Title: Deconstructing the General

Rating: R George curses a lot.

Synopsis: This is slightly AU. In the beginning of the series, Maj. General George Hammond was irked with Jack O'Neill when they first met. Some people believe that it was because Hammond was angry that his easy job to retirement had been shot to hell. The truth of matter is simple, really.

For thirty years, George Hammond has held onto a folded piece of yellow paper. In his own handwriting, he requested assistance for four 'Soviet Spies' and there are two dates and times listed. Now thirty years later, with the foretold General stars on his shoulder and Jack O'Neill in front of him, Major General George Hammond is wondering if the four Time Travelers were worth the personal price that George Hammond had to pay.

Per a Reviewer's Comment Have kleenex handy. You might need them. You might not.

WIP


Ignoring the nagging ache of his shoulder, George gathered deadfall as quickly as he could, knowing that their efforts at wood collecting needed to leave as much underbrush undisturbed as possible. A few pieces here and there wouldn't be bad, but last thing he needed was an enemy scout flying overhead to notice an all too likely man made pattern caused by indiscriminate wood gathering. He speculated on what wood would make the best, long running, smokeless hot fire as he didn't recognize any tree beyond what was deciduous and what passed for a conifer in these parts.

Damn it, he was an old desk jockey, an old cowboy who flew planes, not a botanist!

Captain Carter was moving quickly also, and she was still wearing his jacket, as he had blatantly ignored her noticeable attempts to return it. There was a brisk wind from the west, or what past for west on this planet according to his compass and as long as he didn't stop moving, it wasn't too bad.

Just a mild spring day.

Yeah. He was lying, and the temperature was dropping by leaps and bounds.

He came across a babbling brook, and he cautiously edged out toward it. The woods were still quiet, and he hadn't heard a bird or animal since they arrived. There were no evident track marks or markings where an animal had rested in the soft soil while drinking water. It had been years since he had scouted, but he didn't see any bent grass, broken twigs, or displaced pebbles that might suggest animal life.

No scat either.

Fresh, not-so-fresh or petrified.

Deliberately, he overturned a rock, and he mentally sighed a thank you to whomever was keeping their eye out on them when he saw big, plump grubs attempt to burrow into the ground. If Apophis had sent a plague of Biblical proportions fit to punish his enemies, George doubted that the snake head (and how he hoped Jack O'Neill would never learn that George had adopted his favorite term of endearment for the Goa'uld) would have left anything bigger than a microbe among the living.

The snow flakes were falling faster and faster, and the brisk wind was whipping something fierce when he realized that he was shivering from the cold. Not slight shivers, but he was shivering so hard that he was fearful of dropping his wood. Two more last branches were quickly acquired and he found himself in the guardhouse. Captain Carter was putting the last of her wood into the pile, and he nodded his head in approval when he saw how much wood they had.

"That'll last for a few days," he commented. "You want to set up housekeeping or do the fire?"

Waiting for her to give him a snippy comment about setting up the barracks was stereotypical woman's work; he decided to keep the peace.

"Jake must have taken you camping, so you start the fire. I don't want to overdo it with my shoulder. There's a Swedish FireSteel in my vest pocket, if you need it."


She nodded her head and she began placing the wood just so. The General had ripped some blank sheets out of his journal with an unhappy grimace at defiling his journal, and handed it to her for tinder, so along with one of the empty birds' nests of dried grass they had found, and his FireSteel she was able to get the fire started quickly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the General putting a few more of the birds' nests on the table, along with what looked like a couple handfuls of cedar bark.

I'll never again begrudge all those camping trips Dad insisted we take after Mom died. I can make more tinder from the bark by pounding it with a stone so to separate the fibers…, so at least I can pull my weight on this camping trip from hell.

For a moment, memories of her father trying to explain how to start a fire came to her mind. It had been right after her mother had died, and her father had taken Mark and her camping. Once upon a time, the three of them had enjoyed camping… but not after her mom had died. Mark had sulked the entire time and blatantly refused to talk to her father, and… she had to admit… that she had been a little surly also.

It took some time as the wood was wet and the fireplace drafty, but soon the fire was roaring and the room became a little warmer. Hammond wasn't in the room with her, and she walked over to the table.

He had put everything on the table, she thought with a slight smile. Six power bars, including a rather esoteric flavor called blueberry cheesecake, his MRE which the General hadn't eaten at lunch and his canteen among many other items. Her smile widened when she recognized several telltale packages nestled, half-hidden behind the aspirin, water purification pills and anti-diarrhea medication.

Condoms, General?

For water storage, she knew, but still, her mind was giggling at the thought of the stern faced Hammond unwinding enough to actually … make love… to a woman. Yeah, she could imagine him knocking the boots, but doing it in a perfunctory, dutiful, soldierly manner… and when done, asking gruffly,

"Was that good for you, Ma'am?"

Her laughter quickly died as her conscience nagged her and she remembered what she read in his journal, a grieving man's lament to his dead wife…

Our love was like a circle; How I wish I could go 'round one more time with you.


He had pulled everything out of his vest and put it on the table. He had debated putting the condoms on the table, they were better than nothing for storing water which is why he always kept some on him, but he didn't want Jake's daughter thinking he wanted a little action on the side. Yet, if he didn't put them on the table, no doubt when he had to pull them out of his pocket to use them to store water, Jake's daughter would get the wrong idea.

There was only one woman that had ever made him go weak in the knees and hard elsewhere… and she was sleeping in the earth, in a lonely grave in Texas. When he got called home, his body would lie next to hers in the cold earth, but God, how he hoped their souls would meet again.

Born in the Bible Belt, he had been thoroughly raised in the Christian faith, but after reading all the reports about Ra and dealing with Apophis kidnapping his personnel, his faith was a might weak, he was ashamed to admit.

He hadn't stepped foot in a church for a Sunday service since Maggie died. His Bible-thumping, Old Testament quoting father must be spinning in the grave over his prodigal son.

Plus a certain group of Time traveling Military officers had put the first doubts in his soul.

Was everything preordained? Did he truly have no choices in his life? Had God decided that Maggie Hammond had to pay in spades over and over again?

Since everything was apparently inevitable, with no way of escaping the unavoidable, he put the packages of condoms on the table, hiding them behind the aspirin and the water purification tablets.

Carter was having problems starting the fire as the wood was wet, and he bit his tongue, deciding if they were stuck on the planet together, the last thing he needed to do was imply that he had no faith in her ability to start a fire. Instead he grabbed the heavy blankets from where he found them and threw one on the floor, putting the other two on the bed. He'd sleep on the floor, give her the bed.

For good measure, he threw the thermal/exposure blanket on the bed.

The Captain was small boned, though tall. The cold would affect her quicker than it would him what with all his layers. That done, the housekeeping finished far too quickly, he grabbed the few pans he could find, and took them outside. He'd have to hide them, so the sun wouldn't cause the glint of metal to flash, attracting the eyes of the enemy.

The pans were positioned just so, and he caught the faintest whiff of burning wood. No smoke yet was coming out of the chimney so he decided to stay outside for a bit. If the smoke was heavy, and went toward the sky, rather lingering toward the ground, he'd need to make the decision which was more important.

Possibly alerting the enemy or freezing to death.

His mind began to wander…

It had been a bad day and his mood had gone steadily southward until even Hank the Supposedly Fearless was afraid to enter his office, even while waving the white flag of surrender. But now he was home, finally, and maybe, just maybe…if Maggie was awake, he'd get on his knees and beg Maggie to make love tonight.

If she was feeling strong enough.

And if she had any lingering desire for his old, beat up carcass.

He had gotten physically thicker and mentally denser as he had gotten older, his hair had long since long since fled to parts unknown and Maggie… well…she just got more and more beautiful as the years passed.

Couldn't blame her for not being interested in him.

The last time for them had been right before her surgery, and then they couldn't think about it for six weeks and by then the chemo had knocked her for a loop, so it had been a couple months of just kissing, cuddling and hand-holding. Which while quite enjoyable and nice, don't get him wrong, he really missed being intimate with his wife. He had promised that he'd be home early, gotten her hopes up and then reality had completely bombed his good intentions to hell.

She tired easily these days, and more than likely, she'd be asleep in their bed by the time he got home. He'd kiss her goodnight, carefully, so not to wake her, and then he'd sleep on the couch. That way he was close to the phone if the base called, so it wouldn't disrupt her sleep. She rarely slept the complete night, often he found her pacing the night away, and he often walked the long nights away with her, letting her lean on him for support.

To his surprise, Hurricane Julia met him at the door, and handed him a lighter.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Julia. What's this? I don't smoke, Julia," he reminded her.

"Start lighting the candles. There's two dozen or so that need to be lit, dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes…" Julia giggled before scampering… yes… that's the only way to describe her demeanor, scampering to her car.

He looked at her in concern, and then she flashed him a naughty grin and gave him a thumb up gesture.

"Go get her, Tiger!" Julia ordered, before giving him a very credible wild cat purr. "Those roses are beautiful, George!"

The Davises must be on drugs, as they were acting down right weird today.

That was it. That was the only explanation!

So shaking his head, he entered his house, and he realized that there were notes all over place with his name on it. All of them were in Maggie's shaky handwriting, and he opened the first one.

"Think naughty thoughts."

He tried not to laugh, but he knew that he was wearing a rather lecherous smile as he reached for the next note.

"Think naughtier ones"

Up the steps with a jaunty stride, his mind thinking very naughty thoughts, and yes! There was another note on the table next to the landing.

"Go to the couch."

Into the living room, and there was a package with yes, a note. His smile was getting broader he knew… and he quickly open the envelope, tearing it in his haste to read the next love note.

"You have to wear this for dinner."

He opened it, found something silky and rather long fortunately, and he growled… "Maggie…"

Another note fell from somewhere in the robe. He opened it quickly, wanting to savor this, but the anticipation was getting to him.

"I'll be wearing something similar…"

He turned toward the kitchen, and to his surprise, Maggie was standing next to the Shoji screen. The screen was a frivolous purchase he had picked up on his tours abroad and it always moved with him, and it was an exotic background for what she was wearing. She was all made up, wearing cosmetics to give her pale cheeks some color, and she was wearing something long, silky and smooth.

Maggie gave him a shy though naughty smile, and oh dear God, his knees went weak, and certain parts of the anatomy were delighted to prove to one and to all that they were still working at top efficiency.

He held out his hand to her, and when she took it, he led her to the couch. George then sat next to her, devouring the love of his life with his eyes, before caressing her cheek carefully with his trembling hand.

"George… those roses…" Maggie told him softly. "They're beautiful."

"Maggie Mae, I really miss making love with you," he whispered. "It's not that I don't desire you, but I worried that you weren't feeling up to it. I hope we can make love tonight, Maggie. But if you're tired, or not feeling up to it, I'll understand, darling."

"I've yearned for your touch, George," Maggie assured him. "I thought you might not be interested because of this."

She placed her hand over her missing breast, and George knew he had tears in his eyes like a damn fool.

"No," George protested strongly. "Never!"

He kissed her over and over again. First her lips, then her face and then down her neck. Then slowly, deliberately, he untied her robe, and he began placing his kisses purposely southward until he reached that ugly, ugly scar.

"George?" Maggie whispered.

Oh God, she was so terrified of his reaction, so he held onto her hands tightly.

He ignored her, intent on lovingly kissing every inch of that jagged scar and he felt her hands grip his even tighter. When the blemish had been thoroughly kissed, he pulled away from her.

"Maggie? Did you stop wanting me because I was balding by the time I was thirty five?"

Giving him an amused expression that spoke volumes about how well she knew him, Maggie shook her head.

"Thirty actually," Maggie teased.

"Did your desire fade when I got more solid around my middle due to your delicious cooking, girl?" He teased her.

"Just more of you to love," Maggie explained. "More of you to hold onto when you're…calling out my name so soft and sweet in that deep, rumbling voice of yours."

She flashed him a rather wicked smile and he knew he was blushing.

"Did you get repulsed by my wrinkles?" George questioned.

"No, you're still the same red-headed redneck that I loved from the first day I met."

"Then don't doubt me, Maggie," he pleaded. "Please don't. I wish I could do my life over; it's been rough for you, being married to me. All those times apart, while I was overseas or taking those damn classes…You're the most important person in my life, Maggie. You are, don't doubt me. Don't ever doubt my love for you, please. "

Maggie was the most important person in his life. But for that older George, who he hadn't become yet, had knowingly put those four people in a position to profoundly affect his life …

An icy feeling in his gut as he realized what that meant…

Was Maggie Mae gonna die and leave him alone?

After all those years of trying to become a General in order to save those four wayward travelers, would the Older George hand that note to Samantha Carter because it was the only reason he had kept on living after his wife died?

Because he had to do it.

Because no one else could.

Because the price had been paid in blood and in pain, over and over and over again.

Would he hand that note to Samantha Carter knowing full well the hell he had put his wife through and that bitter fact that handing her the note would ensure that he'd always be to blame? That there was no way to escape the simple fact; he had to hurt his wife over and over again, because it had happened, and would happen, world without end?

He kissed Maggie over and over again, and then when George finally came up for air, he wanted to ask his wife again for her forgiveness, but instead he gave her a shaky smile.

"Can dinner be served cold?" He questioned in a very low growl.

Maggie blushed and nodded yes.

Then George kissed her hard, trying to recapture the stamina of the much younger man he had once been, where the first night home from a tour away from his family had consisted of a love making marathon.

He prided himself on never having sex with his wife, no, instead they made love, which was an entirely different thing. Animals fucked, but the intimacy between a man and woman, it was a holy commitment, a promise, the coming together of two souls completely and utterly, physically, spiritually and mentally.

"My toes curled," Maggie admitted when they finally broke apart.

He swooped her off her feet, carried her into the kitchen where Maggie turned off the oven, and then he carried her up the steps to their bedroom, trying not to acknowledge how frail Maggie was, how much weight she had lost, instead he was focused only on loving her to the best of her ability for however long they had together.

It had to be enough.

It would be enough.

Wouldn't it?


He took his time, massaging her gently, making sure there was a lot of kissing and copious amounts of foreplay. To his delighted pride, Maggie fell asleep in his arms after one hell of a good… no…a five alarm fire of an outstanding time.

Carefully so not to jar her, he reached for his phone, his long arm questing for his phone. He managed to grab it, and carefully he dialed Hank's phone. The phone rang, and George hoped that Hank wasn't getting lucky tonight. He'd hate to interrupt Hank.

"Landry," Hank announced easily.

Hank wasn't out of breath, there wasn't any female laughter in the background – no instead, it sounded like a football game, so George was glad he didn't interrupt anything.

"Hammond," George drawled. "I'm playing hooky tomorrow morning. I'll be in at thirteen hundred. Think you can keep the Free World safe until I get in?"

"I'll tell Saddam Hussein that he has to take tomorrow off," Hank laughed.

"Excellent," George drawled. "Thanks, Hank. I owe you one."

"No, you don't, George. No, you don't."

He put the phone down, and he sighed when he realized that Maggie was awake.

"You're playing hooky tomorrow morning? What will General Hammond say?" Maggie teased.

"He'll be envious…" he teased before he began kissing her again.


Arriving slightly before thirteen hundred he noticed that there was a taste of tension in the air. Everyone was standing a little straighter, and looking about nervously as though waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Sgt?" He stepped in front of a harried looking Sgt. Siler.

"It's General McPeak, Sir. He stopped by unannounced," Siler explained. "He pulled Colonel Landry into your office and that was several hours ago."

Shit. Why didn't anyone call me? George thought. Merrill "Tony" McPeak, Air Force Chief of Staff stopping by unannounced wasn't a good thing. The fact that nobody called him wasn't a promising sign either.

He walked into his office, and he caught Landry on the way off. His 2IC's bushy, expressive eyebrows were downcast. Hank's big, bushy caterpillars of eyebrows appeared distinctly dejected.

Shit, those damn things should be classified as intelligent life forms.

You could tell how Hank was doing just by looking at his eyebrows; much like a look at a dog's tail would let you know how it was feeling. And he could tell Hank felt pretty guilty about something.

"You should have called me," he hissed.

"General," Hank explained softly. "Please… let me explain."

"General, I asked the Colonel not to call you. Colonel, you're dismissed. General, if you could come into your office please?" General McPeak, USAF Chief of Staff requested… ordered.

George walked into his office, then sat down in a chair on the wrong side of his desk after McPeak's casual gesture to take a seat.

"Sir…" George explained.

"Don't blame Hank, George. I asked where you were, and he told me that you were with your wife. I told him not to call you. I'm not here to reprimand you, George, so get that look off your face. I wanted to ask Hank a few questions, plus I want to talk to you. How do you like Europe? You're fluent in German, correct?"

George's heart sank.

The Powers that Be were thinking it was time to transfer him.

To Spangdahlem Air Base or maybe Ramstein, if they knew he was fluent in German. If he got Ramstein, he'd be assured of that second star, probably a third within a few years' time. Then maybe he'd find himself in McPeak's position in a few years.

Damn it, had he been here that long? Yes, it was working on three years he'd been on the base, managing to turn it around into a first class operation. Three years in one place…which was a lifetime in a career like his.

"Sir?" George questioned softly. "Permission to speak freely?"

Tony gave him a long look and then rolled his eyes.

"Permission to spill your guts, George. It's obvious you have something to say," Tony answered.

"Maggie's …. Ill…," George explained, knowing his voice was shaking, and those damn tears, he couldn't and wouldn't shed in front of Maggie, were in his eyes.

"I thought she was getting treatment for the cancer, George. I know she's sick, but from what I was told, they had high hopes for a cure."

"Don't make me move her, please," George whispered. "It's not good… it's only a matter of time, Tony. It's spreading, Tony. It's like wildfire, Tony."

He stopped, wiped his eyes, and cursed himself for showing his weakness to Tony.

"It's spreading like wildfire," he said softly. "Don't make me tell her that we're moving again, Tony. Her doctors are here, her support is here; don't make me take her overseas, please. Our family's close enough to be able to visit…I have taken every assignment without a qualm. I've moved my family so many times over the years… Tony… she's dying…Please… I just can't ask her to move… not now…"

His voice broke, and he knew that he was about to weep.

Finally, he had admitted it to himself that Maggie wasn't going to get better, that the treatments were only delaying the inevitable, and that all those promises he had vowed to Maggie over the years were ash and cinder in his mouth as there was no way in hell he could fulfill any of them.

Not with such little time remaining.

All those promises he had glibly pledged.

We'll have that big house, Maggie. We'll settle down, live near our daughters, close but not too close….so they can have their lives without worrying about us getting too involved, but close enough that we can babysit the girls….

"Please…" George almost failed to recognize his own voice. He was actually pleading… no… begging… his case with General McPeak? "Let her die here, in Texas. Not in Germany, please. Don't make me tell her that she's got to move again…It's only gonna be a few months, Tony…Please, I just can't do that to her… I can't…Let me retire instead."

McPeak stared at him for a bit and then shook his head.

"If I didn't know better, I'd swear you and Landry rehearsed your refusals. Landry wanted a few months here also. Landry said it wouldn't be right to make you train a new second with everything happening in your personal life." McPeak stood up and nodded his head. "He didn't want to be promoted, George."

"This has been an unusual day, George. I've been refused twice. People aren't in the habit of refusing my requests, yet today, not once, but twice, people have told me, "No, Sir", and have had damn good reasons for refusing. It's a unique sensation to be rejected, especially in my position, George, one that I'll have to savor for a bit. It'll keep me humble. I'm also not letting you retire, as it's refreshing to find someone that has made it to your rank and still commands loyalty among his subordinates. We need you in the USAF, George, and we're not letting you get out that easily."

McPeak had left soon afterwards, and George had ordered Landry into his office. His 2IC's eyebrows were bristling, which meant Landry was feeling his oats.

"Don't ruin your career for me," George insisted.

"I'm doing it for your wife," Landry explained. "For Hanh Phuc also. For all the times I put my career first…I'm an old dog, George… but I've finally learned a new trick. It's too late for me, but maybe... it'll be enough for you and your wife."

George nodded his head and dismissed Hank.

Hanh Phuc.

A South Vietnamese girl, who had captured Landry's heart, bore his daughter and then had decided one day that she could no longer allow herself to be treated as second best.

Hanh Phuc…that was a name that he hadn't thought of in years, George thought. His daydreaming finished, he realized that the smell of smoke was stronger, and the sky was getting dark. The snow was coming down heavier, and he quickly combined the snow in the pans into one of the smaller ones to give him a ready excuse for why he had been out in the snow for so long.

"Maggie, why are you haunting me?" George whispered. "I thought I made my peace with this so long ago. Ever since those four came back into my life, the wound that your death caused, it's been ripped open."

Wiping his eyes, and hoping that Captain Carter would think that that his eyes were wet due to the snow and that the next memory wouldn't surface… but he knew… he knew that the next memory would be the hardest one to face. He went into the guard house, ignored Samantha Carter's questioning look and place the snow filled pan next to the fire.

"Should be safe to drink," he mumbled. "What do we have inventory wise?"

Samantha Carter began rattling off the various items that hopefully would ensure their survival. He wasn't listening, instead… he was remembering the worst day of his life.

Maggie was lying in their bed, so still and so quiet. Her strong, magnificent heart kept beating, too stubborn to give up, but her soul… her soul was gone. The cancer had slipped into every nook and cranny that was Maggie and her soul had fled toward the light.

All that was left was the physical shell of the woman he had loved since he was fifteen.

Jocelyn and Millie had arrived to say their final goodbyes, with husbands and babies in tow. Kayla hadn't been brought in to see her Grandmom as she was too young to understand what was happening and Tessa was young enough to still nurse. The girls had left the room, leaving him with the Hospice Nurse and Maggie. The hospice nurse gave him a long look, apparently it was supposed to pass for a comforting look or some shit like that.

"George, they say that hearing is the last sense to go," the nurse explained to him.

"I've heard that said," he answered slowly.

"George, why don't you talk to Maggie and let her know that it's ok to go," the nurse suggested.

"I don't want her to go," he protested in a soft whisper. "I know that there's nothing that can be done, and that it would be a blessing if she should pass, but I can't tell her that it's ok to go just yet. I need to talk to her alone, and then…I'll tell her to go. Will you leave us alone? "

The nurse nodded her head, and George waited until the nurse was gone. Then he got onto to the bed with his comatose wife, and he rolled closer to her, so he could whisper into her right ear. With his left hand, he stroked her face for what he knew would be the last time.

"Darling, it's me, George. Ignore the lights for just a little more, darling. You can go to them, but not just yet. I need to tell you something. It's a secret that I've been keeping from you all these years… I never had an affair or nothing like that, Maggie, so don't you fret, as you are the only woman for me, it's just I made a promise to four people and I told them that I'd never tell a living soul what it was, but I need to tell you what I did, and to beg your forgiveness. I think they'd understand why I had to break my word to them."

"Once upon a time, a long, long time ago… back in August 1969, it was a few weeks after Josh had his first heart attack, I met four people…who claimed to know me from the future, and in their hands, they had a note in my handwriting that I have not yet written asking me to help them…and one of them was Jacob and Viviane Carter's daughter, who was all grown up… "

He told her the entire story, and how he was full of guilt and doubts about whether or not the four of them were worth the cost that she had been forced to pay.

"But I had to do it, Maggie, I had to buck for that damn star, because I was destined to do it, and I had to make sure that it came true…but I'd take back all those damn classes, all those overseas tours, just to have you here with me for just a few more minutes."

"I don't know what I'm gonna do without you with me, Mags," George confessed softly. "I just don't know. But… Maggie… do you hear your Mamma calling for you? She wants to see you again, so… you go to her… ya hear?"

"I love you, Margaret," George whispered to his unconscious wife. "I will always love you, and no one else."

Then he sat up, cradling her frail body in his arms, so when she died, her spirit would know that he had held her at their bitter parting. His blue eyes were full of unshed tears, and he kept stroking the soft peach fuzz on her scalp. Her eyes opened, and she looked at him. Honestly, she really looked at him, though he knew it wasn't possible, and she gave him a weak smile. She licked her lips slowly.

"Maggie?" George questioned. "Maggie, darling, did you hear me?"

Her head nodded once, slowly.

"… love… you…" she mouthed before she closed her eyes.

"Do you forgive me? Please?" He whispered.

The slightest smile was his only response.

He was gonna weep, he knew it, but he had to be strong at the end.

"Go to the light, darling. Be free, you fought a good fight, but go to your Mamma now. It's late, dear, you go find your Mamma and go to sleep, dear," George whispered. "Fly away dear, it's time for you to fly away."

His voice cracking, he tried to sing the lullaby he had always sung to their girls about a silly little girl from Texas named Maggie Mae who had lassoed a bull and rode a mustang. He sang until his voice broke, and then continued singing anyway. Maggie's breathing slowed and then stilled, and he continued humming.

For a moment, George would have sworn that he felt her soul touch his, but…then she was gone, leaving him nothing but memories of happier times and an aching hole in his heart..

He cursed the four time travelers, wishing that he had never met them, damning them for that the onerous responsibility that had kept him in the military for all these years, all those tours where he was apart from his wife for so damn long.

"I hate you, Samantha Carter. I hate you, I hate your friends, and I will make you pay when we finally meet again," he growled. "So help me God. You will pay."

He knew he was angry, and he was saying stuff he'd probably regret later. But for now, he meant every damn word. Then he broke into soul ripping, heart shredding tears as he held his dead wife in his arms.

His main reason for living was gone, and in her place, there was only a yellow sheet of paper with two dates and times and a request for him to help four strangers.


The General wasn't listening to her while she was rattling off their rather miniscule inventory. His physical body was there, sitting across from her in a wooden chair, but his mind was elsewhere, no doubt wishing he was anywhere but here with Jake Carter's little girl. He seemed to be focused on his hands, as he was rubbing them in a feeble attempt to warm them.

Why had the General gone outside and stayed out for so long? Especially since he had left his black knitted hat in the pile on the table. Upon his return to "Home Sweet Home", Hammond had grabbed it immediately, replaced his patrol cap with it, and then had pulled it down to cover his ears.

"… and three sticks of dynamite," she added for good measure, determined to see if he was actually paying attention to her or just ignoring her. "The fire's not burning hot enough, so I figure if I put two sticks into the fireplace, the room will warm up."

That earned a blink of his eyes, and the General looked at her, really looked at her for the longest time, and there were all too familiar emotions in his eyes that she couldn't name, but whatever the sentiments were, his blue eyes were touched with bitterness and pain. For some unexplained reason, she knew that George Hammond viewed her as the responsible party.

And it wasn't because he was on another planet with no way home.

No… the pain was far too edgy and sharp. Her father had the same look in his eyes for so long after her mother had died, especially when he had looked at her.

Haunted.

Yes.

That was the only word she could use to describe that look, but the word was so inadequate, as it failed to convey the depth of pain in his eyes.

"I'd suggest standing back before you throw the dynamite on the fire," he stated dryly. "If you've finished your attempt at being funny, our lives depend on the inventory that we have. If you'll begin again, Captain."


Jack O'Neill was not having a good day.

First, General Hammond had decided that he wanted to have an off-world picnic.

Then they had gotten in the middle of a war, got shot at, and then when they finally got home, they were missing General Hammond and Captain Carter. Hammond could probably take care of himself; O'Neill had to grudgingly admit, as the Ole Man had muttered not a single word of complaint on their twenty mile hike. Carter on the other hand, well, he was her CO and he should have been the one left behind with Hammond.

No instead, George Hammond, the Ole Man of the Mountain, had witnessed Carter's fall, had acted faster than O'Neill thought possible, and had tried to help Carter through the gate, while O'Neill had to watch.

Ok, that was the really annoying part.

The Ole Man of the Mountain, who should have been EXHAUSTED, had kept a better eye on his team than he had.

And now, the two of them were missing.

Mike Ryan was en route to the Mountain, and bring Samantha Carter's father along for the ride. Apparently Major General Jacob Carter had a bit of a temper, and by hook or by crook had managed to get invited to their tea party. Great, just what Jack needed! A General and a worried father wrapped up in neatly pressed Air Force Blues breathing down Jack's neck!

Ferretti and Davis had returned from General Hammond's daughter's house in a subdued mood. From what he had gathered, the family had not taken the news well… but what family ever did?

He should have been there, should have been the one telling Hammond's family that everything was being done to rescue George, but no… he had more important responsibilities.

He had to arrest Teal'c.

Sorry.

Put him in protective custody.

Putting Teal'c in "protective custody" had been surprisingly hard, especially since Teal'c had greeted the news with an almost expectant nonchalance. He had entered Teal'c's quarters alone, with two armed guards standing outside in the hallway. God protected fools, he knew, and what he was doing, alone, some would consider quite stupid.

"T," O'Neill said. "My government has some concerns about your role in General Hammond's…"

He couldn't say death… disappearance wasn't quite the word he was looking for, and while he was trying to explain, Teal'c stood up and held out his hands, silently agreeing to be handcuffed.

"Your government's concerns are understandable. General Hammond's knowledge and experience of this world's defenses would prove invaluable to Apophis."

"Teal'c, I know you didn't con us," O'Neill inserted. "For now, stay in the room. I have two guards placed outside your door. If you can think of anyway to help, please tell them. General Ryan should be here shortly, so he'll want to meet with you."

That done, he returned to the GateRoom where Siler was having a rather heated discussion with Bill Lee and some jerk named Rodney, who claimed to be a bigger expert on the gate than Carter was.

"He's a bigger…." Davis muttered softly. The Chevron Guy looked uncomfortable when he realized Jack O'Neill was listening.

"That's ok, the bigger the ass, the harder we can kick it!" O'Neill stated cheerfully.


General Carter was reviewing the documents before him in the plane. Thanks to being one of the most annoying, tactless, reckless, demanding SOB ever born, (as per Mike Ryan) he had managed to get his security clearance upgraded to get more information on George and Samantha's situation.

"Another planet," he channeled his disbelief into a questioning tone. "George and Sammy were on another planet?

"Yes," Ryan assured him. "We're not sure if they're alive."

"George will get Sammy home," Jake insisted. The Major General rubbed his head, annoyed that when his daughter needed him most, he was run down with a fever, aches and swollen lymph nodes. "I'm a little tired, so I'll take a cat nap, as we've got another hour before we land. But Mike, this O'Neill person? You trust him?"

"George has… concerns…." Ryan admitted slowly. As much as it would be easier to lie to Jacob, he couldn't. "Says O'Neill is a bit of a loose cannon, and he needs to be watched carefully."

"That's not what I wanted to hear," Jake admitted. "But if anyone can get Sammy home, it'll be George."


The sparse inventory was counted three times, stockpiled and neatly arranged. The uneasy silence between the two of them grew, and then Hammond spoke. Sam jumped in surprise at the sound of the CO's voice, her nerves stretched thin by the increasing howl of the wind and the situation in which she found herself.

"We'll assume that the problem with the gate is on Earth's side. We'll try connecting with Earth every 6 hours. You should turn your radio off to converse the battery," Hammond announced in his non-nonsense voice.

"Yes, Sir," Sam agreed. "It's a little chilly in here."

"It's an old building, and not in the best of shape. I've barred the doors, so nobody should get in. I'll take first watch, you get some sleep." Hammond suggested. "I'll work on turning the bark into tinder. We'll need to find more if the weather's stays like this."

The General sat down in the chair in front of the table. He put his gun within easy reach on the table, and he took his knife and began shredding the bark carefully.

"I'll wake you in four hours," he decided. "Get some sleep, Captain."

She agreed, and she gratefully crawled into the bed. It was lumpy, it was uncomfortable, and it smelled rather… funky…but at least, it was warm. Barely managing to pull the covers over her, she was soon in a deep sleep.


The pile of tinder grew exponentially, and soon, he had finished that chore. Glancing at his watch, he estimated that he had another forty minutes of on-duty time, so he took out his journal and began sketching. Not a fit night out for man nor beast, he believed that the guard duty was unnecessary, but better be safe than sorry because it would be just his luck for a Seti Yeti to show up for hot tea and a Powerbar, bearing a housewarming gift.

His stomach growled, reminding him it had been quite some time since he had eaten last, but he ignored it. Tomorrow morning, he and the Captain would split his uneaten MRE for their daily meal.

Naturally, Maggie was what he tried to draw. All these years, he'd just have to close his eyes, think of her, and images would practically draw themselves.

Maggie, her long hair undone, proudly holding a newborn Jocelyn… but the images wouldn't come.

That soft sweet seductive smile, as she took him by the hand and turned a scared boy into a man.

Dear, dear Maggie, having enough self-confidence to guide him through what she liked and what she thought that she'd like and leave his teenage pride intact.

Maggie, grinning victoriously, while she had pelted him with snowballs. She had dumped a whole lot of snow down the collar of his jacket for good measure, and he had gotten even by picking her up and throwing her into a snow bank even while Jocelyn giggled and laughed at her silly parents.

He was getting colder, and he gave up his drawings as a lost cause. Instead, he threw more wood on the fire, and watched the flames for a bit. The time to wake Captain Carter drew closer and then passed, and he let her sleep. The snow was still falling, and the winds had picked up substantially. They weren't going anywhere, not in that blizzard.

He picked up his blanket, and wrapped it around himself.

Unbidden, a thought came to his mind…

What if he already changed history and Samantha Carter would die on his godforsaken planet?

What if it all had been for naught?