REVISED CHAPTER THREE
"You think McKay has recovered?" Jack whispered against Sam's naked shoulder.
"Um, I can't believe you're talking about another man in bed, Jack."
"Would you rather I talked about a woman?" His wet teasing tongue slithered down her spine.
"Nooo," she sighed in pleasure. "And yes, I think Rodney has recovered nicely by now. Especially with all your baloney about being jealous."
"Well it worked didn't it?"
"You lied."
"Exaggerated."
"Fibbed."
"Yanked his chain."
"Stretched the truth."
"Yep."
"Oh, and the truth is?"
"I don't like him and well, thought you'd found him . . ."
"What?"
"Cute."
Sam tried to keep a straight face. "I admit there were some sparks, but it was totally sexual. Nothing romantic."
"Sexual!" Jack pulled back and flipped her over to face him. "You telling me you really had the hots for rubber tummy Rodney?"
"Rubber tummy?" Sam gaped.
"Yeah. I mean he's got a tire on his hips."
"I hadn't noticed." She winked. "I mean, I find that little extra baby fat attractive."
"Wait!" Jack flagged his pointer fingers at her. "You telling me that all those crunches and sit-ups I do to keep my six-pack are for zilch?"
"Nope." She skimmed her hand across his hard flat abs. "I love them like this. I'm just saying even if you didn't have them, I'd still be hot for your body, General O'Neill."
"Ahh, well and when you've gained fifty plus pounds carrying our child, and only lose ten after the birth, I'll still be hot for your body . . ." He felt Sam's wide-eyed glare. She so wasn't smiling. "I meant . . . I'm just saying, if and when, and even if you don't lose an ounce, I'll . . ." Dang, he was digging himself a crater.
"Keep digging." Sam snickered and pinched his waist.
"Ow!"
"Now about making babies," she challenged.
"Suppose we should practice, huh? I mean so when the time comes we've got all the specifics down, right?"
"Yep. In the infinite words of one former Colonel O'Neill, if at first we don't succeed, try, try, try, and try again—"
And he kissed her!
Colorado Springs, Sam's House:
"When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, What will I be? Will I be pretty? Will I be rich? Here's what she said to me: "Que sera, sera Whatever will be, will be; the future's not ours to see. Que sera, sera. What will be will be.
"When I grew up and fell in love, I asked my sweetheart, What lies ahead? Will we have rainbows day after day? Here's what my sweetheart said: "Que sera, sera Whatever will be, will be; The future's not ours to see. Que sera, sera, What will be, will be . . . "
Samantha O'Neill hummed the old Doris Day song, a favorite from her childhood. Funny, but Jack had shared how his grandmother used to sing the same song. Yet so far nothing in her life had been as she'd imagined. Including the countless wrong choices that had turned into life maturing experiences, she wouldn't trade her life for anything. Especially, these last nine years, nope, correction, twenty-one years. She had everything she'd ever wanted, well all most, but future Carter-O'Neill creations remained on hold. Still, she had Jack, Cassandra, Chuck and career wise, managing R&D at Area 51.
Right after her father's funeral, their son had respectfully requested to be addressed by his original chosen name of Charlie. Sam had feared Jack would object. Instead he was receptive. After all, it'd been his grandfather's name. Their Charlie possessed Jack's first son's qualities and despite being host to a Tok'ra, remained his own person. He was highly intelligent and possessed Sam's curiosity. Yet, Sam saw more of Jack in their son, especially the stubborn streak and sarcastic wit. An O'Neill through and through and she loved that fact.
"Jack?" she wearily called out as she made one last walkthrough of her former house that had sold quicker than expected. Her voice echoed back from the empty rooms. For a moment she experienced a pang of loss. For over eight years she'd called this house home, well this, and Jack's place. Funny how every thing worked out. How it'd been Jack who'd found the small Cape Cod across from the park and convinced her to buy it, because it was within ten minutes of his place, even on a busy traffic day.
Checking for leftover boxes including cleaning items Sam yawned and stretched her aching back and neck muscles. It'd been a long morning . . . not to mention week. So much for their romantic vacation. Not that she'd complain. Other than Jack making a few visits to the SGC, they'd been together twenty-four seven. It'd been paradise, even with their occasional spats. Yeah, the adjustment of being married to Jack O'Neill had its challenges. They were used to their own space and ways of doing things, so now and then tempers flared. Man, oh, man, making up was great.
Who'd have thought Jack to be a neat freak, let alone he categorized his possessions? Sam had long suspected behind his 'I don't give a crap attitude,' lurked a disciplined fanatic. She'd been right. Yeah, this was the same man who couldn't find his desk for seven years and still flipped bottle caps into corners and considered moldy salsa a basic food group. She gave him credit, he knew where every bottle cap landed and since becoming General, he always found his desk. As precise as Sam was work wise, she remained more laid back with house chores. Although, if she fell into an open toilet bowl one more time, there'd be rectal damage on her husband's end.
"Jack?" Nothing. He'd probably gone outside to pull the last of the flowerbed weeds. He proved a serious gardener, which along with fishing, worked as his stress release. That included tinkering on one of three infirmary-rendered riding lawnmowers, a snow blower, cultivator, leaf blower and his prize weed-whacker. This didn't even touch the antique Kubota tractor, four-wheeler, and dirt bike he kept at the cabin.
The other day when she'd offered to fix his riding lawnmower, Jack bluntly told her to bug out.
"Look, Sam." He smeared his oil-stained hands against his tattered work jeans, "I know you can fix anything that involves a motor or engine in your sleep. I appreciate your offer. But, these are my doohickeys and I'll do the fixing. Understood?"
"Aye, aye, General!"
Smiling at their conversation that had ended with some greasy petting, she stepped into the empty bedroom and stared at the fresh scrubbed walls. Another memory sluiced over her. They could have hired a cleaning service, but Sam wanted to put closure on the house and its past. So did Jack. Cleaning everything seemed the best way.
They'd had their share of good and bad times in this quaint house. Now they'd start fresh. That meant getting rid of furniture, which included their bedroom sets. Even though they'd put Pete and Kerry behind them, they didn't want reminders. The Salvation Army accepted both beds as donations as well as Sam's furniture. She'd only kept the Carter antique pieces that graced Jack's, nope, their house in the Springs.
Sam crunched numbers in her head. Despite their generous joint income, maintaining three households wouldn't be cheap. Jack had insisted she lease the townhouse outside Nellis AFB. However, if she got her way, which she usually did, that residence would be short term.
Although she'd been out of Jack's chain of command for almost five months, they'd yet to receive clearance from TPTB to go public with the Chulak wedding or an Earth marriage. They'd been given strict orders to not discuss their relationship with anyone. That included the NID. Jack's newest promotion had come under scrutiny.
The fact that in under sixteen months a Colonel had been promoted to Brigadier General then Major General and finally to the premier post of heading Homeworld Security had some politicians who'd supported Kinsey displeased and squawking. All of which Jack took in his usual, who gives a crap stride. Sam remained more cautious about their marriage and did her best to avoid discussing their personal lives with anyone.
The self-righteous bureaucrats were looking to court marital Jack and, if necessary Sam. If Jack dared to admit that for the last four years he'd been married to his former 2IC, let alone the lead officer of the defunct SG-1, his admission would bring them before a military tribunal.
Many of the original SGC staff assumed she and Jack were shacking up. As politically correct as that was it didn't set well with them. For now, there seemed little they could do to right the situation. Heck, even Rodney McKay thought so, but then, he'd soon be off to Atlantis.
In the interim, she had almost convinced Jack to sell his place. Yet, they loved the house and Jack had every intention to build the second floor. Of course, Cassandra needed space to call home when she wasn't at college. Cass continued to have a difficult time with their secret family life as Ancients. What little time they did have as a family they spent working out her and Sam's issues. Once again, Jack proved more patient with their mind-reading daughter than Sam did.
As for housing, Jack had been provided with a generous housing expenditure in D.C., which afforded him an attractive Red Stone townhouse in a secured neighborhood near the Pentagon. The house came complete with appliances and furnishings. Being the boss of Homeworld Security had perks. Of course that meant, he was supposed to entertain dignitaries. Yeah, right. To date he'd avoided that duty.
On a brighter note, they'd settled into their new positions. Even though she missed the off world action, Sam liked her post as head of R&D at Area 51. Jack, well, he managed to find lots of reasons to visit the SGC, Area 51, the Alpha site, and the Russian Stargate base.
Cassandra lived with them and was getting her act together. For now, the Air Force, college or a medical career did not appear to be on her immediate agenda. She hung out with former high school friends of positive influence and lots of time with her parents.
Per usual, Jack had been right. Cassandra needed time to get her head straight and organize her priorities. He didn't want her choosing a military career because of him, Sam or Janet. No matter Cassandra's burning desire, Sam and Jack insisted they'd support her decision.
They'd met with McKenzie for six weeks solid. It'd paid off. Finally given presidential clearance the MO headshrinker had gotten past the initial Nirrti abductions, etc. He took their odd family situation in stride, commenting he'd always sensed there was a unique connection between Jack, Sam and Cassandra.
Cassandra, still had anger issues with Sam, but they were working on that state of affairs. Now that Cassandra had heard first hand about Jack and Sam's abductions and the horrendous experiments Sam had endured, and her erased memory, their daughter seemed more understanding with Sam's trust issues with men, including Jack.
Yesterday Cass drove to San Diego to spend a week with Mark, Connie and her cousins. She needed family roots and visiting her uncle was a step in that direction. Jack wanted Cassandra to meet his cousins in Minnesota, but they'd yet to decide what line of baloney they'd give the O'Neill clan.
Speaking of family, last month Sam got an A in fertility! The foreign blockage Fifth had inserted into her cervix had vanished shortly after RepliCarter had been destroyed. Sam swore she'd had a strange dream that involved some cervical pain along with Jack's soothing touch and voice. He swore she needed to cut back on her coffee fix and nightly diet sodas. Whatever. Point being she could get pregnant. Now if they could just figure out the point of when?
They'd spent the last two days tying up lose ends and bonking each other silly. Being Ancient had its beanies. They were in-tuned with each other in a way other lovers weren't. That included head hopping, which they kept to a minimum. Personal space remained key. Now if they could just teach Cassandra to respect their privacy they'd have it made.
Sam still had deep regrets about being intimate with Pete. Mostly because she'd never expected to betray the sacred vows she and Jack had exchanged on Chulak. Yet she had. Were it not for her growing faith in the Keeper of the Stars, she'd never have experienced the ecstatic joy she now shared with Jack.
Sam could not imagine making love with anyone but Jack. What they shared was basic and emotional binding in ways she'd never dreamed. It defied logic. They'd also discovered more about their Ancient DNA sexual drives. Apart from when Sam monthly menstruated, they had sex daily usually more than once. Their physical need to bond as one, over-ruled fatigue and hunger. For the most part they started and ended each day making love. When such encounters weren't feasible, they met inside their minds or dreams. One didn't need phone sex when you could jump your husband's bones in his head, while he was um, in a Pentagon briefing. Of course, he had to excuse himself and rush to the closest men's room, where he proceeded to well, you know.
Whenever there was a full moon, Sam worried that indecent exposure or having sex in public would get them arrested. Man, the Broca virus had nothing on being an Ancient. When those primal urges and desires ruled, they literally disconnected phones, pagers, etc., and locked themselves up for the duration, together, of course.
Meanwhile, poor Cassandra had to deal. Sam suspected that when Cass returned to college, she would keep her grade average above par just so she didn't have to live with her sex crazed parents. Holidays being the exception.
Yeah, besides cleaning and packing they'd spent the day intimately saying farewell to each room of the house. Jack's idea. Less than two hours since she and Jack had made love, Sam felt the familiar pleasurable heat spiral into her neither region. Would she ever get enough of her man? She hoped not. Even if they didn't make love, they touched and kissed whenever possible. Who'd have thought, Jack O'Neill was a touchy feely guy?
According to Jack they had eight years of no touching to makeup for, and he had no problem trying. Even when they weren't mating like primates, Jack proved to be a gentle caring lover and husband. He still gave the best back and foot rubs and she returned the favor.
Far more funny was how they naturally gravitated toward each other. Being out of Jack's sight annoyed her. Despite her independent temperament, Sam had grown possessive of her husband and as he had of her. Another part of that Ancient bonding thingy. Sam hated to admit it, even to Jack, but she needed a multi-daily Jack fix, even if just to hear his voice or a lame joke.
Yeah, even when one of them wasn't in heat, their need to communicate through touch remained powerful. Another discovery. Ancient men went into a monthly heat. Insisting he was always horny, Jack preferred to not talk about the additional monthly sex drive added to his DNA. Sam loved it.
"Jack?" She called out in her head as she left the bedroom and passed her former office, to glimpse Jack's clothes neatly folded in a pile. Before she could react—
"Gotcha!" He grabbed his wife by her hips and flung her gently to the floor then rolled on top of her, pinning his muscular thighs against her.
Sam grunted surprise and gazed up with a wicked smile. He snickered and kissed her sweetly, teasing her dry parted lips, nibbling her tongue. Sam's breath hitched. Dang the man was seducing her, again. Nope, the last time she'd been the seductress.
"My turn," his voice rumbled in her ear and he pressed the evidence of his need against her. Sam's natural response was to thrust upward and make firmer contact. She felt his heat through her jeans.
"One of us is overdressed." Jack brushed the hair off her face, while his free hand tugged her t-shirt from her waistband.
"Jack?" She wiggled beneath him.
"Whaat?" He trailed his cool fingertips along her rib cage.
"Aren't you tired?"
"Of you, never?"
"That's not what I meant?"
He dipped his head to her exposed belly and blew wet raspberries against her skin. Sam giggled as he proceeded to unzip her zipper. He had a one-track mind, but . . .
"Jack, we're supposed to meet General Landry at his house in an hour."
"Soo," he murmured as she cooperated and lifted her hips while he yanked her jeans down her legs.
"We'll just have to break our latest record." He tongued her belly button and . . .
Yep, they broke their latest record.
Two hours later: General Hank Landry's backyard:
Jack had been avoiding this work related social get-together. It's not that he didn't like hanging with Hank Landry, his hand selected replacement for heading up the SGC. He did. Just not on his vacation or the weekend. Weekends were precious to Jack. He spent them and most of the summer with Sam and Cass. Until now they'd rarely ventured back to the Springs because there were too many nosy noses. Jack had his fill of that in D.C. Then again, they'd needed to clean her house, as the new occupants were moving in next week. It'd been an interesting cleaning endeavor. He grinned, he had rug rash on his knees and butt.
Meanwhile, he and Hank went way back to Black Ops. Jack considered Hank one of his true oldest friends. Until Jack's first retirement, they'd been through hell and back for each other and had kept in contact over the years. Jack sat across from his buddy at the chessboard then glanced past Hank's shoulder to where Sam grilled burgers on Hank's outdoor grill. The fact he and Sam had managed to have a full week alone in the Springs caused his mouth to tug into a dimple. It felt like they were playing hooky.
"You're spying, Jack."
"Am not."
"Are too." Hank grinned around the mouth of his beer bottle. "Besides, what can she possible do to a couple of burgers and dogs?"
"You'd so don't wanna know." Jack groaned at the thought. When Sam waved the prongs at him, he lowered his voice. "Serious cooking isn't her forte." He winced. "Unless we're talking chocolate chip cookies or soufflés."
"And I think you just don't want her out of your sight." Hank challenged as he moved a rook.
"Yes, well, there's that." He forced his gaze to the chessboard pieces. Hank was winning. Crap.
"You said you're here to sign off on the house, car and bike. Didn't know you had a car or bike?" He stretched out in his chair.
"Oh, not my stuff, Sam's. Her house sold and she traded her Mustang for a Jeep. She's keeping the Indian and her pet Vulva—"
Hank sputtered around his bottle in laughter.
"What?" Jack annoying asked.
"It's Volvo, Jack." Hank dragged the back of his hand across his wet jaw and grinned.
"Whatever." Jack kept a straight face. He loved messing with Hank.
"Anyway, we parked them in my garage. I sold my 67 Harley to a collector. This old back can't take the shock factor anymore."
"Then you're keeping your house?"
"Look's that way. When my stint in D.C. is up we'd like to make Colorado Springs home. I'd thought to sell, but with the rising housing costs, we haven't found anything we like better. I promised Sam to build a second floor addition."
"You always were a closet weekend warrior, Jack, not to mention gardener. Sure you weren't a farmer in another life?"
"Anything's possible, Hank. Just like to work with my hands and get them dirty."
Hank nodded at his honesty. Jack recalled his time on Edora and how the simplistic lifestyle had suited his nature. Heck, he'd even taken delight sweating over an anvil, beating and shaping molten iron into nails.
"You're every woman's dream. I'm sure Sam's discovering something new about you everyday."
"Crap, I hope not." He guffawed. "We've got way too much history to have more surprises between us. I'm still in awe that she finds anything worthwhile in me, let alone to love or marry."
"You know I wondered that myself. But when I asked Sam—"
"You--you asked her?" Jack almost spewed his beer.
"Relax, buddy. We've spoken over the last few months. Nothing detailed." Hank smirked. "When it comes to your present relationship, Sam's tightlipped, let alone to talk with a superior officer. But your reservations confirmed what she said."
"Oy!" Jack looked at his friend.
"Samantha's nuts about your humility and self-defacing attitude. Not to mention you've gotten darn right cuter in your grumpy old age. She's really into your spiked gray hair and crater dimples."
"Why, Hank, are you hitting on me?" Jack snickered, glancing over at Sam.
"Her words, not mine."
"Thought so." Both laughed, which caused Sam to send them a suspicious glint.
'Laughing at my expense, are we, General?'
'Nah. Never.' He laughed inside his head. She scowled. Jack cleared his throat and then silence dangled between the men as he turned to safer ground, contemplating his next chess move.
"You know everyone thinks you sold your place and moved to D.C. And that Sam's in Nevada for good." He moved a rook and took a knight.
"Talk about a long distance relationship. Bit of a strain if you ask me."
"Far less a strain than working side-by-side for almost nine years and not acting on our feelings."
"Guess when you put it that way." Hank sighed and cocked a brow. "I give you both credit, old man. Don't know if I'd have handled it with as much dignity as you two have."
Jack let that remark go. He was tired of talking around the regs and the wasted years that could never be reclaimed. "Far as the house goes, let them think it's sold." He set his attention on the chessboard. If I take his pawn, I can—
"Why?"
"Huh? Oh, complicated." His right hand hovered over the pawn and he felt Hank's gaze linger on the silver wedding band of his index finger. Jack had no qualms wearing it off duty, nor did Sam. Let'm guess was his motto.
"Look, Jack, there's a lot I don't know and for that matter is none of my business—."
"Yep." Jack stated. "And as much as I trust ya, Hank, it's best for your sake and everyone else that you don't know."
Hank resisted Jack's efforts to sidetrack him. "The entire base figures you're together." He glanced at Sam and smiled. "And some are richer for that knowledge. Apparently a lot of bets were made about when you two would finally hookup."
"Crap!" Jack glared over his half bottle of beer.
"Like you didn't know." Hank waggled his bushy brows.
"Ya think?" he winked. "Actually the T'Man made over two-thousand bucks."
"Lucky Jaffa. Walter and Siler know you're an item."
"Hank, those guys know more than you do. They're loyal friends and continue to feed the rumor mill with false intel to protect us. Which is why they're in our wills." He chuckled, recalling when Siler showed up at Jack's front porch with file boxes of incriminating security tapes on his and Sam's closet rendezvous'.
"And I'm confused. Doctor Jackson explained about you and Sam being bonded as Ancients. You've told me about your Chulak marriage. So why don't you two just come clean and—"
"Coz, TPTB won't let us." Jack took Hank's pawn and grinned, as he closed in on that queen.
"Whatever for?"
"Politics, what else." Jack snorted. "They want us to wait a fricking year or more, and then do the whole military wedding. As if they're going to tell us what to do with our personal lives." He snorted. "And there's never to be any disclosure about Chulak or our Ancient bloodlines."
"I'm sorry, Jack. Um, how's Sam handling it?"
"The usual. Like a trooper. But she wants more kids." He looked over to see her dousing a sputtering flame with a bottle of beer. A smile twisted his lips. She'd learned from the best.
"And you, old man?" Jack heard the doubt in Hank's tone.
"Hey, I'm younger than you."
"Not by much. So, you want children this late in life?"
"Guess you'd think me nuts, if I say yes?" He dangled his bottle between his fingertips and smiled at Sam's backside while she blew on a crispy hotdog. Man, she's hot.
"No. And by the shit-faced grin on your face it couldn't happen soon enough."
"Hank, you know about Cassandra and Charlie. I've been given a second chance to be a husband and a father. I don't intend to blow this one. Just wish there was a way around the time constraint to go public so we can get on with our lives."
"And I can't believe you, Jack O'Neill, agreed to such a ridiculous mandate."
"I wouldn't have, except, well it's multifarious."
Hank's eyes widened at Jack's use of a multi-syllable word. "So this isn't just about you and Sam?"
"No." He screwed up his face and closed his eyes. "Despite Kinsey being locked away as a Goa'uld, there are others who didn't want me to head up HWS, some, not even from Earth. If they had their way, I'd be vaporized by now."
"You've been threatened?" Hank gawked.
"Nothing new. But it's not me I'm worried about."
"Then retire. Get out and get a life. You deserve it."
"I can't. I need this in to make certain things happen. For one, Charlie . . . um, Chuck is still under the snarkey Tok'ra's control. The only way I can get him home is to work back into their good graces."
"In other words, kiss their slimy butts."
"Yeah, which I hear you're already doing." He smiled approval.
"It is one of the reasons you selected me, Jack."
"Hey, I needed someone with diplomatic skills. You qualified. And I appreciate how quickly you've adapted to the weird job of managing the SGC."
"And, thankfully, you've left me with a very tight ship and the most competent people a commander could have the pleasure to serve with. George was right when he recommended you to head the SGC. I've got big shoes to fill Jack."
"That's how I felt when George left in both departments."
"Well, as respectful and nice as they are to me, they miss you, Jack. I wonder why you didn't stay."
He screwed up his face and rolled his eyes.
"Oh, yeah, right. Personal reasons."
"Besides, it was the only way to get my chair back." Jack snickered only to realize Hank was clueless and the dense look on his weathered features confirmed that. "Long story. Another time." He sniffed.
"Okay, so back to your procreation issue. I'd say screw TPTB. Do the politically correct thing. Get pregnant then get married."
Jack snorted. "Yeah, figures that they'd be just fine with that. Whatever happened to old-fashioned values? How come it's okay to shack up out of marriage and get pregnant, but heaven forbid, you get married first. Folks look at you like you've sprouted horns."
"Not everyone. There are some of us who still think it's the proper way, I for one. And I'm glad you got hitched on Chulak." The men shared an understanding look.
"Sorry. It's just leaving the SGC and disbanding SG-1 has been rough. We thought it'd allow us a normal life. Instead, we're sneaking around like teenagers."
"Which reminds me." Hank held up a finger.
Jack's brows did a caterpillar dance across his forehead.
"I meant the SGC. Cameron Mitchell wants to reform SG-1 with the original team."
"Yep. He called me."
"What'd you tell him?"
"Probably the same thing you did. You have my blessings, son. But I doubt it'll happen. Sam already told him no. She felt bad. They've been friends since Academy. She wanted to explain about us. She told him she had her reasons for accepting the post at Area 51."
"Yeah, Mitchell took it hard. Teal'c is happy being on the Jaffa High Council. Although he's respectful, I suspect when he compares Cameron to you, the poor kid comes up short."
"Ah, Teal'c just needs time to adjust; once he does, he'll be fine. When I make my visit to Dakara, next week. I'll make some subtle hints."
"You subtle? Hardly," Hank snorted, "But rather you than me, I'm still not sure where I stand with Teal'c. Not like I can order him around."
"Chill, Hank. He likes you, said you reminded him of Hammond and little of myself."
"That's nice to know," he blew out. "Of course, Daniel is hot to trot about going to Atlantis."
"I wish he'd stay." Jack mumbled.
"Who?"
"Daniel."
"Jack, you've denied him this chance several times already. Besides, Doctor Weir requested him."
"I know." He pouted.
"Hey, you can't keep him tied to your apron strings forever."
"Sure can. I'm not you, Hank."
"No. And Daniel's not my brother."
"Never said he was," Jack defensively snapped.
"Nope. Daniel did. He loves you, Jack."
"He told you that?" Jack's jaw slackened.
"Hell no. But it's obvious. Besides he's a grown man and needs to make his own decisions."
"You've been talking to Sam?" He leaned back in his chair and frowned.
"Of course, he has." She sauntered over with a plate full of burgers and hot dogs, at least that's what they'd been twenty minute ago. Jack's winced at the charred meat. Yep, she'd learned from the best for sure.
"Clear the table, sirs."
"We're off duty and I'm not a sir today, Sam." Hank smiled then stared at the plate she'd set beside the chessboard. Dismissing their scowls, she reached into the paper bag beside Jack for the buns, chips and condiments.
"Um, Sam, Hon?" Jack pushed away from the table.
"What?" She peered at him suspiciously.
"How 'bout we take Hank up on his offer for lunch at O'Malley's."
"You mean the offer I accepted, but you refused because you wanted to grill out and . . ." She followed their disturbed gazes to the smoldering platter of charcoal. "Oh." She smiled.
"They don't look that bad." Hank's phone beeped. "Just a minute." He answered, "Oh hi, Walter. Who's IDC? No way. Under no conditions do you open the gate for her. Tell Doctor Jackson to keep his pants on. I'll be right there. Bye."
"Well?" Jack quirked a brow at Hank and Sam did likewise.
"Oh, remember Vala Mal Doran—"
"Who could forget?" Sam grinned winking at Jack.
"Apparently she's dropped into the Alpha site and insists on seeing Doctor Jackson."
"Don't—!" Jack insisted. "Last time she abducted the Prometheus and kidnapped Daniel. Almost beat him to a bloody pulp."
"I know. He also described her as a —"
"Flake." Jack snorted.
"Yeah. Don't worry, I'll have the Alpha SF's make sure she's clean, two of SG-12 just gated over to escort her."
"Make sure to wash her mouth out with soap." Sam offered with a giggle.
"Huh?" The generals exchanged looks before glancing at her.
"Um, Daniel said she has a potty mouth and is obsessed with sex."
"Really? He never told me that." Jack shifted mischievously.
"Because I asked him not to. She also thinks you're the hottest
General she's ever laid eyes on and would jump your bones no time flat if given the chance."
"Wow." He delivered his boyish pout then winked. "I'm flattered. I think."
"Great! A horny alien who steals flag ships!" Hank snorted.
"Ah such are the perks of commanding the SGC." Jack snorted.
"You're really enjoying this." Hank observed as his mouth tugged downward.
"Yeah sure yabetcha."
"Well, sorry about calling our lunch short, but we'll try this again, next time. And Jack, don't you move those chess pieces."
"Don't worry, Hank," he winked. "They've got magnets."
SGC Briefing Room 0130 Hours:
"I assume tardiness is not one of Doctor McKay's bad habits?" General Hank Landry folded his hands and looked at Doctor Weir's anxious expression, then Colonel Sheppard's tense features.
"Oh, plezze, sir," John Sheppard breathed out, "McKay's so anal he sleeps with an egg timer."
"Really?" Hank tilted his head.
Elizabeth Weir rolled her pretty eyes. "What Colonel Sheppard's trying to say is, that Rodney is never late for anything of importance, sir."
"That involves him," John muttered.
Weir shot Sheppard another sharp look. "Returning to Atlantis is the most important thing in Doctor McKay's life. All personnel were to check in five days in advance for their follow-up physicals and data meetings. Rodney was also to greet the newest members to his physics team. He's failed on both accounts and doesn't answer his phone or pager."
"Is there some reason I wasn't informed of this missing person before, Doctor Weir?" Hank rubbed his aching temples and wished he were on his deck playing chess with Jack, drinking beer, and chowing down on Colonel Carter's burnt burgers. First, Vala Meddlesome arrived and slapped a matching set of life-threatening wristbands on herself and Doctor Jackson. Now Doctor McKay had gone AWOL. What next?
"Because this was my problem, not yours, General." Elizabeth Weir insisted meeting his vexed gaze.
"Might I remind you, Doctor, that anything that involves the SGC falls under my dominion and is my problem."
"I'm sorry, sir. With this being Rodney, I'd assumed something as simplistic as a flat tire. He might be brilliant but not with simple things."
"You can say that again." John annoyingly tapped a pencil against the desk.
"Obviously, it wasn't simple." Hank glanced at his watch then back at the antsy young colonel, who so reminded him of another former colonel, that it was uncannily frightening. Probably the hair or the mouth, or—
Weir flinched and drew a solemn breath. No doubt she was worried about her missing team member. Despite his sarcasm, Sheppard didn't look much better. Hank knew they'd all grown close this last year. Hank better than anyone understood the family bond a cohesive team formed.
"Okay, I'll inform Colonel Caldwell the Daedalus' departure will be delayed. The window will stay open an additional forty-eight hours. Which gives us five days to find McKay. That's as long as I can put the flight off. I'll contact Agent Barrett at the NID and have the FBI put out an all points bulletin. Now tell me where he was last seen?"
"Six days ago at Nellis AFB, Nevada, sir." John shared.
Hank balked.
"Rodney's private about his life, General." Weir explained. "And he was on leave, after all."
Hank nodded and felt an approaching migraine. He wondered if this was another reason Jack had jumped ship. This job was a royal pain in the—
"General?" Weir shared, "According to Nellis base security, Rodney requested Colonel Carter's home address, and no one's heard from him since. That was five days ago."
Hank scowled and glanced at his watch. 2320 hours. "I just spoke with Colonel Carter this afternoon. She never mentioned seeing McKay, but then that wasn't the topic of conversation. I'll contact her and see what I can learn. Meanwhile, Colonel, I'll assign you SG-4 and 6 to help find him."
"We appreciate this, General." Elizabeth stood and turned to take her leave.
"It's what we do." Hank inwardly snickered recalling Jack's line. "You know Colonel Caldwell is going to blow a gasket." He stood to see them to the door.
"Ya think?" The Lieutenant Colonel rolled his eyes. "He's just looking for a reason to carp."
"John!" Weir softly reprimanded.
"Um, sorry, sir." Sheppard offered but his eyes said he wasn't. He sent Weir an exasperated look that could only be shared with someone he felt comfortable. Hank wondered just how comfortable they were with each other. Hum?
"We're still working on team dynamics, General, aren't we, John?" She tugged his right forearm.
"Look, Sheppard." Time for a hand slap Hank decided. "You better realize that were it not for my requesting General O'Neill's intervention, you wouldn't have been promoted, let alone still command the Atlantis troops. In other words, O'Neill likes you. Maybe because you're a lot like him including your brassy mouth." That made John flinch. "There's a difference of course, General O'Neill knows when to utilize his smart lip and when to shut it."
"Yes, sir!" John stood at attention. "I've personally thanked General O'Neill for the promotion and will prove my worth and keep my mouth shut, sir."
"That's all well and good, however . . ."
John's features slackened when Hank continued.
"You're right. Caldwell's an asshole but he's damned good at his job. He also has high mucky-muck friends. And he's just itching to prove you're a liability to the Atlantis project. This recent event in which you've managed to displace a key member of your team won't go unnoticed by the man."
"I will find Doctor McKay, sir."
"You do that, son."
Nodding, he closed the door as they left through the empty Briefing Room. Hank glanced out the window to see they'd halted at the stair landing. Despite the serious situation of Doctor Mckay being AWOL, they shared a private smile and spoke with a look he'd seen exchanged between another couple by the names of O'Neill and Carter. Well, whatcha know? He shut the window shades and then dialing Jack's home phone, started to grin and hum, Que sera sera.
0145 Hours:
Her cell phone rang. At least, Sam thought that's what had awakened her. Then it went silent. Um, err! Sam tried to move, but couldn't. She reasoned that Jack had sprawled across her like he so often did, the big lug. They rarely slept without spooning or touching one another. It'd been that way before they married, and the need to be in close proximity, had grown stronger since their Ancient bonding.
Still she needed her beauty sleep. Heck, she wanted to say farewell to the crew of the Daedalus before it departed in, oh, less than six hours, if her internal clock was right. Jack had to fly back to D.C. and then she'd drive to Nevada. Another week, another dollar. Another week a-part. Dang!
Sam squirmed and tried to slip out from beneath Jack's intrusive weight, but failed. Well, try and get comfortable, Sam. Nope, she reasoned, I'll slug him. That usually worked. When she attempted to move her arms, nothing happened.
"Jack, get off!" she said in her head.
Nothing. Not even an O'Neill mutter or grunt. Something was wrong. She opened her eyes to find herself enveloped in darkness and no Jack. She couldn't move. Trying not to panic, she reasoned it was a bad dream, that she was experiencing the REM dream state when one's body felt paralyzed. She forced her heart to calm down and took deep cleansing breaths. Strange, breathing didn't bother. It felt real. She tried to move. Something tugged her.
She focused and screamed out Jack's name. But the scream never left her lips. Duct tape restrained her mouth.
"Rise and shine, sleepyhead." Wearing a hazard facemask Pete Shanahan smiled at her and then Sam's world went black.
Sam? Jack swore she'd called out telepathically. He attempted to roll over but failed as his body refused to cooperate. He sniffed. Something smelled foul. The gas stove? No. The odor seemed dangerously familiar. Then there was nothing . . .
Engine noise and a soft rolling motion awoke Sam from deep-drugged slumber. Drugged, being the operative word. When she rolled onto her side, she realized her restraints were gone. Her location though, remained a mystery. Head pounding like a brass band she glanced around the quarters and determined she was on a sailing vessel. How and why she'd no idea. At first, she thought she'd been dreaming. Jack had mentioned a few times how he loved to sail and one day they'd go cruising.
But she'd remember getting here? The last she recalled was her and Jack in bed making love. Their Ancient bond stronger than ever not to mention, the full moon, but she felt no such desires heating her loins, just cold fear.
Sitting up slowly, she swung her legs over the berth, and just avoided clunking her head on the berth above her. That's when it registered. This was no ocean sailing vessel. It was a Goa'uld Ha'tak.
You gotta be kidding:
"Who's there?" Jack squirmed in the dark tight confines. Although unrestrained, there wasn't much stretching room.
"Hey, stop kicking!" A familiar grating voice returned.
"McKay?"
"Yeah."
"How the h—?" Jack tried to rationalize what had happened and why of all people Rodney McKay hogged the space.
"My exact sentiments, General."
"Where are we?"
"Heck if I know. A Goa'uld ship, I think."
"Ya think?"
"Hey, all I know is one minute I was leaving Sam's apartment—."
"Our apartment," Jack reiterated.
"Spare me the semantics, General."
"Whatever." Jack squirmed. "You were saying?"
"I was walking down the sidewalk toward my rental car, when this guy walked up and asked whether I was a friend of Sam's."
Rodney wiggled and that's when Jack realized the scientist's butt cakes were smack against his face. Ah, crap!
"I said, yes. Then he said he was her fiancé, which I found amusing. Apparently, he didn't. Next I knew he shot me with a zat. I woke up here, only there was a lot more room—And you?"
Jack had been making love to Sam then, "Doesn't matter."
"I meant how'd you get here?"
"I got nothing."
"This is weird."
"Hey, you do realize that you visited us last week?"
"Don't think so. I just woke up. Although I'm light headed and starved."
"Whatever." Jack sniffed and gagged. McKay smelled like he'd been crated-up for an entire week.
"You didn't explain how you got here?"
"Oh, I inhaled a strange odor and then nothing but this monster headache. Sam! Where's she?"
"Don't know."
Jack reached out to her mentally and hit a brick wall. Something alien separated them. For a brief moment Nirrti's ugly face loomed in his mind's eye. Ridiculous. After all, Nirrti's dead.
Rodney wiggled and his butt pressed tighter to Jack's scrunched face.
Jack cursed, causing Rodney to freeze.
"Um, are you like behind me, O'Neill?"
His irate rebuttal met Rodney's derriere.
The physicist shifted his hips and allowed Jack breathing room.
Just before he inhaled, Doctor Rodney McKay—farted!