Out of Time

by AstraPerAspera

What happens to Sam and Jack when the world they know is falling apart around them. Inspired by the novel Stargate SG1: Relativity by James Swallow. Sam and Jack Ship.

3. Part 2

Out Of Time

Part 2

Infection Plus Seven Months

"Don't take this the wrong way, Sam…but you look like hell."

Sam looked up from her untouched plate and blinked at Daniel as he set his tray on the table and sat down across from her.

"I'm sorry, Daniel…what?"

He gave her a half apologetic smile.

"Never mind. Anything edible tonight?" he indicated the food, which matched the contents of his plate. She shook her head.

"Not according to my taste buds. If you're hungry, you're welcome to mine. I'm not sure I can stomach any more Salisbury steak."

Daniel eyed the glutinous gravy and canned mushroom concoction on her plate and shook his head.

"I think I'll pass, thanks." Sam felt his gaze boring into her. She looked up and met his blue eyes studying her through his glasses.

"What?" she asked. Some smart-ass remark about growing a third eye bubbled to her lips but she stopped herself from uttering it. The irritation threshold at the SGC was low these days, hers included. It took extra effort to not snap at the slightest thing. As an officer she needed to set an example. Even if it was only with Daniel.

"Are you okay?" he asked. The genuine concern in his voice made her instantly regret the irritation she'd felt moments before. Trust Daniel to get to the heart of any matter. It was a sneak attack. She looked down at her plate, not meeting his eyes.

"Yeah. Fine. Well…you know. As fine as any of us are, under the circumstances."

She could still feel his eyes on her. She poked at the mashed potatoes with her fork. When she was a kid she used to make lava flows in them so the gravy could run down the side of the mashed potato mountain. She realized she was doing that now and stopped.

"Right. It's just that the rest of us aren't up day and night working with Dr. Warner and Dr. Stanton trying to figure out where this thing came from. And I know for a fact that both of them are getting a whole lot more sleep than you are. Warner's quarters are down the hall from mine and he's in bed by ten every night. And Stanton looks pretty well rested every time I see her in the corridors."

'I get plenty of rest, Daniel," she assured him, glancing up to give him a reassuring smile. He didn't smile back.

"No, Sam. You don't. I know it. Jack knows it. Everybody knows it. All we have to do is look at you and we can tell. You've got us worried. Jack especially."

Sam swallowed a lump in the back of her throat. Daniel's concern—the General's concern—had caught her off guard. She thought she'd been hiding her fatigue pretty well. So much for that delusion.

"Look…I know you want to get your life back. We all do. But you don't have to kill yourself doing this, Sam. It's not like what happened was your fault or anything. And I'm sure Pete understands that sometimes stuff like this happens here, even if you haven't been able to tell him the whole story."

Sam felt her cheeks grow warm. Pete. She'd hardly given him a passing thought these past ten weeks. Not since she'd left a message for him, telling him that she was not going to be around for some indefinite amount of time. He knew enough about what she did to understand that she couldn't say anything more over the phone, let alone on a voice mail, and she'd been quite specific in stating that he was not to try to contact her. After that he had completely faded from her thoughts. Until now. It was Daniel's assumption that her quest to find the source of the contagion was fueled by a desire to get back that aspect of her life that had caused her to blush. He couldn't have been further from the truth.

"That's not why I'm doing this, Daniel. I mean…sure, we all want to get out of here, but that's not the point. They're implying that it was negligence on our part that this happened and I'm not buying that. We've got people stranded off-world we have to bring home! And I'll be damned if I'll sit by and let them shut down the SGC on the General's watch and lay the blame at his feet!"

The words poured out with a passion that surprised even her. She and Daniel held each others gaze for a moment and she saw the light of understanding come over him. His eyebrows shot up and he reached for the salt shaker.

"Ahh," was all he said as he generously anointed his peas. Her face warmed again; for the real reason, this time, and she turned back to her plate, stabbing violently at her mountain of potatoes. Her fork hit the plate and made a sound akin to nails on a blackboard. She winced.

"Anyway. I've…we've got until the end of next week to come up with our findings. The Pentagon and Homeworld Security have been keeping this under the radar for the time-being. Only the President knows about it. But they're going to have to make a decision soon. It costs too much just to turn the lights on around here to be nothing more than an isolation ward. If we can't get to the source of this, they'll mothball the stargate and transfer us someplace else."

"And Reynolds and Dixon…and all those people at the Alpha Site…."

"They'll never get home. At least not for a good long time," she concluded for him. "And who knows when we'll ever see Teal'c again. And it's not like bringing them home is the only issue either, Daniel." She put down the useless fork and hunkered over the table, her voice dropping to a quieter level. "You know as well as I do that Anubis is still out there.. We may have sent him to an ice planet, but I'm willing to lay odds that he's going to show up again. And we can't ignore the Replicators either. Fifth was pretty pissed at what I…what we did to him, so I don't think we've seen the last of them. Without the gate we'll be lacking a whole lot of intel on what's going on in the galaxy. There's very limited power left in the ZPM in Antarctica…who knows if we'll even be able to get the Ancient Chair Platform working again if we need it. Which only leaves the Prometheus and a bay full of F302s to defend this planet. It's not going to be enough, if and when the time comes."

"I thought we had more ships in the queue?" Daniel asked, squinting at his steak before slicing it.

Sam leaned back in her chair and sighed.

"We do…at least three in production, including one for the Russians, and two more on the drawing board. But a lot of those specs are dependent on some Asgard technology we haven't gotten yet. If we bury the gate, we may never get our hands on them."

"Speaking of the Agard…what about asking them for help…or is this one of those "protected planet" treaty things again?" He was inspecting the meat on the end of his fork as though it were some artifact unearthed from an ancient ruin.

"Yeah. Natural disasters and all that. Plus they're still a little busy with the Replicators. Last I heard they were modifying those weapons Colonel...I mean, General O'Neill had designed from the Ancient Database for use on a larger scale. But quite frankly, we're small potatoes compared to what they're facing. I don't think we can count on them, no matter how many times we may have saved their cute little butts."

She saw the corner of Daniel's mouth twitch into a half smile and she realized she'd just echoed one of General O'Neill's often used sentiments about the Asgard. Well, at least she hadn't said "for cryin' out loud"….

"And I guess the Tok'ra are out, after what happened at the Alpha Site."

Sam nodded, looking at her plate again. She hadn't seen her dad in months and had only received a couple of messages from him in that time. She had tried hard not to think about how much she missed him…or what dangers he might be in, now that Anubis had an army of Kull Warriors at this disposal. It wasn't like she didn't have enough to worry about already.

"So…that just leaves us," concluded Daniel wearily. "Or more specifically, you."

Sam gave a humorless laugh.

"Sure. No pressure, right?"

"Yeah," Daniel said quietly. Sam refused to look up. She could tell there was sympathy in his look by the mere sound of his voice. If she gave into it, it might overwhelm her. And she was not at a good place to be bested by her emotions. She had too much that needed her undivided focus. Too many things were at stake here.

"Look…Sam…."

Part of her wanted to throttle Daniel. She could really understand why there were times General O'Neill had told the guy just to shut up. He was relentless. Well intentioned, but relentless.

"I know a lot is riding on this. For everyone. But I'm just saying…we're here, if you need us."

We. With Teal'c stuck on Chulak Daniel could only mean one other person. And of all the people she knew she could not go to, now, for support—emotional or other wise—it was him. Still. Not something she needed to share with Daniel. She forced a smile and placed her empty water glass on her tray.

"Thanks, Daniel. I appreciate that." She stood and picked up her tray. Time to leave. Time to leave as quickly as possible. Because there was work to do, and not a lot of time left to do it in, and not for any reason that remotely had to do with the sudden stinging sensation she felt in her eyes. Without another word to Daniel she dropped off her tray and headed back to her lab by the long route. By the time she arrived, she was ready to go back to work.

OOOO

The steam rising from Daniel's coffee mug was mesmerizing. Well, not exactly mesmerizing, but at least it was something to look at, something to focus on while they waited. Normally she'd be the one who'd jumped up to tinker with the video connections when the screen fizzled out, but she was too numb to think much about s-cables and USB ports at the moment. Besides, Sgt. Harriman was more than capable at getting the feed back from the Pentagon, so she just watched the swirling coffee mist float into oblivion and waited.

The screen snapped to life again. The graphic image of the Pentagon was visible once more. Either they were having problems on their end too or they hadn't been ready to start on time, which should have been—Sam checked her watch—five minutes ago. At the head of the table General O'Neill was tapping his pen absently. Was it her imagination or had his hair become more silver in the past weeks? This late in the day it was evident that it had been a good many hours since he'd shaved, but then, as she looked around the table, none of them were looking too shipshape at the moment. Dr. Stanton, across from her, seemed even more taut than usual. Sam sighed inwardly. What had started out as a good working relationship with her had turned into a state of perpetual tension once the quarantine had been established. The hoped for days…perhaps even only a few weeks…had become months. Stanton had not taken it well. None of them had. Even Sam, who was used to long periods of time underground, had found the isolation and lack of freedom claustrophobic. The few hours a day the staff was cycled to the surface for a little fresh air, sunlight and exercise had been woefully insufficient. Not that she'd taken advantage of it very often anyway. There's been too much to do to idle away precious hours on the surface. Too much to do which hadn't resulted, after all this time, in very much at all. It was all she could do to keep from snapping the pencil in her hand in frustration.

Sitting further down the table was Dr. Warner, obviously fidgeting with nervousness. In spite of the General's estimation of his abilities, Sam had found him to be more than capable in the past months, even if his jittery personality did tend to jangle her own nerves from time to time. At least she hadn't gotten stuck will Bill Lee. He'd been on vacation when the whole debacle had begun and had had to sit this one out at home. Sam was grateful for small favors.

"Walter?" The General was looking wearily expectant in the tech's direction.

"We're on-line, sir. We're just waiting for them. Once they…."

He was interrupted when the screen image jumped and instead of the graphic an image of Major Davis appeared.

"Never mind," mumbled Walter and left the room. Sam felt the tension ratchet up a few notches as all eyes focused on the video feed. This was it.

Moments later the image was readjusted so that the view included not only Major Davis but General Hammond and two others. One Sam recognized as General Vidrine; the other general she did not know. It was evident, however, that whoever he was, he was in charge of this meeting.

"We'll forgo the pleasantries, ladies and gentlemen," he said brusquely. "Let's get right down to the point…." He looked directly into the screen and Sam felt as if he was making eye contact with every person in the room. A scowl crossed his face.

"Dr. Jackson…what are you doing there?"

Sam saw all eyes turn toward Daniel. He looked perplexed.

"Daniel's a member of SG-1, sir," she heard herself reply. She was in charge of SG-1 and Daniel was her responsibility. The fact that she hadn't actually invited him to this meeting was of no consequence whatsoever.

The unknown Pentagon general tapped the tips of the fingers of his clasped hands together, the scowl deepening.

"This is a high level meeting of the U.S. military involving very sensitive matters, Colonel. Dr. Jackson's presence is not appropriate."

She heard Daniel clear his throat.

"Excuse me?" He waved a finger in the air as if he might be correcting the spelling of his name. "If I recall correctly, last time I looked I worked for the military…and, in point of fact, I probably have a higher security clearance than half the Pentagon--so if…."

"Oh let him stay, George," interrupted General O'Neill in a tone Sam knew meant he wanted to cut the crap that was going on. "He was here at the beginning. He might as well be here at the end."

Daniel blinked and bounced a look back and forth between General O'Neill and herself. She gave a barely perceptible shrug, but her heart was pounding. There was only one end he could have been talking about, considering their lack of findings. Still…she hadn't expected that it would really come down this way.

"The end? The end of what?" Daniel's voice raised slightly, but no one answered him. At least not directly.

"I'll take responsibility for Dr. Jackson's presence." The baritone voice of General Hammond came over the feed and she glanced back at the screen. Some kind of dynamic was playing out in the conference room in Washington that she didn't fully understand. The unnamed general seemed to assess Hammond's words for a moment and then assented.

"Very well…," he said at last.

"The end of what?" Daniel persisted, even louder.

"…as long as he remains quiet," the other general amended, with a glare at the screen directed obviously at the archeologist. Daniel turned to General O'Neill.

" Jack?"

"Be quiet, Daniel. Or leave."

Daniel's brow furrowed at the ultimatum. Sam couldn't blame him. The General rarely took that tone with Daniel. It had to be the stress. They were all feeling it. And the General had to be feeling it most of all. She found herself suddenly studying her hands, a wave of nausea passing through her. This was her fault. She'd failed him. She'd been so sure she could find out the source of this contagion…to prove that there hadn't been negligence and that things hadn't fallen apart under General O'Neill's command. But the evidence had alluded her. Even when they'd finally isolated the virus, nothing had told her where it came from or how. One day it had not been there; the next it had. And both those days had been since the General had taken command.

Daniel—perhaps from experience, Sam thought—wisely decided to say nothing, although she could tell that a whole lot of things were sifting through his brain. She tried to give him an understanding smile before turning her attention back to the screen. She'd heard her name mentioned.

"…on the findings of Colonel Carter's and Dr. Stanton's reports, we have no other option than to permanently suspend the operations of Stargate Command. For the record, all off-world teams will be officially listed as Missing in Action. Base personnel will be reassigned according to seniority and areas of expertise. General O'Neill…General Hammond has convinced me that your experience is needed here at the Pentagon. Colonel Carter, your background and knowledge of alien technology will be invaluable at Area 51. Other reassignments of senior staff will be forwarded to you later today. A team under the direction of Colonel Steven Jeffries will be arriving from Peterson today to assist with the evacuation of the base. You all have been there awhile and he'll be in charge of making sure everyone gets where they need to be."

Sam's ears were ringing. She felt a rage trembling deep within. All those weeks…all that work….

"So that's it then?" she said aloud, turning to stare directly at the monitor and the triumvirate of faces so safely ensconced in their ivory tower.

"Colonel…" growled General O'Neill warningly. She brushed him with a glance but her attention was focused on the screen.

"Did you have something to say, Colonel?" asked the unknown general. Sam caught the shine of three stars on his shoulder. She didn't care.

"No, sir…she didn't," spoke up O'Neill, loudly, before Sam could get a sound out.

"Yes, sir…I do…." She contradicted him, refusing to meet his eyes because she knew exactly the look he was giving her. She still didn't care.

"You can't just shut down the SGC," she went on, trying to temper the anger in order to make her argument. "There's absolutely no logic in that whatsoever! The virus is out there—closing the gate isn't going to matter one way or another. We have people at the Alpha Site…we can't just abandon them! And if you think the problem with this virus is bad…just wait until we close off our only means of gathering intel on the rest of the galaxy! General Hammond," she looked at the older man's image on the screen, entreating. "You know better than anyone what's out there. You know what's at risk if we try to isolate ourselves from the rest of the galaxy! We might as well surrender right now…because if the goa'uld don't turn us into hosts or slaves, then the replicators will take over and this planet will end up as just so much rubble. If we give up…if we give in…we're done for!"

"General O'Neill…" General Vidrine warned.

"Yes, sir…," rumbled O'Neill, without looking at the screen. He didn't look at Sam either when he spoke.

"That's enough, Colonel."

Sam couldn't believe her ears. The anger stirred again. A heavy thing inside her chest. Anger and grief and…betrayal.

Daniel spoke before she could.

"Sam's right…how can you do this? Of all the short-sighted…."

"Doctor Jackson…" the unknown General snapped. "Your presence here was predicated on the understanding that you would remain quiet. This is a military matter. It's a military decision. Not that I have to explain myself to anyone, but the decision has been made that bringing home the off-world teams could in fact introduce further contamination of some unknown source into the population…'

"There's no evidence to support that!" Sam interrupted.

"Colonel Carter, that is enough!"

The force of the reprimand would have been enough to silence her; the fact that it came from a red-faced General Hammond nearly dropped her in her tracks. He'd only spoken like that to her once before. She went silent, but her heart continued to race.

"What does the IOA say about this?" Daniel spoke up. She cast him a furtive glance of appreciation, but he didn't see it. His eyes were boring into the screen.

"The IOA has been made aware of circumstances which have required the suspension of the Stargate program indefinitely. At some future time we will advise them of the details. In the meantime you will remember that your confidentiality agreements are still in effect and that any discussion about these matters outside the program are strictly prohibited and subjected to legal action." The unnamed General's voice slid over the phrasing with practiced ease. Sam found herself wondering how many times he'd given that same speech. Then it hit her: the IOA didn't know. They were being kept out of the loop. The military…the Pentagon…was keeping this under their hat. They'd probably invented some cock and bull story about a gate malfunction or something. The IOA had no clue what was really going on. A knot as big as her fist clutched at Sam's stomach. This was wrong. All wrong.

"All SGC military personnel are granted sixteen hour leave to prepare for reassignment. Colonel Carter, you are due aboard a transport that will take you to Area 51 at 1130 hours tomorrow; General O'Neill, we'll expect you here by 1800 hours. Colonel Jeffries, as I noted, will advise you of further arrangements."

Daniel was waving a finger in front of him again.

"Uh…what about me…and the other civilians on base?"

Sam saw the three men on the screen exchange looks. General Hammond proceeded to study his hands while the mystery General answered.

"We will provide temporary quarters for civilians off-base until other assignments can be found. Busses will be provided for transportation to that location under the direction of Colonel Jeffries. Don't worry, Doctor Jackson. We won't leave you out in the cold."

"That's what I'm afraid of…," murmured Daniel under his breath.

"If there's nothing else then…." It was more statement than question. "Dismissed."

Sam saw him nod and the screen switched off. She felt sick all over.

Brittle silence filled the room. She almost didn't trust herself to look at anyone. No words would come.

The sound of a pen dropping on a folder was like a gunshot. Everyone jumped. Sam looked at the source; General O'Neill was looking at no one.

"You heard the man, people. Dismissed."

He stood up and whisking the folder off the table walked behind her chair to his office without another word.

"Finally. I can get out of here."

Sam whirled on Eileen Stanton.

"Excuse me?" she replied, icily. The epidemiologist didn't flinch.

"I said, now I can finally get out of here. I'll tell you...if I'd have known this thing was going to take this long, I sure as hell would never have accepted this assignment. Although I suppose I have you to thank for the duration of this agony."

"Me?" The woman's attitude hadn't startled Sam, but her comments did.

"If I heard it once I heard it twenty times from General O'Neill: 'Give Carter more time'. If he hadn't been backing you up on this one we'd have had this meeting six weeks ago. And I'd have been home."

"Oh, I wouldn't count on going home just yet, Doctor," interrupted Daniel. Stanton arched an eyebrow and jutted out her chin. Sam had gotten to know those gestures far better than she ever would have liked to. It was Stanton's classic superiority attitude.

"And just why would you say that, Doctor Jackson?"

Daniel took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose before returning them.

"Oh I don't know…just a hunch I guess. Something about those busses…and not leaving us out in the cold. I have a feeling it's going to be a very long time until we actually get to go 'home'…if at all."

"That's ridiculous. Of course we'll get to go home. Won't we?" Dr. Warner had joined the conversation. Sam had almost forgotten him. He'd been at the far end of the table away from the view screen. She'd had her back to him most of the time.

Daniel just shrugged. His distrust of the military was no secret, Sam knew…and she was usually able to shrug off some of his wilder ideas in that regard. Not this time. Daniel was right. There was something about this whole thing that didn't feel right. Even if they had been under lockdown for months, things were suddenly moving too fast. The rationale was all wrong…it was…flimsy. A paper lion. There was more going on. A whole hell of a lot more. It had been all over General Hammond's face.

And now that she thought about it, all over General O'Neill's as well. He knew. Whatever the hell it was. Damn it. He knew.

That barely supressed anger propelled her into his office without even thinking.

"Sir….this is wrong."

"It's not open for debate, Carter. It's an order. Start packing."

"But sir…."

"Carter…don't make me use my general's voice."

"At least tell me why. Why are we suddenly shutting everything down and locking the doors? Why are we writing our people off and leaving them stranded? What the hell ever happened to 'No Man Left Behind'? Why are Daniel and the other civilians going to be herded off to some kind of internment camp while we get scattered to the four winds? I know you have the answers, sir. Don't you dare tell me you don't know."

It had poured out of her like bitter bile. She had nothing left to hold it in with. He could bust her back to Captain if he wanted to. She didn't care. Not any more.

"That's enough, Colonel," he growled, looking away from her at something she was sure was of no importance on his desk.

"No sir. It's not," she snapped back heatedly. "I need an answer. You owe me an answer."

She saw him wince at her words—wince like he did when someone had struck a particular nerve with him. Like he did when he knew he had no choice but to give it up.

"Carter…aw, hell." There was a weariness in his voice. It struck her that for all the time they'd been stuck on base together for the past months they'd barely seen one another—hardly spoken outside of the exchange of information they'd needed to keep each other apprised of the crisis at hand. She hadn't really looked at him until this meeting. He looked as fatigued and wasted as she felt. God, they were an awful pair.

She saw him glance through the window of this office to the briefing room. It had cleared. No one was in sight.

"Did anyone ever tell you you were too damn smart for your own good?" he muttered. He spared her the briefest glance. "Yeah…you're right…there's a whole lot more going on here…stuff you're not supposed to know about. Stuff they've been keeping everyone here from knowing about once they figured out what was really up."

Fatigue was beginning to replace rage. Nothing the General was saying was clarifying matters for her. She was tired of riddles.

"So what the hell really is going on, sir?" she asked, still hearing the edge in her own voice. "Closing the gate is a mistake and you know it. We do that and we're doomed."

The General finally raised his head and there was a stark look on his face that Sam had never seen there before. It turned her blood ice cold. Worse. It terrified her.

"We're already doomed," he said, so quietly compared to the raging storm of words she'd just unleashed on him that the contrast itself was disconcerting. She struggled to grasp what he meant, yet even without understanding him completely, she knew it had to be bad. Jack O'Neill did not look like that if things were not the absolute worst they could be.

"What do you mean?"

She saw him swallow and grimace, glance back at the meaningless paperwork and then back up at her.

"I mean, we're doomed. It's over. Finished. This world. This planet. It's dying. We're…dying."

Sam shook her head. This wasn't making sense. He wasn't making sense.

"That's not possible. The virus…"

"The virus makes people sterile, Carter. Men. Women. And guess what…also plants and animals. No kids. No food. No oxygen. Not right away, of course…but it's just a matter of time. And while we've been down here trying to figure out how this happened, they've been up there trying to cover it up. But it's getting out of hand now. People are starting to notice. That Donovon woman…the one who found out about the Prometheus…she's been leading the charge…investigating. People are scared. They want answers. There was already one riot last week in Boston. They had to call in the National Guard. It's only the beginning. Once the real story gets out, the whole thing is going to go to hell."

Sam was still shaking her head. He had to be wrong. This had to be wrong. Nothing about it made any sense whatsoever.

A cold chill passed through Sam as a single thought hit her.

"Oh my god."

"Probably not," replied the General morosely. Sam blinked at him.

"The Aschen."

"What?"

"The Aschen…you know the…."

"Yes…I know…the accountants with the megalomaniac complex. What about them."

She stared at him. It was so obvious. Why hadn't they realized it before?

Because they'd been looking at miscarriages, not fertility rates. Who knew…it may have even been deliberately done that way…to keep them off-kilter and focused on the wrong parameter.

"They did this. It's some kind of bioweapon. Like the one they tried to send through the gate the last time. Somehow they deployed it. They deployed it and detonated it and we didn't even have a clue."

"I know."

Sam gaped, incredulous. He hadn't just said that, had he?

"What?"

"I said, I know."

She struggled but could find no more words. Finally the General continued.

"It was the fertility stuff that finally clicked in people's heads. Like you said…it's the Aschen's M.O. We don't know how they did it…or even when. But it's done and there's nothing left for us to do except pack our bags and leave. Which I suggest you do. They've given us until 1700 hours to evacuate the base. After that the power will be cut and the door sealed and padlocked. The plan's been in the works for weeks, Carter. There's no way around it."

No. Her mind refused to wrap itself around what he'd just told her. There was no way….

But the look on his face told her otherwise. He'd turned back to the pile of papers on his desk and by his actions seemed to have dismissed her. A part of her still refused to accept any of this.

"General…" she began, but he had had enough. His voice was sharp and brusque.

"Carter! Carter…" he softened it a little on the repeat. "Look…just…go…all right? Go."

He turned back to the papers and studiously ignored her.

Feeling more numb than she had ever thought possible, she walked blindly from the room.

OOOO

It was the SF standing outside the door of her lab that was the final straw.

"Personal items only, ma'am," he'd said when he'd first appeared there, orders in hand. She'd glanced at them. A memo from Colonel Jeffries. No files, no disks, no portable data devices, no laptops, no equipment of any kind was to leave the base. She could clean out her quarters, her locker and her desk; all personal items would be subject to inspection. All SGC personnel were to evacuate the base by 1600 hours after which a final sweep of the premises would be done and the facility sealed off at 1700 hours. There would be no exceptions.

It took every ounce of control Sam had not to wad the paper up and throw it on the floor. She took the box the SF had provided and began emptying out her drawers.

Her mind raced over everything General O'Neill had told her while her gut waged a war with itself, alternating between the rage that still was burning deep within and the shock of comprehension. Part of her wanted to deny what the General had revealed to her; it was incomprehensible that earth was going to follow the same path as the Volians. Yet the part of her brain that was always trying to put the pieces of puzzles together, create hypotheses and test them, was blinking the warning light that the evidence was indeed too overwhelming to ignore. How they had done it she hadn't a clue. She supposed at this point it really didn't matter any more. She felt like an idiot having wasted so much time and effort trying to figure that out. No wonder General O'Neill had been avoiding her for most of those long arduous weeks. He'd known. He'd known and he'd let her proceed anyway.

The angry creature in her chest stirred again. A glance at her doorway and the sight of the SF still standing there only fed it further.

Area 51. What the hell was she going to do at Area 51? Alien technology? Is that what they had in store for her? Do-hickies they'd unearthed from ruins that really didn't mean a hill of beans anymore?

No. She needed to stay here. They all needed to stay here. She was still convinced: closing the gate wasn't the answer. In fact, keeping the gate open might be the only solution…the only way to save them all. The Tok'ra…the Asgard…yeah…she knew they had problems of their own…but now that the survival of the whole population of earth was on the table, that would certainly up the ante. They'd have to help. She'd get a hold of her dad. The General could contact Thor. They'd find Teal'c and seek the help of the Free Jaffa. Someone out there had to know something. Maybe even a sarcophagus would hold the answers. All she knew for certain was that if they shut down the gate, their fate would be sealed.

What she didn't need to be doing was sorting through drawers for a bunch of meaningless knickknacks to cart off to a place she didn't want to go. She didn't care what the General had said. This was wrong. He knew it was wrong. They had to fight this. Fight it before it was too late.

The box the SF had brought her was perched on top of the lab table. Sam couldn't help herself. The angry beast launched at it and the box went sailing. The SF rounded the corner into the lab at the sound, his hand reflexively on the handle of his sidearm. Somehow the sight of him reaching for a weapon in her lab—her lab!—was the final insult.

"Get out!" she ordered. "Get out, now!"

The SF looked as startled by her outburst as he had by the sound of the falling box. But it only took him a moment to recover. He shook his head.

"Sorry, ma'am. Colonel Jeffries orders. All SGC senior staff are to be accompanied during the evacuation and are to remain at their assigned station until the evacuation has commenced. We wouldn't want you to get lost, ma'am."

Sam seethed. How dare he.

"I don't give a good goddam what Colonel Jeffries orders are," she snapped. "I don't report to Colonel Jeffries. I report to General O'Neill. And unless you'd care for me to demonstrate first hand some of the hand-to-hand combat training I've received from the Jaffa, I strongly suggest that you let me get the hell out of here and go see General O'Neill as soon as possible."

The SF squared his stance.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Colonel Jeffries orders. All SGC senior staff are to be…."

"Go to hell," muttered Sam, pushing by him and stalking out the door. She had to get to the General. She had to try again to convince him to fight this. Their future depended on the gate, she had no doubt. She had to make him see that it was their only hope.

The cocking of a weapon behind her made her freeze. A similar sound echoed from the end of the hallway…and again from an area off to her right. If she'd counted right, she had three weapons pointed at her. Reluctantly she raised her hands slightly, closing her eyes in frustration and weighing her options.

"Stop right there, Colonel," came a smooth new voice from the end of the hall. When she opened her eyes she saw a fourth member had joined the party. It could only be Jeffries.

"I need to speak with General O'Neill," she replied firmly. "And I need to see him right now."

"No…what you need, Colonel, is to get your gear together and be ready to go. You leave for Nevada first thing in the morning and I wouldn't count on being able to come back for anything you may have left behind. So why don't you go back in your lab and look around…make sure you didn't forget great-grandma's picture or something…and then we'll escort you to your quarters so you can pick up whatever precious memories you have there as well."

In her mind a well-placed zat blast sent blue arcs cascading across Jeffries body, sending him into a shuddering seizure that lasted nearly ten minutes. But the zats were in the armory, a good two floors down and as much as she would have also like to have torn into him with her bare hands, those three weapons were still pointed her way. She stood there, the rage still burning, her body shaking because of it.

"I need to speak to General O'Neill. And there is no way in hell you're making me leave this place against my will. You don't understand. They don't understand. The gate isn't the threat…it's the salvation. Our salvation."

On the fringe she could see a small crowd gathering—people who'd been complying with the order, probably most of them finally glad to be going home…or at the very least somewhere else.

"You can speak to General O'Neill if I let you, Colonel…and there's no way in hell you're not leaving this place, because orders are orders and I have mine," came his rejoinder. Sam felt the heat rise to her cheeks. If the gawkers hadn't been on the periphery she might have considered trying something. She knew her way around here better than Jeffries and his men…she'd be able to find a way to elude them if she wanted to. Her mind raced with possibilities, but she stood still, taut, ready to act if she had to.

"Oh for cryin' out loud, put those things away!"

She heard him before she saw him. He rounded the corner behind Jeffries with his off-centered stride and her mind vaguely registered that his knee was at it again. In spite of his command, all three weapons continued to be pointed at her.

"Jeffries…I told your men to stand down."

"Sorry, General, but Colonel Carter is being a belligerent, sir. I have my orders from General Highmore. She's to be under military escort until she boards that transport tomorrow at 1130 hours."

"Aw, jeez…" she heard him mutter, running his fingers through his hair. He turned to her.

"Carter…come on …whaddaya doin' here?"

"I needed to see you, sir. They…were in my way. We can't let this happen, General…we can't let them shut down the gate."

"Carter…"

"No, sir…I will not back down on this. You have to talk to them….you have to convince them that the gate is the only way we're going to beat this thing. There's no way I'm leaving here if there's a chance we can find a way to help ourselves. But the answers are out there…not in here. We shut down the gate and we're finished. I'll be damned if I'm going to let that happen!"

"You see how she is, General. I've been ordered….'

"Oh shut the hell up, Jeffries. And screw your orders. Carter…listen to me. There's no way they're going to let you stay…or let any of us stay. I've talked to them until I'm blue in the face. It's over. Now stand down. That's an order. My order."

"Sir," she began, but Jeffries cut her off.

"General O'Neill…I'm sorry, but General Highmore was quite explicit…."

O'Neill cut him off in turn.

"Look…I'll vouch for Carter personally. All right? She'll be on that plane tomorrow at Peterson. Don't worry about it. That's all that matters, right? That she's there? So she'll be there. Now stand your men down…or do I have to get my guys down here to prove that I'm still in command around here until 1600 hours?"

She watched Jeffries turn over the General's words in his mind. She was still breathing hard, the adrenaline racing through her. The spike of rage was abating; in it's place the numbness was returning. She had an eerie sense of watching the scene before her from some remote vantage point, like some twisted play in which she was both audience and actor. It's over. The General's own words. She'd known then that nothing she said or did was of any use. He'd given up. Given in. Accepted their fate. Without him behind her, there was nothing she could do.

She saw Jeffries give a slight nod and three safeties clicked back in place. The one weapon she could see lowered and was placed back in it's holster. She hadn't realized it but she'd been holding her breath. She let it out slowly and closed her eyes. When she opened them, Jeffries and his men were walking away. Only the General remained. In his eyes she could see a peculiar look. Sympathy. Or maybe it was pity.

"Get your stuff, Carter," he said quietly. "I think we've overstayed our welcome."

OOOO

Hot tears streamed down Sam's face but she brushed them away with an angry swipe. How dare she cry. How dare she let him see her cry. To his credit, if he noticed he said nothing, but kept driving, his eyes straight ahead on the road. It was eerily empty for this time of day. It felt…off. But then everything was off. The whole damned world was turned on end.

Why it should surprise her that he knew the way to her house, she didn't know. He'd only been there a few times, as best she could recall. But he took each turn as if he'd driven there a hundred times before, seeming to even know about the odd little jog the street took before it changed directions and started heading the right way again. Focusing on this mystery gave her something to think about aside from the anger that was seething inside of her. If she gave that anger free reign…if she even let herself brush it momentarily with her mind, she wasn't sure she could trust herself to bring it under control again. She'd had a hard enough time back at the mountain. Only Jack had been able to get her to calm down enough so the SFs had lowered their weapons. And it was only on Jack's assurance that she'd be onboard that transport to Nevada tomorrow that they'd let her leave without a military escort. He'd vouched for her and she wasn't going to betray his trust. Even if it meant remaining silent for the next sixteen hours.

He eased the truck up against the curb in front of her house and turned off the motor. She sat there a moment, looking out the window. How long had it been since she'd been home? Weeks. Months. At some point the lawn service must have stopped coming. The small yard in front was overgrown with grass and tall weeds which had died in the autumn frosts and lay matted in brown, unsightly clumps. The neighbor who collected her papers had given up the effort at some point as well. A mound of decaying newsprint spread across the sidewalk, a mass of gray pulp. She at least had had the mail forwarded to the base…for as long as the mail had continued to come, anyway.

He trailed behind her as she walked through the now overgrown hedge and up the steps. Crisp, rust leaves were piled in the corner of the porch, tangled in cobwebs and staining the concrete black with their decay. The house felt cold and empty, almost resentful at having been untended for so long. The lock resisted at first, but finally relented and let her in. The damp air that greeted her reminded her that the thermostat had been set for summer weather when she'd been here last. A lifetime ago.

"Got heat?" Jack asked, rubbing his hands together as she closed the door behind him. He blew into his hands and she could see his breath…as well as her own.

"There," she replied, pointing to the wall in her small office. Walking over to it, he fiddled with it a moment. At first nothing happened, and then, like an ancient lion slowly waking, there was a grumbling in the basement and the sound of some device slowly coming to life. The stale, slightly singed smell of heated dust rose from the ducts and filled the small space. Jack nodded appreciatively and rejoined her in the hall way.

She led the way down the hall to her living room. A bowl on the edge of the kitchen island was filled with what she now remembered had been fresh fruit. Rotted and moldy, it had sagged to empty nothingness long ago. She heard a click and lights popped on over her head, dispelling the encroaching darkness.

"At least there's still power," Jack noted. "Any food?"

"Help yourself," she waved at the kitchen. "I doubt you'll find anything edible."

He gave her a half smile.

"Edible is in the eye of the beholder," he replied and started opening her cupboard doors. Moments later he had placed several boxes and cans on the counter, and was inspecting a small pouch of tuna he'd discovered. "Any pasta?" he asked, looking up.

Sam sighed. She really didn't have the contents of her cupboards memorized. Especially when she hadn't been home in a quarter of a year.

"Look in there," she suggested, pointing at a high cupboard where she usually kept staples.

Jack reached up and opened the door.

"Aha!" he exclaimed and withdrew a bag of oddly shaped pasta that she now recalled had come in some kind of Christmas gift basket. "I think we have dinner."

"I'm not hungry," she told him, wearily. The anger was ebbing. In it's place a dull emptiness was taking over. A numbness. Why wasn't he feeling it too, she wondered? How could he stand there and calmly make dinner.

"How can you do this?" she asked him, finally. "How can you just come in and start planning dinner and act like nothing is wrong?"

"We've got to eat, Carter. First rule of survival."

"This isn't a mission, sir. It's a reassignment."

"Still. Food comes first. When was the last time you ate anything?"

Sam wracked her brain. She honestly could not say. She remembered gnawing on a nutrition bar yesterday sometime. That was the last thing.

"See…" he continued, as if her mental picture had confirmed everything he'd suspected. "You need to eat. I think you'll feel better after that."

"You gonna tell me a bed time story too?" She couldn't keep the sarcasm from her voice. She was being babysat, pure and simple.

"Maybe." The reply was straightforward and completely devoid of the wry comeback she'd expected. "If you're good."

"Yeah. Right."

He set the pans he'd gotten out on the counter and turned to face her, his dark brown eyes locking onto her own. As much as she would have liked to, she couldn't look away. He held her there silently for a moment before speaking.

"Look, Carter—I'm not any happier about this than you are. But for now, I've done everything I can possibly do to stop it from happening, and it hasn't worked. I figure I have two choices: I can do what I normally do and get my ass kicked out of command, at which point I can head to the cabin and wait for the end of the world; or I can take a page out of Daniel's book, make nice and pick my battles. The world might end anyway, but at least I'll go down fighting. And on my terms."

"So you're saying I should shut up and go quietly," she fumed.

"Yes…I mean, no…," he sighed. "I mean…for now, yes. Play the game. It's the only way, if we're to have any hope of turning this thing around."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you, of all people!" she exclaimed, trying to figure out just where the Jack O'Neill she knew had gone. "You're the one who taught me to risk everything to do what was right…not what was easy! This is wrong, and you know it. So don't tell me to play along and bide my time. If we let them do this, sir, we'll be as complicit as they are!"

"We're already complicit, Carter." Gone was the congenial tone. His words came out harsh and cold. "We've been sitting on this thing for months while the world has pointed fingers at one another and bandied the T-word around like it's going out of style. Hell…even the IOA was out of the loop on this. I knew it. Stanton knew it. The orders were to keep it quiet and we complied. So our hands are as dirty as theirs. Or at least mine are."

There was a self-loathing in his voice that she'd only heard on a few rare occasions: when he talked about his son, and when he made veiled references to his work in Black Ops. Her heart had ached for him these times—for the pain she knew he could never speak of. Something of that feeling returned now as she listened to him…watched him. He leaned on her counter with both hand, as if somehow he needed to feel the solid fortification of the granite beneath. She could almost forget the sense of betrayal she'd felt earlier at having been kept in the dark about the true nature of the virus. She realized it hadn't been his choice not to tell her. Other people had been pulling his strings. He had done his best to buy her as much time as he could. He had protected her.

Without even thinking about it, she reached out and rested her hand on his.

Touching a light socket would have produced less of a jolt. His eyes met hers with surprise he could not hide. For an instant she thought she saw something she had seen years before when his eyes had found hers in that room with Anise. But as quickly as it was there, it was gone. They both looked down at where they touched as if realizing what had happened and she withdrew her hand.

For some reason the room seemed suddenly colder.

"There has to be something we can do," she managed quietly. Her anger was gone now. At least her anger at him. "Some way…."

"That's why I got Hammond to send you to Area 51…and me to Washington. I figured if I could get you close enough to some of that stuff we've hauled back through the gate all these years you might find something useful." He turned around and opened the door of her refrigerator, hauling out a bottle of beer she suspected had to be long expired. "If I'm in DC I can work on trying to get them to reopen the gate. I don't trust Highmore one bit…hell, if I didn't know better I'd figure him for a damned goa'uld. But Hammond's out-numbered and frankly, the brass have bigger fish to fry than the Stargate right now. All hell is breaking lose out there. We've been at DefCon 2 for a month."

He twisted off the cap and took a long drink. The grimace on his face told her she'd been right about the expiration date.

"Sorry…" she apologized. "That's been in there awhile."

His face was screwed up in exaggerated agony.

"Ya think?"

Sam smiled.

She couldn't remember the last time something had made her smile. Trust Jack….

Jack.

Her smile froze on her face. She hadn't allowed herself to think of him as "Jack" for a long time. Not since Prometheus. Not since Pete. She'd forced herself to keep him only as the Colonel…and later, the General. Or, of course, "sir". "Jack" was the man who had said he'd cared about her more than he was supposed to; the man who she had thought was long gone. The man she had made herself let go of that day in the infirmary when his "Excuse me?" had made it clear that first names were not an option.

"Carter?"

Her attention snapped back to him out of her thoughts.

Apparently first names still were not an option.

"Sorry, sir. Just…thinking."

To her surprise he pulled on the beer again, made a slight face as he swallowed it, and poured the rest down the sink.

"Lose the 'sir', would you? And while you're at it, the 'General' too. God…every time I hear that I feel the need to stand up and salute someone."

Sam frowned, trying to fathom the reason for his sudden request. And why the request had suddenly left her heart pounding.

"Okay…" she said slowly. There was only one thing left to call him, but she couldn't bring herself to say it aloud. Yet.

He had turned back to the pots and pans and began filling one with water.

"You're still going to make dinner," she said, more in awe now than anger. He glanced up at her.

"You still haven't eaten. Go on—get some packing done. This will be awhile anyway."

She shook her head in amazement.

"I thought you could only grill," she told him "I never knew you could actually cook."

"Well, I didn't exactly see any steaks in there," he pointed out. "But I was raised on this stuff. It's the staple of Minnesota church suppers--my grandmother's tuna hot dish. One part tuna. Two parts noodles. And three parts cream of mushroom soup. Bland, but ever so filling."

He placed the pan on the stove top and threw her a quick smile. For the second time in as many minutes, Sam felt herself smile back.

He was right. The food was bland—and vaguely reminiscent of a dish from a childhood visit to her own grandmother. But bland was good; she didn't think her stomach could have taken anything more adventuresome; it had been living on nutrition bars and MREs for far too long.

"Of course it was missing an essential ingredient—the cream of mushroom soup. You didn't have any. But I made do with that organic free-range chicken broth stuff you had up there. At least that didn't expire until next month." Jack's tone was light. He'd deliberately kept the conversation away from the events at hand. It might have been like any other meal they'd shared over the past eight years. She felt a pang at the realization of how long it had been since they'd just sat and talked like this. As friends. Outside the world was waiting to swallow them up, but here, in her house, at least for tonight, they could pretend it wasn't.

The furnace had finally done it's job and the house was warm. Standing to help clear the table Sam shed the light jacket and sweater she'd been wearing for the past hour. Jack had already taken the leftover casserole and was feeding it into the garbage disposal. Who knew when she'd be able to get home again and the last thing she needed was garbage rotting under her sink in the meantime.

She put the dirty dishes in the sink and turned to go gather up their glasses. Jack must have turned too for suddenly they were wedged together in the small space between the island and her refrigerator.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The same jolt that had gone through her when she'd touched his hand returned. A sudden and unexpected warmth rose in her cheeks and she looked up to see his eyes searching for hers.

They said nothing. There was no need. Unconsciously she shifted and instead of being wedged together they were now pressed up against one another. His lips met hers with a gentle brush as his hand tenderly held her face. Sam's heart pounded in her chest and her thoughts could focus on nothing except the warmth of his body and the touch of his hand and the tentative kiss he had given her. He pulled back, slightly, his eyes searching hers…asking.

In response she reached up and kissed him back, her hand finding the back of his neck, pulling him to her. The second kiss lasted longer. Hunger replaced hesitance. Nothing else existed but the moment. No past. No future. Just now. A now that could have lasted an eternity.

Except it didn't. Breathing was necessary. They broke apart, Sam's breaths coming is short, erratic gasps. She could see Jack's chest heaving as well. The realization of what they had just done swept over her. She leaned against the island for support, her eyes never leaving Jack's.

Her hand bumped something hard and plastic. There was a click. Seconds later a cheery voice filled the room.

"Hey, Sam…it's me. I just wanted to say that last night was…like…I mean…it was fantastic. Wow…you know? I already miss you like crazy and I'm not even out of Colorado Springs yet. Oooh. And there was this song on the radio…it made me think…."

Sam slammed the off switch and Pete's voice vanished in mid-sentence. But it was too late. She looked at Jack and it was like seeing a different person. A mask had dropped over his face. Where there had been passion and longing and need moments before, there was…nothing. Even frozen in Antarctica his face had held more expression than it did now. He took a step back from her and walked over to the table, picking up the glassware she had left behind.

"Jack…please."

She saw him hesitate slightly at the use of his name. It had just come out, as naturally as if she'd been saying it every day of her life for eight years. Except she hadn't, and so at least she had caught his attention.

"That's…that's from a long time ago. A lifetime ago." How could she explain? How could she make him understand that Pete out of sight had been Pete out of mind? That he'd been a poor substitute in the first place? That she'd only been trying to find something that was normal in a life that was anything but?

"You should call him before you leave. Let him know where you'll be."

Jack's voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. Lifeless. He didn't look at her as he brushed by her, taking the glasses to the sink. Sam's chest ached.

"It's not like that. Not any more. It never really was in the first place. At least not for me."

She didn't know if she was making any sense at all. Words—the right words—were escaping her. How had she gone from the mountain top to the valley in so few seconds? How could she make him understand.

"He was there, Jack. You weren't."

Jack froze. He seemed to find the dishtowel in his hand fascinating for several long seconds before he finally looked up. The mask was gone. His deep brown eyes were filled with pain.

"I couldn't be," he told her in a quiet voice.

Sam swallowed. An odd sensation fluttered through her, and she had the sense of a large lens focusing in on this moment of her life. Everything that happened after this was going to be different. Her whole life was about to change. It would all begin here.

She met him, gaze for gaze.

"I know."

And she did. In one fell swoop she did know. The past four years came sharply into focus; things that had made no sense to her before suddenly did. He hadn't stopped caring about her; his feelings hadn't lessened in intensity. He had simply hidden them from her, concealed them, tucked them away and hoped she'd never know. Because he couldn't be there in any way except as he had been. Couldn't be for her the things she'd needed him to be, except as her CO. Couldn't put his feelings…their feelings…ahead of what they'd needed to be as a team on the frontlines.

She knew now. Clear as day.

And quite possibly too late.

"Yeah." He said it practically in a whisper and turned back to the sink.

Sam felt the pit of her stomach drop. She could still feel the pressure of his lips on hers, the heat of his body as he'd pressed against her. But more than that, she had seen the look in his eyes when he'd kissed her the first time. There had been more than desire there, more than the passion of two bodies in close proximity to one another. There was a deeper, more profound emotion that she only just now understood.

He loved her.

Just as she loved him.

Seeing him standing there, now--his back to her, the air thick with tension--she felt as if her heart had been cut open and laid on the table. God, it couldn't end this way, could it? Going their separate ways tomorrow, possibly never to see each other again, having said nothing more?

And yet what else was there to say.

"So."

It was the only thing she could think of.

There was a beat or two of silence before he turned around again.

"So," he answered her, his eyes still veiled. Another period of silence; Sam realized she was holding her breath. If this was ever going to….

"Look," his voice was thick. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea." He winced as though struggling for the right words. His eyes strayed to her face but did not remain there. "You're obviously not going to go AWOL on me, so I should probably go home and start packing too. I can swing by in the morning and pick you up. Drive you to Peterson."

He didn't wait for an answer but began walking toward the door even as he was still speaking. He stopped to pick his jacket off the back of the chair.

"Don't go."

The words were out of her mouth before she knew it. He froze in place, his hand on his jacket. Finally he turned.

"Sam…."

His eyes were troubled. Wary. Wounded. They held hers for a moment and then he shook his head.

"I can't just…this is more than…if we…."

"I know. Stay anyway."

He grimaced.

"I don't think that would be such a good idea."

"Because you don't feel anything for me?"

There was a pause before he answered.

"Because I feel too much."

His words hung in the air like something tangible. Something she could finally hold on to. After all these years.

"Then stay."

He said nothing for a long time. She could see him turning things over in his mind. Weighing them. Weighing the consequences.

"Yeah." He said it with almost fatalistic acceptance. "Okay."

He absently tapped the jacket on the back of the chair with a balled up fist and if anything looked as miserable as she had ever seen him.

Perhaps this had been a mistake. Maybe she should have let him go. But it was too late now. How could she send him away without hurting him even more? And yet how could she ask him to stay when it was so obvious he wanted to be gone.

"Would you pass me the placemats?'

The request seemed inanely out of place, considering the circumstances, but she didn't know where else to go at the moment. Maybe finishing clearing the table would help ease things a bit.

He reached over and picked the two bamboo mats off the table. The edge of the mat caught the glass vase centerpiece and it tipped over, shattering as it hit the floor.

"Crap," he muttered, squatting to reach for the larger pieces. Sam was about to tell him to leave them—she'd get a broom—when he cursed again. A red line of blood appeared along the edge of his hand and began to drip on the floor. She hurried to get a dish towel.

"Let me see that," she told him, reaching out to wrap his hand in the cloth. He snatched it away, holding it in front of him while the blood seeped across his wrist and ran down his forearm.

"For god's sake, Sam…it's only a cut," he snapped, using his good hand to grip the back of the chair and push himself up. Sam stood too; he was bleeding on her floor, not that she cared.

"Jack…." She tried to keep her voice calm. Ignoring his resistance, she reached for his bloody hand and wrapped the cloth around it. She could feel the tension in his body as she touched him, the reluctance with which he let her examine the cut. It was superficial; nothing that required stitches. Nothing too deep. Not like the pain she'd just seen in him. Pain she was feeling just then as well.

Finally she released his hand.

"Look," she said quietly. "If you want to go…I mean…the cut's not bad, but maybe you'd rather….."

Suddenly he was kissing her. She wasn't sure how, or why, but his lips were on hers and with his uninjured hand he was pulling her toward him, hungrily needing her. Her arms were around his neck, her fingers twining through his hair as she tried to let him know that she needed him just as badly.

Just as suddenly as he had started, Jack stopped, holding her at arms length, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, Sam." He swallowed, struggling for words. "I can't…not this way."

That pained look was in his face again. She could tell he was battling something within himself that she did still not understand. She'd offered him a way out, but he hadn't taken it. And yet he still seemed reluctant to stay.

"What way?" she pressed him. "Jack…I don't…."

"This way…." He fumbled for words again. "I would never…I mean…I won't….you're not just…."

At once she understood. Whatever it was that they had—whatever these feelings meant, they went far beyond a single night together. It was more profound than that. It always had been. He didn't want to take away from it by making it seem anything less.

And yet her heart ached at the thought of him leaving. Even one night would be better than none.

The sorrow on his face cut her to the heart. She couldn't help it. She tenderly kissed him.

"Don't…." she whispered, her lips close to his ear. "Please…Jack."

He leaned his head against hers wearily and said no more.

OOOO

Sam didn't have the heart to wake him. The precious minutes were ticking away on the clock on her nightstand. In four hours she would have to be on that plane at Peterson, heading for Nevada. She was mostly packed; the drive to the airbase would take 45 minutes. That gave her at least a two hour buffer. Two hours in which she would have been content to do nothing but lie there and watch Jack O'Neill sleep.

A colorless late autumn dawn began to give the room shape and form, but even before, in the dark, she had made out the shape of his face, the line of his neck, the curve of his shoulder. Now she could study the details. The scar above his left eyebrow. Two days of stubble on his chin. The strong jaw line that, when relaxed, gave his face a gentle, tender look. His lips, parted ever so slightly at rest. The silver hair, mussed and tousled. She'd reached out a finger to gently smooth away the creases in his forehead which even in sleep showed the burdens he carried, but she had drawn it back. To touch him would be to wake him, and for all the world, she wanted him to sleep. So she was content with merely watching him, committing every detail, down to the shape of his earlobes, to memory. Eight years she had looked at the man and yet it seemed she was just seeing him for the first time.

And quite possibly the last.

She tried to will that thought away, but she could not. She felt her eyes brim with tears; one escaped over the edge and traced the shortest route to the pillow. She squeezed her eyes shut. She would not cry. She would not give into the grief that would spoil what last night had been. She would not let him see that her heart was breaking with every tick of the clock.

She opened her eyes and found him watching her. He reached his hand and with his thumb wiped away a tear that had stayed on her cheek. Sam closed her eyes again so he wouldn't see the dozen or so more that were ready to take its place. But she knew there was no point in hiding. He already knew and without saying a word, pulled her to him and held her while she wept.

OOOO

"I'm sending you Daniel."

Sam stared at the passing buildings as they wound their way through the various hangars that comprised the business end of Peterson. They'd spoken little since loading the truck with her gear and heading out of Colorado Springs. None of it had been personal. The weather. The lack of traffic. A seeming over-abundance of crows. And then silence. Until now.

"I'm sorry…what?" Sam replied, somewhat startled. Her mind had been racing ahead to when she was actually going to have to say good-bye.

"I said I'm sending Daniel to you. I'll arrange it with Hammond. And Highmore. I'll say you need him to help translate all the alien gobbledy-gook on that stuff they've got locked up over there. That way you can keep an eye on him. Make sure he stays out of trouble. Not only that, but we'll know where he is."

"Know where he is?" repeated Sam, not comprehending. She had to force herself to shed the images she'd been forming in her head. They were not constructive.

"I figure this can go down two ways: we either find a cure for it, or we evacuate the planet and hope to hell it doesn't follow us. If it comes down to the latter, there are certain people I want to make sure get off-world. Daniel is one of them."

Sam felt her cheeks flush. Usually she was the one thinking way ahead of the curve. Jack had her beat on this one, though. She couldn't see farther than her plane lifting off the runway. He was planning the survival of the human race.

"That'll be good," she answered. "I'd hate to lose track of him if things get a little chaotic. General Highmore's idea of 'assistance' and Daniel's might not exactly fall in the same category. I'll keep an eye on him. I promise."

The sign for the hangar they'd been directed to appeared on the left with an arrow pointing straight ahead. At the end of the road they turned into a parking lot and the tires crunched to a halt on top of loose gravel. In the distance Sam could see her transport;. It was being fuelled. The reality of her leaving suddenly became that much harsher. She sat for a moment, unmoving, staring at the plane. Jack waited patiently; not moving either; not speaking. As long as she didn't open the door, it wouldn't happen. She wouldn't get on that plane and fly off to Nevada and Jack wouldn't drive back and get his gear and fly in the completely opposite direction to DC. As long as she didn't open that door, time stood still.

She opened the door.

The clock started running.

Time Incursion #6

Infection Minus Fourteen Days

It was nauseatingly familiar. Right down to the small stain on Agent Barrett's gray tie. Coffee, probably. She hadn't noticed it the first time. But since this was the fourth time she'd been around this barbeque, small things had begun to stand out. Like the stain. And the fact that they probably weren't any more likely to listen to her this time than they had been the previous five. The Commander had wanted more direct intervention but she'd argued for trying for the least invasive approach again, assuring him that she'd been making progress each time.

Which wasn't exactly a lie. She could never lie to the Commander. However, she may have implied that her progress was a little more forward than in actuality it was. She'd hoped this time would be different. At least she'd gotten a little farther with her story before the skeptical look began to creep across Barrett's face. She was determined to push forward, even now.

"It was the Aschen. I think you've heard of them," she told him patiently. "In my past, about two weeks from now, SG-1 met up with a nomadic group of aliens known as the Pack. It was a set-up. Not by the Pack, but by the Aschen. Somehow they used the Pack to smuggle a bioweapon to earth. No one knew. No one suspected anything. Not until months later…and by then it was too late."

Agent Barrett had stopped writing. A sure sign she'd gone about as far as she could go. Still, it couldn't hurt to keep going. She had to reach someone sometime. Make them see. Understand. Maybe it would be this time around.

"The first indication anyone had that something had gone wrong was when the CDC began to note an inordinately high incidence of miscarriages. They were clustered in certain geographic areas, like epicenters of little earthquakes, and they spread out from there. Of course it took them a while to figure that out. At first it just seemed like an anomaly. Something localized. But as more and more localities began appearing on the map, the red flags went up. They contacted Homeworld Security. Their first suspicion was that it was an act of international terrorism."

"It wasn't," interjected Barrett. She shook her head.

"No. But it took them a while to sort that out. What made the Pentagon sit up and take notice was that the first outbreak seemed clustered around Colorado Springs. The Springs were always highly monitored by the NID and Homeworld Security because it was figured that if the SGC was ever compromised and there was a foothold situation, evidence of it would show up in the surrounding community sooner than anywhere else. So when the statistics showed that the first outbreak and initially high concentration of fetal deaths occurred here, the powers that be began to suspect that there might have been a alien component to it."

Barrett scribbled something down. That was a good sign. Maybe she'd been convincing enough this time.

"They sent an epidemiologist to investigate. Eileen Stanton. She worked with Colonel Carter and Dr. Warner to establish how and when the weapon may have come through the gate. Meanwhile, there was another problem that was showing up. Sterility, in both men and women. Not only were women having miscarriages, no new pregnancies were being reported. And again, Colorado Springs seemed to be ground zero for the phenomenon. They were pretty sure, by then, that this was an alien attack. It was consistent with the Aschen's mode of invasion that SG1 had seen on other worlds."

"Just one other world," corrected Barrett. Jade frowned at her error. Getting things wrong wouldn't help her case.

"Sorry…I'd forgotten. Yes. Just one civilization at that time. It wasn't until later that we learned how many worlds the Aschen had conquered this way. My mistake."

"Continue, please," Barrett told her. The arms were uncrossed now. Maybe she was reaching him.

"Once it was confirmed that this was indeed an alien attack, things began to get messy. The military decided that this was something they needed to keep quiet, thinking they could deal with it on their own. Not even the IOA was informed. Things got…messy. There was a lot of blamed tossed around…lots of speculation by those who had no idea about the Stargate Program about the source of the problem. Even those countries who were members of the IOA didn't tumble that it was alien in origin. Not for awhile anyway. And meanwhile the military did it's best to see if there was some kind of cure…some kind of countermeasure they could come up with. They shut down the Stargate and reassigned people. Some they just tried to keep quiet, but others they put where they thought they might do some real good. But by then it was too late. Too late for everyone."

Barrett sighed and smiled at her. Uh-oh. She'd seen that look before. At least five times before. This was as far as she was going to get this time.

The Commander would not be pleased.