Outside Looking In by Becca Ramsey

Jacob Carter stood before the makeshift mirror, regarding his reflection with a frown. The Tok'ra uniform consisted of an animal hide, tanned to a pale neutral shade and shaped into a long tunic, combined with poor-fitting grey pants of a roughly woven material Jacob could never remember the name of. The color did not his complexion, and he cinched a brown belt haphazardly at his waist, he couldn't help but miss the precision of his Air Force uniform.

Nothing was precise about the Tok'ra way of life, he mused as his eyes drifted around the grey slate cavern which he called home. The conditions were erratic at best, despite the fact this place had served as their base of operations for years. Shedding an eerie grey hue, temporary lighting had been suspended from the high natural ceilings. It drained what little color existed, right down to the rosiness in his own cheeks. Down the hall, temporary shower and hygiene facilities had been constructed long ago; now, the hot water rarely worked.

Standing in his quarters, his eyes brushed the slate walls, the sparsely padded cot, and the irregularly shaped mirror into which he stared. Even it was merely a long pane of broken glass, the back painted unevenly with black paint. He shook his head. Three years of living in hiding... in the middle of a war with no battles, only skirmishes. It was enough to drive anyone crazy.

"Jacob?"

Carter blinked out of his reverie, glancing to the archway leading to the maze of caverns. Standing in the doorframe, clad in a similarly awkward uniform, was Nisha. Yet another of the Tok'ra, she had recently been assigned as Jacob's aide as he had taken on more responsibility within the resistance. She was efficient, if naive, and Jacob felt both he -- and his symbiote, Selmac -- had a great deal to teach her. He gave her a warm smile. "Yes, Nisha?"

Nisha returned the warm smile, her dark eyes twinkling. "The Tau'ri are anxiously awaiting your arrival," she said. "One might say they were... 'chomping at the bite.'"

At this, Jacob gave a chuckle. "It's 'chomping at the bit,' Nisha," he corrected gently, "but you were close." He grabbed his duffel from the cot and slung it over his shoulder. "You sure you can make it without me this week?"

"Of course we can, Jacob," Nisha replied. She stepped aside as Carter made his way into the corridor. As they continued down the harshly-lit cavern, her smile grew. "Though I will miss our slang lesson this week."

"We'll make time for two next week," Carter assured her. They paused as they neared the transport rings, joining two Tok'ra guards waiting to escort Jacob to the Stargate. He turned, looking to Nisha once more. "You're sure --"

"Jacob, just *go*." Nisha folded her arms across her chest.

Jacob gave a mock-salute. "And I thought I was the one giving the orders." Leaning forward, he kissed her on the forehead, then stepped carefully into the range of the transport rings. He smiled. "See you in a week."

As the light flared around him, the last thing he saw was Nisha waving goodbye.

***

Colonel Jack O'Neill sat on the third step of the spiral staircase in the control room, carefully juggling three balls of wadded paper, his tongue stuck firmly in his cheek. The morning had started early with a THREATCON drill at 0530, jolting him awake in the unfamiliar surroundings of the officers' quarters. After the initial disorientation, he *had* managed to throw on his BDUs and head for the control room, but that had taken a total of two minutes -- too long for a seasoned professional.

Once the drill had ended, he had trudged back to his temporary quarters and crawled back into the somewhat uncomfortable bed. An hour later found him yawning as he stood in line, waiting for the commissary to open. There, he had run into his 2IC, Samantha Carter who, unlike himself, was wide awake. He couldn't help wondering if he would have slept better curled up next to her.

Breakfast passed with the usual safe chatter -- the previous mission, the weather, baseball, and hockey. For Jack, it was all a little too safe. The past three months had been bliss for him, but Sam had begun to feel a little uncomfortable; with her career at stake, she said, she needed space to decide if *now* was the right time to follow her heart. //Space she wants, space she gets,// he had thought. //At least for a while.// Eventually, the conversation drifted to the subject of her father, Jacob Carter.

"Dad's coming for a visit," Sam had said, chewing slowly on her cinnamon roll. She took a swallow of milk, blue eyes carefully watching Jack's expression. It was clear to her he had no idea of Jacob's impending arrival. "Didn't General Hammond tell you?"

"Oh, must've missed that memo," he quipped. His eyes averted from hers, drifting instead to the white china coffee cup and saucer before him. The rest of the breakfast passed in silence.

And now, seated on the third step of the staircase, he juggled, awaiting the arrival of Jacob Carter.

Behind him, the klaxon sounded and the strobe lights flashed, causing him to drop two of the paper balls. Seated in a rolling chair at the control panel, Sam Carter bolted upright. "Receiving Tok'ra IDC," she muttered. Ripping off her headset, she pushed herself out of the chair and raced out of the control room.

"See who's at the door, will ya?" Jack muttered. Shaking his head at Sam's eagerness, he turned to TSgt Marion Davis. "Open the iris, Davis." He chuckled and followed Sam out of the control room, General Hammond close behind.

Sam was the first one into the gateroom as the backlit figure of Jacob Carter emerged from the event horizon. At the end of the steel ramp she skidded to a halt, regaining some of her military comportment. She smiled at her father as he approached. "Welcome back, Dad," she said.

Jacob wrapped his daughter in a strong hug. "Good to be back, even if it is only for a week," he said. Releasing her, he met her eyes with his own. Something was...different. Mentally, he pushed aside the thought. "How you doing?"

The younger Carter smiled warmly, her blue eyes sparkling. "Just fine, Dad."

Squeezing her shoulders, Jacob returned her smile. "Glad to hear it," he answered. His eyes drifted just to Sam's left, where Jack O'Neill hovered nearby. "Jack," he said, offering his hand.

Jack swallowed, stepping forward and extending his own hand. Jacob grasped it firmly, giving it one good pump. Jack smiled. "Good to see ya again, Dad," he said. Almost immediately, Jack felt the urge to insert his foot in his mouth: that was *not* the way to Sam's father... much less a *general.*

Caught off guard, the elder Carter blinked, pausing momentarily. "And you," he replied finally. He directed his attention to his old friend, Major General George Hammond, who had taken position to Sam's right. "George, good to see you."

Hammond nodded, warmth reaching his eyes. "Jacob," he said. He then extended his hand. Jacob took it, grasping it firmly. "Good to see you in one piece."

"Glad to be here in one piece." Jacob smiled distractedly. Casting a surreptitious glance, he caught a silent exchange between his daughter and Jack.

//What?// Jack blinked.

Sam's brows raised. //Dad?//

In response, Jack looked down at his shoes, then back up at Sam, his chin still tilted downward. //Oh. That.//

"Jacob?"

General Carter blinked, looking back to Hammond. "Hmm?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, George. Must be getting old. This gate travel seems to be affecting me a little more these days." His eyes darted over toward Sam. //What the hell is going on here?// She averted her eyes from his.

Hammond smiled, clapping Jacob on the shoulder. "Well, let's get you cleared and over to O'Malley's for a big, juicy steak." Jacob couldn't tell if his old friend was intentionally ignoring O'Neill and Carter, or if his ignorance was genuine.

"Lead on, General," he said, forcing a smile. He paused on the steel ramp, allowing Hammond to take the lead. His eyes narrowed in scrutiny, watching as Sam fell into step beside O'Neill, his hand raising to rest at the small of her back. His lips pursed. //Dad, indeed.//

Heaving a sigh, Jacob readjusted his duffel over his shoulder and followed his daughter and surrogate family out of the gateroom. He frowned. He wasn't all together sure he liked Jack O'Neill calling him "Dad." As an officer, twice retired, COL O'Neill was nearing the end of a twenty-plus year career. Sam, on the other hand, was just coming of age, still shy of the year mark as a major; she had much more to lose, should they violate regulations.

Jacob shook his head, following Hammond to the guest quarters, lips pursed. Despite it all, Jacob still genuinely *liked* Jack. If the colonel made his little girl happy, then so be it.

***

Sam Carter studied her reflection in the mirror. A little eye shadow here, a little mascara there, and she suddenly transformed from *Major* Sam Carter, one of the guys to *Samantha* Carter, definitely *not* one of the guys. After spending the past twelve hours in a pair of grungy BDUs, crawling around under control panels, it was a transformation she gladly welcomed.

She glanced up as her father's image appeared in the reflection. He stood in the doorframe, frowning as he fiddled with the buttons on his tab-collared shirt. "Are you sure I should wear this, Sammie?" he asked, pausing. He glanced up, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "It just doesn't seem like... me."

"You look great, Dad," Sam replied. She set aside her compact, turning and crossing to her father. Swatting his hands away, she adjusted the two buttons he seemed to have difficulty with. "There."

Jacob glanced past her, checking his own reflection in the mirror. He pursed his lips. "Not bad for an old man," he said and smoothed his hand over the button placket. His eyes drifted over the non-existent hairline with a sigh. Shaking his head, he turned, glancing over Sam's black jeans, fitted grey sweater, and the light appearance of makeup highlighting her blue eyes. "Not bad for --"

Sam smiled, interrupting him. "One of the guys?" she finished for him. He nodded with a chuckle. Nervously, she smoothed the hair just above her ears. How could she tell her dad she wasn't "just one of the guys" anymore? From the curious gaze he gave her, she suspected he might already have a clue. She squirmed under the scrutiny. "Dad..."

"Hey, Sam! Jacob!"

Snapping her attention toward the living room, Sam silently excused herself and made her way down the hallway. The familiar salt-and-pepper crowned head of Jack O'Neill protruded just around the edge of her front door. "Colonel," she said, pulling on her "official" demeanor. She reached for the doorknob, pulling the door open. "Come in. We're just about ready."

"Glad to hear it." Jack grinned at her. Rocking nervously back and forth on his feet, he stuffed his hands deep into the pocket of his favorite khaki slacks. His grin twitched lopsided. "You clean up nice, Major."

"Thank you... sir," she said. She cast a glance down the hall, finding her father nowhere in sight. She leaned in conspiratorally. "Did you find time to pick up my uniforms?"

"Yep," Jack replied. He leaned in closer."They're hanging in the back with mine. I figured we'd sort 'em out later. I made sure the shirts were starched just right." He grinned like a proud school boy, slowly closing the gap between them.

"Thanks," Sam replied quietly. Her eyelids dropped, feeling the warmth of his lips lightly brush against hers. Hearing footsteps along the hallway, she gave a start, feeling her cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment. She immediately separated herself from Jack.

Jacob stepped into the living room straightening his sleeves. He nodded to Jack. "Jack."

"Jacob." O'Neill returned the nod. His eyes watched Sam as she crossed the room for her black leather jacket. He then looked back to the elder Carter. "All set?"

"All set." Jacob glanced to Sam. She moved quickly, clearing her throat as she reached the door. "You ready, Sam?"

Sam nodded. Had she stopped blushing? Taking a chance, she looked back at her father with a smile. "All ready." She looked to Jack. "You driving?"

Jack withdrew his keys from the left khaki pocket, tossing them in the air. He caught them solidly with his right hand. "Yasureyabetcha," he said. He grinned, waggling his brows at Sam as he stepped out the front door.

********

Jacob remained silent on the drive home. The steaks were fantastic, he reflected, and very filling, especially when combined with the baked potato he ordered on the side. His symbiote, Selmac, had not enjoyed the "Tau'ri food" as much, but had kept his objection silent. //No reason to blow a perfect disguise,// Jacob thought. He gave a chuckle, wondering how the customers would react to sharing the restaurant with an alien.

Sitting in the center of the bench seat, Jacob stared out into the dark night. As he watched, another car passed in the opposite direction. The headlights streaked light across the hood of the car, through the windshield, washing over first Sam and Jack, then himself. In the brief flicker, his eyes glanced at the uniforms hanging from the travel hook, still swathed in thin, clear plastic. The front dress uniform was definitely tailored, slimming around the hips; he guessed it belonged to his Sam. Behind it, he could make out the bulkier shape of a man's dress uniform jacket -- //Jack's,// he concluded.

Leaning back in the seat, Jacob pursed his lips. He watched in the rear view mirror as Jack's eyes darted from the road to Sam frequently; Sam pretended not to notice. //But that's just it, isn't it?// he mused. //They've been *pretending* to be just major and colonel all night.//

He sighed, closing his eyes and replaying the evening's events in his mind. With the rest of SG-1 on leave, the usual gathering of seven was cut to 4; even Dr. Fraiser was away for field medical training. Jacob fell into step behind Sam and O'Neill, watching as Jack's hand once again rested against the small of Sam's back. It remained there from the car, up the sidewalk, and as he held open the door.

The restaurant had been crowded, he noted. Hammond, however, had already reserved a table at the far side of the restaurant. The general rose as they approached, gesturing to the three empty seats at the table.

Time to order found Jack at the bar, awaiting his last shot of Jameson. Without missing a beat, Sam ordered two ribeyes, one rare, one medium, each with a loaded baked potato -- for herself and for Jack. Shortly thereafter, Jack returned to the table with his shot and two mugs -- one Harp for himself and a Killian's Red for Sam. Buried in his menu, Hammond was the last to order. The major general seemed oblivious to his officers' behavior.

With his eyes still closed, Jacob shook his head slightly. There had been more indications throughout the rest of the evening: Sam stealing a small bite of O'Neill's rare steak without asking -- and without his batting an eyelash; the brief glances broken away too quickly; the one dance they had shared as the live band chimed in to "I Got it Bad." Even during the dance they struggled to maintain space between them, the struggle itself almost visible. Then again, Jacob mused, he could almost *feel* the tension between them throughout the evening.

As they pulled into the driveway, Jacob couldn't help but wonder how far the relationship between his daughter and her commanding officer had progressed.

"Well," Jack began, throwing the gears into park, "here we are. Dad, you stayin' with Sam?"

Jacob popped open the back passengers' door, climbing out of the seat as Jack switched off the ignition. "Hell of a lot better than the beds on base," he said, giving a grin. He closed the door securely, then moved to open Sam's door. //He did it again,// he thought.

Jack slipped out of the drivers' seat, watching as Sam stepped out on the opposite side. Stuffing his hands down into his pockets, he sauntered down the sidewalk beside her, with Jacob leading the way. Once they reached the door, Jacob withdrew a key and slipped it into the lock. He turned back to Sam and Jack. "If you two will excuse me, Mother Nature calls." He looked to Jack. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you tomorrow, Jack."

"Will do, Jacob." Jack smiled. "Good night."

Both Sam and Jack watched as her father disappeared into the dark house, detouring down the main hall. They smiled as they turned back to face one another. "I'd invite you in, but..." Sam started.

"But your father's home?" Jack grinned.

A smile crossed Sam's lips, lighting her eyes. "Something like that."

O'Neill pursed his lips. "See you...breakfast?"

"Your turn to cook."

"Yasureyabetcha," Jack answered. He rocked back onto his heels, then forward, leaning in to kiss her gently. He drew back slowly. "See you in the morning."

It was Sam's turn to grin. "Yasureyabetcha," she laughed. She kissed him quickly, then stood watching as he slowly walked back to the car. It was only a moment later that she watched the tail lights flicker in the distance. Sighing softly, she stepped into the house and closed the door.

***

"...and the White House will neither confirm nor deny rumors concerning the rumored engagement of President Jefferson and Special Agent Catherine Hammond," said Kelly Rawlins, one of the second-string CNN anchors.

Seated on the edge of her sofa, Sam busily folded the mound of white tee shirts, undergarments, and pajamas, fresh from her dryer. They had been left there the previous night, prompting a "refresh" cycle. That cycle completed, she grabbed the remote, turned on CNN and forced herself to fold the laundry before moving on to the rest of her day.

Jacob emerged from the dim corridor fifteen minutes later, yawning. Sam watched with a bemused expression as her father stumbled sleepily into the kitchen. She heard a scrape as the carafe of hot coffee was pulled from the hot plate, followed by the trickle of liquid as he filled a very large coffee cup. Another scrape was heard as Jacob returned the carafe to the hot plate.

"Sleep all right?" Sam asked. She turned her face at an angle, fighting her smile.

"Like a rock." Jacob took a sip of his coffee, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the daylight. "What time is it, anyway?"

"A little after 9." Sam folded a hand towel. She smiled up at her father. "You hungry?"

"A little. Why?"

"Jack's bringing breakfast." She added the hand towel to a growing stack of folded towels.

Jacob stared down into his coffee, swirling it slightly. "'Jack,' is it?" He glanced up at Sam, only partly visible around the pile of white clothes. He saw the glint of gold as her hands darted through the sunlight, making quick work of her pajama bottoms.

Sam avoided her father's eyes. "Off duty," she answered. The tee shirt she folded suddenly became very interesting as she continued watching, folding it slowly. "Why the interest?"

Without a word, Jacob reached for the pile of laundry, pulling out a pair of men's boxers. The name "O'Neill" had been marked on the elastic waistband. He raised a brow at his daughter.

"Oh."

Jacob sighed. "You sure about this, sweetheart?"

"As sure as I've ever been, Dad." She managed to look up at him, her blue eyes shining.

"How long?" Once again, Jacob stared into the swirling cup of dark liquid.

"Almost three months. Shortly before Mrs. O'Neill passed away." She sat still now, her hands folded in her lap. Absently, she twisted a ring around her right ring finger. It was the first time Jacob was able to see it clearly. An uneasy silence filled the room as recognition settled on him: it was a bridal set.

"You -- ahem -- you're not...?"

Sam blinked, looking up at her father as he broke the silence. She followed his gaze down to her hands, then emphatically shook her head. "No, Dad. They belonged to Mrs. O'Neill. She... wanted me to have them." Her eyes glassed slightly. Apparently, the memory still caused a sting.

Jacob nodded once. //Even Mrs. O'Neill saw...//

It was the sound of the doorbell which broke the silence this time. Pushing herself off the sofa, she crossed and answered the door. Jack stood on the doorstep, burdened with two paper bags of groceries. "Someone call for delivery?"

Sam laughed -- a little harder than she had planned -- and let him in. Jack's brow furrowed in concern as he saw the unshed tears in her eyes. Silently, she shook her head. //I'm fine,// she seemed to say.

Jacob watched the exchange from across the room. Setting aside his coffee cup, he crossed the living room in four wide strides. "Here, let me take those," he said. He took the heavy bags from Jack's arms.

Giving a lopsided grin, Jack shook out his arms. "Thanks, Dad."

Jacob allowed an enigmatic grin, turning. "You're welcome," he said, pausing, "...Son." The grin grew wider and he disappeared into the kitchen.

********

The End...