Title: The Redemption of George Hammond

Chapter 13

Author: Selmak

Introduction: The SG1 team is captured by Goa'uld when they exit the gate at the Beta Site. To their confusion, George Hammond greets them wearing the uniform of the First Prime of Selmak.

Rating: R – Non-Con Sex. Violence. Cursing. Not a Happy Piece o' Fiction.

Pairings: Yes Several M/F/S (Male FemaleSymbiote) – but not who'd you expect more than likely.

We continue with the story after the failed insurrection planned by Weir and Shepherd.

Janet Fraiser rubbed her temples, wishing that she could sleep for a week. JakeSelmak were dosed to the gills, Samantha was physically and mentally a hair better shape than her father and the person who was snapping orders and running the show was of all people, George Hammond.

They were already in a new residence that was still in the process of being completed, six no… seven bedrooms, four full baths and a couple half baths, and a large garden that was physically INSIDE the residence complete with a babbling brook and assorted fruit trees from Earth. Plus George had easily commandeered a dozen Super Soldiers to stand guard.

And while all the activity was going on, while the insurrectionists were being rounded up, George had fed his youngest daughter even while he strategized and planned "Jacob Carter's" response to the current situation. Samantha had tried to take Hannah from him, but George had refused to give their daughter to her. And now that Hannah was fed, he was still holding her while he talked to Siler and Davis.

"George… please let me have Hannah. You need to get your wound checked," pleaded a visibly unnerved Samantha.

She reached for Hannah, and George again refused to hand over his daughter.

"You need to lie down, Samantha," he retorted. "Janet, can you please have Samantha lie down? Sly, I'm sorry I took back this place. I know I promised you a nicer place, but it's the only place secure enough for my family. I'll them start building you a better place as soon as they're done here."

George then cooed to his daughter softly, "Right, Hannah? We're to make sure that Siler has a nicer place as we took his."

"Sir, it was too nice a place for me," Siler protested. "I'm perfectly happy where I am now."

"Nonsense, you've been loyal, Siler, and I remember your loyalty. We'll build you a nicer place, and then Walt; it'll be your turn. Now gentlemen, I need you to handle a few more things for me. You're also both getting security personnel, you too, Gregor. Plus your families are going to be watched," George informed them.

George continued instructing them and then he laughed. It was an oddly normal sound.

"Hannah, you're making a mess, girl. Give me that towel, Walt," George requested.

"Janet," Samantha whispered softly. "He needs to get his side looked at, and I want…. Hannah… away from him…. He's too dangerous… He's not safe…"'

Samantha was shaking, and Janet put her hands on her.

"Samantha… you need to lie down. I'll get Hannah from George… but right now you need to lie down."

"No," Samantha protested. "He's not safe… I can't let him hurt Hannah."

After Walter, Siler and Chekov left, George stretched carefully, so not to jar his side. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but Hannah was almost asleep and that was the important thing. He was singing to her softly, a tune he used to sing to Marjorie and Lena when they were younger. Back in the days when he could carry a tune… back when life was easy, and pain wasn't his constant companion

"There are places I'll remember, All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better, Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments, With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living, In my life I've loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers, There is no one compares with you…"

"George…" Samantha whispered as she put her hands on Hannah. "Let me have her…. Please… let me put her to bed. She's tired…. Let her sleep… please…"

"Let me put her to bed, you shouldn't be carrying her," George informed Samantha in a no-nonsense voice. "Janet, Samantha needs something to help her sleep. She looks like hell."

Samantha followed her husband as he walked down the hallway, carrying their daughter. She was near tears because she was exhausted, both physically and mentally, and from her overwhelming fear that the monster was holding her daughter.

"Please…" she pleaded, her fear for Hannah overwhelming her concerns for herself. "Let me take her. Please… I'm begging you…"

George stopped and he made a motion as if he'd was going to hit her, so she instinctively flinched, but she remained where she was standing, rather than fleeing, because she had to protect her daughter. There was no one else who could protect her children.

"Samantha, I'm not going to hit you. I'm not. Look, you're exhausted, and you're shaking," he informed her softly. "I know… you don't trust me with her… but you're in no physical condition to carry her. She's sleeping, Samantha. I'll put her in the crib then… you and I need to talk."

"See…" George informed her, as he carefully showed her Hannah, who deeply asleep in his arms. "She's sleeping. Don't wake her, Samantha. Let me put her to bed, as she's too heavy for you to carry right now."

After she confirmed that Hannah was deeply asleep, George Hammond then quickly walked away from her, cradling his sleeping daughter protectively.

"There's nothing to say," Samantha wearily protested to herself. "What can you possibly say to me?"

Janet grabbed her arm gently, and she pushed her toward their bedroom. They were currently sharing a bedroom as Dad and Selmak were howling at the moon mad in the only other completed bedroom. That wasn't quite true, Samantha thought with a shaky laugh.

Dad and his headsnake were drugged to the gills and George Hammond was calling the shots. Somehow during last night, and carnage that had taken place, George Hammond had started snapping orders and everyone had instinctively obeyed him.

He's not going to go nicely back into his padded cell!

He won't do that.

He'll want his cuddle time with me and I'm pregnant… oh God, I've got to protect Emma!

"Come on, you need to sleep. Emma needs you to sleep," Janet insisted.

"Don't let George hurt me," Samantha pleaded. "Emma…"

Samantha was so exhausted, physically, mentally and spiritually, and he had rather stupidly reached out to touch her. A gentle, reassuring touch was all he had meant, but Samantha had tightened up and flinched as though she expected him to beat the hell out of her. He had glanced at Janet Fraiser and he had seen fear in Janet's eyes also.

God, he had fallen so far from the man he once had been.

And the weight just got heavier and heavier.

Before putting Hannah to bed, he checked on Abby, who was sleeping soundly. She had gotten her blanket all askew, and so he carefully fixed it. He then put Hannah to bed without incident or loss of limb and for a moment, he hadn't wanted to let her go, because he was overwhelmed with a not so irrational fear that Samantha was gonna put him back into the cage again and he'd never see his daughters again.

It's not irrational, George, the safest thing for her would be to throw you into a deep, dark pit…

Then George decided it was long past time to face the music, and he staggered toward Samantha's bedroom. Janet had already left the bed room and he guessed that she was checking on Malcolm.

George found Samantha sitting on the edge of the bed, clad in a silk robe. It looked familiar, and he smiled when he realized the robe was something he had picked out for her during her first pregnancy. It was silky soft… and he had thought the blue color brought out her eyes. Maybe the fact that she was actually wearing something he had given her was a positive sign.

A mental voice he didn't want to hear, mocked him as a fool, reminding him that Samantha was exhausted and probably hadn't gone shopping so that's why she was wearing the robe that a monster had given her.

No, no, no, no, he pleaded to the uncaring, mocking voice. She liked it and she's wearing it! That's enough for me.

God knows that he was obsessing on finding anything positive on which to pin his shattered hopes on.

George's smile faded when he realized that Samantha was terrified of him and doing her best to hide it from him. But his senses were still acute from being tanked, and he could smell her fear, hear her breath quicken when she became aware of how close he was to her, and see the faintest shivers as her body shook.

He knelt on the floor before her, noticing how she instinctively moved away from him.

"Samantha, I'm truly sorry about what happened between us. I haven't been thinking clearly these past few years… I know that…" He rubbed his head, cursed himself for what he had done, and tried again. "I'm very regretful for everything. I wish you would believe me."

His apology earned a bitter laugh from his victim.

"Talk's cheap, George. Actions speak louder than words," she reminded him shakily. Then her voice steadied as she spat, "So far, you've been a real Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I'm just warning you, you come near me again, looking for lovin', I'll kill you. If you hurt the girls, I will kill you."

They were brave words coming from a woman on the verge of a complete physical collapse. He tried not to smile, but failed.

"You're smirking. What, do you think I wouldn't be delighted to put you in your grave? I'd drive the stake through your heart, just to make sure you wouldn't rise from the dead," Samantha spat.

"No… I'm just damn proud of you, Samantha. You're still fighting," George informed her. "Keep fighting, Samantha, don't give up. Because the each time you give up, it gets easier and easier not to fight back."

Samantha sighed, and she rubbed her belly. It was an almost obsessive gesture, George noticed, as though it brought her comfort.

"I will never understand you," she admitted. "Now go, I'm tired."

George didn't leave; instead he closed his eye, and sighed. The monster that wore George Hammond's face was quiet for a few minutes, and then he spoke her name.

"Yes, George?" She warily asked.

"When you get home, promise me you won't tell me what I've become," he pleaded. "It's bad enough to live with the knowledge of the monster I've become… but please… give me a brief time of peace… Don't tell about my grandchildren… please… don't tell anyone about the girls… especially who their father is… don't tell me… don't tell your father…Let me have a few blessed moments of peace… I beg you…"

"George, I haven't been able to figure out a way home," Samantha stated quietly. "Now, please, let me get some sleep."

"Please… please… promise me…" George insisted. "When you get home, don't let me know… please… It's for your safety, Samantha… If Kinsey doesn't know about the girls, maybe… they'll be safe… You know the dates; you know when everything will go to hell, so just make sure you and the girls at the SGC that day… so you can get off the planet… please…."

"I swear to you, on Kayla and Tessa, that I am so sorry for what I have done to you," he insisted in an inconsolable tone. "Don't ever forgive me, Samantha… but know I would do anything to take back that night… I'd give up my good eye willingly… I'd sell my soul… but it seems to have gone astray…I don't think anyone would offer me much for it…my twisted soul is so dark and stained with the blood of innocents, but I'd sell it… I would…"

He was weeping now, and Sam rubbed her own tearing eyes. Oh God, she was so exhausted, and she just couldn't deal with George right now.

"Please…. Please tell me Emma was conceived before I had my breakdown, please," George whispered in a pleading tone. "Lie to me, I don't care, just make me believe it, please. I need to believe that now, more than you could ever understand."

Hesitantly, she reached toward the weeping man, and then she positioned his head against her belly. She began rubbing her hand against his shoulders, wondering why she was comforting this shattered wreck of a man, and why, after every cruelty he had inflicted on her, she feared, hated and yet pitied him.

Once… you would have been proud to have him as your father, Emma.

"I'm so tired, Samantha. What did I ever do to make God so determined to crucify me over and over again?"

"Shhh… George…. Shhh…" she whispered. "Emma was conceived before what happened…"

He was weeping harder now, and out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Janet Fraiser in the doorway. The doctor was in tears, and she mouthed, "Do you want me to stay?"

Samantha shook her head, "No".

"Living Room," Janet mouthed back before she continued down the hallway toward the living room.

And Samantha continued to stroke the sobbing man's back and continued to wonder about her ambivalent response to George Hammond. She hated him, feared him, and God help her, she had loved him. After he had finished sobbing, he continued resting his head against her belly for a few more minutes, while Samantha rubbed his back. Then he pulled away from her, and looked at her.

"I'm going to sit on the bed, as I need to talk to you," he explained.

"Don't get too close," Samantha warned him.

"No. I want to talk to you about what I had mentioned to you in the Happy Room. Samantha, I really want you to Collar me," he tersely informed her. "It will be programmed to respond to your voice only. If you say the word, "Tao qua", it will kill me."

"Tao qua?" Samantha repeated.

"I thought it would be easier to say, as opposed to "Kal shaka mel!" His tone was joking, but his one eye was deadly serious.

"I don't speak Goa'uld, George." That reminder was delivered in a flat tone after his half-hearted quip.

The fiery personality that once was Samantha was muted and dimmed, and George knew that it was completely his fault.

"Tao qua means die, and Kal shaka mel is your fondest wish for me to go directly to hell," he explained. "I figured if you were fearful for your life, Kal shaka mel is a mouthful to scream."

She rubbed her eyes, and he sighed.

"Your father and Selmak have cracked. We've got insurrection running through the troops. They'll come after your father again; they'll come after you and the girls again as well."

"I'll tell them that I was victim," she protested. "They'll protect me. They can't believe that I married you willing."

"They'll see you as a potential rallying point for those still loyal to Jacob and me. They'll kill the girls, Samantha. They weren't after just Jake tonight; they were after you and Janet and the children. Children can be considered rallying points. Don't you remember your history? How many rulers were deposed and then their children were brought back into power?"

"Right now, I'm the only one that can keep our kids safe. So, I can't go back into that Padded Cell, but if you collar me, you will know that I can't do a damn thing to hurt you."

Samantha shook her head wearily, before asking, "How can you remove the collar? It's not any good to me if you can remove it."

"It'll be coded to your voice. Only you will be able to remove it. If I try to remove it, it'll be programmed to kill me. If I die, it will re-set itself, go inert and fall off. If you die before I do, the Collar will remain on until I die. Remember, I'll let you work on your escape attempt and I won't stop you."

Janet entered the room then, and she looked exhausted.

"George, someone needs to speak to you. He's in the living room," Janet explained. "It's the Spook; he says it's a matter of utmost urgency."

Samantha followed George out to the living room, ignoring Janet's requests that she lay down for a bit. She entered the living room and was surprised to see that Spook was a rather haggard looking Harry Maybourne. The years had not been kind to Maybourne, as his beard was streaked with white and his eyes were haunted. His usual puckish smile had been replaced by a severe demeanor.

"General Hammond. Samantha Carter, Janet Fraiser," the bearded Maybourne acknowledged them each with a nod of his head. "General, you've got problems. Chekov is going to fall off the wagon tonight."

"What?" Hammond growled. "He's been sober for years now."

Janet gasped and began loudly questioning George about Chekov being an alcoholic, demanding to know why such information had been kept from her.

Samantha rubbed her aching head while George explained over Janet's squawks of disapproval, how it had been a closely guarded secret that Gregor was a highly functional alcoholic and had been relying on vodka to get him through the traumas he had endured after the fall of Earth. When Chekov had stopped being able to function, that's when Jacob, Selmak and George had staged a hand device intervention.

A hand device? They used a hand device to detox Chekov? Why the hell didn't they get Janet to help them?

"Perhaps, General, I shouldn't say that he's going to fall off the wagon. He's going to be pushed and pushed hard. Right now, he's in his apartment where he was greeted by a dead rat and four cases of vodka. It appears that you didn't round up all the insurgents, Hammond, and they're letting their displeasure with him be known."

"Four cases? Where the hell did they get vodka?" George protested. "Greg had the only vodka on New Earth."

"Beckett," Harry explained. "Trust a Scot to figure out how to make a distillery out of spare medical supplies. Weir apparently had doubts about Chekov toward the end. Greg's a lousy double agent, Hammond, as he thinks he owes his life to you and Jacob. Chekov took risks he shouldn't have as he wanted to prove to you that he was still loyal. With you incommunicado, Chekov got uneasy and they realized what he was doing."

"I can't have him drinking again," Hammond spat. "Janet, fix this wound. I'll want two septs of security guards..."

Hammond stopped, realized that his support personnel consisted of two pregnant females, one who justifiably wanted him dead and the Spook. His broad shoulders slumped as the full weight of the situation hit him hard.

"Shit," he said in a tired voice. "It's just me, isn't it? I've got to save Greg. Janet, bind my wounds. Harry?"

"I'll stay with them until you get back. If anything happens to you, I'll get them and the children to safety," Harry promised.

Gregor Chekov opened the door to his apartment, and he motioned for the head Super Soldier to search his apartment. Everything appeared safe, no explosives, no radiation, nothing out of the ordinary, so he signaled for them to stand outside his door. Greg picked up the book he had been attempting to read and tried to pick up from where he had stopped reading.

He walked into his bedroom, too tired to do much more than fall unconscious into large, empty bed when his tired eyes realized that there was something waiting for him on the bed.

Four cases of Vodka whose labels were emblazoned with the name Vodka Ratsputin over a picture of his wife plus there was a very dead rat that was sitting on his pillow like a complimentary chocolate complete with a red and gold bow. Chekov backed away from the demon brew and he found himself in his kitchen. He grabbed a glass, turned on the tap water, filled the glass and drank it down quickly before he began spitting it up.

It had a bitter aftertaste to it, but he knew what the hell was pouring from his faucet.

Chyort poberi! Nu vse, tebe pizda! Goddamn it, you're fucking dead, Gregor! There was vodka in the tap. Sweet Mother of God, there was vodka running from the tap.

The stuff was easily ninety percent alcohol and Chekov knew that Hammond would kill him. After Jake, Selmak and Hammond had staged an intervention and dried him out with a hand device, Chekov had been warned that the continuation of his life depended on him staying stone cold sober. For four years, he hadn't had a touch of alcohol.

But now… the resistance wanted him dead and Hammond would kill him if Hammond believed that he had fallen off the wagon.

It was almost enough to make him start drinking again, and in spite of his best efforts, he could easily imagine himself taking just one drink. One ounce of liquid courage, he knew, and his mind would stop racing, he'd be able to think clearly and rationally… and then he wouldn't be able to stop drinking.

His hands shaking, he turned on the faucet, thinking that sooner or later, there would be water flowing from the tap. Then if he waited long enough, the little vodka in his system would be broken down, and then he'd call Hammond. The General had been furious when he mistakenly thought that Greg had fallen off the wagon… and only Siler's intervention had convinced Hammond of the truth.

How long would he have to wait? He couldn't think, he couldn't think… one small sip, one small sip, and his brain would stop racing in a circle, like a rat trapped in a cage, running around and around in his exercise wheel, not realizing that there was no escape, no matter how fast he ran… there was no escape… there would be no escape… until he died….

Gregor Chekov sank to the floor, and began praying that he'd be able to survive the next few hours of his life, as they were promising to be the longest he had ever endured.

One little sip, his mind kept whispering. One little sip.

George grimaced at the pain from the healing device.

"Damn it, that hurts more and more each time you use it," he grumbled.

"I'm pregnant, and I really shouldn't be using it because my symbiote is dormant," Janet snapped. "But if I don't use it, you're going to bleed out. As it is, you've lost a lot of blood. It's either this or the tank."

"No more tanks," he state implicitly. "No more tanks."

"If I hadn't used the tank this last time, more than likely Samantha, the children and I would be dead," Janet reminded him.

"General, the super soldiers are waiting outside the door to escort you to Chekov's apartment," Harry informed him.

George stood up, growled at the pain from the injury on his side, and grabbed his flack jacket.

"Janet, I'll need you to be ready with anything that acts similar to that anabuse drug. I'll need to bring Chekov here and you'll have to treat him here. Last time, Selmak administered the drug which is why you never knew about Greg's problem. Jake and I… we weren't so sure about how far we could trust your medical staff. Should be back in twenty minutes."

He left the apartment, growled a command at the back clad Super Soldiers and went toward Gregor Chekov's apartment at a fast pace.

Harry Maybourne sat down easily in one of the chairs, and he nonchalantly pulled out a zat. He motioned for the two women to sit down. Janet refused as she was getting together her medical bag of tricks for when Chekov arrived. She bustled toward the spare room where her medical supplies had been dumped, leaving Samantha alone with the Spook.

She ignored Maybourne and went into the bedroom where the children were. Janet had obviously been in to check on Malcolm as the crib had been noticeably tidied up and straightened. She checked on both the girls, who were soundly sleeping and she glared at Maybourne who was holding the Zat just so.

Motioning for him to leave the room, Samantha went back to the living room where she sat down.

"Is that to make sure I behave?" Samantha questioned.

"No, this is to protect you and your family. Just because we got most of the rebels tonight, doesn't mean we got all of them."

"Thank you," she said insincerely, as she trusted Maybourne about as far as she could throw Austin.

"I must admit Samantha, that when I first heard you had married George, I was somewhat surprised," he said conversationally. "I never thought George was your type to be honest, and I always thought…"

Harry paused before smirking, "You and O'Neill… service regs be damned, what with Jack being so much like your father, but I must say, pregnancy seems to agree with you. It certainly must agree with you as you and George will soon having three children under the age of a year? Especially in these uncertain times."

Putting her hand protectively on her stomach, Samantha attempted unsuccessfully not to glare daggers at Harry. Austin, realizing that his Mum was uneasy about Maybourne, decided to best way to handle it was to sit on the couch next to her and watch Maybourne very carefully. The dog hadn't left her side all evening, and Samantha then gave him a couple scratches in appreciation of his dedication and loyalty.

"I'll get you a bone tomorrow, Austin," she promised.

Then she turned to face Maybourne.

"I didn't realize you were one of the lucky ones that escaped," Samantha retorted.

"Hammond," Harry explained easily as though that one word could explain everything. "Your father and George decided it would be quite useful to have someone of my skills… In all honesty, I don't truly exist except for the generosity of George and Jacob-Selmak. Speaking of which," Harry's eyes narrowed before he continued, "I'm very surprised that Jacob isn't here."

"He's exhausted and he's sleeping," Samantha retorted. God knows why she was defending her father, and trying to pretend that he wasn't crazier than a mad hatter, but old habits died hard.

Maybourne gave her a very long look, quirked a smile that plainly said that he knew that she was lying through her teeth, and then he waved his hand to let her know that he'd let her have her little lie between friends.

"What shall we talk about Samantha? Baby names? Knitting patterns? We can talk about anything you want," Harry assured her.

Samantha gave him a long look, and then she asked him, "Anything?"

"Anything," he promised.

"Will you tell George what I asked?" Samantha questioned.

"What? You want to know if George is having an affair?" Maybourne laughed at the thought. "No, you are the sun that rises in his eyes…. There's no one for him but you."

Somehow, she managed not to vomit when Harry told her that, but it was a fiercely fought battle. It took her a few minutes to compose her roiling stomach, and Harry abruptly turned serious.

"If you don't want me to tell George what you asked, then I reserve the right not to answer certain questions, Samantha. I am alive today only because of their patronage. I know George has been… ill… recently, Samantha, but I have told no one," Harry assured her.

She thought about the question that she had desired to ask someone, anyone, the one subject that had haunted her for the last few years. But there had been no one to ask, especially one that she could trust to keep silent.

"Agreed. Don't tell George and I'll let you not answer it," Samantha decided after a long moment.

"And in exchange for possibly answering your question, I get to request a favor from you," Harry then added that provision after she agreed.

"Maybourne," she hissed.

"I need things too, Samantha. You want answers. I can give them to you, but I need something in exchange. Not for me, Samantha. It's for someone else," explained Harry. "What do you want to know?"

She closed her eyes, trying to compose herself. The question she needed to ask was the entire crux of her current situation. George had given her the dreadful news about SG1, and that night, she had willing allowed him to seduce her because she had been hopelessly lost in her despair and her grief. Since then, Samantha always wondered if their first night together had all been based on a lie. The death of her team had been a little too convenient, a little too pat. She had been so adamant about finding a way home, and then, when SG1 had been killed, she had lost her resolve.

No, instead she had sunk into a mental malaise, and then…first came marriage, then came Samantha pushing a baby carriage…. Hannah and Abby…. Now Emma… they were unbreakable ties to this time, this nightmarish existence.

What had it all been a lie? What if something had deliberately happened to her team because her father and George knew that it was quickest way for bind her to their cause? Marry her off to George, have her pop out a few kids… But yet, every time she had gotten pregnant, George had honestly seemed as surprised as she was.

"How do I know I can trust you, Harry?"

Harry flinched, and nodded his head, "Still as brutally honest as ever. It's not a surprise you never made it past the rank of Major as you need to smooze when you get to the higher ranks, Samantha."

"Remember when you met me at the outdoor café to tell me about a Threshold situation at the SGC? You ended up calling me an idiot every day of the week and wanting to know why I couldn't take one day off," Harry reminded her. "I didn't believe you… I made a mistake then. I admit it, and for the trouble I caused you for not believing you, I will try to answer your one question truthfully in order to pay my debt to you."

"What happened to SG1, Harry? What happened to my team? Did my father and George have them… killed?" Samantha questioned.

For the first time ever in recorded history, Harry Maybourne was speechless and his glib tongue failed him.

"Next time, warn me before you're going to kick me in the balls, Samantha," Harry requested. "I wasn't expecting that question."

He ran his hand through his more salt then pepper hair and he sighed.

"No, they didn't have them killed. I would have known. There would have been rumors, and rumors always get their way back to me. They were unhappy with the fact that your father and George told them that there was no way they'd get home to their own time. Just the ramifications of them going back to their correct time, there would be ripples to the time line that would be immeasurable, as George and Jacob were afraid that events would even spiral even more out of control. They argued a bit, you were ill with the reaction to your first symbiote, so you were kept out of the loop. Then Teal'c, O'Neill and Doctor Jackson…. I saw them get on the ship before they left New Earth to help support one of the secret bases. Siler and Davis were there, they can confirm it if you want. They walked willingly, apparently under their own power onto that ship."

"As far as I know, Samantha, your team died when Ba'al attacked. They sent rescue ships out, manned by Super Soldiers as George and Jacob didn't want to lose any additional 'real' people and those ships were annihilated."

"They never left me a message," Samantha insisted. "They wouldn't have just left me alone here."

"What happened was Bra'tac launched that an unsuccessful assassination attempt against the three of them. There was also a sept of Jaffa loyal to Bra'tac that was given instructions to kill SG1. Bra'tac didn't know it was SG1 that he had ordered assassinated, but the idea was to destabilize George and Jacob to the point where Weir and her cronies could take over. I found out, slipped the information to George and Jacob, and to protect SG1, they put them on that ship. They didn't want to go. They didn't want to leave you, but O'Neill agreed that it would probably be safer for you here than off world as you were still recovering from your implantation of the symbiote."

"The ship was running silent due to Ba'al's new sensors so they couldn't contact you directly. Once they had gotten to the base, they could have sent you a message, and as far as I know, the three of them were planning to do that."

Samantha took a deep breath, and tried to stop shaking.

"Your father and George didn't kill them, Samantha," Harry insisted. "Let me get you something to drink."

"Thank you," Samantha whispered, even as she began rubbing her belly.

He's telling me the truth, Emma. Dad and George didn't kill them. Oh thank God… Why is George promising me that he'll let me try to get home again?

"Because honestly, I don't believe George is thinking that the situation can't get much worse. The war is about to be lost, Samantha… and I know what happened between you two."

Samantha flinched when he said that as she realized that she had spoken the last few thoughts out loud, Maybourne then quickly offered her the drink, and then he sat down next to her. She thanked him and chugged it down quickly.

"Maybe he's hoping for some sort of Cosmic Restart button, a Chronological Do Over, if you will."

"Good God, you know…" Samantha whispered.

"Yes, I do…" Harry admitted. "And I also know that his guilt and his shame over what happened contributed to his breakdown."

"Now, it's time for you to return my favor. You have influence with George, you need to convince him not to send Weir and her crew to the firing squad," Maybourne insisted. "Don't let him turn them into martyrs, Samantha. He can Han Solo them if he wants them out of the picture for a bit or he can exile them to another planet, the inherit problem being what will happen if all their knowledge of New Earth's defenses falls into Ba'al's hands. Han Soloing them is the best way to handle it."

"Han Soloing?" Samantha asked.

"You must have seen that movie. Star Wars, whatever one of the series it was, where Han Solo gets turned into a human ice cube? We don't have a prison here, we exile rarely and the firing squad is used a bit too often for the few Terrans left on New Earth. The Jaffa don't mind, they're used to unquestioning loyalty to their Fake Gods but the Earthlings are a weak race. They don't want to admit that they're doomed and they question how the war has been run so far, not realizing that George and Jacob's questionable methods have prevented the mass genocide of the human race. Maybe humanity hasn't earned the right to survive, to continue to evolve, Samantha. The universe has made her dislike of humanity quite clear, but I don't believe that we deserve to die like rats on a sinking ship."

"In other words… you deep freeze your prisoners?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Yes. Once a year, they are thawed, and if they are willing to admit to their crimes and state their desire for rehabilitation, they are collared and allowed back into society. Apparently people dream when they're in deep freeze, and from all accounts, they're not nice dreams."

"Collars? They're impossible to get off, right?"

"Yes, each one of them is encoded with a different removal password, so what works on one, won't work on another," Harry explained. "The prisoners try to remove them; the collars will choke them to death."

"Dear God…" Samantha whispered. "I can see why the universe doesn't like humanity."

"Now, George will be coming back soon, dragging a rather ill Chekov behind him. You might want to excuse yourself from watching them detoxing Chekov, as it's going to be noisy and rather smelly, Samantha. The good doctor may want to run a few tests on the vodka; I wouldn't be surprised if they spiked it."

"I don't mean Pertsovka vodka, Samantha, where the Russians flavor it with honey and pepper. I think it might be interesting to take all the suspected collaborators and put them in a hot room until they're thirsty. Then offer them a drink of the vodka, see who accepts it willingly. Radek Zelenka will take a sip, I'm sure, but McKay, he'll claim that the vodka has citrus in it."

Janet was busy with her medical supplies when George burst into the apartment, surrounded by Super Soldiers who were half supporting, half dragging an ashen Chekov into the room. There was a copious amount of red blood pouring from both Chekov's mouth and nose.

"George?" Janet questioned.

"Rat poisoning," Maybourne inserted. "Check for rat poisoning in the vodka."

"It shouldn't show up for a few days," Janet insisted. "Rat poison causes problems with the blood clotting ability, but it takes a few days."

"He only had a sip, and he spit it up. His nose started bleeding soon afterwards," George explained. "Come on, Greg, keep fighting damn it, I need you alive. You're no good to me dead."

Janet grabbed a scanner and began running it over Chekov. The Russian was pinching his nose in a vain attempt to stop the flow of blood.

"His anti-coags values are in the cellar; his proteins induced by Vitamin K antagonism are off the damn charts. Rat poisoning doesn't do that immediately unless Beckett modified it," Fraiser snapped. "Greg, I'm giving you massive dosages of Vitamin K to kick start your clotting factor, but I need you to vomit up everything. His symbiote's been poisoned also, so we'll have to see if we can save it also."

"Maybe they put it in his food," Hammond suggested. "Chekov cooks for himself normally, as he gotten more and more Russian as the years have passed. Does it matter right now how it happened? We need to get the bleeding under control."

"Take him to the kitchen, grab a bucket or two," Janet ordered.

Gregor Chekov was mumbling something, and Samantha was the only one that appeared to notice.

"I confess to my Lord my God and before all of you, all my countless sins which I have committed till the present day and hour: in thought, word, and deed. Every day and every hour I sin through ingratitude to God for His great and numberless blessings to me and His most gracious providence and care for me, a sinner…"

He was saying the prayer in English, not in Russian, no doubt deliberately so they could understand him. Not having a priest to absolve him of his guilt before he died, Gregor Antonov Chekov, the very last Russian military officer, was still trying to gain some sort of absolution.

"Chekov, I'm not letting you die, damn it," George growled. "Now, go to the kitchen."

Samantha sat in living room, listening to the sounds of Gregor Chekov getting quite obnoxiously ill. She couldn't say why she stayed in the living room, as Maybourne kept suggesting that she lie down and rest, but she refused. At last the Spook decided that it was time for stop babysitting her and he had disappeared with a cryptic "See you when I'm most needed and least expected."

Finally, the heaving and retching stopped, and Gregor staggered out of the room. George was supporting the pale Russian, and Janet was on his other side.

"Samantha? Could you grab two pairs of George's clothes and a set for me? The three of us need to get cleaned up, as we're all covered in whatever Greg had for dinner," Janet insisted.

"Pashtet Iz Pechonki," the Russian explained in a very weak voice. "It's quite good normally, going down. Not so good, coming back up. Maybe I make it for you..."

"After we get you scrubbed," George suggested. "Because it smells pretty foul. Like liver and garlic."

Chekov laughed softly. "It is a Russian delicacy."

Chekov was then cleaned up, stuck with assorted IVs and put into the only available bed in the apartment which had been Janet and Samantha's bed.

"It's large enough for a party of six, so the three of us can share it. Don't try anything, Chekov," Janet warned playfully.

"I fear your husbands too much to even think of doing that," he insisted weakly. "Ah… not fear… General… I meant respect… Pardon me, my brain is foggy and I can not easily wrap my tongue around your convoluted language."

He mumbled something in Russian before he drifted off to sleep.

"George, you're bleeding again," Janet said softly.

"Only a little," he protested. "Go to bed, Janet. I'll be on the couch in the living room. Tomorrow… which is actually today… I will get the beds set up, so you don't have to share your bed with all your patients."

"Samantha, will you come to the living room please?" George requested. "I need you to do something for me. Then you can go back to bed with Janet and Greg."

Samantha did so regretfully, and she sat down on one of the chairs, wondering why she agreed. George brought a box out with him, and put it on the table. He opened it, took a silver collar out of it, and then knelt before Samantha.

"Collar me," he insisted. "To save our children from being poisoned. If you aren't under my protection, they'll get you and our children."

She took it from him, stared at it for a bit, weighing the possible consequences. Then Samantha pulled the silver collar apart and carefully put it around his beefy neck. It closed with an audible click and then it hummed when it activated. It then stopped humming, and George rubbed it with one thick finger.

"To reset it, you give the command to kill me, and then say Ne Tao qua," he explained

After nodding her head that she understood, she got up from the chair and then turned toward the hallway. She walked slowly away, and then when she reached the hallway, she turned around to face Hammond who making himself comfortable on the couch.

"George?" Samantha called sweetly.

"Yes?" George answered warily, not trusting her.

"See you in hell, you fucking bastard. TAO QUA!"