Chapter 3 - Wanting

Colorado Springs
April 20, 2001
1930 hrs

Was it natural to be nervous before a first date in a long, long while?

Sam checked her hair, then smoothed a hand over her dress, feeling the butterflies that refused to settle in her stomach. It was still cool outside and she figured pants would have been the more sensible option. Yet…it was a date and she wanted to look nice.

It had been nearly four months since she'd seen Joe and had lunch with him in the SGC. They'd only exchanged a few words whenever he was around and preparing to gate to Aschen Prime before he'd actually found the opportunity to ask her to dinner after a particularly long briefing.

She'd agreed without thinking too much, just happy to get away from work for once, convincing herself that it was simply dinner between two friends.

But even that sounded ridiculous to her ears.

Who are you kidding, Sam?

No matter how she wished to rationalise it, this dinner was undoubtedly a date. The ambassador had meant it as much when he'd informed her rather publicly of a restaurant in the neighbourhood that beat the Mess hall hands down, the remembrance of which still caused her cheeks to flush a dull red. The knowing looks that were sent silently her way, then to O'Neill's, had been nail-bitingly embarrassing, causing her to be acutely aware of the proximity with which she stood next to the Colonel. Surreptitiously, she'd moved a few paces away, as though the belated gesture would matter.

It was just another baby step in the unending journey of needing to subtly prove there was nothing remotely resembling what the rest of the base assumed took place within that very platonic relationship she had with her CO. Insinuating gossip about her military career had been an unpleasant companion from the very start and the endless speculative looks had followed her up every rank. Each time, she had dealt with it by largely resolutely ignoring these groundless rumours, but in that very instant, she'd felt cornered, felt the strain of their relationship of the past few weeks because of the Colonel's obvious disappointment in the rest of his team.

The ambassador's question had given her a way of proving to that the gossip mill had nothing at all on Jack O'Neill and his second IC. And she'd thoughtlessly pounced on it, answering directly to Faxon's oblique way of asking her on a date.

Was that why she put in all the effort to dress up so carefully, when a casual dinner at a slightly more upmarket pizza place was all that it was going to be? Why had she felt so unsettled as she dressed, feeling as though that there was something very wrong somewhere? Or that the image of the Colonel was always hovering at the edges of her mind even as she tried to think of the evening ahead with Joe?

She'd seen the Colonel's unreadable face when she'd agreed. He'd noticed her subtle withdrawal, despite giving no outward indication that he did. In the perspective only offered by time, she could finally admit to herself that her acceptance of Faxon's invitation had also been spurred on by the desire to provoke a reaction from him.

But O'Neill had showed only what he wanted people to see. Whether jealousy or indifference had lain behind that blank, inscrutable look that she had glimpsed on his face, she hadn't known.

Sam shook her head in self-admonishment, hoping that it was just her over-thinking things again when all it'd meant was a fun, casual night out. She was suddenly free to explore a life again outside her work, and this time, with a man from whom she didn't need to keep classified secrets.

So why was she still torn between wanting to move away from a man whom she trusted with her life but could never hope to get, to another one who was willing, available and wasted no time?

It seemed obvious on paper. But perhaps the innate fragility that lay within these…things…was better handled with care and was more easily pushed aside so it wouldn't be subjected to closer examination.

Enough of that, she told herself.

With conscious effort, Sam straightened her posture, grabbed her car keys, her bag and walked out.

The pizza restaurant was getting crowded by the time she reached her destination across town. Joe was already seated, but he stood up when she arrived, his immaculate manners drawing a smile of appreciation from her. They placed their orders after he seated her in a quiet corner, the meal beginning more smoothly than she'd expected it to go perhaps because of how easy Joe had made it for her.

Sam found herself enjoying the intellectual company even if their conversation hadn't revolved around the finer points of wormhole physics. Above all, Joe was polished and articulate, saying what he wanted to say with such calm eloquence that she couldn't help but be drawn to his fluent discourse on the ongoing treaty. He'd picked up on her excitement, fed it with possibilities of his own, and drew out a future so painfully bright for all of them that she couldn't help but be enraptured by that particular vision he'd painted.

Joe had understood her enthusiasm, she thought, perhaps even shared it.

It was a sentiment so sorely lacking in the Colonel.

The Colonel?

Dimly, Sam realised that her thoughts had strayed. It took an effort to swing her attention back to what Joe was saying, but she was determined that Joe would get her undivided her attention for the remainder of their meal.

It was undeniable that he was great to talk to. They chatted briefly about their families more openly than she'd ever remembered doing; he told her about his fussy, aristocratic mother and his rowdy, younger siblings who disobeyed her at every opportunity they got and she in turn, recounted the tales of moving around the country as an Air Force brat. The camaraderie between them was evident, the chemistry present. He was a fairly good-looking man and was, above all, fantastic company who didn't seem to have that much baggage.

Uncomplicated. Easy.

In contrast to the Colonel.

And there it was again, that forbidden thought of the Colonel being in Joe Faxon's stead, where it was he who shared a meal with her and he who talked about his family.

The thought stopped her short, making her grimace inwardly. That was a joke. Nothing other than a feverish conjuring of what she projected O'Neill to be. Because there was no one who carried more baggage than an divorced man who thought himself responsible for the death of his son, who spent months in a hellhole in Iraq and lived through the countless horrors of wars.

The Colonel. Jack. It was his name, wasn't it? Why couldn't she even say it aloud?

Because nothing was easy when it came to him.

She couldn't stop thinking of the Colonel, she now realised with certainty, even as she sat at a table dining with another man.

Despite all the heated arguments they had about the Aschen in the past couple of weeks, his opinions about the negotiations actually revealed more of his intelligence and eloquence than he'd cared to demonstrate. So seldom were they pitched on opposite sides – the hand-to-hand combat practice training on the SGC's gym mat notwithstanding – and for once, she was forced to admit the Colonel had held his own with understated aplomb. For once he hadn't cowered under some of the technobabble she'd spouted; he'd actually turned her arguments on its head, presented them back to her in a form she hadn't recognised and had forced her to examine her blinding enthusiasm a lot more carefully. In fact, it had been downright shocking to see him unwittingly show a nuanced understanding of the issues with which they were dealing.

She had always known that the Colonel was sharply intelligent, and his quick-thinking ways were always hidden beneath a dumber-than-rocks veneer that infuriated Hammond and the team more often than not. But it was the shadow that always lingered behind his eyes that hinted at how deep this man's convictions and passions really ran. Coupled with his rugged good looks, it was – if she were honest enough with herself – beyond attractive.

It was why she'd withdrawn after their Za'tarc confessions to make clear the parameters of their relationship, glad at first that he'd respected that when her feelings had become a bit too hot too handle.

But how much of an epiphany really was this? Sam had known that she was in trouble when he'd been stranded on Edora, and the Za'tarc incident had merely proved what she thought she'd felt. And the dinner with Joe was simply another reminder that she was a long way from getting over what should have been a mere, simple infatuation.

Nevertheless, everything with the Colonel beyond work-related things either remained uncomfortably shrouded in nebula gas or tended to head for a dead end.

Her earlier mood suddenly dissipating, Sam made mention of needing an early night in preparation of another long shift the next day. She'd expected Joe to gently protest, but he had called for the bill immediately, his grace in accepting her reason point-blank leaving her feeling rather ashamed of the unfocused thoughts that ran rampant through her mind.

They walked out of the restaurant with her arm loosely tucked in his, the chilly air making her suck in a deep breath of appreciation. Not for the first time, she cursed herself for wearing heels as they dug into the uneven ground. Having been so long accustomed to the heavy surety of combat boots, these dainty but irritating shoes made her footing unsure. It was a merely a matter of time before the high heel of her right shoe caught in a deep groove in the concrete pavement. And happened it did just as she'd expected; in that split second of panic, she knew she was going to tumble on her ass because she'd just leaned a bit too much out of her own centre of gravity.

A firm hand clamped around her upper arm and pulled her upright against a solid body. Without warning, she found herself the recipient of a very affectionate and ardent hug, then of a chaste, tentative kiss on her lips.

It was a fleeting, yet intimate touch that made her wonder all over again why she hesitated, why she drew back. Fighting the urge to step away, she held herself slack in the circle of Joe's arms and tried to smile.

"Words can't begin to describe how much I enjoyed your company," he began earnestly. "Say you'll make me a very happy man by agreeing to dinner again the next time I'm in town, which is, oh, next week?"

It hadn't been an unexpected question. She'd made no attempt to disguise how much of a good time she'd had, and Joe had, unsurprisingly, noticed her interest.

Sam exhaled slowly and tried to banish the image of O'Neill in her mind. A small, niggly part, however, suggested that she attempted something that resembled a life with another man. "I'll call you about it," she promised, deflecting the question with a more indirect answer.

His warm eyes lit with pleasure, his happiness evident at her response that he'd already interpreted as consent. "Come on, I'll see you back."

The look of exhilaration on his face sent a dead weight straight into her gut. What had she gotten herself into? And what the hell was she even thinking?

Colorado Springs
April 20, 2001
2145 hrs

Was there a huge party in town that he didn't know about?

In his quest for more bottles of Guinness on a Friday night, Jack found himself convenience store hopping after finding that all the ones he'd driven to were flat out of his favourite brand.

Three down. And out. Hopefully this was going to be the last stop on the yellow brick road that had led him to a seldom-visited part of Colorado Springs.

It was a pathetic, Friday night activity, but it was also one of those rare, quiet ones where he had the opportunity to just put his feet up and study the stars on the rooftop deck with his beverage of choice.

Seeing the red-and-white lights of the store appear in the distance, Jack turned at a main junction into a minor road and parked around the corner leisurely. Finally we're here, he thought as he made his way down towards his destination.

A couple emerging from an Italian restaurant at the end of the street gave him pause. He was about to turn his eyes away when he caught a glint of short blond hair and a swish of red fabric.

Was it…Carter?

Another glance told him that it was Carter he was looking at. Dressed beautifully to the nines.

And she took his breath away.

But was she doing?

His mind raced to catch up what his heart already knew.

It was Carter on a date and in an intimate hug with another man…who looked to be none other than Faxon.

Jack's stomach lurched at the sight but he kept on staring in dreaded fascination, unable to look away, as Faxon bent his head and kissed her briefly on the lips.

Only then did he realise he knew what it felt like to be in the path of a speeding train. The shock and pain slammed into him like a hard punch in the gut, making him involuntarily stumble back a step. His breath was stolen from him; the only thing that held him upright was the brick wall of the building he stood next to. In his confused, muddled state, he initially, hazily wondered why she was out in the restaurant with Faxon. Then remembrance of Faxon's obvious interest flooded back…as well as Carter's apparent reciprocal gestures.

Why was Carter and Faxon together? How…how had it all happened?

Carter and Faxon were walking away from the restaurant slowly, turned vaguely somewhere in his direction, her arm still clasped tightly in his.

Jack took a strangled breath even as a part of him scrambled for answers to questions he couldn't even properly form. All he could think of was to give in to the primal urge to flee, to hide so that she wouldn't see him coming down the street, in order to spare the both of them the awkwardness of a chance meeting when another man had his arms around her shoulders. He could face a battalion of Jaffa soldiers in the heat of battle but this…god…even he wasn't brave a man enough for this.

He needed distance from the paralysing sight.

Now. He willed his legs to move, told himself to breathe.

The search for beer forgotten, Jack turned and made his unsteady way back to the truck, driven by the urge to get somewhere else…somewhere far away from the intimate scene he'd just witnessed which had merely served to augment his shock, resentment, and jealousy.

Caught up in the haze of anger and misery, he didn't notice when the blond woman turned her head in his direction, a frown of confusion appearing on her face when she saw his retreating back. She stood frozen for a second before she allowed her companion to gently steer her towards his car parked on another street.

Jack's wooden feet took him back to where his truck was parked. Thankful he was well-hidden in the dark alley, he climbed in and sank heavily down into the seat. Pulling himself together, Jack took a deep breath. Again. And again, plastering his hands to the steering despite their traitorous shaking as his tortured mind seared the images of the kissing couple permanently into his head.

Still he willed himself to calm. Until the distant roar in his ears had faded to nothing and the thudding in his chest had slowed.

As he pulled away from the curb using another side road that ensured he stayed out of their sight, only then did the true force of his emotions come to the fore, their intensity shaking him the way a leaf trembled in a strong gust of wind.

The years had taught him – and taught him well – to bury his feelings beyond recognition and live in denial. It was an old trick he thought he'd mastered and initially, it was one that was helped by Carter's suggestion to leave everything in a room too small to even contain the depth of what he knew he was beginning to feel. Without saying much, he knew her career and her professional standing meant the world to her. Badges of honour that she'd attained all these years without the trappings of clandestine dalliances or dishonest dealings in the USAF. Why should she start with him?

Carter had made it crystal clear, had called time on everything that he thought was burgeoning between them months ago, all of which that had been summed up in a damning, single phrase.

He had respected her wishes, even welcoming the opportunity to bolster another layer of concrete over the wide gulf that he knew still separated the both of them, when he hadn't been quite that ready to examine his feelings too closely when they'd surfaced during that particularly trying incident with a damned alien lie-detector. But he'd also, erroneously, it seemed, interpreted her statement as one that begged time, time to think things through, time to sort out what she really wanted.

And if were the case, then apparently she had done so. Seeing her with Faxon was a clear signal that she'd chosen a direction away from…the potential of them.

Jack's ambivalent feelings about Carter and Faxon solidified into a mixture of anger and resignation. Her determination to move on seemed to broadcast her willingness to do anything to get out of an awkward situation that involved him and her…and straight into another man's polished efforts at wooing.

He certainly got the hint, despite what everyone thought about him.

Sighing audibly, Jack numbly moved on automatic, steering the truck through streets he hadn't known he'd taken and into cul-de-sac where his solitary house stood. He'd been a fool to think that they shared something special, despite what he thought they'd both confessed to in that room under the threat of death. On the other hand, Carter's interest had been painfully obvious when it came to Faxon; the only conclusion he could draw was that he'd been hopelessly mistaken when it came to the depth of her feelings.

He let himself in and sank down on the couch with a decanter of whisky, desperate for the anaesthetising respite it offered. Lifting the glass to his lips with a hand that couldn't seem to stop trembling, he was suddenly assaulted with the memory of the day he'd found himself on the opposite side of a force shield staring at her in dawning realisation and wordless dread.

With a growl, Jack squeezed his eyes against the unwelcome memory, tightened his grip on the flask and raised his arm.

Heavy glass met hard wood in the next second and shattered into a thousand silvers on the floor, the golden liquid rapidly spreading on the off-white carpet.

He'd be paying through his nose later when the cleaning service came. But he couldn't quite bring himself to give a shit at the moment.

Jack dropped his head into his hands, wondering how things had gone so fucking wrong, or why Carter did what she did. Maybe it had simply meant that Carter hadn't thought that an idea of them was worth it. Worth waiting for. Worth exploring.

Or maybe she thought he just wasn't worth it as anything more than a CO who commanded her respect.

It wasn't as though he'd complacently assumed Carter's place was perpetually by his side despite the lack of words between them. But still, the idea of Carter with someone else hadn't been so real, so tangible until she'd stood in another man's embrace.

Whatever it was, no matter how he tried to look at things, Carter had made her point loud and clear.

And it hurt too goddamned much.

You stupid, pining bastard, O'Neill, he cynically thought. You would have found out sooner or later anyway. Best you do it now, deal with it and not do anything dumb.

Still, he just wished that he didn't have to stumble into a classic movie scene where the man kissed the woman in question after rescuing her from a mishap.

With a shaky breath, Jack knew there and then that he too, needed to move on just as she'd done so effortlessly. Otherwise, the tortuous image of Carter kissing Faxon – the sheer idea of Carter with another man – would just flay him raw.

It was time to go do something different, he thought in desperate need.

The change in perspective would do him good, would help him focus on what really, really mattered. He'd re-centre himself and in the process, hopefully ditch whatever he'd thought he knew about Carter.

The blind state of turmoil made him latch onto the very thing that had eventually led Carter into another man's arms.

The Earth-Aschen alliance.

That alone had carved a neat split between him and his team in the recent weeks, the playful banter all but disappearing between them. Their missions through the Stargate were getting fewer and fewer as Carter and Daniel were called to frequently lend their expertise in the negotiations. Teal'c had chosen from time to time, to loan himself out to the other SG-teams that were still performing reconnaissance and the lull in activity had given him longer periods of leave to visit his family.

When it once had been unthinkable, it now appeared as though it was a matter of time before the team – and the SGC – was no more.

Forcibly pushing all thoughts of Carter out of his mind, Jack set to work on a plan.

In an earlier argument, Daniel had essentially told him that the burden of proof lay on him.

There was just one more thing he could try. Without the rest of SG-1.

And he prayed that it would work.