Beauty In The Broken

Murrine

"So." He paused next to her, watching as she spread a towel on the bedspread. "Samalot?"

Carter sighed. "Mark has called me that since we were kids."

The Colonel laid Jake on the towel and started unzipping his pajamas. "I'll bet there's a story behind that."

There was. Not that Sam really wanted to get into it. She opened the wipes container and placed it near the Colonel, then reached for a clean diaper.

"Da-da!" Jake studied Jack's face, reaching upwards with his pudgy little hands.

"You should be in bed, little man." Despite his words, it was obvious that O'Neill was glad that Jake wasn't asleep. To the delight of the baby, he growled playfully and pretended to nip at Jake's fingers. "It's way past your bedtime."

"I had him in bed, but he woke up when my phone rang."

"Yeah." O'Neill wrapped up the dirty diaper and handed it to Sam, exchanging it for the clean one. "Doctor Fraiser said she was going to warn you that we were coming."

"She didn't quite get the chance before the General interrupted our conversation and took over the phone." She picked up the soiled diaper and threw it into the trash, then crossed to the kitchenette and washed her hands. Distance was good. "And then you all just showed up."

It had been almost comical. As soon as Jake had seen the Colonel, he'd practically launched himself into his arms. Jack had handily caught the boy, plucking him out of Pete's grasp and pulling him close. The two had been together ever since—O'Neill making silly conversation while Jake responded with his ecstatic monosyllabic exclamations.

To be fair, Lucy had been closer to the truth than she'd known. The resemblance between the two was undeniable—as was their genuine adoration for each other. Jake had fluctuated between touching O'Neill's face and snuggling himself up against his chest. As for the Colonel, the taciturn expression he'd worn upon entering the Carter home had relaxed into something calmer—-something approaching contentment. Like he'd finally found something he'd been missing desperately.

Sam hadn't known how to feel when he'd only given her a cursory nod before focusing completely on the baby. She'd settled for quick hugs from Daniel and her father before losing them again to Mark and his friends, and then sat back down at her place at the table. There had been no reason for her to enter the fray.

Jacob had taken charge, corralling Mark into helping with introductions. The fact that he, O'Neill, and Daniel were in BDUs and not civvies had helped things along—as if the arrival of the military meant the end of the festivities. And while Heather had done her best at hostessing—shepherding everyone to the table, serving up dessert, and offering coffee—the interruption had been the death knell of the party. Even before anyone had made it to the table, Brady had poured his wife into their car and headed home.

The rest of them had sat over the cheesecake for a little while, exchanging small talk and benign chatter. Daniel and Jacob had taken the seats that the Wilkersons had vacated, and the Colonel had stationed himself on a stool at the island with Jake on his lap.

Pete had pulled out the chair for Sam again, sitting next to her as before, with his arm resting across the back of her seat. He'd been amiable—convivial—continuing on with their previous conversation; touching her back, or her arm, completely oblivious to the fact that she barely responded when he spoke to her.

How could she respond? Make inane comments on meaningless subjects? How would that be possible for her? How? When her entire world sat just across the room. Just out of reach.

Because as much as she'd tried not to think about the Colonel while she'd been away, being near him again—so suddenly—was as confusing as hell.

Part of her had wanted to flee—to run as far and as fast as she could. To protect herself—her mind—from the madness that had nearly overcome her.

But she also desperately needed to be near him. Needed it like she needed oxygen, water, or sustenance. She yearned for him nearly as much as she feared losing herself again due to his nearness. And the urge to walk into his arms and bury her face against his throat was at once overpowering and terrifying.

So she'd done neither. She'd sat next to another man, instead. Entertained Pete's banal conversation, picked at her dessert and sipped at her coffee—avoiding eye contact with the Colonel—-yet sneaking surreptitious glances when she could. Trying not to give everything away.

It had been awkward. And she'd felt trapped, and impotent, and stupid. And when the Colonel had approached the table and asked where the diapers were, she'd nearly cried from the ridiculousness of her own cowardice even as she'd practically exploded out of her seat to show him the way.

"Ba! Pa-do!"

"Check you out, kiddo. You've added some consonants to your repertoire. Pretty soon you'll be like Daniel and we'll never be able to shut you up."

"Da! Da-da."

"Yep. Da-da. Did your mom teach you that? I'd listen to her if I were you. She's pretty smart." Casting Sam a quick look, he zipped the sleepers and lifted Jake off the bed. "The question is whether she's fit for this mission."

Sam couldn't meet his eye, so she spoke to her shoes, instead. "She's fit."

He made a cursory scan of the room. "Is this place baby-proofed?"

"Yeah. Although I usually keep the bathroom door closed."

Lowering Jake to the ground, he watched as the baby made a beeline for the basket where Sam kept his toys. A few strides took O'Neill to the bathroom sink, where he washed his hands. Then he dried them on Sam's hand towel before carefully closing the door behind him.

He still hadn't really looked at her. Even now, with him on one side of the apartment and her on the other, he concentrated on the studio instead, keeping an eye on the baby, taking an inventory of what needed to be done to get back on the road.

"I was afraid he'd forget me." O'Neill wandered a few steps towards the bed, pausing at the nightstand. Reaching down, he tilted the kintsugi cup, letting the golden veins glimmer in the lamplight. The rings and dog tags shifted against the porcelain with a dull 'clink', and he used a finger to straighten them up again. "I figured he wouldn't know me. That we'd have to start again."

"I showed him pictures. We talked about you."

"Like you sent me pictures of him."

"Yeah."

"Five. You sent me five pictures." He turned, shoving his hands into his pockets. "And you weren't in any of them."

Her throat tightened a little, her voice emerging as little more than a whisper. "I didn't think you'd want any of me, Sir."

Too late, she realized what she'd said. Sir. And it felt as if they'd been hurtled back to Brenna's office—back to that moment of tense, horrific realization. And it was just as heartbreaking now as it had been then when he finally—finally—met her eyes. He repeated the honorific as if it were an epithet. "Sir."

Silence. Numbing silence. The only sound in the room came from near the ocean-side window, where Jake had picked up one toy and started whacking it against another.

Sir.

How could she respond to that? There was no way to respond. Not when they'd already lived this moment with disastrous results. Not when she suddenly felt as if she were stepping right back into the nightmare.

After the phone call from Janet, she'd expected more time to prepare herself to see him again. Get through the party, somehow convince Pete of the hopelessness of his cause, pack a little, sleep a little. Wake up with a strategy for how she would navigate the moment when he would be there again—within the same space, breathing the same air. Within reach.

And oh, how she wanted to reach for him.

"And about the other thing?"

She shook herself back to the present. "What other thing?"

"The donor comment." He reached down and picked the cup up, this time, warming it in his hands. "That your drunk friend made."

"She's not my friend, Sir." Sam shook her head with a roll of her eyes. "Mark decided that I needed to have a social life while I was here. Once I got better. He arranged this whole thing this evening. I didn't even know about it until this afternoon. I don't know these people."

Jack looked down at the vessel in his hands, shaking it a little, watching as the items inside resettled. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet. "And the guy?"

Sam took an involuntary step forward. "Who—Pete?"

"Whoever."

"Pete is nobody. Mark's friend. Nothing else."

He looked away, towards the bed. "So—the two of you—-"

But a knock at the door stopped his questions, and they both turned to see Jacob poke his head into the room.

"Dad?" Sam frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"Sorry, honey." He came fully into the apartment, followed closely by Daniel. "This mission is on a time crunch. We've got to get going."

Daniel closed the door behind them, then walked towards Sam. Pulling her into a side-hug, he muttered, "You good? That was pretty awkward down there."

"Yeah, Daniel. I'm okay."

"And the other stuff?"

"Back to normal." At least, she thought she was back to normal. Time would tell.

Daniel regarded her steadily for a bit. "We'll talk more later."

"Sure."

"Daniel? You done?" Jacob had used his best 'General' tone. "Because this trip down here has eaten into our mission time."

"Which is?" Sam narrowed a look at her father. "I still don't even know what we're supposed to be doing."

"Mines, Carter." O'Neill moved around the bed and sat on the floor next to Jake. He picked up one of the toys and turned it over in his hands. "Your Dad here wants us to help reprogram a mine in the hopes that we can start a war between a couple of snake-heads."

"A mine?" A little line formed between Sam's brows. "As in a land mine?"

"Space." Jacob answered with a nonchalance that sounded just a bit forced. "It's a space mine."

There were space mines? Well, of course there were space mines. Why wouldn't those exist? Sam exhaled heavily. "And the Goa'uld we're trying to send into war against each other?"

"Apophis and Heru'ur." This tidbit was provided by Daniel.

"Okay." She frowned in the direction of the Colonel. "But you're the explosives expert, Sir."

"No offense to Jack here, but I need your brain, Sam." Jacob crossed his arms. Impatience had crept into his voice. "I need Daniel's linguistic skills and your math and engineering abilities."

"And the Colonel?"

"I'm superfluous." Jack made a vague circle with a stuffed turtle. "But I offered to bring snacks, so Dad here said I could tag along."

"And how exactly are we getting back to the Springs?"

Daniel scratched at his ear. "Um. Same way we came."

"And that would be?"

"Your dad provided the ride." O'Neill's brows rose as he flung a look towards Jacob. "It's parked near here in a vacant lot."

Shrugging, Jacob kept it casual. "I brought it with me from Vorash."

Straightening, Sam threw a glare at her father. "You flew a Tel'tak into a residential neighborhood?"

"It's cloaked." Jacob managed not to sound defensive. "But we still need to get a move on before someone manages to run into it."

"Oh, for the love of—." She sighed, resigned. "I can't believe you people."

"I'm sorry, honey. But we really don't have the time for chit-chat."

"It's okay, Dad. I'm caught up now, right?"

All three of her companions laughed at that, but only Daniel answered. "Oh, not even close."

"Well, I'd better get a move on." She looked around, making mental notes about what needed to be done. "I haven't even started packing. I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow afternoon. This will take a bit if I don't have some help."

"We can do that." Daniel surveyed the room. "Just tell us where to start."

Jacob nodded, glancing back over his shoulder towards the door, and the main house beyond. "Daniel—you and Jack help Sam up here. I'll go back down and visit with Mark and Heather and sneak in to smooch my grandkids. I haven't seen them for a while and it'll be weird if I just pop in and out."

Sam could see the logic in that. "Also, some attention from you will keep Mark and Heather from asking so many questions about what's going on. I told Heather I was being recalled for active duty, but didn't get a chance to elaborate or to tell Mark."

Nodding, Jacob turned towards the door.

"Oh! Wait." She held out a hand. "If anyone asks, Tok'ra is an acronym for Topographical Kinematic Ratio. TOKRA. And Teal'c is classified. Got it?"

Jacob rolled his eyes. "Topographical Kinematic Ratio? Holy Hannah. I'll have Selmak file that one away. There's no way I'm remembering that."

Daniel nudged her with his elbow. "What do you need in order to get packed up?"

"We should be okay with what's already here. I've got some big duffels and totes under the bed. There's a carrying case for the portacrib, and the stroller folds up." Looking around, she considered what needed to be done. "It shouldn't take too long."

"So what, an hour?"

"Probably less."

"Okay. Get to it, guys." Jacob turned back toward the door.

"Oh—and get the keys to Mark's car." Sam called out. "He keeps them in his office."

"Why do we need the car?"

"How else are we going to get all of Jake's and my stuff to the cargo ship?"

It was obvious that none of them had considered that. Daniel raised one shoulder, squinting a little behind the lenses of his glasses. "I just thought we'd carry it. The Tel'tak is only about a mile away."

"Carry it." She grinned. "You're funny, Daniel."

"I'll get the keys." Jacob smiled. "You people get busy."

—-OOOOOOO—-

She changed her clothes.

Janet had packed for her, all those weeks ago, and had inexplicably included a set of BDUs. Sam had ducked into the bathroom as Daniel and O'Neill were fighting to get the portable crib stowed into its case. She'd shucked off the sweater and jeans she'd worn for the party and donned her uniform, emerging a few minutes later feeling more like the Major than the Mommy.

Tossing the bulky big shirt over her shoulder, she'd adjusted her customary black t-shirt and cinched her belt while taking a quick look at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. With a quick rake of her fingers through her hair, she took up her discarded clothing and turned towards the duffel bag into which they'd packed her items, shoving the sweater, jeans, and flats on top of the rest of her clothing. Then, she carefully ripped the SG patches from her uniform and stowed them in a pocket of her trousers. She'd need them once they arrived at the SGC.

She turned, leaning her butt against the dresser as she prepared to put on her socks and boots—glancing up casually to see the Colonel.

He'd been watching—his eyes intent upon her. His expression had lost the guarded indifference it had held since he'd arrived, replaced by something more profound. More intimate. More—well, just more. Searching, maybe. Or hungry.

Daniel finished zipping the portacrib into its case, then looked up. "All right. I'll take this and the little high chair thing downstairs. Sam? You can bring your duffel bag, right?"

"Yeah." Damned if her voice hadn't cracked. If she didn't have to clear her throat before trying again. And damned if she wasn't able to drag her gaze away from the Colonel's, even as she shoved her feet into her socks and tied her boots. "Yes. I'll bring down my own luggage."

"Ooooo-kay." Daniel squinted between them for a moment before lifting the crib and reaching for the chair. "I'll just go, then. I'll tell your dad that you're on your way."

"Thanks, Daniel."

"Yeah. Thanks." Jack stood from his crouch, reaching for Jake and bringing up against his body. "We'll be down in a minute."

Daniel left without another word, the crib banging a little on the door jamb as he went.

"We'd better get going." Inane. Sam had said something just for the sake of breaking the silence.

He stepped near, swaying a little as Jake found his thumb and snuggled up into Jack's body. "Carter."

"Yes, Sir?"

"Nothing has changed, you know." He wasn't being cryptic. He knew that she'd understand.

"Are you sure?" Shaking her head, she reached out and touched Jake's back, feeling the softness of the fleece of his pajamas. "Because I haven't made things easy."

"I'm sure."

"I've hurt you. I didn't mean to."

"I know."

There was nothing to add to that, so she simply looked up at him, wondering how it was possible that he'd grown even more arresting over so few weeks.

His hand found hers, his large palm covering the back of her hand. Warm, strong. Sanguine. "After this mission, we'll talk. Hash things out."

She searched his eyes for a moment, looking for what? She couldn't have said. Hoping that she wouldn't see any doubt, or qualms. But she found nothing there but that earnest honesty she'd seen a few moments earlier. "After this mission."

—-OOOOOOO—-

He left the studio before she did, with Jake on one shoulder and her duffel bag slung over the other.

Sam made a final sweep of the loft, gathering up a few more odds and ends and putting them in her backpack—several diapers and wipes, the lotion she'd forgotten in the nightstand drawer, some lip balm she'd left in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. She found a few more of Jake's toys under her bed and threw those into the backpack, as well.

She'd purposefully saved a few things for last. The kintsugi cup. The rings, the dogtags. The watch. She'd intended to wrap those in her clothing and safely pack them in her duffle so that they wouldn't be damaged, but it had slipped her mind. Not wanting to simply toss it all into the diaper bag, she dropped the watch into her pocket, balancing the cup in her hand as she turned the lights off and shut the door behind her.

Down the stairs towards the porch. Nobody had bothered to turn on the outside lights, and she'd turned off even the nightlights in the loft, so the darkness was dense. She made her way across the patio mostly by memory, around the papasan chair that Heather liked to read in while the kids played, and past the rattan box where the family kept their beach shoes. She'd nearly reached the door when she heard the sound of a shoe roughed against concrete, a step. A sigh.

"Pete." She stopped so suddenly that the backpack slid down her arm. Shrugging it back up jostled the items in the cup she held, and they clinked in the cool darkness of the evening. "You should be inside with Mark."

"I thought I'd at least get to say goodbye." He stepped into the light coming through the arcadia door.

Someone—probably Heather—had closed the blinds halfway, allowing only a thin, bright shaft to make its way across the concrete. Sam watched as Pete passed through it towards her. "Of course I was going to talk with you before I left."

"Oh. Well, that's something, at least."

Sam regarded him steadily. "Pete. I—"

"Because the thing is that I really liked you. Like—really, really liked you." His genial face relaxed into a regretful sort of smile. "So, it just kind of sucks that you're leaving so suddenly."

"I already told you, Pete." She shuffled backwards a little. Not out of fear, just for space. "I'm not in a position right now to be starting anything new. And even though you're amazingly nice, and funny, and a total gentleman, it just wouldn't work."

"How do you know that unless you give it a chance?"

"I need to go home." She shook her head—a little sadly. "Back to Colorado. I'll be busy with this new project, and I won't have time to think, let alone maintain a relationship. "

He made a sound of exasperation, dismissing her excuses. After a beat, he leveled a glare at her. "Is it that other guy?"

Sam took a full step back, then, frowning. "Excuse me?"

"The one that came with your dad. The older one." Pete sidestepped, and suddenly his face was cast into a half-shadow by a thread of light escaping through the vertical blinds in the window. "Lucy was right. He really is Jake's dad, isn't he?"

Oh, for the love. Sam didn't have any believable cagey response to that, and Pete didn't deserve more lies. As much as she didn't want to date him—hadn't even known he existed until a few hours ago—she didn't want to hurt him. So, she simply nodded. "Yes."

"Are you with him?"

"I'm not going to answer that."

"Come on, Sam. Throw me a bone. At least leave me thinking that I got beat out by a better man."

The door slid open, and the Colonel poked his head out. "Carter? Everything okay?"

"Yes, Sir." Steadily, she held Pete's gaze. "I'll be in shortly."

"Sir." Pete pivoted, shaking his head as he looked from one to the other. "You call the father of your child Sir?"

"Pete—again—I'm sorry." Sam stepped around him, aiming for the door. As she passed him, she paused. When she spoke, her tone was even, and patient. "There are so many things here that you don't understand—that you can't know. I'm going to ask you to leave this alone. You're a nice guy, and my brother's best friend. Maybe you've had a little too much to drink. Maybe you're just disappointed. I don't know. But I don't think that you're this guy. Let's not end this badly."

"He took advantage of you, Sam. Your superior officer." Pete turned to address O'Neill. "But I guess that you military types can't work with someone this beautiful for long without resorting to force, right?"

"I'm done here, Pete." Sam sighed, moving past him and towards the Colonel. "Goodbye."

"You know that she's her own woman, right?" O'Neill's voice was quiet in the night, as if he were speaking to a younger brother, or an officer he was training. "You know that she can take you out with one hand and a grudge?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Pete snorted. "Why should I listen to anything you have to say? You're the worst kind of leader. Staking his claim on those he should be protecting. It's disgusting."

The Colonel smiled-–but it was a humorless expression. The kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes. Sliding the door open for Carter as she neared, he looked back at the angry younger man still standing on the patio. "I'm just saying that if any man thinks he can stake a claim—or anything else–-on Sam Carter, he isn't bright enough to deserve her."

"It's just—damn it." Pete walked out into the yard, lifting his eyes towards the clouds covering the moon. "Damn it."

Sam stopped at the door, angling a look back at Pete over her shoulder before stepping through.

"I've got this, Carter."

"It's really not worth it, Sir." She tilted a look up at him. "This whole night has just been such a disaster."

Jack's jaw worked for a second before he nodded in towards the great room. "Your dad has Jake. He and Mark are in the front room. Daniel is loading up the car. Give me a few minutes and I'll see if I can't smooth things over. This kind of misunderstanding can quickly get out of hand. Cause problems later."

Nodding, Sam backed into the dining area, watching as the Colonel stepped onto the darkened patio and drew the door closed behind him.

"Well, I guess that explains some things."

The voice surprised her. Startled, Sam looked over to see Heather standing on the opposite side of the table, her hands full of coffee mugs. With a resigned sigh, Sam shrugged. "Only sort of."

"So, he isn't actually Jake's father?" Heather's green eyes widened, reflecting pure skepticism. Stepping into the kitchen she lowered the cups into the sink. "Because unless your Colonel has a twin, him not being involved in Jake's existence somehow seems unlikely."

Nosy. Everyone in her life was so damned nosy. Sam chewed at her bottom lip for a beat. "He's not 'my' Colonel."

"Bull." It was Heather's turn to snort. She watched as Sam moved around the table and towards the breakfast bar on the island. "The look on that man's face earlier when he came through the door and saw you? Well. Suffice it to say that Mark has looked at me like that exactly twice."

There came that heat again, flushing up her throat towards her cheeks. Some evil curiosity made her ask the question. "Oh?"

"That first time, we ended up with Lucas." Heather grinned, holding up her index finger. Then, slowly, she lifted another digit. "And the second? Macy."

Rolling her eyes, Carter sat at a bar stool and placed the cup on the countertop. "It's not like that."

"Oh, Sam." Heather tilted her head back to look up beseechingly at the fluorescent light in the ceiling above her. "Poor, sweet, deluded girl."

Damn it. She was too tired to come up with a logical explanation, or a believable denial. "Someday, Heather, I swear that I will explain it all to you."

"Well, you'd better. I love a good story."

Hesitating, she looked down at the sparkling diamond on the ring in the kintsugi cup before sucking in a deep breath. "How do you know it's a good story? How do you know that it's not tragic?"

Heather turned towards Sam, her pretty face pulling into a frown. "What are you saying, Sam? Has something awful happened between the two of you?"

"What? No."

"He's your boss, Sam. Your CO. Even I know that the two of you aren't supposed to have the kind of relationship that would result in a child." Heather walked around the edge of the bar and climbed onto the stool next to Sam. "Did he hurt you?"

"No! No." Sam shook her head, grabbing Heather's hand and squeezing gently. "No. Nothing like that."

"Then what's going on?"

"It's just—" Squinching her eyes closed, she gathered the words. "You know how bad I am at this whole 'relationship' thing, right?"

"Your track record admittedly isn't great."

"Exactly." Sam snuck a look towards the parlor, where she could see Mark and their father in an easy, pleasant sort of tableau. Pulling her gaze away, she met her sister in law's eyes. "So how do you know when it's real? How can you tell when it's not infatuation, or just something purely physical?

"Lust versus love." Heather chuckled softly in her throat, reaching up to smooth a stray hair off of Sam's forehead. "Sweetie, if you could see the two of you the way we've all seen you tonight. Sneaking looks at each other when the other thinks that they aren't looking, so completely aware of where and how and why the other exists. Well, damn—if you could have seen yourself when he walked through the door. If that were possible, you wouldn't need to ask that question. You'd already know."

Sam looked down at the marbling of the pristine countertop.

"Just be honest with yourself, Samalot. Once you know something to be true, you should probably act on it, right?" Heather leaned in closer, so that their temples touched. "Otherwise, what's the point of knowing?"

"What if it all goes to hell? What if I mess things up so badly that everyone just ends up angry and in pain?"

"What if it doesn't?" Heather pulled away a little bit. Smiling gently, she leaned in towards Sam and scrunched her nose up. "What if you don't, and you end up happy?"

What if it's amazing?

Sam looked down into the cup, fascinated by the way the gold of the rings and the silver of the dog tags glittered under the pendant lights above the bar. Just like the mended cup holding them, the pieces of jewelry were still useful, valuable, and pretty. Such beauty—such shine—from items that had emerged from such tragedy.

She barely noticed when Heather lifted herself up and peered into the cup. "What's this?"

"Just some keepsakes."

"Can I see?" Carefully, Heather reached into the cup and pulled out the engagement ring. Instantly, her expression shifted. Tilting the ring, she squinted at the inside of the band. "Where did you get this?"

"Why?"

Placing the ring on the counter, she removed her own wedding band. Sliding off her engagement ring, she set it next to the ring from Sam's cup. "See?"

They were identical.

"Your dad gave us the ring when it was clear we were getting married. Your brother almost didn't want to take it because, well, you know. He's a stubborn doorknob." She rolled her eyes. "It was your father's mother's ring. If you look inside it, there's a promise that your grandfather dictated. It was such a sweet inscription that I couldn't bear to discard the ring by removing the stone and having it reset, so we just used it as it was."

Sam picked up the ring, peering at the words scrolled around the interior. Forever your Always. The jeweler had etched a tiny heart next to the 'f' in 'forever', but flubbed the point at the bottom, overshooting the mark by a tiny amount. It looked like the heart had a tail on it.

Her fingers shook a little when she picked up Heather's ring, turning it until she found the words—slightly more worn, but still clearly visible. Forever your Always. And there was that little tail, hanging at the bottom of the heart to the side of the 'f'.

"How are there two?" Heather's frown deepened. "We have the receipt. It was made especially for your grandmother. The jeweler included his design notes in the original box. Every time I take it in to get cleaned or the setting checked, they tell me how individual it is. How original."

"I didn't know." How had she not noticed it before? How far gone in her delusional state had she been that she hadn't recognized the ring? She'd seen it often enough as a child—her mother had shown it to her, let her try it on. It had been understood that Mark would receive this ring and a great-uncle's silver pocket watch, while Sam would inherit both her mother's and her maternal grandmother's wedding sets. And she'd frequently sat and stared at Samantha's wedding set—-a link, of sorts to her alternate self. She'd treated the items in the cup almost as if they were interdimensional tea leaves, able to provide wisdom, or guidance. But no answers were forthcoming now. "I can't explain it, Heather."

"Can't? Or won't? Sam—I've had so many questions that I haven't asked. You've had a time of it. Things have been difficult—I know. But I also know that there is a boat-load more going on than you've let us know. I know that Mark talked to you about the fact that you weren't pregnant last November when you came for Thanksgiving with your dad. You never even let us know that you were expecting, or that you'd given birth, and then you turn up with this child." Heather paused, touching the rings with her finger. "We've thought of all the possibilities. Adoption. Premature birth. Surrogacy. But nothing fits, and this kid looks entirely too much like you to not be your genetic child. And now it's obvious that the father is your commanding officer? And it's equally evident that you're so in love with each other that it practically hurts to watch. Sam—what the hell?"

Nothing. She could say nothing. There was not a single thing to say—nothing that wouldn't make her sound as if she'd lost her mind. So Sam simply sat there. Listening.

"And now there are two rings when I know for a fact that this one—the one I've been wearing for thirteen years—is the only one just like it that has ever been made."

Sam pressed her lips together, concentrating on breathing shallowly in and out.

"I'm not going to pry anymore. This is your story to tell, your life to live. But Mark and I love you too much to just believe you when you say that everything is fine, and normal, and nothing extraordinary is happening to you." Heather reached out and took Sam's hand, folding it within her own. "So, all I'm going to say is that I know that there is more to your life than what you can tell us. I love you just like I love my own brothers and sisters. Mark and I both care about you and your happiness. And someday, I hope that you can learn to trust us."

With a little squeeze, she let go of Sam's hand. Picking up her ring, she slid it and her wedding band back onto her finger. Then, she took her ring's twin and dropped it into the kintsugi cup. She bustled around into the kitchen yanking a bunch of paper towels off the roll and grabbing a ziplock bag out of a drawer. Deftly, she wrapped the cup in the paper towel, then inserted it into the baggie, stuffing a few more paper towels around the porcelain before squeezing the air out and creating a neatly protected package. Handing it back to Sam, she waited for her to put the package into her diaper bag before wrapping her arm around Sam's shoulders and giving her a quick, solid hug. "Promise me you'll talk to me someday, okay?"

"Yeah." Sam looked up at Heather. "I promise."

"And promise me that you'll get off your ass and go find some joy."

Unbelievably, Sam grinned at that. "I'm working on it."

"Good." Heather nodded. "Now, I'm sure that your brother wants to say goodbye, too."

The arcadia door slid wide at that moment, and Jack came through the opening, with a smiling Pete close behind. They were talking animatedly about something—although too quietly for Sam to hear exactly what they were saying. Pausing at the end of the table, they shook hands, and Pete aimed himself towards the back of the house, where the guest restroom was.

A few strides brought the Colonel to within a yard of where she and Heather had been sitting. He nodded towards Sam's sister in law before looking at Sam. "Sorry, Carter, but time's up. We've got to go."

"Yes, Sir." Sam stood. Picking up her backpack, she slung it over her shoulder then looked back over at Heather. 'Thank you. For everything."

"Anytime, Samalot."

Taking off, she led the way, with the Colonel on her six. Through the great room, around the furniture, towards the parlor.

Mark stood when they came through the arched entryway. "It's time?"

"Yeah." She glanced at the clock on the wall above the piano on the far wall. It was past midnight.

"I'll walk you out." Mark crossed to the front door and opened it. Standing aside, he waited for Sam to exit before following her out into his front yard. Soon Daniel was at her side, and then Jacob, and finally the Colonel holding a drowsy Jake on his arm.

"Thank you, Mark." Sam touched her brother's arm. "You came through and helped me when I needed you the most."

"Yeah, well, I do kinda love you, little sister."

"I know."

He paused, taking in the group as a whole. With a wry chuckle, he indicated the team with a circular motion of his index finger. "I'm thinking that you guys aren't a purely scientific unit, are you?"

"What do you mean?" Sam looked down at her boots before meeting her brother's light brown eyes again.

"You're tactical, aren't you?" Mark pointed at the empty holster on O'Neill's thigh, and the blank spaces on their uniforms. "Not only are you tactical, but you're somehow so deep into covert operations that you don't even show your unit insignia. This team of yours has nothing to do with radios, or astrophysics, and everything to do with something else, right?"

Sam flickered a look at the Colonel. His jaw tightened briefly as he raised a shoulder in a gesture of tacit permission. She nodded, meeting her brother's eye. "Yes. We're a tactical unit."

"Dad?"

Jacob's voice was solemn. "Me too, kid."

"I thought that you were practically retired. Getting ready for a desk job at some boring command somewhere."

"Not so much." Jacob stepped forward, placing his hands on his son's shoulders. "I was given an opportunity to serve, and I took it. It literally saved my life. Gave me something new to live for."

"So, what do you guys really do?" Mark spoke softly, his eyes wide. "Do you track down terrorists? International espionage? Something with satellites and spycraft? Or maybe, you just hunt extraterrestrials."

"Something like that." Daniel thrust his hands deep into his pockets. "Trust us that it's very important."

"So important that you're willing to put Sam in danger?" Mark shook his head, squinting through the night. "She's a mom, now. Jake needs her. And when she got here, she was hurting. It's taken a lot to get her back to some semblance of her old self."

"I'm fine, Mark." Sam leaned into his shoulder, reaching up to kiss his cheek. "And I love you, too."

"So, what do you do that's so damned important?"

O'Neill stepped closer, meeting the younger Carter eye to eye. "Suffice it to say that you need her out there, Mark. She's necessary in a very real fight that you can't imagine is even possible."

"That's all I'm going to get." It was a statement, not a question. Mark exhaled heavily–resigned, maybe, or just accepting of the fact that he wasn't going to hear the answers he wanted any time soon.

"It is." Sam squeezed his arm. "For now."

"Well, then. Go. Just be safe and come back home. We need you here, too." He glanced towards his car. "And I'm not even going to ask about why you need my car."

"That's a good thing." Jacob laughed. Giving Mark a quick hug, he fell into step beside Daniel as they headed towards the little sedan.

"We'll bring it back soon." Sam grinned, then looked towards the Colonel. On his signal, they started towards their ride. They'd nearly made it when Mark's voice cut through the night air.

"O'Neill?" Sam's brother pointed at the Colonel, his expression serious. "You take care of my little sister."

The Colonel looked at Carter, his dark eyes serious, and sober. When he spoke, his words weren't as much of a promise as they were a vow. "With my life."