Why Doctor's Don't Get Guns
Why Doctor's Don't Get Guns
by Werrf
Title: Why Doctor's Don't Get Guns
Author: Werrf
Email: Werrf@Globalnet.co.uk
Category: Romance, Action/Adventure and a bit of Humour
Rating: PG 13 to be on the safe side
Spoilers: General familiarity with Season 1 and 2, slight spoilers for early Season 3
Season: Mid-Season 3
Warnings: Nothing yet
Summary: Janet's new boyfriend could be useful...
Status: Complete
Archive: Heliopolis, any others please ask
Disclaimer: All characters, situations, lines, comments, events, cats and dogs from the series "Stargate SG-1" are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions, and if I've missed anyone I apologise. This is a work of amateur fan fiction written solely for entertainment, and no money changed hands, no matter how hard I begged. All original characters in this story are the property of the author. Touch 'em and die.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"C'mon, Janet, are you going to tell me about it or not?" Major Carter asked. Doctor Fraiser rolled her eyes.
"Tell you about what?"
"The guy." Janet blushed furiously.
"What guy? I don't know what you mean," she bluffed. Carter grinned at her friend.
"There's a spring in your step, you're daydreaming, and every time I look around you're grinning your head off. So, who's the guy?"
Janet Fraiser sighed and tried to look irritated, but in fact she was glad to be able to tell somebody.
"All right," she said, "If you must know..."
Hands on her hips, she glared at the two flat tyres. No matter how hard she scowled at them, though, they stayed stubbornly airless.
It was the perfect end to a perfect day. SG-1 had come back through the gate after an encounter with a goa'uld stronghold, resulting in four hours spent patching holes and cleaning burns. No sooner were the 'trouble team' as she thought of them gone than SG-3 arrived with Colonel Makepeace...singing. The Marines informed her that the Colonel had been bitten by what they had at first assumed was a frog, but which had turned out to have teeth - and, judging by the effect on the Colonel, some sort of hallucinogenic venom. It had taken three hours to flush the venom out of his system, in between seeing all her other patients.
When she finally got Makepeace out of her infirmary, two of the air force guards were brought in after having got into a fight. A broken nose, two split lips and a number of contusions almost finished off her day when the airmen started fighting again, and Janet had managed to take a fist in the face. She touched her eye gingerly.
And now this. Pouring rain, two flat tyres, only one spare - which didn't matter much since she couldn't jack the car up to get the wheels off. Swearing in a most un-ladylike fashion, she hurled the tyre iron away as hard as she could...then watched in horror as the projectile hurtled towards the man ten feet away limping towards her. She was indescribably relieved when he ducked just in time and the lump of metal whirred over his head.
"Oh, God!" she said and ran towards him. "Are you all right? I'm so sorry...!"
The dark-haired man smiled. "Just fine, thank you, Captain. You seem to be having a problem here...?" he glanced past her at the car.
His voice was soft and quiet, and he spoke with a cultured English accent. He smiled at her, the rain running down his face, and Janet was uncomfortably aware of her mud-covered uniform, her ruined, rain-soaked hair and the large purple bruise over her eye.
She shrugged helplessly. "Two flat tires and only one spare. Not to mention I can't even get the car off the ground."
The newcomer limped past her to examine her car. 'Prosthetic', she thought, watching him lurch past. Her theory was confirmed when he bent down and his right trouser leg rode up to reveal a metal rod instead of flesh. He examined the wheels quickly.
"I wish I could help," he sighed, "but I'm pretty sure my spare won't fit on here." He stood up again, scratching his head. Eventually he looked up at her.
"Can I give you a lift?" he asked.
"Oh, no, really, I couldn't," Janet stammered. At that precise moment, a car sped past through a puddle, covering both of them in muddy water.
"And then what?" Carter asked, urging her friend on.
Janet sighed and glared. "I'm getting there," she said.
"Well hurry up!" Sam leaned forward to listen to the rest of the story.
"I finally gave up and let him give me a ride..."
"Major Tom Derrick, formerly of Her Majesty's Royal Green Jackets," he said, extending a hand. "And you are Captain...?"
"*Doctor* Janet Fraiser," she replied, shaking his hand. "I really can't thank you enough for this..."
"Nonsense, Captain Doctor," he replied airily. "It's my duty as an officer and a gentleman. Plus it's not every day I get to come to the aid of a damsel in distress."
They both laughed at that, the slightly nervous laughter of two people who are attracted to each other but don't want to admit it suddenly realise they've admitted more than they intended. Janet took refuge in looking around the car. It was a nice one - a dark green Jaguar, with a plush leather interior and manual transmission. It felt very strange, though, to be sitting in the passenger seat on the left hand side. He seemed to notice her noticing.
"It was a present. From my Colonel, before I left the Army. I didn't much fancy leaving it behind or selling it when I moved over here."
It was a twenty-minute drive back to Janet's home. They spent the time chatting awkwardly, the generic small talk imposed by close contact with a stranger for any length of time.
"So, what do you do?" Janet asked after a while. The major smiled ruefully.
"At the moment? Nothing. I was on the way up in the Army, had my feet firmly on the ladder, then a minor mishap, and...well, let's just say I only had one foot to put on the ladder. So they gave me a medal, an honourable discharge, a pension, and kicked me out on my ar...backside. What about you?"
"Uh, sorry, it's classified."
He nodded and smiled. "Ah, good old 'Classified'. Haven't run into him for a while. Don't worry, Doctor, I've done some 'Classified' in my time as well." He tapped his right leg, making it clang oddly. "This was 'Classified', but of course I didn't tell you that."
"Of course," she replied, smiling.
In due course they located Janet's house and pulled up. The doctor turned to her rescuer.
"Thank you so much. I really appreciate your doing this. Do you wanna come in for a cup of coffee or something?"
"Oh, I couldn't impose," he replied. She recognised this part. He was making sure she really wanted him to come in, that he wasn't just being polite.
"It's my medical opinion that if you don't come inside and dry off you'll catch pneumonia. And that wouldn't be much of a thank you, would it?"
He smiled broadly at that. "Who am I to argue with a doctor?" he replied, and clambered a little awkwardly out of the car.
It was still pouring rain as they hurried up the path to the door. Major Derrick held his coat out to provide some shelter for Janet as she fumbled with the key to let them into the house. When they finally got in, they were both thoroughly soaked again.
But rain was nothing compared to the onslaught they were about to face.
It came hurtling down the stairs at break neck speed, long brown hair streaming behind her and shouting joyfully.
"Mommmmmyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!" Cassandra squealed in delight as she rushed to hug her mother. Janet dropped to one knee and caught her daughter, sweeping her into a tight hug. The major just stood there looking embarrassed.
When the two ladies had finished saying hello to each other - about ten minutes later - Cassandra finally noticed major Derrick, who was trying to be inconspicuous - not an easy task when you're six feet tall and only have one leg.
"Who's he?" the girl asked her mother. Janet stood up and turned to her guest.
"Cassie, this is Major Derrick. He gave me a lift home. Major, this is my daughter, Cassandra.
The major bowed extravagantly.
It is truly a pleasure to meet you, young lady," he said, his soft voice becoming deeper and richer. "Truly, my life has now seen its crown, to stand in the presence of surely the two most beautiful ladies in the world." And he winked at her. Cassandra giggled, and Janet blushed.
*** "You what?!" Sam tried to say through her laughter.
"I blushed! I couldn't believe it! I haven't blushed since I was in med school. But there I was, turning bright red for the benefit of my own daughter and a one-legged English soldier who'd just paid me a compliment."
"What did Cassandra do?"
"Oh, she took to him right away. Loved his accent, laughed at his jokes, told him about 'Uncle Jack'."
"She didn't tell him about...?"
"No, Sam, she didn't. She's still from Toronto, and he doesn't know anything about the stargate or the SGC."
"So what happened then?"
"Well..."
Nearly an hour later, Cassandra was upstairs 'doing her homework', and the two officers, one British Army, one US Air Force, sat on the couch drinking coffee. Tom - Janet surprised herself by thinking of him by that name - was now dry enough to leave without fear of pneumonia. She wondered if she should mention it...and decided maybe silence was the better part of valour. He might take the hint and leave, and that was the very last thing she wanted. She had been without male company for...well, she didn't like to think how long. Too long, anyway.
"So, where's your husband?" he asked quietly. She looked a little surprised.
"I'm not married," she told him.
"Oh..." he glanced at the stairs towards the sound of Cassandra's 'homework'.
"Oh, Cassie's adopted. I, uh, had to treat her when she was found, and kinda took to her."
"In Toronto."
"Uh...not...exactly..."
He laughed at that.
"Ah, here comes 'Classified' again. Don't worry, I recognise official reticence when I see it." He sipped his coffee and smiled. "She's a charming young girl, though. What happened to her parents?"
"They died. A rather nasty strain of 'flu." It wasn't *exactly* a lie...her tests had shown that the virus Nirti had used to wipe out the people of Cassandra's world had been genetically engineered form a basic influenza virus.
"I'm sorry. How old was she at the time?"
"Eleven." It wasn't something Janet enjoyed talking about. She still had nightmares about the bomb Cassie had carried in her chest.
"I'm sorry..." Tom stumbled. "I didn't mean to..."
He was saved by the beep. At that precise moment, Janet's pager went off. She snatched it from her belt and looked at the message.
"Damn," she swore. "I'm sorry, Tom, there's an emergency at work, I have to go." She leapt to her feet and ran up the stairs to inform Cassandra. When she got back downstairs again, the major was standing, looking a bit lost.
"I'm really sorry to have to leave like this," she said. "It's a bit late for you to drive back, isn't it? Would you like to stay here? There's some spare blankets and pillows..."
"No, really, I couldn't, thank you, Doctor," the Major replied. "Besides, your car's still sitting at the side of the road, as I recall."
"Oh..." she swore again. Tom smiled.
"I'll give you a lift, then I can drive myself home."
"No, really, I couldn't, not again."
"How else are you going to get there?" he asked practically. "Wait for them to send a car for you? That'd double the time at least, and if there's a medical emergency there may not *be* time. Please, let me take you."
She gave in, finally, since his was the only practical suggestion. The drive to Cheyenne Mountain took barely half an hour, and Janet spent most of that time trying to organise her black medical bag. When they arrived, she jumped out the door and ran for the gates.
"Thank you for the coffee, Doctor!" he called after her. By the time she'd turned to say goodbye, he had already left.
"That's it?!" Samantha was appalled. How could her friend let a man like Major Derrick leave without at least getting his phone number?"
"I know! But I was in a hurry, I just didn't think..."
But Sam's mind was already working.
"The guards will have noted the tags...they always do, any strange vehicle that approaches the gates. And a strange vehicle that drops off a senior member of the SGC staff would get twice as much attention. Get the numbers from the guards, then we can track him. And you said he was in the British Army, too, gave you his regiment."
The smile that crossed Janet's face showed clearly what she though about the idea of finding him again.
"You're right, Sam...why didn't I think of that?"
"I *could* say it's because you were too busy walking on air, but I'm too nice for that," Sam replied with a grin.
"You've been working with Colonel O'Neill for too long. He's rubbing off on you."
"Busy, Carter?" Sam jumped when she heard Jack O'Neill's voice behind her.
"Oh, sir...just looking something up for Doctor Fraiser."
"Oh, yeah? Anything I can help with?"
"Uh, no, thank you, sir."
The curious Colonel peered over his major's shoulder at the list she was reading. He frowned.
"Why does Doc Fraiser want the list of visiting vehicles to the base yesterday?" he asked.
"Ah...she didn't tell me?" Sam tried.
"Carter...are you hiding something from me?"
"Would I do that, sir?"
"In a second. What is it?"
"I can't tell, sir, she made me promise."
Her grinning CO shrugged. Just tell her I beat it out of you."
"I can't lie to Janet, sir, you know that."
"Okay, Carter, have it your way." He turned as if to leave, then caught her around the waist and began to tickle. She shrieked in a most un-Majorly way.
"Nooo!! That's not fair! Stopitstopitstopit!!!" she wriggled and struggled, but he was stronger than she was, and his fingers kept up their merciless attack.
"Is there a problem, Major Carter?" Teal'c asked from the doorway. O'Neill, surprised and a little guilty at having been caught tickling his second in command, suddenly released her and shoved his hands behind his back.
"No, no problem, Teal'c," he said innocently.
"Yes there is!" Sam giggled from the floor. "Teal'c, you've got to protect me, he's a tickle-fiend!"
"I am not!" Jack replied indignantly. "I just want to know why Doc Fraiser wanted to know who visited the main gate yesterday."
"I see. I too would be interested in this information."
"Well, sorry, Teal'c," Sam said, trying to get her breath back, "I'm not telling."
"Aha!" Jack cried triumphantly. "So you *do* know! I *will* get it out of you!"
"No! Teal'c, help me!" she screamed as Jack descended on her once more.
"No, Teal'c, help *me*," Jack grinned at his friend. The big Jaffa thought for a moment.
"I am sorry, Major Carter, but I cannot disobey an order from my commanding officer." With that, he pinned her to the floor with one hand and began tickling her waist with the other while the diabolically grinning Colonel wrenched her shoes off and began work on her feet. The Major was shrieking and writhing on the floor.
At the end of the corridor, Daniel was trying to hold back a pair of armed guards who had heard the screams and were trying to get through to see what was happening.
"It's okay, no problem," the archaeologist was assuring them," just an SG-1 strategy session, nothing to worry about."
"Sounds more like somebody's being murdered," one of the guards opined.
"Yeah, well, a lot of our missions are like that."
When he finally got rid of the guards, he ran along the corridor to see the action for himself.
"OOOooooooooooohhhhhhhhhh, stopit stopit pleeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaasssssseeeeee!" Sam moaned.
"Why don't you go ask her yourselves!!!! Noooooo!!!!"
"Because she's not ticklish," Jack replied, still tickling her feet.
"And we couldn't torture...I mean, *tickle* her in the infirmary and get away with it," Daniel added. He was also grinning, though his sole contribution to the torture of his team-mate was to guard the door against any would-be rescuers.
Janet appeared in the doorway, her expression a mixture of curiosity, resignation and horror.
"Alrightalrightalright I'll tell!!!!!" Sam howled.
"Tell what?" Janet asked in the sudden silence.
"No," Janet said as she walked, arms folded, along the corridor. Jack, Daniel and Teal'c were all following her closely, like a comet's tail. It was the sixth time she'd said it.
"Aw, c'mon, Doc! Consider it payback for all the needles you've stuck in us," the Colonel pleaded.
"No."
"Ah, Doctor Fraiser, we're just curious, what harm could it do?" asked Daniel, the sweet voice of reason.
"No."
"Doctor Fraiser, perhaps we could be of assistance in your inquiries?" Teal'c tried.
"No."
"Hey, Janet, is there anything I can do for you?" Jack resorted to bribery.
"No."
"Not even coming home uninjured from a mission?" Daniel said sweetly.
A snort. "No."
"I must agree, Doctor Fraiser. Colonel O'Neill and Daniel Jackson appear unable to return uninjured. Will you not however tell me?"
"No."
"Captain Fraiser, I *order* you to tell me!"
The doctor stopped in the middle of the corridor, so quickly her tail almost ran into her. She turned around slowly, with a strange smile on her lips.
"Was that a threat, Colonel?" she asked sweetly. He swallowed hard, wondering if he'd pushed her too far.
The loudspeaker saved Jack's bacon just then, not for the first time.
"Doctor Fraiser, please contact the main gate," said the page. Janet glared at the unfortunate colonel for a moment, then stepped into an empty office, picked up the phone and dialled the main gate.
"Doctor Fraiser here," she said. She listened for a moment, then: "Thank you. I'll be right up." She replaced the phone and started walking towards the nearest elevator to the surface. Her tail quickly formed up behind her.
"Thank you, gentlemen, I do not need an escort," she said.
"That's okay, we don't mind," Daniel replied, sensing Jack wouldn't want to arouse the Doctor's temper any further.
Janet rolled her eyes.
Major Derrick waited nervously by the main gate. All he'd seen of the Cheyenne Mountain complex the night before had been lights and shadows. Here and now, though, in the light of day, the security was almost...intimidating. But that wasn't why he was nervous. He had a much better reason for that. Her name was Janet.
He couldn't quite understand his reaction to her. His brush with 'Classified' had involved a nine-year stint in the Special Air Service, the British Army's world-famous Special Forces regiment. He'd 'busted' sieges and hostage situations, been deployed deep behind enemy lines in Iraq during the Persian Gulf War, had done a lot of things that had never made the newspapers, and had monitored troop movements and located targets behind enemy lines during the Nato intervention in Kosovo. He wasn't used to...nerves.
But Janet Fraiser stirred something deep in the corroded recesses of what, for want of a better word, he'd have to call his soul. He hadn't even known he had one until last night. His compliments to Cassandra had been genuine - she was, after all, a very pretty child - but they'd been mostly directed at her mother. From the moment he'd seen her standing at the side of the road, soaking wet, covered in mud and decorated with a black eye, he'd been hopelessly smitten. Everything about her...the way she laughed, her smile, the glint in her eye, even the way she pronounced things in that American accent was special.
And he just *loved* that blush!
But how do you return to the home of a lady who just the day before was a total stranger? Even worse, how do you return to her home and tell her you're madly in love with her? That was the dilemma that he'd wrestled with all night. Then, in the morning, he had found the answer sitting on the front seat of his car.
Doctor Janet Fraiser's handbag. She'd left it behind when she hurried off to deal with her emergency. Now he had an excuse to go and see her. And, if he played it right, he'd be able to see a lot more of her...
"But, Doc, don't you remember those lovely flowers I brought you from P1X513?"
"You mean the ones that gave everyone diaper rash?"
"Um..."
"Not those ones? Then you mean the ones that tried to eat anything that came in range?"
"Well, you've got to admit, they do help to keep the bugs down in the infirmary...."
"They're trying to keep the staff down in the infirmary."
Janet turned to and glared at them, her hands planted firmly on her hips.
"You guys, stay right here. Do not come any further. Is that understood?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am," Jack replied, grinning. Janet rolled her eyes and started walking towards the main gate.
He was waiting for her. Standing just outside the Sentry Post.
Three-quarters of SG-1 watched from the entrance. Janet walked a little hesitantly across the open space to the big chain-link gate that blocked the road. Waiting on the other side of the gate, his stance and bearing screaming "military" to O'Neill, was a man.
Very *definitely* a man. He was holding one hand flat against the gate. As the crack military reconnaissance unit watched, the Doctor walked up to the gate and gently touched his hand.
There she was. A clean uniform, her hair rather more carefully arranged than last time he'd seen her...the bruise that decorated her face taking on a rather attractive yellowish tint, though she'd tried to conceal it with makeup. It was really rather pretty, the Major thought. He reached out to her, his hand encountering the wire of the chain link gate. He stood there, with his hand pressed flat against the gate, as she crossed the open ground towards him.
She was beside the gate, on the other side. Her eyes slowly met his, and her hand, almost involuntarily, pressed flat against his. They looked into each others eyes for a long moment. Finally, he broke the silence.
"Hello," he said. As he did the little corner of his mind that wasn't dazed raged at him. 'Hello? Is that the best you can do? What's she gonna think of us now? We're acting like a teenager!'
"Hi," she replied. 'Hi?' she shouted at herself, 'HI?? What are you thinking of? Now he'll think I'm a complete idiot!'
"Um...you, er...you left this in my car last night," he managed to say, waving her handbag vaguely.
"Oh...thank you..." 'Of course, that's why he came here. What on earth made you think he was here to see you? He must have women all over him.'
'Stupid..." he thought. 'Now she'll think I just came to return it, she'll take it and go and that'll be it...'
Slowly, almost reluctantly, her hand left his. They watched each other as she walked to the smaller gate at the side and stepped through. Slowly, as if she had to concentrate on each step, she walked over to him.
"Thank you," she said simply as he handed her the bag. She held it against her, still looking into his eyes.
'For God's sake,' Inner Tom screamed, 'Say something! Start a conversation before she goes back into that hole!'
'Don't just stand here, woman,' Janet yelled at herself, 'Say something! Keep him here, don't let him get back into that car!'
"Um...are they...friends of yours?" Tom tried desperately, glancing at where the three men of SG-1 were standing at the large entrance to the complex, trying to look like they weren't watching the encounter. Janet glanced at the trio.
"Not exactly. They're the bane of my life, actually, but I can always count on them to bring back something interesting."
Tom seized the chance and asked.
"Bring back from where?"
Janet froze when she realised she had gone too far. She cast around frantically for an excuse.
"Ah...whenever they go on vacation...they always come back sick. Doctor Jackson once managed to get yellow fever and Colonel O'Neill got cholera." 'Nicely done, Janet,' she groaned. 'Make him sick. Good move.'
"I see. That must be very stimulating," Tom managed to reply. Inside, he wept. 'What a dumb thing to say!'
"And T...Thomas," she said, substituting Teal'c's name on the spur of the moment, "has a very interesting medical history." 'For pity's sake, woman, he's not a doctor! Don't talk medicine at him, you'll bore him to death!'
"Ah...that's fascinating." 'Find something else to talk about, quickly, before you start looking like an ignorant fool!'
"Um...so...er...how's Cassandra?"
"She's fine...she asked me this morning when 'my boyfriend' was going to be around again..."
Tom thrust himself out on a limb. "How about tonight?" he tried.
Janet turned red. Bright red. She tried to remind herself that she was a Captain in the United States Air Force, and Captains in the United States Air Force didn't blush just because an attractive man asks them out. It didn't work.
'Follow it up, Tom, quick," he told himself.
"I'd....I'd really like to see more of you..." he managed. "Um."
"Er," she replied.
"Well..."
She looked down, staring at her feet to try and regain some concentration. "I'd like that," she said quietly. Inside, both of their inner voices jumped for joy.
"Are you doing anything tonight?" he asked.
Janet breezed into the infirmary, a blissful smile on her face. Major Carter was hiding behind one of the beds.
"Hello, Sam," Janet said airily. "Something I can do for you?"
"Are they there?"
"Your friends? No, they're on the surface. I can call them if you want."
Trying to retain as much of her dignity as she could, Sam stood up and dusted herself off. "No, that's fine, thank you, Janet."
Janet went into her office, sat at her desk and stared dreamily off into space. Sam followed her in.
"Janet? Are you okay?"
"mmmmm...just fine, Sam, just fine...how're you?"
"Ooo...kay...wanna talk about it?"
The Doctor's smile widened.
"I've got a date tonight," she said.
"Yeah," Sam replied, "I know, you're joining us and SG-3 for drinks..."
Janet's face fell.
"Oh, God. I'd forgotten that..."
"Oh. You just made another date?"
"With Tom. We arranged to go out for dinner tonight..."
"Tom...the guy from last night? You found him?"
"Um, not exactly...he found me. He came to return my purse."
"And he got a date instead?"
Janet smiled. "Yeah."
"Well, good for you
"What should I do, Sam?" the Doctor was on the way down again. "I can't just cancel at the last minute because I've got something better to do."
"Well..." Sam thought for a moment. "Why don't you invite your Major to join us for drinks? I'd love to meet him and I know the guys are dying to know what you were up to."
"Speaking of the guys and dying," Janet said, remembering what she had seen earlier, "Was there any particular reason you were flat on your back with Colonel O'Neill between your legs earlier?"
Then it was Sam's turn to blush.
Major Derrick checked the bit of paper again. He could hardly read the scrawl - he had scribbled it in a hurry - but he was fairly sure this was the place. He looked up again, took a deep breath, pushed open the door and hobbled in.
Inside, the bar was fairly civilised. There wasn't much smoke, and it wasn't nearly as noisy as he'd expected. He smiled. This was a Professional's bar, not a Squaddy's watering hole. He looked around for the face he'd dreamed about all night, as well as most of the day.
She wasn't there.
He checked his watch frantically. He was a few minutes early...he desperately hoped he hadn't missed her. Or misunderstood the directions. Or disturbed her so much that afternoon that he'd scared her off.
"Can I get you anything?" The barman's voice startled him out of his reverie. He smiled apologetically and stumped over to the bar.
"Do you have Glenmorangie?" he asked.
"What's that?"
"Whisky. Single malt."
The barman looked doubtful.
"I can have a look for you, if you want."
"No, it's okay, thanks. What have you got?"
The barman thought for a moment.
"If it's malt Scotch you're after, I can do you Glenfiddich or Balvenie."
The Major's ears perked up at that.
"Balvenie?"
The barman smiled as he poured the drink. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"Don't tell me," Tom grinned, "It's the nose, right? People can always tell."
The barman laughed. "What unit you from?"
"Royal Green Jackets. Honourably discharged for medical reasons."
"Yeah, I noticed 'em. I was in the Marines until I got a plate screwed into my head. Motorbike accident."
Their chat was interrupted when the door was opened. Turning to look, Tom watched four Marines tramp in. They all looked as though they'd been in the field for days - yeah, right, he told himself, in the middle of Colorado - and they made their way straight to a table.
"Oh, those guys," the barman said. "Good men, Marines the lot of 'em...I just wish they'd tell me what it is they do to get themselves so worn out. I mean, it's not like I'm a security risk or anything."
"Maybe they're on exercise."
"No, these guys are posted here permanent. Been here over three years, always lookin' like they see combat every day. They're from up at NORAD."
"What're Marines doing at Cheyenne? I thought it was an Air Force gig."
"It is. That's what's weird. They've got all sorts up there, Army, Marines, Air Force, Navy...way more troops than they need for security."
They were special operations troops. That was clear from their eyes, the way they scanned the room automatically to look for danger. And they'd seen action lately, too - a lot of action.
SG-1 were the next to arrive. Tom recognised Colonel O'Neill - he had to be the CO, he had that look - Doctor Jackson - the only one who could be a doctor of anything - and the man Janet had renamed 'Thomas' - clearly not his real name, since she'd hesitated over it. The blonde woman was unfamiliar, but he decided to save the introductions for later.
SG-1 went over and joined the Marines at their table. Drinks were ordered and the laughter began. Tom debated the merits of going over and introducing himself. There weren't many, he decided, and chose to wait for his doctor to arrive.
At the table in the corner that was now being shared by four Marines, three air force officers and one apparent civilian, the drinks had arrived and things were getting noisy. Tom smiled as he surveyed the table. Jackson was trying to be sociable without getting involved too much...the blonde - he had her pegged for a Captain - was trying to be 'one of the guys' and join in, three of the Marines were telling stories and jokes and toasting each other. Rather surprisingly, the big black man, the only one Tom would've classed as a regular squaddy, didn't seem to be joining in the banter. The two CO's - Tom pegged them both as Colonels - joined in just enough to show willing, but stayed back enough to maintain their 'command distance'.
And then she arrived.
Janet was dressed in a slightly odd combination of uniform and civilian clothes. Her hair was somewhat in disarray, and she'd somehow managed to get blood on her cheek.
And she was still beautiful.
A smile immediately plastered itself across his face, and he stood up to meet her.
He crossed the room to her, rested his arms lightly on hers and kissed the bloodless cheek lightly.
"Hi, Janet," he said. She smiled.
"Hi," she replied. The awkwardness of greeting over with, he pulled her close for a long hug. She felt good against him, and he could almost feel the tension draining out of her.
"Tough day?"
She nodded against his shoulder. "I lost a patient," she said quietly. The hug tightened around her and he stroked her shoulder soothingly.
"I'm sorry," he managed. She took a deep breath, then let it out and looked up at him.
"Thanks," she said. He smiled crookedly.
"It's what I'm here for," he replied awkwardly. She smiled slightly then snuggled her head against his chest again. He hugged her close to him, stroking her hair gently with one hand and praying the soldiers they were supposed to be joining wouldn't notice.
After a while, he placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, concern heavy in his voice. She shrugged.
"I will be." She looked up at him and smiled
"Come on," she said, slipping out of his arms and sliding one arm around his waist instead. "I'll introduce you to the others."
He slid his arm obediently around her shoulders and let her lead him across the room to the table occupied by the soldiers.
The blonde woman spotted them first.
"Janet!" she called. The others at the table rotated to examine their doctor and her new friend. Tom braced himself for the coming torment. Janet just hurried forward.
In the next few minutes, he learned the names of Colonel Makepeace, Lieutenant O'Brien and Sergeant's Thomson and Hiller of the Marines, Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter of the Air Force, and Doctor Daniel Jackson and Teal'c. It was an odd name. He wasn't surprised Janet had substituted it earlier. He was introduced as Major Tom, a name and title that caused not a few quiet chuckles in the group.
They both sat down, got their drinks and got into the conversation. Janet was impressed. Tom joined the conversation enough to be sociable, mostly to answer direct questions or argue a point, while at the same time being attentive to her every need. He passed the test.
Eventually - inevitably - the conversation reached the point of previous service. It was a common topic, and every conversation covered a different year. Makepeace turned to Tom.
"What about you, Major?" he asked. "Where were you in '82?"
Tom breathed a silent prayer of thanks. 1982. That was one he could answer.
"The Falklands," he replied quickly. "I was a Lieutenant with 1 Para."
"Good unit," Jack approved. "Did you do any fighting?"
"I helped out at Goose Green. I had a platoon to command, did pretty well with 'em I'd say."
"Well, it's easy to be good with tanks against troops," Makepeace said. Tom raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, it is. That's why I wish I'd had a few tanks. But it was rifles and grenades all the way. Small-squad combat. Rather invigorating."
They all looked at him in a new way at that - respect, of the sort you'd reserve for a fellow professional. 'What do these people *do*?' Tom wondered, not for the first time.
That little exchange led onto a discussion of how Tom had used his platoon to capture a farmhouse that was held by fifteen enemy soldiers. He quickly borrowed glasses and napkins on the table to describe the attack.
"The house was here, they had snipers on each window, fifty yards of clear space all round...I definitely did *not* want to charge across that distance."
Janet glanced over at Sam and rolled her eyes as 'the boys' leaned in to listen to the story and argue about how it was done, how *they* would've done it, and whose round it was. Sam grinned back, then leaned in to add her contribution. Janet smiled and watched Tom's face as he argued animatedly in support of his tactics.
Some time later, the party finally broke up, everyone heading back to their various homes, bunks, quarters and billets. Tom stood outside, his head buzzing slightly from the whisky. It was a good thing, he decided, that he hadn't driven himself here.
"Can I give you a ride home?" Janet asked. He shook his head.
"No, it's all right, I can easily walk from here." Her response was a raised eyebrow.
"Not on a prosthetic leg, you can't."
"I can call a taxi."
"Why bother when I'm already here?"
He smiled at her. "You've got me cornered, haven't you?"
"Absolutely," she replied, taking his hand and leading him towards her car.
It was a comfortable drive. Janet's car, now that it had had its tyres replaced, was comfortable, and she was a careful driver. They chatted quietly about various things for the short drive to his home.
"Have you known them long?"
"About three years," she replied. "Ever since th...I was posted here."
"What's it like up there? I'd imagine desk duty is pretty boring for a doctor."
"Oh, you'd be surprised what can happen on desk duty."
He laughed, and they carried on chatting.
Eventually, they pulled up outside his apartment building. Janet examined it.
"Nice place," she said. He shrugged.
"It keeps me going. It's only temporary until I can find something a little better."
There was an awkward silence for a few moments.
"Would...would you like to come in?" he finally managed to ask. "I don't have any coffee, but I do a pretty good cup of tea..."
She smiled. "That'd be nice, thank you."
The apartment, when they got up to it, was small and sparsely furnished. Everything was relatively new, with the exception of two large, well-worn armchairs. He gestured towards one of the chairs.
"Take a seat. I'll go get the tea."
Janet obediently sank into one of the chairs and looked around the room. The two chairs, a couch, and a small table comprised most of the furnishings. There was a television in the corner, with a stereo sitting next to it, and one wall was lined with books. Aside from that...no pictures were on the walls, there were no plants or ornaments, not even the clutter of an everyday home. It was...well, it was military. A soldier's house.
She stood up and walked over to the bookshelf. It was an eclectic collection of titles...'The History of War in the Western World' sat next to 'The Lord of the Rings' and was bordered by a Terry Pratchett novel and a copy of 'The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy'. The rest of the books on the shelf were similarly mismatched.
She turned her attention to the small pile of CD's next to the stereo. Soundtracks from a few science fiction movies...some heavy rock titles...even Gustav Holst's 'Planets Suite', all as mismatched as the books.
"Milk? Sugar?"
Startled out of her contemplation, she shook herself.
"Er...sugar, please, no milk," she called back.
The sounds of tea-making emerged from the kitchen as Janet wandered around, peeking curiously into closets now and then until she found the bedroom. Everything was neat, tidy and military. In the closets, everything was stacked carefully on shelves. Where there were piles, they were neat and tidy.
In the bedroom it was the same. The only thing that wasn't in a closet or a drawer was a set of three artificial legs stacked against the wall. Tom Derrick, she decided, was a soldier through and through.
"I only moved in a month ago," he said from behind her. She jumped and turned, flushing guiltily at having been caught peeking. He grinned at her.
"I haven't had a chance to make it very homey yet."
"It's nice," Janet managed to say
He glanced around the room. "Eh, it keeps me going. It's a Bachelor's Flat, really. I sleep here, I eat here, that's about it." He gestured towards the centre of the living room, where two cups sat steaming on the coffee table. "The tea's ready."
She followed him over and struggled with herself. Should she sit next to him on the couch, or take an armchair...?
She finally chose the couch. He smiled warmly as she settled down next to him, cup of tea in hand. She took a careful sip and tried not to shudder at the taste as the bitter liquid burned down her throat.
"I'm sorry," he said, watching her face. "I know tea isn't exactly the American thing, but I just can't abide coffee, and I wasn't expecting company..."
She smiled back at him. "It's nice, really," she tried to reassure him. "Different."
He laughed out loud at that comment.
"Waking up to find I only had one leg was different," he replied, grinning. "Didn't make it any more fun."
She swore at herself for accidentally broaching such a sensitive subject. But now that he'd started it...
"How did that happen?" she asked quickly, to get it over with.
"How did I lose my leg?" She nodded, mutely. He shrugged.
"It's nothing sinister. Kosovo. I'd been deployed behind the lines, doing a spot of recon. When the Serbs pulled out, they didn't need us in there any more, so we were picked up in a Lynx and flown out. The chopper went tech in mid air and did a rather nice belly-flop. One guy killed, two seriously injured, one of whom had to have his leg amputated on the spot." He rapped his knuckles on the artificial limb. "Guess who that was." He grinned at her discomfiture and pulled up his trouser leg to reveal where the metal rod of his prosthetic met the stump of his leg.
"Want to have a look?" he offered. "Professional interest?"
"It's all right...I wouldn't want to..."
He smiled and lowered the cloth again. She hunted around for a more suitable topic of conversation.
"You said you were behind the lines in Kosovo?" she asked.
"Yup."
"I didn't think we had any troops behind the lines? Except the..."
"Special Forces? Ah, you caught me. Yes, I was in the SAS. Does that bother you?"
Janet thought for a moment. She worked with Special Forces every day - every member of the SG- teams had extensive special ops training at the least, many had a lot of experience - Colonel O'Neil being the most extreme example. She shook her head.
"No. It doesn't bother me. But you said..."
"I was transferred into the Green Jackets just before I was discharged. We're not supposed to reveal the identity of former or current SAS members - makes us into targets, y'see. We've fought the IRA too often for them to live and let live."
The silence that followed was a little uncomfortable. They both knew he'd said too much, and they were looking for a way out.
Janet found it. She inched a little closer to him, letting her leg touch his lightly. He withdrew his leg slightly to be sure it wasn't an accident. Sure enough, she moved her leg to follow his. He shifted a little closer to her and wondered if it would be appropriate to put his arm around her. Before long, they were snuggling together comfortably, her head resting on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her.
After about ten minutes like that, he cleared his throat.
"Janet?" he whispered in her ear.
"Yes, Tom?" she whispered back.
There was a long, pregnant pause.
"I think I'm falling in love with you," he said finally.
Janet awoke slowly with a smile on her face. She kept her eyes closed as she snuggled back into the arms that encircled her. She felt warm and protected as she nuzzled her body back against Tom's. He responded by tightening his embrace slightly and kissing the back of her head gently.
"Morning, sleepy head," he said quietly.
"Mmmmm..." she replied. "No, it isn't..."
"Much as I'd like it not to be," he said as he nibbled gently on her ear, "I'm afraid it's almost time to get up..." One hand traced idle patterns on her stomach as the doctor purred happily
They had been together for two weeks now, and Janet felt like it had been forever. She had gotten so used to having Tom around she could hardly remember when he had been a stranger by the side of the road.
Eventually, she forced herself to reluctantly abandon his arms. Kissing him lightly, she wriggled to the edge of the bed and slid out. She could feel his eyes on her as she stretched. She turned and smiled at him.
"Like the view?"
"Very much so," he grinned back. She grinned and went to the closet to collect her uniform. She blew him a kiss as she stepped out the door.
"Have fun dreaming," she told him with a cheeky grin.
Pausing only to scratch Jack the dog between the ears, she made her way to the bathroom. As she stepped under the shower, she reflected on the last two weeks and wondered if it was time.
Since that first date, Tom had become inextricably entangled in her life. Previously insoluble problems like how to get Cassie to school when she was on an early shift, or finding babysitters at short notice when SG-1 brought back another plague from a planet, were suddenly non-existent. But his influence was so much more than that.
She thought of him constantly. Even when her arms were covered in blood and she was up to the elbows in gore, a little corner of her mind was wondering what he was up to right now
As the hot water poured over her face, she let her mind drift. As it always did these days, it drifted directly to him. This time, just for variety, she remembered the conversation they'd had...what? Ten days ago?
When she emerged, dressed in her work uniform, he was already up, dressed in jeans and a shirt and moving around the kitchen, preparing breakfast. She smiled and picked up the steaming cup of coffee he'd made for her. He smiled and kissed her nose.
"Morning, love," he said.
"Morning, honey," she replied, sipping the coffee and kissing him.
"Bacon and eggs okay with you?"
"Sounds great."
She seated herself at the table and watched him busy himself about the kitchen, preparing a nice, cholesterol-heavy breakfast.
"Having fun?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Just admiring the view," she replied.
Janet's first stop when she reached the base was always the same these days: the base firing range. Since Hathor's invasion of the SGC, she had made it a point to keep her weapons skills up to scratch. After all, in a project like this one, she never knew what would happen next.
When she entered the range to select her weapon, she was surprised to see Colonel O'Neill was there ahead of her. Normally at this time the range was deserted, except for herself. That was why she'd started coming in at this time in the first place - so nobody could laugh at her marksmanship.
"Good morning, Colonel," she said brightly.
"Doctor. Getting a little practice in?"
"That's the idea."
She selected up four magazines to go with her 9mm Beretta, picked up a set of ear protectors and five target sheets. Colonel O'Neill selected six clips and a number of unofficial targets.
"After you, sir," she offered.
"No, I insist...ladies first," he replied, sweeping his arm towards the firing range. She smiled and took his offer and walked in. Ear protection over her ears - not her eyes, as her drill instructor had so humorously informed her in boot camp - targets in place, magazine in the handgrip...everything was set.
She raised her pistol carefully, both hands on the grip, and took careful aim.
Both hands on the grip, she squeezed off two shots, then adjusted her aim slightly to account for the error in the first shots and fired four more rounds. She carried on shooting until she had used up the whole fifteen round magazine. She ejected the clip and wound her target back in to examine the results.
Not bad, she decided. Her first two shots had landed in the third ring out, then moved steadily inward, with nine of her fifteen rounds in the center ring.
She glanced over to where O'Neill's target was hanging - and steadily being shot to pieces. He was using the less official target - a goa'uld in its natural, snake-like form, poised to strike, and he had wound it to the very end of the range. Firing one-handed, O'Neill's bullets started at the creature's tail and working upwards. By the time he reached the head, he'd changed his clip three times, and the target was a ruin. The last shot went through the goa'uld's head. As he wound the target back in, it was impossible to tell that the picture had ever existed on the paper.
Janet slipped her ear protectors off and walked down the range to O'Neill's booth. He was examining his destroyed target with a slight smile on his lips.
"Having fun, Colonel?" Janet asked. He glanced up at her and smiled.
"Not as much fun as pinning up a real gould and shooting it."
"I don't think anything's that much fun," she replied with a grin.
He glanced down at the target she was holding.
"May I?" he didn't wait for permission, but took the target and examined it.
"Not bad," he said finally. "Mind if I watch you shooting?"
"Uh...okay..."
Jack pinned another unofficial target to the traveller and set it halfway down the range. He replaced his ear protectors and motioned towards the target with a wave of his arm.
"See if you can hit the head."
Janet rolled her eyes and picked up her handgun.
"Uh-uh..." Jack said, waving a finger at her. He popped her ear protectors over her head, gave her a grin and stepped back.
The doctor took a deep breath, gripped the weapon in both hands, brought it up to the target, aimed and started firing. At this range, the head of the goa'uld was a tiny dot to aim at. It took seven shots for her to hit it. When she lowered her weapon and pulled back her ear protectors, Jack was watching her speculatively.
Two hours later, Janet walked into the infirmary, massaging her wrist. Jack had kept her on the firing range four times longer than she had intended, working to improve her shooting. He'd changed her stance, her grip, the way she aimed, everything. It seemed to have worked - her shooting had improved - but her wrist was complaining bitterly about the mistreatment. The good news was that the handgun now sitting in her uniform pocket was a lot more useful to her. The bad news was that he expected to see her in the range again tomorrow, this time for some MP-5 work.
"Good morning, everybody," she said airily as she selected a lab coat and slipped it on. "How are we all feeling today?"
There was a chorus of 'good mornings' from her staff and a half dozen clipboards were thrust at her. The doctor smiled and went to work.
SG-1 were due to go out today - she smiled to herself at that one. She'd called in a favor from the General to make sure SG-1 got the recon of P2D-514. It was a primordial world, with no goa'uld presence and no sign of human occupation. Temperate climate, no sign of any large animals. 'Maybe,' she thought, 'just maybe they'd come back intact'.
SG-8 were leaving at sixteen hundred - that was a worry, they were heading to a suspected goa'uld world.
"So, what's the latest?"
If Janet had been wearing glasses, she would've looked over the top of them at the smiling nurse who'd asked the question.
"The latest what?" the doctor asked innocently.
"You've been boasting about your new boyfriend all week. What's the latest development?"
Janet let a mysterious smile play across her lips.
"Let's just say," she replied carefully, "that the Brit's certainly teach their soldiers stamina."
"Any aches, pains, stomach upset...?"
"No"
"Blackouts, fainting fits, dizziness?"
"Not that I've noticed."
"Good. How's the knee?"
"Just fine. There's nothing wrong with me, Doc."
Janet smiled at her patient and put the earpiece of her stethoscope in place. "Lift your shirt for me please?"
Jack sighed in resignation and lifted his t shirt. Janet listened carefully for a few moments.
"Okay, that sounds fine."
"I told you, Doc, I am fine."
"Come on, Colonel, you know we have to do this."
"For cryin' out loud, we're going to a primordial world. No gould, no Jaffa, nada, zip."
"Well, I hope you have a good time. Arm?"
The Colonel extended his arm to have his blood pressure taken. He faked a wince as she wrapped the cuff around his arm.
"Hey...do you have to wrap it so tight?"
"Don't be such a baby." She quickly inflated the cuff, checked the dial, removed the cuff again.
"Okay, that's fine. Any problems you haven't told me about?"
Jack leaned forward conspiratorially. Janet resisted the urge to roll her eyes and leaned forward to hear him.
"I think I might be pregnant," he told her.
"Then I'll have to ground you until Doctor McKenzie's had a chance to evaluate you," she replied deadpan.
"Ah, c'mon, doc, I'm kidding."
"I'm not." She grinned. "Okay, everything checks out, assuming you're not hiding anything from me."
"As if I'd do that." Jack slipped off the bed and stretched. "Anything I can bring you back from good ol' P2D-514? Some nice new burns to treat? A fresh batch of alien virus? A rock?"
"Artifact!" Daniel shouted from across the room.
"Whatever," Jack called back. Janet shook her head in resignation.
"How about yourselves in one piece?"
"Oh, I'm hurt. Is that everything?"
"For now, Colonel. I'll see you when you get back."
The Colonel threw her a mocking salute, which she returned automatically, then led his team out. As soon as they left, a group of nurses crowded together and started talking quietly amongst themselves. The SGC's chief medical officer tried to quietly ignore the money that was placed on the table as the bets were made. Eventually, her mischievous spirit got the better of her and she sauntered over to the table and glanced at the betting.
"Fifteen dollars they come back unhurt," she said, putting the money down. Her nurses were surprised - Janet didn't normally get involved in their SG-1 injury betting ring.
"Do you know something we don't, ma'am?" one of them asked.
"Call it wishful thinking," Janet replied
Two hours later, SG-1 stepped through the stargate and Janet uncrossed her fingers. Delays, problems, missing equipment...it had all ganged up on them until she was afraid SG-1 would never make it through.
"About time too," she murmured, turning to leave the control room. On the way out, she bumped into Captain Edward McKae, the commanding officer of SG-8. "And I'll see you in the infirmary at fifteen hundred, won't I, Captain." He looked a little shamefaced.
"Yes, Doctor," he replied. He was notorious for avoiding medical appointments - almost as frequently as Colonel O'Neill.
Janet nodded in satisfaction and swept out of the control room. There were times when being the top doctor in a top secret facility like this one could be fun.
"Well, isn't this pretty," Jack said sardonically as the gate closed behind them. They were in the middle of a forest, surrounded by large conifers - not exactly a unique situation.
"Whoever terraformed these planets didn't have much imagination. Okay, kids, move out. Carter, take point."
SG-1 quickly deployed themselves with Carter in the lead, followed by O'Neill, Daniel and Teal'c bringing up the rear. They moved off into the forest, weapons ready, scanning for danger. There was none. Birds twittered quietly above them, the wind rustled a few leaves, but other than that, the only sound was the crunch of the team's boots as they made their way between the trees.
"The UAV should be about two klicks that way," Carter told them, pointing. The team set off through the woods.
Jack, following Carter on point, slipped his special forces issue sunglasses on and looked around. It really was a very attractive planet - not much undergrowth, nice, tall trees...privately, it was nice to have a mission where for once they probably wouldn't be zapped by Jaffa, have alien computers inserted in their heads to drive them insane, have their memories displayed on a screen - again - or any of the other weird stuff that made SG-1 missions so...interesting. Exciting was great, but there was a lot to be said for dullness.
It took them about an hour to locate where the UAV had landed. The multimillion dollar toy plane had found a nice little dip in the ground to hide in. The good news was that it seemed fairly intact - SG-1 wouldn't have to come up with excuses for bringing back a broken plane this time, always a relief.
"Teal'c, wanna grab a wing?" Jack called, hurrying forward to take his share of the weight. He got a good grip on the UAV's starboard wing and heaved, lifting it easily off the ground.
Then he dropped it again as a furry animal about the size of a large cat shot out from underneath it and attached itself to his leg. The creature's claws dug into his flesh and he yelled in shock as the thing began to claw its way up. The rest of the team grabbed their weapons with startled shouts, but they could only watch in horror as the thing clambered up their CO.
Back in her office, Janet sat at her desk and stared at the pile of paperwork she had to finish.
The Pentagon, she noted, didn't quite know what to do with the SGC. They were the front line against the goa'uld, they sent out armed combat teams regularly to do battle, and all too often those teams didn't come back, or came back with bits missing.
But as far as the REFM's at the Pentagon were concerned, they were on a peacetime footing. Having the support of the Joint Chiefs was nice, but she couldn't exactly wave it at every busybody who didn't like her requisitions. She had to fight, and fight hard, for every bottle of penicillin, every clean needle, every damn band-aid.
It was so unlike the last time she'd worked on an at-war footing, at a field hospital well back from the front line during the Gulf War. Then, she'd been a doctor, hands on, healing people. In her peace time hospital, she'd been an administrator, working on the budget, balancing supplies.
Here, she had to do both and more. She was also a scientist, using untried and often dangerous techniques to cure problems she'd never dreamt of before, and, on occasion, she was even a soldier. She felt the weight of the handgun in her pocket and smiled at the memory of seducing her way out of the cells.
Opening a folder, she sighed and got down to work. A letter from some Pentagon pencil-pusher, asking her to justify a request for sterile dressings - they used a lot of those on burns from staff weapons blasts. For once, the letter wasn't written in the dry Officialese that Pentagon bureaucrats seemed to learn in their cribs.
"Dear Doctor Fraiser," It ran. "I know NORAD has a reputation as a boring assignment, but do you really have that many suicide attempts?"
Janet sighed and opened her word processor to try and draft a reply - other than "Sorry, classified" or "Go ask General Henry Shelton" or "We need them to fight a race of parasitic worms who we meet after travelling through a honkin' great two story metal ring with 39 little pictures all nicely engraved on it." It wasn't easy. Nobody had told her when she accepted this job that it would involve creative writing quite so often.
"What is it?" Cassandra asked, examining the gleaming coin closely.
"It's a gold sovereign," Tom replied. "It saved my life once." Cassandra looked puzzled.
"How?" she asked.
"We're given six of these whenever we go behind enemy lines. Because they're made of gold, they're worth the same amount wherever you go in the world.
"I used this one when I made a mistake. I was looking around an enemy camp when a guard snuck up behind me. He had me at gunpoint, no way I could escape without being shot."
Cassie's eyes were wide as she listened to the story. Tom guessed 'Uncle' Jack had told her similar tales, but he had to admit, it was nice to see the girl hanging on his words.
"What did you do?"
"Well," he replied slowly, "I had that coin in my pocket. I slowly turned around and pulled it out and showed it to him. He could see what it was, and he could see what it was worth. So when I threw it aside, he automatically followed it, and I managed to escape."
He deliberately didn't tell her the details of his escape - there are some things a thirteen year old girl doesn't need to know.
"Anyway, ever since then, that coin has brought me luck. And now it can bring you luck."
She twisted the coin in her fingers, holding it up tot he light to admire it.
"Now," he said, standing up, "you need to go and finish your homework, and I'll go and get your mother."
"Okay, Tom," she replied. She stood up on tip toe, planted a kiss on his cheek, then darted upstairs. Tom watched her go and grinned.
The gate's activation from off-world was a welcome excuse for Janet to escape her paperwork. At the first alarm, she ran down the corridors to the control room, arriving just in time to watch the gate burst into life behind the Iris.
"Are we getting a signal?" she asked.
"SG-1's remote code received," the Sergeant at the controls replied. Janet felt her skin crawl at that. SG-1 were coming home early. This wasn't a good thing.
The iris opened with its trademark scrape of metal against metal. A moment later, SG-1 appeared.
They were all upright, at least, that was good...Major Carter was limping slightly, Daniel, for once, looked moderately undamaged, Teal'c sported a few cuts and bruises...
Colonel O'Neill was a mess. His face was covered in cuts and bruises, his left sleeve was ripped, revealing a large, bleeding wound and, she realised as she reached the bottom of the steps and ran into the gate room, he stank to high heaven. SG-8, who had been in the gate room waiting for the go from General Hammond, recoiled from the solid wall of the stink.
"Colonel...what happened?" she asked, trying to cover her nose.
"Oh...we met a cat," the Colonel replied, trying to sound casual.
"The Colonel disturbed a feline-like animal," Samantha replied. "It ran up his leg, scratched all over his face, then used a form of defence rather like an Earth skunk."
O'Neill glared at her.
"Then Daniel started a rockslide," he continued, ignoring Daniel's protest and glaring at his major, as if daring her to contradict him. She did.
"The Colonel decided to take the shortest way up a hill, which happened to be covered in loose rocks," she told her friend, grinning at her CO. "It turned out to be a little unstable."
"Report to the infirmary, SG-1," Hammond said, having appeared behind the doctor. "Debrief at nineteen hundred. Welcome back."
"Thank you, Sir," O'Neill said brightly. "Doctor, after you."
"No, no, Colonel, I insist." She followed them out, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as the Stargate began dialling SG-8's destination.
"How's that feel, Colonel?"
O'Neill tested the arm.
"Ah...much better, thank you, Doc...I guess I can go now..." he started to rise, but was stopped by the doctor's hand on his chest. "Oh, no, you don't, Colonel. You know better than that."
"Awww, c'mon, Doc, gimme a break, willya?"
"You've already had nine, I'm not going to add to the number. Unless you try to leave again," she added, grinning. O'Neill sighed his compliance and sat back down on the gurney. Janet smiled and turned to fill a syringe.
"Off-world activation!" The alarm sounded throughout the base. Janet checked her watch quickly. Nobody was due back yet. Which meant, in all probability, more business for her little corner of the SGC.
"Colonel, who's out at the moment?" she asked. She knew, of course, but she wanted to double check. O'Neill thought for a moment.
"SG-11 and SG-8 are out on routine surveys, SG-5 are following up on Medrona, and SG-9 are trying to get hold of more trinium.
Janet sighed. SG-5 would be fine - ever since SG-1 had moved heaven and earth to return the Touchstone to them the people of Medrona had welcomed visitors from the SGC warmly. SG-9, too, would most likely be unharmed - they were good at their jobs, and negotiation rarely got violent. SG-11 and SG-8 were sources of worry, though.
"Let's be ready to receive trauma patients," she called to a nurse, "just in case." There was a busy silence for the next few minutes as the emergency staff sorted out their equipment. The silence was shattered moments later by klaxons sounding throughout the base and an excited voice over the loudspeaker.
"Code nine, code nine, this is not a drill, code nine!" In the background was the unmistakable sound of staff weapon fire. The nurses stared at each other in horror. The doctor was the first to react to the nightmare that had suddenly dropped on them.
"Okay, hurry up, I want us ready for multiple casualties. Be ready for burns, trauma and anything else you can think of. Quickly, ladies and gentlemen!" She turned to SG-1 - who were just vanishing out the door.
"Carter!" O'Neill shouted as he cocked his pistol and watched the corridor.
"Sir?"
"Pair of M-16's and Zats for everyone.
"Yes, sir!" As O'Neill kept watch, Carter grabbed the weapons from the armoury and passed them out. Teal'c refused the proffered M-16 and took his staff weapon instead, while Daniel took a Zat gun and a pistol. Carter loaded two M-16's, stuffed a Zat in her belt and went out. A second Zat went into O'Neill's belt.
"Locked and loaded?"
"Yes, sir." O'Neill nodded in satisfaction, holstered his pistol and took an M-16.
"Okay, Gate room, people, move out." And with the Colonel leading, SG-1 headed out to do battle.
They found it in corridor C, where the Marines of SG-3 were crouched with General Hammond behind a makeshift barricade across the corridor. O'Neill crouched next to the General and noted that all five of them were holding the enemy - whoever they were - back with handguns.
"Uh, if you guys wanna go get some real weapons," O'Neill prompted. Colonel Makepeace nodded in agreement.
"Back in two minutes, General," he said, then headed off down the corridor with his Marines in tow.
"General, mind telling me what happened here?" O'Neill asked next.
"We received SG-8's remote transmitter code, but fifteen Jaffa came through instead. They got to the control room and deactivated the iris long enough to bring reinforcements through."
"How many are we lookin' at?"
"I don't know, Colonel, I didn't stay behind to count them," the General replied irritably.
"Sir, it can't be that bad," Carter said then. "The iris is designed to close automatically in a code nine. They can't get any more reinforcements through until they cut through it."
"Yeah, well, d'you wanna stick around to see how long that's gonna be?" O'Neill asked.
"Not really, sir..."
"Has the autodestruct been activated?"
"No, it hasn't. The Jaffa got to the control room too qui..." Hammond was interrupted just then by a volley of staff fire. O'Neill and Carter responded automatically, sending three round bursts of carefully aimed fire through the weak points in the Jaffa's armour. Three Jaffa were down before the rest fired, forcing the two officers to duck behind cover again.
"Uh, sir, can I suggest we back off and find somewhere a little more defensible? This table isn't gonna take many staff blasts..."
"Now, why didn't I think of that, Colonel," the General replied, somewhat sarcastically, as he began crawling towards the nearest corner, followed by Daniel and, rather reluctantly, Major Carter. O'Neill and Teal'c stayed in place, firing down the corridor at the approaching Horus guards to cover their comrades retreat.
It was quiet. They hadn't seen any Jaffa for a quarter of an hour - ever since five of them had come around a corner and found three airforce officers, four marines, one Jaffa and one very annoyed archaeologist, all of them heavily armed. Now, O'Neill was getting restless.
"Sir, permission to go take a look around out there?"
"Not yet, Colonel," Hammond replied. "They could be waiting for just that."
"Then we'll send a couple grenades down first, General. We can't just sit here and wait for them to come for us!"
The General finally nodded, reluctantly.
"All right. SG-1, recon ahead, SG-3, stay here and hold this corridor. I'm going to see if I can get reinforcements from topside."
"Yes, *sir*!" With that, O'Neill jumped over the sandbag barrier they'd erected and headed down the corridor, followed by Carter, Daniel and Teal'c.
SG-1 were good at this. O'Neill knew it. Everyone on the base knew it. SG-1 were the very best. They worked well together. As they advanced through the SGC, O'Neill automatically took point, with Carter following him closely, Daniel in the middle and Teal'c covering the six. They'd done it before. Not here, admittedly. Not even on this planet, actually. But they'd still done it before and they did their jobs like clockwork.
The Colonel followed the familiar corridors towards the Gate room. It was strange, he mused, how the comforting, familiar corridors of the SGC could suddenly become so dark and menacing given something as small as a goa'uld incursion. There was no sense of 'home' here - only a sense of danger.
Voices ahead. Speaking in goa'uld. Two were Jaffa, the third had the rumbling, distorted voice of a goa'uld. O'Neill held up a hand to halt the team.
"Gould ahead," he whispered. "Daniel, with me, I need you to translate."
With that, he began creeping forward to the corner. The voices grew steadily clearer.
"They're talking about the battle," Daniel whispered. "They've got...forty left, I think...they're encountering heavy resistance in corridor C, that's gotta be...yeah, they figure it's SG-3 holding them back. Oh...uh-oh, Jack, they've reached the elevator. They're heading to the surface to hold up any reinforcements."
"Well, that's not good...anything else?"
"Uh...they're trying to cut through the iris. They figure they'll need two hours to get it open far enough to bring reinforcements through."
"That's long enough." The Colonel carefully extended his pocket periscope around the corner and looked through the eyepiece.
"Oh, hell..." he whispered.
Standing at the end of the corridor, with two Jaffa in front of him, was Captain Edward McKae, the commanding officer of SG-8. With glowing eyes and a goa'uld accent.
O'Neill tried to contain his revulsion as he made his way carefully back to where Carter and Teal'c were waiting.
"It's McKae," he whispered. "He's been goulded."
The rest of the team expressed similar feelings. Possession by a goa'uld was the worst nightmare of every SG operative.
"Sir, we've got to do something," Carter insisted.
"I know that, Carter. What would you suggest?" he snapped back at her. He sighed briefly and rubbed his eyes.
"Okay, Carter, Teal'c, there's two Jaffa out there with him. You two take them out, Daniel, you Zat McKae. I'll cover anything you miss. Agreed?" There was general consent. "Okay, on three."
With that, the Colonel led his team to the intersection. He stepped back a little way to give Carter and Teal'c room to go out first, then held up his hand with three fingers spread. Three, two, one, he bunched his fist and Carter and Teal'c leapt into the corridor to pick their targets.
The first thing they spotted was four Jaffa. The second thing they noticed was that all four had their staff weapons levelled in their direction.
Both soldiers threw themselves to the floor at the same time, firing as they dropped. One Jaffa's chest exploded in smoke as Teal'c's staff weapon found it's target, a second was knocked back for a moment as Carter's fire went wild, bouncing off the Jaffa's armour. The musical note of Daniel's Zat gun sounded next, followed by several staff blasts from the enemy. There was a grunt from behind O'Neill, but he ignored it as he fired at the helmeted soldiers. Two were down, then three, then he threw himself to the ground to avoid a staff blast. When he looked up, the last Jaffa was also on the ground, killed by Carter's M-16.
"Everybody okay?" O'Neill shouted as he jogged cautiously down the hall, his weapon scanning the pile of soldiers in front of him.
"Daniel's hurt, sir!" Carter replied. O'Neill risked a glance backward to see the archaeologist half-sitting against a wall, his left hand clasping a wound on his right arm.
"I'm okay, Jack!" Daniel shouted, despite all the evidence.
O'Neill made a quick decision that if Daniel could claim he was all right, then he'd probably live for a while, at least, and continued closing on the heap. As he got closer, he slung his M-16 over his shoulder and pulled out his Zat, keeping it levelled at the dead guards in general and the goa'uld in the centre in particular.
"Don't move, McKae!" he called. When he finally reached the former officer, he saw that he wasn't going to be moving anywhere. A wild bullet or a ricochet had gone through his leg, and Daniel's Zat blast had knocked the man unconscious. O'Neill reassured himself that the other guards weren't a threat, then holstered the Zat and swapped it for his rifle.
"Teal'c!" he called.
"I am here, O'Neill," the Jaffa replied.
"Yeah, well, get over here and gimme a hand."
He glanced back just long enough to see Teal'c running on his curiously silent feet towards him. Carter was examining Daniel, the archaeologist half-leaning back against her. A moment later, Teal'c was by his side.
"Can you carry him to the infirmary?" O'Neill asked, indicating McKae with his weapon.
"I can, O'Neill." To prove it, the big man lifted the unconscious goa'uld onto his broad back and started down the corridor. O'Neill followed, walking backwards, his weapon tracking from side to side, searching for targets.
Suddenly, one presented itself as a pair of Jaffa walked around the corner. Two three-round bursts later, they were ex-Jaffa, but the sound of running footsteps told the Colonel they'd have company before long.
The infirmary was chaotic. Doctor Fraiser rushed to and fro in the waiting room that had become a triage center, assessing the injured, ordering treatment, adjusting an IV here, tightening a bandage there. It wasn't the hands-on approach she preferred, but at a time like this she had to be a Captain and run things rather than a doctor treating them.
"Give him ten cc's of morphine and apply a pressure bandage to that wound. We need to stop the bleeding," she ordered a nurse.
"Yes, ma'am."
Just then the door burst open, followed by two Marines supporting Colonel Makepeace between them. Janet rushed over and began to assess his injuries even as the Marines lowered him onto a bed.
"What happened?" The Colonel's jacket was ripped and burned over his left arm and half his chest.
"Staff-blast, mid range," one of the marines reported. "He took most of it in the shoulder."
Makepeace groaned. "For God's sake, Doc, just gimme a couple aspirin and let me outta here."
"Ohh, no way, Colonel, you're in here for at least a month if I'm reading this right." She began to tease the melted material away from his wound, revealing more and more damage as she worked.
"Okay, make that two months," she said. "An inch to the right and a little higher..." A moments work with a stethoscope confirmed her suspicions. "You've fractured your clavicle and these are very severe burns." As she spoke she was pouring antiseptic onto a handful of cotton wool. "This is going to hurt," she told him as she started cleaning the wound.
It was five more minutes before the next visitor arrived. This time it was Colonel O'Neill with SG-1 and the rest of SG-3. Doctor Jackson was clutching at his blood-soaked arm with one hand while firing a Zat gun with the other and Teal'c carried an unconscious man in BDU's on his back. Janet shuddered when she noticed the patch of SG-8 on his arm.
"Mind if we wait here for a few minutes, Doc?" O'Neill asked. Fraiser's reply was drowned out by the screech of a staff weapon.
Twenty-eight floors above them, oblivious to the carnage below, Major Tom Derrick was waiting. He wasn't surprised that she was late - after all, she was the head doctor of a pretty big facility. So he stood in an out of the way corner and chatted idly with Lieutenant Connor, the commander of the guard detail. The Lieutenant was doing his best to look relaxed, but Tom could see the pistol at the man's side - and he had no doubt which way several loaded rifles were pointing.
"Must be a fun job," Tom was saying. "Guarding a mountain, make sure nobody steals it?" he grinned.
"It's a career post," the Lieutenant replied. " 'Head of Cheyenne Mountain guard detail'. Sounds good on a guy's resume."
"I bet. I had a similar job once, at Hereford. Ended up they tried to promote me out of the Regiment. I talked 'em out of it, eventually."
"You talked your way out of a promotion?" Connor was aghast.
"Aye, well, promotion out of the SAS isn't really promotion...more of a sentence, really."
Connor grinned and was about to reply when he was hurled to the ground. Tom stared in shock at the man at his feet, smoke rising from a large, charred hole in his back. A moment later, orange bolts of energy shot past with a high pitched whump. Tom threw himself to the ground just in time, as he felt a blast of intense heat pass overhead.
Tom wriggled to the chain-link fence and looked through it. Four men in strange, metallic clothes were crossing the open ground from the complex entrance, holding strange, staff-like weapons that hurled bolts of bright orange energy towards the guard detail. They wore strange helmets that totally covered their faces and seemed to be surmounted by some sort of metal head. As he watched, the guards opened fire on the attackers but the bullets bounced off the armour in a flurry of sparks. The strange soldiers kept coming.
Nearby, an airman was hit by one of the energy blasts and was hurled backwards, his M-16 rifle clattering to the ground next to Tom. The major grabbed the weapon, quickly checked the magazine - it was nearly full - then wriggled behind the cover of the guardhouse and took careful aim.
His target found, he slowly squeezed the trigger, firing a single round. It found its target - blasting apart the knee of one of the attackers. Tom congratulated himself on guessing that their legs weren't as heavily armoured as their bodies were and swung his weapon around for another target even as the first enemy was collapsing. It took two rounds this time, his first shot going wild, the second finding flesh in the target's groin. Another shot through the knee and the enemy collapsed. His rifle tracked across, searching for another target, but the guards followed his lead and started blasting apart the attacker's legs. Less than ten seconds after Tom fired his first shot, the last soldier went down, his armour torn to shreds by a flurry of shots from at least five different guards.
Tom dragged himself to his feet and hobbled towards the downed soldiers. As he did so, he selected five of the American soldiers.
"You lot, go check the tunnel, make sure there aren't any more of them. How many casualties?" He didn't even think. He was an officer, these were soldiers, and they were in a combat situation. He took command. The soldiers didn't think, either, and the men ran to obey his order.
"Five men dead, nine injured...er...sir...?" another soldier called, suddenly noticing that the man giving orders wasn't in uniform.
"Jolly good. Who's senior here?"
"Er...I am...er, sir...Chief Master Sergeant O'Rourke."
"Sergeant Major?"
He shrugged. "Close enough, sir."
Tom reached the downed attackers, his weapon pointing at them, trying to cover all of them at once. A quick examination showed that one was dead - generally, living people had more body between their head and their legs - a second would probably lose both legs, the third wouldn't be having any children or, probably, walking again, and the fourth was groping for his weapon. Another soldier kicked it well out of his reach, and Tom levelled his weapon at the soldier's groin.
"Stop wriggling or say goodbye to your wedding tackle," he growled. The...thing...seemed to glare at him, then collapsed backwards. Tom wasn't even sure if it was human. At this range, he could see that what he'd taken for a helmet was more like a living head. The metal head on top looked like some sort of bird, its eyes glowing blue, and it moved, looking from side to side for a way of escape. When it realised it was surrounded by soldiers pointing weapons at various parts of its anatomy, it seemed to lose all heart.
"Horus guard," one of the soldiers muttered.
"You know what this thing is?" Tom asked, not moving his eyes from the recumbent figure.
"Yes, si...who the hell are you?" the soldier suddenly asked, realising that not only was their new leader not in uniform, he was speaking with an English accent and was missing a leg.
"I'm a Major in the SAS, soldier, and if that's not good enough for you I suggest you go talk to what's left of Lieutenant Conner over there," Tom growled, jerking his head towards where the Lieutenant lay.
"I'm taking command here. Somebody phone for medical assistance. I want five men to keep an eye on these prisoners. Sergeant...O'Rourke, was it?"
"Sergeant Major, sir. Sir, I'm not sure you've got auth..."
"Sar' Major, I want a full count. How many men can do duty, how many injured. And phone downstairs, find out what the hell's going on.
"Yes, sir." The Sergeant Major ran off. It simply wasn't worth arguing with Officers - even foreign ones.
The battle outside the infirmary raged on. SG's -1 and -3 were managing to hold the Jaffa back, but it was difficult for Janet and her staff to treat their patients when M-16's were blazing away in their ears. The soldiers guessed there were between six and ten Jaffa attacking - but every time one of them was wounded, his comrades would simply pull him out of the way and wait for his larval goa'uld to repair the damage. The defenders had no such luxury.
"We can't stay here, Colonel," Lieutenant Grimpen, now in charge of SG-3, called. "They've got us pinned down, as soon as they get reinforcements we're done for."
"Then we'll just have to wait for our reinforcements to turn up," O'Neill replied. "It can't be long now."
As if in reply to his comments, a sudden barrage of staff-fire plastered the wall. O'Neill and Grimpen flattened themselves against the wall.
"Don't those things ever run out of ammo?" O'Neill groused.
Major Derrick surveyed his troops. There were fifteen of them, nine armed with M-16 rifles, four with smaller M-4's, and two hefting bulky M-60's. The major still carried the M-16 he had taken from the dead soldier, and they each had at least ten spare magazines tucked into their clothing. Their commander nodded in satisfaction.
"Okay, here's the situation. We can't get in touch with the people downstairs, so we're going down to take a look. Don't shoot anything unless it either shoots your first or looks like one of them," he indicated the three crippled Horus guards who were being guarded by the five walking wounded. "Any questions?"
"Yeah, who died and put you in charge?" one of the soldiers asked. After being rather viciously gouged in the ribs by his neighbour, he grudgingly added: "Sir."
"Lieutenant Conner did," Derrick replied levelly. "Now let's get moving. Team one, head for level 26 with Sergeant Major O'Rourke. Team two, we're going to level 28. Let's move."
With that, he turned towards the tunnel and hobbled in.
Derrick led his team to the nearest lift and stood outside it, urging his seven-man team inside. When they were all in, he stepped inside himself, took position at the front, and pressed the button for level 28.
The lift motors whirred into life as the car jerked then started moving inevitably down.
The journey down was interminable. Derrick found himself counting numbers...14..............15............16.......... He was painfully aware of his position at the front, knowing full well that when the lift doors opened, he'd be there, totally exposed, to take any fire that headed their way. It was a commander's privilege.
21..........22.........men shifted nervously, sweaty hands clasped weapons close to chests. They were going into combat for the first time. Nobody wanted to screw up...but then, nobody was all that keen on dying, either.
26..........27...
"Remember your training. This is what you're paid for. Make me proud, boys." With that, Derrick raised his rifle and levelled it at the doors.
The lift stopped.
The doors opened.
Two Horus guards stood in front of the lift. Between them was a bald man in Air Force uniform kneeling on the ground with his hands behind his heads and a staff-weapon levelled at his back. Derrick noted all that before his finger tightened on the trigger, sending a stream of lead through the light chain-mail that covered the sides of the closest Horus guard. The man fell sideways, his staff-weapon hurled aside as he fell, and Derrick tracked his weapon across to find the second target...
The roar of the M-60 filled his ears, and the second guard dropped, his chest armour pierced by the projectile from the big rifle. Derrick hurried forward and checked left, then right, for more enemies. There were none. His men streamed out past him, quickly taking defensive positions on either side and covering the corridor. Derrick lowered his rifle and helped the bald Air Force officer to his feet.
"It's about time you showed up," the man said first, in a thick Texan drawl. Then he frowned.
"Who're you, soldier? Why aren't you in uniform?"
"Major Tom Derrick, sir," Derrick replied, noting the stars on the shoulders that made this man a Major General. "Formerly of the 22nd Regiment, British Army."
"SAS?"
"Yessir. Are you having a bit of a problem down here, sir?"
"Yes, we are, Major. How many men did you bring with you?"
"Seven with me here, sir, eight more on level 26."
"Who's in command on 26?"
"Sergeant Major O'Rourke, sir. He was the senior survivor of the attack on the surface.
"On the surface? What happened?"
"Four of those...bad guys reached the surface and attacked. We managed to eliminate them, called for reinforcements and came down here to assist.
"Very good, Major. Get to work, I have to get to the surface."
"Yes, sir." Derrick saluted, then hobbled down the corridor to the nearest junction. Hammond watched him go - with that limp, it was almost comical, but for the look in his eyes...
The situation wasn't good at all. The SG teams were running low on ammo as the Jaffa closed on them. Teal'c was out of the fight, a burn covering his left shoulder. Janet's rushed prognosis was that he'd live - if any of them did.
Nonetheless, she carried on working. No new patients were coming in, so she busied herself with the ones already here. Captain McKae had been sedated and strapped to an operating table, then ignored as the medics tended to their charges.
O'Neill had no such luxury.
"How many rounds you got left?" he shouted. The replies were not encouraging.
"Doc," O'Neill yelled, "I figure we can hold this position for ten more minutes, tops."
"Understood, Colonel," Janet shouted back.
"Where the hell are our reinforcements?" Grimpen yelled.
As if in answer to his question, there was a sudden burst of heavy fire from the end of the corridor, then silence.
The silence was broken a moment later by strangely irregular footsteps, coming down the corridor - not the heavy tread of Jaffa, but the ordinary, quiet sound of regular, rubber-soled shoes.
Then a familiar face poked around the corner, and an equally familiar voice spoke.
"Good afternoon, Jonathan," Tom said. "Having a spot of trouble?"
"So...you people have had this 'Star gate' for seventy-odd years, you've made contact with alien races, declared war on some of 'em, negotiated treaties for the entire planet, and you haven't told anyone? Didn't you think we might just be interested?"
"We didn't have any choice, Major, and is this really the place to discuss it?" O'Neill asked as he tossed a grenade over the sandbag barrier that sheltered them. It exploded with a muffled crump, then O'Neill, Derrick, and the rest of SG-1 Sg-3 were over the wall and shooting their way down the corridor. O'Neill and Derrick had replaced their M-16's with borrowed staff weapons, and there was hard fighting on the way to the gate room.
Derrick had surprised them all today. As far as any of them had known, he had been a regular soldier in a regular regiment - but he was outshooting everyone but O'Neill, and his tactics were pure special forces. The SG-3 marines, especially, had wanted him to stay in the infirmary, afraid his missing leg would slow them down. Instead, they were finding it hard to keep up with his relentless, almost reckless pace.
Things at the infirmary had calmed down. With the reinforcements Tom had provided, the Jaffa were being pushed back towards the Stargate. There weren't nearly as many casualties coming back to Janet and her team, and most of those who were coming were minor burns that she could patch up and send home.
She crossed the room towards Captain McKae, syringe in hand. It contained a powerful sedative, enough to keep him safely unconscious until the facility was under control again.
She looked at the young Captain sadly. He was so full of life, so energetic...after O'Neill, he had the most active sense of humour on the base, having a healthy fascination with practical jokes.
Now, though...even if the Tok'ra could remove the goa'uld from his body, he'd have to be counselled for a long time. And he'd probably never get command of another SG- team...they couldn't take the risk of the goa'uld leaving part of itself inside him, as Major Kawalsky's parasite had. Sighing quietly, she raised the syringe to administer the injection.
His eyes were open.
They were glowing that strange goa'uld glow.
He suddenly wrenched his hand free of the restraints and grabbed her wrist. Ripping the other hand free, he sat up, tore his legs loose and pulled the shocked doctor against him. His arm went around her throat, and his free hand reached inside his jacket, emerging encased in a hand device. The goa'uld raised his hand, threatening the infirmary staff.
"Do not follow, or she will die!" he shouted. Still watching the stunned nurses, he headed for the exit, holding the doctor in front of him as a human shield
The medical personnel simply stared as their colleague was kidnapped. One of the patients, however, wasn't quite so peaceful.
Daniel Jackson, being treated for the staff wound on his shoulder, watched in quiet horror as his hand slid slowly across the gurney he was seated on. Making sure the goa'uld wasn't watching, he carefully and quietly lifted the zat'n'katel he had brought with him.
Several things happened at once. The goa'uld, seeing the movement out of the corner of his eye, spun and levelled his hand at the archaeologist at the same time as Daniel raised and opened the zat. A moment later, the hand device discharged, hurling Daniel backwards, the zat blast going wild and destroying a very expensive piece of equipment. As nurses rushed to the fallen man's side, MacKae dragged his captive out of the room.
"Don't do this, Edward," Janet said, trying to at least appear calm. "They'll shoot you, you know they will."
"Silence," the goa'uld said shortly as he dragged her down the corridor. She ignored his command.
"Just let me go, stay with us, Edward. If you stay we can work it out, you don't have to die."
His response was a heavy blow across her face.
"Edward is dead! My host died without a struggle. There is only Tey'ra."
"Come on, Edward, fight! I know you're in there."
"Nothing of the host survives!" he snapped.
"That's bullshit and we both know it!" the doctor screamed back.
"Silence!" He threw her against a wall. She tried to make a run for it, but before she could move he was there in front of her. He held her against the wall with one hand wrapped around her throat, then clamped his left hand against her head. She struggled to kick him, but the hand device began to glow, the orange ribbons of energy caressing her head. She couldn't even scream as darkness consumed her.
"Sar' Major O'Rourke. Good to see you. Report."
"We've secured the upper levels, sir. Reinforcements have arrived topside and sealed off all entrances to the base. I've posted guards on all routes to this level."
"Good work, Sar' Major. Carry on."
"Sir." O'Rourke saluted smartly then, when Major Derrick returned it, he turned and headed back down the corridor. Derrick turned to O'Neill.
"Good man there, Colonel. Maybe he needs a commission."
After half an hour of heavy fighting, the SGC was back under Earth control. They'd pushed the Jaffa back beyond the gate room, cutting off their retreat, and now there were no more than a handful of the alien soldiers hiding in supply rooms, and well guarded by SG teams. SG-3 were guarding the gate room while SG-1, plus Derrick, were co-ordinating the mopping-up operation.
"So," O'Neill said, clapping his hands together, "do we wipe these guys out or do we give 'em a chance to surrender?"
"They are fighting for their God, O'Neill," Teal'c replied. "They will not yield to you."
"Maybe not, but we should at least give them the chance," Major Carter argued.
The discussion was cut off by the distinctive 'chunk' of one of the stargate's chevrons locking onto co-ordinates. They started running down the corridor towards the sound.
"Ah, for crying out loud, what now...gould reinforcements?"
Rounding a corner, the Colonel skidded to a halt, followed a moment later by the rest of his team. Lying on the floor surrounded by a spray of blood was an arm. Getting closer, they saw the shoulder bore the unit patch of SG-3. As they recognised the patch, the roar of the Stargate opening echoed through the corridor.
Inside the gate room was a scene of horror. One of the SG-3 marines lay by the door, his arm torn off at the shoulder. A second was half way up the wall, pinned there by a metal spike that had pierced his abdomen. He was struggling weakly, trying to pull the spike out. The third man lay by the Stargate, his face and head covered in blood.
Walking backwards up the ramp, hiding behind the vacant, zombie-like body of Doctor Janet Fraiser, was the former Captain McKae. He was pulling the doctor's small frame along with him as he retreated towards the stargate.
"Hold it right there, McKae!" O'Neill shouted. Carter took one look at the scene and fled the room.
"Do not approach, or I will kill her!" the goa'uld shouted. O'Neill tried to raise his staff weapon, but a blast from Tey'ra's hand device knocked man and staff across the gate room. Carter's voice came over the intercom.
"Sir, he's locked the computers, I can't shut it down."
With an inarticulate roar of rage, Derrick began half-striding, half-limping towards the man holding the doctor. He raised his weapon like a club as he started up the ramp. The goa'uld simply laughed and stepped through the Stargate, dragging his hostage with him.
A moment later, even as Derrick tried to hurl himself through the event horizon, the gate shut down. The major flew through the ring and crashed onto the metal ramp on the other side. He lay there, his hands outstretched, his face buried in the metal. Slowly, quietly, he began to sob.
"Sir, we've got the computers back!"
"It's about time, start dialling."
"Yes, sir!" Sergeant Harriman ran his fingers over the keyboard quickly, setting the stargate in motion. General Hammond leaned forward and grabbed the microphone.
"SG-1 and SG-4, you have a go," the General boomed. In the gate room, Colonel O'Neill saluted and started organising his teams.
"General?" Major Derrick had been standing in an out of the way corner of the control room. He still clutched the staff weapon he had used in the fight in one hand.
"What can I do for you, Major?" Technically, Major Derrick should now be in a holding cell being interrogated, but the SGC had never run very well on strict adherence to the rules. After all, in a command where visits from alien life forms, sentient diseases and all sorts were commonplace, a foreign soldier with a staff weapon and one leg was practically normal.
"Request permission to join the rescue mission, sir," Tom said, his eyes fixed on a point just above the General's head.
The General blinked. This was going a little too far.
"I can't allow that, Major. You're in no physical condition to travel through the 'gate."
"Didn't I perform well enough a couple of hours ago, sir?"
"You performed superbly, Major, but combat in the SGC is a long way from travel through the Stargate to a hostile planet. Your injury could slow the team down, get them all killed."
"Sir, I..."
"No, Major. End of conversation." Hammond turned and stalked away, leaving Tom staring at the stargate as Colonel O'Neill led the two teams through.
1st Lieutenant David Okun braced himself for the shocking cold of the wormhole. He had only gone through half a dozen times since joining SG-4, and he wasn't quite used to it yet. He envied Colonel O'Neill's calm as he stepped across the event horizon as calmly as if he was taking a stroll down the street.
He gripped his MP-5 hard as his molecules dissolved. He still didn't understand how he stayed conscious during the passage through the wormhole. Surely, if his molecules were scattered halfway across the galaxy, he didn't have a brain to be conscious with, or eyes to see what was happening.
But there was no denying the incredible panorama of stars that spread out on all sides as he hurtled down the narrow corridor of the wormhole.
Then, suddenly, it was over. A flash of light, and he stumbled down the steps in front of the stargate on P4X-223. SG-1, short one man due to Doctor Jackson's injury, had spread out either side of the DHD, scanning the horizon with their weapons. Okun swallowed back his nausea and moved to his accustomed place on the left side of the stargate. He counted the rest of his team through - his CO, Major Thornton, had come through just ahead of him. A moment later, the other two members of the team, Sergeant Herrick and Airman Davies popped out of the gate. Everyone was through.
As the wormhole collapsed behind them, Okun looked around.
-223 was dark. Three small moons hung low in the sky, and the ground underfoot crunched with a light sprinkling of snow as the two teams secured their position. The snow on either side of the stargate was fresh and clear, but in front of the gate it had been trampled flat by heavy Jaffa boots.
"O'Neill!" Teal'c called, examining the ground carefully. The Colonel hurried over, and the two held a hurried, whispered conference. Eventually, O'Neill nodded, turned to the rest of the team and started snapping out orders.
"Thornton, cover the rear. Carter, take point."
Okun assumed his customary place at the six and the group moved out along the Jaffa's trail. Herrick and Davies covered the flanks, with Major Thornton in the centre and SG-1 fanning out ahead of them. Okun's eyes moved constantly, scanning for danger, and his weapon moved to follow his eyes. They were all keenly aware that they were in hostile territory - and none of them had survived this long by being stupid.
The ground beneath their feet angled upward slightly as they reached the ridge. Crouching low and moving slowly, the two teams inched their way up, still following the trail left by the now-dead alien soldiers. When they reached the top, they spread out along the ridgeline, lying flat and scanning the terrain ahead.
Okun found himself between Sergeant Herrick and Major Carter. The Lieutenant was a little uncomfortable being so close to the major - she had a towering reputation at the SGC, and she *was*, after all, a very attractive woman. It was more to cover his embarrassment than anything else that he pulled out his binoculars to scan the horizon.
Half-listening to the whispered conversation between Colonel O'Neill and Major Thornton, he nearly missed what he was looking for.
A single light, so dim it was barely visible, glowed halfway up a hill about four miles away. As he stared at the image, he began to make out the dark outlines of buildings clustered around the light.
"Sirs!" he called quietly. O'Neill's head snapped around.
"What is it, Lieutenant?" he asked, just as quietly.
"Light out there, sir. Half way up the hill at ten o'clock. Looks like some other buildings, too."
O'Neill pulled out his own binoculars and peered in the direction of the...village, or enemy camp, or whatever it was. Now that he knew where it was, Okun noted, he could just about make out the tiny blob of light with his naked eye.
Eventually, O'Neill sighed.
"I got the light, can't see any other buildings. Carter, you've got better eyesight."
"Yes, sir," Carter replied, squinting through her tiny binoculars towards the light.
"Definitely buildings there, sir," she said eventually. "Looks like a small Jaffa encampment."
"Can you see anything else?"
"No, sir."
"Okay, then...I guess we head for the light. Lieutenant, can you navigate us there?"
Okun stared at the land for a few moments. Even in the dark, he could make out a number of landmarks that would guide them to the enemy.
"Yes, sir," he replied confidently.
O'Neill glanced at Major Thornton and received a barely perceptible nod. Okun was inexperienced, but their missions so far had shown he had an astounding sense of direction, even on alien planets.
The Lieutenant, who was still plotting their course in his head, missed the brief exchange totally.
O'Neill raised a hand and, with a series of quick gestures, ordered the team into position. The soldiers slithered over the ridge, then stood and moved off into the forest that covered the land beyond the ridge.
Nobody spotted them. Lieutenant Okun would always blame himself afterwards, but the Jaffa patrol that ambushed them knew the terrain better than the SG teams.
The twelve Jaffa were waiting at the end of a wide gorge. They waited until the team was well inside, then opened fire.
Major Thornton fell to the first shot. The staff blast caught him in the chest, hurling him back three feet. Okun stared at his CO for a second, unable or unwilling to grasp what had happened, before his legs, realising that his brain had taken a temporary leave of absence, flung itself to the ground, narrowly avoiding the flurry of staff weapon blasts that tore through the air above him. Okun rolled and brought his weapon up, sending a flurry of shots roughly towards the enemy as he scrambled for better cover.
He found himself crouched behind a large rock with Major Carter. All around them, the air was alive with staff weapon shots.
On the other side of the gorge, the rest of the team were crouched in similar poor shelter. Staff blasts were landing on all sides. Okun rolled to the edge of their shelter and poked his head around the side. The Jaffa were standing in plain sight now, blasting away with their staff weapons.
'I can take two,' he thought as he levelled his weapon, 'maybe three...then we're screwed.'
He sighed, set his jaw, took careful aim, and fired.
They'd been gone four hours.
She'd been gone six hours.
Tom stood in the control room, leaning heavily on his staff weapon as he stared at the huge metal ring. In the last six hours, he'd moved once - when he'd been physically dragged out of the control room to the infirmary to be checked out. He'd quickly intimidated his way out again, and returned to his station.
"General," he said politely as General Hammond entered the room.
"Major. Any sign of them yet?" There was no real reason to ask - an incoming wormhole would've alerted the whole base.
"Nothing yet, sir," Derrick replied quietly. Hammond watched the muscles in his jaw clench and remembered the first time he'd been forced to stand and wait for men - his men - to come home.
"The first time's never easy, Major," he told the younger man.
"Does it get any better?"
"Not noticeably."
"That's what I was afraid of."
"You've had a long day, son. Why don't I have one of the guards take you to a VIP room. I'll call you as soon as we hear anything."
"Thank you, sir, but I should be here. She might need me."
"You could really use some rest."
"I couldn't sleep anyway. Thank you, sir, but no thanks."
"I could make it an order, Major," the General informed him gently.
"I'm aware of that, General, and I truly appreciate the fact that you won't."
Hammond sighed. He knew when he was beaten.
"Can I at least get you a cup of coffee?"
Derrick smiled thinly. When he replied, his voice carried the haughty, superior accent of old English aristocrats.
"Why, don't you have tea, old chap?" he asked. Hammond chuckled, patted the younger man's shoulder, and turned away.
Even as he did so, the Stargate jumped into life. Before the startled gaze of the two officers, the seven chevrons locked onto their symbols, and the vortex burst out into the gate room.
"Close the iris!" Hammond ordered quickly. A technician was halfway through complying when the computers flashed up their most welcome message - GDO code recognised. SG-4 was on the way home.
"It's SG-4, sir," a Sergeant Harriman informed his CO. A moment later, his statement was confirmed when Lieutenant Okun, Sergeant Herrick and Airman Davies popped out of the wormhole. A moment later, the stargate disgorged its last passenger.
She was dishevelled, her hair was in disarray, her lab coat was ripped, torn and stained, but Doctor Janet Frasier was alive and well. In the control room, Tom breathed a huge sigh of relief...then slowly slid down his staff weapon to the floor, a broad smile plastered over his face.
"General Hammond, sir!" Lieutenant Okun called. "We need to get SG-9 in immediately. The goa'uld are willing to negotiate."
*Two Days Later*
"...so we threatened to inform the Asgard that they'd broken their treaty, and they caved in."
"They were certainly eager to negotiate, General," Major Kovacek added. "We got everything we needed - twenty staff weapons, thirty zat guns, even their sarcophagus. It's not working, unfortunately, but it should give us some ideas."
"Turns out the gould in charge there was acting on his own," O'Neill resumed the narrative. "He hadn't heard about the treaty, so when he captured SG-8 and stuck that snake in McKae's head, he went ahead without orders. I'd imagine he's in trouble right about now."
The debriefing room was full. SG's 1, 4 and 8 were all packed into the small room, along with General Hammond, Major Kovacek representing SG-9, Doctor Fraiser and Major Derrick. Nobody was quite sure what Tom was doing in a confidential debriefing, but it probably had something to do with Janet's steadfast refusal to let go of his hand.
"Go back a bit, Colonel," Hammond ordered tiredly. "You were pinned down by a dozen Jaffa. How did you get out?"
"We got some backup, sir," O'Neill replied with a grin.
"What sort of backup?"
"Our favourite angel of mercy. Doc Fraiser, with a gun."
The General stared at his chief medical officer in amazement.
"I kept my sidearm in my pocket after range practice this morning," she said, looking embarrassed. "They didn't bother to search me, since I was 'only a woman', so I shot them and escaped."
"She was a vicious soldier, General," O'Neill informed his commanding officer with a grin. "Took down three of them before they knew what was hitting them, then we got the rest."
General Hammond's mouth flapped open and shut a few times, then he finally stared at Janet.
"Doctor...you do realise that keeping a loaded weapon in your pocket was a serious breach of range safety?" he asked. She almost broke down with laughter.
"Uh...yes, sir..." she said, chuckling. "I won't do it again, sir."
"See that you don't. Well, is there anything else anyone would like to tell me?"
When the debriefing finally broke up, nearly twenty minutes later, the soldiers and airmen filed towards the various doorways. Hammond carefully took Major Derrick by the arm before he could leave and led him over to the window overlooking the Stargate.
Two storeys below them, workers clambered over the metal ring, repairing the damaged iris.
"Major," the General said eventually, "you understand that this whole facility, especially that ring down there, are top secret?"
"Of course, General," Tom replied. "As I told Janet, I've met 'Classified' a time or two before."
"Good."
The two men sat in silence for several minutes, watching the dormant gate.
"Have you got any jobs lined up?" It was Hammond who broke the silence again.
"Nothing in particular," Tom replied noncommittally. "A couple of offers from police forces to train their SWAT teams."
"I might have an opening here, if you want it."
Tom stared.
"I've been looking for someone to train our new recruits in basic combat against Jaffa. We can't afford to pull anyone off of an SG team to do it, and nobody else has experience against them. Except you. Now I can't promise anything," he added quickly before Tom could say anything, "I'll have to clear it with the Joint Chiefs. But would you be interested?"
Tom had to swallow several times and stare at the 'gate before he could say anything. Eventually, he turned back to the General.
"I think I would, sir," he replied. Hammond beamed and extended his hand. Tom took it enthusiastically.
"Welcome to the SGC, son."
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