Hostage Situation

Part Five

Sam was aware that Pete was standing outside with a bunch of his friends from work. But she had things to do, people to see, Colonels to speak with. Then, too, Sam wasn't sure she wanted to walk over to what looked very much like a 'boys club' and just push in. And she didn't like the way one of them was eyeing her off.

So she carefully didn't meet Pete's eyes and approached the Colonel instead.

When she was nine, Sam had brought home a kitten from school, and wanted to be allowed to keep it. She'd spent the afternoon gaining the trust of the bedraggled stray, trying to lure it with food and pettings, until it nestled snugly in her lap and purred.

As she approached Colonel O'Neill now, Sam wondered why she was reminded of how she'd approached the tiny tabby kitten - with slow, smooth steps to get the creature accustomed to her presence, not rushing in and trying to scoop it up.

She sat down in the next swing over from him, facing in the opposite direction. It gave her a view of the street beyond the community centre, and the Police cordon that was still in place around these blocks of the building. It also meant that a certain distance could be maintained between them, without the intimacy implied of them facing in the same direction. And it was practical; Sam could see through one hundred eighty degrees that the Colonel couldn't, while he could see through the arc of the half-circle she couldn't.

Another instinctive military gesture, done without conscious thought.

"So you're the sacrificial lamb, then?"

"No, sir. I came out to see how you were doing."

"About as well as can be expected for a man who's just been accused of adultery in public, Carter." He was in a dark mood at this moment, and Sam briefly wished she'd never come out at all.

She'd held Daniel back as he went after the Colonel. Partly because she sensed that the Colonel wasn't in a mood to be interrupted, and partly because she knew the Colonel wasn't in a mood to be interrupted by Daniel.

It had been a stressful day for all of them, but especially for him.

And Sam had thought she knew how he felt; his integrity being cast into doubt by nothing more than rumours. She'd been struggling against the same thing all day.

She'd thought she would be able to sympathise.

Maybe not.

"Carter, I'm not a saint." The words broke through the heat of the summer afternoon.

"I know, sir." After eight years, she was under no illusions about the man who sat beside her, his elbows resting loosely on his knees. She'd seen him in the best of circumstances, and the worst of circumstances. And if his history wasn't an open book to her, any more than the man was, at least she knew what he was capable of.

That had never stopped her from respecting him.

"I never touched her." He looked over at her, dark eyes troubled. "I never had an affair with her."

"I believe you, sir." Sam paused. Maybe it wasn't her belief he needed. "You're worried that Sara might believe him."

"I guess it's a woman's worst nightmare," he said, quietly. "Your husband cheating on you with one of your friends." His eyes hadn't left her since he started talking, and Sam shifted, more than a little uncomfortable with the intensity in his gaze. To hide her own discomfort, she looked away, beyond him.

"Were you friends with them?"

He shrugged and looked away; stared out across the grass while she watched his profile. "You hang out with the people who know what you do, because that's what most people talk about. There isn't time to meet people outside of work, so they become your social group. And the other women knew what Sara was going through, because they'd been through the same thing."

Sam knew the deal. She'd seen it in her own parents. Most of her mom's friends had been military wives. She mentioned this and he smiled, half-ruefully.

"It can get lonely working in classified projects," he said. "You know that. You can't share what's going on, can't spread the burden because they're not allowed to know - and you don't want them to know what you do for a living." He grimaced. "So you keep that part of yourself separate from them, and you deal."

The dealing didn't always work. Sam knew that from her own painful experience. And she could see the 'dealing' taking on other forms, including extramarital affairs and infidelities. She'd never asked her Dad that question. There were some things a child didn't need to know about their father.

She'd never asked the Colonel that question either. It was none of her business after all, and she'd never made it her business to know. Even now, after the accusations had been levelled at him, in some ways it didn't really matter whether or not he'd had an affair with Mary Stambaugh back then. In the end, she still trusted him to lead her one their missions and she still trusted him to get his whole team out.

"Sir?"

"Carter."

"This doesn't change anything." He turned to look at her then, piercing through the reserve she kept there, and she didn't dissemble before him, letting him see all the respect and appreciation and care she had for him. The seven years between them were about trust and faith and belief, and things that were somehow more than merely 'love' or 'attraction' - although, if she was honest with herself, then those things were there, too.

In some ways, the accusations from SWAT didn't go far enough. No, she wasn't sleeping with the Colonel, but her team came first, and not even Pete had changed in that. In the meantime, she wasn't going to shun the Colonel. People were going to believe what they wanted to believe. They would say what they wanted to say. They would do what they were going to do. And maybe a part of Sam had finally accepted that the people who knew her and respected her were going to do that anyway, regardless of the rumours.

The accusations from SWAT didn't change anything. Nor did the accusations from Stambaugh. Not for her. Not for Teal'c. Not for Daniel.

And not for Sara, either. Which was the reassurance he wanted, she admitted with a slight, foolish pang of jealousy.

"She knew you, sir," she said at last. It seemed as though he was waiting for her response, and it was the only one she had to give. "She married you and lived with you for over ten years. No, she didn't know the specifics of what you did, but she must have had an idea. And she loved you anyway."

He appeared amused by her certainty. "You're pretty sure about that, Carter."

It was her turn to shrug a little. "I know you." She left the honorific off; her way of personalising the conversation. But good humour and absolute correctness forced her to add, "At least, I like to think I do..."

The glimmer of a smile touched his face, softening the otherwise spare features. "Thanks. I think."

"You're welcome."

His breath huffed out, and when he inhaled again, there was the slightest of changes about his demeanour. The talk had helped him work through his mood and now he was out again and through to the other side, ready to deal with the situation at hand.

"We're going to have to go in."

She'd known that from the instant it became clear that Michael Stambaugh possessed Goa'uld technology. "Teal'c went back to look at possible entry points," Sam offered. "I told him to come up with a plan."

The Colonel arched a brow, "You told him?"

"Yes, sir."

He leaned back in the swing, strong hands holding onto the side chains, maintaining his balance as he crossed long legs at the ankle with a smirk. "Reading my mind again, Carter?"

"It's what a 2IC does." And after seven years she knew him well enough to guess where his mind was heading, particularly when it came to operational situations. It had proved one of SG-1's advantages against enemies, both human and alien.

"Correction," he said with open appreciation. "It's what good 2ICs do."

"Thank you, Colonel." There was a warmth inside her, starting deep in her belly and spreading through her body with pleasurable assurance. "We do our best."

"We?"

"I." Sam smiled ruefully at her unconscious assumption of the plural. "Also, I spoke with Drs Lee and Myers about ways to protect against Stambaugh's weapons."

"Anything?"

"Not really, sir. Only the flak jacket inserts, although they're developing a neural pad to be worn over the skin that should absorb the electrical charge of a zat blast..."

He held up one hand as she began to enthuse about the topic, and Sam's mouth curved as she stopped 'technobabbling' to him. "Are they prototypes or working models?"

"Still in testing phase, sir. Sorry."

"Helpful. Although all the protection in the world isn't going to help us if we can't get through those shields." He eyed her hopefully.

"I'm afraid I don't have a way to get us through the force shields, sir."

"But you have ideas, right?"

Her smile was rueful, "What do you think, sir?"

Warm humour glimmered in dark eyes, "I think you do, Carter. And I think we'll definitely be needing them. We might be going in mostly blind, but at least we won't be as bad as the idiots from SWAT."

Sam added her rejoinder against the SWAT personnel, but silently. There was no need for the Colonel to know about the accusations and rumours that were being levelled against her - against them.

"Are we going to take it alive?"

"If we can. If we can't, then we can't. One more to dissect." O'Neill grimaced. "I'd feel better about this if the thing wasn't trying so damn hard to behave like Mike would. If Mike was crazy, insane, and paranoid," he added.

Sam bit back a smile. It was a serious thing, for all that her humour was tickled. "As long as SWAT and the police believe it's human, it knows there'll be jurisdictional issues down here."

"You're giving the Goa'uld a lot of credit, Carter."

"I don't know, sir. It might be that we're not giving it enough credit. The Goa'uld wants SG-1 - it made a point of asking and introducing itself to us. But the host wants you. And the best way to do that is to put you offside, to disconcert you."

"And you think it's doing that?"

Sam lifted one shoulder, "It's just a theory."

"Your theories usually turn out to be correct, if I recall."

"But not always," Sam countered.

"If you were right all the time, you'd get fatheaded," the Colonel responded, easily. "Like Daniel. Although he's not right all the time and he still gets fatheaded sometimes."

She resisted the urge to laugh this time, and changed the topic adroitly. "When are we going in?"

He sensed the change in mood and slowly rose to his feet. "Now seems like a good time. Coming?"

Sam climbed to her feet, and followed him across the short stretch of playground sand to the path. She ignored the stares and arched brows of the people who watched them walk, their steps matching with practised ease, even as she felt the starting twinges of self-consciousness take hold of her. But she met the gazes of the people who were watching her and the Colonel, challenging them with her cool, blank expression. Let them think what they wanted about her relationship with the Colonel. They were wrong.

As they approached the community centre, he murmured, "You're doing fine, Carter."

She glanced up at him, startled by the non-sequitor. "Sir?"

"Nothing." But the frank respect and affection of his gaze warmed her to the core of her being as he held the door open for her to precede him.

----

It was one thing to say, "We're going in now," and quite another to actually go in, now.

Especially when you had a bunch of pissed-off SWAT and Police officers bitching about risking lives and not knowing the dangers of the situation. Jack nearly lost his temper when Andrews made the veiled suggestion that Jack was taking this personally because of Stambaugh's accusations regarding Mary Stambaugh and the affair Jack had with her.

Personally, Jack felt Chief Geraldton should have talked to Commander Andrews about 'taking it personally.' The man had the balls to suggest that Jack take SWAT personnel with him.

Jack flatly refused. For one, he didn't need a bunch of vengeful testosterone-soaked guys bumbling around, giving their presence away. For two, Mike Stambaugh's Goa'uld - and the body it rode in on - was Jack's responsibility. SWAT couldn't deal with it - they'd never had to deal with it. This was Jack's area of knowledge, and he'd be damned if he left it to someone else to take care of.

Thank God for Davis.

While his team prepared their equipment, with the assistance of the SGC personnel, Jack and Major Davis slowly shot down the objections of SWAT Commander and Police Chief with some beautiful arguments, if Jack did say so himself.

"Sir, this is a classified operation," Davis was repeating. "Your men are not adequately equipped to deal with a situation of this magnitude..."

"And Major Carter is?" The innuendo was plain enough.

Jack saw Carter freeze, halfway across the room. He saw Daniel beside her, wincing. He saw Teal'c stiffen as though someone had just tendered him a deadly insult. And he saw Shanahan's head turn from where he was standing, apparently studying some report, but just close enough to overhear the conversation.

Someone in the room coughed, and Major Davis glanced nervously at Jack.

Jack was busy holding onto his temper, because he'd seen the questions in the eyes of the men around him all morning. Every time he mentioned Carter, every time she brought him a new report, every time someone around him mentioned her name to Jack, he'd seen the speculation in their eyes, the immediate assumption that the only reason she was on his team was because she was a good fuck.

There was a certain irony that the only man in the room who could say for sure how good Carter was in bed was among those wondering.

"Major Carter is a fully-trained Air Force officer," Major Davis said, his voice taking on a dangerously quiet note.

"O'Neill here said she was a technological specialist." Andrews sneered. "Doesn't seem like the kind of person suitable to go up into a building to rescue a bunch of hostages."

"Then it's a good thing that I'm the one in charge of this intrusion and not you," Jack said, not bothering to hide his anger or disgust. "But I'm not so stupid as to try something that's only going to fail. You've lost another man because you thought you knew best, Andrews. Do you want the blood of all your men on your hands?"

It was a low blow, reminding Andrews of the man that Stambaugh had tossed off the balcony. But Jack knew he needed Carter up there to solve any problems they came across, and they would definitely have problems. He and Teal'c were the muscle and military experience, but Carter and Daniel were the brains and the knowledge. And in this situation, they needed the brains and knowledge as much as the brawn, if not more.

"So, Commander," Jack said, watching Andrews go beet-red. "Am I to be allowed to choose my own insertion team, or do my colleagues and I walk out of here and send Major Davis here to explain to the Pentagon that a SWAT commander chose to obstruct the directive handed down from the Joint Chiefs?"

He'd spoken loud enough for the whole room to hear, so there could be no backing down, no politic retreats.

It took minutes before the answer came. Well, maybe about ten seconds, but the voice was sullen and displeased.

"You have the right to choose your own team, Colonel." Judging by the expression, Jack figured he'd made a bad enemy; but there was no help for it. The man had been a pain in the mikta, and there was only so much Jack was going to take - especially when the cost might be another life - Sara's life..

"Good. Let's keep it that way." Jack paused. He figured he could toss a bone to the guy. It was a bit late for half-measures, but they might need the SWATs later, and he didn't want them sitting on their asses, just because their commander had a bruised ego. "Look, we might need your men later. But I need my people - familiar people, and people familiar with this kind of situation - in on the initial insertion." And there's nobody better than my team.

The man nodded, grudgingly. Jack took that to mean that SWATs co-operation would be surly, but at least it would be there.

Jack left Davis to finish working with the SWAT commander since the diplomatic aide would be considerably better at holding his tongue than Jack. Instead, he crossed over the room to the corner where Daniel and Carter were gearing up for the insertion.

"Carter, you okay?" He had to ask the question, although he knew exactly what the answer was going to be. Carter's professional standing was important to her. It was one of the reasons why... Jack cut that thought off before it went anywhere he didn't want to go. Her professional reputation was important to her and the asshole's words had cast it into doubt.

"Fine, sir." Her face was stiff with anger but she was composed. Still, Carter had hidden depths. It would take a more stupid man than Jack to confront her at this moment.

"Will you be ready to go in twenty minutes?"

"I'll be ready, sir." Giving her the mission time helped, she visibly calmed down. With a quick nod, she headed over to the table where one of the Sergeants was setting up weapons and flak jackets.

Well, that was one less thing he had to worry about. And now came the fun part.

"Daniel?"

"Jack." Daniel narrowed his eyes, already sensing what was coming.

Jack hated to do this to his friend, but it was sensible, logical, logistically sound, and very practical. And it would be one less person that Jack would have to worry about.

"You're staying on the ground."

"Uh, Jack..."

"Look, you're not going to be all that much help to us up there."

"Stambaugh asked for all SG-1, Jack. Last I checked, that included me." Daniel was definitely annoyed.

"True. But Stambaugh asking for all of us is exactly why I'm not inclined to have us all up there. And you're the best candidate to stay on the ground." He glanced over his shoulder to where Paul Davis was beginning to organise the ground force. "We don't know what Stambaugh has up there. So as we encounter the setups, we'll need someone to liaise with us, get us the info and equipment we need when we need it."

"Davis..."

"Davis has his hands full," Jack told him bluntly. "The SWATs are still grumbling because they're not included in the party. I have no idea what the DPD might do. And I need someone who knows what I'm asking, not someone who's second-guessing me. That's you."

Daniel looked annoyed. "I'd rather be up there with you guys." Jack waited as Daniel threw his hands up. "Okay, okay. I'll liaise. God knows you're no good at it. And I'll keep an eye on everything down here."

"Thanks, Daniel." Jack was relieved. He'd expected a much bigger argument from his friend. "Also, if things go bad up there, you're going to have to run clean-up and control. I don't want SWAT or the DPD messing around with any of the stuff Stambaugh's got."

"Leave me all the dirty jobs." Nobody could do a half-hearted grumble like Daniel. The man had his seriously passive-aggressive moments.

"Yes, Daniel. I leave you all the dirty jobs," Jack replied dryly.

Daniel was looking beyond Jack at something happening behind. "Well, I think this one is your territory..."

Jack turned. Over by the table, it appeared that Carter and Shanahan were having an argument. Carter's expression was closed and shuttered; the blast doors were down and the gateroom was empty. No welcome here.

Is it wrong of me to hope that it's personal and not professional? He wasn't entirely 'okay' with Carter seeing other men, but it wasn't as though he got a say in the matter. And Jack had had this itchy feeling about Shanahan ever since finding out the degree to which the guy had obsessed with Carter before turning up at the stakeout at Daniel's place.

He wondered if he should be worried; Carter seemed to attract crazies like bees to honey. Hanson, the Tollan, Martouf, that invisible stalker guy, then Shanahan...

And Jack wasn't all that sure he was entirely classifiable as 'sane' either.

Jack exchanged glances with Daniel, who gave him a half smile and a shrug. "Go get 'em, tiger!"

"Thanks for the moral support, Daniel."

"It's what I'm here for, Jack." Daniel leaned over and began collecting notes to take over to the communications table.

Jack wandered over to the equipment table. "Is there a problem folks?" He glanced at Carter, tendering her a silent apology. The longer they dilly-dallied around here, the longer Sara was going to be in the hands of Stambaugh.

Carter's expression was firm. "No problem, sir."

"Actually, there is," Shanahan said, his expression slightly belligerent. "I want to come in with you."

The sergeant who'd been setting up the vests stopped, all astonishment at the declaration. He looked at Jack. Carter looked at Jack. Shanahan looked at Jack.

Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Oh, I don't think so," he said flatly.

"Why not?" Pete demanded. "I know what you're up against. Let me come. I have the right..."

What right? A glance at Carter gave him no cues. She didn't know what Shanahan was on about either. "You have the right?"

"Yes."

"Exactly what right would that be?

"Sam's going."

Shanahan was focused on Jack, as the person whose approval or disapproval of his plan would make the difference. So he didn't see the flush that swept over Carter's face; the embarrassment and anger that she controlled with her usual determination. On the other side of the table, the sergeant sniggered, but a glare from Carter silenced him.

"Let me get this straight," Jack said, deciding that he needed to be absolutely clear on this matter before he stopped the guy dead. "You want to barge in on a classified operation because Carter is going, in spite of the fact that I've already refused SWAT assistance, and am not taking Dr. Jackson - in whose operational abilities I have significant trust?"

"It's not safe for her."

"It's not safe for any of us," Jack retorted. "But that doesn't stop us from doing our jobs." Sheesh. How long had the man dated Carter? And how much did he not know her? "The answer is no, Detective Shanahan. As you should have known before you asked." That slipped out past his radar, but he was only human and the jab felt good, almost frighteningly so.

That should have been the end of the matter.

Shanahan continued to attempt to argue his case. "I'm a qualified police officer..."

Later, even Daniel had to conclude that Shanahan had laid himself open to that one. Jack only had one experience of the man's professional skills on which to base his opinion. Add to that the fact that he was in a bad mood because he'd just spent the last hour arguing with men who were too stupid to understand when a situation was beyond their control, and too stubborn to let someone else more qualified handle the situation, and his response was really quite mild.

"You're a qualified police officer who doesn't recognise a stakeout when he sees it, and doesn't know better than to interfere with its execution," Jack snapped. The memory was as irritating for Carter's concern over Shanahan as it had been for the realisation of how much the whole stakeout could have been screwed up by Shanahan's interference. But that wasn't the issue at hand.

He simply had no patience for the man's delicate sensibilities - especially not regarding Carter. Carter was a professional soldier, and if that hadn't yet sunk into the man's head after however many months of dating, then there was no hope for him. When Shanahan opened his mouth to protest yet again, he interrupted before a single word could emerge. "The answer is 'no' and if you demand yet again, I'll have you escorted from the site for interfering with the operation, Detective. This is not a threat, this is a fact." He didn't bother to ask if Shanahan understood him; instead he turned to Carter. "Ten minutes?"

She didn't protest his behaviour. Carter knew where her duty and responsibility lay, and the point at which the personal had to be let go for the professional. He'd shown her that and Carter was a fast learner. "Yes, sir," she said, and now her voice was about a stiffly correct as it could get. She grabbed her flak jacket and with a brusque nod, turned on her heel and headed out the door.

As Shanahan levelled a glare at Jack and turned on his heel to follow her, the suggestion that Shanahan give her time out died on Jack's lips. He owed the man no favours, and if the man was stupid enough to try to push the point any further, then by God he deserved what Carter gave him!

Stay calm, Jack, he reminded himself as irritation flamed. Carter's relationship with Shanahan is not your concern. Sara and the other hostages up in the building are. Damn. Maybe he should take Daniel up after all, then get him to lead the hostages down...? No. There was no way of telling where Stambaugh's Goa'uld had them holed up, and the odds were that it would be more trouble than it was worth. Daniel would be best used helping them out on the ground - and Daniel knew that.

Shanahan would be best left on the ground instead of interrupting something of which he had no real knowledge or understanding, let alone skill.

Now if only Shanahan would understand that.

End of Part Five