sjficathon ficathon: I was assigned nandamai, who requested post-apocalypse, pie and Jack's glasses.

STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: It's a numbers game now.
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATIONS: Sam/Jack
SEQUEL (sort of): Without Any Fuss
ARCHIVE: Do not archive. Thank you.
THANKS TO: nel_ani for the betaing and sanity. *smooch*
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; June, 2005

* * * * *
This Is The Way by anr
* * * * *

Approximately six billion, four-hundred and forty-three million, five-hundred and four thousand people died when Earth was destroyed. In the mere seventy-two hours notice they'd had prior to that, twenty thousand people were pushed through the Stargate to the Pegasus Galaxy. In the last three hours, with their remaining ZPM depleted and useless, a further two thousand were sent to the Beta site.

Their numbers got progressively worse after that.

* * * * *

"I need to show you something," she says.

It's the first time he's seen her in almost a week and, for just a moment, he wishes they could greet each other with a hello. "Now?"

"Storm front's moving in."

He'll take that as a yes.

*

It only takes him a few minutes to gather his gear and raid the kitchen (somehow, he doubts they'll be back in time for dinner) and he finds her in the command tent, talking with Hailey.

"Ready?" he asks, securing his zat.

"Ready."

*

"Hailey bring you up to speed?" They've been walking for about twenty minutes now, mostly in silence after she detailed their destination.

"I think so." He watches her brush a strand of hair from her eyes. "She said Miller and Watts never made it back."

"Not yet," he says, but his optimism is half-hearted and they both know it. These days, no contact pretty much means 'the end'.

They stopped staying with their allies after the fourth time Ba'al found them and wiped out just as many natives as he did humans (snakey bastard's always been an opportunist). Now they only set up camp on uninhabited worlds that can be abandoned with little to no loss of allied life.

Rescue teams for missing team mates stopped after the tenth time no one came back, and four person teams after the twentieth. They're down to less than a hundred military personnel and those who still go out -- for trading or exploring -- are usually paired with a civilian.

It's a numbers game now and, even though it goes against every grain of his being, he knows that after four years and thirty-eight planets (they've only five-hundred and eighty-nine civilians left -- barely a quarter of what they started with) the only way they're going to win this is by minimising the potential casualties.

Sometimes, people are going to get left behind.

*

The hike's not so bad, all things considered. Sure, his knees are still pretty much shot (and he's nowhere near as young as he used to be) but the gravity on this planet is lower than their norm and the slight spring in his step is a welcome change.

The sun finally descends beneath the horizon after about an hour, and forty minutes after that they find a nice little clearing, just off highway, for a pit stop.

"Dinner's up," he says, handing her a share of the food he's brought.

"Thanks."

They eat in silence, her shoulder brushing against his as they sit side by side in the dark (they're not stopping long enough to warrant a fire and the moon hasn't finished rising yet) and he thinks about how much he's missed this: spending time with her, near her... they're so busy these days.

When she finishes eating and makes to rise, he puts a hand on her knee. "Wait," he says, rummaging quickly. "Here."

"Pie?" It's not often he can make her sound incredulous and he grins.

"Weaver and Keena traded for some fruit on Alderaan --" he says.

"Aldebaran," she corrects automatically.

"-- and we still had some flour left over from last month's rations, so..."

She's smiling, he knows she is, and he wishes like hell he could see it. In the distance, lightning flashes -- it's almost enough.

Her hand finds his where it's still on her knee. "Thank you," she says softly.

He shrugs. "It's just pie, Carter," he says, with an exasperated tone that he knows she won't buy for a minute.

Her fingers thread with his. "I know."

*

She leads for another six or seven clicks, the terrain steadily climbing, until they're situated on a small plateau to the north-west of the Stargate. If he looks hard enough, he can just see the faint glow that is their base camp through the trees behind them.

Lightning flashes and he counts down the thunder.

"Wait for it --" says Carter quietly, standing in front of him, eyes on her watch, "wait for -- there!" When she looks up and points, he follows her line of sight just in time to see what looks like another flash of lightning on the horizon.

Then it flashes again. And again.

He curses.

"Took me three days to get to it," she says. "Standard design, low range -- he'd have to be in the solar system to get a reading."

They've been here two months now (which is about three weeks longer than their time on any other planet so far this year) and for a moment he wishes they were still naive enough to stay. To take their chances and hope that maybe -- just maybe -- Ba'al won't find them this time. That two months with no problems means, beacon or not, they're safe.

He sighs. "Who's next?"

"P6X923."

He searches his memory. "'923?"

"Binary system."

"Ah." He finds it hard to clarify his exact role here sometimes. Officially, he's still retired from the military -- a civilian consultant at best. Unofficially, however, he's the highest ranking survivor and the only one with any large-scale command experience. So while Carter gets to spend her days patrolling and training the civilians and scratching out a few hours here and there in the makeshift lab she and Hailey have created, he gets to run the show. Again.

Stocktakes and rationing and mission assignments and dispute mediation... the world ended, for crying out loud, and he still has paperwork. (Somewhere up there, he knows, Walter is laughing his ultra-efficient little butt off.)

He watches the device flash again over her shoulder and knows they have no choice. (Truth be told, they haven't for a long time now.) He nods once. "Do it."

She reaches for her radio.

*

Hailey's already started the evacuation by the time they get back to camp -- Carter, he knows, would have warned her about the possibility before they left -- so they really only have to worry about their own gear. She takes their quarters, he dismantles his office, and afterwards they help the civilians. It always surprises him how quickly these people can pack up and move out on a moment's notice -- several hundred people should equal unparalleled chaos.

Then again, they have had a lot of practice over the years.

At the 'gate, Vaughn and Price are head-counting as everyone traipses through and, as he searches through his kit, he finds Carter nearby.

"Carter, have you seen --"

"Front pocket," she says, securing the MALP. It's their last one and he's already dreading the day she tells him it can't be repaired anymore.

He checks the pocket and, sure enough, there are his glasses. Satisfied, he dumps his bag next to hers and heads over to help Benson with his collection of tent struts.

Above the Stargate, a bolt of lightning plays tag with a crack of thunder.

*

"Ready?"

It's just the four of them left now and, even as he speaks, Vaughn and Price are stepping through the Stargate to the planet he's already nicknamed Regulus (he gave up the Greek alphabet about a year ago, when they ran out of letters).

Adjusting her pack, Carter nods. "Ready."

One day, Daniel and Teal'c and the rest of the Atlantis crew are going to come charging in on a white steed named Daedalus or Icarus and give them all a lift to their new home. Maybe they'll even bring the Asgard back with them.

One day, Ba'al's going to make a mistake (or not pay his hired henchmen enough) and this petty annihilation-of-the-human-race thing he's got going on will come to an end.

One day, he hopes, they're going to stop running.

A final glance to make sure they haven't accidentally forgotten anyone or anything, and then they're heading up the dais and into the wormhole.

Behind them, it starts to rain.

* * * * *

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper
-- T S Eliot, The Hollow Men

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The End.

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