"Crossing Over" by Becca

TITLE: Crossing Over

RATING: M

SPOILERS: None

REQUIRED READING: Courting Disaster, Parts One and Two

ARCHIVE: Sam and Jack; my own page (eventually); all others, please ask

DISCLAIMER: Daniel Jackson, Samantha Carter, GEN Hammond, Jack O'Neill, Teal'c, et. al., belong to MGM, Gekko Film Corp., and Double Secret Productions. They are used without permission, but not for profit, and only for the amusement of myself and others. All other characters are the product of the author's imagination and are copyright of the author. Lyrics to "Crossing Over" copyright Lowen & Navarro, Mercury Music.

WARNINGS: Angst Alert! Emotional whumping in the following pages. A Kleenex advisory has now been issued. And, if you're not partial to a Carter/O'Neill relationship, this one is not for you (category SJR, in other words).

NOTES: CMC = Cheyenne Mountain Complex. Special thanks to Beth S. and Vanessa M. for two great beta readings. You guys did a great job and for that I am very grateful.

SUMMARY: O'Neill receives an outside phone call, immediately bolting on emergency leave, leaving Hammond, Carter, Daniel and Teal'c wondering. (In response to the 1999 Jack's Parents Challenge. Also meets the requirements for another challenge, but I cannot divulge that information...)

*************

This is not goodbye It's just farewell to the you I recognize I've got a long, long time To learn how to feel you in a different way...

-- Lowen & Navarro, "Crossing Over"

*************

"Okay, Danny-boy, I'll see your ten and raise you twenty." COL Jack O'Neill tossed three chips into the center of the table, each landing with a rattle. Looking down at his cards, he rearranged them to the appropriate order. He looked to MAJ Carter, raising his brows. "Sam?"

Samantha Carter stared down at her own cards, lips pursed. Her eyes flickered to the pot of chips and back to her cards. "Raising him twenty, huh?"

"Yep."

"Hmmm." Carter frowned at her own hand.

"She's doing it again."

Sam looked up at Daniel. "I'm doing what again?"

Daniel looked to Jack. "She's about to win again, Jack."

"Naah," Jack said, waving a hand toward Daniel dismissively. He slid down in the seat, inwardly wishing he had a recliner. "Got it covered."

"You sure?"

"Yep."

"I will... see your thirty... and raise you ten," Sam replied after a long pause. She tossed her chips into the pot.

Daniel shook his head. "I fold." He turned to O'Neill. "Pressure's on you, Jack."

O'Neill regarded his cards for a moment, lips pursed to the side, eyes narrowed. "I call." He laid his hand out onto the portable card table. "Full house."

"Nice job, sir," Sam said, "but I think I've got you beat."

"Beat? How?"

"Royal flush." Carter spread the cards out, face up.

O'Neill gathered his cards and tossed them onto the table in disgust. "Damn it!"

Chuckling, Daniel shook his head. "I told you, Jack."

"Yeah, yeah, I hear you." Jack shook his own head, this time in disbelief. That was the fourth hand Carter had won that afternoon. "You're supposed to let me win once in a while, ya know. Bolster my ego, that type of thing."

"Don't take this personally, sir, but your ego doesn't need bolstering." Sam grinned at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Jack placed his right elbow on the arm of the chair, leaning toward Carter. "Too late. Already took it personally." He gave his own grin.

Daniel pushed his glasses further back onto the bridge of his nose. "Do I, uh, need to leave?" he asked, raising his brows. He began organizing the playing cards, attempting to put them back into the box.

At the back of the room, a quiet "ahem" was heard. Turning, Daniel recognized Airman Dean, standing just inside the door to the rec room. He leant sideways, looking around Daniel to COL O'Neill. "Colonel O'Neill?"

O'Neill cleared his own throat, leaning away from Carter. "What'cha got, Dean?"

"There's an outside call for you, sir," Dean replied. "We've transferred it here."

"Thanks, Dean." Placing a hand on both arms of the chair, O'Neill pushed himself out of it, crossing to the phone with a relaxed gait. "O'Neill." A frown crossed his features, his hand coming to rest on his hop. "Yeah ... when? Sunday night? Why didn't -- ? I see ... Yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can. Thanks."

Sam saw the expression on his face as he turned, pinching the bridge of his nose; it was a sure sign of frustration. She met him halfway, placing a hand on his shoulder tentatively. "Jack?"

He looked up. "I've got to go for a few days," he said, standing with both hands on his hips. Shaking his head, he looked to Sam. "I'll see you when I get back." He kissed her lightly on the cheek, patted her shoulder, then made his way out of the room, his eyes fixed on the polished toes of his combat boots.

Daniel turned to Sam, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What was that all about?"

"I have no idea." Sam stared after Jack, her expression dark. "But I intend to find out."

***

General George S. Hammond looked up from the personnel folder on his desk, having heard a tap on the door. He found O'Neill standing in the doorframe, fiddling with the cover in his hands. "General? A word?"

Hammond waved him in. "Come on in, son," he said. He closed the folder, setting aside his pen. Then, leaning back in his chair, he intertwined his fingers, bringing his hands to rest against his chest. He watched as O'Neill closed the door behind himself. "What's on your mind?"

"Sir, I need a few days ... for personal reasons." O'Neill stood before Hammond's desk, his feet shoulder-width apart, cover still in hand. He stared down at it as he distractedly flattened the folded inner brim.

"SG-1 is on standby," Hammond began. He pursed his lips, scrutinizing the emotionless expression O'Neill regarded him with. If he wasn't going to explain... "I'll roll up SG-2; SG-1 will go to stand down until your return."

O'Neill nodded once. "Thank you, sir. I'll be in touch." Turning, he crossed the office, opening the door. Sam stood opposite him, her hand raised to knock. She gave a slight start as the door opened. Jack merely gave her a tight smile, then brushed past her.

Hammond exchanged glances with Carter. "Carter, what's going on?"

"I don't know, sir," Sam replied, shaking her head. She stepped into the office, taking the place O'Neill had just vacated. "He received a phone call about ten minutes ago; the next thing we knew, he was in here. He asked for a few days off?"

"For personal reasons," Hammond answered. He grimaced. "You and Colonel O'Neill are ... close, correct, Major?"

Carter nodded once, hesitantly. "Yes, sir," she said slowly. So he *did* suspect... "But all of SG-1 is close, sir."

"Of course." The general paused a moment in contemplation. "I'm authorizing you emergency leave, effective immediately," he said, reaching for the phone. "I'll see if I can get a tracer on that phone number. I want you to follow him, make sure he's all right and *stays* all right." He looked to her, holding the receiver to his ear. "Do I make myself clear, Major?"

"Crystal, sir." Sam nodded.

"Support? This is Hammond. I need a tracer on an outside call. Came in about --" Hammond paused, glancing to Carter in silent inquiry.

"Fifteen minutes ago."

"-- Fifteen minutes ago," the general finished. "Check the logs and get back to me." He replaced the receiver. "You, Major, are to go home and get packed. I'll reach you there as soon as I have something."

"Aye, sir. Anything else?"

"Enjoy your leave, Major."

"Yes, sir!" Executing an abrupt about face, Carter turned and exited the office.

*************

The next morning, Sam sat silently in the back of the cab, staring out the window as the scenery blurred by. //What the hell am I doing here?// she wondered. //I *followed* him here. He didn't *ask* me to come.// She shook her head. Sometimes her scientific curiosity got the best of her...sometimes Jack O'Neill got the best of her.

She looked to the slip of paper grasped in her hands. //2115 Peregrine Way,// she read silently. According to General Hammond, it was the home of Edward Brooks, Jack's great uncle; and, despite the fact that Hammond could have listened to the taped conversation, he chose not to. There was a limit, he had said.

Her eyes drifted back out the window to the overcast sky. A summer storm had been threatening since her flight had landed, but had yet to present itself. A clap of thunder rolled across the sky as the cab pulled to a halt. "Your destination, ma'am," the driver said, glancing at her in the rear view mirror.

"Thank you," Sam said. She pulled the doorhandle, stepping out of the back seat. Leaning back in, she grabbed her black leather duffel bag, slipping the driver a ten dollar bill. "Keep the change."

"Thanks, ma'am," the driver said. "And good luck."

"I'll need it," she said quietly. She closed the door to the cab, lowering her black duffel to the sidewalk as it pulled away. The tail lights flickering in the distance, her eyes fell upon a small group of people, clad in roller blades, helmets, and pads, chasing a specially-designed street hockey puck. She could hear the clatter of sticks against the asphalt, the laughter and the giggles as a younger boy struggled to steal the puck from a taller man who had managed a short-lived break away. Recognition settled on her. Jack O'Neill was playing roller hockey with the neighborhood kids.

"He shoots..." came O'Neill's voice as he drew back on his stick. Swinging through smoothly, his left foot rolling back, his right foot snapping forward, the puck glided toward the "goal" -- a metal garbage can. The puck glided through the air, hitting the back of the can with a CLANG! "He scores!"

"Awww, man!" the boy called in frustration. He unbuckled his helmet, removing it and regarding Jack. "You just won the game!"

With a laugh, Jack removed his own helmet, letting his stick rest against his thigh. He ran his hand through his short brown-and-grey hair, relieving some of the "helmet hair" he had developed in the summer heat. "Yeah, but you guys beat me pretty soundly the first game. I think we'll call it a draw. What do ya say?"

A second boy rolled to a halt beside the first. "I want a rematch!"

Jack reached over and gave the boy a tap on the helmet. "If I'm here long enough, you'll get it. Deal?"

The first boy shook Jack's hand. "Deal." He looked in Sam's direction, furrowing his brow. "Say, Mister O'Neill, who's that?"

"Who's who?" Jack furrowed his own brow, looking to the boy. Following his gaze, he stopped, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. "That's..." His eyes drifted over the familiar crown of blonde hair, the eyes, the nose; the familiar way she held herself when she was unsure. "That's Sam..." he said, rolling toward her.

//Well, here goes,// Sam thought. She took a few steps forward, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "Hi," she said shyly.

"Hi," Jack managed. What the hell... "What are you doing here?"

Sam cleared her throat. "General Hammond was worried about you."

O'Neill nodded once, absorbing the information. The phones on base, he knew, were tapped, just as they were for any TS:SCI facility. It didn't take long for his suspicious mind to put two and two together: With Hammond's assistance, a trace had been run on the phone call from his Uncle Edward. "So he sent you to keep an eye on me?" She lowered her eyes under his glare; his eyes showed the depth of his anger as he held it tightly in check. He sighed, closing his eyes. This was Sam he was talking to; hostility would get him very little. "Was that the only reason you came?"

She looked up at him, pausing a beat. "*I* was worried about you...sir."

"Yeah, well..." he fumbled for something to say. No sarcastic comeback, no witty remark. He cleared his throat. "Thanks." An awkward moment of silence fell over them, Sam staring at the toes of her shoes, Jack fascinated with the toes of his Rollerblades. After a moment, he looked up. "Come on, let's get you settled in." Placing a hand at the small of her back, he readjusted his hockey stick, grabbing it and her duffel in the other hand.

Sam glanced about the quiet neighborhood as they made their way up the stairs to the front porch. The summer heat had caused a touch of browning to the neighborhood lawns, the leaves on the trees beginning to shrivel from the lack of rain. Down the sidewalks, children laughed and played, riding bicycles and Rollerblades. She could see Jack growing up in a place like this.

The beveled glass and wood door opened as they reached the porch landing, Jack carefully making his way up in his skates. An elderly man, rounded, with thinning grey hair cut in a military manner, stood in the doorframe, clad in a loose-fitting camp shirt and jeans; Sam could see questions in his brown eyes as he looked to Jack. "Jack? You bring a visitor?"

"Uh, yeah." Jack looked to Sam, then back to the older man. "Uncle Edward, this is Sam Carter. Sam Carter, my uncle, Edward Brooks."

Edward shook Sam's hand as it was extended, covering it with his other hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Major Carter. Jack's mentioned you several times," he said. A warm but reserved smile crossed his lips.

At this, Sam raised her brows. //He had, huh? But what did he say?// she wondered. She gave an equally reserved smile in return. "A pleasure to meet you as well...though you have me at a disadvantage; the colonel doesn't talk about his family much."

A sad gleam hit Edward's eyes momentarily. "Not much to tell," he said quietly. Rebounding, he clapped his hands together, he regarded Sam and Jack. "Well, let's get you settled in, shall we?" He reached over and took the bag from Jack. "Jack, you coming?"

Jack winced, settling into one of the wicker chairs on the porch. "Yeah. Lemme get these things off," he said, bringing one skate-clad foot to his lap. "I'll be up in a minute."

"Major, if you'll follow me," Edward said. He turned, leading the way into the house.

Sam looked about as she followed Edward into the house. It was a relatively larger house, built in the early forties, she reasoned, with solid wood floors, staircase, and banister; there was craftsmanship here that one rarely found in modern houses. The living room and dining room, each positioned off the foyer, were decorated comfortably in natural hues of cream, khaki, and light brown, keeping the darkly stained wood from becoming oppressive to the mood.

Climbing the carpeted stairs, they creaked slightly, leading the way to a carpeted corridor. Four bedrooms led off from this corridor, each heavy door open, the grey light from outside filling each room. Glancing in each of the rooms, she noted their furnishings. The first room was obviously Edward's, the walls decorated with his military awards from WW II and Korea; the second was a feminine room, decorated in floral patterns and white-washed furniture; the third had been claimed as Jack's room, his dress uniform hanging over the top of an open closet door, the plastic garment bag unzipped behind it. Edward led her to the last room, decorated in the same neutral tones as downstairs.

"We'll put you in here," he said, placing her bag on the floor at the foot of the tall double bed. He gestured to a door at the back corner of the room. "Bathroom's right through there. You share it with Jack, so you'll probably want to set up a schedule of some sort..." He paused, watching her as she looked over the room.

"Just like home," she mumbled.

"What?" Edward looked at her, confused. Jack wasn't living with her...was he?

Sam read the confusion in his expression. "The locker room on base," she explained with a smile. "The base was built before more of the ranks opened to women; we have to take turns with the showers."

Edward gave a chuckle, scratching his head. "I guess a lot has changed since I was in," he said. His eyes went to the doorframe as Jack appeared. "Well, I'll leave you to get settled. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks," Sam said, smiling. She turned, catching Jack as he entered. He still looked sweaty and tired, his tee shirt spotted with perspiration, his shorts with streaks of sand and dirt. Meeting his eyes, she saw a sadness lurking beneath them, replacing the usual droll sense of humour. "Jack...what happened?"

Jack pursed his lips momentarily, flopping into the Queen Anne chair beside the door. He cleared his throat. "My mother had a stroke...or at least it looks like a stroke...The doctors are still testing to find out."

"Oh, Jack, I --" she sighed. Should she really be here? "I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Life. It happens." He raised his eyes from the floor to look up to her. Pushing himself out of the chair, he crossed to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I'm glad you came."

Sam could only nod her response. She blinked as he lowered his head, tentatively touching his lips to hers. //Two steps forward, two steps back,// she thought. One moment, they were lost in flirtatious innuendo, the next, regarding each other as though they had never even touched. It was enough to keep anyone confused. But, such was the case with COL O'Neill.

After a moment, Jack pulled back slowly, smiling slightly. "I'm gonna go grab a shower. Make yourself at home, and we'll head over to the hospital later." He dropped his hands from her shoulders, crossing to the common bathroom at the far right corner of the room.

A few moments later, Sam could hear the familiar sounds of a shower running.

***********************

It was en route to the hospital that the overcast sky turned black and the rain began, pelting the earth with heavy drops. Jack reached for the windshield wiper control, switching them into high gear. He and Sam had travelled from Edward's in complete silence, a silence now broken only by the quick, steady beat of the windshield wipers. It wasn't that either had nothing to say; neither knew *what* to say. For Jack, it was that he was allowing Sam in. He'd never mentioned his family to the team, trying to separate work and family, a balance that he never quite found while he married to Sara; it had been mostly work, and very little family. Yet, it meant a lot that Sam was here. Of all the team members -- even before things ... changed ... between them, she was the closest.

For Sam, she felt as though she were intruding on a part of Jack's life he wished to keep separate from his team. Rarely had he ever mentioned his family; the team knew of Sara and Charlie, but knew nothing of his mother, father, aunts, uncles, and cousins. She suspected that was the way he wanted it -- a clear separation of work and family, a balance not easily found for those in special operations status. And then, unexpectedly, things ... *changed* between them, and Jack's personal life had found its way into work.

She looked over at him, studying his profile as he stared out at the rain-soaked road. //That's why he's so cautious,// she thought. She knew all too well how frustrating it was to lose one's professional detachment.

Jack made a right hand turn, circling the parking lot as he tried to find a spot close to the entrance. He cleared his throat, shattering the long silence. "Looks like we're gonna have to make a run for it," he commented. He maneuvered the rented 4x4 into an empty spot, then shifted the gears into park. Reaching for the ignition, he paused. "I can't do this, Sam."

Sam blinked. "Sir?"

O'Neill shook his head. "When I came to see her last night, she..." He gave a frustrated sigh. "She's just *laying* there, making about as much sense as --"

"Astrophysics make to you?" Sam interjected.

O'Neill couldn't help but smile at the analogy. "Yeah," he admitted. "You start talkin' technobabble, Carter, and ya lose me."

"You hide it pretty well, Colonel." She gave a slight smile.

He sighed, switching off the ignition. "C'mon. Let's make a dash for it." Sliding out and slamming the door closed, he rounded the back of the vehicle, waiting for Sam. She met him and he pulled his black leather jacket off, shielding them from the rain as they ran to the entrance.

Inside, Sam ran a hand through her damp hair. //If it weren't for the circumstances,// she thought, //that would have been fun.// She looked about the lobby. Several others were standing by the automatic door, holding umbrellas, watching and waiting until the downpour stopped; others were seated in the moderately comfortable seating areas, talking quietly or reading year-old magazines. As she breathed, the typical antiseptic scent reached her nostrils. She looked to Jack. He glanced about the room, his expression blank; only his eyes registered his distaste.

"Come on...Jack," Sam said quietly. She reached down, taking his hand in hers.

O'Neill blinked, snapping back to the moment. With a quick smile, he squeezed her hand, leading the way to the elevator.

***

"Then, DanielJackson, I will see your twenty and raise you...ten?" Teal'c looked to Daniel, his brows raised, his tone indicating inquiry.

"That depends, Teal'c," Daniel began. He looked up from his cards to the imposing Jaffa. "Do you remember the combinations I taught you?"

Teal'c nodded once. "I do."

"Do you think you have something that would probably beat me?"

The Jaffa looked back down at his hand; Daniel noted that the cards seemed much smaller compared to Teal'c's larger hands. "I believe I can."

"Then you can raise me ten."

"Very well. I raise you ten." Teal'c tossed in his chips.

Daniel pursed his lips. "I call." He laid out his cards. "Full house."

"That was very well done, DanielJackson, but I believe I have defeated you."

//Not again,// Daniel thought. He watched as Teal'c carefully laid out his own hand, one card at a time. And, one card at a time, he revealed a straight. Closing his eyes, Daniel sighed, shaking his head.

"Did I not win?"

"Yes, Teal'c, you won." Daniel's face distorted into an expression of disgust. //Maybe I should just give up,// he thought. He looked up as General Hammond entered the rec room. "Can we help you, sir?" He began gathering the cards from the table.

"Any word from Major Carter or Colonel O'Neill?" Hammond asked.

Daniel furrowed his brow in confusion. "No, sir. Shouldn't they be reporting back to you?"

Hammond cleared his throat. "They are not in any official status," he started slowly, "and are, therefore, not required to report to me."

This caused a raised brow from both Daniel and Teal'c. "Not in any official..." Daniel allowed his sentence to hang, the import of the general's words sinking in. Sam and Jack...together...on leave? And Hammond knew? He cleared his throat. "Any word on what the phone call was about, sir?"

"None what-so-ever," Hammond replied. "We know only that the call was from Colonel O'Neill's uncle."

"I see." Daniel digested the information. "Well, sir, if we do hear something, you'll be the first to know."

"Thank you, Doctor." Straightening his dress uniform jacket, Hammond turned and disappeared down the corridor.

As he left, Daniel released the breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. "Things just keep getting more interesting all the time."

Teal'c nodded once. "Indeed."

***********************

Stepping out into the dimly lit corridors of the sixth floor critical care unit, Jack winced. He really did hate hospitals. Something about the antiseptic smell, the thoughts of confronting his own mortality made it disconcerting. Or maybe it was the fact that he had spent too much time in the CMC infirmary. //Just the line of work. Maybe you'd rather have a desk job?// He shook off the thought. //No,// he thought, //you'd probably have to get stitches from a paper cut.//

He rounded the corner, pausing outside the first door on the right. //Room 602.// He glanced over his shoulder at Sam, standing a step behind him. She was giving him his distance, and he noticed. Drawing in a deep breath, he stepped into the room.

Underneath a dim fluorescent lamp, Madeline O'Neill lay on her back, eyes closed, her hands resting flat by her sides. Thinned, pale skin showed signs of bruising on her hands from the IVs and monitors; her eyelids seemed almost translucent, hiding her bright blue eyes. Also hidden was the beauty of her long, silver hair which was something of a source of pride for the O'Neill matriarch. Instead, it hung free, matted and wiry from a lack of attention.

Jack swallowed, crossing to his mother's bedside. He slowly lowered himself into the empty recliner by the bed. "Mom?"

Madeline's eyes fluttered open. Briefly, she blinked, adjusting to the dim lighting. Looking to her right, she found Jack, a warm smile crossing her lips and lighting her weary, dulled eyes. "Jack," she said quietly. "It's been such a long time."

"Yeah, Mom, it has," Jack admitted. He wondered if she actually remembered it had been almost a year. He watched as his mother's eyes flitted to Sam and back. "And you brought Sara, too, dear. That was so nice."

Jack cleared his throat. "No, Mom, that's not Sara. This is Sam..antha," he corrected gently. "Sara and I have been divorced for a while."

A worried glint slipped into his mother's eyes as she realized her mistake. "Oh. I'm sorry dear. I seem to be forgetting so much...." She sighed, looking past him toward the door. "Your father said he'd be right back; I can't imagine where he got off to."

Sam noted the pained expression that flickered in Jack's dark brown eyes, caught in check almost immediately. The colonel reached over and took her hand in his. "That's all right, Mom," he said. He covered their joined hands with his other one. "You just concentrate on getting better. We'll take care of the details."

Mrs. O'Neill smiled wearily. "Okay," she agreed. Unable to stay awake, she closed her eyes slowly, drifting off to sleep.

Very carefully, Jack slipped his hands from his mother's, rising and stepping out into the hallway. His back against the wall, he closed his eyes, leant back his head and sighed. Without opening his eyes, he could sense Sam standing near him. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

"For what?"

Jack opened his eyes, looking to her. "For the whole Sara thing," he said.

Sam shook her head. "It's all right, s...Jack," she replied. "She didn't know."

"No, she didn't." Swallowing, Jack blinked, his eyes glassing over. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes defined themselves as he tried to fight the flurry of emotions struggling to surface. "You know, it's been, ah, almost ten years since my father died," he admitted. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his eyes diverting to the toes of his hiking boots. "And it's been almost two years since my divorce was final." He shook his head. "It's kinda like she's not even here, now."

Reaching out, Sam placed her hand against his arm gently. He looked up at her, her eyes glossy with the tears he refused to shed. Struck by impulse, he drew Sam into his arms, holding onto her tightly. For a few moments, the world seemed to stand still...and everything was all right.

***

Sam awakened the next morning to the welcome scent of bacon and eggs as it wafted up the stairs to the bedrooms. She stretched with a smile, tossing off the bedcovers in the warm sunlight. Swinging her feet to the floor, she wrestled her feet into her slippers, grabbing the long, matching satin robe from the foot of her bed. It billowed behind her as she made her way down the stairs.

Entering the kitchen, she smiled at the sight: O'Neill was standing at the stove in a ratty pair of sweat pants, a well-worn black tee shirt, and bare feet. He ducked and wove as the bacon in the iron skillet sent grease popping toward him. "Ow!" He exclaimed, quickly switching the tongs to his other free hand. He brought his index finger to his lips, trying to find some remedy to where the grease had landed on his hand.

"You should turn down the temperature," she said, crossing to the stove. She reached, lowering the gas flame beneath the skillet. "It pops more if the temperature is too high."

Jack looked to her and smiled. "I'll remember that," he said. His eyes held hers a long moment before he suddenly cleared his throat, looking back down at the pan. Idly, he poked at the bacon with the tongs, just needing to distract himself. "You sleep well?"

Sam crossed to the coffee pot, selecting a clean cup from off the counter. She poured herself half a cup, watching him from behind. "Best in a while, actually," she answered. She sipped her coffee "You?"

"Not really," he admitted. He lifted the skillet off the flame with a pad, crossing to the breakfast nook. There, a small table was set for two, complete with servings of steaming eggs, milk, and juice. Carefully, he placed two pieces of bacon on each plate. "You hungry?"

"And getting hungrier," she said, crossing to the table. She looked over the settings, seeing now that a stack of toast sat in the center of the table, along with butter and a various assortment of jams and jellies. "You've been busy."

Crossing to the stove, Jack placed the hot skillet onto a dormant eye, turning off the flame; he placed the tongs onto the counter next to it. Turning, he rushed to pull out Sam's chair before she lowered herself into it. "Thought you might want to remember what real bacon and eggs taste like."

"I have to admit, I *was* beginning to forget," she replied. She smiled at him as she lowered herself into her chair. He helped her slide in closer to the table. "Been on base too many mornings lately."

"Been on base too many nights lately." Jack sat across from her now, looking at her with an expression Sam couldn't quite name, a mixture of scrutiny and warmth, with a sensual edge she hadn't seen in weeks. He blinked, breaking the gaze, and clearing his throat.

//And there he goes again,// Sam thought. She couldn't help but get the feeling she was on a see-saw, up one moment, down the next. She cleared her own throat, reaching for her fork. "Isn't your Uncle Edward going to join us?"

Jack shook his head. "Nah," he answered, taking a sip of his orange juice. "He had a meeting with Mom's doctor at eight this morning."

"Your Mom's been living here since your father died?"

"Yeah, shortly there after, anyway," O'Neill answered. "They were married for just over forty years when he died; she had a hard time living by herself, so, Uncle Ed moved her in here. She cooks and cleans; he builds model planes and watches hockey games." He shrugged. "Not much, but it's a living."

"How long has she been sick?"

Jack wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. "This is the first time in years," he answered. "Unlike me, she rarely needs to see a doc outside her yearly physical."

"Then maybe you should be more careful." An impish gleam lit Sam's eyes.

"Hard to be careful when you've got snakes and shadow monsters chasing after you." He looked up, catching the gleam in her eyes. "I guess my second-in-command has been falling down on the job." His eyes mirrored hers.

Sam tossed her napkin at him, hitting him square in the nose. She giggled.

"Thanks," he said. "I needed that." He gave her a knowing smile, then each continued to eat their breakfast.

***********************

The hospital seemed brighter that morning, and when Jack entered his mother's room, he found the curtains pulled back and sunlight spilling into the room. She turned and looked at him as he entered, her blue eyes bright and alert. Her long, silver hair had been washed and now sat atop her head in a smooth bun; she looked much more like the mother he remembered. "Jack!" she exclaimed. "When did you get here?" She held out her arms, and her son crossed and hugged her.

"I've been here a couple of days, and Sam over here got in yesterday afternoon," he answered. He nodded a hello to his Uncle Edward, who now sat against the far wall in a portable chair. He lowered himself into the recliner next to his mother's bed.

Mrs. O'Neill furrowed her brow, looking from her son to Sam and back again. "You gonna introduce me?" she asked.

"Sam Carter, this is my mother, Madeline O'Neill," Jack said, gesturing with his hand toward his mother. "Mom, this is Samantha Carter, my second in command."

Madeline took Sam's hand, grasping it firmly. "Wonderful to meet you, Samantha," she said. "It's always nice to meet one of Jack's service friends."

"A pleasure to meet you as well," Sam said, returning the smile. She was amazed at the difference in Mrs. O'Neill. The question remained now: How much would she remember tomorrow morning?

Edward cleared his throat. "Say, Jack, would you mind walking with me to grab a cup of coffee?" He pushed himself out of the low-sitting chair.

"Uh, yeah, sure," replied Jack. He stood, kissing his mother on the forehead. "Be right back." He then turned and followed Edward out of the room.

"Don't mind them, dear," Mrs. O'Neill said to Sam, "they just wanted to go and chat about me behind my back." Her blue eyes glinted with mischief. "So now tell me, Samantha, what is it that you do in the Air Force?"

"I'm a scientist, ma'am."

Madeline's brows raised. "A scientist?"

"Astrophysicist, actually."

"So you work with the space program, then."

"In a manner of speaking, yes, I do."

A wistful smile touched across the older woman's lips. "I remember the moon landing," she said. "That was such an exciting time for us. So many people said we would never make it." She gave a slight chuckle. "Even Jack's dad was a little skeptical."

//Wonder what he would say about the Gate,// Sam thought, suddenly glad that her father had entered her top secret world of interstellar travel. "Was he in the Air Force?"

Mrs. O'Neill laughed. "Heavens, no! He was a Marine. Flew in the Pacific during World War Two," she answered. "Never really talked about it." She looked to Sam. "Jack's a lot like him, you know."

Sam raised her brows. "How so?"

"Oh, never talking about work much, keeping to himself. Neither Jack nor his father were ever much on talking," Mrs. O'Neill said. She shook her head, her eyes drifting downward. "And after Charlie died..." Blinking, she looked up. "Well, it's not healthy for a young man to keep things all to himself." The little old lady looked to Sam with a gleam in her eye.

Sam gave a slight smile, catching the double meaning in Mrs. O'Neill's words. "No, ma'am," she agreed. "Not healthy at all."

***

Edward fell into step beside Jack as they absently wandered the halls of the sixth floor. Jack stuck his hands deep into the pocket of his khaki slacks, his eyes directed at his feet; beside him, Edward walked with his hands in his own pockets, eyes straight ahead.

"What did the doc have to say?" Jack finally asked.

"Well," Edward began slowly, "things don't look too great for a full recovery. Doc Morton says she suffered an aneurysm, not a stroke, and that it affected some of the memory centers of the brain."

"So she won't be able to remember some things?"

Edward shrugged. "She won't be able to remember some things one day, and something different the next," he explained. "It's even possible she won't be able to make new memories from what's happening now."

"So, she won't, say, remember meeting Sam?" Jack pursed his lips, tilting his head to the side to look up at his uncle.

"Probably not."

"Hmm."

At this, an uneasy silence fell between uncle and nephew. Together, they made a complete circuit of the sixth floor in silence, returning to the room. Edward opened the door for his nephew. "Uh, thanks," Jack said, distractedly, stepping into the room.

"'Bout time you two made it back," Mrs. O'Neill scolded as the two entered. She narrowed her eyes at her brother. "Where's your coffee, dear?"

Edward exchanged glances with Jack, a gleam in his eyes. "Oh, they didn't have anything but decaf," Jack replied. He stuck his hands in his pocket, rocking forward onto his toes and back.

"Mmmhm." Madeline made it clear that she did not believe a word. She absently fiddled with a tissue in her hand. "That's quite all right. At least it gave Samantha and I a chance to talk."

Jack raised his brows, looking to Sam. "Talk?"

"Yes, sir. Talk." She gave him her best Mona Lisa smile.

Opening his mouth to speak, Jack was abruptly cut off by his mother. "A woman is entitled to her secrets, son," she interrupted.

"Yes, ma'am." Jack looked down at the toes of his shoes. To Sam, he looked for all the world like a scolded schoolboy. Suddenly, his watch alarm sounded. Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he tapped the control, silencing it. "Well, we'd better get going. I have to call and check in with General Hammond, let him know what's going on."

"So soon, dear?" Mrs. O'Neill asked.

"Yeah, Mom. I kinda left the general twisting in the wind, and he doesn't like that too much," Jack replied.

"Don't blame him," came a response from Edward. "Gets a little drafty up there."

Jack blinked, looking to Edward with a curious expression. //Did he just...? Yeah, he did.// He shook his head. "The priviledges of rank," he replied with a lopsided grin.

Sam pushed herself out of the recliner. She smiled at Mrs. O'Neill. "It was a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," she said.

"The pleasure was all mine, Samantha, dear." Mrs. O'Neill smiled warmly at the major. "You'd better not leave without at least a hug."

"Yes, ma'am," Sam said with a laugh. She leant down, enveloped in a strong hug from Jack's mother. "Hurry up and get well."

Madeline watched Sam as she drew back. "We all have our jobs to do, don't we?" she said.

Sam smiled. "That we do." She stepped back and let Jack take her place.

"Bye, Mom," he said, leaning down and hugging her as best he could. He placed his hand over hers, kissing her forehead. "We'll stop by later to see how you're doing."

"Of course, dear. Do be careful." Mrs. O'Neill smiled up at her son.

Jack squeezed her hand and she slipped a folded tissue into it. "Will do, Mom." Slipping the folded tissue into his pocket unobtrusively, he escorted Sam out of the room, his hand at the small of her back.

***********************

Sam smiled up at the sky, closing her eyes and enjoying the warmth as she and Jack emerged through the lobby of the hospital. She sighed. "I never can get used to those places," she said.

"Don't think *I* ever will," Jack said, falling into step next to her. He had stuffed his hands down in his pockets. His fingers fumbled blindly with the folded tissue in his right pocket.

"What did Edward have to say about the meeting this morning?"

"Oh, just that the initial diagnosis was wrong," he said, pulling his car keys from his left pocket. He slipped the key into the lock. "They think it was an aneurysm, probably affected some of the memory centers of the brain."

"So it doesn't look good for a full recovery."

"No, it doesn't." Jack grimaced, the skin around his eyes wrinkling at the corners. "Uncle Ed mentioned that she'll remember some things one day, forget them the next. Probably won't even remember what happened today."

Sadness came over Sam's eyes. It was a shame; she had enjoyed meeting Mrs. O'Neill, and hoped to continue their conversation later. Jack had shared so little about his past, his family, and Mrs. O'Neill was more than willing to share the information he was less than willing to give. Would she trust Samantha as much the second time around? Or would she mistake her for Sara once again?

Jack watched the expression in Sam's blue eyes as it changed. She was saddened by the fact that his mother wouldn't remember today, wasn't she? "She was herself today, Sam," he said. "She may not remember, but we will."

Sam gave him a taut smile. "Yes, we will." She cleared her throat. "So, what did she slip you?"

"Slip me?" Jack blinked.

"When you said good bye, she slipped you something," Sam prompted.

O'Neill chuckled at Sam, shaking his head. There wasn't much that she missed. He reached into his pocket, withdrawing the tissue. "To be honest, I don't know," he answered. Leaning his forearms against the top of the car, he carefully unfolded the tissue. "With Mom, there's no telling. When I was little, she used to sneak me dollar bills to --" He stopped in mid-sentence, having unwrapped her surprise.

"What?" Carter watched with concern as the color slowly drained from Jack's face and he swallowed. "What's wrong?" She rounded the back end of the car, standing at his side.

Jack delicately picked up the objects between his thumb and index finger, antique gold glinting in the sunlight: it was an antique bridal set. "It's my mother's," he said. He paused, narrowing his eyes in thought; Sam could see the wheels turning. Abruptly, he dropped the rings back into the tissue, grasping it in his hand as he turned and ran back for the hospital doors.

"Colonel!" Sam called. She chased after him, pausing just inside the doors.

"Colonel Jack O'Neill, please report to room 602," came a pleasant but urgent voice over the hospital intercom. "Colonel Jack O'Neill, please report to room 602."

"Damn it!" Sam took off at a run again, spotting Jack as he rounded the corner to the elevator. "Colonel!" He didn't turn, instead, rushing into the elevator and clicking the "6" button. "*Jack!*" She watched as the doors closed, then started looking around. "Stairs...need stairs..." To her left, she spotted the emergency stairs. She jerked the doors open and began climbing as fast as her legs would take her.

***

Jack charged out of the elevator on the sixth floor, pushing off of the nurses' station counter as he made the abrupt turn to rush down the corridor toward his mother's room. Rushing into the room, he was met by a scrubs-clad nurse. "You'll have to wait outside, sir," she said firmly.

"But that's my mother," Jack insisted. "I was just being paged!" He looked up as the monitors beside her bed sounded ominously. He looked past her to as the code blue team charged up the defibrulator. He looked to Edward, who stood, his expression blank, against the far wall. "What's going on?"

"Clear!" came the call as the paddles came to rest on his mother's side and chest. He jumped as the voltage surged through the paddles to his mother and her body arched, drawn to the electric current. The monitor wavered slightly, then resumed the flatline tone.

The doctor turned to the nurse, shaking his head. "She's been down too long," he said. "I'm gonna call it. Time of death... twelve seventeen pm..."

Finally pushing past the nurse, Jack came to his mother's side, grasping her hand in his. "You knew," he said quietly, barely restraining his emotions. "You let me walk out that door, and you *knew*." A single tear rolled down his cheek, falling onto their joined hands. He glanced over his shoulder as Sam appeared, winded, and wiping her brow. He then looked to his mother's lifeless form. "Message received, Mom." Leaning down, he planted a gentle kiss on Madeline's forehead, kissing her good bye.

***********************

George Hammond snapped to grab the phone, answering it in mid-ring. "Hammond."

"Good afternoon, sir."

"Major! Glad to hear you made it in one piece."

"Yes, sir. I apologize for not calling yesterday; Colonel O'Neill had a personal matter to attend to."

"That's quite all right." Hammond furrowed his brow. He noted that she sounded as though she might have a cold. "How are you and the colonel faring?"

"Not well, sir. Jack...Colonel O'Neill's mother fell ill on Sunday; the phone call he received was to notify Colonel O'Neill of her condition." Sam cleared her throat. "She passed away early this afternoon."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Carter," Hammond said sincerely. "Please pass my condolences on to Colonel O'Neill."

"I will, sir." Sam sniffed. "Is there anything else?"

"No," the general said. "Take care of yourselves and let me know if there's anything I can do."

"Understood, sir. Good bye."

"Good bye, Major." Hammond replaced the receiver, pursing his lips as he stared at the concrete wall before him.

***

Sam sat on the edge of her guest bed, the cordless phone powered off in her hand. With a sigh, she rose from the bed, setting the receiver on the bedside table and crossing through the bathroom to O'Neill's room. She furrowed her brow, not finding him there. "Jack?" she questioned.

"In here," he replied.

Following the sound of his voice, she crossed out of his room and into the corridor. Looking to her left, she spotted him across the hall, seated on the edge of the floral-decorated bed. There were bags under his eyes, and his shoulders were slumped; he felt as though the world had just collapsed around him. She entered the room, easing herself onto the edge of the bed beside him. His eyes were directed at the bridal set as he fiddled with it in his hand. "You all right?"

Pursing his lips he nodded. "I will be," he said. He looked up at her with a slight smile. "She really liked you, ya know."

"Yeah, I know."

Jack suddenly found that his throat had gone dry; he licked his lips, attempting to moisten them. He directed his gaze back to the rings. "Sam..." he began slowly. He sighed. How could he put this? "I know things have, well, *changed* between us. We're a little more than friends, and a lot more than just CO and second-in-command. To be honest, I think we're kinda on shaky ground here." He paused a beat, looking to her briefly before looking back to his mother's gift. "I think you know what she wanted me to do with these."

Sam swallowed. Yes, the thought had occurred to her. The thought also occurred to her that neither one of them was ready to cross that line. Not yet. Silently, she nodded.

"I can't do this right now, Sam," he admitted. "We're teetering on the edge of some pretty dangerous ledges. Until we're sure of our footing, I can't do this."

"I don't expect you to, Jack." Carter admitted quietly. "Not now. Neither one of us is ready to take that step. You're still trying to see your way past Sara, and I'm still trying to weed through the mess Jolinar left behind." She sighed. "There may come a point where we both are in the clear, but, for now, I'm happy with what we have...whatever that may be."

Jack raised his eyes to hers, the confusion and affection he felt rising out of the dark brown depths. //I love you,// he thought. But neither were ready to hear the words. Instead, he whispered, "Thank you."

Sam could almost read his thoughts in his eyes. //No, not yet,// she thought. She reached up, placing her palm against his cheek. "You're welcome."

Reaching up, Jack placed his hand over hers, then took it, clutching it against his chest as he leaned forward, pressing his lips gently to hers.

***

"General!"

General Hammond stopped in the corridor, hearing his rank. He turned, finding Daniel Jackson breezing down the corridor to catch up with him. Once he did, the two fell into step, continuing on Hammond's original course. "What can I do for you, Doctor Jackson?"

"I was wondering, sir, if you had heard from Jack or Sam." Daniel pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose.

"Actually, Doctor, I received a call from Major Carter not two hours ago. It seems Colonel O'Neill's mother was ill and has passed away," Hammond explained as they rounded the corner, moving swiftly toward his office.

"But they're both okay?"

"As well as can be expected, I'm sure," the general replied, pushing open the door of his office. Jackson followed him in. Standing behind his desk, he turned to regard Jackson. "I fully expect to hear from either one of them again within the next forty-eight hours. Is there anything else I can do for you, Doctor?"

"Uhm, no, sir," Daniel said. "Thank you, sir." He turned, retracing his steps and meeting Teal'c half way.

"MajorCarter and ColonelO'Neill are well?"

"In a manner of speaking, Teal'c," Daniel answered. He grimaced. "Jack's mother passed away."

At this, Teal'c's expression clouded. "Passed away?"

"She died, Teal'c. She was apparently very ill." Daniel folded his arms across his chest, pursing his lips in thought. Jack's mother passed away and Sam was there...He shook his head. It was almost as bad as nursing him back to health; they still had not detoured from their collision course, had they?

"Then we should send our best wishes to ColonelO'Neill and his family."

Daniel blinked. "Hm? Oh, yes, we should. I'll contact General Hammond later about how to get in touch with them."

Teal'c looked to Daniel with his own furrowed brow. "Are you well, DanielJackson?"

"I'm well, Teal'c, just worried." He looked up. "Come on. Let's go organize some sympathy cards and flowers."

Arching a brow in curiosity, the Jaffa followed two steps behind Jackson.

***********************

The phone rang early the next morning. Blindly, O'Neill reached a hand out from under the comforter, searching by touch for the cordless phone he knew was on the bedside table. On the third ring he closed his hand around it, drawing it under the covers. "O'Neill."

"Jack? It's Daniel."

"Daniel?" Jack's brow furrowed. He raised his head, squinting at his digital watch. "Jesus, Daniel, it's five-thirty where you are...and it's *six*-thirty here. You have got to get a life, man."

"I've missed you, too, Jack," Daniel replied, shaking his head. //Same old, Jack,// he thought. "Still not a morning person, I take it?"

"No," Jack growled.

"Look, I just wanted to catch you before things got busy today," Daniel explained. "Some of the people here have gotten together, and wanted to know where we should send flowers and cards."

Jack closed his eyes and sighed. As usual, Daniel was being well-meaning with poor timing. "The Lewis Funeral home on Main," he replied. "I'm sure, with your computer skills, you can find the address."

"Lewis...Funeral...Main," Daniel muttered, writing it down. "Got it. How's Sam?"

"Uhm," Jack hesitated, furrowing his brow. He raised his head, looking to the sleeping form next to him, blonde hair tousled, oblivious to the conversation taking place next to her. "She's...fine," he answered. //What is he? Psychic?//

"Glad to hear it. General Hammond said she was a little upset yesterday."

"We all were." Jack yawned. "Look, Daniel, I need to go. Tell everyone thanks, will ya?"

"Okay, Jack. Talk to you in a few days."

Grumbling, Jack hit the "talk" button on the receiver, powering down the phone. He tossed it haphazardly into the floor. Stifling back another yawn, he rolled over, wrapping his arms around Sam. "What did Daniel want?" she asked sleepily.

"Wanted to know where to send flowers," came the muffled reply. "For someone with such great intentions, he certainly has bad timing." He kissed her bare shoulder. "I should get up and get moving; the calls will start coming soon."

Sam rolled onto her back, looking up at him as he propped his head up on his palm. She studied his eyes with her own, asking a question without asking.

Jack gave her a brief, warm smile. "I'm fine, Sam." The smile faded as their eye contact continued, taking on a hint of the intensity from the previous night. He leant down and kissed her. "More than fine."

***

It was eight-forty-seven when Jack squinted at his watch the second time. Yawning, he carefully slipped his arm out from under Sam, making his way into the bathroom. He quietly closed both bathroom doors, taking a towel from the small closet. He then leant down and adjusted the water. As he waited for the hot water to travel up the copper pipes, he leaned on the basin, looking at his reflection. His obviously greying, dark brown hair was tousled, his eyes tired. Somehow, he'd managed to get a decent tan, despite being locked in the bowels of CMC for most of the summer.

He broke from his self-appraisal, testing the water. Judging it to meet his liking, he turned on the shower head and stepped behind the sliding glass door. He sighed, closing his eyes as the water coursed over him, running through his hair, over his eyes, and down.

This trip hadn't gone anything like he'd planned. But then, things rarely did -- any Gate mission, for example. He'd planned on showing up, visiting with his mother, then going home, leaving her recuperating as he went back to his classified projects. Just like any other time she had been ill, he had expected her to pull through. In this case, it simply was not to be.

Tears stung at his eyes as he stepped out of the streaming water for a moment. It was so hard to believe she was gone. One moment, she had been swapping stories out of school with Sam, the next, an emergency team was trying their damnedest to revive her. But all the while, she had known.

And then there was Sam.

Showing up, uninvited, unsure of whether she would be welcomed or cast back to Colorado, she had appeared on the sidewalk looking helpless and worried. Before now, their relationship had not progressed beyond a few nights in front of the fire, a few romantic dinners, and a couple of movies; the guest bed in his uncle's home had not been what he had in mind for their first night together.

Grabbing the soap, he glided the bar over his body, soaping up each area he could reach. He closed his eyes again, this time, recalling the events from last night. The gentle kisses, the soft sighs, the expression on her face as she lost complete control; it was enough to drive him to arousal again. No, this had not been the way he wanted this to happen but, strangely, it all seemed right. //Funny how things work,// he thought.

***

Wearily, Edward Brooks removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes as he sat in the study, perusing through his sister's finances. Though they had lived under the same roof for over ten years, he'd had no idea what kind of shape his brother-in-law's death had left her in -- financially at least; Madeline O'Neill had insisted on keeping her own books. In reading through bank statements, account books, and various legal forms, it seemed she had been doing rather well for herself. There would even be enough to execute the provisions of her will.

Placing the letters back into the appropriate drawers, he stood, stretching. As he did, he heard water coursing through the copper piping. //Ah, finally,// he thought. Weaving his way across the study and through the living room, he wearily climbed the staircase. Rounding the corner into his room, he gathered his clothes, padding back across the hall toward the larger bathroom. In front of his nephew's room, however, he stopped short. He furrowed his brow. //What the...?//

The bed had not been slept in.

Had it been that way last night, when he came in? He shook his head, unable to remember; it had been well past two am when he had gotten home, promptly heading to his own room and his own bed. A few drinks at the local pub had even left him with a bit of a headache that morning...

//Surely he didn't...// Curious, Edward tried the knob on Carter's bedroom door. It was unlocked. He quietly opened it a couple of inches, peering in. Carter was curled up under her covers, sleeping peacefully -- alone. Just as he was turning to leave, however, the bathroom door opened, and Jack stepped out, a towel wrapped around his midsection. He watched as his nephew crossed to the bed, carefully lowering himself on the edge closest to Carter, reaching over and lightly caressing her cheek. She stretched, stirring, then looking up at him with a lazy smile.

Just as quietly as he had opened it, Edward pulled the door to. He shook his head. Didn't those two know what fraternization was? He grumbled as he headed toward the hall bathroom.

***

Sam smiled softly, feeling a gentle touch against her cheek. Dragging herself from the depths of sleep, she stretched, looking upward to the familiar features of Jack O'Neill. "Good morning," she said quietly.

Returning her smile, he leant across her propping himself up on one arm, his hand brushing back the stray strands of her blonde hair as he looked down into her eyes. "Good morning," he replied. He lowered his head, lightly brushing her lips with his own. "Sleep well?"

"Once someone stopped bugging me," she teased. She closed her eyes, drawing in his clean scent, sensing the warmth exhuding from his body.

"Have to have a word with the management," Jack commented. His eyes drifted over her relaxed features, imprinting the image in his memory. These would be the moments he held on to when life became rough at SGC.

Sam sighed. "I always figured we'd be struck by lightning..."

"Yeah, well, we're not back on base yet, are we?"

"No, we're not." She searched his eyes with her own. "We crossed that line last night, didn't we?"

Jack nodded once. "Yep, we did. Things get a whole lot more complicated from here on out." He paused. "Is it worth it, Sam?"

"Truthfully?"

Jack responded with a nod.

"Yes, sir, it's worth it." She smiled up at him; Jack let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

***********************

"Ow!" Wincing as grease leapt out of the iron skillet, Jack reached down and lowered the heat. He looked up as his Uncle Edward entered the kitchen. "'Mornin'," he said.

"Good morning," Edward said. He crossed the kitchen, reaching into a cupboard for "his" coffee cup, shuffling over to the coffeepot and pouring himself a cup. He carefully sipped the hot, dark liquid.

Jack arched a brow at his uncle, knowing that, on previous visits, the elder man had liked cream in his coffee. He also noted the bags under his uncle's eyes. "Late night last night?" he asked.

Edward nodded. "The boys down at the pub hefted a couple of pints in your mother's honor," he explained. "Amazing how an old body reacts to behavior befitting a young man."

"Ah, it's all in your head, Uncle Edward," Jack responded. He grinned. He refused to admit that there were a few things that his body didn't care for much anymore, either.

"You're only as old as you think you are?" Edward asked, raising his brows in inquiry.

"Exactly." Removing the skillet from the heat, Jack removed the bacon from the pan, placing it onto a paper towel-covered plate. He took the plate to the table where the rest of breakfast was waiting.

Spotting the ever-present stack of buttered toast, Edward picked up half a slice. He bit into it and chewed it thoughtfully. "Jack, you're not getting in over your head, are you?"

"Sir?" Jack furrowed his brow.

"You and the major," Edward replied. He watched his nephew over the rim of his coffee cup as he took another sip.

Jack blinked, putting his hands on his hips. "What do you mean, 'in over my head?'" he asked. "Sam's my second-in-command, Uncle Edward."

Edward nodded once. "Exactly." He pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes at Jack. "Your bed wasn't slept in last night, son."

"You noticed, huh?"

"Yeah." Brooks cleared his throat. "One might call that fraternization."

"Only if they can prove it's detrimental to good order and discipline," Jack shot back.

"Jack, you're arguing the letter of the law," Edward said. "If you get caught, it could mean your career. Could mean her career, too."

"That's not likely, Uncle Edward," Jack replied. "Things are run a little...differently...at my command."

"You know best," his uncle replied, sighing. "Just don't be stupid." He brushed past Jack, making his way into the study.

Jack tossed his juice glass into the sink, sending it shattering against the enamel-coated steel.

***

"Hey, got a minute?"

Daniel Jackson looked up from his Michael Crichton novel, finding Dr. Janet Frasier hovering next to his table, her meal tray in hand. He blinked, pulling himself out of the medical thriller. "Uh, yeah," he replied. "Go right ahead." He gestured to the empty chair opposite him.

"Thanks," Janet smiled, sliding into the seat, setting her tray on the table. Once seated, she readjusted herself, pulling the tails of her lab coat out from under her. She popped the tab on a clear soda, pouring it into an ice-filled plastic cup before regarding Daniel. "You heard from Sam or Colonel O'Neill?"

"Yeah, actually," Daniel replied. He folded the book closed on his finger, marking his place. "I called this morning to find out where to send the flowers."

"And?"

"And both seemed to be doing fine," he sipped his water. "At least, according to Jack."

Janet eyed him carefully. "But you're not so sure." It was a statement, not a question. She had heard the skepticism in Daniel's response.

"Well, we...they..." He sighed. "Look, I'm going out on a limb here. Jack would kill me if he knew.... Then again, Sam wouldn't mind, so..."

"Daniel, just spit it out."

"Okay." He drew in a deep breath. "A few weeks ago, we all went out to dinner: me, Teal'c, Jack and Sam. It'd been about three months since we'd been to O'Malley's --"

"Because the place had been declared off limits," Janet interjected. She sipped her soda.

"Exactly. So, in the mood for a good steak, we all made plans to meet there. I drove Teal'c; Jack drove over and got Sam. For some reason beyond *my* comprehension, they were thirty minutes late," Daniel explained. "I think it had something to do with a busted toilet, but I'm not sure."

"That was the night Sam babysat," Janet said. "Neighbors' kid." Jackson looked to her with a puzzled expression. "She called me to vent."

"Ahhh." Daniel nodded. "Anyway, we're sitting there -- just had a great dinner -- and the band picks up. Jack starts drumming his fingers on the table. To me, that's pretty irritating so I ask him to stop. Not thirty seconds later, he starts again. I clear my throat and he practically jumps to his feet, asking Sam to dance."

"In self-defense, of course," the doctor added with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

"Of course."

"So, he asked her to dance. I take it there's more to this story than just a simple dance?" She raised her brows. "The particular song the band chose seemed to have rather... connotative... rhythms, if you get my meaning. I'm sitting there, watching them dance, and as they dance, the space between them just disappears."

"That's not unusual."

"Not in and of itself, but..." Daniel sighed, running a hand through his hair. "There's always seemed to be an undercurrent..." he stopped, seeing Janet's uncomprehending expression. He shook it off. "You'd have to be a team member to understand.

"As I was saying, they dance, the space between them disappears. Then, as I'm sitting there, watching, he leans down and -- " Daniel leaned forward, lowering his voice " -- kissed her."

Janet blinked. "He did *what*?" she said in a hushed tone.

Daniel glanced around. "Shhh," he said. His voice lowered to a whisper. "He kissed her."

"On the cheek, kissed her? Or *kissed* her?"

Daniel blinked, looking to Janet with a "what-do-you-think" expression.

Janet reached up, massaging her temples with the middle finger and thumb of her left hand, suddenly feeling a headache coming on. Actually, this particular headache had been forming for a little over three years, and she knew it. She had just hoped nothing would come of it until *after*... She lowered her hand. "And Colonel O'Neill just experienced a traumatic event..."

"Which Sam was sent to nurse him through," Daniel said, completing Dr. Frasier's sentence. "General Hammond doesn't know it, but he just became an accessory."

"But we don't *know* anything has happened."

"True."

A moment of silence fell over the table. Daniel stared at his glass of water, Janet at her plate; a pin could have been heard dropping. After a moment, she pushed it aside with a sigh. "I don't think I'm hungry any more." She looked to Daniel. "Care to come with me to the Infirmary? I think I need something for this headache...and we can discuss matters there."

"Sure." He grabbed his book as she rose and grabbed her tray. He gestured toward the exit. "After you."

"Thanks."

***********************

As the rain dripped from the plastic sheet protecting his combination cover, Jack idly wondered why it was customary for it to rain at funerals... or for funerals to be scheduled on the one day the forecasters called for a seventy-percent chance of rain. Beside him stood Sam, clad in her dress uniform, complete with skirt; like Jack, she wore a plastic cover, elasticized to fit the odd shape of her service hat, and the rain rolled off onto her issue-raincoat. She turned to him, squeezing his arm in a reassuring manner, a soft smile across her lips.

O'Neill clasped his hands together, holding them down in front. He watched with military detachment as the priest stepped to his appointed place at the head of the grave. "And the Lord God said, 'Whomsoever shall believe in me shall have everlasting life,'" said the priest. He held a well-worn, miniature bible to his chest, shielding it the best he could from the rain. "Having known Madeline O'Neill these past twenty years, I know that she, indeed, shall have eternal life." He reached down, scooping a handful of moist dirt into his hand. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," he said, gently spreading the dirt across the top of the casket as it was lowered, mechanically into the ground. He then spoke a benediction in Latin -- a language Jack had long since forgotten. "In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost," the priest concluded, waving his hand in the air, shaping a cross, "amen."

The gathered friends and family lowered their heads. "Amen," they said in unison.

Jack's eyes fixed on the casket as it continued its journey downward. He looked to the large, granite headstone where his father's name had already been chiseled. The dates of birth and death jumped out at him, set in stone. Beside it was merely the name "Madeline Brooks-O'Neill, Born 12 January 1929;" the date of her death had not yet been added.

//So this is it,// he thought. He shook his head. It didn't seem that long ago that he and his father had played catch in the yard, or even that long since his mother kissed him goodbye as he shipped off on his first tour... but it had been. The years had passed quickly, more quickly than he had realized, really.

His eyes drifted to the younger cousins that he had teased and played with as a young boy. They now stood, clad in black, under black umbrellas, clutching their children to them, the wives comforted by their husbands. In the front row, seated in cold metal chairs were their parents, greying and wrinkling with age, looking considerably different than the parents he remembered.

That was all he thought he had ever wanted: a wife to love him, grow old with him; a son, a daughter to raise as his own, to carry on when his life left off. With Sara and Charlie, he had thought he had it. He had been in for a rude awakening when his career in covert operations did not lend itself easily to a wife and child. But, then, what was his life without his military career? This was what he was *good* at, what he knew he could do, what he felt was right. That *was* what his mother taught him to do, wasn't it? Do what he felt was right? He sighed. Staying on the Stargate project had been right. Distancing himself from his family -- his mother, his uncle -- that wasn't right.

His left fist tightened around the two gold rings he held there. He'd do what he felt was right with Sam, as well.

Swallowing, he reached down, scooping up a handful of earth with his right hand. He regarded it a moment, feeling the texture, studying the color and the way it deepened with each raindrop. //To doing what's right, Mom,// he thought. He tossed the dirt in on top of the coffin, allowing it to slip from his fingers. A tear touched the corner of his eye. //Good bye, Mom.//

Each of the elder cousins, friends, acquaintances stepped forward, adding their own handful of earth to the layer which began to coat the grey casket. They each nodded their sympathy across to Jack, turning, consoling Edward, then moving toward their cars.

Eyes forward, O'Neill wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders. "Come on, Major. Let's go home."

Sam turned, looking at his profile in scrutiny. "Yes, sir."

********** *EPILOGUE* **********

The outside world drowned out by the music flowing from her headphones, Sam Carter glanced up as the "No Smoking" sign went off above her seat. She slid the headphones down around her neck, looking beside her, to O'Neill. He had his head resting on one of the small airline pillows, a scowl still on his face; he wasn't very comfortable.

"I think you can lean your seat back now," Sam told him quietly.

"Nope," Jack said, not moving. "The guy behind me is about six-three and three hundred pounds. I'd rather be uncomfortable than injured."

"I could take you to the infirmary when we get back."

Jack cast her a sideways glance, moving only his eyes. "No, thanks."

Sam sat, watching his profile, studying the subtle lines and shadows in the dimmed cabin lighting. "Jack?"

"Hmm?"

"You're not sorry you didn't go to the wake?"

At this, O'Neill's eyes opened and he sat a moment, thinking. Pursing his lips he sat up, tossing the pillow across Sam, into the empty aisle seat. He shook his head. "No, I'm not." He paused. "Not that I wouldn't have minded tossing back a couple of pints with Uncle Ed..."

"Pints?"

"Yeah, pints. Ya know, Guinness, Harp; those type of pints." He grinned wistfully. "I remember the first time Uncle Ed let me try Guinness. I was almost sick right then and there."

Sam chuckled at the thought of O'Neill not being able to hold his liquor. "Seriously, though, wouldn't you have rather stayed one more day?"

"Nah. No need. I've said my good byes," he said. Reaching under the seat before him, he withdrew his signature black leather jacket. From the inside pocket, he produced a long, flat box, wrapped in slate blue paper and tied with a matching ribbon. He handed it to Carter. "For you."

"Me?"

O'Neill nodded in response. He watched, a smile tilting the corners of his lips, reaching his dark eyes with a gleam, as she untied the ribbon and carefully tore away the blue paper. She lifted open the box almost reverently. Inside, tied together with more of the matching ribbon, were the rings Mrs. O'Neill had slipped her son.

"I know neither one of us is ready," Jack began, "but Mom wanted you to have them." Gingerly, he lifted the joined rings from the box, untying the ribbon. He swallowed, looking to Sam. "Why don't ya just...hold on to 'em for a while." He slipped the rings onto her right hand.

Sam's blue eyes shone, looking down at the rings, then back up to O'Neill. "Thank you, Jack." She leant in and kissed him gently.

********************

END

Crossing Over