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Daniel staggered towards the gate, envelope crushed in his hands. The wormhole swirled innocently, a gate, hopefully to a different time. A gate that had taken Cassie to safety on Chulak, and had given them the chance to fix an old, disastrous mistake. Jack thudded to the ground beside him, arm stretched towards the wormhole and eyes blank and unseeing. Somewhere behind him Sam was bleeding, her breathing nothing more than gurgles as her lungs filled with blood. Teal’c hadn’t been moving anymore by the time Daniel had stepped over his body.
With a prayer for anyone who’d listen, Daniel tossed the envelope at the gate and let out a deep breath as it was swallowed up in the wormhole. He fell to the ground as gunshots roared past and through him, the edge of a smirk curling on his face.
Please, he thought as darkness swept over his vision and the deafening noise around him faded to gray. Please don’t let it happen again.
“It’s SG-1’s IDC code, sir,” Walter reported, and Hammond shot a quizzical look at the entirety of SG-1 standing beside him. Jack caught his eye and shrugged.
“Beats me, sir. Shall we see who it is?” Hammond blinked at Jack’s choice of words, but ultimately nodded.
“Open the iris.”
Airmen swarmed the room, assuming defensive positions with weapons trained on the open gate. Hammond and SG-1 watched with bated breath, prepared to spring into action at the slightest provocation.
The lone piece of paper that soared through the gate was almost anticlimactic. The gate fizzled out immediately, and Daniel blinked as Jack and Hammond gave each other a look. That was it? One sheet of paper?
Once Hammond cleared them Jack bolted out the door, darting through the dissipating airmen to scoop the paper off the floor. Once Daniel caught up he realized it was an envelope, crushed and mangled almost beyond recognition, with a telltale red splash along the bottom edge.
The door to the gate room swooshed open one more time and distinctive footsteps clicked into the room, and Daniel glanced back to find Janet approaching with her hands in her pockets. She raised her eyebrows, eyes flitting to each of them before she returned to Daniel. He smiled- yes, they were fine- and shrugged- no, I have no idea what’s going on.
“What is it?” he asked as Jack turned the envelope over and frowned at the address.
“You tell me.” He flipped the writing towards Daniel’s face. Daniel had to tilt his head to read around the creases and bloodstains, but after a second he blinked, stunned. “That is your handwriting, isn’t it?”
“To the SGC,” Daniel muttered. “That’s a bit cryptic.”
“Hm.” Jack squinted, and before Daniel could say a word about x-rays or brushes or analysis, he ripped the envelope open. He unfolded the paper inside and blinked. “Huh. I’d say that’s pretty clear.” Hammond peered over his shoulder and nodded. Jack swept the letter around for them all to read.
UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES GO TO P4C-970.
It was signed Daniel Jackson, and Daniel flexed his hand as though that would help him remember writing it. Sam said something about solar flares, speed building as she somehow extrapolated what must have happened. Jack didn’t pretend to pay attention, instead returning to the envelope.
“Hey, there’s something else.” He pulled out a slip of thin gray paper.
“A newspaper clipping?” Daniel held his hand out. “Why would I-?” Janet grinned out at him in black and white, holding a toddler that could have been her twin.
The flesh-and-blood Janet sidled up beside him to read over his shoulder with a deep crease in her brow.
The article was perfunctory, almost canned:
Maj. Dr. Janet Fraiser of the SGC and her daughter, Andromeda Claire Jackson, were tragically killed on Tuesday in a fatal car accident when prolonged extrication prevented them from receiving life-saving medical care. These unfortunate deaths come on the heels of the sudden, untimely passing of General George Hammond, another hero of the SGC, last month. Authorities have ruled the incident as accidental, and no charges are being filed.
Dr. Fraiser is survived by her husband, Dr. Daniel Jackson, and daughter, Cassandra, 18, who were not available for interview at this time. There will be a private funeral followed by a public memorial service.
Bile rose in Daniel’s throat and Janet’s hand clenched around his arm. Daniel jerkily held the paper back out to Jack, but as it flapped around he noticed more writing on the back. It was his handwriting again, crammed and rushed.
Don’t let it happen again.
Jack plucked the clipping from his hand and stuffed it back in the envelope. He bounced on his heels as Daniel and Janet stared at each other, pale and tense.
“Right,” Jack said, and brandished the envelope at Sam. “Carter, take this to the lab. Sir, I suggest-”
“Sergeant!” Hammond barked, and Daniel jumped. He peeled Janet’s hand off only to wrap his arm around her shoulders. “I want this planet erased from our memory banks and locked out of the dialing computer!” Walter gave him a nod from behind the glass.
Sam squeezed Janet’s arm as she brushed by, and Jack clapped a hand on Daniel’s shoulder before following Hammond to ensure his orders were carried out.
“I-” Janet cut herself off, ducking a little more into Daniel’s side than she normally would allow on base. “I don’t know what to say.” Daniel’s hand clenched on her shoulder. He had no response, only the image of that smiling, frozen Janet burning behind his eyes.
Whatever was on that planet would not be allowed to touch his family. Some version of Daniel had almost certainly died to pass on his message, and as Daniel walked Janet out of the gate room he promised himself- both versions- that whatever had happened there would not happen here.