Title: Face The Music

Author: HailDorothy aka HDorothy

Episode:Threads - S8

Spoilers: S1-S8

Premise: Jack prepares to face the music that he's still in love with Carter.

Note to readers:

After watching 'Threads' for the umpteenth time, I pondered what Jack was going through after Sam left to meet Pete, especially if he didn't know what that get-together involved. This one-shot takes place after Jacob/Selmak's death but before Daniel returned to us in his birthday suit.

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Part One of Face the Music:

JACK'S MUSIC

1830 Hours (6:30 P.M.)

SGC: General Jack O'Neill's Office

An hour ago, Jack had given Walter strict orders that unless Anubis was knocking at the gate, Daniel had resurrected or Carter needed him, Jack was not to be disturbed. Slumped back in his leather chair, Jack shut his weary eyes and took refuge in the dark solitude. He'd tried to catnap, but his exhausted mind wouldn't stop replaying the horrific events of this very long day that still wasn't over.

"Go buy flowers, Carter." Yeah, that'd been the first straw to break the camel's back at zero nine hundred hours this morning. Oy vey! Jack hated clichés. Wait, was that a cliché? Whatever! Reality check. Carter really intended to get mm-. . . Just peachy. He couldn't even think, let alone utter the word . . . without wanting to puke. Marri—Aack! And she wasn't doing it with him!

Face it, old man.

The woman that you love is about to get hitched to another man.

Life sucks!

Meanwhile on a more galactic proportion of SG-1 to the rescue. Well, the odds weren't in their favor. But then when were they? Basically, the flipping world he knew was going to hell in a hand basket. Yeah, another stupid cliché.

Oh, and Repli-Carter, bless her calculating, metallic heart had almost turned Earth into an Erecter Set.

Meanwhile, Daniel was technically, allegedly, but unofficially dead. Jack had yet to set a date for a memorial service. Why this would be memorial service what? Number three for Doctor Jackson? No way. In Jack's alternate universe, Space Monkey was hanging out in some cosmic coffee shop entertaining the Ancients. Well, the man better get his sorry Ancient butt back here, coz Jack was about to enter the no spin zone for good. Man, he must stop watching Fox News 'O'Reilly's Factor.'

Because the woman that you love is about to get hitched to another . . .

Oh, and the pinhead of all drama-queens, Anubis actually believes he can rule the galaxy and obliterate Earth. This just never gets old. Think positive, Jack. That's what Carter does, right? Why she's so positive that she's buying flowers!

Because the woman that you love is about to get hitched . . .

Oh, another noteworthy update. Jack's only girlfriend in say what, twenty plus years? Cough. Ah, yes, a sex-based relationship with the staggering longevity of an entire twenty-two days dumped him before he dumped her. Yes, there is a God!

On the downside, Jacob/Selmak died today. Crap.

And the woman that you love is about to . . .

Hey, wait! What if Kerry's right? He could retire and go fishing—alone. Because there was no way in Netu that he was about ruin Carter's looming W-day. And yet, she'd come to his house today alone. It didn't take a rocket scientist—no pun intended, for Jack to realize that she'd wanted to take it out of their room. Why if Kerry had not been there—Yeah, and if horses were wishes, old man.

Then there'd been that heart-stopping moment in the infirmary's observation booth before Jacob died, when Jack swore eight years of longing had at last won out. He'd put his arm around Sam, and then she leaned into him, pressing her beautiful tear-streaked face against his hand. Always. Jack swore that when they'd gazed into each other's eyes, they'd finally unlocked the door to their stupid room. Carter still loved him, right? Or had he read more into a grieving woman's state of mind? Notta. He knew Carter. She cares a lot more than she should for this old flyboy. Then why is she marrying that-that baby-faced stalker putts?

Frustrated, Jack shuffled the paperwork he'd ignored the past few weeks; a written recommendation from President Hayes for a promotion and transfer to HomeWorld Security. All Jack had to do was say yes. But he hadn't because it meant he wouldn't see Carter every day.

The transfer involved a few months as George's sidekick, then filling Hammond's boots full time. George had reluctantly accepted the one year stint to head the new post. Now he wanted retirement. Jack didn't blame the long-suffering man. And although, George never said anything, Jack suspected his former CO was trying to do Jack a personal favor.

But Washington, D.C.? Crap! Jack hated politics and all the Dress Blues, kiss ass, social pandering. Flying another desk. Ah, just put a gun to my head, why doncha. Not. He'd almost done that before. Very messy and very self-centered. Jack was not the man he used to be. Okay, so he could retire again.

And the woman that you love is out . . .

Making funeral arrangements for her beloved father, Jacob. Jack should be with her, but it was no longer his place. Realistically, it never had been. Still, he'd do whatever she asked of him. Always. He'd taken care of everything relating to the Tok'ra and the military service. Despite that he had sent her home, Colonel Carter insisted leaving just long enough to meet with her husband-tae-be, whatshisface. Jack figured the engaged couple were organizing Dad's private wake—buying flowers. Fine. Whatever. With Daniel out of the picture Jack would be the best friend Sam could ever have or want. But before any wedding vows were exchanged—and as soon as propriety permitted, Jack intended to keep the last promise he'd made to a dying man four hours ago.

Let's face it, O'Neill. Far more frightening than facing Anubis or a corridor of rampaging replicators, facing Samantha Carter scares the every loving crap out of you. But come hell or high water, you will open the door to that damnable room! But what if she no longer wants you? And who would blame her?

Daniel had even scolded him a few weeks back, "Jack, instead of giving Sam hope that you two can one day be together, you've pushed her so far away that she's actually gotten a life—without you."

Now the woman he loved more than life rapped softly on his office door. "Sir, are you in here?"

"Nope," he glibly answered with a fond memory.

Jack heard her exasperated sigh. Fine. That wasn't the best answer . . . considering.

"Give me a sec, Carter."

"Yes, sir."

Time to face the music, old man. He squinted at the conference room's drawn window shades. She was pacing. Whoops! But she still wore civvies. A good thing, right? His heart thudded against his ribs and a voice echoed inside his aching skull. 'Don't be an ass, Jack. She doesn't love that smiley face cop. You really think that all these years I've let you call me 'Dad' was for my health? Hell no! Now promise me that you'll make my little girl happy?'

"I'll try, Dad," Jack whispered. Switching on his desk lamp he blinked against the invading reality then popped a breath mint. Saying a swift sincere prayer, Jack left his chair and smoothed his wrinkled BDUs that included a quick sniff of his arm pits. Oy! Oh well, she'd have to deal.

The door knob turned. "Sir?" Carter respectfully stayed on the other side of the door.

Jack opened his parched mouth. His CO voice failed. God help me—us? The single, most pressing issue in his life stood feet away, and would hopefully let him reopen the door to 'their room.'

Still, a worse fear loomed over Jack's head like a life-sucking black hole.

What if he was too fricking late?

"Enter."

The End . . . or Not!