Always Part 4 of 11

Disclaimer: See Original Post

"Are you sure you want to do this, honey?"

"Of course, I do. Why wouldn't I?"

Sam pulled her car up in front of Jack's house, where well over a dozen other cars were already parked in the driveway and along the street. The house and yard was well lit, with strings of Chinese lanterns extending out to the side yard. She engaged the parking break and reached for her bag, but Pete gently grabbed her wrist.

"Sam, your father just died."

She stared at him for a moment, and tilted her head to the side. "I know that, Pete."

"Your family starts arriving tomorrow morning for the wake and funeral. It has been a crazy few days. Do you really think that a party at General O'Neill's house is where you should be?"

Sam sat back in her seat, the leather squeaking beneath her movement. "Pete, this party is in honor of my father. This is what he wanted. The people here tonight are my father's friends."

"I know that, but "

Sam opened the door and climbed out of the car before Pete had a time to finish the thought. He met her at the back of the car, his hand coming to the small of her back.

"Sam, I just don't want you pushing yourself to hard."

"I can decide that."

Pete sighed. "Okay. But if you feel overwhelmed, you just say the word and we're out of here."

Sam bit the inside of her cheek. Ever since Pete had heard about her father's death, he had been treating her like she was some china doll. Or worse, a child who had just dropped her ice cream cone and could burst into tears at any moment.

Well, she wasn't and she wouldn't and she resented the fact that he even suspected she might!

They walked to the front door, and Sam knocked. Jack opened it moments later, a giant bowl of potato chips held in the crook of his other arm.

"Carter, why the hell'd you knock? Get in here."

The house was full of people, mostly military personnel and their families, and the crowd spilled out into the back yard through the patio doors in the living room. Sam led Pete through the crowd, introducing him to everyone as they went.

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Jack stood at the sink in the kitchen, slicing limes on the sideboard for the Coronas, when he sensed her come into the room. It had been that way for a long, long time. Just something about the change in the air, or the pressure on his nerves, that told him Sam Carter was nearby.

He glanced over his shoulder. "Hey."

"Need any help?"

"Nah, I'm just about done here." He finished with the last lime, and scraped the wedges into a bowl of ice. "Stay right here."

Sam nodded, and Jack stuck his head out into the hall. "Hey, Walter!"

Harriman came up from the living room, and Jack handed off the limes, telling him where to take them out back. Then he went back to the kitchen, finding Sam leaning into the corner of the counter with her hands braced on the edge near her hips.

"There are a lot of people here," she said, glancing through the window to the back yard.

"A lot of people knew Jacob."

Sam turned back to him, and their gazes connected. He welcomed the familiar clenching in his gut that came whenever her blue eyes met his like that.

"Thank you, Sir. For everything."

"I thought I told you to stop thanking me."

Sam smiled, but it was melancholy and lacked her usual spark. He knew it would come back eventually, but he still missed it and wished there was something he could do to bring it back. She glanced back out the window, her eyes searching. Then she seemed to find what she was looking for, and relaxed again.

"Find him?"

She glanced at him quickly, and Jack was surprised to actually see a pink flush stain her cheeks. "Yeah. He's talking to General Hammond."

"Do you want to go?"

"No, actually I was looking for him to make sure he'd be occupied for a few minutes. I needed some space."

Pete had been hovering around Sam like a fly around honey since they arrived, unwilling to let her too far out of his sight. So not what she needed. Jack knew that . . .

Maybe someday, Pete would, too.

The thought nearly made him wince in pain.

"If you really want to hide out . . . "

Sam shook her head. "I'm not that desperate . . . yet. But watch for my signal, okay?"

"No problem. I got your six - back - I've got your back."

Sam laughed softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. Good! Great! Just keep going and you'll have her smile lit up like a birthday cake in no time!

"This is quite a party," she said as her chuckle died.

"Your father knew how to throw a shin dig."

Sam gave a half-hearted laugh. "Must have learned it from the Tok'ra."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Not much of a party animal before Selmak?"

"Not even close."

"That bad?"

She smiled then, the kind that reached all the way to her blue eyes, but her gaze was off somewhere else. A long time ago.

"He once hired a clown for my birthday. Balloon animals, stupid magic tricks, the works."

"Clowns are good."

Then she looked at him, one eyebrow tipped higher than the other. "I was seventeen."

"Ouch."

"Yeah."

They laughed together, but it was short lived as Pete rounded the corner from the hall into the kitchen, a glass of blush Chablis in his hand. Sam cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her body.

"I wondered where you were hiding," he said, crossing the room to press a kiss to Sam's cheek.

Jack didn't want to watch, but found himself trapped like a squirrel stuck in the headlights of an oncoming semi. He just couldn't look away. As Pete's lips touched her cheek, her eyes snapped up to meet Jack's gaze, then she quickly looked away.

"I've been hearing some very interesting stories out there. You should come out and sit with us, honey. Oh, and here. I brought you a Chablis."

Sam took the glass, forcing a smile. "Thank you."

Pete shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, grinning like a fool, and Jack did his best to look like it was the easiest thing in the world to be standing here with the two of them. Nope, didn't bother me . . . not in the least bit . . . and if you believe that, I've got some prime real estate on Chulak . . .

"Do you like this yellow, honey?"

Sam's head snapped around to look at Pete. "What?"

"The yellow in the General's kitchen here, do you like it?"

"She should," Jack chimed in. "She helped me pick it out." Helped me paint, too. Jack didn't think Pete needed to know about how hot she had looked in her paint-splattered tee shirt and cut-off overalls. Or how Jack had admired the view of her backside when she knelt on his counter to reach the space above the cabinets . . . no, he probably shouldn't share that information.

Jack blinked and cleared his throat to push back the oh-so-pleasant memories. He turned his focus back to Sam and Pete, and by Sam's glare, Jack got the clear and distinct impression that whatever it was he just said . . . he definitely shouldn't have said it.

Or maybe it was the look on his face when he said it?

This time, he fought harder to suppress the grin.

"Oh," Pete said, his smile relaxing a little. "Then I guess you probably like it. I don't think this color will work in the house, though. Too pale. Did Sam tell you we bought a house?"

He stepped closer to Sam, circling her shoulders with his arm to pull her closer. Jack was no idiot, despite popular belief. Pete could have screamed She's mine! and it couldn't have been any louder. Jack gave a lopsided smile, doing his best to be the courteous host, and to keep off his face any expression that would give away the twisting in his gut.

"She did. Congratulations. I hear it's beautiful."

Sam smiled at her fiancé, and he seemed pleased with both Jack's answer and her grin. But Jack kept his eyes on Sam. Did Shanahan even realize she had pulled back when he put his arm around her, and did he see the strain in her smile? He was pushing his limits, and if he didn't back off, he was going to have one angry blonde on his hands with the capacity to hurt him in ways he could only imagine. Jack knew, because he had taught her half those moves himself.

That thought brought a smirk to his lips.

"Hey, Pete!" General Hammond shouted from the living room below, his voice carrying through the house. "Come on back out."

"Are you coming?" he asked Sam.

"I'll be out soon."

He seemed satisfied with her answer, and with another kiss on her cheek – one Sam did her best not to pull back from, Jack observed – Shanahan left them alone in the kitchen. As soon as he was gone, Jack pushed away from the counter to cross the space to her. Without a word, he picked up her glass of Chablis, poured it down the sink, rinsed out the glass, and poured her a new glass of merlot from a bottle he kept in the refrigerator. She smiled as he handed it to her.

"Thank you. I hate Chablis."

"I know."

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Sam sat at her dining room table, one foot resting on the chair seat with her chin on her bent knee. She did her best to stifle a yawn behind her hand, and blinked against the lead that weighed down her eyelids. It was nearly 2400 hours, and Mark and Amy had just laid her nephew and niece down in the guest room. Their flight had been delayed, and Pete had just returned from picking them up at the airport.

Mark and Pete came out of the kitchen, each carrying two cups of steaming coffee. Mark set one down in front of Amy, and Pete set his extra in front of Sam. She noticed with a grimace that he had put milk in it, but didn't say anything. It's not like she planned on drinking much of it anyway.

"Is there anything left to be taken care of?" Mark asked, sipping at his coffee. "Sammie, I'm sorry we couldn't get here sooner. I tried, but work gave Amy a hard time about leaving on such short notice and we couldn't get a flight "

Sam shook her head. "It's okay. I know you tried, Mark. Everything is taken care of."

"Everything? How did you manage all that alone?"

Pete cleared his throat, and hid his annoyance by taking a long drink of his coffee. Sam shot a glance in his direction before answering her brother. For whatever reason, her fiancé had a problem with Jack's help in the process, and he had been more than vocal about it.

"I didn't do it alone. My General at the base took care of most of it. Dad asked him to." She glared at Pete again when she made the final point.

"Jack?"

Her attention snapped back to Mark when he said Jack's name. She knew she probably looked surprised, and outright confused. "Yeah . . . how did you know . . . ?"

"Dad mentioned him several time. Jack O'Neill, right? Used to be your Colonel. Headed up your research team. But he was promoted last year."

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Will he be at the services?"

"Yes."

"Great. I look forward to meeting him."

Pete remained quiet, apparently finding the bottom of his coffee cup completely fascinating. Sam's cheeks burned hot, and if she couldn't rationalize with herself that she was just a tad bit more emotional right now than usual, she'd probably give Pete an earful. Ever since she had told him that Jack had taken care of some of the arrangements – and her father's specific request – Pete had pulled this attitude. Almost like he had expected to do it himself, and Jack had stolen the priviledge. Damn it, he had met her father once . . . once . . . how could he properly honor a man he didn't know?

Why, because they were getting married? Because he was going to be her husband and thus taking care of such unpleasant matters was beyond her delicate constitution? She had dealt with far more unpleasant matters all by herself, thank you very much!

Jack would never !

Sam nearly spilled her cup of coffee as she mentally snapped her thought off. Oh, my God!

She was just comparing her fiancé to Jack O'Neill!

"Honey, are you okay?"

Sam blinked and lifted her hand to her mouth to suck away a drop of lukewarm and gack milky coffee. "I'm fine. I'm just falling asleep sitting here."

"Maybe we should all get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day," Amy offered.

They all stood together, and Sam collected their coffee cups. Pete helped her rinse them out and put them in the dish washer as Amy headed to the guest room to check on the kids again.

"I'll get you some extra blankets from the hall closet," Sam before leaving the two men in the kitchen.

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"I guess I'll see you in the morning, buddy," Mark said, rubbing his fingers over his scalp as he stretched and turned to leave.

"Hey, Mark. Hang on a sec."

"What's up?"

Pete motioned for Mark to come back to the other side of the kitchen, away from the hallway and hopefully out of earshot from Sam and Amy. "You said your dad talked about O'Neill . . . "

Mark nodded. "Yeah."

"Like what? What did he say?"

Mark sighed, pressing his lips together for a moment while he seemed to consider what he was about to say. He leaned his hand into the edge of the center island and pushed his other hand into his front pocket. "You've met Jack?"

Pete nodded. "A couple of times."

"You seen him and Sammie together?"

"Why? What's that got to do with anything?"

"Look, Pete, buddy . . . all I'm saying is that Dad gave me the impression once that Sammie and Jack were . . . "

"Involved?"

"No. But I think they are . . . " He winced, like he didn't like using the 'non-guy-like' word. "close."

"Your father said that?"

"It's the impression I got. Look, I know that my father respected Jack O'Neill . . . and he considered him a friend. I also know enough about the military to know that if O'Neill was Sammie's commanding officer, then nothing could go on between them. And if it did, then I don't think my father would feel that way about him . . . you see where I'm going with this?

"I guess."

Mark slapped his hand down on Pete's shoulder. "Besides, what are you worried about? You got the girl, right?"

Pete nodded slowly. "Yeah. I got the girl."