He didn't hear from her all week. No calls, emails, voicemails. Even back when they were working together, he heard more from her during downtime than he had that week.
It wasn't just Carter, either. He hadn't heard a peep from Daniel, from Teal'c or from Jonas. And Jonas regularly called Jack to update him on his dates with Lieutenant Rush - during which he liked to fervently deny that he and Rebecca were 'serious' (Jonas was fooling himself).
So he assumed they were off-world. And judging from the phone call she'd received at the end of their date, they were off-world in an emergency of some kind. What kind of emergency he didn't know - and he wouldn't find out. He didn't have clearance any more. She could be coming face to face with some Goa'uld right now and he wouldn't know.
His heart clenched each time he thought of it. So he resolved to *not* think about it.
Jack spent the week vacillating between cleaning obsessively, getting rid of things he didn't need and forcing himself to go out and 'do stuff'. Anything to keep his mind off what his old team was doing off-world.
Anything to *not* think about her and the various ways she could be dead right now and how he wasn't there to watch over her.
He'd known leaving SG-1 behind would be tough and he'd known that - like the first time he retired - the best way to do it would be to completely cut himself off from the SGC.
But there was no way he could cut himself off from SG-1. Even if he'd wanted to, he knew Daniel would never leave him alone, plus Jonas and Teal'c simply wouldn't understand. Carter was a different matter, of course, but then he was the one who found himself hanging out in her house within a few hours of quitting.
Jack's retirement had been well-timed. He'd been seriously considering retirement for nearly a year before he actually did the paperwork and had a chat with Hammond. The successful containment of the replicators had essentially freed the military aspects of the Asgard for other problems in the galaxy. In other words, the Goa'uld were kept under a tight watch leaving Earth somewhat more secure.
Not that he was foolish enough to imagine the Goa'uld were their only threat - after all, they'd certainly come across enough hostile aliens in their time to remember to approach each new alien world with a degree of skepticism that would rival Agent Scully (had he mentioned he'd watched every episode of Season One, Two and Three in the past week?).
At least, Jack had always been pretty skeptical and he hoped - he really *hoped* - Carter had at least taken that into account now that she was leading SG-1. Not that he had any doubts about her leadership skills, because for the past couple of years they'd all but been leading together in preparation, it was just that she was a little more open minded than him. It wasn't a bad thing, really, but she needed to be careful.
So, one week after their date and Jack was out in the backyard, a gardening book under his arm as he surveyed one of the many sick looking shrubs that he'd been promising himself he would tackle for a good three years now. He wasn't entirely sure this was the right time of year to attempt this kind of gardening but at this point, he was getting pretty desperate.
At his feet, he had an array of various garden implements, most of which he'd never used. Sara had the green thumb in the O'Neill household and after Sara... he'd never really had the time or the inclination to dabble in gardening.
Now he had the time. He may not have had the inclination, but he certainly had the time. Plus, his house was so clean you could eat off of the floors and his spare room was actually empty of all the boxes he usually kept stacked up in the corner. For some reason, today, he didn't want to leave the house. There were plenty of things he could do away from home - his truck needed refilling (which was pretty much a given), he needed to replace his putter, he had a mountain of overdue library books plus that selection of astronomy documentaries that he needed to return.
But he didn't want to leave the house.
Opening the gardening book, he flicked through to the page he'd marked earlier and re-read the first paragraph, getting a jolt each time he mistakenly read 'Sam' for 'same' or 'Carter' for 'create'.
He closed his eyes.
Right. He could do this.
Just. Don't. Think.
*
Not good.
Just... not good.
She skidded to a halt in front of the DHD, her boots digging into the sloppy mud, and started punching in the dialing sequence with her chilly hands. "Daniel! Get ready!" she yelled, her voice hoarse from the screaming she'd been doing all day and from the mile-long run from the enemy camp to the Stargate.
Daniel had his arm out, his eyes fixed on the wormhole, ready to type in the IDC the moment the wormhole engaged.
Teal'c paused at the base of the Stargate steps, out of reach of the kawoosh, and turned to watch their six. Jonas was over one of his shoulders but he still managed to hold his staff weapon steady and aimed for the trees from which they'd just emerged.
The same trees that Sam had made a Colonel O'Neill-esque crack about only one week before.
Captain Williams, the only surviving member of SG-4, lowered himself down onto the bottom step of the Stargate and pressed his face into his shaking hands. Sam had a feeling he'd run out of tears.
Something wet dripped onto her lower lip as the wormhole engaged and the bright blue puddle splashed towards them. Licking it automatically, she winced at the metallic taste and lifted a hand to her forehead. It came away stained with blood.
Crap.
Suddenly, as if it had been waiting for her to realize she'd been wounded, a stinging pain made itself known on her forehead.
"Let's get the hell out of here," she said, gesturing for Teal'c and Daniel to go first while she swung around, her P-90 ready. Gripping Williams by the back of what remained of his black T-shirt, she yanked him up and pushed him towards the wormhole just as staff weapon blasts began to hit the ground all around them.
Mercilessly, she shoved Williams through and then dived through the wormhole herself.
It always shocked her. Not the ride itself, of course, because there really wasn't much to remember, but the way she could leave one planet where the world seemed to be falling apart and arrive in the SGC absolutely safe where everyone was familiar... well, it always shocked her.
"Close the iris!" she shouted up to control, dragging Williams down the ramp.
The medics were already in the room, one set helping Jonas onto a stretcher and several more coming up the ramps to take Williams from her. She automatically flinched away from the probing hands of the medic who was trying to get a look at the gash on her forehead (a gash she didn't recall getting) but tried to remember they were just trying to be helpful.
"Welcome back, SG-1," Hammond said from the control room. "Infirmary and then de-briefing in an hour."
Too overwhelmed and tired to make any kind of eye contact with him, Sam simply nodded and handed over her weapons before trailing after the rest of her team.
In the infirmary, she took the opportunity to lean on Teal'c slightly and he put his hand on the small of her back, gently pushing her over to a spare bed. "You did fine, MajorCarter," he murmured.
She looked up at him, unsure of herself, but decided not to say any more when they were in public. "Thanks, Teal'c," she replied quietly, glancing over at where Janet was rapidly checking Jonas over, while Daniel watched in concern.
At least he was conscious now, she saw, watching as Jonas said something and then covered his eyes with his hand. She glanced behind at Williams who was now throwing up. Wincing, she looked away. God knew what she'd be like if she'd watched her whole team be slaughtered in front of her. Maybe she'd be a mess like that too. Maybe she'd just clam up completely.
She hoped she never found out.
"Major Carter, I need to look at your forehead."
She eyed the nurse suspiciously but nodded.
"Do you have any more wounds that you know of?"
She sighed. "I didn't even know I had this one."
"So you don't know what caused it?" The nurse pulled up a tray of equipment and opened a sealed packet of disinfectant wipes. "It's not very deep."
"Good." Leaning a little to the right - which got her a hiss of complaint from the nurse - Sam peered at Jonas again. "Teal'c, can you go find out what's wrong with Jonas?"
"I shall."
Sam winced at the sting of disinfectant and gritted her teeth. She was *not* looking forward to the de-briefing.
*
"Sam..."
Crap. He was using her first name - that couldn't be good news. A myriad of different thoughts popped into her head: he was going to fire her; he was going to replace her; he was going to demote her.
She knew she should have got out of the briefing room first. "Yes, sir?" she said, in as bright a voice as possible.
"How's the head?" the General asked gently, giving her one of his paternal looks that made her very uncomfortable. Though she had no recollection of the General from her childhood, she had a feeling the same wasn't true for him. And the idea that at some stage he had seen her in diapers wasn't one she particularly relished.
She reached up automatically and brushed her fingers against the bandage. "It's a fairly superficial wound."
"Are you being driven home?"
Sam nodded and looked down at the table, trying to hide her expression. "As a precaution."
"A wise one, I'm sure. You can't be too careful. I was going to say... you did well this week, Major. You should have no qualms about your skills as a leader."
She nearly, very nearly, snorted. "We lost all but one member of SG-4, sir." And in such a way she had no doubt when she closed her eyes tonight she would see their bodies.
Hammond raised his eyebrows. "From what I understand, Major, that was in no way your fault. SG-1 arrived after the rest of SG-4 were murdered. You did rescue Captain Williams."
"Somehow... it doesn't seem enough," she sighed.
In one of his rare shows of physical support, he rested a hand on her shoulder. "Major, unfortunately, that's just something you'll have to come to terms with. There's only so much we, you, the SGC, can do in these situations." He smiled at her, squeezed her shoulder a little. "But we do our best. It's all we can do."
She nodded, trying to take his words to heart even though the wound was too fresh to be soothed. "Yes, sir."
"Have a good weekend, Major. Take some time off," Hammond suggested, his hand dropping to his side. "Visit people who care for you."
Immediately, Sam thought of the Colonel and their interrupted date. It was the one nice memory that was still fresh in her mind. Shit. She just bet he would be panicking by now. "Did..." She stopped quickly. It really wasn't appropriate to ask if anyone had thought to call her... ex-CO while she was away.
"I'll do that, sir," she said eventually.
Hammond nodded and smiled. "Good. See you on Monday."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
"My pleasure, Major."
*
"Well... that's just wrong," he said, to no one in particular. Stepping back, he surveyed the shrub, wincing as he did so. He'd chopped off all the sick bits like the book had said and now it just looked kinda... butchered. As if someone with no gardening talent had taken a pair of shears to it in an attempt to rescue it from death.
Which had been exactly what had happened.
Jack sighed and scratched the back of his head. Oh well. He'd followed the instructions to the letter; it was the best he could do considering he had the opposite of green thumbs.
What would be the opposite of green thumbs anyway?
Black thumbs? Yellow thumbs?
Hmm.
Okay. He was starting to feel sick again.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to push the feeling aside. Hell, it worked in the field, why couldn't it work at home?
What else could he do? There had to be something. Loose tiles on his roof? No. Painting the guest room? Only if he was desperate. Still, he'd actually have to go out and buy paint for that and he didn't want to leave the house.
He supposed he could take his cell in case anyone needed to contact...
Jack's head jerked around and the book dropped onto the grass. He'd thought he'd heard a noise nearby. Was it a car?
His feet were already moving, his brain running over the possibilities. He lived at the end of what was a very quiet street and he knew for a fact that both sets of neighbors were away, and would be for some time. It couldn't be either of them.
Jack walked around the side, crunching over the gravel to the road just in time to see a silver car turn around and drive off. Momentarily confused, he didn't think to look around until he heard her speak.
"Don't freak out, okay? It's only a superficial cut."
Turning, his heartbeat faster than normal, he watched her walk down his front steps, her arms crossed over her chest protectively. The white bandage on her forehead was glaring in the sunlight. She looked pale and miserable.
But alive, he thought.
*Alive*
She walked straight up to him and stood very still for a moment, her eyes boring a hole into his neck. "Say something," she whispered harshly.
He hadn't realized he'd been silent. "I..." There was nothing he could say. Nothing coherent, anyway. His brain didn't seem to be able to cope. "I make a terrible gardener."
Sam snorted and looked up at him. "God, she was right. You don't know what to say, do you?"
Jack opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. "Who said that?"
Tears dropped out of her eyes and she reached up to wipe them away. "The other me told me while we were working on the power generator."
He swallowed. "Oh. Her. Yeah, about that..."
"Jack... this really isn't the time," she said, sniffing.
"I can see that." He put a hand out - it was only shaking a little bit, he was glad to see - and touched her hair lightly, wondering if she had a headache. "Rough week, huh?"
Nodding, she pressed her face into his shoulder and wrapped her arms about him tightly, holding on as if he was the last buoy in the Atlantic.
And, Jack, whose experience with a weeping Carter was minimal, just stood there and stroked her hair. And wondered if it was right that he should find comfort in comforting her.
Eventually, when she'd stopped crying and started sniffling instead, he slid his arm about her shoulder. "Come on, I want to show you what I did to my backyard this afternoon."
Story Notes: Matter of Tact 04: Email: randomleaves@yahoo.co.uk
Archive: SJD, yes
Spoilers: 7
A/N: Sequel to 'Not Bad At All', set one week afterwards. Betaed by the lovely Melly and Emry.
Archive: SJD, yes
Spoilers: 7
A/N: Sequel to 'Not Bad At All', set one week afterwards. Betaed by the lovely Melly and Emry.
End Notes: "Liked? No. Adored, loved, wanted to have its little fic babies - YES!" http://www.randomleaves.com
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]