AN: I have finally started writing on this again. 500 words in three weeks--yikes. Anyway, hopefully now that I've got Word on my shiny new laptop and can transfer all my files over, that will improve.

At 1500, Sam knocked on General Hammond's door. His door frame, actually, because the door itself was open as usual.

"Come in, Captain, and have a seat," he said, looking up from his paperwork. He gave her a sympathetic glance. "I just got back from a round of golf with your father, and I thought you'd appreciate knowing that I went to bat for you and Colonel O'Neill. Jacob still has severe reservations about the whole thing, but I did what I could."

"Thank you, sir," Sam said. "I'm afraid the only way to change his mind would be to tell him about the virus and everything."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," General Hammond said with a shake of his head.

"I know, sir," Sam replied. "And I completely understand. But I'm sure I'm not the only one of the Broca victims whose life would be much easier if that weren't the case."

"No."

"And I do appreciate you trying to help."

The General nodded. "Jake's an old friend, and you and Jack O'Neill are two of my best people. It was the least I could do. I don't want to see you end up like Mark. How long has it been since he and Jacob have spoken?"

"Years," Sam said, surprised he was aware of the rift. She hadn't known he and her father were that close.

"Sometimes your father is just too stubborn for his own good."

"I'd have to agree with you there," Sam said. "At this point, I just hope he and Jack can learn to tolerate each other. Last night's dinner was … tense."

"I can imagine," Hammond said. "Considering the circumstances and their personalities, I'd have to call that an understatement."

Sam shrugged. "Yes, sir. We're going out to eat, tonight. Hopefully a public venue will contain the reactions on all sides."

"Hopefully," Hammond said, doubt lacing his voice.

"I won't be long," Sam said as she headed to the bedroom to get ready for dinner.

Jack just grunted. As far as he was concerned, anything that put off the evening's activities was a good thing; she could take as long as she wanted. He'd changed out of his fatigues at the base, so he was good to go.

Wandering into the living room, he saw there was a new message. "Jack, this is your sister Peggy. Michael says he hasn't been able to get a hold of you, so I'm trying. Please call one of us back. I know you're an anti-social cuss at the best of times, but please do the right thing for once and don't be a stranger. You have my number, right? It's (773)891-2625."

Jack made a face as the machine beeped. He stabbed the delete button. Because one family fight at a time? So enough. He'd call them back after the thing with Sam's Dad was taken care of, preferably with Carter, Sr. far, far away.

"So, George tells me you're one of his best officers," Jacob said as he cut his steak into small pieces. "He wants me to cut you a little slack. He says I should get to know you before I make up my mind. So talk."

Jack shrugged. "Not much to tell, really," he said. "Enlisted right out of high school, did some search-and-rescue work in Nam, went to OCS and became a career officer, got married. Eventually retired and got divorced. Got called back up. And now I work under a mountain." He kind of wished they'd gone somewhere else, maybe that Mexican place downtown. This was a nice restaurant, but Sara's dad had taken the two of them out eat at a place like this shortly after they got engaged, just before Jack left on his first overseas tour.

"Doing Deep Space Radar Telemetry, which you were brought back in for because no one else could possibly do your job."

"That's what they told me." Jack glanced over at Sam. She was hardly paying any attention at all to her food, concentrating on the conversation instead. She was tense, more so than usual.

"Despite the fact that you've never been assigned to a technical project before." Jacob—he'd insisted Jack use his first name, which Jack supposed was … progress—said with a voice dry as the Sahara.

"Yup." Didn't the guy care what this was doing to his daughter? I mean, she didn't need any more stress in her condition. And, yeah, if she'd been his daughter he'd be giving himself the third degree; he knew exactly where the older man was coming from. But he wouldn't heap this much grief on her.

"And before you retired, what exactly was it that you did?"

"A little of this, a little of that. Some extractions, some intelligence missions, some TACP. I went where they sent me."

"So, you were in special operations?"

"Yeah."

There was a brief lull in the conversation.

"So, special ops." Jacob sat back, pushing his plate forward. "You served under Colonel Jesus Sanchez for a while, didn't you?"

"What, did you run a background check on him?" Sam broke in.

"After the last guy you got serious about, can you blame me?"

"Yeah, I served under him," Jack broke in, trying to draw fire from Sam. Hell. At least Mike hadn't been taking it out at Sara.

"He didn't like you much. Says you're a loose canon."

"He's entitled to his opinion," Jack said as neutrally as possible. "If General Hammond shared it, I wouldn't be working for him."

Jacob snorted. "George likes characters, says they keep him on his toes. He's had problems with discipline sometimes, because of it."

"I've always found the General's methods of establishing discipline to be effective," Jack said levelly.

"You have first-hand experience with them, do you?"

"He's General Hammond's executive officer," Sam said. "He's usually the one who has to implement or enforce them."

"Of course," Jacob said, implying the opposite.

Jack took a deep breath and held it, trying to remind himself that he had to play nice with this guy for Sam's sake. Right now, he couldn't see a downside to ending the relationship. "Yeah, I was in special ops, but Sam learned a lot from that maniac Jonas. She's a smart woman, and she doesn't make the same mistake twice. And I had problems with Sanchez. And, okay, maybe the circumstances surrounding my relationship with Sam could be better. But I am damn well gonna do my best to support her and the baby as much as she'll let me. She's a tough, professional, wonderful woman and I get that she's way too good for me. But she's got enough stress right now without you adding to it." Jack shook his head. "I don't expect you to like me, or anything. But don't take your anger out on her."

"I'm not taking anything out on her," Jake said, eyes narrowing.

Jack looked at him incredulously. "Maybe not directly, but have you looked at your daughter recently? The thing is, last night, you reduced her to tears. And normally, she doesn't need anyone to protect her. Right now, between the pregnancy hormones and last night, is a different story."

"Jack," Sam said.

"Sorry." Jack took her hand and squeezed it; she looked like she could use the comfort. The skin around her mouth and eyes was tight with tension, and her skin was pale even for her.

"Sam, I am sorry for last night," Jacob said.

Jack glanced at him, surprised to find him actually looking at his daughter for once.

"Apology accepted, Dad," Sam said. "I know that you're upset and disappointed. But please, just for now, can you try and support my choices rather than trying to make them for me? Or a truce, at least."

Jacob sat back in his chair and studied his daughter. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Jack could have sworn the guy looked older, more worn. More human. He shook his head and it was gone.

"Okay, fair enough," Jacob said. "I just wanted—" He sat forward, taking up his knife and fork, again. "So, Jack, you into football?"

Jack raised an eyebrow, but he wasn't about to complain at the change of subject. "Not really. Hockey's more my thing."

"Can't say I know much about hockey," Jacob replied. "How about basketball? I'm a Bulls fan, myself."

"Really?" Jack replied, glancing over at Sam. She wasn't exactly all smiles, but much of the tension was gone. Time to play nice. "I grew up in Chicago. My Dad took me to see them play, a few times. I follow the Timberwolves, though."