Always Part 3 of 11

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Jack paused in the doorway of the infirmary, wanting to be sure he wouldn't be in the way before he went in. Two nurses moved around the room, one taking readings from a monitor near the head of Jacob's bead, the other adjusting the flow of liquid in his IV.

"Come on in, Jack," Jacob said, rolling his head slowly on the pillow.

Jack pushed his hands into his pockets and crossed the space, sitting down on the bench left beside the bed. "Guess I shouldn't ask how you're doing?"

Jacob Carter chuckled softly. "No, probably not."

Jack tried not to look too hard at the older man's face. Looking into the eyes of a man facing his own mortality always gave Jack a sense of . . . déjà vu? Mortality? The creeps? But when it was a man like Jacob Carter, someone who Jack respected above most men, it was especially hard. The nurses finished what they needed to do, and left the two men alone.

He worked his hands together, focusing on the hinges and joints of the hospital bed. "I thought Carter would be here."

"I sent her to the mess. Told her to eat something and not come back until she did." Jacob tried to laugh. "I also told her she still has to listen to me."

Jack smiled. "I bet she loved that."

"She's just humoring me."

Jack looked up. A fine sheen of sweat covered Jacob's face, either from fever or pain that he was doing his best to hide from Sam. If father and daughter were anything alike – and from what Jack had seen in the last few years, they were cut from the same stone – he would bet on the latter. Jacob looked tired, but troubled.

"What can I do . . ." Jack asked.

"Take care of her, Jack."

The corner of his right eye twitched as he tried to school his expression. "I take care of all my people, Jacob. You know that."

"But that's not what I mean, Jack. And you know that."

"It's not my job."

"But it should be."

Jack drew a slow breath in threw his nostrils. "What are you saying, Jacob?"

Jacob huffed and turned away. "You two really are meant for each other. Stubborn headed and so damn determined to follow the rules you're willing to destroy each other in the process."

They sat in silence, Jacob stewing and staring off into the dark corners of the room and Jack trying to find what to say. He drew in a breath and released it, puffing his cheeks, and paused with his lips parted before speaking.

"This is better, Jacob."

"Is it?" Jacob immediately snapped his attention back to Jack, his eyes intense. "For who?"

"For her."

"Why?"

Jack leaned forward so he could keep his voice low. "Look, Jacob. Obviously, it's going to do me no good to deny anything here. But I'm not going to make any declarations, either. Or promises. She's with Shanahan. He's better for her."

"Better than you . . . "

"Damn straight."

"She doesn't love him like she loves you."

Jacob might as well have taken a sledgehammer from behind the bed and slammed Jack in the middle of his chest – it would have had just about the same effect.

"What . . . does that surprise you?"

Jack stood up and walked to the foot of the bed, tapping his finger on the top of the chart hanging there. Hell, yeah . . . it surprised him. The first time Samantha Carter looked at him with that smile, it shocked the hell right out of him. The first time she met his gaze across the conference table and he felt that click, it nearly blew him away. And four years ago, when they looked at each other through that damn force field – and he had thought 'this is it' – and saw everything in her face, he was pretty damn sure he had imagined the whole thing.

The day she told him about Pete Shanahan – especially the day she told him about the proposal – he convinced himself it had all been his imagination.

So, yeah . . . the thought of anyone thinking Samantha Carter loved him . . . yeah, that surprised him.

"I didn't like you when I first met you, you know."

Jack tipped his mouth in a lopsided grin. "I get that a lot."

"Know why?"

"Well, it couldn't have been because of my sparkling personality."

"It was the way she looked at you. And more importantly . . . the way you looked at her. To be honest, I pegged you for a manipulating CO who had already managed to somehow coerce my bright, beautiful daughter into an illicit affair."

Jack arched his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yeah. But Sam told me I was crazy. And, after joining with Selmak and being more involved with the SGC, I learned first hand that it was the truth. And I changed my mind about you, Jack."

"I would never "

"I know you wouldn't. You haven't. And neither would she. You two should get medals for your self control."

Jack was getting more uncomfortable by the minute, and glanced towards the door. Maybe if Sam came back, Jacob would drop the line of conversation. Please, if there is a God . . .

"I tried telling her this, but she wasn't listening either. Jack, you were a father. Hell, in my book, you still are. Of all the things you want for your kid the first time they put them in your arms, isn't the top one just for them to be happy?"

Jack stared off into space and nodded. Then he turned his focus back to Jacob. "She's happy. Right?"

Jacob sighed. "Look at her, Jack. Next time you're with her, really look. Don't look at her as her CO. Don't look at her with walls because you're afraid of seeing something you're not supposed to. Look at her. See what you know is there."

Jack shook his head. "And then what?"

"You'll have to decide that, Jack."

"And that would be okay with you?"

Jacob smiled. "You're finally getting it."

Jack walked back to the stool and sat down, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You know, I think this is the first time I had 'the talk with Dad' that didn't end with a list of all the reason I was no good for their daughter."

Jacob raised his hand from the blankets where it rested at his side, and set it on Jack's shoulder with a firm pat. "You're a good man, Jack. I've seen that for a long time. So has Sam. You're good for her."

"I won't ask her to choose, Jacob."

"I hope you won't have to."

"Won't have to what?"

Both men turned to see Sam come into the room, an elder Tok'ra representative following behind her. Jack sat back, Jacob's hand falling from his shoulder as he reached for the new visitor.

"Janmack, my friend."

As the two Tok'ra men fell into conversation, Jack slipped from the room. He glanced back to see Sam standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her body, watching her father. She turned and looked at him. Jack paused and met her gaze, letting a small smile touch his lips. Sam's lips bowed up, her head tilting to the side, and they stared at each other for several beats of his heart before she turned back to her father.

Jack drew in a long, slow breath to restricted lungs and with his head bowed, walked down the hall to his office. As usual, a stack of reports and paperwork waited for him, but as he tried to focus on them, his mind out and out refused. He was bouncing his pen end over end and staring into space with his chin in his hand when Kerry knocked on his door.

"How is Colonel Carter's father?" she asked, stepping into the room.

Jack sat up straighter, but didn't try all that hard to hide the fact that Jacob Carter's impending death sat like a one ton weight on his shoulders. "It doesn't look good."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Kerry glanced out the window to the briefing room, and generally looked uncomfortable, before she took a step backwards and eased the door shut. Since this was something they said probably wasn't a good idea when they were alone, it definitely struck Jack as odd.

"Closing the door . . . "

"Yeah," she said, stepping towards his desk. "Deeply symbolic."

Kerry sighed and gave him an odd smile, and Jack knew exactly what was coming. And instead of dreading it, or at the least wishing she would stop and rethink before she spoke . . . one thought came to him.

Here we go.

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The room where Jacob Carter died was silent now, and completely dark except for the light that came in from the hallway outside. Sam sat on the stool beside the now empty bed, soaking in the darkness and the silence.

She had told Jack she was okay. And it hadn't been a lie, not really. Every day for the rest of her life she would be thankful for the last six years with her father. But it still hurt. There was this gaping hole in her chest that sucked at her lungs and pressed against her heart. She felt lost. Not like when her mother died . . . her mother had been ripped away from her with no mercy. This was calmer, kinder . . . but brought back so many memories Sam fought to categorize them all.

"You shouldn't be alone."

She didn't look up, but drew a breath as his voice drifted through the room. Sam dropped her head forward and toyed with the crumbled ball of tissue in her hand.

"I don't think I should be with people, either."

Jack crossed the room, coming up behind her, and sat down on the edge of the bed close enough that his knee brushed her arm as he sat back. "Okay, how about just me, then."

Sam looked up and tried to smile. There was just enough light that she could see the angles of his features, and the darkness made his brown eyes look almost black. He linked his hands together, letting them rest relaxed in his lap, with his sleeves pushed up to past his elbows. As he twiddled his thumbs, the muscles of his lower arms bunched and curled and Sam focused on the motion . . . letting herself get lost in the simple act rather than think too hard about what the next few days would bring.

"Have you called Mark?"

Sam shook her head. "Not yet. I just can't . . . yet."

"Do you want me "

"No," she said quickly. "No, I just . . . thank you."

Jack nodded and went back to twirling his thumbs around each other. Sam realized, with a heavy ache in her chest, that more than anything else she wanted to lean over and rest her head in his lap and close her eyes against the rest of the world. She knew that if she did it, he wouldn't push her away or tell her to be strong. Chin up, soldier! But she knew it was wrong.

Especially now that she knew about Kerry Johnson.

"Carter, your dad asked me to take care of some things . . . "

Sam looked up again. "Like what?"

"Some of the arrangements. I don't think he wanted you to have to worry about them. But if you preferred I didn't "

Sam stood up so they were more eye to eye. "Thank you . . . Sir."

His lips tipped up in a lopsided grin, then straightened again. "Why don't you head home? I'll call you tomorrow with the specifics."

Sam nodded and sighed. The thought of leaving the base pressed down on her chest like an elephant's foot. She'd have to go home and begin the phone calls. Pete . . . Mark . . . Aunt Olivia . . . all the other relatives and friends.

"I'll take care of the military personnel calls . . . "

Sam shifted her gaze back to him. Walter Harriman had nothing on Jack O'Neill when it came to the ESP business . . . "Thank you, Sir."

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Thanking me."

He slid off the bed, coming easily to his feet. Where Sam stood, his action brought them within a breath of each other and just for a moment she felt herself sway towards him. The sob surprised her, ambushing the tight fist of control she had maintained on her emotions since her father's final words. It ripped through her and yanked all air from her lungs with its ferocity.

Jack wrapped her in his arms, holding her head beneath his chin with one large, sure hand. He didn't speak, didn't make those annoying shushing sounds people made when they wanted you to stop crying. He just held her in the dark.

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Sam's house was in darkness when she pulled into the driveway that night, and she was thankful for the solitude. She needed time to think. Time to sort things through. To reconcile herself with the chaos of the last twenty-four hours.

She entered the house through the garage, and dropped her bag and keys on the kitchen counter. Moving on auto pilot, she took a glass from the cupboard and poured some merlot from the open bottle in the refrigerator. But when she lifted the glass to her lips, the pungent, fruity aroma only succeeded in making her empty stomach churn. Sam set the glass down untouched.

There were still phone calls to make, but until the arrangements were made most of the calls could wait. The worst calls were over. Mark was done. And he promised to relay the news to as much family as he could reach. Fewer calls for her to make tomorrow.

She had tried to reach Pete, but his Sergeant told her he was on duty until midnight. Which, she knew, but somehow the days had merged together along the way and she had forgotten.

Her stomach rumbled, protesting its lack of food, but she couldn't seem to rally enough enthusiasm to make anything. As she left the kitchen, walking down the hall to her bedroom, the doorbell rang. Sam checked her watch. Who would be here this late?

She opened the door to see a teenage boy with an acne-ridden face wearing a "Luigi's Pizzaria" hat.

"Yes?"

"Uh, you . . . " He turned the pizza box he was holding to read a piece of paper on top. "Samantha Carter?"

"Yes."

"Here ya go."

"I didn't order a pizza."

He shrugged and pushed it towards her. "Not my problem, lady. It's prepaid, and I'm just told to deliver, that's all. Oh, and here."

Sam begrudgingly took the pizza box, and then the cold six pack of Diet Coke he picked up off her porch. He jumped clear of her steps and climbed in his car, leaving her standing in her open doorway, bewildered. Then the aroma of pineapple and ham drifted up from the box, and Sam's stomach growled.

She went back in the house and to the kitchen, setting the pizza down on the counter. Flicking the overhead light on, she stared at the box. But when her stomach growled again, Sam decided she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

She flipped back the box cover, and immediately smiled. Scrawled in black marker – in a hand she had learn to recognize on sight years ago – was a message.

Carter Eat! That's an order. J

Sam smiled, and lifted a slice of ham and pineapple pizza – a combination Jack claimed he couldn't stand yet always managed to snag at least one slice from her 'half' when they got one – to her mouth.