CHAPTER EIGHT— Intrigues


Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind;
And that which governs me to go about
Doth part his function and is partly blind,
Seems seeing, but effectually is out;
For it no form delivers to the heart
Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch:
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch;
For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight,
The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,
The mountain or the sea, the day or night,
The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature.

Incapable of more, replete with you,
My most true mind thus maketh mine eye untrue.

Sonnet 113 by William Shakespeare


Washington had always seemed cold. Even though the sunshine outside was bright and pleasant, Amelia paid it little mind. Her parents' home, as always, was brimming with strangers, and she was dressed in black, presumably mourning a man who might as well have been a stranger. Her mind was numb, and her body weary.

Her time at Stargate Command, though of short duration, had made far more of an impact upon her than she'd realized until she'd come home. It had been her own strange and unlikely oasis, a place where she'd dared to be happy and hopeful again. Perhaps it was because everyone at the SGC, from General Hammond to the lowliest janitor, seemed to have a great passion and fervor for their life and their work. It was something Amelia had known herself, once upon a time, and had been starting to forget.

Reality had a nasty way of crashing down upon her when she least desired it to. Less than a day after a sniper had put her father's chest through the crosshairs of his gun, Amelia had found herself back in D.C., nodding and making small talk just like the old days, except this time her father wasn't actually here to supervise.

The authorities were being very uncooperative regarding the investigation. Amelia wasn't sure exactly how to describe her feelings about her father— they were complicated to say the least— but she certainly had never wished his death. Besides that, her mother was truly and deeply grieving, and for that Amelia felt sorry. Although they'd never been close, Pamela Kinsey had always treated her three children with kindness and respect. She didn't deserve to be treated the way she was now.

First of all, the FBI refused to relinquish the body, and they wouldn't even bother trying to explain why. This meant that all funeral plans had to be put on hold, which meant Amelia and her mother had to put up with a never-ending stream of pres, socialites, and acquaintances, all of whom were either trying to be helpful or nosy, and the only person Amelia truly wanted to see had yet to arrive.

She was beginning to go a little stir crazy. When she wasn't resting, she was idling about the house stupidly, trying to think of ways to help, but distracted by the overwhelming shock of everything that had happened. If Lydia didn't get here soon she was going to have to seek some sort of reprieve. Maybe if she could get away for a couple of house she could go pick up some beginner sheet music for Jonas.

Jonas.

Unbidden, a tiny smile formed on her lips. There was something very special about a person whose mere memory could invite happy thoughts even in not-so-bright moments. Amelia had found herself thinking more and more of him over the last few days. From her schooldays onward Amelia's infatuations had always developed with rather alarming swiftness, and this tendency had never changed of the course of seventeen years. She certainly felt like a schoolgirl right now, and the more she entertained thoughts of him, the worse it got. Jonas Quinn was sensible and lively, smart, easy to talk to, and… well, he was just plain adorable. There was a boyish gawkiness he had never quite seemed to shake, which probably explained more than anything her schoolgirlish feelings.

Oh, and don't forget he's not from your planet.

Amelia shook her head, almost amused at her own folly. Here she was at what would probably be one of many social obligations for her father's passing in the next few days, and she was mooning over a guy.

"Aunt Amelia!"

Amelia smiled broadly, and turned around with just enough time to catch the small figure that hurled into her arms before it knocked her over.

"Chloe!" The second voice belonged to Amelia's older sister, Lydia. "What have I told you about running in your grandmother's house?" She was practically on her daughter's heels. "Sweetheart," she chided more quietly when she reached them, "I told you, you can't jump around on Aunt Amelia like that. You'll make her all tired." She looked up, eyes warm, and smiled. "It's good to see you, Amelia," she said softly.

Amelia reached out with her free arm— the one that wasn't full of five-year-old girl— and gave her sister an affectionate embrace. "You too. I've missed you so much."

"Where have you been? I tried calling, but dad said you would be out of touch for a while. Before this happened, anyway," she added, wincing slightly.

"I'm sorry, Lydia. He was right, but I'm not allowed to talk about it. But you don't need to worry. I'm safe and happy. And hopefully better soon."

Lydia gave a soft smile. "I heard that too," she confessed. She sighed and looked around. "Sorry we're late. There was a security holdup at the airport."

For as long as Amelia could remember, her older sister had been her dearest and closest friend, despite the difference in their ages. Amelia had been an unexpected arrival for her parents, almost eight years younger than Lydia, and eleven years younger than their brother, John. Still, the two girls had become very close confidants. Not being able to share with Lydia the wondrous secrets of the stargate was something Amelia ha been sorry for when she'd learned how serious the need for secrecy really was.

Amelia looked around. "Where's everybody else?" she asked.

"Greg and the boys are still trying to escape the reporters," Lydia said, rolling her eyes. "He hasn't yet learned to stomach just shrugging them off." As the older sister, Lydia had set a good example to Amelia about learning to lead her own life. She'd started off by marrying a registered Independent, something Amelia was certain her father had never quite recovered from. Then she'd moved to California, where she and her husband went for broke and started a non-profit charity organization for abuse victims, having four kids along the way and adopting a fifth. Chloe was their youngest, and only girl.

"Aunt Amelia, did you stay in a hotel when you went away?" the girl now asked, pulling away slightly and studying Amelia with grave concern.

Puzzled, Amelia looked at her sister.

"I'm sure she didn't, Chloe," Lydia said, gently peeling the girl from Amelia's arms and setting her on the ground. "Go find your brothers. See if Marian will take you outside to play with the horses." The girl skipped off and Lydia looked back at Amelia. "She found out about dad getting shot at from a hotel," she explained. "I'm not certain how, but I suspect Bobby. She's been dead scared of them ever since."

"Well, considering that's just about all we know, at least there's not much danger of him telling her more," Amelia pointed out.

"They still haven't told us anything else?" Lydia asked, looking surprised.

"They've confessed there's a suspect, but they don't plan on telling us who it is until just before they tell the greater public. Apparently, he hasn't been apprehended yet. They don't want to do anything that might tip him off."

"Well, that's creepy."

"No kidding."

Lydia sighed and crossed her arms, staring out the window at the view Amelia had been contemplating for the last fifteen minutes. "It was such a shock," she said. "I mean, I knew it was always a possibility, of course. Dad was well-known and influential, but he was always so conscientious of this kind of stuff too. He had bodyguards, vests, the whole deal. Kind of ironic, I guess."

"Lydia."

The two women turned at the sound of their brother's voice. John Kinsey, the good senator's prodigy. Amelia stiffened. Her relationship with her brother was the polar opposite of her relationship with Lydia. They had never gotten along ,and had even come to very bitter heads on more than one occasion. She had little respect for the way everything in his life was only viewed as a tool to advance his political career. They had barely acknowledged on another in the last two days, although Amelia had made halfhearted attempts to converse with his wife and play with his children. He did not look at her now.

"Hello, John," Lydia said, nodding. She had always been able to maintain a civil manner towards him, much better than Amelia.

"Will you be joining us for the conference tomorrow?" he asked.

"I'm not sure. What conference?"

"The FBI called about an hour ago," he said, eyes briefly flicking to Amelia. She stomped down on a flare of annoyance. If something important had happened, had he really been meaning to wait around about telling her just out of spite? "They think they'll have their man by tomorrow afternoon. They they'll fill us in." His eyes were very calculating as he spoke. As John had always been the only one that related in some measure to their father, he would probably be most affected by what had happened.

"What makes the think they'll get him?" Amelia asked, furrowing her brow.

He paused to consider her as if she were a mosquito. "Apparently, they have a good idea where he's going to be."

"How convenient."

"We'll see. I for one intend to see that this person, whoever he is, is put to very swift justice."

"Provided, of course, he's guilty," Amelia said. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lydia press her lips together in disapproval. No doubt she felt this was neither the time nor the place for Amelia to bait her brother. She was probably right.

Jon seemed nonplussed. "Apparently, their evidence is conclusive," he said coolly, and took a sip from the glass he carried in his hand. "I hope you're being properly concerned about all this Amelia," he added with a glare when he'd swallowed. Then he turned heel and walked off as abruptly as he'd arrived.

Lydia put a supporting hand on Amelia's shoulder. "Don't fret over John this time, Amelia, please?" she said. "It never comes to any good."

Amelia sighed and nodded.

"So how are you feeling?" Lydia asked, changing the subject.

"Not very well," Amelia confessed. "Actually, I was just about to maybe go take a nap when you got here."

Lydia nodded, her eyes full of sympathy. "Go on. I'll see you at dinner. We can catch up then. I should really spend some time with mom right now anyway."

"Okay, I'll see you later."

Once in her old room, however, it took Amelia a while to fall asleep. Her thoughts were a muddled and paradoxical jumble— joy at seeing her sister again, her stiff and grating reunion with John, her pity for her mother's sorrow and guild and her own near lack of it, and confusing— but not necessarily unpleasant— thoughts Jonas Quinn.


"This is the video footage captured by security cameras in the hotel four days ago," said the FBI man, Agent Kyle, who had been assigned to liaise with the Kinsey family. He held up a remote and pointed it towards a small TV screen in the room where they were gathered, which was paused on a frame of a bare, empty stairwell. When he pushed a button, the scene began to move. "You can clearly see the suspect here," he said, nodding.

A man walked into view down the stairs. When he turned around, Amelia suddenly felt every drop of blood in her veins turn to ice. She drew in a soft gasp, and Lydia glanced at her oddly.

It can't be.

"Who is he?" John demanded, leaning forward in his seat and staring at the image, which Agent Kyle had once again paused.

"His name is Colonel Jack O'Neill," said Agent Kyle. "He's currently serving with the Air Force in Colorado under a General George Hammond." Amelia swallowed. This couldn't be happening! And yet there was no denying the image on the screen. But how? "As we anticipated," continued Agent Kyle, "Colonel O'Neill was apprehended yesterday when returning to the base after a personal leave. He is currently being detained in Colorado and will be flown to Washington this evening."

"An Air Force officer?" John echoed. Even he looked surprised. "What motivation would he have to kill my father?"

"Apparently, he and Senator Kinsey had met on a few occasions," Agent Kyle said. "Something to do with the nature of Colonel O'Neill's work, but that information is classified. Even I don't know all the details." Amelia stared at the floor, unmoving.

"I've seen that man," spoke up Amelia's mother. She looked intently at the image still frozen on the screen. "He came to the house once a couple of years ago. I don't think Bob was very pleased to see him," she added hesitatingly, looking around.

"Well, I don't care two flaming hells about classification," John said, glaring back at Agent Kyle. "I want to know everything there is to know about this man, what he does, how he knew about my father, everything."

"I'm afraid that just won't be possible, Representative Kinsey," said Agent Kyle, turning off the TV set with another wave of his remote. He looked dispassionately back at John as he spoke, and Amelia took some satisfaction at seeing her brother's resulting frustration. "However," Agent Kyle continued, gathering his papers together, "I assure you that in this case, there will be no need to establish a motive. The body of evidence alone is more than sufficient."

This seemed to satiate John. He sat back down again, a grim but satisfied set to his mouth. His wife, Pauline, gave a bored sigh and studied her fingernails. Lydia's husband, Greg, reached out and squeezed his wife's hand comfortingly and Amelia continued staring at the floor.

The image of Colonel O'Neill in the stairwell continued to haunt her for the remainder of the day. It didn't make any kind of sense. From everything she'd heard— all the stories she'd picked up at the SGC— Colonel O'Neill was one of America's greatest heroes, albeit most unsung. He'd saved the world upon more than one occasion, and everyone at the base hailed him as devoted, selfless, and honorable man.

Was it possible he'd been framed? The evidence was certainly compelling, but in the last few weeks Amelia had learned a lot about just how deceptive appearances could really be, and how deep secrets could go. For one thing, she was pretty sure Colonel O'Neill was much smarter and experienced than too allow himself to be so blithely caught on a security camera.

She thought about the encounter she'd witnessed between her father and the Colonel— which was also the only time she'd actually met the Colonel in any substantial sense; all other times had only been mere glimpses of him around the complex. Certainly there had been a lot of tension there. It was clear the Colonel hadn't cared two straws for her father, and her father had more or less returned the sentiment.

All in all, the situation was most confusing and unsettling. Amelia had no idea what to believe, and somehow she felt a hundred times more saddened by the Colonel's involvement than she'd felt upon the news of her father's death. Guilty or innocent, if Colonel O'Neill was convicted of this assassination, he too would be dead— in a completely different sense than Amelia's father, but one that seemed somehow more grievous. The worst of it was the feeling of extreme guilt Amelia was feeling. How could she be more concerned about Colonel O'Neill's innocence than her own father's death? It didn't make any sense, and she despised herself for it.

Amelia's thoughts now wandered often to the SGC. She could only imagine what a ruckus all this had caused there.


During the events surrounding Jonas's defection to Earth, Colonel O'Neill's influence had been largely responsible for Jonas's decision, but it hadn't been the only contributor. The truth was, those few days had been a dark and haunting time for Jonas. Struggling with the knowledge of the truth, unsure how to correct an injustice, he had probably never felt more alone in his entire life. When the Colonel had come, though, he had given Jonas two things: strengthened conviction to do the right thing and a way out. A course of action. Earth's request for naquadria had been something substantial— something Jonas had been able to act upon.

As it had been then, he was now suffering from a similar mounting frustration. It just didn't seem right that they had, in their very hands, at least enough proof to give the Colonel a fighting chance, and they were perfectly helpless to use it. The injustice ate at him in the worst way. This planet, even the people who had done his, owed the Colonel so much. It didn't make any kind of sense.

This time, it was General Hammond who had provided the means of relief. Jonas knew that in requesting them to get to the bottom of the situation, the General was walking a very fine line of authority, but Jonas was grateful. He knew that if he, Teal'c, and Sam were forced to sit by and do nothing, they'd probably all go crazy.

A stack of paperwork in hand, Jonas stepped off the elevator at sublevel twenty-one and the medical rooms. To his satisfaction, he found Doctor Fraiser making her way through a stack of paperwork at her desk when he reached her office. She looked up when he knocked on the wall outside her door. "Jonas," she said, "how is your search going?"

He made a light fist with his hand and leaned against the doorjamb. "Teal'c and I think we may be onto something," he said, "but I need to ask you a question."

"Certainly," Doctor Fraiser said, closing the file she'd been reading and setting it aside. "What do you need?"

He stepped into her office, pulled the top folder off of his stack, and handed it to her. "This is the information we were able to find on a Doctor Brett Langham," he said as she opened it. "He was one of the scientists working on the mimic devices from the foothold situation a few years ago."

Doctor Fraiser looked up sharply. "You know about that?" she demanded.

"General Hammond authorized my clearance, yes," Jonas said, nodding. "I understand you were very much involved, Doctor."

"I don't like to think about it," she said, an edge of bitterness in her voice. She did not look up. "The things that other… woman did, pretending to be me. It makes me feel sick."

Jonas was unsure exactly what she was talking about, so didn't comment further. "We believe the mimic devices were used to frame Colonel O'Neill for Senator Kinsey's murder."

She nodded. "I had wondered about that myself," she said quietly. "This man is dead," she observed, still reading through the file.

"Yes. As Teal'c points out, a most peculiar coincidence."

"So what is it you need me for?" she asked.

"The file says he had epilepsy."

Doctor Fraiser was scrutinizing the data more intently now. "I see what you're saying," she said after a moment. "You're right. This information doesn't make sense. There should have been data recovered in the autopsy that pointed to his disease."

"That's what I was wondering about, but I wasn't sure."

"So you think he might not really be dead." It was not a question.

"Exactly. Thank you, Doctor."

"I'm happy to help, Jonas."

"Would you be able to assist us in briefing General Hammond about our findings? He'll want to know how we're coming along."

"I'm sure that won't be a problem. In fact, let me know any other way I can help from here on out. I'm as anxious to help the Colonel as anyone."

"I appreciate it." He looked down, and the file Doctor Fraiser had been perusing before he'd come caught his eye. "I wonder how Amelia is handling all this," he said aloud, nodding at the file.

"I imagine this is awkward for her."

"How is she doing, Doctor?" he asked concernedly. "I mean, as far as her illness."

Doctor Fraiser was very quiet for a long moment. "Not very well," she said at last. "I'm becoming more and more concerned over the Tok'ra delay."

"But they left you the Tretonin, right?"

"What little survived the accident, yes." Doctor Fraiser looked regretful.

"Why not just use it?"

"I've considered it. It's a tricky situation. If I don't give it to her, she'll almost certainly die within three months or so. Frankly, I'm surprised she's still on her feet. But if I give it to her, there's a chance something could be flawed with the drug. She could become dependent, which would also lead to her death without intervention, and what if the Tok'ra continue to be delayed?" She sighed. "I'm having trouble deciding what to do."

Jonas cocked his head thoughtfully. "From what I can tell, Amelia would be willing to take the risk."

"I agree. The chemotherapy seems particularly hard on her."

"Chemotherapy?" Jonas repeated. "I was under the impression she'd been able to vie that up because she was undergoing the Tretonin treatment."

"I put her back on a regimen, hopefully to stall the progression of the cancer as much as possible, but I don't know how much time it's really going to buy her at this point. Chemo makes the body very weak."

"Then maybe when she comes back you should just stop." Doctor Fraiser gave him a scrutinizing look, and Jonas flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I know I shouldn't be trying to tell you how to do your job. It's just that, Amelia's my friend. I hate that she's having to go through all of this, you know?"

"I hate it too, Jonas." Doctor Fraiser sighed. "Maybe you're right." Her expression darkened. "What's irritating me most right now is that she's gone. The longer she's stuck in Washington, the longer I can't monitor her."

Jonas smiled. It was almost scary how commanding a presence Doctor Fraiser could become in matters concerning her patients. "In that case, I hope she'll be back very soon. I for one just miss having her around. She's fun to talk to."

"She is a very pleasant girl," Doctor Fraiser agreed, rising to her feet. "When was that meeting with General Hammond?" She handed him back the file on Brett Langham.

"Oh, I, uh—" Jonas accepted it, placing it once more with his notes. "I actually hadn't decided that yet. I'm sure he'll want to convene as soon as possible," he said, "so we should be ready fairly soon."

"Okay. I'll just be making a couple of rounds in the infirmary. Page me when you need me."

"I will."


Amelia's heart was pounding a little as she picked up the phone, although she wasn't quite sure what was making her nervous. She referenced a mobile number she'd written down on a piece of scratch paper and quickly tapped it into the phone with her thumb.

"Lionel Kyle speaking," came a voice after a couple of rings.

"Yes, Agent Kyle, this is Amelia Kinsey."

"Miss Kinsey," he acknowledged. "What can I do for you?"

"You said that Colonel O'Neill would have been flown to Washington by this time, didn't you?"

"I believe they landed about five hours ago, yes."

"Would I be allowed to see him?"

"I'm afraid that isn't advisable, Miss Kinsey. These matters need to be handled very delicately. It is best if you just let your attorney deal with the Colonel's attorney. Take my word for it. I've already been over this with your brother."

Amelia scowled, but tried to keep the sourness out of her voice. "I am acting independently of my brother, Agent Kyle," she said quietly. "Are you sure there's something you can't arrange? I just...kind of want to see him. I promise you, I'm perfectly content in letting the justice system pervade otherwise. Or is it for my safety?" she asked appraisingly. She raised her eyebrows, although of course Agent Kyle would not be able to see that.

He paused a long while then sighed. "No, the prisoner doesn't seem to be a threat at the moment. Very well, I'll let you see him, but just this once. And for heaven's sake don't tell anyone."

"Thank you, Agent Kyle," Amelia said. After he gave her directions, she was quick to hang up, lest he change his mind. Then she got dressed and left the house as quietly as possible. Strictly speaking, she wasn't supposed to be driving, but at the moment she really didn't care. This was something she felt compelled to do, and if she had someone drive her, the secrecy would be forfeit.

She arrived at the holding compound – a nondescript building a couple of streets from the Pentagon – and found Agent Kyle waiting for her. "Come this way," he said without preamble when she'd gotten out of her car. He led her silently through two or three security checkpoints before they reached a series of isolation cells. About halfway down they found Colonel O'Neill, dressed in drab, grey prison gear, his hands bound. "You have five minutes," Agent Kyle said, and retreated to the far end of the hallway.

Amelia swallowed. Now that she was here, she had no idea what to say. She didn't bother looking for security cameras; she knew they were there. She couldn't give any indication that she already knew the Colonel, or it would certainly raise a few eyebrows.

"Miss Kinsey," said the Colonel quietly, nodding. "They told me you were coming. What can I do for you?"

She stared at him, her eyes full of questions she wondered if he would understand. "I was curious," she said at last. The statement was short and simple, but heavy with meaning. He looked thoughtful for a long time. Then he shifted, and leaned forward to stare at her intently, though he remained sitting. "I didn't kill your father, Miss Kinsey," he said slowly. "I think you should know that ... not everything is always as it appears."

You know about the Stargate. You know that this goes much deeper.

A sudden peace flooded through Amelia at his words. There was something in his eyes, his voice, that told her what she'd partially suspected. He knew, at least to some extent, what might be going on here. She did not look at him for a moment, pondering his words and how to convey to him that she understood. She didn't want to nod or give any other indication that she believed this statement. As far as the FBI was aware, she had no possible reason to doubt Colonel O'Neill's guilt.

At least she said," My father often spoke of his faith in God, Colonel." She tried to make her voice dispassionate, but she made no effort to hide what she was trying to communicate with her eyes. "I too have a faith of sorts," she said, " but it is different than my father's was." Of all things Amelia had disrespected about her father, his hypocrisy had been the worst. "I think sometimes he believed he was God's mouthpiece—" here she made a face that betrayed just how she felt about that subject, "— but that doesn't matter now. The point is, truth and justice are ultimately in the Lord's hands, and I believe that in this case, justice will be... appropriately served."

The Colonel's expression was unreadable, but they continued to stare at one another a little while longer. At last, though she might later dismiss it as a figure of her desperate imagination, she thought she saw him give the smallest discernable nod. He sat back again. "Was there anything else you wanted, Miss Kinsey?" he asked meaningfully, raising his eyebrows.

"No," she said, then called," Agent Kyle!" Agent Kyle returned from the far end and looked at her expectantly. "I'm done here," she said quietly. "Thank you." Without looking at Colonel O'Neill again, she silently followed Agent Kyle back out of the building, deep in thoughts the whole way.

She felt scared and lost, and more than a little upset with herself. How could she be so blindly trusting? Was she just fooling herself because she wanted Colonel O'Neill to be innocent? She replayed the whole scene at the prison cell over and over in her mind, concentrating on any detail, any memory that might prove she was being a silly, naïve girl and ignoring all the laws of common sense.

Nothing makes sense anymore. Your father is dead, and this is all you can think about?

Eventually, she took her nephews out riding to help distract her from her own rampaging thoughts. This was a successful plan, because as Lydia's boys tended to be very active in general, they required a good deal of supervision when they were all doing something as involved as horseback riding at the same time. There was another benefit as well. By the time they returned to the house for the evening, Amelia had just enough energy to eat a light meal and collapse into bed. Perhaps she should not have worn herself out so much today, but the resulting dreamless sleep was most welcome.


Malcolm Barrett was tired, both physically and mentally. Although he knew he was in pretty good shape, he was still more accustomed to working from his desk than chasing bad guys, jumping out of the way of explosions, and running all over Washington D.C. like a madman. It was wearying, almost as much as had been the mental debate between himself and Major Carter.

He envied her. She had been correct – the attitude of absolute trust she had in her teammates was something he was not familiar with and something he probably never could be. But it had been almost thrilling, for a moment, to take that leap of blind faith. There were people who definitely wouldn't have approved of him disclosing that Kinsey was really alive, but he found he didn't regret it.

Since it wouldn't do to widely spread among more knowledgeable people the fact that Major Carter was in Washington, Barrett had suggested she wait around at the hotel while he worked with the FBI and a few other people to arrange Colonel O'Neill's release. As matters were now in the hands of bureaucracy, this took far longer than he would have liked, but at long last he returned with the Colonel in tow.

"Sir," Major Carter greeted O'Neill with a big grin. "It is really good to see you."

"Carter," he said with a nod, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. "I hear you've been having all the fun without me."

"Yes, sir."

"I understand, too, that I owe you a lot."

She grinned again. "My pleasure, sir. Jonas and Teal'c helped a lot, too. And Agent Barrett," she added, nodding gratefully.

"So I hear," O'Neill commented, giving his own nod, which Barrett returned. Then the Colonel sighed. "Although, of course Kinsey wouldn't really be dead, would he ?" he said with a touch of mock regret.

"Colonel, please don't say anything like that again for the next few... years," Barrett pleaded from the doorway. "The situation is still very delicate. Senator Kinsey only woke up from the coma a couple of hours ago. We're putting together a cover story now, but I'm afraid we're going to need your cooperation to pull it off. Keep your schedule open for tomorrow."

"Right," O'Neill said. He looked at the major. "Carter, cancel all my appointments," he added as he turned back to Sam and took a seat in one of the room's two chairs. He propped his feet up on the table. "So...tell me what happened."

As succinctly as possible, Major Carter relayed to her C.O. the course of the investigation, both from her end and what the rest of SG-1 had been able to accomplish. Barrett mostly listened, admiring and envying the camaraderie between the two teammates. "Frankly, sir," she finally concluded when she'd finished the tale, "I wouldn't be surprised if this thing goes a lot deeper." Her eyes flicked briefly to Barrett at these words. He did not comment.

"Yes, yes, you're probably right," O'Neill said, also glancing his way. Then he rubbed his eyes and waving a careless hand at her. "But I really don't want to think about it tonight, okay, Carter?"

"Yes, sir."

"I had the strangest visitor today," the Colonel said then, an odd tone in his voice. He was staring at the tabletop, deep in thought.

"Yeah?" Major Carter replied.

"Amelia Kinsey, can you believe that?"

Barrett blinked, surprised, suddenly remembering the connection that the senator's daughter now had with the Stargate program. "Really?" he blurted. "Why?" Major Carter looked uncertainly between the two men. "I know about the Tretonin thing," he was quick to assure her.

"Honestly, I'm not sure what she was doing," O'Neill confessed. "She kind of caught me off guard."

"How so, sir?"

"Well...for starters, what's up with her hair? For a second she was giving me nightmares of Hathor."

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir," Sam said slowly, giving him a very puzzled expression. Barrett was equally as puzzled.

"Hathor? Hair? Red? Straight?" Jack asked, with look that said this should be plainly obvious. He reached out for his shoe and began to retie the lace. "It was really scary," he added.

"Did she say anything?" Barrett pressed. He wasn't sure why this news concerned him.

Colonel O'Neill put his feet on the floor and sighed. "Well, we couldn't exactly have a very forthcoming conversation," he said wryly, "but she made it clear that she was having some conflicting feelings about my guilt. I think she came to check me out for herself. I told her I didn't do it."

"Do you think she believed you?"

"That's the really weird part," he said, sitting up straighter and looking intently at Major Carter. "I think she did. The whole time, too, she never once gave away she knew me. Despite her—" he made a face and waved his hand around his head "—obnoxious hair, that girl has some surprising subtleties."

"Well, she is Kinsey's daughter," Barrett pointed out. "She must have picked up a few things in her lifetime."

"Well, knowing a little bit about your history with the Stargate program, sir, she was probably as confused as the rest of us," Carter added.

O'Neill gave a small smile. "Well, thank you Carter." The smile reached his eyes. "Hell, maybe Jonas was right after all."

"Major Carter raised her eyebrows. "Jonas, sir?"

"I shouldn't necessarily judge Miss Kinsey by her family connections," he said, in a drab, deliberate sort of voice that made it clear this confession was given less than willingly. He looked at her sharply. "And don't ever tell him I said that, Major," he added.

Barrett listened to their conversation without further comment, pondering their words and everything he and Major Carter had debated the past couple of days about trust. He was wondering if he should tell them about the conspiracy to use Amelia Kinsey to access Tretonin. He'd had no further leads on the particular matter since that first mysterious phone call, and he could only hope that apprehending those men today had shut the lid on it. One of them had been the CFO of a company highly involved in pharmaceuticals.

His phone rang, a message from one of his agents. "It's probably time to get going," he said, closing his phone when he'd finished and pocketing it. "There's a lot of paperwork and other hateful stuff to take care of, and not much time to do it in. I have to get back." He looked at Carter. "Major, if you'd care to wait around another couple of days, I'd be happy to arrange that you return to Colorado along with the Colonel."

"I'm certain that'd be fine, Agent Barrett. Thank you."

"Well, then, let's get a move on. We've got an American public to dupe."

Before he and Colonel O'Neill left the room, Barrett had made up his mind. He wouldn't tell the SGC about the plot, at least not yet. As it was, Rachel had been given an unexpected and brilliant opportunity to get more information on Kinsey. He could at least wait and see what came of it.


The Kinsey home was full of the sounds of celebration.

When the family had been told the news that the Senator was actually still alive, there had been a variety of amazed reactions. For her part, Amelia hadn't been able to register much but shock so far.

"Okay, here we go," her father called out over the din of clinking glasses and well-wishers that was gathered in the den. "Turn it up Louie," he called to one of his friends— a big time CEO from New York that had pulled Amelia's hair when she was little. The gentleman in question, who was closest to the TV set, idly reached over and pushed the volume.

"—ocking news today, Senator Kinsey was revealed to be alive and well, recovering from a gunshot wound in a private hospital, while the FBI used his assumed death as a cover story to aide in an investigation," said the reporter's voiceover. The screen showed the front of the hospital where her father had been closeted away for the past few days. Her father and Colonel O'Neill, as well as members of her father's staff and security were gathered around a podium set just in front of the doorway.

"First of all," said the figure of her father on the TV screen, "I want to apologize to you and to the American people for the deception surrounding my untimely demise."

"It was an unfortunate but necessary final step in my investigation of certain anti-democratic forces that had taken root in several key government agencies. The ringleaders of this conspiracy have now been taken into custody." At these words, the people gathered in the den began to applaud, but Amelia's father only smiled and help up a hand, indicating that they should wait.

"Of course," he continued on the TV, laughing a little, "taking a bullet was not part of my original plan in bringing these men down, but the success of the operation was well worth any personal sacrifice on my part, and I want the American people to know that, if elected, I intend to bring that same...determination and zeal for justice with me to the White House."

Amelia standing quietly in the back of the room, rolled her eyes, though she couldn't help but smile a little. It was almost funny what a consummate politician her father really was. She hoped she would be able to get away from Washington as soon as possible. His fervor for the presidency was clearly going to escalate because of this, and become more exasperating than ever.

"I would also like to thank Colonel Jack O'Neill of the United States Air Force for the vital role he played in my investigation. I can't go into details for reasons of national security, but I can assure you all that any evidence pointing to the Colonel as my would-be assassin was simply part of the operation. Colonel?"

The two men shook hands, and Amelia studied Colonel O'Neill's face carefully. His expression was blank and unreadable. She supposed most people would just assume he was being formal, but she wasn't so sure. She didn't have time to analyze the expression further, though, because the reporter started speaking again and the news program was moving on. The applause around the room became loud and enthusiastic now, and her father was beaming and shaking hands all around.

Feeling overly warm, Amelia slipped out of the room and headed upstairs to her room. Once in the darkened hallway, she nearly ran headlong into a strange woman, probably a couple of years older than she was, thin, and pretty, looking a little lost. She was coming from the direction of the study.

"Can I help you?" Amelia asked, puzzled.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, flustered. She laughed slightly. "I had to use the bathroom but the one downstairs is so busy. Mrs. Kinsey said I could come up here."

Amelia glanced in the opposite direction. "It's that way," she said helpfully.

"Thanks," the woman replied. "Got kind of misdirected."

"Rachel?" Both women turned around to see Amelia's father just coming up the stairs as well. He seemed more surprised than Amelia to see the woman here.

"Senator," said the woman respectfully.

"What are you doing up here?"

The woman looked embarrassed. "Bathroom," she explained, pointing meaningfully in the direction Amelia had gestured.

"Aha. Amelia, this is my secretary, Rachel Grier. Rachel, my daughter."

"Nice to meet you," Amelia said, shaking the woman's hand. "Don't let us keep you," she added with a smile.

Rachel coughed and offered a small smile. "Thanks," she said. "It was nice to meet you too."

Father and daughter watched her retreat, then Kinsey pulled Amelia quietly into the nearest bedroom. "I thought maybe you were going to bed," he said. "I wanted to get a chance to talk with you. Tell me how things are going at the SGC. Have they begun treatment?"

Amelia explained to him the basics of the situation. He did not seem overly pleased with the delay in her treatment, but didn't dwell too long on it.

"Well, the other reason I needed to talk with you tonight is that there's a private jet taking Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter back to Colorado tomorrow morning. I'd like you to get back there as soon as possible, so you'll be permitted to go with them."

Amelia raised her eyebrows. That would be an interesting flight. Still, she did not argue the point. She'd been thinking about her return to the SGC all afternoon, and was pleased to find it would be so unexpectedly soon.

Her father was impatient to return to his guests, so the interview didn't last very long. Amelia retrieved a book from her bedroom, then went back to the kitchen and out the door to the expensive tile patio that wrapped around much of the mansion's rear entryway. With a sigh, she sat down in a lounge chair and lay her head back against it, closing her eyes and smiling in appreciation at the warm, soft breeze that touched her face.

A moment after she opened the book and began reading, something wet and sniffly invaded the palm of her hand, which was draped over the edge of the chair. Laughing, she cocked one eye open to see Oscar, her father's dog, looking expectantly up at her with big brown eyes. "Hey, boy," she said with a smile, scruffing him behind the ears. "Everybody left you out here alone, huh?" The dog panted pleasurably at her attention.

As she petted the aging animal, Amelia's thoughts were once more caught up in the day's crazy turn of events. She was glad her father was alive, but the whole experience had left her more confused about her feelings towards him than ever. She had not mourned him, yet now she was relieved he was not dead. How did that make sense?

"Oscar," she said to the dog, "I think an affection for you and mom is just about the only thing dad and I have in common," she informed him knowingly. Perhaps that was all there was to it. She couldn't say she loved her father. Sometimes she was pretty sure she didn't even respect him, yet she held no bitterness against him as she did with John. Maybe because, although he had never been the most devoted father, his love for Amelia's mother was real, and he'd always done right by his family – seeing to it that they were provided for, even before they'd accumulated the wealth they now enjoyed. John did not seem to share this sense of obligation. Sometimes Amelia wasn't sure he was aware his son and daughter existed.

She sat there, caressing Oscar's silky ears for a long time, thinking and mulling and pondering the whole situation thoroughly. In the end she came to some very simple conclusions. She had not mourned her father because it had felt like the death of a stranger. Neither had she received any pleasure in his "death" because she held no bitterness against him. As for her relief at the truth, that was humanitarian more than anything else. Despite everything, she didn't really think her father deserved to be shot.

Eventually, Lydia tracked her down and the two sisters sat out on the patio long into the evening, and by the time they retreated upstairs for bed, she was in a very good mood. Amelia had very much enjoyed their conversation, although she found herself wishing she could have told her sister every silly little detail about Jonas, which was something she'd always tended to do with her crushes. But of course then she would have had to explain how she'd met him, and in the end it had been safer not to broach the subject.

The thought of Jonas brought a smile to her face as she settled down to read, and made it hard to concentrate on the words. Eventually, she turned out the light and snuggled into her covers, giving a contented sigh. Tomorrow, she thought with a smile. Tomorrow she would return.


A/N: Well, folks. There it is. The longest chapter of the story, with my compliments. :-)

Great news, I got a bit more of the sequel done today. I may try and work on it some more tonight too. (grin)