There's no place like home, part 4

When he looked up, Teal’c was eyeing him curiously.  “Are you unwell again, Daniel Jackson?”

“No.  I’m... fine.” Vala wasn’t here; he could get away with it.  Daniel rolled his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets.  He wasn’t going to give Jack the opportunity to wind up his standard don’t touch speech either.

Unfortunately, Teal’c’s interrogative had alerted Sam and Jack as well. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Daniel?”  Sam, scouting the perimeter of the room, paused to look over her shoulder.  “You’ve been acting strange all morning.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well,” Jack drawled, tapping an index finger on the table with no apparent ill effect.  “I suppose you could argue the point by definition.  But just because you don’t think you’ve been acting strange, doesn’t mean we don’t.”  He glanced at their teammates for confirmation.

Carter frowned, not sure she wanted to take sides.  Teal’c remained passively reflective.

“I got that you weren’t feeling great last night, so I made allowances, but you’ve been actin’ crazy all morning, and now you’re jumping at shadows.  I may be a little slow on the uptake, but even I can see something’s weird with you, Daniel.  What the hell is going on?”

Déjà’ vu, Daniel thought, inching further back from the table and the still tingling aftermath of touching it, just in case.  “When I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.”

“So, something is wrong?”  Jack pressed.

“No.  I don’t know...” He was suddenly feeling hemmed in in a way that felt awfully familiar – and not in a good way.

“Okay.” Jack turned halfway in his chair as the door behind them opened and closed, though his attention remained on the archaeologist. “I expect the first update when you figure it out.”  He rose as Carter came to stiff attention.  “Madam President,” he greeted, also at attention.

“General, Colonel Carter, no need to stand on ceremony.  Please be seated General O’Neill.  Is something wrong, Dr. Jackson?”

She was good, even Jack had to admit it.

“Uh, no ma’am.  I have paranoid delusional teammates is all.”

“Oh,” the president’s smile twinkled as she pulled up a chair next to Jack at the corner of the antique table.  “That could be a problem given what we’re about to discuss.  I’m sorry I don’t have time to do this in a more leisurely fashion, but the afternoon just got a little more crowded.  The Russians want to discuss the Stargate Treaty.  Again.  Dr. Jackson, would you be available if I have need of your expertise?”

“Of course.”

“Good.  Please have a seat.  Colonel Carter, Teal’c, would you mind joining us here?”  She opened another of those folders stamped with the presidential seal and spread several typed sheets of paper on the tabletop.

Daniel took the seat across from her, keeping well back from the table.  Teal’c tested the weight capacity of the book case behind Daniel, and Sam sat down beside the president.

A pen appeared in her hand, as if out of thin air, and began to twirl.  “Let’s get right to it then, shall we?”  President Woods gave them each a measured look.  “Medals are lovely, look nice in a case, afford lots of prestige, and basically are good at gathering dust,” she stated, echoing Daniel’s sentiments nearly word for word.  “So General O’Neill and I put our heads together and came up with something we think might interest you a little more than medals.” 

She leaned back in her chair.  “These are options only, and you may take all the time you need to make a decision, but obviously the sooner you make your decisions the sooner I can finish filling these positions.  I currently have openings for the Director of the International Oversight Advisory committee, Atlantis team leader, and Commander of the Fleet.  Colonel Carter, I had suggested we offer you the position of Commander of the Fleet, but General O’Neill says you don’t have enough tactical experience.  He did, however, assure me you have more than enough experience to command your own ship if you’re still interested.”

Sam glanced at the general, at the president, then across the table at Daniel and Teal’c.  “Like maybe The Hammond?” 

“If you’d like; however we’d talked about one of the new soon to be launched ships, but that decision would be up to you.  Remember, no decisions have to be made today,” the president added, scanning the document in her hands before lifting her gaze to Teal’c.  “Teal’c, I would like you to consider the position of Director of the International Oversight Advisory committee.  General O’Neill assures me you are quite capable of handling a roomful of overzealous IOA reformers who all think they know best how to use the Stargate, whether or not their countries have put up funding for the project.  As Earth’s best known, if not only, alien, you have all the qualifications I’m looking for in a new director, and as this is a presidential appointed position, it’s my prerogative to fill it as I see fit.  I believe, and General O’Neill supports this belief, you would be the best person on this planet for the job.  I would be vastly pleased if you would consider the position.” 

She closed the folder, picked up her glasses and turned her gaze to Daniel.  “Which leaves, Dr. Jackson, the position of Mission Commander of Atlantis.  General O’Neill seems to think the time has come to offer you the position.  It’s yours for the taking if you would like it.  Though he also shared you’d probably prefer having a year’s sabbatical on Atlantis rather than the headaches of running the place.  If that’s your choice, it will be arranged, but I’m hoping you will give the position due consideration.  I’ve found that putting the right people in charge of the right job generates optimal performance.  I believe each of you would suit these positions to a tee.” 

The president put on her glasses and drew a second folder out from under the first, flipping it open on the table.  “There are a couple of other things you should know.  Major Davis has returned to the Pentagon to teleconference this information with General Landry this afternoon, so by the time you arrive back home, he will be in full possession of the new manifesto.”

Daniel straightened in his seat, glancing at Jack, who implied a beats me shrug.  None of his discussions with the president had included a new manifesto for the SGC. 

“It appears with the deposing of Ba’al, the Goa’uld System Lords have been conquered.  I’ve been assured the Ori threat is contained and the Replicators appear to have abandoned our galaxy, at least for the time being.  Yes, I know, from my lips to God’s ears.  It seems, however,” President Woods glanced around the table, “I am to begin my administration in peace.  We’ll see how long it lasts.  But, under this new regime of peacetime Stargate operations, we’re going to be changing the prime directive of Stargate Command.” 

She looked up again at Daniel’s slight intake of breath.  “With R&D fully engaged in trying to assimilate Asgard technology, I,” she emphasized the pronoun, “no longer feel the need to employ the SGC’s resources in the hunt for superior weapons.  We do not need to blast our way through the universe and I would like to devote as much of our financial resources as we are able to developing that technology and adapting it for consumer use.  It will have to be mainstreamed slowly, but the implications for clean energy alone are staggering.  I don’t intend to scale back the SGC, merely reallocate its resources to the more important task of locating and creating new allies.” 

The president removed her glasses and turned her gaze on Jack, who had both feet on the floor and was sitting at attention in his chair, despite the glazed look in his eyes.  “To that end, General O’Neill, I am instituting the proposal you put forward at the beginning of the last administration’s second term, four years ago.”

The glazed look became more pronounced, but for entirely different reasons.

“It seems to me, since it is your job to protect the planet from alien invasions, you ought to be in the place where you could most effectively mount a resistance and that is not a bunker in Washington, D.C.  While I realize this won’t be immediately possible, as we might need to do a little blasting to expand the facility under NORAD, I want Homeworld Security moved to Cheyenne Mountain as quickly as possible.  I’m going to suggest you take Major Paul Davis as your 2IC, but that is merely a suggestion.  I’ve discovered you are a keen judge of character as well and I respect your opinion in this matter.  I will leave that spot to your discretion.  However, as I do not believe you are capable of sitting idly on your hands waiting for an enemy to show themselves, I would like Homeworld Security to take the lead in creating allies wherever the SGC finds them.  To put it more succinctly, when not at war, I will expect Homeworld Security to be on the front line in all negotiations with new worlds or species, and if we are able to harness the power needed to activate Colonel Carter’s Eighth Chevron project, I will expect your team to be leading the expeditions into new galaxies.”

Jack leaned forward to prop his elbows on the table.  It probably wasn’t correct form or etiquette, but there was no Secret Service in the room to stop him.  “Madam President, you’re well aware of my plans.”

“Yes, Jack, I am.  I’m giving you the option to change them.  You can leave the boat docked here.  I doubt the slip fees will put that much of a dent in your bank account, and it will still be here when I’m done with you.  Presently, I have need of your services and I’m not inclined to accept that letter of resignation residing in your inside jacket pocket.  Believe me, I understand the knees and the back, better than you can imagine, but I need your expertise.  More importantly, your country needs you.  Major Davis is a good man, he could well step into your shoes one day.  But just as Colonel Carter stands in need of a bit more tactical experience before I give her command of a fleet of spaceships, Major Davis needs some bringing along as well.  He does not have your years of experience, nor your background, but he is teachable and he would give his life for the Stargate program.  I feel strongly that the two of you will make an excellent team and in time, when you are ready to step down, you will have mentored him to greatness as well.”

General O’Neill was not a man who accepted praise easily.  “Flattery won’t keep that letter in my pocket, ma’am.”

“I will ask only this – think about it, don’t just turn me down because you’re too stubborn to change your mind.”  The president closed the second folder and squared up the edges of the pair before pushing her chair back from the table.  “You’re welcome to use this room as long as you like.  General O’Neill knows the way out.”  She held out a hand to Sam, then moved around the table to shake hands with both Daniel and Teal’c.  “I’m far too short to reach across this honkin’ big piece of furniture.”  She grinned when all heads swiveled to Jack, who’d risen in tandem with Sam as the president had shuffled to her feet. 

“Beyond pomp and ceremony, beyond medals, etc.,” she added, moving around to shake hands with Jack last, “I want to say thank you for the job you’ve done without recognition, without reward, and for the millions of lives you’ve saved more times than I have fingers on both hands.  You may all put your pants on one leg at a time just like the rest of us, but your superiority lies in the fact that you do this job to the best of your ability without expectation.  I’m grateful for the opportunity to have met all of you.  And on that note, I will leave you to your cogitations.” 

President Woods turned and walked to the door.  “One last thing, General O’Neill, you are free to requisition whatever or whomever you feel necessary in order to run Homeworld Security in its new capacity.”  Her gaze swept the occupants of the room with a slight smile.  “Good day, gentleman, and Colonel Carter.”  She swept out like a grand dame exiting a ballroom, except before the door closed behind her, it swung open again.  “I lied.  There is one other thing – I forgot to get this signed for Claire.”  From the bottom folder she pulled an eight by ten of Daniel, caught in profile, relaxed and smiling during the medal ceremony.

“Claire?”  Daniel took it, and the felt-tip marker she thrust into his hands, but stood for a moment transfixed.

She frowned at him quizzically and patted her perfectly coiffed hair.  “Is something wrong? Do I have spinach stuck between my teeth?”

Daniel dropped his gaze apologetically.  “I’m sorry, Madam President, you said your daughter’s name was Claire?”

“Yes?”

“My mother’s name was Claire,” Daniel replied, unable to banish the hint of wistfulness that always crept into his voice when he spoke of his parents.  He shook his head, laid the photo on the table and bent over to sign it.  “Never thought I’d live to see the day I’d be autographing pictures of myself.” 

He signed it, To Claire, Best Wishes for a Bright Future, Daniel Jackson, and handed it back to her mother, capping the marker and returning it as well. 

“If she thinks a career in the Air Force might interest her, tell her to give me a call.  I’m sure you have my number.”  Daniel offered one of his rare fully-intensioned smiles.

The president almost stepped back under the full force of it.  “On speed dial.”  Her involuntary response was equally brilliant.  “And I’ll be using it if I can’t beat Colonel Chekov’s superiors into submission in –” she glanced at a wall clock.  “Oh dear!  I’m surprised Jed isn’t in here with a leash.  Must run, make yourselves at home!”  And she dashed out again – sedately – as befitted the head of the most powerful nation in the free world.

In the unnatural silence that descended over SG-1, not even the thick, antique Oriental rug could have disguised the sound of the proverbial pin dropping.

Naturally, it was Daniel who broke it.  “You’ve been busy.”

“Yes, you have, sir,” Sam echoed. 

“What title does the Director of the IOA bear?” Teal’c inquired.

“If I’d known you could be bought with a title, I’d have found you a handle years ago, T.”

“Director of the International Oversight Advisory Committee, Teal’c,” Daniel informed the Jaffa.

“Not just temporary command of a ship,” Sam mused, rising to map the perimeter of the room again. 

“I figure your expertise put ‘em in space.”  Jack slid down comfortably in his chair, crossing an ankle over the other knee.  “Unless you’d prefer R&D.  I had the impression you only took that spot while Cassie was struggling though.”

“That’s true.  But I did enjoy it,” Sam replied absently.

When the silence descended again, heavily, this time, Jack turned his gaze on the archaeologist.  “So, Daniel, what’s it gonna be?  Run Atlantis?  Or have the run of Atlantis?”

Daniel rose to pace as well.  “You put a lot of thought and effort into this,” he dodged.

“I’m capable, when desire and necessity meet up.”

“Oh, we’re all well aware of that.”  Daniel spun around to face Jack.  “What are you going to do?”

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

“Come on, a year on Atlantis, or an indefinite term as director of the op – what more could you want?”

“Hello?”  Daniel raised a fist and knocked on empty air.  “What more could I possibly want?”

Jack spread his hands wide, palms out.  “Tell me and I’ll make it happen.  I seem to have an in with the president at the moment,” he added genially.  

The arms came up to wrap around the chest, the chin came down and the inimitable Daniel Jackson intractable look came out to play.  “Are you going to make us beg?”

Sam crossed the room to take up a position at his right shoulder.  Teal’c rose and flanked him on the left. 

Jack refused to be intimidated by the trio glaring at him as if he’d been painted for targeting. 

“Mitchell worked long and hard to get SG-1 back together again,” Daniel advised.  “He’s going to be extremely disappointed when we announce we’re all taking various other positions.”

“You’re right,” Sam agreed, “he will be.”

Jack shrugged.  “Mitchell’s a good kid, but he’s not my kid.”

“You are going to take Vala to Atlantis with you, aren’t you?” Sam’s grimace was an art form of an aside.  “You seem to be the only one who has any control over her, Daniel.”

“Indeed,” Teal’c corroborated. 

“I have a better idea.  We’ll will her to Jack.  She can be his Director of Acquisitions.”

“Jack doesn’t need a team to sail down to the Caribbean,” the general informed them.  “That’s the beauty of the boat; I can handle her by myself so I only have to have company when I want it.” 

They moved as one to surround him.  Daniel behind, Carter leaning against the table in front of him, Teal’c taking up a position that effectively pinned him between the table and the Jaffa.

“We could take him prisoner,” Daniel suggested.  “Drug him and take him back to Colorado Springs in a big trunk.”

“By the time he woke up, he’d be installed in his new office, and if we decorate it right, he may never even know he’s not in Washington anymore.”

“Why do you not wish the original SG-1 to be reunited, O’Neill?”  Teal’c cut to the chase.

“Those words did not come out of my mouth,” Jack stated emphatically.

“So you’re taking the job and we’ll be back to the original team again.”

“Aht!” The finger went up.  “I didn’t say that either.”

Daniel ignored the rejoinder. “Did you hear what she said?  No more searching for weapons of mass destruction.” There was a touch of awe in his voice.  “Never thought I’d see that day either.  New allies, Jack!  We get to go out there and make new allies.  Discover new worlds. It will be just like it was in the good old days – except better,” he enthused. “No more juxtaposition, no more dichotomies, no more contradictory paradigms.  Imagine what it will be like to be out there just to make new friends!”

Jack groaned.  “No.  No, no, no.  I’m too old and too tired to take this on.  The three of you want to work with HWS, that’s fine.  I’ll make sure it happens.  Between the three of you, you’ll be able to mentor Major Davis to even greater…” he paused, frowning.  “Greatness?”

Daniel curbed his enthusiasm.  “I like Paul, but I’m not interested in working with him.  Either we’re all back or we’re all gone.  What’s it gonna be?”

“Daniel.”

“Jack?”

“I’m not gonna be blackmailed into this either.”

“Doesn’t blackmail normally involve threats?   I didn’t hear any threats, did you Sam?”

Carter shook her head.

“Teal’c?”

“I did not, Daniel Jackson.”

“You should be used to this by now, Jack.”

“What?”

“The fate of the world resting in your hands.”

If that was all that was resting in his hands, he would be able to turn down the position in good conscience.  Instead, the president had effectively put the fate of his team back in his hands.  He’d battled long and hard to come to terms with his decision to quit.  To change his mind would mean fighting this fight all over again somewhere down the road. 

On the other hand, maybe this old war horse had a few more diplomatic missions left in him.  And who knew – maybe he’d die out there among those stars.  What more could he ask for?

What more indeed.  It was very tempting...

“I’ll think about it,” was the only promise he was willing to make. 

~*~

Jack paused a moment on the threshold, one hand on the door knob, the other fingering the nameplate Siler had just affixed to the door. 

Major General Jack O’Neill, C.O., Homeworld Security.

Level 24 had been the lucky winner of a total makeover, so it now hosted a rabbit warren of offices, labs and ready rooms, which meant it had only taken a month to make the move from Washington to Cheyenne, instead of six months like his original proposal had provisioned. 

Jack grinned and closed the door of his freshly painted office.  Whistling sound bytes from the score of that loved, old black and white movie, he sauntered down the hall and around the corner into the office closest to his.

“Well kids?”  He leaned against the door frame, relishing the sight of the three heads bent together over a small box on the end of the table that had replaced Daniel’s old counter.

The table was a replica of the White House Treaty table, a gift from the president.  It had arrived a week after Jack had informed her of his decision to accept her offer and that the senior members of the current SG-1 would be joining his staff.  There was no way she could have had that table duplicated and shipped to the mountain in a week’s time.  It amused him that she’d been one step ahead of him through the entire process. 

The table hadn’t been the only thing in the delivery. 

Carter was the proud possessor of some hinky new machine that cost a bizillon bucks to manufacture and was one of only three in the world.  The Chinese had one, they’d invented it, and the Russians, whom they’d gifted one to.  He had no idea what it did, though Carter had rapturously informed him it would cut in half the time required to develop a prototype for engorging the gate with the extra power needed to dial the eighth chevron.  That was all he really needed to know, he’d stopped listening and merely nodded politely in all the right places until she’d run out of steam and sent her  off to rhapsodize with Daniel, who might not understand either, but at least he could keep up with most of her jargon. 

There’d also been an envelope delivered personally to Major General Jack O’Neill with his new rank and all the paperwork that made it official.  However, it had been the small, discreet receipt buried among the paperwork that had had him chuckling and shaking his head at the president’s ability to read her newly acquired staff like an open book.  A prepaid receipt for eight years of marina fees, with a small yellow sticky that had declared, ‘Some would call me presumptuous, but I expect to be needing your services for the next two terms, so I’ve personally paid these fees.  If you quit on me, I’ll expect them back in full.’

“Any regrets?”  If anyone had noticed the momentary lapse of attention as he’d revisited his good fortune, they were all too familiar with his habits to be worried about it.

“I have a few.”

Daniel, of course; he’d never learned when to quit.  Jack’s sigh was more contented than annoyed. 

Dr. Jackson casually replaced the lid on the box they’d been peering into and folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t know about Sam and Teal’c, but I can’t find anything, the smell of paint gives me a headache, and I want to know why Teal’c was conspicuously left out of the presidential gifting.”

“Jeeze, Daniel, way to give away the surprise.”  Oh wait – he hadn’t told Daniel, only Carter. 

“What surprise?” Daniel challenged.

“Well, T, Major Davis has accepted the challenge of running the Washington Bureau of Homeworld Security.  That leaves me with an opening for 2IC.  If you’ll have me, the president and I thought you might be a little more interested in that title.”

Teal’c’s head swiveled to Colonel Carter.  “You do not wish to resume your old position as General O’Neill’s 2IC?”

“I was never General O’Neill’s 2IC, so there’s no position to resume to begin with–”

“A matter of semantics,” Teal’c interrupted with a raised eyebrow.

“The general and I have discussed this, Teal’c.  He’s already asked me how I would feel if he offered this position to you.  In all honesty, I was much happier when I was up to my neck in solving equations or scientific problems than commanding SG-1 in the colonel’s absence.  I trust you just like I trust Daniel and the general; I will have no problem taking commands from you.”

Teal’c bowed his head respectfully.  “Would this involve staying behind as if I had accepted the position of IOA Handler?”

Jack repressed a smile.  Teal’c had an unmatched style when it came to the bottom line:  IOA Handler indeed.  “If necessary, Paul will split his time between here and Washington, but Landry’s presence will likely make that unnecessary.  We’ll both act as the other’s 2IC when one is off base.  So to answer your question directly, no, you would not be staying behind.”

Teal’c appeared to give the matter due consideration for approximately thirteen seconds.  “Then it would be my pleasure, O’Neill, to serve in the capacity of your second-in-command.”

“Daniel?”

“Jack?”

“You have something more to say?”

Daniel glanced at Sam, who shrugged and made a rolling motion with her hand.  With all the changes going on, he hadn’t managed to find time to talk to her about the strange cross resonances he was still experiencing.  But he had an idea the change of venue wouldn’t mean a change of habits.  They’d still be gathering in his office, and one of these days, after he’d had some time to dissect it a little more, he’d confront them all, not just Sam, with the issue.

“I do actually.”

Teal’c retreated a pace and clasped his hands behind his back.  Carter bit her lip to hold back a smile and crossed her arms over her chest.

Daniel reached down, picked up the covered box, and moved around the table.  The table that didn’t initiate any slide shows when he touched it, thankfully.  Stopping in front of Jack, he held out the box.  “I’m not sure these are your size…”  His smile was slightly mischievous.  “But we wanted to give you something to commemorate this...” He flapped at hand, momentarily at a loss of words, then added as if inspired, “Homecoming.”

Size wise it was a little smaller than a tissue box, though unadorned with any messages.  Jack took it skeptically.  “Is something going to jump out at me?”  SG-1 was well known for its practical jokes.

“Maybe,” Daniel demurred with a shrug.  “Or maybe not.  Guess we’ll see.”

Jack set the box down on the table, lifted the lid slightly, and ran his finger carefully around the edge – the consummate detonator expert.  Since it didn’t explode all over him, he lifted the lid completely off.

Nestled in sparkly tissue paper sat a pair of miniature ruby red slippers.

Carter might be a genius, but she wasn’t infallible.  Turned out she’d been wrong that night on the boat; he was living, breathing proof of the fact you can go home again. 

Moved more than he cared to admit, Jack picked up the box, chuckling at his teammates creativity.  “I think there’s a spot on my shelves where these will fit perfectly.” 

“The shelves which have acquired nothing but dust in the last month, O’Neill?”

“The very ones.”  Jack grinned. 

But first he had to make a trip down to Siler’s workshop.  He needed a very special plaque to go with the artifacts; one engraved with the words. . . there’s no place like home. 

~*~

The End

Our thanks to Annejackdanny who created this final gorgeous manip for the story!

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