Passing Blow

Jack let up on the gas as soon as he saw her on the jogging path. The morning sun winked off the gold in her hair as she ran—giving her what appeared to be a halo. She was more tanned than he'd remembered—her tank top and shorts displayed that fact quite clearly.

He tried not to notice.

He failed in a huge way.

His truck coasted to a stop at the curb, but he selfishly waited a few more long seconds before turning it off and removing the key.

If anyone asked, he was just a guy out enjoying the scenery on a beautiful Colorado Springs morning.

Nobody had to know that the scenery he was enjoying happened to be wearing a hot pink tank top.

Under the terms of their normal relationship, he rarely saw so very much of her—they both typically dressed from neck to feet in BDUs. Lately she'd started wearing this black tank top at work that displayed her arms and shoulders and completely caught him off guard whenever he saw her. He'd started avoiding places where she regularly showed up. He didn't need that kind of distraction—his job was hard enough already.

And he'd been doing so well lately at not thinking about her at all. Much.

He had a feeling this little scoping session was going to totally screw that all up—but—

Yowza.

With a long suffering sigh, the General opened his truck door and climbed out. He had a conversation to have—one that he'd already put off too long. He'd promised Cassie "tomorrow", and that had been nearly a week ago.

Not that Cassandra had waited for anything—his basement had turned into girltown faster than mold grew after the creek crested. He'd been coming home from work recently to find Cassie sprawled on his couch, reading from one text book or another, while something tasty cooked in the oven or bubbled on the stove. Who'd have guessed such domesticity lurked behind the barely-there hiphuggers? And who would have guessed she'd be so creative in her excuses for not coming back home—late study session, late movie, late chess game—their little munchkin had turned into a smooth tongued raconteur. Thank you very much, Word of the Day calendar. That had been Daniel's birthday offering.

He'd tried to talk to her on several occasions, but Teal'c, of all people, had gummed up the works. First he'd gotten himself stuck in this video game that they were testing down in Dr. Lee's Dungeon, and then he'd decided that he really needed to move out of the SGC and into a place of his own.

Jack had cosigned on the apartment for him—given that the only credit Teal'c had was his account at the Home Shopping Network—but they gave payment options to anyone with a phone and a pulse. He'd gotten a George Foreman Grill for Teal'c for that same birthday. But it had taken some careful maneuvering to get the government to create an identity for the Jaffa—complete with a driver's license and a Social Security Number. It still wasn't enough for the credit bureaus, though—so Jack had been called upon to sign his John Hancock so that Teal'c could be a 'real boy'.

So he'd spent the weekend split between Ikea and the business end of a U-Haul. Teal'c had been surprisingly easy to move—the hardest part having been packing up the candles. Seriously, how many candles did one Jaffa need? If he'd melted them all down, he could have waxed the mustaches from an East German women's swim team.

So, Teal'c had been saved from the game by Daniel (who woulda guessed he had it in him?), and Jack's own keyring now sported a brand new spare to Teal'c's apartment.

Crises averted. Which brought him to the park. To this jogging path.

He sauntered to the edge of the grass, stopped at a wide curve, and waited. The Colonel came within a hundred feet before she noticed him and slowed, then stopped. Breathing hard, she pulled out one of the tiny ear plugs attached to her IPod and let it dangle as she swiped at her forehead and ran a hand through her hair. He didn't know whether he should be relieved that she cared about her appearance around him, or annoyed that she didn't trust him to understand that she'd been running and would be, therefore, sweaty.

He opted for the former.

He watched as she steeled herself and moved towards him.

When she got close enough, he held up a hand in greeting.

"What are you doing here, sir?" She spoke without preamble, a frown furrowing her forehead.

"Hello to you, too, Colonel."

She stopped frowning, at least. "Okay. Hello."

"How was the run?"

"Fine."

"Still need to cool down." He knew her systematic approach to her workout.

"Yeah. I do, sir."

"Well, then," he motioned towards the continuing path with his hand. "Let's walk."

It was comfortable walking next to her. After several months of watching her head off through the 'Gate without him, he'd almost forgotten how well they travelled together. And he knew it was stupid to think about it in that way—but it was true. Some people naturally moved together better than others. He was tall, so his natural stride ate up a lot of ground. Some women took little mincing steps, and he'd never figured out how to adjust to that. It made talking while walking tough.

But Sam had really, really long legs. Long, toned, tan legs—muscular without being bulky—lean—and he'd mentioned long, right?

So when she walked, her stride matched his. He'd always appreciated that. She'd never expected him to hold back. In that one thing, at least.

He caught her look sideways at him, and he took a deep breath.

"So, is there something specific that you needed, sir?"

This time it was his turn to glance sideways. She yanked the other ear bud out of her ear and wadded the teeny wires into a teeny bundle to shove into a pocket inside the waistband of her jogging shorts. He'd never in his life desired to be an ear bud—but apparently there were advantages.

He had to shake himself back to the present.

"It's about Cassie."

Sam didn't say anything.

"She's been staying at my house for a few days."

"She says she's been studying late."

"Yeah." O'Neill nodded. "But it's a little more than that."

"What?"

"She wants to come and live with me."

Sam didn't answer, but her forehead furrowed again.

"Just for a little while—she says that you're not home very much, anyway, and she gets bored."

Sam snorted. Very indelicately.

"Not bored?" O'Neill queried.

"She butts heads with Pete." Carter stated flatly. "She's had quite the little attitude about it lately, too."

"I noticed."

"So she went to your house the other night."

"Spaghetti night. Apparently there was some sort of ruckus with—him. Uh, with—uh—Shanahan."

Carter looked at him sideways at his stutter. He could feel the tips of his ears turn red. He'd been trying to be so blasé about it all—but, as usual, he'd screwed it up.

At least she had the grace—or the shame—not to mention it. Instead, she picked back where he'd left it.

"I wondered where she'd gone. But she's over eighteen—I don't have the right to tell her where to go or what to do."

"That goes both ways."

"How so?"

"She doesn't have the right to tell you what to do." O'Neill spoke without looking directly at Carter. "Or who to do it with."

Sam stopped walking. They had traveled through the main part of the park and now stood in a forested area. The jogging path stretched out in front of them and trailed behind them, empty but for the two of them. The trees gathered around them, giving them a sense of intimacy.

"She doesn't like him."

"I'd guessed that."

Sam looked down at her feet. "I thought that when she got to know him, he'd grow on her."

O'Neill stood quietly. To be honest, he had to back Cassie on that one. Pete hadn't grown on him, either. But he wouldn't have said that out loud at this moment for every ZPM in the universe. It might have made Sam sadder, and that was something he just wasn't capable of doing on purpose.

Or it might have pissed her off, and then she'd have kicked his butt. That option didn't appeal, either.

"Maybe she just needs some space. So she stays with me for a while and gets her grades back on track and then we'll figure it out from there."

Sam's head snapped up. "Her grades? What's wrong with her grades?"

Jack let out a breath and then sucked in air through his teeth. Whoops. Obviously this part had been a surprise. "Cassie's failing Biology and Spanish. Her other grades aren't wonderful, either. She was embarrassed to tell you."

She looked as if he'd kicked her puppy. Her face fell, and she closed her eyes briefly before fixing her gaze steadfastly on her shoes. She just—wilted.

For the briefest of moments, before he regained control over his body and his senses, Jack moved forward to pull her into himself, but he knew that would be straying into other paths, other problems. Instead, he thrust his hands into his pockets and balled his fists, and waited.

A jogger approached them from the park side of the path, and Jack moved aside to let her pass.

Still, Sam stood silent. She didn't lift her head, but swiped at her eyes once or twice before Jack spoke again.

"Carter?"

"I'm failing her."

"No, you're not." His voice was more forceful than he'd meant it to be. "She's a big girl and needs to take responsibility for her actions. My guess is that a lot of this has to do with the fact that she's more interested in shopping than in school right now."

"But I brought her home after Janet died—I took responsibility for her, and now I'm driving her away."

"How are you driving her away?"

"My relationship with Pete."

"Oh, well, I'd say that's a little bit her fault, too."

Carter raised her brows in a perfect imitation of "Querulous Daniel". Jack had to stop himself from smiling.

"She's jealous." He explained, shrugging. "Simple as that."

"Jealous." Sam stated, blatantly unbelieving.

"She's just lost someone important to her and here you are finding someone important to you. And didn't you tell me a few weeks ago that she and Dominic had split up?"

"He went to college back East. Turns out long distance relationships are more difficult than he'd expected."

"There. You see? Jealous."

She cocked her head to one side. "You might be right."

"Might be?" He tried to look innocent. "Carter, I'm a General now. We're required to be right. It's a mandate."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "Yes, sir."

"So give her some time and space, and my guess is she'll get tired of living with this old coot here," he indicated himself with a flourish, "and want to come back home."

"I don't see her instantly warming up to Pete."

"Yes, well. We all can't be perfect." It came out before he'd had a chance to hear it in his mind. Darnit.

But she didn't seem to catch what he'd said, having jumped onto another topic.

"Cassie is really failing Biology?"

"Yep. I've seen the evidence."

"I mean, how do you fail Biology? Who fails Biology?"

"It's easier than you'd think." O'Neill pointed out casually. Biology had been nowhere near as interesting as Grammar. Not that he'd admit that out loud, to anyone, ever.

"Oh—yeah. Sorry, sir." Carter smiled, chagrined. She indicated the path with a move of her hand. "Walk?"

"Sure." They set off again.

"So, you'll keep after her to do her homework?"

"Yes. And you'll be available when you can for tutoring?"

Sam grinned. "Why does it feel like we're divorced parents working out custody?"

Jack had no answer for that but slight smile.

"And she won't have to deal with Pete."

"She'll come around, Carter."

Sam grimaced. "Sure. Eventually."

They walked in companionable silence for several minutes until Sam spoke again.

"What if she's right?"

"About?"

"Pete."

O'Neill stopped in his tracks. "What are you talking about this time?"

Carter halted just in front of him and turned to face him. "What if all of you are right about him? I mean, you don't like him."

"If he makes you happy, Carter, then continue on. If he's what you want, then go for it. It really doesn't matter what anyone else thinks." O'Neill just didn't like Pete on principle. It had nothing to do with his actual personality.

"Yes, it does, sir." She was insistent. "You four are—well, you're the closest thing I've got to family around here. I trust your opinion, and your opinion of Pete isn't high."

O'Neill shrugged noncommittally—a shrug that didn't fool a single soul.

"Daniel said that he seemed too good to be true."

"Coming from Daniel, that's—"

"A load, is what it is." More to herself than to him, she chewed on her top lip for a beat. "Daniel doesn't think Pete trusts me—he doesn't like the whole background check thing. And Teal'c thinks that Pete will want me to give up the SGC and stay at home like June Cleaver."

This conversation was one that O'Neill had prayed would never, ever happen, and yet here it was. Happening. But no Ha'tak cruised over the horizon to blast him out of it, and the Asgard had been notoriously absent lately, so Jack figured he'd have to get out of it on his own.

He hated that.

He opted to wait and see where she was going with the topic.

"I mean, maybe you and Daniel and Teal'c and Cassie are all right about it."

"I don't—" He tried to deny it, but she cut him off.

"I'm so delusional." She spoke to nobody in particular, looking off deep into the forest. "As if I could ever have a normal relationship."

Just then, a high school track team flooded through the forest. They ran three and four abreast—too many of them on the little path—and too quickly to stop in time to keep from running over the General and Carter.

Without thinking, he reached out and pulled her off the path and out of the way, slamming into a tree and taking her with him. She landed full body against him, both hands braced against his chest, her legs straddling one of his. The impact stunned both of them—the shock of the landing sent a jolt through both of them, but the instantaneous physical response their contact provoked was overwhelming.

They didn't hear the team's airy "Sorry!" nor the thundering of the running shoes as the team wended their way deeper into the woods. They didn't hear the birds anymore, or the traffic so close yet so far on the streets alongside the park. They didn't hear anything but the sudden rush of something incoherent drowning their senses. Something so long suppressed and so long denied that they nearly didn't recognize the sensation when it overwhelmed them.

She moved first, both hands up to the sides of his face, thumbs tracing the outlines of his lips.

He obligingly parted them, his hands moving from where they'd landed on her shoulder blades down to the small of her back, tightening her into him. And when she drew his head down to her, he heeded the small sigh in the back of her throat as if he were Odysseus and she one of the fabled sirens. His only thought was to silence the sigh with one of his own.

She tasted like life itself—too precious to be squandered. She felt like home—perfect, comfortable, and right. Losing himself in her was the sweetest thing he'd ever felt in his life.

A laugh brought them back to reality—a couple walking a toddler in a stroller. The child giggled at a squirrel.

Sam jerked herself to the present, her blue eyes widening with dismay. She pulled herself away from him, her breathing erratic, shaking slightly.

"I'm so sorry, sir. I'm sorry. That was—" But she couldn't complete the sentence, instead hurtling herself back down the path and away from him, the echo of her footfalls blasting apart every single defense he'd so carefully constructed.

And several days later, when she could finally bring herself to show him the ring and ask what he would do if things were different, he answered her as if he wasn't breaking in pieces, as if that kiss in the woods hadn't meant everything to him. As if she was just another soldier under his charge and he weren't completely, irrevocably, in love with her.

As if his world were not crumbling. As if he actually could envision a future with her as another man's wife.

As if. As if. As if.

And he yearned for the dark oblivion of unconsciousness. But he didn't tell her that.

"What about you?" She asked, "If things had been different—"

He merely said, "I wouldn't be here."

As if she'd understand what he meant.

As if.