August 2014

Jack can hear his private line ringing from down the hall, but he refuses to pick up the pace. Maybe, just maybe, if he takes long enough to reach his office, the caller will have already hung up. He prefers to let his calls go to voicemail. That way he can procrastinate returning the call unless it's from one of those rare people he actually wants to be able to reach him on his private line. It's funny how nothing private in Washington stays private for long.

His admin assistant gives him a disapproving frown as he saunters past her desk. After two and a half years assigned to his office, she's well acquainted with his tactics. If she weren't already on the phone, likely dealing with another bigwig he's been blowing off lately, she'd scold him about the fact that every time he dodges a call, she has to deal with the repercussions.

She may be just a kid who doesn't look old enough for the lieutenant's bars that sit atop her shoulders, but she isn't afraid to stand up to her boss. Jack likes that about her. She reminds him of a young Sam Carter.

He offers her his most over the top 'what can you do?' shrug. Then the phone stops ringing and he adds a victorious fist pump to the mix. There's a reason he runs his office the way he does: because it works.

Cavanaugh rolls her eyes and shifts the receiver to nestle between her ear and her shoulder. She hands him a stack of messages and levels a look that makes it clear she expects him to return each and every call.

Jack shuffles through the stack and continues on to his office. He's two steps through the door before the phone starts ringing again. He throws himself into his chair and glances at the caller ID, wondering which hoity toity has decided to bypass Cavanaugh and call on his direct line this time.

The number registers right away. It should – it used to be his. He snatches up the receiver on the second ring.

"Hey," he greets warmly.

"We lost SG-7."

Jack takes a deep breath. He remembers the horrible, sick feeling of losing his first team. Hammond had no words to offer him then, and he has none to offer Sam now. There's nothing he can say to make this easier for her. She'll have to learn to live with the guilt, just like he did.

"I'm sorry." It's inadequate, but it's all he has.

"They were on a geological mission to '637 when they were captured by the locals," Sam's tight, carefully controlled voice explains over the line. "They missed two check-ins before I decided to send SG-2 after them. By the time they found SG-7, the natives had executed the whole team."

Jack runs a hand over his eyes and sucks in another deep breath. What happened to SG-7 is every commander's nightmare – one he'd unrealistically hoped Sam would never have to confront.

"It's my fault. I should have sent someone after them sooner."

"You followed procedure," he says firmly.

"Something about it didn't feel right. If I'd followed my gut, maybe they'd still be alive."

"And maybe the other team would be dead now too. You can't play 'what if' and you can't blame yourself."

"They are... were my responsibility. Who should I blame?" she snaps.

Cavanaugh appears in the doorway, pointedly aiming a finger at her watch. Jack waves dismissively, but she stands her ground, so he grabs the nearest pen, scribbles a terse explanation on his legal pad, and tosses it to her.

He's supposed to be on his way to a budget meeting with the Area 51 brain trust, but the eggheads can wait.

Cavanaugh reads his note. Her lips thin to a hard line and she nods once, indicating that she'll take care of his schedule.

This is why she's lasted in his office for so long: she gets Jack's priorities. When the SGC needs him, Cavanaugh will move heaven and earth to make him available. When one of his former teammates needs him, all bets are off.

"Sam, listen to me," Jack says patiently. "I understand how you're feeling right now. I've been there, done that. I'm not going to tell you it gets easier – it never does. The day you lose someone and you don't feel the way you do right now, it's time to walk away."

A few thousands miles away, she draws a shaky breath.

"Are you alone in your office?"

"Yes."

"Are the blinds closed?"

"Yes."

"Then let it out."

He never did this when he was in command of the SGC. Tears aren't his style. They're not usually hers either, but these are special circumstances.

Jack knows she's had trouble adjusting to command. It's hard for her to send teams out into the galaxy and not lead the charge when a rescue is required. The inaction goes against her instincts and every command lesson he's ever ingrained in her. It's even harder for her to let the science department alone with the technology that comes through the gate. The SGC's labs have always been her sanctuary. Now when she drops by, she's confronted with the fact that they're not her place anymore.

Command was easier for her on Atlantis and onboard the Hammond. Both were unfamiliar territory without any established habits. The SGC is both home and not to her now that she's the one calling the shots.

Jack gets that too.

It doesn't help that her long-time support system isn't around much. Daniel, Teal'c, Cam and Vala are off doing their own things more often than they're at the SGC anymore. In that respect, Jack knows she's got it harder than he ever did. Sure, he was called upon to send his closest friends into danger, but at least they were there when he needed their support or an audience to vent to.

"I'm fine, I just wish…"

"I know," Jack says gently. "But you can't. And you'll drive yourself crazy if you keep thinking about all the things you could, should or would have done if you'd known the team was in trouble."

He waits a beat, then shifts gears from friend to mentor. "You need to let yourself have these few minutes now, because when you open that door and step out of your office, that's it. Every single person on that base is hurting, and they're going to be looking to you for…"

"I know." Her voice is thick and he knows she's following his advice and letting the tears fall. "I need to keep it together and…"

"I know you know," Jack interrupts tactfully. He takes another deep breath. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to patronize you."

"No matter what happened, you always found a way to rally everyone around you." Sam sniffs and swallows hard. She's already pulling herself together again. "I knew it wasn't easy for you, but now I understand just how hard it must have been to be a rock for all of us."

"You are that rock, Sam. You're the only one at the SGC who can't see it."

Jack just knows she's shrugging half-heartedly, dismissing the compliment. She's never been able to see herself the way other people do. At times, that's been the hardest part of his job as her mentor: making her understand her strengths.

"Is there any chance you can make it out for the memorial?"

"Of course." Jack doesn't need to look at his calendar. Whatever date Carter sets for the memorial will be clear. Cavanaugh will see to that.

"And maybe stay for a while after?" she asks hesitantly.

It'll be harder for Cavanaugh to clear a few days, but she'll find a way if Jack asks. "Yeah."

"If you're busy…"

"I'll be there, Sam."

"Thanks."

They're silent for a few moments, just listening to one another breathe over the line. There are other things both of them ought to be doing now, and if he were to hint that he needed to get off the call, she'd hang up in a heartbeat. But he needs this just as much as she does. He's missed her since she moved back to Colorado, and he hates knowing that if trouble strikes at the SGC, there's nothing he can do to help her. If it meant hanging on to this connection, Jack would gladly stay on the line for the rest of the day just listening to her breathe.

Cavanaugh reappears beside his desk then. She doesn't say a word, just drops a thin stack of stapled papers on his desk and slips half a dozen file folders into his briefcase. Jack glances at what turns out to be his travel itinerary and a revised version of his schedule for the next week. With the exception of a handful of conference calls he can't miss, she's cleared every day.

Jack mouths a "thank you." He owes her a month's worth of really good coffee from the shop down the street that's just barely in the budget at his pay grade. She offers him a tight smile and taps a pointed finger beside his scheduled departure time.

"Look, Sam, I've got to get off the phone if I'm going to make my flight."

In spite of everything, Sam manages a chuckle. "She's good."

"Don't tell him I said so, but I think she may be even better than Walter."

"Nobody's better than Walter." She waits a beat, then asks, "When do you land?"

Jack wakes up alone save for the two perky brunettes trying to talk him into buying a contraption that looks suspiciously like a Goa'uld torture device. Sam's side of the couch is still warm though, so he knows he hasn't been alone for long.

He rises and stretches, working out the kinks that come from a late night curled up on a new piece of furniture that hasn't been properly broken in yet. The air is chilly despite the fact that there are still technically a few weeks left of summer. In Washington, the air is still heavy with heat and humidity. He'll take the fresh mountain air any day.

Going with his gut, he turns off the TV and picks his way across the unfamiliar house. It's no surprise to reach the sliding door and find his query leaning on the back patio railing, head tilted back to take in the night sky. Like him, Sam has always sought solace from the stars.

Jack slides the door open, wincing at the grating of metal on metal in the otherwise silent night.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. Jet lag," he lies. The time difference between Washington and Colorado Springs is negligible, especially when you consider what he used to do for a living. Crossing a few time zones is nothing compared to trading atmospheres a couple of times a week. It's the only edge he has when it comes time for the quarterly IOA meetings that crisscross the globe.

"I'm glad you're here," she says quietly. "I know I've lost people before, but this…"

"This is different."

He's been in her shoes. The SGC, more than any other command he's ever had the privilege of serving with, is a family. Once people are assigned to the base, very few ever move on to other commands. Sure, they may ship off to Atlantis or Area 51, or even transfer to a position with Earth's flee, but when all is said and done, those are all just de facto branches of Stargate Command.

They're an insular group and everyone can't help but know everyone else's business. Just like any other workplace, there are personalities that don't gel, but even the two most distant members of the SGC would willingly lay down their lives for one another because that's the culture George Hammond worked so hard to build. Jack did his damnedest to maintain that, as did Hank Landry. There's no question that legacy is safe with Sam.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks gently. She hadn't wanted to talk when she'd gotten home, but that was hours ago. After a long hot shower, a steak dinner, a bottle of red wine split two ways and a few hours of mindless TV movies, there's a fifty-fifty chance she's unwound enough to talk things through now.

She shrugs, the up and down of her shoulders barely perceptible beneath the thick jacket she'd slipped on to ward off the chill. "I'm just really glad you're here."

"Me too." Being at the SGC for the next few days isn't going to be fun, but it's where he'll be able to do the most good. "How's everybody holding up?"

Sam shrugs again. "About as well as you'd expect. Lascelle is taking it pretty hard."

Jack winces in sympathy. Eric Lascelle has been at the SGC for six and a half years. He'd served on SG-7 with Colonel Franklin up until two months ago, when all of Franklin's mentoring had finally paid off and Lascelle had been given command of his own unit. Jack had signed the paperwork himself.

"And how are you holding up?"

"Better now." Sam shifts her weight, bringing her close enough to lean her head on his shoulder. "Thanks for coming."

He slides an arm around her shoulders, anchoring her in place. "Thanks for letting me stay here."

He hadn't wanted to assume anything but when he'd stepped off the plane and found an airman and a key to Sam's place waiting for him, the last of his travel plans had sorted themselves out. Jack had spent the afternoon making himself at home, setting up the guest room and getting in the groceries Sam never seemed to bother buying for herself. He'd been impatient for her to get home but had understood why she was needed at the base.

"You'd probably have slept better in a hotel."

Actually, he'd probably have tossed and turned all night, worrying about how she was coping.

"I'm good," Jack assures her. His hand rubs up and down her arm, smoothing soothingly over the worn fabric of her jacket. "I think you could probably use some sleep though."

The dark smudges under her eyes had taken him by surprise. He's seen her work herself into the ground before. He's even gotten good enough to tell when she's doing it from a few time zones away. Nothing in their semi-regular phone conversations had tipped him off this time though. He hadn't been expecting her to look as wrung out as she does.

"I can't sleep."

"Can't sleep or won't sleep?"

"Can't." She sighs and snuggles further into his hold. "It's not that I haven't been trying; I just can't shut my brain off."

"That's never stopped you before."

"I've never been responsible for a few hundred lives before."

She's been responsible for billions of lives before and they both know it, but it's close enough to the truth for the purpose of this conversation.

"You're ready for this, Sam. You know how I operate – I wouldn't have recommended you for Hank's old job if I didn't believe you could handle it."

"I know you think I'm ready. The thing is, most of the time I don't think I'm ready." She sighs and Jack watches her breath cloud in the crisp night air. "I feel completely out of my depth most of the time, and I haven't even had to deal with a real crisis yet. When something does go wrong, do you know what my first reaction is?"

He doesn't bother guessing.

"I turn around and look for General Hammond coming down the stairs to the control room."

"I used to do the same thing," Jack confesses. Shifting his hold, he slips behind her so he can wrap both arms around her waist and hold her to his chest.

She doesn't say anything for a while, just locks her fingers with his and hangs on. Jack drops his chin to her shoulder, content to let her find what comfort she can.

"Sometimes I think this promotion was a mistake," Sam finally murmurs. "None of the things I'm good at – none of the things that I excelled at to earn this promotion – are a part of my job anymore. I just push paper and send good people out into dangerous situations day after day. I don't explore, I hardly strategize, and I can't even remember the last time I was in a lab to do more than just track down a late report."

Jack flexes his fingers, squeezing supportively. "I know the feeling. They really ought to stamp a warning on the stars they hand out to new generals."

"I thought I wanted this. I spent my whole career working my way to the top, and now…" Sam lets the sentence trail off, not sure how she means to finish it.

"Now that you're here, you're not sure why you ever wanted it." Jack's never aspired to the constellations on his shoulders, but he understands where she's coming from.

He hates how he spends his days. Whenever he thinks about throwing in the towel, he reminds himself that although he may not like the work, there are people who would love to have his job for all the wrong reasons. He, on the other hand, hates it for all the right ones. It's a small consolation but it gets him through the day.

"Way back when, when the founding fathers were going at it over who would get to be president, do you know how they settled on George Washington?"

Sam blinks up at him in confusion, and with good reason. This is more of a Daniel tangent he's throwing at her. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." Jack rests his forehead against her temple. "They chose Washington because he didn't want it. They figured that anyone who desired that kind of power wasn't suited to it."

A few beats of silence pass between them.

"And you think I'm the best person to run the SGC because I don't want the responsibility?"

"I think you're the best person to run the SGC because you don't want power for power's sake. And even though I hate politics and the Pentagon and Washington, I think I'm the best person to run Homeworld Security because I refuse to play power games when lives are at stake."

"And you're grooming me for your job."

Jack doesn't bother answering. They both know she's the perfect choice – even if she wishes she weren't.

Sam's lips quirk in a wry smile. "Don't expect me to thank you."

"Believe me, I don't."

"I hate losing people, Jack." For the first time in all the years he's known her, Sam sounds her age.

"And that's why I want you in my job one day." Jack tightens his hold, hugging her for all he's worth. He's asking her to take on a terrible burden, but he truly believes she's the best person for the job. He'd never ask this of her otherwise.

"I think I'm going to call it a night, try to get some sleep."

"Good."

Sam slips her hands out of his and turns to face him, staying in the circle of his arms. "Will you sleep with me tonight?"

The request takes Jack by surprise, but he keeps his reaction in check. She wouldn't ask if she didn't need to keep him close. "On one condition."

"Not on the couch?"

"Not on the couch."

Sam flashes him a tired smile, then slips out of his arms and sidesteps around him. In no time at all, they're curled up together in bed, snuggling under her well worn quilt. It's been 15 years since the first time he was this close to her and Jack can't help but marvel that after all this time, they still fit one another perfectly.

Mind you, he'll take a queen sized mattress over ice and snow in an Antarctic crevasse any day.

Jack's just starting to drift off when Sam's quiet voice breaks the late night stillness.

"Thank you."

He drops a kiss to the soft cotton tee covering her shoulder. "Always."