Simmons, who seemed to have an instinct for how best to annoy him, butted in before Sam could get a word out. "Major Carter," he said, "has been arrested under suspicion of treason and *consorting*," he gave the word a sordid emphasis that set Jack's teeth on edge, "with hostile alien forces."

 

There were so many things wrong with that statement that Jack didn't know where to start. So he simply bottom-lined it. "Release her." He tried his damnedest to sound reasonable, but couldn't help the core of cold fury in his voice. "She's done nothing wrong."

 

Simmons looked him coolly up and down, and turned to Hammond. "General, if we may continue the debrief? I don't believe Colonel O'Neill has anything constructive to add."

 

Jack clenched his fists, and looked to Hammond. "Permission to..." he hesitated for a moment, glanced at Sam, and stamped down on his desire to pound the man into next Wednesday, "join the debrief, sir?"

 

Hammond – amazed at the Colonel's uncharacteristic restraint – nodded. Jack walked around the table and very deliberately took the seat next to his 2IC, opposite Colonel Reynolds – the other, mostly silent, member of the debrief. Hammond wondered if the Major was aware of how she straightened slightly, chin lifting from its defeated angle, and how the two of them suddenly took on the look of a united front. They both looked to Simmons with identically challenging gazes. If it hadn't been such a serious situation, Hammond would have found it amusing. As it was, he found the way Simmons's eyes widened – as though he'd just had an insight into a new angle of attack – distinctly worrying.

---

Dear Jonathan,

 

Please kiss – or ask your Major to kiss – your friend Daniel for me, when you get this letter. Bless the lad. He phoned me out of the blue last week, to let me know that you were away on a mission that was taking an unexpectedly long time, and that you were incommunicado for now, but that you were safe. I can't imagine why you can't communicate with me, if it's as safe as he says, but I feel so much better to know that I'm not just waiting for one of those dreadful telegrams, or a knock at the door.

 

Don't worry that you missed my birthday, sweetheart – I know you'll be sorry, but it's really not important when you reach my age. Just come and visit when you get the chance – that's far more important to me, and far more reason to celebrate – having my son safe and well.

 

Your Doctor Daniel was very charming and polite on the phone. He seemed to find it funny that I call you Jonathan – I sometimes forget that you got all your friends to call you Jack. I just can't like that name – it sounds so throwaway, somehow.

 

Oh, and don't worry, he wasn't steaming open your post or anything of that nature. He said that he was keeping an eye on your house for you, whilst you were away (are all your team that thoughtful? How sweet!), and that he saw a couple of messages on your voicemail from me, and a couple of letters. He said that he recognized the handwriting – he'd seen it once before. I was amazed at that, but he said he does a lot of research into writing techniques, and it tended to stick in his mind. Is he one of those people who can tell you your personality from the way you write your 'r's? I've always wanted to know what my handwriting would reveal about me – probably that I'm a nosy old biddy who drives her children batty with her worrying.

 

I chatted to him a bit about our correspondence – all those times you were away with your job, and unable to receive phonecalls, so the written word was the only way of communicating... He found it sweet that you and I wrote to each other so regularly. You might get teased about that, when you get back – sorry, darling.

 

Anyway, let me know when you get back – Daniel said that it might be another month from now. I hope you are well and happy, wherever it is you are. Stay safe... and it's good to know that your team takes care of you, too.

 

All my love,

 

Mom.

---

"Ms. Carter?"

 

Samantha Carter — BSc, MSc, EAA, PhD, and currently PO'd — hated her job, hated her boss, and hated her life. But most of all, at this precise moment, she hated to be called Ms. "That's Doctor Carter," she snapped, with uncharacteristic ferocity — and looked up.

 

The man loomed over her, all dark eyes and humour, and that healthy, weathered look that spoke of someone who wasn't overly fond of roofs and roads. He wore a smile that seemed to use his whole face for emphasis, bracketed as it was by two deep dimples that slashed his cheeks. "Of course – Doctor Carter. Sorry 'bout that. My name's MacGyver — from the Phoenix Foundation. I think you're expecting me?"

---

"The welcome back get-together he said he'd host, remember? You are planning on coming to that, and not spending the entire weekend in your lab just to make up for lost time, right?"

 

Dammit, she was gonna be so busted if she kept overreacting like that. "Oh! Yes. Yes, definitely. I'd forgotten. It's got to be better than cleaning my house."

 

"You know I love you like a sister and would do anything for you but am in no way going to get dragged into helping you clean your house — right?"

 

She smiled. "I know, Daniel. I don't want your help, anyway. Not after last time."

 

"How was I to know you'd rigged your hall cupboard?" he objected.

 

"It wasn't rigged! There was just a lot of... stuff in it. Everyone has a cupboard like that."

 

"Most people, however, might warn their friends about such cupboards, instead of sending them for dusters completely unsuspecting and unprepared."

 

They grinned at one another, balance restored. "I missed you guys too," she said.

 

"Ah, you're just saying that 'cause you want us to help clean your house."

 

"I so don't."

---

Bra'tac glanced back at the two Air Force officers, and then exchanged a look with Teal'c. "A beautiful night, is it not?" he said loudly, and looked at Jack.

 

Jack looked surprised. "Yes," he said. "Uh, nice planet."

 

"Such a romantic sky," said Bra'tac, expansively. "It makes me feel like a young man of eighty again." Sam and Jack glanced at each other. 'Eighty?' mouthed Jack. "Ah, those were the days. Back then, I had a woman on every planet."

 

Jack looked disturbed. "Uh, that's... enlightening, Bra'tac," he said. "Thanks. Eighty, you say?"

 

"Indeed. I was a virile young Jaffa, back then." He winked at Sam, who chuckled. "But now I am just an old man, who has lost all his appeal to the female sex," he added, mournfully.

 

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," said Sam. Bra'tac gave Jack a smug look.

 

"Okay, okay, enough," snapped Jack. He glared at Sam, then at Bra'tac. "You can just... stop that."

 

Bra'tac looked innocent. "Forgive me," he said. "I did not realise that I was causing offence."

 

"I'm not offended," said Jack, defensively. "Just... really, really freaked out."

 

Bra'tac faced forward so Jack wouldn't see him smirking. Humans. They were just so easy to provoke.

---

Daniel joined in. "Have you guys seen 'Pirates of the Caribbean'?"

 

"Well, duh," said Sam. Surely everyone knew of her profound love for Johnny Depp?

 

"I liked it," said Daniel, blithely ignoring Jack's seething silence. "I mean, I usually don't enjoy watching historical movies, they often seem to pick and mix bits of history at random, and I really wasn't expecting a movie based on a theme park ride to be any good, but they really managed to make it entertaining and historically accurate. Aside from the zombie pirates, of course."

 

"They were not zombies, Daniel Jackson," disagreed Teal'c.

 

"Well, what would you call them, then?"

 

"Undead," said Teal'c, firmly.

 

"Zombies are undead," argued Daniel.

 

"Zombies are creatures under the control of a magician," stated Teal'c. "The pirates of the Black Pearl were under no such control. Therefore they were not zombies."

 

"Okay, but 'undead' can be applied to such a wide-"

 

Jack snapped at last. "WILL YOU GUYS SHUT UP?!" He continued in a lower, but no less intense voice. "In case it's escaped your notice, we're currently in a situation with real frickin' pirates here! Although I'm sure it's wildly important, deciding the exact classification of some undead movie pirates isn't the top priority right now!" There was silence for a moment. "Anyhow, they were ghosts."

---

Kitty watched TV for a while, but then apparently decided he was more interesting. After staring at him in silence for several minutes, she came to some internal decision. Wordlessly, she shuffled herself around until her behind was in the air, and carefully, painstakingly, clambered backwards off the chair, one leg at a time, sliding to the floor and dragging her hands (doubtlessly sticky) along the seat to keep her balance. She toddled over to him, pushed at his leg until he moved it aside, and clambered up onto the couch, using his clothes to pull herself up until she was standing next to him. There she staggered a little, and then dropped into his lap, her eyes fixed to the TV once more.

 

He pulled her back until she was resting comfortably in the crook of his arm, and kissed the top of her head. He didn't mind being used as a climbing frame – really enjoyed, in fact, his two-and-a-half-year-old daughter's method of perambulation. It was fairly innovative, and mostly silent. It wasn't, usually, the most efficient way of getting around, but at least she was willing to try new things - unlike adults, who just did that boring 'walking' thing. It was a bit like watching a silent movie.

 

Also, through some stroke of luck, she didn't tend to cry when she fell over; she just looked perturbed and calculating. It was exactly the same look that Sam got when she was working on a particularly recalcitrant piece of alien technology. He found it almost nauseatingly adorable.

---

"Uh, Jack...?"

 

No one, reflected Jack, talked on radios quite like Doctor Daniel Jackson. He waited, but there was no further sound – not one 'over', or 'copy' or any of the normal protocols that made radio communication so clear. Although it was worse when he did remember – he would simply add 'over' as a kind of afterthought, in a way that made Jack's inner Drill Sergeant wince. Sighing, he depressed the button on his radio. "Yes, Daniel?" he asked, heavily. He'd long ago abandoned any attempt to enforce proper procedure with the mixed-bag members of SG-1.

 

"Um, I'm having a bit of a problem."

 

Pause. "Well, would you care to explain what kind of problem you're having? That way, maybe I can help," Jack suggested, acidly.

 

"Er..."

 

Again a pause. Jack's patience gave out quickly. "Daniel!" he snapped, into his radio.

 

"I've been arrested."

 

Jack closed his eyes briefly. "Arrested?" he replied. "Is that all?" For SG-1, and Daniel in particular, this was a fairly regular occurrence.

 

"Um, no. I've also been tried, convicted, sentenced, and sent to prison." Jack blinked. Well. That was fast. He'd only left Daniel half an hour ago. "They're pretty fast," added Daniel, brightly.

---

They'd been halfway down a mountain when he slipped, his left knee decided not to take the sudden, unexpected weight, and he'd fallen - only about six feet, but he'd landed badly, trying to halt his downhill progress. His yelp of pain had been so very uncool. From the look on her face when she'd scrambled down to him, she'd thought he'd done something more serious than a mere broken finger. But it had hurt.

 

He doesn't want to worry her. Really he doesn't. But it's inevitable, really – even outside of his job, his tendency towards self-injury is higher than average. He just wishes that he could do something to make up for the fear and the relief he'd seen in her eyes.

 

"So, Major," he says, to stop his circling thoughts, "what're we going to tell the boys?"

 

She understands him immediately. "You fell out of a tree," she says, promptly.

 

He gives her a disparaging look. "I want to sound more dignified, not less," he says. "How about a hidden trapdoor?"

 

She shakes her head as they negotiate a steep slope made slippery by mud under fallen leaves – his previous nemesis. "We make up structures, and Daniel will want to come up and have a look," she says. "Not to mention the fact that this planet is supposed to be uninhabited."

 

"Ah, yes. Something less elaborate, then."

 

"Wild animal attack," she suggests. "Big fangs. We had to leap across a ravine to escape it, and you landed badly on your hand."

 

He considers that for a moment. It has definite merit. It certainly sounds suitably dramatic. "Big fangs?"

 

"Huge. Dripping. And claws like... like scimitars."

 

He purses his lips thoughtfully, slips on some mulch, and grabs her closer, both of them teetering dangerously for a moment. This landscape laughs at their grippy boots. Once they're definitely not going to do any kind of impromptu downhill slalom, he breathes out. "Fangs it is."

---

It's been a while.

 

"No! No! Pass it to the... oh for-! Are you blind?"

 

Perhaps not long enough, she thinks – but with an internal laugh. She doesn't really object to the way they've taken over her living room, spreading snacks and drinks and long legs and loud noises and general untidiness. She's missed this.

 

Her eyes flicker over her boys. It's not that she doesn't love the new additions to their team, but there's something about having the original team back together again, just the four of them, that's as comfortable and safe as a warm quilt and rain on the window. Like an old, familiar cliché. Like coming home.

 

Jack, of course, has the remote - something he's always considered his divine right (and she's never quite decided whether the 'typical male' behavior is a smokescreen or not). He's located a hockey game – how, she's not sure: she parental-locked those channels. Teal'c is exercising his subtle but gravitationally strong will – sooner or later they'll find themselves watching one of the DVDs he brought. Daniel is rifling through her magazine rack, either in search of something to read or something to hit Jack with, she's not certain.

 

Daniel finds last Sunday's paper, and whaps Jack over the back of the skull, answering that question. "Hey!" When Jack turns to deal with Daniel, Teal'c steals the remote. "HEY!"

 

"Give it up, sir, you're outnumbered," she advises, kicking feet out of the way so she can put the chips down.

---

"Jack, what're you doing?"

 

Jack froze, caught in the act, with one hand on the lightbulb. And then quickly unfroze with a yelp, when the heat from the bulb made itself known to his fingers. "Ow! Dammit, Daniel..." He stuck his fingers in his mouth.

 

"What did I do?" protested Daniel. He frowned at Jack. "And you didn't answer my question."

 

Jack looked quickly around the closet. "I was just looking for some scalpels," he said smoothly, his eye lighting on the nearest box.

 

"No you weren't," said Daniel, in what Jack considered his deliberately irritating tone. "You were taking out the lightbulb."

 

Jack gave him a glare. "So why the hell are you asking?"

 

"Why are you stealing the lightbulb?"

 

Jack rolled his eyes. "To make the closet dark, Daniel." Honestly, didn't Daniel have anything better to do but ask silly questions?

 

"Why not just switch off the..." Daniel trailed off as he realised there was no switch. He ducked his head around the back of the door. No switch there, either. "Huh."

 

"Exactly," said Jack. "Now if you'll excuse me..."

 

"Why do you want the closet to be dark?"

 

Jack sighed, feeling put-upon. Sometimes, having scientists was like having five-year-olds. Why... why... why...? 

---

He isn't the last person on Earth he'd have expected Baal to contact when he's in trouble – there's more than six billion others that are even less likely – but it's still a surprise. Baal seems to realise this, and stares at him unblinkingly, something mocking in his expression even though he's shaking with the effort required just to sit upright on the couch. "Neutral party," Baal explains, tersely and without the courtesy of awaiting the question before answering it. He always did like to appear omniscient. "Relatively speaking, of cou..." His voice peters out, and Paul can't help but be surprised. The Goa'uld hate to show weakness, no matter how much pain they're in. It's a survival trait bred into them at the most basic level.

 

Paul's hand – the one not holding a gun - is already heading for his mobile, for the SGC number he's got on speed dial.

 

"Wait, no – don't."

 

The unprecedented plea in Baal's voice stops him. "I was going to call the SGC," he explains, warily.

 

Baal nods once. "I know. Don't."

 

Paul hesitates, caught between an appeal to his honour from a dying enemy, and the cautious instincts of a political animal. "You want to give me a good reason why not?"

 

Baal's eyelids flutter, and he neatly evades this line of questioning by passing out.

---

"What?"

 

"Nothing, Jack. I just..." He raised his eyebrows, and she smiled. "It's just that you still surprise me, that's all."

 

He narrowed his eyes at her. "That's a... good thing, right?"

 

She smirked. "Well, now, that depends, doesn't it?"

 

So he surprised her by giving her a sharp shove, and she shrieked as she plunged into the lake, spluttering as she surfaced. "JACK! You total... This is f-f-f-f-freezing!" She headed for the bank, but then stopped, an odd expression crossing her face. Jack frowned as she began trying to see into the murky depths of the water.

 

"What's wrong?"

 

"I dropped the ring."

 

He stared suspiciously at her for a long moment, as Sam ducked back under, and then surfaced, looking worried. "You're kidding me."

 

"Do I look like I'm kidding you?!"

 

It was only after he'd spent twenty minutes diving for it that she'd waved at him from the bank, and he'd seen the pale, unfamiliar flash of jewellery on her hand. She'd prevented a war of attrition by agreeing to April in Washington.

---

It was the first big job since T had got back from the big op, and during that time he'd gotten used to seeing Doctor Jackson around, so that was maybe the reason it took him a moment to make the connection.

 

Pulling off his hat, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and stared up at the massive fire that had consumed nearly a whole apartment block in the nicer part of uptown Cocquilam. The rest of the building would have to be pulled down - the place was a write-off. He shook his head, and something caught his eye. When he turned to look, it was Doctor Jackson, jacket pulled on over scrubs.

 

"Yo, Doc! Doctor Jackson! What're you doing here?"

 

The fire and the fuss around it was noisy, but Doctor Jackson heard him. He dragged his eyes away from the fire, and looked at T. "It's..." he said, and his eyes were dragged back to the fire. He waved at it, vaguely. "...That's... I'm... It's my..."

 

And suddenly it clicked. "Shit, Doc - did you live here?" T looked the man over quickly. Not scrubs: pyjamas. And in that second, Daniel went from being Doctor Jackson, scarily intelligent purveyor of good counsel, to Daniel, bewildered and lost-looking man in need of help.

---

Martha peered around Jack's bulk, looking slightly embarrassed. "Er, hi," she said. "Don't mind me. I'm just... an old friend." She grinned slyly at Jack. "Well, from your point of view, anyhow."

 

"Yes," said Daniel. "About that..."

 

"See, I told you he'd get through it okay," said the Doctor, in the tones of one who'd won an argument. Martha glanced back.

 

"Don't lie – you only said you thought he'd be okay!"

 

"I did think he'd be okay. And I thought right," retorted the Doctor, incontrovertibly.

 

"Jack..." tried Daniel.

 

"Oh, you always do that – claim credit for stuff that just happens to work out!"

 

"Hey, who're you to say that my subtle and intricate manipulation of the space-time continuum hasn't-"

 

"Space-time continuum?" asked Sam, pricking up her ears.

 

"-had a beneficial effect on this man's – nay, all human history, yes, why, are you interested in the space-time continuum?" said the Doctor, transitioning between one conversation and the next so smoothly that it took everyone else a moment to catch up.

 

Sam stepped quickly forward, and the Colonel shuffled to one side, the hand he had on Martha's shoulder dragging her with him. "You've been manipulating the space-time continuum? Have you any idea how catastrophic that could be?"

 

"Yes!" said the Doctor, delightedly. And then, conspiratorially and with great interest: "Have you?"