As Jack, Sam, and Grace sat around the table, the aroma of freshly baked meatloaf filled the air, mingling with the warmth of an unexpected familial camaraderie. Sam nervously picked at her food, uncertain how to engage with either Jack or Grace. This felt even harder than the lunch she had the first time she had been invited. Jack seemed to notice her discomfort and attempted to break the ice.
"So, Sam, have you improved your running time even more?"
Sam glanced up, offering a tentative smile. It was a little strange to talk about her running time at dinner time, but she supposed any topic would be awkward at this stage. And at least he had been brave enough to start the conversation.
"Ah…no. They had an off-world mission and were gone for some days. Running alone and under Teal'c watchful eyes are two very different things", she said slowly.
Jack chuckled as he started to eat. "I bet they are," he said.
Grace, sitting beside Jack, reached out to refill Sam's glass. "Well, you can continue to run here. This street is tranquil during the day. Most people are at work," she said. "Right, Dad?" she added, looking at her father for confirmation.
Jack nodded, and Sam smiled gratefully, her nerves beginning to ease. "Thank you, Grace. I might do that."
As the conversation flowed more freely, Sam was drawn into the stories about Grace's progress at school and a spelling contest that she easily won. Still a little overwhelmed with everything, Sam listened more than she talked, but a sense of joy and anticipation began to replace her initial nervousness.
Sam offered to help Jack clear the dishes, and he accepted, while Grace discreetly disappeared to the living room with her dessert.
"So, too much?" Jack asked as Sam slowly savored the last bite of the chocolate cake Grace had made for her.
Sam swallowed and shook her head. "No, it was quite nice. They tried to get me to have meals with them also at SGC," she said, avoiding his eyes.
Jack devoured the rest of his cake before wiping his lips clean. "And?" he inquired, leaning back in his chair.
Sam blushed slightly. "I preferred to eat alone," she admitted.
Jack sighed, setting his plate in the dishwasher. "What a shocker," he remarked, attempting humor.
Sam mirrored his actions. "It's difficult to change habits of years suddenly. I'm trying, okay?" she said, a hint of annoyance creeping into her voice.
Jack swallowed, realizing his misstep. "I'm sorry. It was supposed to be a joke. I know you're trying. You're doing a tremendous job, Sam," he said with pride.
Sam blushed again and glanced down. "Things couldn't go on like they were. Not after I was left with no option but to stay," she confessed in a low voice.
Jack cleared his throat, considering her words. "Are you sure you want to start with that on your first night here?" he asked gently.
Sam continued to gaze at her socks, feeling a mix of vulnerability and relief at having voiced her thoughts.
"Yeah, you're right. It's too heavy for a first night. Grace must be wondering why we aren't in the living room," she said, lifting her head.
Jack reached out, gently grasping her arm. "Hey," he said, drawing her gaze to him. "We are going to talk. We can even talk tonight if you want after Grace is in bed. But there's time, Sam. I'm not going anywhere," he reassured her warmly.
Sam's blush deepened, but she managed a slight nod. "Okay," she said softly.
Together, they headed to the living room, where Grace eagerly awaited their company, ready to decide on the evening's entertainment—"The Mandalorian" or "Avatar: The Last Airbender." Both Sam and Jack cleared their throats, letting Grace make the choice. Their earlier conversation still lingering in the air, but with a sense of understanding and support between them.
As they both sat on the couch, Sam bravely held on throughout the night as Grace excitedly recounted the entire plot of "The Mandalorian" while the series was on display on the large LCD. Though her mind wandered elsewhere, she offered Grace her best smile, nodding at appropriate intervals. Jack, who had previous experience with another Samantha Carter who became his wife, could easily discern that she was hardly paying attention, her focus drifting away.
Jack observed Sam's distant gaze and subtle fidgeting as Grace animatedly described each scene and character. Sensing her disconnection, he made a mental note to address it later, knowing that she likely had more profound thoughts weighing on her mind. He had an idea of what they might be.
Despite Sam's internal preoccupations, she maintained her facade of engagement, not wanting to dampen Grace's enthusiasm. She occasionally interjected with a polite comment or question, though her heart wasn't entirely in it.
Jack exchanged a knowing glance with Sam, silently reassuring her that they would have time to talk and that he was there for her. With a subtle squeeze of her hand, he conveyed his support as they continued to sit on the couch, silently urging her to hang in there a little longer.
As the evening wore on and Grace's storytelling concluded, Sam offered a genuine smile, expressing her gratitude for the shared experience. Though she hadn't fully absorbed the details of "The Mandalorian," she appreciated Grace's effort to include her.
As they bid Grace goodnight and retreated to their thoughts, Jack turned to Sam, ready to delve into the deeper conversation they had postponed. With a gentle touch and a reassuring smile, he silently conveyed his readiness to listen whenever she was ready to share.
The problem now was that Sam was too exhausted to talk. Grace had drained her completely.
"You were right. We've got time, and honestly, I'm too tired," Sam said in a low voice.
Jack stretched next to her.
"Yeah, me too. When Grace starts, she's like a P-90. Relentless," he said with a chuckle.
Sam smiled. "I wouldn't compare your daughter to a P-90," she said, getting up.
Jack opened his arms. "It's just a figure of speech," he said playfully.
Sam swallowed, starting to play with the hem of her sweatshirt. "Well, I'm going to bed. Thanks for everything," she said, looking at him quickly before turning away.
Jack also got up.
"I'm happy you're here, Sam, and I want you to know something. I'll respect your time. We'll speak whenever you're ready, whether it's about what happened with the other me or about us when you feel comfortable," he said in a supportive tone.
Sam blushed and swallowed at the same time.
"Thanks. Maybe both things will happen at the same time, or maybe not. I'm still not sure," she admitted.
Jack cleared his throat. "Take your time," he repeated.
Sam nodded silently. She turned to him when she was almost out of the living room.
"Any news about your retirement request?" she asked.
Jack shook his head. "Nothing yet," he admitted with a sad expression, then swallowed hard. "Sam, I need to tell you something," he said slowly.
"What?" she asked, one hand still on the wall.
Jack cleared his throat again. "To keep your clearance status as it was, I had to tell the JCS and the President that you had powerful personal reasons for what you tried to do," he said carefully.
Sam paled. "Go on," she said, keeping her eyes on him.
Jack put his hands in his jeans pockets. "They wanted a report. I had to do it, or your movements here would be severely limited," he said.
Sam clenched her jaw hard. "So, everyone knows what happened to me?" she asked coldly.
Jack shook his head. "It's a classified report for the President and the JCS only," he said.
Sam closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Right, Jack, and we both know what that's worth," she said, then left the room.
Biting his lower lip, Jack cursed silently.
Alone in her bedroom, Sam paused, glancing at the various half-finished sketches sprawled around her bed. She started at SGC following Doctor Reed's suggestion after finding out that Sam used to draw when she was a teenager. She encouraged her as a means of therapy. Dozens of half-drawn sketches greet her, each a half-finished mess of her attempts at treatment. She ran her fingers along the sketching and shading, following the incoherent lines and chaotic curves. It wasn't very sensible—a soul dump of black and grief. Sam stared at the painting, and it stared back, showing her inner turmoil, her demons, and her inability to forget. A visual representation of her internal scars. But also her newfound hope and deep love for a ten-year-old blond girl and her father. But what stood out in her feeble artistic attempts was the design of a home amidst a deep fog. A home that Sam was still searching for and seemed to continue to elude her. Maybe she wasn't meant to find it, she didn't know.
She had ceased drawing when she received the official news of her dismissal from the Air Force, and since then, her graphite pencils and pens had remained untouched. In truth, she couldn't fathom why she had bothered to bring all those sheets of paper with her. Perhaps she should have just disposed of them, burned them to ashes. With a sudden resolve, she gathered them all together and placed them inside a more oversized briefcase she had acquired during a shopping trip with Vala. The briefcase was under her bed, out of sight and out of mind.
As she lay in bed, she wondered how detailed Jack had been in his report to the brass. She shut her eyes firmly and tried to think of something else. Unfortunately, her mind didn't let her. She braced herself for a difficult night's sleep.
The following day would present a challenge for everyone. Jack was headed to work, Grace to school, and Sam would be alone in the house. Despite Jack's offers to stay home, Sam insisted he go to work. She had a video session scheduled with Dr. Reed and needed to acclimate herself to the house and being alone there. They had a tranquil breakfast. Grace was the first to leave for school, and Sam noticed Jack delaying his departure for the Pentagon, his driver waiting outside.
"Go, Jack, you'll be late," she urged as he lingered with his now-empty coffee mug.
Slowly, he set it down. "Are you sure?" he asked, his concern evident in his voice.
Sam nodded. "At some point, you'll have to trust me. I no longer have suicidal thoughts, and I know that's what's troubling you. I would never accept your offer if I still had them. Even then, I wouldn't do that to you, and especially not to Grace. I can be cold, Jack, but I'm not entirely heartless," she said, trembling.
Jack firmly grasped her hand. "You aren't heartless," he asserted.
"It's a matter of opinion," she replied softly, avoiding his gaze.
He gently lifted her chin to meet his eyes with his other hand. "You aren't heartless. That's what I say and feel. Is that clear?" he asked.
Sam swallowed. "Clear," she affirmed.
He released her hand. "Right. You have my number. Call me if you need anything or can't find something in the house," he said.
She nodded, her gaze returning to the mug in her hands. He paused at the kitchen door, hesitating, then turned back and quickly kissed her head before leaving.
Sam stood there, very still, and the sound of the front door closing was the only indication that she was now alone in the house where another Samantha Carter had once called home. She refused to let her mind dwell on that thought. It was too soon.
Sam knew she needed to organize her actions to calm her nerves, so she unpacked all the clothes Vala had bought and placed them neatly in the wardrobe and dresser in her room. Once that task was complete, she arranged her items in the ensuite bathroom. It took exactly one hour, leaving her several hours before her video call with Dr. Reed. She sighed and realized she still had plenty of time, so she explored the garage.
She wondered if the Chevy was still in Colorado Springs or if Jack had ordered it back. Opening the garage door, she saw the black Chevrolet untouched. She swallowed and took a walk around it but refrained from touching it. She knew she would have to talk to Jack about the car later, but it was one of the decisions they had discussed in therapy, one of the few Sam had managed to make.
Closing the garage door, she returned inside. All that was left for her to do was explore the house. While Grace had briefly shown it to her before, she hadn't fully seen it until now. Sam started with the kitchen, noticing all the details she had missed.
As Sam explored the kitchen, she couldn't help but notice the familiar details left behind by the family. She had already seen that the refrigerator was adorned with colorful magnets, each holding up a photograph or drawing, a testament to Grace's journey. Among them, Sam spotted pictures of a baby Grace with her mother, laughing and smiling.
In the corner of the room, a bulletin board displayed a colorful collage of notes, reminders, and mementos, reflecting Grace's busy and vibrant life and past events. Among them, Sam noticed a drawing Grace had made as a child, a crude but endearing representation of their family, complete with stick-figure versions of herself, her mother, and Jack.
This kitchen, so different from hers, felt lived-in and loved, a true reflection of the family who had called it home. Sam couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to be a part of it all for now. She didn't know if the situation would be permanent or just a moment for her recovery.
She decided to skip the living room, which she knew well, and peek at the office. Their office was spacious yet inviting, with two sturdy desks opposite each other and a small couch in the middle. A sofa where she had been when she fainted in the kitchen, a moment she would rather forget. His desk was cluttered with papers, a laptop, and various office supplies, while hers was clean and with everything in the right places.
Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with an impressive collection of books familiar to Sam. She recognized titles ranging from scientific journals to classic literature, each representing a shared passion for knowledge and exploration. The shelves also housed personal mementos, including a framed photograph of SG-1.
As Sam perused the shelves, her gaze fell upon a worn leather-bound album tucked away in a corner. Curiosity piqued, she reached for it and opened it to find a treasure trove of memories captured within its pages. Photographs spanning years adorned the pages, chronicling the lives of Jack, Sam, and Grace Carter-O'Neill.
Sam sat on the couch with trembling hands and opened the family album. She felt like an intruder, but her curiosity won.
Among the photographs, Sam discovered moments frozen in time, preserved for eternity: their wedding at the cabin with General Hammond officiating and their honeymoon in some place she couldn't figure out. It didn't look tropical, but they were wearing very light clothes simultaneously. Sam swallowed hard when she saw the other Samantha pregnant and quickly passed the pages until Grace's birth. They looked so happy, and Grace was a beautiful baby. Suddenly, Sam closed the album, tears running down her face.
"This isn't your life," she said aloud, putting the album in the same place.
Then, she remembered the rooftop deck where she had found him. It was where he had kissed her for the first time. She rose from her seat and left the office, her thoughts drifting as she searched for the stairs that led to the roof. Along the way, she passed by his bedroom and paused, lingering by the door, lost in thought as she looked at it.
Standing at the doorway of Jack's bedroom, Sam's gaze swept across the room, taking in the comforting sight of familiar furnishings and subtle personal touches. The room's centerpiece was the grand king-size bed adorned with crisp linens and plump pillows. The rich navy blue bedspread added a touch of sophistication to the room, contrasting beautifully with the light-colored walls.
Flanking the bed were matching nightstands adorned with a simple lamp. On one of the nightstands sat a small framed photograph—a snapshot of Jack and Grace, their smiles lighting up the frame with warmth and affection.
A soft, plush, inviting rug lay next to the bed, its earthy tones complementing the room's overall color scheme. The carpet added a sense of coziness to the space, inviting bare feet to sink into its soft fibers.
The windows were dressed in matching curtains made from a heavy, textured fabric that gently billowed in the breeze. The curtains, a deep shade of burgundy, added a pop of color to the room while also providing privacy and insulation from the outside world.
Sam couldn't help but notice the sharp contrast with the other Jack's room—the one where he had raped her. This bedroom felt like a couple's space, with its king-sized bed and matching nightstands, but it exuded warmth and comfort, a stark comparison to the cold, uninviting atmosphere of the other room. The tones here were light and welcoming, contrasting with the darkness that permeated the other room. Or perhaps it was her trauma coloring her perception.
"I guess we have one more thing to discuss, Dana," Sam muttered as she walked away from Jack's bedroom, her mind swirling with memories and emotions she struggled to reconcile.
The stairs to the roof deck were easy to find, and Sam climbed them with familiarity. Once again, she was greeted by the breathtaking view it offered. Settling into one of the chairs, she allowed her mind to wander. She knew she had some decisions to make, and she couldn't delay them for much longer, despite what Jack had said about respecting her timing.
If they were to have anything between them, she realized she would have to tell him about the rape. The doubt, the unknown, would forever linger between them if she didn't. And she wanted to say to him. She wasn't sure if it were to see him suffer—because she knew he would suffer when she told him the details—or because she needed to share her pain. Perhaps she would know when she was face-to-face with him and the truth came out. But she was determined to tell him and see where that led them.
Sam was terribly afraid, however. Despite Jack's reassuring words and the fact that he had already read her papers, she feared he might somehow blame her after hearing what happened. The thought was genuinely heartbreaking. But she knew she would survive. If she had learned anything from therapy, she was a survivor. She was strong and capable of taking care of herself. While it was beautiful to have someone to share the good and the bad with, she knew she would continue if it didn't happen. So far, she had done it in survival mode. Now, Dana wanted her to live appreciatingly and fully aware of her actions and emotions. She wanted Sam to move past the survival mode.
Sam no longer entertained thoughts of ending her life to escape the pain. She was learning to live with it, to ease it, and to be less demanding on herself. She glanced at her watch and realized it was time for her appointment with Dr. Reed. She had several things to discuss and was ready to face them head-on.
After over an hour, Sam felt drained and emotionally exhausted as she bid goodbye to Dr. Reed. Opting to avoid using their office, she had set up the laptop provided for her sessions in the dining room and conducted her sessions there. It had been a challenging but fruitful session, leaving Sam with much to ponder. Wiping away her tears, she rested her head on the dining table, trying to collect herself.
She was startled when she heard the front door open. Rising from her seat, she walked out of the room to find Jack entering, taking off his hat.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, surprised by his unexpected arrival and still trying to recover her demeanor.
Jack grinned as he started to unbutton his jacket. "I believe I still live here," he quipped casually.
Sam felt her cheeks flush beet red at her oversight. She hadn't expected him to return so soon. Clearing her throat, she managed a sheepish smile.
"Right, of course," she replied, feeling embarrassment and relief at his presence.
Jack noticed that Sam appeared a bit troubled as he entered the house. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice.
Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah, just finished my session with Dr. Reed," she admitted, her tone reflecting the emotional weight of their conversation.
Jack nodded in understanding. "Okay," he replied, his gaze shifting momentarily to his shoes. Then, he took a deep breath and looked back at Sam. "I know we agreed to talk only when you're ready, but..." He paused, his expression hesitant yet determined.
Sam's curiosity was piqued as she watched him intently. "Yes?" she prompted, wetting her lower lip nervously.
Jack ran a hand through his hair, his movements restless. "I also resumed therapy," he confessed quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush.
Sam blinked in surprise, her eyes widening as she processed his unexpected revelation.
"You what?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her mind struggling to comprehend the significance of his admission.
Jack cleared his throat, his gaze unwavering. "I've mentioned before that I've undergone therapy in the past for my nightmares. When they subsided, I stopped attending. But now, I feel like I need help again, especially to support you," he explained, his voice tinged with vulnerability.
Sam's jaw tightened, her emotions swirling inside her, making responding difficult.
They stood in the hallway, enveloped in heavy silence, their eyes locked in a shared moment of understanding and revelation. After a while, Jack broke the silence.
"I just wanted you to know that," he said softly. "I'm going to change," he added hastily, retreating to his room.
This left Sam to grapple with the weight of his words and the unexpected turn of events.
"To support me?" she echoed aloud, her mind reeling with possibilities. Did that imply he was still interested in her like he had said before? Did he genuinely desire a relationship with her? Sam's thoughts raced faster than an Asgard hyperdrive, her heartbeat matching the intensity of a ship's engine.