Chapter Two
"Could someone please explain to me why we're still here?"
It was a relief to see Daniel's true face again, no longer pale and mutilated by Adria's so-called "gift". Even so, he seemed to have aged in the intervening months, as though the strain of maintaining two consciousnesses had taken their toll, regardless of Merlin's promise to return him to his pre-joined state. She knew both times that Jack had been restored from his encounters with the Ancient data base he too had retained residual evidence of the experience. She doubted if Daniel would ever be quite the same again either.
"Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that you kidnapped a two-star general and hi-jacked one of the Air Force's super secret space ships to carry out your own quixotic plan to rid the universe of the Ori…but then that's just a wild guess," replied Vala, her own weariness bleeding through her lackluster attempt at humor. None of them were feeling too buoyant at the moment, in spite of the fact that, in the end, the mission had gone according to plan. Well…almost. There was still the matter of the kidnapping. And the hi-jacking. All of which seemed to be getting sorted out at the moment in General Landry's office if the raised voices of Woolsey, Landry and Jack were any indication. Not that any of them were eavesdropping. Well, at least not much.
"You did what you had to do, Jackson. Hell, I'd probably had done the same thing in your place."
Cam's vote of approval did little to affect the overall mood. The simple fact was, despite it being executed according to plan—more or less—they had no way of knowing if Merlin's device had, indeed, ultimately succeeded. And the fact that there was now an open wormhole streaming Ori ships between their galaxy and the Milky Way made any sense of victory ever so fleeting.
Daniel rubbed his temples with both hands, squeezing his eyes shut. "I just wish they'd let me go home and bring me up on charges after I've had a hot shower and a good night's sleep," he muttered. He looked exhausted. They all did, as she gazed around the conference table, including Jack, who she could still see through the window in the general's office gesturing pointedly at Woolsey's chest. Woosley had the sense at least to appear intimidated and took a half step back from Jack's not-quite-touching-him finger. Landry's scowl only seemed to reinforce whatever point Jack was making and it was fairly evident from the resigned look on Woolsey's face that it was all over. Moments later the door opened and Jack led the trio into the briefing room.
"Detention's over, kids. You can all go home now," quipped Jack, waving them toward the door. "That includes you, Daniel. Mr. Woolsey here seems to finally appreciate that saving the galaxy yet again more than makes up for any rash actions on your part." Sam couldn't help but think that Woolsey looked like he might take issue with that statement, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.
"Except we don't know if we actually did save the galaxy," began Daniel wearily, but Jack interrupted him.
"Uh-uh-uh…" he held up his finger to shush Daniel. "Let's not spoil the moment, shall we? Now go on. Go home. All of you. That's an order. Right, general?" He turned to Landry, as if realizing he might have been stepping on some chain of command toes. Landry, for his part, didn't seem to mind.
"You're all dismissed," he added, perfunctorily. "What Jack said. Get out of here. All of you." He looked pointedly at Woolsey, who nodded awkwardly and half-backed out of the room, as if he didn't feel he could safely turn his back on its current occupants. Which was probably a wise move, all things considered.
Letting the others file out, she gathered the useless piles of reports she'd brought with her and loitered near the door, trying to be unobtrusive. Jack and Landry exchanged a few more words before the general returned to his office and Jack came over to where she waited.
"Go home, Carter. I'm going to stick around for a while, see if Hank needs any more help kicking Woolsey's ass to the curb."
She had no doubt but that Richard Woolsey was half way to DC already, his bureaucratic tail tucked soundly between his legs. She knew Jack's reason for staying had nothing whatsoever to do with Woolsey or Landry or anything else that had happened over the past week.
It was August seventeenth.
"No, sir."
If her response surprised him, he didn't show it. If anything, he seemed to sag slightly, as if he'd given up the effort of pretense. It took every bit of her ingrained training to keep her hand from reaching out to touch his tired face and wrapping her arms around him. He seemed to sense her unspoken concern for he dropped his voice and spoke softly.
"Sam…please. I'll be home later."
She knew it was a lie. Or at the very least, it was a promise she knew he'd never keep. He'd find some excuse to stay around the SGC until morning, filling the time with Landry or Siler or even hanging out in the control room with Walter. Anything to keep his mind on matters that had nothing to do with the date or its significance.
"Then I'm staying too," she declared, simply. There was no way in hell she was going to leave him alone on this day. She hadn't for the past seven years, whether he knew it or not, and she wasn't about to start now. "Just like always," she added softly.
Something in how she'd said it must have given her away. She saw comprehension dawn on Jack's face, followed by the rapid succession of emotions as he went from understanding to surprise to a momentary flash of anger to grief and remorse, all in the space of a few heartbeats. He leaned against the door jamb and studied the floor.
"How long have you known?" he asked finally, his voice uncharacteristically husky. He still didn't look up.
"A long time," she replied, denying again the urge to reach out and touch him.
"Daniel told you?" He still studied the floor.
"Years ago."
She thought she heard him give a slight huff. "Blabber mouth."
A small reflexive smile tugged at her mouth just as he looked up and met her gaze. His indictment of Daniel had been in jest but there was no humor in his eyes. They were dark and filled with self-recrimination, even after all this time. She could only imagine what they must have been like that day, so many years ago.
"Come home, Jack."
"Sam…." She watched the protest die on his lips. He released a weary sigh and nodded slightly. "Fine. You go ahead. I'll be right behind you."
She knew she couldn't give him even the slightest opportunity to renege. Shaking her head she countered, "No. If it's that important, I can wait."
He studied her for a moment as if gauging her determination and when it became apparent to him she wasn't moving without him, he finally shrugged in resignation.
"After you."
o-o-o-o-o
Neither of them could muster much of an appetite. She'd put the half-filled boxes of Chinese take-out in the fridge as he'd grabbed a beer and settled on the sofa, feet stretched out on the coffee table. He was the picture of relaxation, even if she knew it to be an absolute sham. For all the nonchalance he was more tense than she'd ever seen him, his features rigid, his jaw clenched. If she had even dared touch him she wouldn't have been surprised to find him made of stone. And he was equally as approachable. During dinner he hadn't said more than two words.
He was absently switching channels with the remote when she sat down next to him with a cup of tea. They'd opened up the windows to rid the house of its unoccupied staleness and now a warm breeze was bringing in the sounds of the neighborhood enjoying a summer evening. On and off she could hear people talking, the barking of dogs, the crack of a baseball bat, the shouts of kids at play. It was in stark contrast to the oppressive silence of the house, interrupted only by the random and incoherent sound bites issuing from the flickering television.
Finally he settled on a channel that featured an innocuous documentary on the indigenous peoples of the Arctic. It was little more than something to stare at, she knew, but she let him be, thumbing through a magazine she'd been reading last time she'd spent an evening at home. A magazine, she realized, that was six months out-of-date. Tossing it aside, she concentrated instead on learning why polar bears did not make particularly good neighbors and how to keep one's sense of direction in a blinding snow storm—totally worthless facts she filed away in case she ever found herself stranded at the North Pole.
She was sure Jack wasn't absorbing a word of the program, but he seemed disinclined to do anything else, so she stayed where she was, close enough to feel the heat of his body on an already warm summer night, yet still not actually touching him. She had never felt so useless. Whatever he was thinking or feeling, she obviously had no part in it aside from her mere proximity, and she wondered if perhaps she shouldn't have left well enough alone—if she shouldn't have let him wander the halls of the SGC in search of a diversion. Because whatever comfort she had hoped to offer, it was apparently not what Jack wanted or needed.
She had always known that this was one aspect of Jack's life she would never be able to completely share, but she had believed that eventually she could at least be able to be there for him when this dreaded day rolled around. But Jack had relied on his own coping mechanism for so long, she should have known better than to interfere with it. She had thought, somehow, she could make things better. Instead, it seemed, she had only served to make things worse.
When the program ended they continued to sit, silently, while the next one began. In spite of her best efforts, Sam felt her eyes repeatedly become leaden and when she jerked herself awake for the fifth time she knew she couldn't last another moment. She picked up the remote and stood.
"Come to bed, Jack," she said, switching off the TV and holding out her hand. To her surprise, he hesitated only a moment before taking it and letting her lead him to bed.
The previous year, when he had not been aware of her knowledge, she'd planned an evening with Daniel and Teal'c. The four of them had stayed up half the night talking and reminiscing, keeping Jack appropriately distracted until, exhausted, the other two had gone home and she and Jack had fallen wearily into bed. She remembered how he'd pretended, for her sake, to sleep, even though she knew he'd laid awake for hours afterward, in spite of how tired she knew he had been. She'd longed to touch him even then—to hold him and let him know she understood, but at the time it had seemed more important to keep him from discovering that she knew, and so she'd kept silent vigil with him in the dark, feigning her own sleep as well so he wouldn't find out.
Now she had no such constraint. And even though it was apparent that she had been mistaken to think that she could, in any way make this easier for him, she refused to give up entirely. So when he turned off the light and lay on his side, facing away from her, she wrapped her arm around him and held him tightly. She felt him tense at first, unwilling to accept her implied comfort, but after a few moments he took a deep breath and as if releasing some great burden, surrendered himself to her arms. In the dark his hand grasped hers and held it tightly, for all the world like he would never let it go. And even though she could feel the nerve being pinched in her shoulder and her fingers going numb, she didn't dream of moving it. Only when she could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest and the relaxation of his hand around hers and knew, without doubt, that he finally slept, did she work her hand free. Even then she kept her arm firmly about him, refusing to remove the only comfort he seemed capable of accepting. And knowing that she had at least made some progress, exhausted she also fell asleep.