Always Part 6 of 11
Disclaimer: See Original Post
Jack sat in his truck, parked across the street from Sam's house, for half an hour. There were only a few cars parked along the street, so only a handful of people had returned to the house after the funeral. Probably just close family.
He didn't belong here.
Especially after what he almost did . . .
Could you be any more stupid, O'Neill?
Jack put his hands over his face and let out a muffled groan, banging his head against the headrest.
It hadn't just been stupid . . . it was ten kinds of stupid.
But she was touching him, and looking at him with those eyes, and God help him – he loved her.
There! Ya happy? Whoever you are in the great, cosmic universe who gets their jollies by screwing with my life! I love her!
Jack dropped his hands from his face, too tired to keep them there. That was the truth of it. He was just tired. Tired of trying to figure it all out. Tired of mourning friends that were gone, friends that could be gone but no one knew for sure, friends that might be gone someday. Tired of trying to balance it all and still keep his own sanity. Tired of giving up.
"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."
The last conversation he had with Jacob Carter came back to him as he tried to remember what it all was about . . . why he did any of it.
"This is better, Jacob."
"Is it? For who?"
"For her."
"Why?"
"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."
Was that really true? Jack didn't think he could let himself believe it. He couldn't that day, and he couldn't now. The choice was obvious, wasn't it? Pete was . . . he was . . . well, he wasn't old or worn out or number than a pounded thumb, as Jack's grandfather used to say.
OK, scratch the number than a pounded thumb part . . .
"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."
This was it . . . do or die . . . win, or go home. Jack was going to find out. Tonight. And then . . . then . . .
He didn't want to think that far ahead.
He grabbed the bottle of Merlot from the seat beside him, and climbed out of the truck.
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Jack stood at Sam's fireplace, one foot raised to rest on the hearth with his arm on the mantle, a beer in his hand. He lifted the bottle to his lips and let the cool liquid slide down his throat as he surveyed the room.
He really didn't know anyone here. Sam . . . George Hammond, who knew the Carter family for years before the SGC . . . and that was it. So, he hung back and observed.
And learned.
Sam was at the dining room table, which he could easily see from his vantage point. But she would have to be really looking for him to see him. This was good. He watched her talking with Pete and sister-in-law, the way she laughed and smiled.
And he watched her with Pete.
As much as he hated to do it, he watched.
Pete sat beside her with his arm behind her back, resting on the chair. And while she didn't shy away from his touch, she didn't lean into it either. She didn't seek him out. He reached for her hand, squeezing it as he held it on top of the table.
Jack timed her.
Two minutes, thirty-seven seconds passed before she released his hand to reach for her drink. When she set her glass down, she didn't take his hand again but laced her fingers in her lap. Pete said something to her, and she smiled and laughed . . .
But it wasn't that smile . . . not that laugh . . . not the one that grabbed hold of Jack's gut and made him think foolish thoughts whenever she gifted him with it.
No, apparently she saved those looks for him.
She looked up, and their eyes met. Sam's smile relaxed but she didn't look away. Jack slowly lifted his beer to his lips again, letting his tongue touch the glass as he drained the bottle, still watching her. With the bottle empty, he set it on the mantle and moved his foot off the hearth.
"General O'Neill."
Jack turned towards his name to see Sam's brother standing near him, holding out a fresh beer. Jack took it with a nod.
"Call me Jack."
"Okay. I wanted to thank you for everything you did. Sammie told us that you handled many of the arrangements at my father's request. Since I couldn't be here, I'm glad she had someone she could rely on."
Jack slid his glance to Sam for a brief moment, and saw her still watching him. She dropped her chin forward and turned away, focusing again on the conversation at the table.
"My dad spoke often of you."
"Don't believe everything you hear," Jack said with a smirk, lifting the fresh beer to his lips.
Mark laughed. "All good, really."
Jack shrugged one shoulder. "Don't believe everything you hear."
"He told me you and Sammie have been through a lot together . . . doing what you do." His pointed tone drew Jack's attention, and he figured Mark suspected there was more going on in Cheyenne Mountain that Deep Space Telemetry. But he wasn't about to shine any light on the subject. He just matched Mark's stare, and took another drink. After a minute, Mark smiled wryly and nodded his head . . . conceding that he would hear no more than he already knew. "Okay. Fair enough. Either way, I don't know you that well – by reputation only, really – but it seems to me you're a good guy for Sammie to have in her corner. I just hope that Pete can get that, too."
Jack let his gaze shift back to Sam and Pete. Pete was looking at her as he talked, and even from here Jack could see how much the dolt loved her. He almost felt sorry for the guy.
His cell phone rang, and shifting his beer into the other hand, Jack took it from his belt. "O'Neill . . ."
"General, this is Sergeant Chang. We are receiving more reports from Master Bra'tac and Teal'c, and thought you should know, Sir. Would you like me to brief you by phone?"
"No, I'm not " He glanced at Mark. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"Should I call Colonel Carter?"
"No. I'll make that call if it becomes necessary."
Jack slapped the phone closed. "I'm sorry, Mark. I've got to take off."
"Understood, Jack. Dad was a General, too . . . remember? He received calls at all hours of the night and day."
"I'm going to . . . " He motioned towards Sam, indicating he wanted to talk to her before he left.
Mark nodded, and took Jack's unfinished beer. Jack moved around the furniture that blocked his path to Sam, hearing their combined conversation as he approached.
As he stepped up, he set his hand on Sam's shoulder. Her hand immediately came up to cover his and she looked up at him. "I'm sorry to interrupt . . . Carter, could I borrow you for just a second? It's . . . " He swirled his finger in the air, which was Jack-speak for Stargate Stuff.
Sam nodded and slid out of her chair. Together, they walked out the front door and headed towards Jack's truck. When he felt they were outside of earshot, Jack leaned towards her slightly as he spoke.
"I just got a call from the SGC. Something is up with Teal'c and Bra'tac. I couldn't get the details because, well"
Sam nodded. "I understand. Do you need me?"
He paused, his hand on the handle of his truck door, and looked down at her. Did he need her? That was a loaded question . . .
"No. I don't even know what's going on yet. You can't leave anyway."
"If you need me, Sir "
" Carter."
Sam dropped her gaze, crossing her arms over her body. Jack reached out and put his hand on her arm, and she looked up again.
"Call me if you need me," he said. "For anything."
"I will. Thank you, Sir, for "
"Ah!" Jack interrupted, raising one finger in the air. "What did I say, Carter?"
Sam smiled, and it was that smile . . . the kind that went all the way to her blue eyes and reached into his gut. Jack smiled back, and opened his truck door. He climbed inside, and as he buckled his safety belt, Sam pushed the door closed. She stepped back into the street as he started the truck, and turned the wheel to pull away from the curb. Sam raised her hand in a small wave as he drove away.
When he looked into his rear view mirror, he saw her still standing . . . watching.
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The house was empty of extra guests, leaving only Mark's family and Pete out in the living room. The dishes had been loaded in the washer, the food put away and the wine stored. All the sympathy cards had been stacked neatly on Sam's desk so she could write thank you cards the following week, and a collection of newspapers with her father's obituary were placed beside them for clipping and saving.
Sam stepped into the hall, and glanced towards the living room. Pete and Mark sat on the couch watching a game on television. They were shouting and cheering, slapping each other on the backs triumphantly. Sam shook her head. She never quite got it.
Jack enjoyed his games, but he was never quite so . . . exhuberant. She might get a "Yes!" out of him, or a moaned "Aw, crap!" when a play went bad . . . or even a "That's gotta hurt!" when a player's face went into the plexiglass . . . but never this shouting and yelling.
But then that was Jack. Even his enthusiasm was controlled.
Sam blinked, trying to push thoughts of Jack to the back of her mind. It wasn't right, constantly comparing Jack to Pete. She couldn't do it for the rest of her life. It wasn't fair.
She stood at the end of the hall and leaned her shoulder against the wall. Amy sat on the hearth near the fireplace, an open book in her lap, while the children played on the rug. Justin had a fighter jet he was flying through the air, making 'zoom zoom' noises. A boy after Sam's own heart. Fly 'em high, fly 'em fast. Andrea was sprawled on her stomach, her chin resting on one hand, as she sketched in a book.
Amy looked up, and smiled. "You okay?" she mouthed across the room.
Sam nodded, and motioned over her shoulder with her thumb that she would be in her bedroom. Amy nodded.
The sun was setting outside, casting the room in a mixture of shadows and pink-orange light. Sam walked to her bed, and sat down on the edge. She wasn't sure why she came in here. Just needed some space, some silence. No one asking her if she was okay . . . wanting her to talk . . . to explain.
She hated having to explain how she felt and what she was thinking.
She missed having someone just know.
Sam closed her eyes . . . missed wasn't the right word. Because Jack still knew, but . . .
But what?
She needed him . . . his silent strength. The way he was there for her without making her feel dependent, like a frail woman who needed a man to lean on. He didn't offer to take care of her and fix the world, and yet . . . he did.
Sam reached down beside her to the box she had left on the floor. In it were some final things her father had left behind at the SGC that Jack had brought for her. There were photos of her as a child, and pictures of Mark and the kids. His Tok'ra uniform that she would tuck away somewhere before Mark asked where it came from. As she looked through the items, she found an envelope with her name written on the front in her father's hand.
Drawing a shaky breath, Sam picked up the envelope and took out the letter that was inside.
My Sweet Sam
I tried to talk to you about this before I went, but if you are reading this now, I undoubtedly failed. You are just like your mother, you know. Stubborn. But I loved her for it, and I love you, Sammie.
I probably tried to be tactful when we talked, and that apparently didn't work. So, I'm going to lay it on the line. I'm not telling you what to do with your life, don't get me wrong. But I want you to know that whatever you do – and I mean whatever – it's okay with me.
Sammie, the one thing every parent wants for their child is for them to be happy. And you say Pete makes you happy . . . if I believed that, then I would be fine. And maybe he does. But does he make you as happy as you CAN be? Does he give you EVERYTHING?
Please, Sammie . . . if Pete doesn't . . . find a way. Do whatever you have to do. It's worth it. He is worth it. You are worth it. And don't shake your head and act like you don't know who I'm talking about. You know. And so does he. You're both a perfect match . . . stubborn and pig headed. And yes, I told him as much myself.
I've known for years. What is it they say? Still waters run deep. You two barely create a ripple, and I know you mean it to be that way. Well, I say . . . it's time to make some waves.
Be happy, Sam. Love. You only get one chance at life. Grab it.
I love you
Dad
Sam's heart ached, and her eyes burned with tears that she refused to let fall. Even after he was gone, Dad was imparting his fatherly wisdom. But didn't he understand? It wasn't that easy . . . it had never been that easy. She couldn't just . . . just . . . could she?
Her cell phone rang, and she didn't have to look at the caller ID to know who it was. Sam opened the phone and held it to her ear.
"Hello . . . "
"Hi."
She drew a shaky breath. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?" Sam almost hear the smile in Jack's voice as he tried to sound like he didn't know what she meant. "I'm just . . . calling."
Sam blinked hard. "Are you in the Mountain?"
"Actually, no. I'm topside. Have you looked outside, Carter?"
Sam stood and went to the window, pushing back the curtains. The sunset was beautiful. Hues of yellow, orange, pink, and red stretched across the sky mingling with clouds tinged in deep purple and blue. It took her breath away.
"It's beautiful, Sir. Did you arrange this, too?"
She heard his soft chuckle. "If it were in my power, you know I would."
Sam closed her eyes, forcing two tears to fall down her cheeks. God, I love this man! Her lungs seized in her chest, and her eyes snapped open again.
"Carter? You okay?"
"Yes . . . yes, sir."
"I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"
She nodded to the empty room. "Okay."
The line disconnected, and Sam closed the phone, folding her arms over her body. Oh, god . . . what was she going to do now?
