Beauty In The Broken

Cold Work

"So, tell me a little bit about yourself, Jack."

Jack was back at the griddle. French toast, this time—along with some bacon he'd produced from somewhere. Sam was buckling Jake into his high chair, while Macy and Lucas checked out the toys in the basket in the living room.

Not your typical morning-after-the-wedding festivities, but Sam wouldn't have had it any other way.

Mark had wandered in a few minutes before, yawning as he'd checked on his kids. Apparently satisfied that they were behaving themselves, he'd taken himself into the kitchen to suss out his new brother-in-law.

"What do you want to know?"

"Oh, nothing too invasive. Where you're from. What your family was like. What brought you to the military. How the hell you managed to convince my sister that it was a good idea to marry you." He folded his arms across his chest, leaning back against the counter. His smile was genuine. "You know—the basics."

Sam pinpointed the expression that would settle on Jack's face before she looked up to confirm it. Careful, easy, and bland. The same one that he wore whenever they approached an unknown contact on a new planet.

"I'm not all that interesting, Mark." Jack worked at the skillet, flipping pieces of French toast as expertly as he'd done pancakes, or eggs, or the crepes he'd unexpectedly drummed up on their last evening at the cabin. "I was born in Chicago, grew up in Minnesota, and joined the Air Force right after high school."

"And Sam?"

"What can I say?" He stepped back from the griddle and looked over at Mark, the corner of his mouth tilting into a wry grin. "She chased me until she caught me."

Mark's snort reverberated throughout the small kitchen. "Unlikely. She never chased a boy in her life."

"Well, Mark." Jack's smile went a little rueful. "I'm a man. So, there's that."

"Do you have any family?"

"My parents both died a long time ago."

"What were they like?" Mark reached over and plucked a piece of French toast off the neat stack that Jack had been making on a plate. Ripping it in half, he paused before taking a bite. "What did they do?"

Jack had rarely spoken about his parents—at least, not to Sam. She'd wondered about them over the years, but the topic had seemed to be decidedly off limits. He'd skillfully steered conversation away from himself whenever they'd been exchanging family stories. Other than the moment that he'd mentioned his father when he'd given her the kintsugi cup, Sam didn't know anything other than the fact that his father's name had been Charles.

Sam threw a look his way, surprised to see his eyes focused on her, and not her brother or the food cooking in front of him. His face was inscrutable. Unreadable. Impossible to interpret—except she somehow knew that he was trying to prepare her for something important.

Standing, she crossed to the counter. Reaching between the two men, she picked up the plate that Jack had made up for Jake. The cooled piece of French toast had been cut into bits, and he'd made some scrambled eggs to go with it. As she stepped back, she nudged her brother with her elbow. "Leave him alone, Mark."

Mark shot a look between them, a frown teasing the corners of his lips as his gaze fell onto Sam. "I'm just making conversation. Trying to get to know the man better."

"You're being nosy."

Jack's left eyebrow lifted briefly, his expression softening as his voice made its way towards her. "It's okay, Sam."

"But—"

"I spoke to Hammond this morning."

Really? Sam glanced at the clock on the microwave. It wasn't even seven yet. She angled a look at her husband. "Why? What did he have to say?"

"He got a call on the red phone."

She couldn't quell the surprise that passed across her features. "Already? That was fast."

"The Pentagon wants to move on this." O'Neill turned back towards the stove, his movements casually deliberate. "Sooner rather than later."

Tit for tat. Quid pro quo. Scratching mutual backs and all that. Sam understood his meaning immediately. He was willing to bare a little bit of himself in order to accomplish a more important goal. Her breath caught a little in her throat as she exhaled. "Are you sure? We've never—"

"Really. I'm not trying to cause any problems here." Interrupting, Mark waved dismissively, obviously uncomfortable. "I'm sorry I asked."

"It's alright, Mark." Jack's tone was firm. "All of this is out of the blue for you. I respect you for watching out for your sister."

"It was really quick." Mark's tawny eyebrows rose high. "I mean—Heather and I dated for two years before we got engaged. You two weren't even together and all of sudden you're getting married."

Jack looked back towards Sam, tilting his head in a self-deprecating sort of concession. "Look at it this way. We've been dancing around this for almost four years. We got married so that we could actually date."

"Because of the military."

"Our jobs made things more complicated." He was still looking at her—at his wife—as he said it. His expression softened, his smile bringing out his elusive dimples as he refocused on the task on his griddle. "But ultimately, we're together because we want to be. And because of Jake."

"See—that's another question that I still have." Mark pointed at Sam with the uneaten half of toast he still held in his hand. "It's like that kid just appeared out of nowhere."

Sam looked from Jack to Mark and then back to her husband. Inhaling deeply, she fixed her brother with a meaningful glare. "I've already told you that you'll get those answers, Mark."

"But—" Mark sighed. With a little sigh of acquiescence, he fell quiet.

"Ma ma! Ba!" Jake had waited long enough. Whacking his tray with his sippee cup, he kicked impatiently at the footrest of his high chair.

"I'll be right there, little man." With a final look at her brother, she pivoted away from the counter and made her way back towards the table and her hungry child.

"So, should I continue?" Jack set down his spatula and picked up some tongs. Efficiently, he turned pieces of bacon on the other half of the griddle.

"If you want to." Mark took another bite. "But no pressure."

"My mother left when I was in high school." Jack put the tongs back down and went back to work on the French toast, dipping thick slices of bread into the egg mixture in the bowl on the counter. "My father wasn't—nice. He'd been through a lot of shi—um— stuff in Korea and brought most of it back with him."

"He was military?"

"Army. Infantry."

Sam sat at the table and turned her chair to face Jake. Picking up a fork, she scooted some of the food from the plate to his tray. A quick glance at her husband told her that he was being casually careful with what he said—but that he was in earnest.

"That must have been difficult for him."

"He was pretty messed up." Jack glanced at Sam again, his eyes shielded. "He took it out on my mother, and she just decided one day that she was done."

"She left."

"She packed up while I was at school." Jack's jaw tensed for a minute. "She was gone before I got home."

"Did you ever hear from her again?"

"Here and there. She pretty much disappeared, although I did get a letter from her when I graduated from boot camp."

"When did your father pass away?"

"During my second tour." Jack worked at the skillet with his spatula. "He'd been cremated before I could make it home, and that was that."

"That's awful." Mark's response was utterly sincere. "I'm so sorry."

"It's life. To be honest, I didn't grieve much. Like I said—he wasn't terribly fatherly."

"Why did you stay with him instead of going with your mother?"

Jack considered his answer—or maybe he was just stalling to prepare himself for what he was about to say. His jaw worked for a moment as he stared down at the griddle. "He needed me, I guess. He was a mean son of a bitch, but he was still my dad. He could be found most days on the wrong end of a bottle. He wasn't functional. Somebody had to take care of things. Besides—my mom didn't invite me to go with her."

Sam stared down at the mess on Jake's tray. French toast, eggs, the sippee cup that Jack had carefully measured formula into and then mixed for the boy—such a juxtaposition from the childhood he was describing. The one he'd survived.

He'd hidden it well—this tragedy. And only someone who knew him intimately—who cared about him deeply—would notice how difficult this was for him to discuss. His movements were tight, the veins on the backs of his hands pronounced, the corners of his mouth sharp. Sam had only seen him this raw—this visceral—a few times. And yet, he hid it so well that her brother had no idea that he was being given something remarkable.

"And your mom? How did she pass?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest." Jack lifted his shoulder in a lazy kind of shrug. Flipping more pieces of French toast onto the plate, he peeked over the far end of the island to where Macy and Lucas were still playing in the living room. "Bambinos! Breakfast is served! Come and get it."

Sam watched as her niece and nephew ran around the end of the couch and clambered into their seats. With another look towards her husband, she saw the facade return—the one he'd let down so fleetingly.

"Listen, Mark." Jack switched off the stove. Pivoting, he faced his brother-in-law head on. Man to man. "I understand that you have questions. Like I said, I respect that. We have answers for you—far more than you're really asking. Sam and I have been authorized to give you those answers, but you're going to have to do something for us."

"Like what?"

Jack's eyes met Sam's across the kitchen. Macy and Lucas were fidgeting back and forth on their chairs, chattering between themselves and making silly faces at Jake. Jake added to the melee by banging on the tray of his high chair with both hands and squealing. She couldn't help but smile. This was a far cry from where she'd imagined this conversation would happen—intrinsically removed from briefing rooms or scientific labs.

"Grab the grub, will you?" Jack nodded towards the platefuls of French toast, bacon, and eggs. Picking up a bottle of syrup, he hefted a bunch of utensils in his other hand. "We'll talk once these little monsters have eaten."

—-OOOOOOO—-

Sam finished buttoning her shirt, stepping towards the mirror on the back of her closet door. "It feels so weird to be back in uniform."

Jack glanced over at her. He was lying on his back on the bed, holding Jake suspended above him. Both O'Neill men were grinning, and Jake's little legs and arms were flailing as he giggled. "Just be prepared for lots of questions."

"I really have no idea what to expect." Turning, Sam watched as Jack joggled Jake in the air above him, drawing a new spate of laughter from the boy. "I know there's been talk—but surely your rank and position will squelch some of that."

Jack grunted. "If anything, my rank and position will make it worse."

He was probably right. Sighing, Sam sat on the bed, then pivoted on her butt to face Jack. Bracing herself on one arm, she laid down on her side, resting her head on her upturned hand. "At least today will just be a dry run. I have a few days before I'm back for real."

"Still." Jack lowered Jake to stand on his own abdomen, holding him steady as the baby found his balance. "You know how it'll be."

She reached out and touched his hair, teasing at the strands with her fingertips. "Might as well get it over with."

He lowered Jake to sit on him, turning to look at her. "Rip that bandage off."

"Right." Sam nodded.

"It's going to be okay, Sam."

"I know." But she sighed again, unconvinced. "It's just that I knew where I fit before. Now, everything's going to be different. You'll be going off-world without me, and I'll be stuck in a lab all day."

"Regrets?" Turning onto his side, he deposited Jake into the space between them.

"No." Sam smiled, pressing her palm against his temple. "No regrets. Just unsure. I'll figure it out."

Jake crawled up towards the top of the bed, aiming for Sam. Babbling quietly, he flopped down next to her and popped his thumb into his mouth.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?" He scooted closer, laying his hand on her side.

"I've decided on something else."

"What?"

"That whole last name thing."

His eyes searched hers for a beat. "Oh?"

"I'm going to keep 'Carter' for my professional life. I think that might help keep things from getting quite as awkward and confusing on base." She dodged Jake's fingers as he reached for her collar and the oak leaves there. "I considered hyphenating for the personal stuff, but I think I'd rather that the family all share the same last name. Keep things traditional."

"So, Jake would be—"

"Jacob Charles O'Neill."

His smile was a slow thing, sweet and easy. "And you'd be—"

"Sam O'Neill." It was the first time she'd ever said it out loud. It seemed momentous, somehow. As if saying it finally made it all real.

"You're way hotter than the other one."

"What other one?"

"That actor. The one who did that dinosaur movie with the other guy who turned into a fly."

Turning her face into the bedding, Sam giggled. "That's Sam Neill . Not Sam O' Neill."

"You're still hotter."

Sam leaned into his touch. "You're just saying that because you're required to. Now that we're hitched and all."

"I'm saying that based on the empirical fact that you are, indeed, hot." Jack smiled at her. "And you have absolutely no idea how many times I've fantasized about having you just like this. BDUs and a bed."

"And a baby?"

Jake had flipped over again, crawling up towards the pillows. Sam snagged the back of his jeans to keep him from falling down between the mattress and the headboard.

While she was otherwise occupied, Jack slid his hand southward, wandering just enough to get her attention. "Not the baby. At least, not in the fantasy part."

"Well, until he's in bed tonight, the rest of what's in your naughty imagination will have to remain right there. In your imagination."

His groan was laden with exaggerated resignation. "Damn."

"Anyway, we have stuff to do this afternoon."

"Ah yes. Stuff."

"General Hammond has already drawn up the paperwork." Sam tugged Jake back down between them, tickling him until he crawled over to his dad. "Non-disclosure forms and all the other required legalities."

"And I'm sure Doc Fraiser is ready with her needles."

"I think she'll draw blood from Mark, but swab the kids."

"If Mark consents."

"If he consents."

"He'll consent." Jack growled playfully at Jake, who had pulled himself up to stand by gripping his dad's ear.

Jake squealed, looking over his shoulder at Sam as he fell back down onto his diapered bum. Turning over, he army-crawled back towards Sam. "Ma! Mamee!"

"Jack?" Sam cuddled Jake close, pressing her cheek against his head. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

She hesitated—reading his expression. Preparing herself for his answer. "Why did you name your son after your father? When he—"

Jack's brows rose, and he completed the question for her. "When he was how he was?"

Nodding, she dodged Jake's hand as it aimed for her earring. "I figured that you'd named him in honor of your dad. But hearing you talk about him, I'm sure that's not the case."

Jack focused on the quilt beneath them, running his finger along a seam, tracing a random line of stitching. "It was Sara's idea."

"She wanted to use the name, even knowing how things were?"

Inhaling deeply, Jack scrubbed at his jaw with his hand. "She never knew. She didn't need to. She'd never known that things could be that way. That people could be that way."

Or maybe, he hadn't wanted to tell her. Something about the way he'd said it made Sam's mind tumble over conversations they'd had—over experiences she and Jack had shared. Things she knew about him from being in combat next to him that a civilian wife—a young, inexperienced civilian wife—might not realize. Sam let Jake go, watching him as he army-crawled across the covers towards his father. "She would have pitied you. She would have felt sorry for you."

He caught Jake in his hands and steadied his little body as the baby tried to stand. "So, when she had the romantic notion to name our newborn after her father—who's a great guy—and my father—one of the most bitter sons of bitches who ever breathed—I didn't want to burst her bubble."

"Jack—I—"

But he wasn't finished. "I always imagined that we'd named him after Kawalsky, anyway. He was a good man. Worthy, you know? He deserved that honor."

"He did."

Jack smiled up at Jake, teasing him with tiny little tickles that elicited delighted giggles. So far removed from the conversation happening around him. "So, now you know."

"Thank you for telling me." She touched him—his shoulder, then his cheek. Not out of a need to comfort him, but out of the desire to ground herself. To connect even more with this man she'd married. This man, who was still more than a little bit of an enigma.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"If you ask me something," He began, leaning into her touch. "I swear that I will always tell you the truth. Even if that truth is ugly, or shameful, or hurts."

Sam added that vow to the others they'd made, tucking it somewhere close to her heart. "Me too, Jack."

"Okay, then."

Jake wriggled away again, crossing the divide back to Sam, who grabbed him and rolled to sit at the edge of the bed. Hefting the baby on her arm, she stood. "Are you ready? We really should get going."

Slowly pushing himself upright, Jack scooted to the foot of the bed. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" She paused in her attempt to smooth Jake's hair into a more tolerable mess.

"C'mere." He was still somber. His expression was drawn, his lips tight.

Suddenly wary, Sam rounded the end of the bed and stopped near him. At his urging, she got closer, standing between his knees as his hands rose to rest on her hips. "What's wrong?"

He studied her for a long time, his dark eyes carefully shuttered. His thumbs made little arcs against the roughness of her trousers. "You've never asked about my family. About my early life. About any of the stuff that I've told Mark today."

Sam adjusted her balance as Jake leaned in to treat his face against her chest. Patting the baby's back, she looked down at her husband. "I figured you'd tell me when you wanted to."

"You deserve to know everything." The corners of his mouth turned downwards. "But it's not pretty."

"It doesn't have to happen all at once, Jack." She touched his face with her free hand, cupping his jaw in her palm. "I can wait until you're ready."

He was smooth-shaven—so different from their time in the cabin, when he'd let his beard grow. But now, back in uniform, his hair neatly trimmed, his boots suitably shiny, he suddenly looked more weathered—more tense. As if the weight of several worlds had settled on his shoulders. Frowning, she traced the hard line of his cheek with her fingertips, surprised when he leaned into it, tilting his face into her touch.

"The thing is, I don't think we can wait." He sighed, his breath warm against her hand. "Since we're going this route with the Ancient genetics—tracing families along with the random testing—I'll need to talk about mine."

"They're all gone, aren't they?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "My parents are. I buried my mother, and scattered my dad. His ashes. Whatever."

"So, what?" Sam's lips curved upwards in a patient smile. "Do you have some embarrassing cousins that you're not telling me about?"

"Probably." His fingers stopped moving on her hips. His eyes—so dark that they were nearly black—bore into her own. He drew in a bracing sort of breath before looking away with a sharp shake of his head. "But I also have a sister."

For a minute, she thought she'd heard him wrong. A what? Clearing her throat, she repeated his words. "A sister?"

"She's three years younger than I am." He spoke softly, his words barely audible over the noises of the house outside the bedroom door and the way Jake was humming around his thumb. "She ran away when she was fourteen or fifteen. I don't remember, to be honest. I had already gone to boot camp. Her name was— is —Rebecca. Becky. I called her Becky. It was the late sixties—she got caught up in the worst parts of the decade. It was an escape, I'm sure, from what we had at home."

"Where is she now?"

"I have no idea." Jack shook his head. "I haven't heard from her since our mother died. Somehow, Becky tracked me down through the Air Force. I was married to Sara by then, and already deep in Black Ops. Charlie was little—two or three. I came home from a mission and there was a postcard waiting for me. I only saw her for a few hours as we sorted out my mother's estate—or what there was of it."

"Where was this?"

"My mom was living in New Mexico when she died. Between Farmington and Gallup. To be honest, I didn't ask where Becky was living at the time. She was in rough shape. Thin—so thin—practically skeletal. She'd been so pretty as a kid. But—when I saw her, she'd changed. Maybe she was using something, I don't know. She mentioned a man—a boyfriend—or a husband—but I don't know anything about him other than that his first name was Phillip. Phil. I never met him."

Sam framed her next question with care. "Do you want to find her?"

He squeezed his eyes closed, opening them only to look past Sam—through the doorway into the bathroom, or just off into nothing. "I thought I'd left that all behind me."

"We don't have to bring this up." Sam shook her head, her gaze never leaving Jack's. "If what you say about her is still true, she's not exactly what the Air Force is looking for."

He pressed his lips closed for the barest of beats. "Except that I think that she had children. At least one. Maybe two."

"They could be full-grown by now. Off living their own lives."

"Or, they could be teenagers, or younger." His hands tightened on her body. "I just don't know."

"What do you want to do?"

He simply shook his head, his cheek smooth against the skin of her palm. "Hell if I know. But I couldn't force you to expose all this to your brother without—" His voice simply faded. As if he couldn't physically complete his thought.

Sam edged closer, tilting his face up towards her with a bit of pressure from her fingertips. "Jack. Telling Mark about what we do—letting him in on this secret—will be a relief for me. I can finally explain some of what's been going on in my life. I'm glad that I get to stop lying to him."

Jack leaned into her body, resting his cheek against her sternum, exhaling roughly as she combed through his hair with her fingers.

"But this is going to dig up things that you thought that you'd buried long, long ago." She curled her hand around the back of his neck, hugging him closer. "If this is going to drag up more pain for you, then you don't have to say a damned thing about it."

"Leave it buried." It wasn't a decision. He was simply stating an option.

"If that's what you choose."

"I got out, Sam." His voice was rough. Harsh. "And I left her there. I enlisted and just left her there with my bastard of a father. By the time I was finished with boot camp, she'd disappeared."

It wasn't difficult to connect the dots. Not when she'd been given more information. "That's what the letter from your mother was about."

His rough chuckle held no humor whatsoever. It was caustic, and acidic. "It wasn't congratulatory."

"And you think that your sister's life—how she ended up—is your fault."

"Isn't it?"

"No." Jake was heavy against Sam's shoulder, but she managed to adjust her position until she was crouched down in front of Jack. Sensing freedom, Jake managed to wriggle free, and Sam set him down on the floor so that he could crawl away. Kneeling, she framed Jack's face with both hands, forcing him to look at her. "You were just a kid, Jack. You weren't responsible."

"I should have gone back for her."

It was an insight she'd never expected into what made this man—her complex, profound, multi-faceted husband—tick. At times, his inability to leave people behind had felt like a compulsion. Dragging Teal'c home from Chulak, adopting Daniel as a little brother, kidnapping Maren to teach her what it meant to be a kid. Finding a solution so that the engineered child of the Retu mother could live—that child who'd become so enamored with Jack that he'd wanted to carry his lost son's name. How he'd understood when Sam hadn't been able to leave Cassie in that silo.

Guilt. Regret. Redemption. He'd been trying—whether consciously or subconsciously—to atone for what he'd considered his own personal failures. He'd felt responsible for them, and he'd failed to protect them. First Rebecca, and then his Charlie.

No wonder his midnight vow to her had been what it was—swearing to keep her and their family safe.

Sam drew closer to him, settling her forehead against his. "We can find her. If that's what you want."

It took him nearly a minute to respond—and when he did, his voice was harsh. "I think I need to."

It was a shift. Somehow, Sam knew that this was about more than simply getting answers. In her mind, she could see him standing in her kitchen, holding the blue blanket as she'd railed at him about tackle boxes and neat little compartments. But suddenly she knew—could understand—how much that skill must have preserved of his humanity—of his sanity. And here he was, opening some of those boxes to set the demons free.

"I'll help you, Jack." Her thumb swept across his cheek, and she angled a kiss onto his temple. "I'll do whatever you need me to do."

"Just promise me one thing."

"Anything."

He drew back a little, catching her gaze with his own. "No Pete. Shanahan doesn't get to help on this one. I don't give a damn how good a detective he is."

She couldn't keep from smiling. Sam nodded, leaning in to press her mouth to his. Easy—gentle—until his hands pulled her closer—until he teased her lips apart and took her fully. Until she could feel that he'd found some solace—some comfort, maybe—in her touch. In the feel of her against him.

And she marveled again at how this man could consume her so completely—how he had become the very center of her world so easily.

A noise from the vicinity of her bathroom yanked her back into the present, and Sam sucked in a deep breath. Drawing back, she brushed her cheek against Jack's, reveling in the warmth of his skin against hers. It took several seconds before she could remember that she needed to answer him, and a few more before she'd even remembered the question. "No Pete. I swear."

"Sam?"

She kissed him again, just because she could, before pulling back to look at him again. "Yeah?"

"We'd better get going."

"I know." She nodded, passing her tongue across her lips. "We need to get to the Mountain—"

"It's not that." He smiled, turning his head to kiss her palm. "It's just that I'm pretty sure our genetically superior son is playing with the plunger."

—-OOOOOOO—-

"He's good with kids."

Sam had stayed in the hall outside the infirmary with Jake while Mark, Heather, and the kids were being tested. He'd demanded to be let down as soon as they'd entered the Mountain, and the infirmary wasn't the best place for him to work on his nascent toddle. Macy and Lucas had begged for Uncle Jack to stay with them, so he'd gone inside while Sam had walked up and down the hall holding Jacob's hands.

Heather had joined her as soon as her blood had been drawn, patting gently on the bandage that Janet had placed at her elbow as she'd found a spot to hold up on the corridor wall.

Sam glanced over at her sister-in-law. "He is. He's like a kid magnet. Wherever we go, if there are kids there, they gravitate towards him."

"Mark likes him, you know." Heather crinkled her nose—a little hesitant, maybe, to broach the subject. "He really does. And he thinks that Jack's good for you. Just in case all the teasing and ridiculous interrogations made it seem otherwise."

"I understand where Mark's coming from." Sam smiled, pausing as Jacob faltered for balance. "This has been a lot for him to take in over a very short amount of time."

Heather's green eyes widened. "And now we're in the Inner Sanctum, so to speak. Actually about to learn what it is that you really do."

Sam pressed her lips together before answering. She looked up from her son to focus on her brother's wife. "I'm not going to lie, Heather. It's big."

"I figured." Heather shrugged. "It has to be, what with the ream of paper that Mark and I had to sign just to get in here."

Major Okonkwo had met them at the surface. He'd held a pile of neatly organized folders in one arm, and his other hand had been filled with visitors' credentials. Macy's and Lucas's excitement at being in the Mountain was eclipsed only by their fascination with clipping the sturdy plastic tags to their collars. They'd been convinced that the badges made them look just like the grownups.

After a rapid-fire round of introductions, the tall legal specialist had led the group into a conference room within the Human Resources department offices. He'd conducted the niceties with efficiency, handing out pens and instructing Mark and Heather where they should sign and where they only needed to initial.

"Just so we're clear." Major Okonkwo had fixed a pointed sort of glare at the family. "You understand that everything that you will see and experience from here on out is strictly classified. You are not permitted to talk about this program, or any particulars of it without express permission from this command with or to anyone who is not also similarly authorized."

Heather had glanced nervously at Sam. "But we can talk about it with Sam and Jack, right?"

"Yes, Ma'am." The major nodded, his teeth flashing brightly when he smiled. "And you and your husband may discuss it between yourselves. But what you are about to experience is one of the most closely guarded secrets on the planet. It must remain that way."

Mark had finished signing his last form. Putting the lid back on his pen, he set it down on the table top and slid the folder towards the middle. "I have to admit that I'm feeling a little nervous. I'm not big on government secrets, and I certainly can't imagine how I am going to be in any way helpful to Sam and her team."

Okonkwo passed a look at Carter. "General Hammond has decided that your sister should be the one to explain all that. But first, Doctor Fraiser will take samples of your blood in order to validate what we already suspect. Major Carter, you're welcome to take your family to the infirmary."

She'd gestured towards the corridor leading to the elevators. "Let's go, then."

Major Okonkwo had tucked the pile of folders neatly against his body as he flashed them another smile. "Well then, Carter family, welcome to the Stargate Program."

Which had brought them here. With Janet drawing blood and swabbing the kids' cheeks while Jack entertained the littles by blowing up a latex glove and pretending it was the head of a chicken.

Sam cringed a little. "I'm sorry, Heather. I know that was uncomfortable for both you and Mark."

"More so for him than me."

Her meaning was clear. Mark had more baggage. While he'd made strides in his feelings about the military, he still wasn't exactly blithe about the whole thing.

Speaking of whom—Mark appeared in the door, sporting a bandage identical to his wife's. Janet followed him, chatting with the children, to whom she'd just handed suckers. Jack brought up the rear. He'd stolen a Sharpie from somewhere and was drawing a face on the glove-chicken.

"Where to now?"

"The kids can stay here if you want." Janet leaned over to help Macy with her treat. "Sergeant Howell was supposed to come and take them to one of the private quarters to hang out for the duration, but I understand that he's been held up by something in the MALP bay."

Sam flicked a look at Mark, who nodded. "Macy and Lucas, how about if you stay here with Doctor Fraiser? She's got a TV in her office, and if you're super good, maybe she'll show you where she keeps the video games that Uncle Jack plays whenever he's stuck in here."

Janet tucked the wrapper of Macy's sucker into her pocket and held out her hands to the kids. "Come on, Carter kiddos. Let's go play Mario Kart."

Sam carried Jake to the elevators, holding him as they descended to Level 27. It was quiet as they made their way through the maze of corridors until they'd entered the briefing room. As Sam had requested, the blast shields had been lowered along the windows overlooking the 'Gateroom. General Hammond sat in his customary chair at the head of the table. He stood as they entered.

"Welcome." Hammond shook hands with Mark first, and then Heather. "Thank you for accepting our invitation to Cheyenne Mountain."

"We could hardly pass this up, could we?" Mark stepped backwards, scanning the room before narrowing a look at the blast shields covering the windows. "Besides. Sam said that we could help out somehow."

"That's exactly what we're hoping for." The General nodded, his face relaxing into a smile. "But at the very least, this should make for some interesting dinner conversation at the Carter family Thanksgiving next year. We'll see if we can't bring your dad home for that."

"Home?" Heather smiled, her green eyes wide. "We thought he was here. Isn't he here?"

Jack lifted a brow in Sam's direction before reaching out and plucking Jake from her arms. With a little nod, he stepped backwards towards the briefing room table. "Go ahead, Sam."

With a deep breath, Sam crossed to the windows. Pressing a switch on the wall, she waited for the blast shields to start rising before beginning to speak. "In 1928, archaeologists in Giza uncovered a piece of ancient technology. At first, scientists believed it to be a weapon of some sort, but it was later determined to be a transportation device."

Mark and Heather stepped closer to the windows, gazing wide-eyed into the cavernous room below.

"This is that piece of technology, known as the Stargate. Through it, we can travel instantaneously to hundreds of thousands of planets throughout the galaxy."

"Planets?" Mark blinked rapidly. "You're talking about going through space to other planets ."

Sam nodded. "The Stargate produces a stable wormhole through which matter can travel."

Heather looked at Sam. "How?"

"That's a question that requires entirely too much science to answer." Jack approached the windows and stopped next to his in-laws. "Sam can explain it all, but it'll take a really, really long time and lots of super big-ass words."

"And you've been doing this?" Mark waved in the direction of the 'Gate. "You've been going through these wormholes and visiting other planets?"

"For a little over four years."

"And Dad?"

"Him, too." Jack's voice was carefully benign. "We brought him on a few years ago."

"Why him?"

"Long story short? It saved his life." Sam crossed her arms in front of her body, rocking back slightly on her heels. "I'll explain more about that later."

Heather tucked her hair back behind her ear, a fascinated smile playing on her lips. "What have you found out there? In the galaxy, I mean."

Jack tilted his head, bouncing Jake a little. "Mostly trees. Lots of normal people. And a hell of a lot of bad guys."

"Our directive is to bring back technology and make alliances with the people that we meet in order to gather what we need to be able to protect our planet." Sam glanced down at the 'Gate before continuing. "While there are a lot of amazing things in the galaxy, there are also a lot of real and existential threats. Entities who seek to enslave other beings and destroy civilizations, including our own."

Mark pressed his palm to his forehead, his eyes wide. "Aliens. You're talking about evil aliens. Like—actual aliens . Like from some science fiction movie."

Sam bit her lips to keep from smiling. "To be fair, most of the people we've met out there are a whole lot like us. We believe that humans from Earth were used to seed other planets throughout the galaxy."

"So, you've met aliens?"

"And so have you." Jack raised a brow at his brother-in-law. "Our friend Teal'c. He was at dinner yesterday."

"He's from another planet?"

"He is." Sam nodded. "His people, the Jaffa, are enslaved to one of those evil entities we were talking about. Teal'c risked his life to join us and our fight."

For several beats, Mark simply looked at his sister. "You're serious."

"We are." Jack juggled Jake from one arm to the other. "It's all too real. And so is the need to protect Earth from these threats."

"And how the hell am I supposed to be able to help protect the planet?" Mark's voice had risen a little—edging into a slightly different octave. "I mean—I'm not one of you guys."

Sam took a few steps towards her brother, laying a hand on his arm. "Mark, while the Stargate isn't a weapon, we have found another ancient device here on Earth that is a weapon. One we hope to be able to use to protect the planet. That device uses a genetic recognition system to establish a neural interface with a user. That user is then able to control the device simply by thinking about it."

Understanding was dawning. Mark narrowed a look at his sister. "You have the necessary gene."

"And so does Jack." She nodded to where her husband stood with their son. "And so does Jake. But we haven't been able to find anyone else who does. We've tested the personnel of this base, but have come up empty. So, we're going directly to the source. If I have the gene, then—"

"Then I might have the gene."

"It would have come through Mom, Mark." Sam reached out and took her brother's hand. "Dad isn't a match."

"I—I'm just—I—oh, damn." Faltering, Mark looked towards his wife. "Heather—I—this is—this is a lot."

"This is freaking cool, hon." Heather's green eyes were huge, and brimming with excitement. "And your little sister is a total bad-ass."

"Great." Unbelievably, Mark snorted. "Just one more way that she's cooler than me."

They both jumped when lights started flashing—and Sam's smile widened as she urged them to move back towards the window. "It's nothing to be concerned about. The Stargate is being dialed from off-world. One of our teams is coming home."

"SG-8 has been performing a geological survey of a moon on the other side of the galaxy." General Hammond spoke as the 'Gate whirled to life. "This is a scheduled activation. Totally routine."

Heather and Mark watched—rapt—as the iris disengaged and the huge blue wave whooshed out of the 'Gate.

"Holy crap!" Mark ran his hands through his hair, so close to the window that his nose was practically pressed against the glass. He glanced towards Sam. "And that's it—that's the wormhole?"

"It's the event horizon, yes." Sam bit back a grin. As soon as someone stepped through the 'Gate, she nodded down towards the ramp. "Matter can only travel in one direction through an open wormhole. As soon as SG-8 is all through, they'll close the wormhole and re-engage the protective iris."

"And this is what you guys do." Mark looked up, glancing between Sam and Jack. "All this time, I've been imagining you pushing papers, staring through telescopes, or hunkered down listening to radio waves. I could never have imagined what was really going on. And dad is involved in this somehow? Where is he?"

Jack stepped closer to Sam. "Your dad has been living off-world for a while. He's embedded with a race of people called the Tok'ra. They're allies of ours."

"I thought he was living in Washington, DC." Mark's brows flew high. "And all this time, he hasn't even been on this planet?"

"Well, to be fair," Jack frowned, "I'm not sure that DC counts as Earth—so—"

Sam elbowed her husband in the ribs. "He comes home when he can."

"Holy crap."

Gesturing back towards the briefing room table, Sam encouraged Mark and Heather to sit. As they got comfortable, Sam made her way to the opposite side of the table, reaching her target just as Daniel and Teal'c entered the briefing room. They'd come in through the General's office.

Daniel raised his hand, showing her the little computer that Samantha had brought through the mirror so many months ago. "It's charged up and ready to go, Sam."

"Thanks." She took it, opening the lid as she sat down. "There's a lot to talk about. But first, I'd like to tell you a story."

Jack sat down in the seat next to hers, and Daniel settled in the seat on the other side. Teal'c took a seat further down the table, next to where General Hammond still sat at the head.

"Mark. Heather." Turning the computer, she pressed the power button and waited until the screen flared to life. Then, she reached into the breast pocket of her shirt and removed Samantha's engagement ring, putting it on the table between them. "Let me tell you about Jake."