Reclaiming me

Major Samantha Carter could hear the phone ringing just as she mounted the steps to her house. Cursing under her breath, she jogged up the steps and fumbled with her keys, trying to get them in the door, hoping that the damn thing wouldn’t stop ringing just as she reached it.

Wrenching the keys out of the lock, she ran through the open door into the empty house, grabbing the handset out of the cradle before the answering machine kicked in. "Hello?" she said breathlessly, glancing round her neat kitchen in the late afternoon sun, more than out of habit rather than actually looking for something.

"Samantha?" a familiar gruff Texan voice said cautiously.

Sam frowned. "Mackie?" she said, confused, concentrating fully on the conversation at hand. He was one of the last people she expected to call her.

"I'm glad I got hold of you," he said finally.

Sam leant back against the kitchen wall and slid down till she was sitting on the wooden floor. She recognized the emotionless flat quality of the normally jocular man's voice. She'd had to use it more than once herself.

"It's Pete, isn't it?" she asked his partner, clutching the phone tightly. It couldn't be anything else.

"Hon, I'm so sorry to have to tell you this ... but Pete's gone." The older man's voice broke at the end of the sentence, and Sam felt her own world sliding away.

"When?" she whispered.

"The doctors just pronounced him. I've got to call his parents. They're on vacation."

"Oh, god, Mackie –" she breathed.

"Pete ... Pete wanted me to tell you that he understood why you did what you did. That he never held it against you." Mackie said gently.

Sam didn't have to ask, she knew exactly what event the Texan was talking about – why she had broken off her engagement to Pete.

She started to cry silently and listened to the rest of the conversation on autopilot. As soon as she put down the phone, she picked it up again and dialed the number of the one person who would be able to help her.

@ @ @

Brigadier General Jack O'Neill had just gotten home from the SGC when his house phone rang. He was in the kitchen and half way out of his leather jacket; cursing he grabbed the phone handset off the wall.

"O'Neill!" he gasped out, sounding harsher than he intended.

There was a moment of silence, then the soft sound of a sob. "Hello?!" he said, confused.

"Sorry, sir, I shouldn't have called," Samantha Carter said, her voice sounding muffled.

"Carter! Don’t put down. I'll be there in ten!" he cried out, alarmed.

"Sir, I'm sorry –" she continued, but Jack cut her off. He could feel her pulling back emotionally, and he didn't want her to do that. Carter tried not to let anyone get close to her, and he knew that at the moment she was at her most vulnerable. He'd never get another chance to get her to open up like this. They'd almost blown it once. He didn't want to do it again.

"Carter, I'll be there in ten," he repeated, pulling his jacket back on. "Don’t go anywhere."

Jack was gratified to hear a soft chuckle from the other end of the line.

@ @ @

When Sam Carter opened her front door to her CO, he noted that she was also still in her street gear. It was now twilight and in the half light, he could see that her eyes were red and puffy, her nose red. She also looked highly embarrassed to be seen like this. Jack ignored the scowl on her face. He knew his Carter well, and he knew when to override her wishes. Carter didn't always know what was best for her.

"What happened?" Jack asked her gently, placing a hand on her arm.

Sam took a deep breath to compose herself. "It's Pete, sir. He was killed in a shoot-out," she said softly.

Jack wasn't sure what to say. He had always given Carter the impression that he approved of the fact that she was planning to spend the rest of her life with someone else ... someone that wasn't him. A secret part of him had rejoiced when Carter told him that she was having second thoughts about her wedding, and that she and Pete had ultimately broken up, but at the time she hadn't elaborated much on the details. She'd had too much on her plate, what with trying to organize her father's funeral.

"When did you find out?" he said finally. Stay on the safe topics, he cautioned himself. Safe topics were always good.

"About half an hour ago. Mackie, his partner, called from the hospital in Denver." Sam stepped back to let O'Neill in. "Look, I'm really sorry for crying down the phone," she apologized again as she led him further into the house.

"Pshaw, Carter, you're allowed to cry sometimes." O'Neill retorted.

Sam turned and gave her CO a watery smile. "Pshaw?"

Jack shrugged. "I read it in a book, I liked it. What can I say?"

"You *read*?" Sam smiled, a little less watery than before.

"Don't tell anyone on the base. You'll ruin my rep." Jack went straight to the fridge and looked in. "Beer?"

"That you'll find, whether you'd find food is debatable," Sam called back from her position in the living room.

"I can see that. That tub of cream cheese is way past its sell-by date," Jack did nothing to keep the mock horror out of his voice. "Way, *way* past." Jack waited for a reaction, but didn't get one. Puzzled, he went back into the living room to find Sam staring at a silver-framed photo in her hands. He looked past her at it. In the picture, Pete Shanahan and Sam were arm in arm, laughing at the camera. They seemed more like good friends instead of almost-weds.

"Our last argument was about you," Sam said quietly.

"Uh, what?" *Where the hell did that come from?* Jack put down the two long necks on the coffee table and mentally prepared himself for a brutally honest conversation, which was pretty uncharacteristic for Carter. She'd rather kiss a Goa'uld than voluntarily reveal her emotional side.

"I think Pete always suspected that I felt more for you than I should. He once told me that our relationship was not a regular twosome but really a ménage a trois – me, Pete and you." Sam sighed and continued in a resigned tone of voice. "You know what? I was always too damn scared to admit he was right."

Jack eyed the blue-eyed blonde, warily wondering where this whole conversation was going. Earlier he had thought that this conversation was going to be brutally honest, but this was way beyond anything he could have imagined.

"We parted as friends, resigned friends, and I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Mackie told me that Pete never got over me. That since we broke up, his edge was off." Sam continued reflectively.

"And you think that this ... accusation really means that you're indirectly responsible for Pete's death?" Jack's head was beginning to hurt with the abrupt changes in conversation.

On seeing the look on her superior's face, Sam hastily added, "He didn't mean it in a malicious way. Mackie was Pete's partner, but he was like a father figure to him. And to me, in a way. Mackie saw me as one of his daughters. He wasn't afraid to call a spade a spade, and I appreciated it."

"But do you see it as an accusation?" Jack insisted.

"No, no. I don’t see it as one. But Pete and I both knew that we shouldn't have let things go so far. We were planning our wedding, for god's sake. Picking guest lists, and china and flowers. Looking at houses and discussing names for our kids." Sam buried her head in her hands, dropping the photo on the plush blue carpet.

"What's wrong with me?" she cried out in an anguished tone of voice. "What's wrong with me that I don’t want a pretty house with a white picket fence and a couple of kids in the yard?" Sam's shoulders heaved in great silent sobs.

Jack thought it would be wiser for him to keep his mouth shut. Instead, he put his arms around Sam, pulling her close, so that she could cry against his navy blue sweater. He stroked her hair and whispered soothing words in her ear.

Jack was content to hold her like this; it was good to do it without wondering if they were going to be court-martialed at any second. He was determined to savor every second that he got.

"Sir ... you can let go now." Sam's voice was muffled and a tiny bit bemused.

"You stopped beating yourself up now?" Jack caught Sam's chin and tilted it up so that she was looking up into his warm chocolate gaze.

She sniffed. "Yeah."

"Good. So ... why are you really crying? You're not still in love with him, are you?" Jack held his breath, dreading what he was going to hear. Almost unconsciously, he dropped his hand away from her chin and led her to sit on the dark blue overstuffed couch.

Sam's denial was instant and heartfelt. "No!" She dropped onto the couch, and Jack sat next to her, close but not touching. He was just so relieved to hear that she wasn’t carrying a torch for her ex fiancé.

"So ...?" the older man prompted.

"After we got together, I realized that I didn't want to be someone else. With him I wasn't *me*. I was just pretending to be what he wanted me to be," the blonde said reflectively.

"And that's why you were crying?" Jack pushed gently.

"No ... but I guess I kind of loved him. In a sisterly kind of way. Like how I see Danny and Teal'c. Well, not quite," she amended. "Pete's not on the same level as Danny and Teal'c. He was on a lower level than they are."

"So, did you see him like a mercy –" Jack started without thinking. He cut himself off just in time, but Sam said it anyway.

"A mercy fuck? No." A gently amused smile played around the edges of her lips.

"So ...?" Jack continued to push.

"So, I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get to tell him I was sorry. I didn't get to make it right," Sam said after marshalling her thoughts together.

"You can't always make it right, Carter. This is real life. And I think that Pete knew it. He's not naïve, and he's got a good head on his shoulders."

"Dad didn't think so." Sam snorted.

"Ya think?!"

"His initial reception of Pete was ... lukewarm." Sam smiled suddenly, a sad sentimental sort of smile. "Selmak was a lot more ... forthright in his opinions."

Jack had to laugh at that one. He suspected that what the Tok'ra'd had to say about the Denver cop had been highly inappropriate for mixed company.

"So, you going to Denver for the funeral?" Jack asked, sensing that they were now back on safe ground.

"As long as I'm not offworld. Mackie said that he'd let me know once they settled on a date."

Jack paused before speaking. "Would you like some company?" he said finally, putting his hand on hers. "Pete was a good man."

Sam ducked her head. "Thank you, I'd like that." She paused, pulling away from the taller man and reaching for the beer bottle on the coffee table. She took a long swig. "You know, I think I was mourning what could have been. The white picket fences and two point two children. A small part of me wants it. A very, very small part. Maybe Pete thought he could make it bigger."

"Maybe he did." Jack agreed. "How about we drink a beer in his honor? I think he'd like that."

Sam nodded.

"Thank you, sir."

"Jack's ok. It's not a sir kinda situation, now, is it?"

Sam smiled. "You're right." Sam got up from the couch, took his arm and led him toward the back yard, pausing only to turn on the back porch light. "Pete liked sitting out on the back porch and watching the wildlife. I think it'd be appropriate."

@ @ @

Sam stood at the graveside flanked by the three men in her life – Jack O'Neill, Danny Jackson and Teal'c. She was glad that they had all accompanied her to Denver to the funeral. Sam and Jack were in dress blues while Daniel and Teal'c were in suits. The men stood a discreet distance away from her as she laid a rose on the freshly turned earth.

"Samantha."

She turned to see Greg "Mackie" Mackenzie, Pete's partner. The tall bear-like Texan was six months away from retirement, and to Sam's eyes, was walking toward her as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Maybe he did, she thought. He never imagined that he'd be burying his younger partner. He'd always thought it would be the other way around.

"Mackie." Sam welcomed the older man's warm embrace.

"Thank you for coming. I know how busy you are."

"Don't mention it. How are you keeping?"

"I just keep reminding myself that I have six months left. That's all. Six freaking months. I haven't slept properly since Pete passed." Mackie sighed. "His heart wasn't in it, hon, not since he came back from Colorado Springs."

Sam blushed furiously, tears springing to her eyes. She'd been crying a lot over Pete, and she knew it was purely guilt.

"Hon, listen to me," Mackie said, putting his huge ham-like hands on her shoulders. "Pete did *not* in any way blame you for what happened between you two. He thought that he'd maybe pushed you too hard."

Sam's hand flew up to her mouth in an effort to stop herself from sobbing out loud.

"Pushed me?!"

Mackie smiled sadly. "You know Pete."

"Oh god," Sam sniffed.

"After he got shot, he knew he'd been hurt bad. He had a lot of time to think, and he gave me a letter to give to you. He wrote it when he realized that he wasn't going to get better." Mackie took out a small white envelope from his overcoat pocket and handed it to the smaller woman.

Intrigued, she opened it.

The letter was typically Pete: short and to the point.

Darling Sam, I know we didn't part on the best of terms, and your schedule hasn't permitted you to spend as much time as you would like to talk it over. Don't worry, I understand. Give Jack my regards. He's a lucky guy. P

Sam looked up at Mackie, then back at her team mates. Back at Jack.

She really had to stop beating herself up over this. Stop feeling guilty. Pete had understood her better than she understood herself, and she hadn't even realized it. Facing forward again, she closed her eyes, counted slowly to ten and opened them.

"Thank you Mackie."

"You're welcome, hon. Any time."

Jack came over and touched her on the shoulder at that point. "Carter, we need to get back. Hammond just called."

"Yes sir." She turned back to Mackie. "You've never met my colleagues, have you? Brig Gen O'Neill, Dr Jackson and Teal'c," she indicated each man in turn. "They all worked with Pete while he was in Colorado Springs."

"Pleased to meet you. I just wish it could have been under better circumstances." Mackie shook their hands, then turned back to Sam. "Don't let me keep you, I know you have to get back to work." He hugged the younger woman fiercely. "Keep in touch. Magda's looking forward to seeing you again."

Sam smiled, a watery version of her usual megawatt smile. "I'll be back," she promised, then turned and walked away, flanked by Teal'c and O'Neill. Daniel's cell phone rang, and he lagged a little way behind, talking rapidly into the small black rectangle.

"Teal'c," he called to the tall Jaffa, "I need you to listen to this for me ..."

Teal'c inclined his head gracefully to Sam by way of apology and fell back into step with Daniel, who handed him his cell. Sam looked at Jack.

"He forgave me."

"Good."

Sam opened her mouth to tell him about the contents of the letter when Jack stopped her.

"Carter!" He admonished gently. "Don't."

Sam smiled. Jack was right. It was probably for the best, anyway.