Chapter 20
Virginia Coast
5 October 1995
They had slept half the day away, having woken up a few hours after their first tryst to begin another fevered session. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon before they were ready to get out of bed.
He loved looking at her as she woke up the second time, even more so when the remembrance of their previous night together seemed to infuse a deeper blue into those incredible eyes. Like her, he suspected that they both didn't quite know what they were doing last night apart from physically resolving that case of need and the niggling tension that had stood between them, in spite of his fervent vow about not having one-night stands. But it was enough for him, for now at least, not knowing what exactly they were after a night of intense sex.
Because it had felt…sure…certain…and surprisingly right between them.
He hoped to whatever higher power out there that she felt similarly. And while he wasn't privy to the naïve idea that sex solved everything, he knew he still owed her some explanations that would go a long way to help her understand his erratic behaviour that night.
A flash of blue made him catch his breath.
"Mornin', beautiful," Jack teased and gestured to the window where the orange-purple light of dusk shone through, running a finger down her bare shoulder in a sensual greeting that had her shivering in delight.
"Mornin', handsome," she shot back affectionately and planted a swift kiss on his lips.
The answering smile on his face was breathtaking and mesmerising, giving her a glimpse of how different Jack O'Neill could have been before his son's untimely death.
"You do realise that it's nearly 1800?"
"I must have forgotten. Someone kept me busy," Sam told him wryly, smoothing his wayward hair even though she knew it wouldn't stay down. "Not that I was complaining, mind you."
He waggled a finger at her. "Time to surface. It's called dinner."
She rolled lazily into his arms again, then froze. "Is that-?"
He grimaced in slight embarrassment. "It's my sidearm, I swear."
The room was suddenly filled with her peals of laughter. "I thought you wanted to eat."
"I'm having a hard time deciding now," he told her seriously, provoking more laughter from her.
The moment turned solemn when her mirth died. Free of the tension that had plagued them prior, she wondered just when this man had become so precious to her. So unlike Jonas Hansen, came the unbidden thought in her mind, so unlike Jacob Carter.
"I'm sorry about Charlie," she told him quietly. "No one should outlive their child."
His confession to her late last night came flooding back. It gave him pause, then made him move out of her arms and roll over onto his back to face the ceiling, staying silent for a long time. She followed and curled into his side, surprising him with the unspoken support when he assumed that she'd be repulsed by his revelations.
"Yeah, me too," Jack said with a measure of finality.
"And maybe," she hesitated to continue, fearing her words were too presumptuous. "Maybe in time, you'll be able to live with yourself, because it was an accident."
He gave her a sad smile and a non-committal shrug.
"We'll go see Kerry tomorrow," he told her, switching the topic so abruptly that the name sounded unfamiliar for a second.
Then it hit her.
Kerry Johnson. The pendant that she'd found. Her impromptu research in the local library.
All of which had been momentarily forgotten in their bedroom pursuits.
Sam looked unsure for a beat, when nodded. His gaze shifted to hers knowingly.
"I haven't forgotten what you asked earlier, Carter," Jack sighed, talking more easily than she had expected, their newfound intimacy having perhaps given him renewed courage to confront his demons. "Long before Sara, Kerry was the one who got me on the path that led to the Air Force."
She knew better than to interrupt his words, knowing he'd go on if he wished to.
"I was away a lot in the beginning. It was hard for her," he snorted, a grimace of remembrance lining his rugged face. "Story of my life. So, one day, she upped and went. I suppose you could say that she was the one who got away."
"So she's in Washington?"
"Moved to D.C. Last I heard from a mutual friend, she's with the CIA."
The ghosts of an ex-girlfriend, an ex-wife and a recently-dead son…she was starting to realise how hard it must have been for him when it all converged in Tom Reese's house.
Finally, he turned to face her again, gently fingering the tendrils of her short hair that curled around her cheek.
"Well, so now you know," he told her tersely.
She smiled and lightly brushed his sculpted cheeks with her lips, feeling him relax, thanking him wordlessly for doing the exact opposite of what he was least inclined to do.
She also knew that it would take quite an effort to get him back to where he needed to be. But it hadn't taken too long to distract him the second time and she was confident it could happen again.
Her look turned sly. "You know, I could make it worth your while, if you can forget dinner for a bit," she suggested, trailing her hands down to a place that made his breath hitch delightfully.
"Look at this."
Jack looked up from where he sat on the couch in the chalet's small living area.
Dinner – which they ended up eating only at 2200 because they had both been physically insatiable – was like the night before under the stars out on the beach, sans the tension and the awkwardness.
Then he'd tried something stupid. He'd grabbed her hand impulsively and walked to the part of the shore where the tide came in. Enjoying the look of confusion on her face that had melted into part-desire and part-curiosity, he'd enfolded her in his arms as they swayed to the tune only they heard in their heads.
He'd taken her good-natured ribbing about his hidden romantic nature, but not before teasing her back about what a cheap date she could be. It hadn't taken her too long to admit it – that dinner, dancing were the essentials in her book of seduction – and that he'd done it right without realising it.
Only when they had tired of the sand sticking to their legs did they return to the cottage, where he sat waiting for her to wash her hands and feet.
Carter – Sam – he corrected himself again sheepishly, had placed a small object in his hand, then sat next to him.
"I had forgotten all about it because…well…you know," she finished rather lamely and gestured with an open hand, grinning and flushing in remembrance of what had transpired between them in those hours.
He smirked at her modesty, then looked at the badge, turning it over his hand, feeling its pointed edges and curved sides.
"What's this?"
"Medusa," Sam murmured. "The only thing that I found in Slate's office."
"Nothing else?"
"No," she sighed in frustration. "Not even a single sheet of paper that might lead somewhere. Only this. Rather than assuming Slate had a weakness for Greek mythology, I decided to look this up in some local libraries."
"Resourceful, Carter," Jack said before he could help himself. "So what did you find?"
Her eyes lit in excitement, a look that he'd come to recognise in the intervening hours before dinner.
"What do you know of Greek mythology? Or more specifically, Medusa, or the Gorgons?"
"That it's all Greek to me?" He tried to joke, eliciting a roll of her eyes and a snort of amusement. "Seriously, any woman with snakes as her hair is dangerous. Only took a guy with a mirror to kill her. Doesn't that say something about hair-dos these days?"
She grinned at his lame attempt to make her laugh, then continued the explanation, "It's a bit more than that. Look, bear with me. I'm no archaeologist or historian and I'm not sure where this is leading but it might be useful later. A Gorgon could be considered what you might term a femme fatale – terrifying female creatures with the power to ensnare and kill. Typically, they are females with hair made of venomous snakes."
"So I'm guessing Medusa's one of them?"
"She's only one of those who wasn't immortal, but she's the most famous one. And yes, she's a Gorgon, whom Perseus, a hero in Greek mythology, was sent to kill," Sam clarified. "Perseus beheaded her by using the reflective surface of a glass or mirror so that he wouldn't turn to stone. But the story doesn't end there. Some sources claim that he buried her head somewhere in Argos and others – the more interesting ones – say that he actually gave it to Athena, who then mounted it on a mirrored shield called Aegis and gave it to Zeus."
"OK," Jack said slowly. "How would that help us?"
She deflated visibly as she sighed. "I'm not too sure still. Although it did get me very excited the other day at the library because I finally thought it would have led us somewhere."
"What more did you find out?"
"Medusa was actually pregnant at the time of her death. When Perseus took her head, a winged-horse and a giant came from her body."
"Somehow I fail to see how this really relates to any conspiracy going on in the higher rungs of the military relating to the Stargate," he told her dryly, seeing her nod in wry agreement.
She sat up straighter, suddenly remembering the various academic interpretations that she had come across.
"But Medusa's severed head however, later became a symbol for many things. One of them, in ancient times, became the Aegis, that shield on which the Gorgoneion head was mounted. Later it became a pendant worn as an amulet, infused with the protective power of the deities. Sounds familiar?"
"Which would explain the pendant. It's a replica of the Aegis," he mused, and turned it upwards to the light. It glinted burnished gold in the cottage's living room lamp, large enough to fit half his palm width. He briefly wondered if Slate merely had a fascination with ancient Greece, knowing that he needed to consider all the possibilities of its presence in the abandoned office. Cautiously, he discarded the idea; its mysteries were too arcane, too esoteric for someone like Slate to be drawn to it.
"So the question then, would be, why would Slate need its protection?" She looked at him in bafflement for a moment.
"I guess that's what we're going to find out," he replied quietly.
"Yeah," she sighed and nodded in agreement, already mourning the loss of their private, idyllic haven. The deserted stretch of Virginia Coast now held memories of a different sort and she felt loath to leave the place where it seemed the walls had fallen between Jack and her. If it was here that the both of them had found something new, then why did it feel as though leaving the place was akin to abandoning this precious, budding thing between them?
Jack looked at her, grinned at her rueful expression and tapped her knee playfully. "There's still tonight, you know. Who needs sleep anyway?"
Washington D.C.
6 October 1995
It was impossible to ignore the bold print.
IMMINENT ALIEN INVASION OF EARTH: OUR EXPERT REVEALS ALL
Jack frowned when he saw the headlines of the daily newspaper at the petrol kiosk counter while paying for the fuel. Grabbing it, he dug around for extra change and handed it off to the indifferent, gum-chewing clerk at the counter.
"Our best-selling one today," the girl pointed out unnecessarily, causing Jack to look up at her. Probably a student handling a part-time job. "That's the last paper you're taking."
He nodded in response and tried a slight smile which came out as a scowl, wishing for a moment that she hadn't felt that need to point out the obvious.
Sam was waiting in the car nursing a hot coffee, her cap pulled low over her head.
He opened the door, climbed in and tossed the papers to her.
"Thought you might want to mock the bad science in it," he told her, earning himself a bright smile of mirth.
She held it up, perusing the page as he manoeuvred the car towards the city.
We have cause to believe that what the US Government has claimed to be a bout of solar flare activity, is in fact, an indication of an imminent alien invasion of Earth.
In this exclusive interview, eminent astrophysicist Dr. Rodney McKay gives his opinion on the recent events that had affected cities in the Northern hemisphere…
"God," she groaned aloud. "It's McKay. I should have known."
Jack risked a sideways glance at her. "Friend of yours?"
She closed her eyes briefly then shook her head at the attention-grabbing headlines.
"Rodney Mckay, PhD., is famous, or rather, infamous, in the astrophysics community for his arrogance, frequently believing himself the most intelligent scientist in every organisation that he's ever he worked in. I've met him once at a conference," she paused in chagrin. "Two minutes into the reception, he asked me out on a date, then called me a dumb blonde in the same sentence."
He deliberately looked her over and grinned at her discomfiting confession. "Dumb blonde, eh? So this guy's a total doofus of an egghead?"
"Unfortunately, he's also a pretty talented one. Well, most of the time," she admitted grudgingly. "He just lords it over everyone when he gets things right."
"Why would they get some professor like him to give an interview in the papers?"
"McKay's not an academic, despite what it looks like. He's a high-tech industrialist, a dot-com millionaire who has developed space surveillance technology that all aeronautical companies are using. He's famous and influential enough to have some press contacts who would willingly give him media coverage. And as far as I know, his research and development team is actually doing groundbreaking research on wormholes and inter-universe bridges but thus far, it has remained theoretical. But knowing the deep pockets of his company, it won't for long."
"You've been following what he does," he told her with a knowing look.
"Well, yeah," she confessed sheepishly, then rushed to clarify, "but just for the science." She read the rest of the article, the frown of her face carving deep lines into her forehead she reached the end of it. Her exclamation of surprise and outraged shock emerged from her lips as a cross between a squeak and a grunt. "Son of a bitch, he found it. He actually found it!"
He caught her staring at nothing in particular after that excited shriek, now deep in pensive – or scientific – thought and prodded, "Found what?"
"Can you remember that I told you some time ago that my research team had actually collected some data on interstellar dust and the luminous emittance showing levels that had been spiking through the charts?"
Vaguely, he remembered in consternation. But not quite all of the scientific details that he'd instinctively tried to shut out.
"The one about the cosmic dust that's…er…found here, above Earth?" He asked hesitantly.
"That's it," she nodded in agreement. "What McKay's actually talking about here is essentially the same thing. The technology his company developed is actually sensitive enough to collect some specimens of the atmospheric residual matter because it was actually present in slight larger quantities. According to this, preliminary analysis suggests the presence of a mix of an unknown element and scorched energy deposits that are accompanying the radiation particles as they are hurled through space. Thus explaining the power outages. Do you know the best part? He's theorising here that it's the same kind of energy matter lingering in the atmosphere that the classified Roswell reports talked about and wouldn't reveal his sources."
"Do you believe him?"
"You know, I'd normally think it's a load of trash," she began, then shook her head, "but then I discovered there was something – some alien device – called the Stargate buried deep under a mountain that had been lost for thousands of years. It's something beyond my wildest imagination. Jack, as ludicrous as this might sound, I think this has just confirmed that those flare events really aren't really flare events. The problem is, what are they then?"
Kerry Johnson's Residence
Washington D.C.
6 October 1995
The harsh sound of the doorbell jolted her out of a light doze in the bathtub. Quickly showering off the soap suds that clung to her body, she threw on a terry bathrobe and hurried to the front door.
Jack O'Neill stood there, a tall blond woman at his side.
For a moment, she stood frozen, her hand on the doorknob, the other unconsciously moving to her chest in a protective gesture.
He looked good, she realised, looking him once over critically. More than good, in fact. His previously-sandy hair had turned a darker, velvety brown, and was still military short, but his face had aged slightly, etched with deep dimples, and his eyes hadn't lost their compelling intensity as he looked at her.
When she walked out on Jack all those years ago, she had left in blazing, self-righteous anger, convinced that he wouldn't have been able to commit both to her and his career as an officer steadily climbing the ranks. The years had passed with her only knowing that he'd gotten married to a woman called Sara and even had a child with her. Several mutual friends had fed her the information that she'd craved when she felt unable to let go of their history together. Eventually, they stopped when other men had appeared in her life.
Those hadn't stayed too long either, often falling short when compared to him.
Kerry now realised, that in many ways, she had been foolish. A short but strong wave of intense regret washed over her.
The man who stood in front of her now was in the prime of his life, emanating an irresistible vitality despite looking like he'd seen and done too much.
"Kerry," he was the first to speak, and she clenched her teeth at sound of his voice.
"Jack," she greeted, hoping her own voice wasn't too shaky. "What can I do for you?"
He grimaced in consternation, thinking that this was getting old. Getting his ass shot at, looking up long-lost acquaintances and an ex-girlfriend to boot, always having to explain that he needed their help while not answering their curious questions…it was at best, an awkward situation he'd pretty much rather avoid.
"Kerry, this is Samantha Carter," Jack said, looking at the two women greeting each other cautiously with a handshake, "and we need your help."
"Come in."
She ushered them in and closed the door behind them, leading them to the small sitting room couch that still had some of her work files on them.
"Sorry, I wasn't expecting company," she said and hurriedly cleared them away. "Please, I'll be out in a minute."
Without waiting for their reactions, she swept into her room, trying to calm her racing heart. Why were they here? Why would he look her up after all these years? There must be something that they clearly needed from her, otherwise, she'd sworn that her path and Jack's wouldn't cross in any way. She had after all, made sure of that long ago.
It was too late for regrets.
Kerry had regained a modicum of composure by the time she finished dressing. Observing Jack and the woman called Samantha Carter sitting on the couch talking in low tones, the camaraderie between them evident, she wondered what exactly the nature of their relationship was before stopping her train of thought.
It had nothing to do with her, especially not when she had given up her right to Jack O'Neill all those years ago, she told herself as she walked into the living room.
Their heads snapped up in a synchronised movement when they heard her approach.
She took a seat opposite them, waiting.
"Kerry," Jack began rather uncomfortably, "I'm just going to cut to the chase. We…" he said, glancing at the blond woman next to him who gave him a small smile, "we need your help. Colin Payner gave us your address and said that...you would be able to do more than he could."
"Colin Payner?" She repeated in disbelief. "How did…I mean…?"
He was suitably apologetic. "I can't explain too much, Kerry. But believe me when I say it's more for your own good than ours. We'll be needing classified information that the CIA has about several people."
She exhaled sharply. So that was what he needed from her. But Colin had been a dear friend, and if he had recognised that Jack was genuinely in need of help, then perhaps it wouldn't be too reckless to listen to what he had to say.
"You met Colin? How's he doing? Rosie?"
His eyes were filled with regret when he looked at her. "They're both dead. I'm sorry."
The news made her slump bonelessly into the welcoming confines of her seat. It was a while before she could speak, only dimly aware of the remorseful looks on both their faces. "Was it an acc…how did it happen?"
"We have cause to believe that it wasn't an accident," the blond woman spoke up for the first time, her blue gaze faraway. "There was a fire in their house and by the time we got to them, it was too late."
Kerry felt suddenly exposed in her grief, wanting some time alone to get over that awful statement that only made the situation worse.
Pulling herself together as best as she could, she straightened her shoulders and asked, "Were you there when it happened?"
She caught the exchange between the both of them, seeing the brief flash of sadness that crossed Samantha Carter's face.
"Yeah," Jack finally said quietly.
Why prolong the inevitable? They had come to her for information, not to deliver the incidental news of Colin's and Rosie's untimely deaths. She would grieve in private, much later. Alone and away from the prying eyes of strangers.
Heaving a sigh, she asked, "So what was it that you needed?"