Title: Deconstructing the General

Rating: R George curses a lot.

Synopsis: 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.

This started out slightly AU, but went completely off the Cannon tracks a while ago. The delay in this chapter is because two characters in this chapter did something that I didn't want them to do. I argued, I pleaded and I tried to bribe them into behaving, but the muses wouldn't have it any other way. The the characters refused to play until I gave them what they wanted.

We start this chapter where we left George and Samantha in the previous chapter. The snow is falling; our couple is having a little rendezvous in front of a roaring fireplace in a snug little chateau. They're having hot drinks and a romantic meal… consisting of a power bar and hot, weak tea by the flickering light of a flashlight.

It's a darn shame that they're not in Aspen, but instead the two of them are stuck on another planet with no way home.

Meanwhile the SGC has managed to ascertain that a recent communication to their facility was in fact the two missing travelers.

Note: The reference for the Bill Lee comment on the Heisenberg Compensator is w-i-k-i-p-e-d-i-a. I can't list the URL as it screws up the story formatting. Sorry!

Poem quoted by one of the characters is a slightly modified version of "Dead Woman" by Pablo Neruda.


WIP

It was another exciting meal of a power bar. Hammond had given an entire one to her to attempt to choke down, and then he had offered her one of her chocolate bars broken in half. Wanting the chocolate as she was starving but knowing that they needed to conserve their food, she weakly protested.

"Sir shouldn't we…" Samantha began questioning.

"Samantha, I can't hear you," he snapped.

Shit. He wanted her to call him GEORGE.

"Shouldn't we be conserving the food, George?" Samantha asked.

"We're running out of fuel, Samantha, and the snow's still falling. We need to break the chairs and the table down. Might be good to break the bedframe down also. We'll need the energy. Put the mattress in front of the fire, and hope for the best," George said in his usual straightforward manner.


Sgt. Siler rolled his eyes, even while Rodney McKay was taking credit for all his hard work. Such was the life of a career NCO in the USAF. Day in, day out, he went about his business, methodically putting together the high falootin', plainly ignoring the reality of physics, unworkable plans of his higher ups and somehow making them work.

No one ever said, "Great job, Sparky!" No, when this was over, everyone would probably nominate McKay for the Nobel Prize.

"This part!" McKay exclaimed while he dramatically pointed at a diagram of the Stargate that was on the table.

Two Generals, one Colonel, one linguist, a space alien by the name of Teal'c all peered at the small part. Bill Lee tried to see but he was blocked by several shoulders. He grimaced in frustration.

"Your finger's covering it," snapped General Ryan, who on that auspicious day when he had been promoted to Chief of Staff of the United States Air Force, had never thought that he'd be involved with a rescue mission for a General stuck off world.

"Oh, you're right," McKay admitted with an embarassed grimance, as he moved his index finger off the part.

"It got fried during the power surge," Siler inserted, as he felt it was long past time to get to the point of this entire meeting. "We're rebuilding the part now."

"What does the part do?" Ryan asked.

"It's responsible for the orderly dematerialization and rematerialization at a molecular level," McKay explained to the crowd.

"Like the Heisenberg compensator?" Bill Lee questioned. "That would explain why General's Hammond's dog tag was bent when it came through the gate."

"Heisenberg compensator?" Jacob Carter spat, who annoyance was quite understandable considering he was rapidly losing faith in both Bill Lee and Rodney McKay. "You two actually possess doctorates? Or are you just card carrying members of the Geeks' Club for Trekkies?"

"No, General. We just nicknamed the part that as the part seems to be a literal Hesinberb compensator," Siler inserted quickly.

"Thank God, George has someone with a clue working for him," Jake Carter snapped.

Bill Lee nodded his head and explained, "The idea is that such compensators could use the principle of quantum entanglement to entangle particles in a small block of experimental matter with those in the subject. A set of measurements would then allow you to calculate with certainty both the position and vector velocity of the particles in the subject. However, that set of measurements would be valid only for a Planck time, and due to quantum mechanics, you can only calculate out so far with certainty where the particle will be. This contributes to pattern degradation, as the randomness inserted into the system by quantum mechanics will quickly overcome the computer's ability to maintain a reasonable approximation of the internal physics of the matter stream."

Bill Lee realized quickly that he had lost his audience.

"In Star Trek, The Motion Picture, Commander Sonak and Admiral Lori Ciana when they beamed over the Enterprise, they…" Bill explained slowly, before pausing when he realized that perhaps he best not finish his example in front of a concerned father and two star General.

"Turned into a big puddle of ooze," Jack interrupted helpfully.

Jake Carter sat down in a chair, so quickly it was almost a physical collapse. He rubbed his aching head with one hand, and his shoulders were slumped as though weighed down by an impossible weight.

"So right now, if they gate in," Carter said in a very quiet voice, though his voice echoed in all too-quiet room. "They'll end up like George's dog tags. But they won't gate in unless they get an All Clear from us, hopefully. We need to contact them somehow and advise them that we know that they'll alive and what's going on here. When can we at least get a radio transmission through to them?"

"A few more hours," Siler inserted before Rodney was able to open his mouth.

"Funny, are you in charge here?" Rodney quipped. "Thought I was."

Mike Ryan cleared his throat, and everyone turned to look at him. The General was nonchalantly scratching one of his stars on his dress blues.

"Actually, I'm in charge here," he reminded McKay. "Do I need to keep reminding you?"


The two chairs broke easily, as did the table, but the damn bed frame, that was going to be a problem, Samantha quickly realized. The slats were old, and Hammond was able to crack 'em by applying enough pressure to them so they'd bend and break. The wooden cabinet doors were hard to get off their hinges but before long, Samantha had them in the all too small pile of firewood.

She returned to the main room to find Hammond shaking his head. The bed was in pieces around him, and he had just finished dragging one of the larger pieces closer to the fireplace.

"It was almost a damn shame to break this bed apart, as whoever made it was rather talented," George explained. "They mortised the beam and made a joint…"

He trailed off and grimaced.

"You don't know what I'm talking about do you? Trust me, I've help build a barn or two when I was younger, and the mortise and tenon work on this was pretty secure."

"You've built a barn?" Samantha questioned.

"Yes," Hammond said simply, as though it was an every day occurrence.

'I built a barn or two when I was younger.' I wonder what else you've done in your life. You know my father and I keep realizing that I really don't know a damn thing about you.

"I don't think that will fit in the fireplace," Samantha informed George.

"I know, that's why it's the wood of last resort," George replied. He nodded his head, then he stuffed his chilly hands into his pockets in a feeble attempt to warm them. "I know you're getting out of here, Samantha. It looks dark right now, but you will get out of here."

Samantha laughed, and shook her head, "That blond haired, blue eyed gypsy of yours predict it?"

For a moment, she wasn't sure that he was actually going to answer her, as it appeared her off-the-cuff comment had affected him deeply. Then he nodded his head.

"You'll get out of here, Samantha. I know that you will," George promised. "Now, if for any reason, I don't make it out of here…"

"Sir!" Samantha protested for the General seemed… fey, as though that much talked about gypsy had in fact warned him that he was doomed to die on this mission.

"George," he reminded her. "This is an order, Samantha. You are not to interrupt me. If for any reason, I don't make it off this planet, make sure my oldest daughter gets my journal. I want her to have my wedding ring, and you… are to assure her… that my death was a good death. No pain, no regrets and that I died happy, because I'm meeting Maggie again…"

He turned away from her and started playing with the fire. It was obvious that George needed a moment or two to compose his emotions. Samantha let him have a few minutes to calm down, and for some reason, her instincts were nudging her. Maggie Hammond was the key to understanding George but she needed to pry gently.

"Maggie was your wife?" Samantha questioned, though she knew the answer.

"She wasn't just my wife…"

George's voice was raw with grief and pain, and Samantha was amazed once again, by how much grief the stoic Hammond still felt.

"She was my heart, my soul, my moral compass, and she was by far, my better half."

"How did she die?" Samantha asked, trying to keep George talking.

"Breast Cancer. It was a small little lump, the surgeons thought they got every bit of it out when they did the mastectomy," the older man explained softly. It was obvious to Samantha that George was a million light years away as he was reliving the diagnosis. "We had little more than nine months together after they confirmed the diagnosis. She fought… hard…"

The General sighed, and his voice was shaky.

"Maggie fought the good fight… she battled so damn hard…We thought she'd beat it. But those damn little cancer cells, they multiplied like wildfire. There were squadrons of them and that damn cancer, it fucking mets everywhere. Her liver, her lungs… her spine…"

George looked at her; his icy blue eyes were full of unshed tears.

"It was a blessing… for her when she passed. That sounds so… cold… doesn't it? Maybe cold isn't the right word, not when we're trapped on this frozen, snowy Shangri La? Maybe aloof or distant… or uncaring… is the better word, Samantha."

The General stretched for a moment, loudly popping his back.

"It's almost time for this tired old man to get some sleep."


"Let's dial the gate address," Ryan ordered. "Have a medical team on standby, two teams ready to go if they need to be extracted. But the MALP goes through first, and that's only if we can get a confirmed radio contact with them."

O'Neill was dressed, ready to go extricate his people. Daniel Jackson had slipped into BDUs and had been quickly ordered to remain behind by Ryan unless otherwise commanded otherwise. And whatever Jacob Carter and Teal'c had conversed about, the Major General had nodded his head in approval when Ryan questioned Carter's father about Teal'c being one of the first to be suited up and ready to assist in getting Hammond and Carter the hell out of where ever they had been.

That is, if they were allowed to leave the Gateroom. The geeks had majiked up a doo-hickie and even though they couldn't promise that they'd be able to do more than talk to their personnel, everyone had immediately suited up and headed toward the Gateroom.

He could see Danny up in the control room, his mouth moving as he counted the chevrons even as Sgt. Davis encoded them. Everywhere he looked, the SGC Personnel were counting the chevrons as they lit up. The Gate was shaking, no more than its norm, and Jack had to bite back a laugh. Maybe Hammond would get the funding to get the super duper shock absorbers he had requested afterall. He had put the request in after one too many cups of tea had ended on the floor after making their way across the table due to the vibrations caused by the Gate.

Yeah, that's it. Think positive. Hammond would be coming back and soon, no doubt ready to fucking kill him because it was Jack O'Neill's fault that he was trapped off world.

Was Davis pausing? No, even Davis was staring intently at the Gate.

Seven.

Locked.

The Wormhole opened and you could feel the spirits of everyone in the Gateroom pick up. You never left anyone behind, and the entire SGC from the lowest of the low up to Jack O'Neill had blamed themselves for the fact that they had two personnel stuck off world.

But now, it was time to get them home.

"George, it's Mike. Come in please," Ryan announced slowly and clearly into the microphone.

He paused for a moment, and then continued.

"George. Please respond."

He stopped keying the mike and glanced at Jacob Carter. With a quick nod, he allowed Samantha's father to take over.

"Sam. Come in please," Jake's voice was composed though Mike personally thought Carter looked like he had been thrown under the bus and dragged for miles.

Jake took his hand off the mike and waited for the response.

You could almost hear a pin drop while everyone waited for a response.

"DAD?" came the response in a female voice.

"JACOB?" A male voice. "What the hell are you doing on my base?"


Hammond was feeling dangerously elated. The SGC had managed to contact them through the radio, and the SGC was now sending a MALP through the Gate. Thank God, they were finally getting off this godforsaken planet. If they could get the MALP through the Gate and then back to the SGC, they could go home!

Savagely, he crushed his elation, knowing that elated troops meant stupid stunts, which meant unacceptable risks, which meant dead troops. He made Samantha assist him as he put more wood on the fire, placed a pan of snow next to the fireplace to boil, and the two of them put the blankets closer to the fire. Samantha didn't question him on why he was being the galaxy's worst pessimist, but it was better to be safe and prepared, then sorry.

But he wasn't taking anything off to change into if he got wet as it was colder than a mother-in-law's cold heart out there.

Actually Maggie's mum, Milagros had possessed the warmest of hearts toward her son-in-law; it was just Dead Eyed Papa Juan with his gats that had taken a mighty long while to warm up to George the Gringo who had deflowered his daughter in her bed that one fateful summer night.

"Shall we?" He quipped.

Carter had her P90 ready for action, though Ryan had assured him that intel on the planet was that it was completely deserted, one didn't take unnecessary chances.


The Mobile Analytic Laboratory Probe aka the MALP rolled into the swirling pool of blue and dematerialized. Jacob watched the computer screen, shaking his head in disbelief. It was like Star Trek, he had to admit. Next thing you knew the little gray alien from Roswell would beam into the SGC.

He rubbed his aching head and wished that he had been able to sleep. Jacob had crashed in one of the guest quarters at the SGC, hoping to catch a few zzzz's, but instead he had stared at the ceiling. Unsurprisingly, he had another episode of wicked chills that had his entire body shaking from the cold and then Jacob had broken out into a cold sweat. Least he wasn't running a slight temperature for the first time in few days, but Jacob had an appointment for a full medical checkup in a week, and he hoped that the doc would be able to give him a script for some antibiotics and clear it up as whatever the hell bug he had caught was just dragging on and on. It was kicking his ass something fierce and times like now, he needed to be completely healthy.

MALP REMATERIALIZING blazed across the monitor screen, and then… nothing.

"Shouldn't we be getting some telemetry back?" snapped Mike, his voice gruff with concern.

In the background, Jacob heard the squawk of the scientists and Sgt. Siler arguing even while Sgt. Davis explained that yes, the SGC should be receiving telemetry from the MALP.

"Can you confirm that the MALP is operational?" Ryan questioned.

"No response from the MALP, Sir," Davis intoned in a somber voice.

Damn it, damn it, damn it. What the hell was wrong now?

Jake grabbed the microphone and keyed it, "George. Sam. Can you hear me?"

"The wormhole is still active, they should be to contact us," McKay snapped.

"McKay, shut up," Jake snapped. "Siler, did I just hear you right? You thought that the bloody Heisenberg compensator wasn't tested enough?"

"Dr. Lee and I felt that it needed more testing, we were overruled," Siler said.

"Do I need to remind you that's my daughter's molecules that you are screwing around with McKay? Not to mention George, who I've known for almost thirty years," Jake growled in a dangerous voice. Then his voice got softer, Mark and Samantha if they had been there, would have been running for the hills because they knew that he was really fucking pissed and that the judge and jury had agreed that someone needed a major ass whooping.

Not so McKay.

"So… never crossed your super sized ego to think about the possibility that if George and Sam swap a few molecules, it would do them lasting harm? Shall I throw you through the wormhole to see how your molecules reassemble? I'll throw a rat in after you."

Fortunately, at that time Hammond decided to answer the radio.

"George here."


They were trekking through the snow; actually, she was following George closely as he plowed through the snow, breaking the trail for her. The glare of the sun was almost blinding even with her sunglasses on and the still air was so cold that it took her breath away. Hammond had ordered her to wear one of the blankets as a type of poncho, but he was blithely ignoring the cold.

OK, maybe not so blithely, as she could see that he was shivering from the cold. But he had decided to keep two blankets back at the Hilton as he had nicknamed their shack, just in case they had to return.

He stopped unexpectedly, and she barreled into him, nearly knocking him off balance and face forward into a rather deep snow bank. As it was, the General had to struggle to keep his balance.

"George here," he snapped into his radio.

Waving his fingers and hand in an arcane manner at her, due to all her years in the military she was able to translate it easily.

Keep Quiet. Can't hear.

"We sent the MALP through," her father said. "We've had problems with the Gate, so don't utilize the Gate until we give the all clear."

His voice was emotionless, which meant something had gone seriously wrong.

"What's the problem?" George snapped.

"We've lost contact with it," was the soft response.

"Did you get any telemetry?"

"No."

"Understood. Initiating Radio silence," Hammond ordered as he turned his radio volume down low.

"Could be hostiles," Samantha suggested softly. "Or they're still having a problem with the Gate."

George shook his head in disgust, before putting his exasperation to words, "Too damn cold to be playing action hero."

He gestured to her. He'd take point, he'd go around, scope out the gate and she'd be responsible for keeping his General six safe. Nodding her understanding, she turned her radio on low also.


Damn, damn, damn. Naturally only one set of binoculars between the two of them, possible hostiles at the Gate and very little in the way of coverage. Right about now, he'd much rather have a p90 in his hot little hands rather than his Glock.

He managed to wallow in the snow until he reached a spot where he could look down on the gate. Peering through his binoculars, he didn't like that he saw. The MALP was there, least something that once upon a time might have been a MALP.

No footprints, no blast marks, nothing that said hostiles – yet the MALP had been twisted and turned asunder.

"Heading down," George announced on the radio, as he half stumbled, half slid his way down to the Gate. "Don't see any hostiles."

"Neither do I," Carter quickly assured him.


Samantha was meeting Hammond at the gate when she heard him on the radio. His voice was calm, but she could hear how concerned Hammond was.

"Jacob you didn't send the cavalry through after the MALP, did you?"

"No, we didn't," was the quick answer.

"They would be dead if you had," George informed him. "Is the problem on our end? Or your end?"

"It's here, we believe," Jake answered. "We're working on fixing the problem. Can you hold tight for a few more days?"

"Jake, we're running of fuel, food… and there's a good three feet of snow on the ground." Hammond then coughed, and spat, "Dinge sind grimmig. Ich denke nicht, dass wir für vierzig noch acht Stunden überleben können. Ich werde alles machen, das ich kann, Ihre Tochter zu sparen. Ich schulde Sie der viel und mehr."

Her father's voice was soft when he finally answered.

"Ich verstehe. Ich erhalte Ihnen Haupt mich verspreche."

The two of them chatted for a bit longer, and then Hammond sighed.

"Shut down the Gate. Contact us in six hours; we need to conserve our batteries for the radio."

She struggled down to the ramp, where she found the wreckage of once was a MALP. It was twisted and turned into a deformity made of metal and circuitry and Samantha's heart sank when she realized what the sight truly meant.

They weren't getting home.

Not now.

And possibly not ever.

"Have to go back to the Hilton," Hammond growled. "Hopefully they haven't given our room away."

"What did you tell my father just now?" Samantha questioned.

"A few things that I wanted my kids to know," explained the General.

Just then it started to snow, and Samantha knew that the General wasn't telling her everything..


Ryan ordered the wormhole shut down and then curtly instructed the dejected scientists to get back to the drawing board. Daniel slipped through the crowds and met O'Neill and Teal'c in the hallway.

"What's going on?" Jack snapped. "Why'd they close the gate?"

"The MALP got turned into a pretzel, Jack." Daniel informed him.

"But they're both alive right now, correct?" Jack asked intently, then turned jocular to hide his distress that the two were still planet bound. "We get that doohickie fixed, and then the Ole Man will be back soon and probably the minute through the gate, he'll be threatening me with an imminent court martial. He's probably written up the paperwork as I'm SURE he had it in his back pocket when we went off world."

Jack turned and looked at Teal'c.

"I have that affect on people," Jack said insincerely. "I don't know why."

"Jack, he spoke to Sam's father in German. It was a little rusty, but from what I heard, Hammond isn't expecting to make it off the planet."

"Is he injured?" O'Neill questioned.

"No, Hammond stated that they'll be dead from hypothermia if they don't get off the planet soon. The shelter they are staying in is heated by a fireplace, and it stared snowing right after they arrived. There are already a couple feet of snow on the ground, and they're running low on fuel and food."

"Shit," O'Neill cursed. "We couldn't send supplies to them?"

"No, apparently Hammond said it was a lucky guess that he knew what showed up on their end was a MALP," Daniel explained.

"We'll need to get the cold weather gear together," O'Neill decided. "Need to get two stretchers ready so we can get them attached to the FREDs. I'm going to talk to Ryan."


O'Neill met Ryan and Carter, Senior half way to Hammond's office. Ryan had quickly commandeered it for his own use, and the two Generals began having a high speed conversation.

"George knows I don't speak German, what the hell was he saying to you that I wasn't supposed to know?"

"He promised me that he'll do his damnest to get my daughter home safe and sound, because George thinks he owes me," Jake admitted softly.

"Excuse me; Jacob, do I look like I was commissioned yesterday? He couldn't say that in English? What was George afraid that he would get maudlin?"

"He had a few requests for his funeral and he wanted to make sure I gave his daughters a message," Jake admitted.

Ryan annoyed was an interesting sight, Jack had to admit. The Chief of Staff for the USAF slammed his hand down hard on George's desk.

"WHAT? Does that goddamn bald headed Texan actually think I'm just going to standby and let him and your daughter die?" Ryan roared. "I'm gonna make sure that I get him back so I can kick his ass from here to Houston. And you know what? I'm gonna do it twice. Then I'm really gonna get pissed!"

"No, Sir, he doesn't think you're going to let the two of them die," Jake stated slowly.

"Sounded like that to me," Ryan snapped.

Carter's father waved his hand and began explaining what George had said.

"They're nearly out of wood for the fire, and they've got one power bar left between the two of them. George thinks one of them might have a chance at surviving if we can get the Gate operational soon, so he's decided that person…" Carter's voice slowed, but remained strong, "That person… will be my daughter."


They barely made it back to the guardhouse before the wind picked up and the snow began falling heavily. As it was, Hammond had kept one hand firmly on her wrist to make sure she made it back to the little hut.

"I'm beginning to hate snow," Samantha said through chattering teeth.

"And I'm beginning to wonder if the damn roof is able to support all this damn snow," Hammond growled. "I've never seen this much snow in… what… three days? Not even in Alaska…"

He stomped over to the fireplace, threw the blankets at her before putting more of their limited amount of wood on the fire. George then gruffly told her to get undressed and into the bed.

"Excuse me?" Samantha questioned.

Hammond turned to face her, and for a moment she didn't recognized the stubbly face of George Hammond. His facial hair was coming in white in some spots, but mainly it was a lovely shade of auburn.

But it was the look of peace on his face that surprised her the most.

Gone was the defensiveness, the guardedness that had always been the trademark of their interactions. No, now his eyes were calm and peaceful, and his mouth was slightly quirked as though amused.

"Get undressed, and get into bed. Your pants are wet, and I promise you that I won't look," Hammond insisted.

"Ok," Samantha decided. "Turn around."

He saluted her and turned back to the fire. She quickly got out of her boots, and took off her wet socks and her wet pants. Her jacket was a bit wet, so she took that off also. The air was a bit crisp, since she was just clothed in her t-shirt and underwear so she crawled into the bed quickly.

"Are you covered?" Hammond questioned.

"Yes," Samantha assured him.

"Good, now close your eyes," he ordered. "I don't want you sneaking a peek."

Samantha kept her eyes shut, not because she wanted to save George's dignity but because she was cold and exhausted. The constant chill in the Hilton combined with not enough food to keep a mouse alive had her personal batteries near exhaustion. The only reason Samantha had made it the shack was because George had kept motivating her.

No, she would have staggered her way back to the Hilton as she was too stubborn to lay down and die, but with Hammond yanking her arm nearly out of the socket (bad joke considering what had happened to him earlier in this little escapade) she had found the last dredge of her energy to keep up with Hammond's pace.

She was almost asleep when George got into the bed with her. Instinctively, she moved closer to him as he was warm. His bulk was radiating heat… ok… he was slightly warmer than the blankets, and so she snuggled close to him. If Sam was only the slightest bit more coherent, she would have been horrified to be snuggling next to her straight laced CO.

"Wake up," he commanded.

"You're warm," she murmured sleepily.

"Don't go to sleep," George ordered. "Captain, I'm giving you a direct order not to go to sleep."

"Yes, Sir," Samantha yawned.

"Come on, don't fall asleep," he repeated. "You fall asleep when you're wet and cold and you're just asking for trouble. Come on, stay awake."

Sam mumbled a few words and George continued talking.

"You know, your Dad thinks you'll make General younger than he did," Hammond offered.

"Really?" She mumbled.

"Yes, your father is exceedingly proud of you," her CO informed her. "He believes… no… he knows… that you'll make General before he did. Come on, wake up."

He put his hands on her face, and he forced her to look at him.

"Samantha… I'm sorry about this," George said in a very quiet voice. "It's completely my fault that you're stuck on this godforsaken planet. But I know you're going to get off this planet. You'll be alright. But remember, if anything happens to me, you need to make sure that my daughters get my wedding ring and my journal."

"You tell 'em, that I had a good life, and a quick, easy death," George continued. "You tell them that, ok?"

"Sir… George… you're not going to die…." Samantha protested.

"You haven't promised me that you're gonna tell that. They need to know that, Samantha. That it was quick, that I fell asleep and that I'm with their mother," the General intently insisted. "They watched their mother die inch by inch, and it was ugly and it was nasty. They'll need to know…"

She finally agreed to tell them that, wanting to reassure and soothe Hammond. She put her hand on his face, and gently caressed his stubble covered cheek.

"Listen to me, you're getting out of here alive," she promised. "What about that gypsy?"

"She just told me that you and I were going to meet again," George whispered.

They moved closer, staring into each other's eyes, and then Samantha realized that she and Hammond were kissing. She couldn't say who kissed the other first, but just that they had. It was a slow, hesitant kiss with Hammond obviously in control, but still letting her set the pace.

This was madness!

It was a one way trip, without a parachute no less, out of the service!

Yet, she was still kissing him…

Snowbound at the "Hilton" for how many days, snuggling together for warmth… dealing with the emotional highs and lows… she had been celibate for far too long and well… George… it was unmistakable he hadn't looked at another woman since his wife had died… and… God, she was trying to think…. It was perfectly understandable that a mutual sexual tension and desire had developed between them. She was female after all, with a slightly twisted fascination for the older, alpha male, no doubt due to her uneasy relationship with her father, and George… was positively, absolutely alpha male besides being her father's contemporary.

Yet…it was understandable, but it didn't it make it right.

Meanwhile, George was undressing her with the unhurried serenity of a lover intent on savoring the experience; yet undressing her so deliberately and sensually as to make damn sure that she understood that his number one priority was that she'd be completely satisfied.

Jonas, her ex-finance, had been a lousy lover, quick and fast, unable to figure out what would give her pleasure even if someone had given him a map, a flashlight and a clue. Oh, to be totally honest, flares and semaphores wouldn't have given Jonas a clue of where to touch her… even complete with a flashing neon sign saying "This is the Spot" but George… he was a veteran… supremely confident that he understood what a woman wanted, needed and craved, but he was also doing it… at his speed.

Rational thought soon fled for parts unknown, as George had her undressed and on the mattress before she realized what was happening. He was whispering in her ear in that slow, deep voice of his, telling her how beautiful she was, that she could tell him to stop, that he would… if she wanted…

And meanwhile his callused hands were stroking her, teasing her and doing it so damn leisurely and deliberately that she was going to explode… and her last coherent thought for a very long time was that George Hammond was an evil, evil man.


George knew that if Jake ever found out what was occurring between his daughter and him, he'd be a dead man. He also knew that this was a career destroying move if there ever was one, but now, at with the end in sight, he finally understood the mistake he had made after Maggie had died. He had shut his emotions down, refusing to allow anyone besides his family and few close friends behind his barriers.

George had dealt with his pain over Maggie's death by ignoring it, refusing to completely acknowledge how lost and alone he had felt without his soul mate, hoping and praying that the gaping hole in his heart would heal in time. His heart had been as barren and cold as the world outside, and George had misplaced his anger into blaming the Time Traveling Team.

He had been a complete and utter ass, and if Maggie was still alive, she would have kicked his ass to Dallas, cursing him out the entire way.

After Maggie had died, countless women had thrown themselves at him, thinking that a grieving man with stars on his shoulders would be an easy catch. He had avoided them with an uneasy shudder, claiming he was still mourning his wife.

He was mourning, and would mourn her until the day he died, but George realized that he was more afraid to live, to actually allow himself to get close to someone, to actually allow himself to care for others for fear of losing them.

It had taken a trip off world for him to realize the bitter truth.

He was a lonely, lonely old man whose bones hurt in the morning when he got out of bed, and now when he knew what had to do to ensure that Samantha survived, George knew he'd pay the fee and gladly so, but how he wished he could see his grandkids one more time.

So he continued to kiss Samantha, slowly and deliberately, wanting and needing to feel close to someone.

Whenever he was away from home, Maggie would always greet him with the same risqué comment.

"I did a lot of reading while you were gone, George…"

Then during their private time together, after the kids were in the bed and the dog was put away for the night, Maggie would read whatever interesting magazine article had caught her fancy. The articles always had to deal with making love, and then George would do his best to add the latest tidbit to his bag of tricks, because it was an unwritten compromise between them. The first few nights home, George always let Maggie set the pace.

After being separated for six months or more, George was always quite willing to make love the minute he saw her, but for Maggie, she needed a chance to decompress… to get used to having him and all his annoying habits back in her life after being alone for so long. She wanted romance, she wanted him to talk to her, she wanted to emotionally connect with her warrior-husband who had been absent from her life for so long. They'd dance, kiss and cuddle and then Maggie would tell her which article made her heart race when she had imagined the two of them trying it together and… then he'd do his best.

Sometimes, there were spectacular results, a couple times, he had ended up maimed, battered and bruised, and then there were the stunning, astonishing failures where the two of them had laughed like loons at the idiots that written the articles, but first and foremost, he knew, when making love with a woman for the first time, you took your time and did things right…


Jacob Carter knew that he was stressing out the scientists. He knew it, he accepted it, and in fact, he delighted in the knowledge that the scientists were working HARDER because he was there, glaring at him.

McKay, the annoying whiny snot, had taken a break, and was swilling coffee in the corner. Siler looked dead on his feet, and finally Carter ordered him to take a break. In the back of his mind, he remembered a short female doctor… Fraizer? No, Fraiser informing Ryan that Siler was supposed to have a follow up appointment with her… two… three... days ago?

"Sir," Siler protested.

"I want you to go the infirmary, and get yourself checked out Sergeant," Jake ordered in his most commanding voice. "You look like hell."

"Begging your pardon, Sir," Siler retorted. "I could say the same thing about you."

"Yes, you could," Jake admitted. "But unlike you, I can order the MPs to drag your ass down there, so you can go peacefully, or I can get those muscle bound behemoths to escort you. What do you say?"

"I'll be back, Sir," Siler protested with some heat even as Jake motioned for the two MPS to make sure Siler found his way to the Infirmary.

"Good man there," Carter announced to the scientists that were staring at him with wide eyed concern.

That done, Jacob decided to harass…err... sorry motivate…. Bill Lee, who was having a disagreement with the other geeks.

"We need to rebuild the part," Dr. Lee argued. "Jury rigging the part didn't work. Well it did work, except we would have human pretzels if we used it. We need to rebuild the part."

"How long?" Jake interrupted.

"Ten, twelve hours. We need some equipment from Area 51," Lee explained.

"Make it so!" snapped Jake. "We're running out of time of which General Hammond and Captain Carter do not have an overabundance. The clock is ticking, people!"


Several hours later:

His left shoulder made a lousy pillow, Samantha had to admit. But his right shoulder was off limits, because it was still paining him plus it would unbelievably ill-mannered for her to rest her head on the tattoo of his late wife who was wrapped in nothing more than the Texas flag.

But she couldn't help admiring the tattoo, and she traced her finger over the Texas Flag. So much love, so much eye to detail, so much of who George really was, was in that artwork.

"Darling, you really need to get dressed," George rumbled.

He was stroking her hair with his hand, and she tried to make some sort of pillow talk. Before she could say anything, George put his finger over her mouth.

"We'll talk about the ramifications of what we just did when we're back on Earth, ok? For now, I just want to enjoy the afterglow," requested George slowly in that deep, rumbling voice of his.

George's finger was only removed from her lips, slowly and sensuously, after she nodded her agreement. Yes, they would have to pay the piper for what they had just done, but…Samantha tried not to think about it.

"You were… wonderful…" she gushed, blushing when she realized that she sounded like a grade schooler with a crush.

"Darling, you sound surprised. Don't you know? Is not old wine wholesomest, old pippins toothsomest, old wood burn brightest, old linen wash whitest? Old soldiers, sweetheart, are surest, and old lovers are soundest," George quoted. "That means, when you take old soldier to bed, he'll do his damnest. Old men are like Model T Fords."

"I don't know if I want to hear the comparison, but go ahead, George," Samantha laughed.

"Get dressed, then I'll tell you how old men are Model T Fords," George insisted. "At the earliest, it will be another twelve hours before they can try the Gate again, but I don't trust Bill Lee. He'd probably inflate the time delay so he'd look good when he gets it done in half the time."

"Ok, I'll get dressed…" Samantha grumbled after she had stopped laughing at George's description of poor Bill Lee, who simply never ever got any respect.

Hammond, who had gotten dressed sometime while she had slept, stood up and turned his back toward her, ostensibly to check the fire but in actuality, giving her privacy to get dressed. She did so quickly, as the room was a wee bit chilly.

"My jacket's in the pile with your clothes, so wear it," he insisted as he poked the fire. "I'm warm. Don't worry about me."

"George…" she protested.

"It's an order, Captain," George growled. "Are you presentable?"

"Yes, I am, Sir," Samantha assured him.

"Good. Let's get this place cleaned up. Shake the blankets out, and then I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" She questioned.

"Work first, Surprise later."


They shook the blankets out in the small room outside of the living room. It was extremely chilly in that room, so they did so quickly. George hadn't slept the last few hours; instead he had stayed awake until an exhausted Samantha had drifted off to sleep. He had managed to extricate himself from her arms somehow without waking her and then had done what he could to get rid of any evidence of what had occurred between them.

Then he had determined how to put his plan into motion without Samantha noticing. The wood for the fireplace would need to be monitored, and pushed into the fireplace as it was too long to fit into it, so that was the logical reason why he wouldn't be wrapped up in the hypothermia blanket. A few other odds and ends, and his hypothermia wrap had almost been completed. He just needed Samantha out of the blankets long enough to get her chilly, so she wouldn't complain about going back into the blankets.

The blankets were then put back on the mattress, and after hmming and hawwwing for a bit, he declared that she could have her surprise.

"Madam, your surprise is ready. Breakfast is served," he said with a dramatic flourish, before handing her a power bar. "I have tea brewing also."

"A power bar?" Samantha protested playfully.

"Not just any power bar, Madam, but a blueberry cheesecake power bar," Hammond informed her. "People fight over these. They don't like the strawberry cheesecake power bar, and in fact, I had to wrestle with a Marine Sergeant for this power bar that you are dismissing so uncaringly of my efforts."

Samantha laughed and she apologized. She broke the bar in half and Hammond refused it when she silently offered it to him.

"I have mine from yesterday," he explained.

"I thought you ate it," she protested as she distinctively remembered Hammond eating it. It had been a revolting sweet Carmel Chocolate mix of some sort.

"Nope. Saved it for a rainy day," George quipped.

"It's snowing, Sir," she retorted.

"Do believe you're right about that, Captain," he said with a just a smidgen of fictitious, incredulous disbelief. "Probably why I never ended up working in my true vocational love, Weather Reconnaissance."

She couldn't help but stare at Hammond, simply flabbergasted and amazed by his complete one eighty in personality.


George managed to get Samantha back into bed with only a few complaints. She was noticeably shivering, and with a few assurances that he'd wake her up in a few hours to switch his fireplace watching position aka the Wood Guard, Samantha had quickly agreed to get wrapped up in the hypothermia wrap. He had scavenged a few rocks from the fire place, heated them up and after insulating them with socks, in order to create a half dozen or so hot packs that he had placed at strategic points of her body before duct taping the entire kit and caboodle closed.

He had even forced her to wear his wool cap, and he had ripped a hole for her mouth and nose so when he pulled the cap down over her face, she could breath through the holes.

She protested then, figuring that something was odd, but he taped her in so well, she'd never get out of the wrap unless someone cut her out.

"Sir?" Samantha protested. "I don't think you'll be warm enough."

"I'll be fine, Samantha. You don't worry about old George," he insisted. "You just go to sleep. I'll wake you when it's time for you to watch the fire."

George cuddled up next to her sleeping form, trying not to shiver too badly, as he watched the last of the wood burn. The blanket he had kept for himself had been the thinnest and most light weight of the ones they had found, and he getting so damn cold.

Dear God, it's George. Get her home, please. Get her home!

The fire soon went out, but both he and Samantha were deeply asleep and didn't notice.


George found himself walking alone down the street in what had to be military housing. The complete lack of originality, the same two houses repeated over and over again, in the same official colors, everything built with a T-square and a plumb line as everything was absolutely, positively identical, like clockwork. He didn't recognize the base, as it wasn't one where he had been stationed, so he continued walking down the street in the hopes that he'd recognize something. Some of the names on the mailboxes looked familiar, as though he had served with them at one time or another. He stopped at one mailbox and he shivered as though someone had walked over his grave.

Major Charles Kowalsky.

Now he recognized the last names. Every single one of them was someone that he had served with who had shuffled off the mortal coil.

The next one belonged to the female Sergeant that Apophis had snakenapped.

He turned around, looked at the sky, wondered what the hell was happening, feeling as though he was about to panic when he felt someone touch his arm. To his shame, he jumped three feet into the air, easily, and he reached for his non-existent gun.

"George?" Maggie said, obviously surprised. "What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here."

"Maggie?" he whispered as he stared at the vision of his thirty year old wife.

"Come with me," she insisted. "Your tour's not done, why are you here?"

He followed her meekly into one of the identical houses.

"George… it's ok. I want you to take your coat off, ok? You're home now, so you can take off your dress blues and get into something a little more comfortable," Maggie assured him.

He just stared at her, and then she gave him an exasperated push toward the steps.

"Upstairs, George. Go… change… I'll make something nice for lunch…." Maggie said with a smile.

"Oh…ok…" He said.

George remembered his father reading from the Bible, "In my Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you…"

He hesitantly walked toward the steps, wondering why his father had never mentioned that the mansions in the afterlife consisted of cookie cutter military housing. It was, with some honesty, after a lifetime of military housing, a bit of a disappointment. He was halfway up the steps when Maggie stuck her head into the stairway and called after him in a very sultry voice, "I've been doing a lot of reading while you've been gone, Hammond."


It was distinctly unfair that while Maggie was a beautiful and vivacious thirty year old, he looked exactly like he did the last time he had looked in the mirror. Well, not exactly, his face was heavily stubbled and he looked exhausted.

He found some clothes that Maggie had apparently laid out for him and he switched into them. Carefully he headed downstairs, wondering what the he… heaven …. was going on.

"Ok, ok…." Maggie said to someone. She had the phone cord twisted around her finger and she had the handset cradled between her head and her shoulders. Meanwhile, she was industriously making sandwiches. "So… what am I supposed to do? Ok…. Ok…. Thanks, Michael. Yes, I know that this is a unique situation and I appreciate you taking my phone call. I know you and Rafe are very busy with other matters."

She hung up the phone and then she began to put the sandwiches on a plate.

"Come on, George, we're having a picnic outside."

George followed her meekly outside and soon he found himself sitting on an all too familiar looking blanket underneath a tree. He'd swear that it was the one that was wrapped around him in the real world. Maggie sat down next to the tree, and she soon positioned his head so it was resting in her lap.

"This is such a strange dream," he whispered.

"It's not really a dream, George. You're between here and there, right now, and you're not supposed to be. Since you're not where you're supposed to be, someone put you here," Maggie said.

"Maggie, I'm cold," he whispered. "Can't we go back into the house?"

"I know…" Maggie assured him. "Listen, we've only got a few minutes to talk. Generals Michael and Raphael got involved, and you're getting reassigned shortly. Your tour of duty isn't completed, and you haven't been furloughed. You're not supposed to be here yet, George. You're AWOL!"

The summer sky that once was so bright was getting darker and there was a brisk breeze in the air.

"I need you to listen to me. I know about you and Samantha. I'm not angry," Maggie said quickly. "We don't have much time, George. I'm not angry. I think you've finally realized what I've been trying to tell you. I never said that you couldn't love anyone else. I never told you to stop caring… Your compassion is what makes you who you are…It is your greatest strength, George."

He was so damn cold and the shivering was getting worse.

"You never read that poem at my funeral. I specifically picked it for you to read, George…" Maggie informed him. "It was to be my final words to you, my hopes for you, and you wouldn't read it at the funeral."

"I couldn't read it, I couldn't…" George protested. "I couldn't read it without breaking out in tears, Mags."

"Then I will read it to you, and you have to understand…." Maggie explained.

"If suddenly I do not exist,
if suddenly I no longer live,
you shall live on.

You do not dare,
you do not dare to write it,
if I die.

You shall live on.

For where a man has no voice,
there shall be your voice.

Where blacks are flogged and beaten,
you cannot be dead.
When your brothers go to prison
you shall go with them.

When victory,
not your victory,
but the great victory
comes,
even if you are dumb you must speak;
you shall see it coming even if you are blind.

No, I forgive you.
If I no longer live,
if I, beloved, your love,
if I
have died,
all the leaves will fall on your breast,
it will rain on your soul night and day,
the snow will burn your heart,
Your shall walk with frost and fire and death and snow,
Your feet will want to walk to where I am sleeping,
but
you shall stay alive,
because above all things I wanted you
indomitable,
and, my love, because you know that you are not only a man
but all mankind."

It was then, after she had finished the poem, the sky turned black and the wind picked up. But George didn't notice, for he was fast asleep.