From Hereon After III: A Matter of Trust

By Alli Snow

Chapter 1

The faces that stared at me from around the table were nothing less than accusing. Maybe there had been a time when I would have doubted my own perceptions, when I would have wondered if I was making a proverbial mountain out of a molehill... but not now. Not now. I couldn't afford to have doubts. I couldn't afford to break concentration, or stop thinking for even a second, because Janet's life and all of our futures were hanging by the slimmest of threads at the topmost precipice of that damned proverbial mountain.

Janet had been taken by the Goa'uld. Whether they wanted to make her a host straight off and get information from her that Duke - the spy, the real spy - hadn't been able to communicate, or wanted to use her as bait first... we didn't and couldn't know for sure. But regardless of the situation, regardless of anything the Asgaard said, we had to find her. We were obligated.

Teal'c and Daniel had been injured in that same ambush. Teal'c would be fine, but Daniel was near death and probably would have been dead if not for Asgaard medical technology. They didn't have the ability to heal him fast enough to save him, so they had put him in a stasis field similar to the kind Thor had used during that first incident with the Replicators. Eventually we would meet up with some other Asgaard, and they would get Daniel back on his feet. He would be okay. I had to keep telling myself of that. He would be okay.

The mystery of the origin of Osiris' Goa'uld minions had been solved. I couldn't remember the planet designation but I remembered the place itself well enough. I hadn't realized until that mission how much I trusted and relied on my ability to sense Goa'uld, a gift I hadn't willingly received and that I'd resented for a long time afterwards. But the idea that there had been Goa'uld in our midst for all that time without my knowledge had been even more unnerving.

It begged several questions - namely, how Osiris had found out about that planet in the first place - but at last we had answers to some other quandaries. For example, I imagined it would be easier for her to keep a reign on these Goa'uld then the normal variety who had thousands of years of genetic memories of conquest and bloodshed running through their veins. And more importantly it explained why I hadn't sensed anything these past few years, not from Gena or Ilonka or any other possible suspects, and why they hadn't been in a rush to make me a host. Why should they? I was hardly a threat to them if I couldn't even tell who they were. And in some ways I was more useful to them as I was. After all, the Asgaard detector didn't sense Naqueda, it scanned the brain. If Osiris had expected me to infiltrate a suspected network working against her, she couldn't have made me a host first.

But was that what she had wanted, what Gena Dirae - and maybe even a Goa'uld inside Ilonka Waters - had wanted? Was I the pawn? The unwitting double agent? They obviously hadn't trusted me with their real mission because they'd kept up the ridiculous pretense of needing to find Jack for the good of the country. They'd known my weaknesses and they'd played them. And now here I was, so close to giving them what I suspected they wanted in the first place.

"You can't be serious," barked Davis, his lips twisted in a half-smile in case I revealed that I'd been joking all along. "That's what they wanted you to do to begin with. I thought the idea behind you defecting was so Jack would be SAFE?"

I hated the term 'defecting'. It made it sound like I had broken, that by ditching Ilonka at that motel in Virginia I had done something strange, wrong, something unlike me. "I don't like it any more then you do," I said bluntly. "But you asked for solutions and there's mine. I honestly believe that Dirae thinks of me as a... protégé. That to an extent she DOES trust me. But at the same time she doesn't know me very well. She didn't know me before I left the SGC. She'd read reports but..." I chanced a look at Jack out of the corner of my eye, hoping it wouldn't seem like I was being flirtatious. "But we know how certain things can be left out of reports. I think we can pull it off," I finished, frankly.

I looked over at Jack again, this time holding his gaze more steadily. He had to be thinking the very same thing I was: Am I a pawn? Have I been fooled? Am I being used? Am I LETTING myself be used? I'd been partly exonerated by our revelation about Duke, but their trust in me at this point was fragile and my 'solution' to this problem wasn't doing anything to reinforce it. In their minds they'd been taking a chance trusting me from the very beginning, but now I was asking Jack to put his head in the lion's mouth. This was no longer a matter of keeping me contained until I either proved my loyalty or slipped up. It was something that none of us would have thought twice about before Ilonka came into our lives. This was an active risk, life or death. But what about Janet's life?

"If we can make it into D.C.," I insisted, "we can get into Janus. That's where Dirae's office is, probably where Goa'uld headquarters is to boot. And chances are they'll have Janet nearby, too. It's not one of the most secure buildings in the world for nothing," I said wryly.

"If it is so secure," asked Teal'c cryptically, "how do you propose we get inside?"

"I can GET in," I said firmly. It was mostly true. I could get us in; I just wasn't sure how FAR in. Past the front doors everything was up to Dirae. Or Ilonka. Or the snake in one or both of their heads. "Look, you're just going to have to trust me. I know you don't think you can, but... I just don't see any other way."

Thor eyed Jack. "It is your choice, O'Neill."

He was still staring at me as though he thought the force of his concentration would make me crack, make me admit what he thought was the truth. Feeling slightly sick I folded my hands on the table in front of me. I returned the attention defensively, challengingly, as I had the day we'd met. I'd had something to prove then and it seemed now that I still did. It was such a moment of déjà vu, in fact, such a vivid flashback to that poignant moment, that if the life of a friend hadn't been hanging in the balance I might have asked him to arm wrestle.

Jack was the first to break eye contact, and he blinked and shook his head as though waking from a dream. "Osiris already made the decision for us," he said finally. "She's right... we don't really have any other choice."

But I wish we did, said his tone of voice.

Thor didn't argue the point. "We have to get to D.C.," I told him, not allowing myself even the smallest flush of triumph. They weren't going along with me because of trust but because they were out of options. I'd had more backhanded compliments, but not many. "You guys... you need to worry about keeping safe and out of sight. Osiris knows for sure now that she's not alone up here."

"Our technology is far superior to anything the Goa'uld have -" Thor started, but I interrupted, disgusted by his naiveté.

"That's what the Tollan thought, too. But you know as well as I do... Osiris knows you're here. Somewhere."

Paul rubbed his right temple. "How do you figure?"

Jarl answered, sounding peeved. "We've just recently discovered a dampening field covering a great area of land surrounding this Janus building. We believe it is meant to prevent both Goa'uld rings and Asgaard transporter beams from--"

"From transporting someone into that area," I interrupted. "It's a buffer zone. Its very presence tell us they're onto us. But it's not just that. We can't just... 'beam' in, even if it was technically possible. The place is absolutely crawling with surveillance and we can't let them see us arriving in a big flash of white light. That's exactly what they're looking for. In fact they may be scanning the entire area from orbit, maybe the whole city, for signs of advanced technology. We can't take the risk. This all depends on me looking like I still haven't figured out what's going on. We're going to have to arrive by a more Earthly means. We have to look vulnerable."

"It should be easy to appear vulnerable when we are," said Teal'c.

Jack shrugged and spread his hands. "You said the car you stole is out of juice... I guess there's always Granddad's truck, but I don't know if it would get us out of the county, much less all the way back to D.C. And my truck's halfway across the country."

"What about your car, Major Carter?" came a helpful, even voice. I looked towards Thor, but he hadn't spoken. Glancing towards the doorway, I saw that Jarl had surreptitiously slipped inside.

"My car..." I shook my head, impressed. "You really did tail me the whole way, didn't you?"

"We monitored your progress," Jarl admitted, and Jack shot him a dark look. "At least until you exchanged vehicles. We were not anticipating that move. However... perhaps the Goa'uld were tracking you as well. This could work to our benefit."

I smiled. Apparently I had eluded more then the FBI. And Jarl was right; it was possible the Goa'uld would have no idea I'd been to Minnesota. "You know where my car is, then?"

"Yes," said Jarl snobbishly. "According to our tracking sensors, it is currently within the boundaries of the land you refer to as 'Kentucky'."

"Kentucky?" I echoed, glancing at my watch which set to Minnesota time. "That's got to be about an eight, nine hour drive... we wouldn't be getting into D.C. until early tomorrow morning."

Peripherally I noticed Jarl taking Thor aside, and the geometry of the room amplified their voices enough for me to overhear. "What about the--" Jarl began, but Thor cut him off.

"We will discuss that matter later." Thor glanced in my direction and I looked away.

Jack didn't even try to mask his displeasure, but I had to wonder if he was unhappy about the same thing I was. Yes, eight hours was more time then I had really planned on waiting before our little shootout at the Janus corral, and there was the very reasonable worry that already too much time had passed since Janet's abduction. But the other factor weighing on my mind was that much time alone in a car with Jack. It was trivial... downright adolescent... but I was actually afraid of the prospect.

For the last day or so things had been going very well between us. I'd stopped trying to force him to trust me and he'd stopped trying to push me away every time I came near him. And that was the problem. He hadn't pushed me away when he should have. And he'd trusted me when he shouldn't. And now, because of that ridiculous bit of teenage groping in his garage, we were back to a very uncomfortable place again. It hadn't sunk in yet, not when we were so overwhelmed by this trauma. But it would undoubtedly sink in somewhere between Kentucky and D.C.

When he asked me why, I wanted to be somewhere where I could make a clean getaway. Not strapped into my seat an arm's reach from him, with nothing outside but the roaring highway.

Chapter 2

Eight or nine hours.

Longer then I'd thought, but maybe not completely unwelcome. After all, it would mean we'd get to this mysterious Janus building in the morning rather then the middle of the night. In my own mind the cover of darkness was preferable; however, I had to remind my own mind that this was not a case of covert ops, missions best accomplished when the lights were out. We were walking right up to the door, we were ringing the doorbell, we were... insane. Better to be insane in broad daylight, or at least it seemed that way to me.

The drive, though, the drive would be the really insane part. Quite possibly by the time we arrived we wouldn't care if we were walking into the open arms of death just so long as we could get away from each other.

That was assuming that this wasn't a part of Osiris's plan, of course, for Sam to drive off with me and... and what? What could possibly be more dangerous and more stupid than for us to come looking for the Goa'uld? Literally looking for trouble. No... at least if Carter was planning on killing me or something equally horrifying, she was being partially honest about it.

"Eight hours is fine," I said finally, realizing that I was the current object of scrutiny from everyone in the room, except for Carter who was giving her watch her absolute full attention. "If they were... going to do anything to Frasier, they would have done it already. And if they haven't, it's because they're waiting for us."

"They'll wait," said Carter quietly.

"Then let's go."

She looked less then thrilled. She wasn't the only one.

Nevertheless, fifteen minutes later we were being dropped down into an empty, dark, mildew-smelling garage in northeastern Kentucky. The structure was closed off but music and other sounds of merriment could be heard in the adjoining house. "And we weren't invited?" I complained to Carter, whispering even though it was doubtful anyone inside would hear me over the racket.

She shushed me anyway, slinking through the garage like she expected burglar alarms to go off at any moment. "If he's found my spare, we're going to have to invite ourselves," she whispered, opening the passenger's side door and slipping into the seat.

I went around to the other side, and squeezed myself into the driver's seat, frowning at the car: it was one of those electric things that looked like it was made of tinfoil and plastic and would be blown off the road by a stiff breeze. "Why'd you get one of these?"

"Shhh," said Carter again, rummaging through the glove compartment. "When I got it, it made sense... with gas prices and everything. Plus the government gave us a tax break."

I snorted. "Well yeah, it was the only way they could get people to buy the things. What are you looking for anyway? A 'spare'?"

She nodded, still pushing her hands through wads of paper and plastic and a general untidiness that I wouldn't have expected from the likes of Carter. "You know... how some people have an extra key in case they get locked out of their car?"

Now I was only more confused. "Yeah... but this is inside your car."

She looked sheepish. "Well, I never got around to actually putting it somewhere safe."

"Good thing our friend here didn't lock the doors, huh?" I asked, dryly.

Sam merely shrugged. "Common criminal mentality. They never expect someone's going to steal what they've rightfully stolen."

"Well, guess you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Her fist closed around something small that glittered faintly in the dull overhead light, and Carter smiled. "Shut up," she told me cheerfully.

"You know, there's being insubordinate and then there's being just plain rude," I complained. I moved to get out of the car, but Sam's hand on my shoulder stopped me. "What?"

Maybe it was only a trick of the light, but I thought I saw a strange vulnerability in her eyes, only half-masked by an uncertain smile. "What, you don't want to drive?" she asked, offering me the key after only a brief moment of hesitation.

I hesitated myself, not sure what to think. In a way it felt like she was offering up a truce. By handing over the key she was handing over a morsel of control that rightfully belonged to her. And with things so incredibly out of control that was an important gift indeed.

"That is," Carter amended, looking sly, "if you think you can handle it."

Or maybe it wasn't a truce after all. Maybe this was just the next stage in the long, drawn-out, multifaceted, incredibly complex game we were embroiled in. This was the next test, the next trial: take the key or don't take the key? I looked up from the small bit of metal and into Carter's eyes, which were focused intently on me and not reflecting any of the teasing in her voice. Looking for an answer there only brought me more questions.

The door connecting the garage and the house was thrown open. We both jumped at the sudden explosion of light and bad music. A tall shape was silhouetted in the doorway, looking back into the house. "I'm just getting another beer!" a male voice shouted over the ruckus, and then, before we could even close the doors, "Hey, Pete! Someone's stealing the car!"

That was enough to kick-start us both; we slammed the doors shut. Carter closed the glove compartment with a loud snap, bracing herself against the dash, and I turned the key in the ignition so brutally I was surprised when it didn't break off inside the column.

The car came to life with a pathetic whirrrrr. I jammed it into reverse and – no time to look for Pete's GDO – put my foot down on the accelerator. The garage door crumpled above and around us, proving to be made of an even more flimsy tinfoil then the car. By the time Pete and a few of his buddies had rushed into the garage from the house we were careening back down his driveway and into a mercifully empty street. Dodging the wrecked remnants of the garage door they ran after us, weaving drunkenly, but I'd shoved it into drive before we could roll up the opposite curb. Tires spun and then caught, and we were launched almost noiselessly down the road. The last thing I saw in the rearview mirror was a couple of Pete's buddies shaking their fists in the air at us like angry old men.

Sam pulled on her seat belt at the first stop, fastening it with a loud, meaningful click and clinging to the door molding with one hand. She glared at me wordlessly.

"Yeah," I declared, feeling manly, strapping on my own belt with one hand. "I think I can handle the hamster under your hood here. Where was this piece of junk MADE? I told you, we should have taken my truck..."

"I'm driving next time," Carter told me through gritted teeth.

By the time we got to Charleston, she had taken over the wheel anyway; I could only sit in that cramped front seat for so long. So we'd switched places: she was driving, which meant that she had control of the radio, but I was able to push back the passenger's seat and stretch my legs out a few precious extra inches.

So far the trip had been made in blissful silence covered up by the meaningless radio blather; there were still some points we needed to discuss, but that could wait until Virginia at least. I preferred to not think about what a stupid thing I was doing until I was basically too close to turn away from it. And as for those OTHER things we needed to talk about... well, NEED was such a strange word. And the music and not-talking was so nice...

Carter changed lanes to pass an even slower car, changed back, fidgeted, and turned off the radio. It had started to rain, an unexpected summer storm that seemed too much like an omen for my peace of mind. For a few minutes, that was the only sound: the black water coming down all around us, punctuated by the low screeching of the wipers. Outside lights made weird patterns on the rain-splattered windows.

Chapter 3

I originally turned off the music in order to speak, but the second the car was plunged into silence I lost my nerve. I couldn't even put my finger on what I wanted to say, never mind how I wanted to say it. So I just clutched the steering wheel a little harder and stared ahead into the darkness, too confused to say anything but too embarrassed to turn the radio back on.

Jack, God bless him, finally broke the tension with a simple, surprising statement. "You know... I was wrong. We were both wrong."

I didn't look away from the road but I prompted him – "About what?" – just glad to have something to say.

"We said that we didn't matter," he responded easily, as though he was just making a passing comment on the weather. I wanted to sneak a look at his expression but I couldn't, and not just because the roads were so treacherous. "That it wasn't about us. That's wrong... it's not true. That's exactly what it's about. People like us."

I snorted; I couldn't help myself. The phrase 'people like us' was just too ridiculous to let pass unchallenged. "What, you think a lot of people have this problem?"

"Yeah," Jack answered, a slight edge in his voice. "As a matter of fact, I do. Look what this country – look what this would is turning into. Look what people are becoming."

"They're becoming hosts," I said flatly.

"They're becoming people who don't have anything to believe in," he corrected me. "Who don't have anyone to trust. So they lie to each other and they lie to themselves. They aren't who they say they are. Why do you think this whole... infiltration thing has been so easy for Osiris? Because she's just that good? No, it's because people are already so fake and so turned towards themselves and ignorant of everything going on around them that they wouldn't even notice if someone they loved was a Goa'uld."

"How would they notice?" I asked scornfully. "They couldn't notice."

"I noticed!" he snapped, his voice so sharp in the confined space that it startled me and my foot slipped off the accelerator. We lurched momentarily, then steadied, and he added, "Maybe Cassie was the one who actually found out, but I knew there was something up a long time before you – before Jolinar went nuts in the Gate Room. And there's something now," he accused. "There's something you're not saying."

Frowning angrily, I fumbled with one hand for the heater. I suddenly felt raw and icy. Maybe because it was cold outside, or maybe because something Jack had said had let the cold INSIDE. Was he actually comparing my actions now to when I'd been a host? That was unfair... and unlike him. He knew – he was one of the few people who really knew – what hell that had been for me, and how much grief I carried around because of it. No matter how much good my connection with Jolinar had eventually done, I could still never think of it as a good thing. I could never look back on it without shuddering. So if that wasn't it, what? Did he actually take pride in the fact that he had sensed some change in me before all hell broke loose? Or did he just take it as a sign: a sign that he knew me? A sign that he still knew me, no matter what else had changed? I sighed. "Maybe I have been lying."

Even without looking at him, I could tell Jack's hackles were rising. "About what?" he asked tensely.

"Maybe we've both been lying," I amended.

"I didn't lie."

I sighed again. What was the saying about being doomed to repeat the past if you didn't learn from it? It was hard to learn from the past if you never dealt with it, and as a result here we were doing and saying the same things all over again. "Then you left something out," I said significantly, taking advantage of a clear spot of road to glance in his direction.

My words and my tone had not been lost on him; his eyes widened and he jerkily brought his chair back up into a sitting position. "Whoa," he started, sounding panicky. "Okay, you know, that's neither here NOR there."

I flexed my fingers over the wheel, feeling strangely calm, oddly empowered. I'd expected to feel claustrophobic, confined here with him, and I did... but I also felt powerful. I could just say what I had to say and he would just have to deal with it. We would BOTH have to deal with it. No running away.

"Fine," I said firmly. "If you won't say it, I will. I think I'm still in love with you."

Saying the words wasn't as liberating as I expected. It was frightening as hell, certainly, to hear them, to almost see them suspended in the air in front of me, knowing I couldn't take them back. But Jack's reaction wasn't what I'd imagined, either. He sat up even straighter, nearly leaning towards the windshield now, and sputtered, "That doesn't make... make any sense. How can you STILL be when you never were in the first place?"

"What?!"

"What?"

An SUV fishtailed across the highway in front of me, angling for the off-ramp. I cursed softly, at the driver and at Jack. "Do you have amnesia?" I didn't wait for an answer. "You are such an idiot. I told you I was... I practically spelled it out for you," I blurted, surprising myself. Right. It was always really interesting what you would say when you weren't thinking.

Jack was as obstinate as always. "You never said 'love'."

"Neither did you."

He shook his head. "You know what, this is stupid... it doesn't matter—"

"I thought you said it did," I said nastily.

"It doesn't matter because that person... I'm not that person anymore. And neither are you. The Samantha Carter I had feel... that I was in love with might as well have died four years ago."

"Of course she did. You killed her when you left." My throat felt thick, constricted. I hadn't meant to say that aloud, but there it was. No taking it back.

Chapter 4

The temperature in the car seemed to have dropped, but I kept plugging ahead. Like with Ilonka, it was a matter of momentum and I took advantage of it. If I didn't say this now I never would.

But that didn't mean I actually wanted to.

"It was never about budget cuts, was it?" I asked, rubbing a hand across my face. "It wasn't about Dawson's death, either."

Carter was scornful, her voice still leaking emotion. "Oh, sure. I left the SGC because I couldn't BEAR to be away from you." She strangled the steering wheel. "I've got news for you. If I'd actually felt that way, I would have been knocking on your door the day you retired. I didn't HAVE to go anywhere."

"You were afraid," I said dismissively.

"I was NOT afraid!"

"Yes, you were," I maintained. "And I can say that because I was afraid too. Actually, I'm still afraid."

Sam was silent, eyes focused on the road ahead with steely intensity. After a mile or so, however, her curiosity got the better of her. "Why are you afraid?"

I gave a bitter laugh. There were so many reasons for me to be afraid right now, the least of which was what lay at the end of the road. "This conversation doesn't give you enough of a hint? 'I love you, you're an idiot'?"

Carter licked her lips nervously. "What's so strange about that?" she asked shrewdly. "I've always thought you were an idiot."

I smiled, but it was a bitter smile to match the laugh. "I'm scared because I don't have any control over the way I feel."

Her brow furrowed. I could tell without asking that she thought that was a pretty dumb thing to be scared of. Since when did anybody have control over that, I could almost hear her thinking. "Neither do I," she said bluntly, trying to give me a way out. But I couldn't take it. And I couldn't lie and pretend that her words made me feel any better.

"I know," I said sadly. "That scares me too."

We switched again in Covington, Virginia and Sam, now able to drill holes in my head with her eyes, took up the questioning. "Why'd you give me the address to the cabin, really? You couldn't have known that this would happen."

I jiggled the heater. There didn't seem to be any warm air coming out of the vents. "I guess... I just hoped you'd understand what it meant."

Her tone was slightly mocking, mostly amused. "That... you wanted me to come to your cabin?"

I refused to be entertained. "That I still wanted you in my life," I said seriously.

Sam, one leg propped up on the dashboard, shrugged indifferently. "You were the one who left."

Damn heater. Maybe it really was working, and it was just as worthless as the rest of the car? "Just because I left the SGC didn't mean –"'

"That's not what I meant."

Well, if she didn't mean what it sounded like she meant, there was only one logical conclusion. "You meant Ilonka." It all cycled around to her, anyway, didn't it? I would never had imagined that a woman I had broken up with so long ago would still play such a ludicrously large role in my life so far down the line.

"I..." Sam pulled her leg back down, fidgeting. "Yeah. You made it pretty clear that you were moving on. That you were more then happy to do so."

"You had every right to do the same thing," I said, in my own defense.

"Maybe. Or maybe I just didn't feel like wasting my time with a substitute."

I bristled. It wasn't that I couldn't take her cracks at Ilonka. That I was used to. It was her outright assumption that I would actually go out looking for a place-filler, that I would devote that much of my life to someone I didn't really, honestly care about. Maybe she was right. I wasn't sure now and I didn't think I'd ever be absolutely, one hundred percent certain. But dammit, I didn't like the assumption. "Ilonka wasn't a substitute, and it wasn't wasted time. Our relationship was... meaningful."

Sam crossed her arms over her chest. "That's not what she told me," she said petulantly. "She said it was fun. For kicks." She squirmed again. "For sex."

I had to force myself to pay attention on the storm outside and not the maelstrom of emotions eating away at my insides. "She wouldn't have said that," I told her, but I couldn't even convince myself. Everything else in my life was screwed up now; why not this too?

"Maybe she wouldn't," said Sam cagily. "But the thing in her head sure knew what to say to push my buttons."

"Why would that make you mad?" I asked incredulously. In all honesty I would have thought that she'd be happy to hear that it had just been some soulless fling, just a long-term itch that needed scratching, something enjoyable but inconsequential. What could have made her happier than that?

"I knew she meant more to you then that," answered Sam, surprising me with her evenness. "I knew how important the two of you were to each other. If I hadn't... I would have..." She coughed politely.

"You would have what?"

Sam's voice was barely perceptible over the gentle buzz of the heater and the lessening patter of rain. "Done what you... meant for me to do. Shown up on your doorstep that night. But I knew she would be there."

"Ah."

She was half right. The night of the day I had retired, leaving behind not just the Air Force but the SGC and three of the closest friends I'd ever had, Ilonka was there at the house with me. We were supposed to be celebrating, although I wasn't very sure what was worth celebrating. It was a milestone in my life, sure, but not all milestones warrant a party. Maybe for Ilonka it was a private party. Maybe she was celebrating the fact that I was spending the evening with her and not... anybody else. Especially a blonde, five foot nine anybody else.

She knew the truth, of course. I hadn't come out and told her the whole story but I hadn't tried to hide it from her, either. The pangs of unresolved emotion in my heart... they were still there whenever Sam walked into the room. Being with someone else hadn't changed that. It hadn't even lessened it. I had gotten better at hiding it and refocusing my attention, that was all.

Ilonka made a passable spaghetti dinner and I spent most of the meal sneaking glances at the front door and the phone. I wanted Sam to come, to call. I admitted it wholly now: I wanted... her. It wasn't Ilonka's fault. It wasn't anything she had or hadn't done. She just wasn't Sam. The importance of that was clear to me now. Now. Great timing, Jack, as always.

I still felt like I was betraying Ilonka. Not just thinking about betraying her, not just fantasizing about it, but actually being unfaithful through my thoughts and feelings. It wasn't right of me to want to just throw away the past because suddenly someone else was available. That wasn't the right thing to do... and it wasn't like me. But feeling guilty couldn't and didn't make me stop having those thoughts, just like the almighty regulations had never stopped me from having those feelings.

If only they could have.

During dessert – Oreo cookies and coffee – Ilonka's pager went off. She got up to make a call and came back with a sad smile. "They need me back in Washington."

I got up. "Trouble?"

She shrugged. "You know Miller. Thinks everything is top-secret. Wouldn't say over the phone, but if they let Miller make the call it's probably just a paperwork snafu or something."

I had no idea who Miller was. "Right. Have any idea when you'll be back in town?"

"When do I ever?" she laughed, gathering up her purse and coat and snagging a few extra Oreos before pulling me into a tight embrace. "But it'll be soon," she whispered, her lips against my ear. "Congratulations, Jack."

Gently, I pulled away. "Why do you say that? Congratulations?"

She was flustered. "I don't know... I guess it's just something you say to somebody when something big happens."

Something big? Was this really that big? Actually, what was bothering me was the absence of drama. My first night as a free man: I had built it up so much in my head, and this was just not how I had envisioned it.

I walked Ilonka to the door, where she turned and gave me a very critical once-over. "What's going to happen to SG-1 now, Jack?" she asked.

Strange question. I shrugged. "It'll go on without me. Actually, I recommended to Hammond that Carter take over. I know she's kind of young to be a team leader, but she's ready... plus I don't think Daniel and Teal'c would give anyone else a moment's peace... not if Makepeace was any indication."

Ilonka was smiling and nodding before I'd even finished. "I see. Well... I'm sure she'll do well. She had a good teacher."

I tried to take the comment as it was meant, a compliment, but the end result was more grimace than smile. Thankfully, by that time, Ilonka was already down the driveway and getting into her car. She waved perkily as she pulled out. It was all I could do to simply raise my hand.

Chapter 5

I sighed, resting my head against the cool glass of the window. Outside, dawn was just starting to touch the sky, to brighten it with all kinds of beautiful shades, but I didn't have the energy to appreciate any of it.

Ilonka hadn't been at Jack's late that night, he'd said. I'd known that. It was what I hadn't known that had invariably made the difference.

"I went out driving that night, after I went home," I said, my voice flat and uninflected in my own ears. "Actually I hadn't even planned on GOING home, but... Dustan kind of insisted on it. For all of us. Daniel invited us over for the evening, Janet too. They accepted, but..."

But I'd wanted to keep my options open. I hadn't wanted to sit around Daniel's apartment either thinking and talking about Jack, or studiously NOT talking about him and thinking about him anyway. I knew I would keep thinking about how wrong it was, for us to all be together and for him to be off with... her. About how differently I had pictured this day, this night: the chains that would be released and the opportunities that would open up. But Jack O'Neill and I, I'd realized as I'd turned Daniel down on his offer, had just wound up trading in one set of chains for another. How very Shakespearean.

I changed and I got into my car to go home, but I didn't get off at my exit. I just kept going. The actions of merging, passing, checking mirrors, checking gas, taking exits, avoiding big rigs, changing directions, avoiding finding the setting sun in my eyes, avoiding bad drivers, checking my speed... it helped me think and it allowed me to NOT think at the same time. It calmed me, like it always had. Maybe in the back of my mind seeing road signs fly by, watching the miles tick past, helped me to remember that... it goes on. Potholes and all. Corny as it sounds, like a highway, life goes on.

The downside being that it's a one-way trip.

Once back in Colorado Springs I filled up my car and started for my house... but again I overshot the exit, this time without realizing it. By that time it was dusk, the time of night when the whole world turns into a basket of dingy laundry: washed out, grayed out, hazy and sleepy. It didn't occur to me that I had driven to O'Neill's house until I was actually going by.

I looked in time to see him and Ilonka in the front doorway, and then I had passed.

It was like waking from a dream -- into a worse dream; I had to make a decision, and quickly. Reaching the end of the street I fretted momentarily and then turned right. And right again. And again, until I had completely circled the block and was back on his street. Every passing second the world darkened, the night deepened. I turned off my headlights, hoping that he wouldn't recognize my somewhat distinctive car on the second pass if he hadn't on the first.

Ilonka passed me driving in the other direction. I turned my head, even though I didn't think she'd be able to see my face. Would she know the car? I watched the rearview mirror for the red flash of brake lights, for her to screech to a stop, jump out of her car, yank me out of mine and demand what I was doing skulking around her man's house. But nothing happened. She just kept going, turning right at the corner, towards the highway.

I still felt like I was doing something illegal.

When I spotted O'Neill's front yard again it was empty. The lights were on inside but the door was closed. The empty driveway - his truck was parked on the street - yawned before me like a neatly-rectangular tar pit.

My heart hammering, my hands on the steering wheel strangely sticky, I drove past again, to the end of the street, and flipped a U so I pointed in the same direction Ilonka had. When I was across the street from his house I pulled against the curb, shut off the engine and sat there in silence.

Well, I demanded of my unconscious mind, you got me this far. What now? Unfortunately for me, unconscious minds - while occasionally helpful - aren't big talkers.

I returned my attention to the house. Apparently he was alone. If I went up to his door, if he opened it, there would be no pert, pony-tailed head peeking over his shoulder. We could talk, we could have it be just us, and... and that was the problem. The rock and the hard place and every other cliched metaphor that the Colonel... that Jack had ever ridiculed. I needed to do this but I was terrified. Not of him, not of myself, not of the memory of the tension that had settled over my lab when he'd come to visit that one last time. It wasn't a fear of the present that kept me in my car, doors securely locked, it was a fear of the future. I didn't want to look back on this night in a few years and regret my actions. I didn't want to find myself thinking "Damn, I wish I had just driven away."

He'd chosen his own path, a path that led away from me, and I had to accept that. I couldn't fight it, couldn't try to change it, couldn't take advantage of it or even briefly entertain the notion because... I would regret it. I was no idiot. He was alone. If I went up to his door, if I went inside, WE would be alone, on the first night since we'd met that our being together could be totally without professional consequences. Something would happen; neither of us would have the heart or the will to stop it.

But there were other consequences to consider now, much more personal concerns. He was with her now, and showing up at his door on this night of all nights would be akin to offering myself to him. Akin to emotional manipulation. We would be together, and it would probably be wonderful, but wherever Ilonka had driven wouldn't keep her. She would come back, and Jack would be faced with the choice: me or her, her or me. Sam or Ilonka, Ilonka or Sam; how many times those names, that phrase, those five syllables had resounded in my brain. How could I force him to make a choice like that. How could I put him in that position with a clear conscience? How could I claim to love him if I didn't do what was best for him?

Maybe it was fear that initiated that line of reasoning, maybe it was the swiftest path to a conclusion that my craven heart most wished to take. Maybe it was the truth and even years later I couldn't see it for what it was. Whatever method, fact or fiction, the end result was the same: I sat there a moment longer, collecting my wits, and then I went home. Once there I unplugged my phone from the wall and placed it in a desk drawer; out of sight out of mind, or so I hoped. I poured over some paperwork that I'd brought home, preparing my reports meticulously, working hard until my eyes started to blur and my head ached, and then I went to bed. There was no restless tossing, there were no dreams. I feel asleep quickly, slept deeply, and woke refreshed... if in a somewhat numbed state. Menial labor: better then alcohol.

Damn, I thought, looking out at the brightening sky, I wish I hadn't just driven away. Selfish, yes. But painfully true.

Jack, still behind the wheel, looked suddenly tired. "You were right there," he mumbled, shaking his head minutely. "Right across the street. And you didn't..." he trailed off, his head moving more vigorously now. "I can't believe it."

The words, the tone, stabbed at me like an outright accusation. "I didn't want to make you have to choose," I persisted, shrinking back against the door as though wounded. Didn't he understand the favor I had done him?

"No..." he said, more vehemently. "What you did was prevent me from making my own decision. You KEPT me from making a choice."

My throat tightened, burned. Heat rose from my cheeks and pressed in on my eyes. So he WAS accusing me. But was it really an accusation if it was the truth? He was an adult. We both were. Were now and had been then. Had I really been so lacking in self confidence and self control that I hadn't been able to think straight? To give the two of us enough credit to think first and act second? God, I'd been an egotistical little jerk, thinking we would just fall into bed the second I walked through the door...

"There wouldn't have been a choice," Jack added, toning his voice down again.

I looked at him askance, eyes still hot and puffy with lack of sleep and repressed emotion. Bastard. "That easy of a decision?" I asked bitterly. Apparently those last two years had been just THAT good.

"Yeah," he answered almost fondly, eyes straight ahead on the road but the ghost of a sad smile playing in the lines of his face. "I would have chosen you."

My head snapped back front-and-center again, staring out at the lightening sky and speeding cars without really seeing any of it. My eyes still felt hot but the rest of me was as cold as I'd ever been during those torturous days and nights in Antarctica. Little jolts of elation and hysteria shivered through the marrow of my bones, starting deep within and spreading outwards like spikes of electricity. I opened my mouth, letting out a rush of air I hadn't realized I'd been holding in my lungs. My reply was barely more then a whisper: "Don't say that."

His jaw was set in that familiar I-mean-business clench. "It's the truth."

"No."

"I did love Ilonka -"

"I don't want to hear this."

"- but I loved you more."

"Stop!"

Easy to admit that I was still in love with him. Much, much harder to hear that he had been, long ago and far away. The present and the past were not compatible, and no matter how much we wished that our feelings could just... time travel... they couldn't, any more then we could. This was one problem even a Stargate and a solar flare couldn't fix.

"Why should I?" he replied evenly, emphatically, turning his head to look at me.

Gritting my teeth, avoiding eye contact, I muttered, "Watch the road."

He did, but he didn't get the hint. "Why don't you want to hear it?"

Not going to answer that one, I thought angrily. I crossed my arms. Pursed my lips. Blinked. Oh God, bad idea. Apparently I'd been storing up tears ever since we started this conversation - thick hot tears - and now to my great embarrassment, they made their debut.

"Because it means... I made a mistake." My voice sounded awful, like someone had driven over my vocal cords, and the breaths I took between words were wet and shuddery. "I was THERE, I was across the STREET, and my life has been a living hell since I left and if I'd just... if I hadn't been afraid, if I'd gone to you, I could ... could have spent all those years not being completely miserable." I swallowed loudly, sucking in air through my mouth instead of my nose. "I made a mistake, and... I regret it." Closing my eyes, I leaned my head against the window again, striving for calm. "You know, there's only one thing I wanted out of my life, at least since I was old enough to understand it. It wasn't to get into space or to have a family or even to make Dad proud of me... the only thing I really wanted was to live my life without regrets. And," I was unable to suppress a bitter chuckle, "I think I was doing pretty damn good until you came along."

Or maybe not. I'd regretted my deteriorated relationship with my father, my brother. I'd regretted being too wrapped up in work to notice the years falling silently behind me. I couldn't begin to blame all that on someone else... but it seemed like the right thing to say. Right for me, not him.

We continued in silence after that, at least until Jack was forced to ask for directions; seemed he still got lost in Washington. Sweet.

As we pulled onto the home stretch, I sat up fully and wiped my face with my hands. Fate was approaching... or more correctly, WE were approaching it. Jack must have sensed the change in mood because he said, in a surprisingly small voice, "One more question."

I didn't even have the wherewithal to be anxious of what he might ask, not anymore. "Now would be the time," I said, punctuating that statement with, "turn right up there."

He nodded, and then he asked, "What's with 'Jack'?"

I blinked at him in surprise, and this time my eyes stayed dry. "That's your name, isn't it?"

"You know what I mean. Turn right here?"

"No, at the stoplight. And no, I don't know what you mean. Is this another one of those 'offensive' things again? Because if memory serves, you're the one who asked me to call you that."

"And you said it like it was a dirty word." He turned right, taking the opportunity to glare at my obstinacy. "Then you show up at the cabin acting like it's the only thing you've ever called me."

I wasn't surprised that it bothered him so much. I'd seen the way he'd flinched the first time I'd used his first name, the way he'd almost done a double take to make sure I was who he'd thought. I'd used the name comfortably, something I hadn't been able to do before. Makepeace, Kawalsky, and a handful of other officers at the SGC, not to mention the civilians, had called him 'Jack' with hardly a second thought. But for me it had been the number-one symbolic way of creating a prim and professional distance between us. I could get away with a lot, and did. I could occasionally be ever so slightly insubordinate and know I could risk it. I could touch him when he was hurt and smile when I wanted to, because he was Sir, he was Colonel, he was O'Neill. He was never Jack. For that all to change so suddenly - in his eyes - it must have been jarring.

I composed my answer carefully. "I guess... I wasn't really sure about you at first. And I knew it would throw you off, so..."

He grunted. "Yeah. Maybe. But that first time... I know calculation when I see it and that wasn't it."

My eyes flickered to our surroundings. Close, we were getting close. Fine. Just FINE. "What, you think I've never talked about you since I left the SGC? That I haven't even thought about you? Turn left onto Bolton."

"What does that have to do with it?" he demanded, making the turn.

"It has to do with memories," I nearly growled. "When I left, it HURT, okay? It hurt worse to remember what I'd left behind, and that's a whole other regret I don't even want to get into. It hurt to remember the friends that I missed." I paused, took a breath, let it out slowly, and dived right in. There would never be a better time. Maybe there would never be another time, ever, and this was one regret I didn't want to take to the grave. "Colonel O'Neill was my commanding officer for more than seven years. When I was injured or sick, he was worried about me. When I was missing, he did whatever he had to do to find me. I was never positive if he was my friend or not, but I knew he cared just as much as I knew I cared about him. I… loved him. He was one of the most important people in my life, then and now and always. I came out here and just... thinking that rank, that name provoked this... intense nostalgia. It hurt to remember... 'Sir'."

I didn't look at him. Couldn't.

"Jack," I said boldly, "Jack, on the other hand, was someone I never knew. Maybe Daniel or Teal'c knew him, General Hammond probably did, but… I didn't. Not that I didn't want to, maybe, it just... wasn't meant to be." Painful to say. Romantic, but not. The anti-fairy tale ending. "Jack had a… a fishing pole in his hand instead of a gun. He was the guy who visited elementary schools on his downtime instead of going to a club or a bar. He was a father to Charlie, a husband to Sara... he was the man who loved Laira and fell in love with Ilonka Waters while I watched." I shook my head derisively. "I never knew the man. And it's so much easier to think of a stranger. Hurts a lot less." Sighing, I pointed, "It's that building over there. In front of the flagpole."

He pulled into the parking lot. The grass was just as yellow and brittle as ever. The heat was beginning to build even though the sun hadn't fully risen. Across the street two kids dressed all in black drank Pepsis and watched us with slitted eyes.

Jack turned off the car and left the eyes in the ignition. The Janus building loomed before us like a warehouse of danger and death. Neither of us made the first move to get out, even though we knew Janet's time was counting down... if it hadn't already run out altogether.

"Am I still a stranger?" asked Jack.

I turned my head and looked at him, really looked at him for the first time in a long time, and he looked back at me. There was something familiar in there, buried deep inside, as though I was looking directly into his genetic code, seeing everything that had been, was and would be. The pervasive hum of his mind, the steady cadence of his heart, and all the malignancies that lurked within. I could see the man I'd trusted and respected with my whole being, once upon a time. But there was something between us, separating us like a force shield, like a wall of glass that needed washing. They obscured my vision, distorted his face, the light in his eyes. Maybe the shield was time, maybe distance, maybe fear. Maybe those were all words for the same thing.

"Yes," I said finally.

I added silently: but that's good. That will make this easier.

Chapter 6

The building - Janus, Carter had called it - was imposing, I had to admit. Maybe it was because I knew there were Goa'uld inside, maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me. But that big, gray box - surrounded by the other big gray boxes that comprised the business park - reminded me of a castle awaiting a siege. The small windows would be perfect for aiming arrows through. The flat roof was ideal for pouring down boiling hot oil on intruders. Once I had the image in my head, it wouldn't go away.

Carter was silent, tense. At first I wondered if it had anything to do with my questions, but as we crossed the brown, weather-stripped lawn I admitted to myself: she wasn't pissed off, she was afraid. Afraid of what was in that building.

This was insane. Insane. Thor wouldn't even be able to bring us up if things got nasty. If one of us was injured, we wouldn't be able to look to the Asgaard for help because Daniel was occupying the one human stasis pod; if he was taken out, he would die. All of these things kept running through my mind but nonetheless my feet kept moving, taking me to the front door.

In a way I welcomed whatever was waiting for us on the other side. Whatever form the enemy might take, we could deal with them; of that I had complete confidence. It was the other stuff we weren't quite as good at, and it had been that way back when we were SG-1, too. We could plan a mission to the detail, execute with minimal damage to ourselves… it was when we got back that things sometimes got messy. The injuries, the hurt feelings. The "I told you that wasn't going to work" conversations followed by the "You're alive, aren't you?" conversations. The brief moment of relief that everyone WAS alive… but a moment was all you could allow yourself, because there were more details to plan.

For a long time neither Sam-- Carter nor I had had any real enemy to contend with. Maybe that was why we'd turned on each other, on ourselves. Maybe we just needed to fight with someone so badly we'd resorted to whoever was closest.

I tried not to take offense at what she had said about my being a stranger. It wasn't fair of me TO take offense, because hadn't I caught myself thinking the exact same thing only days ago? Hadn't I admitted to myself that I wasn't so much in love with the Sam Carter of today as I was the Sam Carter of years past? The only difference was that I hadn't been man enough to say it out loud.

Carter reached the door first, opened it, and held it for me. Her eyes were downcast, her limbs stiff, but I stepped over the threshold without saying anything. It was strange, following her lead like this; the "Colonel O'Neill" in me was part uncomfortable with this reversal of roles, but "Jack" had humbled enough by now to accept that this was her turf. As I turned this over in my head, she followed; by the time I realized that we were in a teeny tiny waiting room, the outer doors locked behind us with a smug, solid thump.

A vertical seam marked the inner doors, but there were no knobs or handles. I reached for them anyway but Sam placed her hand over mind, stopping me. Her head was slightly inclined, and when I looked in the same direction I could see a tiny camera mounted in the corner near the ceiling. There were some other protrusions there, too; probably speakers and a mike.

"State your names and business," demanded a voice from the general direction of that corner. The voice was male, young, and if I wasn't mistaken sounded somewhat perplexed. Either the boss hadn't told him to be on the lookout for anyone matching our descriptions, or he HAD been told but hadn't imagined we'd be so stupid as to actually come turn ourselves in.

I almost laughed, almost told the guy: never underestimate the stupidity of desperate people in desperate situations.

Carter licked her lips quickly and addressed the camera: "Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter and-" she glanced at me "-Colonel Jack O'Neill, retired. Authorization code nine three six delta. We're here to see General Dirae. We don't have an appointment, but I think she'll see us if you give her our names."

My attention wandered briefly, then refocused on the speakers. Next to them on the wall were vents that might as well have had their purpose labeled in big block letters. The young man on the other end of that camera was taking an awful long time to respond.

Carter's fingers still brushed against mine. Now she actually reached over and took my hand in hers, squeezing it quickly, holding on tightly. Not knowing what to do, keeping my eyes still fixed on the vents, I squeezed back. Her skin was moist but her grip was firm, reassuring, and it helped me realize something: this was no longer an issue of whether or not I trusted her. I just HAD to, there was no choice. And the fact that I was here with her, even after the drive, even after that godawful conversation, meant that I did.

One little ambiguity cleared up. It almost made me want to smile... almost. I trusted her.

The internal mechanisms of the inner door abruptly whirred and, with the distinct 'clank' of a deadbolt sliding free and the hiss of cool air, the thick gray metal slabs jutted out, away from us. Carter yanked her hand out of mine in a near-panic. Her look of palpable relief was fleeting, but I caught her eye as she reached out to push open the doors; she was surprised - and maybe even a little bit worried - that we hadn't been gassed. "Security measure," she muttered as we moved out of the range of the anteroom mike and into a long, dark, air-conditioned hallway. "I thought they'd at least want to stall..."

I nodded minutely, eyeing the plain white doors, the blank gray walls. I felt like I'd stepped into a mental institution. "They were expecting us."

"Maybe," replied Carter, but she didn't elaborate.

Our footsteps, tapping against the floor and echoing off the walls and ceiling, reminded me of the rain. We continued walking in silence; Carter's pace never faltered and she kept her eyes focused straight ahead. I looked up, down, side to side, everywhere and at everything I could, doing my damnedest to commit it all to memory... but there was nothing to memorize besides the institutional scheme and obsessive sameness of every inch of the corridor.

When a door opened several yards in front of us, I almost wasn't prepared. And no matter how much time I'd spent thinking about it - no matter how many lectures I'd gotten over the past few days about the possibility, no matter how much I trusted Sam Carter - I was still completely and utterly unready to see Ilonka step over the threshold and into the hallway.

Her posture was perfect, as always. Spine straight, shoulders thrown back, chin and eyes raised. Her white blouse, black jacket and straight black skirt were immaculate, as though her clothes had been ironed only after she'd put them on. Her brassy hair was done up neatly, her makeup was tasteful and appropriate, her skin seemed tanned and healthy... and her eyes captured mine with no effort whatsoever. Dark brown, deep, so full of emotions that I couldn't even separate one from the other. Of course I'd never been very good at that emotional analysis stuff; I couldn't even tell what I was feeling just then -- surprise, certainly, and concern, but also a tidal wave of other thoughts and feelings that were too chaotic just now to make sense of.

"Jack," she said simply, but I thought I detected an odd tremble in that painfully familiar voice. It was something I couldn't remember having ever noticed before. She pursed her lips and added, with more strength and gusto, "Colonel, I'm glad to see you're doing well."

She couldn't be a Goa'uld. No, she wasn't. I didn't have Thor's little toy with me, but I didn't need it. This was Ilonka; I could tell. I felt shameful in my certainty, felt like a betrayer, but that didn't change what I KNEW. I smiled a smile that was too large and too tight to possibly come off as genuine and shrugged with a looseness I didn't feel. "Actually I was doing a lot better before I got dragged out here," I informed her, trying to sound annoyed when all I wanted to do was stand here and stare at Ilonka until she broke down in the face of my sheer will and confessed any and all wrong-doings. "What's so important that my retirement had to be interrupted?"

Ilonka lifted her chin a few degrees higher and forced herself to meet my eyes. It was something she did, something she had always done, something that smacked of masochism . She wanted to look down, look away, break eye contact, but she was too stubborn to let herself. To her way of thinking it would be a sign of weakness. "You should probably be... formally debriefed," she said with just the slightest tinge of regret in her voice, and just the vaguest hint of fondness in her eyes. "I'd hate to impose where it's not my place."

A second door opened, the one directly across the hall from the room Ilonka had stepped out of. We were joined by another woman - shorter, older, with a dusky complexion and short salt-and-pepper hair - wearing a stiff black suit. Directly on her heels was a surprisingly young man with an disproportionately thick neck and absurdly large hands; I could recognize hired muscle when I saw it. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Colonel," said the woman briskly and with an actress's practiced ease. "I'm General Dirae; feel free to call me Gena. I'm glad you could join us. We have a lot to talk about. If you wouldn't mind following Lieutenant Gomez here, we can get started and get this over with as soon as possible." Her eyes shifted to Carter, and she smiled a surprisingly friendly, almost maternal smile. "Sam, if you wouldn't mind staying here, I'd like to speak to you."

Hands clasped behind her back, she nodded crisply and Dirae returned the expression with another smile. Just before Gomez indicated that I should follow him I glanced over at Ilonka and felt the knot of fear in my stomach - a knot that had loosened slightly with our civil reception - tighten once again. Ilonka's gaze had shifted to Sam - who seemed to be ignoring her - and the expression on her face wasn't exactly one of unbridled gratitude or respect. It wasn't even one of grudging tolerance. We'd all known before coming here that I would be the most at risk, the most vulnerable; I was the one they'd been trying to find for whatever sick and twisted reason. But the feelings of dread stirred up by that brief glimpse of cold resentment weren't for my benefit. Sam was in danger here just as much as I was... maybe even more. And now they wanted to split us up.

I hesitated for just a moment, feet temporarily glued to the floor, wondering if I should protest that I didn't want to lose touch with Carter. But it would have done more harm than good, I realized a split second later, taking a slow step towards Gomez. We had to play this cool, not just for Dirae but for Ilonka as well. We couldn't risk piquing the General's curiosity... and I didn't dare pique Ilonka's jealousy.

Jealousy? Was that what that look was? Was that all it was?

Gomez turned his broad back on me, striding purposely down the long corridor towards what seemed like elevator doors at the end. I had no choice but to follow, but I made sure my shoulder brushed against Carter's as I stepped past her.

With great difficulty I avoided Ilonka's eyes, but I could feel them following my progress down the hallway. It took everything I had to keep from looking back.

Chapter 7

Both Gena and Ilonka Waters were completely silent until Jack stepped into the elevator and the double doors closed behind him. They watched him carefully for every inch of the trip, as though expecting someone to jump out - or beam down - and snatch him from their greedy hands. I almost wished someone would.

Janet. Remember Janet.

But then the elevator closed and the two women looked back at me, and I had a hard time remember anything besides how badly I wanted to punch them both across their faces. An odd bubble of collegiate trivia floated up from my subconscious: a treatise on how much more peaceful and civilized the world would be if it was run by women instead of men. What a load of crap, I thought, trying to keep my disdain concealed behind a neutral mask. Women had the same issues, the same power struggles, the same penchant for head games that men did... only instead of shooting you in the face, they would stab you in the back.

"Good work, Sam," said Gena with surprising warmth. "You completed your mission... although I can't say I entirely approve of your... tactics." She might as well have winked and nudged me in the ribs, as saucy as she sounded. She didn't give a damn about how I had done it, she was just glad it had been done.

"I did have my reasons, ma'am," I answered, trying to sound properly amused and conspiratorial, but Ilonka jumped in.

"And what would those reasons be, if I may ask?"

I could have corrected her, could have pertly replied that no, she couldn't ask. Gena wouldn't have rebuked me; she might have even laughed. Ilonka had screwed up and I had come through... or that was what I hoped she thought. I was the General's new golden girl, at least until we found Janet and broke the hell out of here. I could have told Ilonka that my reasons were none of her damn business, but I couldn't take the chance. Still addressing Gena, watching Ilonka only out of the corner of my eye, I answered smartly: "General, it was my observation Colonel Waters' history with Colonel O'Neill might be liability in retrieving him. I also thought I knew where he was, but that I would have to hurry to catch him. I didn't think I would be able to convince either you or Colonel Waters of my plan in time."

Gena seemed delighted by my initiative; Ilonka - seen peripherally - appeared ready to spit. "Is that the kind of protocol you learned at the SGC, Lieutenant Colonel?" asked the younger woman. "Playing fast and loose with the rules whenever it serves your best interests?"

"I thought it was serving the best interests of this country, Colonel," I said smoothly, finally bestowing upon her the honor of my attention. Ilonka's made no effort to hide her contempt; she looked as though she had just gotten a whiff of raw sewage mixed with toxic waste.

General Dirae - if that was her real name - chuckled at my unfailing patriotism and shook her head. "If it works, it works. In any case, I should head downstairs. Ilonka, can you..."

"I'll take care of the rest, ma'am," she replied with a deferential nod, and she gestured towards the open door from which she'd entered the hallway. "This way, please," she entreated through gritted teeth, staring at me challengingly.

Obvious to the tension, Gena turned on her heel and started eagerly down the corridor towards the elevator - my stomach twisted and flipped with anxiety - and I turned towards the doorway and the room beyond: an empty office. I'd only just stepped over the threshold when I felt Ilonka's hands against my back, pushing me into the room... hard.

I stumbled, didn't fall, whirled around in time to see dear Colonel Waters slamming the door behind her. Despite myself I stepped back, certain that if she got too close she'd slap me across the face like an irate soap opera villainess. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You stupid little bitch," she hissed, reinforcing the villainess stereotype and blatantly ignoring my question. "What do you think you're doing?"

Drawing myself up I snapped, "Doing my job."

Ilonka laughed humorously. "Doing your job? No, Samantha," she drawled. "You're doing THEIR job. From hereon out, YOU are responsible for everything that happens. I want you to remember that. YOU."

Bitter, desperate wench. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She scoffed. "You know, you may be stupid, but you don't lie well."

"Do you think we could skip over the third-grade insults and stick with facts, Colonel?" I asked. "I've got better things to do then stand here and take this."

Again, she spoke right over me. "You know exactly what I mean. You know about the Goa'uld or else you wouldn't have run off half-cocked like you did, and you wouldn't have stayed away for so long."

"Goa'uld," I repeated skeptically, trying not to let her see how badly I was shaken. The truth was that I had never expected her to admit the truth so quickly, so easily, no matter how perceptive she was or how much she thought I knew. Gena had gone to great lengths to make this look like just another standard military operation and Ilonka was blowing that cover with hardly a flinch. When she didn't bother elaborating, simply choosing to glare at me icily, I decided there would be no better time for me to take this chance. "What do they want with him?"

With a smug flourish Ilonka folded her arms over her chest. "She wants to know about the Asgaard. Where they are, how many of them, what they know. She'll play the charade for as long as she can, of course, try to make it look like there's the slightest chance that the 'concerns of the Air Force' could be genuine. But when he doesn't cooperate..." In a rare show of weakness, she averted her eyes and shook her head. "I hope they show you what's left of him when they're done. I want you to have to live with that sight for the rest of your miserable life."

A coldness started to spread through me, starting in my stomach and moving out through my extremities. Doubt. God, I was doubting myself and starting to wonder if this was more than just an act. "I don't know why you think you can blame this on me," I said sharply, fighting away fear with temper. "I did what I was told to do by a superior officer. I didn't know. You were given the same assignment."

"Yes, I was," Ilonka agreed, meeting my eyes challengingly. "But the difference was that I never intended to complete that assignment."

"What do you mean?" The question slipped out before I could stop myself, before I could think about what I was asking. The cold, sick feeling spread even further out and I partly blamed it for hampering my judgment. But there was also the strange fact that Ilonka's words rang true. "You couldn't have found him even if you wanted to," I added hastily.

Her smile was back, thin and unconvincing, lifting only one side of her mouth. "You think I don't know about the cabin?"

Well... shit. "It wasn't on the papers you gave me," I answered edgily, my mind racing. Jack had said that he'd never told Ilonka about the property, but someone must have found out... someone had sent soldiers after us...

And someone had sent Duke.

Sighing, Ilonka uncrossed her arms and placed her fists on her hips. If the stance was supposed to make her look more intimidating, more impressive, it didn't work. Over the last few days I'd become far too accustomed to reading people's expressions, analyzing them and making decisions based on them, and everything about her spoke of doubt and defensiveness. "When Jack and I were seeing each other, he'd go off on his own sometimes. At first it was just when I was in Washington, but he kept spending more and more time away... at one point he was gone for weeks. I couldn't bring myself to ask... I thought that if he wanted me to know, he'd tell me."

"Yeah, and you're just the polite type, aren't you? Where did you think he went?"

Ilonka didn't answer, but for the second time since we had arrived her piercing stare flickered and briefly faded. It was more then just a shift from anger to defensiveness... it was vulnerability, and so help me God it was a pleasure to see. "You thought he was going to see me," I said quietly, hoping not to sound too pleased. "To locate me, or... you thought we were having an affair?"

She didn't acknowledge me, but she didn't refute the claim, either. Fists clenching even tighter, she muttered. "It didn't matter why... either way I needed to know."

"You mean Osiris needed to know. You were already working for her by that point, weren't you?" I accused, trying to remember to keep my voice down to a level that wouldn't permeate the walls.

Again I was ignored. "They'd started the program... putting symbiotes into animals, using them as hosts. It sounded insane at first but in theory, it made sense. Many times animals - cats and dogs especially - can go places humans can't. They would make excellent spies, the only drawback being their decreased ability to communicate. But all the cat had to do was get to Jack's phone." She shrugged. "I brought it over to his house one weekend and it stowed away in his truck the next time he made his trip. It took a while for it to get the right opportunity but eventually it was able to get inside while Jack was out and dial the number. I traced it back and found out exactly where he was." She smiled again; a small, self-satisfied smile. "Of course I never told anyone. Even the Goa'uld have rules about employing company equipment for personal use."

And the severance package probably wouldn't have come with retirement benefits, I thought morbidly. "This program is still running, then?"

"Unfortunately, this case was the exception and not the rule. The program didn't always work that well. Some of the symbiotes didn't appreciate being regulated to animal bodies; they'd get out and go renegade, taking human hosts without permission. It caused us quite a lot of trouble."

"I'm sure it did," I said flatly. I was sickened, not only at her breezy explanation of how she and her Goa'uld friends had infected Jack's life, but also the cavalier way in which she described other human beings being taken as hosts. Didn't she understand... didn't she even have the slightest inkling of what that was like? "So you found out about the cabin years ago. Then what?"

"When he disappeared from Colorado Springs we of course began looking up where else he could be. After the background check didn't make any mention of a property in Minnesota... I had a suspicion. Which was confirmed, again, by the cat." She chuckled. "I have to admit, I'm astounded by its loyalty. I'd have thought that it would have become wild or taken over some fisherman by this point."

"How nice for you."

Ilonka shrugged off the comment. "I held off telling them as long as possible. We knew that the Asgaard were intercepting the messages but I couldn't be sure that Jack was involved and I didn't want to bring him into this unless I was positive. And then when I began to realize how badly they wanted him, how serious she is... I knew I wouldn't be able to. To put him in danger like that." Her eyes darkened. "I just didn't count on you playing along with them."

"I've been playing along?" Gathering my courage I took a step forward. "If I've heard you right, you've just admitted to committing treason. Helping the Goa'uld, aiding Osiris. For years. You think you're blameless here? You really think this is my fault?"

"Let me tell you a little story," said Ilonka scornfully. "I was at home when they came. Visiting my family in Texas. We were at church, ironic as that sounds. It's a small town, old-fashioned. Most of us were there that morning... which is why they waited until then to come. I'm sure you've figured out that that's their MO. But it wasn't just that. They knew I was there. She came looking for me... Osiris did. She gave me a choice between being a host, and being an ally."

Ally, collaborator. I vastly preferred our term. "Oh, well, if it was for your own self-preservation, then never mind..."

"It wasn't!" she snapped. "I knew I would never be able to stop them myself. Even if I brought it to the attention of someone else, I had no idea how big the problem was... how fully Osiris had infiltrated. I knew that if I could gain Osiris's trust I could use her like she wanted to use me. You have to understand: she didn't just want another host. She wanted me to be put somewhere sensitive, somewhere people knew what signs to look for and might even run the occasional MRI. If they had made me a host..."

"...They would never have been able to implant you as the SGC liaison," I finished, feeling nauseous. I'd known that the Goa'uld had been here for years, and I had felt very strongly that Ilonka had something to do with them... but I'd always assumed that her involvement had been recent, starting some time after I'd left. "You were working for them before I even met you."

"Not working for them," she corrected me vehemently. "Working within them--"

Furious, I took a step closer, interrupting her with a sharp swipe of my hand. "What happened to Paul Davis wasn't an accident, was it?"

Chapter 8

There were no buttons in the elevator, no lights indicating what level we were on, not even a phone to alert the outside world in case the car broke down. The metallic walls were completely smooth except for the vertical seam that marked the double doors.

The car stopped after only a few seconds of travel and from the way my stomach had dropped I assumed that we were underground... maybe two or three floors beneath the ground level. The fact that there was a subterranean section to the building wasn't surprising, but I had to wonder just how extensive it was. Just a couple basement rooms... or a holding dock for Osiris's ship and a dozen steaming containers of Goa'uld symbiotes?

I shuddered despite myself, but Gomez's back was to me and he didn't notice.

The doors opened onto a corridor exactly like the one we'd just left... only Carter, Ilonka and their CO weren't standing midway down it. Otherwise it might have seemed that we hadn't moved at all. As Gomez led the way, I wonder if that little bit of disorientation was deliberate.

I had to admit, Osiris was doing a remarkably good job keeping things low key. One of the Goa'uld's biggest weaknesses was their desire to flaunt their power, to mix up brute strength and baseless intimidation. That had been the problem for the Jaffa, after all. They'd gone around dolled up in their nifty metal suits because it scared the bejesus out of the primitive populations they'd enslaved... but that didn't do them any favors when they came across an SG-team. Once we'd figured out which kind of bullets most effectively pierced their armor, all it did was make them bigger, clumsier targets.

The Goa'uld themselves had a definite thing for cosmetics and theatrical garb. While Osiris would have needed to keep things looking above-board aboveground, the deeper we traveled into the facility the more surprised I became at the absence of rich tapestries and gold leaf. Dirae, allegedly a Goa'uld or at least a Collaborator, had looked positively conservative in that black suit.

Gomez abruptly stopped, reached for the handle of a door - just another door like all the rest; I wondered how he knew that this was the one he wanted - and pulled it open. He motioned me inside and I went, looking around distrustfully. I wasn't sure what I expected - probably something with glowing eyes - but the room was empty.

"The General will be with you shortly," said Gomez as soon as I was inside, and he closed the door behind me.

I was alone.

This was unexpected. Not that it opened up many options. Gomez had either locked the door or would be standing guard just outside it, so I wouldn't have a chance to go scouting around for Doc before my visitor arrived.

I turned in a small circle, taking in my surroundings. They weren't much to look at. Four gray walls enclosing a room about the size of the observation lab back at the SGC. A floor covered with cheap blue carpeting. A gunmetal gray desk, very utilitarian, and two straight-backed black plastic chairs. Comfy.

No windows, of course. No other doors besides the one opening into the hallway. The walls were unadorned... although one of them seemed a little TOO smooth, a little too unmarred. An improvement on the one-way window, I decided, not giving it too much attention in case I was already being observed from the other side.

Jack O'Neill rule of combat, number one: Never underestimate the enemy.

Jack O'Neill rule of combat, number two: Always let the enemy underestimate you.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and whistled. Off-key, just in case there was a mike in the room too.

I passed the time thinking, while simultaneously trying to make it look like I wasn't. I played with my watch strap. I tied and retied my shoe laces. I sat in one of the plastic chairs and counted the acoustic tiles on the ceiling. And I thought. About Carter and what Dirae had wanted to say to her. About Ilonka and why she'd looked at Carter like she had... why she had looked at ME like she had. I thought about Thor and Jarl high overhead and the Goa'uld somewhere near, Teal'c injured and Daniel in stasis and Doc Frasier somewhere close. We hoped.

They hadn't checked me for weapons or a bug, at least not physically. There might have been some kind of scanning equipment in the anteroom - or in this room, for all I knew - but so far there hadn't been anything overt. There hadn't been anything threatening. It all had a clandestine flavor to it, but so did the SGC. If this whole runaround reminded me of anything it was military theatrics, not Goa'uld clichés.

The door opened without warning or pretense and in stepped the General. Gomez could be seen hovering just outside, and then the door closed and it was just me and Dirae.

Dirae. Interesting name. Daniel had mentioned that it sounded familiar, but considering how much the guy read that didn't help much.

She made a beeline for the second chair, dragging it across the floor so she could sit directly across the table from me. "Colonel," she greeted with a sharp smile, placing her hands in her lap.

"Retired," I reminded her, as though to explain why I hadn't made any move to stand when she'd entered the room. But she hadn't seemed to expect such an action, either.

"Of course." She sat back in the chair and cocked her head slightly, as though trying to view me from a different angle. "You're a difficult man to get in contact with. Something to do with that Special Ops training, perhaps?" she inquired, and I didn't get the feeling she was making a joke.

I made one of my own. "I don't know. The telemarketers seem pretty good at tracking me down. Maybe you should have called them?"

Dirae angled her head to the opposite side, vaguely amused. "Sam came through for us."

Uh-huh... "Well, yes, she does that."

Her dark eyes crinkled in the corners. "You taught her well, then."

No. That I couldn't agree with, facetiously or not. I hadn't taught her well enough, obviously, because if I had Dawson would still be alive. Or even if that mission had had the exact same result, Sam might have come through it better. I hadn't been there, as a C.O. or anything else, before, during or after the incident. I'd failed her. Failed my second in command, my friend, the woman I... I swallowed thickly, surfacing from the torrent of emotions in time to hear Dirae's first real question. "May I inquire as to the nature of your fascination with Kentucky?"

Her formal phrasing, I thought, sounded oddly mocking. I tried to ignore my hypersensitive perceptions and focus on the facts; Dirae had been tracking Sam's car and she didn't care if I was aware of the fact. "I take it you've never been to Kentucky."

The General traced the line of her jaw with the knuckle of her thumb. "Can't say that I have."

"Oh, well, you don't know what you're missing. Gena"

Her eyes had drifted thoughtfully to the dull tabletop, and now her gaze lifted again to meet mine. Maybe it was the way I'd paused before saying her name, maybe there was the same hint of derision in my voice that there was in hers, or maybe it was something completely different. But a peculiar insight passed between us in that moment, understanding like an electrical current.

She stared me down with cat-like eyes. Do you know?

I stared right back. Yeah sure ya betcha.

Chapter 9

Ilonka blinked rapidly, as though there was something in her eye. "What." It wasn't a question, just a sound, just a way to stall and make me reconsider. When I refused to answer she set her mouth in a hard line and huffed through her nose. "I can't believe you would accuse me of something like that. You think I had something to do with what happened to Davis."

Again, not a question. She was going to make me spell it out, make me go out on a limb. It was a short limb, however, and sturdy. "I think you knew what was going to happen to him. If you knew Osiris wanted to place you in the SGC, then you knew there was one big obstacle that needed to be removed first."

"I didn't think they'd try to kill him," Ilonka maintained.

"You didn't think the Goa'uld might want to kill someone?" I asked incredulously. "What did you think they'd do? Reassign him to Alaska? Threaten his family until he backed out on his own? I think you're confusing the Goa'uld with the NID. Some morals, different tactics. You knew. You knew from the beginning..."

I stopped. Closed my eyes. Let the knowledge sink in like hypothermia, chilling my bones.

"You knew," I said again, feeling oddly breathless. A strange sound escaped my throat, half mirthless laughter and half gasp. My eyes opened. Ilonka's pained expression hadn't changed. "You knew, and that was why you pursued Jack. To get close to him. In case Osiris wanted him taken out, quick and discreet."

"That's not it at all," she said hoarsely.

"I think it is."

She spoke over me. "I knew why I'd been assigned to the SGC but I didn't know what for. In the beginning my only duty was to pass on information. Military information, things that might not end up in the final draft of your reports. Jack had nothing to do with that. And Osiris had nothing to do with me and Jack. I 'pursued' him because I cared about him."

"And you didn't realize how dangerous that was?" I retorted. "Even if Jack hadn't been a target before, he sure was once you got involved with him. If there's anything the Goa'uld know it's how to use the people we love against us, to use our feelings against us. The second Osiris found out that you 'cared about' Jack, he was in danger. And you can bet your life that Osiris DID find out."

"She didn't. That's what I've discovered, Samantha. You accuse me of being cowardly and selfish by keeping quiet, but I've gotten the Goa'uld to trust me and I've learned things." Her eyes shone with resentment and fervor. "These are underling Goa'uld that Osiris brought from the Unas planet... they aren't like Jaffa. They aren't dependent on Osiris for anything besides instructions. And they're not too impressed with those lately. They want to revolt, take the invasion public." She stepped forward, her eyes two dark coals in the center of her rigid face. "Gena's one of their leaders, and she's prepared to betray Osiris."

I held my tongue between my teeth, forcing myself to think before I spoke. I'd come into this partnership determined to keep private issues private, to keep the past the past, and now here I was dredging up old memories despite myself while Ilonka struggled to get us on track. "Gena's a Goa'uld?" I asked finally.

Dark humor glistened in Ilonka's shadowed eyes. "Somebody didn't take high school Latin. 'Gena'. Regina." She paused expectantly.

"Queen," I said softly.

"And 'Dirae'. Also a Latin name. Ancient Roman mythology. Literally it means "The terrible"." She paused again, waiting me to jump in with the answer and smiling scornfully when I didn't. "I've done my own research. It's one of the names for the Furies, Roman goddesses of vengeance." No wonder Daniel had thought the name familiar. "Gena Dirae," Ilonka clarified a final time. "Queen of the Furies. You know, if nothing else, the Goa'uld are quite poetic. And the others respond to that. Osiris isn't even here half the time; Gena is. And they know their 'Queen' won't hold them back the same way their 'Lord' has."

"But Gena's still playing the role of the dutiful second in command?"

Ilonka's lips twisted. "Something you'd know about," she murmured. "Yes, actually. That's why your friend Frasier is here. And you, I suppose: a little gift for Lord Osiris. They were also supposed to capture Jackson, but the men Gena sent were inept. And yes," she added, as though reading my mind. "Gena sent them, not me. I only discovered the plan after the fact. And I knew that when you found out, you and Jack would take some... crazy, rash action. That's what you do." Her tone was simultaneously jealous and condescending. "I came here, dispatched the closest cops... but I guess you managed to give them the slip."

I raised my eyebrows. Dispatched cops? Did the Goa'uld have the same access to the I-SPI system that the Asgaard did?

Ilonka continued: "We've had to 'quarantine' them back at their station in Elysia. God only knows what they think they saw. And I'm not looking forward to explaining it to Gena, either."

Explaining it? Why, I wondered, would she need to explain anything if... oh. Oh. "You know, you can't keep playing this charade. Sooner or later you'll end up on the losing side. You have the information you wanted to get. You have the knowledge. Let us put it to good use."

"It's not that easy."

"It can be."

Ilonka stared at me for a long moment, and then indicated a paper bag on the floor against the wall, a bag I hadn't noticed with all the commotion. "There's some clothes in there for you," she said, her voice oddly flat. "Put them on. I'll be waiting outside." And with that she opened the door, stepped through and closed it behind her, leaving me blinking in confusion at her rapid exit.

Shaking my head, I retrieved the paper back and emptied the contents into my hands. It wasn't one of the restrictive black suits I had expected, the kind of suit that Ilonka and Gena were wearing. It was my dress uniform, the same one I had worn into Gena's office mere days ago, but from the smell it had been laundered. Despite that - or maybe because of that - the pool of familiar blue fabric made me feel slightly sick. As though the colors were vaguely threatening. As though they were mocking me. As though Gena and Ilonka were mocking me.

"That's why your friend Frasier is here. And you, I suppose: a little gift for Lord Osiris."

My options were limited. I changed quickly, my body going through the motions while my mind whirled frantically. I'd started out thinking that Ilonka was blatantly lying to me, later decided that she was merely fooling herself into believing a cover story, but now - despite my own biases - I found that I believed what she had told me. Maybe because it was all so patently human. Ilonka Waters was scared. She'd been scared when Osiris had approached her - too scared to tell the Goa'uld to go to hell - and she was scared now, so used to the way things were that the way things could be seemed an impossibly frightening concept. I wanted to think that I would have behaved differently, that I would never agreed to Osiris' proposition in the first place, or that I would have gone double-agent at the first available opportunity. But I had to acknowledge that I would have been scared too. I was afraid now, the same as Ilonka. The paths our fear took us down would probably decide how this ended.

The best, most attainable goal right now was to convince Ilonka to turn. It was Plan A. We'd suspected that she was a collaborator, of course, but she was still a human being and a member of the United States Air Force to boot. Maybe she could be bought, I'd explained to Jack, Thor and the others aboard the ship, but maybe she could be brought back. Maybe all she needed was a kick in the ass and a reminder about who she was, where she came from.

Now I knew where she came from: a little town in Texas where her friends and family had all been made into hosts, Goa'uld infiltrators.

Besides, she didn't want any reminders from me. I was nothing to her. No, I was worse than nothing; I was something. I was a target for her slurs and a wrongdoer, in instances both real and imagined. She'd claimed that Jack had said terrible, soul-rending things