Storytime with Rachel F Hundred

The day starts like any other day with the fading dream of a beautiful blonde woman smiling warmly at him as he hands her a bunch of sunflowers, her face alight with love and affection. 

“Jack,” she whispers.

Jack rises from his bunk at the crack of dawn while the other men who reside in the homeless shelter are still asleep.  He showers and dresses in the second set of donated clothes the warden had let him choose.  His first set will back on his bed by tea-time after being laundered.  The shelter has a system and Jack’s lived too many days there now not to know it.

He packs up his small satchel, picks up the wooden fishing rod he’d stashed under his bed, and heads out, treading along the well-maintained pathways out of the town.

The town is situated between a forest and lake of crystal blue water.  Large mountains loom behind the forest, tall and silent as sentinels.  The blue sky is clear with the shape of a large moon clear for all to see.

Or maybe they are the moon, Jack considers.  He thinks that sounds right like the knowledge he’s on a moon is known to him somehow when everything else except for his name and the belief that the woman he dreams of will come for him is lost.

The port is a ramshackle structure of piers. 

Jack has helped to stabilise some, working to earn the bits of metal that constitute money on Fada’ha.  He eschews the well-used sections, noting the fishing boat is already gone.  Sometimes if he’s early enough he can talk his way onto the crew for the day.  Old Man Gunt’u has a soft spot for him since Gunt’u had been the one to find Jack washed up on a nearby shore naked as the day he was born.

One day Gunt’u had paid Jack once with the fishing pole. 

With the fishing boat gone, Jack heads down to his favourite pier instead.  It’s seen better days, the planks are partially rotten and broken, but Jack knows where to step.  He reaches the end and sits down.

The reel comes out of the satchel and Jack carefully attaches it to the pole and threads the twine through the small guides down the length of the shaft. 

He takes out the can of bait – dead bugs and worms he picks up wherever he finds them.  He ties one to the end of the line and casts.

Two hours later, he takes his haul back into town to the fishmonger at the market.

He receives five shards and six pellets of metal.  It’s a good amount for his haul.  Gunt’u had told him what was a good price to make sure the ‘monger, a tall ugly guy with a broken nose, doesn’t fleece him.

Most of the money will be donated to the shelter to cover his stay, he’ll keep some for food, and the rest…

Jack heads to the flower stall.

Heldi sits at the edge of the market near the path which leads from the town to the forest.  She’s old and wrinkled like a dried prune.  Her white hair is pulled back into its usual bun.  She smiles when she sees him, gap-toothed and gummy.  He’s her best customer.

“G’morn,” Heldi croaks out. 

“G’morn,” Jack replies beginning the same exchange they’ve worked out. “S’n flowers, favor, Muta Heldi.”  He hands her over three of the pellets.

Heldi’s fingers plucks the seven bright orange flowers from their bucket. She wraps a thick cord of grass around their stems and hands them to Jack.  “G’day to you, boy.”

Jack grins at her.  Boy.  Like his own hair isn’t turned silver.  Sometimes he looks in the mirror and sees the flicker of an old man; he thinks his hair should be white, that he should be older and heavier, with his muscles less defined.

But he’s fit enough now.  Whipcord lean, all muscle and no fat.

He wanders down the pathway to the Old Forest.

The metal ring of the Ancestors sits in the centre of an overgrown clearing long abandoned.  Jack sets his flowers down on the first step and sits.

His satchel contains small scraps of paper that he’s saved and an old stub of a black sharpened rock.  He carefully inscribes another piece of paper with words.

“Because I can. Love, Jack.”

He tucks the paper into the grass wrapper around the stems.

The pedestal stands in a ring of weeds but that doesn’t deter Jack.  He presses the symbols in the same order to the day before, and watches as the ring activates, splashing out before settling into a blue horizon which shimmers like water but isn’t.

He pushes his flowers into the blue and lets them go.

Somehow, Jack knows he can’t step through himself, that it wouldn’t be safe.

When he steps back, the blue flashes away instantly.

He gathers his satchel and heads back into town.  There’s a couple of construction crews on the other side and he’ll likely find some kind of work with them for the day.

He’s long gone when the ring spins and the blue forms again; as the probe trundles forward and a drone zips out to take to the sky.

The radio crackles to life.  “General O’Neill, if you can, sir, please respond.  This is Stargate Command.”

o-O-o

It’s been a while since Sam travelled through the wormhole.  She’s been the commander of the General Hammond, a spaceship, for almost two years.  Usually she beams down to planets rather than using the stargate, but desperate times, she muses.

Sam breathes in the grassy woody undertones of the forest as SG1 follow her out of the wormhole and tries not to feel underdressed.

The stealth drone had relayed pictures of a fairly rural population with only the beginnings of industrialisation given the lack of any vehicles beyond horse like animals and carts.  Everyone on the planet is dressed simply in pants, tunics, roughly hewn jackets in neutral colours.  The team had decided to dress the same with their weapons holstered and hidden away.

Sam tries not to feel naked without her uniform.  It isn’t the first time she’s been part of an away team which had adopted the local dress after the SGC had changed the policy, but her mind can’t help going back to the awful blue dress she’d worn back on one of their earlier missions which had led to her being abducted.

This isn’t the same, Sam reminds herself.  She’s not alone in a tent, she’s with her old team – all of them present except for Jack.  She’s aware that Teal’c stands behind her, guarding her back.

Jack.

Right.

She needs to focus.

Hopefully this isn’t a false lead after so many weeks of waiting to find him.  She hadn’t been there when he’d been lost in the Pegasus galaxy – taken from the Daedalus in a raid by the rogue Asgard.  She had been nowhere near when the Atlantis teams had stormed the Asgard ship and only found a recording of Jack’s captivity and torture.

They’d reversed whatever Thor had done to protect Jack’s mind from the Ancient knowledge download.  Jack had refused to tell them anything and he’d been on the cusp of dying when he’d Ascended instead.

Sam knows Jack wouldn’t have stayed glowy for long.  He didn’t believe in Ascension; was even more incapable of non-interference in the mortal plane than Daniel Jackson.  She’s hoped that his fate would follow Daniel’s last Ascension – a return to Earth, possibly naked, but with his memory.

Still, she also knows that there’s no Oma Desala or Morgan Le Fay or Orlin to temper the punishment of the Ancients for interference and Jack has a habit of pissing people off.

It’s been weeks, months, and even Sam’s belief in her husband’s ability to survive has been tested.

She’s gone from hoping Jack would end up on Earth and naked to hoping he’d end up on any planet they can find and travel to, with or without his memory – they’d helped Daniel remember, they’d do the same for Jack.

And, Sam tells herself briskly while Vala and Daniel send the drone and MALP back through the wormhole, this is their best lead yet.

Four weeks before there had been an unauthorised activation and something had hit the back of the iris.  Forensic analysis had identified it as a flower but the species wasn’t in their directory; no known planet that they had visited had it.  Over fifteen years of Stargate travel and there are still vast amounts of the galaxy they haven’t visited.

Every day Earth has received the same unauthorised activation and the same knock on the door with flowers obliterated at the back of the iris; the times vary but the flowers do not.  Finally, a week before they’d secured permission to allow the iris to be lowered.  The delivery of a bunch of flowers with the small note of ‘Because I can.  Love, Jack’ had been the best flowers Sam had ever received from her husband regardless of all the other flowers he’s given her in their past.

Vala had immediately identified the flowers as originating from a handful of planets in a tiny corner of the galaxy which at one point had been the territory of the mother of the Tok’ra, Egeria.  This is their third planet. 

Sam’s more hopeful about this one.  The drone footage has spotted a field of the right flowers near to the stargate.  She thinks they’re finally in the right place.   

“Ready, Sam?” Cam’s Kansas twang breaks through her thinking as he steps up beside her and regards the pathway to the town with calm assurance.

He’s grown confident in his leadership of SG1, assured.  Landry’s due to retire in the New Year and Sam figures Cam is a shoe-in – Reynolds doesn’t want it and Dixon would rather shoot someone than take over and she…she’s happy in charge of her ship.

“Ready,” Sam replies firmly.    

“Vala, Daniel and I will take the pathway over to the East which skirts down to the lake,” Cam points.  “You and Teal’c OK with this one into town and check in with whatever authority they have there?”

Sam nods.  She turns to the rest of the team, Vala and Daniel skipping down the steps to join them.  “Just a reminder that while we think he has to be physically mobile if he’s sending the flowers, we really don’t know if he has his memory back or not so approach him with caution.”

“Surely he must remember something if he’s sending flowers to Earth for you,” teases Vala lightly.

“Maybe,” Sam concedes, “but he may not remember everything.  Let’s assume the worst until we know.  Radio if you find him.”

“Try to stay out of trouble,” Cam says, tipping his cap at her.

“It is in fact you who should remain vigilant, Colonel Mitchell,” Teal’c intones solemnly.  “You, Vala Mal Doran and Daniel Jackson find trouble with greater frequency than either I or Colonel Carter.”

Sam’s lips twitch.

Cam looks for a moment as though he’s going to argue, but then nods and sighs. 

Sam nods at Daniel who gives her an encouraging smile and falls into step with Cam, Vala at his heels.

Sam wishes she had the comforting weight of a weapon in her arms as they set back off down the path.  She tucks her hands into her jacket pockets and wraps her fingers around the knife in the right one.  “Whose idea was it to lose the uniforms again?”

Teal’c hums beside her.  “I also dislike no longer wearing our uniforms and weapons openly.”

Sam glances at him.  “I guess it does help us blend better and decreases the risk we interfere with the natural progression of a culture, but don’t tell Daniel I said so.”

“Your secret is safe with me, Colonel Carter,” Teal’c says.

Sam finds herself grinning.  “Indeed.” 

The sun is warm overhead and there is a patch of the same flowers Jack has been sending just off the path to the right.  Suddenly, she has a really good feeling about the planet, about the mission.  It’s time to find her husband.

o-O-o

Jack helps drag the fishing traps into the boat, hoisting them over the sturdy wooden sides and onto the clean deck.  Gunt’u runs a tight ship – boat – whatever. 

It has been a relief to get out onto the vast lake and away from the bustle of the town.  All everyone could talk about was the flying metal bird –

Drone, whispered his mind –

which had appeared the day before and Jack has been relieved to be away from the gossiping conspiracies.  The prevailing theory was that the other town on the lake had constructed the device.

He’d been aware that there was a second settlement at the far end of the lake.  He’d never seen it because the lake was huge and the fishing boats mainly kept their own town port in view.  But there were trade vessels – occasional visitors who turned up in the market.

A few days after he’d been found, the Sher’f had asked a visiting captain of a trade vessel to meet with Jack.  They hadn’t recognised him but confirmed that they would take news back to the other town to see if Jack was missing from any family there.

Personally Jack didn’t think the bird – drone – was from their neighbours.  Not only had the thing come from the opposite direction of the forest, but the trade vessels were as wooden as their own and they seemed as bereft as their own town in respect of communication technology –

Phones, radios, internet, whispered his mind –

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head as though that will be enough to dislodge the encroaching headache.

Gunt’u glances at him, his pale bald head gleaming under the sun.

Jack waves off the old man’s concern and reaches for the rope to bring up the last of the fishing traps.

He focuses on the work. 

He and Gunt’u’s son, Han’u, pack the fish into buckets of seawater ready for transport to the ‘monger. 

It’s a long sweaty walk from the port under the sun into town, but Han’u is clearly grateful that Gunt’u does not have to carry the heavy fish buckets and Jack appreciates the eight shards and ten pellets as payment for his work.  Jack tips his cap and leaves Gunt’u to haggle with the ‘monger. 

He turns the corner into the marketplace and almost runs over a group loitering to the side of a noo’le food stall.  He absently registers their double-take as he takes them in with a single sweeping glance; two dark-haired men, one with spectacles; they look similar enough to be brothers.  The dark-haired woman is different enough that he pegs her as non-related and something about her sends a shiver through his veins.  He absently mutters an apology and nods as he walks on past intent on getting to the flower stall.

He’s much later than normal and he can’t help but wonder if the flowers will have gone.

His mind is on his mission, but he isn’t unaware that the group from the food stall are following him.  Keeping their distance, certainly, but they’re keeping him in sight and ignoring the market.

Maybe they were more pissed off than he had assumed about the accidental almost-collision.

He wonders if they’re from the neighbouring town.  Their clothing looks different for all it’s kind of the same styles as the stuff everyone wears.  Maybe they’ve come to explain the metal bird – the drone.

Heldi grins at him as he walks over.  “G’aft,” she says, “thought you were gone, boy.”

“G’aft,” Jack replies, “fishing took longer than expected.”  He points at the remaining orange blooms in the bucket.  “S’n flowers, favor, Muta Heldi.”  He hands her over three of the pellets.

“Kept ‘em for you,” Heldi says as she wraps the grass around the stems.  She hands them to Jack, but she suddenly glances behind him her thin white eyebrows shooting up her wrinkled forehead.  “Think you have a visitor, boy.”

He spins around and the world seems to freeze.

The woman from his dream is behind him. 

She’s beautiful.

Long blonde hair which is tied back in a style Jack somehow knows she prefers –

a flash of memory – short blonde hair and a uniform; “She is transferring from the Pentagon.”

blue-eyed – they shine with the light of the wormhole; “You can actually see the fluctuations in the event horizon…”

and the best mind in the universe; “You are one of this country’s natural resources, if not national treasures.”

She looks good in khaki jeans, a white tunic blouse under a matching denim jacket; “I care about her – a lot more than I’m supposed to.”

She’s…

“Carter,” Jack states.

Memories are rushing back, flashes of SG1’s missions, names and faces of people he has loved, some lost and some grinning at him from behind his wife, or in the case of Teal’c, smiling smugly.

“Those for me?” Sam points at the flowers in his hands.

Jack grins at her.  “I don’t even need to break into your lab this time to give them to you.”  He hands over the flowers and snags her hand and…

She comes willingly into his arms and for a long moment they do nothing but hold each other.  Eventually, he leans back and kisses her softly.

Sam hums.  She’s smiling when she eases back, her thumb runs over his cheek when she cups his face with the hand not holding the flowers, her eyes intent on his.  “Wow. We’re going to have to make up something to explain how you’ve lost ten years.”

“New diet?” quips Jack.

She smiles and takes a step back, but her hand drops to slide it into his, their fingers tangling together. 

Daniel sidles up and gives him a hug, Vala bounds over to do the same manhandling Danny out of the way. 

Teal’c clasps his arm firmly.  “It is good to see you well, O’Neill.”

Mitchell clears his throat.  “Ready to come home, sir?”

“So ready,” Jack murmurs, ignoring the crowd which has gathered around them.  “Not that the fishing hasn’t been great.”

Sam smiles, the flowers held in one hand while she holds onto him with the other. 

Jack drinks in the sight of her; his dream is a reality thanks to a memory of flowers.

fin.