Bits & Pieces #14: The Serpent's Eye 3

Jan 30, 2009 18:19

Title: Bits and Pieces: #14 The Serpent's Eye
Author: Pink Rabbit Productions
Part: 3
Spoilers: Politics, Within the Serpent's Grasp
Archive: The Pink Rabbit Consortium (www.altfic.com)
SPECIAL THANKS: to ocean gazer, who also happens to be the most caffeinated and cheerful minion around.
For disclaimers see part 1.

The earlier stories in the series can be found here


Bits & Pieces 14:
The Serpent's Eye
Part 3

Sam Carter was having what could politely be described as a really crappy day. Really, there wasn't any other way to describe it---at least none that didn't rely heavily on words beginning with the letter "F". Having gated to the coordinates Daniel had obtained in an alternate universe, SG-1 was trapped on a Goa'uld mothership that just happened to be winging its way toward Earth at better than light speed, where total thermonuclear Armageddon was likely to take place, and the only thing to stop it from happening was SG-1 -- versus God only knew how many Jaffa, assorted extremely superior bits of superior technology, not to mention a mothership or two.

Oh, and the one person in all the world that she ... well ... cared for a lot ... probably thought she hated her and --- with the project shutting down, security doubtless having a field day with SG-1 AWOL, and possible death bearing down on her---wasn’t likely to be checking her email to note that, no, Sam certainly didn’t hate her. If anything she....

...cared for her very much.

Yep, crappy day.

She leaned forward, glancing around the edge of a corner, her MP5 up and ready. Teal'c and the colonel were scouting another corridor, leaving her and Daniel to check down this one. She stepped forward carefully, waving for him to follow. He stepped alongside her as they entered an empty chamber with walls covered in Goa'uld glyphs.

Leaning close, the archaeologist studied the figures carefully, reading the nearest lines with some effort.

"Anything?" she whispered, struggling to keep her mind on the situation at hand.

He shook his head. "Just odes to the greatness of Apophis," he muttered, subtle shadings of hatred underlying the softly spoken words, reminding her that the Goa'uld had stolen her friend's wife, corrupted and perverted her by inserting the parasitic form of its beloved into her body. Sha're was now Ammo'net, Apophis' one true love, whatever was left of Daniel's wife trapped somewhere in her own mind. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it must be like for Daniel to know that and be unable to do anything to help her.

"We'll get her back someday," she said very softly, her own worries momentarily forgotten.

He glanced back at her, well aware of who she was referring to, then looked at the glyphs again, reading them more easily than he might have wished. "I wonder," he sighed sadly, far from certain any of them would make it out alive. For a moment, the desire to see Sha're, if only for a second, was almost overwhelming, leaving him slightly shaky in the knees, and painfully aware of what he'd lost. One hand fisted tightly at his side as he fought a tidal wave of hurt he didn't have time for. Finally, he glanced back again. "We've got more immediate worries right now," he said at last.

For just a moment, Sam's own fears were visible in her eyes as she was reminded of everything she'd left behind. "Yeah, more--" she skidded to a verbal halt as she suddenly heard the sound of boots on metal flooring. Shoving Daniel around the corner, she dove after him, pressing into a shadowed alcove, her MP5 up and ready, praying that they wouldn't be noticed.

Because if they were, this mission might just end very quickly.

Definitely a really crappy day.

* * * * * *

"Get the tents set up on the ledge up there," Makepeace ordered briskly, getting the scientific personnel moving even as his people fanned out to recon the area. As he looked around at their temporary home, he had to admit Carter had chosen well. C5X-151 was a green world, wooded, the climate temperate. Mountains rose steeply away from the gate on one side, forming a defensible overlook that had plenty of room for several tents. Hopefully, they'd only be there a week or two at most before heading home, but if necessary, it would make a good base of operations to work from while contacting other worlds, and/or deciding where to move to next.

He looked over his new command, assessing their skills. They were smart, hard working; the best the SGC had to offer. He'd feel better if he had a few more people with combat experience, but hopefully that wouldn't be necessary. He saw Fraiser helping with some of the heavy scientific equipment and stepped forward, tapping her shoulder lightly, and cocking his head to one side to indicate he wanted to speak to her privately. After a brief word to the officers she was working with, she followed him a short distance, far enough that they could speak in private, but close enough that he could keep an eye on things.

"Yes, sir?" Her tone was formal and polite, as though their world wasn't on the verge of being destroyed, and they weren't standing on an alien world that might just be their new home.

He raised an eyebrow, recognizing the wall she'd put in place for what it was. Pure defense mechanism. Every member of the team had their own version of the same device in place to get through the things they faced, including him. "I wanted to talk to you about Cassie," he informed her, spotting the kid where she was helping as best she could.

"All right."

"Her ability to detect the Goa'uld ... it's not generally known, is it?"

She shook her head. "No, sir," the doctor responded, her gaze following his, automatically tracking the child. "Other than you and I---and Cass of course ---I think Martinez and Hayes are the only ones on the team who are aware of it."

"Speak to them---have 'em keep it under their hats. You too."

She frowned, not understanding the reason for the secrecy. Used to working in the base, where the entrances in and out were guarded and sealed tight, she hadn't yet accepted the reality that they might be completely on their own.

"Her value lies in her ability to detect the enemy. If we were to be infiltrated and the enemy realized what she can do, it would reduce her value considerably ... and make her a target."

He saw the message sink in as brown eyes widened faintly, fear ghosting into evidence before it was quickly hidden behind an emotionless wall. "I'll inform Hayes and Martinez to keep quiet," she responded after a beat.

"You okay?" he added, not knowing her well enough to be certain how she was handling their present situation.

She offered a small, tense shrug. "Are any of us?"

Makepeace managed a shrug of his own. "This isn't exactly your normal range of duties."

Well aware that he was probably less than thrilled with having her as his second, she nodded. "No, sir, it's not ... but I seem to have gotten stuck with it ... and I'll do my damnedest to do it well."

Makepeace offered a grim smile. "I know that," he allowed, then tried to look encouraging despite any doubts. "You'll do okay."

She glanced back toward the gate, and he could almost hear the gears turning in her head as one hand rose, fingertips just barely brushing one of the pockets on her vest, the look on her face a painful combination of worry and longing. He wondered what link to home she had there since Cassandra was with her; a letter, a picture, some small token from family or a lover. He didn't know much about her beyond her steady presence in the infirmary and suddenly found himself wondering what qualities Carter and Hammond had both seen to give them faith she was the right person for the job. It had to be more than just her knowledge of the project. In the end, all he could do was hope they were right. He let his gaze follow hers, eyeing the gate a little sadly. "Never thought I'd be prayin' for Jack O'Neill," he sighed, noticing the way she flinched. He consciously shook off the threat of depression, putting practical considerations back into play. "C'mon, there's a hell of a lot to get done before nightfall."

Janet only nodded, relieved to have something to concentrate on, though she cast a last look at the Stargate before following him, a tiny prayer on her lips.

It never occurred to either officer that watching eyes tracked their every move.

* * * * * *

The amazing thing about really bad days is that they invariably find ways to get worse.

The Goa'uld in charge of the mothership SG-1 found itself on was none other than Klorel, who just happened to inhabit the body of Jack O'Neill's dear friend Skaara, and who was also the child of Apophis. Driven to try and save his friend, O'Neill had taken Teal'c and left Sam and Daniel to place explosives in hopes of blowing up the mothership and stopping its advance on earth. Unfortunately, the odds were that the colonel and Teal'c were now Goa'uld prisoners. Damn the man for thinking he could just talk Klorel into turning back into Skaara. As plans went, that one was among the worst Jack O'Neill had ever come up with as far as she was concerned.

Yep, things just kept getting better and better.

Sam Carter cursed softly, trying not to think about everything back home, her father and brother, niece and nephew, the base, Janet and Cass---

With luck, she'd at least given the last two a chance at survival if the worst happened. Would that she could have done the same for the other people in her life. Feeling the threat of raw panic, she pushed that thought down, forcing herself to concentrate on the work at hand. Worrying about her family wouldn't change anything. Doing her job just might.

Finished prepping an explosive pack, she glanced around, trying to decide if there was a specific optimum point for placement. Concluding that the fuel cells were spaced so that one point was pretty much as good as another, she shoved it into a handy break in the cell where it wasn't likely to be noticed, then started prepping the detonator from her pack.

"You okay?" Daniel asked as he drew close, not moving as quickly as she was. He had agile hands from years of working with delicate archaeological artifacts, but this work was unfamiliar enough that he had to go slow.

"Finegreatwonderful," she clipped, making it all one word.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't challenge the obvious lie. "That's good because I'm scared to death."

She glanced back, seeing his gentle smile, and realized he was teasing her, though it took her a moment. "I'm not really scared for myself," she admitted, answering seriously, though she knew he'd intended to lighten the moment. She'd never been particularly good at gallows humor and at that moment was particularly incapable of it. "Just...." She trailed off, shaking her head as she returned her attention to the timing device.

"You made sure they had an escape route if the worst happens," Daniel said very softly, somehow cutting straight to the heart of her fears. "Whatever happens, they'll be okay."

She swallowed hard, not wanting to think about the possibilities, afraid the sheer terror might just paralyze her. "It was easier before..." she whispered, the words coming unbidden when she would have preferred to remain silent, or even better, not even look at the fact that the sense of family she got from Janet and Cassie was different from what she felt for her father and brother. Not that she loved them more or less, but more like she was a part of something---and it was a part of her. It was just different, and that difference made her more responsible to and for them in a way she wasn't for her father or brother. She looked back at her teammate. Seeing the sympathy in his eyes, she didn't allow herself to question its cause too scared to turn away from the possible comfort. "Is it always like this ... caring for someone else? I've never felt so helpless in my life." It was a hard admission to make, and the moment the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could call them back.

She wondered whether it was blindness or courtesy that led him to assume she simply meant Cass. "Someone once said that having a child is like tearing your heart out of your chest and giving it feet to walk around with." And then he shattered her assumptions by quietly adding, "...but I think that's true of anyone we love."

Sam's breath caught as she saw the look in her teammate's eyes; compassion, caring, and entirely too much understanding. No, he couldn't.... She was imagining things. He couldn't possibly....

She suddenly attacked the timing device with fierce determination. "We need to hurry. No telling when we might be spotted by a passing Jaffa."

She was eternally grateful that he accepted her subject change with a nod and simply ducked his head to concentrate on the explosives.

Could it get any better than this?

* * * * * *

With night falling over the world serving as the Beta Team's temporary home, the human refugees were instinctively edgy. Worried about their homeworld, the officers and enlisted personnel kept themselves busy with a myriad of organizational and practical tasks, seeing to both their temporary comfort and safety as well as the long-term realities of their mission. The work was necessary and also kept them from having to think too closely about what might be happening on Earth. They were there to do a job, and they maintained their collective sanity by focusing on that to the exclusion of all else.

They'd set their tents on the low hill overlooking the gate, with pickets spaced on all sides of the small camp and a static lookout on the tower of rock that bounded the rear edge of the encampment. Not that anyone thought there were any serious threats out there, but knowing they needed to change their entire way of thinking, Makepeace was determined to start things right. If they were on their own for real, then caution would be far more important than it had ever been before. Most of the personnel on the mission didn't have a lot of experience with the kind of steady-state paranoia that just might keep them alive, so it was time they learned.

Staring down at the silhouetted figure of the Stargate just barely visible in the last fading hints of sunlight, he made radio contact with the pickets near the forest's edge on the other side of the gate. With so few people, he'd concentrated more on protecting from any incursions through the gate than from any local threats. To the best of their knowledge the world was unpopulated, and there didn't appear to be any large predators. A man on the high ground and four sentries was as much as he could spare without spreading the team too thin. To his relief, everyone checked in promptly and seemed to be calm and handling their task well. With so few combat personnel, he'd staggered them---one of his people, then one from the science division---figuring this way, the science jockeys would get some experience while things were less likely to go wrong, but still have backup from more seasoned officers if something did happen. Doing a slow turn, he tracked various people moving through the camp, automatically identifying the shadows he saw, matching body types and ways of moving to the people he knew on the mission, gearing himself up to identify them quickly in all circumstances.

Despite the seeming calm, a sense of unease crawled down his spine, making the hair at the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably. Perfectly normal nerves, he assured himself. With all the crap going on, a man would have to be inhuman not to feel a little restless. He muttered a soft curse, struggling to force down the unusual edginess, and put his normal cool mask into place. Misplaced emotion was the last thing any of them could afford at that point. He glanced back toward the gate, which only made the sense that someone had walked over his grave that much more intense. "You're doing it to yourself, Bobby-boy," he chastised himself bitterly. Staring at that thing, and the deepening forest shadows was like a little kid staring too hard into a half open closet after the lights were out. Do that, and the mind was bound to start inventing things to scare the body.

Consciously forcing down any childish fears, he turned back toward the camp, returning his attention where it belonged, to the people now under his command. As he tracked various personnel, it was easy enough to pick out the slight frame of his new second-in-command. At least a half a head shorter than anyone else in her immediate vicinity, she was easy to differentiate from the others. She was speaking to another officer, explaining something if her hand motions were any gauge, while still managing to direct traffic and keep track of the child hanging close to her side. He trailed a contemplative look over the small camp, noting that things were moving into position faster than he would have predicted; mostly her doing, since he'd been knee deep in seeing to their physical safety. His gaze returned to the woman in question as he considered her abilities, noting the ease with which she commanded the respect of the people around her. She wasn't who he would have chosen, but maybe it was best to have someone in place who knew how to deal with the science types. And God knew that wasn't him.

He was still pondering that when Len Jacobs---one of his five fellow marines on the team---broke in on his thoughts, his voice cigarette smoke raspy, leaving Makepeace to wonder what he was going to do when his supply of Marlboros ran out. Instinct told him it wasn't gonna be pretty. "At least you get a few perks with the job," the other man commented as he pulled abreast of his superior.

The marine colonel noted the direction of the other man's gaze---winding up on the delicate figure of his new second-in-command---and frowned, feeling vaguely like he had in high school when his cousin had set him up on a date; strongly suspecting he was expected to do something, but wholly undecided as to what he was interested in doing and what was simply societal expectation. Great, yet another stress he could do without. "Drop it," he muttered, unhappy to realize that the others were probably doing a bit of speculating. By now, they'd all noticed that the mission was roughly split between men and women, all healthy and of child-bearing age. He wasn't too thrilled by the notion, but the reality was that if they did wind up on their own, there was a reason for that half and half split. That was probably part of Hammond's original reasoning in putting O'Neill and Carter in as his first choice for the top two command slots; the alpha male and alpha female to lead the new pack. Hell, half the base already figured those two were having an affair. It made sense for them to be the leaders if things went that way.

"Aw, come on, Colonel," Jacobs taunted, using the joke to release some of his own tensions, "you know what's expected...." he let the words trail off suggestively, and raised an eyebrow as he offered a smirking grin. "And she's got a nice pair of--"

Leave it to Jacobs to notice that at a time like this, Makepeace thought with dark irony. "Drop. It," he repeated carefully, clamping down on his anger. "In case you haven't heard, this isn't a goddamned sock hop." He could sling the bull with the best of them, but this wasn't the time. "Earth may not be much more than a smoking cinder in a few hours ... so some of us aren't terribly focused on playing the Dating Game."

Jacobs flinched and reared back, then fell silent, suddenly looking like he'd been gut punched by Mike Tyson in his prime.

Too late, Makepeace remembered the guy had a wife and two kids back home. Okay, so he was an asshole who cheated on that wife, and didn't see near enough of those kids, but he was an asshole trying desperately to put on a front to show that he wasn't scared to death. The colonel sighed softly, unclipping his helmet and peeling it off to blot the sweat catching under the band and making his forehead sting. "Just leave it alone," he begged. The last thing he needed to deal with was some group expectation that he and Fraiser had been set up on the cosmic blind date to end all blind dates. Sheez, not even twenty-four hours into this little tea party, and he was already stuck dealing with the sort of crap that made a root canal sound like fun.

Jacobs hung his head and nodded. "Y'sir," he mumbled, looking like a whipped puppy. "Sorry, sir."

Great, now add some guilt to the load, Makepeace thought. God, he really hated Jack O'Neill. This was supposed to be his job. The marine colonel would have cheerfully traded places with his nemesis at that moment. Combat, he could handle just fine. This crap, however, was not his thing at all. "Just try to take it easy, would you," he pleaded. "Just for awhile, try not to say anything to anybody that you wouldn't say to your mother." Hopefully, that would encourage him to keep his mouth shut.

"Y'sir," Jacobs muttered.

"Was there anything else?" the colonel questioned as it occurred to him he didn't know why the younger man had come over.

"We finished digging up the ammo and weapons cache, sir."

"Good job," the colonel murmured, hoping to take some of the sting out of the earlier reprimand. Now was not the time for anybody to be stuck with any more emotional baggage than necessary. "Get back and see if anybody else needs help with the rest of the gear."

"Yes, sir," Jacobs said, his tone a little closer to normal, then hurried away, clearly eager to be out of his superior's presence.

Makepeace took a moment for himself, then hurried back toward the main encampment. There was still plenty of work to be done before they broke for the night.

* * * * * *

Work progressed well past dark, but finally orders were given to extinguish any lights and bed down. They couldn't afford to waste battery power, but more importantly, wearing themselves out on the first night wouldn't do the team any good. At best, they were looking at a couple of high stress weeks. At worst....

At worst didn't bear thinking about, and it was no surprise that most of the men and women lay awake in their bedrolls long after the lights went out and things quieted down, more than a few of them fighting choking tears.

Too keyed up to sleep, Janet checked on Cass---long since passed out in their tent---then paced through camp, pausing to recheck some of the more sensitive medical supplies before moving on, aimlessly wandering just to keep moving. She didn't stop until she hit the edge of their temporary home away from home, out of the range of the light from the fires now dying down, but where she could keep an eye on the tent where Cassie slept. She just needed to be alone for a few minutes; let her head clear and get away from people who wanted her to magically have answers for everything. She unzipped the tactical vest and the jacket underneath, wondering if the regular SG teams got as sick of the gear as she already was. If they did, it was a wonder any of them stayed on the project. She reached under the jacket, scratching her left shoulder which had been itching all day where a ridge from the vest rubbed uncomfortably, then found an outcropping of rock and sank down. One of the pockets of the tactical vest crackled , reminding her that she'd slipped Sam's letter inside so many hours ago.

Janet froze. She hadn't allowed herself to think about the letter---or the woman who wrote it---during the previous hours of grinding work. Every time it had come up, she'd shut it down as quickly as possible. Worrying about Sam was more than she could handle, which only made her feel small and slightly churlish. After all, the whole damn planet was at stake. What was one more person, more or less? Her eyes slid closed, chest clenching and making it hard to breathe. Except the one person was Sam, and that was as much as Janet could comprehend. She couldn't think in terms of the whole planet. That didn't feel real whereas the thought of Sam dying did. Exhaling a soft sigh, she massaged the bridge of her nose, wishing the final moments between them had been something---anything---other than a stupid, meaningless fight that neither of them would have allowed had they had any idea what would happen. She just hoped Sam was still alive to regret it as much as she did, because the anger and recriminations between them were nothing compared to the possibility that they'd lost everything.

Releasing another tired sigh, she ran a hand through her bangs, scraping them back from her face. Tempting as it was to give in and just have a good cry, she was afraid that if she ever started, she'd never be able to stop.

Without planning to, she slipped the letter from her vest pocket, carefully unfolding the paper, the thin moonlight offering just barely enough illumination to read the few lines of print. She traced them with her eyes, then when she'd done that so many times the words were running together, ran her thumb along each letter.

"Love, Sam...."

She traced that last line again, taking incredible comfort from the knowledge that those words had been written after the blowup in Sam's lab, and feeling a little less alone, as though some part of her friend's spirit was there with her. Closing her eyes tightly, she fought the fresh threat of tears, missing the other woman more than she would have thought possible. She'd have given anything for one more astronomy lesson, or even just one hug. Anything to get her through this.

"Y'okay, Doc?"

Janet blinked, quickly refolding the letter as she tipped her head back to peer up at the man standing over her. "Martinez," she said softly and started to rise, assuming there was a problem.

He held out a hand to stop her. "I saw you wander away from camp," the medic quickly explained. "Just wanted to check and make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," she answered about as believably as could be expected. Which is to say that it came out sounding like the lie it was.

He shook his head, waving her answer off as he took a seat on the opposite side of the boulder. "That would make you the only one on the planet then," he sighed and leaned back on his hands, staring at the unfamiliar stars overhead. "God, I haven't prayed so much since I was a kid and we were in the Little League playoffs." He looked over at her, his tone wry. "We lost. Goddamn it, I wish I could have problems that bad again."

"Yeah," Janet sighed distantly, her attention on the letter in hand. She ran her thumb along a folded edge, almost caressing it before tucking it back into a vest pocket.

"Letter from Carter?" he asked, his voice low and all too understanding.

Caught by surprise, Janet tensed. "I-I don't..." she began, only to pull up short as she ran out of words. It had never occurred to her that anyone might have noticed what she'd only recently begun to figure out. She looked at the medic, saw the knowledge in his eyes, and started to deny the subtle implication in his tone only to come up short. It was true, and she couldn't dishonor her feelings for Sam by lying about it.

"It's okay," Martinez soothed automatically. She could just barely make out the twist to his lips as he offered an ironic smile. "I'm the last guy who's gonna tell anyone." He had his own “Don't Ask, Don't Tell” secrets to keep. He was hardly likely to blow hers. "I just figure you're as scared as I am right now ... can't admit it to most people though." Another soft, sad sigh escaped his lips. "I keep thinking about Duncan back on base ... hoping he's okay. I know he can be a dipshit, but...." Unable to finish, he fell silent for a long moment. “But he’s my dipshit...y’know what I mean?” he muttered at last.

Suddenly too choked up to speak, she reached out, found his hand with her own, and squeezed hard. Even if she and Sam weren't actually lovers, emotionally speaking, they might as well have been---at least as far as she was concerned.

He squeezed her hand tightly, his voice gentle as he offered what comfort he could. "I know things don't look so good, but if anyone can pull a miracle out of the hat, it's Carter...."

A tiny, gasping sob escaped Janet's lips before she could clamp down on her emotions. She suddenly realized she'd been holding on desperately to that very hope; Sam and her knack for miracles was all she had to cling to. "I know," she husked when she regained control.

"And she's got a lot to come home to," he added sympathetically, his gaze following hers to the tent where Cassie slept, then sweeping back to meet dark eyes.

The doctor couldn't speak and didn't even try this time, nowhere near an emotional place where she could discuss what had happened with Sam; the kiss, rejection, fight, or lingering bond. Besides, it wasn't exactly the ideal topic for discussion with one of her junior officers. In the end, she just shrugged.

Martinez, wisely, didn't pursue the subject, instead falling silent for a long time. Finally, he cleared his throat, and she had the oddest sense that he'd been considering what to say, though his question was a predictable and quite neutral, "You doing okay with this whole second-in-command thing?"

"Scared to death, but I'll survive." She glanced at her aide, frowning ever so slightly as she tried to read his expression. "Why? What have you heard?"

The lengthy pause that followed did nothing for her self-confidence. "About your competency?" he said at last, then answered the question, "Nothing." Another long pause followed, the delay enough to make her gnash her teeth.

"What is it?" she demanded, annoyed this time. She hated it when people threw things out, then just left her hanging.

The medic sighed heavily, suddenly thinking he should have just kept his mouth shut. Then again, she was his superior---not to mention someone he genuinely liked and respected. There were things she had a right to know. "I've overheard a certain amount of speculation today..." he began carefully, "...about you ... from the marines...."

Fraiser raised an eyebrow, oddly grateful for a distraction. "Really?" she drawled in the icy way that wiser members of the infirmary staff had come to dread.

"Yeah," he said hesitantly, then continued his halting explanation, "Generally, I'm not one to tell tales out of school, but you should be aware that they're already ... well ... assuming you'll ... um ... pair off with the colonel."

She snorted something impolite about jarheads under her breath, then muttered, "Are they?"

"Yes, ma'am ... kinda already considering you the colonel's lady, in fact," he added reluctantly, half afraid of making things worse, but also well aware that with some kind of warning she'd be better equipped to deal with the matter on her own terms. Plenty of hurt, scared soldiers who'd landed in the infirmary had come out of it with pretty obvious crushes. She knew how to deflect overeager, would-be suitors without causing a problem. Better she knew about what was being said and any pressures that might be brought to bear.

She cursed softly, too tired and emotionally wrenched to deal with one more problem. Lifting her feet off the ground, she braced them on the edge of the boulder, folding herself into a ball and wrapping her arms tightly around her legs. "Think it's too late to get out of this gig?"

Miguel responded with a soft, sympathetic sigh. He knew several of the more hardcore line officers were angry over her appointment, feeling like one of them should have had it instead, not really understanding---or accepting anyway---that if this mission was real, springboards to promotion were now irrelevant. He wouldn't have traded places for all the money in the world. He was smart enough to know he didn't want that much responsibility. "Well, hopefully it'll only last a couple of weeks."

"From your mouth to God's ear," she whispered in a very small voice, then rested her chin on her upthrust knees, just staring across the small camp.

There was a long moment of total silence while they were both lost in thought, then finally, Miguel cleared his throat. "Look," he said quietly, "if it comes down to it ... us staying here or winding up ... wherever ... and you need a cover...." He met her gaze. "I'd be happy to watch your back ... and it would give us both some protection."

She was silent, taking a moment to digest what he was suggesting and feeling like she'd entered some heretofore unknown, secret society. "God, this sucks," she exhaled at last, her voice tinged with dark humor.

He nodded. "I know." He offered a small shrug. "If there's anything I can do to help...."

"You too, ok," she murmured, and reached out to give his hand another hard squeeze. "This isn't easy for any of us." She liked Martinez. Hell, he'd probably saved her life by forcing his lover, Duncan Royce, to go to Jack O'Neill, of all people, with the information that Tony Phillips was obsessed with her. Without that heads up, Sam probably wouldn't have made it back in time to rescue her from Phillips’ Hathor inspired attack.

Several minutes of companionable silence ticked by, then Miguel pushed back to his feet and turned to face her. "Well, you were probably hoping for a few minutes alone," he murmured as it occurred to him that he'd intruded.

Janet didn't deny the charge. It was the one thing that sometimes worked against her in the military; the frequent need she'd always had to just close the world out and sink into herself for a little while. She played well with others, but sometimes needed some time alone to decompress.

The medic seemed to understand though, because he pointedly smothered a yawn. "And I should head for bed anyway." He flashed her a worried look. "Don't stay up too late."

She nodded. "Don't worry." Massaging the back of her neck tiredly---while trying desperately not to think how used to having Sam do that for her she’d become---Fraiser accepted that she wasn't going to be much longer for this world either. "I'll just be a few more minutes."

Nodding his acceptance, he slipped away, hurrying in the direction of his tent.

Janet watched him go, then rested her cheek on her upthrust knees, struggling to simply blank her mind and escape the endless cycle of thoughts her brain insisted on replaying incessantly. There was nothing she could do about any of her worries and they only added to her stress level.

She was still sitting there long minutes later, trying desperately not to think when the soft crack of a twig brought her head up sharply. She pushed to her feet and spun in one move, her hand going automatically to her sidearm. She came up short as she recognized the blocky shadow standing a short distance away. "Colonel." Her voice came out a strangled gasp as it occurred to her to wonder how long he'd been there and how much of her conversation with Miguel he might have overheard.

Makepeace stepped forward a pace, moving away from the forest’s edge, though his expression was still cast in stark shadows that gave his face an almost demonically harsh line. "Doctor," he said softly. He nodded to indicate the watch position overlooking the camp. "I was just checking in with Johnson," he explained.

"Oh." Terrified he'd overheard something damning, she didn't know what else to say.

"You really should get some sleep," he chided, his tone unreadable.

She eyed her superior uncertainly, uncomfortable with his mood, but unable to chalk it up to anything specific he was doing. He just seemed odd. "Yeah ... I guess I should," she allowed and stepped back a pace. She glanced back toward the camp, noting how quiet things were, then looked back at the marine colonel, suddenly struck by the size difference between them. "I should get back now."

He nodded stiffly. "That's right." He glanced toward her tent. "You should be with Cassandra."

Consciously dismissing any uneasiness, she nodded. "Yeah. See you in the morning." He nodded to dismiss her and she quickly hurried off, well aware that he tracked her the entire way.

* * * * * *

bits & pieces, fanfic, femslash, stargate

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