Gigi Sinclair

George Hammond was not amused.

"I tried to call, but both their cell phones have low batteries," Major Carter repeated, a little helplessly. "Maybe someone should go to the Colonel's or Daniel's. There could have been an accident or something."

"I could go," Major Davis offered from the end of the briefing room table. "I know where Daniel lives."

"That's all right, thank you, Major," George replied. "We'll give them an hour or so, then I'll send an airman out. In the meantime," he turned to Carter. "We'll continue with the meeting."

Carter, with occasional assistance from Teal'c, was midway through her briefing about P4G-291 when the briefing room door burst open and a red-faced Daniel Jackson, accompanied by a scowling, out of breath Colonel O'Neill, came in.

George frowned sternly. "Colonel O'Neill. Dr. Jackson. So good of you to join us." He looked pointedly at the clock.

"Sorry, sir," Jack apologized as he took his seat. "Daylight savings time."

He wasn't getting off that easily. "Really, Colonel. Seems to me that happened yesterday."

"Well, uh, yeah," Jack replied. "But I was off yesterday, so it didn't matter."

"And Dr. Jackson? What's your excuse?"

Daniel shifted uneasily on his seat. "My, um, my car's in the shop. I had to wait for Jack to come pick me up."

"And you didn't notice that the colonel was an hour late?" Damn, George thought, his mother had been right. She'd always thought her little Georgie would have made a good lawyer.

Daniel grew redder. "I, ah, I kind of forgot about the time change too, sir."

"Interesting," George mused. "Especially since you, Dr. Jackson, reminded me about the change before you left the mountain on Friday."

Daniel looked at Jack, who was studying the ceiling.

"I kind of had a busy weekend," Daniel finally said. "It slipped my mind."

George assumed a few other things had been slipped over the course of the weekend, as well.

He'd known about the affair between Jack and Daniel for several months now, more or less since Daniel had descended. George couldn't understand the attraction on either side, especially not when Jack had Sam Carter making eyes at him, while Daniel seemed to attract females of all ages and species. But he wasn't about to report them, not as long as they remained objective and discreet.

This wasn't because George Hammond was particularly generous, but rather because he was a realist. He knew he'd be retiring sooner rather than later, either from choice or by order, and he knew Jack O'Neill was the only person who could lead the Stargate program the way George wanted it to be led: as a part-militaristic, part-diplomatic search for allies in the fight against the Goa'uld. If Jack was courtmartialed or forced to retire under unpleasant circumstances, it would be too easy for the NID to take over and use the Stargate to further their own agenda. Even if the NID was somehow kept out of it, George had figured out, there was no shortage of short-sighted, narrow-minded military brass like General West who would destroy their alliances with the Tok'ra and the Asgard, and probably close the Gate altogether. All of the work George and the SG teams had done would go to waste.

It had taken a lot of reflection, but George knew that to ensure the survival of the Stargate program as an organization beneficial to Earth, he had to keep Jack O'Neill around, even if that meant turning a blind eye to what some people would consider the worst transgression an officer could commit. Sometimes, George thought, doing your duty meant not doing your job.

George looked at the men across from him. "In that case, Colonel O'Neill, Dr. Jackson, I'll expect you to be with us an hour early the next time the clocks change."

Daniel smiled, but Jack remained stone-faced. He would, George thought as Carter resumed her catalogue of the mineral deposits on P4G-291, have to find a few moments to speak privately with Colonel O'Neill, to explain what he'd thought out.

And to mention that, while conducting an illicit, illegal affair, it probably wasn't the greatest idea to show up at work an hour late, wearing badly buttoned fatigues and an inside-out T-shirt with "Jackson" clearly printed on the label.