by Karen Miller
Weir nodded. “Peter would be proud,” she told Rodney softly. “Proud that you stayed, proud that you acted, proud that you saved everyone.”
“Peter saved everyone,” Rodney corrected just as quietly, his self-rage vanquished for now. “It was the work he did on the first satellite that showed me how to adjust this one.”
“Then he saved us twice,” Sheppard said. “I bet he’d think that was worth it.”
Rodney shook his head. “I couldn’t save him, though.”
“You did what you had to do,” Ronon told him gruffly. “He knew that.”
“Just like you did what you had to do this time,” Weir added. “It was the right choice.”
Rodney considered that. He liked to think that Peter would have been pleased with his actions, that he wouldn’t have held a grudge. He’d never know, of course. But it was a comforting thought.
And it was definitely comforting to know they’d still be here to think about it.
Stargate SG-1
Aftermath
Karen Miller
Janet —
Of course, it’s a little bit crazy of me, keeping this diary. Diaries, actually; I’m up to Volume 10 already. If I die tomorrow, or next week, or next year, hell, if I die at the age of ninety-four in some middle-of-nowhere Air Force retirement home, they’ll confiscate my private papers faster than you can say Defense Secrets Act. Just like the SGC did that time we thought we’d lost Daniel on Oannes.
Maybe, one day, the Stargate program will be unveiled to the world. But until then it stays under wraps… hence this diary. It’s my safety valve. See, the truth is, if I didn’t have someone to talk to about my insane life I’d go nuts.
Maybe you can’t understand that, whoever you are. The person from the Air Force who’s been tasked to read my ramblings now I’m dead. Maybe you’re sitting there wondering why the hell I don’t talk things over with Sam, since she’s my best friend. Or with Jack, who’s a different kind of best friend. Don’t worry, dear reader! I talk plenty of things out with them. Just — not always. I mean, it’s a bit hard to talk through a problem with your friends when your friends are the ones causing said problem.
What problem? Yes. Well. There’s the rub. Trust me, I don’t want to do this. I know I’m crossing a line. I’m only writing it all down because I have no other way to make sense of this mess. Because if I don’t, I’m afraid that — I’m afraid — well, yes. There you have it. I am afraid.
Funny. Volume 10 and counting and I’m only now saying this aloud, so to speak. But then, it’s taken until now for things to reach breaking point. Damn. You know, even though I’m pretty sure writing stuff down isn’t the same as standing on a table in the commissary at peak hour and shouting it at the top of my lungs, this still feels like a betrayal. But like I said: I have to make sense of what’s happened or I’ll be no good to my friends, who trust me with their lives. So, whoever you are, reading this — do me a favor. Keep your mouth shut, okay? Even if Jack or Sam or both of them died before me. Even if they’ve left the military and the stupid rules don’t matter any more. And especially if they’re not dead and still serve together. Whatever their status, just keep your mouth shut. You owe me that much.
Gosh. My hands are sweating. I nearly dropped my pen on you a moment ago. And my heart? You should feel my heart. It’s like a jackhammer. Ha. No pun intended. Okay. Here I go.
A while back, thanks to the damn Tok’ra, Jack and Sam were forced to publicly admit they’d fallen in love. I’m not talking a simple sexual sizzle. God, if only. Not even a brief, if genuine, infatuation. No, I’m talking serious, all the way down to the bone marrow, I’d die for you in a heartbeat love. The kind most of us dream of and never find. Well, they found it. But they didn’t get their happily ever after. It’s not in Jack and Sam’s DNA to put personal considerations ahead of this planet’s safety. For them, the good of the many will always outweigh the happiness of the two. They set their feelings aside, regardless of the cost, which was — is — high, and they were really making it work.
And then Jack killed her.
I’m assuming you already know about that incident. Probably you have your own opinion on what happened. But I promise you, Jack had no choice. The alien entity possessing Sam was determined to protect its home world from us. It was inside the SGC database, inside Sam’s mind, her memories. It knew he loved her and it gambled he’d never hurt her. But I guess you can read Jack’s frightening file and still not understand who he is at his core. I’m starting to think he never truly understood himself. Not until that moment, anyway. See, it’s one thing to die for your country, your planet. It’s something else again to kill the woman you love for it. I was looking right at him when he pulled the zat’s trigger that second time, and he barely hesitated. It was what he had to do. What Sam would expect him to do, every time. I’m pretty sure I don’t have that kind of courage, but Jack does. Which is lucky for the world, but unlucky for him.
So now things are in a bit of a mess. Sure, by a miracle we got Sam back. But every time Jack looks at her, he relives that terrible decision. It doesn’t matter that she’s told him he did the right thing, or that objectively he knows it. Sam is the chink in Jack’s intimidating armor. Daniel and Teal’c, they’re doing what they can to get him through this. But they’re having no more luck than Sam or me. Jack’s pulled away from all of us. Disappeared inside. For the first time since we started working together I can’t reach him. Don’t get me wrong, he’s not suicidal, not like when his son died. At least, that’s what Daniel says and he knows. No. Jack’s just… distant.
Unfortunately, the trouble doesn’t end there. Sam’s pulled away too. She’s freaking out because this is the second time her body’s been invaded, her mind overwhelmed and sidelined by an alien entity. First Jolinar, now this other creature. I don’t know what to call it, we never got a name. Bottom line? It’s a kind of rape. Jolinar, she’s made peace with. Jolinar, she’s come to respect and even like, in a strange way. But not this other creature. We’ve talked it through a little, but at the end of the day, what do I know about it? Some things you can’t imagine. Some things you have to go through yourself to understand.
I feel like a failure. I have no idea how to help either of them. I’m pretty sure Jack thinks Sam does have a problem with him zatting her twice. It’s what we in the medical profession call ‘projection’. Only I can’t talk to him about what she’s told me in confidence, hell, I can’t talk to him at all, I can’t talk to her about what I suspect is going on with him, I can’t clue in Daniel and Teal’c without kissing my medical ethics goodbye, and not a one of us can point at the freaking elephant in the room, which is that nobody would be feeling this wretched if Jack and Sam weren’t hopelessly in love. Which leaves me with just one option.
So, dear reader, whoever you are. Aren’t you glad you’re not me?
George Hammond sat at his desk, signing routine reports, making sure to keep his disquiet completely hidden from the two people causing it. They were waiting in the conference room, covertly watching him through the large window that let him keep an eye on things from behind a closed door. It was imperative that they not see how perturbed he was feeling. The last thing he wanted was Jack O’Neill and Sam Carter worrying because they were worrying him. Which they were. Deeply. So deeply, in fact, that if Janet Fraiser hadn’t come to him that morning he would have gone to her.
“General,” she’d said, her brows pinched with distress, “I know our official position is that we see no impropriety, hear no impropriety, speak no impropriety, but —”
Half-relieved, half resentful that their self-imposed embargo on the subject was broken, he’d sat back in his chair and frowned at her. “But unofficially, Doctor, we have no choice other than to face uncomfortable facts. Relax. Consider this conversation off the record.”
Fraiser
had let out a breath. “Thank you, sir.”
“And let me see if I can’t cut to the chase,” he’d added, because he was no more keen to prolong the conversation than she. “Due to their complicated personal relationship, Major Carter and Colonel O’Neill are experiencing some difficulties as a result of their recent encounter with that alien entity.”
“Yes, sir. Exactly.” The good doctor’s relief had been palpable. “The question is, what are we going to do about it?”
What indeed. Circumspectly considering his two most valuable, valued and trusted officers, Hammond felt a surge of angry compassion. This was a damnable situation. The heart wants what the heart wants, or so it was said. But the US military didn’t have the luxury of indulging anyone’s heart. The US military was in the business of protecting the country. In the SGC’s case, the whole damned planet. Which Jack O’Neill had done, yet again, without regard for his own heart, his own wants, or the price he’d pay, yet again, for doing his job. But that price had clearly been paid in full. There was no hint now of the sarcastic wit and unexpected warmth that balanced Jack’s more lethal qualities. Now his gaze was cool and deceptively direct, his emotional defenses ramped up to Defcon 1.
And then there was Sam.
In the conference room’s harsh fluorescent lighting, Jacob’s daughter appeared pale and — not listless, not precisely. But certainly subdued. Three days had dragged by since Frasier signed her out of the infirmary. On the surface it might seem as though she’d bounced back good as new from her latest ordeal, but he sincerely doubted that was the case. Memories darkened Sam’s clear blue eyes, and faint shadows bruised the delicate skin beneath them.
Because she was Jacob’s daughter he knew she’d die for good rather than admit she was struggling. The same could be said for Jack, who gave Jacob a run for his money when it came to stubborn pride. There was only one way to solve this problem… but the solution wasn’t going to be popular.
Swallowing a sigh he signed another report, set it aside, put down his pen, then beckoned to Jack through the window. His unofficial second-in-command, face smooth and unreadable, like he was posing for a place on Mount Rushmore, pushed out of his chair. Not even a glance at Sam as he crossed to the office and entered.
“Close the door, Jack, and have a seat.”
Jack did as he was told. Seemed to remind himself that he needed to slouch a little. “Sir.”
“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” he said briskly. “I’m reliably informed that SG-1 is having some difficulty processing the events of the last few days. Not that I needed telling. I might have lost most of my hair but I still have 20/20 vision.”
The corner of Jack’s mouth quirked. “You put me in a difficult position, General. I don’t like to contradict a superior officer, but —”
He snorted. “Since when? Jack, don’t start. I think I’ve earned the right to some honesty, even if it’s painful.”
“Sir…” Jack shifted, ill at ease. “Are you ordering me to share my feelings?”
“God forbid! Besides —” He rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, and pressed his spine against its back. “We both know I have a pretty good idea what those feelings are without you needing to spell them out.”
Silence, complicated and full of landmines. Hammond waited. His infinitely tricky subordinate pretended to care that the sleeve of his fatigues was disfigured by a ratty pulled thread.
“Look,” Jack said at last, frowning at his arm. “We’ll be fine. It’s not like it was our first rodeo.”
“Except that in this instance, it was,” he retorted. “Or have you killed Major Carter before and simply forgotten to mention it?”
Jack’s gaze jerked up. “That’s not funny. Sir.”
“No,” he agreed, gently, though anyone else using that tone would swiftly regret it. There were folk, he knew, who thought he played favorites. Maybe he did, but he’d never apologize for it. Not with what he owed this man. “Nothing about this situation amuses me, Jack. Which is why, after consultation with Dr. Fraiser, I’ve decided to stand SG-1 down for a spell.”
“General…”
“This isn’t a negotiation, Colonel! You need to step back for a few days. Clear your head. Find your balance. Don’t insult me again by saying you couldn’t use a little time off base.”
Jack’s stony expression softened, something very close to distress ghosting through him. “How many days is a few?”
“Well…” He sighed. “Fraiser doesn’t want to catch sight of you for two weeks. Since I can’t spare you for that long I’m splitting the difference. Seven days, Jack. With SG-5 on long term assignment and SG-3 on the sick list the mission roster’s tight, I know, but we’ll manage.”
Another dangerous silence. Then, almost imperceptibly, Jack’s shoulders slumped. A shout of surrender, for him. “You’ll recall us if something blows up in our faces?” he said, perilously close to entreaty. It looked like he was having trouble keeping his gaze from sliding sideways, out to Sam.
“Yes.”
Jack screwed up his face, like a man tasting sour wine. “All right. Fine. A week. But we’re keeping the mission to ’662,” he added, flirting with belligerence. “No way I’m putting up with Daniel bellyaching for a month because one of the other grave-robbers got to futz with those ruins before he did.”
He had to fight a smile. “’662 is important, but not imperative. I see no problem in deferring the mission until SG-1 is back in rotation.”
Jack slumped a little further. “Seven days,” he muttered moodily. “Don’t s’pose you’d be inclined to say what the hell? Call it three?”
“I would not,” he said, still unsmiling. “I suggest you quit while you’re ahead.”
“Do I have a choice?”
Now he did smile. “None at all. You’re dismissed, Colonel. Please send in Major Carter on your way out.”
Scowling, Jack obeyed. Moments later Sam entered, pushed the office door shut, then sat in response to a gestured invitation.
“General, I’m so sorry,” she said, fingers tightly laced in her lap. “I know I’ve been off the past few days. There’s no excuse for it and I will do better going forward.”
She was Jacob’s daughter. She didn’t know how to prevaricate or pussyfoot. And of course she took responsibility for something that wasn’t her fault and blamed herself for not reacting to inhumane events like a robot. Not for the first time Hammond found himself cursing his absent friend. Cursing, too, the loss of Jacob’s wife. Sam’s mother. Margaret had been the warm counterweight to Jacob’s brusque, tough-love approach to parenting. Her death was a tragedy on every conceivable level.
“Major Carter…” He braced his forearms on the desk and leaned forward. “I do not accept your interpretation of recent events. As always you have conducted yourself with exemplary courage and professionalism. You’re a credit to the uniform and this command and I forbid you from indulging in any further self-recrimination. Do I make myself clear?”
She stared at him, unblinking, blue eyes sheened with sudden tears. Sam rarely wept. It was a measure of her distress that she failed to keep her emotions in check now. Hammond felt his lips tighten. The father in him wanted to abandon military protocol and comfort her, but that would be a grave mistake.
“Sir,” Sam said, her voice tight. “Yes, sir.”
“On medical advice I’m standing SG-1 down for seven days,” he continued. “What you do with that time is up to you, of course, with this proviso: you will not spend it on base. Neither will you spend it at home where we both know you have sufficient resources to set up another lab. In short, Major, you will leave town for a complete change of scenery. I suggest a warm beach somewhere. Do I make myself clear?”
This time she did blink. “You’re ordering me to go have fun, sir?”
“In a nutshell.”
“I see.”
“I thought you might.”
“And this is on medical advice?”
“As I said.” He raised a warning finger. “And don’t even think about giving Janet Fraiser a hard time over it. She has nothing but your best interests at heart. As do I.”
Sam pulled a face. “Yes, sir. I know.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Major. You’re dismissed. Don’t let me lay eyes on you again before the middle of next week.”
With a nod Sam stood and headed for the door. But as she reached it she paused, then turned. “Sir… there’s just one thing. I know we had a couple of scheduled missions that you’ll want to re-assign. But is there any chance you can let us keep the mission to ’662? Because Daniel won’t be worth living with if someone else gets to those ruins before he does.”
It took an effort, but he kept his face straight. “I think that can be arranged, Major.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, expressively. Then, biting her lip, she let herself smile. “And thank you.”
She filled him with awe, this extraordinary woman. Brilliant. Dedicated. Fiercely brave. Astonishingly humble. Billions of people owed her their lives and yet she counted no debt. Counted it an honor to serve. The thought of losing her… of how close they’d come to it, again…
“General?” Sam said, quizzical.
He waved away her concern. “Off you go, Major. Find a beach and send me a postcard.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yes, sir.”
Alone once more, Hammond looked with disfavor at the pile of department reports he’d yet to sign off and consign to archives. Find a beach. Now there was a pleasant notion upon which to daydream…
