It's sad. Character death is never fun, but it does have a sort of poetic drama. I do hope to make it bitter sweet. With fluff in the mix to ease the pain. Remember: In the real world of Stargate, Sam and Jack are fine! Alive and kicking and going at it!

Nothing Stargate is mine.

Gone fishing. Back in a year.

- One year ago

Jack sat and watched the sun go down in the relative safety of his own apartment. He noticed the smudges on the window, but didn't feel like getting some window cleaner to wipe them off. Instead, he placed his fingertips on the cool glass and traced their shapes. Hieroglyphs. That's what they reminded him off. And the hieroglyphs reminded him of her. Samantha Carter. Funny how the mind works.

He stood up and he heard his knees make the sound knees make when their owner gets old. If there was one sound that defined old age, it was the sound of joints protesting against sudden movement. That one, or the sound of his neighbour singing Sinatra songs with an Elvis accent at six in the morning, he hadn't decided yet.

He turned on the lights and looked at his living room. It was too neat. He felt like revelling in his misery and a clean house just didn't seem right. Jack picked up the small pile of unopened and unseen mail he had received today and dropped it on the floor, sighing when it ended up lying so organized that it just seemed placed. He tried messing up the fallen envelopes with his foot, but gave up. He bent over to collect them and his heart skipped a beat when he noticed the thick brown manila envelope. It didn't have a company logo on it, nor a printed address. Even worse. It had his name on it, hand written. His name, his rank, his address… All in the handwriting he had come to get used to through millions of notes and random messages. From the person he now managed to only think about four or five times a day, instead of the usual ten to fifteen. Sam Carter. The same Sam Carter who had died trying to safe her colleagues a year ago tomorrow.

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It couldn't be, could it? He stared at the envelope he had placed on his table. He could and probably should open it, but the whole situation seemed to ridiculous to be true. He had no idea why this rather plain bundle of paper was delivered to him and it seemed to mock him for acting like an insane man. His hand found the corner of the brown paper and traced its edge just like he had been tracing the shape of the smudges on his window. It was real. He noticed there was a hard object hidden inside and he got himself together long enough to open the envelope. He pulled out an ordinary USB-stick, wrapped in a neatly folded sheet of paper. More handwriting. Sam had always made it a point to write notes to him by hand. She might have been a computer geek, but she had her own share of wacky traditions in her personal life. His hand started to tremble slightly as he read the note.

'' Jack,

I'm sorry. Sorry for not being there with you, sorry for not being *with* you as I'm writing you this letter and sorry for not having known you as well as I could have. I guess we waited with too much patience and failed to see the signs leading me to that cabin of yours again. I had some great times there, fishing and taking the time to sit down for proper meals with my closest friends. But I have to say… Sometimes friendship isn't enough. Sometimes you know that you're blessed to have just that and feel guilty for wanting more. I wanted it all and life kicked me in the behind for that, I'm sure.

You probably wonder why you get this… stuff, a year after my death and I bet you're not looking very happy now. I hate making you miserable, I really do, but this needs to be done. I need you to know that it wasn't for nothing. I for one, was convinced that The Room we had left things in wasn't real. It never existed. I never believed that whatever there was between us, could be left buried under a mountain. It was there every time I looked at you and every time we assured each other that things would be alright in the end. I just wished I had the balls to just say that sooner. And maybe, if I'm lucky I'll get the chance to say it to you before this letter will ever be needed, who knows?

Jack, I need you to look at the files included. I made it simple for you. No odd passwords and I marked and arranged the files so that you will know when to open which one. I must say that I do suspect that I didn't need to go trough all this extra work because you know your way around a computer. I'm on to you, sir.

Read the files, O'Neill. Follow my directions this time and you will see. You'll find out.

I'm not dead, Jack.

Sam''

Jack held his breath and re-read the last line. I'm not dead, Jack. He ran his fingers through his hair and kept his eyes glued to the letter. Her handwriting, her name and her words. Words that he would have found to be common while he was working at the SGC, but that could make his heart stop now. I'm not dead. He grabbed his laptop and decided to follow her wish.

He had to find out. She was gone. She had returned from her mission wounded and she had died in his presence. …Right?

Right.

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Hope you enjoyed reading this and thanks or your time!

I hope to update soon.