Ha! I hope you people are happy. Reviews work. Here is another chapter. I *was* taking a nice bubble bath, with my newest fantasy book purchase, but nooo, I can't concentrate enough on the first six pages because I'm thinking about THIS fic and all of the reviews saying, "Wow, can't wait to see where this goes!" And I'm lying there thinking, 'Wow, where DOES it go? People want to know!' And I can't type in the BUBBLE BATH so here I am, no longer in the bubble bath. And typing. Also, thank goodness you guys apparently like longer chapters because this one just kept going. Exposition does that…

Same disclaimer: I don't own the characters & I don't make money from them. Spoilers ahoy!

Here we go…

Enjoy.

--

It was almost three weeks before Jack saw Samantha again. He had remained near Seattle for two days following their previous conversation, but Jack refused to give in to the temptation of another visit so soon. He was positive Samantha was under surveillance. He considered it a minor miracle that he hadn't been noticed loitering on her porch.

He had spent those two long days trying to understand why he could be drawn so strongly to a woman he, by all rights, didn't even know. At first Jack decided it was just the aspect of her fame that tugged him in. After all, he had seen astronaut Samantha Carter's face on television more times than he could count -- first when she joined NASA and took command of the first shuttle mission back out into space following the Columbia disaster. Samantha's beautiful face had given a new, updated and glamorous facade to the aging and under-funded space exploration program.

The second time her image had been plastered all over every media outlet imaginable had been at the time of her heroic death. As a former Air Force captain and the daughter of the late-great General Carter, Samantha's memorial service had been held on the front lawn of the White House, bringing in dignitaries of the highest degree.

After some time of reflection, however, Jack realized it wasn't Sam's notoriety that drew him to her. It was the fact that he felt comfortable around her. Spending time with Sam felt strangely familiar. He didn't know Colonel Samantha Carter beyond her well-known visage, but in some way Sam knew him. She followed his random subject changes with unsurpassed grace. She finished his sentences, yes, but even more -- she understood when Jack left a sentence unfinished for some unspoken reason. She wasn't distracted by his abject fidgeting, and several times during their long evening together, Jack had found his hand beneath one of hers as she -- unconsciously -- reached out with a touch to calm his frenetic movement.

Somewhere, somehow, Sam had found him worth knowing, and Jack couldn't stop himself from wondering why.

By Monday he'd been required to report to Bremerton in order to ship out on a joint recon mission with the US Navy. Seventeen days later, Jack was now ready to never set foot on a submarine again. They'd had zero luck recovering the "Stargate" that had gone down with the Achilles in the arctic with the first mission, and Jack wasn't sure why the Joint Chiefs had insisted on trying again. And again. Jack was relatively certain the Russians had something to do with the artifact's miraculous disappearance; they were, after all, nosing around that same sector of the arctic the very day that valuable piece of technology had gone to the bottom. Jack was also just as certain the Russians would continue to deny their involvement to their dying breath.

Jack had been too busy to realize just how much he wanted to see Sam again until he felt nothing but utter relief and anticipation when he received his temporary duty orders indicating that he was on TDY for the near future out of McChord Air Force Base.

And so Jack had found himself arranging a covert meeting between himself and one Samantha Carter.

He parked himself on a semi-secluded park bench at the designated location and waited.

The sun was high in a cloudless sky, a miracle for late May in Seattle apparently -- everyone and their mother was at the park. It was packed. All the better for hindering anyone with a parabolic listening device, Jack thought to himself, feeling a little smug about how well this meeting had come together. He adjusted his sunglasses and tried to be patient.

Jack had sent a typewritten note with the carefully chosen time, date, and place wrapped up in Sam's morning paper. He'd bribed her paper boy into delivering it by giving the teen a gift card to the local video game store; Jack knew how desperately thirteen-year-olds sought out video games of which their mothers didn't approve.

That night, at exactly twenty-one-hundred hours, Sam had opened the curtain of the uppermost window in her townhouse -- the signal saying she had agreed to meet him.

At the park, Jack checked his watch and frowned. The appointed time had come and gone two minutes prior. He scanned his surroundings once more, hoping to spot Sam. Instead, at the exact instant his scalp prickled indicating a presence behind him, he heard her voice, low and quiet.

"Hi Jack."

He smiled candidly and waited for her to come around to the front of the park bench. When ten or so seconds had passed without that happening, Jack began to fidget, the gravel of the pathway rough beneath the soles of his shoes. He thought any awkwardness between them had been banished after their long talk, and couldn't see why she would hesitate.

He finally dared to turn around and saw … nothing. Just a few trees. And a black and white dog chasing a Frisbee in the distance. He looked down and discovered the only evidence Sam had ever been there. An envelope was pinned to the back of the park bench, labeled simply … "J."

He palmed the crisp envelope and casually exited the park, not daring to open the envelope for three unbearable blocks. His curiosity gnawing at him, Jack simultaneously sat down in his car and tore open the seal of the note. Sam's handwritten message was stark against the white page. He began to read.

Hi, I have some things to talk about with you that cannot be discussed out in the open. Meet me in three hours, downtown. Pier 48. Take the tour.

See you there. --S

Jack started up his car and headed for the Central Business District of Seattle.

Wandering down Main Street, he stepped into a bookstore and realized it was somewhere one could get lost as well as hide. Elliot Bay Book Company, the signage humbly stated. The red neon sign in the window proclaimed, "Read." Jack stood somewhere in the middle surrounded on all sides by books and decided that this was one of those mysterious places that appeared bigger on the inside than on the outside. With books new and old stacked nearly to the ceiling on wooden shelves, and the twenty-foot high exposed brick walls, Jack felt like he'd stepped back in time.

Following the neat little arrows, wooden floor creaking beneath his feet, Jack headed to the café to have a coffee and waste time until it was time to meet Samantha. Finding the café was no small feat in itself. Elliot's was all lofts and turns, shelves and mysterious hidden corners. Jack finally arrived at the nostalgic coffee shop downstairs. He ordered his drink and sat down to wait.

There was only so much for a bored Jack O'Neill to do while he waited, and Jack grew bored quickly. Two coffees, one donut, and sixteen elaborate paper airplanes later, Jack and the barista were both very relieved when his wait was finally up.

Leaving the bookstore, Jack walked a few blocks and reached Pier 48 shortly -- having taken incredible care to be sure he wasn't being followed. The seagulls were squawking wildly at the tourists' arrival. Jack tried to blend in with the crowd while ignoring the cacophony overhead. Some of the loudest birds dove in for a closer look at the coffees and snacks in the milling tourists' hands.

Jack paid for his entry and was only slightly surprised when the cashier handed him a small note along with the ticket. When he realized just what he would be touring, he stopped short and blinked in annoyance. Jack was not a happy camper.

The note said simply, Meet me in the battery room.

Jack set his jaw and marched out toward the water, following the small crowd.

He steeled himself, descended the narrow ladder, and headed in the opposite direction of the noisy tour, winding through tiny hallways and ducking through bulkhead doors. When he finally found Sam amidst the tangle of wiring in the battery room, he narrowed his eyes at her. "A foxtrot-class sub, Sam? A Russian submarine? For crying out loud, I can't think of anywhere else on the planet I'd want to be less right now," he snapped. His body was taut with pent up frustration.

Sam's blue eyes widened slightly at his outburst and he immediately felt a bit guilty. Jack continued to hold the glare for good measure, though. He honestly wanted nothing more than to be out of the water on firm ground with air surrounding him on all sides once more. The last place he expected to be when he woke up this morning was on a bolshaya-thirty-nine, foxtrot class Russian vessel -- prom queen of her Soviet Pacific Fleet. This may have been one of the largest Soviet subs ever built, but there was only so much breathing room to be found on a sub with a twenty foot draft.

Sam looked more than a little stunned at his discomfort. "S-sorry, I didn't think you -- wait, you couldn't possibly remember--" She closed her eyes for a moment and appeared to gather her thoughts.

To her credit, Sam looked like she probably regretted the meeting place. Or perhaps the meeting itself. Jack couldn't tell which was more likely.

--

When Sam had boarded the submarine, she'd had a rush of distressing memories.

She remembered all too well the day they had almost lost Jack, her Jack, to the replicators. He had been beamed out of the Russian sub at almost the very same second it had been destroyed by the torpedoes launched from one Los Angeles Class USS Dallas. It had been a close call. She still remembered his joyous greeting when he'd arrived on the Asgard vessel. 'Now THAT is what I call TIMING!'

Jack had been beamed in to rematerialize in a fetal position on the floor. Not only had the submarine been bombarded, but Jack had been under physical attack himself by the mechanical bugs. She shuddered at the recollection. Sam understood why she felt uncomfortable being here on the submarine where her Jack had come so close to dying.

What she couldn't understand was why this Jack, who hadn't experienced the original timeline, who had never met a replicator, would feel the same way.

She finally met his eyes with her own, questioningly, and Jack elaborated. "I just spent seventeen straight days on a sub --" he glanced around to make sure no one was listening. " -- intercepting Russian intel. If I can't be on land for a good long while, a long way from anything Russian, I'm going to go bonkers. In case you haven't noticed, it gets a tad close for comfort being stuck in a sardine can like this underwater!" Jack stretched his arms out to the side, slapping the bulkheads with his palms for good measure. The entire room was less than six feet wide.

Sam was less than impressed with the reasoning behind his discomfort. Didn't he realize what dire circumstances the other him had to endure on a near daily basis with a minimum of complaints? Well, actually, no, she realized -- he had no idea.

She decided to explain. "You -- the other you -- almost died in the sinking of a foxtrot class sub. Codename Blackbird. You were saving the world. Again. I think you'll survive a few hours on a safely docked submarine full of tourists, sir," she said, impetuously adding the honorific in the hopes Jack would be reminded of his status as a war veteran and decorated officer of the USAF. She turned her back to him and moved away to the far side of the narrow room before speaking again. "At least this time you aren't being chased by mechanical replicating bugs and the sub isn't being blown up by a Los Angeles Class attack submarine."

Jack took a deep breath to continue the argument, but paused instead, his one hand raised in Sam's direction. He lowered it until he was pointing at the floor. "Wait. What?" He had the decency to look slightly abashed. And confused.

"Anyway," Sam turned back to Jack and pantomimed apostrophes in the air while she continued, "This 'sardine can' is the best I could come up with for a secure meeting place on such short notice. Restricted entry, metal walls, not to mention the fact that radio waves travel much less efficiently through water … I think it's a great place for a clandestine meeting." She checked her watch. "We have until eighteen-hundred hours."

"How did you manage that? Generally when one tours a submarine, doesn't one … ah, tour?" Jack questioned.

Sam glanced down at the floor and then back up again, feeling slightly embarrassed by the cover story. "I told them it's our anniversary and that I wanted to have a celebratory picnic aboard the Cobra because my husband is such a fan of war memorabilia."

At Jack's amused snort, Sam smiled playfully. "I'll have you know they thought I was a very good wife. We have the battery room because it's so out of the way."

The corners of Jack's mouth turned up in the way that Sam knew meant Jack was amused but trying not to show it. "Very romantic, Sam. Thank you." He impatiently waved his hand at her to go on.

Sam sat down in the narrow space between the decommissioned batteries and gestured for Jack to join her. She pulled out a backpack. "I've already activated a small jamming device. You can speak freely." Pausing, Sam looked up at Jack and met his eyes earnestly. "And I expect that nothing we discuss will leave this room. If the authorities were to find out what I've been planning, I would most likely be remanded to custody immediately. I would probably never see daylight again."

At Jack's startled look, Sam realized how that sounded, and acted to reassure him. "No, no, It's not like I'm planning treason, or anything like it. It's just that there is … a non-disclosure agreement. But seeing as I blurted out the Stargate's existence to you as soon as we met on the sub, well…" Sam gestured helplessly to indicate how she felt that it didn't apply to Jack. Wouldn't apply to any Jack O'Neill, whatever the existence. She needed Jack. Couldn't do this without him.

Jack searched her eyes for a moment before finally nodded his understanding. His posture relaxed a little and he found space for himself on the floor opposite Sam, his back against a bulkhead, elbows resting casually on his knees.

Sam took a deep breath and began her briefing.

"Almost a decade ago, your other self and myself --" Sam blinked, momentarily taken aback by the odd statement. "We successfully completed an important mission here near Seattle."

Jack's eyebrows came together, a wrinkle forming between his brows. "I thought you said we traveled to other planets in that timeline."

"We did. But this was one of those occasions in which the extraterrestrial threat was on Earth." Sam passed several pieces of paper to Jack. One was a picture of a goateed man with dark hair. She tapped the paper with her index finger and continued. "That is a man known as Seth Fargough."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Fargo? As in, 'yeahsureyoubetcha'?"

"Yes, 'Far-go,' like the city. But I'm pretty sure 'yeahsureyoubetcha' is more Minnesota than North Dakota."

"How'd you…"

"I've spent some time at the cabin, Jack. Minnesota. Pond. Fishing?"

Jack gave a slow, measured nod. Sam could see his mind wander at the mention of his stomping ground and rural escape.

She snapped her fingers to bring Jack back to the conversation. She touched the map where there was an outline of a substantial building and its surrounding defenses. "Seth Fargough has a compound north of Seattle, heavily fortified, armed to the teeth. AK-47s, UZI SMGs, and at least one fifty-cal."

Jack mouthed the word, 'Wow,' silently.

Sam met his gaze pointedly and said, "As well as several other varieties of weapons with which you are not acquainted." Jack shot Sam a look that told her just how likely he thought it was that there were any weapons in existence he had no experience with, and Sam realized just how glad she was that this particular Jack had never been on the receiving end of a hand device, staff weapon, pain stick, or zat'n'ktel.

She closed her eyes, momentarily overwhelmed by a sudden influx of images permanently burned into her mind after years at war. Jack being shot by a staff weapon and dropping at her feet. Feeling the burning shiver of the zat's energy quake over her body, helpless and unable to move as Jack was zapped to fall heavily alongside her. Standing only inches from Jack O'Neill, separated by a blue energy barrier, silently begging him to leave before they would both die in a tremendous explosion of metal and fire.

Sam opened her eyes only to meet one of Jack's inquiring gazes. She allowed herself one small, sad look but quickly composed her emotions.

Sam shuffled through Jack's papers to bring the relevant pages of file number 120914 to the top.

She focused her mind back to the business at hand and pointed to a paragraph near the top of the page. "Seth commands his own small army of nearly eighty brainwashed followers. The US Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms have been investigating him for the better part of a decade, though so far, they've been content to simply survey. Apparently they haven't had sufficient motivations to move on the situation in this timeline."

"What about in yours?"

"Well, in my timeline, when SG1 -- our team -- showed up, the ATF team stationed nearby got all hopped up and wanted to move in right away as support once we went in. Having the Air Force involved made them think Seth was a bigger threat than they'd originally assumed. They may also have thought he possessed some advanced technology." Sam bit her lip and felt sheepish at having to utter the next words. "Having the President call and put the other you in command of their little operation didn't help, either."

Jack looked dubious. "The President, Sam?"

Sam flashed him a sudden, teasing grin at the recollection. "Yeah. The President had a thing for you."

Jack still looked unconvinced and Sam waved a hand to brush off her reference to the commander in chief.

"Here's the thing," Sam said. "I need to go in and take out Seth." She met Jack's eyes intently, willing him to believe in this mission.

"What? Why would you go and do a thing like that?"

"Because he's Goa'uld."

--

TBC

--

AN: Thank you to the powers that be for putting Sam in Seattle where she can do some good while waiting for Ba'al to attack! Like Sam would ignore a living, breathing Goa'uld practically in her backyard. Pfft.

And now for some insight into the writing process: I had a lot of trouble being happy enough with this chapter to post it … kept doing edit after edit. After edit. I'm still getting used to this "new" Jack, and didn't quite realize what I was getting into when I started the fic. Several reviewers have hit the nail on the head: he is quite different from the Jack I'm used to writing, having been in Spec. Ops. for ten years longer and for never having had the rug pulled from beneath him so thoroughly by his son's accidental death. Not to mention, he hasn't endured at least eight years of UST between himself and Sam. ;) This Jack is hard to figure out. I've spent literally hours doing research on different military aspects of his life to get a handle on the character (including recently declassified information about the USAF's covert activities in Vietnam). I think (hope) I'm there now.

Hope it was readable! The reviews are very appreciated! I love that so many people have taken the time to let me know how I'm doing. Keep it up! I'd love feedback on what you think.

Oh, and yes: you can indeed tour a foxtrot class Soviet submarine similar to the one featured in "Small Victories" (Season 4, Ep. 1 -- yeahsureyoubetcha!) at Pier 48 in Seattle. I do not, however, know if they would approve of picnics in the battery room.