Here's a longer SG-1 piece - I'm a season behind, so it's AU I've learned

[icarus]

No one at the SGC ever thought he'd retire.

No, for all the threats and complaints and the times he swore he was "gonna blow this popsicle stand" to spend the next twenty years fishing, Colonel O'Neill was always back again for more.

"Yeah well," he'd tell everyone. "Someone has to keep Daniel out of trouble." Never mind that SG-1 had been restricted to non-combat duty for years, ostensibly to make the best use of Dr. Jackson's linguistic skills (though everyone knew O'Neill had more injuries than half the SGC combined). The Colonel said simply, his hand slicing the air, "When he retires, I retire. Got that? Otherwise, no dice."

Then Dr. Jackson won his grant for a three-year archeological dig on a cleared world. A "real" dig, with careful methods on a valuable find.

Amazingly, Colonel O'Neill kept his word.

But it came as no great surprise that when the Colonel hung up his uniform, his black bomber jacket and silver hair were still a familiar sight as he poked around the SGC, harassing the troops. O'Neill's official title was 'Consulting Liaison' for the OIA, the agency responsible for reverse engineering off-world technology, mostly weapons. Between bites at the farewell dinner he called his job "sniffing for new toys. They just want my security clearance. I don't understand a word of what those dweebs with the, uh, pocket-protectors say -"

"Then you should feel right at home," Dr. Jackson quipped, casting a warm smile at him across the table. He gave a bright-eyed glance and shoved food around on his plate. Rumor had it that Dr. Jackson was the one who'd pushed for his retirement.

"- but they get all excited." Colonel O'Neill ignored him and pointed with his fork. "I only hope they're paper-trained, because, you know -- cleaning up piddle? Not in the job description."

The fact that he was jazzed by off-world technology wasn't lost on anyone.

Colonel O'Neill peered around a wall of lockers as the exhausted SG-27 stripped down. They were still covered in off-world grit, dropping gear in a tired clatter.

"Hey! Be careful with that thing," he snapped at Andrews. They squirmed and fought the urge to stand. "Do you have any idea what this shit costs? It's obscene."

It was hard not to salute the man who'd trained them. Even if he was a civilian now, and the complete son of a bitch who'd told them they'd never make it in the Stargate program.

"Yes sir," Andrews grinned, bright smile white against dark skin. He carefully set his zat gun on the bench.

"Thank you." He breathed a sarcastic sigh of relief. The Colonel folded his arms as he leaned against a locker. "So. Get shot at by anything… interesting… lately?"

Yep. That was Colonel O'Neill through and through. He always went straight to the soldiers on the ground, never mind reports and official channels.

SG-27 laughed, pulling t-shirts over their heads, kicking off muddy boots, their dogtags jingling. Two or three lockers slammed, though no one left for the showers yet. They weren't supposed to tell him anything, it was supposed to vetted first, but somehow they all competed to dig up intel for the Colonel. The man was a legend.

"Yeah," Thilhousie answered, "but it's a little hard to fit in your pocket. Big as one of those pyramids." He sketched the shape in midair.

"Shooting at you?" The Colonel's eyebrows raised, impressed, with an edge of irritation and concern. "They had you up against something that big? What was it - one of those ground-to-orbit 'sky canons'?"

"No sir. Bigger than that."

The Colonel scowled.

Yeah, and that's why they talked to him. You could be sure if anyone at the SGC was doing something stupid, General Hammond would hear about it, ASAP.

"Who's your CO?"

~*~*~

It was startling to see someone in civilian clothes in the Control Room, and even more surprising to realize that it was Colonel O'Neill leaning entirely too close to a digital read-out. Evan's eyes widened. Soldiers near delicate equipment set his teeth on edge.

The cup of coffee in O'Neill's hand dangled precariously as he chatted with one of the old timers. Susan at the MALP controls read her new supervisor's mind and murmured, "Colonel O'Neill's here every Friday night."

The Colonel glanced up at the sound of his name. Nothing wrong with his hearing, that was for sure. "Relax. I haven't broken anything in days -- weeks even."

The coffee cup was empty, and Evan felt his shoulders relax. A little. The Colonel turned back to his conversation. What was he doing here?

"Do you miss it?" Susan chirped, snagging the Colonel's attention.

"Huh? Nah." O'Neill made a face, then tried to take a sip of his coffee with a startled scowl at the cup. He looked up and took in all the doubtful expressions around with a quick glance.

"All right. Maybe a little. But it's not like how it was. We used to not know what was on the other side there. The MALP was more than just a precaution -- it was a necessity. And it still didn't help much." He seemed to notice what panel she manned, and added quickly, brushing the air with an off-handed gesture, "No offense."

Her response was drowned out by the squall of the klaxon, and everyone turned their attention to their jobs, headphones on, eyes to the read-outs. Evan hovered over his staff as their fingers flew, making split-second adjustments. This was probably the only excitement they were going to see all weekend.

The iris slowly opened.

"SG-32," someone read the GDO signal, and the Colonel sat up. The seventh chevron engaged.

The whoosh of the Stargate never failed to take the breath away. Everyone looked up, then quickly busied themselves at the consuls. Blue light danced about Colonel O'Neill's face as he watched the gate hungrily, hands leaning on a rail.

A ragged team of archeologists stepped through the event horizon, with the wince of people who'd just come from a very quiet place into chaos. Last to arrive was Dr. Jackson. The gate shut off in a flash behind him.

Colonel O'Neill was already clanking down the metal steps two at a time.

The SFs let him through as though this were routine, and the Colonel strode into the gate room pointing to his watch.

"Nice of you to finally show up. I've been waiting here over an hour!"

Dr. Jackson pulled off his gloves and caked mud crumbled to the platform; dust caught the light in faint swirls about him. He looked like he was probably tanned under the dirt, his hair bleaching blond from the sun. In February.

"Good to see you too, Jack."

O'Neill approached, then backed up a step.

"Phew!" He held a palm out to keep Dr. Jackson at arm's length. "Don't you ever bathe on that planet?"

"Well, which would you dig first: the latrine, or the showers?"

"Yeah you smell like you've been bathing in the latrine."

"This is nothing. I once went three weeks --"

The Colonel backed away, sing-songing, "Doooon't wanna hear about it."

"-- and we didn't have toilet paper either."

"Now there's a detail I didn't need to know." The Colonel swiped at his nose. "It's like this putrid wave just… radiating off you."

"You get used to some primitive conditions," Dr. Jackson responded calmly. Though clearly his assistants at the bottom of the ramp didn't stand very close either.

"Okay, Tarzan. Let's reintroduce you to the pleasures of civilization."

Dr. Jackson's eyebrows raised, prurient and smug. "Hmmm. Really?"

"Don't be cute. You're gonna start with a shower." Colonel O'Neill led the way to the locker rooms. Dr. Jackson held the door. "'Cause you're not getting into my truck smelling like two weeks of dead socks. Or live ones either."

Evan's nagging curiosity was answered later, when O'Neill sheepishly returned for a black bomber jacket left draped across a chair. Dr. Jackson trailed behind him, hair still spiky and wet.

"Uh. Yeah," Dr. Jackson answered him, rubbing the back of his neck like he had a headache. "Jack gives me a ride home every week." Dr. Jackson gave the Colonel a cautious glance; then continued at his shrug. "I sold my car -- well, technically, Jack sold my car."

"It was an Isuzu," the Colonel sneered, as if that explained everything.

"It was fuel efficient. But since I was hardly driving anyway, it seemed sort of, oh, wasteful."

"I told him when he bought the thing it was a piece of shit." O'Neill shook his head.

"One flat tire doesn't make it a beater, Jack."

"I had to lie to sell it," Jack announced to the control room crew. "Lie, lie, lie; 'oh nooooo, my grandmother only drove it to church on Sundays.' Not Speed Racer here." He indicated Dr. Jackson with a jerk of his head.

Dr. Jackson sighed. "Speed limits are a matter of principle," he said with strangled patience that Evan was already starting to understand. "The purpose of that law is to avoid accidents, so people don't drive faster than they can manage or conditions allow. Tickets are meant to raise money for highways. Either way, we're fine. If I'm pulled over -- it's my contribution to society. I'm perfectly comfortable at high speeds."

"Well, I'm not. Not with you behind the wheel. And the point of the law is that it's the law." It had the ring of an old argument. Evan followed it like a tennis match.

"Laws exist for a reason," Dr. Jackson shook his head, "you have understand the motive or the law itself becomes meaningless --" The Colonel rolled his eyes. "-- Look, the state wants people to drive fast. The technology has existed for decades to make it impossible for cars to go more than seventy. So… why do you think they don't legislate it?"

O'Neill brushed at the air. "Yeah, well, there's something really wrong with a guy who drives a shitty car ninety miles an hour. If you're gonna drive like that, Daniel, get a Camaro or something."

"Or a truck?" Dr. Jackson grinned at him, impish. The Colonel gave him a dirty look. "The Isuzu worked fine for me."

"It was an Isuzu." They waved good night to the bemused gateroom crew. Colonel O'Neill was pulling his jacket on as they left, continuing the argument as if he had to have the last word. "You know what I think we should have done with that car? Popped it through a wormhole: give it to the Gou'ald. Probably set their technology back nine hundred years."

~*~*~

Sonja was used to hearing odd stories in the commissary. It had been so strange, years ago, all those security checks for just a cooking job. Then she found out why cooking soup was Top Secret.

For a long time she'd thought they were all kidding, until Major Carter hooked up that machine and a glowing giant bug floated right through her kitchen wall. After that -- okay. This was a no-joke, crazy kind of place.

It was two am when Dr. Jackson slumped into the commissary, his boots loud in the near-empty room. Colonel O'Neill was asleep on folded arms, with the soft swish of a broom working its way around him.

Dr. Jackson touched his shoulder, and the Colonel jerked awake.

"Sorry."

After fifteen years, Sonja knew every voice, even knew little bits and pieces of their lives. It had been some time since these two had been in here for anything more than coffee. She started making a roast beef sandwich for the Colonel, and ham and cheese for Dr. Jackson. Sandwiches were all there was at this hour: no more chili. The pots were already scrubbed.

"Sorry I'm late." She peered around as Dr. Jackson sank to the seat across from him. Their voices sounded hollow, echoing off concrete walls.

The Colonel stretched and groaned. "Again."

Dr. Jackson sighed. "We were attacked -"

"Attacked?" the Colonel squawked, rubbing his eyes and blinking. "Waitaminute. You got attacked on this thing? I only retired because I knew you were safe."

"That's…" Dr. Jackson looked up as he accepted his sandwich, smiled, then glanced away, both nicer and more evasive than most. He never said much about his life; mentioned his apartment was too small once or twice; but no word of a girlfriend or family. "…that's not why you retired."

"It was part of it!" Colonel O'Neill shouted. "A big part."

They sat in silence for a long moment. Since they were the only ones in the commissary, Sonja listened with practiced skill, used to being invisible.

Finally Colonel O'Neill prompted. "So…? Attacked -?"

"We're shut down for now." Dr. Jackson rubbed his eyes. "Until further notice."

Colonel O'Neill nodded, accepting that. "What happened? Thought we had the Gou'ald high-tailing it to greener galaxies."

"It's not the Gou'ald. There's something in there the Tokra doesn't want us to have, or doesn't want to exist." He'd folded his arms in that self-protective irritated way he had. Uhm-hmm. Dr. Jackson was not a happy camper. "Either way, they gave us two days to leave."

"But you didn't."

"We were negotiating."

O'Neill gave him a Look and Dr. Jackson huffed out a breath. "They're on our side! These ruins are some of the best preserved on any cleared world. I spent months pouring over photos deciding and…."

"And?"

"…annnnd… I'm not going to have another shot at this. Not if I can't prove it's safe."

Their eyes met. The Colonel chewed his lip as he leaned back in the plastic chair, his hair ruffled from sleep.

"Hmmph," he said.

"Hmmph?" Dr. Jackson's eyebrows raised. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"

The Colonel tipped his head. "Well. It sorta sounds like you did do too good a job picking that site."

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno. I don't think it's gonna be shut down, do you? I mean if I were from Washington, I'd be pretty curious about what's in there. I'm curious."

"Yeah, me too. But General Hammond sent me home and does not want to see me right now." The Doctor turned a bright eye towards him and smirked. "You're hoping it's weapons, aren't you?"

The Colonel spread his hands. "Hey, all my best stuff's from the Tokra."

"They love you for it too, you know."

O'Neill chuckled, eyes gleaming. "Eat your sandwich."

Sonja smiled to herself, and started cleaning the kitchen. Their conversation was drowned out by the sound of running water, until she heard them approaching, the clatter of trays set on the counter.

"…you're worse than I am," Dr. Jackson was saying.

"Hey! I finished those book cases."

"Oh?" Dr. Jackson answered, chewing.

"And they're full." The Colonel gave him a tight smile. "Already. The living room, the bedroom's got more books than I can stand looking at -- it's like a library or something. Can't you just-?"

"I'm not going to stop buying books, Jack."

"Maybe a yard sale? For the ones you don't read?" Dr. Jackson sighed in exasperation. "There's gotta be at least some you haven't looked at in a while."

"Jack. Okay -- Let's say I did have a yard sale. How many people in Boulder do you think will buy Epistemology of Ancient Mesopotamian Culture for fifty cents?"

"If it has pictures we could probably get a buck for it."

"Jack…."

"Fine, fine. I'll just have put in an addition for Daniel's library. You want an engraved plaque to go with that?"

Up until that moment, Sonja had assumed they were talking about Dr. Jackson's apartment. But no one put an addition on an apartment. The Colonel had a house. Had Dr. Jackson bought a house and never mentioned it?

Dr. Jackson paused, looking over the table at Colonel O'Neill. "Okay…" he said slowly, pursing his lips. "I'll help you."

Help him put an addition on his own house? This had to be O'Neill's place.

"What do you know about carpentry?"

"Hello?" He raised his hand. "Scaffolding? Archeology -?"

Colonel O'Neill turned serious for a moment, changing the subject. "If you can wait around a few hours, I'll talk to General Hammond." He toyed with his coffee cup, not looking up as he turned it on the table. "I have a little favor to ask anyway." The cup kept turning. Left, right.

"Favor?" Dr. Jackson blinked; then understanding dawned. "Oh, that favor?"

"It can't go on much longer. People are gonna figure it out."

"So you're going to ask him both -- at the same time? What? You don't think you can ask him for a million dollars too while you're at it?"

"Nah. That might be pushing my luck."

~*~*~

By 0600, Sergeant Rothger's Saturday was just as thoroughly ruined as General Hammond's.

He set the General's coffee on a coaster, and placed a copy of the treaty between Earth and the Tokra on the blotter, while the General spoke urgently on the phone. With the cessation of work on the dig, the Tokra had at least called off their attacks on PX5-387 and returned to the negotiating table. But Dr. Jackson had managed to single-handedly stir up a trans-galactic incident.

This is what happened when scientists tried to do the work of diplomats.

"Yes, Mr. President, I'm curious myself. Dr. Jackson could shed no light on just what it is that so concerns the Tokra. These ruins are older than most, but certainly not the oldest we've seen, and this is not a Gou'ald world… yes. It's all very puzzling. Yes sir, I will keep you apprised of the situation."

As he hung up, there was a sharp rap on the door. "Come in." The General said without glancing up.

"Sir."

The craggy face of Colonel O'Neill peered in. Just to make a bad morning complete. Rothger kept his face military and neutral.

"I've no time for a social call, Colonel."

"This is OIA business actually. Regarding PX5-387, and a, well -- a personal situation."

"You've said the magic words, Jack. Have a seat." He snapped the cap on his pen. "What can the OIA tell me about PX5-387?"

The Colonel's eyes calmly settled on Rothger, until the General noticed and motioned for him to leave the room. The words were tantalizing as the door fell shut behind him. "The OIA -- and say that ten times fast -- has a definite military interest in whatsit-387. We need more time to check it out. Can't you stall or…?" The door shut.

Outside, Sergeant Rothger found himself face to face with Dr. Jackson. More trouble. "I'm sorry, sir. General Hammond is not to be disturbed."

"Jack's in there." It was more a statement than a question.

"I am not at liberty to discuss the General's calendar."

He also felt no need to help the man who'd pulled him into work on a Saturday. He stood at attention and quietly hoped Jackson would leave. He stifled a sigh when Dr. Jackson started pacing like a worried father.

Moments later, an aide padded towards them, with intent purpose written all over his face. Rothger could tell from his taut manner just exactly what his message was.

Sure enough: "The delegation's here, Sargeant."

Rothgar nodded and slipped into the General's office.

"Well, ah," the General was saying, "I don't know to say about that." His eyebrows raised into his non-existent hairline. "I assume of course that this is a… recent development?"

"Oh, yes sir. Of course sir. Since I became a civilian and whatnot --" Colonel O'Neill glanced over at the intruder and winced. "--late bloomer."

General Hammond blinked and shook his head slowly in amazement. "Glad to hear it." The General seemed to be recovering his composure quickly. "And naturally your marriage to Sara is evidence to that effect."

"Naturally." Colonel O'Neill examined his nails, and he and the General exchanged canny looks.

"Of course," General Hammond said, clearly not believing a word of it. He rose and led Colonel O'Neill to the door. "Well then. I don't think you have anything to worry about, Jack."

"Thank you, General. I appreciate it," O'Neill said with grateful sincerity, meeting the General's eyes.

"Sir?" Rothgar finally found a moment to break into their intense discussion. "The Tokra delegation is here."

"Thank you, Sergeant." The General stood. "Please make the Tokra comfortable and tell them I will be there shortly." Rothgar turned to leave. "Oh, and Sergeant -?"

Rothgar couldn't help but notice the small smile on the General's face, and that little twinkle.

"Make certain that they are in a conference room as far away from the gateroom as possible? We wouldn't want the negotiations to be disturbed."

He opened the door and found himself face to face with an impatient Dr. Jackson again, who leaned over and saw Colonel O'Neill. Jackson gave Rothgar a disgusted 'what's the point of not telling me?' look and Rothgar dodged around him, making for the elevators. The General was directly behind them.

"Dr. Jackson, I'm glad you're here. If you're feeling up to it, we'll need you to join SG-27 shortly," The General rocked back on his heels, "for the rescue mission to bring back that poor soldier who was left behind."

Rothgar slowed. Soldier? There was nothing in the report about --

"I beg your pardon?" Dr. Jackson echoed his thought.

"On PX5-387."

Dr. Jackson blinked rapidly in confusion. "We didn't leave anyone -- oh! I see. Rescue mission. Yes. Yes, of course."

Sergeant Rothgar was almost to the elevator when he caught the last shred of conversation in a stage whisper behind him.

"Jack. That had to be the strangest look General Hammond's ever given me. Which is saying something. You, ah, told him, didn't you?"

"What do you think?"

"Oh." Dr. Jackson's voice was soft. "Then… what did he say?"

"Let's put it this way, Daniel," Colonel O'Neill draped an arm over his shoulder. "I should've asked for that million dollars."

Comments

[icarusancalion.livejournal.com]

Is that season seven, or season eight where he's a General? The current season is season eight. I'm watching season seven now because I don't have cable, so don't get the scifi channel. I'm catching them in rerun on Fox, one year behind.

Icarus

[lizardlaugh.livejournal.com]

doh! Yes, Season 8. That's the one that's been running on the sci-fi channel.