PART FOUR NEW SG1 FIC BY CASPER F. JOKE

[officersun524]

Part 4

~*~*~*~ 
On The Other Side: Before…

If the rehearsal dinner was any indication then the wedding tomorrow would be packed with more family and friends than even Samantha had anticipated. Oddly enough, the number of people whom she dearly wished could attend… couldn’t. It hurt to think of how much she wanted certain people to be present, and it hurt even more to know that those same people were the ones she had loved the most. Her father was one. Janet Frasier, for certain. General Hammond another. But the list of friends missing… it was nearly twice as long as the one she’d used to send out invitations.

“I thought you wanted a small wedding,” Jack had dared to grumble one evening as she’d cross referenced her list with the grudging one he’d scribbled down. “You know… small.” And he’d cupped his palms together. “Tiny,” as he’d pinched his fingers.

As it was, they’d had to convert a military base auditorium to accommodate the number of people who had RSVP’d with a yes. What with the number of off-worlders alone, the wedding had gone from tiny, to, well, universal.

“You know I have to invite the Atlantis contingent,” she’d reminded him, which meant, of course, all the folks she’d met beyond the base itself. As if that qualification mattered; half the universe wanted to see Jack O’Neill finally marry Samantha Carter. The other half just wanted an excuse to party.

“Just so long as I get my share of the cake,” Jack had mumbled, leaving her to her lists. Which had made her smile, because it was so very Jack to stack his priorities in favor of cake, leaving her to make sure his dress uniform was ready, and Daniel to make sure he got to the altar on time.

“More than enough cake,” she’d called over her shoulder anyway. “One just for our table.”

“Chocolate?” he’d asked from in front of a hockey game.

“Yes, sir,” she’d replied formally, unable to resist teasing him.

“Knock it off, Carter!”

“Yes, sir!”

So, here they sat, the rehearsal having gone off without a hitch, General Hammond’s two grand-daughters now in their late teens, attending as flower girls to make up for his absence, her own brother, Mark with his family, there to give her away. Vala as another attendant; Cassandra as her maid-of-honor, now 23 years old and beautiful to behold. Daniel as Jack’s best man, and Teal’c who had arrived from off-world with him, as what Jack called his ‘best man and a half.’ Cameron there to escort Vala back and forth.

But no Dr. Janet Frazier to laugh with. No Jacob Carter, her dad. No General George Hammond of Texas. She tried so hard to push the emptiness aside, to smile and laugh with the others as they toasted one another, commented on how General Landry would escort his daughter, Dr. Lam the next day, and wouldn’t it be good to see Master Bra’tac again? Nodded in agreement that the weather seemed to be holding for a gorgeous sun drenched day.

She wanted to sit down alone and cry like she hadn’t in months, keeping things all bottled up tight because just as she’d finally simplified things with Jack, just as they’d finally been able to be together, first her father then Janet and now the general had passed away. And how many allies, too? Jaffa? Tok’ra? Tollan? Asgard? How many crews from how many ships destroyed by the Ori? How many personnel lost to the Wraith? Or the Replicators? The losses were staggering when she let herself count them. Tomorrow was the happiest day of her life.

Mark and his family rose to leave first, then the two girls Tessa and Kayla, with Cameron dragging Vala up and away from her umpteenth drink. Cassandra was hugged and kissed, and left with the promise to be on time next morning to help Sam. Then Daniel and Teal’c made to go.

“Don’t.” Sam had stated, Daniel’s eyebrows shooting up and lowering, Teal’c’s merely streamlining. “I mean, come have a night cap with us.”

“‘Come have a night cap with us’?” Jack had pretended astonishment. “My last night as a free man--- I should be out---,” and he waved his hand towards the doors.

“Wrestling in the mud with naked women?” Teal’c offered when Jack didn’t finish.

“I never---!” Jack protested swiftly.

Sam should have laughed. Was supposed to. But just couldn’t.

It was Daniel who saved her. “One night cap would be good. Then we can go mud wrestle.”

“I would never---!” Jack denied once more, but Samantha’s composure had restored itself enough to laugh, even Teal’c’s amused smile somehow filling the void.

The first thing she did when they got back to her house was to kick off her fancier shoes in favor of some flats. By the time she had made it out of the restroom and back to the living room, Jack had already poured four drinks. Daniel held his while Teal’c sniffed suspiciously.

Jack raised his glass first as Samantha moved to his side. “To SG-1.”

“To SG-1,” they replied, obedient, aware that the toast was more inaccurate than incorrect since neither Cameron nor Vala, nor Jonas Quinn for that matter, were there to validate it. But they let it go; once upon a time, SG-1 had been them, exclusively, distinctively.

“To Katherine Langford,” Daniel spoke up. And they drank.

“To Sha’re,” Jack said. And Daniel nodded a gentle acknowledgement.

“Major Charles Kawalsky,” Teal’c offered.

“Drey’auc,” Samantha put in, and Teal’c bowed his neck.

“To Charlie,” which managed to silence them all, the moment uncertain, Daniel’s glass raised, yet motionless.

But if Jack hadn’t found complete forgiveness for himself, he had at least found a modicum of peace. “To Charlie.”

And they drank.

They sat, for what turned into hours, mud wrestling forgotten, any plans Vala might have made in secret for Sam thwarted, talking and laughing and reminiscing and discussing any one of over a hundred missions together, arguing points, making connections unseen before, enjoying themselves together, such a sweet rarity these days, where once they’d lived in one another’s back pockets, time and life and vast distances separating them now. Samantha fell asleep first, though she really didn’t mean to, and Daniel had his eyes closed for more than just a moment as the clock ticked itself across the far side of two AM.

Teal’c’s silences were deeper than the mere absence of sound; it was a quality that Jack had always appreciated during long nights of wakefulness when off-world. A man could think with Teal’c not a foot away when he was like this. And Jack began to think now, Sam asleep on his shoulder, Daniel sagged down on his lounging chair. He tilted his empty glass, stared at the ringed bottom, wondered what ghosts were going to wander his way in the next twenty-four hours before he married Samantha tomorrow afternoon. 
Damn! He needed some sleep!

Jack’s eyes wandered around the living room, noted the sparse decorations and realized belatedly that Samantha would have packed up everything, ready to move in with him, to relocate and readjust her life one more time. He scowled down at his empty glass for a minute or two before recalling that the move was temporary anyway; they’d decided to buy a new house once they had a chance to go looking together instead of trying to find one while they were miles apart in their careers. Then he wondered if that meant he’d be able to get more of his stuff out of storage, or if he’d have to put more in once they were settled?

“I wonder if that old curling trophy of mine is in there?”

Teal’c tilted his head but did not reply. Jack angled his jaw to brush it gently across Samantha’s hair. “And my first set of golf clubs… I think they might be in there, too.” Jack looked up, saw Daniel, so limp now even his glasses had slid down his nose. “He’s gonna lose those someday.”

Teal’c took the hint and shifted out of his own lounger to lift the glasses off of Daniel’s face and set them on the coffee table. He resettled, curved a brow at O’Neill, asked, “What else have you misplaced, O’Neill?”

“Storage,” Jack replied. “I think all that stuff’s in storage. Or, at least, I hope it is.” He managed to reach and set his glass on the side table without disturbing Samantha’s balance. Sinking an inch more into the seat cushions, he took her hand where it lay on his arm to study her fingers for a moment. She could and had shot to kill with that hand, the very same hand which had created and worked to discover so many incredible things. He clasped her fingers, his introspection carrying him further within. Teal’c’s silence became hypnotic.

“There’s a picture, too. A portrait. Charlie. When he was in front of a Christmas tree. It was one of those posed ones, y’know? Done in a studio. Sara had it done when I was away on a mission. My big surprise when I got home for the holidays.” Jack smoothed his cheek over Sam’s head, paused to let his lips rest there. “I want to put it up. Haven’t had it up since…. Well.” Teal’c waited for him to continue. “It used to sit on my desk. At home.”

Teal’c had been unaware of the fact that Jack had ever owned a desk, much less used it, but maintained his peace. Now was not the time to tease his good friend.

“I don’t think she’ll mind if I put it back. Do you?”

This question required an answer though all the others had not. Teal’c considered the possibilities as he composed his reply. “I believe that Samantha Carter will not mind what you do so long as you are content, O’Neill.”

“Yeah,” Jack said after a long pause. “You’re right. It was a dumb question.”

“It was not dumb, O’Neill. Trying to please one’s spouse is never dumb.”

Jack raised his eyes, his expression rueful. “God, don’t I know that one.”

Teal’c inclined his head, and the silence fell once more.

*~*~*~*~
The Present

The earthquake came down on them to break the night. It tossed them from their beds, left them staggering in the dark, voices shouting as people scrambled to dress, find flashlights, make their way to safety. Simon’s initial reaction found him grabbing for the Squirt, both boys on the floor as dust and debris crackled down from the ceiling, the crazy dance of flickering lights bobbing before their eyes. Eventually and forever later, it stopped, the floor ceasing its jitterbug, the dust pooling over abandoned bunks.

“Shit,” Cam Mitchell cursed, his arms braced in a doorway, the only one to make it there, everyone else dashing under the tables.

Simon looked up at the older man, the Squirt squirming to crawl away and stand upright.

“That wasn’t long,” Harriman noted from his own position on the floor.

“That was no earthquake,” Mitchell grunted.

“What?” a man Simon recognized by sight but not name demanded.

“Attack---,” Mitchell began, but was cut short, the floor rumbling and rolling again. Simon grabbed the Squirt down, watched as folks now bounced and danced across the floor to disappear out the door and down the hall.

“Where are they all going?!” the Squirt yelled over the roar of crumbling structure.

“If it’s an attack, they’ve gone to go fight!” Simon called back, rolling his brother further under the table. “You stay here! I gotta go help!” And he hauled himself out and up, making sure his gun was secure.

“Wait! I can help, too!” came the Squirt’s urgent voice, his face just visible behind dribbles of falling plaster.

“No! Stay put--- dammit!” And Simon ran, his feet shaking as he moved over unstable floor. He ran for the front, knowing he’d find the other men, searching for Landry or Mitchell, determined to help.

“What the hell are you doin’?!” Mitchell’s voice bellowed out from behind a curtain of dusty haze. “Get the hell back down there!”

“I can fight!” Simon yelled back, skidding to a halt as the floor heaved once more.

Landry appeared, his hair grey with plaster spatter, saw Simon. “Get back down there, boy!”

“But I can---!”

“NOW!!”

Landry disappeared, men and women gathering and disappearing as they moved to defend The Gate. Mitchell clamped his hand over Simon’s shoulder. “Simon, listen!” he still had to yell to be heard over the roar. “It’s Super Soldiers--- a pack of the rat bastards---!”

“But they never attack in groups!”

Cameron was nodding, squinting in the dusty murk. “I know!! They’re being driven on by a Prior!”

“What?!”

“You have got to get back down there and guard the kid! Doc Lam is still down there, too! You have got to keep her and the wounded safe!”

“But---!”

“GO!” Mitchell roared, squeezed Simon’s shoulder hard. Ran.

Simon went, slamming into the walls as The Gate heaved around him. He found the Squirt, pulled the smaller boy up, and guided him, like two drunken soldiers, down a floor to the infirmary, where Dr. Lam was waiting, her staff dashing to secure those already down there.

The attack didn’t stop; it merely lessened a fraction as it was met with resistance from above. Simon stuffed the Squirt into one of the endlessly long tunnel shaft accesses then took up a post at the end of the corridor, ready to shoot any intruders. As tense minutes flickered by, Simon wished he could be above, helping to fight, his desire to protect almost as strong as his desire for revenge. For his parents. For their friends, and co-workers. For what his life had once been. For everything that had been taken from him and the Squirt.

The sudden sickening drop that left his guts hanging felled Simon like a tree. He lurched for the wall, felt his knees give as a horrid, sucking explosion slammed into him. He reeled, heard the Squirt yelling, saw figures moving at the end of the hallway, but was too scared to fire, uncertain if they were friend or foe.

“RUN!” Mitchell’s voice was raw, his figure ghostly white from dust. He dashed toward Simon, swinging his gun around as he came. “RUN KID!”

There were other fighters there, also--- all of them chalky with fear. The wall at the end of the corridor imploded, and then they were there, the Super Soldiers, chrome grey with dust, their weapons firing, mowing down The Gate fighters.

“RUN!” Cameron roared, his gun electrifying in the grim, the rattle deafening Simon. And Simon ran, his guts frozen, his legs finding flight all on their own. He flew down into the infirmary, saw only dust and burning beds, saw a single Super Soldier finishing off Dr. Lam and her staff, jerked back as the Super Soldier turned, and ran again, aiming for the access shaft where the Squirt was. He saw a flash, ducked and dodged, dared to look over his shoulder, saw Cameron Mitchell floating to the side as he fell and fell and fell, the stump of his skull scarlet.

“C’MON!” Simon screamed, yanking open the shaft door. The Squirt was pressed right up against the wall, the swallowing shadows of the shaft right below his toes.

“Where?!”

“Anywhere!”

“No--- down! We can go down!”

Simon didn’t argue. He just crammed himself into the hole, swung the door shut, and climbed down after his brother.

They passed one floor, two, three, kept dropping, their feet slipping and skidding on rungs long, long unused and thick with dust. They passed more floors, more stops, pausing only once to listen, to hear the sound of relentless steps falling above them, and down they went, deeper and deeper into the Earth. The darkness was cruel, midnight deep, sucking them further and further into its heart. Simon was aware of someone softly whimpering, realized it was himself, realized that he could no longer see the Squirt, only hear him, the smaller boy’s desperate gasps of air testament to his waning energy.

“Wait,” he spoke into the pitch. Heard his brother pause. “Where are we?”

“I dunno,” the Squirt sniffled. “But we gotta go the whole way down.”

“We could exit out here,” Simon thought out loud. “Maybe hide on one of these floors.” And he reached in the dark to try and swipe at the wall, to find any sort of identifying mark.

“No. We gotta go the whole way down--- Simon---,” and the Squirt’s voice stuttered with fear. “I can hear him.”

Simon could hear the Super Soldier, too, but didn’t say so. “Okay. Down.” And on they went.

Time became the count of rungs. Ten. Twenty. Fifty. A hundred. Down and down. Two hundred, his hands sweaty, his legs aching from the unusual exercise. He heard the Squirt yelp once, the noise muffled as his brother slapped his mouth against his sleeve.

“What?”

“I slipped!”

And down still, Simon’s head swimming with numbers he’d lost count of. Felt his hand muscles spasm. Hated the smell of damp cement, cold earth, mold, hated the sound of boot heels on rungs, hated knowing that he was helpless to stop what was coming down after them.

“Simon!” The call was a hiss.

Simon went down five more steps. Felt his boots slap into something solid. “We’re here.”

But where? In the darkness, they felt for and wrenched open the access door, their breath loud in their ears as they slipped out into abandoned corridors. “How far down are we?” Simon flicked on the flashlight, saw the number 28 rise and stretch above them, sent the beam up one corridor then down another. “This way.”

“No!” the Squirt snatched at his brother’s arm. “This way!” The boy turned to trot off.

“What? Wait!” But the thud of feet slamming into the shaft floor sent Simon running after the kid. “Where are you going?”

The Squirt didn’t pause, his mouth tight with terror, his eyes wide as he mumbled instructions to himself. “Left, then right, follow the line--- follow the line---.”

“What line? Where are we going?”

“Look down.”

Simon did: there were three lines painted along the corridor floor, and apparently, the kid was following one. “But what if we’re going the wrong way?”

“No--- look! See?” Because suddenly on there left was a door, open, a flight of stairs taking them up to what had to have once been a control room, or so Simon guessed.

“Middle computer---.”

“What’re you doing? You don’t know how to run a computer!” But Simon could only stand by as his kid brother blew puffs of dust away from the keyboard before tapping in codes to wake up the silent machine.

Energy spat and flickered, bloomed to life. “C’mon!” And again Simon followed as the kid zipped back down the stairs. They moved up the corridor a bit, reached a giant door, its intimidating size matched only by its brawn. The Squirt scraped a thick layer of dust away then proceeded to poke at a small key pad. With a heaving grunt, the door began to open, its yawning maw forcing Simon and the Squirt back out of the way. The sudden slap Thwack! of weapon’s fire had them spinning, the Super Soldier at the end of the corridor raising his arm to fire again.

“Simon!”

“Move!”

They jumped through the door, the Squirt reaching to frantically close it on the inside with another key pad. The door clamped shut, the sound of fire still furious on the other side.

For several seconds, both boys stared at the door, mouths open as they waited for the sound of crunching cement to begin.

“Where are we?” Simon looked around, the few lights that the Squirt had managed to awaken showing another door across from them, silent computers, a metallic ramp, and at the end of it, a tarp covered thing; a circle the size of a house. “What is that?”

The insistent boom of weapon’s fire brought his head around. “C’mon, kid, we gotta get outta here.”

But the Squirt was ignoring him, his short body busy leaning against a sort of strange mushroom shaped object, as his hands pressed and pushed a series of buttons, his face scrunched with utmost concentration. “Skinny sticks, squashed diamond thingy, pokey dot stuff…” The mushroom was lighting up.

“What are you doing?” Simon stepped over to his brother’s side, watched as the kid punched a series of seven buttons, the strange symbols like nothing he’d ever seen before. “Squirt--- what are you doing?!” But his brother only took a deep breath, glanced once at Simon, and with bitten lip, slapped the middle button, a bright burnt red dome which instantly flared to life. Simon jerked back---

---was tossed around by adrenalized shock as the circle exploded into life, the tarp shooting across the room, the vast height of the silo they were in revealed in the furious swirl of blue water that came frothing out, the symbols on its outer rim lit up like a Christmas tree, the corkscrew torrent settling into a perfectly vertical pool of water, pristine blue, the Gate holding it quiescent.

“What… the… fuck…?”

“C’mon, Simon!” And the demanding slam of weapon’s fire was the only thing Simon could hear as he dazedly watched his brother climb up the ramp.

“Wait--- Squirty, wait!” Simon jerked forward, the sudden creak of shattering door, bringing him around, and back again. “Wait! What are you doing?!” he yelled at his brother for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“I’m getting us out of here!” the Squirt called, frantically waving Simon forward. “C’mon! It’s safe! Daniel says so!”

Daniel again! “Squirt!! There is no Daniel! He’s dead!! He died eight years ago with Mom and Dad and everyone else they worked with--- they were executed on live television!! Daniel is dead!!”

“No, he’s not! He’s alive--- he’s like a guardian angel--- and he told me how to get down here and how to wake up the water circle and how to save us!”

“Squirt---!”

“MY NAME ISN’T SQUIRT!!” the Squirt screamed, bent over in half to spit the words out at Simon. “It’s Tyler!! And your name isn’t Simon---!”

The door began to collapse, the weapon’s fire jumping from behind its ruin. Simon skittered up the ramp, his gun appearing in his hand to cover them as he moved next to his brother. “How in hell did you---? You gotta run! Now--- you gotta go out the other door--- we don’t have time---!”

“No! We can go in here!” and his brother waved behind them at the shimmering pool of water. “It’s safe! Daniel said so!”

“But he’s---!”

Thwack! The bolt slapping into the opposite wall.

“Not dead! Daniel is not dead! And his name is JACKSON! He told me so!”

Simon ripped his eyes from the thick clouds of dust that were being flung outward with every shot the Super Soldier took. He stared at his brother, his little brother Tyler, named partly for his grandfather… and believed. “Tyler…”

Tyler clamped his hand on Simon’s wrist, tugged, dragging them closer to the water’s surface. “You gotta hold on tight to me. I gotta concentrate hard, like Daniel says, to get us to the right place. C’mon---!”

Simon turned with Tyler, his gun still pointed at the door, felt his brother moving, saw the shimmering water a breath from his nose…

“Go!” As he was yanked forward, not wet, not cold, Tyler’s hand gripped tight, eyes shut and face frowning, saw his own leg begin to disappear, heard the door collapse---

--- the ice-hot shock of gunfire---

“NNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” --- and fell through the Stargate.

*~*~*~*~
On The Other Side: the Present…

“I’ll go,” Mitchell offered first.

“No,” Daniel disagreed. “I’ll go.”

“Fine, we’ll both go.”

“No,” with a tiny frown of impatience. “You stay; I’ll go. You, Jack’ll shoot on sight for intruding. Me, he’ll just beat the crap out of.”

“And I,” the deeper voice rode over Cameron’s protest, Vala’s laugh. “I will accompany Daniel Jackson, also.”

No one argued the point. The last few hours had been hard for Teal’c.

“Go now,” Landry spoke up from the head of the table. “This shouldn’t wait any longer.”

So, Daniel drove and Teal’c navigated. “Like we haven’t been there a dozen times before?” Daniel asked when Teal’c pulled out a road map. But the other man only offered him a glance, before replying with great dignity:

“Though the present crisis is dire, Daniel Jackson, is it not customary for visitors to O’Neill’s cabin to stop for doughnuts along the way? I merely wished to guarantee our finding the appropriate road.”

And dire or not, Daniel agreed that the situation warranted a fresh doughnut, so he didn’t argue. Just drove on into the night.

*~*~*~*~
On The Other Side: Before…

Jack remembered three things about the wedding. One, that Carter did in fact show up, and was wearing some gorgeous dress which he could not have described if he’d been paid. It was beautiful; Samantha was beautiful. That was all that mattered.

Two, that as promised, there had been a double layer chocolate cake decorated with froo-froo flowers at their table. Exclusively theirs. He’d enjoyed that cake more than he’d enjoyed any other in his life. He’d even bent so far as to share it with Daniel, Teal’c, and Cassandra, all of whom had been seated at the table with them. It had been tough though, the only mollifying factor being that he’d eaten three slices of it, plus half of Sam’s who hadn’t been able to finish.

Third, that people kept asking him where he and Carter were headed for their honeymoon? Now, it wasn’t strange, the question itself; it was that Carter hadn’t told anyone. Not Hank Landry; not even Walter Harriman who knew everything about everyone at the SGC. After the fourth or fifth person had inquired, Jack had found Samantha chatting up a group of Atlantis crew to pull her aside and ask what was going on. She’d just smiled up at him, eyes mischievous and innocent, replied, “Do you really want everyone to know where we’re going? I mean, do you really want them calling us two days later for some big emergency? Or, would you rather actually enjoy your time away from all the responsibility… to concentrate on your… fishing?”

She had him there. When more folks inquired after that, Jack just shrugged and said, “Sam has all the details down. I’m just going along for the ride.” It didn’t stop him, however, from finding Daniel an hour or three later, to pull the younger man aside as the sun was beginning to set, and ask, “You know where we’re going to be, right?” Because if the world was going to stop spinning in the next four weeks…

He’d watched Daniel’s brow scrunch, his mouth open to reply, his hesitant pause, then with a decisive lick of his lip, “Yeah; I think I can make an educated guess.”

Satisfied, Jack had nodded, turned away to wave more guests good-bye as the wedding party broke up, hours of food and dancing and talk wearing down all but the most die hard partiers. Only Vala remained at one of the tables, a group of fascinated young men (Air Force, Jaffa, a few Tok’ra) gathered about her as she flirted indiscriminately. Jack spotted Cameron Mitchell talking with the bartender though he’d spent the afternoon and evening dancing with Vala, watched Daniel disappear without a care in the world into the darkening night, and wondered if the chips would ever fall for the dark haired beauty.

Either way, he’d driven off with Sam in the limousine they’d been gifted with, ducking a hailstorm of bird seed, grateful that they hadn’t far to go: just Sam’s house. His truck was packed and ready to leave; they had only to change clothes and be on their way.

They didn’t get far, though in all honesty Jack couldn’t remember if that had been his idea or Samantha’s. He just knew that it was nearly noon by the time they’d pulled themselves out of bed, and left the following day.

Sweet.

*~

There was something to be said about working in fresh, clean air beneath a dazzling blue sky. Something about being near quietly lapping water, and trees rustling in the breeze. Something about seeing the sun rise, peak, and set every day, or hearing wildlife skittering about the greenery. Samantha Carter O’Neill was so used to working underground now, so used to being locked inside all hours that she sometimes wondered if she had become half mole, or at least part rodent. She wasn’t used to being above ground any longer; could not in fact remember the last time she’d had an assignment which required her to be out in the sun.

Oh. Well, off world, of course. But did working on the George Hammond count?

Jack wallowed in it; the whole bonding with Nature. He set up shop in the mornings, fishing pole, bait, his chair, his hat to shade his eyes when he fell asleep. Sometimes Sam joined him on the dock. Sometimes she sat on the porch with her lap top to work. Sometimes at the kitchen table. They’d grill dinner; toast marshmallows; cuddle on the lounge to watch the fire dance over logs. They hiked everywhere; they even wandered a ways to find a canoe that Jack’s neighbor owned, to skim along the river, lunches packed handily, and Jack rowing them for miles, the time drifting away.

They didn’t allow themselves to grow restless. Or rather, Samantha didn’t allow herself to; Jack was fine in his habitat. Every once in a while, they drove the long road into the tiny town, picked up or renewed supplies, ate supper and a piece of pie at the local diner, even rented a DVD to watch on Sam’s laptop, though Jack insisted that was cheating.

And they slept in many mornings, went to bed far too early, sometimes talked, mostly didn’t, having known each other for so very long now, familiarity with their quirks relaxing them, already knowing that it was just fine, thank-you, to be silent in one another’s company.

Sometimes they took a blanket out to the sun warmed grass, spread it out, watched the sun set, watched the stars come out to twinkle a hello down at them. Sometimes Samantha wondered if all of their adventures out there had been a dream; and sometimes she wondered how different her life would be if she’d never joined the Air Force, but had instead married him 10 years sooner. Because they both knew she would have; he would have made sure of it if regulations hadn’t held them apart for so long.

But that was wistful wishful thinking, and Sam excused it as nothing more than day dreams resulting from long hours of a very quiet world all around her. No stress: no alarms, no emergencies, no last minute blowing up a sun or changing the course of human history. No scrambling for weapons, just eggs for breakfast. No splashing through mud and rain, just listening to it on the roof while they were whispered in the dark. No worrying about completing their mission since finishing dinner dishes was the biggest mission for the day.

The same day that Sam was awakened by her nightmare of toxic P3X289, she found herself staring off into the woods while Jack sat fishing next to her. Seated on the dock, feet propped up, breeze humming in her ear, she reviewed the dream as best she could, and found herself contrasting it to the reality of the mission. With painful clarity, she remembered smelling the acrid bite of ash and dust, could still feel the chill of a cloaked sun, but didn’t recall any experiences like that on P3X289. In fact, beyond making her way through the deadly atmosphere safe in a hazmat suit, Samantha had never actually been in such a place. So, why the dream? And why such a clear set of images? She was still puzzling this over when Jack interrupted.

“You know they’re going to call.”

Sam blinked back to the present, rolling her head on the chair back to smile at him. “They can’t. They don’t know where we are.”

The general gave a tell-tale nervous cough, his gaze not quite able to meet hers.

“Oh… you didn’t,” as she straightened her posture. “Tell me you didn’t.”

He fidgeted with his gear, pretending to straighten his line.

“Jack! How could---?”

“It was only Daniel,” he equivocated, with a slight twitch of his jaw. “I had to tell someone--- the sun might fall out of the sky, Jupiter might swing out of orbit, hell might freeze over! --- Someone had to know where we are.”

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. “They’ll use it as an excuse--- you know they will.”

“At least it’s better than having commandos in helicopters invading in the middle of the night!” A five year old could not have whined any better.

“You set us up! You’re expecting something--- aren’t you?”

“I did not set us up.”

“Admit it--- you know something’s going to happen!”

“I do not know that--- nobody can know that!--- Hey! Where’re you going?” And he sat up, swiveling to watch her march towards the cabin.

“To pack!”

“Why?!”

“Because like you said, somebody’s going to call. And now they will!”

His name was Mud, and he knew it. Cursing, Jack slouched back down into his chair to glare at the pond. He should’ve kept his yap shut; should never have said a word, neither out loud to Carter, nor to Daniel at the reception. But he couldn’t help himself; he’d been getting that itchy feeling under his skin for the past few days, and Sam’s nightmare early that morning hadn’t helped. Jack didn’t even want to contemplate a situation that would force Landry into summoning them away from their honeymoon, because it would have to be as drastic as the sun falling or hell freezing over for him to do so. No. He’d snafu’d big time, and would have to grovel now--- and he hated to grovel, even when it was his idea!--- to make it up to Carter.

Sam.

Samantha.

Mrs. O’Neill.

Jack contemplated asking her if she planned on changing her name then ditched the notion. Asking her right now would land him in the dog house, and he did not relish the idea of spending the next few nights on the couch.

No, no, no: change of tactics. Plan B.

First, grovel. Second, food. Third… pray that the itch was nothing more than an irritated mosquito bite, and apply repellent. Then keep praying that the sun would not fall out of the sky.

*~

Anti-climatic was not the word Jack would have chosen, even if it did fit.

The evening came, they ate the dinner that he prepared, which included as many of her favorites that he could recall, and the only groveling that he suffered through lasted a minimum 30 seconds.

“Please pass the dressing, sir?”

Hand hiding his eyes, he passed her the dressing. “Car---…Samantha, please. Don’t call me, ‘sir’.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m begging you…”

“On bended knee?” Her tone alone could cut diamonds.

“On bended knees. Please. Samantha…”

Wide eyes waiting for his response.

“We’re equals now; partners. Married. See?” as he wiggled his ring finger at her. “Please, don’t call me ‘sir’.”

She finished chewing her bite of salad. “Did you make dessert?”

“Er…,” because there was only one type of dessert left in the cabin, and she damn well knew it! “Yeah…”

“Good. I’d love some!”

And so he sat, watching her as she ate every last crumb of his cake, licking the fork clean for emphasis. He thought maybe it was over the top, but at least he was allowed into the bedroom that night.

Then nothing happened.

No! Not that kind of nothing! Something definitely happened then, but afterwards, when they’d regained their breath, and the sweat was cooling them down, and the moon was busy laughing at what a shmuck he was, then… nothing happened. No phone calls. Amend that: no cell phones rang. No forest rangers knocked on their door. No pigeons carried messages. Not even an E-mail on Samantha’s laptop.

Plain old, boring nothing. In the end, it was kind of nice knowing he’d been wrong. Glorified mosquito bite. Whatever.

*~

“What?” Her smile was warm, yet nervous. But then, he’d been staring at her for the past five minutes, the shimmering dance of candle flame illuminating the room, the gentle glow haloed on her hair.

“Nothing,” he smiled back.

They lay on their sides for another five minutes, just staring, sometimes with her on the border line edge of hysterical giggles, sometimes with him on the border line edge of obsessive possession.

“I’ve been thinking,” she eventually broke the peace. Reached, her hand leaving the warmth of his chest where it had been resting, counting heart beats, breaths, to smooth across his cheek, down, fingertips on his throat.

“’Bout what?”

“We should get a dog.”

“A dog?” He didn’t even blink.

“Mm-hm,” eyes slipping shut as he smoothed his hand up her spine, fingers threading through her hair, a gentle tug, down again, drawing her breath by breath closer into his embrace. “A big dog. Not a yapping toy.”

“No yapping toys?”

“No.” Her eyes remained closed this time, and he inched forward to steal a kiss. Two. Three. “Big dog.”

“How big? St. Bernard?”

“Mmm.”

“Great Dane?” Her leg was nudging against him, so he let her in. “Poodle?”

Blueberry eyes flashed open. “No.”

He was grinning now. “What’s wrong with Poodles?”

“Labrador.”

“Everyone has Labradors.”

“A chocolate one, and a yellow one.”

“What? Like hot fudge with vanilla ice cream?”

“No. Like: two of them. They’ll get lonely otherwise.”

“You want two dogs?”

She stretched suddenly, and he shifted to accommodate her, the long lines of her body molding to, sealing against his.

“Yes. Two dogs.”

“Why? I mean, what if we’re both off world for several weeks?”

“Hire a dog sitter…,” whispered into his neck where she was busy nuzzling.

“A baby sitter, more like,” he mumbled, his own eyes shutting now. If he hadn’t been plastered up against her, he doubted he would have felt her pause, the micro tweak stiffening of her muscles. He pulled his head up, ran his hand over her nape to catch her attention.
“What?” his whisper soft.

It took her a full minute to find the courage to answer, her eyes down, features tense the whole time. “We’re not going to have kids, are we?”

He flashed on Charlie--- he always did--- then grabbed onto the first thing that popped into his mind. “I would never say ‘No’.” Because though he played it, Jack O’Neill was no one’s fool.

They stared at each other then, lying side by side, his hand moving up and down her back, loving the sleek velvet of her skin, loving the way she could trust him enough to accept his words.

*~

“O’Neill.”

The distinct depth of Teal’c’s voice could’ve roused him from the dead. On instant alert, Jack’s eyes snapped open. Would’ve hauled himself right off the bed if he hadn’t been held in place by Sam’s weight on his arm. “Whaaa?” He scrubbed at his face, the rasp of beard warning him to shave soon. Realized that he had not one, but two visitors. At the cabin. In his--- their!--- room. And godammit! Only an inch of sheet to keep him--- them!--- decent!! “Teal’c?! What the hell is going on?” Was aware of Samantha stirring. Nope! Grab that sheet down! Flattening the offending linen, Jack copped his favorite glare. “What are you doing here?! Daniel! What the ---?” as he flapped his hand to indicate the cabin, the room, bedside and all.

“What is it?” Sam was awake now, struggling against Jack’s hold on the sheet, frowning at the clock. Jack waited for it, his grip on the sheet desperate. Forget his own dignity, just --- “TEAL’C?! DANIEL?! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” ---don’t let Sam take the sheet.

“We’ll wait outside,” and Daniel grabbed Teal’c by the shoulder to drag him through the bedroom door.

Sam’s mad scramble halted once the portal had shut. “What’s going on? What are they---?”

Jack bent over to cup his face in his hands. Sat up. “Emergency.”

“Oh--- no----.”

“Oh, yeah.”

The pillow smacked him across the back.

“Hey!” He rose, vaguely miffed. Flicked on the bedside light. Stood scrubbing his hair as he tried to decide which pair of denims on the floor was his. On the bed, Samantha fingered her hair flat, the long locks pulling straight with each tug.

“You were right,” she sighed, rising to start searching for clothes of her own. Jack paused to watch her dress. Tilted his head in appreciation of the show. Barely dodged the second pillow. “I said, you were right.”

“I heard you,” he conceded, focusing on his buttons.

“I wish you hadn’t been.”

“Me, too.”

“Because you know it’s going to be…,” but she couldn’t find the right word to describe her concern.

“Yeah.” He sat on the blanket tossed bed to tie his boots. “Me and my big mouth.”

She came over, sank down on her knees in front of him, gently clasped his jaws. They stared at one another for a long moment, leaned in to share a kiss.

“Does this mean I can beat up Daniel?”

Sam smiled, felt his hands cupping the back of her head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Did you see the look on his face?”

“You mean that ‘It’s the end of the universe as we know it!’ look of his?”

“Mm-hm.”

“No,” he lied.

She actually managed a laugh. They relaxed, leaning in forehead to forehead. Then rose, the honey gold moon setting, slipping away beyond the horizon.

*~

“When was the last time you slept?” Samantha asked as she came into the living room to find Daniel, head down on the table, snoozing.

He straightened up, eyes still shut. “I don’t remember.” Sank back down.

“That long?” Jack commented from behind Sam. He watched as Teal’c picked up the car keys, jingled them in his hand. “You have time to talk or are we leaving now?”

“It is imperative that we depart as soon as possible, O’Neill,” Teal’c stated.

Sam sighed inwardly. So. It was that bad. “Tell us in the car---.”

“I will drive you,” Teal’c agreed. “O’Neill will drive Daniel Jackson.”

“If I don’t beat him up first,” Jack grumbled, picking up the single duffle bag he and Sam had packed together.

“I told Mitchell you would,” Daniel spoke into the table top. Was dragged to his feet as Teal’c passed him by, Jack shutting off the lights as they headed outside. “Teal’c brought doughnuts.” Criss-crossing his arms for warmth, Daniel crawled into the truck beside Jack.

Jack started the truck, the engine roaring to life, while behind them, the car Teal’c and Sam were in turned its lights on. “Good,” he grunted, waiting for the other car to back up so he could get the truck moving. “Better start with a cruller; I get the feeling I’m going to need the gooey stuff for later.”

Obliging, Daniel opened the box, picked up one of the pastries and handed it to Jack. Nauseated at the thought of doughnuts at 3 in the morning, Daniel wrinkled his nose and set the box aside.

“Okay,” Jack said around a mouthful. “Let’s hear it.” Wrangled the truck around, Sam and Teal’c falling into place behind, to lead them back to civilization. “The Ori?”

“No.”

“Goa’uld?”

“No.”

“Lucien Alliance?”

“No.”

“Replicators?”

“No.”

“Klingons?”

“No.”

“Daniel?!”

Daniel’s eyes peeled open. “They asked me--- everyone did--- where did Jack and Sam go on their honeymoon? I said, I didn’t know. And even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell them. They bribed me. They booby-trapped my office. There is glitter gel all over my desk! I found threatening notes posted on my door: Tell us where they went or the fish gets it--- they kidnapped my fish.” Daniel paused to yawn, every tooth gleaming in the dashboard dim. “Someone sent me a pair of --- of--- red thong underwear: I’ll wear these, if you tell me where. But I didn’t tell them. No one. Not Vala--- who sulked for days--- not Mitchell, not General Landry--- even Walter tried to bribe me with gourmet coffee--- Siler spent two hours changing light bulbs in my office--- with a blow torch! But I didn’t crack…”

“What has this got to do with you and Fred Flintstone walking in on me and the missus?”

“Has Sam heard you call her that yet?”

“No--- and stay on topic.”

“The point is that everyone was making wild guesses as to your location: no one thought for a moment that Sam would agree to spend four weeks up at your cabin--- so no one even guessed that. What they all assumed--- what everyone was betting on, was that you’d gone off world.”

A moment came and went, the bouncing dirt road turning into a two-lane gravelly road. “So?”

“So when your ident-code came through an off world activated wormhole… everyone assumed that it was you and Sam, either returning home early… or returning home in an emergency.”

“And?!”

Daniel sighed as Jack picked up speed. “And I wasn’t there to tell them no. And so they opened the iris.”

“They let--- them?--- through? Daniel--- who the hell was it?”

For the exact count of twelve (Jack kept track as he waited), Daniel just stared out the window, head bobbing as the truck moved. “I think… you need to see this for yourself.”

The steering wheel whined in his grip as Jack wrung his hands on it. Gritting his teeth, he snarled, “Pass me the chocolate sprinkled one!” It was going to be a very long ride back to the SG-C.

*~

Jack pulled off the highway somewhere around 6 AM, a desperate need for coffee over riding his need to reach the SG-C. Daniel had been sound asleep for the past hour anyway, and he doubted if Teal’c or Sam would complain.

The diner was only just opening: they were the first ones seated. “Coffee,” he grunted, watched amused as Teal’c conscripted the sugar container in preparation. They ordered full breakfasts despite the early hour; despite the doughnuts Jack had already consumed. “So,” he jerked his chin to indicate Teal’c who sat across from him. “Did Silent Bob give you any more useful details than Jay gave me?”

Jack’s question had been meant for Sam, though it was Daniel who tossed him a disgruntled look. “I don’t know,” she replied beside him, fidgeting with her glass of water. She then proceeded to relate everything that Teal’c had told her. It pretty much matched his intel, except for one small detail…

“What do you mean Super Soldier weapon’s fire came through the Gate? You didn’t mention that part.” Jack tossed Daniel an accusing glare.

Daniel shrugged it off. “They got the Gate closed; no personnel were hurt, though the technicians were able to identify the weapon signature later.”

“When did you get there anyway?”

“I was called maybe two hours after they came through the Gate,” and Daniel took a bite of his eggs.

Jack scowled at his plate. Chomped down on a sausage. “You’re still not going to tell us who ‘they’ are, are you?”

Teal’c’s silence spoke volumes. Daniel just raised his eyebrows innocently. It was Carter who asked, “Teal’c, when did you arrive?”

“Shortly after Daniel Jackson did,” and Teal’c buttered his toast with delicate precision. “I was not summoned; I had meant to return to Earth just then.”

“Yeah, that went well,” Daniel shook his head.

“Care to share with the class, junior?” Jack goaded him.

But Daniel shook his head. “This you have to see for yourself.”

They focused on eating, the flash of cutlery emphasizing their desire to hurry. As they were finishing up, Sam looked at Daniel, asked, “Can you give us even a teeny tiny hint?”

Daniel took his time swallowing his coffee. Jack’s attention was pinpointed right on him; he could feel the red hot laser marker right between his eyes. “Sure.” And Teal’c’s brows streamlined in warning. “Never let it be said that I’ve never done you any favors.”

Sam waited for more, but when nothing else was forthcoming, it was Jack who complained, “That’s not a hint!”

“Yes,” Teal’c interrupted Daniel’s immediate protest. “It is… very much so.”

Part Five

http://officersun524.livejournal.com/30032.html