SG8 - An Unexpected Journey [Howard]

[Hilary Doda]

[Cause baby you're a FIIIIREEWOOOOORK]

Alyssa wrestled one arm out from under the covers - afghan; when did she
get an afghan? - and fumbled desperately to turn off her alarm.

[Come on let your COOOOLOOOORS BUUURST]

The clock radio wasn't on the side table; there /was/ no side table, and
Alyssa barely had time to register blearily that she was 1) mildly hung
over and 2) falling off of the couch that she didn't own before she
landed on her knees on the floor.

"Motherfucker," she grumbled, feeling around for- phone. Right. Not
alarm. Because she wasn't home, she'd gone out with Aidan. Which meant
she was on Aidan's couch, alone, not anywhere strange. With anyone strange.

Not stranger than Aidan, anyway.

Phone.

"Howard," she got out, and her teeth tasted like something had crawled
up her nose and died there.

Gin had been a bad idea.

The voice at the other end had her awake a hell of a lot faster than
anything but a cold jet of water could have managed, and she was
scrambling for her clothes in record time. "Aye, ma'am. On my way."

There was no noise other than Alyssa's scrambling; maybe Aidan had gone
out again? She'd be getting her own call, where-ever she'd gotten to;
Alyssa didn't have the time to stop.

The only clothes she had with her were civvies; thank god she'd worn
jeans the night before rather than a mini. The sparkly tank-top and the
high heels were so going to get her ass kicked if she showed up in
those... Aidan wouldn't mind if she swiped a t-shirt.

Black t-shirt, running shoes that sort of fit but were better than
four-inch heels, and a note of abject apology later, and Alyssa was out
the door, on her bike, and on the road.

She'd have time to stop and think about things later. Right now, getting
her butt to the coordinates was the important thing. For whatever the
hell this was.

SSgt Alyssa Howard
SG8
Gonna need a serious caffeine infusion