Disclaimer: I do not own 'Stargate: SG-1' or any of the characters associated with the show.
Summary: Mitchell is feeling down in the dumps this Christmas. . . until a special visitor comes to show him how valuable he really is.
Author's Note: This story takes place several years after the beginning of 'Stargate: Athena' so there are a few references to characters and events from that story.
Chapter One
Stargate Command. December 24
"Incoming wormhole from the Epsilon site." Harriman watched the overhead screens as a report from Colonel Taylor was uploaded into the base computer. He copied the report to disc and turned to one of the other technicians. "I'll bring this to the general, then I'm out of here. Merry Christmas!"
He made his way up the stairs and through the briefing room to the base commanders' office. "General," he saluted, "last scheduled report from offworld just came in. No red flags, and all cleared personnel will be returning within the hour."
"Thanks, Walter," Sam replied. She took the disk and labelled it hurriedly before dropping into the top drawer on her desk. "I'm just about to leave. You?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Turning to pick up her bag, she asked, "So we'll see you and Lindsey at the house later?"
"What's at the house later?"
Looking back as she plucked her coat from its stand, she saw Mitchell standing just inside the door, with the newly promoted Captain Hailey entering just behind. Both held folders containing mission reports from their recent visit to a farming planet they'd been in contact with for some time. The locals had been experiencing some pretty extreme weather, which had led to heavy flooding, and they'd had to be temporarily relocated.
"Hi guys. Just leave those in my tray. I'll look over them when I get back."
"So," Cam queried again as he dropped his report (much thinner than Hailey's) into the tray on her desk, "Christmas party?"
"Yeah. I thought I told you about it."
"No, not that I remember."
"Sorry, I could have sworn I did. Anyway, I thought you'd be going home to your grandmother's for the holidays."
"She's in the Bahamas. Loves Christmas, hates tropical weather, and she's in the Bahamas until after New Years." His frustration was painted all over his face. This was not looking like a merry Christmas for Cam.
Feeling more than a little sorry for him, Sam renewed the invitation – she was certain she'd invited him before. "Well, it's at the house around three. Probably won't go on too late – pretty much everyone will want to be home early on Christmas Eve."
"Yeah, that sounds alright. Should I bring anything?"
"More alcohol is never too bad an idea."
"Right. I'll be there." He nodded to Walter before leaving, who left along with Hailey, both saying their see-you-laters. Sam left a moment later, locking the door behind her. The brass plate on the door, around which somebody had tacked a wreath when she wasn't looking, read:
Brig. General S. O'Neill
The snowfall outside was light but had been falling steadily for most of the day.
Upon his return to Colorado, Jack had repurchased his old house, which had lain empty for nearly a year beforehand. The interior was somewhat different than it had been. In the past, it had clearly belonged to a single man. Now it was a family home – although the family inside was somewhat unconventional.
Jack and Sam were sitting together in a large cream-coloured armchair, the small stains of various colours scattered all over it not quite helping the décor.
In fact, almost every piece of furniture in sight was stained or marked in one way or another, most of the marks permanent. The same went for the carpets, wallpaper and, inexplicably, the ceilings.
The cause of the wreckage sat on the rug in the middle of the floor, playing with her godmother. Grace Cassandra O'Neill, now almost a year old – her birthday was just two days after Christmas – had her mother's blonde hair and her father's mischievous brown eyes.
Most of the guests had already left, hurrying home to prepare for the following morning. Daniel, Vala, Mitchell, Kaímar, Jonas, and Cassandra were all that remained, lingering over the left over food and alcohol. Worried about the amount of the latter they had consumed, Sam had suggested that they all stay where they were, at least for the time being.
Kaímar, Jonas and Daniel were discussing their new jobs – Jonas and Kaímar were both on SG-1 with Hailey, Vala and Mitchell, and Daniel was living in a state of perpetual joy on Atlantis.
There was no suggestion of getting Grace to bed at any specific time – she'd sleep when she was tired and not before. Vala had sat down beside her to join in the playtime, and Grace promptly handed her some of the wooden pieces from a small jigsaw she was putting together.
Since all the other adults were occupied, Mitchell knelt down next to Grace, picking up one of the pieces. "Hiya, Gracie!"
"Grace!" She corrected sternly.
"She doesn't like being patronized." Vala reminded him. "She's smarter than you already(!)"
"…Right. Well, is it okay if I play?"
Grace looked to her mother for assistance, who nodded, indicating she should let him join in if he wanted to. She, in turn, nodded grudgingly to Mitchell, reaching for the shape game she had outgrown a month or two previously.
Cassie, deciding to make some room on the rug, went to join the others, slipping her arm around Jonas.
It didn't take long for the situation on the rug to deteriorate.
Mitchell, chattering to Vala, wasn't paying much attention to what he was doing… at least until he felt something whack him on the knuckles. "What the f…"
"Language!" Jack warned.
"Sorry, sir… what was that for?" he asked Grace, rubbing his knuckles and wary of the small wooden mallet in her tiny hand. "I thought we were playing!"
"Wong!" She all but whimpered.
Vala interjected before Mitchell could get beaten up any more. "Um, Colonel? Square peg, round hole."
Kaímar's voice came from behind him, a low rumble thinly veiling a threat. "You are upsetting the child. Imbecile." Grace clearly perked up at the sight of her enormous adopted uncle coming to her rescue, and began clapping her little hands delightedly.
Sam, however, decided that this situation could quickly get out of control and demolish her living room. She drew Kaímar aside quietly, reminding him that he was on Mitchell's team now, and had to start showing some measure of respect – even if he didn't feel any.
Later on, as Sam and Jack were tucking Grace into bed, Mitchell slipped out of the living room and stumbled through the kitchen, downing the last of his umpteenth beer and looking for another. By now he was so hammered he didn't even see the bottles still on the kitchen counter, and continued on to the garage.
Coming to this party had been one of many decisions Cam had come to regret lately. The whole event, he'd been not-obviously-excluded from quite a few conversations, no doubt due to the woeful results his team had produced in recent years. Things were beginning to pick up quite a bit with his new roster – the problem now was that the entire roster would clearly prefer if he wasn't on it. Ever since the then-Colonel Carter had left on Athena, things had gone from bad to worse. In the beginning he'd gone through seven new team members in a matter of months, and then even after he'd finally found someone who stuck it out for a while, he'd taken off – rather gleefully – when Hailey had applied for a place at the SGC after her time on Athena he'd asked if she could come to SG-1. He'd asked her to come on as an additional member, but Sergeant Hargrove had taken the opportunity to see if she could be a replacement instead.
Cam had no idea how he'd wound up with Quinn, and he was certain only Sam would have been able to convince the Unas to join.
"Replace me on my own damn team… aww, who could blame her? Haven't done anything right for years. Even the baby knows what a dumbass I am!" Opening the door to the garage, forgetting about the steps, and having consumed enough alcohol to drop Kaímar, Mitchell fell flat on his face, and cut his hand on his now broken bottle. Grumbling something even he couldn't quite make out, he struggled to his feet and grabbed a nearby rag for the bleeding.
"I don't know what the hell I'm still doing in the Air Force," he slurred to nobody in particular. "So goddamn useless. Better off if I'd never been born. Oughta just end it all and let 'em all move on with Hailey in charge."
"Why do you say that?"
The question coming from behind him in an apparently empty garage caught Mitchell more-than-a-little-off-guard, and, stumbling backwards he tripped over his own feet and landed on some of the shards of the bottle, wincing in pain.
"Goddamn it, son of a bitch!"
"Sorry."
"Not you!" Mitchell barked. Then, pausing and trying to focus his eyes, he asked, "Wait a minute. Who are you?"
A young man in brown and grayish robes stood in front of him, smiling slightly. He had long, thick black hair, with olive skin, and was about a six inches shorter than Cam.
"My name is Skaara."
"Wh… were you at the party?"
"No, Cameron, I wasn't."
"You live in the garage?"
"…No."
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to help you. Assuming you're willing to help yourself."
"Don't know if I'll be much use at that," Cam replied, picking himself up again and pulling a piece of glass out of his butt cheek.
"I'm…sure that's not true," the young man tried to assure him.
"So, how is a kid who looks like he shops in the Salvation Army's Dumpster gonna help me out?"
In reply, Skaara held out a hand. "You are important to the people you work with, and to their mission. Your mission. Let me show you."
A great flash of light appeared all around, and Mitchell swore again as he was nearly blinded. When the light faded, the pair were gone.
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