Chapter 2 – Ice
Even though the memories of the previous evening strayed occasionally into her thoughts, Sam was, as usual, sufficiently absorbed in her work at the SGC and professional enough to give full attention to her duties the next day. It wasn't until she arrived home in mid evening and clicked on her telephone answering machine – a routine action whenever she saw the pulsating green light – that the pleasant expectation of hearing Jack's voice was replaced by nerve-tingling shock.
'Messages: 1' the digital window showed, and Cassie's voice started in a tone of unmistakable disgust.
"Sam, I don't think I'll understand in a million years why you've gone back that creep! I suppose it's your choice, OK? But what a shitty way to treat Jack! He didn't even know about it when I called. He didn't believe it either until I sent him the pictures. Sure, he clammed up straight away like he always does – like he did before when you jumped into bed with the schmuck the first time! Well, I don't want to come home to you and the creepy pig ever again! Next time I'm home from college, I'm moving my stuff to Jack's. He'll be OK with that."
Cassie had paused in her tirade at this point before the recording resumed in a more level tone of voice. "Look, Sam, I love you and I appreciate you looking after me lately, but I can't live with this. Jack's always been there for me. I know he helped mom out a few times when things were rough and she couldn't afford to do everything she wanted for me."
Sam stared at the phone at this revelation, but immediately put it to the back of her mind as the voice continued.
"He's the best dad that I could wish for. I won't let him down!"
The line went silent and the word 'Delete?' in the little phone window remained unanswered. Sam slumped onto the adjacent sofa, one arm still in her jacket. The constant ringing noise in her ears, a sudden constriction of her throat and a feeling of instant nausea overtook and overwhelmed her. After a few minutes, intense anger began to supplant the other sensations. When that had subsided after half an hour or so, she was more than ready to start fighting back.
She knew Jack well enough not to expect him to answer his cell phone under these circumstances if he saw her number, and she was ready to deliver her message. "Jack! This isn't what you think! Please call me. I can explain." A small pause before she added "I love you, and only you." and signed off.
Cassie's would also be a difficult call. "Cass, I know you're monitoring this, so please pick up. I've been set up and I'm not going back to Pete. I don't know why he's done this…." Actually, she did know, but this wasn't the time. "Look, so you're not speaking to me. I understand that. E-mail the pictures to me straight away so that I can deal with the situation. Just do that for me, please? If you still want to move out after this, that's OK by me. It's not what I want, but I won't stand in your way if you and Jack are agreed on things. I'll talk to you later when I've managed to clear a few things up. Please, do this for me if you want to help Jack. Send the e-mail."
She was quite prepared to call Cassie again if the photos were not forthcoming, but to her relief, her home PC's e-mail box announced their arrival a few minutes later. She was not surprised to see that Cassie had made no comments in her message, but had merely sent the files as attachments. There would be time enough later to deal with her young friend – provided of course, that she could stop Jack from walking out of her life in the meantime. She had hoped that maybe the resolution of the pictures would not be high enough from a phone camera, and that she and her erstwhile boyfriend might not be completely recognisable, but no such luck. Technology in this area was advancing faster than even she realised. The date and time stamps in the corner of each picture showed quite clearly exactly when she was being kissed and subsequently – if the photo were to be interpreted that way – of being proposed to again. Most of all, it was clear who was doing the kissing and proposing.
Her next call was to the Police Department, and it took an effort of will to keep the icy edge from her voice. "Good evening, officer. I'm Colonel Sam Carter, US Air Force. Can you please tell me if Detective Freddie Marquette is on duty this evening and connect me if possible? Thank you."
She waited while the PD's phone system played the Country song 'Stand by Your Man', wincing at the irony. Eventually it stopped. "Freddie! This is Sam Carter. I just wanted you to know that you surely are one great photographer. Your work deserves to be hung, and frankly, Freddie, so do you. Now listen, if you don't want to get involved in all that messy paperwork that surrounds an IAB investigation into officers involved in allegations of blackmail and extortion, how about you tell me where Pete is this evening and meet me there? And Freddie, one word to Pete beforehand, the deal's off and the paperwork starts . OK, I'm glad we're seeing eye-to-eye on this. Oh, and make sure your battery's charged. Don't want to miss a scoop, do you?"
Her earlier despair had now been firmly replaced by the thrill of anticipation that always accompanies action to take back control of a situation. She had experienced it often enough in her military career, and now it was time to drive her personal life with the same vigour.
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Detective Frederick Marquette had never understood how Pete Shanahan had firstly won and then was stupid enough to lose Sam Carter's affections. He stood in open admiration as she dismounted her motor cycle in the car park, shook her hair loose after removing her gloves and crash helmet, and his heart raced slightly as she lowered the zipper of her leather jacket just a few inches as she walked towards him. The black leather pants and steel-tipped riding boots completed his fantasy.
"Thanks, Freddie." Sam smiled at him, and he was now her willing slave. "And just to be clear, you aren't here, and never were tonight."
"Sure thing, Sam." he breathed. "After you." He followed her into the bar-restaurant.
"I'm sorry, sir, ma'am, but we're not taking dinner orders any more this evening." the barman said apologetically as the two newcomers approached.
"That's OK. We're here to talk to one of your diners." explained Freddie. "He's the fair-haired one over there in the far corner with that lady." he added, gesturing towards the larger room at the back.
"I'll call his attention right now, officer." replied the barman, recognising Freddie's profession immediately to be the same as the man they were asking for. The blond dominatrix had him puzzled, though, until he remembered that guys who worked together had often organised 'birthday surprises' for one another. Maybe this was one of those, and he smiled in anticipation.
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Jack O'Neill stared from the window of his unlit Washington apartment at yet another night of a spectacular Aurora display bright enough to overcome the city's light pollution. He stared, and yet he did not see. He hadn't moved from this position for around half an hour, and would have stayed rooted there ignoring the phone's insistent ring had not the serious tones of his Commander-in-Chief's assistant cut in.
His black mood as a result of this evening's events was shattered by the obvious urgency in the voice. "General, this is John Severinski, aide to President Hayes. We're sending a limo for you right now. Please be ready to attend an emergency briefing. Pack some clothes as you may not be returning home tonight or in the near future."
Jack picked up the phone and confirmed his acceptance briefly, allowing the aide to hang up in order to continue his round of calls. This was not the first time in his life to have his dearest hopes shattered, although nothing would ever equal the pain of his son's death – but it still hurt. He knew that preparing for impending action was probably the best short-term remedy, and threw himself into motion.
In the back of the limousine, he switched on his cell phone and saw '1 Missed Call'. When he checked the originating number, he debated whether to listen or not, but finally gave in and sat back in amazement at Sam's recorded words. The last part, 'I love you, and only you.' had him totally confused. Still hurt and angry, but definitely confused. Maybe there was an explanation to be made concerning the photos, but Sam had told him that she was working late, and that particular lie had hurt him just as much as any supposed infidelities.
As the car sped through nearly-empty streets towards The White House, the driver – well-used to such emergencies – ignored the speed limits as usual. Jack drew on his long experience and training to force himself into a state of calm to prepare for the briefing.
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In the early hours of the morning, through the fire in his head Pete Shanahan was trying to recall the exact moment when he had realised that his strategy for alienating Sam from General O'Neill and stepping back into her life was not working. Had it been when she had grabbed his right earlobe between her thumb and forefinger, instead of embracing him as he had expected in the bar? With only moderate pressure applied, he had experienced a sensation of pain like no other before, even when he had been shot, and had sunk to his knees in agony. It had even hurt too much to scream. Her gentle questioning ("Why, Pete?") had amused the barman, who admitted afterwards that he thought she had been hired to surprise him ("Your friend said that you got off on humiliation.") and had wanted her to leave a card behind the bar for future bachelor parties.
Or perhaps it had been when she had delivered a right cross to his left eye only seconds after letting go of his ear, sending him sprawling across the floor. Just moments later he could only see out of his right, the bright flashes of Freddie's camera-phone irritating him immensely. His gentle girlfriend had hit him harder than he would ever have believed, showing her unarmed combat skills to the utmost in the calm way she had almost effortlessly delivered the blow.
One thing was certain, though. When he had recovered enough to threaten Freddie if he didn't delete the photos, only to be told that Sam had given him two hundred dollars to buy a new phone and had walked away with it, leaving only the SIM card, he at last knew that it was over.
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Of all the coincidences she would have wished to avoid, next morning's descent in the SGC elevator with Jack as the only other occupant was the one. But here he was, studiously ignoring her in sullen silence, refusing to defrost the icy atmosphere.
She looked round quickly at him and then away again. His bloodshot eyes were the familiar ones she had seen before when he couldn't sleep or hadn't had the opportunity. "Sir,…." she began when she could bear the tension no longer.
"Not humming this morning, Colonel?" he asked, the sarcasm just dripping from his words. "What's his name? Ah, deja vu! It's Pete, of course."
"Jack, I can explain!" she retorted in a low voice.
He sighed and looked back at her. His demeanour openly changed to one of defeat and resignation. "No need, Sam. I put personal pressure on you at a time when you were grieving for your father, and for that I'm truly sorry. It would never have worked anyway. You must live the life you want, when you want and with whoever the lucky person is. If it's Pete, well then….."
Sam couldn't believe what she was hearing. "No!" she started to explain, but the sudden lurch of arrival at their floor and the opening of the doors to reveal others waiting to enter terminated her conversation.
"I'm holding a special briefing for SG Team leaders with General Landry at 08:30 hours." Jack announced as he set off down the corridor. "I'll see you there, Colonel."
Sam hurried to her office and slammed the door behind her, deterring a clerk from delivering her post until much later. She sat at her desk, fuming silently for a while before suddenly slamming both fists onto the desk top, with gathering thoughts of how to hijack this self-effacing idiot and put him straight after the meeting.
How could she have known that Jack would be setting the stage for events that would affect everyone on Earth, least of all themselves?
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