The office was messy. The shred bin was full, the file cabinet open, and a black leather jacket draped carelessly over a chair against the far wall. A large pile of paperwork that was once neat and tidy had long ago gone askew and was slowly but surely migrating to the outer edges. A navy blue folder labeled 'classified' with a faded red stamp- identical to the rest but for the mission number beneath the SGC logo in the center label –hung precariously on the edge. The only things about the area that remained perfect were the American and Air Force flags standing straight and tall in the corner.

Normally the desk of a Brigadier General with over 30 years of service under his belt would be far neater, said General would be in his dress blues, and said General wouldn't be slouching. The station almost demanded it. But then, most Generals weren't Jack O'Neill.

Elbow on his desk and chin slowly sinking into his left palm, Jack nearly dozed off before shaking his head and sitting up a bit straighter. Looking again at the massive pile of mission reports to review and sign- mission reports that were nearly a week late –Jack put down his pen and rubbed his face with his hands.

Paperwork. I hate paperwork. "Urgh….bwah." He slid his hands off his face, leaned back in his chair, and stretched his arms to the ceiling before throwing his John Hancock on the tenth mission report, slapping the folder shut, and reaching for the next. When he moved it, something slid off his desk and hit the floor. Jack frowned and reached down to pick it up, expecting the mission report from P9X-whatever-it-was-called that SG17 had just turned in.

It wasn't a mission report. It was a standard sheet of notebook paper bearing his own handwriting. The paper had an old coffee stain and had been crumpled and uncrumpled at least twice. Upon turning it over Jack saw why.

It was his resignation papers…a rough draft, written long before the 'joke' resignation he had nearly given to Hammond. Jack flinched. He thought he'd thrown this away. Raising his eyebrows, he scanned the paper and saw a date in the upper right-hand corner; January 31, 2001. He gave a partially-amused smile and wracked his brain for something that had made him crazy enough to go so far as to actually start a third resignation; the first being after Charlie and the second typed up during the time loop fiasco. (the 'joke' one didn't count) January 2001…then a memory hit him…and he wished it hadn't.

January of 2001 had been when Carter had gotten possessed by the Entity…when he had come so close to losing her. While she recuperated, he'd sworn to himself that he would never let her go without telling her how he felt. In the months and years since, between Replicators, Goa'ulds, and various other events- not to mention her engagement to that Shanahan character -he had given up on and accepted the fact that a relationship with her was impossible.

Then she broke off the engagement. The 'relationship' he had been in with Kerry Johnson had gone south, and Kerry herself had made a startling suggestion; retire.
That was probably why he'd thrown out the resignation paper. But why had he taken it out again? It was crazy. The beautiful blonde Lt. Colonel hadn't really shown much interest, and Jack figured any potential for being a couple was long gone.

Jack shook his head. No, hooking up with Carter wasn't an option. He liked being at the SGC. Giving a slight, sad smile, Jack took the paper in his hands to crumple it up again. He was planning on shooting it into the overflowing wastebasket.

Then the all-too familiar klaxon alarm, red lights, and the announcement of 'unscheduled offworld activation' blared through the base. Jack took a bad shot, missed, and grimaced. "D'oh." He strode out the door, wondering what was up this time.

Chief Master Sergeant Walter Harriman had seen quite a bit in his eight years in the Stargate program, but even after ten months it was still a little disorienting to see O'Neill in charge instead of Hammond. It was especially odd since O'Neill almost never got out of his BDU's and Hammond had always kept a clean, crisp, no-nonsense air about him, down to the ruler-straight medals on his pressed shirt, and cleanly-shaven head.

O'Neill popped up behind Walter. By now his mind was working overtime. "Who we got out there?"

"SG teams 11, 10, 4, and-" Walter was interrupted by the dial-up-esque tone of the IDC transmission. "Receiving IDC transmission!" He flinched. "It's….SG-1?"
Jack frowned. "Didn't they just leave?"

Walter nodded. "Yes, sir. Twenty minutes ago."

The sick feeling he got when his friends were in trouble returned to Jack's stomach. He had long ago learned to trust his gut. "All right, they're in trouble. Open the iris."

"Yes, sir."

The large composite material slid open with a characteristic grind and the blue event horizon shimmered before them. After an agonizing ten seconds several staff blasts burst into the gate room, making everyone jump. Jack shielded his eyes. "Ahh! Geez!"

"Do you want to close the Iris, sir?" asked Walter.

"Give 'em a minute," urged Jack.

One more staff blast exploded against a wall before Daniel and Teal'c burst in. Sam was with them, but she was being carried in, her torso and left shoulder covered with blood. Daniel looked both angry and extremely worried as he and Teal'c laid her as gently as possible on the deck, clamping down on her profusely-bleeding wounds. "We need a medic!" he screamed.

Jack barely remembered hollering the order to close the iris and mashing the pickup to order a medical team to the gateroom before he was running as fast as he could up to his best friends and feeling his heart break. He was no doctor, but between special forces work and going through the Stargate, he knew serious injuries when he saw them.

Sam had large wounds, presumably from a staff weapon or two, on her side and left shoulder. They had been glancing blows, but even one wound from a staff weapon was bad. Blood loss wasn't the main concern due to cauterization, but the injuries were highly traumatic and prone to infection. Without prompt medical attention Sam could easily die.

Instinctively Jack looked her over. Her pulse was weak and so was her breathing. She was unconscious. Her arms trembled from the intense pain. He refocused his worry into anger and looked behind him. "Get those G-d- medics!"

As if on cue the medic team rushed in. Dr Brightman, temporary CMO after the death of Janet Frasier, took one look at Sam's wounds, grimaced in spite of herself, and wasted no time. "Get that bleeding under control! We have to get her stabilized."

Looking on, Jack grabbed Daniel rather roughly by the arm. "What the h- happened?" he barked. "This was s'posed to be a recon mission."

Daniel looked extremely frustrated. He closed his eyes and gestured wildly. "They came outta nowhere; couldn't even count 'em!"

Teal'c stared at them with intense eyes. "It was an ambush. Ba'al's forces."

"We barely had time to dial out. Sam got back to the gate first...and she got hit." The archeologist looked down in pain. Seeing his latex-gloved hands still red with Sam's blood, he grimaced and turned away, blinking hard.

Jack felt a pang of regret at speaking so harshly to his friend and nodded. Sometimes things like this just happened. But…not to Carter. The number of times she had gotten hurt while out in the field, he could count on one hand. "Right…well…just-"

Dr. Brightman and her fellow medics swarmed over Sam, pressing wads of gauze into the wounds, setting up IV's, and peering into the Colonel's eyes. Presently Brightman felt her pulse, frowned, and pulled out her stethoscope. "Pulse is weak. She's losing too much blood. Infirmary, now!" she ordered. The white-garbed medics quickly got Sam onto a stretcher and wheeled the injured Lt. Colonel away. Her companions looked on in concern.

Daniel batted away the hands of the medic that saw him stained with blood and craned his neck to see where Sam had gone. "I'm fine, just let me go..."

Jack looked anxiously down the hall, backing away as the stretcher rattled away to the Infirmary. "Daniel...Teal'c...you can give me the details later." And with that, feeling the inexorable pull on his heart toward Sam, he turned toward the infirmary. First he walked quickly….then he jogged…and then, breaking protocol completely, Jack O'Neill ran flat-out toward the SGC's infirmary.