TITLE: Revelations

AUTHOR: Sharim


SEASON: Set right after Secrets. A tag.


SUMMARY: Her dad has cancer.

RATING: PG-13. Some mild language and implications.

A/N: I wrote this a long long time ago, so i'm *not* avoiding

Freedom, I promise. I'm not at home, and Freedom is on my home comp. So sorry!!

I wrote this mainly because we never saw Sam really dealing with the cancer news, and I wanted a Sam and Jack moment. Having

an 'explosive' relationship with my own father (as one of my friends

so politely put it ;) ), the father/daughter relationship with Sam

and Jack is really appealing to me, and so I wanted to make more out of the first time we saw Sam and Jacob together.

You have been warned.

And Freedom is coming, as soon as Suds sends me the beta! (so please forward all hatemail to her in future ;) )


"Captain Carter?"

She looks over with a surprised jerk. Obviously she was lost in

thought, and judging by the strained tautness of her lips, they were

troublesome thoughts.

"Would you like a drink?" I ask her gently, nodding towards the

stewardess still holding the drinks trolley.

"No thanks, General," she declines, offering the young female a tight smile before shifting uneasily in her seat again.

I turn my attention to O'Neill then. He's silent, not even bothering

to look at the stewardess who is still patiently waiting. She looks

over at me, uncertainty in her eyes. I shake my head; O'Neill won't

have a drink.

As she moves on to the next seat, I turn my head back to survey my officers. Neither one looks particularly happy, and while I can

understand and even begin to sympathise with O'Neill, I have no idea what is affecting Captain Carter.

I sigh, turning my head of the window and looking down at the view. Some trip. Some trip this turned out to be.

We all headed off, the greatest hopes of honour and achievements

burning strong in our hearts. But only... yes. Sometimes things just

don't turn out the way you plan.


I stand in front of the office door, swallowing roughly.

This is stupid. This is so stupid.

I don't want to see Hammond, and he knows it. Still...

I swing the door open determinedly; I *will* get through this.

"Colonel," he looks up, motioning towards my usual seat.

I sit.

"Obviously you're going to have to fill in a report. Depending on

what's decided after the inquiry, there might be a formal hearing-"

"I doubt that." My words are quiet and calm. There won't be a

hearing. Whoever killed Armin knew what Armin knew. What they didn't want was for Armin to talk to us. To talk to me. But he did, and in doing so he signed his own death warrant.

Still, if I hadn't spoken to him, if I *hadn't* gone back to him to

try and bargain information, he never would have been hit. I wouldn't have been the one with his blood staining my hands.

Hammond is watching me, and I look up at him. "Politics," I shrug.

He sighs, acknowledging the truth in my statement with a slight raise of his eyebrows - or what's left of them.

"How's Dr. Jackson?" he asks eventually, changing the subject. I'm

grateful. I really am.

"You know Daniel, Sir."

He looks at me patiently, the glint in his eyes telling me he doesn't

feel like playing my game of denial anymore.

"He'll be okay, Sir."

"He will?"

/You okay?/

/No. No I'm not. But I will be./


He nods again, and then bites his bottom lip almost thoughtfully for

a second. "Was there anything... is Captain Carter okay?" he leaves

the question hanging.

"I don't know, Sir."

"No, I didn't think you would know," he sighs.

"Just what is that supposed to mean, Sir?"

He looks up, apologetic and innocent. "Nothing. I just meant she's a

lot like you."

I frown. He did?

"You can't get anything out of her short of ordering her, and even

then she's tighter than a clam shell," he clarifies.

I nod in agreement. Yep, that's Carter for you. HEY- "I do not."

"No, you just shoot your mouth off with sarcasm, Jack," he almost

laughs, but sobers again quickly. I don't say anything this

time. "She's... she's had a pretty rough time with her father," he

says almost reluctantly. "I'm concerned about her, that's all."

"She was fine on the mission," I say truthfully. She was fine. A

little quieter than normal maybe, but fine none the less.

Hammond smiles, an almost bitter smile. "She'd never let it interfere with her work."

I look at him sharply. Let *what* intefere with her work?

"She's like her dad."

Now I'm *really* confused. He must notice my confusion because-

"Look out for her, Jack."

I raise both my eyebrows - both of which I still happen to

have. "Sir?"

"I don't know. Something's wrong with her." He gathers himself, and I can see the General mask falling back into place. Our 'personal' conversation is over. "I'm assigning two weeks of leave to SG-1-"


"Two of you have just been through a rough time, Colonel. And Captain Carter isn't looking too happy either. Now, I want you to please go home, relax, and have your team back here in the shape you're supposed to be in."


That's not asking a lot.



"This downtime... if we're not fixed before it's over could we-"


The sound of his chuckle follows me out into the hall, and a smile

turns up the corners of my lips.


It's been raining, the grass and dirt are cold and wet against my

back, but I'll be damned if a little bit of mud is going to make me


I stare up moodily at the stars. It's not fair. It's not fair at all.

/I have cancer, Sam./



The word rings in my ears, a cacophony building in tempo and volume, drowning out all the other noises around me.


~An abnormal growth which uses nutrients needed by the body, and tends to spread and to reappear after surgery. Anything evil that spreads and destroys.~

I press my hands against my eyes, trying to force the images of the

written words away. But it's no use, they're burnt into my memory

like the cancer cells are fused in my father's body.

My dad has cancer.

/But it's your dream./

My dream.

Dreams change, Dad. Sometimes life is better than dreams.

The mud squelches as I kick down on the ground. I want to scream in anger. I want to hit something. I want to break something -

preferably my father's neck for doing this to me, but anything

within reach will do.

The beer bottle goes flying.

It shatters against the fence.

The rage and unfairness is gone, replaced by a deep heaviness that

wants to drown me.

I want to drown myself.

This is unfair.



"Carter, you back there?"

Oh, damn. Not now. Please, not now.

Okay. Lie still. Pretend you're mud. He won't come around here...

he's never been around here.

The gate creaks.

Oh. Damndamndamndamndamn.


"Can't you say anything else, Sir?" I sigh, not moving.

"Carter! Are you okay?"

"Fine. Sir."

"I heard a noise, sounded like glass breaking..."

Oh. Damn. I *knew* I shouldn't have given in to my temper.

"That was nothing."

"It was?"


The silence is tense and awkward. I can hear the mud squelching

beneath his boots as he shifts restlessly from foot to foot. He's

probably got his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets too because he's nervous and -

A thought occurs to me.

Since when can I pick O'Neill's habits without even looking at him?

"So... why are you lying in the mud anyway?"


"Oh." He shifts, and I can imagine him frowning in a look of

disgusted acceptance before he bends his knees and slowly sits down-


Great. Now you're even thinking like him, Carter.

I sigh.

He sighs.

He sat down, and as he makes a sound of disgust in his throat I know my imaginings of his facial expression would have been bang on spot.

Carter, you are getting *much* too observant when it comes to O'Neill.

"So... what's this therapy for?"

I sigh and roll over onto my side, facing him. It's hard to see him

in the near dark, only the lights from my kitchen window casting a

shadow over his face, but I scrutinise him anyway.

"What are you doing, sir?"


I roll my eyes.


"I don't know," he shrugs, I can see the movement silhoutted against the light. "Why are you?"

"I needed some."


Again, the silence falls over us.

"You've probably ruined your clothes."

I raise an eyebrow. Ruined my clothes? My life has been ruined, who cares about the clothes?

"They're dirty anyway," I mumble.

He sighs again, and I can hear him drawing in a long, slow breath.

He's gathering his courage. What for, I can only guess, but-

"What's wrong?"

I freeze. What's wrong?


"You sure? You seem a little... upset."

Upset. No. I'm not upset. Upset just doesn't cover what I am.

"I'm not upset, Sir."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm *not*."

"Sure you are."

"Colonel!" I sit up sharply, glaring at him even though it's dark and

he probably can't see me. "I think I'd know if I was upset."

"So would I."

"Why would you know if *I* was upset?" I demand.

Once again that awkward silence descends over us.



I soooo shouldn't have asked that question.

"I'm your friend, Carter. I'm supposed to notice when you're upset."

I sigh again, but I don't bother answering him.

"It's nothing, okay?" I reaffirm after a while.

He's not convinced, I can tell, but my question has made both of us

feel awkward so I know he won't push the subject.

"You sure?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm sure." I force the lightness onto my voice, and say a

silent prayer of thanks for the darkness so that he can't see the

tears in my eyes.

"Okay," he sighs, and his movements start up again, his leather

jacket rustling has he rubs his hands together and then gathers

himself, readying to stand up. "I'm heading over to Daniel's. Wanna


I look up at him. "What, are you doing the rounds tonight?"

He pauses, his silhoutte showing him to be half standing up

already. "What?"

"Trying to cheer me up, and then Daniel..." I swallow.

"Do you need cheering up?"

"No Sir, I don't." I don't want to be cheered up, so I am telling the


"Okay, well if that's all... then I'd better head off." He hauls

himself to his feet, and I do the same.

My clothes are cold, wet and muddy against my back.

"Colonel?" my voice is hesitant, suddenly stuck in my throat.

"Yes?" his expression is hopeful, anticipating the next words.

"Thank you."

"Okay." I can picture him raising his eyebrows, waiting for an


"For stopping by. For... for caring."

"Oh." He waves his hand carelessly through the dark, but I can see

the lines of tension in him against the light. "It's nothing."

"No. It's not nothing." I shake my head, rubbing my hands over my

arms to try and chase the sudden chill out of them.

He stands there for a minute, as if he's deliberating something.



"If you ever need to talk or anything..." The offer hangs in the air,

and I find myself smiling despite the heaviness of my heart. Him,

offering to *talk*? I'm tempted to take him up on the offer... but I


"Thanks. Sir," I whisper.

"You'll be okay," he whispers roughly, and a second later I'm

enveloped in a huge hug. For a second I allow myself to relax into

it, to enjoy the warmth and closeness of someone who cares about me. But I can't stay here forever, because it's not allowed and my

clothes are dirty. Besides-

Suddenly the world is lit up. I blink and squint in the sudden

brightness. What?

"Sam? What the hell is going on here?"


I know that voice.

And I know what he's thinking.



I feel as thought I've been transported back in time nearly twenty


"Sam, I'm waiting."

"I was just leaving, Sir." O'Neill hastily lets my daughter go, and

steps backwards as though she's burnt him.

"Sure," I nod dryly, the ice not leaving my voice.

"I was talking to the Colonel." My daughter's voice is just as icy as

mine, brimming with anger.

"That's not what it looks like to me," I state calmly, watching the

guilty expression play over O'Neill's face.

"For crying out loud, Dad, he was giving me a *hug*."


There's a startled silence, but then grim determination settles on

Sam's face as she looks up at me defiantly. "Because I needed one,

and he was the only one who cared enough to give it to me," she spits

at me.

I draw in a sharp breath.


"No." She steps forwards, her hands clenched at her side. "No. I

won't listen to you."

I raise and eyebrow.

"Sam, what's gotten into you?"

"You. I'm sick of you doing that to me!"

"Doing what to you?" I'm confused, really confused.

"Telling me you've got cancer and then just walking out on me."

"I didn't just *walk* out on you-"

"Yes, you did. You didn't even *listen* to me-"

"Sam, I don't believe I'm listening to this-"

Her mouth snaps shut, and she glares up at me, eyes glinting in the

glow of the outside light. Pain knifes through me as I look at her,

glaring at me like that. She's like her mother. Just like her mother.

"I just came by to talk to you. I don't need this." I spin on my

heel, ready to march off.

"No. No, I won't let you do this to me again!" Her hand clamps down over my wrist.

How dare she? How dare she try to stop me from leaving!

"Samantha Carter, I don't care how old you are. Don't you dare-"

"You don't get it. You really don't get it, do you?" She drops my

hand, gazing at me with a dumbfounded expression on her face.

"Don't get what?"

She swallows roughly, and then steps backwards.


"Don't worry about it. Just walk out. That's what you always do


Regret stabs me. Walk away. Yes, I do always walk away, don't I?

Because I'm a coward.

"Like you're doing anything different now," I sneer at her, catching

sight of O'Neill in the shadows.

Her eyebrows shoot skywards, indignition flaring in their

depths. "What are you-"

"You're walking away. Straight back into your CO's arms. The only

difference between you and me, Sam, is that I never walked into

anyone else's arms."

Her cheeks turn bright red, her eyes flashing at me.

"Just what exactly are you implying?" Her tone is flat now, but even

I can't miss the steel behind her tones.

"Don't try and lie to me, Sam. I saw the way you looked at each

other. I didn't think you would... but look at you. How long were you guys outside for, rolling around in the mud?"

The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. They're crude and

insulting. Degrading my daughter worse than I've degraded even a


She stares at me, stunned.

"Is that really what you think?" she whispers, the colour draining

from her cheeks.

"There's not really much else to think, is there?"

"Oh God." She giggles then, a tired, almost hysterical giggle. She

turns to look at O'Neill then, and I'm shocked by the utter

desolation on her face. "I don't even know why I bothered to be

upset," she whispers.

I watch her, her shoulders slumped.

She's crying.

A hand closes over my throat. Oh... oh shit.

They weren't...

They didn't...

And I...



"Piss off." She brushes past me, pushing into her house and slamming the door, and then I hear the sound of the key turning in the lock.

"Well. That went well." The sardonic voice hangs low in the air, and

when I turn to him he's already turned to leave.

"Wait!" I call after him, struggling behind him, my breathing

strained and ragged.

Damn the cancer.

He hesitates, and turns around slowly, the darkness hiding his face

so that I can't see any expression. "I... Why were you really here?"

I demand.

"What did Carter tell you?"

I gaze up at him.

He waits for a second, before turning around and walking away.

I should apologise. I should thank him for looking after my daughter

for me.

But I can't. Because I'm a stubborn fool with too much pride for his

own good.

The knowledge stings.


General Carter gave up knocking about an hour after I 'left'.

My knees complain bitterly as I crawl out of my hedge, and I allow

them a quick stretch before I approach Carter's house for the second time in one night.

I can only imagine what her neighbours must be thinking after that

small scene of domesticated disturbance we gave them, and now

watching me crawling out of a bush. Probably thinking I ran off

because of her dad.

I stand in front of the door for a second. Do I knock, or just use

the spare key?

Spare key wins hands down. That way I won't be embarrassed when she doesn't open the door and the neighbours are all watching me from behind their curtains.

She's sitting in her lounge room, I can see her muddy blond hair

peeking up from behind a couch.

"Go away, Sir," she says, her voice muffled and sounding stuffy.


"Sir, please."

My heart lurches. Oh God. She's crying. Now what?

"Carter... Sam..."

"Sir, just go." She's begging now, as the sounds of her choking sobs

become audible.

I can't leave her. I can't just walk out of her house and leave her

like this.

"I can't," I tell her softly, "I'm your friend, remember?"

She doesn't say anything, but I can hear her fighting for control.


"Aren't you supposed to be cheering Daniel up or something?"

"You still need cheering up," I remind her softly.

"I... I don't want you to see me crying. Sir," she admits, fighting

her tears.

I feel a fierce surge of pride as she sits there, trying to gather

herself. She's strong. She's so strong it's scary sometimes, and it's

easy to forget that she hurts.


"Need a shoulder?" I ignore her request. Sometimes... sometimes it's easier when you let someone hold you while you cry. Little kids know that. Charlie knew that. It's funny how us adults seem to forget it.

"I'm fine," she whispers.

"No, you're not."

She's curled up on her couch, her muddy clothes discarded for faded sweats and an old, out of shape T shirt.

"I... " she hiccups, rubbing agitatedly at her face. "I..."

"Carter, it's good to cry sometimes," I tell her gently.

"No, it's not," she denies furiously. "It... it makes your... eyes...

puffy... and... red and..."

I chuckle, knowing that's what she intended, and slip onto the couch next to her. "It makes you feel better," I say gently, gathering into my arms.

She struggles at first, but then relaxes, burying her face against my

next, her arms curling around my back and her fingers twisting into

my shirt; I'd hung my muddy jacket on the coathook. At least the mud on my trousers should be dry by now.

"It doesn't do anything," she sniffs after a while, not moving.


"Crying. It doesn't accomplish anything," she sighs, but she still

doesn't make a move to get out of my arms. And I don't relinquish her voluntarily.

"No, it doesn't." I agree, my hand running up and down her back.

"I'm sorry," she says eventually.

"I don't mind. My shirt needed a wash anyway."

She laughs through her tears, turning her head so that she can look

up at me.

It feels strangely dreamlike, sitting on her couch, holding her while

she's lying in my arms, as relaxed and trusting as a kitten. I feel

warm inside.

"I meant about not telling you." Her quiet voice breaks the silence

after a while.

I don't say anything for a long time, thinking carefully about the


"Why didn't you?"

"I don't know," she shrugs slightly, shifting so that she's now

sprawled completely over me, her eyelids closed as she lies still

again. "You know me."

"No, I don't," I realise. Her eyes fly open, gazing up at me. "I

don't really know you, Sam."

She nods, regret washing over her features for a second before she

hides it again. She has far too much restraint. So do I.

"I don't really know you either, do I?"

No, she doesn't.

"You... You didn't tell me about Charlie," her voice is hesitant, and

her eyes search mine as I look down at her. "I... It doesn't bother

me or anything, but I sort of understand why you couldn't do it."

I don't say anything, not trusting my voice to speak.

"I... I couldn't tell you about my Dad."

I sigh, squeezing her. "I don't mind, Carter. I just wish...


"I know," she sighs, burying her head against my neck again.


"Yes Sir?"

"What I said before, about being there if you needed someone?"


"It's still an open offer." I hesitate, "It will always be, okay?"

She smiles then, a real Carter smile just for me, albeit a rather

sleepy one. "Yes Sir. And Sir?"


"Same here, okay?"

I smile down at her, and kiss her forehead gently.

"And Carter?"


"Next time you need therapy, come to me first and I'll give you some pointers. Rolling around in the mud like a pig is *really* not


She chuckles again, her head rolling back onto my arm, trusting me to keep it in place. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Sir," she

whispers, her fingers reaching up and tracing my jaw slowly before

falling onto my arm and resting there.

I swallow, and smile down at her.

"Me neither. We're a team, Carter. You and me. And Daniel and Teal'c of course." I add hastily.

She smiles, her eyes laughing at me. But she knows what I mean.

Carter is special to me.

She always will be.

"I'm tired now," she says softly.

"Okay." I shift.

"No," her eyes are uncertain, but hopeful. "I... I don't want you to

go," she whispers.

My heart lurches.

"I am not sleeping on the couch all night, Captain."

She chuckles. "I have a spare room, Sir."


"Point me in the right direction."

We pull ourselves up off the couch, and I glance guiltily at the

muddy patch on her sofa. Oops.

"Here we are, Sir." She opens a door.

"Goodnight," I whisper, putting my arms around her again and drawing her close.

She holds me in return for a few seconds. And then, so lightly that I

think I almost imagine it, her lips brush briefly against the

roughness of my cheek before she pulls away, smiling up at me.

"Goodnight, Sir,." she whispers, and steps out of my arms.

I let go of her hand, and watch as she silently disappears into her


I turn and walk into the spare room, a smile still playing around my



"The structures there are incredible, General. They look far more

technologically advanced than we are." Daniel's excited babble earns a smile from me and a groan from the Colonel. "And the fact that they look like they could be based on a recognisable Earth architecture implies that they are descendents from Earth."

I look over at the Colonel, and he rolls his eyes.

"Okay," General Hammond nods. "If you're geared up and ready in the next half an hour you have a go."

"Yes!" Daniel jumps up, gathering his books and papers.


I stand up slowly as Daniel speeds out of the room, Teal'c looking

slightly bemused and the General shaking his head in open

amusement. "Keep an eye on him, Colonel," he orders unnecessarily before following Teal'c out of the room.

"Carter?" he asks hesitantly, gazing over at me with a half awkward

look in his eye.


"You...uh.. you okay now?"

I smile tightly, and nod.

"And your Dad?"

My smile falters a little, and I sigh.

"Well, he's still got cancer, Sir."


"I talked to him."


"It's... it's okay now."

I can feel him looking at me. I'm not lying. We're back to the usual

relationship I've had with my dad for the last 20 years: a rocky one.

But it's okay because we're talking, and that's a start.

We leave the briefing room together in silence, and I make my way

quickly to the locker room, only needing to throw on my vest and make a stop at the armoury. We were all basically geared up anyway.

I pause before I enter the gateroom, looking down at the photo in my hand.

He looks so happy. He looks so healthy.

I frown as I stare at the little girl in his arms.

What happened between us? Why did we suddenly start to clash so much? Why did our relationship go down the drain?

I still love him, I always will. But... we've hurt each other so


I swallow and put the photo in my pocket.

I love him and he loves me.

That's all that matters.

I enter the gateroom.


15 June 2002