George Hammond was mildly surprised to see Jack O'Neill standing in his doorway Monday morning. He was even more surprised that the younger man carried no files to hide behind – their interactions for the past two weeks had been infrequent, short, and to the point. "General," he greeted.

"General."

The visitor was obviously incredibly uncomfortable. It rang through his voice and showed in the twitchy fingers that obviously longed to be shoved into his pockets. George changed tactics. "What's on your mind, Jack?"

His mouth opened several long seconds before any sound came out. "I need to… go… for awhile," he answered eventually. "Sir."

So, George thought, it had all caught up with him. He was in equal measures happy that the younger man was finally dealing with his loss and unhappy that he was running away to do it. Jack O'Neill didn't have the best track record with grief. "When?"

"As soon as possible, sir. But I recognize that may be awhile."

"It's pretty slow around here. I can cover," George offered with a shrug. After all, Jack had worked while he'd gone to Sam Carter's funeral. "If it all goes to hell, I'll call."

But Jack's face twisted at the word. "That's the thing, sir. I think I need to really…." Looking at the floor, he said, "I dunno, maybe it's time to pack it in altogether."

No, making big career decisions two weeks after a major loss was never the right plan. "Why don't you try cutting ties for a week before you do it forever?" he advised.

"I'd appreciate that, sir. If we can find a time -"

"Now's good," George decided.

Jack's eyebrows bobbed. "Now?"

"It's slow," he reiterated. And the younger man needed a break before he imploded or blew up all over someone else. "Give me a minute to print out the paperwork. Minnesota?"

"Yes, sir." He still hadn't quite gotten over his surprise, clearly. "Turning off my phone," he warned. "No internet -"

"I know. A real vacation." George pulled the warm sheet of paper from his printer and scribbled his name on it. "I'll see you Monday, Jack. Take care of yourself."

"Yes, sir."

~/~

He'd booked a flight same-day; it never took Jack long to pack, anyway. He'd had just enough time to change planes in Atlanta and had rented a truck at the counter in Minneapolis. It was dark by the time he reached the cabin two hours later. And Jack was exhausted. He set the USB drive carefully on the coffee table, sprawled out on the couch, and fell asleep.

~/~

SG-1 didn't need to be present for the MALP survey of M3X-290; after all, they would be briefed on the results that afternoon. Nonetheless, Teal'c and Cam Mitchell appeared in the Control Room a few minutes before the scheduled deployment. "SG-1," General Landry greeted. Daniel's absence was to be expected; he had taken the morning to meet with Colonel Carter's attorney.

"Sir," Mitchell answered with a nod.

"Ready for tomorrow?" Landry asked. SG-1 had been grounded for two weeks, but he hoped deployment would signal a return to normalcy. Surely they could use it.

Teal'c dipped his chin just once. "We are."

"Good. Let's see what's out there. Sergeant, dial -"

The Stargate lit up.

"That isn't me, sir," Sergeant Harriman told him as the alarms began to sound. "Unscheduled offworld activation."

"Close the iris."

They watched, tense, as the chevrons lit and the Gate burst to life. Only a moment passed before the Sergeant spoke again, his voice decidedly unsure. "Uh… sir?"

Landry glanced at him, then leaned in to see the screen the technician pointed to. He, too, sounded reticent. "Open the iris."

The metal slid home, revealing the shimmery blue of the wormhole.

A tense moment passed.

And then Antonin Chekov – commander of the Korolev – stumbled onto the ramp.