Chapter 2

Jack O'Neill, Colonel, United States Air Force, was in a surly mood. It wasn't for any particular reason, either. He just felt surly. He should have been pleased. Major Alan A. Douglas, United States Army, was fitting in just fine with SG1, despite their lack of interaction in the field. The man was as much a brain as Samantha Carter, SG1 Retired, had been. Douglas lacked some parts of Carter's charisma, of course. He was more serious, if that was possible, about the sciences revolving around the Stargate program. He rivaled Daniel Jackson in the bookworm department. There was no doubt about it – the Pentagon had assigned the best of the best in nerds to its coveted space travel program twice in a row.

Douglas was tall in stature, at least an inch above O'Neill. Pale skin was threatening an anemic definition by mere shifts in overhead lighting. He carried himself proudly, though, which O'Neill found comforting. He may have been a nerd, but he knew how the military worked, and he embraced the program from the moment he stepped through the briefing room door to introduce himself to his new commander.

O'Neill was even so inclined to forgive the fact that the Joint Chiefs of Staff had assigned Carter's replacement from the Army. Cross-service cooperation had been increasing in Stargate Command, but this was the first time there had been a mix and match version of a Stargate team. In the end, it mattered little what service was going through the gate. They all held the equal chance of encountering danger, and all understood there was a job to be done.

Life had returned to a seemingly normal pace. No Goa'ulds had threatened to destroy Earth, there were more diplomatic missions being run than ones where teams went in expecting to be shot at by the enemy, and it all came just when some in the SGC felt they were at the breaking point. It felt like a saving grace, coming down to restore the energy of those in the program.

Too bad it wasn't just a little sooner, Jack thought, referring to Carter's departure. She had packed up and transferred so quickly that there was no time to even give an official send-off. She seemed hellbent for election to get out of the SGC and away from the turmoil the gate brought. Dr. Janet Fraiser, Carter's good friend and Chief Medical Officer of the SGC, had even gone so far as to privately hint to him that Sam's behavior was reminiscent of post traumatic stress disorder. It was a great salve to O'Neill's conscience to think there was a label to explain Carter's departure. However, labels had never been his thing, and he was not ready to start pinning them on the best second-in-command the SGC had seen thus far.

The brightly lit and boxy corridors of the SGC's outer walkways were unusually empty for a Wednesday afternoon. All shifts had been ordered to remain at the mountain because of a heavy snowstorm that had hit the night before. The roads were a mess, and there was no use in even considering going home. More snow was on the way, which meant that everyone's stay at Cheyenne would be an extended one as was the policy when travel to and from the facility was made impossible by weather conditions.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard a chorus of shouts from the recreation area. Generally, those not on duty flocked to the recreation area to pass the time. It was there that simple sparring exercises turned to grudge matches and games of logic became matters of pride for each specialty who won.

Normally, O'Neill would have joined them, watching and maybe even participating. His surly mood, however, precluded any enjoyment possibilities for him. He could not shake the emptiness and apprehension he felt that Carter was gone from SG1. He trusted her – they all did – with their lives. She was the one who deciphered the goofy alien technology that might get them all killed if they touched it. Jack was still uncertain that Douglas could fill those very large shoes with his abilities. Since everything had been settling down lately, there had not been any real opportunity to test him in any hot zones.

O'Neill found himself wandering up toward General George Hammond's office, as though on automatic pilot. He felt anxious, as though there was something he should be doing instead of walking corridor after corridor and drinking endless cups of coffee in the commissary. He came to the door of the office and knocked twice.

"Come," came he muffled reply from behind the door.

O'Neill opened the door and walked in with mustered energy, shoving his hands into his pockets after he had closed the door behind him.

"Jack, what can I do for you?" Hammond asked, his voice surprised as he reclined in his chair. He was clearly taken aback by O'Neill's unscheduled visit.

O'Neill eyed Hammond, inherently admiring the older man and two-star general who ran the SGC and the people in it. There was wisdom and even cunning in the eyes of his commander, eyes that had seen the tricks of the trade, both political and military.

Jack rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Just stopping in to say, 'hey', sir," he answered.

Hammond folded his hands across his waist. "You seem a little . . . restless, Colonel," he said, taking notice of O'Neill's fidgeting. "Anything you want to tell me?"

"No, sir," O'Neill answered swiftly. "I would just like to get my team back in the game so I can give Major Douglas a test run. We haven't had a chance to put him through the paces yet, and I'd like to know we can count on him before we get into any combat situations."

It was Hammond's turn to eye O'Neill, and he did so with quiet. Then he said, "Sit down, Jack."

O'Neill stepped forward and uneasily took the chair in front of Hammond's desk. He slouched back in it, realizing his feet were sore from walking the halls so long. He waited patiently for whatever Hammond had to say, getting the irritating feeling that a heavy-handed comment was coming. It was like being in the principal's office sometimes. Jack had to quickly remind himself that he had been the one to knock on Hammond's door.

"I don't need to tell you that SG1 is on stand down for at least three more days by order of Doctor Fraiser."

"Yeah, about that, sir," Jack began in protest before being cut off by Hammond.

"And a stand down means your team doesn't go through the gate."

"Yes, sir, I know, but . . . " he injected, his protest continuing before being cut off once more.

"And during a stand down, the idea is that you get some rest and relaxation before tackling a new assignment."

"Sir," O'Neill complained, "I'm going nuts sitting around here. We all are. Douglas is sweating bullets, Daniel's beginning to drink way too much coffee, and Teal'c's starting to watch daytime soaps. If we don't get out of here soon, sir, we're all going to be doing the MacKenzie shuffle."

Hammond sat watching Jack's wound up reply with a buried grin somewhere on his lips. The problem was that it was hard to tell whether it was an amused grin or an irritated one. "I realize the shift in your team has caused you to have to reevaluate your team, Colonel."

"Shift, sir?" Jack felt a twinge of agitation.

Hammond paused, never taking his eyes off O'Neill. Then he said, "Fine, the fact that Major Carter is no longer with us," he corrected, his tone softening. "I know it hasn't been easy for SG1 to regroup after losing one of its core members."

Jack drummed his fingers against the arms of his chair. "No, sir, it hasn't," he said, probably a little more curtly than he should have.

"Jack, she has every right to leave the program. You're the one who told her it was okay to go."

"Yes, sir, I did," he answered, trying not to grind his teeth.

"You, of all people, know how traumatic experiences can change a person's outlook. Frankly, I'm surprised we haven't seen more of this with the program."

Jack lowered his head and picked at the cushioning on the arm of the chair. "Yes, sir."

There was no use in disagreeing with Hammond. The man was telling the truth, and Jack would have been a fool to argue. Carter had left with O'Neill's blessing. She had told him first, both as a friend and as a subordinate, looking to him for approval. She sought his permission to take a different path in her life, and he had granted it.

"Give Douglas a chance, Colonel. He just might surprise you."

Jack looked up once more. "He has no hair, sir. I mean, he does, but he cuts it all off – like, more than is really necessary. Doesn't that strike you as odd?" he asked, pointing at his own head for emphasis.

"That strikes me as being an Army purist."

"And he's tall. I don't like having to look up at people to talk to them, especially a subordinate."

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean, Colonel."

"And how do we know if he can shoot straight and that he's not going to fold at the first sign of trouble?"

"He's a Ranger, and he's seen combat in the Gulf."

"Well, what about his brains? At least I was sure Carter would admit when she was stumped by something. What if Douglas won't admit it and gets us all blown to hell?"

"If that happens, I doubt you'll be around to worry about it, Colonel."

"What if . . . "

Hammond held up his hand to halt O'Neill's line of questioning. "Jack, as far as the Joint Chiefs and I are concerned, Douglas is here to stay. You'll put him through his training. If he doesn't mesh with your team, we'll replace him until we find someone who does. It's that simple."

O'Neill had no comeback, no return argument. Douglas could be replaced if he didn't work out with the team. Wasn't that the point of this trip to Hammond's office? Jack hesitated, then said, "Yes, sir."

"For now, you are on stand down for three more days. Read a book, clean weapons – I don't care. You're not going through the gate until Dr. Fraiser releases SG1 for duty. During that down time, I suggest you get to know Major Douglas a little better. Your team will benefit from it should you run into trouble."

"Yes, sir," he responded quietly. He stood up and shoved his hands back into his pockets. He turned for the door, then stopped and faced Hammond. "I'll bet his head gets really cold in this kind of weather."

Hammond looked at him, then pointed a commanding finger in the direction of the door. Jack took the cue and left Hammond's office without another word.

He made his way through the briefing room, down the stairs to the control room, and finally into the corridor once more. Taking a right, he decided to take Hammond's advice and get acquainted with Douglas. He silently wagered where he would find the man, and he hit the jackpot as he rounded the corner to Carter's old lab.

O'Neill stood in the doorway, observing an oblivious Douglas as he read over technology reports no doubt left for him by Carter. Like his predecessor, Douglas preferred a darkened room illuminated only by a desk lamp.

Jack leaned against the frame of the door, his hands still in his pockets. "Interesting reading?"

Douglas looked up suddenly from the report, startled at the sound of O'Neill's voice. "Colonel O'Neill, sir," he said, beginning to stand. "I didn't see you come in."

Jack stood straight and shook his head slightly. "Relax. I was just checking to see how the new digs are working out for you."

Douglas sat down again and smiled. He looked around the room. "It's like Disneyland for physicists in here, sir. " He focused on O'Neill again. "It's a little different than sifting through Major Carter's reports. Your perspective changes when you can actually see and touch the technology."

"I'll take your word for it," Jack said. He took the stool opposite Douglas. "So, any concerns or questions? I know you were assigned to my team without a lot of time to prepare."

"Well, sir, before I was assigned here, my main job was to conduct follow-up research on Major Carter's findings. So, for a while, I almost felt like an extension of your team . . . except for the jumping through wormholes part," he added with a careful grin.

O'Neill gave him a sharp look and wagged his finger at the piles of paper on the counter. "Do you actually understand all this stuff?"

Douglas shrugged and glanced down at the stacks. "I understand Major Carter's perspective on it, yes, sir. She's very methodical in her research, and she was very thorough in her notes."

"And what about you?"

"Sir?"

"Are you methodical and thorough?"

Douglas paused, as though running through a list of possible answers and deciding the merit of each one. "I try not to put my fingers in light sockets, if that's what you mean, sir," he answered, keeping his voice even and neutral. He clearly understood the gauntlet O'Neill had just cast.

O'Neill took a deep breath. He wasn't sure what answer he was looking for from Douglas. Maybe he had just heard the right one. All he wanted was to make sure they new guy wasn't going to get the experienced guys killed with stupidity and rash thinking.

Jack stood up and shoved his hands back into his pockets. "Daniel and Teal'c are meeting me in the commissary for dinner. Why don't you come with and get to know the rest of the team?"

Douglas grimaced. "If it's all the same to you, sir, I'd really like to read through as many of these reports as I can before my first mission."

"Methodical and thorough, right?"

Douglas smiled. "More like the light socket thing, sir."

O'Neill gave Douglas' reasoning a brief flash of contemplation. The answer satisfied him for the moment. "Suit yourself, but the offer is there. Meet us there if you change your mind."

"Thank you for the offer, sir," Douglas said with a nod and a pleasant smile.

After leaving Douglas to the reports in the lab, O'Neill made another quick check on the snow situation and to see if there was any remote chance of escaping the mountain by car. To his dismay, Mother Nature was letting Colorado have it with a vengeance. New storms, in fact, were brewing in the north. Forecasters were promising up to a foot more by dawn. Any progress he had made in the way of relaxing about Carter's replacement was negated by the news of more snow and of being trapped with the mountain. If he had to endure a forced R and R, then he would rather be doing it anywhere but in a military facility.

He felt a gnawing feeling about Douglas' refusal of the dinner invitation. Perhaps Jack had just not put enough emphasis on the offer made to SG1's newest member. Either Douglas felt very secure in turning down his commanding officer, or he was a near carbon copy of Carter and her dedication to studying as much as possible before embarking on a mission. O'Neill wasn't so sure the first explanation was so bad. At least it might mean that Douglas had a decent level of confidence. On the other hand, O'Neill weighed, it could be a bad sign that the major might be in a habit of turning down direct orders at crucial moments. There had never been that concern with Carter, for the most part. If she did refuse an order, it had been for a good reason.

None of these issues would have been buzzing around his head if Hammond would have just green lighted SG1 to return to duty. Hammond would have been more inclined to do so if Fraiser hadn't been so overly protective about the gate teams. Jack was all for the safety factor, but the good doctor seemed to think that extended time off was a good thing for a gate team. To Jack, it was unnerving to be sitting around the SGC waiting for something to do. There was a load of work to be done, none of which would happen until SG1 was cleared for duty.

Jack decided to go to the source of his agitation. Making his way back to the main corridor, he took a left and continued on until he found the infirmary. Upon entering, he saw a small bundle of activity centering around the first triage bed in the corner. He ducked inside the room, vacating his doorway position to avoid being slammed into by an x-ray machine.

Across the room on a gurney lay a man in shorts and a tank top. A swollen cut above his left eye had obviously landed him there, where medical personnel were eager for some action. It was no surprise to find Janet Fraiser in the middle of the throng, gloves on, prodding the wound.

Another man Jack hadn't noticed at first emerged from the shadows near the corner of the bed. "Jimmy, I'm really sorry," the second man said, his apology in earnest.

"Nah, it was a good kick. I should have gotten my big head out of the way," the first man argued.

Jack took a sitting position two gurneys down, listening to the apology-counterapology being exchanged. After a moment, Fraiser glanced up, an annoyed expression on her face. She looked directly at Jack, then stepped away from her patient, giving treatment orders as she did so. She moved toward Jack, stripping off her gloves and tossing them into a nearby pail.

"Colonel? Is everything all right?" she asked, a seasoned look of concern in her eyes. It was not Jack's habit to be in the infirmary of his own will, she knew.

"Fine," Jack answered shortly and with agitation.

Fraiser's hands slipped into the pockets of her lab coat.

"Ah!" Jack exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. "Don't do that."

The doctor was startled. "Don't do what?"

"You were reaching for that penlight thing."

Fraiser looked confused. "Is there a reason I should?" she asked, clearly taken aback by Jack's behavior.

"No," he answered in a voice that bordered on a whine. "In fact, I'm feeling pretty invincible right now. Fit as a fiddle. Healthy as a horse," he added for good measure.

Janet stood perplexed. "I'm glad to hear that, sir," she said slowly. "So, what brings you to the infirmary?" Her hands continued to fish around her pockets until one seemed to take hold of something.

"You," he said pointedly, almost childlike.

"I'm afraid I don't follow, Colonel."

"This three day rest thing. We're all ready to go. Daniel's ready. I'm ready. Teal'c's ready," he continued. "We're all ready to go," he declared, setting his hands out before him.

"I see," she said, squaring her shoulders to him. "Unfortunately, I'm not ready to release you to return to duty yet."

"Why the hell not?" he shouted, barely below a yell. Across the room, heads turned at the outburst. He returned the look until they went back to their own work.

Fraiser remained calm. She waited for O'Neill to get an emotional grip, then said, "Colonel, it's my job to make sure the teams going through the gate are healthy. Up until a week ago, you and Daniel were my patients, still under my active care."

"And you did a great job, seriously," he said quickly, trying to bait her with an impatient charm.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "However, flattery will get you nowhere. The day after tomorrow, we'll be running a final set of tests to be sure everything's in order. If all checks out, you'll be on your way the next day."

He sat on the gurney, staring at her, then folded his hands on his lap. He looked at the right pocket of her lab coat that bulged now with the shape of her fist. "You're itching to use that thing, aren't you?"

A tight smile formed on her lips, her eyes squinting as if to contain her urge. "It's taking every bit of self-control I have, yes, sir."

Jack opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. There was no reason to give Fraiser any more ammunition to delay the return to duty. He peered at her for a moment, the thought of responding rising up once more. He pushed it down and hopped off the gurney. "I'm going to go now. Books to read, weapons to clean, dust to watch settle. Exciting stuff."

He turned for the door, stopping when he reached it. He gave a shouldered glance back at Fraiser. "You'll call if you change your mind, right?"

She gave a patronizing smile. "You'll be the first to know, sir."

A brief scowl turned into a pout, then a sigh. Jack exited the infirmary into the bowels of the SGC. If they couldn't go on a mission, at least he and Teal'c could watch their stories.