Note: This was a angst-y piece I rejected for sg_fignewton 's Alpha-bits Soup
The offer, when it comes, is surprisingly easy to accept. He feels a pang of regret as he’s packing up the last of his things to be sent to his new home in Washington, but it’s really for the best. Generals should not have favorites. Generals who are the last line of defense for the Earth cannot afford to have favorites.
And yet, Jack’s famous gut does play favorites. SG-9 is twenty minutes late for a check-in, and Jack has to play it by ear, because he has no idea if they’re twenty minutes closer to being eaten by hostile natives, or just twenty minutes closer to sealing the deal for a big honkin’ spacegun.
But SG-1 is two minutes late and Jack’s got the marines gearing up and a medical team on standby. Or sometimes they’re two days late, and Jack sits on his hands because he knows they just need a little more time. So when George Hammond starts to oh-so-casually put out feelers as to his receptiveness to making a cross-country move, Jack makes the appropriate overtures of reluctance, but allows himself to be talked into it.
When his team (always his team, that’s part of the problem) comes to him with their plans for moving on, he feels only relief. Carter’s a good officer, maybe too good to ever let this happen to her, but he’s glad she’ll never have to sit in the control room helpless and sick as her team, her family, stumbles back through the gate broken and bleeding.
He’s ashamed to admit that giving Mitchell SG-1 is ridiculously easy, because it isn’t his SG-1. Mitchell’s a good guy, but it’d be hard to trust someone else with his kids. Perversely, he’s also happy when Mitchell does ‘get the band back together.’ It’s good to know they’re still out there, watching his back. And he helps when and where he can and dreams of peace and reunion on a lake in Minnesota.
The complete list of my House fic can be found here.