Author's Notes:
AU, commencing shortly before Anubis' attack on Earth (Redemption Parts I and I).
Jack's age is based on what he said in "Brief Candle" rather than the DOB given in "Fragile Balance".
Do not read if you are opposed to Jack with anyone other than Sam.
This was one of the very first Stargate stories I ever wrote, so please do not flame me for out-of-character representations.
Warning: Soap opera, pure and simple.
Chapter 1
A young Lieutenant paced nervously outside the office of the Stargate Project's commanding officer. The argument about her had been going on for several minutes, and they didn't even seem to care that she could hear every word they said.
In the three weeks since the death of their civilian archeologist/linguist, Daniel Jackson, SG-1 had already gone through three replacements. One had only lasted two hours. And now she – a mere Lieutenant – was being tipped to be the next one, although her skills were very different to those of Doctor Jackson's.
Although she was pleased at the opportunity of leaving SG-3, she wasn't sure she liked the loud-mouthed Colonel in charge of SG-1. She'd never met him before, but he seemed just like most of the Marines that comprised SG-3 – jarheads.
"Colonel; you have gone through three Air Force Captains in the space of three weeks. You have made voluble complaints about each one. Frankly, I'm running out of patience and you are running out of time. You will accept Lieutenant Ryan."
"She's a Marine, for cryin' out loud!" the Colonel protested. "We don't exactly get along."
"You will make every effort, Colonel," Major General George S. Hammond insisted, his Texas accent becoming thicker. "And she requested the transfer from SG-3." There was a pause then Hammond continued, his tone becoming softer. "Jack; you've read her dossier. You just think you're smart – she really is smart."
"A-ah!" came from the Colonel, but no further objection materialized.
"Lieutenant Ryan; please enter the office," Hammond called out.
She stepped into the commander's office, glad that she was wearing her off duty uniform. She had the feeling that nothing less than strictest military formality would be acceptable. "Lieutenant Sandra Ryan reporting for duty, General," she said, snapping a smart salute. She turned to the lanky form of Colonel Jack O'Neill, presently slouched into one of Hammond's chairs, his hair all on end as if he'd plowed his hands through it. "Pleased to meet you, Colonel," she lied politely.
He grunted, then unraveled his form and got to his feet. Although, at only five feet tall, everyone on the base was taller than her – even Doctor Fraiser boasted two more inches – she was completely unprepared for the sheer impact of the Colonel's presence. Even merely standing, he exuded energy and vitality. "And you, Lieutenant," he also lied. "You have a very impressive record for someone your age," he continued. "I assure you; you'll need it if you want to stay on this team."
Sandra's jaw stiffened. She didn't need this crap. She'd been yanked into work on her first day off in weeks, instead of spending the day with a pint of ice cream and pearls of wisdom from Homer Simpson as she'd originally planned, and now this … this overgrown Yankee fly-boy was trying to talk down to her. "And I assure you, Colonel, you won't regret my presence," she said frostily. "I may not have cojones, but I can kick butt with the best of them."
Just to the left of her field of vision, something weird seemed to be going on with Hammond's face – like he was trying to hide a laugh. Impossible. Wasn't it?
"Well, follow me, Lieutenant – it's time to meet the rest of the team," O'Neill said now.
She remained standing – Hammond was the superior officer, and he hadn't dismissed her yet. "Dismissed, Colonel, Lieutenant," he said now.
Sandra preceded O'Neill out of the office, and could've sworn she heard a very faint "D'oh!". Was he a Simpsons fan, too?
She entered the briefing room and examined the faces of her new colleagues; Major Samantha Carter and the Jaffa called Teal'c. Even seated, the enormous Jaffa seemed to dominate the small briefing room. There was also a blond-haired man only a couple years older than her – the Kelownan Jonas Quinn, who'd defected from his home planet shortly before Doctor Jackson's death.
She regretted Doctor Jackson's death. She'd talked to him a few times in the commissary, and found him to be an intelligent cultured man, with a toughness that wasn't immediately apparent behind his archeology-geek exterior. She knew that the Kelownans had been experimenting with naquadria, an unstable derivation of naqahdah, and that a lethal dose of radiation had taken Doctor Jackson's life. Therefore, she regarded the blond man with suspicion. "I thought this briefing was for members of SG-1 only, Colonel?" she inquired silkily.
O'Neill had stiffened upon seeing Jonas then a grim smile played across his features. It appeared he didn't trust the Kelownan any more than Sandra did. "Precisely, Lieutenant," he said. "Mister Quinn; you have no place here."
The young blond man opened his mouth as if to protest, then caught Teal'c's eye. He got up. "In that case, Colonel, I'll leave," he replied.
After the Kelownan had departed, O'Neill dropped his lanky body into a chair and indicated that Sandra too should take a seat. She did so near the coffee – she was still half asleep, and was hoping desperately for a caffeine hit – and tucked her chair under the table. "Right, kids," he said casually, "this is lucky number four – Lieutenant Sandra Ryan. She's transferred to us from SG-3."
Major Carter smiled at her, and Teal'c dipped his head in greeting. Despite his silence and overwhelmingly massive presence, she didn't sense that he was unfriendly – just self-contained. "It's nice to meet you, Lieutenant," Carter said. "How long have you been with the Marines?"
"I graduated four years ago," Sandra said, "and served on the USS Farragut as a ground pounder until last year, when I was transferred to Stargate Command and onto SG-3."
"Jarhead," O'Neill muttered.
Sandra raised an eyebrow. "Maybe so," she said, "and aren't you lucky you've got one of us to watch your lovely backsides for you?"
Teal'c raised an eyebrow and nodded at Major Carter, who appeared to be fighting a grin. Sandra had yet to learn that this team had had so much success simply because they weren't a strictly military unit. A cynic who'd made an art-form out of insubordination, an astrophysicist, a civilian linguist/archeologist and a Jaffa – not exactly a dream team, yet they'd more than made it work. And Sandra was merely an upstart interloper in their eyes.
O'Neill's eyes widened, then a grin quirked the corner of his mouth. "Maybe, Lieutenant," he said. "A five foot tall fighting machine," he added wryly. "You could stand right in front of me, and my head would still be blown off."
"Maybe," she shot back, "but it's not like you're using it, anyway." Immediately the words were out of her mouth, she knew she'd said the wrong thing. She'd been in trouble many times during her Academy days for her big mouth, and it seemed like she was falling into that old pattern.
The expression on Carter's face was priceless, and Teal'c seemed to be fighting to control a very un-Jaffa burst of laughter.
O'Neill sighed heavily. "Touché, Lieutenant," he acknowledged. "How about a deal? I stop making fun of your lack of height, and you stop being a jarhead. That's the last thing we need on this team. We don't travel the galaxy simply to kick ass."
"But when we do, O'Neill, we are extremely good at it," Teal'c stated ponderously. Sandra looked at him, but his face didn't move a muscle. Either he was kidding … or else he was deadly serious.
Dismissing the question, she leaned over and grabbed the thermos and a cup, pouring herself a cup of the thick black brew. Force coffee was always foul, but she'd gotten used to it over the last six years, and she doubted her body would be able to handle a decent batch anymore. She sipped it cautiously and raised an eyebrow. Definitely not as bad as the swill she'd become accustomed to drinking – being in the premier SG team evidently had its privileges.
The door opened and General Hammond came in. It was the first time she'd seen him in shirt sleeves and she had to admit, the look suited him. It made him look less consciously authoritarian, but no less intimidating. It was said his bullshit detector was legendary, and she hoped to never find out for herself.
O'Neill, Carter and Sandra scrambled to their feet at attention, while Teal'c remained seated, but dipped his head in respect.
"At ease, people," Hammond said and sat down. His team followed suit several seconds later. "Your next mission is to planet P4X 621, also known as Rhiel."
"Rhiel …," Carter murmured. "I think Jolinar knew that planet."
"We've received a message from Jacob," Hammond continued, serenely ignoring the odd interruption. Something told Sandra he was used to this. "Their generators are breaking down, and they need help. They can't risk sending word to the other Tok'ra in fear that the System Lords will track them down.
Jacob? Odd name for a Tok'ra, Sandra mused, but continued listening.
"Whilst at 621, I want you and SG-3 to carry out a mineral survey – determine if this world would be suitable as a secondary site for Stargate Command."
"A-ah!" O'Neill's objection withered under the baleful glare of his commanding officer.
"Save it, Colonel," Hammond said. "Your team has the most experience of interacting with the Tok'ra, and between Major Carter and Lieutenant Ryan, you have the best engineers of all the SG teams."
"Mmm, mineral survey. My favorite," O'Neill muttered disgustedly.
Hammond smiled slightly. "I know it seems like a milk run, Colonel, but we need to keep the alliance with the Tok'ra intact. We help them, they help us – it's a fair trade."
"Maybe it would be if they ever helped us," O'Neill commented. "We seem to spend half our time saving their asses. What exactly do we get out of this alliance?"
"Colonel …," Sam Carter said, sounding dismayed.
"Oh, don't get me wrong, Carter – I love Jacob, I think he's great, but the other Tok'ra are just one giant pain in the neck. Literally."
"Be that as it may, Colonel," Hammond said, his voice like steel, "you have your orders and will depart at oh eight hundred hours tomorrow." He looked around at his top team. "That's all for now. Dismissed."
They got up and filed out of the room. "Not you, Jack," he added.
Jack O'Neill reached the doorway when his commanding officer's voice stopped him. "Not you, Jack," he said.
Nuts. So close! He turned back and headed toward Hammond. "Yes, sir?" he inquired.
"I'd prefer you not to be … so much yourself in front of the Lieutenant," Hammond said. "We must at least appear united or we will fail. I know you don't trust the Tok'ra …"
Understatement of the century, Jack reflected morosely.
"… but we need as many allies as possible if we ever hope to keep the Goa'uld away from Earth. So, you will go to 621 and make nice with the Tok'ra. Is that understood?"
Jack glowered. The best thing to do when Major General George S. Hammond got into one of these moods was to humor him. "Yes, sir," he said.
"Good. Now get the hell out of here," Hammond added. "Go take the night off. You haven't rested in weeks."
Yeah, cos when I rest, I think, Jack mused, but he couldn't disobey a direct order. "Yes, sir," he replied, and got out of the office as quickly as he could before he said something stupid.
He could've sworn he heard a faint chuckle come from Hammond's office as he left, but then dismissed it. Hammond was a good guy, and he liked serving under him, but his tolerance for insubordination was very low.
Several hours had passed, and Sandra had retreated to her room on Level 37. As a First Lieutenant now, she had the privilege of private quarters, and appreciated the difference. She flicked on the television, hoping to catch the last of the Simpsons marathon, but got to the channel just in time for the closing credits. "D'oh!" She hit the heel of her hand against her forehead in annoyance.
A knock on the door interrupted her musings and she switched the set off. "Yeah?" she said.
"Lieutenant; it's Major Carter," came the soft voice of the woman after whom she'd modeled herself and her career. Toughness and femininity all in one slim blonde package. She couldn't say she'd achieved it yet – she simply wasn't as beautiful as Sam Carter – but she worked on it. "Would you like to join us for supper? We're going to O'Malley's steakhouse in town."
We meaning Colonel O'Neill, no doubt. She'd had enough of the loud-mouthed fool's cheery company during the briefing a couple hours earlier, and had drawn heavily on her hard-won control to avoid doing anything that would land her in the stockade. The Colonel and she were just nitro and glycerin. "Uh, I'm not hungry, but thank you, Major," she said.
The door opened, and O'Neill stood there in khakis and a leather jacket. So that was Colonel O'Neill at leisure. It was a good look for him. "Oh, come on, Lieutenant," he said. "You've got a bad temper and I've got a big mouth. How about a truce?" He came forward and offered a long-boned, surprisingly elegant hand.
"Truce," she agreed, fighting back her instinctive reaction. Hands terrified her. Her clearest memories were of hands hurting her, brutalizing her. But hand-shaking was a necessary part of life. She put out her own hand, heart pounding, and watched as it was swallowed whole.
"Good," he said. "Now, how about some steak?"
She got up, fighting the warmth that had gone through her at O'Neill's touch, and grabbed a jacket, glad that she'd changed into civvies. "Lead the way, Colonel," she quipped.
Colonel Jack O'Neill, USAF, looked down at the half pint fighting machine walking along slightly ahead of him and grimaced. A jarhead, for cryin' out loud! What was Hammond thinking? But she was now a member of SG-1, although not yet a member of the team. Not like Daniel had been.
He thought back to when he'd first met Doctor Daniel Jackson. He, Ferretti and Kawalsky hadn't exactly been thrilled to share a mission with a long-haired four-eyed geek who sneezed all the time, but Daniel had shown a surprising reservoir of toughness, culminating in his decision to stay with Sha're on Abydos.
After Sha're's forced blending with the Goa'uld Amaunet, Doctor Jackson had joined the SG-1 team with Teal'c, former First Prime to Apophis, and they'd become a team, with Doctor Captain Samantha Carter. And, although Jack and Daniel were entirely capable of driving each other up the wall within two seconds, Daniel had become one of his closest friends.
Damn. Okay; he missed him. For a week after his 'death'/ascension, they'd been absorbed in the mission to rescue the Asgard Heimdall and Thor from the Goa'uld, and since then they'd been trying to break in a new fourth. But now things had quieted down, Jack O'Neill had the luxury of time. Which meant he had time to think.
"Colonel?" Lieutenant Ryan was looking at him quizzically and he blinked down at her. So young. She practically still had the soft spot on the top of her head. When he'd been her age, he'd been a mere Airman, only two years out of the Academy. How she'd graduated two years early was beyond him, but then again, she was a lot smarter than him.
She also had enough reprimands on her record to choke a horse, but he didn't mind. He liked a little attitude in his team-mates.
"Yes, Lieutenant?" he said then realized that they were all standing in the elevator, waiting for him to also step in.
"O'Neill," Teal'c stated calmly. "We are waiting."
"Ah, right," Jack said. He stepped into the elevator, nodding at two jarheads from Ryan's old unit. "Watson, Kirkland."
"Sir," they said. They nodded to Ryan. "Hey, Ryan," Kirkland said. "How's it going with these fly-boys?" Although O'Neill was technically their superior officer, he was Air Force and they were Marine Corps; a strong distinction that let them get away with this attitude.
She grinned and stepped in. "Not bad, so far," she said.
Watson let out a whistle. "You clean up real good, Ryan," he said. "Who'd have thought?"
"Not you, that's for certain," Ryan shot back. "Besides, aren't you married?"
"Married, not blind," Watson said cheerfully.
Jack pushed up his Ray-Bans to peruse the young woman. Neat, petite yet curvy with soft gray eyes and long reddish-blonde hair tied back in a neat plait, he could see why Watson and Kirkland were impressed. Twenty years ago, he might have gone after her himself.
They reached O'Malley's and settled down in a booth; Teal'c and O'Neill on one side, and Carter and Sandra on the other. The waitress came along with two beers and an orange juice – it was evident to Sandra that her companions were regulars here. "Hey, O'Neill," the waitress said, tossing the Colonel a grin. "I hope you're not here to beat the crap out of people again."
O'Neill returned the grin. "Depends, Maria," he said. He looked over at Sandra. "What're you drinking, Sandie?" he asked.
She stiffened at the hated nickname then decided that the team was traveling incognito. Although how they managed that with a very large and conspicuous Jaffa was anyone's guess. And subtlety didn't exactly seem to be part of O'Neill's repertoire. "Uh; a diet soda, please," she said. After the waitress had gone, she leaned over to him. "Please don't call me Sandie, Colonel, or you'll see one very pissed off jarhead. I hate that nickname."
He blinked then grinned. "Understood, Lieutenant," he said. "What can we call you?"
"How about Sandra?" she said, wishing she could wipe that infuriating smirk off of his face.
"Sandra Ryan …," he said. Then his intelligent chocolate eyes widened. "Wait a sec – you're not General Ryan's grand-daughter, are you?"
She stared at him in shock. Since making her application to the Academy, she'd kept her relationship to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff a deep secret – after all, she'd seen nothing of her father, Jack Ryan's son, since she was ten. And she'd wanted to get in on her own merits.
"Yeah," she said reluctantly, as Sam Carter's eyes widened. Teal'c remained unmoved – as an alien, it was likely he didn't know who General Jack Ryan was. "But I've not seen him since I was a kid."
O'Neill shook his head. "Well, that explains your rapid rise through the ranks," he said.
She bounced to her feet. "With no due respect, Colonel," she said icily, "go screw yourself. I think if you check my dossier, you'll find no mention of my heritage. And besides, d'you really think ol' Bullet-Head Ryan would use his influence for the sake of a grand-daughter he hasn't seen in fourteen years?"
She shoved the chair back and glared at her commanding officer. "I'm withdrawing my application for transfer," she added. "I'd rather go back to ground pounding than serve with a commander who has so little respect for a member of his team."
He shoved back his own chair and headed after her. "Ryan; wait a minute," he said. His hand shot out and captured her wrist.
She stared down at it like it was a Goa'uld. "Release my wrist," she said coldly.
He did so, then pushed his hand through his hair – evidently, he favored the electrocuted porcupine look. "Look, Ryan; I'm sorry," he said. He sighed, and it seemed as if his next words were wrenched out against his will. "I guess … I haven't been willing to accept you. I'm not ready to admit Daniel's gone, and I don't want to replace him."
She softened at the reluctant confession, and noted how much younger he looked in this sheepish and apologetic look. It was true – guys never really grew up. "It's okay, Colonel," she said. "And I'm not trying to replace Doctor Jackson. Nobody could. I'm fairly smart, but he was scary smart. Besides, I trained in engineering, not archeology or languages."
"Then … do me a favor – don't withdraw your application just yet?" he said. "Come to P4X 621 and meet the Tok'ra. Then, after that mission, if you want to transfer back to SG-3, I'll make sure it goes through."
She regarded him thoughtfully then nodded her head. "Okay," she said. "You got a deal."
After the meal finished, Jack O'Neill patted his satisfied stomach and looked over at the pool table with a barely-contained sigh. Since her one display of virtuosity under the influence of the alien arm-bands two years ago, Sam Carter had never played again, claiming she had no idea how to. And Teal'c had refused to learn, stating that it was a child's game.
He looked hopefully at the child-woman sitting next to Carter. She'd only been able to finish half the ten-ounce steak she'd ordered, but Teal'c had been more than happy to help her out. "Hey, Sandie …" – she eyed him with dire warning in her eyes. "Yeah. I called you Sandie. I don't suppose you play pool."
"I do, but you don't want to go up against me, fly-boy," she warned. Over the last hour and a half, relations between he and Ryan had improved considerably, and she was showing every sign of fitting in with the team.
"Oh, I think I do, jarhead," he said. The nicknames that were usually derogatory between the Marines and the Air Force had almost become terms of endearment.
"It's your funeral," she said. "But what say we make it interesting?"
The gleam of mischief that lit up O'Neill's eyes no doubt reflected the gleam in her own eyes, and Sandra realized suddenly why the Colonel had such a tolerance for her often bad attitude. "How interesting?" he asked, the grin becoming that of a predator.
"Lieutenant Ryan; I do not believe that you are making a wise decision," Teal'c said calmly. Although he looked to be only in his 30s, Sandra knew he was actually over 100 – thanks to the larval Goa'uld that lived within him and supplemented his immune system. Maybe those extra years had given him the wisdom that made him regard unaltered humans as little more than children.
"What's life if you don't take a risk every now and then?" she replied, smiling at the colossus.
He raised an eyebrow – colloquial Jaffa for if you must be foolish then I cannot stop you, perhaps – then tilted his head.
Sam Carter added her two cents' worth. "I should warn you; the Colonel's quite the pool shark."
"Maybe so, but think of me as a piranha." Sandra grinned at her, exposing her teeth. "Small and mean." She stuck her hand out to grasp the Colonel's warm one. "Bring it on," she added.
Ryan put the kiss of English onto her bank shot, and the black ball caromed off three sides of the table before coming home to roost in the top left corner pocket – just like she'd bet. "Pay up, Colonel," she said cheerfully.
"D'oh!" Jack muttered, then dug in his pocket and slapped a fifty down onto the edge of the pool table. "Where'd you learn to play pool like that?"
She smiled at him over her cue. "It's simple physics, Colonel," she said "You see, the parabola of the …"
"A-ah!" She looked exactly like Carter or Daniel looked just before they went off on one. "Kid; if you're going to geek out, take it outside. You're offsetting our overwhelming coolness."
Her eyebrow shot up in a disturbing parallel of Teal'c's manner. "Geek out?" she repeated, grabbing the fifty and stuffing it in her pocket. "Just for that, fly-boy, you can buy me a drink."
"I like your accent," he said.
She nodded as if she was used to hearing that. "I get that a lot from Northerners," she said. "I grew up in Louisiana." She smiled slightly at him. "But you're still buying me a drink."
"Beer okay?" he said.
She got a look on her face of … something. He honestly didn't know if she was one of those stick-up-her-butt officers who didn't approve of drinking – maybe this was a good time to find out. "Don't approve, Lieutenant?" he asked silkily.
"I don't care," she said, "what other people do. I just choose not to drink. Orange juice will do fine, thanks."
"Hey, looky here; if it ain't Mister Tough Guy!" someone big said. Turning, Jack saw a huge guy with no discernible neck peering at him. The guy looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place him. "Where's your geek friend, Tough Guy?" the one-man junta continued.
Now Jack knew where he'd seen the big lug before. A couple years ago he, Daniel and Carter had agreed to participate in a Tok'ra experiment that had increased their speed, strength and natural abilities ten-fold. They'd slipped out to this restaurant whilst under 24-hour guard, and had gotten into a fight with Sergeant No-Neck and his Missing Links Club Band. The band had not come out well, and it seemed they were now looking to even the score.
"Oh, crap," Colonel Jack O'Neill, USAF, muttered.
Sandra had only taken two steps away when a bunch of goons launched themselves at O'Neill and Carter. "Rumble!!" she hollered and launched herself into the fray. She might only be little but she was a Marine – they were the best. And three years as a ground pounder had given her a love of brawls that just wouldn't quit.
Several seconds later, the gigantic Teal'c waded in and rapidly dispatched two of the goons. He did it all without any of the passion Sandra felt – he might be of human stock, but he wasn't from Earth. She realized that was an important distinction.
"Hah!" one of the uni-brows yelled, punching her in the stomach.
"Hah!" she shouted in return, although it hurt like hell, and took out the no-neck with a sharp blow to the nose that snapped his head backward. Sandra shook her head then swung round just in time to miss the chair that had been aimed at her. She let loose with a left hook, and was surprised when the biggest goon dropped like a stone. Glass jaw, she mused flexing her hand, sure at least one of the fingers was broken. Bone on bone is just stupid. You'd think I'd have learned by now.
"Lieutenant Ryan!" Teal'c called, stepping in front of one of the gorillas and bodily lifting her out of harm's way as the gorilla's fist flew just past her face. Still tucked under his massive arm, she watched as he dispatched the rest of the Neanderthals single-handedly – literally.
She wriggled in his grasp. "Uh, Teal'c, you can let me go now," she said, aware of Carter's barely-contained amusement and O'Neill's delighted grin. It was a nice smile, but she'd rather it wasn't at her expense.
"Of course, Lieutenant Ryan," the behemoth said, depositing her with surprising gentleness onto her feet. He lifted his head as the sound of sirens made themselves known. "I believe it is time that we left, O'Neill," he said, with what Sandra would learn was characteristic understatement.
The Colonel grinned again. "I believe you're right," he said. He turned to Sandra and dropped an arm around her and Carter's shoulders. "Let's go, Ryan," he added.
Normally, she didn't like personal contact like this – it made her feel threatened – but, for some reason, the last few minutes had made O'Neill and she allies, maybe even team-mates. The further thought occurred that maybe they could become friends. Something felt very … right about what was happening.
She paused, her head cocked slightly to one side as she regarded the Colonel. Despite the gray hair, which was likely premature, he was an attractive confident man who touched something inside of her she didn't want to be touched. She was too old to have a crush on someone, but she was terribly afraid she might be attracted to him. Maybe it'd be easier for everyone if she went back to SG-3, after all.