Meetings

Chapter III: Morning Run
Disclaimer: I'm a broke college student, there's no way this is mine.

Jack O'Neill flung his arm across his face and rolled over with a groan as the morning sun shined merrily in his eyes. He cursed whatever gods made him forget to shut the blinds the night before and tried to go back to sleep. Several unsuccessful minutes later, Jack figured he might as well get up. He risked uncovering his left eye long enough to glance at his watch. He regretted that action instantly; it was 0520 and he had just blinded himself for that depressing tidbit of information.

The Captain was not, by nature, either a morning person or an early riser; however, the Air Force had trained him to wake up quickly and completely at ungodly hours of the day. Yes, thanks to time spent in the military, Jack was able rise and stay awake regardless of the hour. As he knew that sleep was no longer an option, Jack figured he should probably get out of bed and do something productive with his time—like work out or go for a run.

O'Neill pulled his lanky form out of the bed and dressed quietly in running gear before heading down the stairs to the kitchen. He put a piece of bread in the toaster and searched for a pad of paper and a pen. He didn't think anyone would be up before he got back, but figured it would be better to leave them a note just in case. Stuffing the last few bites of toast into his mouth and leaving the note in the middle of the kitchen counter, Jack made his way out the front door and sat down on the sidewalk. After running through some stretches, he picked a direction and set off down the street at an easy jog.

Jack had always been athletic; at least one sport every season in high school, sometimes two. Yet, however much his coaches made him run for training; he never grew tired of it. He had never competed in track or cross country, but running had always been one of his favorite activities. Unlike most other sports, running allowed Jack the time to deal with the errant thoughts meandering through his head. When he was out there, it was just him and the pavement; there was nothing to distract him or any outside influences to take his focus from the problems or things he was thinking about.

This particular morning, Jack's thoughts were all centered on family, or, more specifically, the Carters' and his own. Jack had always been an outcast in his family; the oldest of four, and the only one to ever think about entering the armed forces. Jack was much closer to his grandfather, who had been a Major in the Air Force before his retirement, than his father or siblings had been. He had not spoken to his two youngest brothers in years and had only heard from the other because of Patrick's death. Jack was convinced that Michael had drawn the short straw and had been forced to call him. His reception at Patrick's funeral was a sharp contrast to the welcome he had received from the Carters. Well, Jack thought absentmindedly, from two of the Carters at any rate. In his mind, Jack tried to compare Jacob and his own father, but the harder he tried, the more he found that Jacob had much more in common with Patrick O'Neill than his son Sean. Jack figured that was part of the reason he got along so well with the older man. Thinking about Jacob Carter inevitably brought Jack's thoughts toward Sam.

Samantha Carter. There was a problem if Jack ever saw one. He knew he was attracted to her, which scared the crap out of him; Sam was fun, cute, smart as hell, and ten years his junior. Jack wasn't worried about the age gap, he wouldn't try anything with the General's underage daughter; he wasn't completely stupid. However, he had this strange feeling that he and Sam were supposed to have something more, and he was worried that he would never get the chance to find out because she would undoubtedly find someone to sweep her off her feet before they could meet again. Jack sighed and shook his head; it wouldn't do any good to dwell on that particular subject.

While the young Captain was making his way around the neighborhood, Mark Carter was just returning home. He had lost track of time the night before and had ended up staying out all night. Mark glanced at his watch and grimaced; if anyone was awake he was dead. As soon as he entered the kitchen, Make knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that there wasn't anyone up yet. There was a pot of coffee brewed and at least one cup's worth already missing from it. Sam didn't drink coffee, so that left his father or O'Neill. As the Air Force had a tendency to ingrain an unnatural habit of getting up before dawn within their members, it could be either of the officers. If it was O'Neill, Mark might be able to keep his absence last night from Jacob—but only if the younger officer would cover for him. Mark doubted that would happen. While he was contemplating whether or not he should try to get upstairs without alerting his father, the man himself walked into the kitchen.

Jacob glanced at his son before moving to the coffee pot. "Where were you last night?" Mark didn't respond. "I'm not going to repeat myself."

"Out with friends, I told you that last night." Mark poured his own mug of java.

"You didn't mention being gone all night or that you were going to try to sneak back in at 0545." Jacob stood looking out the window, his back to Mark.

Mark glared at the back of his father's head, "What? So I've got a curfew now? Is that it?!" Mark slammed his fist against the counter, "I'm not a child, dammit!"

"A child, no, but you are my son and will follow the rules of this household." Jacob didn't raise his voice, but the steel in his tone was as clear as day.

"Rules?" Mark shook his head, "More like commands. I'm not one of your damn flunkies, Dad, you can't order me around!"

Jacob turned his head just enough to eye the younger man. "You want to stand down, Mark."

"No! Not this time!" Mark squared his shoulders, "I'm not an officer under your command; I'm your son!" He visibly deflated and muttered under his breath, "Maybe you should just keep O'Neill and forget I ever existed."

Jacob spun on his heel, "What did you just say?"

"Come on," Mark's voice was full of scorn, "he would be the perfect son, wouldn't he? He's athletic, funny, an officer in your precious Air Force, a good role model for Sam; how could I ever hope to compete with that? I must seem like such a disappointment." Without another word, Mark stomped out of the room, not even noticing his little sister standing in the shadows.

Jacob followed his son, seeing Sam but not stopping. When the two men were both upstairs, Sam stepped out of the shadows and into the kitchen. She spotted Jack's note on the counter and figured she would go out to meet him; she really needed to talk to someone. Sam added her own note to Jack's, pulled on her running shoes and slipped quietly out the door.

Sam jogged to the end of the block and glanced in both directions to see if she could discern which way the captain had gone. When she looked to the left, she saw a tall figure jogging towards her and guessed it was probably Jack. The young woman took off at a sprint in that direction, mentally breathing a sigh of relief when she was close enough to confirm that it was Jack. When she reached him, Sam launched herself into his arms and buried her head in his shoulder, shaking with the tears she was no longer able to control.

"Whoa there, what's happened to cause such tears so early this morning?" Unable to stop sobbing, Sam just tightened her grip on his shirt. Jack rubbed her back gently and led her to the curb to sit down. "Want me to go get Jacob?" Sam shook her head furiously. Jack, unsure as to what to do from there, just held her tightly while she tried to stop crying.

Eventually she reined her emotions in and hiccupped a few times. Jack handed her a clean bandana and Sam wiped off the remaining salt tracks. "'m sorry."

"No sweat, feeling better?" Sam nodded into his shoulder. "Wanna tell me what caused it?" Sam hesitated slightly, suddenly unsure of her need to tell Jack about what she had over heard. "Hey, no pressure. If you want to tell me, I'm here." Jack's reassuring words helped Sam make up her mind.

"No, I want to talk about it, I need to talk about it, I'm just not sure where to begin." Sam took a deep breath, then started to relate her story. "When Mark and I were little, Dad was away a lot, always off on missions and the like. For a while, he was Mark's hero; he wanted to be just like him, but that eventually died away as Mark grew up and began to understand what Dad missed while he was away from home.

"By the time Mark was sixteen, he had begun to resent Dad and his position within the Air Force. When Mom died in that accident, Mark and I both blamed Dad—he was supposed to pick her up. I've since forgiven him as much as he'll let me, but Mark's resentment continued to grow.

"Apparently, Mark didn't come home last night. And, although Mark is in college, he is still supposed to call when he isn't going to be home. It's one of the only rules still enforced in our house." Sam paused a moment before turning to Jack, "Was your father in the Air Force?"

"No, but my grandfather was an officer."

"Did you want to join because of him?" Jack nodded his response.

"Mark never wanted to follow Dad into the service." Sam stopped talking, unable to explain to Jack how Mark felt threatened by the younger officer's presence in the house. However, while the man sitting beside her pretended to be stupid; he understood what her silence was saying.

"I can return to the base if you think it would help."

Sam thought before answering. "No. This isn't your fault. The tension has been building for years.

"Mark just needs to grow up and learn that not everything revolves around him and his feelings." Sam sighed and looked at her watch; they had been sitting there for while. "We should probably be getting back. I left a note, but Dad might start to worry if we're out too long."

Jack stood and offered a hand to help the girl up. She hesitated before grasping his out-stretched fingers and pulling herself to her feet. The two started jogging back towards the house, gradually picking up speed as they went. As they turned onto the Carter's block, they were both at a dead sprint; each trying to reach the driveway first.

"Loser has to be the winner's slave for the rest of the day?"

"Alright, Carter. You're on." Jack took advantage of his longer legs and lengthened his stride just that much more, pulling ahead of Sam. However, she wasn't about to become his slave so willingly and put on a burst of speed. Sam caught up with him and they passed the driveway at the same time. As they slowed to a walk, each tried to claim victory over the other.

"I beat you fair and square." Jacob heard them arguing as the front door opened. "You have to be my slave for the day!"

"Uh-uh. I clearly won, which means you're my slave."

"I crossed the driveway a step ahead; I won, you're my slave."

"You're delusional, Carter, there's no way you beat me. I'm faster, and my legs are longer. I won."

Jacob couldn't contain himself any longer and burst out laughing, drawing the attention of the two. They had positioned themselves on either side of the counter and were so focused on their argument that they hadn't noticed the older man's presence in the kitchen.

AN: Okay, so this is only part of the next chapter, but I figured I would get it up now as I don't know when the rest of it will be finished. Sorry it's taken me so long for just this piddly amount, real life, I hear it eats all your time.