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Daniel:

Beautiful white sugar sand beach. Warm water. Gorgeous women. A variety of gorgeous women. Lots of hot, beautiful women...One particular woman wearing nothing but a smile, dancing just for me...and then...Buzzing. Very annoying buzzing. What the hell is that freaking...aw, shit. Alarm. Interrupted one hell of a good dream too! My hand reaches out to find the clock, searching for the button that will shut off the noise that so rudely intruded into that perfect setting. Fingers fumble...push the small button. Finally! Silence fills the room once again. I slowly open my eyes; blink a few times in the dim pink glow of early dawn. A soft breeze blows through the open French doors, moves the sheer curtain panels like waves of water against the shore. Hmm...thinking in terms of shores and water...damn that was a good dream! Firm, beautiful tits and amazing asses as far as the eye could see...I yawn, grudgingly allow the enticing images from the dream to fade away.

She's wrapped around me like a blanket, soft and warm, her body pressed against mine, her arm over my stomach, her head on my shoulder, one slender leg over the top of my thighs. How can a woman who weighs so damned little be so strong? She moves slightly, the sound of the alarm has penetrated the fog of sleep. Deep breath. God, yes! She always, always smells so damned good...spring flowers and vanilla. More intoxicating, more arousing...more alluring...than the most expensive perfume. I can't help but press my face against her hair, so silky soft, and take another deep breath.

My body is already ahead of my mind, the incessant need for her manifesting itself in my quickly growing erection. I know that she's awake when she begins to deliberately rub her thigh up and down my rigid length. When her lips wrap around my nipple, the resulting bolt of fire that races through my body makes me gasp out loud. The incredible sensations continue as her tongue begins to tease the already hard nub. She seems to enjoy paying as much attention to my nipples as I love giving to hers. A thought that has my mouth watering with anticipation.

She pulls away from me long enough to rise up, prepared to straddle my hips. Uh uh, babe...Gotta have my fix...Gotta taste that sweet honey. Something we don't do every morning. But today...the need is just too intense to ignore. I reach for her, tug her forward until the sweet flesh I crave is just above my face. Sweet Jesus! Such a beautiful sight, that sweet little twat, and such a heavenly aroma...she's already as aroused as I am! Thank the gods, each and every one of you, wherever you may be, for making her as needy for me as I am for her.

It doesn't surprise me when she insists on turning around. Nothing doing but what she's driving me out of my mind while I take what I want, what I need from her. Doing my best to drive her a little insane at the same time. Another gasp moves past my lips when her warm mouth sheathes me, her hand gently stroking what she can't take in. I can feel myself swell, harden more from her tender touch.

Oh, god yes! The first taste of that sweet honey has my body shaking, and my soul soaring. I can speak thirty-eight languages. I'll be damned if I can find the words to describe how sweet she is...the taste of her sweet nectar as it coats my lips, rolls over my tongue and down my throat.

Addicted. Totally, one hundred percent addicted. To her. To her body. Her love. That beautiful smile. And the sweet, sweet elixir that she provides for me. I glory in my addiction. Revel in it. Delight in it. And take perverse pleasure in taunting Jack with it at every opportunity.

Too close. My heart is pounding, the sensations racing up and down my spine as she works her hands and mouth over me have me too close to exploding. And I want to do that inside her. Tonight, when we have ample time, I'll let her take me all the way. Watch her eyes light up as I come down her throat. Watch the absolute glee that fills those green depths from the knowledge that she completely controls me. Tonight I'll make her my dessert, and send her flying into the clouds orally. But not right now. Gotta stop her, or she'll push me right over the edge. "In you, babe, now," I manage to gasp.

I keep my hands on her slender hips as she lowers herself onto my swollen shaft. Oh, god, she feels so damned good! It always amazes me...turns me on...to watch as her body takes me in, every blessed inch, stroke after stroke after stroke. The visual stimulation watching those beautiful breasts bounce as she rides me is enough to send my brain into overload. God I love her breasts! I had always considered myself an 'ass' man. And I do love her ass! But those tantalizing, firm breasts can drive me crazy with need! I move my hands up to those beautiful boobs; hold them, caress them, squeeze them gently...feel her push against me, her nipples hard and hot against my palms. I pull her forward just a bit, taste those sweet nipples, run my tongue over the curves of her breasts before I let her sit back up to ride me the way she wants to, my hands caressing them once again.

I can barely remember the days of my past, with lovers who were never able to accommodate my length and girth...making love carefully, sometimes so worried about hurting my partner that I found very little enjoyment in the activity. Sarah had been able to 'handle me', as she had always called it...although I always thought the fact that she was tall figured into the equation somehow. She had been willowy, but never as slender as Casey. And making love with her could never compare to having my Angel in my arms.

Sha're, my beautiful Abydonian bride, had been terrified at first. Her eyes had nearly popped out of her head when she undressed me on our wedding night...and then had filled with panic. It had taken me nearly an hour to calm her down, to make her understand that nothing would happen between us until she was ready. And that I would never hurt her. It had taken weeks before we could make love and find any real pleasure in being in one another's arms. I'll be the first to admit that running off to explore the ruins of the great city that had once sat proudly on the desert sand hadn't been the smartest thing I've ever done. Sha're had never understood my need to explore. I was young and stupid, and didn't have a lot of experience with women. If I had taken Sha're with me, tried to explain what I was doing, and why, perhaps we would have made love more often...maybe spent days alone together in some of those old buildings...maybe I would have spent more time exploring her, rather than trying to translate walls and walls of text. Even so, there had been passion between Sha're and me. Love between us.

But nothing like what I have experienced with Casey. I fell in love with her the minute she fell into my arms, and smiled at me. I fell into lust with her when I buried myself in her sweet, warm body the very first time we came together. From the first time I held her in my arms, I knew that she had been made just for me...she thrilled me, pleased me...blew my ever-loving mind. Neither the love nor the lust have faded or lessened over the years. If anything, the feelings are more intense. The longer we're together, the more comfortable she becomes, the more...passionate...our love life. The sex is absolutely mind-bending. Never just sex...I will never, ever refer to what we do as just 'sex'. It has always been, always is, always will be making love. Incredible...sacred...love.

Oh, god...yeah...that feels so freaking good! She's using those muscles deep inside to caress me...hold me...milk my throbbing cock for what she wants. I have no idea how she does it. To be perfectly honest, I don't care how she does it. I'm just glad that she does. She clamps down on me, holds me so tightly that it takes my breath away. A little wiggle of her hips, she relaxes a bit, then she does it all over again. Several times over the course of the years I've pulled her onto me, shoved my aching cock into that tight, warm well, and begged her to take me all the way, just using those muscles and those oh so subtle movements. She has always smiled that beautiful mind-melting smile, and done exactly what I wanted.

"Oh, god, just like that." My voice is little more than a moan, my fingers still kneading her breasts. I push my hips up into her, gently meeting her each time she slides back down on me. She moves up again, then down...she grinds against me...I know what she needs...what she's seeking. I slide one hand down her belly, run my fingers over and through the soft curls that cover her mons...so soft, so sexy...seek and find that swollen nub, begin to caress it. I can feel her shift slightly. She's pushing against my fingers, then back against my cock. Does she have any idea how much that turns me on?

"I'm gonna come," she whispers.

Her soft whispers have always burned a path through my brain, straight down to my cock. I move my hands to her hips, put my feet flat on the mattress and begin to thrust up into her, watching her face as her climax overtakes her. She's so damned beautiful when she's on the cusp of orgasm, and as she takes flight. It's the most incredible thing in the world to watch. She never turns loose of the control she clings to until I tell her to let go...beg her to let go. "Give it to me, Angel." I'm panting...a combination of the exertion of my movements, and the incredible feelings that are flooding my senses.

The whimper that always signals her impending release fills her throat. I slip one hand back between us, begin to stroke her again, and listen to her sing an aria of love, her body shivering and shaking. As soon as the convulsing of her well ceases enough for her to regain control, she starts massaging me again. Goddamn that feels so good!

"Fill me, Daniel, love me," she begs, her voice soft.

Her hips are moving back and forth as I continue to thrust upwards, her fingers tugging at my nipples. Coherent thought is gone, I know only that I must obey...give her what she so sweetly demands of me...what my body is screaming for.

The most fantastic feeling of all races down my spine, fills my aching balls, then shoots up my cock, white hot and absolutely spectacular. I can't help but moan as I come, and I can feel every pulse all the way to the tips of my toes. I hang there, suspended among the stars for several long, intense, incredible seconds, as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me. I never realize I'm off of the bed until I drop back down. I wrap my arms around her, hold her slender body close when she collapses on top of me.

Again, there's no time for cuddling. Not right now. Tonight I'll hold her, run my hands up and down her back the way she likes it, touching that satiny skin the way that I love to do. She kisses my chin...which makes me smile...and gently moves away from me.

I crawl out of bed and follow her, taking the time to enjoy the view. She has the sexiest ass it has ever been my pleasure to watch. And trust me, I've watched a few asses in my day.

She's already turned the water on in the shower by the time I walk into the bathroom. She brushes her hair out, clips it up so it won't get wet. She must be planning to wash it tonight. Maybe I'll do it. I love washing her hair, or brushing it, love the feel of those silky tresses in my fingers. The ends are swinging near her hips again. No doubt she'll go in and have it 'trimmed', so that it's only near her waist. As long as she doesn't cut it any shorter, I don't care.

We step into the shower, I reach out to caress her hip. Touching her is as necessary for my survival as breathing; the need to touch her a physical ache. Sometimes it seems as if my hands have a mind of their own; reaching for her whenever I'm close to her. Thank god she doesn't seem to mind. Eleven years of marriage, and it still makes me giddy with excitement to shower with her, to wash her beautiful body, let her wash me. I love it when we can take our time, caress each other with every pass of the washcloth. But...right now we don't have that luxury. We hurry through our routine...I'm still shaving when she dashes out of the bathroom, pulls on her clothes, and hurries out of the bedroom. She'll dress the kids while I pull my own clothes on.

When I'm dressed, I pull the sheets and blankets into place, tug the comforter up, toss the pillows, nearly a dozen of them, toward the head of the bed. It never takes more than a couple of minutes, and I know that she appreciates it. She's told me that several times. It's no big deal, it's one less thing she has to worry about in the morning, especially since she refuses to leave without at least having our bed made...unless we're running really late. Emily is learning to make her bed, and eventually Nicholas and Ethan will do the same. Casey is actually pretty particular when it comes to the house. She likes things neat and orderly. Mostly. I won't even get into that ridiculous purse of hers. And 'her' side of the bathroom counter is a jumble of items. But for the rest of the house, there's a place for everything, and she wants everything in its place. Thankfully my den is mine alone, and she tolerates the mess in there. Not that it's actually that bad. There is 'order' to my piles of notes and reference materials. 

Casey has made a home around me, for me, and for our children, and the feeling of warmth that wraps around me every time I walk through the door is because of her. And she has finally relented; she finally allowed me to hire a housekeeper...I did so while she was on total bed rest when she was carrying Ethan. I had always had a housekeeper, I never had time to worry about keeping my place clean after I started working at the SGC. But we were both living in officer's quarters in Cheyenne Mountain when we met...I had only returned from Ascension a few months before she fell into my arms, and my life. So when we moved into the little house on Baldwin Street, she had refused to let anyone else do what she considered to be 'her job'. She had always rebuffed my attempts to hire a housekeeper...the suggestion had resulted in an argument or two...mostly in the vein of 'am I not doing a good enough job?'...she just didn't understand that I didn't want her...burdened...with such mundane chores. Now our Sundays are spent as a family, not watching Casey trying to do a week's worth of cleaning in a single afternoon.

A  A  A  A  A  A

By the time I walk into the kitchen, Erin has arrived, and is helping Casey get breakfast together. Erin has the cereal boxes out...and is pouring cereal into the waiting bowls. Cap'n Crunch for Nicholas again. There's a surprise. The boy would live off the stuff if we'd let him! Emily seems to be favoring Corn Chex as of late. Very rarely do we have more than just cereal and fruit during the week...unless we're not going to the base, or we're going in later. With three kids to get up and dressed, there just isn't time for more than that.

As long as I don't think about it, I can pretend that my in-laws are nothing more than the great people they are. But often, too often, something comes along to remind me of just exactly what...who...they were. Erin was an ascended Ancient. And from what Aaron has told me, she had been as powerful a seer as Casey. Even though the Ancient Council of Elders has stripped her of her powers, she has retained enough to 'see' more than most other seers. Aaron, well, thinking about that is just enough to cook my noodle, to quote the Oracle from the movie 'The Matrix'. A Being from the Ninth Level. Which is just about as 'high' as any being can be. I have my suspicions about him...that Aaron is more...much more...than just 'one of the boys' on the Ninth Level. More than just the 'Enforcer' of the edicts handed down by The Council of Elders, or The Committee. If I'm right, my father-in-law is a part of The Council of Elders. I wouldn't be at all surprised to find out the man is the 'chairman of the board'. Does that mean my father-in-law is...God? I just can't help but grin at that thought. Aaron Desala is certainly not anything like my concept of who...or what...God would be like! And he would probably roar with laughter at the very idea. But there have been...events...that lead me to believe that my father-in-law is one of the most powerful beings in the universe. Yeah, think about that one for awhile. It puts an entirely new twist on the whole in-law issue. Casey tells me to just not think about it. Sometimes I can actually do that.

Regardless of where they came from, who they had been, they are Casey's parents...their DNA created her. And they dote on their daughter and grandchildren. They have always treated me well, too...Erin frets and fusses over me as quickly, and as much, as she does Casey and the kids. Something that has taken time to adjust to. I haven't had any real 'parents' in my life since mine were killed. There were foster parents, nearly a dozen, all told, but I never felt the love and concern from them that I feel from Erin and Aaron. And it's been a real godsend that Erin watches the kids for us. I don't think Casey would be able to leave her babies in the care of anyone other than her mother. Numerous times over the course of the years I've tried to pay Erin. I've told her repeatedly that if she weren't watching the kids, we'd be paying for childcare somewhere else. The older version of my wife has told me, quite firmly, that she's Casey's mother, the grandmother of my children, and she will not be paid as if she were a stranger, concerned about the kids only for compensation. So I do my best to let her know in other ways how much we appreciate her help, her willingness to be there whenever we aren't. Every week an arrangement of flowers arrives at the Desala residence. It's the least I can do. I never mention it. Erin doesn't either. But the flowers always, always grace the center of the table at Sunday brunch. And she always makes certain that she catches my eye when she puts them there.

"Good morning, my son," Erin says, smiling up at me. She's a beautiful woman. Casey looks just like her.

"Good morning." I offer her a smile when she kisses me on the cheek. Casey hands me a cup of coffee, I steal a kiss from her before sitting down beside Emily. "'Morning, Princess."

"'Morning, Daddy."

"Hey, Nicholas, how's my boy?"

The tot grins around a mouthful of banana. "Daddy!" he manages to mumble, pointing one little finger at me.

"That's me." My heart is doing that funny fluttering thing in my chest. It happens every time one of the kids calls me 'Daddy'. Me...a father. Three times over. Two boys and a girl. How damned lucky can I be? It still stuns me at times, when someone tells me what a lovely family I have, that I...the skinny, too-smart-for-his-own-good geek...have such a gorgeous wife and three beautiful kids. After Sha're was killed, I had given up hope of ever being happy again. Given up hope of ever having love...a wife...a family. I can't help but look around. Here I am. Everything I could ever want...dream of...hope for...I have. My life is one full of miracles. And I dare not examine them too closely, lest the gods who granted them to me decide I'm unworthy, and strip me of every blessing I enjoy.

Ethan is in Casey's arms, sucking noisily on his bottle, while she pops pieces of toast and fruit into her mouth, in between packing lunches for Emily and Nicholas. I think she's trying to do too much at once. I was even dumb enough to mention that one morning. Apparently she thinks that all 'good mothers' are able to 'multitask', and take care of themselves all at the same time. I've tried to tell her that that isn't true...but let's face it, once gets Casey an idea in her head, it's damned near impossible to get it out. It doesn't help that all of the women's magazines she reads seem to enforce that impossible portrayal of the 'successful woman'. Which is a load of crap. One person can't do it all. The good news is, the kids won't be little forever. They'll grow up, and be able to help around the house. I have the feeling that once these three are out of the house, she's going to want more. I'm not so certain I do. What Casey endures during pregnancy and delivery makes me shudder. Don't get me wrong...I love my children. I'm just looking forward to having my wife to myself again. I suppose this is a discussion for later...many years from now.

I pour more milk for Emily. My baby girl is in second grade now. Skipped right past first grade. Mrs. Waters, her kindergarten teacher, told us that our very precocious little girl had surpassed the need for first grade, and suggested sending her directly into second grade. So into Mrs. Oberg's second grade class she went. She loves reading and writing. The reading part she gets from me. Her writing talent, definitely from her mother. Five years old. In second grade. I started kindergarten at age four as well, but didn't begin 'skipping grades' until I went from sixth grade directly into eighth. And then I bypassed my sophomore year as well. At the rate my daughter is learning...progressing, it's very possible that she'll be younger than my own sixteen years when she starts classes at the local university.

Nicholas is in preschool, and while bright, he isn't quite as 'intellectual' as his sister. He doesn't seem all that interested in letters or numbers or learning his colors. He knows them, he can recite the alphabet and count to fifty, and he can tell you the color and shape of an object. But unlike Emily, he just doesn't...care...about those things. Lou Ann Donovan, the preschool teacher, predicts that when he does enter school, he'll 'come into his own', and do every bit as well as Emily. For the time being, trying to compete for Dennis the Menace of the Year seems to be his forte.

Thinking about the predicaments my son has already been in makes me smile. Digging holes in the yard; one nearly two and a half feet deep, and just as wide. Digging to China, he had told me. Then there had been the incident with the dirt in the bathtub. Nicholas had decided he wanted to make a 'lake'. And that the bathtub was the perfect place in which to do so. He had brought in dirt from the back yard, carefully lined the perimeter of the tub all the way to the top edge, about six inches wide all the way around, and then began filling it with water. He had lined his trucks up on the mud, his boats floated in the water. Who said the boy wasn't smart? Casey had been beside herself, not sure whether to laugh or scream with frustration. Cleaning out the mess had taken us the majority of an afternoon. I catch myself chuckling out loud thinking about the 'green bean incident'. Casey still refuses to let him have anything other than nearly mashed green beans. The latest 'Nicholas incident' involved his new wagon and Wilbur, the neighbor's friendly Golden Retriever. He adores that dog, and the feeling is reciprocated. Erin called us, frantic because she couldn't find him. We raced home, terrified that something had happened, that someone had taken him, and started scouring the neighborhood, our hearts pounding with fear. We found him riding down the middle of the street, the large dog happily pulling him along. Several of the neighbors laughingly explained that he had been doing 'laps' for nearly an hour. What inspired him to wrap the rope around the dog the way he had is a complete mystery. Again, Nicholas might not be interested in numbers and letters, but the boy is a genius when it comes to figuring out how to do exactly what he wants!

"What's so funny?" Casey asks.

"Just thinking about the kids."

She smiles. "They do keep things interesting, don't they?"

"That's one word for it." Hectic is more the word I would choose to describe life with three kids. Not complaining. Just an honest observation. I finish off my coffee, glance at the clock. Not quite a quarter of eight. "Gotta move it, babe."

With a nod, Casey hands her youngest son into the embrace of his doting grandmother. She practically runs out of the kitchen, toward our bedroom. She never seems to just walk anywhere, she's constantly on the run. Most of the people who work at the SGC call her a 'tornado'. She does seem to come into a room like a whirlwind...and leaves the same way. I continually worry that she tries to do too much, works too hard. She's an Immortal, but that won't stop her from wearing herself out. To appease me, she tried working just three days a week, when we weren't on missions. That lasted a grand total of two weeks. She came into the Center on a Thursday, her 'day off', and told me that she just couldn't sit there on the deck knowing how much needed to be done. So, I backed off, and I haven't asked her to 'slow down' since. Even though sometimes I want to. The best I can do is to make certain that she gets at least two days off each week. If we go on a mission, I will not take her anywhere near the base for at least two days afterwards. Thankfully, Duncan and Jack both understand. Duncan once told me that it's up to us to make certain she doesn't collapse from exhaustion, because she's just too damned stubborn to stop and take care of herself. He has that right! Carly says that's the way it is with hearts such as hers. Still bothers me.

I follow her to the bathroom, at a more sedate pace. God I love watching that sexy ass! Okay, don't think about that! Dwelling on it will only cause problems I don't have time to deal with. Lots of desire...but no time.

I shove my feet into my sneakers, hurry in to brush my teeth. Once again my hand moves over the curve of her hip, as if it has a mind of its own, drawn by some inexplicable force. And once again the Fire races from my fingertips, up my arm, down my spine and...Down boy. Think about all that nice freaking paperwork that's waiting in the office. Yep...that does it. Works like a charm every time.

Teeth brushed, we go back into the kitchen to say our goodbyes. I lean over to kiss the top of Emily's head. "Be good for Meemaw."

"We will, Daddy."

"Love you, Princess."

"Love you, too, Daddy."

I run my hand over Nicholas' head, then lean over and give his cheek a nuzzle. "Love you, Nicholas."

"Wuv, Daddy."

One finger over Ethan's cheek. Babies are so damned soft! "You too, Squirt."

Casey kisses her children, hugs her mother, and tugs her purse strap over her shoulder. "Let's go."

A  A  A  A  A  A

Jack and Sam dash out of the front door of their two story home to crawl into the Jeep. Teal'c, as usual, is waiting for us at the end of his driveway. I can remember days when we didn't race around in the morning. Before we had the kids. I wouldn't trade my kids for anything in the universe.

The conversation on the way to the base centers around Sam's announcement that the Phoenix would be ringing up the last of the replacement satellites, and by nightfall, Gamma will once again be completely protected. Hope is high that the Immortal Hunters haven't found us while we've been unprotected. Casey has 'searched', but hasn't sensed that group at all. It would be nice if they just went back to their own planet. I doubt, however, that they have. Jack believes that the utter defeat of their army, while trying to take the six remaining Immortals from Prima, will have those Hunters combing the galaxy for them...and when they find the Prima Immortals, they'll find us. Not a pleasant thing to think about.

Ten minutes after leaving Orchard Grove, the name of the housing development where SG-1 now resides, I pull into 'my' parking space. There are still tire marks on the pavement from the day I had left, pissed as hell at Casey and Stephanie. That is one day I will never forget. Casey had just told me that she was pregnant, and for twenty-four very long hours, I'd been absolutely convinced that it wasn't possible for me to be the father. That had to have been the most horrible feeling I have ever dealt with. I don't think I've ever been that...scared...that hurt. Ethan just happens to have my ears and chin. Or so Casey says. But that wasn't all of it. Wasn't even the worst of it. Oh, no. My beautiful Wife disappeared onto a planet in the throes of an ice age, determined to discover by whom, and why, she had been 'blessed'; and to make certain there would be no other such 'blessings'. Damned near became lunch for a huge, bear-like creature. And all of that happened just after Stephanie Miller had come into my office to inform me that she was leaving to join with a Tok'ra symbiote. My protégé. The brightest student I've ever had. A young woman with a brilliant future as an archaeologist ahead of her. I wonder how Stephanie's doing. We haven't heard anything from her, but Jacob Carter has informed us that she and her symbiote, Carmenta, are doing well, and that Stephanie seems very happy. I'll believe that when I can see her, speak with her myself.

Casey laces her fingers with mine as we walk toward the first security check point, well, the second, if you count the guard shed at the main gate. It's just inside foyer, behind the plate glass doors that lead to the entrance of the mountain. Two sets of elevator doors are visible behind the desk where two armed Marines sit. Beside and between those doors are four more armed Marines. One of the elevators, although large, is 'passengers only'. The other, much larger car is for freight and equipment and other goods that arrive on Gamma through the Stargate. That the Stargate is used nearly as much for commerce now as it is to send SG teams on missions is something that we don't often think about. We have had a discussion or two about it, usually when we're watching something large being hauled through the 'gate room. Since the spaceport has been built, most of the goods we need from other planets arrive there. Either way, spaceport or through the 'gate, it's just a part of life at SGC Gamma, just the way things are.

The locker room is a hive of activity. Life on Gamma is relaxed, the day shift on the base doesn't start until eight a.m. Any teams not off world, or in training exercises, arrive just before eight to don the requisite BDUs. I like that much better than the seven a.m. that had been our normal arrival time in Cheyenne Mountain. I'm a 'night person', and early mornings are just a pain-in-the-ass.

"Quiet night?" Jack asks.

"With three kids?" I can't help but grin. I don't think our house is ever quiet, unless the kids are at the Desala's. Even then, Casey usually has the stereo going. I'm not complaining.

"Right," Jack grins in return. "At least yours don't scream and throw things at each other."

I was aware that Evvie and Amber occasionally tease one another until they're both screaming. This, however, has never been mentioned before. "When did that start?"

"Last night."

"I'll bet Sam's thrilled."

Jack grunts. "I'll bet she's not! Although I have to admit that for a few seconds, the absolutely stunned look on her face when Evvie and Amber starting chucking their stuffed animals at one another was priceless."

I know Sam well. I know what her reaction would be if Jack laughed. "Oh, god, Jack, you didn't laugh!"

"Hell, no! I might be dumb, but I'm not stupid...or suicidal!" the older man replies. "We sat the girls down and explained to them that throwing things was not the way to deal with their frustration."

Behavior like that just isn't...typical...for the O'Neill girls. They're cute and well behaved whenever they're at the house. "I can't imagine them just suddenly starting that. They had to have seen that somewhere."

"That's what Sam said," Jack tells me. "We can't think of anything."

"Perhaps the behavior of the characters on the soap operas that Mrs. Peterson often watches has influenced their behavior," Teal'c says quietly.

Jack and I exchange surprised glances. "And you would know about soap operas because...?" Jack asks.

"Carlotta occasionally watches them," the Jaffa replies. We are left to assume that at some point he has joined her in doing so.

"Makes sense to me," I agree. I've seen a soap opera or two. Watched a couple while I took care of the kids one afternoon. Worst crap I've ever wasted my time on. Damned things were nothing but soft porn, if you ask me! Thankfully Casey has never been interested in them.

"I'll mention it to Sam," Jack nods.

It's hard not grin. Never in a million years would I have ever believed that Jack, Teal'c, and I would have a conversation about soap operas...and their effects on children...our own children! My boots are tied, I'm ready to head to my office. "Lunch at eleven thirty?"

"Indeed," Teal'c nods.

"See you there," Jack replies.

I give a wave, and walk out of the locker room. It had been my habit to wait for Casey every morning, until she pointed out that I'd get through my much longer list of email sooner if I just went on down to my office. I'd rather wait for her, ride the elevator down together; but I have to admit she was right, the few extra minutes does seem to get us out of the office and to the Center quicker. Maybe it's because I don't spend the first ten minutes or so watching her ass as she moves around the office, making coffee, turning on the computers and the printer and the fax machine. It is so worth the time to watch that fine rear end!

A  A  A  A  A  A

Julie's already sitting at her desk, it looks as if she's sorting through the morning mail. She smiles and waves. I'm glad that situation has worked out. Had Casey insisted, or continued to feel threatened by the brunette's presence, I would have fired her in a heartbeat. But the two seem to have become friends. And Julie has been great for deflecting a lot of the paperwork that piles up.

Mail. That's another thing that I...that most of the people who work in the Gamma SGC...don't think about. The fact that there's mail delivery through the Stargate is just...accepted. Hope has its own post office, and what comes from Earth, or Langara, or Terra, is delivered by the Hope Postal Service. It seems that as Hope grows, and the infrastructure that was so carefully planned begins to reach its potential, more people are needed to fill the positions. At last count, Hope boasted a population of thirty-one thousand. I can remember the days when there had been roughly twenty-five hundred people in what had been a small village. The upside to the growth is the fact that Hope is becoming more self-sufficient. The Alpha and Beta colonies, which are part of the Stargate Command Colony, are damned near self-sufficient as well. Something that's a source of irritation to the politicians on Earth. Which, of course, gives us all something to smile about.

I drop onto the chair behind my desk, flip on the computer. I can't help it, I run my hand over the center of the desk, where her body had been the afternoon we made love here. Another thought best pushed away. Lord knows I have enough memories of Casey, of making love to her, that have a tendency to bother me at the most inopportune times! As usual, Julie has flagged all of the emails that are most important. I have mixed feelings about the continuing drop in the number of requests for information. Mostly due to the fact that the information being requested is now available online, and can be downloaded from the Gamma Internet. Part of me is delighted to be spared the extra work, part of me regrets not being 'in the loop'.

Mmm...coffee! I didn't even realize she was there! She teases me about 'losing myself' in my work. Which she does as well. She is so damned sexy when she's focused on whatever task she happens to be involved with, oblivious to everything going on around her. She puts a cup of fresh coffee beside the monitor. "Thanks, babe."

"You're welcome," she replies.

She drops a kiss on the top of my head...which makes me smile. Yeah, she makes me smile a lot. There are several requests for clarification on specific points made in four of the treatise I've written, dealing with various alien cultures that SG-1 has met over the years. What I need is someone to do research. I've thought about it before...I lean back in my chair. "Casey?"

"Hmm?"

"How many people do you think we really need at the Center?"

She frowns. "I don't know. I guess I hadn't really thought about it. At least one more archaeologist. Three or more would be better. Especially if we could train them, so that we could send them out with SG teams. Which you've been wanting to do for several years now."

"Okay, let's say three for sure. I don't think we'll have much luck getting more than that. How about researchers, people whose only job would be to research whatever they were given? Like these emails...I could send them on, they could find the information, reply with the answers."

She nods. "That would certainly help Arlen and Terry. It seems that's all they've been doing lately."

"Okay, do you think three people could handle the job?"

"I think so. Two to do actual research, one to keep the database up-to-date."

She has writing talent. Her poetry is wonderful. I look over at her, hope that my smile will charm her into complying with what I want from her. "Could you come up with an ad for me? We've let it be known that we're looking for help. I think it's time to get serious and do something about it."

"I can try," she replies. She perches on the corner of the desk. "Ads for all of the universities?"

"Yep."

She nods again. "I'll see what I can come up with."

"Thanks, babe." With her talent for writing, her ability to use words to paint a picture, she'll be able to describe Gamma, and the Center, and the type of archaeologists we're searching for. The sooner we can get the help we need, the better. The Center is beginning to feel like a warehouse again; crates and boxes strewn throughout the gallery, brought in from expeditions through the 'gate. Most of them not even inventoried or tagged yet.

And with enough help, Casey and I would be able to really focus on certain projects. The reconstruction of the Cardorian civilization, based on what we know so far. The correlation between Terra and Earth, particularly the Roman Empire and the Terran Herodus Empire. It might even allow us the time to do what I've been longing to do for years: revisit the dozens of cultures SG-1 has discovered on our travels through the 'gate...and learn about them.

So much I want to do, as an archaeologist. So much of my time spent going through the 'gate as a warrior. Something I'd never intended to be. My only reason for going through the 'gate in the beginning had been to look for Sha're. But that changed...rather quickly; it was my skills in linguistics and archaeology and anthropology that made me a valued member of SG-1, and aided in the battle against the Goa'uld. I very rarely had the chance to go through the 'gate as Dr. Daniel Jackson, archaeologist, rather than Dr. Daniel Jackson, SG-1. And I so want to do that. To places safe enough to take my family with me.

Some day. Some day I'm going to retire from the SGC. Or at least from being on a team. Then I'm going to contact First, and tell her that the job of The Chosen is up for grabs, that I'm finished. Some day.

It's almost ten by the time I've finished with the email, and signed the half dozen forms that always seemed to need an 'authentic signature'. Why the hell did I even bother to get one of those stamps of my signature, if Julie can't use it half the time? And why is there so damned much paperwork involved in the job?

Julie and the other secretaries who are now working in the mountain met with Duncan, and discussed the fact that it's possible to move to a nearly paperless operation of the base. Something, Julie told me, that seemed to delight the Highlander. With luck, the group intends to implement the new 'program' within the next few months. It seems that the majority of required paperwork is nothing more than a holdover from the military that had run the base at its inception. But no longer even exists on Gamma. When Gamma had declared its independence, any Air Force personnel not willing to become a citizen of the new colony had been sent back through the 'gate. There hadn't been many. Only a handful of the people working in Cheyenne Mountain hadn't joined the newly formed colony. But we've continued to operate the way we always had. It's a new time, a new world. The Gamma Military Force, which runs the SGC, is a new entity. Time for new ways of doing things.

I stand up, stretch, finish off my coffee. Realize that I've been in a very contemplative mood all morning. Just one of those days, I guess.

"Ready to go do some fun stuff now?"

The excitement in those beautiful green eyes amuses me...probably because I can understand that excitement, I've felt it myself so many times. "Like what?" 

"Mike said that SG-10 brought in a dozen crates of artifacts. They saved a mural that covered three walls of a temple from a sand storm, one that the meteorologists think is going to last for several years."

"Wow."  It still blows my mind that we go to other planets...that all of the SG teams go to other planets. As in planets that are not Earth. There are moments when it hits me that I live on a planet not the one I was born on...that my sons were born on an alien planet! That technically, from Earth's perspective, my sons are aliens! 

"Yeah. They took pictures of everything, filmed the entire area, and then had about six hours to save everything that they could." Her voice is soft, and full of awe at what one SG team was able to accomplish.

"Lucky for us a team got to the ruins before the storm did."

"Very lucky. If we had waited just a couple of days, that entire city would have been lost to us! The sand would have eroded everything! Even if we had managed to go there after the storm, nothing would have been there, and we never would have known." She frowns. "Makes me wonder how many of the desert planets we've seen have gone through the same thing...how much have we missed seeing, learning about, because we weren't there in time?"

"I guess we'll never know."

She wraps her hands around my arm, tugs me toward the door. I know exactly what she wants. She wants to be the one to put that mural back together...to extrapolate the first theories on this ancient group of people. Her excitement is contagious. I can't help but grin. "Shall we see how much of those walls we can put together today?"

Her eyes are shining. "Let's go, Stud Muffin."

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