Part 1: Eurydice's Awakening
She's got a little bit of something
God it's better than nothing
and in her color portrait world
she believes that she's got it all
* * * *
April 23, 2010
"So anyway, after I got things finished up at the lab, I was able to take a few days off. I'll be in DC in a few hours, and I'm going to surprise Joe at the hotel."
Through the video screen, Janet raises her eyebrows. "So you're thinking about a romantic weekend after he's finished his meetings?"
I smile, trying to hide my nervousness, and take a quick look at my watch to make sure that I have time to get back to the train. "Yeah. We also need to talk about a few things, and I thought it would be good to do it on neutral ground."
Her expression is curious. "Neutral ground? Sounds serious."
Nodding, I ignore my sudden chill. I think I'm coming down with something, but it's not yet enough to send me to a strange doctor who probably has never dealt with a patient registered under those damned Naquadah laws. "It is. I've stopped taking my fertility medication, Janet. I just can't do this anymore."
She shakes her head, full of empathy. "I'm sorry, Sam. What do you think he's going to say?"
With a hint of bitterness in my voice, I opt for the truth. "He'll try and change my mind, of course. I've mentioned adoption a few times, but Joe really wants a child of his own." I try and push down the resentment I feel towards him for that. Five years of marriage, and I've had three miscarriages, and given birth to a premature daughter. Even with all the advances in medical technology lately, there was nothing they could do for her.
"Sam, do you still love him? I know that something like this can be hard on a marriage."
Quickly brushing my hair out of my eyes, I nod. "That's the hell of it, Janet. I still love him like crazy. I just don't know if that will be enough for him."
"I know that Joanna's death--"
I hold up my hand, and Janet stops speaking at once. She knows me better than any friend I've ever had, but on the heels of my decision that I'm sick of trying for a child, that's one name I don't want to hear. I don't think I could bear it. "How's Cassie doing?"
Janet smiles proudly, gracefully accepting my change of subject. "She's having a wonderful time at Columbia. She tells me that graduate work is lots more fun than getting her bachelor's degree. And there's a possibility that she'll get to go to P8X-987 to start doing research once the Environmental Commission declares it's safe."
"That's wonderful news!" Cassie adapted to Earth easily, but I know she's always been curious about the world she was forced to abandon. And who better to research a lost world than the last living member of its population? "Tell her I can't wait until her visit later this summer, and I'll call her in a week or so." From the corner of my eye, I can see people beginning to board the train again. "Listen, Janet, I need to get going. Wish me luck, okay?"
"Always." Her soft brown eyes are warm. "And if things don't go as planned--"
"You might find me on your doorstep tomorrow," I finish her sentence. "Maybe you'd better stock up on chocolate and wine just in case."
"Will do. Call me later, okay?"
I agree, and we hang up. Shifting my purse on my shoulder, I walk towards the train, hoping that I'm doing the right thing.
* * * *
The desk clerk greets me with a smile. "Do you need a room, ma'am?"
Fumbling in my purse for identification, I shake my head. "No, thank you. But my husband's staying here, Joe Whitby. He's in room 247. May I have an extra key?"
The young man checks my identification card, then hands it back to me. "Sure, Doctor Carter. Would you like me to phone his extension and let him know you're on your way up?"
Once again, I shake my head, taking the key from him. "No, it's a surprise." With another thank-you, I turn towards the elevators, hitching the strap of my overnight bag over my shoulder.
A few minutes later, I stand in the hotel corridor, trying to get up my nerve to open the door. My stomach is churning, and I feel a bit shaky. I can't really tell whether it's the upcoming confrontation or whatever virus I'm coming down with that has me in this state. But Joe is my husband, we need to talk, and I've missed him these last few days while he's been away on business. For a moment, it feels like some odd recognition is prickling at the back of my mind, but I ignore it, and put the key into the lock.
Opening the door of the suite, I hear soft, indistinct voices. I hope I'm not interrupting anything crucial, but I'm already here. Raising my voice, I call out. "Joe? Where are you?"
"Sam?" From the bedroom, I hear his voice, and a clatter as he puts something down. He quickly comes into the main room, approaching me with a curious smile. "Sam! What are you doing here?"
I move into his warm embrace eagerly, bringing up one hand to brush back his short black hair. "I missed you," I tell him, as his mouth comes down on mine for a sweet, extended kiss.
"I thought you were buried with work at the office," he scolds me. "Are you playing hooky?"
I shrug. "One of our colony contacts couldn't get us the shipment we needed to continue our research, so I sent most of the R & D people home on Wednesday, packed some stuff, and took the train here." Shivering as he trails a quick line of kisses along my neck, I continue. "Who are you meeting with?"
He shakes his head. "I'm trying to convince Bob McCauley that he should accept Mahon's offer, and we're going over some paperwork at the moment." I grin along with him, knowing that before another hour has passed, he'll have finished up another successful recruiting job. "Why don't you relax, and in a while we can go out to an early dinner?"
He takes my bags for me, and I move towards the window, appreciating the view of Washington, DC through the glass. With another quick kiss, he goes back into the bedroom, and through the door, I can hear a muffled conversation start up again.
Moving towards the bar, I find a glass and pour myself some ice water. After a moment's thought, I open one of those tiny bottles of whiskey and add that to my glass, rather defiantly. God, I haven't had a drink in ages. No alcohol, little caffeine, hardly any chocolate -- any number of things that weren't supposed to be good for me while I was pregnant or trying to get pregnant. I take a sip of my drink and grimace at the familiar burn, then sigh. Who am I trying to fool here? If I'd been able to have the children we'd conceived, I would have sworn off any indulgences indefinitely. Taking another sip, I try and stay calm. This is not the time to get upset, although I'm sure there will be plenty of times for that this weekend. I am not looking forward to our conversation at all.
And that irritating familiarity is back in my mind, like a half-remembered song where you can only recall part of the melody, maddening in its elusiveness. Abandoning my drink on the bar, I pace back and forth, wondering what's going on. After a few laps of the room, I realize that when I'm closer to the bedroom door, it feels stronger. Resting my hand against the door frame, I close my eyes, trying to place this sensation, this memory buried somewhere within me.
When I finally realize what's going on, I lean against the wall, feeling truly sick now. That resonance, that realization as something in my physiology responds to someone inside that room. There's a Goa'uld in there, and my husband's with him. Obviously, I need to contact the Department of Security and let them know what's going on, but what about Joe? I don't have any weapons with me, and even though I've kept up my physical training after I left the Air Force, it's been years since I've really needed it. Goa'uld are much stronger than unblended humans. We wouldn't have a chance in hell if it came down to a struggle.
After a few seconds frantic thought, I casually knock on the door. "Joe?" I call, praying that I don't betray my fear. "Sweetie, I'm really sorry to interrupt you, but I need you to come out here for a second."
The door opens, revealing my husband's annoyed face. "Sam, this isn't a good time."
"Come out here," I whisper, hoping he understands the unspoken plea in my eyes. Past the half-opened door, I see a tall blonde man standing by the window, looking at me with a cursory glance before he returns his attention to the papers he holds. "Please."
"Excuse me," he say politely, before stepping into the room, grasping my hand tightly. "Sam, what the hell is going on?"
I keep my voice low, leading him towards the door. "Joe, we have to get out of here, now." I murmur, ignoring my initial urge to throw him over my shoulder and drag him out of harm's way.
"Why? What for?"
Fumbling for the door knob, I try and contain my rising panic. "Joe, that man's a Goa'uld. We have to get away, and contact the Department of Security right away! How the hell did one of them get onto the planet?"
Without batting an eyelash, and moving faster than I've ever seen him, he grabs my arms and calls out. "Bob! We have a situation!"
I freeze for a moment, not believing what I hear, and that instant of indecision gives him the momentum he needs to haul me back into the bedroom. Stupid, stupid, why didn't I fight back? I know how to defend myself!
But now Joe restrains me roughly, none of his former gentle nature in evidence. The blonde man stands before me, holding a zat gun. The bathroom door opens, and two other people come out: one a stout black man, the other an older grey-haired woman. They, too, are carrying weapons.
Joe's hands bite into my wrists in a wrenching grip, then he steps away, looking at me with contempt. "You just had to come surprise me, didn't you, Samantha?" he growls coldly.
The blonde man shrugs. "We knew it was possible that she'd find out eventually," he says dismissively.
"But the medication was supposed to prevent her from sensing you!" Joe protests, quieting down as the woman gestures for silence.
"We have contingency plans in place for this," she says, talking about me as though I'm an object, not a woman standing before her.
I keep silent, my mind racing, wondering what happens next. They could easily kill me, and with a third zat blast, disintegrate my body so that no one would realize what happened. Speaking out won't save me, and I feel an old familiar rage rise within me. Obviously, I've been a dupe in this situation, and I'm out manned and outmaneuvered. Helpless, which I hate. Better to hope they'll delay killing me, and look for a chance to escape. Unbidden, a phone number comes to mind, one that was given to me on a postcard a few years ago, with no return address. I'd burned it, but remembered the number, and I knew who'd sent it.
Escape. I'll do it eventually, because I don't submit to the Goa'uld. I kill them.
The blonde man looks at me again like I'm a bug under a microscope, and raises the zat. "Pleasant dreams," he says, and fires it at me.
* * * *
As I open my eyes, I hear movement in the room. The same woman from the hotel room points a zat at me, and motions for me not to move. Picking up a telephone, she speaks into it briefly. "She's awake. They can come in."
I push myself up to a sitting position, looking at my surroundings, and try to banish my throbbing headache. I'm in a windowless room, sparsely furnished with only a table and two chairs. If we're still in the hotel, they've moved me. Standing slowly, I hold my hands out, trying to show that I'm not a threat.
The door swings open silently, and four people enter the room: Joe, still with that cold expression on his face, the two men from the hotel, and President Kinsey.
Shocked, I stare at this man, still lean and grizzled, who I last saw in person years before, when he was trying to shut down the Stargate program. It was he who finally broke the news to the public about the SGC in March 2003, and soon thereafter, he announced his campaign for the presidency. He won the election easily, given the public's apprehension upon learning of life on other planets. Not that he'd have had a hard time anyway; after the disastrous election of 2000, quite a few Americans were fed up with President Bush before he was even inaugurated, especially when the extent of the vote-counting fraud in Florida became known. By the end of his first term in office, his vice-president had been indicted for taking bribes from most of the major industrial corporations. Finally, even his own political party wouldn't nominate him to run for re-election, choosing instead to pick Jack Kemp as their candidate. After all, if good old Dubya couldn't handle foreign policy worth a damn, how could he be expected to handle interplanetary policy? Kinsey won the election in a landslide, running on an independent ticket. Not that I voted for him. He's been the driving force behind increasing restrictions on the military, and some of the more invasive registration laws that have slowly eaten away at individual privacy. Perhaps I sound bitter, but given that under the Naquadah laws, every time I go to the doctor a report goes into a file at the Department of Security, I think I've earned the right. The law supposedly protected citizens from the Goa'uld threat, but given that there are Goa'uld here, right now, it's obviously been used to keep track of people like me and Cassie instead.
Scowling at me, Kinsey's eyes flash gold, and it's all I can do not to throw up. The Goa'uld have insinuated themselves into our government? Just how many of them are on Earth anyway?
The men in suits are obviously Secret Service agents, and one of them gestures at me angrily. "Kneel before your ruler, Ardak!"
I don't bother to hide the contempt in my expression, but slowly do as they say, since if I don't, they'll force me down, and I need to be physically able to attempt my escape. When Kinsey was a Senator, he was a total ass, but even he doesn't deserve this. On the other hand, he's always been drawn to power. What if he was a willing host?
"Doctor Carter," the president rumbles. "Much has changed since we last saw one another."
"Indeed," I reply coolly, allowing a hint of nervousness into my voice. "But you're still a master of understatement." He doesn't reply, and we both slowly assess each other. I have to hope that he thinks I'm completely helpless, that the knowledge of Joe's betrayal has beaten me.
Turning to glare at Joe, Ardak sighs in exasperation. "I am displeased. We had not intended for her to know of us until we were ready to make her a host."
This time, I have to swallow hard to keep the contents of my stomach down, as Joe looks abashed, and starts to explain himself. "Yes, sir. I didn't foresee the failure of the drugs which prevented her from sensing Goa'uld presence. Also, it appears that the drugs interfered with her abilities in childbearing. We'll need to refine the medicine before releasing it to the general population."
"Very well," the president replies, glancing at me as though I'm a worm underfoot. "See to it that further experiments take place. Doctor Carter can be implanted as soon as a new symbiote is ready. When that happens, we shall have all knowledge of the Tok'ra that we have been denied. Perhaps we can even harvest her eggs, and produce a Harsesis."
Horrified, I stare at Joe, marveling at what a good actor he's been these past six years. "You're not a Goa'uld," I state, hoping to goad him into revealing more information.
Ardak waves his hand dismissively. "He soon shall be," he promises. "Despite his mistakes, he has been our loyal servant, and will be rewarded as one of the children of the gods, with the power that he has earned." Bowing his head reverently, Joe's eyes light up in anticipation.
"Some reward," I mock him, unable to stop my bitter words. "You think you'll be getting a gift, but instead you'll be locked inside your body, without any control whatsoever."
The blonde secret service agent casually hits me across the face, and I catch myself on my hands before I hit the floor. "You know nothing," he tells me smugly. "I, too, am a willing host. The rewards are greater than you could imagine."
I stare at all of them, knowing what they plan for me, and feel myself withdrawing, shutting all my feelings down so that I can concentrate solely on survival. I'm a pawn to them, and they have total control at the moment.
Turning to leave, the president accepts the bows from his followers as his due. "Bring her to me after her implantation," he tells them. "I look forward to learning her secrets." My attacker follows him out the door.
Grasping my arm in a bruising grip, Joe pulls me to my feet, and kisses me roughly. "Now, my beloved wife," he snarls, "let's see about adjusting your personality. I'm going to like being married to you a lot better when someone else is in control of you."
Pulling back, I wipe my mouth with one hand, not surprised when it comes back smeared with blood. I say nothing, and when he leans in towards me again, I spit in his face.
Again, he tightens his grip on me painfully. "I ought to beat you for that," he tells me softly, his voice savage with hatred, "but I know that for you, having a symbiote will be worse than any torture I could devise." Twisting my arm behind my back, he pushes me towards the door, his associates following.
So now we're on the move. I only have a few minutes to figure out where I am and how I can free myself. Walking along the featureless corridor, my eyes flicker everywhere, finally alighting on an upcoming corner. If I can get close to the turn and stumble, perhaps I can--
Unexpectedly, a zat fires, and I hear my guards dropping to the floor. Joe's body absorbs most of the blast aimed at us, but enough washes over me to knock me to the floor, although I remain conscious. Another shot kills him.
Before I can stand to run, a gentle voice speaks. "Samantha Carter. I mean you no harm." Standing up, I turn to see the older black man smiling at me. "My apologies for the deception. I am Tok'ra."
"An infiltrator. Of course." Shaking off the residual pain from the zat, I stare at him for a moment, trying to place him, but I can't think of his name. "Have we met?"
He shakes his head. "Jolinar of Malkshur was my dear friend, Samantha, but I have never before met you." He smiles again, and draws closer towards me. "I have a message from your father. He is well, and sends you his love." Placing one hand on my shoulder, he kisses my forehead, in a strangely familiar gesture. Perhaps he had a paternal relationship with Jolinar, but I don't have time to stand around and figure it out. "Now, we must secure your escape."
"Where are we?"
"In a government building close to the Vietnam Memorial." He opens a door in the corridor, revealing a utilities closet, and removes a bag. Taking out a long black coat, he hands it to me, and I put it on, covering my bright blouse and skirt. Next, he hands me a heavy purse, and I sling it over my shoulder. "There are identity cards there for you, as well as a large supply of cash. Is there anyone you can contact?"
"Yes, I think I can call one of my former team members." I just hope the number is still in service.
"O'Neill?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes."
He smiles. "I was going to suggest that course of action." Digging into his pockets, he pulls out a small note card. "If you cannot contact him, here is a local number for his organization. They will be able to help you."
"I'll need to find a pay phone without a video screen." O'Neill's organization? What the hell has he been up to since he cut and run?
"There's one three blocks from here, near a battery station," he tells me, handing me a zat. "I'm sorry I cannot do more for you, but you must leave, now."
"I know. Thank you for helping me, I know it's dangerous. What will you do?"
He gestures at the weapon. "You must shoot me, so that it looks as though you tricked us, and killed us making your escape." He holds up his hand as I start to protest. "Ardak has a sarcophagus. He will revive me, along with these fools."
My fingers itch on the trigger, as I'm sorely tempted to fire the zat at Joe again, disintegrating him. I hate the thought of leaving anything of him to be revived, but this Tok'ra must have his own agenda, or he would have done it already himself. "The Tok'ra despise the sarcophagus!"
"True," he tells me sadly, "but in this case it cannot be helped. I hope that using it once will not harm my soul beyond repair. Now, hurry. Shoot me and go."
Regretfully, I raise the weapon, aiming it at him. "I'm sorry," I apologize, cringing as I pull the trigger twice. Then, I kick Joe's body in the ribs viciously, wishing that the pain would stay with him past his resurrection. Looking once more at the Tok'ra's body, I shake my head in disbelief, then run for the exit.
* * * *
Several cars are waiting at the battery recharge station, and no one gives me a second glance, although by now I'm sure that my escape has been discovered. Putting on a pair of sunglasses, I glance around me, not sensing any Goa'uld. Digging in the unfamiliar purse, I find a small pouch of telephone chits and insert one in the slot, dialing the number quickly.
"Hello." The voice is unfamiliar and devoid of feeling. "Who's calling?"
I swallow nervously. "This is Doctor Samantha Carter. I was given this number in case of an emergency. I need to contact Jack O'Neill."
"Okay. You're calling from DC I'm connecting you to our people there. Just a second." With that, I'm put on hold.
Fortunately, after only a brief wait, another voice speaks to me. "Doctor Carter. My name's Harris. We'll have someone pick you up. Where are you?"
"Conaway's Recharge, near the memorial." I glance at my watch as the man speaks to someone quickly. At least twenty minutes have passed, and Kinsey's people have to be looking for me. "How will I know who's coming for me?"
"You'll know," the man assures me, "I've sent out the message already, and one of our people is in your part of town. Start walking north. I'll see you soon." Before I can respond, the line goes dead.
My heart pounding, I quickly orient myself and begin walking up the street, hoping I'm not too conspicuous. In the manner of large cities, passersby ignore me, but I search each face, wondering how the hell I'm going to find Harris's friend before Kinsey's people find me.
A cabbie rolls down her window and whistles. "Hey, Snookums!"
Oh God. It can't be this easy, can it? I turn, raising my hand to hail her. She pulls to the curb, and I open the door.
"You Doctor Carter?" she asks brusquely, looking about for people tailing me.
"Yes," I reply, glad to sit down as she puts the car back in gear and starts driving. I'm shaking so hard, I feel like I'm going into shock.
"Okay. When we turn this upcoming corner, I want you to lie down on the floor. Sorry you won't be able to wear your seat belt, but..." she shrugs, flicking on her turn signal. "I'll get you where you need to go."
* * * *
Part 2: The Road Between Worlds
A man can tell a thousand lies
I've learned my lesson well
Hope I live to tell the secret I have learned
Till then, it will burn inside of me
* * * *
April 23, 2010
Vic looks up from the computer. "Hey, boss!" she calls out, and I put down my coffee and walk over to the desk. "There's a package on the way for you."
I give the message a cursory glance, then look at it more closely, then grab a chair. It's been seven years, but I still wasn't expecting this. "When's the delivery date?" I ask, trying to keep a normal tone in my voice.
She runs a hand through her close-cropped hair. "No sooner than three weeks," she tells me. "The underground's gonna move her around a lot to throw her associates off the trail." Turning to look at me, she smiles reassuringly. "It'll be all right, Jack," she reassures me. "Our people know their job. She'll be safe, and she'll get here in one piece."
Harry has entered the room while we're talking. "So Carter's on her way?"
Vic nods, motioning him over to see the message. "Great timing, too, Harry. We got the latest set of files last month, and we can pick her brain on the possibilities."
They continue talking, and I tune them out, letting their words flow over me in meaningless waves. Three weeks until I see her, until I have to tell her the truth. But she'll be safe, at least until she gets here.
Vic cocks her head at me, and hums a tune, then sings softly. "Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' for to carry me home..." At the incredulous look on my face, she cracks up, and swats me on the shoulder. "Don't worry so much, it makes your hair turn grey."
"Too late," Harry mutters, joining in on her laughter. Like he's one to talk, most of his hair is gone.
"Lighten up, Jack," she tells me seriously. "Harris knows his stuff. She'll just have to trust him, and she'll be all right."
* * * *
I pull the shapeless sweater over my head, my words muffled by the material. "So what next?"
Harris keeps his back to me while I change. "We've sent out a few operatives who resemble you, dressed in red tops and black skirts, like you were wearing. Hopefully, that will confuse Kinsey and his people long enough for us to get you out of the city. We've got a delivery going to Atlanta tonight, and you'll be part of the cargo."
I slide the sneakers onto my feet. They're a bit big, but I can run in them if I need to. "Atlanta? Is that where Jack is?"
He shakes his head. "No, we're going to move you around for a while before you meet up with him." The resolute expression on his face tells me that this is as much information as I'll get at the moment. "For now, if you can, I'd suggest you get some sleep. Are you hungry?"
"No." As a matter of fact, I'm starting to feel really sick. It's probably shock, but I can't stop shivering, and my hands are itchy. "Wait a minute -- how does your operation pay for itself?"
"We have resources. You don't need to worry about it, we're not going to cut you loose to fend for yourself."
Impatiently, I shake my head. "That's not what I was talking about." Quickly, I tug off my engagement ring, eyeing the bright diamond speculatively, then pull off the wedding ring as well. Holding them in one hand, I also remove my diamond earrings. "Here." I hold them out to Harris. "You can use these. A repayment for your help."
He looks at me in exasperation. "Doctor Carter, you don't have to give those to me."
"If you don't take them, I'm going to throw them in the trash," I tell him fiercely. I don't want anything touching my skin that my husband gave me. "Take them."
Reluctantly, he accepts the jewelry, then considers. "We could always pawn them in another state," he muses, "and if they're discovered, that might lead your husband to think that's where we've sent you. Rabe!" he calls out to a man sitting and drinking a soda. "Take these and check them for bugs. Dismantle them if you have to." The man nods, taking them, and leaves the room.
Just having the jewelry out of my sight makes me feel better. "So, is there some place I can lie down until it's time to head out?"
* * * *
May 13, 2010
Shivering, I huddle into my nest of blankets and wonder how much longer this torture will continue. The darkness surrounds me, all-encompasing, and if some Goa'uld showed up right now, I might be tempted to tell them what they want to know if they'd just let me warm up first. The truck goes over a substantial bump in the road, and I pray that boxes don't start tumbling on top of me. That would be an ignominious end to my career -- suffocated inside a trailer filled with canned goods.
If I concentrate hard enough, I realize that I've been on the road for almost three weeks now, never staying in one place for more than twelve hours or so. I still don't have a clue where I'm supposed to end up, but I've developed a nice healthy sense of paranoia, thanks to almost being caught in Phoenix. They came within twenty feet of me, but either their own presence blinded them to mine, or they weren't paying close enough attention to notice that one of my contacts had slipped out.
I rarely know what I'm going to look like from one day to the next. I've lost track of how many different colors my eyes have been, and how many wigs I've worn. Even though most of the time, I'm stuck in the back of a truck, just like now, my keepers have taken pains to alter my appearance in any manner of ways, from making me up to look like a frowzy old woman, to wearing a pregnancy pillow. That one really hurt.
When I arrive, I usually have just enough time for a meal, a shower, and a few hours of sleep before I get passed along again. The best way is to stay detached, to ignore the questions in their eyes, questions that they're too well trained to ask. I did see one newspaper carelessly left out a few days after I fled Washington, and there was an article noting that Doctor Samantha Carter, formerly one of the top scientific minds at the Stargate Program, now head researcher at Mahon-Whitby Corporations, had disappeared. Police were investigating, and so far had no leads, although foul play was suspected. Joseph Whitby, my adoring husband, was offering a substantial reward for any news leading to my return.
Nice to know I'm worth so much to him.
Most of the time I just move along, feeling like I'm not really in my body, that this isn't happening to me. That the past seven years didn't happen, and if I close my eyes, I'll wake up beside Jack, warm and happy.
My mouth is dry, I'm nauseated, and I can't seem to get warm no matter how hard I try. And that irritating pins and needles sensation is back in my hands, despite the fact that they're just lying in my lap. The only time I feel well is when I'm sleeping, and only if I don't have nightmares. I never remember what they are, but I awaken so frightened, so certain that I'll never be free of what Joe did to me.
* * * *
May 14, 2010
I blink my eyes in the sudden light illuminating my hiding place. Randall helps me up, then lifts me down from the trailer when my legs buckle from sitting for so long. Leading me through the warehouse, he takes me to an office, where my next contact is waiting. Slumping into a chair, I listen indifferently as he greets the young woman, explaining that I'm not much trouble at all, but he thinks I should see a doctor.
That gets my attention, and I sit up straighter. "No doctors," I insist wearily. "I'm fine."
"No offense, lady, but you look like hell," Randall tells me bluntly.
"You don't understand," I say, starting to panic. "If I see a doctor, they'll find me. It's not like a doctor could do anything to help me anyway."
They both scowl at me, exasperated. I'm supposed to be docile, to do what I'm told like a good little package. "We have a doctor within the local organization," the woman explains. "You can trust her, she won't turn you in. Let me see." She flips through a few sheets of paper. "No good. Kathy's out of town for the next few days."
"Is there anyone else who could help her, Sharon?" Randall asks, revealing the woman's name. I've quit asking my contacts who they are. I don't really want to be able to implicate them if I'm caught.
She thinks for a moment, then nods. "Addison was a medic at the Stargate facility before Kinsey started down sizing the military presence there. He might be able to look her over." She stares at me, daring me to challenge her decision. I just shrug and lean back in the chair, closing my eyes, and wonder if I'll ever feel normal again.
* * * *
Addison presses his icy fingers against my throat, checking for swollen glands.
"How long have you been feeling this way?"
"About three weeks." We're still in the dingy office, and I'm impatient to be finished, ready to move on. Sharon let it slip that I'm in Michigan, and that my ultimate destination is Minnesota. I guess I'll finally have the opportunity to see how big the bass are at Jack's lake after all.
"What are your symptoms?"
"Nausea, chills, headaches..." my voice trails off as he tightens the blood pressure cuff. "You name it, I have it."
He looks at me critically. I don't think I ever worked with him -- most likely I'd already retired from the SGC before he even got there, but when Kinsey broke the news of the Stargate Command to the public, most of the SG teams immediately became well-known. Some of the press tried turning us into celebrities, with limited success. Daniel was able to use his newfound clout to get a job at Harvard, as the first professor of the Interplanetary Cultures Department. Most of us, however, tried to keep our lives as private as possible. Nonetheless, Addison's probably seen pictures of me, and from his expression, I can tell that this is not how he expected me to look.
Tough luck. Let him be on the run for three weeks and see how perky he feels.
"Any history of high blood pressure?" he frowns, looking at the pressure gauge.
"No."
"What medications are you on?"
"I was taking fertility drugs, but I stopped a few weeks ago--" I stop, cursing myself for being a complete idiot. Joe and his associates admitted right in front of me that they'd been drugging me to prevent me from recognizing Goa'uld presence, but I've been so caught up in my plans for escape that it never even occurred to me why I might be sick. For the past few years I've been on all sorts of drugs, trying to carry a child to term, and slipping an additive into my medications wouldn't have been hard for Joe to do. Before that, he probably hid it in something else. My toothpaste? The tap water? Who the hell knows? "I have reason to believe that they were tampered with," I explain. "I must be going through withdrawal."
His tanned face turns a bit pale. "Oh. That's bad," he says, grimacing at his understatement. "Even if I were a qualified doctor, which I'm not, I wouldn't know what to do for the withdrawal unless you had a sample of the drug." I shake my head, and he frowns with exasperation. "Any sweats, tremors, hallucinations, loss of appetite?"
"Chills and fever, no hallucinations, but my hands itch quite a bit." I shrug. "I convinced myself that I had a virus, or it was just stress. I have been feeling very... detached lately, as though all this isn't really happening to me. And I haven't had much time to eat, since I'm always on the move." Over the past few years, I'd gained about fifteen pounds, and my doctor had explained it was most likely a result of the drugs I was taking and the stress of trying to get pregnant. The extra weight is all gone now, and I might have even lost a bit more. I've just been so keyed up that I can rarely take more than a few bites of any meal.
He shines a light into my eyes and shakes his head. "Hmm. Well, since it's already been three weeks, I can always hope that the worst of it is past, since there's not much I can do to treat you," he says fretfully. "I will get you a supply of vitamins and iron pills to help keep you as healthy as possible, under the circumstances. And even if you can't eat, make sure you drink lots of fluids."
Opening the squeaky office door, Sharon pokes her head in. "Can you finish up, Addison?" she asks. "We need to get going in twenty minutes."
I look at him regretfully, wishing I had more time to talk. This conversation about my health has been the longest I've spoken to anyone since Harris sent me on my way from DC. But it's safest if I'm not around these people too long, for all of us.
* * * *
May 16, 2010
"Hey." Harry comes up behind me and sits down on the sofa. "We just got word. She'll be here in another week."
I keep staring into the fire, not looking at him. "Great," I respond apathetically.
"What are we going to tell her after the debriefing?"
"The truth, I guess."
Out of the corner of my eye, I can tell that he's frowning. "Is that really a good idea, Jack? It might just make things worse."
The ache in my heart is overwhelming. But she needs to know why all of this happened. "I'd say we owe it to her, don't you?"
After a long pause, he speaks again, choosing his words carefully. "No, I think she deserves some happiness again. The truth could keep that from ever happening."
I turn to look at him, to engage in our eternal argument. "Harry, it doesn't matter. If we succeed in what we're working towards, none of it will matter."
With a familiar look of disappointment, he stands up and turns to go. "But nothing's changed yet, Jack. If you keep living like your actions don't affect people..." he stops speaking. We both know each other's opinions on this topic. Another debate won't change anything.
"You sound like Vic," I tell him wearily.
"Good," he replies on his way out. "I happen to agree with her."
* * * *
May 17, 2010
As Rob loads the backpack onto my shoulders, I brace my legs and pray that I don't fall over. Fortunately, I don't need too much in the way of supplies, and I used to be really good at roughing it. Here's hoping the past seven years haven't made me too soft.
"You'll follow this trail," he points to the map, "and you should stay pretty close to the river the whole time. Once you get to the waterfalls, the lake area shows up. There's a contact point two miles before the trail hits the main road, so if you get there, you'll know you've gone too far, okay?"
My hip pack holds an extra copy of the map and a compass. I have a water bottle slung across one shoulder by its carrying strap. In the pack, I have MREs, clean clothes, water purification tablets, and a one-person shelter in case of bad weather. And that's the stuff I actually saw him put into the pack, so God knows how much more is in there.
I am really not looking forward to this part of my trip. So far, all I've had to do is stay quiet and be shuttled across the country, but Rob has decided the best way for me to keep a low profile is to hike for almost one hundred miles to my next contact point, especially since he can't spare any of his people to escort me. I do my best to look healthy and chipper, certain that he knows I'm bluffing by the dubious look in his eyes. I can do this. I'm not going to enjoy it, but I can.
"Two more things," he tells me, opening a drawer. First, he hands me a gun and holster, and I belt it around my waist. "There's more ammo in the pack if you need it, and there's some fake identification papers in your belt pouch." Then, he hands me a small piece of paper, folded in two. Scrawled across the top in a familiar hand is simply, "Carter."
Taking a deep breath, I open the paper, quickly reading the contents. "Hail, Dorothy! You're almost home. Just follow the yellow brick road. See you soon, Scarecrow."
Closing my eyes, I sigh. God, I hate that movie, and in the six months Jack and I were together, we must have watched it I don't know how many times. The only good thing about it was that I'd sit on the sofa, Jack would rest his head in my lap, and it became a game to see how quickly I could distract him from the movie. Sometimes, I swear he put it in the VCR just because he wanted me to seduce him.
Banishing old memories, I glance at the map once more, then walk to the door of the ranger's cabin. Rob waves goodbye as I set out on the trail. Five to seven days, alone with my memories, and this time I have to stay alert. I can't drift off into wakeful oblivion, the blessed numbness that's been keeping me together so far.
My hands itch, and I take a swig of water from my bottle as I turn the bend. The woods stretch out before me, and I step forwards, focusing on the upcoming ridge as my goal, concentrating on one stride at a time.
* * * *
Part 3: The Waters of Lethe
There is no pain, you are receding
A distant ship's smoke on the horizon
You are only coming through in waves
Your lips move, but I can't hear what you're saying
* * * *
May 18, 2010
If I live through this hike, and I ever see Addison again, I am going to kick his ass into the next century. 'The worst should be over.' 'You'll be fine.' Idiot. Idiot!
Last night, I stopped when the sun went down and I could no longer see the trail. My MREs tasted like ashes, which was an improvement over how they'd been in the past. Wrapped up in a sleeping bag, not wanting to risk having a fire, I was staring into the darkness when it all began. Chills, tremors, dry heaves. Again, I tried consoling myself that it couldn't get much worse.
I was wrong.
Five minutes later, Joe walked up and sat down beside me. "Hey, Sam," he said affectionately. "Did you miss me?"
Strangely enough, I didn't jump up and try and run away from him. "Sure thing, darling. I always miss people who lie to me and try and destroy me. What the hell do you think?"
He shrugged, playing with a handful of leaves. "It wasn't all bad, was it? I lied to you, and you believed it. You loved me. That's why you're having such a hard time with this. You can't reconcile what you felt with what you now know."
I shook my head, noticing vaguely how the moonlit shadows drifted through him, as though he were nothing more than gossamer. "I've been wondering..."
"What?"
"When we first met, when you recruited me for Mahon-Whitby... Jack had been gone for a few months, and all of a sudden I was being asked out to dinner by so many men that I could have eaten out three times a day."
Maliciously, he smiled at me, and I shuddered, my muscles feeling as though they were being tied into knots. "You think it was all a setup?"
"Wasn't it? Some plan to have someone, any one of your associates get close enough to me, to get me under control?" At the time, all the attention had been fun. I'd saved enough up that I could take my time deciding what job offer to choose, although the research position at MIT was what really had my attention. And I was still smarting over Jack's vanishing from the face of the Earth. He'd told me that now that we were free from the regulations, nothing was going to stop him from being with me. We'd both retired from the Air Force, and he said he'd come with me anywhere. Then he disappeared.
All those men... none of them had gotten so close to me as Joe. He'd understood me, made me laugh, made me happy. He dangled my dream job in front of me, and I fell for it, and for him, hook, line, and sinker.
"You were a good actor, Joe. I believed you." A brief flash of pain raced through my chest, stronger and more excruciating than the muscle spasms. "Was everything a lie, Joe?" I remembered him comforting me: after the miscarriages, after Teal'c left Earth for good, after--
Sadly, he reached out to touch my shoulder, but I felt nothing. "I can't tell you, Sam. None of this is real." With a final enigmatic smile, he stood up and walked away. I collapsed against my nice steady tree, and after another hour or so of tremors, I finally fell into an exhausted sleep.
Today my pack feels ten times heavier, and I trudge along, weakened both in body and morale. If these hallucinations continue, it's going to get bad. Very bad.
* * * *
May 21, 2010
My head spins. Vision blurring in the sharp sunlight, I stumble towards an embankment, shrugging off my pack, and hurriedly spread out a blanket on which to lie down. Thankfully, I've begun recognizing the symptoms when I'm about to get sick, so I can stop before I get hurt too badly.
I'd been incredibly lucky the first time, already having stopped for the night. On the third day of hiking, I collapsed right in the middle of the trail, and when I came back to my senses, at least five hours had passed. My belongings were scattered all over the place, my hair was full of leaves, and there was dirt in my mouth. I still ached all over from the muscle spasms, but fortunately I couldn't remember too much of what my mind had come up with to torture me. I vaguely recalled Martouf standing before me, his body broken and bleeding, asking me why I hadn't saved him. For the most part, the hallucinations were hidden away in a fog of pain, and that's how I preferred it. I cursed Joe and the Goa'uld for their machinations against me, threw in Jack for good measure, then gathered my things together again, grateful that no wild animals had decided to attack me while I was insensible.
So this time, I make sure that my gun is at the bottom of my pack, where I can't easily get to it. Shooting myself or someone else while I'm hallucinating would be very bad. There aren't any terribly sharp objects around me, and I wrap the blanket around my shoulders, trembling with the sudden cold chill that runs across my skin even as darkness descends upon me.
Later, when I open my eyes, still trembling, a young girl looks at me quizzically. Great. Just what I needed, to be discovered by someone else hiking in the woods. Maybe I can convince her to not say anything about the crazy woman she met today?
"You don't need to worry," she tells me solemnly, brushing her wavy blond hair away from her face. "I won't tell anyone about you. I can't."
My mouth is parched, but I croak out the question nonetheless. "Why not?" And how does she know what I was afraid of?
She leans closer, her arms and legs just beginning to loose the baby fat of youth. She can't be much more than seven. Why is she in the woods alone? "Don't you recognize me, Mama?" Smiling, she presses a small cool hand against my cheek. "It's me, it's Joanna."
Oh God, not this. I could take anything but this! Clinging to her hand, I know this isn't real, but I'd give anything if it were. I struggle to sit up and try and draw her into my arms, to hold her again, to see who she's become, but just as her lips brush against my cheek, she's gone. My arms are empty, the sound of her voice echoing in my ears, and I don't even try to hold back the tears.
She'd been so tiny, born too early, and the doctors couldn't do anything for her. I just lay back in the hospital bed, exhausted from the long, futile struggle to stop my labor, holding her and wanting to keep time frozen; just make everything slow down and stop, so they couldn't make me let go of her. I'd carried her so long, longer than the other babies who'd never made it past the first trimester. I stayed in bed, didn't work, hardly did anything but think about how it would all be worth it once she was with me. Joe had curled up beside me; the two of us laughing as she fluttered against my skin, both of us so excited and hopeful.
Her eyes couldn't open, and her skin was pale and translucent as a pearl. I never heard her cry, only her labored breathing as I held her close, wishing that she could understand that I'd never let her go, not as long as she was with me. Her tiny mouth gathered into a pout of disappointment, as though she was unhappy at being cheated of life, life that I couldn't give her.
Women I knew told me that the pain and discomfort of pregnancy was worth it, that all the nausea and fatigue, and the agony of labor were forgotten once they held their children in their arms. I'd had the pain, but none of the payoff. My breasts would become sore, I'd vomit at the mere sight of certain foods, but then would come the cramps, the doctor's visits, Joe's assurances that we could always try again and that he loved me. Then came Joanna, when I lay in bed each day, certain that this time everything would be all right, exulting in my growing body, feeling cocooned away from the world. Nothing mattered but my baby.
When my water broke, despite all that the nurses had done to prevent it, all I could think of was that I'd failed again. I could travel to distant planets, kill Seth and Apophis, survive the dissolution of the SGC and abandonment by a man I loved. I could even conceive children, but I couldn't keep them safe, I couldn't give them what any other mother could. Labor was quick, too quick. Even though it hurt, I didn't want it to end, because as soon as she was born, she'd start to die, and I couldn't do anything to prevent that.
Looking up at the canopy of leaves, I know that she'd be one year and five months old today. I was only her mother for three hours, but I'll never forget. The warm feel of her pressed against me, the incredible delicate softness of her skin. Joe's arm around me as we sat and looked at her, waiting for the end.
Wearily, I reach for my water bottle and take a sip, then lie back down. It's early afternoon, and I've been on the trail for five days. Pulling the blanket over my shoulders, I wipe my eyes and wish that I, too, were dead.
* * * *
May 24, 2010
I squint in the sudden brightness as Vic turns on the light. "Jack, it's the middle of the night. What are you doing?"
I shrug nonchalantly. "Listening to music. Why ask a question when you already know the answer, Vic?"
Frowning, she sits in one of the soft chairs close to the fireplace. "You're sulking," she scolds me quietly. "The music is incidental. You've been on edge for the last week. So it's taking her a little longer to arrive. She'll be fine."
"Shhh..." I raise my hand for silence, listening for that key moment when Orpheus turns around. He stands on the threshold of the Underworld, with only one more step before his reunion with his beloved. As always, he fails, and I know he always will, but I can't help wishing that just once, the poor guy wouldn't look back. That isn't too much to ask, that there can be at least one happy ending?
"You and your opera," she mutters, rubbing her eyes. "What's this one?"
I lean back against the cushions. "Orfeo, by Monteverdi. There's another version by Gluck, but I like this one better." She raises her eyebrows in curiosity and I chuckle. "Yeah, I know that doesn't tell you much. Have you ever heard the legend of Orpheus and Eurydice?"
"No." Well, that's hardly a surprise. If it's not a computer program or a weapon, Vic's not likely to take an interest in it.
"Okay then. See, Orpheus was the best musician Greece had ever known, and he had everything a man could want, including his beautiful wife, Eurydice. Then she died after being bitten by a snake. But instead of accepting the fact that she was lost to him, he decided to change what had happened. He traveled to Tartarus, the Underworld, got past all the safeguards, and challenged the king of the dead to return her. He played such beautiful music that the king agreed, but on the condition that while they were walking back to the mortal world, Orpheus couldn't look back. So off they went, Orpheus leading his wife back to a happy normal life, but just before he stepped out into the sunlight, he couldn't wait another instant to see her. He turned back, and he lost her." I clear my throat painfully and sigh. "He could have saved her, but he failed. So there was no bargain. Two more steps and she'd have been free, but instead he damned her."
Vic raises her eyebrows. "Obviously you're drawing some parallels here. It seems awfully presumptuous, though. Orpheus was a great musician, but I've heard frogs that sing better than you do, Jack."
A bitter laugh forces its way past the lump in my throat. "True. Maybe I'll go back to bed. Harry might have quit snoring by now, if I'm lucky. He just had to choose a headquarters with only two bedrooms."
She shakes her head abruptly. "Harry's not what kept you awake, Jack. You did it all by yourself." Drawing her knees up against her chest, she rests her chin on them, grey eyes intent. "That's what this is all about, isn't it? You've been living like your actions don't matter, but you're about to come face to face with someone who's been affected by your decisions."
I stare down at my hands, not daring to meet her eyes. "I did what had to be done. We all did."
"Yes. But we knew what we were getting into. And not all of us tried to stop caring. Just you, Jack."
She's probably right. Why can't she be wrong about something for once? God, she's just like Daniel used to be, always so certain in her convictions, and despite the circumstances, she's still found some measure of happiness. "Speaking of caring, when's Paul due to arrive?"
"Five more days," she smiles. "Hopefully Carter will get here before he has to return to Colorado Springs."
"Yeah," I snort. "Here's hoping he brings more earplugs. The two of you make more noise than Harry's snoring." She just shakes her head at me again, then returns to her room, leaving me alone with my music, as Orpheus laments his foolishness, the doom that he brought down upon himself.
I left her, and her life went to hell. I could have saved her, I could have stopped it from happening, but I didn't.
* * * *
May 28, 2010
With a final wave of thanks to Carson, I put the motorcycle in gear and take off down the road, glad to finally have the weight of a backpack off my shoulders.
I had finally stumbled to the rendezvous point yesterday, four days past due. I'd run out of food, but fortunately Rob had packed plenty of water purification tablets in my backpack. Carson had looked at me, trying to contain his curiosity, then took me to his home, where I showered and changed into a tattered pair of sweat pants and one of his old ZZ Top t-shirts. Being clean was a miracle that was only surpassed by the food he put in front of me. I was so hungry and shaky that I'd have eaten the foulest MREs without complaint, but instead was treated to a very nice plate of spaghetti, with fresh bread on the side.
As I wolfed down my food and got seconds of everything, Carson apologized for not sending anyone to retrieve me once it became apparent that I must have been having problems. His branch of the underground had been short-staffed, and he simply couldn't spare anyone, which was why, when I made my last leg of the trip, I'd be driving myself. Fortunately, I was in a very rural area, and I shouldn't encounter anyone until I reached Jack's cabin.
I felt so much better for being clean and fed that I wasn't fazed in the least. On the eighth day, the hallucinations had finally stopped, and although I still felt very weak, I was sure that was due to running out of food. After helping Carson wash the dishes, I stumbled towards the bedroom, muttering my thanks as I sank down onto the blissfully soft mattress.
When he awoke me once more, I was surprised to learn that almost eighteen hours had passed. It was still daylight, though, and he wanted me to leave in the middle of the night, telling me that I'd only need to go about one hundred and twenty miles, and there was less chance of being detected if I waited until about two or three in the morning. Once again, I ate a huge meal, then sat down and played chess with him, enjoying the fact that he was a formidable opponent. It was nice to have something as mundane as a game to occupy my mind. Then, I went back to bed, knowing that I'd have to get up again in about eight hours. I couldn't remember ever feeling so relaxed since this nightmare had begun. I was almost home, almost ready to see Jack.
When the alarm went off, I arose fully rested, and changed into the dark clothes that were lying on the chair across from the bed. Once I was in the main room, Carson gave me new identity papers, a supply of cash, then drilled me on the specific directions of where I was going until I could have recited them in my sleep.
Stepping out into the early morning darkness of his garage, I almost started laughing hysterically when he showed me what I was going to be driving. An old motorcycle. Moving closer, I examined the familiar lines, the former glorious design covered by drab green paint, and a battery engine replacing the original. And yes, there was that tiny dent in the chrome that I'd never been able to get out, now matter how hard I worked at it.
About time I got Scout back, I thought wryly. Jack borrowed him for the weekend and I never saw either of them again. But I am going to have serious words with him over the way he's treated my baby.
After assuring Carson that I did indeed know how to operate this vehicle, he sent me on my way with a firm handshake and pat on the back. As I smiled at him while putting on my helmet, I thought that I truly was beginning to wake up to the real world again, rising up from the horrors of withdrawal that I'd fought these past weeks. Scout's engine gave out a reassuring roar as I headed out, the night air pleasantly cool against my face.
Driving down deserted roads, once again I have the opportunity to think, undisturbed. This time, I really don't like what is running through my mind. I've come to realize that if Jack sent me his contact number a few years ago, and if the underground was as developed as it must have been to realize that the Goa'uld were on the planet, then people had to have known something about my circumstances. They must have known that I was unknowingly married to the enemy, yet decided that it wasn't yet time to help me.
My jaw clenches as I think what I could have avoided, all the things that Joe and his cronies did to me. With every mile, I'm getting closer to the truth. I'm going to find out more of what's been going on, and after I tell whoever's in charge all the information I have, I expect to find out who made the decision that I'd be better off as an unwitting spy.
I'm close, so close now, and I'm afraid. I want to make everything right again, to eliminate the threat to Earth, and try and put my life back together again. I wish I could make the past seven years just vanish and start over again, but instead I'm just going to have to deal with things as they come.
A quick glance at my watch shows that it's five-thirty in the morning, and the sky is beginning to lighten with the approaching dawn. Fortunately, a few miles later, I turn off onto the dirt road that will lead me to the cabin. Slowing down, I pay a bit more attention to my surroundings, noticing the abundance of trees, excellent for concealing signs of life. I'm so caught up in looking around, that when my hands and legs start shaking, I'm completely caught off guard. The engine sputters quietly as I cut the power and slide off, nudging the kick stand into place and removing my helmet. Crouching down, I lower my head for a few minutes and gasp for air, fighting the dizziness.
Within another five minutes, I'm strong enough to walk, but I don't trust myself to operate Scout. Grumbling, I place one hand on the handlebars, and start walking the motorcycle down the road. Hopefully there's only another mile or so left in my journey, and if I push myself hard enough, I'll be there before the sun's completely up.
Soon my arms and legs feel like rubber, and I let out a string of muffled curses as I stumble painfully. Dark spots swim across my line of sight, and I turn a corner, seeing two people run towards me. If I could only focus, I could tell who they are, but if they're not friendly, there's nothing I can do to help myself. Damn you, Joe, for making me helpless.
"Carter!" a familiar voice calls, and I could weep with relief if only I could stay conscious. Through my blurred vision, I see his face nearing mine, eyes tight with anxiety, and a few more lines on his brow. "Vic, get the motorcycle!"
Blearily, I turn my head to see a tiny dark-haired young woman relieve me of my burdens. She grins at me quickly, and it's so good to be around people who are glad to see me. With every second, I feel more and more like I'm home.
"Sam," Jack murmurs quietly, wrapping an arm around my waist as I sag against him, too tired to talk or stay upright. "It's all right, Sam, I've got you." My eyes are slamming shut, the effort of keeping them open too great to continue, but I can feel him lifting me in his arms. "You're safe now."
* * * *
Part 4: The Price of Knowledge
My hands are tied my body bruised
you've got me with nothing to win
and nothing left to lose
* * * *
May 28, 2010
When my eyes slowly open again, I have no idea how much time has passed. I'm in a narrow bed, warm and comfortable, and my first inclination is to turn over and go back to sleep, but I know that's not going to happen any time soon.
"Doctor Carter?" a soft, low voice speaks, and I turn in that direction, propping myself up on one elbow. Across from me on another bunk, sits the woman I saw earlier. Like Janet, she's petite and dark, although her hair is a dark brown rather than auburn. She can't be any older than twenty-five, and she stares at me with a mixture of curiosity, friendliness, and wariness.
Sitting up, I swing my feet to the floor, and grab my jeans off the chair. "Call me Sam," I tell her, tucking my shirt in and looking around for my shoes. "I was kind of out of it earlier. Who are you?"
"Vic Shaunessy," she says, offering her hand. We shake, and she shrugs nonchalantly. "Actually, it's Jacqueline Victoria, but having a Jack and a Jackie around here would be way too confusing. So... Vic."
We turn towards the door, and step into the main room. A quick glance at the clock over the fireplace tells me it's almost three in the afternoon. "So what now?"
A strangely familiar older man stands up from the couch. "Debriefing, Doctor Carter, naturally."
I stare at him, studying his features. "Maybourne?"
He nods. "It's been a while, Sam." I can barely recognize him. What's left of his hair is white, his shoulders are stooped, and he's lost a lot of weight. He doesn't look threatening at all, just a tired old man. But if he's involved in whatever's going on, I'd better get used to looking at him with suspicion, because I haven't forgotten what he's capable of.
Vic opens a door, revealing a set of stairs leading down into a basement. "I'll go set up the conference room. See you in a few minutes."
The outside door opens, and Jack steps into the room, wiping his hands on an old rag. "Good, you're up," he says flatly. "Time to get to work, Harry?"
Maybourne nods in assent, and heads for the stairs. I stop, staring at Jack. He tilts his head and stares back at me impatiently, waiting for me to speak.
At the moment, I don't even know where to begin, so I settle for trivial matters. "What were you working on outside?"
"Giving Scout a tune-up."
"Ah. Not a bad idea, especially since you haven't been taking proper care of him." Raising his eyebrows at me, he refuses to be baited, and so I continue, my voice rising with anger. "Damn it, Jack, you said you were going away for a weekend, and I never saw you again. And you took Scout. I loved that motorcycle." He glares back at me, still silent and defiant. "Whoever converted the engine to electric did a shitty job -- it doesn't run half as well as it used to."
That finally breaks his silence. "I did the conversion," he says testily.
"I figured as much," I reply. "You never were as good at fixing up stuff as you liked to think. I'm not even going to mention that awful paint job." I know I'm being petty, but it's been so long since I've seen him. I still don't know what's going on, and I want to goad him into a fight, a nice nasty screaming match that will work off all of this tension that's got me tied into knots.
He rolls his eyes, and grabbing my elbow, propels me towards the stairs. "Tell you what, Sam, after the debriefing's done, we'll fix it up as good as new, okay?"
Stepping down into the dim light, I snort. "What do you mean *we*, white man?"
* * * *
I push the latest dossier across the table to Maybourne, or Harry as he now tells me I should call him. "Okay, who's next?"
Vic smiles and takes a sip of her coffee. "That's the final one, Sam."
I sigh in relief and take a quick gulp of water. The past few hours have been grueling. I've poured out every detail of my life for these three people to sort through. What seemed to me the most minor bits of information could send them off on a tangent for half an hour, persistently asking questions until they were certain they'd wrung every last bit of knowledge from me. Vic has been sorting through files, making notes, and compiling a rather intimidating stack of papers that I'll have to read in the next few days. I'm getting closer to finding out answers, but if they're done wringing me out like a sponge, I have a few questions of my own.
With an abrupt thump, I slam my glass back down on the table. "Good. Now it's my turn. What the hell is going on, how long has it been going on, and who's involved?"
Jack leans forward on his elbows and rubs at his forehead, wincing at the apparent onset of a headache. "Want to give it a shot, Harry? You're the one who started all this."
Harry shrugs, then nods listlessly. "About five months after the Stargate Program was made public, and before the Department of Security started regulating off-world contacts quite so much, I was contacted by an old acquaintance of yours, the Tolan Narim."
Pushing back his chair from the table, Jack stands up. "Why don't Vic and I go fix some dinner while the two of you talk about this?" After a moment's thought, Harry agrees, and Jack and Vic head for the stairs, discussing the merits of spaghetti versus pork chops. They're gone before I can protest that I'd like to hear more than one point of view, especially Maybourne's, but I suppose I can always dig the information out of them later.
He leans back in his chair, carefully choosing his words. "I went to Tollana at his request. He presented me with a recording, and told me that it had been sent through their Stargate a few days previously. We played the recording, which set all of this in motion."
"What was it?"
"The more relevant question would be, 'Who was it?'" he chides me softly. "It's a recording that I made... will make, I suppose I should say, several years into the future."
I stare at him in shock. "What?" The corners of his mouth twitch, and whether it's amusement or embarrassment is beyond me. "You must have been briefed about the dangers of using the Stargate for time travel! Didn't you pay any attention to my report after the 1969 incident?"
He shakes his head, beginning to show the stubborn personality that I expect from him. "Sam, that recording will be made in the year 2018, and in that timeline, the Goa'uld have taken over completely! That version of me thought it was important enough to try and warn me, and for the past seven years, we've been slowly building our forces and trying to determine exactly when the infiltration took place so that we can stop it."
I still can't believe I'm hearing this. What ever happened to fighting off the Goa'uld? How can he sit there and tell me that timeline manipulation is the only answer when we can't even imagine what the consequences will be?
"I can imagine what you're thinking at the moment," he tells me. "Wouldn't it be better to fight back in the present? But when the SGC became public knowledge, and the government started limiting the military, we were cut off from that possibility. Don't you think that if we could have found another way we'd have taken it? Jack spent over three years trying to do just that!"
"Without asking me for help," I can't help interrupting.
He waves my comment off impatiently. "We've been unable to stop the Goa'uld infiltrating Earth, Sam. We've tried to expose them any number of times, and none of our operatives ever succeeded. They just ended up dead. And Kinsey has a long reach. It hasn't worked," he tells me intently, full of passion for his cause.
"What we have accomplished," he continues, "is the formation of a solid support base for our activities. Former military personnel have been especially good operatives, as I'm sure you've noticed over the past few weeks. We have limited contact with the Tollans and the Tok'ra through Paul Davis, and we have some agents who Kinsey thinks are his loyal servants."
"Major Davis?" I narrow my eyes in thought, trying to remember when I last saw him. I've only been back to the SGC once since I retired, when I had to go to one of our colony planets for some research. For the most part, Mahon-Whitby Corporation kept me busy in my lab. It hurt to see what had been such an important part of my life turned over to the Department of Security. Just as bitter was seeing Davis at the head of the program. I had thought that he must have pulled lots of strings to get that assignment. "He's your contact in the SGC?"
"From the very start," Harry confirms. "He and Jack were the first people I contacted when all of this begun. He'll be here tomorrow, actually, bringing us some of the archived information that we need."
"How are you planning on pulling all of this off?" After all, how could we possibly find out when Kinsey was implanted? Seth hid out on Earth for a few thousand years, and during the six years that the military ran the SGC, we had thousands of missions.
"We've narrowed down the time frame to somewhere in 2000 or 2001," he tells me wearily. "It's been hard work, very dangerous work for everyone involved to find out that much. Paul can't send us the information over the computer, since it'd be too easy to trace. Most of it goes through couriers, but he manages to bring some of it directly to us a few times a year."
Looking at him, I try and find a trace of the Maybourne I used to know. He still appears ruthless and focused, but given how well I think I know Jack, I can't see the two of them working together for seven years unless he's undergone some serious changes.
"So you're going to keep working to identify the key mission that set all of this in motion, and then what? Ask the Tollans for help? The Asgard?" Feeling suddenly sick, I wonder if they'll end up using some of the technology I helped develop to... what? Build a naquadah bomb? Blow up a planet? How can they possibly figure out which tactic will stop what the Goa'uld are planning?
Harry raises his eyebrows and laughs at my skeptical expression. "We thought we'd send a note," he explains simply.
"A note," I repeat blankly.
"Yes. The problem is twofold; we need to find the correct time frame, then dig into the computer to find out what SG-1's GDO code was at the time."
I think for a moment. "Ideally, you'd also want SG-1 to be off world on a mission at the time. I mean, if I were sitting in the control room, and my team's code came up on the computer, I'd probably realize that something out of the ordinary was going on." That would be bad, going to all the trouble of sending a note, only to have it destroyed against the iris.
He nods in agreement. "We're working on it. But that much precision might not be possible. As it is, we have to hope that our calculations will work properly. However, my counterpart in the future very thoughtfully researched hundreds of upcoming solar flares of a proper magnitude. Once we pinpoint a specific time, hopefully we can get it to work."
I chew my lower lip absently, working out some mental equations, then look back up at him. "Now that I'm finally aware of what's going on, what are your plans for me?" I glare at him defiantly. He may not have thought I should be involved before, but I'm here now.
He scrutinizes me thoughtfully. "Well, we're not just going to turn you loose," he assures me, with a condescending undertone that sets my teeth on edge. "We could use you for some of the more detailed research, especially since your knowledge of astrophysics will come in handy. Vic's more of a programmer, and some of what she's had to do is a bit beyond her grasp."
Lost in thought, I say nothing, wondering how I can handle being around Jack when I still have so many unanswered questions. I can always ask him what I need to know, but I may not like what I learn. It seems obvious that duty drew him away from me. But I'm still trying to sort through the ruins of my marriage to Joe, and being thrown into constant close proximity to my former lover is going to just add another load of stress. Frowning, I wonder how many more surprises are in store for me. At the same time, realistically, if I try and head out on my own, Kinsey will find me. That's unacceptable.
"Since you asked me so nicely, I guess I'm in," I tell Harry acidly. From the top of the stairwell, Vic yells down that dinner is ready, and I stand up, stretching my legs, and trying to ignore the persistent apprehension in my mind.
* * * *
"So, Jack, I'm hurt. You grilled pork chops. What happened to the bass that were 'this big?'" I hold out my arms for emphasis. "I expected fish, damn it."
In the middle of a mouthful of salad, Jack just rolls his eyes at me.
"Actually, if you're thinking of Jack's old fishing cabin, this isn't it," Harry interjects, taking a sip of iced tea. "We figured it wasn't safe to use it as our base. It was sold and we found this one instead."
Wiping her mouth with a paper napkin, Vic leans forward with a conspiratorial grin. "The fishing here sucks, but Jack can waste half the day just sitting on the dock with a beer."
"That's because it isn't about *catching* the fish, Vic, it's about fishing itself."
This sounds like a familiar argument. As a matter of fact, didn't Teal'c tell me about how bored he was during a fishing trip with Jack once?
But wasting half the day? "I would have thought you'd be too busy trying to save the world to have time for that," I state in a brittle tone.
Vic shakes her head, and Jack looks relieved that she's answering my question. "We keep a steady pace, but there are times when we'll go for a few days without much to do. Then all of a sudden we'll be working eighteen hour days for a month. It all depends on what information we get from our agents." She tilts her head, staring at me intently. "I remember reading about the SGC when Kinsey made it public. I was in high school at the time. Did you really kill Apophis single-handedly?"
Oh God. Not only has she just made me feel incredibly old, she's going to spring a case of hero-worship on me. That's just fucking wonderful. "Yes. But surely Jack must have told you about that?" Over the years, I've learned to dodge that particular question as often as possible. Dredging up old memories about all the people I've killed over the years isn't my idea of fun. And that mission, only a month before we were shut down, is one I've tried very hard to forget.
She looks disappointed, recognizing my evasion. "No. He always told me it was your story to tell."
I sigh and set down my fork, since I'm sick of pushing the food around on my plate. Now that I'm here, I'm still too tense to enjoy my meal, even though Jack's still a master of the gas grill. "I'm sure we'll have time to discuss it later," I tell her wearily. "I'm curious, how did you get involved in this operation?"
She smiles brilliantly, so pleased that I'm taking an interest in her. "Well, when Jack and Harry were getting started on all of this, they were forming a network of contacts, and most of those people are military or former military. My father was a Commander in the Navy who'd worked with Harry in the past, and when they decided the operation needed a computer person, I was the logical choice."
"How long have you been doing this?" I ask, trying to ignore my stomach's sour churning.
Counting on her fingers, she mutters to herself for a moment. "Five years," she says brightly. "In March 2005, I cut out on my last few months of high school and moved here, and I've been here ever since. I've learned a lot more than I ever would have going to college, that's for certain." She gestures around the cabin with an air of possessive satisfaction. "It's been kind of lonely, having to leave most of my friends behind, but..." she shrugs quickly, "It's something I wanted to do. I'm just amazed though -- I've known about your connection in all this for so long, but for you to actually be here..." She laughs abruptly. "Sorry, I'm babbling. I'll stop."
"Will wonders never cease?" Jack mutters, pushing back his plate.
When I finally speak, I feel like my voice is coming from the bottom of a well. I'm dizzy again, and my pulse is pounding. At times like this, I wish I was an idiot, then I wouldn't grasp the implications. "So long," I repeat her words. "How long? From the beginning of your involvement?"
"Sam," Harry reacts to the hardness in my voice, and tries to head me off.
"No!" I snap, "How long? Joe and I didn't get married until January 2005, so if you knew about what he was and who he was involved with back then, why the hell didn't you let me know? Why did you keep me out of this operation?"
Harry looks at me with that familiar gaze I remember, the one that said that any person was expendable as long as he got what he wanted. "Because we knew if we kept you in the dark, that when you eventually did find out what was going on, you'd be in the position to give us intelligence that we couldn't get any other way."
Desperately, I gulp my iced tea, practically spilling it all over myself in my agitation. "Bastard," I choke out, the sense of betrayal overwhelming. All those years, all the lies I believed, all my children who never had a chance because Joe was drugging me? All so that Harry could get a few more pages in his dossiers? I turn to Jack, my eyes blurring. "How could you let him do that?" I ask him angrily. "How could you abandon me to the Goa'uld?"
Mercilessly, Harry's voice cuts through the roaring in my ears. "Sam, we're going to change the past. None of this will have happened if we succeed, so what does it matter?"
"Oh, for crying out loud!" Jack steps back from the table, glaring at Harry. "Do you know how ridiculous you sound, Harry, trying to say that like you actually believe it?" Bleakly, he meets my gaze, and I don't want him to say it. In a moment of horrifying clarity, I know exactly what he's going to say, and I don't want to hear it, because then I'll really lose control of my last remaining scraps of sanity.
"Sam, Harry's not the one who decided not to bring you in on the operation. I am."
* * * *
Damn, for a geezer on the wrong side of sixty, Harry packs one hell of a punch.
Sprawled on the floor, I glare up at him. He's tense with fury. I don't think I've seen him so angry since the Nox liberated the Tollans from his little plans for them.
Sam's chair lies turned over on the kitchen floor, and through the open door to the deck, I can hear Vic trying to comfort her. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals that she's still hanging over the railing, retching.
Sweet. Who says I can't provoke reactions from people?
I rub my jaw, wincing, then sit up. "What the hell were you trying to do, Harry, taking the blame for something I did?"
"What was I doing?" he bellows. "I was trying to spare her feelings! C'mon, Jack, we've gotten reports on her activities for years! She's been through hell, and if she had to find out that we knew what was going on, she should have thought that I was the one who authorized it."
"Why?" Clambering to my feet, I slide back into my chair, trying to work the kinks out of my back.
"Because, Jack," he tells me contemptuously, "that's how I used to operate. It's what she'd expect from me. If I'd been the one to make that decision, it wouldn't have hurt her so much."
"Hurt her? You think it hasn't hurt all of us, what we've been doing these last seven years? Carter's always understood the cost of doing the right thing. I could make her understand why I did..."
"Why you betrayed her?"
My eyes narrow, and I feel a headache coming on. "Tell me you wouldn't do the same thing, Harry. You know what we're doing is important. You of all people should know!"
"Let me tell you something, Jack. I would have found another way than letting the woman I love be used by the enemy."
"Sure, because you're such a noble bastion of proper moral thinking, aren't you, Harry?"
"Fine," he snarls, rubbing his hand. "Then think about this! What if she decides to run? This is the only safe place for her to be, both for her safety and ours. Do you honestly think if she fell into Kinsey's hands that he wouldn't torture the information out of her? The whole operation could fall through! Not just us at the top. Everyone! Do you want that on your conscience? All because you couldn't keep one more secret to yourself?"
I don't have an answer for him, and after a few minutes he turns away, leaving me sitting at the table. Unlike him, I'm not in the least bit worried that Sam will take off. She's always been just as much a sucker for duty and responsibility as I am.
We spent two and a half more years on SG-1, knowing how we felt about each other and not daring to do anything about it, because it was more important to have the other guarding our backs than warming our beds at night. Then, one day in March of 2003, Hammond gathered together all the SGC personnel and told us that the Stargate was going public, and we had twenty-four hours before the press started showing up and asking questions. Most of us were so stunned that we had no idea what to do. Later, I spoke with Hammond, and he accepted my resignation, but I had no clue what Sam's plans were. She disappeared right after Hammond's speech, and Daniel, Teal'c, and I held an impromptu meeting in my office. Teal'c was wary, not knowing what his reception would be, and I was depressed. No more trips through the gate, since a civilian operation was going to take it over. No more adventures with SG-1, the closest thing I had to a family. Sure, my knees were just about ready for a break, but the rest of me? After a while, you just get addicted to the excitement, and it's hard to give up. Of all of us, only Daniel was optimistic, because he'd finally get some validation in the eyes of the academic community. I couldn't blame him -- as scornfully as he'd been laughed out of his area of expertise, coming back with a world press announcement that he'd been right all along had to be satisfying.
After another hour or so, I went home and sat in my den, staring at the medals and citations on my mantle, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do now. Instead of going to the refrigerator to get a beer, I drove over to Sam's apartment. She wasn't there. So I turned around and went home, only to find a familiar motorcycle in my driveway, and Sam waiting on my front steps.
Walking inside, we sat side by side on the couch, wondering what to say to each other, until she finally broke the ice.
"I'm resigning my commission."
I was surprised, but it did make sense. The Stargate was Sam's dream job, and she wasn't going to be allowed to do it anymore. "I already did earlier this afternoon."
She turned to me, a small grin tugging at her lips. "So what now?"
"Me? I'm going to be lazy for a while." Fortunately, money wasn't going to be a problem. One of Sarah's second cousins was a stockbroker, and he'd always given us good financial advice. Military salaries aren't anything to brag about, so investing was always a necessity, and we'd been lucky a few times. Even after the divorce split our assets, I had enough to be comfortable. Besides, it wasn't like I was going to go out and buy a yacht. "You?"
"Probably a job in research. We still have..." she glanced quickly at her watch, "about seventeen more hours until Kinsey and the President break the news on television, but there've been some leaks. There were a few messages on my recorder at home from some technology corporations." She shrugged, uncaring. "It's not what job I'm going to do that concerns me."
"What does?"
She looked directly at me, and smiled. "It's who'll be with me now that SG-1 is history." She showed more courage than I could have -- I'd have danced around the issue for another week at least. "I know we've both dated other people from time to time during the past two years, but--"
I had no clue what to say, but my body didn't care about that in the slightest. I reached for her, stopping her words with a kiss, the first kiss we'd been able to share without viruses or alternate universes or time loops. And I could feel her lips curve into a smile and I thought I'd die, because I couldn't remember the last time I'd been so happy.
Finally pulling back in order to breathe, and to draw her closer to me, I sighed with contentment. I was still unhappy at what we were being forced to give up, but now I could love her, and no one could tell me it was wrong. "Does that answer your question?" I whispered, and she nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks.
That night was overwhelming. We'd been subjected to so many shocks that day, and it was hard to believe that we were actually together at last. In all my illicit fantasies, I'd imagined that the first time making love with Sam would be wild and intense, but instead it was slow and gentle, both of us taking our time and taking absolute possession of the other. We cherished each instant, each kiss or embrace or soft gasp of ecstasy. When I awoke the next morning, it was with the joyful knowledge that she owned me completely, but instead of feeling smothered, it was comforting, because I knew that I had just as much power over her.
I got the shock of my life when I opened the door to get the morning paper and five reporters practically fell in the foyer. It was an unpleasant harbinger of things to come, but after a few weeks of consistently refusing interviews, the press got the message that most of the SGC didn't want to talk, and confined themselves to just speculating on the details behind the official reports. Teal'c even gave up his beloved tabloids in disgust, because they consistently got all the details wrong.
We just laid low, enjoying our new relationship, helping Daniel move to Boston, and spending time with Teal'c, who was glad to be able to go out without having to wear a hat all the time -- although he often did anyway, to try and avoid being recognized. Sam considered various job offers, but mostly we just coasted along, sad that our former adventures were no longer possible, but exploring all the possibilities that our love opened up to us.
I wanted to get married right away, but Sam wasn't in any hurry. Her idea was that as soon as she got pregnant, then we'd get married. It sounded good to me. Then one Thursday afternoon, while Sam was out with Janet and Cassie, Harold Maybourne (retired USAF colonel, ex-convict) showed up at my door.
One final mission. One more responsibility that I couldn't dodge. God, sometimes I wish I'd just shot him on sight rather than actually listening to him. Over the years, he's become the one with the integrity, while I'm the person who left my angel behind, who sent her into hell.
By the time we'd started establishing our network, Joe had already weaseled his way into her life. By the time I knew what his connections were, they were engaged. And I came up with the brilliant decision that she could be an unwitting spy.
To this day I'm not exactly certain why I did it, although I'll never admit it to anyone else. At first, I didn't want her involved because I didn't think it would take more than a few months to fix the timeline. Then, I told myself that she didn't need the hassle, that she deserved some semblance of a normal life. By the time I knew what she was in for, I'd almost convinced myself that it was for the best.
Personally, I think I was afraid. Afraid that since I loved her so much, there was no way I'd be allowed to keep her. Fate, or God, or whoever wouldn't be that nice to me. And if losing her was inevitable, why not do it on my terms?
When she arrived this morning, I picked her up and told her she was safe. Safe from Kinsey and his people, perhaps, but I've only brought her into a more dangerous situation. Not to mention the lovely mental anguish I've subjected her to. I've know this day was coming for weeks now, but it didn't make it any easier, seeing the horror and betrayal in her eyes as she ran away from me.
Later, Vic opens the door and heads downstairs to her beloved computers, sparing the time to hiss a few obscenities in my direction. Stretching my sore limbs, I walk outside, where Sam stands quietly, looking out across the water.
"You don't have to worry," she says as I approach. "I'm not going to take off." Turning on one heel, she faces me, her face pale in the dusk. "That's what you and Harry are concerned about, right?"
I clear my throat. "No. I knew you wouldn't run away from this."
She laughs mirthlessly. "Duty. Yeah. We've always been really big on that, haven't we?"
The bleakness in her voice is almost more than I can bear. Perversely, I embrace it, seeking out punishment, while at the same time wanting to defend myself. "I had my reasons for doing this, Sam."
"Sure you did, Jack. It would have been nice if you'd bothered to clear it with me first." She looks at me, the living embodiment of pain, just like Sara was. Yet another woman I've hurt. Seems to be a talent of mine. "I don't see how you could tell me that you loved me, and then let me marry Joe, knowing who he was."
I carefully search for the right words, knowing I'll fail no matter what. "Because if we can work things out like we're planning, none of it will have happened, Sam. That's what I've been working for all these years -- the chance to change the past. The chance to make a world where it's safe for you, whether you love me or not."
The fury in her eyes is astonishing. "How dare you pretend that all of this is for my benefit! You let me marry the enemy, Jack! I thought my marriage was real, but now I find out that my pregnancies were just a damned science project for the Goa'uld!" Her voice breaks, and she wipes her eyes. "I didn't know Joe was a collaborator, Jack. I loved him, and he betrayed me. Just like you did. Do you know how... how humiliating all of this is?"
"Keeping the world safe is a bit more important than our feelings, Sam. It's always been that way." That's right, stay cold and focused, Jack. I never had such a hard time justifying myself to Harry or Vic, so why should Sam faze me?
"God, you bastard!" she explodes, shoving me back forcefully. I stumble, then grab the railing, wincing as a splinter lodges in my palm. "You won't even admit that I have the right to be angry with you? I know that you think you've done the right thing, and I know that this mission is far more important than whether or not I've been betrayed. But I don't care whether or not it's logical for me to be angry! I've had to live through this." Tears stream down her face and choke her voice. "You left me, and I never knew why, Jack. You just took off to save the world without thinking that I might like to choose what role I'd take to help."
"I wanted to keep you safe..." I start to say, then stop as she frowns at me once again.
"If that's supposed to make me feel better, you're getting senile in your old age, Jack!" she snaps at me, wiping her eyes. She's always hated to cry in front of me, thinking it's a sign of weakness. "Well. You all got the information you needed from my marriage, but I still can't say it was worth it for me. You don't need to worry, though. I'll be the best agent you could possibly get, because I want to make damned sure that the last seven years never happened."
With that, she returns to the light and warmth of the cabin, leaving me alone on the deck, my hand throbbing. I stare at the stars, wishing I could find some answers outside of myself, but I know that there aren't any.
* * * *
June 2, 2010
Vic breezes into our room, smiling in sympathy at the sight of me buried in folders yet to be read. "Hey Sam, when I did the supply run, I got you some clothes. You'll need some of your own."
I take the bags from her hands gratefully. I've been in these jeans for days and they need washing, and I've had to wear some of Jack's shirts -- an intimate gesture that I don't particularly care for. In the four days since I've been here, we haven't talked much beyond what's necessary for work. It seems safer that way -- if we really sat down and talked, I'd probably do something stupid like try and beat him up, and if I'm going to be part of this organization, that's not particularly conducive to a good working relationship.
Pants, t-shirts, a few sweatshirts, and thank goodness, new underwear and socks. "This is great, Vic. Thanks."
She grins. "Hey, you had to sleep on the couch for a few nights when Paul was here -- I figured the least I could do was get you some new clothes."
I shake my head in humorous disbelief at the reminder of Paul Davis' visit. He was glad to see me, and we spent some time talking about narrowing search parameters and finding the best calculations for what we're working towards. For someone who's been a desk-bound beaurocrat for most of his career, Davis has a good grasp of science, much better than Jack ever had.
Aside from a few more grey hairs and wrinkles, he hasn't changed a bit. He's still soft-spoken yet intent, still the voice of reason, and he still looks as cuddly as ever. He's never had the ideal military physique, but while he's not skinny, he's not fat either. He just looks like he'd be nice to hug, and Vic was in his arms the moment he walked through the door, radiantly happy to see him. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around that one. They were like two turtledoves all weekend. Paul's over twenty years older than Vic, but it's pretty obvious that they're in love. I felt like I was in college again, having to vacate the premises so that my roomie and her boyfriend could have sex. There was an extra bunk in Jack and Harry's room, but I settled for the couch, since there was no way in hell that I wanted to listen to Jack's breathing while he slept.
Paul bid us goodbye this morning, and after Vic and I put the room back in order, I went back to my reading material while she did some work downstairs, then went out in an old rusting pickup truck. Apparently she's the only one who can go out for supplies on a regular basis, since Jack and Harry don't want anyone to pinpoint their locations. But over the years Vic has established the cover story that she's an eccentric artist of independent means who lives the life of a hermit on the lakefront, and her occasional trips don't attract much attention.
Yanking off the price tags, I peel out of my outfit and get dressed in clean clothes, sighing in relief as I toss the dirty jeans into the laundry hamper. "Much better," I smile, sitting back down on the bed to continue reading.
"Not so fast," she chides me, and I look back up in surprise.
"What, is it dinner time already?" It is getting late, now that I think about it.
She laughs. "Jack and Harry are working downstairs, and I told them to just grab sandwiches later. C'mon, I got us some stuff in town."
Curious, I follow her into the kitchen, where she gestures dramatically at the counter. A bakery box holds a fresh chocolate cake, and there are two bottles of wine. I grin. Elysium. That was always Janet's favorite, too.
Finally, I just stand there and laugh, on the verge of hysteria. "Vic, I like the way you do things."
Her eyes shine with merriment, and a bit of compassion. "I just thought... it's been rough for you, and one night to just kick back and have a bit of a binge might be fun." She grabs some forks and napkins, tucks one bottle under her arm, and picks up the cake, heading for the deck. "Get the other bottle and the corkscrew, okay?"
We sit in companionable silence, eating cake and washing it down with gulps of sweet wine straight from the bottle, listening as the bug zapper crackles. The sun is setting, and the water of the lake is ablaze with reflected light.
Finally, I start pressing her for details about her relationship with Paul. I knew that he'd been married once in his twenties, divorcing after only a few years of marriage, but I had a hard time seeing him getting involved with someone as young as Vic.
She smirks. "In August 2005, he came here for two weeks for a marathon work session. He was so shocked when I started flirting with him. But who else was there for me? Coming into this operation, I knew I'd be giving up a lot, but..." She shrugs eloquently. "Harry's way too old, and Jack's also too old, not to mention too moody for anything like that. Besides, he's still not over you. Anyone in town was out of the question, and when I met him, I just liked him right away. He's so, I don't know..."
"Cute?" I laugh, drinking from the bottle and passing it back to her.
"Oh yeah!" she agrees, laughing with me. "He tried pretending he didn't know what I was hinting at. So I kissed him, and he was definitely interested! But he kept saying I was too young, that I was inexperienced and he wouldn't take advantage of me."
"So what did you do?"
"I went skinny-dipping later that evening. I'm pretty sure Jack knew what was up, so he and Harry stayed out of the way, but Paul had no idea, and he strolled out onto the porch, and when I came out of the water he just about fell over the railing."
"Bold move," I comment, taking another bite of cake. "Sounds like he never had a chance."
"Well, I think of it this way. We're working towards resetting time, and when that happens I'm going to be just a teenager again. What we're doing is important, but why shouldn't I do what makes me happy, too? I mean, how many people get to have more than one misspent youth?"
"That's quite a responsibility, Vic. But I think you can live up to it."
"Damn straight." We clink our wine bottles together and drink again. The stars are coming out and I feel pleasantly fuzzy.
After a while, she asks me, "What about you and Jack? Are you ever going to talk to him again?"
I stare out into the night, thinking. "I just don't know, Vic. This whole situation is so complicated, and if he'd just told me what was going on..."
She leans back against the house, resting her arms on her knees. "I'm not going to defend him to you, Sam. After five years, I still can't say I understand him completely. But I do think he's still in love with you."
"Could be," I admit, frowning at the small remainder of wine in my bottle. Surely I haven't drunk that much, have I? "But he left me vulnerable. I had no reason not to trust Joe, and... even now, Vic, when I think of my husband, I still remember how happy I was with him. Isn't that sick? He was lying to me the entire time, and I had no idea." Tilting up the bottle, I let the cool liquid slide down my throat. "I just don't know how to reconcile any of this stuff that's happened."
"I know it's not much comfort, but we are going to change things, Sam. We'll succeed, and none of this will have happened to you." She looks at me gloomily. "Of course, that's not much help right now."
"No." Turning the empty bottle on its side, I roll it around on the deck. "Men," I grumble softly. "Damned men."
Vic snorts, then takes another gulp of wine. "Good for sex and not much else sometimes. Well, and moving furniture. Although I'll make an exception for Paul. He's good for lots and lots of things."
I close my eyes and shiver, despite the warm night air. "Well, Jack and Joe were both great in bed, I'll give them that."
"Really?" she grins. "Who was better?"
After thinking a moment, I shake my head. "I can't compare the two of them. It would be like... oh, I don't know, choosing between two of your favorite desserts. Sometimes you'd take one over the other because that's just what you felt like at the moment." To my horror, I can feel tears rising to the surface, and my voice trembles. "But I'll tell you one thing. I've never loved anyone as much as I loved Jack. That's what makes this so hard. One man that I loved was just using me for political reasons, and the other one, the one who could have kept me from that, from all the lies... didn't. And I never knew it about either of them."
"Bastards." She speaks with quiet conviction, digging in her pockets for a tissue. Finally, she just hands me a napkin instead, folding it so that the cake crumbs don't smear all over my face.
Sniffling into the napkin, I start crying even harder when Vic wraps an arm around my shoulder, giving me an awkward hug. "The whole situation's completely fucked, Sam. But don't worry." Her hand smoothes over my hair, gently. "We're gonna fix things, okay?"
* * * *
Part 5: To the Gates of Hell
Let freedom ring, let the white dove sing
Let the whole world know that today is a day of reckoning
Let the weak be strong, let the right be wrong
Roll the stone away, let the guilty pay
It's Independence Day
* * * *
July 12, 2010
"Sam!" Vic calls out excitedly. "Come here and look at this!"
Rolling my chair over to her computer, I peer over her shoulder. "Did it really work?"
She blinks in amazement, her eyes wide and round as saucers. "I think it actually did."
"What did?" Harry asks, looking up from his desk in the corner.
"Sam and I came up with a new search program for the computer, based on the files Paul gave us on his last visit," Vic explains. "We've narrowed it down to just two missions. And both of those missions were in January 2001. SG-1 participated in both of them! Sam and Jack should be able to look over the mission records and figure out which one left us open to Goa'uld infiltration." She stands up and spins around, looking slightly dazed. "Damn, I think we've finally done it!"
Jack comes down the stairs, having heard the last of Vic's speech. "And then what?"
"Well, I'll have to work on the calculations based on several factors." I start jotting down notes. "We'll need to coordinate with Paul to find out what will be the best time to carry out the mission, and pinpoint the exact time of the solar flares. Also, we need to know what time frame we're aiming for. It would be best to give ourselves some leeway in calculations, so that we'd have a time frame of a few months to aim for, in case we can't be as precise in sending the note through the wormhole as we'd like."
"We'll also need to start planning out all the details of the mission," Harry grabs a pad of paper as well. "I'll get in touch with Carson and tell him to prepare for a supply run, and we'll need a courier to pass messages along to Paul."
In the harsh fluorescent light of the basement, we all stare at each other in disbelief. Harry and Jack haven't had much to do these past seven weeks while Vic and I have been up at all hours searching through old records. There's a faint air of unreality -- we've known what we've been working towards, but to finally be within reach is... just weird. I can't think of any other word to describe it.
As Harry and I continue writing our respective notes, Jack walks over to Vic, who's slumped in her chair, staring at her hands. "You okay, kid?"
She shakes her head forlornly, looking even younger than her twenty-four years. "I don't know, Jack. It's just... I've known for years what our goal was, and I knew we'd get here eventually. But it just hit me -- we're really going to do this, and I'll probably never see any of you again." Looking around the room at us, she sniffs and wipes her eyes. "This has been my life for five years. You all are my family. And I won't even know that I ever knew you."
Jack reaches for her hand, gently. "Vic, you know why we're doing this."
"I know," she says impatiently. "I know it's necessary. It's *great* that we've accomplished this. But even as we've worked to stop this timeline, I've been having... fun." She says the last word hesitantly. "I'm going to miss you guys, damn it."
Leaning over my notepad to hide my blurring eyes, I can't help but compare how Vic and Jack have dealt with what they've been doing. Vic has done her best to enjoy the life she has even as she works to reset time, while Jack seems to feel that he needs to be miserable, as if only by hating who he's become can he make himself want to change things.
I have no idea where I fit into the equation, what extreme I'd have chosen. What if Jack had brought me with him when he and Harry joined forces? Would I be so eager to change the past, or would I try instead to fight against odds that I couldn't overcome? Even with the organization that he and Harry created, we'd probably get slaughtered if we took on the Goa'uld directly.
During the past several weeks we've had an undeclared truce between us, where we don't discuss the past, only focusing on what needs to be done. It hasn't been easy, and I still sometimes wake Vic up in the middle of the night, crying and screaming from nightmares. But I can work with him. As I told him when I first got here, we've never been ones to shirk our duty, and during the hours we're together, I shove all my anger and longing for the past aside.
Do I want to continue that, just coasting along until the end, never finding some sort of closure? Or will the act of destroying this timeline be all the reconciliation of the past that we can achieve?
* * * *
Before stepping out into the warm July evening, I pause to grab two bottles of beer from the refrigerator, then just stand in place for a few moments, bracing myself for what I have planned. Finally, I scold myself to stop stalling, and step out onto the deck, walking up to the railing.
"Want one?" I ask Sam, offering her a bottle. She takes it silently, twisting the cap off and handing it back to me. I put the cap in my shirt pocket along with mine, and we both tilt back our heads and drink.
"Thanks," she says quietly, staring out across the lake.
"You were working on calculations for hours downstairs. Have you figured out which mission it was yet?"
She shakes her head. "No, we'll have to keep working on that; but since they were both in January 2001, I think aiming for a time frame between October and December 2000 makes the most sense. I've been looking at the solar flare reports that Harry made, and there's one in late September that looks especially promising. It would give us a time frame of almost a minute and half to work with. We won't get much better than that unless we were willing to wait until next summer. Now we just have to see if Paul can help set it up on his end."
"Three whole months?" I think back to what we were doing during that time, and pinpoint a few missions I'd love to have taken a pass on -- the ice planet, getting stranded in space, oh, and let's not forget that disastrous mission where Apophis killed Heru-ur and Teal'c got tortured.
"Yeah." She studies my profile for a moment. "And I know what you're thinking, Jack. Harry and I have already planned it out. The note will have instructions not go to the planet where the infiltration took place, and yours, mine, and Harry's signatures. That's it. We can't risk changing anything else."
Damn. "You're sure? Because I remember how completely pissed off the Pentagon was when we lost the X-301. We couldn't just--?" Her glare cuts me off dead.
"You think I'm not tempted as well?" She takes another swig of beer. "If we'd been able to increase the time window by a few months in the front of it, I could send a note that would have protected both the Tok'ra and the SGC from that whole zatarc mess. But I can't. I'm almost grateful, because otherwise, if I had the chance..."
Ah. I can guess who she's thinking about right now. Graham, Blasdale, Astor, and Martouf. Good old Marty, the final casualty of the zatarc programming. "You know, in the past, you never talked to me about Martouf, how all of that affected you."
She gives a short, bitter laugh, and drinks again. "Yeah. I remember. I spent a few months telling myself it was my fault, that if we hadn't... but no. Ultimately, it was Freya's carelessness that led to his death. It's just, even now, sometimes I still feel those remnants of Jolinar, grieving for him. And we're going to reset time right at the point where I'm knee-deep in guilt."
"How did you deal with it?"
Smiling wistfully, she peels the label from her bottle. "Teal'c helped me a lot. He cornered me one night in my lab, when I was working just to keep myself from thinking, and started talking about how having to kill Sha're had affected him. From there, it just all started to come out. I miss him."
"Same here." I never saw Teal'c again after I left with Harry, but Paul told me how he returned to Chulak in 2004. He sent a few messages to Sam and Daniel, before off-world contact started to be so strictly regulated, thanks to Kinsey's isolationist policies.
"It feels wrong sometimes, that he and Daniel and Janet aren't here with us. God knows what Janet did when I disappeared. I'd talked to her on the phone just hours beforehand."
"I can have one of our contacts in the Cleveland area check into it, if you'd like," I offer. "But the word from Boston is that Daniel's doing quite well. He's got quite a fan club going there at Harvard."
She grins wickedly. "Oh, yeah! I went to see him last year, and he's the same old Daniel, still beating his admirers off with a stick, but half the time so absorbed in his work that he doesn't even notice all the looks he gets." Drinking the last of her beer, she swallows, then snickers. "What really got me was his roommate, Marcus. I spent the entire weekend with them, and never noticed anything. Then on my last day, he walks in and plants one on Daniel at the breakfast table. And Daniel's looking at me like--" She loses it, laughing out loud.
"Like you're about to say, 'Ew, gross?'" I shake my head in disbelief. "Who knew that Space Monkey swung both ways on the branch?"
"What, are you afraid that by resetting time, you're giving him the opportunity to scope you out in the shower room?" I wince, and she just laughs harder. "No offense, Jack, but you're not the type of guy Daniel would go for. Marcus was... the anti-Jack. I don't think you'll have anything to worry about. Not that you'll remember anything about it."
"Right." And that just brings me back to my reasons for coming outside tonight. "We'll be back to normal... or what passes for normal at the SGC. And I won't have betrayed you."
Startled, she turns to look at me, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. She starts to speak, then decides against it.
I shuffle my feet and clear my throat. "Sam, I've got to tell you something. Will you hear me out?" I'm probably really pushing my luck here -- this is the closest thing to a civil conversation that we've had since her arrival, but if I don't do it now, I won't get the chance. But my luck must be good tonight, since she just nods, waiting for me to speak. "I've been thinking a lot today, well, actually, for quite a while now. I think... if I could have done things differently--" I pause, and finish my beer, placing the bottle on the railing. "I should have found another way," I tell her bluntly. "I could have protected you better."
"Is this your way of apologizing?" Her voice is carefully neutral, her face composed into stillness. "You told me that what you'd done was necessary."
"I remember." Unconsciously, I rub my hand, where there's still a tiny scab from that huge splinter I got when she pushed me. "It was a lot easier to tell myself that I was doing the right thing when I didn't have to face what it did to you. We could have gotten the information from other sources, Sam, and I'm sorry. I'll never be able to tell you how sorry I am for everything that happened to you."
She closes her eyes, and I hold my breath, wondering what's going through her mind. There have been nights when she's woken all of us up, screaming out in her nightmares. Most often, she's calling out for her daughter. I know how hard it is to lose a child, so how could I have done that to her? Joe and the Goa'uld drugged her, but I let her go into the situation blindly. In all the years I've known her, we've never had a relationship based on me having to protect her all the time, but there's a difference between letting her take care of herself and neglecting to watch her back, like a friend should. She's probably going to open her eyes, smash her empty bottle on the railing, and come after me with the jagged edges. I'd do it in her place.
"It's a shame I don't have a disk recorder with me," she finally says, still not looking at me. "Jack O'Neill admitting he's wrong about something is rare enough that it should be captured for posterity. Or at least the next two months."
I can't help but laugh at that, especially since she's correct. I am an arrogant, self-righteous bastard most of the time. But she's always known that, right? "So?" I whisper, knowing that my fate is teetering on the edge, dependant on what she says.
"So does this mean you want me to forgive you?" Her eyes are suspiciously bright, and my heart rises to my throat.
"Yes, it does. You have every right not to, and technically it shouldn't even matter, because with luck we'll only have another month or two before the timeline is reset. But it would be great if you could actually stand to be around me during that time and didn't hate my guts." I wait for her to speak, then just plow on ahead. "Sam, I'm still in love with you. I never stopped."
Her shoulders shake, and she covers her eyes with her hands. I reach for her, gently, and she acquiesces, turning towards me. "No one else in my life has ever had the power to hurt me like you do." I swallow painfully, bracing myself for her rejection, but instead she steps closer to me, her tears gleaming silver in the moonlight.
"I understand. If you tell me to leave you alone, I will, and I'll never bring this up again." How else did I think this would end?
She shakes her head, and one of her warm hands curls around my neck. "I still love you, Jack. I can't forget what you did, but I think I can live with it for now. I can't be happy otherwise. And I need to be happy." And then, oh God then she pulls my head down to hers, and kisses me softly, sweetly, and just like the first time, I feel like my heart is going to pound right out of my chest. "If we're going to change things, we might as well be happy right up until the end."
If this were a movie, the violins would be soaring right about now, and there'd be a slow fade into a love scene. However, since we're stuck in reality for the moment, I just hug her as tightly as possible and kiss her fiercely, murmuring my thanks and gratitude in soft, broken whispers.
Soon, I'm gasping as she works a warm hand under my shirt, trailing her fingers up and down my spine. "So what now? Do we go tell either Harry or Vic that there's been a change in the bunking arrangements?"
Giggling into my chest, she shakes her head. "Not tonight, it's late. There's a futon down in the basement."
"What? Where?" Why I am always the last to learn about these things?
"In one of the storage closets," she explains, pausing to nibble on my neck. "You don't think Vic and I have been pulling all these long shifts without occasional naps, do you?"
"Lead the way," I implore her, gasping as her tongue finds a particularly sensitive spot behind my ear. "Please."
She just smiles at me, a beautiful luminous smile that's always been saved just for me. I'm so glad I get to see it again before the end. Then, she takes my hand, quietly leading me downstairs to a small, dusty, cramped closet, hardly the ideal place for us. But as she pushes me back against the rumpled blankets, covering my mouth with her own, I don't care that instead of candlelight there's only a dim fluorescent light bulb burning above us. I don't need the standard trappings of romance, because I'm here with her at last, and this is all the paradise I need.
* * * *
July 23, 2010
Harry spreads the blueprints out on the table, and the four of us gather around to look. "All of you will need to memorize this layout, since Vic's never been to the SGC, and some things have been rearranged since the two of you were last there."
"Actually, I was there two years ago," I tell him, looking closely at the papers. "I don't think it'll be a problem."
"I got in touch with Paul, and he said that September 21 will be fine," Jack adds, writing on his notepad. "We'll need to start running drills on what our individual responsibilities will be, and start tying up loose ends here."
"Yeah. Now, Harry will be wearing a technician's uniform," Vic explains, scrubbing one hand through her rumpled hair. "I've taken one of the old security video files, and I've written a program that will disable the Department of Security visual search protocols. Harry's going to upload the video chip. That way, even if the computer could recognize you past your disguises, it won't alert any of their personnel."
"Vic will be a bystander in this operation unless there's an absolute emergency," Harry tells us. "Paul's already scheduled the wormhole that we need, and you'll have one minute and thirty-one seconds to get the message through before it's too late. He's also got people who are connected to the underground manning the weapons detectors, so Jack and Sam will have zats."
I nod, scanning my list of objectives. On paper, everything looks so easy. Disable the cameras. Get past security. Open the wormhole, send the message through. We even have the first two spots in the line to go through the Stargate. Nothing should go wrong. However, just in case... "I spoke with Carson yesterday. He managed to get the fail safes we asked for." Taking the small package out of my pocket, I shake the contents onto the table. "These are dental crowns, designed to fit onto the back right upper molars. If the mission is irreparably compromised, we can pop them off, and they'll release a fast-acting poison into our systems." Vic flinches visibly, but I continue. "If we don't succeed in resetting the timeline, Vic will take over as head of the organization, and she'll move the base of operations to Taos."
Vic grates her teeth together and glares at us. "Not that it's going to happen, mind you! This will work the first time, because if I have to whip a bunch of folks into shape and try it again, knowing that it will be one hundred times harder... well, let's just say that if that happens, it's a good thing you'll already be dead because otherwise I'd kill you myself." The rest of us try and hide our grins, failing miserably. "I've started packing up everything that we don't absolutely need to be shipped to the safe house in Taos. We'll leave for Colorado Springs on September 10th, and should arrive on September 18th. We'll be taking the roundabout way, so be prepared for a long, boring trip. Then we'll stay at the safe house in one of the outlying towns until the 21st. We'll arrive at the SGC at two o'clock in the afternoon, and the wormhole is scheduled for two fifty-seven. Paul will be meeting with us the day before to do a final run-down on the operation. Is everything clear?"
Jack scrawls down another note on his pad, then looks up at all of us and grins. "Yeah. We're ready."
* * * *
September 20, 2010
It's early yet, but Paul holds up the bottle of fine scotch and tells us, "Last call, people. We want to have clear heads tomorrow."
Sam and I both hold out our glasses for refills, but Vic demurs, still nursing her beer, and Harry shakes his head. "Even if tomorrow is our last day, I don't want to spend it fighting heartburn."
All the plans have been double-checked. Our clothing has been selected, and our hair has been dyed. Sam had grown her hair longer over the years, but it's cut in a wispy bob now, a drab chestnut color, and she's got brown contacts for tomorrow. My hair is now an obnoxious reddish brown, and I have to say, I preferred the grey. But it's not like I have to live with it for a long time, is it?
We're all set. The mood at the safe house swings between excitement and melancholy. If we succeed, time resets. If we don't, most of us will be dead, and Vic will be forced into a leadership role that she's ready for, but doesn't want. Paul announced earlier that he'd be using the fail-safe poison as well, over Vic's vehement protests, and let us know that he has an underling ready to take over if he's implicated in anything, one loyal to him who has nonetheless publicly established herself as his opponent in almost every policy decision he's ever made.
No matter what happens, this is our final celebration together. Even with the alteration in her appearance, Sam looks so beautiful to me. These last two months have been wonderful. We finally pinpointed the infiltration as taking place during a mission to P6X-198, a joint mission for SG-1 and SG-2. Paul double-checked with the Tok'ra, and they confirmed that that's where we had our first contact with the Consortium, a group of Goa'ulds who infiltrated using political power, rather than false religion. After that, it didn't take long to finalize our plans, and we've had weeks of down time, time to try and make up for all that we lost in the past.
Vic snuggles in closer against Paul and moodily sips at her beer. "Do me a favor?" He just looks down at her solemnly, and she continues. "If you ever see a younger woman staring at you like she recognizes you, maybe you should go up and introduce yourself, okay?"
He leans closer to her, brushing his hand against her cheek, and I look away, not wanting to intrude, as Sam squeezes my hand reassuringly. "You know I can't promise you that, Vic."
"Yeah. You won't remember. I know we're doing the right thing," she says, trying to convince herself. "I don't regret any of this. I just hate not knowing if I'll ever find you again." Eyes brimming with tears, she looks around at all of us, gathered together on couches and easy chairs in this small, shabby room. "This is for the best. But all of you except me... you'll still know each other. In 2000, I'll be in the eighth grade. I'll never see any of you again."
Paul hugs her closely, whispering endearments in her ear, as the rest of us stare bleakly at each other. "We're going back to a time I don't really want to live over again," Sam says reflectively.
Harry snorts. "Spare me. At least you won't be in prison. In the fall of 2000, I was in Leavenworth. I didn't get paroled for political reasons until the following summer."
Paul nods. "I'll still be chained to a desk at the Pentagon, spending all my time reading about a program where everyone else but me gets to go out and do exciting things."
Sam takes a quick sip of scotch, then puts in her two cents. "I'll still be Major Carter, in love with Jack and unable to do anything about it. I'll still feel guilty about the zatarc disaster."
Vic wipes her eyes and takes one last drink of beer. "What about you, boss?"
Before I can say anything, Sam interrupts me. "Oh, Jack's the worst off of us all," she says in mock-seriousness. "He'll still be in the phase where he's wearing those stupid beanie hats."
The room erupts in laughter as I look around, bewildered. "What? They're comfortable! They kept my head warm."
"Jack, they made you look like you were wearing a condom on your head," Sam informs me, setting off another wave of ridicule at my expense.
"I'll thank you to show some respect," I admonish her as she grins at me unrepentantly. "Starting tomorrow, I'll be your commanding officer again."
"You can't discipline me for what you can't remember," she retorts, then drains her glass. "Ready to turn in?"
I glance around the room, and see a general consensus that it's time to retire for the evening. Harry's looking especially tired -- these past few months his health hasn't been great, and he is almost seventy. He should have seen a doctor a lot more often these past few years, but it hasn't been possible. As for Paul and Vic, and Sam and I; well, we have our own goodbyes to say, and that's best done in private.
When we're alone in the tiny room allotted to us, we quickly undress and slide into bed, embracing each other tightly. In the darkness, I can still see the gleam of her smile, tracing its outlines with my finger. "I love you," I whisper, pressing my lips against her shoulder. "I'll always love you, Sam."
"I know," she replies, blinking back tears. "We've made a good team again, haven't we?"
"The best," I agree, my hands starting to wander over her smooth skin.
"I just can't believe this is the last time for us, Jack," she sighs. "Tomorrow will be the end. We may never have this again."
"Does that change anything for you?" I question her.
She shakes her head and traces her hand over my back, lingeringly. "No. Time may change, but the way I've felt about you has been a constant for years. Even now, when we're so close to the end."
I stretch out on top of her, my weight bearing her down into the yielding mattress, and graze my lips against her neck, delighting in her reaction. "When the end comes, Sam, I'm going to be right beside you. That's a promise."
"I can live with that," she whispers in reply, wrapping her arms around my neck.
* * * *
September 21, 2010
Nervously, I check my watch once again. Two fifty-six. As the line of travelers approaches the doors to the gate room, I can hear the technician announcing over the intercom, "Chevron six, locked. Chevron seven, locked."
The doors open, and there's an appreciative murmur behind us as other travelers see the wormhole opening. I quickly press a button on my watch, activating the countdown, and Jack looks back to see my quick nod, indicating that everything's ready.
The guide, one of Paul's operatives, is gesturing towards us to go forward. "Please, in groups of four, move to the base of the ramp, then through the wormhole. Walk forward normally, and be prepared for your landing on the other side. Have a safe journey."
It's so much like airplane travel that I can barely keep a straight face. It almost doesn't seem real, not having Special Forces personnel kneeling at the gate, guns at the ready. But we just walk forward, doing our best to seem unobtrusive. Everything's gone smoothly so far.
"You ready?" Jack murmurs quietly, his hand in his pocket to retrieve the note.
"Yeah. See you on the other side," I promise him, feeling a quiver of fear in the pit of my stomach. Then -- oh God. "Hostiles!" I shout, turning to try and find cover, dragging Jack to a defensible position beside the gate ramp.
I guess all those drugs are finally out of my system, because a team of heavily-armed Department of Security personnel come in through the other doorway, with Joe at their head. Some of them are either Goa'uld or Jaffa, because I can sense their presense. "Shut down the gate!" he yells. "These people are under arrest on charges of treason!"
I groan, then check my watch again. One minute, seventeen seconds. "We've still got time," I whisper. "Any ideas?"
"Shoot first, ask questions later?" Jack retorts, as we both take out our zats from our pockets.
I peek out from our hiding place and groan again. Joe holds Carson in front of him, and I can hardly recognize the slight, mild-mannered man who helped me a few months ago. He's been badly beaten, practically falling down where he stands.
We've been compromised, completely. If they got to Carson, then this is our only chance. He's one of our most trusted operatives, and eventually they might even give him a symbiote who would be happy to reveal everything his host knew about the organization. Vic won't be able to start from scratch. We have to succeed right now, or everything's lost.
"I said shut that wormhole down now!" Joe bellows, and four of his men turn their weapons to the observation booth window. Paul stands beside the computers, not doing anything. He's incredibly pale and tightlipped, but his expression is resolute.
"Take him out, Jack!" Carson yells desperately, and Joe wraps an arm around his throat, viciously choking off anything else he might say.
"One minute, three seconds," I remind Jack. "I say we take out Joe first."
"He's got Carson," he hisses back at me. "We'll kill him."
"I know," I reply, ignoring the icy band of fear that contracts around my chest. "This is our only chance, Jack!"
He bites down on his lip and nods, tersely. "Yeah. On three."
Moments later, we lean away from our covered position, both of us shooting our zats towards Joe. He and Carson sink to the ground, and one final blast from me disintegrates Joe's body. I should have done it the first time when I had a chance. Then we dive back down beside the gate as the enemy unleashes a barrage of bullet-fire towards our position.
"Hold your fire!" Paul yells over the intercom. "Your orders are coming from the Goa'uld, not from the rightful United States government! I say again, hold your fire or you will be fired upon at once!"
Fifty-one seconds.
Looking up towards the observation booth, Paul stands at the window with his own security personnel, ones that work for the SGC, and most likely ones loyal to the underground. One of them throws a chair at the glass, and it shatters and falls down into the gateroom. Five men start firing zats down on the Department of Security forces.
"Go!" I yell at Jack, and give him a boost onto the gate ramp. Note in hand, he runs towards the event horizon.
Thirty-nine seconds. We're going to make it. The men in the gate room have taken out two of Paul's men, but even though they're outnumbered, the three remaining are good enough shots with the zats that it's quickly becoming an even fight.
I abandon my defensive position, aiming towards a man who has dropped to one knee, but has his rifle aimed towards the wormhole. I fire, quickly, but not before he squeezes off two rounds.
A sharp cry grabs my attention, and I see that Jack has fallen short of his goal, curled up in a fetal position, with bullet wounds in his shoulder and side.
Twenty-three seconds. Shouting his name, I run up the ramp towards him, dodging bullets as I go. One hits the side of the Stargate and ricochets, nicking my shoulder as I fall to my knees by Jack's side. His eyes are still open, and when he sees me, they fill with incredulous hope. His hand twitches convulsively, and I quickly take the bloodstained note from his fingers, then sprint towards the event horizon.
Agony flares throughout my knee as one bullet finally finds its mark, and I fall to my hands and knees, with only two feet to go. With one last burst of energy, I launch myself forwards, crying out as another bullet smashes into my back.
But even as I realize that this fire fight will end in a draw, most likely with all participants dead or severely wounded, my hand reaches its goal, and the note slips through. With nothing left to fight for, I collapse on the cold metal grating, coughing painfully, and watch with serene detachment as blood sprays from my lips.
* * * *
Part 6: Orpheus Triumphant
I saw the decade in, when it seemed the world
could change at the blink of an eye
And if anything then there's your sign of the times
I was alive and I waited, waited,
I was alive and I waited for this
Right here, right now, there is no other place I want to be
* * * *
September 21, 2010
The sounds of guns and zats are gone now, but I can't tell whether it's because the fight is almost over, or because I'm dying. The note went through. I saw that happen, so why am I still here? Will the timeline reset? Did something go wrong?
Feet clatter up the ramp, jarring my body painfully, and Vic reaches for my hands. "Sam?" she asks fearfully. "Why hasn't time changed yet?"
Feebly, I try and wipe blood from my mouth. "Don't know," I gasp. "Jack..."
"Paul!" she shouts across the room. "Help me lift her!"
He joins her in front of me, shaking his head. "We've got to get you medical attention, Sam, we can't move you."
"Won't matter," I say. "Jack." I cough again, and the pain burns unbearably in my knee and lungs. I need to see him. He needs to know that it worked.
Finally, with Vic's assistance, Paul carries me to Jack's side. His face is drawn in a mask of agony, but his eyes remain open, still lucid and alert. "It went through," I gasp, taking his hand in mine.
"So now what?" Paul asks, looking around at the carnage in the gate room, and his personnel, who stand around in a state of shock.
"Now we wait," Vic says glumly. "Not much else we can do."
* * * *
December 19, 2000
"Unscheduled offworld activation! Receiving GDO transmission!"
My head snaps up from the notepad where I was doodling. Shifts in the control room aren't always that exciting, but they give me a chance to catch up on paperwork -- sometimes.
"Who's knocking at the door, airman?" I ask, standing up and walking over to the control room window.
The young man looks up from his computer screen, confusion spread across his face. "It's SG-1, Colonel. But all of you are here on base."
I sigh. So much for finishing that report before tonight. "Open the iris." I lean in towards the microphone. "Defense teams, stand by!"
As the iris opens, revealing the shimmering event horizon, General Hammond strides into the room. "Colonel, what's going on?"
"Sir, an incoming wormhole was established and the GDO was my team's current code. I don't know how that might be, but..." I shrug, grateful for his affirmative nod.
"Get down there and let's see what comes through."
"Aye, sir." I take the stairs two at a time, ignoring my knees' protests, and step into the gate room, past the Special Forces who kneel near the ramp, weapons ready.
After a few more seconds, a slip of paper drifts out of the event horizon and floats onto the ramp. The wormhole disengages.
"What is it, Colonel?" Hammond asks over the microphone.
I walk up the ramp. "A piece of paper, sir." Bending down, I pick it up carefully. Part of the note is damp, red and sticky. "Ugh, there's blood on it." Fortunately, the message is still legible, and my eyes widen as I read it. "Sir?" I look up towards the observation window. "I think you need to come look at this."
Moments later, Hammond waits at the base of the ramp, and I walk back down, holding the note out for his inspection.
He peers at it curiously, but doesn't touch it. "Do not go to P6X-198. Samantha Carter. Jack O'Neill. Harold Maybourne."
"Yes, sir," I reply quietly. "And that's my signature. But I swear to God, I haven't written that."
He sighs heavily. "Not yet, at any rate. Let's go get Major Carter to compare readings on this wormhole activation to the one where SG-1 was sent back to 1969. I have a suspicious feeling about this. And don't let anyone else touch that note. I want it analyzed for fingerprints, and Doctor Fraiser can see if there's a match on the blood." He looks up at the window and calls out. "Sergeant? Do we have a mission scheduled for P6X-198?"
The young man taps away at his keyboard, then speaks into the microphone. "Yes, sir. SG-1 and SG-2 are scheduled to do a reconnaissance mission next month."
"Lock those coordinates out of our computer at once." Gesturing for me to follow, he heads back to the stairs.
"Aye, sir. Coordinates locked out."
* * * *
September 21, 2010
Jack's eyelids twitch sporadically, his hand a dead weight in mine. "Stay with me," I whisper, hoping he can hold on just a little longer. "You said you'd be with me at the end, Jack."
His only response is a slight pressure against my hand. The pain consumes me now, and if a doctor had started working on me the instant I was injured, I might have had a chance. As it is, I'm still waiting, trying to hope that all this hasn't been for nothing. Surely we didn't fail?
"Sam..." the faintest of whispers reaches my ears, and I open my eyes again, to see him staring at me, an expression of joy on his face.
It seems as though time is slowing down, as though my heartbeat fills the entire world. There's nothing but pain and the victorious light in his eyes. The room brightens around us, and I wonder if this is what death feels like. But then, over the blood pounding in my ears, I hear voices calling out in startled amazement. Something is happening.
"Worked," he mutters, blood trickling from a corner of his mouth. This light covers us all, washing away all the pain and death and betrayal, and it brightens unbearably, as I find one last triumphant smile to share with him.
It worked. We did it, Jack, all of us, we really did--
* * * *
December 19, 2000
"The blood matched a sample I drew from Colonel O'Neill," Janet says crisply. "Major Carter also ran a scan on the partial fingerprints that were formed when the person who sent the note through touched the bloody surface."
We're a solemn group, gathered around the briefing room table. I keep peeking at the note: at the blood, now dried, and my signature on it, along with the Colonel's and Maybourne's. God, the thought of working with Maybourne just seems incomprehensible.
"The fingerprints were mine," I add quietly, still profoundly disturbed by the day's events. "The computer put the probability of a match at over ninety-eight percent."
"Sam, is there any way we can tell when the note was sent from?" Daniel asks me, then corrects himself. "Will be sent from, I suppose I should say..."
I shake my head. "No. As it is, I don't really know what to think. I mean, obviously at one point we did go to this planet, and something must have gone seriously wrong. Therefore, Colonel O'Neill, Colonel Maybourne, and myself wrote this note and sent it through. So now, we're not going to go to P6X-198, which means that we'll never have the reason to send the note. Does that mean we'll have to send the note sometime in the future anyway, or has time split into two divergent timelines, and we just have to let things sort themselves out?"
"So it's a paradox?" Daniel asks, eyes alight with curiosity.
"Yes. I mean, there are so many different theories that we could apply to this situation that I don't even know where to begin, but--"
General Hammond cuts me off, looking rather alarmed. "Major Carter, Doctor Jackson, perhaps we can just accept our good fortune in averting what could have been a disaster and leave the speculations for another time?"
We nod, and Colonel O'Neill rolls his eyes heavenward in relief. "Time travel gives me a headache. And nosebleeds. Maybe heartburn, too."
"I'd have to agree with you there, Colonel. Well, I think everything's been covered. Dismissed," Hammond announces. We all rise as he leaves, and then I sink back into my chair.
Colonel O'Neill and Daniel head for the door, already debating the significance of what's happened, but Teal'c sits back down besides me.
"Are you well, Major Carter?" he asks politely, raising an eyebrow in concern.
"I don't know," I tell him, staring at my fingers. Fingerprints. So many billions of possible variations, all unique. In some timeline that's now been destroyed, I held the note in my hands, my fingers pressing down into his blood.
"Do you require the attendance of Doctor Fraiser?"
"No. I'm just confused. I'm trying to sort some stuff out in my head."
"What, in particular?"
"This time paradox. I've always felt so strongly that time shouldn't be altered. I believe in the integrity of the timeline the same way that I believe in... in proven equations, in scientific laws that I know are absolute. Yet something happened, something so extreme that I abandoned that belief." I sigh in frustration, leaning forward on my elbows. "I can never know what it was, but I don't know if I'll ever stop wondering about it."
"Indeed." Teal'c places his hand against my back momentarily, then stands. "It is time for our evening meal. You are staying on base tonight, are you not?"
"Yes, I am." The roads outside are still slippery from the latest snowfall, although I do need to go back to my apartment sometime in the next two or three days.
"Then come. We will eat together, and afterwards, if you still need to analyze this conundrum, we will go to your lab, and you will explain it to me."
Unable to suppress my smile, I rise from my chair, picking up my papers from the table. Following Teal'c as he strides from the room, I do my best to put all my unanswered questions from my mind, at least for the time being.
* * * *
It's getting late, and I should head for my quarters to sleep; but instead I find myself walking towards Carter's lab, my hands in my pockets. From within, I hear Teal'c low, soothing voice, and I knock, announcing my presence.
"Carter? Got a minute?"
"Hi, sir, come in." She sets aside a bowl and wipes her hands on a rag. "What did you need?"
"Nothing urgent," I say, as Teal'c stands up from his stool. "Teal'c, you don't have to leave."
He nods his head towards me. "Indeed, O'Neill. But it grows late, and I must meditate." Turning towards Carter, he bows again, his face expressionless as always, yet conveying his steadfast affection. "We will speak again tomorrow, Major Carter."
She smiles at him gently. "Good night, Teal'c." He moves past me into the hallway, and she gestures to his vacated seat. "Sir?"
"What? Oh, thanks." I straddle the stool, resting my elbows on her lab table, and look more closely. "What are you doing?"
Grinning, she tilts the bowl towards me. "Blanching almonds, sir. I'd finished up with my reports, and when I actually get home I have some holiday baking to do. I thought I might as well get started on them
now."
I roll my eyes. "Carter, that's so organized it's frightening. I bet you have all your presents wrapped already, too."
A faint blush stains her cheeks, but her voice is smug. "Bought, wrapped, and in the mail."
God, I haven't even gone shopping yet. "What were you and Teal'c doing?"
"Just talking, sir." She reaches for another bowl, and resumes her work -- squeezing the almonds, tossing the skins into the trash and the smooth, pale nuts into the other bowl.
"About?" Sure, I'm being nosy, but so what?
She shakes her head, her innocent expression belied by the mischievous sparkle in her blue eyes. "I'd tell you sir, but it would just give you nosebleeds. That wouldn't be good for my career."
"Ah. Time paradoxes. You're right, spare me the details." Although I am curious about certain aspects of what's gone on today... "So you have a kitchen hidden away in here, Carter?"
"No, sir. I used the Bunsen burner to boil water for blanching the almonds." She snickers at the incredulous expression on my face. Carter and her lab equipment.
"That's one use for it that I'd never have expected. How are you going to toast them, stick them in the naquadah reactor?" She laughs at me again and shakes her head. I scoot my stool closer to hers, then stand to wash my hands in the sink. "Here, I'll help. What are you doing these for, anyway?"
She mimes zipping her mouth closed, then hands me another bowl after I dry my hands, sliding some of the almonds into it. "It's a surprise, sir."
I study her more closely for a moment. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the Christmas party, would it?" She says nothing, but by her expression I know I'm right. "Just baking this year, Carter?"
"I thought it would be a good idea," she replies demurely as I chuckle, tossing skins into the wastebasket, and almonds into the aluminum bowl. Plink. Plink.
The women in the SGC seem to come up with strange little rituals for our annual Christmas party. Doc Fraiser always has a supply of chocolate-covered strawberries to hand out to those of us who suffer her tender mercies during the year. I've heard that Lieutenant Parker from SG-6 organized a fund-raiser for a scholarship established in Lieutenant Astor's memory at the University of Arizona. And last year, Carter went around with a sprig of mistletoe in her hair, merrily bestowing kisses on all who so desired. Teal'c shadowed her the entire time, a scowling chaperone intent upon maintaining her honor, but she still ended up catching a bad cold from someone. So I guess this year I won't have an excuse to kiss her. Still, with almonds...
"Torrone?" I ask hopefully, knowing she's aware of my weakness for the almond nougat candy.
"Please," she retorts, rolling her eyes. "If I had three days to prepare it. Which I don't. You'll just have to wait and see, sir."
Plink. Plink. Plink. We work in silence, her CD player filling the room with music.
"How do we explain something that took us by surprise promises in vain love that is real but in disguise..."
Plink. Plink. Plink. Just a song, nothing to worry about, right?
"I think I've already lost you I think you've already gone I think I'm finally scared now You think I'm weak, but I think you're wrong I think you're already leaving feels like your hand is on the door--"
Squeeze. Toss the skin. Plink. Plink. Plink.
"She's been dyin' and I've been drinkin' and I am the Rain King..."
"For crying out loud! What the hell are you playing tonight, Carter, Depression's Greatest Hits?" I sit back, frowning as she looks up at me in surprise.
"No, just a custom disk that Cassie made for me, sir." Her eyes twinkle wickedly. "She takes the teen angst mandate very seriously."
I wonder if that's any better than middle-aged military angst. Hell, Cassie's only fourteen. If she knew what kind of situation Sam and I have gotten ourselves into, she'd probably think it was romantic. "Oh. Sorry. Here, I'm almost finished with this bunch." I hand over the last of my almonds, and hold out my bowl for more. Between the two of us, we're making quite a dent in them. "I did have some questions about what happened earlier, Carter..." my voice trails off as she looks at me unhappily. Doctor Fraiser's analysis that it was my blood on the note gave me the creeps, but the whole situation has apparently turned Sam's world-view upside down for the moment.
"Is it a matter of life or death, sir?" she asks softly, and I shake my head. She's clearly not ready to talk about it. Maybe later tonight, or in a few days. I'll wait and let her bring it up.
"Not really, Carter." Then I remember why I came in here in the first place. "It did seem like it really shook you up, so I thought... wait a minute," I start digging through my pockets. "Where'd it go?" Then, with a flourish, I pull out a tiny blown-glass vial, handing it to her. "Santa's little helpers thought you could use some cheering up."
"Sir?" She looks it at curiously, recognizing the design on the glass. "Isn't this--?"
"From P5Y-271, yeah. Daniel said you liked the incense that Sonai used in the temple, so we got you some as a perfume." I stuff my hands back into my pockets. "So, early Merry Christmas, Carter."
Uncapping the vial, she takes a quick, blissful sniff before replacing the cap and putting her gift in a drawer. "Thanks, sir," she smiles, then starts digging under some stacks of paper. "Speaking of which..." She pulls a videotape out, and shrugs. "I lied. Didn't get everything wrapped."
Taking the tape from her hands, I look at the hand printed label and grin. Cool! "The Tick? Carter, where'd you get this?"
"Siler's a fan. I figured since you like the Simpsons so much--"
"Carter, it's perfect! I can't wait to make Teal'c watch this!"
"I can hear him now," she snickers. 'O'Neill, why does this blue creature keep yelling 'Spoon!' for no apparent reason?'"
"Is the Santa Clones episode on here?" At her affirmative nod, my smile grows even wider. "It's a Yule Tide!" I quote, and we both lose it.
The easy laughter between us does what nothing else today has been able to accomplish -- it brings her back to herself. Ever since Carter found out that she was a willing participant in changing time, she's been brooding. And when she gets into one of her moods, it can take days for her to surface again. I'm glad it won't take that long this time. So she surprised herself. She'll get over it. No doubt the fact that her future self didn't tell her present self what the circumstances were also has her frustrated. If I brought it up, she'd mention that Grandfather paradox again, and I'd point out that her future self knew that she couldn't reveal anything superfluous. And that would just get her even more annoyed. So I think I'll keep my mouth firmly shut for the time being and just enjoy her company.
Amidst our laughter, the music changes yet again, a lone guitar weaving a sad melody. Carter sits back down on her lab stool, thoughtful once more, and after some internal debate, looks directly at me.
"World was on fire and no one could save me but you Strange what desire will make foolish people do..."
My breath catches in my throat. She's not brooding over the timeline any more. Her eyes are wide and incredibly dark, and I can feel her gaze sweep over me like wildfire. Oh, this is such a bad idea. We've only done this twice before, and I consider protesting for a moment, then surrender as she moistens her lips. I never really had a chance once her eyes met mine.
This is a new game we play, one that started a few weeks after our little confession sessions with Freya. We've kept things unspoken for the most part, and we try and pretend that everything's nice and normal and peachy between us; but every so often, Carter steps down from her pedestal and proves that she's human. She stares at me, and I stare right back, and we don't say anything. Words would break this spell. My mouth's too dry to even think about talking. We sit and fantasize about each other, and I wonder exactly what I'm doing to her in her mind that makes her look at me this way: so intent, so blatantly hungry. I shift in my chair, my nerves tingling exquisitely at the thought of her touch, and clench my fists so I won't reach out for her. Longing becomes an insistent, aching pain.
"What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you..."
This is desire, and it's all around us these days. It encourages things like my oh-so-casual invitation for her to go fishing with me, knowing full well that Hammond was still within earshot. 'See, General? See how obvious I'm being? I wouldn't be doing that unless everything was completely innocent, right?' It emboldens her to stare at me this way, thinking all manner of things that she won't say. But if the attraction between us was only lust, we'd have slept together and gotten it out of our systems long ago. Temptation draws us together, but it's love that holds us back; that tells us no matter how much we want each other, we still have to wait, still can't give in.
Swallowing hard, I bite back a groan. I want her in my arms, beneath me, her mouth soft and yielding under mine, her legs wrapped around me, her low voice whispering in my ear--
Linebackers. Big, sweaty, ugly football players. In bikinis. Dancing the can-can. Hell, put them in tutus! Hockey scores. Basketball. Apophis in drag. Whew. That was close. Oh, God.
Opening my eyes again, I see that she's gotten herself under control as well, although her eyes remain suspiciously bright. "Did you still want to talk about what happened earlier, sir?" Once more, she's calm and serene, the perfect officer.
I clear my throat, promising myself a nice freezing shower later on. "Just... ah hell, I don't know, Carter! We were working with Maybourne?"
She laughs abruptly. "I wondered about that, too. But we'll never know what the circumstances were." Pensively, she stares off into space. "They must have been pretty bad."
"Why do you think that?"
"I can't imagine trying to alter the timeline unless it were a matter of the utmost importance, sir. I'm still really shocked that I'd actually do it. And what about Daniel and Teal'c?" she asks. "Were they dead? Did SG-1 split up? I just..." She shrugs helplessly. "I don't know, sir. Maybe it's better that we don't know."
"Yeah. We could speculate, which I'm sure you've been doing already." She raises her eyebrows, acknowledging my hit. "But I'd say one thing about it had to have been good."
"What's that, sir?"
"We succeeded." And I'll just ignore those cold chills down my spine whenever I think about those bloodstains. Whatever it was, it won't happen now.
"I guess so. Do you think General Hammond will let Maybourne know about any of this?"
I shrug. "Beats me. Haven't heard anything about him since that trip to Russia."
"Yeah." She shivers. "But just the thought of the bloody note, sir, I can't help wondering what those last few moments were like."
"We worked together, Carter. Whatever went wrong, we beat it." I grin at her fondly. "We always have been a good team."
"There's no guarantee that we were on friendly terms, sir. For all we know, I could have been the one who wounded you." She shakes her head, trying to dismiss the notion. "I can't see that ever happening, but there's no way to know."
"Yeah. But no matter what the circumstances were, you were there with me. I think that's a good omen, don't you?"
Her eyes luminous, she smiles at me briefly, then picks up an almond. Again, I help her, and soon the steady plink, plink, plink echoes through the room. We work silently, stealing occasional covert glances at each other. Somehow, we averted disaster again, and we can't know how or why. Perhaps it's safer that way, less of a burden. The future is still in front of us, uncertain... waiting for us to decide what to make of it.
--fin.
Story Notes: Email: acheek@home.com
Status: Complete
Catergory: Future story, action/adventure, romance, male/female relationship, SJ 2000 Christmas challenge
Archive: SJA, Heliopolis
Season/Sequel info: follows canon up to middle of fourth season, then diverges
Spoilers: pretty much everything, and speculation on 2010
Content warnings: Violence, strong language, character death (minor characters only)
Author's Notes: I got the idea for this story in October, when little snippets of information about 2010 were posted to the Internet. I used a few of the details, but the rest of the story comes from my warped imagination. I'm sure the episode will be nothing like this, so consider it an A/U if you must. Huge thanks go to Ann, Beta Goddess, who encouraged me all throughout the creation of this story, and whose suggestions kept things much less confusing.
Copyright December 2000, A. Cheek.
Status: Complete
Catergory: Future story, action/adventure, romance, male/female relationship, SJ 2000 Christmas challenge
Archive: SJA, Heliopolis
Season/Sequel info: follows canon up to middle of fourth season, then diverges
Spoilers: pretty much everything, and speculation on 2010
Content warnings: Violence, strong language, character death (minor characters only)
Author's Notes: I got the idea for this story in October, when little snippets of information about 2010 were posted to the Internet. I used a few of the details, but the rest of the story comes from my warped imagination. I'm sure the episode will be nothing like this, so consider it an A/U if you must. Huge thanks go to Ann, Beta Goddess, who encouraged me all throughout the creation of this story, and whose suggestions kept things much less confusing.
Copyright December 2000, A. Cheek.
End Notes: End notes
The following songs were quoted, in order of their appearance. All songs were used without permission, but no copyright infringement was intended. "3 am" -- Matchbox 20
"Live to Tell" -- Madonna
"Comfortably Numb" -- Pink Floyd
"With or Without You" -- U2
"Independence Day" -- Martina McBride
"Right Here, Right Now" -- Jesus Jones
"Hold On to the Nights" -- Richard Marx
"Gone" -- Matchbox 20
"Rain King" -- Counting Crows
"Wicked Game" -- Chris Isaak
The following songs were quoted, in order of their appearance. All songs were used without permission, but no copyright infringement was intended. "3 am" -- Matchbox 20
"Live to Tell" -- Madonna
"Comfortably Numb" -- Pink Floyd
"With or Without You" -- U2
"Independence Day" -- Martina McBride
"Right Here, Right Now" -- Jesus Jones
"Hold On to the Nights" -- Richard Marx
"Gone" -- Matchbox 20
"Rain King" -- Counting Crows
"Wicked Game" -- Chris Isaak
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]