"all that I've got" by sam carter o'neill Wagtail

Chapter 9: the haunted

Jonothan O'Neill had turned and walked away from Samantha Carter… he had left her like she'd left him. Served her right.

So why did he feel this way?

He drove to the grocery store, then to his old house and the moment he stuck the key into the front door, he knew nothing was the same. The paint on the walls was cheerful and bright. The refrigerator was empty and the pictures that hung on the wall and stood on the fireplace were impersonal and positively foreign. Sure, Jack had been here on several occasions to redo the house and make sure it was…how had the woman from the tourism board put it? "Cozy..." but it wasn't the same as the home he'd had here before.

Memories flooded him again as 8 years of what had happened in this corner, or by the fireplace, in the bathroom, in the kitchen, or upstairs… Teal'c's first viewing of Star Wars; just sitting in front of and staring at the fire after a near-death experience offworld; taking bandages off wounds from which he still bore scars; crying for hours with the other members of SG1 after the death of Janet Frasier; that one forbidden night with Colonel Samantha Carter… or whatever the hell her name was these days.

The rage, which had subsided with memories of being the team, rose up again and boiled inside of him until it reached its pinnacle. He hurled an empty glass vase that had sat in the middle of the living room table to the "peach cobbler" painted wall in the corner where he'd first really kissed her.

The thought of how much he had cared for her made him nauseous. And what drove through his heart—now on it's final limbs—was that he still loved her and that he longed to be with her.

He craved her like a plant parched in the desert craves water. She was essential to his very being. He needed her.

He didn't know he was crying until he felt the tears dripping steadily on his arm. It was refreshing to finally let out his emotions and show them to this barren, void, impersonal, haunted house that was once a home. His home.

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Samantha Kenny could not sleep. Hell, she couldn't close her eyes without seeing him. Or hearing his voice. Or smelling his scent. Then she would open her eyes and the image of Jack turning his back on her would replay constantly and haunt her—the ghost of her past life.

Heavy breathing resonated in the large hotel suite.

The life before her family.

Sam pushed back the comforters and stood, quickly rushing to the bathroom. She wretched for what seemed like an eternity.

Her mind was telling her body that this was the time to act.

She brushed her teeth and got her coat, car key and hotel key. She scribbled a quick note on the hotel paper telling Pat that she needed to go for a drive. If he ever found the note, he would think he understood; he had been very sympathetic to Sam's grief…if he only knew the whole truth to her dismay.

It was raining. Hard. She saw lightning and heard the deep roll of thunder several times. She sat in the car. The radio was muted. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and the rain splattering on the car as she sat in Jack O'Neill's driveway.

She didn't know exactly how, but she didn't even have to think about getting here. She just drove. She had had the intention of coming here but now she felt like a coward, among other things.

She finally pulled the key out of the ignition and opened the car door.

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"WHO THE HELL AR—" A very exhausted and worse for the wear Jack O'Neill opened the door.

Sam was silent. She looked him in the eyes and after looking at her—soaked and obviously distraught—he glared at her.

"I would ask if you knew that there's a slight time difference between Colorado and Connecticut but I know the answer." There was no humor in his voice.

"I'm sorry. I know it's late."

"Early."

"I need to talk to you."

"Visiting hours are over," he said callously and began to close the door.

"Jack, please," she reached out and grabbed the door.

"What could you possibly want from me!"

"Jack—"

"I really don't care. Get out."

"Please, at least—"

"Leave. And forget how to come here."

Sam paused and thought quickly about what to say… "I'M SORRY!" she yelled.

"That's not good enough."

"But, I—"

"Goodnight, Carter."