SG-1 Fic: Making a Difference

[cat_77]

So, this is what I did this afternoon at work (along with answering calls to explain our system was still down, no, really, it was).

Title:  Making a Difference
Genre:  Gen, Team, Episode Related
Season/Spoilers:  Season 9, episode "Ethon"
Synopsis:  Daniel is having a hard time dealing with the outcome on Tegalus
Disclaimer:  I don't own them, people with a lot of money do

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Daniel looked up from the beer can Cameron gifted him with only minutes before.  It was now only half full, its meager condensation just enough to make the metal slick in his hand.  “There’s really no hope left, is there?” he asked morosely.

 

Cam finished his own beer, fishing another out of the small paper bag he brought with him.  “There’s always hope, right?” he tried.  “I mean, we thought you were gone, dead, and you came swooping in to save the day.”

 

“I’m good at coming back from the dead,” Daniel agreed, taking another pull of the cold brew.  “That whole saving the day thing...  I just don’t think it’s going to happen this time.”

 

Mitchell pushed himself up off his current perch and moved closer to the large table his teammate was using for a desk.  Leaning against it, he tried to look the other man in the eyes, the glare off his glasses proving to be problematic.  “I’m not going to lie to you, if it’s as bad as you said it was, the chances of people surviving, and the chances of the survivors not going around and getting their vengeance on, it’s not good.”

 

“I know,” Daniel said resolutely.  He leaned back in his chair with a sigh.  “It’s just... I mean, I wish...”  He tossed off his glasses, years of practice landing them on the soft papers of his in bin and not the concrete floor.  Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, he whispered, “It’s all such a waste.”

 

“I know,” Cam tried to console him.

 

Daniel did not seem to hear him.  “The Rand Protectorate, the Caledonians, their little wars and petty bickering, even the Priors and their weapons...  It’s all such a waste.  It’s all gone now anyway.  The weapon, the borders, the Caledonians, the Prometheus, Leda, Jared, everything and everyone, just gone away.”  He tossed back the last of his beer and pounded the can down on his desk with a thud.

 

“I can’t tell you that it’s going to get better, and I can’t tell you that everything’s just going to go away,” Mitchell told him honestly.  “I can tell you that you tried your best and I can tell you that you made a difference.”

 

Daniel looked up at him and, without the glasses in the way, Cameron could see the depth of the sorrow and disappointment in his glazed eyes.  “To who?” he asked.

 

“To us,” a voice came from the doorway.  Both men looked up to find Sam standing there, braced against the frame and dressed in civilian clothing to leave for the night.  Teal’c stood beside her in a silent shadow, simply nodding his assent.

 

She wandered into the room, holding up a finger to stop the self-pitying that she knew was about the fall from her teammate’s lips.  “What would have happened if you didn’t stop Rand from using the satellite weapon against the Caledonians when we were on the planet?  Every survivor from the Prometheus was gathered there, right in the middle of what would have been one hell of a blast zone.  You saved them, and you saved a whole lot of Caledonians in the process.”

 

“Only for them to destroy themselves the moment we turned our backs on them,” Daniel pointed out.  “So many died because they simply wouldn’t listen to each other.  Women and children and...”

 

“Friends?” Mitchell suggested for him.

 

His silence answered the question for them all.

 

It was Teal’c that spoke next.  “To have remained would have proved detrimental as well.  We had injured personnel, friends, that needed to get be transported home to the SGC.”  He paused and waited for a reluctant nod from his teammate before adding gently, “It was also not our place to dictate their reconciliation.  We did what we could, you did what you could.  In the end, it was up to the two parties to reach an agreement for themselves.  If we had remained, they would have been taking only our word in the negotiations, trusting in us and not in themselves.  Any treaty would have surely fallen under those circumstances.”

 

“But what if staying just that little bit longer made all the difference?” Daniel asked.  “What if we were able to convince them to take that leap of faith and make that difference for both sides?  What if we were able to convince them to believe in each other, to unite against the Priors instead of fighting each other?”

 

“We can’t answer all the what-ifs for you.  There are simply too many variables and too many chances for a single pig-headed person to screw it all up,” Sam shrugged.  “The only thing I can guarantee you we can do is for you is to get you stinking drunk,” she offered with a grin.

 

That got a small smile out of him.  “Usual SG-1 logic?” he asked.

 

“It has worked well in the past,” Teal’c agreed.

 

Daniel powered down his laptop, tidying up his desk and generally locking things up for the night.  “I’d grab my keys, but I have a feeling I won’t want to use them by the time you’re done with me,” he groused.

 

“A wise decision,” Teal’c approved.  He led his teammate out of the office and towards the elevators.

 

Sam and Cameron hung back for a moment, watching them go.  “So the getting drunk thing was a good thing?” Mitchell tried, holding up his newly finished can.

 

Carter took it and placed it and the other empties in the paper sack Mitchell had originally brought in.  Offering it out to him to carry, she laughed, “Well, we usually try not to do it on base or in uniform, what with all those pesky regulations and everything, but, yeah, it’s usually a start.”  Left unspoken was the knowledge of just how long the process would be, and how many tears and wet shoulders there would be by the end.

 

He followed her out the door, flipping off the last of the lights along the way.  “A start?  I can deal with that.”

 

End.

 

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