*****
One moment, Sam was talking to the pretty little curly haired girl who insisted Sam knew who she was . . . then the hallucination was gone . . replaced by her father. It took several moments before his presence sank in and she blinked several times through the headache that split her skill in half. Jacob Carter sat down beside her, folding his hands on the table in front of him.
"Are you happy, Sam?"
"What?"
"Just answer the question."
"Well, at the moment things are a little rough. But generally speaking, yeah, I'm happy."
"No, you're not," he said with a small shake of his head. "You're content. You're satisfied. You're in control. And that's the problem."
Sam stared at a small tear on the blue tablecloth, processing her father's words. "Okay, I'm really not following you here."
"I'm saying you're missing something vital from your life, and the sad thing is that you have no idea what I'm talking about.
"I *am* happy. I've seen and done things most people couldn't even dream of. I have an incredible life."
"And yet, you're alone."
"Well, lately the dating scene has been a little stale. But, then again, I am marooned on a space ship."
"No. Always" Her father paused before he continued, leaning towards her to close the space between them. "For as long as she was alive, your mother showed me a world beyond just ambition and career. She gave my life meaning. And balance. And it was my honor to love her for the short time she was with me. And if I were young again, and I met her for the first time, even though I knew her fate, I would do it all over again. That . . . is love."
Sam fought the tears as long as she could, but hearing her father speak about the woman they both loved and no longer had made the emotions too strong to hold back. She let them fall as she listened.
"Sam, I know you've denied yourself the experience because you think it must inevitably end in pain and loneliness." He reached out and took her hand, and even though her logical mind knew the touch wasn't real, Sam sighed at the comfort her father's touch gave. "It's time to let go of the things that prevent you from finding happiness. You deserve to love someone. And be loved in return."
And then he was gone . . .
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
"All right, Carter. On your feet. Let's go."
The little girl was gone in the blink of Sam's eye, and the familiar form of Colonel Jack O'Neill filled the doorway across the room. His face was cast in shadows and his height a silhouette against the light.
"I was wondering when you were going to show up."
He tilted his head, his hands shoved in the front pockets of his khakis. "You just gonna sit there?"
"Too tired, Sir."
She watched him cross the room, raising her chin to keep her eyes on his face as he reached her. He bent forward and lowered himself to the floor with a soft groan. "Samantha . . . " he said slowly, and she thought to herself how odd it was to hear her full name coming from his mouth. "I'm a figment of your imagination. You're going to call me 'sir'?"
"Old habit. Sorry."
"So, you gonna save yourself, or what?"
"I've tried . . ."
"Just given up then?"
"I just don't know what else to do right now."
"You'll think of something."
Sam curled her lip between her teeth. "You came to give me a pep talk?"
"That's what friends are for . . ."
"Friends . . . "
"Hey! This is you talking here . . . Might as well be honest."
Sam allowed herself the luxury of just looking at Jack for several moments. Could it be that easy? Were the answers right here? Did she know the truth and all she had to do was ask?
"What if I quit the Air Force? Would that change anything, or is it just an excuse?"
He watched her, the smallest smile pulling at his lips, before answering. "I would never ask you to give up your career."
*That was no answer!* "Because you don't feel anything for me - - ?"
"Carter - - "
"I'd let you go right now if I knew."
"That easy?"
She paused, shaking her head. "I didn't say it would be easy."
"Then what's stopping you if you really want to know?"
"I'm trying . . . "
Jack drew a breath and shifted his position. "Maybe it's not me that's the problem here. Let's face it . . . I'm not that complex."
"Me?"
"Sam . . . I'm a safe bet."
She nodded, a heavy weight pressing on her chest. "As long as I'm thinking about you - setting my sights on what I think is unattainable - there's no chance of being hurt by someone else."
Jack smiled. "Jacob was right. You do deserve more."
Sam listened to his words, but wasn't sure she wanted to hear them. After so long . . . was this what it came down to? An imagined conversation with an illusion?
"I will always be there for you," Jack said. "No matter what. Believe me."
Sam nodded, choking back the emotion that thickened her throat. "So what now?"
"Go save your ass."
"One last thing . . . "
If he was, after all, a figment of her imagination . . . what harm would it do to just move over to him and lean in for one sweet, wonderful kiss? Would it finally cure her curiosity? Or would it just make her fantasies run wilder? Jack tilted his head, and waited.
"Nevermind."
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
"What's his name?"
"Now why would . . . ?"
"Humming - - "
"Pete Shanahan. He's a cop. It's not serious or anything."
"And yet, humming . . ."
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
"Something is going on with you! You haven't tried to confuse me with any scientific babble for the last couple of days and that's a *red flag* to me," Jack said adamantly, standing across the table from Sam, pointing at her.
Her heart had jumped when he spoke from the doorway, and when she looked up at him, it had jumped again. How much could she take? How crazy was this? She should have stopped reacting to him like this long ago. But when had he started pushing his sleeves up to his elbows like that? It was damn sexy, and damn distracting . . . Sam could barely think.
But she had to think. Course, Jack would say she was thinking too much. Two weeks too much? Before she could talk herself out of it, she reached to her right and picked up the small, black velvet box that she kept nearby to force herself to never forget a decision had to be made. She held it out to him.
"Pete gave me this."
Jack's gaze fell to the box. He reached for it, but she saw in his dark eyes that he knew what it was. He opened the small box with a creak, his eyebrows arching when he saw the ring inside.
"People normally wear these on their fingers . . . "
"I haven't said yes."
He looked down again at the box. "And yet . . . you haven't said no." The box snapped shut with a crack that made Sam flinch.
"I told him I needed to think about it."
Jack drew a breath. "And . . .?"
He set the velvet box down on her table with an audible thump.
"That was two weeks ago . . . "
"Ah . . . "
Uncomfortable silence - something that only occurred between them when the topic of Pete came up - stretched between them. Jack set his palms on the table and leaned forward. Sam steeled her rioting nerves.
"You know, all these years I've been concentrating on work, I just assumed that one day I would - - "
"Have a life?"
She met his gaze, hating yet understanding what she saw there. He still understood her . . . still knew her thoughts.
Together, they both nodded and softly said "Yeah . . ."
Sam offered her arguments . . . the risks, the unfairness to someone sharing her life, the thought of being a mother and not knowing what the future held . . . but for each argument, Jack had an answer. Was she hoping he would tell her she was right? She couldn't do this? She couldn't marry Pete? Instead, since he had from the beginning, Jack offered her only his support. Finally, Sam sighed.
"What about you? If things had been different . . . " She stopped herself. The question was too dangerous . . . the possible answer too risky.
Jack stared at her, his eyes a dark mask to whatever thoughts stirred behind them. Then his lips parted, and he drew a slow breath. "I wouldn't be here . . ."
Sam held her breath as he watched her, and when she thought her lungs would explode with the burning need for oxygen, he dropped his gaze, turned and silently left the room.
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
*Why did her father have to glare at Pete like that? Why was he being so . . . hardassed! This was exactly what she had been nervous about! God, Pete . . . please, PLEASE don't say anything . . . stupid!*
"This is great," Pete finally said after several moments of unbearable silence. Maybe there was hope. "You really got one of those things in your head?"
*Oh, God! No! NO!*
"If by 'one of those things' you mean a two-thousand year old Tok'ra symbiote? . . . yes."
Sam barely suppressed her groan. This was going down hill sooooo fast. Where was Thor with his light beam when she needed him? Thing was, she wasn't sure *who* she wanted him to beam out the most.
"Seriously . . . come on!" Pete said with a nervous chuckle. "That has got to freak you *right* out sometimes. It's weird!"
Jacob shifted his disapproving gaze from Pete to Sam, and Sam tried to smile, but knew it wasn't all that convincing. She half expected Selmak to flash his eyes - just for the pure effect of it - and make his presence known. But instead, her father just looked at her - waiting for her to do something to save the moment.
But salvation came in another form. A soft rap at the door.
"Dad!"
"Hello, Jack."
So much for salvation! Sam closed her eyes for the one brief moment she thought she could allow herself before she opened them again, and found Pete looking at her with a question in his eyes.
"Sorry I wasn't in the Gate Room to meet you . . . stuff you know. Hey, Carter."
"Sir . . . you remember Pete?"
Jack extended his hand to Pete, who took it, but the wide smile had disappeared from his face. A smile was still there, just much less . . sincere.
"Sure, I do," Jack said and Sam almost heard the *how could I not?* follow up behind.
"Pete, this is General Jack O'Neill . . . Commanding Officer of the SGC."
"I remember you from the . . . the woman with the glowing eyes . . . Goa'uld? . . . I'm still learning the - - "
"Pete - - " Sam said low, cutting him off.
"Yes, well . . . Would love to chat, but I can't stay. Things to do . . requisition forms to authorize . . . fun, fun . . ." Jack tossed a casual salute to her father. "Good to have you back for awhile, Jacob. You know where I am if you're interested in a good game of chess."
"Thanks, Jack."
Jack nodded at Pete, then at her. "Pete . . . Carter . . . enjoy."
When his gaze connected with hers, Sam's insides clenched. He arched one eyebrow, just the slightest degree, and she reflectively pulled her lower lip between her teeth. Then he turned on his boot heels and left the room, leaving her alone once again with Pete and her father.
The staring match resumed.
"So . . . Sam told me you were a General before you . . . uh . . ."
"Chose to merge with my symbiote."
"Yeah."
"Yes, I was."
*Silence*
"Well, Sam and I are both glad you were able to make it back for the wedding . . . I mean, I know - -"
Sam stopped short at a second knock at the door. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Colonel Carter."
"It's okay, Sergeant Harriman."
"The General needs to speak with you on an urgent matter."
"Oh, of course. Tell him I'll be right there." Sam turned to Pete. "I'm sorry, but I guess we're going to have to cut this short. I thought we'd have more time . . . "
"No, that's okay. We can all talk later, right?"
"Sure . . . "
Pete extended his hand to her father again. "It was great to meet you, sir."
Her father didn't say anything, just bowed his head and *kind of* smiled. Sam took hold of Pete's arm and led him back out of the VIP quarters to the elevator.
"He does that a lot, doesn't he?"
"Who?"
"The General. He wants you and you drop everything . . . "
"That's my job, Pete."
"What if he needs you for some big emergency on our wedding day? Would you drop everything?"
Sam stopped and faced Pete, lowering her voice so the Sergeant at the end of the hall wouldn't hear them. "Are you *trying* to start an argument?"
"How many times have we had to reschedule or completely cancel plans because General O'Neill wanted or needed you for something?"
"Pete, I'm in the Air Force . . . this is no surprise to you. And more importantly, I am involved in a project that sometimes requires I be here when I don't want to be . . . also, no surprise to you. Why are you saying this now?"
"I'll ask again . . . if he told you he needed you on our wedding day, would you go?"
An image flashed in her mind - for just one second - of Jack O'Neill standing in front of her with his hands on her arms. "I need you . . . "
She blinked hard. "He wouldn't."
"You don't think so?"
"That's right."
"Why not?"
Sam stared at him for several seconds, grinding her teeth against the half dozen remarks that floated in her mind. She wouldn't allow Pete to instigate an argument like this - not here, not now. Instead, she turned on her heels and walked to the elevator. He followed. Their good-bye was cursory, and there was no embarrassing peck on the cheek like when he arrived. When the doors closed, Sam released a breath.
Several minutes later, she knocked on Jack's door and he looked up from his report. "How was my timing?"
"Perfect, Sir. Thank you."
***** "Sorry about that, Sir."
"Emergency?"
"No, just a - a misunderstanding."
Jack kept his attention on the folder still open on the table. Even after more than a decade in Special Ops, he didn't know if he had enough self control to school his expression. So, he flipped pages and made stupid notes in the margins that meant nothing, nodding his head at her explanation.
"Weren't you supposed to meet Pete at the florist this morning?" Jacob Carter asked as he moved to his feet.
"No, *Dad*," Sam said sharply.
Jack hazarded a quick glance from Sam to her father, then back to his report.
"No, I'm sure that's what you said . . . for the wedding."
"I *know*."
*Okay, this was just too damn much to listen to.* Jack raised his head, drawing a fortifying breath. "Go ahead, Carter. It's supposed to be your day off anyway."
"It's okay, Sir . . ."
"Nah, Teal'c and Bra'tac are meeting with the Jaffa . . . there's nothing to do around here. Go pick flowers!" And with the best smile he could muster, Jack turned and walked back to his office.
He dropped the report on the corner of his desk, and sank heavily into his chair, resisting the urge to scrub his face with his hands. Through the glass window, he saw Sam and her father talk for a few minutes more - Sam looking like she had just swallowed the largest bug known to man - before she turned on her heels and left down the staircase to the control room.
A few minutes later, Jacob stood in his doorway. "Got a minute, Jack?"
"For you, Jacob . . . any time!" Jack said, sweeping his hand from the general vicinity of the door to the empty chair across the room.
Jacob shut the door and moved to one of the chairs on the opposite side of Jack's desk. With a heavy sigh, he sat, tugging at the brown leather tunic all Tok'ra seemed to wear. The older man seemed to take a moment, closing his eyes as he ran a hand over his thinning hair and along the back of his neck. He looked tired - more tired than Jack could ever recall seeing him. Or any Tok'ra, for that matter. Jack folded his hands on the desk, and waited.
Finally, Jacob opened his eyes again, drawing in a deep breath. "What do you think of Pete Shanahan?"
"I don't know him."
"But you have an opinion of him."
"Why does my opinion matter?"
"Jack, don't BS me."
Jack arched his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair, finding a pen that he could fiddle with. He bounced it, end over end, focusing on the pen instead of the man across from him.
"I have . . . concerns."
"Tell me."
Jack looked up, meeting Jacob's stare. "Jacob - - " But the man's solid gaze was enough to tell Jack he wanted to hear the truth. "The only reason Pete Shanahan knows about the Stargate, the SGC, or even *you* for that matter, is because he followed Carter and stuck his nose where it didn't belong. I told George to give him clearance because it was either that or force her to make up some unbelievable lie."
"You don't trust him."
"I don't know him, Jacob. But no, he's never given me a reason to trust him."
"So, you don't like him . . ."
Jack tossed the pen across the desk. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because I trust your instincts, Jack."
*What if my instincts were to accidentally dial Netu and send Pete Shanahan through?* But Jack kept the thought to himself, and focused again on flipping the pen end over end.
"I think I have my answer, anyway . . ."
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
Sam followed Pete through the empty rooms of the house that was now apparently *theirs*. He was so happy - so pleased with himself for doing this for her - and for surprising her so completely - she just couldn't bring herself to tell him the truth.
And doubted she ever would . . .
The house she had described that night . . . the *house she always wanted* . . . it had just been the description of a house she had seen in a magazine. But he had pushed so hard that night for her to tell him, wanted to 'get to know her' so badly, that she made it up.
How was she to know he'd hunt down a near replica and *buy* it without telling her first?
Not that it wasn't a beautiful house . . . it was. Georgous, really.
But right now, Sam's insides were doing funny flips and she wondered for a moment if the plumbing actually worked because lunch wasn't feeling right in her stomach.
Pete took her hand and let her through the dining room, and Sam had to admit the built in china cabinet was wonderful. She wanted to be ecstatic - knew any other woman in her position would be - and hoped for Pete's sake she was putting up a good front.
"So, here's the kitchen. Like I said, it's not yellow, but we can fix that easy enough. It's the first thing you can put on my 'honey do' list."
"Your what?"
"'Honey do' list . . . you know . . . honey, do this and honey, do that . ."
Sam smiled and laughed. "Oh! I get it." She looked around the kitchen. It wasn't a huge kitchen, but then again, she wasn't much of a cook so that wasn't a big deal to her. The cabinets were a light colored wood, and the countertops a rose granite. She tried to imagine the backsplashes in yellow, and somehow the color didn't seem to mesh.
*Yellow went great with white cabinets and simple counters. Clean. Efficient.*
"So, what do you think?"
Sam looked at her fiancé. He was smiling so wide she thought his face might crack, and his grip on her hand was firm, like he was afraid she might run from the house screaming.
"It's beautiful, Pete. Thank you."
He pulled her into an embrace, and as Sam rested her chin in his shoulder, she looked past him to the empty rooms beyond. It could work *It had to work!* This was going to be her home.
And she loved it.
Positive thinking . . . *You love it, Sam. You love it.*
*You love it, because you love him.*
Pete pulled back, but held her close with his hands at her waist. "Look, Honey. I want to apologize for the other day when I met your dad. I don't know why I said those things . . . I guess it was finally putting a face to all those times you've been called away. I guess I resent Jack O'Neill more than I realized."
"Pete - - "
"I know . . . it's stupid. He's doing his job. You're doing yours. I just can't help it. The two of you worked together for a long time, going off world together and stuff . . . and I guess I'm jealous that he gets to share a part of you that I can't."
Sam looked down, focusing her attention on one brown button on his shirt. She was afraid to look into her own fiance's eyes when he spoke of Jack O'Neill like that. What would he think if he knew the truth? Of what she and Jack had once admitted to each other?
She realized Pete had asked her a question, and she looked up again, blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I asked if General O'Neill is married."
"Oh. Uh, no. He was . . . once. But not now."
"I was going to say we should invite him and . . . whomever . . . over for dinner after we're moved in."
"Um, sure," she forced herself to say. But the thought of sharing dinner with her husband and her . . . and Jack O'Neill . . . her stomach did another odd flip.
"Come on. Let me show you that back yard."
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
*And the Emmy-Tony-Grammy-He-can-look-you-in-the-face-and-lie-to-you-Award goes to General Jack O'Neill!*
Jack sat on his couch, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, a beer dangling from his fingertips. He stared at the open cell phone in his other hand, the number for the SGC already on the screen. All he had to do was dial.
He wanted to check in on Jacob - and on Sam - but right now he felt like the biggest bastard on the planet. Take that back - the planet was too small a point of reference. The galaxy . . . course, now that they had expanded to the Pegasus galaxy he could just as easily be the biggest bastard ever there, too.
His list of grievances was too long to itemize, but the worst of them pounded in his head like a snare drum.
He should have told Sam about Kerry instead of letting her find out the way she did . . .
He should have been honest with Kerry about why he didn't want anyone to know . . . it wasn't 'anyone' . . . it was Sam.
And he stood there . . . like some stupid asshole . . . while Sam was trying to tell him - God, he couldn't even begin to wrap his brain around what she might have been saying - too chicken to say anything because he was afraid of getting caught with his proverbial hand in someone else's cookie jar!
Pissed off at himself, Jack poked the dial button and put the phone to his ear. He asked to be transferred directly to the infirmary, and spent the next several minutes speaking with the base doctor. Things weren't good. Jacob Carter had collapsed, and after being moved to the infirmary, had informed the doctor that Selmak was dying. Deadly toxins from the symbiote's body had already begun to seep into Jacob's system.
There was no hope of survival.
Jack closed his eyes, listening to the doctor's prognosis.
"How long?" he finally asked.
"It could be any time, Sir. He's weakening quickly."
Jack hunched forward further, bracing his forehead against the palm of his hand. A heavy ache pressed against his chest. *Jacob Carter* He hadn't known the man long, not quite six years. But he respected the man, and the thought of his death . . .
"Is Colonel Carter with him?"
"Yes, Sir."
He cleared his throat and shifted his feet, trying to figure a way to word this . . . "Has she . . . been informed?"
"Of the prognosis? Yes, Sir. Jacob wanted to do that himself."
"Ah . . . ok. Were you present when . . . " *Damnit!*
"I was in the observation area at the time, Sir. Colonel Carter appeared upset, but had apparently accepted the news."
*Gee, that's helpful!*
"Alright. Thanks, Doc."
"Thank you, General."
Jack slapped the phone shut and let his hand fall loose between his knees. With a sigh, he raised his head and opened his eyes. Kerry sat across from him in the deep, leather chair by the fireplace, her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap.
"What's up?" she asked.
"I need to go in."
"*Need* to?"
Jack stood up, setting his beer on the coffee table. "Yeah."
"I didn't hear the phone ring."
"It didn't. I called in."
"Oh." She didn't move from the chair, watching as he collected his wallet and keys from the shelf behind the couch. "Is this about Colonel Carter's father?"
"He's a Tok'ra ally," was the only explanation he offered.
"And a friend?"
Jack stopped, his wallet half way into his back pocket. "Yeah, he's a friend."
"So, why didn't you say that, Jack?"
Jack finished shoving his wallet into his pocket and picked up his keys. He crossed the room, and leaned over to quickly kiss her lips. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll see you later."
He didn't let out the curse until he was in his truck, and backing out the driveway.
*****
Jack paused in the doorway of the infirmary, wanting to be sure he wouldn't be in the way before he went in. Two nurses moved around the room, one taking readings from a monitor near the head of Jacob's bead, the other adjusting the flow of liquid in his IV.
"Come on in, Jack," Jacob said, rolling his head slowly on the pillow.
Jack pushed his hands into his pockets and crossed the space, sitting down on the bench left beside the bed. "Guess I shouldn't ask how you're doing?"
Jacob Carter chuckled softly. "No, probably not."
Jack tried not to look too hard at the older man's face. Looking into the eyes of a man facing his own mortality always gave Jack a sense of . . déjà vu? Mortality? The creeps? But when it was a man like Jacob Carter, someone who Jack respected above most men, it was especially hard. The nurses finished what they needed to do, and left the two men alone.
He worked his hands together, focusing on the hinges and joints of the hospital bed. "I thought Carter would be here."
"I sent her to the mess. Told her to eat something and not come back until she did." Jacob tried to laugh. "I also told her she still has to listen to me."
Jack smiled. "I bet she *loved* that."
"She's just humoring me."
Jack looked up. A fine sheen of sweat covered Jacob's face, either from fever or pain that he was doing his best to hide from Sam. If father and daughter were anything alike - and from what Jack had seen in the last few years, they were cut from the same stone - he would bet on the latter. Jacob looked tired, but troubled.
"What can I do . . ." Jack asked.
"Take care of her, Jack."
The corner of his right eye twitched as he tried to school his expression. "I take care of all my people, Jacob. You know that."
"But that's not what I mean, Jack. And you know *that*."
"It's not my job."
"But it should be."
Jack drew a slow breath in threw his nostrils. "What are you saying, Jacob?"
Jacob huffed and turned away. "You two really are meant for each other. Stubborn headed and so damn determined to *follow the rules* you're willing to destroy each other in the process."
They sat in silence, Jacob stewing and staring off into the dark corners of the room and Jack trying to find what to say. He drew in a breath and released it, puffing his cheeks, and paused with his lips parted before speaking.
"This is better, Jacob."
"Is it?" Jacob immediately snapped his attention back to Jack, his eyes intense. "For who?"
"For her."
"Why?"
Jack leaned forward so he could keep his voice low. "Look, Jacob. Obviously, it's going to do me *no* good to deny anything here. But I'm not going to make any declarations, either. Or promises. She's with Shanahan. He's better for her."
"Better than you . . . "
"Damn straight."
"She doesn't love him like she loves you."
Jacob might as well have taken a sledgehammer from behind the bed and slammed Jack in the middle of his chest - it would have had just about the same effect.
"What . . . does that surprise you?"
Jack stood up and walked to the foot of the bed, tapping his finger on the top of the chart hanging there. Hell, yeah . . . it surprised him. The first time Samantha Carter looked at him with *that* smile, it shocked the hell right out of him. The first time she met his gaze across the conference table and he felt that *click*, it nearly blew him away. And four years ago, when they looked at each other through that damn force field - and he had thought 'this is it' - and saw *everything* in her face, he was pretty damn sure he had imagined the whole thing.
The day she told him about Pete Shanahan - especially the day she told him about the proposal - he convinced himself it had all been his imagination.
So, yeah . . . the thought of *anyone* thinking Samantha Carter loved *him* . . . yeah, that surprised him.
"I didn't like you when I first met you, you know."
Jack tipped his mouth in a lopsided grin. "I get that a lot."
"Know why?"
"Well, it couldn't have been because of my sparkling personality."
"It was the way she looked at you. And more importantly . . . the way you looked at her. To be honest, I pegged you for a manipulating CO who had already managed to somehow coerce my bright, beautiful daughter into an illicit affair."
Jack arched his eyebrows. "Really?"
"Yeah. But Sam told me I was crazy. And, after joining with Selmak and being more involved with the SGC, I learned first hand that it was the truth. And I changed my mind about you, Jack."
"I would never - - "
"I know you wouldn't. You haven't. And neither would she. You two should get medals for your self control."
Jack was getting more uncomfortable by the minute, and glanced towards the door. Maybe if Sam came back, Jacob would drop the line of conversation. *Please, if there is a God . . . *
"I tried telling her this, but she wasn't listening either. Jack, you were a father. Hell, in my book, you still are. Of all the things you want for your kid the first time they put them in your arms, isn't the top one just for them to be happy?"
Jack stared off into space and nodded. Then he turned his focus back to Jacob. "She's happy. Right?"
Jacob sighed. "Look at her, Jack. Next time you're with her, really look. Don't look at her as her CO. Don't look at her with walls because you're afraid of seeing something you're not supposed to. Look at her. See what you know is there."
Jack shook his head. "And then what?"
"You'll have to decide that, Jack."
"And that would be okay with you?"
Jacob smiled. "You're finally getting it."
Jack walked back to the stool and sat down, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You know, I think this is the first time I had 'the talk with Dad' that didn't end with a list of all the reason I was no good for their daughter."
Jacob raised his hand from the blankets where it rested at his side, and set it on Jack's shoulder with a firm pat. "You're a good man, Jack. I've seen that for a long time. So has Sam. You're good for her."
"I won't ask her to choose, Jacob."
"I hope you won't have to."
"Won't have to what?"
Both men turned to see Sam come into the room, an elder Tok'ra representative following behind her. Jack sat back, Jacob's hand falling from his shoulder as he reached for the new visitor.
"Janmack, my friend."
As the two Tok'ra men fell into conversation, Jack slipped from the room. He glanced back to see Sam standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her body, watching her father. She turned and looked at him. Jack paused and met her gaze, letting a small smile touch his lips. Sam's lips bowed up, her head tilting to the side, and they stared at each other for several beats of his heart before she turned back to her father.
Jack drew in a long, slow breath to restricted lungs and with his head bowed, walked down the hall to his office. As usual, a stack of reports and paperwork waited for him, but as he tried to focus on them, his mind out and out refused. He was bouncing his pen end over end and staring into space with his chin in his hand when Kerry knocked on his door.
"How is Colonel Carter's father?" she asked, stepping into the room.
Jack sat up straighter, but didn't try all that hard to hide the fact that Jacob Carter's impending death sat like a one ton weight on his shoulders. "It doesn't look good."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
Kerry glanced out the window to the briefing room, and generally looked uncomfortable, before she took a step backwards and eased the door shut. Since this was something they said probably wasn't a good idea when they were alone, it definitely struck Jack as odd.
"Closing the door . . . "
"Yeah," she said, stepping towards his desk. "Deeply symbolic."
Kerry sighed and gave him an odd smile, and Jack knew exactly what was coming. And instead of dreading it, or at the least wishing she would stop and rethink before she spoke . . . one thought came to him.
*Here we go.*
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
The room where Jacob Carter died was silent now, and completely dark except for the light that came in from the hallway outside. Sam sat on the stool beside the now empty bed, soaking in the darkness and the silence.
She had told Jack she was okay. And it hadn't been a lie, not really. Every day for the rest of her life she would be thankful for the last six years with her father. But it still hurt. There was this gaping hole in her chest that sucked at her lungs and pressed against her heart. She felt lost. Not like when her mother died . . . her mother had been ripped away from her with no mercy. This was calmer, kinder . . but brought back so many memories Sam fought to categorize them all.
"You shouldn't be alone."
She didn't look up, but drew a breath as his voice drifted through the room. Sam dropped her head forward and toyed with the crumbled ball of tissue in her hand.
"I don't think I should be with people, either."
Jack crossed the room, coming up behind her, and sat down on the edge of the bed close enough that his knee brushed her arm as he sat back. "Okay, how about just me, then."
Sam looked up and tried to smile. There was just enough light that she could see the angles of his features, and the darkness made his brown eyes look almost black. He linked his hands together, letting them rest relaxed in his lap, with his sleeves pushed up to past his elbows. As he twiddled his thumbs, the muscles of his lower arms bunched and curled and Sam focused on the motion . . . letting herself get lost in the simple act rather than think too hard about what the next few days would bring.
"Have you called Mark?"
Sam shook her head. "Not yet. I just can't . . . yet."
"Do you want me - - "
"No," she said quickly. "No, I just . . . thank you."
Jack nodded and went back to twirling his thumbs around each other. Sam realized, with a heavy ache in her chest, that more than anything else she wanted to lean over and rest her head in his lap and close her eyes against the rest of the world. She knew that if she did it, he wouldn't push her away or tell her to be strong. *Chin up, soldier!* But she knew it was wrong.
Especially now that she knew about Kerry Johnson.
"Carter, your dad asked me to take care of some things . . . "
Sam looked up again. "Like what?"
"Some of the arrangements. I don't think he wanted you to have to worry about them. But if you preferred I didn't - - "
Sam stood up so they were more eye to eye. "Thank you . . . Sir."
His lips tipped up in a lopsided grin, then straightened again. "Why don't you head home? I'll call you tomorrow with the specifics."
Sam nodded and sighed. The thought of leaving the base pressed down on her chest like an elephant's foot. She'd have to go home and begin the phone calls. Pete . . . Mark . . . Aunt Olivia . . . all the other relatives and friends.
"I'll take care of the military personnel calls . . . "
Sam shifted her gaze back to him. *Walter Harriman had nothing on Jack O'Neill when it came to the ESP business . . . * "Thank you, Sir."
"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Thanking me."
He slid off the bed, coming easily to his feet. Where Sam stood, his action brought them within a breath of each other and just for a moment she felt herself sway towards him. The sob surprised her, ambushing the tight fist of control she had maintained on her emotions since her father's final words. It ripped through her and yanked all air from her lungs with its ferocity.
Jack wrapped her in his arms, holding her head beneath his chin with one large, sure hand. He didn't speak, didn't make those annoying *shushing* sounds people made when they wanted you to stop crying. He just held her in the dark.
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
Sam's house was in darkness when she pulled into the driveway that night, and she was thankful for the solitude. She needed time to think. Time to sort things through. To reconcile herself with the chaos of the last twenty-four hours.
She entered the house through the garage, and dropped her bag and keys on the kitchen counter. Moving on auto pilot, she took a glass from the cupboard and poured some merlot from the open bottle in the refrigerator. But when she lifted the glass to her lips, the pungent, fruity aroma only succeeded in making her empty stomach churn. Sam set the glass down untouched.
There were still phone calls to make, but until the arrangements were made most of the calls could wait. The worst calls were over. Mark was done. And he promised to relay the news to as much family as he could reach. Fewer calls for her to make tomorrow.
She had tried to reach Pete, but his Sergeant told her he was on duty until midnight. Which, she knew, but somehow the days had merged together along the way and she had forgotten.
Her stomach rumbled, protesting its lack of food, but she couldn't seem to rally enough enthusiasm to make anything. As she left the kitchen, walking down the hall to her bedroom, the doorbell rang. Sam checked her watch. Who would be here this late?
She opened the door to see a teenage boy with an acne-ridden face wearing a "Luigi's Pizzaria" hat.
"Yes?"
"Uh, you . . . " He turned the pizza box he was holding to read a piece of paper on top. "Samantha Carter?"
"Yes."
"Here ya go."
"I didn't order a pizza."
He shrugged and pushed it towards her. "Not my problem, lady. It's prepaid, and I'm just told to deliver, that's all. Oh, and here."
Sam begrudgingly took the pizza box, and then the cold six pack of Diet Coke he picked up off her porch. He jumped clear of her steps and climbed in his car, leaving her standing in her open doorway, bewildered. Then the aroma of pineapple and ham drifted up from the box, and Sam's stomach growled.
She went back in the house and to the kitchen, setting the pizza down on the counter. Flicking the overhead light on, she stared at the box. But when her stomach growled again, Sam decided she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
She flipped back the box cover, and immediately smiled. Scrawled in black marker - in a hand she had learn to recognize on sight years ago - was a message.
*Carter ~ Eat! That's an order. J~*
Sam smiled, and lifted a slice of ham and pineapple pizza - a combination Jack claimed he couldn't *stand* yet always managed to snag at least one slice from her 'half' when they got one - to her mouth.
*****
"Are you sure you want to do this, honey?"
"Of course, I do. Why wouldn't I?"
Sam pulled her car up in front of Jack's house, where well over a dozen other cars were already parked in the driveway and along the street. The house and yard was well lit, with strings of Chinese lanterns extending out to the side yard. She engaged the parking break and reached for her bag, but Pete gently grabbed her wrist.
"Sam, your father just died."
She stared at him for a moment, and tilted her head to the side. "I know that, Pete."
"Your family starts arriving tomorrow morning for the wake and funeral. It has been a crazy few days. Do you really think that a party at General O'Neill's house is where you should be?"
Sam sat back in her seat, the leather squeaking beneath her movement. "Pete, this party is in honor of my father. This is what he wanted. The people here tonight are my father's friends."
"I know that, but - -"
Sam opened the door and climbed out of the car before Pete had a time to finish the thought. He met her at the back of the car, his hand coming to the small of her back.
"Sam, I just don't want you pushing yourself to hard."
"I can decide that."
Pete sighed. "Okay. But if you feel overwhelmed, you just say the word and we're out of here."
Sam bit the inside of her cheek. Ever since Pete had heard about her father's death, he had been treating her like she was some china doll. Or worse, a child who had just dropped her ice cream cone and could burst into tears at any moment.
*Well, she wasn't and she wouldn't and she resented the fact that he even suspected she might!*
They walked to the front door, and Sam knocked. Jack opened it moments later, a giant bowl of potato chips held in the crook of his other arm.
"Carter, why the hell'd you knock? Get in here."
The house was full of people, mostly military personnel and their families, and the crowd spilled out into the back yard through the patio doors in the living room. Sam led Pete through the crowd, introducing him to everyone as they went.
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
Jack stood at the sink in the kitchen, slicing limes on the sideboard for the Coronas, when he sensed her come into the room. It had been that way for a long, long time. Just something about the change in the air, or the pressure on his nerves, that told him Sam Carter was nearby.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Hey."
"Need any help?"
"Nah, I'm just about done here." He finished with the last lime, and scraped the wedges into a bowl of ice. "Stay right here."
Sam nodded, and Jack stuck his head out into the hall. "Hey, Walter!"
Harriman came up from the living room, and Jack handed off the limes, telling him where to take them out back. Then he went back to the kitchen, finding Sam leaning into the corner of the counter with her hands braced on the edge near her hips.
"There are a lot of people here," she said, glancing through the window to the back yard.
"A lot of people knew Jacob."
Sam turned back to him, and their gazes connected. He welcomed the familiar clenching in his gut that came whenever her blue eyes met his like that.
"Thank you, Sir. For everything."
"I thought I told you to stop thanking me."
Sam smiled, but it was melancholy and lacked her usual spark. He knew it would come back eventually, but he still missed it and wished there was something he could do to bring it back. She glanced back out the window, her eyes searching. Then she seemed to find what she was looking for, and relaxed again.
"Find him?"
She glanced at him quickly, and Jack was surprised to actually see a pink flush stain her cheeks. "Yeah. He's talking to General Hammond."
"Do you want to go?"
"No, actually I was looking for him to make sure he'd be occupied for a few minutes. I needed some space."
Pete had been hovering around Sam like a fly around honey since they arrived, unwilling to let her too far out of his sight. *So* not what she needed. Jack knew that . . .
Maybe someday, Pete would, too.
The thought nearly made him wince in pain.
"If you really want to hide out . . . "
Sam shook her head. "I'm not that desperate . . . yet. But watch for my signal, okay?"
"No problem. I got your six - *back* - I've got your back."
Sam laughed softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. *Good! Great! Just keep going and you'll have her smile lit up like a birthday cake in no time!*
"This is quite a party," she said as her chuckle died.
"Your father knew how to throw a shin dig."
Sam gave a half-hearted laugh. "Must have learned it from the Tok'ra."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Not much of a party animal before Selmak?"
"Not even close."
"That bad?"
She smiled then, the kind that reached all the way to her blue eyes, but her gaze was off somewhere else. A long time ago.
"He once hired a clown for my birthday. Balloon animals, stupid magic tricks, the works."
"Clowns are good."
Then she looked at him, one eyebrow tipped higher than the other. "I was seventeen."
"Ouch."
"Yeah."
They laughed together, but it was short lived as Pete rounded the corner from the hall into the kitchen, a glass of blush Chablis in his hand. Sam cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her body.
"I wondered where you were hiding," he said, crossing the room to press a kiss to Sam's cheek.
Jack didn't want to watch, but found himself trapped like a squirrel stuck in the headlights of an oncoming semi. He just couldn't look away. As Pete's lips touched her cheek, her eyes snapped up to meet Jack's gaze, then she quickly looked away.
"I've been hearing some very interesting stories out there. You should come out and sit with us, honey. Oh, and here. I brought you a Chablis."
Sam took the glass, forcing a smile. "Thank you."
Pete shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, grinning like a fool, and Jack did his best to look like it was the easiest thing in the world to be standing here with the two of them. *Nope, didn't bother me . . . not in the least bit . . . and if you believe that, I've got some prime real estate on Chulak . . .*
"Do you like this yellow, honey?"
Sam's head snapped around to look at Pete. "What?"
"The yellow in the General's kitchen here, do you like it?"
"She should," Jack chimed in. "She helped me pick it out." *Helped me paint, too.* Jack didn't think Pete needed to know about how hot she had looked in her paint-splattered tee shirt and cut-off overalls. Or how Jack had admired the view of her backside when she knelt on his counter to reach the space above the cabinets . . . no, he probably shouldn't share that information.
Jack blinked and cleared his throat to push back the oh-so-pleasant memories. He turned his focus back to Sam and Pete, and by Sam's glare, Jack got the clear and distinct impression that *whatever* it was he just said . . . he definitely shouldn't have said it.
Or maybe it was the look on his face when he said it?
This time, he fought harder to suppress the grin.
"Oh," Pete said, his smile relaxing a little. "Then I guess you probably like it. I don't think this color will work in the house, though. Too pale. Did Sam tell you we bought a house?"
He stepped closer to Sam, circling her shoulders with his arm to pull her closer. Jack was no idiot, despite popular belief. Pete could have screamed *She's mine!* and it couldn't have been any louder. Jack gave a lopsided smile, doing his best to be the courteous host, and to keep off his face any expression that would give away the twisting in his gut.
"She did. Congratulations. I hear it's beautiful."
Sam smiled at her fiancé, and he seemed pleased with both Jack's answer and her grin. But Jack kept his eyes on Sam. Did Shanahan even realize she had pulled back when he put his arm around her, and did he see the strain in her smile? He was pushing his limits, and if he didn't back off, he was going to have one angry blonde on his hands with the capacity to hurt him in ways he could only imagine. Jack knew, because he had taught her half those moves himself.
That thought brought a smirk to his lips.
"Hey, Pete!" General Hammond shouted from the living room below, his voice carrying through the house. "Come on back out."
"Are you coming?" he asked Sam.
"I'll be out soon."
He seemed satisfied with her answer, and with another kiss on her cheek - one Sam did her best not to pull back from, Jack observed - Shanahan left them alone in the kitchen. As soon as he was gone, Jack pushed away from the counter to cross the space to her. Without a word, he picked up her glass of Chablis, poured it down the sink, rinsed out the glass, and poured her a new glass of merlot from a bottle he kept in the refrigerator. She smiled as he handed it to her.
"Thank you. I hate Chablis."
"I know."
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
Sam sat at her dining room table, one foot resting on the chair seat with her chin on her bent knee. She did her best to stifle a yawn behind her hand, and blinked against the lead that weighed down her eyelids. It was nearly 2400 hours, and Mark and Amy had just laid her nephew and niece down in the guest room. Their flight had been delayed, and Pete had just returned from picking them up at the airport.
Mark and Pete came out of the kitchen, each carrying two cups of steaming coffee. Mark set one down in front of Amy, and Pete set his extra in front of Sam. She noticed with a grimace that he had put milk in it, but didn't say anything. It's not like she planned on drinking much of it anyway.
"Is there anything left to be taken care of?" Mark asked, sipping at his coffee. "Sammie, I'm sorry we couldn't get here sooner. I tried, but work gave Amy a hard time about leaving on such short notice and we couldn't get a flight - -"
Sam shook her head. "It's okay. I know you tried, Mark. Everything is taken care of."
"Everything? How did you manage all that alone?"
Pete cleared his throat, and hid his annoyance by taking a long drink of his coffee. Sam shot a glance in his direction before answering her brother. For whatever reason, her fiancé had a problem with Jack's help in the process, and he had been more than vocal about it.
"I didn't do it alone. My General at the base took care of most of it. Dad asked him to." She glared at Pete again when she made the final point.
"Jack?"
Her attention snapped back to Mark when he said Jack's name. She knew she probably looked surprised, and outright confused. "Yeah . . . how did you know . . . ?"
"Dad mentioned him several time. Jack O'Neill, right? Used to be your Colonel. Headed up your research team. But he was promoted last year."
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
"Will he be at the services?"
"Yes."
"Great. I look forward to meeting him."
Pete remained quiet, apparently finding the bottom of his coffee cup completely fascinating. Sam's cheeks burned hot, and if she couldn't rationalize with herself that she was just a *tad* bit more emotional right now than usual, she'd probably give Pete an earful. Ever since she had told him that Jack had taken care of some of the arrangements - and her father's specific request - Pete had pulled this attitude. Almost like he had expected to do it himself, and Jack had stolen the priviledge. Damn it, he had met her father once . . . *once* . . . how could he properly honor a man he didn't know?
Why, because they were getting married? Because he was going to be her *husband* and thus taking care of such *unpleasant matters* was beyond her delicate constitution? She had dealt with far more *unpleasant matters* all by herself, thank you very much!
Jack would never - - !
Sam nearly spilled her cup of coffee as she mentally snapped her thought off. *Oh, my God!*
She was just comparing her fiancé to Jack O'Neill!
"Honey, are you okay?"
Sam blinked and lifted her hand to her mouth to suck away a drop of lukewarm and *gack* milky coffee. "I'm fine. I'm just falling asleep sitting here."
"Maybe we should all get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day," Amy offered.
They all stood together, and Sam collected their coffee cups. Pete helped her rinse them out and put them in the dish washer as Amy headed to the guest room to check on the kids again.
"I'll get you some extra blankets from the hall closet," Sam before leaving the two men in the kitchen.
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
"I guess I'll see you in the morning, buddy," Mark said, rubbing his fingers over his scalp as he stretched and turned to leave.
"Hey, Mark. Hang on a sec."
"What's up?"
Pete motioned for Mark to come back to the other side of the kitchen, away from the hallway and hopefully out of earshot from Sam and Amy. "You said your dad talked about O'Neill . . . "
Mark nodded. "Yeah."
"Like what? What did he say?"
Mark sighed, pressing his lips together for a moment while he seemed to consider what he was about to say. He leaned his hand into the edge of the center island and pushed his other hand into his front pocket. "You've met Jack?"
Pete nodded. "A couple of times."
"You seen him and Sammie together?"
"Why? What's that got to do with anything?"
"Look, Pete, buddy . . . all I'm saying is that Dad gave me the impression once that Sammie and Jack were . . . "
"Involved?"
"No. But I think they are . . . " He winced, like he didn't like using the 'non-guy-like' word. "close."
"Your father said that?"
"It's the impression I got. Look, I know that my father respected Jack O'Neill . . . and he considered him a friend. I also know enough about the military to know that if O'Neill was Sammie's commanding officer, then nothing could go on between them. And if it *did*, then I don't think my father would feel that way about him . . . you see where I'm going with this?
"I guess."
Mark slapped his hand down on Pete's shoulder. "Besides, what are you worried about? You got the girl, right?"
Pete nodded slowly. "Yeah. I got the girl."
*****
Sam stood on shaky legs from the first pew in the small chapel where her father's funeral service was being held. At his request, they had no wake. The gathering at Jack's house was the extent of it. Today was the service, followed by an Interment Ceremony at the grave side.
She just had to make it through today.
Just today.
Pete squeezed her hand as she stood, and gave her an encouraging smile. She did her best to return it as she walked the few steps to the minister's pulpit.
Her throat was dry, and her eyes burned from the tears she refused to even allow to form, let alone fall. She would be strong for him - for her father. Despite it all, she was still an Air Force officer - wearing her dress blue uniform as evidence - and she would prove it.
Sam took her place behind the pulpit, her hands trembling as she folded them on the smooth wood in front of her. She had no notes, no prepared speech to recite. This had to be her words.
She lifted her chin and looked out over the full congregation of people - all here to honor and remember her father - and her heart filled with pride. Sam scanned the crowd, seeing dozens of familiar faces. Friends. Family. SGC personnel.
Mark and Amy sat in the front row with the children, and after a space where she had been, sat Pete. He smiled at her, and silently mouthed 'I love you'. Sam swallowed, and cleared her throat.
"I want to thank you all for coming today to remember my father . . . " Her voice faltered, and she stumbled over the words, losing the strength she thought she had mustered.
She closed her eyes for a moment - just one moment to rein it all in again - and clutched the edge of the pulpit. When she opened them again, she looked out past the edge of the altar and beyond the first pew. The deep blue of his uniform only made his hair look more silver, and gave him an air of strength and subtle superiority as he sat behind Pete and Mark. His dark brown eyes locked with hers across the distance, and immediately Sam felt her insides calm and her nerves relax.
He squared his shoulders even more, then dipped his chin ever so slightly. *You can do it* The corner of his lips edged up - not quite a smile - but enough.
Sam drew in a slow breath . . . and began to speak.
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
Sam stood with her hands folded in front of her as the two airmen ceremoniously lifted the American Flag from her father's coffin. As 'Taps' was played, they snapped the symbolic material into sharp folds until it formed a neatly shaped triangle.
One of the airman curled the flag to his chest in a sign of reverence, and turned sharply on his heels, marching to where Jack stood. Jack stepped forward and held out his arms to accept the flag from the airman.
Sam's throat constricted. She fought to breathe.
With the flag held to his chest, Jack turned to her and Mark where they stood side by side. Jack looked into her eyes, never wavering, never looking away as he opened his arms and presented the flag to her.
She and Mark took it together, and Sam blinked hard against the tears. Jack stepped away, falling back into the crowd as the ceremonial firing squad moved forward. Shots ripped through the air as Jacob Carter was honored with a twenty-one gun salute.
He could have been buried in Arlington National Cemetery. With everything he had done for his country, even before joining with Selmak and becoming part of the Tok'ra, Jacob Carter well deserved it. But he asked to be buried here, in Colorado Springs. Sam didn't fully know or understand why, but she didn't question. He had his reasons, and this was where he would be.
When the service was over, the crowd slowly began to dissipate. Sam felt Pete's firm and constant hand at the small of her back as she moved from group to group to thank them for coming. All the while, she was aware of Jack standing on the edge of the crowd with his hands folded in front of him . . . watching.
It was hard to gauge what or who he really was watching. His dress uniform hat shielded his features and he wore dark glasses against the afternoon sun. But she felt him as much as she saw him.
All the while, she felt like something was wrong.
She was forgetting something.
Something important.
Something she knew . . . but she just couldn't . . .
"Oh, my god . . ."
"What, honey?" Pete asked.
Sam blinked, realizing she had spoken out loud. Mark and Amy stood facing her, little Jamie balanced on Amy's hip.
"Something wrong?"
"No, I . . . I just realized . . . could you excuse me for a minute?"
"Do you need me to come with you, Sam?" Pete asked.
She stopped, turning back to them. "No, thank you. I need to - no. I'll be back. Go ahead without me."
"Without you?" Pete said, his voice hitching up at the end. "Sam, we're going to *your* house. How are you going to get there?"
Sam walked back to them. "I need to speak to the General. Please." She squeezed Pete's hand and looked to her brother. "I'm sure he'll bring me to the house."
"Sam . . ." Pete said in a low tone.
"I'll be there soon."
With one more squeeze of his hand, she let go and started across the grass to where Jack still stood. He tilted his head towards her as she approached, and even through the dark glasses, she felt his gaze on her. Sam didn't say anything until she stopped close to him. Even then, she wasn't sure what to say.
After several moments, Jack reached up and took off his glasses, looking down at her with serious, distant eyes.
"Where is he?" she finally asked.
Jack's chin dipped a few degrees and he looked down, but didn't answer right away. He shifted on the balls of his feet, fidgeting with the sunglasses. *Fold. Unfold. Fold one arm. Unfold. Fold other arm. Unfold*
"Over the hill, on the other side of those trees."
Sam followed his direction, and glanced over her shoulder. It was the same direction he had been staring for the last ten minutes. She turned back to him.
"Want to take a walk?"
He immediately shook his head. "No."
Sam shifted to put her back to the sun, allowing her to look into his face without having to squint. "I'll go with you."
Jack looked back in the direction she had come, where Mark, Amy and Pete now stood. Pete had his hands pushed deep in his suit pockets, not looking happy.
"Today is about you, Carter. Go. Be with your family."
She lifted her hand and touched his arm, moving before she allowed herself to think about it. Jack looked down at her hand on his arm, then into her eyes.
"Let me return the favor."
Jack shook his head. "Carter, I'm not going."
Sam narrowed her eyes, studying his face. Then she leaned in a fraction. "When was the last time you visited Charlie's grave?"
"Carter, I don't . . . *visit* graves . . . I . . ."
She didn't argue, didn't interrupt, but didn't look away from him either. Jack stared down at her, and after several moments, she felt the tension release in his arm and he sighed.
Together they turned and walked across the grassy knoll.
He didn't say anything as they went, and soon the remaining participants of her father's funeral disappeared behind the hill. They passed a cluster of trees and Jack led her down one of the walking paths through the assorted headstones.
Then he stopped, facing a stone made of white marble that stood four feet tall. Carved into the stone was the image of an angel lovingly looking down upon the deeply engraved name.
*Charles J. O'Neill Beloved Son of Jonathan and Sara O'Neill*
Sam stepped forward and pressed her fingertips to her lips, then laid them against the cold marble. Tears burned her eyes, and one rolled down her cheek as she looked back to Jack. He stood transfixed, staring at her.
"Why did you . . ."
Sam looked down at her hand, and slowly slid her fingers from the cold stone. She took the two steps needed to reach him again, and stood close enough that it would take only a slight sway to bring them together. This close, Sam had to raise her chin and tilt her head to look into his face, and Jack had to look down to meet her gaze.
She didn't understand the sudden rush of her heart, even though she had felt it so many times before around Jack. But it was so intense today, so overpowering. She couldn't fight it. Couldn't tamp it down. Sam felt so raw, so tired of fighting. Maybe it had been standing on that altar speaking of her father . . . and she remembered all the times before that she had said good-bye.
She didn't want to say good-bye anymore.
"Because he was part of you," she finally answered. "And I know he must have been beautiful, and wonderful. And . . . " She lifted her hand and put it over his heart. "I can't kiss your heart to ease the pain."
His hand came up to slide over hers, curling around it to hold it in place. Sam's breath hitched. Part of her mind screamed *what are you doing?* and the other part - the much, much louder part - screamed *This is right! This is right!*
His gaze never left her face, but roamed slowly over it from her eyes to her lips and back again. Jack's free arm came around her waist and pulled her closer, aligning their bodies from knee to chest, sandwiching their joined hands between them.
Jack's stare flicked from her eyes to her lips as he leaned forward, and she knew he was watching - waiting - for any sign of hesitation from her. But he wouldn't see it. There was none. Not now.
Then his eyes slid closed and he rested his forehead against hers, drawing quick, shallow breaths in through his nose. The hand at her waist slid up her spine to the back of her head until he could draw his palm around to rest on her cheek. Only then did he open his eyes.
"Sam . . . " Jack started to speak.
"Sam!" Pete's voice carried from over the hill.
Sam jumped and instinctively moved back from Jack. But instead of releasing her immediately, he held on for a moment, locking her gaze with his dark, penetrating eyes. Heat rushed through Sam's body, burning in her cheeks and melting into pools in her limbs.
Jack let his hand fall away from her cheek, his fingertips brushing her lips before the contact was broken. As he stepped back, he lowered her hand from his heart but held it near his side away from the direction Pete approached from.
"Almost eight years."
"What?"
"I haven't been here in eight years."
"Sam, come on. We're waiting for you," Pete said as his head crested the hill north of them.
Jack released her hand, and Sam suddenly felt adrift. She wanted to grab hold again and hang on.
"We're coming, Pete," Sam called, and reluctantly stepped away from Jack to head back towards the cars. Jack lingered for a moment longer, then walked out behind Sam.
*****
Jack sat in his truck, parked across the street from Sam's house, for half an hour. There were only a few cars parked along the street, so only a handful of people had returned to the house after the funeral. Probably just close family.
He didn't belong here.
Especially after what he almost did . . .
*Could you be any more stupid, O'Neill?*
Jack put his hands over his face and let out a muffled groan, banging his head against the headrest.
It hadn't just been stupid . . . it was ten *kinds* of stupid.
But she was touching him, and looking at him with *those* eyes, and God help him - he loved her.
*There! Ya happy? Whoever you are in the great, cosmic universe who gets their jollies by screwing with my life! I love her!*
Jack dropped his hands from his face, too tired to keep them there. That was the truth of it. He was just tired. Tired of trying to figure it all out. Tired of mourning friends that were gone, friends that *could* be gone but no one knew for sure, friends that might be gone someday. Tired of trying to balance it all and still keep his own sanity. Tired of giving up.
*"You two really are meant for each other. Stubborn headed and so damn determined to *follow the rules* you're willing to destroy each other in the process."*
The last conversation he had with Jacob Carter came back to him as he tried to remember what it all was about . . . why he did any of it.
*"This is better, Jacob."*
*"Is it? For who?"*
*"For her."*
*"Why?"*
*"Look, Jacob. Obviously, it's going to do me *no* good to deny anything here. But I'm not going to make any declarations, either. Or promises. She's with Shanahan. He's better for her."*
*"Better than you . . . "*
*"Damn straight."*
*"She doesn't love him like she loves you."*
Was that really true? Jack didn't think he could let himself believe it. He couldn't that day, and he couldn't now. The choice was obvious, wasn't it? Pete was . . . he was . . . well, he wasn't *old* or *worn out* or number than a pounded thumb, as Jack's grandfather used to say.
OK, scratch the number than a pounded thumb part . . .
*"Look at her, Jack. Next time you're with her, really look. Don't look at her as her CO. Don't look at her with walls because you're afraid of seeing something you're not supposed to. Look at her. See what you know is there."*
This was it . . . do or die . . . win, or go home. Jack was going to find out. Tonight. And then . . . then . . .
He didn't want to think that far ahead.
He grabbed the bottle of Merlot from the seat beside him, and climbed out of the truck.
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
Jack stood at Sam's fireplace, one foot raised to rest on the hearth with his arm on the mantle, a beer in his hand. He lifted the bottle to his lips and let the cool liquid slide down his throat as he surveyed the room.
He really didn't know anyone here. Sam . . . George Hammond, who knew the Carter family for years before the SGC . . . and that was it. So, he hung back and observed.
And learned.
Sam was at the dining room table, which he could easily see from his vantage point. But she would have to be really looking for him to see him. This was good. He watched her talking with Pete and sister-in-law, the way she laughed and smiled.
And he watched her with Pete.
As much as he hated to do it, he watched.
Pete sat beside her with his arm behind her back, resting on the chair. And while she didn't shy away from his touch, she didn't lean into it either. She didn't seek him out. He reached for her hand, squeezing it as he held it on top of the table.
Jack timed her.
Two minutes, thirty-seven seconds passed before she released his hand to reach for her drink. When she set her glass down, she didn't take his hand again but laced her fingers in her lap. Pete said something to her, and she smiled and laughed . . .
But it wasn't *that* smile . . . not *that* laugh . . . not the one that grabbed hold of Jack's gut and made him think foolish thoughts whenever she gifted him with it.
No, apparently she saved those looks for him.
She looked up, and their eyes met. Sam's smile relaxed but she didn't look away. Jack slowly lifted his beer to his lips again, letting his tongue touch the glass as he drained the bottle, still watching her. With the bottle empty, he set it on the mantle and moved his foot off the hearth.
"General O'Neill."
Jack turned towards his name to see Sam's brother standing near him, holding out a fresh beer. Jack took it with a nod.
"Call me Jack."
"Okay. I wanted to thank you for everything you did. Sammie told us that you handled many of the arrangements at my father's request. Since I couldn't be here, I'm glad she had someone she could rely on."
Jack slid his glance to Sam for a brief moment, and saw her still watching him. She dropped her chin forward and turned away, focusing again on the conversation at the table.
"My dad spoke often of you."
"Don't believe everything you hear," Jack said with a smirk, lifting the fresh beer to his lips.
Mark laughed. "All good, really."
Jack shrugged one shoulder. "Don't believe everything you hear."
"He told me you and Sammie have been through a lot together . . . doing what you do." His pointed tone drew Jack's attention, and he figured Mark suspected there was more going on in Cheyenne Mountain that Deep Space Telemetry. But he wasn't about to shine any light on the subject. He just matched Mark's stare, and took another drink. After a minute, Mark smiled wryly and nodded his head . . . conceding that he would hear no more than he already knew. "Okay. Fair enough. Either way, I don't know you that well - by reputation only, really - but it seems to me you're a good guy for Sammie to have in her corner. I just hope that Pete can get that, too."
Jack let his gaze shift back to Sam and Pete. Pete was looking at her as he talked, and even from here Jack could see how much the dolt loved her. He almost felt sorry for the guy.
His cell phone rang, and shifting his beer into the other hand, Jack took it from his belt. "O'Neill . . ."
"General, this is Sergeant Chang. We are receiving more reports from Master Bra'tac and Teal'c, and thought you should know, Sir. Would you like me to brief you by phone?"
"No, I'm not - - " He glanced at Mark. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"Should I call Colonel Carter?"
"No. I'll make that call if it becomes necessary."
Jack slapped the phone closed. "I'm sorry, Mark. I've got to take off."
"Understood, Jack. Dad was a General, too . . . remember? He received calls at all hours of the night and day."
"I'm going to . . . " He motioned towards Sam, indicating he wanted to talk to her before he left.
Mark nodded, and took Jack's unfinished beer. Jack moved around the furniture that blocked his path to Sam, hearing their combined conversation as he approached.
As he stepped up, he set his hand on Sam's shoulder. Her hand immediately came up to cover his and she looked up at him. "I'm sorry to interrupt . . . Carter, could I borrow you for just a second? It's . . " He swirled his finger in the air, which was Jack-speak for *Stargate Stuff*.
Sam nodded and slid out of her chair. Together, they walked out the front door and headed towards Jack's truck. When he felt they were outside of earshot, Jack leaned towards her slightly as he spoke.
"I just got a call from the SGC. Something is up with Teal'c and Bra'tac. I couldn't get the details because, well- - "
Sam nodded. "I understand. Do you need me?"
He paused, his hand on the handle of his truck door, and looked down at her. Did he need her? That was a loaded question . . .
"No. I don't even know what's going on yet. You can't leave anyway."
"If you need me, Sir - - "
" - - Carter."
Sam dropped her gaze, crossing her arms over her body. Jack reached out and put his hand on her arm, and she looked up again.
"Call me if you need me," he said. "For anything."
"I will. Thank you, Sir, for - -"
"Ah!" Jack interrupted, raising one finger in the air. "What did I say, Carter?"
Sam smiled, and it was *that* smile . . . the kind that went all the way to her blue eyes and reached into his gut. Jack smiled back, and opened his truck door. He climbed inside, and as he buckled his safety belt, Sam pushed the door closed. She stepped back into the street as he started the truck, and turned the wheel to pull away from the curb. Sam raised her hand in a small wave as he drove away.
When he looked into his rear view mirror, he saw her still standing . . watching.
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
The house was empty of extra guests, leaving only Mark's family and Pete out in the living room. The dishes had been loaded in the washer, the food put away and the wine stored. All the sympathy cards had been stacked neatly on Sam's desk so she could write thank you cards the following week, and a collection of newspapers with her father's obituary were placed beside them for clipping and saving.
Sam stepped into the hall, and glanced towards the living room. Pete and Mark sat on the couch watching a game on television. They were shouting and cheering, slapping each other on the backs triumphantly. Sam shook her head. She never quite got it.
Jack enjoyed his games, but he was never quite so . . . exhuberant. She might get a "Yes!" out of him, or a moaned "Aw, crap!" when a play went bad . . . or even a "That's gotta hurt!" when a player's face went into the plexiglass . . . but never this shouting and yelling.
But then that was Jack. Even his enthusiasm was controlled.
Sam blinked, trying to push thoughts of Jack to the back of her mind. It wasn't right, constantly comparing Jack to Pete. She couldn't do it for the rest of her life. It wasn't fair.
She stood at the end of the hall and leaned her shoulder against the wall. Amy sat on the hearth near the fireplace, an open book in her lap, while the children played on the rug. Justin had a fighter jet he was flying through the air, making 'zoom zoom' noises. A boy after Sam's own heart. Fly 'em high, fly 'em fast. Andrea was sprawled on her stomach, her chin resting on one hand, as she sketched in a book.
Amy looked up, and smiled. "You okay?" she mouthed across the room.
Sam nodded, and motioned over her shoulder with her thumb that she would be in her bedroom. Amy nodded.
The sun was setting outside, casting the room in a mixture of shadows and pink-orange light. Sam walked to her bed, and sat down on the edge. She wasn't sure why she came in here. Just needed some space, some silence. No one asking her if she was okay . . . wanting her to talk . . to explain.
She hated having to explain how she felt and what she was thinking.
She missed having someone just *know*.
Sam closed her eyes . . . missed wasn't the right word. Because Jack still knew, but . . .
But what?
She needed him . . . his silent strength. The way he was there for her without making her feel dependent, like a frail woman who needed a man to lean on. He didn't offer to take care of her and fix the world, and yet . . . he did.
Sam reached down beside her to the box she had left on the floor. In it were some final things her father had left behind at the SGC that Jack had brought for her. There were photos of her as a child, and pictures of Mark and the kids. His Tok'ra uniform that she would tuck away somewhere before Mark asked where it came from. As she looked through the items, she found an envelope with her name written on the front in her father's hand.
Drawing a shaky breath, Sam picked up the envelope and took out the letter that was inside.
*My Sweet Sam*
*I tried to talk to you about this before I went, but if you are reading this now, I undoubtedly failed. You are just like your mother, you know. Stubborn. But I loved her for it, and I love you, Sammie.*
*I probably tried to be tactful when we talked, and that apparently didn't work. So, I'm going to lay it on the line. I'm not telling you what to do with your life, don't get me wrong. But I want you to know that whatever you do - and I mean whatever - it's okay with me.*
*Sammie, the one thing every parent wants for their child is for them to be happy. And you say Pete makes you happy . . . if I believed that, then I would be fine. And maybe he does. But does he make you as happy as you CAN be? Does he give you EVERYTHING?*
*Please, Sammie . . . if Pete doesn't . . . find a way. Do whatever you have to do. It's worth it. He is worth it. You are worth it. And don't shake your head and act like you don't know who I'm talking about. You know. And so does he. You're both a perfect match . . . stubborn and pig headed. And yes, I told him as much myself.*
*I've known for years. What is it they say? Still waters run deep. You two barely create a ripple, and I know you mean it to be that way. Well, I say . . . it's time to make some waves.*
*Be happy, Sam. Love. You only get one chance at life. Grab it.*
*I love you*
*Dad*
Sam's heart ached, and her eyes burned with tears that she refused to let fall. Even after he was gone, Dad was imparting his fatherly wisdom. But didn't he understand? It wasn't that easy . . . it had never been that easy. She couldn't just . . . just . . . could she?
Her cell phone rang, and she didn't have to look at the caller ID to know who it was. Sam opened the phone and held it to her ear.
"Hello . . . "
"Hi."
She drew a shaky breath. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?" Sam almost hear the smile in Jack's voice as he tried to sound like he didn't know what she meant. "I'm just . . . calling."
Sam blinked hard. "Are you in the Mountain?"
"Actually, no. I'm topside. Have you looked outside, Carter?"
Sam stood and went to the window, pushing back the curtains. The sunset was beautiful. Hues of yellow, orange, pink, and red stretched across the sky mingling with clouds tinged in deep purple and blue. It took her breath away.
"It's beautiful, Sir. Did you arrange this, too?"
She heard his soft chuckle. "If it were in my power, you know I would."
Sam closed her eyes, forcing two tears to fall down her cheeks. *God, I love this man!* Her lungs seized in her chest, and her eyes snapped open again.
"Carter? You okay?"
"Yes . . . yes, sir."
"I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"
She nodded to the empty room. "Okay."
The line disconnected, and Sam closed the phone, folding her arms over her body. Oh, god . . . what was she going to do now?
*****
The elevator stopped on level 28, and the doors slid open. Jack stepped inside, his reports tucked under his arm, and pressed 22 on the wall console. His stomach was telling him it was time for a snack . . . preferably cake.
Yes, definitely cake.
"Hold the elevator!"
Jack's hand shot out, and he stopped the doors from closing just in time for Sam to slide her body between the partially closed panels. As soon as she was inside, he dropped his hand and the doors closed. Jack took a moment to look at her, confirming in his head that yes, today was Tuesday, and yes, she was supposed to be off today, and yes, she was dressed in a *sweet* pair of jeans and *hot* blue top.
"Carter, am I imagining things? You're not supposed to be here."
"I know, Sir. And I'm leaving shortly. I just . . . I needed to come talk to you."
Jack popped up one eyebrow. "Anywhere in particular?" he asked, motioning towards the floor buttons. Memories of the last time she hunted him down because she needed to talk to him came to mind. *Well, at least this time there would be no poorly-planned red-heads interrupting . . .he hoped.*
Sam leaned over and slapped the STOP button with the heel of her hand. The elevator jolted to a standstill.
"Okay . . . that works."
"I know I'm going to sound crazy, but . . . I'm going to just ask you a bunch of questions. Will you answer them without thinking too much about *why* I'm asking?"
Right now, Jack was having a hard time thinking at all. Damn, but those were *hot* jeans! They hugged her thighs in *all* the right places! Jack blinked.
"What? Yes, yeah, sure, whatever."
Sam shifted her weight from foot to foot, working her hands nervously in front of her. "Don't think I'm crazy, okay?"
"Carter, you show up on your day off and have stuck us in an elevator . . I'm not thinking crazy yet . . . but if you don't start talking - - "
"What's my favorite flavor of Jell-O?"
"Blue . . ." he answered.
"How do I drink my coffee?"
"Same as me. Black, two sugars. I'm wearing off on you," he added with a smirk.
If anything, her eyes darkened. "What's my shoe size?"
Jack only had to pause momentarily on that one. "Eight."
She took a step towards him, and Jack felt the temperature rise in the car by ten degrees. "Do I snore?"
His heart was pounding in his chest like a spastic snare drum. "Only when you lay in weird positions, but if I - - "
Sam stepped closer, until she had to hitch up her chin to keep their gazed connected. *Damn surveillance cameras! Damn!*
"If you *what*, Sir?"
"If I tickle you below your ear, you roll over and stop." His fingers itched to reach up and touch the spot he referred to. "And you always roll towards me."
"Always?"
Jack nodded. "Always."
The alarm over their head sounded, and the intercom system chirped before Walter's voice came through the speaker. "This is Sergeant Harriman. Is there a problem in the elevator?"
Jack groaned, and hit the intercom button with the side of his fist. "This is the General. All's fine. Reingaging now."
With another punch of his hand to the STOP button, the elevator lurched into motion again. Sam stood on the other side of the car, her hands behind her back gripping the railing. Her cheeks were flushed and Jack watched her chest rise and fall with her hitched breathing.
Jack was the one to step towards her this time, still mindful to keep the allotted distance between them. He kept thinking of the way she had felt against him, the way he had wanted to kiss her, to finally feel her mouth under his without alien influence or time loops or parallel realities.
"You love double chocolate fudge ice cream, usually over a warm fudge brownie. You're allergic to MSG. Your shampoo is some herbal number that smells like the gardens on P3X 292. You need a minimum of SPF 30 or you'll burn and you prefer Rocky Mountain brand to the one the SGC stocks. Your favorite element is Hydrogen because you like the simplicity of one proton to one electron. You love Tetris and your highest score is 999,999 but that's only because that's as high as it goes. You read romance novels on your palm pilot when you think no one is looking. You have three leather outfits for riding your bike, none of them black. And," he leaned in just a little closer. "You have a preference for Victoria's Secret."
Sam's lids had dropped heavily over her eyes, and the blush in her cheeks had spread down her throat to disappear beneath the collar of her shirt. Her lips parted, and it was nearly Jack's undoing when she ran her tongue over them, leaving a moist sheen behind.
Jack stepped back and cleared his throat. "Did I answer all your questions?"
Sam just nodded. The elevator stopped, and the doors opened on 26 to pick up more passengers. Before they could board, Sam brushed past them, and was gone.
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
Sam watched Pete walk away, pulling the SOLD sign down as he passed.
She hung her head, resting it in her hands, and took a deep breath.
God, that had been hard! One of the hardest things she had ever done in her life. To look him in the face, and tell him she couldn't marry him. That it wasn't fair to him . . . she just couldn't be everything to him that he deserved.
Even in the truth, there had been lies. Half-truths. Because to tell him the truth would have been cruel, and there was no need for cruelty.
*I care for you, Pete. But you will never compare to the man I really love. And I may never have him in my life, but it's better for me not to have anyone than to try and settle.*
No, that would have been far too cruel.
Sam stood slowly, and took one last look back at the house Pete Shanahan had bought for her.
Then she walked to her car and got in.
If ending the engagement to Pete had been hard . . . this next step was even harder.
But, she was ready.
She was finally ready.
Sam turned the key, and pulled into the street.
*****
For the third time since he got home, Jack found himself randomly standing in the middle of a room staring into space. This time it was his bedroom.
His mind had been wandering again and again to Sam.
He shook his head and walked to the doorway, trying to remember why he had come in here in the first place. As he stepped into the hall, he snapped his fingers and spun back on the balls of his feet.
"Clean shirt . . . " he mumbled to himself.
In another one of his dazes, he hand managed to spill something - even now he couldn't remember what - all over his shirt. As he walked back towards his bathroom, he reached behind his head and grabbed the collar of his tee shirt, hauling it up over his head. Jack tossed it into the corner of the bathroom and was pulling on another Air Force shirt when he heard the knock at the door.
"Yeah!" he shouted, pulling the shirt down to his waistband. "Coming!"
He jogged down the hall to the foyer, and opened the front door . . .
Sam stood with her back to him, her arms crossed over her body, and when he yanked the door open she turned around, her chin hitching up so her gaze immediately connected with his.
Jack couldn't move . . . just stood there with his hand on the knob.
"Hi," she finally said.
"Hi."
"Can I come in?"
That seemed to snap Jack out of his stupor, and he jerked to motion. "Oh! Yeah. Come in."
She brushed past him, her arms still crossed over her body, but he could see her nervously clenching and unclenching her fists inside the long sleeves of the top she wore. Sam moved down the steps to the living room, and started to pace a small pattern at the end of the coffee table. Jack moved down the steps, letting his shoes hit the wood with a heavy thump.
"Carter, something wrong?"
Sam shook her head, but she didn't look at him. This was a Sam Carter he didn't often see . . . flustered, nervous, out of sorts. The only time he had seen her pace was when she was on the verge of figuring some annoying puzzle out. It seemed to help her think.
Maybe that's what she was doing . . . thinking?
"Carter . . . "
She "Shush!"-ed him loudly, holding of finger to her lips, pausing in her pacing only long enough to do so. Jack huffed a breath and arched his eyebrows . . . that was a new one. Generals didn't often get 'shushed' by Lieutenant Colonels.
"Carter . . . " He tried again.
"No."
"No?"
"No, Jack. Be quiet. Do you know how many times I've tried to get up enough nerve to talk to you about this? Only to either chicken out, or have you interrupt me? Or *someone else* interrupt me? Is anyone going to interrupt me?" She paused in her pacing to look at him.
Jack shook his head. He figured it was in his best interest not to actually speak . . .
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. Not a chance . . . "
Her eyes widened a fraction, and Jack knew she *got* it. Sam started nodding, slowly at first, then more vehemently. "Good," she said, "Good," as she started shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her hands started flexing and Jack figured the pacing would start again any . . .
Second . . .
Now!
"I can't keep doing this. I can't keep guessing and wondering and . . . I've just got to lay it out there. I couldn't lie to Pete anymore, and I can't lie to myself anymore. That's what I told him when I broke the engagement. It wasn't fair to him, or me. Or you! And if I'm a fool, I'm a fool. I'll deal with it. But if not . . . if not, I don't know. I haven't gotten that far yet."
She was talking fast, and pacing faster, and Jack just stood frozen, watching with his fingers pushed into his pockets.
"I mean, I *get* why we metaphorically left it in the room four years ago . . . what a mess that would have been. And I'm not stupid. I understand the rules and regulations . . . but . . . ah, hell . . . I don't even know what I'm saying right now."
Jack held his breath. He wasn't sure if he should shout for joy, or if she'd get mad at his interruption. But if he was *getting* her ramblings - and he was pretty sure he was - *Hot damn!*
*That's what I told him when I broke the engagement . . .*
She stopped pacing and faced him, hands at her hips, staring him down. "Am I crazy?"
Jack opened his mouth, raised his eyebrows, but wasn't sure if he was really supposed to speak or not.
Wasn't sure if he could.
*That's what I told him when I broke the engagement.*
Before he could do anything, Sam covered her face with her hands and groaned loudly.
Jack closed the space between them with two long strides, and wrapped his fingers around her wrists, gently pulled her hands from her face. Sam looked up at him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. Jack lowered her arms to her side and moved his hands to her shoulders, all the while looking into her face.
He parted his lips and drew a slow breath, releasing it with huff. "I love you, Sam."
Her eyes rounded and her mouth fell open. Then, slowly, her lips turned up into a smile. And it was *that* smile, times ten.
Jack slid his hands from her shoulders along the column of her throat to her jaw, his thumbs running along her mouth. With a gentle tug, he urged her to part her lips and he leaned in to kiss her.
No alien influence. No time warps. No parallel universes. No nothing but him and Sam . . . for real.
And it was *oh* so real!
Electricity and fire shot through him, ignited by the soft moan that purred from Sam's throat against his lips. Her tongue slid along his, completing the conduit. Then her hands slipped beneath his tee shirt, and spots flashed behind his eyelids.
But through the exquisite pleasure, a small voice of reason screamed out to be heard. Jack pulled back, reluctantly breaking the seal of their kiss. He looked down at Sam, running his fingers along her cheek and jaw, as she watching his with flushed cheeks.
"Sam, this isn't without conseq- -"
She lifted a finger and pressed it to his lips. "I know. But, I'm so tired of waiting to live. Can't we figure the rest out tomorrow?"
Jack nodded and pulled her in his arms again. With his arm around her waist, they walked together from the living room to his bedroom.
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
Sam insides fluttered and jittered in nervous knots, quaking with sweet anticipation as Jack kicked the bedroom door closed behind them and pulled her back into his embrace. His mouth covered hers again, and the heat that shot through her had arousal pooling in her stomach.
Jack's mouth moved down her throat, nipping and kissing her skin until Sam couldn't breathe - couldn't think - and she didn't want to think about anything but him.
*So long. They had waited so long!*
His hands slid under her shirt, and Jack stood back from her, his dark brown eyes locking with hers. Slowly, with his fingers touching her skin everywhere he could along the way, Jack pulled her shirt up over her head. His fingers trailed back down her body as Sam lowered her arms, wrapping them around his neck.
"You're beautiful," he said in a hoarse whisper.
Over the years, Sam had learned to accept that Jack respected her as an officer, trusted her skills and abilities, and yes, maybe even felt something for her. But to hear him say she was beautiful, it stirred emotions so deep inside her, she nearly choked on them. She pushed her fingers into his short, silver hair and pulled him in for another deep kiss.
His hands skimmed her back, finding the hooks of her bra, and Sam gasped when he released the restraints. The straps slid down her arms and he tossed it aside, his large hands cupping and molding her breasts.
"Oh, God . . . " she moaned, letting her head fall back.
They moved together in the general direction of the bed, and Sam pushed her hands beneath his shirt, taking it off over his head. She had seen Jack bare-chested before, but never for her . . . never like this. Never when she could reach out and touch him. She ran her hands over the sprinkling of brown and silver hairs that ran down his sternum and belly to his navel, and leaned in to press her lips to his hot skin.
Jack's long fingers pushed into her hair, tilting her head to the side so he could bury his face against her throat. Sam fought to breathe with any semblance of normality, but her vision swam and her heart raced as his skin brushed hers and his hands caressed her body.
She found the button and zipper of his jeans, and nearly lost in the delirium his touch created, released them and slipped her hands inside the trapped heat beneath.
Jack moaned her name loudly, and Sam smiled.
Returning the favor, Jack's nimble fingers undid her jeans and he pushed them down off her hips, taking her panties with them. Sam set her hands on his shoulders as he knelt in front of her to slip the shoes off her feet. Sam sat down on the bed as he slid his hands down her thighs and calves, taking away the final pieces of clothing.
Jack leaned over her as she reclined back onto the mattress, his weight balanced on his arms as he kissed her, his feet still on the floor. Sam took the opportunity to run her hands along his body, enjoying the way his muscles tensed and released in reaction to her touch.
Then Jack stood and bent over to untie his shoes, his eyes never leaving her. As he straightened, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans, and slid them off his hips.
Sam's breath hitched.
He was beautiful. Jack O'Neill was no Adonis, but never in her life had she been so aroused by the sight of a man. He was trim and strong from years of military life, and his hard erection declared with no doubt how much he wanted her.
Jack came to the edge of the bed and leaned over to lay a kiss on the inside of her knee. Sam rolled her head on the pillow and moaned softly. His soft chuckle vibrated against her skin. Then he moved higher, kissing the inside of her thigh. His gentle touch urged Sam to open her legs to him, and she reached down to stroke his hair as he continued his trail up her body.
When his tongue moved firmly across her clitoris, Sam barely controlled her scream, her body nearly coming apart. His mouth worked over her, drawing pleasure from her until she was trembling.
"Jack, please . . ." she begged. "I want you inside me."
She was so close . . . so close . . . but she wanted to share it with him. Fully. Completely. At least this first time.
Jack's mouth moved along her stomach as he shifted his weight along her body. His thighs brushed hers, nudging her further open, and she hooked her ankles behind his legs. He paused at her breasts, drawing each nipple into his hot mouth until Sam was panting, clawing at his shoulders.
Then he rose over her, and Sam opened her eyes to look up at him. Jack rested his weight on his elbows so their faces were close together and he leaned in to kiss her. She tasted herself on his tongue, and her body quaked with need as he made love to her mouth. His erection nudged at her thigh.
"Sam," he whispered against her mouth.
She blinked, trying to keep her eyes open in the chaos of pleasure overtaking her body. Jack's dark gaze locked with hers, and Sam gasped as he slid into her body. Her back arched, needing to be closer - have him deeper - fill her completely.
Jack's eyes closed and he pressed his face to her throat. She felt his teeth abrade her skin as he moaned her name, but she was too lost in the pleasure to care.
Then he began to move, and she was lost.
He moved slowly, as if each thrust and stroke were so intense - so overpowering - that to go any faster would be to drive him insane. And Sam had to agree. She was on overload, every nerve and synap in her brain firing at once . . . every part of her body coiling and contracting - waiting for release.
Each slow withdrawal and forceful thrust back into her body stroked her clotiris, driving her to the brink. A cold heat flashed over Sam's skin, and she felt the orgasm building.
"Jack," she whispered. "Oh, God. Jack!"
He moved faster, harder, driving her to the point of insanity when finally reality shattered and Sam threw her head back with one loud gasp. Her body clenched - again and again - pulling and drawing from Jack every ounce of pleasure she could.
Jack didn't stop, stroking her until he finally thrust one last time, as deeply as he could, his fingers curling into her shoulders as he murmured her name.
*****
Jack woke up drawing a slow breath in through his nose, releasing it as a yawn. He stayed lying on his back with his eyes closed, enjoying the last few minutes of rest before he had to climb out of bed. Then his other senses began to slowly wake up.
And he realized he was just a *wee* bit chilly.
He opened his eyes and blinked against the sunlight coming through the window beside his bed, and realized he was on the *wrong* side of the bed. And his hip was hanging off the edge.
A soft sound came from beside him, muffled by the pile of blankets. Apparently, that was why he was so cold. Someone wasn't sharing . . .
Jack rolled onto his side, curling his fist against his temple to support his head and tugged a corner of the sheet over just enough to cover his lower half. The shift in blankets revealed Sam's face, her eyes closed and her cheeks flushed pink from sleep.
Jack smiled. *Hot damn!* It wasn't a dream after all.
She drew in a breath, and the softest snore vibrated through her throat. Well, no wonder . . . she also had all the pillows.
Jack reached out and carefully rubbed the tip of his finger beneath her ear. She twitched, moaned softly, but didn't move. He tried not to laugh, and reached out again. This time, when he tickled the spot, Sam did as she had done for the last eight years. She rolled to face him.
But this time, her eyes blinked open and she looked at him.
"Good morning," he said in a low voice.
Sam pulled some of the blankets down from her face, revealing her smile, and she tipped her lips up to him for a sweet, long kiss. "Good morning," she answered when she reclined back on the pillows.
Jack was staring - knew he was staring - but didn't really care. Samantha Carter was in his bed. *Naked*. And they *so* made love last night. The memory of each moment was fresh in his mind, and he grinned.
"What?"
"'What' what . . .?"
"What are you smiling at?" Sam asked.
Jack opened his mouth to answer, then just smiled again. "Nothin'."
Sam's eyes narrowed, and her hand slipped out from beneath the blankets to touch him. Her fingers played along his skin, scratching and curling in the hairs on his chest. Heat curled out from the contact, and certain other parts of Jack's anatomy started to wake up and shout *Good Morning!*
"Sam, we have to talk."
Her eyes darted up to his for just a moment, then she looked away again. "No talk. Sleep . . . "
"Oh, no. This is serious." Jack reached out and gave the blankets a sharp tug, pulling enough off her to finally cover himself. "You are a blanket stealer, a pillow thief, and a serious bed hog. And you are sleeping on *my* side of the bed."
"No, this is my side of the bed. And if you want the blankets, you're just going to have to sleep closer to me."
Jack rolled her onto her back, covering her mouth with a searing kiss that coaxed a deep, throaty purr from his blonde lover. Her arms snaked out from beneath the blankets and circled his shoulders as he tugged and pulled them out of the way until finally - ah! - skin met skin.
He slid his hands down her sides, enjoying the slopes and curves that he had only ever imagined, until he reached her hips. With his mouth still over hers, their tongues and lips reacquainting themselves, Jack gripped her body and slowly slid inside.
Sam gasped and moaned, her arms tightening around his shoulders.
"Good?" he whispered against her throat.
She nodded. Jack kissed her neck, her shoulders, and down her arm as he slowly slid in and out of her body. He took his time with each stroke, enjoying the lazy, gentle action of morning lovemaking. Sam's hands skimmed along his back, her lips pulling and kissing at his throat, sending small shockwaves down his spine.
The phone beside the bed rang, and only shifting his head away from the exploration of her neck enough to look at the clock, Jack stifled a groan. It was after nine, and unfortunately, it was only Wednesday. He heard Sam's small moan of protest.
"Shhhh," he whispered, not pausing in his slow rhythm.
Jack rose up on he elbows, reaching for the phone as it rang again. The change in angle made Sam gasp and she bit down on her lower lip as he pushed into her again. Jack grinned as he clicked on the phone.
"Yeah."
"General, it's Sergeant Harriman."
"Yes, Walter. I know. I'm running late this morning." He kept his gaze on Sam, who's cheeks were now flushed bright red and her head tipped back into the pillow.
"Yes, Sir. Should I reschedule the 0930 debriefing with the SG-7 science team?"
Jack had to bite down hard to stifle a groan as Sam titled her hips, making it suddenly *very* hard to focus on his phone call. Her hands slipped to his backside, and her nails dug in, urging him to move harder - deeper.
"Sir?"
"Yes, Walter," Jack managed to grind out. "That would be a good idea."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, General."
Jack turned off the phone and dropped it on the floor beside the bed. "That was just plain evil . . . " he said against her breast as he moved to draw one erect nipple into his mouth.
Sam gasped. "Jack!"
*God, he loved it when she called his name!*
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
"I snagged one of your tee shirts. That okay?"
Jack paused in pouring their coffee to look over his shoulder. Sam padded into the kitchen in her stocking feet, wearing the same incredible jeans from the night before but with one of his gray Air Force tee shirts . . . and most *definitely* without a bra.
"Oh, yeah . . . ab - so - lutely."
Jack stole a quick glance at the clock. Almost ten. Just how long could he hold off Walter before they sent out a search party?
Her hair was still damp from her shower, and her skin had a dewy glow. As she fluffed her hair with her fingers, Jack found himself mesmerized by the way her breasts shifted beneath the cotton with each movement. Sam paused, her hands pushed into her hair, looking at him.
"What?"
Jack put the pot of coffee down, and without a word, turned and crossed the kitchen in three strides to haul her against him and bury his face against the side of her throat with a growl.
"A man could get used to this," he said, pulling back to kiss her lips and look into her face.
Sam smiled up at him, her hands resting on his arms as he held her. "So could a woman."
"Coffee?"
"Please."
Jack reluctantly let her go to finish pouring their coffees. He took a spoon from the strainer beside the sink and scooped two hearty spoonfuls of sugar into each cup, stirring before he handed one to her. She took the mug, and sipped from it with a blissful sigh.
"Mmmmm, that's good."
"What time do you have to report today?" Jack asked.
"Not until 1330. I had the morning off."
Jack winced. *Ah, damn.* That's right. She needed it of to . . . what was it? Meet with the photographer. So *not* a topic he wanted to talk about after the amazing night they spent together. Eventually, maybe . . just, not right now.
Jack leaned into the corner of his counter, one arm crossed over his chest with his coffee in the other hand. Sam stood beside him, facing the sink so the morning sun came through the window to hit her face. She held the mug near her nose so the steam curled up and she inhaled it with each breath, her eyes closed. As small, dare he call it *blissful*, smile bowed her lips.
He watched her for several moments, enjoying the simple fact that he could, and still trying to *really* accept the fact that she was here. That she had spent the night in his bed, in his arms, and she was beside him when he woke up.
Jack reached out and gripped her arm. Sam's eyes opened in surprise, but she didn't fight as he took the mug from her hand and set it on the counter, pulling her towards him. After shifting to spread his feet apart, he drew her into the space between his legs so he could hold her against his chest. Sam smiled and laid her cheek over his heart and wrapped her arms around his body and he did the same, resting his chin on top of her head.
"Getting your snuggle time in while you can?" Sam asked, her voice light with teasing.
Jack squinted and shuddered. "Do you have to call it *snuggle time*?"
She chuckled softly, then snuggled closer to him. In the years since he had finally admitted to himself how deep his feelings for his 2IC ran, Jack had let himself fantasize many times about nights like the one they had just spent. But he had never pictured a moment like this . . . just holding her in his kitchen, surrounded by the smell of fresh coffee and morning air.
The sex was amazing . . . but so was this.
Speaking of sex . . .
"Wanna see how strong this counter is?" he whispered in her ear.
"Is that all you're going to think about now?" Sam asked, her eyes sparkling and her smile bright.
Jack shrugged. "Let's face it. I'm not that complex."
He moved to kiss her, but caught the shift in her expression to one he immediately recognized, one he had seen many times in eight years. She was trying to remember something, grasp some fact that dangled in the back of her mind that probably would solve whatever dilemma they faced or somehow save the entire planet. Since the planet wasn't in immediate danger, Jack hoped it wasn't anything quite so serious.
"Sam . . ?"
"You've said that to me before," she said, her voice distant.
He arched an eyebrow. "O . . . kay."
"When I was stuck on the Prometheus."
Jack brought one hand up to lay his palm against her cheek. "Sam, you were alone on the Prometheus. I was here. Trust me, I remember. Nearly drove me nuts trying to find you."
Sam closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, I know *you* weren't there. But . . . I saw you. Not just you. I saw Daniel, and Teal'c and my father, too. And this little girl . . . "
"Was there a scarecrow and tin man, too?"
"Jack!"
"Okay, I'm sorry. You did come back with a nasty concussion. So, if you were seeing things . . . Wait a minute! I don't remember seeing anything in your report about this."
She was avoiding looking at him, shaking her head. "Nevermind. Forget I said anything."
"I will not. Sam . . ."
But she had already retreated into deep thought again, staring past him to some insignificant point over his shoulder, and he could almost hear the wheels and cogs churning in her head. He laced his fingers behind her back, watching her for several minutes - the slight shifts in her expression and squint of her eyes. Finally, he leaned close to her ear.
"Helleeewwww . . ."
Sam blinked slowly, and turned to look at him, but her attention still seemed to be a galaxy away on the Prometheus. Jack studied her face, trying to read her expression.
"Sam, what?"
"My father told me to let go of whatever prevented me from being happy. That kept me from finding love. Being loved."
"Before he died?"
She shook her head. "No, on the Prometheus," she huffed, sounding frustrated that he couldn't follow her train of thought.
Jack nodded slowly. "The hallucination of Jacob."
"Yes. But . . . I think I misunderstood."
"How?"
Sam twisted her lips, the corners of her eyes squinting slightly. She was still deliberating, calculating, thinking it out. "I thought he meant I had to let *you* go."
Jack shifted his weight, pulling her closer into the space between his thighs. With this stance, he and Sam were eye to eye, and he made sure to hold her gaze with his own.
"So, you hooked up with Pete?"
She nodded.
"Maybe he meant let go of your clothes," Jack said with a shrug.
Sam tilted her head. "Excuse me?"
Jack let his gaze slide down her body, remembering exactly how every curve and swell beneath her clothing looked as he made love to her. "I'm thinkin' that would have been a quick way to find happiness . . . I know it would have been for *me*, anyway."
Sam laughed, her face lighting up again in the smile he loved so much, and she pushed against his shoulder. "Jack!"
"I'm just saying . . . "
Sam shook her head and stepped out of his embrace, picking up her coffee again. She went to the refrigerator and opened the door, looking inside as Jack admired her backside with a wicked grin.
"So, what else did I say?"
"What's that? Jack, you have nothing in here but beer, eggs and bread."
"I asked what else I said, and that right there is the start of a *great* breakfast."
Sam closed the refrigerator and turned back to him. "Don't you have to go to work?"
He wagged a finger at her. "Nope. Not getting out of it. What did I say in this little *fantasy* of yours?"
"It wasn't a fantasy!"
"And I'm supposed to believe you?"
Her mouth opened to protest, but bright color flashed in her cheeks. Jack pointed a finger at her. "Aha! I knew it!"
"You have *no* idea what you're talking about."
Jack smirked. "Was it as good as last night?"
A slow, sexy smile curved Sam's lips and she leaned her hip into the counter edge, crossing her arms over her body. The action only succeeded in pushing her unrestrained breasts against the thin cotton of the tee shirt, creating an arousing effect. "No fantasy was ever as good as last night."
Jack stifled his groan and shifted his stance. He swallowed hard. "Okay, so . . . what else did I supposedly say?"
Sam smiled a wicked grin, and he knew *she* knew what she was doing to him. "Okay, fine. Um . . . you did what you usually do. You told me to figure it out, and said you knew I could."
"That's what friends are for, right?" She shot him a look that made him pop his eyebrows up. "Something I said?"
"*That's* what you said. *That's what friends are for*."
"Well, Sam . . . we *are* friends."
"Yeah, but . . . on the ship . . . you said that's all we were."
"I did?"
"Well, not in so many words."
Jack smirked and stepped away from the counter, moving to her. He set one hand on the edge of the stove, leaning in until their faces were just a few inches apart. "What *exactly* did I say, Sam?"
Sam was smiling, and he hoped she was having as hard a time focusing on the conversation as he was. Her gaze shifted to his mouth and back to his eyes. "You were the only *hallucination* that acted like you knew that's what you were. You said that this was my head, my mind, so we might as well be honest. So, I asked you . . . "
"Asked me what?"
He watched her swallow, her gaze dropping away again, but this time off to the side. Jack touched her chin with his fingertip, urging her to look back into his eyes.
"I asked if it would make a difference if I quit the Air Force. Or, was it just and excuse."
"And what did I say?"
"You said you would never ask me to give up my career."
Jack stroked her chin with his thumb, rubbing her lower lip, and enjoying the fact that he *could*. "And I won't."
"I didn't think that was much of an answer. I asked if it was because you didn't feel anything for me. And told you I would give you up if you didn't."
"I think we both know that isn't the case," he said, moving his hand from her jaw to her shoulder and slid his knuckles down the front of her shirt over the swell of her breasts. Her breath hitched and her nipples pressed against the fabric.
"And obviously, I didn't give you up." Her voice was heavy as she moved into his touch. "But it was then that you told me I was the problem, that you weren't that complex."
"Well, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"How do you figure?"
"Jack! You're like . . . like binary code. You're intricate in your simplicity."
Jack tried to look disgusted. "Excuse me?"
"All Binary Code is made up of is a series of zeroes and ones . . . simple. But when combined in thousands of combinations those codes can control the world with their complexity!"
He leaned closer, letting just his nose and the barest touch of his lips brush her throat as his fingers found and toyed with her nipple. "Have I ever told you how *hot* you are when you talk science?"
He felt her swallow, her low moan vibrating against his skin. Jack went back to running his knuckles over her breasts, stroking along the sides and beneath. "What else did I say, Sam?"
"That as long as I thought about you, then I wouldn't find someone else."
"If I said that, I'm an idiot."
Her hands touched his arms, and the heat nearly scorched his skin as she slid her palms up to the sleeves of his tee shirt. She leaned into him as he ran his tongue along her throat and pulled her earlobe into his mouth. "You - you didn't say it . . . " she tried to say, her breath hitched and short. "You just . . . "
"Didn't disagree?"
She nodded, and he slid his hand beneath the tee shirt to fill it with her breast. Sam moaned.
"Tell me what I *did* say, Sam," he demanded, as his fingers slid along the waistband of her jeans towards the snap. He leaned back to look into her face.
Her eyes were dark with arousal, her lips parted as she tried to breathe. Sam licked her lips, her hand slipping beneath his tee shirt. "You told me you'd always be here for me. No matter what."
"Now *that* I believe."
She smiled, and Jack coved her mouth with his own. He turned them together, and was about to test his theory on the strength of his counter when his phone rang. He moaned loudly, and Sam laughed as he moved back across the kitchen to take the phone off the wall.
"Yes, Walter. I'm coming!"
"I'm sorry, General. Teal'c has made contact again, and will be returning to the SGC shortly. He stated it was important you be here upon his return."
"Okay. I'll be there in fifteen."
He hung up the phone, and turned around, but Sam was gone. Jack went into the foyer and found her sitting on the steps leading to the living room, tying her sneakers.
"Problems?"
"Not sure," Jack answered. "Teal'c is on his way back."
She nodded and stood. "You go. I'm going to run home and grab a change of clothes. I'll be twenty minutes behind you."
Sam picked her bag up off the floor where she had left it the night before, and headed for the door. But Jack grabbed her arm, turning her back to him. Before she could say a word, he covered her mouth for a long, deep, breath-stealing kiss. When he broke away, Sam gasped for air.
"Wow!"
Jack grinned. "See you at work . . . honey."
*****
"Wow, Sam . . . I can't believe it."
Sam shrugged, glancing up from her fiddling with the time machine prototype diagram on her computer to look at Daniel. She smiled, feeling good just being able to look into his face again.
"See what happens when you run off, get captured by the enemy, die, ascend, and come back again? Things happen."
"Yeah . . ." he said with a wry grin. "I've really gotta stop doing that."
Sam laughed and leaned her chin into her hand. "It's good to have you back, Daniel."
Daniel leaned forward and squeezed her hand, his smile sincere. "It's good to be back. Though, the whole coming back naked . . . that I could have done without."
Sam laughed, and pushed her laptop to the side. She couldn't bring herself to focus on the diagrams and readouts right now. Her mind was too divided, too scattered. In the last 72 hours, the galaxy had nearly been destroyed by Anubis, she had stood by Jack's side waiting for the SGC to self-destruct, only to have it all stopped by some unseen hand, and Daniel had returned. She had barely slept, and hadn't left the base since arriving three days before.
And before that . . . before that her entire life had changed.
"What is that smile for?" Daniel asked.
"I'm just happy everything worked out the way it did," Sam said, tamping down the memories of Jack that flashed through her mind.
Three days . . . and she missed him. She saw him on the base. They had been together as the clock ticked down, and afterwards when Bra'tac and Teal'c returned from Dakara in the briefing room, but since then it had been brief glances in the hall and little else.
Daniel withdrew his hand and crossed his arms on the table, squinting his eyes as he looked at her. "So, you're really okay about the engagement being over?"
Sam nodded. "I am. It was the right thing to do, Daniel."
"I'm sorry about your father, Sam. I wish I could have been here. To be here for you."
She smiled, and reached out to touch Daniel's hand. "I know. It's okay. I wasn't alone, Daniel."
He started to say something, but Sam caught his gaze shift to the doorway behind her. "Hey, Jack."
Instant awareness shifted over Sam's skin, and her heart jumped several beats ahead. She straightened on her stool, feeling the change in the air around her as he entered the room. It was all she could do not to close her eyes and relish in it.
"Hey, guys. Whatcha doin?"
"Sam has been filling me in on what I missed."
"Oh?"
He stepped up behind her, but not so close that their bodies touched. It was the same song and dance they had so carefully choreographed over the last eight years. Close, but not too close. Don't touch. Don't look too long, or speak too low. Jack leaned his hand into the edge of the table just a few inches down from where her elbow rested.
She swore Daniel *had* to hear the pounding of her heart!
"Just the basics, Sir," she managed to say.
"Ah. Jaffa rebellion . . . end of the world . . . "
"Yes, Sir."
"She broke off her engagement," Daniel added.
Sam swallowed. "Th-that, too."
"Ah," Jack said again. "Listen, the sci-guys at Area 51 are wondering if you've made any headway on the Ancient's time machine data they sent you."
Sam turned on her stool to pull the laptop back towards her. As she reached for it, Jack did, too, and his hand covered hers around the edge of the monitor. His palm and fingers felt so warm and good against her skin, she wanted to turn her hand over and lace her fingers through his. But she focused on bringing the laptop in front of her, forcing herself to neither react or pull away from the seemingly innocent contact.
"I'm still working on it, Sir. I should have an answer by tomorrow?"
She looked up at him, and it was nearly her undoing. *God, this was going to be hard!* And how the hell was he managing to look so cool? So unaffected? Maybe he wasn't . . . maybe it was just her? Sam bit down . . . hard.
"Not if it means you staying on base again tonight," Jack said, arching one eyebrow. "You've been here three days. Go home, Carter. This can wait."
Sam nodded, and turned back to the screen. "Yes, Sir."
Then she heard Daniel's soft snort. They both turned together and looked at him at the same time. Daniel sat at the end of the table, his chin resting on his hand, watching them with a wide, almost foolish looking grin on his face.
Sam shifted, straightening her back against the kink that had settled there while hunched over the computer. "What?"
Daniel smiled wider.
"What?" Jack asked.
He cleared his throat and sat up, folding his hands in his lap. "You know, I could feign being hurt. I mean, after eight years, I consider the two of you my closest friends . . . practically family. But, I understand. I really do." He grinned again.
"Daniel, what are you - - " Jack started to say.
Sam raised her hand, and touched Jack's chest. His eyebrows popped up, and he looked at her, completely surprised by the contact.
"I don't think we're fooling him," she said simply.
"No, you're not," Daniel added.
"Daniel . . ."
"Don't worry, Jack. It stops with me."
Sam smiled, a weight lifting from her shoulders. She probably should be worried that they hadn't been able to hide the truth from Daniel more than five minutes, but the fact that he knew balanced out her concern. Besides Janet Fraiser, she considered Daniel one of her closest friends.
Daniel hopped down off his stool and stepped closer to them to pat Jack's shoulder. "And don't worry. I doubt anyone else will notice."
"It took you three minutes," Jack said with a slight growl in his voice.
Daniel laughed. "Jack, I've spent the last eight years watching the two of you try to figure this out. I know you. Both of you. And for what it's worth, I'm happy for you. You both deserve it. And you should do whatever it takes."
He patted Jack's shoulder again, and whistled a tune as he left.
When they were alone, Sam looked up at Jack and had to fold her hands in her lap to keep from reaching out and touching him again. She really wished right now that not every inch of the SGC was monitored by surveillance cameras. Thankfully, they didn't record sound. Just images.
"I've missed you," she said simply.
Jack leaned over, feigning interest in the image on her computer screen, and Sam played along, turning so her back was to his chest. His dog tags slipped loose of his tee shirt and the warm metal brushed the back of her neck.
"Which is why you are getting off this base tonight."
"Is that an order?" she said with a grin.
He turned his head to meet her gaze. "If it has to be . . . "
"Yes, Sir."
Jack's gaze moved to her lips, then down her body, lingering in areas that tingled and throbbed beneath his perusal. When his stare moved back to her face, Sam's breath hitched at the dark intensity in his brown eyes.
"I don't know if I can take you calling me 'sir' now that I know what you taste like."
Sam closed her eyes, every inch of her body flushing hot with need in one single instant. "Jack . . . " she said softly.
"We held out for eight years, and now I can't last three days," he said with a soft chuckle that had her opening her eyes again.
Sam smiled. "I know."
Jack cleared his throat and backed up a bit, but Sam caught him shoving his hand into the pocket of his BDU's . . . and the obvious bulge he was trying to disguise.
"So, got anything?"
Sam shook her head and shrugged. "I can't do anything with just these diagrams. I need it here to make any progress. They can't get it to do anything because they don't have anyone there with the right skills and the right gene to make it happen."
"You mean . . ."
"You! Yes."
"Do you want to bring it back to the SGC?"
"Jack - - Sir - - " she corrected herself. She had to remember, had to *force* herself to remember, that at the SGC he *had* to be the General. He had to be her commanding officer. Otherwise, this would be over by the end of the week. "With it here, I can test it as I need to . . . and with you readily available to power it up, we could have it up and running in no time. But I won't know until it's here."
Jack tapped the table with his fingers. "Good enough. I'll set up a transport to bring it back."
"Thank you."
Jack stared at the computer screen, his eyes squinting slightly and his lips pursed. Sam watched him for a minute, wondering what thought suddenly crossed his mind. He cleared his throat and glanced at her.
"Carter, when we figure this out . . . we should probably take it for a test run, don't you think?"
Sam arched an eyebrow and smiled. "A test run?"
"Yeah . . . to make sure it works."
She sat back and turned on the stool to face him, crossing her arms over her body. Jack leaned his hip into the table edge and was doing his best to put an innocent look on his face.
"Did you have something in particular in mind?"
"Oh, I don't know . . . " He puffed out his lips and he released a breath. "It's just a thought . . . but . . . 1908 comes to mind."
"1908?"
Jack cleared his throat. "It's the year the Cubs won the World Series."
Sam chuckled. "Sir, I don't think that using a piece of alien technology to go back in time and watch a baseball game is a good idea, do you?"
"It's the *World Series* . . . it's not just *one* game . . . "
Sam shook her head. "Uh, uh . . . no."
"Aw, come on . . . what could it hurt?"
"Messing with the timeline could have *grave* consequences!"
"Like what?"
"Anything could happen . . . "
"It's just a game! Come on, Sam . . . "
She tossed him a warning glare, and Jack cleared his throat.
"Carter," he amended. "I'll make it worth your while . . . "
"Oh, really . . . "
He bobbed his eyebrows and grinned, a dimple forming in each cheek. "Am I tempting you yet?"
Sam hopped off the stool and walked to the other side of the room, putting some distance between them. "No."
"I'll buy the beer . . . "
"I don't think they sold beer at baseball games in 1908, Sir."
"Damn . . . Popcorn?"
She shook her head as she gathered her jacket from where she left it in the corner of the room. "No."
"Hot dogs. They *had* to have had hot dogs . . ."
She walked back to her computer, clicked the mouse pad to log off, and waited until the screen went black before folding it closed. "Do you *really* want me to explain to you - in *detail* - the complexities of the space time continuum and how changing even the simplest even in history could change all of history?"
"We went back to 1969 and we didn't screw things up . . . "
"Ah, but we were *supposed* to. It was part of the natural timeline."
"How do you know that?"
Sam tilted her head, arching her eyebrows, saying without words *you don't want to know - - trust me*.
"It's a baseball game!" Jack begged, holding his hands out with his palms up.
Sam laughed and shook her head. "No."
"Just who is the *General* here?"
Sam faced him again, tilting her chin to look into his eyes. "I'm leaving now, *General*. Should I pick up Chinese or pizza?"
"Chinese."
She nodded, and turned on the balls of her feet to walk to the door. "I'll see you in an hour."
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
Jack's house was in darkness, except for the soft bluish glow from the television that created odd shadows through the living room. The volume was turned down, so only images of a late night movie moved across the screen. Half empty containers of Chinese food littered his coffee table, along side two glasses of merlot.
The only sound in the room was the soft noises of pleasure that neither Jack nor Sam tried to suppress.
Sam sat across his lap, her knees supported on the cushions of the couch, her face buried against the side of his throat as he let his hands roam over her body. *God, this was amazing!* She felt so good, so real, and he almost still couldn't believe she was there.
Her hands tugged at the hem of his sweatshirt, and Jack sat forward enough for her to pull it up his back and over his head. He hated breaking contact with her skin long enough to get it off, but forgot about it as soon as her hands were on his bare chest and stomach, fumbling at his belt.
"Stand up," he whispered hoarsely, his throat dry from fighting to breathe like a normal human being.
Sam slid backwards off his lap to move to her feet, her breasts rising and falling with each labored breath she took. Jack stood with her, their bodies forced close in the space between the coffee table and the couch. But he didn't care. Not at all. Jack took hold of her sweater, pulling it off over her head, and barely paused to reach around and unfasten her bra. Sam's head fell back as he covered her breasts with his hands and ran his thumbs across her taut nipples. A soft groan vibrated through her.
He didn't remember the actual act of doing it, only that his hands and hers moved of their own free will and they both kicked the last of their clothing out of the way. Jack pulled her against him, skin to skin, and pressed his lips against her bare shoulder.
"Jack," she whispered, her voice heavy and rough.
He leaned back and opened his eyes, looking down into her face. This had to be heaven. Sam smiled up at him, and then pushed gently on his shoulders. Not one to argue, Jack sat back down on the couch and took her hands as she resumed her position on his lap. Jack gripped her hips, and with her hands on his shoulders, Sam raised herself up and slowly let him slide into her heat.
Jack bit down and threw his head back into the cushions of the couch.
*Good GOD!*
Sam leaned into him, her breasts pressed to his bare chest, her lips and teeth nipping at his collarbone and throat. She moved over him, creating the rhythm and depth of penetration, and each stroke was nearly his undoing. Jack moved his hand from her hip to her head, holding his palms against her cheeks. Sam rose over him, her blonde hair mused and wild around her face, her eyes heavy-lided.
She turned into his touch, drawing his thumb into the heat of her mouth as she rode him, her hands sliding down his stomach.
Jack groaned, thrusting his hips up to meet her body.
Sam leaned back, arching her back and changing the angle. It was sweet, oh, GOD! He couldn't touch her enough, running his hands over her shoulders and breasts, down to her stomach and hips. His fingers kneaded her thighs, her backside, pushing her harder, forcing him deeper. Her moan reverberated through her, and straight through him.
He was close to loosing control, and he bit down hard, trying to hold back . . . to wait . . . to give her what she needed. But, damn, it was hard. Sam was so amazing . . . so beautiful . . .
Sam gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging in with amazing strength, and her breath hitched and caught. "Oh, god . . . Jack. Jack!"
He reached between their joined bodies and caressed her clit, and Sam bucked against him, lost in the intensity of her orgasm. Her body seized and clenched around him and Jack threw his head back with a long, ragged cry as his own release pulled every ounce of strength from his body with its ferocity.
Sam collapsed against his chest, her breathing rapid and shallow. A fine sheen of sweat covered them both. Jack kissed her shoulder and ran his hands along her back, feeling the small spasms still coursing through her body. Gently, he eased her sideways and laid them both out on the couch with his back to the cushions and Sam's head on some throw pillows. He tried to shift, but she laced her fingers into his hair and urged him to recline, his head resting on her breast. Jack kissed her skin and let his hands skim over her stomach and hips as they both came down from the edge.
"Jack?" Sam finally said after several minutes, when they both were breathing normal again. She combed through his hair with her nails as she spoke.
"Mmmmm?"
"I love you."
Jack smiled against her breast and tugged the blanket off the back of the couch to cover them both. He shifted into a slightly more comfortable position and Sam moved to her side, spooning against him. They linked hands, the back of hers against his palm, and Sam drew his arm around to hold it against her chest. Jack kissed her bare shoulder. *Damn, he loved kissing her skin!*
"I love you, Sam."
She sighed, long and slow and deep and settled into the couch using his other arm as a pillow. It wasn't long before Jack felt the change in her breathing and knew she had drifted off to sleep. He pushed up as far as he could without disturbing her and looked into her face, still illuminated by the images on the television.
"Always . . . "
*****
"So, are you getting used to being *human* again?" Sam asked, taking a bite of her cheese omelet in the commissary.
Daniel bobbed his eyebrows and cut his waffle with his fork. "Well, it's not quite so hard this time. This time no one packed up all my stuff and gave up my apartment."
Sam smiled, taking another bite. She was famished! Course, she had a lot of calories to replenish that she had burned off in the last couple of day. "Well, you were gone over a year last time."
Daniel shrugged. "True."
"Greetings, DanielJackson. Colonel Carter," Teal'c said as he approached their table, his tray heavy laden with his usual breakfast fare.
"Hey, Teal'c." Sam moved her empty tray so he would have a place to sit down. "Have you guys heard anything about this bizarre discovery in Giza?"
Daniel shook his head, pouring more syrup on his waffles. "Just that it had the archaeologists there completely freaked out and it has something to do with the SGC. I guess everything related is being brought here ASAP."
Sam nodded. "I was in the General's office when he first got the call. I'm dying to know . . . What?"
Daniel was smirking, cutting his waffle into smaller pieces. "Nothing."
She set down her fork. "What?"
"I believe DanielJackson finds humor in your reference to O'Neill in such formal terms when both he and I are aware of the change in your relationship."
Sam's mouth fell open and she stared at Teal'c for a moment. He simply looked back, one eyebrow raised, then popped a grape in his mouth. Sam turned on Daniel, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes. "I thought you said you wouldn't *say* anything!"
"I didn't have to!" Daniel defended. "Teal'c told *me*!"
Her mouth fell open again. Daniel smiled, swirling a piece of waffle in his syrup. "I told you, Sam. We know you two. We've had to lay witness to this whole *thing* for eight *long* years."
Sam felt the heat rise in her cheeks and she laid her forehead in her hands. "For cryin' out loud . . . " she mumbled.
Daniel snorted and attempted to take a drink of his coffee.
Jack appeared, sliding into the empty chair beside Daniel, a smile on his face. "Fancy meeting you all here . . . "
"Morning, Jack," Daniel said, the stupid grin still on his face.
Sam kicked him under the table.
"Ow!"
Jack looked between them, a puzzled expression on his face, but didn't ask. "When you're done eating, I have something *veddy veddy* interesting for you to see."
Sam sat up straighter. "What is it?"
"Is it the mystery finding from Giza?" Daniel asked.
Jack smiled and wagged a finger. "Eat up, and you shall see. But . . . while I have the three of you here, I had a thought this morning."
"This would indeed be a momentous occasion."
All three turned to look at Teal'c, and Sam was sure she had to look as surprised as Jack and Daniel. Sam stifled her laugh by clearing her throat while Jack slide another sidelong look at the big Jaffa before continuing.
"As I was *saying* . . . to celebrate Daniel's return to the living, again, I thought the four of us could take a long weekend and go up to my cabin."
"And fish?" Daniel asked.
"Yeah, fish! Of course. Or . . . just . . . you know. Hang out. Whatever. So, you guys in?"
"Sure. I'll go," Daniel said. "I could use a weekend away."
"As could I."
Sam crossed her arms on the table and met Jack's gaze over the napkin dispenser and condiment containers. One corner of his mouth tipped up in a lopsided grin.
"What about you, Carter?"
She pulled her lower lip through her teeth before letting herself smile, nodding her head. "Oh, yeah. I'll go fishing."
Daniel groaned and got up from the table, taking his and Sam's tray with him. Jack watched him go. "What's his problem?"
Sam shook her head. "Let's go see your big surprise."
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
*"Ah, Jack, you should say something . . . "*
*"College football is played on Saturdays. PRO on Sundays. And there are no fish in my pond . . . at all . . . where I fish. I think that covers it for me."*
Daniel hit the keyboard and the video stopped. Sam looked to Jack, where he sat staring at himself on the monitor.
"Is that correct?"
He looked at her, raising his brows. "If it is, we don't do anything?"
"Apparently, nothing we did effected the timeline."
"But we didn't *do* anything."
"Not yet," she explained. "Apparently, we were going to. Two weeks from now. But now, we don't have to."
"Excellent. That's it! I like it!"
Daniel nodded his agreement, and he and Teal'c went off in separate directions. Sam reached for the wooden crate that held the treasured ZPM. With this power source, a world of possibilities opened up for them. Including opening a wormhole to Atlantis again.
"Okay, I'm going to get this up to the lab for analysis . . . "
Jack lunged off his stool, grabbing the box before she could lift it off the table. "Nope. I'll take it. There's a whole *room* full of geeks up there just dying to get their hands on this." He lifted the box, and paused to let his gaze shift over her body. Sam enjoyed the now familiar warming of her skin. "You've got packing to do."
He was almost to the door, and Sam figured she was almost safe, when he stopped and turned around.
"Now, wait a minute . . . "
*Damn . . . *
"If we can manage to go *back* in time five thousand years, steal a ZPM, hide it, leave ourselves a secret message, and *still* not change the timeline, can you seriously tell me . . . "
"No, Jack."
"Just one game? Just the last one . . . "
"No!"
"Please?"
"No!"
Jack huffed, shifted the box in his hands, and left the room mumbling under his breath. "Don't even know why they bother give me the damn star on my collar . . . doesn't do me a damn bit of good. No one listens to me anyway . . . "
As soon as he was gone, she smiled and sighed. God, she loved him.
*[]*[]*[]*[]*[]*
The sun had set half an hour before, and now the three-quarters moon reflected off the still waters of Jack's pond, making the water look almost black. He sat on the dock, his heels braced between two planks and his knees bent so he could rest his elbows on them. A lukewarm and forgotten beer sat on the dock near his feet.
Today had been great. Something he had wanted for years. Sam Carter at his cabin. Granted, Teal'c and Daniel came along for the ride . . . but it was still totally amazing.
He was still in shock most of the time. Couldn't believe that after so long, everything he wanted was right there in front of him.
Almost.
Jack heard her soft footsteps whisper through the grass before she stepped onto the small dock, and reached up to cover her hand when she laid it on his shoulder.
"I though you were just coming out to make sure we grabbed all the gear."
"I got sidetracked."
"Everything okay?"
Jack moved the beer out of the way and shifted to spread his legs to make room for her to sit. "Come here." Sam stepped between his thighs and sank down onto the wood dock, leaning back into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and laid his cheek against her hair.
"Jack?" she said after a few minutes.
"Everything is fine."
Sam twisted in his hold to look up at him. Even in the semi-darkness he saw the concern wrinkling her brow. "Talk to me."
He kissed her first, slowly, enjoying the soft feel of her mouth. Then he pulled back and stroked her cheek, brushing some hair behind her ear. "I don't want to hide."
She blinked, her gaze shifting over his face. "Jack, we can't . . . "
"I know. The way things are right now, we have no choice."
"Then what are we talking about?"
He licked his lips, buying time, trying to figure out what to say and what could wait. "Sam, we both knew *something* would have to change before this ever happened, right?"
She nodded. "But - - "
"We just never said what. I don't want to go into detail yet, but, there could be some things happening . . . soon . . . and if they do, then we may not have to hide anymore."
Sam shifted so she could look into his face better. "Jack . . . what kind of things?"
"I can't say. Not even to you. Will you trust me?"
She nodded. "Always."
Jack wrapped his arms around her and she leaned back into his chest again. A soft breeze blew in off the water, carrying the scent of earth and trees and life. Sam drew in a long, deep breath, releasing it on a sigh.
"We *really* should have done this years ago."
Jack starts to sing, slightly off tune, in her ear. "Land of sky-blue waters. Loofas. Yeah sure you betcha, snookums. Mosquitos . . ."
Sam chuckled and pulled Jack's arms tighter around her. Yup, this right here . . . this was heaven.
~FIN~
Story Notes: This story is a combination of scenes that occurred 'on screen', extensions of those scenes, and additions/interpretations of moments that I would have liked to have seen happen, or maybe did and we just didn't get to bear witness. So, if you see things that look familiar - they were moments in the series/episode that I felt needed to be reiterated to make the story flow. Some of those scenes have been abbreviated to exclude parts that were unnecessary to reach my goal, and thus were merely filler . . .
Archive: http://outoftheroom.hometead.com/Always.html (not there yes as of this posting) Helio2, Gateworld, SJD, SJfic, fanfic.net . . . if you'd like to post it somewhere else, just let me know. I'm sure I'll say yes, just want to know where.
Feedback: YES!
Disclaimer: I make no money for this. Wish I did.. but oh, well. No copyright infringement intended.
Special Thanks: Forever and always, to my amazing Beta Jenifer - who inspires me with her begging for MORE as much as she helps me with her helpful editing work. Thanks so much, hun!
Archive: http://outoftheroom.hometead.com/Always.html (not there yes as of this posting) Helio2, Gateworld, SJD, SJfic, fanfic.net . . . if you'd like to post it somewhere else, just let me know. I'm sure I'll say yes, just want to know where.
Feedback: YES!
Disclaimer: I make no money for this. Wish I did.. but oh, well. No copyright infringement intended.
Special Thanks: Forever and always, to my amazing Beta Jenifer - who inspires me with her begging for MORE as much as she helps me with her helpful editing work. Thanks so much, hun!
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]