Disclaimer: this is all a figment of my imagination, with certain key aspects supplied by older and richer people than myself.

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I had a bunch of chapters pre-written, but have suddenly decided to make a large plot detour. Believe it or not this should mean getting to the fun stuff sooner rather than later!


Inevitable Exposure

Chapter 4: Still Waters Run Deep

Jon frowned darkly as he dialled the number for Jack's home in Colorado Springs, concealing the sequence of numbers from Mac and hitting the send button with undue force. Four years – four years – without the slightest need to 'phone home', four years of dodging the awkward questions and sticking to his perfectly viable cover story, until one sunny day this bozo comes along and upsets the apple cart without the slightest by your leave. Didn't he realise that covers were usually there for a reason, and that when you recognise a cover the last thing you do is blow the damned thing? And he said he was some kind of operative? Great!

Scowling at the aforementioned bozo, Jon brought the cell to his ear and listened to the phone ringing, half-praying that no one would be home. The last time he'd called this number there hadn't been, but then he had been leaving a message for himself that time ("pick up Cassie at 9am to go skating – don't forget or the Doc will take a really long time with the next check-up"). Belatedly he realised that it wasn't even him dialling that time, but the other Jack – the original – well before he'd been a twinkle in Loki's test-tube. He'd almost gotten used to not needing those memories over the last year, away from the Air Force, here in San Francisco…

"Hello?"

The voice caught him unawares, but he recognised it immediately. Carter. Sam. Mrs O'Neill. He fumbled for a reply, but the words caught in his throat as he identified the background noise as a toddler's burble. Oh God… they had a kid. Kids?

"Hello?" The voice seemed impatient now.

Kids were great. They were. But the thought of a kid belonging to Jack O'Neill and Sam Carter threw Jon Murphy into next week.

"Jon?"

This voice was heard from the other side, and he turned on reflex to see Mac standing a couple of feet away with a concerned look on his face.

"I'm going to hang up now," Carter warned in his other ear.

Finally his tongue worked its way loose. "Wait! Don't hang up!"

Waving Mac away irritably, Jon waited hopefully for Carter's reply. She hadn't put the phone down, but what must she be thinking? Trust him to ruin first contact… but then it was in the genes: Jack had always clammed up when things got personal too. Getting them together must have been a feat of epic proportions. Daniel, Teal'c, Janet, George, Jacob – they would have all been in on it.

"Who is this?"

Breathing a sigh of relief, Jon decided to pace himself this time. "It's Jon. Jon Murphy?"

Please, please let her remember… great, now he even thought like a kid.

"I'm sorry, I don't know anyone by that name."

Her tone was clipped and professional, in sharp contrast to the infantile gobbledegook in the background. Kid was probably practicing Mommy's technobabble to skip a few grades. And speaking of 'Mommy'…

"Carter, you do know someone by that name. Now would you please put his Lordship on the line before I start reciting a 4-year old IDC?"

Dead silence. Had he blown it? Oh, joy. The patented O'Neill/Murphy diplomacy strikes again.

"Four years?"

"Yes Carter, four years. And if it helps, thanks for tidying up the cabin – I've been trying my best, but it always seems tidier than I left it. That's not Jack's style for sure – I should know."

That was the best he could do? Jon winced internally, realising how completely indifferent that must have sounded. Not a 'congratulations' in sight, though she deserved several – she was a full-bird Colonel now, and married, with at least one kid. He sucked. But then that was Jack's style, and therefore his.

He looked over to Mac, whose expression was now what they called stony, and came to a decision. "Carter, I'm sorry. I'm an ass. I thought I'd grown out of it, but I will probably always be an ass. You tell me."

The kid burbled in the background some more before Carter had the grace to reply – but at least there was a trace of one of those trademark smiles in her voice. "Jon, if Jack is anything to go by you will always be an ass."

Grinning himself, he replied, "In that case you deserve a Congressional Medal of Honour for putting up with him."

"He makes me one out of bottle tops every year for our anniversary."

And suddenly, it was all too weird again.

"Uh, Carter…"

"I'll go get him," she cut him off, presumably recognising the signs of an O'Neill-style emotional shutdown. "Do you want to tell me what this is about?"

"Sure, if it'll bring him to the phone any quicker," Jon replied, winking at Mac (who was leaning against the gazebo, arms folded and foot tapping). "Just mention swings, roundabouts and a little kid called Angus."

"O…k…."

"Trust me, he'll know what I'm talking about."

He could almost hear her nodding on the other end of the line. "Be right back."

"Thanks."

Glancing over to his cousin, Jon smirked. The guy was looking even more shocked than when he'd called him by his first name. Almost as shocked as their parents when they'd caught their young offspring on a specially constructed swing that hung over a ravine. As for the roundabouts… that escapade had given them matching broken wrists. School should never have mentioned centrifugal and centripetal force to either of them.

"He told you about that!"

"Mac, cuz…"

"You have got to be kidding me!"

Jon held a hand up to Mac, effectively halting the conversation.

"Jack?"

"Who else? I repeat – kidding?"

"Not kidding. Standing right next to me, not kidding. Looking just like you, not kidding."

There was a short silence. "What?"

Jon looked upwards in annoyance. "Give me strength – Jack, you heard me the first time and you know that I wouldn't even consider calling you if I could possibly avoid it."

"And there I was thinking that my memories left you relatively capable in life," was the muttered response.

"Hah, hah, very funny – cut the crap," he replied bluntly, glaring at Mac as a substitute. "Much as I love to hear your dulcet tones, we have a problem here. Your favourite cousin just did a trace on me in about 30 minutes, while at a party on a sunny Saturday afternoon. I'd say that means he has a shovel and is not afraid to use it."

"Good to hear you too, mini-me," Jack's sarcastic reply grated against his hard-won individuality. "We leave you alone for one year and the shit hits the fan? Fantastic."

"Lap it up, General."

Jon could almost hear his counterpart's eyes rolling. "You don't think he'll back off?"

"Is there an echo in here?"

"And he looks like me? How close?"

"Looked in a mirror recently?"

"And you're sure it's really him?"

"Oh yeh."

"Crap."

"Now we're cooking…" Jon rolled his eyes. "Look, he's missing a few scars and the hair's not exactly regulation, but close enough. Do you want to speak to the guy? Because he's not going to take my word for it and I kinda like my life the way it is."

There was an exasperated sigh from Colorado Springs, though he was sure it was just for show. Jack kinda liked Jon's life the way it was too – a gazillion miles away from him. Trust some relative to mess it up.

"Ok, give him the phone."

On the other side of the gazebo, Mac had been observing the conversation via Jon's body language. It said a lot about the kid, and what he thought of both Jack and whoever Carter was – presumably Jack's wife, though it wasn't exactly a common name for a woman. When Carter had been speaking he looked like he was continually kicking himself, or perhaps he was embarrassed? It was hard to tell, but as soon as Jack had come on the line his entire demeanour had changed. It became more confrontational, with a straight back and a biting tone in his voice, although defence seemed to be as much a part of the package as attack. How much did that say about Jack?

Finally Jon fell silent and held out the cell phone expectantly. "Your turn, buster."

A wry smile on his face, Mac took the phone and pondered what to say. It had been nearly 50 years, after all, and they hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms… but now he'd somehow stumbled into a family conspiracy that wasn't about to be shared willingly.

"Hi Jack."

"Angus?"

Mac blinked. It was like hearing his own answer phone message – a slightly different accent, but definitely him. Maybe they really were that alike. "It's Mac – don't you remember how much I dislike that name?"

"Sure, like a hole in the head," his cousin replied. "What can I do ya for?"

"You could start by proving you are who you say you are."

There was a pause. "Ok, how do you suggest I go about that?"

Mac thought a moment. "What was Harry's favourite dish?"

"Fresh bass cooked over some chicory. 'Course that did tend to mean buying the bass from a more successful fisherman, but what's a minor detail between friends? Next!"

The other man raised an eyebrow at Jon, surprised by the brevity of Jack's reply – like he really didn't want to think about it. Get the job over and done with, then get out. "Why didn't you come to his funeral?"

Jon's eyes widened in surprise, almost alarm, and he shook his head rapidly while drawing a single finger across his throat.

"Otherwise engaged. Don't go there."

Jack's voice was terse, and Mac received the message from both parties loud and clear. This was not something that either would share willingly, and if Jack had been Special Ops there could be any number of unpleasant reasons for that.

"Ok then," he continued, backing away from the previous topic but not wanting to be put off just yet. "What's the best way to break your collarbone?"

To his left he could hear a snort of laughter from Jon, and even Jack let out a small chuckle in his right ear. Curiouser and curiouser.

"Mac, I think it's safe to say that the most entertaining way to break a collarbone is – in hindsight! – by being a stupid kid who doesn't know when to say no. Oh yeh, and having an equally stupid cousin who has just as little sense, and who – I seem to remember – had the crazy idea of running along a tin roof during a hailstorm in the first place!"

"Hey, that was your idea!"

"Me? I don't think so!"

"You were the one who watched TV all the time," Mac pointed out.

"Ok, well whichever of us thought that one up doesn't matter any more – are you convinced yet?"

Mac nodded for Jon's benefit as he replied. "Yeh, I think so. So who's this kid?"

"Jonathan Murphy. USAF Cadet, due for graduation this year last time I checked, and somehow wangled his way onto a Masters course – Lord only knows how he pulled that one off."

"Try again."

"Can't tell you that, buddy. Sorry."

"Classified?"

"Something like that. And digging won't do you, me or him any favours – especially him. He fell off that particular radar a few years ago, but for a while there was a chance that someone might pick him up," Jack sighed, probably considering how much to tell him. "That and we got on about as well as you and I did, so it was easier to stay away even when the danger passed. We even allocated ourselves different months when we could use the cabin – which came from my other granddad, by the way."

Mac pondered this, unsure why they had retained any link at all if there had been a danger. But then he realised that Jon had already given him the answer: they were too alike, and given the kid's Air Force ambitions they could hardly pretend to be unrelated. Jack had never been one to keep in touch with family (as demonstrated by the need for this conversation), so a 'nephew' he didn't know was less of a bargaining tool than a close friend. They had to be father and son, and the personality clash was just an excuse to maintain the illusion. That was the only explanation he could credit, and it would explain why Jon acted older than his looks. Forced separation from a living family had to be twice as hard as losing a parent to death, a pain that Mac remembered from his own childhood, but since it seemed so important to the pair he decided to take what they were telling him at face value.

"Ok Jack, I'll take your word for it," he declared, eyeing Jon's relieved expression as he did so. "But you're sure that no one's after him these days?"

"As sure as I can be! What is it with you and the suspicion anyway? Did he sleep with your daughter or something?" Jack paused, then returned with a hint of concern. "Please say he didn't?"

Mac's mouth twisted in a smile as he debated whether to milk this situation or not, eventually deciding not to. He'd only just regained contact with a long-lost cousin, and antagonising him wouldn't do his new (and apparently unavoidable) relationship with Jon any good. "Nah, but close. He's dating my partner's daughter."

There was a snort from the other end of the line. "Figures. Well, no need to be worried – he's… uh… he's the least likely kid to mess her or anyone else around, let's put it that way."

"Really?"

"Oh yeh," his cousin muttered, though there was a trace of pride in his tone. "The Air Force grapevine had him down as a protector of geeks and women's rights back at the Academy. It'll take me years to shake those rumours. Right up your alley though, I should imagine?"

"Depends on how he goes about it," Mac replied wryly, settling down on a bench. "So who's Carter?"

Jack's voice took on the distinct tone of smug happiness. "That would be my wife, Colonel Samantha Carter. Also one of the world's most brilliant astrophysicists, I'll have you know. You married?"

"Never," Mac shook his head emphatically. "I'm not the marrying type. I have a son though; his name is also Sam. Well almost – his mom named him 'Sean Angus Malloy', but he prefers his initials."

"Like father like son, huh?"

"On the odd occasion." Mac passed a momentary eye over Jon, then decided to ask the next most obvious question. It might not get him anywhere, but then maybe it would. "You got kids?"

His cousin paused, heightening Mac's curiosity. "Yeh, but not what you think…"

At this point, Jon decided to make a break for it. Judging by Mac's sympathetic expression he already suspected what many had before, that Jack was his real dad – oh, how wrong they all were. That and he really didn't want to hear one-half of a conversation about how great Jack's life was these days, however good it was to see that they could patch up those little differences of yesteryear. He could get his phone back later – it didn't look like he was about to be run out of town just yet, and after such a nice chat with his older counterpart (not!) he really needed a beer. All hail the non-snake headed gods that Lucy's mom believed in a European-style drinking age, at least in her own backyard.

Standing up straight, he waved to Mac before pointing out at the garden and was relieved to get a nod in return. Not that it mattered, but it was nice to know that the guy wasn't going to lay any more charges – and if he and Jack were going to start talking about that toddler, Jon wanted to get away before he wound himself into a depression. Maybe he'd be able to talk Sam and the other goons into releasing Lucy back into his custody now… or maybe he should wait for Mac? None of them had trusted his 20-year old face before, so that wasn't likely to have changed. But on the other hand, he now had the perfect blackmail tool to use against Sam – or should he say 'Sean Angus'?

Smiling evilly, he set off down the garden in search of a verbal punching bag.