39 Minutes
by Nike
E-MAIL: nikejohnston@yahoo.co.uk
STATUS: Complete
RATING: G
SEASON: S5
SPOILERS: Tiny 'Singularity' ref. but this is an ep-based `Fail Safe' fic.
CATEGORY: Daniel&Janet UST, friendship, angst.
SUMMARY: Janet's POV, as the asteroid approaches and the clock ticks...
DISCLAIMER: "All publicly recognisable characters and places are the
property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret productions. This
piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary
purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was
intended. Previously unrecognised characters and places, and this
story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons,
living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author."
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Just a quick piece based on Fail Safe, which has been
sitting on my hard drive waiting to be sent out into battle from the
*last* war! I decided it was time to kick it out of its cupboard :)
It jumps about a bit in time, but only over a period of about 10
mins. Huge thanks to the Great Beta Goddess Kitty and Bryn, for
making sure there are no glaring mistakes!
<<>> indicates remembered dialogue, which took place in the past.
FEEDBACK: I recently found out that the yahoo account I used to keep
all my feedback in has bitten the cyberdust. More feedback will help
me cope with this loss. See the logic? :) Send it out to nikejohnston@yahoo.co.uk<
~ 60 minutes ~
I stare at myself in the locker-room mirror, and am greeted by an
expression of scepticism as my reflection looks back at me. Eyes
narrowed, brows wrinkled, she takes in my BDU's and drab olive cap in
one critical glance, then shakes her head resignedly. I sigh in
agreement, turning away and tugging on my jacket, which seems
altogether too short after the familiar knee-length of my white lab
coat. It's been a long time since I saw myself dressed like
this...and it always signals trouble.
Trouble. It seems so bland a word for the situation we're facing
now...
Biting my lip, I close my eyes against the sudden sharp pain that
shoots through me. In an hour, this entire world could be gone,
reduced to dust and ashes by an indifferent lump of rock hurtling
through space with deadly inevitability. No survivors. No chance. But
it's not this horrific prospect that causes my stomach to twist now.
Not the thought of losing my planet, or the distant family I've
barely spoken to in years.
It's regret for lives that may already be lost.
<< "According to their latest calculations, SG-1 has crashed into the asteroid's surface at over sixty metres per second...."
"Any chance of survivors?"
"At that velocity, sir, it's very unlikely. Sir, if this is true, then the mission is down. We're out of options. It's time to call the President. >>
I shake myself briskly, forcing the lump out of my throat. There's no
proof of the...accident. No proof that SG-1 aren't still alive, out
there, a million miles from home. No proof that they won't pull
through at the last second, in their usual spectacular fashion.
Glancing at my watch I grimace, knowing I can't put off this
confrontation any longer. Taking off the cap, I stuff it in my pocket
and head out of the locker room. I start towards General Hammond's
office, schooling my features into forced neutrality and practising
a 'casual' tone of voice. I don't want to appear confrontational. Or
accusatory.
~ 55 minutes ~
Approaching the office, I hesitate for only a second, running the
rehearsed dialogue through my mind, before striding forward into the
room, tapping smartly on the doorframe as I do so. Hammond looks up
at me, and my words almost catch in my throat at the profound sadness
in his eyes.
"Doctor?" he asks quietly, in his soft Texan drawl. "Shouldn't you be
off world by now?" His face is curious, and I understand his
confusion: I was due to go to the Alpha site with Cassandra hours
ago. And that's another thing I'm not looking forward to... trying to
comfort a girl who's just lost her entire world for the second time
in a few, short years. No-one should be forced to live through that
again. I bite back a sigh.
"I'm leaving with the next group, Sir," I respond. I shift a little,
awkwardly, before continuing hurriedly, "Your name isn't on the list,
Sir."
Hammond regards me for a few moments. "That's correct."
"May I ask why?"
"If that asteroid hits, the only chance for the survival of the human
race will rest with the Alpha site. We limited their number because
they'll have limited resources. Everyone will have to contribute."
I stare at him incredulously, still pinned by those sad eyes. He
can't be serious. There's a lie there... a different reason, an
underlying explanation that I can't comprehend. And that he'll never
explain. I shake my head imploringly. "Your experience makes you more
than qualified, Sir."
His gaze is still fixed on me, a little curious at my adamance.
"I appreciate what you're trying to do, Doctor, but my decision is
final."
And I know he does appreciate it. More than that, he understands it.
Understands the watching, waiting; helplessly pacing the corridors of
the control room while somewhere far above our heads friends and
colleagues fight against the forces threatening to overwhelm us... a
hundred different situations, yet all just like this one. Readying to
deal with the fall out, after the battle's been waged. But somehow I
can't bring myself to tell him that I might have lost too many
friends today, that I don't think I could bear to stand by and lose
another. And I can't force out the unasked questions on the tip of my
tongue -
Any word on SG-1?
Any chance they might have made it?
And can any of us really comprehend what will happen if they didn't?
Instead, I settle on a simple,
"Yes, Sir."
~ 44 minutes ~
The last of us are gathered now in the 'Gate room, at the bottom of
the ramp, standing before the imposing stone circle of the Stargate.
The rippling surface of the wormhole sends an eerie blue wash
flickering over the concrete walls as the airmen behind me, the last
of the evacuees, shift restlessly and I fight to keep a handle on my
frustration. Truth be told, I'm just as anxious as they are, but the
strained atmosphere isn't doing much for my own frayed nerves, and
the tension can only get thicker.
~ 42 minutes ~
Turning my head, I cast a glance towards the control room where Major
Davis and Hammond are earnestly watching the monitors. Their grim
expressions are far from encouraging, and I look away just as
quickly. I try to stare straight ahead, but as my gaze fixes on the
dancing patterns of light in the centre of the wormhole, the thoughts
clamouring for attention in my head grow more insistent.
It's too late, they'll never make it now.
They're coming home. They have to be.
We would have heard something, have seen something, anything.
They can still come through for us, they still have a few minutes.
Two minutes.
And then the earth...
Six billion people...
~ 41 minutes ~
But try as I might, I can't think on that grand scale. Right now, I
only have enough left in me to pray for four. For one.
I never told him how I felt. It wasn't that I didn't want to, or that
I was too afraid of rejection or the pressures of a relationship, or
any of the other excuses I've used to talk myself out of dating again
a hundred times before. And it wasn't that I didn't think he was
interested. We'd already spent so much time together, we were so
comfortable together, that all it would have taken would have been
that one gentle push and we could have slipped comfortably into each
other as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But I was
busy. I had an infirmary to run and a thousand and one different
alien diseases to keep me up to the early hours of every morning.
I had pre-mission physicals, post-mission physicals, check-ups,
examinations, evaluations, paperwork, tests, research, more
paperwork. There was just no time. I just... never got around to it.
And each time I watched him walk out of my office, I would resolve
that next time I'd say something, next time I'd casually ask him for
lunch or a drink. There would always be another day, another week,
another chance to say something, and until then I had my work and my
daughter, and I told myself that was fine.
That it wasn't a big deal
~ 40 minutes ~
"Twenty seconds to fail safe."
That it wasn't the end of the world.
"Still no word from SG-1?"
"No, Sir."
No-one speaks, no-one stirs, the last officers of this command
holding their collective breaths. The only movement is the ongoing
play of reflections on the cold, grey walls. Davis' flat tone falls
like the voice of God from the control room.
"Ten seconds."
<<"According to their latest calculations, SG-1 has crashed into the asteroid's surface at over sixty metres per second....">>
They're not coming back. He's not coming back. And we've all missed
our last chance.
~ 39 minutes ~
"Asteroid has passed fail safe."
Time's up.
***
Finis
***
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