Another older piece that was sitting on my system. No specific spoilers but several episodes came to mind when writing it. And to minimize confusion - Italics are memories.
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fan fiction based on the television series Stargate SG1. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/US, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions, SciFi Channel or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters and settings. I claim no ownership of the characters. Only using them for a short time and will return them in relatively the same shape as when borrowed.
Tossing down the television remote, Jack O'Neill blew out a loud breath in disgust. The one time he really needed some mindless show to suck him in, he couldn't find one. Oh, he had tried. He had spent at least three minutes on each station. No luck.
Looking around the now silent room, he blew out another breath and tried to come up with something else to do - anything that would give his mind an alternative to dwelling on the thoughts that were hovering on the edges, waiting to erupt in his consciousness.
A deck of cards on the bookcase caught his eye. Standing up, he snagged it before sitting back down and unceremoniously sweeping everything off the top of his coffee table. A quick scan through the deck located the jokers which joined the box on the floor with the other debris.
Shuffling, he focused his mind on the process of taking the cards from the bottom of the deck and mixing them in this hand. Fanning the deck, he split it into two piles to cut them together. The sound of the cards slapping each other momentarily froze him. It sounded too much like the regulation book pages that had been fanned in his face.
"I can't do it anymore." The sound of Samantha Carter's voice echoed in his mind.
Forcibly, Jack snapped his mind back to the task of laying out the cards on the table. Dealing out the cards in a row, he proceeded to build the stacks until he had seven rows, each with one more card than the previous stack. 'Klondike or Vegas style?' he mentally asked himself. Flipping three cards from the stack in his hand, he snorted. What did it really matter. He'd just flip styles in the middle of the game anyway.
Red six on black seven; Queen to King, flip card; play up ace. No more plays, flip three more cards. He mentally talked himself through each step, hoping it would help.
"What choice do we have?" The memory of his brusque comeback to Carter's pronouncement jumped in his mind.
Sam averted her eyes from the angry face before her. "I don't know," she finally answered, raising her eyes to his face one again. "All I know is that I can't do this anymore. I can't go on living my life waiting for someday... never knowing for sure if that day will ever come." Leaning forward, she planted her hands on his desk. "Don't you get tired of living half of a life? Never sure when you get up in the morning if this will be the day that one of us dies and the other begins the rest of their life with regrets? Regrets for things we haven't done together, regrets for opportunities we lost, never knowing the feeling of waking up in the morning with the other beside them..." Her strained voice broke off as she flung herself away from the desk. The sound of a sniffle told him she was struggling to regain emotional control.
Shaking himself, Jack made his hands pick up the stack of cards and turn them over one more time. Flipping three, he moved the ace to the top of the stacks before flipping over the next set.
"So what, we throw away everything we believe in... everything we work for... everything we ARE?" Jack snapped out, fighting the urge to move around his desk and take his second-in-command into his arms. He could tolerate many things. The sound of Sam Carter crying was not one of them. Steeling himself, he continued. "How long do you think we would last that way?"
"How long do you think we can last like this?" Sam snapped back, her anger overriding the tears for a moment. Snatching up the book of regulations that had been lying on the desk, she fanned the pages in Jack's face. "You show me in this damn thing where it says that in order to be an effective officer in the Air Force you have to give up any shot you have for happiness," she demanded.
"Damn it," Jack snarled, sweeping the cards on the table into a pile. Throwing himself backward on the couch, he rubbed his hands over his face. He told himself he wasn't going to do this. Forcing himself back into a sitting position, he picked up and straightened the cards.
"You know as well as I do that you can't let it get personal out there," the Colonel snarled, snatching the book from Sam's hands.
"It's already personal," Carter bit back, her hands making quotation marks in the air on the last word to emphasis her point.
Frustration overrode good intentions. Flinging the cards across the room, Jack stood up and strode purposely into the kitchen. Yanking open the refrigerator, he snagged a beer and slammed the door shut. Taking a long breath, he let his head rest against the cool exterior of the appliance and closed his eyes.
"What if it had been Daniel or Teal'c behind that force field? Or if it had been one of them at the alpha site when the drones attacked? Would you have stayed behind or searched for hours on end to find one of them?" Carter challenged him.
"Of course," O'Neill started, his voice not conveying the conviction his words intended.
"That's bullshit, and you know it," Sam replied, her voice steady.
Pushing himself back from the refrigerator, Jack slammed the beer on the counter and strode purposely to the back door. Sliding it open, he took a deep breath of the night air.
She was right, of course. But that didn't change anything.
It couldn't.
Could it?
The question echoing in his mind caught Jack off guard.
The phone ringing behind him caused Jack to jump. Listening to each ring, he refused to move to answer it. Whoever the hell it was did not want to talk to him right now.
"Ain't here. Leave a message."
The sound of his voice on the answering machine echoed through the silent house. Jack stiffened at the quiet "Damn it, Jack, pick up" coming through the line. The buzz of a hangup disconnected the call.
Moving across the room, he snagged his beer on the way to the answering machine. Jamming the play button, he listened again to make sure he had heard what he thought he had.
Picking up the cordless, he threw himself on the couch and stared at it.
"So, what, because of a couple moments of weakness, we say to hell with it?" the Colonel quipped, sarcasm making his words harsh.
Flinching at his choice of words, Sam reiterated them quietly. "A couple moments of weakness." Looking away for a few minutes, she clenched her jaw. Visibly stiffening, she turned flat hard eyes back towards her commander. "I see, sir."
It was the Colonel's turn to wince at the edge she put on the appellation. It was as if she was spitting something sour from her mouth.
"With your permission, sir," the Major intoned flatly, her body language and words telling him she wanted to be dismissed.
Tossing the phone up in the air, Jack remembered how he had waived for her to leave the room. He had not seen her for the rest of the day. Now she had just left those few words on his machine.
What would it serve to call her back? It wouldn't change anything.
Pitching the phone to the other end of the couch, Jack took a long draw on his beer. Getting up, he picked up the cards scattered on the floor.
Sitting back down, he shuffled the cards and diligently dealt them into piles.
Black Queen to red King. Trey to four. Turn over three cards.
The scene began again in his mind.
The End