A/N: I've not had a lot of time for writing lately but here's something to keep you going. Thankyou for all your reviews, i enjoy getting feedback, positive or constructive so i'd love to know what you think of this bit. Mu-san, what i meant was that i'm usually more of a 'happily ever after' person; gatefan452, he wasn't watching the papers for news of Sam he was watching to keep up with what's happening with his friends and the stargate. He misses Sam because she's dead. Sorry for the confusion.
Stumbling backwards in shock Steve fell into the deceased man's chair and stared dumbfounded at the photograph in his hand. Inside a plain oak frame sat a photograph of the woman the whole world knew to be Samantha Carter of the team SG-1. In the picture she was basking in the warmth of a summer late afternoon sun. She was sitting staring into the distance in somebody's back garden – it could hardly be called a yard – and judging from her relaxed body language and distant look she obviously hadn't noticed the photographer. It was like no photograph of her anyone had ever seen. What with her floaty summer dress and the amazing late afternoon light she looked nothing short of a goddess and even as a married man he couldn't help but admire her. He certainly understood why the old man had. The question 'why' immediately came into his mind – why did it come to be in his possession? How? Steve was simultaneously baffled and, for once, completely speechless. Yet his curiosity had been piqued and he found hecouldn't simply let it go. The question naggled at him. Why would some lonely old South Dakota teacher have what looked like a very personal photography of the world's most brilliant, good looking and definitely female astrophysicist, even if it had been twenty five years since her death. At that moment Steve remembered about the novel his neighbor used to spend his mornings scribbling away at and wondered if it might offer some clue. He'd never seen it lying about and decided that the bedroom was probably the best place to start looking. For a second he paused, reluctant to go looking about Jon's more personal items. "Well," he finally decided, "he is dead."
Cautiously he opened the door and peered into the room. The undertakers hadn't been in here, they'd asked Steve to bring along a suit later in the week – this room was exactly how his neighbor had left it. A ray of sunlight escaped through the half open curtains, catching him in the eyes and blinding him before he stepped out of the way and gazed with awe and wonder at his surroundings. The bed was perfectly made, the sheets new, the carpet recently cleaned. Dirty laundry in the basket everything tidied away in its place. The photos of SG-1 On the mantle didn't have a spec of dust, the long-sought-after-but-never-before-found picture of Jack O'Neill with his son Charlie in his baseball gear, a home made model of the gate in one corner with a polished plaque engraved with the Earth coordinates screwed to it's base, the airforce colonel's uniform sitting at the back of his armoire, the medals with 'Jack O'Neill' inscribed on the reverse buried not-so-subtly at the bottom of a drawer in his bedside table. They all pointed to one thing. Something Steve wasn't sure if he was ready to acknowledge. Despite all this, what freaked him out most was the envelope he found sitting on the bed with 'Steve' inked in handwriting which belonged to someone else other than the man who had lived so long in this house. They'd worked together for several years, he should know. With trembling hands he picked it up. It read like this:
Dear Steve,
You may have guessed by now that I wasn't always the man you know me as. I wasn't always called Mr Jonathon Carter, my real name is Jack O'Neill and I was a Colonel in the United States Air force. If you're reading this I didn't make it back to bed tonight This is not a suicide note, the only way I can explain it is to say that my time has come. I'm with Sam now, where I always should have been but never got up the courage to ask. The lawyer will come to talk to you after the funeral I expect, but just in case, everything's for Jack apart from a few items for Daniel which are boxed up in the garage. Since Sam and Charlie Jack's the closest I got to being happy. You'll understand better once you read the book. It's in shoe boxes under the bed. Publish it.
Well I guess you should go call Daniel now. Get the secretary to ask him about "the tin man" and you should get through.
I'm sorry.
Jon/Jack
For a good ten minutes after reading it Steve did nothing. Having sat down on the bed in shock he remained there for some time, his attention flicking between the note and the popular poster of a starmap with the worlds that SG-1 had explored so long ago indicated. A picture of the team was in the bottom right corner with the SGC emblem at the top. A short paragraph of indecipherable writing adorned the bottom left hand corner of the page. Steve studied it in detail while he contemplated his discovery. The poster had been a present from Steve's son to his grandfather. Gradually coming to his senses, albeit that his mind still refused to fully comprehend the magnitude of the situation, Steven reluctantly got up and left the bedroom. He knew what he had to do, what he had been charged with, trusted with. He knew that magnitude of this discovery, the consequences for himself and for the world. Yes, he knew what he had to do, but that didn't mean that he was looking forward to it.