There's no place like home, part 3

“Agreed,” the linguist acknowledged drowsily.  “But I don’t need to be in Washington to get together.  I’d rather be at a barbecue in Jack’s backyard or at the cabin with the fish-less pond.”

Sam sighed and swallowed the last of her champagne.   Daniel’s point was valid.

“Technically, my backyard is now a pond full of fish,” Jack responded, rising to take Carter’s empty flute.  “Best of both worlds,” he concluded, ruffling Daniel’s hair.  “You’re on vacation, Daniel.  I know Washington crowds and ceremonies aren’t your thing, but let’s try to at least enjoy what we can. A lot of people went to a lot of trouble to set this up.”

“Yeah,” Daniel mumbled. “I’ll do my best to be on good behavior tomorrow.  Between the plane, the pills and the booze, I’m over it...”

“See, I don’t get that.” Jack challenged half seriously. “You trek off to unknown planets through a Stargate via an imaginary hole, you’ve flown in death gliders and traveled through hyperspace for crying out loud, but a DC-10... you can’t handle that?”

Three pairs of eyes slanted toward Daniel in anticipation of a snarky response. Seconds passed... nothing.

Sam patted Daniel’s leg. “I think he’s asleep, sir.”

“Yes, well, some things never change, do they?”  For which Jack would be eternally grateful.  The general flicked a hand and the old shorthand signal was instantly obeyed.

Carter chuckled softly as she wriggled out from under the listing archaeologist.  Teal’c’s lips quirked in an almost smile. 

Jack assumed they, too, were revisiting the many team nights that had ended with Daniel passed out on his couch. 

“He’s gonna wake up with a migraine if he sleeps like this tonight.  Teal’c, wanna help me move him to my bed?  It’s the easiest one to maneuver him into.  I can sleep in one of the other cabins.”

“Or we could take him back to the hotel, sir.”

“If you keep him awake that long, he’ll be at his computer the minute he gets to his room.”

“True,” Sam acknowledged.  “I’ll get our coats and call for the car while you guys get Daniel situated.”

It didn’t take long.  The linguist obligingly woke enough to strip down to shorts and crawl between the sheets. He was back to sleep before Jack pulled the blanket up over his shoulder.

Grabbing a jacket, Jack followed Teal’c and Carter topside, shrugging into it as he closed the cabin door behind them.

The deck was cold and the air smelled slightly metallic.  They might actually get that snow tonight, Jack thought.

“This was great, sir.” Carter rose up on tip toe to give him a hug.  “I hope we’ll get to see more of you over the weekend.”

“It was good to be once again in your company, O’Neill.” Teal’c bowed slightly and they locked arms in Jack’s favorite ‘secret’ Jaffa handshake.

It was late; the marina was quiet, very few lights visible at the advanced hour of 0100.  He didn’t have many neighbors to begin with, the boats on either side were unoccupied during the week, but the few residents who inhabited their crafts year round tended to be early to bed, early to rise. 

The three of them stood quietly on the deck, looking out over the moon silvered forest of masts.  Jack didn’t want to say goodbye.  When they walked away tonight, he would be saying goodbye to a part of his life that had once been beyond imagination.  Yeah, he’d see them tomorrow, but that would be at a crowded ceremony with all the attendant pomp and circumstance. 

“We had some good times, didn’t we?”  It wasn’t exactly what he’d meant to say, but he’d never aspired to Daniel’s linguist skills.

“Indeed, we did, O’Neill.”

Teal’c was a warrior, so maybe he understood better than any of them the frustration of sitting behind a desk all day, no matter how important the work. Then again, they still went through the gate regularly, so they were probably nowhere near as nostalgic for the good old days as their fearless leader.  Yet another reason to cut this cord. 

“You can’t go home again, sir.” Carter must have read his mind.

“I am not familiar with that saying.”   

Jack shrugged.  She was probably right. “It means you can’t relive the glory days of the past, Teal’c,” he translated.  “But don’t ya wish – once in awhile?” 

The only response was a sigh from Carter, not that it mattered; it had been a rhetorical question anyway. 

“The car’s probably here,” she said eventually. “I suppose we should get going.”

But no one moved. 

It was Jack who released them from the spell.  “Go on.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You’ll bring Daniel?” Carter reminded diffidently, as Teal’c handed her down the plank.

“He’s sleeping in my bed, Carter.  I’m not likely to forget him.  He’ll be there if I have to stick him under a cold shower and pour a gallon of coffee down his throat.”

“Of course,” Sam laughed softly, lifting a hand in farewell as Teal’c joined her on the pier.  “We’ll see you both in the morning then.”

“We may join you at the hotel for breakfast, since I doubt he wadded up his suit and stuck it in his backpack.  But if I can’t get him out of bed, I’ll make sure we’re at the White House in time to change.”

“You can go to the White House in jeans?” 

“I have a key to the back door,” Jack replied blandly.  “Night guys.  Don’t up stay up too late.” 

“O’Neill.”  Teal’c inclined his head. 

“G’night, sir.” 

On the still night air, he heard Carter’s quiet tones, though he couldn’t make out the words, and Teal’c’s answering rumble as they wended their way back to the main entrance.  He was relieved they had a driver.  Carter had had one too many glasses of champagne and, yes, he’d been counting. He always counted; couldn’t help it. Years of being their team leader was a hard habit to break.

He wasn’t quite ready to go below deck again, so he grabbed a beer from the built-in cooler that in winter didn’t need ice to keep things cold, and sprawled on the portside bench. Coffee probably would have been better than beer, but in a pinch the beer would stand in for a drinking companion.  He briefly considered waking his guest, then decided against it. 

Who knew the stubborn archaeologist would be so averse to getting a medal?  Jack was glad he hadn’t mentioned he’d been one of the leading proponents pushing for it. Maybe he’d let Daniel in on that fact via email in a couple of weeks, when the linguist wasn’t so grumpy.  And remind him, he actually did read his email regularly these days. 

Jack picked out the Big Dipper and Orion, found Cassiopeia and visually traced Cygnus the swan.  Daniel probably had reasons to be grumpy.  Medal ceremonies hadn’t worked out well for SG-1... a reporter lying on the ground with a cracked skull, while worlds away Sha’re gave birth to Shifu, and Daniel lost both of them in the space of a few hours.  Not exactly the stuff you put in those scrapbook things Carter was fond of fooling with.

He’d been more focused on getting his team together than on the implications a medal ceremony might hold for them, though he had made certain there’d be less opportunity for some enterprising reporter to get his head caved in.  Shit.  Could that really have been nine years ago?  It didn’t feel like it. 

Out among those stars he’d been tortured beyond human endurance, and revived, only to be tortured all over again.  He’d been beaten, thrown into prison more times than he cared to remember, shot, and zatted.  Hell, he’d been cloned more than once.  Jack tried to remember if mini him was out of high school yet.  Four years in Washington?  Yeah, probably.

But he’d also been to the Asgard home world, traveled back in time, and was one of four people on Earth who’d seen the Nox’s magnificent floating city.  He’d touched things beyond human imagination.  He had traveled out there among the very stars he was gazing at tonight.

And he missed it.  More than he would have thought possible.

Only old men and fools try to re-live the past. 

What had Carter said?  You can’t go home again.  He supposed she was right.  Too bad.

Strangely enough, as much as he missed traveling among the stars, he missed his kids more.

~*~

“Morning,” Sam greeted, holding back a sigh of relief as she handed over Daniel’s suit bag when the men ambled into the White House Vermeil Room.  “We missed you at breakfast.”  For no particular reason she could put her finger on, she’d refused to allow Teal’c to carry the bag, clutching it almost as if it was a life line to the archaeologist.

“Indeed,” Teal’c murmured, observing both Colonel Carter’s unusual apprehension and the quiet withdrawnness of Daniel Jackson as he accepted the suit bag and allowed Colonel Carter to hug him briefly before disappearing into the rest room to change.

O’Neill was strangely quiet too, his “Good morning, campers,” uttered with considerably less than his usual enthusiasm. 

“Are the two of you engaged in battle, O’Neill?”

“What?” Jack shook his head as if to clear it.  “You mean me and Daniel?”

“Yes.”

“Noooo,” Jack drew out the single syllable questioningly.  “Should we be?”

“I do not know.  But some strange malfeasance appears to be affecting everyone this morning.  Should this not be a day of celebration and joy?”  

“You’re absolutely right, Teal’c.”  Jack slapped the Jaffa on the back, making an effort to shake off the fey mood that had descended over both he and Daniel in the car.  “Bring on the celebration and joy!”

Getting Daniel out of bed in the morning still took an act of God, and Jack hadn’t been feeling particularly god-like this morning, so he’d let the linguist wander, satisfying his curiosity about how things worked on a boat, without chivvying him. 

They’d had a leisurely breakfast, lingering over coffee and pancakes chatting about everything and nothing as they’d often done in the good old days.  Daniel had seemed ... resigned was the best word Jack could come up with.  He supposed he was resigned to the situation as well, despite having a few more months to process the thought of retiring.  He wondered if old war horses were thankful to be put out to pasture or, like him, dreamed of the glory days and dying in battle.

Celebration and joy, Jack reminded himself silently, turning as Daniel reappeared, tie half tied, obviously fighting with the thing, his face a study in contradictory emotions.  Exasperation warred with anxiety under a shallow veneer of outward calm. 

“Sam?  Help please?”  His voice, at least, was composed.  “I cannot get this thing to cooperate.”  He’d tied it three times to no avail, either the tail came out too short, too long, or the knot was crooked.  For some reason, this morning it was like wearing a noose, though he was well aware the constriction in his throat had nothing to do with the tightness of his tie and despite years of urbane polish, he was just managing to keep the dissociative unease at bay. 

An apparition of himself leaning on a cane in front of a shelf of sale books kept layering itself over another ghost image from twelve years ago – a forlorn young man at the junction of two hallways, lost and alone on a planet that hadn’t been home for years and years before he’d found a home on Abydos. 

What was the connection?  He’d been on crutches, been confined to a wheelchair for the duration of an injury or two, but he couldn’t recall ever using a cane.  Recognition of the isolation engendered by both images sent a chill down his spine.  It was more than irritating now, it was becoming frustrating.  He hadn’t been that lost, friendless kid in years; hadn’t thought of that particular conjunction of stars in years either, but some sub harmonic shift was vibrating just underneath his skin, jarring loose memories he’d long since sublet.

Jack was hearing voices, something was stirring Sam’s senses and he was ‘seeing’ things he didn’t remember happening to him.  He supposed that could be due to his sometimes unreliable post-ascended memory, but it didn’t have the same feel as the gaps he occasionally stumbled across in his history.  This was jarring enough to disquiet like a washer in endless agitation cycle. 

What had happened to them on the Tok’ra home world? 

Daniel blinked and focused when Sam brushed aside his hands, quickly and efficiently tying the silk tie.  “I’m glad you went with the blue, it looks good on you.”  She adjusted the knot, smoothed down the blue shirt collar and rested her hands lightly on the lapels of the black suit jacket.  “What’s the matter?  Are you nervous about the ceremony?”  His reappearance had settled her own shimmering nerves, but it looked like he was experiencing something similar.  She didn’t think he’d been this nervous when Kinsey had invaded Cheyenne Mountain on a Jackson head-hunting mission. 

“No.”  Daniel shook his head.  Wrong answer.  “Maybe.”  For the moment it was probably better that they believe it was about the ceremony.  He met her questioning gaze with another shake of his head, firmly quelling the spatial disorientation tweaking his last nerve.  He twisted his neck so it cracked, relieving a little of the tension that had settled at the top of his spine.  “What time is it?”  Not the time to confront Sam, but he certainly needed to have a private chat with her ASAP.   

“We have about 15 minutes before it begins.  There’s coffee on one of those antique bureaus across the way, would you like some?”

“No thanks, I’ve already had too much this morning.”  It had taken four cups to get his eyeballs pried open; three cups too many apparently.  “Maybe that’s what’s making me jittery.”  Daniel lifted his trembling hand.  “Think I better lay off the caffeine for bit.”  As a diversion, it would work at least as well as confessing he was nervous about the ceremony.  Neither of which was true, but none of them would inquire too closely at the moment. 

Jack’s lips twitched as he watched them from across the room.  They were good together, his science twins.  Between them, they’d probably saved Earth half a dozen or more times with their ingenious responses to crisises.  And he was pleased to see their camaraderie had deepened in his absence.  Whatever Carter had whispered to him, Daniel’s transparent nerves seemed to settle.

“Major Davis is on his way,” Teal’c advised, adjusting the brim of his black felt fedora.

“Show time, kids.” Jack clapped his hands, thankful for the distraction.  “Remember to stand up straight, look everyone in the eye and address the president as ma’am.  She doesn’t appreciate being called sir.”

Sam and Daniel, coming to join them, responded with quirky smiles as he’d meant them to.  Teal’c inclined his head as usual.

“You guys ready?”  Paul stuck his head around the door frame.  “The president would like to meet you before you go into the Diplomatic Reception room.  The journalists have been confined to the center hall until the ceremony, so we’ll go around the south portico to the China Room.”  He led the way across the room to the French door.

Behind Paul’s back, Jack raised both eyebrows and pointed, “The man,” he enunciated silently. 

“It’s a bit chilly, but we’ll only be outside for two seconds.”  As if sensing the regard, the major glanced over his shoulder, but added only, “Since it’s unlikely I’ll see you again today, I’d like to offer my congratulations to all of you; you deserve this.” 

“Thanks, Paul.” Sam accepted for all of them, sliding an arm through Daniel’s elbow and huddling up next to him for the ten seconds it took to traverse the open balcony.

“Madam President,” Major Davis announced, holding open the door.  “SG-1.  I believe you know General Jack O’Neill; this is Colonel Samantha Carter, Dr. Daniel Jackson, and Teal’c. 

President Woods closed and put down a document stamped top secret, bearing the presidential seal, and came forward, hands outstretched, with a personal greeting for each of them.

“General.” Her smile wasn’t quite coquettish, but it was certainly flirtatious.  Few women could resist Jack and that silver hair, especially in full dress uniform.

“Madam President.”  He gave her the little half smile he reserved for people he liked that amused him.  “We’ve actually managed to spend a few days apart.  Amazing isn’t it?”

“I’m pleased we could celebrate this day without having to worry about your beaming out of the White House, general.  I would like you to sit with your team on the podium.”

“We discussed this, ma’am.”

“Yes, we did, and I didn’t bother to argue with you.”  She smiled and touched his arm.  “Consider it a presidential order.”  She moved on with the assurance of a woman used to having her orders obeyed.

“Colonel Carter.” President Woods shook hands warmly. 

Sam smiled pleasantly and tilted her chin down in order to look her in the eye.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“Likewise.  I feel as if I know you personally already; I’ve read so much about you.  I appreciate a woman who can keep up with me.”  The grey eyes, embedded under dark brows and between fans of fine lines, twinkled merrily, inviting Sam to share the joke.  “We have our work cut out for us, don’t we, colonel?”

“Always, ma’am.”  Sam’s smile broadened spontaneously. 

Inclining her head, the president moved on.  “Dr. Jackson.”  She took his hand between both her own and beamed up at him.  “I have a daughter that’s fallen truly, madly, deeply in love with you.”

The polite smile Daniel had dredged up slipped a little and the usually loquacious linguist managed only a blink of surprise before she took pity on him.

“She’s twenty and in school at the Oriental Institute, studying archaeology.  I hear you caused quite a stir while you were there.”

“Ahhh ...” Daniel was still at loss.  “I suppose I did.”  But -  which time?

“She’s particularly enamored with your theories of an alien influence over ancient Egyptian culture.”

“Smart girl,” Jack murmured.

“While I couldn’t tell her you were right all those years ago, I couldn’t resist telling her you were going to be here today.”  The president smiled mischievously and patted his arm in much the same way she’d done to Jack.  “She’s insanely jealous she can’t be here and demanded I get your autograph, preferably on a picture.  So I’ll be looking for you later, once the press has had their way with you.”

The rest of his team was chuckling surreptitiously.  Even Teal’c’s stoic features wore the equivalent of a smirk.  It faded as the president moved to him, leaning back to look up at his face. 

“Mr. Murray,” she greeted him with a roguish grin.  “It’s a pleasure to meet in your real incarnation, Teal’c.  Would you do an old lady a favor and take off your so lovely fedora for just a moment?  I know you will have to put it back on before we let the press in, but I’d like see the real you.  The people in this room all know about the Stargate program,” she added

Teal’c inclined his head and reached up to lift the hat by the crown.  “I am yours to command, Madam President.”

“May I?”

Teal’c bent further so that her questing fingers could trace the brand he refused to have removed.  It reminded him daily that his long fight for the freedom of his people and the people of Earth had not been in vain. 

“Thank you,” she said softly as she stepped back.  “You have proved yourself the best ally Earth could ask for.  I want you to know your sacrifices for your adopted world have been noted.  This medal is merely a token of our gratefulness; we will never be able to repay you.”

Once more Teal’c inclined his head.  “It has been my pleasure to serve, ma’am.”

President Woods returned the slight bow, then turned and reached for a leather portfolio her chief-of-staff handed her.  “I know we need to make our entrance in just a few a minutes, but I wanted to share one other thing with you before we go in.”  From the portfolio she withdrew a sheaf of yellow legal pad pages, along with a pair of half glasses she perched on her nose, looking up over them at SG-1.  “I asked General O’Neill to give me brief word portraits of the three of you.” 

She slipped the glasses off and eyed Jack, who was glaring at her.  “I must tell you I am a swift judge of character, and I’m rarely wrong in my assessments.  Your former team leader is a man of action rather than words.  I suspect he rarely shared his thoughts with you and I want you to know how he thinks of you; in his words.” The glasses went back on, but instantly came off again.  “I will also tell you, General O’Neill, this was as much an exercise to judge your character as it was to ascertain facts about the people I was signing executive orders to medal.” 

Jack didn’t so much as shift, but his body language was that of an irritated, leashed tiger.  

“In the first place, in this day and age of electronic media, where we text message people in the same room and email our condolences rather than taking time to send a card, I was pleasantly surprised to receive these.”  She held up the yellow sheets, three of them, each a half page of familiar scrawl.  “People have forgotten what it is to pick up a pen and write a note; that alone spoke volumes to me.”   The papers rustled and settled as she cleared her throat.

“I asked for bullet points.”  President Woods glanced over the top of her glasses at Sam.  “Colonel Samantha Carter:  The brightest bulb in the box . . . never met an equation she couldn’t take to the mat . . . intimidating brain, approximately the size of Texas.”  She looked up again, favoring Sam with a grin.  “How fortunate it comes in such a lovely package.”  Her gaze dropped back to the yellow page.  “Unparalleled vision . . . not to mention she can split a human hair with a P-90 at a hundred yards.”  The glasses were removed once more.  “Is that true?”

“It was a fist-sized rope, ma’am,” Sam demurred.  “And not more than 50 meters.” 

Jack shrugged.  “Splitting hairs,” he murmured, “is what they all do, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” the chief-of-staff echoed, tapping his watch.

“Right, Jed, message received; moving along.  For weaknesses, General O’Neill says you occasionally have trouble following orders, but there is a caveat added to that; he admits he occasionally has the same problem, so he never reported you.  He says you and Daniel also occasionally gang up on him, and, he considers it a weakness that you’re not as ruthless as your evil twin.  I, personally, consider that a good thing, as I’m sure Dr. Jackson does, having read that mission report.” 

The president glanced up briefly, sharing a conspiratorial smile with Daniel before continuing.  “Dr. Daniel Jackson:  Win/win or die trying . . . argues both sides without flinching – and means it . . . not even a bigger box could contain him.  And in parens – think Taco Bell Chihuahua and his lizard box . . .”  The president looked up again with a chuckle.  “He thoughtfully inserted the Youtube link in case I hadn’t seen the commercial.”  She did not refer to her notes when she continued thoughtfully.  “Limitless potential; I may have the ancient gene, but Daniel is the Fifth Race.”  President Woods studied the archaeologist for a long moment, as if memorizing his features.  “I wonder what that feels like,” she murmured, lowering her gaze back to the notes.  “As for faults:  he’s almost always right – annoyingly . . . silence is not one of his virtues . . . and, the word no isn’t in his vast lexicon.” 

“Are you learning things you didn’t know about yourselves?” she asked with a grin.  “Or about your former team leader?”  Madam Woods shuffled the last page to the top.  “Teal’c:  your go to guy.  He meant that for my benefit.” She eyed Teal’c over the top of her glasses.  “Straight arrow, never pulls a punch . . . dedicated . . . staunchly loyal . . . pillar of strength, in every connotation of the word, again in parens, I could have asked Daniel, but I looked it up on the internet.  There are six synonyms for strength; power, force, might, potency, muscle and vigor; Teal’c embodies every one of them.  General O’Neill says some might list your change of sides as a fault, but he believes you did not so much change sides as remain true to your dedication to liberation and freedom for all and have continued to remain true to it to the detriment of your very life.”

The glasses came off again and were stowed away inside the portfolio.  “Ultimately, General O’Neill says SG-1 has no weaknesses, because, together there is nothing you can’t do.”  She paused once more, moving her gaze slowly over each of them.  “I’m inclined to agree with him.  Which is only one of a myriad of reasons I signed off on General Hammond’s request.  I’m fully cognizant of the fact medals cannot repay any of you for the lives you’ve given in service for your country and our world.  But we’ll address that issue a little later.  Jed is going to have apoplexy if we don’t get moving.  My inability to keep track of time is just one of my many irritating qualities.”  She smiled sweetly at Jack and took his arm.  “Will you escort me to the podium, General O’Neill?”

“Madam President.”  Jack tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, shooting a look over his shoulder that promised swift and decisive vengeance for the horror of having been exposed like that.

Two of his team members returned wide, blue-eyed ‘why us?’ looks.  Teal’c merely raised an eyebrow. 

The ceremony itself went off without a hitch.  Retired Major General Hammond was his bluff, hardy self, his barely contained pride wreathing his cherubic features as he awarded the Defense Superior Service medal to Brigadier General Jack O’Neill.  “Thought you’d managed to avoid this, didn’t you?” he’d murmured for Jack’s ears only, though Sam, as his former 2IC standing next to him, heard it as well. 

She’d smiled at the general in conspiratorial accord as he’d pinned the medal on her uniform, with a quiet, “Thank you for making sure General O’Neill was included, sir, it wouldn’t have been right to leave him out of this.” 

To which he’d replied, “Wouldn’t have had it otherwise.  We’re in complete agreement, Colonel.”

Even Teal’c had relinquished his stoic control long enough to smile broadly at the general as the Presidential Medal of Freedom was pinned to his lapel.

Obligatory photo ops finished, General Hammond and Daniel were exchanging news over near the door to the ground floor corridor in front of a fanciful impression of Niagara Falls.  Sam was standing with General O’Neill, their backs to a view of Boston Harbor, chatting with some of Jack’s Pentagon colleagues,  many of whom Sam knew from her sojourn in the endless corridors of the star-shaped building.  Teal’c wandered the room, hands clasped behind his back, diplomatically stopping to pose with anyone who requested a photograph.  Sam was sure he was silently laughing up his sleeve at the Washington dilettantes who wouldn’t know an alien from an Earthling if he was standing next to them.

The short notice and timing of the ceremony had been deliberately planned with an eye to keeping the White House press on a short leash.  They’d been included in the ceremonial presentation with intention as well, in hopes that appearing to be open and above board with these medals would discourage rumor-chasing reporters.  Jack had learned a thing or two from Carter’s ex-boyfriend as well.  All three of his teammates now had slightly risqué resumes in the armed forces databases.  Just dirty enough to make it appear they’d have reasons to be earning medals, but not wild enough to provoke further digging.  Entirely false, but no one else needed to know that.  Since he’d ‘borrowed’ the services an old friend who also happened to be an NCIS agent to create them, he was pretty certain your average computer hack would never catch a whiff of taint. 

The end was in sight; shortly he’d have his ‘kids’ settled and then he could turn in his own resignation effective as soon as he could be replaced.  He was going to highly recommend Major Paul Davis be promoted into the position, thus ensuring a quick and bloodless transfer of power. 

“I’ve got a bone to pick with General Hammond,” he informed Carter, who was jabbering esoterically about Base 10 math and some of the things she’d apparently been able to retain from their Ground Hog Day time loop.  He’d tried hard to forget it, himself, but three months of the same old same old, day after day after day had grooved it deeply into his neural paths.  It worried him that he’d been unconsciously following part of the conversation. 

Shuddering, Jack blinked away the reminiscence and strolled across the room.  “Sir,” he greeted the general.  “You should know I’m feeling slightly betrayed.”

General Hammond laughed heartily at the opening riposte.  “Gutted are you, Jack?”

Daniel smiled.  “I want one of those press releases.  I wouldn’t have recognized myself if I’d held it up to a mirror.”

“Hasn’t changed a bit, has he, General?  Still the same old smartass.”

“And neither have you.  It’s nice to know SG-1 is still keeping us safe.  I sleep a lot easier at night knowing I left the world in good hands.”

“You’re not going to talk me out of this either, sir.”

General Hammond shrugged, hands twitching with that old tic.  “Talk you out of what, Jack?”

Jack merely raised an eyebrow.  “A month from now, I’m gonna be on my way down the coast, two weeks after that I’ll be in the Caribbean sipping drinks with little umbrellas on the deck of the boat.  Daniel, remind me to pick up a package of little umbrellas next time I’m at the liquor store.”

“Fortunately I’m not going to be here to witness the denouement of Jack O’Neill,” Daniel responded drily. 

“Oh, that’s right, you’ll still be working your tail off, living underground in that dank, cold place, like a mole, while I’m stretched out in the sun soaking up rays.”

Daniel inspected the fingernails of his right hand.  “Yeah, saving the world while you’re doing the Jimmy Buffet thing.  How long d’ya think it will take to forget?”

“Gentlemen,” General Hammond intervened.  The boys knew each other too well.  Their play could degenerate quickly into a verbal brawl and the White House Diplomatic Reception room was neither the place, nor the time.  “I believe Major Davis is trying to attract your attention.”

Both heads swiveled toward the door, then back, an exchange of silent verbal communication taking place that General Hammond well knew meant, ‘This is only a draw; we’ll see who takes match point.’

“Excuse us, sir, looks like we’re being summoned.”  Jack sketched a two fingered salute and clicked his heels, ever the irreverent one.  “Will you be here when we’re done with this, sir?”

“I doubt it.  I’m on a commuter flight. Tough to pry an old nut like me out of his shell for very long anymore.  Dr. Jackson, it was good to see you, son.  Congratulations again, this has been a long time coming.  You, of all people, should have been recognized for your contribution to the program years ago.  I’m glad I lived to see it happen.”

“I appreciate the sentiments, sir, but I’ve just been doing my job like any other decent employee.  I’m fortunate that I happen to like it,” Daniel replied, looking at Jack. 

“I hear ya, Sundance.  Have a good flight, sir, and I’ll be in touch.”

“Come up and spend a day fishing.  I stocked the lake with bass and bluegill last summer, a few catfish too, if ya like ‘em.  Should be coming along fine by spring,” General Hammond called after them.

“Never met a fishing pole I didn’t like.  Maybe I’ll take a day before I put the boat out, sir.  See ya, George.”

“Bye, General Hammond, it was great to see you, sir!” Daniel added over his shoulder as Jack towed him into the corridor.  “Are we collecting Sam and Teal’c?”  He was still looking over his shoulder as both teammates appeared.  “Nice addition to that block of bars and pins, Sam.  Teal’c, that color is particularly natty against navy blue.  Oh, and by the way, Jack’s agreed to give his to Vala.”

“As soon as we can blow this joint,” Jack agreed pleasantly, resisting the urge to smack Daniel on the back of the head.  He was slightly off center from the unexpectedness of being sucked into the whirlwind of the medaling.  He’d wanted his kids to be recognized, but long years in special ops had imprinted him with a keen aversion to being in the limelight.   

“I was under the impression you had every intention of giving Vala Mal Doran the one you earned, Daniel Jackson.”

Daniel closed one eye to look down at the blue and white ribbon featuring a star on a red field enclosed with golden eagles.  “It’s growing on me,” he decided, “Maybe I won’t give it to her after all.”

“If I find out she’s had her grubby mitts on it, she’ll rue the day she came back to the SGC,” Jack warned.  “And if I find out you gave it to her, you’ll rue the day you opened the damn gate, son,” he rumbled in an excellent imitation of their former CO.  “Where’s the second half of this show taking place?”

Major Davis, mounting the stairs with SG-1 on his heels, glanced back.  “In the Treaty room, sir.”

“Oh ho!  You all are getting the first class treatment,” Jack announced.

“Fat lot of good that did us yesterday,” Daniel commented under his breath. 

“I promise you’ll like this, Daniel.  The room has artifacts like you wouldn’t believe, not the least of which is a huge table commissioned by Andrew Johnson.  Unluckily for Johnson, it wasn’t delivered until after he left office, but Grant’s, and I mean Ulysses S. Grant’s, cabinet met around this table every Thursday and Friday for eight years.”

Daniel stuck his finger in his ear and wiggled it.  “Did I just hear you use the word artifact in a sentence without the word rocks?”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t seen any rocks in the Treaty room.  Sorry.” Jack cuffed Daniel good-naturedly.  “You’re outta luck in that department today.  Unless you’d like to trot over to the Smithsonian and visit their rock and gem collection when we’re through here?”

They emerged from the stairwell on the second floor directly in front of the Treaty room.

“If it’s the Smithsonian or sailing, I vote for the Smithsonian.”  Daniel glanced around as they were escorted into the room.  The forecast snow had just begun to fall as they’d left the marina on their way to the White House.

“The president will be with you shortly.  I have other responsibilities I need to attend to this afternoon, so if I don’t see any of you again before you leave, I imagine I’ll be running into you in the Mountain sooner or later.” Major Davis lifted a hand.  “In the meantime, enjoy the rest of your stay and have a safe flight home.”

“See ya, Paul.”  Daniel was already moving toward the table.

“Tell me you wouldn’t trade this beauty for that old counter thing in the middle of your lab any day.”  Jack pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat down. 

Daniel steepled his fingers on the tabletop.  The history of the piece gave it a patina of legitimacy even if it was a very young artifact.  He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it must have been like in 1877, in the closing days of Grant’s second term.  What was different or the same about the teams that had transitioned from the Grant to Rutherford White House and the Hayes to Woods White House?  He jerked his hand up and stepped away abruptly, massaging his tingling fingers. 

Images flashed through his mind like a rapid slide show:  a Stargate in the cargo hold of a ship; endless expanses of ice; an empty hanger with a table in the middle, him in a wheelchair, Sam and Mitchell there as well, anger, but more than anger – heavy despair – drenching the moment; Jack – but not Jack; President Hayes and General Hammond. 

An odd queasiness sucked him back into the present moment and he shook his head, backing further away from the table. 

What the hell was going on?  Was it the table?  He stepped forward and touched it again – nothing.

Part 4

Current Episode | All Episodes | Video Previews | Art Gallery | Related Links | About Us | Home

Site by TJW

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and Stargate Atlantis, the characters and universe are the property of Kawoosh Productions, Showtime/Viacom, Sony/MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions and the Sci-Fi Channel. The content of this site is solely for entertainment purposes. No copyright infringement is intended.  No money has been made via the creation and/or distribution of these documents.