Filling the Spaces

Jacob Carter

Jealousy

—OOOOOOOO—

"So."

Jack looked up from his expense reports. Earlier in the evening, he'd considered hauling them to the mess, but had decided against it. Paperwork sometimes seemed less interminable when accompanied by cake and coffee. On the other hand, the mess had people in it, and he wasn't in the mood for people.

The day had already been too full of them. Too many meetings. Too much drama. Jaffa emergencies, Daniel going missing, Jacob making himself at home at the SGC, Carter doing her Carter thing.

Pete Shanahan—existing.

Then there was Kerry Johnson. A distraction. A pleasant one, sure, but a distraction, nonetheless. He liked her. At moments, he really liked her. But it wouldn't go farther than that. Jack was introspective enough to know that much, at least. A fact which made the whole 'sleeping with her' thing more uncomfortable than he'd expected.

That's one reason why he was here in his office and not with her at her hotel. She'd wanted to go out for dinner this evening, but Jack had politely declined. He had paperwork to complete, and he was still holding out a modicum of hope that Daniel would reappear sooner rather than later. He was also waiting to hear from Bra'tac and Teal'c, so sticking close to base seemed best.

They were excuses. Good ones, but still excuses.

What he hadn't been either hoping for or expecting was Carter's father barging into his office, fresh from his tete a tete with the aforementioned cop.

Jacob stepped closer to the General's desk. "Jack?"

Leaning back in his chair, O'Neill twiddled with the pen in his hand. "Yes?"

"I asked you a question."

"You said, 'so'." O'Neill pointed at Jacob with the pen. "I don't believe that's a question. It's an adverb with multiple definitions."

"Damn it, Jack." Jacob narrowed his eyes, glaring down at Jack. "You know what I meant."

Groaning, Jack tossed the pen onto his desk top. "Okay. Let's say I do."

"And?"

"'And'." Taking his life into his hands, Jack squinted at the older man. "Conjunction. A function word showing connection to or addition to related words. Also used to join sentence elements of the same grammatical hierarchy or structure."

"Unbelievable." Jacob stepped backwards, his eyes flying wide. "Cut the crap, will you?"

Jack scooted backwards a little, dropping his hands to his lap. Frowning up at his friend, he exhaled slowly. "I think it's safe to say that you have something you'd like to discuss with me."

Jacob grunted. Looking behind him, he found one of the chairs that Jack kept across from his desk and plunked himself down. After a moment, he bounced right back up, gesturing back at Jack with a splayed palm. "I can't believe you're letting her do this."

Ah. He'd been wondering when this fresh slice of hell would be served onto his plate. Just what he needed. More drama. Jack slid his chair forward, leaning on to rest his forearms on his desktop. "I'm not letting her do anything."

"You're sure as hell not stopping her."

"How am I supposed to stop her, Jacob?" He'd asked himself this question multiple times over the past few months. How? When things were as they were. Still were as they were. She'd moved on. She'd made that decision for the both of them. Who was he to say that she wasn't doing exactly what she wanted to do?

"You could have done something. Could still do something."

"Like what?"

Jacob cursed, tilting his chin down and rubbing at his temples with his thumb and middle fingers. He turned in place, as if doing so would give him something—perspective?—or maybe just to buy time. Finally, he faced Jack's desk again. "Like something. This isn't right for her, and you know it. You can still stop this."

"Stop what?" Jack folded his hands together. "She's an adult woman. A Colonel in the United States Air Force. She's the smartest human being I know, and she could take my sorry ass out without even breaking a sweat. Are you actually telling me that she doesn't know what she's doing?"

Jacob smirked down at him, that single eyebrow raised in such a supercilious arch that Jack was fairly sure that it would even seem condescending to God—whichever one happened to be present. "Has she ever been given an alternative?"

"She knows—"

"Don't give me that pile of bull, Jack." Jacob snorted, shaking his head. "Have you told her—in actual words—what you want?"

He hadn't. Not really. Not recently, in any case. The closest they'd ever come had been four years before in that stinking room with Anise and Teal'c and Doctor Fraiser looking on. It may as well have been centuries ago. There had been a moment in his living room, before the knowledge of the Ancients had overwritten his mind the second time. She'd shown up at his house—she'd tried to have a real conversation. But then Daniel had barged in and that had ended that.

Beyond that? They'd had moments. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. Looks. Touches. Glances. Pinpricks in time when he'd been sure that he wasn't feeling it all alone. But that had all changed once she'd returned from being trapped on the Prometheus. She had changed. Her relationship with him had morphed into something he barely recognized. He hadn't even been able to put his finger on it. It had just been different.

After her return, there had been humming in elevators and rings in boxes and questions in her lab.

"If things were different. . ."

Her eyes had been obscure, unreadable. At once opaque and hollow. He hadn't known how to fix whatever it was that had gone so damned wrong. So, he'd given her the most nonchalant answer that he could honestly give her. Glib to the point of pain.

"I wouldn't be here."

And he'd shattered inside, knowing that she'd given up on him.

"How do you know what I want, Jacob?" After all, Jack had never told him. This is a conversation that he'd never had with the father of the woman he'd loved for eight years. A conversation he'd avoided, to be honest. He considered Jacob a friend, and Selmak an ally. It would be the height of awkwardness to express how much he wanted to take his—their?—daughter to bed. How much he wanted to hold her, protect her, let her fly. Grow old with her. He measured his words with care. "Maybe you don't know as much as you think you do."

Jacob snorted—loudly. "Good god, Jack. You're actually going to try to deny it?"

Steeling his expression, Jack looked down at his desk. Just for something to do, he reached for the pen again. "Deny what?"

"You've been in love with Sam for years. Anybody with one eye and half a brain could see that."

"She couldn't see that. Or maybe she did and it didn't matter." He raised a shoulder, tilting his chin to one side, looking at the wall next to the door. He'd hung pictures there a few months ago. Not the ones he'd intended to hang—those were still in his bottom drawer, buried beneath other assorted dross. It had seemed too desperate, somehow, to have her on his wall. As if he'd already reduced himself to an observer rather than an active participant in her life. "Regardless, she toddled off and got herself engaged to Pete."

"Pete." Jacob spat the word as if it were an epithet. "Pete. He'll kill her. Not literally. But just as violently. He'll kill her spirit. She's so desperate for something more in her life that she's settling for mediocrity. She's trying to be someone and something that she's not in order to capture just a little taste of what she wants."

"You don't like him."

"He's not right for her."

O'Neill pressed his lips tightly together, tapping the pen lightly on the desktop. "Shouldn't that be her decision?"

"Damn it, Jack!" Jacob hadn't yelled—not quite. But his tone definitely verged on something more potent than mere conversation. "She needs you. You need to stop her somehow."

Jack stood, planting his feet so that he was solid, willing himself to stay impassive. "You know I can't do that, Jacob."

"I know you won't." The elder Carter glared at O'Neill. "There's a difference."

"There are complexities to this, General Carter." His choice of words was deliberate. "Surely you haven't forgotten what's at stake here."

"I'm uniquely qualified to know what's at stake here." Jacob sank into the chair behind him, weariness evident in his entire being. He looked down at his boots. "But she's my daughter. And she's making the mistake of a lifetime. And you know that as well as I do."

She'd been so nervous, asking him for permission to bring Pete to meet her father. They'd been friends—closer than friends—for eight years, and she'd been anxious about broaching the subject with him. He'd wondered as he'd signed the paperwork whether she would have been as off-kilter had she been asking Hammond. If it was the situation that had upset her, or the fact that she'd had to ask O'Neill.

Jack turned the pen over and over in his fingers, watching as the overhead lighting glistened off the plastic body of the implement. Cheap pen. Cheap effect. He thought he'd buried this. He'd tried to, at least. He'd busied himself running the base, playing at politics, and signing the endless paperwork. He'd made his own attempt at finding that life he wanted—allowing himself to take refuge in Kerry's bright smile and willing arms. Cheap. He knew that the effort had been cheap. A low-effort facsimile of what he should have been doing all along. "What do you want me to say, Jake?"

"Tell me the truth."

"What truth is that?"

"Do you love my daughter?" Jacob spoke quietly. Too softly, really. As if he both anticipated and dreaded the answer. He stood again, bracing himself against the arms of the chair like he needed the support to get upright.

Jack watched as the Tok'ra found his balance, trying to find his own equilibrium within this instant of upheaval. Their eyes met briefly, but the moment was enough. It was time to be open.

Jacob pushed. "Do you?"

He'd never answered this question out loud. He'd tried to—in his head. In his soul—he'd tried to put it into words. But he'd never once been successful. Because how did a guy like Jack O'Neill express that kind of need? How could he put into words what he felt for Samantha Carter? It was beyond mere language. It was bone-deep, body-infused, and soul-profound. It was searing, and soaring, and superlative. It was anxious and maddening, and obdurate. It was kind. Compassionate. Beautiful. Dark. Heartbreaking. Pure.

True.

"Yes." He laid the pen down on his desk, sinking his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Yes, I do."

An odd amalgam of expressions played across the older man's features. At last, he cracked just the hint of a smile. Triumphant? Perhaps. But real. "I didn't like you when we first met. Did you know that? I thought you were foolhardy and arrogant. A real cocky son of a bitch."

Jack's brows rose, but he didn't need to respond. He'd known all that.

"But then I saw how Sam responded to you. How you took care of her. You listened to her. You valued her. And you still do." Jacob ran his palm over the smoothness of his scalp. He turned, looking through the window into the briefing room, angling his body away from O'Neill. "Pete doesn't have a clue who she really is. He has this idealized image of her in his head—he's got her up on this pedestal. He thinks that she's some perfect little girl who's going to settle down with him and be happy doing his laundry and cooking his meals as soon as the ring hits her finger. And she's trying to be that because she doesn't think that she can have someone who just wants her to be who she is."

Again, O'Neill just listened. There was nothing to say to that. Nothing to add to things that Jack himself already knew.

He seemed so tired, now. Jacob's shoulders drooped, the soft leather of his Tok'ra garb sagging slightly. He was thin. Pale. He pivoted slowly, shaking his head as he looked at the General. "She's special, you know? And I'm not just saying this because she's my daughter. I'm saying this because it's true. And you know it. You understand her."

"Jacob, I—"

"She needs you, Jack. Not because she truly needs anyone, but because she wants someone. And unless she's given another option—she's going to marry that man-child she's convinced herself she's in love with. And over time, he'll kill her. He'll change her. He'll whittle her down until she's just a shell of what she could have been."

"I think you're underestimating her." Jack passed his tongue across the inner crease of his lips. "I think she'll figure it out."

"And then what?" Jacob crossed towards the desk, his eyebrows low over his hardened eyes. "Once her heart's been broken? Her confidence has been shaken? Once she's lost her faith in herself? When the divorce is final and she's left alone again—what then?"

Jack bit back a sharp retort, looking down at the pen still braced between his fingers. "I don't know."

"So, I'm going to ask you again, Jack." Jacob ran his fingertips along the fine grain wood of the General's desk. "Do you love my daughter?"

"I've already answered that."

General to General. Man to man. Two men who loved the same woman in different, but equal, ways. Their eyes met, then held as understanding passed between them.

"Then what are you going to do about it?"

—-OOOOOOO—-

There was a lull between visitors. Teal'c and Bra'tac had visited with Jacob briefly, preceded and followed by more Tok'ra and SGC personnel. Jack had never felt more like the General, perched as he'd been in the observation room above. Like some damned angel of death—waiting for the end—lacking nothing but the scythe.

A nurse had come in to futz with the IV. She'd attended to the task and then gone, leaving the room empty other than the patient. It was then that Jack had risen and made his way down to the bedside. He'd sat down in the chair next to the bed, his movements efficiently quiet.

"Hey, there, Jake." He laid his hand on Jacob's arm, bringing the older man's attention his way. "Way to make a dramatic exit."

"Shut up, Jack." But Jacob smiled, blinking a little against the light in the ceiling. "How is she?"

"Holding up." It wasn't necessary to ask about whom he was inquiring.

"Have you talked to her?"

He hadn't. But he would. He'd planned on speaking to Kerry first, but she'd beat him to that. Earlier in his office, when she'd closed the deeply symbolic door and told him that he needed to retire. Jack hadn't felt even the least bit compelled to argue with the CIA officer who'd been spending time in his bed. That fact alone told him that she was right. It was time to finally confront the pachyderm in the 'Gateroom. "One thing at a time, friend."

"Promise me that you will."

"I swear." The corner of Jack's mouth rose in a half-smile. "Pinky promise."

Jacob nodded, his eyes drifting closed for a beat. His jaw worked as he turned back to face Jack. "You know, about what I said before."

"Which part? When you called me an arrogant jackass, or when you ordered me to date your daughter?"

Another smile. Wider this time. "Both."

"What about it?"

"I'm okay with dying, Jack." Jacob indicated the medical equipment with a nod. "I really am. I've lived a good life. An interesting life. I have no regrets except one."

O'Neill narrowed his gaze at his friend. "Oh?"

"I'm going to miss out on seeing my grandkids grow up. On seeing Mark navigate fatherhood."

"That's two regrets." Jack cocked an eyebrow.

Jacob groaned. Whether it was from pain or exasperation wasn't clear. "But my biggest regret is that I won't get to see Sam hit her stride. I won't get to witness the miracle that will be unleashed once she figures things out and starts flying."

"She's pretty amazing already, Jake."

"She is." The elder Carter nodded. "But as I've been lying here, it hit me that I'll miss so much with her. I'll miss her wedding. I'll miss seeing her in love and being loved. I'll miss seeing her making rank, and saving the planet, and making discoveries. God willing, she'll have children. And I'll miss that, too."

"You'll see it." Jack looked down at his hands. At his boots, planted between the legs of his chair and the heavy-duty wheels of the hospital bed. "Somehow, you'll be there to see her."

"I'm dying, Jack." As if that fact needed to be reiterated. It had been said caustically. Sarcastically.

"C'mon, Jacob." He smiled—the expression at once sad and wry. "You can't tell me that a little thing like death will keep you from having your say in things around here."

Even dying, Jacob could still give a hell of a stink-eye. "What was it you were saying about being an arrogant jackass?"

Grinning, Jack angled a look back up at his friend. "Point taken."

"But here's what's really chapping my hide." Jacob's voice grew stronger, his expression more pointed. "You get to see it. You'll witness it all. You get to watch her become the woman that she's always been meant to be. And damn it. It makes me so angry that you'll get to see it happen. That you'll see it as she hits her stride. That you'll get to be there to cheer her on."

He didn't know how to respond to that. The truth was that he'd always been a little in awe of Carter. Been at once amused by her endless curiosity and intimidated by the weight of her intellect. Watching her at work was one of the most inspiring things he'd ever witnessed. But the rest? Her future—their future. Love. Marriage. Motherhood— He closed his eyes, scrubbing his palm over his face. Damn.

"I'm so damned jealous of you, Jack." Jacob reached out and touched Jack's arm. "I don't want to miss that."

"So don't go."

"You don't get it."

"No, I don't." He spoke downward, towards his boots. He'd lost people over the years—too many people—but somehow, losing this friend felt different. "I thought that the Tok'ra knew how to handle this stuff."

"Weeks ago, when Selmak started failing, I thought that there was a chance." He sucked in a deep breath, wincing a little in pain. "But I needed him to help us defeat the replicators and tweak the weapon on Dakara. After that, he didn't have the reserves to heal himself, or to stop the toxins his body released from poisoning my system."

"You should have said something."

"What could I have said? Without Selmak, we all would have died. We were both willing to make this sacrifice." He coughed, then cleared his throat. "Losing Selmak feels like losing half of myself, anyway. I'd feel like a shell without him. I wouldn't survive it. It's better that we go together."

Jack breathed out a curse, taking Jacob's hand in his own. The other man's fingers felt cool and dry as they gripped Jack's.

"I lost Sam's mother too soon, as well. Before I'd had a chance to show her what she meant to me." He turned his head away—looking up at the ceiling. "And I failed as a father. I tried. But you can't replace a mother. And all I could think about was Sam's mom looking down from wherever she was and hating me a little for screwing everything up so badly. Resenting the fact that I was still with the kids and she wasn't. Envying me."

"You didn't fail her, Jacob." Jack turned Jacob's hand in his. "Look at how incredible she is."

Jacob waved off the words as if they were mere platitudes."It's just that I know I'll miss her. And you'll get to see it. See it when she hits her stride and becomes beyond amazing. You'll get to see her get her first real command. You'll be who she turns to when she needs support or advice. You'll be able to see her smile, and hear that dorky laugh she has. You'll get it all. And I'll miss it."

Jack watched as this man—his friend—fought against something profound and deep—a surge of emotion that pulsed across his features and radiated through his body.

Jacob's eyes grew misty—glistening in the harsh overhead lighting. "I hate you a little bit—I'm as jealous as hell because you're the right man to be at her side. She needs you, not some overbearing father. She needs you as much as you need her. And I'm grateful for that. But I also loathe it."

"I know."

Jacob let out a long sigh. Thready, and weak. "Lord, I'm tired."

"I'll go." Jack enveloped Jacob's hand within his own, trying to will some warmth back into his friend. "I'll miss you. It has been beyond an honor to serve with you."

Jacob nodded, his eyes drifting closed again as he squeezed Jack's fingers. "Yeah. Same."

Jack placed Jacob's hand at his side, taking a few moments to make sure that he was covered by the blanket, adjusting the rim of the portable light fixture to get the worst of the glare out of Jacob's eyes. A movement at the door drew his attention, and he looked up to see a new pair of Tok'ra waiting just outside to pay their respects.

"Jack?"

He turned back towards the bed. "Yeah, Jake?"

"You make sure that she knows that I'm proud of her." His voice was stronger. Fierce—his eyes more clear than they'd been just seconds before. "Swear to me, Jack."

"Of course, Jacob." He angled his head downward. "I'll make sure she knows."

"And you'll do what we said, right?" He gasped a little, then coughed again.

Turning, Jack bent over the bed, fixing Jacob's gaze with his own. "For the rest of my life, I will endeavor to deserve her. I swear."

Jacob seemed to accept that. He nodded, then raised his arm to wave Jack away. "Get out of here. You're holding up the line."

"'Bye, Jake."

"'Bye, Jack."

—-OOOOOOO—-

He waited as long as he could. He'd stood in the corridor, watching as people filed in and out of Jacob's isolation room, acutely aware of Carter shifting between Jacob's bedside and the observation room. She'd been calm. Assured. Quiet.

Anyone watching her would remark on how collected she was. How serene. But Jack could see the cracks around the edges. The tightness around her mouth, the way her chin trembled when she smiled. She tended to fiddle with things when she was upset about something. Picking at hangnails, worrying at her hair, cleaning the crystal on her watch. This evening, it was pushing up the sleeves on her shirt to her elbows, only to smooth them back down towards her wrists. Over and over and over again.

So, when she'd escaped into the glass room that looked over the vigil, he counted out ten hippopotamuses and followed her in. She'd seemed mildly surprised to see him, but not unhappy about it. And she'd been honest in her answers, even if Jack knew that the veneer of strength she was exhibiting was just that—a facade.

"C'mere." He'd said, putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her near. And he could feel her settle against his body, as she took his hand in hers and pressed her cheek against his skin like she was trying to pull some of his strength into herself. And she'd stilled a little, her body against his. As if she'd finally found an anchor, or solid ground, or safety.

She'd been grateful for his support, which was ridiculous. He'd have sat there forever, held her forever, if that's what she'd needed. He'd do anything for her. It hadn't just been his last promise to her dying father. It was just finally the right time to confront what they'd always been within the auspices of what they could be. All of it.

And in some ways, it felt like a new beginning. A sea change, a shift in the wind.

She'd thanked him for being there for her.

And his answer was perhaps the truest thing he'd ever said. A promise. A vow. As hopeful in its sincerity as it was in simplicity.

"Always."