A/N—Sorry about the scene breaks in chapter 2. I tried to go back and fix them, but they didn't seem to want to "take." Hopefully this chapter will read easier.

3

Sam entered her apartment, slinging her bag onto the futon. The furnishings of the efficiency weren't hers, in fact nothing was, save the computer and the bag. She needed to travel light and the overstuffed purse was her only concession to material goods.

Laying down on the daybed, Sam covered her eyes with her arm. She had absolutely no idea what her next move should be. She hadn't realized it, but she had been pinning all her hopes on O'Neill. That he would have a connection to the Stargate in some capacity and through him, she would have a way home. Once again she felt as though the rug had been pulled out from under her. He didn't know her, and apparently had no interest in getting better acquainted.

She'd been living off credit cards she'd applied for in the deceased Samantha Carter's name, having created a profile using her own social security number. When no red flags popped up, she assumed the former Sam had had the same number as hers. It was only a matter of keystrokes to take her place in this reality as the reincarnated Samantha Carter.

Of course the cards were going to have to be paid off sooner or later, and she either had to find a way back to her own universe, or get a job. Both prospects seemed equally daunting at the moment. She could calculate stellar drift, strip down and re-build a P-90, but had no employable skills. Maybe she could join the Air Force again and take the path she'd been detoured from when she'd joined the Stargate program. Somehow, that prospect paled now by comparison. It was hard to imagine she would find working at the Pentagon as glamourous as she once had.

Getting up, Sam moved to her refrigerator and discovered she was out of anything to make herself a meal. She might as well walk to the neighborhood market she liked, rather than the giant Safeway where she'd encountered Jack. It wasn't like she had anything better to do.

On her way to the store, she passed the high school she'd noticed before, but hadn't paid any real attention to. There was a baseball game going on today, and she stopped for a moment, watching as the home team managed three runs off a hit that'd sailed over the back fence. She couldn't really see the face of the super-star as the batting helmet obscured his features. Sam started walking again and was even with home plate as the kid who'd winged it out of the park crossed the base, removing the helmet. This time she stopped in astonishment. The boy could have been Jack's clone from when Loki had replicated the Colonel. In fact, Sam thought perhaps that was the case, until she heard the crowd cheering "Charlie! Charlie!"

Sam's fingers gripped the chain-link fence as she tried to see the boy among the team mates swarming him, slapping him on the back and offering high fives. Making her way to the entrance of the ball field, she was still trying to get a clear look at him. This had to be Jack's son, she realized, and quickly scanned the crowd for Jack. For some reason he wasn't there to see his son's achievement.

She still hadn't gotten a good look at the boy until he made a show of bowing to the crowd continuing to chant his name. When he looked up, they were practically face-to-face. There was no way to miss this was Jack's son, the young man he would have become had he lived in her reality. Sam felt tears gathering in her eyes, her throat constricting with emotion. She must look ridiculous, she thought, feeling like she was going to burst into full blown tears at any moment. Turning away, she lost herself in the crowd, wiping her eyes and working to get herself under control. She couldn't say why the sight of him had caused such a reaction, other than she'd been missing "her" Jack and she knew what it would have meant to him to see Charlie alive and happy like this.

She was about to walk away, but she wanted one more look at the boy who appeared so much like the younger version of Jack she'd met at the SGC. Just as she turned to her left, he turned to his right, and once again they were staring at each other.

"Are you okay?" he asked, obviously realizing she'd been crying.

"Um, yeah," she said, clearing her throat and wishing she had a Kleenex. Sam forced a smile. "That was some hit."

He shrugged. "Not worth crying about," he teased. Oh, he is so Jack's son, she thought and that almost made her start crying again.

"It's just that you reminded me of someone," she said. "Someone who loved the game but never got a chance to play."

"Oh yeah? That's a shame."

"You have no idea. Well, I should be going. It was nice to meet you, Charlie." As she was reaching out her hand, she realized her mistake. She shouldn't know his name. Maybe if she was lucky, he wouldn't notice. Jack's looks weren't the only thing Charlie inherited, he possessed his father's quick intellect as well.

He took her hand, but looked at her askance. "Do I know you?"

"Um, no. I heard everyone calling your name, I just assumed. . . ."

"You're right. I'm Charlie. It's just weird when someone knows your name and you don't know them." Sam knew he was fishing for an introduction, and she couldn't decide if she should tell him or not. It's not like her name would mean anything to him, so she answered,

"Samantha Carter."

"Nice to meet you, Samantha Carter," he said, flashing his father's grin and making her heart ache all over again.

"Wait. . .Do you go by 'Sam'?"

"I do, why. . ."

"You had a date with my dad today, didn't you?"

"How did you know that?" she asked.

"Your name was written on the piece of paper with your number. I told him to call you."

Sam grinned at the thought that Charlie had been instrumental in Jack contacting her. "I wouldn't have called it a date, exactly."

Charlie laughed. "That's what he said, too. Man, what is it with old people? Um, sorry, I didn't mean you were old, I just meant. . ."

"It's okay, Charlie. Compared to you I am old."

"Did you like him?"

Sam smiled self-consciously and looked at the ground. "He seemed. . . ." What, unreasonable? Intractable? As pig-headed as he always was when he didn't believe what he was hearing? "Nice," was the word she finally decided on.

"'Nice?' That's it?"

"Well, I just met him," This version anyway, she thought. This was starting to get awkward. Perhaps if Jack hadn't ended their meeting the way he had, she would have tried to continue her conversation with Charlie, but as it was, Jack would view her talking to Charlie as trying to get to him by coming in thru the back door.

"Look, I have to get going. Again, it was nice to meet you." She extended her hand once more, shook his quickly, and turned before he could stop her.

XXXXXX

Jack was in his kitchen, lawn mower parts strewn across a newspaper covered table. He was working on greasing some bearings when he heard the front screen door slam.

"Hey, Dad," Charlie said, walking to the refrigerator and retrieving a bottle of Gatorade. He stood in front of the open

door, drinking from the bottle and it was all Jack could do not to let loose on his son.

"Cooling the house, are we?"

"What? Oh, sorry." Charlie closed the refrigerator door and leaned against the counter, taking another swig from the Gatorade.

"We have glasses, you know."

Charlie sighed and pulled a glass from the cupboard, filling it with blue liquid. "Happy now?"

"Hey, watch that smart mouth, Mister."

Charlie hoisted himself up onto the counter, and Jack suspected he'd done it just to push a few more buttons. "What's got you so pissy?" he asked.

Wiping grease off a wheel, Jack didn't look at his son. "It hasn't been one of my better days. This damn lawn mower for one. I should just get a new one." He looked up now and asked, "How was your game?"

Charlie finished off his drink and reached for the bottle. "We won, thanks to yours truly."

"Oh yeah? I'm sorry I missed it." Charlie didn't say anything, but Jack could see he too was sorry his father hadn't been there. It was more or less a practice game with a team out of their league, but he should have made more of an effort to get to it.

"Yeah, I hit a home run at the end. The bases were loaded."

"Way to go, Junior!" Jack wiped grease off his hand and slapped his son's upright palm.

"Which reminds me. I met your date after the game."

"My date?"

"Yeah, Samantha Carter. Man, she is one hot babe. For an older chick," he qualified. Jack felt his temper start to boil. It was one thing to stalk him, but now she was after his kid? He was putting a stop to this right this second. Pulling his cell from the pocket of his jeans, he hit "redial."

"What did she say to you? Did she threaten you?"

"What? No! Dad, all she said was. . ." Charlie was cut short when Jack started yelling into his phone.

"Who the hell do you think you are following my kid around?"

"Jack?"

"You know damn well who this is! You can't get to me so you're after my son?"

"You've got it all wrong. I was walking past the ball field and. . ."

"Save it, Sweetheart. I don't know what your game is, but I don't want any part of it. You stay away from me, and you stay the hell away from my son! If I see you around either of us, I'm getting a restraining order. You got that?"

"Jack, I. . ." Jack hit "end" on his phone, and angrily stuffed the device back into the pocket of his jeans.

"I miss real phones. You just don't get the same satisfaction hitting a button as you did slamming a receiver."

Charlie slid off the counter, looking at his father in disbelief. "What's got you so riled up? Really, Dad, she didn't do anything. Just said I reminded her of someone and got all misty."

Jack tried to calm himself. Charlie was fine. He was a smart kid, probably smarter than himself, he thought. However, he still had a touch of innocence about him and may not see the world as Jack knew it to be. Perhaps he'd grown too cynical over the years. Especially after Sara, but Charlie was all he had left of her, and that magnified his already overly protective nature.

Clearing his throat, Jack met Charlie's gaze with a sheepish expression. "I guess I did over-react a bit. It's just that. . ."

"I know, Dad. I feel the same way about you too, ya know." Jack was a little taken aback by his son's admission, unsure of what to say. He'd never been good with the touchy-feely stuff; he just hoped his actions spoke for themselves. "I think you might have misjudged her."

"And I think you don't know the whole story. Look, help me put this stupid machine back together and we'll order a pizza, okay?" Charlie looked as if he were going to object, then smiled indulgently.

"Sure, Dad. I just have to call Allison."

"Hey, if you already had plans. . . ."

"It's okay. You just go ahead on that lawn mower without me." Jack knew that smile. Charlie's phone call would last just long enough for him to miss out on assembling the mower. Watching his son head down the hall he felt his heart clench. He was a good kid, and he wondered how the hell that had happened with him as his father.