by Karen Miller
He could imagine. “Try saying it for him and I swear, Dave, I swear, I will finish what the Jaffa started.”
“In your dreams, pal.” A hissed breath, as Dixon tried in vain to get comfortable. “I take it Hammond knows, only he’s pretending he doesn’t?”
Talk about seeing too much. Apparently the bastard was psychic. “Dixon —”
“I guess,” Dixon said, impervious, “it boils down to you and Carter or the team. Which means you and Carter or the SGC. If she’d stayed dead you and Hammond would be pulling it together. The SGC would be fine, eventually. But she lived and you love her and — I’m sorry, Jack. It must be hell.”
The compassion in Dixon’s voice nearly undid him. He had to wait until he could trust his voice. Trust himself. Face the fear he’d been fighting for days. Say the words out loud. And he had to say them. Had to… or else know himself a coward.
“I can’t do this job with her,” he whispered, low and shaking. “I can’t do it without her. And I can’t not do this job.”
For a long time, nothing. Then Dixon sighed. “Yes, you can, Jack . You can do the job with Carter on the team. You’ve been doing it fine so far. What you’re struggling with, my friend, is making peace with the fact that you can love Sam until your bones break and still kill her for the greater good. The problem is you’re having a hard time accepting you’re that kind of man.”
O’Neill swallowed. Couldn’t speak.
“Frank was the same,” Dixon added. “You and Frank, two peas in a pod. You know that, right? Well, Jack, you’d better forgive yourself a damn sight faster than you forgave him, because Earth doesn’t have the luxury of waiting while you get your shit together. In case you haven’t noticed we’re fighting a war, and right now things aren’t going too great for our side.”
“Screw you, Dixon,” he muttered, once the urge to swear and shout and punch had passed. “I’ve noticed. Now shut up. I’m tired. I’d like to take a nap.”
“Sure, Jack,” Dixon said gently. “Whatever you say.”
At last, blessed silence. And, in the mercy of unrelieved darkness, sleep.
When he woke there was sunlight bathing his face… and the music of Carter’s voice over his radio.
“Colonel? Colonel, we’ve got your location. Don’t move. We’ll have you out of there in a jiffy. Sir, do you copy?”
“A jiffy, Major?” he croaked in reply. “Since when is that approved military parlance?”
“Sorry, sir. My bad.”
“So. I guess the tracker chip works.”
“Sure does, sir. Hold tight. We’re coming.”
“Okay. Take your time. Dixon wants to finish his crossword.”
A sound like laughter, hastily quashed. “Yes, sir.”
Releasing the radio toggle, he rolled his head a little on his stone pillow. Looked at Dixon. Winced. “Ow. You look like crap, Dave.”
Chalky pale, eyes red-rimmed, smeared with blood and dirt from head to toe, Dixon grinned. “Yeah? Well, right back atcha, Jack.”
There was nothing left to say, after that. So they waited, stupidly grinning, for Carter to arrive.
Engrossed in the latest issue of Science Weekly, Sam felt herself being watched and looked up. Jack, finally awake, tucked safely in an infirmary bed, his left arm strapped to his chest and an IV of fluids dripping into his right, waggled his eyebrows.
“So much for Hawaii,” he said, his voice still a little ragged. “What happened? You get sick of surfing?”
She put the magazine on the floor beside her chair. “We both know I wasn’t surfing.”
“Don’t tell me the boys at Mauna Kea wouldn’t let you play with their toys!”
He was Jack O’Neill. Of course he’d figured it out. “We had lousy visibility. Nothing but cloud cover. Couldn’t even see the moon.” And barely nine hours after setting foot on the Big Island she’d been overwhelmed by a feeling of dread, of danger, by the urgent need to fly back to Cheyenne Mountain. Only she wasn’t going to tell him that. They had enough weird in their lives already. “So, since I didn’t bother to pack a swimsuit, I came home. Anyway, you know I’ve never been all that fond of tourist traps. Sir.”
“True,” he said. Then his smirking smile faded. “You okay?”
“I’ve already told you,” she said, frowning. “I don’t have a problem with you —”
His lips thinned. “Not that. I mean about… the other stuff. The entity.”
It was the first time he’d asked her. The first time since she’d regained consciousness, in this same private room, that he’d been able to look her in the eye. Not because he didn’t care. Because he cared too much.
“I’m fine,” she said firmly.
Now his gaze was skeptical. “Fine?”
“Better,” she amended, because really, there was no point lying. Not to him. “I hate to admit it, but Janet was right. Getting away from the SGC helped.”
“And?”
And what? She’d been possessed — dispossessed — by an alien intelligence. Again. Shunted aside in her own mind, her own body. Again. Dumped into a computer mainframe. Reacquired, against all odds. Oh yes, and zatted twice. That had been fun. Was it any wonder she’d lost her bearings for a bit?
She propped her elbows on the chair’s arms, and slung one ankle over her knee. “And before SG-1 goes back into rotation — which Janet says won’t be until she says your collarbone’s healed — I’m going to spend some time with Dad.”
Jack stopped scowling, and blinked. “Here? Or on Vorash?”
“On Vorash.”
Just saying it made her feel a whole lot lighter. Made her itchy to pack a bag and jump through the gate. If he hadn’t been on a mission she’d have done exactly that, instead of flying to Hawaii. For this mess, she needed her father. There was nobody else she could talk to about the entity. About Jack. Everybody else had a vested interest in… not listening. Besides. She missed him.
“That’s… a good idea,” Jack said slowly. “If anybody knows what it’s like to deal with an alien in your head, it’s Jacob. I guess even the snake can —”
“Selmak.”
“Yeah. Selmak. Whatever. I guess even he — she — it — might have something useful to say on the subject.”
“You never know,” she said, letting a little of her own sarcasm show.
But Jack wasn’t paying attention. “Still…” He screwed up his face. “Vorash.”
“Vorash is fine.” She smiled. “Unlike you, I’m not allergic to the Tok’ra.”
He didn’t smile back. “Sam…”
Oh, no. No, no, no. Jack in the privacy of her own thoughts was one thing. But let them start seeing each other in the real world as Jack and Sam instead of Colonel and Major, let them try to pretend they could be anyone or anything else while their lives were ruled by the war against the Goa’uld, and the careful edifice they’d been building would come crashing down in ruins. One day, maybe, they’d get their Happily Ever After. But right now that day wasn’t even on the horizon.
“Colonel,” she said, holding his stare with her own. “We had a deal. And until circumstances change that deal still holds. It has to.”
He looked down. Picked at the IV tape in the crook of his elbow. “Yeah. Okay.”
She swung her foot to the floor and leaned forward. Rested both hands on the side of the bed. Bounced it until he looked at her again. “Whatever else I am, sir, I am an Air Force officer first. So are you. Which means we risk our lives as often as it takes until the enemy is defeated. It means you use me as ruthlessly as you’d use Teal’c or Daniel or Colonel Dixon, as many times as you have to. Anything less is unacceptable. Understood?”
For a time he said nothing. Looked down again. Tried to hide his thoughts, his feelings, behind that famil
iar stone mask. But it didn’t work on her. Not any more. Blindfolded she could read him, just by the way he breathed in, and breathed out.
He looked up. His eyes were very dark. She could see pain there, but also peace. Admiration. Acceptance. “Yes, ma’am. Understood.”
“Right.” She shoved the chair back. “Now I’m out of here. Dad’s waiting. Rest up, sir. Glad you’re okay. More or less.”
“Me, too,” Jack said. “Have fun. Give Jacob my best.”
Smiling, she nodded at him. He smiled and nodded back. Friendly, but professional. Two colleagues. Nothing more. That was the deal. That was the sacrifice.
Quietly, very quietly, she closed the door behind her.
Janet —
I sent Dave Dixon home today. Released Jack into the wild, too. I’m pretty sure he knows better than to push his luck. He might not admit it out loud, but he knows that at his age, with his mileage, broken bones and concussions take a little longer to heal than they used to.
I’m pretty sure he’s forgiven me for talking out of turn. All he said was: I know what you did. I know why you did it. Just don’t do it again. He wasn’t smiling when he said it, but there weren’t any sparks coming out of his eyes, either. And hey, I’m still standing.
He’s found his balance again, thank God. I wish I knew how. I asked Dave about it but he’s making like a clam, dammit. So unless I can get him alone with a syringe of sodium pentothal, I guess I’ll never know. Not for sure. But dollars to donuts he had a word with Jack. He’s that kind of man. Hammond asked me for an on-the-fly psych eval on him. Really wants Dave for the SGC. I think it’s a great idea, and not just because he’s an excellent officer. I think having Dave Dixon around would do Jack a lot of good. So… I guess we’ll see.
Sam’s due back from Vorash tomorrow. She’s doing better too. I know she and Jack talked. Whatever got said, it made a difference. To both of them. I think they’ll be okay now. Will they ever stop loving each other? I doubt it. But you know, there are a lot of different ways to love.
Me? I’m going to stop worrying about it. Like the song says.
Que sera, sera. What will be, will be.
Stargate Atlantis
Hermiod’s Last Mission
T. Fox Dunham
“It’s not my fault!”
“Just fix the damn ship, Rodney!”
Sheppard threw the jumper hard, making a bat-turn, and the first of the azure bolts fired from the hive grazed the side of the hull. The ship shook, but Sheppard sensed no damage. They could usually shake off the first few hits; the hive’s main cannons weren’t designed to target small and agile vessels. But they’d be launching darts if Rodney couldn’t repair the cloak.
“It’s not fair,” McKay muttered, pulling open a panel near his feet. “All systems checked out when we launched from the Daedalus…”
That had been ten hours ago. The Daedalus was waiting out of range of the hive’s sensors — even at full burn it would take them an hour to reach the jumper’s position and provide mission support — and Sheppard’s team had been depending on stealth to infiltrate the hive, locate the ship’s logs, and be gone before the Wraith could raise a feeding hand. Except that the cloak had failed when they were almost at the hive, leaving them completely vulnerable and alone in the void between galaxies. No stars glowed, just two wheels of light fore and aft — Pegasus and Milky Way, home and Earth. It was just Sheppard’s team and the Wraith, their conflict emphasized and demeaned by the immensity of the void.
“Dr. McKay,” Hermiod said in his maudlin tone. “I have a solution.”
Rodney ignored the Asgard. Hermiod wasn’t part of the rhythm of the team, and McKay was lost in the problem. Hermiod didn’t press his point. He’d been quiet since joining the mission, silently observing, looking over the team’s shoulder and occasionally admonishing them with a frown. Sheppard hadn’t met many Asgard to compare, but he found Hermiod’s manner — the way the little alien walked with his head raised, his tone of voice — somewhat unnerving. If his superiors ordered Sheppard to add him to the unit, he’d have to work on Hermiod’s people skills, although he kinda enjoyed it when the Asgard pushed Rodney’s buttons.
“Okay,” Rodney said. “I’ve got it.” He pinched alligator clips into the tubing below the co-pilot’s panel, tapping away at the keys on his tablet. “Cloak should be available to you… now.”
Sheppard spoke to the ship, willing the cloak into existence. Nothing. “Still not working, Rodney.”
“It’s not my fault! Some of the jumpers were damaged when the city flooded. I’ve not had time to run diagnostics on all the systems yet. It’s a huge city, and I’m only getting three hours of sleep every night. If I don’t sleep, I start getting headaches and can’t focus. I need more help! If Zelenka could just —”
“Perhaps, Rodney, if you focused less on explanations and more on solving the problem, you could fix the cloaking device sooner?” Teyla employed her maternal tone, the voice she used to both discipline and educate Athosian children — and sometimes members of Sheppard’s team.
It helped Sheppard stay calm too. His people were the best and he had faith they’d find a solution — with the right motivation. “You know,” he said. “I knew we should have brought Zelenka.”
“Oh please.” McKay got up from his seat, opened an overhead panel.
“Dr. McKay,” the Asgard said, trying again. “If you —”
“Trying to work here.”
“Rodney!” Sheppard snapped. “Listen to the —”
An alarm blared; the hive had a solid lock on them. “Crap,” Sheppard growled. “This is going to get hairy.” One direct hit from the hive’s main guns would cripple the jumper, and he braced himself for the impact even as he took evasive action. Yet, when it came, the canon fire arced harmlessly away from the jumper. He stared at the display in disbelief. “What the hell…?”
“They’re not even coming close,” Rodney said, puzzled. “They’re firing into empty space.”
“There’s something wrong with that hive,” Ronon said. His gaze was fixed on the Wraith ship, his hand resting on his weapon as if he was itching to open fire himself.
A new tactical map morphed onto the screen in front of Sheppard, accompanied by another alarm; the hive was launching Wraith fighters. They arrowed toward the jumper, quickly closing the distance between them. “Still no cloak, Rodney…”
“It should be working!”
“Well it’s not.” Sheppard banked the ship into a steep turn. “Guess I’ll have to work for a living, then.”
“You can’t take on that many darts,” McKay protested. “We’ll be slaughtered.”
“Not helping, Rodney.”
A cloud of darts swarmed them, two of the fighters dropping onto their six. Sheppard tried to shake them, but they were tenacious little bastards. With a thought, he released two drones, guiding them to the offending darts. They exploded just as a third flight dropped in behind him. “Damn it!” he growled. “Hold onto something!”
Slamming on the breaks, he brought the jumper to an almost dead stop, forcing the darts to pull up to avoid a collision. The maneuver broke their formation and Sheppard used the confusion to breakaway.
“Dr. McKay,” Hermiod said, his voice more insistent. “You should be able to reactivate the cloaking field generator by disabling the wave inducer.”
“Sure, if you want to blow the jumper up!”
“If you lower the power levels, there should be enough to cloak us for a short duration.”
Sheppard shot Rodney a look; sometimes he had to push the scientist to get past his own ego and accept help.
“He’s not even here!” McKay complained. “He’s a hologram. What he’s suggesting could leave us floating dead in space… or worse.”
Ronon
muttered, “You’ll be floating dead in space in a minute if you —”
“Oh. Ha. Ha.”
“Ronon — don’t pick on Rodney. McKay — fix the damn cloak or, I swear, I’m going to turn this jumper around.”
A new threat appeared on the HUD. Three more darts were on their tail, and Sheppard threw the ship to port to keep out of range of their weapons. Too late; the jumper rocked, the left drive pod sluggish. “We’re hit,” Sheppard said. “Losing power.”
McKay checked his own display. “Damn it — the main capacitor is damaged.”
Automatically, Sheppard rerouted several systems and smoothed out their flight, but it was only a temporary fix. They wouldn’t last out here much longer. “Rodney,” he said. “We need that cloak back online.”
“Fine, we’ll try it the Asgard’s way,” McKay said, entering commands on his keypad. “But don’t blame me if the ship explodes.” A pause, then. “Okay, try it now.”
With a stutter, the cloak re-engaged and settled around the ship. “About damn time,” Sheppard said, letting out a breath. Then he dived fast, ducking the jumper beneath the pursuing darts, their gunfire strafing harmlessly overhead. “Thanks Hermiod.”
“You are welcome,” the Asgard said. “It was not difficult.”
“Come on, anyone can get lucky,” McKay grumbled.
“It was not luck. I am just capable.”
“Unbelievable!” Rodney murmured to Sheppard, though he made no real attempt to keep Hermiod from overhearing. “Why is he even here?”
“You know why. It was a special request from Thor, through General O’Neill.”
“But he’s just a holographic projection!” McKay groused. “What’s he going to do if we have a run in with the Wraith? Patronize them to death?”