Title: No Islands

Category: Missing Scenes--Nemesis and A Hundred Days

Summary: Daniel reflects on the events of A Hundred Days while waiting for his team in Nemesis

Rating: PG for mild language

Spoilers: Major ones for 100Days, Nemesis, Shades of Grey, FIAD. Minor ones for Crystal Skull, Maternal Instinct, Fire & Water, COTG, the Movie

Notes: Many thanks to Linda for editing and fresh perspectives.

Email me--I'm a work in progress! entlzha@yahoo.com

On with the show....

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No Islands

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It's amazing how fast things can go to hell. Literally, in our case.

Three weeks after your eighth birthday, you find yourself an orphan. Five minutes after leaving an ultra-secure base in Colorado, you're stranded in a stark and barren desert on the opposite end of the galaxy. One evening your wife gets kidnapped because you left her alone to take your friends on a field trip.

See what I mean?

And with SG-1, while it didn't exactly get worse, it certainly does happen more frequently. Right from the beginning, when we went from being gods to being prisoners in the local dungeon in a matter of half an hour. What is it about us?

I had hoped this year would at least be better than last year. Last year was real hell in a lot of ways. So I didn't think it was asking too much. After all, the law of averages has to mean we're gonna come out on top sometime, doesn't it? Haven't we earned that after all the crap we've had dealt to us?

Haven't I?

But, no, it doesn't look like it's going to be. Let's recap. A nice, simple trade negotiation with friendly people ends us up on the receiving end of a cataclysmic meteor storm, minus a team member. We get said team member back only to lose him again to some bizarre undercover plan. Now all three of them to Thor's suicide mission. And we're barely three months into the year. It's not what I would call an auspicious start.

God, I'm tired.

Standing here, watching the empty monitors for any glimpse of the hulking Asgard ship we all know is lurking around out there, listening for any hint of what my team is going through without me, I realize I'll be lucky if this year is only as bad as the last. By all indications, it's going to be worse. As if one funeral last year wasn't enough, what if I have to go through three more?

No. Let's not go there now, Daniel.

I'm so tired. And it has nothing to do with having just had an internal organ pulled out, although that's not helping. But it's bigger than that. Physically tired, I could deal with. But I'm so tired of waiting for news, for someone else to pull a rabbit out of a hat. It leaves me feeling heavy as lead, scraping across the floor trying to gather myself up again.

I know this is going to sound strange, but at least whatever happens here today will be over -- one way or the other -- today. I've learned the hard way that I'd rather know right now, than have to spend another day – or week, or month, or year -- wondering. God, have I done that too much. Just got done spending over three months doing it for Jack. Then a week wondering if he'd gone completely insane. Now this. Maybe Jack's just trying to age me prematurely.

Jeez, and the guy gives me a hard time for finding trouble. Physician, heal thyself.

Not that it's particularly Jack's fault. It never is, strictly speaking. But how does he get himself into these things? Back from Edora less than a month, too. Jack's nothing if not efficient. Why waste the rest of a perfectly good month when you can create yet another Jack-O'Neill-inspired crisis? Or two, or three.

So here I am--back at the same place I've been for a very long time. Waiting and hoping, with no way to change things, to make them come out all right. I've become a professional at this. So good at it that whatever that skull did to me didn't even faze me, pardon the pun. Most people would have considered being completely, impotently invisible to be the most frustrating experience of their lives. Me? Par for the course.

Doctor Daniel Jackson, Resident Bystander. Nice to meet you.

So when exactly did my life become a spectator sport?

I'm just in the way here, I know; everyone is running around in the usual state of chaos in this place. From the Gate techs all the way up to the general. I envy them -- at least they have jobs to do, things they can try to do to help. The only thing I can do for my team right now is the only thing I've been able to do for them for the past four months: believe in them. That's part of what dragged me, much to Doctor Fraiser's consternation, down here from the infirmary -- I know I'm the only one who

really thinks they can make it off Thor's ship in one piece. Everyone else hopes, but they don't really believe it. They're busy making contingency plans, preparing for the worst. Expecting the worst. I'm expecting the best.

I have to. The alternative isn't even an option.

Even the general isn't looking optimistic. He knows us well enough to know there's a chance, but he's not expecting much. Behind me, I can hear him and Major Davis making plans for Jack and Sam and Teal'c to be unsuccessful. Options and back-up plans. It's not that I don't understand why, but I still don't have to like it.

I've been through this before and I know how he works. The last time was when he came to my office late one night two weeks after our escape from Edora, looking for answers.

"Good evening, Doctor Jackson."

Any time I look up and find the general standing in my door at 11 o'clock at night, it's not going to be a good thing. The man doesn't come all the way up to my office for a casual chat. He comes looking for something. Never fails.

"Hello, General."

He apparently took that as permission to come in and make himself comfortable, emptying my old visitor chair of its stack of manila file folders and appropriating it. I resigned myself to giving up on what I was doing and gave him my full attention. Armed and steeled myself for whatever was to come.

"Something I can do for you, sir?” You know, I have no idea why that 'sir' comes out--I guess he's just the kind of man who automatically rates a 'sir.'

"No, not really. Just thought I'd come down and see how you're doing. Haven't heard from you in a while.” He was trying to sound casual. But long acquaintance has taught me the general doesn't do casual on base. It was making me nervous.

"Fine, fine. Thanks."

"Really?"

Well, no not really, sir. I'm tired, I'm feeling useless, and I'm waiting to find out if a good friend is going to be added to the long list of things that damn Gate has stolen from me. So no, not really fine. "Um, yeah, sure."

"It's been a hard two weeks for SG-1.” Yep, there it was -- that searching, calculating commanding officer behavior I've come to expect.

"Yeah," I answered warily. I was beginning to see where this was going.

"Tell me, Daniel," Uh-oh, my first name. Not a good sign. I can count on one hand the number of times he's used my first name. The last was when we buried my wife. So forgive me if that wasn't reassuring me at all. "How is everyone doing?"

So that was it. Would have been a little too obvious to send McKenzie down here, so he was performing a little psychological reconnaissance. "As well as can be expected, sir. I mean, it's hard, but I think everyone's doing okay."

"Major Carter seems a little focused."

"Yeah, she is. But that's just Sam -- I mean she puts everything she's got into anything. And she knows Jack's counting on her."

"I'll admit I'm...a little concerned."

"She'll be fine.” I tried to sound convinced when I was really just as bothered by it as he was. No need to let him know that, though — Sam wouldn't appreciate it.

"I just got a briefing from her regarding her progress on the particle beam generator."

"Right. She says it's coming along fine."

He nodded. "Considering she's making it up as she goes along. But she now believes it's going to take longer than originally anticipated. Perhaps up to two months."

"I'm sure she's doing the best she can."

"I have no doubt," he added quickly. "But it raises a new problem for me. I have to decide what I'm going to do with SG-1 in the meantime."

"Do with us? You aren't thinking of putting us back on the schedule...” I hadn't seen this one coming at all. I don't think any of us had even considered we might have to go back on duty. I just figured it was a given we wouldn't be going out again until Jack was back.

"I am. I don't have a lot of choice. Our SG teams are our lifeblood, and three are currently down as it is. Four if SG-8's test results come back positive. I can't have my best team on the sidelines for eight or more weeks if it can be helped."

"We always go on stand-down when someone's laid out.” One for all and all for one -- that kind of thing.

"But Colonel O'Neill isn't down in the infirmary or on vacation. He's missing. And it could be months before he's back. If...” Neither of us finished that thought to its obvious conclusion. He shifted gears. "And in the meantime, I'm having trouble justifying the loss of three extremely valuable staff members."

"Sam's already got an assignment."

He nodded, "Yes. Of course. But the major is integral to the operation of this command. As much as we need her to complete this generator, I also can't do without her entirely for the duration. As spread thin as we are right now, I can't spare her expertise in the field most of all. Besides," he added after a second's hesitation, "I think a few missions might do her some good. Considering as...."

"Focused."

"Focused...as she's been, I think it might help to keep her...balanced."

"That's kind of a good idea."

"I didn't earn these stars for my looks, Doctor.” He shifted in the military-gray metal chair, leaning forward until his face was in the ring of light from my desk lamp. He was studying me. "I have several options to consider in handling this admittedly difficult time, but I need to know the unvarnished truth from you. I need to know if even considering

this is going to be a bad idea."

"And you're asking me?"

"I trust you won't blow smoke up my ass."

Okay, so he was asking me to evaluate the situation. I thought about it. He deserved the truth. Even on a good day, we hit some really crazy stuff. Alien incursions, time travel, alternate realities, politicians. You name it, we've done it. Or, rather, had it done to us. So it's not like we have anyone to spare most of the time. And without Jack… "Okay, um, well, Sam's always going to do what's required of her. She's proven that lots of times. And Teal'c -- well he's just Teal'c."

"And you?"

"I'm fine, sir."

"You and Colonel O'Neill are close."

"In a strange sort of more-or-less kind of way."

"And in the event that--"

"He's not dead."

"We're not sure of that.” It was phrased carefully, evenly -- the tone of a man who'd done this before.

"Excuse me?"

"I have to be prepared for all possible outcomes."

"Well, I don't. And I'm not giving up on him until we know for sure.” I was trying not to be indignant to him, really I was. He'd long ago earned at least that much respect out of me.

"No one is giving up, Doctor Jackson, I assure you. I wouldn't be expending an inordinate amount of resources on Major Carter's idea if we were. But I have to consider all the angles. I have responsibilities."

I was a little embarrassed by the censure in that voice. "Of course. Sorry."

He didn't acknowledge it any further, instead going right back to business. "I also have the option of farming out the members of this unit temporarily onto other units."

"I really think that's a bad idea. Whatever we've got to do, we should do it as a team. SG-1 is important to Jack and he wouldn't want it broken up."

"Which leaves me with two options, until," he added with a meaningful look, "Colonel O'Neill is safely back with us. One -- I pull a unit leader from another SG team. You all have worked with Colonel Makepeace before, so he's an obvious choice. Or, two -- I put Major Carter in charge."

"Sam's got a lot on her mind right now," I had to concede.

"True. So you think bringing in Colonel Makepeace is the better option."

"I don't think it's necessary. I'm sure Sam can handle it. Besides, bringing in a replacement might be a worse idea."

"Do you feel confident the remaining makeup of SG-1 will function effectively in the field without Colonel O'Neill for the short-term?"

The formality of the question made me uneasy. It sounded so...final--like he was relying on me for guarantees. I didn't have any. "We've worked without Jack before."

"But not in these circumstances."

I stalled for a few seconds, trying to decide how to answer the question. Chewed on my bottom lip. It was a tough one. "I don't think we're at a hundred percent, no. I mean, Jack is a big part of who we are. He's the leader. He keeps us from getting off the subject, you know? But I think we all know the stakes out there."

The general seemed to digest that, not mentioning that I hadn't exactly answered the question. "I agree. However, as I said, I have to consider all the repercussions. As much as I need you, I also can't have a team out there at less than capacity. It endangers the missions and the people."

"I think of all of us, sir, SG-1 would be the most aware of that.” Jack's sarcasm is really contagious.

"Of course.” He stood up then, apparently done with his mission. "How is Major Carter is going to take this?"

"Probably not well. She's not going to like being pulled from her work, even a little.” And I sure didn't want to be the one to break it to her. With him towering over me, looking for honesty, I felt compelled to admit, "Sam's taking this whole thing a little... hard.” Harder than I think the rest of us did. Don't know quite why.

"She is.” He hardly looked surprised.

"But she'll be fine," I added quickly. She would. Whatever was going on with Sam, she'd never let anyone down. It wasn't in her.

"Of course," he said again. "I'd like to hold a briefing tomorrow morning at ten-hundred, when we can discuss your next assignment.” He had the door opened, filling the room with hallway light, when he stopped half-turned away. "If at any point during this time, it becomes apparent that SG-1 needs a change in...circumstances, I need to know immediately. Can I trust you to keep an eye on this situation?"

"Sure. Yeah, I'll let you know if there's any trouble."

He turned to face me fully, his face strangely backlit from the flourescents in the hall. "I want you to know I'm trying to do what's in all of my people's best interests here, Doctor. That includes not only Jack, but also Major Carter, Teal'c, and yourself. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir. I do. And I promise I won't keep you in the dark."

With a slight 'harrumph', he turned and left. I thought about going back to my translation but had suddenly lost interest in working any more. I decided to call it a night, turned off the desk light and closed the door.

Back on duty. Back out there, through the Gate. Without Jack. I couldn't help but feel that at 10 o'clock the next morning we were leaving a little piece of us behind, as much as we tried to deny it.

But, denial we could do. After all, we learned it from Jack 'we're just having a bad day' O'Neill.

So we got new orders the next morning. A mission to P5X-888, where there was evidence of an advanced culture. The general said it required our particular brand of expertise. Sam made a half-hearted protest and Teal'c just sat in silence. The only enthusiasm for the idea was from our newly-produced temporary fourth, Ferretti. I like Ferretti. He's a good guy. He didn't kill me on that first trip to Abydos, even though it probably would have been justifiable homicide. Gotta love the guy for that.

And Sam got temporary command. The general made it clear it was only for the interim and if we didn't get Jack back, we'd have to consider a replacement for him. Everyone bristled at the use of the word 'replace'. As if we could.

So we reluctantly got ready. Someone had come in the locker room and cleaned up Jack's stuff, leaving a neat little pile of folded items on the shelf. It was too clean, and too empty, and we did our best to ignore the whole corner. And with little conversation and even less conviction, we headed into our first mission with our new team member in tow.

At the briefing afterwards, Hammond had looked around the table at each of us in the eye and asked how it had gone.

Fine, sir. Fine, sir. Fine. Successfully.

We'd all lied rather bald-faced to the good general, too.

Technically, it had been successful. We surveyed the planet and made contact with the locals. Set the stage for SG-9 to come in and work their diplomatic magic. Brought back some intriguing artifacts Sam and I thought were likely to be useful. We did the job without a hitch.

The mission had been fine.

But SG-1 hadn't been fine.

The general must have seen it. Or known it in that way he has. He clearly didn't look happy with the game we were playing, but he decided against trying to wrestle it out of us and let us go. He put us on stand-down and everyone disappeared back to their holes. We didn't get another mission for three weeks. We didn't see each other until the mission briefing, either.

It stayed that way the whole time. SG-1 went from an average of one and a half missions a week to a total of 5 missions in those three months. It was the first time we had to try to be SG-1 without one of us. To consider what – who -- we are without one of us. Without our leader.

And as it turned out, we weren't sure. We didn't know how to do SG-1 without Jack. Still don't. Maybe that's why Sam and Teal'c went up to Thor's ship an hour ago.

It sounds easy. It's just Jack. Just one guy. Sometimes you wouldn't even think we get along all that great. Sometimes we don't. But it isn't that easy. And I don't even know what it is, either. SG-1 isn't a unit designation -- it's the members who make up that unit. It's Jack and me and Sam and Teal'c. It's not quantifiable, or replaceable.

Jack had explained that to me back when I thought about leaving. After...Sha're. And again when he found the envelope in my office from Dr. Rheinhold's dig in Egypt. After Sha're died last year, I had contacted a few people in the field to investigate what my options were. Very few got back to me. But Dr. Rheinhold always had a certain fondness for me ever since I was her student.

Jack didn't get it. He couldn't figure out why I was thinking about leaving. I knew there wasn't any way he was going to understand it, either. See, for Jack, the Stargate gave a new life after he'd lost so much -- it gave him purpose, even a chance to find some amount of peace with himself. I know -- I saw the change firsthand. It was a savior, a light in the darkness his life had turned into. But for me, it was the darkness. Like Janus with two faces. Jack has gained and I've lost. It giveth and it taketh away. Just one more thing Jack and I fail to share an understanding about.

So Jack had tried to explain it; and although I told him I understood, I didn't really get what he was trying to tell me about this team until we didn't have him around. Then I understood it in spades.

Granted, it's not just about Jack -- it's any of us. But losing him had it's own problems which no one foresaw. With Jack gone, we didn't seem to have anything to hold us together. Oh, we did our jobs just like before. We went on missions. We did all the things everyone expects of us. On the surface, it wasn't so bad.

But the soul wasn't there. It was back on Edora.

Jack is our glue. He built this team and he keeps it together. Without him, we had nothing.

Sam was always working that particle beam generator in the big lab on Level 23. Whether or not she was actually in there, she was always working on it. Even on the few missions we pulled, her mind was back in that lab, working. Calculating. Solving problems. And for the long periods between missions, she holed herself up in there and hardly came out to eat and sleep.

Teal'c went through the Gate a lot, going out with three or four other teams, when he wasn't visiting his family or Bra'tac. I saw him off the first couple of times, but it felt so much like we were being left behind I couldn't bring myself to go down there after that. And even when he was on base, he spent all his time in his quarters, meditating. Hadn't been that reclusive since the first days he was here with us.

Me? Not only did I have a new assistant to train, but I also had several hundred people to help adjust to living -- hopefully temporarily -- on Earth. So it's not like I was avoiding anyone. I just had a lot of work to do.

The missions were even worse. We were strangers thrown together. But it wasn't anything I could put my finger on. Sam led with her usual competence. Teal'c guarded with his usual competence. I did my thing with what I assumed to be the usual competence. But all the things that made what we do bearable were gone. The idle banter, the discussions, the arguments, the feeling that everyone was working toward the same goal -- that everyone was on the same page. We weren't even in the same book anymore.

And poor Louis Ferretti. He had to know what he had gotten thrown into the middle of, but I don't think he realized it fully until that first mission. Then he tried to fix things. You could tell. He tried to engage us in conversation, joked, even went so far as to ask about the technology and culture of the locals. And listened when Sam or I explained anything, hard as it must have been on his Marine brain. But no one was really interested in edifying poor Louis. It wasn't the same as trying to educate Jack. It wasn't part of our game.

Around the campfire on our second mission, he tried what must have been his secret weapon. After a long day of negotiating in a very strange variant of Hebrew, I was tired and not a little irritable. The disgusting mess of what the Air Force considered macaroni and cheese wasn't helping. Teal'c had made the coffee, which meant it practically had hair on it, and disappeared into his meditative Neverland. And Sam hadn't said a word since we made camp, burying her nose in a creased, overstuffed notebook covered in her handwriting. One guess what it was about.

"Want some?"

I looked over at Ferretti, sitting on the ground next to me. He was offering a small flask. Great. He was trying to get us drunk. Even Jack had never tried that.

He was visibly disappointed to be faced with a round of no's.

"Hey, it's better than that horrible moonshine Skaa'ra made."

Hoping to give him a hint, I focused my attention on the night sky, the tiny stars blinking from behind three moons. It certainly was nice on P3T-775.

Kind of like it had been on Edora.

Feeling his hopeful presence hovering next to me, I couldn't ignore him for long. It wasn't Ferretti's fault he'd been picked as Hammond's sacrificial lamb. "Actually, I never tried it. And believe me, Skaa'ra and the other boys tried. But I'm no masochist."

He laughed. "Sure you are. Look at who you work with."

Which of my three teammates was he referring to? I rolled my eyes at him, since Teal'c didn't seem inclined to bother responding and Sam probably didn't even hear us. And of course since Jack wasn't there to suggest where Ferretti could stick it.

"You know, I have to tell you guys I'm pretty happy to be able to work with you. It's a hell of a lot more interesting than being on SG-6."

"What's wrong with SG-6?” Giving up on getting answers from the night sky, I ended up pushing my 'dinner' around the little foil container, hoping something in there would at least try to look like macaroni and cheese.

"Nothing. If you're a plant."

"Huh?"

"Botany. Samples and tests and stuff. And minerals and air and geology and biology and all kinds of incredibly mind-numbing survey missions."

"I see."

"So, I'm just sayin' I'm glad to get kicked onto your team."

"Well, I wouldn't get too comfortable. It's only temporary. As soon as Jack gets back, it's back to plant surveys.” Maybe, I decided, I'd just try to make do with coffee for dinner. After all, it was practically chewable as it was.

"Do you think he's coming back?"

Damn. I realized immediately I'd opened myself right up for this train of conversation. Did all of good old Louis' work for him.

"Of co--"

"Yes."

Sam. Looking up from her little notebook, across the fire, all bristled up like she was facing an enemy. I guess she had been listening after all.

"Don't worry, Sam'll make it work. Even if not, the Tollan can get Jack with a ship."

"If he's still alive."

Silence dropped over us. The fire snapped loudly as it devoured a log, throwing sparks into the air. Teal'c's eyes popped open, pinning Ferretti in place. Sam blanched. No one had even mentioned the notion Jack might not have made it. It wasn't conceivable.

Sam answered finally, grinding it out. "He's alive. And as soon as I get this thing working, we're bringing him home.” It had an air of finality to it, dismissing any other ideas. I had no problem taking the hint.

But Ferretti's a Marine. Can't find a clue with both hands. He pressed on. "It's just that it was a hell of a blast, to fry the Gate like that."

"He's. Not. Dead," she repeated. "And we don't need that kind of attitude."

Silence again. It was so unlike the Sam we all knew, it would have been laughable if she weren't dead serious.

"Of course. I mean, it's not the first time the colonel's beaten the odds, right?” Ferretti was jumping in line now, probably realizing he really didn't want to open this can of worms after all.

"Sure, sure. We know that first hand, huh?” I filled in, hoping to kill the tension.

An enthusiastic nod. "And until then, I get in on the good stuff with you guys.” He smiled gamely.

But it was too late. He'd stepped in it, big time, and there was no going back. Sam glared at him a minute longer, finally closing up her notebook and shoving it under her arm. She stood up and tossed her cold, untouched coffee into the bushes. "I'm turning in.” And without further ado, she disappeared into the darkness behind her.

Teal'c's eyes had never left Ferretti's, leaving the poor Marine looking like a deer in the headlights. This wasn't our quiet, stoic friend; this was a man who faced down gods with that same look of venom. Ferretti didn't move until Teal'c silently got up and moved off away from the glow of the fire, sitting down beside his pack, eyes promptly closed again.

"'Night, guys.” It might as well have been aimed at a brick wall.

Ferretti watched them leave and looked back at me briefly, eyes burning with regret. "Sorry."

"It's okay.” Not that it was, but it really hadn't been Ferretti's fault. He'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. "It's just late, and it's...been a long day. You should turn in, too."

"Sure.” It was the last he spoke of Jack on the missions we went on.

I was left alone in the firelight, cooling rations and lousy coffee in hand, trying to figure out what I should do. Sam was working herself to death, Teal'c had gone distant and untouchable on us, the general didn't trust us, and I wasn't all that sure I wanted to be here any more.

Maybe it would get better.

It had to get better, right?

It didn't. If anything, it got worse. That conversation by the fire turned out to be one of the longest we had for weeks. I thought about saying something to the general, but in the end couldn't. I strongly suspected anything he tried to do to make things better would only succeed in making them worse. Guess he was wrong about my honesty. There goes some more moral fiber, I guess.

Instead, I tried to handle it on my own. The first order of business was Sam. The general was wrong about the occasional mission being a helpful thing. A focused Sam Carter isn't so easily diverted; she just worked on the generator long-distance. After about a month, it was clear she was passing 'preoccupied' and moving rapidly toward 'obsessed', slaving away nonstop trying to rescue our intrepid leader. It wasn't healthy. I was worried. Fraiser was worried. The general was worried. Teal'c was worried.

Fortunately, it came to a head a couple of weeks later -- just back from a days-long mission on a desert planet whose Gate was a grueling, two-day trek from the nearest village. Uphill both ways, I swear -- despite what gravity and geology tell you.

Ferretti was mumbling foul words about boot camp.

I was exhausted.

Teal'c was tired.

Sam was working.

Teal'c came up to me just as I finished my shower and informed me that Sam was back in the lab, working on the generator. He sounded just exactly like Skaa'ra had the day he told Sha're I had been working all day in the big cartouche room instead of resting in bed after we fell through the ceiling of it the day before.

As I approached the lab door, it became obvious she was in there working. No detective work necessary -- there was a heavy metal crash and thud that hit the door just as I reached to open it. It did not bode well. I peeked inside carefully. On thing three years with SG-1 has given me is a certain amount of self-preservation.

She was leaning palms-flat on the countertop, chest heaving. "What?!"

"Hey, it's, uh, just me."

She didn't respond. Eyes closed, nostrils flaring, forehead creased into little lines; this wasn't a version of her I had ever seen.

"So, what did it do?” I waved my hand at the offending piece of equipment strewn across the floor to my right. Bits of microchips and plastic littered the well-mopped floor.

She opened her eyes again. "It's what it didn't do. It didn't work."

"Oh. Well, I'm not really an expert, I know, but I don't think that probably helped."

"I know."

"Well, this'll probably look better in the morning."

"Sure."

"What are you doing here, anyway? Other than beating up the machinery, I mean."

"Working.” One-word answers out of Sam -- definitely a bad sign.

"I see that. But you've got to be dead tired. You did twice as much work as the rest of us."

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"Well, I am. Alright?” She walked over to the broken pieces and half-heartedly started gathering them up.

"Sam?"

"Leave it alone, Daniel," she ordered, continuing to scoop debris up off the floor, not looking at me.

Wow, that was a first. Barely civil to me. Which pretty much precluded me actually leaving it alone. I stayed where I was, watching her.

"What? Quit giving me that look."

"Sam, he wouldn't want you to kill yourself on this."

She turned slightly away and sighed. "I know. I just can't help it. All I can think about is how long it's taking. Everything's taking too damn long!" She hit one fist on the floor and whatever had been in her right hand made a small crunching noise.

I flinched at the sound. "I know. But don't underestimate Jack."

"Huh?"

"He's a survivor. He can make it as long as he has to. He'll be fine until you figure this out. You have to know that about him after all this time."

"I guess so."

"But you can't help anyone if you make yourself sick over it."

She looked up at me then, something strange and indefinable in her face. Her eyes had filled up. "I can't seem to stop."

"It's okay, I'll do it for you.” I walked over to her and took the ruined parts, laying them on the counter. Grabbed her leather jacket, then pulled her up and steered her to the door, hitting the lights and pulling the door closed. "I'm making the choice here, taking the responsibility. Give it to me. Just go home and sleep in your own bed tonight."

She tugged the coat on, brushing her hair out of her eyes. Standing there in the empty corridor in baggy cargo pants with freshly-showered hair dampening the collar of her T-shirt, she looked strangely young. I was suddenly reminded of how much we put on Sam's shoulders, of the weight she carries for us.

"You okay?” I don't even know what exactly I was referring to.

She nodded. Stared at me for a long minute, a horrible lostness in her eyes. Then, with just the tiniest bit of hesitancy, she reached up and pulled me into a hug. Held on like I was the last lifesaver on the Titanic. My instincts took over and I leaned into it, giving her what she was looking for. Neither of us said anything. Sometimes there just isn't anything to be said.

After a long minute, she let go. Stood back and wiped one sleeve across her nose. "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

She nodded again in confirmation, more to herself than to me, I think. Sniffled faintly. "I'm okay. I think a good night's sleep sounds great."

"Is there anything you want to talk about?” I leaned down to try to catch her eyes.

She seemed to consider it for just a brief second before resolutely shaking her head. "I'm fine. I'll see you in the morning."

I almost had her there, almost got her to talk about it. But she retreated and I figured I'd take the battle I had won. "Okay. Good night."

"'Night.” She turned and headed down the hallway, watched by a lone airman doing a crossword puzzle at the security desk.

"Sam?"

She stopped at the end of the corridor. "Yeah?"

I tried to think of what Jack would say at that moment. Tried to find that tone he uses that gets us to believe it's going to be okay even when we know for a fact it's not. The one that dares us to defy his conviction that we can do anything we need to do, no matter how impossible.

"It's going to work out."

It was the best I had to offer. Not exactly awe-inspiring, but it would have to do.

She smiled slightly. "It is."

I slept better that night than I had at all since Jack had been left behind or again until he came back.

Things got better after that, at least on Sam's end. More balanced. We still didn't see much of her; but she ate, she slept, she stopped living on coffee and vending machine donuts. I'll take what I can get. It did end up taking almost three months to get the particle beam generator working, but it was worth the extra time. Jack would have been the first to agree.

And with one thing taken care of, I couldn't put off dealing with Teal'c any longer.

Teal'c. The eternal enigma had been a silent partner for most of the three months. Uncommunicative and distant. And, frankly, it made me nervous. Teal'c is here because of Jack. Not that I have any questions about his loyalty and friendship with the rest of us. But he's here because he believed in Jack -- trusted him to be the best chance Teal'c has of doing what he's sworn himself to do. It started because of Jack and I honestly wasn't sure what he would do if Jack were gone. If he even still wanted to be here without Jack. I know he made that choice once before, when we were all missing, and he didn't stay.

So I was irrationally worried the day he went through the Gate to see Bra'tac. It's not unusual in itself--Bra'tac's his friend and a good guy. We had lots of time off those days and why shouldn't he take the opportunity to visit friends and family? Sure, no problem.

It was almost a week before he Gated back, and I had a...well, I'm going to call it a chance encounter...with him in the locker room afterward. I took the opportunity to do some digging of my own.

"So, how is Bra'tac doing?"

Teal'c remained focused on lacing up his boots, hunched over the bench facing opposite me. Not a position terribly favorable to my self-imposed investigation. "He is well."

"Great. What's he up to?” I forced myself to sound, and appear, casual. Like Jack would have been able to pull off. Leaned on the wall, one leg propped up on it, hands folded loosely, tone slow and easy.

"He is attempting to organize a force for combating the Goa'uld. Our numbers grow stronger as the memories of Apophis grow distant."

"Our?"

He looked up at me sharply. "Those among my people who share my feelings."

"Right. Sounds like a good thing."

"Indeed."

"Sounds like a lot of work, too.” Casual, I reminded myself. Casual.

"It is. Bra'tac is uncertain whether he is up to the task ahead of him."

"Really.” I couldn't imagine anything Bra'tac wasn't up for. Even at his age.

He nodded in confirmation. Stood up, gathering his jacket from the hanger. "He asked for my help."

"He did?"

"He did."

"What'd you tell him?” Something about the sound of that had made my hackles go up.

"I reminded him of my responsibility here, with SG-1."

I let out a breath. "So, what's he gonna do then?"

"He will do what he can for now. He has found a new apprentice in case I cannot return."

"Return?"

He gave me this look that said, 'aren't you paying attention?' "In the event we are able to retrieve ColonelO'Neill."

What was he not saying there and why did it worry me? That's the way it is with Teal'c -- more often than not, you have to pay attention to what he doesn't say. "Are you saying you'd consider leaving if we don't get him back?"

"It is a possibility.” He slid into his jacket.

"What about SG-1?"

He didn't answer for a few seconds. Then moved closer and stood looking down at me, making me feel absurdly small, even though he's only got a couple of inches on me. "SG-1 will not exist if O'Neill does not return."

I was stopped in mid-retort. It sounded ridiculous. Of course it would exist. SG-1 isn't about just one person. We're a team.

"You have witnessed the same as I have, DanielJackson. There has been no SG-1 without ColonelO'Neill.” He seemed to be reading my thoughts. Funny how it was so awkward between us last year after Sha're died, but we can still be that much in sync. "That will not change in the future."

It was true. We'd been going through the motions, but we hadn't been a team for months. We were a pale imitation of what we had always enjoyed. Could we ever rise above that?

Before I could gather any thoughts about what he'd told me, he turned on his heel and left.

I've never gotten that conversation out of my head. It scares me as much as it amazes me, but he was absolutely, completely right. We were falling apart, even while pretending we weren't. But we wouldn't be able to do it forever. An old poem popped into my head. Yeats, I think. My father loved that poem, recited it by heart. I hated it, the images it conjured. One line kept repeating for me--'Things fall apart; the center cannot hold.' Jack was the center, and we were in freefall without that. Like so many of the planets we visited, our team is an interwoven ecosystem. Strong and delicate at the same time. One thing out of place and everything was lost.

I hate that poem more now. Too close to home on many levels.

No one questioned that Teal'c would be the one to go through the Edora Gate and try to break through to find Jack when the time came. Because we knew Teal'c, and we knew his depth of friendship with Jack. And because I knew he was right--there was no point in pretending there would be an SG-1 without Jack.

Needless to say, then, we had everything riding on Teal'c that day. Sam and I sat in the control room, wished him good luck, and then spent an agonizing half-day waiting. After we lost contact through the wormhole, we couldn't open it up again, couldn't check on him at all. Sam had given us a deadline, no pun intended -- the time frame for which Teal'c had

enough air, after which he would asphyxiate and die if he didn't make it through the top. Alone and already buried in a naquadah tomb we had generously carved just for him. The general waited, pacing behind us for hours after Sam grimly announced the time was up, before finally ordering the Gate dialed up. We all know better than to underestimate Teal'c when it comes to defying biological rules -- the man has come back from the dead before. And I'm not being figurative here, either. We'd hate to have killed him ourselves.

When we did reluctantly open the Gate, it was our turn to hover silently behind the general while he called to Teal'c. Radio static filled the control room, an eerie companion to the fluctuating blue shadow of the open wormhole.

"Teal'c, this is General Hammond. Please respond."

Nothing.

"Teal'c, this is General Hammond. Please respond."

Nothing again.

"Teal'c, please respond," he repeated for the third time, the earnestness of a friend in this tone rather than the command of a general.

Static.

"GeneralHammond, it is I."

Someone in the back of the room gave a little cheer. I looked over at Sam, at the giddy relief in her eyes, and smiled. I didn't feel giddy myself, or excited, or exuberant. I felt drained. Tired of this constant battle we do, the ever-looming threat of loss and death and danger. Of the incessant worry. We may have averted the worst that day, but it would come again.

And again. And again.

How does Jack do it, when even *I* feel too old for this any more?

"Teal'c. Are you okay?"

"I am uninjured."

"Do you know if Colonel O'Neill is okay?"

We waited again for a response.

"Teal'c. Do--"

"I'm fine, sir. Hell of a lot better now that my ride's here."

I had to laugh. It was just so...Jack. He can face certain death and not crack that veneer. It was usually annoying as all hell to me. But right then, it was great.

Then Teal'c was back, saying something I wasn't listening to. I heard Jack's name and something about the Gate, but nothing beyond that. Sam was rapidly punching keys on her computer, what looked like DHD plans popping up on her screen, and talking to Siler over the intercom. I had no idea what it was about. But there was no trace of the woman who held me in that corridor late at night a month before -- nope, Sam was all back to business. Pinocchio was a real live boy again.

I tuned in to Teal'c on the speaker, "...mond, the DHD is not present. ColonelO'Neill has not located it's position."

Sam chimed in with some instructions for Teal'c to find something she had included in his pack in preparation to have to locate the DHD, buried just the same as the Gate was. I don't know what it was. I'm sure she said at the briefing that morning, but honestly she had lost me somewhere along the way.

I listened to her walk Teal'c through the task of finding the DHD. It was strange, and not just a little bit uncomfortable, to be on this side of the operation. Your brain puts images to the sounds you hear — voices coming back through the speaker, beeps and buzzes of equipment, scuffling of shoes, howling of wind. Listening to the sounds, I could picture the movements, follow Teal'c around the area as he searched for -- and finally found -- the Dial Home Device.

Then, a long silence while they -- whoever 'they' were at this point — dug up the DHD. It took a solid couple of hours of waiting, with Teal'c checking in only once to let us know they were still with us.

Nope, I didn't like being on this side of the operation at all.

"GeneralHammond. We have gained access to the DialHomeDevice.” A long pause. "It appears damaged."

"How bad is it?” I looked over at the general, who didn't look fazed at all by being on this side of things.

"I am unsure. The outer casing has been broken in multiple locations by rocks or debris."

Sam broke in, and I doubt she even noticed what she was doing. Doctor Carter took over before Major Carter realized it. "Is the crystal center intact?” I could practically see the connections forming in her brain. The same sounds that made vague mental pictures for the rest of us made schematics with footnotes and cross-references for Sam.

"It appears to be."

She sighed. "Great. We can deal with the rest. Tell me what you see."

What Teal'c described sounded pretty bad to me. But Sam just nodded thoughtfully -- as though he could see she was following along — and muttered encouraging things. I watched her working up repairs for a while before deciding to make myself useful and bring her back some dinner. Which she didn't eat, by the way.

I did. It was sure better than macaroni and cheese out of a tin foil package.

By midnight, Sam had migrated to the Gate room to spread the DHD plans Jack had drawn up across the floor at the base of the ramp. We'd been walking around them all night. And around Sam, sitting cross-legged in front of them -- on her left a stopwatch to time the length of the outgoing wormholes, and on her right a radio and a hand calculator.

Give Sam a calculator and she can save the world.

"You called."

We looked up to find the general looming over us, all crisp and all business even at that hour. Sam started to stand, but he waved her off.

"Sir, Teal'c has made enough repairs that I think we should be able to establish a wormhole on his end now. We're ready to give it a try."

He looked up at the Gate, at the undulating ripple it had been giving off in 38-minute increments for hours. As if the ring itself would give him answers.

"Well, then, let's do it."

Sam thumbed the radio back on, filling the room with a brief thunder of static.

"Teal'c, we're ready. We'll shut down and give you five to dial out."

"Five of what?"

She grinned. "Minutes, Teal'c. Ready?"

"I am."

"Good luck, then."

The general turned away from us to make a slashing motion to the control room window. The Gate abruptly died and we were returned to the almost-forgotten look of normal lighting.

Sam clicked the stopwatch again and we all stared at the Gate. No one moved, no one spoke. I was almost afraid to breathe. Three months of work and worry and effort and stress and anger and resolve and sadness and anxiety was culminating in this last five minutes. It was almost anticlimactic.

"Come on.” I couldn't help but think of all the times in the last three years I'd stood there at the bottom of the ramp, willing something to happen. How many? Probably the same number of times as I'd been on the other side of the equation. Neither side is much fun.

Then the rumble started. The lights, the smoke, the wonderful sound of Gate activation. All seven chevrons locked and it spit the vortex out into the room, followed almost immediately by Jack's voice booming from the radio.

"Carter, remind me to buy you a drink!"

Sam laughed and received a brief hand on her shoulder from the general.

"Doctor Jackson," he turned to address me then, "would you be so kind as to inform our guests that tomorrow morning, they'll be able to go home?"

"With pleasure, sir.” And with a quick mock-salute, I was off, glad to finally have something to do.

And a great pleasure it was, too. It is an indescribable feeling to be able to tell three hundred people housed in barracks for three months -- mothers, fathers, grandparents, children -- that we found a way to get them back to their homes and their lost loved ones. Trust me, there was not a dry eye there. Including mine, after an eighty-three year old grandmother of four kids left behind cried on my shoulder.

Fraiser and I had them bundled up and trucked back from Peterson AFB by about 4 am local time -- midmorning Edora time. Then I got geared up alone and headed back down to the Gateroom, where I found Sam primed and ready, waiting at the bottom of the ramp, eagerly watching the chevrons turn. She certainly didn't look like she'd been up fixing the DHD all night. How does she do that?

The sun was bright and crisp the morning we retrieved Jack and brought the Edorans home. Like it should be for such a momentous event. The day was warm and inviting.

Jack, however, was not.

My first clue was he wasn't at the Gate when we came through. Teal'c met us and we followed the impatient throngs of people headed to the village. Jack was hovering just down the road from the village limits, grim-faced, kicking stones. Looking around for something.

And I realized it wasn't us he was looking for.

He noticed us arrive, but hardly acknowledged it, literally brushing us off mid-sentence. I was confused and a little upset at first by the seeming unconcern after everything that had happened, but the answer appeared very quickly.

Laira.

Jack wasn't unconcerned, he was torn. Sam didn't get it, but I did. I knew the look on his face. I had worn that look. It hit so close to home I couldn't even bear to watch it.

Jack hadn't expected to come home. He had started to rebuild in those three months.

None of us had considered what Jack's life on Edora might have been like. I don't know -- maybe we all imagined he was sitting at the former Gate site month after month, pining away for Earth and his friends and his work. But that's not Jack. Not Jack O'Neill at all. He's too much of a survivor.

When I told Sam he'd do whatever he needed to in order to make it, I was more right than even I understood. And apparently what he needed to do was start some sort of a life here. After all, it had been three months and he had nothing that even hinted the Gate still existed. So he did what Jack always does -- made the best of a situation. In retrospect, it was obvious.

He didn't say anything about it, in typical Jack style. Just said whatever it was he said to her and turned away, toward the Gate. Never looked back. We fell into step behind him, no one saying anything the whole trip back. As soon as we had gotten back, the general whisked him off to his office and the rest of us were left staring at each other. This wasn't what we had expected at all.

We all turned in our equipment and showered and changed without seeing hide nor hair of Jack. Went up to the infirmary one by one to let Janet have a peek at our brains. Still no Jack. I couldn't help but feel like he was deliberately avoiding us, for reasons I couldn't fathom.

"Well, Doctor Jackson, you look just fine.” Janet pulled back the curtain around my bed to signal she was done with my routine post-mission work-up.

"I could've told you that. So I can go?” I asked impatiently.

"You can go. But you know, one of these days, I'm going to start taking this lack of enthusiasm personally."

She wouldn't. She had a lot tougher patients than me, I knew. Like Jack, for example. I slid off the bed. "Uh, you haven't seen Jack around, have you?"

"Yes, actually. He left just before you came down. I put him on forty-eight hours medical leave."

"Oh. Okay, I'll try him at home."

"Actually," she seemed reluctant to admit, "he's not at home, either."

"Okay... so where is he?"

"I think he went fishing or camping or something."

"He just left?"

"I told him to. He's been through a lot, Daniel, and he needs some time to readjust."

"He left without saying anything?"

"Yes. There were some things he said he needed to work out. But he assured me he'll be back day after tomorrow, and ready for your next mission."

"I see.” I didn't, really.

"I wouldn't take it personally -- he just needed some time."

"Oookay."

It wasn't exactly an eloquent response for a linguist, but I wasn't sure how to respond. I know, I know -- Jack's not exactly the picture of openness, but somehow he managed to even surprise me. Whatever it was that happened those months on Edora, it was bigger than any of us would probably ever know.

Still a little confused, I headed to the elevator to go home since there wasn't anything more I could do that night. But there stood Jack, in a side-corridor outside the infirmary, just before the elevator. Leaning back on the wall, dressed in the formless jumpsuits we've gotten so used to, looking about a million miles away.

Literally, I think.

"Hey."

He looked up, apparently startled to see me standing in front of him. "Hey."

"You okay?"

"Sure."

I didn't say anything.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm fine."

Exactly what look do people think I'm giving them? "Fraiser said you're taking a couple days off.”

"I am."

"So."

"So?"

"So, what are you doing hanging around here?"

"Actually," he looked at the empty hallway around us, "I have no idea."

Once again, I knew that look. Had worn that look. In this same corridor, as I recall, almost three years ago. What is it they say, 'everything that comes around goes around?'

"Um, do you want a ride somewhere?"

"Why?” He eyed me suspiciously.

"Well, for one thing, your car's not here."

"It's not? What happened to my car?"

"It's fine. General Hammond had someone drive it home months ago."

"Oh."

"At least we didn't pack up your house."

"Hey, it's not my fault you don't know how to stay dead."

Now there was the Jack O'Neill we know and love. "So, do you want a ride somewhere, then?"

He pushed off the wall. "Sure. Home, I guess."

"I thought you were going fishing."

"So did I. But I've been roughing it for three months. I think maybe indoor plumbing and ESPN is more attractive."

That I understood. There's nothing like a good, hot shower after months of using basins of tepid -- at best -- water. Ice water out of the tap. Light bulbs, even. The simple things.

We drove to Jack's house mostly in silence. He watched the scenery roll by and I tried to think of something to say. Twenty-three languages and I can't figure out how to break the ice. Ironic, isn't it?

I was off the hook when we arrived at his house and found Sam's little car in the driveway. Jack and I stared at each other in confusion and went inside a little warily.

Sure enough, there was a lot of noise coming from his kitchen. Sam and Teal'c, both dressed in civilian clothes, were unloading four bags of groceries with all the efficiency of a military operation. Standing in the kitchen doorway, we waited for a few seconds before Teal'c noticed us.

"O'Neill."

"Um, sir."

"Well, I see we haven't forgotten who I am. Good.” He took off his jacket and laid it on the counter.

Sam had turned red, like she'd been caught in the act. "I, uh, I thought you were gone for a couple of days."

"Apparently, I'm not."

"Apparently."

"So?"

"So?” she repeated.

"So...what are you doing in my kitchen?"

"Oh," she looked down at a loaf of bread in her hand like she suddenly couldn't remember why she really was in his kitchen. "We thought you'd like to have some actual food when you got home."

"I don't have food?"

"Uh," I filled in, "not really. I had to clean out your refrigerator a few weeks ago.” A mass execution of Tupperware, actually. Jack likes to cook and he had leftovers trying to start their own society in there after a month and a half.

"Oh. How'd you two get in here anyway?"

"General Hammond gave us the spare key."

"Ah."

"I hope that was okay, sir."

"No, no. Food's good. What'd you bring?” He peered in the nearest bag like a kid, wrinkling his nose at a few unidentified items. Apparently, Sam's taste isn't exactly Jack's taste. "Got any beer?"

"Yeah, in the fridge."

Jack grabbed a bottle, looking lovingly at it like manna from heaven itself. "Do you have any idea how much I missed this? This and professional sports. I haven't seen a single game in three months. Teal'c, why don't we see if there's a game on. Anything -- I don't care. I'm gonna change clothes -- this thing itches.” He tugged at the SGC jumpsuit, irritated.

"It'll go away," I responded absently. I remembered the sentiment after coming back from Abydos. Hard water, chemicals in soap, synthetic fibers -- I never did figure out what it was. Probably more psychological than physical, actually.

Jack just gave me a strange look before wandering off toward his room, leaving me alone in the kitchen with Sam. She was rooting around for somewhere to put the loaf of bread and it gave me a chance to watch her unnoticed. She looked better, at least. Still dark circles under her eyes, but less trouble in them. She even spared a small, quick smile when she noticed me watching her. "Hey."

"How you doing?"

"Fine. Glad to be getting back to normal, huh?"

"Whatever that is. That was a great job you did, you know."

"It worked.” Not really looking at me, she seemed only half-aware we were having a conversation.

I took the bread from her and stuffed it in the refrigerator. "You sure you're okay?"

She flashed another flimsy smile at me. "I'm fine."

"Riiiight.” Like I haven't seen the look of denial enough times in the last three years. I moved in closer, dropped my voice so we had some privacy. "You seemed a little...upset on Edora, and I thought it might have something to do with Jack.” There. That was about as direct as you can get. "Anything you want to talk about?"

"No, really. It just wasn't...what I expected.” Shook her head just slightly. "Anyway, he's fine. I'm fine. That's what counts, right?”

"You sure? I mean--"

This time it was a better smile, and it served to make me feel better than any conversation would have. She laid one hand on my arm. "I'm a big girl, Daniel. I'll be fine. I can handle it."

I never did get the chance to ask what she meant by that.

"So, what's this generator thing Hammond was telling me took so long?"

We both looked around to find Jack slouching in the doorway. Hands stuffed in the pockets of a pair of khakis, a gray sweater pulled over his T-shirt. Hair a little grayer than I remembered, his face a little leaner. All in all, he looked pretty good for Robinson Crusoe.

"Oh, uh, that would be the particle beam generator," I filled in.

"Yeah. What's it do?"

"Well, it emits a series of--" Sam stopped herself abruptly. "It unburied the Gate," she clarified, shameless amusement on her face.

"Cool."

She shrugged self-deprecatingly. I don't really think Sam stops to consider what kind of amazing things she manages to pull off on a regular basis. I don't think any of us do. "Yeah."

"And we built it?"

"Actually," I held up one finger to point at Sam, "'we' didn't. Sam built it."

Head cocked and brows furrowed in a sort of calculating look, he looked over at Sam, who was folding a paper bag neatly on the counter. "She did, huh?"

"Yes, she did. From scratch."

"Very cool."

Sam didn't say anything.

"Then I guess I really do owe you a drink, don't I?"

Sam eyed the door like she was considering making a getaway. She looked like she suddenly felt awkward with Jack. She's usually pretty comfortable with him, so it was strange. "That's okay, sir. We should go--"

"No, I think that was the deal. You got a big date or something?"

"Uh, no, actually.” She grinned at him, a big one I hadn't seen in three months. "Beer's good."

"Okay, then it's settled. Daniel, beers all around. Let's see what I've got to eat."

So we watched two teams pummel each other on Jack's TV over a round of beers and potato chips, although Teal'c only held his bottle and ate most of the chips. I know it doesn't sound like much, but that's kinda how we do things. We didn't talk about Edora at all. We talked about how many of Jack's plants I'd killed while supposedly taking care of them, about how Teal'c's family was doing, about who had won the Superbowl, about all kinds of mundane things. That was fine, though, if Jack didn't want to discuss Edora. Sam was right -- we had him back and that was what counted.

Of course, that lasted all of a week and a half before Jack managed to get himself in deep again, in that whole thing with the Tollans and Maybourne. Before he managed to piss us off sufficiently again. I told you he's efficient.

But that's another story. And if the rest of my team survives the day, maybe I'll tell it.

But when we got Jack back from that, none of us doubted the team would survive what he'd done and go on intact. We are SG-1. And three months trying to make that work without one of us made it clear we don't have a choice in this any more. Any of us. We're riding this speeding train as passengers, having bought a ticket at an incalculable price. Our team has made a pact with the devil, a bargain worthy of Doctor Faustus: we get the chance to experience the wonders of the universe, to cheat death, to make a difference. To really live, to love, to die for billions of people. The opportunity to do this amazing thing, to be who SG-1 is.

To touch the face of God.

But, unlike Doctor Faustus, the devil coming for our soul isn't the payment. That's not what we have to fear. Every day, we pay our due. We pay in this need we have of each other, in giving up pieces of ourselves to each other to make this thing work, in a frightening dependence. I said before that SG-1 is not a unit designation. But it's not Jack and Sam and Teal'c and me, either, really. It's this strange, new thing -- Us. A four-headed monster that cannot be separated and live. It's not replaceable, it's not negotiable, and it's not optional. We can be more than the sum of our parts, but only together. We exist as a whole or not at all. That which makes us strongest makes us terribly, staggeringly fragile. Because there are no islands any more. Not for SG-1.

God help us.

********************************

~~finis~~

Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Email me at entlzha@yahoo.com