New Colors

By Badgergater

Email: [email protected]

Season: 8

Episode: After New Order Pt 2

Series/Sequel: second in the Colors Series, follows Technicolor, though it stands alone

Category: Sequel, with a touch of humor

Pairing: Jack/Sara touch of romance

Spoilers: New Order 2

Warnings: None

Rating: PG

Summary: Sara discovers something she didn't know about Jack

Disclaimer: Don’t own em’ and you’d know if I did, because Sara would be back.

Author’s Note: Thanks to Margo for the encouragement to go on, Sis for, well, being Sis; Cokie for the beta, and all those who feedback

Over and over again, during the long days of silence, Sara O'Neill had replayed in her head that odd final conversation.

She and Jack had enjoyed their regular Sunday evening dinner out, as they'd been doing for the past several months. The ritual had begun shortly after Sara had turned down Bill Emerson's proposal and, at her friend Cindy's insistence, had gone to see Jack. Deciding they wanted to spend time together, but feeling tentative, they'd resolved to do something very foreign to both of them, and very old fashioned.

They were dating: movies, hikes in the hills, walks in the park, chess games over takeout.

Dinner nearly every Sunday night.

He'd canceled a few times, blaming it on work.

Over the weeks, they'd drifted back into an easy, comfortable friendship, greeting and parting with nothing more than a chaste kiss on the cheek. Their physical contact went no further than holding hands, and a parting hug at the end of the evening, though there were times she felt ready for more, and similarly, she felt that he was ready, too.

But neither had made the request, or the move. She knew she was too scared, and figured he was probably waiting for her.

And then, nearly two months ago, Jack had shown up late, acting different. Odd. During the whole evening, he had seemed distracted. Sara, meanwhile, tried not to seem worried. Finally, she couldn't stand it anymore. "Something wrong with your steak?" she asked, watching him push the pieces around on his plate.

"No, it's fine."

"You're not hungry?"

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes.

"You're always hungry. It's one of the great certainties of the world, like rising gas prices and the wrath of the IRS."

He shook his head, pushed his plate away, and finally, looked up to meet her worried gaze.

"Sara, I just wanted to let you know that I, uh, I might be out of touch for a while."

"You mean you're being deployed?"

"Not exactly, but sort of. Maybe." He looked away, then back, apologetically. "I can't explain."

"Of course not." She sighed. How many times in the years they were married had they had this same conversation? Things didn't change between them, because the Air Force was always between them, his need for it, her wariness of it. "You'll be careful?"

"Always."

He'd driven her home then, silently, and at the door, his arms slipped around her shoulders. He held her closer and longer than he had since they'd started this strange sort of relationship thing. When he pulled back, he looked down at her, his gaze lingering on her face as if drinking it in, memorizing it.

What she saw in the depths of his dark eyes frightened her. "Jack?"

He shook his head. "I have to go and take care of something, business, " he said softly. "I… it's important."

"And dangerous." It wasn't a question on her part, but a statement, borne of knowing him and the look he was giving her.

Once again, he gave her that shrug that accompanied his pained expression. "It could be."

"When will you be back?"

"When I can. It could be a while, though." He reached up a hand and stroked her hair.

She leaned in to the hand, savoring his touch.

His hand lingered for a long moment, and then he leaned forward and gently kissed her forehead, his lips just brushing across her skin. "Don't worry about me, okay?"

"Riiiight," she answered.

"Right." And then he was gone.

/----------\

It had been almost eight weeks, now, and there'd been no word from him. Every few days she'd called his house, only to get his machine, hanging up without leaving any messages after the first one, a simple "Call me when you get back."

She buried her worry in the back of her mind, keeping busy with work and housecleaning and yardchores and any other thing she could do to keep herself occupied.

After the first month, she tried his number every evening, and there was no answer. The answering machine filled up, no longer even offering to accept her messages.

Sara told herself not to worry, but trying not to worry was like trying not to breathe, she couldn't do it. Worry became a background hum to the tune of her days.

And then, out of the blue, without warning or preamble, he called.

"Hello."

"Hi, it's…"

"Jack?" Relief surged through her. He was back. He was alive. His voice sounded strong and normal, thank God.

"You left a message on the machine. I'm sorry I haven't been able to call."

"It's okay. You're okay?"

"Fine. Tired but fine." He paused, clearing his throat. "Look, I've got a few things to take care of but I should be free on Sunday, if you'd like to go to dinner."

"Sure. Yes. The usual time?"

/------\

She fixed her hair and make up with special care, took extra time in choosing her favorite yellow sweater, a color she knew he loved, and tan slacks that emphasized her long legs. Over and over, while she waited for the sound of the doorbell, she brushed through the hair she'd let grow long.

Waited.

And waited.

Five o'clock passed.

Six.

It was nearly seven when the door bell finally rang.

He was standing on the porch, looking apologetic. "Hi. Sorry. "

He could be so hopelessly a guy, she thought, studying him closely as she stepped out on the porch, locking the door behind her. "It's okay."

"I should have called I know, but I had things to finish…"

"It's okay," she repeated.

"You're sure?" he asked uncertainly.

"Sure."

"Good. I'm starved. It's been a long week." Suddenly, he realized that she was still looking at him. "You're staring," he accused suspiciously.

"I'm checking you out."

He puffed out his chest, and grinned boyishly. "Like what you see?"

"Always. You look good. Different somehow, but I can't put my finger on it." He didn't look exhausted, as she feared, but he wasn't tanned, either. Well, then he probably hadn't been in either Iraq or Afghanistan which left, what, 160 other countries where he might have been? He'd most likely never tell her, and though it was something she'd been through too many times before, she couldn't help but be curious. Shaking her head, Sara walked beside him toward his truck.

/------\

Jack drove as he always did, fast but efficiently, pulling into the parking lot of O'Malleys.

"O'Malley's? Special occasion?" she asked.

"Celebrating being home," he answered, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder to guide her to the door. "O'Neill, party of two," he told the greeter.

The maitre'de guided them to a table. They were seated and ordered their meals, Jack sipping a beer as they waited, Sara enjoying a glass of wine. Jack set the beer bottle down, and looked over at her. She knew that look, it was his 'I have something to say and I don't know how to say it look.'

She'd seen it often, far too often.

"Just say it," she encouraged.

He shook his head, staring down at his fingers as they played nervously with the silverware.

"It can't be that bad."

"It's just…" he stopped. "Later. Here comes the appetizer," he reported with relief.

They ate their salads in silence.

"So, how was your… trip?" she asked, prompting him to speak, hoping that priming the vocal pump would lead him to say whatever it was he had to say.

"Fine. It went fine."

"Well, you look good."

He nodded, and clammed up. All through the meal, which he ate with gusto, which made her feel better in one way at least, he made inconsequential small talk, about the weather and the baseball pennant races; asking about her sister's family; commenting on the quality of his steak and asking if hers was okay.

Sara's worry grew. What was wrong? Did he not want to see her? Had he met someone else while he was away? Was he being reassigned and moving away?

"Jack…"

"Okay, I…" just then, the waiter appeared again, clearing away their plates, asking if they wanted dessert. Jack declined, as did Sara, but he asked for more coffee.

It was a delaying tactic she was familiar with. Talking was never easy for Jack, and obviously, it hadn't changed over the years, though he seemed to have settled during the years they'd been apart.

They were lingering over a second round of coffee when another couple came in the door. Sara watched with interest as the man spotted Jack, straightened appreciably as he and the woman he escorted came closer.

"Sergeant Siler," Jack nodded, starting to rise as he addressed the woman. "Mrs. Siler."

"Don't get up, General, we don't want to interrupt," the soldier nodded. "We just wanted to say hello."

Jack smiled and sat back down.

Sara stared over at Jack, stunned.

He was suddenly intently studying the pearly white tablecloth.

"General?"

He nodded without looking up.

"That's what you've been trying to tell me all night? That you were promoted to General?"

Jack nodded again, risking a quick look up to see her reaction. "Brigadier General."

"When did that happen?"

"Recently.

"That's where you've been?"

"Part of the time," he answered honestly. "The last couple of days."

Okay, that was some sort of an answer.

"Brigadier General Jack O'Neill?" she asked again.

"Ludicrous, I know."

"This is no joke?"

"I don't think so."

"*You* made General?"

He shrugged. "Hang around long enough and you get promoted."

She laughed outright at that one. "Riiiiight."

A look of hurt flashed across his face, as if he thought she was laughing at him, and she immediately regretted her reaction. Reaching out her hand, she laid her much smaller fingers over his long ones. "Jack," when he still didn't look up, she lifted her hand to his chin and raised it until his eyes met hers. "I may not know anything about what you've been doing at this mysterious job of yours for the past eight years, but I do know this, you deserve this. You are the most honorable, dedicated man I know, and if your promotion put you in charge of saving the entire planet, I for one would feel safer."

"You would?"

"I would."

Pride flickered across his expression then. "I couldn’t have done it without you."

"Me?" She'd only seen him a couple of times in the last eight years, how had she helped?

"The master's…" he reminded.

"Yeah. Well, it was either find something for you to do or let you drive me nuts," she reminded him gently. "You never were a patient patient."

"No," he admitted. "Books never were my thing. Still aren't."

But they had kept him occupied during the longs months of rehab after that parachuting accident, endless days when he couldn't be physically active. Out of desperation she had prodded him into enrolling in an Air Force master's degree program. It hadn't been easy, for either of them. But stubborn as he was, he'd seen it through.

"So, as a General you'll be…" she fished.

"Still working at Cheyenne Mountain."

"The deep space radar thing?" she asked skeptically.

He looked away, then back, and she knew, as she'd always known, that it was just a cover for something far different.

"You like it, being a general?"

"It's, uh, different."

"You miss what you did before."

He nodded. She'd always been able to read him, understand things he couldn't say. It was one of the things he'd loved about her, the wordless communication they were capable of, the way she understood the things he didn't say as clearly as if he'd said them aloud. They'd lost that, when Charlie died. Or maybe, just misplaced it temporarily. Though eight years was a long time to be considered temporary.

"The good thing is, I won't be going off-" he stopped himself, and quickly recovered, "off into the wild blue yonder. On missions. Very often. But the bad thing is, as a General, they've actually put me in charge of things. A lot of things."

She smiled.

"Some of them are pretty cool. Some are pesky little administrative details that just…" he fluttered his hands in the air, and she understood perfectly.

"Drive you nuts," she finished his thought.

"Nuts. That's it." He nodded. "I mean, the other day I actually had to mediate a dispute about potatoes. I'll never be able to look at a Yukon Gold quite the same way again." He grinned, then turned serious. "But what it means, to you, is that I probably won't have any more time now than I did before for, um, us. If there is an us. Not that I presume there is. But just, well, when things get busy, and they will…"

"Extra deep space radar that needs telemetrying…" she offered, speaking his language.

There was laughter in his eyes. "Exactly. And sometimes, you won't believe how much… telemetry… there can be in deep space. Lots of telemetry. Lots and lots."

"Oh, I can, I bet I can."

"So…"

"So things will be like before. Sometimes you'll stand me up."

"Never on purpose," he replied gallantly. "I just want you to understand."

"I do. And Jack," she added quietly, "as far as I'm concerned, there is an us."

/------\

He drove her home through the quiet streets of Colorado Springs. Tired, he nearly declined her offer to come in for coffee, then decided it might do him good.

How good, he wouldn't realize until later.

Jack followed her to the door, stepping into the living room as she headed down the hallway to the kitchen. "I'll start the coffee," she threw back over her shoulder at him. "Make yourself comfortable."

He made himself very comfortable, so comfortable, in fact, that by the time Sara returned to the living room, he was asleep on the couch.

Resting, the worry lines disappeared from his face and he looked younger than she knew he was, the gray hair seeming even more incongruous than usual. She sighed, and wondered why their lives had to be so complicated. Why he couldn't have a regular, ordinary, 9 to 5 job. But then, that would have to mean Jack was an ordinary person, and he wasn't. Never had been, never would be. And this proved it. Promoted to General. She wished she could have been there, have seen his face when he heard the news, witnessed the pride when those stars were pinned on his uniform.

Gods, his uniform. He'd always been the handsomest man she'd ever seen in that uniform, tall and straight and broad shouldered. And though she'd never seen him on the job, she'd always known he was someone special. Even Frank, in a rare serious conversaton, had told her that.

General, that was an incredible honor.

She wondered what he'd really done to deserve it. She'd asked around a few times, of other wives she knew who had husbands working in Cheyenne Mountain, but none of them had any idea either of what actually went on there, in addition to the well-known NORAD facility. There was more, people knew that, but no one knew what. Sure, there were rumors, there always were, that was military life. Crazy stories about UFOs and aliens and a secret underground base deep beneath NORAD, fanciful tales that no one in their right mind would believe.

And yet, years ago, she'd seen something so strange, so beyond explanation... Something unexplainable. Something that certainly didn't have anything to do with Deep Space Radar Telemetry. Jack had tried to tell her that it was a cloning experiment, and yet, she couldn't buy his explanation, and she knew he knew she hadn't believed him, and they'd left it at that.

Sara shivered, and rubbed a hand across her suddenly chilled arms.

On the couch, Jack sighed, slipping a little further from upright toward his side, against the arm of the sofa.

He looked uncomfortable.

Bending down, she slid off his shoes, then walked to the hallway and retrieved a blanket. She tucked it around him. Impulsively, she reached out and gently brushed the silver hair off his forehead and leaned over to feather a kiss across his cheek.

Except, it didn't land on his cheek because he wasn't asleep. He moved, just as her lips touched his skin, bringing his lips into contact with hers.

She didn't object, but held the contact as his hand came up to circle behind her neck, cradling her head.

He brushed kisses along her jawline, down her throat and along her collarbone, his lips suddenly more insistent.

"Jack!?!"

"You always liked necking on the couch," he muttered, disappointed.

"Still do," she replied. "But…"

"Nice not to have to worry about anyone catching us."

"Very nice," she agreed.

"Very." His teeth were nibbling along her collarbone.

"But…" she pulled back.

"What?" he looked disappointed.

"A bed would be much easier…"

His eyes got wide. "Much more comfortable…" he agreed.

She took his hand, and he followed her up the stairs and into her bedroom. Unbuttoning his shirt, sliding it down off his shoulders, she pushed him back on the bed. "You know, this is every military wife's dream. Giving orders to a General," she laughed, and slid down onto the bed beside him.

"If this is my reward, I'll have to get promoted more often," he whispered into her ear.

//------------------------------------\\

The End…. for now… More Colors coming soon