April 2013

Anyone who bothered looking too closely would realize pretty quickly that Sam's the one leading Jack around the ballroom, but he doesn't care. He's so happy to have her here that he doesn't even mind being stuffed into his dress uniform and playing nice with the usual Washington mucky mucks.

Well, he doesn't mind it much.

He and Sam are arm in arm, making the rounds of all the decision-makers and dignitaries they need on their side in order to continue funding the stargate program at current operational levels. Even the bigwigs who aren't particularly fond of the program are eager for a few minutes of their time, and Sam is going out of her way to ensure all the cheque writers go home happy.

It's still not something he's comfortable with, but after so many of these shindigs Jack has gotten used to being greeted with various levels of awe. Insulated as she is when jet-setting around the galaxy, Sam is much less used to the kind of attention she's getting tonight.

Like Jack, she's seen as something of a legend. She's a bona fide hero, a pioneer in the field of wormhole physics, and – as the slinky black evening gown she's wearing tonight makes abundantly clear – an attractive woman to boot. Jack very much doubts anyone would mind if he slipped out and caught the last half of the Blackhawks game at the nearest sports bar, just so long as Sam sticks around.

But he never leaves his people behind and despite all the trappings of civilization, Jack knows some of the biggest scumbags they've ever encountered are in this very room tonight. So he sucks it up and lets Sam steer him from one inane conversation to the next, shaking hands and smiling politely in all the right places.

Things are going well enough up until the moment the president sidles alongside the pair of them, grinning broadly.

"Colonel Carter," he greets warmly, taking her hand. "I'm glad you could make it tonight. You're looking lovely, as always."

As she usually does, Sam flushes bright pink and dips her head slightly, embarrassed. "Good evening, Mr. President. Thank you very much for inviting me – it's a wonderful party."

Jack's always been jealous of her ability to maintain her easy grace under pressure. He extends a hand to the president.

"I don't have a say in planning them, you know," the president says heartily, still clasping her hand in his. "I just put on whatever my wife lays out for me and go where they tell me to. For all the power of the presidency, I'm at the mercy of my three social secretaries."

Finally, their commander in chief lets go of her and turns his attention on Jack. "I couldn't help but notice you still haven't put a ring on one of those miracle working fingers, son."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack sees Sam grimace. The slender, ringless fingers tucked in the crook of his arm grasp the sensitive skin in the bend of his elbow and squeeze. Hard.

"Ack!" Attempting to cover his less than macho squawk, Jack quickly adds, "...tually, Mr. President, there's a very good reason for that."

Apparently satisfied that Jack is finally going to keep his promise and clue in their commander in chief, Sam disengages. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. President, I've just spotted General Kerrigan."

"Of course, Colonel. You be sure to find me again later in the evening. The First Lady will never forgive me if I let you sneak away without saying hello."

"Yes, sir." She flashes them both a nervous smile, then bolts for the other side of the ballroom.

The president watches her go, doting smile still plastered on his face.

Jack can't believe she suckered him into this. Sam's the one the president adores. The news will go over much better coming from her. But Jack's still a sucker for that wide-eyed, pleading expression she used to unleash when she wanted five more minutes off-world with an alien doohickey, so he'd agreed to be the one to have this awkward little chat with the most powerful man in the world.

So help him if the President of the United States unleashes the 82nd Airborne…

"You'd better get a move on, Jack. One of these days that genius IQ is going to kick in and she's going to realize she can do a hell of a lot better than you," the president teases jovially.

Jack grimaces. It's time to bite the bullet. "She already has, sir."

The president regards him blankly for a few beats before comprehension makes his face fall. "Talk to her, son. I'm sure you two can work things out…"

"No, sir, I don't think we can. It's been a while now."

"Women are just about infinitely patient when it comes to the idiocy of their men. Apologize to her and…"

"Actually, Mr. President, breaking up was my idea – the best I ever had." Jack glances over his shoulder.

Sam is huddled in the back corner of the room, grinning widely and talking animatedly with her old mentor. Jack can't help but smile at how effortlessly she charms her way through these events. She hates them almost as much as he does, but unlike him, Sam took careful notes during the better part of a decade worth of Daniel's diplomatic dealings.

"Do you realize how much creative restructuring of the chain of command it took for you two to be allowed to get together?" The deep frown on the president's face warns he's taking the news about as well as Jack feared he would.

"Yes, sir, I do. And we're both very grateful for all that you did for us." Jack stuffs his hands in his pockets and returns his attention front and centre.

"What happened?"

"We realized we're better off as friends." Jack shrugs, at a loss. He doesn't know why things worked out the way they did, but he's grateful anyway.

The platonic relationship he and Sam have now is uncomplicated. It's a wonderful contrast to the romance they'd tried to make a go of. There's no tension, no drama, no gnawing fear that one-day she's going to wake up and realize she deserves better.

On the rare occasions they both sit down to a meal at the same time, he looks into her eyes and sees contentment in place of the doubt that clouded her face back when they'd still been playing at normalcy. He's not sure that she's happy and he's too much of a coward to ask, but he knows she's satisfied with what they've got.

That's good enough for him.

"How long ago did you two come to this decision?"

Jack plasters his best innocent expression on his face. "I don't remember, sir."

"Bullshit, Jack."

"It's been a few months," he replies cagily.

The president raises his left eyebrow in a way that suggests Teal'c's been dropping by the White House a bit too often lately. "How many is 'a few'?"

"Oh, three or four …" Then, because contrary to the griping he does whenever he gets dragged to these social functions, Jack does actually like the president – most of the time – he amends his answer. "… Give or take twenty."

"Excuse me?"

"It's been almost two years now."

"Two years?!"

Jack shrugs helplessly. "Yes, sir. Give or take."

"Hell, Jack, you two really are better off as friends. I had no idea!"

"Yeah, we get that a lot." He glances over his shoulder again, but Sam is still busy with Kerrigan. Sometimes, but not often, she's no help at all. "Mr. President, we do appreciate everything you did to give us a chance, and we wanted to tell you sooner, we just didn't know how."

The president offers up a sheepish grin, assuming the affable persona that served him so well on the campaign trail. "I suppose I didn't make it easy."

"By constantly asking when I was planning on proposing to her? No, sir."

"What can I say? I'm a sucker for a good love story. If anybody ever deserved a happy ending, it's you two."

"Well if it makes you feel better, sir, I think we've got one."

The president glances at Sam briefly before returning his attention to Jack. "So do I, son."

It's clear he wants to say more, but an aide chooses that moment to lean in and whisper something in his ear. Jack is grateful for the reprieve. Talking to his commander in chief about his relationship with Sam is even more awkward than tap dancing through the occasional veiled conversation George Hammond had felt the need to have with him on the subject, once upon a time.

The president makes his apologies and extracts another promise that Jack and Sam won't leave without stopping by to say hello to the First Lady. Then he's off, shaking hands with Ambassador So-And-So, leaving Jack alone in a sea of dignitaries.

Of course, in a sea of dignitaries, there's always someone eager to strike up a conversation with the head of Homeworld Security, so the alone part doesn't last for long. Before Jack knows it, some stuffed shirt is pumping his hand eagerly and gushing over what an enormous pleasure it is to meet him.

Jack is saved from having to lie that the pleasure is all his when a familiar arm slips through his.

"Excuse me, Senator, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal General O'Neill away. General Jumper needs a moment with him." Sam's voice is warm and genuinely apologetic. It seems to do the trick.

Senator What's-His-Face releases Jack's hand, shakes Sam's, and then walks away in search of someone else to schmooze. Sam handles the brush-off so adroitly that the man doesn't even seem to realize that he, the distinguished senator from wherever, has been waved off by a lowly USAF colonel.

Jack dips his head to murmur in her ear. "How the hell did you know that guy was a senator? I didn't know who he was, even after he introduced himself!"

Sam rolls her eyes. "It's called 'C-SPAN,' Jack."

"Smart ass."

"No, really. He was on C-SPAN the other day demanding the president reinstate DADT." Sam urges him into motion, steering him in the opposite direction of Senator Whosit.

"Oh." Then, because he really hates these shindigs, "Can we go home now?"

"Not yet. General Jumper wants to see you."

"I thought you were just saying that to save me from the good senator."

"Five minutes, Jack. Then five more with the First Lady. Then we can go home."

He pouts. "Fine."