How Lucky He Is

Chapter One: Sam Carter

A/N: This idea popped into my head and refused to vacate, so here ya go! I have one more chapter in 'The Many Faces of Jack,' but this one just had to come out. It's a two parter that looks like it's sort of a character study—and it might be—but really it's just a SamJack gloating thing.

Enjoy!

Sam had been Air Force her entire life—she'd grown up on bases all over the world, moving wherever they stationed her father- and, eventually, when she'd joined herself before college. The Force had both paved and paid her way to her doctorate in Theoretical Astrophysics, but she'd been no stranger to combat during that time—logging a considerable amount of air time in the Gulf.

She had brains and brawn and courage to spare, often outthinking and outmaneuvering whoever her opponent was. But none of it mattered. Her degree, her level three advanced hand to hand, her theater of operations involvement…no. All that mattered was her set of double X's.

For as long as Sam Carter could remember she had wanted to be an officer in the Air Force—the country's first line of defense. But for just as long, Sam Carter had never felt that innate sense of belonging; she'd never felt valued.

She'd put up with all of the derogatory, sexist, or just outright spiteful comments that had been slung her way throughout her tenure at the academy and her early days as a lieutenant because she'd known—simply known—that all she had to do was prove herself. Prove that she was just as good as every single one of those flyboys.

Better, even.

So, she'd waited. And waited. And then, one day, she'd stopped.

Stopped waiting to be accepted. Stopped waiting to be valued. Stopped waiting to be seen.

Sam Carter buried herself in her work and she was content. She'd landed a pivotal role on the single most important project on Earth—truthfully, she was the happiest she'd ever been, antiquated ideals be damned. She knew she was important. That was all she needed.

But all those old insecurities came rushing back the second she stepped into that briefing room and had all eyes turn to criticize her glaring lack of a Y chromosome. In her dress blues it was all out in the open for everyone to look at.

So she let them look.

And she let them talk.

But Sam Carter did not let them mistake her. She was going through with SG-1 this time.

Days turned to weeks turned to months and Sam began to grow accustomed to her new home of grey concrete and constant technical issues. She felt that maybe she had finally found her place—maybe this underground complex and this ragtag group of defenders was where she was always meant to end up.

And so Sam Carter's defenses lowered.

After nearly three decades in the Air Force, she'd finally landed somewhere where she could just be Sam and not have to clarify that it was short for Samantha.

Maybe it was because she'd wanted this for so long. Maybe it was because she'd stopped fighting so hard to the contrary. Or maybe it was simply because she'd come to trust them…

But when Sam heard those telltale whispers every time she turned a corner or left the commissary, she knew.

She was right back in the Academy, wrapping an ace bandage over her chest so that maybe today—just for this one day—no one would dismiss her. Sam Carter was humiliated.

Her base, her home, had not stayed immune. They were whispering behind her back again; she could see it in the way their eyes shifted over to her while she was eating… she could hear her name slip through the crack in the door right before it closed.

Sam Carter re-soldered her defenses. She would be nobody's fool.

…

Colonel Makepeace watched surreptitiously as Captain Carter grabbed a sandwich in one hand, a cup of gritty coffee in the other, and practically ran from the commissary; shouldering the door open without looking up at anyone. "Man, does she never take a second off?"

Major Ferretti glanced at the softly swishing door. "If she's anything like Jackson, I'd have to say no."

"I still can't believe O'Neill got two scientists." Makepeace shook his head and he poked around the meatloaf special with his fork. Special was certainly a word for it…

"Carter's a captain, man. USAF stamped and approved." Ferretti watched with distaste as Makepeace unearthed something gray in his meat. "Ugh."

"That's kind of my point. Not exactly fair he got to have Captain Carter and Doctor Jackson." Makepeace, having decided that his meatloaf was a lost cause, shoved his tray aside and sighed deeply.

"Ah. I know what you mean. I wouldn't mind having Carter on my team; O'Neill and Jackson go way back, so he should probably keep him."

Makepeace flickered between annoyance and amusement. "I think she'd be a better fit on my team. The closest thing we have to a brain is Franks and I'm pretty sure he still thinks the Earth is flat."

Ferretti snorted. "Yeah, well, as far as second in commands go, you've got Marcus who is a friggin tactical genius. Meanwhile, I have Louis and I love 'im, but he could stand a few lessons from Captain Carter."

"I've honestly never seen someone 'yes, sir' so sincerely."

"That all you want in a second, colonel? I'll trade you Louis, he's pretty good with the honorifics." Ferretti smirked as he snagged the abandoned baked potato from Makepeace's tray.

Makepeace arched a brow. "I'll stick with Marcus, thanks."

"Unless Carter's available."

"Of course."

"You boys better get in line." Colonel Miller—leader of SG-5—grumbled as he plopped his own meatloaf-laden tray down beside Ferretti. "There's a waiting list a mile long for Captain Carter."

"As a member of the original Abydos team and leader of SG-2, I think I get first dibs. Plus, we bonded over Major Matt Mason." Ferretti tried to squirrel away Miller's potato, but got caught in a fork duel instead.

"Who?" Makepeace frowned skeptically before waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Nevermind. I outrank you, so I win."

Miller scoffed and, having successfully fended off Ferretti's roaming fork, piped up. "We're the same rank, Robert. Pulling that crap won't get you any closer to Carter though, O'Neill isn't gonna let her go for anything."

"But he's got two scientists." Makepeace re-pointed out for the benefit of the newcomer.

"Yeah, but she's his second in command. Military trumps science, boys." Miller clicked his tongue and then dug into his grey meat-mash.

"Don't let Doctor Jackson hear you say that." All three officers laughed before falling into an easy silence as they finished their respective—and, in Ferretti's case, not so respective-meals.

"Well," Ferretti said when they'd shoveled the last bits of food from their trays and into their mouths. "I, for one, still hold out hope that Carter will see reason one day and join SG-2. She's a fair person; she knows all her tactical know-how and brainy wits are unfairly distributed in her current position."

"You're a brainy twit, Ferretti." Makepeace chuckled as Miller simply furrowed his brow.

"No way in hell, man. O'Neill isn't a moron, he may not have been happy about the captain's placement in the beginning, but I'll just bet he's gloating now when the rest of us aren't around."

"As much as I hate to admit it, he has a right to. You don't come across an officer like her every day." Ferretti sighed a little wistfully.

"Right you are, major." The unexpected voice startled them all—Ferretti nearly spilled his drink in his haste to turn around. "Colonels." Jack fixed them all with a hard stare, face unreadable.

"Colonel O'Neill! That sounded…inappropriate." Ferretti wished the ground would just open up and swallow him—and quick. Jack O'Neill was a fiercely protective son of a bitch and if he thought anything different than what Ferretti had actually meant, well…Apophis probably couldn't make him suffer more.

Jack let the tension swell between the other men for a moment, before smirking a little. "Yes, it did, Ferretti. But I know what you mean." Ferretti breathed a sigh of relief. "However, none of you are getting your grubby paws on my captain."

"Oh, come on, Jack." Miller began in the beseeching tone of someone who'd asked the forthcoming question at least seventy two times. "Let SG-5 just borrow her for a little. One or two missions?"

"No way in hell, Miller." Jack dropped his tray onto the table and took the chair opposite the pleading man.

"Afraid she'll decide she likes another team better, O'Neill?" Makepeace grinned over the top of his coffee mug. He grimaced and briefly wondered if Captain Carter was having the same reaction to her to-go caffeine fix.

"Not a chance." Jack refrained from rolling his eyes—barely.

"Then what's the harm? Spread the wealth, man." Ferretti thought about going after Jack's baked potato. His looked much better than either Makepeace's or Miller's—it was slathered in butter and salt.

"Are you talking about Captain Carter or my potato?"

Ferretti did not answer immediately. It was a valid question.

"Man, if Carter hears you calling her 'wealth' or that anyone besides her can spread it, she'll kick your ass." Makepeace shook his head at the major's innocent idiocy.

"The answer is firmly and forever, no." Jack shoveled a forkful of buttery potato into his mouth. Before Ferretti could spout off something smart, he waved his fork. "To both my captain and my potato."

Miller, Ferretti, and Makepeace all glanced exasperatedly at each other before shrugging. No way were they going to give up, Carter was one hell of an asset and they would all forever hold out a little hope that someone somewhere would throw them a bone. As one, they stood up to take their leave; none of them really wanted to stick around for Jack's not-so-silent gloating.

"Was it something I said?" Jack asked as they gathered their trays, though he really didn't sound at all concerned or the least bit contrite.

"Enjoy your potato, Jack." Miller waved a hand over his shoulder as his little posse departed.

"He has no idea how lucky he is." Ferretti pouted—really, he did, but he'll just say it was a spasm—as they left the dining area.

"Actually," Makepeace pushed open the door and glanced over his shoulder at the other colonel, who looked quite like the proverbial cat with a feather flossig problem. "I think he knows exactly how lucky he is."

…

Jack followed the inelegant departure from his peripheral vision. Those three weren't as subtle as they seemed to think they were; he was pretty sure half the commissary's occupants had heard that little goodbye treat. He made a mental note to have Hammond reiterate to all teams that "being stealthy" was actually an important part of their jobs, not just a fun technicality.

Makepeace was right though. He did know how lucky he was. Carter was the whole package; brilliant (scarily so) and lethal (also scarily so) and she actually knew what "stealth" meant. God help whoever's sixes those three watched after.

It also didn't hurt that she was fiercely loyal, surprisingly funny, and humble beyond belief. Hell, she was the reason they were even able to restart the Stargate Program in the first place and she never once lorded that over anyone. He actually wasn't even sure she really acknowledged that little tidbit beyond it securing her position on the second mission through the gate.

Yes. Jack O'Neill knew how lucky he was.

But did his captain?

TBC

A/N: Part Two up tomorrow! Thank you!