The blasted teeny little black letters swam as he tightened his fingers in his disordered hair. How many of these damned things were there, anyway?

He scowled at the neat, square-cornered stack of evaluations waiting to be reviewed as he grabbed the next one. With stubborn belligerence, the stack remained taller than the disordered pile of completed documents.

This was not what he’d signed on for. Not all those years ago, and not eight days ago, when he gave in to getting kicked upstairs.

Damned Daniel. Like hell, he got to do whatever he wanted to do. He got to do mountains of paperwork, piles of pointless poopoo. He could feel his butt spreading with each passing second.

What he wanted to do didn’t have a damned thing to do with anything he’d been saddled with since the moment he’d agreed to his promotion.

The flicker of changing digits in his clock tickled the edges of his sight. He wouldn’t look. Nope. Not looking. Couldn’t care less.

But he looked anyway. Oh-eight-hundred. And SG-1 had been off-world for an hour.

Without him. One man short. Short him.

And the last time they’d gone, they’d vanished. And come back yelling and under fire.

But they’d come back.All of them safely in one piece. Despite unscheduled transport and heavy ambush, they’d come scrambling back through that gate, high on adrenaline and pumped with excitement, but without a scratch among them.

Carter was good. She could do this with her hands tied behind her back.

Right. She could.

But, damn it, he wanted to do it. Wanted to ride that wave of terror-laced frenzy.

Jack allowed the half-read report to slide through his fingers, dropping his head into his cupped hands. He just couldn’t do this.

His head jerked up at the intrusion of the claxon, and the tinny announcement, “Off-world activation!”

He held his breath, waiting for the follow-up announcement.

“IDC received. SG-5, returning on schedule.”

He sighed, casting another glance over his desk, then pulled away from the silently accusing stack of unfinished paperwork.

At least he could get away from those blasted assessments.

Gratefully he stood, stretched, and headed for the gate room to welcome SG-5.

He smiled slightly as he secured the office door. Ought to use up an hour or so, debriefing. A world better than reviewing files of potential SGC members. Better than anything that involved teeny black letters on white paper.

Maybe he should see Janet about getting his eyes checked.

Damn. Couldn’t SG-5 at least have found rocks with squiggles? Suspicious mineral deposits? Even a scrap of a suggestion of evidence that there’d been Jaffa on the planet a hundred and fifty years ago?

But no. Not a stupid thing. Shortest debriefing on record.

So here he was again.Black letters on white pages. And the stupid clock was apparently stuck on 0845.

Growling under his breath, he picked up the folder he’d dropped.

Kingston, Abraham. Twenty-eight years old. Army special forces. Marksman. Hand-to-hand specialist. Blah, blah, blah.

None of these damned things told him what mattered about these bozos. They were all tough as nails, all well trained in sixty-seven different ways to kill.

But that was only the beginning of what they needed for their teams. They needed what he’d had so little of… understanding, flexibility, creativity, empathy.

All those things provided by Daniel, with such effortless grace.

And they needed top-notch problem-solving abilities, intuitive technical understanding. Carter’s forte.

And they needed that unique contradictory complex of personality traits allowing them to be ruthless in the face of seemingly overwhelming odds, yet gentle with those injured beyond all understanding—-so characteristic of Teal’c.

And maybe the most important thing they needed was the humility to accept the need to yield, to allow those who possessed those essential qualities to influence decisions. If he’d contributed anything unique to SG-1, that was at the top of his list. Not a lesson it had been easy for him to learn.

He glanced back through the stack of completed evaluations, brow creased. He started to look more closely at the personal assessments of training officers, teammates, associates, and less at the recommendations of commanding officers.

With an absent nod, he settled into the chair. Maybe he had an angle on this after all.

“Sir?”

Jack started as the rap on his open door jerked him away from deep concentration.

“Walter?”

“Sir, did you want something for lunch?”

Jack glanced at the clock, brows arching in surprise. 1230 P.M.

Shit! Guess it wasn’t stuck after all. He glanced at the piles, a grin beginning to stretch his mouth as he noted that there were only a couple more files in the “unreviewed” pile.

Yes!

“Sir?”

“Uh. Food. Yeah, Walter. Sounds good.”

“Would you like me to bring you something, sir?”

Jack considered. On the one hand, he’d appreciate unwinding his back and walking down to the commissary. On the other… damn it, he was almost done with these blasted things, and thought he had a pretty good line on what he was doing.

“Bring me something, okay? Just no meatloaf!”

Walter smiled, “Yes, sir. Be back in about fifteen minutes.”

“Nah, take your time. Sit down and eat. I’m not going anywhere for the next hour or so.”

“Yes, sir.” With a smart salute, the sergeant vanished, presumably in search of sustenance.

Jack grabbed up the file, gritted his teeth, and dug in.

From the nearly fifty files, he’d gleaned eleven. Eleven men and women he thought could become what he wanted on his teams.

So… how to challenge what he wanted to know about these guys? He didn’t want to find out off world. The cost was too high.

He leaned back in his chair, gazing absently at the ceiling and tossing training scenarios through his head. He groped for the second half of the sandwich Walter had brought, munching as he considered.

Make sure Janet was in charge of the on-base physicals. Not just a woman, but a small one. They’d never met her—-wouldn’t know yet that she was tougher than the lot of them together.

His mouth twitched into a smile. He’d have to make sure he had business in the infirmary for those physicals. The show should be a good one.

Give ‘em to Daniel’s people for a few sessions. He grinned wickedly. Let ‘em work with ol’ Heidepriem for a day or so. That’d certainly weed out the undercover wusses. Or anybody who didn’t have psychological underwear made of iron. Female, far less military than Daniel, and a true martinet.

He laughed softly. Holy hell. Janet, then Heidepriem. An unbeatable one-two punch.

He was jerked from his pleasant reverie by the shrill of the claxon.

Damn. He glanced at the clock. 1400. He knew the schedule. No teams were due back before 0900 tomorrow.

He was on his feet and out the door before the announcement. “Unscheduled off-world activation! Unscheduled off-world activation!”

As he strode into the control room, Walter announced, “SG-1’s IDC, sir.”

Damn, damn.

“Open the iris!” he snapped.

Shoulda been with them. Shoulda been there.

For breathless seconds, time seemed suspended. The SF’s in the gate room were frozen, weapons raised, faces grim. Walter leaned forward, staring at the rippling surface of the active gate. Jack’s clenched fists tightened with each passing instant.

Abruptly, the surface twisted around the two forms charging through. Daniel, supporting Carter. And immediately after, Teal’c lurching backward and firing as he came.

“Close the iris!” Carter roared as Daniel lowered her to the ramp.

The stillness held for a heartbeat as Daniel and Carter crouched, panting, on the metal grid.Teal’c turned and hovered over his teammates.

“We are in need of a medic.” His words were strong, but free of urgency.

“I’ll be fine, Teal’c.” Carter lurched to her feet, using Daniel’s shoulder for support. “I can get there on my own.”

Jack hurried down into the gate room, heart still racing. “Colonel Carter?”

She straightened, still leaning on Daniel’s shoulder. “We ran into a bit of a problem, sir. Nothing very bad.”

He arched his brows, not speaking.

“Really, sir. Just a little problem with the natives.”

“She’s right, Jack.”

He glanced briefly down into Daniel’s earnest face, then further down at the foot Carter was doing her best to pretend she could bear to set on the ground.

“It’s nothing, sir!”she insisted. “My fault, completely.”

He huffed a breath at her, then shook his head. “Infirmary.Then, pending Frasier’s approval, debriefing at…” He glanced at his wrist “…sixteen-hundred hours.”

Shaking his head, he headed back for his office. He paused at the base of the control room stairs to glance back at SG-1. Daniel, now on his feet and helping Carter out of the room, met his gaze and winked, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Satisfied, Jack nodded slightly and continued up the stairs.

He’d heard from Frasier. No serious injuries, but Carter would be grounded for a couple of weeks. Humming absently to himself, he stared at the stack of folders.

A grin fought to be born.If Carter was stuck on the planet, so was Teal’c.

Frasier. Then Heidepriem. Then Teal’c. Nothing like slapping them in the face where they thought they were strongest.

So, either he’d completely demoralize the lot of them, or he’d really find out who had the stuff he wanted.

Frasier. Heidepriem. Teal’c. Then maybe he’d make them sit through a nice, juicy Carter/Jackson briefing. He was sure he remembered a preliminary survey-—over in that other stack he had to work through-—sufficiently enigmatic to have both of his premier brains dithering with excitement.

Oh, yeah. That would do it.

Sighing happily, he reached for the duty roster for the upcoming week. His gaze swept past the clock. 1556. He had a debriefing to attend. He left the roster in the middle of his desk. Some fiddling was in order, soon as he finished with SG-1.

Jack sank happily into the comfortable briefing-room chair. Who was it who decided the most comfortable chairs in the base should be in this room?

Actually, he knew the answer to that. The budget-biddies spared no expense for chairs that were liable to accommodate the behinds of presidents and princes. They didn’t care so much about the aching bones of generals.

A tiny thought-balloon tickled the edge of his consciousness. He was in charge. First order of business tomorrow would be to switch his desk chair for one of these. Yeah. Anything he wanted to do.

SG-1 were already seated, Carter leaning back with her wrapped foot propped on the chair across the table from her. She was scowling at Daniel, whose downcast eyes and curved lips reflected amusement, apparently at her expense.

Jack glanced at Teal’c, and was rather surprised to see a faint echo of that amusement wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

He cleared his throat.“Well, Colonel Carter, Doctor Frasier tells me that your injury is minor.”

“Yes, sir!” she stated.“I told you it was.”

“Um… a sprained ankle,” Daniel said softly.

Carter’s glare notched up a degree or two. “Wrenched, Daniel. A wrenched ankle.”

Teal’c’s amusement spread to include the corners of his generous lips. “Colonel Carter, I am still unclear. Why, again, is this distinction significant?”

Carter scowled at the big man. “Because stupid ‘sprained ankles’ are the staple injury of every pinheaded, simpering, useless heroine in every stupid romance ever written! The idiotic bimbos are always suffering ‘sprained ankles’ and falling gracefully into the manly arms of the poor, clueless bastards they’ve got their hooks into. I do not get sprained ankles!”

Daniel’s stifled laughter earned him a whap with the legal pad that had been sitting on the table in front of Carter’s seat.

Teal’c’s brows arched.“You fell into Daniel Jackson’s manly arms, did you not? Does he not qualify?”

Jack couldn’t help it.He joined Daniel’s no-longer-stifled laughter as Carter first turned her legal pad on Teal’c, then, grudgingly, began to grin. Eventually, her laughter added to the chorus as Teal’c’s mouth curved into what on any other man would have to be called a smirk.

“You know, T,” Jack sputtered. “You used to be able to get away with that.”

Teal’c’s smile widened.“Nurse Clarke has provided a number of romance novels for my consideration. I believe Daniel Jackson would admirably fill the roll of ‘hero’ in such stories.”

Now Daniel was casting a mock scowl toward Teal’c.

“However, Colonel Carter is correct. She is most unsuited.”

Shaking his head, Jack dropped his forehead to rest against the table, still shaking with laughter. So what the hell had he been worried about? It was the same. They were the same. His team, his people, his friends.

Moments would come when The General would have to emerge, but he felt a surge of warm reassurance sweep through him.

They were the same.

Heaving a deep breath, forcing his laughter into submission, he straightened.

“Okay, Colonel. So what the hell happened on that planet? Other than you fainting into Daniel’s manly arms?”

The warmth of amusement was still with him as he tackled the duty roster. Their little problems on the planet had, in fact, been relatively insignificant. Of course, they never were going to find out if that place had anything to offer, but it hadn’t been high on their list of possibilities, anyway. He still remembered the speculative twist to Carter’s mouth when he’d assigned the task of checking it out to SG-1. And she’d been right. He’d chosen it because he figured it would be a safe, easy job.

He’d know better now. Had known then. SG-1 was Earth’s premier team for good reason, and they could do their job without him in charge.

Sighing, he forced himself to concentrate on setting up the sessions he wanted for the new intake.

Reviewing the duty roster always made him smile a bit. He’d never realized what old George had been up to. But a good look at the scheduling of certain personnel suggested priorities that didn’t have much to do with the everyday operations of the SGC. And once he’d noticed, the rest of it had stood out as if printed in red.

Smiling, he looked once again at his clock. Nearly 1900.

On cue, his stomach growled. Oh, yeah. Time for dinner. And this time, some good company.

He glanced again at the duty roster, smiling happily.

Nice work, George.

He heard it as soon as he stepped off the elevator. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he strode quickly toward the commissary.The volume increased as he approached.

He paused in the doorway, letting the sounds sweep over him, enjoying the fruits of Hammond’s roster manipulations.

Between 1800 and 2000, every Thursday evening, certain names were conspicuously absent from the roster.

Sergeant Streager. Airman Joan Tailor. Sergeant Siler. Supply Officer Margo Dean. And when possible, SG-1’s off-world activity was scheduled around the Thursday evening time slot, allowing Daniel and, frequently, Teal’c to participate. Janet often found a few moments to join in as well.

The day’s tension drained from Jack’s spine as he basked in the joy of SGC’s own weekly soiree--Tailor’s dancing fiddle, the seductive sweep of Dean’s recorder, and of course Daniel’s incredible guitar.

Daniel glanced up and met his gaze, smile stretching.

Jack grinned in return, then tipped his head toward an unoccupied table, tweaking a question with one eyebrow.

Daniel nodded happily, said a few words to his fellow musicians, and slid off his stool, guitar in hand.

Jack waited until the guitar was safely in its case, then headed for the counter, Daniel warm behind his left shoulder.

He caught sight of the clock high over the counter.

1900 hours.

1900, and all’s well in Jack O’Neill’s world.

~Ende~