Statistics

A lot of the time when new personnel (especially scientists) transfers in to Atlantis, their first instinct upon hearing about what's happened in the few short years the expedition has been in the Pegasus Galaxy is to conduct statistical analysis on it, or hang humorous posters on the walls: 23 days since the last Wraith attack, 16 days since a team was last imprisoned. But most of the time, they drop it quickly: the statistics aren't comforting. All too often the posters read 0 days since the last catastrophic event. All they do is drive home the fact that anybody could be next.

NaNo 2007: Chapters 31-35

Chapter 31: Being Talked Into It

"Oh, Mr. Crichton, I was wondering when you were going to show up," the bald man says, standing up and extending his hand to shake. "I'm General Hammond."

John shakes his hand. "Daniel got a bit distracted by Crichton's sword while he was relaying the message, sir," O'Neill says.

"Am I to take it you were using this time to evaluate Mr. Crichton's combat readiness?" General Hammond asks. "You were supposed to be giving him a tour."

"It's not a problem, really," John interjects. "Kinda fun, actually, and Teal'c's pretty good."

"He lasted two minutes against Teal'c when they were doing knives," O'Neill says, still impressed. "And he actually beat Teal'c with a sword." He pulls John's used target out of his pocket and hands it to the General. "Personally, I'd say he's qualified with all three of his weapons."

"Thank you, Colonel," General Hammond says. "You're dismissed, unless you'd like to show Mr. Crichton the labs later?"

"Not the labs, they're always doing all that science…stuff, there, you know I'd fall asleep as soon as I walked in. But I figure I at least owe the guy a meal from the commissary for actually beating Teal'c. Or, hey, I could get you a real meal after we get off," O'Neill says, turning to John. "Just let me know when you're going. We can probably talk Carter and Daniel into coming, too, since you're new here."

"Yeah, sure, no problem," John says. "I hope you know someplace, though, because like you said I'm new in town."

"Yeah, I've got it covered." General Hammond clears his throat and looks at Colonel O'Neill meaningfully. "Well, will you look at the time! I've got to go…do…stuff." He disappears, the door closing behind him.

"You seem to have made quite an impression on Colonel O'Neill," General Hammond says.

"I don't think he's recovered from seeing Teal'c with a bokken to his throat," John says. "It's a wooden practice sword," he clarifies, seeing the confusion on General Hammond's face. "But that isn't why you called me in here."

"No, it isn't," the General says. "But there's one more person who I'd like to be here for this." Just then, the door opens and a woman in a lab coat walks in. "John Crichton, meet Dr. Janet Frasier."

"This is about the medical exams, isn't it?" John asks. He'd been expecting this from when the SGC had agreed to his conditions in the first place - after all, the Stargate has to be an extremely efficient disease vector, not to mention all of the injuries that doubtless happen on a daily basis here and whatever strange things happen because of dealing with alien cultures; no doctor with even half a brain would just let him waltz around the SGC without regular checkups, even if he looks fine and doesn't ever mention anything being wrong with him.

"It is indeed," Dr. Frasier says. "I understand that you worked out a deal with General Hammond to not have to have medical exams without your permission except in the event of a possible Threshold situation, but I need to at least get a baseline for you so that we have something to compare to, if it comes down to it. And you should be having regular checkups anyway, why don't you just have them with us? I promise I don't bite…much."

"Look, Dr. Frasier, I know you mean well, but just drop it. I haven't had regular checkups in a really long time, and I'm not dead yet. And my last doctor gave me some medicine that she said wasn't addictive, but I got hooked on. So you'll forgive me if I don't have a real positive outlook about doctors any more."

"You're going to get yourself killed if you keep that attitude around here," Dr. Frasier says.

"It's a possibility," even if not permanently.

She skewers him with her glare. "What's your real reason?" she asks.

It's like he doesn't have any choice about telling her. "I know I have some odd things that might show up in a medical exam," he says reluctantly. "Nothing dangerous or anything, just…odd." Odd like not healing. Odd like having translator microbes in his brain.

"Well if you think they're odd but not dangerous we should at least examine you once to get a baseline. Otherwise when you're examined during a Threshold situation they'll show up and we might think they're part of the situation."

Okay, that makes sense, but… "You're not going to take any actions based on anything you might find out, are you?" he asks.

"If you say it's harmless, then I'll take your word for it, although I'd probably feel better if you'd actually talked to a doctor about it."

"Fine, fine," John says. "But no needles."

"You're missing the best part," Dr. Frasier says.

"No needles."

Chapter 32: Fitting In

As it turns out, John fits in pretty well at the SGC, even if he's the only one who isn't really excited by actual aliens - for the most part, they're just people, after all, although the Goa'uld seem to be particularly nasty people. It isn't his first time dealing with that, either, and at least this time he isn't a valuable commodity or being tortured.

The galactic war is a bit new, not because it's a galactic war or because he's taking part in it, but because he's part of an army. During the Peacekeeper - Scarran war, he'd fought - he'd used a wormhole weapon, even - but it had always just been him and a handful of other people. But the SGC is bustling - soldiers everywhere, scientists everywhere, allies dropping by for visits…enemies dropping by for visits, which isn't as new as it should be, but at least for the most part the SGC tends not to make their enemies into allies like the Moyans had had a tendency to do. It keeps the lines clear - well, except for the NID and then the Trust - which is a relief; there isn't any worrying about whose side people are really on, just a quick scan to make sure nobody's unexpectedly become a Goa'uld.

SG - 1 is the most pleasant surprise - he gets along with all of them even though he hadn't expected to when they'd recruited him, but Teal'c the most. With Teal'c he doesn't have to worry about giving away one of his secrets, even though his other one is still a secret. He's gotten so used to keeping Moya and Aeryn a secret that, even though he knows that people who know about the SGC are unlikely to disbelieve him, he doesn't. It's easier to keep everybody at a certain amount of distance since he plans to leave as soon as he can; why make stronger ties to people he knows he's going to leave behind than he has to? This is probably an unhealthy attitude for an Immortal to have, but really it's only his policy for this reality, or probably any reality other than his own. Plus, Teal'c is a good sparring partner. Since his life depends upon knowing how to fight more than it ever had before he'd come to this reality, he appreciates the value of a good sparring partner, especially one who can teach him as much as Teal'c had. He hadn't expected to find anybody good enough to teach him in Colorado Springs, because he's been learning unarmed combat and shooting for twenty two years now, and although he isn't the best at them by the standards of the people who teach him, he's at least decent, which translates to being good at them to the population at large - most people are hitting middle age by the time they have 22 years of experience at unarmed combat, but his body's stuck at the age it had been when he'd died the first time, coming through the wormhole to this reality, so he has both the experience and is still more or less in the prime of his life.

Overall, he fits in, even if Dr. Frasier never stops giving him the evil eye for not agreeing to more medical tests.

Chapter 33: Talking to Ghosts

It's depressing how often people die at the SGC - it seems like every month there's at least one funeral for SGC personnel (there isn't, actually, but it feels that way), several times for entire teams, and all too often the funerals don't have a body to bury. John doesn't go to most of the funerals, but he finds himself burying himself in work for a few days around when he knows they're happening. Funerals, even ones that he doesn't attend, always bring up bad memories and fears about what might be happening back on Moya in his reality - will he ever make it back? Has everybody died already? He's been separated from Aeryn for longer than he'd been with her, now, even if you count before they'd really gotten together - what if she's moved on? What if she doesn't love him any more? D'Argo has probably forgotten him by now, and the baby - he doesn't even know its name, doesn't even know if it’s a boy or a girl - will only know who he is through what others tell him or her. Around the dates of funerals, his sleep is plagued with nightmares, to say nothing of his doubts during the day.

This is all compounded when it's Daniel who dies. Of all the ways to die, he'd died of radiation poisoning, eerily reminiscent of the other John Crichton's death. John can't stand the thought of seeing him dying by inches, like his twin had, so he's probably the only person in the whole of the SGC who doesn't at least stop in briefly. He knows that Daniel will probably notice his absence, even though he's made efforts not to get to close to Daniel over the years - as a linguist, Daniel's the most likely to notice that he understands everything, no matter what language it's in, and sometimes John forgets that sometimes people don't speak English even if he understands what they're saying. Worse, sometimes he forgets that the papers and blackboards in Daniel's office are in languages he can't even pretend he knows how to read, because they're all old and/or alien, not the kinds of languages he could have picked up alongside the Spanish and Klingon he knows.

So he really isn't in a good place, mentally, what with the dying and the radiation poisoning and Harvey bothering him like he does way too often, and he decides to leave, take a few days of vacation time. It'll be good for him to get away from the SGC, and maybe he can even manage to skip the funeral. He does that, and it's all good, except then it turns out not to be much of a vacation after all because there's an Immortal who decides he wants his head and isn't willing to just attack him; no, he has to play with John, which means that John spends about a week avoiding people and trying to get the other Immortal to close with him. He's confident that once they start to actually fight he and Tomoe will be able to triumph without difficulty; the only difficulty is getting the other Immortal to either agree to it or go away and stop hunting him.

Finally - finally! - the other immortal thinks he's worn John down enough to actually have a chance at fighting him. And he's pretty good, for someone as young as he is (he's clearly only been an immortal for a few years, but he'd had a good teacher; he'd be better if he had been taking on opponents who challenged him, but he'd felt the need to weaken them like he'd tried to weaken John, so he could have been better), but John's better, so eventually he disarms the other Immortal and removes his head from his neck.

When the quickening dies down and he becomes aware of his surroundings again, John notices Daniel standing there in a tan robe sort of thing, looking at him. "Um, how much of that did you see?" he asks.

Daniel looks kind of startled. "You're acknowledging that I'm here?" he asks. "Nobody else has…wait, have you heard from the SGC in the past few days?"

"No," John says. "I've been on vacation."

"That explains it," Daniel says. "I'm dead. Well, technically, ascended to a higher plane of existence, but still, dead."

"You're a ghost?" John asks.

"Well, technically - " Daniel starts.

John cuts him off. "I'm not just hallucinating this, am I?" he asks. "Because I have enough of those, and I'd really prefer not to have any more. And considering some of the things I know are real, I'm willing to believe in ghosts. Or…whatever."

"You're not hallucinating," Daniel says. "Although everybody else seems to think they are, despite everything. It's curious that you're so willing to accept the existence of ascension when they don't."

"I've learned not to be too attached to my world view," John says, wiping Tomoe off. "It's been upset too often in the past." He slides Tomoe home and puts the cloth back in his pocket. "But enough about that. How much did you see?"

"Everything, I think," Daniel says. "What was that? Why was he attacking you? Why aren't you calling the police?"

"And say what, that he was attacking me with a sword so I defended myself with one? In case you hadn't noticed, it isn't exactly normal to have sword fights in alleys, or to carry a sword around for that matter."

"Okay, so why did both of you have swords?" Daniel asks. "Nobody's pressed it before because you do your job, but you can tell me now. I mean, I'm dead. Who would I tell? Who would believe me? They don't even believe that I'm not a hallucination."

"Whereas I, who hallucinate on occasion, am perfectly willing to believe you," John adds. "Though I've got to admit it might be different if Harvey lied to me on a regular basis."

"Trusting your hallucinations is probably a bad thing," Daniel says.

"Oh, I'm well aware of that," John replies. "But in a manner of speaking, Harvey's real - don't ask, I won't tell you - and on occasion he's helpful, albeit annoying." Daniel raises his eyebrows as if John's made his point for him. "I do know the difference between a hallucination and reality. Or do you want me to stop talking to you?"

"No, ah, that's all right," Daniel says. "Just an explanation of what just happened will be fine."

"Well, you see, this gentleman was formerly an Immortal - "

"If he was immortal, shouldn't he still be alive?" Daniel asks.

"The term is somewhat inaccurate," John says, "as we can die if we're decapitated. But if we aren't we can theoretically live forever."

"We?" Daniel pounces on the word like it's a slip on John's part. "You're one of these Immortals?"

"Yeah, I am," John says. "Thus why he attacked me - when one Immortal takes another Immortal's head he gets their power, their knowledge, all that. So he was one of the hunters, Immortals who go around picking fights with other Immortals."

"And the lightning?"

"It's called the quickening; it's what contains the power and knowledge and so forth."

"This is fascinating," Daniel says. "It certainly explains some of the myths and legends that didn't seem to fit in with the Goa'uld mythology." He stares into space for a few seconds, muttering to himself about myths or something, and then snaps out of it. "Hey, is this why you didn't want any medical exams? Obviously it's why you're so good with a sword…"

"Yeah, this is why. I don't want to be studied like a lab rat or something."

"Janet would never do that to you!"

"I know Dr. Frasier wouldn't do it, but what about when she's gone? What about whoever might look at her notes or inherits her diary? If she's ever replaced, I don't want to have to tell more people what I am in order to stay safe."

"That makes sense," Daniel says. "But once you had the agreement, you could have told us."

"It's easier not to," John replies. "Especially since I've been keeping it for a while."

"A while?" Daniel asks. "What does that mean to an Immortal? Four, five hundred years?"

"Fifteen, actually," John says. "I'm still young for an Immortal."

"So did you just…appear, fully grown, or what?" Daniel asks.

"I had a perfectly normal life cycle until I died for the first time."

"You died."

"Temporarily."

"But you're immortal."

"Like I said, the term's misleading."

"So it would seem."

"So is that all you wanted to know?" John asks. "Because I kind of want to get out of here, but I don't want people to see me talking to thin air. It never turns out well when that happens."

"You know this from personal experience?"

"Unfortunately."

"I'll let you get back to your life, then, but I'll see you later. Just don't expect me to do more than talk, because interference is really frowned upon by the others."

"I didn't know any members of SG - 1 were good at following the rules," John says. "And I don't know what you think I'd expect you to do, anyway; I leave the world saving to the SG teams."

"I don't really understand that. I mean, I understand wanting to do more work, as opposed to walking around on random worlds that aren't very interesting to you - trust me, they all start to look the same after a while - but the SG teams are saving the world, saving people, in a very literal sense, which is very exciting, at least to me. And you certainly have the abilities to be a huge asset to any team you join."

John shrugs. "I guess I just don't understand how people can be so altruistic even when they've been betrayed in the past," he says. "Defending Earth is fine, but very few other people out there actually want our help. I guess I just have smaller goals, though."

"Smaller?"

"Oh, you know, fly a spaceship, reunite with my wife and kids, the usual."

"I don't think wanting to fly a spaceship is usually counted as a smaller goal."

"That's because most people don't have a chance in hell of getting to fly one. I do, and it's on my list of goals like it's on a lot of people's lists of goals. I'm just the only one who mentions it, and I'm really only mentioning it because you're dead."

"I see. Well, I guess I'll see you later."

"Let me guess, you'll just stop by at random and probably inconvenient times," John says. "Like my life isn't crazy enough. Yeah, see you later."

He doesn't hear Daniel say anything in reply, so he turns and checks just to be sure. Yep, Daniel's pulled a vanishing act. Like he didn't call that one. He turns again and walks out of the alley, doing his practiced best to look like he'd never even heard of a headless body or ghosts. Honestly, he gets too much practice at that look.

Chapter 34: To Tell or Not To Tell

Daniel's dead - sorry, ascended - for a year, a year in which he seems to take John's acceptance of his reality to mean that he should feel free to pop up at any time of the day or night to chat. John's willing to spend time with the guy - he's obviously lonely or bored or something, judging by how often he appears - but he sometimes has to use all of the skill he's acquired at pretending he doesn't see Harvey, to keep from giving it all away. Not that he'd ever be so careless as to talk to Daniel in front of somebody else, but people notice things like body language and where others are looking, even if they don't think they do.

Then one day he's gone, and SG - 1 returns from their latest mission saying that he'd been punished by Oma Desala, and John finds that he misses Daniel's company, at least more than he'd ever missed the other annoying "hallucination" in his life, Harvey, even if Daniel had never offered him Jell - O shooters. Harvey, of course, takes great offense to his preference for Daniel as opposed to Harvey, and they spend weeks arguing about it in his head. Harvey argues that it's merely a case of absence making the heart grow fonder, like he'd liked Harvey better when he had been dying. John, of course, knows that it's a case of Daniel never having done anything bad to him or the people he loves, other than that entire day he'd spent trying to make John laugh while they were in public, which although cruel hadn't actually affected anybody; John has too much control over himself to laugh at jokes if he doesn't want to. At least, not those jokes.

Daniel's missing for months before SG - 1 (of course it's SG - 1, it's always SG - 1 doing the important things) finds him, completely without a memory of his life before waking up naked on the planet he was found on. Which, of course, means that he doesn't remember that John's a Immortal. John debates whether to tell him or not - on the one hand, he hadn't known about it before he'd ascended, but on the other, he had learned about it while he was ascended and John knows he can accept it without a problem. Besides, he misses their conversations. But when it comes down to it, John would honestly prefer to have as few people know about it as possible. He trusts Daniel, but it's always possible for people to force information out of others through torture. Daniel's tough, but John knows what torture is like. If Daniel remembers on his own, that's fine, but otherwise he isn't going to tell him.

Chapter 35: A Conversation

John finishes his work on his theories at about the same time that Earth acquires enough spaceships to make it somewhat reasonable for John to ask for one. He knows that he probably won't get one for years, at the least. If he ever gets one. But he's friends with Jack, and Jack's in Washington now, in a position to great is request if he feels like it and he can think of half a reason that might possibly convince other people that John should have a one or two person spaceship of his own. He isn't asking for a ship like the Daedalus, just something that flies into space, and Jack understands the desire to fly a spaceship.

"You want a spaceship?" Jack demands on the phone immediately after John picks it up. "Are you out of your mind? Do you know how much those things cost?"

"Nice to hear you too, Jack," John says. "I'm doing great, thanks."

"Yeah, yeah," Jack says. "Cut the chit chat, this isn't a social call."

"I don't expect to get one right away," John says. "But the SGC's always been flexible and I was hoping to work out something to earn one."

"Why don't you just build one?" Jack asks. "It'd probably be easier, with your abilities, tan talking the SGC into letting go of one of theirs."

"Easier, yes," John says. "Faster, probably not, especially considering that I'd probably need permits for at least some of the materials, if it's even possible to buy them."

"And even if you got one, what would you do with it? You don't have a pilot's license and we couldn't let you fly it any higher than a normal plane even if you did."

"Just because I don't have a pilot's license doesn't mean I don't know how to fly," John objects. "I've known how to fly for most of my adult life. But if you want me to have one, I can requalify."

"Flying in space isn't the same as flying in atmosphere," Jack says.

"I know that," John says, barely reminding himself that there's no way he could have flown in space in this reality. "But I think I can figure it out."

"Even if you could, we couldn't give you the opportunity to," Jack says. "Officially, none of the spaceships developed as a result of the Stargate program exist."

"I understand that," John says. "It wouldn't be a problem."

"So if you don't want to actually use it, then why do you want it?" Jack asks.

"I just want to be able to say - to myself, of course, because it's classified and I couldn't say it to anybody outside of the SGC - that I own a space ship," John says, lying through his teeth. Space ships stopped being anything special at about the same time that everything else strange in his life had become normal - the first time, anyway. By the second wave of weirdness becoming normal, space ships had already been normalized in his mind.

"For crying out loud, you can't do anything the easy way, can you?" Jack asks rhetorically, and continues. "I'll see what I can do, but don't expect it any time soon, if at all."

"I've got nothing but time," John says. "I'm willing to wait years, even, as long as I get it eventually."

"That's probably how long it's going to take," Jack warns. "But I'll see what I can do for you. Maybe - maybe - I'll be able to even get you the rights to fly it, but I wouldn't hold your breath if I were you."

"Trust me, I'm not," John says. "but thanks for trying, even if you don't succeed."

"No problem," Jack says. "Trying to convince people to go along with this will at least be more interesting than most of the other budget conversations."

"Most of the other budget conversations?" John asks. "I wasn't aware that any of them were even a little bit interesting."

"Well, you know, there are some strange things being done that the SGC pays for," Jack says. "And I get to hear about everything that goes on there, even some of the things I never heard about when I was the head of the SGC because it was elsewhere."

"Are you referring to the syrup?" John asks.

"You have to admit, it is kind of strange for a military facility to order quite that much syrup," Jack says. "But I guess if that's what our allies want to trade us naquadah for, it's a good thing I can talk the stuffed shirts around to our point of view of things."

"I'm just glad you didn't tell them it was for their prank wars," John replies. "I don't think that would go over very well."

"Well, they did ask, but I told them that it doesn't really matter to us what they do with the syrup - after all, it's not like they can attack us with it."

"Actually, I hear they're really determined pranksters, especially since their whole culture is based around it. If they thought that attacking us with syrup would make a good prank, they'd find a way to attack s with it."

"They're a pre - spaceflight, preindustrial society," Jack says. "And they know that we have a shield over the gate. I don't think they'd be able to even if they tried, which they wouldn't."

"Where there's a will, there's a way," John replies. "And you clearly didn't listen when you were told about their pranks, or you'd know that there most definitely is a will where they're concerned."

"Really?" Jack asks, interested. "I'll have to check that out."

"It's interesting reading," John says. "The report on it was doing the rounds at the SGC for a few weeks. Although I suspect that they only told us about their biggest accomplishments."

"Still, that they even told us about their largest accomplishments in this prank war - literally - is pretty amazing."

"As I understand it, the syrup prank is supposed to be the coup de grace which will win the war for them for once and for all - or at least until the other side comes up with a bigger prank."

"If you say so…there certainly are a lot of strange cultures on other planets."

"There are a lot of strange cultures here on Earth, if you think about it," John says, with the full weight of somebody who's experienced culture shock upon returning to his own planet, his own country, his own house.

"I guess you're right," Jack admits. "Hey listen, I've got to go, but I'll work on your request."

"Thanks, Jack," John says, and hangs up.

NaNo 2007: Chapters 26-30

Chapter 26: Abort, Retry, Fail?

"I really wish I'd been able to talk him into it," Sam says dejectedly. "I don't understand it- I can't think of a single person who wouldn't want to join the SGC once they learned what it is, and it looked like Crichton was tempted for a second there, but then he just shut down like he wouldn't even consider it."

"Maybe Jack scared him off," Daniel suggests.

"Daniel," Colonel O'Neill says.

"Jack," Daniel replies, and that seems to be the end of it. Honestly, sometimes the two of them could have whole conversations consisting of just their names.

"Perhaps our attempt to convince John Crichton to join the SGC would be more fruitful if I were the one to speak to him," Teal'c says.

"You don't have to do that, Teal'c," Sam says. "If he doesn't want to do it, he doesn't have to."

"No, Sam, I think Teal'c has a point," Daniel says. "He clearly has some issues with the military, and maybe if Teal'c told him about his situation and what we and General Hammond have managed to do for him it might reassure him, especially if he's worried about the flexibility of a military program."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," Colonel O'Neill says.

"Well, you may not have noticed this, Jack, but archaeologists and anthropologists don't exactly tend to be a military-friendly group in general. Although for the most part, I'm not the one doing the recruiting. You'd be surprised at how many people refuse to listen to me after I introduce myself. But yes, it is useful to have an example to point to, that the SGC isn't a typical military program, that it's flexible if it has to be. And I suspect that what's holding Crichton back is that he doesn't think the SGC will be flexible enough for him. But since he didn't even try to negotiate for it, and he tossed us out of there pretty quickly, it must be something he doesn't think he has even a remote chance for, even when he learned that we know about his fake ID."

"I don't think he was surprised that we found out about that," Colonel O'Neill says. "He was too calm."

"Well it's not exactly a huge leap of logic to figure out that we ran a background check before offering him a job," Sam says. "But I suppose it wouldn't hurt for Teal'c to try to convince him."

"You heard Carter," Colonel O'Neill says, turning around to go back to the house. "You want to give it a shot, Teal'c, let's go."

"I believe I might have more success if I went alone," Teal'c says.

"No way," Colonel O'Neill says. "No way are you going to ditch the rest of us."

"Sir," Sam says, "Teal's right. All of us there was probably intimidating. If it was just Teal'c he wouldn't feel as much like he was being cornered and he'd be more likely to open up."

"Now we want him to open up?" Colonel O'Neill asks. "Is this recruitment or therapy?"

"If we don't know what the problem is, we can't fix it," Daniel points out. "There might not even be a problem, just Crichton's fears and inaccurate perception of the SGC."

"All right, fine," Colonel O'Neill says, giving up. "You've convinced me. If you want to talk to him without any backup, be my guest. We'll be…in the car, I guess."

Teal'c nods solemnly at him in thanks and goes back to the house.

Chapter 27: Not From Around Here

"Look, Murray, I know you guys want to hire me, but I don't want to do it," John says as soon as he sees who's on the other side of the door. "And trust me, there isn't anything you can say to convince me."

"Nevertheless, I would like to be given the opportunity to try."

John sighs and holds the door open for Murray to enter. "Sure, whatever. I'm willing to listen, but you're wasting your time."

They settle into the same seats they had been in earlier, except this time, for the first time since he'd first appeared on John's doorstep, Murray removes the baseball cap on his head. John had started to think it was a weird thing about Murray, that he never took his hat off, but now he sees that it's there to cover up the mark on his forehead, a raised gold oval around a squiggle. It seems like an odd thing for somebody working for the military to have on his head, and most people who get tattoos or piercings or whatever this is on visible places don't bother to cover them up; they get them in order for them to be seen. If they don't want them to be seen, they get them somewhere easily covered up or don't get them in the first place. Of course, it's possible that Murray had only covered his up because his job requires it, but Carter, O'Neill, and Jackson don't seem like the kind of people who would report him for taking off his hat.

"My name is Teal'c." He'd been introduced as Murray earlier, though, John's sure of it. So why the subterfuge? So the guy has a strange name. A lot of people have strange names, but they don't go around introducing themselves by different names unless they hate their real names. And if they hate their real names they don't tell them to virtual strangers to try to convince them to be hired. But Teal'c continues. "I was once the First Prime of Apophis. I come from a planet called Chulak, and my wife and son are still there."

"You look human," John says. "Sebacean?" Teal'c raises an eyebrow in inquiry. "Never mind," John waves it off. "Obviously not."

"I'm a Jaffa. We're born to be the hosts to the larval form of a parasite known as the Goa'uld, which have enslaved humans for thousands of years. If the larval Goa'uld were to be removed from me, I would die. When I first came to Earth, there were certain factions which wanted to remove my symbiote to study it, regardless of my death. However, General Hammond and SG-1 fought against them and ultimately triumphed."

"Obviously, since you're still here."

"Indeed." And then Teal'c falls silent, just looking at him until he can't stand it any more.

"Look, just because they went to bat for you doesn't mean they'll go to bat for me," John says. "And I think some of my requests would be stranger than yours." Teal'c raises an eyebrow again. John gets the sense that he uses The Eyebrow to communicate a lot, and a lot of the time. "You aren't the only one in danger of being experimented on." The Eyebrow. Teal'c is apparently a skilled interrogator even without saying anything. "Promise you won't tell anybody if I show you?" John asks. "Not even the other three. I know they're your friends and you trust them, but I don't."

"I do," Teal'c says.

They're already in the kitchen, because it's where John usually entertains guests- it's comfortable and sunny, and he doesn't have a TV because he'd spent so long without one that he'd lost all interest in it, and he entertains guests so little that he hadn't seen the point in buying chairs and couches he'll never use. He himself grades his papers and works on his wormhole theories at the kitchen table, which encourages him to keep his theories at least somewhat organized, since he has to move them off of the table if he wants to eat in. So since they're already in the kitchen, it only takes a second for John to get up and pick up a knife.

He holds it to his hand above the kitchen sink. "Are you watching?" he asks Teal'c.

"I am," Teal'c says. "The action you have planned seems ill advised."

"Just watch," John says, and uses the knife to cut deeply into the palm of his hand, biting his lip to keep from yelling. Pain's supposed to be a warning sign, to keep people from doing things that'll kill them, but this won't kill him. Sometimes it annoys him that he has to put up with the pain even though it's basically obsolete to him, but at least it goes away quickly. John's blood is dripping into the sink. Teal'c obviously thinks he's gone off his rocker, but at least he's staying for the demonstration and not trying to interfere or anything. "Want to see a magic trick?" John asks conversationally, feeling the healing lightning rising to his hand.

Teal'c watches the healing without saying anything except with that eyebrow of his, which, if a picture is worth a thousand words, is worth a thousand pictures at the least.

John rinses off his hand and the knife. He'll wash the knife more thoroughly later (he does have to use it to prepare food, after all), but this will do for now. "You can examine the knife or my hand if you want," he says. "But it's real, and if the government got their hands on me I don't think they'd ever let me go. You think people have problems with you? How do you think they'd feel about somebody who can only die one way- and no offense, but I don't trust you enough to tell you what that way is? And that's only the first one of my problems with the job offer. If it was just that, then I'd have no problem as long as I was as protected as you are, but believe me, that's just the tip of the iceberg."

"General Hammond would protect you, I'm certain."

"Yeah, well, like I said that's only my first problem with this."

"Would you do it if your conditions were met?"

John tosses the knife on the counter so he'll remember to clean it later and looks anywhere but at Teal'c. "Maybe. Probably. I have some philosophical difficulties with it, but considering…" he trails off. No matter how nice Teal'c is being, be doesn't want to tell him everything. "They really aren't that large as long as you guys aren't messing around with time and alternate realities, because that never turns out well." He realizes what he's said and coughs. "Or, that's what I've heard. From movies and so forth."

"Indeed."

"But there's no way my conditions will be met. Some of them I don't think anybody would agree to, and most of those are the ones I won't negotiate on."

"I've found the SGC to be extremely flexible, and Captain Carter greatly desires your aid. It may be that if you ask, your conditions will be met."

"I don't think you'll be saying that once you hear my terms," John replies.

"You will never know that if you do not tell me your terms."

"All right, fine," John says, grabbing a legal pad and a pencil to write it down with. "I'll tell you, just give me a few minutes to think of all of them. I know I've got a few, but I haven't exactly had time to think it over."

Chapter 28: Conditions

"Is this a joke?" General Hammond asks, reading the list of conditions Teal'c had gotten from John Crichton.

"It is not," Teal'c says. "Of the conditions which John Crichton explained his reasons for having on the list, his reasons made sense and I agree with them."

"So which ones did he explain?" Colonel O'Neill demands. "Why does he have so many conditions, or such strange ones?"

"I am afraid that I cannot tell you that," Teal'c says, "as he has made me swear not to, and I will not betray a confidence."

"It's like he doesn't want us to hire him," Daniel says.

"But if he's trying to make us give up on trying to recruit him, then why's he giving us demands? Why doesn't he just say no?" Sam asks. "It doesn't make any sense unless he means it about not being willing to work here unless they're met. To me, it looks more like he wants to but figures none of his conditions will be met."

"That's because they're insane," Colonel O'Neill states. "We can't require medical exams? Allowed to carry weapons- and he's even made a note that by weapons he means a handgun, a knife, and a sword. The man's clearly unhinged."

"He did volunteer to take proficiency tests with all of the weapons, even the sword," Daniel says. "Although I don't know where we'd find somebody who's good with one other than, supposedly, him, it does show that he wouldn't be just waving them around without any clue how to use them. I don't know what the medical exams thing is about though."

"That one of the things he explained to you?" Colonel O'Neill asks Teal'c.

"Indeed." Teal'c inclines his head.

"Oh, good, so there's a good reason behind it, we just can't know it. That's comforting. General, come on, you can't be with them on this, can you?"

"I'm afraid I can, Colonel," General Hammond says. "John Crichton is a valuable asset that I'd prefer not to let slip through our fingers. I can grant all of these without a problem. I'd like to speak to him on the subject of medical examinations once he arrives, and try to change his mind."

"I do not believe he will change his mind on that matter," Teal'c says. "Nor do I believe he poses any danger to himself or to others by forgoing medical exams, even in situations of contagion. However, I did manage to convince him to allow examination if there is believed to be a threshold situation."

"I'd still like to try," General Hammond says. "I'll get this all arranged, and then we can contact him to let him know we've agreed to his conditions."

"Welcome to the SGC, John Crichton," Colonel O'Neill says, slightly sourly. "I hope you're less trouble now that you're hired."

Chapter 29: Stargate

In all honesty, the last thing John had expected when he'd made his list of conditions was for them to be accepted, without any problems- well, there probably was quite a bit of discussion about it, even if only in General Hammond's head, but it had clearly gone quickly, because here he is, showing his ID to the guard at the gate to Cheyenne Mountain not more than a month after they'd come and asked him to join the SGC. And the only reason it had taken a month is because he'd had to wait for Mac to get back- he wouldn't want to be remiss in his dojo-sitting duties, after all- because the SGC had actually sent out a whole troupe of soldiers, who had packed up everything he owns as quickly and efficiently as if they do it every day. Which they probably do, so. Mac thinks he's crazy for accepting the job, especially since he knows it's military- he saw the soldiers. "They can make you disappear just as efficiently as they packed up your house," he warns. "No matter what papers they've signed."

"I know," John says. "Do you honestly think I, of all people, don't know that?" He stares at Mac until he gets it. "But it's wormholes. I can't just forget about it. If there's even a remote chance it'll get me back home faster, I have to do it, especially since they agreed to all of my conditions." And Mac does get it, he knows. Mac knows what it's like for home not to be the same place he's living on a permanent basis- John's heard him talk about Scotland, and he knows that it's home to Duncan no matter how long he goes between even visits.

So here he is, gate guard scrutinizing his ID, other gate guard checking out his car's undercarriage with a mirror or something, and then guard #1 hands him back his ID, raises the bar, and lets him enter the base. Parking's on the left side of the road, so he parks, but then he finds that he can't move. He feels as nervous as if this is the first day of school and he's been forced to go naked. And if he makes a single misstep every person in there will shoot to kill, and when he comes back disregard the agreements the General had signed. It's possible he's panicking a little, but it's just a bit too late for him to be having second thoughts about this.

John forces his fingers to uncurl from the steering wheel, one by one, and at long last opens the door and steps out, retrieving his katana Tomoe and the gun he'd picked up on Earth (he's saving Winona for when he gets back to Moya; after all, he can't get chakkan oil here)- he already has the knife on, but it's impossible to wear a sword and drive at the same time, and a bit uncomfortable to wear the gun at his back (personally, he'd prefer a thigh holster, but this isn't the Uncharted Territories; by law, he has to keep it concealed). And then he's ready, because the soldiers who had packed up his house had also sent his theories on ahead at his request. They'd gotten here before he did.

He really has no clue where to go once he enters the Mountain, but fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately, considering who it is) Colonel O'Neill is there and waiting for him.

"Ah, there you are," the Colonel says. "I was afraid you were going to be late for your first day of work."

"Are you my tour guide, O'Neill?" John asks. "I thought Carter was going to be."

"Yeah, she was," O'Neill says. "But there was a situation she couldn't tear herself away from." He looks worried (not enough that they're in danger, unless he's unusually unconcerned about immanent death, but enough that John knows that the situation is real, and not something manufactured so that O'Neill can grill him without interference. No, that's just a side benefit to O'Neill). "She said something about…magnets."

Magnets? Is O'Neill really stupid or is he just faking it? John suspects the latter; you don't become a Colonel by being stupid. He could probably help, if Carter's involved, but he knows he isn't going to get a chance today; today's tour day for him, period.

"Anyway, this way," O'Neill says and walks over to an airman seated behind a desk and shows him his ID. "If you want to go down, you have to show your ID to this guy, even if you've been in his sight ever since you came up. Normally it would be your base ID, but he has to give that to you so show him your driver's license."

John does, and the airman checks it against a list, like he had with Colonel O'Neill's. Apparently satisfied, he opens a drawer and pulls out an ID, which he hands to John.

"You have to wear that so it's visible at all times while you're on the base," O'Neill says. "Technically, we're all supposed to shoot first and ask questions later when we see somebody without an ID badge, but in practice it's a bit more fluid." He opens his mouth to say more, but closes it with a glare at the airman.

ID badges clipped securely in place, they enter the elevator beside the desk and O'Neill presses the button for the lowest level. "Sometimes it seems like the elevators are the longest part of the commute, you know? But I guess they're pretty fast for how far down they have to go." They're silent through the rest of the elevator ride, going past the next airman at a desk and going through even more thorough scrutiny, and the next elevator ride, because they don't know each other well enough to have anything to talk about and there really isn't anything to say about the elevators. O'Neill looks like he's about to say something a couple of times, but he never does. Maybe he's saving up all his comments for the tour.

They step out of the second elevator, and it looks just like the rest of the base: grey. Not that John was expecting anything different, because he really wasn't, but it'll take some getting used to, like Moya's golden walls had. For weeks he'd woken up disoriented just because it was a new place completely different from anywhere he'd lived before, but he'd expected that. What he hadn't expected was to see gold out of the corner of his eye, in the very beginning, and be startled, even though everything was gold.

This is apparently the SGC proper (no more elevators, fortunately), because O'Neill turns to him and says, "Welcome to the SGC. I suppose you want to see the Stargate first?" and starts walking off without waiting for his reply. Which makes sense, really; the Stargate is what everybody is here for, from the soldiers to the scientists, and who wouldn't want to see it first? That would be like going to Paris for the first time and refusing to even look in the direction of the Eiffel Tower. Except more so, because everybody knows what the Eiffel Tower looks like; if there's a movie that has Paris in it at all, you can bet the Eiffel Tower is going to be there, visible. But there are no movies about the SGC, no pictures of the Stargate outside of the SGC and really top secret files. Basically, if you want to see the Stargate you have to see it in person, and since it does more than just sit there it probably looks different in real life than it does in pictures.

O'Neill leads him into a conference room overlooking the gate room. His breath catches. He'd only had the shortest of descriptions, and like the explanations of what's done here, he suspects that's shorter than the spiel usually given to new recruits before they're allowed into the SGC because of his resistance to the idea of joining the SGC. But even so, he suspects the sight of the Stargate would amaze anybody who hasn't been going through it for as long as, apparently, Colonel O'Neill has been, because he doesn't seem to feel anything out of the ordinary at the sight of it. But John only notices O'Neill's lack of reaction out of the corner of his eye, with the part of him that has been trained to always be on alert, because the rest of his attention is focused on the Stargate.

It's huge. He'd known that, intellectually, but it's one thing to know that the Stargate is a ring which is 20 feet in diameter, and quite another to see the soldiers looking almost like ants next to it. It's like the difference between knowing that Moya is large, and flying out in the Farscape and taking a look at her, having to go pretty far out before he can even fit all of her into the window. It's like knowing that teenagers are difficult, and jumping into teaching 6 classes every day. It's like knowing that Mac is a sadistic bastard and being trained by him.

A claxon sounds, and the red lights he'd noticed on the walls of every room and corridor start to flash. The Stargate's dial spins and the triangles along the rim light up. Then something that looks like a huge mass of water comes out of the Stargate. John takes an involuntary step back- that's going to take some getting used to- and the "water" recedes until it looks like there's a pool of water upright in the Stargate. Maybe this is the difference between an artificial wormhole and a true wormhole, besides the relative simplicity of navigating artificial wormholes, of course- just dial the gate and step through, and you're in the right place and time and reality, which is far from John's experiences with true wormholes.

"Offworld activation," comes a voice over the intercom. There's a pause, and then the voice continues. "It's SG-3," and the claxons stop, although the lights are still flashing, presumably as a warning that the Stargate is currently active. A team, SG-3 presumably, of four people step through the Stargate, the event horizon rippling around them like it really is water, except that the ripples die away too quickly.

"Walter must be out sick today, or something," O'Neill comments. "He's the usual Gate technician, and he always remembers to use the shield. Somebody's going to get chewed out by the General today." The Stargate "closes", the wormhole dispersing, and he turns to John. "So! That's the Stargate, I'm sure Carter will fill you in on all the details about it later, because she loves to do that. Where do you want to tour next? It's a bit early to check out the commissary, unless you didn't have breakfast, because they don't break out the blue Jell-O until lunchtime. The infirmary's always popular, although that's really more because it's mandatory- but you managed to get out of all the parts of this tour that involve getting really big needles stuck into you, you lucky dog. And I spend enough time around Carter and Daniel to know better than to show you where the scientists hole up yet. General Hammond will be busy with SG-3 for a while, he'll send for you when he's ready to meet with you. So…" O'Neill trails off and looks at John expectantly.

"I suppose you want to get me checked out on my weapons," John says, seeing where he's going with it. "Sure, I guess we can do that, although somehow I doubt you even have anybody who's qualified to test my skill with a sword."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," O'Neill says blandly. "This way."

"By the way, what's the purpose of these stripes on the floor?" John asks, figuring if it's important enough to paint on the floor it's important enough to be mentioned on the tour.

"You know, I've always wondered that myself," O'Neill says. "But nobody seems to know."

Chapter 30: Testing

As he'd expected of a base this large, with so much ordnance being carried around, the shooting range is both large and occupied by several people. John and O'Neill go off to the side, where there are fewer people but it's no less noisy, and O'Neill watches as John readies the target and his handgun. He gestures at it, a may I? John shrugs and hands it to him. O'Neill runs a short check of the weapon, pulling out the clip and working the slide before putting it back together and handing it back to John along with a box of ammunition.

John turns to the target and shoots like Aeryn had taught him to all those years ago- after he'd almost shot himself with the Peacekeeper's pulse rifle when they were escaping she'd decided to teach him so that he wouldn't accidentally shoot her. Of course, Earth weapons have a lot more recoil than pulse rifles for the same amount of damage, and his first few shots are a little off because of it, just like they always are when he goes to the range. John's theory is that it's because the range is all the shooting he ever does any more, now that he doesn't ever have to defend himself- with a gun, anyway. He settles into it after a few shots, and the rest of the shots are clustered as closely as they ever are.

The paper target comes back, fluttering in the breeze of its passage through the air, and John removes it from the hangers and hands it to O'Neill. O'Neill's lips purse in a whistle unheard over the din, and his lips shape the word nice. John shrugs like the compliment means nothing, but honestly it's nice to have somebody just compliment him on his shooting, instead of insisting he can do better if he tries. Although he probably can do better, but still, it's a huge improvement from his skill level when he'd first picked up a pulse pistol. Aeryn's done a good job of teaching him, by objective standards if not by her subjective ones. And he knows that she just wants to keep him safe, because she isn't always there- case in point, now- and even when she is, sometimes it needs more than one pulse pistol to stay alive.

John refills his clip and slides it back into his gun, then looks at O'Neill. Do you want me to show you some more, or is that good for you? And O'Neill gestures back, shrugging. It's good for me, but we've got a lot of time to kill, so if you want to go for longer you can. John considers, and then he shrugs and reholsters the gun. There will be time later. For now, they might as well get on with the "tour" so they can be done before General Hammond is ready for him.

O'Neill folds up the target and tucks it into a pocket. "Souvenir?" John asks when they're back out in the corridor.

"I have to show it to the General," O'Neill says. "Proof of your abilities, and such. Hey, do you want to see the gym next?" he asks like the thought just occurred to him.

John gives him a look that he hopes conveys how much he isn't fooled by O'Neill's innocent expression. "Yeah, sure, if you want," he says. "And I guess we could get those qualifications out of the way while we're there. You know, save a little time."

"You know, that's a great idea," O'Neill says, still playing the innocent. "In fact, I bet Teal'c's there now, I bet he'd help us out if we asked. And you never know, sword fighting might be one of those skills all the Jaffa have, like the staff thing."

"Staff thing?"

"Oh yeah, they're big on the staffs, those Jaffa. Although for the most part they use them to shoot people with. But they do train for… staff to staff combat."

"So you think he might know how to sword fight?"

"Oh, yeah, Teal'c seems to know everything there is to know about combat. Nobody's even come close to beating him in hand-to-hand, he does well on the range, and there's nobody I'd rather have watching my six. But what do you expect from a man who used to be the First Prime of Apophis and is more than a hundred years old?"

"Teal'c's more than a hundred years old?"

"Yeah, apparently Jaffa live for a really long time. He doesn't look a day over sixty, does he?"

"I guess not." The more he sees the universe, the more John realizes that humans are really short lived, in the greater scope of things. Nothing like traveling around the universe, making friends with aliens, to give you perspective. Although he hasn't thought of them as aliens for a long time; they're just people, no matter if they're green or purple or blue or mixed polka dots and stripes. Sentience is what matters, not the external appearance.

"So, about this qualification- I take it you have your knife on you, like the gun?"

"I don't leave home without 'em," John replies.

"So do you need to go out to your car to get your sword or something?" O'Neill asks.

"Nope, I got that, too," John says.

"Where?" O'Neill asks. "You can't conceal a sword, and I don't see one."

"Oh, ye of little faith," John says, and draws Tomoe. He shrugs. "It's not surprising you didn't see it; I've had a lot of practice concealing it, because you might not have noticed but it's a bit longer than the legal length for knives." He makes sure to keep his pronouns straight; he usually refers to Tomoe and Winona with female pronouns, but he doesn't really want O'Neill to start thinking he's crazy, or at least crazier.

O'Neill looks impressed, but John can't tell if it's because of Tomoe or because of his skill at concealing her. "Wow, you really do have a sword. I thought that was just a joke, or something." Or it could be the third option.

"You thought I made a joke about wanting to be allowed to take a sword to work on a secret military base?" He shakes his head and laughs. "I don't have that strange of a sense of humor." He slides Tomoe back in her sheath, where she's invisible unless you really know what to look for- for the most part, the only people who do are immortals.

"Well, you do have to admit it is a strange request. And technically, the base isn't secret, just this part of it."

"I have my reasons," John says shortly, and he thinks O'Neill would have pushed for more detail- which no way is he going to provide- except it's obvious that they've arrived at the gym, even to somebody who knows the layout of the SGC as little as John does. "Oh hey, the gym."

As a change of subject it's blatantly obvious, but John doesn't care if O'Neill knows that he doesn't want to talk about his reasons; in fact, it's probably better that he does know. He's known since John had refused to talk to anybody except for Teal'c back in Seacouver, of course, but apparently he'd needed a reminder. John's been relatively subtle so far, but if he has to tell O'Neill explicitly that he isn't going to talk about it to make him stop bothering him, then he will. He just hopes it doesn't come to that, because O'Neill's the second in command of the SGC, and outright friction with him wouldn't be anything like a good idea. Besides, they really are at the gym. O'Neill must be really distracted by him to not be pointing out the sights, such as they are.

"Ah, yes," O'Neill says, walking into the gym. It's pretty much what John had been expecting; gyms are pretty much all the same, after all, so really the only difference between this gym and one off of the base is that this one has the same grey walls and floor as the rest of the SGC (and presumably the rest of Cheyenne Mountain, but John hasn't actually seen much of the Mountain except for the SGC so he's really only guessing on that score). "This is where the magic happens."

"Really? I wasn't aware of any magic being done at the SGC. Or that it worked."

"Indeed," Teal'c says. "Neither was I. Perhaps Colonel O'Neill will inform us of when this magic will occur." He looks at O'Neill like he's waiting for a reply.

"It's an expression, Teal'c," O'Neill says, exasperated. "Meaning this is where you're going to beat him like you beat everybody else on this base. And you should know better," he says, pointing at John. "Scientists," he mutters under his breath. "I'm just going to sit down and watch, and you guys can work out the details of the fighting." He suits his actions to his words and takes a seat on one of the benches where he has a good view of the open area where they'll fight.

"Do you have a preference about which order we should do combat in?" Teal'c asks him politely.

John considers for a second. "How about we go from my worst weapon to my best?" he asks. "Although I don't have a problem with the other way around. We can do unarmed, too, if you want- I'm better at unarmed than with the knife because I've been doing it longer, but I'm amazing with a sword. Although we probably shouldn't use actual swords for that. I wouldn't want to hurt you."

"It does seem prudent to take precautions to avoid injury," Teal'c says. "And the order you have proposed is acceptable. I have taken the liberty of procuring wooden substitutes of both knives and swords- although both come in a number of varieties, and I was unsure which you used."

"Thanks, Teal'c. I'm pretty flexible about the stuff I use, at least for practice and short term. Why don't you just get those out and I'll get ready." Getting ready means taking off his holster and Tomoe in her sheath, and his jacket. It's something he can do in his sleep, and has in the past when almost asleep from exhaustion, because it's been his routine virtually every night since he returned to Earth involuntarily. He leaves it all in a pile, with a look at O'Neill that means don't touch and if I get distracted, don't let anybody else touch my stuff either. Not that he cares about the jacket; it's just a jacket. And the gun is just a gun, although he cares more about it because of what it is. The only thing he's really concerned about is Tomoe, but she's the unusual item in the pile, the one that anybody who wants to mess with his stuff will want to touch. Guns and jackets are a dime a dozen in the SGC, but Tomoe is one of a kind, no matter where she is.

Teal'c hands him a wooden knife and he automatically checks the balance. Not too bad, although probably not the best for throwing, if there was ever a reason to throw a wooden knife. Staking vampires from a distance, maybe? There are no vampires here, just him and Teal'c and O'Neill, and right now him and Teal'c are the only two who matter. They close in on each other, and, well, Teal'c beats him. Badly. In a way, it reminds him of when Aeryn had first started teaching him, except they'd never done knives and she'd tended to be more disgusted with his lack of ability than Teal'c is, unless he's hiding it really well. Which is entirely possible, considering his characteristic stoicness- he could be thinking or feeling anything behind there, and nobody would know but Teal'c. But that just doesn't seem like Teal'c. And sure, he barely knows the guy, but he'd barely known Aeryn before he'd fallen in love with her. He has a pretty good track record with his snap judgments of people.

Teal'c removes the wooden knife from his neck, gets up from kneeling on his chest, and offers him a hand up.

"What was that, a minute and a half, a minute forty five?" O'Neill asks Teal'c.

"I believe it was two minutes," Teal'c replies.

"Well, like I said, I'm not especially good with a knife," John says. "I usually end up losing."

"You call that not especially good?" O'Neill asks incredulously. "I think that's the longest anybody's lasted against Teal'c. It's a new record."

Oh, so he's just always been up against the hardest opponents, he isn't actually bad. That's reassuring, except he has the knife so if something happens to Tomoe he'll be at least marginally able to defend himself against other Immortals, and Immortals tend to be just as good as Teal'c is. He should know; Mac's had him face a few in friendly practice matches so he gets a feel for styles of fighting other than Mac's own.

The unarmed combat is over faster, and with the same results, because while John's better at it than he is with a dagger, so is Teal'c, and for the most part John's unarmed combat has been against Aeryn. He doesn't have very much experience fighting people Teal'c's size with anything other than a pulse pistol or a sword.

O'Neill seems disappointed in the outcome of this fight. "For crying out loud, Crichton, I thought you said you were better at unarmed than with a knife, but you went down even faster this time."

"Hey, I might be better unarmed than with a knife, but so is he," John argues. Teal'c hands him a bokken. "Now this is more like it." He gets into a ready stance and waits for Teal'c. "How easy should I go on you?" he asks.

"As this is an evaluation of your abilities, I do not believe you should 'go easy' on me at all," Teal'c says.

"If you say so," John replies and waits for Teal'c to make the first move.

Teal'c attacks, and John easily disarms him, sending Teal'c's bokken flying. Within seconds, his bokken is stopped a hair's breadth from Teal'c's throat.

"Whoa!" O'Neill shouts, and John realizes that Teal'c's bokken had gone in his direction when he'd disarmed Teal'c, and it had barely missed O'Neill.

"Told you I'm best with a sword," John says, taking the bokken away from Teal'c's throat. Teal'c brings a hand up to his neck, even though it hadn't been touched. John knows that feeling, that he stopped that a millimeter from my neck; if he'd been careless I could have been killed, even though that's only a bokken feeling, that phantom feel of a blade at his neck when the only thing that had touched it was the air displaced by the bokken. He'd certainly been on the receiving end of it often enough. "Of course, if you think it's a fluke we can go for two out of three or something, but the results are going to be the same."

"I believe that is sufficient demonstration of your abilities," Teal'c says. "You appear to be proficient in all of them. However, I would enjoy sparring with you later. Perhaps we can help each other improve our skills."

"Yeah, that was amazing," O'Neill says. "I mean, I know the sword isn't really Teal'c's weapon, but I've never seen anybody beat him other than Master Bra'Tak, and he doesn't really count because he's the one who taught Teal'c."

"Uh, thanks," John says. "And I'd like that, Teal'c, if I can find someplace secure to put my sword when we spar. Colonel O'Neill isn't always going to be there, and I really don't want anybody messing with it."

"I have found the Tau'ri to be an honorable people," Teal'c says. "I do not believe they would, as you say, 'mess with' your sword."

"Yeah, well, I guess I don't trust people as easily as you do," John says. "I've gotten burned a few too many times to do that."

"I'm sure we can find you somewhere to lock up the hardware when you have to," Colonel O'Neill interjects. "Just keep it away from the archaeologists or you'll never get it back if it's any good, which I'm assuming it is by your attitude."

"Twelfth century Japanese, and a gift from my teacher," John says. "Plus it isn't easy to find swords that are any good at all nowadays, especially ones in my price range."

"I can imagine," O'Neill says.

Daniel comes into the gym, pushing his glasses up. "Oh hey, General Hammond sent me to tell you guys that he's ready for you…" He trails off, looking at the sword, in John's hands because he's about to put her back on. "May I?" he asks John.

John reluctantly hands Daniel the sword, hoping he has at least half a clue about the handling of swords- the last thing he wants is a chip weakening Tomoe. But fortunately, Daniel just examines her, doesn't start waving her around or anything.

"What did I tell you about the archaeologists?" O'Neill scolds John. "Now you'll never get it back. They're like magpies, I swear. Especially Daniel, he's the worst of the bunch."

"This is a quality sword," Daniel says. "Japanese weapons aren't my specialty, so I might be wrong, but this is from the twelfth century, right?"

"Yeah. I named her Tomoe."

"After the onna bugeisha from the same time period?" Daniel asks, and gives John Tomoe back.

"I figured she needed a name, and my teacher knows all of the Japanese history and legends from the time he spent there, so it seemed to fit." John puts Tomoe back on in her usual almost invisible sheath.

"So what's an onna whatsit?" O'Neill asks.

"Onna bugeisha," Daniel corrects.

"Yeah, that."

"An onna bugeisha was a female samurai," John says.

"Well, not technically," Daniel says. "Samurai is a term referring specifically to males, so technically no woman could be-"

"Daniel." O'Neill cuts him off.

Daniel gives a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, a female samurai," he agrees to simplify.

"There, see, was that so hard?" Jack asks, and then steamrolls on. "So you named your sword?" he asks John. "Named any other weapons?"

"Not this gun, if that's what you're asking," John replies. "I really only carry it around because it's impossible to find ammunition for Winona. And I'm not talking about Winona," he cuts off O'Neill's next question preemptively.

"Fine, fine," O'Neill says, throwing his hands in the air. "I know enough to quit when I'm ahead. Or at least not behind. And we have a meeting to get to, even if General Hammond's probably going to just make me wait in the hall for you to get done."

"Lead the way, then," John says.

"He's in the conference room, not his office," Daniel volunteers.

NaNo 2007: Chapters 21-25

Chapter 21: Books and Equations

John slumps in the chair in Mac's office, scrawling pieces of equations on the yellow legal pad balanced on his knee and keeping half an eye on the activity in the dojo. He still isn't really getting anywhere with the equations, but that doesn't really matter as long as he's making some small progress because he suspects it's going to take a long time for space travel on this Earth to become normal enough and fast enough for him to risk trying it- if it's still limited to a handful of astronauts, he can't afford to work his way through the space program, not with the immortality; and if it isn't fast enough, even the tweaking of engines that he feels confident he can do won't be enough to get him to civilization on the other side of the wormhole, even if he uses his theory to use a planet's gravity to go even faster. So even if it takes a few decades to work out the equations, he'll probably have them done well before he can test them. He just hopes the struggling space program won't collapse in the interim- it'll probably be centuries before he saves enough money to even attempt to start his own, especially if he doesn't find a new career that pays more than his current one of high school physics teacher does.

Not that he doesn't like being a teacher; in a way, it reminds him of being on Moya, but with far fewer weapons or explosions or danger, period. High school students have their own culture he knows little about, and most of the time they listen to him about as much as the Moyans always had, although they understand his idioms and pop culture references a lot more. Not all the time, though, because he's "old" and some things he refers to they're too young to remember, or to have been exposed to. But being a teacher is more of a placeholder than anything, something to give him enough money to pay his rent while he works on his wormhole equations. Physics is pretty much the only one of his skills that's actually legally marketable here and now, unless he wants to go out and get his pilot's license again and fly commercial; and although there are other jobs related to physics that pay better, most of them would require him to publish regularly or to work on theories for the employers. He can't work on anything other than his wormhole theories; they've seemingly taken over his brain. He can teach high school physics, because it's so elementary compared to what he's been working on that he could almost do it in his sleep, but he lives for his wormhole theories. When he closes his eyes he can see them there, waiting for him to untangle the threads. When he sleeps he dreams about them.

There's a knock on the office door, and John realizes he'd zoned out for a few minutes. "Come in," he calls, tossing the legal pad and pencil back onto the cluttered desk (he's been dojo-sitting for Mac for a few weeks now. He'll have to clear his clutter off before Mac gets back, but that still won't be for almost a month) and scanning the dojo again. Nobody's there who isn't supposed to be, so he turns his attention to whoever's entering the office.

It's a woman, which is somewhat of a surprise; most of the people who come to the dojo are men, in part because of the entrance "exam" and in part because most women just don't want to join. And she doesn't look like the Daniel he's supposed to give some books of Mac's to.

"Can I help you?" he asks.

"I need to pick up some books," she says. "They're for my friend Daniel."

"I was going to say," John says. "You don't look like a Daniel."

"Sam Carter," she introduces herself.

"John Crichton." He shakes her hand, and then starts rooting through the piles of paper on the desk. "Sorry about the mess. It's a lot neater when Mac's here, but I'm dojo-sitting for him."

"No problem," she says. "Daniel's desk looks like this all the time. For that matter, so does mine. May I?" She gestures at the desk.

"Sure," John says. "I suspect it'll go faster with some help."

She joins him in riffling through the papers, trying to find the books, but inadvertently knocks some of them on the floor. "Whoops, sorry," she says and bends over to pick them up. "I hope these weren't in any order."

"Nah, they're all just pieces I'm working on. Random order and probably wrong anyway."

She looks at the writing on the papers she's holding. "This looks familiar."

"Well, you know, physics," John replies. His searching hand feels the shape of a book. "Ah, I think I found them!"

"Of course it's physics," Carter says. "But I'm an astrophysicist, and I think I've seen this particular equation recently." She stares at the paper like if she stares long enough it'll tell her where she's seen it before.

"Believe me, you haven't," John says. "It's my own theory, about wormholes."

Her eyes widen like she's surprised or has placed where she saw the equations or suddenly remembers that she left the stove on at her house. John doesn't know which it is, because he can't read her mind. Her eyes are only wide for a second before she schools her face back to neutrality. "Thank you," she says, trading him the papers for the books. "And by the way, you missed an x in that equation." And then she's gone, back out the door and through the dojo before he can even say "you're welcome" or "goodbye". He looks down at the papers in his hand and realizes she's right. He had forgotten an x.

Chapter 22: Unexpected Genius

SG-1 was given a week off because Daniel and Colonel O'Neill were both injured. Sam had initially planned to spend it like she always spends her vacation time unless she's forced to leave- on the base, working on one of the million and one things she needs to get done that don't involve going offworld. But instead, she's spending her time off in Seacouver, Washington, picking up some books that Daniel had planned to pick up on the weekend and had convinced her to pick up in his stead because he can't fly with the injuries that he has.

Sam really doesn't want to be in Seacouver. She has work to do, work that she enjoys, and instead she's stuck in overcast Seacouver with nothing more interesting to do than pick up some old books. Granted, they must be rare if Daniel doesn't have them already, but couldn't they just be shipped? Why does she have to fly out and back just to pick them up? Daniel's entirely too good at convincing her to do things that she doesn't want to do. As a matter of fact, he's too good at convincing everybody. Oh, well. At least that's all she has to do, so it's not like she's going to be wasting her entire vacation. And it's still better than going fishing with the Colonel.

Sam double checks the address on the piece of paper. Yep, right place. She hadn't expected it to be a dojo, but apparently it is. Who keeps their antique books at a dojo, anyway? Though she supposes it might just be where Daniel's friend works, and thus he might have brought the books with him so there wouldn't be any problems with schedules or something. But still, one of Daniel's friends (or at least sources of antique books) working in a dojo seems to be a bit of an odd fit. She shrugs mentally, shoves the paper back in her pocket, and enters the building.

Inside, it's pretty much what she'd expected- weight lifting benches along the side of the room, punching bags, and a large open area with a mat, and benches along the wall. Stairs lead up, presumably to the locker room because it doesn't look like there is one on this level, and there's an elevator at the opposite end of the room. The office is along the same wall as the elevator, and she heads towards it as the most likely place for MacLeod to be.

She's the only woman in the whole place, and it seems like everybody stops what they're doing to stare at her as she passes through the room. It's been a long time since she let that kind of thing really get to her, though; there aren't very many women in the Air Force in comparison to men, either, or in astrophysics for that matter.

Whoever's in the office- she'd assume that it's MacLeod, but if there's one thing the SGC has taught her it's to not assume anything if she has any choice about the matter- probably isn't paying any attention to what's going on outside of the office; he looks like he's staring into space and thinking about whatever he's writing on the legal pad of paper in his lap, and if he saw her coming he'd probably wave or come out of the office to greet her (or tell her to go away, if this is that kind of place; she didn't exactly look it up to find out if it's members only, membership only by invitation). She reaches the office and knocks on its door.

"Come in," the man inside calls, his voice muffled by the door, and she enters the office, closing the door behind her. The man gives her a once-over, his eyes not lingering anywhere they shouldn't, and she can almost see him wondering why she's there. "Can I help you?"

"I need to pick up some books," she explains. "They're for my friend Daniel." Although there probably aren't very many people who are picking up books today at this dojo, it's better to tell him now and save him the question.

"I was going to say, you don't look like a Daniel," the man says, smiling with amusement.

"Sam Carter," Sam introduces herself, hoping Daniel told his friend she was going to pick up the books and that they won't have to call him for verification or something.

"John Crichton." So, not MacLeod after all. But he starts rooting through the mess of papers on the desk. Sam hadn't thought that a dojo would accumulate such a large volume of paper on its desk, but apparently this one does. But then he explains- "Sorry about the mess. It's a lot neater when Mac's here, but I'm dojo-sitting for him."

"No problem. Daniel's desk looks like this all the time. For that matter, so does mine," she replies. Honestly, she doesn't know anybody who doesn't have a desk this cluttered, except for maybe the Colonel- he tries to dodge paperwork so much that his desk is almost spotless. "May I?" she asks, gesturing at the mess. She doesn't want to mess up whatever system of organization (just because it's messy doesn't mean it isn't organized) might be used here, but it will go faster with two sets of hands searching.

"Sure, I expect it'll go faster with help," Crichton says, unconsciously echoing her train of thought.

Sam tries to help him, but unfortunately, she knocks some of the papers onto the floor instead. "Whoops, sorry. I hope these weren't in any order," she says, picking them up. If they were, she hopes he can tell which order they're supposed to be in, because she doubts she will.

"Nah, they're all just pieces I'm working on," Crichton says, unconcerned. "Random order and probably wrong anyway."

Probably wrong? That doesn't sound like it's related to the dojo. Sam looks closer at the papers in her hand. Physics, and high level physics at that. She can honestly say that was the last thing she was expecting on the papers of somebody dojo-sitting for MacLeod. But beyond that, there's something about the equations that's niggling at her. "This looks familiar."

"Well, you know, physics," Crichton says unconcernedly, more occupied with digging for the books than with the papers she's looking at. "Ah, I think I found them!"

"Of course it's physics," Sam says. "But I'm an astrophysicist, and I think I've seen this particular equation recently." Where would she have seen it, though? In a journal? She doesn't remember it being in any journals.

"Believe me, you haven't," Crichton replies. "It's my own theory, about wormholes."

Sam feels her eyes go wide with surprise. Of course, that's where she remembers it from, how could she forget? It's her own theory, more or less, and she suspects most of the differences are merely careless errors in this theory. But how does Crichton have them? She hasn't published outside of the SGC, and nobody else is publishing anything relating to wormholes in anything but the most remote of ways, mostly because as soon as somebody comes close they're recruited by the SGC. Wormhole theory is difficult for even most physicists, and John Crichton is definitely not one of the physics elite. She'd never even heard his name before today, and if he's published in the past it wasn't anything memorable, but somehow he's working on the same theories that she is, and by the looks of it he's making almost as much progress as she is, without the benefit of wormholes to examine. She needs this man, because no matter what his credentials actually are, he's good enough for the SGC. She just hopes he can get a security clearance.

Sam realizes that Crichton's holding the books she came for out to her, so she trades him the papers for the books. "Thank you, and by the way, you missed an x in that equation." She leaves before he can reply, although she waits until she's on the sidewalk outside the building to call the SGC. "I have a potential recruit; can you run a background check on him for me?"

Chapter 23: Debate

As it turns out, John Crichton doesn't pass a background check, especially not the rigorous one required by the SGC. In fact, although John Crichton clearly exists, his paper trail only dates back a few years. Before that, there's nothing, like he was created out of nothing. And he isn't in the Witness Protection Program or anything similar, either; they'd suspected, briefly, that he was, but when they'd checked they'd found out that he isn't and never had been in the past. The fingerprints on Daniel's books, when run through the databases of fingerprints that they can gain access to, turn up nothing before a driver's license 15 years ago, and nothing after except the driver's license renewals.

He's apparently a high school physics teacher, and not even a PhD, far from the most likely person to be working on wormhole theory, especially so successfully. Where did he learn enough physics to even come close? He has to have a degree to be teaching, but when they check into it deeper than the school he's teaching at obviously did, they find out that his degree's as fake as his birth certificate, as fake as his social security number.

"The man doesn't exist," General Hammond says. "Surely you don't still want him to join the SGC."

"Yes, sir, I do," Sam replies. "John Crichton can do physics that very few people can do, ad that's something we need."

"He can't pass a background check," Colonel O'Neill says. "He's a security risk."

"I know that, sir, but neither can Teal'c, and if he was a spy or working for the NID I don't think he would have been there, dojo-sitting."

"You don't know that, Carter."

"Sir, it makes no sense for him to be there unless it's unrelated to the SGC. There are too many variables that nobody could have predicted- Daniel being injured, MacLeod being out of town, me being the one to go and pick it up, and then actually noticing the papers. And if it was a spy or the NID I think they could come up with a better cover than a high school teacher who doesn't really exist."

"That may be true, but none of that changes the fact that he can't pass a background check," General Hammond tells her. "I'm sorry, Captain, but I'm afraid we can't hire him."

"We should probably report him to the police or INS or something," Colonel O'Neill points out. "Even if we don't."

"Well it's not like he's hurting anybody by just being there," Daniel says. "And apparently he's a good teacher, so he might even be doing some good."

"And it seems unlikely that he's an immigrant, not with that accent. He's probably just somebody who decided to start over, for one reason or another."

"But start over from what?" General Hammond asks. "We can't find even a trace of him before that driver's license, even with our resources."

"He looked like he was in his thirties," Sam says. "If he ran away when he was a teenager-"

"That still doesn't explain the nonexistent degree or how he got a job teaching so young- he's been working at that school for what, twelve years?" Colonel O'Neill says.

"Thirteen," Daniel says, referencing the dossier they have on him.

"So what, he made a new identity for himself and spent thirteen years teaching in Seacouver just to get into the SGC?" Sam demands. "That makes no sense, especially considering that the Stargate program didn't exist back then."

"You're right, Captain, but if he can't pass a background check we can't hire him, and that's final."

"Yes, sir. I just think we'd make a lot more progress if he was with us."

"Understood, Captain, but the rules are the rules."

Chapter 24: Approval

" You're dismissed," General Hammond ends the debriefing for their most recent mission. "Oh, and Captain?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You've been given permission to recruit John Crichton."

Sam's eyebrows shoot up. "Really, sir? Thank you."

"Don't thank me, thank the President," General Hammond says.

"Isn't he the guy who doesn't really exist?" Colonel O'Neill asks as Sg-1 leaves the conference room.

"The President?" Daniel asks absently, already absorbed in whatever he's working on now.

"I believe Colonel O'Neill was referring to John Crichton," Teal'c corrects.

"Oh, right, right," Daniel says, and almost runs into a door, but Teal'c closes it at the last moment.

"He is, sir, but I think he'll be a valuable asset to the SGC."

"Well if you're going to go to Seacouver in person, then we're coming with you. I'd like to meet this Crichton before he gets here."

Chapter 25: Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

When John answers his door, nearly the last thing he expects to see is the woman who'd picked up the books when he was dojo-sitting- not the exact last, because there are a lot of people that would be more unlikely, like Aeryn or Chiana or his dad or somebody dead; but it still seems extremely odd that she would take the trouble to find out who he is and come to visit him, friends in tow, especially since that wasn't exactly yesterday. But there she is, in an Air Force dress uniform, as is the grey-haired man. The one with the glasses and the one wearing the hat are both wearing suits. Suits and baseball caps really don't go together.

"Uh, hi," he says, baffled. "Sam Carter, right? From the dojo?"

"Yeah," she says. "This is Colonel O'Neill, Dr. Jackson, and Murray." Murray apparently doesn't rate even a Mr. "Do you mind if we come in?"

Air Force? What did John ever do to make the Air Force want to talk to him? It has to be something from when he'd been dojo-sitting, something that had seized her attention enough for her to remember it and drag other people into it. It must be the wormhole theory he'd been working on. "Yeah, sure," he says, hoping he'll be able to find some way to escape from this conversation but not having, but knowing that he probably won't be able to. Frell. I hope this isn't another Scorpius situation.

Carter's carrying a briefcase, and as soon as they get settled at the kitchen table she opens it up and takes out some papers. "Sign these," she says, and hands them to John in a stack.

"What are they?" he asks, already skimming them.

"Non disclosure agreement," Carter says. Apparently she's the spokesperson for the group, at least for this part of the discussion of whatever they're here to discuss. "Everybody has to sign one before we can tell them anything. If you refuse to sign, then we'll go away now because we have nothing to talk about."

"Do I want to sign this?" John asks cautiously.

"I may be a little bit biased," Carter says, "but in my opinion as a physicist and as a person, absolutely. It's the most amazing thing I've ever heard about." The guy with the glasses seems to agree, but the other two remain expressionless. Definitely military, John thinks. Do I want to even sign an NDA for something military? But Carter just looks so eager that he has to sign. Surely it's just an offer. They wouldn't force him into joining whatever they're a part of. Probably. So John signs and hopes he hasn't just made one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

Carter grins and accepts the signed NDA and pen back from John. "Colonel?" she says to the older man, who takes a device of some sort and carries it around the room. John figures it's a bug sweeper of some sort, because Carter doesn't say anything until he finishes, and when he finishes he says "it's clear" to her. Then the floodgates open.

"I was interested in your wormhole theory, because I've been working on the same thing for something called the Stargate Program."

"Stargate?" John asks. "That doesn't quite sound like the usual government program naming scheme."

"Well, it's named after a device discovered on a dig in Egypt," Dr. Jackson jumps in.

"You see, the stargate makes an artificial wormhole between it and another stargate on another planet," Sam says. "I've been basing my theory on the readings of wormholes I've taken from the stargate, but it looks like you've been coming up with your theory from scratch."

Frell, they are here about wormholes. He'd thought he'd left the whole pursued by the military because of wormholes thing behind eighteen years ago, but here it is, coming back to haunt him. It's like a nightmare that refuses to end. He should know better by now than to go around chasing wormholes, even if he hadn't had anybody chasing after him anymore. He'd felt so safe, here on Earth, after fifteen years. "The last I heard it wasn't illegal to be working on the same theories independently," he says to cover up his panic. "It's like with Newton and Leibnitz and calculus."

"I'm not here to tell you to stop," Carter tells him. "I'm here to offer you a job."

"I already have a job," John says. Frell, this is bad, this is really bad. Sure, he's chasing wormholes (which conveniently have already been harnessed by this Stargate Program, and he's just glad he isn't responsible for them having wormholes, because the last thing he wants to do is deal with the Ancients again. Well, technically that's wrong, but it's definitely at the far lower end of his list), and they have access to them, so if he cooperated they might help him out on that front, but he hasn't exactly been enthusiastic about the military- any military- since he started getting chased by the Peacekeepers. And somehow it seems unlikely that they'll take no for an answer, and is the identity Mac had set up for him sturdy enough to stand up to the sort of scrutiny a top secret military (although Dr. Jackson isn't military; John supposes they must have civilian scientists, because there probably aren't enough with the required skills in the military, much less in just the Air Force, especially if they really are working with wormholes. And traveling to other planets and presumably studying them, there are probably a lot of skills needed for that that aren't common in the military, even if he has only a vague idea of what they might be) program would give somebody before they even considered hiring them.

"You'd rather be a high school teacher than study wormholes in person?" Carter demands, like the choice is obvious. And John supposes if he hadn't had the experiences he's had, if he'd just been thinking about wormholes and had never seen one in person, never been tortured for information about them, seen way too many of his friends and allies die because of them; if he'd been who they think he is, then he'd be excited. He'd take this offer without a second thought. But he isn't who they think he is. At the moment, he'd take being a teacher over studying wormholes in a heartbeat, if it didn't mean that he'd never see his family again.

The only reason he's wavering is because what she's offering is so close to what he wants, so close to what he has planned. If he didn't have to work on the equations alone it would go a lot faster, at least if the person or people that he was working with were good enough.
And Carter's good enough; picking out the error in his equation at the dojo, after looking at it for only a few seconds, had proved that.

But close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, and this is neither, although it feels like at any moment Carter's friends (okay, mainly Colonel O'Neill, and maybe that Murray guy) are going to start lobbing hand grenades. There's too much to risk, both because of his past and because he's an Immortal. Mac's warned him what might happen if the military found out about
Immortals. John's been tortured enough for one life time- for several lifetimes- and he prefers not to provoke more torture. And even if he did join them? What then? They wouldn't just let him waltz through a wormhole without following him, and he doesn't want to lead the military- any military- to Moya, to his home.

But he isn't about to say or even hint at any of those things to Carter and co., so he just says, "I don't want anything to do with the military." Which has the added benefit of being true.

"Does this have anything to do with your fake ID?" Colonel O'Neill asks, which would probably be completely right under most other circumstances. "Because we know about that, but Carter here talked the General into getting special permission to hire you even though you can't pass the background check."

"That's not one of my reasons."

"Reasons? As in more than one?"

What is this, an interrogation? "They're personal," he says shortly.

Carter looks like he's kicked her puppy. "If that's what you want…" she trails off. She's probably unsure of how to finish; most people would jump on an opportunity like this, and the way the four of them move together is more like a combat team than anything else; she probably isn't the one who goes out and does the recruiting, and when she does everybody probably jumps right on the offer. This might be her first rejection, unless she'd learned that one of her potential recruits had gotten Alzheimer's or something. "Thanks for listening, anyway."

They all get up to leave. They're actually leaving, actually taking no for an answer, which makes sense because they wanted him for his brain, and he wouldn't have worked for them if they'd tried to force him, but the military isn't always rational, as he knows from painful experience. Unless, of course, they're just pretending to accept his refusal so they can grab him later or something…he's being paranoid. This is the United States Air Force, not the Peacekeepers. And Carter looks way too upset over his refusal to be planning to recruit him by force.

He closes the door behind them and is only just starting to relax when there comes a heavy knock on the door. Sighing to himself, he opens the door to find the quiet one, Murray.