Passing Lane

Jack hitched himself into his truck later that night and headed home. Kerry had pouted a little—wanted him to stay the night, but in the end, she understood that he needed to get home to Cassandra. He drove the ten minutes home with a languor that he barely recognized—it had been a long time since he'd felt satisfied.

That right there was enough to make the Cassie conversation go more easily. At least he hoped so.

He threw his hat and uniform coat on the couch and went back through the foyer towards the stairs to the basement. He descended, pausing at the bottom to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.

The previous owners had finished out the basement before they'd sold the house to Jack. There was a decent sized bedroom down there, and a full bathroom, along with several storage areas and the laundry. Everything opened out from a central room which, if one was to be generous, could be called a living room. It was just the right size for a small couch and a TV on a cart. When Jack had bought it, he'd pretty much left it alone. Cassandra, however, had been busy. She'd strung fairy lights around the walls and hung a few Chinese lanterns that she had asked Jack to order from IKEA. The brown and tan plaid couch, currently enveloped in a bright purple slipcover, sat with its back to the staircase. She'd hung pictures on the walls, too. He recognized most of the people—Janet, Sam, Daniel, Teal'c, some of Cassie's high school friends that he'd met from time to time at birthday parties and other celebrations. A few bookshelves sidled up against another wall.

And there were two people currently on the purple couch, completely oblivious to the General behind them.

Jack thought they would probably have been oblivious to a nuclear detonation.

It brought back memories of how he'd met Sara's father for the first time—in just such a basement, while he had been busy with just such activities.

Jack cleared his throat, and then, when that got no response, cleared it again more loudly. Two heads popped up over the back of the couch. The non-striped one immediately jumped up and half saluted—then dropped his hand, and then made a move to straighten his shirt.

"Sir!" He stammered. "Uh—Sir. Uh—this isn't what you—uh—think—sir."

Cassie, for her part, just leaned herself on the back of the couch and grinned. "Hi, Jack."

"Cassie." Jack nodded to her, then turned his attention to the young man standing up, hair messed and clothes askew. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Craig." Cassie jerked her head in the young man's direction.

"Craig." Jack perused him. He was tall and athletically built, with military cropped hair. "Air Force?"

"Yes sir!"

The General looked down at his striped-haired cherub. "Well, at least you're aiming upward."

She blinked at him innocently. "Why, whatever could you mean?"

"Treat my basement with respect, General Pain."

"Yes, sir." Cassie grinned again. She tucked her hair behind her ears with both hands and came up on her knees. "Did you need anything, Jack?"

O'Neill regarded her and her beau through narrowed eyes. "Craig, chill out."

The young man fought the urge to salute. "Yes, sir!"

Jack and Cassie shared a look. "When you're done here, Cass, I need to talk to you."

"Sure, General O'Neill."

"And you'll be done here soon, right?"

"Sure, General O'Neill."

"Soon." He punctuated himself with a finger jabbed at her. She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows at him.

Craig still stood stiffly in front of the couch. Jack snorted and turned back up the stairs, waving a hand behind him. "At ease, Airman."

----OOOOOOO----

She found him later, sitting on his deck, contemplating the universe. Well, not the universe, exactly, but his back yard, at least. She pulled up a chair and plunked herself down next to him. Jack took a swig of water from the bottle he held and glanced over at her.

"Where's Waldo?"

"He went home."

"Dorms or on base?"

"Dorms. He's ROTC."

"He's not at the Academy?"

Cassie shook her multi-tonal hair. "No, I met him at the college."

"Is he nice?"

Cassie smiled and suddenly found a fingernail very interesting. After a long pause she peeked at Jack from behind a long lock of hair that had fallen in front of her face. "He kind of reminds me of you, actually. When he's not completely freaked out with Tourette's saluting, that is."

Jack pointed at her with his water bottle. "That settles it. He's off limits."

She laughed, leaning back in her chair. "So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

Jack sighed and set his water on the arm of his chair. "I spoke to Sam a while ago."

"And she's dumping the Spud and wants me to come back home?"

"You're halfway right."

"Let me guess, not the part about the Spud."

Jack caught her gaze with his own. "She misses you, Cass."

Cassandra stuck her finger in her mouth and started to chew on the offending nail.

Jack took a drink of water, stalling as he swallowed. "You're pretty important to her."

"Obviously not that much."

"She loves you."

Cassie snorted.

"She's going to marry him. Eventually, you're going to have to accept that."

"No!" Cassie suddenly stood. "No, I don't! Why do people keep telling me what I do and don't have to do? I don't have to accept that! She's making a monumental mistake hitching herself to that moron!"

"Cassie—"

"I mean, why can't she just see that she should be with you? I've seen how sad you've been—I know that it's been crappy for you! I saw you at the Broadmoor—after. While you were sitting in your truck." She turned abruptly and put both hands on the railing of the deck. Her head dropped—she struggled for control.

Jack stood and joined her at the railing. He leaned forward on his forearms, glancing sideways at her. "Cassie, sometimes things just happen at the wrong time—stuff doesn't synch the way it has to for things to work out. Do you understand me?"

"You're saying you don't like her anymore."

"No, I'm just saying that she decided to move on—we've decided to move on. It's for the best."

Cass absorbed that, her fingers drumming the railing. Suddenly, the drumming paused. Jack looked over at her to see her glaring at him. "You've moved on?"

"Cassie—"

"Is that where you went last night? You went out with someone else?"

"Cassandra."

"I can't believe this!" She made a little noise in her throat, like a constricted sob. Even in the darkness, Jack could see the tears welling in her eyes. "So, what, did you just pick some woman up in a bar or something? I mean—why else would you not call me if you weren't screwing some stranger?" She pushed away from the rail, her body shaking. "I can't believe you two. You're worse than teenagers."

He wanted to protest, but she'd hit too close to home. He didn't even have the ability to chastise her crudeness.

"So what, you've got a new girlfriend, and Sam's going to have this idiot husband, and where does that leave me?"

"That's a little selfish of you to assume that it all revolves around you, isn't it?"

"Selfish?" Cassandra jutted one hip out, waving a hand like a hatchet. "I'm selfish? You two can't get your heads out of your butts long enough to see the light, and I'm selfish?"

"Cassie—I haven't done anything to deserve this from you. Carter made the choice to start dating Pete—what am I supposed to do—challenge the shrub to a duel?"

Cassie nodded vehemently. "Yes! Yes, that's exactly what you should have done in the beginning of this stupid debacle—you should have kicked him to the curb!"

"She made the choice! It's not his fault! He's just a guy who happened to be around when she made that decision!"

"And what did you do about it?" Cassie's eyes widened as she pointed at him. "Nothing! Not a damn thing! You sat there and let her go!"

"Cassandra, this is not your life. This is my life. Mine and Carter's. We're adults. We made these decisions, and now we're going to live with them. I only hope that eventually you can grow up a little bit and accept that."

Cassie waited for a while before answering. She was crying freely, her multi colored hair tangled, mascara running down one cheek. She shook her head, her bottom lip quivering. "Yeah, well no offense, General, but your decisions completely suck."

She crossed to the door and shoved it open. Jack heard her car keys jingle in the kitchen as she grabbed her purse and nearly ran out of the house, the front door slamming behind her.

It was a long time before he could move.

----OOOOOOO----

As usual, he was overcompensating.

It was really completely out of his control. Death and destruction he could handle. Mayhem and murder he could deal with. He was in his element while confronting System Lords, as well as just regular old Goa'ulds. Jack didn't even break a sweat when fate found him up against intergalactic bad guys that would have had the rest of the world in a tizzy of freaked-out terror.

No—what had Brigadier General Jack O'Neill babbling incoherently?

Jacob Carter.

He'd met the General cum Tok'ra in the Gateroom with his typical banter—his typical overeager-teenage-angst-ridden-crap. All that had been missing was high-water pants and a zit.

And then he discovered that the fate of the galaxy was at stake. And not like it was normally—because who was he kidding, it was always being screwed with somewhere—but really in danger.

Replicators.

He hated those bugs.

And he hadn't been able to answer any of Jacob's questions to the Tok'ra's satisfaction—he wasn't sure when Carter and the rest of SG-1 would come back, he didn't know how their mission with the Jaffa to combat the system lord—who—Miata? Isuzu? Amadeus? Amata-something—was going, and he hadn't heard that the replicators were in town.

Turns out, Jacob was better at the "Jack, don't be an ass" look than Daniel.

He'd actually been grateful when Harriman had informed him that SG-1's IDC had been entered. At least he'd finally been able to tell Jacob something about something.

Too bad Daniel had been beamed away again. To be honest, he wasn't too concerned quite yet. The Space Monkey had a way of reappearing just when all was thought to be lost.

Carter, Bra'tac, and Teal'c had retreated into the locker room to prepare for the briefing, while O'Neill and Jacob had gone to pick up a quick lunch.

It was over some sort of mystery pasta that O'Neill started the incoherent babbling. All because Jacob asked a simple question.

"So—what's this Pete guy like?"

Jack put down his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He was stalling—there was no tip-toeing around that tulip. Jacob noticed and gave that sarcastic half smile of his—the one that said, "I'm way smarter than you."

"Uh—Pete." Jack tried to look thoughtful but ended up looking, he was certain, constipated.

"Pete. My daughter's fiancé."

"Yes—well, I've only met him a few times."

"So you don't like him?"

"Where did you get that idea?"

"If you've only met him a few times, it means that you don't like him."

Jack picked his fork back up and poked at his noodles. "It's not that I don't like him."

"Cassandra says he's an idiot."

"When did you talk to Cassandra?"

"I called her a little while ago from your office. You were in the john."

"Oh."

"She's not a happy camper."

Jack didn't respond—he was slowly demolishing each and every piece of pasta on his plate.

"She says that you're dating someone new."

"Not really dating—"

"I believe the word she used was—"

"Probably rude." Jack held up a hand. "I'd really rather not talk about it, if you don't mind, Jake. No offense."

Jacob returned to his pasta. "You know, I really do miss spaghetti—the Tok'ra are really more beans and rice people. But there's nothing like basil sauce and pasta out there in space—at least not that I've run into. That's one thing Earth has—great food."

Still, Jack didn't answer. He could feel Jacob watching him over the table, feel the other man's concern.

"I'm not judging you, Jack. I know that things haven't been easy." His voice was low enough that other people in the commissary couldn't hear him. "But I thought that the two of you had some kind of—understanding. I figured that you'd end up together, somehow."

Jack processed the fact that Jacob wasn't completely against his being with Carter. That was a little mind blowing, to say the least. When he could finally breathe again, Jack finally looked him in the eye. "Kinda hard when she's marrying someone else."

"Deed's not done yet."

"Jake—I—"

"I know. I know. And I know that I haven't made it easier. But you're good for her. And regardless of what else I know about you—which is a lot, mind you—I also know that you'd take care of her. No matter what." He took a sip of water while he let that sink in. "But apparently you've got a new girlfriend, and Sam's getting married to—Pat."

"Pete."

"Pete. Whatever." Jacob laid his fork on his empty plate. "I guess I'll just have to meet him. I'm sure that he's nice enough. I just hope that he can handle her. She's pretty high-maintenance. I mean—hey—she's my daughter, and I love her, but she can be a pain in the butt, right? It would take a big man to want to take on that responsibility."

He stood, pulling himself up to his full height. "Not just any man could do it, right, Jack? Only the best of men—the most honorable."

His Tok'ra boots didn't make a sound as he walked away.

----OOOOOOO----

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Carter took off with the Asgard, Teal'c and Bra'tac went off to capture Dakara, and Jacob monitored the losses of the Goa'uld with his stolen receiver thingy. Jack was making a conscious effort not to hover in the control room.

It seemed to annoy the Weeble—er—Harriman. And he didn't want to be around Jacob—he felt wrong, somehow.

So instead, he ended up in his office, shuffling papers. He tried to call Cassie several times, but she wasn't answering, damn caller ID. He tried not to think about Daniel, tried not to obsess about Carter and the Asgard working with reactivated Replicator cells. He decided to spend some time catching up with paperwork. Service requests, inventories, personnel forms, mission reports—anything to not think about his people, his life, the disasters he'd made of them all.

When his phone rang, he was shocked to glance at the clock and find it was past two in the morning.

He paused when he saw the caller ID, then answered it.

"Hey, Jack."

"Kerry."

"Big stuff going on, huh?"

"Yeah—looks like I won't make it out of here anytime soon."

"I'm going to miss you tonight."

"It's almost three in the morning—you already have missed me."

She laughed and he heard the unmistakable sounds of sheets being shifted. "Well, I was just lying here, thinking that I hadn't spoken to you today."

"Like you said, big things happening."

"Can I know what it is?"

"I'm not sure you're cleared for this kind of stuff."

"Top level, baby."

"Not this high."

"Too bad." She shifted again. "I get nosy. Are you going to make it out later this morning?"

Jack glanced out of the window into the board room. He could see the reflection of the 'Gate in the observation window—it sat still, dark, and quiet.

"Probably not."

"Call me when you're able to?"

"Yeah."

A long pause stretched between them. He heard her shift the phone to her other ear, and her voice softened. "You know, Jack—I really like being with you. I wasn't expecting that."

He knew that it took him too long to answer. "Me too."

"I think we might have something. I know it's only been a little while that we've been seeing each other, but sometimes life happens like that—fast."

"It does."

"I mean, we've only been—together—twice, but I do miss you. You and that cute butt of yours. I could get used to this—thing—we have."

He closed his eyes and pictured her, lying in that mussed up hotel bed, her dark curls falling in a riot around her shoulders. She didn't sleep in much, and he knew that the satin of her skin would be warmed by the sheets—the down comforter. He suddenly felt cold.

"Yeah, me too."

"G'night, Jack."

"'Night."

He hung up and stared at the phone, then picked up his pen. Expenses reports waited.

But traitorously, his mind flashed back to Jacob, to Carter. Jacob had spoken about Carter's being difficult to maintain. Jack had known that from the moment he met her. Her brilliance took second seat only to her passion—and that was a difficult mix. She was inherently fair, uncompromisingly intelligent, and had a capacity to over think everything. The man who took her on needed to be determined enough to deal with all of that in one beautiful, slightly insecure, package. Pete was one of those New Age guys—touchy feely while pretending to be tough. But he lacked the inner strength to be able to cipher out the more intricate portions of Sam—to really understand her. Jack knew without a doubt that he underestimated her—and would be more than a little shocked to see her in her true element, surrounded by Jaffa, mowing them down, saving the day.

Jack smiled a little when he thought of how a New Age guy would react when he discovered that his wife could do him some serious harm without even thinking too hard.

But then that brought him to Kerry Johnson.

Kerry was easy to like—easy to be with. She was with the CIA—more of an analyst than a spy-type. She knew theoretically what Jack was all about—what the program meant to the safety of the world, but he doubted that she truly had any idea of what he did—what he'd done. Kerry was like Sara in that regard—she didn't want to know details. For all her spouting about gathering intelligence and her knowledge of the program, she'd never been through the 'Gate—couldn't imagine the dangers. Her idea of his job was idealized. Sanitized. Homogenized.

A while ago, Cassie had confessed that Sam had nightmares. Jack had them, too. He doubted that either Pete or Kerry woke up in terror, the smells of alien prisons, the sounds of alien tortures confounding them.

It was hard to offer comfort when you didn't understand the torment.

And Jack admitted to himself that whatever release he was currently finding with Kerry—whatever pleasure he extracted from the relationship, it couldn't develop into anything deeper. She couldn't understand where he'd been, what he'd been.

Just like Pete didn't and couldn't understand Carter.

He bit his lip, staring at the pen in his hands, wishing like hell that he was the honorable man that Jacob had been talking about. Wishing that he had the guts to confront the issue straight on. Wishing that he had, long ago, had the actual conversation that had been necessary, instead of dancing around the truth for so many years. He'd told her he'd cared about her—had to tell her in order to prove he wasn't a za'tarc. But he'd never taken it further. Never trusted her enough to ask her—beg her—to wait, to believe in him.

It had been dishonest, agreeing to leave it in the room. An honorable man would have gathered her close and offered himself, regardless of the consequences. How often did a man have that opportunity with a woman like Samantha Carter?

And in the midst of this thought, fate threw him a curveball. His office lit up, and she beamed in, courtesy of a desperate Asgard.