The retirement party thrown by his colleagues at the Pentagon had been fine. The attendees had been polite and congratulatory and the whole affair was very low key. Jack worked with some good people there. People he respected. People he trusted to run the program as it should be run.
A few years back, after the last remnant of Kinsey's insidious Trust had been hunted down and booted out, Jack had had the privilege of presiding at Major Davis' long-overdue promotion to Lieutenant Colonel. Apparently the Trust, recognizing Major Davis as a man of honor firmly entrenched in the Hammond/O'Neill camp, had been blocking him at every turn. Once the Trust was out of the way, Davis' rise had been steady.
Last week, the day of his first retirement party in fact, as one of his final official duties, Jack had bumped him up yet again to Brigadier General. Davis would oversee all Earth-based activity of the Homeworld Security Department while Major General Samantha Carter would handle all off-world duties. Together, Carter and Davis would make one hell of team letting Jack retire with confidence.
The Pentagon party, as fine as it had been with its banquet hall, five-star food, linen table cloths, crystal stemware, and floral centerpieces for every table, didn't hold a candle to this. Carter's house in Colorado Springs was packed wall to wall with what seemed like every person who had ever worked at the Mountain. Every counter in the kitchen was weighted down with covered dishes of all size, shape, and cuisine. The dining table held the paper plates and napkins, plastic utensils and cups and a huge variety of beverages. The stereo blared out something with a fast beat and a melody that was hard to hear clearly over the raucous crowd.
As the night went on, Jack's beverage changed from soda to rum and cola to neat whiskey. His mood grew more expansive and nostalgic. These folks had been with him for some of the worst and some of the best times of his life. They worked hard, risked their asses, had fought with him and for him and did it all in obscurity. They were a damn fine group of people, damn fine, and he loved, dammit. He loved them all.
He finished the slice of pie he was eating and thought about the woman who had brought it. Marge Jensen still ruled the kitchens in the Mountain with a firm yet kindly grip and her soft spot for SG-1 was legendary. They could always count on her have comfort food when comfort was needed: a piece of pie for Jack, blue Jell-O for Carter, chocolate cake for Daniel, and that weird salad of fruit, whipped cream, and cottage cheese for Teal'c. Spying her by the kitchen door, Jack threaded his way through the other revelers and gave her a peck on the cheek.
"Thank you," he said, "for keeping us going."
Laughing, she hugged him and said, "There's Dutch apple pie in there with your name on it."
He winked at her. "I've already had two pieces and wrapped up a third for later."
They reminisced for a bit--she'd never let SG-1 live down the Urgo-incited dessert fest--until her husband came to fetch her for a dance on the back patio.
Turning, Jack nearly ran into Cassie who had managed to pull her drink away from the collision before it spilled. Jack frowned.
"I hope that's not a margarita," he warned. He couldn't look at her without seeing the eleven year old orphan that his team had had helped raise.
Cassie rolled her eyes but grinned at him. "I'm way past legal drinking age."
"Maybe, but you'll always be our little girl." He kissed on the forehead. "Love you, squirt."
"Love you too, Uncle Jack." She kissed him on the cheek then continued going wherever it was she'd been headed.
Sweeter Than Wine 1/2
A few years back, after the last remnant of Kinsey's insidious Trust had been hunted down and booted out, Jack had had the privilege of presiding at Major Davis' long-overdue promotion to Lieutenant Colonel. Apparently the Trust, recognizing Major Davis as a man of honor firmly entrenched in the Hammond/O'Neill camp, had been blocking him at every turn. Once the Trust was out of the way, Davis' rise had been steady.
Last week, the day of his first retirement party in fact, as one of his final official duties, Jack had bumped him up yet again to Brigadier General. Davis would oversee all Earth-based activity of the Homeworld Security Department while Major General Samantha Carter would handle all off-world duties. Together, Carter and Davis would make one hell of team letting Jack retire with confidence.
The Pentagon party, as fine as it had been with its banquet hall, five-star food, linen table cloths, crystal stemware, and floral centerpieces for every table, didn't hold a candle to this. Carter's house in Colorado Springs was packed wall to wall with what seemed like every person who had ever worked at the Mountain. Every counter in the kitchen was weighted down with covered dishes of all size, shape, and cuisine. The dining table held the paper plates and napkins, plastic utensils and cups and a huge variety of beverages. The stereo blared out something with a fast beat and a melody that was hard to hear clearly over the raucous crowd.
As the night went on, Jack's beverage changed from soda to rum and cola to neat whiskey. His mood grew more expansive and nostalgic. These folks had been with him for some of the worst and some of the best times of his life. They worked hard, risked their asses, had fought with him and for him and did it all in obscurity. They were a damn fine group of people, damn fine, and he loved, dammit. He loved them all.
He finished the slice of pie he was eating and thought about the woman who had brought it. Marge Jensen still ruled the kitchens in the Mountain with a firm yet kindly grip and her soft spot for SG-1 was legendary. They could always count on her have comfort food when comfort was needed: a piece of pie for Jack, blue Jell-O for Carter, chocolate cake for Daniel, and that weird salad of fruit, whipped cream, and cottage cheese for Teal'c. Spying her by the kitchen door, Jack threaded his way through the other revelers and gave her a peck on the cheek.
"Thank you," he said, "for keeping us going."
Laughing, she hugged him and said, "There's Dutch apple pie in there with your name on it."
He winked at her. "I've already had two pieces and wrapped up a third for later."
They reminisced for a bit--she'd never let SG-1 live down the Urgo-incited dessert fest--until her husband came to fetch her for a dance on the back patio.
Turning, Jack nearly ran into Cassie who had managed to pull her drink away from the collision before it spilled. Jack frowned.
"I hope that's not a margarita," he warned. He couldn't look at her without seeing the eleven year old orphan that his team had had helped raise.
Cassie rolled her eyes but grinned at him. "I'm way past legal drinking age."
"Maybe, but you'll always be our little girl." He kissed on the forehead. "Love you, squirt."
"Love you too, Uncle Jack." She kissed him on the cheek then continued going wherever it was she'd been headed.
(continued below)