Sam put the key in the lock of her front door, the common action feeling foreign. She turned the knob and stepped inside as Jack came up the porch steps with Hannah.

She half expected to walk into the cottage and see cobwebs in the corner and dust half an inch thick on the furniture. Before coming back through the Gate, she had assumed the house would have been sold or closed up, or something. Somewhere along the way, their absence would have to be explained and dealt with. Of course, now that they knew about the time dilation on the planet, her logical mind accepted that the house hadn't changed. That didn't mean some part of her wasn't having a hard time with it.

Jack was 'flying' Hannah through the air, making sounds like a jet, and her laughter reminded Sam of silver bells. As she came in for a landing in the front hall, Sam looked back at her husband. He still had the same cocky smirk on his lips that he had since just before they left the SGC.

He walked towards her, his eyes almost predatory, and Sam moved into his arms when he reached her. "I have wanted to do this since we got back." The words rumbled from his chest, and warmed her lips as he leaned in to kiss her.

Sam hummed in pleasure, breaking the contact just enough to say "And I've wanted you to."

His mouth moved to her throat, and her breath hitched as his hands found their favorite places. "You're just feeling extra feisty after what Dr. Brightman told you."

Jack pulled back, his hands at her waist. "Hey, it's not every day an old warhorse like me hears I've got the body of a thirty-five year old and the ticker of a champion athlete. Kinda makes a man want to..." His last words were just mumbles against her skin.

Hannah tugged at Sam's tee-shirt. Actually Jack's tee shirt since none of the clothes in her locker at the SGC would fit over her ever-disappearing waistline.

"Momma," Hannah said insistently. "Momma!"

Sam reluctantly stepped out of Jack's embrace. The decision to never hide their affection from Hannah was a two-edged sword. The good side was that she never felt like she had to hold back a kiss or an embrace. The bad side was that Jack's touch often set a fire burning in her that couldn't be put out in the company of her young daughter. She crouched down to be eye level with Hannah, Jack's hand between her shoulder blades to provide silent support.

"What up?" she asked.

"I gotsa pee."

"I'll take her," Jack said. "She's still nervous around the toilet."

She nodded, and he helped her stand before taking Hannah's hand and heading down the hall. Sam walked to the kitchen, taking in her surroundings. It was like walking into the house you grew up in, after someone else had bought it. She didn't feel right. Didn't feel comfortable. As if she were trespassing.

The answering machine sat on the counter, with the message light flashing. Sam moved behind the counter and took a bottle of water from the refrigerator before she pushed play. The first was a message from her dry cleaner that her pick up was overdue. The second, her mechanic to let her know the carburetor seals were in for her motorcycle. When the third voice came over the speaker, Sam's heart dropped like a lead ball.

"Hey, honey. I know you're just getting home today, and you're probably tired from saving the world again, so I'm coming over tomorrow morning to take you out for brunch. I'll see you then. I love you."

Message received yesterday. 3:30 pm. No further messages.

Sam looked at the clock. It was almost ten. What did Pete consider brunch? Could he have come already, and gone when she wasn't here?

"Oh, great," she mumbled, wishing she could say more, but remembered her daughter was in the house.

Her daughter. Her husband. Oh, sh--

On cue, the front door opened, and Sam couldn't move.

"Hey, Sam? Sam? I'm here to take you to brunch. You up?"

"Yes, I'm in the kitchen," she answered, surprised her voice was loud enough to carry. But maybe, just maybe, she could convince him she wasn't in the mood for brunch and he'd leave her alone. Just until she had enough nerve to tell him the truth.

Pete Shanahan came through the entry into the kitchen, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. "Hey, beautiful," he said. "It's good to see your face. Wow, you look great!"

He moved towards her, but Sam dodged him by taking the flowers, strategically keeping the counter in front of her. "Thank you. But, Pete, you know... I'm really exhausted from this last trip. It seemed really long" No lying there "Do you mind if we skip brunch?"

Pete grinned, and Sam recognized the look in his eye. And it was one she had absolutely, positively no interest in.

"Sure, honey. We can stay in bed all day if you want."

Sam felt flushed and nauseous. This was so not going well. She leaned into the edge of the counter, and tried desperately to find the words she had – until this point – efficiently ignored needing.

"Sam, are you okay?" He managed to move close enough, with the corner of the counter still between them, to touch her arm.

"No, Pete. I'm really not. Can we ... can we talk later? A day or two, maybe?"

Pete's forehead creased as his brows pulled down into hoods over his eyes. "A day or two? Sam, what's going on? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were hiding something from me. What? Did you catch some alien bug while you were off saving the wor--"

"Damn it, Pete. Will you please not say that every time you refer to what I do?" she snapped.

Pete pulled back. "Sorry, babe. I didn't know it bothered you."

"Well, it does." Sam took a deep breath and sipped at the cold water. The baby decided that now would be a good time to add to his mother's already tumultuous position by kicking sharply at her bladder. She closed her eyes and leaned forward to rest her elbow on the countertop, and her head in her hand.

"I don't really want to wait two more days to see you, Sam. I have some news. I was going to tell you at brunch, but I guess I might as well now. I got my transfer. I'm moving to Colorado Springs in two weeks."

Sam's stomach twisted and her eyes hurt. Damn pregnancy hormones! This wouldn't be nearly half as bad if she didn't want to burst into tears at the drop of a hat!

"Oh, Pete," was all she could manage.

His hand touched her arm again, and she couldn't help the knee-jerk reaction of flinching away. She felt the tension snap in the air as he pulled his hand back.

"What the hell is going on, Sam?" Pete's voice was so low it sent shivers up her spine.

"Sam..." came Jack's voice down the hall. His boots made soft thuds on the hardwood floor. Pete stepped back and faced the doorway just as Jack stuck his head around. "Sam, baby, where do you keep your suitcase..." His voice trailed off as the two men met again, face to face.

"Hey... Paul..."

"Jack..." Sam mumbled.

"Pat?"

"Pete," he said slowly. "Pete Shanahan. Sam's fiancé. Colonel O'Neill, right?"

"General now, but who's counting..."

Sam closed her eyes. God, just whisk me away... right now... please!

Jack cleared his throat and moved into the kitchen, managing without obvious intent to slip into the space between her and Pete, forcing Pete to take a step back, and he braced his hands into the edge of the counter. He turned towards Sam, and winked, and despite it all, she actually felt better. Not a lot better, but better.

"So, kids. What's going on?"

"That's what I'd like to know." Sam could see the color seeping into Pete's face, and his fingers curled into a fist on the countertop. "Sam, what the hell is he doing here?"

Sam drew in a long breath and drew back her shoulders. There was no good way to do this... no way that Pete wasn't going to come out hurt... but she was determined to do the best she could considering the circumstances.

"Pete, I have to tell you something. I'm sorry. I really am, but you have to understand..."

"No...No, I don't think I have to understand anything. I think you, General O'Neill, need to leave now so Sam and I can talk. Alone."

"That's not going to happen, Pete."

Sam put her hands up. "Pete, Jack is staying. Please, if you would just let me – whoa!" Her hand shot to her side, where the baby had just planted a firm and swift kick to her kidney. "Ouch..."

Jack was beside her in an instant, moving her back from the counter so he could touch her, one arm coming behind her back while the other covered her own where it rested.

"What? What's wrong?"

Sam shook her head. "Nothing. He just... wow. That was a good one. I'm fine." Without thinking, Sam reached out to touch his cheek, wanting to ease the concern in her husband's eyes.

Then, like a cold bucket of water splashed in her face, Sam remembered Pete once again. She met Jack's gaze, and in silence, Jack stepped back so Sam could see Pete again.

He stood in the same spot, his mouth slightly open, and his arms hanging at his side. His eyes trained to her stomach, and without thought, Sam moved her hand to stroke the swell beneath Jack's black tee shirt.

"Pete, you have to let me explain -- Pete!"

Pete lunged at Jack, hunching over to hit him mid-torso, a nearly primordial scream ripping from his throat as he did. Sam stepped back as Jack effortlessly grabbed Pete's shirt and twisted them around so Pete was against the refrigerator door, and Jack held fistfuls of his shirt.

"This is not the way this is going down, Pete," Jack said through clenched teeth. "I'm trying to be sympathetic here. This has got to be a shock. But you are not going to do anything to upset my wife. Is that clear?"

Pete nodded and Jack released him. Sam stepped up behind Jack and laid her hands on his back, feeling the tension that knotted his muscles. "Jack, I can do this. Please. Go with Hannah. The suitcase is in the closet on the top shelf."

Jack turned his back to Pete and took her face in his hands. His chest rose and fell with the effort of keeping his emotions in check. "Are you sure, Sam?"

She nodded. "I'm sure. Go. Hannah has probably opened every bottle in the shower by now."

Jack pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I love you," he said softly. As he stepped back, he glared at Pete. "And I'm right down the hall. Packing."

Jack left with one final stern glance over his shoulder before disappearing down the hall. Pete still stood against the refrigerator, his shirt wrinkled by Jack's hands, and a devastated look in his eyes. Sam closed her eyes and ran her fingertips across her forehead, rubbing her stomach with her other hand in an effort to soothe both herself and her baby.

"Sam..." Pete finally said, his voice heavy and thick. "I don't understand. I saw you a week ago, and you weren't... you weren't pregnant. Were you?"

"No. Pete, this is going to sound crazy, but you've accepted what I've told you so far when it comes to the Stargate. You're just going to have to take what I can say, and accept the truth of what I can't."

He swallowed, his eyes red. "Who is Hannah?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Hannah is my daughter. Our daughter. Jack's and mine. She's two and a half."

"Two and a half? Sam, you never told me any of this. How could you not tell me?"

"Pete, wait. It's more complicated than me not telling you about a past relationship. Much more complicated."

"You love him?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation. "I do. I always have."

Pete closed his eyes. "Somewhere deep down, I think I knew that. I just didn't want to ..." His voice disappeared and fell away.

"Pete, what I'm about to tell you is Top Secret Classified. You can never, ever tell anyone. You know what will happen if you do."

"Don't threaten me, Sam. I think I've heard enough bullshit to know the routine. Just tell me so I can get out of here and get good and drunk."

She nodded, unable to fault him for his reaction. Taking a deep breath, she did her best to explain a situation that was almost unexplainable.