Switch, 7/?
Jan. 31st, 2008 06:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fiercelydreamed*
Dinner isn't as bad as Jo's expecting. Carter takes her to a conference room (not the cafeteria, of course, and their offices aren't really an option either) and they spend the meal talking over their trays of seasoned takka grain, roasted vegetables, and tapioca pudding. They don't eat together all that often, and tonight's conversation isn't much different from the ones they usually have: which teams should take which of the upcoming missions, when to schedule Jumper Flight 101 so that they can get all the civilian ATA carriers trained within the next couple months, what low-risk shit jobs to use as punishment for Squad 8's latest infraction (sniping the biochemists with paintballs cut with the itching powder from M1G-700).
At first it's Carter who drives the movement from one topic to the next, using segues oblique enough that only someone entrenched in Atlantis' day-to-day minutiae would know what she was talking about. After about fifteen or twenty minutes of batting the ball back and forth, Jo steps her game up, saying things like, "still, given how badly the initial talks with the Colalla went" and "nah, Elizabeth tried that back when Martins put dye in the shower system." Dropping anecdotes from all three and a half years of the expedition, mixing things in the official reports with things Carter'd only know from Elizabeth's private files.
When they're both done eating and they've covered all the things she needed to talk to Carter about anyway, Jo leans back in her chair and kicks one foot up on her other knee. "So," she says, and laces her hands behind her head in a gesture so loose as to be blatantly provocative: hit me with your best shot. "Did I pass?"
Carter drops her fork onto her tray and gives Jo a small smile. "With flying colors." Then she rubs her hand tiredly over her forehead and the practiced reserve seeps out of her posture until Jo's sitting across the table from Sam Carter, her sort-of-friend and boss, instead of Colonel Carter, ranking officer. Jo's seen her do this before, wait until things settle down so she can shrug command off for a moment, like a stiff coat, but this time the transition catches her off-guard. Jo's still got her hands braced against the back of her head and the gesture feels phonier by the second, an uncomfortable reminder that she spent the afternoon and evening under escort by her own Marines.
Since she woke up in the infirmary, she's kept her balance by moving forward, lining up each obstacle and knocking it down like target practice. She'd been all set to duke things out with Carter, only that's apparently not what's happening, and all her momentum has suddenly slipped away, leaving her twitchy and unsure.
"So what now?" she asks, when she's had about as much of the silence as she can take.
Kneading the tops of her own shoulders with both hands, Carter leans back in her chair. "Well, the SGC's going to want more answers than we've got right now, so I'll have a research team start going through the database. Keller'll need to continue her testing, and they're probably going to require daily sessions with Kim so she can moniter the, ah, 'adjustment period.'" She lets her head roll forward, stretching the muscles of her neck. "I'm keeping your team at base for a week or two while we get a sense of how this is going to play out, but beyond that, I think the best thing for everyone is for you to continue with your normal duties."
Jo stares at her for a long minute, feeling a little like she just walked through a solid wall. "And you really think the SGC's going to go for it?" Her voice sounds strained, even to her own ears.
"The report's going to involve a little more 'creative writing' than I usually like, but it won't be the toughest sell I've made," Carter says dryly, eyes moving over the far wall as she thinks. "As far as I can tell, your memories are perfect when it comes to your responsibilities and this expedition's history, so I'm going to gloss over the fact that on your personal history, the correspondence is ... less exact. We can expect that they're going to be scrutinizing your decisions a little more closely, so for now it might be a good idea for you to check in with me for anything non-routine."
She glances up before Jo has a chance to school her expression back to blankness. After hours of suspicion and assessment, the sympathy in Carter's gaze makes Jo want to twitch her own eyes away. "You're an essential part of this base, Colonel. I'm not going to bench you if I don't have to."
Swallowing, Jo nods. "I can get your tray," Carter says, "why don't you head back to your quarters and get some rest." She gets to her feet and starts stacking the remains of their dinners together. "I'll draft up a memo tonight and send it out tomorrow after we go over the situation at senior staff."
"Okay," Jo says. She drops her hands and climbs to her feet, knees and spine popping as she moves. She's been wound up tight for hours, bracing for a fight, and it's only now that she's noticed that everything aches.She needs a long shower, or maybe a run, or -- she doesn't know what she needs.
Carter reaches down into the chair beside her and pulls up the personnel file. "Here," she says. "You can take this, if you want. I thought you might want to take a look at it."
The stiff paper of the folder is cool and smooth under Jo's fingers. "Thanks," she says, and Carter nods as she slides one plate onto another. "I mean--" Jo swallows again. This whole -- thing is so fucked, on so many levels, and she can't for the life of her tell how it's going to play out. She knows less now than she did before Keller pulled back the curtain in the infirmary, and tomorrow she's going to have to deal with the whole thing on the scale of a whole city, questions and hostility and a hundred thousand stupid theories. But right now, right in this moment, she's weighed down by desperate relief that somehow, against all logic, she's not being tossed in the brig, or the observation deck, or being gated back to Earth. She's not being left out in the cold.
"Thanks," she says again.
Carter looks up at her thoughtfully. Jo can see her debating different courses of action, and she starts to brace herself for whatever Carter's going to say next, but when she opens her mouth, all she says is, "Sure," and then, "Good night, Colonel," and she puts just enough dismissal into it that Jo can raise one hand in acknowledgment and lope gratefully out the door.
*
[All installments archived here.]
Dinner isn't as bad as Jo's expecting. Carter takes her to a conference room (not the cafeteria, of course, and their offices aren't really an option either) and they spend the meal talking over their trays of seasoned takka grain, roasted vegetables, and tapioca pudding. They don't eat together all that often, and tonight's conversation isn't much different from the ones they usually have: which teams should take which of the upcoming missions, when to schedule Jumper Flight 101 so that they can get all the civilian ATA carriers trained within the next couple months, what low-risk shit jobs to use as punishment for Squad 8's latest infraction (sniping the biochemists with paintballs cut with the itching powder from M1G-700).
At first it's Carter who drives the movement from one topic to the next, using segues oblique enough that only someone entrenched in Atlantis' day-to-day minutiae would know what she was talking about. After about fifteen or twenty minutes of batting the ball back and forth, Jo steps her game up, saying things like, "still, given how badly the initial talks with the Colalla went" and "nah, Elizabeth tried that back when Martins put dye in the shower system." Dropping anecdotes from all three and a half years of the expedition, mixing things in the official reports with things Carter'd only know from Elizabeth's private files.
When they're both done eating and they've covered all the things she needed to talk to Carter about anyway, Jo leans back in her chair and kicks one foot up on her other knee. "So," she says, and laces her hands behind her head in a gesture so loose as to be blatantly provocative: hit me with your best shot. "Did I pass?"
Carter drops her fork onto her tray and gives Jo a small smile. "With flying colors." Then she rubs her hand tiredly over her forehead and the practiced reserve seeps out of her posture until Jo's sitting across the table from Sam Carter, her sort-of-friend and boss, instead of Colonel Carter, ranking officer. Jo's seen her do this before, wait until things settle down so she can shrug command off for a moment, like a stiff coat, but this time the transition catches her off-guard. Jo's still got her hands braced against the back of her head and the gesture feels phonier by the second, an uncomfortable reminder that she spent the afternoon and evening under escort by her own Marines.
Since she woke up in the infirmary, she's kept her balance by moving forward, lining up each obstacle and knocking it down like target practice. She'd been all set to duke things out with Carter, only that's apparently not what's happening, and all her momentum has suddenly slipped away, leaving her twitchy and unsure.
"So what now?" she asks, when she's had about as much of the silence as she can take.
Kneading the tops of her own shoulders with both hands, Carter leans back in her chair. "Well, the SGC's going to want more answers than we've got right now, so I'll have a research team start going through the database. Keller'll need to continue her testing, and they're probably going to require daily sessions with Kim so she can moniter the, ah, 'adjustment period.'" She lets her head roll forward, stretching the muscles of her neck. "I'm keeping your team at base for a week or two while we get a sense of how this is going to play out, but beyond that, I think the best thing for everyone is for you to continue with your normal duties."
Jo stares at her for a long minute, feeling a little like she just walked through a solid wall. "And you really think the SGC's going to go for it?" Her voice sounds strained, even to her own ears.
"The report's going to involve a little more 'creative writing' than I usually like, but it won't be the toughest sell I've made," Carter says dryly, eyes moving over the far wall as she thinks. "As far as I can tell, your memories are perfect when it comes to your responsibilities and this expedition's history, so I'm going to gloss over the fact that on your personal history, the correspondence is ... less exact. We can expect that they're going to be scrutinizing your decisions a little more closely, so for now it might be a good idea for you to check in with me for anything non-routine."
She glances up before Jo has a chance to school her expression back to blankness. After hours of suspicion and assessment, the sympathy in Carter's gaze makes Jo want to twitch her own eyes away. "You're an essential part of this base, Colonel. I'm not going to bench you if I don't have to."
Swallowing, Jo nods. "I can get your tray," Carter says, "why don't you head back to your quarters and get some rest." She gets to her feet and starts stacking the remains of their dinners together. "I'll draft up a memo tonight and send it out tomorrow after we go over the situation at senior staff."
"Okay," Jo says. She drops her hands and climbs to her feet, knees and spine popping as she moves. She's been wound up tight for hours, bracing for a fight, and it's only now that she's noticed that everything aches.She needs a long shower, or maybe a run, or -- she doesn't know what she needs.
Carter reaches down into the chair beside her and pulls up the personnel file. "Here," she says. "You can take this, if you want. I thought you might want to take a look at it."
The stiff paper of the folder is cool and smooth under Jo's fingers. "Thanks," she says, and Carter nods as she slides one plate onto another. "I mean--" Jo swallows again. This whole -- thing is so fucked, on so many levels, and she can't for the life of her tell how it's going to play out. She knows less now than she did before Keller pulled back the curtain in the infirmary, and tomorrow she's going to have to deal with the whole thing on the scale of a whole city, questions and hostility and a hundred thousand stupid theories. But right now, right in this moment, she's weighed down by desperate relief that somehow, against all logic, she's not being tossed in the brig, or the observation deck, or being gated back to Earth. She's not being left out in the cold.
"Thanks," she says again.
Carter looks up at her thoughtfully. Jo can see her debating different courses of action, and she starts to brace herself for whatever Carter's going to say next, but when she opens her mouth, all she says is, "Sure," and then, "Good night, Colonel," and she puts just enough dismissal into it that Jo can raise one hand in acknowledgment and lope gratefully out the door.
*
[All installments archived here.]