But Who's Counting?

But Who’s Counting?

Denise

Rated PG

Season- season 3, after nemesis

Spoilers: itty-bitty ones for COTG, enemy within, Broca divide, first commandment, fire and water, singularity, within the serpents grasp, matter of time, show and tell, out of mind, into the fire, rules of engagement, forever in a day, 100 days, nemesis but nothing that would spoil an episode.

Category-angst, epilogue

Disclaimer- all the components of this story belong to their respective owners, I'm just borrowing them, I'll give them back, I promise. No infringement of copyright is intended. I didn't make any money...etc.

Note- many thanks to Lems who beta'd this for me. This is a prequel of sorts to Circles by Zephyr, located on Heliopolis

Note- I've never been there but I've heard there is a wall at the CIA full of little black stars symbolizing all who have been lost in the line of duty. Would the SGC have the same?

* * *

General George Hammond quietly returned his red phone to its cradle. The wheels were in motion, the containment teams dispatched to San Diego to rendezvous with the Navy ships that would take them to the crash site, 400 miles out in the Pacific.

George honestly didn’t know what he wanted them to find. An intact ship might mean the survival of his people but also the survival of the...what did Jack call them...technobugs. Of course total disintegration would mean Earth was safe...but did SG-1 escape in time?

Were they trapped on some alien planet, injured, unable to get home, struggling to survive?

Or were they, even now, relaxing on some planet, waiting impatiently for the Beta gate to be installed so they could stream triumphantly down the ramp to regale him with self-depreciating tales of their adventures, liberally laced with Jack’s sarcastic quips, Teal’c’s pithy comments and Sam’s incomprehensible scientific lingo?

George sincerely hoped so. If not...well the alternative was not a pleasant one. It involved body parts.

He shook his head, banishing those nightmare images. If he’d learned nothing else in the last three years, it was not to underestimate SG-1. Between the four of them they had more lives than a dozen cats.

With a heavy sigh, he reached down and pulled a shoe box sized container out of the drawer and sat it on his desk. He carefully opened the box and unwrapped three of the four items inside. He then replaced the box, got up and left his office.

Walking through the barren gray halls, he returned the salutes and nods of the passing personnel automatically. That was one good thing about being a general. He no longer needed to scan the shoulders of every person he saw to make sure he saluted when he was supposed to. George wasn’t so lost in his thoughts however, to see many of the people he met note what was in his hands and fall into step behind him.

As he reached the elevator about twenty people were following him. Deciding to eschew the easy ride, he instead opened the door to the stairwell and began the trek to level 25.

Opening the heavy door on level 25, he wasn’t surprised to find another dozen people lining the hall, waiting for him.

It was a quiet group who filed into the SGC Chapel.

The room itself used to be a large meeting room, perhaps 20 feet square. Its furnishings were simple. Rich red carpet, creamy white walls and a few rows of simple wooden pews. On a tiny dais stood a plain wooden altar covered with a starched white cotton cloth. Two candles burned on each side of the altar, filling the room with a soft scent. The standard fluorescent lighting had been replaced with small fixtures on the walls, creating a dimmer, more peaceful atmosphere. There were no icons on the walls. The religions practiced by the SGC personnel were as diverse as the planets they visited, so it had been decided the chapel had to be non-denominational.

George’s impromptu escort parted to allow him through then lined the room in respectful silence. He walked up to the back wall and solemnly hung the three items on tiny hooks. Each was a little resin Stargate, about six inches across. The inside of the circle was white, symbolizing the people were merely MIA. These stood out in stark contrast to the multitude of circles which were black in the middle. The black, of course, stood for those who would not be coming back.

Since the Stargate was top secret, no names were engraved on the markers. But George didn’t need names to remember whom each and every marker stood for.

The first five on the wall belonged to the guard detail who had the dubious honor of being the first humans killed by aliens. Then there was Kawalski’s, the two men who died of the histolic virus and the three members of SG-9. Then Daniel’s marker had been put on the wall. George smiled at the memory of Jack fairly running to the chapel to yank it off the wall, tearing the hook out and taking a bit of the plaster with it.

But the four for SG-7 hadn’t come down.

It was Daniel’s turn to toss the two white markers on George’s desk with a triumphant ‘I told you so.’ after they found Jack and Sam doing their penguin imitation in the Antarctic. However those markers, plus two more went back on the wall a few weeks later when SG-1 went AWOL and infiltrated Apophis’ ships.

The second time George pulled SG-1’s MIA markers from the wall, he put them in a special place. He wasn’t a superstitious man, but maybe those little white markers were some kind of perverted good luck. Every time he hung them up, SG-1 came back.

Sometimes weeks would go by without a trek to the chapel. Other times the number of markers would fairly explode.

Colonel Cromwell had a marker, right beside SG-10’s. Technically Cromwell hadn’t been SGC so he shouldn’t have been included, but Jack insisted. In fact, as soon as Janet released him from the infirmary, Jack hobbled down here and hung it himself.

A couple of months later, George unwrapped SG-1’s MIA markers and rehung three of them. A month later he was happy to take them down, and sickened to hang several more, black this time. The heavy price SG-3, 5,6, and 11 paid to get SG-1 back was illustrated graphically on the wall.

But not every MIA came down. Soon after SG-1’s rescue they discovered SG-11, who had been missing for months had indeed been killed. Their black circles were, all too soon, joined by more when SG-3, 5 and 1 clashed with Amaunet. At Jack’s request, one of those black circles belonged to Shau’ri.

For a few months they’d been lucky. No one died. Everyone came home, more or less in one piece. Then Jack broke the streak. His MIA hung on the wall for three months until they managed to get him back. George never got a chance to take that one down. Less than an hour after they’d established contact with Edora, he found it lying on his desk. Daniel or Sam? He figured he’d never know who put it there.

Now here he was again. Hanging those same white markers on the same white wall for the fourth time. OK, Jack was up to five, but who’s counting?

He was. Counting the hours since he’d spoken to one of them. Counting the days it may take to get the Beta gate up and operating. Counting the places they may be. Counting the ways they may be hurt. Counting the pots of coffee Daniel would consume waiting for his friends to return. Counting the little circles on the wall. He felt rather than saw the man standing beside him. "You know, you’re going to be taking those back down?" Daniel said quietly.

"I hope so son...I really hope so."

~Fin~