Major Samantha Carter sat at an oak table with Catherine Langford. The two women were not eating breakfast. Both the blonde major and the white-haired lady were playing with their food. Their toast grew cold and the Cocoa Krispies soggy as they hemmed and hawed, trying to make conversation, trying to keep each other's spirits up.

Despite the fact both had Ph. D.s, they were depressingly inarticulate that morning.

The phone rang.

Catherine dropped her spoon and reached for her crutches.

"I'll get it." Sam pushed her chair out. "It might be a telemarketer," she muttered under her breath, but she didn't sound like she believed herself.

Catherine shook her head. She knew telemarketers didn't call that early. And from her tone, Sam knew it, too.

Sam hurried to the phone. "Langford residence."

"Sam, it's Daniel. We found Ernest."

"That's terrific!" She turned to face Catherine. "They found him!" She picked up the cordless phone and began walking back to the dining room table. "Where is he? How is he?"

"He's okay, but he's in New York," Daniel replied.

"New York?"

"Did you say New York?" Catherine asked as she reached for the phone.

"Just a second, I'm passing you over to Catherine." Sam handed the telephone to the older woman.

"Catherine, he's safe. He's been found, and a friend of mine has promised to watch him until we can go get him," Daniel informed her.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

"He's in Sloanville, New York. The police found him," Daniel glanced at the e-mail on his computer screen, "trying to break into the house where an archaeologist friend lived thirty years ago."

"Jeremy Rigby used to live in Sloanville," Catherine remembered. "He and Ernest used to be close."

"Rigby? The Hatshepshut scholar?" Daniel asked.

"Yes, he and Ernest went to school together." She took a deep breath. "How did he get there?"

"I don't know yet, but I'll ask him as soon as I get there."

"As soon as we get there," she corrected him.

"Not with a broken ankle, Catherine. Your doctor told you to rest," Daniel reminded her. "Going halfway across the country is not restful."

Catherine said something very unladylike.

SG-1/KF:TLC ~~ SG-1/KF:TLC ~~ SG-1/KF: TLC ~~ SG-1/KF:TLC

Daniel looked out the cockpit window, awed and amazed by the view. He'd flown dozens of times, but he'd never been in the co-pilot's seat of a jet before. He glanced at the complicated controls in front of him, then quickly returned his gaze to the window again. Daniel had a habit of touching things he shouldn't - quantum mirrors, Goa'uld booby traps, assorted alien artifacts - and Col. O'Neill had threatened to handcuff him if he even thought about touching any of the plane's controls.

"I still can't believe you got General Hammond to lend us a jet," Daniel said.

"I convinced him it was a matter of national security," O'Neill replied. "Ernest knows about the stargate, and he might not know enough to keep his mouth shut. The sooner we get him home, the better."

Daniel nodded.

"So tell me about this Pete of yours. Known him long?" O'Neill asked.

"Since junior high. We were roommates at the orphanage, for a couple months when I was between foster homes." Daniel's parents had died when he was young, and he had grown up being shuffled between his grandfather and a series of foster homes. "He got teased a lot by the other boys because he was bald, but I -"

O'Neill interrupted. "Bald? Was he a cancer patient or a junior skinhead?"

"Neither. His mother was dead, and his father was a Shao-lin priest. Pete grew up in the monastery, until the place burned down. Since my parents were anthropologists, I was not only more tolerant than the other kids, but fascinated by his upbringing."

"He was in an orphanage? I thought you said his father would be watching Ernest, and that you were looking forward to meeting him," O'Neill remembered. "Have you got a ghost Ernest-sitting for us? Or is 'the infamous Pop' a just a real close friend, like an honorary uncle?"

"He's really Pete's father. After the fire, both of them thought the other one was dead. They were only reunited a few years ago," Daniel explained. "Pete's got two fathers, really. There was this police detective who was part of a mentoring program, sort of like Big Brother, who really clicked with Pete. He and his family wound up taking Peter in. He lived with them until halfway through college, and he's still close. That's the reason Pete became a cop."

Daniel sounded wistful, and O'Neill wondered what his foster homes had been like, and how many he'd been bounced between.

SG-1/KF: TLC ~~ SG-1/KF:TLC ~~ SG-1/KF: TLC ~~ SG-1/KF: TLC

Kermit rose from his chair and stretched. He swiveled his neck slowly to the left, then to the right. He'd been sitting in front of his computer too long. His rump was saddle-sore from too long in his chair. His eyes were tired. A brief meander around the bullpen, a cup of coffee, maybe a doughnut, and a little face time with his colleagues would do him good. He opened his office door and saw Sgt. Broderick at the far end of the bullpen, escorting two visitors. One was a brown-haired, bespectacled man, probably about ten years younger than Kermit. The other man was older than Kermit, probably in his early to mid-fifties. Although he wore a sports jacket and slacks, his military bearing and military haircut caught Kermit's eye. He took a closer look at the man. Behind his green-tinted glasses, his eyes widened. He stepped back inside quickly and closed the door. The last thing he wanted was for Col. O'Neill to recognize him and ask what he was doing here.

Being a police detective wasn't a second career for Kermit. It was a hidey-hole. He'd gathered quite a collection of enemies in his mercenary days - people who would pay good money to know where he was now. He didn't think O'Neill would deliberately blow his cover, but the fewer people who knew who he was - or had been - and where he was, the better.

He couldn't help wondering, though. Why was Peter's friend coming to fetch an Alzheimer's patient who'd gone wandering accompanied by an Air Force officer with a history in black ops?

"Det. Caine's over there," Sgt. Broderick pointed.

Peter looked up from his computer screen when he heard his name. "Danny!" He quickly saved his work and stood to greet his old friend. He walked slowly to Daniel and O'Neill.

"Pete, it's been too long." Daniel's smile was as wide as a river.

O'Neill took one look at Peter's stiff movements and whispered, "No hugs."

They met in the middle of the bullpen. Daniel took Peter's right hand in his own, shaking it warmly. He clasped Peter's right shoulder with his left hand. Daniel released his hand and introduced: "Pete, my friend, Jack O'Neill. Also a friend of Ernest's. Peter Caine."

"Nice to meet you." The two shook hands, a far more tepid gesture than it had been for Daniel and Peter. The detective took a second look at his friend. Daniel was considerably more buff than he'd been the last time Peter had seen him. "You been working out? You've finally put some meat on your bones."

Daniel hesitated a second before answering. He couldn't explain that O'Neill and Teal'c had been supervising an exercise regimen, designed to ensure he could keep up with the rest of the team on off-world missions. "Yeah, I've been hitting the gym more often."

"Let me tell the captain where we're going, and then - "

"Tell the captain what?" Simms interrupted.

O'Neill raised an appreciative eyebrow and gave the woman standing in the open doorway a discreet onceover. Captain Karen Simms was a handsome woman, rather than pretty. She'd never see forty again, but she'd aged like a good cheddar cheese, getting stronger and better. Her clothes were simply but elegantly tailored: a gray linen pantsuit over a pink silk brocade blouse. O'Neill saw the bulge of a pistol beneath her jacket.

"These are Dr. Littlefield's friends. They've come to take him home," Peter explained.

Simms nodded her approval. "Go collect him, then straight back. You're still confined to desk duty until the doctor says otherwise."

"Cracked ribs?" O'Neill guessed.

Peter nodded.

"Saw the way you were moving," O'Neill remarked. "Been there, done that, got the T-shirt."

"Detective Caine, straight back," Simms ordered. "No bank robberies, no ninja attacks, no hostage situations. No -" she hesitated, not wanting to talk about some of the weird things Peter and his father got involved with in front of strangers.

"Let me guess, he's a trouble magnet?" O'Neill asked.

Peter started to protest. Simms merely nodded primly.

"Makes sense." O'Neill jerked a thumb at Daniel. "He's one, too."

"Ja-ack," Daniel began.

Simms smiled at O'Neill. She was beginning to suspect that the two of them had as much in common as Peter and Daniel did.