AN1: As an author, all reviews are great and I encourage you all to write them. However, a review consisting of nothing more than "good chapter" or "great chapter" does little except boost my ego. (Which is a laudable thing from my point of view, but alas, does not give me much feedback on how the story is going.) By all means, please, review. Just keep in mind that I appreciate most those reviews that tell me either what I'm doing right or what I'm doing wrong, and the latter is actually more helpful to me. (Because I can't fix problems if I don't know they're there.)

AN2: StarrGazer, this fic is about Jack and Sam and their situation in particular. I'm glad it made you think about what this situation is like for others, but it's not going to be a focus of this fic. If anyone wants to write that fic, by all means be my guest!

"So. I'm sorry for telling Daniel and Teal'c without consulting you." He waited for her reaction; she nodded. It wasn't the best reaction, but it was a reaction. They turned the corner into his office and he closed the door behind him. "You've had a day to think about all of … this," Jack said as he cleared the other chair and brought it around next to him. He didn't want to be on opposite side of the desk for this conversation. "Whatcha think now?"

"I'm not sure," Sam said as she settled herself. "I don't really like the idea of abortion, but I'm not sure I can handle having a kid, either. Not with my job. It's not exactly something I had planned."

Jack settled back in his chair. Well, that was better than he'd feared, at least. "A baby is a lot of work, especially alone. We could get married …" He broke off as she shook her head.

"With all due respect, sir … Jack," she corrected herself. "We hardly know each other! Baby or not, a couple of months' working acquaintance isn't enough to build a marriage on."

"You're probably right," Jack admitted. He'd been married to Sara for almost ten years, and while it had been a good marriage, like all marriages it had had its ups and downs. But he and Sara had known each other, loved each other, knew what they were getting into, and had had some time alone to get used to marriage before Charlie had arrived. But a kid should have two parents, together, and call him old-fashioned but that should include marriage. Of course, the obvious solution was: "So, you wanna get together after work some time? Maybe get to know each other a little better?"

"Sir, I don't think—"

"Lose the 'sir,' Sam," Jack put in. He thought furiously, trying to see things from her point of view. She'd shot down his proposal, after all. "It doesn't have to lead anywhere. But if we are gonna have a kid together, regardless of what happens between us, we're gonna need to be on good terms."

"And know more about each other than just our service jackets," Sam agreed, tilting her head. She bit her lip; Jack thought it was kind of cute. "But … Jack, I don't want to get your hopes up too high. I still haven't decided for sure if I'm keeping it." Her eyes were wide, and she studied him anxiously.

Jack grimaced and looked away. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? She'd said something about her career, earlier, and taking care of a child. Could he? After Charlie, the idea was terrifying. And he wasn't exaggerating when he said that. "If you don't think you could handle taking care of the baby," he said slowly, looking up to meet her eyes, "I could take custody. All you'd have to do would be carry him or her to term."

"But, what about SG-1?" Sam asked. "What would you do when you were away on missions?"

"I'd probably retire again. Don't look so shocked, Sam, I've been retired twice before. I don't care about my career, and between my pension and other things a part-time job would be enough to provide for me and a kid. The SGC can find another grizzled spec ops colonel to take my place. I'd probably have to leave the field after a couple of years, anyway; crawling around in hostile territory is a job for the young."

"Sir, you make it sound like you've got one foot in the grave." Sam shook her head. "You're not old, and I've never seen a field instinct like yours before. The SGC would have trouble replacing you."

Jack smiled. Her protestations were flattering. "I don't have any specialties you can't find in hundreds of other officers. It's no big deal." He dismissed her words with a wave of his hand. "Besides, you're a young officer with a hot career. You're going places, and you're ambitious enough to want to. You're a brilliant scientist, and have the makings of an excellent field officer. If one of us is going to stay home with the baby, it should be me."

Sam looked in the mirror and frowned. It wasn't like this was a real date (at least, she didn't think it was a real date), but an attractive man was taking her out to dinner and she wanted to look good. Problem was, she spent so much time buried in her lab and so little time out doing things that her selection of clothes was a little limited. And she didn't exactly have much experience in putting on makeup beyond foundation, mascara, and a little lip-gloss. And her hair, while regulation and easy to take care of, was a bit on the plain side. Still, he knew how she looked, and it wasn't like she had hours in which to make up her mind. What she had on would have to be good enough; she was meeting Jack at O'Malley's at seven, and if she took any longer she'd be late.
It didn't take her long to spot the colonel's brown hair. O'Malley's Steakhouse was dimly but adequately lit, and he was by the rail on the upper level. He nodded to her as she spotted him, and she made her way over to their table. "Hey," she said as she slung her purse to the chair kitty corner to her and sat down opposite him. He looked good in his civvies, a dress shirt and leather jacket. She'd kind of expected him to stand at her arrival, and was a bit bummed that he didn't.

"Hey," he returned. She picked up her menu and began studying it intently. She'd been here once before—the colonel had taken them all out to eat here after the mission P3X-562, when he'd realized that Teal'c's first time outside the mountain had been the trip to the hospital where the blue crystal alien was. She'd miss out on all future team dinners with SG-1, she guessed, unless she came as the Colonel's significant other, in whatever form. And the idea of just coming to grace someone's arm was enough to make her teeth ache; in her experience, military protocol and culture about wives was the most backward, parochial set of ideas in America.

Sam had an idea of what she wanted, but studying the menu meant she didn't have to talk, and she had no idea what to say. Speaking of military culture's ideas about wives and girlfriends, was that what he'd expect out of her if they were together? Jonas had, she'd found out almost too late, despite the fact that she was an officer herself. That she'd follow him around to all his postings and act the gracious hostess and play bridge with the other wives in the correct pecking order based on their husband's rank, to help him advance his career by mixing with the right people.

Something caught the corner of her eye, and she turned to see the waitress standing there. Stall time was up. "I'll have a club sandwich and a diet coke."

"Soup or salad?" the waitress asked. "Wisconsin Cheese Soup is the soup of the day."

"I'll have a salad with Italian dressing."

The waitress jotted it down and turned expectantly to Jack.

"Steak and a baked potato. And a beer."

With a nod, the waitress left. Now what? What do you say, Sam wondered, to the father of your child? Silence stretched out between them. The colonel cocked his head and leaned back in his chair.

"Carter," he drawled, "how do you feel … about the Simpsons?"

Across the table, Sam blinked. Whatever she'd been expecting him to say, it evidently hadn't been that. Well, Jack had never been good at the serious stuff—that had been one of Sara's biggest complaints, actually—and the Simpsons was important! He hoped not rising to greet her when she arrived had been the right tactic. You never could tell with women, but her militant feminist stance (he still shook his head over that first briefing, sometimes) led him to think she wouldn't take kindly to being treated like, well, a lady.

Sam smiled. "Actually, I don't watch much tv, sir. Jack, sorry," she said with a blush.

"No Simpsons?" he asked, his voice rising in mock disbelief. Actually, he'd kind of expected that; Sam Carter was smart. Real smart. Probably one of the smartest people in the country, if her records told the truth. What would someone like that smart be doing watching the boob tube?

"No Simpsons," she confirmed. "Actually, even as a kid I never really was into cartoons. Except Rocky and Bullwinkle. I mean, who could resist Moose and Squirrel?" Her voice slipped into the female spy Natasha's husky accent, and Jack relaxed a little. Okay, now they were talking. He could do this. If he could make her laugh, he might have a shot.