Technobabble

After a long sejour in the infirmary, namely two days for both Scully and Frances – a bullet and a concussion – , the problem of what they had witnessed was discussed in the briefing room. There was no way around it, and the three of them signed up nondisclosure papers about what they had seen. Mulder was spooked, of course. He was the only one who had witnessed nothing, and was yet attesting on his life, honour, and all such, that he would never say a word of it. Needless to say that he threw quite the tantrum, until Frances promised to fill him in with all the little juicy details of Hathor and its spawns. Especially the disgusting ones…

The young woman, for her part, didn't mind much. After her first travel as the Keeper of Time, and the secrecy it entailed, she was quite used to keeping the information for herself. Nor Mulder, nor Scully, nor her family, nor even her closest friend knew about her magical travels. Why not add a stargate to the list? And the SGC personel had treated her well, something to do with her saving the Colonel's life in the locker room, apparently. The man himself, though, was still a bit callous with her and her teammates. His involvement as future prime Jaffa of Hathor had probably shamed it thoroughly.

Of course, what Frances and Scully had seen opened another world of possibilities. At last, Mulder had found the aliens. A proof that they existed, and interacted with earth. A proof that the government knew of it, for some time now. Perhaps a way to get his sister back. He had to wrap his head around the fact that this great conspiracy enclosed some pretty good people in its midst. No one had died, this time, but he was quite adamant that many of the SGC personal put their lifes on the line everyday. And he wondered, for two days and nights as his companions rested in the infirmary, if he should stop running after ghosts, and enrol in the program altogether. Scully, for her part, didn't seem so motivated to shed her legist background aside. Aliens and such were not her cup of tea. Especially now, as she was picking samples from the floor to help the doctor – Janet – with her research.

Beside her, Frances watched the proceedings, sitting on the bench with Mulder, whispering about the scene they'd witnessed in this very same spot. His disgusted face told her exactly which part of the tale she was recounting; he could picture quite easily the doctor's hand roaming the insides of the Colonel, looking for a larva in the pouch. As Scully capped another one, Doctor Jackson' sheepish voice startled them all.

— "Half of the DNA is probably mine."

— "Eeeeew," came Frances' disgusted voice. De la confiture donnée aux cochons[2]"

Doctor Jackson cocked his head aside, considering the young lady. She wondered if, by chance, the man spoke French. The Colonel, though, didn't as he turned to her.

— "I beg your pardon?"

Frances smiled sweetly, her playful side resurfacing.

— "Well, you have to admit that Hathor has good taste. Dr Jackson for a mate, you as prime Jaffa…"

O'Neill blanched slightly at the reminder of the fate that had almost befallen him, while a red hue coloured Dr Jackson's cheek. Obviously, he'd caught her meaning. Scully scoffed. Trust Frances to put everyone off balance with her quick wit. The Colonel, though, seemed to be in the mood for a sparring match. The legist smiled. This was going to be interesting.

— "I'm going to ask this again, obviously. But you are?"

— "Er, Interpol liaison for the FBI?"

— "And you're here because?"

This time, France openly laughed, cocking her eyebrow up in her signature expression.

— "Suspicion of alien activity"

— "Found anything interesting ?"

— "What do you think ?", she quipped back.

A smirk adorned the Colonel's face as he turned to the General.

— "Can I keep her?", he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The bald man seemed to consider the question a moment, as if his second in command had not been jesting. Eventually, he told him very seriously.

— "Yes, for the summer. Her first trip to the gate will be your responsibility."

— "What ‼?"

It has been a long drive back from Washington to Colorado Springs, a day and a half on the road when Mulder and Frances both had taken the wheel. The young woman had been surprised how fast it had all been sorted out. Mulder's resignation, Scully's refusal to follow – albeit she'd join them for the first gate trip – , and him packing his stuff to move to Colorado Springs. They'd said their goodbyes to Agent Dana Scully, who, weirdly enough, had decided to take over the X-Files. Frances wondered, once more, how far Mulder and Scully's relationship had progressed this past year, and how bittersweet their parting. For her part, she had been busy spending some time with Charlie in New York, her boyfriend, whom she had not seen ever since his departure from Interpol last September. Three quarters of her time with him had been spend hunting a man around, and elaborating a cover story to force the man to confess his crimes. Not the best moment of her life. Needless to say that the romantic escapade she'd been yearning for, after those months of separation, had been ditched. Regardless of the situation, she'd been glad to hold Charlie in her arms, and kiss him senseless.

— "How did it go?" asked Mulder, fatigue etched upon his features.

— "Good enough"

Mulder lifted an eyebrow.

— "Good enough?"

Frances shrugged, and the FBI investigator eyed her suspiciously. The young woman had picked up many things as she worked with them, namely how to shield her emotions from prying eyes. Her mask was becoming so practised that even he, one of his closest friends, had a hard time passing through. But her eyes betrayed her still.

— "I would have expected 'swell', or fantastic, or any of those hyper-expression the youth use nowadays. Good enough is not good enough, if you catch my drift"

— "First of all, I'm not a 'youth' anymore. Not after … well, you know. I've aged a little with those investigations of yours"

Mulder's shoulders slumped slightly. There were moments when he was glad he'd accepted her as an intern; she'd been a great addition to their team. Sometimes, though, he regretted having tampered with the innocence of her young years. Yes, she'd seen much. But she didn't resent him for that; never blamed him.

— "And the rest?"

— "Uh?"

— "You've been trying to steer me away from the subject. It didn't work," he deadpanned.

Frances smiled. Those defense mechanisms, taught by the best, namely him and the Interpol psychologist, were embedded in her now. Especially since she couldn't possibly detail her adventures to neither friends nor family. Frances knew how to dodge questions now, even better since she'd taken her first travel as the Keeper of Time. But this, Mulder had no idea about.

— "I don't know. Long-distance relationships are difficult. It seems like we've grown apart, like they have reverted[3] to their group dynamic now that I'm not regularly interacting with them"

— "Can't be everywhere at the same time", said Mulder, his eyes strained on the road.

— "Yeah. I have to accept that I'm not here anymore. Anyway. Charlie was stressed out, I'd say as usual, but he'd managed to calm down a notch when in France."

Mulder roamed his memory, reminiscing about the time in Interpol where the two teams would share coffea and stories in the office's cafeteria with Frances and Charlie.

— "I remember as well that he seemed more content while you were around."

— "Maybe it's just a bad moment for them, you know? But I missed him so much this past year, and I wonder if…"

— "If he did as well?"

Frances nodded, sipping into her cup of hot chocolate – hot chocolate! a kid's drink! – as her eyes roamed the countryside to avoid meeting his. There was not much he could do to help her; this was a problem she'd have to sort on her own.

Their long drive ended at Cheyenne Mountain's base the next day, Mulder's car filled up with things they hauled off the trunk to set in his new room. He didn't have so much for the moment; the accommodation was temporary. Frances, on her side, only had a suitcase and a backpack. As they trudged along the corridor towards their rooms, a terrified mewl echoed from a door nearby. Another yowl and an airman retreating hastily had Frances quirking an eyebrow.

— "Stupid beast!" yelled the soldier. "Nicked my hand!"

Mulder exchanged a meaningful glance with Frances, stopping the man to have a look at his hand.

— "Alien cat?" he asked.

Frances pursed her lips to prevent from laughing.

— "No, earth one. And in a bad mood!"

As the airman went on his way with a huff, Frances smiled.

— "I'll go. I love cats, and it usually goes both ways."

— "Yeah. Well, I don't, so I'll … uh, drag your suitcase to your room."

Her laugh echoed in the wall at Mulder's heartfelt retreat. He truly had a bad history with cats, and she wondered how such a big, loving guy could not get along the furry beasties. Then she entered the storage room, and switched the light off to give the cat some semblance of privacy. Another yowl made her stop in her tracks. The cat, a rusty-coloured beast, eyed her suspiciously. Frances crouched, offering her hand with very careful moves, and waited. The cat retreated at first, until the young woman started speaking very gently.

— "Come on, kitty. I'm not going to hurt you."

It took a lit of coaxing, and a ton of patience for the cat to eventually come and sniff her hand. He'd really been spooked by something beforehand, and was not ready to relax. Frances didn't mind; she was tired, and was quite comfortable sitting on the ground. Her hand extended, perfectly still, she waited until the cat was confident enough. Eventually, the rusty animal rubbed his cheeks over her hands, making her his before it settled in her lap. Frances' hands gently caressed his fur, soothing moves that elicited a purr that she reproduced playfully. Soon, both cat and lady were purring in unison as they shared a private moment in the base's storage room. Truth be told, Frances hated enclosed spaces, and was feeling nervous to stay such a long time – the remainder of summer – in the SGC. The cat's welcome was exactly what she needed to be a little more at ease.

At last, Frances decided to emerge from the storage room to find to whomever the cat belonged to. Her surprise only notched when, reaching the level where Daniel Jackson's office was, she found the base in such a turmoil that she wondered if there wasn't an alien invasion. It wasn't so far from the truth as an airman informed her that an entire city was currently hosted in the lower levels, refugees from a dying planet. They called themselves the Tollan. The cat tensed in her arms at the ruckus, and she decided to hit the mess. After a few – too many – wrong turns, Frances eventually made it to the horrible canteen. Not that the food was so terrible, compared to the US standard, but being French she rather had a difficult palate to satisfy. Not hormones beef for her, thank you very much, but summer meant fresh salad and tomatoes from her father's garden, and Mediterranean food from local and organic producers. Yeah. She knew she was being stubborn yet…

— "Schrödinger! Thank God you found him!"

Turning around, France was met with a very relieved Captain Carter. By her side, a tall man, with a kind face and a mop of dark hair, sent her a small smile. The blond woman extended her arms to get the cat back, and Frances reluctantly let go. The huge animal had been an anchor in the ant's hill that was the SGC.

— "Hello, Captain Carter"

— "Hello, Frances. This is Narim, from the Tollan"

— "Enchantée, Narim. It is nice to meet you. Is the cat yours?"

An inquisitive look was exchanged between Carter and Narim, resulting in an affirmative answer. But the eyes of the Tollan man lingered on her hair for a while.

— "Ask away," said Frances, never one to sidestep weird questions.

Narim seemed taken aback, and stayed silent for a while. Until he relented.

— "I merely wondered how extraordinary it was that the colour of your hair nearly matches Schrödinger's fur. He's probably seen a fellow in you"

A laugh caused them all to turn around as Jack O'Neill walked into the mess, Dr Jackson and Teal'c on his heels.

— "Neat, isn't it? It's so we don't lose her from sight in the field," he added, pointing to her hair.

Narim cocked his head aside, a genuine streak of curiosity marring his eyes. The man seemed to be a real softie, built like a brick wall yet gentle.

— "Really?" he said.

And very, very gullible. Frances frowned. Trust the Colonel to work his acidic humour on credulous aliens, especially since she knew him to be less than thrilled that he would have to babysit her on her first travel through the Stargate. His brown eyes sparkled, but she could discern the underlying threat behind the joke.

— "No. We don't dye people, even if sometimes, it would make things much easier."

His dark eyes shifted to Daniel Jackson, who swatted him on the arm. Frances watched the smirk flowering on O'Neill's lips before she sent an apologetic glance to Narim. Once she was sure he'd got her meaning, she extended her hand to the newly arrived group.

— "Hello Colonel. Doctor. Teal'c"

Jack's handshake was firm, while Dr Jackson's was considerably softer.

— "Please, Daniel is sufficient."

Teal'c ignored her outstretched hand altogether, bowing his head instead. Frances returned the gesture with respect before turning to the Tollan.

— "As for the hair colour, Narim, it comes from plants people use in the Arabic countries to dye and protect one's hair."

— "So it's not natural! Damn, you cheater," came Jack's retort.

No it wasn't. And the initial henna had not been of her choice either, but she couldn't possibly tell them that she'd been a slave in ancient Rome, and made into a circus persona for the sake of her owner's fame, did she? The red hair had made her recognizable, earning the nickname of Coliseum's witch. Fantastic. She'd kept the colour though, as a marker of being the Keeper of Time. Her most guarded secret now, even more than the stargate program, for no one knew about it. No one alive at least. Spooked, Frances ignored The Colonel's attitude entirely and turned to Samantha Carter with a snort.

— "You know, given the name of the cat, you could have posted a flew flyers. 'Lost Schrödinger, wanted dead or alive.""

Carter and Daniel burst out laughing, before making their way to the food stall. As Narim frowned about the mention of his precious cat being killed, Carter hiccupped merrily to explain the concept of Schrödinger's cat. Behind them, a spooked colonel turned to Teal'c in the line.

— "Do you feel left off, sometimes?"

— "Indeed," came the deep rumbling voice of the tall Jaffa.

— "How come a girl that age can make a joke like that ?"

— "Depends on her studies, sir. I'll explain"

O'Neill turned his sharp gaze to his second in command.

— "No offence, Carter, but I'm not sure I want to."

Before she could retort, Frances forcefully retreated in the line to address the Colonel.

— "It's a simple concept, Colonel. Schrödinger's cat is a way to introduce probabilities in Quantum physics. Given that the observer couldn't see the cat, locked in a box, there was no way to know he if he was alive or dead. Hence the need for probabilities"

Narim, the Tollan, seemed quite nonplussed by this experiment.

— "That is…"

There were many words in his head. Horrible, sickening, inhuman. But O'Neill beat him to it.

— "Curiously understandable. But what if the cat mewls ?"

— "Then you know he's alive", she quipped. "And your experiment is crappy"

— "You're good at vulgarisation, Frances," came Daniel's comment from afar. "I've never seen Jack pick up a concept so fast."

— "That's because he doesn't have to handle a wave function."

Daniel Jackson nodded.

— "Me neither. Science for dummies, uh?"

— "Hey, I resent that," came Jack's retort.

As Frances' laugh at the banter between the two men, she turned to Narim with a more serious face.

— "Do not worry, Narim. It is a theoretical demonstration. We, humans, needs images to understand those far-fetched concepts. It never happened; your cat is safe."

His quiet voice attempted a joke.

— "Until he gets lost once more."

— "It is the nature of cats to wander. Once you accept that you belong to them, and not the other way around, you can get along fine."

The Tollan inclined his head to hers in thanks. This put his mind to rest. At least, until O'Neill's antics chafed on his nerves once more. He wondered how the sweet Samantha could bear his narrow-minded views.

[2] Jam given to pigs, a French saying meaning that you shouldn't give something too nice to horrible people

[3] Charlie, Ice and Alphonse, from the TV series players