---

Hammond: You ever think of writing a book about your exploits in the line of duty?
Jack: I’ve thought about it. But then, I’d have to shoot anyone that actually read it.

---

Beginning

I’m… well… I’m sort of easy. A mental version of myself, or something, told Carter that once. I never really figured out how that worked, by the way. Another thing I can remember to ask Daniel later. I really don’t care much but it’s fun to watch him try to explain.

I’m smarter than I pretend to be, but it’s easier to wrap it up in jokes and sarcasm than give serious answers to questions like whether or not we’ll be able to get home.

But back to me being easy. In general, I don’t require much. A loaf of bread, a jug of wine… Constant entertainment isn’t TOO much to ask for, is it? Dead easy for Daniel. Watching him breathe is pretty entertaining.

So what, I bring a book, a deck of cards. I’d really like to bring the TV and the playstation but I doubt I’d get good reception for the game off world.





By his god’s decree, a Jaffa never takes with him what he does not absolutely need. A Jaffa’s will and ability to serve his master must never be secondary to that which he possesses. If what he possesses distracts him from his ability to serve, he has failed his master. Failure brings only death.

The way of the Tau’ri is very different. O’Neill and Daniel Jackson both carry with them the articles that they are required by General Hammond to bring but they also bring items that I would deem unnecessary, no matter what potential dangers we may face. Major Carter, Samantha, is the same.

I am not, as I once believed, entirely immune to their ways.





Oh, Jack is so easy. Seriously. He, or Sam’s mental projection of Jack, told Sam that on the X-303 and truer words were never spoken. One look, one small touch, and it’s just over. The real reason that the no-sex-in-uniform rule was a non-starter, he can’t keep his hands off me. I love it.

He’s a pretty low maintenance guy, if you don’t count the constant cries for attention. Teal’c and Carter seem to deflect those easily enough but every now and then I'll look up from digging through my pack to find him watching me.

So there’re things I’m required to bring and things I bring for the hell of it. It’s fascinating, isn’t it? The things you find you can’t live without.





Appearances can be deceiving. Normally I try not to succumb to clichés but every now and then, nothing else really seems to fit. This thing with Teal’c… wow. If you’d even tried to tell me a couple of months ago… but now it’s like I can’t live without it. Without him. Now there’s a cliché.

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

Couldn’t help myself.

Don't put all your eggs in one... pack? Except that Daniel's the only one who seems to carry much. Daniel and the FRED.

---

Daniel: Tastes like chicken.
Sam: So what’s wrong with that?
Daniel: It’s macaroni and cheese.

---

Rations

I find the meals, ready to eat to be most satisfactory, though I admit I have not found Daniel Jackson’s additions to our meals to be lacking in any fashion. The pineapple was most delicious.

As for me, chocolate, chocolate is a must. And I’m not sure that we’ve ever taught Teal’c about s’mores.





I’m never certain how Daniel ends up with all this food. He might be bribing the cafeteria workers (the colonel always calls them lunch ladies, even though most of the time they’re young enlisted men on detail), but with what? They certainly appear to be immune to a pretty smile, at least mine.

But MREs are easy. Cold, warm, wet, dry. As long as you've got a pocketknife to get it open. I never pretend to be any great shakes in the kitchen. Not that heating up an MRE is rocket science, which I do happen to be quite good at.

That was a joke.





Respect. Respect and a certain amount of dirt on Jack. Well, Jack and some other commanding officers. Nothing too secret, just enough to let them know that everyone’s life kind of sucks, not just theirs.

Pre-packaged food has never been a particular favorite of mine, so I need snacks. Mostly just what I can find on base that isn’t a meal, ready to eat (and don’t get me started on the stupidity of that label, or labels in general, for that matter). Candy bars, pretzels, one time an entire pineapple but I think they missed that at the Hawaiian-themed Friday night luau. Jack and Sam appreciated my efforts that time. Teal’c was just sorry he’d missed the luau, something about roasted swine and a Chulak delicacy. Jack made me stop before I could ask more.

---

Teal’c: What is an Oprah?

---

Downtime

I’ve always got a deck of cards handy. Never know when you’ll be able to round yourself up for a rousing game of solitaire. And there have been a few interesting poker nights. Teal’c has an amazing poker face. Go figure.

I know the others bring stuff. Teal’c, for instance, always has a MAGIC EIGHT BALL. You heard me. A magic eight ball, though I’m sure he calls it something like the magically enhanced globular orb. I try not to ask too many questions about that. Also, since Christmas, he brings his game boy. He doesn’t know that I really didn’t get it for him, I got it for me and I steal it all the time. There is a LOT of down time in the field, what with Daniel and the ruins or Daniel and the natives or Daniel and the… you get the idea. Teal’c never seems to miss it, so I’m not sure how much use he gets out of it. Probably uses it as a writing surface.





The “game boy” O’Neill provided me with is most useless. It is too ill-shaped for a writing surface and not heavy enough to be useful as a weapon. He has demonstrated its real use but the strategies I am forced to employ in order to win these childish games are ridiculous. No Jaffa would jump on the head of his enemy to kill him, not when a blast from a staff weapon will suffice. Still, I have also been taught to make do with what weapons are available. I might be persuaded to give the game another try, however I do not wish to deprive O’Neill of his amusements. I pretend not to notice it missing from my pack while Daniel Jackson investigates ruins and cultural phenomena.

O’Neill is under the impression that I bring the enchanted spherical object with me. He has informed me of its true name and purpose but I believe he finds my names for things amusing. I indulge him when I can. I believe I made a joke about this once, but O’Neill still seems to be unable to tell my humorous demeanor from my serious one.





Okay, okay. I’M the one with the 8-ball. The colonel thinks it’s Teal’c, but Teal’c’s really just taking the fall. It was a gift from Cassie on the first Christmas she spent with Janet. It’s key chain size and I don’t actually use it. Except occasionally, when I want to see if Teal’c will break his vow of chastity on missions. Or to check the colonel’s orders. Or the weather.

Okay, fine. I use it. I still don’t know how the colonel found out about it.

Crossword puzzles, I bring a lot of those for the downtime. It’s very satisfying to finish one. I have to keep them away from the colonel, he likes to fill the blocks in with dirty words. Dirty words in Abydonian, no less, which I think Daniel taught him. Frankly, I’d rather not think about it. Much.





Downtime? What downtime?

I’ve got the air force issue waterproof-bulletproof-earthquakeandnaturaldisasterproof deck of cards, because Jack always loses his and it’s easier to throw him a new deck of cards than help him find the old one. Especially when I can spend the time that he’s quietly occupied with flipping the cards around doing something more interesting. He doesn’t understand it, my quest for the “meaning of life stuff”, but he puts up with it. He has to.

I do have a magnetic chess set for late night challenges, usually issued around the campfire. Jack is pretty good at chess. Teal'c comes up with these amazingly complex strategies that you can get around with simple moves. He always forgets about the pawns. Sam's brutal, out for blood because she learned from her father. Definitely "take no prisoners" in that family.

---

Jack: Then by all means, to hell with us.

---

Compulsory

I know Jack thinks I bring too much stuff. Not that I’ve ever heard him complain about the snacks, mind you. Maybe he has a point. My pack is always six times the size of his but he doesn’t have the books and the journals, just grenades and a first aid kit. But then, his goal is different than mine.

I’ve got my research staff’s field reports, because forewarned is forearmed, or something. Sometimes we do know a bit about what we’re getting into. Sometimes we don’t.

I’ve got books, reference mostly, translations I’m working on or the Goa’uld/English dictionary we’ve been compiling.

I’ve got pens and pencils and extra paper. And my two journals. The professional one that I use to write my reports after we get back, where I record technical data like when I woke up, what I found carved on some rock in a field. And the personal one that no one ever sees, written in a code that only I know, where I record stuff like the texture of Jack’s hair under my fingers, the smell of his skin in the mornings.





I have been without the larval goa’uld for some time now. The freedom that comes with this knowledge far outweighs any side effects of the supplement. It remains to be seen if the tretonin is a viable long-term replacement, but it appears adequate for now. I bring a sufficient amount to ensure that I am well supplied should we be delayed in our return to the SGC.





Do you know, there are times that it sucks being the girl. Crouched over in the underbrush, your pants around your ankles, trying, without the comforts of home and a toilet, to change a tampon? Maybe it’s the extreme unfairness that the guys don’t have to go through similar experiences, maybe it’s the hormones, but I’m always a bit of a bitch after those sessions.

I’m pretty regular, I have to be with all the medication they pump in me, but too many missions have gone screwy to mess with it. I’ve always got the tampons.

Sometimes I feel like I’m not supposed to know about this, but I do. I know about the colonel and the pills.





I can’t tell Daniel about this. Teal’c would consider it beneath him somehow. Carter knows, she’s smart. They’ve probably told her already anyway. Standard issue to teams since the dawn of the space program: cyanide capsules. We aren’t the space travelers that they had in mind but the same rules apply. We get stranded somewhere, hundreds of light years from home, no way to support ourselves and no prospects for the future, they want us prepared. Forearmed and all that shit.

I’m the commanding officer, it’s up to me to hand them out. I get four new shiny capsules just before every mission. And I just can’t do it. Carter I’d have no problem with, she’d understand. Teal’c might too, even though he’d refuse it. But Daniel, I can’t break Daniel like that. And it would. Sometimes I feel like his idealism is all that keeps me going and I can’t.

I just can’t.

---

Sam: It’s theoretically possible.
Jack: It’s against regulations.

---

Private

Okay, Jack doesn’t know this but I always carry condoms and lube. You never know. I know we have those rules, those sensible, military-friendly, don’t-ask-don’t-tell rules about uniforms (the non-starter) and base (already broken) and missions (probably next) but you never know. It’s something I try not to think about, that every time could be the last. How many times have I died? How many times have we all been presumed dead? I mean, honestly, how many memorial services can one person have before they’ve tempted fate too many times?

So I carry them just in case because we might be there some day, knowing and holding on and just trying to remember to breathe. You never know.

I never was a boy scout- for that matter, neither was Jack- but he always tells me to be prepared. So I am.





You’d be surprised, or I guess I would be surprised. I haven’t gotten out much, or around. I’ve sort of been the kiss of death to most men that have shown even the slightest amount of interest, which makes intimacy a bit of a problem. Anyway, I’m surprised that there are a lot, a lot of… things you can do without actually… doing anything. Does that make sense?

Teal’c refuses to bring condoms even though I’m on the pill, which is pretty standard since we found out early on that ‘gate travel interferes with the reproductive cycle. But he’s done too much reading about everything to take any risks. I’ve tried explaining that the error percentages don’t mean much in the long run but he won’t take chances. At least that’s not something the Colonel and Daniel have to worry about.

Not that we haven’t ever… I mean… we have. We do, just not on missions.

Anyway, even without… that. He still manages to blow me away.





Daniel doesn’t know this but I always have condoms and lube. I know we made all those rules about nothing on missions, on base, or in uniform, but the uniform one was pretty much a non-starter and I’m not sure if hand jobs count, but I think we’ve screwed up on the no-sex on base one too. Missions are a logical progression, don’t you think? It’s not like I’m not looking for excuses to retire. Please. Anyway, a man’s gotta be prepared, you know?

Try telling Daniel that. I’m convinced he doesn’t really listen to me anymore. Just flows like water off a duck’s back by now. He’s immune! I’ve talked at him too much the past seven years.





Samantha. I have only just become accustomed to addressing her in this manner, though she assures me that surnames are not proper under intimate circumstances. I have tried to keep this in mind.

It would please Samantha if we brought prophylactics, as I am aware that O’Neill and Daniel Jackson do, but my resolve is much stronger than theirs’. I must not allow my mind to become unfocused, distracted while at any moment we may be in danger. I do not call them negligent; I call myself prone to distraction, especially by Samantha. Already, there are ways we have found to achieve pleasure without requiring the use of any contraceptives. She clouds my mind in ways I find most agreeable.

---

Jack: Daniel, you want to start dialing home?

---

Quarters

My dad used to hang his dog tags on a hook on his wall. He said he didn’t want to lose them but he never lost anything. I think he liked to look at them, to remind himself that he belonged somewhere.

I never had to wonder, as a kid. You know, what I called home. Home was never where we lived because the air force moved us around before we could ever get attached to a physical place. Home was where my dad hung his tags.

It’s different now. My dad’s gone to wherever the Tok’ra hideout is this month and I get to see him every now and then when the council decides they need something from their less-civilized allies, a guinea pig or free intel on whatever goa’uld they’re trying to catch this week. Whatever.

I kept them when he left. When I’m home they hang on a hook in my room but I bring them offworld with me. It’s so against regs because if anything ever happened and they found both sets of tags, well I don’t know but it means big trouble. But it’s been my experience that when people die at the SGC there’s hardly ever much of a body to recover.

And I always have the form. You know, to check Teal’c out. It feels so… wrong, somehow, to check my boyfriend out so I can sleep with him but it beats the alternative. Cameras in every room on base, come on. I don’t need an audience.

I guess I don’t wonder where home is now. I’ve never been one to pin it down to a geographical location. Home is where Teal’c is, even the colonel and Daniel, to some extent. Where my family is.





“Don’t ask, don’t tell” will still get me my pension, which will still get me my shack in Minnesota. And if Daniel still goes through the gate once in a while he’ll have somewhere to come home to.

Home, that’s something. I can’t decide where that is anymore. It was with Sarah and Charlie, but that’s gone now. I try not to think about it anymore but it comes up. Daniel is good for that. Not making me forget, say, just… you know… listening. Daniel’s good for listening. Talking too, shit. Talks all the time.

Anyway, it might be with Daniel now. He got a new place after he… descended or whatever he did. After Oma kicked him out of the enlightened dead people’s club. It’s good, the new apartment. I don’t see him hanging over the railing when I go out on the balcony anymore. New railing, new balcony, new memories. Like the time… let’s just say the condoms came in handy, eh?

So, he gave me the new key and I, well. I put it on my dog tags. I take it with me through the gate. I guess it is home, in a way. Even though he’s always there, with me, digging in the dirt and begging for more time to stare at some old rocks, it’s nice to have the key. To know, you know?





On Chulak, children are taught a game of strategy called rak’ta. The game requires no parts or boards, just ten short sticks and ten small stones. Because it requires that you carry nothing it can be played anywhere that you are able to find the necessary components. This fact has never stopped Jaffa children from collecting pieces, stones they consider to be lucky, or blessed by their god, that they believe will help them to win.

The stone I carry is the smooth stone- Samantha calls it a rose quartz- I found in a stream on P3X-675, when I taught the game to O’Neill, Samantha, and Daniel Jackson. We have only played it a few times since and I have never used the stone again, but its value is far greater than that of a simple game piece.

It is home to me, this new life I have found with Samantha, even with O’Neill and Daniel Jackson, whose presence is even more precious having been without it for so long.

Chulak is my past, the home of my childhood, the home of my imprisonment. This is the home of my present, my future. It is not a compromise, a circumstantial shelter. It is permanent and most dear to my heart.





I always want to know more. Jack doesn’t understand it, but there it is. Jack’s happy with the black and white most of the time and that works for him. I guess that’s what I’m here for, to broaden his horizons some, fill in the gray.

I don’t mind being that guy. Not for Jack. Not when I get so much in return.

He gave me a key to his place. It doesn’t seem like much and the presentation was sort of sloppy. Just handed it over like it was no big deal but I know it is. No one’s had a key since Sarah.

I take it with me. There’s this little zip pocket on the inside of my pack that I keep it in. I’m always afraid I’ll lose it offworld and have to explain to Jack what happened to it, like some little alien’s going to find it on PX-wherever-it-happens-to-be and break into his house.

It’s different, having a home. Apartments I’ve had, tents I’ve shared with my parents, but they died before we moved into anything more permanent. Sha're was the closest I came, but you can’t lock a tent and take the key with you. Tents you break down, move around following seasons and water and animal migrations and home is the person you’re with, the people you’re with, not a physical place. Jack’s the first one to give me that. A place to permanently hang my hat, as the saying goes. And I guess, in the end, it’s knowing that you have somewhere, someone to come home to that really counts.