Title: Remember Me
Written By: iluvaqt (28 June 2004)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: When Jack's suppressed desires send him to an alternate reality, he has to face with the possibility he might never see his world again.
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money is being made from the use of these characters. No copyright infringement is intended. Any original characters, situations, and story are the property of iluvaqt.
Author's Note: This is an AU, set in Season 8. My first attempt at Stargate fanfiction. I needed to get this story out, more for my own sanity than for anything else. Jack stuck in an office. I don't think so. Here begins the tale of Jack O'Neill and the Golden Mirror. Cheesy, I know ;P Feedback is always appreciated.

General's office

Jack tossed the ball at the wall, it rebounded and he caught it. This went on for a long time, as he stared into space. A short rap on his door brought him to attention and he dropped his feet from the desk and pasted a composed look on his face before answering. "Enter".

His dutiful new aid, Gilmor, tentatively stepped into his office and closed the door behind her. "Sir," she said hesitantly. "I received word from the Review Board, that we've come under microscope again. After President Hayes' less than smooth visit of the base, he agreed to Vice-president Kinsey's suggestion of an NID administration trail."

Jack felt a momentary wave of sympathy for the woman. It was obvious that she didn't like the news anymore than he did. She was caught between a rock and a hard place. Although, he was her boss, she was also a civilian and her orders also came directly from the Pentagon.

For his part, he had welcomed her, despite his initial assessment that she was grossly inexperience and largely ignorant to what the S.G.C. was all about. So on an everyday basis, he did his best to bring her into the loop and make her role as easy - from his end - as possible, but his continued battle with Kinsey and all the pressures he dealt with on a daily basis were beginning to wear his patience thin. He'd learnt long ago that his acceptance to join the Stargate program wasn't the one-off, he'd anticipated. He'd also learned that saving the world just once wasn't enough. He'd died a few times saving it.

Funny thing was, ten years ago, he wouldn't have believed that you could die and still live to serve your country again, all in the space of a day. It was try, and try again. The mission never ended. Whether it was a different threat, or sometimes from more of the same, one thing that remained constant was his belief, that his life played only a very minor role when it came down to how everything unfolded.

He was no linguist expert. He knew as much about astrophysics as the average high-school physics geek, and he knew more about bureaucracy than he wanted to. There were about half a dozen names he could shoot off that were more suitable for the role he'd been given at the S.G.C. Okay, so they'd need to give their imaginations a stretch, but they were born leaders and great patriots.

Sure, he accepted credit, when credit was due, but how long had it been since he single-handedly did anything to overt a world catastrophe? From crossing the galaxy on a weekly basis, and fighting the Goa'uld in a shoot-and-run-like-hell, he'd turned into a grumpy, pencil-pushing, politician. Not that he thought General Hammond's job was easy. Difficult and sensitive decisions were left to him. He had to smooth-talk the right people. He had to be diplomatic for a change. He usually left that to Carter or Daniel. Instead of being able to sort the bad guys from the good guys, it now seemed like he was fighting both sides.

Things were so much clearer when he was out in the field. If they weren't friends of Earth or willing to become allies, then they were the enemy. Now there were friends of Earth, friends of the S.G.C., enemies of the S.G.C., enemies of Earth, not to mention those that just had personal gripes with him. It was all one big headache.

Then there was Carter. You'd think that with all the water under the bridge that he'd be past it. But no. It seemed the intelligent part of his brain couldn't override that damn illogical, irrational side on this one. He was happy for her, no doubt. At least, he hoped it came across that way. It was great that she'd found someone that made her happy. And he hadn't carked it on her - yet. Maybe he should be grateful that things couldn't happen between them. Black Widow curse an' all. Who was he kidding? It ate at him every time she talked about the guy. Pete. The name made him cringe.

"Sir?"

Gilmor was looking at him expectantly. What had she been going on about? Oh yeah, Kinsey and his ever present agenda for Stargate domination or obliteration - mostly hinged on which side of the bed he got up on. "Let me know when they're planning it."

For a moment Gilmor looked surprised, then perplexed. "Okay, Sir."

After she left, Jack stared at the spot where she'd stood for a long time. Picking up the phone, he started dialling.

"Hammond."

"We need to talk."

Jack's apartment

That night, Jack lay in bed, unable to sleep. He couldn't stop the thoughts from plaguing his brain. There was so much that he wished had happened, and so much that he wished hadn't. It reminded him of the Quantum Mirror. With every possibility pursued in their reality, there was the alternative. Daniel had said there were hundreds, maybe thousands of alternate realities. It made him wonder about all the possibilities. Maybe Charlie was still alive in one of them. Sarah might have taken him back even after the real jerk he'd been. Perhaps…no, he shouldn't even go there. It was bad enough that'd he'd kissed her. He'd known how she felt and what she'd been through and he'd kissed her anyway. Way to add to her torment. She just lost her husband, Jack. What a schmuck. Way to take advantage of a woman, Jack.

True, she was the one that kissed him first, but that wasn't the point. He knew it was coming and he let it happen. He should have kept the parting short, without seeming cold and abrupt of course. He berated himself for how he had left her. For that split second, before the Quantum Mirror had disengaged for the last time, he'd seen her face.

Even now, as he closed his eyes he remembered how sad she looked. Her blue eyes were awash with tears and full of despair. Long blonde hair framed her pale face, his fingers itching to reach out and touch it. He could remember the last time he'd seen Carter cry. It had made him break their professional boundaries. He couldn't help it. He'd have done anything to ease the pain she was feeling. She was always so composed, so strong. It was one of the qualities he admired about her. She always held her own, no matter how bleak or desperate the situation seemed; determined, confident, and fiercely independent. He smiled to himself as he remembered how angry she'd been when the Shavadai had forced her into a tent-of-a-dress, and traded her as a slave to a male chauvinist. If the guy had gotten as far as the bedroom, Sam probably would have changed his gender.

Thinking of times past, exhaustion finally overcame his wearied mind and he drifted into a deep sleep.

Jack didn't know when he sensed it, but something shifted to his left, and he felt a presence beside him. Reaching for his gun between the mattress and the bed frame, he jerked awake, pointing at whatever was next to his bed.

He was surprised to find Thor staring at him, in his usual calm, observatory fashion. "Greetings, O'Neill."

"Thor…why?" Still feeling only half-awake, Jack dropped his gun, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "To what do I owe this timely visit," he said half-sarcastically. "If you're here about that offer…I haven't decided yet."

Thor blinked and tilted his head as if regarding Jack for a moment. Then, he lifted his finger to point to the window.

The moonlight shone over the end of Jack's bed, and through the window he could see the dark, cloudless-sky, dotted with millions of bright stars.

"You called," Thor supplied.

"I did?" Jack said, feeling even more out of the loop than usual. "I thought we needed that funky device you guys left and I think we gave that away already?"

"You were always able to reach us, O'Neill. If you were to just comprehend the thought, we would have heard and answered. I have been indebted to you. Now, I have come to answer your wish."

Jack looked flabbergasted. He had to be dreaming. Thor was in his bedroom. It looked like him, sounded like him, but what the hell was he on about? "I wished? So I just say, 'Thor we need help kickin' Goa'uld butt', and poof, you'd be here?"

With Thor's blank stare, Jack added, "Nevermind. Go on."

"You wish for the opportunity to explore a life other than the one you are currently experiencing."

Jack contemplated Thor's statement for a moment. "I guess you could put it that way. Although, I never said anything out loud, and I don't think I would ever put it in those words either…"

"It is within our power to grant you this, and it will come to pass by daybreak. And if it is your wish, you can return."

"But how will this…" Before Jack could get an answer from him, Thor had vanished.

Shaking his head, Jack suddenly felt really anxious. Thor didn't say what kind of life he was getting, or where in time. He could end up being eight-years-old, on some alien planet in nothing but his boxers and old t-shirt. And what did he mean, 'if you wish, you can return'? Why on earth would he want to stay in a life that wasn't his own?

All of a sudden, the magnitude of his situation became overwhelmingly real. If he just vanished, what would everyone think? He had to tell someone. He looked at his clock. It was 3 a.m. in the morning. Everyone would think he'd gone insane if called and told them what was going to happen to him. He didn't even have a clear grasp of it himself. "Way to earn a first-class ticket to padded cell," Jack scoffed to himself.

Opening the draw of his bedside table, he pulled out a notepad and a pen. Switching on the lamp, he began writing. If he couldn't call anyone, he could at least write a note. Someone would find it eventually.