Notes: Well, I was going to answer some reviews individually here, but for some reason I can't seem to look at them to get your names. Maybe the site is crowded or something. Anyway, a couple of your questions will be answered in later chapters, but in general, I'll just say that the rating is not going to go up, although there will definitely be a 'ship launched' in the chapter after this one. Since the last one was well-received, I've cannibalized yet another old story I never did anything with. This chapter IS sad. It will probably seem out of place. But despite the silliness of this story, I just could not have Jack and Sam get together under these circumstances without dealing with the issue of this chapter. That being said, I know this chapter still has no resolution. It was very long, so that part is under construction in the next chapter, but I wanted to get something out to everyone as quickly as possible, because you have all been so wonderful about this story. I promise that this will be the only sad chapter. The next one is going to be rather serious as well, relatively speaking, but after that, it WILL be funny again, I promise! Thanks so much for sticking with this story, everyone.
Ch 13: The Bad Day
Sam slept later than she had in years the next day. When she finally got up, she took her time in the bathroom, nervous about how things were going to be with Jack now. She had no idea what to expect.
She wasn't expecting him to still be asleep. Well, she assumed he was still asleep. The door to his room was closed and the coffee pot was still in the drying rack from the night before, so he definitely hadn't been out of his room yet, or the pot would either be halfway full, or at least be empty and dirty.
She started a pot of extra-strong coffee and put two pieces of toast in the toaster, then went to the fridge to get the butter and jam. She looked around to see what Thor had left them this time, until a rather strong odor grabbed her attention. "Crap," she muttered, hurrying over to the toaster and popping the toast up manually.
"Not again," she moaned, quickly grabbing the hot, burnt pieces of toast by their corners and dropping them onto a plate. The toaster sparked angrily. She jumped a little and quickly unplugged it.
"So much for toast," she said, examining the piece on top more closely. It wasn't completely charred, she could just scrape off the burnt part.
She was scraping loudly at a slice over the sink, with the butter knife, when Jack padded into the kitchen without any shoes or socks on. She braced herself for a comment about the burnt toast, something along the lines of "Another one bites the dust," or "Ooh, Cajun style this morning," but Jack didn't say anything at all, not even good morning.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and left without even looking in her direction. She watched him leave in stunned silence, wincing as the door to his bedroom slammed loudly.
What the hell? Was he seriously mad at her for what happened? That didn't make any sense at all. Sam frowned and drank her coffee way too fast, trying to figure out what had just happened. She cleaned up the kitchen, went back to her room, got dressed, and settled in the living room to read. Jack was still in his room, and she was getting nowhere in her book.
He finally emerged sometime later, got himself some more coffee, and sat down in the big chair. He propped his feet up on the coffee table and stared at them. Sam looked at him over the top of her book. He was still in his plaid pajama pants and grey Air Force shirt.
"Considering giving yourself a pedicure?" she finally asked, trying to break the ice.
"No," he answered absently.
"Do you want breakfast?"
"No."
Maybe he had figured out her little manipulation of the situation last night, but she really didn't think that would be likely to upset him. After all, he had done the same thing for two weeks to get her to call him 'Jack.' It was all in good fun. Plus, she had contrived the entire situation to give him the massage to make him feel better. If anything, she would have expected him to make fun of her about it. This made no sense, which was infuriating. Sam Carter did not like not knowing the answer to something.
"Aren't you going to fish today?" she tried with a smile.
"Not today."
"Oh. Jack, are you… are you okay?"
"Yeah."
"Want me to leave you alone?"
"Yeah."
She turned her attention back to the book quickly so he couldn't see how much that had hurt her feelings. Well, of all the scenarios she had thought up in the shower that morning, this certainly hadn't been one of them.
Half an hour later, she couldn't take it anymore. He was watching her. It was something he often did, usually in her lab while she worked on something sufficiently interesting enough to distract herself from him. But since she was only pretending to read, it was getting more and more unsettling by the minute, particularly because he was so clearly upset about something, apparently what had happened between them the night before.
"I'm going to go sit outside for a while," Sam finally said, getting up and going outside. She settled herself in one of the two chairs still on the dock. It was hot out already, really hot, and bright, and she hadn't brought anything with her but her book. But she didn't want to go back inside either.
She had just managed to focus most of her attention on the plot of her book when she heard the back door open and shut. She took a deep breath, wondering what was going to happen now. Jack sat down in his chair, his knee popping, and handed her a tube of sunscreen and her sunglasses.
"Thanks," she said with a confused smile as she took the items.
"Don't want you to get burned," he mumbled with a shrug, leaning back into his chair and staring at the pond.
"You're still not going to fish?" she couldn't help but ask.
"No."
"Jack, do you… it seems like we need to talk."
"About what?" he asked, giving her the deliberately dense look.
"About whatever happened last night. I didn't realize it upset you so m…"
"Not everything is about you, Sam," he interrupted.
She looked at him in shock, her mouth slightly open. He was resolutely not looking at her still. She had nothing to say to that. She hadn't felt like this in about five years, when Daniel, insanely addicted to the sarcophagus, had told her she had never known what love was.
"Sorry," he mumbled, getting up quickly and going inside. She watched him go, now more confused than ever.
When she went back inside after getting too warm outside, he was shut up in his room again. She left him alone until her stomach was growling for lunch. Exploring the fridge, she decided to use some of the sandwich meat Thor had left them, as it didn't keep as long as the rest of the groceries.
Determining that this was going to be her absolute last effort of the day with him, she made large sandwiches for both of them. She added some fruit and crisps to their plates, poured two glasses of tea, and took a deep breath as she went to his room carrying his half of lunch. If he didn't explain himself now, she was through with this crap. He was going to have to come to her.
Knocking on the door, she waited several moments before he opened it. He still was not dressed, although it was late afternoon already, because they had slept so late.
"Thought you were probably getting hungry since you didn't have any breakfast," she said.
He looked at the plate and glass in her hands like they were alien objects or something, but took them slowly. "Thanks," he said, taking them into his room. He left the door half open, but it was clearly not an invitation. Apparently he was merely being polite enough not to shut it right in her face.
She went back into the kitchen to eat her own lunch, but now she wasn't hungry anymore. She picked at it for a few seconds and took it into the living room, setting it on the coffee table in case she got hungry again in a little bit. She grabbed another book, one she hadn't already read this time, hoping it would keep her attention better than the other one she had been reading earlier.
A while later, Jack emerged from his room, taking his empty plate and glass into the kitchen. When he came back, he sat down next to her on the couch, much closer than he usually did without a reason. He was making less sense today than he had done when he'd had the ancient knowledge downloaded into his brain. With their shoulders touching, she couldn't look at him without it being obvious, so she didn't.
"Thanks for the sandwich. It was good."
Wow, a whole sentence, she thought sarcastically. "You're welcome."
"You're not eating," he observed.
"Not hungry."
"Sam…" he started.
"What?" she challenged.
"Nothing. Never mind."
She debated getting up and moving further away from him, but figured he would just follow her. Was this some weird kind of head game or something? No, he clearly was having even less fun today than she was, whatever was going on.
The rest of the day crawled by. Sam watched a movie, deliberately suggesting one she knew he couldn't stand, hoping he would object to it. He had shrugged at her suggestion and then she had to watch it to prove her point. A bit like shooting yourself in the foot, as she didn't really like that movie either.
After that, she had decided to clean. Everything. Hopefully it would get rid of some of her pent up anger. Otherwise, there was a distinct possibility somebody with grey hair was going to be slapped before the night was over. Every room she had moved to while she cleaned, he had followed her, even sitting on the counter while she scrubbed the bathtub for about twenty minutes.
After cleaning everything she could, short of getting up on the roof and clearing out the gutters, Sam decided the time had come. Desperate measures and all that, she reasoned as she went over to the television, this time without giving him a choice in the matter, and put in a new movie. A musical. He hated musicals. And this wasn't just any musical. This was "Chicago."
Sitting down in the very corner of the couch, she wondered if he was going to go fix himself something for dinner. She wasn't hungry, and she sure as hell wasn't going to feed him a second time today.
He went into the kitchen, but he came back not with food, but with his arms full of beer, soda, and water. "Thirsty?" he offered, setting them all down on the coffee table.
Maybe he had gone completely mad. It was probably the simplest explanation to his bizarre behaviour. She took a Diet Coke and said, "Thanks."
After the movie was over, she said goodnight and went to her room. She doubted she'd be able to get to sleep for some time. She got ready for bed anyway. Eventually, she did fall asleep, absently wondering if this was all perhaps some long, bizarre dream.
Sam woke up a few hours later, hearing her door open. "Sam? Can I come in?"
Squinting at Jack, who was stood in the doorway with the light from the hall filtering in, she sighed, contemplating what he would do if she just said, "No." He'd probably just come in anyway. Apparently it wasn't enough that he'd bothered her all day long; he had to wake her up to keep doing it as well.
"All right," she finally said, sitting up in bed and adjusting her pillow so she could lean back against it and the headboard. She pulled the covers up tightly, as it was still chilly at night.
Jack came into the room but left the door open so he could see where he was going. He stopped next to her side of the bed and stood with his hands in his pockets.
"Jack?" she prompted after half a minute of silence. "Do you want to sit down?"
"Okay," he said, as if she was the one who had invited him over or something.
He sat down on the bed next to her. "It's dark in here."
"Yeah, I was asleep," she said pointedly. "Jack, I'm tired, what do you want?"
"I wanted to ask you something," he said. He was being completely quiet, calm, and still, and it was extremely unnerving. Even when seated, Colonel Jack O'Neill was never still for very long unless he was unconscious. He was always fiddling with something or other. Now he was just looking at her calmly, and she wasn't entirely sure he could even see her.
"Do you need some coffee or something?" she asked carefully.
"No."
"Okay... what did you want to ask me?"
"I wanted to ask you about... alternate realities."
Okay. So he confuses the hell out of me all day then has to come wake me up and ask me about complex quantum theory in the middle of the night when he's never shown any interest in it before, she thought angrily. "Now?"
"I couldn't sleep," he said dismissively.
"And you assumed that I'm always willing and eager to discuss quantum theory, at any time of the day or night," she said simply, too tired to worry about being polite to him at the moment.
"I just... I need to know."
"Know what?"
He looked like he was about to cry. Alarmed, she leaned forward and squeezed his forearm. "Jack, what's the matter?"
"There are tons of other realities out there, right?"
"Yes. An infinite number."
"Some are really different, some are close. Based on choices we make..."
"That's the theory anyway, yeah."
"What about things we don't choose?"
"Like what?"
"Like... things that happen... by accident. Could those vary from one reality to the next?"
"Well, some people would argue that there are no accidents. I don't think I can give you a definite answer either way, since this is all pretty theoretical. I mean, we obviously have proof of the existence of alternate realities, and we have proof that fates can be changed, but as for accidental occurrences, I'm just not sure. Why?"
"What do YOU think?"
"Well... for everything that happens, there are a lot of other things that have to coincide to lead up to that point, so I suppose that it wouldn't only be choices that affect alternate realities..."
"What do you THINK. Could there be differences in other realities where things that happened that nobody ever wanted to happen, or meant to happen... could those realities exist?"
"I think it's possible. I mean, never say never, but I would guess yes."
He looked so relieved she couldn't let it go. "Umm, do you mind me asking why this was so important to you all of a sudden? I mean, it's not like you to be up all night wrestling with quantum theory."
"I was just... thinking about something. And I wondered if it was possible. And I thought you would know."
"Jack... are you okay? You're not exactly yourself. I mean you haven't been yourself all day, but honestly I think I'd rather have you mad at me than… whatever this is. "
"I'm fine. I was never mad at you, why would you think that? I'm sorry I woke you up."
He moved like he was going to get up but impulsively she said, "Wait." He settled back down. "What's wrong?"
He winced and looked down at his hands. "Today's Charlie's birthday," he finally said, looking up and locking eyes with her.
"Oh God," she said, her entire posture and tone softening instantly as she completely forgot how upset she had been with his behavior all day. "Jack... why didn't you say something?" she finally asked, not knowing what to say.
"I just started thinking, wondering if there might be an alternate reality, or more than one even for that matter, where... it never happened. Where I locked my gun up someplace else, or he was doing something else that day, out playing with his friends, or something... would it have just happened on another day somewhere down the road? Or happened in another way..."
"There's no way to know that. I'm sorry. As you can probably imagine, after our encounter with the other... me, and Kawalsky, I thought about the alternate realities... a lot. And believe me, it doesn't lead anywhere, because there are just so many different possibilities."
"So it's possible Charlie's alive in another reality."
She bit her lip, trying to figure out which answer would be the kindest, but she had no idea what to say. He was still waiting for her to answer, but she was terrified of saying the wrong thing. She'd never seen him look so sad before. He was usually the master of controlled emotions. Even when he was upset, he tended to try to force things to change. Tonight he was just sitting there, looking utterly defeated, and it was a scary and sad sight to see.
"Don't lie to me, Sam," he said suddenly, locking eyes with her again. "Don't tell me what you think I want to hear. I want to know what you really think."
"I wasn't going to," she said quietly, sliding her hand down his arm and squeezing his hand. "It's just... even if you had proof, and you were 100 percent positive that there was another reality out there where Charlie... where nothing had happened to him, would that really make you feel better? Or would it make you feel worse?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I just..."
"I know you blame yourself for what happened. I know nothing anybody could possibly say to you will ever convince you otherwise. So how could knowing that in another reality, what happened to Charlie was prevented do anything other than make you feel even more responsible for YOUR Charlie than you already do?"
"I'm not sure. One way or the other. I just... want to know."
"Sometimes there aren't answers, Jack. Only more questions. And sometimes it's better not to ask them," she said gently.
"You really don't know, or you just don't want to tell me?"
"I really don't know. And I don't think knowing would change anything anyway. It's like Teal'c said when Kawalsky and my… 'twin' were here. It's hard to accept, but ours has to be the only reality of consequence to us. Otherwise you'll go insane trying to think of all the possible different versions of yourself and your life that could be out there. Believe me. I've thought about this a lot."
"I figured you had," he said quietly.
She nodded and watched as he turned her hand over and covered it with both of his, then stared at their hands for a long time without saying anything. "What do you think though?" he finally asked.
"I'm trying to tell you I'm not in a position to..."
"I know. But I really need to know. Please. It's important to me."
"I know," she said with a sigh. "I would say it's possible. In most of the realities we've encountered directly or indirectly, worldwide events are basically the same. Development of our civilization, for example, seems to happen at basically the same rate. But there are also a lot of minor differences, and I am in no way saying that what happened to Charlie was minor, but a series of horrible, unpredictable events all led up to it, so it's conceivable that if only one of those factors changed in only one reality, there could be another Charlie out there right now, having a Happy Birthday. I just don't know, Jack. That's what I'm trying to make you understand. It's possible there are lots of realities where he's alive and well. It's possible that there are certain events in everyone's life that are universal. I'm sorry I can't give you the answer you want."
"I don't even know what answer I want. I just... needed some help with the concept and... everything. I get confused."
"It's a very confusing concept. That's why I try not to think about it too much any more."
"I'm sorry I bothered you," he said suddenly. "You were asleep. I was a jerk all day, you were finally asleep, I shouldn't have..."
"It doesn't matter," she interrupted. "I'm glad you told me what this was all about. I wouldn't... if it were me I wouldn't want to be alone wrestling with those types of thoughts. You know if you had said something earlier..."
"It's easier sometimes, if nobody else knows about it. They treat you like normal. They don't look at you... differently."
"I understand what you mean. After my mom died, I liked that we kept moving around so much, going from base to base, you know. It made it a lot easier to be around people who didn't feel sorry for you and stuff."
"Yeah. But sometimes... it's not better."
She nodded, and they sat in silence for a long time. Finally, he looked up and caught her eyes again and she smiled a little.
"Sorry. I was doing that staring thing you were talking about, wasn't I?"
"It's okay."
"Are you sure you don't want anything? I could make coffee, or go get you some water, or... milk..."
"No thanks. I should go."
"You don't have to." He looked mildly surprised. "I mean, I certainly understand needing to be alone. But you did come here."
"I was a giant ass to you all day. You should have beat the crap out of me. Especially when I woke you up. You're way too nice."
She laughed a little. "Well, I won't tell if you won't." She scooted over on the bed to make room for him next to her.
Taking the hint, he shifted so that he was sitting in her previous spot, leaning against the headboard.
She looked sideways at him once and sighed, settling her head in one of its favorite spots, on his shoulder. If the Colonel was anything like she was on the day her mother died, they were probably going to be sitting like that, in silence, until dawn.
"Believe it or not, I really did much better today than I ever have before," Jack offered after several minutes of silence.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Thank you," he said sincerely. "That's so not good enough right now," he added with a sigh.
"Well, you can repay the favor next year then," Sam said casually.
"What do you mean?"
"This year, I'm... I'm the same age my mom was when she died. I don't know why that mattered so much to me but... it did. Then it occurred to me that next year, I'll be older than her and... I have no idea how I'm going to deal with that but I'm guessing it won't be well. I wish I had known what was wrong with you all day though. I wouldn't have spent so much time thinking up horrible ways to injure you."
He laughed for the first time all day and hugged her, pressing his nose into the top of her head and closing his eyes. Sam felt him breathe deeply and sighed as well.
It was amazing really, if you thought about it, she decided. How in even just one of an infinite number of realities, a day could be so good and bad all at the same time.