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Things always happen when you don't expect them, and that makes them hit home twice as hard.
Spence figured the latest mission had been successful. Nobody had been killed, everyone had come home, and the diplomatic arrangements had worked reasonably well, with the basis of a treaty and trade agreement that bid fair to benefit everyone.
Actually, that last had surprised him, though perhaps it shouldn't have. The Philuxorian diplomats reminded him a whole lot of some of the shirttail cousins once removed, the ones who were invited to all the family gatherings the same as everyone else, but nobody other than Momma missed them if they didn't show. Aunt Sassy allowed that their personalities didn't mesh well. Once, where he thought she couldn't hear him, Uncle Cam, more plainspoken, had said that you should be careful to count your fingers after you shook hands with any of them. Aunt Sassy had reached around the door and whapped him with a spoon for lack of respect, but not hard, because she'd admitted she agreed with him though she wouldn't have put it in such unflattering terms.
But he'd persevered, offering technological support for various local needs, and as a result SG-9 was returning with samples of the trade goods that P8X-707 could supply to the Tau'ri. These included a sampling of minerals to send to Aunt Sam at Area 51, several species of native medicinal plants for the biologists and chemists to check out, and a few yards of a handwoven cloth made from the wool of a long-haired herd animal that was softer than cashmere, weighed nothing, and appeared to be warmer than any of the Air Force-regulation winter gear. This was better than gold, any way you put it, nearly as good as naquuada; from all Spence was hearing, the program was likely to go public soon, and if some of the trade goods could make it on their own into the marketplace the Air Force would surely benefit. A bolt of luxury cloth like that, sold to some of the New York or Paris clothing designers, might go a good distance toward paying for gear or supplies for the teams. Also, he planned to put in a report strongly suggesting that cold-weather gear for Gate teams be allowed to incorporate undershirts made from the stuff, as he'd seen Philuxorian elders wearing only one layer of it stand comfortably in a cold wind that had whipped right through his BDUs.
He'd showered and changed, thankful for hot water and fresh uniform, not to mention clean socks, and was on his way to debrief with General Landry when he heard the voices ahead of him in the hallway. Two men, talking as they walked,
"Jack, I think you don't see the full scope of the situation." The speaker gestured widely with his hands, suddenly taking up twice the amount of space.
Spence slowed down so as not to be hit. They hadn't noticed him, and he wasn't in that much of a hurry. Besides, listening in from a polite distance was a good way to find out what was really going on. He realized, as he did so, that the speaker, in his BDUs, wore no insignia other than a Gate Team patch, which made him a scientist.
"All right, Daniel. Enlighten me. Illuminate my understanding." This man, whose short hair was shading from iron to silver, wore two stars on each shoulder. "What is so damned important that you had to come back from Atlantis to tell me about it?"
The general's voice had a swing and lilt to it that Spencer had heard before. He blinked, gulped, and dropped back further, unwilling to be caught eavesdropping. If that was General Jack O'Neill, the man without rank insignia had to be the famous Daniel Jackson, together comprising half of the legendary SG-1.
Spence took a deep breath and tried to be anonymous.
"Well, for one thing --" Jackson turned, blinked, and said, "Excuse me, but didn't I leave you on Atlantis, captain?"
Anonymity never had worked well, not even when Skipper was there to take half the heat, or credit.
"No, sir. That was my brother, Captain Beauregard Griffith." Spence saluted and came to parade rest; it was always safest with superiors around. "Captain Spencer Griffith, SG-9, sir."
General O'Neill turned casually, waved a hand and said, "At ease, captain." His brown eyes scanned Spence up and down, and then focused on him like lasers as his light baritone voice continued, "I'm hearing good things of SG-9 these days, very good things."
"Thank you, sir" Spence tried not to let anything but respect appear on his face.
JD had said someone important at Stargate Command, but he'd never imagined -- No. He had to be wrong.
Those brown eyes, in that forehead. The nose was a little different; it had been broken more than once and reset, he guessed. The loose-jointed stance, though; that was JD through and through, when he was hanging around Aunt Sassy's kitchen helping Uncle Cam with the baking.
The general frowned. "Have we met before? You seem very … familiar."
In for a penny, in for a pound. "You might have met my cousin, sir. Lt. Col. Cameron Mitchell, retired?" Spence held his breath. Good God almighty. His head spun with the implications of recognizing the general's deep brown eyes in the face of his favorite older cousin's young-looking partner.
"Good man. I'm sorry the program lost him," But O'Neill's words seemed almost rote, and Jackson shot him a puzzled look. "Well, well. I'm sure you'll be able to help fill in for the program's loss of your … cousin."
"I'll do my best, sir. Excuse me, sirs, I'm due in the conference room for debriefing."
"As it happens, so were we, until Daniel here decided to debrief me on the way about all the wonderful things he's finding in the Pegasus Galaxy and why he thinks we need to send five more Gate teams out there and another gaggle of scientists as well." O'Neill smiled at Jackson, and the disparate impressions in Spence's mind locked together into a unified whole. "Would you care to listen in and give us the benefit of your trained diplomatic opinion as well? I believe your security clearance is high enough. After the debriefing, of course."
"Of course, sir. I'd be honored." He fell into step beside O'Neill and Jackson as they continued toward the conference room.
"How is your cousin these days?" O'Neill seemed casual, his hands in his pockets as he walked, but Spence could see the minefield under his own feet.
"He's recovered from his injuries pretty well, sir. Bought a house in Austin, working in the computer industry." He left it at that.
"Good. Good. I was sorry that we lost him to the program." The general -- Spence forced himself to compartmentalize by rank, because the tones of that voice were throwing him badly off balance -- turned to Jackson. "Mitchell was the flyer who bought us enough time in Antarctica to turn the fight around. We should have gotten to him sooner after he was shot down, and I'm very sorry we didn't." He glanced back at Spence. "I'm assuming you're aware of some of the details of how your cousin was injured."
"Yes, sir. I asked him about it after I joined the SGC." Spence added, after a couple more steps, "I wanted to know what I was getting into."
"We owe your cousin a great deal," Jackson said in a frank voice. "He did as much to save the planet as any of the rest of us, and I hope he realizes that. He's welcome back here any time he wants to show up."
"I'll let him know your sentiments, sir. Thank you, sir."
This was unreal. Spence blinked. He'd realized JD's name had been invented, but it hadn't occurred to him until now that the source material for those names, as well as for his genetic makeup, was walking down the hall next to him. He wondered wildly how much of JD's hypothetical life story had also been lifted from Daniel Jackson's life along with his middle name.
"Your brother doesn't go by Beauregard, does he?" O'Neill sounded a bit confused, the way JD did when he was going after something entirely different from what he was talking about. "I don't remember hearing about a Beauregard."
"We call him Skipper at home, sir."
"Skipper! Yes, I know him. He's on my Gate team. He's got good instincts for dealing with difficult situations. " Jackson smiled, bright and engaged, as if someone had turned on a light inside him. "Actually, he reminds me a bit of you, Jack."
"What, a compliment, Daniel? Isn't that fairly unprecedented?" O'Neill's voice had that teasing note in it that made Spence's head spin. "At least, I hope it's a compliment."
"Not at all. I've complimented you fairly often on your instincts and abilities over the last ten years or so." Jackson's voice was tart but tolerant. "Usually it's been along the lines of, 'thanks for the rescue.'"
It felt like double vision. It was as if Spence were sitting in the kitchen in Austin, listening to JD and Uncle Cam banter back and forth with that teasing note of love underneath that helped make their place so homey. He'd long realized that JD was the light of Uncle Cam's life, and much of the reason Uncle Cam was still alive at all, but over the course of that long weekend where the two of them had told him and Skipper the truth about their lives and about the SGC, he'd realized just how much JD depended on Uncle Cam, and on all of them, to keep himself alive and sane as well. JD's appearance may have given the family cause for concern at the start, but Spence would go to the wall for him now no matter what, because now that his own other half was a galaxy away he had a lot more experience at being without the people he loved most. He could only barely imagine how it must have hurt JD to walk away from his team, from the SGC that was a second family to everyone who worked here.
Walking next to JD's immediate ancestor and part of his first family felt like walking next to a forest fire and trying not to be burnt.
An airman ran toward them, stopped and saluted. "Captain Griffith, sirs. Captain, you're wanted on the phone. I'm told it's a family emergency, sir."
Spence snapped a salute toward O'Neill, but O'Neill shook his head. "Go. If it's family, take the time. The rest of your team will be fine without you." His voice echoed in the hallway behind them as Spence followed the airman to the phone, his heart pounding and his mind shifting through the list of family who were overseas, and the older ones who were still here. At least Skipper was safe in Pegasus; news of him wouldn't have come in a phone call. He sent up a prayer as he reached for the phone.