Always Part 2 of 11

Disclaimer: See Original Post

"Sorry about that, Sir."

"Emergency?"

"No, just a – a misunderstanding."

Jack kept his attention on the folder still open on the table. Even after more than a decade in Special Ops, he didn't know if he had enough self control to school his expression. So, he flipped pages and made stupid notes in the margins that meant nothing, nodding his head at her explanation.

"Weren't you supposed to meet Pete at the florist this morning?" Jacob Carter asked as he moved to his feet.

"No, Dad," Sam said sharply.

Jack hazarded a quick glance from Sam to her father, then back to his report.

"No, I'm sure that's what you said . . . for the wedding."

"I know."

Okay, this was just too damn much to listen to. Jack raised his head, drawing a fortifying breath. "Go ahead, Carter. It's supposed to be your day off anyway."

"It's okay, Sir . . ."

"Nah, Teal'c and Bra'tac are meeting with the Jaffa . . . there's nothing to do around here. Go pick flowers!" And with the best smile he could muster, Jack turned and walked back to his office.

He dropped the report on the corner of his desk, and sank heavily into his chair, resisting the urge to scrub his face with his hands. Through the glass window, he saw Sam and her father talk for a few minutes more – Sam looking like she had just swallowed the largest bug known to man – before she turned on her heels and left down the staircase to the control room.

A few minutes later, Jacob stood in his doorway. "Got a minute, Jack?"

"For you, Jacob . . . any time!" Jack said, sweeping his hand from the general vicinity of the door to the empty chair across the room.

Jacob shut the door and moved to one of the chairs on the opposite side of Jack's desk. With a heavy sigh, he sat, tugging at the brown leather tunic all Tok'ra seemed to wear. The older man seemed to take a moment, closing his eyes as he ran a hand over his thinning hair and along the back of his neck. He looked tired – more tired than Jack could ever recall seeing him. Or any Tok'ra, for that matter. Jack folded his hands on the desk, and waited.

Finally, Jacob opened his eyes again, drawing in a deep breath. "What do you think of Pete Shanahan?"

"I don't know him."

"But you have an opinion of him."

"Why does my opinion matter?"

"Jack, don't BS me."

Jack arched his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair, finding a pen that he could fiddle with. He bounced it, end over end, focusing on the pen instead of the man across from him.

"I have . . . concerns."

"Tell me."

Jack looked up, meeting Jacob's stare. "Jacob " But the man's solid gaze was enough to tell Jack he wanted to hear the truth. "The only reason Pete Shanahan knows about the Stargate, the SGC, or even you for that matter, is because he followed Carter and stuck his nose where it didn't belong. I told George to give him clearance because it was either that or force her to make up some unbelievable lie."

"You don't trust him."

"I don't know him, Jacob. But no, he's never given me a reason to trust him."

"So, you don't like him . . ."

Jack tossed the pen across the desk. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because I trust your instincts, Jack."

What if my instincts were to accidentally dial Netu and send Pete Shanahan through? But Jack kept the thought to himself, and focused again on flipping the pen end over end.

"I think I have my answer, anyway . . ."

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Sam followed Pete through the empty rooms of the house that was now apparently theirs. He was so happy – so pleased with himself for doing this for her – and for surprising her so completely – she just couldn't bring herself to tell him the truth.

And doubted she ever would . . .

The house she had described that night . . . the house she always wanted . . . it had just been the description of a house she had seen in a magazine. But he had pushed so hard that night for her to tell him, wanted to 'get to know her' so badly, that she made it up.

How was she to know he'd hunt down a near replica and buy it without telling her first?

Not that it wasn't a beautiful house . . . it was. Georgous, really.

But right now, Sam's insides were doing funny flips and she wondered for a moment if the plumbing actually worked because lunch wasn't feeling right in her stomach.

Pete took her hand and let her through the dining room, and Sam had to admit the built in china cabinet was wonderful. She wanted to be ecstatic – knew any other woman in her position would be – and hoped for Pete's sake she was putting up a good front.

"So, here's the kitchen. Like I said, it's not yellow, but we can fix that easy enough. It's the first thing you can put on my 'honey do' list."

"Your what?"

"'Honey do' list . . . you know . . . honey, do this and honey, do that . . ."

Sam smiled and laughed. "Oh! I get it." She looked around the kitchen. It wasn't a huge kitchen, but then again, she wasn't much of a cook so that wasn't a big deal to her. The cabinets were a light colored wood, and the countertops a rose granite. She tried to imagine the backsplashes in yellow, and somehow the color didn't seem to mesh.

Yellow went great with white cabinets and simple counters. Clean. Efficient.

"So, what do you think?"

Sam looked at her fiancé. He was smiling so wide she thought his face might crack, and his grip on her hand was firm, like he was afraid she might run from the house screaming.

"It's beautiful, Pete. Thank you."

He pulled her into an embrace, and as Sam rested her chin in his shoulder, she looked past him to the empty rooms beyond. It could work It had to work! This was going to be her home.

And she loved it.

Positive thinking . . . You love it, Sam. You love it.

You love it, because you love him.

Pete pulled back, but held her close with his hands at her waist. "Look, Honey. I want to apologize for the other day when I met your dad. I don't know why I said those things . . . I guess it was finally putting a face to all those times you've been called away. I guess I resent Jack O'Neill more than I realized."

"Pete "

"I know . . . it's stupid. He's doing his job. You're doing yours. I just can't help it. The two of you worked together for a long time, going off world together and stuff . . . and I guess I'm jealous that he gets to share a part of you that I can't."

Sam looked down, focusing her attention on one brown button on his shirt. She was afraid to look into her own fiance's eyes when he spoke of Jack O'Neill like that. What would he think if he knew the truth? Of what she and Jack had once admitted to each other?

She realized Pete had asked her a question, and she looked up again, blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked if General O'Neill is married."

"Oh. Uh, no. He was . . . once. But not now."

"I was going to say we should invite him and . . . whomever . . . over for dinner after we're moved in."

"Um, sure," she forced herself to say. But the thought of sharing dinner with her husband and her . . . and Jack O'Neill . . . her stomach did another odd flip.

"Come on. Let me show you that back yard."

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And the Emmy-Tony-Grammy-He-can-look-you-in-the-face-and-lie-to-you-Award goes to General Jack O'Neill!

Jack sat on his couch, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, a beer dangling from his fingertips. He stared at the open cell phone in his other hand, the number for the SGC already on the screen. All he had to do was dial.

He wanted to check in on Jacob – and on Sam – but right now he felt like the biggest bastard on the planet. Take that back – the planet was too small a point of reference. The galaxy . . . course, now that they had expanded to the Pegasus galaxy he could just as easily be the biggest bastard ever there, too.

His list of grievances was too long to itemize, but the worst of them pounded in his head like a snare drum.

He should have told Sam about Kerry instead of letting her find out the way she did . . .

He should have been honest with Kerry about why he didn't want anyone to know . . . it wasn't 'anyone' . . . it was Sam.

And he stood there . . . like some stupid asshole . . . while Sam was trying to tell him – God, he couldn't even begin to wrap his brain around what she might have been saying – too chicken to say anything because he was afraid of getting caught with his proverbial hand in someone else's cookie jar!

Pissed off at himself, Jack poked the dial button and put the phone to his ear. He asked to be transferred directly to the infirmary, and spent the next several minutes speaking with the base doctor. Things weren't good. Jacob Carter had collapsed, and after being moved to the infirmary, had informed the doctor that Selmak was dying. Deadly toxins from the symbiote's body had already begun to seep into Jacob's system.

There was no hope of survival.

Jack closed his eyes, listening to the doctor's prognosis.

"How long?" he finally asked.

"It could be any time, Sir. He's weakening quickly."

Jack hunched forward further, bracing his forehead against the palm of his hand. A heavy ache pressed against his chest. Jacob Carter He hadn't known the man long, not quite six years. But he respected the man, and the thought of his death . . .

"Is Colonel Carter with him?"

"Yes, Sir."

He cleared his throat and shifted his feet, trying to figure a way to word this . . . "Has she . . . been informed?"

"Of the prognosis? Yes, Sir. Jacob wanted to do that himself."

"Ah . . . ok. Were you present when . . . " Damnit!

"I was in the observation area at the time, Sir. Colonel Carter appeared upset, but had apparently accepted the news."

Gee, that's helpful!

"Alright. Thanks, Doc."

"Thank you, General."

Jack slapped the phone shut and let his hand fall loose between his knees. With a sigh, he raised his head and opened his eyes. Kerry sat across from him in the deep, leather chair by the fireplace, her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap.

"What's up?" she asked.

"I need to go in."

"Need to?"

Jack stood up, setting his beer on the coffee table. "Yeah."

"I didn't hear the phone ring."

"It didn't. I called in."

"Oh." She didn't move from the chair, watching as he collected his wallet and keys from the shelf behind the couch. "Is this about Colonel Carter's father?"

"He's a Tok'ra ally," was the only explanation he offered.

"And a friend?"

Jack stopped, his wallet half way into his back pocket. "Yeah, he's a friend."

"So, why didn't you say that, Jack?"

Jack finished shoving his wallet into his pocket and picked up his keys. He crossed the room, and leaned over to quickly kiss her lips. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll see you later."

He didn't let out the curse until he was in his truck, and backing out the driveway.