Beauty In The Broken

Gemel

"So?" He switched the blinker on and checked his blind spot before changing lanes. Once he'd maneuvered the SuperDuty towards the exit, he glanced over towards her. "How are you doing with this?"

Sam resisted the urge to look over her shoulder to check on the cargo in the back seat for the umpteenth time. Instead, she caught her own reflection in the side view mirror, searching it for the answers. "You've asked me that before."

"Oh?"

"The last time she was here." Shifting in the seat, Sam combed her hair back behind her ear, then propped her elbow on the truck's door, leaning to rest her temple on her upturned fist. "Remember? In the hall outside her quarters."

O'Neill frowned, sifting through memories until he'd found it. "You asked me if I had a few hours."

"And I pretended that everything was okay."

The exit was approaching, and Jack gunned the big diesel and crossed the last two lanes of traffic to aim them towards it.

Up the exit and right, he aimed toward a large shopping center visible from the freeway. The store he targeted was north of the movie theaters, nestled between a long line of small kitschy restaurants and a large day spa.

Sliding into a parking space near the back of the lot, he put the truck into 'park' and switched off the engine. "And now?"

"Now, what?" Carter reached down and grabbed her backpack from the floor where she'd stowed it earlier. Resting it on her lap, she looked over at the Colonel.

His eyes were careful, but earnest. "How are you doing with all this?"

"Fine." She shrugged, pasting a smile on her face. "I'm doing fine."

He wasn't convinced—-that much was evident by the way his jaw tightened.

"At least, I'm okay." Sam wrapped one of the long leather straps around her hand, then let it unwind again. "I'll be okay."

He seemed to accept that.

Sam cast him a quick sideways look before speaking again. "I've been thinking, Sir."

"I'd be more shocked if you weren't."

She allowed herself a smile at that. She was used to his teasing, by now. She knew that it was a sign of affection —or respect—something far different than how it had felt four years before. The fact that he'd done it made this whole situation more tenable. As if things could get back to how it was before any of this had happened. "Anyway. I've been thinking about the kid's name."

Immediately, the Colonel's lips turned downward. "Yeah. That."

"If it's all the same to you, I think that I'd like to call him Jacob." Carter looked at the side mirror again, at the face within it. Why did it suddenly seem unfamiliar? "At least—for the time being."

"For the time being?" He removed the keys from the ignition, clasping them in his hand.

"You know." She tried to sound vague, but reassuring at the same time. It was a skill that Daniel possessed in abundance, but whose secrets he hadn't shared with his team. "While he's staying with us."

"With us?"

"Me." Stammering. She hated stammering. "Here. While he's here. Just for the time being."

His dark gaze regarded her for several long beats. "Are you considering not keeping him?"

Keeping him? The child wasn't a puppy. How could she just keep him? Out of everything that had happened this day—hell—this morning—it wasn't even noon yet—the fact that Samantha Carter-O'Neill had wanted Sam to parent her child was the most unbelievable.

The more she thought about it, the more absurd the idea became. At least she could leave a puppy home alone. A puppy would eventually grow out of needing her. Her experience in caring for mammals had begun and ended with Schroedinger—-and the orange tom cat had been independent to the extent that he'd barely noticed when she went off world. Giving him to Narim had barely even felt like a loss.

And suddenly adding a baby—a human child—to her life?

Hell. It was impossible, wasn't it? Ridiculous. Absurd.

Sam looked over at O'Neill and quickly decided that honesty was best. "I'm a little overwhelmed at the concept, Sir."

"Okay." He was back to being inscrutable. There was no reaction to that statement in his deep-set eyes. He simply watched as she ran her fingertips along the shiny chrome of the inner door handle. "Well, until you've decided one way or the other, we'll still need to care for him in the meantime."

She wondered what he was thinking—and then decided she probably didn't want to know. Probably something about how indecisive she was. Or how unfeeling. Or that she was a coward. Regardless, she couldn't come up with any response other than a curt nod.

"So, do you know what we need?"

She tapped the backpack on her lap with her index finger. "Janet gave me a list."

"All right. Then I guess we should go make a dent in it." He opened his door and stepped out, closing it behind him before aiming himself to Sam's side of the truck.

The door swung open when Sam tugged at the handle, and she hopped out of the big truck. Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, she lifted the latch that opened the supercab door.

The back bench seat was narrow, but Siler and the Colonel had somehow made the borrowed car seat fit. They'd threaded the seat belt through the framework around the bottom of the car seat, and then the two men had cinched it securely using a combination of brute force and curse words.

Sam had no idea whether Charlie-now-Jacob had ever been in a car seat before, but the child hadn't seemed to mind it too much. He was sound asleep.

"Do we wake him up?" She asked the question over her shoulder, towards where O'Neill had appeared.

His sigh was patient—almost a laugh. "You truly haven't ever done this before, have you?"

"It's not like I'm the mothering type, Colonel."

This time, his expression was cautious. And then, more to himself than to her, he muttered, "We'll just leave that one alone for now."

A hand on her arm gently moved her aside. She watched as O'Neill unbuckled the harness and drew it up over the baby's head to dangle over the back of the seat. Then, he carefully lifted Jacob free of the seat and, turning him expertly mid-way, tucked him onto his own chest.

The baby stirred, but then found his thumb and nestled back to sleep, his cheek pressed to the Colonel's sternum.

"It's kind of like defusing a bomb." Jack backed up, allowing Sam to close both the supercab hatch and the passenger-side door. "Quick, smooth, and no sudden moves."

With his free hand, he dug in his pocket and came up with his keys. Clicking the 'lock' switch on the fob, he dropped them back into his jeans and tilted his head toward the store. "Ready?"

Fall in the Springs was brisk, but not cold. Sam had put her leather riding jacket on when she'd left the Mountain, but she shrugged it off as they trekked across the parking lot. The Colonel had changed into civvies before they'd left the SGC. His jeans and flannel button-down shirt allowed him to blend right in to the rest of the shoppers heading in to—she looked up at the sign on the storefront—Baby World.

"Have you been here before?"

"Nope." O'Neill slowed his pace to fall into closer step with her. "At least, not recently. Daniel, Teal'c, and I came here a few years ago when Siler procreated that first time."

Sam grinned. "That's right. You three got him that first aid kit for the baby shower."

"Hey—your name was on that, too."

"I still can't believe that you chose that." Sam folded the jacket over her arm. "There were other things on their registry."

"Nothing that I cared to buy." The Colonel shifted his grip on the baby. "Besides. Cheri—-Mrs. Siler—-thought it was funny."

It felt weird, to be walking next to him and not be carrying anything heavier than her bag and a jacket. Why was normal life so much more jarring than being chased by Jaffa through alien forests? "Do you want me to take him?"

The Colonel glanced down at his little companion, a dimple making its way into his cheek. "I've got him. Let's see if we can get him to like anyone other than you."

That had been an issue back at the SGC. Sam had attempted to feed him, but the kid had wanted nothing to do with the bottle she'd offered. So, she'd handed him back over to Lieutenant Banks so that she and the Colonel could go buy some supplies. Jacob's frantic cries had followed them down the hallway–audible even as they'd waited at the elevator. In the end, it had been Sam who had hustled back to the infirmary. She'd been the one who had picked up the shrieking baby and comforted him. She hadn't even thought about it until she'd been doing it.

Janet had been willing to make the trip to purchase the items they'd need for the infant, but the question of payment and responsible parties had popped up. It's not like the US Air Force kept a tab at Baby O'Rama just in case random kids were flung through interdimensional portals and subsequently marooned at the SGC. It wasn't like ordering cases of paper or printer ink from the Office Depot.

It had been providential that Siler had arrived at just that moment with the car seat he'd pulled from the backseat of his own sedan. He'd explained that it was his turn to pick up their oldest from daycare—but—as long as he had the car seat back by quitting time, Jack and Sam could use it to take Jacob Charles along on their mission. Once again, Sergeant Siler had saved the day.

So, yes. It would be beneficial if this kid figured out that there were other people in the world other than his—kind of—mom. Sam nodded in agreement. "That would be a good thing."

"He'll figure things out, Carter." O'Neill sounded optimistic. "We'll figure things out."

"If you say so." She sincerely hoped that she sounded more convinced than she felt.

Sam arrived at the door first. Pulling it open, she let O'Neill pass through before following him into the store. Just to their left, two rows of shopping carts sat in neat lines next to an array of flat bed carriages. She walked past the conveyances, pausing when she'd realized that the Colonel wasn't at her side. Turning, she blinked at him. "What?"

"Um-–Carter?" Jack raised his eyebrows, nodding towards the neat rows of carts. "We might need one of those."

"Really? Why?"

Jacob fussed a little, and O'Neill patted his back until he'd settled back down. "Babies need a lot of stuff."

"Diapers, wipes, formula. That's what's on Janet's list." Sam shrugged. "I carry more on missions."

The Colonel tried not to smile, but lost the struggle. To his distinct credit, his reply was only a little patronizing. "Crib, stroller, carseat, changing table, high chair, clothing, linens, a diaper pail. And then there's the formula, bottles, and those teeny little baby spoons. The list goes on."

"Spoons? For what?"

"He won't be on formula forever." Jack walked over to the wagons and removed one, pulling it free from the line. "My guess is that this little guy is ready for some cereal. Maybe even pureed peaches or squash."

She scowled, looking back over her shoulder at the warehouse-style store. It was huge—bright and colorful. In the center of the store, a large carpeted area displayed various kinds of nursery furniture. Cribs, bassinets, dressers, and changing tables were interspersed with different kinds of chairs and storage units. Neatly tiled paths led off that center area to separate departments, all highlighted with cheerful signage.

Newborn! Infant! Toddler! Bathtime! Good Eats! Let's Go! Playtime!

So. Much. Damned. Stuff.

Sam swallowed, her heart dropping. Why had she thought that this would be a cakewalk? But then—when in the past four years had anything at all been simple?

"Come on, Thera." He'd spoken against her throat, his lips warm on her skin. His hand was making lazy circles on her bare back. "We'd better get back."

"Why?" She'd been playing with his hair, toying with the coarse strands with the tips of her fingers. "We don't have to be on shift for another hour."

"We don't want people to start suspecting things."

"What's there to suspect?"

"This." He let his hand drift downward, to the sensitive spot he'd discovered a few days ago. He absorbed her shiver with his body, even as his grin shone with just the slightest hint of masculine triumph. "The fact that I can do that might be problematic."

"Only if you do it in public." Thera countered, her lips curling in an intimate smile. "So just don't do it in public."

Jonah smiled, pressing his lips to where her pulse was only now just slowing. "Even if I really want to?"

"Especially not then." Thera sighed, lifting herself up on her elbow. Her motion had rolled Jonah slightly to one side, and his hand came to rest on her hip. She liked having his hand there. But then—she liked having his hands anywhere.

There was something beautifully simple about sharing herself with him. Thera didn't have any other friends in the Sector. She couldn't remember ever having friends anywhere, come to think of it. She'd always been focused on the work of saving her people.

But Jonah—Jonah was different. She'd known from the first time she'd seen him that he was more—more—somehow. That he mattered. That she'd need him—that he would fill a part of her that she'd never even known was hollow.

He'd been assigned to her unit when she'd been tasked with upgrading the ventilation ducts for the Section Seven furnaces. And, late one night, when the rest of her crew had abandoned work at a difficult junction in favor of food and sleep, Jonah had stayed.

She wasn't even ashamed of how quickly she'd fallen. It had seemed more natural than breath to be with him. Thera, the solitary engineer who had always eaten—worked—-existed—-alone, had suddenly found it difficult to sleep without the sound of him breathing on the pallet next to her.

Thera, who had never broken a rule in her life, barely even blinked at sinking deeply into the sort of relationship that had been banned for the workers for centuries.

"Well, that's disappointing." Jonah leaned forward to press his lips to the spot on her throat where her pulse thrummed steadily. It tickled when he whispered against her skin. "Because we have a whole hour."

And those fingers were doing delicious things again—-skimming and molding and teasing. Thera closed her eyes, giving herself over to it. How easy it was, to surrender. To give herself to this man—-certain that she was safe with him.

"But you're right, Thera. We'd better get back. It's nearly time for evening meal."

She'd barely heard him past the sensation thundering through her body. In response, she'd merely kissed him, sweet, and long, and deep.

He'd smiled, then, pulling her body to rest on top of his, anchoring her there with an arm around her ribcage. His other hand traced a line from forehead to cheek to shoulder, then lower, urged on by the purr that had risen from the back of her throat. "On second thought—we do have an hour."

Sam shook herself back to the present, certain that the Colonel would be able to divine where she'd gone, what she'd been remembering. Sucking in a breath, she busied herself with snagging the cart he'd pulled from the line, with draping her jacket over the side, and setting her backpack in the bottom of the basket—all the while fighting to expunge the sharp tang of need that had gutted her.

Why did these memories crop up at exactly the worst possible moments? Damn it. She exhaled—quietly—focusing on a single point as she willed her pulse to resolve, her imagination to settle. As she waited for the images coursing through her mind to fade.

Finally, satisfied that she'd achieved some sort of control, she glanced over to where he stood, scanning the store's interior. "Squash. You said something about squash."

He tilted his head in her direction. His expression was carefully closed. It was a speculative kind of thing—a look that told her he'd noticed something, but that he wasn't ready to broach the subject. It wasn't possible to know whether that was out of kindness or concern.

Damn that, too.

He started into the store, past the long bank of check-out stands and towards the south side of the place. "All I'm saying is that there's more to it than bottles and diapers."

"Alright. Point taken." Sam pushed the cart until she'd reached his side. "So? What first?"

"What's first on the list?"

"Formula." Sam unzipped the top of her backpack and withdrew the list from an inside pocket. Digging deeper, she pulled out a can. "Janet says that we need to match the ingredients or we could cause him some digestive issues."

"Where did they get that formula?" He nodded toward the canister in Sam's hand.

"It was in the bag that Samantha sent through the mirror."

"Smart."

They'd started walking, steering around the center section and heading to the Good Eats section of the store. It didn't take long to find something that would work. It was even the same brand. Apparently, some things extended across realities.

Bottles were next, and then Sam bowed to O'Neill's superior experience and dumped a few packages of rice cereal, a dozen or so glass jars of baby food, and some cute little spoons into the cart. On an impulse, she reached for a cup that had handles on either side.

"What's this for?"

"It's a sippee cup." The Colonel was back to patting Jacob's back. "So that he can learn to hold a cup while he drinks. It's specially made so that it doesn't spill everywhere."

"He's probably too young for something like this."

"Could be." Jack grinned. "But toss it in, anyway. Maybe it'll come in handy for Daniel."

"Be nice, Sir." Still, she'd smiled back. And then she'd placed the cup into the cart.

Diapers were next. Sam referred to the notes Janet had left. "It says that he weighs seventeen and a half pounds. Does that make a difference in the diapers we buy?"

"They're sized by baby weight. So—" he perused the shelves. "That would put him in a size three."

Two cases of diapers and a huge box of wipes were loaded onto the bottom rack of the cart.

On to clothing. The Colonel steered her towards little short-legged union suits called "onesies", and Sam chose the rest. A helpful clerk had guided them towards the right sizes. T-shirts, overalls, sweatpants, socks, sleepers, and even a little jacket joined the rest of the things in the cart.

"What kind of chair do you have at your place?"

They'd finished with clothing and were on their way to the furniture section.

"Chair?" Sam frowned. "I have several chairs. A couch. Bar stools. An office chair."

"Anything that rocks?" He'd stopped near the outer edge of the display area, swaying gently from side to side, the baby's head tucked under his chin.

"The office chair swivels."

He chuckled at that. "We'll need a rocking chair, then. Or a glider."

"But—-"

He'd already headed into the display floor. "Depending on space, a glider might be better."

"When you say 'glider', Sir, I think of a fixed-wing unmotorized aircraft." Carter stopped next to him in the middle of the floor.

"It's a kind of rocker. Sara liked hers better than the old-fashioned rocker my mother-in-law had given us. Also, it requires less room because you don't have to set it as far away from the wall."

"Oh." Suddenly, Sam felt utterly and completely lost. To even have to have a chair explained to her as if she were an infant herself. "I really don't know what we'd need."

There was that 'we' again. She'd noticed that neither of them were using a 'you' or 'I' when talking about caring for this child. The bugger was that Sam couldn't figure out what that meant. Was he volunteering to help out? And if so—why? Because he'd feel as guilty as she would about abandoning a child that was genetically theirs? Or was this a kind way of him easing her into the situation without freaking her out? Honestly, she couldn't tell.

And either way—well, she also couldn't tell which way she'd prefer it. Kind? Or dutiful? Because, ultimately, whatever happened, things were going to change between them. And certainly those changes would be unalterable. Once things had been decided, they couldn't go back to the way things were.

"Have I lost you again?"

She'd been staring down at the sheets on the crib next to her. Circus animals. No—there was a big boat and an old man on the matching quilt. Noah's Ark. She'd never understood that one—cute bedding commemorating the genocide of an entire planetful of people. She'd argued about it with her Sunday School teacher as a child. The children's room at the First Congregational Church of God in San Diego had been covered with depictions of happy animals loading themselves onto the cruise ship. The looks on their faces had been gleeful—perhaps in contemplation of the impending demise of all of humanity. Mrs. Hutchense hadn't quite known how to respond to Sam's questions. And then she'd quietly suggested to Mr. Carter that perhaps little Sammy would prefer to attend class with the adults.

"No." She shook her head. "Well, yes. But no."

"Where are you going? When you check out like that."

There weren't many other shoppers around. An obviously pregnant woman with—who seemed to be—her husband were trying out strollers on the north side of the store, while another woman strolled towards the toy section with a young child in tow. Here and there, a few other shoppers moved deliberately among the merchandise. They knew what they were doing. Several clerks roamed around the place, restocking shelves or straightening displays. It wasn't until she'd paid attention that she'd noticed how many of the staff were casting her and O'Neill appraising sorts of looks. As if she and the Colonel were anomalies. Or interlopers.

"I don't know, Sir."

His tone went lower, deeper. More private. "I don't believe you, Carter."

The truth? Or should she try to talk her way out of this?

"I'm just having a hard time shaking some stuff, Sir."

"What kind of stuff?" He'd angled his large body to create a shield of sorts. She was hemmed in on one side by the crib she'd been studying, and on the other side by its matching dresser. The Colonel stood close. Close enough that his thigh brushed against hers as he swayed with the baby. "Her death?"

There was no need to embellish that statement. And really—what use was there in hiding things from him? Not after what they'd shared so recently. With a half-shrug, she shook her head. "I've been having trouble sleeping."

"Oh?"

For some reason, it was easy right now to meet his eye. Being this close—this forthright. It was almost as if—- "I keep dreaming about it. About being there. Being them."

He grimaced, then raised a single brow. "You too?"

"Daniel thinks it may have to do with the mind stamp." Sam looked around, just to make sure that they couldn't be heard. "He's been having the same problem."

"Does he know?"

About Jonah and Thera, he meant. Sam shook her head again. "I don't think so."

"Does Doctor Fraiser?"

She shifted her gaze to the baby, rather than the man, damning her own cowardice. "She knows that something happened. She doesn't know with whom."

"And?"

"And what, Sir?"

He sighed, his lips pulling thin. "And will we be buying one or two cribs today?"

The implication was clear. One crib for Jacob—a second crib for another baby.

Sam crinkled her nose. "I don't know yet. It's still too soon to tell."

For a long, long time, he simply stood there, the only sign that he'd heard her was the way his eyes had closed halfway and the nearly imperceptible shake of his head. Sam had no clue how to interpret that. If they'd been off-world, in trouble, it would have been his 'choiceless' expression. But here—standing amidst cribs and strollers and mobiles and rocking chairs?

Who the hell knew what he was thinking?

"I'll let you know as soon as that changes."

"I'd appreciate that." He stepped backwards a half step, pivoting on his heel. "Until then. This kid needs a place to sleep."

Sam looked back at the crib they'd been standing next to. It was made out of light wood, smooth, with a clear coat of varnish. Simple and timeless. The dresser next to it was built for a nursery, with a removable changing table on top. After a quick survey of the other available cribs, Sam laid a hand on the one they'd stopped next to. "I like this one."

"And the chest of drawers?"

"And the glider rocker chair thing." There was one next to the dresser that matched the rest of the furniture. It was obvious that it was a set. "We can put it all in the room where I've stored my dad's stuff. There's a bed and an armoire in the third bedroom, so there's not room in there for all this, but there will be in the other bedroom if I move the boxes to the garage."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Sir?"

"Yeah, Carter?"

"I—"

But just then, Jacob stretched and grunted, and then a smell unlike anything Sam had ever experienced wafted in her direction. Apparently, pooping woke babies up, because the little guy lifted his head and looked around.

He blinked in the brightness of the store, then rubbed at his eyes with the back of one chunky hand. Leaning backwards, he glared at O'Neill before turning around and finding Sam.

"Ba-ba." He practically threw himself across the distance at her, stopped only by the Colonel's large hand and quick reflexes.

"He's a strong little sucker." Damned if O'Neill hadn't sounded downright proud about that.

"Strong smelling, too." Sam reached out and grabbed the boy's little body, then settled him on her arm again, steadying him with her other hand. "I'll go change him."

"Are you sure?"

"I think I can figure it out."

"Okay, then." He'd tried to sound convinced. That counted for something, right? "I'll arrange for the furniture to get pulled so that we can get it home."

Sam had shoved the few diapers and a small package of wipes that Samantha had brought through the mirror into her backpack. She'd been in enough bathrooms through the years to know that there were usually little tables in them for this express purpose. So, she hoofed it through the displays of car seats and strollers, past where the mom was looking at toys with her son, and into the women's room.

Through the door, she found the spot—on the back wall, just to the side of the paper towel dispenser. It only took a few steps to reach it, and a moment to pull the table down until it locked itself in position. There was an instructional display on the interior section of the table, showing how to lay the baby down and buckle him in with—uh oh.

There were straps shown on the display, but the straps on the table had long since disintegrated. She'd have to be careful. Shifting, she put Jacob on the table, then laid her backpack on the end of the table near the baby's feet. She moved to unzip her bag, and gasped when the baby turned himself over, nearly toppling over the edge of the table.

Okay. Anchor first. She flipped him back over, then held him in place with one hand while working the zipper of her backpack open with the other. After what seemed like forever, she had the opening wide enough that she could reach in and grab the diaper and wipes. A flick of her thumb popped the lid to the wipes container open.

"Ba-ba!" Jacob smiled at her, his dimples making deep creases in his cheeks. Kicking his little feet, he attempted to roll over again, but Sam stopped him just in time. She went to work on the snaps lining the inner legs of his overalls, relieved when they came apart without a struggle. Yanking the pants up and out of the way, Sam unsnapped the closures on the crotch of his onesie, then tugged that upwards, as well.

"Ba-ba!" He scrunched his nose up, then reached downwards, aiming for his diaper.

"No—that's gross, little man." Sam grabbed his hand and moved it out of the way. He went for his hair, instead, before pinching his ear and playing with it for a moment.

Alright. Now—the diaper. Sam went for the velcro tabs at his waist, pulling them free and gingerly opening the diaper.

Good Lord. How did someone so cute emit something so vile? Sam grimaced, turning her head and sucking in a deep breath before returning to her task. The rest of the diaper seemed dry-ish, so she used the front part to rake away the majority of the mess off Jacob's skin. Then, she reached for a wipe.

She'd seen it done. In movies, tv commercials, and even when she'd been to the park with Cassie. Moms—Dads—normal people—changing diapers. It seemed like a simple operation. Hell, even teenagers could do it. Sam cussed softly, depositing the used wipie in the diaper and grabbing another one. The moist towelette cleaned well enough, but she had to go back for a third and a fourth as clumps and smears of guck clung stubbornly to Jacob's bits. She lifted one leg, and then the other, trying to get it all as those chubby little hands seemed determined to feel around and see how she was doing.

Crap—now there was—uh—crap on his fingers.

She pulled yet another wipe from the package and went to work on his hands. Only—he tried to roll over again, and she had to anchor him with her arm this time, since one of her hands was still removing poop from Jacob's fingers.

And then—warm wetness. In her ear, and across her cheek, and covering her shoulders and chest—when she looked down to see where this new horror was coming from, some of it hit her squarely in the eye.

"Ba-ba!" He shouted it, and then had the gall to giggle, bracing his body on his heels and shoving upwards as his urine arced across the room.

"Jacob!" The pee dripped down her face, seeping into her shirt and bra, hot at first, and then turning cold as the air conditioning in the store blew down on her.

He kicked again, displacing the soiled diaper and sending it careening off the side of the changing table to land with a 'plop' on the tile of the bathroom floor.

Because—of course it did.

"Come on, kid. Work with me" She planted her hand on his tummy, glaring down at her soaked t-shirt, at the diaper lying open and upside down on the floor, and at the droplets of pee dripping from her bangs to the floor.

And she really thought that she could do this? She'd begun to actually consider this as a possibility in her life. That she could be this child's mother. That she—no—that they—could raise this baby as had been his mother's last wish. Ridiculous. Inane. Delusional. With another giggle, the little twit sent another stream of pee in her direction, hitting her on the temple.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to walk away. Out of this bathroom and out of this store. Right to the nearest shower and then off the nearest cliff. How could she have been this stupid to think that she could handle this? Parent this infant when she couldn't even govern her own body? Her own mind? When she couldn't even gain a modicum of control over her own daydreams—when she kept sliding back into the haze of her memories?

This time, the wet heat on her face was welling up in her own eyes, and Sam cursed again. More loudly, and more vehemently. She hated crying. Despised weakness. And today, weakness had rained down upon her. Humiliation upon humiliation. Regret upon regret.

"Ba-ba!"

Behind her, the air shifted as the door of the bathroom opened. Great. What she needed now was witnesses. She was afraid to move, finally having stemmed the tide, so to speak. At least her back was to the door. Maybe the newcomers wouldn't notice the diaper on the floor, or the urine coating her face, or the way her shirt had suddenly become completely transparent. Maybe they'd just do their business and leave, none the wiser.

Maybe aliens would descend from the sky and destroy the planet. She was, after all, in the rare position to know that was actually possible.

She didn't know if she was relieved or horrified when the Colonel's voice made its way towards her.

"Sam?"

"I'm okay." A blatant lie. It would have been obvious to a dead person that she wasn't.

"What's going on?"

"I—uh—just ran into some issues." And damned if her voice hadn't cracked.

His footsteps were loud on the tile. Combat boots weren't made for stealth. As he stopped at her side, he immediately assessed the situation and reacted.

"Here." He shook the clean diaper open, reaching for yet another wipe. Toweling the worst of the pee off the baby, he deftly re-diapered him, then peeled off his wet clothes. Lifting Jacob off the table, O'Neil held him in one hand while tossing the wet clothes onto the table. "What the hell happened?"

"He peed on me."

"I can see that, Carter."

"He kept rolling over. And then he reached down for the poop. And then he peed."

"He's a guy, Carter."

"So that makes it okay?" She reached down and tugged at her shirt, pulling it free from the waistband of her jeans. That's as far as she got before she simply quit. It was no use. The thought of pulling that pee-soaked shirt over her head was too much.

"No. But when cool air hits a guy in certain places—" The Colonel saw her predicament and reached past her towards the paper towel dispenser. One handedly, he tore several sheets free before turning towards the sink and turning the water on. "When it hits, sometimes, it just stimulates things."

"Stimulates?"

He took his time saturating the paper towels in the water of the faucets. "You've never had to go suddenly when you've heard a waterfall?"

"Not once." She was being petulant, and she knew it. But she couldn't quite snap out of it. "And never on other people."

Jack wrung some of the water out of the towels before shutting off the spigot and turning back towards her. Handing her the wet towels, he said, "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?"

"Clean up a little. We'll be right back."

Sam could only watch as the Colonel left the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind him. Immediately, she attacked her face with the wet towel, scrubbing at the pee on her forehead and temples. When the wet towel started to disintegrate, she threw it into the trash can and turned on the faucets full blast, punching at the soap dispenser until her hands were full of liquid.

She could do this. She'd made do with far less. Luckily, the sinks were deep enough that she could wash effectively, and soon, her hair was clean and she'd started to splash water on her face. The door swung open again, and the Colonel entered, carrying a shirt on a hanger. Jacob was dressed in one of the rompers they'd chosen for him, happily playing with a little stuffed dog.

O'Neill crossed the room to where she was standing near the sink. "Take it off."

"Excuse me?"

"Take the shirt off."

"But—"

He raised a brow, his voice deepening. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."

Holy Hannah. "But—"

His brow rose. "Are we really going to do this whole modesty thing now?"

She couldn't answer that. She just—couldn't. Stubbornly, she shook her head.

"Okay." O'Neill sighed. "Take off the shirt. I got you a new one."

What the hell. Sam carefully peeled the wet fabric away from her body, leaning forward so that she could lift it off her without re-soiling her face and hair. She dropped the wet shirt onto the growing pile on the changing table, then contemplated her bra. It was soaked, too. No use putting a clean shirt on over a urine-soaked bra. Sucking it up, she reached behind her to unhook the thing, and it joined the rest of the laundry on the little plastic ledge. She angled herself away from him, reaching for more paper towels and wetting them so that she could get the worst of the mess off her neck and chest.

To his credit, the Colonel appeared to divert his attention towards the baby, bonking him on the noggin with the stuffed dog. Jacob's giggles were the only sound in the room other than the water rushing into the sink.

"Have you ever been peed on?" Sam finished up by scrubbing up with a soapy paper towel, then rinsed with a soaked paper towel. It was cold in the room. And far, far too quiet.

"What?" He bonked the baby again. More giggles.

"Have you ever been peed on before?"

"Yes. And pooped on. And barfed on." Jack grinned at the baby in his arms, then stuck out his tongue, eliciting even more giggles. "Sara used to say that you weren't a real parent until you'd rather catch the vomit in your hands than try to clean it out of the carpet."

"That sounds disgusting."

"Oh, it is." O'Neill glanced over at her, turning when he saw that she'd pulled the t-shirt on over her head. "It's vile. But it's the reality of the job."

"I'm not sure that I can do that." Leaning down, she picked the diaper up off the floor. She folded it into a little bundle and pulled the tabs around to the back, securing it before throwing it into the garbage can. Then, she gathered up the wet clothing and chucked those into the can as well. Grabbing more paper towels, she wet them at the sink before wiping down the changing table and the floor. "I mean—look at the mess I've made of this."

"It's your first time, Sam."

"And I screwed it up." Washing her hands again, she toweled them dry. Folding her arms across her body, she leaned back against the sink, balancing on her hip. "I just feel like such a failure. Like I'm missing something. Like I'm broken-or damaged somehow."

For what seemed like hours, he merely looked at her. Finally, he moved closer, stopping a foot or so away from her. "It's not a test, Sam. There is no grading system. You just dive in and do it. You do your best. That's all you can do. And then, one day, if you're lucky, you get to watch that kid do something amazing and that makes it all worthwhile."

Jacob had regained control of the stuffed dog, and seemed determined to see how much of it he could fit into his mouth at once. Sam would have stopped him, but O'Neill was content to just watch him do it. His face seemed—peaceful. Calm. Open, when usually the man was more closed off than a vault.

He reminded her of Jonah—which seemed like a stupid thing to say, since they were the same person—but Jonah hadn't known O'Neill's life, or losses. Jonah hadn't lived on when his son had died. Jonah had been more—what? Free? Or maybe more innocent. He'd certainly been less jaded.

And now, Carter could see Jonah in Jack.

In a flash of clarity, she could see how it had been for him when Charlie—his Charlie—had been a baby. And a toddler. And a little boy. When Charlie had been his reason for surviving, for living—for continuing to fight. When his love for his family had been his motivation, rather than some underlying need to atone for the unforgivable.

He'd been a good father. A different kind of man than he was now, surely, but a good one, nonetheless. And Sam could envision the play, the teasing, the gentle discipline. She could see Jack teaching his son to catch a baseball or ride a bike, simply sitting with him on the couch watching cartoons. She could see Saturday morning pancakes, and trips to the store for last-minute flowers for Sara, and reading stories at bedtime.

What a horrible loss. Not just of the child, but of the relationship. And of the man. Of the father that the Colonel had been.

"I'm so sorry." Her voice broke again, but she couldn't have quelled the words if her life had depended on it.

"For what?"

"That you didn't have that with Charlie." She was whispering. As if to shield Jacob from the conversation? Stupid, but it seemed necessary. "That you lost him."

His answer was equally intimate. "It's been a long time, Carter."

"Do you ever get over it?" She met his gaze fully. "That kind of loss stays with you. I'm still not over losing my mom. I miss her every day. But with a child—I don't know how it's even possible to—to get past it."

His dark eyes assessed her frankly, his face tight. "You don't ever get over losing someone. You work through it. But that loss is always there."

"So, how do you start again?"

"I don't know, Carter." Jacob had finally tired of the dog, and he dropped it. Of course, O'Neill caught it before it hit the ground, and of course he perfectly balanced himself when the baby practically threw himself at Sam. He drew even closer for the hand-off, relinquishing the child into her arms. "Is that what has you worried about all this? That you'll somehow lose it?"

"I'm terrified that I'll screw it up." She adjusted her hold on Jacob, dodging when his little fingers tried to go up her nose. "I don't know how to do this. And what if I hate it? What if I'm the worst parent ever? What if I feel trapped by this? What if—"

What if I lose him? What if he hates me? What if I'm a terrible mother and he grows up to be an awful human? What if something horrible happens to him? What if I don't teach him what he needs to know? What if he resents me? What if, what if, what if—?

She'd barely even noticed him leaning in to her, didn't realize what he was doing until his lips were on hers. And then she was reeling, drawn in by his taste, his feel, the comfort she found in his touch. His fingers were light on her cheek, his mouth gentle on hers. Not passionate—simply real. A kiss that reminded her of something pure that they'd shared. Something profound. A touch that took her back even further than the mines—back to two weeks off world after defeating the Replicators. Back to invitations to Minnesota, and good-natured teasing by countless campfires, and endless support during difficult times. Back to little touches, and knowing glances. Back to all that had led them to now. Here. This.

When he raised his head, he smiled down at her. His finger traced a line down her cheek, down her throat. And only when he'd stepped backwards did he ask her, "But Sam—what if it's amazing?"