Jack likes to think Teal'c was the first to decide to leave and, consequently, opened the floodgates for their disbanding, but he knows that's not entirely true. While Teal'c never actually uttered the words, "I would like to leave Earth to engage in Jaffa politics on Dakara," they all knew he would head that direction after they eradicated the planet of Goa'ulds. But because Teal'c weaseled out of verbally expressing his intentions (sneaky bastard), Jack was the one who inherited the honor of breaking up SG-1.

He still can't decide whether it was fortuitous Carter was the first to hear of his promotion and impending move cross-country. She took the news like a pro. ("I'm ... moving." "Really? Where to?" "Washington." "State?" "D.C." "Oh." Then, a few seconds later, "Oh.") She never objected, never questioned his reasons, just slapped a smile on her face and tried (with relative success) to be happy for him.

Daniel would have fussed, maybe even thrown a hissyfit. Because even though Jack was no longer in command of SG-1, he was still around. He was the guy who was always around, with beer and chess and sarcasm and a not-so-comfortable couch on which his friends could crash. Except Jack changed all that by agreeing to take over Hammond's old post as Director of Homeworld Security, and Carter found out first, and that denied Daniel the chance to air any objections since two of their informal foursome were supposedly pleased with the news. Instead, Daniel also plastered a smile on his face and helped him collect boxes for the move.

Carter was next to ditch the SGC, as Jack knew she would the second Krenshaw called him from Area 51. ("Just wanted to let you know I'm eyeing Colonel Carter to take over as head of R&D here. We both know she'll say no, but a guy can dream, right?") Jack chuckled and pretended to pander to Krenshaw's delusions, but he knew Carter would accept the position.

He wasn't the first she told of her decision. Maybe she already guessed he knew and felt like she didn't have to bother. Or maybe Daniel caught her during a moment of weakness, much like what had happened when Jack told her about his move to D.C. In any case, Jack found out by eavesdropping on her and Daniel when he was strolling past her office. ("But, Sam, that's ... Nevada. You really want to go all the way out there?" "It's not that far away. And I'd get to be the one in charge." "But you're already in charge here." "You just want me to stay because I always sign off on your coffee requests." When Daniel failed to laugh at her joke, she said, "This is a good thing, Daniel. Be happy for me, please? I have my reasons for wanting to go, and I do want to go.") The pleading in her voice made Daniel acquiesce and Jack tiptoe away. He got an hour to practice guilt-free, sorrow-free smiling before she knocked on his office door and asked to speak to him.

And that left Daniel. Jack figured Daniel would let forty-eight hours pass before approaching him with a transfer request to somewhere, anywhere. Daniel surprised him by undercutting that estimate by half. ("I want to go to Atlantis.") Jack didn't argue, and probably didn't blink. Instead he nodded, crossed out the '48' he'd written on the corner of his desk calendar, replaced it with a '24', and gave his okay with a typical Jack response. ("You know McKay's there, right?") It felt like the right thing to do.

So off they went, to their four separate corners of the universe. No good-bye parties (none of them wanted one) and no last-minute pleas to stay. Just a wave and a "See ya!" and, bam, their group was gone.

Jack can't say he was surprised. Maybe he always knew their lives would diverge at some point. After all, they were only four strangers who became friends because they were thrown together under the most extraordinary of circumstances. But still, he misses those strangers, so damn much.

"General O'Neill?"

Jack's head shoots up from the palm he'd been resting it on as he quickly slaps at a button on his intercom. "Yeah?"

"Doctor Jackson is on line two," his assistant informs him. "Would you like me to put him through?"

"Yes, please. Thanks, Carl." Drawing his eyebrows together, Jack lifts the phone receiver from its cradle and depresses the 'Line 2' button. If his calculations are correct, Daniel should be in space, onboard the Daedalus, at that very second. And yet he's able to place a call to D.C.? Jack makes a mental note to switch to Daniel's cell phone carrier. "O'Neill here."

"Jack, hey!" The sound of papers flapping in the background makes Jack smile. Leave it to Daniel to multitask everything, even a simple phone call. "How's D.C.?"

"Very ..." Jack looks down at his pressed, white dress shirt. His equally pressed jacket is hanging on the coat rack next to his office door. "Formal."

Daniel laughs and Jack's lips immediately inch upwards. "They insisted you wear your dress blues every day, huh? Guess your suggestion that every day should be casual Friday didn't go over very well."

"Not so much, no. But enough about me. So you're now ..." Jack tips his head back and stares at the ceiling.

As if he could see what Jack's doing, Daniel snorts. "I'm calling from my office at the SGC."

"Just couldn't leave, huh?"

"More like someone made me miss the Daedalus."

Jack's eyebrows shoot up. "Someone?"

"Long story." A long, drawn out sigh comes across the line and Jack knows that can only mean Daniel believes he's been the victim of some grand injustice. "Anyway, I'm calling to let you know I won't be relocating to Atlantis any time soon."

"Disappointed?"

"A little. But things have been ... interesting here. And Mitchell keeps trying to get me to say I'll stay on with SG-1."

"Ah, the new guy. How's he doing?"

"Still getting used to the idea SG-1 as he knew it is no more. I can't believe you never mentioned that to him." Jack can practically hear Daniel roll his eyes.

"The man needs to learn flexibility if he's going to survive at the SGC."

"Uh-huh."

"See a lot of Teal'c?"

"A couple times. Things on Dakara aren't going as smoothly as he'd like."

"Ah." Considering how well acquainted he is with 'Jaffa pride', it isn't difficult for Jack to imagine how quickly discussions can stall when you're dealing with a room full of Jaffa, each with his own idea of what it means to be free.

"But I spoke to Sam the other day. She looks good."

Jack sits up in his seat and leans forward. "She's back at the SGC?"

"Oh, no, she-- I spoke to her through the computer. Web cam."

"Right." Jack falls back into a slouch. "You crazy kids with your fancy toys."

There's some chuckling on the other end, then, "I think she's really happy with her transfer to Area 51."

"Yeah," Jack says as he pushes aside some sheets of paper on his desktop to reveal a green requisition form he received that morning. In addition to her requests for two computers, a score of software, and a computer geek (his words, not hers), Carter had attached a personal note on a yellow Post-It: Have settled in and am amazed. Can't wait to get my hands dirty. You'd hate it here. -C Rereading the Post-It, Jack still can't help but smile at her message, especially the last sentence. He, too, has no doubts he'd hate Area 51.

"Oh, Jack, I'm being paged. Gotta run."

"Okay. See ya."

"Bye."

And Jack is left, once again, pondering just how easy it is for them to say good-bye and move on. How did they reach such a point of feigned nonchalance?

Depositing the phone back in its receiver, he stares at Carter's note -- the slant of her writing, how the loop of her 'C' runs into the dash that precedes it -- and wonders how long it took her to write it. Did she painstakingly choose her words and deliberate over each sentence's length so she'd appear breezy and unconcerned? He can imagine her doing just that, her teeth gnawing on the cap to her pen as she wrote, then rewrote (and re-rewrote later) the perfect pithy note.

Then again, maybe Jack's projecting.

Actually, yes, he's pretty sure he's projecting. And he almost feels silly for doing so because it's not like he hates being in D.C. He doesn't. It's different, and being the head honcho has taken some getting used to. (As has the alarming number of politicians who keep coming through his door. Shouldn't they have more important things to do than welcome him to the Capital?) So perhaps his melancholy is all because somehow, some way those 'strangers' became so much more -- even more than friends, in some cases -- as they managed to make themselves an indispensable part of his life.

He should've known they'd be trouble from the get-go.

Well, if he's going to be a curmudgeon in their absence, then he's going to share the pain, he decides. He is, after all, a full-fledged general now. And with that title comes some Very Important responsibilities.

"Carl!" he shouts in the direction of his open door. One of these days he'll get around to figuring out how to use the intercom. Or maybe not since he does enjoy simply yelling Carl's name whenever he's needed, just like he did with Walter back at the SGC.

There's a loud, aggrieved sigh and exaggerated feet dragging before Carl appears in his doorway, a look of annoyance on his face. It's quite similar to one Walter often wore. Huh. "You bellowed, General?"

Okay, Jack knows that tone and he's definitely going to have to learn how to use his intercom. "I need you to do me a favor," he says, choosing to ignore his assistant's tone and expression. "I'd like to have three yo-yos sent to Colonel Carter, Doctor Jackson, and Teal'c."

"Yo-yos," Carl repeats, his eyebrows lifting.

"Yes," Jack says with an authoritative nod. He's discovered that, here in D.C., merely appearing authoritative is often enough to get people to do what you want them to. "Preferably wood ones, but if you can't find any of those, plastic ones will do."

"And you want me to send them to Colonel Carter and Doctor Jackson."

"Yes," Jack says again with another nod. Carl's habit of asking questions without actually phrasing them as questions is rather unnerving. "And Teal'c."

"Who's in Dakara."

"Oh. Well." Jack shifts a bit in his seat before breaking out into what he hopes is an endearing grin. "I have faith in your delivery skills, Carl."

"Right." Carl looks like he's on the verge of either jamming a pen into his eye or his boss's eye. After another aggrieved but not as loud sigh, he asks, "Anything else, General?"

"Nope. That's it for now. Thank you!"

Yeah, he'll need to figure out some way to get back on Carl's good side. But for now, Jack is preoccupied with all the things he could send his old team members. Pieces of a chess set? Fishing tackle? Rubix cubes?

Hmm, he wonders if it's legal to mail beer across state lines …

-the end-

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