Return

by Badgergater

Season: S9

Episode: What's missing from the first three episodes; specifically Origin

Series: part of my S9Trio, which includes Divergence and Coercion

Warning: None

Rating: G

Category: Drama, missing scenes,

Summary: Jack returns to the SGC and finds a bit of closure (too bad the fans didn't get the same)

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: For Jack fans everywhere: In these trying times, we must all stick together. thanks to Cokie for the beta; Margo, Sis; Corine, Martina, Ulrike, Anja, Elizabeth and all of my SG traveling companions on the east side of the big pond; and, as always, to all those who feedback.

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"How dreary to be somebody." Emily Dickinson

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Who ever said that you can't go home again was right.

Very, very right.

When it was home, it was home. And when it wasn't home, it wasn't home anymore.

And nothing you could say or do could ever change that.

He knew.

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

It was odd going back there.

Very odd.

He'd avoided it as long as he could, but he couldn't anymore.

Riding down in the elevator, clad in his Class As, the looks he got from people up top and now, as he descended into the mountain, they were different than before. No longer were they looks of familiarity or friendship, but of respect, some holding even a touch of fear, but always remote, distant, wary of the power of 'the man.'

Strange, to be a stranger here.

Well, not exactly a stranger, but no longer a family member, either.

Outsider, then.

Outsider, looking in.

Already in just these first few weeks there were new faces he didn't recognize.

He sighed, and closed his eyes, and wished he could turn back the clock, back to the days when this had been *his* place, these had been *his* people, this had been *his* mission. When he'd been one of them, been a part of something special, the kind of special something he knew he'd never get to be part of again.

He felt the elevator shudder to a stop. Straightening his shoulders, Major General Jack O'Neill opened his eyes and stepped out into the corridors of the SGC.

The old hustle and bustle was there, the sense of urgency, the atmosphere that had always kickstarted his own adrenaline.

Except, of course, there was no need, not anymore.

You didn't need adrenaline to fly a desk.

He, who'd spent his whole career following the credo of 'no one gets left behind,' felt entirely left out and completely left behind.

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

"Good to see you, Sir," Walter greeted him with a genuine smile. "General Landry is-"

"I'll just wait in his office," Jack walked right on past the master sergeant and into the office which had so recently been his office, flipping on the light switch.

Hank had re-decorated.

Not much, though.

Of course, there wasn't much to redecorate, unless you decided to paint the walls purple or something. As if 'paint, purple' was an item that was going to get past the Washington bean counters.

Of which he was so not one, and never going to be one, he pledged silently to himself.

Jack could see Hank out in the briefing room, huddled around the oval table with a team he didn't recognize, all fresh and eager young faces. Though he wanted to walk through and look down into the gateroom, this wasn't the time.

Just like this was no longer his place.

It was Hank's place now.

He sighed, and looked around, picking up a pen and doodling on Hank's desk calendar, his mind drifting back to better days and better times. He wouldn't call them happier, but certainly, he could believe they were more fulfilling. And more satisfying. If nothing else, more active.

God, he missed the action.

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

Finally, Hank Landry stepped into the office. "So, Jack, how's Washington?"

"Fun."

"And the president?"

"Haven't gotten him to install a bonspiel at the Pentagon yet, but I'm still working on it."

Hank laughed. "You always were a kidder, Jack."

"Kidder, right," Jack answered morosely. "So, tell me, what's this mess we've gotten ourselves into now? Some evil eye fellahs?"

Hank took a seat behind the desk. "The Ori, they're nothing to joke about Jack. Seriously."

"It's all a joke, Hank. One big, giant, cosmic joke."

Hank's smile slipped as he looked across at his old friend. "Jack, are you okay?"

No, he wasn't okay. They'd defeated their enemy, destroying the power of the gould and wiping out the replicators. The war was done, and now they should be reaping the benefits, taking advantage of the chance all the peaceful exploration types like Daniel had yearned for, and the science geeks like Carter, too. It should be a time for Teal'c and his people to cherish their freedom, and now, now it was all gone to hell in a handbasket already.

He never should have taken the promotion. Then again, it's hard to turn down the President of the United States. Persuasive man, what with his 'it's only for a little while, to ease the transition' spiel. And Hammond backing him up, he felt like he'd been tagteamed into the job. Homeworld Security, oh, it'll be an easy job now that all the threats are gone. Sort of a part-time easing into retirement gig, help us out for a few months sort of thing, hobnob with the Asgaard.

Or so you thought.

So you were told, actually; and should have remembered. George Hammond had taken command of the SGC as his prelude to retirement, a 'prelude' that had lasted seven years.

Seven years.

Oiy.

Maybe he should have just plain retired, and he wouldn't even know about this new threat. What you don't know can't hurt you, right, Jack?

"Washington? Oh, it's peachy," he dodged the real question and gave the surface answer that hopefully would dissuade Hank from digging deeper.

"That's good to hear. I'd kind of expected you to stop by sooner, just to see how things were going."

"Oh, you know me, not exactly the in your face type. Didn't want to micro-manage." Though maybe he should have been, considering how quickly they'd jumped into this whole new mess. "So, how are the new people working out?"

"Mitchell will be fine, if he ever gets over what you didn't tell him."

Jack shrugged, thinking that no one had really told him what he was getting into by going to Washington, either. "You?"

"The place *is* interesting."

Jack nodded.

"The personnel is, ah, different, too."

"You've noticed?" O'Neill couldn't help smiling.

"Pretty hard not to notice. Military folks, scientists, scholars, archaeologists, aliens. Not your ordinary command."

"No, it's not," Jack answered, hoping he kept the envy out of his tone.

'You know, I used to wonder what you did here. When I heard *you* were in charge of something called the Deep Space Radar Telemetry program, I knew it was a cover up for something much less benevolent than it sounded. But honestly, I never imagined this. Even after you conned me-"

"I didn't con you," Jack defended himself.

"No. You just didn't tell me everything."

"*Everything* is a lot to tell."

"So it is." Landry paused. "Jack, all kidding aside, these new enemies, and what they want from us-"

"Aliens always want something from us. That's the way of the universe. The Gould wanted our bodies as their own personal deluxe mobile homes. The replicators wanted our molecules to make into more replicators. Anubis wanted to annihilate us. So these new guys want us to worship them."

"They're powerful, Jack. And they won't take no for an answer."

"I read the reports."

Hank lifted an eyebrow. "And?"

"And these Oreos will be a challenge," Jack admitted.

"A challenge?"

"Look, Hank, we took on the impossible here before. That's all we did for eight years. We don't have a choice but to take them on again. We'll find a way. That's what we do here. Did here. Made it up as we went along, threw away the book and invented procedures and policies as we needed them. That's why I picked *you*, because I knew you could be flexible where flexibility was needed, but that you wouldn't sway with the wind. That you'd protect the program and take care of my people."

My people. He still felt that way about them. Once, 'my people' had just been his team, and then 'my people' had expanded to include everyone in the SGC.

Hank was staring at him. "You were right about them. They are good people."

"Yes they are." God, he missed them, right on down to the cook who made pumpkin pie on Thursdays.

"Do you want the job back?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "That's not for me to decide," he admitted.

"Being a general isn't all it's cracked up to be, is it?" Landry commiserated.

He wasn't going to answer that. "So, what do we know-"

The briefing lasted an hour and Jack learned more than he ever wanted to know about the Ori.

Why couldn't humans ever meet nice, friendly, ET aliens who wanted to do something other than to tell us what to do?

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

When the meeting was done, depressed over the latest turn of events, O'Neill went to look up a few old friends, hoping they'd make him feel better.

Of course, just the fact that Teal'c was here and not with the Jaffa was sooo not good news.

He found Teal'c in his quarters, the Jaffa's room lit by a dozen flickering candles. "Hey, T." Jack slid off his jacket, loosened his tie, and slipped down to sit on the floor cushions. It was a treat to relax, to be himself and not be 'the man' for a few minutes.

The big man nodded. "It is good to see you, O'Neill. How is life in

Washington?"

Jack lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Dangerous, Teal'c. There are politicians everywhere."

The alien nodded. "Politics *is* a formidable battleground."

"So the Jaffa are learning."

"Indeed. Freedom is no simple thing."

He'd so hoped Teal'c would be able to cheer him up, but this wasn't looking promising. "Sorry the whole 'rebellion and winning your freedom' thing didn't turn out like you thought."

"It seems that is the way of life, my friend. One struggles to obtain what appears to be the ultimate goal. But when that goal is reached, one learns that it is only the first of many steps on a long and sometimes crooked path."

"Wisely said, T. Crooked and politics are concepts that go together far too well. I hope that wasn't something the Jaffa learned from us."

"We are free. I have not given up hope."

Jack patted the broad shoulder. "That's good."

"You should not abandon hope either, O'Neill."

"Shows that much does it?"

"Indeed. You do not appear to be enjoying your new duties."

He didn't answer, he couldn't because the truth was, he didn't know what it was that he was hoping for. He'd spent eight years hoping for victory, and never daring to think beyond that point. Now that they'd won that victory, it had turned out to be a very hollow one. All he had left was the uniform, the Air Force, his career. He'd been so successful that he'd gotten himself promoted right out of the place he loved, away from the people he cared about, and into a place that he had always loathed.

It was hard not to loathe himself for being a part of it.

He looked over at Teal'c, and realized the big guy was still staring at him, waiting for some sort of answer.

Changing the subject he suggested with far more bravado than he felt. "We'll defeat these new guys."

"That is not the kind of hope to which I was referring, O'Neill."

"It's all the hope I have, T." Jack wiped a hand across his face, and changed the subject again. "So, how's Ryac and his wife?"

Teal'c smiled "They are doing well."

"No grandkiddies yet?"

"No."

"And Ishta?"

Teal'c smiled again. "She is also well."

"That's good, then." Jack climbed stiffly to his feet.

"Perhaps I shall come to visit you in Washington, O'Neill."

Jack smiled sadly. "You'd hate it, Teal'c. Hate it. There's not a real warrior in the whole place."

"That is not true, O'Neill. There is at least one."

Jack smiled in gratitude and with a sigh, turned to go. He paused in the doorway, looking back at his friend. Very softly he asked, "You'll take care of them, won't you?"

"You need not ask, my friend."

"I know. It's just--" It was one less thing to worry about, knowing Teal'c was still here, watching over what was left of SG-1. He felt guilty for feeling that way, for wanting the Jaffa to remain on Earth, when he knew Teal'c was far away from his people. "Mitchell will need some help, while he learns the

ropes."

"We have not yet had a mission requiring the use of ropes, but I am sure we shall."

Jack saw the humor dancing in the depths of the brown eyes and wished he could find some in his own soul.

/-----x-----\

He found Daniel in his as-always cluttered lab, pre-occupied with something he was writing.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Inwardly, Jack winced. Guess Daniel was still mad at him about his decision to take the promotion. Though to be honest, he hadn't had any options-move up or move out had pretty much been it. Daniel still seemed a little cranky about the changes, though.

Daniel's admission of being scared unnerved him. Daniel had never seemed scared, despite some incredibly scary things they'd been through over the years. Yeah, sure, Oma wasn't looking out for them anymore, but that was no reason to give up. They'd faced impossible odds, overcome impossible odds and prevailed in impossible missions, so they, er, the SGC could keep right on doing the impossible.

Obviously, a bit of reassurance was called for. Talking was so much easier over food, he'd convince Daniel to have lunch with him. "I'm hungry."

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

Once they'd filled their trays and found a table in the back corner, Daniel was the first to speak. "So, Jack, how's Washington?"

Jack's resolution to keep the conversation upbeat fled in an instant. "You know, if one more person asks me that question--"

"Ah, not loving it then."

"What's to love? Hot, crowded, polluted, traffic jams, and the place is *filled* with politicians." Jack was waving his fork in the air. "And there's not one single bonspiel in the whole city."

"There wasn't one in Colorado Springs, either," Daniel reminded him.

"Here it doesn't really matter," Jack admitted before turning back to his lemon chicken. He speared a piece and chewed thoughtfully. Changing tone, he changed subjects, too, away from himself. "Daniel, I really am sorry about the Daedalus."

"It wasn't your fault. Not this time."

"Still peeved I didn't let you go with Weir, then?"

"Yes."

Jack nodded. "If I had-"

"I know, I know. Sam kept telling me. If I had, then maybe things would have turned out differently here."

"Maybe?" Jack set down his fork. "Maybe? Daniel, for someone so smart, sometimes you're just not very smart. *Maybe* things would have been different? Maybe? More than maybe, way more than maybe. Without you, we wouldn't have had enough time for Carter's scheme to stop the Replicators. And apparently, you did something important back in Ancient Egypt, too. Wrote a scroll or something."

"Carved a tablet, actually."

"Whatever. You were needed here. And there, er, then. The SGC needs you. You're important here, Daniel."

"And so are you."

Jack grimaced and picked up his fork once more, staring intently down at his food as he languidly shoved it around on his plate. "Not anymore."

"And whose fault is that?"

"I didn't ask for the promotion, or the new job."

Daniel sighed. "No, I guess you didn't."

They ate in silence for a few minutes.

"Food hasn't gotten any better." Jack commented, giving up on the lumpy potatoes after one bite.

Daniel nodded. "They even took Froot Loops off the menu."

Jack shuddered in mock dismay. "I knew there was a good reason for getting out of here."

"So you're not coming back then," Daniel said quietly.

"The Air Force rather frowns on that. Once promoted, you're promoted. You can't hit rewind and do your life over."

Daniel nodded.

Jack was digging trenches in the potatoes with his fork and finally looked up. "Talked to Carter lately?"

"She seems to be enjoying working at Area 51."

"Good, then somebody is happy."

Daniel looked sharply at his former teammate. "What does that mean?"

Jack set the fork down. "Face it, Daniel, we finally got the job done, and what's happened? Freedom for the Jaffa hasn't turned out the way Teal'c envisioned it. You missed the Daedalus and I-" Jack paused, and waved a hand at his shirt. "Lucky me. I get to wear the clothes I abhor. Every day."

"That bad?"

Jack nodded glumly. "I sit in meetings. I sit behind my desk. I sit and read, I sit and write. I talk on the phone. I push papers, initial this and sign that. And hey, on a good day, maybe I get to actually make a decision that matters. Maybe."

"You're bored."

"Talk, talk, talk. Endless talk, and it's all about who you know, not about what you know or what you do." He shook his head sadly. "Never thought I'd look back fondly on being on the Gould's ten most wanted list and chased by shiny little bug-things as the good old days."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. It's no one's fault but my own," he added bitterly.

"Your own? How is it your fault?"

Jack was looking at Daniel, but he wasn't seeing the archaeologist. He was seeing a floppy haired, ten year old boy with a huge grin. "I had something else once, something to live for besides the Air Force. And I screwed up."

"Jack, you can't keep blaming-"

"Daniel, don't. Just don't. There's no point to it. I can. I have. And I always will. The only other choice is to just forget him, and I won't do that."

"I know. Are you going to be okay?" There was worry now, plain, in Daniel's question.

Jack's mask of indifference was firmly back in place. "Sure. I always am, aren't I?"

"You could stop by the SGC more often, keep in touch."

"With this current mess, I guess I'll have to."

"Couldn't you move Homeworld Security here to Cheyenne Mountain?"

"I don't think that would fly, Daniel. The President thinks the job is important. Wants daily updates. The commute would be hell."

"I guess," Daniel admitted reluctantly.

Jack looked at his watch. He had to find Lieutenant Colonel Mitchell and head for the airfield. The X-302 would be waiting. Maybe he'd get a few minutes of fun, take a turn at the controls before he had to give the high-tech bird back. "Look, I've got to go. It's been fun. And the food was," he stabbed the lumpy spuds one more time, "wonderful."

"Well then, don't be a stranger, Jack, huh?"

It was too late. He already was as stranger, but he wasn't going to say it. He'd already said too much. "Right, Daniel. Right."

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

He found Mitchell ready and waiting at the hangar.

"General," Mitchell saluted, throwing him a look that said he hadn't been forgiven for his not-so-little omissions at their last meeting.

Jack ignored the look. "So, how are you enjoying the SGC, Colonel?"

"Oh, it's been different, much different than I expected. Quite interesting, actually."

"Always is. Ready for a little road trip?"

"Road trip, Sir?" Mitchell was skeptical.

Well, okay, he should be, Jack thought. "I've got a nice little surprise for you."

"I didn't care much for your last surprise, Sir."

Jack smiled enigmatically. "Oh, you'll *like* this surprise, Mitchell." The general strode off across the tarmac and up to the closed doors of the hangar. Slipping his security pass into the card reader, O'Neill waited impatiently while lights flashed green and the door unlocked. Pushing it open, he waved

Mitchell in, then stepped inside behind the Lieutenant Colonel. "Thought you might want to keep in practice, get a little time in the cockpit."

Mitchell was staring up at the top secret machine. "I haven't flown one since--" he paused and swallowed.

Jack patted Mitchell on the back. "Then there's no time like the present, Colonel. Time to get back on the course that threw you." He leaned over and added, softly, "I have some not so fond memories of the Antarctic myself, Mitchell."

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

Jack didn't miss the look on the young officer's face when O'Neill climbed into the backseat, waving Mitchell at the front. There was a day when he wouldn't have done that, a very recent day, but it was time to give over to the younger generation those things that were for young men. Like flying experimental airplanes.

At least, for the moment.

But maybe on the way home-he grinned as he buckled his helmet, feeling the familiar adrenaline rush kick in. Someone was going to have to fly the plane back home, and who was more qualified than he was?

No one.

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