Title: Present Tense

Author: Debby (entlzha@yahoo.com)

Category: Missing Scene – “1969”

Summary: It was a hell of a mission, even for those who never step through the Gate

Warnings: No warnings. Spoilers through 1969, obviously

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The Gate shut off with its characteristic abruptness as SG-1 stepped down the ramp and handed off weapons and packs to waiting personnel. The activity in the Gateroom died down as the armed soldiers routinely greeting off-world activation filed out, glad to be unneeded again.

As George came through the blast doors, he eyed the team carefully -- judging and gauging. As their CO, he could always figure out a lot about how the mission had gone by the way they came back. Sometimes, unfortunately for this team, literally by how they came back through the Gate. Falling, shooting, being shot at, drenched, covered in snow or blood, dragging refugees, running. With their shields or on them. It had run the gamut already. Other times, it wasn't nearly so obvious, but George had learned to read between the lines pretty well by now. It was a skill he'd picked up out of necessity, given the propensity of this team to write off any mission where no one came back bleeding as a 'good' mission while they wandered off to move on with their lives.

Today, they seemed in good spirits. O'Neill and Jackson were sharing some sort of private joke apparently at Carter's expense. Teal'c, as usual, appeared not to know what was going on. Of course, with Teal'c, no one ever really knew what he was following and what he was truly confused by. Teal'c was still such a puzzle, but well worth the effort. Jackson carried an oddly-shaped leather and beaded object that looked vaguely Native American. Carter was staunchly avoiding looking his direction.

"How did the mission go, SG-1?"

"Fine, sir. Friendly types. Particularly liked the Captain.” O'Neill raised his eyebrows a little in Carter's direction. She found something suddenly terribly interesting about her MP-5. "Nothing terribly useful, General. Not even anything Daniel could get excited about. Not that he didn't try.”

George smiled. The comment had earned the good colonel a glare from Jackson. This was why George let his subordinate officer get away with so much, even when he had to take flak about it from other officers. O'Neill just had a handle on his team, of the type that few commanders could achieve. This rapport was a big part of what made them astonishingly good sometimes. "We'll debrief in an hour.”

"Yes, sir.” O'Neill addressed Carter, “You'd better get that hand looked at. We'll be sure to take good care of your...gift.”

Carter glared, but said nothing to her CO. There was something going on here George was missing. He was going to ask about the 'gift' in question when he noticed her hand, the General in him outweighing his curiosity.

Carter's left hand bore a hastily-bandaged gash between her thumb and index finger.

It was an injury he'd seen before.

A long, long time before.

Carter noticed him staring at her hand. "The locals set up a little ambush in the forest before they knew who we were. It's not bad.”

No, actually, it was bad. Very bad. But for none of the reasons Carter thought.

"You should get it taken care of, Captain," he absently replied, his mind already racing ahead. Or back, depending on how he looked at it. "Go on, people. I've got work to do.” He dismissed them all and they filed out to shower, change, eat, and generally wind down from a mission.

George, on the other hand, had gone from zero to worry in nothing flat.

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Two years ago, after he'd realized who they were, he'd done the research. He'd pulled in some scientists involved in the Stargate project, collected research done in the previous three years, and asked for some serious hypothesizing on side effects of Gate usage. The scientists had raised eyebrows, asked some abortive questions, and reluctantly coughed up the information George was looking for.

Solar flares. It was the best explanation they could come up with. He didn't even pretend to fully understand what they had told him -- or what Carter's earlier research had theorized -- but it was enough. He checked the dates he'd carefully written down thirty years before. Sure enough, perfect correlation.

So, this was it. He held what he hoped were the answers in his hand. God willing, it would be enough.

He sat alone in his office now, just after midnight, staring at a yellow legal pad. To be honest with himself, he'd have to admit to being hesitant to start the events in motion.

Although, technically speaking, they've been in motion for almost three decades.

So long. After a few years, he'd started to forget the details about the strange foursome who had so quickly entered and disappeared from his life. Names, faces, words, times, all the minutia of the incident. But he still remembered the important things. Impressions, explanations, feelings. The casual ease of a well-oiled team. The unhesitant air of leadership in the oldest. The way all four had both belonged completely and not belonged at the same time. The earnest and passionate argument that had convinced him of the most ludicrous thing he'd ever considered in his young life.

SG-1. Not that he'd known it at the time. But later, he would come to understand it all.

Of course, he couldn't share even the smallest hint of it with any of them. He'd always known the mandate he'd agreed to on an unnamed New Mexico road in '69 would be hard, but it grew downright painful as time progressed -- as he met and grew attached to them all.

Just how difficult it would be had been driven home the day he went to dinner with his friend Jacob and met his tow-headed little girl, Sam. Captain Samantha Carter. She'd introduced herself clearly in that truck so long ago. Stunned into speechlessness, George wasn't much of a conversationalist that evening. Looking back, it was a damn good thing Jacob hadn't put much stock in that dinner as an indication of his friend's social abilities. George had watched the kid all evening, playing with her toys and talking a mile a minute. This would be her. The woman he would meet in the past.

Time travel sure played hell with a man's verb tenses.

At the time, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with this new information. Should he help her along to becoming what it appeared she would be? Should he tell her? Not tell her? Should he steer clear of her, so as to avoid altering her life course?

The irony was that the one person he could ask was the one person on the planet he couldn't ask.

So, he'd tried to stay out of it as she grew up. Kept an eye on her career, occasionally wondering what it would be that would lead her to his past self.

Then, he'd been handed the Stargate assignment. From the first report he'd seen, he started to have a new suspicion. The time was getting near. He was getting near. The Gate had to be involved in this little time travel thing. An unknown and powerful alien artifact that transported people all the way across the galaxy? There was no way it was a coincidence.

It was all confirmed when Captain Samantha Carter's name showed up on the short list. So, he'd rubber-stamped her transfer without second thought and brought her onto SG-1 despite Colonel O'Neill's misgivings. Or his rather vocal arguments.

Then, he'd stepped back to wait and see how this would all unravel itself. It turned out to be a very short wait.

O'Neill had returned from Abydos with Dr. Daniel Jackson, Ph.D. George didn't think much of Jackson at the time, partly due to his part in the lie O'Neill had perpetrated on the US government. He hated being lied to.

Then, the first mission to Chulak. A return with Teal'c in tow.

That was when George had seen it. Or, rather, seen them. All four of them together in action.

Teal'c had been a tough person to forget. And there, with O'Neill and Jackson and Carter, he realized this was it. Them. They'd found each other with little help from him. And they were starting out on something that would eventually lead to things no one even contemplated.

So, George bucked all conventional wisdom and SG-1 got two unusual team members. It was a decision he'd had to defend right up to the highest authority -- the President of the United States. But, defend it he damn well did.

And the next two years he spent worrying about them. Considering he had worried for the better part of his career about whether they had made it home or even survived, it was an old habit. And there were all the unanswered questions. Would things work out despite any interference? Did his knowledge alter events in and of itself? When and where would this incident occur? Would he recognize it? What if he missed it? What was the means by which they had been thrown back in time? Too many questions and no answers.

Damn well better do this, George. It's not going to get any easier.

He turned the paper over again. "Help Them.” His own careful handwriting on the front side. Then he turned it over and copied the dates and times he'd gotten from the Solar Observatory scientists.

Folded it into quarters. Flipped it back over.

"George.” He'd thought this couldn't get any stranger, but addressing a message to himself that he'd already received was about the most bizarre thing he'd encountered. And that said a lot when he considered the host of bizarre things that had happened to him in the last two years.

It didn't seem like enough. It felt as though he should add more. An explanation. Something to convince himself it was himself writing. Instructions for O'Neill. Location of the Gate. Whether they should take a jacket. Don't eat at the diner down the road from the Mountain unless they liked food poisoning. Something. Anything.

But, he'd studied up on the potential problems of time travel. Paradoxes. Disruption of the future. Ripple effects. Chaos theory. Plus, he knew what he had already written to himself. Or would write to himself.

He hated theoretical physics. It gave him a headache.

So. "George, Help Them" and a few obscure dates. That was it.

He refolded the paper and put it in his pocket. SG-1 was scheduled to head out tomorrow morning at 1000 hours. A simple mission to a so-far uninhabited world. He would be there to send them off.

Carter had been here late, going on about solar flares and Gate calculations. Jackson had been here late, looking over some artifacts brought back by SG-8, going on about Aztec architecture and sun worship. O'Neill had been here late, going on about a late-night boxing match he'd watched with Colonel Makepeace thanks to the miracle of government-funded satellite hookups. Teal'c was here all the time, but hardly ever going on about anything.

So, George had pulled rank. He sent them all home to get some sleep -- even sending Teal'c home with O'Neill -- all protests by the scientists about work to be done falling on deaf ears. Their departure time was late in the morning, so with any luck they would all sleep in and enjoy the respite. It was going to be a hell of a mission.

“Let's just hope it's not their last.”

He turned out the lights, closed the door, nodded to the airman on duty, and headed home to spend a long, sleepless, worried night. It would, indeed, be a hell of a mission. Even for those who never step through the Gate.

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