Title: Staking a Claim
Category: Romance with a pinch or two of angst
Content Warnings: Mild language and sexual situations
Season: Set between seasons 8 and 9
Spoilers: General spoilers up to season 9
Summary: With Sam about to leave his chain of command, a despondent Jack drowns his sorrows and has no idea how astonished he'll be by the consequences
Author's Notes:
1. I have based this fic on the assumption that Sam decides to leave the SGC on transfer to Area 51 before Jack transfers to Washington DC or becomes aware he is going to. When Season 9 starts both of them have already left the SGC so I believe show canon is unclear about the timing of these transfers.
2. I dedicate this story to Betty Hall and Denise Carlson. Betty because her short story "The Kiss" was a huge inspiration for me to write this one. You can read that fic here: .net/s/4780825/1/The_Kiss Denise because we exchanged emails about my recent angsty fic, "The Future is Unwritten", that got me thinking. All that darned thinking was doing my head in so I wrote this, an antidote to, or perhaps the antithesis of, "The Future is Unwritten".
3. Many thanks to ImmerRDA for her help in beta reading this story. I know her observations and corrections improved my writing. What would I have done without you, Barbara? Any remaining errors are entirely down to me.
Staking a Claim
The bar was a dive. It looked like no one had cleaned the place in months: the floor still tacky from too many spills; the walls discolored from a time when you wouldn't have been able to see one end of the place from another because of cigarette smoke. An unidentifiable, faintly stale and dilapidated, odor permeated the air, though it was not totally repellent.
Neglected and mistreated for years. Just the kind of place he needed right now - anonymous and way off the main drag. A place he could disappear in, where no one he knew was ever likely to come.
It wasn't particularly busy but most of the bar's few inhabitants were as unwholesome as their surroundings. An old and not very pleasant smelling drunk propped up one end of the bar or, more likely, it propped him up. Jack O'Neill knew the drunk was smelly because he'd passed too close to the man on the way to the john.
The guy muttered to himself incoherently and, unlike many drunks he had encountered, seemed harmless enough. O'Neill mostly ignored him but couldn't help his eyes straying that way from time to time. Even when he had drunk quite a lot himself, Jack remained alert to his surroundings. Old habits die hard.
A man and woman sat in a booth behind him talking in low seemingly conspiratorial tones. They looked way higher end than the bar itself, out of place, which made O'Neill curious as to why they were there. He imagined them wanting to remain anonymous too, wishing to stay below the radar. Maybe they were having an illicit affair and this was a meeting place but he figured if that was the case, there were a hundred motels out there somewhere that would have been preferable.
Four brawny and rough looking men were playing pool at the back. They were the kind of men who might go looking for trouble once they'd had a few drinks. Jack kept a surreptitiously wary eye on them. Furtive because if they caught him looking he was likely to become the trouble they were looking for. O'Neill had had his fair share of scrapes with those kinds of men in the past. That kind of trouble was something a general in the USAF can live without.
A couple of solitary men sat drinking beer in separate booths, scruffy around the edges and looking lost and lonely. Just like him. Earlier, a hooker had wandered in and tried picking up one and then the other. She'd been low rent, exaggeratedly made up and overly and too brightly dressed. An older woman struggling to look younger. Too much younger and only succeeding in making herself appear faintly ridiculous. Probably wisely, they had turned down her offer.
When her ploys failed, she turned her attentions to Jack. She was too full on, too desperate. The hooker looked like she'd clocked up a lot of years, been dumped at the bottom of the dung heap too long ago. Jack was feeling lonesome and cheerless and probably could have done with some female company but he wasn't that wretched. She'd left without a client to cling to, probably to haunt another seedy bar just down the block. There were enough of them in this city. Enough of them in any city.
O'Neill stared regretfully at his empty glass, catching the bartender's eye and signaling for more. She poured him another shot, smiling.
The bartender was probably in her mid thirties, reasonably attractive and quite amicable. Way too good for this place, O'Neill thought. He was half curious about what she was doing working in a joint like this but neither nosy nor sociable enough to ask. Maybe she had reasons to stay anonymous too. There are many motives for people to want to remain hidden.
She'd been trying to hit on him all night and Jack was severely tempted. Certainly, she had a vague appeal. Far more than the low class hooker by a very long way and no money need change hands. Jack figured he could probably wait until she closed up and then they could go somewhere equally anonymous for sex. That might be kind of cool. Kind of.
It wasn't like Jack couldn't have done with the company or the sex. He wasn't getting much of either right now but his current sour mood meant he was in two minds about the idea. He hadn't come here looking for it and wasn't sure he really wanted it but he was lonely and feeling blue. Hence, the temptation nagged and he flirted with her occasionally to keep his options open.
Actually, though, his mind was on other things. He was thinking about Carter. Sam. Jack had been doing that a lot lately - a lot more than he usually allowed himself to. He was thinking about regret, lost opportunity, taking chances and being proactive. Turning up uninvited on her doorstep and revealing something about how he felt. Asking her out on a date. Making love to her. Marrying her. The latter was preposterous, he realized, but O'Neill couldn't seem to derail the fantasy. As for the rest, well, maybe.
Carter was still in mourning for her father. Jack knew that and it made him hesitant. Not long before, she had lost the man who was probably the most important person in her life. This wasn't the best time to make his move. People can do bizarre things when they are grieving and O'Neill didn't want a relationship with Carter to start out that way. He didn't want her falling into his arms just because she needed solace. He wanted the real deal.
She'd broken her engagement to the cop too recently as well. Jack pondered that this act might have been the product of grief in itself, although he knew she'd been having doubts about marrying Shanahan. Carter had said as much when she turned up at his place seemingly wanting to talk about those doubts. It was even possible she intended to discuss that "them" thing they'd deliberately avoided for all these years.
Her timing had been so off it had been embarrassing. Carter trying to have that conversation just as Kerry came waltzing out of his house. Jeez, O'Neill wished the ground would open up and swallow him and Carter looked like she felt exactly the same way. Who could blame her?
Kerry was gone now like all the other women in his life. One of the reasons he felt as lonesome tonight, he supposed. Can't keep hold of them, O'Neill thought, and to be frank he hadn't really wanted to since realizing how he felt about Carter. He hadn't exactly been chaste either but his relationships with women were short lived and for the most part casual.
Carter's surprise visit was the moment O'Neill realized she still had feelings for him. Understood he could have made his move and she might have been willing. Before that, he had become totally uncertain. Now he was relatively sure although didn't take it for granted. He'd never done that. Just as well, given the Shanahan debacle, which had nevertheless stung. Hurt a lot, if he was honest.
Then Jacob died and Carter threw Shanahan over and, well, technically speaking he was still her CO. Not for much longer, though, and this had got him thinking. Soon, she would fly off to Nevada and take up her new assignment. Regs wouldn't stand in their way anymore. It was time – but it also wasn't because of all those other obstacles. Would it ever be the right time?
It had been the wrong time, too, when he and his former team had spent a few days at his cabin in Minnesota. O'Neill was sorely tempted. They enjoyed each other's company, despite Jacob, despite Shanahan. However, Carter's grief had been apparent at various times during the vacation. No way would Jack take advantage of her vulnerability to woo her or make his intentions clear with a promise for their future. It wasn't the right thing to do. A dishonorable move, particularly when he was still her CO.
In a few days, he no longer would be. She'd stunned him by taking that job at Area 51. Sure, it was almost the perfect position for her but he still found it hard to believe she wanted to leave the SGC and SG-1, not to mention him. She was leaving him behind and that small slice of reality made Jack feel uneasy as well as unhappy.
Maybe all of that was grief too. Maybe the SGC reminded her of Jacob too much. He didn't know and hadn't asked. What she did with her career was her decision.
Daniel had made Jack promise to try and talk her out of it so he had. Well, kind of tried anyway. Truthfully, he didn't think it was for him to interfere and, consequently, his efforts had probably been a little too half-hearted. Perhaps Carter saw it that way too. Perhaps that was why she was going; because he hadn't begged her to stay.
Begging was out. A big no-no. Her career, her life and Jack had never begged for anything in his life. Well, maybe he had. He'd pleaded with Ba'al to put him out of his misery, wasn't totally beyond begging, but that was different. He might even have been prepared to beg for her. Beg her to want and need him. Beg her not to leave him. He hadn't. Too proud, perhaps, or maybe too humble and uncertain. O'Neill never had been much good at self-analysis. Most of the time he tried to avoid overly thinking things.
He would miss her. More than simply miss her. It would drive him crazy not to have her around.
Not to be able to stroll along to her lab, watch her working and distract her annoyingly, although he thought she kind of enjoyed that sometimes.
Not to listen to anymore of her overly complicated scientific explanations, although he kind of loved the sound of that voice even when it was spouting technobabble.
Not to have those little exchanges of banter that kept him going during a day, or be able to steal those enjoyable furtive glances at her, or trade something a little bit special and exciting by meeting her eyes.
He would miss so many things about her that O'Neill couldn't have listed them all if he'd tried.
Jack honestly did not know how he was going to live his life without her in it. Like losing an arm, or maybe his heart. It hurt to contemplate her leaving. He would mourn for her, in fact was already. That's the real reason he was here now, he realized. Grief is one of the most powerful emotions in the world.
In a few days, he would no longer be her CO and that might be a good thing. Maybe the time for begging was coming. Jack had been debating it on and off for a while now and, as he downed another bourbon, he was totally preoccupied with such thoughts.
"Penny for 'em," said the bartender, interrupting those mental meanderings. Not for the first time and probably not for the last. He glanced up at her trying to recall her name. She had told him.
"They aren't worth a penny," he replied.
"I'm thinking I'd be prepared to pay a whole lot more than that for them," she responded flirtatiously.
Dee Dee, that was it, he recalled. Dee Dee for crying out loud? What kind of name is that?
"What time you closing up, Dee Dee?" he asked and she smiled like a shark that has captured its prey.
"Are you waiting around?" she said eagerly and they eyeballed each other for a while, both knowing what was on each other's minds.
"Sure, I'm waiting," he agreed with a grin.
"Give me an hour. I think I can get away with closing a little early."
That settles that then, he thought. Cinderella will go to the ball. It was quite a while since he'd had a one night stand and the exchange reminded him of different times. Jack felt gratified he was still capable of picking up a woman in a bar. Good to know he had it in him.
He had a date with pleasant company and possibly pleasant sex. It would do because it had to. Meanwhile, he knocked back another drink and tried hard to thrust thoughts of Samantha Carter out of his mind.
To be continued in Part 2
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2009 Su Freund