Setting: During Stargate: SG-1 episode 7.01, "Fallen."
Disclaimer: I do not own the Stargate frachise.
Evan emerged from the event horizon of the wormhole, his eyes adjusting from the brightness of mid-day on P3X-403 to the artificial lighting of the Gateroom on Earth. He quickly shook off the chill of Gate travel and stepped down the ramp.
"Welcome back, Major Lorne," Sgt. Harriman said over the com.
"Thank you, Sergeant," Evan replied. He held up his burden with a smile. "I have the geological reports and supply requisition forms from SG-11 on P3X-403 for General Hammond."
"Understood, sir; Bring them right up," the efficient sergeant state crisply.
As Evan strolled out of the Gateroom, he appreciated Colonel Edwards for sending him on this little errand. He could stop in the mess hall and grab some actual food, for one. Granted, the chow on 403 wasn't bad, so far as it went, but the selection was sadly limited. At least they weren't getting MREs.
"So, Walter, anything new happen since our last check-in?" Evan asked conversationally as he handed over the paperwork. This was another benefit of errand-duty: he got to know all the news first.
"Jonas thought he found the Lost City of the Ancients," Harriman replied seriously. Was he ever not serious? He was probably organizing his toy blocks by color while still in the playpen.
"I assume you sent someone to check it out," remarked Evan. Finding the Lost City had become something of a Holy Grail to certain members of the SGC. Evan himself admitted it would be really cool if they did manage to find it.
Harriman, occupied with the reports, didn't look up. "Yes, sir. While it doesn't seem to be the Lost City, they did find Dr. Jackson instead."
"Wait, what?" Evan stared at the sergeant, nonplussed.
"That's what I said, sir. Colonel Reynolds's team found Dr. Jackson on the planet, returned to human form but suffering from amnesia. Apparently, he doesn't remember anything," explained Walter, flipping to the next page.
"Anything? You mean, like he's missing his entire life?"
"That's how I understand it, sir."
"Wow." Evan had read the file on Daniel Jackson's death and subsequent "ascension." He didn't really buy the idea that the Ancients had a more profound or superior existence because they were made of energy rather than solid matter, but apparently it had given Dr. Jackson a rather unbelievable opportunity to cheat death, as it were. Now, it seems, something had gone wrong; why would he come back if everything were peachy? "He still here on base?"
"Yes, sir," Harriman affirmed, still engrossed with the paperwork. "They put him in temporary guest quarters. Fortunately, many of his personal effects were still in storage."
It was rather remarkable that they'd keep so much stuff for so long. After all, neither a dead man nor an energy being has need of photos or clay pots or whatever else the archaeologist possessed. No, that clearly had to be the work of his friends not wanting to give up hope that someday Dr. Jackson would return. Good thinking, as it turned out.
"Okay, thanks, Walter. I'll be in the mess hall."
"Understood, Major Lorne."
The mess hall was mostly empty. As Evan grabbed a plate of macaroni & cheese and a muffin, he noted only half a dozen people in the room. Two were a pair of civilian scientists sitting together; there was a technician by himself, poking at his meal as if it were about to leap off his plate and perform a musical number; and a dark-haired young airman wearing an SG-13 team patch, who seemed more preoccupied with a small piece of paper than his food. And then there was an SF sitting not-so-surreptitiously near another man, who seemed lost in thought.
Thanks to Sgt. Harriman, Evan was almost certain he knew who this last man was. "Dr. Jackson?" he said with a friendly smile.
"So they tell me," the man replied dryly. "Look, if you're looking for a happy reunion, I hate to disappoint you, but I don't remember a thing."
Evan shrugged, sitting down across from him. "You couldn't remember me, anyway, Dr. Jackson; I've only been with the SCG a few months. We've never met. I'm Major Evan Lorne, currently with SG-11 on a geological survey for naquadah."
"Nice to meet you, Major." Relief flooded Dr. Jackson's face as he extended his hand, which Evan shook. "I can't even begin to tell you how nice it is to finally meet someone who doesn't know me," he said candidly. "It's really weird walking around here with everyone telling me how great it is to have me back when I don't even remember being here in the first place!"
"I can imagine!" chuckled Evan. "From what I can tell, you're pretty famous around here, Dr. Jackson."
"Apparently so." The amnesiac archaeologist prodded his jello absentmindedly. "You know, you don't strike me as a geologist, Major," he remarked abruptly.
"Really? What, then?"
"I dunno. You're just too outgoing for a geologist," Dr. Jackson elaborated with a small smile.
Evan suddenly chuckled.
"What?" Dr. Jackson inquired blankly.
"That's almost word for word what my sister told me once. She said that I'm too outgoing to sit around and look at rocks all day." He laughed again. "She was right; I shoulda listened to her sooner. I got all the way through college before I decided to join the Air Force and become a fighter jock."
"You're a pilot? Why are you with a geology team, then?"
Evan dismissed the sudden twinge in his knees. It was probably psychosomatic, anyway. "Training accident," he explained. "The inertial dampeners failed during a high-G maneuver, my trainer and I blacked out. By the time we woke up, we had nearly hit the ground already. We ejected, but didn't have enough altitude for the chutes to properly deploy, so we came down hard. Well, I did, at any rate. My training officer walked away with hardly a scratch."
"That sounds complicated," Dr. Jackson replied, his expression apologetically confused.
"Sorry, Dr. Jackson, that probably meant absolutely nothing to you," Evan said in embarrassment. "Suffice to say, I was hurt pretty badly, but General Hammond didn't want to waste personnel, so he assigned me to SG-11 until I've fully recovered."
"I see." He offered Evan a conciliatory smile. "Perhaps I'll see you around, then."
After a few moments, Evan shrugged. "Not for a while, anyway, Dr. Jackson. I'm only here for a scheduled check-in. Unfortunately, we haven't found any naquadah yet, but we haven't finished surveying the old mine shafts yet, either, not by a long shot."
Dr. Jackson stood, picking up his tray even though the food was less than half-eaten. "Well, Major, I'm glad to have met you."
"My pleasure, Dr. Jackson."
The archaeologist left, followed by the dutiful SF, who seemed more like a tour guide than a guard. Evan examined his own food in amusement. Hey, the mac & cheese wasn't even cold yet.