Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers or Stargate SG-1. They belong to their respective owners. I am making no money off of this fanfiction. It is for entertainment purposes only.

Into the Wild Blue Yonder

Part the Eighteenth

Matthew couldn't really say why, but he was surprised when he didn't see Ivan shaking off snowflakes. The Russian colonel, presumably Colonel Chekov, stepped forward, greeting General Hammond with a handshake. In a second, Ivan had followed up the greeting.

"General Hammond, this is Captain Ivan Braginsky," Colonel Chekov introduced. "On record, he has come to assist me, but your president has allowed him access to help with the current… problem."

General Hammond nodded imperceptibly. "I'm sorry that it was necessary."

"I am, too," Ivan said.

What's—Ivan—doing here? Matthew blinked as his thought jumped, and then his gaze moved rapidly between the three of them and the door. He hadn't been noticed yet, and he didn't intend to be. Banking on all of his powers of invisibility, he had picked up his folder and taken a step away from the desk to slip away when Ivan turned. Their gazes met, violet on violet.

Ivan's eyes narrowed, and then the dark gleam vanished with a smile. "Alfred!" he said, clapping his hands together once. "When did you get back? I thought that you had gone on a trip, Alfred."

"I'm Matthew," escaped the Canadian's mouth before he could stop it. He swallowed nervously. Confronting Ivan on a secret American military base had not been on his list of things to do before his country disappeared—

Ivan turned sharply to General Hammond, but seeing the general's composure, said, "You are not surprised. How did he get here?"

"It wasn't my idea," General Hammond said. "Of that, I can assure you."

"I care not for the idea's source. By this, you demonstrate that you understand nothing—"

"I really don't think—"

"—because if you did, then you would know that it does not matter what that ph—"

Riiiiiiiing.

All eyes turned to the white phone on the wall. When it rang a second time, General Hammond huffed loudly and grabbed it off of the receiver. "Whoever this is, you'd better have a damn good reason—Dr. Frasier." A short pause ensued in which Ivan turned his eyes on Matthew. Matthew was still catching his words when General Hammond exclaimed, "He what?" A short pause, and then, "All right, Dr. Frasier. We'll start a base-wide search." He hung up the phone.

"What has happened?" Colonel Chekov asked.

General Hammond inhaled deeply and said, "Gentlemen, I'm afraid that we'll have to address this matter another time."

Ivan began, "I don't think that—"

"I assure you, there will be plenty of time later," General Hammond said. "As of right now, this entire base has been placed on lockdown."

"Lockdown?" Colonel Chekov echoed. "Why?"

"One of my airmen was just discovered dead, frozen in our Commissary's freezer. Until I find out who's responsible, no one is going anywhere."

Ivan's piercing gaze lingered on General Hammond before it returned to Matthew. "Then there will be time later."

"Yes, there will." Gesturing toward the door, General Hammond said, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to investigate the death of one of my airmen."

Colonel Chekov glanced between the nations and the general. "May I accompany you, General Hammond? This matter concerns us as well."

"You may."

Matthew and Ivan exited the office, followed by the colonel and general. As the door shut behind him, Matthew wanted to run, but he could feel Ivan's eyes boring into him as firmly as if the larger nation was physically holding him. Besides, even if he could outpace him (or if his invisibility finally kicked in, the one time he wanted it!), the base was on lockdown. He wouldn't get out, and it would be just a matter of time before Russia caught him.

Immediate death or delayed death, what a question, Matthew thought sardonically.

Once the departing footsteps had moved out of earshot, Ivan nodded at Matthew, his gaze still unwavering. Matthew followed down the hallway. When they arrived at an empty room, Ivan gestured for Matthew to enter, and then he closed the door behind them. Leaning against it, he crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Matthew. Matthew shifted.

Finally, Russia asked, "Why are you here, Canada?"

The bluntness was refreshing. Matthew exhaled. "Alfred's missing. I'm here to find him."

Russia laughed. "I would love to see how long that desire motivates you."

Crossing his arms over his chest while inhaling slowly, Matthew asked, "Are you suggesting that I would stop before I found him, Ivan?"

"No. I wonder merely how long until other interests might… distract you."

"Such as?"

Russia hummed. "I wonder..."

A moment of silence passed in which antsy jitters began creeping into Matthew again. Ivan hadn't moved from his position in front of the door, and the longer they stood silently, the more impatient Matthew became. His idiotictwin was missing without a trace. His entire trip to find him had been nothing but red tape, secrets, and now mockery. On top of passive-aggressive silence for an answer he couldn't fathom, he hadn't had his morning cup of coffee, and he seriously doubted there was a Tim's nearby.

Matthew didn't take passive-aggression. He owned passive-aggression. "Is there something on my face, Ivan?"

"Such bite, Canada!" Russia laughed.

Matthew snorted. Images began flashing through his mind again, passing too quickly to understand. He swayed fractionally, blinking. Light-headed, he didn't know if it was the surge or the lack of coffee or the lack of breakfast and coffee. He needed to get out quickly, preferably without his entire hand shown. Adjusting the folder under his arm, he turned to the figure in front of the door. "I believe that we've established by now that you're not going to help me concerning my brother's whereabouts. So, if you'll excuse me, Ivan—"

Matthew reached out for the doorknob.

"I won't humor you further, Canada," Ivan said lowly. "Why do you insult me?"

Matthew's hand froze several inches from the doorknob, and his gaze shot up in shock. Violet bore into violet for a second time, and Russia's grew icy.

Cold seeped into Matthew as he withdrew his hand. "You're not more concerned about revealing ourselves?"

Russia scoffed. "If it got out, I would remove the problem." His eyes narrowed as he stared into Matthew's wide eyes, scrutinizing something. Matthew thought of glowing golden eyes, but it was so random, it passed as quickly as it came. The taller man's eyebrows furrowed, framing the unchanging purple orbs, and then Russia whispered in wonder, "What have you done?"

Matthew broke the gaze, staring at the floor. He said nothing.

Ivan shook his head. He laughed, but it was mirthless. "You play a most dangerous game."

Matthew's face flushed. "How could I? This isn't your base, Ivan."

A chill swept through his system, and, eyebrows furrowing, he frantically searched his mind. No, that's a lie. I lied just now—but how?

As though sensing Matthew's discomfort, Ivan hummed as he leaned back against the door, his arms still crossed over his chest. "You're right. This is your brother's base." He paused a second and then continued, smiling, "I, however, have official access to it. It's partially my domain."

The Stargate belongs to Russia, loaned on high payment to the United States after the United States' Stargate was destroyed, the missing piece whispered, unbidden. Images flashed before his mind, threatening to cause Matthew to see stars until he forced them away, but another thought came to whisper—

This was not in my calculations when I came to Cheyenne Mountain.

"From that look, I would say that your boss doesn't know that you're here."

Matthew's heart raced.

Reaching into his pocket, Russia pulled out a cell phone. Flipping it open and pushing keys, he murmured, "I wonder what he would say if I called him and—"

"No!"

Russia paused, his finger hovering over what Matthew was certain was the call button. "No?"

Taking a deep breath, Matthew said, "You can't. I…" He scrambled for something, anything, and his eyes fell on the folder. So much for keeping cards in his hand. "I have permission to be here," he said quietly.

Russia moved his finger off of the button but didn't close the phone. "Whose permission?"

"Alfred's President. How else would I be here, Ivan?"

Russia narrowed his eyes slightly, but Matthew couldn't tell what he was thinking. "That does not explain your lack of address," he said. "You may not blame a lack of citizens. The one is sufficient, regardless of his affiliations."

His affiliations? Still eyeing the phone in Russia's hand, Matthew pressed, "Why aren't you concerned about secrecy, Ivan?"

"I am. Your brother is not, apparently."

Matthew frowned.

Russia frowned. "You evade my question, Canada."

"What question?"

Russia studied him for what felt an eternity. Matthew shifted.

Finally, Russia shut his phone and put it back into his pocket. Before Matthew could breathe a sigh of relief, Russia's eyes moved to the folder in Matthew's left hand, and he murmured, "Perhaps you can't."

Matthew's heart raced, and he tried to push past Ivan toward the door, but Russia was quicker, snatching the folder away. With Russia in front of the door, Matthew couldn't get out, either. Cold seeped through him as Matthew watched the folder open.

Russia's eyes widened. "You did not sign this."

"I did."

Russia exhaled, fixing on Matthew an unsettling, emotionless stare, as if he was seeing into and through him. He snapped the folder shut. "I do not know who the greater fool is—the President for offering this, or you for signing."

"What does that mean?"

"You have no respect for the rules that bind us, either."

"But that's why I signed it," Matthew protested quickly. "I came as a civilian guest. You're right, I can't address you now, but—" emboldened, he finished, "this may be partially your territory, Ivan, but you have no authority over me. With that paper signed, I can stay until I've found Alfred."

"This paper prevents merely my throwing you out on principle. It doesn't protect you if I call your Prime Minister and have him recall you. I hardly think that your brother's President will be able to give a good explanation for why I found you with a signed Non-Disclosure Agreement in a secret military facility."

A cold weight settled in Matthew's stomach.

Russia barked a mirthless laugh. "If we haven't retrieved the idiot child yet, your presence makes no difference. You have no reason to stay."

He reached his left hand into his pocket. Pulling out his phone, Russia flipped it open, his finger hovering over the dialing pad.

Matthew's heart raced.

Beep.

The cold sweat dissipated as something in Matthew snapped. No reason—!

Beep.

"You need a reason for why I should stay, Ivan?" Matthew murmured.

Beep.

"I'll give you one."

Beep.

"This base is some sort of secret military facility between you and my brother, right?"

Beep.

"Therefore, you care only about secrecy and silence."

Beep.

"If you call my boss, I swear I'll tell the entire international community about the Stargate."

Beep.

"Every—last—detail—to—every—last—nation." Jabbing a finger into Russia's face, Matthew hissed, "How do you like that for secrecy, eh?"

Beep.

Russia smiled, a light dancing in his eyes that the adrenaline-surged Matthew couldn't interpret. Slowly, Russia shut the phone and put it back into his pocket. Leaning close enough for Matthew to smell vodka on his breath, Russia whispered, "Could you?"

Breathing heavily, Matthew snapped, "Could I what, Ivan?"

"Could you tell anyone?" Russia waved the folder gently in front of Matthew's nose. "You signed a Non-Disclosure Agreement to come as a civilian guest. Consequently, you have relinquished temporarily the power of your national status in exchange for your entrance and the knowledge you have gained."

"I'll remit it when I'm done." Matthew reached quickly for the folder.

Russia held it out of reach with a short laugh. "That defeats your purpose, does it not? Why would you waste the time that you've just spent attempting to process the information?"

How did you—

Russia smiled. "You play dangerous games like your brother." Patting Matthew's head with enough force that his knees buckled, he said, "A word of advice: Do not be impaled on your own sword, especially when you willingly hand it over for others to wield."

Ivan turned to the door, his back to Matthew and the folder in his hand. "Stay if you wish, Matthew. I will give you until the end of today. If you stay, we will speak as we might have spoken. If you don't, I will shred this document myself."

…Wait, what? His mouth agape, Matthew murmured, "…You'd really let me leave, Ivan?" Or stay? "Just like that?"

Ivan paused, his hand on the doorknob. Looking over his shoulder, he smiled as he said, "Of course. What could you do if I did?"

Lieutenant Johnson walked down the hall, scuffing his shoes against the floor as he stepped. Out of all the ideas that could have been used to be the tiebreaker, this took the cake—and stomped it into a tiny, lumpy, inedible mash. And who did he have to thank for this? Dr. Frasier! He always knew that the woman was secretly evil. The short ones always were.

He should have warned Colonel Reynolds to avoid her. Imagine the odds that both colonels were in the hallway at the same time, discussing the matter again, when Dr. Frasier just happened to walk up and make a teensy little suggestion. Both of them. And then her.

They didn't have to listen!

It was a disaster waiting to happen, just mark his words. It was one thing to settle the score from the joint exercise by having everyone pay for their own meals. It was another thing to have everyone together at dinner and not have anyone kill each other. They were soldiers, not politicians or diplomats. They couldn't don fake smiles for an entire evening. Someone would break, mark his words, and someone would die—and he would enjoy blaming Ms. Short Evil Doctor Lady when it happened.

Johnson exhaled deeply as he reached the Infirmary's doors. At least it gave him something to tell Judson. Hopefully, he wouldn't see Dr. Frasier. On top of what was her fault, every time he walked in, she had a new immunization on his shot record that he apparently needed. He was tired of being Mr. Marine Pincushion—

"Johnson!"

Johnson took a step away from the Infirmary doors at the sound of his colonel's voice and snapped to attention. "Colonel Reynolds, sir!"

"At ease." Colonel Reynolds stopped in front of him, his face drawn. Johnson furrowed his eyebrows, but before he could say anything, the lieutenant colonel asked, "Do you know where Bosco is?"

"Bosco, sir?" Johnson thought back. "No, sir. I believe that he went back to his room after breakfast. He said something about not having cleaned his rifle or run his ten miles yet this morning."

Reynolds only nodded shortly, and Johnson debated on whether he should worry. Instead, his superior officer said, "Please collect Bosco and then report back to the infirmary."

"Yes, sir."

All of the blood in Johnson's veins froze. He couldn't believe it, but Colonel Reynolds had just said it. Even the words came slowly in his mind as he thought, Peterson is dead?

"How can this be, sir?" Bosco asked faintly. "When?"

"We don't know," Reynolds said, exhaling deeply. "They'll examine his body soon. It was just discovered this morning, during breakfast."

"But… you said, the freezer—"

Reynolds shook his head, cutting Bosco off. "His body was frozen. I believe that the assailant wished both to delay the body's discovery and make an accurate autopsy more difficult."

"You're saying that he was already dead."

"Yes, Judson. That is what I think."

"But it obviously wasn't well planned, because we found him quickly," Bosco interjected.

Johnson growled, "And we'll find the killer just as quickly, I—"

Reynolds held up his hand, and Johnson silenced, biting his tongue to keep from speaking. "I understand, but—" he paused, inhaling deeply. "Don't act rashly. That's an order."

"You expect me to sit and wait when Peterson has just been murdered?" Johnson exclaimed.

His voice echoed around the infirmary, silencing the area around them. Johnson felt the weight of the silence and stares, but it only increased the roiling in his gut. Words beyond his reach clamored for a screamed outlet. Before he could grasp them, scattered noise had tentatively returned, and Colonel Reynolds interjected shortly,

"No, but I expect you to hold your anger until we know more, Johnson." Taking a breath, he added, his voice hitching slightly, "Regardless of your righteous anger, thinking is… is not the same as knowing. I'm sorry that we don't know more, but I'll let you know when we do. In the meantime, keep—keep your guard up, and keep a watch out for suspicious activity on the base while I'm in the meeting."

"Won't we be needed in the meeting, too, sir?" Bosco asked.

"No, I can pass along the necessary information. I'm sure that you'd rather not be cooped up in a chair right now anyway, when you could be keeping watch instead."

Johnson knew that "keeping watch" was offhand permission to search for the killer, but it was only looking, and discretely at that. There'd be hell to pay if they interfered with the official investigation that was undoubtably underway. Still, "keeping watch" left him feeling caged with his hands tied, the roiling in his stomach intensifying.

He had cleaned his rifle that morning. He itched to do more than look.

Bosco asked quietly, "Will they let us see Peterson, sir?"

Colonel Reynolds paused, having begun to turn away, and he shook his head. "Not until they're done with their investigations. Until… Until then, just be patient, please." He walked quickly away, the Infirmary doors closing quietly behind him.

Johnson clenched his dark fists. He kept his fingernails cropped so short that the white was almost nonexistent, but he could feel his nails biting into his palms. Looking down and away, he muttered, "I'm going, too."

"Colonel has to go to the meeting, but where are you going now?" Bosco asked, incredulous and, if Johnson believed it, slightly nervous. "Don't we need to—"

Johnson snorted. "Don't be a mother hen—" His words stuck in his throat, and he froze as Bosco and Judson stared at him, wide-eyed. His stomach churning, he turned away quickly. "Damn it!" Hurrying out of the Infirmary, he slammed the doors open and escaped before a nurse could yell at him for noise.

Don't be a mother hen, Peterson.

The words echoed in his ears. He hadn't finished the sentence, but everyone knew what he had been about to say. They had all said it at some point. It had been a part of normal routine: SG-3 went in swinging, heroically beating up the bad guys—and then one member hovered and checked for injuries once the mission was over.

He'd never say it again. He'd never grumble at Peterson or cuff him on the head or punch him in the shoulder for hovering over or too closely and muttering about the infections that were coming if this or that scratch or wound or gash wasn't cleaned and bandaged immediately. As if they'd lose life or limb in three freaking seconds without his intervention. As if a lack of a hovering Peterson on missions meant that SG-3 wouldn't come back at all.

Now who was gone?

Johnson slowed. Catching his breath, he slammed the side of his fist against the wall so hard he felt his bones rattle. "Damn it—!"

First, his nation was taken.

Now, it was Peterson.

"Damn it!"

It hurt to breathe. Johnson gritted his teeth and ran.

Jack entered the Debriefing Room, exhaling deeply. He'd asked for breakfast and was given a corpse. Why was there never a normal day—

"Jack!"

Jack stumbled backward as a small force bounced into him. Regaining his balance, he became aware of a small, fluffy head in the center of his stomach. That voice—

The boy pulled away, grinning widely. "It's good to see you, Jack! How are you?"

Jack had thought that nothing would make him smile that morning, but he grinned so widely that he thought his face would split. "Charlie!" He spun the boy around, who laughed joyously. "How have you been?"

Setting Charlie down, Jack noticed for the first time that the laughing Reetou boy was wearing tan clothing. "You're really a Tok'ra now?" He hadn't intended to, but he sounded the shocked he felt. They hadn't heard anything after Charlie had left with Jacob, so he had been forced to assume…

Charlie nodded, smiling. "I am. My symbiote's really nice. He—" Charlie bent over, coughing.

Jack placed a hand on Charlie's shoulder, steadying him.

"The blending went well. His symbiote replaced his immune system and is supplementing his major organs, but Charlie is still weak. A symbiote was never meant to replace the entire body's functions, after all."

Jack looked up to see Jacob, although Selmak had spoken. "Hey," he greeted shortly.

Selmak lowered his head, and when he looked back up, Jack was speaking to Jacob. "Hey, Jack," Jacob greeted. "Charlie has finally recuperated enough for Stargate travel, although he is not quite well enough for missions, if he'll ever be sent at all. He asked if he could see you, and we figured it would be all right if we brought him along."

"Of course!" Jack said. Turning back at Charlie, he declared, "After all of this blows over, the two of us will go fishing. That's not strenuous. And then, once you've healed completely, we'll play baseball."

Charlie smiled and nodded happily. "That'd be great! I'd love to!"

This Charlie's dark brown hair was cut short and appeared to have a slight wave. The first had grown out his sandy hair, and it was very fine and straight, like his mother's. The boy in front of him had fleshed out a little, so Jack knew that he was being fed properly. Jack felt his eyes misting. Until that moment, he had thought that he had lost another Charlie…

Jack leaned down to Charlie's eye level and withheld the shiver. After Kanan, he wasn't sure how he felt about Charlie having a snake in his head. Heck, they hadn't been buddy-buddy, but he had used to be just fine with Selmak. Now, he was barely keeping his temper down. It took all of his willpower to remain amicable in front of the kid. If it hadn't been for the important information they were supposed to have gotten from Kanan, Jack would have happily accepted death over blending. But what he accepted for himself he couldn't decide for another. As much as symbiote blending now made him taste bile, he couldn't deny that this symbiote was keeping Charlie alive and had allowed Jack to see him again. Hoping his tongue was in check still, Jack ignored Carter's warning glare over Charlie's shoulder and said, "So. Charlie, who's your, uh, roommate?"

Charlie looked across the room thoughtfully. "He says that he's had many names."

"He doesn't have a name?" Jack had never heard of such a thing.

Charlie shook his head. "He says that he was the last his queen mother bore, and he's often shared the names of his hosts."

"Am I supposed to call you Charlie One and Charlie Two now?"

Charlie laughed and shook his head. He coughed a couple of times. "No. He is using the name of his previous host, Acxitl."

Oxy—what? Jack stood back up and looked at Jacob. That sounded an awful lot like…

"That's the other reason why Charlie is here," Jacob answered. "Acxitl was a Tok'ra who lived and fought against some of the Goa'uld that you asked us about. We figured that it would be better to hear some things first hand."

Charlie bowed his head, and his eyes glowed before another voice said, "Hello. Are you Jack O'Neill?"

For Charlie's sake, Jack restrained the flinch and the knee-jerk sardonic reaction that, once again, was courtesy of Kanan. "I am. Um, to whom am I speaking?"

"As Charlie has said, I have most often shared the names of my previous hosts to give honor to their sacrifice while giving deference to my current host. To give respect to Charlie and my previous host, you may call me Acxitl."

"Hello."

"My regenerative powers are not perfect for his situation, but for the present, they are sufficient for Charlie's immediate needs. Since you are a father to him, I wished to reassure you that I am taking care of him to the best of my abilities."

Unexpectedly, Jack's heartstrings tugged for a second time. Swallowing thickly, he nodded. "Um, thanks."

Acxitl bowed his head. Charlie returned, smiling. "I told you he was really nice."

Surprising himself, Jack nodded again.

Charlie grinned.

Jack wished that Carter could have hid her relieved sigh better. At least Daniel had coughed and turned away to pretend he hadn't.

Something itched in the back of Jack's mind, and he turned to Jacob. "Did you say that Oxy here fought against the Goa'uld we asked about?"

Jacob nodded. "I did."

"That would be, oh, I don't know… a good five hundred years ago or more, right?"

"We'll go with more, but yes. Why?"

"Well," Jack drawled, pointing to Charlie, "meaning no disrespect to Selmak, but wouldn't that make Oxyhere the oldest and the wisest? If he's as old as you said he was?"

Jacob huffed. "His name's Acxitl. And don't start that, Jack."

"Just a question."

Jacob rolled his eyes. "Actually, we found him in a canopic storage jar on another planet, which, coincidentally, we retrieved from some of your rogue NID agents, Jack."

"NID?" Carter echoed in concern. "Why didn't you tell us before?"

"It wasn't important." Jacob shrugged it off. "My point is that Acxitl wasn't that old when he was put in stasis. Regardless of how long ago that happened, he didn't age in the jar. Thus, Selmak is still the oldest—and the wisest."

Jack shrugged innocently. "Just a question, Jacob."

"Yeah. Sure, Jack." Jacob huffed again as he rolled his eyes. Then he mimed looking and pointing at a watch as he asked, "Sam, where's George? I thought that we were about to start a meeting."

"I'm not sure. He was supposed to have been here by now."

Jack grimaced, the memory returning to him. "We had some… trouble on base this morning. General Hammond might be a little longer."

Daniel pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "What kind of trouble?"

"The dead kind. When I went looking for all of you at breakfast, a terrified cook dragged me to the back room. I found Peterson dead in the freezer."

"Peterson's dead?" Carter echoed in disbelief.

Jack nodded. "It explains why he missed last night's meeting. General Hammond is speaking to Dr. Frasier right now."

"That doesn't bode well," Jacob said.

"No, it doesn't," Jack said. "General Hammond's also placed the base under lockdown until we know more. So, sorry about that."

Jacob exhaled deeply. "Bad time to be caught by procedures."

"What is lockdown?" Charlie asked.

"It means that we likely can't return home until they find the killer," Jacob summarized.

"And in the meantime, I can't take you fishing," Jack added.

Charlie frowned. "How long is a lockdown?"

"We can't say for sure," Sam said. "Hopefully, it won't last long."

Jack nodded.

Gesturing around him, Jacob asked, "So besides a postponement of the party, is there anything else I should know about?"

Jack rocked on his heels for a second, trying to think of something that he could actually say aloud, and then he remembered. "Oh, yeah. There is one more thing."

"What's that?"

"The Russians are here."

Russia walked down the mostly empty hallway. He needed to find Colonel Chekov, and then he wished to speak with some of the wounded in the Infirmary to hear their reports on the battle and the aftermath. The meeting would have been delayed due to the death, and he wished to investigate the matter while there was free time. He didn't want to rule out enemy infiltration—especially Goa'uld infiltration—and the only sure-proof way to certify that nothing was affecting his men, at the least, was to see each one individually.

The folder shifted under his arm, and Russia was reminded of Canada's—no, Matthew's—form. He had considered it too risky for use on a nation—it was much less convenient, occasionally impossible, to hide a nation's than a human's body if something went wrong (they might die, but they wouldn't disappear, so what if they didn't wake up again?)—especially when he hadn't believed there to be a practical application of it. National personifications were bound to both the nation and the government; they were intended to hold secrets, not somehow keep secrets from themselves. Was such a thing even possible?

Under normal circumstances, no. But this was not a normal circumstance, and it offered a unique opportunity for observation. Might there be other ways to implement such a form on national entities? It was a legal document.

Russia hummed absentmindedly as he considered the possibilities.

"Ah, Captain Braginsky," Colonel Chekov said, catching Ivan at the doors to the Infirmary. "I was looking for you. General Hammond has called the meeting."

Ivan raised an eyebrow as he followed Colonel Chekov from the Infirmary. He wouldn't have time yet to check up on his men. "So soon?"

"Yes. We will break when new information comes."

"Then they have learned something of the cause of death?" Ivan asked of the dead American soldier.

Colonel Chekov shook his head. "Not yet, but as soon as they are able, they will run tests and start the autopsy. Security is heightened for the meantime, but General Hammond wishes to use our time effectively until we know if greater defenses are necessary."

That translated to whether or not a sweep for Goa'uld infiltration was necessary or whether this was an inside, isolated event. The lockdown would prevent the killer from leaving or more from entering, but it was still annoying. At least the meeting was happening sooner so that they could decide what to do about the missing idiot and Ivan could return home.

Glancing around him to ensure that no one would overhear, Colonel Chekov broke Ivan's reverie. "Is everything all right, sir?"

"We will brief fully later. For now…" Ivan paused, glancing around again. The hallway was empty, so he asked quietly, "Is Lieutenant Nemerov following his orders?"

Colonel Chekov nodded firmly. "Yes, sir. He started even before we—"

"His orders now include Canada."

A/N: Charlie is the engineered boy sent by the Reetou as an intermediary in "Show and Tell." He leaves for the Tok'ra and is never heard from again, so I was happy to find an opportunity to use him.

As far as I can tell, Acxitl is pronounced "Ahk-shi-tl". His myth comes from Lewis Spence's The Magic and Mysteries of Mexico.