So, this one is a pure immersion into the Stargate world. Not for long, though, so I didn't have the heart to separate it from the rest. Honestly, I think I'm going to keep it all together, those redirections are tedious. For my very special Stargate fan reviewer (she will recognise herself), I hope they are in character.

8:00. This was the time when, tomorrow, they would step through the gate and hope to find the SanGraal.

Thanks to Vala's dream of combining the addresses of Castiana, Sahal and Vagonbrei's addresses, they now had an idea of where the Graal might be. Still… Would it be the right place? And even if they had found the right planet, would they prevail and bypass every ordeal Merlin would cast their way? For she didn't expect the old sorcerer to make it easy. Last time, his wards had summoned Tristan and Lancelot in holographic form. What would be his game this time?

Frances mulled upon the latest meeting, her eyes lost over Samantha Carter's backyard while Jack and Mitchell tried to light up the barbecue. Chulak was overrun, the Oris submitting more and more planets to their rule. Without Myrrdin's weapon supposed to wipe out their enemies, fighting would be for naught. Earth was but a few weeks before the Oris sank their teeth in its lovely blue flesh to suck the joy and freedom out of it.

Upon Daniel and Vala's return from Atlantis with the coordinates, SG1 had visited the three planets, Castiana, Sahal and Vagonbrei, whose names were mentioned by Meurik in Camelot. Nothing of interest as found, except some tokens that the knights of the round table had been there at some point. To SG1, it wasn't much. But to Frances and Kristan, that news rocked their world upside down. How was this even possible? Where they speaking about the same people? Lancelot, Gawain, Galahad, Bors and Dagonet? The men from the fifth century? Had Merlin sent them on missions across the stars? How?

Frances snorted. She could only fathom what their reaction had been the first time they laid eyes upon a Stargate. Or a space ship. Especially Bors, aha!

This was weird.

A gentle hand on her shoulder called her back to reality, warm lips lingering on her temple as Kristan handed her a glass of wine.

— "Come back to us, little fairy. Worrying over it won't help."

Frances' frown dissolved into a smile, happy that despite the situation, her man would be by her side. In truth, she still had trouble believing that she had got Tristan back. His free hand reached for hers, intertwining their fingers to drag her across the lawn.

— "Come, we were about to play darts."

An eyebrow climbed neatly as they passed Samantha and Daniel gently chatting by the table. Vala and Teal'c were trying to fix a target to the back fence, where the wooden posts were high enough to prevent accidents from happening. It wouldn't do to save the world just to kill the neighbour's dog with a misplaced dart. Especially if Teal'c was the one to throw it.

Frances took a sip of her wine, her lips encountering something cold in the glass. She pulled back with a yelp and lifted the glass at eye level. Her chocolate eyes rounded in disbelief. An ice cube! There was an ice cube in her glass of white wine! Probably to fend off the heat, but damn, this was an insult to her burgundy roots. Kristan gave her an amused look but refrained from commenting on her distress. Oblivious to her French ethics, Vala's sultry voice rose.

— "I'd rather throw knives."

Samantha jumped to her feet, her blue eyes staring sternly at the dark-haired woman.

— "No, no, no, you're already making quite the fuss so no neighbour killing."

— "Who said anything about killing?" she responded with candour.

Despite Sam's exasperated features, Frances knew Vala had won this round. The new addition to SG1 wasn't a classic beauty per se, but she had plenty of charm and could disarm any offence with her mocked innocence. Somehow, she strangely fit in this renewed team, injecting new blood in the dynamic like Mitchell had done. Her presence also showed Frances that they didn't really need her anymore. They had found a new balance, the five of them. It gave her a measure of peace. As soon as this mess with the Ori was sorted, she and Kristan would take off and start a new life together.

For the moment though, the idea of knife throwing called the memory of a tavern contest to the forefront. Squeezing Kristan's hand, she met his gaze eagerly.

— "Do you still make that trick with your daggers?"

The former knight lifted a faint eyebrow, one that seemed to say 'what do you think?' Yet, he didn't have to answer as Vala suddenly prowled to him. Obviously, all the kissing and cuddling they had done in front of the team had not convinced her that Kristan was not for sale.

— "Oh, you're a knife thrower? How neat, you'd have to show me."

When her sultry voice failed to elicit any response from Kristan, she pointed to Frances with her chin.

— "Don't let her come close to daggers, she's a waste with a blade."

Her cooing – and her disparaging comment – gained her a harsh glare from Kristan, but Frances landed a soothing hand on his arm.

— "You'd be surprised; knives don't agree with me. I once ended up in the emergency room slicing at frozen fish. Three stitches to my poor thumb"

Kristan frowned, taken aback by this new information. As she shoved her appendage in front of his nose, the former knight gathered her thumb in his warm fingers and traced the scar that showed the remains of a neat slice across the first phalange. His prodding was gentle, such a sensual caress that she shuddered. And despite the fact that they had stumbled together in the long-needed shower early this morning – sharing much more than water – Frances's need of his closeness pooled low in her belly.

They had spent an hour leisurely, this very morning, because of the jet lag. Kirstan's hands buried in her hair until he decided to plait it properly – who better than the former scout to perform a tight braid? – she basking in his presence and ever warm skin. The calm before the storm; a nice time of revitalisation before they had to jump back into the fray.

— "How is it that you can master a blade so easily and not knives?" he asked.

Pulled from her fantasies, Frances was about to retort that there had been nothing easy in the training with her blade – damn, she had spent nearly ten years of her life learning fencing techniques with experts from many worlds! – but Teal'c eventually decided to voice his thoughts on the subject, his booming voice instantly quelling the argument.

— "I have not had the pleasure of seeing Frances fight with a sword. But she uses the staff with proficiency."

The young woman reddened at the giant's praise, hiding her blush with another sip of her wine. She loved Teal'c, but he was the only one in SG1 that still intimidated her. She'd never had the gall to tease him like O'Neill, let alone call him names. Teal'c was an unshakeable temple of poise and wisdom to her, and she felt honoured every time he took some time to spar with her.

— "Only because you taught me."

Kristan eyed the man with reverence.

— "Did you teach her those horrible moves that she likes to pull on me?"

— "Woo, you guys fight a lot… Sexy," purred Vala.

Frances sent her an incredulous look. She had trouble bonding with the dark-haired woman; Vala could switch from obnoxious bitch to a decent woman within a heartbeat, and it threw her off guard. No amount of beating would cause Frances to trust her, but as long as the others managed well … she knew neither Sam, neither Mitchell, neither even Teal'c bestowed their trust lightly. And she tried not to judge people over their kinkiness … everyone had history, and Vala seemed to have a difficult one. Still, she wasn't about to let her believe Kristan was a sadomasochist.

— "No, we don't. And those moves are from Interpol. Teal'c fighting style is very different, and just as efficient. Definitely nobler than self-defence,"

Kristan nodded at her words, studying the mountain of muscles that presently towered over him with his unwavering presence.

— "I would be glad to show you," said Teal'c, "if you are willing to share the techniques of knife throwing."

Trust the silent warrior to guess what was left unsaid. Kristan gave him the hint of a smile to convey his thanks.

— "My former self was an expert, from what I've been told. I do not expect to perform so well, but I can always try if we find the right tools"

Teal'c slightly bowed his head, inviting the former knight by his side. Samantha sighed, grumbling that they all behaved like children before retreating inside in search of all her kitchen knives. Seeing that the two warriors had found common ground, meaning weapons, technique and a tendency to be quiet, Frances retreated to Daniel's side.

And while they tried the balance of many of Sam's cooking utensils, Vala chatted their ears away. And despite the fact that she was mostly ignored, it didn't seem to deter her.

— "Is she always like that?" Frances discreetly asked to Daniel.

Sam addressed her a playful smile, her blue eyes twinkling in the fading light but it was Daniel who absently responded.

— "Oh yeah, you get used to it. I just tune her out"

Teal'c and Kristan seemed to do just that, exchanging a word here and there, and understanding themselves perfectly well. A silent and surrealistic conversation that Vala flooded with too many sentences to keep up. A tall shadow suddenly loomed over them and O'Neill's hand came to rest upon Sam's collarbone.

— "You know, she's worse than you are when you talk about ancient civilisations."

— "Hey!" Daniel protested.

Frances laughed this time, setting the glass of – bad – wine on the table. She had missed this, missed them. O'Neill's teasing of his younger friend. Daniel was so easy to rile up sometimes, it felt almost surrealistic that he had ascended to a higher plane of existence only to get back to a corporeal form. The bickering started this very instant, and Frances didn't even try to follow, simply relishing in the familiar voices bantering. Sometimes, Sam added her two cents, enjoying the fun just as much; instead of trying to appease them, her little quips only added fuel to the fire.

A thud called all eyes to the target where a very smug Vala had landed a knife a few inches from the centre. Not bad.

Behind Frances, the discussion went on and on, O'Neill accusing Daniel of discoursing about the whole genealogy of the Goa'uld whenever he asked 'how are you' and the archaeologist ranting about God knew what. All was well in the world.

Another thud, Kristan's knife landing on the other side, his lips pursing in disappointment.

The game was on then, with Teal'c partaking, and revealing himself rather gifted. Mitchell, of course, also had to try his hand and nicked the fence. He then retreated quickly to the barbecue to smother some flames. Smiling at the team's antics, Frances stood, abandoning her lousy glass of wine to approach Kristan. His face was set in concentration, his hands testing various knives as in a trance. Then, at last, his features brightened. Turning to her, gis grey eyes twinkled.

— "I found the right one," he whispered. "Watch, little fairy"

— "Always," she responded.

The honesty of her words – always – froze him for a second. A discreet smile bloomed at the corner of his mouth, so fleeting that it disappeared at once. The slight reddish hue gracing his cheeks, though, still lingered as his lips grazed her. The fragrance of his intoxicating scent surrounded Frances for a moment of sweetness before he returned to the target. Vala was bickering with a silent Teal'c whose eyebrow was lifted in a 'no nonsense' manner; it didn't deter her from moaning about who was closest to the target centre.

Frances smiled as Kristan closed his eyes, taking a step forward, his mid long hair slightly drifting about his cheekbones. Then, past and present overlapped as he flicked his wrist in a movement she'd witnessed once before, fifteen hundred years ago in a busy tavern. The knife left his hand in a practised move, its trajectory perfect … until it embedded itself in the handle of a large kitchen knife. Frances grinned, reaching for her man's hand to convey her admiration while silence settled in the backyard.

— "You did it," she whispered.

And Kristan's eyes twinkled with a mischievous light just before Vala nearly tackled him, dragging him to the target to berate it on the feat, absolutely green with envy. From where she stood, Frances could clearly hear 'beginner's luck' and other comments that made her bite her cheek in glee. A chuckle beside her told her Daniel shared her opinion on Vala's obnoxious comments. Sam, Jack and Cameron Mitchell had joined the commotion, asking for Kristan to perform again. The former knight silently obliged, retrieving the perfect knife from the other's tip and walking a few paces backwards.

— "Have a look," Frances whispered to Daniel.

The archaeologist nodded, blue eyes focused on the man as he flicked his wrist and send the knife flying. It pinned, once more, the other knife in the handle, earning some whoops from Mitchell and protests from Vala who uttered a few swears words in an unknown language. Such precision truly was extraordinary, and from what Frances told him with a smug look, Tristan used to rile his brothers in arms up with this trick. Watching her wide smile, the archaeologist's chest swelled with contentment. At last, his friend had found her other half, the man she deserved in her life, and he made her happy. Kristan was his Sha're, the woman he had loved and lost, and despite the pang of longing that echoed in his soul – his wife never made it back from the other side of the veil – he was glad for Frances to have reunited with hers.

Her brown, warm gaze rested on her man, pride and joy brightening her features. Needless to say, that after the trials of being the Keeper of Time, she really deserved it. The commotion of the knight's exploit seemed to die down, and Daniel was about to pull a chair for Frances when her features froze, smile dropping in a frightening expression.

— "Something's burning," she said.

The archaeologist turned to the barbecue where a bright flame was shooting to the sky. A series of yells and curses came from Cameron and Jack who rushed to the fire to smother it, nothing to worry about, really. Except for the odour of burnt sausage that now assaulted his nostrils. Frances' cry, though, was downright panicked.

— "Tristan! The village, they burnt it!"

Her eyes were glassy, unseeing, as if assaulted by images they couldn't see. When Daniel grabbed her arm, he realised she was shaking like a leaf. The young woman swatted his hand away violently, sniffing at the air as she backed off, her lips trembling. Kristan appeared by her side in an instant, the distance quickly covered by his long legs. As the tall man engulfed her forcefully, he gently spoke into her ear.

— "It's all right, little fairy. It's over, let the past rest in the past. It's all right, eh? Look at me."

His large hands came around her face, forcing her gaze to meet his. Moist shone upon her cheeks and the suspicious noise of a sob reached Daniel's ears. Tears?

The archaeologist frowned. Something was very, very wrong; Frances very seldom left her emotions crush her control, especially in stressful situations. She usually broke down later, in the privacy of her home or, very scarcely, in his arms. Sam appeared beside him, watching the scene with wide, worried eyes.

— "What happened?"

Daniel picked his glasses, wiping them in a nervous gesture in hopes to process what he'd just seen.

— "I'm not sure. One moment she was beaming with pride at her guy."

— "Yeah, he's got a mean trick with that knife."

— "Anyway. The next she told me something was burning and … it's a panic attack I think."

Samantha frowned.

— "A panic attack? Since when does she …?"

Daniel shrugged.

— "We all have our breaking point."

And to this statement, Sam could only nod, her own gaze veiled with untold terrors. All of SG1 had been through traumatic events, every single one of them. And they all knew that, no matter how strong one's mind was, it always came back to bite them in the ass. Except for Teal'c, maybe … perhaps the process of Kel'no'Reem grounded the mind, somehow.

Sam pursed her lips, walking up to the couple to suggest they get to the guest room for a moment. Kristan nodded, his arm thrown over a very flustered Frances.

Samantha Carter's guest room was a cosy place that clashed with the steely mind and frightful focus of her owner. Even if the former captain, now co-leader of SG1, was a military woman at heart, she didn't shy away from fluffy covers and flowery curtains. The sight called a smile to Frances' lips; she wondered how Jack O'Neill handled that much cosiness when he visited. Not that he would sleep in the guest room…

Soft lips caressed her temple as she sat at the bed's foot, Kristan's presence surrounding her with is much needed support.

— "What happened?" Samantha asked.

Kristan tensed, taken aback by what he interpreted as an invasion of privacy. In any other circumstance, Sam would have left them to sort this out. But tomorrow, they would join SG1 on a mission of the utmost importance. If Frances couldn't keep her cool, there was no way the Lieutenant-Colonel would allow her to pass the gate.

Frances lifted her chin, chasing away the shame of her breakdown in the backyard. For a moment, she'd been back in the fifth century, watching burnt bodies of slaughtered men, women and children, crying her distress against Tristan's back.

— "I feel so stupid now," she huffed.

Kristan straightened, giving her a little space to answer Sam's questions. Yet, his eyes didn't leave hers and his voice was low, almost haunted.

— "Don't, little fairy. I didn't live through this, but I also carry this memory."

Frances' eyes searched his, finding there the much-needed anchor.

— "You remember?"

— "Aye, I do. I also remember how Tristan wasn't as affected by it."

Sam watched the conversation, marvelling that they could understand each other with such little formal communication. She, on the other hand, didn't have half the information to make heads or tails of it.

— "Care to enlighten me?" she eventually said.

Frances nodded, recounting the moment when Tristan took her scouting and they stumbled upon this village, burnt to the ground by Saxons, every inhabitant gruesomely murdered. Her throat tightened, recalling the baby she had found, mouth wide open in a cry, pierced by a blade in his mother's arms. She couldn't dump such an image on Sam's lap, not without crying her eyes out. Squeezing her hand, Kristan took over the tale, piecing together his nightmares, Frances's writing and the flashes he sometimes had over his past life.

When she eventually felt confident enough to continue, Frances searched Samantha's gaze.

— "That burnt sausage. It smelt of burnt flesh, it triggered the memory."

The young woman nodded, thoughtful.

— "Have you considered that you might be suffering from PTSD?"

Frances scoffed this time, surprising the blonde woman with her heartfelt reply.

— "I know it is PTSD, Sam! I'm not that stupid to think I lived through those … events and escaped unscathed."

By her side, Kristan smirked. Trust his little fairy to remain lucid despite the hardships.

— "Come on, Sam! You know I can't talk to a shrink, they would commit me somewhere. Stargate related stuff, yes. But not my travels in the past. There would be too many questions to dance around"

Taken aback, Samantha Carter straightened on the bed, licking her lips as her lighting fast brain considered the question.

— "We … you can talk to us. Granted, it won't be the same as a professional but…"

A glance was all it took between Frances and Kristan to settle the subject between themselves. If she needed to unburden herself, her man was the greatest listener ever. Still, friendship didn't resolve deep, rooted traumatism and issues. At some point, she would have to plunge into the recesses of her mind and deal with past traumas of war, death and heartache. But not now. Reaching for Sam's hand over Kristan's lap, Frances tried to convey how grateful she was for her former team to stick with her and offer unconditional support.

— "I know. And I appreciate it. Know that it won't happen again."

— "There is no shame in stepping back if you feel the need to…"

— "No, I'll be fine. You know I wouldn't put any of you in danger. I have … slackened with so many friends around, but I can revert to mission mode faster than you can blink"

Sam gave her a contemplative look, her eyes shifting to the knight who sat protectively beside her. No one better than a soldier could understand how nerves were kept in check during a mission, sometimes for years even, before the soul found companionship and allowed to be unburdened. Kristan's presence had crumbled Frances' unmovable walls that protected her mind, bringing forth years of traumas that used to be kept in a tight leash. It had taken Jack O'Neill after her father's death for Sam to eventually give in… Yes, she knew how it felt to find someone who could share the responsibility, someone who could support the pressure while your own mind regenerated, just for a little while. The freedom of not being in charge anymore.

With a tight smile, Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter nodded.

— "I know. I also know you are way stronger than you look and that your mind is a fortress. Just … maybe it is time to open the gates."

— "She knows you well, little fairy," a smooth voice intervened.

Frances gave her man an amused look.

— "Yeah, definitely. I'll get plenty of time to do that once this is over."

Sam slapped her hand on her lower thigh, standing up cheerfully. Her blue eyes danced mischievously in the receding light.

— "Great! It's a date then"

— "Eew, weird"

The blonde woman laughed at the very stunned expression of her friend, Frances' eyes narrowing playfully until she gave in.

— "Ok, ok. Let's get back. I want some unburnt sausages."

— "No bets on that…" muttered Sam as she left the room.

Frances stood, amused by the commanding officer's antics, albeit she had trouble shading her shame aside. Her little breakdown could have killed someone in the field, and she cursed her weakness. The emotion probably showed on her face as she stood because Kristan remained seated, catching her wrist to pull her in the circle of his arms. For a while, he said nothing, opening his legs to pull her close and resting his head upon her breasts, providing warmth, support and reassurance in this single gesture. Frances melted against him, her arms circling his broad shoulders, fingers buried into the silk of his hair as she sniffed his scent. The pulsating heat of his body against hers caused her pulse to quicken, and Frances lowered herself to straddle him, burying her nose into his neck. There, she could remain forever, every inch of her body touching his, his scent surrounding her like a benevolent presence. Strong hands slid from her back to her waist, urging her a little closer until he caught her in a kiss. The taste of him melted down remorse and shame alike, replacing it with the fireworks running wildly into her veins as she made love to his tongue. Frances pressed against him as his fingers cupped her hips.

— "Little fairy," he ground out. "If we don't get out now, we never will."

His grey eyes burnt with such fire that Frances gasped. Pulling away was a challenge like no other; her body screamed for his presence, for skin against skin and the sweet taste of him in her mouth. She rearranged her hair and pursed her swollen lips. No! She wasn't about to do that in Sam's house. No, no, no!

— "Thank you, I feel better now."

The corner of his mouth lifted in his trademark smirk.

— "Anytime, my fair lady"

A genuine smile bloomed on her lips and Kristan felt a wave of satisfaction for his efficiency. His long fingers came to rest on the small of her back by themselves and Kristan noted, as they emerged in the backyard, when he had got so used to touching her that he didn't even think about it. Vala's shouted command welcomed them as they took a seat between Jack O'Neill and Colonel Mitchell.

— "Muscles! Pass on the ketchup!"

The giant warrior looked about for a moment before providing the plastic bottle to his colleague with an impassive look. Beside her, Mitchell's feature fell.

— "Oh no, there she goes again…"

— "Oh, hey! My favourite food in the universe!"

Cameron Mitchell addressed Frances an 'I told you so' look that only heightened Kristan's confusion. Keeping an eye at the dark-haired woman, he grabbed a plate for his lady and piled up two kinds of sausages before setting to work on his own. A kiss on his cheek was his reward as Frances fished for some salad – her absolute weakness – and onion rings. Beside them, Samantha Carter, Daniel Jackson and Jack O'Neill were discussing the maniability of the MP-7 compared to the P-90. Frances very soon interjected,

— "They're much less heavy, that makes a different for a hundred pounds me!"

Kristan snuck the first piece of sausage into his mouth, mulling over the 'normal day in the military office' mood. On the other side, Mitchell and Teal'c seemed to be discussing a football team, the words 'mightiest players' and 'most powerful tactic' better suited to war than to a game. Cameron's slang and accent grew more pronounced as he fought tooth and nail for his favourite team, deterred by hums and affirmations from the quiet warrior who didn't concede and inch of terrain. Smiling inwardly at the camaraderie between them, warmed by the presence of his little fairy by his side, Kristan gradually relaxed. Until his eye caught Vala's plate.

Sausages were literally drowned in ketchup, and she was now in the process of spreading some more onto pieces of sandwich bread, oblivious to the rest of the world. The former knight's eyebrows shot up; this was an addiction like he'd never seen. And when she pushed her head back and moulded her lips against the bottle's neck, he couldn't contain his incredulous chuckle.

— "Vala !"

Cameron's exclamation, echoed around the table, came with a slap. The bottle of ketchup stumbled out of the woman's grasp and splashed on the paper napkins. A pissed 'hey' later, the last SG1 member had tackled Cameron Mitchell out of his chair and pinned him to the ground. He had barely seen her move; her holds seemed as efficient as Frances'. Eyes wide, Kristan awaited for the scuffle to degenerate. Surprisingly, Mitchell didn't try to untangle his limbs from his colleague, choosing instead to glare at her.

— "Remember what my mum said! This is not acceptable table manners, Vala!"

Chastised, the dark-haired woman uncoiled her body from Colonel Mitchell and stood with a derisive sniff.

— "It's not my fault that your earth food is so addictive."

The mention of earth called Samantha's attention who interjected with a hiss.

— "Vala, neighbours!"

The dark-haired woman, still standing, turned around with unconcealed grace. Realisation dawned upon Kristan's mind; she was a fighter. And a good one. Of course, else SG1 would never have accepted her within their ranks. And despite the unusual chain of command – he couldn't see Vala obeying orders much – the team seemed to make it work. According to Frances, SG1 had never been much about the hierarchy since Daniel almost always managed to sway his CO's mind, and Jack always took his team's opinion into account before acting. The strength of SG1; multiple points of view that worked towards the same goal.

— "Hey, I'm an…"

— "Aha!" Jack cried, interrupting her rant like a flight in mid-air.

Vala opened eyes bigger than flying saucers until Daniel provided her with a way out.

— "Foreigner."

— "Yes, foreigners. I never had ketchup before, and I love it more than anything in the world."

The archaeologist rolled his eyes at the exaggeration, a smile on his lips.

— "Don't tell me you wouldn't kill for coffee, Daniel."

— "Too true," muttered Frances in Kristan's ear.

The knight slid his hand over her shoulders, pulling her close as he kissed the corner of her mouth. Apparently, Daniel's addiction to coffee was worse than Frances' to chocolate. And since Vala's quip send the team into reminiscences of their favourite food, all was once more well in the world … until it ended, very, very soon.