Contact

A/N: Stargate: SG-1, Rurouni Kenshin, the Real Ghostbusters, and Airwolf belong to their respective creators. No infringement intended. Story takes place after "Hearts on Barbed Wire", with a brief reference to "Shrink"; another bit of "Urban Legends". Dr. John Baird belongs to Ellen Brand; she thought he'd like it in the SGC...

Cool, calm, collected, Dr. John Baird, originally of Texas and lately of California reminded himself, keeping pace with his military escort as they walked down yet another hallway he never would have imagined existed under NORAD. You're here, which means you've pretty much got the job if you don't do anything wacko, and... is that thing floating?

"Another of Major Carter's toys, Siler?" his escort called out to the burly blond sergeant shoving a floating trapezoid of coppery metal through midair.

"Yep," the sergeant grunted, heading down the hall. "Some kind of inertia redirector that doesn't work on the same principle as the glider drives."

"...Right," Lieutenant Benson said wryly.

"Hey, I just know what she said." The sergeant paused a moment to look them over.

John knew what he saw; a medium-tall, hazel-eyed blond with a stunned look and a briefcase, whose blue suit half-hid the build of an amateur football player. In fair shape, but no match for the Marines they'd passed coming down. Inertia redirector? John thought, mentally picking his jaw off the floor. Physics might not be his strong point but so far as he knew, you couldn't just redirect inertia.

But not so far as this command knew. Cool...

Evidently he passed the sergeant's minimum standards; Siler's expression eased a little. "Who's the new guy?"

"Later," Benson shrugged. "Right now I've got to get him down to briefing."

More corridors passed in a blur as Dr. Baird turned the dynamics of that little incident over in his head. I think that was a test. Yep, definitely a test.

And one that might or might not have been cleared by his would-be boss. Which implied the regular guys here had been burned by bad personnel before in a serious way. From the gatehouse all the way down, he'd noted signs of some severe institutional strain. Nothing obvious, nothing that breached military decorum... but a lot of the people under sublevel nine were wound pretty damn tight.

What else have they got down here?

Whatever it was, it was a lot more serious than just the mental strain of who knew how many tons of rock hanging over your head.

Feels kind of like Los Angeles after the aliens cleared out. Around the people who knew it was aliens, and not just "weird terrorist incidents". John kept an eye out as they passed the guards and walked into the briefing room. Fresh blue-gray paint on the walls. A long drop-down projector screen covered one wall. Padded black chairs, a few with arms that had been picked at by nervous fingers. A new solid oak table, polished top without so much as a coffee ring. And at the head of that table...

"Dr. Baird." Major General George Hammond rose, Air Force uniform neat and precise, with a solid array of ribbons that included a few John had never seen. Texas rang solidly in his voice as he inclined his head; not completely bald, not by a long shot, but what hairs the shorter man had left were definitely faded red. "Still interested?"

"If you've got a crowbar handy, you could probably still pry me out of here," John said honestly, letting his own Texas accent come forward more than usual. Jerked a thumb toward oak. "What happened to the old table?"

Hammond paused. "Someone staged a demonstration on it. I believe the remnants were transferred to R&D."

John blinked.

"Given the security constraints surrounding Project Bluebook, I know you're coming down here a great deal on faith," Hammond went on, waving him to a chair. "In the spirit of that good faith I'm inclined to tell you my superiors would prefer I had a military officer in this position, given that it's now no longer just a consulting role but has actively moved onto this base under Medical. However, I've reviewed the potential applicants and concluded none have the necessary mental flexibility to handle the... circumstances... we often find ourselves in." Seated once more, Hammond interwove his fingers with each other. "In short, Dr. Baird, you seem to have an open mind and a gift for landing on your feet."

Okay. This definitely wasn't your usual aid and comfort counseling position. John set his briefcase on the floor by his chair. "So what's really going on down here?"

Hammond said nothing, only picked up a remote and pointed it toward the projector screen. With a soft hum, the white board rose, uncovering thick, bulletproof glass. A massive window, that looked out on...

Holy-!

John crossed the room with wide eyes, pressing a hand to thick glass to peer into an echoing cavern of a chamber, gray and harshly lit and ringed with armed SF personnel in strategic locations. Near the middle of the room a steel ramp led up to a three-story ring of gray crystal. Make that two rings, an inner spinning within an outer, covered with symbols that oddly reminded him of Egyptian hieroglyphs. A chevron on the outer ring reached forward and clamped down, glowing red as the inner ring began to spin once more.

"Five," Hammond counted off evenly, stepping up beside him to watch. "Six. Seven-"

Blue-silver fountained outward; a bright distortion of air, a waterfall turned sideways. Power surged forward, brushing just over the top of the ramp - and snapped back, forming a silvery mirror in the gray ring. A mirror covered in an eye-blink by an iris of odd, silver-gray alloy that didn't match any metal John could recall having seen before.

Half a minute, and the iris retreated, baring silver to the chamber's air. Quicksilver that parted around one cammo-clad, armed form after another, as six soldiers walked and stumbled out of the ripple onto the ramp. Two leaned heavily on each other as they wove their way to the railing; their older commander gave them a quick look, then made a motion John could clearly interpret as Medic! Now!

"SG-2 is back. More or less in one piece." Hammond smiled wryly. "Welcome to Stargate Command, Dr. Baird."

"Aliens," John said, stunned, watching Dr. Janet Fraiser's EEG trace bright lines of his brainwaves across a monitor. "Oh, man."

"You don't seem all that surprised," the short redhead observed, making a few notes as Major Ferretti slapped his last teammate on the shoulder and headed out.

"Well... let's just say, I was pretty close to L.A. when everything went berserk," John said judiciously. Not that he planned to tell Janet everything he'd learned from Lita, but it wouldn't be a good idea to hold out too much on the person who'd just given him a very thorough exam. "It explains a lot." Though it didn't explain why the government still had it under security seal. A whole base meant to fight aliens, and they hadn't told anybody?

Later. Hear them out first. John pointed to the sensors attached to his head. "And we're doing this why?"

"Baseline, in case something... odd, gets loose on the base," Janet said frankly, detaching the pads. "It doesn't happen often, but we like to have multiple ways of verifying who's who." She flashed him a smile as she escorted him toward the MRI. "And you're helping me verify a theory."

"Theory?" He asked with some trepidation as the tray slid him into the chamber.

"Oh... about magnetic fields, ki, and extrasensory suppression."

John blinked. "Say what?"

"Don't move."

Okay, think, John told himself as the minutes ticked by. Ki is energy, spirit. According to what you poked into of Venkman and Spengler's research, psychic energy behaves a lot like electromagnetism. And an MRI uses a short, intense magnetic field. Which means- "Who's your psychic?"

Pressing the button that backed his tray out of the machine, Janet gave him a sidelong look.

"Look, I don't have any talent, but I've run into a couple people who do," John shrugged, following Janet back to the main office and sitting back down as she reapplied the EEG sensors. "I knew some of them steered clear of hospitals when they could, but I never had a clue that might be anything other than just personal preference."

"There are a few of our personnel who react badly to the procedure," Janet said noncommittally. "I'm sure you'll encounter them in the course of your work."

When all else fails, use a bigger hammer, John thought. "How bad was the last shrink?"

"Bad," Janet answered, equally blunt. Stepped over to a cabinet and retrieved a file folder. "Not all of our hazards come through the 'Gate."

Hazel eyes widened as John took in a candid picture of... well. "Um. Is that what I think it is?"

"Apparently, ticking off a soldier's puri dai is a bad idea," Janet said neutrally.

John stifled an urge to tug at his belt loops as Janet put the mind-numbing picture away. "He ticked off the headwoman of a Rom tribe? Yow."

The redhead shot him a startled glance. "You know, you're only the second person I've run into who knew what that meant?"

The plot thickens, John thought. "We get a lot of gypsies wandering through California. Who was the first?"

"Dr. Daniel Jackson. Our chief linguist, archaeologist, translator, and one of our main first-contact specialists." Janet pulled up her own chair. "This could take a while."

John rested his hands in his lap and waited, prepping himself to take mental notes. There wasn't enough trust here for pen and paper yet, and this sounded like something he needed to know.

"Dr. Jackson is one of the nicest, most decent, most intelligent people I've ever met," Janet began. "He opened the Stargate, helped Colonel O'Neill defeat Ra, and came back here to help us after Apophis attacked Earth and Abydos. Outside of his father-in-law and brother-in-law Kasuf and Skaara on Abydos, the colonel's as close as Daniel has to family. Except for his wife, Sha'uri. Who was... taken as a host for Apophis' Queen, Amaunet."

Taken as a host. John had skimmed the clinical report on Goa'uld parasitism while Janet ran her tests. Snakelike alien parasites who attached to the brainstem and cortex, using human bodies as he would a hostile environment suit. And with about as much choice for the human involved. Brr.

"Through all the years this program has been running, Daniel was trying to find her and get her back," Janet went on. "A little over a year ago, we thought Teal'c had killed her protecting Daniel. Recent DNA evidence indicates that is not the case; that Amaunet used an ability only hinted at in myths about her, the 'Hidden One' who could 'cloud mortal minds', to deceive SG-1 into believing she was dead. We have no knowledge of her current location or activities." Her jaw worked, as if the next words were bitter. "We have had... certain evidence that Amaunet might still be alive for some months now. The colonel knew, the general knew, and I was informed given the medical implications of that evidence for investigating human resistance to Goa'uld possession. However, until a mission to Abydos could be scheduled without raising suspicion, to obtain hard evidence, that information was restricted to the three of us only."

Ouch. John kept his face neutral. Dr. Fraiser didn't want sympathy; she wanted to give him facts, unvarnished, and let the chips fall where they may. You lied to a friend, and you feel guilty as hell about it. "Medical implications?" Give her time to calm down. She needs it.

Janet shot him a look, but nodded. "The Goa'uld word is ib-seshatai. Daniel says it translates as heart-reader. Or more conventionally, empath."

John raised an inquiring brow.

"The Tok'ra think of them the way we think of the Monster Under the Bed," Janet went on. "Or maybe the dodo. Something that used to be real, but isn't. Something the Goa'uld thought they'd wiped out of the human gene pool."

"Wiped out," John said slowly. "As in..."

"Deliberate extermination," Janet confirmed. "Partly as a defensive measure; apparently ib-seshatai instinctively tried to kill off any Goa'uld they could get their hands on. And unlike your average slave, the abilities ib-seshatai were rumored to have - that supposedly ranged from hearing more acute than a wolf, to the power to speak with animals, to speed too fast for the eye to see - made it possible for them to actually do it."

Superhuman abilities, John thought. Yep, definitely going to be talking to Lita.

"And partly for their own convenience," Janet went on. "Whatever twist of mind or biology gave ib-seshatai their unusual abilities also made them less than useful as hosts or slaves. Teal'c confirms that the Goa'uld continue to execute the entire families of anyone who can resist Hivemind telepathic influence to this day. Apparently, they make lousy hosts." She nodded toward her computer. "I wouldn't want to defend it as a thesis yet, but I believe I have enough evidence to make these conclusions." The doctor ticked them off on her fingers. "There are in fact a small percentage of people with unusual activity in certain areas of the brain, areas the Goa'uld would normally latch into. This activity would, theoretically and from post-mortem evidence, interfere with the alien control of human neurons. Persons in whom I've confirmed this activity, and others in whom I suspect it, do seem to have an instinctive revulsion to Goa'uld, Tok'ra, and larvae in general. And these areas of the brain appear to be sensitive to the magnetic distortion of an MRI."

John whistled softly.

"It's just preliminary conclusions," Janet cautioned. "There's a limit to what we can do of an experimental nature."

"No kidding," John muttered.

"We can't even ask the Tok'ra for help in doing this with informed consent," she said plainly. "Their reactions to the idea that empaths might still exist range from amused disbelief to homicidal violence."

"Violence?"

"Anise thought she'd sensed an ib-seshatai and tried to ribbon him," Janet said bluntly. "He knifed her."

John blinked. "Okay..." Like they say, with friends like these, who needs enemies?

"Interesting thing is, from the info I've gathered, he probably is an empath. Not that he'd ever admit it. And Anise's stab wound didn't heal for weeks." Janet arched a brow at him.

"Which kind of implies your empath packed in a psychic blast with his knife-work," John said after a minute to think. "Damaging energy to cancel out whatever the Tok'ra use to speed up the body's healing."

Janet blinked. "That was more or less my conclusion," she admitted. "Especially once I looked into some old Japanese legends about sword wounds. That a wound made with great hatred would refuse to heal until revenge had been taken."

"Or in modern terms, a hit from negative PKE takes down part of your aura, so your body can't put itself together right," John nodded. "And until somebody pulls it out - satisfies their revenge - or applies a bunch of positive PKE - 'forgives' you - you just don't heal." He leaned forward, intrigued. "So what got you looking into Japanese folklore?"

"Believe it or not, that would be-"

"Medical emergency," warbled over the intercom, "Dr. Fraiser to the 'Gateroom. Medical emergency-"

"SG-1," Janet cursed. Scribbled out a set of numbers on a sticky note, and pasted it to his shirt. "R&D. Records. Corporal Shane. Ask her about the Kamiya dojo. Go!"

No fool, John got.

The Kamiya dojo? Nah, couldn't be...

"Oh yeah, Ms. Kamiya's dojo," Corporal Bethany Shane's hand made a yes nod; the rest of the tall brunette was clinging to her ladder or half-buried in one particular shelf of videocassette drawers, CD cases, and three-ring binders. "Never expected Colonel O'Neill and Dr. Jackson to walk through the door - but hey, if anybody could use the place, they could. Good place to get your head on straight. And no offense to Teal'c, but some of us need a lot more than kelnoreem to do that."

"Kaoru Kamiya?" Too weird, John thought, standing clear of potential falling binders. Amazing how many records, lab reports, and just plain documentary stuff one massive secret installation could generate. "And Kenshin-"

"Yeah, Mr. Himura. Nice guy. Can't think of what he could have done to get the colonel mad at him..." The brown head popped out for a moment. "You know them?"

"Think I ran into them a few times, back in San Francisco," John admitted. As a long-time Aikido student, his fellow psych major Lita Kino had an innate curiosity about other forms of martial arts; he'd ended up going with her to check out more than one dojo. Investigating the various mindsets of those within martial arts and self-defense would have been a lifetime's work for a research psychologist. As it was, John found the core attitudes of self-reliance and responsibility useful tools for helping his patients heal themselves. "Short, skinny redhead, cross-shaped scar on his cheek? Tends to wear pink?" Unless he was wearing fade-into-shadows blue, which he had been that one time John had caught a glimpse of the Kamiya dojo's assistant instructor casually looming on a rooftop.

John had been chatting up a Ms. Iria Kaminsky at the time; one of Kaoru's students, with a bright smile that somehow had a sad edge. Only to realize too late that it wasn't him making Iria nervous, but a couple of suspicious-looking Slavic guys in casual jackets who'd just managed to cut them off in an alley-

And then the bad guys had stopped short, as if they'd run into solid glass.

John had had to glance up as they took to their heels, wondering what on earth could make a pair of bruisers like that go pale-

And he'd caught just a glimpse of Himura, standing casually on the edge of a roof several stories up; blue gi blending into shadows, red ponytail blowing in the wind, eyes pure, glowing amber.

One glimpse, and he was gone. And then John had heard a flutter of cloth, and a quiet pair of thumps.

He'd brushed off Iria's attempts to drag him elsewhere just long enough to take a quick glance down the alley the thugs had taken. A glimpse that had netted John the unforgettable picture of two sprawling, out-cold thugs... and no trace of Himura whatsoever.

Fifteen, maybe twenty seconds, John recalled thinking, even then. Nobody could get down eighty-odd feet, take down two guys, and just vanish.

Nobody human, anyway...

"Yep, that's Kenshin," Shane said cheerfully. Grabbed a folder, flipping through to check various tags and cross-references against a yellow notepad propped on her ladder. "I've been practicing under Kamiya-sensei for about four months now. What did you want to know?"

Good question, John thought. Ran over in his head just what Janet had said - and hadn't. "Do they teach Japanese folklore in with the self-defense lessons?"

"Well, if we ask... I know Dr. Jackson and Kenshin talk a lot, especially since - whoa." Gray eyes went wide. "Is this about the gaki?"

"Gaki?" John's eyes bugged. Lita Kino had dropped more than her share of Japanese terms into conversations through the years they'd been in med school, especially when it came to late-night wondering about Things That Went Bump In The Night. That one, he knew. "You had a hungry ghost here?"

"Kind of. Sort of. Man, was that ever a rough couple of days," Shane admitted. "According to the Aindrias report, the natives call it a corpse-smoke..."

"Does the word Waterloo mean anything to you, Doc?" A sarcastic voice snarked.

"When you start looking like Wellington or Blucher, Colonel, I'll start worrying," Janet sniped back. "You had an arrow in your shoulder. Again. I had to transfuse you. Again. You are not going anywhere today, healing device or no healing device. Not that I don't appreciate the help, Sam, but I'm still not sure that thing's good for unblended people."

"Neither am I," the blonde major admitted. "Though Dad says it ought to be okay..." Blue eyes fell on the man quietly standing by the door. "Ah - do I know you?"

"This a bad time?" John asked, eyeing the dark mountain with a gold forehead brand that had to be Teal'c, the graying, fuming man in fatigue pants, bandages, and remnants of a regular-issue black t-shirt, and the quiet, gold-haired archaeologist in glasses and fatigues curled into the chair by his bedside. Dr. Jackson, I presume.

"Colonel Jack O'Neill, Major Doctor Samantha Carter, Teal'c, Dr. Daniel Jackson," Janet waved her clipboard at each in turn. "SG-1-"

"Dr. John Baird," the colonel said evenly, sitting up with a wince. "So what do you think of the madhouse so far?"

"Not as bad as it could be," John noted. "You've got good people here." And the rest gets put into my formal report. I'm not washing dirty laundry right here and now.

John spotted the slight frown on Colonel O'Neill's face, and added that to his growing mental file on the SGC. The colonel was used to working under classified conditions, but also to having all the facts he wanted up front. Tough. There's a line between secrecy and confidentiality, and I'm not going to let you cross it. "I do have a couple questions, though."

"Shoot," Jack said lazily.

Said the spider to the fly... "Who, or what, is the NID?"

"Inconvenient," Teal'c said bluntly.

"That, I got." Given that it'd been a constant, low-key grumble from everyone he'd seen so far today; quieter and darker than the usual complaints about galley food, impossible hours, or the myriad difficulties of trying to juggle careers, secrecy, and families. "Details?"

"They're a front," Daniel spoke up.

"Daniel..." Jack frowned.

"They're supposed to be some kind of civilian oversight committee, making sure black projects like this one don't get out of hand," the archaeologist went on, undaunted. "Only some of them think we shouldn't be asking for help with the Goa'uld, we should be taking it. And anything else we can get our hands on. No matter what other planets think about it."

"So far, we haven't been able to prove any connections," Sam stepped into the clash of wills. "While we have identified and arrested some military and civilian personnel committing illegal acts, we have no proof that the official members of the NID are involved." Her glance cut across to her commanding officer.

Jack grimaced, but said nothing.

Teal'c frowned.

Jack rolled his eyes in a what-can-you-do? face.

"We'll catch them," Daniel said under his breath. "We will."

Houston, we have our empath, John thought, studying Dr. Jackson. Which means the guy they trust for first contact probably doesn't even know he's flinching around Tok'ra. Terrific. "Second question. You've had casualties here, and fatalities..."

"Yeah," O'Neill said shortly.

"Where do I find the dependents?"

"No offense, Dr. Baird, but I'm surprised someone from the Project is here." Karen Jacobs stalked down the sidewalk toward Carson Springs Howard Elementary with a face like an angry blue norther. She might be wearing a department store sales representative's casual suit and scarf, with sneakers to replace the heels jammed into her gray backpack, but her attitude gave him the impression of a furious Highland woman about to pound the English with arrows and flaming oil.

Outside the SGC, it's Project Bluebook. John matched the brunette's stride, trying to shake off his personal reaction to her mental chill. "You don't get grief counseling...?"

"For what? A training accident?" Sarcasm dripped off her words. "Hard to be sympathetic when the people trying to 'work you through it' don't know what the hell's going on down there either." She shot him a glance. "Do you?"

John hesitated.

Karen jabbed a thumb toward the passing afternoon traffic. "If you say deep-space radar telemetry, I am going to kick your ass right in front of that propane truck."

John nodded. "Gotcha."

"Well?"

"I feel kind of fond of my ass, thank you." From the file he'd skimmed, Karen Jacobs had been a Marine's wife. She wasn't into Aikido, but the way she moved, she was pretty good at something.

"Figures." Karen sounded more tired than angry. "But you're not here for me, right? You're here to talk to the nominal chairperson of Project Wives and Dependents." She snorted. "Hell, we even had to get the name past security..."

"I'm here for both," John said frankly. Anybody who had the gumption to organize a self-help group for the Mountain's Black Ops wives and families, and quietly and not-so-quietly push whatever military and civilian buttons they could find that wouldn't breach security to try and find out why their loved ones were gone, deserved a straight answer. "I just got hired as Project mental health specialist. Which means the whole Project, not just the people in the Mountain." He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. "Mostly came to ask you two things. Any way I could sit in on one of your group meetings? Totally up-front; I just want to be there so people can talk to me."

"And scream and yell?" Karen said dryly.

"If it comes to that," John admitted. Yow. They really let it get to the boiling point before they dumped MacKenzie. No wonder the guy ended up cursed.

"I'll ask." Her tone didn't promise much. "What's the other?"

John paused on the outskirts of the school grounds, watching children pour out of the building. "Is there anything I can do for you right now?"

Tired anger flashed in blue eyes. "Tell Honori why her father's never coming home."

Honori. Honoria Jacobs, John recalled, waiting with her as buses idled. "Going in?"

Karen shook her head, smile softening her anger as she watched the children mass and split, some heading for buses and parents' cars, a few tearing off to the baseball diamond, others slinging up packs to start walking home. "I'm early. Thought I'd just check up, you know; see if anyone's picking on her. Hard to tell, she's been quiet so much... Kenshin?"

Huh? What? "Where?" John caught a glimpse of pink near the edge of the athletic fields. Followed it up to a blaze of red hair, a frighteningly still expression...

He's hunting.

No question. John scanned the yard in front of the school, trying to see what Himura was watching so intently. Please let it not be a kid, please; he seemed like a good guy...

No. Two men in casual suits; one waiting behind the wheel of a practical gray four-door, the other talking to a balding teacher with a flash of ID and a cool, serious expression.

And near them - far too near them, for the sudden knot in John's gut - a quiet, frizzy-haired little girl whose face echoed Karen's.

"I don't like this," Karen said under her breath. Headed into the courtyard at a brisk walk. "Honori! Mom's here. Hon-Honori!"

It all happened so fast.

Suits, girl, car door, slam-

"You bastards! Let my daughter go!" Karen tore after the accelerating sedan-

Got bogged up in the chattering crowds, tried to break free again even as the teacher snagged her arm with an authoritarian, "Now, Mrs. Jacobs-"

John heard a smack, and a howl of pain that indicated said teacher had just gotten introduced to Karen's favorite self-defense style. He didn't look, focussing on weaving through the stunned crowd and cars, trying to catch up with the sedan as it pulled out into traffic.

Not a chance. It was on the road, accelerating, frizzy brown hair shoved down into the back seat by a tanned hand. John could swear the bumper was sneering at him.

He didn't slow down, pounding down the sidewalk, trying to catch a glimpse of license plate, or identifying marks, or anything.

And a blur of pink raced past him.

"Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu... Dou Ryuu Sen!" Steel flashed out, arced over asphalt.

What happened next was... incredible.

Tarry stone fractured, flying free of the roadway in a hail of gray-black missiles. Paint was battered off steel, the rear window turning spider-webbed and white with multiple impacts before crashing loose in a young girl's squeal and a man's distant curse. Rear tires blew with a sharp double bang, sending metal biting into the road as the stunned driver fought for control.

Sword still drawn, Kenshin kept moving.

"Zantetsu!"

A door flew free, twisting through air before it clattered and bounced over the ground. John wasn't surprised when a gray-upholstered passenger seat - and then a white-faced guy with half a gun in hand - flew after it.

John caught up just as Suit Number One was picking himself off the ground. "Hey there."

Smack.

The psychiatrist shook out his stinging hand, dragging the dazed kidnapper up onto the sidewalk. Horns were screeching, SUVs and cars swerving around the seat and door... but there was a distinct lack of the metal-on-asphalt grind that had shrieked its way down his spine.

The car's stopped.

John whipped his tie into a knot around the suit's wrists, tangled the suit's own red tie around limp ankles, and headed for ominous quiet.

"M-mommy..."

"She is coming, Honori-chan." The redhead's voice was just as John remembered it; warm, calm, with just an edge of hidden steel.

"You don't know who you're dealing with-" The driver's voice cut off with a gasp.

"You be quiet."

Killer's words.

John approached the battered car with noisy caution. Not trying to sneak up on you, definitely not. Definitely not trying to sneak up on the shadowed gaze currently crouched where the passenger seat had been, sharp edge of a blade pressed against the driver's sweating throat.

Sharp edge, John registered, looking over a shivering, crying Honori; didn't look like the kid had anything worse than a few bits of safety glass in her hair. On the reverse side of the katana? What kind of blade is that? "Hey there." John kept his voice gentle, even when what he wanted to do was tear the guy Himura had at sword's edge into itty, bitty pieces. "I think your mom's going to get here as soon as she gets loose from your teacher. I'm Dr. John Baird. Can I help?"

Honori gazed at him through swimming brown eyes. Looked quickly away. "'Tousai?"

'Tousai? John thought. Not Ken-san?

"The situation would be less difficult if you would allow Dr. Baird to remove you from these confines." Himura didn't even glance his way.

Not that he has to, John admitted to himself, holding out open hands as Honori scrambled into his arms. Mamma Baird didn't raise any lunatics. I'm not crossing that guy without a damn good reason.

Himura waited until the pair of them backed clear of the sedan. "Tell your masters those who come to the Kamiya dojo are protected... and my patience is not infinite." The edge pulled soundless away-

The driver straightened. John opened his mouth to yell warning-

Steel reversed, and flickered.

Eyes glazing, the driver slumped against his seatbelt.

"Wha-?" John picked his jaw up, seeing the red marks appearing on both sides of a bared throat. Knockout blow. Himura used the blunt edge, hit both carotids at the same time. Holy...

"Honori!" Karen piled into him from the side, wrapping her girl in an all-over hug. "Oh, god, are you all right..."

"Mommee!" Honori huddled against her mother's shoulder. "I didn't like them but Mr. Gerard said it was okay but they grabbed me and I bit him and-"

Kenshin drew John out of the huddle, heading back to the suit trying to squirm free of knotted silk. "I believe we should be calling the police, that I do."

Detective Melle Cameron looked over a swath of ruined asphalt and the twisted metal a tow truck had hauled to the side of the road, and whistled. "Holy..."

"Kenshin, Mel," Detective Ryan O'Connell said dryly, scribbling down the last of John's statement. "Mel - Uncle Kenshin in a bad mood."

"Oro?"

And that has got to be the most perfect innocent act I've ever seen, John concluded, gazing at wide violet eyes as the kendo instructor soothed his furious student and her child. Where the hell did he hide that sword... oh. Oh, brother.

He couldn't see the sword. But now that he was looking, he could see a vague distortion at Kenshin's left side, about where the reverse-bladed sword should be.

Magic. He's hiding it with magic, the psychiatrist realized. Not very strong magic, more of a "don't look here" than a real invisibility spell, but it's definitely magic.

And by the way both homicide detectives moved, they knew Kenshin was armed. And didn't really care.

So Homicide knows Kenshin, John thought. And they catch attempted kidnapping cases. Not that surprising; despite the hordes of military personnel in the area, Carson Springs wasn't as big as someplace like L. A. or even Cascade. Which meant Homicide got the sticky cases that other cities would assign to a Major Crimes squad.

And this one's going to be very sticky, Dr. Baird knew, unashamedly eavesdropping on bits of conversation between Mel, Kenshin, and Ryan as they all hid behind Mel's quiet blue plainclothes sedan. Not far away, camcorders and newspaper reporters crowded around the kidnappers and their wrecked vehicle, shouting questions as the pale thugs were hauled off by coolly, professionally angry police officers. O'Connell was apparently bilingual in Japanese, a fact Kenshin had put to good use giving a more detailed, hands sketching in air explanation of events, once he'd gone over the basics with Detective Cameron.

"-NID wa," John caught in the flow of foreign words.

"This was the NID?" he broke in, stepping toward Kenshin.

"Who?" Karen demanded, stroking her daughter's hair. "You know who did this?"

"Let us say, we suspect, that we do," Kenshin said evenly. "Allow us a moment, Karen. Please."

"You're going to explain this later." It wasn't a question.

Kenshin gave her a slight bow. "Hai."

"Strongly suspect," Ryan growled as the four of them stepped around the car, just out of earshot while still dodging reporters' eyes. "Damn it, Kenshin, if you knew they were stalking the kid-"

"I could not be certain who was their target, that I was not." Violet was dark, shaded by red bangs. "There are several children here whose parents are, or were, within the... Project." The swordsman sighed. "And truly, what could you have done? They have not called these parents. They have written no threatening letters. They had broken no laws." A slight smile touched his face. "Until today."

"They're not the only ones," Mel said grimly. "Principal Girard's going to have one hell of a lot of explaining to do. Letting anybody who's not on the official list pick up a kid-!" Short mahogany hair flew as she shook her head in amazement.

"I suspect you will find he was overawed by what seemed official power, and perhaps subtle threat as well," Kenshin stated dryly. "It is not the first time they have used such tactics, that it is not. I would suggest, in confidence, that you speak to Tessa and Kayla, the daughters of Mrs. Elena Redmond. Who is, in turn, the daughter of one General Hammond."

John felt a chill trample down his spine. Is he saying-?

Looking his way, Kenshin gave him a very slight nod.

The NID threatened Hammond. Oh, shit...

"There's been another kidnap attempt?" Mel demanded.

"I learned of it but recently," Kenshin acknowledged. "Through a reliable friend who would choose to remain anonymous."

"Oh, no you don't," Mel started.

"Even if we found him, it'd be hearsay and you know it," Ryan intervened. "Better to just go straight to the source. Right?"

She sighed. "Family, huh?"

Oh. Oh, brother, John thought, as that feeling of oddness around Ryan finally settled into place. Not one supernatural. Two.

And they're both mad as hell.

"How much have those under the Mountain told you of the NID?" Kenshin asked.

"Not nearly enough," John said after a long moment. "Talk to me. Please."

Kenshin nodded once. "Come. Karen must know of this as well... and we cannot assume she and Honori are safe yet, that we cannot."

"Stay near a phone," Mel ordered.

"Aa. And you?"

Ryan grinned, wolf-like. "Oh... I think the department can get all kinds of good publicity out of this. Right, Mel?"

"Public service," Cameron said virtuously. "Have to let the citizens know what's out there. Wouldn't be ethical to leave the public in the dark about suspected child predators." Her grin wasn't quite as toothy as her partner's, but it came close. "Can't believe you're volunteering for this. You hate reporters."

"Not for me. For the kid," Ryan said shortly. "You don't target children. You just - don't. Grandpa says even in the Bakumatsu, honorable people never went after kids." He hesitated.

"By the old ways, I was of age," Kenshin said neutrally. "Go."

Ryan risked a glance toward the camera-armed crowd, and winced. "Aku. Soku. Zan. Oh man, I only wish..."

"So you're basically saying that whatever's going on under the Mountain, someone's gotten politics and blackmail mixed up in it," Karen said flatly, hands cupping a mug of green afternoon tea as she knelt at Megumi Takani's low table. Her head twisted slightly at a squeal from the next room; recognized it as Rei Takani's laughter as the four-year-old shared fruit salad with Honori, and relaxed. "And this... NID... is out to make things in the Project go their way. Any way they can."

"A friend of ours got word they were looking at the Dependents' group." Sanosuke Sagara chewed on a fishbone the way most men worked a toothpick, white sleeves pushed back as he gave John an appraising look. "We poked around, saw a few of these guys trying to make like ninjas and shadow you. Heh. Kenshin figured they'd try something like this."

John gave the tall, wild-haired martial artist a frank look back, taking in every detail of this small house half-hidden in the Asian part of town. His shoes waited by the door with several pairs of sandals and Megumi's hiking boots. Dr. Takani herself was sipping tea by Kaoru across the table, doctor's white coat discarded for a patterned green kimono. Ms. Kamiya had hung her light jacket on the coat rack over the shoes, bokken laid on the mats by her side. And now that his phone calls were done, Kenshin knelt with his sheathed blade resting quite visibly against his left shoulder, in a warrior's pose John had previously only seen in books.

On the outside you blend in, but where nobody's looking, you've still got a lot of Japan, the psychiatrist concluded. Which isn't a bad thing. From what Lita says about her family, you wouldn't be staying here if you didn't think of America as your adopted home.

"I want to kill something." Karen's voice was colorless.

"No, you don't," Kaoru said firmly.

Karen's lips thinned. "I know it's not the way, but-"

"The way doesn't mean not being angry," Kaoru interrupted. "It means knowing your anger, feeling it - but only acting on what is right." The kendo instructor gave her student an honest grin. "Of course, if those idiots ever come near you again, you use that anger to kick them into next week."

"I just-" Karen's voice broke. "Why?"

"Power." Tall and elegant, Megumi stared into her tea as if the olive liquid held all the secrets of the universe. "It's a drug. Worse than opium was or ever could be. If you have a little, you realize there are those with more. Take a little, and you learn it can be taken from you just as easily. So those who have take, and those who've taken take more, all to feed that empty, gnawing fear that someone else will steal it all away..." She ran a finger along the edge of glazed pottery. "And secrets are the most addictive power of all."

"Hey." Sano touched his wife's hand. "Chin up, fox-woman. We're still here, right?"

John watched Megumi smile, and wondered what sort of secrets they kept. Outside the obvious, the psychiatrist thought wryly. Whatever magic Kenshin's mixed up in, they're in it just as deep.

"I suspect," Kenshin said quietly, "That your group has been more potent than you know, Karen. That the questions you ask have led those within the Mountain to ask their own in turn; and that, the NID cannot allow. For should enough questions be asked, and reach the ears of those who do not know the Project's secrets - then the cloak of fear would be shredded, and the NID would see their power diminished, as night's shadows flee the light of dawn."

John looked down into his own tea. Yeah, right. Officially tell the public at large we're fighting aliens across the galaxy. Aliens who aren't going to just pack up and go away because Godzilla kicked their tail, like the Hivemind did; the Goa'uld don't need this planet or any of the people on it. They could just blow us away. Would have, if the Asgaard hadn't stepped in. Man, tell people that so they can't write it off as Someone Else's Problem, and there'll be panic in the streets...

But there was panic right here and now; he saw it, in the clench of Karen's hands on her mug, the worried glances traded between Kaoru, Sano, and Megumi. Felt it, like a chill, irresistible undertow, in the controlled anger boiling under Kenshin's outward calm.

A chill that felt oddly soothing, like the moment you stopped fighting the current and let it pull you where it would-

Jesus H. Cluny Frog!

John shook himself out of the half-trance, trying not to shiver.

Violet eyes met his, and lowered in silent apology. The undercurrent of anger stilled, vanishing into unruffled calm.

John tried not to gape. You did that?

Lita had said something about that once. Something about legendary swordsmen being renowned as magicians; "users of the whirlwind". Man, I've got to call her.

"As our student, you have the right to shelter with us, Karen, that you do," Kenshin said, as evenly as if he had never considered using razor-edged steel on an NID kidnapper's throat. "But our apartment is under Dr. Jackson's, and I do not feel inclined to tempt fate. If you leave your own dwelling, and I would advise you do, for at least the next few days, you would be safer here." His gaze met Megumi's. "If that is acceptable?"

Megumi nodded graciously, and Sano cracked his knuckles. "Bring 'em on."

"Hang on. You live in Dr. Jackson's apartment building?" John got out. This twist, he hadn't expected.

"He's a wonderful neighbor," Kaoru said warmly. "But the NID's keeping an eye on him, too." A quiet chuckle slipped past her guard. "Though not as often as they were; their people are starting to be very nervous about shadows and dark alleys."

"No kidding," John said under his breath. Now he knew why Colonel O'Neill felt twitchy around Himura, even if neither the colonel nor the swordsman had a clue. Pure, alpha-male competition, with a lot of magic thrown in for kicks. They're both leaders. They both have Daniel marked down as pack member; O'Neill as teammate, Himura as neighbor and student - and student means a lot more to a Japanese than it does to your average Chicago native. They're actually, mystically fighting to get "their" pack member "safe" - which means away from the other guy.

I'm not getting paid enough for this...

John scraped his fingers through his hair, thinking hard. Himura definitely had the magical edge. And he'd gotten the tactical high ground of location; beyond the inevitable exposure to Himura's aura by sheer proximity, home on Earth and Kenshin would by now be inextricably connected in Jackson's mind.

O'Neill, in contrast, had the advantage of proximity when Daniel was working; which as far as John could tell was most of the time. He also had the shaky remnants of what had been a solid, almost-family friendship, if that little interaction in the infirmary was anything to go by.

So, stalemate, John concluded. Odds are probably even in O'Neill's favor, as long as Kenshin doesn't push it. And I don't think he would push it. He protected Honori, he offered Karen somewhere to stay; he didn't say you will go where I say.

There's something I'm not seeing.

"...So, out," Kaoru's voice drew John out of his distraction.

"Oro?" Kenshin blinked.

"You heard me." Kaoru made a shooing motion. "Enough guy talk. Karen, Megumi, and I have a lot to go over. There's clothes, food, we've got to make sure Honori gets her homework... honestly, you'd think he never raised kids!" she said in an aside to Karen.

"But-"

"Trust me, Kenshin." Sano clasped the small redhead's shoulder. "No man, not even you, can win this one."

"But-"

"Come on..." Sanosuke steered the swordsman toward the door. "Coming, Doc?"

"Coming where?" John said warily.

"Three and two - odds!" Sanosuke grinned.

Watching the assembled bar patrons cheer or curse as the dice redistributed the bets, Kenshin sighed.

"Remind me never to bet against you two," John observed in an undertone, toting up odds and Kenshin's quiet whispers to Sano every time the dice were hurled. Sanosuke's deliberately losing one out of three, he realized. Just enough so it doesn't look pat. "Precognition?"

"Trajectory calculation," Kenshin shrugged, sword once more concealed at his side.

"...You're kidding."

The swordsman gave him a look of quiet exasperation. "Why is it no one believes this one when he says that it truly is that simple?"

Sanosuke collected his winnings, bowed to the table, traded a few hand-slaps with fellow gamblers, and passed the dice on. "Kaoru's going to wash out your mouth with soap."

A light blush touched the redhead's cheeks. "I did not say it."

"Came close," Sano pointed out, sipping his sake.

"Close is not the sparrow's eye." Kenshin scanned the tavern with narrowed eyes.

"Kenshin," Sanosuke said deliberately. "Relax. The kid's safe. The police are going to be shaking those guys upside-down until their filings fall out. Megumi and Kaoru can take anything short of an armored division. And anything they can't take, they'll call Mika for, and I pity any dumb idiot who tries to get past a daughter of Mibu's own Wolf. Sit down, have a drink, and for god's sake, stop vibrating." He raised a hand to signal a waitress. "Hey, Noriko-kun!"

"No," Kenshin said bluntly. Unclenched his hands, and deliberately smoothed the agitation out of his features. "No. I will... acquire my own."

"Ten, maybe fifteen minutes," Sano muttered as the swordsman headed for the bar.

John tested his own drink. Sake in Colorado... who'd have thought? Not bad. Just don't drink too much of it. "Until the fight starts?"

"It's not like he'll start it," Sanosuke said matter-of-factly.

"Of course not," John nodded. "Will you?"

"Trust me, I won't have to. Things just happen around Kenshin. He's... well, you know. A weirdness magnet."

Otherwise known as a high PKE charge in action. "I'm kind of surprised he hasn't realized that's why you brought him here," John said cautiously.

"Ought to tell you how wound up he is." Sano eyed the warm amber liquid in his saucer. "Ever since he found out what's going on down in your Mountain, he's been pretty stressed. And between you, me, and the wallpaper, this is not a good thing."

"Kind of figured. But-"

"Kenshin's used to taking on ten, twenty people at a time," Sanosuke said candidly. "Smacking down those two idiots didn't even take the edge off... uh-oh."

Uh-oh? John switched his gaze around just in time to see a guy in civvies and an Air Force-short haircut weave their way with the careful gait of someone who'd had half a beer too many. Wait a minute. Isn't that one of Ferretti's...

"Hey, Mister..." The Air Force brunet - Heath? Heathen? Something like that, John recalled - waved a hand in air.

"Sagara," Sanosuke supplied.

"Heathrow," the officer replied in turn. "Look, I'm asking for a buddy of mine over there, he's had a bad day, and he's kind of shy-"

Yep, there's Major Ferretti, John realized with a sinking feeling, picking out one particular gray-touched dark head among the other short haircuts - some Air Force, more than a few definitely Marine - gathered around a corner table. The major was currently patting a young blond Marine on the shoulder, obviously giving the youngster a man-to-man pep talk. And Blondie's even more sloshed than Heathrow.

"So, um, the redhead at the bar... is she with anybody?"

John toted up a notable absence of redheads over that direction, except for one, and choked on his sake. Say what? "Uh - not with me," the psychiatrist said, stalling for time to think. "Just got into town." Oh come on, those guys can't be that drunk...

"Me either. I'm married," Sanosuke said matter-of-factly. "Kenshin's a friend of the wife, in fact. Been a little down lately. So my lady told me to go out and see if we could all loosen up a little. And here we are."

"Kenshin." Heathrow nodded. "Pretty name."

"Isn't it just?" Sano's grin wouldn't have looked out of place on a great white shark. "Means devotion."

"Oh, you mean like Faith... Lou'll like that." Smiling toward his teammates, Heathrow gave Ferretti a vigorous thumbs-up.

And John took another look at the small, slender redhead currently waiting for his drink. Wide violet eyes set in a delicate face. An almost girlish frame wrapped in hakama and a loose pink gi. An innocent, harmless air, tempered with a hint of anxiety. Long red hair caught back in a blue ribbon to cascade in a fiery flow that would have been the envy of any woman.

It's kind of like a car accident you see happening...

Sano waited until Heathrow was moving away again before snickering into his drink. "'Course, 'devotion', in this case, is written Heart of Sword."

"You - he-" John worked his jaw as Ferretti signaled one of the waitresses, finally shook his head. "Oh my god."

"What? Did I say he was a she? I did not." Sano's grin widened. "It's not like they're the first guys to get fooled by the hair. And the build. And the eyes..."

Wide violet, currently staring down at the saucer of sake Kenshin had ordered... and a tall Bloody Mary he definitely hadn't. A startled hand reached out, touched the cold beads forming on the outside of the glass-

"Well, that did it," John said numbly, sinking back in his seat as the blond Marine took the culturally implicit invitation and headed for redheaded disaster.

"Yep." Sano studied what was left in his saucer, started draining it in even sips.

"He has no clue," John pointed out.

"Nope."

"Should we...?" John asked as Ferretti and a few fellow Marines approached to give their comrade moral support.

Dark eyes danced. "Why?"

At least I've got good medical insurance now... "Duck?"

"Duck."

"She's a guy!"

It could have ended right there, John would reflect later. A few stammered apologies, some hurt feelings, maybe a glare from Kenshin at having been not-so-subtly felt up - it could have ended right there.

Only Blondie had stumbled back into a rather tall person with a river of midnight hair, a crimson-sequined dress, a jet-beaded handbag, a surprisingly low-voiced curse, and size 14 ruby heels.

"Eeyagh!"

Make that size 14 ruby spike heels, John thought numbly.

And the dark-haired transvestite's date - a glaring, gray-haired biker with brown leathers and a red dragon tattooed on his left arm - jumped for Blondie's throat.

Just in time to get grabbed by Ferretti's team.

Who in turn got snagged by the gamblers, two tray-wielding waitresses, a grinning Sanosuke, an expressionless tall Japanese man with green eyes and a white trench coat who seemed to come out of nowhere, and a hapless long-haired brunet bounty hunter in a leather duster whose grim scowl stated that losing his single malt on the rocks to a Marine's thrown table was just the crowning finale to a series of last straws.

"Oro!"

Huddled under their table, John finished off his drink and calculated the distance to the door. Maybe if I can zigzag that way...

Wood groaned as muscles heaved it away, and John found himself gazing up at a furious Heathrow. "Ah... hi there."

And the bar dissolved in chaos.