Beauty In The Broken

Zanfirico

"I'm really quite happy with your latest test results."

"Really?" Sam took a sip of her tea. "I haven't seen them yet."

"Labs usually send information to the prescribing physician before they send them to the patient."

"Patient." Groaning, Sam set her cup down on the table next to her. "You have no idea how sick I am of that word."

Janet chuckled. "You have made that fact entirely too clear over the past month or so."

"It's only been a month?"

"Seven weeks. So—it's almost been two."

Something rustled around on the other end of the line. Medical records probably. Sam glanced at her watch. It was nearly six thirty in the morning, which meant that it was seven thirty in the Springs. "Are you already in the infirmary?"

"Cassie had an early cross country practice this morning. I just came in to work once I dropped her off at school."

Ah. Sam picked up her cup again. "You need a life, Janet."

"Well, I might be able to have one." More rustling sounds made their way across the line. "If you people would behave yourselves."

"Oh?" The mug warmed her hands—a good thing, since it was chilly on her little balcony. Not as cold as the Springs were right now, but the breeze coming in off the ocean carried a bite to it at this time of year. "Who's making your job difficult now?"

"Don't worry about it. You can read the reports once you get home."

"When will that be, Janet?"

A long pause stretched across the phone line, ending when Janet's chair—or maybe a door?-squeaked in the background. "A few more weeks, just to be sure."

"Weeks." The word sounded bitter.

"How are the dreams, Sam?" Lower now, Janet's voice had grown more intimate.

"Better." Sam shifted on her chair. "Pretty much gone. The last one I had was last week"

"And the hallucinations?"

Carter had always called them 'memories' or 'visions'. Using the word 'hallucinations' made Sam feel like she'd been crazier than she thought. "Those, too. I haven't seen anything in a few weeks. I really do feel like I'm back to normal, Janet."

She was telling the truth. The time away had worked its magic. Janet had found the ideal place for Sam's recuperation. Sam had been somewhat surprised that he'd gone for it, but Mark and his family had been welcoming. The little apartment above their garage was usually rented out to beachgoers during the summer, but at this time of year, tourists were few and far between. Mark and Heather had seemed more than happy to let Sam stay for as long as she'd needed. Even more importantly, Lucas and Macy had been thrilled to have a cousin to play with—even though that cousin was only just crawling and couldn't speak yet.

Janet and Cassie had driven Sam down to Carlsbad. They'd made a roadtrip of it, first heading west on the I-70 through Salt Lake City before going southwest on the I-15 towards Vegas and the Hoover Dam. A long drive through the desert aimed them for the coast of California and the seaside community just north of San Diego where Sam's brother lived. Cassie had been in her element, sitting in the back with Jake and keeping him entertained while Janet drove. Sam was fuzzy on the details. She'd spent most of the two-day trip sleeping in the passenger seat.

Mark hadn't asked any questions. Not about her need for a place to stay, nor about the fact that she'd appeared with a child. Sam could only assume that Janet had offered some sort of suitable explanation—not that she'd been privy to that particular conversation. Mark had simply carried her belongings up to the loft over the garage, then set up the portable crib Janet had bought when they'd stayed at the hotel in St. George. But while Sam was happy with the current state of things, she knew that eventually, he'd start looking for answers.

When he did, she didn't know what she'd say. The last time she'd visited had been nearly a year before at Thanksgiving, after she'd rescued their father from Netu. Jacob had chosen to stay Earth side to heal up. The trip to Mark's had been a spur of the moment impulse, urged in no small part by Selmak's continued push to see Jacob's and Mark's fences mended completely. She and her father had only stayed a day or two in Carlsbad, and then headed back to the Springs so that he could 'Gate back to Vorash. Sam had spent the majority of the time entertaining Lucas and Macy while Mark and Jacob had worked things out.

"I just don't want to push things too quickly, Sam." Janet's sigh echoed across the lines. "You've never taken enough time off to decompress. You're too much of a workaholic."

"No more so than the rest of my team."

The doctor snorted. "Daniel takes a few weeks off every year to attend those conferences of his, and Teal'c goes to Chulak regularly to see Ry'ac. So, half of your team knows how to relax a little. The other half—not so much."

"How is he?" Sam didn't need to say a name.

And, it was obvious that Janet had been expecting this question. "He's the same. Gruff. Obstinate. Ornery."

"Janet."

"His levels are pretty much back to normal. He tells me that he's back to his old self, but who the hell knows whether that's true." The doctor let that settle for a beat. "He misses you."

Sam closed her eyes, her fingers tight on the mug. She tried hard not to think about that too much. Think about him too much. "Yeah."

"He misses both of you." Janet's voice held a careful degree of levity. "And speaking of whom—how's Jake?"

Jake. Sam's bright spot. Sam's reason. Looking down at the quilt on her lap, Sam grinned. "He's so great. He's crawling all over the place now, and nothing is safe from him. He grabs everything. He's even been pulling himself up on furniture and tables. He's super steady on his feet, too. Still only has those two bottom teeth, but he manages to eat whatever he wants. He was in his high chair the other day while I was making his dinner and Macy handed him a piece of pizza. I freaked out when I saw him because I figured he'd choke on it."

"Of course you'd be worried."

"But damned if he didn't gum down the entire piece. Pepperoni and all. Heather just laughed at the whole thing. She thought it was hilarious."

"Heather sounds like she's good for you."

"She's surprisingly down to earth." Sam turned her face into the breeze coming off the ocean. "Even more so since her kids have grown up a little."

"Children will do that to you. They keep you humble."

"You know, it's funny." Sam sloshed the tea in her cup around, watching as it swirled. "I didn't know her all that well, what with how Mark and I had been. But, she's pretty great. And she's been at this whole 'mom' thing for a while, so she knows what she's doing. She's very laid back about everything. She's been a huge help."

"It's nice to have family." Janet's voice turned wistful. "When I adopted Cassie, my sisters were amazing. I couldn't have made the transition without them."

"You'll have to help guide me through the teenage years."

Letting out what sounded suspiciously like a grunt, Janet paused. "Only if I survive Cassie's."

"Cassie's a good kid."

"She is." Janet's tone gentled a little. "Most of the time."

"Well, she was a tremendous help on the trip out here, so tell her that I owe her."

"You don't owe anyone anything, Sam." Another squeak—the chair, for sure. "Just concentrate on getting back to one hundred percent so that you can come home."

"I'm already there, Janet."

A deep sigh met this announcement. "Let's just give it a little more time, Sam."

"More time." Sam couldn't quite quell the distaste that came from saying that.

"Just a little longer, Sam. Keep doing what you're doing. Go for your run. Eat something. Play with that baby." Janet sounded resigned. "I'll call you later tonight and we can talk some more."

—-OOOOOOO—-

"Hey, there."

Sam looked up, squinting against the late sun. "Hey, Mark."

"I got home a little early from work and thought I'd hang out with you for a bit." He gestured back towards the house. "But you weren't in the loft."

"Sit." Sam indicated an empty spot on the blanket next to her. "We usually come down here while Heather and the kids are at taekwondo."

"I'm surprised that Jake likes the beach." Mark lowered himself down to the thick blanket and crossed his legs out in front of him. "Neither Macy nor Lucas liked the sand when they were babies. Or the wind, for that matter."

"Jake is his own little animal." Sam reached out and brushed some sand off the baby's hands. Some of his toys were covered in it, too. "He doesn't seem to mind getting dirty."

Mark's eyes assessed the child briefly before responding. "He seems to be a very easy kid."

"Yeah. I guess."

The beach was deserted. The tourist season had ended months ago, and the locals weren't interested in chilly days on the sand. Sam had loved having the ocean to herself every afternoon. She spread out the blanket and some toys for Jake and just let herself be.

For someone who had spent a lifetime constantly determined to keep herself productive, learning to stay present in leisure was a huge step forward.

"I take it that you're feeling better?" Mark's tone shifted from conversational to something more pointed.

Ah. The time had come. She'd been wondering when it would happen. It had been a little over a week since Mark had driven her to the lab for her latest batch of blood tests, and several days since she'd chatted about them with Janet. She'd figured that it wouldn't be long before Mark started asking those questions.

Sam chewed at her lip and busied herself with straightening the straps on Jake's overalls. "I am, Mark. Thank you."

Staring out over the gray sea, Mark grimaced a little. "I've never liked the beach at this time of year. It always just seems dirty."

"It's called upwelling. Warmer water is dragged out further into the ocean, leaving cooler water closer to shore. Colder waters hold more sediment because they're denser, which makes the water look murky. It has to do with water temperatures, changing seasons, and the rotation of the Earth."

Her brother grinned, his expression both wry and intrigued. "Leave it to you to know the science of it. I always just thought that it was dirty because the tides are higher and they churn crap up off the ocean floor."

He really didn't want further explanations. Sam knew her brother well enough to know that. She shrugged. "Sure. We'll go with that."

He leaned back, bracing himself on his hands. He hadn't changed after work, and his dress slacks and tie seemed incongruous here on the beach. His fine leather shoes were caked with sand. Sam had always thought that she and Mark had favored their mother, but just now, she could see some subtle differences. Wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth, a thinning hairline, and a few gray hairs graced his temples. The older Mark got, the more he looked like their dad.

"Anyway." He wiped at some sand on his thigh, then turned his face towards her. "I just thought that we could have a chat. You and me."

Sam nodded. "Okay."

"I haven't asked what brought you here. I figured that it wasn't really my business." When Sam didn't answer that, he went on. "But I would like to think that things have changed enough between us that, should you need to talk, you know that you can talk to me."

"I do know that."

"So?" He sent her a sidelong look before prodding further. "Are you ready to tell me what's going on?"

Sam looked down at Jake, who was trying to crawl out onto the sand. Grabbing him, she sat him back between her splayed legs, giving him a different toy to figure out. "What do you want to know?"

It took her brother a moment to work up the gumption. "I'd mostly like to make sure that you're okay. That you're not in any kind of trouble."

"I'll be okay." She smiled. "I'm on the mend. And I'm not in any trouble."

"Can I ask what happened?"

How to answer that? What possible way could she describe what had been transpiring in her life? Even if she could explain it to him with any honesty whatsoever, the odds were unlikely that he'd believe her. Sam stared off over the ocean, watching as the waves pounded against the shore, the gray foam surging up on wet sand. "Nothing in particular. Exhaustion, mostly. Work just got to me, I think."

"Your work." Incredulity and skepticism bled through his tone.

"Yeah."

"With deep space radar telemetry."

Jake flopped forwards, then tried to crawl off the blanket towards a seagull that had landed a few yards away. Sam caught him handily and turned him back towards her. "It's surprisingly intense."

"You got—what—PTSD?—from radar?"

"That's not what this is." While Sam was certain that several sessions on Dr. McKenzie's couch were in her future, she and Janet both felt sure that this current situation was due to the mind stamp and subsequent hormonal issues. The fact that she was feeling so much more normal lately was indicative that they'd been right. Still, pushing back at her brother would only cause him to ask more questions, and that was the opposite of the resolution she wanted here. "I hope that you believe me."

Mark simply sat there for several long, fraught moments, shaking his head slightly from side to side. "So, you're not going to tell me."

"It's not that I don't want to, Mark." Cautiously, Sam considered her words before continuing. "It's that I can't."

"You can't."

"It's classified."

He let out a low, harsh laugh. "That's what I hate about the military. Everything is so self-righteously self-important. They chew people up and spit them out, and then leave it to the family to put things back together."

Sam pressed her lips tightly together, looking down at where Jake was attempting to crawl over her leg.

"Only, we can't know what we're dealing with because everything is classified, and secretive. And everyone else is left hanging to dry in a stiff wind."

"I don't want to argue with you." Sam glanced at him, hoping to find some common ground. "I know that you don't understand my commitment to my work, but what I do is very important."

"Important enough to risk your health? Your life?" He shifted his focus from the ocean to her. "Your sanity?"

"Yes." Simple. It was all she had, because it was the truth.

"I do not understand people like you." Head shaking, he let out an exasperated sigh. "You and dad are a special breed of crazy."

"I'm sorry, Mark." She was completely sincere. "If I could tell you more, I would."

"I'm not sure that's true."

Sam looked over to see him scowl. "What do you mean?"

"Surely Jake isn't classified." He'd spoken to the ocean rather than to her. "And I still have no clue where he came from."

"Jacob is mine." She'd had to reach for him again. He was a fast little cuss. Flipping him over, she tickled him until he giggled, then handed him yet another toy. "He's my son."

"Oh, really?"

"Mark, I'm not lying to you." Tickling Jake again, she dug around in the diaper bag and found the little mesh ball. She jingled it above the baby's head, teasing him with it until he finally grabbed it. "He's mine."

"Did you adopt him?"

"No." Sam frowned. "He wasn't adopted."

"Because you were here a year ago for Thanksgiving, Sam," his eyes narrowed when he looked at her. "And I am fairly certain that you weren't pregnant then."

Damn it. Sam had absolutely no answer for that. Nothing at all.

"He's what—eight months old now?"

"Yeah."

"So you would have been five months along at that point. And while I know that some women—particularly tall ones like you—can disguise a pregnancy for quite some time, I don't think that was the case. You took the kids swimming in your hotel's pool, remember? They were so excited because it was indoors and had a slide. Your bathing suit didn't hide much. And you wore those little tights that you like when you went for your run. I would have noticed if you'd been expecting."

Damn it again. Sam's heart skipped a beat, and she had to concentrate on keeping her voice even. "I don't know what to tell you, Mark."

"I also don't think that a pregnant Sam would have gotten quite so sloshed as you did Thanksgiving night. Once the kids were in bed, and we started playing that game."

Shotgun UNO. Mark and his friends had made up the game during one of Jacob's longer deployments—right after Mark had graduated from high school and before he'd escaped to college. Whenever anyone played a "Draw Two'' against you, you had to take a swig of whatever swill you were drinking. A "Draw Four" refilled your glass. Bourbon for Mark, whiskey for Jacob. Sam had been drinking a nice red wine, which meant that Mark had made it his mission to get her tipsy first. Sam had never played before—or since, for that matter—but it had been fun to let loose for a night.

Sam scrunched her nose up, looking away from her brother, towards a pier that extended into the ocean several hundred yards down the beach. To be fair, Jacob had drunk far more than she had, and so had Mark. Selmak must have taken the night off, because Jacob had been well more than buzzed. Heather had been the holdout sober one that evening, and that was only because someone had to be lucid the next morning to deal with the kids.

Still, her brother barreled onward. "So, you'll excuse me if I don't quite believe your story that this baby is yours."

"Does it really matter?"

Mark studied her for a long breath, the vein in his temple twitching. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he shifted forward, pulling his feet in towards his butt and resting his elbows on his bent knees. "I guess not. Other than that I wish that my little sister would believe that she could trust me."

"I do trust you."

"Then why won't you confide in me?"

"Mark—I—"

"Because I've opened up my home to you. We've taken care of you. We were your soft place to land when you needed it."

"And I acknowledge that." She caught Jake again, sitting him up against her body. "I can't tell you how thankful I am for everything that you've done. I'm so grateful."

"Well. Anyway." Mark stood, the movement sudden enough that Jake startled and started fussing. Brushing the sand from his thighs and the seat of his pants, he sighed. "Heather invited some friends for dinner. I know that she'd appreciate it if you joined us."

Sam watched as he moved backwards off the blanket. He'd taken a dozen or so steps up the beach towards the house when she stood, too, hoisting Jacob up with her. "I'm not trying to be cryptic, or obtuse, Captain Markles."

The childhood nickname stopped him. He braced his fingertips on his waist, his chin angled downward. Looking at his shadow, being cast by the setting sun, perhaps. Or maybe just at where the sand was making little hills around his shoes. After a moment, he angled back towards where Sam still stood on the blanket. Halfway facing her, but without looking at her, his voice hazed through the late afternoon. "And yet, somehow you always manage to be difficult Samalot. Why is that?"

So, she spoke to his profile. "There are just things in my life that I can't talk about. Not won't—but can't. I hope that you can try to understand that. I'm not trying to cut you out, or keep you in the dark. Lord knows that I'm not trying to pull one over on anyone. I needed you, and you were there for me, and I am beyond grateful for that. This is me being as honest as I can be, Mark. This isn't me being difficult."

He took that in, regarding her with a long look before sucking in a stilted breath.

"Do you remember right after Mom died, and you insisted that you knew exactly what she'd want to wear for the funeral? Dad said that it didn't matter—that she had plenty of clothes that we could choose from. Mom wouldn't care what she was buried in, so he just picked something. But you knew better. You decided that you didn't want to make Dad do any more work, so you'd take care of things on your own." Pain rode through his voice. Frustration even across the span of time. "So, after Dad left to go pick the gravesite, you emptied your piggy bank, rode your bike into town, and went to that hoity-toity shop that Mom liked. You bargained with the owner for that godawful dress. Remember? With the sequins and the tie at the waist."

"It was purple. Mom loved purple."

"It was hideous." Mark almost smiled, but then his mouth turned downward in a scowl. "Dad got home from the cemetery and couldn't find you. I didn't know you'd even left the house—-I'd been doing homework in my room when you took off. He freaked out because neither of us had any idea where you were, and there had been those kidnappings in the Valley."

For whatever reason, Carter felt the need to defend herself. "I left a note."

"On his desk." He paused, thinking. Finding the details so far in the past. "You left a note on his desk, when he hadn't been in his office since the accident. He didn't even see the note until a few days after the funeral."

"He called the police and they caught up with me a few miles away from home."

"They dragged you home in the patrol car, with your bike in the trunk." Mark patted the sand down with the toe of his expensive shoe. "And that fancy dress box on the seat next to you."

Sam nodded, balancing Jake on her hip. "I remember."

"Dad was beside himself. Beyond terrified. And angry. But mostly just scared. He'd just lost Mom, and he was afraid he'd lost you, too."

"But he didn't, Mark. I was just fine."

"Like you are now, right?" Finally, he turned to see her. His light brown eyes moved over her in careful scrutiny. "Somehow, Sam, when you're trying not to be difficult, that's when you end up causing the most trouble."

—-OOOOOOO—-

She'd showered and changed, leaving Jake in his portable crib with a handful of toys as she actually applied some make up and styled her hair. It was longer now—too long to simply run a comb through and hope for the best. Heather had loaned her a curling iron, which Sam had futzed with until Jake had decided he'd had enough of being caged up and started screeching for release.

So, she'd teased her hair off her face and spritzed it with some hairspray. The ten minutes she'd worried at it had been longer than she'd spent on her appearance for months. Maybe years.

Janet had packed her for comfort, not for socializing, but Sam had found something suitable for an adults' only dinner party. Jeans and a soft sweater in a light apricot color—ballet flats rather than sneakers or her boots. It felt weird to care what she looked like, and when she looked into the mirror, she barely recognized the woman looking back. Young. Fresh. Unencumbered. Or something.

She fed Jake while Lucas and Macy ate their chicken nuggets and french fries. Macy kept tossing fries onto the tray of Jake's little high chair, which he gobbled up as quickly as he could. The days of cereal and applesauce were pretty much over. Jake liked real food, thank you very much. Yet one more thing that Sam stowed away to tell the Colonel once she saw him again.

There was quite a list, by now.

Including the one thing that she hadn't said when she should have. When she'd compelled him to confess, but she'd stayed stubbornly silent. She'd hinted at how she'd felt, but not iterated it explicitly.

"Because I love you. I've loved you for years. Practically since the moment we met."

His words were the last thing that she thought about each night as she sought sleep.

And the first thing she regretted each morning when she opened her eyes was that she hadn't told him how she felt. She hadn't been brave enough to make the acknowledgement that she should have.

Her eyes flickered to her bedside table, and the little white vessel sitting on it. She'd made a shrine of sorts out of the kintsugi cup. It had been just big enough to hold Samantha's and her husband's wedding rings, as well as the dead Colonel's dog tags. The big watch still had blood on it—which Sam had no intention of cleaning away. It hadn't felt right to expunge Doctor Carter completely, especially since Janet had told her that Samantha's body had been cremated late last month. Her ashes were in a box in Janet's office.

She lifted the baby out of his chair and hurried back upstairs for his bath. Despite having left The Schedule at home on her fridge, Sam still clung to Samantha's bedtime routine. Dinner, bath, story. Then a bottle and some snuggles before she tucked Jacob Charles into his crib. As usual, he found his thumb, hugging the blue blanket that General Hammond had given him close as he wriggled down into the bedding. He liked to rub his fingers along the satin edging, humming softly in the back of his throat. It never took long for him to get to sleep.

The loft was little more than a studio apartment, and Sam had taken to sitting on the balcony while Jake drifted off. Once he was settled, she normally read by the light of the little kitchen lamp, drinking some tea or maybe a beer. Every once in a while, she'd make her way down to the main house to watch TV or talk with Mark and Heather, but in general, she'd been happy to stay in the loft and listen to Jake breathe.

Tonight, she plugged in the baby monitor that Heather had dug out of a box in their garage. Checking the settings, she angled the transmitter towards the crib and put the receiver on the little table next to the door. The clock on the microwave told her she had a few more minutes until she needed to go downstairs, so she tidied up a little, folding some laundry, putting Jake's toys and books into their appropriate places.

Another glance at the clock told her that she'd stalled as long as she could. With a little sigh, she checked on Jake again, then, satisfied that he was okay, she grabbed the receiver and left the loft, closing the door behind her.

The little balcony that Sam loved was connected to the main house via a narrow staircase. She made her way down, emerging on the common back patio, which led into the kitchen. Off the patio spread a small yard, surrounded on all sides by a low block wall topped with painted metal fencing. The gate in the furthest corner was how Sam accessed the beach. She only had to cross a narrow road and then pick her way across a few yards of rocky terrain.

The whole property was little, but perfect for a family the size of Mark's. A little swing set took up the majority of the center of the yard, but nearer the patio, a secondary area made up of pavers and a firepit boasted a comfortable set of outdoor furniture that Sam had grown to enjoy nearly as much as her balcony.

Heather was busy with preparations when Sam slipped through the open sliding glass door. Mark was absent—Sam assumed he was putting the kids to bed. She dodged around the dining table and made her way into the kitchen, stopping on the opposite side of the island and planting the receiver to the baby monitor on the edge nearest the table.

Satisfied it was working, she turned towards her sister in law. "What can I do to help?"

Heather threw her a quick glance before using the spoon in her hand to point at a stack of plates on the counter. "Could you please set the table?"

"Sure."

"Mark only told me last night that he wanted to do this thing." Heather turned down the flame under one of the pots on the stove. "So we are doing something easy for dinner."

"That's more notice than he gave me." Sam hefted the plates in her arms, moving towards the table. She placed two plates on either side of the table, and two at each end. Aiming back into the kitchen, she opened a drawer and counted out silverware.

"He was afraid that you'd find an excuse not to come if he gave you enough time." Bright red hair danced as Heather shook her head, her mouth curving into a sweet sort of smile. "I think that he thinks that you need to get out more. That man worries about you something fierce."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah." Heather whacked her spoon against the rim of the pot she'd been babysitting, laying it down on a trivet on the counter. Turning, she opened the fridge and pulled out a block of parmesan. Opening a cupboard, she found a grater and waited until Sam was finished with the flatware before handing them over. "Just ignore all his bluster about the past and the military. That's all just a holdover from his childhood. He's working through that."

"He still seems pretty vehement about it all."

"Maybe he is." She peeked into the second pot, blowing away the steam before turning back to fix a look at Sam. "He held that anger tightly for a long time, Sam. And he's so much like your dad. Do we really think that it'll go away so quickly?"

Sam thought about that, picking at the seal on the vacuum packaging. "No, probably not."

"But he's trying." Heather neared, resting a hand on Sam's shoulder. "And he really only does want what's best for his baby sister. Even if he doesn't have any idea what that is."

Unwrapping the cheese, Carter laid it on a plate with the grater and placed it on the table. "What's next?"

"Wine glasses, water glasses, and cloth napkins." Heather pointed to where each item was kept. "Anyway, I just figured that you needed an alternate viewpoint. He told me about your conversation earlier this afternoon, and was concerned that you were upset with him."

"Not upset." Folding a cloth napkin, Sam considered that for a moment. "I just don't know what to tell him."

Heather merely waited, knowing somehow that her sister in law was working through her thoughts.

"I don't even know how I feel about some things, or what's coming next." She laid the first napkin down on the plate, moving on to the next. "I'm still trying to figure all of that out myself."

"And Jake?"

"He's the most important part of it all." Sam smiled a little, thinking about the little man upstairs. "He's the reason that I need to sort everything out. Why I need to get back to a hundred percent."

"Of course he is." Quietly, Heather's response was supportive. She took what seemed to be a bracing breath before continuing. "And what about Jake's father?"

It was the first time that anyone had mentioned that part of the equation. Sam stilled for a moment before reaching out to settle the last napkin on the last plate. "He's important, too."

"But not currently in the picture."

"Not at this exact moment." She shook her head. "No."

"And what are you hoping for? With him. With the two of you."

Sam closed her eyes against the memory—not a hallucination or a vision, but just a memory.

Jack, standing in her living room in Colorado Springs, laying it all on the line. "I want you, Sam. I want to marry you."

But how? Nothing had changed. They were still in the same chain of command. And, unless one of them quit, nothing could change. He'd offered to retire—hell—he'd tendered his resignation, even though Hammond had refused to accept it. Sam herself had been close to doing the same thing, but Janet had assured her that Hammond wasn't entertaining any action until all medical clearances had been given.

So, she was in a holding pattern. They were in a holding pattern. The three of them—Sam, Jack, and Jake. Going in circles until the conditions were right to head in for a landing.

It felt weird, to have another woman's scrutiny on her. Sam was far more accustomed to dealing with men and their frank methods of appraisal. But Heather's bright green eyes seemed to see far more than Mark's brown ones had earlier. It had been the same with Janet so many weeks ago, in the park, when she'd asked the same question about prospective fathers. And Sam thought back to Janet's comments about her sisters. Maybe there was something to having more girlfriends in her life.

Although, it was easier to hide things from men. Things that she really didn't want to admit. With a vague little shrug, Sam adjusted a glass on the table. "I really don't know. The whole situation is beyond complex."

"Okay, then." Heather nodded abruptly, turning back towards the pots simmering on the stove. "Good to know."

Sam retrieved the glassware and stemware in silence, putting one of each at each place setting. Once finished, she accepted a basket of warmed bread to place on the table.

The doorbell rang, and Sam looked up to see Mark rushing down the stairs towards the front door. She heard him turn the lock, and then the deadbolt, and then a shaft of light blazed across the hardwood of the front room, visible only because someone had forgotten to turn on the lights in the parlor.

"Come in! Come in."

Voices. Laughter. Sam took an involuntary step backwards towards the sliding glass door as a couple followed Mark into the great room. They were about Mark and Heather's age—a little older than Sam herself. He was short and rotund, and she was shorter, but fit. Both were grinning at whatever Mark had said, and the husband was holding a bottle of wine.

"It's the Missus Carter! Looking beautiful as always!" He raised the bottle for Heather to see. "I hope that red works."

"Red's great, Brady!" Heather had pulled out the colander and was preparing to drain the pasta. "How are you, Lucy?"

"Oh, muddling through." Lucy shrugged, sighing. "You know how it is."

"How are the twins?"

"Busy. Soccer. Violin. Ballet." Lucy rolled her eyes. "Jenna wants to play volleyball next year, but Tessa wants to continue with dance. I have no idea how I'm going to do both and keep them in their art classes. But we do what we have to do, right?"

"True." Steam rose from the sink as Heather poured the contents of the pot into the strainer. "Maybe they'll change their minds again before then and make things easy on you."

"Not a chance." She waved at her husband, who was heavy into conversation with Mark closer to the entryway. "They're too much like him to make anything easy on anybody."

Laughing, Heather reached for a pair of tongs and started adding the pasta to the sauce in the other pot. "I hope you're hungry. I made too much, as usual."

"Starving." Lucy leaned against the island, watching her friend. "I had four house showings today with the worst clients. It's the classic case of champagne taste on a beer budget."

Sam simply stood there, watching.

So—-this was normal life. This is what the rest of the world did while she and her team gallivanted around the galaxy saving the world. It was almost humorous to watch—people complaining about the simplest of things—soccer fees, school uniforms, the lack of decent chablis— while she knew what lay just beyond a shimmering event horizon. How would it be—to be one of these people? To not know what predatory creatures lurked out in the universe? To be ignorant of the existential dangers threatening the planet? Frankly, the thought made her a little ill.

Any idea she'd had of simply walking away from the SGC evaporated. Regardless of how things shook out, she needed to stay in the fight. And however that looked, she'd be happier there than she would be living like this.

For whatever reason, the epiphany made her hopeful. Gave her a reason to believe that she'd turned some kind of corner in her seemingly unending indecisiveness. People kept asking her what she wanted? Well, she wanted her life back. Not the one she'd had—but a better one. One in which she felt like she was making a difference in her work, while also making a home for Jake. And if she looked hard enough through this wishful glass, she could see the Colonel there, too. She could see his own vision in there, melded with hers. What had he been saying? Something about more children and sexist pigs.

She smiled at the thought, absently watching as Heather lowered a large earthenware platter to the table. Lucy had grabbed the salad from the refrigerator, and was chatting animatedly about something as the two women worked.

She startled a little when the doorbell rang again, and Mark hurried back into the parlor. When he returned, he was followed by a newcomer carrying what looked like an overnight bag. A man—a little shorter than himself. A little rounder. Cute, but not handsome. He lowered the bag to the floor next to the entertainment center before continuing on to stop next to Mark.

Once they'd all made it into the great room, Mark cleared his throat. "Okay, friends. Now that we're all here, let's do some introductions."

Sam watched as her brother gestured towards where she stood. "Everyone—this is my little sister Samantha. She's been visiting with us for a while, staying in the studio loft."

Sam lifted her hand in an awkward wave, flashing what she hoped was an acceptable smile.

"Sam, these are our good friends. Lucy and Brady Wilkerson. Lucy is in real estate, and Brady and I work together. He's the company's CFO."

Having divested herself of the salad, Lucy hurried over for a handshake, while Brady lifted the bottle of wine he still held in her direction in a random sort of salute.

"And this one of my oldest friends from college and beyond." Mark threw an arm across the other man's shoulders, squeezing a little in a very 'dude' way. He directed his comments straight at Sam. "He's a cop down in San Diego. In fact, he just made detective."

Sam made the awkward wave again, the situation suddenly clear. This was the entire reason Mark had planned this evening. This was why he'd been asking the questions. This was a set up. And—good lord, this was inescapable.

"Sam, meet Pete Shanahan."