Broken 7 & 8
by Sharim
~7~
He was deliberating.
Spaghetti or baked beans? He pondered.
Slowly he stretched out a hand, reaching for the tin of spaghetti, and then changed his mind. Neither spaghetti nor baked beans. He'd have-
"Jack!"
He spun around awkwardly, the bad knee viciously voicing its complaint as he knocked about four tins from the shelf. Darn.
"Cassie!" He realised, unable to stop the grin from splitting his face. Ignoring his throbbing, uncooperative knee, he picked her up and spun her around as her arms enveloped him in a warm hug. "What have you been up to?"
When she finally let go, he stooped to retrieve the cans, still hiding the pain of his aching knee. He was good at hiding pain.
"Today? Well… shopping really. I bought this really nice gown for our dinner next week; Sam helped me pick it out."
His hand froze in place – the can hovering inches from the countertop for a brief moment before he slowly set it back it its place. "It's green with a pale gold trim," Cassie continued, unaware of his lapse in concentration. "It's so pale it's almost silver. Jack?"
She was looking good, he realised dimly, her skin once again tanned, her hair short and tidy, her blue eyes as icy as ever.
"Jack!"
"What?" He tore his look from Sam, gazing down at Cassandra instead.
"What's wrong?" She turned and saw Sam, and then looked at Jack again in confusion.
"Nothing," Jack said shortly and turned his back on Sam. Silently he shoved the tins back onto the shelf, ignoring their dented appearance. He hadn't been going to baked beans or spaghetti anyway...
"How about having lunch with us?"
He dropped the last tin he was holding, and paused for a second.
Slowly he bent and picked it up, and nearly could stand himself back up when he heard something in his knee crack.
"You okay?" Cassie was agitated now, completely confused.
Hadn't Janet explained the situation yet? Didn't she know that Carter didn't want him anywhere near her? Didn't she realise that he didn't *deserve* to be anywhere near Carter, let alone have *lunch* with her?
"Fine." He winced, standing up. "Just my knees."
"Oh." Cassie turned to look at Sam whose face had also turned to expressionless stone. "Sam, help me convince him to come to lunch?"
"I'm sure he's busy." He heard Sam answer shortly.
Cassie turned back to him, completely confusion clearly written on her features. She was almost in tears.
He felt like an ass.
"She's right. I'm busy now, Cassie." Why did his voice have to sound so curt? Why did he have to sound so harsh?
"Oh. Okay."
She looked like a puppy who's just been kicked.
He felt like a real ass.
"Maybe next time," he said softly, forcing a slight smile onto his wooden features.
"Yeah," Cassie agreed, but the smile wasn't in her eyes or on her voice. "See you later, Jack."
"You too, Cass." He touched her arm briefly before turning around to contemplate the choice between spaghetti and baked beans again, not that'd he'd made up his mind or anything yet.
He heard their footsteps disappear, Cassie's low voice talking curiously to Sam.
He stared hard at the baked beans.
Defiantly he reached over and plucked a tin of meatballs from the shelf, daring the baked beans or spaghetti to argue with him.
* * *
TO: Major General George Hammond, USAF
FROM: Dr. Major Janet Fraiser, USAF
RE: Physical Evaluation - Colonel Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill.
2/15/06
After extensive physiotherapy, it is disappointing to report that I can not recommend Colonel O'Neill's reinstatement to active duty. The injuries which he acquired during his imprisonment were all severe. The majority of these have healed with minimum ramifications, however, several leg injuries - more specifically the cartilage damage of the right knee - have resulted in permanent, irreversible damage which is affecting Colonel O'Neill's physical capability of field work.
Colonel O'Neill has worked with much dedication to overcoming this physical injury; however it has reached a point where no amount of work or treatment will be able to help it heal any further.
Therefore, I recommend transfer to an advisory or administrative position, or, failing this, honourable discharge will have to be considered.
Dr. Major Janet Fraiser
* * *
Hammond had been dreading this.
Fraiser had been warning him for weeks, but he'd deliberately turned a deaf ear and ignored her, instead placing his hope and trust - his wishing even - on O'Neill's stubborn determination. This time, the odds were against them all, and Hammond's gamble fell horrendously flat. Now he only had half an hour in which to think of a way to tell O'Neill his career was well and truly over this time.
He sighed. Absently he started doodling over the page again, this time not caring about his internal battle with his new found habits of fiddling, fidgeting, and doodling. There were more important things to worry about.
There was a knock on the door, and it opened before Hammond even had time to still his wandering pen.
"Mind if I barge in, Sir?"
Hammond's gut opened and swallowed his stomach. Oh... damn.
"Not at all, Colonel. Come in." He waved O'Neill carelessly towards a chair and eyed the far cupboard greedily. There was a bottle of whiskey in there, he remembered, still unopened. He remembered bringing that in right after the very first time Apophis threatened Earth. Hell, he needed some Dutch courage at times like those!
"I... Well..."
"What can I do for you, Colonel?" Hammond asked.
O'Neill's eyes slid to the paper in front of Hammond, and the General was two seconds too slow in concealing the rough squiggles.
"Would that be a *dog*, General?" There was amusement on O'Neill's voice, but it was sorely lacking in the brown eyes. Hammond would quite happily have sold his soul to hear and see genuine amusement in O'Neill again, instead of a dry sarcasm that was more scathing than Hammond ever remembered it.
"No. It's a cat," he returned shortly, covering it up as best as he could. "You wanted something, Colonel?"
O'Neill pulled back then, staring at the carpet for a second before slowly raising his face back towards Hammond. But he didn't look the General in the eye, staring instead at a spot somewhere behind Hammond's right shoulder. Hammond found it very disconcerting.
"I... well... I wanted to ask a favour, Sir," O'Neill said eventually.
"I can't guarantee anything," Hammond warned.
"I know that, Sir. And I know I'm probably grasping at straws here... but... I'm bored. Sir."
Hammond sighed and eyed the corner of the report he'd deliberately thrust out of sight ten minutes ago.
"There's lots of paper work..."
O'Neill sighed, rolling his eyes. "General... I'm not going back on rotation, am I?"
"No." Hammond shook his head, gazing steadily at the former 2IC. "I'm sorry, son."
O'Neill didn't say anything. He bit down on his bottom lip, staring at the desk for a long minute before raising his head up to the General. "General- "
"I'm sorry, Jack. But... your injuries..."
O'Neill kicked out in frustration, his foot connecting solidly with the desk in front of him. As his knee jarred and pain shot up his leg, a sickening crack sounded. "Sorry." He stood up, ignoring the pain as he glanced at the now splintered wood. "I thought it was stronger..."
Hammond leant back and eyed the damage, then looked at the man trying not to limp out of his office. "Jack."
O'Neill turned around, his face bland. "Sir... I might come and see you later... to discuss retirement options."
Hammond didn't have to be a genius to realise O'Neill wasn't talking about pension, but rather about *where* he could retire...
"I'm sure we-"
Hammond stopped mid sentence and stood up as the klaxons sounded loudly throughout the base. "No one's due back," he announced, taking off towards the control room.
"No, Sir. No one is due back," O'Neill echoed, following Hammond.
O'Neill stopped at the stairs, his eyes following Hammond's back. Then he slowly and deliberately turned his back towards the control room and hobbled down the stairs towards his quarters.
* * *
"I can't believe you *did* that!" Davids grinned, squelching down the ramp.
"You were *ogling*, Captain. Of course I was going to do it."
"I was not ogling!" Davids denied.
"Oh yes you were." Ferretti grinned, clapping Davids on the back. "I think that Carter did very nicely."
"You were also ogling, Sir," Sam retorted, grinning politely.
Ferretti raised an eyebrow. "So why didn't you push me in?"
"You've got a higher ranking than me," Sam said dryly, and the team burst into gales of laughter.
"How was the mission?" Hammond asked, watching as the four people filed down the ramp.
"Great. We met some pretty natives… Davids went swimming."
"Compliments of Major Carter." Davids rolled his eyes, mock glaring at Carter.
The smile touched Hammond's lips before he could stop it forming, but it disappeared as reality set in. "Major Carter, would you please head up to the debriefing room?" He requested.
Sam frowned, glancing down at herself quickly. "With all due respect, Sir... I'm kinda dirty."
"I know, but you're needed."
"Yes Sir." Sam nodded and waved good bye to her teammates before exiting through the other door. "What's going on?" She met up with Hammond on the stairs.
"There's a meeting, and you're needed," Hammond said shortly.
She eyed him suspiciously. He was hiding something from her.
"What's it about?"
"The Tok'ra..." Hammond started out, but the door was in front of them, and he fell silent as they stepped through.
"Dad!" Sam smiled, grinning at her Dad.
"Didn't we teach you about hygiene?" He teased, giving her a quick hug and stepping back to avoid the mud on her BDUs.
Sam rolled her eyes, before eyeing the seats.
"Sit down," Hammond instructed.
"Sir… with all due respect, I think I'll just stand."
Hammond nodded his agreement and sat down at his usual chair.
"Major, this is Jochen and his symbiote Yalman, and this is Dresda and his symbiote Pernon." Hammond introduced the two Tok'ra seated on the other side of the desk.
Sam eyed them suspiciously. She knew them, she was certain. Maybe Jolinar....
"Sorry I'm late, General, but..."
She spun around, instinctively stepping backwards as Jack O'Neill barged into the room.
He froze, mid step and mid sentence as he caught sight of her.
For one, jarring second they stared at each other, time stretching together so far that Sam felt as though the air was pulled out of her lungs.
"Sit down please, Colonel." Hammond pretended to ignore the looks on their faces. He pretended to ignore the hostility between them. He pretended to ignore the knowledge that the two of them hadn't spoken to each other since that meeting organised by Fraiser and McKenzie. He pretended to ignore that the two of them pretended the other didn't exist.
Carter's mouth pulled into a tight line as O'Neill slunk towards an empty chair out of her line of sight and kept his eyes firmly focused on the floor.
"Now that we're all here..." Jacob started out. "We can get started."
"Started with what?" O'Neill asked suspiciously, frowning in the General's direction.
"A briefing."
"Excuse me?" Sam's voice chorused along perfectly with O'Neill's, the inflection matched to the note.
"A briefing," Hammond repeated, glaring at them both before turning his attention back to Jacob.
I know that this seems insensitive to both of you, but please understand that this is of great of importance. Selmak continued.
"I hate it when the Tok'ra act smooth," O'Neill complained.
Sam kept her face blank and deliberately avoided looking at him.
I understand that both of you - Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter - refuse to discuss the time of your imprisonment.
If the situation hadn't been so serious, Hammond might have laughed as both of them instantly looked at one another and then placed the same blank masks on their faces.
However... the Tok'ra attempt at destroying the Facility where you were imprisoned failed, and the Goa'uld have managed to rebuild it and are once again manufacturing weapons there.
"What's this got to do with us?" No one commented on the strangled sound of Jack's voice.
The Tok'ra intend to launch another attack, and this time completely destroy the facility.
"Oh." Sam swallowed, leaning against the wall. Hammond didn't comment about her unmilitary position, or the mud on the wall.
"I still don't understand what this has to do with us..." O'Neill glared at Hammond.
You were both there for over a year, Colonel. You have intimate knowledge of the mines, the factories... perhaps even of the Goa'uld palace.
And uncomfortable silence settled over them they waited for a response.
O'Neill stood up, his palms firmly planted on the table. "This has nothing to do with me..."
"Colonel," Hammond warned.
"No. It's not 'Colonel' anymore. Remember? As of an hour ago, when you told me. Remember?"
Hammond steeled himself, hating the way he was betraying his friendship with O'Neill and forcing him to do this. "It's not official yet, Colonel. I haven't processed the papers. You are still currently employed by the USAF, and that means this does have everything to do with you."
O'Neill glared at Hammond, and refused to sit.
Sam felt her gaze resting on O'Neill's slumped shoulders, taking in his defiant frame with a sympathetic eye, before catching herself and once again pretending to be a part of the wall.
Major Carter? Damn Tok'ra.
"Yes?" Play innocent.
Do you have this knowledge? No, don't go there. Please don't go there.
"What knowledge?"
Of the factories?
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
The mines?
She shook her head. No, she'd never been sent there- STOP! She clenched her eyes shut, wishing the world to go away.
The Goa'uld palace.
That was the last place she wanted to think about. She didn't want to remember the gold walls, the gaudy decor… the fires... the faces… oh...
"Yes." It was torn from her, an almost sob in the quiet room.
Colonel?
"I know the mines," he whispered hoarsely.
Sam stared at the floor. The floor was blue. Blue. Blue was good... there hadn't been much blue There. No, that had been red, gold, black... brown… it had been dirty. Like her boots. No, worse than her boots.
The bile rose in her throat.
"Oh...excuse me." She choked, ducking out of the room and down the corridor before Hammond had even realised O'Neill had left through the other door.
Jacob remained silent as Selmak retreated, his eyes focused on the door through which his daughter had just disappeared. He closed his eyes.
"I didn't want to do that."
"I know." Hammond swallowed. "I didn't want to either."
"They won't be able to give us the necessary information, not if they become like this every time you bring the subject up," he continued emotionlessly.
Hammond nodded, not even bothering to admit that all other attempts at talking about Genda had proven fruitless.
"You're going to take them with you." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.
There is no other choice. Pernon said gently.
"I know." Hammond sighed. "But... you have to understand that neither of them has even come close to dealing with what happened. On outward appearance, they've got it all covered. Back to a 'relative' normal Sam and Jack. But... it's not going to last long."
Perhaps... Selmak hesitated.
"What?"
Perhaps by helping defeat Genda they might help defeat their own, personal demons at the same time.
Hammond sighed, standing up. "I'll hold onto that hope."
~8~
TO: Joint Chiefs
FROM: Major General George Hammond, USAF
RE: GENDA MISSION
2/15/06
The briefing with the Tok'ra, Colonel Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill and Major Samantha Carter did not go well. Failure by Major Carter and Colonel O'Neill to verbally provide the details required by the Tok'ra has resulted in the Tok'ra requesting the presence of Major Carter and Colonel O'Neill on this mission.
I feel this would not be advisable as Major Carter and Colonel O'Neill are both still trying to overcome the trauma experienced on Genda, as well as both harbouring an intense dislike for one another - possibly due to events on Genda that so far have failed to come to light. Dr. Major Janet Fraiser and I both believe this mission might not only further damage them psychologically, but also Colonel O'Neill's current physical condition.
I strongly recommend denying approval to the Tok'ra request.
Major General George Hammond
* * *
TO: Major General George Hammond, USAF
FROM: Joint Chiefs
RE: GENDA MISSION
3/15/06
JCS has taken advisement into consideration, however, when taking the importance of the Tok'ra/Earth Alliance into consideration, as well as the effect the destruction of Genda would have on the war with the Goa'uld, the JCS has decided to approve the Tok'ra request.
Personal likes and dislikes are to be put aside in the common interest of serving their country.
Both Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter are ordered to accompany the Tok'ra on the Genda Mission, with their primary objective being to provide the Tok'ra with all the knowledge they require that is in the possession of either person. Secondary objective is to procure weapons and blueprints of weapons.
Joint Chiefs
* * *
"General, Sir, I don't think you understand. I will *not* go on a mission with… with… *him*!" Sam yelled, stamping her foot.
"MAJOR CARTER!" Hammond roared.
The woman in front of him suddenly realised how inappropriate her behaviour was and calmed herself. Fractionally.
"General... with all due respect, *Sir*, it was his fault that-" She clamped her mouth shut, eyes widening as she realised what she was dredging up.
"Major?"
"Nothing. Sir," Sam hissed through clenched teeth. "Permission to be excused?"
"No." He shook his head. "Sam..."
"Sir-"
"No. Please, I want to say this." He sighed, sitting down at his desk again. "Please, Major, sit down."
Sam sat obediently. Like a trained monkey.
"I tried to get you out of this, I really did," he started out. "I wrote to the Joint Chiefs, called the President..."
"I know, Sir. It's just..." Sam hesitated. "I've fought so hard to get over it, to beat what that place did to me. And now you're sending me back. My *father* is sending me back," she whispered.
Hammond swallowed. "I know."
"Why?" Sam sighed, sitting upright again. "It... At the beginning, when I wouldn't talk... I didn't believe it was real. That I could finally relax and be happy because I was home. Now… now I've relaxed. It took a while, I know... but I'm happy. I'm on a team again, I've got my job... I'm *happy*. And now it's happening all over again."
"No, it's not."
She looked at him, raising an eyebrow delicately. "I'm going back there."
"To destroy it. You're not going back as a prisoner, Sam, you're going back to put that thing out of business once and for all."
Sam sighed. "Yes, Sir." And small voice in her mind added 'no sir, how high sir?', but she stamped on it viciously. This was her job.
Hammond watched her rise to her feet slowly. "Jacob doesn't want this either, but it's the only way."
She nodded, straightening herself. "I know." A half smile tugged at her lips. "I just don't want to go back."
Hammond let her go.
* * *
You're not even doing anything to help.
You're pathetic.
The words circled, over and over in his head, a cacophony building and building.
Pathetic. Help. Your fault.
It's your fault, Jack. Your fault.
Your gun.
Your fault.
Charlie!
He woke, sweating and his heart rate sky rocketing.
He was getting to old for this. Too old and too sore, he thought dryly as his knee protested.
04:38hours.
Jack sighed, splashing his face with water.
This was his chance, he realised as he gazed into the mirror. This was his chance to put things right. To finally ease the threat hanging over Carter and himself. To do something good for a change. No matter that it threw him into a complete overdrive of fear and denial.
All he wanted to do was run. Run as far away as humanly possible - Asgardly possible even - from Genda.
He shuddered. He hated that word, more than anything else - except the place itself, of course.
The cold water was refreshing, washing the sticky sweat of his nightmares off his body.
He was used to nightmares by now, having experienced more than his fair share of them. That didn't mean they didn't affect him though.
04:41 hours.
Another six hours at least until they were shipped out to the Tok'ra home world. They. Him and Carter. Carter.
He slammed the gates down before he could think about her.
It's your fault.
He opened the tap, letting the cold water run over his hands as he rested on the sink, just staring at the rivulets of liquid.
* * *
by Sharim
~7~
He was deliberating.
Spaghetti or baked beans? He pondered.
Slowly he stretched out a hand, reaching for the tin of spaghetti, and then changed his mind. Neither spaghetti nor baked beans. He'd have-
"Jack!"
He spun around awkwardly, the bad knee viciously voicing its complaint as he knocked about four tins from the shelf. Darn.
"Cassie!" He realised, unable to stop the grin from splitting his face. Ignoring his throbbing, uncooperative knee, he picked her up and spun her around as her arms enveloped him in a warm hug. "What have you been up to?"
When she finally let go, he stooped to retrieve the cans, still hiding the pain of his aching knee. He was good at hiding pain.
"Today? Well… shopping really. I bought this really nice gown for our dinner next week; Sam helped me pick it out."
His hand froze in place – the can hovering inches from the countertop for a brief moment before he slowly set it back it its place. "It's green with a pale gold trim," Cassie continued, unaware of his lapse in concentration. "It's so pale it's almost silver. Jack?"
She was looking good, he realised dimly, her skin once again tanned, her hair short and tidy, her blue eyes as icy as ever.
"Jack!"
"What?" He tore his look from Sam, gazing down at Cassandra instead.
"What's wrong?" She turned and saw Sam, and then looked at Jack again in confusion.
"Nothing," Jack said shortly and turned his back on Sam. Silently he shoved the tins back onto the shelf, ignoring their dented appearance. He hadn't been going to baked beans or spaghetti anyway...
"How about having lunch with us?"
He dropped the last tin he was holding, and paused for a second.
Slowly he bent and picked it up, and nearly could stand himself back up when he heard something in his knee crack.
"You okay?" Cassie was agitated now, completely confused.
Hadn't Janet explained the situation yet? Didn't she know that Carter didn't want him anywhere near her? Didn't she realise that he didn't *deserve* to be anywhere near Carter, let alone have *lunch* with her?
"Fine." He winced, standing up. "Just my knees."
"Oh." Cassie turned to look at Sam whose face had also turned to expressionless stone. "Sam, help me convince him to come to lunch?"
"I'm sure he's busy." He heard Sam answer shortly.
Cassie turned back to him, completely confusion clearly written on her features. She was almost in tears.
He felt like an ass.
"She's right. I'm busy now, Cassie." Why did his voice have to sound so curt? Why did he have to sound so harsh?
"Oh. Okay."
She looked like a puppy who's just been kicked.
He felt like a real ass.
"Maybe next time," he said softly, forcing a slight smile onto his wooden features.
"Yeah," Cassie agreed, but the smile wasn't in her eyes or on her voice. "See you later, Jack."
"You too, Cass." He touched her arm briefly before turning around to contemplate the choice between spaghetti and baked beans again, not that'd he'd made up his mind or anything yet.
He heard their footsteps disappear, Cassie's low voice talking curiously to Sam.
He stared hard at the baked beans.
Defiantly he reached over and plucked a tin of meatballs from the shelf, daring the baked beans or spaghetti to argue with him.
* * *
TO: Major General George Hammond, USAF
FROM: Dr. Major Janet Fraiser, USAF
RE: Physical Evaluation - Colonel Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill.
2/15/06
After extensive physiotherapy, it is disappointing to report that I can not recommend Colonel O'Neill's reinstatement to active duty. The injuries which he acquired during his imprisonment were all severe. The majority of these have healed with minimum ramifications, however, several leg injuries - more specifically the cartilage damage of the right knee - have resulted in permanent, irreversible damage which is affecting Colonel O'Neill's physical capability of field work.
Colonel O'Neill has worked with much dedication to overcoming this physical injury; however it has reached a point where no amount of work or treatment will be able to help it heal any further.
Therefore, I recommend transfer to an advisory or administrative position, or, failing this, honourable discharge will have to be considered.
Dr. Major Janet Fraiser
* * *
Hammond had been dreading this.
Fraiser had been warning him for weeks, but he'd deliberately turned a deaf ear and ignored her, instead placing his hope and trust - his wishing even - on O'Neill's stubborn determination. This time, the odds were against them all, and Hammond's gamble fell horrendously flat. Now he only had half an hour in which to think of a way to tell O'Neill his career was well and truly over this time.
He sighed. Absently he started doodling over the page again, this time not caring about his internal battle with his new found habits of fiddling, fidgeting, and doodling. There were more important things to worry about.
There was a knock on the door, and it opened before Hammond even had time to still his wandering pen.
"Mind if I barge in, Sir?"
Hammond's gut opened and swallowed his stomach. Oh... damn.
"Not at all, Colonel. Come in." He waved O'Neill carelessly towards a chair and eyed the far cupboard greedily. There was a bottle of whiskey in there, he remembered, still unopened. He remembered bringing that in right after the very first time Apophis threatened Earth. Hell, he needed some Dutch courage at times like those!
"I... Well..."
"What can I do for you, Colonel?" Hammond asked.
O'Neill's eyes slid to the paper in front of Hammond, and the General was two seconds too slow in concealing the rough squiggles.
"Would that be a *dog*, General?" There was amusement on O'Neill's voice, but it was sorely lacking in the brown eyes. Hammond would quite happily have sold his soul to hear and see genuine amusement in O'Neill again, instead of a dry sarcasm that was more scathing than Hammond ever remembered it.
"No. It's a cat," he returned shortly, covering it up as best as he could. "You wanted something, Colonel?"
O'Neill pulled back then, staring at the carpet for a second before slowly raising his face back towards Hammond. But he didn't look the General in the eye, staring instead at a spot somewhere behind Hammond's right shoulder. Hammond found it very disconcerting.
"I... well... I wanted to ask a favour, Sir," O'Neill said eventually.
"I can't guarantee anything," Hammond warned.
"I know that, Sir. And I know I'm probably grasping at straws here... but... I'm bored. Sir."
Hammond sighed and eyed the corner of the report he'd deliberately thrust out of sight ten minutes ago.
"There's lots of paper work..."
O'Neill sighed, rolling his eyes. "General... I'm not going back on rotation, am I?"
"No." Hammond shook his head, gazing steadily at the former 2IC. "I'm sorry, son."
O'Neill didn't say anything. He bit down on his bottom lip, staring at the desk for a long minute before raising his head up to the General. "General- "
"I'm sorry, Jack. But... your injuries..."
O'Neill kicked out in frustration, his foot connecting solidly with the desk in front of him. As his knee jarred and pain shot up his leg, a sickening crack sounded. "Sorry." He stood up, ignoring the pain as he glanced at the now splintered wood. "I thought it was stronger..."
Hammond leant back and eyed the damage, then looked at the man trying not to limp out of his office. "Jack."
O'Neill turned around, his face bland. "Sir... I might come and see you later... to discuss retirement options."
Hammond didn't have to be a genius to realise O'Neill wasn't talking about pension, but rather about *where* he could retire...
"I'm sure we-"
Hammond stopped mid sentence and stood up as the klaxons sounded loudly throughout the base. "No one's due back," he announced, taking off towards the control room.
"No, Sir. No one is due back," O'Neill echoed, following Hammond.
O'Neill stopped at the stairs, his eyes following Hammond's back. Then he slowly and deliberately turned his back towards the control room and hobbled down the stairs towards his quarters.
* * *
"I can't believe you *did* that!" Davids grinned, squelching down the ramp.
"You were *ogling*, Captain. Of course I was going to do it."
"I was not ogling!" Davids denied.
"Oh yes you were." Ferretti grinned, clapping Davids on the back. "I think that Carter did very nicely."
"You were also ogling, Sir," Sam retorted, grinning politely.
Ferretti raised an eyebrow. "So why didn't you push me in?"
"You've got a higher ranking than me," Sam said dryly, and the team burst into gales of laughter.
"How was the mission?" Hammond asked, watching as the four people filed down the ramp.
"Great. We met some pretty natives… Davids went swimming."
"Compliments of Major Carter." Davids rolled his eyes, mock glaring at Carter.
The smile touched Hammond's lips before he could stop it forming, but it disappeared as reality set in. "Major Carter, would you please head up to the debriefing room?" He requested.
Sam frowned, glancing down at herself quickly. "With all due respect, Sir... I'm kinda dirty."
"I know, but you're needed."
"Yes Sir." Sam nodded and waved good bye to her teammates before exiting through the other door. "What's going on?" She met up with Hammond on the stairs.
"There's a meeting, and you're needed," Hammond said shortly.
She eyed him suspiciously. He was hiding something from her.
"What's it about?"
"The Tok'ra..." Hammond started out, but the door was in front of them, and he fell silent as they stepped through.
"Dad!" Sam smiled, grinning at her Dad.
"Didn't we teach you about hygiene?" He teased, giving her a quick hug and stepping back to avoid the mud on her BDUs.
Sam rolled her eyes, before eyeing the seats.
"Sit down," Hammond instructed.
"Sir… with all due respect, I think I'll just stand."
Hammond nodded his agreement and sat down at his usual chair.
"Major, this is Jochen and his symbiote Yalman, and this is Dresda and his symbiote Pernon." Hammond introduced the two Tok'ra seated on the other side of the desk.
Sam eyed them suspiciously. She knew them, she was certain. Maybe Jolinar....
"Sorry I'm late, General, but..."
She spun around, instinctively stepping backwards as Jack O'Neill barged into the room.
He froze, mid step and mid sentence as he caught sight of her.
For one, jarring second they stared at each other, time stretching together so far that Sam felt as though the air was pulled out of her lungs.
"Sit down please, Colonel." Hammond pretended to ignore the looks on their faces. He pretended to ignore the hostility between them. He pretended to ignore the knowledge that the two of them hadn't spoken to each other since that meeting organised by Fraiser and McKenzie. He pretended to ignore that the two of them pretended the other didn't exist.
Carter's mouth pulled into a tight line as O'Neill slunk towards an empty chair out of her line of sight and kept his eyes firmly focused on the floor.
"Now that we're all here..." Jacob started out. "We can get started."
"Started with what?" O'Neill asked suspiciously, frowning in the General's direction.
"A briefing."
"Excuse me?" Sam's voice chorused along perfectly with O'Neill's, the inflection matched to the note.
"A briefing," Hammond repeated, glaring at them both before turning his attention back to Jacob.
I know that this seems insensitive to both of you, but please understand that this is of great of importance. Selmak continued.
"I hate it when the Tok'ra act smooth," O'Neill complained.
Sam kept her face blank and deliberately avoided looking at him.
I understand that both of you - Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter - refuse to discuss the time of your imprisonment.
If the situation hadn't been so serious, Hammond might have laughed as both of them instantly looked at one another and then placed the same blank masks on their faces.
However... the Tok'ra attempt at destroying the Facility where you were imprisoned failed, and the Goa'uld have managed to rebuild it and are once again manufacturing weapons there.
"What's this got to do with us?" No one commented on the strangled sound of Jack's voice.
The Tok'ra intend to launch another attack, and this time completely destroy the facility.
"Oh." Sam swallowed, leaning against the wall. Hammond didn't comment about her unmilitary position, or the mud on the wall.
"I still don't understand what this has to do with us..." O'Neill glared at Hammond.
You were both there for over a year, Colonel. You have intimate knowledge of the mines, the factories... perhaps even of the Goa'uld palace.
And uncomfortable silence settled over them they waited for a response.
O'Neill stood up, his palms firmly planted on the table. "This has nothing to do with me..."
"Colonel," Hammond warned.
"No. It's not 'Colonel' anymore. Remember? As of an hour ago, when you told me. Remember?"
Hammond steeled himself, hating the way he was betraying his friendship with O'Neill and forcing him to do this. "It's not official yet, Colonel. I haven't processed the papers. You are still currently employed by the USAF, and that means this does have everything to do with you."
O'Neill glared at Hammond, and refused to sit.
Sam felt her gaze resting on O'Neill's slumped shoulders, taking in his defiant frame with a sympathetic eye, before catching herself and once again pretending to be a part of the wall.
Major Carter? Damn Tok'ra.
"Yes?" Play innocent.
Do you have this knowledge? No, don't go there. Please don't go there.
"What knowledge?"
Of the factories?
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
The mines?
She shook her head. No, she'd never been sent there- STOP! She clenched her eyes shut, wishing the world to go away.
The Goa'uld palace.
That was the last place she wanted to think about. She didn't want to remember the gold walls, the gaudy decor… the fires... the faces… oh...
"Yes." It was torn from her, an almost sob in the quiet room.
Colonel?
"I know the mines," he whispered hoarsely.
Sam stared at the floor. The floor was blue. Blue. Blue was good... there hadn't been much blue There. No, that had been red, gold, black... brown… it had been dirty. Like her boots. No, worse than her boots.
The bile rose in her throat.
"Oh...excuse me." She choked, ducking out of the room and down the corridor before Hammond had even realised O'Neill had left through the other door.
Jacob remained silent as Selmak retreated, his eyes focused on the door through which his daughter had just disappeared. He closed his eyes.
"I didn't want to do that."
"I know." Hammond swallowed. "I didn't want to either."
"They won't be able to give us the necessary information, not if they become like this every time you bring the subject up," he continued emotionlessly.
Hammond nodded, not even bothering to admit that all other attempts at talking about Genda had proven fruitless.
"You're going to take them with you." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.
There is no other choice. Pernon said gently.
"I know." Hammond sighed. "But... you have to understand that neither of them has even come close to dealing with what happened. On outward appearance, they've got it all covered. Back to a 'relative' normal Sam and Jack. But... it's not going to last long."
Perhaps... Selmak hesitated.
"What?"
Perhaps by helping defeat Genda they might help defeat their own, personal demons at the same time.
Hammond sighed, standing up. "I'll hold onto that hope."
~8~
TO: Joint Chiefs
FROM: Major General George Hammond, USAF
RE: GENDA MISSION
2/15/06
The briefing with the Tok'ra, Colonel Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill and Major Samantha Carter did not go well. Failure by Major Carter and Colonel O'Neill to verbally provide the details required by the Tok'ra has resulted in the Tok'ra requesting the presence of Major Carter and Colonel O'Neill on this mission.
I feel this would not be advisable as Major Carter and Colonel O'Neill are both still trying to overcome the trauma experienced on Genda, as well as both harbouring an intense dislike for one another - possibly due to events on Genda that so far have failed to come to light. Dr. Major Janet Fraiser and I both believe this mission might not only further damage them psychologically, but also Colonel O'Neill's current physical condition.
I strongly recommend denying approval to the Tok'ra request.
Major General George Hammond
* * *
TO: Major General George Hammond, USAF
FROM: Joint Chiefs
RE: GENDA MISSION
3/15/06
JCS has taken advisement into consideration, however, when taking the importance of the Tok'ra/Earth Alliance into consideration, as well as the effect the destruction of Genda would have on the war with the Goa'uld, the JCS has decided to approve the Tok'ra request.
Personal likes and dislikes are to be put aside in the common interest of serving their country.
Both Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter are ordered to accompany the Tok'ra on the Genda Mission, with their primary objective being to provide the Tok'ra with all the knowledge they require that is in the possession of either person. Secondary objective is to procure weapons and blueprints of weapons.
Joint Chiefs
* * *
"General, Sir, I don't think you understand. I will *not* go on a mission with… with… *him*!" Sam yelled, stamping her foot.
"MAJOR CARTER!" Hammond roared.
The woman in front of him suddenly realised how inappropriate her behaviour was and calmed herself. Fractionally.
"General... with all due respect, *Sir*, it was his fault that-" She clamped her mouth shut, eyes widening as she realised what she was dredging up.
"Major?"
"Nothing. Sir," Sam hissed through clenched teeth. "Permission to be excused?"
"No." He shook his head. "Sam..."
"Sir-"
"No. Please, I want to say this." He sighed, sitting down at his desk again. "Please, Major, sit down."
Sam sat obediently. Like a trained monkey.
"I tried to get you out of this, I really did," he started out. "I wrote to the Joint Chiefs, called the President..."
"I know, Sir. It's just..." Sam hesitated. "I've fought so hard to get over it, to beat what that place did to me. And now you're sending me back. My *father* is sending me back," she whispered.
Hammond swallowed. "I know."
"Why?" Sam sighed, sitting upright again. "It... At the beginning, when I wouldn't talk... I didn't believe it was real. That I could finally relax and be happy because I was home. Now… now I've relaxed. It took a while, I know... but I'm happy. I'm on a team again, I've got my job... I'm *happy*. And now it's happening all over again."
"No, it's not."
She looked at him, raising an eyebrow delicately. "I'm going back there."
"To destroy it. You're not going back as a prisoner, Sam, you're going back to put that thing out of business once and for all."
Sam sighed. "Yes, Sir." And small voice in her mind added 'no sir, how high sir?', but she stamped on it viciously. This was her job.
Hammond watched her rise to her feet slowly. "Jacob doesn't want this either, but it's the only way."
She nodded, straightening herself. "I know." A half smile tugged at her lips. "I just don't want to go back."
Hammond let her go.
* * *
You're not even doing anything to help.
You're pathetic.
The words circled, over and over in his head, a cacophony building and building.
Pathetic. Help. Your fault.
It's your fault, Jack. Your fault.
Your gun.
Your fault.
Charlie!
He woke, sweating and his heart rate sky rocketing.
He was getting to old for this. Too old and too sore, he thought dryly as his knee protested.
04:38hours.
Jack sighed, splashing his face with water.
This was his chance, he realised as he gazed into the mirror. This was his chance to put things right. To finally ease the threat hanging over Carter and himself. To do something good for a change. No matter that it threw him into a complete overdrive of fear and denial.
All he wanted to do was run. Run as far away as humanly possible - Asgardly possible even - from Genda.
He shuddered. He hated that word, more than anything else - except the place itself, of course.
The cold water was refreshing, washing the sticky sweat of his nightmares off his body.
He was used to nightmares by now, having experienced more than his fair share of them. That didn't mean they didn't affect him though.
04:41 hours.
Another six hours at least until they were shipped out to the Tok'ra home world. They. Him and Carter. Carter.
He slammed the gates down before he could think about her.
It's your fault.
He opened the tap, letting the cold water run over his hands as he rested on the sink, just staring at the rivulets of liquid.
* * *