#bynars

[capndragn94]

*SPOILER ALERT*

I'm not sure why this stuck with me, but I really liked that Malok, the Romulan mutineer, had no problem with the Bynars beaming onto his ship when they realized Locarno was lying about them all being equals. If any of them show up again, I hope they're still working together.

#star trek #lower decks #star trek lower decks #st ld #lower decks spoilers #romulans #bynars #malok #nick locarno #lower decks season 4 #nova fleet

[sshbpodcast]

Top 3 Star Trek The Next Generation alien races

By Ames

Now that we’ve reminisced over our favorite minor characters and favorite villains from The Next Generation, A Star to Steer her By is rounding off our cruise on the Enterprise-D by thinking about our favorite alien races from the series. We did it before for The Original Series and found some deeply fascinating and outrageously campy aliens to highlight then, so what kind of aliens does one pick for The Next Generation? There are way more episodes to choose from and the aliens are more than just humans in a flashy jumpsuit, so let’s see them strut their stuff.

Sure, we see some of the staples that were introduced in the days of Kirk. The Klingons and Romulans both get significantly more development in culture in this slightly more modern show, and the occasional Vulcan still looks down their nose at you. But some of the best Trek races get their starts here in TNG and you’ll see those ones are going to fill our favorites lists. Check them all out below and listen to our discussion on this week’s podcast episode (discussion at 1:14:06) for all the extraterrestrial chatter. We sought out new lifeforms, and boy did we find ‘em!

[images © CBS/Paramount] 

Ames – More machine now than man

Borg

Exocomps

Bynars

I’ll admit that I’m a sucker for a good robot any day, whether they want to kill all humans, just develop their own agency, or just open a can. TNG introduces the Borg and it’s one of the best things they ever did, with impacts across other series galore. Plus they just look rad. We also meet the cute little Exocomps who have gained their own kind of sapience and who we’ll see more of in Lower Decks, wink wink. And finally the cybernetically enhanced Bynars are just too cool a concept to pass up, especially when they turn out to be benevolent in the end! Beep boop!

—

Jake – Allow me to introduce myself

Exocomps

Tamarians

Bajorans

Jake’s three top races just want to be respected as much as anyone else; you just need to put in a little extra effort to understand them. The Exocomps are making an appearance because of just how interesting it was discussing when a creature has rights like the rest of us. Sokath! His eyes uncovered! It was also worthwhile watching Picard learn how to communicate with Tamarians like Captain Dathon. And the whole Bajoran plight starts out so interesting when we meet Ensign Ro and ascertain what it means to wear that earring.

—

Chris – Power moves

Betazoids

Q Continuum

Satarrans

You’ve got to respect a race that rolls in and just takes charge whether they’re supposed to or not. We see it in the honest-to-a-fault Betazoids who always know what’s up because they can literally read your mind. We see it, of course, in the Q Continuum, our pick for most powerful species, for whom the whole galaxy is their table to put their feet up on. And we may only get a glimpse of it from the mysterious Satarrans in “Conundrum,” but their plan to infiltrate the Enterprise crew with an undercover MacDuff nearly gets another race destroyed!

—

Caitlin – Gimme a B!

Bajorans

Betazoids

Benzites

Any ABC book about Star Trek (and I’ve bought one before) is highly unfair to all of our favorite alien species who begin with B because there are just too many good ones! At least Caitlin has three opportunities to namedrop some great B species, from the Bajorans who get started off so well developed already in The Next Gen, to the Betazoids whose empathic powers help us all to remember to look inward once in a while, to the Benzites who had some of the best makeup and breathing apparatuses we get to see in Trek!

—

That’s it for our visit to The Next Generation for now! Back to full time assignment on the Voyager, where we’re still boldly going through the Delta Quadrant over on SoundCloud or wherever you get your podcasts. You can also read our minds over on Facebook and Twitter, and if you meet a species beginning with a B, consider befriending them immediately! Odds are good that they’ll be cool.

#star trek #star trek podcast #podcast #Star Trek TNG #the next generation #alien races #Aliens #Q continuum #betazoids #bynars #benzites #borg #klingons #mintakans #tamarians #bajorans #crystalline entity #satarrans #exocomps

[raurquiz]

#otd #startrek    #thenextgeneration #11001001 #picard #riker #troi #data #laforge #tashayar #worf #drcrusher #wesleycrusher #commander #orfilquinteros #bynars #zeroone #zerozero #onezero #oneone #minuet #startrek56 @startrek @startrekonpplus https://www.instagram.com/p/CoIC4qIO0iR/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#otd #startrek #thenextgeneration #11001001 #picard #riker #troi #data #laforge #tashayar #worf #drcrusher #wesleycrusher #commander #orfilquinteros #bynars #zeroone #zerozero #onezero #oneone #minuet #startrek56

[dizzyhslightlyvoided]

Can't believe Star Trek The Next Generation had an episode, which 1. was titled "11001001", and 2. had a plot where aliens boarded the Enterprise on false pretenses, and programmed the holodeck so that Riker could break the fourth wall.

#meta #shenanigans #meta shenanigans #canon shenanigans #star trek #star trek tng #11001001 #william riker #bynars

[anti-workshop]

Star Trek: Intrepid

I started this in 2017, never went anywhere. Maybe you gorgeous folks can help me have some fun with it. Make up your OCs to crew the Intrepid. The whole concept is simple: Worf gets to captain a ship, but the fleet gives him the now-ancient Intrepid. He decides to crew it entirely with non-humans.

NOTE: Only series up to Voyager are canon for this! I do not recognize nor respect any of the JJ Abrams films, nor any of the Picards! Script for the first few scenes of the pilot under the cut.

Star Trek: Intrepid

A New Dawn

by

EM

Transition:

EXT - A GRASSY FIELD AT DAWN IN THE YEAR 2394

Commander Worf, wearing a white Klingon gi and lines of silver in his hair and beard, practices a solitary Mok'bara form in the fading sunlight. ALEXANDER, a tall, broad Klingon man approaches from behind, wearing civilian clothing. He waits and watches until Worf is finished with his practice.

ALEXANDER

(approaching his father)

Father, Admiral Benson is on the com for you. 

Worf turns to face the sun as it sets brilliantly through clouds. Alexander joins him by his side as he speaks.

WORF

(wistfully)

There is a well-known Klingon proverb—”Great men do not seek power, it is thrust upon them.”

ALEXANDER

Did Kahless say that?

WORF

Yes, he did. The ancient words echo in my mind. I am not convinced that my actions are motivated by honor.

ALEXANDER steps in front of his father, making direct eye contact.

ALEXANDER

(reassuringly)

I know a proverb too—”You’re the right Klingon for the job.” 

WORF

Kahless?

ALEXANDER

(laughing)

I don’t think so. Father, you are the most honorable man I have ever known. You have served under the greatest commanders in all of Starfleet, and Admiral Benson is a fool if he doesn’t jump at the opportunity—

Worf stops his son’s train of thought with a stern glare

ALEXANDER(CONT’D)

Well, you’d better see what he has to say.

Worf raises his right hand slowly, as if to potentially perform a martial technique against ALEXANDER, who crouches in a defensive stance. WORF smiles and grabs ALEXANDER jovially, bringing him in for a gruff embrace.

WORF

(smiling)

We will both see what the Admiral has to say.

The two march away from the sunset towards a spartan but well-maintained domicile in the distance.

INT - THE ENTRANCE TO WORF’S ABODE

WORF and ALEXANDER enter through the front door. ALEXANDER retreats to a room off screen while WORF approaches a wide, low desk with a terminal on it.

ALEXANDER

(exiting the room)

I’ll get some celebratory prune juice. Knock’em dead, father. 

WORF presses a button on the screen.

CUT TO SHOT REVERSE SHOT SEQUENCE.

ADMIRAL BENSON appears on the view screen.

ADMIRAL BENSON

(warmly)

Commander Worf, I’m sorry for disturbing you so late in the evening, I didn’t know Alexander was visiting. If this is a bad time, what I have to say can wait until tomorrow morning.

WORF

No, Admiral, I have been waiting for this news.

ADMIRAL BENSON

We’ve reviewed your application and have deliberated on it for some time. Your leadership skills have been more than proven at the helm of The Defiant, but despite your many commendations and awards, we could not unanimously support your request. 

WORF

(noticeably upset)

You are denying my inquiry for command.

ADMIRAL BENSON

(quickly, perhaps a bit nervous)

No, commander. Every member of the council agreed that you would perform admirably in the captain’s chair. It was the specific ship mentioned that we couldn’t come to a quorum about.

WORF

The Vigilance is the most advanced new starship in the fleet. It is a craft worthy of honorable deeds. 

ADMIRAL BENSON

Yes it is. Worf, I’m sorry to break this to you, but High Command has offered the Vigilance to Captain Tuvok, and he’s accepted the offer.

WORF looks dejected, clenching his jaw

ADMIRAL BENSON(CONT’D)

Worf, we’re not denying your request entirely. The council is in unanimous agreement that your skills are not being used to their full extent on Earth. We have a ship for you, if you’ll consider commanding her.

WORF

(cautiously optimistic)

I will consider the council’s recommendation. What ship is it?

ADMIRAL BENSON

The warp restrictions mean we have a lot more ground to cover. Our forces are spread pretty thin right now. To make up the deficit, Starfleet has recommissioned a few of our most decorated, Constitution-class starships into active service. To that end, we would like to offer you the command of the Intrepid.

WORF

(not ecstatic)

The Intrepid? Admiral, with all due respect, that ship must be over 100 years old! 

ADMIRAL BENSON

127 this year, actually. Don’t worry, Captain, she’s undergone an extensive refit. I’ve been assured by our engineers that the new and improved Intrepid could give the Enterprise a run for its money. 

WORF

(noplussed)

Maybe 100 years ago. Admiral, there must be another—

ADMIRAL BENSON

I’m well aware that this is not an ideal situation. I know you would have preferred command of the Vigilance. You have to look at it from our perspective. You’re not the young man you were when first you served aboard the Enterprise. I have every faith that any ship under your command will be an invaluable asset to Starfleet and the Federation as a whole. You could captain a runabout to greatness. The choice is yours to make. We’re offering the Intrepid, if you’ll have her. Take some time to think about it.

The transmission ends. WORF sighs, and sits in the chair at the desk, lost in deep thought. ALEXANDER enters from the kitchen, carrying a tray with two tall glasses of deep purple liquid.

ALEXANDER

I heard. So, is this prune juice celebratory, or what?

WORF

I will drink with you, but I do not feel like celebrating. I have much to think about.

ALEXANDER sits down beside his father and places a glass of prune juice in front of WORF before raising his own.

ALEXANDER

Quote—“The smallest knife can defeat the widest sword.”

WORF

(raising his glass)

Kahless?

ALEXANDER

Worf, son of Mogh, said to a very little Klingon boy, to whom it meant a great deal.

They clink glasses and sip their warrior drinks.

SCENE.

INT - WORF’S ROOM IN HIS HOUSE

WORF sits in a chair facing a large window, which looks out over a vast, grassy field. It is moments before dawn. WORF holds a picture of JADZIA DAX in his hands, studying it. The sun crests the horizon, splashing brilliant colors across his face. He looks up with a determination in his eyes.

INT - WORF’S MAIN ROOM

WORF rushes into the room and sits at his chair, pressing some buttons on his terminal. ADMIRAL BENSON eventually comes into view.

ADMIRAL BENSON

Captain, you just caught me, I was about to adjourn to my quarters. Have you been up all night?

WORF

I accept the council’s recommendation.

ADMIRAL BENSON

That’s wonderful news. We’ve already gathered a list of candidates—

WORF

(interrupting the admiral)

On one condition. I will personally choose my crew.

ADMIRAL BENSON

Of course, the captain of any starship has the final say on their senior staff—

WORF

(interrupting again)

The entire crew.

ADMIRAL BENSON

(nonplussed)

Worf, that’s highly irregular. The Intrepid has a complement of 430 crew. We have compiled a list of highly capable officers—

WORF

(interrupting a third time)

Admiral, it is a captain’s prerogative to choose his crew. Are my terms acceptable?

ADMIRAL BENSON

I admit, I’m not accustomed to plea-bargaining in this manner, Worf, but if this condition is that important to you?

WORF

It is, Admiral.

ADMIRAL BENSON

Then I suppose I have no choice. I’ll inform the council of your acceptance and send you our list of potential candidates. I hope you’ll find at least a few of them acceptable additions. Benson out.

Benson’s image disappears. WORF smiles wryly.

SCENE.

___

Let's have some fun with the crew. I thought Bynar officers might be fun. They would make perfect sense for Engineering? What other golden oldies can we hearken back to? Sky's the limit. Hell, maybe we can bring Lal back somehow.

#star trek #worf #lal #bynars #tng #ds9 #voyager #intrepid #have fun #script

[astralbondpro]

How have the Bynars only appeared once in Star Trek? Such an interesting, and neat looking race.

#Star Trek #TNG #The Next Generation #Bynar #Bynars #Television Text #Text #Astral Vagabond Star Trek The Next Generation Text #Astral Vagabond Text #Astral Vagabond Television Text

[palpunte]

1533.6 "Charlie X"

#or the spones synchronized dance episode #or the one where spones are actually bynars #adorable #star trek #the original series #spock #leonard mccoy #james kirk #charlie x #gif #my gifs

[comicwaren]

“Now, where were we? Something about you killing me quick, is that right?” -- Han Solo

Cover art for Star Wars: Han Solo & Chewbacca #010, “Dead or Alive, Part V”

Art by Phil Noto

#star wars: han solo & chewbacca #han solo #chewbacca #corbus tyra #phaedra #ooris bynar #t'ongor #t'onga #khel tanna #buck vancto #cover art #star wars #marvel #comics #star wars comics #marvel comics

[defconprime]

10 and 01

#star trek tng #star trek cards #star trek ccg #bynar

[geneeste]

Stargate SG-1 Fic: reclaim (the destiny rules remix) (1/1), Teen

Sam/Jack. This isn't actually a new fic. I'm updating my Tumblr fanfic page and realized that I'd never actually put this on here, so here we are!

@amaradangeli asked me what I would write if I could make an alternate ending to Forfeit. Well, here it is. Thanks for waiting an embarrassingly long time for it. <3

Because this fic is very different from Forfeit, I'm considering it a remix. You don't have to read Forfeit to understand this one (and mind the warnings of that fic if you do decide to read it).

Many sincere thanks to @sharim28 for the beta. She's wonderful. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

-----

She’s supposed to be on vacation by now.

She’s been thinking about a trip on her motorcycle for a month already; her plan is to ride into New Mexico, or maybe Utah. She hasn’t decided yet, but she’s got almost two weeks and this time she doesn’t want to stay at home.

The General asked them to meet in the briefing room at the last minute, and it had only taken minutes for Daniel and the Colonel to start fidgeting and checking their watches. She thinks that Daniel has a conference in Chicago he’s anxious to attend (although she suspects that, like her, he's just ready to get out of Colorado), and she guesses that the Colonel is going fishing. She's stopped asking, and he's stopped telling her.

She’s just about to clear her throat pointedly at the Colonel’s incessant tapping when the General walks into the room with a folder in his hand. The look on his face as he sits has her mentally kissing her Indian goodbye.

Apparently the Colonel has the same impression. "Sir..." His tone is borderline insubordinate, but that's normal.

A corner of the General's mouth turns up, but he sounds regretful. "I'm sorry, Colonel. The Redalians are asking for a renegotiation of the mining rights agreement."

To her left, Daniel sighs. "Why?"

"Their planting season is approaching. They've noticed some unanticipated runoff on their fields from the nearby naquada mines, and they're concerned that it will adversely affect crop growth."

Daniel's ready to go, but it's obvious he can understand the Redalians' concerns. "They want us to shift our mining operations before the season starts?" At Hammond's nod, Daniel sighs. "That sounds reasonable. But?"

She pipes up then. "But our surveys so far show the naquada deposits are concentrated in one area. We've been taking samples from areas outside the city, but so far we haven't discovered any deposits large enough to warrant mining."

"So setting up shop somewhere else isn't an option, then?" The Colonel asks, brows raised.

"No," the General replies. "In the meantime, the Redalians have shut down the mining operation, effectively cutting off one of our largest sources of naquada."

"Which has the Pentagon up in arms,” the Colonel finishes. Sardonically enough that she has to smile down at the table.

"Yes. We're agreeing to immediate negotiations in the hopes that we can resume operations as soon as possible."

Beside her, Daniel is leaning forward. "Where do we fit in?"

"SG-1 was the team who negotiated the original agreement, so you're the most familiar with the situation."

She's suppressing another grin as the General raises his hand to forestall whatever the Colonel is about to say. "However, because it's been some time since SG-1 as a team has had downtime, I'm assigning SG-2 to the negotiations. Having said that, I'd still like one of you to accompany them to the proceedings."

"General"-

"Colonel, the Redalian leadership knows you. They trust you. SG-2 is very capable of handling this, but I believe the presence of a member of SG-1 at the negotiations would make them more comfortable with whatever compromise we reach. Since Teal'c has already left to visit his son, that leaves one of you."

The General taps his papers on the table as he rises. "SG-2 leaves this afternoon at 1500. I'll leave it to your discretion to decide who will accompany them."

He says the last to the Colonel, and leaves the three of them standing in the briefing room. The Colonel looks at Daniel first.

"No." Daniel says firmly.

The Colonel just continues to stare. "You're the best qualified for this thing."

“Jack, I’ve already bought the tickets.”

She watches the Colonel watch the rest of his team. For a moment his eyes settle on her and she’s afraid that he’s going to order her to go.

But then he sighs heavily and shoves his hand through his hair. “Okay, no one wants to give up their downtime. I say we draw straws.”

It’s a reasonable solution to their problem. “Okay,” she relents. “Fair enough, sir.”

Daniel’s not as gracious. “Fine.” He sounds annoyed, and the bite in his voice tells her just how desperate he is to get it over with.

Colonel O’Neill disappears down the hall.

Daniel moves wordlessly to the window to stare at the stargate. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, and tries to think of something to say that will make peace while they wait. “What’s in Chicago?”

“A three-day conference on Egyptology.”

She can’t help but raise her eyebrows. “Only three days? What do you plan to do with the other seven?”

“I don’t know, Sam. Go to the museums. Do some writing. Relax. Something completely unrelated to the stargate.”

The belligerence in his voice makes her blink in surprise. “Okay. I’m sorry.” She means it, although she’s not sure for what exactly she’s apologizing.

He winces as he turns. “No, it’s just”-

“Okay!” The Colonel sweeps into the room, ending whatever it was that Daniel was going to say. “Let’s do this.”

He puts his back to them as he lines up three straws of varied lengths in his hand. When he’s done, he offers them first to Daniel, who picks the last straw.

Sam draws next, and although the Colonel hasn’t revealed the straw he was left with, she knows immediately that she’s lost.

It’s definitely the short straw.

Relieved, Daniel tosses his medium-length straw into the trash. “Well…okay. I’m going to go ahead and go. I’ll see you guys in two weeks.” And then he’s out the door, obviously trying to get out of the mountain before something else comes up.

The Colonel, of course, is grinning. “Cheer up, Carter. This probably won’t take long. Two, three days tops, and then you can go do…whatever it is you do.”

She knows he’s kidding, really she does. But she can’t help but feel like she’s being dismissed, or patronized, or something, and she can’t explain it so she lets it go.

“Yes sir,” she replies on a sigh and watches him leave.

-----

She’s going to have to scream soon. That, or pass out.

She’s on a stretcher, and she can see the top of the stargate as they pass through. She doesn’t know who is carrying her, but she doesn’t really care as long as they stop moving soon.

She catches a glimpse of Griff to her left – he’s holding a bandage to his ear, which is bleeding so badly it has colored his neck black. He’d been lying next to her when the MALP was hit, and she remembers him trying to pull her out of the path of the blast. She hopes it’s not as bad as it looks.

Janet appears above her, and she tries to blink to get rid of the black dots swimming in the air. Then someone is squirting something wet and cold in her eyes. It burns. She has to squeeze her eyes shut to get them to stop.

She thinks Janet is saying something to her, can see her lips moving, but all she can hear is a weird sort of buzzing that drowns everything else out.

She feels herself being lifted onto something soft, a gurney maybe, and they are sliding her over and she’s going to scream soon. There’s a hand tugging at her arm, one at her good knee, and hands at her neck, and they’re turning her onto her side.

This time she does scream. Loudly. She knows because she can hear it.

She’s moving, and she’s fascinated by the lights as they whoosh above her. Eventually all she can see is the outlines of the people around her and it’s enough to send her into blackness.

Later (it has to be much later because the pain is dull and her face feels clean) she wakes and looks to her left. The Colonel and Teal’c are on the next bed watching her, and Colonel O’Neill pushes away from where he’s sitting on the edge to move over her.

She opens her mouth – she thinks she does – but nothing comes out. So she closes her eyes again.

The next time she wakes it’s because her right side feels like it’s being torn apart. She can feel the pain but she can’t move, and she’s terrified. It’s possible she’s crying, but she can’t be sure.

A long moment passes before Colonel O’Neill appears again, and she feels his hand on her arm, warmly pressing against the inside of her elbow. He’s talking, but not loud enough to push past the buzzing silence. He must figure out that she’s not taking anything in, because he stops and his eyes tighten in a way she’s come to recognize as concern.

He doesn’t move away, and she passes out again as his hand tightens on her elbow.

When she wakes again she knows it’s the last time. She’s not sure how much time has passed, but the infirmary is dark and there’s no movement that she can see. She’s having trouble processing things; she can think and see, but everything is slow and tight, like thread being pulled through closed fingers. She’s not as aware as she should be.

But she still feels his hand on her arm.

He’s in the same place he was before, only this time he’s sitting. His arm is outstretched, and her eyes follow the dips and lines of light along it to where his shoulders are level with the bed. His head is bowed.

She can sense Teal’c somewhere. The charge she always feels around him says he’s close, but she doesn’t see him. Knowing he’s there is enough.

She wants to move, and is surprised at the urge she feels to slide her hand over and into the Colonel’s hair. It’s a kind of comfort she’s never been able to give him. She really wants to give it to him now.

She wants to ask where Daniel is. Wants to take in the affection and passion that she’s always associated with who he is. But she remembers the way he was, and that’s enough too.

She tries to move her arm a little to get the Colonel’s, Jack’s, attention, and is dully surprised at how hard it is to manage just a wiggle.

It works immediately. His head jerks up, and he’s on his feet in a second looking down at her. He says something that she thinks is Carter, but she can’t hear it. She would panic at the knowledge, but the panic would be a waste of this precious energy.

This energy that is unnatural. She’s seen it before, and knows it won’t last.

She thinks: I am going to die. The thought is just there. I am going to die.

She thinks maybe that’s okay. What else is there to do? Maybe she knew it before, before the dark when the lights were rushing by, and then she thinks, before when? Before what? And she doesn’t know anymore.

But Jack is still standing over her, moving his hand to hers. He’s never held her hand before when she was in the infirmary. It makes her cry. She’s not sure if he sees so she tries her best to squeeze his hand, feels him return the pressure.

She can see his eyes, warm and sad. She’s glad for it even as she wishes she didn’t recognize the look in them. She uses up the rest of her energy on a painful smile and hopes he understands what she’s trying to tell him.

She falls asleep.

-—-

The power of an endless explosion sends Sam flying; she falls through the rushing darkness and there’s no sound and no ground and no tether, and she thinks this is dying--

But then there’s warmth, a hand holding hers. An anchor.

She clings to it and the rushing stops.

-—-

She wakes up on a Saturday. Jack is waiting beside her.

So many things happen around her after that, but she’s only vaguely aware of it; her hearing is slightly better in her left ear than when she came through the gate, but it might be completely gone in her right. She thinks her vision is clear but she’s so drugged up it’s hard to tell for sure. In the lulls between doses, agony spreads down her side from her ribs to her knee, and in those moments she wonders if the rushing darkness was a better choice.

Then those moments pass, and the Colonel’s eyes remind her why it wasn’t.

-—-

“Do you remember what I said to you before you left?” Daniel asks her one night, out of nowhere.

He’s sitting in an uncomfortable chair beside her bed, balancing two textbooks and a notebook on his lap, poised for work he’s not actually doing. He’s barely left her bedside since he got back from Chicago, like he’s afraid she’s going to disappear if he’s gone too long.

The days since Sam came back through the gate stretch and bend and turn, and it takes her a minute to even summon the idea of a ‘before.’ When she does, all she can picture is a briefing like they’ve always had, sitting next to Jack like she almost always did, waiting for a go.

“At the briefing?” she asks, wanting to cringe at the dull sound of her own voice.

“After the briefing,” he says. He’s still looking at his books, smoothing the pages down even though there aren’t any creases she can see. “I snapped at you.”

She looks inward, searches for the memory. It takes a while, because things don’t connect like they used to.

There’s a flash and a sting, and there it is. “The museums,” she murmurs. “You wanted to see the museums.”

His hand stills on the page. “Yeah. I wanted to see the museums.”

“Did you get to go?”

Daniel laughs. Or maybe he cries; the two don’t seem so different right now. “No.”

She studies him, the way his shoulders are hunched and he won’t look up. Unbidden, the last thing he said to Sha’re when she was still Sha’re rises in Sam’s mind, a cascade of connections she can’t stop now that they’re formed.

No no, I won’t be long.

She wonders at his fascination with words, at his obsession with having the right words. She wonders if it’s because of the terror that comes with thinking they’ll be the last thing he ever gets to say to a person he loves.

“Maybe when I’m out of here we could go,” she offers gently. She didn’t blame him for his feelings then, and she doesn’t blame him now. “You could give me the tour.”

She watches him swallow, watches him smooth out one last invisible wrinkle before he looks up at her. His eyes are red-rimmed, but bright. “I’d really like that.”

-—-

The day Sam is notified that she’s being medically retired from the Air Force, her father comes home.

They’ve been slowly preparing her for the transfer from the mountain to a VA rehab hospital in town, and now that she’s going to be a civilian soon, it becomes more urgent. Janet and a nurse are helping her sit up unsupported on the edge of the bed for the first time when Jacob appears, the Colonel lagging behind him.

Jacob stalls just short of reaching her, an arm’s length away, and stares.

She hasn’t seen a mirror in days, but she knows how she must look; bandages cover more of her than her gown, and she feels bruised and swollen everywhere she isn’t covered. It’s hard to look Jacob in the eyes, because they speak volumes: shock and sadness and something else she can’t name.

“Hey kiddo.” His voice is barely audible, but she hears it loud and clear: the something else becomes pride, and it’s that pride, more than the agony and the fear and the relentless fatigue, that overwhelms her.

“Dad,” she manages, and then she bursts into tears.

He folds her into his arms, gentle but enveloping, and she lays her head on his shoulder like she did as a little girl. She remembers she used to think he could hold her and the stars all at the same time, and how nothing scary could touch her when he did.

It’s just the same.

It hurts to cry, and she’s so tired, so she takes deep, hiccuping breaths through her tears. When she finally looks up, Janet and the nurse are gone, but the Colonel—Jack, now, for good—is in the same spot, staring at the floor.

-----

She settles into the rehab hospital, at least on the outside. On the inside, she feels more unsettled by the day.

Daniel and Teal’c come by often, so often that Sam wonders if they’re not going off-world at all. Her heart aches when she thinks about them stepping through the Stargate without her, and she’s ashamed to be glad they aren’t, so she doesn’t ask.

Jack visits too, although he never stays long when her father is around. There’s a strange tension between them that they seem unwilling to acknowledge, and she’s too busy trying to understand her new reality to figure out theirs.

Everything feels wrong. She’s finally able to wear something other than a gown, but her clothes don’t fit anymore, baggy in some places and stuffy in others. The bedsheets are both too soft and too scratchy. She’s able to eat more food but it tastes too different from the base infirmary’s. There are too many windows, so her room feels bright and shiny and she doesn’t, and she longs for the cool, unchanging dark of the mountain.

And even though she knows it’s not objectively true, she feels as weak as a baby. She can barely stand on her own, and even then she can't stand up straight because the pain and the pull in her abdomen make her weep. It’s a miracle she didn’t lose her right leg, but it’s near to useless now and even with the best possible outcome of her stay here, it’ll never never be as strong as it was before, function like it did before.

It’s like she slid sideways into an alternate reality, and at any moment she’s going to slide back into the right one, and all of this will be just a weird memory from somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.

The feeling persists through her first week in the hospital and intensifies during the weeks that follow. She’s pushing and pulling herself through therapy that has her relearning how to do the most basic tasks. It’s exhausting and most of the time she doesn’t know what day it is unless her dad or one of her physical therapists mention it.

One day, several weeks into her stay, Teal’c appears unannounced in her room. He’s so large yet so silent that her physical therapist startles badly when she turns to find him waiting patiently behind her as she finishes up a session.

Teal’c tilts his head, confused by her reaction. The PT excuses herself, flustered, and the scene is just absurd enough that Sam smiles despite herself. Teal’c catches it and his dark eyes warm, and he bows a little in good humor.

For a brief moment, she feels almost normal. But then she tries to stand to greet him, moves too quickly and loses her balance amidst a sharp stab of pain that travels all the way up her side, and she has to stoop, lean back against the bed to catch her breath. Teal’c steadies her with a hand to her good hip, and the moment flees, that frustrating, twirling feeling of wrongness rushing back in to sap the levity away.

It’s just starting to warm up, the fickle Colorado weather teasing a beautiful Spring day, so Teal’c coaxes her outside in that gentle way he has—not imposing, but impossible to resist anyway.

She’s not strong or steady enough for walking aids yet, so he pushes her through the hospital garden in the wheelchair that’s become a sullen companion. She tries to find something in the landscape to ground herself in; some kind of connection, or maybe a sign that her world will right itself somehow.

There’s a storm threatening the horizon, still far away and lingering over the mountains. She watches the lightning jump from cloud to cloud, the waves of translucent gray underneath signaling oncoming rain, as Teal’c parks them in an area that overlooks the rest of the grounds.

He moves to stand beside her, not looking at her, instead following her eyes to the horizon. “You have been troubled for some time.”

She swallows. She doesn’t know what to say to describe it, how displaced she feels in her own mind, her own skin. She shifts restlessly, a half-shrug, hoping he’ll accept her silence instead of an answer.

But it’s Teal’c, and he’s never been afraid of silence in the way that humans often are; he’s always been willing to let others dwell in it if they need to, as long as they need to. He lays his hand on her back, his palm big and warm against her shoulder blade, and she can feel his patience, but also his expectation.

In the distance, the clouds rumble and roll. “This…it just doesn’t feel right,” she replies eventually.

“The hospital? It is my understanding that your stay here is temporary. You will grow stronger, and return home in time.”

“No, I don’t mean here.” She can’t help the frustrated tears that clog her voice. “I mean this,” she gestures angrily at the chair, at a body that will never be the same. “All of this. My life. It feels wrong.”

“I feel like-” she starts, and then stops just as quickly, trying to force out the thing that’s slithered through her thoughts since she woke up in the middle of the night with Jack holding her hand, anchoring her back to a world she’d let go of.

The only way to get it out is to whisper it. “I feel like I’m not supposed to be here.”

Teal’c doesn’t make a sound in reply, and when she can bring herself to look up at him, she sucks in a breath at what she sees. He looks like she’s gutted him.

He steps forward, and when he kneels in front of her wheelchair, she understands what a gift it is. Teal’c, who kneels for no one.

“Samantha Carter,” he tells her, softly enough that she has to lean in and turn her good ear toward him. “You are alive. You are with us.”

He reaches out and presses his fingers under her chin so her eyes are steady on his. “This is where you are meant to be.”

She grabs his hand, presses it against her cheek, closes her eyes. She holds him there for a moment, hoping his certainty will sink into her skin and she’ll believe it too. Then she opens her eyes again, nods, and lets their hands fall into her lap.

They stay like that for a long time, looking out at the mountains, until the storm forces them back inside.

——

Sam starts to dream.

Half the time, it’s not even related to the explosion on Redalia—sometimes she’s 30 floors below the desert clutching a dead little girl, sometimes she’s baking cookies in an empty house. And sometimes it’s just a deep, bottomless darkness enveloping her, cold wind pressing against her back as she descends.

When she wakes, she’s wild-eyed, her heart is racing, and the sheets make her feel claustrophobic. She’s left in bed for hours, staring at the light coming in under her door from the hallway, trying to convince herself that she’s really alive.

One morning following a bad night Jack arrives while she’s settling into the sofa in her room. She’s just walked the short way from her bed with her new forearm crutch, unassisted by her PT. It’s a small thing, but it was something she couldn’t do last week. Despite her fatigue, something finally feels like a victory.

He pauses at the door until she waves him in, and she must look as flushed and pleased as she feels, because he gives her a smile. It’s a rare, genuine one, and warmth spreads over her skin all over again.

“Good morning?” he asks as he sits in the chair beside her.

She nods proudly at the crutch resting against the cushion next to her leg. “I walked over here by myself.”

“That’s great.” Jack studies the crutch, a generic one the hospital provided. “That looks a little too station-wagony for you, though.”

She laughs a little. “I’ll work my way up to the corvette.”

She sighs, massaging her injured leg a little absently, and looks up to find him watching her, his eyes moving over her face.

He must see something there, because he tilts his head. “You okay?”

She shrugs one shoulder. “Just a rough night. Couldn’t sleep.”

He’s still watching her, closely enough that she has to resist the urge to squirm. “That happening a lot?”

She smiles, rueful, and shrugs again.

“You could call me,” he says softly, in the tone he uses when he knows he’s toeing a line that they don’t often cross.

She wants to accept the comfort, but habit has her giving him an out. “It’s okay. There’s no reason to keep us both up.”

”I want you to,” he tells her. “I’ll come keep you company.”

She can’t help the skeptical side-eye. “You’re going to get in here in the middle of the night?” She’s pretty sure the hospital has visiting hours, and the twilight hours aren’t among them.

To her amusement, he looks a little offended. “If I can infiltrate a goa’uld mothership, I think I can find my way into this place.”

She’s still skeptical and not a little unsure when she calls him the next night, after a particularly bad dream featuring Bynar. But true to his word, he shows up half an hour later with a pint of ice cream and a VHS full of Simpsons episodes. They finish the pint together, watch TV for hours, and when he leaves just before dawn, she’s dozing dreamlessly.

She doesn’t call Jack every night. She rations his attention like it's a resource that’ll run out at any moment, because she’s still not sure it won’t. Still, he always comes when she calls, always brings a snack because he knows she gets peckish late at night, always brings something that will distract her from whatever woke her up.

He never presses her to talk about it. In fact, they hardly talk about anything of substance at all, and the longer it goes on, the more trouble she has understanding what they’re doing. He clearly enjoys the time with her, but there’s something else underneath it.

Sometimes, when he thinks she’s asleep, he’ll just stand and watch her, and she can hear him take deep, measured breaths like he used to do in the field when he was enduring the pain of a bad wound.

Early one morning there’s an awkward (and, in hindsight, probably inevitable) moment where Jack crosses paths with her dad, him going out as Jacob’s coming in. She’d almost had a full night of sleep before the darkness had terrorized her, so she hadn’t called him until very late. Jack stays longer than he normally does, just sitting with her until she’s drowsy enough to fall back asleep, and she’s just on the cusp of it when her father's low voice rouses her.

“O’Neill,” Jacob says.

“General,” Jack replies, just as stiffly.

She doesn’t open her eyes completely, just enough to see them both under her eyelashes. Jack’s back is to her, but she can see her father stalled in the doorway, looking between her bed and Jack.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have a team to lead?” Jacob asks, in a way that’s so obviously taunting that a bolt of unease brings her back to wakefulness.

There’s several long beats of silence. “No. I’m where I’m needed.”

“Are you, now?” her father asks quietly.

“Yes. I am.” Jack looks over his shoulder at her. She can’t make out the look on his face. “She’s had a long night. You should let her sleep,” he says, then he steps around Jacob and disappears.

She closes her eyes before her father moves again, and neither man seems to have noticed that she was awake, but she still expects one of them to at least mention the encounter in the days after. Neither does, and it’s another piece in a frustrating puzzle, because she hasn’t even begun to form its edges.

She finally breaks a week later. It’s two in the morning, and Sam’s sitting up in bed, absently chewing a pretzel while Jack sets up a game of chess on a bedside table they’ve pulled over. Jack’s elected to sit close tonight, right next to her on the bed so that his thigh warms hers.

He’s working in silence, taking his time, and she takes the opportunity to really look at him. She wonders if he’s having nightmares too, if maybe he needs the companionship as much as she does.

He looks tired.

“Hey,” she says gently, putting her hand on his knee where it rests against her hip. “Why are you here?”

He gives her a look. “You called me.”

“Jack,” she chides. Somehow she’s certain he’s being deliberately obtuse. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you going off-world? Daniel said he and Teal’c have been temporarily assigned to other teams. Did something happen?”

He freezes, the queen in his hand hovering over the board, and for a second it’s so quiet she can hear the ticking of the air conditioner coming through the vents in the ceiling. He sets the piece down on its square.

“Did something happen,” he repeats dully, staring at the chessboard.

Oh. She squeezes her eyes closed. “That’s—“

He slides his hand over her arm to the sensitive skin inside her elbow. The sensation of calluses on her skin stops the words in her throat, and she watches as his index finger lightly touches a jagged, bright pink cut that’s healed enough to be heading towards a scar.

“I’m taking some time. Extended leave. It was that or retirement,” he says, pulling back and continuing to set up the board. He doesn’t look at her. “Hammond chose leave.”

She blinks rapidly. “Will you tell me why?”

He picks up the last piece, a black pawn, and places it carefully on the board. His eyes flick up at her, then back down at his lap.

He shakes his head, once, and then turns the chess board toward her. “White goes first.”

She swallows, then squeezes his knee. “Okay,” she says, and considers her first move.

—-

Getting used to the forearm crutch is slow-going. Every day she uses it for a little longer, but today she and Dad aren’t walking far; just from the door to the garden, around the even-tiled terrace with it’s beautiful view, and then back inside. They’ve barely made it to the terrace and already she’s a little breathless.

Sensing her fatigue, her Dad starts to curl his hand under her arm to support her, and she shakes him off with a jerk and an irritated glance. He puts up his hands to show he’s backing off, and she sighs.

She’s learning a whole new rhythm for walking, moving her still-healing leg in time with the crutch, adjusting to a more limited gait while keeping her balance, and it’s exhausting. That along with the slow pace is making her impatient and short-tempered. She’s so tired of being tired.

Still, she’s trying not to ruin the time she still has with her Dad, so she takes a deep lungful of air and blows it back out again. “Sorry,” she mumbles, and out of the corner of her eye she sees him smile a little in reply.

The Tok’ra have been calling, so to speak, and she knows through Daniel that they’ve been putting pressure on her father to resume his duties on the High Council. It’s been months, so it makes sense. That doesn’t mean she’s ready for him to go.

“When do you have to go back?” Sam asks, trying to hide the breathlessness in her voice.

“Who says I have to go back?”

“Dad,” she admonishes. “I love having you here, you know I do. But I also understand if you need to get back. I know how important your work is to you and Selmak.”

He puts a hand on her elbow to bring them both to a stop, and it’s Selmak who speaks. “Nothing is more important to your father than you. Nor to me.”

Because she can’t talk through the rush of emotion that prompts, she leans up and kisses his cheek instead. This time, she’s the one to put her arm through his as she resumes walking. “So what are you going to tell them?”

“That we’re the oldest and wisest among them, and we’ll return when it’s time to return, and not a minute before,” Jacob says, and she grins at his stubbornness. Knowing him, it’s exactly what he’ll say.

“What about you?” he asks.

She frowns a little. “What about me?”

“You’re healing, making progress. The doctors are already talking about your transition out. Have you thought about what you want to do once you get home?”

General Hammond has made it clear that she has her pick of jobs—whatever she decides she wants, he’ll make it happen. It’s not that she isn’t grateful—it’s a huge privilege to have an advocate in someone like the General. But she tries to picture herself in her poorly-lit lab, floors away from the Stargate and any action, studying technology other teams have discovered. Then she tries to imagine standing in front of a classroom full of cadets bored by formulaic math, just trying to pass a class on their way to pulling Gs.

Neither of those pictures fit. When she thinks home, she pictures the gate room, walking up the ramp and trying not to laugh at the Colonel and Daniel‘s banter, the cold, thrilling embrace of a wormhole, the foreign smells and sounds of a new planet.

But that doesn’t fit anymore, either. That won’t be home ever again.

So she shrugs, tight-lipped. “I don’t know. I think it’s too early to think about it.” She can practically feel her father’s disapproval, so she deliberately lightens the tone as they start around the other side of the terrace, back towards the entrance to the hospital. “But the guys are apparently planning a big ‘breakout bash.’ I’m told there’ll be cake and barbecue. Jack’s even agreed to keep his beer off the steaks.”

Her father’s arm tenses against hers, and he flexes his neck a little in annoyance. “How thoughtful of Colonel O’Neill.”

The subtly derisive tone, the way he emphasizes Jack’s rank, has her back up immediately. She certainly never thought her father would approve of the feelings she and Jack couldn’t acknowledge while they were in the same chain of command, but that’s not the case anymore, and his judgmental tone rankles. She slows down even more, forcing him to turn toward her. “Dad. Stop.”

“What? I said it was thoughtful, didn’t I?” he says with barely restrained belligerence.

He steps forward as if to continue toward the door, but she plants her feet and looks up at the sky for a moment in frustration. “Yeah, but you and I both know that’s not what you meant. I need you to get over this.”

“Get over it?” Jacob draws up sharply, expression incredulous. “Get over the fact that he completely abdicated his responsibility as a commanding officer and came very close to getting my kid killed?”

She’s stunned into silence, mind spinning. She’d thought the tension between the two men had been borne out of her father's discomfort with her burgeoning closeness with her former CO, but this? This is so much worse. “That’s not what happened.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” she says, horrified. “We all agreed to draw straws. It could have been any of us.”

“It should never have even been an option,” he says, nearly yelling, his eyes hard. “Jack was the officer in charge, and he should have been the one to go on that mission. He didn’t. He’s the reason you’re here.”

“Yeah, Dad,” she says, voice high and thready because her throat aches with all the truth she can’t say. She can’t tell him about those last few moments—how she’d accepted death, how it felt like being torn apart but also a little like falling asleep, and how, if it hadn’t been for Jack’s eyes and Jack’s hand and Jack’s absolute refusal to let her go, she would have just kept falling. “He is.”

Birds sing in the trees, and the wind whips her hair into her face while she and her father look everywhere but at each other.

“I don’t understand how you can just forgive him for this,” he finally says.

She shakes her head, turning into the wind to cool her face. Then she meets his eyes so he knows she means it. “I don’t need to forgive him.”

Jacob doesn’t respond, just stares at her, jaw ticking.

There’s nothing left to say, so she passes him, covering the remaining distance to the door alone.

——

The day she’s released from hospital the guys come to pick her up in Janet’s minivan.

It doesn’t take them long to load up what Dad hadn’t already taken to her house, so they all pile in and wait patiently while she eases herself into a seat. Then she looks at Teal’c in the seat next to her, his knees pressing into the back of the driver’s seat, cowboy hat crushed up against the roof, and she laughs until she cries.

They take her straight to Jack’s house for the party. When Daniel suggested having it the same day she was discharged, she’d really only agreed because he seemed so excited about it. Secretly, she’s been afraid it would be too much, that she’s changed too much to enjoy it.

Now it’s time to find out if that’s true.

Jack comes around to help her out of the van, and keeps hold of her arm as they walk up. She lets him.

As they get to his front door, she sees a gently-sloped ramp covering the steps to his door and she stops them both in surprise. When she looks up at him, he shrugs. “Figured it’d be easier at first.”

Daniel pauses too, then throws a look at Jack as he passes that she can’t decipher.

Inside, Cassie is practically hovering in the entryway. “I thought you’d never get here. You drive that van like a grandpa.”

Jack looks indignant. “I do not,” he tips his head at Sam as he hangs up their coats. “You’re just used to Carter driving like she’s in NASCAR.”

She hasn’t driven anything in an eternity. “Please, F1 at least,” she says when she finds her voice. “Only Marines can’t make anything but left turns.”

Then she lifts the arm not holding her crutch, and Cassie rushes right into it. Sam feels Jack’s hand on her back, steadying her when the motion threatens to push her off balance.

Cassie had visited her in the hospital a few times, but it hadn’t been the same. Sam only needs to dip her head a little to press her cheek into the top of Cassie’s head, and the herby smell of her shampoo, of all things, makes her tear up. “Oh, I missed you.”

There’s pain where Cassie squeezes her around her waist, but Sam doesn’t care. “I missed you too,” Cassie says, muffled against her shoulder.

Sam lets herself hold Cassie for another few moments, then lets her go with one last squeeze. “I hope you’ve been supervising?” she asks brightly as Cassie steps back.

“Yep,” Cassie replies, grinning at Jack. “I made Teal’c promise to watch the grill.”

“Oh, go make yourself useful somewhere,” he retorts, pushing her playfully down the hall in front of him, Cassie snickering all the way.

Sam follows at her own pace, and gets distracted by the living room. Jack has rearranged it to fit another ramp on the steps leading down, and for a minute she’s stymied by it.

Daniel steps up beside her, puts his arm around her. They look down at Jack’s living room.

She gestures at it. “Did you know he was doing this?”

“Uh, no. This is the first I’m seeing it,” he says. And then there’s that look again. “But I can’t say I’m surprised.”

She frowns at him, but he just squeezes her shoulder, and goes outside to help Teal’c.

She blows out a breath, then turns and makes her way to the kitchen. She finds Jack there, arranging the potluck-style dishes, putting serving spoons next to them for when it’s time to eat. He has the look of someone doing busywork to avoid having to interact with other people. She can relate.

Still, when he looks up and sees that it’s her coming in, his shoulders seem to relax a little. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she replies, leaning against the counter opposite him. She props her crutch up next to her, pulls her arm out to give it a rest.

“You want a drink?”

“Please,” she says gratefully, rubbing her wrist lightly. He goes to the fridge and pulls out a diet coke for her and a beer for himself. It’s not the beer she suddenly longs for (and can’t have, thanks to her medication), but it’ll do.

She opens the can, takes a sip. It burns going down, but in a good way. She fiddles with the tab, pushing it right and left. Jack opens his beer, flicking the top into the trash in the corner—impressive—then settles across from her, watching her.

“Thank you for…everything,” she tells him. “You’ve been so thoughtful, I…” she stops, laughing a bit at her own stumbling. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells her quietly. “I want you to be comfortable here.”

Something in his voice makes her look up sharply, searching his face. There’s an intensity there that makes her pulse start to run.

He puts his beer down onto the counter and steps toward her, reaching out to touch her arm. “Carter—”

“General Hammond is here,” Janet says from the doorway, startling Sam and making Jack drop his hand.

Janet leans in further, looks more closely at the two of them. “Sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

Jack smiles tightly. “No.”

Sam straightens. “We’ll be right there, Janet.”

Janet raises an eyebrow, but nods. “Okay,” she says, leaving with one last disbelieving look at Sam.

Sighing, she threads her arm back into her crutch and goes to greet the General, Jack following.

It’s always strange to see him in plain clothes, the man who’s been a giant in her life since she was a little girl. Stranger still, because their relationship, like everything, has changed yet again, she’s not sure how to navigate it now when it isn’t governed by military courtesies.

“Sir,” she and Jack say simultaneously, and for some reason it makes her cringe.

The General seems amused by them both. He and Jack shake hands. “Jack, thank you for hosting.” Then he turns back to Sam and places his hands on her shoulders.

She straightens under his review. She has the strongest memory of being 8 years old and standing at attention in front of him, trying to impress him with how still and serious she could be. She remembers how he hadn’t laughed as other men might have, but had taken her shoulders just like this and nodded with approval.

At ease, Sam.

“I’m glad to see you, Sam,” he tells her gently.

The pride in his voice is unmistakable, and she can’t help but lean in for a hug. “You too, Uncle George,” she whispers. He pats her back in response, then pulls back.

When he steps around her and Jack to join the others, she looks back toward the door and finds her father waiting on the threshold.

His presence is so unexpected that for a few seconds Sam can only stare. He’d left the hospital before the guys had shown up, and Sam had assumed that was intentional, that he was still too angry with her and with Jack to stick around, even to celebrate her homecoming.

And yet, here he is.

She risks a look at Jack. He’s standing close to her side, like he used to when he sensed trouble deep in the shadows of the trees, and he looks so braced that Sam’s heart runs up into her throat.

She opens her mouth to say something, anything, to prevent this from escalating into something they can’t come back from, but Jacob cuts her off before she can begin.

“I’m not over it,” he says, as rigid as he was that day on the terrace. “I don’t know that I’ll ever be. I’m sorry, Sam.”

The sound of happy chatter, clanging plates wafts in from behind them, punctuating the bubble of discord around them. “Dad—”

“But I think I can manage a beer,” he tells Jack, surprising her again. “If you have room for one more.”

It’s not an olive branch. That might never come. But Jacob is trying, and he’s doing it for her, and it might be the best she can hope for right now.

Ultimately, though, it’s not an offer that’s hers to accept, and she can only stand silently, waiting for Jack.

“Of course,” Jack says beside her, at length. “There’s always room for you, Jacob.” It’s guarded, but honest, and Sam releases a breath she didn’t even know she was holding.

Jacob nods, kisses her cheek, then follows General Hammond’s path through the house.

She and Jack linger, as if to recover their bearings in the aftermath of her father.

Jack clears his throat. “I guess I better get him that beer.”

She gives a strangled laugh, reaching out for his arm. She wants to thank him for being so good with her dad, despite how poorly he’s treated Jack, but somehow she knows that’d be the wrong thing to say. Instead, she squeezes his arm and hopes he gets what she’s trying to convey.

He seems to. He covers her hand, squeezes, then lets go.

They go back to the party.

—

She mingles, talks to as many people as she can. The guest list turns out to be fairly small, just people she works closely with on base (she’s sure she has Jack to thank for that), and it’s genuinely wonderful to see them all. But by the time she’s made the rounds and people start filing out, Sam’s exhausted.

She’s said goodbye to her dad, who left with General Hammond earlier, and to Daniel and Teal’c just a few minutes ago.

Now it’s just Janet and Cassie left, so she walks them to the door. Janet’s eyeing Sam’s posture judgmentally, and this time she can’t blame her. Her leg aches, and she knows she’s overdone it on the standing because she can feel the muscles in her back cramping and her crutch arm is sore. She knows she probably looks as worn out as she feels.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?” Janet asks again.

Sam looks over her shoulder into the house, where she catches a glimpse of Jack cleaning up, giving them space to talk. She turns back to Janet and smiles. “I’m good.”

“Okay. You have all your medication?” Janet asks, in full doctor mode.

“I do,” Sam replies dutifully.

“Good. Please actually take it.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Dr. Frasier.”

“I saw that,” Janet chides, gives Sam a hug, then moves outside so Cassie can too.

“Have fun,” Cassie whispers suggestively in her ear before she lets go.

Like that’s even an option for her right now. “Goodnight, Cassie,” she replies, stepping back.

Cassie winks as Sam closes the door behind them.

Sam sags against the door. It was a good day, but a long one, and all she wants to do is sit and rest and catch her breath. She sighs, straightens up, intending to go back to the living room, but then her eyes fall on her coat.

A few minutes of peace on Jack’s porch sounds like exactly what she wants, so she grabs it and heads back. She doesn’t see Jack on the way, but she figures he knows where to find her.

The cool air hits her face as soon as she steps outside and she sighs again, this time happily. There’s a cushioned chair set not too far away from where the wide steps open out into the yard, so she picks that one, groaning as she lowers herself down. She lets her crutch drop the short way to the wood, and stretches her right leg out as far as it will extend.

She’s always loved this porch, and not just because of the good memories the team’s made here, of which there are many. She loves it because it’s another example of Jack’s dedication; it’s a reminder of how hard he worked to build something solid, something that can withstand bad weather and a shifting earth. Kind of like SG-1.

The door slides open behind her.

“Sorry,” she says, not turning around. “I just needed some air.”

“I can’t imagine why,” he says, coming up alongside her. “It’s been nothing but roses and jokes since you got here.” His wryness makes her smile.

He sighs. “We probably shouldn’t have let Daniel do this today.”

She shrugs. “I don’t think it would have been easier any other day.”

He tips his head in concession, taking a swig of the beer he brought out with him.

The sun is setting, throwing pink light over the porch and the green grass that smells like he mowed it today. She breathes in, lets the crisp air fortify her.

“What were you going to say, before, in the kitchen?” she asks before she loses her nerve.

Jack puts his beer up on the railing, turning it and watching the light reflect and fracture on the wood underneath the glass.

“I hear Hammond offered you R&D in Nevada,” he says.

Her brows furrow. She’s not sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t that. “Among other options, yes.”

“Are you going to take it?”

She shifts, uncomfortable in a way that has nothing to do with her leg or the chair. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s an amazing opportunity. It would’ve been even before…all of this. And sometimes I think a fresh start might be best.”

Jack’s gone still; even his fingers are frozen on the bottle. When he speaks again, his voice is strained. “I know I let you down.”

She’s unprepared for the jolt of pain that lances through her, and she has to suck in a breath just to get through it. “That’s not true.”

“It is. I did,“ he says, and she can’t see his face, because he won’t look at her, but she can see his throat working in profile. “And I know it’s not fair to ask you to stay, but I’m asking anyway.”

It’s strange, because her lungs feel so heavy that she feels like all the air has disappeared, even in the openness of the backyard. “Jack.”

He finally turns, and to her shock, kneels on the deck in front of her. His eyes are eloquent. “You can do whatever you want. Teach at the Academy and scout candidates for the program. Consult on base and be the head geek. Ditch it all and work on your Indian all day. Whatever it is you do—” his voice breaks, she breaks too, because she knows they’ve been carrying those words around and the weight nearly killed them both. “Whatever it is you do, Carter, do it here. Do it with me.”

She touches his cheek, and he makes a pained noise, closing his eyes and turning his face into her hand. Emotion has closed her throat, making words impossible, so she leans forward and kisses him instead.

Jack responds immediately, sitting up and pressing her back into the chair. He opens his mouth to hers and she can taste his desperation, feel it in the way his arms come up and around her, pulling her as close as he can get her. She strokes a hand through his hair, wraps her other arm around him, finds him trembling.

When he pulls away and presses his forehead against her chest, Sam tucks her cheek against his hair and just holds him. “I’m here,” she whispers, and he shudders. She blinks hard over burning eyes. “We’ll be okay.”

They breathe together for a long time, until the pink light shrinks to the horizon and the crickets start to chirp.

“Can I stay here tonight?” she asks lowly.

He kisses her collarbone. “You can stay as long as you want.”

“Good,” she says, pulling away slightly. “Because I think I might live in this chair now.”

He laughs, that gratifying, huffing laugh he has, and pulls back. He reaches up, runs his thumb under her eye, wiping away moisture. He scans her face, and she lets him look, hoping he finds whatever he needs there.

He must, because he smiles a little. “Come on, let’s get you inside,” he says, grunting as he stands.

“Are you sure you can make it?” she teases.

He holds out his hands for her, and she takes them. “We’ll manage,” he tells her, and his voice is steady and sure.

She believes him.

——

She doesn’t take the job in Nevada.

In the end, she decides to return to the mountain, leading the science and research division as the world’s foremost expert on the Stargate.

And it’s everything she feared: it’s awkward and uncomfortable as she finds her place there as a scientist instead of an airman. Sometimes the longing to step into a wormhole one more time is so strong that it’s a physical ache. Watching Jack and Daniel and Teal’c go through with someone that isn’t her will never stop being unsettling, no matter how much time passes.

But the fundamentals remain. The charge she gets from studying alien technology is as exhilarating as it ever was, and now she actually has the time to create, to make things that will protect the planet and advance the human race. She doesn’t know it yet, but one day she’ll watch the Prometheus lift out of the ground and ascend to the sky and then to the stars, and she’ll think: I built that.

Sam feels it all, the good and the bad. It’s solid and real and powerful and sometimes it hurts, but it feels right.

At the end of her first week back, it’s her job to give General Hammond and SG-1 a briefing on the properties of the planet they’re about to visit. She stands in front of the table, meets Jack’s eyes across the room, and warms from head to toe at the confidence she finds there. Daniel gives her that same knowing look, but this time she gets it and it takes all her willpower not to roll her eyes at him.

When she looks at Teal’c, he nods at her solemnly, but his eyes are shining.

You are alive. You are with us. This is where you are meant to be.

General Hammond enters the room, and SG-1 stands until he sits. When they’re all settled again, the General nods at her. “Doctor Carter, please begin.”

And she does.

#genie's stuff #sam x jack #stargate sg1 #fanfic #my fic #hurt/comfort #references to canon-typical violence #references to bynar #post-injury recovery #brief body dysmorphia #brief references to dissociation #angst #LOOK LOOK AMARA I DID IT FOR REAL THIS TIME #look what is fandom for if not to revisit your own fanfic 14 years later

[simblr-diary]

#Telera Bynar #Sims 4 #Porträt #Maxis Match #Simblr-Diary #Star Wars #Mirialaner #💚 #maxis match

[amateur-mint]

I am decidedly neutral on the topic of Beckett Mariner's romantic life, to the point where I could not care less about who she ends up with (if anybody) as long as she's happy...

but the concept of her ending up with Boimler of all people after the string of hotties and badasses she's managed to ensnare is objectively funny, and it gets funnier the wider your definition of 'ensnare' gets.

Amina Ramsey, Jennifer Sh'reyan, Jack Ransom, T'lyn (arguable but I like the idea), a string of bad boys, girls, nonbinary babes, and Bynars... and she goes for the raisin boy with the sand allergy.

Brad: I would like to give a shoutout to my fellow nominees, who will now and forever be known as the guys who lost to fuckin' Brad Boimler

#jennifer FUMBLED #star trek lower decks #lower decks #beckett mariner #bradward boimler #jack ransom #marinler

[curator-on-ao3]

Again, cool response to the last question, so I'll let you pick from these options:

And there are things I have fan-fixed in my head to the point that I have to remind myself that the fix-it isn’t part of the actual canon: favourite one of these?

Or

Your/a favourite part of actual canon. Like, maybe something little but it's just so lovely and fitting to you and you're just happy that it exists?

I’ve been a little down on Trek lately, so I’m going to type as fast as I can to brain-dump, in show order, the first things that pop into my mind that I absolutely love in Trek canon:

Kirk calling Nomad his son, the doctor

Christine Chapel’s snark to Roger Korby about schtupping the androids

Mark Leonard’s performance in Balance of Terror

the Horta (a great mama)

“Edith Keeler must die.”

Captain John Christopher, United States Air Force. Serial number 4857932.

Tribbles

the lesson of The Cloud Minders that we must have empathy and listen to others when they tell us about their lived experience in an environment unlike our own

the cheap-ass animation of TAS

Q

Bynars and Minuet

Beverly Crusher’s frustration in Arsenal of Freedom (and the episode’s Good Ship Lollipop joke)

Picard shooting the other version of himself in Time Squared (to clarify: out of respect for those times when we have to stop ourselves from getting caught in loops/doing stupid stuff and we summon up the courage to break a bad cycle and move forward)

K'Ehleyr

Picard out-lawyering the Sheliak

Rachel Garrett; Yar and Castillo

Lal (but I can’t watch the end anymore, it hurts too much)

the Shakespeare and “Set a course for Betazed. Warp 9.” comedy in Ménage a Troi

Best of Both Worlds, I and II (Shelby inclusive)

every conference table discussion in all of TNG

Beverly’s jump in Remember Me (such a damn good episode)

the reveal in Future Imperfect (which one? all of them)

The Dancing Doctor tap dancing with Data

Darmok. And Jalad. At Tenagra.

Ro Laren

Troi saying, “You could have easily been right” to Ro in Disaster

Hugh, Third of Five

the fact that The Next Phase has so many plotholes and they’re forgivable because the episode is so fun and great

Scotty on the holodeck version of the TOS bridge and Picard joining him

Rascals!

Deanna’s “Ancient West” outfit

the Jefferies tube music and make out session in Lessons

Attached. Oh, my heart.

the Enterprise with three nacelles … and that absolutely perfect last shot of the series

“You exist here.”

Sisko’s casual, everyday affection for Jake

“Old Man”

Rejoined. Lenara Khan. The love. That kiss. The emotional stakes. All of it.

the three Ferengi hitting their own heads to try to fix their universal translators so the 20th century Earth military people mimic the movement to try to communicate

every second of Trials and Tribble-ations including Sisko working overtime to stop fuckmaster Dax, tossing the tribbles, Sisko meeting Kirk, “We do not discuss it with outsiders,” and so much more

Kira blaming Bashir for putting the baby inside her when … you know … behind the scenes

The Sons of Mogh helping with the harvest in Children of Time

Far Beyond the Stars — some of the best if not the best science fiction I have ever seen

the monster fakeout (and kindness) in The Sound of Her Voice, even though the end makes me cry

“Computer, erase that entire personal log.”

Solok

Sisko and Kassidy discussing their comfort levels about a simulation in which the reality was segregation

Janeway waterfalling off the sofa to be closer to Mark on the screen

“Warp particles!”

the lizard babies

the two Janeways in Deadlock

Remember (a painfully good Holocaust episode that doesn’t get enough credit and, yes, I know the path the script took and I’m glad it ended up as a B’Elanna episode)

“I don't know what I'm seeking.” “Then I believe you are ready to begin.”

“The child you spoke of, the girl. Her favorite color was red.” Also, Tuvok’s meditation lamp in the window for Kes.

hot damn, Counterpoint, yaaas

everything in Relativity

“The Yankees, in six games.”

Janeway going after Seven in The Voyager Conspiracy

“This is Lieutenant Reginald Barclay at Starfleet Command.” “It's good to hear your voice, Lieutenant. We've been waiting a long time for this moment.” “The feeling is mutual. Unfortunately, the micro-wormhole is collapsing. We have only a few moments.” “Understood. We are transmitting our ship's logs, crew reports, and navigational records to you now.” “Acknowledged. And we're sending you data on some new hyper-subspace technology. We're hoping eventually to use it to keep in regular contact, and we're including some recommended modifications for your comm system.” “We'll implement them as soon as possible.” “There's someone else here who would also like to say something.” “This is Admiral Paris.” “Hello, sir.” “How are your people holding up?” “Very well. They're an exemplary crew, your son included.” “Tell him, tell him I miss him. And I'm proud of him.” “He heard you, Admiral.” “The wormhole is collapsing.” “I want you all to know we're doing everything we can to bring you home.” “We appreciate it, sir. Keep a docking bay open for us.”

“Nice hair.” (Live Fast and Prosper)

Janeway and Jaffen in Workforce

the spot-on legal concerns of Author, Author

“Set a course. For home.”

(Nothing from Enterprise or Prodigy only because I haven’t watched enough of Enterprise or any of Prodigy)

Burnham and Georgiou forming the delta with their footsteps

the CGI on only the shields protecting Burnham from space

“Are we in session? Because I didn't know you were practicing again. Because if I have your undivided attention for fifty minutes, I can think of a whole bunch of other things we could be doing.”

“That's as depressing a trait as I've ever heard.” “I don't give a damn … I still don't give a damn.”

Cornwell beaming in, phaser aimed, taking command of Discovery

Cornwell phasering the fortune cookies

Cornwell’s voice breaking: “So my Gabriel is dead.”

Detmer’s little bounce when Emperor-as-Captain Georgiou takes command

Pike beaming aboard and instantly being all like MOJAVE to prove to the audience he’s the guy from The Cage

New Eden. Everything. Oh my God (pun intended). The visuals. Owo’s backstory. Pollard patching Pike up after he’s shot. The light at the end. Oh my God, yes. That episode. Yes.

Number freaking One beaming aboard and having her lunch briefing with Pike (Chris and Una’s decades-long friendship wasn’t canon yet, but it shows here so beautifully)

Gabrielle Burnham

“In case the shit hit the fan.”

Michael Burnham on truth serum

Book

Laira Rillak, everyone!

Q&A

season 1 Raffi Musiker

Fleet Admiral and Commander-in-Chief Kirsten Clancy

“You owe me a ship, Picard.”

“You need a feather in your hat.”

Riker greeting Picard

Hugh greeting Picard

the separate trio of Raffi, Clancy, and Deanna all telling Picard he’s shit

Rios singing in Spanish

President Annika Hansen

everybody finding each other in the Confederation Universe

Liam Shaw — a character with incredible highs and lows

Majel Barrett as the computer voice when the crew gets to the Enterprise D

“Somehow I figured you might.”

everything in Ghosts of Illyria

Spock and La’an’s mind meld

Spock and T’Pring in Spock Amok

“You cannot resign. The loss to Enterprise would be unimaginable. To me.”

“If you’re going to steal a starship, do it correctly.”

Neera Ketoul

La’an normalizing needing to eat all the time as a teenager (especially important for girls to hear)

Pike and Una visually checking in with each other so often that it’s in their cartoon versions (that whole episode, actually, including, “Riker!”)

That’s scrolling through episode titles and jotting down stuff I love off the top of my head, fam.✨

Thank you so much for this ask, anon! ❤️ I needed this positive energy in my life.

#i love asks #things i love in trek canon #an incomplete list #i’m sure i’ll think of something else the minute i post #thank you so so much for leading my thoughts this way #anon

[procrastinatorproject]

From the Star Trek ask game:

48. Name a song or music genre you think each of the la Sirena holo squad would like.

I don't really listen to a lot of music, so I can't talk too much about specific songs or 20th/21st century genres. Fortunately, this is Star Trek, so I get to be creative 😁😁😁

Emil: I mean, if you've read my fic, you know my Emil listens to all kinds of opera and likes to sing it, too! Doesn't have to be Klingon opera, either. He once spent a delightful afternooon being taught the finer points of Bynar coloratura by Xyr (the star tenor Rios hooked up with one time and whom Emil has a crush on admires).

When it's not opera, Emil probably listens to various forms of jazz, about which he has Very Strong Opinions. (Of course, he would never go so far as to, say, have a protracted argument with someone on Federation hypernet message boards about the merits of warp-shift-amplifiers on Tellarite slop jazz, but in his defense, cargo runs really do get very boring sometimes when you don't want to risk turning off and not being there when your captain gets himself shot again......)

Ian: He'd say Scottish folk music as a matter of pride, but he also unironically loves it! He has a vast repository of sheet music for historic tunes set for various instruments and always keeps an eye out for new talent from Scotland or Caldos Colony that might be worth keeping an eye on. He does play the bagpipes himself, too, though usually only when nobody from te non-holographic crew is on board. He has also been known to lead a rousing round of sea shanties every now and again.

Other than that, he also enjoys really experimental genres. There was an unfortunate incident a few months ago where Ian was listening to a new album from an underground spectral punk band while he did engine maintenance. He was sure he wouldn't be bothering anyone, because the music wasn't in the audible spectrum for humans and only Rios and Agnes were on board at the time. About twenty minutes into the record, he got a very salty message from Emil, asking him to please stop playing music that could cause crippling migraines and ruptured ear drums in his patients...

Enoch: Enoch is all for the Federation equivalent of top 40 radio. He sometimes sneaks onto the holodeck to watch concert-transmissions from the latest Andorian pop princess or Bajoran singer-songwriter. When he's sitting watch on the bridge on the rare occasions Rios is asleep (not that he needs to be there, the computer would activate him, if his services were required, but it feels right to physically keep an eye on things, you know?) he'll often tune in to the biggest music broadcasts to keep up with new music and concert dates.

Enoch also has a knack for finding the exact song, musician, or current trend that is most likely to piss off Rios and to then fall in love with it completely. He claims it's entirely coincidental, and Emil has seriously considered writing a psychology paper about this phenomenon and what it might say about the origins of musical taste and aversion. Emil and Agnes have spent many an hour sipping tea together, watching with rapt attention as Enoch and Rios yell at each other about the "Taylor Swift Revival"-Revival Band and what is or isn't sacrilege to force poor Sirena to play through her speakers. (The rumour that there was popcorn consumed with the tea is pure slander, though!)

Emmet: Emmet has the great advantage that he does not give a fuck what anyone thinks of him or his taste in music. He has had phases where he'd be listening to metal and grunge at top volume (usually only in his head, though occasionally he'd "accidentally" blast it over the ship's speakers). But he also enjoys all kinds of classical and historical music and has listened to every genre of punk known to the Federation's audio libraries.

Then there was a memorable week where he got so into Trill's childrens music that Steward had to ask Ian to block the sound files, because the inane ear worms were starting to infect the other EH's over their shared neural pathways, and Rios had threatened that the next holo humming the tune to "Where are you wriggling little worm?" would be scrubbed from the system.

But Emmet's secret joy, the music he doesn't really tell the others about or ever listens to where anyone can hear, are whale songs. He knows the songs of roughly two thousand different species, both from Earth Whales and other aquatic mammals that communicate in similar fashions. He even has a few very rare recordings of space whale calls, and nobody has dared to ask what he had to do to get his hands on those.

Steward: Steward, on the other hand, cares A Lot what people think about his musical tastes. He would like to be sohpisticated and classy, and enjoy opera and jazz as much as Emil and the captain, or have some deep cultural ties to a genre of music he enjoys, like Ian. But alas, he finds it heart to really get into any of that. He has found himself tapping his foot and nodding along to some of the catchcy stuff Enoch often puts on when Rios is asleep, but he knows that's not really dignified and worries he might seem uncultured if people know he enjoys top 40 radio. (Raffi has called him a snob on more than one occasion, and he knows he'll have to do some deep thinking to overcome some of the biases his creators endowed him with, because he has come to realize his interpretation of "hospitality" differs quite a bit from what they seem to have been envisioning.)

He would really like to learn to play the guitar. He can play a lot of different instruments and his singing voice is exquisitely trained, but the guitar is one of those blindspots he was left with, after Rios's deletions to the holos' memories. Steward knows that Rios can play incredibly well himself and keeps a real, hand-crafted guitar in secure storage for the extremely rare occasions Rios has been in the mood to play. The EHH has dropped a lot of less-than-sublte hints around Agnes recently and hopes she might be able to coax Rios into getting back to a hobby he once loved.

Steward himself dreams of a time when they'll all be sitting around a campfire on the holodeck, or maybe in the open cargo bay with sand from the beach they landed on blowing up the loading ramp, and him playing the guitar as they all sing campfire songs and make smores and stockbrot.

Until then, he is going to make sure Sirena's access to the various Federation audio libraries is always running smoothly, the holodeck is perfectly calibrated and stocked to cater to everyone's needs, and their various music collections are kept in whatever way is most fitting to the individual crew member, holographic or otherwise. Because he is in charge of the welfare of every soul La Sirena, and if that means occasionally reassuring Emmet (or Rios) that he definitely s the only one besides Steward who knows about the collection of whale songs and reassuring him nobody will ever find out he likes to fall asleep to them, or helping Emil or Enoch workshop another fan letter or scathing blog post, or running simulations on Ian's latest music genres to make sure they won't wilt the botniculas, then that's all the music he needs.

--

This was fun! I was gonna apologize for the length of this, but then I doubt you mind, do you? 😁

Thank you so much for the opportunity to write about my favourite gaggle of hyper-competent idiots and their various exploits! This was a great way to do some worldbuilding and micro-fic-writing even when full ficlets seem out of reach, and I'm realy grateful for the inspiration!

If anyone else wants to know more: Send Me Star Trek Asks 💗 (Or alternatively: send me holo-asks! I'm alsways delighted to write stuff like this!)

#star trek la sirena #star trek picard #holo squad #emil (emh) #enoch (enh) #steward (ehh) #mister hospitality (ehh) #emmet (eth) #ian (eeh) #cristobal rios #agnes jurati #raffi musiker #(briefly) #i love all of them SO MUCH!!!! #music #ask mem #@song-spero #seriously: thank you for this!!

[jonfucius]

Great Star Trek Rewatch - TNG Season 1

Originally posted on Twitter 17 March 2021 - 6 April 2021

Star Trek: The Next Generation Season 1 is up next in my Great Star Trek Rewatch. As with ENT, DSC, STX, TOS, TAS, and TOS FF, mini-reviews will document my progress.

Encounter at Farpoint: TNG's pilot is the weakest of the various series premieres. Saving graces are John DeLancie's fully-formed Q, the McCoy cameo, the visual effects, Patrick Stewart's commanding performance, and the greatest tag line: Let's see what's out there, indeed. 5/10

The Naked Now: This episode would have worked better once we knew our heroes a little better (perhaps after "The Arsenal of Freedom"). Since we're still getting to know them, this rehash of a superior TOS episode is flat on arrival. Fully functional, it ain't. 4/10

Code of Honor: It's a racist piece of dogshit. Next. 0/10

The Last Outpost: Man, these Ferengi that allegedly eat their enemies must be as bad the Klingons or the Romulans! Uh, no. They're bad, but not in the way we've been expecting. The T'Kon Empire is worthy of follow-up. 5/10

Where No One Has Gone Before: TNG’s first great episode. Reality powered by thought is a classic Trek idea. Kosinski and the Traveler are excellent guest characters. I’m not the biggest Wesley fan but I cheer every time he calls out Riker. 8/10

Lonely Among Us: There’s just not enough story here to sustain an entire episode. Also, justice for Engineer Singh, reduced to a wig on a chair in one scene. The Antican and Selay makeup, however, are very well done. 5/10

Justice: 90% of this episode is hot garbage. The remaining 10% goes to Picard’s speech about absolute justice (something governments still struggle with), and Crusher’s grief over losing her son. If the Edo really were this primitive, would Picard have stopped there at all? 3/10

The Battle: Wesley’s smugness (and the weak writing for Crusher and Troi) drags the score down a bit, but this is a fairly good first season effort. Learning more about the otherwise enigmatic Picard through a Ferengi’s quest for revenge works. 8/10

Hide and Q: Q’s return so soon after the pilot tries to do something interesting, but it’s not an engaging story. 6/10

Haven: Lwaxana Troi is a love her or hate her character, and I adore her. Wyatt’s chemistry with Troi makes him a believable rival with Riker for Troi’s affections. The Tarellian ship is a striking design. 7/10

The Big Goodbye: While this episode is responsible (for better or worse) for holodeck malfunction stories, this one has a reasonable amount of tension. The reaction to Whalen’s shooting is an excellent in-universe touch. Redblock is effortlessly malevolent. 8/10

Datalore: I would imagine this was the first time people really took notice of just how damn good Brent Spiner is. Evil twin plots aren’t new to Trek, but this is a good one. Glad to see both villains again at later dates. 7/10

Angel One: It’s a sexist piece of shit. Next. 0/10

11001001: The visuals are striking, as are the Bynars. The holodeck scenes with Picard, Riker, and Minuet are worth the price of admission. A solid mid-season installment. 7/10

Too Short a Season: Fountain of Youth episodes are corny at best. A combination of makeup and casting dooms this one from the start. The Iran-Contra parallels come through loud and clear. 4/10

When the Bough Breaks: The Aldeans' plight is sympathetic. I just get the feeling that there's not enough plot to sustain an entire episode each time I watch this one. It's not objectionable but it's not oustanding, either. It just is. 5/10

Home Soil: Some very subtle commentary on the ravages of colonization gets lost in the "ugly bags of mostly water" scene at the very end. Malencon's death is somewhat gruesome for Trek (at least until the airing of the season finale). 6/10

Coming of Age: An excellent first season effort, with Wesley's exam and Remmick's investigation serving as the impetus for the title. Will we see Quinn and Remmick again? Time will tell. 8/10

Heart of Glory: A strong Klingon episode that sows the seeds for RDM’s sublime “Sins of the Father”. All killer no filler. 8/10

The Arsenal of Freedom: Confining this episode to a soundstage limits the scope and stakes of this one, but I do enjoy Crusher and Picard’s scenes. I especially love the Lower Deckers on the bridge. Some good commentary on the military-industrial complex here. 7/10

Symbiosis: Did Nancy Reagan write this stinker? A bummer that this was one of Merritt Butrick’s final roles before his too-early death from AIDS. It could’ve been a great one, but it’s just mediocre. 5/10

Skin of Evil: The first time a series regular dies…for good. The behind-the-scenes tales are legendary, but aside from the goofy oil slick monster, Yar’s senseless death (randomly, in the line of duty) and touching funeral elevates this episode. 7/10

We’ll Always Have Paris: I don’t know why, but this one works for me. I like the sense of isolation as our heroes track down Manheim; and the time distortions are fun, even if the science doesn’t make sense. 7/10

Conspiracy: This episode's shocking climax still hits hard over thirty years later. The unnerving feel of the episode kicks in from the jump and is sustained through to the chilling tag. A shame that this wasn't followed up in live-action. 8/10

The Neutral Zone: The return of the Romulans is dramatic, but the best scenes for me are in the 5th act and the tag. Picard's speech to the refugees is an inspiring summation of Star Trek, and even after an uneven season, it's hard not to be energized for what's to come. 8/10

And with that, TNG Season 1 comes to an end in my Great Star Trek Rewatch. Final score: 5.84/10. Highest score(s): “WNOHGB,” “The Battle,” “The Big Goodbye,” “Coming of Age,” “Heart of Glory,” “Conspiracy,” “The Neutral Zone.” Lowest score(s): “Code of Honor,” “Angel One.”

#star trek #star trek tng #great star trek rewatch

[alexkablob]

So the thing about Mariner and Jen and the “get out of my school” of it all and the way her at least attempting a romance with Jen fits into and reinforces her ongoing  is, Jen is like...so not her usual type. She tells Tendi her type is “bad boys, bad girls, bad gender nonbinary babes, ruthless alien masterminds, bad Bynars...” and the one definite ex of hers that we’ve seen, Amina, was exactly as much of an agent of chaos in the academy as Mariner was.

Mariner has huge issues with being afraid of commitment and taking on responsibility, which is why she’s gone out of her way to remain a lower decks Ensign, and it’s why her dating type seems to by and large be “a mistake that I’m making on purpose”. Even in the case of her amicable ex, Amina, it was a relationship with a built-in expiration date—it seems like it was always the understanding that they wouldn’t stay tied down to each other when they graduated and inevitably got postings on different ships. And then there’s Barb, who she totally had sex with at that tournament they went to together (because Mariner stole Boimler’s girl and I CAN’T STOP LAUGHING ABOUT IT) but who also wasn’t looking for an actual relationship right now.

Which brings us to Jen, because the thing is...we haven’t seen a lot of her, but from what we have seen every indication is that she’s just like...normal. Kinda preppy. She was only being a bitch because she was returning the energy that Mariner was giving her, and that energy was “get your stupid little butt out of my school”. But now that they’ve cleared up that their rivalry was based on nothing and are giving dating a shot...

There isn’t a built-in expiration date there. The worst case scenario with her is that they go on a date and it’s a little awkward and they don’t fit and they don’t go on another one. But if they actually do fit well together? If things get serious?

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Mariner doesn’t know how to handle that, the idea of a relationship that could actually turn into something close that lasts, and it’s a microcosm of all of her other emotional issues, of her rebelling both when it’s the right thing to do but also to sabotage herself out of fear of the unknown, because she isn’t afraid of screwing up command of a starship, she would be good at it, deep down she knows she would be good at it, but it would be change and that’s scary.

And so the reason she pretended she hated Jen and pushed her away was that she was afraid that if she actually opened up, she might actually end up loving her.

#lower decks #beckett mariner #r: interpersonal conflicts #beckifer #the thing that is so fascinating about this is that it's almost never the VIEWPOINT character who needs to have the character development #to make the loathing dot mp4 relationship go from rivals to lovers #it's usually the bitchy preppy girl #but so much of this show is about mariner's emotional arc and opening herself up to people #and I don't know how her dating jen is going to go but it's gonna be GOOD