A/N: Stayed up late to post this! I hope you guys like it! :) *sigh* all this double posting is gonna cause issues, I can tell. But it's totally worth it. :D
Daniel never liked waiting. He particularly didn't like it now, when it was significantly more difficult pace his anxiety away. On his coffee table, the newspaper that had plastered the newsstands lay wrinkled and disheveled, read so many times it was starting to tear.
Sam's picture stared back at him, but it wasn't the Sam he knew. It was Mission Commander Carter. The picture was iconic—an image of a beaming woman in an orange spacesuit. But it wasn't the picture that bothered him. It was the article within that turned his stomach.
He knew what the words said. But he knew they were so much bullshit. The Mission Commander wasn't alive. No way. Which meant that it was Sam they were talking about—Sam who was going to be debuted today, speaking for the first time since she'd been found on some remote island.
Daniel almost scoffed at the story they'd concocted. He would have outright laughed, were it not for the fact it meant that somehow they had gotten Sam to go along with it.
Was it blackmail? Had they threatened her using him and Mitchell as leverage? Somehow coerced her into taking the role of the Mission Commander, just to keep them safe? It was the only reason he could think of. Because the Sam he knew would never agree to this.
She would never compromise who she was, no matter the inconvenience of a government-issued identity. And she would never, never trod on the memory of a hero to fit an agenda. Not even if it meant it gave her a way to change the timeline back.
She just wouldn't.
His gaze was drawn to the screen by a loud fanfare of music—pretentious. Someone introduced the President—overkill. No one cared about the President. They were waiting for Sam.
The members of the Intrepid crew were introduced, and as the audience clapped they lined up center stage, behind the podium. All six of them were crew members saved by Mission Commander Samantha Carter.
They were all male, save for a single woman, lined up along the center of the stage. They waved at the crowd like the seasoned public figures they were, with broad smiles and gleaming eyes. They didn't seem nervous or at all tense, which meant that they must have already been reacquainted with Sam. Or else they were all in on it too.
Daniel wasn't sure which to believe.
But when Sam's name was issued with much pomp and circumstance, he leaned forward in his seat all the same. And then his heart was jolted into overdrive when he saw his friend step out onto the stage.
Part of him had held out hope that it really wasn't her. That they'd pulled some other blonde off the street to play the part. Or that they really wouldn't actually show her in person.
But it was her. Even before they zoomed in on her features, he knew. He'd spent over a decade learning how she moved, how she walked, how she carried herself. He could tell her hair was longer than he'd last seen it, even when it was done up like it was, and she looked sharp in her Air Force blues.
But it wasn't her dress uniform. Hers bore full-birds, a proud rank well deserved.
On the screen, he could spy small golden oak leaves glinting on her shoulders. The Mission Commander had been a Major, a rate that had played back-seat to her title as Mission Commander.
As the camera moved in, he noticed a hitch in her gait that hadn't been there the last time he'd seen her. She—was she limping? But before he could be sure she stopped at the podium, the solid wooden stand hiding her lower body from view as the screen narrowed to her features.
The crowd present—which he would've joined, if not for the not-so-subtle agent he'd seen tailing him the week before—fell absolutely silent as familiar lips parted, and took a breath to speak.
But nothing came out. Her lips parted again, before she seemed to think better of it. Her gaze was focused somewhere below the camera, most likely looking to the teleprompter, but a moment later her gaze shifted to the camera itself.
For a single, brief moment, it looked like she was about to issue a message to him—to Daniel— directly.
He waited with bated breath for her to speak, and he imagined that every other person watching was doing the same.
"Good afternoon."
Her voice was tinny, a combination of the microphone and the speakers in his television, but it sent a rush of relief down Daniel's spine. It'd been too long since he'd last heard it. Almost a year now… The ache of not seeing her—after living with her, surviving with her, for so long—was a constant companion, one making itself known with acute intensity as she continued to speak.
"I was given a speech to read here today," she said, pointedly not returning her gaze to the prompter. "But I can't bring myself to utter words that aren't my own, when all of you here today, and everyone watching at home, has taken the time out of their day to hear me speak."
She paused, and Daniel waited for the crowd's response. There wasn't one. Clearly, they weren't sure what to make of this clear departure from the script.
Daniel could see she was nervous, but there was also something… off about her. Something was different.
"As you all know," Sam continued, her voice gaining strength as she soldiered on, "my name is Samantha Carter. And as you also already know by now, I was presumed dead when the Intrepid shuttle crashed over the Atlantic."
Daniel knew all that. He'd looked up everything he could on the woman, as had the rest of the nation when the headlines had hit four days ago. He read the publicized report on what they think went wrong with the shuttle, saw footage of the ceremony in the Rose Garden that was held to honor her memory.
Landry had been right in the hangar—Samantha Carter was a remarkable person, no matter what timeline she was in. He wouldn't deny he was a little bit jealous, when in every alternate universe he'd run into his counterpart was either dead or faded into obscurity. But the difference was that he'd never been forced to be something he wasn't.
"I don't know what happened on that shuttle. I don't know how I survived."
The delivery was blunt. Honest. Of course it was. How could she know what happened on the shuttle? Sam wasn't there.
"Six weeks ago, I didn't even know who I was."
Daniel froze. What?
"Six weeks ago, I woke up with no memory of where I was, or even what my name was. It's only been in the time since that I've come to learn everything that you know. That I am Samantha Carter, an astronaut the world thought was dead because I stayed on a burning shuttle to save the life of my crew. That I survived because I had the luck to wash ashore on a remote island in the Caribbean, where I was cared for by the natives."
On the screen, her lips twisted into a self-deprecating smile. "And yes, it sounds like a cheesy B-movie plot to me too."
This earned her a tittering laugh. The few audience members who could be seen in the frame were slowly relaxing, becoming comfortable with woman whose life and story had become legend. Daniel was used to it. She'd always been personable, the softest edge of SG-1… softest not because she was weaker, or more vulnerable, but because she had a smile that could charm a horde and the sense to wield it.
"The residents of this small village didn't have a clue who I was, but they cared for me anyway while I remained comatose for over a year. It's only in the past few months that I came out of it—only to face multiple lapses in memory."
She paused to take a breath, and the silence in the meantime vibrated with hushed murmurs as the audience began to grow restless. They'd already been told this, at least about the bizarre island rescue, and they were satisfies with the story. But the news about the memory loss was new.
On screen, Sam let the chatter continue for a brief moment before continuing on.
"I still suffer these lapses. They've grown fewer and farther apart, but every morning I wake up with my memory intact is a blessing, because I still remember the day I didn't have anything."
She paused to take a breath, her voice gaining strength as she pressed onwards.
"I see that quite a few members of the press are here today. I know you have questions—but I can't answer them. Everything I know is already public knowledge; I can't give you anything you don't already know. And so instead I ask a favor… from all of you."
Daniel searched Sam's features, looking for any hint of duplicity. He couldn't find anything. By all appearances, she was being truthful, and the rest of the audience had picked up on that. The camera panned across the sea of faces, the adulation was now mixed with a healthy dose of empathy.
She had connected with them, in a way only Samantha Carter could.
"The favor I ask of you is that as we move forward, you respect those I knew before the accident. My crew, my friends… They don't know anything more than you do, and it's not fair for them to be hounded for information. And at this point, I think all of you know more about me than I do… so it'd be pointless trying to get a scoop out of me."
The crowd laughed again, and the reporters lining the stage had the decency to look a little sheepish. They backed off, settling back into their seats as they realized they wouldn't be getting their questions answered today. A few still seemed eager, but knew better than to push too hard just yet. It'd be too easy for them to fall into the role of the villain, when up against the Mission Commander.
"These next few weeks are going to be difficult for everyone," Sam declared. She'd found her stride, and her confidence seemed to pour from her in waves.
"Difficult for all of you, in trying to make sense of all of this… and for me, as I come to terms with who I am—with who you expect me to be. Mission Commander Carter left some very big shoes to fill. I only hope that I will live up to everybody's expectations."
The audience remained silent as she turned to look at her crew, shifting the nation's attention to them. But when she spoke, she spoke to them, not to the audience.
"I am so very grateful that each and every one of you is safe… alive. Whatever sacrifice was made has been worth it, to see you standing here with me— with all of us— here today. I may not recognize your faces, but it means the world to me to know that you all came out here to support me. Thank you."
Her lips curled into a smile, and after a moment, they managed to nod back at her through their shock as the crowd cheered. Those watching may not have been a part of that insular unit, but her display of solidarity struck a chord in them.
They were impressed. They loved her.
Yeah, she'd obviously deviated from what shmoozy script the feds might have written for her. But if they'd been looking for total adoration, they now had it in spades.
Her honesty had made her vulnerable—and thereby relatable. The crowd, and anyone watching at home like he was, looked at her and saw the woman they'd mourned, the woman whose career they'd followed with bated breath—and found her suddenly within their reach.
She was no longer lofty, suddenly no more special than anyone else trying to find stability in their lives.
And when her hand lifted for silence, it came quickly, proving just how closely they were hanging onto every word. How eager they were for her to continue.
"So please… be respectful of my friends, their families, and their privacy. They've earned that much."
A quiet audience answered her, and that was enough to know that they had heard. No doubt every American watching from their TV sets at home were sitting just as silently. Daniel certainly felt that same awe, struck dumb by the emotional plea.
"That's all I have to say right now. I'm sure this won't be the last you see of me, but thank you… for your support, and for coming here to welcome me home."
It was a long moment before anyone moved a muscle. Then somewhere, someone began to clap, slow and deliberate. Others joined in, and in record time the crowd was roaring in approval. Sam stared for a long moment, then issued a small, tight smile—one that did reach her eyes.
It wasn't a full smile, and it wasn't a smile Daniel had ever seen Sam give before.
Daniel sat back as the camera panned out, giving a wide view of the stage as Sam stepped back from the podium and turned to leave. Her blonde head bobbed as she nodded to the other astronauts, who nodded back in tangible reverence.
Did they not notice that this woman wasn't the woman who'd saved their lives? Were they all in on the conspiracy? Daniel couldn't wrap his head around it.
Something wasn't right.
He needed to talk to Cam. And together, they had to talk to Sam. They had to find out what was going on. Something was wrong.
That afternoon, he traveled across the county, losing his tail somewhere in the bowels of Los Angeles. He found an internet café and logged into the one movie-fan forum their timelines had in common.
It had been Sam's idea, to communicate this way. It was through this site that they'd managed to keep tabs on each other—let the others know where they were. The contact was always brief, and only ever made when one of them moved. Sam had used it the most… They'd moved her around, presumably to keep her from being recognized.
Last she'd posted, a vague one-liner about "Alaska"—a movie Teal'c had made them watch one team night, determined to know more about the wildlife on Earth. Daniel didn't even know if it existed in this timeline, but he knew that the protagonist had been a young polar bear. A cub.
That meant she'd either been headed to or already settled in Chicago. Home of the Cubs.
Sure, there were flaws in the interpretation, and anyone else might be doubtful. But Daniel wasn't. Not after more than a decade of knowing each other well enough to complete each other's sentences.
Assuming his doctor_ocular handle, he clicked himself into the one thread they would always be looking at: The Twilight Zone. Once there, he typed out a one-liner of his own.
Weekend at Bernie's, Chicago-style.
Soon, he knew, Shft would log in and see it. And then they would meet in the busiest airport in the city. They wouldn't fly, not with every beyond-top-secret watch list in the nation on the lookout for them, but it would be busy, crowded, and anonymous.
And from there, if Sam didn't show, they would find her.
Then, they would find out the truth.