Sam could not sleep that night as her thoughts oscillated between her father and younger brother. At the first light of dawn, she rose quietly, donning a T-shirt, shorts, and a hoodie. Feeling the need to release pent-up energy, she embarked on a run, a physical exertion that surpassed her daily routine of push-ups. Swiftly traversing Jack's neighborhood, she kept her head concealed beneath the hood, fixated on the ground, concentrating solely on her breathing. Sam ran until her muscles screamed for respite. Finally halting, she sat on the sidewalk, exhausted and cramping.
As the neighborhood stirred with the morning bustle of people heading to work and schools, Sam caught her breath, silently observing the world around her. Slowly, she made her way back to Jack's house, where he awaited her in the hallway, fully dressed, with truck keys in hand and an expression of extreme displeasure etched on his face.
"Where the hell did you go?" Jack demanded, nearly yelling as he tossed the keys onto the couch.
Sam, still panting, lowered her hood and wiped the sweat from her face.
"I went for a run," she replied casually.
Examining her sweaty appearance, Jack's anger softened a notch.
"And couldn't you leave a note saying that?" he asked, moving towards the kitchen to start the coffee machine.
Seeing his distress, Sam swallowed, realizing her oversight.
"It was just a run. I didn't go very far, just a few blocks," she followed him.
Jack slammed his hand on the kitchen countertop.
"I DIDN'T KNOW THAT!" he shouted, his tone revealing concern rather than anger.
Sam stood frozen, realizing he was worried about her.
"Oh... I... I'm sorry," she mumbled, unaccustomed to apologizing.
Turning away, Jack stared at the coffee machine, attempting to regain composure. Sam cautiously approached him.
"I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't think about you. I'm used to being alone, doing things alone. I'm sorry," she said again, her hand tentatively reaching for his right arm.
He continued to stare at the coffee machine.
"You aren't alone anymore, Sam. You aren't in your cabin anymore. But you act like you are, which means I'm of little importance to you," he said, hurt evident in his voice.
Sam felt a pang of remorse, a rare emotion for her. She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her head against his back.
As she held him tightly, she sought to repair her mistake.
"You aren't of little importance to me, Jack. But I've been alone for too many years. I ate alone and slept alone. It isn't easy for me to suddenly change all my life patterns. But I'm sorry for not leaving a note," she said, kissing his back.
The coffee machine beeped, and Jack turned it off, his breathing still agitated. When he had woken up and found her gone, a myriad of unsettling thoughts had crossed his mind, leading to his panic. And it was that total panic Sam saw when she entered the house, a rare sight in Jack O'Neill.
"I know this isn't easy for you, Sam, and I'm doing my best to give you time and space. Let you roam and get used to me. But when I didn't see you, I..." Jack bit his lower lip to maintain control.
She held him tighter.
"You thought that I had left for good," she finished the sentence for him.
He lowered his head, and Sam closed her eyes as if both admitted the most probable outcome.
"What I told you before was true, Jack. I love you. I don't know what the future holds for us, but I will tell you first if I ever walk away from you for good—face to face. I won't run away, not anymore. You have my word," she said, her lips pressed against his jacket.
He slowly turned, and Sam noticed that his eyes were almost black. She tried to swallow the lump that had been rising in her throat.
"I love you, Samantha Carter, and if it depends on me, you will never walk away. We'll be together for the rest of our lives. Always," he declared passionately. Seizing her face, he kissed her with all the intensity he possessed.
In Jack's kitchen, their kiss lingered until both found themselves breathless. Sam nestled her face into Jack's neck and softly uttered, "I would like that, Jack. Very much."
However, Jack sensed an underlying hesitation. Tenderly, he stroked her damp hair, prompting him to voice his concern, "But?"
Still hiding her face, Sam admitted, "But I still have many things to take care of before I can imagine myself sharing my life with you. Please don't hate me, but I'm not used to people. I'm not even used to men. Jack, you were the first man I slept with after over ten years. It is a lot to process."
Jack's protective instincts surged, his manly pride and a deep desire to be there for her.
"Remember this, Sam. The right person will never get tired of you and will always be there for you no matter what. I'm the right person. So, you take all the time you want and need, and I'll be here, waiting. We'll do things at your rhythm," he reassured, kissing her temple.
She held him closer, and her vulnerability met with his unwavering support.
"I'm complicated, Jack. I've already told you this," she confessed.
Jack chuckled, "Yes, you have. You gave me plenty of warnings, but I love you. Complicated and all," he declared, kissing her neck.
Sam moaned, feeling his hands trace along her sweaty back.
"Jack..." she protested.
He continued, undeterred, "What?" still kissing her.
"I'm all sweaty from running. Let me shower," she requested, attempting to extricate herself from his embrace.
With a smile, Jack gave her a final kiss and released her, leaving her with a bright red blush.
"Go shower, Doctor Carter, or we'll end up in bed again," he warned, restarting the coffee machine.
Swallowing nervously, she left for his bathroom, gradually peeling off the sweaty hoodie.
After Sam's refreshing shower, they settled into a quiet breakfast. With Jack having the day off from the base due to her father's will reading scheduled for 1500 at Hammond's house, they spent the morning on Jack's deck, basking in the sun and engaging in casual conversation about inconsequential matters. Jack aimed to distract Sam from her nervousness as they enjoyed each other's company.
As lunchtime approached, Jack decided to order pizzas, but the mounting tension in Sam became palpable. Recognizing her anxiety, he proposed an intervention.
"Why don't we get there earlier so you can be more relaxed there and not stressed here?" he suggested.
Sam, feeling the need to escape the building tension, agreed, "Yeah, good idea. Let's go," and she reached for her jacket.
She was dressed exactly as she had been when she went to D.C., having chosen the appropriate attire, even though she briefly entertained the idea of appearing in cargo pants and military boots to gauge her brother's reaction. Ultimately, she decided against it, not wanting to escalate the tense situation further.
Jack, dressed in civilian attire – black jeans and a pale grey long-sleeve 3-button shirt with military boots – looked handsome, though Sam pushed any distracting thoughts aside, knowing that such matters would have to wait. Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at General Hammond's house. Hammond personally opened the door and invited them in.
"No sign of Mark so far," Hammond said after they entered.
Sam still missed Hammond's wife, Mary Anne, who had tried to care for her and Mark when their mother passed away. They hadn't given her a chance despite Mary Anne's efforts, which Sam now deeply regretted. Sam had been shocked to learn of her death from cancer.
"I've prepared everything in the dining room since I don't know how many people will show with Mark," Hammond informed them, leading them to a large dining room with several chairs and paperwork already arranged on the table.
Sam expressed her gratitude, grabbing Hammond's hand, to which he responded with a warm smile.
"Your father asked me to do this, so I'm fulfilling a friend's wish. Now, Samantha, please try to control yourself when Mark arrives," he requested.
Sam's face hardened, replying, "That depends solely on him," and she withdrew her hand.
Jack had observed the exchange in silence, aware of a possible high tension between the siblings. He started becoming curious about Sam's brother, the mysterious Mark Carter.
As they waited for Mark's arrival, the tension in the room became palpable. Sam, desperately trying to keep calm, eventually decided to retreat to Hammond's garden, seeking solace in the open space as the confines of the house heightened her anxiety. Lost in her thoughts, she paced in the garden, unaware of the passing of time.
Eventually, Jack appeared at the door, his presence a gentle interruption to Sam's solitude. He informed her that her brother had arrived. Taking a deep breath, Sam returned to the house, her nerves still evident.
In what she hoped sounded a calm voice, she asked, "Is he alone?"
Jack shook his head, replying, "I believe he came with his wife. Just the two of them; they are in the living room with Hammond," he said, reassuringly squeezing her hand.
As they walked, Jack halted her, earning a surprised look.
"What?" she inquired.
"I'm here for you, Sam, whatever happens in there. Be strong and move on. It's time for you to be happy again. Remember that," he said, his proximity closer than usual.
Sam swallowed hard and delicately caressed his hand with her finger.
"Thanks," she said, the unspoken support providing a comforting anchor.
They separated, and Sam made her way to Hammond's living room, bracing herself to face the impending confrontation. The time had come to confront the past and navigate the complexities of family dynamics.
As Sam entered the living room, her eyes immediately locked onto him. Mark stood slightly with his back to the door, but she could see him well—the same height as their father at five feet ten, a bit taller than her. Like her, he had inherited the hair color and piercing blue eyes from their mother's side. Otherwise, he was unmistakably a Carter. Mark wore a perfectly tailored, high-quality dark grey two-piece business suit. His conservative silk tie and polished black dress shoes contrasted Sam's casual attire despite her efforts and clearly showed the gap between both worlds. She now regretted not coming in her military cargo pants and boots. Standing beside him, a shorter woman with dark blonde shoulder-length hair wore an expensive dark green jacket and skirt paired with black high heels. She touched Mark slightly on the arm, prompting him to turn completely.
The two siblings locked eyes, the room falling into an uncomfortable silence.
"Hello, Samantha," Mark finally said, breaking the tension.
Sam remained rooted at the entrance.
"Hello, Mark," she replied in the same tone.
Jack sensed the tension, thick enough to be cut with a knife. General Hammond decided to take control; otherwise, the will reading might not happen, given that brother and sister glared at each other in a not-friendly way.
"Since we have all parties present, shall we move this to my dining room so we can all be seated, and I can start?" Hammond suggested, more of a statement than a question.
Sam and Jack, who were closer to the door, were the first to leave for Hammond's dining room. They had already discussed seating arrangements to avoid further delays. Sam took the chair immediately to Hammond's right, and Jack positioned himself further down the table.
Hammond entered and gestured to the left side of the table for the other Carters. Mark pulled a chair for his wife before taking his seat. The tension in the air was palpable—the show was about to begin.
Mark broke the silence, addressing Jack unfriendly, "Who are you?"
Jack looked to Hammond for confirmation, receiving a nod before responding in a neutral tone, "I'm General Hammond's second in command, Colonel Jack O'Neill."
Mark shot an annoyed look at Hammond, stating coldly, "I was under the impression this was a family affair, not an Air Force matter. I want him out of this room."
Sam's face flushed, and her hands clenched under the table, but Hammond preempted her.
"I'm sorry, Mark, but I was the one who requested Colonel O'Neill's presence here. And since this is my house, he's staying," Hammond declared, leaving no room for argument.
Mark blushed, mirroring his sister's trait, and muttered, "Fine."
The stage was set for the unfolding drama. Hammond picked up Jacob's will and was about to commence reading when Mark cleared his throat.
"Before we start all this thing, I must warn you, Sam, that before we left San Diego, I called the FBI and told them we would be going to Colorado Springs for this. And that you would be here. Since you are wanted for murder by the authorities," he declared deliberately, his gaze fixed on his sister, a small smile on his face.
Sam clenched her jaw.
"Of course, you did, Mark. I wouldn't expect less from you," she responded coldly.
Jack sighed heavily, and Hammond shook his head. Mark, noticing their reactions, smiled even more.
"What? It is true. She is a fugitive. I just did my job as a concerned citizen, unlike my father, who let her get away with everything," he said bitterly.
Sam leaned forward, looking at Mark with a piercing gaze.
"So, you called the feds and ratted on your sister? Are you feeling like a man now, Mark? Finally, after all these years?" she asked, her eyes defiantly shining.
He turned red with fury.
"You are a KILLER! You shot a man and ran, so I hope you rot in prison when they come to get you," he spat.
Sam shook her head, a small smile breaking through despite the tension.
"Sorry to disappoint you, little brother, but no one is coming for me. I was cleared of all charges by the Air Force. I'm a free woman," she declared, crossing her arms.
"You were what?" Sam's sister-in-law interjected for the first time.
Sam glanced at her with an annoyed expression.
"And you are?" she asked.
"Linda Carter," she replied. "Mark's wife," she added immediately, sensing Sam's indifference.
Jack observed the unfolding drama like watching a soap opera, a spectacle he hadn't witnessed since his marriage to Sara. He wasn't a fan.
Mark turned to Hammond, his disbelief evident.
"Is this true? She's not a fugitive anymore?" he asked.
Hammond smiled with satisfaction.
"Yes, it is. She was cleared of all charges. She's an innocent person, Mark," Hammond stated.
Mark puffed with disbelief.
"Innocent? She shot him twice and killed him in cold blood. That's what she does—kill people, what my father did for a living, killing. So don't talk to me about innocence," he scoffed, passing a hand through his well-cut blond hair.
Sam, growing tired of the accusations and drama, spoke up.
"Are you done? Is there anything else you want to claim, or can we move on?" she asked.
Mark's lips twisted in a small, wicked smile.
"Now that you mention it, I think you were a coward. A damn coward that ran away and didn't stay to face the consequences of your actions. Mother would be ashamed of you," he said with distaste.
Without warning, Sam catapulted out of her chair and over the table, grabbing Mark by the neck before anyone could react. Jack moved swiftly but not quickly enough to prevent the several punches Mark received despite his wife's attempts to separate them. Sam was wild, heedless of Jack's yells. She was determined to wipe that smile off her brother's face and make him swallow his hurtful words.
Eventually, Jack managed to grab her and pull her away from the now-blooded and almost unconscious Mark Carter, sprawled on Hammond's floor, with only his wife showing concern for him.
"LET ME GO, JACK!" Sam yelled, attempting to break free from his tight grip, but he held on steadfastly.
General Hammond stepped in front of her, trying to calm her down.
"Samantha, please, he's not worth it," he urged in a low voice.
Sam continued to struggle, forcing Jack to exert effort to control her. She resembled a wild cat in his arms, fiercely resisting restraint. Slowly, Mark managed to stand with his wife's help. His nose was likely broken, and his lips were split, his face a canvas of blood and bruises. One of his eyes had already started to get dark and swollen.
"Where is the bathroom, General?" Linda Carter asked, her concern directed at her injured husband. Hammond sighed, shooting Sam a warning look before leaving the room with the other Carters. Jack, with Sam still in his arms, tried to soothe her.
"Sam, please, stay still," he whispered in her ear.
She finally ceased her struggle, and Jack's arms felt an immediate relief. In this wild state, she was a force of nature.
"Thank you," he said, kissing her neck.
Although he already knew the answer, he asked. "Are you hurt?"
Alone and panting heavily, she responded, "No," closing her eyes. Her hurt was not physical but deeply emotional. Mark had always been adept at inflicting that kind of pain, and that's why Sam had retaliated with such force. It had been their dynamic since childhood.
"Can you let me go?" she requested hoarsely.
Jack maintained his arms around her tense body.
"Are you sure? You won't jump on him as soon as he walks back through that door?" he inquired.
Sam shook her head, and Jack released her. She retrieved her chair and sat down, attempting to calm herself. This time, Jack decided to sit beside her and wait for the remaining participants to return. General Hammond was the first to re-enter the room.
Placing a hand on Sam's shoulder, he asked concernedly, "Are you all right, Samantha?"
Sam replied, "Not really, but I won't hit him again. Because if I do, I won't stop, so you have my word," she assured.
Hammond's gaze shifted to Jack, who shrugged. Some minutes later, Mark and his wife followed. His once-immaculate suit was now stained with blood, and he held a towel over his nose. His eyes radiated a hatred even more intense than before. However, he sat quietly, aware that Sam always emerged as the victor when things turned physical. That lesson had been learned early in their lives, and Mark had been painfully reminded of that. Hammond settled back into his chair, again picking up the will papers.
"Right, people. Let's try to do this without more bloodshed," he declared, attempting to regain control of the situation.
The room remained silent, both siblings staring at each other with only hate in their eyes.
"Your father, Major General Jacob Carter, asked me to read his will to both of you, even though there's no legal obligation. He hoped to bring you two closer," Hammond explained, sighing at the intention that had seemed noble at the time.
Sam looked down, and Hammond continued, "So, I'll just read what he wrote, and then we'll see from there."
The room became somber as Hammond began reading Jacob Carter's last will. The emotional weight of the words hung heavy in the air.
"I, Jacob Carter, a resident of Washington D.C., being of sound mind and disposing memory, do at this moment make, publish, and declare this to be my last will, revoking any previous wills and codicils I made at any time previously. I designate Major General George S. Hammond as executor of the will and administering the estate."
The disposition of assets was detailed: the townhouse in D.C., bank accounts, military awards, and uniforms were to go to his daughter, Samantha Carter. All weapons were also designated for her and his paintings, sculptures, and other art collections. For his son, Mark Carter, a hundred thousand dollars and a ring from his mother were bequeathed. Jacob left enough money to settle taxes and financial obligations and expressed his desire to be buried in Arlington National Cemetery next to his wife's grave.
"I hope that with my death, my daughter Samantha Carter will be finally free from the biased murder charges she had to suffer because of me. I cannot undo what has been done, but I want to have in writing that I always believed in her innocence and did all I could to overturn those charges. Unfortunately, I was unsuccessful. So, I'm very sorry, Sam. Please forgive me," Hammond concluded.
The room was filled with the silent crying of Sam. Jack held her hand under the table, providing whatever support he could.
Mark stared at Hammond in disbelief.
"So, he left everything to her?" he questioned.
Hammond set the papers down, clarifying, "No, he left you a considerable amount of money and a token from your mother."
Linda Carter gritted her teeth.
"Let go, Mark. We'll talk with our lawyers," she suggested.
Hammond agreed, "I believe that is the best thing to do."
Mark stood up abruptly, tossing the bloodied towel onto the table.
"Congratulations, Samantha. You were always Dad's favorite. Even being a murderer pays off in this country," he sneered before storming out of the room, with his wife following closely behind.
Sam closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She teetered on the verge of collapse, uncertain if she could hang on this time like Carters did. Not this time.