Object of Hatred
by Suz suzvoy@tesco.net

Disclaimer: Owned by Gekko/MGM…not me.

You may or may not hate me after this.


Everybody hates me.

It's not like I don't understand their reasoning: I do. It's quite obvious.

It's not like I don't understand why they aren't being more professional: I do. It was clear from the outset that this was a close knit group. Not just SG-1 or the other teams, but the entire facility, the entire - as they call it - SGC is like an extended family. A giant house filled with people, every single one of them representing a great aunt, a cousin, a sister, some kind of nephew. Some kind of relation.

As I said, family.

Families are often over-protective. This one is no different.

They came to my world, Polarta, four weeks ago. 'They' of course were SG-1. We immediately impressed each other. While our cultural development is obviously different, our level of technology is very similar, with a few important differences which we agreed to share with each other.

So, as a representative of my people, I came to their world. I was a little disappointed. The SGC building is not particularly colourful or attractive, but I would learn there was much more for me to see.

Everyone welcomed me openly, at first. They certainly weren't sharing anything they didn't have to at that point, but then neither was I. A natural precaution until we all got to know each other a little better.

Which is what happened.

As the days turned into weeks and we became immersed in each other's cultures, I noticed the changes. No one used my title 'Councilor' anymore, instead they all turned to using my chosen name, 'Regan'. If I were by myself in their canteen, someone or a group of someone's would immediately turn up and keep me company.

Several more representatives came through to help with the exchange of information, and they were treated just as well.

Everything was going wonderfully.

So why do they hate me now? I know why. Some would call it a fatal mistake, others a bad decision, and others still would simply call it 'why the hell not'? (Yes, I have been spending a great deal of time around Jack O'Neill).

I'm dating Major Samantha Carter.

I was immediately struck by her intelligence the first time we met. And - obviously, being a healthy male - her beauty was also unavoidable despite the distinctly unfeminine outfit she was wearing. She still looked wonderful.

I soon learned that she wasn't involved with anyone. It seems that Lieutenant Simmons - while quite obviously having his own little crush on the Major - is also what they refer to as a 'gossip'. You wouldn't think it to look at him. He's so quiet and seems so...shy. But once you get him going, he just won't stop talking.

So, at the end of my third week here, I asked her out. I'll admit that I'd been spending as much of my time here as possible in her company, and we'd come to know each other very well.

Both of us knew - and still know - that it won't last. I have to return home in a few more weeks to attend to matters that cannot be resolved without me. This is almost my vacation, I suppose you could call it. When I do go home I'll be far too immersed in the complexities and frustrations of our politics to suddenly leap through the Stargate and see Sam whenever I want to.

She said yes, but instead of taking her out, she invited me in. I was only a little surprised. She gives her heart and soul for this project, and being as focused as she is that leaves little room for anything outside her work. I know for a fact that almost every night since I came here that she has spent the night at the SGC, either falling asleep in her laboratory or swiping some quarters for her own use - despite the fact that she has a much more comfortable bed at home.

We also know that it isn't serious. As wonderful and intelligent as she is, I'm not in love with her, and I have no qualms in saying that she feels the same way about me. We're in this to have a good time. No expectations other than a little - a lot, I should amend - of fun.

Problem is, no one seems to know that except us.

We've tried to keep it discreet just for appearances sake, but when it became clear that everyone knew we wondered why we were bothering, and stopped hiding it. Now, things have started changing.

Suddenly it's Councilor again. Suddenly no one sits next to me in the mess hall, or, if I'm in there with Sam, they'll stop and have a chat, but as soon as she leaves they all scurry away.


All right, maybe I am being a little hard on them, and I may be exaggerating a little. Not everyone hates me, or at least they do a good job at hiding it. General Hammond has been a diplomat right from the start, and his behaviour towards me has never changed. Dr Fraiser has also been quite friendly - although I may have seen her wrinkling her nose in disgust at me when she thought I wasn't looking.

But I may be getting paranoid.

Then, of course, we come to the big one: Jack O'Neill.

He's the reason most of them hate me. They'd never say it, of course. I suppose they'd never really be allowed to, but he is the reason.

I have eyes, I have ears, I have the multitude of senses that enables me to sense whatever it is between Sam and Jack whenever they're in a room together. They don't even have to think they're alone. The room can be chock full of people and you're barely able to identify the back of your own hand, never mind who's standing ten feet away, but I can sense it.

They all do.

And I can't help but wonder that if regulations weren't an issue, would I still sense it? Would they have become involved? Even if they had, would the air still vibrate whenever they're standing next to each other?

Or, is that what makes it so intense? The very fact that it is against regulations?

If they did become involved, if they did 'resolve' their relationship...would it...spoil it?

If the tenseness was gone, if they were completely relaxed in each other's presence, I know that a substantial number of personnel at the SGC would have a lot less entertainment. Sure, for a while they'd be equally delighted or distraught that they'd finally done something about it, but after that initial reaction faded...what?


Would it make things better? Would they share secret little smiles on purpose to make everyone speculate even more? Would they leave a lingering touch on each other's arms, just because they want to torment their speculative observers?

There's no way to know. Not until it happens.

But with the situation as it is, it can't.

I'm not an idiot, at least not all the time. She wants more with him than she wants with me; and that's why we're doing what we're doing.


And Jack...Jack's the only one who seems to genuinely understand what we're doing. Supporting each other, enjoying ourselves, relaxing, doing whatever we want to do.

Even encouraging it in his own way. I mean he's jealous - of course he's jealous - but he's the only one who knows it isn't going to last. I've also come to learn that he's never going to stop encouraging her from having a good time: he thinks she never has enough of that.

Which is true.

In all honesty, I don't think I've had any more success trying to get her to take it easy than he has, but I understand why: she thrives like this. Always moving, always calculating, always just on the edge of *something*...it's what she's meant to do.

It's part of her appeal.

So is her snoring.

Which brings me back to the present. Unable to get back to sleep, I slip out of the quarters I was assigned, leaving Sam on the bed. Snoring. Loudly.

Chuckling to myself I make my way to the canteen. As usual most everyone avoids me. The woman who hands me my food makes an attempt at a smile but it doesn't turn out as more than a grimace.

I haven't been sitting long at a table - by myself, naturally - when a familiar voice says hello. I smile at the newcomer as they sit opposite me, a cup of coffee clasped between their hands.

"She sleeping?" He asks.

"Yes," I reply simply.

Nodding, he smiles. "Still snoring, huh?"


Chuckling, he sips at his coffee and though we spend the next thirty minutes discussing matters of little consequence, he never once looks me in the eye.


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