Sergeant Who?

by Major Clanger

Ever wondered about the female sergeant that Apophis' Jaffa kidnapped in Children of the Gods? More specifically, what about her family?

Title: Sergeant Who?

Author: Major Clanger
Email: majclanger@aol.com
Category: Epilogue

Pairing: None
Spoilers: Children of the Gods, Forever in a Day
Season: 3, just after Forever in a Day
Rating: PG

Warning: none

Status: Finished
Summary: Ever wondered about the family of the female Sergeant who was taken by Apophis as a potential host for Ammonet in Children of the Gods?

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and it's characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions and Gekko Productions. These stories are for entertainment purposes only, and no money exchanged hands. Really. Honestly. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations and stories are the property of the author. That is me, and I write under the name of "Major Clanger" for reasons that are unclear, even to me. These stories may not be posted elsewhere without my consent, although if you really want to, you could send me an e-mail and ask. After you get the smelling salts under my nose, I'll probably say "yes".
Author's notes: I love the really really minor characters, because it's so nice to invent a story about them. So, as a result of Tiny Coward egging me on, and a fab beta by Kat, here is my version of what the people she left behind might have gone through. It's a bit of a "tired format" but bear with me, I think this is one of my better efforts.

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Hi!

Thanks for your e-mail, I'm sure you're really busy right now so it was good that you took the time to let me know what's what. And I hope you'll forgive a rather long and rambling reply, but I had to tell you this, after all... well, read on and you'll see. Like I said, though, it's really long, so why not grab some coffee and put your feet up...

I should have known her posting to that Cheyenne Mountain place would only bring trouble. She is – I still can't say 'was' even after all this time – a trouble magnet. They wouldn't tell me anything, but I know it's bad. Very bad. I mean, they told me she's MIA. What sort of action can anyone get into under a mountain? That's what I want to know. Like I said, she's a trouble magnet, but... let me start at the beginning and you'll see what I mean.

Celine and I were in basic training together. Same squad for just about everything, we were similar height and weight so we were often paired off for things like the unarmed combat class. Let me tell you, when you've spent three hours being bawled out by a drill sergeant in the pissing rain, marching up and down the parade square, for endless repetitions of about turns on the march, and then you get to spend the hour after that scrubbing a concrete floor... well, let's just say that you form a bond. A strong one. Even writing this down, I can feel the pain in my heels from slamming my boots into the ground, trying in vain to please Sergeant Neanderthal-Drill-Instructor by making enough noise – on tarmac, in rubber soled boots in two inches of rainwater, futile task if ever I had one.

My knees have never been the same since that hour kneeling in sopping wet BDUs on a concrete floor, scrubbing and scrubbing, shuffling backwards until the entire bunker was clean enough to eat your dinner off. And then what? I'll tell you what, Sergeant Neanderthal-Drill-Instructor stamped the length of the corridor, in his wet muddy boots inspecting our work. At least he hadn't given us toothbrushes to do it with, or made us use our own like he did to Wags that time.

After we passed out he bought us both several beers and said that we were model recruits. Ha! More like two tall, blondes with no regulations against him 'bedding' us – yep, that was the word he used. And yes, he wanted us both at once. Oh my, the look on his face when Celine told him "in your dreams buddy" then fell off the bar stool she was laughing that hard. Although, if you'd asked me back then, I probably wouldn't have kicked him out for eating crackers. He had a great physique. Pity about the pea sized brain that went with it and an attitude towards women that the Taliban would have been proud of. Yeah, I know 'too much information'.

I was glad that I had to take care of her then, he lost interest pretty soon when it was obvious that her next move was going to be talking to God down the great white telephone. When you've held someone's hair out of the way of being sicked on, held their hand while they throw up, and wiped their face, the bond that you already had becomes that little bit deeper.

So we passed out and went our separate ways. Celine went to Germany and I was sent to Texas. But we stayed in touch, well we're from Generation X, the e-mail generation. And of course, what's the point of being in the Air Force if you don't take advantage of the chance to travel. So I spent some leave in Europe and we did the whole "if this is Tuesday it must be Rome" tour, looking at ancient castles and even more ancient mountains, but home is best for me and I was always glad to get back Stateside.

We had a little competition going, who could get promoted first and so on, but it never got bitter like some of the others who went through Boot Camp with us. Blake and Schwarzer nearly came to blows once, when they met in the comissary and Blake was a Master Sergeant already, Schwarzer was still a PFC – but then he always was an asshole. Last I heard he was breaking rocks on a chain gang. Or something.

So finally we both ended up at the Pentagon, Celine was always a bit of a flyer, and I was sure she was destined for better things. By this time, though, I'd met a guy called Steve and... well you know the rest of that story! I'd always promised myself, Celine, my parents and anyone else who would listen that I would never marry someone in the job. But there I was, about to marry a member of the United States Air Force. And me a sergeant and him about to graduate from officer school.

I went on leave to visit another friend of mine, Michelle, who lived in Alaska. Nothing to do up there but think and enjoy the scenery. It was so beautiful up there, but so boring. I still can't imagine why Michelle gave up a comfortable, and warm, life in Texas to go up there but she was married to a USAF officer and that was his current post. Then he was offered a job up there, left the Air Force and stayed. And Michelle stayed with him. My first thought was: would I do that for Steve? Remembering the advice my mother gave me – "if you can live with them: that's fine. If you can't live without them: that's love" – I decided to give it a shot with Steve.

It took ages to get everything sorted out, but I was adamant that we would do everything properly. Which meant that I had to leave the service, there would be no creeping round hiding our relationship. Upfront or nothing, you know me. I'm sure it sounds odd to everyone who hears the story of how he courted me, but that's what it was. Nothing that couldn't be said in front of a priest! But you know all that so I won't go into it now. Anyway, it's a story that's still unfolding. Unlike Celine, which is what I want to explain to you.

Where was I? Yes. DC. There we were, the Gruesome Twosome, posted together, and me on the verge of becoming a civilian. I found a job working in the same department I was already at – with less hours and no weekend duties, which was nice. so there was no change except that I just turned up one day with no uniform and I could meet Steve for lunch. Celine thought I was a mental case for chucking away my career, but then she had always wanted to be in the Air Force, whereas for me it was something to do while I decided what I was going to do with my life. She was absolutely certain that marriage and kids weren't for her whereas I had some vague idea of children and stuff in my future.

We almost never talked about her work. Covert I guess. She was really good at steering the conversation away from it whenever we got too close. Steve got on well with her but obviously the rank thing got in the way of them really getting to know each other.

Eventually we were posted away and this time it was me heading off to Europe with Celine staying at the Pentagon. She was working for a new department, and that's all I knew. A new department. Nothing at all about what they did – they're still there, I guess, but I don't know for sure. Just before we left she introduced me to her boss, Harry Mayborne. What a slimeball. Celine didn't seem to notice, she was excited about something and I couldn't get a straight answer about anything. Except that I thought that Mayborne was going to be trouble. He couldn't take his eyes off her when she was in the room, and some of the things he said – and the way he said them – were more slimy than a very slimy thing. Although he wasn't the only one, in a department full of stuffed shirted men a blonde woman like Celine stuck out like a sore thumb.

Time went on and her letters and e-mails slowed to a trickle. I'd been getting bi-weekly missives up to then, but then it was monthly, then every two months. Finally six months went past, and nothing from Celine. I was beginning to worry a little. Not too much, since you never know what those sneaky beaky types are really up to. She could have been sat in an office overwhelmed with boring paperwork, and not wanting to face writing a letter when she finished work.

Then I got a phone call from Celine. That snake Mayborne had propositioned her and she didn't know what to do. I told her to make sure not to be alone with him and leave it at that unless he did it again. You and I both know how it can mess up someone's career if they complain about stuff like that, and Celine really wanted to go places.

Again I heard nothing for ages and assumed that everything was okay. So, there's another life lesson that I hadn't learned properly: never assume. Celine called me from a bar and told me she'd been posted out from the Pentagon, somewhere near NORAD. That's all I got out of her, apart from could she come over and visit, since she had 3 weeks of leave to use up.

You should have seen her, thin and tired looking, but essentially the same old Celine. We took her in, fed her up and put her in charge of baby sitting, since I was about to pop the twins and was having a hard time keeping a three year old entertained. She was really good at it, although she said she hated the idea of having kids, I got the impression that she was trying to convince herself that she still believed that. She could be very stubborn, thought that changing your mind was showing weakness.

At one point I almost thought she might jack in the Air Force and go for something else, but maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part. She was totally comitted. It was nice, late summer, and we spent a lot of time in the garden, at the park and generally having a good time doing nothing.

Then, the night before she was due to fly out, she asked if she could have a serious word with me and Steve. She looked so serious that I thought something awful was about to happen, even though she said it wasn't anything really majorly bad.

Mayborne had had her transferred out of his department, whatever that was, because she had turned him down once too often. Steve hadn't known about that, I didn't think she wanted me to tell him, and he was shocked. Always the straight-up, military man, he wanted to have something done, but Celine was completely against it. Begged him not to tell anyone, so what could we do except agree?

Finally Celine told us that she was going to this thing under NORAD. She couldn't, or wouldn't, tell us what it was – only that she was going there to do boring guard duty. The USAF is so mindful of what it spends it's money on! Mayborne wanted her cleaning latrines in Alaska, but Celine's security clearance is so high that the Air Force decided to get their money's worth and send her to Colorado instead. And then she got down to the nitty gritty.

With neither of us having any family, we'd made a pact years ago to leave each other everything in our wills. Of course, when I got married, I changed mine, but she never changed hers. Even went so far as to include any offspring I might have, and opened savings accounts for them when they were born. But it wasn't the will that was bothering her, it was the 'next of kin' thing. Celine wanted to know if she could still have me on her docs as next of kin.

That is a worrying thing to have someone ask you know. Last time someone asked me that it was 1990 and we were just about to leave for Saudi. Can you imagine how I felt at that moment? My best friend, more than that, she was like my soul sister. I know you'll give that twisted little wry grin of yours when you read that bit, but honestly, we were more than sisters.

Hey! This will give you a shock: your old mom and her soul sister once swore that if we were still single at the age of 35 we would become lesbians and live in a big house with thirty cats and only ever wear dungarees! Of course that was after two pitchers of frozen Margarita, but probably we meant it at the time.

Back to the point, however. After a severe grilling from me, I saw Celine cry for the one and only time that I ever saw. I mean really cry, she looked and sounded awful, and there was no stopping her. Steve was really uncomfortable with that and went off to check on 'the sprog' – that's what he used to call you – leaving us alone in her misery. I was really cut up inside, but it's one of those times you have to be strong so I just held her while she got it out of her system. She was resting her head on my massive stomach, and I think the twins must have been picking up on her misery or something, because they got really active then, and it seemed to pull her out of it.

Celine needed a moment or two, I could see that, so I went to make her some coffee – and disgusting German herbal tea for me – and when I got back she was sitting on the sofa flicking through the photo album as though nothing had happened. Except that there was an empty Kleenex box where there had been a full one before. Anyway, she had calmed down enough to tell me that she had a bad feeling that this posting to the not-NORAD place wouldn't last long and that Mayborne would get her sucked back in to his organisation at some point. Again the no-names-no-pack-drill routine, but she didn't seem overly worried about it, just wanted to make sure that someone would be notified if she got herself killed or something.

And you can see where I'm going with this whole thing, can't you?

Let me continue just so I can get this over with.

So, next day, having agreed that of course we would be her next of kin, Steve and I took her back to the airport, waved her off and never saw her again.

A couple of weeks later I got a letter in the mail with Celine's awful handwriting scrawled all over the envelope, a huge thick envelope with what turned out to be 17 letters, one for each day of what she called her "Incarceration in Colorado". She always was one for the alliteration. It was all there in black, and blue and green and red, and white: How she was getting on, what the other people were like and so on. Bland surface stuff. She'd recently been assigned to a different squad, they were going to be on night shift for a month, so I wasn't to worry and that she'd write to me when it was over. Blah blah blah, yadda, yadda, yadda. Do you know what? I think she was enjoying being there, no pressure, just one of the guys. From what she says they were mostly time servers, she was the only really 'keen on the military' one there. Even the CO, General Hammond, was sitting it out waiting for his retirement.

And then I forgot all about Celine and everything else for that matter, because no sooner had I read her letter, well, diary really, than I went into labour with your brothers. Boy oh boy. When you have kids, don't listen to all that 'do it without painkillers' rubbish that the midwives give you, right? It sucks. Get all the meds you can!

I'm not going to relate the tale here, again, since you've heard it all before. Just don't ever, ever, get the idea that you want to give birth in a station wagon in a hospital parking lot. Not much fun. Nosiree.

Sorry, I was getting a little off topic there. I've broken out into a cold sweat at that memory!

After I got back from hospital, Steve's mom came over for two months to help out. She was great, took care of the three of you while I slept, took care of you and the house when I was doing the endless round of diapers and bravely took care of the house and the boys when you and I had the energy to play together.

I was looking round for something when I found Celine's last monster letter, and I realised that I hadn't heard anything from her since then. Not even a card to say welcome to  the twins – which was very worrying. Still, she had sounded so upbeat in that last letter I thought that she must be okay. After all, I was listed as her next of kin, so if anything had happened I would have known about it.

The next evening, after Steve's mom had gone back home, and – for once – all of you kids were sleeping, Steve came home. He wasn't alone, he had some USAF officer with him, in service dress uniform. I couldn't believe what this guy was saying at first, couldn't really take it in. He was talking about this Sergeant C. Ketering who had been posted MIA, and it took a while for it to sink in that this strange sergeant that he was talking about was my Celine. MIA? Under a mountain? MMA more like – Missing? My ASS! I was stunned.

So I started asking questions, and all the time I was thinking 'why have they sent this diplomatic slime ball to tell me about my best friend'? I'll give you one guess as to how many answers I got from Major Slime-Ball. Yep, none. Just all the usual platitudes about 'blah inform you yadda so sorry blah big shock yadda credit to the service'. I didn't really explode until he sort of patted my arm and said that he understood how I must feel, what with the hormones from pregnancy and all. And I just went ballistic. You remember how mad I used to get when you got my books out of alphabetical order? Or when you used to slurp your drink when we had company for dinner? Oh, okay, so I never got that mad at you – I kept it all inside. But you know what my temper can be like.

Of course, I was mortified at screeching at a total stranger like that but he took it on the chin, probably been there many, many times before. Actually, nowadays, I feel sorry for him. What a job. It must have been awful being the bearer of bad news like that. And he must have thought it wasn't so bad because Celine was 'just' my friend. I mean, not like we were related or anything.

Just that I loved her nearly as much as I loved my own husband and kids. Just as much. God, I've missed her.

So, poor ol' Major Slime-Ball picked up his farts and darts hat – that's all I could think at that moment, remembering how Celine had nearly pee'd in her pants when she heard that expression for the first time – and left Steve to take care of me.

Your dad wanted to call out the doctor, but what could he do? There was no way I could take any meds because of breastfeeding the boys – anyway, I didn't want to sleep, I wanted answers. There were no answers then, and there aren't any now, although goodness knows I've tried to get some. The worst of it is, there is nobody to ask.

About a year later Steve got his promotion and we were on the move again, back to the States. I thought it might be a little easier to get some information, but time went on, and nothing. I even tried to contact that Mayborne guy, but after a few attempts Steve got a warning that I'd better drop it 'or else'. He did his best, but what could he do stuck in Florida. He was really up to his ears in work, which got more and more as time moved on.

After a lot of nagging from me the State department finally got the USAF to deliver Celine's personal effects, and I raked through it all for some sort of clue. I still didn't have any clear idea about what she had been doing work-wise, she never kept a journal, and even if she had it wouldn't have said anything about her job. But there were simply no clues at all.

We decided to hold a memorial service for her, and I thought it might be appropriate to see if any of those non-NORAD people would like to attend. Finding them was a whole other can of worms that I don't want to go into now. The upshot of it all was that it was almost as though she had never existed, there was no such non-NORAD place and so on.

Steve and I thought long and hard, and we finally decided that where we held it wouldn't matter, and since it would only be him, me, you kids and one or two people that remembered her from Boot Camp we had it at our house. Celine was Catholic so I approached the station padre to see if we could have a small service, and he agreed.

A very small bunch it was, as I said, just the five of us, Wags and two more from boot camp, to be honest I didn't really remember them, but they wanted to pay their respects and I wasn't about to turn them away. It was a beautiful day, clear skies and lots of sun. The chapel was full of flowers and we each spoke for a few minutes about Celine and how she had made a difference to our lives.

After Steve took you and the boys home, Wags and those others said goodbye and I stayed in that church and prayed to a God I don't believe in to give me some answers. Finally I felt that someone was in there with me, and I assumed that the Padre wanted to lock up or something. That's a strange thing, isn't it? Having to lock up a small church on a military base?

But it wasn't the Padre, although I could see him hovering around in the background. There were these two guys, one in service dress and one in a dark suit. The door was open and I couldn't see them clearly with the light behind them and it did cross my mind that this could be that Mayborne character and a side-kick. I thought I may as well see what they wanted, so I walked out of the chapel, straight past the two of them and out into the sunshine.

Don't tell your dad, because he hates it when I do this, but I have to confess. The first thing I did outside was light a cigarette. I knew I'd be wanting one after the service, and I'd bought a pack a few days before. Smoking away, and waiting for the two strange men, I stood under the shade of a tree and wondered who they were and what they wanted.

The first one to come out was the colonel, I could see the insignia on his uniform at this stage, and he automatically put on a pair of aviator shades. The civilian guy was a fair bit younger than him, and so help me but the pair of them were so good looking, under any other circumstances I'd have been wanting to get to know them better. Yep, me, your mom. I always was a lecherous old lady!

So there's me standing under a tree in the churchyard, hidden from view by a wall around the church, dressed head to toe in black, puffing at a clandestine cigarette with an authority figure bearing down on me. I felt like a schoolgirl all of a sudden. I finished that cigarette and stubbed it out carefully, putting it in a baggie that I had with me in case of emergencies. I don't know what sort of emergencies baggies are usually good for, but it came in handy for those butt ends.

Next thing I knew this strange colonel and the civilian guy were standing right there under the tree with me. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. They said nothing. Then the younger one, who looked really sad but slightly embarrassed sort of nudged the colonel.

"You're a relative of Sergeant Ketering?" Another nudge and the colonel took his shades off. Wanting to look more friendly, more human, I guess.

"No." I wasn't in the mood for conversation. So to stall for time I pulled out another cigarette.

Quick as a flash he had this Zippo in front of me, so I took a deep puff and lit up. I love the smell of those things, and the little metallic click as they open. Reminds me of my dad.

"But you are her next of kin?" The younger man had a voice. Nice voice too, not too deep, very gentle, and an incredibly sad look on his face. That was the first thing I noticed. Then his hands. Beautiful hands, making nervous movements the whole time. Pushing up his glasses, fiddling with his jacket button, his tie, pushing his hair back. He was in constant motion and it looked like he was beginning to annoy Ice Man, because the next thing I knew the colonel was suggesting we all go for a coffee and shooting hard looks at his companion.

"Well, I don't want to be rude, but my husband and kids will be wondering where I got to."

A cell phone appeared in front of my nose. "Here. Call them." The colonel turned and walked away, leaving me with his phone and his friend.

"Ah... I'm Doctor Daniel Jackson. That was... is Colonel Jack O'Neill."

I shook his hand. Did I mention his beautiful hands already? "He always so talkative?"

"No. Sometimes you can't get him to open his mouth." Doctor Daniel Jackson pushed his glasses up his nose again. "So, is there somewhere we can get coffee?"

The cigarette stub joined the first in the baggie which was stuffed into my oversized handbag. Using the Colonel's cell phone I called home to say I was going for coffee, walked off with a perfect stranger and got in to his car.

It was one of those long dark things with blacked out windows. Doctor Jackson opened the door and I had a moment of doubt as I stepped forwards to get in. I looked at his face, right into his eyes, and I realised that whatever this man was, one thing was for sure: He wasn't a government goon. There was something reassuring about those eyes. Deep blue, but not cold like so many I've seen. They were warm and... oh I don't know. Even now after all this time, I get a nice feeling when I think of him, and most of it stems from that one look. He made me trust him in an instant. He could have been sawing my kids in half and I think I still would have trusted him.

The colonel, however, was a different matter. He had his glasses back on and his face was expressionless. Waiting impatiently, his hands were gripping the steering wheel very tightly and his jaw was tightly clenched, he managed to convey a quiet sort of menace. I wouldn't have trusted him as far as I could throw him. Which wouldn't have been very far I guess, not that he was fat, because he wasn't, but tall. About six-two, and about 170 pounds.

When Doctor Jackson had finally settled himself in the front passenger seat there was this silence before I realised that they were waiting for me to give them some directions. My mind went blank, it was worse than taking exams! Finally I remembered a café not too far away, told the colonel the way and tried to relax while he drove. I'll give him this, though, he was a good driver, and one of those lucky ones too, who manage to find a parking space wherever they want one.

Doctor Jackson seemed nervous, he obviously had something on his mind and a couple of times I thought that he was going to say something, he kept sort of half turning round in his seat. But then just as he opened his mouth he looked over at the colonel, snapped his mouth shut and turned round again. I was getting to the point where I wanted to shout at them to stop the car and just blurt it out, when we arrived at the café.

It's one of those old fashioned coffee houses. You know the type I like, all European looking with about thirty-seven different blends of coffee. If you say 'hazelnut sauce' in those places they get all sniffy and say 'if you want sauce get down to Baskin Robbins'. We sat at a very discreet corner table, the colonel's instincts stamped on his otherwise impeccable, but silent, manners and he sat facing the door. I was on a chair perpendicular to him, and Doctor Jackson sat with his back to the door. He didn't seem to mind that, but the colonel obviously did and nodded his head at the empty chair. Jackson just rolled his eyes, but he moved over. These two obviously had a history, I was busting to know what it was, but the colonel's demeanour didn't invite questions of that nature. Actually, his demeanour suggested that he would only ever give name, rank and number, and then only under extreme duress. I wondered if he'd ever been under that sort of duress but was interrupted in my train of thought when the waitress came over.

In answer to her request for our order, the colonel said "three coffees". Which made me snort trying to stop a laugh coming out. Doctor Jackson smiled – to himself really but nobody could have missed that if they were anywhere near him – and my hormones did some kind of fandango, which surprised me out of laughing enough to say, "coffee of the week please, large ones". That got another of those smiles directed right at me, and I decided that I'd better stop looking in his direction because he was going to reduce me to a puddle of goo.

Thankfully the coffee came quickly, because the silence was beginning to get on my nerves. We sat looking at our mugs, me waiting for one of them to say something and them obviously having some kind of telepathic argument about who was going to be the one to deliver the bad news. By then I had pretty much decided it was bad news, but I wondered how bad it could be that they wouldn't come to my home to deliver it.

To this day I swear that Doctor Jackson kicked the colonel under the table, because all of a sudden he took off the glasses and spoke to me. "I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill of the United States Air Force." He paused to drink some coffee, "I'm here to give you some very bad news."

"About Celine?"

"Who?" The colonel looked confused for a second and Doctor Jackson jumped right on in.

"Yes, about Celine. I'm afraid that she has been... killed."

I've said before that I trusted this guy instinctively and I knew he was telling the truth. But he was hiding something and I knew it. I also knew that he knew I knew it. (I've always wanted to write something like that, the frustrated bonkbuster novelist in me, so I'll apologise but leave it in.)

"That much is obvious." As soon as I'd said it I was sorry, because he looked so sad that I honestly thought he was going to cry or something. "Look, I don't know what you two have to do with it. To be honest I don't really care, but if there is something fishy about what happened I want to know."

"No nothing fishy. Sergeant Ketering was killed in action, defending her pla... country."

"When?" There was definitely something not quite right here. "I mean, she was posted MIA just over three years ago. Six months ago I finally got her personal effects. Six months ago. Have you any idea what that was like for me? My best friend, the closest thing I have to family, has been MIA for three years. Three years when she could have turned up on my doorstep at any time. I've been out of my mind with worry sometimes. And you come waltzing in here and tell me she's dead and that's it. I don't believe you people. What aren't you telling me? Why has it taken so long to get this far? Where is she buried?"

I could have bitten my tongue out at the reaction that provoked. Doctor Jackson stood up and muttered something about the men's room. O'Neill gave me the most evil stare I've ever received, told me not to move and went after him. I didn't budge an inch, when you've been given an order by Colonel O'Neill you stay ordered.

A few minutes later they came back and Doctor Jackson carried on as though nothing had happened.

"Actually I know just what it's like. Which is why we're here."

"Doctor Jackson, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so... well you know, so angry at you. It's not your fault Celine has been apparently missing for so long." I was searching his face to see what it was he was hiding, but he was very good at keeping it all inside. Who knows what had given him the practice, but he was really good and I learned nothing except that I still trusted him. "Or is it?"

Again the reaction was writ large in Doctor Daniel Jackson's over expressive eyes but this time he stayed resolutely put.

O'Neill, however, exploded quietly, hissing at me through closed teeth, "Leave him alone. You don't know the half of it. Just be glad that you know this much. For your information, you're not supposed to hear any of this. But he," he jerked his thumb at his friend, "insisted."

"Why?" I was blushing at my total lack of manners, "I mean, thank you. Why?"

"My wife was also... missing for a long time. It happened at the same time. It's my fault and I'm sorry."

I was surprised at that, because he really didn't seem the type to be mixed up with the military, especially not married to one.

"It's not your fault, Daniel. Get off the guilt trip already."

I don't know if he intended me to hear that, but I did. And it surprised me to hear the way that tough old colonel's voice changed when he was talking to Doctor Jackson. Like they were really close. But then, like I said, he – Doctor Jackson that is – had a way about him that is difficult to describe, so it's not difficult to imagine that they were really good friends, despite their obvious differences.

"I'm sorry about your wife, Doctor Jackson. It must have been awful for you. But doesn't explain why you came here today."

"It was awful, knowing that she was out there..." The colonel glared and he ducked his head like an apology, "... missing, presumed dead. But I know now for sure that she's not alive. And it helps. I reckoned that it would help you too."

"I guess it will. Right now I'm wondering why it took so long for anyone to tell me anything."

"Sorry, that's classified." The colonel had obviously decided to take charge of the conversation's direction.

"I just want to get it clear in my head that it has nothing to do with that Mayborne charac..."

"Who?" The interruption was too quick, and he knew it.

I looked calmly at Colonel Jack O'Neill of the United States Air Force over the top of my coffee mug and saw in his eyes that he was reassessing me. For all the good it did me in the 'gathering intelligence about Celine's death' department. I put the mug down carefully, lining up the handle with the edge of the place mat. "Harry Mayborne. He was pestering Celine."

"No. It had nothing to do with anyone." The Colonel finished his coffee, "Now if you'll excuse us, we've taken up too much of our time already."

"Jack..."

"No, Daniel. Let's take Mrs. Gerard home, and she can get on with her life. Like we're getting on with ours." He stood up, threw some bills on the table and strode out of the café without a backwards glance.

Doctor Jackson sort of shrugged, then stood up and looked at me. You can't stop hormones from doing their thing, he melted my knees so I had to grip hold of the table to get up. He held on to my elbow and sort of helped me stand. "I'm sorry you lost your friend. And I'm sorry that you'll never know just how much of a debt we all owe her."

He turned and had taken two steps before I managed to speak, I was very choked up at this stage. "Doctor Jackson!" I caught up with him and something made me want to touch him, so I grabbed his arm, "If he hadn't wanted me to know, there is no way he would have let you tell me even that much. Don't look so surprised, haven't you read my file? My father was a Seal, and my mother was in Navy Intelligence, I met my husband when we both did intelligence work at the Pentagon. I know how the system works. Doctor Jackson, if you're working with him, something tells me you'd better get used to the secrecy."

"I don't want to get used to it." He looked like a kid refusing to eat his greens.

"Yeah," I sighed, "none of us ever do."

By that time we were standing on the sidewalk next to the car. The colonel was doing his statue impression, eyes hidden behind the shades, but there was no way on this earth that he wasn't looking at us, and probably lip reading too.

I wasn't really in the mood for questions from Steve, not to mention the neighbours, about why I was getting of a big, official car, with a full-bird colonel driving. "I'll walk from here, I could do with some time alone."

Again, I wondered what it was in his life that made him seem to understand so completely, as Doctor Daniel Jackson gave me smile and a curt nod and got into the car. O'Neill didn't look at me, just pushed the car into Drive and pulled out into the traffic.

It took just over an hour for me to get home. Steve wasn't surprised, he'd seen the car pull up as you were all leaving and assumed that it was just some big brass arriving too late to pay his respects. After I told him what had happened he just said that it was more information than some people get and we'd have to be happy with it.

You may be wondering why I'm telling you all this now, I mean, you've always known about the woman who gave you her name, but you didn't really know about the circumstances of her death. Having read all this you can imagine what a shock it was to find that you are now posted to somewhere near NORAD – that isn't actually NORAD! Don't worry, I come from a long line of sneaky-beakys. I won't tell anyone.

Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I'll be thinking of you a lot in the next few weeks, while you find your feet at the new place, and congratulations on your promotion to Major, your Dad and I are very proud.

Call me at the weekend.

Love Mum.

X

*****

Hi you!

Well, as I expected it's not so bad getting to a new place when you're a Major, everyone is very helpful! Heh heh heh, it's just as well I don't have much megalomania in me! I'm really sorry that it has taken me so long to get in touch and I hope this won't come as too much of a shock to you but I'm tapping this out with one finger (okay, maybe more than one) in the infirmary.

Okay, calm! Breathe! Do that brown paper bag thing if you have to! That was a J-O-K-E, mom. Sorry, I couldn't resist. I can just see you now, sitting down pretending to panic, but mentally working out the flight timetable to Colorado. But after that shameless attempt to pump me for information you deserved it. But I have to admit, you're good. It's no wonder I do what I do when I'm like the mini-me version of you. If you see what I mean.

Can you believe that I'd only been here three weeks when I broke my foot??!! Honestly, I feel so stupid, but there you have it. I'm not the only person in the infirmary at the moment... but... oh heck, it doesn't matter anyway. The main thing is that I'm okay.

I'm not going to write much, the doc here is a real dragon. But get this, her mom worked here too. Actually, she's not a dragon at all, she's also a newly minted Major, and we're having fun getting used to that together. She's a good influence on me, there won't be any Tequila-worm-eating parties here. Well... not yet anyway.

And the point of all this? I can see you looking at me, with that little wrinkly frown, and whispering 'get to the point' like I'm deaf and can't hear you!!

Okay the point is this: Cassie dug out some old files for me the other day, and you'll never guess what? Oh, actually, knowing you, you're way ahead of me here! So, I found the file for Aunty Cel. Not only her, but also your Colonel O'Neill and the rather thunkable (okay! That's not a real word, but we use it to describe any good looking guys who send our hormones out doing the fandango.) Doctor Daniel Jackson.

I'm probably breaking all the rules telling you that, so don't be surprised when my next mail is from jail.

At least one of us now knows what exactly happened. It's all classified, but I can tell you that there is a small chapel here, and Celine's is the first plaque you see on the memorial wall. Sobbed my guts out when I saw it there, I mean, I've known for years that she was dead and you'll think it's silly because I haven't seen her since I was three. But I remember her and it's a real slap in the face to see her name on that wall.

Right, I have to go before Dragon Doctor comes and unplugs me or something.

Love to you and Dad.

Cel

x

PS. How about we all have a drink to Celine, say on Saturday evening at around 18:00 my time?

PPS. Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings but there are plaques for Doctor Jackson and Colonel O'Neill there too. Light a candle for them, eh?

~the end~