And he didn't even like sci-fi. He preferred his science undiluted with hokum. Not that she knew that.
He could feel the tension mounting just contemplating the call. Ironic, that the thought of telephoning his sister was actually more terrifying than the idea of stepping through the Stargate and throwing his disassembled molecules into another galaxy. Of course, that was stomach-churningly terrifying, but that was tomorrow and this was today and the telephone was staring at him like it might bite.
Reaching out, he picked it up. His hands were clammy and when he stabbed at the first number his finger slid off the button. She'd probably be out anyway, he reasoned. Or in bed. It was late. Too late. She'd get irritated that he'd called so late, and really he had no idea what he would say other than that he was leaving, but she wouldn't care about that anyway and he'd end up feeling stupid and tongue-tied and-
He let the phone drop onto the table and stood up.
His neighbor had agreed to look after the cat. What was her name? Donna? Dawn? Denise? Something. It had a D in it. Whatever. She'd agreed to look after the cat, and if he didn't get over there now she'd have gone to bed and his flight was so early that he couldn't drop by in the morning, so… With a sideways glance at the phone he picked up the cat, her bowl and bag of food, and struggled to the door.
He'd call when he got back. His sister would never even know he'd gone anyway, and maybe then he'd be able to tell her something about Atlantis. Maybe then he'd be a hero, and she'd actually be interested in what he was doing with his life.
Yeah, he'd call later. That was fine. That was easy.
He'd call when he got home.
It was night now, nearly midnight over DC, and the hour was about to tick over into the next day; the last day Elizabeth would spend on this planet. And that was a thought to freak out anybody. She tried to banish it, but it wouldn't go far, hovering on the periphery of her mind like a cloud about to burst.
It was harder to be brave when you were alone.
Swallowing, she focused on her full suitcase. It would all have to be transferred into a military pack when she reached the SGC, but kitting herself out like Rambo would have only raised more questions from Simon. And God knew he had enough already. He was like a walking-
Suddenly her eye was caught by a small flash of color, buried just beneath the top layer of her clothes. She tugged at it and realized it was a gift. It was typical of him, he usually smuggled something into her bag before she left, and she smiled sadly as she turned the present over in her hand. He'd want her to wait, to open it when she arrived. But there would be no room in her pack for gifts; one personal item each. That was the rule and it applied to her as much as anyone else in the team.
So, carefully, she slipped a finger beneath the paper and ripped it away. Inside was an elegant jewelry box. It opened with a soft click to reveal a simple silver necklace. It was beautiful, and his thoughtfulness touched her deeply and only renewed her guilt. He loved her, and she loved him. But not enough to stay, not enough to refuse this chance to do what no one else had ever done.
Did that make her a bad person? Did that make her-
"South Korea."
His quiet voice came from behind her, in the doorway. Weir laughed, but didn't turn around. "No."
"Liechtenstein."
"Liechtenstein?"
"I've guessed everywhere else, haven't I?" She turned, and he smiled at her, nodding at the necklace in her hand. "You were supposed to wait to open that."
"I know. I couldn't." But she'd take it with her, even if she had to wear it under her uniform. "Thank you."
Hands in his pockets, he strolled toward her. "You must have some idea when you'll be back."
"I honestly don't," she sighed. "And even if I did…" Right then, at that moment, she'd have given her right arm to be able to tell him. She just hoped, prayed, that the President would let him see the video tape she'd recorded for him. At least then he would know the truth.
He could sense her distress, he'd always been able to read her like a book, and without another word he reached out and pulled her into his arms. For a long moment he just held her, and then quietly said, "You can still tell me how you feel, can't you?"
She knew what he wanted to hear, but it felt wrong to say it now, when she was leaving him — perhaps forever — and he didn't even know it. I love you, but not enough to give this up for you. Not enough to stay… Swallowing hard, she decided on a different truth. "Scared," she whispered. "I feel scared."
He didn't answer, just held her tight and she drew what comfort she could from his embrace. It was little enough, and would have to last a long time.
The SGC was buzzing. The excitement was palpable, bouncing off the walls, merging with the constant chatter in twenty different languages and generating enough energy to power the Stargate without any need for the ZPM.
General Jack O'Neill loved days like this. The only downside was that his team weren't the ones on the ramp, ready to go and take on the galaxy. But things change, and this wasn't their moment of glory. This belonged to Dr. Weir and the team of — he had to admit — complete geeks she'd assembled. He hoped she knew what she was doing. At least John Sheppard had quit screwing around and agreed to take the mission; thank God someone would know one end of a P90 from the other. For all of Weir's talk about peace and exploration, Jack had seen enough of the galaxy to know that most diplomacy came down the barrel of a gun. He couldn't imagine this Pegasus place being much different.
As he jogged down the stairs from his office to the control room, Jack saw that Weir was already there and preparing the dialing sequence. It was a one-shot deal, and the tension in the room was so thick you could cut it and spread it on toast. She was deep in conversation with Daniel — talking of geeks — but had one eye on the window, watching with some concern what was going on down in the gate room.
Curious, Jack followed her gaze and realized that her attention was fixed on Colonel Marshal Sumner, the buzz-cut commander of the Marines assigned to her mission. Jack knew his type, and respected him. Yelling at anything that moved had never been his own style — it just made his throat hurt — but it worked for some folks and Sumner was a master of the art. Jack drew closer to the window and watched him eyeing one of Weir's team fiddling with the content of a FRED lined up to ship out. Jack recognized the fiddler as Carson Beckett, the doctor who'd almost shot his ass out of the sky over Antarctica.
Without preamble, Sumner muscled between Beckett and the FRED. "Everything in this room has been double-checked and triple-checked and cleared for take off," he snapped. "Leave it alone."
Beckett didn't seem at all intimidated, much to Jack's secret amusement. "Look, Colonel, I don't answer to you," he snapped, returning to whatever the hell he was doing to the equipment on the FRED.
Sumner cast a killer look at the Security Officer who'd been supervising. The kid looked about as pissed off as the Colonel. "He said the same to me, sir."
"That's what your sidearm is for," Sumner growled, directing the threat directly at Beckett.
The doctor stopped dead, and Sumner walked away. Even Jack was unsure if the Marine colonel had been bluffing. He turned and caught the concerned look in Weir's eye. She wasn't used to the military, and men like Sumner took some handling; he didn't blame her for worrying.
"The eight-chevron address is what tells the gate to look for a point in space outside our galaxy," Daniel blurted, oblivious to the little scene in the gate room and pulling Weir's attention back to the dialing computer. "We won't know until it locks."