Alliances

by Stargate

  “Daniel, no,” she said sharply. “What’s the point? It’s over. Just let it be over, will you?”

  From the look in her eyes she still hadn’t come to terms with it either. “I know, I know,” he said, placating. “I just—I’m worried, all right? About Jack. And what happened to Alar.”

  Sam knew exactly what he meant and resented him for mentioning it. “Daniel…”

  He hadn’t got this far in a checkered career by giving up in the face of disapproval. “If Alar had pulled a gun on Jack, that would be okay. Self-defence. Part of the war. But he didn’t. Alar asked for sanctuary and Jack denied it to him. And when he ordered the iris closed he—”

  Sam held up her hands. “Daniel, I can’t deal with that right now. Right now all I care about is making sure the colonel’s career doesn’t end up flushed down the toilet because of Robert Kinsey. Okay? Can we please just focus on that?”

  Daniel couldn’t know for sure, not before talking to Jack—and probably not even after talking to him—but he suspected the incident with Kinsey and what happened to Alar were intimately connected. Cause and effect. Action and reaction. Which meant Euronda wasn’t over, and wouldn’t be over, for any of them, until Alar’s ghost was laid to rest.

  But Sam wasn’t ready to hear that. And shouting wouldn’t get either of them very far. So he just nodded and said, “Sure, Sam. Let’s focus on that. We should find Teal’c, tell him what’s going on.”

  A wave of relief washed away her frown. “Yeah. Good idea. We should go do that.”

  As it happened, Teal’c was on his way to find them. They met at the Level 19 elevator. “General Hammond has returned,” he said, with his customary bluntness. “He requests our presence in his office, at once.”

  “What about Colonel O’Neill?” said Sam. “Is he back too?”

  “I did not see O’Neill.”

  “Right.”

  Teal’c’s eyebrow lifted. “You appear distressed, Major Carter. Is something wrong?”

  Sam dredged up a smile for him. “No more than most days. Let’s go.”

  Hammond was in his office, still buttoned into his dress jacket and talking animatedly on the red phone. Seeing them through the window he waved them in. As they entered he was saying, “Thank you, Admiral. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. Yes, I will. Yes. Yes. Good bye.”

  “You wanted to see us, sir?” said Sam, all military efficiency and severely neutral demeanor.

  Hammond sat back in his chair and considered them for a long, critical moment. Then: “You know, don’t you,” he said. Sounding almost, strangely, relieved.

  Sam’s shoulders relaxed. “Ah—well—Daniel and I do, sir. Teal’c doesn’t.”

  Hammond shook his head. “How the hell did you—” Then his hand came up. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.”

  “What is it I do not know?” said Teal’c.

  Daniel glanced at him. “Jack attacked Senator Kinsey.”

  Teal’c’s face stilled. “Indeed? Then Senator Kinsey is to blame.”

  “How would you know, Teal’c?” said Hammond. “You weren’t there.”

  “My presence is irrelevant, General. I know O’Neill, and I know the Senator. Kinsey said or did something dishonorable, thus provoking O’Neill into action.”

  “Unforgivable provocation is no excuse for committing assault!” Hammond snapped. Then he shook his head. “Kinsey made an—ill advised—reference to the colonel’s late son.”

  Daniel snorted. “He accused Jack of killing him.”

  “Then O’Neill was within his rights to attack,” said Teal’c, shrugging. “On Chulak such a slur upon one’s honor cannot be ignored.”

  “That’s as may be, Teal’c,” said Hammond. “But we’re not on Chulak.”

  “No, we are not, General,” said Teal’c. “Unfortunately.”

  Daniel exchanged a swift grin with Sam. Trust Teal’c. Even Hammond’s tension eased, a little. He unbuttoned his jacket and let out a gusty sigh. “The point is, people, I’ve had no choice but to place Colonel O’Neill on administrative leave, pending a disciplinary enquiry. Which leaves you three flapping in the breeze, so to speak, until this—incident—is resolved, one way or another.”

  Daniel crossed his arms. “One way being Jack’s removal from the SGC? The Air Force, even?”

  Hammond frowned at the red phone. “I’m hoping it won’t come to that, Doctor.”

  “For how long, sir?” said Sam. “Will we be at a loose end, I mean. We’re scheduled to visit P5C-862 on Thursday.”

  “I know. I’m reassigning SG-6 to that mission.”

  “But sir—”

  Hammond’s hand came down hard on his desk. “Major, please. Believe me when I say I’ve had more than enough arguments for one day!”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  Another sigh. “Not as sorry as I am, Major.”

  Daniel cleared his throat. “Ah—where’s Jack now, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I dropped him at his place on the way back from Peterson,” said Hammond. “With strict orders to stay put, at least for the time being.” He pulled a face. “Of course whether he’ll bother to follow those orders…” Abruptly aware he’d just committed the cardinal sin of criticizing a team leader to his team, Hammond sat up. “Anyway. That’s where he is, Dr. Jackson.”

  “And Senator Kinsey, sir?” said Sam. “I understand he wasn’t actually hurt during the incident?”

  “Not unless you count his pride, Major. And with a man like Kinsey that can be fatal.”

  “For other people,” Daniel added. “Sir, if we’re not going to 862 after all, what is it you want us to do?”

  The faintest glimmer of amusement lit Hammond’s eyes. “You mean after you’ve run out of here and broken the local speed limits driving to Jack’s place to see if he’s all right?”

  “Yes,” said Teal’c. “After that.”

  “Well…” Hammond picked up a pencil and tapped it on the desk. “I was thinking SG-1 is overdue for a little downtime. The last couple of months around here have been hectic, one way and another. So, Dr. Jackson, how would you fancy some time at those ruins SG-12 have found?”

  Treacherously, Daniel felt a thrill of excitement. “Really? You’d really let me go and—”

  “Your expertise would be invaluable. Major Lopez was saying just yesterday she could do with your input.”

  “Well, of course, General, if I’m needed—” He got a grip on his excitement. “But sir, I wouldn’t feel right about going unless I knew Jack was—”

  “Colonel O’Neill’s situation won’t be sorted out overnight,” said Hammond. “I expect you’ll have a good week, at least, to poke around those ruins.” He turned to Teal’c. “This might be a good time for you to visit your son, Teal’c. If memory serves he’s got a birthday coming up, hasn’t he? I know the Jaffa don’t celebrate birthdays, but even so… and while you’re there, you can find out from Bra’tac any Goa’uld activities we should be keeping an eye on.”

  Teal’c looked pleased. “Indeed. But as Daniel Jackson says—”

  “People,” said the general, sweeping them with a serious look. “I’m not going to say this again. There is nothing any of you can do with regards to Colonel O’Neill’s predicament. To be perfectly frank, the best action you can take is to make yourselves scarce for a while. There’s a chance—it’s slim, but it’s there—that Senator Kinsey will use this incident to launch yet another investigation into SG-1’s missions. Possibly the entire SGC. If he does try anything, my life will be a lot easier if I can put my hand on my heart and say you’re off-world and unavailable for comment. Do I make myself clear?”

  Sam nodded. “Yes, sir. Sir, where do you suggest I might best be deployed?”

  “You could come ruin-exploring with me!” said Daniel, brightly. “You keep saying how you’d like to get your hands dirty with a real live archaeological dig. This is your chance.” When she fro
wned he added, “You can’t keep on stealing Area 51’s thunder, Sam. We’ve got enough enemies to be going on with for now.”

  “I suppose,” she said. “Sir?”

  “It’s a good idea, Dr. Jackson,” said Hammond. “SG-1, your assignments are hereby approved, starting immediately. And when you see Jack, please tell him I’ll be in touch soon. And tell him—” He stopped. Sighed. “Tell him I’m sorry I yelled.”

  “We will, sir,” said Sam, and led the way to the door. Reaching it, though, she paused and turned. “Sir… can you fix this?”

  For a long moment, Hammond didn’t answer. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know, Sam. But I’m sure as hell going to try.”

  Jack O’Neill had learned a long time ago, the very hard way, that there was no outrunning Charlie’s monstrous death. It was a fact. A scar in his heart as gnarled and twisted as any he bore on his body. A pain that might sleep, but would never die. It had left him alone for some time now; it must be months since memory’s cesspool had stirred.

  And then along came Kinsey…

  Pounding the running track in the woods backing onto his long quiet street, ignoring the protests from his dicey knee, O’Neill felt the sick black hatred surge through him yet again. Saw again that smug, self-righteous, patrician face, heard the words no-one had the right to say, least of all Kinsey—

  You killed him as surely as if you pulled the trigger yourself.

  Wood pigeons startled skyward as O’Neill vented outraged fury in a wordless roar.

  Exhausted, hurting, dripping sweat, he slowed, slowed some more, staggered to a stop. Leaning against the nearest tree he rested his head on his outstretched arm, panting. The sky was bleeding light, it’d be dusk soon. He should go back. It’d be too easy to turn an ankle out here at twilight, blow his knee, land himself in Janet Fraiser’s infirmary where the politicians could find him.

  Pushing away from the tree he started back the way he’d come, jogging gently this time, coaxing muscle and sinew into reluctant effort. Poor old battered body. First it was Iraqis and now it was aliens, poking him full of holes…

  Home at last, letting a hot shower drum and thrum and sluice away the sweat and stink of bitter memory, he released the last of his anger. Watched it swirl down the drain and wondered if his career wasn’t swirling right along with it. The question was: did he care? The answer came back almost immediately: of course.

  Which meant the next few days were going to be… interesting.

  Comfortable in jeans and sweat-shirt, he was staring into the depths of his almost empty refrigerator, wondering what the hell to do about dinner, when the front door-bell rang. He didn’t have to answer it to know who was standing on his doorstep.

  He answered it anyway.

  “Well, well, well,” he said, surveying his visitors with a jaundiced eye. “Huey, Dewey and Louie. I take it you’ve heard.”

  Daniel sighed. “Uh-huh. So don’t just stand there, Uncle Scrooge. Let us in. You don’t even have to feed us—we brought pizza.”

  So they had. Three large boxes of it, safely cradled in Teal’c’s arms, smelling deliciously of cheese and pepperoni and barbecue sauce. If ole Doc Fraiser were here she’d have a cholesterol fit on the spot. He stood back. “Fine. Come on in. Just don’t expect me to entertain you, or anything.”

  “Do we ever?” said Daniel, and led the way.

  Carter was carrying the beer, plus a bottle of something non-alcoholic for Teal’c. Well-trained after all this time, she headed straight for the refrigerator and put the drinks in the freezer section to recapture their chill. Teal’c deposited the pizza boxes on the kitchen table then rummaged in drawers till he found the paper napkins, paper plates and coasters. Daniel pulled down glasses from the cupboard, just in case someone had developed a sudden allergy to drinking out of the bottle.

  After more than three years it was a comfortable routine and they hid behind it, all of them, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge the honking great Kinsey-shaped elephant squashed into the corner of the room.

  Naturally it was Daniel who first mentioned the lurking pachyderm. Around a dripping slice of pizza he said, indistinctly, “General Hammond said to say he’s sorry he yelled.”

  O’Neill reached for his second beer. Yelled? That was an understatement. Somewhere in the continental US of A Hammond’s bellowing had triggered a seismograph, he’d lay money on it. “Uh huh.”

  “And that he’d call you soon. He didn’t say what about but, you know, I’m guessing it’s this whole Kinsey mess.”

  “Good guess.”

  “Jack…”

  Daniel radiated concern the way Chernobyl radiated… all right, radiation. You could toast marshmallows on the warmth of his regard. It made slapping him down almost impossible. He sighed. “Daniel, I’m fine. It happened, it’s over, it’s time to move on.”

  Daniel smiled. “You don’t seriously expect us to accept that, do you?”

  “Why yes, Daniel, I seriously think I do.”

  “When your career is on the line?”

  “Oh, please. You’re exaggerating.”

  “And you’re insulting my intelligence,” Daniel retorted, flushed with more than beer. “Don’t. What happened in Washington—it isn’t just about you. If Kinsey gets you court martialed or cashiered or at the very least transferred to a weather station in Alaska what happens to the SGC? You’re Hammond’s right hand. He depends on you. What’s he going to do if you’re not around? What are we going to do? Didn’t you think about that before you tried to take Kinsey’s head off? Didn’t you think at all?”

  O’Neill sat back in his chair. Carter and Teal’c had their heads down, eating pizza like it was going cold. But listening, damn them. Dying of nosiness, just like Daniel, but perfectly happy for him to make the running. Chicken, was what they were.

  Reaching for another slice himself, he took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and shrugged. “What do you expect me to say, Daniel?”

  Daniel frowned. “Anything—except ‘it’s over, move on.’ For one thing I want to know how it happened.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  Daniel slid his chair back and got to his feet. “And now is the perfect time to tell me! To tell us!”

  Actually, now was the perfect time to stuff a napkin in Daniel’s mouth and shove him out the front door. “Hey, guess what,” O’Neill said, spuriously cheerful. “I came across this really neat saying the other day. You’ll love it. It goes: Curiosity killed the cat. Or, possibly, the archaeologist. I’m not sure now. You know me, memory like a sieve…”

  “Well, sieve is one word for it,” said Daniel. His voice had taken on a dangerous edge. “I might choose—”

  “Guys—” Abandoning pizza, Carter held up a hand. “Please. There’s been enough violence for one day, don’t you think?”

  Daniel thunked against the sink, arms crossed, face pinched into a scowl. “I just want to know what happened.”

  “You already know what happened,” she snapped. “Your good friend Paul phoned and told you, remember?”

  Paul? As in Davis, Major, currently assigned to the Pentagon? O’Neill sat up, a slow burn that had nothing to do with the pizza-indigestion starting up beneath his ribs. “What the hell—”

  “He was worried!” Daniel protested. “He really admires and respects Jack, he’s a big fan of the Stargate program, and he—”

  “Better not cross my path any time soon, the garrulous little—”

  “Cool it!” said Carter, and banged her empty beer bottle on the table for emphasis. “Sir.” She winced. “Sorry. But can we not get sidetracked by who said what to whom and why? Please?”

  “Major Carter is correct,” said Teal’c. “Do we not have bigger fish to pull out of the frypan?”

  “Yes, Teal’c, we certainly do,” she said, and flashed him a brief, grateful smile. Then she turned. “Sir…”

  She never called him by his first
name. Not any more. Even at times like this, when they were off-duty. In her head he no longer had a first name. Or maybe she’d just switched it out, scrubbed the ‘Jack’ and replaced it with ‘sir’. Maybe she had a point. He didn’t very often call her Sam. It was… safer… that way.

  Pushing aside his irritation at Davis, he looked at her. “Carter?”

  “Teal’c has a theory.”

  “He does?”

  “I do?” said Teal’c. He looked moderately surprised to hear it.

  Carter looked at Daniel. “Toss me another beer from the fridge, would you?” After he’d obliged, and she’d taken a good long swallow, she continued, “What you said in the car on the way over here, Teal’c. About Kinsey provoking the colonel on purpose. Forcing him to—” She hesitated.

  “Do something really really stupid?” O’Neill finished for her.

  “Well… yes.”

  “As opposed to just standing back and letting me be stupid all on my lonesome?”

  “Sir—”

  Teal’c leaned forward. “Kinsey is as wily as a Goa’uld, O’Neill, and you made him lose face. It is possible he engineered this morning’s confrontation in order to create an excuse to have you removed from the SGC.”

  They were all looking at him. Worried for him. His team. His kids. “I know,” he said. “I already thought of that.” But too late. Only afterwards, on the largely silent flight back from Washington, as his mind replayed over and over again the morning’s catastrophic events, did he see the game Kinsey might have been playing. “It’s possible, but… I don’t know. I think maybe things just got—out of hand.”

  “Way out of hand,” said Daniel, snorting. Then he relented. “But I guess I can’t blame you. I mean, what Kinsey said…”

  “The man has no honor,” said Teal’c. His expression was one of fastidious distaste.

  Daniel pushed away from the sink and sat down again. “Jack, I’m sorry.”

  “Why? You’re not the one who nearly snapped Kinsey’s neck like a rotten twig.”

  “No… but if I hadn’t stopped the Eurondan trade deal you wouldn’t have been facing him in an enquiry, would you? And then this morning would never have happened.”