A/N: References Fragile Balance and Lost City

Both of the next two times I saw Jack he told me it would be the last time.

The first time he was right.

Except, it wasn't really him. Again.

About a month before I saw him I was home prepping dinner when the doorbell rang.

"Hi Sarah. Has Jack been around?" Daniel Jackson asked even before the door was fully open, an odd look on his face.

I blinked dumbly at him, not comprehending what was in front of me but knowing it couldn't be what he was pretending to be. Dr. Jackson had been killed by a lethal dose of radiation over a year ago.

After a moments hesitation I slammed the door shut and picked up the phone mindlessly dialing Jack's number only to have it go immediately to voicemail.

Grumbling in frustration I yanked opened the desk drawer and shuffled around until I found the paper I was looking for and dialed.

"Carter." Her answer was curt.

"Um, Hi Major...Sam. It's Sarah. Jack's..." I winced at myself.

"Oh! Sarah!" The detached voice with which she answered the phone immediately warmed and was laced with anticipation, "Is he there?"

I pulled the curtains aside to see the thing that was pretending to be Dr. Jackson still standing in my front yard, also on the phone.

"Well, it depends on who you mean by 'he'..." I couched.

Sam released a relieved breath, "I know he looks...different but we figured you might actually recognize him. I swear it is him this time."

"What?" I looked back outside, the thing looked very much like the Dr. Jackson I remembered. "He doesn't look any different than what I remember."

"Wait, what?" The tension returned to Sam's voice and I contemplated the possibility that she didn't know what was happening.

"There is something here claiming to be Dr. Jackson." I explained patiently. "He looks just like him and rang my doorbell asking after Jack."

"Something claiming to be Daniel..." She repeated slowly to herself. I could swear I could hear the gears in her mind turning. "Oh...oooooh. I'm so sorry Sarah." Much to my chagrin her apology was surrounded by a barely smothered chuckle.

"Sam...?"

"Sarah, I'm sorry, I didn't even think when we split up. That is Daniel. He's back." I could hear the smile in her voice even as I pulled the phone away from my ear to stare at it incredulously. "Sarah? Sarah? You still there?" Sam's voice floated up from the handset.

"Did you just say he's back? From being dead?"

"Yes." Sam confirmed I wasn't hearing things. "It's complicated and has to do with planes of existence and beings of higher power and some kind of existential struggle between good and evil."

"Oh. Ok. Right." Because what else was I supposed to say to that?

"There's really nothing to worry about." She assured me, "That really is Daniel. He's only recently back and it's been a little nutzo around here so..." She drifted off apologetically.

I guessed she was making excuses for Jack's lack of informing me. Not that she needed to. Jack and I spoke sparingly during even the good times since our separation and it had barely been six months since I stormed in on him in the shower. I expected a good deal of silence from him after that particular episode; even if his odd choice of a best friend had miraculously returned from the dead.

I waved away her concern, "No apologies needed." I smiled, "But I suppose I should apologize to Daniel for slamming the door in his face."

I opened the door and waved a welcome to the linguist as Sam's soft giggle came through the phone.

I cast my eye warily over Daniel as he approached but my question was directed to Sam, "So if it wasn't Dr. Jackson you asked me about who exactly did you think might have been here?"

Their explanation of a 16 year old Jack amused me and was why I wasn't shocked a month later when I saw a lone teenager standing at Charlie's grave.

His whole frame tensed when he heard me approach.

"Jack?" I asked cautiously and the breath stole from my body when he turned to face me. I stood looking face to face with the boy not too different than the hitchhiker my Dad picked up years ago.

Jack had already been to Vietnam and back but he was still only 20 when he had flown to Denver on his way to the Academy. He had been jumped for his wallet and bus ticket and Dad had seen it necessary to provide the boy a warm dinner and bed before his first day on campus.

The difference between the boy he was and the man he became was stark but that didn't change that the face in front of me was frighteningly similar to the one I had first developed a crush on all those years ago.

He winced, "Uh, John now."

I raised my eyebrows, "You hate being called John."

"I know." He rubbed at the back of his neck, "Gotta find someone to draw up some fake papers."

My heart seized when I realized why he must be needing a new identity, "They can't..." I hesitated on the word, "Fix you?"

"Turns out there's nothing to fix." He shrugged, and then with a painful smirk he held out his hand, "Hi, I'm your ex-husband's clone."

"Clone?" I repeated, ignoring the outstretched hand.

He dropped it and sighed, "Yeah. Don't worry. Original me is back where he belongs. Eagles on his shoulders and bouncing around the galaxy with Sam and Daniel and Teal'c."

"Jack..." Empathy washed over me even as he evidently tried to brush it off.

"It's okay. I've kind of come to embrace it. New start. Second chance...all that."

"They're just...leaving you? On your own?" I was incredulous. He may not be Jack, but it was obvious he was still Jack. ...I was confusing myself.

"My choice." He shrugged. "Air Force offered me the pick of cover stories and assignments but I know I must be regretting letting me live...I would be in his shoes; it would be too weird to hang around. Air Force set me up with a nice little nest egg to take care of myself for a while."

I shook my head in disbelief, "So what are you going to do?"

A wry smile crossed his face, "At first I thought I'd try being normal. Even went to high school for a week,"

"You made it a whole week?" I returned the smile.

"Barely." He acknowledged. "But that was a pretty foolish idea."

I didn't say anything, just smiled.

"Yeah, so..." He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up to the setting sun, "I've spent some time putting somethings together and I'm going to travel."

"Where?"

He shrugged, "I'm going to start in Asia, take my time. Do some hiking. Work my way over Africa and in to Europe." His eyes locked with mine, "I've been all over the world; I figured it might be nice to try it again and enjoy it."

I swallowed. In all our years together I knew Jack was doing more than just the countless "training exercises" that they used as the constant cover story but outside of the Gulf War I never knew where he had gone. What I did know was that he was haunted by those times. Perhaps he was right, perhaps traveling to those places in peacetime might exorcise some of his remaining demons.

He gestured to the small head stone, "I uh, just...figured I couldn't leave without saying good bye."

He cast his eyes away.

"You won't be coming back?"

He kicked at a pebble, "There's no place for me here, and I'll hit my growth spurt next year and soon start looking more like myself. That will make things very difficult. One Jack O'Neill is more than enough. It's best if I find a new life out there somewhere." His hand fluttered to the horizon.

I didn't know what to say. His points were valid but it still felt innately wrong somehow.

He suddenly grinned up at me, "Wedding is tomorrow?"

I wasn't expecting the change of topic but nodded in confirmation, "And I'm finalizing the adoption papers for the kids the day after."

He nodded knowingly eyes darting to our sons' grave, "Hence the visit?"

It was my turn to offer a noncommittal shrug.

Jack rocked on his feet, "Charlie always wanted siblings. I'm sure he's happy that you're a Mom again."

I swallowed back on the tears that his approval pressed to my eyes.

"Well, I'm just going to..." He gestured away but I caught his hand.

"I hope you get your second chance Jack." I tried to put everything into my gaze.

His hand turned in mine and he squeezed my fingers looking up at me with the gravitas of an older man in his eyes, "It hurt letting you go, but it helps knowing you've finally found someone who can really be there for you. You deserve that. Don't ever doubt his sincerity when he says he's happy for you."

I could feel my smile faltering at his words and he gave my fingers a final squeeze.

"Take care of yourself." I finally offered and he returned with that familiar cocky smile before turning and walking away.

To my knowledge he never did return and I never found out what new name he took so I couldn't have tracked him, even if I wanted to. However, from time to time I did receive postcards from exotic places and all over the world with no note but the address printed in familiar handwriting.

I thought of Young Jack on occasion (was just to weird to think of him as Clone Jack). I would spare a thought to wonder what I would do if I were in his shoes but as cruel as it felt to acknowledge, it was easy to let him go because I knew the real Jack was still there, only a phone call away. Not that we really ever saw each other or even spoke much that year.

Which is why I was surprised one beautiful Friday afternoon when I found Jack leaning against the register at the front of the shop discussing fishing lures with the clerk.

"Jack?" His eyes flicked up and I could immediately read his discomfort. "What's going on?"

He concealed a wince but I could see the tension deepen around his eyes, "Do you have a minute?" His tone was serious but gave nothing away.

I glanced around, noting the lack of customers and nodded my agreement while indicating Jack should lead the way. We went around to the side of the building and I rested against a picnic bench waiting for Jack to get around to what it was he wanted to say.

He bounced nervously on his feet before taking a deep breath and looking at me intently, "You asked me to make sure you were told in person next time something went down."

I nodded slowly, remembering my ire the previous year when I had been informed that Jack was basically presumed dead only by a notification from the Air Force weeks after he had gone missing.

"Yes, but you're here. So what's going on Jack?"

He rubbed at the back of his neck, "I, uh," He released a heavy breath, "Look, I did something. It had to be done and I'd do it again and hopefully the fact that I did it is going to make sure everyone is okay for a long time to come." He looked back into my eyes, the edge of his lips twisting, "But it's going to kill me. Probably within the week."

I blinked.

And blinked again.

"What?"

He squinted, "It's complicated."

"Of course it is." I bit out. "What did you do? Why you? Why aren't you on base trying to fix it?!" I could feel a familiar flush of anger raising in my chest. Jack stood back watching me with softness in his eyes.

"It had to be me." He stated softly but seriously. "We've had some experience with this before. We know how it's going to play out. General Hammond gave me the weekend to get some things taken care of."

"Like this?" I laughed, peripherally aware that I may have sounded a tinge hysterical.

Jack's serious expression didn't change, "Like this." He confirmed.

I sobered immediately. "With in the week?" I repeated quietly. He nodded and I propelled myself off the bench and wrapped him tightly in a hug.

He patted my back gently and it was then I realized he had something in his hand. I pulled back and wiped at my eyes. "Sorry." I apologized.

He smiled, "No problem. Nice that you care."

I looked at him sharply, anger flashing in my eyes that he would doubt me but he placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean...it's...it's just been odd."

I nodded jerkily realizing that those closest to him were probably prevented from sharing their emotions because of stupid protocols leaving Jack with nothing but his bravado to face his impending death. The thought had me closing my eyes tight and squeezing him again.

This time he wrapped both arms around me and tucked his head closer to mine.

After a long time he finally pulled back, "Don't want someone to tell that husband of yours that you were canoodling with someone else."

I smirked, "Canoodling?"

He shrugged, "It's a word."

"Greg will understand." I answered his previous concern.

Jack's lips turned into a small smile, "He's a good man."

I nodded, "He is."

He held my gaze for a long moment and like a whisper on the breeze I could almost hear the younger version of him repeating he was happy for me. I smiled and pressed my palm against his cheek.

He looked down and cleared his throat, "I have something."

I slowly removed my hand, stepping back and settling against the bench again. He held up an old cigar box and handed it to me.

Inside was a fresh sealed envelope with my name on it but the rest was older. I recognized pictures of Charlie as a baby, letters with my handwriting, pictures of Jack as a child with his grandfather and cousins, friends from the Academy and pilot days. I was mildly surprised to also see his wedding ring, and a few other small trinkets, all which I recognized as being representations of Jack's personal memories; who he was outside of how the Air Force defined him.

I looked up to see him watching me. "I figured at the very least you might want the pictures of Charlie. But everything else..." He looked down, "Throw it all out later if you want...but there's no one else who even knows who any of the people in those pictures are or their significance." He shrugged, "I just...needed to give it to someone who knows."

I closed the worn box and ran my fingers across it reverently.

"There's more." He continued, "I know you said you don't want the pension so I took you off but you're in the will. Take it or don't, it's there for you and whatever you want to use it for. I don't know..." He sighed, "I don't know what they're going to do about a funeral or whatever but there is some information, instructions in the letter there. Hopefully it will help wrap everything up for you. Closure, or whatever." He shifted and rolled his shoulders.

I could just nod numbly, hating what I was hearing but unable to say or do anything about it.

"Look, Sarah," His hands were fisted in his pockets, "I have a lot of regrets in my life but the time we had together isn't one."

I looked to his face, read his uncertainty, "Me neither."

I almost laughed at the surprise that crossed his face except that it wasn't funny. Not at all.

Unbidden, images from years ago popped into my mind, of 3 seemingly out of place people huddled over a broken Jack on his couch. Compassion flared through me.

"How's your team handling this?" I asked steadily.

Jack winced, "I think they're pretty pissed at me actually."

I smiled. Pissed was good. Pissed meant they weren't as resigned to Jack's fate as he was. If they were pissed that meant Jack had hope.

But hope was never a guarantee, "Jack?" He met my gaze, "Make sure they know how you feel about them. They deserve that."

He flinched and for a second I saw the despair flicker in the depths of his eyes. I stood again and placed my hand on his chest, "You deserve more."

He looked down and I felt his unsteady breath beneath my hand.

"Take care Sarah." He stepped away and I found myself unable to say anything as I watched him leave.

Later that week there was a television, phone and radio black out for most of a day. Some meteor shower in Antarctica did something to our satellites or something supposedly.

But I knew.

I knew that more likely than not Jack O'Neill was dead.

That evening I sat in the dark and ran my fingers across the post card that arrived the day before from Tibet. I contemplated that if I could trace the post mark perhaps I could get the cigar box to it's rightful owner.

But I would wait first.

If Daniel Jackson could return from the dead, so could Jack. If his team had been pissed then there was hope and I wasn't done holding on to that hope yet because if he was involved in some struggle between good and evil then I wouldn't hesitate to put my money on Jack O'Neill.