Chapter 10

I hate Washington. I've always hated it. My last two years on Earth were spent here, doing a job I hated but needed to be done, a job that took me from my friends, from my life. A job that kept me behind a desk.

So I hate Washington. Washington is about formalities and ceremony and protocol and servitude. There's no fun here. No humor. And I hate it.

I didn't really agree to this. One minute I'm at home with my kids, the next we're whisked away to D.C. to formalize my report and determine my military status. They don't really want the children but there is no way in Hell I will leave them behind.

The flight is quite an experience for them, but they handle it well. Isn't nearly as fun as traveling through the Stargate, and it gets boring after a while. Carter comes with us, officially to escort us, through we both understand her real motivations. She's worried about me.

I'd like to tell you that I came back from my twelve years of exile and everything went back to normal, but I'd be lying. Psychologically, I'm not ready for something like this but we both have our orders. I'm not really fine, like they all believe due to my excellent acting abilities. Only Carter knows the truth, and even she has begun to cover for me, afraid to subject me to the shrinks and psychological profiling that would follow if they only knew how bad I am. Carter and the Twins keep me grounded for the most part.

There is a limo waiting for us when we get off the plane. I have no idea where we're going because I hadn't been paying attention when Daniel told me my schedule and who I'd be seeing. I was busy watching a little girl get beaten and raped. This particular event had never happened, which confused me. I didn't even recognize the girl, and I knew it wasn't real so I didn't react to it. I tried to focus on Carter's face, pushing the unwanted image aside. It hurt not to be able to help her, but even if I tried I'd just be hurting myself. You can't save them all, and if you try you'd go mad with the ones you can't help. I know, I've tried.

I space out during our ride to wherever we're going. Not black out, just space out. I do that a lot when I'm bored. Passes the time more quickly. Little something I mastered in Iraq not to go insane.

By the time I realize we have stopped Carter and the Twins have already climbed out of the car and I have to hurry to keep them from worrying. Stepping out I blink back the bright sunlight, wishing I had a pair of sunglasses to protect my sensitive eyes, and take the boy's hand in my left as Carter holds the girl's.

Carter somehow leads the way into the building even though she walks just behind me, a symbol of respect for my rank to let everyone know that even though I'm wearing civilian clothes and look as frail as a house of cards, I am still a military officer.

The little boy holding my hand doesn't exactly reinforce that image. Especially when he clings to my leg as we wait for our security check. Then when the little girl comes over it's history. I pick her up and hold her in my right arm against my hip, something I wouldn't have had the strength for weeks ago, and she wraps her arms around my neck. Yep, Carter's efforts are in vain.

A major comes out to escort us and can't hide his surprise. He's been told he'd be escorting a Major General no doubt, not a coat hangar for kids.

He introduces himself to Carter since she is in uniform, and from her fleeting glance at me he realizes his mistake. He visibly pales but recovers, declaring it an honor to meet me and asking us to come with him.

Did I mention I hate Washington? I hate meetings, too. We're led to a small, windowless room where six men and two women are waiting for us, all sharply dressed in Air Force Class A's.

I feel decidedly underdressed in my baggy jeans and plain black long-sleeved shirt. Honestly, it's Carter's shirt, but don't read into that. It's simple and it fits and it hides my scars. I don't get a kick out of wearing women's clothing. It's standard issue anyway, man or woman. And don't read into why I'm being so defensive, either.

There are only two empty chairs at the table, they obviously weren't expecting to have the kids around for this interrogation. I set the girl down on her feet and push her gently over to Carter.

Nobody has said anything yet, either too shocked by my appearance or the reality that they're looking at a dead man. Not like it hasn't happened before in the Service.

"General O'Neill, it's good to see you again. Welcome back."

The man who greets me was a Colonel when I left. I recognize everyone in the room, they probably wanted to make sure I didn't feel threatened by strangers, and only one of them had been of higher rank than me when I left. This puts the rest of them in the awkward position of addressing their former superior as an equal, or in one case, a subordinate.

I don't really care. Rank never meant much to me. But just so there are no misconceptions, I'm not really the wild cannon I'm made out to be. I can follow orders, and even show respect to my superiors if I actually respect them. I just have this little issue with speaking my mind. And sometimes getting slapped for it, figuratively speaking. Although there was that one time…

I take the empty seat at the head of the table, and pull the boy up onto my lap, surprising them further since I had not been offered the seat and they really don't want the kids to stay. This is my way of taking control. A glance over at Carter and she follows my lead, taking her seat and helping the little girl into her lap. Somehow, she knows it's an order, even though I'm not her commanding officer and she probably would have done it anyway.

"Uh, General, I think the children would be more comfortable waiting outside. We'll keep a close eye on them."

I look at the General, who still outranks me, indifferently, but I don't release my hold on the boy, who has buried his face against my chest.

Sam helpfully, and needlessly, interprets my silent gaze. "General O'Neill would prefer that the children remain with him."

"Sorry, General, but with the things we need to discuss it isn't appropriate to keep them around."

If the things they want to discuss are that bad then I don't want to be here either. I stand up, holding the boy and walk to the door, waiting for Carter to let the girl down to follow me.

"General!"

I stop, knowing they wouldn't really let me go, but at least they know I'm serious about the kids.

"The children can stay, as long as they aren't in the way."

I suddenly hate that man. You can't think about children like that. My distaste for him is evident in my glare as I sit back down, and he doesn't say anything again.

"General…Jack, we know it's been difficult for you but we need to know what happened and where you've been for the last twelve years."

"Father doesn't talk." Boy answers helpfully from my lap.

"We know he doesn't. We'd like you to write as much as you can to answer our questions."

I raise my eyebrows at that, looking down at the computer they set in front of me.

Carter stifles a smile, knowing my computer illiteracy. She also knows that my fingers don't bend very much, they're stiff and clumsy from years of battle stress, broken fingers that were never set, and arthritis, so I won't be winning any secretary of the year awards.

Doing a fine show of hunt and peck I type in the letters, 'OK'.

They stare at me, and then at each other. I try not to smirk. Hey, it's been twelve years, it's not like this is riding a bike. I wonder if I can still ride a bike. Motorcycle, that is. Maybe Carter will take me out on hers for a spin.

They don't look happy, but they begin their interroga-…ahem, debriefing.

"Do you know what planet you were on?"

Rather than typing 'no' I shake my head.

"How were you captured?"

I don't remember, so I shrug.

"General." I'm being scolded? I'm not a little kid, you bozos.

I type in, 'I don't know, I was unconscious' and turn the screen for Sam to read out loud to them. I have such a lovely voice, don't you think?

"Where were you when you first awoke?"

I stare at the man who asked the question. That's a ridiculous question, I just told him I don't know where I was. Slowly, I type an appropriate answer which Carter relates to them. 'I was being dragged behind a horse-like creature. I got up to walk behind it but was knocked out again.'

"And when you regained consciousness?"

I refrain from rolling my eyes. I don't see why this is important, it happened over a decade ago. My next answer takes a long time to put in and I can hear their frustrated sighs. I almost want to laugh at them. Don't ask the question if you don't want the answer.

'Their prison camp. Deep canyon, 200 meters, direct sun 3 hrs every 35, winter season 2 months every 25, min mid-40 F. Summer max 100 F. At escape surface grasslands, scattered forest. Settlement 20 km west of Stargate. Organized local government.'

It's all guesses, but I think they're fairly accurate. They seem quite pleased with the information I have provided, but aren't satisfied.

"What was your initial condition?"

'Dislocated shoulder, bumps and scrapes, headache.'

"No evidence of how you were captured?"

I make a point of underlining 'headache' and Carter tries not to laugh. The others ignore what is obviously sarcasm.

"How were you kept detained?"

'min 15 guards with guns, whips. No exits but to climb walls. Bad condition for that.' I never did figure out how the guards got in and out. I assume they had some kind of ship, or maybe a transporter beam like the Asgard. I don't really care anymore.

"Were you interrogated?"

I shake my head.

"They didn't ask you any questions?" A woman reiterates, disbelieving.

I shake my head again.

"What about your living conditions?"

'Rations every other day, 2 cups water a day, manual labor, mines. Sadistic bastard guards.' Carter hesitates over the last phrase, glancing down at the child in her lap, but reads all my words.

"What about the guards?"

The children hug us tighter, and I push the computer away, refusing to answer that.

"Would you like us to remove the children?"

I shake my head and hold the boy tighter. Slowly I tug the computer back my way and manage to type in a response. 'They hurt for no reason.' It was all I could type.

"They beat you without provocation?"

I shrug, though I'm impressed at how intellectual you can make 'assault' sound. 'Women and children. They thought it was fun.'

There is a collective silence at that, and they glance at the Twins in our arms.

"These children showed no evidence of physical trauma, apart from malnourishment," says one of the men, by way of proving his disbelief.

I stare at him. If they don't believe me why ask the questions? I consider leaving again, when the boy timidly speaks up. "Guardian wouldn't let them hurt us." Then he tucks his face back into my chest, afraid that he may be punished for saying that much.

"What's your name?" One of the women asks, smiling at him. Boy turns to her with a puzzled expression. I'm surprised that she doesn't already know, since Daniel and I have been over this many times.

"I don't have a name."

They all look shocked and turn to me like I've done something wrong. It isn't my fault they've never been given names. I can't speak, why would I need to call them anything? I figured it would be best if they had their own identity before being labeled by a name, one that wasn't associated with the first five years of their lives. Or something clever like that.

"Our parents didn't give us any before they died in the mines." Girl explains shyly. "Father took care of us after that."

"So who was the Guardian?" They focus on the children now, thankfully ignoring me.

Girl points at me and Boy taps my chest. "That's what the others called him." Boy explains. "Because he protected everybody."

"How did he do that?"

Girl answers this time. "When the bad people attacked he would shield us. He's cover us with his body. The others, too. They said he used to be the only one, until he came back for us and the others realized they should help."

"He came back for you?"

Boy nods and picks up the story. "We were too little to remember. But he was climbing the rock to get away and he was almost out when they threatened to kill us if he didn't come back. So he came back for us. And he was shot in the leg and couldn't walk for a long time but the others started protecting each other since he couldn't anymore."

"They threatened the two of you?"

"They threatened all of us. Mother said they always threatened him like that. She'd been told that he used to fight back until one of the women he was protecting was threatened if he fought back again. And one of the men said that the guy in the village had killed a little boy so that Guardian could never speak again, which is why he doesn't talk. But that was long before we were born, mother and father hadn't arrived yet."

They turn to me inquisitively, silently asking for verification. I nod and type in, 'Quit talking a few months in. Tried escape maybe yr 8 or 9. Kids parents died 1 yr ago.'

"And you've been raising them since then?"

I nod, hoping they will allow me to continue to do so.

"Why did you try to escape after so long?"

Why wouldn't I? 'Felt right' I answer.

"What do you mean by that?"

I shrug.

"Low threat assessment?" Someone suggests.

I shake my head and reluctantly tell the truth. 'Didn't feel alone. Like someone was waiting at the top for me.' I shrug again, and a few of them smile, thinking me sentimental.

I really don't know how else to explain it. I would have sworn I heard Carter's voice on the wind, Daniel's excited chatter about the culture, Teal'c's…well, his solemnly intoned "Indeed."

They move onto the next questions and the interrogation proceeds. The boy cradled comfortably on my lap doesn't stir, watching the proceedings with a mixture of curiosity and discomfort, probably absorbing my own feelings. He flinches when I flinch. He closes his eyes when I refuse to answer the question. And when all the Colonels and Generals and Doctors become nothing more than guards he looks up at me with wide-eyed concern that only the innocent face of a child can muster.

"Father is not well now." He surprises everyone in the room, including me, by declaring this, then stands up on my lap. He positions his small face in front of mine so I can see nothing else, shielding me from the guards. "They will not hurt you, Father. I won't let them."

I've had a lot of proud moments in my life but this one takes the cake. The guards are immediately vanquished by my brave young son, and they don't return. It's a defining moment in your life when you stand up for something, and watching the child you've helped to raise reach that point is like you own personal celebration. Fireworks and all that jazz. I swear there were trumpets blaring at this victory, this accomplishment. At five years old my son is a man, more courageous and loyal than most. And I'm damn proud to be his father.

There are no more questions. I'm too busy hugging my kids, the girl had crept over when she realized there was something wrong, to notice the meeting is adjourned. The others quietly leave the room, and now we're alone. Carter remains seated at the table, smiling over at us wistfully, as though she wants to be a part of it.

We welcome her with open arms, glad and eager to invite her into our small family, her strength and innocence enveloping us like a blanket.

TBC