Music blared from the six-story apartment building in the lower south end of the campus town that well, left a lot to be desired. Sam had been concerned about Jack leaving his government issued vehicle on the street. He wasn't. He had something more important on his mind. Cassandra. Sam was still getting her feet wet in parenting skills. More often than not she followed her natural motherly instincts, but right now she felt clueless. Jack seemed to have a better handle on what Cassandra was up to. That made Sam worry - - more.
Even though he wore his dark sunglasses, she knew his brown eyes had dilated to ebony.
"Didn't you ever defy Jacob's authority and screw off after you'd turned eighteen?" He glanced over as they walked the cluttered sidewalk of homeless folks towards a degenerate apartment building.
"Depends on your definition of screw off." She shrugged and handed a five spot bill over to an elderly street woman.
"Well, brace yourself, Babe." Jack snorted at the front door of a rundown brownstone building with cracked windowpanes. "Coz, our daughter's repeating history."
"Who's?" she looked at him curiously as he opened the door for her.
"Mine." He sniffed.
"Which means?" She winced.
"This is bad." His dark brows furrowed.
"How bad?"
"Wish I'd brought my zat," he muttered honestly.
Whoa, Sam thought, not good. As angry as she felt with Cass, she'd just glimpsed the level of parental rage Jack experienced. Scripture said that parents sins were passed onto their children. Jack's darkened complexion reminded her of when he'd returned from his torture encounter with Baal three years ago. Ugly.
She prayed she didn't have to intervene. His present state of moody silence cautioned her. Still, he held her hand as they sidestepped random garbage and boxes and made their way to their daughter's new apartment. Graffiti scarred most of the cracked plaster walls and unsecured security doors. Sam couldn't believe that with her generous allowance and part-time job, Cassandra chose to live in squalor.
"Hon, you didn't bring your 9 mil, did you?"
"Packed and loaded." He pointed to his right calf.
"Jack!"
"Just kidding." He smiled for the first in an hour.
Her forehead puckered with a look of disbelief.
"Really." He lifted his shades and waggled his eyebrows with a wink.
"Well, maybe you should have." With the elevator out of commission, Jack escorted her through the obstacle course of five flights of garbage littered stairs. He occasionally cursed, but then she'd expected far worse, considering.
A few minutes later they stood at the dented, scuff marked apartment door. "I love you," he leaned over and brushed his dry lips over hers.
"Always." She forced a lame smile.
"Sam?" he cupped her tensed chin and looked into her apprehensive gaze. "We can do this. But we have to be firm and on the same page. Cass can't see us waver or disagree."
She nodded. "I'll back you no matter what, Jack."
"Good. Because I'm not going to be nice."
"Me either." She kissed his hand before he raised to knock.
Jack's fist rammed hard against the door. On the third blow they heard, "Oh, for cryin' out loud!" as the door got yanked ajar.
Any other occasion Sam would have grinned at her daughter's inherent remark. A lit cigarette dangling from her black painted lips and a beer bottle in hand, there was no doubt the last people Cassandra expected to encounter were her parents glowering at her, literally.
Jack looked downright intimidating in his black bomber jacket and his fingers hooked in his jeans belt loops. Not to mention his stern military you die look.
Finding her daughter dressed in gothic attire with heavy black mascara and her natural reddish brown hair dyed black, Sam failed to speak, a phenomenon that according to Jack rarely happened. He removed his shades and made lethal eye contact with their flabbergasted firstborn.
"You bonehead!" He yanked the addictive objects from Cass's black polished nailed hands and then firmly shoved her inside. Sam followed and slammed the door before confronting their inebriated teenage daughter.
"Well," Cass hiccupped, "ya should know, Major General." She gave a sloppy salute and weaved in the smoke gag-filled apartment that was occupied by boisterous partygoers at two pm on a weekday afternoon.
Ready to blow a gasket, Jack dismissed Cassandra's drunken rude behavior. Instead, he rounded the corner of the trashed living-dining area and inhaled.
Marihuana! Dang!
His deadly gaze settled on the six or so couples in various stages of making out. And all dressed in the same black Halloween-like attire. Geez, whatever happened to originality?
He dug the remote out from beneath a bag of crumpled chips, turned off the surround sound system and bellowed in his most intimidating voice. "Everyone out! Now!"
Twelve sets of intoxicated eyes turned to the source of that thunderous military bark and then shot to their feet and weaved toward the door. Even in civvies Jack O'Neill required and received fearful respect.
"You can't make them go." Cassandra whined and stomped her bare feet.
"Watch me." Jack snorted at her juvenile behavior.
Meanwhile, Sam dragged two intoxicated women off the couch. One no longer wore a bra. One college coed winked at Jack.
"Hey, your dad's a hotty, Cass. Can I have a go at him?"
"The hotty's taken." Sam glowered and handed the girl her pushup bra.
"Nope. Cass's mom's been dead almost two years." A male student snorted as he tried to snub out his pot joint.
Sam winced when Jack met her hurt-filled expression. Of course, she reasoned, that's what Cassandra had told them. What else could she say? Actually my real mother was abducted by an alien, named Nirrti and . . .
"Hey, you guys don't have to leave." Cassandra tried to stop her party from crashing.
"Unless one of you can pass the blow on me breath analyzer test, no one's driving," Sam ordered, "Hand over your keys now!"
Despite grumbles and curses, the guests dropped their keys into a plastic grocery bag Sam held at the apartment's door. When one student began to argue, Sam put a finger on a particular nerve point of his right shoulder and watched him squirm.
"Keys or pain?" she smiled. He gave over his keys and ran like his life depended on it.
"You're one fine looking mama, Blondie." An Afro-American flirted with Sam as he passed and dropped his keys into her free hand, caressing her palm and winking.
"Thank you. I'm also one fine black belt." She watched his natural cocoa-shade pale as he turned to Cassandra.
"Oh yeah," Cassandra grumbled, "You don't want to mess with the Air Force Colonel."
"Colonel?" the youth gulped and launched himself out of the apartment. Sam assumed he was in Air Force ROTC.
An older classmate swallowed his nervousness and hightailed it past Jack, who'd just yanked him out of the bathroom, still zipping his fly. "Wow he's one pissed off senior citizen, Cass."
"Yes, I am." Jack snarled. "And when I find out who supplied the booze and joints, I'm going to be more pissed." He yanked a sleeping man off the floor and dragged him to the open door. "And if this place isn't vacated within the next thirty-seconds I'm calling the Vice Squad!"
By now Cassandra was crying in anger. "You can't kick my friends out of my place!" she ranted while Sam closed the door on the last guest.
"Your place?" Sam angrily inquired. "Your father and I paid for you to lease with another student a nice two bedroom apartment half a mile from campus. We are not forking out our hard earned cash for this dung heap."
"Screw you! It's my life and I'll do whatever I want!"
"You're absolutely right, Sunshine." Jack said with steely calm that warned Sam the storm was coming.
"I am?" Cass seemed to have sobered. Smart girl. Daddy's torked.
"Yes. And because I figured you'd feel this way I took care of everything before we arrived."
"What?" Sam and Cass said in unison.
"Yep. As of now you have no credit cards or cash flow. I closed your checking and savings account at our bank. So, whatever your lease or rent arrangements are for this pigsty will no longer come out of your education fund account. Your inheritance and tuition fund from Janet has been frozen until you are twenty-one. But you can have these." He smiled and handed over two fifty-dollar savings bonds.
Cassandra gaped at the federal bonds.
"I believe one's from Daniel and the other's Teal'c's. Ready, Sam?" He made a sweeping gesture toward the open door to his wife who was still trying to absorb what he'd just done. He'd left their daughter high and dry, penniless. Sam smiled. Her dad would have done the same to her.
"You think money matters to me? Ha! I'm an alien freak. I can read minds, open locks, crash complex computer programs. I could probably rob Fort Knox and not get caught."
"You probably could, Hon," Sam admitted and bit into her lower lip, bruising herself.
"Knock yourself out." Jack suggested adjusting his leather jacket, searching for the car keys.
"Don't you two get it? I don't belong with you. And," she pointed at Sam. "I don't plan to suddenly become your long lost daughter. I miss, Janet! She was more of a mom than you ever were. I want her back! At least she wanted me and didn't always have 'I must save the world,' excuses. At least she didn't become a rutting bitch in heat for another man besides my father, who loved her despite her adulterous behavior!"
"What?" Sam felt the blood purge from her face and her limbs began to tremble.
In one swift move, Jack placed himself between mother and daughter. His next action shook Sam to the core. Grabbing Cassandra by the shoulders he lifted her up off the floor pressed her against the kitchen wall and got into her face.
"Jack?" Sam gestured to intervene.
"Don't!" he warned not taking his lethal glint off his daughter's wide alarmed gaze. Then in a soft tone of deadly intent, he said to Cassandra, "First, don't make assumptions about personal matters that didn't involve you. Secondly, the first rule in the O'Neill family is respect at all times. You will never speak to your mother that way, again. Understood?"
The color drained from her paled complexion, Cassandra nodded. "Ye-es, sir," she squeaked out.
"Excellent." Jack let go and stepped back.
"But—" Her O'Neill genes sought another match of wits.
"Nah ah." He wagged a finger. "You want to be on your own. Fine. You've got our blessing. Take care of yourself, Cass, and if you do change your mind, we're here for you."
"You can't just leave me like this?"
"Excuse me?" He brushed a finger along her trembling flushed face that was now streaked black with her tears.
"You heard me." She said but without the rude pitch.
"Your mother and I love you, Sunshine. You can come with us now or later." He handed over a one-way bus ticket to Colorado Springs. The choice is yours, Cassandra. That's one thing you'll always have, is a choice." No hug or kisses, Jack stalked out of the apartment. Sam knew it was the hardest thing he'd ever done with Cassandra, but she respected his decision.
"Sam, I'll be in the car." When Jack walked Cassandra looked hurt and lost. Jack had never been this hard on her before. Never once had he walked out of her life, on purpose. Sam could hear her daughter's restrained sobs, but also had to be firm and supportive of his actions.
Strange, all those times, she'd walked away from Jack and had been able to lamely justify it. This however, was different. This was their daughter who needed tough love. Reaching out, Sam embraced Cassandra's unresponsive stiff form. As she stepped toward the open door, she said quietly, "I'm sorry if I've hurt you, Cassandra. I've always loved you. Please come home?"
"When hell freezes over," Cassandra screamed and slammed the door in her face. Jolted, Sam snagged her lower lip and tried not to cry, but the tears came hard. When she rounded the corner Jack reached out and pulled her into him.
"She didn't mean it, Sam."
"Oh, yes she did." She choked out, "First I hurt you, then her. I'd no idea . . ."
"Don't worry, Babe, God will give us a window of opportunity. Cass will come home and in time the hurts will mend."
Per usual Jack O'Neill was right.
One week later Sam glanced out the foyer window of his house to see a taxi pulling away. Cassandra stood on the driveway with a few pieces of luggage. Makeup free, her long hair dyed to her natural color, she no longer wore Gothic black.
Sam was about to open the door when Jack cleaning his soiled hands on a rag approached their daughter from the opened garage where he'd been working on the lawnmower. Father and daughter stood staring at each other. Sam saw his lips move and knew he'd just said, "Cm'ere," as he spread out his arms.
Crying, Cassandra ran into his fatherly embrace. Hugging herself, Sam entered their bedroom, dropped onto the bed and cried. She should go out there, but Cassandra's accusatory words still hurt. Cass was right. Sam had left Jack for another man to experience an intimate relationship she couldn't have with her husband. Would Cassandra ever forgive her? It remained hard to accept that their daughter's rebellious streak could be Sam's fault.
They needed counseling and Jack had agreed that for Cassandra's sake, they'd come clean with Doctor McKenzie. Oh, what a tangled web we weave. Defeating the Goa'uld and Replicators had been a lot easier than being married and a mom.
Sam swiped at her tears and wondered if she'd ever feel worthy to be Jack O'Neill's wife let alone Cassandra's mother. She hoped Jack was right. That window of opportunity would sure be nice about now.
Three Months Later:
Las Vegas suburb outside Nellis AFB:
Rodney McKay glanced at his Palm Pilot organizer. He'd had one month to set his life in order, again. In eight days he'd ship out on a return flight to Atlantis. Someone who thrived on order, Rodney had one item on his list that needed closure. Samantha Carter.
She'd been the first person he'd inquired about after returning to Earth without sounding too interested, and even considering this was about Samantha, Rodney always managed to act indifferent. He'd known she had gotten engaged, even assumed she had married the Irish cop. What he hadn't expected or even hoped to hear was that she'd broken off the engagement and relocated to Area 51 after SG-1 disbanded. Which meant one thing to Rodney. He still had a chance with the hot, blond astrophysicist and just wished he'd come here sooner.
Five months after SG-1 closed shop, the grapevine remained abuzz. Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell had the gall to try and regroup the original team. Like that would happen. Not to mention, General O'Neill had been promoted to Major General and now headed Homeworld Security. Managing the SGC was one thing, but Rodney never thought the cocky, self-defacing hero would take a paper-wadding job away from the action. Oh, well, O'Neill wasn't a kid anymore. No doubt the position suited his old bones. Nevertheless, somewhere in his self-denying subconscious Rodney wondered if that was the sole reason the man had left the SGC.
Oh, about the love of his life, Samantha Carter. Rodney heard she'd sold her house in the Springs. So here he stood at the front door of her townhouse with a bouquet of yellow roses. It was too early to buy her red.
Rodney buzzed her doorbell, waited . . . and waited. Maybe she wasn't home? Maybe he should have called?
The door partially opened and a flushed makeup free Samantha Carter stood before him in nothing but an oversized bright yellow t-shirt that flaunted the face of a grinning Homer Simpson and read Homer Simspon for President, at two p.m. in the afternoon. Breathless, her blonde hair disheveled, she was braless. Could it get any better?
"Hello, Samantha." He grinned. "I'm back."
"Rodney?" Sam smoothed her ruffled hair and then crossed her arms over her full breasts, which jerked the hem higher up her tanned thighs. Wow!
"Um, why are you here?" She looked past his shoulder as if expecting to see the rest of the Atlantis team in his wake.
"Oh, I'm sorry." He blushed. "Is this a bad time?" He gripped the rose stems in his left hand behind his back.
"Well, I," she glanced behind her and then nibbled her upper lip. "Um, didn't expect company."
Rodney should have been embarrassed but seeing her in the thigh length t-shirt and nothing else, his testosterone level skyrocketed. His gaze dipped to her long shapely legs. Did he smell sex? Oh, yeah!
"Oh." He cleared his throat. "I know I should have called, but I had been visiting Area 51 and was told you had today and tomorrow off."
"I don't work weekends anymore." She stated with a tight smile.
"Yeah. That's a surprise. I mean workaholic Samantha Carter, home on the weekend. So what'd ya do, get a life?"
"Yes, you could say that." She held the door between them.
"Look, I can visit another time. It's just I've only got a few days before I return to Atlantis and—"
"No." She glanced behind her. "Um, I understand. Come in, please?" She made a feeble gesture and stepped aside, closing her eyes a moment.
Not having the good manners to take a rain check, he entered and she shut the door.
"Rodney, if you'll excuse me, I'll, umm, " she felt her cheeks warm deeper, "Get dressed." Wash off the scent of sex!
"Certainly." He smiled and then handed her the flowers.
Her gray-blue eyes widened. "Wow! I mean you didn't have to . . ."
"My pleasure." He grinned. "We don't have roses on Atlantis and when I saw these they reminded me of your hair and—"
"Oh, boy." She smelled the bouquet then set it on counter. "I'll put them in a vase soon as I." She motioned to her attire.
"Sure. Take your time." He settled on her comfortable black leather sofa and folded his hands in his lap.
"Um, meanwhile make yourself at home. There's pop, beer and wine in the frig."
He nodded.
Sam backed out of the small entrance and made a mad dash for the bedroom. She couldn't believe their luck of late. Wait, she didn't believe in luck anymore. Okay, God, is this a joke or what? Coz, I'm not laughing. This is my last free weekend with my husband for weeks and You drop the most annoying person I've ever known onto my front porch, Doctor Rodney McKay with . . . roses. To make matters worse You know Jack and Rodney are like oil and water. He's going to be really pissed!
She shut the bedroom door to find Jack sprawled naked across their king size bed on his stomach, snoring. Well, so much for a day of wild monkey sex. She glanced at her watch. Eleven a.m. She'd not been out of the room ten minutes and he'd passed out cold. Then, again she'd been putting her husband through a lovemaking marathon since they'd arrived last night.
One of Jack's stipulations upon taking the position as head of Home World Security had been his own F-302 for transportation. With coast-to-coast travel-time cut to an hour one way, most of their downtime was spent in Nevada, Washington or Minnesota. Like now, they preferred no one know they were together.
"Hey, Romeo." She tossed a pillow hitting him in the back of his silver military cut. When he didn't budge, she pinched his tight right buttock.
"Ow!" He rolled onto his left side, rubbed his injured bottom and yawned. "Hey, I was power napping."
"Sure you were." She grinned and grabbed a hairbrush from the dresser and applied it to her messed hair.
"And I'm re-energized. So, where were we, love of my life?" He extended a hand of invitation accompanied by a lecherous wink.
"Down, flyboy." She glanced below his waist with an appreciative smile.
"Easy for you to say." He chuckled then frowned as she rustled through their pile of clothes where they'd been disposed of in the middle of the cramped bedroom's floor. "Whatsup?"
"You should have answered the door, honey."
"Honey? Not a good sign. I believe I told you to not answer the door."
"Well, I did. You recall that the Atlantis team is back."
"Of course. I meet with Elizabeth Weir Tuesday. She's not thrilled about the Pentagon's insistence to replace John Shepard as Atlantis' military leader. I hope that my promoting him to Lieutenant Colonel easies the transition. Fortunately they got another week to clear things up. Of course, you and I'll be in the Springs cleaning out your place in case I need to intervene—"
"Rodney McKay's here." She said tugging on her panties and then jeans.
"You're kidding?" He shoved upright then off the bed and pranced around the room in his naked glory.
"Nope." Snapping on her black bra Sam rolled her eyes and grinned.
"Hey, don't put them away! I wasn't finished." He pouted reaching for her.
"For now you are." She sidestepped him. "We've got company." She opened the adjoining bathroom door and went to the sink to wash up.
"We?" He snorted and stuck a leg into his Porky Pig boxers. "I believe this place is listed under your maiden name, Mrs. O'Neill."
"Jack, Rodney doesn't know we're married, let alone that you're here. Remember we're to remain incognito."
"Yeah, sure." He waved her off. "I can't believe that self-centered geek came all the way to Nevada to see you." He scrounged for his black jogging pants.
"And I can't believe you'd say such a rude thing." She repeatedly ran the brush through her tousled locks in annoyance.
"What's that suppose to mean?" Jack looked up as he tugged on his pants.
She snorted.
"Oh, that." He sniffed. "Ya mean he's still stuck on you, huh?"
"Is that so difficult to swallow?" She placed her hands on her hips and glowered.
"Nope. Considering I've been stuck on you for over twenty years." He grabbed her from behind and wrapped his arms about her waist.
"Um," she sighed and leaned into him. "How we going to handle this, Mr. O'Neill?"
"Plan A. It's been nine months since he went to Atlantis. I'll wander out in a few and scare the ever living crap out of him." He chuckled in her ear and then fanned back her hair to kiss her neck.
"You better come up with a better plan A." She turned in his arms and caressed the gray curls on his chest.
"Nah. I like it."
"Whatever." She snorted and flicked his right nipple with a fingernail.
"Easy," he warned with a roguish smirk. "We're so not finished." He snatched her teasing fingers and brought them to his lips, darting his tongue across them.
"Careful." Sam shivered with anticipation. "I don't need Rodney seeing evidence of what we were doing.
"Oh, I think he'll have a pretty good idea when I make my grand entrance." Jack smirked and winked.
"I'm going out there and if you dare to show your face you better be nice, Jonathon."
"Yes, Colonel, ma'am. Now give me back my shirt."
Rodney considered himself an observant person. It went with his profession. Therefore it didn't take long to deduce two people occupied this apartment. One female. One male. For the briefest moment, he imagined Daniel Jackson. Rodney knew they were close. There were pictures of him and Sam together, as well as her with Teal'c, Jonas Quinn, Doctor Fraiser and General Hammond. There were other photos' that included General O'Neill and Cassandra Fraiser. However, one particular photo worried Rodney- - a lot, the framed picture of Sam and General O'Neill.
Not only were they out of uniform they were lip-locked. That's when he carefully looked around the apartment. On a shoe mat by the front door set two pair of leather sandals one definitely Sam's, the other's pair a size twelve, including another masculine pair of white jogging shoes. The clean cloths basket contained men's Loony Tune and Simpson jocks and extra large white sleeveless t-shirts. He picked up a shirt, cringed, and dropped it in the basket. His shocked gaze then locked onto a leather briefcase that read, "Jonathon J. O' Neill. Rodney made a mad dash to the refrigerator and yanked it open. He'd heard O'Neill's favorite beer was Guinness. A six-pack sat on the top shelf with two missing bottles.
Numb and nauseas, Rodney shut the frig door. He then discerned the muffled voices that carried down the short hallway. Screw this! The last thing he needed was a face-off with Major General Jack O'Neill. Beside O'Neill could seriously hurt Rodney.
He'd yet to forget their last encounter nine months ago before he walked toward the Stargate for Atlantis. Sam and Doctor Jackson had been green with envy that they couldn't go. Of course that reason was just feet away in another room. Rodney had actually made an attempt to make amends with O'Neill, who'd just been promoted to Brigadier General and then CO of the SGC.
Rodney had gone to Sam's lab to say goodbye and thank her for having recommended him for the Atlantis mission. Now that he thought back on their conversation he realized his getting the post as lead Astrophysics scientist for that mission had everything to do with what was happening between Sam and the General.
Even with all the activity of the Atlantis team preparing to gate, Rodney had noticed things were tense between O'Neill and Colonel Carter. Her lab door open, he'd walked in on a discussion that wasn't job related. Being respectful and nosy, Rodney held back and eavesdropped.
"For cryin' out loud, Carter!" O'Neill ranted, "How can I remember what happened if you don't tell me?"
"Because Loki said I can't. None of us can, sir. Now I wish you'd drop the matter and let me get back to work. I promised Doctor McKay I'd have these last updates before they gated and that's less than an hour away."
"I hate this coming between us, Samantha."
Rodney's ears had perked up. Had O'Neill actually called Colonel Carter, Samantha? He heard rustling and a soft sigh. Sam's?
"Please don't, sir. The camera —"
"Off, so's the audio," he'd ground out.
"Convenient." She'd sighed.
"C'mere," O'Neill said to Carter.
Apparently she did. A moment of quiet followed and Rodney thought he'd have the big one. This wasn't happening? Couldn't be? He loudly cleared his voice and then turned the corner into her lab, just in time to see Jack's hand drop from Sam's tear-clouded face. Wow! What in blue galaxies?
Before he could speak, O'Neill jammed his hands into his blue BDU pant pockets. "Think about what I said and we'll talk this over later . . . Colonel."
"Yes, sir." She turned away. Rodney swore she was swiping tears from her beautiful eyes. What the hell had O'Neill done to her?
"Doctor McKay." O'Neill acknowledged in passing.
"General." He replied as the taller man stalked out of the lab as if in a hurry.
Sam put on her professional face, but made no excuses for what Rodney had supposedly witnessed. Just to make sure, he asked, "How's Pete?"
She blanched and forced out, "Oh, just fine. And you. Are you excited about Atlantis?" And that's how their farewell went.
An hour later, Rodney had managed to avoid O'Neill until the last moment. Meanwhile the different nationalities of scientists walked through the Stargate, while Rodney held back with Doctor Weir.
Rodney felt nervous enough but when he turned to find General O'Neill had left the control room and now stood talking to Elizabeth, Rodney felt nauseas.
"Doctor McKay." O'Neill stepped forward and offered his larger hand. Rodney accepted the firm handshake and then engaged those dark brown intimidating eyes. "I'd like to think I made the right choice putting you on this team."
"You did, Jack." Elizabeth enthusiastically chimed in.
"Yes, well, let's hope so." O'Neill half smiled at Rodney, "At least you won't be contesting with Colonel Carter over who's the leading expert on the Stargate anymore."
Oh, yeah, every since their first meeting when Rodney claimed to be the foremost expert on the Stargate and tried to outshine Samantha, Jack O'Neill had it out for him. Now he knew why. The man was her lover. What about the non-fraternization rules? Shit! Best get out now before . . .
"It was nice of you to stop by, Rodney." McKay had failed to hear the bedroom door open and close. Still barefoot, Sam rounded the corner of the kitchenette wearing a pair of worn blue jeans and a sleeveless light green pullover blouse that emphasized her slenderness. His drooling gaze locked on her hooters! Whoa! Her nipples stuck right through her bra and . . .he wondered what she'd been doing with O'Neill.
"Rodney, I wish I had time to return to base with you and show you the progress we're making on the new naquadah engines, but I've plans for the day and I'm then leaving town for a week."
"Oh, yeah, well that's okay. Look, I obviously interrupted," he glanced at the bedroom door, "Something," he headed for the door.
Sam shook her head and gestured to the cozy living room that consisted of a sofa, recliner and end tables. "No, not really." Her cheeks colored.
Oh, yeah he had, and he so didn't want to encounter Jack O'Neill's wrath because the general hadn't gotten a piece.
"Please, Rodney, have a seat." She carefully took up the roses and placed them in a vase of water, then filled a t-pot and set it on the stove. "I've instant coffee or tea. Any preference."
"Actually I've given up caffeine." He lied.
"I've decaf." She smiled and his heart bounced off his ribs. Man, she's beautiful. He glanced at her bare feet, then her clean scrubbed complexion. Barefoot and pregnant, well maybe not yet, but dang, he and O'Neill had awesome taste in women.
"Um, tea's fine." He shifted his gaze elsewhere in the efficiency apartment.
A moment later Sam settled onto the sofa across from him. "I admit it's not much," she gestured around them, "But I don't spend much time here."
"Bet you don't," he blurted as he sat in the lone high-back black recliner that had O'Neill written all over it.
"So tell me about Atlantis?" Her expression was open and honest. Of course she'd be interested in Atlantis. They had a lot in common. His heart sunk.
"You'd love it, Sam. There's so much happening there. Of course, every day is like a trip through the Stargate. The Wraith remain a constant threat and . . ."
"Yes, I've read the reports, McKay." A familiar masculine voice emitted from the hallway.
Rodney leaped out of the chair and turned to face yep, Jack O'Neill in the flesh. Wearing the yellow Simpson t-shirt Sam had previously donned and a pair of black jogging pants, he swaggered confidently toward Rodney with both hands shoved into the pant's front pockets. His silver hair was worn in its normal disheveled state and he hadn't shaved.
Although the gleam in the taller man's dark eyes was not threatening, Rodney felt anxious. He gulped. Even barefoot the older man seemed bigger and more intimidating than ever. From one man to another, the former SGC CO was making a point. Rodney was trespassing on O'Neill's turf.
"Gen--eral O'Neill." He blanched and cursed his trembling voice.
"Chill, Doc." O'Neill walked up and offered his hand.
Rodney hesitated then accepted the man's larger tanned grip and shook it. Rodney sniffed. Wow! He smelled the same scent he'd smelled on Samantha. Sex. This was too kinky, even for him.
Jack let go and Rodney found himself unconsciously rubbing his damp palm on his tan khakis, wondering if O'Neill had purposely not washed up. On a warped note, had their roles been reversed, Rodney would have been just as shrewd.
"I didn't realize . . ." Rodney looked from Jack to Sam who smiled shyly. "I mean I didn't know you two, well ya know . . . " he stared at his shoes, then O'Neill's larger bare feet. Geez, the man had boats.
"I bet." Jack strolled past him and settled along Sam. He slipped an arm around her slender shoulders and drew her into him, then captured her hand where it rested in her lap. O'Neill looked at Samantha Carter with a hungry possessive look only men understood and something else, almost well, alien if possible. That was that. O'Neill gave no further explanation, turned back and stared at Rodney with dark predator eyes. Rodney was dead meat.
As if aware of the men's competitiveness, Sam clasped Jack's hand and then smiled reassuringly at Rodney. "What Jack failed to explain," she elbowed her lover who winced before grinning. "Is that our new relationship has been under wraps since SG-1 disbanded. Due to the bureaucratic paper chase we can't go public, yet. We'd really appreciate if you'd keep this to yourself. Right, Jack?" She smiled at the man whose mark of ownership clutched her shoulder.
"Yeah." Jack turned his military glint on Rodney as if to determine his sincerity. "If not," he aimed his pointer finger and winked. "I'll have to shoot you, McKay."
"I, um, sure." His throat dried up. "Of course," and he blanched. If that wasn't a clue to get the hell out of here! He pushed to his feet and turned to the door.
"Jack." Sam gave her lover a disapproving scowl, gracefully stood and halted Rodney's exit with the touch of her cool fingertips. "Rodney, please stay?"
"Hey, just kidding, McKay." Jack smirked but Rodney sensed the man's distrustful undercurrent and wanted him to leave. They'd gone head-head too many times over the years and Rodney's smart lip with the man now bit him in the assets.
"I doubt it, sir." Ahh, man, now he'd lowered himself to calling his rival, sir. Could he get more pathetic? Sure he could.
"Look." Rodney forced a pained smile. "It's obvious you two don't get a lot of downtime together and I actually have a lot to do before we ship out. So um, if you'll excuse me."
Jack stood and smiled, obviously glad to see Rodney hightail it out of his domain. To his surprise the man said, "Wait?"
O'Neill held up a hand and then rubbed his blue-shadowed jaw. "I need to say something." He noted Sam's smile of approval.
"Okay." This couldn't be good.
"You know all those times I treated you well, not the nicest?"
"Any one in particular?" Rodney snorted.
"Okay, I plead the fifth. But to be honest your egotistical attitude is one of the reasons I don't like scientists." He glanced at Sam who'd stopped smiling, "One Samantha Carter being the exception."
"Thanks." She shook her pretty blonde head.
"My point is, Rodney, that I sensed something between you and Sam and admit I'd felt slightly jealous."
"Just slightly?" Sam jumped in.
"Fine. I had been concerned that you two might, well, were getting involved."
"Really?" Rodney pulled to his full height and wanted to crow like a rooster.
"Yeah, well don't let it go to you head. Coz, Sam assured me there wasn't anything but some itsy bitsy physical affixation."
Rodney smiled broader and glanced at Sam, who quickly added, "A little fixation, Rodney, nothing more."
"Oh, okay, I can live with that." Then he braved, "You're sure there couldn't be anything else . . ."
"Don't push it." Jack warned opening the door with a wry smirk.
"No. Of course not." Rodney's voice bottomed out.
Sam laughed softly and leaning on O'Neill's arm, waved goodbye.
Rodney left Samantha's house with a grin on his face. Odd, he didn't feel as bad as he'd imagined after being rejected by the brilliant beautiful astrophysicist. Then again, he knew why and he was okay with that. Odd, he'd never seen it coming. Or maybe he had and just had been in denial. General O'Neill, wow! Wait until Elizabeth and John heard . . .
"I'll have to shoot you," O'Neill screamed in his head. Shucks, would the man gate all the way to Atlantis just to blow him away? Probably.
Then there was Sam's former fiancé', Pete Shanahan. No doubt, Jack O'Neill had sent the police officer packing. He wondered what became of the poor guy. Rodney hoped he hadn't died like the rest of Sam's boyfriends.
"Oh, excuse me." He looked up and almost collided with a stocky-built blond man with a lantern jaw.
"No problem." The stranger smiled and gestured at the townhouse. "You a friend of Samantha's?" He blocked Rodney's path down the sidewalk.
"Um, yes. And you?" Rodney glanced at his watch. He really needed to get back to the SGC.
"I'm her fiancé'." The man delivered an intimidating glint.
"Oh," Rodney did a double take. "I don't think so. See, Sam's with . . ." And then the lights went out.