In the Depths
Posted on Mon Oct 13th, 2025 @ 10:39pm by Lieutenant Colonel Jonathon Raynor & Sterre Forster
Edited on on Mon Oct 13th, 2025 @ 10:42pm
Mission:
Echoes of the Fallen
Location: U.S.S. Gladiator
2118 words - 4.2 OF Standard Post Measure
/// ON ///
Stere was watching the stars again. Actually she wasn't really seeing anything, her mind far from the ship she was traveling on through space. The thought of how fast they were going and how exactly they were moving made her head hurt and her stomach turn so she tried to look at it as a simple car ride, a giant car with weapons systems. Deciding she'd spent enough time feeling sorry for herself about not performing to her standards, she got up, turned to go and bumped straight into Colonel Raynor. Mouth open for a few seconds she started sputtering apologies. "I'm so sorry, at least it wasn't the hot chocolate."
Raynor had barely been looking where he was going. The hum of Gladiator’s familiar corridors should have felt like home, but they didn’t. Not yet at least.
The moment Stere bumped into him, he instinctively steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. He blinked, focusing in. Her words almost seemed to tumble out like she’d just knocked into a superior officer, which he was. But in his mind, he didn't see himself that way.
Raynor let out a breath that might’ve been a chuckle or just a slow exhale from someone who hadn’t truly relaxed since they left Atlantis. “If that’s the worst collision we have on this ship today, I’ll take it.”
"I'll try not to be involved in the next one." Stere brushed a strand of hair away from her face and tried not to apologize again. "You expect a lot of them to happen on a regular basis? I guess I was thinking too much and not seeing enough." She shuffled her weight into her other foot. Her ankle was a bit sore from a tumble she'd taken on Atlantis. "Actually I did want to talk to you if you have a minute."
“Oh yeah?” Raynor studied her a moment, then gave a short nod toward the corridor. “Walk with me.”
He fell into step beside her, not rushing, his eyes briefly catching the way she favored one foot. The steady hum of the Gladiator beneath them was a strange kind of comfort after the chaos of Atlantis.
After a pause, he spoke again.
“After years of being a fighter pilot… now we’re standing on what’s basically a high-tech submarine in space, flying at speeds that used to be theoretical.” He exhaled. “Yeah, the possibilities sneak up on you. Collisions happen... in your head, out there,” he gestured vaguely behind them, toward the now distant Pegasus Galaxy. “Just means you’re still thinking. Still human.”
They rounded a corner, passing a junior tech half dozing at a console. Raynor didn’t slow.
“Anyway, you said you wanted to talk?” he asked, glancing her way. “Cafeteria’s this way. I could use something hot while we keep pretending this ship runs on more than caffeine and duct tape.”
She contemplated collisions in her head for a moment, a rather philosophical idea, before opening her mouth, "I'm feeling a bit stupid and I'm hoping you'll tell me I'm being an idiot about it." She couldn't help but try to gauge his expression before continuing. "I was terrified the whole time I was down there and just when I felt like everything might be okay I fell flat on my face and twisted my ankle. It was like the universe wanted to humble me for daring to think that I might actually be in control." Stere looked up at the ceiling so she didn't have to meet his gaze.
"Has that . . . You know, ever happened to you?" She let out an exasperated sigh. "You're not indestructible right? You've made mistakes. You're human?"
Raynor grabbed a mug, filled it with coffee, and leaned against the edge of the table. He let her words hang in the air a moment before answering.
“I’ve had cockpits catch fire, led missions that went sideways, and once tripped over my own boots in front of a high ranking officer. So yeah, I been humbled more times than I’d like to admit.”
He took a sip, met her eyes.
“You’re not stupid. You were scared, and you moved anyway. That’s not weakness. That’s control under fire. And no,” he added with a faint smirk, “I’m not indestructible. Just really stubborn.”
Sterre nodded. Somehow she knew he'd tell her what she wanted to hear. But she believed him. "What keeps you coming back? The number of worlds you get to visit that no one else on Earth knows about? The different civilizations you meet? Traveling through space at breakneck speeds on very cool spaceships?" She didn't for a second think that this was just a job for him. "Or pushing newbies like me off cliffs or into wormholes?" She had decided against eating anything and had taken a seat across from him, leaning back in her chair and studying his expressions.
Raynor watched her settle across from him, her tone light, but the question underneath wasn’t.
“Well, that’s the thing,” he said, taking a breath. “We haven’t really explored much yet.”
He leaned back slightly, cradling his mug between both hands.
“After the attack on Earth, then the arrival and help from the Asgard, we’ve been mostly grounded. It’s been almost twelve years, and we’ve stuck close to our own corner of the galaxy. Rebuilding, restructuring, reverse-engineering whatever we could salvage from that assault… and yeah, trying to learn everything we could from the alternate-reality crew before they died.”
He met her eyes again with a dry half-smile.
“So no, I’m not in it just for the cool ships or the tourist stops. And I only push people off cliffs when I’m sure they’ll land on their feet... or at least bounce well," he shrugged before finishing up. "This mission, like the select few, have been to take advantage of advancements that we have information on. But when we get back home, we have been green lit to finally start actively exploring the network and seeing what's out there. Primarily to see what is going on with the goa'uld. We only know very little as to what is going on out there."
"Hmm," Sterre said. Comfortable enough with the silence to ponder what he'd just said, how many worlds were out there that they hadn't explored and what they hadn't yet learned. "You were wrong about one thing though," she joked. "I didn't land on my feet, I landed on my ass and twisted my ankle in the process." She lifted her leg up as if offering proof that the ankle was indeed swollen. But, it would heal, unless they had some cool machine that would heal it instantly. Sterre didn't ask. "Thanks," she said finally. She knew she would still be terrified, but it was with the knowledge that he didn't think her a total failure for being afraid.
Raynor smirked and nodded. “Yeah… been there myself. Difference is, I try not to make a habit of it.”
He took a slow sip before adding, “We’ve got a couple days before we’re home, so try not to fall on your ass again. I’m going to need you for the next mission.”
A beat, his smirk disappeared. “You, not your ass, just to be clear. And if we do have to go to H.R. after this conversation… give me a heads-up, so I can make it worth the trouble.”
Sterre chuckled. "No need sir." She thought about continuing the joke for a split second and decided against it. It was late, she needed sleep and she needed to prop her ankle up and rest it. "Good night sir." Making things formal again despite their recent conversation. The last thing she needed was anything else to worry about.
Raynor smirked, tilting his head slightly.
"Good night? Now hold on, if you’re planning to limp off, you might miss all the fun. We’ve still got half a city to figure out, and I could use someone who asks the smart questions before I do something reckless."
He gestured lightly toward a nearby chair. "Prop your ankle up here for a bit. You can still keep me company while I pretend I know what I’m doing. Besides," he added with a faint grin, "you leave now, and I’ll have to start talking to myself, and that’s when people start worrying."
Raynor smirked, leaning back slightly in his chair.
“Good night? That’s how you’re gonna leave it? You limp off now and I lose my only decent conversational partner on this bucket, then I’m stuck listening to my own thoughts. Trust me, nobody wants that.”
He nodded toward the seat across from him. “Put your ankle up, stay a while. You can keep asking me the questions that make me sound wise, and I’ll keep pretending I know exactly what I’m doing.”
He took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes flicking toward her with a faint grin. “Besides… you’re the only one who’s managed to call me out today without ending up on extra duty. That’s a rare talent, you should probably hang onto it.”
"Alright then, " she said, sitting back down. "I'll try my best." She paused, wondering just what she should ask without going to far. "You don't like being alone with your own thoughts? Thinking too much about past mistakes you may have made?"
Sterre propped her foot up on the next chair and let out a small sigh of relief that the pain from putting her weight on it had subsided. She generally wasn't one for small talk but she did like learning about others.
Raynor’s eyes flicked toward her, unimpressed.
“Past mistakes? Ma’am, if I spent my time worrying about those, I’d never get any sleep.” He leaned back slightly, arms crossing. “Besides, the past is good for two things, regret and lessons. I don’t waste much time on either.”
"Then why don't you like your own thoughts?" Sterre asked curiously. It might have been just an offhand comment but she wanted to be sure. It seemed like a strange thing to say in her opinion. Generally she liked and was amused by her own company. "My father used to say you could live a thousand lives by reading books but honestly I have a bit of an imagination and I like to live thousands of lives in my own thoughts by creating my own little worlds with their own people." Perhaps it was a waste of time and she should be embarrassed by the admission, but she wasn't. "My mind isn't always focused and boxed in. I have to let it wander and be comfortable with my own thoughts." She met his eyes, something she often found uncomfortable because she never seemed to know how long to linger there.
“Your dad sounds like a smart man. Books, imagination, worlds in your head... nothing wrong with that. Keeps the mind sharp, gives you perspective," He he said as he tapped a finger against his mug, thinking. “My problem isn’t that I don’t like my own thoughts. It’s that I don’t like when they don’t shut up. After a while, all the ‘what-ifs’ and second guesses start circling like vultures, and they don’t let you rest. So I keep busy. Missions, reports, training. Talking to people like you. Makes the noise manageable.
“Thing is, I’ve seen too many good people waste themselves on regrets, or on dreams of what might’ve been. I figure we don’t get that luxury,” he finished with a shrug. "What can I say? I hate the idea of letting it control me."
Raynor’s comm ear-piece chirped before Sterre could respond.
“Bridge to Colonel Raynor.”
He sighed through his nose, already knowing what that tone meant. “Go ahead,” he said, tapping the badge.
“Colonel, the commander requests your presence on the bridge. Priority One briefing.”
“Copy that. On my way.”
He pushed off from the table, draining the last of his coffee. “Duty calls,” he said with a half-grin. “Try not to overthink the universe while I’m gone. It’s big enough to do that without your help.”
With that, Raynor straightened his jacket and headed for the doors, his usual calm stride returning as the hatch hissed shut behind him, back to work, back to the noise.
/// OFF ///
Jonathon Raynor, Lt. Col
SG-1 Leader, SGC
&
Sterre Forster
SG-1 Member, SGC
