The Perfect Family

By BadgerGater

Episode: None

Season/Series: 7

Spoilers: Anything through Revisions I guess

Category: Drama; (a standalone fic, not at all a part of the Colors S8 series)

Pairing: None, though Sara O'Neill is in it

Summary: All these years, Sara O'Neill has been keeping a secret of her own

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I don’t own Stargate, its characters or its story: I don't own Jack or anyone or anything else from Stargate, I'm just a lowly, unpaid fanfic writer who borrows the characters for no motive other than fun. No profit involved. And remember, don't post this without asking.

Author’s Pledge: Badgergater fics are posted with fair, honest and accurate info about the fic, its topic and focus. Potential readers deserve the opportunity to make an informed choice on whether or not to read.

Author's Note: This fic is not part of the Colors series Thanks to Margo, Sis, SS for the beta, and to all those who feedback.

^^^^^^^/------------------\^^^^^^

Hands shaking, Sara O’Neill set the phone down.

This was a phone call she’d never expected to receive.

Had believed would never happen.

Could never happen.

Emotions swirled through her.

Stunned.

Shocked.

Surprised.

And yes, terrified, too.

The excitement wouldn’t come until later, after she’d had more time to think, to digest what she’d just been told, and realized the possibilities of it.

Now, all she could think of was that she was going to have to track down Jack.

And tell him the truth.

After all these years.

He would be angry.

And rightly so.

But maybe, just maybe, there was a glimmer of promise here, too.

Shaking so hard she thought her knees would fail to keep her upright, she had to sit down. Making her way to the couch, Sara stared across the room of her comfortable but empty home, and tried to imagine how different her life, their lives, could have been.

Should have been.

If only she hadn’t done what she’d done, she and Jack might have…

No, don’t go there. What would have happened, she could never know.

Tears welled, and angrily she brushed them away with her hand.

She couldn’t talk to Jack when she was a mess like this. She needed to think about what she would say, how she would tell him, and choose her words oh so very carefully.

She had to prepare herself for the explosion that would surely follow.

Oh God, you just never knew, when you were young and innocent, how your actions would turn out. You couldn’t imagine what would happen, how your life could be ripped apart in an instant, how it could end up so very different then you’d ever dreamed, planned, or imagined.

Would the phone call she’d just received be another one of those moments?

It took her nearly an hour to work up the courage to dial Jack’s number. When there was no answer, she wasn’t sure if she should be upset or relieved. It would only be postponing the inevitable, and if there was one thing Jack O’Neill had taught her over the years, it was that it didn’t pay to delay.

You took your medicine, no matter how bitter the taste.

Oh God, Jack, forgive me.

She buried her head in her hands, and muttered a silent prayer for understanding.

**********

Jack O’Neill had spent the afternoon mowing the lawn, one of those simple tasks that he found relaxing in its mundane normality, compared to the insanity of what he did most days. Back and forth across the green sward of his backyard, the whine of the mower drowning out the neighborhood noises, he let the ordinariness of the task soothe him. The clean smell of fresh mown grass wafted through the summer air as he stowed the mower back in the corner of the garage. Hot and sweaty, Jack looked forward to the refreshing taste of an ice cold beer.

It didn’t take much to make a man happy, not this man, anyway, he thought as he made his way into the house. A hot shower, an air conditioned living room, a cold beer, a soft sofa and ESPN… the good life according to Jack O’Neill.

Sauntering into the kitchen, he was searching the fridge for a beer when the phone rang.

Damn it.

If that was the base… He wasn’t going to answer. Let the machine pick it up. This was the first day off he’d had in weeks and nothing short of a nuclear war was going to disrupt it. Or so he’d promised himself.

"Jack, um, this is Sara…"

At the tremulous tone of her voice, Jack sprinted for the hallway and the phone, despite the less than stellar condition of his knees these days.

"Guess you’re still not in. I’ll try…"

He grabbed the receiver. "Sara, wait."

"Jack?"

Her voice sounded odd, muffled, frightened, if he didn’t know better.

"Sara?"

"Ah, hi."

She was certainly hesitant. His heart thudded. What sort of bad news did she have for him? "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing."

Oh, right, nothing was wrong. So why was she calling him then? "You don’t sound as if nothing is wrong."

He heard her clear her throat. Speaking in a rush, the words all but running together in a way that didn’t sound like her at all. Jack’s worry meter leaped precipitously.

"Jack, I need to talk to you. It’s important."

"What is it?"

"I… I really think we need to be face to face for this."

He was frightened now, by the sound of her voice, the naked fear he heard there. "Okay," he agreed quickly. "I need to shower and change. I’ll be there in, say, half an hour? Is that okay?"

"Yes. Thank you." He knew her well enough to realize she didn’t sound relieved, resigned maybe?

Jack was on the way to his bedroom even before he’d hung up the phone. Stripping quickly out of his sweat-dampened t-shirt and shorts, tossing them into the hamper, he reached in and turned on the shower, letting the water warm.

He showered in double-quick time, soaping and scrubbing and rinsing without a wasted motion, lathering his short cropped silvered hair and ducking his head under the spray for a fast rinse. Turning the water off, he reached around the shower curtain for a towel, stepping out onto the mat even as he ran the soft cotton across his skin. He ran the towel through his hair, then finger combed it. He’d skip the shave. Slapping deodorant under his arms, he walked naked back into his bedroom, snatching a pair of underwear from the drawer and sliding them up his long legs to fit around his waist. Clean jeans were next, pulled up and zipped, then belted on. Jack didn’t waste time selecting a shirt, pulling a gray Air Force logo t-shirt over his head and down his chest. Sliding a pair of white socks onto his feet before slipping them into his loafers, he grabbed his keys from the dresser and was on his way out the door.

Jack forced himself to drive the speed limit, all the while his mind was racing, wondering what had Sara so upset. It couldn’t have been anything he’d done, he hadn’t spoken to her for months. Had something happened to someone in her family? Someone in what little was left of his?

Pulling his truck onto the familiar street and up into the driveway, his heart sank, as it always did, remembering how he had once loved arriving at this destination. In his mind’s eye, he could still see the kind of greeting he’d once gotten here, Charlie careening out the house, screen door banging shut behind him, a bright smile on his face.

Jack shut off the Ford’s motor, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the truck, striding up the walk toward the front door.

His ex-wife stood on the porch, watching him. Her face was pale, her eyes shadowed, her fingers knotted in front of her.

He knew something was terribly wrong.

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

Sara heard the truck pull into the driveway. Stepping out onto the porch, she watched Jack emerge from the vehicle. She was struck anew by the sight of him, tall and still thin, the sun glinting off the subtle gray shades of his hair, his face and bare arms tanned. He looked good, fit and healthy. As he walked up to her, his intense brown eyes studying her face, she felt her heart skip a beat. He’d always had that effect on her, made her feel alive, and feminine.

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

He came up the steps and stopped in front of her, awkwardly, not knowing how to greet her. The brittle look on her face, her uncertain silence worried him. Finally, he just said "Hi" and settled for putting his hands on her arm and learning forward to give her a gentle kiss on the cheek.

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

"Come in," she invited, not looking him in the eye. Sara turned and stepped into the house, walking into the living room, his quiet footsteps indicating that he was following her. She sat in the large recliner, pulling her legs up under her.

Jack stood watching her, studying her with his eyes, waiting for the shoe to drop.

"Take a seat," she waved at the chairs and sofa, indicating he could take his choice.

Still watching her, he picked the couch, safely across the room from her, not too close, not too far. She looked beautiful as ever, slim and lithe. "You let your hair grow," he said softly to break the silence. Jack had always loved her hair, thick and full. He’d been disappointed when she’d cut it short, after Charlie was born, though he’d never told her that.

"It’s the style again," she answered softly.

He nodded. "Looks good on you."

She stared across the room at him, gathering her courage, and failing to find it.

"So…" he started, prodding her to speak.

She slid her feet back to the floor, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. She couldn’t look at him. "I got a phone call today," she started, her heart pounding.

"From?"

"A Mrs. Chesley."

He didn’t recognize the name. Jack shrugged, looking over at Sara for an explanation.

"She’s with the Mountain States Adoption Agency."

Sara was thinking of adopting?

"She called…" Sara looked over at Jack and her heart failed her. Her mouth was dry, her lips and tongue seemed paralyzed, she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t. "She called about…"

"Just tell me." He was impatient now, he never had the patience for beating around the bush. Spit it out, speak your piece, say what you had to say and get it over with, that was his motto.

"She called about an inquiry she’d had from an adoptee who is looking to find her parents."

Okay, now he was confused. Adoptee? Sara was adopted? No, that didn’t fit.

Sara looked over at her ex-husband, at the puzzled, intent gaze searching her face for a clue to what she was about to say. "Jack, do you remember when we broke up? Before we were married, when we were dating," she quickly amended.

"Yes." Of course he did. He didn’t remember what had started the argument, most likely it had been a minor something sparked by her upset at the news he’d just been assigned to a base in Turkey. He’d be gone for more than two years. Some little thing had grown into a big thing. Their final night together had ended with a shouting match of epic proportions.

"Remember, I was going to tell you something? And you said it was okay, that since you were going to be gone for so long, it was okay if I dated someone else? That you didn’t expect me to wait for you?"

He nodded. He’d said it, not that he’d meant it, but he’d thought it was the right thing to do. Instead, it had been the wrong thing, obviously, because it had upset her. They’d broken up. She wouldn’t take his calls. Her parents kept telling him she wasn’t there when he called. His letters were returned unopened. He’d almost gone AWOL in a bid to see her. He’d thought it was over. They’d not gotten back together until after he returned more than a year later.

She was afraid to look at him, afraid not to look, afraid of what she would see in his face. Taking a deep breath, she blurted out the secret she’d carried for more than 20 years. "What I was going to tell you that night… I was pregnant."

She saw the emotions race across his face before he shut down in too-typical Jack fashion.

"I thought you didn’t want a baby, that you didn’t want to be tied down," she said softly.

"How could you think that?"

She shrugged. "We were so young. I was so young. And scared. I didn’t think you loved me."

He grimaced.

"I realized later how wrong I was. But by then it was too late."

"You lost the baby?" he asked, his voice equally soft.

She shook her head.

"You didn’t!" he snapped, horrified.

"No, I didn’t have an abortion. I gave the baby up for adoption."

He was on his feet, his face gone pure white, his eyes glittering. "You gave away…" his voice choked. "You gave away my…our… child?"

"Jack, you were gone. I was alone. My parents… they made arrangements with an adoption agency," she paused, wringing her hands.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" he demanded.

"There was no point."

"No point?" he choked out, staring at her. He spun away from her, his eyes coming to rest on the picture of Charlie on the mantle. Charlie, their only, no, not their only child. "How the hell could you do that? Give away my child and not tell me?"

"The baby died."

As quickly as it had erupted, all the anger drained out of him, and he slumped back into the chair.

"The baby came weeks early. I went into labor and they tried to stop it, but they couldn’t. I never heard the baby cry, and they told me she died, Mom and Dad said the baby died."

Jack was staring at her, clearly confused.

"All these years, that’s what I thought. I believed what they told me."

"And you never told me? How the hell…" and then the absurdity of it hit him like a ton of bricks falling on him. All these years he’d thought he was the one who’d hidden things from her, holding close the deep dark secrets of his trade. And all that time, Sara had kept this from him. A bitter laugh escaped his lips.

"Jack?"

He was hurt. Angry. Betrayed. Snapped out the words, knowing they would hurt her, and relishing it. "Are you sure it was mine?" he accused her bitterly.

It was like he had slapped her. All the color drained from her face. She was on her feet now too, glaring at him across the living room. "You sorry son of a bitch. How dare you! I was never unfaithful to you. Never. Ever."

"We weren’t married then…"

"No, we weren’t. But I was never with anyone else. You were the first. And the only. Can you say the same?"

He didn’t look at her, he couldn’t. "No. You know that. But once we were married…"

"Well, we weren’t married then. And you were gone and my parents left me no choice. I had no money, nowhere to go, no one else to help me." Despite her determination not to let it happen, Sara felt the first tear roll down her cheek. "I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t think we’d ever get back together. I couldn’t know how hard it would be to get pregnant after that. I thought we’d have a whole house full of kids." Her voice dropped even lower. "I thought I could forget."

Jack sank down onto the couch, trying to absorb what he’d just been told, confused by it all, and wondering why Sara had suddenly decided to confess. "So what’s the point of telling me this now? What did this Mrs. Chestnut want?"

Sara was still standing. Forcing her breathing to slow, to speak the words clearly, she went on. "Mrs. Chesley called to tell me that the child I’d given up for adoption wanted to meet her parents." Sara sobbed once, then went on. "My parents lied. I don’t know why, maybe they thought that would make it easier."

"What?"

"Our daughter wants to meet us."

He was staring at her, his jaw set in that way she knew only too well, his eyes gone impossibly dark.

"Jack…" There were more tears now, rolling down her face and onto her lips, leaving a bitter, salty taste. She suddenly realized she couldn’t breathe, that she could hear the stillness in the house, the perfect quiet, like the very air was waiting. "Say something. Please."

Without a word, Jack spun on his heel and fled, out of the living room, out of the house, out the front door and down the steps, across the lawn to his pick-up in three long strides. Jerking the truck door open, he jumped in and turned the key viciously, the engine catching and revving. He tried not to see her standing on the porch, her arms folded across her chest, staring bleakly after him, tears on her face. Jack slammed the truck into reverse, bumping over the curb in his haste to get the hell out of there.

Fleeing.

Like he always fled when the emotions raged within him and the words wouldn’t come and he couldn’t say all that he felt.

Down the block, turning right at the light because it was easiest, not a clue where he was going, only away.

Away from her.

Away from his past.

Away from himself.

Which wasn’t possible, and he knew it.

But it didn’t stop him from trying.

Three blocks down Mason, there was a bar.

Yeah, it was only 1 o’clock, but what the hell.

He hadn’t been in a bar in a long time.

A really, really long time. A man in his position, who carried around as many secrets as he did, didn't usually drink in a public place.

But he needed a drink, now.

A lot of drinks, actually.

Jack strode in to the dimly lit building, picked a vacant table in the dimmest back corner, and ordered a beer. Chugging it in three swallows, he ordered another. And another.

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

As the afternoon wore on, the stack of empties on the table grew steadily. Someone turned on the TV above the bar and a baseball game was on, but he wasn’t watching it. A row of what seemed to be regulars sat at the bar, talking in low voices, ignoring the stranger.

Good. He wanted to be ignored.

So he sat, and drank, and nursed his sense of betrayal, and his anger.

Anger at life.

Anger at her.

Anger at himself.

It always came down to that. Anger at himself, because in the end, it was always his fault. Plain and simple. If he’d listened to her that long ago night, let her tell him she was pregnant, he’d have married her then. He’d loved her then, as it seemed he had always loved her.

A daughter.

He tried to imagine what that would have been like, how it would have changed his life, what *she* would have been like. Tried to envision himself buying little pink dresses and combing long hair, taking her to ballet lessons, chasing away swarming teenage boys.

She’d be grown now, an adult.

Never his child.

Never his little girl.

Another opportunity that had passed him by forever.

Sheesh, all this beer was making him maudlin, for cryin’ out loud.

The afternoon passed. The bar started to fill up with the after work crowd. Someone put a quarter in the jukebox and the place got noisy, strains of Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the USA reverberating off the walls.

He needed to get out.

Knew he was too drunk to drive.

Digging his cell phone out of his pocket, Jack dialed the number of the only person he could think of who might be willing to come to his rescue without demanding an explanation, or at least, who would ask for an explanation and could be rebuffed.

After four rings there was an answer. "Hello?"

"Daniel?"

"Jack, is that you? I can barely hear you. You sound like you’re in a bar."

"Maybe ‘cuz I am."

"What’s up?

"Wazz up?" Jack echoed, stifling a giggle.

Daniel sounded puzzled. "You sound drunk."

"Yup."

"So…"

"Need a ride."

It was nearly an hour before Daniel arrived, strolling in, looking uncomfortable, his eyes searching the dark, noisy crowd before spotting the familiar solitary figure in the far corner. Weaving his way through the throng, skirting tables, he finally made his way to the back corner, appalled at the number of empty beer bottles on the table. "I hope you had help drinking those."

"Nope," Jack answered proudly with a crooked smile. "Killed ‘em all myself. I do good work when I try."

"Well, you must have been trying hard. C’mon. Let’s go."

Bracing his arms on the table, Jack got to his feet, steadying himself for a moment. There was only a slight wobble to his step as he followed Daniel out of the bar to the archaeologist’s car.

Daniel was watching him appraisingly. "You aren’t going to throw up in my new car, are you?"

"No."

Daniel waved a hand at the familiar dark green pick-up that was parked near the bar’s front door. "What about your truck?"

"I’ll get it t’morrow."

"This would be a long walk from your house."

"I can call a cab."

"But you didn’t tonight," Daniel stated as he unlocked the door, watching Jack fold himself to get into the low car, amazed the man could walk at all with the amount of beer he’d obviously consumed.

Jack shrugged.

Once they were in the car, Daniel turned the key, backed out carefully and started down the street. "So, want to tell me about it?"

"No."

Daniel nodded. Something was definitely wrong. Jack wouldn’t just go to a bar in the middle of the day, especially a bar this close to his ex-wife’s house.

"It might help if you talk about it," he offered.

"Yeah. Right, Dr. Phil."

"If you didn’t want to talk, why did you call me?"

"Because I didn’t have cab fare on me."

Daniel took his eyes off the road for a moment to look across at his friend. "Gee, thanks, Jack. You really have a way to make people feel appreciated."

"Ur welcome, Daniel. Now shut up." Jack closed his eyes.

Daniel wasn’t sure if it was an evasion tactic, or a way for Jack to keep his promise of not barfing all over the inside of the younger man’s new car.

Jack was so damn stubborn, closed and shuttered and locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Well, okay, he wasn’t necessarily much better when it came to admitting his feelings, Daniel had to acknowledge, but Jack O’Neill was the absolute master of emotional avoidance.

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

Silence reigned in the car for the rest of the drive. Finally, pulling up to the curb in front of Jack’s dark house, Daniel put the car in park and turned to his friend once more.

"So what happened with Sara?" Daniel was nothing but persistent, and he was observant, too, or he wouldn’t have noticed the look that momentarily crossed Jack’s face, something so raw and pain-filled that Daniel flinched, wondering what she could have done that would have hurt his friend so badly. "She’s okay?" he asked worriedly.

"Oh, yeah, *she’s* right as rain." There was bitterness in Jack’s voice, and anger. O’Neill climbed carefully out of the car, digging through his pockets for his house keys.

Daniel got out of the car too, following Jack up the walk.

Noticing the tag-along, Jack stopped. "You can go home now, Daniel."

"And thank you Daniel for the ride," the younger man added snidely. Sometimes, Jack could be such an ungrateful ass.

Jack waved a hand in the air. "Yeah, right, whatever," O’Neill mumbled as he fumbled the key into the lock. Opening the door, he stepped in, not inviting Daniel to follow.

Daniel threw a hand out, blocking the closing door. "Jack, look, if you need to talk…"

For a moment, the older man’s face was as empty and bleak as he’d ever seen it, Daniel realized with dismay. There was sadness now, in the voice, and resignation. "No, Daniel, I don’t need to talk."

Jack turned away, and closed the door.

He was sorry in the morning, of course. The hangover was hellacious. His head pounded and his stomach rolled and the morning light streaming in the bedroom windows seemed like a searchlight stabbing his gritty eyeballs.

Damn fool thing to have done.

The kind of thing he hadn’t done for a long time.

Exactly what he’d done all those years ago when he’d had that terrible fight with Sara. He’d found Frank and they’d gone and gotten drunk and he’d sworn off women forever, vowing celibacy because that couldn’t be half as painful as losing the woman you loved.

Twenty years later and he was still an ass, he thought sadly as he levered himself out of his bed, sitting up on the edge. Holding his throbbing head in his hands, he wondered if he could actually walk as far as the bathroom without his head exploding.

Moving slowly, Jack stood, weaving his way to the bathroom, digging through the medicine cabinet for a hangover remedy. Swallowing the pills dry, he stumbled out to the kitchen, turning on the coffee pot. The thought of food revolted him, but coffee sounded heavenly.

He headed for the living room while he waited for the coffee to brew, slumping down on the couch.

He must have fallen asleep because when he snapped to awareness, the house smelled of coffee and the phone was ringing again.

He ignored it, even when the machine picked up and he could hear Sara’s voice, pleading with him to talk to her.

To hell if he would.

It was more than he could handle at the moment.

Walking unsteadily, he made his way to the kitchen and the coffee, and forced himself to eat two pieces of dry toast, hoping that would help settle his stomach. Then, with the phone ringing once more, he walked past it, back to his bedroom. Flopping down on top of the covers, he slept.

By the angle of the light coming in the windows, it was mid-afternoon when he awoke. The headache was mostly gone but his mouth was dry, tasting like something old and furry had died in it. With a groan, he climbed out of bed, heading for the bathroom. Turning the tap, he stuck his hand under the stream of water, sipping the liquid out of his palm, easing the nastiness in his mouth. Finding a couple of Tylenol, he swallowed them, and headed for the shower.

The hot water helped. By the time he was out of the shower, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, he was feeling at least vaguely human again.

As long as he didn’t think.

He tried to distract himself. Pulling the sheets off his bed, he carried them down to the laundry room, stuffing them into and starting the machine. Back in the kitchen, he made himself more coffee. The refrigerator didn’t hold anything of interest, but the milk was still good, so he found a box of Cheerios. Standing with one hip cocked against the countertop, he ate the cereal, finishing by drinking the milk out of the bowl.

Stomach at least partly satisfied, he refilled his coffee cup and headed for the living room.

Jack surfed through the channels, past a couple of baseball games, an old John Wayne western, a chick flick he didn’t recognize, MacGyver and I Love Lucy and I Dream of Jeannie…

And suddenly wondered if Jeannie was her name.

Banishing the thought, he pressed the channel button again and again. Nothing held his interest. Maybe he needed something to do, like going for a walk, or maybe getting out the bike. That wasn’t a bad idea. Putting on his shoes and grabbing a jacket from the hall closet, he started out the door.

Someone was standing on his doorstep, someone familiar.

He slammed the door, not wanting to see her or talk to her or even think about her.

The door bell rang.

He looked around, wondered where he could run and realized that was stupid. Face up to her. Tell her… well, okay, he knew he wouldn’t tell her, never could tell her, and if he couldn’t tell her, he couldn’t tell anyone.

Finally, he opened the door once more and stepped out.

His body language was all stiff and angry.

Unmistakable, to her experienced eye.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"I’ve been trying to call you all day."

"I noticed," he snapped, coldly.

"Jack…"

He glared at her.

Sara sighed. So he wasn’t going to make this easy. She should have known that, but she’d hoped that maybe, just this once, he’d see something good in this. But he wouldn’t be Jack if he wasn’t stubborn, defensive and unforgiving.

She knew that, she’d always known that, and had loved him in spite of it.

Maybe even loved him because of it, because she knew that he carried so much emotion inside him, so much hurt and despair and grief, more than any one person should ever have to carry. Buried under the humor, fortified by walls of his own making, armored by his sarcasm, hidden behind the dazzling smile, visible in the depths of his eyes, if you knew how to look for it, his was a soul damaged and held together only by his own iron will.

"If you don’t want to talk about it..."

"I don’t."

"She’s going to be here next weekend."

"Good. I’m sure the two of you will have a nice visit."

"She wants to meet you too."

He snorted.

"You’re her father…" she pleaded.

"I was the sperm donor…"

Sara ignored him, and went on. "You’re her father and she wants to meet you. Saturday. What should I tell her?"

"Tell her anything you like. In fact, tell her everything."

Jack spun on his heel and went back in the house, the door slamming.

Sara stood, staring after him.

There was a time she’d thought she understood him, a time they’d had a bond so real and true, she could read his moods, knew the unsaid words and the hidden emotions. But no more. All the time they’d spent apart now had widened the rift between them, the divide that had formed with Charlie’s death was now a gaping ocean because of the secret she’d kept.

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

He never minded Monday mornings. Not really. Sure he'd gripe and grouse with the best of them, but Jack O'Neill's job was his life.

And his refuge.

He'd been damn glad when Monday morning finally rolled around, so he had something to do, something to keep himself occupied, something to keep his mind off... no, he so wasn't going there. He *wasn't* going to think about it. Not for one minute more.

He'd thought about it all night. Tossed and turned and slept little; gotten up in the middle of the night and paced around the house, turning the TV on, and then angrily off.

He'd done everything angrily, in fact.

But he was done with that. He was at work now. Concentrating. Focusing on the job.

"Colonel O'Neill?"

Jack jerked to awareness. General Hammond was staring at him.

He looked around, hoping his teammates would give him some help, but they were all silent, all staring at him.

"Colonel?" The general asked again, impatiently this time. "Your assessment of P3B-869?"

"P3B?"

"Your mission this afternoon, *Colonel*?"

"Ah, yeah. *That* planet," he covered. "I reviewed the MALP tapes, and it's, ah, got a lot of trees. And some rocks. And then there's the water..."

Hammond was glaring at him.

Jack sat up straighter. "Ah, well, actually, sir, there weren't any visible threats."

"Good. Major Carter...."

Jack fought to keep his concentration, but his mind kept drifting back to the look on Sara's face when she'd told him about the baby. His baby. His daughter. He felt his blood pressure increase.

---------------------------

"Dismissed. Medical is waiting for your pre-mission check ups." Hammond watched as three-fourths of his number one team stood and left the room. O'Neill was still sitting, staring at his notebook and the doodles that would invariably be there instead of notes. Not that the man needed to take notes, George reminded himself. The Colonel would, he knew, remember all the pertinent details from mission briefings. But, he did look less attentive than usual. Which was very unusual.

"Colonel?" Hammond asked softly. "Something wrong, Jack?"

The silver-haired officer was still staring at the yellow lined notebook on the table.

"Colonel!" George repeated, louder this time, more authoritatively.

O'Neill's head snapped up, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. "Ah, Sir?"

"Something wrong, Jack?"

"Ah, no Sir," O'Neill stood. "Just, ah, letting the others get into Doc's clutches first. You know how I love the infirmary, General. Nothing like a good medical exam to make my day."

Hammond smiled. "Jack, are you sure you're all right? Sleep badly last night?"

God, Daniel hadn't spilled the story about him being drunk, had he? "Right as rain, Sir. As always."

George stared at his number one team leader, knowing something was up. But, all his people had personal lives. As long as they didn't interfere with the work of the SGC, George stayed out of it. "Well, if there's anything you need to talk about..." Not that he'd extend that invitation to just any of his subordinates, but he liked Jack O'Neill, as a friend. He was a good man, and in a tough position. Everyone needed to talk, now and again. Though words usually had to be pried out of O'Neill.

"No." The Colonel waved a hand at the door. "Gotta go. Wouldn't want to keep Doc waiting too long. Can't be late to P3-yadda yadda..."

George watched his second leave, a frown creasing his forehead, the smile gone from his face. There was definitely something bothering the man, but if Jack didn't want to talk, well, wild horses couldn't make him.

**********/------------------\**********

It happened on the third day of an otherwise amazingly bland mission, bland except for the uneasy silence that grated on the nerves of the whole team. Jack usually made it a point to keep things light; that was his job as team leader, to keep the others directed and focused. Sounded easy but it wasn’t. After all, who’d ever imagine a Special Ops team consisting of a soldier, a scientist, a geek and an alien warrior? Keeping SG-1 in line was like herding cats in the middle of a whole forest of catnip. It was a job he usually did well in his own inimitable, low-key style: one eye on Teal’c, one eye on Carter and both eyes on Daniel.

He wasn’t low-key this week and he knew it. He was tired, grouchy, grumpy, surly. So far he was fairly sure he had avoided downright nasty, but it was a near thing.

And the others couldn’t miss it.. They tried to walk softly around O’Neill, but it didn’t help. He snapped at Carter, badgered Daniel and ignored Teal’c’s attempts to draw him out.

It was their last night on the planet. Jack had last watch. He’d turned in early, knowing his absence couldn’t help but improve the attitude around the campfire, and hoping that some sleep would improve his mood. He crawled into his sleeping bag, but sleep wouldn’t come. Sara’s words kept rattling around inside his head, spinning his emotions into a whirlwind that prevented him from resting.

When his internal alarm informed him it was 3 a.m., time for him to go on watch, he welcomed the excuse to end the pretense of sleep. Throwing off his blankets, Jack stood and stretched, feeling his back creak and his knees pop. The sound was loud in the otherwise quiet camp. The fire had burned down to embers glowing a dull red. Light from a pair of moons filtered through the trees, creating stark shadows. The night was cool enough that a jacket was welcome, but not cold.

Teal’c was sitting back along the edge of the trees, far enough from the remains of the fire that its light didn’t interfere with his night vision.

Jack walked over and the Jaffa rose at his approach.

"You’re relieved Teal’c. Get some rest. I’ve got it," the Colonel ordered.

Teal’c nodded in his usual regal way. "You did not rest well, O’Neill."

"No, I didn’t."

"Perhaps you wish to speak about what troubles you?"

"Who said I was troubled?"

"You do not need to tell of your unease, it is easily visible."

"It’s private."

"It is not."

Jack felt his anger rise. "Teal’c, are you calling me a liar?"

"I am not, O’Neill. You may think your troubles are your own, but when they affect the mission, they are most assuredly not."

Jack stared at his teammate. "My *troubles* have not affected this mission."

"You are wrong, O’Neill. SG-1 is a team which performs in its own unique manner because of your leadership, which you have not displayed on this mission. You are troubled and distracted, therefore your teammates are troubled and distracted," Teal’c paused a moment and then added, softly, "I would be honored to assist you in any way I can."

"You can’t."

"There is a saying among the Jaffa, that one’s troubles may be made less onerous if one shares the burden with another."

"There’s also an Earth saying that curiosity killed the cat."

"I am not a feline, O’Neill."

"And neither am I a… oh shit," O’Neill sank down to sit on the ground, his back against a tree. He pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his spiky hair. "It’s just… very personal."

"That is understandable."

"No, it’s not. Letting my personal life, or lack thereof, interfere with my job is *not* acceptable, Teal’c."

"It is, however, human. We all have a great need to interact with others."

O’Neill shook his head, and looked out into the darkness.

"You are angry."

"Yes."

"With someone."

"Yes."

"Yourself."

Jack started to say no and then looked over at Teal’c. The Jaffa was staring at him, one eyebrow raised. For an alien, he understood humans better than most humans, Jack thought. Odd as it seemed, maybe that was in fact the reason why, because Teal’c wasn’t human, so he had that outside-looking-in-view that a person could never get of himself.

O’Neill sighed. "Thanks for the offer, Teal’c., but this is something I have to figure out for myself."

*****/------------------\*****

Sara had spent the whole week cleaning the house to spotless perfection, rearranging the furniture, planning her wardrobe. Something formal? A dress? Something casual? Her favorite jeans? Should she cook the young woman a meal here at the house? Offer to take her out to eat? What if she made something the girl didn't like?

Her real worry, though, was Jack... would he show up at all? She'd tried calling his house several times, but there wasn't an answer. Not that that was anything out of the usual. Probably he was off on a mission, and there was no way to know if he'd be home by the weekend, or if he'd even make an attempt to be home for the weekend.

Sara sighed. She couldn't do anything about what Jack was going to do, she never had been able to sway him from something he'd made up his mind about, even when they’d been married.

An irritatingly stubborn man.

She wondered if their daughter was like him in that way.

And smiled.

Their daughter.

An amazing thought.

***********

The week passed. Half the time Sara was terrified that the day, and her daughter, would never arrive. The other half, she was equally terrified of the moment when the young woman would appear on her doorstep.

Finally, it was Friday. The minutes ticked by with amazing slowness.

When the doorbell finally rang, Sara, deep in thought, jumped. She smoothed her shirt, tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and walked down the hallway to open the door.

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

She was tired after the long plane ride, but she looked around the city with interest as the cabbie delivered her to the address she'd been given. The house was an older bungalow with a big front porch, well maintained, painted a light blue, surrounded by colorful flowers. An old white mustang was parked in front of the garage.

Climbing carefully out of the car, she thanked the cab driver and paid him, then walked up the steps. Taking a deep, calming breath, she raised her hand and rang the doorbell.

Footsteps approached, and the door opened.

Her first thought was disappointment. She'd imagined this moment so often, imagined herself looking at someone who would be a mirror image of herself, dreamed of some sort of instant recognition, and instead, there was nothing. The woman who stood before her didn't look at all like her.

She fought to keep the disappointment out of her face.

Maybe this was a mistake.

Maybe the adoption agency had been wrong.

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

Sara opened the door, and came face to face with her daughter.

For a frozen moment, she looked out at the young woman, and then she raised her hand to her mouth and gasped.

There was no doubt this was the child she had given up.

No, this girl didn't look at all like her. She looked like Jack... brown eyes, wide mouth, strong chin, brown hair. The lifted chin, slightly puzzled look on the young woman's face was amazingly familiar.

"Mrs. O'Neill?" the young woman had a strong southern accent.

Sara's mouth was so dry she could barely form the word. "Yes."

"Hi. I'm Katherine Barnett, Kitty..." she smiled shyly. "My husband couldn't come..."

"I'm Sara," the older woman answered, opening the door, opening it wide, and pointing down the hallway toward the living room. "We can sit in there. I'll take your coat," she offered.

The young woman nodded, unbuttoning the coat and sliding it down her shoulders.

For the second time, Sara gasped. The young woman was pregnant, very pregnant.

Carrying her grandchild, she realized, her heart nearly stopping at the realization.

Kitty looked down at her bulging midsection and smiled. "The baby’s why I came, really. I needed to know about my own history. The doctors ask so many questions, if there are any family genetic things they need to watch for, and I didn't know. But I want to do everything I can for my baby."

Sara swallowed and nodded, leading her visitor into the living room. "When is the baby due?"

"Three more months. It seems like forever."

Oh, yes, forever for a baby to arrive, Sara remembered the feeling all too well.

--------------------

While Sara had gone to the kitchen, Kitty looked around the room with interest. It was a comfortable place... and there, that picture. She stood, walking over to get a better view. It was a little boy who looked like Sara, but, there was something familiar in that face, something of herself...

Sara came back into the room, carrying the tray with the glass of milk Kitty had requested, coffee for herself, and the chocolate chip cookies she'd made at 4 a.m. when she'd been too nervous to sleep.

The young woman was standing in front of Charlie's picture. At the sound of Sara's approaching footsteps, Kitty turned around, a smile lighting her face. "Is this my brother?"

Sara nearly dropped the tray. Yes, she'd known she would have to tell this young woman about Charlie, but not right away, she'd hoped it wouldn't be the first thing they talked about. "Yes," she whispered, sitting down on the sofa.

Kitty saw Sara's face go white at her question. Had she committed some terrible faux pas in asking?

The older woman shook her head. Taking a deep breath, knotting her hands in her lap, she continued. "That's Charlie, and yes, he was your brother. He died when he was ten."

"I'm sorry, I..."

"You had no way to know." Sara drew in another breath and went on. "He died in an accident. It was his death that broke up my marriage to your father." Dispassionately, Sara told her daughter about her and Jack, and what had happened to their only son. She explained, too, why she'd given up her daughter for adoption, because they weren't yet married and it had looked like they probably never would be. When she was done, Sara was amazed that she was still dry eyed.

Kitty was in shock. This wasn't at all what she had expected, not at all what she had hoped to find. Mrs. Chesney at the adoption agency had warned her that adoptees rarely found the perfect family of their dreams. She'd tried hard to buy into that, told herself not to expect too much. But she'd so desperately wanted to find some connection, if not an emotional one, then a physical one at least.

And so far, there was none.

And then Sara got out the photo album. Opening the first page, there was a picture of a bride and groom. Sara wore white, and standing beside her, in a perfectly tailored blue Air Force dress jacket.... this time it was Kitty who gasped. There was no doubt this man was her father. She recognized that wide smile, the brown eyes, the tilt of his chin.

"Jack was just a captain then..." Sara added wistfully, remembering the good times of their relationship, how happy they'd been on that day they'd married, how bright the future had seemed, together.

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

She was almost afraid to ask, after the reaction to her question about her brother, but Kitty did. "Mrs. Chesney says he lives here in Colorado Springs, too. Will I get the chance to meet him?"

Sara looked away. "I'm not sure. Jack is still in the Air Force. He's a Colonel now. His work... sometimes he's gone for weeks or months at a time..."

"He's not in Iraq? Or Afghanistan?" How many times had she seen the images on TV, heard the terrible news of the death of another soldier. Could one of them have been her own father? Had she waited too long?

"No. I talked to him last week. I told him that you were coming." A little white lie couldn't hurt. "I'm sure Jack will see you if he gets the chance."

=========/------------------\=====

They would have made it home on time if it hadn't been for the weather, the mud and Carter's little accident.

Damn it.

After his talk with Teal'c, Jack had spent the rest of the night thinking, rearranging his thoughts, and his attitude. Suddenly, he couldn't wait to get home. It was, maybe not a miracle, but maybe another chance, if he could put away his injured pride, his anger at Sara for keeping such a secret, and his own stubborn refusal to accept the unexpected.

He'd resigned himself to being childless, to having blown his chance of being a father, even a foster father of sorts to the children he'd met over the past few years, or even foster grandfather to Skaara's hoped-for but now never to be children.

Jack was a pragmatist; a man who faced up to the hard realities of life. He always had and always would. He knew that life wasn't fair or just; that bad things happened to good people; that there were no second chances.

When 7 a.m. rolled around, he rousted out his teammates and ordered an early departure.

-----------------------

The rain had been the start of it all. Dark, heavy, low hanging gray clouds had rolled in, covering the sun. Quickly, the members of SG-1 had pulled their ponchos out of their packs and donned them hurriedly, just beating the arrival of wind gusts and the start of the rain.

Rain? Nah, more like downpour. Deluge. Monsoon.

The trail quickly turned from dust to sticky, gooey mud that sucked at their boots like some underground monster trying to pull them down into the bowels of the planet.

The half day hike back to the gate turned into a full day of frustration, sweating wet from exertion while their faces and hands stung from the cold rain.

It was as miserable a weather as Jack had seen on all 142 planets he'd visited, he swore to himself.

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

Jack was actually looking at his watch when it happened so he didn't exactly see what went wrong. Contemplating the odds of reaching the gate before dark, which, frankly, looked damn near impossible unless the rain quit and the sun re-emerged to dry out the trail, O'Neill was on the team’s six when he heard Carter yelp, followed by Daniel's frantic shout of "Sam?!?"

Jack ran, or at least tried to, barely skidding to a halt before taking a tumble himself when he crested the little hill they were climbing.

The downslope had been steep. Carter had somehow slipped. She was lying at the bottom of the hill, mudcovered, Teal'c already bending over her.

Grabbing onto trees to help him keep his balance as he descended, skidding and catching himself repeatedly, Jack made his way down the hill, joining the others.

He was relieved to see that the Major's eyes were open, but the pain-filled grimace on her face was definitely not a good sign. "Carter?"

"Sir... ow," she gasped as Daniel, kneeling beside her, touched her left leg.

"Broken?" O'Neill asked worriedly.

"No, Sir, I don't think so. Wrenched. Sprained maybe," she answered optimistically.

Daniel, in doctor mode, placed his hand on Sam's ankle.

"Ow. Yes. Definitely sprained," she mumbled, her face gone white.

"Okay then," Jack was already looking around. It was obvious now they weren't going to make it to the gate, but would have to spend another night on the planet. "Over there, those trees look like they'll provide some shelter. We'll make camp, tend to the wounded, and go home tomorrow."

"Sir, I can go on," Carter was sitting up now, shaking her head. "You don't need to wait for me..."

"Yes, Major, we do," Jack answered. "We won't reach the gate before dark."

They almost didn't make the gate before dark the next night, either, as part of the trail was now underwater, necessitating a major detour that cost them the whole morning. Making slow progress as two of them needed to help Carter walk, serving as human crutches, the day passed in frustratingly slow progress toward home.

When a wet, muddy and exhausted SG-1 finally gated home, nearly 24 hours late, General Hammond stood waiting at the base of the ramp, looking both worried and relieved as the major was helped onto a gurney and whisked off to the infirmary.

"Colonel?" he asked.

"Little mishap in the mud, Sir. Just a lovely planet. If you're a duck," the Colonel reported.

"Well, get cleaned up. Debriefing in an hour."

------------------

By the time medical checks were done, the team cleaned up and the briefing taken care of, it was nearly midnight.

Much too late to call Sara and the girl... he didn't even know her name, hadn't given Sara the chance to tell him, if she knew.

Home at last, he collapsed onto his bed, and told himself to wake at six.

------------------

At seven, he figured it was okay to call Sara.

He waited impatiently while the phone rang and rang. When she finally picked up, her "hello" sounded breathless.

"Hi, it's me, Jack.."

"Jack?"

"I, uh, just got home and wondered...." he let the question hang, figuring Sara would finish it for him.

She didn't.

"You know, if... she... was still here."

"Actually, her flight leaves at noon. We were going to the airport soon."

"Maybe you could stop?"

"Just a minute." He heard murmured conversation in the background, then the relief in Sara's voice when she came back on the line. "Kitty would like that. We'll be there in half an hour."

*******/------------------\*******

She walked up to the door alone, understanding why Sara had not wanted to come. Ringing the doorbell, she waited for what seemed like forever before the door opened and he stood there in front of her.

Her first impression was that he was tall and... scary. Intense. Overwhelming. Unapproachable, as if he was protecting himself from her. There was an undercurrent of anger, though from what Sara had told her, she knew it wasn't aimed at her. Defensive, that was the right word; guarding himself against another disappointment.

Well, she understood. She'd come all this way with the same attitude, hoping to find something good, afraid she'd find something ugly and dark.

And while it wasn't exactly the latter, it wasn't exactly the former, either.

She'd never imagined her real parents would be like this. She'd known her birth mother was unmarried, that was all. So she'd assumed she'd find someone with another family. To discover the woman who had given her life had no husband, no other children, only an empty home and an empty heart...

And her biological father... she knew now why she was tall, where the brown eyes and the wide mouth had come from, and her sense of adventure, maybe even that sarcastic nature Ronnie said she overused.

He was thinner than in the older pictures she’d seen of him, his hair a handsome shade of gray, but the bright smile of those earlier years was noticeably absent, and even though she didn’t know him, that left her feeling sad.

---------------------------

While he went to the kitchen for the drinks, she got up and walked around the impersonal, too-neat room. Kitty stopped in front of the mantle, covered with awards, recognition plaques, and medals in glass cases. He was obviously someone special in the Air Force.

"Here you are," he was back in the room, setting down a glass.

She turned from the mantle, back to him, seating herself carefully. Kitty felt the baby kick, and smiled to herself, patting her stomach. "So, are there any genetic things I should be watching out for?"

"Just the knees and the back, and the gray hair," he said with a small smile that made him look suddenly years younger.

And far less scary.

Jack sat down beside her on the sofa, unsure of what to say. It was awkward. This was his child, his flesh and blood. He should have felt something, some immediate bond. After all, he'd bonded with so many kids, Merrin, Cassie, the Reetou boy Charlie, Loren, just to name a few. They were aliens, for cryin' out loud, and he'd found it easier to talk to them than to this young woman who was his daughter. But somehow, this time he couldn't make the connection. Maybe because she wasn't a child any longer.

Maybe because she was too much like him, too obviously strong and independent.

Finally, he decided speaking the truth was the best, and only, thing he could do. "Harder than you thought, wasn’t it?"

Kitty nodded.

"I’m sorry we aren’t the family you wanted."

The searching gaze, the brown eyes so like his own, fastened on his face. "I..."

"The divorce wasn't her fault."

Kitty nodded. "You don't have to tell me about it." Sara already had, had told her of Jack's unrelenting grief and guilt over the loss of their son. She'd seen the look in Sara's eyes, when she'd talked about Jack, and knew they'd been something special.

She hoped, in Ronnie, she'd found someone who cared as much about her as he had cared for Sara. That warmed something deep inside her, to know that such love could exist, despite the trials of life. "She told me about my brother, too. About Charlie. I can't replace him you know."

"No one wants you to."

She looked hard at him then, and he looked away, feeling the tears pricking at his eyelids. He wanted so much for something to happen, for some magical connection to spring into existence. And knew it wouldn't. There was no going back, no changing history, no doing over his mistakes. They were still his, and always would be.

This child was his, but wasn't, and never would be, and the regret ran deep. "You know, once the baby comes, it would mean a lot to Sara to see her grandchild…"

"What about you?"

He shrugged. "It’s harder on her…"

"I don’t believe that. You just hide it better."

Without raising his head, he shifted his gaze just enough to look at her. "You’re perceptive, for someone who’s only just met us."

"Guess it’s in the genes."

"Sorry you got mine."

Kitty smiled. "I don't think they're so bad. Ronnie, my husband, said he fell in love with me because of my eyes."

He shrugged again, a smile playing across his lips. "Well, watch out for the gray."

She laughed. "The Halversons raised me. They’ll always be my Mom and Dad, you know that…"

"Yes."

"But it seems odd to just call her Sara and you Jack."

He didn’t know how to answer that and opted not to. Jack just sat and listened, letting her search her thoughts.

She let her hand slide down to rest on her swelling belly. "I grew up knowing I was adopted. That Mom and Dad loved me, and that somewhere, my biological parents had loved me enough to see that I had a good home, a home they couldn’t provide. But I always wondered why. And I wondered who you were. I wondered if there was someone, somewhere, who looked like me." She paused, and went on. "It’s good to know. And I do want him," she smiled, "to know his grandparents. All of them."

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

Maybe, if they'd had more time, she could have gotten him to open up and talk to her. But all too soon, she had to leave, or risk missing her flight.

They stood awkwardly, not knowing how to part in the same way they hadn't known how to greet each other, and in the end, she made a tiny half step forward and he took that as a sign, and stepped closer, putting his arms around her. It was a long stretch, and he remembered how it had felt to hug Sara, when she'd been pregnant and so very happy, when they'd been so happy. So very long ago.

His move surprised her. He'd seemed so distant, so untouchable, but the warmth of his hug stunned her. And then she realized that she was seeing the genuine Jack O'Neill, the one he wanted to be, and somehow, mostly, couldn't be. Kitty closed her eyes and hugged him back fiercely, trying to memorize the solid feel of his shoulders, the scent of his aftershave, the strength and power of that hug that told her all the things he couldn't say with words.

When at last the contact ended, he let his arms fall to his side. The closed look was back, but she didn't miss the fleeting, tiny smile that played across his wide mouth, making him look kinder and gentler, and so very much younger.

"We'll call when the baby comes," she promised. "You could come and visit..."

He nodded noncomittally. "I don't know. I travel a lot for work."

She turned then, and started down the walk, and halfway to the curb stopped, and looked back. "You know, if it's all right, I've always sort of liked the name Jack..." She saw his mouth quirk, and knew that he approved, and was touched, even if he wouldn't say it.

And with that, she was gone, walking quickly away to the waiting taxi, on her way to the airport, and back to her own life, and the life that was to come. She had her answers, a better understanding of who she was, and who she might have been. She reached down and patted her belly, thinking of the precious new life she carried. Already she couldn't imagine how much it would hurt to lose this child.

Jack had been right, she'd come seeking some perfect family, Mom and Pop and brothers and sisters, and she'd found that life wasn't what you expected.

And she knew that she'd given far more than she'd received, to two lonely people.

/------\

Jack watched her go, standing silently on the porch for a long time after the taxi disappeared from sight. Lost in thought, he wandered back into the house, picking up the ringing phone.

"Jack..."

It was Sara.

"She just left." He felt a sudden emptiness at saying the words. Like Charlie and Merrin, another child had stepped into his life for far too short a time. "She said they'd call when the baby was born." He took a deep breath, and resolved to forgive, her and himself, and go on. "Maybe we could, ah, go visit. I've never been to Little Rock..."

---------FINIS--------