Disclaimer Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

Title- Not Yet
Author- Denise
E-mail - skydiver119@hotmail.com
Category- Missing Scene Cake fic
Season- 6
Spoilers - Frozen, ITLOD, Tok'ra
Rating- PG
Content Warning- Nothing
Summary- Little post Frozen doubts

Sam propped her head in her hand and listlessly stared at the piece of carrot cake sitting on the table in front of her. It was a small, square piece of cake, obviously part of a much larger whole. She could see the tiny flecks of the vegetable in the cake; smell the sweetness of the cream cheese icing.

If that wasn't enough to confirm the flavor, the small stylized carrot made of frosting on the top was a dead give away. Whoever made it wasn't very good, she thought. It was long and skinny and if she let her eyes un-focus it almost seemed to writhe on the surface.

It looked just like a snake. The snake that was even now making itself at home in the colonel's brain. The snake that saved his life, the snake that was there because of her.

"Major. I thought you'd left hours ago." Sam looked up to see General Hammond standing by her table. A quick glance confirmed that she and he were the only two people in the commissary at the moment. Which wasn't surprising given that it was past 2300.

"Sir." She started to stand up then stopped as he waved his hand, pulling out a chair and sitting beside her.

"Midnight snack?" He nodded towards the slightly mangled piece of cake.

She shrugged slightly, not sure what to say. Technically she was under doctor's orders to eat, rest and recuperate. Which basically meant that she wasn't really sick, she just wasn't quite healthy either.

"I'm not assigning a replacement for Colonel O'Neill. For the time being, you'll assume command and operate as a three-person team. That should make the transition easier when he comes back," he told her quietly.

She looked up at him and opened her mouth to speak, then shut it, obviously changing her mind. "Yes, sir," she responded.

"Major, Sam, none of this is your fault," he said, laying a hand on her arm.

She shook her head slightly and turned her attention back to the cake, mangling it more with the fork. "Four years ago I ignored the colonel's orders and got blended with Jolinar. Then I pushed to follow the visions and meet the Tok'ra. I suggested my dad as a host for Selmac, which led to the alliance. And now…"

"You saved his life."

"I talked him into doing the one thing he'd swore he'd never do," she corrected. "'Over my dead body' wasn't just a cliché, he meant it. There's nothing he hates more than the thought of being blended," she insisted.

"Except maybe the Russians," George muttered.

"Sir?"

He shook his head. "Never mind, Major. Colonel O'Neill followed your suggestion because he trusts you, probably more than you trust yourself. He trusts that Kanan's intel is worth the risk. He trusts that the symbiote will leave him, and that we'll make sure the Tok'ra keep up their end of the bargain." He sighed. "When my wife was diagnosed with cancer, she had a choice. She could take the chemo and fight it, or she could just give up and die." He looked her in the eyes. "She…we, chose to fight. Even knowing that it wasn't going to be easy, that she was going to be sick and miserable, she chose life. That's the same choice Jack made today. There's nothing wrong with wanting to survive. And I can assure you that this is far from the most drastic thing he's ever done. Now," he paused and sighed. "It's been a long day. I strongly suggest that you go home and get some sleep," he said kindly.

"Yes, sir. Thank you." She got up from the table and left the commissary, abandoning the massacred piece of cake.

George watched her go, suddenly feeling every one of his sixty plus years. It never ceased to amaze him, the strength of the human spirit. He knew full well how much Jack hated the Tok'ra, how he abhorred the loss of control, the supreme violation of his privacy. Jack O'Neill hated sharing the elevator much less his body and soul.

But George also knew that despite all that, Jack still had things to do and he wasn't quite ready to die, not yet.

~Fin~

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