Disclaimer in chapter 1

Epilogue

Jack stepped into the kitchen to refill his coffee mug, and caught sight of the paint cans still sitting on the counter. He knew he should do something with them, either toss them out, donate them, something instead of them being the glaring reminder of Sam's absence.

It was three months today. Three months, six hours and some odd minutes. Not that he was counting. He sighed, and over-filled his mug, letting loose a string of profanity the accident didn't warrant.

He'd tried to get his life back on track, but it was hard when he knew what was out there. What was really out there. What a thin veneer of normalcy coated Earth's existence. He wondered how Kawalsky and the rest of them did it. How did you go off to work in the morning not knowing if you'd be on another planet by lunchtime. Or if there would be an Earth to come home to.

What about him? How could he find meaning in teaching disinterested high school students when perhaps the Replicators had been the tip of the iceberg? Kind of hard to keep 'em down on the farm once they've seen Par-ee. It's not like he wished he'd joined them, although, Jackson had asked. Apparently, the program was still in operation. Vice-President Kinsey was too busy defending himself against allegations of campaign fraud to bother cleaning house at the SGC.

There was the irony. If Sam had waited a month, she wouldn't have felt her only recourse had been to return to her universe. And he wouldn't feel the stabbing in his chest each of those 2,166 hours she'd been gone. His daily mantra was she'd made it back. That she was happy, reunited with her friends and family. And somehow O'Neill was watching out for her.

Retaking his place on the sofa, Jack picked up the paper, not really reading beyond the headlines. It used to be his favorite mode of weekend relaxation-sitting in the sun on a winter's day with a cup of coffee, newspapers spread around him. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine Sam sitting on the other end, one foot on the coffee table, the other absently caressing his calf with her toes, engrossed in her own reading.

God, he missed her.

Charlie came stumbling down the stairs, yawning, rubbing his eyes, barely mumbling a greeting. Jack looked up to see his barefoot son, dressed in nothing but pajama bottoms. It was the middle of February, for crying out loud! How could the kid not be freezing without a shirt? He was about to say something when it struck Jack how grown up his son seemed. Especially when he returned from the kitchen with his own cup of coffee. When the hell had he started drinking coffee? Jack wondered.

He was grouchy and was about to light into Charlie when he stopped himself. What was he doing? Gonna bitch his kid out because he wasn't properly dressed and indulging in what he considered an adult beverage? Just because today was another milestone along the "Sam's gone" continuum?

Their life was falling apart. Their relationship, everything. Charlie's grades had taken a nosedive, Jack's student's scores had dropped dramatically and he found himself on the receiving end of several academic reprimands. Add to that Charlie breaking up with Allison, and their existence was teetering. Something had to give.

Jack tried to forget the words Jackson had told him upon his return without Sam. How she'd left both he and Charlie something on her laptop. How had she known? Had she been planning on leaving all along? Even before she was taken? Too angry and hurt, Jack couldn't bring himself to open her computer, even as it taunted him daily. Every day he would look at the silver case and think about what she possibly could have left for him and his son. How he wished he had looked the first time he'd come across the laptop.

Maybe today was the day. Maybe there was something there that would help ease their suffering. Sam must have thought so if she instructed Daniel to make sure he knew. He just didn't know if he could take reading her words, imagining her sitting on the sofa typing furiously as she always did.

"Charlie," Jack said, clearing his throat. "There's something we need to do," he said softly.

"What's that?" he asked, not bothering to look up from the comics.

"Look at me."

Charlie sighed, raising the paper even higher to block out his father.

Jack was on his feet in a flash, ripping the paper in half. "I said look at me, damnit!"

Jack could see he'd scared his son. In the past weeks he'd been passive. Too passive, allowing Charlie to run wild as he'd curled in on himself. Jack had sank inward while Charlie had struck out. Getting kicked off the basketball team for drinking. The straight "A" student now in detention.

"Do you know what day it is?" Jack asked.

"Uh, Saturday?"

"Three months. Today it's three months." Jack saw Charlie didn't need clarification.

"Yeah, so? She left US, Dad. Just took off without a word. She didn't even take her stuff." Charlie bent over to pick up the pieces of his newspaper, but Jack stepped on them, preventing Charlie from gathering them.

"That's not what happened."

"Oh, really? Then why's all her stuff still here? Nothing moved like it was a shrine or something?" Jack felt his throat constrict. It was like a shrine, he realized. As if to move any of her things would be the final insult. The final acknowledgment she wasn't coming back. Ever.

"I. . . ."

"Look, I get that you loved her, but she obviously didn't care much about us or she wouldn't have left the way she did." Jack closed his eyes, inwardly cursing the non-disclosure agreement he'd signed. Not that Charlie would believe him anyway. Who would believe such a tale? He'd lived it and he wasn't sure he bought it.

"It was complicated," was all Jack said.

"I'll bet." Charlie stood and Jack grabbed his arm.

"I'm not through talking to you."

Charlie shook off his father's hand. "Maybe I'm done talking to you." Before Jack was even aware, his hand struck Charlie across the mouth.

"Oh, God, Charlie! I didn't mean. . . .!" He tried to pull Charlie into a hug but was pushed away before Jack even got close.

"Yeah, right," Charlie said, rubbing his jaw. He started to back away, but Jack stepped closer.

"This is what I'm talking about! Charlie, we can't keep doing this!"

"I'm not the one who slugged you!"

Jack moved out of his son's personal space. "I'm sorry," he apologized again, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what's come over me." He sat back down on the sofa, staring out the front window, letting he sun blind him. There was a long silence then Jack felt the couch cushions next to him compact.

"It's okay, Dad."

"No, it's not okay. I hit you!" Again the silence stretched between them. At length, Jack spoke. "Sam left us something."

"Left us something? But how. . ."

"Kawalsky's friend told me about it, but I haven't been able to face looking at it. I think maybe it's time. Maybe it'll explain what happened," he shrugged. "I don't know."

"Uncle Charlie's friend? But how would he know what happened to Sam?"

"It's a long story, but after we see what she left, if I still need to explain it, I'll try."

Charlie wrapped the afghan from the back of the couch around his shoulders. "So where is it?"

"On her laptop. Sit tight, I'll go get it." Jack bounded up the stairs two at a time almost as if he was afraid Charlie would bolt in his absence. When he returned, Jack set the computer on the coffee table, lifting the screen.

"Any idea what we're looking for?" Charlie asked.

"It's supposed to be two files. One for each of us." The two looked at each other and spoke at the same time.

"You go first."

"You're the grown-up, Dad. Most days," he added. At least Charlie was still able to joke with him.

Jack was nervous. What if this made things worse? What if she tried to explain why "they" just didn't work? Reaching over, he clicked on his name. Instead of a document as he'd expected, Jack watched as a video clip loaded up. The knots in his stomach tightened further. He wasn't sure he could face seeing her on the screen.

Jack stood, suddenly feeling nauseous. "I don't think I can do this," he said. "Not right now."

Charlie grabbed his arm. "It's gonna be tough, but let's try, Okay?" It took a moment before Jack gave him a slight nod and rejoined him on the sofa. It started out with the camera shaking slightly. The clip had been taken with the laptop's built-in camera, and Sam must have been adjusting the lid to get a clear shot.

The slightly distorted view of Sam came on the screen and Jack's throat constricted so tight, he felt as if someone was choking him. She smiled briefly and he could see she was nervous. Her hands were off-screen, but it was obvious she was wiping them along her thighs.

"Um, hi Jack," she spoke and sat up straighter. Jack chanced a glance at Charlie who was staring at him, just as taken aback as he himself felt. Both men turned their attention back to the screen as Sam continued.

"I suppose if you're watching this, it means I've told you to. I always feel silly when I do one of these," she said, her cheeks flushing slightly. "By 'one of these' I mean, marking a milestone." Sam took a breath and stared into the camera and Jack felt almost as if he could respond to her and she'd answer. "It's a habit I started when I joined the Air Force," she explained. "My mother died in a car accident when I was fourteen and I always regretted not knowing more about her. What she was like at that stage of her life, what she was thinking about."

"We never know what life is going to throw at us, or take away. So I've made it a point to chronicle certain events, because you never know how circumstances are going to change. I know how lost I felt when my mother was suddenly taken from me, and I didn't want anyone I cared about to have to face that kind of pain should I be the one to die. I guess on some level it's a bit narcissistic and morbid," she chuckled.

Sam paused, and looked away from the camera. It was a moment before she looked up and spoke again. "Today my life has changed in the most wonderful way imaginable. I've just moved in with you and Charlie. I know it's going to be a challenge for all of us, but I can't tell you how excited I am to give it a shot. Over the past few weeks I've gotten to know a side of you I never thought to see, and it just reaffirms my belief you're the kind of person I'd like to be when I grow up. That is if you ever do grow up," she smiled.

"Your kindness, generous spirit and determined nature give me the strength to face the challenges this life has thrown at me, and I hope I do the same for you. If for some reason our situation changes and I have to go, I want you to know how much I love you, and always will." At that point Charlie reached over and hit pause. Jack could feel the tears welling in his eyes and was actually grateful his son interrupted the playback.

"What is she talking about, Dad? It's like she knew this was going to happen. Like she'd been planning it all along! I can't watch any more of this!" Charlie started to stand but Jack stopped him.

"Please, don't go," he whispered. "She has one for you too."

"I know!" he practically wailed. "What good is it going to do to listen to her lies? If she loved us she wouldn't have left!"

"Charlie, I can't tell you the reasons why she left," Jack admitted. "I only know it wasn't entirely her choice."

Charlie stood and paced before the coffee table. "You said you didn't know why she left! Now you do?"

Running a hand over his stubbled jaw, Jack tried to think of another way of explaining it. "The project she was working on put her at risk. She had to go for her own protection. And to protect us, or so she thought."

"What, was she like a spy or something? Come on, Dad, that only happens in the movies!"

"You know she was in the Air Force," Jack reminded him.

"Yeah, and Uncle Charlie's in the Army. He's still around!"

Jack lost his patience."You think this isn't killing me? Every waking moment I feel her loss. She might as well be dead! You think you're the only one who's lost something? Well you're wrong!"

Jack stormed out of the house, unable to face his son or more of Sam's video. He knew she meant it to be a comfort, but it was anything but. Watching her on the small computer screen brought back his feelings with such startling clarity he couldn't breathe. It was below zero out but he didn't feel the cold, standing in the snow in just his slippers and a thin flannel robe.

Grabbing the ax that rested against the wood pile, Jack attacked a stump with all the pent up fury he had. He didn't know when he started crying in earnest. He hadn't even realized he had until he felt a breeze blow across the moisture on his cheeks. No matter how many whacks he took at the wood, the ache in his chest wouldn't go away. He only wished it wasn't so goddamned familiar. First Sara, now Sam. He was sure he must have been a total bastard in a former life to deserve such karma.

Jack let the ax drop from his hand as he leaned up against the garage door, wiping the tears still coursing down his face. The overt display of emotionalism was embarrassing him, and he was just thankful Charlie was still in the house and wasn't a witness to his breakdown.

Only Charlie wasn't in the house. When Jack turned around, his son was behind him, wrapped in the afghan, shivering. Their gazes locked, and Jack could see Charlie too had been crying.

"Dad. . . ." he choked, then moved tentatively forward to embrace his father. At first Jack remained where he was, making Charlie come to him, but when he was within a step of him, Jack reached out and pulled him close.

"I'm really sorry, Dad. I've been so selfish, just thinking about what I'd lost. Not thinking about what it's been like for you."

Jack squeezed him tighter, nodding silently. They stood there for long minutes until Jack felt Charlie shiver. "We should head in," he said quietly, wondering what the neighbors must be thinking, then not giving a rat's ass. Hopefully he and Charlie now had a place to start, and could take a healing step forward, together.

XXXXXX

It was later that same day Jack found himself back in his kitchen, but the sight before him took him completely by surprise. Charlie never engaged in any chore without excessive prodding, yet here he was, perched on a step ladder dressed in old clothes. He dipped a roller into the paint tray just as Jack stepped into the room.

"Charlie?" he questioned.

Charlie turned around at the sound of his voice, suddenly grinning. "So! What do you think?"

"I think it looks like you're painting," Jack said, stating the obvious. "Why?"

Suddenly Charlie's smile dropped. "You don't mind, do you?"

Jack thought about it a minute. "No, I don't think I do."

Charlie's grin was back and he began rolling a wall. "I got to thinking after. . .after this morning. . .about how long these paint cans have been sitting here. Sam was really excited to make this room yellow."

Jack swallowed. "That she was."

Shrugging, Charlie added, "So I guess I thought we should do it. Kind of as a way to remember her."

As if I'll ever forget, Jack thought. But Charlie was right. The color was bright, cheery and reminded him of all the good things about Sam. How she'd lit up their lives, even if it was only for a short time.

Jack crossed into the room, surveying the job his son had done so far. It seemed rather haphazard, but, he decided, it would come together in the end. Just like them, given enough time.

There were an assortment of brushes laid out on the newspaper-lined counter. Jack picked one up, running his fingers over the bristles before dipping it into the sunny colored paint. He watched the latex drip back into the can, then, took a breath, stroking the brush on the face of a cabinet. Be happy, Sam.

The End

A/N—There's a sequel entitled "The Other Side of Reality" which I'll begin posting in a few days. I think we all could use a breather :-)! Thanks so much to everyone who read and those who reviewed. I really appreciate the time you devoted to my story.

Noda