Title: "Counterbalance"

Author: Sally Reeve

Email: sallyreeve@blueyonder.co.uk

Rating: PG

Classification: S/J UST, romance, character death (kinda)

Spoilers: Unnatural Selection (S6), Fragile Balance (S7), Heroes (S7)

Archive: SJA and Heliopolis. Anyone else, please just ask so I can find you!

Summary: An emergency brings the cloned Jack O'Neill back to the SGC.

Notes: Many thanks to Erika and Sandra for their comments.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret Productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

***

Counterbalance

By

Sally Reeve
 
 

"Fall back!" Sam threw herself behind the meagre cover of a tree as a staff blast shattered the ground in front of her. "Colonel! Fall back!"

But he wasn't moving. Stubbornly he stood his ground about ten feet ahead of her, sniping at the approaching Jaffa, buying time for her and the ragged group of refugees they were shepherding towards the stargate. "Carter, go!" he yelled, without looking back.

Damn him! She glanced quickly over her shoulder at Daniel who was crouched near the open gate, dodging staff fire as he dragged the terrified people up the three stone steps and into the gate. Teal'c was next to her, laying down covering fire as the refugees struggled through bombardment and terror towards safety.

They didn't have long. Overhead she heard the whine of a death glider. "Take cover!" she barked, just before the ground exploded all around them as the glider made its first pass. The terrified people would have scattered had it not been for Teal'c's booming commands. Her heart leapt with pride. She loved this team!

Crouching low, Sam glanced at O'Neill, still providing the last line of defence and trying to keep the approaching army at bay. She knew he'd be little more effective than Canute. Sam toggled her radio. "Colonel, you have to fall back!"

The rattle of his P-90 discharging was her only answer at first, and then her radio crackled. "Get to the gate, Carter."

"Negative," she told him, letting loose a volley herself. "We'll fall back together."

Speaking through gritted teeth, he barked, "I give the goddamn orders, Carter!"

Alarm bells started to blare as Sam peered round the tree again, getting a good look at him. Shit! Her hand flew to her radio. "Sir, you're injured." His leg was bloody and twisted. It looked like he'd taken a direct hit. He wasn't falling back, because he couldn't. "Teal'c, are you copying?"

His answer was instant. "I am."

"Cover me, I'm going to retrieve Colonel O'Neill--"

"Negative!" Another rattle of gunfire followed, longer this time. It fell silent only for a moment. Long enough for her to hear his garbled message. "No time. Carter, nine o'clock! Nine o'cl--"

She span to her left. They'd been outflanked! An entire contingent of Jaffa bore down on them. O'Neill was already firing with abandon into their ranks. But there were too many, and they were too fast. Behind her, Sam heard the fresh screams of terror from the fleeing women and children. She was the only thing standing between them and the advancing Jaffa. Yet even knowing that, she'd already taken two steps towards the Colonel when she saw him go down. He fell in slow-motion, the staff blast hitting him square in the chest in an explosion of blood and fire. The force threw him backward, arms wide, until he hit the ground with a skull-crunching thud.

"NO!"

The word ripped from her throat even as she turned on the Jaffa, bullets spewing from her weapon.

And then everything rushed back into motion. Everything except him. He lay still and bleeding as the Jaffa advanced over him, paying him no more attention than the rest of the decaying forest floor.

Sick horror paralysed her for an instant, before training took over and her mind closed down all but the essentials. She knew only two things; she was in command, and she had to get these people to safety. "Teal'c, fall back with me. Daniel, we're making a run for the gate. Cover us."

And then she was moving, her weapon raking the enemy with gunfire as she yelled and cursed at the terrified refugees, urging them onward to safety. Through the fog of as yet unfelt grief, she saw Teal'c move steadily at her side as they made their final retreat to the stargate. Moments, hours or maybe days later - she couldn't tell - they stood on the stone steps as the last of the women threw themselves to safety.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Daniel looking frantically around. "Where's Jack?"

"He took a hit," she heard herself say. She sounded too calm.

"What?" Daniel's outrage mirrored her own, and she envied him the luxury of expressing it. "Where is he? We can't just leave him here!"

"He's behind enemy lines," she replied, although her heart quailed at the words. "We've got no choice."

"No one gets left behind!"

"Daniel--"

"Major Carter is correct, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c interrupted. "We must leave now, or perish." He fired again at the swarming army. "But we will return for him."

"Yes!" Sam replied ferociously. "We'll be back." And with a heart too cold to break, she followed Daniel and Teal'c into the wormhole and let it shred her to pieces.

***

Jack stared at his reflection in the mirror, still trying to reconcile the adolescent body to the man inside. He barely remembered looking like this - too thin, too tall. Too young. It had been bad enough the first time around, but to have to suffer it again was almost intolerable. Even after two years, he sometimes passed his own reflection in a shop window and wondered who the kid was staring back at him through old eyes.

He'd thought it would get easier. He'd expected to get used to his new-found youth, make new friends, have a second chance at life. But it hadn't turned out that way, and he suspected now that his enthusiasm for this second life had mostly been born out of compassion for the friends he'd left behind. If they'd known how bad it would be, would they have left him to his fate? Probably not.

His friends... He still thought of them, every day. Daniel, Teal'c, Hammond, Fraiser. Carter. He thought of his family, his parents who he'd never see again. Even his neighbours. Everyone he'd ever known, gone. Out of his life. He'd never been so alone, or so lonely.

Not that he hadn't tried. It wasn't that he was unpopular at High School. It's just that he had nothing in common with the kids there, and had grown increasingly irritated by their adolescent worries. But he knew it wasn't fair to judge them. At their age, he'd been equally shallow and naive. Yet that didn't mean he wanted to deal with their second-hand teenage angst. He had enough problems of his own.

For a short time, he'd struck up a kind of friendship with Angela Agostino, the history teacher. She had a sense of humour similar to his own, and a world-view that challenged his thirty years of Air Force thinking. They'd talked after class, for a long time, one Friday. And then he'd gone seeking her out, desperate for company and adult conversation, the following week. They'd talked again, for longer. And it had been fun, going great, until... Until he'd forgotten he was sixteen and suggested they went out for a drink. Stupid! Angela had frozen, clearly fearing she'd crossed some sort of line. Who knew? Perhaps she'd even found herself attracted to him, despite his teenage body? Whatever. She'd avoided him ever since, and he'd done his best to avoid her too. It was just easier that way.

And so he'd kept his head down, done the work, and spent his evenings in front of the TV with the stash of beers he managed to buy from the liquor store around the corner where they never carded you. It was lonely. And he wondered if it would always be lonely. After all, he was a man out of time, with more in common with his contemporaries' parents than the MTV generation.

"Get a grip, O'Neill," he muttered at his morose reflection. "You're as bad as the kiddies."

With a sigh, he turned away and headed towards the door of his small apartment.

Things could only get better... Couldn't they?

***

General Hammond stood in the gate room, back straight, head high. Heart breaking. In front of him the event horizon shimmered as the first of the mournful party returned home. One look at Carter's grief-stricken face told him all he needed to know, as behind her Teal'c and Daniel emerged, bearing a stretcher between them. The body-bag was zipped closed; the starkest image of military loss.

At his side, Doctor Johnston sucked in a sharp breath. "Damn it."

Straightening his shoulders, Hammond came to stand at the food of the ramp as Major Carter slowed and stopped in front of him. Her face was chiselled into hard angles of grief. "Sir," she began stiffly, "I regret to report that Colonel--" Her voice quavered as she wrestled her emotions into submission, "Colonel O'Neill has been killed in action."

Jaw tight, he nodded at her words, his gaze drifting to the body lying lifeless on the stretcher. Medics were taking the burden from the hands of Teal'c and Daniel, who stepped wearily yet reluctantly aside. Daniel pressed his fingers over his eyes as Teal'c clasped him firmly on the shoulder. Their loss permeated the whole room, was shared by the entire base. "We've lost a fine man," Hammond said thickly. Then nodding at SG-1 he said, "Get some rest. Debrief oh-nine-hundred."

"Yes Sir," Carter rasped, nodding her team towards the doors. She'd taken command reluctantly, but taken command she had. Through his grief Hammond was proud of her, and knew that Jack would have been too.

***

Staying in the Springs, Jack reflected from time to time, had probably been a bad idea. He should have moved away, across the country. California, perhaps. Or up north. Somewhere anonymous, where memories didn't haunt him like ghosts from a past life. And where he didn't feel like a ghost himself, reduced simply to watching the life that had once been his.

And watch it he did. From time to time. Even though he shouldn't, for so many reasons. But there were times when he did anyway.

Like now.

He was sitting in the park opposite Carter's house, because on Saturdays she sometimes jogged through the park. And she never paid any attention to the kids hanging out there, throwing a ball around, skating... He sat on a bench with a good view of her house, hiding behind his sunglasses and a copy of the Nation Enquirer. It made for ironic reading for someone who had, when it came down to it, not only been abducted by aliens but cloned by them too; the woman with the three-headed dog had nothing on him.

The late-afternoon was warm, spring bleeding slowly into summer, and he felt good. There were definite advantages to his new body - supple knees being top of the list. And he felt a buzz of energy that he'd forgotten from his own youth. Or was it the youth of his memories? Or his real-self's memories? He shook his head and stopped thinking about it. He'd decided long ago that *he* was Jack O'Neill, and nothing anyone could say to him would convince him that he was a pirated copy. I think, therefore I am. Right?

He stretched out, enjoying the sunshine and the proximity to his old life. Although it was looking like Carter wasn't going to show. If she jogged, it was usually in the early afternoon. And the mellow sunshine was stretching the shadows longer as the park began to empty. He was disappointed, but not surprised. For all he knew she was off-world, battling to save the planet from some new threat that he would know nothing about until it landed on the White House. Or perhaps she was just working, buried in her lab beneath the mountain, exchanging charged yet guarded smiles with the other, older, luckier, Jack O'Neill.

That thought was the most disturbing of all. And it brought a bitter sting of jealousy. Over the past two years he had learned some sympathy for the android Jack O'Neill they'd encountered on P3X-989. Now he knew what it felt like to have your entire life ripped away from you. But at least that guy had still had his team with him; and at least he'd found a way to get out there again and make a difference.

*He* hadn't been stuck in a kid's body, in High School Hell, unable to even buy a--

A car pulled up outside Carter's house. Not her car. But it was definitely a military car, an official car. Slowly Jack got to his feet and moved towards the edge of the park, one eye on the National Enquirer and the other on the car. For the longest time is just sat there, unmoving outside her house.

A shiver ran down Jack's back. Something was wrong.

At last a door opened, and to his relief he saw Carter step out. His insides did the inevitable painful back-flip at the sight of her familiar face, but the emotion was soon replaced by a sharp beat of unease as he took in her grim expression and her Dress Blues. From the opposite side of the car someone else emerged. Jack smiled when he recognised Daniel, but his friend's sombre black suit and tie killed the smile on his lips. Carter in her dress uniform, Daniel in black. It meant one thing; someone had died.

"Damn," he growled to himself, turning away and wishing he hadn't seen them. Someone died. Who? Teal'c? Hammond? Fraiser? Jacob? Who...?

Sneaking another look, he saw Daniel walking Carter to her door. They paused on the threshold and hugged. For a long time. And when they pulled apart, Carter was wiping tears from her eyes. And so was Daniel.

Jack felt sick. Instinctively, his feet started moving towards them. He had to know. He had to find out who-- And then Daniel, walking back towards the car, turned his eyes on him. He'd been seen! Jack froze( but Daniel's glance washed over him like water. He hadn't recognised him; the skinny teenager in the park wasn't part of his life. His focus was inward, towards the grief that Jack could see on his face. See, but not share.

It wasn't his grief. Or his life. He had no business being there.

Growling a curse, Jack turned his back and headed across the grass to where he'd left his mountain bike in the back of his truck. A hard ride through Bear Creek Park would ease the frustration, but it would do nothing to fill the empty hole that grew bigger and bigger with each day that passed. The people he cared about most in the world were out there, living, fighting and now dying. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do to help them. He couldn't even mourn their passing.

How the hell was he expected to live like this? A ghost in his own life.

***

Like the summer, grief moved slow and sluggish through the heat. Days seemed endlessly, suffocatingly long, nights were hot, sleepless and lonely. Each morning, Sam awoke with the early sunshine, her heart as grey and lifeless as the day before.

Each morning, she made herself get up. Made herself shower, dress and get to work. Each day, she made herself carry on, take command, fight the fight. And each day she counted her regrets.

She'd known for a long time that life was short, that it could be snatched away too soon. On reflection, her mother's death should have taught her something. Or Daniel's 'death'. You wait and you wait to tell people how you feel, you wait for the perfect moment... And then they're gone. No second chances, they're just gone. And it's over.

A sigh leaked out, the soft sound reminding her that she had work to do. Turning back to her PC, she nudged the mouse and brought the machine back to life; she must have been drifting for over five minutes for the screen-saver to come on!

"Get a grip, Carter," she ordered herself quietly. Rolling her shoulders, she refocused on the screen. The memo she was writing was boring, regarding SOPs, and she was suddenly confronted by a vivid mental picture of the Colonel complaining about frontline teams having to bother with 'anal desk-jockey crap'. She smiled slightly, but the knot in her chest was so painful the smile turned into a grimace.

Three months... She felt like she'd been grieving forever. But she refused to forget him, to 'move on' as people liked to helpfully suggest. As *he* would have suggested, had he been there. 'Not your fault Carter. Move on.'

"Easy for you to say," she muttered, focusing once more on the memo. She knew she couldn't move on, and her only hope was to stay afloat long enough for life to tow her along until she could start swimming again.

She'd typed a whole sentence when the base alarms started blaring and her phone simultaneously shrilled at her. She snatched it up, "Carter."

"Major," Hammond said clearly, calmly. "Get your team up to the briefing room. We have a visitor."

Thank God for adrenaline, Sam thought as she raced from her office. It was the only thing that made her feel even half alive.

***

"Hey! O'Neill!" Riley Jones, one of the kids Jack passed the time with at school, grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him to a stop. He pointed. "Check it out!"

Crouching black and shiny by the curb sat a car. Smoked windows, engine purring, it stank of officialdom, and Jack felt a sharp pulse of unease. NID? God knew, they'd like to get hold of his genetically modified ass. "How long's it been there?"
 

"Dunno," Riley sniffed. "Hey, maybe they've come for Granger?"

Jack smiled slightly. Max Granger was the Principle, rumoured to be an alcoholic, wife-beater, drug addict, curb-crawler, Satan worshiper...whatever. To Jack, he looked like a bored guy just short of forty, who chose the wrong job at the career fair. "Maybe," was all he said, but he edged towards the steps nonetheless It might be worth skipping out of class, just to make sure. There was no way he was becoming an NID lab-rat.

"I, uh, left something in my locker," Jack muttered, turning and heading back to the school building. Too late.

"Jack O'Neill?"

The voice behind him was clipped and military. Grimacing, Jack turned and looked up at the man who had stepped out of the car. He wasn't in uniform, but he had Air Force branded into every feature. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Riley edge backwards, confused and not a little scared. Jack clenched his jaw angrily. What the hell were they playing at, showing up at a school like this? "Who are you?"

"Hunter."

Huh. "By name or nature?"

The man stared at him for a moment, nonplussed, and then said, "Uncle George said to remind you that it's Kaitlin's 12th birthday today. We can give you a ride to the party."

Jack stared, blinked, and said, "Oh." He couldn't quite believe what he'd heard. The message was a failsafe, something he and Hammond had cooked up just before he'd been exiled to High School, in case he was 'needed'. As if. Neither of them had ever expected to use it. "Twelfth birthday, huh?" he said, scratching his head and stalling for time.

At his side, Riley was glancing suspiciously between Jack and the man-in-black. "Hey man," he said, nervously tugging on Jack's sleeve, "you know this guy?"

Calmly, Jack removed the hand. "Yeah. He's a friend of my...Dad's."

"Thought your Dad died?"

Damn, Riley was too on the ball. "He did." Glancing over at Hunter, Jack gave him a subtle nod and the man withdrew to the car. "Look," he said to Riley, "I gotta go. My Uncle George is, you know, kinda weird. I gotta go to his kid's party. Cover for me this afternoon? Tell Agostino I went home sick, huh?"

Riley was dubious, but Jack didn't have time to expand the lie. And chances were, if he was being called back to into service then he wouldn't be returning to High School any time soon. With a reassuring pat on the shoulder he left Riley Jones standing and staring as he crossed the small lawn and climbed into the back seat of the dark car.

He settled in comfortably as the car purred into motion. Now this was more like it! "Home Jeeves!"

Hunter didn't crack a smile as he glanced at Jack in the rear-view mirror. "I'm afraid not. General Hammond wants to see you at the SGC immediately."

Jack just shrugged and turned to stare out of the window at the passing city streets, trying not to hope for too much. But he couldn't quell the bubbles of excitement that frothed inside like champagne. He was going back to the SGC!

He was going home.

***

From his office General Hammond looked out at the briefing room where a very subdued SG-1 sat waiting. Daniel frowned at a point somewhere above the middle of the table, brows drawn down and eyes turned inwards. Teal'c, as usual, sat still and stoic. But the very stiffness of his posture told Hammond that he was as uneasy as Major Carter. Her military veneer had already been bent to breaking point by the loss of O'Neill, her CO, friend and who knew what else. He'd deliberately turned a blind eye to the obvious affection between the two officers, but he could guess enough to know how painful this new twist in the tale was for Carter. Sitting stiffly in her chair, glancing with something approaching dread towards the door, she was a woman on the edge. And he didn't blame her. He felt slightly sick himself.

The sharp rap on the door was punctual and forced him to take his eyes from SG-1. "Come in."

The door opened and Lieutenant Hunter stepped inside. "Sir, he's here."

Hammond rose and nodded. "That's all Lieutenant. Thank you."

As the man turned to leave the room, Hammond's eyes moved to the figure who stepped aside to let him pass. Tall, slender, and disturbingly young, but with a bearing unmistakably - and painfully, under the circumstances - familiar. Dark eyes met his, at once excited and curious, hiding a surprising bite of anger beneath the surface. "George," came the greeting in a voice that teetered on the edge of familiarity. "You never call. You never write."

Hammond smiled, but it was a bitter feeling. "Come in...son. Take a seat."

O'Neill moved into the room and someone closed the door behind him. But he didn't sit, instead he was drawn inevitably to the window onto the briefing room. He stared through the mirror-glass at his former friends. Longing flashed across his youthful face, before an older intelligence stamped it out and he turned and slumped laconically into the offered chair. "So," he smiled. "What's up? You know, I'm missing my history final to be here. This better be good."

"I don't know if good is the right word," Hammond replied carefully. "But it is important. We need you. Or, more accurately, the Asgard need you."

A sneer twitched at the boy's lips. No, not a boy, Hammond corrected himself. He was older, almost a man - somewhere painfully between child and adult. But the attitude belied the youthful appearance. "And I should give a rat's ass because..."

"They need our help."

"Again, I should give a rat's ass because..."

He frowned. "Jack--"

"Hey!" O'Neill interrupted hotly. "They did this to me! Why the hell should I care if they're in trouble?"

Getting to his feet, Hammond turned to the window and sighed. He hadn't considered this. "Lokki has been punished," he reminded him. "And without Thor, you would have died two years ago."

"Oh, I'm *eternally* grateful."

His sarcasm grated, and Hammond turned back towards him angrily. "You should be," he snapped. "You should be damn grateful to be alive!"

The boy - Jack - blinked, taken aback. And then he was suddenly deadly serious, exhibiting the razor-sharp focus that had driven him up the ranks to Colonel. "What happened?" Typical O'Neill - push you to the limit, then cut straight to the point.

Hammond swallowed his irritation. "Apparently, the time dilation device that SG-1 activated on Halla, the former Asgard homeworld, is malfunctioning. Time is speeding up and unless it can be repaired, time will accelerate to the point where the replicators evolve enough to escape the planet --"

"And they don't know how to fix it?"

"They do," Hammond nodded. "But they need you to do it."

Jack winced. Then shrugged. "Why me? Sounds like a job for Carter."

"Because," Hammond explained as he sat down, "you're the only one who can enter the remote diagnostic facility they've created within the bubble of distorted time."

The blink of confusion was all Jack O'Neill. "Okaaaaaay. Why?"

"A security measure. To prevent tampering, the Asgard configured it so that only you could enter the diagnostic chamber. It's DNA encoded."

It took a moment for the fact to be absorbed, and then came the obvious question. "What about the other me? Why can't he do it?"

Nodding, Hammond smoothed his hands on the desk and fixed a steady look on the young man sitting before him. "Son," he said carefully, "you should know that Colonel Jack O'Neill was killed in action almost four months ago."

The boy didn't respond immediately, but his gaze turned back to his former friends as though the last piece of a puzzle was falling into place. All he said was, "And I though he was the lucky one."

"They're waiting for you," Hammond told him, standing again and gathering his files for the briefing. He held his breath, waiting for the answer...

After a thoughtful moment, Jack turned away from the window. Deadpan. "I'll need a smaller uniform."

***

Sam felt queasy. Her chest was constricting with a sour mixture of dread, anticipation and a longing so profound it hurt. Fourteen weeks ago she'd seen his flag-draped coffin carried to the cemetery, she'd fought off tears during the General's eulogy, and broken down completely at the wake. Fourteen weeks and three days ago.

And now, within the next few minutes, he was going to walk back into her life. Only it wasn't him. Not really. And yet it was. Her soul, grated to pieces by grief, didn't know how to handle this unnatural twist. The only thing she had to cling to was the fact that the duplicate O'Neill wouldn't look like the man she'd known. Thank god for small mercies. She couldn't have born to see him alive and well, and yet not the man she'd known. Not for the first time recently, her thoughts dwelled on her own double, living her life in a shattered world. She'd gained a new insight into the woman's pain on seeing her dead husband alive again. Her courage, she decided, had been admirable. She hoped she could function as well when--

The door opened.

Her stomach lurched into her toes as she involuntarily shot to her feet, standing to an unwarranted attention as Hammond entered the room. He waved her down and, feeling slightly foolish, she sat. Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone else enter the room, but she couldn't look at him. Not yet. Just a few more moments...

"Take a seat," Hammond said, and she knew he wasn't talking to her.

A chair scraped back and Daniel cleared his throat. "So," he said uneasily, "this is odd."

"It is indeed," Teal'c echoed.

"Nice to see you too." Oh *God* the voice. It was deeper than she remembered, less of a child, and closer to *his* voice. But it wasn't him. It wasn't him! She felt sick.

"You've, ah..." Daniel was struggling. "Grown."

The room went silent for a beat, and Sam forced herself to look up.

"Thanks," came the dry reply, from a face that was all too recognisable. Daniel was right. He had grown, matured - he was no longer a child. Yet not quite an adult. But he was definitely Jack O'Neill.

Her heart leaped with an unexpected joy at seeing him again. Oh God, she'd missed him! But disgust at her betrayal quickly squashed the unworthy emotion. It's wasn't him. The Jack O'Neill she knew lay dead and buried under six feet of earth. He was gone, and the adolescent sitting before her was nothing more than a cheap copy. She had to remember that. She owed that much to the Colonel, at the very least. He was irreplaceable.

"You'll be pleased to know that he's agreed to assist the Asgard with their problem," Hammond told them. And it was only when the General started talking that Sam realised she hadn't said a word of greeting. "Major Carter, as soon as you've briefed your team, the Asgard will transport you to their ship and you can get underway."

"Yes, sir," she replied. But still she couldn't look *him* in the eye, although she could feel his gaze on her from time to time. She wondered what he saw.

Hammond cleared his throat and turned to the young O'Neill. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again and frowned. Tapping his fingers together, he said, "I don't know what we should call you, son."

Irritation flashed across the young man's face. "Oh, I don't know, how about...my *name*?"

The General's frown deepened. "That feels a little uncomfortable."

"Yeah? Try it from this end."

"You are not the O'Neill we knew," Teal'c said, cutting straight to the point. "However, Colonel O'Neill was not the only man to bear that name." He glanced over at Sam, catching her eye. "We will adjust."

She gave a slight nod, acknowledging the reproof in her friend's eye. "Teal'c's right," she said to Hammond. "We'll get used to it."

O'Neill shifted, his gaze brushing across hers before she could look away. "Thank you," he said. And this time it was spoken quietly, without sarcasm. She found herself caught by his eyes. Dark. Familiar. And with a life-time behind them. She shivered, the half-smile she'd offered him wilting under the heat of his gaze. It's not him. It's not *him*.

"Very well, Jack," Hammond nodded, rising to his feet. "I'll give you a couple of hours to get orientated before we contact the Asgard. Obviously, you'll be a civilian on this mission--"

"Obviously." The word dripped sarcasm.

Hammond ignored it. "And so Major Carter will be in command." His attention turned to her. "Once you reach Halla, the decision whether or not to proceed with the mission will be yours, Major. You know what's at stake."

"Yes sir," she nodded. "I understand."

"Okay people. Dismissed." He turned to leave, and then stopped. "Ah, Doctor Jackson? Perhaps you could take Jack down to get kitted up?"

O'Neill grunted. "I know the way,"

"But you don't have one of these," Daniel pointed out, waving his access card.

He frowned, an achingly familiar expression. "No. Guess not."

Sam's stomach clenched queasily.

"Come on." Daniel stood up, flinging her a look. "I'll fill you in on what's been happening since you...left."

O'Neill shrugged as he too rose to his feet. He *was* taller, Sam realised. Fully grown, if more slender than the man she'd known. "Lead the way," he said to Daniel. But his eyes fell on her again and a tentative smile tugged at his lips, piercing her aching heart. She couldn't respond, and after a moment he looked down at his fingers, tapping awkwardly on the table-top, and turned away.

His disappointment was palpable, and Sam felt a wave of guilt on top of everything else. But she couldn't help it. She couldn't give him what he wanted, she couldn't see him as the man he thought he was. And she knew she never could.

***

He'd dreamed about this exact moment.

Some nights, he'd wake in the silent darkness of his bedroom and for an instant he'd think he was on-base. He could almost smell the tang of metal and concrete in the air, the slight residue of ozone the gate left behind. He'd longed to return to his real place in the world, yearned to be back under the mountain, among his friends, doing something that mattered. Saving the world. Any world.

And here he was, with Daniel at his side, striding the SGC corridors on his way to do just that. Save a world. Who knew, maybe even a galaxy? But as with most dreams, when it became reality it brought with it a thousand unanticipated problems. And going back was never easy. Even when you wanted it more than anything else in your life.

"I, ah, hope you didn't feel awkward back there," Daniel was saying as he punched the button for the elevator. "With the name thing. It's just--" He paused, sighed, and glanced down the empty corridor before he said in a quiet voice, "General Hammond did tell you what happened, right?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah, he told me. I'm sorry, I guess." Now *that* was strange. Offering someone condolences for his own death...

"It's still very raw," Daniel admitted quietly. "We're all still grieving."

*But I'm right here!* The words itched to be spoken, but Jack bit down hard on the impulse. What had been obvious from the moment he'd seen the wary welcome in Hammond's eyes was that, to these people, he was not Jack O'Neill. Whatever he might think about himself, whatever he might feel for his friends, to them he was a stranger. Worse than that, a stranger bearing the face of the man they'd only just buried.

It sucked.

The elevator opened and an airman passed by without a hint of recognition. Jack found himself relieved. Blank looks were better than the flinch of pain he'd seen in the eyes of his former team. "How did it happen?" he asked as they stepped inside. He figured he should at least know the details of his own death, as bizarre as that sounded.

Daniel grimaced, pulling off his glasses. "Staff blast to the chest. We were evacuating P4R-529. Jack was holding the line of retreat when we were out-flanked. They got him point-blank."

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

"Good way to go though," he mused. "Fast. Better than rusting away in some old-folks home while--" Daniel cleared his throat, flinging him a strained look. "What?"

"Nothing," he mumbled, turning away. "It's just... You're a lot like him."

"Yeah," Jack sighed, leaning back against the elevator wall. "I get that a lot."

***

Sam sat alone in the women's locker room, fully dressed, waiting for her courage to return. In less than half an hour she had to be ready to leave, and she still hadn't briefed him on the mission.

Damn. She still couldn't bring herself to think of him as Jack O'Neill, despite Teah'c's silent reproof. How could she? She felt like a kid who's Dad just went out and bought a new puppy after the dog died. You can't just replace people! It's not right. It's not natural. Of course, the man's very existence was unnatural. Which was the root of the problem. No one should have to live with a flesh and blood ghost. What the hell did that do to the grieving process?

A knock on the door startled her, and she got hurriedly to her feet. The last thing she wanted was to be discovered - again - in tears in the locker room. God knew, she'd fed the grapevine enough gossip in the last few weeks. Grabbing up her jacket she pulled open the door, expecting to see either Daniel or Teal'c checking up on her.

She stopped dead when she saw O'Neill. O'Neill in BDUs. Her heart thudded; he looked so much like *him*.

"Hey," he said awkwardly. Then, he waved something in front of her, "They gave me one of these, and Daniel said you were here."

She stared dumbly at the access card he was holding, fighting for her equilibrium.

"Briefing?" he added. "The Asgard? Little skinny grey guys with--"

"Yes," she blurted, lurching past him and into motion. He had to hurry to catch up, falling in easily at her side as she strode towards the gate room. "Actually, there's not much more to add," she said, letting the words tumble out unchecked. "The Asgard established a remote diagnostic facility within the time-bubble surrounding the planet Halla. If you like, it's a bubble of normal time within the field radius of the time-dilation device, to allow someone to re-enter the orbit of the planet and repair the time-dilation device should it fail."

"Which it has."

She nodded. "Time is speeding up again, and if it's not fixed soon the replicators will be able to leave the planet and--"

"Got it," he replied, his voice as commanding as she remembered, despite its youthful cadence. "And I do what?"

She shrugged. "That, I don't know. Thor said he'd explain it to you when we arrived."

"Explain it to *me*?" he muttered. "Hope you'll be interpreting, Carter. I still don't speak technobabble, despite two extra years of High School."

Against her will, a bubble of humour floated to the surface. "No, sir," she murmured. No, sir? The words tolled in her head and stopped her dead. Sir? How could she make that mistake? He wasn't 'sir'. He wasn't *him*.

But O'Neill didn't seem to notice, walking ahead and only stopping when he realised she wasn't at his side. "Carter?"

Her name on his lips, such a longed for sound, almost undid her. She grimaced through the suffocating burst of pain. "Nothing."

"You okay?"

She just nodded, unable and unwilling to say more. "You should go to the armoury, get a weapon."

"Yeah," he agreed, still eyeing her warily. For a moment she thought he was going to say something and she quailed at the thought. But at the last moment he must have had a change of heart, because he stuffed his hands into his pockets and glanced down the empty corridor. "It's still where it used to be, huh?"

She had to close her eyes against the image before her; a young, healthy, vital Jack O'Neill, hands in pockets, the spitting image of the man she'd lost. Close enough to touch. It made her want to weep at the cruelty of the world. But all she did was open her eyes again and force a queasy smile, "Yeah, level twenty-seven. See you in the gate room in ten."

Walking past him, she left him staring after her as she all but fled from his presence. How she was going to survive the long mission ahead with her sanity intact, she had no idea.

***

Two years away hadn't dimmed Jack's memories of Asgard transport technology. It was as disorientating as ever. One minute he was standing in the gate room, trying not to stare at Carter, and the next - bam! - he was in the dimly lit interior of an Asgard ship, staring at someone who could only be, "Thor! Buddy!"

The alien inclined his head gracefully. "Colonel O'Neill, it is a pleasure to see you again. I was sorry to hear of your death."

Jack blinked. He would *never* get used to this. "Uh, yeah. Me too."

"I'm sure we don't have much time, Thor," Carter said briskly, her eyes never once straying too close to Jack. It was as if she were afraid of him. "We should get underway and get this over with as quickly as possible."

"What's the rush Major?" Jack asked, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

"The mission is time-critical," she snapped. But he knew her well enough to understand. It wasn't the mission that was bothering her, it was him. She wanted him out of her life as soon as possible. And that hurt. A lot. It undermined a thousand fond memories of her, a thousand dreams of an impossible future. He scowled down at his new boots, hoping the rejection didn't show on his face.

"Major Carter is correct," Thor said, his sing-song voice lilting through the tension. "And we are already en route to Halla. But time is indeed short. If you will follow me, Colonel O'Neill, I will explain what you must do upon our arrival."

Jack had just taken a step to follow when Carter spoke again. "Actually, Thor, it's not appropriate for you to address him as Colonel O'Neill. Colonel O'Neill is dead. And I'm in command of this mission."

Thor's surprise was evident. But all he said was, "As you wish."

Jack just felt cold. Colonel O'Neill is dead? Where the hell did that leave him?

"You can call him O'Neill," Daniel suggested, ever the diplomat. "Or Jack. Or Jack O'N--"

"Call me Dorothy, for all I care," Jack muttered icily, making Carter flinch. "Like the Major says, let's just get this thing over with."

Thor said no more, although Jack could have sworn he looked bemused by the exchange. But it was hard to tell on that face. Nonetheless, he turned and left the room. Jack glanced over at Carter to see if she would follow. With an awkwardly self-conscious look she went after Thor, leaving Jack to trail behind. But before he could take two steps Teal'c's hand touched his arm and stopped him.

"This is difficult," he said quietly. "Do not blame her."

Jack said nothing, pulling his arm away and leaving the room in silence. It *was* difficult. More difficult than he'd ever dreamed. More difficult than Teal'c or the rest of his team could possibly imagine; to them he was still a ghost, an unwanted stranger in his own life.

How the hell was he supposed to live like that?

***

They were meant to be resting, but Daniel couldn't help notice that he - the young Jack O'Neill - wasn't even trying to sleep. Instead, he sat on the floor next to one of the long windows, watching the galaxy streak past, one knee pulled up to his chest. The old Jack would never - could never! - have sat like that. But despite the youthful features, Daniel could still see a lifetime's experience etched into the young face. And despite the complexity of his own emotions - the grief at losing a friend and the unease he felt around the replica O'Neill - he found that sympathy was still the strongest emotion of all. He'd recognised the flinch, deep in O'Neill's eyes, when Sam had told Thor that the Colonel was dead. He'd seen that same sense of inadequacy in Jack a hundred times before, when he thought no one was looking.

Sitting up and rubbing a hand over his face, Daniel got to his feet and stepped over the sleeping bodies of Sam and Teal'c. Jack didn't shift as he approached, but Daniel knew he was aware of his presence as he sat down opposite him. "Nice view," he observed quietly.

Jack nodded slightly. "Looks better from up here than down there."

"You missed this."

Jack's gaze flicked to his face. "What do you think?"

"It wasn't a question."

Silence stretched across the room as Jack's young face, half-shadowed in the dim light, gazed pensively out of the window. "I used to look up," he said at last. "And wonder where you all were. What you were doing."

"Must have been hard," Daniel realised, swallowing a twinge of guilt. He'd never thought about this other Jack O'Neill. Not once.

"You have no idea," came the clipped response. "Last October? My Dad turned eighty. Couldn't even send him a card."

Daniel winced. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Jack sighed, looking back out the window. "Me too." Then he pulled something out of his pocket and threw it over at Daniel. It was a small leather wallet, and when he opened it he saw that it contained a handful of photos. "He gave them to me," Jack explained. "It's all I had left of my life." His head dipped slightly, gaze turning inward as he quietly said, "I guess it's still all I've got left."

Daniel said nothing, flicking slowly through the pitiful collection: two of Charlie, one of Jack, Sara and Charlie, an elderly couple, who had to be Jack's parents, and one of SG-1. "I'm sorry."

"You said that."

"You have to understand it from our point of view," he tried. "To us--"

"I know," Jack snapped. "He's dead. Carter said."

For a moment Daniel was silent, looking down at the team photo in the leather wallet. They were all smiling, even Jack. It was a good picture. A happy picture. Then, behind it, he saw the edge of another photo peeking out and started to pull at it. Too late, Jack made a grab for the wallet. But Daniel already had the picture in his hands; a snap-shot of Sam, all smiles. Jack's jaw clenched and he turned sharply to stare out the window, a flush of embarrassment darkening his face.

Daniel stared awkwardly at the picture, understanding more than Jack realised about his friend's unconsummated feelings for Sam. "This is why it's so hard for her," he said softly. "She took his - your - death very badly."

"Really?" Jack's voice cracked on the edge of a whisper. He almost sounded hopeful, as if Sam's grief proved something to him. Maybe he really didn't know how she'd felt.

But Daniel did. He remembered finding her out on his balcony, alone on the freezing night of the wake, sobbing her heart out. So angry she could barely speak. "She had a lot of regrets."

"Yeah," Jack sighed. "We all have those."

"Do you regret this?" Daniel asked. "Coming back?"

O'Neill's gaze shifted up to his face, as agate-hard as he remembered. "I regret waking up every morning and not recognising my own face in the mirror. I regret seeing that look in--" He shook his head, running a hand through his hair - thick, dark and without a trace of grey. "I regret that I'm *dead*."

With that he stood up, a fluid motion that spoke of youth and strength, and stalked away. Daniel watched him go, full of sympathy and confusion. Had his eyes been closed, he wouldn't have known he wasn't talking to his old friend. And yet Sam was right - Jack O'Neill was dead. And he deserved to be mourned. So how the hell was he supposed to relate to this kid with his friend's memories? Perhaps even with his friend's soul?

He pulled off his glasses and rubbed a hand over his face. He wasn't even sure there was an answer.

***

Restless, Sam lay staring at the ceiling. The soft murmurs of a muted conversation had fallen silent long ago, and nothing but the quiet hum of the ship and the deep breathing of her sleeping team filled the air.

She glanced at her watch. Two-thirty, Colorado time. Normally she could sleep anywhere. Even on floors as cold and hard as this one. That was something that nine years at the SGC had taught her. But not tonight. Her head and heart were too full of ghosts to let her sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw his face. Not the kid on board with them, but the *real* Colonel O'Neill. The one she missed with every beat of her heart.

There were plenty of things she regretted. Some of them, she could barely bring herself to remember. But amongst the biggest was that she'd seen his dead face back on P4R-529. Every time she thought about him she remembered those dead, blank eyes, bereft of humour and warmth. So cold. There was a bitter irony to it, she thought, as she stared up at the dark ceiling. How many nights had she laid awake trying not to think about the way those eyes had smiled so warmly at her? She'd tried so hard to banish those thoughts, and now all she could remember was his cold stare of death. Bitter, bitter irony.

Feeling the familiar lump constricting her throat, Sam sat up. No point in dwelling. Not here, not on a mission. Carefully, she crawled out of her sleeping-bag and padded in her socks towards the control room where the Asgard monitored their journey. They, it seemed, didn't need to sleep. And she could use some company and a distraction, however alien.

But her escape was partially blocked by the sleeping form of the young Jack O'Neill. For some reason he was sleeping as far from the rest of them as was possible in the little room given over to them by the Asgard. She slowed as she approached, her eyes dipping inevitably to his face, cushioned against one arm where he slept wrapped in his military issue sleeping-bag. He looked even younger asleep, but she could still trace the features of the man in the face of the boy. It made her shiver. It was so wrong to see that face, when *he* was dead and buried in the Colorado dirt.

Stepping over the long legs that blocked her escape, Sam left her sleeping team. In the control room she found only Thor. At least she assumed it was Thor. He looked up when she stepped inside, wide eyes blinking. "You are not resting, Major Carter?"

She grimaced. "Couldn't sleep. A lot on my mind."

"You are worried that this mission is dangerous for your team?"

"A little," she shrugged, content with the half-truth.

Thor left the control panel and walked towards her. "May I ask you a question, Major Carter?"

"Of course."

"Why does O'Neill no longer command your team?"

Sam stared. Wasn't it obvious? "Ah...well, because he died."

"Yet his clone lives, and appears to be in good health."

She felt her hackles rise. How dare he... "Human's don't work like that," she explained, as politely as possible. "To us, that boy isn't Colonel O'Neill."

Thor's head tipped to one side. "To you, am I not Thor?"

"Of course you are," she replied. Then grimaced slightly. "It's just different."

"This body," Thor continued, "is not the one broken by Anubis. And yet I am still myself."

"But there was never two of you," Sam countered. "The kid in there - he hasn't been at the SGC for two years. He's different. He's not Jack O'Neill."

"For crying out loud, Carter," a sleepy voice said from behind her, "you running some kind of campaign here?"

She stiffened and turned. "I thought you were asleep."

"Yeah," he nodded, "I guess you did." Their eyes met for a moment, and what she saw in his face confused her. Anger, yes, but beneath it something that almost looked like sympathy. Maybe she'd seen too much, because he abruptly turned away and said, "Thor, how long till we get there?"

The Asgard returned to his console before answering. "Nearly three hours, by your counting."

"Good," he said, walking past Sam. "You can go over how I repair that device one more time." He threw her a flat stare. "If that's okay with the Major?"

Swallowing hard, his anger surprisingly hurtful, she nodded. "Of course."

He didn't respond, just turned back to the console and began talking to Thor. Retreating from the room, Sam made her way back to her piece of floor. In the semidarkness it was only when she sat down on her sleeping-bag that she noticed that it felt thicker than before. She understood instantly and her heart skittered. He'd given her his sleeping-bag, just like he'd always done when switching watch off-world. Sometimes a little extra heat or padding made all the difference.

The gesture yanked at her heart, throwing out a hundred fond memories that filled her eyes with tears. She missed him so much. Her fingers closed around his sleeping-bag as she pulled it over her knees and buried her face in the warm fabric. The scent hit her like an avalanche. It was him. It was *him*!

She couldn't stop the tears from falling.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

***

Everyone was sleeping when Jack returned to their makeshift camp. Even Carter. Although he noted, with a sinking heart, that his sleeping-bag had been left folded carefully to one side. She didn't even want that much of him. He had to admire her loyalty, even if it was as frustrating and hurtful as hell. He'd thought about her so often over the past two years, watched her, longed for her, imagined meeting her again. Why couldn't she see who he was? She was smart. Why couldn't she *get* it?

With a frustrated sigh he began stowing his kit. They were half an hour out from their destination and he needed time to prepare. The thought of returning to the planet unnerved him; he still occasionally had nightmares about those little techno-bugs. But it wasn't like he had a choice in the matter, and it wasn't like he'd have made a different decision even if he had been able to choose. The replicators had to be stopped, end of story.

Sitting down on the hard floor he pulled on his boots and began lacing. They were new and needed to be broken in. He hated new boots. But of course his old boots were long gone. Along with his old life. He sighed and paused, glancing over the sleeping room to where Carter lay. She hadn't changed much in the two years he'd been away, although he'd never before seen her this introverted and tense. Daniel had said she'd taken 'his' death badly, but she seemed to be taking his living worse. If only she could see what this was - another chance, for both of them. Angry, he returned to tying his laces, staring at his smooth, young hands.

Too young.

Stopping again, he ran a hand over his face. He barely needed to shave yet, all smooth skin, narrow features, long and lanky limbs. He was a kid, barely more than a boy.

He looked again at Carter, a strong, beautiful, graceful woman. Definitely a woman.

His heart sank. Was it really a surprise that she couldn't see past the body he'd been forced into? He looked like a child to her. How could she ever love him like this?

Love...

He'd gotten used to the idea, and the word, during his two year exile. Perhaps away from the SGC, and all its rules and regulations, he'd allowed himself a little more emotional honesty than usual. Or perhaps, having lost her for good, he'd finally allowed himself to accept what he had felt for so long. He'd loved her. He still did. But sitting there in the starlit darkness, watching her sleeping, he realised that her love had died with the man who'd stolen his boots and his life. She could never love the boy that he appeared to be, even if the man inside was the same.

He was as far from her now as he'd ever been, but time not regulations separated them now. The words he'd overheard rang again in his head. The kid in there...He's different. He's not Jack O'Neill. He had no place in her life. She didn't want him, none of them did. And once this mission was over he'd be thrown back into exile.

His peers and contemporaries raced ahead of him towards the end of their lives, while he was left behind and forgotten. They were forever beyond his reach - as dead to him as he was to them.

He was a dead man walking. And his friends had already buried him.

***

Looking back, Teal'c felt he should have known that something was wrong. O'Neill had been as a brother to him, and although he'd looked more like a son in his current incarnation, his mind had been the same as ever. Both had been warriors, both needed the battle, and both understood the pain of rejection by those whom they loved.

He should have noticed. But he hadn't...

"You'll have to be careful in there," Carter had told O'Neill, her voice as flat as Teal'c had ever heard it. "You must keep this in contact with your skin at all times ." She'd held out a small metallic device. "It confirms your DNA to the Asgard computer."

O'Neill had taken the small disk from her hand, moving gingerly as if avoiding the risk of even the slightest brush of his fingers against hers. "I need this to get in?"

"No," she'd replied. "To get out. That's the failsafe. Anyone can get in, but unless they have your DNA the time dilation device within the room triggers, and they'd be dead within minutes."

He'd looked at her carefully for a moment, turning the disk over in his fingers. "Minutes?"

"To us. Of course, to them it would be a lifetime."

He'd frowned. "A life time - wouldn't that give them time to figure out how to escape?"

"It would," Thor had interrupted. "To prevent this, the intruder is automatically trapped in a stasis filed until they die. You must be careful O'Neill. You must not trip the time dilation device."

"Yeah, wouldn't want to do that," he'd said with a smile, tossing the small device in the air and snatching it back like a coin. He slapped it on his upper arm and turned his attention to Daniel. "So," he'd said, watching him with an odd intensity. It had seemed as if he might say more, but in the end he'd simply smiled and said, "Thanks. For earlier."

Discomfited, Daniel had scratched his head and ducked the thanks. "Anytime. You know." Then he'd frowned and said no more, although in his memory Teal'c recognised the unease in his friend's face. He'd shared it.

Jack had turned to him then, but said nothing, simply fixing him with a serious look that had seemed out of place in his youthful face. Then he'd nodded, as if something profound had been exchanged, before glancing warily towards Carter.

She'd been ice cool. "I'll talk you through the procedure," she'd told him, keeping her gaze fixed on the Asgard schematics displayed nearby. "It shouldn't take more than half an hour."

"Right," Jack had said. And then awkwardly, after a pause, "Carter?"

She'd half glanced at him. On edge. "Yes?"

He'd hesitated, staring at her. "You're doing a good job. With SG-1. I'm-- He'd have been proud of you."

Eyes wide, she'd returned his stare. "Thank you," she'd stammered at last, before looking back sharply at the schematics again. "We should get this thing done."

He'd just nodded, staring at her back for a moment that stretched well beyond propriety before he'd quietly said, "Yeah, it's time."

And, looking back, Teal'c should have known at that moment what he was planning. He should have known.

But he hadn't.

***

"Okay, that's it," Carter's voice fizzed into his ear-piece. "Now replace the red one and we're done."

Jack's fingers moved faultlessly to obey, a unique combination of youth and experience. And he felt a nervous flood of relief as the hum of the device began again. It was working. He'd done it. It was almost time.

"Thank you, O'Neill," came Thor's soothing voice. "The device is functioning normally. The replicators are still contained. Once again, we owe you a debt of gratitude."

Jack crawled out from beneath the cramped console, without a trace of stiffness in legs or back. Whoever had said 'youth is wasted on the young' hadn't been wrong. But at the same time, he hadn't been faced with the price Jack had been forced to pay. This phoney-youth was a curse. His body might be young, but his soul was old and craved the company of its own kind. His exile was excruciating.

He looked around the small alien room, a bubble of normalcy amid the replicator hell he and his team had frozen in time. Frozen, ironically, much as he had been, trapped in a time that wasn't his.

"Jack?" It was Daniel. "We're going to, ah...'beam you up' now."

He smiled at the wince in his friend's voice and glanced up at the small monitor in the corner of the room. "Stand by," he said, turning slightly so that his right arm was hidden from view. His fingers ran along his unnaturally smooth, youthful skin until they found the Asgard device beneath the sleeve of his tee-shirt. Slowly, he sat down on the floor, positioning himself carefully.

It was a risk. A huge roll of the dice. If it paid off, he might get his life back. If it didn't, he'd die here. But it would be painless. Like falling sleep. And for them, outside, it would just take moments. It would be over and they'd be free of the pain he was causing. *She* would be free to mourn the man who'd died a hero. He could still hear her voice, tense with grief: Colonel O'Neill is dead. He wouldn't make her cry in the darkness again, or look at him as if he were haunting her.

His fingers touched the edge of the device, cool metal warmed by his skin. It was now or never - a chance to regain the life stolen from him, or to end it here. But better that than going back to nothing, back to sitting, staring at the stars, knowing what was out there and not being able to do a damn thing to help, back to trying to plot a meaningful course through life after all that he'd seen and all that he knew.

He wouldn't go back to that life. He'd rather die.

Colonel O'Neill is dead.

"Jack?" Daniel again, anxious.

"Just a minute." He eyed the floor, calculating the angle, the distance. How he'd fall.

"O'Neill?" Teal'c, edgy.

Colonel O'Neill is dead.

His fingernail edged beneath the device and he felt it start to peel from his skin. "Sir?" it was Carter. "You can't take that off. If you--" It was off, falling from limp fingers as his mind clogged to a halt. The tinkling sound of metal hitting metal was the last thing he heard as the world rushed to black, but in his head he could still hear her voice, full of unshed tears and anger...

Colonel O'Neill is dead.

And as consciousness fled, he thought she might be right.

***

He was falling.

Images of death slammed into her vision - an explosion of blood and fire. A shout. Cold dead eyes.

He was falling.

Cold, dead eyes staring at nothing.

"What's he doing?" Daniel grabbed the monitor with two hands. "Jack? What are--"

Thor looked up, shocked. "He has removed the DNA uplink!"

Teal'c surged forward, angry. "He would rather die than return home! I should have seen this! We must stop him. Thor--"

"Beam him out!" Daniel was yelling. "Beam him out!"

He was still falling, toppling sideways towards the floor.

"The time dilation trap has been triggered," Thor said quietly. "O'Neill is in a stasis field, and time within the chamber is accelerating."

"So beam him out of there!"

Thor touched something on his console. "Without the DNA uplink, I cannot operate the transporter. That is part of the failsafe."

He hit the ground with a thud, face down. Sam felt sick. She couldn't see this again! She couldn't watch him die again. Yet she couldn't turn away. She couldn't move. Horror paralysed every muscle as the nightmare unfolded around her. Again. How could he do this to her again?

"Beam me in!" Daniel was saying. "Do it.. I can--"

"You too would be caught in the trap," Thor countered. "It would serve no-- Wait."

Everyone stopped.

"What?" Sam was surprised to hear her own voice. She barely felt as though she was in the room. "What is it?"

Thor's eyes were fixed on the alien script before him. "The DNA uplink has been reactivated."

She edged closer to the screen on legs stiff with tension. He still lay motionless on the floor. "How?"

"He must have rolled onto it when he fell!" Daniel guessed.

Sam's eyes burned dry, her voice a rasp. "Get him out of there."

Even before she'd finished speaking, Thor had moved. And in a flash of white light, O'Neill lay on the floor in front of them. Daniel dropped to the floor, crouching next to the still body, his fingers searching for a pulse. "He's alive."

Relief hit her like a sucker-punch, leaving her giddy. And guilty. And angry as hell. She'd seen him die, twice. And return from the dead, twice. Her mind was reeling from the impossible tensions, shuddering on the point of flying apart.

Gently, Daniel rolled him onto his back. And Sam heard him gasp before she saw Jack's face. "Uh-oh," Daniel murmured, rising slowly to his feet and stepping back.

He was old.

Her mind reeled. Just a few minutes in the accelerated time must have aged him beyond recognition, his youth traded for old age. What a bitter irony! She moved reluctantly to peer around Daniel, steeling herself for the worst. She thought she was prepared for anything.

She was wrong.

Her hand flew to her mouth to stop the involuntary gasp. Blood rushed from her head, her vision tunnelling as she found herself staring into a face from the grave. It was Colonel O'Neill. Exactly. As she'd known him that first day at the SGC - dark hair with a scattering of grey, his face lived-in yet vital. A man in the prime of his life. It was at once a dream and a nightmare made flesh. It was him. It was him exactly.

But it still wasn't *him*.

The irreconcilable conflict gouged chunks out of her rational mind, leaving her shaking and battered. And as she stared in horrified delight at the face she'd so longed to see, his eyes flickered open, full of life and hope. Semi-focused, he smiled cautiously at her. "Carter...?"

And her heart shattered.

Glutinous tears choked her, blinded her, and all she could do was run. It was too much. It was impossible.

***

Jack lay flat on his back, hands pressed over his face. The clang of Sam's fleeing footsteps still echoed in the silent room, tolling like defeat. Daniel shifted awkwardly and cleared his throat.

The slight noise broke the spell.

"Crap," Jack said, the word muffled beneath his fingers. "I'm old, right?"

"You are not," Teal'c replied, in a voice Daniel had long ago come to recognise as 'pissed'. "But your actions were reckless. You are lucky to be alive."

Jack's hands fell from his face, but he still made no move to get up. "Am I?"

"Ah, lucky?" Daniel jumped in. "I'd say you were. If you hadn't accidentally fallen onto the DNA uplink--"

"It wasn't an accident!" Jack groused, jumping to his feet. He winced slightly as he landed and glanced down at his right knee with a smile. "Huh. Knees."

Daniel was momentarily nonplussed by the nonsequiter. He decided to ignore it. "You mean...? You did that on purpose?"

Jack didn't seem to think the question warranted a reply. "Have you got a mirror?"

"Uh...no."

He turned to Teal'c. "T? Mirror?"

Teal'c's expression didn't alter. "You appear to be about forty years old, O'Neill. Much as you were when I first knew you."

"Yes!" He grinned. Then suddenly frowned, his eyes shifting sharply to the door through which Sam had fled. "Then what...?"

Daniel shook his head at the man's lack of perception. "You don't get it?"

"Get what?"

"You! You look--" He sighed, struggling himself with the shock of seeing the man he'd buried no more than four months earlier standing before him. "You look more like him now."

The frown deepened into a scowl. "I *am* him. That's the point!"

Daniel shook his head, reluctantly speaking the truth. "You're not him. *That's* the point."

Jack just glared, the kind of glare that would have shrivelled a parade-ground of new recruits. Daniel was unflinching. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Jack muttered, stalking away. "Sure you are."

And he was. Truly. But it didn't change the fact that Colonel O'Neill was dead and buried, and that the man wearing his face could never replace him. Not for anyone. And especially, he suspected, not for Sam.

***

The bright flash of Asgard light momentarily blinded everyone in the control room. And when his eyes had blinked away the red afterglow, Hammond found himself staring in shock at the gate room.

"Son of a bitch," Siler murmured at his side. Hammond flicked him a glance and he winced. "Sorry, sir."

But the General couldn't disagree with the sentiment. For standing there on the ramp, as if he'd never been gone, was Jack O'Neill. Not the kid, not the rangy adolescent, but the man with whom he'd served for over six years. Looking not a day under forty. Maybe older.

He grabbed the mic. "SG-1 to the briefing room immediately. Colonel-- Jack, to the infirmary. Now."

In the gate room below, Carter looked up and nodded. And without a backward glance she headed for the doors, barely pausing to hand her weapons over to the airman on duty. Daniel trailed unhappily after her, while Teal'c paused for a moment, turning back to O'Neill. He said something that Hammond didn't catch, before he too followed the Major out of the room. O'Neill was left alone on the ramp, like a living, breathing ghost.

"There are some things," Hammond said to himself, "that I'll never get used to."

"Yes, sir," Siler agreed politely, staring out at the man they'd both seen buried. "I'll get working on that faulty MALP, sir."

Hammond smiled slightly and nodded. "Good idea, Sergeant."

As he turned to leave, O'Neill started walking down the ramp. His swagger was so familiar it was painful. But not half as painful as the headache he was envisioning ahead of him. How the hell were they going to deal with this carbon-copy of the man who the world believed to be dead? Who was, in fact, dead?

He ran a hand over his head as he walked towards the briefing room. Just another day at the office...

***

Jack stared into the mirror, savouring his reflection. The gamble with the time dilation device had paid off, big time. He was himself again. Maybe five years short of where he'd started, but old enough to be taken seriously. Old enough to reclaim his life.

He ran his hand through his hair, salted slightly with grey, and turned away. On the bed was a new set of BDUs, sized to fit his adult body. And he couldn't help but smile. It was good to be back. He felt good. Strong. Powerful. All he had to do now was convince the rest of the world that he really was Jack O'Neill and that he deserved the chance live his own life again.

If he could just get Carter on board he knew that the others would follow. But, of course, Carter would be the most difficult of all to convince. She had so much more invested in the dead guy. The thought unsettled him and he shook his head to clear it. Time enough to worry about that later.

He pulled on his pants and was just reaching for his shirt when an unfamiliar voice behind him said, "You can leave that off, I'll need to listen to your chest."

"My lucky day," he grumbled, turning around to see some unknown kid-doctor pulling the curtain from around his bed.

She just smiled. "Take a seat, Jack."

Jack? Hmmm... Of course, it didn't actually *say* Colonel on his uniform anymore, but that was just a technicality. "Where's Fraiser?" he asked as the Doctor shone a penlight into his eye. "She usually does this."

There was a shift of unease through the room. The Doc - Johnston? - glanced uncomfortably at one of the nurses as she lowered the penlight and straightened up. "Janet Fraiser?" she asked, picking up his notes and scribbling on them.

Tension trickled coldly down his spine. "There's another Fraiser?"

Johnston ignored the comment, clasping her clipboard to her chest. She was twenty-five, if she was a day. "I'm sorry, Jack. Janet Fraiser was killed."

BAM! It hit him like a gunshot.

"Killed...?" The word leaked out as he looked over at the nurse. Her dour expression confirmed that this wasn't a horrible joke. Killed? "When?"

The doctor cleared her throat, "Almost two years ago."

Two *years* ago? She'd been dead all that time and they hadn't told him. They hadn't told him! "I didn't know." His voice was quiet, his anger under control as he stared down at his fingers. They were slowly curling into fists. Janet Fraiser had been dead for two years. Two years! And he'd never shed a goddamn tear for her. He surged to his feet, darkly pleased to see the doctor flinch backwards. It had been a while since he'd managed to have that effect on anyone - one of the many advantages of his restored adult body.

"Jack, where are you going?"

"To see Hammond."

"I haven't finished--"

"You've finished!"

The doctor blanched and retreated, much to Jack's disgust. Fraiser would have stood her ground. With a shake of his head he grabbed his shirt and stalked towards the door.

"Jack, you--"

He wheeled on the woman, finger levelled and pointing. "And that's Colonel to you, Captain."

The woman made no answer, simply blinked uneasily as Jack spun on his heel and slammed out of the infirmary.

Walking the corridors of the SGC was a different experience now. Gone were the blank, indifferent stares, replaced instead by shocked gasps, disbelief and on occasion even fear. He ignored them all, bent only on demanding an explanation from Hammond.

The General's office was empty, so he evaded the flustered Lieutenant who served as Hammond's PA and stormed towards the briefing room. Without pausing to knock, he thumped open the door and bulldozed his way inside. He was met by the silence of a severed conversation, all eyes wide and fixed on him.

"What in heaven's name--" Hammond started, half rising to his feet.

"Fraiser's dead!" Jack blurted, anger and sorrow crackling on each word. "Why the hell didn't someone tell me?"

No one answered.

"She was my friend!"

"Jack, calm down." Daniel rose slowly to his feet. "You know why we didn't tell you. You didn't want to keep in touch. You thought it would be weird."

Jack wheeled on him. "Weird? I'll tell you what's weird! Knowing that one of my friends has been dead for two years and no one - no one! - thought I'd care!"

"Enough!" Hammond snapped. "Jack, I'm sorry. God knows, we all miss Doctor Friaser, but I will *not* have this briefing interrupted like this. Report back to the infirmary immediately."

"You can't treat me like I don't matter," Jack warned them hotly, his gaze fixing on Carter. She hadn't looked at him once since he'd entered the room. "You can't pretend I'm not who I am!"

Hammond moved to stand before him. "No one said you didn't matter, son."

Lifting his eyes to the General's he saw a flash of friendship there, but he wasn't going to budge an inch. "I deserved to know."

Hammond nodded. "Perhaps."

Without another word, he turned and left the room. He'd make them understand, whatever it took. He'd make them understand that *he* was Jack O'Neill and that he deserved to live the life he'd been born to.

Failure simply wasn't an option.

***

Daniel found Sam buried in her work, burrowing into paperwork like a mole on a mission to forget. She didn't stir as he strolled into the room, and it was only when he cleared his throat that she looked up with a startled look of surprise.

"Daniel. Hi. Sorry, I didn't see you."

He nodded towards the papers tottering in a pile on her desk. "Busy?"

"Yeah. Well, just trying to get a handle on things. Who'd have thought we'd create so much paperwork, huh? So much for the paperless office! Although, let's face it, that's an oxymoron if ever--"

"Sam?"

She blinked as she halted, and he could see a wary sheen to her eyes. With a flicker of a grimace she looked down at the paper before her, hands falling still in her lap. "I don't want to talk about it, Daniel."

Pulling out a chair he sat down. "I know."

"I mean, it's not like there's anything to say, is it?"

"Guess not."

She looked up, daring him to contradict her. "Colonel O'Neill is dead. And that...that person is-- He's--"

"He's here," Daniel said softly. Sam winced, her eyes dark and full of pain in the dimly lit office. "However we feel about it, he's here. And he has some right to--"