CHAPTER SIX
She could feel him watching her and, though it was slightly unnerving, Elizabeth knew that she would have to deal with General Jack O'Neill's assessing stare, at least until he figured out what he was trying to figure out. They were sitting across from each other in a small waiting area, their transport stalled for some technical reason that had Elizabeth a little nervous but didn't seem to phase Jack in the slightest so she tried to ignore the gnawing animal that was eating at her insides as they sat and waited for their plane to be ready to leave. Jack was idly tapping his fingertips on the cover of the paperback spy novel he was holding but not reading, and she had a newspaper, something that, even if she hadn't realized it, she had missed intensely while in the Pegasus Galaxy. There was something comforting about newsprint, about the way it smudged at her fingertips just slightly, the sound it made when you turned the page and flattened out the folds, the smell of the recycled paper and the ink and the familiar and never-changing font and size of the lettering. It was reassuring, a welcome reminder of simple things that were so easily taken for granted. Newspapers were a piece of her past that she would never willingly let go of.
When she had first learned to read English it had been with newspapers, a father-daughter daily ritual that had continued, in one way or another, until her father had died in a car accident when she was twelve. When she was first starting to learn she would sit on her father's lap in the evenings and her chubby fingers would slide over the pages as her lips and tongue fumbled over words and her father's gentle encouragement backed her up, continuous and unwavering in his belief that she could do anything she set her mind to—he never gave her the answers, just his support, knowing that since she had been born Elizabeth Weir had been the type who needed to get to the bottom of something by herself and who did not take kindly to those who tried to do something for her. Later she would sit across from her father, sometimes with a newspaper, other times with a book or magazine, and they would both sit and read together, sometimes silently, other times aloud, neither one hesitant to point out something that they were reading that they thought the other would be interested in. After her father died Elizabeth had continued curling up in her usual chair, newspaper or book in hand, and she would read, usually silently, though occasionally aloud, especially when she came across something she thought her father would be interested in. At least until her mother's job began demanding too much of her time and Elizabeth found herself attending a boarding school in Switzerland, living out a slightly twisted cliché as her mother met and married the epitome of evil stepfathers who had insisted that Elizabeth's mother leave her job but that Elizabeth stay in Switzerland for her schooling.
Once she reached the sports section Elizabeth refolded the newspaper neatly and tucked it into an outside pocket of her briefcase. Despite the numerous times she had watched John's football tape with him, and despite her mild passing interest in sports in general, Elizabeth was not a fan and rarely, if ever, read the sports section. Occasionally, when it was raining outside and she had a day off from whatever job she had at that time, she would sit down with a cup of coffee and read a paper cover to cover, but, even before she was brought into the SGC, days like that had been few and far between.
"So… how long does it usually take to fix a… whatever is wrong with that thing?" Elizabeth asked, glancing over Jack's shoulder, her eyes zeroing in on the transport plane beyond the windows of the waiting area and down the tarmac. She had never been overly fond of getting places by military transport, though she spent a great many hours on them when a diplomatic mission led her to a place where commercial flights just didn't go, or when the risk factor for a private plane was too high and a military escort was necessary.
"It varies, but it shouldn't be much longer," Jack said. "Eager to get away from here?" he inquired.
"The sooner we get to DC the sooner we can get the insanely long list of meetings we have waiting for us and the sooner I can get back to my people and my city," Elizabeth said. She smiled softly. "Being back… feels weird. Everything is just so different… even the little things that you don't notice day-to-day until they aren't there anymore. The bad coffee in the mess, the automatic lights, the bickering scientists, the salt air… but I miss the ocean most."
Jack smiled. "Got used to the waves at night, huh?"
"I've never needed sounds to sleep before, but now I can't seem to shut down without the ocean lulling me to sleep," Elizabeth admitted.
"Bet being locked in a mountain where it is never quiet hasn't helped," Jack said, offering up a sympathetic smile.
"No so much, no," Elizabeth said.
"You'll be back there as soon as possible, Doc. Until then… maybe look into a noise machine," Jack suggested lamely.
"Welcome to P9T-934," Sam said as her eyes scanned the terrain.
"Not much different from Pegasus," John commented, looking around, his eyes taking in his current surroundings. Trees, grass, a river to the left of the Stargate, sky that was more or less blue—the less being the creepy green tinge that the cloudless sky had to it—and air that was as pollution-free as possible. Just like home. Atlantis, of course, being home, because somehow Earth had simply become the place that they were from, way back when, and not their home. The only thing that was different, he noted, was that the chevrons on the Stargate were red instead of the green that he was used to, and the constellations, the ones he had learned as a child, were there instead of the Pegasus Galaxy constellations that John had yet to find the time to give names to. But the changes in constellations and the colour of the chevrons went away as the 'Gate shut down behind them.
Sam shrugged. "Habitable planets generally have similar characteristics. Trees, water..." She looked around. "Not all that much different from Earth, really. Sure, you find strange things, like that planet we were on a few weeks ago with the giant purple bunny rabbits, but for the most part it's pretty much the same, at least in the broad strokes."
"Yeah, Rodney's probably said something about that somewhere along the… wait. Giant bunny rabbits?" John asked, frowning.
"Giant purple bunny rabbits," Daniel said.
"Right, 'cause if they weren't purple it'd be a whole different story," John said, shaking his head. He had yet to have to negotiate with giant woodland creatures of any colour, and he hoped he never had to.
Smiling, Sam moved to check on the MALP. Nothing seemed out of place or broken, so she stood back upright and nodded to the group. "Okay. Teal'c, you take point. Daniel, the aerial survey showed ruins about a mile away, so shout if you see anything… ruin-ish. John and I will take the six."
Teal'c inclined his head slightly before moving forward, his P-90 held loosely at his side, though his body held a tension that John knew all too well—Teal'c wouldn't relax until he knew his team was home, back through the Stargate, unharmed—and John respected that.
Daniel moved with practised ease across the uneven surface, roots sticking up through the soil and hundreds of large rocks making the ground rather unpleasant to walk on, but he didn't falter, not once, despite the fact that his attention was focused on the notebook he was scribbling in. Despite the fact that it looked like his notebook had his full attention, John could tell that the archaeologist was just as aware of his surroundings as everyone else. John imagined that, back when the team had first started out together, back when then-Colonel O'Neill ran SG-1 and Sam was just a Captain, things hadn't moved as smoothly, especially with the civilian archaeologist on the team, but it was obvious that Jackson was well-trained. There was something about him that made John think about boot camp, the practised actions that often carried on into the field and everyday life, and then there was the feeling, something entirely too Zen for John to wrap his head around, that told him that Daniel had spent time training with someone other than the military, quite possibly Teal'c who, John had learned through files and from Sam, had a style of fighting and living that was all his own.
And Sam began moving backwards over the rough terrain, one hand resting on her P-90, the other on what he had been told was a Zatnikatil, or Zat gun, that was basically an energy weapon that had three stages: one shot would stun the target for an indeterminate amount of time, the second shot would kill the target, and the third would disintegrate the molecules that made up the target—John had immediately put a note in his list of armaments about the weapons, hoping that they would be effective against the Wraith. Like Teal'c, Sam's body held a tension that spoke of just how alert she was, but, as always, she moved with a gentle grace that rarely went hand in hand with military issue combat boots. Having trained with her John knew that Sam had always been that way, but, knowing her as well as he did outside of military life, John also knew that Sam was just as comfortable in a dress and heels as she was in field gear and combat boots.
The three members of SG-1 worked together so efficiently, each playing a part, each a cog in what was clearly a well-oiled machine. Of course, nine years together probably helped, John mused as he thought about how sometimes AR-1 was like a group of squabbling children—Rodney wanting to check out the technology, Teyla wanting to keep up her people's trading partners, Ford wanting to bug Rodney as much as possible, and John, himself, wanting to find something, anything, that would give Atlantis a strategic advantage over the Wraith. Half the time he didn't feel that his team melded quite right, that there was something wrong there that he should be taking care of. But the rest of the time they worked together flawlessly, fighting battles side by side, winning some, losing other, but always making sure that they didn't leave anyone behind.
John let out a heavy sigh at that thought. They may not have left Ford behind, but he was still out there, not in his right mind, without his team to back him up. Sam was right. Addictions all worked the same. The first dose works for a while and then you plateau and then you start needing more to get the same jolt as before. No one knew how the Wraith enzyme worked, how fast Ford would find himself hitting one of those plateaus.
The uncertainty of it all was driving John crazy. He wasn't the type to like everything just so. He couldn't be that guy, not doing the job he did. But the not knowing… it was worse than knowing, he was sure. If Ford was in Atlantis, or even on Earth, and they were actively doing something, anything, to make him better, to bring back the young Lieutenant who had jumped through the wormhole backwards with a cheer that day that they left Earth… actually doing something would be easier, John knew. No matter how hard it was to watch, to witness, at least he would know certain facts.
Like whether or not Ford was alive.
TBC...
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