Series: Pegasus B Universe
Characters: General Samantha Carter, Colonel Jack O’Neill, kinda Dr. Elizabeth Weir

ESRB Rating: Everybody 15+
Themes: AU, Sam and Jack (former) Friendship, Angst

Note: This story takes place within the “pilot”. The wormhole between the SGC and Atlantis is still open and the Atlantis Expedition has just made it all the way through.

Alpha/Beta: The divine Miss Lulu “Sorcha Gaia” Powers.

Written: March 06

When the last fidgety scientist was through, the last anxious soldier gone, when the last pallets of supplies had moved up the ramp and the very last trunk had been hauled through, General Carter stood before the ramp waiting.

“Stargate Command?” It was Dr. Weir over the radio, it was what Sam was waiting for. “This is the Atlantis Expedition.” Confirming words traveled back and forth between galaxies as Carter took the ramp herself. She held back just at the event horizon, timing things.

When she knew the moment was ‘right’, she let the magnum of champagne softly roll from her fingers and through the upright pool of illusionary water. Then she reconsidered the second bottle in her hand for, perhaps, the hundredth time in the last hour.

She rolled it gently between her palms. The gate techs would hold the door open until either she gave the word to close it or the all mystical thirty-eight minute mark had hit, and then they’d have no choice in the matter. Not that she would exactly stand there dawdling that long.

It was a gross display of favoritism, and she didn’t even know if it’d be one that was appreciated. The bridge had been fixed a little during his time back at the SGC, but that hardly meant the water running under that bridge was clear. No, the water was still murky with mistakes and sloshed sloppily over the harsh consequences of their actions.

Still. Wasn’t a General allowed to play favorites every once in a while - gross or otherwise? It certainly wasn’t like anyone wouldn’t understand why she was doing it. And hadn’t Janet thought it a good idea? Sam mentally gave herself a shake and prayed Jack would see it for what it was simply meant to be.

Stooping over again, she let the second bottle roll off her palm and down her finger tips. When she knew it had to be in the Pegasus Galaxy, General Carter looked up into the control room and gave a sharp nod of her chin. The Stargate disengaged.

Weir was smiling over the note attached to the magnum when Jack caught sight of the second bottle rolling through. He was already flashing it a distrustful glare when he noticed the label.

It was a single bottle of beer from a microbrewery his team used to frequent after missions. When things had still been… okay. Better than okay. When things had still been good. When saving the world had been what they did daily, and they’d been damn good at it. When life had still been good. The bottle was rolling to a gentle stop, having had less momentum than the champagne, as if who ever the gifter was would know where Jack would be standing in relation to the gate, in relation to Dr. Weir.

“Well,” Jack thought absently. He still wasn’t sure he wanted to pick it up, even knowing clearly it was meant for him. “She probably does. Threat assess, tactical position, yadda. She’d know where I’d take up post.”

Those eyes that weren’t on Weir were on him as if they knew too. The dark bottle rocked once, the liquid inside rolling over, before coming to a complete and unquestionable halt. Left with few other choices — either he could ignore it and someone would just hand it to him anyway or he could just pick the damn thing up himself — Jack bent over and spun it around in his palm. Just as he was pulling his shoulders back, the wormhole flickered once and then was gone. That was it. This was it. His bottle seemed to have a note too.

‘O’Neill’, it read on the front. He thumbed the plain card open. ‘There are 98 more just like this on the wall if you can make this happen.’ It wasn’t mushy, or sappy… or angry or filled with the directionless fury the last few years had been. It was like the time this bottle came from: good. Easier. Humorous even, when laughing in the face of danger had been as commonplace as breathing. Before he knew just how hard he could break, how many tiny pieces exactly he could shatter into.

But he knew what this was supposed to be saying and for one traitorous heartbeat, Jack O’Neill wished he’d maybe said just a little bit more to Sam when he had had the chance. Who knew if he’d really get the chance to collect those other 98 bottles.

“Okay, people,” Weir began, cradling her own gift against her hip. “Let’s get to work.” Jack tucked the bottle into a side pocket of his pack and refused to think about the swirl and surge of emotions it gave him. He had an ancient city to recon. He could think about it later. Maybe.

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