Jack stormed into the briefing room, his face dark with frustration. Sir Charles Davenport was supposed to be here, and Jack had hoped to confront him with the damning information Teal'c and Daniel finally had just uncovered. But as soon as Jack entered, Agent Dawson stood from his seat, looking uncomfortable.
"General O'Neill," Dawson began, his voice tense, "Sir Charles has… left the Mountain."
Jack's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Left? Where the hell did he go?"
Dawson shook his head.
"I don't know. He didn't tell me anything—just said he had urgent business and that I was to remain here."
"Of course he did," Jack muttered angrily, immediately turning on his heel. "Get Landry on the horn. We need to lock this place down—now," he barked to Teal'c.
Jack moved fast, his mind already leaping ahead. Davenport fleeing was terrible enough, but if the man knew they were onto him, he had something to hide—and worse, he might be taking action to cover his tracks. Jack's instinct screamed danger. He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Within minutes, Jack was in Landry's office, briefing him on the situation, with Daniel and Teal'c close behind, following in step.
"Hank, we need to increase security. Make sure Mitchell is always under guard and double down on the detainees. Davenport's gone, and I don't trust this situation."
Landry nodded, his expression equally grim.
"I'll have the base on high alert. We'll lock down all points of access. Do you think Davenport's trying to make a move?"
Jack clenched his jaw. "I don't think it, Hank—I know it."
Landry was about to respond when Jack noticed something—or someone—was missing.
"Where's Carter?" Jack asked suddenly, looking around as if expecting her to appear any second.
Landry's brow furrowed. Daniel and Teal'c looked at each other, confused.
"She was supposed to be with you," Daniel said slowly.
Jack's gut twisted.
"She's not," he said, his voice sharp. "The last time I saw her, you were interrogating the cartoons…"
Without another word, Jack bolted out of the room, checking every hallway, every possible place Sam could be. He could hear Landry's voice on the sound system of the base, asking for Colonel Carter to report to his office immediately. Panic surged through him as he found her lab empty. Carter was always precise—she wouldn't just disappear without telling anyone. He knew that. Something was wrong.
Then, his phone rang.
Jack's heart skipped a beat. He fumbled for it, answering immediately.
"O'Neill."
A cold, familiar voice came through the line.
"General O'Neill. I believe you're looking for Colonel Carter."
Jack's blood turned to ice.
"Davenport."
"That's right," Davenport replied smoothly, his voice dripping with control. "And before you say anything else, you should know I have your lovely Colonel Carter. She's alive—for now."
Jack's hand tightened around the phone, his knuckles white.
"What do you want?"
"Simple," Davenport said calmly. "I want a meeting. You and me, alone. No tricks. If you bring backup or try anything… unfortunate, well, Colonel Carter won't make it through the night. Do you understand?"
Jack's heart raced, but he forced his voice to remain steady.
"Where?"
"I'll text you the address," Davenport said. "An alley off Sycamore Street in Colorado Springs. You have one hour."
Before Jack could respond, the line went dead. A second later, a text pinged on his phone with the details. Jack stood there, his mind racing through his options. He couldn't involve the SGC. If Davenport felt threatened, Sam would die, and Jack couldn't let that happen. But he also couldn't ignore the more significant threat—Davenport was still 'The Broker', and the entire country was at risk.
He had to make a choice.
Jack stared at the phone in his hand momentarily, weighing his options. Finally, he made up his mind. Slipping out of her lab, he headed straight to the locker room. Moving quickly, he changed into civilian clothes. After strapping on his jacket, he checked the weapon he had brought and slung it over his shoulder. Without a word to Landry—there wasn't time—Jack made for the exit. As he crossed into the open air, he sent a brief message to Daniel: he was meeting Davenport and wrote the address, but he had to stay put for an hour. Then he could send the troops. But now, this was between him and Davenport.
Sam had been in her lab, engrossed in a report on the tweaked neurotoxin used on Cameron. The minutes slipped unnoticed until a familiar yet unsettling presence filled the doorway. Sir Charles Davenport. His polite smile didn't reach his eyes, and before she could ask what he was doing there, the cold click of a gun silenced her.
"Colonel Carter," he began smoothly, his eyes betraying none of the menace behind his voice. "I'm afraid I must insist you come with me. Any sudden moves and this won't end well—for you or your team."
Her instincts kicked in, the years of training screaming at her to fight, disarm him, and shout for help. But she also knew how calculating Davenport was. One wrong move, and she might not be fast enough. She glanced at the gun in his hand – it had a silencer, realizing he wasn't bluffing.
"I don't understand," she said, keeping her voice level, hoping to stall. "What's this about?"
Davenport's smile twisted into something colder.
"You don't need to understand, Colonel. You just need to follow instructions, or General O'Neill will be attending your funeral by sunset. If he finds where you are buried, of course."
The comment hit her hard. Sam's muscles tightened, but she kept her movements slow, raising her hands in surrender as she stepped back from the workbench. She prayed the security team was watching the cameras, even though Davenport had been careful to avoid being seen. Her subtle actions—getting up and raising her hands—should trigger an alert that something wasn't right. At least, she hoped they would.
"Alright. I'll come with you. But this won't end the way you think."
"Oh, but it will," he replied, stepping aside to gesture her out of the lab, the silencer muzzle still trained on her. "I've already planned for every possibility."
They moved swiftly through the base, avoiding cameras and personnel. Sam's mind raced, searching for an escape, but Davenport was always one step ahead. He'd likely planned this for weeks, if not longer, studying the base's security systems and schedules. Every time she saw an opportunity to make a break for it, Davenport would issue a low, calm warning, reminding her of the weapon he held pressed at her back and the stakes.
He guided her toward the normal exit like they were leaving the Mountain any other day. His level of confidence was absurd. The security airmen just nodded as they stepped outside, where a van waited—standard, nondescript, the kind no one would look twice at. He pushed her inside, cuffing her wrists behind her back before slamming the door shut.
Once inside, the calm, smug Sir Charles revealed his authentic self.
"You're smarter than most, Carter, and just as beautiful," Davenport said, his voice smooth but laced with malice. "I'll give you that. But intelligence only gets you far when you don't hold the cards. Beauty, on the other hand…" He paused, letting his gaze linger as he wet his lips. "That's something we can discuss if you're willing."
Sam clenched her jaw, sitting stiffly against the cold metal wall of the van.
"You won't get away with this," she said, her voice steady despite the mounting fear in her chest. "General O'Neill will find me."
"Of course he will," Davenport said, leaning back casually. "In fact, I'm counting on it."
They arrived at the alley off Sycamore Street within the hour. The van parked in a secluded spot, and Davenport roughly pulled her out, guiding her to the center of the alley. Sam's heart pounded, but outwardly, she stayed calm. She'd been in worse situations, but this one felt different. The stakes weren't just her life but Jack's, and the weight of that reality pressed on her.
Davenport tied her hands behind her back and gagged her before stepping back to wait as he made his phone call.
"Don't worry, Colonel," he said with a chilling smile after he talked to Jack. "This will be over soon enough. And if your General makes any foolish decisions, you won't have to worry about it much longer."
Sam didn't struggle. She knew Davenport expected that. Instead, she met his eyes with as much defiance as she could muster, silently reassuring herself that Jack would come. And when he did, they would get out of this.
The alley was cold, and the wind bit her exposed skin. Davenport stood just behind her, checking his watch occasionally, his patience unnerving. Then she heard it—the familiar sound of footsteps approaching.
Jack was here.
The alley off Sycamore Street was dark and narrow between two rundown buildings. The distant hum of the city barely reached the cold shadows, and Jack pulled his collar up against the wind. His heart pounded as he approached the alley's entrance, scanning the area for any sign of Davenport or Sam.
And then he saw them. Davenport stood near the back of the alley, his figure cast in shadow. Sam was beside him, her hands bound behind her back, a gag in her mouth. Her blue eyes locked on Jack the second she saw him, wide with fear and determination.
Jack stopped a few feet away, keeping his expression neutral despite the fury bubbling beneath the surface.
"I'm here. Let her go."
Davenport smiled though there was no warmth in it.
"Not so fast, General. We have some things to discuss first."
Jack's eyes flicked to Sam, and he stepped forward, but Davenport pulled her closer, tightening his grip.
"Ah, ah," he warned. "One wrong move, and she's gone."
"What do you want, Davenport?" Jack demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "You've already lost. We have enough evidence to bury you."
Davenport's smile faltered, but he remained composed.
"That may be, but you're underestimating how far my reach goes. Even if you manage to expose me, it won't stop the operation. I've trusted people, and they are ready to see this through. You won't stop anything by getting me, O'Neill."
Jack's jaw clenched.
"You think I care about your little operation? Let Carter go, or I'll—"
"You'll what?" Davenport interrupted. "You're not in control here, O'Neill. I am. And I know exactly what you're willing to sacrifice. That's why I've made this so simple. You choose—your precious Colonel Carter or the chance to take me down."
The air between them grew heavy with tension. Jack's eyes flicked to Sam again. She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but she wasn't struggling. She trusted him. She had to.
Jack's mind raced. He could take the shot, maybe drop Davenport before he could hurt Sam—but it was a considerable risk. Or he could give up the chance to stop 'The Broker' and let Davenport escape in exchange for Sam's life. It was an impossible choice.
But Jack O'Neill wasn't one for following the rules.
His voice was calm when he spoke, though every word was laced with steel.
"You don't get it, Davenport. You think you've got all the cards, but you've forgotten one thing."
Davenport frowned. "And what's that?"
Jack took a slow step forward, his hand inching towards his gun. His eyes locked on Sam, and a small private message passed along as they had done for years on the field.
"I don't make deals with terrorists."
In a flash, Jack pulled his sidearm, the barrel aimed straight at Davenport. Before Davenport could react, Sam ducked, and a shot rang out. Davenport crumpled to the ground, clutching his shoulder in shock. Jack rushed forward, grabbing Sam and pulling her out of the way as Davenport howled in pain and kicked his gun away.
Sam staggered into Jack's arms, breathing heavily but otherwise unhurt. Jack quickly cut her bindings, pulling the gag from her mouth. She gasped, trying to catch her breath.
"Jack," she said, her voice shaky. "Damn, you… you took a hell of a risk."
Jack gave her a half-smile, his eyes filled with relief.
"It wasn't a risk. It was a calculated move."
Sam looked at him, still a little shaken but thankful beyond words.
"Calculated, huh?"
Jack helped her to her feet, keeping one arm around her.
"Yeah. Besides, I figured I couldn't let you have all the fun. And you got my message."
She let out a shaky laugh as Jack guided her out of the alley, leaving Davenport behind, writhing on the ground.
As the sirens grew closer, Jack looked down at Sam, his expression softening.
"You okay?"
Sam nodded, leaning into him.
"I will be. He took me by surprise. I should have known better; thanks, Jack."
"Anytime," Jack said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. But as he glanced back towards the alley, the reality of what had just happened settled over him. The fight wasn't over—not yet. Davenport may have been wounded, but Jack knew this wasn't the end of the game.
It was just the beginning of the final act.
The sound of boots echoed through the cold, concrete halls of the SGC as Sir Charles Davenport was escorted down into the brig. His hands were bound, his face twisted with fury and resignation. Two SFs flanked him on either side, their faces unreadable. Davenport's eyes swept across the room as they reached the heavy metal door of the cell. It clanged shut with finality as he was pushed inside.
"I've been shot! I demand medical attention!" he yelled.
Jack watched the scene with narrowed eyes. Sir Charles Davenport—The Broker—was now in their custody. But Jack knew that the arrest of Davenport didn't end this nightmare. There was still a web of conspiracies to untangle, international implications to deal with, and a threat that stretched far beyond these walls.
Turning away from the brig, Jack muttered, "Time to deal with the fallout."
Agent Dawson sat at a table flanked by two SFs in the briefing room. He looked uneasy but remained silent. After Davenport's betrayal, Jack wasn't taking any chances. He had ordered Dawson and the other MI6 agents to be placed in secure rooms until the British Embassy could be contacted and clarified.
Landry stood nearby, speaking with the President over a secure line. Jack knew that briefing the Commander-in-Chief on the fact that a high-ranking British intelligence officer had orchestrated an elaborate operation within US borders—and had nearly killed several American military personnel—would be tricky. But there was no other choice.
Jack leaned against the wall, waiting for Landry to finish the call. When Landry hung up the phone, he looked over at Jack with a grim expression.
"The President's been briefed," Landry said. "He's not happy, but he understands the severity of the situation. He's ordering a full investigation and personally contacting the British Prime Minister. The British Embassy is sending a representative for now, but we're holding Davenport and his team under lock and key until we can sort this out."
Jack nodded, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Good. We can't afford to let this mess spiral out of control. We've already had too many close calls. And Dr. Lam needs to see him. I shot him after all," Jack said casually.
Landry nodded, his voice quiet. "You did good, Jack. You may even get another star."
Jack didn't reply. His thoughts were elsewhere—on Sam. She was in the infirmary, and despite Dr. Lam's assurances, Jack needed to see for himself that she was okay.
"I'll go check on Carter," Jack said. "Keep me posted."
Landry gave him a knowing look but didn't say anything as Jack headed for the infirmary.
When Jack stepped through the infirmary doors, the antiseptic smell hit him immediately. Sam was sitting on one of the beds, her eyes focused on Dr. Lam, who was finishing up her examination.
"Physically, she's fine," Dr. Lam said when she saw Jack approach. "Just a bit shaken, but nothing a little rest won't cure."
Sam smiled faintly at Jack as he approached.
"See? I told you I was fine."
Still tense, Jack nodded to Dr. Lam.
"Thanks, Doc. There's a wounded patient in the brig. When you go, take armed airmen with you. That's an order."
Lam gave a reassuring nod and left the room, leaving Jack and Sam alone.
Jack took a step closer, searching her face.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked, his voice softer now that they were alone.
Sam smiled again, but it didn't reach her eyes this time.
"I'm okay, Jack. It was… intense, but I'll be fine. It's not the first time I've been taken hostage. Actually, it's the second since this whole thing started; I'm almost getting used," she said in a failed attempt at humor. "You don't need to worry."
Jack exhaled sharply, looking down for a moment before meeting her gaze.
"Your jokes are as bad as mine, so please, don't," he said quietly. "After everything that's happened, I need to know you're safe."
Sam was about to protest, but before she could, Jack made a decision. He wasn't leaving her alone tonight—not after everything they had just gone through.
"Come on," Jack said, grabbing her hand gently but firmly. "You're not staying here."
Sam frowned, slightly confused.
"Jack, what—?"
"We're going to your place," Jack interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "You need rest, and I need to know you're safe. We're not doing anything wrong. You're not staying in the Mountain tonight—not after this."
"Jack…" Sam started, but her voice trailed off.
She saw the determination in his eyes, and for once, she didn't fight it. Maybe she didn't want to. She was exhausted—emotionally, mentally—and the idea of going home with Jack, of not being alone tonight, was suddenly incredibly appealing.
She sighed, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
"Okay," she said quietly. "But I'm driving."
Jack smirked.
"Sure, whatever you say, Carter."
They left the Mountain quietly, Jack following Sam's lead as they went to her house. After the day's chaos, the drive was calm, almost peaceful, and within speed limits. By the time they arrived at her home, the tension had drained from both of them, replaced by an odd sense of calm.
Inside, Sam dropped her jacket on the nearest chair. Jack closed the door behind them and locked it, his eyes never leaving her. The air between them was heavy with unspoken words, but neither seemed in a hurry to fill the silence.
Sam turned to face him, and for the first time that night, she let the exhaustion show on her face.
"Jack…" she started, but he was already moving toward her.
Without a word, Jack pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him. Sam melted into his embrace, burying her face in his chest. She could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, and for the first time in what felt like hours, she allowed herself to relax.
They stood there for a long moment, holding each other, neither needing to say anything. Then Jack gently pulled back, looking down at her with a soft smile.
"You need to get some rest," he said quietly.
Sam nodded, her eyes still locked on his. "Stay with me?"
Jack's smile widened, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "As long as you need."
Later that night, after they had both changed into more comfortable clothes, they settled onto the couch together. Sam curled up against Jack's side, her head resting on his shoulder, their legs intertwined beneath a soft blanket. Neither spoke for a long while—there wasn't much left to say after the day they'd had.
After a lengthy silence, Sam's voice broke through, soft and tentative.
"I was scared, Jack," she admitted, her words barely more than a whisper. "When he took me away and told me I wasn't going to see you again... I almost believed him. I almost believed that it was it. That we'd never be together again."
Jack tightened his hold on her, his hand moving gently over her arm in slow, comforting circles.
"I would never let that happen, Sam," he murmured, his voice steady but filled with an underlying intensity. "I'll come for you. Every time."
He paused, his breath catching as he started to say more, almost out of habit.
"Alw..." The word hovered on his lips, but he caught himself before finishing it. It hung between them for a moment, unspoken but heavy with meaning.
Sam swallowed hard, her head lifting slightly from his shoulder as she turned to look at him.
"Always," she repeated quietly, her voice hinting at vulnerability. "You were going to say 'always,' weren't you?"
Jack cleared his throat, his thumb still tracing those small, soothing circles on her arm.
"I was," he admitted softly. "But I know you don't like that word anymore. I won't repeat it if it hurts you."
She sighed, the tension built up during her ordeal with Davenport slowly melting away as she leaned back into him.
"Let's give it some more time," she said.
"No problem."
She moved her head back to his shoulder. Her voice was quiet, but her words carried a profound weight.
"I needed this... I needed you."
Jack smiled softly, pressing a tender kiss to her head.
"I'm right here," he said gently. "I'm not going anywhere."
For the first time that night, Sam let herself truly relax. She felt safe in Jack's arms, the lingering fear from the day slipping away bit by bit. She hadn't realized how much she needed this—needed him—until now.
Jack's hand continued its soothing rhythm through her hair, and Sam's breathing softened. He could feel her beginning to drift off, her body growing heavier against him.
"Sleep," he whispered, his lips brushing her forehead. "I've got you."
Sam's barriers, which she kept up so often to protect herself, finally crumbled. She allowed herself to let go in Jack's arms, the day's events fading into the background as she sank deeper into him. She hadn't felt this kind of peace in a long time.
Jack stayed awake a little longer, watching over her as she slept. The soft rhythm of her breathing against his chest was soothing in a way he couldn't quite put into words. He leaned back, closing his eyes as the day's exhaustion finally caught up to him. But even as sleep began to claim him, his arms remained securely around her.
For the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.
And for tonight, that was all that mattered.
