Being Okay

Sequel to "Pretending"

Based upon Stargate: SG-1

Author's Note: I have been thinking about this one for a while. It's a little non-descript, but I felt a little unhappy with how I left Sam's depression in "Pretending." This is a one-shot, will not be followed up.

- . - - - . -

Jack had been living in an alternate reality with the alternate version of his dead wife and the daughter she had had with the dead version of himself. But they ignored those details. The three of them were together and that was all that mattered.

He smiled at his reflection in the bathroom mirror before opening the cabinet and pulling out his razor and shaving cream. He had already shut the cabinet, but something had caught his eye. He opened the cabinet back up and looked again.

There, on the second shelf, was Sam's depression medication. The bottle was almost empty. He had noticed a few weeks ago that it looked almost empty then. He pulled the bottle out of the cabinet and opened it. It was empty.

His brow furrowed. How long had it been empty? Had Sam been acting different recently? They hadn't talked a lot but . . . they hadn't talked a lot after he got home (their euphemism of his coming to her reality) anyway. He wasn't much of a talker, and what did they have to talk about? Their dead spouses?

They talked a little about work. They talked a lot about Grace. What else did they talk about?

He tried to remember what he and Sam had talked about before she died. He couldn't really remember. After her death, most of the real memories faded behind rose colored glasses.

She had been spending more time in the mountain than when he had first got home. In fact, the other day he got a call from Grace's daycare because Sam was late picking up Grace. Sam told him she lost track of time working on a project.

He took the bottle and went back into the bedroom. Sam was lying on her side, staring at the wall. "Sam," he said. She didn't look up. "Sam," he said again.

She rolled over and saw him, forcing a smile. "Hey."

"What's this?" He held up the bottle of medication.

She didn't answer.

"Are you off your meds?"

Again, she didn't answer.

"Have you been okay?"

The look on her face told him that she hadn't been okay.

"Sam, it's okay to tell me." He moved to the bed and sat down next to her.

"I . . . I . . . Um . . ."

"Why did you stop taking your meds?"

She didn't look up at him. "I ran out, and I was gonna go to the pharmacy but then I thought 'why?' You were - you were back and Grace was here and we were together . . . And I thought I don't need it anymore."

"And?"

Her voice jumped as she fought tears, "And nothing got better."

He pulled her into his arms.

"Everything's right again, but it's not okay." Her faced was tucked into his chest as she sobbed.

"Sam, depression just doesn't go away."

"But I wanted it to."

He pulled her tighter. "I know. I know. But, it's okay. You're gonna be okay."

"How?"

"We're gonna do it together. If you don't want to be on meds anymore, that's okay. We'll get there. But we need to go see a doc, and we'll figure it out. Together." He kissed the top of her head. "'Cause we're together again, and we'll be okay."

"I love you so much," she muttered into his chest.

He kissed her. "I love you, too, and Grace. I love you both, so much."

"Don't ever leave me again. Please, never ever again."

"I promise. Never again."

"I need you to be here."

"Always," he promised. "Always."

- . - FIN - . -