Knocked Up

Chapter Three

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He'd resurfaced the deck after he'd bought the place. Both his realtor and the home inspector had suggested that he demolish the ragged, peeling back patio and build a new one with those new vinyl planks that were all the rage.

But Jack had liked the wood—feeling some weird, unironic kinship with something old and weathered and haggard but still solid. Besides—he'd desperately needed a project to take his mind off the fact that he wouldn't see his brand-new wife for a year. So? He'd bought a sander and gotten to work.

It had taken the better part of six months to get down to raw Ipe. He'd been expecting cedar or redwood—but the lovely Brazilian walnut had gleamed once stripped of the years of paint and abuse. Jack had planed down the worst of the warping and then simply added some weatherproofing stain to protect it and bring out the grain.

He'd barely waited for it to cure before he'd dragged his telescope outside. Having thrown away the decrepit lawn chair he'd had in his loft in the Springs, he'd scoured the local outdoors shops until he'd found a patio set with matching chairs for his sky gazing setup here in Virginia.

Jack had kind of been expecting to find Cassie sitting in one of those chairs. They were pretty damned comfortable, after all, what with their lumbar support, rocking mechanisms, and cushy upholstery. But he found her sitting on the top step of the stairs, instead. She'd set her beer bottle on the deck beside her, and was leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. She had her phone in her hands again, scrolling through whatever was on the screen.

Quietly, he shut the door behind him, walking across the smooth planks until he reached her side. Leaning down, he put another bottle—a different one—next to the one she'd already emptied.

It took her a minute, but she eventually looked over—first at the Guinness and then up at him. She'd lost the sheen of anger from before—and now just looked—lost.

Hurt, again. Broken.

Waving his hand at the empty spot next to her, he met her gaze. "Mind if I join you?"

With a little shrug, she nodded. Clicking the phone off, she put it on the deck next to her. "If you want to."

He stepped down onto the second stair before lowering himself to sit beside her on the landing. He tried—and failed—not to grimace as his knees crackled and popped. Damned age. He hadn't really had knee issues since he'd spent time in Ba'al's dungeon. The sarcophagus had at least given him something. But months spent on all fours while stripping, sanding, and staining had done a number on all of his joints. He should figure himself lucky that it wasn't pain—just the kind of crunchiness he'd first started hearing in his forties, come back again as he skated along nearly two decades further on down the road.

Adjusting his hold on his own bottle, he mirrored Cassie's position, leaning forward, with his arms braced on his thighs. Giving his eyes a minute to adjust to the darkness, he looked out over his sanctuary.

The night was cool—balmy, even. Late summer morphing into autumn. Far off across the yard, he'd already seen leaves turning yellow in the wooded area on the north end of the acreage. Oak, maple, and chestnut made up the majority of the forest, along with persistent little stands of loblolly pines. Just beyond the property line, a nature preserve had been set aside at some point by the local government—saved from development or industrial use for the benefit of some random bird that mattered to somebody prominent.

The fact that he could sit out on this deck and look off into something even approaching a wilderness had been a huge selling point. It had made him feel just a little as if he were sitting on the dock next to his pond, cradling a fishing pole in one hand and his wife in the other.

They'd only been able to go to the cabin once before they'd made their ways to their separate assignments. That memory had carried him through many, many silent nights. And this view—this place—had saved whatever decent parts of himself had survived over the years. The ones that Sam had helped give back to him.

He sighed—the sound carrying deep into the night.

Loudly enough that Cassie turned to study him. She didn't say anything, merely looked at him, her intelligent gaze reading him as thoroughly as if he'd printed his thoughts on his forehead. "So, now you're sharing your Guinness?"

Jack looked down at the bottle in his hands, turning it to read the label in the light emanating from inside the house. Sam had gone up to bed, but she'd left the pendant lights over the island on, and flipped the switch for the lamp next to the couch. It wasn't bright—but enough of a glow eked out through the windows that he could read the pertinent bits. Sadly, no magic words lurked there to make this conversation easier. He'd just have to wing it.

"I'm sorry that I jumped to conclusions. I should have come right out and asked rather than try to—" He faltered to a halt, unsure how to describe what he'd been attempting to do. Ferret? Detect? Deduce? With a lame shrug he glanced at Cassie. "Well, anyway. I should have just asked."

"Ah." Nodding, she picked her bottle up, turning it until she could peruse the label. "So the beer is a peace offering."

Might as well be honest. "Something like that."

"Can I ask what made you think it was mine?"

"The test?" Jack could feel the weight of the thing in his pocket. "Well, you were engaged. You've seemed more emotional than usual. And I heard you and Sam talking about it."

Her eyes went wide. "Talking about me being pregnant?"

"At least—that's what it sounded like." Jack winced. "Apparently, I misinterpreted the conversation."

"When was this?"

"This afternoon. Before we went to dinner. I came downstairs and heard you." He gestured towards her with the bottle in his hand. "You and Sam were on the couch. You were talking about how you wanted to keep 'it', but that it would be a lot of work and you didn't know if you could do it alone."

"And you concluded that the 'it' was a baby."

"It was a logical assumption, wasn't it?" He hazarded a smile. "Given the circumstances."

"Sure. But wrong." Cassie ducked her chin, her expression wistful. She chewed on her bottom lip for a while before continuing. "It's my mom's house."

"What?"

"The 'it'." She folded her fingers together, her knuckles turning pale. "The thing that I want to keep. It's my mom's house. Devyn and I were going to fix it up while we finished medical school. It needs a lot of work—a new roof, some major plumbing upgrades. I wanted to renovate it and live there after—"

Another long pause stretched between them, broken only when Jack nodded and said, "After the wedding."

"I don't see how I can do it by myself. And really—why do I need it now?" Folding further over her knees, she canted a sideways look up at him. "It's too big just for one person."

"You won't always be alone, Cass."

"Mmm." Tucking her hair back behind her ear, she looked down towards the pavers on the walkway below. "Kind of feels like it, though."

"Well, you won't." Jack raised a brow. "You're just going through some stuff right now. You'll bounce back."

"That seems unlikely." She straightened. "Although I guess it's a plus that I'm just a loser and not a pregnant loser."

His response was both instantaneous and vehement. "You're not a loser."

She made a caustic sound—part sniffle, part snort. Not so much a reply as a repudiation.

But it was raw enough that Jack felt the need to reiterate his statement. "You're not, Cass."

Glancing sideways at him, she shrugged, running the pad of her thumb against the crimped edge of the bottle cap. "That's hard to believe right now."

"Give yourself some time." Jack watched her fidget with her beer. "You'll forget Dumbass pretty quickly."

"Dumbass?"

He fitted the neck of the bottle against his elbow, closing and flexing just enough to pop the cap. "David. The fiancé. Dwayne. Dick. Or whatever."

The look she gave him reminded him of Doctor Fraiser—only much less nurturing and far, far more sardonic. "Devyn?"

"That's the one."

Another 'hmmm' in the back of her throat. Another pause lost in the breeze and the night. Cassie tilted her chin down to look at his feet, how his shoes dwarfed hers, maybe, or how similarly they were sitting on the steps. "He's not a bad guy, Jack. In fact, he's really pretty awesome."

"But he—"

"But he called off the wedding?" She rocked forward, folding herself over her knees briefly before sitting back upright. "He broke my heart?"

"Yeah." Jack's brows rose. "That makes him a world-class schmuck in my book."

"Well, he's not." Cassie turned the bottle this way and that, watching as the moonlight glinted off the glass. "I'm the one that ended it."

Jack stilled, frowning out across the lawn. "But I thought—"

"I know. You thought that he walked out. That he left me. That's what I've told everyone." She inhaled sharply. Bracing herself. "But, I gave him the ring back. I broke up with him. It was me."

For several long beats, Jack mulled that over. "Can I ask you why?"

Bending slightly, she settled the bottle on the step next to her right foot. "Reasons."

"Reasons."

Beside her, the phone buzzed—not a call—but rather an alert of some sort. Cassie picked the device up and clicked it open, reading something on the screen before frowning back out over the back yard. A movement of her finger caused the screen to go black again.

"Is that him?"

She lifted the phone, as if entering it into evidence. "He's worried. He wants to talk about it. He doesn't understand what happened, and I don't know how to tell him."

He pondered that for a moment. "Why, Cassie? What's going on?"

Rolling her eyes heavenward, she shook her head. It took her several long minutes to figure out where to start—or maybe how much to say. Regardless, when she finally spoke again, her voice was quiet.

"He's such a good guy, Jack. He's everything I ever wanted. He's nice, you know? He's kind, and smart, and strong. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel like I can do anything I want to do." She turned the device over and over in her hand, her movements rife with uncertainty. "He reminds me a little of you."

He cringed, swallowing a groan. "That's worrisome."

"Actually, he reminds me a lot of you." Yet again, Cassie sighed. "And we were planning a future together. Buying rings and gowns and putting deposits down on venues. Bands and flowers—you know, all that wedding stuff."

"Right."

"And it just occurred to me one day that I've been lying to him ever since we met."

"Lying to him?"

"About who I am. About where I'm from." She raised a meaningful eyebrow. "About where I'm really from."

Ah. It was easy to forget sometimes that Cassie wasn't really 'native', so to speak. She so rarely spoke about her origins that the ruse seemed more plausible than the reality.

Still, Jack could understand her reasoning. "And that's problematic for you."

"I don't like lying to the man I'm supposed to marry. I think he deserves better than that."

Silence fell upon and around them as they retreated back into their own thoughts. Jack took the opportunity to raise his bottle again, swishing the beer around his tongue as he considered the situation.

But she didn't wait for him to come up with any answers before she continued. "If I'm going to share my life with someone, I want that person to know the real me."

"Cassie—"

"And then, there's the other issue."

Jack paused before taking another tentative sip from his bottle. Swallowing, he braced himself for what was coming next. "What's that?"

Her expression grew guarded again, and she returned her attention to the wide expanse of grass between the deck and the little wilderness beyond. "He told me a few months ago that he wanted a bunch of kids. Like—five or six. He's from a little town in the Iowa and grew up around a hundred cousins and aunts and uncles on this big old farm. He's told me a thousand stories about all of the adventures that they had."

"Sounds nice."

"It sounds like Hanka."

"And Hanka is bad?"

She sent a narrow look at him before shaking her head and hissing out an exhale. "Hanka is pain."

He didn't even need to ask for clarification on that one. He'd been there. He'd seen it. He knew.

Ducking her chin towards her chest, she looked down at the phone in her hand. It took her a few beats before she spoke again. "The thing is that I'm terrified."

He frowned a little, running that through his mind. "Of what? Getting married? Of having kids?"

"Yes. All that. More." Cassandra leaned closer, until her shoulder was flush against his. "I lost my entire family before my twelfth birthday. My Mom and Dad, grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. I had three brothers. Did you know that? Two who were older than me, and one who was only a little kid. My oldest brother, Juhn—he and his wife Britta were expecting their first baby later that summer. She was one of the first to die."

Jack closed his eyes, clenching his jaw tightly. There was nothing he could say, so he merely waited for her to continue.

"And then you brought me here and Janet Fraiser adopted me. She helped me through the aftermath—let me cry and rant—taught me how to be from Earth—which is harder than it looks." Shaking her head, she let out what might have been a stunted groan. "She was such a force of nature. Such a little powerhouse. There was nothing that she couldn't do. Nothing she wouldn't do for me."

He tilted her head until his cheek touched her hair. Somehow, Jack knew beyond a doubt that they were both thinking about the same moment. Doctor Fraiser, prim and neat and proper—with her white coat, ridiculously perfect hair, and shiny, sensible heels—holding a gun on Nirrti and demanding that the Goa'uld cure her daughter. Standing in the infirmary like a badass avenging angel.

But Janet—indomitable, determined, bossy Doctor Major Mom—had died, too. Jack—hell, everyone—had felt that loss keenly. But nobody had been broken as deeply as Cassandra. A daughter's grief was a singular thing.

Different from that of a father—but equally profound. "She was an amazing lady."

"She was." Straightening, Cassie hefted the cell phone in her palm again. "And I've missed her so much—especially during the whole 'planning a wedding' thing. Devyn has been very supportive. So sweet about it all."

"How much have you told him?"

"He knows that I was adopted."

Immediately, his mind went to the cover story. "From Toronto."

"From Toronto." With a roll of her eyes, Cass shook her head. Suddenly, she rose, stomping slightly as she descended the stairs. Turning, she peered back up at him. "But it's a lie. And Devyn can never know the truth, can he? He wants children, and this big, rowdy family, and the white picket fence, and everything else. He wants to marry me. Me. When he doesn't have a clue who I really am."

"Cassie, he could do a lot worse." Jack watched as she paced back and forth at the foot of the steps. "You're one of the most amazing humans I know."

The corner of her mouth tilted upward. "Only one of the most amazing humans, huh?"

"You know what I meant." He smiled back. "Although, I am in the unique position to have an actual opinion on that particular assertion."

She laughed—actually laughed at that—peering back up at him through the darkness. But then, the phone in her hand buzzed and glowed again, and her smile faded as she looked at it. She slid the device into the pocket of her skirt. "Anyway, I know it's all impossible, but there are reasons why all this matters."

"Which are?" Jack stood, turning to lean against the railing, dangling his bottle from between his fingers. "I mean—besides the obvious."

"Genetics." Cassie scrunched her nose up, looking through the darkness out towards his wilderness. "My DNA is slightly—sketchy. I still have some markers left behind from all that stuff that she did to me."

There wasn't any need for her to elaborate as to who the 'she' was. Still, Jack processed it all before responding. "And you're worried that some of that will affect a child."

"Or make it so that I can't have any at all. And how do I explain what's wrong without telling him the rest?" Turning, she faced away from him, scanning the distance for something—clarity, probably. Answers. Enlightenment. "Geez. This is all just so stupidly difficult."

He had to give that to her. For a young woman just starting out, these weren't normal issues. She was deep in the thick of young adulthood—school and relationships and plans for the future—all of which were complicated immeasurably by the singular concerns that Cassandra herself faced. Jack understood all of that at its most base level—thus his backwards attempt at meddling.

For a guy in his stage of life, however, the correct choices seemed obvious. He'd long-since abandoned any thoughts of these particular questions—his life having seemed to stabilize into something relatively drama-free. He'd already peaked in his career, already navigated—at least somewhat successfully—the ebbs and flows of adulthood.

Unless—

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled the test out, turning it towards the house so that he could read the results on the screen again.

Positive. Two lines. It hadn't been Cassie's. Cassie wasn't the one who was pregnant.

So—who? Sam had already said it wasn't hers. That's what she'd meant, right? When she'd said that there was nothing to tell him. A baby was hardly 'nothing'. And there had been others through the house. Whitney—Kylie—Connie—Susan. All of whom could be the ones who'd left this particular piece of plastic in his trash can.

Right? Unless—

Holy crap.

Jack shook back the little tingle that had settled at the base of his skull. His wife had denied it. Still—

"Hey—you know that someone peed on that, right?"

It took him too long to register that she'd spoken. Frowning down at where Cassie stood on the walkway, he forced himself to focus. "What?"

"The pregnancy test." Cassie nodded towards the plastic stick in his hand. "There are latex microbeads in one end of the stick that interact with an antibody within the hCG found in urine."

"The what?"

"Human Chorionic Gonadotropin—hCG. It's a hormone that's produced by specific—and very hard to pronounce—cells in a productive placenta. If enough hCG is present in a woman's urine, the test detects it and a chemical reaction occurs that is reflected on the screen."

"And all that happens because—"

"Because somebody peed on the business end of that stick."

Okay—ewww. Jack glanced down at the piece of plastic in his hand, rotating his hand to look at the other side. "It seems pretty dry now."

She didn't even try to hide her amusement. "Dry urine is still urine."

"Isn't urine supposed to be sterile?"

"No." Her grin grew broader. "I'm afraid that's one of those urban legend things."

"So, all this time, I've been just—"

She started back up the stairs, stopping a step below him. "Walking around with someone's pee in your pocket."

Well, that was gross.

With a little huffed exhale, he lowered himself to his perch on the top step again, laying the test on planking next to him. "I should just throw it away."

"Again?"

"Don't you think?

"I thought you wanted to find out whose it was." Cassie touched her shoe to the toe of his. "Solve the mystery."

"Yes. Because that's worked out so well for me this evening."

"It wasn't so bad, Jack."

"Oh yeah. It was totally peachy how I accused you of being pregnant."

"'Accused'." She shoved her hair back over her shoulder as she stepped up next to him on the uppermost step. "That's such a bad word for it. Like you thought I'd committed a crime.."

"You were pretty pissed when I suggested that the test might belong to you." He passed a wry look in her direction. "So, I came out here to beg forgiveness for my crime."

"It's okay. I mean—it made sense that you thought it was me." Bending, she picked up the beer he'd brought her. Handing it to him, she wordlessly asked him to open it. Once he had, she accepted it back with a shrug. "Circumstances being what they are."

"Well, I'm sorry that I made those circumstances even more difficult."

Cassie angled the bottle towards her nose, giving it an experimental sniff. Blinking, she lowered the beer again, frowning out over the grass. "What if it had been me?"

"Having a baby?"

"What if I'd managed to be irresponsible enough to screw up like that?"

"I didn't see it that way—despite how it seemed. As stupid and overbearing as I was being earlier, I was trying to be helpful." He watched as she sat down next to him again, a little closer than before. "You're a grown woman, now. Almost a doctor. You're smart and tough and ready for whatever life throws your way."

She took an experimental sip, hissing past the sour thickness of the brew. Swallowing, she made a thorough study of his face. "You wouldn't have been disappointed in me?"

"Never." Jack had to work past the sudden tightness in his throat. "I am beyond proud of you, Cassie. I hope you know that."

Her smile was a slow, sweet thing. Biting her lip, she leaned against him, pressing her temple to his shoulder. "I'd hate it if I let you down somehow. You're pretty much all I have left. You and Sam."

"And Daniel and Vala. They're family, too."

"Family." Not bitterness—just wistfulness again. Her tone said more than the single word she'd spoken.

So, they were back to that. "Everything carries some risk, Cass. You can't expect things to always turn out the way you plan them."

"I know that." When he canted his eyebrow in her direction, she scrunched her nose up at him. "I do. But there are big risks and little ones. And this one just feels really, really big."

"I think that the question you have to ask yourself is whether the risk would be worth it. What do you want out of life?"

"I want him." Even she seemed surprised by how immediate her answer came. She smiled—the expression rueful—before allowing her eyes to drift closed for a while. By the time she opened them again, Jack had picked up his bottle and worked through another swig of his Guinness. "I want what Devyn wants."

"The kids and the picket fence and everything?"

"Yeah." Leaning forward, she resumed her earlier position, sitting with her forearms braced against her thighs. "All that."

"But?"

"But then we're back to Hanka."

And Hanka was pain. Isn't that what she'd said?

Cassie rarely talked about where she'd come from—at least, not to Jack. He couldn't remember her saying anything about her home planet for years—not since she'd been taken by the mind storm and hunted by Nirrti. And now—she'd brought it up twice in one night.

Lost parents. Lost siblings. Dead friends and neighbors. A child picking amongst the wreckage trying to survive. It had been disturbing for Jack—a grown man accustomed to death and destruction. But to experience that as a child—

He'd avoided the bodies as best as he'd been able. The adults had been bad enough—the losses senseless and vile. But the children had been impossible to process.

An image flickered through his mind of a white coffin. Obscenely small—half the size of a normal one. Sara had wanted something bright—red, or green, or blue. But Jack hadn't been able to concede that kind of defeat. Acknowledging the casket was for a kid—his kid—his beautiful, bright, energetic boy—was more than he'd been able to handle.

In the end, he'd compromised on the white. White, when he'd wanted deepest ebony to suit his soul.

He'd been here—where Cassie was. He remembered all too well the first weeks—months—years—the soul-crushing despair of continuing to exist when your reason for existence had been taken away. Half a decade had passed before he'd been able to even consider allowing someone that close again.

Even then, it hadn't been a choice. He hadn't set out to find someone with whom he wanted to share a life. He'd never intended to open himself back up to that kind of risk. He hadn't wanted to allow anyone in.

Only—he'd found himself needing Sam. Being near her had felt like being bathed in sunlight—warm and brilliant and sublime. Without being too maudlin, it was as if he'd rediscovered his purpose. Found that he could actually look forward to living again.

That thought alone had been enough to shake a few stones out of the walls he'd put up around himself. He'd tried to reinforce his defenses, tried to resist her pull—but all his efforts had proven to be useless. She'd just winnowed her way under his skin until she'd become part of him. She'd become essential to his existence—like sustenance, blood, or air.

And then he'd stood on one side of a force field with her trapped on the other side and known—known without a doubt—that he was going to lose her. It had been terrifying to an astounding degree.

Faced with going through that kind of loss—that kind of grief—again? Well, hell. He'd barely been able to breathe. It had been agonizingly painful. Even now, he could feel the fear deep in his gut.

He pressed his lips together—steeling himself for what he was about to say. "I know how you're feeling, Cassie."

Cassandra straightened a bit, using the heel of her shoe to push herself backwards on the step. "You do?"

"About being afraid to take those risks." Jack ran his tongue across his lips. "I was married before. A long time ago—years before I knew about the 'Gate. Her name was Sara and she was really amazing. Is amazing—she's still alive. Anyway, you know me, right? I was a major pain in the ass even back then. Sara was too good for me. And far more patient than she should have been."

Cassie sent him a wry smile. "Like Sam."

"Yeah." He smiled back. "Like Sam."

"So, what happened?"

"We had a son. He died." It wasn't as difficult to talk about it as he'd feared—now that he'd come to terms with it all. A decade ago, he could never have spoken about it so openly. "Sara and I—we let it rip us apart. I wasn't there for her, and didn't let her in when she needed me. I wasn't—okay—at all, after Charlie died. I blamed myself—and rightly so. She tried to keep things together, but I couldn't get past it. I just wanted the pain to end, you know?"

Which was an understatement—an understatement that Cassie seemed to understand. She moved closer to him, her cheek warm against his shoulder. "Is that when you went through the 'Gate for the first time?"

"It was." Nodding, he tilted his Guinness back and forth—feeling the liquid slosh inside the bottle. "It was essentially a suicide mission. I thought I was going to die, and I was okay with that. I wanted it. I welcomed it."

Cassie fell silent for a time, contemplating things as she worked at catching the moonlight on the rounded side of the bottle. When she spoke again, her voice was stronger. "I'm glad you didn't die, if that means anything."

"Me too." Jack gazed out over the wide expanse of grass. "And I was glad to survive that first mission. I retired for a while, became one of those crotchety old dudes that yelled at people. I was miserable. I saw the rest of my life stretch out before me, and in that future, I was alone. Bored. So when Hammond ordered me back to the SGC, I wasn't too upset."

"I can't imagine you being that way."

"Well, it's true. I was." He smiled—a bit self-consciously. More than a little ironically. "The thing is—I thought I wanted to be that crotchety old guy. I thought that was the life I deserved."

She mulled that over for a moment before giving him an odd nudge. "So, what happened?"

"I met Sam."

"And?"

And? Eight years. Eight years of waiting, and wanting, and not being able to have. Eight years of hidden touches and surreptitious looks and stolen moments. Eight years of lying in bed alone staring up at the ceiling and wondering if she was doing the same. Saying 'goodnight' across campfires, hallways, and parking lots. Loneliness. Uncertainty. Darkness. Delayed light.

Another man's ring. Yet another mission. And another. Another woman in his bed. A dying father. A world to save.

All that before they'd finally figured it out.

Had it been worth it? Hell, yes. Even through the long years of waiting. The broken hearts and broken engagements. The few days they'd holed up at the cabin before she'd had to report to Area 51 and he'd moved to DC. Living apart again—still—separated even though they were husband and wife—meeting for a day, a weekend at random hotels they never left in random cities they never toured. Emails, letters, phone calls, text messages, and coded communiques from a galaxy away—

And now she was living here. With him. In this house that he'd bought for them. Eating, sleeping, living, being—together full-time for the first time. Making a home together for the first time. And through this, he'd finally found that peace that had eluded him for years.

What had happened?

"And I took that damned risk."

Clouds had drifted across the moon, casting deep shadows across the yard and the deck. The lights inside only just barely breached the darkness now, leaving the entire area draped in the thickness of night. More intimate, now. With truths as well as night having fallen around them.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that." Jack gave her a meaningful look. "Some risks are worth taking because the rewards are so profound. You have to decide if it's worth it to you."

"And being with Sam is worth it to you."

"Being with Sam is worth everything. She is everything. She makes me whole."

She took another sip from her Guinness—more for something to do than out of thirst. Stalling to find her own words, perhaps. Or maybe just to think. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "He's a really good guy, Jack."

"Do you think he could handle it?"

"Knowing the truth?"

"Yeah."

Cassie angled a crooked smile up at him. "He'd think it's cool. He's a bit of a sci-fi geek."

"Star Wars?"

"Star Trek, actually. And Battlestar Galactica."

"Ah." As if he had any idea what those were.

Exhaling heavily, Jack eyed the treeline speculatively. He could make a few calls. Remind people of favors owed and markers given. He had enough oomph in enough high circles that he could make things happen for her.

When he glanced back over at her, she was back at scrolling on the screen of her phone. For a long time, he merely watched her, studying her expression, the maturity she'd gained, the way she still reminded him of the little girl he'd helped rescue so many years before. Her hazel eyes were at once childlike and timeless—both wise and unguarded. When she lifted her chin to look at him, something had shifted. For the first time since she'd arrived in Virginia, she looked—hopeful.

Jack inhaled deeply. "Are you sure about this guy?"

Her answer was both immediate and strong. "Yes."

"I'll talk to some people. Do what I can." He clenched his jaw for a moment. "I can't promise you anything, but I'll try to make it so that you won't have to lie to him anymore."

"I'd like that."

"But if I can't—"

"If you can't?" Cassie paused, considering briefly before making a decision. "Then I guess I'll risk it."

Beside him, she shifted on the step, and Jack found himself wrapping his arm around her shoulders until she'd nestled into his side. It was chilly—but not cold. Breezy, even sheltered against the worst of the elements by the patio awning and the large house. The moon had risen high above the tops of the distant trees, bathing the grass in a silvery glow. And further away, deep in the woods, a chorus of owls had started calling to each other.

"Jack?"

Her voice was softer, muffled slightly against the sports jacket he still wore.

Jack looked down at her. "Yeah?"

"I'm going to call him." She sat up, juggling her position so that she could slide the phone out of her pocket. "If this all works out. If Devyn still wants me—"

"He will."

With a little roll of her eyes, Cassie grinned. "If he still wants to marry me—"

"He'd be an idiot not to."

She clicked the button onto her phone that made the thing glow. She had a picture on the lock screen—her and Devyn. Not a posed photo—it was a candid shot. They were looking at each other and laughing. And the look on the kid's face—well, Jack had seen it before. It was what his face did whenever he looked at Sam.

"Anyway." Cassie touched the screen with her fingertips. Peeping up at Jack from beneath her lashes, she sent him a hesitant smile. "If he does still want to go through with the wedding. Would you walk me down the aisle?"

Something new this time—something special—wended its way up from his gut to settle somewhere suspiciously close to his heart. There was that tightness in his throat again, only it wasn't pain this time, but rather some deep sort of satisfaction that he never figured he'd feel or deserve again. It was that whole 'Dad' phenomenon. And he knew that he was blessed beyond belief that this young lady—this remarkable soul—could see beyond the gruff, aging, pain-in-the-ass General and see him as something else. Something good.

Damn, he was lucky.

And he was relieved that his voice only broke a little when he answered her.

"Of course I will, Cass."