Archive of Our Own

1.

Ash knew something was up well before he actually heard anything. It was because of the way the hair on his neck stood on end, just like they always did when his brother got up to no good. When Cam didn't make his weekly check-in call with Momma, it wasn't that weird; deep space radar telemetry apparently involved lots of randomly scheduled periods without phones. When John didn't fill in, it became a bit more suspicious, but then he was also doing deep space telemetry, never mind that up until a couple years ago he had been doing the same job Ash had now and that involved rather less deep space and more combat rescue. The silence dragged on a few days, until one afternoon Ash was sitting his his office at Fort Rucker after a long day spent training absurdly young kids and found a pair of emails in his inbox.

Ash —

We won't be making it to the holidays after all. Something's come up and I'm transferring overseas. You know how it is. I've arranged for Betty to come over and retrieve some of my stuff to bring home and shipped most of the rest, including Christmas gifts. I'll try to call before leaving if I get the chance.

— Cam

---

ash, am stealing your brother. please assure your momma and daddy that it is not for evil purposes. report back with any good gossip about me, feel free to start amusing rumors.

-ltcol j sheppard usaf

"Huh," Ash said to himself. "Well, I didn't see that one coming." Leave it to those two to pull some like that, not long after assuring everyone that they would actually make it to a holiday together for once.

It was two days later that the phone rang just after dinner. After a few minutes Cindy Lou walked into the living room, where Ash was watching yet another round of Sponge-Bob with the boys.

"— don't need to tell me about it. It's got be something in your damn genes. You Mitchells never know when to let things lie," she was saying. "Here he is. Love you too." She held out the handset and said, "It's your brother."

"Thanks, honey," Ash said, taking the phone. "Hey, Cam."

"Ash," Cam replied. "How's it going?"

"I'm becoming convinced that every junior officer in the Air Force is an idiot, but at least no one's shooting at me," Ash said with a smile. "How about yourself?"

"I'm good, I'm good."

"No trouble or anything?"

"Depends on what you mean. I've suddenly found myself in command of about two hundred people, including a bunch of marines. I think any sane man would call that trouble."

"Marines? Doing deep space radar telemetry?"

"It's —"

"— classified, right," Ash finished for him. "Have I ever told you your cover story sucks?"

"You might have mentioned it once or twice," Cam said with a chuckle. It was an old refrain between the two of them, ever since Cam's so-called accident. Ash knew better than to expect or to want an actual explanation, but that didn't stop him from poking fun at the shear absurdity of what Cam, John, and Sam were supposedly doing.

Speaking of which — "You and John going to be out there together, right?" It'd be a damned shame if they were separated again, right when it looked like they would be stationed together for a while. Ash had spent his fair share of time apart from his family, had just gotten back from two years in Iraq in fact, but he couldn't imagine what it had to be like for them.

"Yeah, I'm actually taking command of the unit he's been with the last couple of years," Cam said. "Lorne's with us, too."

"Really?" Ash said, raising his eyebrows. Maybe there was some truth to what people said about John corrupting Cam. Ash neither knew nor wanted to know exactly how Evan fit into things, but if that didn't sound like a textbook example of a compromised chain of command he didn't know what was. Still, if anyone could pull it off without trouble, it was his brother. "It's good to know that someone's watching out for the two of you. God knows you can't be trusted to stay out of trouble yourselves."

"Me? You're the one who always got us into trouble. I was paragon of virtue."

"That crash of yours must have done something to your brain, because clearly your memory's gone to hell."

"Yeah, right. I don't — hold on." Cam's voice grew distant for a moment. "Can it wait? I'm on the phone with Ash. What? Well, you tell Lorne that O'Neill said we could have the zats, and that if the armory staff won't given them up he's authorized to shoot the bastards. Sure, I'll pass that along." Cam came back to full strength and said, "John says hi, and wants you to tell Cindy and the boys he loves them."

Ash smiled. "He does?"

"Well, that's what he meant," Cam allowed. "Listen, I need to go. We're leaving early tomorrow morning, and I still need to call Momma and let her know what's up. I'll try to keep in touch by email as best I can."

"You take care, you hear?"

"I'll do my best." Cam hesitated a moment, then blurted, "Love you, Ash."

"Yeah, you too, Cam," Ash said, trying not to laugh.

When Thanksgiving rolled around, the gossip did indeed fly as the usual suspects tried to figure out that John had done to poor Cam and proclaimed how this would never happened in the Army/Marines/Navy/Coast Guard. Ash made sure to off-handedly mention to some cousin who had never met John that he was positive the two of them had been sent back to Antarctica because of an incident involving ropes, a whip, large amounts of KY, and a General's son. It wasn't his best effort, but it was as good as he could do on such short notice.

2.

Rodney's problem, he decided, was that everyone else in the universe was an idiot. His entire staff was composed of idiots. Sheppard was a dirty, lying, doctorate-holding idiot. Carson was a voodoo-practicing idiot. The Ancients were extra-large idiots who wouldn't know basic safety precautions if they bit them in the ass. In fact, the only people Rodney did not think were idiots were Sam Carter (usually), Jeannie (outside of her taste in men and careers), and Teyla (and even if he had thought that she was an idiot, he would never have actually thought it for fear she might hear him doing so).

The floppy-haired idiot who was sitting at the other side of the work bench from Rodney was quite possibly the biggest idiot of them all.

"Do you even have the slightest clue what the hell you're doing?" Rodney asked. "Why the hell are you supposed to be able to help me anyways?"

Winston sucked in a breath and gritted his teeth, as if he was the one horrible inconvenienced by Elizabeth's latest hair-brained scheme. "Because someone mentioned to Doctor Weir that I've also had my brained fucked with and she asked me to teach you to... hell, I don't know. Not die?"

"I don't know?" Rodney repeated. "I don't know? I'm sitting here wasting what little time I have left and you don't even know what you're trying to teach me?"

"Nope, not really."

"Out!"

Winston hopped off his stool and walked out of the lab, not nearly quickly enough for Rodney's taste. Sadly, that did not mean Rodney could get back to work trying to find out how to un-enhance himself, because even as the over-muscled giant left Colonel Mitchell came ambling in. Rodney tried to ignore him as he sat down across from him, but as he had discovered it was very hard to ignore Mitchell.

"How are ya doing?" Mitchell drawled.

"My brain is melting," Rodney replied. "I'm trying to stop that from happening, but people keep interrupting me."

Mitchell was incapable of taking the hint, of course. "That's not really an answer."

"I'm fine," Rodney said. "There, you have you answer. You've done your duty as the concerned military commander, you can go now."

"I'm not here because it's my job, McKay," Mitchell said, sounding a bit annoyed.

"Then you've done your duty as John's..." Rodney waved a hand vaguely. "Whatever you call yourselves."

"Partners, more or less. It's a bit hard to pin him down on terminology." Mitchell crossed his arms and leaned forward. "That's not why I'm here either. I'm genuinely wondering if you're okay or if you need anything. Is that so hard to believe?"

"In a word? Yes."

The thing of it was, Rodney could just find out himself. It wouldn't be that hard to take a look and see what really made Cameron Mitchell tick. Rodney had been doing his best to shut out everyone's thoughts since he started to pick up more than just what lay on the surface. He realized that he didn't always know when to keep his mouth shut and that some would say he lacked some pointless social graces, but he knew damned well how he would feel if someone started prying around his mind. He also wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer in this case. Either Mitchell really was the gigantic boy scout he looked like, which would just be horribly sappy, or he wasn't, which would honestly be a bit depressing.

"You know, sometimes I get the feeling you don't like me."

"Mmmm, maybe that's because you tried to kill me."

Mitchell laughed. "Come on, you can't be serious. That was months ago." When Rodney didn't answer him, his smile slowly dropped from his face. "No, seriously. You can't be holding that against me."

"Oh, I think I can."

"It was a joke!"

"You could have killed me!"

"Bullshit. People eat oranges and lemon chicken around you all the time."

"And one day I fully expect to drop dead because of it." Rodney sniffed. "I hardly think that making fun of someone's allergies is appropriate regardless of how severe they may nor may not be."

"Maybe if you weren't an arrogant asshole people wouldn't have to resort to those kind of tactics," Mitchell snapped. The momentary outburst made Rodney grin inwardly - a point to him, clearly - but Mitchell shook his head after a moment and smiled again. "Unfortunately for the rest of us, we're probably going to have to put up with you for a lot longer than we'd like."

"Are we back to you trying to make sure I'm okay again?"

Mitchell shrugged. "Guess so. Maybe you should think of it like this — lots of Ancients managed to ascend and we all know they were idiots, so obviously even if we can't fix your brain you can still do that."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Were you not paying attention to the part where the Ancients who used the machine mostly ended up dead?"

"Like I said, idiots. And hey — Jackson managed to do it twice. Are you really telling he can do something you can't?" As Rodney thought about how incredibly embarrassing that would be, Mitchell somehow managed to smile even more broadly. He reached across the bench and slapped Rodney's shoulder. "Aha, I can see you getting more confident already."

"Actually, Colonel, this is me trying to see if I can cause you to burst into flame with my mind. Don't worry, I'm completely confident that I'll manage to do it before I die."

"Well, my work here is done. I'm going to be teaching some nuggets to fly for the next few hours, but if you need anything, feel free to call."

"Just get out."

Once Mitchell was gone Rodney tried to get back to work, but found he couldn't stop thinking about what Mitchell said. Not the part about Rodney ever liking him, obviously — that was nonsense — but the part about ascension. If the Ancients hadn't figured out how to reverse the machine there was a small chance that Rodney wouldn't be able to, so it might be a good idea to have a backup plan. Mitchell did have a point, too. If Daniel Jackson could do something, Rodney certainly could. There was certainly some kind of scientific basis to it, so he just needed figure out what it was. Fortunately, he had someone on hand who had six months of experience meditating with a bunch of hippies who somehow managed the feat.

"Sheppard? It's McKay. Listen, I need you to help me with a project. Meet me in my lab - no, wait, somewhere quiet and private. Maybe your quarters?"

Sam had wondered once whether she would ever get used to the various beatings, electrocutions, near-drownings, burns, and other injuries that were part and parcel of stargate travel. Several years later, the answer was still no: getting shot in the gut by an Ori laser gun still hurt like a bitch. She was better at working through the pain and injuries, sure, but if anything the part that involved laying around in a hospital afterward was more annoying than ever. It took days to convince Dr. Lam to release her from the infirmary and only then with a promise that she would head straight home and rest. Sam didn't need to be told twice, mostly because by the time she got home she was too tired to do much more than flop onto the couch and stare at the ceiling.

Early in the evening doorbell rang and Sam forced herself to get up and answer it, wondering who it could be. Teal'c and Vala were stuck on base, Daniel was missing, and the General was in Washington. Cam, well, Cam was off in another galaxy. She didn't blame him for that in the least and understood what he had been going through for years, but some small part of her wished he could have waited a few weeks before running off with Sheppard.

Possibly the last person she expected to find was Skipper Griffith.

"Good afternoon, Colonel," he said with a smile. He lifted a pair of large bags. "I come bearing gifts."

"Skipper," she said, stepping back and letting him in. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard you were being released today, and I figured that after a week on infirmary food you might want something a little tastier."

Sam's eyes lit up. "Yeah, I could." Anything would be better than what she had been living eating or the cans of Campbell's that were sitting in her cabinets. She lead him in to the kitchen and he started pulling out stuff out of his bags: Tupperware containers full of soup, fresh cornbread, and lemon bars. It set her mouth watering immediately; it also made her suspicious about just what was going on.

"How'd you hear I was hurt?" she asked, easing herself into a chair at the table while Skipper puttered around heating the food up.

"Oh, you know, through the grapevine," he said.

"Really." Even if Cam had somehow heard about what happened — unlikely at best, given Atlantis' dial-in schedule — there was certainly no way he could have told Skipper to check up on her so quickly. That was without even considering the security issues inherent in doing so.

"Yep. When someone on SG-1 so much as breaks a nail, it's all over the base within an hour. There's a pool, you know." Skipper looked over his shoulder and grinned at her. "By the way, you might be seeing me and Spence around more."

"I thought I'd spotted one of you in the halls, but last I'd heard you were in Germany."

"We were. We got reassigned to the SGC a few weeks ago. We're almost finished with our initial off-world training."

"You know if you've been selected for a team?"

"SG-13 for me, SG-9 for Spence. He's actually working late with them right now and sends his apologies. Apparently he doesn't think I can make a simple meal without supervision." Skipper rolled his eyes to show what he thought of that. "We're actually hoping one of us will get a transfer off-world."

Sam nodded as Skipper talked. SG-9 was a good slot for Spencer, who had always had a good head for negotiations, and while Devil Dave Dixon wouldn't be her first choice for reigning in Skipper he was still one of their best field commanders. "Transfer where?" she asked, suspecting she knew the answer already. Somehow she didn't think he was talking about the Zeta site.

"Atlantis. It sounds like an exciting place to be these days."

"Does Cam know that's what you want? For that matter, does he even know you're here?"

"Nope." Skipper put a steaming bowl of soup and a plate with jam-covered bread in front of her and sat down on the other side of the table. "We were kind of hoping to surprise him."

"Aha. I see what's going on now." Sam pointed at the food. "This is a bribe."

"Aunt Sam, I'm hurt," he said, affecting a kicked puppy expression. "Can't I just be taking care of an injured family member?"

"You could, but I'm pretty sure there wouldn't be nearly as many baked goods involved."

"Also, I'd like to point out that I'm a highly trained intelligence and counter-terrorism specialist. If I was trying to get your cooperation with something, would I really be so unsubtle about it?"

"Yes," Sam said. "I know how you two operate. You'll get me distracted with some outlandish plan. Then Spence will come along sounding more reasonable and before I know it I'll be agreeing with whatever your real goals are. It's not going to work." She paused to sample to soup. "This is really good. Can I have the recipe?"

"If I say yes, will you agree not to tell Cam?"

"No."

"Damn. I'll email it to you when I get home."

"Have you considered just explaining why you want to go and letting me make a reasoned decision?" Sam asked.

"I thought about it, but it didn't seem as much fun. Still, if that's what it takes, I can work with it." Skipper reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small flash drive. "This has a thirty-page proposal outlining the need for a dedicated intelligence staff as part of the Atlantis detachment, based on previous shortcomings in operations planning and known capabilities of the Wraith, Genii, and other hostile forces in Pegasus. It's already been reviewed and tentatively approved by the detachment XO, and we're just waiting for the red tape with Homeworld and the IOA to get cleared up before moving ahead with it."

"Lorne's on your side?" Sam asked, taking the drive from him and tucking it away.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you think that since Atlantis needs an intelligence officer or two, it should obviously be you."

"Of course, ma'am. We're the best."

"Mmm." Sam didn't have much idea what exactly the twins had been up to lately - even with her clearance, she didn't have any kind of need to know and never bothered to dig around - but it wasn't an idle boast. They had always been damned good at anything they put their minds and their chosen specialty played well to their skills. "Best" was a bit of an exaggeration when you took into account some of the old hands, but they had potential and were certainly near the top of their cohort. It was the only reason she was even considering going along with their scheme.

Well, that and it would be nice to be engaged in a conspiracy that didn't involve planetary security.

"Why the secrecy, though?" she asked.

"You know Cam, ma'am. He'd think of a dozen reasons we shouldn't be out there with him. Professionalism, attachment, and on and on until he'd guilt himself into rejecting us."

"He'd have a point. You're relatives."

Skipper aimed a piercing look at her. "Aunt Sam, we both know there isn't an SG team in existence that isn't compromised six ways to Sunday, and from what I've heard SG-1 is the worst of all. He didn't let that stop him from doing his job."

It wasn't entirely true, Sam knew, but then Skipper didn't have all the information she did. Cam had still done a good job by any reasonable standard, even if there had been a few slips here and there. God knew she and the General had done worse at one time or another during their stints in command.

"Tell you what," she said after thinking it over for a minute. "I won't tell him right now and I'll look at what you and Lorne have cooked up. But the next time you and Spence are both available, I'm going to want to talk to you. Say, Saturday."

"Saturday works."

"Good. You can bring me some more food when you come."

"Not a problem."

"I'll probably need some laundry done, too. Floors swept. Bathroom cleaned."

"Ah," Skipper said. "So we're back to bribery, or would this be extortion?"

Sam smiled. "No, not at all. That's just taking care of an injured relative."

"Gotcha."

Lorne was an experienced diplomat, but this was possibly one of the most delicate and important negotiations he had ever been part of. At stake were the fates of several nations and possibly an entire planet. It would take every bit of skill and cunning he had to carry things through.

"Look, I'm not saying that your nation isn't strong," he said to the foreign leader. "It definitely is. So are the nations I'm representing. But unless we unite, we could end up being defeated in detail."

"I don't know," Mitchell replied. "It seems to me that they're never going to stop fighting each other long enough to be any concern to us."

"Oh, sure, they may look like they hate each other right now," Lorne said. "But trust me. The instant they realize that we exist, they'll unite and turn against us. They've got a slight head start and while we're catching up fast, our best chance is to join forces. There's no way they can defeat the combined forces of Lornetopia, Lothlorien, and Space Carolina."

Mitchell shook his head. "Have I mentioned what a weird name Lornetopia is?"

"Several times, yes. I don't think someone running Space Carolina has much room to talk."

"It's a perfectly good name." Mitchell looked over the strategic maps for a moment and glanced up at his companions. "I still don't know. We're a peace-loving people, there's no reason for me to risk getting tangled in your military adventurism."

Lorne sighed and rolled his eyes. "My military adventurism? I'm not interested in anything more than self-defense."

"Which is why you're building steampunk tanks."

"You've seen the plains I've got, I need fast units to cover all that area. I'm willing to share the technology, by the way. And David's got some really awesome grains and veggies and stuff that he'd be willing to export, don't you?"

"Oh, sure," Parrish confirmed.

"See? You're not in optimal agricultural land, I bet you could use the food."

"That is mighty tempting," Cam said, "although I have to wonder if you just want me for my mines."

"If all I wanted were mines," Lorne asked, "why wouldn't I ask Radek?"

"Because as I recall, you almost went to war last week over some baskets."

"Details."

"Maybe you should offer him some kind of signing bonus," Parrish suggested. "Like a blowjob, maybe."

The two officers looked at him, and Mitchell said, "Your partner is a pervert. You know that, right?"

"Yes, I do." Lorne eyed Mitchell speculatively. "You know, if that's what it'd take to make you see the light...."

"I don't see how that would be offering me anything I don't get on a surprisingly regular basis."

"There's a difference between a blowjob at some point in the future and one right now, Cam."

"Mmm. Point." Mitchell took a moment to consider it and then offered Lorne his hand. "Evan, I do believe we have an alliance."

Lorne grinned and shook. "Excellent. Trust me, you won't regret this. Together, we'll rule the world."

"I thought 238 was supposed to be a normal planet," Spencer said quietly, while observing the aftermath of his brother's first mission off-world. "In fact, as I recall the words 'rather bland, really' were used to describe it."

"It is a normal planet," Vala replied. "How was I supposed to know that pollen week had begun early?"

"I don't recall there being a mention of pollen week at all."

"I'm sure I said something about it." Vala frowned. "Or did I? There's always so much to brief teams on, I sometimes leave out unimportant details."

Spencer looked askance at her. "This is unimportant?"

"My dear captain, this is completely harmless. Perhaps a bit embarrassing, yes, but as far as I know no one's ever been hurt during pollen week. Left sore, yes. Hurt, no. Honestly, the one time I was there during pollen week it was really quite an enjoyable experience." Vala shook her head. "No, important things are ones that get you killed. It's not like they didn't leave before they got enough of a dose to loose their inhibitions."

Spencer couldn't get too angry, since he had the sneaking suspicion that Vala's definition of unimportant was not far from his brother's definition. Besides, Vala had plenty of reason to be distracted, what with Jackson missing and Sam either turned invisible again or possibly shrunk.

"Hey, guys! Guys, look!" Skipper said just then, sitting up on his bed in the isolation room and pointing at Spencer and Vala. "It's Spence! Hey, Spence!" He waved madly.

Spencer waved back and clicked on the microphone. "Hey, Skip."

On the next bed over, Colonel Dixon tried to lift his head. "Huh? What? Why are there two of you? Did we get cloned? I hate getting' cloned. It's a giant pain in the ass."

"No, no, no," Skipper said. "That's my brother. He's awesome. Spence! Speeeeence! I am so high right now. Seriously. This is great!"

"That's nice, Skip," Spencer replied.

"Remember that time? With the chemicals and the accident? It's like that, only without the awful headache and the trip to the emergency room! Although I guess this is sorta like the emergency room. But it's great! I'm really horny, though. Have you seen Captain Bowker around? If you do, tell her I'd really, really appreciate it if she'd come visit me. She's cute."

"I'll pass that on," Spencer said, having no intention of doing anything of the kind. He clicked off the microphone. "Tell me this isn't going to last a whole week."

Vala shook her head. "No, it should wear off in a few hours. Well, the intoxication part will. I have no idea about the arousal, but presumably he can take care of that himself." She smiled slyly at Spencer. "If not, I would be more than willing to help him out."

"I'm pretty sure he'll be fine."

"It would really be no trouble at all."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that. Oh, he may look dashing and handsome, but he's actually a real pain in the ass and an awful date. He snores, too." Spencer smiled slightly. "I, on the other hand, am always a perfect gentleman."

"Is that so?" Vala leaned back against the wall and licked her lips. "I imagine you know how to treat a woman right."

"That I do, ma'am."

"I don't suppose there's a chance of a two-for-one deal?"

"We don't really go for that sort of thing, no." Never mind that one German girl with a thing for twins; there was an exception that proved every rule. Also, they had been a bit smashed at the time.

"Pity."

"Speeeeeence! Spence!"

Spencer sighed and turned the mic on. "Yes, Skipper?"

"Are you flirting with her? Right it front of us? Not cool, man! Not cool at all!"

"No, I'm not." Spencer winked at Vala and she smiled back at him. They both knew that there wasn't a chance — well, much of a chance — that anything would happen, but it was always good to keep in practice even if the only social life you had at the moment was team night.

"I hate you!"

"Shut up before your roommates kill you, Skip." With that Spence flipped the mic off again. "You want to hit the mess and get a snack? I have some questions I want to ask about the planet my team's visiting tomorrow — P3X-107, Venstelis."

"Worried that it might be pollen week there, too?"

"No, I was actually wondering if you had any more information on the relationship between the Duce and the Council of Twenty."

Vala looked momentarily surprised. "Oh. Well, how could could I resist an offer of snacks and politics?" She put her arm over his shoulders and they started walking to the door. "Now, the first and most important thing to remember is that the only person that a member of the council hates more than the Duce is another member of the council. They're all rivals for becoming the next Duce, after all."

"Ah, it's one of those systems." Spencer spared a moment to goodbye to a forlorn-looking Skipper as they exited. As soon as they were out the door, Vala removed her arm.

"I think you'll find that mutual loathing and grudging cooperation driven purely by self-interest is one of the defining traits of politics no matter what planet you're on."

Well, hell, and Spencer had thought that dealing with aliens might be difficult. He'd almost forgotten most of them were human.

Sam Winchester's first encounter with a Wraith was a bit anticlimactic. He had spent two months listening to first the major and then all the Lantean marines talk about how tough and dangerous they were. Then, on the team's second mission off-world, one literally came stumbling out of the bushes right in front of him. It hissed at him and raised up its feeding hand; he shot it in the face with his MP-7.

"Huh," Neill said beside him. He carefully stretched out a leg and prodded the body with his foot. "Well, that was disappointing."

"Tell me about it," Sam replied. "I mean, it didn't even take silver bullets or anything."

"I wonder why we never tried that with Apophis?"

"You did. Forcefield, remember?"

"Oh, right." Neill shrugged and clicked his radio on. "Major, just as a heads up, there might be Wraith lurking around. You should keep an eye out."

"Wraith?" Lorne replied. "What do you mean, might?"

"Well, it depends on whether or not the one Sam just killed was alone."

"Way to go Sammy!" Dean crowed over the radio. "Did you try the Colt?"

"Didn't need it. Turns out machine guns work just fine."

"Huh. That's kinda anticlimactic," Dean said, sounding disgruntled.

"That's what I was thinking."

"Maybe the major's been exaggerating how tough these guys are."

"Marines and airmen are pretty notorious for doing that to sound like bigger badasses themselves."

"It makes you wonder if they're compensating for something."

Lorne sighed. "Guys, can this wait? Thank you. Sam, are your weird brain powers telling you anything?"

Sam frowned deeply. "Why would my 'weird brain powers' tell me anything about Wraith?"

"I don't know. Teyla's brain powers do."

"Yeah, well, I'm not Teyla."

"No, you're not, but maybe if you grew your hair out a little more...." Dean started. "No, never mind. You'd still be ugly as hell. No way would anyone mistake you for her. Have you seen how amazing she looks when — ow! Fuck, Lorne, that hurt!"

"Good. Maybe it'll teach you to watch your mouth," Lorne replied. "Change of plans. We'll meet up at that ridge to the north of the gate. We need to figure out what's going on and I'd rather not be split up. Keep your eyes out, use your life-signs detectors to make sure no one's in the area."

"Copy that, Major," Neill said, already turning around to get his bearings and figure out the fastest way to their definition. "We'll be there in about ten."

Sam and Neill started to backtrack for a while and then left the path they had been walking along to follow a game trail down into the relative cover of a small valley. Along the way Sam pulled out the PDA-sized scanner and checked it regularly.

"You know, in my day, we didn't have fancy scanners," Neill said idly as he walked along beside and slightly behind Sam, watching their six. "We had to make do with our eyes, ears, and maybe Teal'c's little buddy if it was feeling cooperative."

"Mmm-hmm," Sam replied with a smile. "I bet you had to walk uphill both ways, too."

"We did! None of this flying around in puddle jumpers. We had to walk everywhere. Up hills, down hills, over rivers, across deserts. The only times we ever got to fly was when the Tok'ra drafted us or we stole a ship- - and those always exploded! You guys have no idea how good you have it."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch. The cranky old man routine would work better if you didn't look like you don't even shave yet."

"I shave!"

"Okay, yeah, you probably do," Sam allowed. "Which is good, since otherwise you'd probably grow one of those ridiculous peach fuzz beards."

Neill glared at him. "Do you insult everyone you date?"

"Mmm... actually, yeah, and you can't convince me that you don't think ribbing each other is fun," Sam said after a moment.

"It would be a bit boring otherwise," Neill admitted.

"Besides, I'm not sure one dinner interrupted by alien mind-whales really counts as dating."

"True. We should fix that if we ever get some more free time."

Sam chuckled. "Free time? I'm not sure that even exists in this galaxy. If I'm not off-world, I'm either slaving away at database translations for half the science departments or getting drafted by medical to use the healing device. Not that I mind it, but still."

"Trust me, that's gonna make you one of the most popular guys on base pretty soon," Neill said. "I bet the load will ease off before too long. The first few weeks are always the most hectic, and really, how many times can the sun nearly explode and force us to evacuate the city? Eh! Don't answer that."

"Actually, I was thinking — Colonel Mitchell's going to be doing advanced flight training," Sam paused and rolled his eyes when Neill shot him an incredulous look, "and I could probably use some basic flight training first. And since I've got a qualified pilot on my team..."

"... it'd make sense for me to give you some private one-on-one lessons," Neill finished, with a slowly growing smile.

"It'd give us a third pilot and get us both ready for more advanced training. After all, what better way for your to familiarize yourself with the jumpers than training a complete beginner?"

"A completely legitimate reason for us to spend work hours doing something fun and exciting, and do it alone to boot," Neill said approvingly. "I like the way you think, Sam."

"I do my best," Sam said. As they came out of the valley and spotted their teammates ahead, Sam gives Neill one last smile before putting his game face on. He didn't have the slightest clue where or even if their weird little thing might go, especially since the two of them didn't so much have issues as entire journals left over from their previous lives. If nothing else, it felt nice to be doing something that was halfway normal with someone he could trust — or at least as normal as anything in Atlantis could be.

Besides, the look on Dean's face when he found out would be priceless.

Once upon a time, Jack O'Neill had been forced to take part in negotiations between the Asgard and Goa'uld. On one side was an alien who he barely knew and walked around naked. On the other were three system lords who wanted nothing more than to see his planet blasted to rubble, except possibly to see that happen to the other system lords. Mostly they had talked at each other and ignored Jack, except when the snakes felt like making snide remarks about primitive species and so on. The high point had been when Nirrti had tried to kill Cronus, blame the SGC, and start an interstellar war.

Jack found himself thinking fondly of those days.

For one thing, that conference had never been boring. Nor, for that matter, had it been dragged out forever and a day by constant bickering by people who were theoretically on the same side and couldn't seem to remember that the fate of the entire planet depended on their cooperation. And while the system lords had hated each other's guts, they had at least come out and said it instead of sticking to barbed remarks and nasty memo, which was a lot more than you could say about the Air Force and Navy.

The Air Force wanted to keep absolute control of all space-going military craft, especially starships; the Navy took the opposite stance, saying that only they had the experience needed to run a space fleet. Air Force generals made comments about obsolescence and three-dimensional warfare; Navy admirals said things about institutional culture and having plenty of three-d experience on account of having submarines and planes of their own. Both sides had good and bad points. Both sides simply could not shut up and get to work without wasting ten or twenty minutes of any meeting sniping at each other.

Certainly they weren't doing so at the latest joint forces meeting between members of the newly formed US SPACECOMM and some of its allied counterparts.

"— but maybe I'm wrong," Admiral Gardner was saying, "and you've installed a golf course on your 304s to get your officers through long deployments."

General Corwin started to open his mouth, but Jack got there first by saying, "Will you people just shut the fuck up?"

Every eye around the table turned his way. "I mean, seriously, you're like a pair of five year olds arguing over a toy." He pointed at Gardner. "You need to accept that the Air Force has invested a lot of time, effort, and blood in getting the technology and resource to build these ships. Not only that, but their crews are the only experienced ones we have. They're staying."

Jack turned his attention to Corwin, who had started to smile. "As for you — what, do you really think we're just going to ignore a massive pool of manpower, who are used to working on ships for long periods and actually have the experience and organization to run a fleet? We can barely scrape up qualified personnel for what cruisers we have. If we start building even more ships, we'll need their help."

"And finally, if you two can't get along, I'll replace you with people who can, and if I can't do that, I'll give everything to the Marines or the Canadians!"

There was a short silence, then Air Commodore Hathaway said, "I don't suppose you could spare a couple of ships for Australia while you're giving them away, could you?"

"Sure, why not."

At the opposite end of the table, George coughed and gave Jack a look. It was a familiar look, one that said, "Why do I put up with you, Jack? Why can't you be normal?" Hah. George could give Jack looks all he wanted, but Jack wasn't going to change his attitude at all. George had retired and now had a cushy civilian position advising the president on how to fight the Ori and prepare for disclosure. George only came to meetings when he felt like it and he didn't have to put up with Pentagon bullshit 24/7 anymore. George's looks would have absolutely no affect on Jack.

Nope, none at all.

Well, all right, fine.

"Okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating just a little," Jack admitted. He would have said more in order to explain that he wasn't kidding about firing everyone in sight — or at least everyone wearing an Air Force or Navy uniform — but before he could he felt the familiar tingle of a transporter and the world disappeared with a flash. A moment later he found himself looking out the view port of an Asgard ship.

"Oh, thank Christ," he said, turning around. "Thor, buddy, I take back everything I ever said about your timing. It's wonderful."

"Thank you, O'Neill," Thor said.

"I don't suppose you want to take me on some long, extended trip?" Jack asked. "Say, to somewhere no one will find me for a while? I hear Pegasus is nice this time of year."

"Unfortunately, I can not," Thor replied. "However, if you so desire, I return you to some place other than your original point of departure when we are finished."

"Finished? This isn't just a social call?"

"No."

"I don't suppose you came to give us a bunch of big honkin' space guns, did you?"

"I did."

"Of course not, you never — wait, what?" Jack studied Thor closely. He didn't look like he was joking. Then again, it was hard to tell with him. "As in weapons?"

"Yes."

"And you're not just going to take them away, right? Because I remember you installing a big cannon on the Prometheus and then taking it back. That kinda sucked."

"Correct."

"Correct that it sucked, or —"

"O'Neill," Thor interrupted, eyes narrowing.

"Just checking." Jack crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. He wanted to be glad and just thank Thor, but he had been doing his job for far too long to think that this was the result of a sudden feeling of generosity. "Mind if I ask why?"

"The Asgard continue to rebuild our society, but militarily we remain weak," Thor began. "We have only a handful of motherships and smaller vessels with which to defend our homeworld and the protected planets. Should the Ori make a concerted attack against us, we are unsure that we could successfully prevent them from doing serious damage."

Jack grimaced, frowned, and closed his eyes. "I thought you'd say something like that. Daniel's weapon didn't work?"

"It does not appear so. While there was a short period of disorganization, the Ori fleet and armies have once more begun to spread across the galaxy. Based on their current pattern of attacks, we expect they will attempt to make a probing assault on Earth within three to four months. While at present you might hold them off for a short period, you will need more effective weapons to mount a proper defense."

The fact that three to four months was about three to four months longer than a few other Earths had gotten was not much consolation to Jack. He opened his eyes again and asked, "And you want us to be armed in case you need backup with your own defenses."

"That was a factor in the decision," Thor admitted with a trace of embarrassment in his voice. "However, it was also argued that we could not allow your people to fall after you have saved us yet again."

"You mean whatever it was that Mitchell did for you."

"Indeed."

"Which you won't talk about, and which he doesn't seem to remember doing."

"Precisely."

Jack might have been annoyed, if Mitchell hadn't seemed so confused the last time Jack had seen him and if he himself hadn't accidentally stumbled into helping aliens a few times. More than that, he honestly couldn't care less what Mitchell had done so long as it got him the weapons that could save his planet.

"Doesn't matter, I guess," he said after a moment. "I guess you and I need to talk about technology and strategy and all that stuff." He glanced around. "I don't suppose you have a chair, do you?"

Teyla believed that the best word to describe the Earthers' approach to relaxation was one she had learned from Kate: schizophrenic. It fit their approach to all of life, really. At one moment they would be obsessed with schedules and protocols, their daily lives dictated by their watches and charts; the next they would spontaneously throw out the rules and do whatever their guts told them. Today was one of the former occasions, one of the long-scheduled and mandatory expedition-wide holidays where everyone was forced to take a day off. It was an odd way to encourage rest and enjoyment, but Teyla supposed that it worked well enough given their mindset, and there was something to be said for planning.

She and her team, along with Major Lorne's team and a few others, had flown to the mainland for a small 'beach party'. There were a variety of activities going on around her: Rodney was grudgingly following Katie Brown around and looking at various plants; Sergeants Campbell and Banks were facing off with the Winchester brothers for 'beach volleyball'; and closer to the jumpers young Neill Jackson and David Parrish were arguing about something regarding the makeshift grill. Teyla herself had been luxuriating in the pleasure of simply laying out in the hot sun and doing absolutely nothing. Her old home had been far more mild in climate and not given to so much sun and heat, nor had there be an ocean anywhere within a few months' travel. She could see why so many Earther songs and stories involved beaches.

At the moment, however, Teyla had given up that and taken to watching John and Cameron attempt to teach Ronon to surf. Like many of their sports, it has absolutely nothing to do with any useful skill. John was a natural at it, Cameron perhaps a bit less so; this made them both horrible teachers. It did not help that while Sateda possessed oceans and seas, Ronon himself was from an inland mountain province. Being incapable of resisting a challenge Ronon would try again each time he went flailing off his board, while the other two shouted encouragement to him. He took it with surprisingly good grace, although she suspected each bruise he earned there would be returned in the gym at some point in the near future. The last two years have worn down his rough edges, shaped him back into something closer to what she imagined he had been in the time before the Wraith.

Teyla saw movement out of the corner of her eye and scooted over to allow Evan to sit at her side. He saw where she was looking and grinned.

"You have no idea how much trouble it was to get those boards here," he said.

"It appears they believe it was well worth the effort," she answered. John was smiling, she noted. It was something he did more often these days when he could not help it or thought not one else was looking. It was a pleasant change from the grim looks and false grins of the days when she had first met him. "I think I may try it myself later. It does not look terribly difficult."

Evan laughed, loud and hearty. "I said that once. I ended up with a lungful of water for my trouble. Typical, really, for just about that entire trip. You should be thankful they've matured a little."

It was Teyla's turn to laugh. "If this is John being mature, I cannot imagine him when he is not. And while Cameron is better, there are times...."

"When you want to strangle them both," Evan finished for her. "Like last week, I take it?"

"Like last week," she agreed. They had not meant to snicker and grin at the Most High Matriarch's headdress, and in all fairness both Teyla and the matriarch herself agreed that it was utterly ridiculous. Cameron's boyish charm had not hurt either, something she had quickly discovered while introducing him to other allies. Still, there were appearances and the possibility of less forgiving hosts to consider, and Teyla had done her best make her displeasure known.

"I hope you're not still too annoyed with them," Evan said after a moment. "They'll sulk if you keep it up much longer."

"I am not annoyed," Teyla informed him, "nor have I been since the incident himself."

"Oh? So they've been spending extra time practicing their diplomacy and negotiation skills for no reason?"

She shrugged slightly. "If they misinterpret my actions and choose to better themselves because of it, I can see little reason to correct their assumptions."

They shared a sly look, for he had been using such sleights of hand even longer than she, then laughed once more.

"I'd say that's a horrible thing," Evan said, "but I've been trying to train them to associate paperwork with fresh popcorn, so I really don't have room to talk."

"I do not believe that Kate would approve of your use of her science."

"I'm not using psychology, I'm using basic puppy training techniques."

"I can see a certain resemblance," Teyla said, looking at the surfers again. A question arose in her mind, not for the first time in the last week, and she decided that perhaps then would be the best time to speak it aloud. It was a day of relaxation; not only would it be good to get the question off her chest, but like many other Evan shed even more of his military persona than he did during other off-duty times.

"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" she asked.

Evan nodded. "Shoot."

"Cameron," she said, using his given name rather than rank. "I know you are close. I have been wondering about his thoughts have been concerning our latest mission."

"Ah," Evan said, comprehension dawning on his face. "John's stunt with the asteroid."

"Yes. I want to know if things are... all right between us. I would ask Cameron myself, but I am unsure whether it would be appropriate." Teyla shook her head slightly. It was not that they were not friends; even without John's influence she believed they would have been. They were not close, however, and with Earthers there were, of course, rules and protocols and customs for speaking about 'relationships'. They were hardly the most complicated that Teyla had come across in all her travels, but they were certainly aggravating at times, and her teammates were not the best sources of information on how to approach the matter. Why so many people had to make love and sex and everything that went with them so difficult, she had no idea.

"Of course they are," Evan said immediately. "Why wouldn't they be?"

"John risked his life to grasp at the slimmest chance of saving me. Some lovers might resent that."

"Maybe other people, but not him." Evan sat there for a few moments longer with a thoughtful expression on his face, then began to explain. "You know they've served together in a warzone before, right? It's not Cam's first time dealing with something like this. He's been reading the reports on what John's gotten up to out here, too — the full ones, not just the official stories. Trust me, if anything he's surprised that it took this long for John to nearly get himself killed with some damnfool stunt." Evan drawled the last two words, perhaps echoing something said in a more private debriefing.

"I find it hard to believe it could be that simple."

Evan shrugged. "Maybe if the circumstances were different, it wouldn't be. Even Cam Mitchell's got a point where he'd go ballistic. But because John tried to save the life of a teammate? Never."

Teyla tried to imagine a moment John becoming angry for such a reason and failed completely. It would not be different for any man he admired. "I understand. Thank you."

"No problem," Evan said easily. "I know better than most how hard they can be to read, and it's only fair payback for all the times you've given me advice."

Teyla looked at him skeptically. "I find it hard to believe that a simple question like that is equal to all that I have had to explain about the customs of other worlds."

"That's because you haven't seen them at their weirdest. Trust me, aliens have nothing on them."

"I see," Teyla said. "Weird would be whatever it is that you and David do with them, yes?"

"I... you... that..." Evan sputtered, his face turning red as a cerasum fruit. Finally he crossed his arms and huffed. "I'm not answering that question."

"As you wish," she said with a smirk. She climbed to her feet and offered him a hand up. "Perhaps instead you would care to join the volleyball game with me?"

"Don't mind if I do, ma'am."

They played until lunch, and afterward Teyla tried her hand at surfing. She did not have long to learn, however. As Charin had often told her, tragedy and fate would strike with no regard for happy days or fairness; they did not care for schedules either.

Skipper's transfer orders came in little over three months after he and his brother arrived at the SGC. It was not a complete surprise; as a rule, transfers to and from Atlantis tended to be announced every two months or so, roughly coinciding with the Daedalus's typical schedule of six weeks in space and a couple more at dock or poking around Pegasus. They had a couple of weeks to get him packed up and take care of all the other odds and ends that needed done before the ship left.

The first people Skipper told, of course, was Colonel Dixon and the rest of SG-13.

"Atlantis, huh?" Dixon said. He had his feet up on his desk and was cleaning his fingernails with a gigantic and decidedly non-standard knife. "And here I thought you might not skip out on us."

"Sorry, sir," Skipper said. "I regret it deeply, but alas, the day we all knew was coming has arrived." He had never made it a secret that he was angling for that assignment, because his Mama had always told him that honesty was the best policy, except when it wasn't. He'd fit in precisely because of that openness, and because while he was on the team he gave them everything he had.

Dixon pointed his knife at Skipper. "You know that Sheppard's insane, right?"

Skipper gave him a bemused look and asked, "Compared to you, sir, I doubt it."

"That man's a whole different sort of crazy. Don't get me wrong, he's a good guy, but he's completely batshit."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir." It seemed a fair enough statement, really.

"You know what else you should keep in mind?" Balisnki asked.

"What?"

"That it's absolutely vital that you find out what's up with him and Mitchell," the civilian said with a grin.

That drew chuckles from around the room and Bosworth said, "Doc, how many times do we have to tell you that you can't ask that sort of thing?"

"It's nothing personal," Balinski protested. "But it's been five months and no one's got a clue why Mitchell took off like that. I hardly think that I need to remind you all just how much money is riding on the answer in the pool."

"You do remember that he's my uncle, right?" Skipper asked.

"Which puts you in a perfect position to find the answer. I'm just saying that if you can find an answer that won't get people fired, we'd be more than willing to make sure you get a fair share of the pot."

"I'm not making any promises," Skipper said, "but if I find out anything, you'll be the first to know." Which was to say that he wouldn't be telling them anything except a believable lie. Team was important, but so was family.

Most important of all was Spencer, who he was leaving behind. It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, and for all the distance that would be between them they would at least be able to talk freely. There was something to be said for that. It was still painful, though, and Skipper wasn't looking forward to spending three weeks on the Daedalus with nothing to do to take his absence off his mind. They were not identical, in mind or body; the idea that some people had of twins being one person split in two was even more laughable. None the less, Spencer was still Skipper's other half — not, mind, his better half — and without him there would be a gaping hole in his heart. A massive wound in his gut. A hole poked into his gallbladder. Something like that, anyways; Spencer was the one who was good with languages, not Skipper.

As it turned out, Skipper's internal organs and fragile psyche were safe, because twelve days before Skipper's departure Major Lorne turned up at their apartment late in the evening.

"Hey, Skip," Lorne said when Skipper opened the door. There were faint circles under his eyes, his shoulders were slumped, and his hair and clothes were rumpled, as close to openly exhausted as Skipper had ever seen him.

"Hey, sir," Skipper replied. "Come on in. Hey, Spence! It's Lorne!"

Lorne slowly took his shoes off then made a beeline for the recliner, which he collapsed into. Spencer poked his head out of his room and came to join them, making a detour through the kitchen to get beer when he saw Lorne's state. Lorne accepted his and took a long drink while they sat down on the couch and waited.

"I didn't know you were on-world, sir," Spencer said after a minute.

"I wasn't planning to be," Lorne told him. He closed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. After a few seconds of silence, he said, "I don't suppose you're still interested in a transfer, Spence? We've got a new opening for a captain."

"Shit," Skipper said softly. He didn't need to look to know that Spencer heard all the implications in that sentence too. Combined with Lorne's appearance, it was bad news for someone, even if not for them.

"You lose someone?" Spencer asked.

"Captain Denis Wiseman," Lorne said. "He'd been there all of three weeks. We also lost Sergeant Staton and three civilians, including the CMO. It was a mishap with Ancient tech that caused some explosions."

"Shit," Skipper said again, because really, what else could he say? "Sorry to hear that, sir."

"You guys still sure you want to come to Atlantis?"

Spencer took in a breath and held it for a moment, thinking about what to say. "SG-20 bought it Friday. Two weeks ago half of Seven didn't come home. We know what we're getting into, sir."

Lorne smiled slightly and opened his eyes to look at them. "I thought you'd say that. How soon can you be packed?"

"Couple days," Skipper said after considering it. "We've got my personal allotment boxed, but the rest was staying here. There's a few cousins we can call to take care of closing up if we have to."

"That'll work," Lorne said with a nod. "Your uncles and I are on-world for a few days for meetings at the Pentagon and SGC anyways, so we've got a jumper run across the bridge scheduled for sometime next week. Consider yourselves lucky."

Skipper glanced at Spencer, who frowned momentarily. That was probably going to be about the most awkward spaceship ride ever, if they didn't figure out how to tell Uncle Cam before hand. Skipper's plan of getting off the Daedalus, avoiding contact, and surprising Cam at the first staff meeting was clearly going to need revision.

Lorne caught their exchange and chucked softly. "Don't tell me that the mighty Skipper and Spencer don't have a plan for how to tell them."

"There was a plan," Spencer said. "It involved him showing up and me being safely in another galaxy."

"His plans have a habit of leaving me with all the work, you'll notice," Skipper pointed out.

"Hey, you're the one who was insistent on being the one to go. It was only fair that you deal with any issues that cropped up."

"Yeah, well —"

"Guys," Lorne said, not quite a growl although his pointed stare left it clear he was not in the mood. "If you want my advice, maybe you should head home for the holiday. They're planning to drop in, and even if you don't figure out what to say you should take the chance to see the family before you leave. There's no telling when you'll be back."

"Can you get us leave?" Skipper asked.

"Not a problem."

Skipper nodded. It would be nice to see everyone one last time before heading out for God knew how long. If nothing else, a couple days to decompress from pent-up stress before diving headlong into Atlantis would do them wonders. It wasn't that visits home were completely calm, but there was a difference between family stress and gate stress.

Of course, then Uncle Cam had to go and bring Daniel Fucking Jackson home with him, and instead they not only got family stress but gate stress and SG-1 stress all in one neat little package.

It started off simply enough. John and Cam were on Earth, both as part of the honor guard taking their fallen home and for meetings with the brass in Washington. As they had arrived just before Memorial Day weekend and the REMFs at the Pentagon didn't work over federal holidays regardless of alien invasions, they had taken the opportunity to buy tickets home for the weekend. Most of SG-1 had already scattered for the holiday when they arrived: Sam was at Area 51 but planning to visit Cassie, Tea'lc was off-world with his own family, and somehow Vala had managed to convince the latest fifth member, Captain Jennifer Hailey, to take her rafting and to Vegas despite everyone's best attempts to point out what a horrible idea that was. Of course, as soon as Cam discovered that Daniel was only going to be doing research, he ordered John to buy an extra ticket. Daniel tried to protest, but it was in vain, and on Saturday morning he was on their flight to Asheville.

The homestead hadn't changed much since the last time John had seen it, the better part of six years before. It had been during an all-too-brief leave around the Fourth of July, just before Cam had transferred from Afghanistan to Project Heliotrope. Since then, John had been disgraced and exiled to Antarctica, disappeared to another galaxy, been promoted by some miracle, reappeared for six weeks, and disappeared again. He didn't even have to imagine what the gossip had to be like, because no one ever seemed to remember he was on the family mailing list. Family was family, though, and even if he had found a new home this place would always be special to him.

Momma was waiting for them on the porch. Her hair was a little grayer, her face had a few more smile and worry line, but her posture and her bright eyes left no doubt that she was just as spry mentally as she had ever been. Cam hugged her and they went through the complex dance of how-are-yous, I'm-just-fines, no-really-have-you-been-eating that happened every time they met, no matter how long or short the separation.

"Well, well, well," she said, turning to John. "Look what the cat's dragged in. You're looking good, John."

"You too, ma'am."

"I don't suppose you want to tell me what kind of trouble you've gone and gotten my boy involved with this time?"

John smiled. "Just a little fun and excitement, nothing he wasn't doing already."

"Fun and excitement that couldn't wait until after the holidays?" she asked.

"It got extra fun and exciting in November," John admitted. "It's —"

"Classified," Momma finished for him with a long-suffering sigh that said she knew she wasn't going to get a better answer and didn't like it. "Just tell me you're taking care of him."

"I can take care of myself, you know," Cam protested.

"He can," John confirmed. "Mostly."

"Really?" Daniel said. "That must have changed since the last time I saw him."

"Oh, come on," Cam said, turning around to glare at him. "You have no room to talk about watching out for yourself."

Momma coughed. "Who's your friend?"

"Sorry. Momma, Doctor Daniel Jackson. He worked with me up until I transfered to, ah, a different unit of the same organization. Daniel, my mother."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Mitchell," Daniel said, shaking her hand and putting on his best 'Daniel Jackson, Peaceful Explorer' smile.

Momma laughed and replied, "You, too, doctor. I've heard a lot about you. You can call me Sassy or Momma, though. I answer to either. I think you're a bit too old to call me Gran'ma."

"I'm Daniel, then."

"Is that useless brother of mine around?" Cam asked.

"Out back with the kids," Momma said. "Go on and find him, I know there's no point in trying to hold your attention until you've seen him. There'll be plenty of time to catch up these next few days." That last came with a pointed look at John, who meekly nodded. All appearances to the contrary aside, on occasion he did know that discretion was the better part of valor.

"You should have brought a notebook," John said to Daniel as they walked through the house. "There's probably going to be all sorts of weird little rituals for a social geek to observe."

"Geek?" Daniel asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Geek," John confirmed. "You want some advice, just pretend they're all a bunch of aliens and everything will make a lot more sense. It's pretty much what I've been doing even before I knew about the gate."

"I'll keep that in mind."

They made the requisite stop in the kitchen to say high to the women and Cam's sister-in-law Cindy Lou, who was pregnant with a fourth kid. Ash was in the back yard keeping an eye on a herd of kids. It took John a few moments to pick out Chandler and Stewart from the crowd, as they had barely been walking the last time he had seen them in person, and he had never even seen little Lucy except in the piles of photos he'd received over the years.

"Cam!" Ash shouted when he caught sight of them. "It's about time you showed up!"

"Don't you go giving me any shit," Cam said. "You have no idea what the commute to get here was like." He all but threw himself the last few yards into Ash's open arms. Even after being with Cam for so long John was still continually amazed by how close the brothers were. He was well aware that his own relationship with Dave wasn't exactly a shining example of fraternal love, but even by normal standards Cam and Ash unbelievably close.

"Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard," Ash said he as Cam parted. "I'm pretty sure I haven't had a chance to congratulate you in person."

"You too, Major Mitchell," John replied.

Ash looked John over while shaking his head. "Everyone's dying to know how you did it. I'm guessing some sort of deal with the devil myself."

"I thought about that that, but it turned out to be pretty hard to find any virgins to sacrifice down in Antarctica. No, it was just hard work and good luck, not that anyone ever believes it."

"Antarctica?" Ash grinned. "I thought you were doing deep space radar telemetry now."

"Oh, I am," John said with an answering grin.

"Of course you are." Ash glanced at Cam and then asked John, "What do you think of the name Cameron James?"

"I think it's a great name."

Cam scowled at both of them. "You are not naming the kid after me, and if I hear one more word of it I'll kick your asses."

"You think we could take him?" John asked Ash.

"'Course we could."

"Jackson, get your ass over here and back me up," Cam demanded.

"Oh, no," Daniel said, frowning and taking a step back. "I've spent enough time in the infirmary lately without getting involved in some kind of sibling squabble."

"Come on," Cam said. "A little roughhousing never hurt anyone."

"What about that time you hit him with the bat?" John asked.

"That was an accident."

"It sure as hell didn't feel like an accident," Ash said, rubbing the faint scar on his forehead.

Cam made an exasperated noise. "It was twenty years ago. Would you let it drop already?"

"Not until you apologize."

"I'm not apologizing from something that wasn't my fault."

"Not your fault? Which one of us ended up getting stitches?"

"You should have watched where you were going."

"They'll go on like this for hours if you let them," John said to Daniel in a stage whisper. "It's even more entertaining than watching McKay and Zelenka fight, or the marines when they get into their macho bonding rituals."

Ash and Cam aimed two identical glares at John, followed by two identical mischievous grins. John knew what was coming; unfortunately, his training with Teyla had left him with no skills that didn't involve sticks, while his training with Ronon had left him with no skills that were useful when you didn't want to hurt anyone. The end result was that in short order John found himself picked up, hauled halfway across the yard, and tossed into the deep part of the creek just like countless Mitchells had been tossed for countless generations.

"I know where you sleep!" John sputtered. "And I can control the plumbing with -" he stopped himself from saying 'my mind' and substituted, "- my minions!"

"Minions?" Ash said. "Doesn't he work for you?"

"As much as he's ever worked for his COs," Cam confirmed, "which is to say when he feels like it."

"But his minions are your minions."

"Not really. They're pretty much Lorne's and he just lets us use them."

"How's he doing?"

"Pretty good. He's got himself a botanist now."

John did not feel the least bit guilty about not warning them as Daniel quietly came up from behind and gave them both a hard shove that sent them flailing into the water. Daniel waved and wandered off with a smug smile.

Saturday was mostly set-up day, with relatives flying in from around the country and a few locals dropping by the make sure everything was in order. It was on Sunday that the entire clan descended upon the homestead. By lunch there were well over a hundred people milling around the tables set up across the back yard and in the barn, with a few more trickling in as the day went on. It wasn't as bad as Christmas, especially with all the room to spread out, but John still found himself having to take a breather to get away from the shear intensity of so many Mitchells crammed into one space.

Out at the edge of the crowd, John came across a blonde woman in leather who looked just as confused and out of place as he had felt the first time he'd been dragged there. John smiled at her and asked, "Your first time here?"

"Excuse me?" she said, startled. "Um, yes, it is."

"I thought you looked like you were experiencing a case of Mitchell shock." He offered her his hand. "My name's John."

"Larena," she replied. "Is it always like this?"

"Pretty much. You should see them at Thanksgiving or Christmas, though. There's even more people, and if the weather isn't cooperating they're crammed inside and there's nowhere to escape to."

"That's a rather frightening thought." Larena shook her head and frowned grumpily. "If you'll excuse me, I need to find someone."

John watched her stalk off to the house and shrugged to himself. Somehow he didn't get the feeling that she would be sticking around for long. The Mitchells were welcoming, but only to the point, and with an attitude like hers it seem pretty likely that she'd wear out her welcome before they accepted her enough to put up with it.

He shrugged and rejoined Cam and Ash where they sat under one of the big oak trees near the edge of the yard. Ash was in the middle of a story about the latest batch of kids he was trying to train for the combat rescue officer program and had Cam grinning from ear to ear, no doubt thinking of his own training experiences. Spencer and Skipper, home for the weekend from whatever their current assignment was, were listening in as well. John was positive that they were up to something. Not only had they been hovering constantly, but they kept giving each other significant looks and fidgeting. John hoped whatever it was turned out to be amusing.

Things started to go south about then.

Cindy Lou came out of the house and as soon as spotted the five off them she came hustling over as fast as she could. "Cam, I think your friend's in some kind of trouble."

That made Cam and John both sit up straight, and oddly enough the twins did as well. "How's that?" Cam asked.

"I was in the library with him, trying to get a couple minutes of quiet," she explained. "Then this woman I don't know came in and started to talk with him. I don't know what they were saying, but they were both twitchy, and after a minute Doctor Jackson asked if I could come get Cam and the rest of SG-1 so he could introduce them to an admirer."

John frowned. Normally that last phrase was a family panic code asking for an armed response. He couldn't imagine why Daniel would be using it in this context, but then, he couldn't imagine why he'd be tossing around the name SG-1 either.

"Of course something would happen," Skipper quietly muttered after a moment, and Spencer finished, "He's Daniel Fucking Jackson."

"Thanks, Cindy," Cam said while shooting them a curious look. "We'll take care of it. How about you head on out to the barn for a little while, and keep this quiet?"

"You sure?" she asked with a skeptical look. "I could go get a few other guys."

"I'm sure. It's probably nothing to worry about. Go on." Cam waited until she reluctantly left before asking, "You guys armed?"

"We are," Skipper said. John nodded as well. It had been so long since he had gone anywhere without a sidearm that even at the homestead the first thing he had done in the morning was strap on a back holster and retrieve his gun from the safe.

"'Course not," Ash replied. His expression made it clear he thought they were crazy. "Why would I be?"

"It doesn't matter why," Cam said. "Right. We'll head around the east side to the front door, get you a sidearm out of the safe. I don't know what's going on, but I want it taken care of as fast and quiet as we can."

Cam took the lead and they slipped in the front door, pausing on their way through the house just long enough to get Ash a Colt 1911. Most of the house was thankfully empty at that time of day, with most everyone either in the kitchen or outside. When they reached the door to the library, they could dimly hear someone arguing inside. A momentary argument occurred outside as well, this one in the form of hand signals, with the end result being that John rolled his eyes and let Cam go in first.

When they burst through the door, they found Daniel and the woman named Larena standing at the far end of the room on either side of the bay window. She had a tiny alien weapon trained on him; he was armed only with a book.

"How about you put the weapon down and place your hands behind your head?" Cam drawled, soft, smooth, and well past angry into deadly cold.

"That," Larena said slowly, "is not SG-1."

"My brother always was a fan of make-believe," Ash said. "If he says we're SG-1, we're SG-1 for the day. Whatever that means."

"Speak for yourself," Spencer grumbled. "I'm not on SG-1. They have to deal way too much of this kind of crazy-ass shit."

John glanced at Cam out of the corner of his eye and asked, "Are we going to shoot her or not?"

"That depends on whether she starts following instructions," he replied.

Larena looked at the five of them through narrowed eyes, clearly considering the odds, and her expression twisted into one John knew all too well. It said, "Fuck this shit, I'll take at least one of you down." Daniel recognized it as well and dropped limp to the floor just as she fired, a laser beam grazing his shoulder. She dropped for entirely different reasons a moment later, a half-dozen bullets in her chest.

"Skip, first aid kit," Ash said, dropping down beside Daniel as the archaeologist stopped rolling around to put the fire on his shoulder out.

"Yes, sir," Skipper replied, taking off for the kitchen at a run.

"I'll call... NORAD," Spencer said, pulling out his cell, "and let them know we need a cleanup squad. I'm sure General Landry is going to be thrilled."

Cam stared down at the woman's body as he safetied his gun and put it away. "This is going to be fun to explain, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it'll be exciting," John replied.

"You better hope the floor doesn't get bloodstained, otherwise you're going to be even further in the doghouse than before," Ash said. Given the growing pool spreading out under the body, it seem rather likely to John. "By the way — deep space radar telemetry?"

"Oh, shut up," Cam said.

Daniel, who looked more annoyed than anything, tried to brush Ash's hands away. "Stop poking at me. It only scorched my shirt a little."

"Really?" Ash replied. He pressed at Daniel's shoulder. "That hurt?"

"Ow!"

"Thought so. Shut up and let the actual medic decide if you're fine."

Skipper came running back into the room, first aid kit in hand. "Sir, there's about fifty people right behind me. It might be a good idea to start damage control."

Cam let out a bark of laughter. "Thank you, Skipper, for that wonderful idea. I never would have done it myself. Come on, John. Let's go stall."

There was a small horde of Mitchells coming down the hall, no doubt having heard the gunfire. Cam and John put on their best smiles and started to bullshit away. Yes, those were gunshots. No, no one was hurt, or at least not exactly. No, they definitely couldn't take a peek inside the library. No, not even cousin Carter, and yes they knew he was with the sheriff's department but he still couldn't look inside because it was classified. Yes, classified, and way above everyone's pay grades. Move along, nothing to see.

Momma, John decided as the crowd cleared away, was going to kill them. They'd be so dead that even a sarcophagus wouldn't help them. She obviously knew that they had brought something dangerous home with them and if that wasn't bad enough, she wasn't even being told what it was.

SG-3 arrived a half-hour later, driving up in a pair of black vans. Colonel Reynolds looked positively thrilled to have his vacation interrupted and John suspected that he would be right behind Momma on the list of people who currently wanted the two of them dead. They hauled the body away, leaving behind only bloodstains and a stack of non-disclosure forms for everyone to sign. There looked to be about fifty or sixty; John figured that might be enough if they didn't include the kids.

In the end, John and Cam collapsed onto the couch in the library while Daniel took one of the armchairs. Skipper and Spencer, as befitting their positions as junior-most officers, got to scrub the floor. Ash was sent to get some beer, which conveniently left the rest of them a short time to talk.

"So," Cam said after a moment. "You two have some explaining to do."

"Who, us?" Skipper said.

"We don't know what you're talking about," Spencer added.

Cam knew better than to try and pry anything out of them, so he glared at Daniel instead. "Did you know about them?"

"Them who?" Daniel replied. Cam waved to the twins and Daniel frowned. "Well, I met... that one there once, I think," he pointed at Spencer, "while working with SG-9, but I had no idea they were related to you."

"Uh huh. I suppose that might be possible." Cam turned his gaze on John. "How about you?"

"This is the first I learned about them," John said adamantly. "I knew, would I keep it from you?"

"Maybe," Cam said, still eying him suspiciously. "I'll get to the truth sooner or later, you know." He waited a moment, perhaps to see if anyone would confess their sins, then asked, "So, SG-9 with Benton and...?"

"SG-13, sir," Skipper finished.

"Huh." Cam shrugged. "I could think of worse teams to be on. Devil Dave's insane, but he knows how to do his job."

"Honestly, sir, I'm not convinced anyone on an SG team is completely sane," Skipper said. "Although the colonel does seem a bit more, ah, squirrelly than most."

"Batshit insane is more like it," John said, who had met the man only a few times but come away with a very clear impression.

"Funny, he said the same about you," Spencer replied. "Ah — by the way, would this be a good time to mention that we're transferring to Atlantis?"

While Cam gaped at him in shocked silence, Daniel muttered, "Of course. Everyone gets to go to Atlantis. Oh, wait — I don't."

Just then, the door opened and Ash poked his head in. He did not have any beer, something which John thought they were all going to need sorely pretty soon. "Listen, this is going to sound a little strange, but I just found Little Jerry passed out in the bathroom right after seeing him wander past the kitchen window."

"Oh, for God's sake, what now?" Cam groaned. "Right. Ash, make sure Jerry's okay. The rest of us are going to take care of this new problem." He gave Daniel a dirty look. "I have a pretty good idea why they might be here."

Daniel frowned. "Let me guess. I get to be bait."

"Got it in one."

They worked out what could loosely be called a plan, although without more information on just what the fuck was going on they were going to have to play it largely by ear. The safest course of action would probably have been to call the SGC again and wait for backup, but waiting could possibly expose the family to more danger if the intruder decided to become more overtly hostile.

With that in mind, Skipper and Spencer slipped off down the road and then into the woods. A few minutes later, Daniel strolled across the footbridge over the creek and off along a well-worn footpath into the woods. Almost immediately 'Little Jerry' stopped lurking at the edge of the picnic and followed him. John trailed along at a safe distance, just out of sight. They walked along for a short while before the impersonator sped up and drew a zat gun from somewhere. He didn't have time to even raise it, because Spencer stepped out from behind a tree and clubbed him across the head with a baseball bat. The impersonator promptly collapsed.

Daniel stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Huh. It actually worked."

"Of course it worked, sir," Skipper said, emerging from a bush and covering the impersonator with his gun. "We're highly trained professionals."

"Ah, the confidence of youth," John said, strolling up. He knelt beside the impersonator, took the zat, and started patting him down. He quickly found a small round device and removed it, at which point Little Jerry turned into some sort of lizard-man.

"Well, you don't see that every day," Daniel said. "You should probably," he made a little sticking motion with his hand.

"Probably," John agreed, putting the device back on the alien. "You guys have any idea of where we can stick this guy? I don't want him in the house."

"The shed where the tables are all stored should be empty," Skipper replied.

"Tie him up and carry him there. Take a back route, see if you can avoid any attention," John said. "We'll head back and call the SGC again. Hopefully no one will notice anything even happened. Oh - make sure it doesn't die, okay? We'll be wanting to have chat with it."

"Yes, sir." The twins quickly zip-tied the alien's hands and feet and after a short, silent exchange Spencer hefted it into a fireman's carry and set off into the woods in a direction that would steer them well clear of the main party.

As they started walking back along the path, John asked Daniel, "Do have any idea why this place is crawling with aliens?"

"Nope," Daniel said. He crossed his arms and frowned. "I mean, sure, we've pissed some people off lately, but that's pretty much SOP. It's definitely not the Ori and Ba'al's been laying low lately, so my guess would be the Lucian Alliance."

"The who?" John said. It wasn't so much that he hadn't been paying attention to affairs in the Milky Way as it was that he had enough galaxy-spanning threats of his own to deal with that only the Ori had seem particularly important.

"The people who'll be paying me a very large bounty," a man said, stepping onto the path in front of them. He had some sort of blaster trained on them. "My name's Ventrell. You're Doctor Jackson, right?"

"I am," Daniel carefully said.

Ventrell nodded and waved his gun at John. "You, I don't know, but that's okay. A spare hostage is always useful in case I need to shoot someone to get the point across. Speaking of shooting — how about you both throw your weapons off into the brush? I've got a personal shield, so I'd really suggest you not try anything tricky."

"Bounty hunters," John said, pulling his gun out with two fingers and tossing it aside. The zat followed. "I haven't been attacked by any of them lately."

"Me neither," Daniel said while discarding his own gun.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Ventrell said. "Here's how this is going to work. We're going to take a walk up into this forest here until we're well away from anyone who might come searching. Then you'll call your base and ask for help."

"That seems a bit stupid," John told him. "But hey, go for it."

Ventrell smiled. "It's not that bad of a plan. You see, they'll send the rest of SG-1 here to rescue Doctor Jackson. Once that happens, I capture them too and get all five bounties for myself. If you cooperate, no one even needs to get hurt."

Daniel raised his hand. "Uh, you said you're working for the Lucian Alliance. I get the feeling that they want to hurt us."

"Okay, you've got me there," Ventrell admitted with a shrug. "But until then, you'll be fine. I'll even let Mr. …?"

"Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard," John supplied.

"Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard here go unharmed."

"Mmm." Daniel considered that for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I really don't think we'll be doing that."

Ventrell sighed. "Was I too subtle about how I'd kill Sheppard if you don't cooperate? For that matter, if you're too much trouble I could always settle for four bounties. All I really need from you is a cry for help and maybe an agonized scream."

"Fine, go ahead, shoot me," Daniel said. He stepped in front of John, which definitely was not in the plan at all. When John tried to move around him, Daniel gave him a shove back.

"You see, here's the thing," Daniel continued. "This was my first vacation in about year and a half. The fact that I'm having to deal with this bullshit is making me really, really cranky. I just spent three months as a prior with an Ancient stuck inside my head, and let me tell, that was no fun at all. Oh, and speaking of the Ori, I hope you realize that SG-1 and the rest of Stargate Command are about the only people who have been doing anything to try to stop them from conquering the galaxy. The Lucian Alliance certainly hasn't been doing anything except getting in our way. So unless you want to spend twelve hours a week in prostration, maybe you should be helping us instead of pointing guns at us."

"Uh, Jackson?" John said, boggling a bit at the outburst. Ventrell looked just as surprised as John felt.

"And you know what else? I really don't care if you kill me. It's not like a dozen other people who, quite frankly, were a lot more frightening than you haven't done it. All that's going to happen is that I'm just going to respawn and grumble a bit about finding new gear and weapons. Who knows, maybe I'll get a real vacation in while I'm a glowing squid." Daniel grinned maliciously. "Also, he'll just blow your head off if you do, which'll be pretty satisfying."

"Funny thing about personal shields," Cam said, placing the barrel of a shotgun against Ventrell's head. "If you go real slow, you can pass right through 'em."

"Oh," Ventrell said quietly. He dropped his gun and kicked it away.

"Respawn and find new weapons and gear?" John asked, stepping from behind Daniel and moving to where he'd tossed the zat.

"I may have been hanging around Bill Lee a bit too much lately," Daniel admitted.

"Jackson, if you were still under my command, I'd kick your ass for that stunt," Cam said. "Ventrell, was it? How about you start strippin' down. I'd rather not find out what little surprises you might have in those clothes."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "It was a good distraction, wasn't it? Besides, he would never have shot me and wasted the money."

"All I know is that I'm never complain when McKay starts bitching again," John said. Cam snorted and he amended, "Okay, I will. But even he's never been this bad."

Once Ventrell was down to his underwear, they zip-tied him and marched him back to the homestead. That drew more than a few wide-eyed stares from all and sundry, especially when Skipper and Spencer showed up with their own bounty hunter. As soon as both intruders were safely tied up and locked in the shed with the twins standing guard, Cam got up on a chair.

"Listen up, ladies and gentlemen!" Cam called once the prisoners were dumped in the shed and under guard by the twins. "As you may have noticed, we seem to have something of a security problem. I want all active-duty personnel armed and over here to get instructions in five minutes. Everyone else, just keep on doing what you're doing and if you see anything suspicious send a runner my way. Before anyone asks, yes, this is all still very classified. Thank you."

The Mitchells were nothing if not good at following orders when they needed to. Soon they had everyone paired off and on patrol, some wandering the picnic and others on the perimeter of the property. It went surprisingly smoothly, or maybe not so surprisingly given the people in question. There appeared to be a considerable amount of lively conversation and no doubt an equally considerable amount of grumbling, but no one said anything within earshot.

"Ten bucks says half of them blame it all on me," John whispered as the family started milling about and following orders.

"Ehh," Cam said. "Depends on how you define 'half' and 'them'."

Ash ambled up beside them "So, Skipper just had me look over a Sleestak to make sure it wasn't dying. Deep space radar telemetry?"

"Shut up," Cam said. "Spencer, have you gotten a hold of General Landry yet?"

"No, sir," Spencer replied. "Apparently he's dealing with some kind of incident in Nevada at the moment."

Cam closed his eyes. "I am so glad I'm not in charge of this team anymore."

"That's exactly what I've been saying since you took over," John said.

"John?"

"Cam?"

"Please don't remind me that I traded four maniacs for four hundred."

"Excuse me?" Daniel said. "You're the last person who can call other people maniacs."

For a brief moment Cam looked like he might be seriously considering handing Daniel over to the bounty hunters. It passed and he quietly said to no one in particular, "Why does this always happen to me? I could have had a nice weekend off, but no, I had to bring Jackson with me and of course aliens follow along."

"Aliens who no one even noticed," John pointed out. "Only your family could mistake them for cousins."

Daniel peered over at the picnic. "I'm not entirely convinced that there aren't still some lurking. Who's that?"

"Uncle George," Ash answered.

"Her?"

"John Bob's daughter Betty. She's at the Academy."

"Huh. How about that guy over there? Surely no one from Earth could have that bad of taste."

"That's..." Ash hesitated. "The Canadian Sandra brought home?"

"No, that's not right," Cam interjected. "I'm pretty sure he's some kind of Yankee. Bella Jo's latest?"

John frowned. "I thought she'd said she was finished with men forever?"

"She says that all the time."

"Right, right." John thought about it and snapped his fingers. "Faunt's brother in law."

"No, I could have sworn he was a redhead." They all looked at each moment, then Cam pulled out his cell and hit a speed-dial button. "Raymie? Cam. Guy in the neon, over by the coolers — find out who he is and report back. Thanks."

Daniel started to quietly chuckle, then laugh aloud. "Wow. That's really impressive. Your horde of relatives is so big you can't even remember them all."

"It took me forever just to remember the first cousins," Sam said behind them.

"Holy shit!" Cam said, spinning around. The rest of them did as well, and the end result was that Sam ended up staring at several pistols and a zat. After a tense moment Cam lowered his gun and said, "Samantha Eileen Carter, you are late."

"Sorry, we into a little trouble ourselves. We got here as fast as we could, thinking you might need some help, but it looks like you've got things pretty well in hand."

"We?"

Sam waved her hand upwards. "Me and the rest of the team. We're in someone's cloaked cargo ship, a few hundred feet up. This is just a hologram."

John frowned and reached out to very carefully stick his arm through Sam's shoulder. "Huh."

"Do you mind?" she asked with a pointed glare.

"Sorry, sorry."

After a moment she looked back at Cam. "We've got the Odyssey and Kvasir's ship in orbit and searching for any additional ships that might be lurking around. They'll beam up your prisoners in a minute."

"That'll be a relief," Cam said. "You guys hungry? We're probably going to start serving supper soon, assuming more unwanted guests don't drop by."

Sam glanced over her shoulder into empty space and listened to something. "Give us a few minutes to get this ship parked at Area 51. I think we could all use some rest and good cooking."

True to her word, the aliens were beamed out of the shed minutes later. It wasn't long before another convoy of black government vans and SUVs came tooling up the road. One contained SG-1 and the rest had SG-16 and a gaggle of SFs to take over security. Between them, the Odyssey, and the Asgard cruiser in orbit, it seemed safe to relax once more. Not too much, though — Neon Guy could still turn out to be an alien.

The men and women on food duty started serving right on schedule. Uninvited guests or no, the food was ready when it was ready, the kids and the bottomless pits called teenagers were hungry when they were hungry, and if they didn't get started on time there would be mass havoc and possibly a riot. A very orderly riot, no doubt, but a riot none the less, and that would more or less settle the matter of whether John and Cam would escape without Momma killing them. The off-duty SGC personnel ended up at a table together, safely out of earshot from the rest of the picnic.

"So," John asked Captain Hailey while chowing down on a hamburger, "having a fun vacation?"

"Yes, sir," she replied.

John waited a moment for her to add something, then asked, "What'd you do?"

"White-water rafting, sir," Hailey said.

"No Vegas?"

"I'm afraid we were ambushed by bounty hunters before we could get to that point."

John nodded. "How'd that work out for you?"

"Not as well as I would have liked, sir. I'm afraid they still haven't found the body of the alien I hit with the paddle." Something about the way John's eyes widened a little prompted her to explain, "It fell off a cliff into the river, sir. But besides that, it seemed to go well."

"Okay. Good for you." John wasn't terribly surprised that anyone who managed to last more than a few days on SG-1 would have no trouble dispatching a hostile alien using athletic equipment. "How about you, Teal'c?"

"My trip was also satisfactory," Teal'c intoned. "Ry'ac and Master Bra'tac are well and it was a pleasure to see them again, even if only for a short time."

"No trouble with bounty hunters?"

"None whatsoever," Teal'c replied. "My son and his wife dispatched them before I was even aware of their presence. It was most gratifying to learn that their skills had only improved since I last saw them."

"It's always good to see the kids growing up right," John said with a nod, thinking of a few young Mitchells and Griffiths and so on.

"Indeed."

A few minutes later, General O'Neill appeared carrying a plate of food. He sat down beside Teal'c and across from John and Cam, to whom he said, "Evening, Mitchell."

"Evening, sir," Cam replied. "Good to see you, as always."

"Nice mess you made."

"Jackson made it, not me."

"Fair enough," O'Neill said with a knowing expression. "I talked with your parents, I think they think some al-Qaeda drug lord... person sent the bounty hunters. I tried to convince them it won't happen again."

"Thanks," Cam said. His hangdog expression made it pretty clear he expected to be on the shit list for a long time even if a general said it wasn't his fault.

"I mean it about the not happening thing, too. As soon as Carter's geeks are done with the Odyssey's new Asgard guns, I'm sending it out for a test run. Emmerson's been wanting to kick their asses ever since they tried to steal his ship."

"End of the week, latest," Sam said, momentarily breaking off her conversation with the twins.

"Asgard guns?" John asked.

"Long story. You'll be briefed Tuesday. Let's just say our lives are going to be getting a lot more interesting." O'Neill vaguely waved at the world in general to indicate this was not the time or the place, even if no one was in position to eavesdrop. After a moment he smirked at them. "Enough about work. How's married life treating you?"

John groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. "Alien ceremonies don't count, sir." Never mind that they had never actually bothered to get Teyla or Pastor Jan to actually annul the thing like people normally did.

"Who said anything about aliens?"

Cam gave O'Neill a narrow-eyed look that said he had had about enough bullshit for one day and, general or not, O'Neill was just asking for a close encounter with a zat gun. "Sir, I'm sure I don't know what you're implying."

O'Neill sighed. "I ask you, what's the point of having subordinates if you can't even mess with their heads?"

"He's a bit cranky, sir," John said. "I think he might need a nap."

"Actually, sir, I take that back," Cam said, turning his glare on John. "Someone's currently on the couch."

"See what I mean? Cranky."

"Don't make me smack you."

"Is this the point where I should make a Monty Python reference?"

Cam cuffed John upside the head. John poked him in the side with his elbow. Various people looked at them like they might be a little weird, which was pretty much normal. Afterward they organized a touch football game, although Teal'c seemed to have a selective problem with the definition of touch and kept knocking Cam on his ass. It was, all things considered, not too bad of a day. Any day that no one died or got hurt was a win in John's book, and really, a couple unwanted aliens couldn't possibly be the weirdest things to have ever shown up at a Mitchell holiday.

from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
subject: New position

Cam —

Deep space radar telemetry my ass. I've been drafted by your General O'Neill to take over something called SG-1. If I get probed by an alien, I'm coming out there and kicking your ass.

— Ash

---

from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
subject: re: New position

Really? Well, try not to let Jackson die again or start any more wars.

— Cam

---

from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
subject: re: re: New position

You're joking, right?

...right?

---

from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
subject: re: re: New position

I'll just say that you should give Sam a call and ask for some pointers.

Good luck. You're going to need it.