Outside Looking In

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" rowspan="2" width=160 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="012a0643.jpg"> <bR> </td> <td valign="top" height=435 colspan=2 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="00f64643.jpg"> <div> <B>Outside Looking In</B></div> <div>  <A NAME="outside_looking_in"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="1" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="1" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" ></A></div> <div> It's cold this morning.  We had snow last night - about a foot if I'm not mistaken.  We don't get snow like this where I'm from in southern Texas - well, not on a regular basis.  Being in the mountains of Colorado sort of put 'winter' into perspective for me.  It's a season that may come as late as the end of December, or as early as the first of October.  One thing's for certain - it'll be damned cold before it's all over.</div> <bR> <div> I pull onto the road that leads up to the Mountain.  Glad I bought this new SUV.  Had my 2IC tell me that a man of my position and rank shouldn't be driving around in a mid-sized car.  Needed to "upgrade" he said, and I do believe his tongue was pretty firmly in cheek when he said it.  The next Monday morning I drove my brand new Cadillac Escalade past him on the way to our assigned parking slots.  Should have seen the look on his face when he saw all this expensive beauty cruise past his little Ford.  Made that vehicle he drives look like a Tonka Toy.  I got a pretty good chuckle out of that as I strutted on into the base.  It wasn't more than fifteen minutes but that he didn't have my keys and was out taking my new vehicle for a test drive.  I indulge that man far more than I should.  Ah, what the hell . . .</div> <bR> <div> I see his truck as I pull into the lot.  I've got a personal bet with myself that he won't be alone.  Sure enough, I see the second man step out of the passenger side.  Yes indeed, I could have won the pot on that one.  I ease into my assigned spot and gather up my things.  Briefcase, lunch.  Can't eat in the cafeteria any more; Doctor Fraiser has decided I need to lose weight and so she has me on some low carb, low fat, no taste eating program that our chow hall just can't quite live up to.  I shake my head.  I'm a Major General in the United Stated Air Force and I'm brown bagging my lunches.  I look in the mirror and see the two men coming up to my truck.  They're walking slowly, talking.  I can see their breath in the cold air of the underground garage.  Both are smiling - seem to be sharing a joke.</div> <bR> <div> Now, some folks might think I'm a little slow - don't have a grasp of the modern society we all live in.  Well they'd be in for a shock.  Now I give these two boys credit, they play it discreet and professional as soon as they step onto this base - but it doesn't fool me.  I see it anyway.  The way they trust each other, defer to each other, practically live out of one another's pockets, finish one another's sentences.  It's no different with the other two on the team - hell, I should have broken the whole team up long ago when I saw how close they'd all gotten - if I was a stickler for regulations and absolute military protocol.  I got to be this rank by understanding when to let some things go by the wayside, turn a blind eye.  I understand those two.  You don't develop a trust like that by being 'just friends.'  You don't have an innate physical awareness of one another without knowing - intimately - every move and breath of the other person.  That only happens one way.  Those men are an 'item.'  I give 'em credit though - you'd have to look awfully close and for an awfully long time to even see a hint of what I know is there.</div> <bR> <div> For a while, it looked like Jack was going to pine away over his own 2IC until he was retired again.  But something happened.  Not quite sure what it was.  Happened after we got him back from Edora after three months of being stranded off-world.  Major Carter had worked herself just about to death to get him back; pulled more rabbits out of a hat than you can shake a stick at . . .  but Daniel had been the one Jack sought out first, once he'd returned and got settled.  Felt a bit sorry for the Major.  Amazing woman.  There are times she makes me wish I was about twenty years younger.  Never saw anyone handle their own obvious intelligence and beauty so well.  She's a credit to her country and to the Air Force.  It is, apparently, completely lost on one Colonel Jack O'Neill.  I gave the entire team one week stand down after that episode.  As soon as the debriefing was over, Jack had cornered the good Dr. Daniel Jackson and invited himself over for beer and pizza.  Daniel was more than a little surprised, I think.  Since then - you can't pry those two apart.</div> <bR> <div> Ah, here they are, standing outside my door waiting for me.  I open the door and greet them in the cold, dim light of a sub-basement.  Jack's asking if it's cold enough for me and I chuckle.  Dr. Jackson is trying his best not to impersonate a turtle and draw his head nearly completely inside the neck of his coat.  I ask him if he's enjoying the snowfall and I receive a very honest, very heartfelt, but extremely respectful, "No, sir.  No, I'm not."  I mention that it's probably a good thing that Jack has to pass his apartment on the way into work so they can car pool.  Without even so much as a hesitation or blink, he responds, "You aren't the one who has to drive in with him, sir."  I can't help but laugh.  Like I said, nothing but the utmost in discretion.</div> <bR> <div> The bantering between the two men seems to increase the farther we get into the Mountain.  By the time we hit level eighteen, Daniel has finally unbuttoned his coat.  He says goodbye to me and throws a scowl at O'Neill.  Those two go at it like cats and dogs on a regular basis.  I actually think they like it.  Jack and I both have to be on level 27.  He allows me to pass first and tells me he'll see me in the briefing.  I've got two hours to prepare for my day and get things in order.</div> <bR> <div> ++++</div> <bR> <div> It's 1630 hours and it has been a very full day.  I begin packing my things away when I hear the rap at my door.  It's Jack.  He always knocks the same way.  "Sir?"</div> <bR> <div> I motion him to come in.  He's scowling down at some papers in his hand.  He carefully spreads them out for me to see and explains we've got one hell of a storm front taking dead aim on Colorado Springs.  This is the beauty of working at a NORAD base - we know what's going on in the skies over our heads before God's even gotten the memo.  Jack's proposing we send all nonessential personnel home, batten down the hatches and get read to ride out a 'storm of the century.'  He's had an airman go up and start my truck to get it warm and I'm pretty much getting the bum's rush out of my office.  He tells me in no uncertain terms that we have no teams currently off-world, Carter is practically glassy-eyed with joy over the prospect of getting to spend three uninterrupted days doing maintenance and studies on the gate, and Daniel is tickled to death because he gets to spend uninterrupted time with some moldy old tomes we brought back from P2Zwhat-ever-it-was.  "And you," I ask him.  "Where are you intending to be while the rest of us are tucked away safe and sound?"</div> <bR> <div> He looks at me, smiles and says, "Here, of course.  Minding the store.  Riding shotgun.  Watching over the kids."</div> <bR> <div> Watching over Dr. Jackson more likely.  I concede with a small smirk.  I pick up the phone and dial up the security center.  "Captain Hershel, this is General Hammond.  I just want to make sure the security system diagnostics are going to be run over the next few days . . .  yes . . .  yes, that's correct.  Guest level and infirmary.  Thank you, Captain."  I didn't need to make that call.  I did that for Jack's benefit.  I know he'll make use of that particular information.</div> <bR> <div> This is another aspect of me that would surprise most people - that I would actually be an accessory to 'behavior unbecoming an officer.'  But officially, I'm not asking and I expect Jack won't be telling.  I've been in the service a very long time.  Too long, according to my dear wife, and I know that we live in a very ugly world.  Jack knows it too; Daniel Jackson is especially well acquainted with the tainted personality of this universe.  What I see between those two shouldn't be looked down on or spat upon because someone gets a religious, self-righteous hair up his or her backside.  So I take it upon myself to provide any small 'safe harbor' I can.  Like shutting down the security cameras on the VIP suite level and parts of the infirmary during the time when this mountain will be locked down to ride out the storm.</div> <bR> <div> I see Jack fighting back the smug little smirk he can get sometimes.  He thinks he's just come up with a plan - little does he know that it's all for his benefit anyway.  Thinks he's going to put one over on the old man.  Well, we'll let him have his laugh.  I don't mind.  "Colonel," I tell him as I stand up and grab my things, "I expect this base to be in tip top running order when I get back.  No food fights, no taping airmen to the duct work.  Understood?"</div> <bR> <div> Jack's face falls a little bit.  He didn't think I knew about that last one.  "Yes, sir."  He pauses a moment - I know what's coming . . .  I've heard the rumors.  "Sir?"</div> <bR> <div> "No golfing through the gate," I say as I leave my office.  I hear him mumble something under his breath as I walk away.  I laugh quietly.  He's a good man.  He'll do something that I haven't specifically banned during the time I'll be away - but it won't be anything destructive.  The man's like an overgrown twelve year old at times.  He's practically worshiped on base by the younger members of the SGC; admired and respected by the older ones.  The only ones who act with mild tolerance are the ones from outside who visit - and that's because they don't understand.  They haven't been into battle with him and they don't know what a brilliant soldier and strategist he happens to be.  For this, I cut him as much slack as I can.</div> <bR> <div> True to his word, Jack has an airman waiting at my vehicle who is busily wiping down the windows and the headlights.  He snaps off a very smart salute and opens my door.  The warm air greets me as I pull myself into the driver's seat.  "Dismissed, airman," I say and close the door behind me.  He gives me another salute, turns sharply and runs back into the mountain.  In my safe, warm cocoon, I chuckle.  "Sometimes, it's good to be king."</div> <bR> <div> ++++</div> <bR> <div> It's been three days.  Three horrendous, snowy, frigid, icy, blizzard-filled days.  The town's at a standstill.  Seems like all of Colorado Springs has come to a complete and utter stop.  General Meltman of the 'real' Cheyenne Mountain Complex gave me a call at home, asking for my corroboration on a request to send some of the military's resources out to try and help the city plow out from under.  I gave my hearty agreement.  I'm looking outside at my backyard right now.  I've got six trees down and two more threatening to go.  Wasn't just snow in that storm.  Damned if we didn't get hit with a helluva lot of ice.  Trees can't take the weight and they're popping like matchsticks all over town.  Forecast was for 24 to 36 inches; then the front stalled.  We've got nearly 5 feet of snow out there with a top layer of thick, heavy ice.  What a mess.  </div> <bR> <div> Luckily, the Mountain generates its own power - not to mention the little toys and tricks we have downstairs.  The airfield is shut down.  No one's going anywhere for quite some time.  I got an early morning call from Jack; he sounded rather perky.  I think I can probably guess at the reason why.  Said everything's fine. Carter's discovered something or other about the gate and she's busy adjusting our dialing program to incorporate her new discovery.  Daniel is, and I quote here, "all aflutter" over something in a translation that points to some pretty large technology.  Maybe it was just because it was me, or maybe I know what to listen for, but I couldn't help but smile at the tone in his voice when he mentioned the good Doctor.  And Teal'c is thrilled that he'll have such a vicious environment into which to take the new recruits for some 'battlefield exercises.'</div> <bR> <div> "How're the security upgrades coming?" I ask.</div> <bR> <div> "Siler seems to be having some trouble with the wiring," he tells me and I can actually hear the smirk in his voice.  "Nothing he can't handle in a few days, sir."</div> <bR> <div> I let him know about my conversation with Meltman and he begins to laugh.  I ask for an explanation.  "Well, sir, seems there was a little issue last night while the crews were clearing the tarmac.  Some of those heavy equipment operators are going to be pulling an awful lot of hours to make up for clipping the wings on about four planes, sir."</div> <bR> <div> I join Jack in his laughter.  So, it wasn't charity toward the civilian population around the base - it was punishment for some hotrod snowplow drivers.  It's all clear to me now.  Just then I hear the grating rumble of a snowplow.  I look out my front window and see a very military issue machine making its way carefully down my street, making sure it leaves no burms in anyone's driveway.  I explain to Jack what's going on and we share another laugh.  I tell him I should be in tomorrow, once the roads up to the mountain are cleared.  I've got my daughter and her kids over here right now; they lost power early on in the storm and it was 'Grampa George' to the rescue.  Her husband works, ironically enough, for the power company and won't be home for days.  Jack tells me no rush.  No, of course not, Jack, of course not.  I let him go as Kayla walks into the kitchen.  Time to put the General aside for now and just be Grampa.</div> <bR> <div> ++++</div> <bR> <div> It's been two days since the storm and the town is slowly coming back to life.  We made the international news - I guess that's something.  I walk into the briefing room and see Major Carter veritably quivering with excitement.  She's got the rest of her science team around her, charts, diagrams, and many other pieces of paper I don't understand, lined up and ready for me.  And no doubt - yes, there she goes, computer graphics to augment her report.  The woman is nothing if not thorough.  Jack's already glassy-eyed and I have to refrain from looking at him.  I'll start to snicker otherwise.</div> <bR> <div> Jack's an incredibly intelligent man, despite the front he projects.  I've read his file from front to back; I know what his degrees are in.  Yes, that's right.  He's not the only individual at this table with a few sets of initials behind his name.  And I know for a fact that astronomy is one of his hobbies - but with the way Major Carter can pour on the techno-speak . . .  well, let's just say she's not one to just cut to the bottom line and it taxes even the Colonel's excitement over, and I use one of his terms, "cool stuff."  I see Dr. Jackson sitting in on the briefing as well.  He and Jack are on opposite sides of the table - at the back.  As the Major spreads her scientific wings and takes flight, I can watch, covertly, the reflections of the two men in the window of the briefing room.  As I turn my head, supposedly to watch Major Carter, I can see Jack wink at Daniel, who in turn smiles and dips his head to scan the report in his hand.  Yes indeed, seems to have been a very productive three days here.</div> <bR> <div> Three hours later I'm in my office, dutifully filing the report to the Pentagon about Major Carter's latest stroke of genius.  Jack knocks on the door and steps in.  I motion for him to sit down.  He goes over the status of the base; the work that was done; which includes that all security upgrades have been completed as requested; they've run out of blue jell-O in the mess hall; and there's a new mural in the locker room.  He shrugs, gives me that eternally patient look which lets me know he was the instigator and says, "I tried to tell them you'd be mad."  We talk, go over duty rosters, special requests, expenditures - all the things that make a base run.  Jack's come up with some ideas that might save us a little money in the long run.  I tell him to put them down on paper and I'll see what I can do.  As loathe as he is to admit it, he's a damn good administrator and I listen to him when he talks to me about a more efficient way of doing things.</div> <bR> <div> I tell him I'm pleased with the status of things, grouse a bit about defacing military property, then tell him he and his team are on a three-day stand down.  They were the only SG team that remained on base throughout the entire period and I know it helped the morale of the personnel that had to stay, especially the SFs.  And I've heard the rumors.  "And Colonel, the next time I'm away it does not mean you have permission to turn the ramp in the gate room into a bowling alley."  His eyes go wide.  I snicker.  "I have my sources Colonel.  I have my sources."</div> <bR> <div> "Daniel bowled a 265," I get told a little peevishly.</div> <bR> <div> "Then start a league," I say with my most paternal voice, "outside the Mountain."</div> <bR> <div> ++++</div> <bR> <div> It's evening and I'm heading home.  Jack and Dr. Jackson are riding up in the car with me.  They seem to be quibbling over a sheet of paper.</div> <bR> <div> "No, Jack - just listen to me.  If she plays on this team, that will give them an unfair advantage because Benson and Gallagher were both league bowlers last year.  Kerminsky needs to play over here in this bracket with this team."</div> <bR> <div> "Gallagher's got like a seventeen average, Daniel," Jack argues back.</div> <bR> <div> Daniel makes a little snorting sound before he replies.  "Sand bagger."  He scribbles quickly on the paper.  "How about this?"</div> <bR> <div> "How about we do this over a nice sit-down dinner at Leona's?" Jack asks.</div> <bR> <div> "I could eat," Daniel agrees quickly.  They both nod, the paper gets tucked away into a pocket and both men fall silent.</div> <bR> <div> But they aren't fooling anyone.  It was just a convenient out should anyone ask - or insinuate.  There have been insinuations, but they haven't been able to take root.  I can't allow that.  SG-1 is the premier team of the SGC and the front line team for planetary defense.  They work.  They live and die for their duties and for each other on a much more regular basis than I like.  We are alive and well today because of the sacrifices these men make on a daily basis.  What business of mine is it what they do after we leave this base?  It's the relationship that makes everything else they do possible.  I would be a certified fool to tamper with things for the sake of 'military propriety.'</div> <bR> <div> I bid them goodbye in the parking lot and watch as they walk away, voices soft - seeming to share a joke.  My mind drifts back to a few days prior when this all began and I smile.  I may be the one on the outside looking in, but I prefer to think of it as 'walking the perimeter.'  Keeping things in check, keeping things safe - making sure that tomorrow and the next day and the next, those two men can do what we've so selfishly asked them to do . . .  lay down their lives for us.  I nod as I pull away from them, still sitting in the truck, talking and laughing with one another.  I figure this little part I play - well, it's the least I can do.</div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> - finis -</div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="mailto:claforce@plotexpo.com" TARGET="_top" TITLE="mailto:claforce@plotexpo.com"><U>Give the author's ego a marshmallow . . . please feed the bear.</U></A></div> <bR> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id3_sg1_slash.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Stargate SG1 Slash Fiction"><U>Back to Fic List</U></A>     <A HREF="id2_directory.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Directory Listing"><U>Back to Directory</U></A></div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=45 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="00f64643.jpg"> <div> <B> <TABLE BORDER="0" CELLPADDING="0" CELLSPACING="0" WIDTH="161" BORDERCOLORLIGHT="#C0C0C0" BORDERCOLORDARK="#808080" FRAME="BOX" RULES="ALL" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" > <tR> <tD VALIGN=CENTER HEIGHT= 45 ><NOBR><div> <IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="39" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0" WIDTH="29"></div> </NOBR></tD> <tD VALIGN=TOP><NOBR><div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Plotexpo.com"><U><B><IMG SRC="0181d270.jpg" border=0 width="29" height="39" ALIGN="BOTTOM" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></B></U></A></div> </NOBR></tD> <tD VALIGN=CENTER WIDTH="15"><IMG BORDER="0" SRC="1x1.gif" HEIGHT="45" ALIGN="bottom" WIDTH="15" HSPACE="0" VSPACE="0"></tD> <tD VALIGN=CENTER><NOBR><div> <A HREF="id17.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Hut! 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