Summary: "I don't even know when I'm making mistakes, let alone other people". Janet is embarking on her own adventure, one in which Jack has some experience. Jack and Janet friendship.
A/N: This was written for the Christmas gift-giving at scifiland (an awesome LJ Comm, if you love scifi as much as I do.
Disclaimer: Of course I don't own Stargate. We would not have had nearly ten years void of Sam/Jack.
Coffee, and lots of it, was the only thing she'd let herself think about for the time being. There was so much to worry about right now (She was a mother) and she'd just gotten out of a rather touch-and-go surgery. But she couldn't worry about whether her patient would survive or not – she'd done the best she could for a severely compromised set of lungs. She'd had to come to terms with losing patients (but not her, even though she had all but given up), and it just didn't pay to think about it. She'd done all she could and for her that had to be enough. Ever steady in surgery, her hands were shaking now from a mix of adrenaline and fatigue. All she wanted to do was sink into her bed a few levels down and sleep for a year. But she had to get home – for the first time in a long while, she had someone to go home to (a child, her child).
The adoption had just kind of happened. The girl (Cassandra. Cassie.) had needed a home, and though her brain first dismissed the thought by muscle memory, Janet found herself warming to the idea. She had come to terms with the fact that she probably would never have a child of her own; she was thirty-five and not getting any younger. Or any action, or that matter. Cassie was a smart girl, and she was good at adapting. The days they'd spent in the infirmary together had seen them bond, in much the same way Cassie had attached herself to Sam. Janet could tell that Sam wanted to take in the girl, but they both knew her job was too high-stakes, too unpredictable. The last thing Cassie needed that to lose another mother. The minds of children were extraordinarily resilient, but also just as malleable. She'd already been through so much, and Janet found that her maternal instinct, something long dormant, surfaced fiercely where the young girl was concerned.
The more she thought about it, the crazier it seemed. Who was she to take custody of a child? She didn't even have nieces or nephews to pamper. She didn't know the first thing about being a mother, and her divorce, as nasty as it was, didn't inspire confidence in the family department. This girl already had life experiences. Not many, but enough for her to have begun forming a personality, years that Janet had missed. Would it be difficult to become part of her life at this age? She heaved a sigh and ran her fingers through her hair, closing her eyes in an attempt to rally the energy to drive home. Her current cup of coffee was tepid, but she chugged it anyway. As she put down the mug, she felt a light touch on her shoulder. Of all the people it could have been, Jack O'Neill would not have been her first guess.
He looked nearly as tired as she felt. Through the haze that was the past few hours, she thought she recalled hearing something about SG-1 coming in hot, but uninjured. Granted she didn't do much of it these days, but running through a forest would do that to you. Especially when the enemy was in hot pursuit, their energy blasts nipping at your ankles. She gave him a small, weary smile and he ducked his head in return, his eyes scanning the commissary. O'Neill was a good commander, and he admired him for his skill in the field. He did not have the same prowess in the social field, however, and though he was a tough nut to crack they'd shared a joke or two. It was usually before she administered an injection in unsavory places, but in general he was a good sport (no matter what he liked others to believe). He was ornery to her nurses, but he'd always done so respectfully. He was a modest man, and sometimes she would even characterize him as shy. To her supreme surprise, he was the first to speak.
"Hey…how ya holdin' up?" he asked, still evading eye contact but asking a whole host of questions in so few words. Emotions didn't come easily to him, but she appreciated his concern. Technically, he was the second in command of the base. As such, he had an interest in her well-being, but she felt his inquiry had more to do with the burgeoning friendship they had growing between them.
"Permission to speak candidly, sir?"
"Of course. Aren't doctors in the business of being bluntly honest? Or is that honestly blunt…?" he trailed off quietly, almost confused. Janet knew better.
She let out a soft snicker. "To be honest, sir, I've been better. But it's nothing that time won't sort out" I hope, she thought. His face looked a little steely to her, but she was sure she was just imagining it.
He took the seat across from her, picking at his fingernails. "Is it…Cassandra?" he asked in a monotone, his eyes empty and blank. The lack of feeling belied a greater emotion. Not imagining it then.
Then it hit her. Of course. Children. They were like a cavity for O'Neill. A soft spot and a sore spot at the same time, holes and pock marks of missing matter that could never be reconstituted the way it once was, only filled with substitutes. If she didn't know better, she would have suspected O'Neill was just as eager to take care of the girl, though he would never have lobbied for himself as her legal guardian. But he had the makings of a favorite uncle – he gave her a puppy, for Christ's sake – and as such she would be sure to invite him to all the milestones.
Janet's heart skipped a few beats in excitement and more than a little terror at the idea of all the years she and Cassie had together, would have together. She was a mother. Legally, anyway. No matter how prepared she was (and she really had no preparation at all), there would be some things she'd just have to figure out on the job. Remembering O'Neill, she smiled at him warmly, if a little self-consciously. She sighed again, trying to phrase what she wanted to say in her head. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Cassie is wonderful, Colonel. You should come see her soon, once she's settled in a little more". His shoulders visibly slackened and he allowed a lopsided smirk to flit across his mouth. "It's not her at all. It's me". Jack's brows came together ever so slightly; that man was a vault. But Janet could see his concern and discomfort. "I just…" she stumbled, biting her lip. "I don't even know when I'm making mistakes, let alone other people," her pleading hazel eyes found his. "How do you know how to be a parent?"
O'Neill's eyes narrowed as he looked down to his hands, pressed palm-down on the gray tabletop. When he looked back up, he cocked his head and regarded her seriously. She could see the intelligence in his eyes as he let a small, slow smile tinged with sadness take over his mouth. "You never know for sure. The older they get, the fewer moments you'll have wondering if you're ruining their life". He shifted, leaning on one elbow. "Kids have this amazing talent for picking their own way through life. Sometimes you just have to get out of the way. You're there for when they fall, and you help them back up…" his eyes were unfocused, and Janet knew he was thinking about his son. She cleared her throat, and he focused on her face once more. Tentatively, he reached out a hand and patted hers, still wrapped around her cold mug of coffee. "You'll do great, Doc. You're everything a mother should be. Just with some seriously terrifying needles".
Janet grinned into her coffee, then looked up at O'Neill through her lashes. "Thank you, sir."
"Any time. Just ask." He shoved his chair away from the metal and plastic table, the legs scraping unwilling and hollow across the linoleum floor. "Go get some sleep, Captain. You look exhausted. Go tuck your kid into bed." His hands gripped the back of the seat he'd just occupied. "That's an order," he charged with a crooked smile.
"Yessir," she replied with mock enthusiasm. "I'll be sure to tell her you say hello".
"You do that," he replied as he turned to leave the commissary. "Goodnight, Doc".
"Goodnight, Colonel," she said to his retreating back. He stuck out a hand and walked into the swinging door. He passed through and let it swing back wildly on its hinge. Janet watched until it had settled back into the jamb. Cracking her neck, she rose and collected her things in a burst of second wind. She had to see a little girl about a bedtime story.