Suspension

By Alli Snow

Definitions of the word 'suspension':
Temporary removal from office or privileges;
Abolition of a law or rule;
Escalating distress or dread;
A delay;
A rhetorical device where the main idea is held over onto the end for the purpose of escalating curiosity or anxiety

***

// Part 1 \\

There was no grand epiphany, no startling revelation, just a warm, subtle sensation that grew with every passing day, a constant feeling of pleasant edginess. It was how I knew that I could fall in love with Colonel Jack O'Neill.

As easy as falling off the proverbial log. Easier, in fact, because falling equaled pain equaled fear. Here, there was no pain, no fear, only this great good feeling, this purely hormonal, irrational thrill every time my C.O. walked into the room.

But there /was/ pain, /was/ fear, though I didn't realize it until P3X-797, the land of light and dark, and the subsequent... aftermath.

Jack had kissed me back. He'd responded to me before he'd gotten control of himself, and he'd kissed me on the neck, even after restraining me. It had taken me some time to recall what had happened during those virus-blurred hours, but I eventually did, and now every breath, every word, every touch was branded into my brain.

*Not like this...*

I'd done the sensible - if not ridiculous - thing and written it all out, getting it out of my system and into the open... on the lid of a pizza box, of all places, with a fancy fountain pen Daniel had given me for Christmas. "I like Jack O'Neill," I'd written, still gnawing on the last slice of pepperoni. "He finds me attractive, at least to some degree."

I refused to say that I was 'in love' with him. My mother had taught me that 'love' was a powerful word, one that shouldn't be used or taken lightly, and one that was /over/used by every ardent teenager these days. But I /did/ like him, very much, and relationships had been started on far less.

But love - or like - wasn't as simple as my beloved math, where the cosine of zero always equaled one, and Pythagorean's theorem was right every time. It was complicated, forever changing; a million factors jumped in at every play, sometimes unforeseen and sometimes obvious. These specific ones were carved in stone: 'mess around with someone you report to and risk everything you've pledged your life to and for.' Simple enough.

Only it wasn't.

Attraction versus reason.

So far reason had won out, attraction omnipresent but silent, lingering in the background while I fulfilled every duty, carried out every order. Sometimes I was severe in my adherence to reason, as though Captain and Samantha Carter could be cut apart into two distinctly separate biological entities.

Other times, though, usually when I returned to an empty house, I simply gave myself over to infatuation.

But here on Ma'at', so far removed from the guidelines that I secretly abhorred, away from the conflict spurred by rules and reason, how long could it possibly be before my walls crumbled to rubble, and attraction got the upper hand?

Not long at all, it seemed. Not even two months.

And now I knew something important.

I didn't like Jack O'Neill.

I loved him.

Not anything specific... not just his smile or his sense of humor or his compassion, not just his body or his mind or his soul. Instead, of all of it. And once I had realized that, and finally understood that he was just as ready and willing as I had always been... everything had snapped into place. And sped like a runaway train.

Perhaps we were cursed.

Now, the flickering flames of our mutual desire seemed to have been doused by an ice-cold bucket of harsh reality. Depa'ma, where we were being relocated, was two full day's ride from Ankh'ij. We were no longer simply a hop, skip, and a jump away from the Stargate, from home.

And it was like a slap in the face.

I mounted the horse provided for the trip - a muscular bay - and Jack got on behind me. Since I refused to sit sidesaddle like the other wives, quite a lot of my leg was revealed, but I was too defeated to care. Jack had his hands settled, feather-light, on my hips, and the full of his front was pressed against the full of my back, which made my body buzz with enjoyable excitement, but failed to alter my dour mood.

I'd simply gotten my hopes up, too high up about too many things. And although I wanted to do nothing more than bury my face in Jack's chest and hide from this unkind world, I realized that love did nothing more than make you soft and vulnerable.

As I had many times before, I retreated into reason.

*

Oh, Sam...

She was tense and unresponsive again my chest, cold counterpoint to the magma running through my veins. I couldn't help it any more than I could help being a man; the motion of the horse added to the heat of /her/ body produced an inevitable biological response in my own. Sure, it was embarrassing. But with me, embarrassment was almost always an afterthought.

She was holding the reins, though our horse seemed perfectly content to simply follow the horse butt in front of it, so not much steering was involved. The woods we rode thorough were dark and silent, and somehow, despite my sweet physical torment and the disparity of our situation, I managed to nod off.

***

"In front of me, Carter, in front of me!"

She grinned devilishly and caught the small white sphere easily when I lobbed it to her. The ball game was a whim, so we didn't have gloves or hats to shield our eyes from the sun. We'd gotten the bat and ball at a sporting goods store on the way home from dinner and set out to a park Carter knew of about a half-hour from the base.

"Ya see, Teal'c," I shouted to the Jaffa, who was standing at the edge of the infield, behind second base. "Carter is the pitcher. She's /supposed/ to throw the ball in /front/ of me so I can hit it." I leered at Sam and swung the bat menacingly.

"Then he runs here," said first basemen Danny, picking up the narrative as Carter pitched another ball. "If you throw the ball to me before he touches the bag, I can tag him and his turn is over. He's out."

"Out of where?"

"The game. Temporarily. The object is to run to each base in order, before the ball gets there and you get tagged out by someone on the other team. When you end up back on home plate, where Jack is now, your team gets a point. The team with the most points after a certain time period wins."

Carter pitched again and I watched it go by. "That was a strike," she said angrily.

"Was not. Daniel?"

"Strike two," he said joyously.

I made a face and threw the ball back to Carter. Full count.

She pitched again and, gritting my teeth, I swung as hard as I could.

The bat and ball connected; a stinging vibration ran through my hands. I dropped the bat and ran, watching the ball as I went. It was a long, high popup to mid-center field. I grinned as Teal'c watched it fly over his head. Good thing we hadn't explained all the rules to him.

I hit second and kept going. I smelled an in-the-park home run.

"Teal'c, throw it here!" cried Danny.

Up ahead, Carter had taken position with one foot on home plate, watching the relay, prepared to tag he out once she got the ball. Fat chance.

I left third base in the dust.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Daniel launch the ball at Sam. The kid had a surprisingly good arm. I grimaced. I hadn't slid home in, oh, a couple of years. It didn't exactly work wonders on my knees. And if I hurt myself, both Hammond and Frasier would have my head.

I slid anyway.

Carter caught the ball.

I ran into her, but she touched the sphere to my leg as she fell.

A could of dust enveloped us, and we coughed.

"You're out," wheezed Sam with a triumphant grin.

I glared, grabbed the ball, and stalked out to the pitcher's mound. "Teal'c, you're up..."

***

A horse whinnied and I opened my eyes.

Beyond the obscuring branches of tall, thick trees, I could see the sun, lighting the sky a brilliant blue. I yawned. How long had I been asleep?

The procession was obviously still in the woods, I noted, looking around at my surroundings. And Sam was in the same position she had been in when I'd dozed off. "I'll take the reins," I offered, knowing she must have been awake all night.

Wordlessly, she relinquished the leather straps. I looped my arms around her waist to hold them with both hands.

"Remember that pickup game," I asked suddenly, mood still buoyed by the pleasant memory. "Couple months ago... you, me, Daniel and Teal'c?"

"Yeah," she said sadly.

"I wasn't out."

Her spine straightened. "Yes, you were."

I chuckled, relieved to hear the fire return to her voice. I had to remember to keep her from feeling too sorry for herself. "I... don't think so."

"I had the ball in my hands before you even dropped into a slide, /Colonel/."

I made a face at her back. "You've been up all night, /Captain/. Why don't you get some sleep?"

"Whatever, sir."

Again, the convoy lapsed into total silence.

*

The Council building of Depa'ma rose out of the forest like an obelisk, tall, rectangular, yellowish-tan, with dark, circular windows.

"So these guys worship the everlasting Lego?"

I ignored Jack's quip as best I could, allowing my lips to quirk slightly, nothing more. I actually felt like bursting into raucous laughter, but that would just have been a somewhat hysterical reaction to our present situation.

Jack kept his hands on my hips as I descended from the horse's back, tensing when the animal was led away by a curious-looking militia member. I braced myself for another slew of stares and questions about our unusual coloring.

Surrounding the Lego-like building, backed right up against it, were hundreds of small bungalows, dwarfed by the larger structure. They were made of cinderblock, or something like it, and were the same sick yellow color as all the other constructions in sight.

We were assigned and dumped into a cottage even before we got our legs unbowed, or our backs straightened; as it was I doubted my hips would ever be the same again. Our new home was smaller than the apartment in Ankh'ij, and just as sparsely furnished, but at least the door had a deadbolt.

Jack turned the lock, gave a deep and empty sigh... and then put his arms around me.

I stiffened, but only for a second. After all, this wasn't any sort of romantic embrace; there were no sensual overtures. This was just a friendly hug meant to convey nothing more rousing than warmth, comfort, and support.

At least, that was what reason told me.

*

"Who's that kid?"

"Who? Oh, ignore him."

I was standing in a slow-moving line, arms filled with clothes, sheets, and everything else deemed necessary for life in Depa'ma. I had struck up a conversation with the man standing in front of me; when they weren't wearing black or white, the natives were quite friendly. It was too bad their culture was so irreparably screwed up.

On the orders of Clera's black-attired assistant, Gabrien, I'd left Sam in our little cubbyhole and gone to the courtyard in front of the vast Council building -- the Giant Lego. It was all more impressive than I had expected: nicely paved streets, tamed greenery all around, and tons and tons of men.

I'd gotten in line, observing those around me as was my habit. My gaze lingered on Gabrien, and for several moments I watched him stroll arrogantly through the courtyard, as though the gray-garbed men around him were nothing, as though he would just as soon crush them beneath his black boot as he would speak to them. If he'd only known how ridiculous he looked. His hair went halfway down his back, shaved in some strange pattern that didn't seem so much of a pattern as a barber's mistake trying to pass itself off as a pattern. I shuddered as I spotted another man with no hair save one long, thin braid draped over his left shoulder. Was such a hairstyle the mark of being in the militia? "Over my dead body," I muttered.

"What was that?" asked the man standing in front of me, turning around.

"Um, nothing. Sorry," I apologized. Might not be such a good idea to talk about dead bodies at what sounded to be a military instillation.

The man's eyes lingered on my face - obviously alien - and then he gave a twitch of a smile. "I am Tashbern."

"Uh, Jack," I stuttered.

He cocked his head. "I saw you come in earlier. Your committed is the woman with the yellow hair?"

Despite myself, I grinned. "That's right."

"You must come from far away, to look so different."

Understatement, I thought wryly. "We're from Ankh'ij."

"You weren't born there," he guessed wisely.

"No, we're not. Actually, it's a long story."

"I understand," said Tashbern, and he truly seemed to.

We reached the first booth, and the woman there gave us a sack. I peeked inside. Clothes, all of them black. /Wonderful/... this brought back memories.

I returned my attention to the crowd. Black suits were milling around, looking bored and maybe even disgusted to be so near so many 'civilians'. They lounged on chairs and tables, idle and irked, not particularly rushed. "Are we... going to war?"

Tashbern laughed. "Where did you hear that?"

"Ankh'ij."

He nodded. "People get paranoid when they are called to duty. They think there must be some awful reason. But my own father is an officer of a militia squad - not this one, sadly - and every few years, men are called simply to build our fighting force in the case that there ever was a real threat."

I thought of Clera and the others, and wondered how much of a threat they felt that the Stargate posed. Enough to ignore their own fears and bury it?

We gathered blankets, toiletries, odds and ends, and were nearing the end of the line when I saw him. He was standing, not far away, where the woods ran up against the courtyard. "Who's that kid?" I asked. 'Kid' was subjective. He had to be at least twenty or so, dressed in - shockingly enough - a white shirt and blue pants, with a full head of hair cut just above the shoulders. He watched the line and the crowd of militia almost hungrily, aware that I was looking at him but choosing to ignore the fact. His legs and arms were thick, not with fat, but with muscle. In fact, he was probably one of the best-looking guys I had ever seen, and I say that in the most manly way possible. His features were classic; he had the memorable kind of face found only in computer graphics and airbrushed ads, and nowhere in nature.

Nowhere, apparently, but here.

"Who? Oh, ignore him," Tashbern advised.

But I couldn't tear my eyes from the young man. "Why?"

He sighed. "Do you know of that old rumor about colonies, in the woods? Where they don't use the labor system?"

/That/ caught my attention. "I think so, yeah," I answered, thinking of Jerdess.

"Well, they are not simply rumors. They are the truth. And some of these revolutionaries, these outcasts, have the audacity to set up these colonies near /us/... less than a Réy's walk from this very place."

"He's one of them?"

"Undoubtedly. They make their own clothes, own food, but sometimes such things are scarce and they come here looking for work, for help."

"Help from who?"

"Them," said Tashbern exasperatedly, gesturing at the Lego.

"But doesn't the Council want to get rid of the colonies?"

"Some members do. But this is Clera's domain, and in her opinion they - and their shortages - are more useful in their present condition."

I frowned at that. Was there any aspect of Ma'at'an society that didn't use or let themselves be used? "And you don't have any problems with that?"

Tashbern's anger flared, sudden and unexpected, so fierce that I took a step back, afraid of getting singed. "Allow me to tell you something of myself. I love this glorious land. I love this planet. Not because I am insane, or because I have a privileged family, like many have insinuated, nor because I have been brainwashed by the excellent tutor the Council provided for me. I joined this militia as soon as my other debts were worked off, not because I was enlisted but because I love this land. The Council can do no wrong."

He had me in agreement - or at least tolerance - right up until that last sentence.

I loved being in the Air Force, in the United States Military for that matter. For all that I might complain about the headache and the hassle, it was my niche. It was what I did and what I was good at... especially where the Stargate was concerned. I might not have the greatest opinion of myself when it came to many aspects of my life, but my job was not one of them. If nothing else, my excellence as an officer had been rammed down my throat by many a superfluous General, or at least the ones who didn't know me too well.

I loved what I did, but I would never get to the point where I would unquestionably, infallibly, follow every order given to me, no matter where the order originated: Pope, President, or General. I'd butted heads with partisanship and political idiocy more times than I cared to keep track of, after all. And my allegiance to my own conscience had been, er... spectacularly demonstrated when I'd lied straight-faced to my superiors about the fate of Abydos years ago.

So Tashbern's unflappable patriotism left a sour taste in my mouth.

Not your planet, I thought. Not your cause, not your morals, not your problem.

When I looked back, the young 'rebel' was gone.

I went home to Sam.

***

"Daniel? What are you doing?"

I didn't look back at Janet, but kept my eyes focused on the night sky instead. It was a clear night, and the cosmos spinning above me seemed especially vast, especially impossible to navigate. Were Sam and Jack looking back? Could I see from this sad little parking lot the star that Ma'at'a revolved around? I knew I could figure that out simply by using the charts in the astronomy department, but I didn't want to. I wanted things to remain a mystery. I wanted to wonder, like I had wondered when I was little: was someone looking back?

"Nothing," I finally replied. "Just thinking."

She perched next to me on the front bumper of my car. "I talked to Colonel Landseth tonight."

"Really?" I asked dryly.

"Yeah."

"She mention how /rude/ I was the other day?"

"Daniel, I don't think that's anything worth mentioning. I think if you actually spoke three civil words to her the woman would have a heart attack."

"Promise?"

"Daniel," she snapped, and I finally looked down on her. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but tired wisps hung around her face, giving the appearance of a much younger woman. "Landseth never did /anything/ to us. To you. You know that. The only thing she /didn't/ do was turn down the chance to work here, and that's no great crime. If she had passed up this post, who knows; the next person in could have been someone like Mayborne, who didn't care about us, or the program, or especially about Sam and Jack. I don't like it either, Daniel, and there isn't a day that goes by when I don't..." Finally, with a sigh, she trailed off. "I don't know what else to say to you."

"Hammond sent you out here, didn't he?"

She shrugged. "You think I did this for my health? The Mayborne thing, though, that was all me."

"Very nice." Her hand touched my own and I looked down on it before returning my gaze to her face. "You know they aren't even sending probes through to Ma'at'a anymore? 'Too expensive', according to the General. And I feel like we... we failed them, Janet. They would have done so much more for me, or you. Jack wouldn't have rested until we were all together again, all safe, and the most I can do is have a tantrum now and then. It's embarrassing."

"You aren't Jack O'Neill," she reminded pointedly.

"Yeah. But you know what? I wish I was. I wish I could take his place, go back in time and... and /do/ something. Change something. It isn't right, Janet. It isn't fair."

"You don't need to tell me that, Danny." Now Janet redirected her attention to the stars. "Life isn't fair. And it should be. With all the crap we go through, it should be /more/ than fair. It should be on our side."

// Part 2 \\

Our second morning in Depa'ma.

I wanted to cry.

I didn't, of course.

Jack had spent the majority of the pervious afternoon meandering around the base, talking to people, getting to know our surroundings. I would have joined him but, even though there were no actual laws about 'common' women leaving the house unnecessarily, there seemed to be some kind of unspoken rule, some kind of taboo concerning it.

Which only put me in a worse mood.

He'd left soon after we'd arrived, on the orders of someone named Gabrien, one of Clera's people, returning shortly carrying an armload of cloth and questionable bundles: our allotted 'supplies'. He'd been in a foul mood, hardly speaking to me before venturing out again, mentioning only a man named Tashbern and a revolutionary colony.

I'd played the dutiful housewife, making the bed, putting things in their proper place, etceteras, until sundown, when Jack returned.

"Where have you been?" I asked, trying to keep the agitation in my voice to a minimum. No need for him to know I'd been worried, after all. He was a competent man. He could take care of himself.

"Around," he answered flippantly. "You know the kid I saw today? The one from the colony?"

I swallowed. "Yes."

"I talked to him. His name's Parson; he's a nice guy."

"Wonderful," I answered evenly, refusing to become enthused.

Jack regarded me strangely, then went on.

"Apparently, his colony's closer than Tashbern or even Clera know, just an hour or two from here."

/That/ warranted a little excitement. "Could they help us?"

He looked hesitant. "You mean hide us?"

"I mean help us get back to the Stargate."

"If we escaped from this place, they'd come looking for us; you know that," Jack pointed out. "And those people are considered revolutionaries. They're in a difficult situation as it is. I don't want them to fall under the Council's attention any more than what's absolutely necessary."

A noble sentiment, and one I shared, deep down, but nothing that would help us get home. "Is it at least in the right direction?" I asked, resolute.

"Yeah," he sighed. "It's in the right direction. Parson explained the route pretty well... I could probably draw a map."

I grinned. "Great."

"But first things first."

"What?"

For the first time I realized that Jack was holding something. It was small, brown, worn, and most certainly rectangular. "A book?"

"Parson brought it to trade. It's a children's book... it has pictures..." He shrugged. "I thought it might help us learn their written language."

"Wait a minute," I interrupted sternly, feeling every bit the part of the disagreeable matron. "Trade? Hat did you trade for it?"

"Nothing of... value."

"But-"

"Don't worry about it, Sam."

I scowled.

I wasn't supposed to worry? He had to be kidding.

"They're serving dinner down in the courtyard," he said, looking defeated. "Let's go."

It was a request, not an order, but that's what I imagined it as.

Now, it was morning, and what a morning it was.

I woke up pressed against Jack, cuddled up against his chest as though my sleeping mind had conveniently forgotten the friction between us. Even awake, I pushed it to the side, nestling closer to him, smiling as his arms unconsciously tightened around me.

Call it my guilty pleasure.

Unbidden, memories drifted back, errant bits of speech and emotion I hadn't entirely covered with an icy shell. The realization that Jack had stayed behind on Ma'at'a with me when he could have escaped; my initial awkwardness to the 'married' farce; our first - public - kiss. The attack in the alley, my fear and desperation, our second - private - kiss. My confidence that we would soon be home; the feeling of things left undone; the passionate embrace that Jack had terminated so abruptly, so unexpectedly.

Clera. The militia. The relocation.

I was a scientist. I adored science because 99% of the time there was a definitive answer to your problem, question, or experiment. And I was certain that despite what people said about love being as predictable as weather, I fancied myself an expert forecaster. I was sure I could bring reason to every one of my actions here on Ma'at.

Such personal reevaluation was usually done in my journal, which still lay under my bed on Earth - or, more subtly, in mission reports we were required to fill out upon returning to the SGC. Having neither a diary nor a form, I composed my rationalities in my head.

'I have great respect for Jack, and I'm attracted to him. Not a great start.

'On Earth, rules were everything. I could look at those regulations, black and white, and tell myself that I had committed myself to this and there was no turning back. Look, but don't touch. Keep a professional distance. No first names. Minimal downtime together. Anything more and I'd just be hurting myself.

'Here, though, everything I pledged my life to seems so damn far away. Add to that the fact we're supposed to 'act married'... and that we have no one to turn to but each other.

'When we kissed, after I was attacked, I don't think either of us were thinking straight. We just as well might have been under the influence of another alien virus. We were scared and clingy and afraid to let the other out of our sight. It was a difficult situation and we both let ourselves get carried away by feelings. Latent feelings. Feelings we had suppressed for a long time, but here had nothing to suppress them. Not rules. Not duty. Not even our own diminishing willpower.

'And then later, when I initiated that whole adolescent groping session... that had to be the most irresponsible, irrational thing I have /ever/ done. So what if I expected to be home in a few days, where there would be no more holding of hands, no more warm beds, no more evening embraces? So what? That's no excuse.

'So what's my excuse for the way I've been acting? And what's Jack's? Why have we been behaving this way? How did one simple two-day trip change us so dramatically, from almost-lovers to... to Colonel O'Neill and Captain Carter?'

Would we have to start all over again?

Was Jack really as at home here as he seemed?

I closed my eyes tightly and let sleep take me.

I was so confused.

*

Nothing much was happening, and that was fine with me.

I remembered an old saying about how the more closely the government controlled something, the less efficiently it worked. This seemed to be the case here in Depa'ma. According to several men - including Tashbern, who'd seemed to cool down and forgive me for whatever I'd apparently done - our training as militia members should have started today. But instead, Clera, her committed, Petros, and her daughter, Emiko... had decided to have a ball.

I learned from Parson - still lurking about - and a couple long-term residents of the base that Clera's parties were the best in the Council. She held it in the courtyard, and invited 'all the best families', "skimping on nothing... except entertainment," Parson added wryly. Of course, I knew exactly what he meant.

By far, the best part about it was the families that lived on the base got a day off.

I spent most of the morning talking to Parson. The kid was bright, and he smiled when I told him that, claiming to have had no formal, tutored education. As we discussed Ma'at'an politics, weather, and social classes, a tiny scrap of discomfort kept popping up, and I finally gave in and asked "Why are you being so... helpful?"

He seemed genuinely confused. "What? Do you think I am tricking you?"

"No, of course not," I lied. "I just know that everyone has their own motives. That doctor I told you about, Krivin; he helped us because he feels guilty for having led a privileged life. The people in Ankh'ij helped because that's how their community operates. Everyone has reasons. What's yours?"

He seemed to consider the question carefully, so serious it was almost funny, before answering. "This world is one with many problems. Our people recognized that and broke away. Every Réy, it seems, there are less of us. When we meet someone who sees these problems, we do what we can to give them courage to join us."

"Courage is no problem," I assured him. "The trouble is finding opportunity. But I already told you; Sam and I wouldn't join your colony. We just want to return to the Sungate."

Naturally, I hadn't explained /why/.

"I understand that," Parson said evenly. "But even contributing in the escape of two people is a victory for us."

We walked in silence for a few moments.

"Your Sam wouldn't oppose to leaving this place?" he asked.

I smiled ruefully. "Actually, I think she's already got our bags packed."

"She's eager to leave?"

"Very."

"And you are not?"

I glanced up at him, surprised. "Of course I want to leave. I don't appreciate being drafted here. Sam and I have our own lives where we come from, and we just want to get back."

"There's nothing keeping you here in Depa'ma?"

"Nothing."

"That is fortunate."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why... is that good?"

He cocked his head at me, as though I was an amusing pet. "You /are/ from far away. The militia has always worked this way."

"Worked how?"

He was frighteningly solemn. "The Council never relocates single men to this place. Always families. You see, it's too easy for a man with no family, no past, to escape, either from the base or during a duty. If you tried that, if you tried to leave this place without your Sam-"

"I would never do that," I said firmly.

"/If/ you did, she would be executed in retaliation."

I don't know why it surprised me, but it did, and I looked to Clera's Council building as though I could pinpoint her staring out one of the windows and ask her why, /why/, people of such potential were treated like slaves. "You have got to be kidding me."

"I am not. Every man here has a family. A committed if not children. Their lives hang in limbo, dictated by his actions." Parson's voice turned hard and cold. "/This/ is one of the problems with this land. Not the fact that the Council would kill innocents - not that alone - but... but the fact that every season... someone leaves his family behind, sentencing them to death."

I swallowed hard. I thought of Jaldebay, the careless slacker I'd known in Ankh'ij. He'd compiled debts from many cities... was this how? Had he had a wife and children that'd he'd abandoned, simply to be free of the burden?

Even if he personally hadn't committed such an offense, if still happened.

I felt numb and sick inside.

I brushed it away, at least as best as I could. I'd muse over it later.

"Are you ready for tonight?" I asked Parson with a smile.

He returned it. "I talked to Gabrien, and he even said that Clera would be glad to see me on stage again. I have to thank you, Jack. If she's in a generous mood, she might trade my performance for a gown... or even a necklace, perhaps a ring. Anything I could present to Nakieta."

Nakieta, the woman, one who lived on the base and who he wished to propose to. "No problem. Want to practice some more?"

"I'd like that," said Parson, and we retreated into a private place.

*

When the sun had drifted almost directly overhead, I made up my mind. Jack had told me to wait here, and stay out of sight and notice, but I was going stir crazy. I had to get out.

I'd pulled on a drab green dress, one of the provisions Jack had picked up the day before. It was less conspicuous then the gowns Krivin had donated. Peeking outside earlier, I'd seen many women wearing the exact same thing, which made me feel a bit safer. Still, as I had known months ago, my coloring would never let me fit in completely.

I left the cottage with a fluttering stomach.

It was cool outside but the dress was practical: long-sleeved and made of thick material. The street circling the Council building, I discovered, was surprisingly busy, choked with more traffic than we'd seen since arriving. They came in all colors, militia black but also in gray, green, and blue. Common people, like myself, all in some sort of hurry.

I traced the perimeter of the building and found myself in the courtyard Jack had mentioned the night before. It was vast and grand: stone, porcelain sculpture, thick grass, lush trees.

The front door of the Council building - Clera's home - looked less modern than the rest of the structure. It was a wide, stone-lipped semi-circle, like the front gate of a castle, or a grinning, toothy mouth. Here the swarm of men and women thickened. Voices were raised, faces animated and gestures wild. I caught the arm of a harried woman passing by. "What's going on?" I asked, predictions of war fresh and frightening in my mind.

She pulled away. "A party, of course."

"A party?" Jesus, was that all?

She looked exasperated. "Yes, a party. Now, what are you doing?"

"I-"

"If you're not doing anything, then quickly, inside." She pushed me towards the building. "Up the first set of stairs, third door on your left."

She gave me an extra little shove in that direction and then sped away, expertly threading through a knot of militiamen. I was left with two opinions: enter Clera's home or return to the cottage?

Third door on the left.

*

I climbed the stairs, opened the third door on the left, and found myself in an expansive suite.

Like all things associated with the Council, it was white. White walls, white drapes, white sheets over tables, white vases holding flowers. White flowers.

Everything was immaculate, still, and silent, and for a second I wondered if I had wandered into an empty room, the wrong room. Then I heard the sound of a door opening, from deeper inside the apartment, and a voice. "Hello?" It was young and female.

"Hi?" I responded hesitantly, rounding the corner and coming face to face with a teen girl about my height. We stepped back in concert, and she quirked a smile. I appraised her quickly: bronze skin, ebony hair, large eyes, small nose and mouth, white robe. /Her/ attention went directly to my hair.

"What a strange color..." she mused. "Where are you from?"

"Not around here," I answered, giving the standard reply.

Her eyes sharpened. "Where?" This wasn't vain trivia. She wanted to know exactly where I was from, and from the looks of things, she wanted to know now.

"Ankh'ij," I answered resolutely. The girl looked dubious.

"I know people from Ankh'ij. You look nothing like them."

"It's a family trait," I answered, trying to hide my annoyance. "My mother had the same coloring."

She looked unsatisfied, but let the matter drop. "You name, then?"

"Sam."

"Did Redera send you?"

Had the busy woman in the courtyard been Redera? "I think..."

The young woman waved her hand. "No matter. The others are all busy; I need your help in getting ready for my mother's party."

Understanding blossomed perfectly in my mind. 'Sharp, Carter, real sharp. They're going to have to send you through basic training again once you get back home.' I should I noticed it sooner. "Your mother?" I repeated, just for conformation.

"Yes. I'm Clera's daughter, Emiko."

*

Emiko, Krivin's ex.

I wanted - badly - to bring him up. Then again, he was bound to be a sore subject, and I didn't want to bring the anger of a Councilwoman's daughter upon me.

"Who's coming to this party?" I asked, brushing Emiko's long, silken hair and trying to remember how to French braid.

"Only the best families," she answered haughtily.

"Who? Anyone I'd know from Ankh'ij?" I pressed.

She hesitated. I saw her shoulders tense. A-ha...

"What's wrong, Emiko?" I asked in my kindliest voice.

"A doctor and his mother," she answered finally. "As you know, Ankh'ij is several days away by horse, but that is only because the route skirts the Bay of Judgement. They're taking my mother's ferry across and should be here soon."

Bingo.

"Do you know them?" I pushed.

"I do." She cleared her throat. "I..."

"What?"

"Nothing," she sighed.

*

"Sam? Are you here?"

It didn't take me long to discover that Sam wasn't in the house. I was immediately worried. Before, it had taken me longer to become so panicked; I'd gone from disquiet to concern to anxiety to controlled alarm. Now, here, I went straight from my constant state of low-level trepidation to horror. It was like a reflex.

The close call in Ankh'ij still haunted me, and the number of potentially ill-intentioned militiamen living here was frightening.

But the door had an inside lock... which was unlocked. The three windows were all intact and latched from inside. She'd probably just stepped out, I told myself, simply because I'd asked her not to.

Still, a million abhorrent thoughts chased themselves through my mind.

This could be nothing, said my logical side, desperately trying to regain control from my imagination. She's not injured anymore so maybe she was given an assignment. Maybe she found someone to pal around with. Maybe she went to check out the party.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

By the time I'd extended my search to the courtyard, dusk was falling and Clera's party was really starting to gear up. There was a band, a table of food, and a plethora of people to scowl at me at my obviously low status - denoted by my gray garb. White, light gray, soft pinks and blues and greens filled the stone enclosure, punctuated by the black uniforms of the military and the chocolate brown of house servants.

"Jack!"

For a second, I couldn't tell what direction the shout came from; all I knew was that it wasn't Sam, yet it sounded familiar. I turned in a full circle, and finally thought to scan an aesthetic stone bridge that arched up into a balcony, set into the Council building. Standing at the top was a young man, dressed in an embroidered gray tunic, waving, grinning.

"Krivin!" I yelled back, barely heard over the melee. The band was /loud/. I began threading my way towards the stairs... and that's when I saw her.

***

"We gather now, to honor a fallen comrade, a man who won't soon be forgotten, a man who'll be missed by each and every person whose life he touched. Aaron Barrette was your normal soldier, didn't consider himself to be a great man, just an adequate one. And he died doing what he always wanted to do, his entire life: keeping this country safe. He probably figured that he'd go down protecting America from some Communistic threat, or a tyrannical dictator, not saving my life and the life of my friend from an alien being on another planet... But that's how it happened. We can be sorry, we can even blame ourselves, but it isn't what Aaron would have wanted. He would have wanted us to get right on with our lives. 'Don't mind me,' he used to tell me, all the time. And while we can - and will - grieve, we should do that: mourn the death of a great man and then move on. Destroy these /parasites/ so that his death won't have been for nothing."

The bravado in Landseth's voice didn't quite reach her eyes, and as she stepped away from the podium I knew that she had done so prematurely, that there had been more to that speech of hers, but she hadn't been able to continue.

I stared at her as she took her seat, not out of contempt for either weakness or harshness, but because she referred to me as her friend.

// Part 3 \\

She was dressed in a gown I didn't recognize: brown, bell-sleeved, with a low, squared neckline and slight bits of lacework. Her hair, which she'd neglected these past few months, and let grow pleasantly shaggy, had been cleaned, combed, and trimmed back into her preferred hairstyle. It glimmered like gold.

She stood wearing her professional smile: slight and skilled and, under it all, unnatural. It was the smile she gave to people she didn't really like; the smile she gave when she was unhappy but didn't want anyone to know it. The Mayborne smile. Beside her was a young girl - teenaged - with coal-black hair pulled into a luxurious braid and a flowing, elaborate white dress. Not old enough to be a Council member, but perhaps she was the child of one. Clera's daughter, I remembered. Emiko. I spared a half-second of thought to wonder if Krivin would seek her out.

I started making my way in their direction. Emiko began to move towards the long table of food, and Sam followed, confirming my suspicion. Sam was attending to the young woman. I set my jaw. Something about the situation irked me; I suppose I simply didn't like the thought of her being subservient to anyone, especially since it wasn't in her nature. But it made sense. Sam was undoubtedly the most unique, most beautiful woman in Depa'ma. After all, only the best for Them. And of course even the best would look their best on this night of social flaunting.

Sam saw me when I was only halfway to where she stood. Her mouth quirked into an almost automatic smile... which quickly faded. I was in for it, I decided. I'd been gone nearly all day, and yesterday, too. Plus she seemed to be just generally annoyed with me for some reason.

She touched Emiko on the arm and murmured something to her; the younger woman nodded and Sam melted into the crowd, moving away from me.

The band picked up speed.

So did I.

She vanished into a cluster of gray and blue, but reappeared a second later on the road, in the direction of the houses. I slipped between two black uniforms and a porcelain statuette of a deer-like creature and hurried after her.

The streets were not empty. They weren't even quiet. It seemed that all the common folk who hadn't been forced to work at the party were enjoying the fruits of the others' labors. There were small fires here and there; children danced around them to the tune of the music, which could be clearly heard, despite the distance. Men and women, enjoying a bright time in this drab existence, mingled and laughed and even waltzed in the street. I didn't pause to watch, but I did smile. Did all humans, no matter which planet they called home, have this infallible spirit? This fire, this lust, this determination to enjoy themselves no matter what conditions they were under? I had been in war. I'd seen humans in /very/ bad conditions. But for every bloody, gory scene etched into my memory there was a recollection of humor, lightheartedness... of camaraderie. It really was wonderful, not as disgustingly saccharine as it sounded.

I broke into a run, dodging people where I could, shouting apologies where I couldn't. Even then I only caught up to Samantha at the front door of our little cottage. "Sam..." I tried to touch her arm, to stop her, but she stepped out of my easy reach.

"Get out of here," she said stiffly. Our little 'yard' seemed to be the single spot of darkness and anger on the whole long street. Next door, a small boy, leaping around a modest bonfire with a couple of playmates, stopped to watch us.

"And where exactly do you expect me to go?" I asked in the same confrontational tone. Not a good start. Jesus, hadn't I learned anything from my arguments with Sara? I sighed and put myself between Sam and the door. I wouldn't put it past her to try to lock me out of the house... at least not in her present state.

"Just go back to your friends," she said sullenly.

"My friends? Sam, what is this about?"

I thought she might simply turn away, disgusted with my ignorance, or try and beat some sense into me. Instead, she did the one thing I hadn't expected.

She burst into tears --

-- then covered up the outburst quickly, swallowing her sobs and blinking the moisture away, avoiding eye contact.

"You're just so /happy/ here," she explained, her voice thick, as though her throat was unwilling to relinquish the words. "You've got /all/ these people you're meeting, /All/ these things you're doing. You're even trying to learn the language. It's like you've totally given up all hope of ever getting back home." She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she was looking directly at me. "Is that true? You don't think we're going to make it back, do you?"

***

"Am I your friend?"

Landseth turned away from the window, where she'd stood staring into the embarkation room for at least twenty minutes before I'd worked up the courage to approach her. I almost wished I hadn't. Her eyes were red and weepy; she'd obviously been crying.

When she was acting coarse and invincible, it was easy to despise her. It was measurably harder when she showed actual, human emotion. "Well, you aren't my enemy," she responded in her usual, hard voice.

That was debatable. I stared at the floor, unable to believe I was doing this, being civil. "Listen, Colonel, what you said during the service... you shouldn't blame yourself, all right? I mean, if this was anyone's fault it was mine." Landseth rolled her eyes, pursing her lips in prelude to another bout of tears. "I know Aaron wouldn't have blamed you, and... I don't either."

She paced a bit away from the window, and crossed her arms against her chest. "No... no, this /is/ my fault, Jackson. It's my fault because I'm the Colonel, okay? I'm the team leader; everything that goes wrong /is/ my fault. Nobody has to personally point the finger at me."

Slowly, I raised my head to look at her, and I can only imagine what the expression on my face must have been like, because she immediately wrinkled her nose and demanded, "What?"

"That..." I cleared my throat. "That just sounds very much like something Jack would say."

Landseth worked her mouth for a moment, and then seemed to come to a decision. "You think you could talk about him now? Both of them?" Unease passed over her features and she brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I'm just asking because I'm curious, Doctor. And very unhappy that I never got to meet them. I'm not looking for gossip or... or for anything else, besides a distraction from all of this."

I swallowed hard against something that tasted of acid and shook my head. "I'm sorry. I can't." Two months. Two months and I still couldn't broach the subject, and here this woman who blamed herself for another's death had just stood before a huge gathering of officers and airmen and /admitted/ that...

I felt a niggling of respect.

"I understand," Landseth said quietly, and without another word, she let me leave.

***

He gave the ground his full and undivided attention, and didn't speak for a second. I crossed my arms, more in defense than in impatience. What if he really did like it here? What if... where did that leave me?

"I /want/ to, Sam," he finally declared, intense. "I /want/ to get back more than anything. But it's going to be hard. And we... we still have lives to live. I'm just /not/ willing to sacrifice the present for a future that may never happen. The reality is that the future might include this place." He rushed on as I opened my mouth to speak. "So yes, I'm trying to... get into the swing of things a little. Make this place less of a prison and more of a community."

His words stunned me; threw me into the past. When I'd transferred from the Pentagon, I'd been thrilled to be a part of the Stargate program, an attending, functioning member... but less ecstatic about the base itself. I understood the design, but I wasn't happy about it. Here I was, weirdly far beneath the surface of the planet, all but locked in with a bunch of people I didn't know - mostly men - and a bizarre piece of alien technology. Before I had gotten used to it all, and started to trust both the gate and my compatriots, that's exactly what I had considered the SGC. A prison. A prison that I now considered a community, if not a downright - albeit extended - family.

"I'm trying to make this place into... a home, at least for the time being," he finished softly, so softly that if I hadn't been standing so close I wouldn't have been able to hear him.

"But what about Earth?" I insisted, still caught in the throes of homesick desperation.

He reached out for my arm, slowly, as though he expected me to flinch away. I let him touch me.

He spoke quietly, almost under his breath.

"Earth will always, /always/ be our goal. But home..."

He let his fingers drift down my arm, painstakingly gentle, until his fingers grazed my palm, and took my hand in his.

"Home will be wherever you are."

A shaky smile. I could see some of Jack's old, sardonic attitude struggling to reassert itself. "As far as I'm concerned," he breathed. "I've got the best thing about Earth right here with me."

Again, time did that funny thing where it seemed to race and dawdle at the same time. His hand over mine was warm, and his eyes were the most penetrating things I had ever seen. They swallowed me, drawing me into bottomless depths, but at the same time, everything was right there in them. Every emotion he had ever hidden from me during those long, hard missions came floating to the surface, and I recognized each for what it was. Dismay, dread, disappointment. Hope, happiness, humor. Longing, lust... love.

Was this more than I had even hoped it could be?

Suddenly, the urge to embrace him was overpowering. In fact, it was staggering how badly I wanted to just put my arms around him, and feel his around me, and just /be/ with him. Am I being unreasonable? I wondered, wavering. Had my common sense taken another nosedive?

I checked.

Nope. It was still there. In fact, it was /telling/ me to do this. I could all but hear it speak to me. 'Listen, you idiot. You know you love him. /Show it/.'

And then I was there, with no memory of even taking the necessary step forward. I was pressed close against him, my head turned against his shoulder and my forehead against his jaw. I gave the fiercest, most powerful hug I had ever given, arms burning with the strain, and Jack returned it in every way. I felt him give a deep and shuddering sigh. He'd really been worried that I would turn away, and leave him looking like an idiot.

I heard a giggle from behind me, childlike and boyish.

"Don't look now," hissed Jack. "But I think we're being watched."

We both felt the other chuckle, but he didn't release me. I was glad.

The music, quite suddenly, stopped. I didn't care. Nothing mattered but Jack.

But then the music began again, and I opened my eyes.

Four sets of two notes, played on what sounded like bells, amplified loudly enough so that they were easily heard. I couldn't place them, but... "This song... sounds familiar," I began, feeling absurd.

Jack remained silent.

A voice added to the continuing, regular chime of bells, and a chill ran through me. A pleasant chill.

"Someday," sang the voice, deep, male. "When I'm awfully low, When the world is cold, I will feel a glow."

"That's Parson," Jack whispered over the words, so that I could hear both him and the singer. "That's what I traded to him for the book. A song."

"Just thinking of you, And the way you look tonight."

I smiled tremulously. "Tony Bennett? I never really thought of him as your 'style'."

"I'm just full of surprises."

I knew where he had come up with the song, though; how could I not? The last time SG-1 had gone out to dinner together, it had been to a quiet Italian restaurant. They'd been playing this song as we'd walked in, and at first, I thought I'd just imagined Colonel O'Neill staring at me. Of course, now I knew I hadn't been imagining anything.

"You taught him the song?" I asked, trying not to cry.

"I even sang it to him," said Jack bravely.

I laughed. "I wish I could have seen that."

"No you don't."

"Oh, but you're lovely, With your smile so warm."

"Clera's pretty big on entertainment. If she likes the song, she might trade it for something Parson can give to his girlfriend."

"-I- like it," I professed.

"And your cheek so soft, There is nothing for me but to love you."

Jack took a step back, and we broke the embrace. "Do you?" he asked, trying to hide his earnestness.

"It's very sweet," I said simply.

"Just the way you look tonight."

Jack took a deep breath. "In that case, would you like to dance?"

I grinned at his nervousness. "I'd love to," I announced, wondering how I'd gotten myself caught up in this delicious dream.

My arms went around his neck, he rested his around my hips, and for the remainder of the song we simply stayed like that, swaying, warm and happy... and in love.

The instrumentation wasn't always entirely correct, but it played a small part in the song. And Parson only missed one note. Sure, he sounded nothing like Bennett, but, as they said, it was the thought that counted.

"With each word, your tenderness grows, Tearing my fear apart. And that laugh... that wrinkles your nose, Touches my foolish heart.

"Lovely... never, never change. Keep that breathless charm, Won't you please arrange it? 'Cause, I... I love you."

"I love you," whispered Jack into my ear at the exact moment. Tears that I had tried so hard to control now spilled over onto my cheeks; soaked into the fabric of his shirt.

"Just the way you look tonight."

I brought my head up from his shoulder. There wasn't any debate, internal or otherwise. We didn't even check the others' response. We just kissed, and it was a wonderful kiss, slow and drunken and deliciously mutual.

Third time's a charm.

Parson drew out the last line gratifyingly.

"Just... the way...you look... tonight..."

"Love you," I murmured past my tears.

For once, both love and reason had won.

// Part 4 \\

"Daniel? You alright?"

I didn't answer Janet immediately, knowing that she would understand my mood from my lack of response; the woman was pure doctor. Finally, crossing my arms behind my head and staring up at the ceiling, I muttered. "I don't know."

She let a small sigh slip, and sat up, holding a sheet against her chest. "Daniel, if you're having regrets, I'm... I'm just really sorry." She closed her eyes and seemed to be inwardly berating herself. "You're vulnerable right now and I..."

She trailed off when she heard me laughing, opened her eyes and peered at me curiously. "Janet," I chuckled. "Are you afraid that you took /advantage/ of me?"

She seemed to see the humor in the situation, and tossed her long hair over one bare shoulder. "I've been known to bring men to their knees. Especially adorable, emotionally-scarred men." We shared a smile. She was the only one who could joke about something like that; she was just as scarred as I was, she simply hid it better. "Seriously, what are you thinking about?"

"A lot of things," I answered truthfully.

"Really? Like what?" she asked, lying back down against me.

"Like Landseth."

"Hey!" She jerked away from me, a playful frown on her face. "What are you doing thinking of /her/ at a time like this?"

I grinned. "I actually had a conversation with her today."

"You're kidding? Too bad Aaron wasn't around to see /that/." She wiggled up against me. "What else?"

"Jack and Sam." Janet remained silent. "I still don't believe that they're dead, you know? But at the same time, I can't even bear to talk about them, or even think about... that's weird, isn't it?"

"You're asking my professional opinion? Daniel, you are the epitome of weirdness."

"Thanks."

"That's not all, is it?"

Again, I didn't answer for a few moments. There /was/ something else, and her name was Sha're. /And/ her name was Amonet. She was the woman who had killed my friend and teammate Aaron Barrette. And now she was dead.

Sha're hadn't been dead, either, but like Jack and Sam, she had been lost to me for a long time. Now she was lost to me forever. And the really gut-wrenching thing was that I /could/ have saved her. During the battle, I could simply have grabbed her and hauled her into the Stargate. She would have still been a Gou'ald but at least she would have been safe on Earth, away from Apophis and all the others, and we might have been able to...

But if I had taken the time to grab Sha're, rather then simply shoot her, Amonet would have been able to use those last few seconds to finish frying Landseth's brain with her ribbon device.

I had killed my wife to save the life of a woman whose existence I loathed. And then, not 24 hours later, I'd ended up in the bed of my most trusted, comfortable friend.

"No," I said. "That's it."

Janet frowned at me, and opened her mouth to retort, but it was at that moment that her pager went off. Groaning, she leaned down, grabbed her pants from the floor beside the bed, and fished the tiny machine out of the pocket. Squinting at the display in the moonlight, she bit her lip, trying to make out the message.

And then she paled.

"Oh my God."

*

There she was, sitting on the edge of one of the infirmary beds, a woman I had almost given up on seeing again. And standing beside her, arms crossed defensively over his chest, was a man who I hadn't seen in some time.

Because he was dead.

/Had/ been dead.

Janet murmured an oath and shot across the room to General Hammond, who was standing next to Teal'c and Landseth and looking positively beleaguered. I made my way to them more slowly, keeping my eyes on the two new arrivals every step of the way, edging around the room. Neither of them saw me at first, too busy watching the others and exchanging worried looks.

Her hair was longer, but it was her.

"Sam?"

*

"Alternate universe?" Landseth repeated. "I've read the report about Jackson's little trip through it a while back. You're saying that you people learned how to use it?"

"That's right," answered Samantha stiffly. "And you don't have to worry about the Gou'ald following us; I brought back the controller as well."

I simply couldn't keep my eyes off her. Kawalsky's presence was astounding as well, but come on, I'd already returned from the dead several times myself. This was /Sam/. It was her... she was back.

I knew that I was probably grinning like an idiot.

"And you want to remain here?" repeated Hammond, a tinge of disapproval in his voice.

The others heard it, too. "If you'll have us," said Sam, toying with a strand of shoulder-length hair. "Our entire planet has been taken over by the Gou'ald. We don't have anywhere else to go."

"Sir?" Landseth began, waiting until she had the general's attention. "I know that this is your decision, yours and the President's, but I'd just like to go on the record as being all for this. I'm sure SG-2 would welcome Major Kawalsky. And Captain Carter could... well sir, she could replace Aaron."

"Actually," Sam piped up hesitantly. "I'm a Major now."

"Oh."

"I'll have to get authorization, of course," said Hammond, that little tic still there. "Doctor Jackson, Colonel, would you mind showing the Majors to their rooms?"

*

As we walked down the corridor, I tried very hard not to stare at Sam... until I realized that she was staring at me. Still, I managed to stave off my curiosity, at least until we reached her temporary quarters, and she invited me in to talk.

"Daniel, it's... it's so good to see you."

She hugged me, and I hugged back. In my head, I chanted a sort of heartbreaking mantra: It isn't her. It isn't her. Because it looked and sounded and /felt/ like her. It was her golden hair and blue eyes and the strength in her features, and it would have been so easy to convince myself that she had never left.

"You knew me in your reality?" I asked when she released me. "The... the other universe I went to, they'd never... I'd never joined the program."

"Knew you?" She was incredulous. "Of course, Daniel... we... we were on SG-1 together. With Charlie and Teal'c and Jack."

"So Teal'c's a good guy?" I asked, relieved. She nodded. "And there's five people on the team?"

"Of course," she replied, puzzled that I should even question. "Well, initially there was."

I winced, looking over her head, focusing on the rear was as I came up with a certain conclusion; it wasn't any easier to make the second time around then it had the first. "I'm dead, aren't I?"

Wordlessly, she sat down on the bed, and, feeling uncomfortable towering over her, I sat next to her.

"P2F-983," she said, in a noticeably subdued tone. "The natives called it Ma'at'a. We went there... just a regular mission. Explore, look for technology, for allies. You know the drill. We talked to their leaders about fighting the Gou'ald... and they just went insane on us. They called out their army and chased us all the way back to the Stargate."

Her eyes took on a far-away, haunted quality that was much too familiar. "Daniel, you were in the back, with Charlie. I don't know what you were thinking; you weren't even armed. They shot you, back of the head, just at the outskirts of the city. Didn't even yell... but I heard the Colonel. He yelled your name and I looked back, and I saw him running back towards you. Charlie, he just kept running, and he pulled Jack with him. That's when I knew that you were dead, because if there had even been the slightest chance they wouldn't have left you there."

She swallowed, hard, and I could tell it was taking her every ounce of her self-control not to crack. "They caught up with Teal'c and me but there was this huge clearing leading up to the Stargate, and we didn't have any choice but to run through it. I caught a couple of pellets in the back of the leg, but..." A hand went to her temples. "I didn't even look back. I dialed in the address and sent the iris codes through, and I went through, and Teal'c followed... We came out the other end, and so did Charlie, but Jack... the Colonel."

"He didn't make it," I whispered, sick at my use of the euphemism, sick of the entire tale, the tragic story that so closely paralleled my own.

"I didn't even look back," she repeated harshly. "I think I was afraid of what I would find if I did, but that's no excuse. The last time I ever saw him alive was in a glance over my shoulder. I've never... really forgiven myself for that."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I don't mean that I still blame myself for the attack," she elaborated vehemently. "But I hate myself for never... foreseeing it. Jack dying. I figured... I figured that I'd have all the time in the world to get to know him, to decide how I feel about him. /Felt/ about him." Sam shook her head slowly, gaze still distant. "It's only been a couple months since we lost the both of you. Less then a week later we got a message from the Tok'ra that the Gou'ald were heading for Earth en mass. And we couldn't think of a single way to stop them."

"I'm sorry," I said softly, feeling inadequate. "And I understand."

"Do you?"

"Yes. You... your counterpart and our Jack were lost on 983 as well."

"Lost?" she asked pointedly.

I could barely hear her over the rush of blood in my ears. Listening to the Major's story had given me a horrible, sick sinking sensation, rocketing me back to the chase on Ma'at'a. What had happened to the Daniel Jackson and Jack O'Neill in her universe could very well be the exact same thing that had transpired to my Sam and Jack. The young militia member we'd killed could have been telling the truth. I could have been deluding myself, and making an /idiot/ out of myself at the same time, for months.

"Dead," I hollowly clarified. "They're dead."

***

Well, now we'd gone and done it. Taken the step from which there was no return. We'd felt emotions we'd never let ourselves feel, said words that couldn't be retrieved, done things that couldn't be undone.

Oh, had we ever done things...

I lay on my back, staring up at the darkness of the ceiling over the bed, listening to the cadence of my heart as it finally began to slow and steady. Or was it Sam's pulse I was hearing? It was hard to tell; we were lying so close.

I could still hear the music outside, and the happy clamor of the partygoers, but I hardly thought about it. All I could think was:

Wow. I'm glad that worked.

I hadn't been certain it would. I'd known Sam for a while, of course, but there was a difference between knowing how she liked her coffee and how she would accept my declaration.

The times I had personally complimented her ("Good job, Carter", "Great idea, Captain" and - only once - "Nice, um, outfit, Sam.") I had always received the same reaction. She just gave a little smile, a little nod. It was like she didn't really believe that I meant what I was telling here, or that I meant it, but only in a casual, offhanded way. So when it came to laying it all out on the table, as I'd done tonight, I was truly flying blind, hoping I had accurately judged her. I didn't want to seem too desperate, but I didn't want to seem detached about it, either. There was the thinnest of lines separating the two.

It seemed that I still had good instincts.

Sam lay against me, and I think I can safely say that her skin against mine was the most incredible sensation in the world. The heat and softness and sheer intimacy of it was as mind-blowing as...

Well, as the even greater intimacy we'd just shared.

I turned my head and looked at Sam. Her eyes were closed but I could tell she wasn't asleep. "You know, I only have one regret."

To her credit, she didn't find my words at all alarming. She just nodded her head, and between deep breaths asked "What's that?"

"That we didn't do this sooner."

She opened her eyes and raised a brow. "You mean two months ago?"

"I mean sooner."

"What about military regulations?" she asked, only half teasing. "Rules we... pledged to follow?"

I shrugged. "I don't know if you've noticed," I joked. "But even since that first Abydos mission I haven't been... all that fond of rules. In fact, it seemed that I've been bending them wherever I could. I guess that was just a warm-up for this."

She smiled, genuinely. "And if we get back home?"

"/When/ we get back home... I don't see why anything has to change." She gave me a Look. "Okay, okay, maybe things will have to change. But not us. If the United States military wants us bad enough /they'll/ have to change. Take us together. As an item."

"An item?"

"An item."

"And if they don't want us that badly?" She was testing me now.

I shifted, and she moved closer. "Well, in that case..." I stared up into the darkness as though it was a magical portal, through which I could see the future. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam, head pillowed on the juncture of my shoulder and chest, looking in the same direction. "You'd go to work at some big, fancy lab... I'd become a burger-flipper... and whenever we wanted a vacation we'd make a call to the White House concerning a certain 'star gate'..."

She giggled. I found myself grinning at the very sound. "That's not very nice, Jack."

I looked over at her and said, deadpan, "I'm a bad boy."

She replied with an incredulous smirk.

I closed my eyes, and didn't speak for several moments. "You know," I said, feeling sleep edging in almost immediately. "Maybe we shouldn't have done this sooner. Maybe this was the perfect time."

Sam murmured drowsy agreement.

"In which case... I don't... have any regrets... at all..."

***

"Hey."

I jerked and turned at the familiar voice, surprised by the Colonel's casual tone. "Hey," I replied, watching as she entered the room and then turning back to the computer.

"What're you up to?"

The informality wasn't even forced. I wondered if we'd also received an alternate version of Landseth. "Going back through some missions," I answered, my eyebrows going up as pulled a chair up next to mine. "Some of our first as the old SG-1." That was how we differentiated between O'Neill's team and Landseth's: 'old' and 'new' SG-1. I almost wished they had somehow retired the number and just designated us SG-17 or whatever number was up next. Would have made things easier.

"Hathor," she read from the screen, and I saw her grin reflected in the monitor. "I must have memorized that report."

I sent her a dark look.

The Colonel looked mildly abashed. "Sorry, Doctor, don't take any offense to that. It was pretty incredible though, don't you think?"

"Oh, yeah," I muttered. "Real incredible."

"I only meant..."

"I know what you meant," I interrupted, clicking ahead a few more missions.

Landseth was silent for a few more moments, but, of course, unable to remain so. "I was talking to Sam."

"Hmm?"

"Yeah." Her tone was almost jubilant, and I had to turn and look at her. "Is she a lot like the woman you knew?"

My fingers hovered over the mouse as I thought. "Yeah. I guess she is." Then again, the only other person I had to compare her to was the Doctor Carter from the first alternate universe, the engaged one. And even though she hadn't been a stranger, there was something about the woman who had just shown up on our doorstep that resonated with me. Her military bearing, maybe, or perhaps it was simply the connection she had with me.

"Did you talk to her about O'Neill at all?"

"Nope," I answered, stalwart, resuming my browsing.

"I did."

I looked at the Colonel out of the corner of my eye, wondering if that was really /mirth/ I was hearing in her voice. Sam had talked to this woman, /this woman/ about Jack? I felt a little miffed, but then again, I supposed there /were/ things that could only be discussed between members of the female persuasion.

"She was having an affair with him."

I nearly tipped out of my chair. "What?"

She laughed aloud at my shock; it was a foreign sound. "It had been going on for a couple months before the Ma'at'a mission. Apparently the entire team knew about it... General Hammond suspected but never said anything." Landseth folded her hands in her lap. "They went out one night, got drunk, made a mistake, woke up together the next morning and decided maybe it wasn't such a mistake."

Well, that certainly sounded like the people I had known. "Why are you telling me this?" I asked, trying to modulate my voice.

Landseth shrugged. "She's your friend, Jackson. And he was, too."

"Are you asking me if the people /I/ knew had been... doing that?"

"No!" With an irritated glower, she stood. "Doctor, I wish you'd stop trying to twist everything I say and do. Contrary to everything you seem to think, I'm /not/ out to get you."

I scowled at her, trying to remember that less than 48 hours ago Aaron Barrette had died.

Then again, so had Sha're.

Standing, I opened my mouth to retort when a young Hispanic man - one of Janet's people - skidded into the room.

"Doctor, Colonel? Doctor Frasier said to come to the infirmary immediately.

It's Major Carter."

***

When the knock came in the morning, Sam was in the bathroom. I'd already cleaned up, dressed, and was pulling on my shoes, planning to run down to the courtyard and bring back breakfast.

Standing on the doorstep was Gabrien, Clera's assistant. "Can I... help you?"

"Your presence is requested at the Council building," he said stiffly. I feigned shock.

"A request? Well, ya don't get many of those these days. Hold on a sec," I said, closing and locking the door before he had a chance to object.

Sam had just come out of the bathroom, her hair glistening with droplets of water. "My presence has been /requested/," I informed her, grinning. It seemed I couldn't /keep/ from grinning, especially when I looked at her. Was I an idiot or what? "I can still pick up some breakfast on the way back."

She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. I was going to go down and visit Emiko a little later anyway."

"To apologize for not coming back last night?"

Humor snapped in her eyes like flame. "That. /And/ to find out if she ever met up with Krivin."

I winced as I remembered seeing him the evening before, and tossing him aside for Sam. "Yeah..."

She smiled softly, stepped close, and kissed me. It was a cute, chaste little kiss on the side of the mouth. "You'd better get going," she advised.

Understandably, I was reluctant. The fact that I was in love with this woman had just recently come into the light, and I wanted to do nothing more than simply sit here and bask in the glow. But that simply wasn't possible. It hadn't really been possible at home, either, but it was /especially/ impossible here.

"I'll be right back," I promised, and then I made myself leave.

*

It was cute. In fact, it was damn adorable.

I'd always known that Jack had this sweet, little-boy side of him. I saw it often when he was around children, Cassie especially. He related to them well because deep inside, past the scars and hatred and memories of war, he was just a big kid. Or maybe it was because being around children made him happy, remembering a time when the scars, the hatred, and the memories didn't yet exist.

In either case, he reminded me of nothing so much as a little boy, used to getting his way and upset when another's will was imposed upon him. In that way, he even reminded me of my brother, and how he would shriek and rail when his every wish wasn't granted.

Far away, in the deepest reaches of my mind, was a lingering sense of foreboding. This was too easy. Nothing should be this easy. Not that I expected a plague to come down upon us because of the night before, but I had expected... something. Argument. Anger. Incompatibility.

But if anything, last night had quenched the anxiety I'd been feeling over the last few days. I was no longer ready to rip out Jack's throat; he was no longer wincing at my every gesture. The morning had been pleasant and utterly without argument, and as for incompatibility... ha!

After the song had ended the night before, Jack and I had remained in the yard, clinging to each other almost franticly until the twittering of the neighbor boys was simply too distracting. So we went inside.

Again, there was no spoken questions, no silent conference. He kissed me and I kissed back; I unbuttoned his tunic and he pushed the sleeves of the dress off my shoulders. His hands were in my hair and on my sides and... and everywhere. I had expected - I'd had a lot of expectations - awkwardness, confusion, tentativeness, or mindless, soulless passion - but we'd made love like it was the most natural, rational thing in the world. And then, sated for the first time in far too long, we'd laid back and talked for a bit, finally drifting off to sleep.

It was like a huge, crushing weight had been shifted, or a brain-tingling tension relaxed. I think I had always known that, one way or another, our feelings would be revealed, but I had never let that knowledge register because I was afraid. Afraid of reaction. Afraid of rejection. Afraid that this huge glacier of frozen emotion would suddenly thaw, and I'd drown in it.

Turned out that the water was just fine.

// Part Five \\

"Janet, what's going on?"

The first thing I saw as I entered the room was Sam, lying in one of the beds, blankets pulled up to her waist. She was breathing hard, agonized and exhausted. But she was still enough herself that when she saw me, she managed a very worried, sympathetic frown.

"I'm not really sure," admitted Janet, fussing around her patient's bedside and casting nervous glances at Teal'c, and Kawalsky. "But the Major seems to have an idea."

Sam held her head in her hands. "I think so, but it can't..."

"What is it, Major?" asked Landseth, standing just beside me.

"Entropic cascade failure," she gasped. "It's theoretical, but..." She looked back up at me, her expression tight and pained. "It's /impossible/. Entropic cascade failure would only exist if there were two of me in the same reality. And you said that the Sam /here/ was dead."

I almost didn't register what she was telling me, what she meant by the wary, knowing look in her eyes. It was possible that I /didn't/ want to acknowledge what she meant. It had only been hours ago that I had finally been able to admit to myself that Jack and Sam had died on Ma'at'a, and now here I was, being told that that might not be the case after all.

"What are you trying to say, Major?"

She opened her mouth to speak, closed it and shuddered as another seizure ripped through her, and then gasped out "Either the theory is totally wrong, and for some reason it's just affecting me and not Charlie... or your Sam /isn't/ dead, Daniel."

"First things first," spoke up Janet before this could even sink in. "How do I treat this?"

"You can't," Sam answered grimly. "Which means I'm going to die here."

"We will not permit this to happen," Teal'c vowed. "If we returned you to your reality, this failure would cease, would it not?"

"Well, sure it would," spat Kawalsky, looking decidedly ill at ease. "But if you care to remember, our entire world has been overrun by the Gou'ald. If she goes back, they'll kill her."

With an air of authority, an aura I had once despised but now cherished, Landseth shouldered her way past me and into the center of attention.

"I don't think so."

***

Gabrien led me into the Council building itself. The experience was altogether intimidating. The gaping doorway, the sheer enormity of the structure, the number of guards milling around, glowering like ill-tempered mongrels.

We took an electrical lift - a sort of elevator with no sides, only a floor - to what I was certain simply had to be the top floor. Here, the walls were painted ivory. The drapes, the carpet, the furniture lining the corridor... they were all the same blinding shade of white. It all but screamed "Pretentious Council member ahead!"

He took me to room at the very end of the long hall and then left, closing the door behind him.

The room was surprising, to say the least. The carpet was royal blue. The couch was deep purple. The tables and chairs were a vibrant red. There were green plants, yellow walls, and multi-hued pictures. Crystal light fixtures sent bright geometric shapes dancing over every surface.

It made my eyes hurt to look at it.

But I /could/ understand Clera's motivation for constructing such a room. Surrounded by white every waking moment, the Council had to get pretty desperate for color.

Standing at the circular window, wearing a black dress that made her appear rail-thin, was Clera. "Sit," she said without turning around. It wasn't an entreaty.

Two months ago I would have protested, my ego too large to be submissive to somebody I didn't respect. But, though - admittedly - my ego was still large, I had learned something important about these people: it didn't get you anywhere to argue with them. I took a seat on a mustard-colored stool.

After a few moments, a pause I suspect was for my benefit, Clera turned around. Up close, she was still pretty, but now I could see that she was more than a simply sharp woman. Her face was angular, her body streamlined, her entire manner efficient and severe. A smile played on her thin, red lips. "I thought I saw you last night, Jack O'Neill from the planet Earth."

"I guess I'm kinda hard to miss," I said, failing to hide the contempt in my voice.

She didn't seem to take offense, but stepped closer, setting /me/ on the defense. "Do you recognize me? I was present in Ankh'ij the day you and your people arrived."

I remained silent. Was I finally going to get some answers here? About damn time.

"I want you to know that I did not approve of the decision to remove you from the city. That was Bellent, and Bellent alone that initiated that course of action." She paused. "But... had it been left up to me... I would have had all four of you shot where you stood."

My heart leapt into my throat. I swallowed it, and reluctantly it returned to its appointed niche. "You guys aren't really big on hospitality, are you?"

She ignored me. "Your team is responsible for the deaths of eleven of our men and you dare act in such a manner?"

"Yeah," I challenged, common sense abandoning me for a second. "Maybe Bellent should have listened to you."

She spun around, refusing to look at me. I rolled my eyes. Oh yeah. Real mature. "But we're more valuable alive, aren't we? So we can spend /our/ lives working for you?"

Clera glanced back over her shoulder at me. "What do you know of the Sungate?"

I hesitated exaggeratedly. "I don't know... the last time I tried to bring this subject up, my committed and my friends and I were almost killed."

"Tell me what you know, and I swear on the life of my child that neither you nor Samantha will be harmed."

<font face