AN: The final chapter. Tying up loose ends. All the loose ends. All in a pretty bow... okay, clearly I need to go out and socialise.

By the way, the President is not to be taken seriously. Really. I'm hoping no one will get offended by this. I'm not thinking of any particular President either - so no political slant at all.

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 is an original MGM, Greenburg/Anderson, Gekko, Top Secret, Kawoosh! production.
Any material relating to Stargate SG-1 is for entertainment only, and is in no way meant as an infringement on copyrights. In other words, I own nadda.

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Hammond threw aside the file with a sigh and reached up to rub his face. It had been a hard day. SG-9 had come back a delicate shade of purple which, while it entertainingly clashed with their uniforms, had rendered Dr Fraiser speechless with incomprehension. They were all in the infirmary now, looking decidedly alien like. Fraiser had come up with the idea of remaking the beds with darker purple sheets to draw attention away from their colouring, but it was still freaky. She was hopeful their colour would return to normal.

SG-12 had gone on strike, again, because they were getting all the cake runs - Major Clam, the CO, had pointed out that it wasn't fair that SG-1 got all the good missions simply because they were SG-1. He'd become quite tearful, actually, and had nearly stamped his feet. Hopefully, Hammond's solution of giving SG-12 their own locker room had shut them up for their own time, at least until the other teams caught on.

And, to top it all off, General Blake was at it again.

The red phone started ringing and Hammond glanced at the clock. Six o'clock precisely. Just in time for the President's evening chat.

'' Mr President.''

'' George! How's it going?''

Rolling his eyes, Hammond regarded his lamp sternly, trying to repress the urge to hang up. The President was like an overly concerned parent, phoning up the baby-sitter every half hour to check on things. '' Everything is fine, sir.''

'' Fine?''

The disappointment in his voice was immense.

'' Well - SG-9 did come back purple.''

'' Really!''

Humouring the Presidents desire to have his evening filled with wondrous tales, Hammond decided to elaborate slightly, '' with pink spots.''

'' No way!''

'' Yes, sir. Pink spots. All... er... over.''

'' Wow.''

Wow? Hammond thought. What was the world coming too? '' SG-12 complained about favouritism once again.''

The President tut-tutted. '' Man, they're really pissed, aren't they? Don't they understand SG-1 are my favourites too? Have you explained that to them?''

Well, no, but Hammond didn't really want things to get out of hand. Telling SG-12 the reason SG-1 got all the exciting, glossy missions was because the President liked them the best was only going to cause trouble. '' I have, sir. They seem to be momentarily satisfied with their own private locker room.''

'' Oh. Hey, I thought all the SG teams had their own lockers.''

'' Only SG-1 to SG-9. The others just haven't worked it out yet.'' And if that wasn't a ticking bomb then Hammond didn't know what was.

'' And these are our country's finest.'' Hammond could sense the President was shaking his head sadly. '' Such a shame. So... any other gossip?''

Gossip?

Hammond closed his eyes. '' I know for a fact that General Blake from NORAD's been setting me up again.''

The President chuckled. '' Don't tell me. To one with you in the...''

'' Yes,'' Hammond interrupted quickly.

'' Man. That was a great party.''

'' Huh. Noticed you avoided most of the photo opportunities.''

'' What did you expect? My wife would have killed me. They were her finest pair of stockings!''

Grumpily, Hammond picked up his pen, watched the plane slide from one end of the little liquid capsule to the other. Then he tipped it the other way. Present from Colonel O'Neill, of course. For his birthday. Hammond knew from Jacob that Major Carter had bought it for O'Neill to give him, knowing only too well the Colonel would forget for the umpteenth year running. What would that man do without her?

'' What about on the... ugh... classified front?''

Hammond grunted. '' I'm not sure. They've been acting weirdly all week.''

'' What do you mean?''

'' Did you notice anything at the event on Saturday?''

'' Major Carter was sporting a very fetching dress.''

'' Typical of you to have noticed. Sir,'' he added, just in case.

'' I didn't see O'Neill, though.''

'' No, neither did I. Except briefly, at the beginning, which, I imagine, was his tactful way of 'signing in' with me, to prove that he'd actually turned up. Jackson was also notably absent, as was Davis and Simmons. I figure they found a back room and hid there all night. Honestly, it's not like they get out much! Young people these days,'' he muttered disgustedly.

'' A back room, did you say?''

'' Mmm.''

'' Oh.''

The silence on the other end of the phone was worrying. '' Sir?''

'' Well, it's just... I had a meeting in there earlier. With Generals Fox, Gorder, Thomas and Ruperts.''

Hammond brow creased. '' How come you didn't invite me?''

'' Hey! I knew you were busy - you know how are you after SG-1 have had one of their close shaves.''

That was true, but Hammond couldn't help but feeling a little miffed. '' So what was this meeting about then?'' he asked, trying to keep the petulance out of his voice.

'' I was showing them my slides. Of the, um, party.''

'' The ones you e-mailed round?''

'' Yeah, those. But you know how Fox and Gorder are, completely computer illiterate. And Thomas is never at his desk and let's not even go into Ruperts...''

'' Please, let's not.'' Ruperts didn't even know where his office was, let along how to locate and identify a computer. He still thought speed dial was the next best thing to sliced bread.

'' Well... I... kinda... forget to take the slides away with me.''

'' What!!''

'' It was an accident!''

'' You mean there's a distinct possibility that...'' And thinking back to the Monday morning meeting, Hammond felt his face lose all colour. '' Oh my God.''

'' Do you think they did? I mean, I got the slides picked up Sunday morning. But there are a lot of rooms back there..''

'' They saw them.''

'' How do you know?''

'' From the look on Colonel O'Neill's face when he handed over Blake's little piece of entertainment, and from the Monday morning briefing.'' Suddenly, Jackson's 'spanky' slip was making so much sense. And Carter's streaming eyes. And he knew he'd heard laughter the moment he was out of that door.

'' Hammond, I'm so sorry.''

'' Mr President, I'm going to have to go now. I need to do some... covering up.''

'' Sure, sure. I'll leave you too it. Goodbye.''

'' Goodbye, Mr President.''

Hammond hung up the red phone and tapped his fingers against the desk. So, Carter, O'Neill, Jackson, Davis and Simmons had seen the slides of General Blake's Fancy Dress Party. Not good. No wonder Jackson hadn't been able to look him in the eye and he'd known Simmons' coughing fits around him recently weren't allergies, like he claimed.

How was he going to fix this?

Well, first of all, he was going to have to sort out Blake. It was all very well and good Blake running a betting pool up in NORAD over what was going on down in the basement, but posting up indiscreet posters around the SGC where innocent men and women under his command could see them was going a step too far.

So thinking, Hammond pulled his laptop from a desk drawer and quickly booted up. The photographs that the President had sent around to all concerned were easily accessed and he found one with a particularly revealing picture of General Blake in it. Payback was fair, after all. He pasted the photo into an new e-mail and clicked on SEND TO ALL. Off it whizzed to every single mailbox in the mountain, a number in the Pentagon, several in the White House.

Hammond smiled.

Evilly.

Now, as for the five mightily embarrassed SGC personnel. In his mind's eye, he could clearly see O'Neill dithering outside his office on the security screen he kept hidden behind his desk for such occasions. He could see Major Carter trying desperately to stop herself from laughing. And he could see Jackson's embarrassed flush at his Freudian slip. Davis, he'd actually yet to see, which he decided was a mixed blessing but Simmons was always crippled by unstoppable coughing whenever he walked past.

What to do, what to do....

For one thing, he could point out to the lot of them that what he did occasionally (okay, once a year following a large amount of fortifying whisky) for entertainment was nothing to do with them and they shouldn't have been looking at those slides in the first place. Which was all well and good, but it would do little to keep them quiet.

So, what he needed were individual strategies..

To Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter, he could point out that the storage room on level twenty-three did have a security camera with sound (which was far more revealing than the picture, actually) and they weren't being as subtle as they thought they were. He had his own reasons for keeping this particular observation from the President - namely the bet. He had January 2003 (the date he and Colonel O'Neill had provisionally discussed as Major Carter's promotion ceremony and her subsequent transfer to a team of her own) and he damn well wasn't going to let slip that they'd started their relationship a year earlier than he wanted.

Daniel Jackson would do well to be reminded that it was General Hammond who had let him in on the Daniel-itis web page, given him a user name and password. And he would do well to remember that Hammond was keeping quiet on the matter of Jackson copying and selling the video tapes of the SGC gym on the Internet (though, thinking about that, Hammond was getting ten percent of the funds so maybe he ought to think of something else).

Simmons was easy. Hammond would simply remind him that keeping stole parts of Major Carter's uniform in his locker was totally revolting and would have to be stopped at once or he would tell Colonel O'Neill.

Davis... well, Davis was another matter. He supposed... well, he supposed he could promise him the spot on SG-1 once Major Carter was reassigned.

Hmm.

Well, he'd have to think about that one. He wasn't sure the President liked the idea of SG-1 splitting up in the first place, but, honestly, Hammond couldn't handle them playing footsie under the table anymore. It was getting ridiculous.