2009
Summary: In the alternate universe presented in 2010, Jack and Sam obviously moved apart. This, I believe, is a snippet of how that went.
Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Stargate SG-1. I just borrow them from time to time.
Jack was...surprised, to put it mildly, when he heard the crunch of wheels on gravel on the driveway up to his cabin. Few, if any, people visited him anymore. Teal'c—he had stayed closest to the man, because Teal'c didn't agree, but he understood—was always away being a diplomat or whatever, things were strained with Daniel at best, and the reporters had finally, finally given up. So he supposed that it made sense that the person stepping out of the car was the one person he hadn't really expected.
"Hey," he said, leaning against the wall casually, watching the sun glint off her blond hair and, for once, not aware of the grey in his. It didn't matter anymore. "Hello," she said back, her tone just like his had been; quiet. Not charged or polite or flirting; not even angry. Just two people, visiting an old grave, with, maybe, regret.
"So...what'cha doin'?" It was unnecessary, he knew, because she would be getting to the reason for her visit in a moment. This...seeing him...had to be as hard, harder maybe, for her than it was for him.
"Joe asked me to marry him."
Oh. Oh. Suddenly...this visit was making a lot more sense.
"I...wanted to see how I felt. When I saw you," she clarified, sticking her hands in her pockets uncomfortably. She had definitely picked that up from him.
He guessed that, in retrospect, the visit made a hell of a lot of sense. Because they had had something. There had been a time when he was Colonel O'Neill and she was Major Carter, and there had been memory stamps and time loops and viruses, and going offworld had still been cool in the most childlike, in the best, way, and they...had worked. Fit. He believed, strongly, even if, now, he believed in nothing else, that if they had tried it then they would have made it. But...
"And?" He grinned sardonically, spread his arms. "What do you think?"
"...We could have been good together, couldn't we?" she asked, and he was surprised, not by the fact that she said it, but by how, as she spoke, her eyes met his. He had never, ever been able to guess what she would do next. "Yeah. We could've." Before everything went to hell. Before their trust splintered and shattered, and left them with...this. Bitter, disillusioned people. And he, for one, felt old as hell.
"I'm going to say yes, sir," she said. Not apologizing. And neither—ever—would he. Because she wanted the picket fence and the little kids, and he wanted...what? It had been her, once. Now...he didn't know. He didn't know if there was ever going to be anything he wanted again.
"Retired, Carter," he said, called almost, as she stepped back into her car—she had what she needed, she had her closure, her finish, for their twisted elusive kaleidoscope romance. And, briefly, their eyes met. And Jack didn't give a damn. And, as her car pulled away, crunching on gravel, he went back into his house.