Chapter 9

It's been a week since we moved in with Carter. The Twins have become more confident, they no longer feel the need to cling to me every second of the day. I'm proud of them. They're strong kids. They're even beginning to look healthy which is a huge relief. Soon they may have the strength to play with other kids, to learn to have fun. They'll soon know the pleasures of cake.

You may be wondering where Carter fits into all this. After all, I do finally marry her and you could probably tell from the start that I'm madly in love with her. The truth is, I'm pretty messed up right at this point of my return. I don't quite know how to adjust. Same thing happened when I got back from Iraq, but my ex-wife, God bless her, got me through it eventually.

This is a bit different. Iraq was about saving my own hide. They didn't threaten others to keep me compliant. But the last twelve years I've been protecting others, my whole life is really about that, but taken to such extremes I really don't know how to do anything else right now.

I still see imaginary Carter.

The kids are outside with Teal'c and Daniel, probably tossing a ball around. I love them to death but a guy's got to have some personal space every once in a while. So I'm hiding inside, sitting on the floor, my back to the wall, arms on my knees. This is the most comfortable position for me when I'm on the floor. I don't know why I don't take the couch or recliner or even just the kitchen chair. Somehow the floor is comforting. It's familiar.

Carter's next to me, appearing out of nowhere. She's watching me carefully, concerned by my behavior, looking just like she always did the last twelve years. I gaze at her affectionately, loving my imaginary Carter. She's always been there for me.

Then she reaches over and touches my hand.

Staring down at our hands in shock, believing I've somehow pushed myself beyond the brink of insanity to complete mental breakdown, imagining that my dreams have somehow come to life, I shut my eyes, count to three, and open them again. She's still there and her hand hasn't moved, though she's looking concerned and embarrassed.

I reach over to touch her face and I know she's real. I won't be needing imaginary Carter anymore. She's letting me touch to know that she's real.

Maybe I was wrong at the beginning. Maybe this is a romance.

I pull my hand from her face but I'm still holding her hand. It's nice to know she's there.

"You okay, sir?"

I let go of her hand. I've been dead for twelve years and she's calling me 'sir'. I'm not even Air Force anymore. I'm not her CO. Maybe I'm not even her friend. Just her former boss, someone to pity for his rough life. Come to think of it, Daniel probably forced her to take us in.

I wish I didn't care about her so much. I want to be angry, I want her to know how much she has hurt me, I want her to know what I've sacrifice for her. But I could never do that to her. I could never hurt her like that, not after everything she's given me.

I lean my head back against the wall tiredly, and she can sense my frustration.

"Sir?"

Guess she can't sense exactly why I'm frustrated.

'Jack.' I mouth my name to her, the name I've wanted her to say for years. She only says it when I'm dying and she's begging me to live. Please say it.

"Jack."

She says it so easily, without hesitation, like she's been doing it for years. Maybe she has. She actually sounds delighted to say it. I watch her expression and she's smiling at me. Beautiful as ever.

I wonder if I love this woman. I know I loved her before, and I'll always love her, but I can't help but think this is a different person. Like some alternate reality. Same but different. Which is quite ironic because in most of the other alternate realities we've come in contact with the two of us are either engaged or married. But that's another story, one I can't discuss.

The point I'm trying to make is that a lot has changed. I don't know what she's been through these last twelve years. I wasn't there for her and I had promised her I always would be. I don't know what she expects from me. I need her friendship above all, it's been the one constant in my life. And I don't want to lose that. So I don't ask for anything more.

Just like always.

Except this time we're just Jack and Sam.

I think I'll go for a walk. I invite her to join me, which she does, and it's just the two of us, walking hand in hand around the neighborhood. And then out to the countryside, and somehow we've walked the four miles to my old house without realizing it.

I miss my house. When I moved to Washington I just couldn't bring myself to sell the place, I'd always hoped to come back someday. Ah well.

We sit down together next to the driveway, admiring the place I called home. It isn't home anymore. Earth in general is.

The current owners notice us and come outside curiously. "Can we help you?" the man asks.

Carter forgets I don't talk and it takes her a moment to realize that she should. "Oh, no, we're just…admiring your house. He used to live here."

"Really?" The woman looks at me suspiciously. "Must have been a long time ago. We've been here nearly ten years."

"He was the previous owner."

"Oh? We were told he'd been killed in action, some Air Force General."

Carter shrugs, looking embarrassed. "We were mistaken. He was just missing."

Humans are a curious race, but sometimes they just don't know when to leave things alone. Trust me, I know. "My God. How long were you missing?" The woman asks me.

"He got back a few weeks ago."

Now they blatantly stare at me, trying unsuccessfully not to. "Would you like to come inside?" The woman offers finally, smiling awkwardly.

I nod my head and they lead us into my old home. It's not that different, really. The pictures aren't mine, my favorite chair is gone, but it's still a cozy old country-style house. Without invitation I head to my old bedroom. They're startled, of course, probably don't care for an old dead man to be nosing around their bedroom, but I need to check something. Maybe nobody ever noticed.

I drop to the floor beside the bed and pry up the loose floorboard, revealing an old tin lunchbox. I pull it out and reveal a stack of cash and a gun underneath. Don't ask. I pull those out too, careful to hold the gun in a non-threatening manner before setting it on the floor away from me. I replace the floorboards.

"I guess it really was your house." The woman laughs and I try to smile at her as I clutch the box to my chest protectively. I want to open it, but these are private memories I don't care to share with strangers.

"We should be getting back, Jack."

I grin at her, and she's smiling. Funny how one name can do that to you. I point at the gun, looking at the people who bought my house, asking for permission to take it.

"Go ahead."

It's not loaded anyway. Carter helps me to my feet as I manage my armful of treasures. I almost pale at the thought of the walk back, I'm already exhausted. She seems to sense this.

"You okay to walk back?"

Of course I'd never admit that I wasn't. I nod.

I wonder why she even bothered to ask when she scolds me with a "Jack," knowing that I'm lying. We walk to the front door and I shake hands gratefully with the owners of my house. And I wish I could kick their butts out of my home and move in with children.

"Daniel can come pick us up." Carter suggests.

"You need a ride?" the man offers.

Carter smiles sheepishly. "If you don't mind."

"Where to?"

She gives them the address and we hop in their car.

"So he has a place to stay?" the woman asks once we're on our way.

"He and the kids are staying with me until they're fully recovered and we find a place for them."

Why am I suddenly hoping I never fully recover?

"The kids?"

"He brought them back with him. They're real sweethearts."

I smile at her praise of them.

"So you two are related? Father, daughter?"

Carter blushes over at me apologetically. "No, we're good friends. We used to work together."

"Your boss?"

"Commanding officer."

"So…can I ask where he's been?"

"Sorry, it's classified."

"Oh, no, I understand. It's just that if he's been missing for over ten years…Where was he?"

Have people always been this forward? Whatever happened to subtlety? Or minding your own business?

Carter looks at me nervously, and I shrug. I don't care what she tells them. "POW." She answers, because it's the closest to the truth.

The man glances at me in the rear view mirror, the woman twists in her seat. I look out the window. I love trees. Universal constant, according to Carter. Where there's oxygen, there's generally trees. Sometimes they're just far away, or funny-looking. Love those purple trees.

They're apologizing now. Great big pity fest. I'd lighten the mood if I could speak, but they just pity me even more because I don't talk. Probably assume it's psychological. Maybe it is.

We park outside Carter's house and I see the Twins rolling a ball on the ground between each other. I take my belongings and get out of the car, shaking the man's hand gratefully for allowing me into their home. The Twins get up to greet me, waiting until I'm well away from the strangers to cling to my legs like Velcro.

Carter stays behind to chat with them, probably trying to avoid commenting on my misery while being polite. I sit down with the Twins and open my box of memories.

Inside is a picture of Charlie. I miss my son. I stare down at his likeness, wishing he were really here. I always do that. I wonder if he misses me. I wonder if I ought to inform his mother that I'm alive. Not that I'm really a part of her life anymore, even before she thought I died, but she'd probably like to know. If she has to learn from a friend of a friend, or the ten-o'clock news if they ever hear word of my story, she'll be royally…mad at me.

Mental note: contact ex-wife.

Behind Charlie is SG-1. The Twins are looking over my shoulder and they giggle when they see me that age. Not that I was young, just younger. Without the scar and with a few dozen more pounds and a genuine smile on my face. I flip through the rest of the pictures and set them aside.

There's not much else in the box. A medal Charlie won in his first year of baseball. My old wedding ring, there was nowhere else to put it when I got rid of the old cigar box I used to keep my memories alive in. A few letters from family, friends. From Charlie.

An engagement ring.

I wasn't meant to be with Samantha Carter in this reality. Everything possible has kept us apart. Age, the Air Force, intergalactic warfare, imminent threats to Earth, death. I was never meant to have a second chance. I screwed up with Charlie, I didn't deserve a second chance at happiness. But I could try.

It was supposed to be my last mission. I was going to retire…again. The brass weren't too happy about that, but I don't belong behind a desk in Washington. I belong in the action, in the thick of it. If I'm not there then I don't belong at all.

At least that's the reason I gave them.

The real reason was decidedly more personal. I couldn't be there for Carter if I was in Washington. I couldn't watch her six, or comfort her when she was hurt, or when Daniel was presumed dead for the gazillionth time.

She'd been badly injured. Almost didn't pull through but she made it, and I wasn't there for her. So I made a decision. Regs weren't going to stop me anymore. Even if she just wanted a friend that was good enough for me. But I'm a sentimental old coot, and knowing that in all those other universes we were together I figured there was some hope for us. So I bought the ring and hid it away, hoping that someday she'd say yes.

Then the universe went and kicked me in the butt and it was never meant to be.

I think I've paid my dues. I've been to Hell more times than I've been happy. Shouldn't there be some cosmic balance?

I put everything back in the box and close it before Carter joins us. With my luck, she'll never see this ring I bought for her so long ago. Maybe I ought to just give it to her. It's a nice ring, perfect for her, I think. It could be just a friendly gift from her former co-worker for loaning her house to an old dead man and his two non-existent, nameless children. Something to remember me.

I'm too much of a sap for that. As long as I've got it there's still hope. Although with the kids I doubt we'll be getting much alone time, not that I'd trade them for it. And then there's always the me not talking bit. Could be an impediment to any conversations we hope to have on the topic.

I take the box inside and set it on the dresser. If she wants to take a look that's fine with me. I know I'm leaving temptation for her like that, Pandora's Box maybe, but if she does open it nothing bad will happen. Unless she assumes the ring was meant for someone else and kicks us out of her home. She would never do that, though. That's something I would do.

A few days later and the Twins feel safe enough without me around all the time to venture off with Carter, Daniel or Teal'c, asking questions and talking about me and their parents, and happily sharing everything they've learned since I brought them here. I almost miss their constant, clingy presence, but it's nice to have some time to myself.

After another week Daniel comes over to tell me Washington is calling. They need my report if nothing else, but I can't give it. I tell myself it's because I can't talk, that I can't hold a pencil long enough because of my arthritic, multi-fractured fingers, and can't type for the same reason. It's the truth, but not all of it. I just don't want to remember. I get enough of that every time I take a step, every time I see the condition of the children, every time I see Carter. I really don't want to remember.

Nobody realizes I've been having flashbacks. They come up when I'm alone or at night while the others sleep. I don't lash out or scream, so nobody notices, except perhaps the Twins when I'm suddenly shielding them as they lie safe in their bed. By the time I realize what I'm doing they've either gone back to sleep, comforted by my presence, or gotten out of bed to begin the day, thinking I'm their wake-up call.

The worst occurs in front of everyone. We are all sitting in the living room watching the children when the young boy whose neck had been broken suddenly appears in front of me, looking scared and hurt. I close my eyes to make him go away, but he's still there when I reopen them. I stand up and leave the room, something my friends are getting used to, but he follows me to the bedroom.

I sit on the bed and hold my head in my hands, trying to make him go away, but he won't leave. And as I look at him his neck snaps from invisible hands, his eyes are dull and lifeless, and he crashes silently to the floor. I turn away, curl up on the bed hiding my face but the image remains. I can't make it go away, even with my eyes shut tight.

That was the worst, but there was nobody to help me through it because I have run away. I will always be alone…

There is a timid knock at the door which I recognize as Carter's. I don't acknowledge her, I'm busy hiding from the boy who keeps dying before my eyes. She comes in and sees me curled up on the bed, covering my eyes and she is at my side within a fraction of a second, touching my shoulder gently and pulling my hands from my face.

"Jack," she says softly and her voice brings me back. The boy vanishes and there is just the two of us. I stare at her face, focusing on that, knowing she is real. I know because she is holding my hand.

"Are you okay?" she asks and of course I nod. It's a reflex really. Nobody wants the truth when they ask that, they want to be reassured. "Jack," she scolds. Maybe she really does want the truth.

I glare at her. I don't really know why, it just seems like the thing to do. She slowly pulls away from me and at the absence of her touch on my hand I freak out. There's really no other word for it. I lose my mind, go crazy, and driven by madness I reach out for her and grab her hand tightly. It's my anchor to reality and I'm not letting go.

She sits on the bed beside me, allowing me to hold her hand. She smiles at me reassuringly, letting me know she won't leave. I think I take her by surprise when I pull her to lie down next to me and wrap my arm around her, hugging her back to my chest. She doesn't fight, though. She settles back into my arms, holding my hand at her chest, interlacing our fingers. She sighs a little, and I can barely make out her whispered words.

"I love you, Jack."

I don't think she meant to say it out loud, but I'm glad she did. I lift my head to get a better angle to study her face. Her eyes are closed and she seems tired, exhausted. She isn't at all fazed by her declaration, although the effect it has on me is earth-shattering.

Even when I sit up she doesn't move, as though she's afraid it's all a dream. She finally turns when I tap her shoulder, looking up at me with hopeful eyes. God, I love her. I want to tell her. I want her to know.

So I hug her. And for us, that's all we need. In the ten years we knew each other I could count on one hand the number of times we've embraced. Okay, two hands, but the events of our first two years don't count. The first time we'd been infected by an alien virus and…she hates it when I tell this story. Let's just say her primitive mind made a pass at me and we ended up in a wrestling match before I could drag her to the infirmary.

The second time was in Antarctica and we had to share body heat. Nothing drastic, I assure you. I was bleeding internally with cracked ribs and a broken leg and she was keeping me alive.

The third time I'd just escaped a fate worse than death in time to save her life. And I was cold. We were both pretty shaken up and I was too grateful to realize we weren't exactly conducting ourselves like proper officers. To tell you the truth, I'd have reacted the same way if she had been the General.

There were other times too, generally after life and death situations were resolved, nothing more than a friend offering support when needed. But after three years, our rare embraces were always meant to comfort her. The loss of Janet, her father, her own brush with death.

But now, with our arms around one another, we're helping each other. She hadn't taken my death easily, I realize. Given our working relationship she wouldn't have been allowed to mourn me too much in public. She would have to go on like nothing was wrong, that perhaps she missed her friend, but nothing more. Even though in the end we weren't in the same chain of command and a relationship would have been permitted, she would never have allowed herself to show that our friendship was a weakness. She would remain strong.

Myself, I would have thrown it in and left. The only reason I stayed there so long was for her, to keep her safe. Despite the mask I use to hide my feelings I'm not that good at pretending there's nothing wrong. If there's a problem, I deal with it. So I would have packed my bags and left.

I'm glad she didn't, I know it must have been hard. I'm not saying she had it worse than me. I hate it when people say that, try to make it seem like the people left behind have it the worse end of the deal. That's crap. Don't belittle the things I've been through by saying that the people I left behind, the people who thought I was dead and had to deal with that and move on with their lives, had it worse. I had to deal with the same uncertainties, wondering if my friends were still alive back home, if they were waiting for me. Plus there's the torture and starvation bit.

Anyway, Carter and I are hugging and there is nowhere else I'd rather be. Eventually we lay back on the bed and fall asleep, still holding each other. I don't care what you think about that, a 65-year old General falling asleep with his 50-year old former 2IC. I'm beyond caring what the world thinks of us. I need her now, and it is the most natural thing for us to help each other out.

The kids come in some time later and although they are surprised to find us together, they don't let it bother them and climb onto the bed with us, forcing their way between us where they can be fully protected. When I wake up it's with a pair of kids in my arms, looking into the smiling, amused face of Samantha Carter.

I smile back.

TBC


Author's Note: I know Jack says he sold his house, in season 9, but when I wrote this I didn't know that. And this was important to the story, so live with it. Smile!

And jeez, of course the kids need names, just hold your horses. All in due time. Love the reviews and advice, you guys are awesome.

Bixata