samandjack.net

Story Notes: Email: reevesally@hotmail.com and/or Eken95@aol.comWarning: *Apparent* character death…Notes: This story was written in collaboration with Erika Kendall and is our first joint effort. We hope you enjoy it, and as always feedback is appreciated!


"The Otherworld"
By Sally Reeve and Erika Kendall

The mist hung low over the trees, stilling everything. There was no birdsong, no breeze to disturb the thin gray fog, and the only sound that penetrated the damp air was the gentle clinking of Eowyn's sword buckle as he crept cautiously towards the sacred Stones.

It was just past dawn, although the mist held all in colorless gray. The rabbit he had been hunting loitered not far away, its nose twitching as he took another step closer. He hoped that the creature did not stray too close to the Stones, or he would be forbidden to follow and would go without breakfast. Glancing up, his attention momentarily distracted from his prey, he shivered slightly as the tall, standing stones loomed above him, marking out the entrance to the most sacred of sites – the Gate of Sidhe. His brother, Edwin, had entered the priesthood over a year ago now and he alone in the family was permitted to set foot inside the Circle. Eowyn felt no envy; the stones made him shiver, their impassive faces speaking of ancient powers too great for a mortal such as himself to touch.

Shaking himself free, he turned back to the rabbit. Suddenly, it stood up high on its hind legs, ears alert; it sensed something, and so did Eowyn. Something crawled across his skin for a moment, and then….

Light surged like water from the Gate of Sidhe, racing through the morning mist towards him. Eowyn yelled in fear, stumbling backward until he fell flat on his back. But the light retreated, pulling back until it rippled like a magical pond amid the Gate. Shaking with terror he crawled to his knees, expecting the Tuatha De Danann to strike him down at any moment. But afraid as he was, curiosity drew his gaze back to the Gate. For a long time nothing happened. And then, to his increasing astonishment, a man appeared from the water. And then another, followed by a further two. Four men stood there, looking around them warily. They were strangely dressed and held unfamiliar objects in their hands.

"Guess I won't be needing these," one of them said, pulling a dark covering from his eyes. "Nice place."

And then the light in the Gate of Sidhe disappeared, as suddenly as it had arrived, leaving the men standing inside the sacred site. "Look at these standing stones!" Another of the men said, moving away from the ring. "They look Neolithic."

"Look like rocks to me," the first man said.

"Sir?" another voice spoke, and Eowyn was surprised that is was female. A female within the sacred Circle? It was impossible! "I can see several well-worn paths leading away from here. It's a good bet this place is inhabited."

"Okay," replied the man, giving her a nod of thanks. "Heads up kids. Let's go say hello." He glanced over his shoulder at the man examining the stones, "Daniel, come on. Time for that once we have the vicinity secured."

With that the four strangers began to walk, heading down the path he knew would take them to his village. Crouching low in the long grass, he watched them leave. And as the fourth man brought up the rear, Eowyn's eyes widened – his skin was brown like tree bark, and a strange golden emblem was emblazoned upon his forehead. He knew not what magical creatures these were, but he knew that he had to warn his village of their approach.

With increasing impatience he waited until their footsteps had faded before he leaped to his feet and began to sprint through the forest. The sacred Circle had been despoiled – defiled by men not sworn to the Priesthood, and by a woman no less! If the Priests could not appease the Tuatha De Danann, who knew what vengeance they would wreak on his village? With a heart pounding in fear, Eowyn fled home, hoping that he would be in time to save his people from the strangers.

***

"This is incredible!" Daniel was enthusing. "Of course, there's no way to know how far the people here will have developed since they were brought here, but we could be looking at a society descended directly from the people who built Stone Henge!"

Jack rolled his eyes, catching Carter's eye and making her smile. He loved doing that, and her bright grin provoked one of his own. For an instant there was contact – soul to soul – but then she looked away, just like she always did. And she frowned, just like she always did. Jack sighed – wondering for the millionth time what it would take for her to loosen up enough to enjoy what they had. God knew it was little enough, but the occasional smile wouldn't kill her, or ruin her career. Aware that he was hovering dangerously close to bitterness, Jack forced his mind onto more pressing matters. "How far do you think the village is?"

"I think I smell wood-smoke, sir," Carter offered. "It can't be far."

He sniffed and nodded, catching the scent in the air. "Okay," he said, "Daniel up front, Teal'c hang back. Carter," he glanced at her again, "keep your eyes open."

"Yes sir," she nodded, the perfect picture of professionalism. As always.

The village they approached was small, made up of a number of large, round buildings. "Okay," Daniel was muttering, "definitely pre- Roman, which makes sense since I don't think the Roman Empire extended as far as P7T-834."

"Daniel," Jack warned quietly, "let's just focus on the people for now." As they drew nearer, it became clear that they were expected. Men started to emerge from the buildings, armed with crude weapons as they took up places in a line across the narrow pathway. Daniel slowed to a halt, Jack and Carter behind him; Jack didn't have to look to know that her fingers were firmly on her weapon.

Raising his hands in the universal gesture of peace, Daniel said, "We mean you no harm. We're travelers."

"They are not!" a voice called, drawing Jack's attention. A young man, not much more than a boy, stood towards the end of the line of men. His face was pale and his dark hair straggled over his narrow shoulders. "I saw them emerge from the Gate of Sidhe with my own eyes!"

"Yes," Daniel said hurriedly. "Yes you did. We use the Star…, um, Gate of Sidhe, to travel to many different places."

"They were within the sacred Circle," the young man declared, pointing at Daniel. "That one touched one of the sacred Stones."

Sacred Stones? Ah, crap.

A mutter of unease accompanied the boy's words. "And that one," he added, his accusing finger turning on Carter, "that one is a woman!"

"Sacrilege!" a voice bellowed suddenly, and the line of men drew apart. A tall figure, darkly robed, stepped forward. "No woman may enter the Sacred Circle!"

Jack glanced over at Carter, watching her shift warily although her eyes never left the men they faced. "Daniel…?" he muttered, his fingers closing more tightly around his gun.

"We're sorry," Daniel apologized. "We didn't know that…. We're strangers here, and mean no disrespect to your traditions."

"Disrespect?" the robed man said. "This is not disrespect, this is blasphemy. You bring down the wrath of the Tuatha De Danann upon us!"

"No!" Daniel protested. "No – I'm sure they wouldn't mind…."

"Oh for crying out loud," Jack muttered, realizing that this whole situation was getting way out of control. If there was one thing that was guaranteed to cause trouble – in any village, country, or planet - it was religion. And he knew from bitter experience that there was no way to argue with blind faith. "Daniel – we're leaving. Tell them goodbye."

Glancing over his shoulder, Daniel frowned. "Jack – come on. Look at these people! They're living archaeology! If I can just convince them…."

Flicking his eyes back to the angry men, he saw the fear in their faces. He saw that fear hardening into violence. And he saw that violence aimed firmly at Carter. "No," he decided. "We're outa here. Now."

"The Colonel's right," Carter added quietly. "I don't like the looks those guys are giving…us."

Daniel was not happy, but Jack didn't care. Sometimes that man had absolutely *no* sense of danger! But, to his credit, he did what he'd been told. "Okay, we're gonna leave now," Daniel said, backing slowly away. "We're sorry to have, er, blasphemed," he said with an obvious wince, "but we'll just be on our way. Nice and easy…."

The men didn't move, watching them with a mixture of relief and fear. "Carter," Jack muttered, "take point. Teal'c, Daniel – get up there with her. I'll watch your six." Slowly he edged backward, his eyes and his weapon fixed on the hostile men behind him. But they made no move to follow and at last the village was obscured by a twist in the path. Jack span around to face his friends. "Okay," he barked, breaking into a jog, "everyone move it. We're not out of the woods yet."

Up-front he heard Carter snort at the unintentional pun as they raced through the trees, but Jack didn't smile in return. He had a nasty feeling, right between his shoulder-blades, and wouldn't be happy until they were all safely back through the Stargate.

***

"You cannot let them leave," Eowyn exclaimed, his outrage overcoming the deference due to High Priest Belar. "They have defiled the Sacred Circle! A woman! And on the eve of Midsummer!"

Belar turned his steely gaze on him, men melting out of his path as he approached. "You question, me, Eowyn?"

"No woman has ever set foot in the Sacred Circle," he responded fiercely. "We cannot let them leave without redressing the balance…. Surely, blood must be offered to Crom Cruach?"

Belar frowned. "That is an ancient practice," he replied, something that almost looked like distaste crossing his face. "Not since my Grandfather wore these robes have we atoned with blood."

"But a woman!" Eowyn exclaimed, hearing a mutter of approval from around him. "If we do not appease such sacrilege with blood, surely the Tuatha De Danann will punish us? They will blight the harvest, or take our infants…."

The muttering around him grew stronger. "Eowyn speaks the truth," Helgar the blacksmith spoke-up. "We must shed blood – we cannot ignore such blasphemy on such a night as this. The magic of the Tuatha De Danann is strong at Midsummer."

Belar turned on Helgar. "Whose blood do you offer, blacksmith?" he asked. "Your own?"

There was a sudden silence and Helgar made no response, his head drooping in the face of Belar's intense gaze. But Eowyn was not so timidly cowed. "Not our blood," he said boldly, "the blood of the strangers. They must atone for their sacrilege."

Belar shook his head, a frown creasing his broad brow. When he spoke his voice was resolved, although it was heavy with reluctance. "So be it," he said, casting his gaze around the fearful village. "Eowyn, since you speak so loudly for sacrifice, I name you as the one to spill the blood. Do you accept your divine task?"

Pride and fear warred in his chest, and across the crowd he saw his mother's fearful face. But he straightened his shoulders and knelt to be blessed. "I accept the honor," he said.

Belar's heavy hand rested upon his head. "Then go with the blessing of the Tuatha De Danann, Eowyn, and seek redemption for your people."

***

Sam was breathing heavily by the time she broke free of the trees. The mist still clung close to the ground, making the air feel damp and chill against her warm face. She slowed to a leisurely trot now that they were clear of the forest and let Daniel and Teal'c race ahead.

But O'Neill quickly caught her up. "No slacking, Major," he said, a firm hand on her shoulder propelling her back into a jog. "I didn't like the looks those guys were giving us."

"Giving me, you mean," she said, sighing as she started to run again.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and she was very aware of the weight of his hand still clasping her shoulder. "I don't think they liked any of us much," he muttered. "But I'd say they beat the best on the misogyny thing."

Sam smiled, catching his eye. "Good thing they didn't know I was a scientist too."

The Colonel just raised an eyebrow, refusing, for once, to be baited. Ahead of them the standing stones surrounding the Stargate abruptly loomed out of the mist and he slowed. As they stepped within the misty circle he dropped his hand from her shoulder; Sam felt a flash of regret but stamped on it hurriedly, cursing herself for such an unprofessional response. "Daniel!" O'Neill called. "Dial us up. Fast."

Daniel hurried to obey, his hands moving confidently over the DHD. Sam shivered suddenly, the clammy air chilling her despite the effort of the run. She didn't like this place, she didn't like the cold, cloying mist or the silent, motionless air. She felt…she felt as though….

"Someone's out there," O'Neill said suddenly, his sharp eyes scanning the mist as he turned in a slow three-sixty. "Carter…?"

"Yeah," she nodded, her weapon already in her hands. Next to her she heard the Colonel's safety click off and did the same. "I feel it too."

Behind them the unstable vortex of the wormhole exploded into the Stargate, and after a moment Daniel called, "We're clear to go."

"Let's do it," O'Neill replied, moving slowly backwards towards the gate. "Daniel, Teal'c - go. Carter, fall back with me."

"Yes, sir," she replied, matching him step for step as they retreated to the gate. She heard the subtle disturbance as Daniel and Teal'c stepped into the event horizon, and her heel had just struck the first of the steps leading her up to the gate when something hissed through the air and struck her arm. She yelled in pain, clutching at her shoulder as she lost her balance and toppled to her knees. "Damn it!"

"Carter!" Jack was in front of her in an instant, shielding her and letting loose a spray of gunfire into the mist.

Glancing down at her arm she saw blood start to seep through her torn jacket, but she could see the short, stubby arrow where it lay on one side of the Stargate and knew that her injury was superficial. It still hurt like hell, however. After a long, tense moment of silence Jack turned to her, crouching down in front of her. "Where are you hit?" he asked urgently, trying to look at the whole of her at once.

"Just my shoulder," she assured him. "It's not bad."

Obviously relieved, he nodded and reached for her good arm to pull her upright. "Let's get the hell…." Suddenly he stopped, jerking forward with a shocked expression on his face. And then again he lurched towards her, his face starting to crumple.

It took a moment for Sam to understand what had happened, but then she saw the blood blooming through his jacket and he slumped forward, forcing her to catch him as he fell. In horror she stared at the two stubby arrows protruding from his back and at the blood welling around them; crossbow bolts, she realized numbly.

"Carter…," Jack's rasping voice shocked her back into the moment. "Secure the area…."

Shit. She scrambled to her feet, her training kicking in and smothering the paralyzing fear as she rattled another wave of bullets into the mist. "I can't see a damn thing," she told him, knowing it was pointless to try and fight. "I have to get you through the gate." Slinging her weapon behind her she crouched next to him. He lay sprawled over the steps on his stomach, blood oozing from front and back, and his face frighteningly gray. "Can you walk?" she barked. "Sir, you have to help me here." There was only a few feet between them and safety, all she needed to do was get him up the steps and into the welcoming embrace of the wormhole. "Sir!" she yelled, watching his eyes start to roll. "Come on, stay with me!" Frantically, fearing another assault at any moment she slipped her hands under his arms and started to pull, but he was virtually a deadweight and he wasn't a small man. "Sir!" she shouted again. "Come on!"

He was barely conscious, but nonetheless he struggled weakly to move. "Agh!" he cried suddenly, as the movement jostled the arrows that pierced his body. "Oh, God…!"

"Almost there," Sam assured him, sick with fear. "Just another couple of…." And then the light cut off and the gray mist closed in. The wormhole had shut down. "Damn it!" she cursed. "Damn it to hell!"

"Ah…Christ," O'Neill groaned, starting to cough.

"Sir!" Sam breathed, lowering him carefully back to the steps. "It's okay. I'll have to redial."

He nodded, but said nothing. His face was white now, his lips thin and blue and Sam suddenly knew that she had no time to dial home – his life was bleeding out of him so fast that if she didn't stop it now he'd be dead before she could get him home. "Sir," she said, her voice shaking although her hands remained steady. "I have to stop the bleeding first. I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt."

"That's okay," he murmured weakly, "it already hurts." As he spoke, Sam saw flecks of blood on his lips and swallowed hard against the knot of fear tightening in her throat. She was queasy with dread, but forced herself to keep moving, to do what she had to do. Dropping her pack to the floor she snatched the med-kit free and pulled out as many sterile dressings as she could find. Her jaw clenched so tight she thought her teeth would break as she turned her attention to the arrows sticking out of his back. There was no way she could pull them out without risking fatal damage; she had no choice but to break them off. Her mind narrowed and her vision tunneled as she reached out her inhumanly steady hands and took hold of the first arrow. The Colonel hissed as she jostled it slightly and her heart quailed. But she carried on regardless of her fear. Holding the base of the arrow as close to his back as she could, she broke it with a quick snap of her wrist. O'Neill screamed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling the shock of tears lumping in her throat as she took hold of the second arrow. She felt him tense and heard his pitiful moan as she braced herself and snapped the arrow quickly. This time he didn't scream. He didn't respond at all. Sam didn't spare a moment to check if he was conscious, but started to pile the dressings over the wounds securing them on either side of the arrow stubs with bandage. She was forced to roll him onto his side to reach the bandage around his chest and to dress the wounds in front, and the sight of his slack, ashen face filled her with a depth of fear she had never known before. "Sir?" she whispered hoarsely, as she tied of the last of the bandages, "Sir…?" Her fingers were covered in his blood and she wiped them hurriedly against her jacket before reaching for his throat. For a heart- stopping moment she felt nothing. And then something fluttered beneath her fingertips - a weak, slow pulse. He was still alive, thank God! But his uniform was drenched with blood – so much blood! She knew he needed help, and fast. "I'm gonna get you home," she promised him, before leaping to her feet and dashing for the DHD. Her hand flew across the device as she slammed in the coordinates, cursing every second it took the gate to dial. It seemed to spin so slowly! But at last the seventh chevron locked and…Oh God, nothing happened. Nothing happened!

"No!" she yelled, control beginning to slip.

Frantically she dialed again, double-checking each co-ordinate. It was right. She'd done it right. Again the gate dialed, but again it refused to ignite. Terror and frustration started to overwhelm her and she sank to her knees, her head falling into her hands. "This can't be happening," she told herself desperately, "this can't be happening."

A quiet groan from the Stargate snapped her head back up. Jack was conscious again. Sam stumbled to her feet and returned to him, collapsing to the floor at his side. "What's the hold up?" he asked weakly.

She shook her head angrily. "It's not working. I don't know why. It's just not working…."

O'Neill smiled slightly. "Deja vous?"

Antarctica. He meant Antarctica. Oddly the thought was comforting. "Not exactly," she said, working through the ideas as she spoke them. "At least the SGC knows where we are. They'll send someone back as soon as they realize we didn't come through."

He nodded slightly. "Are we…," he breathed, coughing weakly, "…safe?"

"I don't know," she told him honestly. "I can't see a thing through the mist."

"Carter," he whispered, "find cover…."

"Can you walk?" she asked, hopeful that maybe he felt stronger than he looked.

But the hope was fleeting. "No," he gasped. "I mean you."

It took her a moment before she understood. "I'm not leaving you," she told him firmly. "They'll be here any moment."

"Carter…."

"Sir, shut up!" she barked, her feeble grasp on control slipping further. "You shouldn't talk," she added shakily. "Please…."

He nodded, but didn't reply as another coughing fit seized him and blood welled up from his mouth. His eyes grew wide as he struggled, choking for breath. Terrified, Sam dragged him upright, holding him so that the blood trickled from his lips and pooled on the floor. He sucked in a short, wheezing breath, and another. But this was bad. Oh God, this was bad. "…can't breathe…" he gasped.

"Shh," she said, moving close and holding him upright with his head resting against her shoulder, hoping to help his ailing lungs to work. "Don't talk, just breathe."

Her eyes turned hopelessly to the Stargate, willing it to open. But nothing happened, no one was there. No one was coming to help her. "Damn it!" she cursed, spitting the words at the gate. "Where the hell are you?!"

The Colonel's breathing was growing more labored by the moment and his hand suddenly seized her arm, his fingers clutching at her jacket. "Sam…," he gasped, "…scared…."

"It's okay," she lied. "Just breathe…."

His hand tightened on her arm. "…can't see…."

Oh God, no. "I'm here," she whispered, screwing her eyes shut against the tears rising in her throat and holding him tightly against her. "It's okay, just breathe."

His only response was a gasp, his body convulsing as he struggled for breath. She tried to hold him, but he jerked free and slumped onto his back. He screamed as the arrows bit deeper, but couldn't catch his breath again. "Colonel!" Sam yelled, dragging him back upright, pulling him into her arms. "Come on, breathe, breathe damn it!" she begged. But his struggles were becoming weaker, his body slumping heavily against hers until he moved no more. She shook him, but there was no response. "No," she moaned quietly, her mind numb and refusing to accept reality. "Sir…? Colonel…?" Still nothing. "Jack…? Please. Oh God, don't do this. Don't leave me, Jack. Please…." She pushed his inert weight away from her and he collapsed back to the ground, but his face was white and his mouth stained with blood. For the first time since the horror had started, Sam's hands shook as she reached out and searched for a pulse. Nothing. He was gone. She'd lost him.

She stared, numb with shock and grief. How could he be gone? It was impossible. He was the Colonel. He was always okay, he was always there. And there was so much she hadn't said, so much she was waiting to say. Waiting for the right time, the right circumstances…. But now he was gone, and she'd never say it. Never tell him. And he'd never know.

From deep inside her, a cry surged up and out of her throat. It was more of a scream, a yell of despair as the truth and hopelessness of the situation began to penetrate her mind. "No," she sobbed, reaching out her shaking hands to touch his face. "No!" Tears streamed down her face, but she was heedless as she brushed her fingers through his hair and closed his sightless eyes. "I won't let you go," she whispered, pulling his head into her lap and beginning to rock him gently. "I won't let you go," she promised. "I won't, I won't, I won't, I won't….."

And as she sat there she felt herself slide into the abyss, into the endlessly gray and misty world of grief, and greeted its chill oblivion with relief.

***

"Blood has been shed," said a light, melodic voice that floated easily through the mist.

"Sacrifice," another hissed, darker and more masculine.

Sam looked up and found herself on her feet and alone. Jack was gone and so were the stones, the Stargate. Everything. Turning slowly she shook her head, wondering if grief had robbed her of her reason. "Who's there?" she called into the mist. "Where's Jack?"

"The Sacrifice was unwilling," the first voice noted. "His blood is bitter."

The mist shifted, thinned and reformed before her. "He is not alone," a third voice observed, as soft and melodious as the first. "Another seeks to travel with him – there is much love here, Morrigan."

"That matters not, Aine," said the first, with an edge of frost. "She lives yet in the mortal plane – she cannot travel with him."

"It grieves me," Aine replied sadly. "Such human love is too precious to be discarded to quench the thirst of old Crom Cruach."

"And why not?" asked the gravelly male voice. "My thirst is great and his blood is strong."

"Because you are old," Aine replied airily. "Your ways are of the past and will fade into the mist with your passing."

Sam closed her eyes, willing herself to focus. "Where am I?" she asked. "Tell me where I am."

"She speaks to us," Aine's voice said, surprised. "She is strong."

"She is bold," agreed Morrigan.

And then, as Sam watched, the shifting mist grew solid and a small, ethereal female figure stepped towards her. "Why are you here?" she asked in the voice of Aine, her words like a breath of wind.

Sam shook her head. "I don't even know where here is," she told her. "I was with…." She swallowed bitter tears as the memories battered at her ragged mind. "I was with Jack…. And then I was here."

"The Sacrifice," the disembodied voice of Morrigan said knowingly. "You refused to relinquish the Sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?" Sam repeated, shaking her head in denial. "He was no *sacrifice*! He was my.…" She stopped herself short, raking both hands through her hair. "He was my friend," she finished in a whisper. "He was stolen from me - from all of us."

There was silence, and then Aine softly said, "You wish him returned to you?"

Sam's head shot up. "Yes. You can do that? Can you do that?"

"We cannot," Aine replied quietly, her dark eyes serious. "But you can."

She frowned. "How?"

The mist shifted uneasily around Sam. "Aine…," Morrigan's voice warned.

"Your life-force is strong," Aine continued, her body beginning to lose coherence and fade into the mist once more. "Share it with the Sacrifice - share everything that you are and you may bring him home with you."

"Aine, you have no right," Morrigan protested.

"Is it not the eve of Midsummer?" Aine replied. "Is this not my festival? My powers are strong and I assert my right. This mortal interests me."

There was a long sigh, and Morrigan's voice said, "You are a fool to concern yourself with the loves of these mortals. But once this night has passed your power will wane – I believe I may lead the Sacrifice to the halls of the dead yet."

"Then it is a challenge," Aine replied, her physical form all but dissolved and her voice surrounding Sam in the mist. "But I have seen this mortal's heart. She is strong."

Morrigan's ominous reply was almost lost as the mist began to churn. "But she is so afraid….".

Aine breathed chill air close to Sam's ear. "Share all that you are," she whispered faintly, "and you will see him live again…."

"Wait!" Sam called into the eddy of mist. "I don't understand - what do you mean? Wait!" But there was no answer, only mist and silence. And then even that was gone.

***

Jack opened his eyes. He was more than a little surprised to find himself sitting at the end of the small dock outside his cabin, with the afternoon sunshine sparkling on the lake and a cool beer in his hand.

"Okay," he said to nobody in particular, "this is…strange." Last thing he remembered was…? Well, he wasn't entirely sure. He remembered pain, fear, and gentle hands in his hair. Strange. Definitely strange.

Getting up cautiously he put the bottle down and headed back towards the shore. Everything certainly looked normal - the little rip in the top left of the screen door was still there, the second step up to the back porch was still wonky, even his truck parked around the side of the cabin looked in need of a wash. It all looked normal. Which was…strange. He had the distinct feeling that this was far from normal.

Suddenly he heard the sound of footsteps from the front of the cabin. He felt no fear, no concern, just curiosity as he went to investigate. Walking around the side of his house, he heard the newcomer growing closer until…Carter rounded the corner.

He smiled.

She gasped, her hands coming up over her mouth. "Oh my God," she whispered, screwing her eyes shut. She looked like crap. Her face was white and growing whiter, and her uniform was covered in a frightening amount of blood.

"Christ, Carter," he said, hurrying towards her and seizing her arms, "what the hell happened to you? Are you okay? Are you bleeding?"

She was shaking her head and opened her eyes to stare up at him. "You're alive?" she whispered faintly. "Is this real? Oh God, is this real?"

"Carter!" he said, shaking her slightly. "What happened? Talk to me."

Shakily she reached up a hand and to his astonishment she touched his face. "You were dead," she said. "You died in my arms."

He licked his lips, nervous now. "Carter - I'm not dead. You're not making any sense. What the hell's going on? What are we doing at my cabin?"

His words seemed to penetrate her mind and she looked around as if for the first time. "Your cabin?" she said, frowning slightly. "This is your cabin?"

She was completely out of it, he realized. She looked like she'd been to hell and back - and he meant that in both the literal and figurative senses - and she was obviously in shock. "Okay," he said, taking control. "Come on, Carter." Keeping hold of her arm, he guided her gently into his cabin and she followed mutely, without protest. She really was a state, her hands covered in drying blood, her uniform drenched and even her face smeared. Whatever the hell had happened, it hadn't been fun. That much he could tell from the thousand-yard stare in her eyes. "Stay there," he told her, leaving her in the middle of the living room as he went into his bedroom and dug out a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He knew they'd be huge, but it had to beat what she had on right now.

She hadn't moved from where he'd left her, staring dazedly around the room, when he returned. "Here," he said, "offering her the clothes. Take a shower, change and then we'll figure out what the hell this is."

"It's a dream," she told him suddenly. "I'm hallucinating. It's the only reasonable explanation, sir."

He shook his head and guided her towards the bathroom. "Towels are in the closet," he said as he opened the door. "And Carter, whatever this is, it's real. Trust me. I feel very real."

Turning, she smiled sadly. "But you would say that, wouldn't you?" she asked. "If this was my dream?"

"Shower," he replied, having no other answer. "Then we'll talk."

Still in a daze, Carter nodded and turned away, mechanically stripping the stained clothes from her body. He watched as her jacket fell to the floor and saw a nasty gash on her shoulder - why did that seem familiar? But then she moved to pull her t-shirt over her head and he hurriedly turned away. But not before he'd seen a tantalizing glimpse of smooth tanned skin that sent his mind spinning in all kinds of unprofessional directions.

"Huh," he muttered, closing the bathroom door and heading for the kitchen, "maybe I'm the one who's dreaming?"

***

The water that cascaded over her felt real enough, and Sam stood there for a long time just absorbing the sensation. The gash on her shoulder stung, but she didn't move. She wasn't sure she could; half her mind still felt trapped back on the planet with Jack's limp, dead body in her arms. That was reality, she reminded herself. This…this had to be some kind of delusion, perhaps brought on by shock. That had to be it, because why the hell else would she be imagining herself at Jack's cabin…?

`Your life-force is strong,' a voice whispered behind her. `Share it with the Sacrifice - share everything that you are and you may bring him home with you.'

Startled, Sam span around but saw nothing but plumes of steam circling lazily in the room. Despite the heat, she shivered with an unnatural chill. Voices in the mist, she remembered voices in the mist. What the hell was happening to her?

Reaching out, Sam turned off the faucet and pulled back the curtain. Without the sloshing of water, the room was oddly silent and a beat of fear pulsed low in her stomach. Suddenly she didn't want to be alone. She found a large soft towel in the closet and dried herself quickly, rubbing it over her wet hair. All the mirrors were fogged with steam so she couldn't tell what she looked like. Not that she cared – it was a dream after all, right?

The clothes Jack had left for her were way too big, but she pulled the cord around the waist of the sweatpants as tight as she could so at least they weren't going to fall down - his t-shirt hung off her narrow shoulders, its sleeves coming far down her arm. She shivered again, still feeling chilled, and wished he'd given her a sweatshirt too. Eager to leave the steamy bathroom she pulled open the door and stepped out into the sunny hallway and from there back into the living room.

Jack was standing by the door, gazing out over the lake, with a mug of coffee in his hand. Her heart thudded painfully, memories of his pale, dying face vivid in her mind. Tears sprang to her eyes – God, how she wished this could be real somehow, that he could be alive and strong again. But it was impossible, everything she believed in rebelled against the idea that this was anything other than some twisted, grief induced dream. She'd seen him die. He was dead.

Turning away from the door, Jack stopped as soon as he saw her standing there staring at him. "Hey," he said, regarding her intently and with some concern. "Feel better?"

"Some," she acknowledged, aching at the gentle tone he'd adopted. She'd heard it before, of course, on rare occasions. When no one else had been near. Not often, just once or twice. Not often enough.

"Want some coffee?" he asked. "Turns out the kitchen's pretty full."

Her eyes drifted to the steam curling up from his mug and she shivered again, rubbing at the chill flesh on her arms. Mist, voices….

"Carter?"

Sam blinked. "Huh?"

He frowned. "You want coffee?" Taking a step closer, his frown deepened. "Are you cold?"

Jack, she noted, was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, with sunglasses hanging on a string around his neck. He looked exactly as she'd have imagined him to look on vacation – which, she reflected, wasn't exactly surprising. She laughed suddenly, the idea amusing and horrifying in equal measure. What the hell was she doing here? Why was her mind tormenting her with this cruel fantasy, a mockery of all her fondest imaginings? How often had she dreamed of this, of coming here with him? Too often, way too often. And now here she was, at his cabin. But he was dead and none of this could be real. It was impossible….

"Carter!" Strong arms grabbed her upper arms, but they held her gently as they shook her a little. Her eyes refocused and she saw Jack's anxious eyes boring into her. "Stay with me," he told her quietly. "You keep zoning out. I need you to focus here, Sam. Understand?" Sam. He'd called her Sam. He never called her Sam, other than in her fantasies. "Damn it!" he snapped, and she realized she'd drifted again.

Shaking her head, she made a more determined effort to focus. Even in her dreams she couldn't let him down. "I'm sorry, sir," she replied shakily, "I'm just…having a hard time understanding what's happening."

"You and me both," he agreed, keeping hold of one arm and leading her firmly to the sofa. "Now, sit down," he said, and she obeyed. From the back of the sofa he retrieved a warm woolen blanket which he shook out and draped over her shoulders. "I'll get you some coffee," he told her quietly.

Sam nodded. "Thanks," she said, offering him a small smile.

While he was gone, Sam pulled her feet up underneath her, snuggling close beneath the soft blanket. It had a faint scent of wood smoke and wool, of the outdoors and sunshine. It was comforting. Walking back into the living room, Jack came to sat next to her on the sofa and handed her the coffee. The aroma was delicious, and it's warmth in her hands was welcome as she took a sip. It was probably the best coffee she'd ever tasted. "Wow."

"Good, huh?" Jack said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "That's what I thought. Kinda…strange, don't you think?"

"This whole thing's strange," she assured him, taking another sip. "It's a strange dream."

But he shook his head. "Unless I'm the one doing the dreaming, Carter," he said, "this is no dream."

"The only thing I can think of," Sam said, more to herself than Jack, "is that the shock of seeing you die, the grief of losing you, has totally unhinged me and that my mind is creating this fantasy as a kind of bolt-hole to stop me from having to deal with a truth I can't handle."

He was silent for a moment, still watching her. And then he said, "Do you think that might happen? You'd be that upset if I died?"

"You know I would," she whispered, gazing down at the dark surface of her coffee. "You were there when it happened."

"When what happened?"

She glanced up. "When you died."

"But I'm not dead, Carter," he protested. "I *know* this is real, that I'm here and…."

"No!" she snapped, cutting him off and almost spilling her coffee in agitation. "It's not real and you *are* dead!"

"Damn it, Carter," he snapped back. "I'm not dead! I'm here. It's me." Grabbing her hand he pressed it against his face. "See? Real, flesh and blood."

Sam's fingers lingered on his cheek, on the lean planes of his face. "What else would you say," she sighed, running her thumb along the edge of his jaw, "if this was my dream?"

Reaching up, his fingers closed over her wrist and pulled her hand gently away. "I know I'm real, Carter," he said, fixing her with his serious, dark eyes. "*This* is real."

She smiled. "How do you know?" she asked. "Maybe you're dreaming me?"

That floored him. "Well," he said slowly, "I guess it wouldn't be the first time I'd had this little fantasy, but…." He shook his head. "None of it makes any sense. Why would I be dreaming this? If I'm dreaming, where the hell *am* I? Last thing I remember we were falling back…." He frowned and reached out to touch her injured shoulder. "You were hit," he said quietly. "In the arm. And then…. I was here."

Sam was silent, unwilling to reply. She didn't want to remember what had happened next. The shock on his face as the arrows shot into his back, the blood on his lips, his desperate struggle for breath, his fear…. Shivering, despite the blanket, she pressed her hands over her eyes and tried to squeeze the memories out of her mind. But nothing could erase the images or ease the icy ache in her heart. Tears welled behind her tightly closed eyes, leaking out of the corners behind her fingers. "I was so scared," she choked through her grief. "There was nothing I could do to help you, and there was so much blood…." A sob escaped, threatening to shatter what little control she had left, and Sam pulled her knees up under her chin and buried her face against them.

Jack was silent, but she could feel his presence at her side, still and unmoving. Reassuring, even in the dream. After what felt like an eternity of struggle, she pulled her fragile emotions into some kind of order and raised her head. Sniffing, she wiped at her eyes and nose with the back of her hand until Jack stood up, disappeared momentarily, and then returned with a box of Kleenex. "Here," he said kindly, sitting down at her side once more and offering her the box.

She smiled weakly at the gesture, and blew her nose. She was still cold, icy cold, and shivering in the wake of her overpowering emotions. They had receded somewhat, although they hadn't gone far, and she could feel bleak despair hovering on dark wings at her shoulder; Jack was gone, and she didn't know how she could move past that. She didn't even know if she wanted to.

Jack was gone. And yet he was here, at her side, watching her with serious, dark eyes. She allowed herself to gaze at him in a way she never would have done in reality. Her eyes wandered over his face, taking in each feature, etching them into her memory so that she'd never forget. At last he looked away, self-conscious under her unabashed scrutiny. "I'm sorry," she murmured, still watching him, watching the way his fingers were always moving even when his hands were empty.

He glanced up, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "It's okay," he assured her. "I guess it was bad – whatever it was," he added with a worried frown. "I've never seen you so…upset."

Sucking in a deep, shaking breath, she said, "It was." There was nothing else to say, no adjective strong enough to describe her overwhelming sense of horror and loss.

He nodded before he said, "Tell me. Tell me what happened."

"No," she said immediately, looking away and hugging her knees closer to her chest. "I can't."

"I have to know," he said, a note of gentle command in his voice. "If we're going to figure out what this is, you have to tell me what happened."

She shook her head. "You died," she whispered. "That's what happened."

He was silent, and when he spoke his voice was very quiet. "If you're right," he said, "and I'm dead, how come we're having this conversation?"

There was no irony in his voice, no sarcasm. In fact, there was a thread of fear that for the first time drew Sam's attention. He was afraid. Her senses seemed to sharpen slightly, her protective instinct aroused, and she sat up a little straighter. "I think I'm dreaming," she repeated, "dreaming you because…."

"No," he interrupted sharply. "That's not it." With a sigh he got to his feet, scrubbing a hand through his short hair. "Look, I know there's no way I can prove it, but for the sake of argument, Carter, let's just *assume* that we're both real, and that this isn't a dream."

She frowned. "Sir," she said carefully, suddenly aware of the edge in his voice, his genuine apprehension, "I saw you die. I don't see how…."

"Wait," he said, holding up both hands to stop her. "Just tell me," he pleaded. "Tell me exactly what happened – how I…died and how we ended up here."

She met his gaze unflinchingly and somewhere in the back of her mind a doubt wriggled free of her oppressive grief. Yes, she remembered him dead. He had died, of that she had no doubt. But...she also remembered voices in the mist, strange alien voices telling her that she could bring him back. So maybe, just maybe…? Sam took a deep breath and nodded, still keeping her eyes locked on Jack's. "You were shot," she said quietly, refusing to give in to her emotions again. "You were shot twice in the back with what looked like crossbow bolts. You were bleeding heavily and I think one of the arrows must have damaged your lungs, or your heart." Blood, blood everywhere, on her hands, her clothes… She closed her eyes, clamping her jaw shut and refusing to let her tears fall. "The Stargate closed down," she whispered, "and I couldn't get it to reopen. After a few minutes you started having trouble breathing – I think the blood was filling your lungs or something. I tried to get you to sit up, but it didn't help. And then…." Opening her eyes, she looked back up at him where he stood watching her grimly, his expression at once fearful and compassionate, "and then you died," she finished.

Jack blinked. "Shot in the back, huh?" he said after a moment. "Not exactly heroic."

"No," Sam whispered. "It wasn't."

He came to sit down next to her, his elbows resting on his knees and his head bowed in thought. She knew he was trying to think of something to say, some words of comfort, and the knowledge made her smile. "It's okay," she said quietly, reaching out and touching his arm. "You don't have to say anything. There's nothing to say."

He turned his head, fixing her with an intent, and very personal look. "I can't imagine losing you like that, Carter. I think...I think it would kill me."

Surprised by the intensity of his words, Sam looked away. For a dream, this was certainly very…real. Very, very real. "Maybe it did kill me?" she said quietly. "Maybe we're both dead."

Jack laughed darkly. "And this is heaven?"

"I can think of worse places to spend eternity," Sam smiled.

"Well, me too," Jack admitted. "But…I'm not sure I'm a `go straight to heaven, do not pass go', kinda guy. This is all a little too perfect."

She frowned. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning that you haven't told me everything yet," he said, skewering her with a sharp look. "What else happened?"

Sam hesitated before she answered. "I'm not sure," she said at last. "I'm not sure if anything that happened after you died is real."

"Let's say that it is," Jack interrupted. "Tell me."

"Okay," she shrugged. "I was kneeling on the ground with you, and I was…crying. Everything went kind of dark, it was like my mind switched off. All I could think of was that you were gone…." Jack nodded, a pained expression crossing his face that told her he knew exactly what she was trying to describe – Jack O'Neill had experienced enough loss in his life to understand. Resisting the temptation to reach out and touch him again, Sam continued. "Suddenly I realized that I was alone. You were gone, the Stargate was gone. Everything. All I could see was mist, and then I heard voices."

"Voices?"

"I know," she said, "it sounds crazy. It probably *is* crazy!"

He gave a slight smile. "What did they say?"

She frowned, trying to remember. "Something about a sacrifice," she said. "You were the sacrifice, I think."

"A sacrifice?" Jack repeated again, his brow furrowing in thought. "To whom, or to what?"

"To them," Sam said, sure of her answer. "The voices - whatever they were."

Jack nodded slowly. "The villagers," he said, and she nodded in agreement. "They said we'd desecrated their sacred…circle, or something. I guess this was payback."

"More like appeasement," Sam corrected. "A sacrifice to the gods to appease their wrath."

Jack was skeptical. "Gods?"

"Who knows what they were," Sam sighed. "Gods to the people of P7T- 834, perhaps some kind of aliens to us?"

"The guy in the robes," Jack said thoughtfully. "He called them Tuata…something."

"Tuatha De Danann?" Sam nodded, suddenly wishing Daniel was with them – he'd probably recognize the name. "Doesn't mean anything to me…."

"No," Jack agreed. "Either way," he carried on, "if they were aliens of some kind, then this ain't a dream. Right?"

Sam stared at him, following his somewhat shaky logic. "If they were real," she said slowly, "then perhaps this is also real. Yes, sir, that's a possibility. But if *they* were also a dream…?"

"If they were a dream," Jack cut her off, "then this whole conversation is irrelevant and we may as well save our breath. But if they weren't, then we might have a chance of getting home. And I mean really home." He smiled. "As much as I like the idea of spending eternity in my cabin, I'm not quite ready for retirement yet."

Sam smiled at the sudden eagerness in his voice, and it prompted her to say more. "The voices said something else," she added cautiously, afraid that she was voicing her own, desperate fantasy. "They said that I could bring you back."

His eyes widened, surprised but earnest. "How?"

"I'm not sure," she replied. "I didn't understand – something about sharing everything with you."

An eyebrow arched. "Any idea what that involves?" he asked.

But Sam shook her head. "Not a clue, sir," she told him. "Not a clue."

***

"Well, the phone's dead," Jack told her as he walked back into the living room. "And the truck won't start. I guess, wherever this is, our misty friends don't want us to leave."

Sam nodded, uncharacteristically quiet. She still sat curled up in the corner of the sofa, wrapped in his blanket. Her hair had dried all over the place and she ruffled a hand through it occasionally in a hopeless attempt to straighten it. In other circumstances he might have told her that the `just got out of bed' look was kind of cute, but these weren't other circumstances. Their apparent surroundings aside, Jack had the distinct impression that they were in enemy territory. He just had no idea who or what the enemy were, or why they'd stranded them in this strange fantasy.

For fantasy was what it was – how many times had he dreamed of bringing her up here? How many times had he fondly imagined her curled up just where she was, relaxed and comfortable in his presence? Far too many times, given their working relationship, their relative ranks and everything else that stood between them. He sighed and crossed the room, flopping down into the chair opposite. "So," he said, watching her carefully, "any ideas, Carter?"

She still wasn't quite herself. Her face was too pale, her eyes too wide and clouded with shock. But she was better, and she was trying hard to focus. Just like she always did. He felt a warm rush of pride as she nodded her head slowly. "We should see how far this place extends," she suggested. "See how far we can walk before we reach the edge."

It was as good a plan as any – know your territory. "You feel up to a walk?" he asked her, concerned by her pallor.

"Yes sir," she nodded, uncurling her legs and sliding the blanket from her shoulders. "I'll just get my boots." Dressed in his oversized clothing, she looked peculiarly vulnerable. It wasn't an emotion he often associated with her, strong and competent as she was, but as she stood there with his t-shirt hanging from her narrow shoulders he was overwhelmed by a sudden need to hold her close and comfort her as best he could. He repressed the desire firmly and rose to his feet. "I'll get you a sweater or something," he said. "You still look cold."

She smiled her thanks, not the flash of sunshine that so often lit her face, but a weary, grateful smile. It didn't do much for his self-control, and he was forced to turn away before he really did try to hug her – this fantasy was beginning to get the better of him! As Carter headed to the bathroom to retrieve her boots, Jack dug out a warm sweater from his bedroom, choosing something he hoped wouldn't swamp her. "Here," he said, handing it over as they met once more in the living room.

"Thanks," she replied, smoothing her fingers over the soft wool before pulling it eagerly over her head. Damn, but she still looked cold. Which was odd, considering how warm the day was.

His sweater was even larger on her than the t-shirt, and she had to roll the sleeves up enough to reveal her fingers. Still, Jack thought, unable to repress a mischievous grin, there was something damn sexy about her wearing his clothes. Now, if only….

"Sir?" she asked suddenly, her pale face curious as she watched him watching her.

He shook himself. "What?"

"Shall we go?"

"Sure," he nodded, clearing his throat and his mind. And then he stopped, considering. "Do you think we'll need snacks?"

She smiled, a warmer smile that was more like the Carter he knew. "Might be a good idea, sir," she decided. "We don't know how far we'll have to go."

Jack set a slow pace as they headed out, aware that Carter wasn't at her peak. She was thoughtful as they walked through the sun-dappled woodland, her gaze fixed on the ground as often as on the way ahead. Whatever had happened back on P7T-834, however they'd wound up here, it had shaken her profoundly. He'd never seen her as distraught as she'd been during her brief recounting of this `death'. The thought that *he* might be the cause, that his death could affect her so deeply, was…flattering. No, that was wrong, it was too grim to be flattering. Yet it made him begin to hope that her feelings for him might run deeper than he'd dared to believe - maybe deeper than she'd realized. He glanced at her again, surreptitiously. Her lips were a thin tight line, her blue eyes dark and shadowed; he recognized grief when he saw it.

He wished she'd talk about it. Her clipped description of his apparent death had been fraught, but he knew she'd given him the short version. Not that he was expecting - or even wanted – the gory details, but he wished she'd open up a bit about how she was feeling. She was so clamed up, even worse than usual, that he was afraid she might just shut down completely. Tension radiated from every muscle, it was evident in the way her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest and in the tense little line that formed between her eyes as she frowned at the ground. Carter had never exactly been open with her emotions, but with every silent step they took she seemed to draw further in on herself. It was a bad place to be, Jack knew from his own dark experience. More importantly, it stopped you functioning and right now he needed Carter functioning – God knew *his* brain wasn't going to get them out of there.

Taking a deep breath he decided to plunge in. "So," he said, deliberately keeping his voice light. "What do you think happened to Daniel and Teal'c?" Okay, so it was an oblique approach.

She shrugged slightly, keeping her eyes on the ground. "They got back to the SGC I guess," she said. "They'd already left before…." She stopped, clamping her jaw shut.

"Before…"? he pressed mildly.

"Before you were shot."

"Ah." He paused, considering his next step. "I guess the timing sucked."

She just nodded, still not looking at him and still frowning. "Sir?" she said after a moment. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about it anymore."

"Yeah," he said quietly, "I got that impression."

Something in his voice caught her attention and she looked over at him, slowing to a halt in a patch of evening sunshine that glinted in her disheveled hair. "Oh, I get it," she said suddenly. "Psych 101 – get the victim to talk about the trauma, right?"

He shrugged, stopping a little ahead of her and turning so that they were face to face. "I hadn't thought of it like that," he told her honestly. "I thought you could use a friend, that's all."

Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head. "We're not friends," she assured him with surprising venom. "*This*," she snapped, waving between them, "this isn't friendship, *sir*."

"It's not?" he asked, injured and somewhat confused by her outburst.

"No," she told him, stalking back into motion. "Friendship doesn't hurt like this."

Hurt? He watched her for a minute longer as she strode through the trees, before pushing himself into motion to follow. "Carter, wait!" he called, hurrying after her.

She didn't slow, her long legs carrying her quickly through the trees and forcing him to trot to catch up. "It's getting dark," she said as he fell in at her side. "We should start heading back."

"Yeah," he agreed, concerned by the tight, bleak expression on her face. "Probably should." Reaching out he touched her arm, trying to slow her relentless pace. "Look, I didn't mean to press you." Sam stopped, head up as she stared through the trees, as tense as a deer scenting danger. "If you don't want to talk to me, that's fine," he carried on. "When we get back…."

"Look," she said, speaking over him. Unnerved by the strained tone of her voice he followed her gaze. Mist curled in through the trees, gray and damp. Sam shivered, rubbing her arms with her hands. "It's cold."

He nodded uneasily. "Let's go back," he said, turning around but seeing mist creep in behind them too. The woods were suddenly silent, the birds in the trees sang no song, and the light from the setting sun turned pale and diffused.

"We can't go back," Sam whispered, raising her hand to point. Following the line of her finger he saw a warm, welcoming light shining through the trees. He recognized it immediately; the porch light of his cabin.

"How the hell…?" he murmured. They'd been walking in a straight line away from it for at least two hours, so how on earth could it be right in front of them?

"I guess now we know how big this place is," Carter said quietly, her eyes glancing anxiously at the mist.

Sharing her unease, and instinctively protective, he said, "Well, however we got back here, let's get inside."

Sam nodded and together they walked silently through the still trees and the drifting mist. Its touch on his exposed skin was chill and damp. "Do you hear that?" Sam said suddenly, stopping dead and seizing his arm. "Can you hear them?"

"No," he said quietly. "What do you hear?"

"Voices," she whispered, shaking her head. "Time…," she frowned, "time's running out." He could see her shaking and even in the thin, misty light he could see the blue tinge to her lips. She was freezing he realized, and terrified – stark fear shone coldly in her wide eyes.

"Come on," he said, tugging on her arm. "Let's get inside, Carter. This stuff is giving me the creeps."

Sam didn't reply but she drew closer as they walked until her arm bumped his with each step. Carefully he took her hand, her fingers icy in his. She didn't protest, just closed her firm grip around his hand and let him lead her back into the cabin.

***

"She cannot remain here," Morrigan's voice whispered through the mist. "Her time grows short."

Sam turned, staring into the gray, swirling fog. "What do you mean? Where am I? Tell me where I am!"

"She is angry," Aine whispered. "Afraid."

"She cannot save him," Morrigan replied. "She is unwilling to share all that she is, too frightened."

"I'm not!" Sam objected turning slowly, trying to peer through the endlessly shifting grayness. "I'm not afraid – I just don't know what to do. I don't know what you mean!"

Cold, disembodied fingers trailed over her skin, their touch as damp and ephemeral as mist. "Yes you do," Aine's voice whispered in her ear. "Yes you do…."

***

"Carter?" She didn't respond, just sat there on the sofa, staring out at the mist creeping in over the lake. Her blue eyes were glazed like winter ice. Crouching down in front of her Jack took hold of one of her hands. It was cold and he rubbed it gently. "Come on, Carter," he called softly. "Where've you gone?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, although her eyes never left the window. "Where am I? Tell me where I am!"

Fear chilled him and his grip on her hand tightened. "You're with me," he replied. It was the only honest answer he could give her. "Everything's going to be okay, we're gonna go home soon."

"I'm not!" she protested, sounding strangely indignant.

"Sure you are," he pressed, squeezing her hand. "We're both gonna…."

She talked right over him. "I'm not afraid – I just don't know what to do. I don't know what you mean!"

He frowned. "Carter?" He reached up and seized hold of her arms through the warm woolen sweater. Gently he shook her. "Come on, snap out of it."

Suddenly she gasped, jerking fearfully in his grip and half rising to her feet. "What…?" she cried, looking around her in total confusion.

"Carter," he said firmly, keeping a hold on her arms and pushing her resolutely back onto the sofa. "It's okay. It's okay…."

She stared at him for a moment and then screwed her eyes shut and let her head fall into her hands. They were so close that her forehead came to rest on his shoulder, sending warm ripples of affection sweeping through him. "Oh God," she whispered. "What's happening to me?"

"Shhh," he soothed her, letting his hands slide up her arms and across her back. He was holding her at last, albeit lightly and at a distance. "It's okay."

"No." Her voice was muffled between them, but he heard the despair in it. "It's not – I think I'm losing my mind, Jack."

Jack? His name on her lips thrilled him even though it was spoken in desperation. "Tell me," he said quietly, moving onto his knees and pulling her further into his embrace, letting one hand stroke her back soothingly. "Tell me what happened."

But she shifted and sat back, pulling out of his arms. Her eyes were wide and scared, bordering on panic as she gazed at him. "Voices," she whispered. "I heard voices again."

He just nodded. "Okay," he said, trying not to sound as anxious as he felt. "The mist guys?"

"Yes," she replied. "I was there again, in the mist. They were…." She squeezed her eyes shut. "They told me I was running out of time to save you." Panicked tears spilled from her eyes and she swiped at them angrily. "And I don't know if they're right, or if I'm going completely insane! I *saw* you die, Jack."

Still keeping close, he moved up onto the sofa at her side. "Look, Sam, I thought we agreed to assume that this is real? It's the only way we stand a chance of getting out of here." She didn't respond, just stared down at her hands. He decided to carry on, keeping his voice gentle. "So," he said, "did they tell you how to help me?"

She shook her head angrily. "They said I knew," she replied. "But I don't. I don't know how to save you Jack. Just like I didn't on the planet, when you were dying…." Her voice choked into a sob and she turned away from him, struggling to control herself.

"Come on," he murmured, upset by her distress, "it's okay…"

"Damn it!" she bit back angrily, jumping to her feet. "It's *not* okay. You're dead, Jack! And I can't…." She couldn't carry on and stumbled towards the door, choking on her tears as she pulled it open and fled from the cabin, leaving him stunned and fearful in her wake.

***

Sam ran blindly, heedless of the mist or the darkness. She didn't know if this was real or not, but it didn't matter – either way she'd let him down. If he was dead on the planet and she was lost in some grief induced madness then she'd already failed him, his blood soaking her uniform a silent testament to her inadequacy. And if this was real, and somehow she had a chance to bring him home, then she was failing him again. Because she had no idea how to do it, no idea what the voices meant. And time was running out. Madness or not, she could feel time slipping through her icy fingers like sand; with each beat of her heart she grew colder, more distant from this place. And from Jack. She was fading, but he wasn't. She was leaving, but he would remain. And she knew that if that happened they would never meet again and he would be lost to her forever.

"Carter!" He was calling her name and his voice was close. She tried to run faster, but the mist grew thicker and she stumbled, falling into the cold, damp ground. Her fingers dug into loamy soil, dirt pressing under her fingernails. "Sam?" Softer now, she knew he'd seen her. The mist silenced everything, but she heard his footsteps and the snap of twigs beneath his feet. "Hey." Close, his voice was whispered through the mist, the only point of warmth in her life. And all too soon it would be gone. She turned her head and saw him crouched down watching her. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly.

She shook her head, tears still falling. "Why?" she asked.

"You're afraid," he said. "And I'm not helping much."

"You're dead," she responded bleakly, "and I'm not helping much."

He nodded, his brow contracting into a frown. "I know I expect miracles out of you most days, Carter," he said, "but I don't expect you to bring me back from the dead. I think that's beyond even you."

She blinked. He was joking. He was trying to make a joke. "Don't you understand?" she asked weakly. "You're dead – whether this is real, or just my dream, you *are* dead."

He shrugged. "Maybe," he said quietly. "But you're not, and I can live with that – so to speak."

"Well I can't!" she cried, pushing herself to her feet and stumbling forward a couple of steps until she felt his firm hand on her arm, spinning her back to face him.

"What the hell's that meant to mean?" he asked harshly, fear etched into his voice.

"What do you think it means?" She was breathless with grief, fear and anger. Her mind was spinning with impossibilities and emotions she could barely control. He was dead, she'd lost him – he'd died in her arms, frightened and in pain. But he was here, his firm hand on her arm feeling like a lifeline in a flood, an anchor in the storm. And she knew she couldn't leave him, she could never sever the tie that bound them. Her defenses, built so high over so many years, were crumbling to dust beneath the weight of her loss. "I can't," she whispered, her voice thick with tears, "I can't leave you…."

"Sam," he murmured, his voice breaking with his own emotion. "I'm here. Swear to God, I'm here." His hand tightened on her arm and she felt a gentle tug. She knew she should resist, that it was wrong… but what did it matter? He was dead. And if this was a dream, then so be it. Slowly, she let him tug her forward until her leg bumped against his and his hand stole up her arm and across her back, pulling her tightly against him. "Come here," he murmured into her ear, his other hand stroking her hair. "You're gonna be okay."

"No," she whispered against his shoulder. "I'm not."

His fingers in her hair caressed the back of her neck softly, soothing her. "Let's go back inside," he suggested quietly. "You're cold." She was, but she knew that nothing in this strange, otherworldly place would warm her. Wherever she was, she wasn't meant to be here and her time was running out. Her time with Jack was running out.

He didn't wait for an answer, but keeping his arm firmly around her shoulders led her back through the misty forest towards the light of his cabin. "We should eat something," he said. He spoke quietly, for once his voice lacking any hint of command, or rank, or formality. "This has been a weird day – we both need to just rest and…think. Maybe in the morning we'll figure it out? When you're feeling better."

Sam nodded silently, but her heart was beginning to freeze. There would be no morning. Somehow she knew that with a dread certainty. The morning would never come. Not for her, at least. Perhaps Jack would remain in his cozy cabin beside his sunny little lake, but she would be gone, sent back to a bitter reality without him.

And the thought of that final parting terrified her almost out of her mind. She'd already lost him once and knew that the pain was unbearable – she didn't think she could survive it a second time. She didn't think she wanted to.

***

God bless convenience food, Jack thought as he pulled a jar of pasta sauce from the fridge and set it on the counter. On the stove water bubbled furiously, steaming against the dark windows as he ripped open a packet of pasta and tipped the entire content into the pan. He gave it a quick stir, trying to keep an eye on Carter at the same time. She sat in the corner of the sofa again, her knees pulled up under her chin and her arms wrapped tightly around them. He'd never seen her look so fragile and he was worried. Seriously so.

The water hissed as it bubbled up over the edge of the pan and he turned hurriedly to lower the heat. Picking up the jar of sauce he started to turn the cap. And then…

…Pain. Sharp, searing pain tore through his chest. He gasped in shock, choking on lungs suddenly refusing to work. He started to fall and Carter's hands reached out for him…

The jar of sauce fell from his stunned fingers, spilling on the counter top and covering his hands in red, sticky sauce. He gasped, his hands shaking as he stared at them…it almost looked like blood and he shivered violently. What the hell just happened?

"Colonel?" her voice startled him and he span around, pasta sauce dripping from his fingers. Carter stood in the doorway, her arms still wrapped protectively around herself. But when she saw his hands she started forward, fear stark on her pale face. "Oh God, no," she cried.

"It's okay," he assured her, embarrassed. "It's just sauce." Moving to the sink he turned on the faucet and ran his hands under the warm water, watching the red sauce trickle down the plug hole.

"What happened?" she asked from just behind him. "You called out."

He frowned and reached for a towel to dry his hands. "It was nothing," he said, somehow reluctant to tell her about his…what? Memory? Flashback? It had felt real – the sharp jolts of pain, the panic. "I just dropped the jar, that's all." He turned to the spilled sauce. "I think we can salvage most of it."

Carter nodded, but he saw doubt in her face and knew that she hadn't bought the lie. "I'm not really hungry anyway," she reminded him.

"Eating's not an option, Major," he stated flatly, tipping the rest of the sauce into a bowl and throwing it into the microwave. "Try and think of this as a mission," he suggested. "Everyone eats and sleeps when they can."

"Yes, sir," she replied, although there was no conviction in her voice. She didn't leave though, for which he was surprisingly grateful. He felt the need to be near her right now, as if their time together was precious.

"You need anything green with this?" he asked then, pulling the fridge back open and peering inside. True to form, there wasn't much in the way of salad inside. He looked up to see her smiling slightly, a subtle curve to her lips that was more sad than happy.

"No," she told him. "I hate green stuff."

He grinned, feeling another rush of affection wash through him. He paused, leaning on the open door and shook his head, his smile turning melancholy. "Why haven't we done this before?" he asked her sadly.

"Done what?"

"This," he said, waving around the kitchen. "Hung out, had dinner, not eaten green stuff together."

He expected her to shy away from it, or to frown in the awkward way she so often did. But she didn't. She met his question frankly and said, "You know why we haven't, sir." She wasn't being coy, he realized, she was just stating the fact. He *did* know why they hadn't.

"Unprofessional," he nodded, the word sounding as cold as the mist.

"Even if nothing had happened," Sam added, "it would still have looked bad."

He nodded. "Is that why you always said no?" he asked.

Sam paused, but didn't flinch. "To the fishing trips?"

"Yeah."

"Partly," she agreed. "But maybe…." She lowered her eyes, her arms creeping up to hug herself again, "Maybe if I hadn't wanted to go so much, I would have said yes." She frowned. "Does that make sense?"

He nodded. "I guess so." She'd wanted to go? Huh, who'd have thought it? "Are you saying you didn't trust yourself around me, Carter?"

She smiled at that, at his overt self-confidence. "I didn't trust us," she replied quietly. "Together, alone…."

"…with no fish," he finished, nodding and closing the refrigerator door. "You were probably right."

"Probably," she agreed quietly, meeting his eyes with an intensely open expression. "Doesn't mean I don't regret it though."

Jack turned away, the unusual invitation in her eyes a little too much to handle right then. She was vulnerable, he reminded himself, and he didn't want to exploit her. Pulling the pasta from the stove he started to drain it into the sink as behind him the microwave pinged. "It would have gotten complicated," he said through the cloud of steam that rose from the pan.

"It was already complicated."

Well that was a good point. But…hang on, what was she saying? "*Was*, Carter?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at her. "Don't you mean is?"

She shook her head. "Was," she repeated with a dead sort of calm. "It's over now, isn't it? You're gone. This is all that's left – regrets."

Angered by her words, he dropped the pan into the sink and turned sharply to face her. "Look, Sam," he snapped, "we're gonna find a way out of here, wherever here is, and…

…Pain. "Ah…Christ." The agony as he moved was excruciating. He coughed as his failing lungs started to fill, the movement sending jabs of white-hot pain through his chest. This was bad. This was worse than bad.

"Sir!" Sam's soft voice was calm and soothing as she lowered him carefully back to the steps. "It's okay. I'll have to redial."

He nodded, but said nothing. He couldn't find breath for speech and it was taking all his willpower to remain conscious. Beneath his hands he felt the warm sticky blood that was draining away his life and knew that he didn't have long. The edges of his mind were already fading into gray, terrifying him with their promise of oblivion. He blinked, trying to focus on something to keep himself alive. Carter. She was still there at his side, he could see her pale, worried face as she watched him. Her eyes flicked to the DHD and back to him several times before she said, "Sir, I have to stop the bleeding first. I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt." And it did, God in heaven but it hurt….

…Breathing heavily it took him a moment to understand that he was slumped on the kitchen floor with Carter kneeling at his side. "Colonel?" she asked, shaking him gently by the shoulders. "Sir, are you okay?"

The pain was receding back into memory, although he could still taste the bitter, metallic tang of blood in his mouth. His head sank back with a clunk against the wooden cupboard door behind him and he pressed a hand against his eyes. "I think I'm remembering some stuff," he said quietly, shivering in the aftermath of the nightmarish memories.

When she spoke her voice was uneven. "About what happened on P7T-834?"

"Yeah," he sighed, lowering his hand from his face and looking at her. "I guess."

"So you believe me?" she asked, the look in her eyes almost begging him to deny the truth.

He paused, afraid of confirming her fears and honestly unsure of the truth. "I remember it hurting," he said in the end, unwilling to lie to her. "You did something – broke off the arrows."

Her face blanched. "Yeah."

"It hurt."

She nodded and pressed her lips together into a thin, pale line. "You passed out."

That was no surprise, the pain had been…intense. Just like the memory. He felt as though a door had opened in his mind, shedding light where before there had only been confusion. He remembered her desperation, the tightly-controlled fear in her eyes as she'd done everything she could to help him. He remembered his own terror at the way the world had faded in and out of existence, and the horror of growing ever weaker with each pump of his treacherous heart. He'd been afraid, and even now the memory made him sick.

Carter pushed herself to her feet, looking around the kitchen. "We should eat," she decided, retrieving the pan full of pasta from the sink and pulling a couple of bowls out of a cupboard. Shakily he got to his feet, watching her move about the kitchen with a wry smile. He'd spent the whole day trying to get her to snap out of the shock into which she'd lapsed, and it seemed that all he'd needed to do was collapse in a heap and Carter would leap in and take control. He should have known – however battered she appeared, the woman had a rod of steel for a backbone and nothing would ever break her. Nothing.

She handed him a bowl of pasta topped by a dollop of sauce as unceremoniously as she would have done if they'd been sat around an off-world campfire. "Thanks," he said, taking it from her hands and making his way towards the sofa – his cabin didn't have anything as sophisticated as a dining table. Carter joined him after a moment and sat on the floor, cross legged, with her back resting against the sofa. She started to toy listlessly with her food, eating a few mouthfuls before she put the bowl aside and tucked her knees up under her chin again.

He continued to eat, watching her in silence. She was lost deep in thought, her expression pensive and far away. He'd almost finished his meal when she spoke, the unexpected sound of her voice startling him. "Do you believe in God, sir?"

Hell, that was a deep one! "Um, not…often," he replied. "You?"

"No," she told him firmly. "Not since…. After my Mom died I just figured, what's the point? It's just a story to tell kids."

He paused, sensing the fragility of her emotions and unwilling to tread clumsily upon them. "I kinda felt the same after Charlie died," he said. "Things like that don't make much sense."

She nodded in agreement, her gaze still distant. "So where do you think we are?" she asked then. "Some kind of afterlife where there's no God, just a cabin and a lake?"

He snorted quietly at the idea and leaned forward to put his empty pasta bowl on the floor beside hers. "Sounds a little unlikely," he conceded. "Where do *you* think we are?"

After a long silence she said, "I think we're still on P7T-834."

"Décor's changed a little," he pointed out.

She turned around, resting her arms on the sofa and her chin on her folded hands. "Physically, I think we're still on the planet," she said.

e'd never seen her eyes so wide or so sad, and he met her pained expression with a serious look of his own. After a moment he asked the question that was haunting him in the wake of his memories. "Do you think I'm really dead?"

Slowly she nodded, tears welling up in her eyes again. "You died, sir. I saw it. You died in my arms….." Tears trailed down her cheek and she rested her face against her arms, still looking at him. "I don't know where we are, but I…don't think I'll be here for long. It's so cold, so… unreal. I can feel myself fading, going back…." She squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't want to go," she whispered. "But I can't help it."

The denial that sprang instinctively to his lips died in the face of the absolute certainty in her words. "Sam," he began softly, reaching out to touch her face…

…"Sam," he gasped, "…scared…." He couldn't breath, the pain was agonizing, his lungs screaming for air that he simply couldn't find. He was drowning, choking on blood…. He was dying, oh God this was it. God forgive me, please….

Gentle fingers stroked his hair and a beloved voice murmured in his ear. "It's okay. Just breathe…."

The world plunged into darkness, consciousness paling around the edges as his failing body screamed for oxygen. Panic gripped him and his fingers tightened around her arm. "…can't see…."

"I'm here," she whispered, her voice and touch guiding him through the nightmare, holding him tightly against her. "It's okay, just breathe."

He tried to speak, to whisper the words so long forbidden but his voice only scratched out as a gasp, the last of his breath. Desperate beyond reason his body convulsed as he struggled for breath, pulling free of her fierce embrace and falling backwards. Agony sheared through him, driving the remaining air from his lungs in one final, agonized scream. Dimly he felt her clutching at him, holding him close as he fell terrified into suffocating darkness.

And then he saw a light, a pinprick of brilliant white in the airless dark, drawing him inexorably closer. It terrified him and he shied away from it, desperate to return to himself and to Sam's embrace. But his progress towards the light was relentless, despite his fierce struggle to cling to the sensation of her touch, to the warmth of her breath on his skin and the feel of her arms rocking him gently. His struggle was hopeless and like a drowning man he felt himself slip further and further into darkness, the deadly point of light growing ever closer. And then he heard her voice for the final time, speaking right into his heart as he slipped helplessly into the night, `I won't let you go. I won't let you go. I won't, I won't, I won't, I won't…..'

… "NO!" he yelled, sitting bolt upright and sucking in a gloriously welcome lung-full of air. He was gasping, panting for breath, dizzy and disorientated again. But Carter was at his side on the sofa, her cool fingers clutching at his hand.

"It's okay," she said quietly, "just breathe easily."

Breathe easily? Oh God, he'd died. He remembered dying. She was right. He was dead! Shaking, he turned to her and she must have seen the terror in his face because her hold on his hands tightened until it was almost painful. "Sam," he choked in a trembling voice, "I remember…."

Fear blanched her face. "Remember what?" she whispered. He looked away, suddenly reluctant to speak. Her fear was as stark as his own, overwhelming…. "Tell me," she demanded quietly. "I have a right to know what's going on."

She did, of course, however little she was going to like what he told her. Shaking his head, he looked down at their clasped hands. "I remember dying," he said, his voice only coming out as a whisper. Sam's eyes squeezed shut but she remained silent as he continued. "I was frightened," he breathed, watching her anguished face. His voice softened, "You were there. I remember you holding me, telling me it was going to be okay…."

"Ha!" she barked bitterly, angry eyes flashing open in her pale face.

Fixing her with a serious look, he held her silent. "It meant everything to me," he told her slowly and quietly. "Knowing that you were with me made it less…terrifying."

Sam closed her eyes again, squeezing tears down her cheeks. "I couldn't help you," she whispered wretchedly.

"But you did," he assured her quietly. "You helped me Sam, so much."

"You died," she retorted, the fact as immovable as granite. "I didn't help you then and I can't help you now," she said, tears trembling in her voice as she opened her eyes. "They said I could bring you back, but I don't know how. I don't understand what I have to do! If I knew where we were, what this place was maybe I could understand it, analyze it….." A sob escaped, frantic and bitter, surprising him. "But I don't," she wept, covering her face with her hands. "I don't understand how to help you…."

Impulsively he pulled her into his arms, not sure if he was seeking or giving comfort. But it didn't matter. He needed her and she needed him, and they clung together for a long time. Burying his face into her neck he simply held her, relishing the feel of her tight embrace as she cried quietly against his chest. "I don't understand," she sobbed. "I don't understand it…."

Her cradled gently, the tenderness he'd long felt finding expression at last. "Shhh," he murmured, happy to hold her until the storm had abated. When she'd grown still in his arms he quietly said, "Maybe there's nothing to understand, Sam? Maybe this is one you can't analyze, can't explain? Maybe we should just be grateful for this time we have?"

"Grateful?" she asked wearily. "Grateful for what?"

"For the chance to say goodbye," he said simply, letting his fingers thread through her softly rumpled hair. He remembered how much he'd longed to be able to tell her everything during those pain-filled, frantic minutes on the planet. Time hadn't been on their side then, but now, perhaps, he had a second chance.

But Sam shook her head, moving out of his embrace to stare up at him wretchedly. "I don't want to say goodbye," she whispered. "I can't bear to…."

Her tears fell again and he found himself wiping them away, the touch of her face beneath his fingers entrancing even amid the grief. "There's so much I've never told you," he said, feeling his throat tightening. "So much I want you to know."

"No," she whispered, making a feeble attempt to pull away from him. "Don't say it. Please, I can't bear it."

He reached out for her and pulled her back, one hand smoothing the hair from her face. "If we're right," he said, "then this is our last chance, Sam."

Her chin dropped and she pressed her face sadly into his palm. "It hurts too much," she said, tears sliding from beneath her closed eyes.

"I can't leave without telling you, Sam," he said, pulling her back into his arms. "Please…." She didn't protest again, but he could hear her quiet tears falling. He closed his eyes, struggling to find the words to express everything he felt. But it was impossible, he was no poet. So he decided he'd just have to tell her the truth, and hope she understood. "When I met you," he began quietly, "my life was…black and white. I got up, did what I had to do, drank too much and went back to bed. Pretty much every day. But you…," he smiled at the memories, "you were like an explosion of color. You were so enthusiastic, so eager…it was infectious. And your smile…it made me feel warm and alive again. I found myself actually wanting to get up in the morning for the first time since…Charlie." Her arms tightened around him in mute sympathy and he closed his eyes, overwhelmed by a potent combination of grief and tenderness. "Pretty soon," he carried on in a huskier tone, "I found myself disappointed when we were on down time, I told myself it was because I had such a great job and I actually believed it for a while. And then one morning – it was a Sunday, I remember – it hit me. It was like a huge goddamn asteroid smacking me right between the eyes, and I realized that…," he hesitated for a moment but had gone way too far to stop, "…I realized that it wasn't the work I was missing, it was you. Because I was in love with you. Deeply, hopelessly and completely in love."

At first Sam said nothing, but her arms convulsed tightly around him and he could feel her shoulders shaking. After a while her embrace loosened and she moved her face so that she could look at him. Her cheeks were tearstained, her eyes wide and liquid. "I…," she stammered, nervous and awkward. "I tried so hard not to," she whispered at last. "I was so afraid of ruining everything, the team, our friendship…my career. I couldn't believe I could do something this stupid."

He smiled at that, managing to provoke a sad smile from her. "Stupid?"

She sniffed. "When we lost you on Edora, I missed you so much…," she looked away, shaking her head. "That's when I knew. I knew that there was no going back."

Edora? Laira? Crap. "Sam," he said, frowning slightly and feeling somewhat embarrassed. "Look, about Laira…."

To his surprise, Sam laughed. A short, slightly hysterical burst of laughter, but it lit her eyes in a way that always touched his heart. "Don't apologize," she pleaded when her humor had passed.

"I just need to explain…."

"No," she insisted seriously. "You don't. It doesn't matter."

"I was already in love with you," he said, despite her protests. "Laira knew that."

Sam just nodded sadly, looking away. "She gave you more than I ever did. I don't begrudge you that."

With a gentle touch he turned her face back towards him. "No she didn't," he assured her quietly. "No one's ever given me as much as you have, Sam. I've never loved anyone like this."

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. "Jack…."

"I mean it," he said, his fingers lingering on her face. "I love you, Sam. And it's the most amazing thing in my life."

She stared at him, her heart in her eyes. Grief, loss, happiness, devotion – they were all mixed up, jumbled and confused in her heartbreaking gaze. But at last she spoke, "I love you too," she whispered brokenly. "So much it frightens me…and for so long now…." Tears ran freely again as she watched him and raised a hesitant hand to his face. "I love you," she repeated, "and I can't bear to go on without you, Jack. I can't… I can't leave you now."

The sight of her grief cut him to the core and brought tears to his own eyes. Not for himself, but for her. He'd known long ago that he'd rather die than lose her, and he'd got his wish. He'd just never understood that she might feel the same. She was the one who would have to endure the bleak grayness of bereavement and live in a world turned to ashes. He had no words to express his sorrow for her, or the for the deep love that swelled until he thought his heart would burst. So instead of reaching out with words he brought his hands to her face, cupping it gently and smoothing his thumbs over her damp cheeks. "Don't cry," he murmured, brushing her lips lightly with his thumb. "Please."

Sam's eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted slightly as his fingers touched her mouth, a small gasp catching in her throat. Jack couldn't look away, spellbound by her reaction. God, he still wanted her, as fiercely as he ever had. Her hands came to rest on his arms and to his delight he felt a gentle, yet insistent tug. Trembling with barely contained emotion he leaned closer, tipping her face back slightly. He wanted to kiss her - the desire was overwhelming, irresistible. Sam's eyes opened, melancholy yet inviting, and she reached up and traced a finger over his lips in a silent gesture of permission. "Sam," he whispered, torn between grief and potent desire as he leaned down and softly kissed the tears from her cheeks. "Don't cry."

She turned her head slowly, her lips making fleeting contact with his face as her arms came up and wound around his neck. "I need you," she murmured. "Don't leave me, Jack. Please."

Her hesitant kisses fired him, sending blood pumping and desire raging. He cradled her face gently in his hands, lost in her eyes and overwhelmed by the depth of his feelings for her. "I love you," he whispered, his mouth close to hers.

"Jack," she breathed, her breath warm against his lips as she reached up and kissed him determinedly and deeply.

Their kiss was electric and burned with a powerful yearning, too long repressed. Her lips parted beneath his and he sank into her, aching with the need for more as he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her down into the sofa's cushions, feeling the soft curves of her body mold deliciously to his own. Her hips moved against his in a slow, steady rhythm, their desire mutual, and he found himself suddenly short of breath. He needed to touch her, to feel the heat of her skin against his, to posses her fully – and to surrender himself entirely. "I want you," he growled close to her ear, burning kisses into her neck. "I love you, I need you. I want you."

"Yes," she gasped in response, covering his lips with fervent, heated kisses of her own. "God, yes…."

***

Her eyes were closed and she was experiencing the world through sensation alone – soft sheets, loving caresses, her entire body locked in the most intimate of embraces…. She barely knew where she was, she barely cared. All that mattered was that he was with her, his deep, deliberate movements sending her mind spinning on the brink of ecstasy

"Jack…" She breathed his name into the heated air between them, neither encouragement nor desire, just an affirmation that he was really there. She'd lost track of dream or reality, none of it mattered. All that was important was the moment. She felt exposed, entirely vulnerable. All the barriers were gone, all the defenses fallen. Even reason itself had fled at the last, leaving her with nothing but the emotions that raged through her. But she wasn't afraid. For once in her life, the intensity of her feelings held no fear for her. "I love you," she murmured, in testament to her new- found emotional courage, although the words sounded too small, too insignificant compared with the enormity of all that she felt for him.

His fingers stroked her face again, brushing through the hair at her temple as his kisses caressed her closed eyes, her face, and her lips. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, making her smile and forcing her heavy eyelids to open. His dark eyes were bright and intense, half joy and half sorrow. "You're incredible."

Reaching up she touched his face - a gesture so long forbidden and so soon to be lost to her. "I don't want this to ever end," she told him sadly. "I don't think I can bear it…."

"Shh," he soothed her, kissing her again. "Just be here, right now. This is all there is."

God, she wished it was. She wished there was no world beyond their slow, intimate dance. She wished the moment would last for eternity and that she would never have to leave his arms, that they could be joined as one forever. "I love you," she whispered again, the words straining under the weight of the emotions she thrust into them. "I love you."

She pulled him down against her, his arms sliding beneath her and crushing her against him as his kiss deepened. "Oh God," he whispered into her hair, more urgently now as she felt him start to tense, the steady rhythm between them losing coherence and beginning to careen out of control.

"No," she gasped, suddenly terrified of what the end would bring. She couldn't lose him now, she couldn't leave him here…she couldn't see his dead face again, or hold his lifeless body in her arms. "No…."

But it was hopeless to resist. Her body betrayed her, unable to teeter on the brink any longer. The moment was abruptly upon her, exploding in mind and body with such sweet bitterness that it was uncontainable. A sob of raw emotion broke free and she clutched him close, at once protective and needy as he breathed her name, "Samantha…." Then his arms tightened fiercely around her, his whole body tensing for the final time as he buried his face into her shoulders and gasped, "Oh God! Sam…."

And then she was falling slowly, drifting like a leaf through the mist, and she felt herself fading. Terror tore at her heart – she was leaving him, their time together was at an end. But she could still feel him in her arms, still feel his weight pressing her into the bed, feel his lips nuzzling gently against her neck. "I won't let you go," she whispered into the mist, "I won't let you go."

"I love you." His voice was distant now and growing fainter. "I love you, Sam."

"I won't leave you," she insisted, holding onto the sound of his voice. "I can't…. I won't."

And then she felt something fleetingly touch her mind, and she knew it was Jack. She could sense him in the mist, sense his presence. She reached out for him and found him again, another touch of her mind – and in that moment of joining she felt everything in his heart. She felt his profound love for her and returned it eagerly, she felt the depth of his grief at losing his son and his wife, she felt his thousand different emotions, a thousand different experiences. She saw faces she didn't recognize, women, men, friends, enemies. And she saw herself through his eyes, young, bright and beautiful. She felt his astonishment too, and knew that he could see into her soul as clearly as she saw into his. And she threw her heart open to him, wanting him to know how unshakable was her affection, how endless her love for him. "I won't let you go," she promised, unsure if she even spoke the words aloud. "I'll never leave you, in this life or the next."

She heard his reply as if it were spoken into her soul. "We'll always be together, Sam. Always."

And then the world flashed brilliant white and her head span giddily. Through the blinding light she heard a sibilant voice hissing through a white mist. "She grows weak…."

"Her life force is strong. She will endure."

"She leaves us…."

"She will not return…."

And then even the voices faded into a white light so bright it scoured all else from her mind and the world was lost to her.

***

Daniel rubbed at his dry eyes, trying to force them to focus on the book he held. It was late, but he'd been so busy all day with the artifacts SG-8 had retrieved from G6T-638 that this was the first opportunity he'd had to return to his studies. His unofficial studies, that was.

It had been six months now since Jack and Sam had disappeared, and they'd been officially Missing in Action for five. Hammond hadn't wanted admit defeat in that way, but repeated searches of P7T-834 had revealed nothing. They'd disappeared entirely, without trace. Even the locals claimed to know nothing, although their High Priest Belar had seemed a little shifty. All he would say, however, was that his friends had probably entered Sidhe. The name had sounded instantly familiar to Daniel, and only a little research had reminded him of the mythology. Sidhe was the magical kingdom of the Tuatha De Danann, a race of Celtic gods who had reputedly retreated there in the aftermath of a terrible battle. The word itself – Sidhe – meant Otherworld, a place out of time where the gods were hidden from the eyes of mortals.

He'd been flushed with triumph for a while, until he realized that the information was essentially worthless. In all likelihood it was the Stargate itself that the High Priest considered to be the entrance to the Otherworld, and in every respect the title would be correct. The Stargate did lead, quite literally, to another world. But fascinating as the mythology was, it didn't do a damn thing to help find his friends.

After seven separate missions had failed to find anything on P7T-834, Hammond had called off the search. His sorrow and reluctance had been so evident that Daniel hadn't found it in his heart to be angry. But neither would he give up, and every spare moment he had he returned to his books in some hope of finding a clue to their disappearance.

A gentle knock on his door roused him from his drowsy musings. "Come in," he called out.

The door opened and Teal'c stepped inside. "Daniel Jackson," he nodded, closing the door quietly. "I have come to assist you."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. Well that was a surprise. Teal'c and he were both equally frustrated and grief-stricken by the loss of their friends, but Teal'c had decided to focus on more practical means of assistance. "Any word from the Tok'ra?" Daniel asked hopefully, waving Teal'c towards a chair and leaning forward onto his desk.

"None," Teal'c replied as he eased himself into the offered chair. There was a distinct note of anger beneath his friend's carefully schooled expression when he added, "General Hammond does not wish to send a further request."

Daniel sighed. "He has other priorities," he reminded Teal'c. "The whole SGC can't just come to a halt because our team's missing."

"I understand," Teal'c replied, "however…O'Neill and Major Carter are important. We should not give up so easily."

Flopping back into his chair, Daniel sighed. They'd had this discussion before, and he was getting sick of defending Hammond's actions. He understood them, but it didn't mean he liked it. "What else can we do?" he asked Teal'c. "There's no trace of them on the planet, no sign of anyone else being involved, and no evidence that the Stargate malfunctioned. They just disappeared."

Teal'c nodded towards Daniel's book. "As if by magic?"

He smiled. "I don't believe in magic," he reminded him.

"And yet you have no other explanation," Teal'c said with a slight rise of an eyebrow.

"Yet," Daniel agreed. "But there has to be one Teal'c. People don't just disappear."

Teal'c remained unconvinced. "Perhaps Belar was right," he said, fixing Daniel with an eloquent look. "Perhaps Major Carter and O'Neill are indeed in the Otherworld."

Shaking his head, Daniel pulled his glasses from his nose. "It's a myth," he assured him.

"At the heart of all myth there is truth," Teal'c replied. "Perhaps we are searching for them in the wrong place?"

Daniel blinked. "Are you saying we should try and find this… Otherworld?"

"I am."

"But how?" Daniel protested. "We have no idea where it is or even what it's meant to be! Even the people on P7T-834 have never been there."

Teal'c remained impassive. "You are correct," he agreed, "that the journey may be difficult. However, it is possible that we have no choice. If O'Neill and Major Carter are indeed within this Otherworld, duty and honor pledge us to follow."

"I'm not disputing that," Daniel assured him. "But a) it's highly unlikely that the Otherworld is a real place, and b) even if it was we have no idea how to get there!"

Teal'c reached across the desk to the book Daniel held. "The answers," he said, "maybe within."

"Maybe," Daniel sighed, sliding the book across his desk. "But Teal'c, you might as well plan to prize open the gates of Heaven to find them – the Otherworld isn't real."

Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "Did you not descend into Hell to retrieve General Carter? We can do no less now."

Daniel stared and then smiled, nodding slightly. "I guess we can't," he sighed, reaching for another book. "I guess we can't ."

***

Jack found himself drifting downwards from the moment of ecstatic release, fully aware that his mind had somehow detached itself from his body. He still felt Sam in his arms, the scent of her hair was still heady, and her soft body beneath his own was still enticing despite the fact that he was utterly spent. And yet it was all distant, unreal somehow. His mind was drifting away from it, taking him down into the gray mist.

And then suddenly, vaguely through the thin fog he saw a shape. A slim dark haired figure, draped in a soft woolen gown. The figure moved towards him, strange and unearthly, seeming almost part of the mist. When she drew close enough for him to make out her small, elfin features, the woman spoke. "She has proven her worth," she said proudly, "you must release the Sacrifice, Morrigan."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Have we met?"

But the woman paid him no mind. "He would have been a worthy prize," a second voice said from behind him, and he turned to see another woman. Also small, but darkly robed with a cowl surrounding her beautiful face. "He is a strong warrior."

The first woman moved closer, seeming impatient. "Even so, honor demands that you return him to the mortal realm – she has willingly given of herself."

"*Your* honor requires it, Aine," Morrigan replied, and Jack noted the hint of challenge in her voice. "The pledge was yours."

"Yes," the woman called Aine replied, her voice soft and cool but veined with steely strength. "But upon the Eve of Midsummer you cannot challenge me."

There was a flash of anger in Morrigan's eyes and she said, "His body is shattered, it will not contain him."

Jack felt a pulse of unease as he drifted through the conversation, the sensation of Sam in his arms fading with every moment. He felt himself growing lighter, more distant from the world and from Sam. He struggled against it, forcing his wayward mind to focus on the memory of her. "What's going on?" he asked the women, but it was as if he hadn't spoken. He wondered if they couldn't hear him or if they chose to ignore him.

"Brigit will heal his mortal flesh," Aine continued, turning to her side. As she spoke the mist coalesced beside her and another figure appeared, this one taller, although slender as a reed. A sword hung from her belt and her willowy limbs seemed strong and well formed, her braided hair was the color of corn and her eyes as blue as the sky.

Morrigan seemed irritated. "Brigit," she said. "You do not hunt today?"

Brigit smiled broadly. "I have found this entertainment more rewarding," she noted.

"This petty drama of human love?" Morrigan asked. "You are as soft- headed as Aine."

"Perhaps," Brigit replied, turning her eyes for the first time on Jack. "But this one…is curious. And his lover is a warrior such as I; her heart is clear to me."

Morrigan shook her head. "Then you will heal his mortal body?"

For a moment Brigit closed her eyes, and when she opened them she smiled again. "It is done. His flesh is healed, and his lover's life force beats in his breast."

"Then it is over," Morrigan replied, her dark eyes turning on Jack for a moment. "It is a pity," she said to him. "We would have made you welcome in the Halls of the Dead."

Jack blinked. "Ah…thanks. I guess." Morrigan nodded seriously, her eyes dipping to her feet, before she faded back into the mist.

A light hand on his arm drew Jack's attention back to the woman called Aine. "Now you must return," she told him. "Your memory of this place will fade, but know this Colonel Jack O'Neill, you are now joined forever with the woman who shares her life force with you. She has given of it willingly, and without her sacrifice Morrigan would have indeed escorted you into the underworld. But there is a price for your life – your fate and that of the woman who loves you are now forever bound. Do not think you can escape such a fate."

"If you're talking about Sam," he told her, meeting the serious look in her dark eyes, "then I wouldn't want to escape my fate. I've been bound to her for a long time."

Aine smiled. "So you have," she agreed. "But now her heart beats in your chest, and your heart beats in hers. Your lives are bound like no other mortals. It will be a blessing, although not unalloyed."

Jack just nodded, unsure what to make of this strange conversation and these even stranger women. "Who are you?" he asked at last.

Aine stepped back, her demeanor suddenly majestic. "We are the Tuatha De Danann," she replied proudly. "Tell your people that we have been merciful."

"Tuatha…? Right. Sure, I'll be sure to pass that along as soon as I…."

Aine raised her hand. "Farewell," she said, her voice as melodic as bells. And then her hand dropped and…

…Jack opened his eyes.

He found himself staring up into a gray misty sky and realized that he was flat on his back with his head in Carter's lap. Her hands, streaked with blood, covered her face and she wept bitterly as she rocked slowly backwards and forwards. He was back, at the moment of his death. Or rather…his return to life.

He tried to reach up to touch her hand, but he felt so weak he could barely lift his arm. "Sam?" he said, although his voice was so frail that she didn't hear over the sound of her crying. Mustering all his energy he tried again, managing to make his voice a hoarse cry, "Carter!"

Her hands dropped from her face, her tearful eyes wide with shock as she started at him. "Jack?" she whispered in disbelief.

"Hey," he smiled, reaching weakly for her hand that had fallen from her face. "I'm back."

Sam's face was white and dark circles of exhaustion ringed her eyes. "I'm dreaming," she murmured, reaching out a shaky hand to touch his face. "This can't be real. You were dead."

He covered her trembling hand with his own, and her fingers clutched desperately at him. "I think I was," he replied as he gazed up into her grieving eyes, "but you brought me back Sam. You saved me."

"How?" she breathed.

"Because of this," he whispered, holding her hand with both of his own. "Because of this thing we have between us – they said you shared your life with me, Sam. Literally."

A frown touched her brow, but although she looked embarrassed her face remained deathly pale. "They?"

"The mist guys," he explained. "Although it turns out they weren't guys…."

He wasn't sure she was listening because her gaze had turned inward and she seemed suddenly uncomfortable. "I…," she stammered. "I thought I was dreaming…."

Jack shook his head slightly. "Not a dream," he murmured. "It was real, Sam. It has to be."

"You remember it all?" she asked hesitantly.

He grinned slightly, squeezing her hand. "I remember the cabin," he said, watching her eyes widen slightly. "I remember walking through the woods, eating pasta. And I remember…." Despite his fatigue he managed to raise his hand to her face, "I remember what it felt like to hold you."

A delighted smile touched her face, for a moment lifting her obvious exhaustion. "I thought it was a dream," she whispered.

"I know you did," he replied fondly. "And maybe it was all going on in our heads, but still…."

"…it felt real," she finished, reaching down and running a hand through his hair. "So real…." And then she frowned, her fingers moving from his head to his chest. "You're still bleeding," she said, anxious again. "I have to get you home."

"It doesn't hurt," he replied, lifting a hand to his chest. He shook as his fingers plucked weakly at the bandage and Sam gently captured his hand in hers and lowered it back to the ground.

"Let me," she told him. Carefully peeling the blood-soaked dressing from his wound her eyes widened in obvious astonishment at what she saw beneath. Dark blood smeared his chest and soaked his clothes, but beneath it was nothing more than a small red scar. She looked stunned as she met his curious gaze. "It's gone," she said in disbelief. "The wound's gone."

"You saved my life," he told her seriously. "I was dead and you brought me back."

But she shook her head. "That's impossible."

He reached for her face, brushing her cheek. "It's not the first time you've done the impossible to bring me home, Sam."

She made no reply, just caught his fingers in her own and lowered his hand back to his chest. "You don't look well," she told him, all competent pragmatism again, "you're as white as a sheet and you can't stop shaking. Stay here while I try to get the Stargate working again."

"You don't look too hot yourself," he pointed out, concerned by her pale face and thin, white lips. "You think you can make it to the DHD?"

She nodded as determinedly as always. "I think I'm in better shape than you, sir." Sir. The word jarred awkwardly between them, and Sam looked away with a frown. He understood her unease – the experience they had so recently shared wasn't going to be something they could leave on the planet, or lock into a room. It had to be dealt with. But not here, and not now.

"You're probably right, Carter," he replied. "I don't exactly feel great. Just help me sit up, will you?" he asked, struggling to push himself upright. She agreed with obvious reluctance, but as her firm hands pulled him up his eyes fluttered weakly shut and a huge wave of giddiness and nausea swept through him. "Whoa," he murmured, reaching out and clutching at her shoulder as he fought for his balance. "Head rush."

"You should lie down," she told him anxiously. "You're weak. You must have lost a lot of blood."

"I'm okay," he replied thinly, taking his hand from her shoulder and warily opening his eyes. The world was still spinning, but it was definitely slowing. A little. "I think I'll stay right here for now," he decided with a rueful smile. "You go dial, while I…try not to faint."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he assured her, waving her towards the DHD. "Go on, get us out of here."

With a curt nod Sam got swiftly to her feet. But she returned just as quickly to the ground and crumpled in a dizzy pile next to him. "Oh God," she murmured, dropping her head into her hands. "Light-headed…."

He frowned. "Well you didn't lose any blood," he commented.

"I'll be okay," she whispered through her hands. "Just give me a minute."

He was silent for a moment, watching her. She was shaking, her whole body was trembling, and he realized that she was as exhausted as himself. Suddenly the voice of the strange woman, Aine, floated into his memory; "…you are now joined forever with the woman who shares her life force with you." Shares her life force…? Could that be why she was so weak? She'd physically shared something of herself with him? The thought brought a new rush of emotion into his heart. She'd given so much for him that she could barely stand. "Sam?" he said, moving closer to her and resting a weary hand on her back. "Let's do this together."

"You can barely sit up," she reminded him.

"Together," he insisted. "Come on. You and me, Carter."

She lifted her head, her eyes in her wan face seeming as gray as the mist that surrounded them. And then she held out her hand and he took it firmly, relishing her warm touch. "On three," she said determinedly.

It took some effort, but eventually they managed to pull themselves and each other onto their feet. Sam swayed alarmingly and Jack looped an arm over her shoulders, pulling her tight against him and in return she slid her arm around his waist. "Okay?" Jack asked woozily, trying to focus on the DHD that suddenly seemed to be at the far end of a very long, narrow tunnel. He blinked a couple of times to try and clear his vision, but it didn't help much.

"Okay," Carter said faintly at his side, although she sounded far from okay. Still, it wasn't far and they'd been through worse. Slowly they staggered towards the DHD, surrounded on all sides by the standing stones looming out of the mist. Jack shivered – something about them gave him the creeps. Turning his eyes back to the DHD he watched it slowly draw near as they swayed unsteadily across the open ground. Dimly, in the back of his mind, he remembered that he should be concerned about another attack, but somehow he wasn't. Maybe he was just too exhausted….

Carter started dialing as soon as they reached the device, her hands moving slowly but carefully across the panel. "I hope this works," she muttered under her breath, and he caught the edge of anxiety in her voice. It had failed the last two times she'd tried.

Silently he crossed the fingers of the hand that hung loosely at his side – he might have already had as much good luck as a man could hope for in simply being alive, but it couldn't hurt to ask for a bit more. "It'll work," he assured her, tightening his arm around her shoulders to emphasize the point. She turned at the last moment, her hand hovering over the center of the DHD.

"If it does," she said slowly, fixing him with a melancholy look, "where does that leave us?"

He twitched an eyebrow. "Aside from back at the SGC?"

A faint smile touched her lips. "You know what I mean," she said quietly, her hand descending slowly and completing the dialing sequence.

The gate began to spin, but Jack's attention was riveted on Sam. "This is going to complicate things," he admitted. "I don't think I'll be able to just…move on from here as if nothing happened."

"No," Sam agreed quietly. "Me neither." She paused, and behind her he was dimly aware of the gate gathering momentum as it dialed. "Something happened back…wherever we were," she said. "Something changed."

"Between us?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "Don't you feel it?"

"A connection," he replied, trying to find words for the feeling she was describing. "A link…."

She turned so that she was facing him, still holding him tightly. "I've never felt this close to anyone before," she admitted nervously. "It's as though we're…."

"…bound together?" he suggested, remembering the words of the women who'd returned him to life.

She nodded, her wide eyes pulling him in deeper. "That's exactly it," she replied softly. "I don't know if I'm going to be able to go back to how things were before."

The thought was alarming and his hands tightened on her shoulders. "I don't want to," he assured her hurriedly. "I can't pretend this didn't happen, Sam. I can't pretend that I don't love you."

"No," she agreed, tightening her arms around his waist, "me neither." But she shook her head. "What are we going to do?"

"I…." Jack's words were cut off abruptly as the liquid blue of the wormhole splashed into the ring of standing stones, bathing everything in its shimmering light. He looked over at it, at all it represented, and then back to Sam. "I guess we go home," he said.

She nodded but made no move to leave. "I can't forget this, Jack," she insisted, dropping his rank to emphasize the shift in their relationship.

"We'll work something out," he assured her, smiling at her apprehension and reaching out to brush her cheek fondly. "I'll talk to Hammond."

"Things are going to change," she said seriously. "Are you ready for that?"

His smile faded, but his fingers lingered on her face. "Not really," he admitted. "I don't want to lose SG-1, but if that's what's got to happen to keep you…?" He shrugged. "I have no choice. I don't think I can live without you anymore. And I know I don't want to."

She smiled sadly. "Then I guess we don't get a happy ending?"

"Happy enough, Sam," he replied, tilting her head up until he could kiss her lightly on the lips. "Happy enough for me."

He felt her smile beneath his kiss before she responded with a warm, soft kiss of her own. "Then let's do it," she suggested, pulling back slightly, "before we fall asleep on our feet."

And so slowly, wearily they trudged together towards the Stargate, towards home and all that it entailed for their complicated future together.

***

"Close the iris," Hammond snapped as the gate began to spin and the alarms blared. Men poured into the gate room, taking up position around the Stargate, weapons leveled and fingers on triggers. But the iris slid smoothly shut and Hammond felt himself relax slightly. "How many teams do we have off-world?" he asked Captain Johnson.

Johnson glanced up from her screen. "Three sir," she replied, "SG-3, SG-7 and SG-12. None due back within the next twenty-four hours, sir."

Hammond nodded and turned his eyes back to the gate room. "Well, whoever they are…," he began, but stopped when he heard a startled gasp from Johnson.

"Captain?" he asked, stepping closer to peer at her screen.

Her eyes remained fixed on the computer. "We're receiving a GDO, sir," she replied excitedly. "It's from SG-1."

Hammond frowned. "They're not off-world," he pointed out.

"No sir," Johnson replied, looking up at him in nervous anticipation. "It's an old code. It's the one we locked out when Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter disappeared."

Hammond said nothing, his eyes turning back to the closed iris. Could it really be Jack, after all this time? After six months was there even a chance that he could make it home?

"Sir?" Johnson asked. "Shall I open the iris?"

He turned his attention back to her young face and wide eyes. She had hope, he realized. But she was as green as the grass. Then again, if there was even a chance that Jack might be about to throw himself into the wormhole could he risk letting him disintegrate against the iris?

"Colonel O'Neill would know we've changed the code," he muttered, voicing his inner dilemma.

Johnson's eyes clouded. "Maybe he doesn't have a choice, sir?" she suggested. "Maybe he's escaping from whoever held him prisoner and doesn't have a choice?"

Hammond frowned but it only took a moment to make the decision, for a moment was all that he had. He gave Johnson a brief nod, "Open the iris and get ready to disengage the wormhole at the first sign of trouble."

She grinned. "Yes sir."

As the iris span open Hammond grabbed the microphone, keeping his eyes locked on the Stargate. "SG-1 to the gate room," he barked.

Almost the moment the iris slid open the shimmering surface of the event horizon shivered and two people stepped through. Hammond's heart soared as he saw O'Neill and Carter standing at the top of the ramp, clinging together and struggling to keep themselves on their feet as they gazed around in obvious disorientation. "Get a medical team down here, now," Hammond barked as he bolted from the control room, taking the steps two at a time in his hurry to reach the gate room. His team was home. His team was home!

***

Sensing the urgency in the air Daniel had broken into a slow jog as he made his way to the gate room. The sight of Hammond bolting down the stairs and into the corridor ahead of him provoked him to start running in earnest. And so he was only a couple of steps behind the General as he crashed into the packed gate room. There were SF's everywhere, lethal weapons pointed up at the gate. He looked…and skidded numbly to a halt.

"Jack?" he called, barely allowing himself to believe what he saw. "Sam?"

They stood at the head of the ramp, holding on to each other as though they might otherwise collapse. Jack's uniform was dark with blood and his face was ashen. At his side Sam looked around with wide, confused eyes. There was blood on her hands and jacket, and her shoulder had been injured.

"Daniel?" Jack said at last, his exhausted gaze coming to rest dazedly on his friend. "What's going on?"

But Hammond was already at the foot of the ramp. "We were about to ask you the same thing, Colonel," he replied with a grin, although his anxiety was clear to Daniel. "Where the hell have you been?"

Jack blinked. "On P7T-834?"

"For six months?"

Sam started at the words. "Six *months*?" she exclaimed. "That's impossible. Daniel and Teal'c just came through a minute ago." And then she frowned and pressed a hand to her forehead. "At least…I think so." She turned to O'Neill. "Is that right, sir?"

Jack nodded slowly. "I think so," he added cautiously. "Although," he glanced down at his torn and bloody uniform and his eyebrows shot upward, "it kinda looks like something happened to us."

Behind him Daniel heard a scuffle and turned to see Doctor Fraiser pushing her way through the SFs with a med-team in tow. She took one look at Jack, cursed under her breath, and started barking orders as she headed up the ramp. Daniel followed her, with Hammond on his heels. "You're hurt," Janet said immediately, not pausing for pleasantries.

"He was shot!" Sam burst out, as if the memory were a shock. "He was shot…" She trailed to a halt and shook her head. "I don't remember what happened after that."

"I'm fine," Jack was protesting as Janet tried to see beneath his bloody clothes. He pushed her away with one hand, but kept the other rather determinedly around Sam's shoulders. "I'm fine," he repeated, "aside from feeling like I could sleep for a week."

Fraiser was unperturbed and motioned for one of the gurneys to be moved to the end of the ramp. "You look like hell," she told him calmly as he was helped onto the bed. "You both do," she added, glancing over at Sam. And then she smiled for the first time since she'd entered the room. "But you're still a sight for sore eyes. We've all missed you."

Sam said nothing in response, just allowed herself to be assisted onto the gurney and lay back with one arm across her eyes. "Six months?" she murmured. Jack was silent but his attention was fixed entirely on Carter, watching her intently as they were both wheeled from the room. Daniel followed in silence, Hammond at his side, wondering how the hell you lost six months of your life?

***

"And you don't remember anything?" Janet was asking, peering into Sam's eyes with her pen light.

Repressing a sigh and careful not to shake her head, Sam said, "No. The last thing I remember is Jack being shot. There was a lot of blood…and then we were stepping back through the Stargate."

Janet lowered her light and stood up straight, picking up Sam's file. "Jack?" she said after a moment, keeping her eyes fixed on the chart.

"Colonel O'Neill," Sam corrected, frowning a little. Since when did she refer to her CO as Jack? Deciding to pass over the unusual slip she diverted the conversation. "Is the Colonel okay? There was a lot of blood. I remember a lot of blood…."

It was Janet's turn to frown. "He's fine," she replied carefully. "His wounds have healed."

"Healed?" Sam repeated, not sure she understood. "But that's impossible. There were two arrows – they went into his back, right through to his chest….."

"I know," Janet interrupted. "I've seen the scars."

Sam's eyes widened for a moment and then narrowed in disbelief. "Janet," she said, "you're not joking about this are you?"

Fraiser shook her head. "I'm not, Sam. Colonel O'Neill was shot – probably, like you say, by two arrows. There are scars on his back, close to his heart and left lung. From the trajectory I'd say he was lucky to escape with his life – either his heart or his lung could have been damaged, maybe both." She paused and fixed Sam with a serious look. "But the scars are old Sam, at least six months. Something happened to you out there."

Shaking her head, Sam turned to look down at the dressing on her shoulder. "What about this?" she asked. "I remember being shot right before the Colonel. He was shielding me when he got hit."

"Well," Janet said, raking a hand through her hair, "I don't know what you remember, but I can tell you that this wound is recent. No more than a couple of hours old."

Looking up into her friend's worried eyes, Sam said, "None of this makes any sense."

"No," Janet agreed. "It doesn't."

Sam nodded and after a moment said, "Can I see the Colonel?"

"He's resting," Janet warned, pulling away the curtains from around Sam's bed. "A couple of beds down."

Glancing along the infirmary, Sam saw O'Neill lying flat on his back and motionless. Asleep. Although something in her chest trembled at the sight, as if a darker memory was struggling to surface. Something about him being so still and white…. She frowned. "Is he okay?" she repeated. "He looks pale."

Janet raised her eyebrows. "Another mystery," she confessed. "Both you and the Colonel are physically exhausted, but he…." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"What?" Sam asked, glancing up in sudden alarm.

Janet shrugged. "He seems to have lost a lot of blood…."

Sam turned back to O'Neill, her mind returning to the moment he was shot. She remembered the shocked look on his face, the pain and the blood. "There was a lot of blood," she repeated quietly.

"It was six months ago," Janet insisted and Sam had no answer for her. Instead she slid her legs out of bed and stood up, pausing for a moment to regain her balance. Janet had one thing right – she *was* exhausted. She felt like she'd been in bed for months, her limbs were heavy and trembled with the effort of moving. Nonetheless she waved off Janet's supportive arm and made her way slowly towards the Colonel's bed. Just as she reached him he turned his head towards her and opened his eyes. "Hey," he said, not seeming surprised to see her there.

"Hey," she replied and lowered herself carefully into a chair at his side. "How are you?"

"Tired," he slurred sleepily. "You?"

"Tired," she agreed. And then she added, "They think we were gone for six months."

The Colonel nodded. "Shortest year of my life."

She smiled at that. "No kidding. Do you have any idea what happened?"

"Me?" he asked wearily, although there was humor in his eyes. "You're the brains, Carter."

Sam shook her head slightly but her response was lost because at that moment another voice said, "Actually, I have a theory."

She looked up with a smile. "Daniel."

He walked towards them slowly, Teal'c at his side. "We've been doing some research," he said, tapping a book he held under one arm. "Actually, it was Teal'c's idea."

Sam noticed the Colonel's attention pique at that. "What kind of research?" he asked, struggling to sit up in bed.

"Into your disappearance," Teal'c said, coming to stand at the end of O'Neill's bed. "Many missions were sent to P7T-834 in search of you, yet you were never found."

O'Neill shook his head. "Doesn't make sense."

"Indeed," Teal'c replied. "It is my belief that you were still on P7T-834, however not within this reality."

Sam frowned, looking between Teal'c's unequivocal expression and Daniel's slightly apologetic wince. "We didn't see any quantum mirrors," she pointed out.

"The reality of which I speak," Teal'c replied, "is that of the Tuatha De Danann."

O'Neill frowned. "Tuatha De Danann?" he repeated slowly. "That sounds familiar…. What is it?"

"Um," Daniel said, his brow drawing low, "they're a race of Celtic gods. Irish, actually. They live in a place out of time – a place called Sidhe. The priest on P7T-834 was well versed in Celtic mythology, so our theory is…."

"Bullshit," O'Neill objected. "Celtic gods? Come on!"

"Actually, sir," Sam chimed in, her mind whirring despite her weariness. "Theoretically it is possible that we entered a reality where time moved at a slower pace – it would certainly explain the apparent loss of six months." He frowned at her with obvious disbelief and she hurried on before he could object, "I'm not saying there were any gods there, but it is possible that a race of aliens could inhabit such a reality. And who knows, maybe the entrance to this alien reality is within the stone circle on P7T-834?"

"So why didn't anyone else end up there?"

She shrugged. "Maybe we were just lucky?" Her gaze locked with his as she spoke and she felt a sudden connection, as if abruptly she knew what he was thinking; she sensed his doubt, his unease and his need to understand. But at the same time she sensed something more, something deep and…personal. It wasn't the first time he'd looked at her in that way, but it was the first time the intensity she felt from him didn't frighten her. And it was the first time she didn't look away. "Something happened there," she said quietly, her words for him alone. "Something definitely happened."

He nodded, still holding her gaze. "Yeah," he agreed quietly, a touch of confusion clouding his eyes, "I think it did."

"We'll probably never know what."

"But I don't think it was bad," he offered quietly.

"No," she agreed. "Neither do I."

A subtle cough disrupted their intense exchange, and Sam found herself blushing slightly as she tore her eyes away from Jack's and returned her attention to Daniel. "It's an interesting theory," she told him, hoping she didn't sound too flustered. "But I doubt you'll ever prove it."

Daniel smiled. "I'll just add it to my list of unproven theories," he said. And then, clapping Teal'c on the shoulder he said, "You two, ah, look like hell. We'll leave you to get some rest."

"Thanks," Sam smiled, pushing herself to her feet. Sleep was calling her more and more insistently and she was afraid if she didn't make it into bed soon she might end up sleeping on the floor.

"And Sam?" Daniel said, reaching out to steady her with one hand. "It's good to have you back."

She smiled. "It's good to be back," she agreed. "Although I only feel like I left this morning."

His fingers tightened around her arm. "It's been a long day then," he said, still smiling. "Get some sleep."

She nodded, her gaze turning back to the Colonel. His eyes were already closed, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. The sight of his easy breathing pleased her with an odd sort of fierceness, as if it was a sight she had longed to see. But she had no idea why. Turning away, she shook her head. It really had been a long day, and a profound one. Something had changed, she was sure of it. She'd sensed something in that long, intimate look she'd shared with O'Neill. There was a connection there, a deep, lasting connection that hadn't been there before. Something had happened, but what it was she didn't know.

***

It had been a week, and Jack was starting to feel almost human again. The deep exhaustion was fading, he looked less like an extra from `Night of the Living Dead', and he was even making it through a whole day without the need for a nap. Fraiser had discharged him the previous day but had declared him unfit for duty for at least a week. Which was fine by him, there was no *way* he was up to gate travel and he knew it. About all he was fit for was a little fishing, a cold beer and maybe some quiet, easy company.

He stopped mid-thought in the middle of the corridor, almost causing a young lieutenant to run into the back of him. For some reason the image of himself sitting on his small dock, beer in hand, watching the afternoon sunshine sparkling on the lake sprang vividly to mind. Not that it was an unusual image, but for some reason it provoked a very strong impulse to…see Carter.

"Sir?" a voice asked. Shaking himself, he saw Sergeant Siler standing before him with a concerned look on his face. "Are you alright, sir?"

"Yeah," Jack muttered, straightening his shoulders. "Just…thinking."

Surprise registered briefly on the sergeant's face before he nodded. "Yes, sir."

Jack forced himself back into motion. "Just thinking I'll go get something to eat," he muttered, hurrying away. But he didn't go to the cafeteria, and his mind didn't rove far from thoughts of his cabin. And Carter. Carter staying in his cabin. Walking through the woods with her, eating dinner together…. The familiar fantasy seemed more like memory than imagination, so clear were the images. He sucked in a deep breath and slowed to a halt, not surprised to find himself outside her lab. Where else would he go? The door was open and Carter had something in pieces on her work bench. The sight irritated him somewhat; he knew damn well that she was meant to be resting too.

"Carter," he said from the doorway, nodding towards the disemboweled device on her bench. "What are you doing?"

She smiled guiltily. "Ah…I was just," she began, waving her hands nervously over the pieces.

"Just working?" he finished for her, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "I thought you were on sick leave."

"I am, sir," she nodded and pushed the device to one side. "I guess I just get… bored."

He smiled at that, with more affection that was strictly appropriate. "Sometimes," he said, "boredom is a good thing. Gives you time to think and relax – to take care of yourself."

She shrugged away the comment, her eyes brightening as she said, "So what about you, sir? Are you feeling better? Doctor Fraiser said she discharged you yesterday."

Jack nodded, his eyes flicking towards a chair she had nearby and wondering if it would undermine his macho image if he collapsed into it. The exhaustion thing had a habit of creeping up on him. But before he had time to say anything, Sam was moving. "Sit down," she said suddenly, tugging the chair towards her the bench. "I still feel a bit tired myself." Huh, so much for the macho image….

But he accepted the chair with a nod of thanks, noting the way her thoughts had somehow matched his own. They seemed to be doing that a lot these days. "So," he said as he sat back and stretched out his legs, "since I *know* you're not going to be spending the next week in your lab, what are you going to be doing, Carter?"

Sam sighed and shook her head. "Go home, I guess," she said. "There's a couple of books I've been wanting to read…."

"You're too pale," he said, not sure where the words came from, but meaning them nonetheless. She was too pale, her bright eyes sunken in hollow cheeks. "You look like you need some fresh air and sunshine, Carter. Don't just sit at home."

She looked a little doubtful, but her eyes lifted to his and in a soft voice she said, "You're going up to Minnesota?"

He hadn't really thought about it seriously, aside from his idle fantasies. But now that she said it, the idea was more than a little appealing. "I guess so," he nodded. "It's the right time of year for it." He grinned then. "Pretty handy missing the entire winter like that."

"We missed Christmas too," Sam pointed out sadly.

He smiled at her wistful sigh, but didn't respond. She smiled back, easy in the silence as they sat and pondered for a moment. Their gaze was still locked as an idea began to form in Jack's mind. It wasn't original, in fact it was one he'd long since assigned to the trash heap of ideas that never quite worked. But for some reason today, right then, with her expressive eyes so open and at ease, he thought that it might just be worth saying, "You could come with me?"

Sam blinked, but didn't need further explanation. "To your cabin?"

He nodded. "It would do you good. Lots of fresh air, plenty of time to relax and…."

"Okay."

Her swift answer floored him and he felt the surprise show on his face. "Okay?"

She nodded. "If you don't mind me tagging along."

"No," he replied hurriedly in a voice that was slightly higher than normal, "I don't mind at all. I just…." His eyes narrowed curiously. "What's changed?"

She didn't flinch away from the question or pretend she didn't understand him. Instead she just shrugged, pulling up one knee against her chest and wrapping her arms around it. "Something," she said quietly. "Something's changed. I feel…different."

He nodded, her words describing his own sense of the shift in their friendship. "There's a connection," he said carefully, in an attempt to explain it.

"Yes," Sam agreed, a slight flush bringing color to her cheeks, "but there was always a connection." She frowned. "It's more like…a link. An understanding. It's as though a certain tension has just… gone."

She was right, there was definitely a new sense of ease between them. It was almost as if some kind of subconscious barrier had simply disintegrated, bringing down the emotional walls that had held them apart. "I feel…closer to you," he said, hoping he wasn't saying too much. Whatever had happened on P7T-834, they still had a whole book of regulations to worry about.

But Sam didn't seem too concerned by his words, in fact she echoed them. "It's as thought we're…bound together somehow." Then, shaking her head, she laughed. "That sounds ridiculous."

Her comfortable laugh provoked his own. "It does," he agreed, "but it's exactly how I feel too." Then, more seriously he sat forward in his chair, his fingers close to hers but not touching. "Something happened," he said with a conviction he felt deeply. "Something happened between us, Sam. I can feel it."

"Yes," she agreed softly. "I feel it too, Jack."

He smiled at her rare use of his name and a flash of ardent emotion sparked between them. He nodded. "I'm glad," he said. "It…feels good to be this close."

"It does," she agreed with a flash of her heart-stopping smile. Their locked gaze flared heatedly for a moment, before it quickly cooled. But there was no pulling back this time, no slamming down of barriers, just an understanding that the time wasn't yet right.

"So you'll come?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "It sounds great," she agreed. "A little fishing, a little sunshine." She smiled again, "Good company."

Jack leaned back in his chair. "You know I have no fish, right?"

"It doesn't matter," she assured him, getting to her feet and picking up her jacket. "It's the *act* of fishing that matters."

Delight warmed his heart as he pushed himself back to his feet. "I couldn't have said it better myself," he told her, following her from the room. "And Sam," he added as her hand reached for the door handle.

She turned back to look at him over her shoulder, "Yes?"

"Someday we'll do more than fish."

She grinned again, a warm, happy grin that made him feel alive inside. "I know we will," she said simply. "And when we do, it'll be wonderful."

He met her smile with a grin of his own. "You know," he said, placing a friendly hand on her shoulder as they left, "I think this week's gonna be pretty damn good too."

Reaching up, Sam briefly squeezed his fingers where they rested on her shoulder. "And it's just the beginning," she agreed.

Jack nodded, taking his hand from her shoulder but feeling no less close to her. "I love beginnings," he said quietly. "But I can't wait for the rest of the story."

Sam smiled again and glanced at him with a sparkle in her eyes. "I'll settle for a beginning right now," she said. "It's better than nothing."

"Oh yeah," he agreed as they headed for the elevator. "It's a whole lot better than nothing." ~End~



End Notes: Thanks for reading! Feedback is always welcome at either reevesally@hotmail.com or Eken95@aol.com

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