Jack's Terrible Past and Troubling Future

Title: Jack's Terrible Past and Troubling Future

Author: Su Freund

Email: su_freund@ficwithfins.com

Category: Angst, Romance, Drama

Content Level: Age 13+

Content Warnings: Language, and sexual situations

Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine)

Season: 8

Spoilers: Cold Lazarus, The Devil You Know, Affinity

Summary: Jack exposes a painful past, and dreads confronting an old friend

Sequel/Series Info: Sequel to Part 6 of Jack/Catherine series: Jack Has a Ball

Status: Complete story, but continuing series

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright 2007 Su Freund

Author's Note: Many thanks to Lynette (Flatkatsi) for her insightful beta comments and suggested corrections. She always makes me think, which is never a bad thing - I often need that kick up the butt!

Jack's Terrible Past and Troubling Future

The press cuttings spread out before him were mind blowing; the sheer number of them, what they covered, what they said. Jack knew he shouldn't take them too seriously, treat them as gospel, but they revealed a life he could barely imagine. Talk about "other side of the tracks".

Jack had never so much as glanced at society and gossip columns, or those fancy, lurid "how the other half lives" magazines. They so weren't his kind of thing. Sara had sometimes got a kick out of such trivia, and he figured if she'd still been around to ask she might have known who Catherine was and a few tidbits about her, the Fellowes family and her ex husband, the dreaded Pete Rodgers. Of course, he would never have asked. Besides, if Sara was still around, Jack probably wouldn't have had reason to ask.

So, he'd done his own research by scouring the internet for references to Fellowes and Rodgers; articles from newspapers, magazines and the other sources a savvy surfer could access. Jack wasn't the IT illiterate some people might think he was. He simply didn't enjoy using a computer that much unless he needed or wanted to, which was actually quite frequently in his work.

No organization in the 21st century can get by without computers. The Air Force was no exception, despite the forms it required completing in triplicate and the assorted, but seemingly necessary, paperwork that congested O'Neill's in tray on a regular basis. For Jack, using a PC could be like just another form of that paperwork, but when it came to finding information that he wanted, O'Neill got a little kick from searching the World Wide Web.

Computers have many uses, and Jack efficiently exploited a variety of them. Sure, he wasn't computer whiz extraordinaire, not like Carter, but he neither needed nor wanted to be. His view was that others could get on with the programming, debugging, hacking and all those other things that required a particular expertise. They were paid to do that kind of thing, while he wasn't, instead utilizing what was expedient. That was sufficient.

While seeking out, plundering and saving so much information, Jack also printed much of it, wryly thinking he'd probably used enough paper to populate a small rain forest and giving himself a mental slap on the wrist for the overindulgence. But he wanted hard copy, information on paper that he could pick up and read at will without having to boot up his laptop to access it.

Okay, so he was a little old fashioned sometimes, so what? Besides, he didn't want to grow square eyed, and too much computer time screwed with one's eyes, right? Right. This was probably nonsense, and O'Neill knew it, but he spent enough of his time with eyes fixed to a small screen without wanting to read reams and reams of detail on one in his off duty hours. That this particular subject was close to his heart was even more reason for having hard copy. That way, he could savor the info where and whenever he wished, whether it be in printed form or the pages he'd carefully saved for reference.

O'Neill drolly thought the day people stopped wanting or needing real paper would be the day the world would fall apart. For one thing, what would happen to all the paper pushers? Half the Pentagon would become unemployed at one stroke, for crying out loud. And if you want to read a book, you read a book, right? Turning the printed page worked for him, just as it had for millions of others for years. Like many readers, he enjoyed the feel of the paper between his fingers, and the scent of the printed page - that was part of the reading experience for Jack.

So, not all this info about Catherine and her family exactly compared to Dickens or Dickinson, and computer print isn't the same thing as book or newsprint, but something inside Jack wanted to savor the experience in a similar way. Part of the pleasure. Hence, the various pieces of paper strewn around him like overlarge confetti.

He figured Daniel would have been proud of his researching capabilities. He would probably laugh his ass off, actually. Once he overcame the initial shock that his old friend knew his way around the internet, that is. But Daniel would probably never know because no way was anyone ever going to know about Jack's new secret hobby. Sheesh, as if he was going to admit to that - either the IT know-how or his interest in Catherine's public past.

O'Neill had a reputation to protect, after all, and one that he'd carefully cultivated. Many years before, he'd discovered that when others underestimated him that could be used to his advantage in many different ways, for good or ill, with friends and foe.

Jack knew there was a file on Catherine still available to him at the SGC if he wanted to read it. His fingers might be itching to peek, but he wouldn't. O'Neill didn't want the dry, stuffy version of Catherine he might read about in such a report, he wanted living, breathing, fascinating Catherine - and it was kind of fun to find out for himself. Besides, he'd promised never to read that report, and Jack was a man of his word. He'd made no such promise about independent research, however, and all this material about the Fellowes family was public knowledge, plastered all over the free press - God love 'em and bless every one of 'em.

Jack snorted derisively at that thought, having learned early on to take most news media with a large pinch of salt. Don't believe everything you read in the paper, see on the news. There's no such thing as objective journalism. Everyone has an angle. Everyone has their own interpretation, and axe to grind. He'd seen quite a lot of crap over the years. Good stuff too, but it was hard to sort the good from the bad unless you knew for yourself; hence the pinch of salt.

Of course, the idea had occurred to Jack because of the newspaper item about him and Catherine at the ball in New York. If there was one article about Catherine, there had to be others, right? The story had alluded to that. So, his new pastime had started: searching out everything about Catherine and her family and past that had appeared in print.

Before that, Jack had deemed himself content to learn about his lover in that ad hoc way lovers do, allowing her to reveal herself as she saw fit, just as she did with him. But human beings are curious, enquiring creatures, and Jack was no different to anyone else. What he already knew made him want to know more and, as he realized there was more to be found in the media, why the heck not take a little look-see?

Admittedly, he felt a tad guilty about it, but didn't really think there was much harm done. To be honest, O'Neill wasn't totally sure how Catherine would feel about his newfound leisure pursuit. He understood, however, that she valued privacy and could be reticent about her past, so wasn't certain he was doing the right thing. What he could find on the net might be public knowledge, but that didn't mean he was right to dig it up.

Jack respected her privacy, and knew she would reveal what she wanted to reveal. Such disclosures had become more frequent as their relationship had progressed, but she still defended that privacy. Of all people, O'Neill understood this desire very well. He wasn't exactly Mr. Forthcoming, after all. But this was why he'd opted to search out the public face, because surely no one could class that as pushing the envelope and prying where Catherine wouldn't want him to pry?

Jack wrestled with this conundrum, although much of the info he'd found so far lacked substance, or appeared to be pure fluff - the kind of detail Catherine might be willing to share if he asked, and probably would share one day even if he didn't. This was why he believed there was nothing harmful about his little sideline.

What Jack called fluff were snippets about events attended, with whom, what folks wore, what their palatial houses looked like, all that. Frivolities, perhaps, but they were an insight. Of course, there was a serious side too. Even the wealthy Fellowes and Rodgers of this world had to make a living, right? The business pages and similar serious news had Fellowes and Rodgers written all over them. So much of it, that what he'd found so far could take a while to sift through, and he hadn't even finished searching yet.

O'Neill figured all of those more serious news items might be way more illuminating about Catherine's family than the fluffy column inches he'd found. His first thoughts, however, were for Catherine herself, so this was what he was going to focus on for now.

The cute picture of her standing between her parents holding their hands caught his attention. Catherine had been a beautiful child. Her raven hair was bunched into two pony tails, and her clothing was vaguely reminiscent of Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. The smile, however, was one he was very familiar with.

On the face of this child, that smile made him want to pick her up, swing her around in his arms, give her a peck on the cheek, and buy her an ice-cream. On the face of the present day Catherine, it had a totally different effect; one that could make him shiver and shudder with desire.

Oh yeah, what a sweetheart! Jack smiled and tossed the item to one side, into a pile designated for the very much younger Catherine. This was kind of a sorting phase of the project. Most of the in-depth reading would come later.

Catherine had certainly moved in some interesting circles. Jack hadn't even heard of many of these people, the obscure wealthy that probably ran the United States of America behind the scenes, only famous if you were curious about that kind of thing, which generally he wasn't. On the other hand, there were some folks that even Jack O'Neill had heard of; the glitterati, the movie stars.

Then another item caught his eye and Jack's eyebrows arched in surprise, a low whistle coming from his mouth. Whoa! Catherine had gone to Harvard? Jack supposed that figured, but it was her chosen field of study that shocked him because it wasn't art, as he had supposed, but engineering. Catherine was a freakin' scientist - a PhD for crying out loud! Doctor Catherine Fellowes. That was kind of weird. What a turn up. Quite some surprise.

Laughter echoed around his room, starting deep in his gut, working its way up through his diaphragm into his chest, up to his throat and then leaping full throttle out of his mouth, accompanied by the dimpling of his cheeks in a huge honkin', shit faced grin.

Oh man, this was something he had to find a subtle way of winkling out of her. Subtle wasn't necessarily Jack's natural style. Then again, some might consider that as one of his areas of expertise. There was subtle and subtle. O'Neill was Special Ops trained, after all, and had worked in that area for quite a while. Much subtlety was involved in such work. On the other hand, he had a reputation for what some might consider as a sledgehammer approach.

Jack was flexible; it depended entirely on the situation. He'd find a way to attain his goal, and now one of his goals became delving into this little conundrum. Engineer turned artist. That was an interesting evolution.

He wondered what kind of engineering she'd specialized in and why she'd abandoned that career path. Had she given it all up for that nasty Pete guy? Had she studied art later on or was it a hobby turned career? The discovery raised a number of questions, and had him intrigued.

Jack figured she couldn't be teaching art without formal training, but knew very little about such things. There was one way to find out and that was to ask. But he'd have to be subtle because he didn't want her knowing about his little sideline in research, or not yet. One day he'd tell her his secret - one day when he was more confident of his ground.

Immersed as he was, when Jack looked at his watch he was taken aback to discover how late it was getting. Catherine was due to arrive soon. She was coming over to his place for the very first time and that seemed like something significant, although Jack wasn't sure what, but he wanted to make a good impression.

Gathering up the printouts into their various sorted piles, he quickly placed them in his desk draw, and started checking over the house to make sure it was as neat, clean and tidy as he wanted. Then he sauntered off to get ready for her arrival, grinning idiotically to himself.

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As he ran a towel over damp hair, Jack pondered an issue he simply had to deal with when he got into work the following day: Major Samantha Carter. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd done to piss her off, but knew he'd done something. It was bugging him that he couldn't figure it out.

Carter had been in a snit with him for way too long and O'Neill couldn't allow it to simmer any longer in case it boiled over. He didn't like the idea of tackling it head on, that wasn't necessarily his way, but he was base Commander and had to consider the welfare of the whole base, not just Jack O'Neill and his old team. Her recent mood was so not a good thing for the base as a whole, probably not for SG-1 either, or him either as an individual or commander, come to that.

O'Neill's ex-second in command might shy away from outright insubordination, but recently she'd come closer than he could ever recall experiencing over the years they'd worked together. That was a key concern in itself.

So, what had got her riled up with him? Jack was at a loss to explain. All he knew was that he couldn't let it slide anymore. He was the boss and if he needed to remind her of that fact, then he would; if necessary, in words of one syllable that might turn her grey before her time.

At first, he'd wondered if it was something to do with him and Catherine. Carter's snit had started shortly after publication of the article about the charity shindig, so the link was a possibility. But Jack found that hard to believe. Okay, so there had always been a frisson of something between the two of them, but Carter was the one who'd gotten herself engaged, wasn't she? Damn it all, he'd met Catherine at Carter's engagement party, for crying out loud!

Sam had found what she wanted in life and was living it so, if there ever had been any expectation of something more happening between them, it was her decision to walk away, not his. O'Neill couldn't bring himself to believe she resented that he was doing the same thing.

Sure, there might be some nagging doubt and concern about the situation but, if there was, Carter would never bring it out into the open like this, just like O'Neill wouldn't. They'd both locked that down tight a long time ago, with only the occasional accidental slip, normally in extremis. They were a team and they cared about each other. So what? They should care, shouldn't they? Just not inappropriately, is all. Well, they did their damnedest.

Carter hadn't even turned up at the little team get-together Jack had organized shortly after that weekend in New York. Ostensibly, Daniel had suggested it so they could all meet Catherine and, while Jack had some misgivings about that notion, he realized it probably had to happen sooner or later, so opted for sooner. At the time, the excuse for Carter's absence had seemed reasonable enough, and he hadn't thought much of it. Yes, he'd felt a twinge of anger and resentment, but hadn't taken it personally. Now he wondered if he had been wrong.

As it happened, Catherine couldn't make it either, so it had turned into a guy's night in, and that suited O'Neill just fine. Those kinds of evenings were few and far between these days, so he relished the moment. Catherine's absence was a disappointment for Daniel, as he was overly curious about Jack's love life, as ever.

Jack had promised to make that meeting happen as soon as he could; halfheartedly, for sure, but a promise is a promise. The fact that he hadn't made it happen yet was neither here nor there in the grand scheme of things. He'd been busy. They all had. Alone time with Catherine was more important to him, and pressure of work had kept that kind of quality time to a minimum lately, so Jack was determined to take advantage of what time they had.

Screw Daniel and his curiosity! Right now, his main concern was his friends on SG-1, specifically Carter, and O'Neill didn't relish the potential confrontation. If only he could figure what was wrong, why she glared at him in that discomforting way and snapped at him so disconcertingly, seemingly at the slightest excuse.

Lately, she'd become downright businesslike and officious; overly so - and rude, or bordering on rude. Sure, sometimes Sam allowed her interpersonal skills to slide because work preoccupied her, but this was going too far. The humor and fun had gone out of their relationship and O'Neill didn't like it, especially as it increasingly seemed aimed at him personally rather than just a general, all-round peevishness.

Having discounted any link to his relationship with Catherine because it seemed implausible, Jack had searched his mind for a reason, but come up empty. It was downright irritating. Getting to the bottom of the problem was now number one on his list of priorities, assuming no other crap hit the fan first thing in the morning. Only Murphy's Law could intervene now, and knowing his luck, it would.

O'Neill hoped not because he had to sort this thing soonest, even though he was a little anxious about doing that. This was what base commanders had to do, wasn't it? Sheesh! Yet another in the long list of reasons why being THE MAN could suck. As leader of SG-1, he might have ignored it until something happened to clear the air, which it inevitably would, even if they never discussed the problem.

The simple expedient of being out in the field, working closely together, saving the universe, each other and the like, would have ironed it all out. They couldn't have worked so well together for all those years if that weren't the reality. Shit happened, putting past transgressions into perspective, so they got lost and forgiven during the struggle and aftermath.

Now he was desk bound O'Neill had to find alternative ways of dealing with such situations, and he always did. So, he would this time too, even if a head on confrontation was the only way of solving the situation. Jeez, what a life! When did things get so darned complicated? Right after earning a star, it seemed. Was it worth all the crap? Probably, but no way was Jack going to admit this to anyone, barely acknowledging it to himself.

Thrusting such thoughts away, he ran a comb through his hair and pulled his clothes on, pausing to look in the mirror and sighing. Not entirely satisfied, and speculating that he never would be, Jack guessed what he saw there would have to do; grey hair and increasing lines on his face, not as fit and muscular as he had once been.

The battle against age was a no win one, no matter how hard he tried, and Jack tried, still exercising every day in one way or another, however busy he was or how late he worked.

Gravity sucks. Flesh is weak and vulnerable, inevitably heading south eventually, although the knowledge didn't stop him from trying to halt its progress. O'Neill was a fighter, an intrinsic element of his character that virtually always won. Never give up. There had been times, for good reason, but he was still here, still alive, still fighting; until his last breath, and all that.

Catherine seemed to think he was pretty handsome and hot, so that's what mattered, right? Her continuing habit of making him feel good about himself, of genuinely expressed flattery, was something he prized highly. She'd smile and tell him the lines and grey hair indicated his maturity and experience that each one was earned, hard fought and won, all the time smoothing over said lines and hair in a way that showed she meant every word. Her reaction to his body amply demonstrated her thoughts.

She found him attractive, that much was obvious. If she believed he was a hunk, something she articulated on a regular basis, why worry?

Smiling, he started humming softly to himself, totally oblivious to his action. Glancing at his watch made his sub-conscious smile broaden. Ten minutes and counting. Jack could hardly wait for her to arrive and, when she did, the smile was still there, plastered all over his happily contented face - that was until he opened the front door. Then, the apprehension he'd been trying to suppress hit him full force and he struggled to hide his unease.

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"You found it all right," Jack said unnecessarily as he opened the door to Catherine's knock. Of course, she found it, for crying out loud; she was here on his doorstep, wasn't she? Dead on time too.

For some inexplicable reason, Jack was as nervous as hell and, consequently, edgy. Not for the first time, he realized there was something significant about Catherine coming to his place for the very first time. Why she'd never been there before, he wasn't sure. It was probably because he hadn't invited her, except to meet SG-1 that one time, which hadn't happened in the end. That invitation had probably been symbolic too.

"Aren't you going to let me in, flyboy?" she asked in a tone that made him wonder if she knew he was tense.

"Sure, what am I thinking? Doh!" he responded in a jocular manner, slamming his forehead with the palm of his hand, Homer Simpson style.

A fellow Simpson's fan, Catherine grinned as she entered, and he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. "Sorry. Not much of a host," he commented as their lips parted.

"You seem pretty damned hospitable to me," she replied with a smirk. "Nice place," she added as she looked around at what she could see from the entrance.

"You'll get the guided tour later," he promised, steering her toward his living room.

"I trust that will include the bedroom, Jack," she said suggestively.

Glancing at her, he grinned. "I think I might be able to accommodate that," he responded, winking.

Of course, when they entered the living room, Catherine didn't sit down, but prowled around looking at everything in sight, peering through the hatch into the kitchen, out the window at his yard, and then staring at photos and Jack's other belongings with intense curiosity.

"Wanna drink?" he asked, hoping to distract her. Not that Jack blamed her for being curious about his home and possessions, that was natural, but the intense scrutiny made him feel even more fidgety.

She turned with a smile on her lips. "I see my painting has pride of place," she commented proudly, referring to the self-portrait he'd bought in New York, which hung where Jack could see it when sitting on his couch.

Amused that he squirmed slightly uncomfortably, like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, she walked over and grasped his hand, kissing his cheek.

"It's a fine painting," he said, smothering his anxiety. "I want it where I can see it. In here, everyone else can see it too."

"Show off," she teased. "Like what you see?" Evocatively, she waggled her eyebrows at him.

"Always, Catherine," replied Jack with a grin, pausing to drape an arm over her shoulder and look at her with great affection. Catherine shivered with a spark of longing. "You're a beautiful woman."

"Thanks," she said, a slight flush invading her cheeks.

If Catherine was honest, she was nervous too. Beginning to relax, admittedly, but nervous nonetheless. It comforted her to detect Jack's edginess, which she assumed was for the same reasons. His dinner invitation to his place, that he intended it as a "date" with just the two of them, had thrown her. They had spent more time together in her apartment than anywhere else, not venturing out very often.

They didn't really date as such, and she hadn't even known where Jack lived until her gave her his address a few days before. So this was definitely something new, and exciting, and nerve wracking.

Jack and Catherine weren't all about sex, but it had seemed that way for a long while. She had settled for that, indeed was more than happy with it at first. Catherine hadn't been looking for anything other than a casual fling when she'd decided to pick Jack up in that bar; no commitment, no getting to know each other, and definitely no dating.

Increasingly, however, it seemed she wanted their relationship to evolve naturally into something more than simply making last minute arrangements to spend the night in her bed, or elsewhere in her apartment, getting down and dirty with hot sex.

She loved the sex, no denying that. Jack was good in bed and they seemed synchronous as far as that aspect of the relationship was concerned. Catherine, however, wanted more. Recently, she seemed to be getting that more she craved, but not enough. Would it ever be enough? She wasn't sure, and the notion disturbed her.

In her humble opinion, she was getting way too serious about this man. Once, not so long ago, Catherine would have backed off as soon as she realized that little factoid, but there was no backing off from Jack, which proved that he was different to the other men she'd seen since her marriage broke up - very different.

Either he was atypical or her feelings for him were, probably both. She couldn't bring herself to back off and seemed addicted to the man who was General Jack O'Neill, her desire to grow closer, for their relationship to evolve, apparently increasing exponentially as they got closer and their relationship evolved. That kind of thing seemed to sneak up on a person, catching them off guard, until turning back was no longer an option.

Once, she might have resented that, but not when it came to this relationship with Jack. Sure, she had mixed feelings about getting closely involved with another man after her experience with Pete, but she enjoyed her rapport with Jack too much to shy away.

Dating still wasn't really their thing though, and she regretted that now, often wondering if she should instigate that change, but reluctant to push it. There was always the possibility she could drive him away, and that was the last thing she wanted.

Perhaps they had simply skipped the dating part and leapt fully blown into the something more she seemed to want. Catherine wasn't certain this was the way Jack might see it; wasn't wholly convinced of it herself either. The lack of dating seemed to be a missing link.

Maybe dating was outmoded for two people of their age and experience, but Catherine would have liked to go out more. There was a time when she had wondered if Jack wanted to hide her away, keep their relationship secret, but it was apparent that wasn't true. Perhaps she needed to talk to him about this, get it out in the open, but Catherine continued to put it off.

The relationship seemed based mainly on the impromptu, rather than anything resembling planning; with the large, very enjoyable and illuminating exception of the weekend in New York. Inevitably, it seemed, Jack would invite himself to her place, or she would ask him to drop round; almost as if they were a still a casual thing. She no longer considered them a casual thing, so these days it kind of bothered her sometimes.

Catherine had been thrilled to be invited to his little team get together, a chance to meet his friends and come out in the open in the Springs. Equally, she'd been pissed with herself for the necessity of missing that occasion. Perhaps it was just as well. Being at his house for the first time with his friends hanging around might have been even more awkward than this was.

So, this invitation a few days before had taken her by surprise; a pleasant surprise, but also slightly unsettling. Like the weekend in New York, this experience was somewhat outside of their comfort zone. The weekend had worked out very well, signifying an intensification of their relationship, and she hoped this occasion would too, but one can never wholly rely on things working out the way one hopes. For sure, his invitation was significant; she knew that. So was his nervousness. Very cute.

Snuggling her head against his chest, her eyes continued to range over his living room. It was interesting to meet the lion in his lair. His possessions, what he held most dear, could tell her a lot about the man.

Then, spotting something in the room that caught her attention, Catherine lifted her head and moved; eyebrows furrowed slightly, making her forehead crease into an expression of puzzlement and curiosity. Without a glance at Jack, she walked away and slowly moved toward the object of interest.

Curious himself, Jack turned to try and fathom what she was looking at. With the exception of her portrait, the contents of the room hadn't changed much for years and he took most of those possessions for granted. Catherine on the other hand, had never been to this house, so everything was new. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, he realized what she'd seen that distracted her so much.

"Who are they?" she asked, picking up the photograph of a smiling Jack with an equally happy looking Sara and Charlie.

'Holy crap!' Jack thought. It wasn't that he wanted to hide the fact of Sara and Charlie. Catherine knew he'd been married, but he had never told her about his son. Charlie might have died many years before, but Jack had never forgiven himself for that terrible loss, even if he might sometimes allow himself to forget. He rarely discussed or referred to that part of his past, even if the memories could still surface all too readily, and Jack wasn't sure he wanted to get into it now, because his heart still stirred and stuttered at those memories.

"That's Sara, my ex," he answered, because he couldn't simply ignore her question, but then Jack fell silent with no further explanation. For a while, Catherine said nothing, staring at the photograph as if trying to burn the image into her memory.

Jack waited in dread for the enquiry he knew was coming, realizing deep down that, however much he didn't want to go there now, it was unavoidable. While waiting, he stood perfectly still with his hands in his pockets, feeling awkward and unsettled. If Catherine had been watching, she might have realized something was wrong, because stillness was something one rarely saw in O'Neill. When it descended, that apparent calm generally meant something, and tranquility was not normally the something it conveyed.

Then, as if waking from a trance, she turned her head towards him and asked the question he knew was coming.

"You told me you didn't have any children. Who's the boy?"

Immediately, Jack knew Catherine was wondering if he'd lied to her, and why. Despite that, his reply wasn't very forthcoming.

"Charlie." His voice was low, almost imperceptible, and his eyes didn't meet hers, but looked at the floor. To Catherine, Jack's demeanor seemed to confirm the lie she believed she'd caught him in, and when he continued, she got annoyed because he glanced up, smiled innocently and spoke in a much brighter, louder tone, like a genial host.

"Can I get you something to drink?" He appeared about to move away to do that even though she hadn't replied, and had refused his earlier offer.

"Now wait a just minute, Jack O'Neill..." she snapped angrily, grabbing his arm.

The look on his face gave her pause. His eyes seemed to have darkened and had a sad, helpless appearance. She recalled once telling him he had talkative eyes, and they spoke volumes now. The problem was she couldn't understand what they were trying to say.

Catherine found it hard to trust, with good reason, but she had learned to trust Jack. Giving that trust had marked this relationship as something of importance and special, so now was not the time to doubt. Although she was struggling to understand, her anger quickly subsided and turned to apprehension.

"What is it, Jack?"

Her question caught O'Neill off guard because her tone had swung from rapidly irritation to concern. He hadn't expected her to read so much about him in those brief moments. It seemed she had come to know him better than he'd realized. Perhaps that was a good thing, but he'd have to consider it.

"Charlie was my son. He died," he said, almost matter-of-fact like, too much so considering his words.

Catherine didn't respond in words, although her mouth seemed to be forming an "O", and her face briefly wore an expression of shock and horror. Instead, she moved towards Jack and wrapped him in her arms. Slender fingers caressed his back, the nape of his neck, and up through his hair, and a small sigh came from Jack's mouth involuntarily.

This woman could make him feel good with a simple touch. He needed that in his life. He'd needed it for a long time, but hadn't wanted to admit that, hadn't sought it. This had simply happened. It had crept up on him, catching him unawares and unprepared. Life was like that, he guessed, and he wasn't complaining, although was perturbed by it. This ambivalence of emotion, the confusion and complexity, had been lurking around almost since they'd first met. He might have been surprised to learn that Catherine's feelings were similarly ambiguous - or maybe not.

Jack might have pushed her away in a situation where he felt vulnerable and exposed, as that could be his inclination when confronted by raging emotions he'd rather keep locked up. Instead, he welcomed her attempt to give him comfort, his previously stilled arms and hands moving to embrace her, tightening with need, and they remained wordlessly in that position for a while before she pulled back.

Keeping one arm around Jack, she urged him towards the couch, sitting him down. Then, joining him and sitting close by his side, she took a hand in hers and caressed it with a brush of her lips.

"Do you want to tell me about it? Talk?" she asked.

Jack shook his head. "Not really."

"Okay."

Her tone was so accepting of his desire for reticence that Jack looked up at her and smiled. He was grateful for her tolerance; that she wouldn't push.

"Let's not spoil our evening together," he commented.

"If you need to talk... that wouldn't spoil anything, Jack."

Flittering through his mind was a thought that she might not believe this if he told her the truth. Then the real truth dawned. Catherine genuinely cared. She had feelings for him that ran deep. If he confided in her, she probably wouldn't shy away. In fact, it might bring them closer together. The notion appealed to Jack, even if he wasn't ready to talk about Charlie.

Nodding an acknowledgement of her words, he moved them away from the seriousness that had invaded their world and changed the subject, secretly continuing to ruminate about it while remaining focused on Catherine.

"I'm not much of a cook," he confessed, "so I figured either take out or a little bistro type place not far from here for dinner. What do you think?"

Stunned by the question after her earlier thoughts about dating, Catherine wasn't sure how to respond. Clearly, he wasn't going to reveal more about Charlie, so she decided to drop the subject as he wished, hoping he might open up more one day. She could wait.

Sure, she wanted to go out for dinner. It was something Catherine yearned for; staring into his eyes over the table, holding his hand, sharing food and intimacy like they had in New York; that kind of thing. On the other hand, given the recent revelation, was it more appropriate to stay put and get a take-out?

"What would you like to do?" she asked, feeling like a dumb ass throwing the question back at him. Normally, she could be more decisive, but circumstances didn't seem to engender that right now.

"Hey, I asked first," responded Jack with a chuckle and grin, determined to put the past few minutes well and truly behind them so they could enjoy their time together. "It's not like you to be so indecisive."

Catherine returned the smile, and her responding tone was light-hearted, but her words staggered Jack.

"The only thing I ever seem to decide in this relationship is where we have sex and how; you on top or me."

Staring at her incredulously for a moment, his fingers sought her cheek and smoothed over it affectionately while he struggled to concoct a suitable comeback. Surely, she knew this wasn't only about the sex? Jack thought he'd been very clear about that lately. When he eventually spoke, he was deadly serious.

"I didn't realize you felt like that. You mean a lot more to me than sex, Catherine."

"I know."

"Do you? Then what are you getting at?"

"I was only kidding around."

"I don't think so."

Eyes fixed firmly on hers, Jack fought the urge to share his thoughts and feelings about her. It wasn't really that much of a tussle because sharing that kind of thing didn't come naturally to O'Neill, not when it involved his heart. She appeared to be contemplating how to react, and when she did, her words gave him a lot to consider.

"Well, we don't go out much like a real couple, do we?"

He paused momentarily, and then leaned in to touch his lips to hers, squeezing her cheek gently with his fingers.

"Okay, that settles it," he said resolutely. "The bistro it is. Grab your stuff. We're going out right now."

"Jack! Not if you would prefer..."

"This is about you. Us," he interrupted, firmly. "You're right. I'm sorry. It's time we started."

"Sorry for what?" she queried, not quite grasping what he was apologizing for.

"I never meant you to think that staying in your apartment and going to bed with you was all I wanted. I didn't mean to hide us away like we're having some sneaky affair. I want more too."

Catherine was surprised how quickly he had grasped the nub of that problem she'd been wrestling with for a while. She couldn't resist her next question, seeking clarity.

"More?"

Slowly, he nodded. "A lot more... like a real couple. I've been a selfish son of a bitch. I like being alone with you. I enjoy your company; just the two of us. But we are a real couple, Catherine. This relationship is very real to me. You mean a lot to me and it's time to prove that."

She leapt on that final sentence, perturbed. "You don't need to prove anything."

Dropping his hand from her cheek, he got up and reached out to take her hand and pull her up with him.

"Yes, I do. C'mere." Jack wrapped her in an embrace, combing through her hair with his fingers, and grasping her back with the other hand. "Now, let's venture out into the big wide world, shall we?" he continued with a cheeky smile when he loosened his grip.

Catherine grinned happily, more than content with his decision. Both Jack's words and actions told her a lot about his feelings for her, and what he really wanted from their relationship.

"Okay, hunk. Let's hit it!" she said teasingly, eyes dancing merrily in a way that told Jack he had made her happy.

Maybe he hadn't said much, and certainly hadn't come anywhere close to the truth of what he was feeling. Her words had heartened him too, as he'd come closer to comprehending the way she felt about him and this relationship as well. That had to be a good thing, right? Jack's previous ambivalence was rapidly disintegrating in the light of this short exchange.

Next stop, the restaurant, and more "dating" type activity. It seemed a little odd to be dating, as if they were a new couple and hadn't already got this far, but he kind of liked the idea. They'd missed that almost step entirely, and Jack regretted not having considered it before. Sheesh, he could be such an ass!

He also figured it was time to organize that get together with Catherine and SG-1 that Daniel craved so much. The need and desire to do so had just become eminently pressing.

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As they prepared to leave the restaurant, the gentlemanly Jack helped Catherine on with her jacket. Standing behind her, and moving closer, he whispered in her ear.

"Do you want me to take you home, or are you coming back to my place?"

"Your place," she replied unfalteringly. "W-would you prefer to take me home?" she added, a moment of panic descending.

Catherine believed their date had gone very well indeed. Excellent food, terrific company. A true date during which they had talked about the kinds of things one does on a date, as if they knew very little about each other.

She'd enjoyed that, and it seemed Jack had too. They'd discussed her studies at Harvard and her change of direction into art, at length. He seemed enthralled, paying close attention to every word. Eventually, she'd turned the conversation back to him and learned more about his family, his upbringing in Chicago, the cabin in Minnesota, and why he'd decided to join the Air Force, with some hilarious stories about his early career. It was mainly light and fluffy stuff, but there was nothing intrinsically wrong with that when out on something one might consider as a real date between a real, normal couple.

Had something gone wrong, she wondered briefly, pondering the reasons behind his question?

"No, I'd like you to come home with me, if you want to," he said immediately, and she smiled, nodding. "I'd just like you to know you have options. It isn't compulsorily or anything. We don't always have to end up sleeping together, or waking up together every time we see each other."

'Ah! So that's where he's coming from,' Catherine thought, reassured, which was obviously his intention. She chastised herself for jumping to conclusions and reading too much into his words. They'd been perfectly innocent and well meant, and she thought Jack was adorable for saying them. And he claimed to be an inarticulate man. Yeah, right!

"I like sleeping with you," she admitted aloud, with restored confidence, "and waking up with you."

"I like it too," he agreed, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. His breath on her neck made her shiver with delight and anticipation. "Ready?" he queried, stepping back.

Catherine turned and shot him a big smile. "For you, flyboy, anytime." Her facial expression turned seductive.

"We don't always have to do that either."

"I know. But I love doing that!"

Chuckling, he nodded. "Me too. Let's hit it, as you might say," he said, turning to walk towards the door of the little bistro.

She followed. The restaurant had been a good choice; an intimate kind of place. Nothing fancy, although the food had been very good, she thought. It was a Western European type of cuisine. French come Italian with a touch of Spanish thrown in for good measure. Simple decor, nice ambience, and decent waiting staff.

Jack was congratulating himself on turning the conversation around to Catherine's education by the simple expedient of asking outright. It seemed an appropriate moment, a date and all that entailed. He resisted the impulse to mock the scientist in her and laugh his ass off at the irony.

As if there weren't already enough scientists in his life to befuddle him and make him feel inadequate. Not that he really felt that inadequate; he was an intelligent man, after all, and highly educated. But, Jack figured that sometimes other people, like Carter and Daniel, believed this was how he felt.

Jack simply never disillusioned them, was all. He'd noticed them eyeing the well earned certificates and diplomas adorning the walls of his office. His friends had just been too polite, or possibly embarrassed, to acknowledge them openly, merely looking dumbstruck by the positive proof that O'Neill wasn't as dumb as he pretended. Jack mentally snickered and remained silent.

Just because he didn't pontificate, didn't mean he didn't know or understand anything. Jack just gave that impression. The O'Neill persona. Again, he had that reputation to maintain and steadfastly maintained it. O'Neill didn't have the patience for detail he didn't need to know to get his job done, just wanted to know if something would work, or not. Pragmatic and very astute - a soldier, a tactician, a commander, and not a scientist.

Jack had enjoyed himself very much on this date with Catherine, and the "date format" seemed to encourage them both to discuss the kind of things they rarely discussed; themselves. More of that was most definitely required, in his opinion, which didn't mean he wanted to reveal his innermost secrets. Jack could divulge parts of his past without doing that, or treading on that slippery, dangerous ground that he feared to tread, and so could Catherine. Refreshing.

"Blues Brothers," she said as they exited into the cool night air.

Distracted, he turned to look at her curiously, pausing in his stride towards the truck. "What?"

"Blues Brothers; the movie with John Belushi and Dan Ackroyd. Hit it. That's where it comes from."

"I get it," he replied agreeably. "Yeah, 'It's 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark and we're wearing sunglasses', right?" Jack added, quoting directly from the movie with an almost perfect impersonation of Elwood Blues aka Dan Ackroyd.

"That's the one," she said with a snicker in her voice.

"You like that movie?" he asked with a smile.

"Love it. Still makes me laugh and I've seen it at least a dozen times. Great music. I've got a briefcase full of blues."

"Yeah, I like it too," he replied, chuckling

"If you can quote from it, I guess you must do. That was a pretty good impersonation of Dan Ackroyd."

He grinned inanely, pleased that she thought so. "Thanks. It's a funny movie."

"Yeah."

Lapsing into silence, they were both thinking about the many things they had in common, even while there were many more they probably didn't, and Jack steered her towards the truck. With another snicker she said "Hit it!" when he moved his foot onto the gas pedal, and then they said nothing else until they got back to his place.

The silence was one of those relaxed ones you have with people you feel comfortable with, ending the evening with an ease between them that was almost the total opposite of how it had started.

Later, before making love to her for the first time in his bed, Jack leered at her amusingly. "I'm on a mission from God," he said, quoting the movie again, and making her laugh.

Their lovemaking that night was of the playful rather than serious kind, and they cackled and snorted teasingly throughout almost the whole joyful experience.

Having calmed down from the hysterics of their sexual union, Jack cuddled up to her and nuzzled his face into her neck, kissing it tenderly. After long moments of hushed snuggling, he came close to surprising himself with his next whispered words.

"Charlie died a long time ago. It was my fault. You never forget something like that, and you certainly never forgive yourself. Thinking about it, remembering, that's hard enough. Talking about can be downright painful."

Catherine was surprised too, not thinking he would raise that sorry subject again so soon. The mood change was palpable and she wondered why he had mentioned it.

'Still trying to prove something, Jack?' she thought, feeling kind of honored that he brought it up again.

"It's all right," responded Catherine in a soothing tone. "You don't have to tell me anything."

"I think I do," he answered. "You should know what kind of bastard you're sleeping with."

His words and tone made her heart ache for him, that he should have such a poor opinion of himself when it came to the death of his son.

"Jack..." she started, wanting to reassure him. Catherine knew he could be a bastard, understood he could probably be worse than anything she had ever experienced with him, but she also knew he was fundamentally a good man.

He continued as if she hadn't spoken, talking to her neck to avoid meeting her eyes. "A couple of weeks before he died, we had a stupid argument over a toy gun. I didn't want him to play with it. Jeez, I've used a gun almost my whole life, so I know how dangerous they are. He was just a kid, for crying out loud. There's enough of that crap in the world. He was too young."

His inflection grew louder, the soft whisper disappearing in a bitterer tirade tinged with self-loathing. Catherine shuddered, increasingly disturbed by his pain and self-hatred, but she remained quiet so he could blurt it out however he wished. Running her fingers through his hair, she smoothed them over his scalp in a way she hoped was soothing.

"Sara and I were out in the yard. I'd just got home and she was eager to show me a new photo of Charlie; one of those things you have taken at school, you know?" Catherine knew the question was rhetorical so said nothing. "It was a good moment, a happy moment, and then we heard the gun shot."

Catherine gasped with shock and tried to pull back so she could look at Jack's face, but he gripped her hard so she couldn't. It was obvious he didn't want her looking, didn't want her to see that bared soul in his face and eyes.

Realizing this moment was probably hard enough for him to speak of, she stopped trying, simply listening intently and continuing to caress him tenderly and reassuringly; keeping her mouth firmly shut until it seemed appropriate to open it again.

"He was in our bedroom looking for, f-finding, my gun, my ammo. Just a kid, for Christ's sakes. N-not too young to be curious, though, not too young to load a gun. Shot himself. Blood everywhere. I-I tried to stop it, but there was so much blood. Sara was screaming, panicked. I-I couldn't save him; too much blood from such a big gaping hole in such a small guy. Paramedics couldn't save him, or the hospital. T-too late. Just a kid. W-we had to watch our own son die. And our world, our family, died with him. We... we were happy once."

Tears brimmed in Catherine's eyes and she fought to suppress the threatening sobs because he needed her to be strong for him. That much, she understood. So, she didn't speak, couldn't because she was frightened her voice would crack and her sorrow for Jack would all come tumbling out.

Instead, she kissed his hair, which was the only part of him she could reach with her lips, hardly daring to move more than that, not until he was ready. And she needed to be ready too, to steel herself for the moment he was. That was hard when her heart was breaking for him. So, so hard.

"It was my gun; my fault. I should never have left a gun where he could find it, f-find the ammo, load it... shouldn't have kept a gun in the house at all with a curious kid around. Maybe... maybe if I'd let him play with the toy one, it would never have happened. My fault."

He paused for such a long time that she wondered if she dared say anything, whether he needed her to. Jack was holding her so tightly that it almost hurt. His fingers dug into her flesh as if he was desperate to cling onto a lifeline, and maybe he was. Eyes continuing to prick with tears and with her heart feeling leadenly heavy, Catherine was afraid that she'd make things worse.

"Jack..." she ventured, feeling a tremble in her tone, but he started up again, although only briefly.

"What kind of man does that make me? Killing my own son."

When Jack fell silent again, she found her voice, keeping it as even as possible, despite that his pain, guilt and self-disgust made her want to weep, scream or otherwise vent her anger at a world, or a god, that did such things to a man who was worth way more than that.

No parent deserved to lose a child. No one should have to go through such agony, the pain of outliving their child. Such a terrible accident. Such loss. And Jack blamed himself. This was understandable, but gut wrenching.

"Human," she replied. "Fallible, like all the rest of us."

"That's a pretty hard lesson to learn and a tough way to learn it."

"Yes, it is," she agreed. "I'm so sorry, Jack."

He waited for her to say more and when she didn't, he took the initiative to pull back at last and look into her face. When she glanced at him, she realized his expression was stony and she wondered how much effort it took for him to hold back the emotions that must be raging through him. She could almost feel them, but he was holding them in tight, probably stretching himself to breaking point with his confession; his culpability for the sin he had committed so long ago.

"You aren't going to tell me it was an accident; it wasn't my fault; all that crap?" he said.

"No."

"Good."

The urge to kiss her was so overwhelming that he did, and with some style. His fingers twisted in her hair as his tongue explored the mouth he had come to know so intimately and grown to adore.

"Thanks for listening," he said when he drew back. It had felt good to get it out in the open; to speak of it for a change, instead of shutting it all up inside. Jack liked that she hadn't tried to interrupt, get overly emotional or attempt trite reassurances in an attempt to assuage his guilt.

"Thanks for confiding." She liked that he trusted her enough to talk about it when he claimed he didn't want to open that wound, and was determined not to offer the platitudes he anticipated, and probably got when most people found out about his loss and how it had happened. Catherine knew Jack hated cliches, or claimed to.

"I could paint a portrait of him for you if you like," she offered after a long pause.

He seemed startled by her suggestion. "Of Charlie?" he asked, peering into her eyes.

"Yes, if you like," she replied, unwaveringly holding his gaze, not wishing to look away because he might read something unintended into that. His dark smoldering eyes disturbed her though, and it took effort to keep staring into that terrible, but simultaneously beautiful, dark abyss.

"I-I don't know what to say."

"Would you like?"

"That would be... I'd... are you sure?" The expression on his face was no longer the stony one of holding back, nor was it of sorrow for his lost son. It was of puzzlement, confusion, doubt, gratitude; a whole mixture of things, including openly deep affection.

"Sure I'm sure. It would be a pleasure, if you want me to."

He nodded. "I'd like that a lot."

"If you lend me some photos..."

"Yeah, fine. Thanks."

"Pastels for Charlie, I think, or maybe a watercolor. He was a handsome boy."

"Yes, he was."

"Like his dad."

Jack's face broke into a shy, self-deprecating grin "Way better."

"Are you okay with pastels?"

"Whatever you think."

"Okay."

He kissed the tip of her nose, and the atmosphere was charged with emotions and thoughts that remained unexpressed. It would have been wrong to express them because there was too many of them sizzling through the ether to make this the right moment. Any verbal expression of feeling would have seemed like the banality they both wanted to avoid.

They were thinking similar things, however, as they snuggled up to each other again in silence. They were thinking about their relationship, how it had developed, and what they felt about each other. Neither of them was prepared to say it was love because neither of them was entirely certain. They weren't quite yet willing to commit to what that word implied. But both of them were thinking that such a thing was possible, had been thinking it for a while now. Maybe soon it would be time.

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Carter looked irked, as if she resented being distracted from work that was way more important than his. No doubt, she believed it was. This could get unpleasant, O'Neill thought as he stared her down until her eyes fell away.

"Sit down, Colonel," he said, deliberately making his tone an order from a CO to a subordinate. That relationship might be all important to this discussion and it was crucial to be clear about it from the start. This was business, and he wasn't putting up with any nonsense.

"Sir, I'd..." she started, but his eyes blazed as he interrupted, knowing she was about to say she'd prefer to remain standing.

"I said, sit down, Carter." This time his tone brooked absolutely no argument and she obeyed, appearing distinctly annoyed about the situation. So be it, he thought. Two can play at that game. Jack didn't want to get into mind games, but if that's what she wanted, he could beat her hands down every time and she knew it, or he thought she did.

'Don't try taking me on, Carter,' O'Neill thought, 'because I'm way better at this than you and you won't win. Besides, I out rank you and that always helps. Kind of gives me the upper hand, don't ya think?' He suppressed a small grin at the notion, his expression stern and forbidding, and a laugh rumbled through him, but remained firmly inside.

Jack prided himself that Teal'c couldn't have done it any better. Having given her the silent treatment, simply staring at her impassively for very long moments, she cracked first. Chalk one up to O'Neill, he thought slightly mischievously.

"Sir, with all due respect, I have pressing work..." she started, breaking the oppressive silence, which was making her skin prickle with agitation.

"I know all about your important work, Carter, and I'd rather not be wasting my precious time either, having the SGC to run and all that. So, how about humoring your CO," he said snidely, another reminder of who was boss, and that his work was damned important too. She looked suitably chastised, which was quite ridiculously satisfying.

Because she backed down, however slightly, O'Neill decided to give her a break and get on with it, rather than continue with the staring competition.

"So, what's been biting your ass lately, Carter?" he asked about as subtly as a sledgehammer. He could be tactful, really he could, but now was not the time. Jack was rapidly running out of patience. After all, commanding the base genuinely was important work, and he had plenty of it to keep him busy; an over sufficiency, in fact.

"General?" she queried, and he might almost have believed the innocence; almost. But O'Neill was having none of it, not this time.

"Cut the crap, colonel," he responded. "You've been downright obnoxious towards me personally for too long, if not insubordinate, and it has to stop. I'm your CO, for crying out loud. Surely you can't expect me to simply keep ignoring it?"

She chuckled. Chuckled, dammit! Jack seethed, but his anger didn't show in his face, although the stern expression remained fixed.

"I don't know what you mean, sir; with all due respect, of course," she replied daringly.

O'Neill's eyes widened at her gall. "Don't take that tone with me, Carter, or I'll have you up on charges so fast that your feet won't hit the ground until you're stewing in a very small locked room guarded by two SFs; possibly an old broom cupboard with standing room only."

She looked shocked by the threat, as if beginning to truly understand her situation for the first time. The General really meant business. He was angry. An angry O'Neill was dangerous.

"Sir," she said; no apology, just obedience.

O'Neill felt hurt by, and uncomfortable with, her evident antipathy towards him, but concluded that he wasn't there to be liked. It would be preferable, quite nice actually, but was not necessarily a prerequisite for respect, which was way more crucial to a man in his position than affection.

"Whether you like or not, we are going to have this out right now!" he snapped, more irritably. "This can't go on. We need to clear the air so we can work together effectively; we're a team. So, whatever I've done to piss you off, real or imagined, tell me right now, and that's an order, colonel."

That he was so direct bothered her, making her spine and neck tingle and itch with discomfort. So, talking wasn't better than remaining silent for Sam's state of wellbeing. In fact, it was worse. She wished she could return to the original oppressive tone because the atmosphere had heightened to suffocating.

Being direct about this kind of thing wasn't like her CO, or was unlike the colonel she had worked with for so long. The general... now the general was different. Different job, different relationship, different approach.

Gone were the days when this would have worked itself out on a hostile planet, fighting hostile aliens. The direct approach was all he had. Frankly, Sam didn't know where to begin, but she had to try. He was right that her simmering anger couldn't continue tarnishing their relationship, and he was the boss, after all. Settle it now.

"Can I speak frankly sir?" she asked, and he nodded, smugly noting her unease.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in her seat, hands clasped on her laps in front of her as if she was trying to hold them still. She was not succeeding, however, because they ground against each other, and the rest of her was so rigid that he thought she might snap.

Now he looked closer, Jack realized she seemed tired and he wondered what kind of ludicrous work days she'd been putting in lately. Suppressing a twinge of concern, because now was not the time to feel sympathy, he let the dour, poker face slip slightly and glowered at her, his response short, sharp and snappy.

"I expect nothing less, Carter."

Sam wondered what he was thinking. He could be such a disconcerting man. Taking a deep breath, she took the long plunge into an overly frigid and deep pool. No choice.

"I-I overheard you bitching to Daniel about Pete. I-I guess I'm a little annoyed at your attitude."

Jack looked genuinely perplexed, which took the wind out of her sails somewhat.

"Pete?" he asked, obviously astonished. Jack desperately tried to recall any discussion about that particular subject. Pete Shannahan wasn't a man he was in the habit of discussing. In fact, it was something he avoided as much as he possibly could. "I got nothin'," he confessed with a shrug.

Any certainty evaporating rapidly, Sam faltered with her words, but she allowed them to tumble out the way they came, because she had ceased thinking straight anymore.

"Y-you said he was a jerk, a bastard, despicable, nasty, woman stalking scum, sir. You hardly know him. He isn't like that. I-I kind of think your view is a bit presumptuous." Finished with her initial stream of consciousness, Sam hastily added a well worn phrase. "With all due respect, sir."

As she spoke, she could see light dawning in his eyes and felt more confident of her ground. Obviously, he remembered; she hadn't imagined it as she'd been beginning to wonder because of her CO's puzzlement and apparent innocence.

"I just wish you'd give him a break, sir," she continued nervously. "I know there might be some reasons you don't like him much, but..." At those words she paused, face reddening with embarrassment. Jack knew what she was referring to - the unexplored feelings for each other they'd locked up so tight for all these years - but tried to ignore her insinuation so he didn't get equally embarrassed and tongue tied.

"But, you should trust my judgment, sir," she finished.

There was the nub of it, Jack realized; in those few words. It wasn't really his opinions she minded so much. Why should she give a rat's ass for what he thought about Pete or her private life? It was the fact that she perceived his opinions as a slur on her judgment; that she thought he believed she couldn't make sensible choices and decisions.

Sam continued to ramble on for a while, but Jack had stopped listening. He remembered the conversation with Daniel, a few days after he'd returned from New York. They'd been talking about his encounter with Peter Rodgers, and Jack had gone off on a rant about the man, needing to get some issues out of his system before he imploded.

Referring to Catherine's ex husband as Pete was a habit borne from over familiarity with that name in an entirely different context; Pete Shannahan. O'Neill nearly laughed.

If she believed that he was questioning her judgment, it was not so surprising she was annoyed with him. He'd probably be pissed in similar circumstances, if he overheard her griping about Catherine, for example. Then, if it turned out to be an entirely different Catherine... whoa! This was a misunderstanding, pure and simple, and equally simple to resolve, he hoped.

The small smile appearing on his lips surprised Sam, wrong footing her, and her diatribe drew to a hesitant halt as she stared at him in uncertain disbelief.

"I hate to break it to you, Carter," he said slightly snarkily, "but not everything is about you. I wasn't talking about Pete Shannahan."

"W-what?" She looked stunned by that revelation. What other Pete was there?

"Pete is a common name," he continued, and she came close to retorting sarcastically, thinking she had caught him out in a lie, but when he spoke again, she was relieved she'd bitten her tongue. "Catherine's ex-husband is called Pete, Peter. I met him in New York and he's an even bigger jerk, and bastard, than I am. And there was me thinking I was the best at everything. Sooo disheartening."

With those last couple of sentences, O'Neill lightened his tone deliberately, wishing to call the truce. He was relieved that the whole thing was a misunderstanding because that might mean a return to normality and he wouldn't have to feel quite as awkward around Carter anymore. They could revert to their usual discomfiture; one they had shared for many years, alongside the sporadic comradely banter and friendly ease, of course. In O'Neill's experience, not much in life was ever simple and straightforward.

His humorous comment made her smile, but she was mortified about the misunderstanding, realizing she probably should have known better than to believe Jack would talk about her Pete that way to Daniel. Think it, perhaps, but voice it, not likely. Jeez, she was an idiot.

"Oh crap!" she exclaimed, much to Jack's amusement, and then going on to stammer out an apology. "I-I... s-so... I'm so sorry, sir. I..."

Her face had turned beet red, deepening O'Neill's mirth, but he quickly tried to put her out of her misery, waving an arm in the air dismissively.

"Forget it, Carter. Seems we should have had this little chat a while ago, before things got so out of hand. I figured it would all blow over, as things do, but when it didn't..." He shrugged his shoulders, an apologetic expression on his face, knowing if he hadn't waited, hadn't taken so long to summon the courage to confront her, this misunderstanding could have been settled ages ago. "I get it."

"Oh, general, I'm so..."

"I said forget it, Carter. Crossed lines and all of that. Catherine's ex is exactly as I described to Daniel. Your Pete, on the other hand, well, I'm sure you know what you're doing. You normally do."

His smile was reassuring, although Sam still wished the ground would open up and swallow her into a gaping maw.

"I... I..."

"So, am I forgiven?" he asked, suddenly feeling the need to extricate himself from this conversation. Some things didn't bear thinking about, let alone discussion.

She smiled sweetly, grateful for his get out clause and apparent desire to cut the conversation short.

"Nothing to forgive, sir. Me, on the other hand... am I?"

"Always, Carter. Now I know it was just a misunderstanding..."

"Yes, sir," she replied with a nod.

The look on his face told her she was dismissed, even if his words didn't, and she rose from her chair. On her way out, O'Neill spoke again.

"I've trusted your judgment for years, Carter. Never forget that." He was thinking that she wasn't perfect, had her lapses of judgment, but wasn't going to voice that opinion. Who was perfect, after all? Certainly not him.

Although she had her back to him, and didn't turn around, Jack noted her brief nod, and the muttered acknowledgement of the ubiquitous "yes, sir."

He might not have been able to see her face, but knew she was smiling and, for that matter, so was he.

"And, by the way," he added to her retreating back, "you're working too hard Carter. You look tired. Go home early tonight and get some sleep. That's an order."

She paused in her stride, turning back and dazzling him with that brilliantly bright grin of hers. "Yes, sir," she acknowledged and he grinned back.

"I'll be checking up, popping round to your lab..." he said in a friendly tone. Sam rolled her eyes in response, nodding slightly, but the grin remained.

"Don't break anything while you're there, sir."

Chuckling, he shrugged. "I'll try my damnedest, Sam."

Satisfied by his promise to drop by for a visit, and his obviously deliberate use of her Christian name, Sam turned away again and disappeared, relieved that the hostilities were over.

Jack continued to chuckle to himself for a while, and then eyed the never-ending pile of paperwork on his desk with a grimace. Life goes on, he thought, but at least that life was back to normal - amen to that. The grimace turned back to a grin and he reached over for the top file in his in-tray, starting to whistle tunelessly.

Walking down the corridor, Walter Harriman heard the discordant refrain from outside the general's office door and nodded to himself with approval, scuttling off to inform his friend Siler that approachable O'Neill was back - business as usual at the SGC.

Fic With Fins