Title: All I want for
Christmas is You
Author: HailDorothy
Spoilers: S7, S8
Pairing:: Jack/Sam, Sam/Pete – sort of
Summary: AU.
There's an old saying, "Never assume anything, coz it makes an
ass out of you and me." Well our favorite couple Jack and Sam are about to learn
that hard lesson and the true reason for the Christmas season. Merry
Christmas, SJ shippers!
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 never was and never
will be mine. Darn! But hey, this little story belongs to me.
No
beta: Put the blame for typos and other errors of judgment on
me.
Feedback: The best present I could get! And if I made an error of general cannon please let me know.
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Colorado Springs Municipal Airport:
What was she doing here? She didn't want to spend Christmas without Cassandra or heaven help her, without General O'Neill. 'Oh, brother, I actually admitted what I've been denying for so long. I'm still in love with Jack!'
'Tough luck! You made your bed, now sleep in it, woman. Luck!' Not a popular word in General O'Neill's vocabulary. She recalled a few years back, when he and Daniel got into a debate on faith versa luck. Daniel of course, initiated the dialogue.
"I've come to the conclusion that the virtues of faith are highly overrated."
His lean back braced against Daniel's artifact cluttered worktable, Jack walked the dog with his yoyo, while Sam finished their last mission report on her pc.
Sam glanced at Daniel who per usual was talking to an audience of one, himself. "Now on the other hand luck and fortune, well that's plausible given the odds that luck is either a lady or a tramp. What do you think, Jack?"
"Would you repeat the question?" Jack rocked the cradle then spun his red yo-yo into his hand and pocketed it in his BDUs.
"I said—"
"Nah!" Jack held up a hand and smiled, "heard ya before."
"Well?" Daniel rested his chin on his right hand and waited. So did Sam, wait that is.
"If life's taught me anything, Daniel, luck is a crapshoot. Luck doesn't have any loyalties. That's why I rely on faith in myself and a higher power."
"Um, Jack, you don't believe in the Ancients."
"Oh, I believe in the Ancients, but don't buy into the whole ascending to a higher plan of existence bullshit."
"But I did ascend."
"Yes you did, Daniel, and just like I predicted, you're back." He flourished a hand. "And don'cha think, it rather odd that you don't remember any of your time cloud surfing?"
"Well, I . . ."
"Something's not kosher about those self-absorbed Ancients, Daniel. However, I do believe in heaven and hell, God Almighty, angels and demons. Raised Irish Catholic, ya know. But I think Satan gets more credit that he's due. A lot of mankind's misery is self-inflicted. That whole free will thing we've got going on. Oh," he snapped his fingers, "I finished listening to the Bible on tape, actually bought the CD. Teal'c's listening to it. Odd, but he got torked when I told him how the Book of Revelations ends." Jack crinkled his face as if confused.
Daniel got that doh look, the one only Colonel O'Neill could take credit for. "Wow! I can't believe Jack O'Neill has gone spiritual."
Sam remained silent, but looked expectantly at her CO. She'd always suspected there was deeper stuff beneath his hard ass soldier veneer and the possibility intrigued her.
"Why, because I'm a tad bit cynical, Daniel?" Jack's smile ironed out.
"A tad bit?" Daniel snorted. "How about that trip to Ne'tu, when you spewed, 'Well, I'm gonna end up there sooner or later. May as well check out the neighborhood.'"
"Hey, I was wrestling demons back then." Jack defended with a grimace. "Sometimes still do."
"Aren't we all, sir?" Sam offered, thinking about the unresolved issues between her father and brother.
"Thank you, Carter." He sniffed and readdressed the linguist. "And quoting one Doctor Jackson, we're all spiritual creatures. That's what separates us from the Goa'uld, Replicators, even the Asgard. Faith is a human quality, Daniel, goes along with the other intrinsic emotions of hope, trust, and love. Actually, faith and hope kind of overlap." He crisscrossed his arms then untangled them.
"But—"
"Tell me something, Daniel, when's the last time you saw luck move a mountain?"
"Well, I um—" Daniel hiked his glasses up his nose.
"See!" Jack winked at Sam who was not only impressed but smiling.
"Actually, neither luck or faith have the ability to move anything physical, Jack."
"Beg to differ. I've never known luck to enable or encourage a person to do great things. Faith on the other hand, instills human nature to overcome honking big obstacles. Let me quote two famous song writers, Jimmy Van Heusen and Sammy Cahn who wrote a great little ditty called, "High Hopes."
"Huh?" Sam and Daniel asked in unison.
"Oh, fer crying out loud. How soon we forget the great songwriters of my childhood. So does the name Frank Sinatra ring a bell?" He looked hopefully from Sam to Daniel.
"Yeah." They answered.
"Sweet." His hands shoved into his front pockets, Jack walked off and sang in perfect pitch.
"When troubles call
and your back's to the wall,
There a lot to be
learned that . . . wall could fall. . . .
Just what makes that
little ole ant
Think he'll move that
rubber tree plant?
Anyone knows an ant
can't
Move a rubber tree
plant.
But he's got hi-i-igh
hopes, he's got hi-i-igh hopes
He's got high apple
pi-i-ie-in-the-sk-y-y hopes
So, anytime you're gettin' low, 'stead of lettin' go, just remember that ant
Oops, there goes
another rubber tree plant
Oops, there goes
another rubber tree plant
Oops, there goes
another rubber tree plant! La la, la. . . ."
"Ants don't have faith, Jack!" Daniel yelled out smugly.
"It's a simile, Daniel!" Jack snarked and kept singing until he was out of sight.
"Wow, I thought the colonel couldn't sing." Sam looked at Daniel.
"Um, me either," he mumbled with a vacant look.
Sam laughed. "Let's face it, Daniel, the colonel got you good."
"You agree with him?"
"Ya sure yabetcha." She took up her laptop and turned to leave his lab.
"Me too." Daniel winked and hummed harmony to High Hopes.
"Oh, my gosh, you scammed Colonel O'Neill."
"Yup. Always knew he had faith, just needed to get him to fess up."
"You are going to be so dead when he finds out."
"Sam, you aren't going to tell him are you?" He delivered a nervous look.
"No, Daniel, I won't have too. Sooner than later he'll realize what happened and well, you know what they say about revenge being a desert best served cold." She laughed and hurried off.
"I hate desert!"
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
So where was Sam's faith when she needed some? Yup, you should have broken up with Pete long before he proposed. In fact, you should have gone after Jack at the Baxter's anniversary party. But after what he'd said, practically implied that he no longer loved you, you felt humiliated and pursued Pete with a vengeance. You took him to your bed. . ."She'd not intended to go that far. Other than Jonas Hanson, she'd not been with another man. And since meeting Jack and falling in love, she'd assumed the only man she'd ever make love with would be him. Sam had another dream, one many modern women didn't share, while Sam held onto the values she'd been raised with. She'd wanted to remain celibate until her wedding night. Well, she'd really blown that pipe dream with Pete. But she had learned from the experience.
More guilt assaulted her. Pete could never know that whenever he kissed or made love to her, she imagined him to be Jack. Heck, she'd not even admitted that to herself until this last while. She was settling, not for a safe bet, but for a temporary fix from the real deal, Jack O'Neill.
Face it, Sam, dating Pete has been a humongous blunder. You should have realized that when you spotted him at Daniel's house during the stakeout. Had you been thinking with your brain instead of your hormones, you wouldn't be flying to Denver to dump a nice but slightly psychotic guy, because it'd never have gone on this long. Still, Sam didn't feel threatened by Pete, just annoyed.
What had Colonel said after Pete got wounded and ended up in the SGC infirmary—under lock and key. "Hel--lo! If I had a nickel! Your boyfriend stalked you! What is it about the word stalker that you don't understand, Carter? Mark my word, Shanahan's a psychotic control freak." With that, he shook his silver bed-head and stalked away.
Even Daniel and Teal'c sided with her commander and that just made her dig her heels in deeper. True, Pete had spied on her. But Sam hadn't wanted to think negatively, let alone realistically that this guy might be three fries short of a kid's meal. She certainly knew how the General—um, Colonel O'Neill had felt. Angry and suspicious! And so had General Hammond until Sam convinced him that Pete was just concerned for her welfare and should be given security clearance.
Sam should have known that trouble comes in threes. Last month without consulting her, he'd been hired on at the Colorado Spring's P.D., and would report for duty January 15th. Sam never asked Pete to move to the Springs. She preferred the distance between their homes and that they had to plan their dates. With her job's constant unpredictability Sam wanted some order in her private life, while her independent nature resented Pete's control tendencies. So why was she still with him? Today, her true motivation slammed into Sam's chest like a staff weapon blast. Pete was a buffer between her and General O'Neill. And for almost a year, it had succeeded. Until today that is. She so didn't want to think about her unprofessional behavior in his office, then again, he'd not exactly been a gentleman.
Sam returned her thoughts to Pete. The final blow to her relationship with him came last week. He bought a house! Not just any house, but a quaint English Tudor like she once described to him, including a yellow kitchen and large yard. He then, highly suggested she sell her house and they move in together, until she agreed to marry him. Whatever.
After he'd given her a tour of the house he'd bought two days prior, tensions escalated to the boiling point. Something about Pete buying a dog triggered Sam's outburst that included calling him a control freak. Sam knew if she and Jack ever had followed through on their feelings, he'd never have done what Pete did without conferring her.
Just hours before Sam's abduction she and Pete had the blowout. When she returned to Earth today, she found over a dozen frantic messages of apologies along with pleading for her to come to Denver for Christmas so they could talk. Calling him from her lab, Sam reluctantly agreed because he deserved to be told face-to-face, that their fling was over and it wasn't all about General O'Neill.
Being abducted and knowing she could possibly die allowed Sam to put her life in perspective. First off, she was rarely home. And when she was, she spent it with Cassandra, actually preferred Cassandra over Pete. That alone was a neon sign.
Once Sam got past Pete's idealistic courtship, they had little in common. He couldn't talk about his job and she certainly couldn't talk about hers. Nor was he into sports. The first time she turned on a hockey game, he fell asleep. He really did like boxed wine. She liked twelve dollar bottles of Merlot and thanks to General O'Neill, Guinness. And did she mention Pete hated driving fast, refused to ride her motorcycle and when she shared about her intergalactic race in space with Warrick he had a bird, declaring she couldn't risk her life over such thrill seeking antics.
And what had Jack said when she'd shared her excitement at being asked to copilot with Warrick the following year? "Hey, why should you have all the fun, Carter? Next time I'll be your backup pilot. We can take turns flying. That's if you and Warrick don't mind an old colonel hanging out with ya?" He donned his boyish expression that always tipped the scales in his favor.
"No, we'd love to have your expertise, sir." Sam meant it.
"Sweet!' His dimples tucked deep along his mouth and Sam got that irresistible urge to kiss him. Instead, they'd looked at each other until that awkward moment when their gazes locked. Sam was a goner. Fortunately, the colonel broke eye contact, and strolled off, singing the Beach Boys racecar song, 409. "Nothing can catch her, nothing can touch her, my 409, 409ooooo . . ." For some warped reason, Sam had hoped he meant her, not the car.
Sam smirked at that fond memory, one of many she'd shared with the general, which made her realize to date she'd not had too many recollections with Pete. But then, they'd been together less than a year. In all fairness, she enjoyed Pete's company, liked the way he made her the center of his universe. Why lots of women would love to spend the rest of their lives with a guy like Pete and that included his control issues. After all, he just wanted the best for her, right?
Among his obvious good traits, Pete Shanahan was the quiet, non-complaining boyfriend. Too quiet for Sam. At least, if he ranted and raved once in awhile, she'd know he had backbone. Along with their obvious physical differences Pete remained everything Jack O'Neill wasn't. Jack wasn't quiet. Well, not quite true. He O'Neill had quiet down to an art. But when he had something to say, you wanted to listen. He rarely blathered and still had the most irreverent mouth in the universe. Sam grinned. Nope, that was another art the general had perfected. No one could insult a System Lord or for that matter, the Oversight Committee, like Jack O'Neill. Why he'd acquired a reputation for flippancy that made the insult king of comedy Don Rickles look like a saint.
On the opposite side of the coin, Jack could be thoughtful and caring. He loved kids and animals, and had spoiled Cassandra rotten. He never left anyone behind and was always there for his team. Sam lost track how many times she'd awaken in the infirmary to find he'd never left her bedside. "Think nothing if it," he'd say with that cute dimpled smirk.
But when it came to articulating how he felt, Jack didn't do well. No, doubt, he'd rather face a roomful of armed Jaffa and human Replicators than verbalize his feelings. But what totally captured her heart was his humility. Rarely did she hear him brag of his accomplishments, and if he did, it was tongue in cheek. She doubted he knew how many times he'd saved Earth. Teal'c would know though.
She also enjoyed the little presents he gave her when she least expected. Nothing, a CO wouldn't get one of his officers, but still . . . he knew what mattered to her. Little things, like bringing her a chicken sandwich, blue jell-o and coffee when she was pulling an all-nighter, then keeping her company. He'd bought her a leather coat with a scarf and gloves her first year with the team stating, she was in Colorado, not D.C. and he couldn't afford for her to get sick.
He'd gotten her other quote, 'necessities,' over the years. Like three Christmas's ago when he bought her that ugly wall decoration for her lab. An animated large mouth Bass that sang, "Santa got run over by a Reindeer," every time someone walked by. No, she she chuckled, she wouldn't dwell.
Meanwhile, while far from wealthy, Pete dropped big bucks on their dates, not to mention elaborate gifts. Sam preferred to stay home, order pizza and watch a Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire movie. But she could only count three times that he actually agreed, only to reiterate how much more fun they'd have had, eating out and going to a play, etc.
Again, Pete didn't understand how much Sam missed the little things. Long walks, puttering around her house, gardening, playing chess with Cassandra, and tinkering on her motorcycle or watching a sun set from her back porch. When one's job includes almost dying and the fate of Earth rests on your shoulders it tends to affect one's priorities. Daniel, Teal'c, and General O'Neill understood. Why couldn't Pete? Sam had wanted a life of normalcy so badly that she'd dismissed the obvious. She couldn't be happy and have normal with someone who didn't appreciate her lifestyle, someone who wasn't a part of the SGC. She'd made a huge mistake comparing Pete's job as a police detective to her leading SG-1. The only thing they had in common was that they worked for the government. Talk about pathetic.
For both their sakes, Sam had to end it with Pete. Still, to do the dastardly deed over the holidays was as General O'Neill would say, "Wrong on so many levels, especially to a nice guy like Pete Shanahan." Yeah, O'Neill still called Pete nice guy.
Still, once Carter gave her word, she was hard pressed not to follow through. She'd said she'd fly to Denver and she would—even if it broke Cassandra's heart. Oh, brother, had she become that callous?
No doubt, her run in today with the general had thrown her another curve ball. He'd made it clear that she should put Cassandra above her love life. She'd wanted to tell him the real reason for going to Denver, but she didn't want him to know she was breaking off with Pete, yet. Considering her history with Jack O'Neill, she didn't want to put him in an uncomfortable position.
Another revelation that came from her insubordinate outburst was that maybe, the general still cared. Or did he just want to jump her bones? She certainly wanted him, always had. But was there more than physical attraction? Oh, who are you fooling, Sam. Of course, you're still carrying the torch for him.
Pete Shanahan has been a distraction with issues. She didn't even want to think about how many times he'd proposed these last few months and that each time she'd said, "No, I need more time," he said okay. Most men would have walked by now, that included General O'Neill. Then there was the fact that everyone thought she'd said yes. Another buffer between her the general. What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.
Sam needed to stop deceiving and start believing. She needed faith!
The unexpected beep of the automated check-in machine that denied her I.D. yanked Sam from her miserable thoughts. "Crap," she sighed and reinserted a credit card.
Once again the screen read: 'Your reservation cannot be found. Please scan again or ask an agent for assistance.'
"Oh, fer, cryin' out loud!" Sam looked at the annoyed passengers standing behind her and whispered, "Sorry," then got in the opposite line and waited for an agent. There she handed over her I.D. and explained, "I'm booked on the six p.m. Denver flight, but your automated ticket service won't accept my card."
"No problem, ma'am. That sometimes happens." He took her I.D. scanned it then frowned. "I'm sorry, Ms Carter, but there is no reservation for you or for this flight."
"Excuse me." She dug into her purse and removed her ticket confirmation and flight printout. The agent looked it over and nodded. "I'm sure it's just a computer glitch. Give me a few minutes to rectify the situation."
Sam nodded, smiled at the scowling passenger behind her and glanced at the airport's wall clock. Holy Hannah! She had less than twenty minutes to board. She turned and glanced out the airport's glass doors. The snow flurries had grown heavier. A storm was coming. This so wasn't her lucky day.
TBC
