* * * * *
"It’s all right to make mistakes, you’re only human
Inside everybody’s hiding something."
- Slide, Dido (used without permission)
* * * * *
It’s a large room, but you really can’t tell, thanks to the condition it’s kept in. Thick-spined books lay everywhere. Sheets of paper waft to the floor in the current of a desk heater. Screen-savers pan across the monitors of three different computers. It you look closely, you can see that most of the pictures adorning the walls hang slightly askew.
My initial reaction had been: Oh my God, this is disgusting. Even acknowledging the notoriety and distinctiveness of the position, I’d quite nearly turned tail and run. Now, however, the chaos seems slightly more organized, a bit more acceptable, and I thank my lucky stars that I stayed.
"Uh, Doctor?"
I can’t see him, but then again, I can’t see much past the stack of books cradled in my arms. I take a few more shuffling steps through the doorway, wary of anything that could trip me up and send my cargo flying, looking for an empty surface and finding none.
"Jared? Is that you?"
"Well now, who else would it be?" I grunt, carefully bending my knees and dropping the heap of cracked leather covers and brittle pages onto the floor. "Here’s the shipment from Greece."
"Thanks," says the doctor’s disembodied voice. "Hey, have you seen a blue binder anywhere around here? The one with the photocopies?"
As a matter of fact, I see the said binder immediately, half-hidden under a hefty volume by someone named P. Broca. I move to retrieve it, and finally spy Doctor Jackson, stretched out on the floor in the middle of the room, a massive piece of butcher paper spread out before him and a pencil clutched in his hand. "What’re you doing?"
"Nothing much," Jackson answers. It’s the standard reply. Whether he actually thinks his latest project isn’t worth discussing, or he doesn’t want to talk about it, or he CAN’T talk about it - everyone knows he’s still on the government’s payroll - I’m not very certain. "Something for Lindsey."
"Aha." No further explanation is needed. Jackson is absolutely smitten with Lindsey Moore, the head of the archeology department here at the college. Not that I can blame him; she is a beautiful woman. He can’t help being... whipped. "Um, here’s your binder."
He doesn’t even look up at me, merely nodding and penciling in a mark on the butcher paper. "Great. Can you take it over to Derrick for me?"
I nod, mostly to myself. Alright, so maybe I was exaggerating when I talked about the notoriety and distinctiveness. I’m really nothing more than a glorified gopher - go-fer this, go-fer that - but man, it’ll be worth it when I can put down on a résumé: aide to Doctor Daniel Jackson.
After the conflict ended and the Pandora Act declassified just about everything associated with the Stargate project, Jackson became known as everybody’s good old boy. He didn’t achieve the level of ‘stardom’ that Jack O’Neill did it, but that’s probably because Jackson never tried to hide from his ‘fans.’ He went on TV, did the interviews, answered all the questions. He attends the parties and the ceremonies and isn’t all that shy when it comes to talking about the SGC. In fact, the only thing he refuses to talk about is his team.
After a while, the mystery behind the courageous civilian doctor of SG-1 was no more, and America’s love affair with Daniel Jackson petered out. He moved here, to California - not all that far away from his old life, but enough of a distance to be respectable - and took a job as a professor at the college. He didn’t get along with everybody right away - seems although most people had accepted aliens, they needed more time to be convinced of some of Jackson’s more ‘out there’ theories - and one of his strongest antagonists was Doctor Lindsey Moore. Moore was respected, liked, even sought after, and one thing she’d never been was a rival of the status quo. It’s my belief that she saw Jackson as a person who would change all that... and she was right. He changed a lot of things, mainly how we view the spread of civilization across the globe, and the evolution of different cultures... but he also changed Moore, for the better.
They got engaged a couple of weeks ago. It made the news, of course, and he did receive a call from the Senator wishing him and his fiancée well. No communication ever came from O’Neill, but then again, no one was very surprised about that, least of all Jackson.
I’m halfway across the room on my way to find Professor Derrick Rowley when my foot catches on something. I manage to keep my balance, but the binder goes flying from my hands and knocks into a pile of boxes heaped near the door. The stack shivers, quakes, and I look on in horror as it begins to avalanche down upon itself, sliding to the floor, dumping the contents everywhere with a dreadful rumble-clatter. Dog-eared notebooks, rubber-banded sets of photographs, and even a drab green jacket are emptied unceremoniously upon the rug. I close my eyes and sigh. The aide’s - gopher’s - work is never done.
"Anything broken?" calls Jackson, sounding mostly unconcerned.
Just my spirit, I think. "Nope," I answer, hoping that it’s true, ignoring the blasted blue binder as I go to my knees, scooping up the debris. "Just a couple of boxes."
The noises of Jackson’s puttering cease. "Well, um... don’t worry about it. Actually, when you get back from Derrick’s office you can just take that all down to the dumpster. One less thing mucking up the place, right?" He gives a forced laugh; it’s a bad joke. We could dump half the ‘things’ in this room and it would still be certifiably ‘mucked up’.
And these aren’t just ‘things’.
I reach first for the photographs. Most of the images are dark and blurry, but the date stamp in the lower right hand corner says a whole hell of a lot. These were taken in 2005. I gawk.
"Are these pictures of the SGC?"
"Probably," Jackson grumbles.
I slide off the rubber band and flip through them. Good Lord, this is some history itself. I grin. General Hammond, Teal’c, Janet Frasier... all names I came to know quite well, thanks to the media feeding frenzy that followed the Pandora Act. These are all candids, and judging by the expressions on the faces of those photographed, they were taken not long after the victory at Andromeda. In fact, a couple were even taken in the embarkation room; I can make out the Stargate itself, tall, gray, and majestic, towering over exhilarated hugs and teary salutes.
I recognize a few more faces, mainly the visages of those SGC members who later decided to capitalize on the Pandora Act, wrote books or conducted interviews about the program. Samuels. Parker. Dowson. Judging by clothes, a couple in attendance were Tok’ra. One stands next to Anthony Warren, and there, in the corner, looking decidedly dour considering the circumstances, is the forth SG-1 member, General O’Neill.
He’s retired now, of course. But he’ll always be known as the General. I can’t even bring myself to refer to the doctor as ‘Daniel’. I can’t imagine anyone simply calling O’Neill ‘Jack’.
They’re big names, all of them, and in most people’s opinion, they deserve it. They deserve it all. The fans, the mail, the adoration, the power. Then again, in the rather outraged words of the General a year or so ago:
"What the hell did I do to DESERVE THIS? Tell me! I’ll apologize!"
At least that was the sound bite they played on 60 Minutes.
A shadow passes over me, and I freeze. "Um, sorry, Doctor Jackson."
He doesn’t answer, but to my great surprise, he does drop to the ground next to me. I hand over the photos unquestioningly, and watch curiously as he riffles through them. "This," he tells me in his usual, muted tone, "Is when we were normal people. When we were just SG-1."
His expression is glum, and I can’t reconcile with what I know about what happened. "You were heroes."
"We were people," he corrects me. "Doing what we had to do. They whole world is under the impression that we did when we did out of the goodness of our hearts, but the thing is, Jared, we all had our reasons. I did it to find Sha’re and her son. Jack did it because... because he hated the Gou’ald, wanted retribution for everything they put Skarra and Kawalsky and... and him through. Teal’c did it to free his people."
I notice that he doesn’t mention Carter, but that’s hardly a surprise, either. He doesn’t talk about her. No one talks about her, or at least not many. She’s in a different category than the others, and I don’t mean simply because she’s a woman. There’s a lot of controversy and doubt surrounding her, a lot of distrustful feelings that hardly count anymore because as far as we know she’s dead. Left and never came back. KIA. However you want to term it, she won’t be returning to face the music a great many people would like to play for her. "What about, you know, Parker and Dowson? Airmen and Lieutenants who didn’t HAVE their own personal fight against the Gou’ald?"
"In a way, we all did," Jackson answers, still looking through the pictures, still mild and thoughtful. "They affected all of us. Changed all of our lives even before it all went to hell. But if you want a real answer to your question, they were just doing what they had signed on for."
"Their jobs?"
"Their jobs."
* * * * *
That’s hard to grasp. I never entertained a moment of thought about joining any facet of the military, but I have friends who have. Being put through harsh training, okay. Being sent overseas, alright. Having to take part in war, fine.
But being a part of a fighting force to stop an alien invasion of Earth? That’s... that’s totally different. For one, it’s unbelievable. Fantasy and fabrication. Sometimes I think that the members of the SGC should be thankful for the ratification of the Pandora Act. Without all the information that was declassified, no one would ever believe that had really happened two dozen floors beneath NORAD. Sometimes, I don’t even believe it, and I’m practically living it. "So what you’re saying is..."
Jackson glances over at me with raised eyebrows. The doctor always has that absent-minded professor thing going on, his hair short, but shaggy and unkempt, his glasses smudged. "That we should be treated like normal people."
"Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you don’t like going to the awards shows or paling around with dignitaries. If you weren’t who you are, if you were normal, you never would have gotten clearance for those books from Greece. You’re respected, Doctor Jackson. You should use that to your advantage."
"I DO," insisted Jackson. "But not everyone enjoys it so much."
I narrow my eyes. The average SGC member enjoys it, Teal’c certainly enjoys it... therefore, the only person he can possibly be talking about is Jack O’Neill. "You mean the General?"
He looks back down at the pictures. "Yeah. I mean the General."
I sit up a little straighter, armed with my own opinions and observances and forgetting, for a moment, that we’re talking about real people here, not the characters that they seem to be. "Well, he’s just all reclusive because what happened with him and Lieutenant Colonel Carter, right? And how she left." I shrug. "This is going to sound SO wrong, but if the Tok’ra are right, she’s been dead for quite a while. You moved on. Teal’c has been MOVING on... why not O’Neill? Why can’t he let her go?"
If I sound harsh, it’s because I believe what I lot of people say: that Carter is to blame, that the whole betrayal can be traced back to her. The other SGC members don’t believe it, I’m sure, although none of them have ever commented on the issue. She was their friend and coworker. According to the papers, she was O’Neill’s lover for years before the shit hit the fan. No one ever wants to believe that someone that close to them is bad news. No one ever wants to admit that they let themselves get too close to someone so messed up that she would betray her country - her planet - for... for what? A man? A cheap fling? A people that weren’t her own?
But Jackson’s expression is horrified, and I don’t even consider bringing THAT up. I’ve never heard him yell, never seen him truly angry, but this is his team we’re talking about, and everyone has their breaking point.
"Jack... Jack’s a difficult person to understand," he says, and it seems to me that his tone is suddenly very reproving. "He’s lost a lot in his life that he cared about. Sam’s leaving was very hard for him, and when we’d heard that she’d died..." He trails off and cranes his neck, looking up and the sloping ceiling almost thoughtfully. "The reason he hasn’t been able to let go is because he loved her. He really did."
I nod. "Well, yeah. Weren’t they sleeping together or something?"
To my shock, this elicits a laugh from Jackson. It’s nearly as rare as an expression of anger; the only real time the doctor laughs is when he’s figured out something that’s been bugging him for a long time, breaks a code, deduces an explanation... or when he’s with Lindsey. "No... no, no, no," he exhorts. "They certainly were screwing each other MENTALLY, but as for PHYSICALLY... nope. With Sam and Jack," he goes on, wrinkling his nose in an effort to pin down exactly what he wants to say. "They was always this tension in the room, whenever they were together, and I would have noticed if it hadn’t been there. It wasn’t always healthy tension, and it wasn’t even always sexual. He’d get upset about something and take it out on her, being... sarcastic and rude. And in return she’d give him the silent treatment... for days sometimes. It always worried me and it kinda pissed off General Hammond, but then a few days later, usually after some life-threatening mission, they'd be back on good terms again, and no one could really figure out why or how."
"They didn’t just... make up?"
"More than likely they just... missed the other." He looks back at me. "They depended on each other a lot more than either of them realized, and in light of that, I’m really not surprised that Jack took the news so badly. I’d always thought that if something happened to one the other would be..."
"Messed up?" I offer helpfully. Jackson laughs again, but this time it’s a hollow, mirthless sound.
"Yeah," he answers, clambering to his feet. "That’s why I don’t talk to him. Why he doesn’t talk to me. Personally, I’d love for the three of us to get together sometime, but if we did," he shrugs. "We’d realize more than ever that Sam’s gone. I don’t want to put him through that. I really don’t."
He silently wanders back to his butcher paper, and I continue placing things back into the box, stomach twisting as I remember he told me to toss all this stuff. I like working for Doctor Jackson, I really do, but I’ll never understand him. My father was a loud, proud man, and my mother was - subsequently - mild and indulgent. Jackson is neither of these things, and he’s not like me, either. I’m ambitious. I love today’s fast-paced world, and I can’t wait to finish up this degree, go out there, and be a part of it. He’s not like that, either. He’s deliberate and circumspect, calm and contemplative, and I wonder how much of that was in place before ’05, and how much he changed after Andromeda.
I toss the olive green BDU back into the cardboard crate, trying to ignore the SG-1 chevron patch, which is probably priceless. It’s then that something flutters to the floor: a sheet of notebook paper, hastily ripped out, messily scribbled upon. I know Jackson’s handwriting, and this is NOT it. With a guilty look in the doctor’s direction, I begin to read:
"Daniel-
They’re sending me out to Washington tomorrow to talk to the Prez. Yeah, it’s stupid, but Hammond is refusing to leave until we can get the SG disengaged and lucky me, I’m next in command. The Tok’ra are coming through tomorrow 0700 hours and since I’m not going to be there I need you to talk to them for me. I don’t buy the story. Sam’s out there somewhere, and you’ve got to find out where. I swear I’ve sent a letter through every damn week and I haven’t gotten a single response. I know she’s probably mad as hell at me but she wouldn’t disobey a direct order. She’s in trouble, Danny. Wish I could be there, but the Prez has other plans."
It was signed "Jack".
* * * * *
"Thank you, Mr. Austin. Tell Doctor Jackson I’ll have these back to him by next weekend."
"Will do," I tell Professor Rowley, and step out of the room, back into the chilly corridor. February really sucks. If it’s not raining, it’s bright and sunny with a wind-chill factor below freezing. Today happens to be the latter, which is good news for the doctor’s books.
I round the corner and almost run head-on into a petite woman who seems to be in some hurry. For a second, I think it’s Lindsey Moore, and start to beg forgiveness, but then I notice the green visitor’s pass slung around her neck. "Whoops... sorry, ma’am."
I fully intend to walk around her, but the woman grabs my arm as I pass. I pause, not totally opposed to the attention. She’s quite a bit older than me, but boy, she’s a knockout. Big eyes, red hair in a cute pixie cut. "Can you help me?"
I blink. "I don’t know, can I? I mean, what do you need help with?"
Her voice is throaty, her words rushed. "My name’s Janet Frasier. Teal’c sent me... I have to find Daniel Jackson."
For a few seconds, all I can do is gape. "Frasier? SGC Frasier?"
"Yes," she answers testily. "For the hundredth time, yes. Now, where’s Doctor Jackson? The receptionist said he was in the Minzer Building but I have no idea where that is."
"This way," I wave in the direction I’d been heading. "I’m his aide. What’s this-"
Without even so much as a thank-you, she’s off, and I hurry to pull pace with her. She’s little, but she’s QUICK. "What’s this about?"
"I’m sorry. I can’t tell you that," she answers shortly. Further attempts to convince her are fruitless, and I finally resign myself to nothing more than a sense of pride that comes from helping the lady out.
* * * * *
Frasier barrels into the room and stops abruptly. For the second time, I quite nearly run into her. Maybe she’s just appalled by the untidiness of the room, I reflect, grinning. "Daniel?"
His head pops up immediately, focusing on Frasier in no time flat. Even through the smudged glasses I can easily read the shock and genuine pleasure he derives from seeing her. "Janet?"
She’s more than a little stunned as well, and she was EXPECTING to see him. My radar immediately begins revolving. Nothing between O’Neill and Carter, perhaps... but Jackson and Frasier? If everyone was wrong about the other two, I’m not ruling anything out. "Daniel."
He blinks. "Janet." Slowly, he gets to his feet. "It’s, um... good to see you."
She manages a smile. "You too. You look great."
He returns the expression, but is obviously confused. "What’s going on?"
Frasier shakes her head, as though to clear it. "Something’s happened, Daniel. We need to get to Colorado."
He steps around the table. They both seem absolutely obvious to my presence, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. "What is it?"
Frasier finally glances over at me, and then back at Jackson, her expression dubious. He merely shakes his head; he knows what she’s thinking. "It’s okay. He’s my aide."
I straighten, flushing with pride.
She still seems unconvinced, but nods. "Teal’c called me... I was in the area visiting Cassandra and..." She frowns, like she’s reluctantly to spill the news. "Daniel..."
"Is there something wrong with Teal’c?"
"No, it’s--"
"Is it Jack?" The doctor sounds a bit panicked now.
"No! Not really... Daniel it’s... it’s Sam."
It’s a good bet that my expression is pretty close to Jackson’s, and that he’s feeling some of the same emotions I am at the moment. "Carter?" I sputter.
Frasier ignores me. "Daniel, she’s alive." The woman’s voice breaks on the last word, and her lips curve into an uncontrollable smile. "She’s been alive this whole time. She just came back through the Stargate a couple of hours ago. She’s fine, she..."
Jackson blinks, and the bleary, numbed façade slides into a full-fledged grin. "I don’t believe it," he murmurs, taking two quick steps towards Frasier and pulling her into a close embrace. She balks slightly, and then hugs back, stepping away only after he’s let go. "We have to tell Jack."
"We should ask her if she wants him to know," Frasier corrects.
"Come on, Janet, she was mad at him, but--"
"Daniel, if you remember, the whole world is mad at SAM. I don’t believe it, and I know you don’t, but most people think that she’s the one who betrayed us. And a lot of those people are in the government and would like to see her punished. The President knows and he told Teal’c. Now, there’s already some talk that this news has leaked out into the press and it’s only a matter of time before those certain people figure out what’s going on. We need to get to Colorado and we need to find out the truth before they try and crucify her for something she never did."
Jackson rubs the back of his neck. "Right..." he mumbles. "I guess Jack’s not the most important thing right now then, huh?"
"No," says Frasier firmly. "Now let’s go. There’s a flight going out to Denver in an hour; we need to be on it."
Jackson nods, and the two of them are halfway out the door when I come to my senses. In my own defense, it’s a lot of take in. Janet Frasier here, her strange interaction with the doctor, Sam Carter ALIVE and maybe not a traitor after all... it’s difficult to reconcile. But man, it’s AWSOME. "Wait!"
Frasier and Jackson turn in the doorway.
"I want to come, too."
It’s a stupid request, purely selfish, and I’m not surprised by Frasier’s ‘uh-uh’ expression. I am, however, completely shocked by Jackson’s response.
"It’s okay. He’s my aide."
* * * * *
We step off the elevator into a different world. It’s not just that this place is floors and floors underground, it’s that it holds some kind of strange power, over me, over Jackson... everyone. There’s just this intense, intangible sensation that tells me, even if I didn’t know already, that this was a place where history was made.
Silently, the three of us stride down the corridor. Well, they stride and I follow, not really sure where I'm going or what’s going on. Maybe I’m in shock. I mean, this IS the old home of the SGC. And if I heard right, we’re going to see Samantha Carter.
Yes. Most definitely shock.
A couple stand in the hallway, talking quickly. One’s a dark-haired officer, the other a striking blonde woman holding a notebook. They both look up as we approach. The man looks more than a little surprised. "Doctor Frasier? Doctor JACKSON?"
"Good to see you, Graham," Frasier tells him warmly, her eyes soft and laughing. "Is it true? Is Sam here?"
"Yes, ma’am," the man - a captain - replies, eyes shifting from her to Jackson, me and the woman. "And... and so is General O’Neill."
"What?"
"Oh, he’s here," agrees the blonde woman, and I can only assume that she’s a stranger to the others by their perplexed expressions. "You might want to give them a little time."
Frasier’s downright bewildered. "How the hell did he find out?"
The woman shrugs. "Rumor has it a reporter tipped him off."
Jackson and Frasier move a couple paces away, talking quietly but in amazed tones. The woman and ‘ Captain Graham’ resume their conversation. I stand in the middle, knowing that somewhere around here is another couple - O’Neill and Carter - and feeling a little lost in the midst of it all.
All I know is that wonderful things are happening. Although they’ve hardly spoken five words to me, these people have me convinced that the stories are wrong, that Carter didn’t betray Earth. It’s marvelous to think. It’s a common misconception that all humans love the angst of tragedy and trauma, gawking at human loss and pain like a bad accident on the side of the road, taking sadistic pleasure from the misery of others, simply because it’s them and not us. But even though Doctor Jackson is in some ways just as much of a recluse as O’Neill, I’ve gotten to know him and just how much all of this changed his life and the lives of his friends. And I can understand one thing, very clearly and distinctly:
All people really want are a couple happy endings.
I hope I can help. Or, barring that, I hope I can at least witness these wonderful things.
Even if I am just an aide.
* * * * *
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Story Notes: TITLE: The Aide
AUTHOR: Alli (alli@ecis.com)
RATING: PG (language)
CATEGORY: Angst, future story
SEQUEL INFO: Sequel to 'The Assignment'
ARCHIVE: SJA and Heliopolis. Other please email me.
SPOILERS: none
AUTHOR: Alli (alli@ecis.com)
RATING: PG (language)
CATEGORY: Angst, future story
SEQUEL INFO: Sequel to 'The Assignment'
ARCHIVE: SJA and Heliopolis. Other please email me.
SPOILERS: none
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 ]