanted to apply, but didn't.

He kicked himself for failing to think of that until now.

Then again, he didn't buy simple explanations.

With that, he shrugged, shoved the letter back in his pocket, readjusted his grip on his briefcase, and walked on. As usual, he was familiar with the location of this particular site. Finding it wouldn't be difficult. But it was pretty far out of Cairo. He still had a long way to go.

Sand began to rise and billow around Jamila's feet at the outskirts of Cairo. The beginning of a sandstorm. She sighed in exasperation. Another dig was starting today. Abdullah was already on his way to the site, and from the gleam in his eye she knew he expected to find something important. But soon visibility would be horrible. She couldn't drive out there for hours now.

And however much she hated it, she needed to find a place to wait out the storm. With that thought, she spun on her heel and headed back into the city. The sand started blowing higher, and she raised a hand to shield her eyes in preparation.

"Hello!"

Jamila looked up.

A few yards away stood a man who looked to be in his mid-twenties, carrying a heavily-graffitied briefcase. He had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, although sandstorms had that effect. The most distinguishing factor about him was his vibrant green and black hair, warped to one side from the wind. She was sure she didn't know him, but he greeted her in a familiar manner.

"Waiting to go out to the Cairo University dig?"

She didn't answer.

"I'm glad I caught you. Was about to head out there myself."

Silence.

"Jamila El-Dine?"

For a few seconds she hesitated. "Yes?" she finally answered.

"My name is Sonny Joon."

"Sonny Joon? I don't know any Sonny—" Jamila trailed off when she realized the name sounded somewhat familiar. Then it dawned on her. "Oh," she said quietly. "Sonny Joon, head of S.P.I.E.D.?"

Sonny nodded, squinting. "It took some doing, but I finally tracked you down. And," he fiddled with the clasp on the briefcase. "Sorry. Not used to these things. But I have here," he continued, frowning and muttering to himself until it sprang open, "an application, plus a lot of information about the history and development of theory regarding extraterrestrial life, including just a few tidbits about how S.P.I.E.D. has played a part in that process."

Staring blankly at him, Jamila said nothing. He seemed unfazed, caring little that she had lied about knowing him.

"And some pamphlets." He beamed.

From his untied shoes to his windswept hair to the way his voice rose as the storm picked up, Sonny seemed to resemble the archetypical madman the more he spoke. Without being aware of it, Jamila had stopped listening and instead just watched the vagarious twists of his face and erratic paths of his hands. Over time they seemed to move in an ellipse, as though he had internalized the beliefs of undiscovered planets and their orbits.

More sand swept up between them, making it harder to see him. Realizing with a jolt that she had been tuning him out, Jamila forced herself to listen to what he was saying.

"You know, it's really great to finally meet another believer." Sonny smiled through the golden haze. "So are you part of some secret organization? Or are you a loner? Have you found any connections between extraterrestrial life and Earth life? What did you find at the site? What type of research have you done before that? What have you discovered?"

The more questions he asked, the more Jamila continued to stare. His words rang in her ears long after he had finished speaking, as she struggled to understand his language. Only after a long, bare silence did she realize that these questions were not rhetorical and something else was needed to assuage the hunger in his eyes.

"I actually don't believe in aliens," she finally said. "I'm not looking to join any organization."

The effect was instantaneous. All the energy in his words and mien left in a second. He hunched over, suddenly exhausted. "Oh," he muttered, so quietly that she almost couldn't hear over the wind.

Normally Jamila didn't care much about the affairs of others, but this depleted figure drew some pity from her. He had apparently taken her lie in a more positive light, finding some significance in what for her was almost completely arbitrary. Abdullah said that he thought alien believers were stupid. That was it. That was all she needed to lie about.

But what could she do?

The stranger looked at the ground. Sand blew into his eyes, over and under the lens of his glasses, but he barely reacted.

"Can I at least buy you lunch?" Jamila asked after a brief hesitation.

Sonny shrugged dejectedly. "Yeah, sure."

They walked to the first restaurant in sight. It was crowded; people all over were shaking sand from their sleeves. Apparently they had had the same idea.

After sitting down, Sonny took a look at his new acquaintance. Her eyes darted up to him once before returning to the menu. Her skin was smooth; her mouth was taut. She looked young and acted old.

And she didn't smile.

As a matter of fact, her hijab covered up any possible frown lines, but he could bet they were there.

She seemed polite enough, but not overly friendly.

When she didn't speak, Sonny figured he'd better start the conversation. "Someone wrote me asking about you. His name was uh," Sonny closed his eyes and waved his hand, trying to remember.

"Abdullah Bakhoum?" Jamila scoffed. "Hah! He would."

"And, um," Sonny hesitated, "why would he do that?"

"Because I was out at his site a few weeks ago. He really, really hated that. He tried to throw me out a few times and then ignored me. I should have known he wouldn't stop at that."

Sonny's eyes lit up. "You're into antiquities?"

"Yes, I am."

"That's great! I was at a dig out here a little while ago, you know—the Kingston one. It was an awesome experience, but I'll probably never be able to go on another one."

"Why?"

"Because I endangered some fragile relics trying to save a locust."

"Did you?"

"Yes, I really did." Sonny replied, used to the disbelief.

"No, I mean, did you save the locust?"

"I think I did. Little guy disappeared during all the excitement, so I'll never know for sure."

Jamila nodded, and for a second it looked like she was going to smile. Sonny's hopes were dashed when, instead, she bit her lip, and her eyes clouded in thought.

"Most themes dealing with extraterrestrials are really taboo. Our image is not one people typically want to attach themselves to, even when they do believe. And clearly you don't, so tell me, what gives?"

Her brow furrowed.

"Not that I'm judging you," he added quickly, "it's just a really weird thing to lie about."

"It's not that…" Jamila trailed off. What would her mother have done in this situation? Her letter had said to trust no one. It had also made clear her expectation to die, and Jamila didn't plan on dying. If she were her mother, even the smallest details would go undisclosed. That was the correct way to go about this, surely.

But it was also the road to the quickest death. One needed friends; one needed one's back watched.

Her mother wouldn't even be considering answering this question.

Her mother dedicated herself completely to duty.

Her mother stopped at nothing, save death.

The first thing the Daughters had told Jamila after thrusting the envelope in her hand was that her father wasn't to know.

Never mind that her father hardly cared anymore.

Jamila could tell this person a little about her cover without revealing the secrets of the Order. He didn't look too crazy now that he was out of the storm, and if he concerned himself with the welfare of locusts, he more than covered his bases over the well-being of his friends. Maybe she didn't have the same resolve of her mother, but she would not dedicate her entire life to this mess. She would do what she had to and stay alive.

She quickly scanned the restaurant for potential eavesdroppers. Then, mustering up all her courage: "on several occasions, Abdullah has spoken out against alien believers," she said quietly. "He can't know why I'm there."

Sonny became quizzical. "You're both at the same sites, looking for the same things. You don't trust him?"

"Abdullah Bakhoum is not an honest man," Jamila's voice rose. "He is only out for himself and does not care about the artifacts he finds outside of their effect on his reputation."

Sonny understood immediately. He said nothing and waited for her to continue.

"I get the feeling he's after a relic for which he is not capable of showing the proper respect, once again, only this time the consequences will be far more dire."

"Has he found it?"

"He's looking."

Sonny looked across the table. He noticed Jamila's sudden rigid posture, her gritted teeth, her downcast gaze. But most of all he noticed her hard, hard eyes.

He cleared his throat. "So how did you find out about us?" he asked, changing the subject.

Jamila inhaled to speak. Then she stopped. Sonny did not sound angry or disappointed at all. No need to go into a lengthy explanation. "Online," she said.

"Oh." Sonny looked pleased. "Our classes came up first in the search engine?"

"Yes, they did."

Sonny's index finger tapped absently against the wood of the table. "Why the need to beat Abdullah?" he asked. "Why the need to find what you're looking for first?"

Ramses and Nefertari swirled in her vision. First one, then the other, separated by an impossible wall of seasons, then the embodiment of a long-standing wish of Ramses to lie with her for eternity in the bed of sands. "I have my own beliefs, Sonny," Jamila said. She looked down, almost wishing she could give a better, clearer answer.

When she looked up again, she saw, to her astonishment, that he was nodding slowly in understanding.

Maybe there was an upside to being eccentric.

Jamila started to smile. Then she remembered why they were here, Sonny's despondence in the sandstorm from just a few minutes ago, and it left her face abruptly. "Well, I do not know anything, so this entire trip must be a loss for you." A tone of something bordering contrite snuck into her voice, although she would not apologize aloud.

Sonny shook his head emphatically. "It's not a loss. I get to visit the Sphinx!"

"Oh," said Jamila. "Well that's nice."

"And beyond." His finger tapped the table with greater frequency. "You know, I think I'm going to add a personal touch. 'Sonny wuz here.'" He raised his left hand and mimed writing in the air.

At this Jamila finally began to laugh. She laughed for what seemed to her to be a long, long time. It wasn't that she doubted he was serious or that she liked the idea of graffiti on national monuments. As a matter of fact, she didn't know what exactly it was. But he was so unapologetically lunatic that he somehow seemed deserving of respect for it. "That is such a bad idea," she chuckled.

Sonny laughed too. "It is not."

"Yes, it is. I can't believe you're even considering it."

"I'm done considering it," he said with a broad grin. "It's happening."

"And you know what will happen if you get caught, right?"

"No. Do you?"

"Well they'll…" Jamila trailed off. Her eyes returned to Sonny, who looked expectant. "Something bad, anyway," she concluded.

"Eh," he shrugged, "probably not. I don't really plan on getting caught anyway."

"You have to give them your name upon entry. If they see a guy with green hair running away from the Sphinx, they'll remember."

"By that time I'll be on a plane back to the U.S." Impishly he drummed his fingers against each other and dissolved into a series of raucous chortles.

"Are you hoping that they'll blame it on aliens?" Jamila asked once he had finished his show.

"Nah. They can blame it on me."

"I suppose you're not counting on being arrested or deported?"

"What will be, will be."

Resting her chin on her interlaced fingers, Jamila considered this. "I think this is a very, very bad idea."

"It is a good idea."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"It is a good idea," Sonny repeated, doing some sort of weird wave with his hand.

Silence.

"What is that?" Jamila asked.

"The force." Sonny squinted at his hand, puzzled, and shook it out. "Thought it was worth a try. Is this thing broken?"

"The force?" Jamila asked incredulously.

"You mean you don't know what I'm talking about? Man. You've got to see Star Wars. Either way," he continued with the former topic, "Yes. Good idea."

Jamila sat back, relieved that this was a cultural phenomenon and not an indication of his sanity... or lack thereof. "No," she said squarely. "Bad idea."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

They kept at this for a quarter of an hour, during which they ordered, ate, and paid. Finally Sonny finally grew bored and conceded, muttering under his breath that he was sort of joking anyway.

Briefly Jamila wondered what time it was. Usually she always had the time on her mind, on a clock scale, a life scale, a cosmic scale. Each rushed into the next, and she always had to be watching, always had to be listening. It was all coming soon; she wasn't the only one who was getting close. Abdullah could pull the rug from under her feet at the last second. And even if it would happen within the next few years, she could still find herself dead if she didn't watch her back.

But all that she'd managed to forget for the time she'd been here. Maybe this was what life was like when it wasn't spent chasing after something time had lost.

How much could she tell him?

She had already said more than she had dared. There was the chance, however small, that this guy would turn around and try to tell Abdullah everything.

But she hadn't told him nearly enough for that.

Jamila paused before speaking again.

A name couldn't hurt, could it?

"I am looking for Nefertari," she muttered.

Sonny's head snapped up. "What was that?"

Jamila looked around before repeating it.

He began remembering a whispered name passed around the Kingston site the whole time he was there. This particular dig was expected to start in a few days, and he had finally succeeded in bringing that elusive detective whatshername to a location where he could later meet her. Based on what Grandpa Jin had been telling him, she was one of the individuals he needed. Besides which, after years of the oddest coincidences, he was just curious in his own right.

But Jamila's eyes spoke heavily of burden. And the accompanying determination that stirred within them showed a strength he had only heard about in folklore. A steady momentum spurred by the strength of the gods.

His eyes drifted down to the table, and thinking lines appeared around the bridge of his nose. As he stayed silent, Jamila studied him in turn. He looked to be considering something, considering what Jamila had no idea. Finally, he went to his briefcase and got out a pad of post-it notes and a pen. He scribbled something down, returned to the briefcase, and produced a map. After slapping the post-it onto the map, he slid it across the table. "Call me if this leads somewhere good."

Jamila's eyes widened as she surveyed the map. The location wasn't one she'd seen. It could only be a location for one of the digs she had been hearing about. Specifically, the one she had overheard Abdullah describe when she was at his site, when he was talking about joining ranks with Kingston in the near future. This one matched the rough location Abdullah had indicated. It looked like… but no, it couldn't be… Her eyes shot up to him. "Where did you get this map?"

But Sonny, already halfway out the door, only offered a solemn "Good luck" and a farewell nod.

He'd left her looking stunned and a little lost, closing the door just as she had come to terms with the situation and folded the map and placed it in her purse, eyes darting around to find out who had seen her with it.

He always knew about the dig site, but it took thirty-four hours to get there. He knew from the first that this girl was special, but she turned out to be a nonbeliever.

And after leaving this furtive ally, watching two loaded eyes and frown lines that disappeared up under her hijab as she prepared to set off, he knows the destination but not the length of the journey.

This has been cluttering up my drive for a few months now, so I added finishing touches and now offer it for your perusal. Sonny and Jamila share something special, the greater purpose portion of their lives… Jamila with returning Nefertari, Sonny with contacting the Testers. Other parts of their friendship tickle me (like the Sphinx anecdote), so I wanted to expand on what would've been their first conversation. I've got two other Jamila stories in my bag of tricks, so stay tuned!

Title is taken from the title of a great Wilfred Owen poem-yeah, I know, borrowed titles are usually derived from the text of the poem; so sue me-although it really has nothing to do with the poem, which took place in death from the battlefield.