The Anniversary by Alli Snow

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Story Notes: Spoilers: Small for Nemesis

The Andromeda Series
1. The Assignment
2. The Aide
3. The Afterglow
4. The Arising
5. The Allusion
6. The Attack
7. The Accident
8. The Anger
9. The Alien
10. The Archeologist
11. The Absence
12. The Advance
13. The Adversary
14. The Ability
15. The Allies
16. The Aberration
17. The Ardor
18. The Act
19. The Affliction
20. The Answers
21. The Abduction
22. The American
23. The Angel
24. The Ambush
25. The Anniversary

***

"A cloak I borrowed, we kept our distances Why should it follow that I must have loved you." - Ghost Story, Sting (used without permission)

***

|| Samantha Carter ||

Memories slammed into me, like savage waves against the beach. I choked on the salty foam, struggling to keep my head above the waterline, even as I was pummeled, overwhelmed, eroded.

The memories continued to flash, and beyond them, the vague sense of unspeakably immoral intent. Martouf did care for me, he didn't want to hurt my body, what he saw as 'me'... but my mind and soul was just excess baggage to him. Garbage. Unwanted. Unneeded. Preventing the woman he wanted from emerging. An obstruction to his goals, and I wondered frantically if perhaps he wasn't right. When I was gone, would there be anything left to keep Jolinar's remnants from surfacing? After all, what were we really but personalities and thoughts? Who were we without our memories?

Lost souls.

My panic was so great that a good deal of time had passed before I realized that whatever was intended to happen... wasn't. There was no question that I was in some kind of altered state, that my thoughts were being churned into a thick, soupy mixture... but they were still my thoughts, and for the most part, they were still there. At my recall. A long night in the lab; Teal'c brought me coffee. Sleeping over at a friend's house in eighth grade; jabbering till sunup. Fighting with my brother over some childish nonsense; feeling a flush of pride as Mom intervened and took my side. HE was trying to take them from me, wipe them from my mind so that I'd be more manageable, more prone to his whims, but I was fighting him. The realization was euphoric. There was some kind of safeguard there, I thought. Some kind of firewall...

Crossing my arms, smiling in deep satisfaction, I watched my son lope across the park's green grass, throwing himself at the swings with a elated laugh. I was home so seldom that when I WAS around, nothing made me happier than to see HIM enjoying himself. Sara always voiced her disapproval, saying that he should be spending time with his father, bonding with me... but this was even better.

THESE were the recollections that truly frightened Martouf, even more than hey had disturbed me when I'd initially experienced them -- and subsequently put them from my mind. A memory that wasn't mine. A boy that wasn't mine, a wife, a BODY that was noticeably larger and more powerful than anything I was used to.

And the memory of something that had never really happened, that had transpired only in my mind, but had nearly convinced me that I had broken an unspoken vow and slept with Martouf. A rough-hewn mouth on my skin, a soft tongue, large hands, humid breath panting against my shoulder, rising to a fevered pitch.

A strange but not unpleasant or unfamiliar sensation ripped through me -- in fact, it was strange only because of its odd timing. My back arched spasmodically.

"Oh, God, Jack."

I wondered who I was really calling out to.

I could feel Martouf's rage, like a thick rope circling my neck, through the connection made by the ribbon device.

I remembered Maretne's haughty declaration: "He could have easily had you then, and you would have barely be able to realize it."

It kept me hanging onto consciousness, to sanity.

|| Jack O'Neill ||

The SGC banner hanging over the foyer demanded a pause for contemplation. The stark contrasts of bright colors, the familiar insignia that had been branded into my mind more than any other label I'd ever worn. An icon, a representation, of the greatest years of my life.

Put on display, as it was, for all to see.

I crossed my arms defensively and tried to remember why I was here. Why I had taken it in my head to fly halfway across the country to a city I despised to be gawked at and bowed to by people who admired me because the news anchors and talk show hosts and actors and politicians told them to. Why I was crawling out of my shell and into a circus the likes of which I'd never seen. A zoo, a freak show, my own personal mortification. Publicity, promotion, wide-eyed stares, reporters and their microphones. The very same things I'd been endeavoring to avoid since last August, when I'd moved to Denver.

Why subject myself to that?

The answer lay at the front of the room.

The World War Two monument was only half-finished, not even half paid for... but when people in this town really wanted something, they could usually have it before sundown, and in triplicate. And they'd outdone themselves this time.

The wall was immense, stretching over my head, reaching for the ceiling. Green marble, a little too banal for my tastes, but surprisingly tasteful. Inlaid into the precious stone: pictures. Enlistment photographs, mostly, but some more casual. Proud colors, proud faces, smiling at a future for all its unknowns. Beneath each picture, a name, ornate, etched with gold embellishments. Many names I knew, some vaguely familiar, others completely forgotten. How cruel was that, to not know the name of an enlisted or officer who had died, however indirectly, under your command?

They were the names of those who had died for the Stargate. For the Stargate, through the Stargate, by the Gou'ald or by unknowns or by accidents beyond our power to control. The reasons and circumstances hardly mattered.

What mattered was that it was a huge wall.

The names and pictures were in no certain order; I walked parallel to the wall, looking as far up as I could, often stooping to the ground, letting my eyes drift across the smiling faces and gold-tinted letters.

Lieutenant Philip Kaufman.

First Sergeant Laura Boylan.

Major Jeff Goldstein.

Captain Mercedes Harper.

Jamie Burks.

Henry Boyd.

Even Frank Cromwell.

Charles Kawalsky.

Two steps more, at the right edge, eye level.

Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter.

Not smiling openly, brazenly, as she often had. But staring at the camera, at ME, with that tilt of her head, that quirk in her lips, that glint in her impudently blue eyes. The crispness of her dress blues, her spun-gold hair, the reflection of my own face superimposed over hers on the glass.

Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter.

Was her brother Mark here? I hoped to God he wasn't.

Thanks to the early hour, the hall was still fairly empty. The few already in attendance were clustered near the wall, staring forlornly at those optimistic smiles, those expressions that announced so confidently that they were going to change the world. They were going to save it.

Some of them had.

One was being accused of trying to destroy it.

Staring.

Family, friends. Not the press, not the public. That would come later. At 2 p.m. sharp, in fact, in a speech given by the President, broadcast around the world.

I felt ill, and it wasn't just the migraines that had been plaguing me for months.

I swore to myself that I would go. For Kaufman, Boylan, Goldstein, Harper, Burks. For Boud, Cromwell, Kawalsky.

And Carter.

Happy anniversary, Samantha.

|| Janet Frasier ||

Forget being commended for assisting in saving the Earth from the Gou'ald. Simply being present should have earned me an award; it took superhuman willpower.

A young man in a starched suit showed me to my seat in the second row, smiled blindingly, and gave me a smart nod before going back the way we'd come. I set my purse on the ground, folded my hands nervously in my lap, and watched. Waited.

I did not belong here.

There was a rush of released air, a kind of anti-gasp, that ran through the already-thick crowd, and I looked up in time to see Jack O'Neill enter the room. Unbidden, a smile came to my lips; it was that nice to set eyes on him. Even in a somewhat rumpled suit, with mussed hair and tired features and a downright wary expression.

A second before the camera flashes started to go off, he caught sight of me, looked directly into my face... and then chaos broke loose. Bulbs popped, shutters snapped, over-intrusive reporters screamed questions, and the kid who'd shown me to my seat motioned for O'Neill to follow him to the front row. Ever the contrary, Jack waved him away, waved the reporters away with the travail due to an irritating insect, and scuffled off toward the back of the room.

My shoulders slumped, and I turned back around, dejected.

No guest. Hardly surprising.

Teal'c was next to arrive, accompanied by a sandy-haired flunky. The reporters swarmed over him benevolently, and I heard the deep timbre of his voice actually reply briefly to a few harried questions. Yes, he'd been involved in fundraising for the monument. No, he didn't think Senator Morris' bill was likely to pass. Yes, he still considered himself a married man, separated though he might be from his wife.

No, he hadn't been in touch with his old team members for quite some time.

Again, I received only one short look from him as he took his seat in the front row, at the other end of the row. A blank, empty glance, hardly befitting everything we'd been through.

I wanted to get up and leave.

Stay...

Someone slapped muzzles on the reporters and urged them into the press areas on the sidelines of the grand room. Three quiet figures sat in the row behind me, safe in anonymity: the Tok'ra refugees, the scientists. A man in a dark suit and sunglasses stood at the podium and spoke into the mike hanging near his mouth. A quick glimpse behind me showed O'Neill, slumped in the corner, ignoring the flashes that still illuminated his face. No Hammond... which meant he was still in the hospital, recovering from his heart attack.

That's when I saw him. Coming through the door to my right, not causing half the stir that Jack and Teal'c had.

Daniel's hair was longish again, soft and brown and almost thoughtful in its sloppiness. One could imagine he didn't have the time to keep it up because every day, every moment was spent making wonderful discoveries, doing wonderful things. But he didn't look untidy: his slacks and shirt and jacket were clean and pressed, casual and respectful at the same time. His amazing eyes skimmed the seated crowd... and found me immediately.

She was short by comparison, with intense eyes and incredible hair. The color of strawberries, of sunlight, a mass of glorious curls that fringed a delicately-boned yet somehow-strong face. Which was connected to a graceful neck, which lead to a body that made the very dress I wore envious, angry that it clothed me and not her.

There were two conspicuously empty seats before me.

Too much.

I stood, and as the President of the United States entered the room, I left it.

|| Daniel Jackson ||

"We present this great wall to those who fought and lost their lives in the campaign against the Gou'ald, against other enemies of humanity, and against the struggle we fight every day, each one of us. We honor them in the only way we can, by remembering them, by keeping them in our hearts, and by always venerating them, not just how they died, but how they lived."

Strong words. Words Sam and Charlie and all the others deserved. Words spoken by the President.

My attention wandered. My mind raced.

Lindsey raised her lips to my ear and said, in the very softest of possible whispers: "That was Janet Frasier. DOCTOR Frasier."

I nodded minutely, eyes focused on the Chief of State. She knew. Great. She knew.

"She looked upset. Go make sure she's okay."

I shook my head. Talking was not what Jan and I needed. We needed distance. Time. Amnesia. A good case of it.

"That wasn't a suggestion," Lindsey hissed.

I looked down at her, surprised.

Then I left.

|| Samantha Carter ||

A sea... of people.

A man... in a suit.

An emblem... of the President of the U.S.A.

"We honor them in the only way we can, by remembering them, by keeping them in our hearts, and by always venerating them, not just how they died, but how they lived. We honor them by continuing where they could not, by vowing to live where they couldn't."

Words I'd never heard before. Not memories.

The firewall was strong, but couldn't hold out indefinitely.

I'd lost most of the feeling in my arms and legs.

The flashes continued.

|| Daniel Jackson ||

There was no question that I loved Janet. That I cared for her. That I wanted the world for her.

I just had a funny way of showing it.

And I still held fast to my paltry reasons. I DIDN'T WANT TO HURT HER. Look at the people I'd damaged. My parents, foster parents, Sha're, my friends. Look at the chaos that followed me. Look at the trail of bodies in my wake. Look at the pain and suffering.

Lindsey was different. She was new in my life, she liked me, she was tough. She was special, but not half as dear as Janet was. Not half as beautiful, or smart, or strong, or exceptional. Which was why I had to stop this, had to stop thinking about her, wishing for her. What was I? What could I offer? What did she deserve?

SO much more.

I found her in the foyer, staring up at the wall. I could see the reflection of our bodies in the marble. The hall was otherwise empty; everyone else was inside, listening to the President. Pausing at the monument's edge, I looked up, and found myself staring directly into Sam's face. She looked so perky, so exuberant, so alive, that I actually took a half-step back in shock. A bauble of infuriating information worked its way up inside me. "You know they originally weren't even going to include Sam on this? All that... all that crap about her betraying us for the Tok'ra." And being the cause of the twenty-first ship, and the three-thousand deaths, not to mention hunger, poverty, and disease. "Teal'c had to call in a favor from the guy in charge, some Blake fellow."

A furtive glance at Janet revealed that her full attention was trained on the wall; my heart sank. When she did speak, her voice was flat and defeated. "We haven't spoken in months, Daniel. Why start now?"

I rocked on the hells of my feet. "Because... because I've missed you," I said honestly.

"'Missed'..." Janet shook her head. Even at this frigid distance, I could see her muscles tense, and feel the pain that roiled off her. "Daniel, I WAITED for YOU. You never came. You LEFT me."

Why didn't she understand? I found myself moving closer, drawn to her, as I always had been. Maybe that was why I'd always had such a propensity for injury: so I could spend precious time recouping... near her. "I thought... that it was for the best."

She bristled. "Who gave you the power to make that decision for both of us? I've missed you, okay? And that's really hard to say. Sam's gone, Jack's... gone. Hammond's in Montana, in the hospital, Teal'c is in Washington, Tony's... who knows where, Cassie's in college. My whole word took off on me. I expected that you'd at least leave a forwarding address."

She'd expected a lot more than that. "You don't get it. I always hurt the people I love."

Her eyes, which had drifted to the ground, darted back to me warily. Gun-shy. "You love me?" Her tone was skeptical.

Another step. Another. "Of course. That's why I had... to... go."

Her posture relaxed a micron or two. "For someone who's a Ph.D. and literate in 23 languages, you can be pretty stupid." She placed her hands lightly on her hips, and my mouth dried. "Who's the redhead?"

It took me a few seconds to recall the necessary information. "Um... Lindsey Moore. She's the department head at the college."

Janet nodded stiffly. "Aren't you worried about hurting her, too?"

"Not yet."

She nodded, as though I'd just answered a question, a different question than the one spoken aloud. "How're you ever going to hold on to anyone, Daniel?"

I shrugged pathetically. "I guess I won't," I said, and then I reached out and kissed her.

|| Janet Frasier ||

I wish I could say that it was a friendly kiss, a kiss that said goodbye, for now and forever. But a goodbye kiss didn't have this potential. It didn't have this drive. It didn't have the desire to become MORE than just a kiss.

This one did.

I wish I could say that I pulled out of his embrace at once, memories of an angelic strawberry-curled nymph still fresh in my mind. That I wasn't willingly swept back into the gravity of my past. That it didn't feel wonderful.

Because it did.

Most of all, I wish I could say that we parted, gazed at each other longingly, and made vows of everlasting love. I wish I could say that I didn't go home alone. I wish I could say that he didn't pull away, look at me almost fearfully, and rush back to his gorgeous department head.

Because we didn't. And I did, and so did he.

|| Jack O'Neill ||

"Ho, ho, ho."

"Oh my God, Tony..."

"Hey, shut up. It's Christmastime, be merry, dammit."

I gave an exaggerated sigh and moved out of the doorway. Tony Warren stepped onto my carpet, dripping slightly, and shook off the rainwater like a dog. "Heard you left Washington early."

"I wasn't feeling festive." I still didn't.

Tony looked at me plaintively. "Jack, they were going to let you light the Christmas tree." He took a few more steps into the apartment and then spun back on me. "You don't have a Christmas tree." The younger man held up a hand to thwart any reply. "Yeah, I know this isn't the best time of your life, but you're not going Scrooge on me, you hear?"

"I hear." It was downright impossible to not smile. "How've you been, Tony?"

He made himself comfortable on the sofa. "Oh. Oh, just peachy. NORAD's not the same place without you. Not to mention a big, top-secret, whooshy... thing. Samuel's is still around, making life hell... I'm starting to think he gets off on naqueda." The bright smile turned humorless. "And... they're thinking of sending me to Cuba."

"Oh boy." I strove to absorb this. "Why you?"

"No special reason," Tony assured me with a sigh. The kid hadn't changed: his hair was still as bright, his eyes full of the same fire, and his muscles were like caged animals, full of pent-up energy, yearning to break into action. "I'm just one more able body, sitting on my ass, guarding and staring drearily at the Stargate while Castro's army goes picnicking all over the Caribbean. Plus, somehow I've been elevated to the status of mediocre war hero, so maybe they think my beautiful face will strike abject fear into the Commies' hearts."

I snickered. "I never thought I'd live to see the day when the Communists were the bad guys again."

"A lot easier when the enemy's another species," Tony nodded. "But you know what they say: aliens and communists are one and the same."

"Who said that?"

Tony shrugged. "Saturday Night Live? I dunno... enough about me. You talk to Jan at the ceremony?" Before I could answer, he snarled: "I couldn't believe that bastard Samuels wouldn't give me clearance to go. You join a team a couple years late and suddenly none of it means shit."

"I didn't talk to Janet," I admitted, ignoring the rant. "She didn't stay very long, actually. She took off before the Prez got there, Daniel followed a few minutes later, and then he came back without her. He'd brought some other woman, anyway. I guess they're over."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"They're big kids, Tony," I reasoned. "What about you? Anybody special?"

"I'm madly in love with the new HK's," he quipped. "Jack, I really can't see myself settling down any time soon, regardless of the Cuba thing. I'm... I'm not a marrying type. I'm not even a steady girlfriend type, as seedy as that might sound. Family man? No way."

I chuckled, circumventing the coffee table to the fireplace. A few quartered logs sat in a bin on the floor, but they were just for show. The fire was gas, intensity controlled by a small white knob a couple feet from the carpet. Glancing at the sofa, noting the wet spot spreading out from Tony like a debris field, I clicked the dial over as far as it would go. "That's exactly how I thought of myself before I met --"

The fire flickered and snapped. I glared at it.

"Sara?" asked Tony with the slightest hint of insolence. "Or Sam?"

Slowly, stalling, unsure of what to say, I stood and turned back towards the captain... who had the good sense to avert his eyes. "Wow, I don't know where that came from," he stuttered. "It was way out of line."

I hesitated, and then shrugged. "You can be as out of line as you want. I'm retired."

Recovering quickly, Tony smirked. "Well, I'm still saluting on the inside. And it's my professional opinion, um, sir, that you could use a little company here. I know this time last year was difficult, with Sam leaving and everything, but none of us were alone, you know?" His eyes were friendly, but intense, and his words pointed. "I called Janet and tried to convince her to come with me, but she said she wasn't really up to it... but you never know."

"Yeah, and while we're at it, let's call up Bray and the other Tok'ra and we'll throw a Christmas party."

Tony grinned broadly; the dear man was obviously young enough and illusioned enough that the strings of glittering lights, the smell of evergreen, the excited trills of children still stirred something within him. Perhaps it still stirred something within me; I thought that maybe I did feel a slight rousing of something deep inside. In my mind. In my limbs, an ever-present tingling. "It's great to see that you still have that sparkling sense of sarcasm, Jack."

It was lucky for me that I did. Because when the sarcasm left, all that remained was pure, unadulterated denial.

I told Tony he could stay until his leave ended on Sunday. I didn't mention the vague sense of motion from unoccupied quarters of my home.

|| Samantha Carter ||

Tamed flames spreading warmth throughout the room dissolved into blank walls and the cool, sterile air of a spacecraft. The handsome lines of Tony Warren's face melted into the familiar features of...

Oh, Jesus.

Of my father.

Or not my father, I realized frenetically, recognizing the set of the jaw, the alien vitality. Selmac.

I forced open my drooping lids, gritting my teeth as I tried to keep my eyes from rolling back into my skull. Feet. Legs. I was surrounded by people for the first time since I'd been brought up here. There was Green Eyes, and the distant, still-indistinguishable form that had to be the leader, Mical. There, on my other side, was Martouf... and in one iron grip a thin forearm leading to slender shoulders. I didn't even have to see her face to know that it was Jadae. Dammit...

Irrepressible disappointment and accompanying exhaustion battered at me as the blurred oval that was my father's stolen face hovered over me. I'd been holding out for him, for her. Dad and Jadae had been my last hope for rescue, for restitution, but if they were here, and Dad not Dad, what other reasons did I possibly have to fight?

Except home.

Except Jack.

What if they made me one of them, a host... or not even that? A minion. A brainwashed slave. What if they sent me back to Earth as some kind of agent, programmed to lie and betray and sabotage, to hurt my friends and my world. 'What ifs' had always been a pet peeve of mine, as pointless and baseless as they often were, but the new scenario I'd just come up with seemed to give me strength, stamina. Dad's face unblurred, and for a split second, I was sure I'd seen a flicker of guarded concern.

"You're sure she's forgotten everything?" barked Selmac, words directed at Martouf.

The younger man fidgeted. I did what I could to glower at him. He knew very well that the 'procedure' he'd been performing on me had done nothing but scramble my brain, that I was still Samantha Carter, that most memories were as intact as they’d ever been. By lying he would be sparing me similar torture at the hands of another, perhaps stronger, individual. By telling the truth, of course, he would be dooming himself to Mical's wrath.

"Of course," he said.

The too-close face turned back to me. "What's your name?" he demanded, and it WAS a 'he', a normal human voice. Dad's voice. Usurped by the symbiote, maybe? -- none of the Tok'ra around me seemed to find the change odd. Or was it something else?

"What's your name?"

Jadae yanked her arm from Martouf's grasp. His gaze was fixated on me, no doubt wondering if I would continue the charade; he let her pull away, obviously considering her little threat.

"Your name?"

I blinked. The tone was harsh, but it was one I'd heard many times...

* "Sam, leave Mark alone. Mark, stand up for yourself. I don't care if she's a girl." *

* "Listen, this isn't up to me. The Air Force tells me to go and I go." *

* "Didn't I tell you not to call? You have your own life, right?" *

Many times... from my father... Dad... before he'd become a host. He knew I'd know that, he was trying to get through to me, to see if I was still in here, it was HIM. Disappointment morphed into a kind of desperate elation that sent bolts of spastic energy coursing through me.

"Hannah," I murmured, praying he would remember our old exclamation.

Something ticked in his face. Something clicked.

"Hannah?" barked Mical. "What's that?"

"It sounds familiar," murmured Martouf, who had of course had contact with my mind and memories.

"It's nothing," Dad said assuredly, rising from his knees to his feet with the grace of a man much younger. He turned and approached the door; Green Eyes and Mical followed. They seemed to have put Jadae from their minds altogether, but I could see her out of the corner of my eye, standing quietly near the empty bins. It occurred to me that from that position, she would be able to see out the small porthole.

Martouf walked closer and looked down at me curiously.

At the edge of my vision, Jadae made a motion with her right hand. A thumbs-up.

How delightfully human.

Investing all my energy into one strike, I rolled onto my side and kicked out blindly. With a definite 'thwap', the toe of my show found purchase in the lightly-padded lower half of Martouf's right thigh.

He dropped instantly, too surprised to shout out a warning.

Jadae moved as well, swiftly lifting one of the empty bins in two hands and flinging it, much as I had. Except the heavy metal canister hit not door nor wall... but the green-eyed Tok'ra, the one standing nearest to her.

I missed whatever happened between Mical and Dad, because when I finally twisted around and looked at them, the former was squirming on the ground, and the latter --

Martouf scrambled to his feet, and dodged a spiral of blue energy released from the end of my father's Zat gun. I could see the thoughts forming behind his gray-blue eyes, the strategies formulated and rejected. Green Eyes was out cold, crumpled, head half-hidden beneath Jadae's expertly-launched canister. Mical, though omniscient and enigmatic, was just as unhelpful, writhing in the doorway. Not only that, but he was unarmed. No Zat gun, no --

"Watch out!"

The ribbon device had become like almost a second skin for him; rarely did I see him without it, and I'd almost forgotten he was wearing it. I rolled away as far as I could - a few feet, and already my muscles were all but useless - and as a result didn't see the raised hand or flashing eyes. But I felt the great whoosh of air and gravity, a pressure that popped my ears and made the cabin lights flicker off, then on, and then off again. We were plunged into blackness.

The Zat blast lit up the entire cargo room, and the whump of a slackened body hitting the floor seemed to be the only sound for several seconds.

"Sam?"

"I'm here!" I called back to Dad, in a voice no less panicky. Footsteps raced across the deck, and small hands pulled on me. "Jadae..."

"We have to get out of here," she said breathlessly.

Unbelievably, I found that my legs supported most of my weight, and what they couldn't, Jadae could. A rectangle of light across the room told me that Dad had already raced ahead. "They'll wake up soon," I gasped, meaning Martouf and Mical. There wasn't much chance of Green Eyes coming to any time soon... if ever.

"They're the least of our worries."

The chambers and hallways of the Tok'ra ship alternated light and dark, and I wondered what other damage Martouf's ribbon discharge had done. Seconds later, I found myself standing - half standing, half being carried - in a dimly lit room that Jolinar knew well. Two small windows, writing on one wall... and, taking up most of the space, a Stargate. The seventh chevron scraped the ceiling.

Dad stood in front of it, fiddling with a band on his wrist, one I hadn't noticed before. The smile he gave me was a tentative one. "Sam..."

"I'm okay," I assured him, smiling back, eyes drawn to the band. "What's going on?"

"Our reinforcements are here."

"Why does that sound like a bad thing?"

"Duck," he replied.

I dropped to the floor, which was infinitely easier than rising again, after the Stargate had burst open above us. I gaped, unable to shake the paranoia that this was just another hallucination, and stared at the gold strap. It was so simplistic, hardly three inches wide... it appeared to be nothing more extraordinary than jewelry, but it explained why the gate was alone in the room. "That thing's a DHD?"

"I'll explain," Dad promised, glancing fleetingly out one window and then the other. The three of us leapt into the event horizon together, just as the world behind us burst into flames and carnage.

|| Jack O'Neill ||

For the first time in a long time, I took interest in my mail.

Some things Tony had said and some things that had become clear to me at the ceremony had set me to thinking. What could it hurt to call this number? To talk to this person, to let them see me maybe as a person instead of just a sound bite? Sure, it could be humiliating, and I could possibly regret it for the rest of my life, but at the same time it felt utterly necessary. Perhaps it was just about loneliness, about wanting someone to talk to, to reach out to. Tony's tour in Cuba would last six months minimum. Seeing as he was virtually my only friend these days, that could be a very tedious six months indeed.

So I made the call.

|| Samantha Carter ||

"How’re we doing?"

"Good so far... I guess." I stepped back and looked down at the mass of switches and wires that made up the control board of the small Tok’ra vessel. For one moment, everything looked so familiar, so recognizable, and then I blinked, and it was all gone.

I didn’t pursue the memories.

Dad and Selmac knew plenty about these types of vessels, naturally, but one person couldn’t do everything. Maretne’s and therefore Jadae’s expertise had been planetbound matters, so she could only be utilized as a gopher, an aide. Which left a lot of ship babysitting up to me.

After I’d been captured by Mical and his crew, Jadae had made a beeline to where she surmised the Nox colony was located. Days of the woodland journey had passed before she realized that she was being tailed, no doubt by the rest of the Tok’ra crew, the three or four I’d noticed to be missing.

She’d reached the Nox before they caught up with her, with commendable effort; the Tok’ra abandoned the chase, waiting at a 'safe' distance, surmising that the Nox would be on her side. In fact, the only thing the peace-loving Nox were interested in doing was looking out for the best interests of Dad, which they had sworn the Tollan they would do. But when my father heard about my kidnapping, escape, and capture, all thoughts of personal safety left his mind.

And Selmac’s as well.

"The Tok’ra aren’t all like Mical and Martouf," they had explained in turn. "There has always existed another faction that’s been against peaceable means, that’s been willing to do whatever it takes to beat the Gou’ald and secure their own power. That faction’s been gaining power of its own... and weak-minded people like Martouf, well... that’s what they want to hear. That the ends justifies the means, no matter what the ends is."

Weak-minded... it had a kind of double-meaning. The reason Maretne had been able to usurp Jadae’s body so easily, other than the effects of the chamber, was because the symbiote was youthful and strong, and the host was younger and mentally inexperienced. It was the same reason that I’d been held by Jolinar so easily. Selmac, on the other hand, was wiser... not to mention older. Even if she’d been inclined to join the ‘other faction’, I believe my father could have kept in her check without much suffering.

But Selmac, thank God, loved me as Dad did, and they put a plan into motion.

A smaller Tok’ra vessel, crewed by a group close to the Council, was nearby. Garshaw was contacted. The vessel was put on autopilot, a course plotted for the Nox world, and the crew left via the onboard Stargate.

And then the ‘reinforcements’ were contacted. The reinforcements that had destroyed Mical’s ship scant seconds after we had Gated to the recently arrived empty vessel. The reinforcements that were not, as I had originally surmised, more of Garshaw’s people... but Apophis’.

Gou’ald.

A Gou’ald ship had destroyed the vessel I’d been held captive on, had destroyed the vessel Mical and Green Eyes... and Martouf had still been on.

Martouf was dead. I took no pleasure from it.

Dad and Jadae had dispatched the Tok'ra on the planet, and Selmac had contacted Mical, claiming to be in control of her human host... and to have the renegade Jadae as her prisnor.

Now, Jadae tucked a strand of hair behind one ear, and watched me stare blankly down at the control board. "At this speed, we’ll have at least a week’s travel left before we reach a neutral planet." Her mouth quirked in a frown. "If we’d been able to use the Nox world as a point of origin, you would have been home now. I’m sorry."

"It’s not your fault," I assured her, inspiration flashing. I rerouted a line, dialed a knob, and smiled as our velocity increased. "It was the Gou’ald."

"Calling them was a mistake."

"It was the only choice you had," I insisted. "The only way to beat Martouf."

"We ASSISTED the Gou’ald in murdering three of our own," she bemoaned. "And four others are now abandoned on that planet. I’d do it again in a second, anything to save you, Samantha... but the principle... And we should have known Apophis would then come after us. That we’d be in danger!"

"Calm down, Jadae."

We both turned to see Dad standing in the doorway; Jadae crossed her arms and looked put off.

"Sam?"

I smiled encouragingly. "I boosted it somehow."

He smiled back. The expression - hell, any expression - never ceased in warming my heart, in reminding me that for once I had won. Had secured a victory. Not against the Gou'ald, not against the Tok'ra; I wasn't going to be that picky, not after the hell of the last year. I had won, and my foe's name hardly mattered. I'd triumphed. I could be happy.

"Jolinar's memories are there," Dad prompted. "I know you're a little apprehensive about accessing them, but don't be."

"Just consider it payback... what she owes you for changing your life so drastically," Jadae added ebulliently. "That's what I tell myself every morning, that I deserve every iota of information Maretne left in my mind."

But I couldn't truly be happy, not yet. My life was still in limbo, still suspended in deep space. We'd been forced to leave the orbit of the Nox colony immediately after Gating to the ship, which hadn't been part of the plan; I only hoped we hadn't cost the inhabitants too much. Now with this extra burst of speed, it would possibly be less than a week before we arrived at a friendly planet with a known point of origin, one we could use to utilize the ship's Stargate.

And that, that was the problem. What then? Dad wanted to go home, there was no doubt about that. He still had the G.D.O. that he'd been issued - an era ago, it seemed to both of us - and a hope and a prayer... and maybe a plan. If we were lucky, the SGC would still be up and running, everything as I'd left it, with Maretne a liar and a fraud. If we were ultimately unlucky... the SGC would be shut down, and the Stargate would be sealed up tight in a packing crate somewhere.

Or maybe there would be no planet to return to. The Nox had learned, from the Tollan, of the Gou'ald scout ships on their way to Earth, to investigate what had happened to their convoy. Dad assured me that those vessels had been 'taken care of'. Which, knowing the Nox and their nonviolent - yet oddly shrewd ways - meant that the Gou'ald had been relocated a couple years or even decades from our system. But what if there had been another attack, one none of our allies knew of? By the Gou'ald, by the Tok'ra, by the nemesis that continued to plague the Asgard? What if things had changed so much as to be unrecognizable?

I was going home, home to Earth, this was an honest fact. I'd been pining for it for an unfathomable length of time, and now, reunited with my father for the first time in what had to be years, I couldn't very well change my mind simply because of cold feet. I'd go where he went, and Jadae would come with us because she truly had little other refuge.

But I was scared. Scared of what I would find, scared of what I wouldn't. Scared of change, of the Second Law of Thermodynamics. Over times, things proceed from order to chaos.

I was afraid of chaos.

But I would do it anyway.

|| Jack O'Neill ||

The date was February 13, 2006. It was a typically unpredictable day in February; the sky was streaked with strangely-patterned clouds that could, at any minute, disperse to reveal sunshine, or congregate to bring rain. It was a day on edge, on pause, waiting with fists clenched in tension.

I compensated by dressing shabbily, and getting an early start on my evening drinking. Not that alcohol did much to me anyway, not these days. Seemed I'd hit my limit.

When I heard the knock at the door, I almost didn't answer it. My mind was crowded with second thoughts, with worries and sorrows. With the recent news that retired General George Hammond had suffered a second heart attack, one he hadn't recovered from. News that Tony Warren's squadron in the Caribbean had been caught in some kind of crossfire.

The woman standing on my 'front stoop' quite nearly took my breath away. Not because of her beauty - though she was more attractive than most - but because of her physical resemblance to Sam. The hair. The eyes. She stared at me with none of the impertinent self-confidence Sam had displayed at our first meeting, but she quickly recovered.

"Shannon Biggs," she finally managed to croak out, extending a hand. "Robinson-Snow-Webster Publishing. Um, you see, I’ve got this assignment..."

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