Coercion

Author: Badgergater

Email: [email protected]

Season: pre- season 9

Category: Missing Scene, after Moebius

Sequel: Though it stands alone, it follows my fic Divergence

Summary: We’re owed a reason why Jack left the SGC and took a job in Washington, and I can’t believe he’d do it willingly. Shame on "TPTB" for not giving it to us.

Rating: Anyone

Pairing: None

Warning: None

Disclaimer: Not mine and all that. Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Sci-Fi, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted elsewhere without the author's consent.

Author’s pledge: This fic, like all Badgergater fics, is accurately and honestly labeled, providing the potential reader with the honest facts to make a choice whether or not to read

Author’s note: Thanks again to Cokie for the beta, to Margo for the encouragement<G>, and to all those who feedback: this is another scene we should have gotten, to explain what happened to SG-1. After eight years, the fans deserved better than the pitiful muddled mess.

==========-------------==========

It was supposed to be my farewell visit there, my swan song, my last official act as an officer in the United States Air Force. The retirement letter was carefully written, signed and dated, stowed in my pocket, ready to hand to the President.

And I screwed it up.

/------------\

Good plans do go awry, I know that.

It’s not only Murphy’s Law, it’s the nature of things.

I never thought it would turn out this way, though.

Bass ackward, as they say.

I mean, I tried, I really really tried, to make the results come out just the opposite way.

I tried to be me. At my finest.

I tried to piss him off.

Yes, him. That him. The big him. The Presidential him, as in my commander in chief, the President of the United States (POTUS).

And it didn’t work.

Who’d have thought speaking out of turn and breaking all the rules would impress the hell out of him? It never impressed anyone else going all the way back to Sister Mary Margaret and the second grade. Who’d have thought that I’d manage to convince the President that I was an indispensable someone by trying to convince him I was a very dispensable loose canon?

I guess the President must like canons.

It’s just so unfair. I mean, the one action I was hoping would convince him that I was totally unsuited for Washington instead convinced him that I was absolutely right for Washington.

People always told me the place was whacko.

And they were right.

I mean there I was, me, Brigadier General Jack O’Neill, stars so new they were still shiny, at the White House, in a meeting, seated at a table surrounded by more brass than John Phillip Sousa’s band. The issue under discussion wasn’t even anything about the SGC.

But I spoke up anyway.

I said what I thought.

Which wasn’t what anyone else thought.

Or at least, wasn’t what anyone else had the guts, the chutzpah, the mojo, the gall, the I-don’t-give-a-damn reckless disregard for their future career idiocy to say.

Yes. it was blunt, ah, kinda, ah, sorta, maybe even just a bit, rude, especially considering who I said it to.

Though it *was* honest.

The discussion was about sending in a rescue team to retrieve a Special Ops team who’d strayed over the border of Afghanistan into what was now part of China.

The consensus was, we couldn’t take the risk, that we’d leave them to make their own way, if they could.

We were going to abandon them. I’ve been there, had that done to me, and, regardless of where I was and who was present, I was *not* about to keep my mouth shut. So I said what I thought.

"That would be stupid." I blurted out the words, immediately realizing with horror that the entire room had gone silent, totally silent as in you-could-hear-a-pin-drop silent. And all eyes were now focused directly on little ‘ol me. "Sir. Sirs. We don't leave our people behind."

The silence stretched and held as they all looked at me, all those big important guys, guys with more stars than some of the galaxies I’d visited, and the politicians, most of whom wielded more power than was given off by one of Carter’s naquadah reactors.

They all kept staring at me with predatory looks, the kind you see on sharks, circling blood in the water, or on onlookers to a train wreck who are inordinately glad that it isn’t them who'd just crashed and burned, yet can’t look away.

For a moment, President Hayes stood stock still and stared, too, and then he smiled, a devious, dangerous looking smile. Hayes turned to all those big wigs, and waved a hand at little wig me and said, "He’s right."

My fate was sealed.

With one simple, misplaced honest statement, I made a huge and honkin’ blip on his radar and in an instant went from worthless to priceless and made myself indispensable to the President.

Damn dumb thing to do.

The rest of the meeting, I didn’t say anything.

Not a single word.

But by then it was too late.

I’d already stepped into it.

Up to my neck.

Over my head, more likely.

/------------\

When the meeting was done, the President dismissed everyone except me.

"Thank you gentlemen, and ladies." We all rose to leave, and then he added, "General O’Neill, stay a moment, would you?"

I saw the looks and heard the snickers. Yeah, despite what he’d said, they thought that Hayes was going to chew me up and spit me out, and their expressions oh so clearly said that they were all very glad they weren’t me. More than one of them was gloating, actually.

Oh, if only they’d been right.

With growing dread I sat and waited while the others left, feeling like I had just been ordered to my own hanging.

"Jack," the President said, all friendly-like.

Awww, crap. "Sir?" I played innocent.

He was pouring himself a drink. "You?" He waved the bottle in my direction.

"No, thank you, Mr. President." If I was going to my fate, I was going sober. Not even the smoothest Scotch whiskey could ease me through this. And I needed all my wits about me, what few wits I have, just in case there still was a way to wiggle out of this.

Hayes picked up his drink, stepped around the desk, and with a sigh flopped into the chair across from me. "What a bunch of assholes." He looked over at me. "Cat got your tongue, General?"

"I think I’ve said enough for today, Sir."

Hayes laughed. "Not hardly. I tell you, I’ve never seen them look like that. I just wish there’d been a camera here to record that moment because, Jack, that was absolutely priceless. Ab-so-lute-ly priceless." He sipped his drink and chuckled again. "Did you see the look on the Secretary of Defense’s face?"

I shook my head. "I’m glad I could provide you with some entertainment, Sir."

"Oh, you were more than entertaining. You were honest. And that, Jack, is rarer than hen’s teeth in this town, something much more valuable than the ramblings of that whole crew of ass-kissing, kowtowing, yes-men. And women," he added diplomatically. The President raised his glass in salute to me and then sipped the whiskey. "So, I hear you want to retire."

Oh, I so didn’t like the tone of voice, the look on his face, the gleam in his eye. He was definitely up to something, I could see it. "Yes, Sir. I’ve got my cabin up in Minnesota and fish that are just waiting to be caught--"

"The fish can wait, Jack."

"Actually, no, Sir. They get too old to catch," I countered plaintively. "Old fish just die, float sort of belly up—"

He laughed. "That’s what I admire about you. Jack O’Neill, *you* are an American original."

Okay, so maybe a change of tactics was called for here. I abandoned the dense act, sat up straighter, and chose my words carefully. "Sir, it’s time for a changing of the guard. As you know the SGC has completed our task. The replicators are destroyed and the gould are gone. We’ve got the ZPM to bring back the Atlantis expedition. It’s time for a new generation to take over, to make the Stargate program about exploration and science, neither of which is my area of expertise. Or interest." I told him frankly.

"I wasn’t thinking about keeping you at the SGC."

I know the surprise showed on my face.

"Jack, I want you here. In Washington."

"No." I didn’t have to think, didn’t have to consider it. I knew Washington was the last place I wanted to be. Well, no, maybe not dead last. I wouldn’t want to be on that black hole planet where we’d sent Henry Boyd’s team. Or back in Baal’s gravity fortress. Or even on that frozen world where we'd sent Anubis and the Russian guy. But Washington? Home to politicians? I was done with conniving snakes. Done. Finished. Not gonna do it.

"Jack." Hayes took another sip of his drink. "I need someone honest and straightforward. George is retiring for good this time. He held an important place here, not just as head of Homeworld Security, but as someone I could always count on for honest, no bull answers. Someone I could trust to be honest with me. He said you would be just that, and this morning you proved it."

Crap. Double crap. Why couldn’t I have kept my mouth shut? "Sir, I’m honored. Amazed actually. Stunned, to tell you the truth. But this," I waved a hand at the opulence of the Oval Office, "I’ve never wanted this. This isn’t me. It’s not what I’m good at. Hell, Sir, I wasn’t even good at running the SGC—"

"You’re wrong there, Jack—"

"No, Sir. I wasn’t," I insisted. "Lucky, maybe, but not good."

"Good, lucky, whichever, you’re a winner. A survivor."

"Sir, please. I’m not like them," I waved a hand toward the door through which the others had departed, "and I don’t want to be. Ever."

Hayes leaned forward. "That’s exactly why I need you here, Jack. You’ve been on the front lines. You know what the troops need. You see their side. You aren’t swayed by politics or power. You, General O’Neill, are exactly the antithesis of what Washington is about, and therefore what it desperately needs."

God, no. "Sir, really—"

"If you won’t do it, then suggest someone else."

"There are dozens who could do what you want."

"Name them." Hayes played his trump card, sitting back smugly.

I couldn’t. Not a single name popped into my head. "Sir, I know there are people who would be happy to advise you."

"And if they were happy to do this, I wouldn’t want them." He sighed, setting down his empty glass on the coffee table and leaning forward again. "That’s exactly my point, Jack. The Air Force, the country, needs you precisely because you are who you are: unorthodox, original, blunt, and you don’t give a damn about politics. Who’s right doesn’t matter, you care about what’s right, and you care about the people these decisions affect."

"But there are a lot of officers who--"

Hayes shook his head sadly. "Not as many as you might think, Jack. Not many people have your ability to look beyond their own needs. That’s why you’re perfect for this job."

"But I’m not!"

"George said you’d react this way. And he said I shouldn’t take no for an answer."

Bringing Hammond into this was so unfair. "Honestly, Sir, I don’t think I could stand it here. Politics and backbiting—I’m a straightforward man, Mr. President. Endless meetings and briefings," I shuddered, "I don’t have that kind of patience."

"I know that. And honestly, you wouldn’t have to be here *every* day. After all, with both Anubis and the Replicators gone, I think the head of Homeworld Security can spend a lot of time keeping in contact with our allies, like the Asgard. Make a few personal inspection tours to our off-world facilities. Keep up with our new technologies, fly a new ship or two. Just to be sure that they meet your standards." Hayes leaned forward again. "General, be the most hands-on two star in the history of the U.S. military. When I ask for input, be blunt. Be honest. Speak up. Stand up to me and everyone else around here. That’s what I need from you."

"Two star?" Now I was dumbfounded.

"Well, you can’t head Homeworld Security as a Brigadier General."

"But what about the SGC?"

"Well, you’ll still be overseeing it. And you can hand pick your successor. Anyone you want."

"Anyone?" That was more than I’d hoped for when I planned to retire.

"Yes."

Well, there was someone who I’d trust with my people, if I could talk him into taking the SGC post. But—Washington? Even part-time? I recoiled from the thought. "Really, Sir," I tried one more time to evade the job, but Hayes is one determined guy. Guess you need to be, to be President of the United States.

"It’s only a couple of years, Jack. Then, chances are, there’ll be a new administration."

A couple of years.

That’s what they always say.

A couple years in college, paid for by the U S of A, a couple years commitment to the Air Force, then you can go do whatever you want.

A couple years in Special Ops, get your fill of excitement, then you can have whatever post you want.

A couple years with the SGC, finish up what you started, then you can go do whatever you want.

Whatever you want, Jack.

I wanted retirement, peace, quiet and a chance to fish.

The sacrifices I’ve been asked to make for my country, they just don’t stop. I think they’ll never stop.

I pulled the envelope out of my pocket and carefully tore it into tiny strips. As I stood in the Oval Office, looking out at the Rose Garden, I could see the fish, the pond and the cabin inexorably fading off into the sunset.

A part of me wistfully waved it goodbye.

And, pitiful as it sounds, another part of me was unexpectedly grateful to still be needed.

--The End—