You smiled, you spoke, and I believed,
By every word and smile deceived.
- Walter Savage Landor
Chapter 1
The late summer sunshine shone warmly through air tempered by a tang of autumn chill. From across the park the shouts and barks of playing children drifted over the rustling leaves and settled on the warm bench where Daniel sat waiting.
He’d arrived early and had his nose buried in the foreign section of the newspaper, determined to enjoy the dying days of summer, when something made him look up. He squinted through the sunshine and saw the man he was waiting for walking across the browned grass. From this distance Jack O’Neill didn’t look any different from the man he’d worked with for so long. But it had been four years, and an ocean of water had flooded beneath the bridge that now separated Jack from Colorado Springs and the life they had all shared at the SGC.
Daniel rose to his feet, folding the newspaper. Waiting. Obligatory sunglasses protected Jack’s eyes - more from scrutiny than from the sun, Daniel suspected - and his hands were thrust deep in the pockets of his dark leather jacket. Perhaps his hair had a little more salt than pepper now, and his tanned face held deeper lines. But, that aside, he walked with the same swagger Daniel remembered, and his mouth was the same uncompromising straight line.
"Jack," Daniel said as his friend slowed and stopped a foot or so away.
A brief nod greeted him. "Daniel. Good to see you."
There was a moment of silence and hesitation. Once they might have embraced, but time had taken Jack O’Neill away and Daniel wasn’t sure their friendship was what it once had been. He settled for holding out his hand. "You too," he said, as they shook briefly. "It’s been a while." Jack simply nodded, gazing around the park as if it were a distant memory. "So," Daniel persisted, "how come you’re here? I was surprised to get your call."
Jack’s attention snapped back and he frowned. "Business. Laura has a meeting with some people in Bolder, so I thought I’d head down here and check on the house."
"Your house?" Daniel was surprised. He’d thought Jack had sold it after the wedding.
"I rent it out," came the explanation, as Jack’s attention drifted towards the horizon again. "Pays for the upkeep of the cabin."
Daniel smiled. "So you still fish, huh?"
A trace of a grimace touched Jack’s lips. "Life’s too short not to." In the silence that followed they started to walk, a lazy meander through the fall-tinted trees. "So," Jack said at last, "how are things with you?"
"Busy," Daniel replied. "I don’t go off-world too much anymore. Which is actually kind of a relief. I think I’m getting too old for the outdoors life." Jack snorted, and Daniel smiled as he carried on. "I’ve got a good team. And some of the artifacts the front-line people are bringing through the gate are amazing. Now we spend less time fighting and more time…exploring… we’re really making some amazing breakthroughs. For example, last week SG-4 brought back a statue from…" He trailed off, knowing that his friend wasn’t listening. Even behind the dark glasses, Daniel could see the way he was studying the ground ahead of their feet. Miles away. But Daniel knew exactly where his thoughts had gone.
Better get it over with.
He took a deep breath. "Teal’c’s doing a great job managing the Tok’ra-Jaffa alliance," he said, by way of introduction. "And Sam--" A slight twitch of Jack’s jaw was the only indication that something was amiss. "She’s doing a great job as second in command of the base. I think General Taylor’s considering making her a…uh…" He pulled off his glasses and tried to remember the military rank. "Some kind of promotion," he explained. "Something more than she is now…I’m not sure what--"
"A Full Colonel," Jack supplied quietly. "That would be the next promotion."
"Right. You’d think I’d be able to remember that."
"Full Colonel," Jack mused. "At what? Thirty-eight? That’s fast. Even for Carter."
"Well, that’s Sam for you," Daniel pointed out. "She was always exceptional." Jack just nodded, and they walked on in silence. "I could give her a call," Daniel suggested after a moment. "We could all get together and--"
"No. No, I’m just here for a few hours."
"She’ll be sorry to have missed you."
Jack’s answering grunt was pure skepticism. "Right."
"Jack, you know she still--"
"Another time," Jack broke in. "Okay?" Daniel just shrugged and let the silence fall again. After a moment Jack pulled off his sunglasses; his dark, impenetrable eyes were no more revealing than the smoked glass. "Is she doing okay? I mean…happy?"
Something in Daniel’s chest clenched at the undertone he heard in his friend’s voice; a sadness and regret that didn’t show on his face but seemed to ache in his words. "She is," Daniel assured him. Although he didn’t know if the assurance would be a comfort or a further pain. "She and Matt--"
"Right," Jack nodded, turning away. "Good."
Blowing out a deep breath, Daniel turned the subject. "So, how about you? Laura sounds like an interesting woman. I’ve seen some of her anthropological photos in National Geographic."
"She’s pretty amazing," Jack agreed, seeming to relax. "You’d like her. She’s taken some amazing wildlife pictures too. She’s just got this incredible way with dumb animals…"
"That’s how come she gets on so well with you, huh?"
Jack cast him a sideways glance. "Very good. Almost funny."
"I’ve been practicing."
Jack stopped suddenly, looking right into Daniel’s face. He gave a sad smile and reached out a hand to clasp his shoulder. "It’s good to see you."
"Yeah," Daniel agreed. "You too."
"Wanna get lunch?"
"Sounds good. O’Malley’s, for old-time’s sake?"
But Jack’s eyes clouded. "Somewhere new."
Somewhere with no memories, Daniel realized sadly. Four years on, and the guy was still hurting. "Okay. Somewhere new. And I want to hear all about your trip to Guyana with Laura."
"Oh, you’d have loved it," Jack chuckled. "Mosquitoes the size of small dogs."
Daniel shuddered. "Sounds like heaven…"
***
Sam stared over the pile of papers on her desk in shock. "He was here? In Colorado Springs?"
Daniel at least had the good grace to look awkward. "Just for a few hours," he explained. "He called me out of the blue and suggested we meet for lunch."
"When?" she demanded, not sure if surprise, shock or anger were the most forceful of her emotions. Jack O’Neill had been in town, and she hadn’t known. Somehow that seemed wrong - she should have known.
"Saturday."
She blinked dry eyes and shook her head. "Why? I mean, why was he here? Why didn’t he come up to the mountain?" Why didn’t he call me? Although she knew the answer to that question.
Daniel blew out a slow breath. "It’s been a long time," he said quietly. "Lots of changes. I think he just wanted to touch base, since he was in town. No big…reunions."
"He’s still mad," Sam sighed, leaning back in her chair and staring down at her fingers laying motionless in her lap. "I thought now he had what’s-her-name--"
"Laura."
"Right." For some reason she could never remember the woman’s name. "I thought now he had Laura, maybe he might, you know… Be okay with it."
"I don’t think he was mad," Daniel assured her, taking a sip of the coffee he cradled in his hands. "More…uncomfortable, maybe?"
Her fingers remained motionless, still callused from off-world missions and over-familiarity with her weapons. "I’d have liked to see him," she said at last. "We didn’t part well." Not that they’d argued. There’d been no heated confrontations, no accusations. Nothing. Just a slow drift away from what had once seemed possible, even probable, towards a silent ending of their hopes. Circumstances had forced their feelings underground, where the pressures and tensions of their unique situation had compressed them until they were as hard and unyielding as diamond. And there they had remained, hidden from the world and each other, as slowly their lives had drawn them apart. And then Sam had met Matt Hutchinson and everything had changed. Matt had--
Matt!
"Damn!" Sam growled, glancing at her watch. She’d forgotten the time!
"Problem?" Daniel asked, not making a move from his slouched position in the chair opposite.
"I was meant to be home five minutes ago!" Sam explained, pushing to her feet and flicking through the paperwork that was piled on the desk. "Damn, Matt’s gonna kill me."
"Oh," Daniel smiled in understanding. "That’s right, you’re off for your dirty weekend--"
"It’s a conference!" Sam objected, hiding a smile.
"Whatever."
"A boring conference," she added under her breath. The ins and outs of the publishing industry weren’t something that could ever hold her attention. But on the plus side, it was in Florida and the idea of the beach was certainly appealing…
Daniel rose to his feet. "What time’s your flight?"
"Eight. But I still have to pack, and you know what Matt’s like about being on time."
"Go," Daniel offered, waving a hand at the paperwork. "I’ll sort this out and tell General Taylor."
Sam glanced up. "Really?"
"There’s nothing urgent, right?"
"No. Just a couple of reports I needed to send. Oh, and some problem SG-5 had on P4G-439 that I need to look into--"
"Consider it done," he smiled. And although she wasn’t entirely comfortable with just abandoning her work with him, she really had no choice.
"Thanks Daniel. I appreciate it."
"Have fun! Come back with a tan."
She smiled. "Oh, I plan to."
Grabbing her coat she dashed from the room, leaving Daniel alone with her paperwork - and her memories of O’Neill. It was easier that way, to leave the memories on base and nowhere near her new home and new life. Besides, with the prospect of an irritated and impatient husband at home, she really didn’t want to remember laughing dark eyes. Or dangerously intense ones either…
By the time she arrived home she had less than an hour to pack and get out of the house. "You’re late," came the abrupt words the moment the door closed behind her. Sam sighed.
"Something came up," she lied, relying on the secrecy of her work as a shield.
Matt appeared from the kitchen, a frown on his round face. "You do realize we have to check-in in less than fifty--"
"I know!" Sam snapped, heading straight for the bedroom. "It’ll take me ten minutes to pack. Stop panicking."
"I’m not panicking!" Matt exclaimed, following her into the bedroom. Her suitcase was already laid out on the bed, and to her irritation it was half full of her clothes. "I thought I’d give you a head-start."
Sam gritted her teeth. "Thanks." She took a brief look through the clothes, and decided it wasn’t worth arguing about whether he had any right to pack for her. She’d just stick what she wanted to take on top. It was only a couple of days, after all. She turned to her dresser, almost colliding with Matt who hovered impatiently behind her. "Why don’t you go and load up the car?" she suggested.
"I have."
Of course. "Well…just stop hovering, will you? This won’t take a moment."
"You know how important this is to me, Sam."
"My packing?" she snapped back.
"The conference. Jesus, why can’t you even be a little bit excited about it?"
She stopped, her fingers curling around a selection of t-shirts in her drawer. "I am," she replied. "I just don’t see why we have to get to the airport so early and--"
"I don’t want to be late."
"We won’t be," she assured him, flinging the t-shirts into her suitcase and going in search of her swimsuit.
"If you’d gotten home when you said you would, we could have had a relaxing--"
"Matt!" she exclaimed, turning to him with her swimsuit dangling from one hand. "Don’t. Okay? We don’t have to do this. I’ll be ready to go in a few minutes - less if you just leave me alone."
His frown deepened, and he nodded. A beat of remorse tugged at Sam’s heart, but she repressed it. He was being unreasonable. "I’ll wait in the car," he told her, and she rolled her eyes.
"Fine. Whatever."
Once he was gone, she pulled the rest of her things together - remembering a good book and her sun-block - and changed out of her BDU’s into her customary jeans. But she couldn’t help the irritation building inside her, or the feeling that she was spoiling for a fight. Normally, Matt’s hyper-organization was kind of endearing. It fitted with her militarily disciplined mind. But on occasion she couldn’t help but feel stifled. For crying out loud, the man had tried to pack her clothes for her! She sighed and pulled her suitcase from the bed. "I guess that’s what four years of marriage does," she muttered to herself as she left the bedroom. Familiarity breeds contempt, and she was in no doubt that the honeymoon was over. But such was life. Such was married life.
After a silent car ride to the airport and a tense wait in the slow-moving line to be security checked, Sam and Matt found themselves sitting quietly in the airport’s small coffee bar. With an hour to spare before their flight.
"Happy now?" Sam sniped as she watched her husband over the top of her cappuccino.
Matt glared. "We were lucky we didn’t hit traffic. And last time I flew out of here I had to wait over an hour to check in!"
Sam just shrugged and stifled a yawn. Time to change the subject if she wanted to avoid a fight. "So the Hyatt has a private beach, huh?"
"You’ll love it," Matt assured her with a softening smile. "Even if the conference is boring."
"It won’t be boring."
His blue eyes narrowed. "I know you think it’s boring. You complain every year."
Sam frowned. "It’s not. It’s just--"
"I know. It’s not as interesting as deep space radar--"
"I never said that!" she protested. "And anyway, you fell asleep when we went to the USC conference last year."
"I was sick!"
She smiled. "You were bored. But that’s okay. I mean, this is what it’s all about, right?"
"What what’s all about?"
"Being married. In sickness and in health, ‘till--"
"--death by boredom us do part?"
Sam chuckled. "It’s not that bad. Seriously. Some of the exhibits are fantastic."
"And the parties are good," Matt reminded her. "You did bring that black dress with the straps…?"
"Yes," Sam sighed. "I brought the dress. Don’t worry, I won’t let you down."
Matt’s eyes widened and he reached across the table to touch her hand. "You never could," he told her with a warmer smile. "Even in your BDU’s you’d be more beautiful than anyone else in the room."
"Don’t be silly," she chuckled, although the compliment wasn’t unwelcome.
"I’m not," Matt told her, his fingers clasping her hand. "You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known."
"And you’re still the biggest flatterer I’ve ever known!"
He laughed at that. "Just another reason why we’re the perfect couple."
"Yeah," Sam smiled, pulling her hand from his and taking another sip of coffee. "That we are." And if the words rang a little hollow, she knew it was only because of their almost-fight that afternoon. Nothing more than that.
***
The hotel was large, luxurious and anonymous. Decorated in wicker and bright colors, it exuded an artificial tropical charm that didn’t quite work for Sam. But Matt was oblivious to the décor, his eyes already scanning the arriving guests for people that he knew and people that he wanted to know. As he’d explained to Sam, on more than one occasion, the networking he did at the CrossMedia Conference made half the deals of the year. Networking was everything.
As Matt hurried across the foyer to greet someone vital, Sam checked in. Their room was on the ground floor and facing the beach. Perfect. She took the keys, grabbed her suitcase and headed straight for their room. The last thing she wanted to do was indulge in the ubiquitous small-talk that would undoubtedly dominate the weekend. She beckoned Matt over from a safe distance and at last they found themselves in their large, impersonal room.
"Fantastic, isn’t it?" Matt said, at once heading for the large sliding doors and opening them up to the night.
It was dark, but the sound of crashing waves drifted in on humid air as Sam joined him on the patio. They were literally right on the beach. "Yeah," she sighed, taking in a deep breath. "Fantastic."
"We’ve still got time to get down to the mixer," he said then, clapping her on the shoulder. "I’m gonna change."
Alone on the patio, Sam sighed. She was tired and really not in the mood. But what choice did she have? This was Matt’s business and she had a duty to support him. He’d do as much for her and probably with better grace. With a regretful look at the dark beach, Sam headed back inside to search for something appropriate to wear for the evening.
***
"God!" Laura complained, as she hefted her heavy backpack onto the wide hotel bed. "I’ve never seen so many suits!"
Jack grunted as the weight of the pack landing by his side jostled him. He opened one eye. "What did you expect?"
She sighed, running a hand through her long red hair. "This, I guess," she confessed with a smile. "It’s just so…not me."
"No," he agreed, letting his eyes range over her slim figure, still clothed in the khaki shorts and tank top she seemed to live in. "Me neither."
"Still," she said, sitting down cross-legged on the end of the bed, "if I want to get funding for the next expedition I need to find a publisher who’s interested in…" She trailed off, cocked her head to one side. "Okay, I’m boring you already." She smiled. "Thanks for coming with me, Jack. I know you’d rather be fishing."
"Any time," he assured her, willing her to crawl over the bed towards him.
She read his mind. Or perhaps she just saw the lust in his eyes. "We still have half an hour before we need to be downstairs," she suggested with a smile he couldn’t misinterpret. "If you’re not too tired from the flight?"
He reached for her, as always amazed that this lithe, young body was so willingly in his arms. "Tired? I might be old," he muttered as her lips touched his throat, "but I’m not dead yet."
"You," Laura murmured between kisses, "Are. Not. Old."
And at that moment he almost believed her.
***
Almost an hour and a half later, Jack found himself sitting at the hotel’s phony tropical bar with a whiskey in one hand. Laura was away networking and he was quite content to sit and browse the paper while ignoring the excited chatter around him. All-in-all he felt pretty darn good. Even stuck in Florida tourist hell. Laura Hartstone was the best thing that had happened to him in a long, long time and he knew it. Life was good.
"Jack!" Laura popped up at his elbow with a wide grin on her young face. "There’s someone you have to meet!"
He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because he’s huge - and I mean huge - in non-fiction publishing and he’s just asked you and me to join him for drinks!"
He gave her an indulgent smile. "Okay, but you did warn him that I’m old and bad-tempered, didn’t you?"
Laura just rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand. "Come on. This could really be something."
"So who is this guy?" he asked as she pulled him through the crowd of suits.
"He works for Brock, Cuthbert and Smithson," she called over her shoulder. "They’re like the biggest publishers in the natural sciences and he said they were looking for-- Oh, there he is!"
Jack’s eyes drifted over the heads of the crowd towards a tallish, blond man with features as smooth as his suite. Laura’s hand tightened around his and she murmured, "Now be nice!" before launching into the schmooze she hated so much, yet somehow managed to do so well. "Matt. Hi! Let me introduce my partner, Jack…"
Frozen like the proverbial pillar of salt, Jack stopped in his tracks as the blue-eyed gaze turned on him. He saw no recognition in the look, although the face was abruptly and sickeningly familiar to Jack. The relief at not being recognized by the man was profound. But, as it turned out, momentary. It lasted as long as it took Matt Hutchinson to reach for the woman standing with her back to them, chatting with some of the other guests. Jack watched in a horrified stupor as Matt touched a bare, tanned shoulder and said, "Sam, honey, there’s someone I want you to meet."
Slowly, so slowly he could feel every heartbeat and every shiver of dreadful anticipation, she turned around. And it was her. It was her.
Carter.
"This is Laura Hartstone," Matt said, his voice the only one penetrating the echoing silence in which Jack found himself. "And her partner, Jack…?"
He couldn’t speak.
"O’Neill" Laura said, her voice a vague sound in the distance. Carter jumped, her eyes widening in shock as she stared at him.
And still he couldn’t speak.
But she could. "Colonel! Oh my God!"
Suddenly the room was all around him again, noisy, irritating and loud. "You guys know each other?" Matt asked, smooth features wrinkling into a frown.
"Of course!" Carter babbled nervously. "This is Colonel O’Neill! My CO. Former CO." She cast him an anxious smile. "He was at our wedding, Matt. You remember."
Obviously Matt didn’t. "Sure," he lied. "Good to see you again, ah…"
"Jack," he offered, at last finding the power to speak. "You too, Matt." He could lie as well as the next man. And then, with a resolve he usually reserved for the battlefield, he turned to Carter. "Hey."
She smiled, awkward and obviously embarrassed. He wondered what she was expecting him to do. "It’s been a while, sir."
"Yeah," he agreed, choosing to ignore the ‘S’ word. He’d been retired four years and still she had to call him ‘sir’? Did she really think it still mattered?
"Laura Hartstone," Laura said suddenly, sticking her hand out towards Carter. "You used to work with Jack? In the Air Force?"
"Yes." Carter looked surprised. Perhaps she’d expected him to have told Laura all about her. "We served together for seven years."
Laura smiled. "Right. All that top-secret stuff in Colorado, huh?"
"Yeah," Carter nodded. "That’s right."
"Well," Matt grinned, sliding an arm around Carter’s waist. "How about that drink? You guys can catch up while Laura and I discuss her latest project to-- Where was it?"
"Eritrea," Laura grinned, falling in at Matt’s side as he led the way towards the tables at the back of the bar. Carter walked on his other side, his arm still around her waist, leaving Jack to trail along behind them.
For a moment, he considered bolting for the door and fleeing to the dark beach beyond the hotel. But he dismissed the idea instantly. He was over Sam Carter, he reminded himself. Had been for years. And if a little embarrassment lingered it was only because she knew how he had once felt, and he hated anyone having that much power over him.
But, as he watched Laura’s red hair sway in time with her hips, he realized that perhaps this would be the perfect opportunity to finally end that power forever. Put a few ghosts to rest, and show her that she was ancient history; as irrelevant to his future as one of Daniel’s dusty artifacts. He had someone new in his life. Someone better. Someone as smart and talented as Sam Carter. Someone with a much better sense of fun than Sam Carter. And, he smiled slightly, someone at least ten years younger than Sam Carter.
Oh yeah. He was so over her. And he had to admit he was going to enjoy the hell out of showing her exactly how little she meant to him these days.
How very, very little.
***
Chapter 2
Sam’s heart was racing as Matt guided them towards an empty table and pulled out a chair for her - ever the gentleman. She smiled as she sat, but inside she felt as though her guts were rolling about in a tumble-dryer.
Jack O’Neill. Here. Now! Impossible.
But there he was, looking only slightly older than she remembered, sitting opposite her with his arm draped loosely around the shoulders of a woman who - she couldn’t help but notice - was young enough to be his daughter! Not that it was any of her business.
"So, Carter," he drawled, "how’s the world of deep space radar telemetry?"
She smiled slightly, catching a hint of animosity in his voice. "Full of paperwork."
"Gotta say, I don’t miss it a bit. Not a bit."
Oh yeah, definitely animosity. "Retirement seems to suit you," she replied lightly. "Lots of time to fish, huh?"
An odd look touched his face, his eyes flattening even though he smiled. "Hell, yeah. Laura loves to fish. Don’t you?"
Laura smiled up at him, a little puzzled. "Sure. Actually, we met at Jack’s cabin," she said, turning to Sam. "I was taking some photos up there. Beautiful area. And we kinda, bumped into each other in the undergrowth!"
"Sounds interesting," Matt laughed. "Did you get some good pictures?"
Laura laughed too. "Of the wildlife? Sure. Although not as good as the ones I’ll be getting in Eritrea."
"Yeah," Matt nodded, sitting forward. Down to business. "So, tell me about that? What’s the angle of your project?"
Sam listened to the conversation for a while, but was too distracted by the man sitting opposite her to really pay attention. It was so…weird, seeing him again. The last time had been on her wedding day, and he’d been a blur of regret amongst a crowd of guests. They’d barely had time to exchange two words, and before she’d known it he was gone and her new life had begun.
He wasn’t looking at her now, appearing engrossed in Laura’s conversation, the fingers of one hand stroking her shoulder absently. For some reason Sam found it difficult to look away. He’d always had long, elegant fingers. More artistic than practical; not really a typical soldier’s hands. But then Colonel O’Neill had never been a typical soldier. Aside from in some of his prejudices, perhaps.
She smiled slightly as she remembered how it had been, the banter, the teasing. The team. And a pang of regret sounded deep down inside, escaping as a soft sigh. O’Neill’s eyes were instantly on her, curious and guarded. Sam smiled, catching him and holding him with a look. "Daniel said you were in town last week."
"Yeah," he nodded. "Just for a few hours."
"You should have called."
"I did," he replied smoothly. "I called Daniel."
If that was meant to hurt, it did. Sam looked away, irritated with herself and him. The silence between them was masked by the noise of the room, but to Sam it was as profound as the past. It spoke of everything that had once been, could have been and now would never be. It spoke of regret, above all, and missed opportunities.
"Daniel said things are going well."
She hadn’t expected him to speak again, and looked over with surprise. His face was as grave as ever, but his arm had moved from around Laura’s shoulders and he was swishing the remains of his drink around the bottom of his glass. "They are," she replied slowly. "We’re making good progress."
He nodded, still avoiding looking at her. "You are, apparently," he said. "Sounds like you’ll be the CO of the whole joint in a couple of years."
"I doubt it," she smiled. "General Taylor’s not going anywhere."
He did look up then, brushing her face with a glance before he gazed away into the crowd. "Seems like a long time ago now."
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
He looked at her briefly before dropping his gaze back to the dregs of his drink. "Funny how things work out."
She didn’t know quite what to say to that. "I--"
"I mean," he added hurriedly, "if I hadn’t left the SGC when I did, I’d never have met Laura. And she…" He laughed softly and shook his head, "She’s the best thing that ever happened to me."
"That’s great," Sam replied, smiling and telling herself that she believed her words. "I’m glad." And she was. She was glad he’d found someone, glad that he was happy. Glad that any feelings he might have once held for her had died. She wouldn’t want him spending the rest of his life pining for her; it wasn’t like she ever thought about him with regret.
"Yeah, we definitely should." Matt’s words somehow found Sam, lost as she was in thought, and she glanced over to see his earnest face talking to Laura. "Tomorrow would be great." He turned to her then, smiling broadly. "We’d love to have dinner with Laura and Jack tomorrow, wouldn’t we hon? Give you guys a chance to catch up!"
There was absolutely no reason why her heart should quail at the prospect, so she chose to ignore the feeling and said, "That would be nice."
Across the table, O’Neill began to fidget. It was a familiar sight; even after all these years she could tell he was uncomfortable. Obviously dinner with her wasn’t something he relished. She flicked a look at his face, deadpan. But he’d obviously been looking at her because his eyes slid coolly away when she met them. Did he really hate her, she wondered. Did he blame her for breaking the unspoken promise between them? She remembered all-too-well his capacity to hold a grudge. All of a sudden, he was on his feet. "Nice meeting you again, Mike."
"Matt," Laura corrected, with an indulgent smile.
"Right," he nodded, holding out his hand to her. "You coming?"
She rose. "We’ll see you in the bar tomorrow night, then?"
"Seven o’clock," Matt confirmed, standing and shaking her hand. "I think this project has legs, Laura."
"I’m really excited about it," she enthused back, tossing her mane of red hair over one shoulder. Or rather, to Sam’s mind, over-enthused. Still, the girl was looking for a deal so she was bound to oversell her wares. So to speak.
And after a few more polite goodbyes and wishes for a good day ahead, Laura turned to leave them. O’Neill said nothing much, just tapped the newspaper he held impatiently against his thigh and kept his eyes fixed on the far side of the room, for all the world as if he were scouting for enemy troops. Sam felt obliged to speak. Or, perhaps, she was simply provoked. "It was good to see you again, sir."
His face flickered slightly and he glanced down at where she sat. "I retired four years ago, Carter. Drop the sir."
Despite her instinct to wince, she didn’t. And she didn’t drop his hard gaze either. "Then you can quit calling me Carter, too. It’s Sam."
He gave a half-smile, somewhere between a challenge and a joke. "Whatever." Taking Laura’s hand, he turned to leave. "Night, Carter."
And with that he was gone, taking the last word with him.
The bastard.
***
She was quiet, Matt thought the next morning, as he and Sam ate breakfast on the patio. Hidden behind her sunglasses, long legs stretched out before her, she seemed relaxed. But he knew her better. And he knew that with Sam, quiet meant trouble.
"Looking forward to a day on the beach?" he asked, breaking the ice. And then sighed; how stupid to have to break the ice with your own wife!
She made a good attempt at a smile. "Yeah. It’s nice to get away for a couple of days. I can’t remember the last time I sat on a beach."
"Have you ever?" he asked, and wasn’t entirely joking. Even their honeymoon had involved what Sam liked to call ‘adventure’ and what he preferred to call not having regular access to a bathroom.
She smiled again, more genuinely. "I lived in Long Beach for a while, remember? I’ve sat on plenty of beaches."
Good point. "Well, I hope you’re not going to be flirting with the guys this time. I’ve heard all about your wild youth."
"Huh," she snorted, taking a sip of juice. "You know you can’t believe half of what Mark tells you."
"It’s the half he doesn’t tell me that bothers me!"
Sam smiled at him, then glanced out over the white sand towards the blue dawn-touched water. "It’s really quite beautiful, despite all the development."
"I know it’s not exactly your scene," Matt agreed, looking along the wide beach at the hotels lining it like a strip-mall. "But you could do with a break. And we’ll have fun at dinner tonight."
If he hadn’t been watching her, he might not have noticed the way her eyebrows drew down or her mouth straightened into a tight line. "Sure," was all she said.
"What? You don’t want to--"
"No, it’s fine."
He was quiet for a moment, pondering. "This Jack guy," he said after a while. "You do get on with him, right? I mean, he wasn’t some kind of monstrous drill-sergeant type was he?"
"No," she said with a smile. "No, we got on fine." And then abruptly he saw the barriers fall away and she turned to him and pulled off her sunglasses. "I guess, seeing him again just brought back memories. You know, just thinking about good times we had. I miss it sometimes."
"You don’t talk about it much," he commented, wishing that she hadn’t chosen this precise moment to open up. He needed to be at the opening session in ten minutes!
"I’m not allowed to."
"Not whatever it is you do down there," he said, finishing his coffee. "The other stuff. Friends. Colleagues. I mean, there’s Daniel and Maggie. But apart from them… This Jack was your CO, you said?"
She nodded. "He came to our wedding."
She’d mentioned that the previous night, although for the life of him Matt couldn’t remember the face. He couldn’t have stayed long. "He’s a friend of Daniel’s?"
"Yeah," she sighed. "They’re still in touch."
"But not a friend of yours?" he pressed, not understanding her melancholy mood. "I mean - you don’t exactly seem thrilled to see him. If it’s a problem, I’ll tell Laura that we can’t make dinner and catch up with her during the day. Lunch perhaps. You can stay on the beach."
For a moment Sam seemed to consider the offer, which surprised him. She really must have problems with the guy! But then he saw her resolved expression descend, and knew that for reasons of her own she wanted to face him. "No," she said. "I’ll come. It’ll be fine."
Matt glanced at his watch. "I really have to go," he apologized as he stood. "You going to be okay?"
"Sure," she assured him with a languid smile. "I’ll work on my tan."
Leaning over, he gave her a quick kiss. "Don’t work too hard."
"You know me."
Which he did; she probably had half a dozen papers in her case to either read or write. But that was Sam. And he loved her for it.
***
Jack had woken with the disconcerting feeling that he’d barely slept all night, and the grit in his eyes to prove the point. It irritated him. Not that he had anything to actually do all day, other than doze in the sun. But it irritated him that she had deprived him of one more night’s sleep.
He’d thought that was all in the past, back in the days after he’d come to realize that all his hopes and unspoken plans had been dashed against the hard reality of Carter’s new love. But that was years ago, and he’d moved on. He didn’t care about her anymore, and it irritated the hell out of him that she’d occupied his thoughts all night.
Perhaps it was because she’d looked so much like her old self, like the Carter he’d tried so hard to expunge from his memory. He hadn’t seen a trace of gray in her hair, although he decided that at thirty-seven she probably dyed it. Maybe she had all along? She hadn’t gained any weight or apparently aged a day. She looked exactly, disconcertingly, as he remembered her. And that irritated him too.
He knew the years had touched him, in the gray in his hair and the lines on his face. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him. Was she surprised at how he looked? Did she think he looked old next to her smooth-skinned husband? Did she think herself lucky not to have tied herself to him after all? Or maybe she didn’t think about him at all. He’d lay money on her not having been tossing and turning all night, failing to keep her memories from resurfacing.
With a sigh, Jack considered hitting the bar. It was early, but a cool beer would go down well in the Florida sun. He might even make it onto the beach, if he could find a quiet spot far from the whale-like tourists who beached themselves within flopping distance of the hotels, incapable, it seemed, of moving any further down the expansive beach.
Or perhaps he’d ignore the hotel bar and head down the beach in search of a little local color. There had to be some, after all. Maybe even some fishing. Having made the decision, he wasn’t the type to delay. And so grabbing his sunglasses and hat he headed out. A walk would be good, take his mind off his disconcertion and exercise his body. Nothing like a little fresh air to clear the fog.
After all, he needed to be as relaxed as possible to ready himself for an evening of small talk with the woman who had broken his heart so many years ago.
***
With a bag full of lunch slung over one shoulder, and her sandals dangling from her hand, Sam meandered along the wet sand close to the waves. The sun was hot and the breeze just cool enough to take the edge off as she passed by the frilly-hatted ladies lacquering themselves in sun-cream and baking their skins to a close approximation of a well-cured hide. Occasionally she was overtaken by spry young girls in barely-there bikini tops as they power-walked through the surf, blond pony-tales swaying in time with their perfectly toned bottoms.
She smiled and gazed out over the sea. If Matt were here his eyes would have been riveted! Men - all men, she had come to realize - were as unsophisticated as slot-machines. Stick in a quarter and they all had the same reaction. There wasn’t a man on the planet - any planet - who wouldn’t have the same reaction to a fit young body. Which, she supposed, was why the colonel had looked so damn pleased with himself the previous night, his arm draped protectively around the slender, youthful shoulders of Laura Hartstone.
Not that Sam was jealous. He could date who he chose and she’d be happy for him. But she couldn’t help feeling a little envy at the girl’s fresh looking skin, her thick hair and youthful enthusiasm. She’d had those things once and sometimes regretted their passing. She’d never been vain - life was too short for that. But sometimes when she looked in the mirror she regretted that youth was fading and that she was heading into middle age with a speed that seemed impossible. Perhaps that was why the colonel had fallen for Laura? Maybe her youth was contagious and held back the beat of time that little bit longer.
Or perhaps they were simply in love.
The thought crunched uncomfortably in her heart, making her frown. But she didn’t pause to examine the feeling for too long, turning her gaze to the beach ahead of her. It was emptier here. The hotels had given way to residential properties, and suddenly feeling the urge to immerse herself in the cool blue waves Sam headed up the beach to claim a spot for her towel and bag.
Stripping off her shorts she dawdled back towards the surf and into the water. It was cool, but the waves were big and she grinned at the sudden rush of adrenaline as she dived through the first huge wave to avoid being beached like so much flotsam. She let out an involuntary whoop as she surfaced, before diving once more under the surf.
For a few moments she thought of nothing but the sea and the hot Florida sunshine. And she was happy.
***
Armed only with a New York Times and a couple of cans of soda, Jack decided that he’d had enough exercise for the day. He could hear the muted chatter from the deck of a small bar just a little further along the beach, but for now he preferred solitude. So he stopped and dropped down onto the hot sand. Hot, but not Abydos hot. That place could flay the skin from your limbs if you weren’t careful.
The memory brought on melancholy thoughts of Ska’ra and the wedding that had never been. He wondered if the Ascended married, but somehow doubted it. They’d have more sense. Shaking the thought away, he opened the paper to read about the world’s latest insanity and cheer himself up.
But the sun was hot and pretty soon he was reaching for his soda. As the can hissed open he glanced up and saw a figure emerging from the waves. He smiled, enjoying the sight of long, limber legs and a body that looked strong, fit and healthy. No whisper-thin girl this, he thought to himself as the woman glanced up and down the beach, obviously wondering where she’d left her belongings.
It was then Jack noticed the towel and bag that lay a few feet along the beach from him and his smile broadened. Not that ogling women on the beach had been his intention for the day, but when the offer presented itself he wasn’t going to refuse.
Settling himself with a soda in one hand, he gazed out at the waves, relying on his sunglasses to hide the fact that his eyes were actually fixed on the woman walking up the beach towards her towel. He had to admit, she looked fantastic. There was something about her silhouetted shape that just did insanely good things to all the right parts. If it hadn’t been so early in the day, he’d have suspected himself of sunstroke. After all, there was no reason that he should have such a strong reaction - not with Laura in his bed most nights, even if she was slightly on the waifish-side of slim. But this woman, ambling up the beach, stooping occasionally to pick up a shell or two, looked like something out of a dream. Or even a memory. It was as if she were walking out of his own imagination, the incarnation of his mind’s most ardent fantasies. Sun glinted on blond hair. A hand reached up to smooth the damp locks from her face and she--
HOLY SHIT!
He was on his feet before the thought slammed into his mind.
Carter.
It was Sam-goddamn-Carter!
He looked around him, desperate for escape. But the emptiness of the beach trapped him. He couldn’t leave now without her seeing. And what the hell would that look like? Like he’d been watching her and then fled the scene of the crime. Shit.
Resolutely he held his ground, doing his best not to notice exactly how fantastic she looked. He was over her, he reminded himself firmly. And so what if every fantasy of the past eleven years had underestimated precisely how perfectly she was formed beneath her uniform? It was just physical. He’d moved on. He had Laura - she was young and beautiful. His body might respond to Sam Carter, but his heart was closed to her.
As she approached her towel, she glanced over at him. Recognition was instantaneous and he saw her mouth gape with a moment of shock before she reached down and snatched up the towel, hurriedly covering herself. Thank God.
He smiled at her and sauntered closer, as sardonic as he could manage. "Well, this is a first. Didn’t think you ever took vacations, Carter."
She blinked at him, clutching her towel to her chest. Not that he was looking at her chest. "These conferences are pretty boring," she said, without a smile. No doubt still pissed from the previous night. Good. He was still pissed from the last four years!
"I’m surprised Mike could pry you out of the SGC. Or are you a dutiful little wife who does what she’s told?"
"Wow," she nodded, eyes flinty, "you really can be a vicious son-of-a-bitch, Jack." Despite his best intentions, his surprise must have shown on his face because she carried on with a half-smile. "You’re not my CO, remember? I can actually say what I think."
"It was a joke," he lied. "I see you haven’t developed a sense of humor in the last four years."
For a moment her eyes flashed angrily, but then they dimmed with sadness as she looked away. "I guess I don’t think this is funny. We used to be friends."
He grimaced but didn’t waiver. "Is that what we were?" She said nothing and he shrugged. "Things change."
Nodding, Sam snatched up her bag and rummaged inside for her sunglasses. She slid them on with obvious relief. Hiding. "Guess I’ll see you for dinner, si-- Jack."
"I guess," he replied, not sure if he was dreading or wanting her to leave.
With a brief nod that was entirely Major Carter, she turned and strode back down the beach towards the hotel. He let her go, but watched every step, sickened by his own desire to race after her and apologize.
I’m over her, he reminded himself silently. I am over her.
***
Chapter 3
Despite the cool shower, the bathroom was steam-fogged and Sam had to wipe a hole in the mirror to see her reflection. The sun had left her glowing, wet hair stripped back from her naked face. Her eyes dark and serious.
And her mind… Her mind was back at that moment on the beach, when she’d seen him watching her through his dark glasses. Watching her all-but-naked in her swimsuit, his expression as laconically snarly as the previous evening. She hated that it bothered her. But even worse, she hated that it…what? Excited her? Shaking her head abruptly, she turned and left the room. That thought was one she didn’t want to pursue.
Matt lay sprawled on the bed, tie loosened and shoes on the floor. Snoring. He’d been back from the conference for half an hour and had collapsed immediately in a heap on the bed. Although, from what little he’d said before he dosed off, she’d gathered that the day had been a success. And he’d certainly been raving about Laura Hartstone. Sam frowned as she dried off, irritated at feeling a few tendrils of jealously for the young woman. Everyone, it seemed, thought she was the best thing since sliced bread.
Slipping into her underwear, she sat in front of the mirror and dragged her make-up bag in front of her. She was determined to make the most of herself this evening - ‘smile’ lines and all. If she had to eat dinner in the company of a willfully sarcastic O’Neill and his young and over-talented girlfriend, she’d at least do it in style.
Behind her on the bed, Matt snorted and rolled over. She watched him in the mirror and decided that he needed a haircut. His snoring grew louder, fuelling a rush of irritation that shot up from her belly to her mouth and turned into a snappy, "Stop snoring!"
He snorted, grunted and rolled towards her. "What?"
"Nothing," she grated, returning her gaze to her own reflection. "You need to get ready. Dinner’s in half an hour."
By the time Matt had emerged from the shower, Sam was ready. The black strappy dress Matt had suggested was hugging her figure, her arms and face still aglow from her hours in the sun. She was pleased with the final effect as she slipped on her sandals and looked herself up and down in the mirror.
"You know, Eritrea is a fascinating country," Matt started saying as he dug around in his suitcase for clean underwear. "I had no idea."
"No," Sam agreed, slipping on her rings. The green stone of her engagement ring looked dull in the fading sunshine. It needed a clean.
"And according to Laura, the people are beautiful. Especially the woman. Tall, slim--" He broke off and glanced over at her. Sam began to smile at the anticipated compliment as he said, "Do you think I should wear that blue shirt you got me last Christmas? Or the sort of green one?"
Her smile faded and she shrugged. "Whichever one is less creased."
Matt moved to the wardrobe with a grunt. "Neither are creased. I actually iron clothes, remember?"
Sam just shrugged, irritated but determined not to get into a fight. "So," she said, turning to him as he slipped on the blue shirt, "what do you think?"
Blinking at her, he frowned. "About what?"
Deep breath. In. Out. In. "Me," she said, forcing a smile. "How do I look?"
His gaze ran over her. "Great. As always. Why?"
"No reason," she sighed, turning away and going in search of her purse.
"Want to impress what’s-his-name?"
She frowned. "Who?"
"Jack." And there was an edge of interest in his voice that made her look around. He was watching her cautiously. "Are you worried about what he thinks of you?"
"No," she protested, smoothing down her dress. "Why would I be?"
Matt shrugged. "I don’t know. You’ve just been…testy since last night."
"I have not!"
"I just thought he bothered you, that’s all. He seemed a bit moody."
"I don’t suppose this is his kind of thing," Sam explained, perching on the edge of her bed and wondering briefly if she should have bothered with nail polish.
"Just like it’s not yours, huh?"
"I told you--"
"I know," he replied with a smile. "You enjoy it. I believe you!"
Sam smiled back, shaking her head. "Come on," she said, rising to her feet. "Don’t want to be late."
"No," Matt agreed, slipping their key-card into his top pocket, "I don’t suppose Jack O’Neill is ever late."
"No. It’s a military thing."
Matt took her hand and they strolled together along the carpeted corridor. "Maybe you can soften him up this evening?" he suggested. "Get him to relax. Last night he looked at me as if I was about to steal his girlfriend from right under his nose!"
Sam felt herself flush at Matt’s comment, but he didn’t notice. And she wondered if that’s how the colonel had seen it, all those years ago. If that’s how he still saw it. And in a way, she supposed, he’d be right.
***
Guilt was an emotion with which Jack O’Neill was intimately familiar. He knew all its different shades, had felt it mixed with remorse, jealousy and even humor. But today it managed to surprise him.
Sitting on the bed, channel-surfing while Laura got herself ready for their dinner-date, his mind kept returning to the brief and unpleasant confrontation he’d had with Carter that morning. He remembered the flat anger in her eyes and, worse, the frank sadness. We used to be friends, she’d said, although he wasn’t entirely sure that was true. They’d been close, but friendship implied a sort of openness that circumstances had always denied them. But friends or not, he knew he’d stepped over the line with his bitter comment about her being a ‘good little wife’. He’d hurt her, and God help him, but he felt guilty - which was a surprise. He’d spent so long being angry with her - then hating her, then deliberately blotting her from his memory - that he’d expected all softer feelings for her to have been well and truly killed off. But it seemed that one soulful look from her large, expressive eyes had him chewing on his insides as hard as he’d ever done in her presence. He’d once thought that she had made him a better person, and now he remembered why.
He sighed and flicked off the TV. He felt guilty that he’d upset her. And on top of that, he felt guilty about feeling guilty. Because that implied that his feelings for Carter weren’t quite as dead as he’d hoped. And that meant… His gaze fell on the dress Laura had laid out for herself on the bed. He had no idea about fashion, but he remembered her wearing it once before and knew it suited her pale complexion and red hair. He remembered liking it.
The door to the bathroom opened, and she emerged amid a cloud of steam, wrapped in a towel. She shivered, glancing over at the thermostat. "It’s freezing in here."
Jack got up and clicked off the air-conditioning. "It’ll warm up."
Laura smiled, fresh faced and rosy from the shower. And Jack was suddenly struck by her youth. He thought about it sometimes, the gap in their ages - and what she might expect from their relationship. But most of the time it didn’t bother him. She was just Laura. But this evening she almost looked childlike in his eyes. Her body was so slim, almost adolescent, and there wasn’t a gray hair among her auburn locks or a line on her pretty face. Compared to Carter--
He stopped himself with a wince of guilt.
"You okay?" Laura asked, padding over to the hairdryer and allowing her towel to drop to the floor. She had absolutely no inhibitions about nakedness. A conceit of youth, perhaps.
"Fine," he replied, returning to the bed and lying down.
The hairdryer buzzed on and their conversation ceased. Eventually, into the silence that fell when she switched it off, Laura said, "Tell me about Samantha Carter."
Jack’s eyes flashed open and he had the horrible feeling she could read his mind. "Why?"
She turned, running a brush through her long hair, and smiled. "Because you’ve never mentioned her before, and it’s obvious that you guys knew each other pretty well. How come you never talked about her?"
"What’s to say?" Jack asked, staring up at the ceiling. "We worked together. She was my second-in-command."
"Did you like her?"
"Sure."
"And you went to her wedding?"
With a sigh, he sat up. "Everyone went to her wedding. She was very popular on base."
Laura nodded. "So how come you’ve been acting like a bear with a sore head since you saw her yesterday?"
"I have not."
Laura rolled her eyes and stood up. "Come on, Jack. How long have I known you? Eighteen months? She freaked you out!"
He stood and glared out the window. What was freaking him out, he thought sourly, was being given the seventh degree! "Just brought back some old memories," he snapped. "That’s all."
"Bad ones?" He was silent. "Jack?" Her slim hand rested on his shoulder. "Bad memories?"
"Some of them," he said at last, hoping that Laura would put the catch in his voice down to some operational horror, rather than the heartrending pain of seeing Carter pledge herself to another man.
Her head came to rest against his arm. "I’m sorry."
Turning, he slid an arm around her. "It’s okay," he said, letting her pull him close. "Long time ago. I’m fine."
"Good," she murmured into his ear, following the word with a kiss.
"Get dressed," he murmured back. "Or we’ll be late."
He could feel her smile against his neck as her naked body moved enticingly closer. "Would that be so bad?"
"Hell no," he replied, pushing her gently back. "But it would be kinda rude."
She smiled her girlish smile. "Spoilsport."
"Ten minutes," he told her. "No dawdling."
Offering a mock - and very sloppy - salute, she grinned, "Yes, sir" and turned on her heel.
Jack barely managed to keep a smile on his face until she’d disappeared back into the bathroom, the ‘S’ word lingering in the air. It provoked a thousand memories, a mix of nostalgia, regret, anger and longing. Sir. It represented everything he had lost, and he hated it with a passion.
What did that say about his presumed-dead feelings for Samantha Carter?
***
The first thing Laura noticed as they approached the table was the defiant set of Sam Carter’s jaw. She looked as if she was facing off for a fight. For a moment Laura was taken aback, but then she realized that Sam’s aggression was aimed not at herself but at Jack.
Curious.
"Laura!" Matt enthused with a wide grin. "You look amazing."
She smiled. He had to say that, he was trying to cut a deal. "Thanks."
Matt offered his hand to Jack, who took it firmly. At least he wasn’t being rude, she thought, with some relief. "Jack. Good to see you again. Hope you’ve been making the most of the beach!"
For a moment, Jack’s gaze flicked to Sam’s and Laura was astonished to see something dart between them. An understanding of some sort. Her curiosity became slightly green-tinted. "It wasn’t entirely a success," Jack said carefully, his attention returning to Matt. "I got a little burned."
"That happens," Sam interrupted, "when you haven’t been out in the sun for a while."
He looked at her again, and Laura saw a hint of …what? an apology?…in his eyes. An apology? "I should have been more careful."
"Yes," Sam agreed, although her face had noticeably softened.
"Right!" Matt declared, clearly oblivious to the subtext and bored with the apparently banal conversation. "Shall we order some drinks?"
They took their seats, and Laura fixed her attention on the woman opposite. She was suddenly far more interesting than she’d seemed the previous evening. "So, Sam," she said at once, "Jack tells me you used to be his second-in-command. What was that like?"
Sam blinked. Her eyes, Laura noted, were huge. "Umm… What was it like?" Her gaze flicked to Jack, and a self-conscious smile touched her lips. A small smile, but it somehow managed to light up her face. "Well, Colonel O’Neill was a very talented officer. I learned a lot from him."
"She’s being diplomatic," Jack broke in. But although he was speaking to Laura, his attention was fixed on Sam. Her smile seemed to have lit his face too. "What she means is I was a pain in the ass. I demanded the impossible every day, and--"
"No. I--" Sam began, but he spoke over her.
"--and I got the impossible. Every single day."
Sam shook her head in self-conscious denial. "We were a good team," she said at last, her gaze riveted on Jack.
Slowly he nodded. "Hell of a team."
The silence that fell seemed to be between the two of them alone, and Laura felt like an accidental witness to the unspoken communication. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was seeing, but it was enough to make her uneasy. Whatever past Jack shared with this woman, it was intense. And it was important. To both of them. Suddenly she felt very small, very insignificant. And very young.
She didn’t like it.
"Everyone okay with Chardonnay?" Matt asked abruptly, his broad tones shattering the silent moment. Sam glanced up at him with a start as Jack cleared his throat and buried his nose in the menu. Laura simply took a deep breath and said, "Sounds good to me."
***
This was how it should have been, Jack realized, watching Carter dissolve into laughter as they relived - as vaguely as possible, given the company - yet another of their more bizarre adventures. He smiled himself, the closest thing he got to a laugh, and took another sip of wine. This was how it should have been all those years ago. Friends. No sexual tension, no desire for more. Just this.
He understood now that the other feelings and desires had just gotten in the way. Muddied the water. But now that she had Matt and he had Laura, they were free to simply be friends. Which is exactly what they should have been all along. It was ridiculous to imagine them being anything more. It’s not like they had that much in common and he half-suspected that the tension between them had been more a product of the forbidden than of any more profound emotion. Yeah, this was how it should have been. This was easy. This was right.
She cocked her head to one side, her laughter fading. "Okay?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "Just thinking."
"Really? Wow."
He smiled again. "I’ve-- I’m glad we bumped into each other. It’s good to see you. Sam." See? He could even call her Sam without freaking himself out!
Sam nodded. "Me too. I mean, it’s good to see you too, sir." She grimaced. "Jack."
He let his gaze drift to the bar, where Laura and Matt were deep in discussion. "They seem to be getting on well."
"Matt’s very excited about her project," Sam agreed, although he thought he detected a coolness in her voice. He looked over at her, but there was nothing but a smile on her face. "Laura’s very talented, I hear."
"Yeah," he nodded. "She’s got a great career ahead of her."
To his surprise, Sam sighed. "I remember that."
"Remember what?"
"Being young, with a great career ahead of me."
He laughed, for the first time all evening. "You’re hardly over the hill, Carter. You have a great career ahead of you - and behind you. You’re in the middle of it!"
"At the top of the hill, looking down?" she suggested with a rueful smile.
"Prime of your life!" She grimaced at that and he back-peddled. "Okay, forget I said that. You’re what? Thirty-eight? Wait until you’re looking fifty in the eye, then start to worry!"
"Oh," she said, waving her a slightly tipsy hand at him. He’d never seen her drunk before - unless you included the incident on P3X-595. "It’s okay for you," she said, pouring herself another glass of wine. "It’s easy for guys. Gray hair makes you distinguished, lines make you look rugged."
He raised an eyebrow. "Rugged, huh?"
And she blushed. Sam Carter blushed! "I was speaking generally."
"Oh."
She sighed again, and then laughed. "Sorry. Just feeling-- Laura’s very young, isn’t she?"
He nodded. "Yes, she is."
"I miss that."
"You’re young."
"No I’m not!" Leaning forward, she lowered her voice conspiratorially. Oh yes, definitely tipsy. "I’ve got ten gray hairs. And lines."
He couldn’t help but smile. "Matt doesn’t seem to mind."
Her eyes slid towards her husband. "He’s got more lines than me."
"I’ve got more than Matt."
She didn’t seem to have an answer to that, sitting back in her chair. And after a moment she changed the subject. "Is it true? What you said yesterday."
He frowned, trying to recall which stupid comment she could be thinking about. "What did I say?"
"That you don’t miss it. The SGC. SG-1. Is it true?"
Looking at her expressive face, bright eyes slightly fuzzed with alcohol and her smile as ready as ever, he couldn’t lie. He took a deep breath and fixed her with a square look. "I miss it every day, Carter. Every single day."
She nodded as if it wasn’t a surprise. "Me too, sir. Every single day."
***
Chapter 4
It was late by the time Sam sauntered down to the restaurant for breakfast. She wasn’t exactly hung over but she’d let Matt jump out of bed early and eat alone, preferring to give herself a couple of extra hours of horizontal time before she emerged into the bright Florida sunshine.
It was already hot. She could feel the heat outside beating against the air-conditioned windows, and for a brief moment she missed the mountain chill of Colorado. But the thought was soon dismissed as she headed into the mostly-empty restaurant, her step as buoyant as her heart.
Last night had been great. In the few short hours she’d spent with O’Neill - Jack, as she could now call him - she felt as though years of misunderstanding and resentment had been washed away. After the scene on the beach she’d been dreading seeing him again. But something had obviously changed because he’d met her with an apology, if not on his lips then in his eyes, and she’d forgiven him instantly. They’d talked, and laughed and reminisced and there had been none of the tension that had always dogged their relationship. No sparring, no flirting, just pure honest friendship. It had been exhilarating! And she still felt the effects now, as she gave her room number to the waiter and headed to the all-you-can-eat buffet.
She felt as though their relationship had been scoured clean. The debris that had accumulated over their years serving together had been blasted away, revealing nothing but the solid bedrock of their mutual respect and friendship. She felt rejuvenated, excited and not a little surprised. She hadn’t realized that the damaged state of her relationship with the colonel had weighed so heavily on her heart. But she was glad that they’d now reached this perfect state of strings-free friendship. She could think about him now without the sense of unease that had shadowed his memory; guilt and regret were things of the past. Perhaps she could even see more of him? Invite him to stay some time? Maybe even take him up on the offer to fish at his cabin? After all, there was nothing wrong with a couple of friends taking a trip together. And since that’s all they were she’d--
"You call that breakfast?"
The voice at her side made her jump so violently that the slices of fresh mango almost slid from her plate and onto the floor. But she didn’t mind. A grin broke out on her face. "Sir!"
He rolled his eyes. "Carter…"
"Sorry," she corrected instantly. "I mean…Jack." His name still came awkwardly, and she was embarrassed to feel a flush rise to her face. Damn!
If he noticed, he didn’t say anything and turned his attention back to the food. "Do you have any donuts?" he asked the kid behind the counter, and was waved to the far end of the bar. Sam found herself following him. She kind of fancied a Danish anyway.
Picking the healthiest looking pastry she could find (it had apples in it, at least) she cast a surreptitious glance at O’Neill. He still had something, she had to admit. As platonic as their relationship now was, she couldn’t deny that the shorts, faded blue t-shirt and sunglasses hanging around his neck leant him a kind of rumpled sexiness that was undoubtedly appealing. She smiled to herself. Back in the old days, before Matt, she’d never have allowed herself to think such thoughts! But now, everything was different.
Sensing her gaze, he looked up. "What?" His dark eyes speared her, and sent something inside spinning down towards her toes.
She swallowed hard. "Nothing."
"Uh-huh." He didn’t buy it, of course. He knew her too well, even after their four-year estrangement.
"I was just--" she began, then changed her mind. "I enjoyed talking last night. That’s all."
Nodding slowly, he looked away. "We should’ve done it before."
"Yes. We should."
He was lingering over the pastries, but she knew his mind was elsewhere. A frown touched his brow, and she was about to comment when he spoke. His tone was affectedly nonchalant. "You got plans today?"
In a flash Sam was back in her lab, a naquader reactor in pieces on the bench and the colonel hovering awkwardly at the door. Disturbed by the memory, and the emotional jolt it gave her, it was a moment before she could form an answer.
Perhaps his memories were in the same place, because before she could speak he turned away muttering, "No problem. I’m gonna--"
"I haven’t."
He stopped, turning around carefully. "Haven’t...?"
"I haven’t got any plans today." And then, in the new spirit of platonic friendship, she added, "You want to do something?"
He failed to hide his surprise, which made Sam smile. His gaze lingered on her, measuring and appraising. Then, cautiously, he said, "I was gonna head up to Playa Linda beach. Laura says it’s beautiful up there." He glanced significantly around the hotel. "No tourists."
Her smile broadened. "Sounds good."
He studied her for a moment longer, then intrepidly said, "You wanna tag along?"
"Yes," she said immediately. "I’d love to."
***
Funny how life works out, Jack mused, as he sped along the road towards Playa Linda with Carter at his side. Two days ago he’d thought she was out of his life for good. And now here she was - here they were - off to spend the day together.
Years ago, back when everything was intense and complicated and stomach churning, this would have been his fantasy. How often had he imagined that one day she’d take him up on his fishing invitation? How often had he imagined this exact moment, travelling together up to his cabin, with all the formality of their ranks forgotten? Too many times.
And how ironic that now he was living the golden moment, it meant so much less. He had no hope of more, no desire for more - this was no prelude to something bigger. It was no more nor less than it appeared; two former-colleagues - former-friends, perhaps - spending time together and mending some of the bridges that four years of neglect had left rickety, if not completely broken.
"Daniel said you still have your house back in Colorado," Sam said, interrupting his thoughts.
He glanced at her briefly, but her eyes were fixed on the road. "Yeah," he replied. "Guess I couldn’t bring myself to sell."
"Never had you pegged as the sentimental type."
Show’s what she knew. "I figured one day you guys would need me to come save your butts, and I might as well have a place to stay while I was doing it."
She laughed at that, then grew serious. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her turn to face him. "You know, if you ever wanted to come back…."
His turn to laugh. "I don’t think so. As much as I miss…it… I couldn’t go back. You can never go back." That was one lesson he’d learned in life; there was never any going back.
"Oh!" Sam suddenly exclaimed. "You need to get over. This is our exit."
He saw the exit sign whip past and growled a curse as he tried to pull into the exit lane in time. But an eighteen-wheeler chose that moment to overtake, blocking his escape path. "You stupid--"
"Too late," Sam told him, turning as she watched them sail past the exit.
"You were meant to be navigating, Carter," he muttered, pulling in behind the truck and then over into the exit lane.
"Hey," she complained, "I told you it was exit 12. Not my fault that you’re not paying attention."
"You were distracting me."
"By talking? Never used to distract you."
"It’s not the talking," he told her, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. "It’s the shorts." Although he wasn’t watching her face, he could imagine her expression. And it made him smile.
"My shorts? What’s wrong with them?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all. They’re just…short." He glanced over in response to her long silence. "What?"
Sam’s face was deadpan. But her eyes sparkled with humor. "You just missed the next exit." She paused for a beat. "You want me to drive?"
He smiled, shook his head and returned his attention to the road. This was good, he told himself. This was easy. A little harmless flirtation - hell, he could even comment, albeit obliquely, on her great legs without it being awkward. Yeah, this was good. Today was going to be good. Very, very good. "Grocery store," he announced suddenly, his mind changing direction. "Let’s get some snacks on the way."
***
It was past midday by the time they pulled into the small parking lot on the edge of the beach. One or two other cars shared the space, cardboard shades wedged over the windshields to keep the blistering sun from superheating the interiors.
"Hope you brought sun-block, Carter," Jack said as he cut the engine. "It’s hot out there."
"Not as hot as Abydos," she commented, earning herself a small smile.
"No," he agreed. "But…wetter."
Sam looked out over the beach towards the sparkling blue ocean, the tufts of grass on the sand dunes in front of them dancing in the breeze. "Laura was right," she said, "it’s beautiful."
"Yeah," Jack agreed, opening the door and letting in a blast of hot air. "Come on, let’s go."
Sam pulled her small pack - now mostly full of lunch and water - out of the trunk, while Jack leaned in next to her and retrieved a large, professional-looking black case. For a strange moment she thought it was a gun. "What have you--"
His sideways glance told her that he’d guessed her thoughts. "It’s a camera, Carter."
"Oh!" A camera? "Since when did you--"
"Since Laura."
Laura. Of course. "That’s nice." Nice? What an insipid word! "I mean, it’s important to share interests."
"Right," he agreed, turning his attention back to the camera. "Beats pointing a gun at everything you meet, anyway."
Sam nodded, digging out her sun-hat from her bag and wedging it onto her head. "It must be nice," she said, sounding more wistful than she’d hoped.
He glanced up. "What?"
"Retirement."
He shrugged, hefting the heavy bag over his shoulder. "It has its moments."
She wondered briefly if this was one of them, but soon dismissed the idea. Jack had Laura. How had he described her the other night? ‘The best thing that ever happened to me’. She doubted that her chance encounter with Jack rated that highly in his life. But a treacherous part of her mind whispered, ‘This could have been your life. With him. Your life together.’
She looked away, only then realizing that she’d been staring at him. She didn’t want this life. Why should she? She’d made her choice. She had Matt. And she was happy.
"Come on, Carter," he said, suddenly sounding more like O’Neill than Jack. "Let’s head out."
It was all she could do to prevent herself from snapping off a quick, ‘Yes sir’ as she followed him over the boardwalk towards the beach. But she couldn’t prevent the thrill that swelled inside; together again. She had never realized how much she’d missed this.
Or how much she’d missed him.
***
The dry sand was hot under her feet, and so soft it made walking difficult. But the beach was beautiful, a vast stretch of white sand and grassy dunes that skirted the edge of the glittering ocean. Birds swooped down, diving into the sea, their cries the only thing disturbing the crash of the Atlantic rollers.
By mutual, if silent, consent they headed down to the shoreline and Sam slipped off her sandals as soon as the sand was cool and hard enough to walk on barefoot. She breathed deeply, the hot air tempered by the salty tang of the sea. She felt contented. Happy. Relaxed.
Glancing over, she watched Jack walking next to her. He held a handful of stones and was pausing from time to time to skim them over the waves. He was pretty good at it, and she had the sudden image of him standing outside his cabin, skimming stones over the still water of his lake. He must be happy there, she realized, away from the demands of duty and honor. Just him, his lake with no fish. And Laura.
She sighed. He seemed so different from the man she’d known. It wasn’t just the absence of his uniform, although that was part of it. But it was the trappings of command that he lacked now; the officer’s distance from his team, the subtly guarded behavior, the veneer of professionalism that colored all his actions and relationships. And she realized that in the whole time she’d known him he’d never before let them drop. Not once. Not even when it had just been them. It made her wonder if she’d ever really known him at all.
"Penny for ‘em, Carter," he asked, stopping to skim another perfectly aimed stone over the water.
She smiled, watching her toes sink into the cool wet sand as the waves lapped around her ankles. "I was thinking that this is nice," she said, reflexively skirting away from the true path of her thoughts - as she had always done around him. He said nothing, and she wondered if he’d heard the half-truth. And then she wondered why she’d lied at all. There was no reason to keep anything from him now; they were friends, no more and no less. The obfuscation of their feelings had done enough damage to their friendship - all but destroyed it - and it was ridiculous to continue on the same, destructive path. She took a deep breath, and then a big risk, "Actually, that’s not what I was thinking."
He stopped, frowned and started toying with the stones that remained in his hand. "No?"
Sam edged a little closer. "Not that this isn’t nice," she added. "But I was just thinking that…you seem different."
A crooked half-smile twisted his lips. "Grayer. Older--"
"No," she protested. "More relaxed. Less like Colonel O’Neill."
He shrugged an agreement and sent another stone skipping. "Good. I always hated that guy."
Wow. "Really? Why?"
Another shrug. "He was an ass."
"I never thought so," she said, crouching down to pick up some stones of her own. "I always liked him."
"Oh come on," Jack chided, throwing another stone sharply across the waves. "He was obnoxious, deliberately obtuse, intolerant--"
"Courageous, loyal, smart, funny--"
"Maybe you’re thinking about the other O’Neill?" he suggested. "The one with only one ‘L’."
She laughed, stood up and hefted a pebble in her hand. Perfect size and shape. "I forgot to add modest." As she spoke, she threw the stone with a flick of her wrist, sending it skipping one, two, three, four times before it sank. Not bad.
"Not bad, Carter."
She smiled. "Me and Mark used to have competitions when we lived in Long Beach."
"Competitions? You? I don’t believe it." The words were spoken with such a note of affection that Sam looked up at him in surprise. Obviously he’d surprised himself too, because he turned away with a frown and walked on.
After a moment she caught him up. "I meant what I said," she told him, unwilling to lose this unusual intimacy. "You were a great officer. I learned so much, and I always-- I always admired you. A lot." There had been other feelings too, of course. But now, in their current state of glasnost, they were best left undisturbed.
He didn’t reply, and Sam found herself reaching out and touching his arm. "Jack?"
He jumped. Then froze, his gaze fixed on her fingers lying on his arm. "What?"
And suddenly they were back there again. Her heart was racing. His skin beneath her fingertips felt hotter than the sand, and she was struggling for words and breath. "I-- I’ve missed you."
Jack yanked his arm away, took a step backward and turned so that he was facing up the beach. For a moment she thought that he might answer, but then his lips compressed into an uncompromising line and he nodded towards the sand dunes. "Think I’m gonna try and get some pictures up there." Barely waiting for her acknowledgement, he walked past her towards the dunes.
Unsure what exactly had passed between them, Sam didn’t follow. Instead, she gazed out over the inviting blue water. A swim, she decided, was what she needed. She’d let things get too intense there and felt the need to cool off. But it was only natural, she reasoned, that things between them would get tense from time to time. They had a long, complicated and mostly unspoken history. And just because those feelings were in the past, it didn’t stop the memories from casting an awkward shadow over their renewed friendship.
But that’s all they were, memories. Phantom pains from a long-healed wound. Neither of them felt as they once had done; they weren’t in danger anymore. They had found safety in friendship, and she was determined that this time it would endure. It was too important to lose again.
He was too important to lose again.
***
Damn it, Jack snarled silently as he stalked up the beach towards the dunes. What the hell was she playing at? Talking like that. Touching him! And what the hell was he doing, letting himself feel…what? Affection? Desire? Damn it, he refused to descend into that hell again. He was over her and he intended to remain that way.
It had been a bad idea, inviting her along. He’d known it as soon as he’d suggested it, but stupidly he’d thought he could handle her. That had always been his mistake. He’d fooled himself into thinking they were ‘just friends’, just as he’d once fooled himself into thinking they were ‘just colleagues’. But the truth was… He sighed and slowed. What exactly was the truth? He’d spent four years hating Carter - forgetting Carter - and in the two days they’d spent together she’d undone all his work. And he realized how much he’d missed her, and how much he wanted her in his life again. Not as he had once wanted her, of course. That was out of the question; she was married. But he was forced to look back over the past four years with a new eye. And instead of peace, he saw emptiness. He’d missed her and he hadn’t even known it until now.
He slowed further, turned around and stopped. She still stood on the shore, gazing out over the water as the sun glinted off her blond hair. And in that moment he knew that he couldn’t let her go again. He wanted to be able to call her, to see her, to consider himself part of her life. He’d spent four years denying her - denying himself - and now he realized it had been for nothing.
For better or for worse, Sam Carter was part of him. Deep inside. And there was no getting her out. So he might as well start learning to live with her, and with himself, because he’d meant it when he said there was no going back. He refused to return to the cold, lonely years of their estrangement. Whatever the cost, he’d be her friend. He’d have her in his life. For good.
And as he turned back to the dunes, his feet slipping in the soft sand, he considered that this must mean he’d forgiven her for breaking his heart. It was little short of a miracle.
***
The corridors of the SGC were quiet. It was late and Daniel rubbed at his eyes for the hundredth time as he pored over the documents in front of him. He should have gone home hours ago, but the translation in-hand eluded him and he couldn’t stop worrying at it like a dog with an old shoe. It should be simple. It looked simple. If he could just--
"Unauthorized off-world activation! Unauthorized off-world activation!"
A pulse of adrenaline accompanied the words and his tiredness was forgotten. He was on his feet in an instant, heading towards the door. Not that he had any need to, but the seven years he’d spent on the frontline made it difficult to ignore the call.
By the time he reached the control room the stargate was already activated and the iris was firmly shut. With Sam off-base, General Taylor was still on duty. Which was unusual, this late in the day. But even close to midnight, his uniform and thick crop of white hair were impeccably groomed.
"Any ideas?" Daniel asked, brushing self-consciously at his crumpled BDUs.
"None," came the curt reply. "We’re not expecting any callers."
Daniel turned his eyes on the gate, just in time to see a familiar shimmer across the iris. It had been a long time since he’d seen it though. Many years. His stomach tightened; this didn’t bode well. "Thor," he said softly as the slender gray alien appeared through the closed iris.
"Stand down," Taylor ordered the troops in the gateroom, and headed for the stairs. Daniel was on his heels. "Doctor Jackson, I’m glad you’re here. I’ve never actually met one of the Asgard."
"No," Daniel agreed, his mind racing ahead to the cause of this unexpected visit. "They’ve kept to themselves since we defeated Anubis. General, I don’t think Thor coming here can be a good thing."
Taylor flashed him a dark look. "I was afraid of that."
As they entered the gate room Thor stood impassively on the ramp, his wide eyes taking in the whole room. Taylor dropped back as they approached the gate, letting Daniel take the lead. "Hello, Thor."
"Doctor Jackson," came the sing-song reply. "It is good to see you again."
"Yeah. You too."
"I wish my visit to your planet was under better circumstances. However I am afraid matters are grave."
Daniel exchanged a worried glance with Taylor. "Grave how?"
Thor’s head turned again, scanning the room. "I am here regarding Major Carter. It is she with whom I must speak."
Taylor’s jaw stiffened. "Colonel Carter isn’t here," he said, stepping forward. "I’m General Taylor, Commander of this base. Anything you have to say you can say to me."
Thor’s large eyes blinked slowly. "General Taylor, you must recall Colonel Carter immediately. Her fate may depend upon it."
"What do you mean?"
"Only she will understand," came the cryptic reply. "But you must hurry. Our time is limited."
Taylor exchanged a quick glance with Daniel, nodding briefly. "Get her back here."
Daniel left the room at a run, his heart racing with a mixture of adrenaline and dread that reminded him far too potently of days gone by.
***
Chapter 5
The sun was just tipping the horizon, casting a soft glow across the beach and onto the water. Long shadows dressed the waves of sand in light and shade, and the dying sun leant a golden halo to everything it touched.
Jack lay in the warm sand of the dunes, his tripod low as he rested on his elbows and stared through the camera. He’d taken some good shots this afternoon, and now his lens was pointed through the tufted grass at the end of the boardwalk where Sam sat staring out over the deserted beach. Her hair and skin shone golden in the sunset, lighting half her face and leaving the rest in shadow. Her arms and legs were fluid and relaxed, one foot trailing patterns in the cooling sand. She was beautiful.
He wanted to take her picture, to capture the moment forever. But he wasn’t sure he had the right. She was another man’s wife. But Jack had always been reckless, and when it came right down to it, who would know? He leaned closer to the viewfinder, adjusting the focus. Clouds on the ocean’s horizon loomed darkly behind her, emphasizing further the golden glow of her skin and hair. His finger tightened on the camera, as if squeezing off a single round, and the shutter snapped.
Carter’s eyes were on him in an instant. "What are you doing?"
He should have known her keen senses wouldn’t miss the noise. Peering at her over the top of the camera he shrugged. "Taking your picture."
"Why?" She was genuinely surprised, which amused him. But her question was a pertinent one, and he had to consider his answer carefully. Why? Because it was the most beautiful picture he’d taken all day. Because he’d deliberately gotten rid of all his other photos of her so that he no longer possessed a single image of Sam Carter. Because he wanted to remember this weekend, to keep something of the warmth he’d rediscovered. But he couldn’t say any of those things. Instead he dropped his head back to the viewfinder and snapped again, capturing her quizzical look. "Need to finish the film."
"Oh." She believed him. And then, from the way her eyes suddenly widened, he guessed she had an idea. "Does that thing have a timer?"
"The camera? Yeah."
"Great!" She was on her feet. "Set it up. Let’s get one of the two of us."
Oh no. "Carter, I don’t think--"
"Go on," she pleaded. "I want one to remember this by."
"You do?"
"You don’t?"
"Umm… Sure." Didn’t want to sound too enthusiastic, after all. Carefully avoiding looking at her, in case he revealed anything, he fiddled with the timer. He’d never had reason to use it before, but how hard could it be…?
After a few minutes he heard a voice close to his ear. "Jack?" She was crouching in the sand next to him. "You want me to take a look?"
"What? You don’t think I know how to use it?"
Her face was a perfect military deadpan. "Well, it’s been five minutes."
"Carter," he groused good-naturedly, "you’re a smart ass."
She smiled. "Yes, sir."
Pushing himself to his feet, he waved her towards the camera. "Have at it." As she worked, he walked over to the boardwalk and sat down to wait. Despite the setting sun, he pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket and slipped them on. If he had to have his photo taken, he’d at least have something to hide behind.
After a moment, Sam stood up and headed towards him. "Thirty seconds," she warned as she came and sat at his side. "It’s going to take three shots."
Three? He didn’t know it could do that. "Right. Great."
She glanced over at him and grinned. Then frowned and deftly reached up to pull the sunglasses from his face. Her fingers brushing his forehead felt distinctly intimate, and he found himself staring at her as her hand froze mid-air between them. "Can’t see you behind these," she explained softly, her eyes locked to his. "I want--"
SNAP!
The moment ended. "Damn," she muttered, turning to face the camera. "Okay, smile."
He did his best. But as Carter edged closer, resting a friendly hand on his shoulder, he was afraid that his smile stretched too thin. Her fingers were hot through his t-shirt, her head close to his shoulder reminding him of distant moments of intimacy.
SNAP!
"One more," she smiled, moving closer still until her arm was around his shoulders. He took a deep breath and slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. She moved willingly, and her hold on his shoulders tightened. It was the closest they’d come to an embrace since their time as Jonah and Thera, and his heart spasmed with an involuntary pain. They waited an eternity for the camera to take its final picture, and when at last the shutter clicked it felt all too soon.
"Great," Sam said, not looking at him as she pulled her arm from around him.
He dropped his hold on her waist and cleared his throat. "I’ll send you a copy."
"Thanks." There was a pause as she stared out over the beach. "I’ve had a good time today."
"Me too."
She looked at him then, her head cocked to one side. "We should do this again."
"Yeah. Well, next time you’re in Florida…"
"Or you’re in Colorado. We’ve got a spare room." He almost laughed! Spare room? The day he spent a night under the same roof as Carter and her husband would be a cold one on Abydos! She must have seen something of his feeling in his face, because she frowned and added, "I mean it. We can’t leave it so long next time."
"I have a house in Colorado," he reminded her. "But you’re right. We should…you know. Keep in touch. Better."
Reaching behind her, Sam grabbed her pack and reached into one of the inner pockets. She pulled something out. "Here," she said, offering him a business card, "in case you forget."
He scanned over her postal and email addresses, and was about to ask if they handed them out off-world these days when a trill ring intruded. Her cell phone.
"Damn," she muttered, pulling it from her pack and grimacing when she saw the caller ID. "SGC." With a frown, she answered the call. "Carter." She listened, her eyes coming to rest on Jack’s as she did so. "Hey Daniel, what’s--" Her eyebrows shot up. "Thor?" Then she nodded, frowned and muttered, "Shit. No. No, it’s fine. Kennedy? Sure. Yeah. No, I’ll be there as soon as I can."
For a moment after she hung up, she just sat staring at the phone in her hands. Then she sighed and looked over at him. "I’ve got to go."
"So I gathered."
Her lips tightened. "I can’t tell you why."
"I know," he nodded, rising to his feet and heading off towards his camera. "They got a plane for you at Kennedy?"
"Yeah."
"I’ll give you a ride."
"Thanks." She stood up, picked up her pack and threw her phone inside. Then she groaned. "Shit. Matt’s going to kill me."
Jack almost dropped his camera in surprise. "Matt? Why?"
"Oh," she waved a dismissive hand to undermine her words, "he doesn’t like my hours."
"Saving the planet isn’t a nine-to-five job," Jack reminded her as he headed back to the boardwalk. "Doesn’t he get that?"
"He doesn’t-- I mean, I haven’t exactly told him much. You know. I can’t really."
"Sure you can. Not specifics, but Sara always knew what I did. More or less."
Sam winced, looking awkward as they walked up the beach towards his car. "I guess. It just seemed too complicated to make up half-truths about the SGC. So I went with the Deep Space Radio Telemetry."
It was a surprise to Jack that not all in the Carter-garden was rosy. "What do you tell him?" he asked curiously. "I mean, when you go off-world and don’t get back for weeks?"
She shrugged. "He knows I travel a lot, at short notice."
He chuckled at the thought. For some reason the fact that he knew more than Matt about at least one aspect of Carter’s life pleased him immensely. Which is probably what prompted him to say, "You want me to tell him you had to leave? He can’t kill me." Sam looked surprised and he gave a half-smile. "I’ll make up something good."
She hesitated, but her grin gave her away. "You’re sure? I mean, I can call him…"
"You want to?"
Sam winced. "Actually, no." She sighed heavily. "I can’t face a fight. Will you tell him I couldn’t reach him on his cell?"
"Sure," Jack nodded. He felt an illicit kind of pleasure in this minor deception, a pleasure only slightly tinted by guilt. There was no harm done, after all. And if Matt couldn’t accept the demands of Carter’s job, then it was his own damn fault if she lied to him. He looked over at her and smiled. "You know, I kinda wish I was going with you."
For an instant her step faltered and she shot him an earnest look. "Yeah," she sighed gravely. "So do I."
***
The trip to the base didn’t take more than half an hour, and most of it was spent in a pensive silence. Sam watched the twilit streets pass by silently, her mind flitting between the problem ahead and the man sitting at her side. Daniel hadn’t been able to say much over the unsecured line, but the mention of Thor’s name was enough. The Asgard hadn’t been in touch for years. Something was amiss. Something serious. And she wished to God she could talk about it with Jack. But he was no longer security cleared, and rules were rules. Her lips twisted wryly at the thought. Rules were rules. Summed up most of their relationship.
The car slowed. Sam realized they were approaching the gates of the base, and she felt an unusual sense of reluctance. She wanted to go back to the beach...
The guard on the gate stepped forward, interrupting her thoughts. "What’s your business, Ma’am?"
She lowered the window and handed over her ID. "Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter. I’m here to catch a transport. This is Colonel Jack O’Neill."
"Retired," Jack added, leaning across her to hand the kid his own ID.
The airman glanced at both IDs and checked the list on his clipboard. "You’re expected, Ma’am." Then he frowned and glanced at Jack. "Colonel O’Neill, I don’t see your name here--"
"I’m just playing driver."
After getting directions and the appropriate visitors’ IDs, Jack drove on. Still they were silent, although there was no awkwardness. But the air was heavy with their imminent parting, which was odd given that they hadn’t seen each other for over four years. Why should it be so hard to say goodbye? But she hardly had time to consider the question before they were pulling up in front of the small pre-fab building that served as the base’s departure lounge. It was time to go.
"Thanks," she said into the silence that fell when he cut the engine.
"No problem."
She sighed, heavy-hearted. "The timing really sucks."
"That’s Thor for you," he said with a self-conscious grimace. "Go on, go save the planet and give me a call when you get back. Okay?"
"Okay," she agreed, looking over and finding him watching her. "I will."
He nodded. "Go on then. Don’t want to keep Thor waiting. Tell him ‘hi’ from me."
"Sure." She took a deep breath - she had to go, however unwillingly. And since she refused to consider why, exactly, she was so reluctant to get out of his car, she decided she was better off just getting it over with. She opened the door, and had just turned to climb out when she felt a firm hand seize her wrist. Its warmth stopped the breath in her chest and sent her heart thudding as she turned around.
"Carter?" He was watching her closely, dark eyes anxious in the fading light. "You be careful."
The thud in her heart turned into a painful twist of dangerous pleasure. "I will."
He nodded slightly, but didn’t let go. And she made no move to leave. His eyes held her, drew her closer, and her heart ached to seal their recovered friendship with a kiss. But she couldn’t. Something held her back - a fear, perhaps, of feeling more than she should.
Whatever he was feeling, he kept it hidden. But their shared look lingered a little too long before he dropped his eyes and released her arm. When he spoke, his voice was gruff. "Good seeing you again."
"You too."
Another lingering silence. And then, "Go on, get out of here, Carter."
Saying nothing more, Sam climbed out of the car and shut the door. She waved once as she paused on the threshold of the building, and he responded with a half-assed salute. Smiling despite the uncomfortable lump in her throat, she turned and stepped inside. Through the thin prefab walls she heard the crunch of tires in the gravel parking lot and knew that he had gone.
She felt desolate.
***
It was past eight by the time Jack pulled into the hotel parking lot, but although he was late he didn’t rush inside. Instead he sat silently in the dark car, trying to sort out the thoughts racing through his mind.
If he hadn’t known better, he’d have suspected foul play - one of those freaky ‘accidents’ that had always seemed to befall him on SG-1. Because he felt as though he’d been picked up by the scruff of the neck and flung back in time about four years, to the days when the Air Force, the SGC and Sam Carter had been routine parts of daily life.
He rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to ease an ache he hadn’t felt in years. Tension. It gnawed there, an incessant presence that couldn’t be ignored and had probably kept him alive on more than one occasion. But he hadn’t felt it in years, in four years to be precise. He sighed and climbed out of the car, reluctant to re-enter the plastic world of the hotel. It felt profoundly wrong that Carter was flying back to the SGC to save the world, again, while he was off to spend the evening drinking beer and making small-talk with people in whom he had absolutely no interest. Of course, that was pretty much exactly what had been going on for the past four years. But tonight he knew what she was doing, and that brought the reality home in Technicolor. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he should be out there, watching her six.
He shook his head, but it did nothing to dislodge his unease as he started walking towards the hotel. Laura, at least, wouldn’t be worried by his late arrival. She was used to his unpredictable comings and goings, and she was equally free to do as she pleased. It was the one aspect of their relationship he most valued; he needed his freedom more than anything else. Matt, however, would be a different matter. Not that he knew the man well, but he’d always been an astute judge of character and from the first day they’d met - at a hellish ‘party’ at Daniel’s - he’d seen the pole stuck up Matt’s butt. He didn’t blame Carter for not wanting to call, and the truth was he was kind of looking forward to the coming encounter. It was petty, but so what?
Ambling into the crowded hotel, he headed straight to Carter’s room. Her key was in his hand, to deliver to Matt along with the news that his wife was already on her way back to Colorado. Her room wasn’t far and he knocked sharply on the door. After a moment it was opened by a bleary-looking Matt in a rumpled suit.
"What? Jack…?" Matt mumbled, rubbing at his face.
"Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you." Although, what the hell was he doing asleep at this time of day?
Matt yawned. "It’s okay. I was just taking a nap. Long day." Then, as if noticing for the first time, he peered over Jack’s shoulder and said, "Sam with you?"
Jack held out the key. "No. She got called back to base. Flew out of Kennedy an hour ago."
Irritation chased sleep from Matt’s face. "You’re kidding me?"
"Not her fault," Jack reminded him. "That’s just how it goes sometimes. She does an important job."
"Yeah, right. And she couldn’t call?"
A slight smile tugged his lips. He hoped he didn’t look smug. "Couldn’t get through."
"Huh," Matt muttered, raking a hand through his blond hair. He didn’t look convinced.
Jack grimaced, but held his tongue. "I should get back to--"
"Wait," Matt said suddenly. "Come in for a second, will you? I’ve got something for Laura."
He hesitated for a moment, awkward entering Sam’s private space. But at the same time, intrigued. It was forbidden territory, and the subject of much silent speculation once upon a time. And now that they were friends again… He stepped inside.
"It’s some papers," Matt was saying, flipping open his briefcase and rummaging inside. "About the contract…"
The door closed behind him and Jack’s eyes roved cautiously around the room. One of the large chairs was strewn with clothes, all of them female. Matt, he assumed, was too neat-pressed to leave clothes lying around the room. Something black and strappy on the chair caught his eye and Jack looked hurriedly away. Didn’t need that image in his head! On the dresser were the usual collection of female pots and potions, which surprised him. He’d never imagined Carter as the kind of woman who bothered with makeup and hair stuff. Of course, he’d only known her on duty. This was her other life, the life of which he’d never been part. His eyes moved again, this time to a bedside table stacked with papers. Had to be Carter’s. He edged closer, and his stomach did a regretful back-flip when he saw the familiar SGC logo on the cover of one of the folders. He’d forgotten how much he missed it.
From the bedside table, his eyes drifted unwillingly to the bed. The covers were rumpled and he couldn’t help but imagine Carter sleeping there. She wriggled when she slept, he remembered. It had become a joke in the team, pulling straws to see who’d have to sleep next to Carter wriggling all night. Not that he’d ever minded losing. He wondered whether she still wriggled when she slept…
"Here it is!" Matt’s voice grated along Jack’s nerves like a bad gear-change.
He turned around sharply, clenched by a painful, familiar anger. She should have been mine! The words surged shockingly from the darkest place in his heart, the place he kept so tightly locked. She should be mine. He felt sick.
"Tell her to read it through, have her people look at it," Matt was saying, oblivious to the betrayal beating in Jack’s heart. He offered him the papers and Jack took them with a hand that almost shook.
"Thanks," he managed, rolling up the papers with anxious fingers.
Matt sighed. "Thanks for passing on Sam’s message," he said, pulling open the door for Jack to leave. "Sorry she put you in the middle of things."
Ha! If he only knew. "No problem."
"Tell Laura I’ll call her when I get back to work," Matt said with a bright smile. "You’ve got a fascinating woman there, Jack. You’re a lucky man."
Suspicion bit through Jack’s guilt in a flash of irrational anger. Matt had already stolen one woman from him… "You just keep your distance, pal."
Matt’s eyes widened. "What?"
"You heard."
"Hey!" He backed away, hands raised defensively. "I didn’t mean anything. I’m married, for Christ’s sake!"
Married. To Carter. To his Carter. "I--" His Carter? What the hell was he thinking? "I’m sorry." He looked up at Matt, who was staring at him as though he were on the wrong side of sanity. "I, uh--" He tapped the rolled-up papers against the palm of his hand. "I’ll give these to Laura. Thanks."
"Right," came the bemused response. "Okay."
And with that, Jack left. Angry with Matt, angry with himself, and angrier still with his own treacherous heart. He didn’t want to feel what he was feeling; he didn’t want to relive this soulful ache he’d thought long healed. He didn’t want to be in love with another man’s wife.
He refused to be.
***
Chapter 6
"You let him out?" Daniel had never seen Sam so incandescent. Her eyes were blazing, face pale, and every muscle in her body was contracted into taut, angry lines as she leaned across the table towards Thor. "How could you be so stupid?!"
"That’s enough, Colonel," Taylor rebuked her. Although Daniel doubted the General disagreed with her sentiment. It was stupid. Really, really stupid.
Thor, however, was unmoved by Sam’s outburst. He blinked slowly; it was almost a shrug. "In hindsight, the decision was not wise."
Sam slumped back angrily into her seat. "That’s an understatement."
"However," Thor continued, his attention fixing on Taylor, "the mission report mentioned several times that Fifth was unlike his contemporaries. That he was more…human." He paused as Sam ran a frustrated hand through her hair. "We hoped to capitalize on his humanity."
She was on her feet again, pacing. "What for? To come up with more dumb ideas? Don’t waste your time! This is dummer than anything we could have thought up! Fifth is a replicator! He’s the reason you asked us to risk our lives saving you’re ass--"
"Colonel Carter!" Taylor snapped. "Enough. Sit down."
"Sir, you don’t understand," Sam protested. "Fifth is--"
"I’ve read the report, Colonel. Now sit."
Reluctantly, she sat and her gaze fell on Daniel. Her anger was palpable, but beneath its cold fire he saw something else. Something very close to fear. And it scared him.
"Tell us what happened," General Taylor said into the stiff silence.
Thor’s head tilted to one side. "Fifth appeared grateful. To him, you must realize, little time had passed since the departure of SG-1."
Sam winced, but held silent. And Daniel had nothing to say; he had no memory of the mission and the reports he’d read had been sketchy. But it was becoming clear that the memories Sam was living pained her deeply.
"He remained with us for three of your months," Thor continued. "His capacity for learning is immense, and he proved a willing and able student."
"What did you expect?" Sam asked incredulously. "He’s a machine. He’s programmed to learn, to exploit his environment, to destroy--"
"Colonel!" Taylor was reaching the end of his short fuse. "I won’t warn you again."
Sam subsided with a frown and Thor continued. "However, three days ago Fifth disappeared."
"Disappeared?" Daniel pulled off his glasses with a frown. "So he’s just roaming loose on your planet?"
He wasn’t sure if the Asgard could look sheepish, but Thor certainly looked uncomfortable. "We believe," he said carefully, "that Fifth left through the Stargate."
The screech of chair legs on the floor grated in the air as Sam got to her feet and paced to the picture window overlooking the gate room. A hand raked through her hair, but she said nothing. It was the General who spoke. "Where did he go?"
"To a planet known as Tagara. But he is no longer there."
"So where is he?"
Thor blinked. "That we do not know."
"But you can guess," Sam said quietly from the other side of the room. "That’s why you’re here."
Daniel frowned. "You think he’s here?"
"That’s impossible," Taylor broke in. "He hasn’t come through the gate. And we’ve detected no ships in orbit."
Thor held up a hand. "Samantha Carter is correct," he said. "Whether he is here or not, Earth is his objective."
"He blames us?" Daniel guessed. "Because SG-1 didn’t take him with them?"
"Not us," Sam said softly. "Me. He blames me, because I betrayed him."
Thor’s slight nod tightened a band around Daniel’s chest. If it was personal, that changed everything. His eyes fixed on Sam, who still stood with her back to them all, tense and ramrod straight. "He wants revenge."
"He is more human than we had anticipated," Thor agreed. "And he learned his lesson well on Halla."
Sam nodded and slowly turned around. Her face was pale, eyes wide. But the fear he’d seen earlier had been replaced with a grim resignation. "I taught him deceit and betrayal," she said hollowly. "Guess, now I pay the price."
***
Laura Hartstone lay alone in bed, listening to the roar and crash of the ocean outside her window. The room was dark, and shadows played across the ceiling as the blinds moved occasionally in the artificially cooled air that streamed from the wall vent. She hated hotels. They always felt so sterile and cold.
With a sigh she rolled onto her side and gazed across the empty bed. She’d heard Jack leave quietly soon after she’d fallen asleep in his arms. Roused by the movement of the bed, she’d opened her eyes to see him pulling a t-shirt over his head and heading for the door. She hadn’t called him back, familiar with his occasional late-night rambles, but she missed him nonetheless.
He’d been acting strangely all evening, half-excited and half-distracted. She’d seen a light in his eyes that was unfamiliar, and yet he’d barely heard one word in ten at dinner. But a couple of times she’d seen a small smile creep onto his face that had nothing to do with the conversation. She’d asked him a little about his day with Matt’s wife, but he’d just shrugged and said the beach was beautiful. And later, when she’d slid into bed and into his arms, he’d resisted all her charms. "I’m tired," he’d told her softly, kindly. And then he’d laid there, staring up at the ceiling with his arms unmoving around her, until she drifted into a tense doze only to be woken when he left.
And so here she was, alone. Alone and wondering exactly what was going through Jack O’Neill’s often impenetrable mind. She closed her eyes with a sigh, knowing it was pointless to wonder. So much of his life and himself were closed to her that sometimes she wondered if she knew him at all. Or if that was exactly how he liked it; an anonymous intimacy with no questions asked and no answers given.
It might be okay for him, but she wasn’t sure it was enough for her. Not nearly enough.
***
It was late. Beyond late, it was already early. And Sam still hadn’t left the base. She paced her lab to the beat of the thoughts that raced through her head, reliving over and over the moment of her betrayal. Not that she’d had a choice, she’d simply been following orders. But was that really an excuse?
She couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if she’d ignored Jack’s silent command. Would they all now be trapped in a world caught is aspic? Or would they have pulled Fifth from the teeth of that fate?
It was impossible to know, yet equally impossible to stop wondering. He’d been like a child, trusting and naive. And they’d exploited his weakness, leaving him to the mercy of the monsters who’d created him. Of all the things she’d done over the past eleven years, it ranked up there with the worst of them. And now, quite literally, it was coming back to haunt her. Or to kill her.
She shivered and dropped her weary body into the chair behind her desk. She wished Jonas was still around, or Teal’c. They’d have understood; they’d been there, seen Fifth and the others. But mostly, she wished she could talk to Jack. It was his order she’d been following, after all. And, typically, they’d never discussed it since. Just like so much that lay between them. But after the weekend they’d spent together - was it only this morning they’d been on the beach? - she felt that she could have broached the subject. If she’d been allowed to, which, of course, she wasn’t now that Jack wasn’t security cleared.
"Stupid regulations," she muttered to herself, prodding her mouse to bring her PC to life. She scanned her inbox, looking for something to distract her from her circular thoughts. There wasn’t much - a few memos, a reply from Major Schiffer about the particle generator that--
Oh.
Her heart stammered. There, at the top of her email list, appeared a message entitled "Since the world hasn’t ended…" from one jackoneill@earthlink.net.
Smiling her first smile since she’d left Florida, Sam opened the message.
From: jackoneill@earthlink.net
Date: September 18 2007 03.48
To: carter_s@sgc.usaf.gov
Subject: Since the world hasn’t ended…
…I assume you’ve saved the planet. Again. Good job!
I can’t sleep. And it’s your fault, Major. Knowing one of my team is out there makes me antsy. Ex-member of my team, I guess. Or is that member of my ex-team…?? Whatever. And the hotel has this 24 hour business center, so here I am, wondering where you are.
I told Matt you’d been abducted by little gray men, but I don’t think he believed me. So I said something vague about ‘recalled to base’. Hope that’s okay. He did seem kinda pissed though, but he didn’t try to kill me. You might want to call him when you can. Not sure he believed that you couldn’t reach his cell.
We’re heading home tomorrow. But I’m thinking of taking a trip down to Colorado soon. Maybe you, me and Daniel could meet up? Hit O’Mally’s for old time’s sake. What do you say?
O’Neill
She read the message a couple of times, and her desire to talk to him about Fifth doubled and doubled again. She looked at the time of the message and grinned when she realized that it had only been sent a matter of minutes ago. Hoping that he was still killing time on the computer, she dashed off a quick reply.
From: carter_s@sgc.usaf.gov
Date: September 18 2007 04.01
To: jackoneill@earthlink.net
Subject: RE: Since the world hasn’t ended…
Hi Jack!
Turns out it’s not the planet that needs saving this time, so you can relax. Hope you and Laura have a good trip home. And I think it’s a great idea for you to come visit us down here. George Hammond would love to see you, I’m sure. And if you give me enough notice, I’ll contact Teal’c and Jonas. Maybe we should have a party???
I had fun today. Wish I was still on the beach…
Take care,
Sam
She hit send, and sat back to wait.
Five minutes. Nothing.
Ten minutes. Still nothing.
She yawned and looked at the clock. Almost four thirty. Not worth going home. Barely worth going to bed.
Fifteen minutes. Absolutely nothing.
He must have gone to bed, or not wanted to waste time replying to her message. Which made sense. It was the middle of the night! They should both be in bed. Slowly she closed down all the windows on her PC, leaving her inbox until last. One final click on send/receive …nothing. With a regretful sigh, she shut it down. Loneliness descended around her, irrational and disturbing. It wasn’t as though she didn’t have people she could talk to - Daniel, General Taylor, and even Matt--
Her phone rang and she almost jumped out of her chair. Her heart was still racing when she snatched up the receiver. "Carter."
"Colonel Cater," said the operator, "we have an outside call on an unsecured line from a Colonel O’Neill."
Her face exploded into a grin. "Put it through."
The phone clicked and then she heard, "Get some sleep, Carter."
The hair on the back of her neck prickled at the sound of his quiet voice. "I could say the same to you."
"Hey, I still outrank you."
She smiled, closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "Thanks for telling Matt."
"No problem. He and Laura spent the evening talking contracts anyway. You didn’t miss much."
"Good," she replied, although the words ‘I missed you’ popped alarmingly into her head. She flushed, but ignored them. "What time are you heading out in the morning?"
"Who knows? Whenever Laura drags herself out of bed." There was a pause, and she could imagine his smile. "She doesn’t take orders too well."
"I bet," Sam laughed. Although the mental image of Laura in bed with Jack made her cringe. She pushed it out of her head and lapsed into silence.
After a moment, Jack spoke again. "So… Everything okay there?"
God, she wished she could tell him. She hedged. "So far…"
Another silence. Then, "Something coming?"
"Perhaps." Sam sighed. "I wish I could say more, but--"
"I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask. I’m glad everyone’s okay."
She smiled. "Same as always."
"That bad, huh?"
She smiled again. In fact, she had the feeling she was grinning like an idiot, and was glad she was alone in her office. "So, you’re thinking of coming down to see us?" she said, changing the subject. Perhaps if she could talk to him in person, away from insecure phone lines, she could broach the subject of Fifth?
"Yeah. It’s not like my diary is packed or anything."
"How soon?" Damn, that sounded more eager than she’d hoped. Eager? Try desperate.
He picked up on her tone immediately. "Why?" he asked, suddenly serious. "Do you need me--"
"No," she said hurriedly. Then, remembering that she had nothing to hide from him anymore, she added cautiously, "I just hate talking on the phone."
"Yes," he said slowly, feeling his way, "it’s kinda hard to talk about some things on the phone."
"Yeah."
There was a thoughtful pause before he said, "I could get a flight Wednesday."
Her heart skipped a beat. "That soon?"
"If you’re busy--"
"No!" Damn. Desperate again. "No, that would be great. Really."
"Okay." He said the word slowly, as if contemplating the ramifications for the first time. "Wednesday then?"
"If you need a place to stay…?"
"My place is fine," he said hurriedly. "It’s between rentals and needs some work. I should spend some time there anyway."
"Okay," Sam replied, sitting forward nervously. Or was it excitedly? She was still smiling. "Guess I’ll see you on Wednesday?"
"Yeah."
She wondered if this felt as strange to Jack as it did to her. Because as innocent as the arrangement was, she was alive with nervous anticipation. Talking to him like this, so personally, felt right. And yet wrong. Somehow she couldn’t imagine herself telling Matt about this late-night conversation, or about Jack’s visit. It was just between the two of them, and she wanted to keep it that way. But deep down, almost below her emotional radar, she knew that her desire to keep this secret was very, very dangerous.
"Night then, Carter." His voice was a welcome intrusion, and reminded her that she’d fallen silent.
"Night, Jack," she replied, closing her eyes and imagining his face. "Thanks for calling."
"Anytime, Carter. Anytime."
It was a promise she believed in as absolutely as she believed in the man himself. She smiled and her smile melted into her heart. As it did so her life shifted slowly and inevitably towards a new path. Or perhaps it was simply returning to the right path, after too many years in the wilderness?
But whether she would follow that path to its inevitable conclusion was another question altogether. And one to which she had no answer. Yet.
***
The sun was just cresting the waves of the Atlantic, turning the cloudless skies azure and dimming the glory of the stars. Far above the swelling surf, like refugees from the night sky, a cascade of tiny fires sparkled as they sheared through the atmosphere towards the water. To anyone watching, it would have seemed like a shower of fairy dust, falling gracefully into the cold embrace of the ocean.
But no one was watching, and the thousand tiny parts sinking beneath the waves went unnoticed.
Unnoticed by everyone but each other. And in the dark, airless depths they sought each other out. Connecting, building. Creating.
***
The airport in Orlando was busy, seething with tourists - most of them British, Matt noticed irritably. Lobster-red people swathed in Disney merchandise, their unruly children and grating accent tearing through his nerves as he waited in line to be security cleared.
Although, if he was honest, it wasn’t the tourists that were bugging him. It was the fact that he was going home alone, dragging with him Sam’s suitcase, laptop and briefcase. Everything that she’d abandoned, along with him, when she’d disappeared back to work. Most men, he thought sourly, wouldn’t put up with it. Twenty-first century or not, there was such a thing as marital duty and he was pretty damn sure that actually spending time with your spouse was involved in that somewhere. He’d have to have words with her. Make it clear that he--
Oof! Something soft hit him hard on his back, and he span around with a glare. "Sorry mate," came the apology from the tourist behind him, vainly attempting to reign in his rambunctious kid armed with a Mickey Mouse stuffed toy.
Matt was on the point of telling the moron to keep his obnoxious children in order, when he heard a voice through the airport chatter. "Matt?"
He turned, and saw Laura Hartstone emerging from the crowd. She looked good with her slim, almost boyish figure. And red hair had always been a turn-on for him. His irritation with the tourists vaporized and he smiled at her as she approached. "Hey, Laura. Heading home?"
Dumping her over-large pack at his feet, she nodded and rubbed at her slender shoulder. "Yeah. Jack’s just checking in. I thought I’d get a place in line here." She peered down towards he security check-point. "It’s a nightmare, isn’t it?"
"Too many tourists," Matt muttered, casting half a glance at the chaotic family behind him.
She smiled at that. It was a nice smile, he thought, and he briefly wondered what a woman as young and attractive as Laura Hartstone was doing with a man as old and irritable as Jack O’Neill. "We should get together," he said suddenly, surprising himself. "Before you head out to Eritrea."
She was just opening her mouth to respond when O’Neill appeared, as if summonded, at her shoulder. "Hey," he said, and although his voice was quiet it carried well over the noise. He nodded towards Matt, his eyes remaining hidden behind dark glasses. "Heading home too?"
"No where else to go," Matt smiled brightly. His gaze returned to Laura, and he saw the possessive hand O’Neill laid on her arm. His smile deepened; obviously the man felt threatened, and the thought gave him an unexpected rush of adrenaline.
Despite his sunglasses, O’Neill’s brow creased into a frown. "Did you speak to Carter?"
For a confused beat, Matt wondered who he was talking about… "Oh. Sam." It was his turn to frown. "No. Her cell’s switched off and there’s no answer at home."
"Oh." O’Neill seemed agitated, his lips pressing together tightly. Matt wondered if he knew more than he was telling. But all he said was a casual, "Ask her to call me when you see her, will you?" Then he picked up Laura’s pack and nodded towards the other security check-point. "I think the line’s shorter at that one."
A flicker of irritation crossed Laura’s face, but she didn’t object when he started to usher her away. "Call me," she said over her shoulder. "We’ll meet or something?"
Matt grinned at her, admiring her wispy frame. She almost looked fragile, very unlike Sam. "Sounds good."
And then they were gone, leaving Matt alone once more. But now he felt immune to the noise and irritation that surrounded him. He felt excited. Enthused. If Sam could continuously put her work before her marriage, then why couldn’t he do the same for a change? Let her sit at home alone for once, while he enjoyed himself with Laura Hartstone. It would do her good to feel a little envious for a change.
***
Their encounter with Matt at the airport had left Jack irritable. He felt antsy, uneasy in his own skin, and found it difficult to sit still in the cramped airline seat. He shifted for the hundredth time, trying to find a comfortable position for his legs. Who the hell did they build these things for? Four foot midgets?
Next to him Laura sighed irritably as he jostled her elbow again, and he muttered an apology. She closed her book, looking at him over the top of her pink sunglasses. "What’s up with you anyway?"
"Knees," he told her, and it was half of the truth.
She didn’t buy it. "You’ve been in a foul mood all morning."
He couldn’t deny that. His conversation with Sam the previous evening had disturbed him; she was spooked, he could tell. And not knowing why was gnawing at him like a colony of hungry termites. "I didn’t sleep well."
"I noticed," Laura sighed. "Where’d you go anyway?"
He felt his lips compress with another half-truth. "I needed some air. Went for a walk."
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her shift in her seat to look at him better, her willowy figure moving easily in the narrow seat. "Is it Matt?"
That threw him like a left-hook. "Matt?" The man who’d single-handedly destroyed seven years of muted hope and repressed expectations? Sure it was Matt. But how could Laura know that?
"I know," she laughed self-consciously, "he was flirting a little."
Jack turned his head, staring at her. Flirting? "He was flirting with you?"
"I’m sure it’s just business," she assured him, with a delicate pat on his arm. "You don’t have to worry." But he just stared, floored by the realization that he wasn’t - he wasn’t worried. "Although," Laura continued, turning her attention back to her book, "I kinda feel sorry for his wife. I mean, it can’t be much fun can it?"
Jack’s heart twisted painfully. "The guy’s a jerk," he growled, pulling the in-flight magazine out of the pouch in front of him and flicking through it angrily. Anything to distract himself from the overpowering urge to pummel Matt Hutchinson to pieces. If he hurt Sam - if anyone ever hurt Sam - he’d make them pay. Big time.
After all, isn’t that what friends were for?
***
Chapter 7
P4X-829 was a gray planet. Gray sky, gray rocks, gray dirt. Gray, empty and boring. Standing atop the crumbling ruins Sam scanned the distance with her field glasses, seeing nothing beyond the rubble that lay all around them.
"I don’t think anyone’s been here for a thousand years," Daniel called up from the ground below. "The iconography is definitely Goa'uld, but none that I recognize."
Sam lowered her glasses and half-walked, half-skidded down the side of the rubble towards her team. Lewis and Granger were chewing the fat on the other side of the ruins that had once been a civilization, and Daniel was slowly turning over a small rock in one hand. "Some long-dead Goa’uld?" she guessed.
"That’s what I’m thinking," Daniel nodded, dropping the stone back to the ground. He shrugged. "There’s nothing here, Sam. Sorry - from the MALP survey, it looked good."
She gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Not a problem. Nice to have an easy mission for a change."
"I guess," he agreed, glancing up at the gray alien sky. "And to tell the truth, it feels good to be out here again. I miss it, sometimes."
A sudden surge of melancholy took her by surprise, leaking out as a sigh. "Me too." But the melancholy was tinged with something else; a hesitant sense of expectation. A feeling that had been fizzing in her stomach all day.
Daniel must have sensed something, because his eyes narrowed slightly behind his glasses. "What?"
Instantly, she was defensive. "What?"
"You smiled." Sam laughed nervously, looking down at her dusty boots as she started walking back towards her team. Daniel fell in at her side. "Come on," he pressed. "What’s up? You’ve been smiling to yourself all day."
She shook her head, glancing up at her waiting team. For reasons she didn’t want to examine too closely, this wasn’t something she felt comfortable discussing within earshot of anyone other than her closest friends. "Head back to the gate," she called to Granger. "There’s nothing here."
With a nod, he and Lewis moved out and she and Daniel kept pace a good few feet behind them. "So…?" Daniel pressed as they started walking again. "What’s going on?"
"It’s nothing really," she told him, although her smile was creeping back onto her face. "It’s just, I--" She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He, of all people, knew the significance of this. "I ran into Jack last weekend. In Florida."
Daniel blinked, stopped walking and blinked again. "Jack? O’Neill?"
"He was at the conference with his--" She hated that she stumbled over the word! "--his girlfriend. She’s a photographer."
"Laura," Daniel nodded. "Yes, I know." His eyebrows shot up. "And?"
She laughed awkwardly and shook her head. "And what?"
"Sam, you haven’t spoken to him in four years! What happened?"
Glancing at her team, disappearing at a ground-eating pace, she urged Daniel back into motion with a nod of her head. "We talked," she said, keeping her gaze fixed on the horizon as they strode out. "We talked, and…it was nice. It felt good."
"That’s great," Daniel smiled. "I hated that you two had lost touch."
"Yeah," Sam agreed, her memory drifting, as it had too often since her return, back to the deserted Florida beach. "Me too."
They walked on in a thoughtful silence for a while, and then Daniel spoke again. "So, you’re going to keep in touch then?"
Something tightened across Sam’s back, a tension in her shoulders that she couldn’t explain. "Sure," she nodded, her gaze fixed on the dusty gray dirt ahead. "Actually…" God, there was absolutely no reason why she should feel embarrassed about this! Determinedly, she lifted her head and fixed him with a smile. "Actually, he’s due in town this evening. Eight o’clock."
Daniel’s nonplussed surprise was priceless. "Today?"
"Yeah," she nodded, her pace unconsciously increasing. "I…uh…I wanted to talk to him about something. And he said he had some work to do on his house, so…"
"Right," Daniel nodded sagely. "That makes sense. I mean, it’s not like you could talk on the phone or anything."
She flung him a look somewhere between irritation and embarrassment. "Not about this," she said in a low voice. Glancing at Lewis and Granger ahead she moved closer to Daniel. "I want to talk to him about Fifth."
The speculation in Daniel’s eyes turned to concern. "You’re really worried about that, aren’t you? You know, even if he gets through the gate, he’s not going to leave he SGC."
"Maybe," she conceded, although her faith in the ability of the SGC to contain a replicator that sophisticated was not great. "But if the Asgard couldn’t control them, I don’t know why we think we can."
Daniel frowned, rubbing at the back of his neck. "So how do you think Jack’s going to be able to help?"
"I don’t." She looked away again, at the massive gray ring coming into view on the horizon. "I just want to talk about it. About what we did."
"Huh," Daniel grunted. "Jack must have changed then. As I recall, he didn’t do talking."
Sam smiled, and it struck her that Daniel was right. The man she’d met in Florida had been different, in many ways, to the soldier with whom she’d served for so long. Four years ago she couldn’t talk to him about the mission; now she had the alarming feeling that she could talk to him about anything. Well, almost anything.
"So when does he get in?"
She glanced down at her watch. "Eight." Just two more hours. She wondered if she should meet him at the airport and save him the cab fare.
"We should contact Teal’c," Daniel added. "It’d be good to get everyone back together."
"Yeah," Sam smiled. "Wouldn’t it?" The old SG-1, back together again. A week ago she’d have thought it was impossible, but now everything had changed. And the change brought a smile to her heart and her lips. Life was good.
Life was very, very good.
***
The darkroom in the far corner of Laura’s basement had always been her refuge. The silent air filled with a chemical tang cut her off from the world beyond, leaving her alone with the images appearing as if by magic on the paper before her.
She liked the rituals and the control of the old fashioned methods. She liked watching the pictures appear slowly, as if out of her memory. And it was, bizarrely, something that she could share with Jack. Photography was something he’d always been interested in, or so he’d told her that sunny afternoon at his cabin the day they’d first met. And he’d been keen to understand what she did; so much for old dogs and new tricks. He wasn’t bad either, she reflected.
Her eyes drifted to a pile of photographs he’d taken in Florida. She hadn’t seen them yet, and she was surprised he’d had the time to develop them at all. No sooner had they gotten home than he’d been on the phone booking a flight down to Colorado Springs. His meeting with Samantha Carter had, apparently, tweaked his nostalgia nerve and he was determined to arrange a team reunion while at last doing the long over-due maintenance on the house he refused to sell. It was a good job, Laura reflected silently, that she wasn’t the suspicious type or she might have suspected that Samantha Carter had tweaked more than his nostalgia.
Leaving her own photographs to develop, Laura reached for the pile of his photos and started flicking through them. Most were okay, although a couple struck her as really quite good for an amateur. He'd managed to capture the languid beauty of the beach, and the contrast between the dark clouds on the horizon and the setting sunlight was really quite dramatic. He was right, she thought, to go for monochrome film - it really highlighted the natural drama. He’d only developed a handful of pictures though, and she wondered if he’d considered the rest unworthy of his time. Jack O’Neill was his own harshest critic. Reaching for the negatives hanging above the bench, she held them up to the small light and started evaluating.
Beach. Beach. Dunes. Ocean. Beach.
Oh.
She looked closer, something prickling unpleasantly along the back of her neck. It had the chill of jealousy. Samantha Carter, sitting on the end of a boardwalk, gazing out across the ocean. She didn’t look posed, it was entirely natural, and she felt as thought she were seeing the woman through Jack’s eyes. How long had he watched her, she wondered. How long had he studied her, waiting for this photo? Affection dripped from the image.
And there was another, this time she was smiling curiously at the camera. And Laura was forced to admit that she was beautiful, despite the fine lines around her eyes. She looked at the next one, heart racing. This one was worse. The woman and Jack, sitting together staring into each other’s eyes. She was holding his sunglasses, as though she’d just pulled them from his face. And the next, hip-to-hip, and then…arms around each other.
Goose bumps prickled along Laura’s arms, and she dropped the negatives onto the bench. A sick kind of certainty gripped her as she remembered Jack’s expression in the photo. So intent, so serious. Bewitched. And now here he was, racing down to Colorado Springs for a team ‘reunion’. Yeah, right. God! It was so obvious.
Leaving her own photographs to stew in their chemical bath, she slammed out of the darkroom into the cool silence of the basement. Anger bubbled to the surface, provoking her to lash out against the nearby laundry basket, kicking it skittering across the concrete floor scattering dirty clothes in its wake. "You bastard!"
How could he do this to her? Cheat on her like she was some dumb school-kid? But perhaps that’s how he saw her? Young and stupid, too naive to understand what was right in front of her nose. Or maybe he just kept her around for the sex? Let’s face it, sex with her had to be better than with that old-bitch Carter. She had to be forty if she was a day.
She stormed up the stares into the kitchen, slamming the basement door behind her as she stalked relentlessly into the bedroom. Although this was her house, Jack had been around long enough that many of his belongings had migrated up from his cabin. Reaching the dresser, she yanked out the drawer that he’d co-opted, letting the jumble of socks and underwear lurch out all over the floor. There had to be some evidence. Letters, pictures, something from his past to tell her how the hell this woman could just march back into his life and take him away from her over a weekend!
At the back of the drawer, she found a leather folder crammed full of letters, pictures and newspaper clippings. The leather was worn and soft, bearing the faded initials J.S.O. - Jonathan Sean O’Neill, Jack’s father. Laura sat down on the thin carpet, the folder on her knee, and opened it up. On the top were prints of the pictures she’d just seen in the dark room - the fact that he’d developed them and hidden them from her said as much as the photos themselves! Putting them to one side, she started to pry through his private papers with more indignation than guilt. How dare he do this to her?
Next was a picture of his parents smiling proudly in front of their ticky-tacky 1950s suburban dream of a house, followed by a couple of black and white pictures of a well groomed little boy with a sparkle in his eyes that she recognized with a pang of jealous loss. Then a newspaper clipping about ‘local boy Jonathan O’Neill Jnr’ graduating from the Air Force Academy. His birth certificate, marriage certificate, divorce decree were stuffed in behind them.
She stopped at the picture of Charlie, maybe about five years old.
Despite her anger, the picture still turned her heart in sadness. Such a waste. It amazed her that Jack could have ever gone back to the Air Force after his own son had met such a violent death; she wondered if he ever thought about that when he took the life of some other father’s son.
Relentlessly she moved onward, but the mementos grew increasingly sparse. A couple of pictures in what looked like Eastern Europe, back in the Cold War. He looked young and dangerous, and she wondered how many women’s hearts he’d broken back then. And, bitterly, how often he’d cheated on his wife.
At last she came across something more interesting; a fabric patch bearing the odd initials SGC. It looked military and well-used. She guessed it had something to do with his work in Colorado. Behind it was a photograph of Jack, with two other men. One in glasses and a large, floppy hat. The other, tall and black with some kind of tattoo on his forehead. She peered closer to take a look at the tattoo, only to see something else of more interest. A slim white hand rested on the black man’s shoulder. A disembodied hand. Laura ran her finger along the edge of the picture to confirm her suspicion; it had been cut. Someone had deliberately been cut out of the picture. Turning it over, she read on the back, ‘Carter, Teal’c, Daniel and me - P3T-329, 2003’.
The strange numbers didn’t register with Laura as she turned the photo over again and looked at the picture of the three men. Carter, Teal’c, Daniel and me. Only there was no Carter. He’d cut her out of the picture.
She let it fall back into the folder, her stomach twisting jealously. The idea of Jack going to the effort of cutting someone out of a photo floored her. He was always so laconic, so unflappable, so unreachable in many ways. But obviously this Carter woman had reached him. Reached him to the extent that, whatever her crime, it had moved him to try and eradicate her from his memories forever.
Laura could only imagine one thing that could engender such hatred. Rejection.
Had he loved her, she wondered? Did he still? Not a pleasant thought, but Laura wasn’t one to avoid harsh truths. The butchered photograph certainly explained the tension she remembered during their first meeting back in Florida. The question was, had a weekend been enough to overturn his anger? And even if it hadn’t, even if he wasn’t heading to Colorado Springs in order to do more than reminisce, did she really want to be involved with a man in love with ghosts from his past?
She was young, not unattractive, with a career blossoming all around her. She could do better than him.
Couldn’t she?
***
On the damp sand of a warm Florida beach, lit only by the orange glow of hotel lights, one scuttled from the ocean. One became two, two became four, four became eight, eight became sixteen… And slowly, piece by piece, the thousands became One.
It moved its head, tasting the air…searching for the scent that had drawn it to this place. Crouching, its newly formed fingers pressed into the cold sand and sent out microscopic sensors seeking the thing for which it had traveled so far. Seeking her unique pattern, the traces she left as she passed.
Long before dawn crept over the horizon, it had found her. And for the first time, it smiled.
***
"Out?" Matt asked, glancing at Sam over his fork of spaghetti. "Where?"
It was a good question. She twirled her fork tensely in the stodgy mass of pasta, unable to eat. "Just for a drink, probably." It wasn’t a lie. So why was she so on edge? She watched irritably as Matt stuffed an over-full fork into his mouth, but resisted the urge to comment. She last thing she wanted was to argue. "I don’t suppose I’ll be late."
Matt shrugged, mouth too full to speak at first. He took a swig from his beer, but she could still see spaghetti in his mouth when he spoke. For some reason it irritated her. Everything about him seemed to irritate her these days.
And deep down she was aware that the fault was her own; Matt hadn’t changed over the past four years. She had.
"I’ve got work to do this evening anyway," he said at last.
Of course. For all his complaining about Sam’s hours, on the days when she was at home Matt was invariably working. The tap-tap of his laptop was only marginally more irritating than the stupid ring-tone on his cell - the cell that was never, ever switched off. Neither’s yours, she reminded herself silently.
God, when had she gotten so critical?
It was only when she heard his exaggerated sigh that Sam realized she hadn’t replied. Matt was scowling at the table over the lip of the beer bottle as he swallowed. Gritting her teeth, Sam tried to sound bright. "What?"
His glare slid towards her. "Nothing."
Sam cast a surreptitious glance at the clock on the wall. She really didn’t want to start a fight, she’d miss Jack’s flight if she didn’t leave in the next fifteen minutes. "You seem angry."
A slight, indifferent arch of his eyebrows. "No."
God, it was like pulling teeth! "You’re mad because I’m going out?"
"No!" The beer clanked clumsily onto the table. "No, it’s just-- Sometimes it seems like we hardly see each other."
Her eyes flicked to the clock and back. "I know," she sighed, picking up her barely-touched meal and carrying it over to the kitchen counter. "We should try and make more time."
Matt said nothing at first, but she could feel his eyes on her back. And then, in a lighter voice he said, "Maybe we should go out? Catch a movie? It’s been a while."
"Yeah, that’s a good idea," she agreed, and crossed the room to kiss him on the forehead. "I’m sorry, hon, I really need to get going. I’ll check out what’s playing tomorrow, okay?"
Nodding, he reached up and caught her lips in a kiss - a kiss that tasted of beer and spaghetti. Sam pulled away, hating herself for hating it. "Don’t be late," he warned her, with a smile that told her exactly what he had in mind. It only left her feeling more unsettled.
When at last the front-door slammed behind her, she stopped and took a deep breath of cleansing mountain air. She could feel her irritation leak out with her breath, her shoulders relaxing and the appetite-destroying tension in her gut morphing into excitement. Jack O’Neill was coming to town. She smiled her first genuine smile of the evening as she trotted down the steps and slid into her pride-and-joy of a car. The perfectly tuned engine roared into life with a thrill she hadn’t felt in a long, long time and she was out of the drive, heading for the airport, in a little squeal of tires.
She was buoyant, bubbly. Happy! She hadn’t felt this good in years. The reason was obvious, but she refused to acknowledge it; it posed too many difficult, unanswerable, questions. Tonight, all she wanted to do was enjoy the moment, enjoy the pleasure of an old-friend’s company without any of the old complications.
That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
***
It was the second time in as many weeks that Jack O’Neill had stepped off a plane in Colorado Springs. But that was where the similarity between the two visits ended. Last time he’d been haunted by regrets and an anger he’d never been able to forget or accept. This time… He couldn’t help the smile that twitched at his lips. This time he was here to see Carter.
Sam.
She was Sam now, another twist in the tale of their complex relationship. Sam Carter. Or was that Sam Hutchinson? Whatever. She’d always be Carter to him. But whatever he called her, the knowledge that he was here to see her filled him with a feeling a less cynical man might have called joy. Either way, it felt damn good. He felt damn good.
Picking up his pack from the small carousel, Jack hefted it over one shoulder and headed past the waiting friends and family towards the exit and the cabs. If he was lucky he’d be home by nine, just enough time to find a--
"Jack!"
His head shot up, and with unerring instinct he found himself gazing at a rather nervous Sam Carter waving to him from the other side of the hall. The smile that had been hovering since he left Seattle broke into a fully fledged, if brief, grin. She’d come to meet him! Who’d have thought?
"Carter," he smiled, pushing towards her through the milling people. "Whatcha doing here?"
"Thought you could use a ride." She paused uncertainly before giving him a quick hug, made awkward by the pack over his shoulder and their mutual unease at such a familiar gesture. Standing back, he could see a faint flush in her cheeks as she said, "Thanks for coming."
"Anytime." She smiled, and he tried to ignore the way his chest constricted. Damn, but he’d missed that smile. "So…" On an unspoken signal, they began walking towards the parking lot. "Everything okay here?"
Her smile quickly faded, and she cast him a unsettled glance that darkened his mood. "So far." He quizzed her with a look, and she shrugged. "Let’s just say something’s coming back to bite me on the ass."
Jack said nothing, thinking back over their years together and her phone conversation on the Florida beach. He’d heard her mention Thor… He glanced at her sideways. "Nothing to do with…mini-me is it?"
"No," she smiled. "Nothing to do with him."
"The Asgard?"
Sam glanced around the airport uneasily. "Let’s talk later."
Despite her unease, he smiled. Later. He liked the sound of that - perhaps more than he should.
It didn’t take long to find Sam’s car, and he was irrationally pleased to see that she was still driving her vintage Volvo. "What?" he asked as he threw his pack into the small trunk, "No bike?"
She grinned and opened the passenger door. "Why? You wanna ride?"
"You offering?"
Walking around the car, Sam climbed in. "Guess I am."
Now that sounded good. "I didn’t think you let anyone near it?"
"I can make exceptions," she told him as he slid into the passenger seat and slammed shut the door.
"Oh, come on Carter, admit it - you just want to see me in leathers."
She laughed loudly, but didn’t actually answer. Instead she said, "You want to hit a grocery store on the way home?"
"Sounds like a plan." He briefly wondered why the idea of grocery shopping with Carter was so much more appealing than grocery shopping per se, but decided against pursuing the thought too far. After all, he only had a handful of days here and he didn’t want to spoil them with pointless speculation.
They were friends, nothing more, and he was determined to enjoy the fact.
***
The drapes were closed, the house was chilled, musty and devoid of almost every personal touch. It wasn’t exactly welcoming.
"Lucy, I’m home," Jack muttered at her side as they stepped inside.
"You know, the offer of a spare room still stands," Sam said. Although it would be a surprise to Matt. Not that that was a problem.
Jack smiled slightly, as if sharing a private joke with himself. "No. It’ll be fine once the furnace is going." He looked around, taking it all in. "Doesn’t seem like four years ago I was living here."
"No," Sam agreed. "Seems longer."
He met her gaze for a moment with a tight smile that revealed nothing. "Come on, I need coffee."
The kitchen was sparse too, barren of any food or even a take-out menu. Sam pushed the heavy groceries onto the counter and looked around. She hadn’t often been to the colonel’s house - Jack’s house - and she couldn’t help but be curious. For a single guy, he seemed to own a lot of cooking utensils. Far more than she did. But then, cooking had never been high on her list of priorities. Or Matt’s. If they wanted real food, they ate out.
"I’ll put this stuff away," she offered, shivering a little in the chill.
He gave a brief nod and headed towards the door. "I’ll get the furnace going. Coffee machine’s probably in the cupboard on the far left."
As always, they instinctively knew how to work together. It wasn’t long before the house was warming and the musty air was replaced with the cheerful aroma of coffee. She handed him a mug as he came up from the basement, and he took it with a nod of thanks.
"So…" she said into the warming silence.
"So…" he echoed, taking a sip. "It’s good."
"And about the limit of my culinary skills."
He smiled at that, and looked around the neat kitchen. "Talking of food… You hungry?"
Her uneaten spaghetti, probably still exactly where she’d left it on the kitchen counter, drifted into mind. "Actually, yeah," she nodded. "Are you offering to cook?"
Jack glanced at her over the rim of his coffee. "Louie’s Pizza still out on Barns Road?"
"Sure." She smiled suddenly, a flood of memories sweeping in with the name. "Man, I haven’t been to Louie’s in years."
"Hah," Jack said, pulling his cell from his pocket, "but I bet you still remember the number."
She did, of course. Sam Carter never forgot a number: passport number, social security number, military ID… "It’s 591-5241."
His smile broadened into smug and he hit speed dial. "Just testing."
Her mouth opened in mock outrage, only to dissolve into a nostalgic smile. She’d forgotten how much he used to tease her, and how much she used to enjoy it.
"Yeah, hi…" he said into the phone. "You still do the Pepe-pepperoni?"
Sam folded her arms; time for revenge. "With anchovies."
"Uh-huh," he told the pizza guy, deliberately ignoring Sam’s request, "with green pepper --"
Louder. "Anchovies."
"Mushrooms."
Louder still. "Anchovies!"
"Jalapenos."
"Ancho--"
"And anchovies," he said at last, turning away from her amazed smile. "But only on half." After he’d hung up, he turned back around. "You know I’m gonna make you eat those anchovies out on the porch!"
She grinned. "You’re getting soft, Colonel. Anchovies on your pizza?"
"I’m tired," he sighed dramatically. "Too tired to argue, Major."
"That’s Lieutenant Colonel, actually."
"Yeah," he said, more serious now. "So it is." He smiled again, with a warmth that tightened something in her stomach. "Colonel Samantha Carter. It’s got quite a ring to it."
Sam blushed at the quiet pride in his voice. "Thank you."
"You earned it."
"I wish--" Abruptly she changed her mind. The fact that he hadn’t been the one to pin the silver eagles onto her uniform remained one of life’s niggling regrets. But she didn’t know if she dared mention it; it strayed too close to the thing between them that had never been discussed. Not even at the end, before he’d left. Especially not then.
Perhaps he’d guessed the meaning behind her aborted sentence, because he looked sharply away and said, "I’m not kidding about the anchovies."
She laughed, letting him steer the subject away from dangerous waters. "You want me to eat outside?!"
"Sure," he nodded, opening a drawer and starting to rummage. He pulled out a flashlight. "The roof?"
Sam smiled. "Sounds good." Although she pulled her thin jacket closer around her shoulders and silently wished she’d worn a sweater.
"I’ll get you a sweater," Jack offered, heading out of the kitchen.
And so, twenty minutes later, Sam found herself sitting on the little observation platform on Jack’s roof, a beer in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. He lounged at her side, legs stretched out in front of him, staring up at the sky.
"Too much light pollution in Seattle," he told her. "Don’t get views like this."
Sam looked up at the star encrusted sky. "It’s beautiful."
"Yeah."
They lapsed into another silence as the cool autumn breeze ruffled their hair. Sam pulled her jacket a little tighter, grateful for the soft woolen sweater Jack had leant her. It felt good next to her skin, with a faint masculine scent very different from Matt’s. The little knot at the pit of her stomach twisted tighter, but she ignored it and glanced over at the man next to her.
He really hadn’t changed much. And she’d have been kidding herself if she’d pretended that, in the soft starlight, he didn’t look as attractive as ever. The thought made her wince slightly at the implied betrayal of her husband, but she figured that there was no harm in looking. It’s not like anything had ever, or would ever, happen between them. Jack chose that moment to look over at her, his eyes dark and bright. "So," he said quietly, "you gonna tell me what’s going on?"
She only hesitated for a moment. "Fifth."
His eyebrows rose, mouth moving into a silent ‘oh?’
"The Asgard - don’t freak out - the Asgard let him out."
He freaked out. "They what?" He was suddenly bolt-upright and the very much the colonel she used to know. "Of all the dumb-assed, stupid--"
"I know!" she assured him, holding up a hand to quiet him. "I know. I told them that." She sighed. "It gets worse."
Jack’s jaw locked grimly. "Go on."
"He…escaped. Left via a Stargate, and they have no idea where he is."
He was on his feet, shaking his head and pacing angrily. "After we risked our butts saving their skinny asses, they let it out? They let the goddamn Prince of the Replicators out! Jesus! And after the way we betrayed it? It’s gonna--" He stopped dead, staring at her in sudden understanding. "Shit."
Sam nodded. "I know."
"That’s why you had to leave Florida. Because Thor thinks Fifth is coming here."
"He was the most human of them," she said softly. "And revenge is very human."
Pensively, Jack came to sit next to her. "It wasn’t your decision."
"He doesn’t know that."
He raked a hand through his hair. "Damn."
"It’s not like we’d let him through the Stargate," Sam suggested, trying to sound hopeful.
But he just gave her a dark look. "It’s a replicator. It doesn’t need a Stargate. It just needs a ship."
She shrugged her acknowledgement of the point. "He could be anywhere."
Elbows on knees, Jack was thoughtful. "You worried?"
"I--" Suddenly she was at a loss for words. Four years ago, he’d never have asked such a personal question. "A little."
He just nodded and looked away, down at his boots. "You didn’t like it, did you? Leaving him."
For a long moment she was silent, considering her response. "You did the right thing."
"That’s not the point," he said, glancing up and looking her straight in the eyes. "Is it?"
She didn’t answer.
He straightened and leaned back against the bench, staring up at the sky. "You’ve had your own command for what…? Four and a half years?" he said. "What would you do now? If it was your call."
It wasn’t a question she’d asked herself before, and she didn’t have an answer. "I think about him sometimes," she said instead. "He was an innocent. He didn’t understand."
To her surprise, Jack nodded. "I think about it too," he admitted, still staring at the stars. "Sometimes…" He paused, swallowed, and Sam realized that what he was about to say was difficult. It made her unreasonably nervous. "Sometimes I wonder if that’s where it all started to go wrong."
He didn’t move, didn’t look away from the night-sky, but she couldn’t have felt his presence more strongly if he’d been staring right into her eyes. She knew what he was talking about, of course she did. But talking about it terrified her into retreat. She blustered, "Where what went wrong?"
"You and I," he said relentlessly, still not looking at her. "Where you and I went wrong."
In the cool night air she felt her cheeks flush. "We were always wrong, weren’t we?"
His head moved, a slight shake of denial. But all he said was, "I guess we were."
"But this is good," she added hastily, trying to regain some control over the situation. She hadn’t expected this. She’d never expected to talk about this. "We’re friends, right?"
At last he moved, turning his face towards her; their eyes met in a collision of regret and unresolved emotion. The moment was heavy with painful nostalgia as he murmured, "I’m sorry."
Sorry for what? For caring? For leaving? For cutting her dead for four years? She didn’t know how to answer, how to talk about the forbidden feelings that had almost destroyed their friendship.
He saw her confusion and his demeanor hardened. "Fifth blames you for betraying him," he explained, looking sharply away. "It’s my fault. I’m sorry."
That wasn’t what he’d meant, but Sam was grateful he’d backed away from the other subject. Coward that she was, she could breathe again. "I don’t blame you," she said, her words as ambiguous as his apology.
But they both understood. A slight smile touched his lips and she was astonished to see a flash of relief in his dark eyes. "Thank you," he said, so softly she could barely hear it. But there was such gratitude in his voice that a lump bunched in her throat and she was forced to look away.
Even now, she thought nervously, there was a connection. More than shared regrets, there was something between them that it seemed would never die. Four years of estrangement and a marriage later, she still felt the incessant attraction that had caused them so much grief. They would always be friends, and friends was all they could ever be now. But Sam was shocked to discover that she didn’t know whether to celebrate that fact, or grieve it.
***
It was past one when Jack found himself standing on his porch in a pool of light from the house, watching the red tail-lights of Sam’s car disappear around the corner. As late as it was, the evening was over all too soon. The few hours they’d spent together weren’t enough and he watched her go with a sweet regret, wishing she could have stayed longer and knowing it was impossible.
He took a deep breath and stared up at the bright moon, letting everything he felt wash over him. He wasn’t sure if he was happy or miserable, perhaps he was both. When he was with her something clicked into place - it was right, and good, and wonderful. And he knew it always would be, if only it could be. And then when she was gone reality crashed back in with all its complexities and blurred lines, bringing with it self-doubt and self-loathing in equal measure.
She was another man’s wife.
He knew that, just as he’d known she was his second in command all those years ago. But neither hard truth could stop the feelings she aroused in his heart. She completed him like no one ever had or ever would. And he was helpless in the face of the attraction that wrenched him away from all he knew to be right, dragging him towards her as helplessly as a leaf caught in a tornado.
He shook his head, letting out a deep sigh as he pushed his hands into his pockets and headed inside. So much for just being friends! It was a good thing, he reflected morosely, that he was only planning on staying in Colorado for a few days. Because after another evening like that he wasn’t sure he’d trust himself not to do something very, very stupid.
***
It was dark and cold in the street. Colder than he was used to, although the temperature was nothing more than a detail to note. It had no affect on him as he stood in the shadows and waited. He was good at waiting. He’d had a lot of practice.
At last he sensed her drawing closer, the shades and pulses of her mind tingling into his awareness. Excitement built along with the cold rage of betrayal. But the ice kept him from striking too soon; now was not the time for rash moves. Now was the time for learning, understanding. And planning.
The primitive machine she drove slowed and stopped outside her house. He stilled everything within him, waiting as the moment approached. A door opened and she stepped out into the silent night, just as he remembered her. He still thought she looked beautiful, but now he could see the weakness in her eyes, the deceit in the face he had trusted.
She closed the door quietly, pulling her jacket closer. And then she stopped, looking down and touching the fabric of the sweater she wore. She lifted the hem to her face, pressing it briefly against her mouth and nose as if breathing in its scent. And an odd smile touched her face, wistful and sad. Then she let the fabric drop and he could see the slow rise and fall of her shoulders and knew that she was sighing.
Then suddenly she tensed, turning slowly and peering into the darkness that concealed him. A frown creased her brow and her eyes gazed blindly into the night, searching for the danger she somehow sensed. But she saw nothing before she turned and hurried up the path towards her house. He followed her with his eyes, watching as she paused on the porch to find the keys that opened the door. He looked closer, seeing the key - seeing into the lock - and understanding it at its most basic level. Making it a part of himself.
Then, with a backward glance towards the darkness, she opened the door and hurried inside.
Fifth smiled. Soon it would be time.
***
Matt was asleep when she crept into the bedroom, his low snore at once familiar and irritating. She slid under the covers, her whole body tense as she lay silently next to her sleeping husband and tried to will herself to sleep.
It was impossible.
Her heart and mind were wide awake, more alive then they’d felt in years. And all she could think of was the way Jack had looked at her and smiled at her and wanted her. She wasn’t blind to it. She felt his desire as keenly as she’d ever done, and the years had done nothing to diminish its impact. The thin veneer of friendship she’d been clinging to so desperately was cracking, and beneath it she could see rolling passions as dark and deep as ever.
He wanted her. He still wanted her, despite everything. Despite Matt. And more than anything else, his loyalty touched her. Beyond the attraction that estrangement, time and distance refused to diminish, it was his loyalty that battered at all her good intentions.
He still wanted her. He still cared. He still--
Matt snorted and rolled onto his back, muttering something unintelligible. Sam went rigid and after a moment she slid back out of bed, grabbed her bathrobe and headed down into the living room.
Curled up in the corner of the sofa, she stared out of the window at the bright moon flickering behind the waving branches of the trees. She felt out of control and didn’t like the sensation one bit. Her safe, comfortable world was shaking on its foundations and its gilded facades were crumbling. She felt as though she were seeing her life for the first time, and wasn’t sure she liked what she saw. Where once Matt had seemed steady and reliable, he now felt oppressive and boring. The marriage that had saved her from years of loneliness and emotional turmoil suddenly felt like a trap. Two weeks ago she’d been content, and now she couldn’t bear to sleep next to her husband.
What the hell had happened?
She closed her eyes and sighed, the answer to her question filling her mind and heart - Jack O’Neill had happened. He was back in her life, and everything she’d thought was certain was crumbling in the face of the irresistible attraction they shared. And the most terrifying thing about it was that she didn’t feel scared. All she felt was anticipation, pulsing through her veins with every beat of her treacherous heart.
She wanted him, and her desire was drowning out the claims of loyalty, love and duty that her marriage vows demanded.
***
Chapter 8
"So," Daniel asked the next morning, as he slid his lunch tray onto the cafeteria table, "how did it go?"
Sam blinked at him and he got the distinct impression that her thoughts had been far away. "Umm," she mumbled, shaking her head in an apparent attempt to clear it. "Sorry, Daniel. What?"
He slipped into the seat and began unloading his food. "Jack," he reminded her. "You were picking him up from the airport last night?"
"Oh right," she nodded, poking at her meal with her fork and determinedly not looking at him. "Yes, good. It was good. He was good."
The pink tint to her cheeks sounded silent alarm bells in Daniel’s head. "So you talked then?" he asked carefully. "About Fifth?"
"He was a little pissed," she admitted with a smile.
Daniel grunted. "Oh, I can imagine."
They lapsed into silence and Daniel started to eat, but he kept his eyes firmly fixed on Sam. She was only toying with her food, miles away. And she didn’t look happy. He cleared his throat, trying a different tack. "Did he bring Laura with him?"
"No," came the quiet reply, accompanied by a slight tightening around her eyes that looked like a wince. "No he didn’t. I don’t suppose he’s staying long. A couple of days maybe."
Daniel nodded. "I should give him a call then. Maybe we can all go out?"
"Yeah," she smiled, looking up at him with determined brightness. "That would be nice." She glanced at her watch and grimaced. "I should go. I have a tone of work to get through, and I need to book movie tickets for tonight." Daniel raised a curious eyebrow and she quickly added, "Matt and I are going to the movies. We haven’t been out for ages."
"Great," Daniel smiled. "I hear Terminator 4 is good."
That earned him a more genuine smile as she got to her feet. "I’ll think about it."
He smiled too, but as she turned to go he said, "Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"You okay?"
Her lips tightened. "Sure. Fine."
But he didn’t believe her; he could see the lines of regret etched into her face. "Funny how life works out sometimes, huh?" he said gently. "But I’m glad you and Jack are friends again."
"Yeah," came the short reply, followed by another tight smile. "I gotta go."
Daniel sighed as she left; getting Sam to open up was like prizing open a clam. But he recognized the shadow in her eyes and it was one he hadn’t seen for a long time. It spoke of an irreconcilable inner conflict between duty and desire. And his heart sank for her.
His brief meeting with Jack, just a couple of weeks earlier, had convinced him that Jack’s feelings for Sam hadn’t dimmed, simply hardened into resentment. But if Jack had moved beyond that, and if Sam’s feelings were equally alive…? He grimaced - it was like watching a train-wreck in slow motion. And not for the first time he thought it would have been better for everyone if the whole messy situation had been dealt with back when they were all serving on SG-1.
But duty and honor had always taken precedent for his friends, and he was beginning to wonder if all that noble repression might not be about to come back and bite them on the ass. Hard.
***
To take his mind of the evening before - not an easy task - Jack attacked the routine maintenance needed on his house with an enthusiasm way beyond the call of duty. He cleaned, painted and fixed until his body ached and his stomach grumbled for attention.
It was only then that he realized he hadn’t eaten since the previous evening’s pizza. And that thought brought Sam right back into the front of his mind, in all her adorable glory. Irritated with himself, he flung the paintbrush back into the pot and wiped his hands on the back of his paint-splattered jeans.
"Lunch," he growled, stomping out of the dust-sheet covered living room and into the kitchen. He was half-way through packing a bagel with cheese and ham when the doorbell chimed, ringing tingling bells of its own in his gut.
Sam.
Mortified by the way his stomach was dancing at the thought of seeing her he headed into the hallway, doing his best to straighten his unkempt hair and wishing he’d bothered to shower and shave before getting to work. He paused before he opened the door and willed himself not to act like a complete idiot. Whatever he might feel - and he refused to put a name to it - it was absolutely vital that she never knew. Never ever. Taking a deep breath he flung open the door and said…
"Daniel?"
"Hi Jack."
Like a freight train at full speed he struggled to break and change tracks. "Ah…I…hi."
Daniel’s eyebrows rose. "You were expecting someone else?"
"No!" Jack assured him, way too fast to be convincing. He cleared his throat and slowed down. "I mean, yes. I, uh, ordered a pizza."
Daniel glanced over his shoulder towards the empty street. "Oh. I didn’t see anyone--"
"No," Jack agreed, stepping back and opening the door wide. "Come in. It’s kinda messy. I’m painting."
Daniel peered at him over the top of his glasses. "I noticed that."
Once he’d maneuvered Daniel onto the porch, beer in hand, Jack surreptitiously ordered himself a pizza before stepping out into the warm fall sunshine. "So," he said, feeling calmer, "you got a day off, huh?"
"No," Daniel admitted. "I’m playing hooky."
"I’m flattered."
Daniel smiled slightly, glancing at him sideways before returning his attention to the bright blue autumn sky. "Sam said she saw you last night."
Jack froze. There was something in Daniel’s tone that spoke of way too much knowledge, and he slammed the blast doors down. "That’s right."
"I’m glad you guys are talking again," Daniel carried on, frowning now and glancing down at the beer in his hands. "I know she’s missed you." Jack was silent. He had absolutely no intention of joining this particular conversation. Daniel didn’t seem to care, although his voice dropped lower. "She’s been pretty happy with Matt, you know. They’re planning to start a family soon. At least, that’s what she told me a while back."
Jack’s toes curled with an brutal mixture of embarrassment and envy. "Daniel--"
"I just wanted you to know," Daniel said hurriedly. "To have the full picture. I know that sometimes things can--"
"You know nothing!" Jack snapped. "Nothing about me. Or…or this…" His words ran out and he kicked angrily at the porch railing. "Is that why you’re here? To keep me in line? Is that what you think of me? That I’m some kind of marriage-wrecker?"
Daniel sighed. "You’ve been gone a long time, Jack," he said quietly. "And sometimes regrets turn into…I don’t know, nostalgia. It’s hard to see straight, and I wouldn’t want Sam to do something she’d regret. Or you. Laura’s an amazi--"
"That’s not why I’m here," Jack interrupted, "if that’s what you think. Carter wanted to talk about Fifth. That’s all. That’s all she wants from me."
But Daniel turned, looking at him straight. "I don’t think it is."
He was silent, processing the information, not sure he believed it but wishing it were true. And scared that it might be. In the end, all he could think of to say was, "Then isn’t that something she should decide?"
"It is," Daniel nodded, grimacing. "I can just see trouble ahead, and I wanted to--" He sighed and turned back to the view of the yard. "Maybe I’m out of order, but I just think--"
"You are," Jack assured him, although not with rancor. "You are out of order, but it’s okay. I get it. You’re just trying to look out for her."
"For both of you."
He smiled slightly. "Same old Daniel."
"Same old Jack." Daniel pulled off his glasses, polishing them slowly on the hem of his shirt, "Matt Hutchinson’s a good man. Sam wouldn’t have married him if he wasn’t."
And Jack felt another squirm of guilt. "Yeah, I know. And, swear to God, Daniel, I’m not here to do anything more than talk. But if she wants--" He bit back the words with a shake of his head, ashamed to admit them even to Daniel who knew him better than anyone. And for a long time they stood in silence, staring at the fall leaves slowly drifting from the trees in the still mountain air.
"What were the odds," Daniel said at last, "of me meeting Sha’re?"
Jack blinked, confused by the hairpin turn in the conversation. "Ah…"
"I mean, they must have been astronomical. Literally. She was on another world." He shook his head and glanced over at Jack. "If something’s meant to be," he said quietly, "it will be."
Jack just nodded, not sure if his friend’s words were meant as comfort or warning.
***
"You’re kidding?" Sam asked, failing to hide her exasperation.
"I’m sorry!" Matt protested, his voice faint through the static of his cell phone. "It came up at the last minute and I have to get the proposal off tonight."
Sam closed her eyes and flopped backwards onto the bed. "But I’ve already got the tickets!" she complained, knowing she sounded like a whiney child and not really caring. After her less than noble thoughts the previous night, she’d been hoping that an evening out with Matt might ease her guilt. "When will you be back? We could see a later showing?"
"Sorry, hon, I’m gonna be here late. We’re waiting on some stuff from the Tokyo office, and with the time difference…"
She sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "Okay then."
"Why don’t you go with Maggie?" Matt suggested. "Or Cassie?"
Or Jack? Her mind leaped at the opportunity with an alacrity that alarmed her even as it set her pulse racing. She sat up. "Yeah, good idea," she replied brightly. "Or maybe Daniel."
She could almost hear Matt’s relived smile down the phone line. "I’ll make it up to you at the weekend," he promised. "Okay?"
"Yeah," she nodded, on her feet now and pacing. Her stomach had suddenly been invaded by an army of anxious butterflies and she found it impossible to sit still. "Ah, look, I’d better go if I’m gonna find someone else to come with me. See you later, okay?"
"Sure," he replied. "Don’t wait up!"
"I won’t."
"Love you."
Her heart blanched, but she said it anyway. "Love you too."
And then he was gone and she was alone. On the bed lay the local paper, the number of the Cinemark Theatres circled and two tickets waiting for her at the box office. She could call Cassie or Daniel. But what she really wanted to do, what she really, really wanted to do was call Jack.
Slowly she sat on the bed and pulled her cell phone from her purse. Paging through the menu she found his name - Col. O. It had been there for four years, unused. Her finger hovered over the dial button, her conscience at war with her heart.
But really, she reasoned, was it so bad? It was just a movie, and he’d be gone in a few days. It wasn’t like anything was going to happen, and if she didn’t see him now when would she? Who knew when they’d meet again?
Matt was busy, that wasn’t her fault. And she had to go with someone. Almost without her consent her finger hit the call button. Her stomach plunged towards her toes before ricocheting up into her throat as she heard his phone ring once, twice--
"Jack O’Neill." Her heart, it seemed, was lodged so firmly in her throat that speech was impossible. "Hello?" He sounded irritated.
She had to speak! "Hi!" she blurted at last, feeling like an idiot. "It’s Sam Carter."
There was an amused pause before he quietly said, "Hello Sam Carter."
The butterflies bounced around her stomach at the sound of his quiet, slightly flirtatious drawl. She closed her eyes to hear him better, guilty but so alive it almost hurt. "So, how’s the painting going?"
There was a smile in his voice as he said, "On the wall, mostly."
She laughed, the sound of his voice as luxurious as a cool drink on a hot afternoon. "You finished for the day?"
"Oh yeah," he sighed, and she could hear him stretching. "Just chilling out with a beer." She was silent for a moment, eyes fixed on the newspaper, teetering on the edge of something dangerous. And although she knew she shouldn’t fall, she really, really wanted to plunge into the dark waters below. "Carter?" Her silence had sobered him and his voice was suddenly full of concern. "Everything okay?"
"Yes," she assured him hurriedly. "Fine. I was just-- Matt and I were going to the movies tonight, but he has to work and I wondered if you were free?" In the end the words tumbled out of their own volition, leaving her dangling in their silent wake and hoping she hadn’t sounded like and idiot. But, oh my God, she’d practically invited him on a date!
He cleared his throat. "The movies…"
"It doesn’t matter if you’re busy, or--"
"I’m not," he interrupted. "I’m not busy."
Tension buzzed down the phone line, dangerous and irresistible. She could feel her nerves humming in tune with it as she said, "So, do you wanna go then?"
There was a beat of hesitation before he said, "Yeah. Yeah, it sounds good."
"Are you sure? Don’t feel you have to or--"
"No. I want to."
And the way he said ‘want’ sent a fiery shiver shooting down her spine, detonating savagely in the pit of her stomach. She had to swallow hard before she could say, "I’ll pick you up at seven."
"Sounds good," he smiled. She just knew he was smiling, his voice dripped with it. "So, what are we going to see?"
She laughed. "Um, actually… Terminator Four."
There was a long pause before he said, "We’ll need popcorn."
Her laugh turned into a giggle. A giggle! "It’ll be fun."
"Yeah," he agreed warmly. "Yeah, it will."
After she hung up the phone, Sam glanced at her watch. It was almost six, so she figured she had forty-five minutes to get ready. Not giving herself time to think about the implications, she threw open her closet and starting rifling through her clothes, wondering if she had time to wash her hair before she had to leave. She hadn’t felt this excited about going to the movies since she was a teenager, and the buzz of adrenaline that liquefied her stomach gave her a high that just refused to abate.
***
Jack was pacing, his thoughts racing like a hamster in a wheel going over and over the same ground. They were going out, but it wasn’t a date. They’d be alone, but nothing was going to happen. Nothing could happen, no matter how much he wanted it to. But they were going out! Together. Alone. Just thinking about it made his whole body thrum with a sharp twang of desire that he couldn’t ignore.
But nothing could happen. Nothing would happen. He groaned, surprised to hear the noise out loud in his quiet house. He felt like a starving man being paraded before a feast and ordered not to touch it - the tension was enough to rip him apart!
Picking up his bill-fold from the coffee table, he flipped through it to make sure he had some cash. Plenty. Then he ran his hands over his hair, hoping he’d managed to get all the splatters of white paint out in the shower. Not that it would make much difference - there was more silver there than anything else. He glanced at his watch - she’d said seven and it was almost five after. Maybe she’d changed her mind or--
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!
Or not. Stuffing his bill-fold into his back pocket, he grabbed his jacket and headed into the hallway. They had an entire evening together to enjoy, he decided as he opened the door, and he wasn’t going to ruin it with his adolescent, out-of-control hormonal desires that--
Holy crap!
Black pants hugging her hips, a form-fitting sweater that showed just enough midriff to reveal a sparkle of what looked suspiciously like a bellybutton ring. He was in so much trouble…
She smiled brightly. "Ready to go?"
"Uh," was all he managed to say, given that his jaw was grazing the toes of his recently polished boots and his eyes couldn’t leave that little flash of tanned Carter-stomach.
She frowned, cocking her head to one side. "Jack? Everything okay?"
Guiltily he snapped his eyes up to her face. "Fine. Good. Great! Let’s go, don’t want to be late."
And he was out the door and heading for her car before she had time to move. But as he walked, the same words circled through his mind in a never-ending loop; look, don’t touch, look, don’t touch, look, don’t touch, look, don’t touch…
Temptation had never been so tempting.
***
The movie passed in a blur, and afterwards Sam had very little idea what had transpired on the screen. Her whole attention had been fixed on the man next to her, even while her eyes had been glued unseeing to the movie.
The box of popcorn wedged between them became a source of guilty delight, as each time she dipped her fingers inside she seemed to find his hand already there and the brush of skin on skin set her insides smoldering. And then half way through the movie he leaned over and whispered into her ear "Are we meant to know who this John Connor guy is?"
She grinned and whispered back, the scent of his soap startlingly erotic as she murmured her explanation into his ear. He had more questions, and each time she felt his warm breath stir her hair the tension ratcheted up another notch or two. And once he got too close and she could feel the feather-light caress of his lips against her ear as he spoke. The sensation tripped a thousand alarms, catapulting her body into a highly inappropriate state of arousal and knocking her good sense out cold. Had he kissed her then, she’d have given as good as she got. If not better. But he didn’t, for which she as grateful as she was disappointed.
And at last the movie ended. They stayed until the final credits had rolled and they were all but alone in the theatre as the lights went up. She glanced over at him, awkward now that she couldn’t hide in the darkness.
But he smiled at her and the awkwardness faded. "That was fun," he said.
She nodded, not wanting to leave and wanting lots of things she couldn’t have. She sighed, and then he surprised her by suddenly reaching towards her. Her heart stalled with a judder as his hand touched her chest…
"You missed a bit," he said, picking a piece of popcorn from her sweater.
Sam just stared at his fingers as her heart lumbered back into motion. He was going to pop it into her mouth! Unconsciously she ran her tongue over her lips, her eyes rising to his only to find them fixed on her mouth. And then suddenly he sat up straight and dropped the piece of popcorn like a hot coal. "Don’t know about you," he said gruffly, snatching up his jacket and getting to his feet, "but I need real food."
She could only nod.
"O’Mally’s?"
Dinner. And then…? God, she wanted there to be an ‘and then’. She cleared her throat and grabbed her own jacket, every nerve in her body singing with anticipation. "Dinner sounds great."
God help her, she thought desperately, because she couldn’t help herself…
***
The meal was long over and they were on at least their third cup of coffee. Or maybe fourth. He wasn’t really counting. The distant clatter of the pool table and the hum of inoffensive music glided unnoticed through his mind as he sat close to her in a cozy booth, talking about everything and nothing and wanting her so very, very badly.
"You know," she said in a pause in the conversation, "I nearly didn’t make it to Florida for Matt’s conference."
He couldn’t help the twist of envy he felt at the mention of the man’s name - her husband’s name. But he didn’t let it show on his face. "How come?" he asked instead.
Sam sighed, leaning her head back against the seat and closing her eyes. She was so close she could have rested against his shoulder. He wished she would. "Oh, we had another stupid argument. I was late home, he’d started packing for me…"
Jack couldn’t help the snort of laugher. "Packing for you?"
Her eyes opened and she glanced over at him with a rueful smile. "He’s so uptight sometimes, it makes me want to scream."
He looked away, uncomfortable with discussing her marriage. As stupid as it sounded, he’d prefer to forget all about it.
"Sorry," she murmured. "I didn’t mean to bore you with my--"
"No." He gave her the best smile he could muster. "I was just-- Marriage is difficult," he said at last, thinking back to Sara.
She nodded. "Yes it is."
They sank into a pensive silence until the waiter returned to fill up their coffee cups for a fourth, or was it fifth, time. Once they were alone again Sam stirred cream into her coffee and smiled at him. "I was just thinking, if I hadn’t gone to Florida we wouldn’t have bumped into each other." She glanced down at her cup, "I’m glad we did."
"Me too," he assured her, with rather more feeling than he’d intended. And then, to cover the intensity of his words, he added, "Which reminds me…I have something for you."
Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulled out the photos he’d taken on the Florida beach. "You said you wanted copies."
Her smile sparkled. "Thank you!" She pulled the pictures out of the envelope he’d handed her and went through them carefully, stopping on one and looking up at him. "I like this one."
It was the one of them both gazing at each other, her holding his sunglasses in her hand. "Me too," he told her. He liked it a lot. Too much, really.
"It was a great weekend," she sighed, slipping the pictures back into the envelope. Her eyes held him, open and full of affection. "I’m so glad--"
"Yeah." And there it was, a moment of naked honesty. He could see the conflict in her eyes, her affection for him and her guilt twisting around each other in a painful dance that was mirrored in his own heart. Helplessly he reached out and touched her cheek, a gesture of comfort and tenderness.
She closed her eyes, her brow furrowed with distress as she pressed her face softly against his hand. "We can’t," she breathed brokenly.
He nodded, even though part of him wanted to rage in denial. His voice choked as he murmured, "I know."
She pulled away from him and he let his hand fall. "It’s late," she muttered, picking up the photos and staring at them, clutching them between fingers turning bone-white.
"Yeah," he agreed as he glanced around at the mostly-empty restaurant, "we should go."
They left in a bubble of silence, as if a single word might undo their resolve and tear down the good intentions that were the only barriers between them. As they walked through the dark parking lot they kept a wary distance until they came to a halt a few feet from Sam’s car. Jack glanced at it warily, wondering how wise it would be to get into her car and let her drive him back to his empty house. He felt temptation surrounding them like a living thing, a fog of desire that blurred everything except the raging fire that threatened to engulf them both. He cleared his throat, "I could get a cab."
She laughed bleakly as she pulled the keys from her jacket pocket. "Don’t you trust me?"
"It’s not you I don’t trust," he muttered, staring down at his boots to keep his eyes from fixing on the glitter of her damned bellybutton ring!
"It’s too late to get a cab," she sighed, heading to her car and opening the driver’s door. And then with a weary smile she cocked her head to one side and said, "Would it help if I called you sir?"
He grunted an unamused laugh. "It might, Carter."
But her joke had got him moving, and he found himself climbing into the passenger seat and trying to ignore how close together they were in the small space. Without speaking, she fired the engine and reversed quickly out of her space, leaving the parking lot before he’d had time to buckle his seatbelt. He could understand the frustration obvious in her driving; he felt it too. Looking over at her face, pale in the streetlights, he made a half-hearted attempt at a joke of his own. "Guess we’re lucky we didn’t come on your bike. Then we’d really be in trouble."
Her lips twisted into a vague smile, but her fingers were white-knuckling the steering wheel as they sped through the streets towards his house. They didn’t speak again - really, what was the point? There was nothing to say. And soon she was slowing and pulling up outside his house.
She didn’t kill the engine though, and they sat there listening to it hum for a moment before he sighed and said, "Thanks for the ride."
"Thanks for the photos," she said quietly. "I had a nice evening."
"Yeah," he replied shortly. "Me too." She glanced over at him with a rueful smile, as if she suspected him of lying. "Seriously," he assured her. "I had a good time. And I’m glad we had a chance to, you know, catch up."
Her expression sharpened. "That sounds final." Looking away, he hadn’t found a reply before she spoke again. "You’re leaving?"
"I guess," he realized, looking up into her unhappy eyes. "It’s probably a smart idea."
"Probably," she agreed, although her voice was angry and he could see a real sadness in her face. "You’ll keep in touch though?"
He hesitated. "I--"
"I don’t want this to be goodbye!" she insisted vehemently. "I can’t--" Her voice choked and she glared down at the steering wheel she still clutched. But he could see the tears in her eyes, and watched in dismay as one trickled down her cheek and she angrily swiped it away.
He couldn’t help himself - it couldn’t end like this, whatever the consequences. Her misery was so palpable and he felt it himself so keenly, he couldn’t stop himself from acting. Hearing nothing but the pounding of blood in his hears, he turned in his seat and slid an arm around her shoulders, "Come here."
She moved, turning into his embrace as his arms went around her and she buried her face against his shoulder. "It’s not fair," she whispered brokenly. "It’s not fair."
"I know," he told her, willing himself to stay in control as he stroked her hair. "I’m sorry."
"For what?"
"Oh, I don’t know. Everything."
She laughed hollowly and pulled back, but he didn’t want to let her go and trailed his fingers down her arms until he held only her hands. Her eyes glimmered with tears in the faint light and he thought she’d never looked more beautiful. "You can’t blame yourself for this one," she sighed. And then, after a pause she quietly added, "You’d better go, before…"
She didn’t need to finish the sentence, he understood her all too well. They were moments away from throwing eleven years of honor and respect out the window. Letting go of her hands was a wrench, but he forced himself to reach for the door handle, the metal cold under his heated fingers. "I’ll write, or something," he promised.
Sam laughed again, as if the prospect was darkly amusing. Or maybe she just knew he was lying. "Thank you."
And then, while his conscience was still in control of his body, he pushed open the door and climbed out of her car. And out of her life.
As she sped off into the dark night he trudged blindly towards his house, aware of nothing but his misery and a heartbreaking certainty that he’d never see her again.
He’d never see her again.
He felt as though his life had ended. Again.
***
It was late by the time Sam got home, but hers was the first car into the large driveway. Matt, it seemed, was still working. And she was glad. She didn’t think she could face his amiable affection with her heart chewed up into pieces and fluttering like a dying bird in her chest.
Clutching the photos Jack had given her she stepped into her dark house and flicked on the lights. They seemed too bright, but she left them on and headed down the hallway towards her bedroom, dropping her jacket over the back of the couch as she went. And then she stopped, turned around and picked it up. Matt hated when she did that, and her guilt was so severe that it forced her to trudge back to the hooks next to the door and hang up her jacket.
It was a ridiculous gesture, she knew. She’d been a heartbeat away from falling into another man’s arms, and so to compensate she hung up her jacket for a change. Way to go, Sam.
In her bedroom, she flung the photos onto the bed and closed the drapes. The overhead light was too intrusive, so she switched on the bedside lamp as she peeled off her clothes and pulled on her pajamas.
As she dressed, her eyes kept flicking to the envelope of photos. They promised a moment’s respite from the ache in her chest - a moment of memory to ease the pain of saying goodbye. Because that’s exactly what it had felt like when Jack had left her car. She knew now, for a fact, that they couldn’t be friends. They’d never been friends while he’d lead SG-1, and memory had confused the reasons in her mind. But now she remembered. They hadn’t been friends because they couldn’t be friends, their other more intense emotions had overshadowed everything. The attraction was too powerful - only the rules of rank had kept them apart before, and now only the dictates of their consciences.
The only solution was separation. Permanent separation.
With a sigh she climbed onto the bed, folding her legs beneath her, and picked up the photos.
There were a couple of her that she discarded, flinging them carelessly back onto the bed and failing to see one slide off onto the floor. For she only had eyes for the three pictures of Jack - of the two of them together.
She devoured every detail. The way he was looking at her, the expression of nervous surprise in his eyes, the way their gaze was locked together. Their closeness. And her smile. She looked happy, and she remembered the golden glow of the moment. In the next picture they were side by side, her arm around him - and she distinctly remembered the feel of his soft sun-warmed t-shirt over the hard muscles of his shoulders. It made her shiver, reminding her sharply of the feel of his arms around her as they’d said goodbye less than half an hour ago. She could still feel the warmth of his skin against her face, the cool fabric of his jacket, the scent of his soap. A pulse of desire and loss screwed a knot in her stomach so tight it was a physical pain.
She let the photo fall from her hands and screwed her eyes shut, seeking control but finding it elusive. If only... If only they'd talked all those years ago, when the whole thing had been ripped out unwillingly by the Zay’tarc incident. If only they’d dealt with it after their time as Johna and Thera. If only she’d never met Matt.
Her eyes opened, staring through the soft lighting at the cold, hard truth in her heart; if only she hadn’t married Matt. Guilt swilled in her stomach like an oil slick in a stormy sea; for now it was buried beneath the turbulent waves, but once calm was restored she knew it would float to the surface and despoil everything it touched. Matt deserved better than her betrayal. He’d done nothing but love her, tolerate her insane working life, her pitiful excuses for unexplained absences, bruises and worse. And he’d been there for her when no one else had been there - when Jack hadn’t been there.
He deserved so much more than this.
Torn in two by her conflicting feelings, she gathered the photos together. Hesitating for a moment she pulled open the top drawer of her dresser and pushed them right to the back. As she did so, her hand touched the soft wool of Jack’s sweater - the one she’d borrowed the previous evening and forgotten to return. The one she’d felt the absurd need to hide from Matt. And the touch of it now sent shocks of desire right into the pit of her stomach.
Slowly she pulled it from the drawer and pressed her face against the warm fabric, inhaling deeply. God, she missed him. She’d missed him every day of the years they’d spent apart and she had no idea how she was going to get through the rest of her life without him. Tears rose in her throat, and she was about to surrender to them when a key turned in the front door.
She froze. Matt!
Panicking, she stuffed the sweater on top of the photos and closed the drawer. Moving quickly and quietly she hurried into bed and switched off the bedside lamp, burying herself under the covers and feigning sleep. She couldn’t talk to him now, not when she was such an emotional train-wreck.
She heard the front-door close and his footsteps walk slowly along hallway. She was expecting him to head into the kitchen, but he didn’t. Instead he stopped in front of the bedroom door and ridiculously Sam found herself holding her breath. And then she saw it! One of Jack’s photos lay on the floor next to the bed. Crap! Her hand shot out and she just managed to snatch it under the covers before the door creaked quietly open. She forced her features to relax, not wanting to give him any suspicion that she might be awake. But somehow he seemed to know the truth, because she sensed him draw closer and crouch down by the side of the bed. Please God, she prayed silently, don’t let him kiss me. I don’t deserve it. I can’t--
A hand like steel slammed across her mouth and nose, stopping the air and forcing her savagely down into the bed. Her eyes flew wide and a scream burst from beneath the fingers digging into her face as she stared in terror at the hostile, inhuman eyes of Fifth.
"Hello Major Carter," he said, in a voice as cold as death. "I’ve been looking for you."
***
Chapter 9
A slight unease chased Daniel down the corridor as he headed towards the General’s office, a pile of unfinished work under one arm. It wasn’t often that General Taylor summoned him. In fact it was so rare he couldn’t remember the last time, and so he couldn’t help the disquiet the curt message from Taylor’s assistant had provoked in his mind.
The door was slightly ajar as he approached and he could see Sam’s team inside. But as he stepped into the office he realized that Sam had yet to arrive. "General?" he asked as he tapped politely on the open door. "You wanted to see me?"
Taylor turned and Daniel saw he was on the phone. He motioned for Daniel to sit as he listened, and then talked into the phone, "No. Thank you, Captain." He hung up and shook his head slightly at Sam’s team.
"What’s going on?" Daniel asked, his skin prickling with the tension in the room.
Taylor looked at him grimly. "Colonel Carter didn’t report for duty today. According to her husband she went out yesterday evening but didn’t return. He’d assumed she’d been called into work."
Daniel’s stomach sank, vivid memories of Sam’s last disappearance springing to mind. "The NID?"
"Perhaps," Taylor nodded.
And then another thought crept into Daniel’s mind - one that was only slightly less discomforting. "Ah, there’s another possibility," he said, wincing at the thought. "An, uh, old friend is in town. She might have decided to stay over at…at their house."
Taylor frowned. "Check it out. And if it’s a no go, I want you to head over to Carter’s house and see what you can find."
Daniel nodded. "On my way."
***
Jack slept the black sleep of misery, an engulfing dreamless void from which he was reluctant to emerge. But the shrill ring of his phone was incessant, followed by the click of his answer-phone and a burbled message. He had almost allowed himself to sink back into the emptiness of sleep when his cell phone started to chirrup right next to his ear. Cursing, he reached over and switched it off.
And a moment later, his phone started ringing again.
"Go away!" he groaned out loud, and covered his head with his pillow. But the phone wouldn’t be denied and along with the constant ringing another possibility crept into his foggy mind - what if it was Sam?
The idea charged through him like an electric shock, jolting him out of bed and sending him stumbling into the living room. He snatched up the phone, eyes still bleary, with hope pounding hard in his chest. "Hello?"
There was a pause before an acerbic Daniel Jackson said, "Did I wake you up?"
Disappointment and irritation swept through him as he sank into the couch. "Yeah." Damn it! "This better be damn important."
There was another pause, longer this time, before Daniel said, "Is Sam there with you?"
"What?"
"I need to know if Sam’s there Jack, it’s--"
"It’s none of your damn business!"
"Just tell me if she’s there," Daniel insisted hotly.
Jack was on his feet, confused and angry. "I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, but you have no right to poke your nose into--"
"Let me speak to her, will you?"
"What? No. I mean--"
"Jack! I have to speak to her it’s--"
"She’s not here!" he barked at last. "For crying out loud, Daniel."
Silence. "Don’t lie to me, Jack."
He sighed, slumping back onto the couch. "I’m not lying."
To his surprise, Daniel didn’t sound relieved. If anything, he sounded more anxious. "When did you last see her?"
Cold fear splashed over his anger, extinguishing it. "Last night. Why?"
"When last night?"
"I don’t know. Late. We saw a movie, had dinner and she gave me a ride home." He was starting to feel nauseous. "Daniel, what’s going on?"
"She’s missing, Jack."
The moment pulsed long and icy in his head, draining everything but fear from his mind. "What do you mean missing?"
"Matt says she never came home last night. Her car’s missing and she hasn’t reported for duty. She’s just gone."
Into the emptiness of his mind flashed their painful parting the previous night. She’d been upset, crying. Maybe more upset than he’d realized? He’d been so caught up in his own anger and longing, had he failed to notice hers? Could she have-- Would she have done something stupid? "Oh God."
He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Daniel said, "Did something happen last night? Jack, do you know where she might be?"
"No," he replied. "I don’t know. I-- She was upset. It was--" He squeezed his eyes shut. Had he done this to her? He’d never forgive himself. "I don’t know. She was upset when she left."
Daniel’s voice was accusatory. "You argued?"
"No. Nothing like that. We--" He pressed a hand over his eyes, unable to blot the memory of her wide, tearful eyes from his mind. "We said goodbye."
Daniel sighed heavily. "Oh." There was an awkward silence before he added, "I, uh, have to go check out her house. See if I can find anything that might explain--"
"I’ll see you there."
"Jack, I don’t think--"
But he refused to listen. "You can’t stop me."
"Jack…"
"Don’t!" he warned, feeling his anger surging back to life. "Don’t try and stop me. I’ll be there in fifteen."
With that he hung up and charged back into his bedroom in search of clothes. If he’d done this to her, pushed her too far and made her so miserable that she’d-- He refused to think about it. He’d find her, and she’d be fine. It was the only acceptable outcome.
He’d find her and then he’d get the hell out of her life - and this time he’d stay out for good. Because one thing was clear; from Sara and Charlie to Sam, all he ever brought the people he cared about was misery. And sometimes worse.
***
The midday sun was hot in the back of the car, beating against Sam’s face as she sat awkwardly bundled into the corner of the seat, her ankles and wrists bound. She was hot, thirsty, and needed the bathroom. But she didn’t dare move, for there on the seat next to her, and on the floor at her feet, crouched a dozen multi- legged replicator bugs. All staring at her with hunger shining in their metallic eyes.
They swarmed in the front of the car too, controlling the vehicle as it sped down the highway, while Fifth sat motionless beside them. His right arm was missing, its constituent parts being the bugs that crawled through the car.
Sam repressed a shiver and stared out at the speeding landscape. They were heading south-west, right out of the state. Already the mountains were giving way to arid, red desert.
"Where are we going?" she asked at last, her voice scratchy from lack of use.
"Somewhere quiet," Fifth replied. "Somewhere they’ll never find you."
Her courage quailed, but didn’t fail her. "Are you going to kill me?"
"Will that make me less angry?"
To Sam’s surprise, it was a genuine question. And she saw her opening, "I understand why you’re angry, Fifth. You have a right to be - we deceived you. But if you’ll listen I can--"
"No," he corrected, turning to face her. "You deceived me. I trusted you, Samantha."
She flinched at the accusation, knowing it was true. "I had no choice," she said lamely. "I’m sorry."
Fifth gave a small, cold smile and turned back to the road. "You will be."
***
Jack all but jumped from the cab as it pulled up outside Carter’s house, pushing the money at the driver and not waiting for change. The front door was open and he could see two cars in the drive. Neither were Carter’s.
He slowed as he approached, conscious that he’d never been inside her house - the house she shared with her husband. And despite the situation, it still made him uneasy. He knew there’d be things in there he wouldn’t want to see, things that would ram home the fact that she wasn’t his to care about. Not that that stopped him from caring, it never had.
He took the steps two at a time and knocked briefly on the open door as he stepped inside. "Daniel?"
His friend emerged from a doorway just to his right. "That was quick."
"Have you found anything?"
He shook his head. "No. Uh, come in. Matt’s here."
Matt. Shit. Suddenly he couldn’t get the memory of holding Sam out of his head, and he was sure the guilt showed in his eyes. Intrepidly, he followed Daniel into the room and saw Matt perched on the edge of the sofa; he looked like his world had ended.
Jack understood the feeling all too well.
Matt jumped to his feet as soon as Jack entered the room. "Any news?" And then, recognizing him, his expression turned to confusion. "Jack O’Neill, right?"
"Yeah," Jack nodded.
Matt shook his head. "I-- I’m sorry, I can’t think straight. What are you doing here?"
"I thought I could help," Jack told him, unable to meet the man’s earnest gaze. "I was in town."
"Thank you," Matt nodded, so sincerely that Jack cringed inwardly.
He glanced over at Daniel, who was studiously looking through some papers on the nearby sideboard. God, he felt like a heel - he was the cause of this whole damn mess. He cleared his throat, desperate to get out from under Matt’s stupid, trusting gaze. "I’ll, uh, take a look around," he offered, and left before either man could respond.
The first room he came across was, of course, the bedroom. At first he balked at the door - no way was he going in there! But then he heard the sound of Matt and Daniel emerging from the living room and tucked inside the doorway, just to escape. And since he was there…
He looked around uneasily, taking in the minimal furniture, the neatly made bed and the his-and-her dressers. It really wasn’t how he’d imagined Sam’s bedroom. Not that he’d spent a lot of time imagining it, but if he had this wouldn’t have been it. He moved further into the room, glancing around for anything useful. But nothing seemed out of place and he assumed Matt would have mentioned it if any clothes had been missing. He was about to leave when the toe of his boot touched something that scuffed across the carpet. He looked down and saw the tip of a white piece of paper sticking out from beneath the bed, as if it had been dropped there.
Crouching down, he picked it up and his heart missed a beat. It was one of the photos from Florida - Sam sitting on the boardwalk, gazing out over the ocean. He turned it over in his hands, and then his eyes fell on something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Scratched into the paper, as if done with a fingernail, was a single barely-visible figure.
5
He knew instantly what it meant and the realization was horrifying. He slammed out of the room, "Daniel!"
Daniel was at the other end of the hallway, near the front door. "Found something?"
Matt’s eyes were on him too and Jack swallowed his instinct to blurt everything out. Matt couldn’t be told the truth, not this truth. "Maybe," was all he said.
But Daniel’s shrewd gaze told him his friend understood. "Take a look at this," he said, brushing his finger over some scratches on the door lock. "Matt says they weren’t there before."
Jack nodded and the look he shared with Daniel was weighty and significant. "We have to get to the SGC."
"What?" Matt said, seeing the look and not understanding. "What is it? What have you found?"
Thankfully, Daniel took over. "We’re not sure, Matt. But I think-- There’s a possibility that Sam’s been taken against her will."
"Oh God, no!" All the color drained from his face, and for a moment Jack thought he might actually faint. "Oh, Jesus. Sam…"
"We’ll find her," Jack told him gruffly, wishing that the man’s horror didn’t so closely mirror his own. And hoping that the truth wasn’t written plain on his face; he loved her, and worse than that, this was all his fault.
***
They’d know she was missing by now. The thought kept her moving as she climbed the scalding, sandpaper rocks with her bare and bleeding feet. Still dressed only in her pajamas, the tank-top did little to protect her from the desert sun and her throat was roar with thirst.
But they’d know she was missing by now. They’d search her house, and if they were smart, if they were looking hard enough, they’d find the pathetic note she’d left. She hoped they were smart.
She hoped Jack was looking. He’d understand. And once they found her car, he’d see her marker. She knew he would. Her fingers tightened around the small stone she’d managed to pick up after deliberately stumbling as she got out of the car. Its thin scratches against the rocks as she climbed was the only trail she could leave. She just hoped it would be enough. For Jack, it would be enough. She just prayed he’d come after her.
"In here," Fifth’s voice cut harshly across her thoughts, his hand pushing her roughly towards a crack in the rock.
"What…?" she protested, but he was unrelenting.
"Get inside."
Squeezing through the fissure, she found that it opened up into a wide cave. And it was at least cool, a blessed relief from the heat of the sun. But it was dark and she stumbled over the rocky ground, falling painfully hard onto her knees.
"I can’t go any further," she grated, the pain of her bruised and swollen feet lancing through the length of her legs with a white heat.
Fifth’s hand on her arm was unrelenting as he dragged her upright. "You are weak," he said, his face barely visible in the faint light filtering in from outside.
"I’m human," she countered, fixing him with a look. "We are weak. And sometimes we make mistakes."
Something flickered behind his alien eyes, something human. Regret? "I am weak. First was right. Trusting you was a mistake."
His hard fingers were digging into the flesh on her arm and she tried to pull away. His grasp tightened. "Please," she said quietly. "You’re hurting me. I won’t run, I promise."
"Your promise means nothing," he snapped. But nonetheless he let her go. "I do not believe you are capable of running - your feet are damaged."
Sam sank to the ground. "Yes," she nodded, "they are." Looking around the barren cavern she said, "You understand that to live I need water and food, don’t you?"
"You will live long enough," he said, moving closer to where she sat, but not bending towards her. "Long enough for my needs."
Her voice was dry when she asked, "What needs?"
"Only one," he told her, a hand reaching out and gently sweeping the hair from her brow. "The truth."
And with that his fingers shot into her head. She felt a skull-numbing agony in her forehead, and a scream ripped from her throat as the world exploded in to a blazing, blinding white inferno…
***
It was strange to be back. The corridors seemed smaller and the people unfamiliar, as Jack followed Daniel towards General Taylor’s office. He was acutely aware of the Visitor’s Pass clipped to his jeans, and with it an odd sense of impotence.
He should be giving the orders. He should be marshalling their forces, sending them out to look for her. For her and for It. Fifth. A monster made flesh, with the capacity to destroy their world - to take it apart piece by piece. Starting with Carter.
But he was no one now; Colonel Jack O’Neill, retired. And he was only here at all because Daniel could talk the hind legs off a donkey and had managed to persuade General Taylor that Jack had something to contribute.
"We’re here," Daniel said, stopping in front of the office that had once been Hammond’s. He knocked and Jack felt stupidly nervous.
"Come," came a gruff answer, and they stepped inside.
Jack had met General Taylor once before, at George Hammond’s retirement party. And he hadn’t changed in the years since; tall, powerfully built, with silver hair and blue eyes as sharp as steel. "Doctor Jackson," he nodded, his eyes fixing on Jack. "O’Neill."
Jack offered him his hand. "Good to see you again, General."
Taylor nodded, shook his hand briefly and sat down. "I hear you have some information?"
He exchanged a quick glance with Daniel who nodded. "Yeah," Jack said, pulling the picture from his pocket. "I found this."
Taylor looked at it carefully. "I don’t understand."
"Look closer. She scratched a number into it. Number five."
"Fifth," Daniel clarified. "We think she was leaving us a clue."
But Taylor was shaking his head. "This could have been done at any time, how do you know--"
"I found it by her bed," Jack told him. "On the floor, and--"
"That proves nothing."
Jack grimaced, unwilling to say more but knowing had no choice. "The photo - I gave it to her yesterday evening. And this wasn’t on it then."
Taylor’s sharp gaze flicked from the photo to Jack and back again, and Jack had the uncomfortable feeling that his darkest secrets had just been X-rayed. He looked down at his hands, guilty and anxious.
"And we found some scratch marks around the lock," Daniel added. "They look consistent with replicators."
Taylor’s jaw tightened. "But… He hasn’t come through the Stargate, no ships have been detected in orbit and--"
"I don’t care how it got here," Jack butted in. "Fact is, it’s here. And it’s got Carter."
"We need to find her car, " Daniel suggested. "It’s missing from Sam’s house, and so far it’s our only lead."
Jack nodded. "But we can’t let the police get too close. We have to handle this ourselves, sir."
Taylor let the photo drop onto the table as his eyes fixed on Jack. "Normally Colonel Carter would run an operation of this scale," he said. "But in her absence, and since you’re the only one here with direct knowledge of Fifth, consider yourself recalled to active duty. Colonel."
***
Sam span around, blinking in the bright sunlight and cold mountain air. "Where are we?" she asked of Fifth, dizzily disorientated.
"You know where we are."
And he was right, she did. "Cheyenne Mountain. How?"
"We are in your unconscious. You brought us here," he glanced around, as if seeing more than the scenery. His face twitched into a sneer. "Your mind is full of it."
"Full of what?"
"Betrayal." He spat the word. "It runs through your life like poison."
She glared. "Are you just going to insult me to death or are we here for a reason?"
His flat, inhuman eyes turned on her. "You do not like hearing the truth. That is too bad. Because the truth is why we are here. I want to understand you. I have to understand how you could abandon me."
"I told you, I didn’t have--"
He cut her off. "Do not speak." And then suddenly, with a sharp gesture of his hand…
"My code is in sir," she said. "I just need to set the timer. It'll take at least two minutes at a dead run for us to get to the ship and two more for the engines to fire up."
Behind her, Fifth spoke. "That is far too long. If I leave the others will know. They will return before the device activates."
"Then we set it off now," O’Neill decided, ruthlessly pragmatic.
"No," Fifth objected, scared. "We will be trapped with the others."
She glanced over her shoulder at him. "You can probably make it to the ship at lot faster than we can, right?"
"Oh yes," he agreed, "in a fraction of the time."
"Give us a head start. If you arrive at the ship just before we launch, your absence won't alert the others until it's too late for them to do anything about it."
The Colonel was looking at her, dark eyes skewering her, voice flat. "So set the timer for five minutes." But as he spoke, she saw the subtle hand gesture. Three minutes. Set it for three minutes.
Shit.
She swallowed hard. "It's cutting it awfully close, sir."
His determined stare didn’t waiver. "I know that Major."
Reluctantly, she turned to Fifth. Guilt made her nauseous as she said, "Thank you."
"You won't leave without me?"
God, he was like a child. How could they do this? How could he make her do this? "No," she lied. "Head for the ship in a little over three minutes."
And then she turned to the device, deliberately concealing it from him. Her hands didn’t shake, didn’t hesitate as she set the timer. But her conscience cringed and anger flared in her heart. How could he make her betray him like this? "Three, two, one. Mark. Timer's running."
And with a soul squalid with betrayal, she left him. Left him to die at the hands of his brothers.
Sam sucked in a breath of air, collapsing to her knees on the grass of the mountainside. "God."
Fifth stood watching her, his face impassive. "So you knew," he said softly. "You knew what they would do to me. You knew that you were wrong. But you still did it."
She looked up at him, struggling to recover her equilibrium. "I was following orders."
His eyes narrowed. "But you felt they were wrong."
She nodded. "Yes, I did. But that doesn’t matter. You don’t question orders, you follow them. That’s how it works."
He moved, circling her where she knelt in the wet grass. "O’Neill is important to you. I sense that."
She didn’t answer, just stared at him, a new dread creeping into her throat. Would he go after Jack too?
Fifth smiled. "Yes. Very important." He crouched suddenly, looking her straight in the eye. "You blame him for what happened to me, but--"
"No! I--"
He talked right over her. "You blame his orders, and yet… You’ve betrayed him too, haven’t you? I can sense it. It taints everything."
"I don’t know what you’re talking about. I would never betray my team, I’ve--"
Fifth slashed down hard with his hand…
"You look beautiful, Sam," her father told her, holding her hand as they stood waiting outside the church. "Look at you. My little girl."
She laughed, but felt tears bunching in her throat. "Dad…stop. I can’t go in there with mascara running."
He smiled. "I just want you to know how… How proud I am of you Sam. Of everything you've done. And I hope you and Matt--" He faltered and cleared his throat, "I hope you’ll be as happy as I was with your mom."
She did feel the tears then, pricking in her eyes. "I wish she was here."
"So do I, honey," he smiled, pulling her into a warm, firm hug.
They were interrupted by Mark, who popped his head around the church door. "They’re ready for you now, Sam."
Her Dad moved away and she ran her hands over her dress to smooth the cream silk. "I’m ready."
With a final smile, Jacob turned and took her arm and they walked together into the crowded church. It felt like an odd sort of dream as the music swelled and all her friends rose to their feet and turned to look at her. She couldn’t see Matt standing at the alter, her eyes were too busy scanning the crowd for friends and family, blinking at the flashes of photography.
But then she saw Jack, sitting towards the back on the far left side. He rose to his feet with the others, his eyes fixed on her with a look she would never forget. A regret so deep it seemed endless, a warmth, affection and sorrow so powerful she could hardly breathe. He gave her a small, sad smile as she slowly walked past him and her heart clenched so painfully it took her breath away.
He loved her.
She’d never known for sure until that moment, when it was far too late to matter.
He loved her and she hadn’t waited for him. She’d betrayed the unspoken promise that some day, somehow they’d be together.
He loved her and in her heart she knew that she loved him too.
Dear God, she thought as she looked towards the altar where Matt was waiting, what am I doing?
***
Chapter 10
Daniel watched from the edge of the room as Jack took command. Power was a subtle thing, he reflected, an aura which surrounded the man - confidence, resolution and an expectation that his orders would be followed without question. The uniform helped too.
Jack dispatched his orders with easy efficiency, sending men and women scurrying from the room to contact the police, co-ordinate the defense of the base, monitor Sam’s house, try to triangulate her cell phone and more.
But as Daniel watched, he realized that Jack was working on an assumption that he didn’t entirely share. Unwilling to voice his disagreement while they had an audience, Daniel waited until the last serviceman had left the room before he moved over to the table where Jack was studying the map of Colorado. He took a seat and said, "Where do you think he’s heading?"
"Anywhere were there’s technology," Jack replied, his attention not leaving the map. "Something to make more replicators. Increase their numbers, create a power base. Somewhere safe where it can…" His voice trailed off, but Daniel didn’t need him to complete the sentence. He knew Jack was thinking about Sam, and imagining the worst.
"Do you think that’s what he’s here for?" he asked carefully. "To create a power base? Take over the planet?"
"It’s a replicator. It’s what they do."
"Is it? He came here for Sam."
Still Jack didn’t look up. But Daniel suspected his determined survey of the maps was a bluff, a way of avoiding eye-contact. "I don’t care why it’s here. It’s here and we need to eliminate it."
Daniel blinked. "Ah…eliminate it?"
"Oh here we go…" Jack’s clipped tone held more than a hint of warning.
But Daniel refused to be intimidated. "No. I just… We’re going to kill it? Just like that?"
"Just like what?"
"Well, without even giving him a--"
"A what?" Jack looked at him at last, his lips twisting angrily as he stood up. "You want to put it on trial first? Hire it a lawyer?"
Refusing to rise to the bait, Daniel just said, "We don’t even know why he’s here. Or why he’s taken Sam."
"Right," Jack nodded sarcastically, "maybe its taking her to Disneyland? It’s a replicator, Daniel! Why the hell do you think it’s here?"
"According to Sam and Jonas, Fifth was more human than--"
Jack’s fist slammed down hard on the table, making Daniel jump. "You," he growled, "weren’t there."
"I read their reports," Daniel countered calmly. "Fifth appeared to be gentle and empathetic. Human. Maybe he’s just come here to talk? Or to--"
"It took Carter."
"Or to understand why she had to leave him like--"
"It took Carter."
"He might just want to--"
"Daniel!" Jack barked furiously. "It took Carter. I pissed it off, and now it has Carter!"
"And you just assume that he’s going to hurt her?"
Jack shook his head and turned abruptly away. "I don’t have time for this."
Daniel stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Then make time! You can’t go thundering around like a bull in a china shop without any idea of why it’s here! Or what it wants!"
"She betrayed him," Jack said, angrily shaking Daniel’s hand away. "It wants to hurt her. Hurt all of us."
Daniel said nothing for a long time, pondering his answer. But in the end he had to point out the obvious, even if it was painful for his friend. "Just because that’s what you wanted to do, Jack, it doesn’t mean that’s what Fifth wants to do."
Jack half turned, his face in profile - all hard angles and guilt. "Excuse me?"
"She betrayed you too, didn’t she?" Daniel said quietly. "And you wanted to hurt her. You did hurt her. You cut her dead for four years, and don’t pretend you didn’t know how much that hurt her."
Jack’s jaw twitched, his mouth compressing into a tight line. "That has nothing to do with--"
"I think it does. Everything we know about Fifth suggests that he’s non-violent. But you assume he’s here to hurt Sam and wreak his revenge on the planet."
Slowly, Jack turned. His dark eyes glowered like storm clouds, bruised and angry. "He trusted her completely," he grated. "He let her inside his head, made himself completely vulnerable. And in return she promised him a future. A life." His mouth twisted into a sour grimace. "Then she stabbed him in the back. Trust me on this one Daniel, he will want to hurt her. Badly."
Daniel swallowed, Jack’s impassioned conviction undermining his own. "Jack…"
"He’s only ‘human’, right?" Jack added bitterly. "Isn’t that the point?"
Daniel said nothing. What could he say? Truth was, he didn’t know if Jack had been talking about himself or Fifth. Perhaps both. Either way, his argument had been convincing. Revenge was indeed a very human emotion.
***
Sam sat on the dewy grass outside the Cheyenne complex. And although it was cool and the sun was warm, she was simultaneously aware of her desiccating thirst and the icy chill of the desert night. If they don’t find me soon, she thought bleakly, I’ll be in no shape to be found.
"You have great faith in them," Fifth observed from where he stood some distance away. "Despite your betrayal, you trust them."
"That’s another aspect of humanity," she told him. "Forgiveness. And loyalty, no matter what."
"Ha!" Fifth barked, his laughter sour and disillusioned. "Loyalty?" He turned and walked back towards her and she was struck by the disgust in his eyes. "You expect loyalty, yet you give none!"
Shaking her head wearily, she sighed. "That’s not true."
"Isn’t it? You valued O’Neill above all other men and yet you gave yourself to another!"
"We weren’t allowed to be together!" she countered. "You don’t understand."
He crouched again, close to her face. "Don’t I? I think perhaps I understand more than you realize. Remember that First was inside O’Neill’s head. And I shared all that First saw."
She stuck her chin out, defiant. "Then you know he understood."
Fifth looked at her strangely, tilting his head as if to see her better. All he said was, "I understand this …."
They were coming! He could hear the stomp of armored feet. They were coming and he couldn’t get through the force shield. He couldn’t get to her. He started beating the control panel, the shock of each blow jarring his shoulders numb.
"Sir, there’s no time!"
He ignored her. There had to be time! He glanced up, at her and beyond. He couldn’t see anything, but he could still hear the sounds. They were getting closer and she was alone, unarmed and helpless. Something in his chest spasmed with desperation and he turned his manic, futile attention on the force shield, attacking it with a ferocity that blinded him. He had to get her out! He couldn’t leave her here. Not like this. No way.
"Sir…"
"I know, I know!" She was right, he should go. Deep down he knew that she was right, but that knowledge was insignificant compared with the absolute need to save her. The thought of leaving her there, of losing her…His fear made him desperate, irrational.
"Sir! Just go…."
God damn it! "NO!"
Breathing hard, sweating and angry, he found himself trapped by her eyes. And for the first time he understood the truth. He saw it reflected in her face, a truth that neither of them could admit. And now, a truth that neither of them could deny. She said nothing, she didn’t need to, imploring him silently to save himself. But he couldn’t leave her. Something was resonating between them, a joyous, anguished, hopeless acknowledgement of the feelings they’d been carrying for so long.
Love.
He felt the word brush his lips with an amazement that defied a lifetime of experience and disappointment. After everything - here, now, at the end - he knew that he’d found the center of his life again. He loved her, and he saw that love mirrored and returned in her wide, anguished eyes.
Everything faded. The lies, the denials and the insecurities were all burned away by the certainty that this was the end. All that remained was the truth. He loved her. And suddenly he didn’t care that the shadow of death approached.
He’d rather die than lose her.
"Oh God!" Sam sucked in a shuddering breath, Jack’s violent emotions leaving her wrung out like a wet rag. She pulled her knees up to her chest and pressed her face against the thin cotton of her pajamas. He felt so much, so terrifyingly deeply, so completely. It was overwhelming.
"He would have rather died than leave you," Fifth said, his cold voice dropping like broken ice into the darkness of her mind. "You knew that when you left him."
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the images out of her head. But she could feel his love for her, burning with a heat that left her shivering. And now, when she remembered the aching look he’d given her as she’d walked past him in the church, she understood for the first time the depth of the pain she’d inflicted; he’d have rather died than lose her.
He’d have rather died, and yet she’d walked away from him. Left him. Her throat constricted with guilt - Fifth was right, she had betrayed him. Time and distance had covered their wordless pledge with a thick regulatory dust, and she had forgotten the fire in his eyes that day when everything had been revealed. "I’m sorry," she whispered to the man in her head, the man whose feelings still resonated through her heart.
Fifth’s laugh was bitter. "And yet it doesn’t end here, Samantha. Does it?"
She looked up, weary stinging eyes staring at her tormentor. "What do you mean?"
"O’Neill is not the only one you have betrayed." His eyebrows rose slightly at her confusion. "Do you forget your husband, Samantha? Do you forget your treachery towards him too?"
***
Jack emerged from a restless night, full of fears, regrets and guilt, into a blue morning that was too bright for his eyes. It was early and cold, but the tents were already busy and he saw Daniel drinking coffee and talking earnestly with someone Jack couldn’t quite see. Probably a cop, he guessed. The ‘incident’ was being managed from the surface, given that Carter was missing on Earth and not off-world. And given that they had no choice but to ask the police to locate her missing car, it meant liaison between them and the Air Force was easier than it would have been twenty floors beneath the mountain behind layers of unexplainable security.
Stomping through the dewy grass, Jack ducked under the tarp that covered their equipment and headed for the coffee. "Any news?" he asked Daniel, interrupting his friend’s conversation.
"No," came the quiet reply. Followed by, "Umm, Jack… Matt’s here."
He turned so fast he spilled hot coffee over his hand, and cursed under his breath as he looked over and saw that the man Daniel had been talking to was in fact Sam’s husband. Matt’s eyes were blood-shot and ringed with dark weariness, his face pale; it was a face of devastation and loss. "Matt," Jack nodded, shaking the coffee off his hand before wiping it on his BDU’s and then extending it to Matt. "How are you holding up?"
Matt shook his hand firmly, but there was no life in his blue eyes. "Barely."
"We are going to find her," Jack assured him, hoping his determination came across as professional concern and not desperation.
"They won’t tell me anything," Matt complained, sitting back down and folding nervous hands together. "Just like all the other times."
Jack exchanged a wary glance with Daniel, who gave a small shrug. What the hell was he doing here anyway, Jack wanted to know. Husband or not, this was no place for civilians.
"Once," Matt continued, "she came home with burns all down one arm. She said she’d been working in a lab in Russia, but…" He glanced up at Jack, mildly accusatory. "We both knew she was lying. I mean, I get it. What she does is secret. National security. But I’m her husband and if she’s in danger--" His voice cracked and Jack was disconcerted to see tears spill from his eyes. Good God, he wasn’t born to deal with crying men! He flung a helpless look at Daniel who, with a roll of his eyes, laid a sympathetic hand on Matt’s shoulder.
"It’s okay," he said. "We’re going to find her. You need to get some rest, Matt. I’m going to have our doctor take a look at you. Maybe proscribe something to help you sleep."
"I don’t want to sleep," Matt choked out between tears.
"I know," Daniel agreed. "But you really need to. Lets go and--"
"Colonel O’Neill!" A young lieutenant Jack didn’t recognize skidded under the tarp, flushed and excited. "Sir, they’ve found her car!"
Relief and fear crashed hard together in Jack’s chest, and only years of experience kept his voice level. "Where?"
"Utah, sir."
"Utah?" What the hell? "Where?"
"Just off Highway eighty-nine, other side of Lake Powell."
Jack turned to the map spread across the nearby table, quickly finding the road. Okay, that made absolutely no sense at all. "It’s in the middle of nowhere," he said, looking up at Daniel in confusion. There was no technology there. Nothing that could help Fifth. It didn’t make sense. Daniel raised his eyebrows at a distinctly ‘I told you so’ angle. Scowling, Jack was about to speak when Matt butted in.
"What about Sam?" he asked the lieutenant. "Is she there?"
The kid glanced at Matt, then back at Jack, obviously unsure if he should answer this unknown civilian. "Go ahead," Jack nodded gruffly.
"This is Colonel Carter’s husband," Daniel explained.
"I’m sorry," the lieutenant said to Matt. "There was no sign of Colonel Carter." And then he turned back to Jack, "Sir, the police have the area cordoned off and they’re awaiting further instructions."
"Tell them we’re on our way." He dismissed the kid with a curt nod, before turning back to Matt. "You stay here," he said, deliberately injecting more than a note of command into his voice. He had no time to argue and there was no way any civilian was getting close to Fifth and his replicators buddies. "Daniel, with me. We’re leaving in five."
"Jack?" Matt called after him, before he’d even left the tent. Slowly Jack turned. "Bring her home safe. If I lost her…"
Jack nodded slowly. "I know," he said, fully understanding the pain of losing Carter. And sickened by the fact that, given the opportunity, he knew damn well that he’d steal her away from Matt in a heartbeat.
What the hell kind of guy did that make him?
***
The land sped beneath the beating wings of the helicopter, transforming gradually into the red alien landscape of the Utah desert. It was too loud for conversation, so Daniel occupied himself with alternately watching the scenery and studying the man sitting opposite him.
Jack was brooding. His face was as hard as iron as he glared at the world speeding past, as if by willpower alone he could make them move faster. But as he watched him, Daniel realized that once they’d found Sam - and he refused to contemplate any other outcome - Jack’s suffering would not be over. There was no doubt in his mind now that Jack’s feelings for Sam had never waned, despite the four years they’d spent apart. In fact, if anything, he suspected the absence had only added a gloss of nostalgia to the relationship. Sam was the love he’d lost, the unrequited, unresolved could-have-been. That wasn’t something you easily forgot. And now, having rediscovered his feelings, Jack had to return her to the arms of her loving husband. He shook his head, turning back to the red rocks below. That had to hurt.
"Colonel O’Neill?" the pilot’s voice came through the ear-piece Daniel wore. "We’re approaching the co-ordinates now, sir."
"Understood," Jack replied. "Take us in."
Daniel’s stomach lurched as the helicopter banked and started its decent. Jack gave him a reassuring nod as he started barking orders through the radio to the other men aboard. Daniel said nothing, staring out at the rapidly approaching ground and wondering whether they were about to use a sledgehammer to crack a nut.
***
She left the engine running, afraid to take her hands from the steering wheel and the key from the ignition. The temptation to throw everything aside, just to have that one single moment of release with him, was almost overwhelming. And she didn’t trust herself to be strong enough.
By her side she heard him sigh and say, "Thanks for the ride."
"Thanks for the photos," she said quietly, for want of anything better to say. "I had a nice evening."
"Yeah," he replied, his voice clipped and short. "Me too." She looked over at him, doubting the truth of his words. He looked as miserable as she felt. "Seriously," he assured her, although his gaze was just shy of meeting hers. "I had a good time. And I’m glad we had a chance to, you know, catch up."
Had a chance? She watched him closely, seeing a resolution in his face that turned her cold. "That sounds final." He looked away, brow contracting in thought as he struggled to find an answer. He didn’t need to bother. "You’re leaving?"
"I guess," he sighed, looking up sadly. "It’s probably a smart idea."
"Probably." But she almost spat the word. She was sick of smart ideas and doing the right thing. She felt trapped by duty, tied down by honor and she longed for the freedom to just be herself. For once in her life, couldn’t she do what she wanted instead of what was expected? But she couldn’t say any of that, could she? It wasn’t who she was. It wasn’t who they were. So all said was, "You’ll keep in touch though?"
He hesitated. "I--"
"I don’t want this to be goodbye!" she snapped, her control fraying at the edges. "I can’t--" She was sick with repression, her whole life with Matt felt like a lead blanket pressing her into the dull mire of conformity and duty. She hated it! She wanted to be free, to live and love as she chose. The effort of keeping herself constrained within the lines of duty she’d delineated for herself turned her fingers white where she clutched the steering wheel. A tear escaped her ridged control and went sliding pathetically down her cheek. She wiped it away, angry with herself and the choices she’d made - the choices she was still making.
But then, through her claustrophobic misery, she felt the unexpected touch of his arm sliding around her shoulders. Two quiet words left his lips. "Come here."
She felt like she was moving in restraints, her limbs leaden with self-control as she peeled her fingers from the steering wheel and turned into his embrace. His arms went around her and she buried her face against his shoulder, a temporary respite from her life of denial. "It’s not fair," she whispered brokenly. "It’s not fair."
"I know." He stroked her hair, bringing her alive with every touch. "I’m sorry."
All she wanted was to kiss him, to loose the leash that held her in check. Just once. Her voice shook with the effort of not acting on her desires. "For what?" she managed to whisper.
"Everything."
She laughed hollowly and pulled away, but he wouldn’t let her go and trailed his fingers down her arms until he held only her hands. He looked as anguished as she felt, unreachable and irresistible. It took all her strength not to press her lips against his mouth and throw off the caution that bound her life. "You can’t blame yourself for this one," she sighed. The blame was hers alone. If only she’d had the strength to wait. If only she had the courage to leave… Guilt sickened her, rising through her frustrated desire like an oil slick. "You’d better go," she whispered, afraid of what she might do. "Before…"
He looked away, and she didn’t miss the beat of disappointment in his eyes as he dropped her hands and reached for the door handle. "I’ll write, or something."
Sam laughed bitterly at the empty promise. "Thank you."
And then, without a backward glance, he pushed open the door and climbed out of her car. And out of her life.
She threw the car into gear, stepped on the gas and sped away into the darkness. It was over. He was gone. And all she could think of was Matt, and the oppressive weight of the chains that bound her to him.
Tears stood in Sam’s eyes as she left the memory behind, and she gazed through them at Fifth who still crouched before her. "You’re right," she said softly. "I’ve screwed up. I can’t deny it. What’s the point? But…" She looked away, out over the dreamscape of the mountain. "Don’t you see? I’m not special. I’m just human. I’ve made mistakes. Big ones. And I have to live with them."
Fifth’s face softened slightly, showing a flicker of the curiosity and innocence that had first drawn her to him. "How do you bear it?"
"It’s difficult. It hurts," she explained. "You try and do what’s best. Sometimes you get it wrong, but you can only try."
"When you left me," Fifth said, his anger reasserting itself, "you thought it was wrong. But you did it anyway."
"Yes," she agreed, so weary now it was becoming an effort to talk. How long, in the real world, had this been going on? How long since she’d had anything to drink or eat? "I didn’t want to use your trust against you. But Colonel O’Neill was right - if he hadn’t made that decision, we’d all be dead and First and the others would be-- They’d be destroying our galaxy. I didn’t want to leave you. But it was the right decision."
He looked away from her, staring down at the dewy grass. "I was worth sacrificing."
"It wasn’t personal," she said softly. "Colonel O’Neill would have sacrificed himself - all of us - to achieve the mission."
"He wouldn’t have sacrificed you!"
"Yes he would," Sam countered. "You know he would."
Fifth’s eyes were on her again, turned inward. "When you were possessed by the computer entity," he said thoughtfully. And she nodded, silently praying that he wouldn’t take her back to the horror of that memory. "He would have killed you."
"He thought he had."
"And you forgave him?"
He was sitting on the grass now, his angry eyes confused with emotions she doubted he had the experience to understand. But she knew that this was important. This was vital. If she stood any chance of escaping with her life, he had to understand this. "Here," she said, reaching out and taking his lifeless fingers in her own, "let me show you."
She could breathe again, the rise and fall of her chest was a relief beyond words. She could move, touch, feel. Above all, feel. She could feel the cool cotton of the bed sheets on her legs, the slight scratchiness of the blanket under her fingers. She could feel the brush of air on her face as someone moved past the bed and the comforting rush of breath in and out of her lungs.
She could hear too. Low voices talking in the distance, too soft to be understood, but familiar nonetheless. One was Janet, and the other…
Her mind flashed back to the moment it had happened. Seeing through another’s eyes she’d watched him raise the zat, aiming at her without a tremor in his hand. She’d wanted to scream, "I’m here! Don’t shoot!" But her voice had not been her own, her limbs channeling agonizing power had not been her own. She’d felt the impact of the first shot, the fear of oblivion close on its heels. He was going to kill her. Of all things, she’d never imagined dying at his hands. There had to be another way. Surely there was another way!
And then she’d seem him make the decision, raw controlled pain splintering in his eyes as his finger squeezed the trigger for the second time. "Noooooooooooooo!" she’d screamed silently as the energy bolt sheered through the air towards her. She’d seen it coming, knew that it brought death and-- And then all had been dark, silent, senseless night.
I’m in hell.
It had been her first thought. He’d killed her, and sent her to a sensory-deprived hell. And she’d hated him. She’d screamed and raged and hated.
"Carter?" His soft voice reached her and she opened her eyes. She could open her eyes. Thank God.
And there he was. Her killer. Her friend.
"Hey," he said quietly, edging closer to the bed. "How you feeling?"
She smiled at the word. "I’m feeling."
He returned the smile, barely - a small, tight expression. And then he pulled up a chair and sat down, perching on the edge with his elbows on his knees tapping his fingertips together. "So…"
It was an effort to turn her head and look at him. "So…?"
"Not a great day," he sighed, staring at her bed but not at her.
"I’ve had better," she admitted.
He nodded. "I know it’s probably too early to tell," he said, still staring at the bed, "but I want you to know that if you-- If you find that working with me is difficult, Carter, you’d have my backing in requesting a transfer."
After days without feeling, the jolt his words caused in her chest was almost overwhelming. "You…" she stammered, confused. "Do you want me off the team?"
"No!" he exclaimed, then with a self-conscious glance over his shoulder he lowered his voice. "No, of course not. But Carter… I killed you today! I shot you." He frowned and looked away, "Don’t pretend that won’t affect things between us. Things like…like…trust. For one."
She looked at him, tense shoulders, bowed head where he once more stared at her bed instead of her face. If she’d had the energy she’d have reached out to touch his hand, but moving was almost impossible. Talking was effort enough, but an effort worth making. "I was scared," she admitted quietly, figuring he wouldn’t believe her if she tried to lie. "I didn’t want to die. And I was angry. I kept thinking there had to be another way, a better way. But I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move." She closed her eyes, swallowing the remembered terror. "I saw you raise the gun and I knew what you would do. I knew."
"Carter," his voice was cracked and wretched. "If I’d had any choice. Any other choice…"
"I know," she murmured, opening her eyes again. He still sat perched on the edge of the seat, his fingertips tapping against the side of the bed in time with his misery. Summoning all her strength she moved her hand, just enough that she brushed her fingertips against his. His hands stilled. Everything stilled. "It’s okay," she whispered. "I understand. You had no choice."
Silently he closed his fingers around hers; his hand felt strong and warm. "If I could have traded places…"
"I know," she whispered, squeezing his hand with what little strength she had. "You did what you had to do, sir. I couldn’t have forgiven you if you’d done less."
His dark eyes met hers, full of questions. "You couldn’t?"
"When you shot me, I hated you," she whispered, softening her words with a thin smile. "But I understood. If you hadn’t done it… I couldn’t have forgiven you for endangering the base just for me."
"Then you forgive me?"
"You don’t need my forgiveness, sir. You did what--"
"I do," he said abruptly, his finger tightening around hers. "I really do, Carter."
She smiled again, exhausted now and barely able to keep her eyes open. "Then I forgive you, sir. I forgive you…" The words slipped out as sleep claimed her, but even in the relative emptiness of sleep she could still feel his hand holding hers.
And into her dreams his quiet voice crept. "Thank you."
She returned from the dream to the cool morning on the mountain, her fingers still clasped with Fifth’s. But the remembered exhaustion didn’t fade, and she knew that whatever was happening inside her mind, outside her real body was starting to fail.
"You hated him," Fifth said quietly. "And yet you could forgive him."
Too weary and sick to argue, Sam just nodded. "I understood him. He did the right thing, even though I hated it. There were bigger things at stake than me."
He looked at her, his once angry eyes now clouded. "There were bigger things at stake than me."
Slowly she nodded. "Yes," she said, "there were. And I’m so very sorry."
Fifth said nothing more, his gaze turning inward. Exhausted, Sam sank down into the wet grass. She was growing colder, despite the warm sun. Back in the dark desert cave, she knew her body must be shutting down - parched and hypothermic. "Fifth," she said quietly, her eyes drifting closed, "if you aren’t going to kill me, you’ll need to help me."
Whether he heard her she didn’t know, because darkness was descending as fast as a tropical sunset and smothering light and consciousness as if they were one.
***
Chapter 11
The Utah police looked on with intent interest - and not a little suspicion - as the Air Force took over the operation. But Jack paid them no attention as a flurry of white-suited forensic experts took Sam’s car apart. The morning sun was already beating off the dry rocks, and the growing heat didn’t help Jack’s frustrated mood.
He looked up, squinting through his sunglasses. Above him red, barren cliffs rose as alien as anything he’d seen on his travels. And among them, he had no doubt, was Fifth. And Sam. He had an insane urge to just shout her name, as if somehow she could hear him wherever she was in the echoing silence of the desert. But he kept his urges in check - for once - and snapped his eyes back down to the forensic team just in time to see one of them look up. "Colonel O’Neill," she said. "I’ve found something."
He was at her side in two strides and knew instantly what she held in her gloved fingers. A replicator brick. "That’s what we thought," Jack nodded grimly. "Anything else? Any sign of a struggle?"
His face remained impassive, eyes hidden behind the dark glasses as he held his breath and waited. "No, sir. No blood or hair, or anything that might indicated that Colonel Carter had been hurt."
His relief was only slight. Until he saw her again he could barely breathe. "Keep at it," he said by way of a dismissal, and turned back towards where Daniel was gazing up at the rocks.
"It’s definitely Fifth," he said as he approached.
Daniel turned around, brow furrowing. "Why do you think he brought her here? There’s nothing here."
The same question was circling in Jack’s mind, but he had no answer. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"They can’t have gone far," Daniel said then, dabbing at the sweat beading on his forehead. "According to Matt, only Sam’s pajamas were missing. She probably doesn’t even have any shoes."
Jack’s mind was relentlessly practical. "Good," he said, hating his vivid imagination. "On these rocks, her feet would bleed. It’ll make her easier to track."
"Right," Daniel agreed with a wince. "I hope she’s okay."
Jack couldn’t answer that; his own feelings were too powerful to discuss. "We need to find the trail," he said instead. And to distract himself he turned to the team-leaders he’d brought with him. "Stokes, Harris, Giordano - I want a three-sixty search around the car. We’re looking for a trail, two sets of tracks, probably made within the last twelve hours. One set is likely to be barefoot. And it’s possible there may be a marker. Any questions?"
There were none, and Jack watched as his men set about their task. "Come on," he nodded to Daniel, "we’ll start over here."
"Sure," Daniel agreed quickly, although Jack could sense he was less than confident. "What exactly are we looking for? I mean, it’s rock. It’s not like there’s going to be footprints."
"Anything out of place," Jack said, stopping and starting to scan the ground. "Anything that’s been disturbed. And if we’re lucky, Carter might have left us a marker."
"A marker?"
"A trail of breadcrumbs…"
***
Fifth looked down at the still body, torn between triumph and remorse. This was how he had imagined seeing her, defeated and broken. And yet he felt no pleasure at the sight. Cold revenge had done little to cool his simmering anger, and instead her disordered emotions had only taught him to doubt himself. He’d felt her self-loathing when she’d left him, felt her hatred of O’Neill when he’d shot her, felt the warmth of her forgiveness. And he knew that she could forgive him too. Indeed, that she already had.
He crouched down, looking more closely at her pale features. She breathed still, although the blue tint in her lips told him she was cold. The cave, he supposed, was cold. Outside he could see pale light creeping through the crack in the rock and realized that many hours had passed. Morning had dawned.
He sat now on the rocky floor, unsure what to do. His plan had not taken him beyond this moment, although he also realized that he had not imagined Samantha Carter to still be living. Death, he had assumed, would have been requisite for revenge. And perhaps it was. But sitting there staring at her lifeless form he could only remember the life he had experienced through her mind - the agony of choice, of wrong choices and right ones. She had not done what she had done without pain or regret or remorse. But brighter than her suffering was the warmth of the acceptance and forgiveness that flowed through her life - she forgave and was forgiven. She forgave her mother for leaving her, her father for pushing her away, and the man she loved for ending her life. She loved and forgave them all despite the pain they had inflicted.
And now he realized that he faced a choice of his own. To let her die or allow her to live? To forgive, or not? It was a choice, he now knew, with which he would have to spend the rest of his immortal days. And so it was a choice not to be made lightly.
***
They were getting closer. Jack didn’t need her scratched marks on the rock - or the streaks of blood - to track her now. He could almost sense her presence. He saw the fissure in the rock and knew without doubt that she was inside. The question was - and it was a question that shredded his insides - what would he find when he stepped into the cave? "Harris, Giordano," he murmured into his radio, "go left. Wait for my signal. Stokes, with me."
He moved silently, two decades of training and experience keeping his body lithe and in control as he crept up the rocks. Storming the cave would be difficult. The entrance was very narrow and if Fifth was armed - which he suspected it must be - then it would be almost impossible to get past him without disabling him first. Cold-smoke might do the trick, but it would disorientate Sam as well as Fifth and perhaps more-so. Who knew how replicator vision worked? Still, at this point he had little choice.
He pulled an M18 grenade from his belt and moved a little closer, right up onto the small ledge next to the fissure. Giordano and Harris were watching him, and he signaled them silently to move in as soon as the grenade detonated. They’d have about sixty seconds before the red smoke cleared to get past Fifth and disarm him. He just hoped Sam wasn’t close to the entrance when he--
"Jack?"
Daniel’s whisper close to his ear made him jump and his hand involuntarily whipped around and clamped over Daniel’s mouth, knocking his head soundly against the rock. Outrage, and a not a little pain, flashed in Daniel’s eyes as he prized Jack’s hand from his mouth. "Quiet!" Jack mouthed.
But Daniel wasn’t giving way. He jerked his thumb back down the trail, eyes blazing. Obviously he thought they needed to talk. Jack shook his head and half turned away, but Daniel seized his arm and stopped him. "It’s important," he hissed.
Had it not been for the fact that his men were watching and that silence was imperative, Jack might have given voice to the two-hundred different and colorful curses pressing on his lips. As it was, he settled for a glare that could melt steel and moved silently away from the fissure until they were far enough away to safely whisper. As soon as they were, he whirled on Daniel and hissed, "What the hell do you think you’re doing?"
"If you go in there, guns blazing, you’ll kill Sam!"
"I know what I’m--"
"I don’t think you do," Daniel countered hotly. "This is a hostage situation, Jack. You have to talk to him."
"The hell I do!"
"Jack!" Daniel hissed. "You know we can’t win in a firefight. Remember what happened on Halla? Your weapons were useless against them."
He had a point. Damn it. "So you think we should… What? Negotiate?"
Daniel pressed gingerly at the back of his head, wincing and making Jack grimace guiltily. "He came here for Sam," Daniel said slowly. "He brought her here, in the middle of nowhere. If he’d wanted a fight, wouldn’t he have started it by now?"
Jack said nothing, processing the ideas and not yet willing to allow that they might be valid. "He kidnapped Carter."
"Yes, but what for?" Daniel pressed. "Perhaps… Sam’s report said that he was curious. Perhaps he’s just trying to understand what she did? Why she did it?"
Jack glanced back at the entrance to the cave. "Perhaps he just wanted to punish her?"
"If he did," Daniel said softly, "then chances are he already has. But if he hasn’t, then storming in there is only going to put her in more danger. If we frighten him, make him desperate, we don’t know what he might do."
Okay, so he had a point. A good one at that. "Negotiation isn’t exactly my strong suit."
Daniel smiled slightly. "No. No it isn’t." He pulled off his glasses, wiped at the sweat trickling down his nose and said, "Let me try."
"Yeah," Jack agreed quietly. "You do that. But if it doesn’t work, we’re doing it my way."
Daniel said nothing, just nodded slightly as he moved past him and back towards the cave’s entrance. Jack watched him go, admiration and irritation mixing together as he considered his friend. There were few people - perhaps none - he’d allow to get away with questioning his orders like that. But experience had taught him long ago to trust Daniel’s instincts; and right now his instinct was telling him to trust his experience.
"Giordano, Harris," he said quietly into his radio. "Stay in position and wait for my signal. Doctor Jackson’s gonna try and negotiate. Stay sharp."
***
They were out there. Fifth had heard them some time ago, he could sense their slow climb up the rocks and their whispered, urgent conversations. They were out there and he had no doubt that they were there to kill him. If they could.
He looked over to where she lay unmoving on the rocky ground, pale and ill. He had done this. He had done all this, and now he would pay the price. He felt a beat of fear and panic, an emotion he remembered well from her mind. She was why they were here. They looked after their own. And so it followed that she was his only hope of survival. They would not harm her and so would not harm him while he held her life in his hands. The question was, could he trust them? They would do anything - anything! - to secure the release of Samantha Carter. Anything, including killing him. Or lying to him. Or both.
Outside the movement had stopped. Fearfully, he braced himself for the assault. But none came. Instead a voice said, "Fifth? My name’s Daniel Jackson. I’m a friend of Sam’s. Can I talk to you?"
His suspicions were instantly aroused. "Don’t come any closer."
"I won’t. I’m staying out here," the man replied. "I just need to know if Sam’s okay. Is she in there with you?"
Fifth shifted towards her inert body. "She is here."
There was silence from outside, and then, "Can I talk to her?"
"She’s resting."
Another silence followed before the man spoke again. "Fifth? You know that we’re going to want to take Sam home don’t you? You know that’s why we’re here."
"I won’t let you destroy me!" he hissed, afraid now. "I don’t wish to hurt you, but you must leave this place. Let me go."
Silence fell again, taut and brittle. "Fifth," the man said, "it’s important that I know Sam’s okay. I need to talk to her. Can I talk with her?"
He looked down at her pale face and shook her slightly. There was no response and his fear ratcheted up a notch. "She…" he said, hearing his voice falter, "she is resting. She is still--"
"This is bullshit!" The voice, low and harsh, did not belong to Daniel Jackson.
"It’s very important!" Daniel repeated, urgently. He sounded harried. "Fifth, wake her up. You have to wake her up. We need to speak to her. Now."
"I can’t!" he said, moving closer. "I can’t wake her up. Just wait. If you just wait a little, she’ll wake up. Can you wait?"
There was no answer.
"Daniel Jackson? Can you just wait a little?"
***
The blast woke her, reverberating like a concussion through the small cave. And as soon as she smelt the cold-smoke she understood. They had come for her! She pushed herself to her feet, disorientated in the red haze. Outside she heard barked voices and the thud-thud-thud of boots on rock. "Take position!"
A steely hand grasped her arm, dragging her backwards. "They will kill me!" It was Fifth, and he was terrified.
"It’s okay," she tried to reassure him, pressing him behind her towards the back of the cave. "I won’t let them, I’ll--"
His arm across her throat choked off her air. "If you try to destroy me," he yelled, "she will die!"
The smoke was beginning to clear, drifting out towards the fissure that lit the cave. She could see shapes through the rosy smoke, indistinct figures crouched around the edges of the cave, weapons raised. Someone barked, "Hold your fire!"
No one moved and Fifth’s grip around her loosened enough that she could breathe again. "I’m okay," she told the waiting men. "He hasn’t hurt me."
There was a shift of released tension and one of the soldiers spoke. He sounded like Jack. "Let her go."
"If I release her, you will kill me."
"No. We won’t."
Fifth made a small noise, half a laugh and half a grunt. "You expect me to trust you, Jack O’Neill?"
It was him! Sam felt her heart leap; she knew he’d come after her. "You don’t have a choice," Jack grated. "Let her go, or be destroyed."
"You would not risk harming her," Fifth replied. "I know you, Jack O’Neill. I know you would not risk losing her."
Slowly Jack rose to his feet, taking a step closer through the ebbing smoke. "If you know me, Fifth," he said softly, "then you know that if you don’t let her go I’m gonna personally dismantle you, melt you down and turn you into hubcaps."
"Fifth," Sam said quietly, "you know me too. You have my word that they won’t hurt you. I promise."
"Your word is no better than his!"
"Please. You know I felt guilty leaving you. This is my chance to make it right - the Asgard will understand why you had to come here. I’ll talk to them myself, and I’m sure they’ll let you return to them. To carry on studying, learning about the universe and--"
"You would do that?"
She turned slightly in his grip, meeting his questioning eyes. "Yes," she said softly, hoping he could see the truth in her face. "I would."
His grip around her loosened before he spoke. "I did not expect this," he said as he slowly let go of her. "I expected to exact my revenge."
"I know," she said softly, reaching out now and touching his arm. "But you’re a better man than that. You can forgive."
"First would say I was a fool."
"First would be wrong."
She let her hand drop from his arm and turned towards the waiting soldiers. Tension electrified the room as she began to move, all eyes on her straight back and hobbling gait. One step, two… And then she saw it, the subtle hand gesture Jack gave to the man on his left. Take him down. The response was instant. His weapon rose and he fired a single shot that cracked loud in the cave and thundered through Fifth’s shoulder, sending him sprawling against the back of the cave.
"NO!" Sam yelled, twisting her body and flinging herself in front of Fifth. "Stop!"
Jack surged forward. "Hold fire! Hold fire!" But his weapon was raised, aimed at Fifth. Through her, at Fifth. "Carter, stand aside!"
"No!" She stood her ground, keeping herself between him and Fifth. "No, I gave my word, sir. He’s not a threat."
"It’s a replicator!"
"He’s a living being."
"Carter--"
"Colonel, you have to trust me."
Even though his face was obscured by smoke and darkness, she could feel the intensity of his stare and met it with her own resolve. At last he gave a curt nod and stepped backwards. "Stand down," he told his men, although he didn’t loosen his grip on his own weapon.
Sam turned, crouching next to Fifth who sat staring at the hole in his shoulder. He appeared to be in no pain, and even as she watched tiny metallic tendrils knitted his shoulder together. Sam couldn’t repress a shudder, and looked up into his face instead. "I’m sorry," she told him. "I didn’t think they’d do that."
He blinked at her. "Did you not? Forgiveness does not come easily to O’Neill."
Sam gave a tight smile. "No," she agreed. "It doesn’t."
Booted footsteps came up behind her, and Sam turned as Daniel came to crouch at her side. "Hey," he said, looking at her carefully. "How you doing?"
"I’ll survive," she told him, glancing back at Fifth. "This is Daniel Jackson," she explained. "He’s a good friend of mine."
"Yes," Fifth agreed, "he is."
"The, uh, soldiers," Daniel said, gesturing vaguely behind him, "are kinda nervous. So Jack thought that I should…accompany you back to the SGC. You know, to keep things civilized."
Daniel extended a hand and after a long moment of consideration, Fifth reached out and took it. "Thank you."
Both men rose, hands still locked. "I’m actually very pleased to meet you," Daniel said as he slowly led Fifth through the suspicious soldiers towards the light outside. "I’ve read the reports of the mission, of course. But to actually see you… In a way, I feel like I know you because I met your…your creator, Reece…"
The soldiers fell in behind the two men as Daniel escorted Fifth from the cave, their voices becoming indistinct as the distance grew. And suddenly Sam was caught by her ebbing wave of adrenaline and sank back against the cold stone wall, overwhelmed with weariness. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, gathering her strength for the trek back to the car. Someone had to have water, she mused as her raging thirst returned in the wake of her evaporating adrenaline--
"Carter?"
The voice was quiet and close and her eyes flashed wide open. "Colonel."
The red smoke had dissipated now and she could see his face clearly in the dim light. He didn’t smile, just stared at her. "You okay?"
She nodded. "Thirsty. My feet are killing me."
His eyes didn’t leave her face as he reached into his vest and pulled out a canteen, unstoppered it and offered it to her. "Water."
She fell on it, sucking down mouthfuls of cool, sweet water until his warm hand closed over her wrist. "Easy," he cautioned, pulling it away from her mouth. "Don’t make yourself sick."
With his free hand he screwed the cap back on, pulled the canteen from her fingers and returned it to the pocket in his vest. All the while he kept hold of her arm, and as his attention returned to her face she felt a subtle tug on her wrist pulling her upright. It was matched by the tug she felt in her heart when she saw the emotional currents coursing beneath the calm surface of his eyes. "I knew you’d come, sir," she said softly.
"Wild horses, Major."
She smiled slightly, but couldn’t disguise the tears in her throat. Major. Sir. It was always the same, always impossible.
As if following the train of her thoughts he said, "Matt’s waiting back at Cheyenne. He was-- He was very upset. I promised I’d bring you back."
Shame made her queasy, fresh from the truths Fifth had shown her and doubled by the guilt she heard in Jack’s voice. Matt. He loved her and she loved him. Or at least she had. But could she ever truly return to him? Her gaze slid from Jack’s and she felt dirty with shame. "We should go," she muttered and moved away, hobbling towards the cave entrance on her battered feet.
But somehow his hand never left her wrist and as her damaged foot rolled painfully over a splinter of rock she hissed a curse and stumbled. Suddenly he was holding her up, his arm around her waist. Her fingers dug sharply into the rough fabric of his desert fatigues as his hand closed on her hip, burning through the thin cotton of her pajamas. She turned, wincing as her damaged foot touched the ground, and looked up into his eyes - dark, bruised and full of her. An agonizing moment of indecision paralyzed them both, a moment of shallow breaths, unraveling restraint and a relentless, breathtaking desire. And then he moved, the swift and decisive action of a soldier, drawing her into a fierce hug that was sweeter than the water slipping down her parched throat. She clutched at him like a woman drowning, pressing into him, fingers knotting in his hair, glorying in the moment. And despising herself for her black-hearted treachery.
Fifth was right about her. Betrayal was in her soul.
But he held her so tightly, his breath ruffling unevenly through her hair, that she couldn’t let go. She didn’t want to let go. She didn’t want to ever let go. "I thought I’d lost you," he whispered. "I thought I’d lost you, Sam."
Was he talking about Fifth or Matt? Either way, she couldn’t bring herself to answer. She just held him tighter and closed her eyes. His arms were strong, his face warm where it pressed against her cheek, his scent a mixture of sweat, gun oil and soap. And despite her exhaustion, despite her pain and her guilt, she knew that this was the moment - right here, right now. She’d have this moment, she told herself fiercely. If nothing else, she’d have this one perfect moment. She shifted slightly, and he shifted with her. His nose bumped against her cheek, his arms sliding across her back, his breath hot against her face. They were so close. The gnarled tension twisting in her gut lunged and bucked, sensing freedom as she lifted her mouth to his and--
"Colonel O’Neill?" She sprang out of his arms like a teenager as the Lieutenant appeared at the cave’s entrance. "We’re ready to move out, sir."
Had he seen? Shit. Disorientated and embarrassed, she had to balance herself against the wall as her mind and heart raced insanely and pain lanced up from her feet. Shit, shit, shit.
"Colonel Carter needs a medic," Jack said, all controlled professionalism. "Tell Greene to get his ass up here." He held his hand out to her, offering the support that she needed. "Colonel?"
Tentatively she let him take her arm and help her walk to the door, his fingers burning into her bare flesh like firebrands and her heart pumping so fast it felt fit to burst. She couldn’t look at him, but the unconsummated kiss still burned on her lips and from the way his hand crushed her arm she knew he was coiled just as tightly.
God help us, she thought desperately, something’s got to give. Something’s got to give.
***
Chapter 12
"I don’t understand," Matt fumed, staring hotly at the stone-faced solider, "why can’t I see her?"
"She’s being de-briefed, Mr. Hutchinson," came the over-patient reply. "As soon as that’s finished, Major Carter will be transferred to the Academy hospital. You can visit her there."
Matt glared, outrage boiling and about to spill over when he saw a familiar figure trudging through the damp grass towards the small entrance in the side of the mountain. "Jack!" he called, trying to move past the soldier blocking his path.
O’Neill slowed at the sound of his name, halting when Matt waved at him. His face was unreadable, but there was a reluctance about him as he turned and walked towards Matt and the soldier. "What’s going on Captain?"
The Captain turned, straightening slightly. "Sir, I was just explaining to Mr. Hutchinson that he can’t visit Colonel Carter in the Infirmary."
Jack’s eyes narrowed and came to rest on Matt. "He’s right," he said. "I’m sorry, it’s restricted."
"I just want to see my wife!" Matt exclaimed. "For the love of God, what’s wrong with you people?"
O’Neill frowned - it was almost a wince - and his mouth tightened. He looked like a man weighing the odds. "Wait here," he said after a moment and turned sharply on his heel, disappearing inside the mountain. When he returned his face was flat, as emotionless as a mask. Matt shuddered - his stony features were full of brutal self-repression. This was a man capable of anything, he realized. "Come with me," he said in a quiet, restrained voice.
The Captain stood aside to let him pass, and Matt fell-in quickly at O’Neill’s side. "I can see her?"
O’Neill gave a curt nod. "Just for a few minutes. Stick with me, don’t wander off."
"I won’t!" Matt assured him, eyes wide as he entered the gray corridors of Sam’s workplace. For the five years he’d known her, this had been her secret world. And now here he was, about to enter the inner-sanctum of a part of her life she kept so closely guarded. Despite his concerns for her, he couldn’t help but feel excited. At last, he was here.
At his side, O’Neill walked fast and Matt had to struggle to match the man’s long strides. At length they stopped at an elevator and Jack stabbed at the call button. He said nothing, his gaze fixed firmly on his boots as they waited for the elevator to arrive. "I appreciate this," Matt said into the tense silence.
O’Neill nodded. "Sure."
"And, uh, also," Matt said, trying and failing to catch Jack’s eye, "I appreciate what you did to get her back. I mean, I know you didn’t have to - you don’t even work here anymore! So, I mean, I guess it’s beyond the call of duty. So, thank you."
O’Neill turned abruptly and stabbed at the elevator call button again. "It’s Carter," he said quietly, as if that explained everything.
Maybe if he hadn’t heard so much restraint in the quiet way he spoke her name, Matt wouldn’t have felt the sharp barb of suspicion. But looking at him now, tense with self-control, Matt felt the veil fall from his eyes. "So you wouldn’t do this for just anyone, huh?"
"I--" The elevator doors juddered open at that moment and O’Neill all but dived inside. "Morning Lieutenant," he said to the young woman within, whose eyes widened slightly at what was obviously an unusual address.
"Ah, morning Colonel."
He smiled at her. "So, how about those Devils, huh?"
Matt said nothing more, but watched O’Neill with new eyes. The man had a crush on his wife! It was a strangely gratifying idea and he couldn’t help puffing his chest out in pride as he watched the numbers on the elevator wall blink past. Sam was his, of that he had no doubt, but there was nothing like another man’s envy to boost your ego. Everyone wanted a desirable wife.
Sometimes, when he looked at Sam, he couldn’t believe he’d gotten so lucky.
***
Jack had long believed in some kind of karma. Not the crystal-wielding, earth-muffin type, but a brutal justice meted out by an uncompromising universe that saw into the pits of your soul and gave you back what you deserved. In his case, all bad. And walking down the corridor towards the infirmary, with Matt trailing wide-eyed at his side was, he had no doubt, a fitting punishment for the treachery that beat loud in his heart.
He’d nearly kissed her. He’d been a heartbeat from kissing her in that cold, dim cave and he didn’t even regret it. The only regret he felt was that they’d been interrupted and the promised moment had been snatched away. Karma, again. But even the non-kiss electrified him, making him irrational with desire. He wanted her. He didn’t care that she was another man’s wife, he didn’t care about the sour guilt or the blind impossibility of the situation. All he could think about was her. He loved her, he wanted her, he would go insane if he couldn’t have her!
Stopping outside the infirmary, he realized that Matt had been silent since they’d entered the elevator. He glanced across, remembering the suspicion he’d heard in the man’s voice and wished he could feel remorse. "She’s in here," he said carefully. "Doctor Ellis is expecting you."
Matt gave him a frank, searching look. "Thank you."
"I’ll wait outside."
"No, I’m sure Sam would like to see you too." His tone was oddly sympathetic. "Don’t you think?"
Jack didn’t know what to say, the lies and half-lies sticking in his gullet. "I--"
The door opened and Doctor Maggie Ellis appeared. Her eyes widened when she saw him. "Colonel!"
"Doc."
"Colonel Carter said you were-- Oh, Matt. Hi."
"We’re here to see Sam," Matt said, crowding into the doorway. "Right, Jack?"
Stretched tight with discomfort, Jack just nodded. But Ellis caught his gaze as he passed by, her eyes wide and questioning. "She’s in bed three," was all she said, but he could see the suspicion in her eyes. Guilt and suspicion - they surrounded him like a fog of the soul.
Dragged along unwillingly, Jack hugged the walls as Matt approached the bed where Sam was resting. Her eyes were closed, her face scrubbed clean of the desert dirt and her arm attached to a drip. "She was a little dehydrated," the doctor explained to Matt. "We’ve got her on a saline IV."
"What happened to her?" Matt asked quietly, hovering close to the bed but not moving near enough to touch her.
Ellis glanced over at Jack, unclear how to answer. He nodded and cleared his throat; General Taylor had already briefed him on this. "She was kidnapped by a terrorist group demanding a ransom. They didn’t hurt her before we pulled her out."
"She has some lacerations to her feet and is dehydrated," the doctor added. "She’s exhausted, but otherwise she’s going to be fine."
Relief slumped Matt’s shoulders, and Jack watched with sharp envy as he at last moved closer to the bed and took Sam's hand. "Hey honey," he whispered. "It’s me."
She stirred, her eyes flickering open as her head turned. A smile lit her face, beautiful and heart-stopping. Jack felt sick with jealously that the smile wasn’t for him. And then she froze in obvious surprise as her eyes came fully open. "Matt? What are you--"
"Jack O’Neill arranged for me to come see you."
"Jack…?"
Matt drew closer, pressing her fingers to his lips. "I thought I’d lost you , Sam," he murmured, just loud enough for Jack to hear. "I thought I’d lost you." Her fingers closed over his as he bent down and kissed her forehead. Jack had to look away, turning his head only to see Doctor Ellis watching him like a curious hawk. He wondered if he looked as envious as he felt.
Envy. Guilt. Suspicion.
Could he descend any lower into this moral hell?
***
The house was dark when Laura arrived, stepping out of her car into the crisp fall air. Hefting her heavy bag onto her shoulder she trudged up towards the front door and peered through the window into the hallway. Deep inside the house she saw a light, relieved to see some sign of life. She hadn’t come all this way to talk to dark walls.
Stepping back, she hesitated with her finger poised over the doorbell. She still wasn’t sure what she would say to him, but she wasn’t the kind of person to let things fester. She had to know the truth, however unpleasant. And so resolutely she pressed the bell, holding it down for a good long time.
After a moment a light sprang on in the hallway, and then another over her head on the porch. She took a deep breath, smoothing down the lines of her skirt as she braced herself for the meeting. Three, two, one… The door opened and there he was, rumpled and confused. She said, "Hello Jack."
He stared, peering groggily through foggy eyes. "What time is it?"
She frowned. "Nice to see you too."
"I was asleep," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "I…uh…what are you doing here?"
A beat of panic fluttered in her throat. Asleep? God, if that woman was here… "I’m not interrupting am I?" she asked sharply, peering over his shoulder.
Frowning he shook his head and stepped back from the door. "No. Sorry, Laura. I’m half asleep. Come in, come in."
She did, stepping carefully over the threshold with the curious sensation that she was entering another world. This wasn’t his haphazard, cozy cabin in the woods. This house was large and stark and represented a part of his life that was closed to her. "Is she here?" Laura asked, walking slowly along the hallway.
Jack closed the front door and trailed behind her. "Ah…who?"
"Samantha Carter," she replied lightly, keeping her anger in check. "That is why you’re here, right?"
His silence drifted down the hallway after her, forcing her to turn and face him. "What do you mean?" he said once he had her attention.
"I might be young, but I’m not stupid, Jack," she snapped.
"I never thought you were."
She snorted quietly at that and headed into his living room. The sofa was rumpled, the remains of a sandwich and an empty beer sat on the coffee table, and the TV murmured softly to itself in the corner. But, thank God, there was no sign of Samantha Carter. Dropping her bag on the floor, Laura flopped into a comfy looking chair and stared up at him. "What’s going on, Jack?"
He stared at her for a long time, his unreadable features betrayed by the troubled look in his dark eyes. But because she was expecting him to lie, to deny everything, when it came his honesty was startling. "I don’t know," he admitted softly and guiltily. "Maybe something, maybe nothing."
Her heart thudded once, painfully. "With Samantha Carter?"
He gave a small nod and came to perch on the edge of the coffee table, facing her. The look on his face was regretful but kind, almost paternal. It made her want to cry. "I’m sorry," he said, reaching out and taking her hand. She snatched it back instantly and he winced. "I never imagined this would happen."
A flush crept up from her chest to her face, embarrassed and angry. Her worst suspicions were true! She felt sick with envy and humiliation. "You’re having an affair with her."
"No," he said quickly. "No, nothing like that. She would never--"
"She would never? But you would, right?"
He frowned, staring down at his hands resting on his knees. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."
Laura shook her head, trying to make sense of him. "So…you’re not having an affair, but you want to? Is that it? You want to but she won’t because--"
He got to his feet, moving away from her. "It’s not like that. It’s just that I realized that I still--" He stopped, shoving his hands into his pockets and toeing the table leg in embarrassment. "I still care for her," he said quietly, "a lot."
Laura swallowed, anger and betrayal tasting sour. "And what about me? Do you still care about me?"
His dark eyes glanced over at her, full of remorse. "You’re a beautiful woman, Laura. Talented, fun, full of life. You deserve more than a man like me."
"That’s not what I asked," she said, rising to her feet and endeavoring to collect as much pride as possible. "Do you still love me?"
"I thought I’d gotten over her," he explained hurriedly. "I really did. I didn’t know that I still felt--"
"Do. You. Love. Me?" she snapped, cutting across his words.
A slight shake of his head was her answer. "I never meant this to happen. I never meant to hurt you."
"Well you have!" she hissed, angry tears making her voice shake. "You bastard! How dare you just…just walk out on me like that! God, were you even going to bother telling me your dirty little secret?"
"I’m sorry, I--"
"For God’s sake, she’s married! It’s disgusting."
His jaw tightened, eyes flashing with a sudden anger. "Laura…"
"Or is that what makes it so exciting?" she spat. "Do you get off screwing some other man’s wife? Does she like a bit of rough on the side who--"
"Enough!" he barked. "That’s enough. You know nothing about it. I’m sorry I hurt you Laura, but you keep Sam out of this."
She hated the way he said her name, the familiarity and the softness choked her with jealousy. And made her irrational. "Oh, Sam, is it?" she snarled. "Kind of a young name for someone that old, don’t you think?"
"What I think," he said, very quietly, "is that you should leave now."
A shrill laugh escaped. "Turning me out onto the streets? Love ‘em and leave ‘em, huh Jack? Use ‘em and abuse ‘em."
"You need to calm down--"
"Or what?!" she exploded. "You might realize for the first time in your life that you’ve hurt someone? You might have to actually face an emotion? Hell, feel one!" Tears choked off more words and she turned away from him with a sob she didn’t try to control. "I hate you," she cried, "you made me love you."
"I didn’t--"
"Oh yes you did!" she hissed, spinning back to face him, glad to see him take an involuntary step backwards. "You made me love you, and you made me think you loved me."
He winced. "I never said that."
His words stunned her, stilled her with shock. He was so boorishly mannish. Her anger narrowed into a thin blade. "So that’s your get-out clause, is it? You never ‘said it’ so I shouldn’t expect any loyalty? Any faithfulness? You can go out and screw whoever you like because you never damn well told me you loved me?"
He took another step back, face crumpling and a hand rubbing over his chin. "No. Of course not, I just-- I meant--"
"You," she said, stabbing a finger at his chest, "used me."
"No," he was shaking his head. "No, I didn’t. I just--"
"You used me to get over her!" she seethed as the truth clarified around her. "You couldn’t have her, could you? You wanted her, but you couldn’t have her so you took me instead. Stupid, naive Laura - she’ll do for laughs!"
"Stop it!" he snapped. "It wasn’t like that. We had fun, didn’t we? That’s what it was about. Having fun. Enjoying being together and--"
"I loved you!" Her words broke over his, and their power rendered him silent. "I loved you Jack, and you knew it and let me believe you loved me." His skittering glance, flickering all around her but never quite touching her, removed all doubt. "You’re a worm, Jack O’Neill," she wept. "A low-life pond-scum."
"Laura, I’m sorry."
His hand reached for her arm, but she slapped it away. "Don’t touch me, you bastard!"
A blue silence fell between them, filled only by the inane babble of a TV commercial, until Jack cleared his throat and said, "What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to get the hell out of my life," she said, her voice breaking over rocky tears. "And I want you to get your crap the hell out of my house."
"Sure," he nodded, too damn calmly. None of this mattered to him! He’d ripped her heart to pieces and there was nothing she could do to touch him. "I’ll come up in a couple of weeks and--"
"No," she snarled, wiping at the tears running down her face. "Not good enough. You get it out of there now. Right now! Because if there’s one damn thing of yours left in my house when I get home, it’s going out in the yard. Understand?"
"Come on, that’s not possib--"
"I don’t give a fuck!"
"Right, fine!" he snapped, raising his hands defensively. "Do what you want. I can’t get up there now, and you know it."
He didn’t care! He didn’t damn well care! She wanted to smash something, to strike out and break everything in her reach. The bastard, the two-faced lying bastard! She wanted to hurt him, to make him suffer like she was suffering, to make him as sick as-- And then she had a thought, a darkly evil thought born of anger and betrayal and bitter jealousy. But the thought calmed her, gave her a focus and a channel for her rage. Her tears stopped flowing, frozen by the revenge she knew she could exact. With a shuddering breath she brought herself back under control and bent to pick up her bag. "We could have had a nice life, Jack," she said in a voice still shaky with tears. "We could have been happy."
"We were," he said softly. "I was."
She shrugged, refusing to feel the meaning of his words. "Whatever. I just hope you don’t regret what you’ve done, Jack. These things have a habit of coming back and biting you on the ass."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Meaning?"
"Goodbye Jack. Have a nice life."
"Laura--"
"Karma, Jack," she said, eyeing him scornfully. "What goes around, comes around. Remember that." And with that she turned and stalked out of his house, but not out of his life. Not yet. She would have her revenge. She would make him suffer. And she didn’t care who got hurt in the process.
***
She missed him. Sitting in the darkness, staring through the bedroom window into the rainy night, she tried to imagine him with her - maybe playing chess, or watching TV. He’d laugh at the way she hobbled around the room, tease her for the floppy socks she wore over her bandaged feet, and then maybe he’d kiss her. She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the illicit dream, imagining the way his lips might feel against hers, remembering the strength of his arms around her as he--
Matt snored loudly, rolling over in the bed behind her. Sam shivered and pulled her robe closer around her shoulders. Matt had hardly left her side since she’d been released from hospital, and although she knew she should be grateful for his attention she actually found it claustrophobic. She hadn’t had a moment to herself to think about everything that had happened and what it meant for her. Fifth had revealed an ugly reflection of herself, one that she couldn’t deny was true. In marrying Matt she’d betrayed Jack. And now she was on the point of betraying Matt. In many ways, in her heart, she had already betrayed him.
The thoughts buzzed relentlessly through her head like guilty flies trapped in a glass box, constantly battering themselves against the sides of her mind and unable to rest even for a moment. If she could only talk about it, it might help. But there was only one person she could really talk to, one person who knew everything. And she hadn’t seen him since the moment she’d woken in the infirmary with Matt holding her hand, only to see Jack watching them with such restraint she’d almost wept. Since then he’d stayed away, and with Matt constantly at her side Sam hadn’t even been able to call him.
Glancing over at the clock she toyed with the idea of calling him now. But it was well past midnight and she really didn’t know what she would say to him. What was there to say? They both understood the situation and unless she was prepared to leave Matt…
Turning in her chair, she looked at where he bulked under the covers. He’d been her rock for a long time, her anchor in her chaotic life. He was a good man, a kind and loving husband who would make a kind and loving father. She had no reason to hate him or leave him. Nothing to justify the pain she would inflict on him if she walked away from their marriage. It would be easier if she did, if he’d cheated on her or demanded she gave up her work or been violent or drunken or any of the hundred reasons a woman might have for leaving her husband. But he was none of those. He was unrelentingly kind and understanding - a good man. And she was a treacherous woman who didn’t deserve him.
She sighed and closed her eyes. But despite her guilt, all she could think about was Jack and how she had to see him. Somehow or another she had to see him tomorrow.
***
The cafeteria was quiet in the post-lunch lull, the clangs of industrial pots and pans echoed from the kitchen and drowned the muted chatter of the few remaining people who’d drifted in late.
Daniel sat with his back to the door, savoring the last of his coffee and trying to summon up the energy to go back to his office and start work on the mountain of reports that had stacked up while he’d been busy with the new finds on P4R-3T5. But he’d never been an afternoon person, and even the strong coffee he was drinking only had a mild effect on the drowsy afternoon hours. There was a good reason, he reflected, why so many cultures adopted the siesta and he briefly toyed with the idea of finding a dark room in which to take a nap rather than struggling on with-- Oh, now that was interesting.
Suddenly he found himself wide awake and staring at Jack O’Neill sauntering along the length of the empty counter, slowly filling a tray. He was out of uniform and Daniel hadn’t expected to see him back on the base after General Taylor had debriefed him two days earlier. Curious.
Jack paid for his food and picked up his tray. Oblivious, he was heading for the far corner when Daniel called to him. He turned at the sound, gave a half nod and moved back towards his table. "Hey, Daniel."
"What are you doing here?"
He sat, pushing Daniel’s empty tray out of the way with his own. "Eating lunch."
"Nice choice of restaurant," Daniel observed dryly. "Nice ambience. Good views."
Jack looked at him across his full tray. "You used to be so nice."
He smiled. "Come on, Jack. What are you doing here?"
Evasively, Jack shoveled a fork full of food into his mouth and chewed slowly. But as he did so, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Daniel. He opened it curiously; it was a letter from General Taylor. He glanced up at Jack’s serious face. "He wants to bring you back as a civilian advisor?"
Jack nodded, popping open his soda and taking a long drink. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he said, "Who’d have thought? He says I have ‘valuable experience’."
"You do," Daniel agreed. "I told you that when you left. So, are you considering it?"
An unusual flurry of self-consciousness fluttered over Jack’s face as he nodded. "I guess I am."
He didn’t look at Daniel as he said it, which was a dead give-away. And suddenly Daniel had a damn good idea why Jack was thinking of coming back. "It’s because of Sam, isn’t it?"
The dark flush that crept onto Jack’s face was matched only by the dark frown that creased his brow. But if Daniel was expecting a denial, it wasn’t forthcoming. "Yes," was the curt reply.
Sighing, Daniel leant forward across the table and lowered his voice. "What about Laura?" he asked. Jack’s frown deepened as he looked up, and Daniel saw the truth in his eyes. "You’ve dumped her?"
"Not dumped," Jack muttered. "But…we’re not together."
"So you’re going to come back to the SGC. And then what? Sam’s married. You can’t--"
"This is where I belong," Jack snapped. "That’s all. I shouldn’t have left."
"Maybe not. But you can never go back," Daniel told him seriously. "It doesn’t work. You have to move on."
"Daniel, when I want your opinion--"
"You never want my opinion!" Daniel interrupted. "But here it is anyway - this is dangerous. You could hurt a lot of people, including Sam."
He said nothing at first, stabbing at his food but not eating it. "I can’t help it."
"Sam has a life here. Matt’s a good man, he’s good for her. If you--"
"I can’t do it."
Daniel blinked. "Do what?"
"Walk away again. I did it once. I thought it was the right thing, Daniel. That’s why I left in
the first place! But it wasn’t. I should have stayed. I should have--" His fork clattered onto his plate and he gave a sour smile. "I should have fought for her."
Daniel would have laughed at the melodrama if Jack hadn’t looked so earnest. "Is that what you’re going to do now? Fight for her?"
He shook his head slowly. "No. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s up to her. It’s all up to her."
"And if she’s not interested?"
Jack winced, his whole body seeming to tighten. "There’s nothing I can do about that, is there?"
And suddenly Daniel wasn’t worried about Sam anymore, or even Matt. Jack, he realized, was in most danger in the coming storm because, despite outside appearances, he was the most vulnerable. His psyche was the most damaged by loss, and all his hopes for happiness rested in the single, fragile vessel of Sam’s affection. And if that was sunk, Daniel knew that Jack would go under and sink without trace. And he suspected his friend knew it too. "Jack," he began, too concerned to be cautious, "I think you need to--"
But Jack wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed like a hungry dog’s on something over Daniel’s right shoulder, and Daniel didn’t need to turn around to guess what - or who - it was. He didn’t need to, but he did anyway. And there she was, standing in the doorway of the cafeteria, staring at Jack with the same mix of hunger, delight and embarrassment in her eyes.
The scrape of a chair being pushed back broke the moment, and as Jack rose to his feet Sam started walking towards them. She limped slightly, but seemed oblivious. All her attention was fixed on Jack.
"Hey," he said as she approached, smiling without a trace of sarcasm but with more awkwardness than Daniel had ever seen.
Sam stopped a few feet from the table. "What are you doing here?" she asked in a tight voice bubbling with excitement.
"I, uh, Taylor," Jack muttered. "Meeting." Sam just blinked at him, smiling slightly, and he hurriedly added, "I thought you were at home. Off sick."
She nodded. "I am. I’m just here for a medical. My feet."
"Oh," Jack said, his eyes falling from her face to her shoes. "How are they? Your feet."
"Good," she nodded. "Better."
"Good," he agreed.
Daniel cleared his throat and Sam startled slightly as if only just noticing him. "Daniel," she said, breaking back into her slow walk. "Hey."
Jack abruptly sat down and resumed stabbing at his unfortunate meal. Daniel ignored him and pulled out a chair for Sam. "How are you feeling?"
She sighed as she sat and he noticed the pallor of her face, despite the sparkle in her eyes. "Not so bad. I mean, physically I’m fine. It’s just…" She tapped her head. "It’s all upside down. He showed me…" Her eyes drifted to Jack who was determinedly staring at his plate, "He showed me some things. It’s hard to forget."
Daniel grimaced. He’d had enough trips through his own head to know that getting up close and personal with your inner-self was a very painful experience. "The doc sending you to see anyone? Work through the issues?"
Opposite them, Jack snorted. Sam smiled faintly. "Not yet. I think I just need to discuss it with someone, you know?"
"Yeah," Daniel smiled. "I know. Any time you want to talk…"
"Thanks," she said, her hand briefly pressing his arm. "I appreciate that."
But her gaze had drifted back to Jack, whose head had lifted from his study of the plate and whose eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that drove Daniel awkwardly to his feet. "I need to get back to work," he said abruptly, unable to watch the train-wreck in progress.
Jack’s attention turned to him, and for an instant he saw a beat of uncertainty in his friend’s eyes. It was an expression he’d never seen before. "I’ll, um," he said vaguely, "see you later."
Daniel just nodded. "Yeah. Think about what I said, right?" Jack gave a curt nod and Daniel turned to Sam. "And you take care of yourself."
"Yeah," came her reply, although she obviously hadn’t missed the significance of his exchange with Jack because her eyes were full of questions. But she said nothing more, and as Daniel left he saw her attention shift back to Jack who pushed his plate to one side and leaned over the table to talk to her in a low, earnest voice that Daniel couldn’t hear.
He sighed and looked away, heading for the door. See no evil, he reminded himself as he left. Speak no evil. It was their choice, and he wouldn’t interfere. He just hoped they weren’t making the biggest mistake of their lives.
***
"How are you?" Jack asked the moment Daniel left, pushing his plate to one side and leaning closer to her. "You look pale. "
She smiled, with her eyes and lips. "I’m fine. Really. Thanks to you."
He shook his head. "No, it wasn’t me. They’d have found you whoever--"
"But it was you," she said softly. "Like I knew it would be. It’s always you."
He said nothing, afraid of saying too much. His feelings were unstable, the tight compression that held them in check had disintegrated somewhere between discovering that she’d been taken by Fifth and finding her weak and bleeding in the dark cave. "Sam," he said, watching his fingers tangle together on the table-top, close enough to her calmly folded hands to touch them if he’d dared. "I want to see you. Not here. Somewhere else, where we can talk and figure out--"
"Your house," she murmured. "This afternoon."
He looked up, astonished. "Are you sure?"
"No. But…" She sighed and looked away, as wretched as he’d ever seen her. "I can’t help how I feel."
Despite where they were, despite who they were, he reached for her hand and covered it with his own. "Neither can I."
She turned her face to him, strong, determined and divided. He tightened his hold on her cool fingers, crushing them together in his hand until she pulled away from him. "Later," she promised, standing up.
"Later," he agreed, anticipation shimmering in his vision. He could feel the dice rolling in his head and knew that one way or another his fate was about to be sealed.
***
Chapter 13
The afternoon was drab. Dark clouds scudded across the sky, driven by a biting mountain wind that whipped Sam’s coat around her legs as she climbed out of the cab. She barely saw the driver as she paid her fare because her eyes were fixed on the warm light spilling from Jack’s house. It looked as welcoming as home. More welcoming than home, she thought as she slammed shut the cab door. And that was part of the problem.
As the cab sped off and left her alone in the suburban quiet, she dug her hands into the pockets of her jacket and tried not to feel dirty. But the first thing her cold fingers touched was her cell phone, at the other end of which sat Matt with his steady concern. She couldn’t go in there, into Jack’s house and all it represented, with Matt only a speed-dial away. Her conscience, already tortured, demanded that she sever the link as though drawing a veil over her treachery.
Staring at the small keypad of her phone she felt it staring back at her. Judging her. Daring her to switch it off and confirm her villainy. It felt hugely significant, as if she was crossing a line and making choices that couldn’t be undone. And she supposed she was. Just being there, outside his house in the cold, dull fall afternoon was a choice. With rising guilt she switched off the phone and watched its pale light die as the weight of her decision descended like silence around her, heavy and stained with shame.
She was having an affair. She, Samantha Carter, was having an affair.
There was no point in denying it, just because they hadn’t gotten hot and sweaty between the sheets. The treachery was in her heart, and even though she knew she was betraying the love of a good man she couldn’t stop herself from walking towards Jack’s door. She didn’t want to stop herself. She wanted to be inside, where the warm yellow light promised to ease the frazzled remains of a heart stretched thin by years of denial. Like a drunk falling off the wagon, she wanted to drown herself in him.
Anticipation temporarily smothered her guilt and she felt her smile waiting to pounce as she stood on his porch and rang the doorbell. I should have done this years ago, she realized with an eager flutter in her throat. I should have done this before he left.
Perhaps he’d seen her arrive and was lurking by the door, because he opened it on the tail of her thought. Out of uniform and casual, he was as inviting as his house. And a rare smile lit his face as he quietly said, "Hey."
The wind whipped about her, but she didn’t notice anything beyond the blood thumping in her ears. "Hey."
Jack shivered. "It’s cold. Come on in."
And so she did, stepping over the threshold and into the forbidden territory of his home and his life. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the air and everything exuded warmth and welcome. She felt as though she never wanted to leave, which provoked her to say, "I have to be home by five."
Jack closed the door and nodded, his dark eyes assessing her. "Okay," he said, his smile fading at her injection of cold truth. But with a light touch on her shoulder he told her she was forgiven, "Go on through," he said, "I just made coffee."
The living room had been transformed from the lifeless shell of her previous visit. A fire leaped and crackled in the fireplace and a few pictures dotted the freshly painted walls. A stereo was playing quietly in the corner and her nervous feet took her towards it, her fingers restlessly picking up the empty CD case. Puccini. She wondered where all these domestic touches had come from; he’d only arrived with one bag. "Done some shopping?"
"Yeah," he called from the kitchen. "Seems like I’m gonna be here a while." Her hand froze on the CD. What did that mean? Before she could ask, he answered the question. "Laura and I split up."
Yes! The sentiment was unworthy but, as with so much else today, she couldn’t help herself. Or, perhaps, she didn’t want to help herself. Turning as he walked into the room with two large coffee mugs, she tried to keep her face impassive. "I’m sorry," she said, although she wasn’t and he had to know she wasn’t.
He shrugged self-consciously and offered her a coffee. "Yeah, well, it was… It wasn’t-- It was my fault."
Smiling her thanks, she took a sip. "What happened?"
"What do you think?" The answer was in his eyes, dark, intense and ravenous.
It sent a glorious shiver down her spine and made her face burn. "I’m sorry," she stammered, ashamed by the rose-tint of desire in her cheeks. She felt so out of control!
"Not your fault." Taking his coffee he sat down in one of the large, comfortable chairs and looked up at her with frank appraisal. Now what? his eyes asked.
She followed him, perching on the edge of the sofa, her hands wrapped around the hot mug. "I, ah--" she began awkwardly. "This whole situation is messed up. I never realized--" She shook her head, trying to order her thoughts. But the memories Fifth had raised - her memories, and Jack’s - crowded her mind like the dead and it was difficult to think around their cacophony of emotions. "I never realized how big this whole thing was."
"Yeah," he agreed carefully. "I mean, I knew I had…feelings. I just didn’t know how…how--"
"Deep they went?"
He nodded. "Or how permanent they were." He laughed at himself, staring down into his coffee. "I actually thought I’d gotten over you. I even thought I hated you for a while."
"I don’t blame you," she sighed, drawing his gaze to her face. Memories floated in his eyes like dark bruises, making her flinch with regret. "I hurt you," she pressed on. "A lot. I betrayed you, Jack. I know that now. Fifth showed me."
His eyes lost their pounded look and sharpened. "Fifth? What the hell does he--"
"That’s what he wanted," Sam explained, tightening her hold on the mug. The heat hurt, but she liked it. It distracted her from the guilt fluttering queasily in her guts. "He wanted to understand why I betrayed him, and so he looked at…at other people I’d betrayed. Mainly, you."
Jack set his coffee onto the low table with a deliberate slowness that Sam recognized as a prelude to action. She’d seen him handle his weapon the same way. For a long, still moment he stared at nothing, his gaze turned inward. And then he leant forward, pulled her mug out of her hands and set it aside. But he didn’t let go of her fingers as he looked her flatly in the eye and said, "You have never betrayed me. Ever."
She smiled at his gallantry. Even now, he felt the need to bolster her moral like a good CO. "I should have waited for you."
"I never expected you to. Not once."
"Didn’t you?"
He held her gaze for a moment longer, before looking away with a frown. But he didn’t let go of her hand. "It was never an expectation, just a hope."
"If I’d waited," she said sadly, "we wouldn’t be here, would we? Doing this."
His fingers tightened around hers. They were warm and strong and she felt her pulse quicken as he quietly asked, "What, exactly, are we doing?"
It was a good question. She hung her head, staring down at their tangled fingers. As tangled as their lives. "I don’t know."
They were silent for a long time, quiet music drifting over them as their coffee cooled and his fingers moved softly over hers in a caress as eloquent as any love-making. "You should know," he said at last, "that I don’t intend to walk away from this. Unless you tell me to. I walked away last time and I regretted it every day. I should have fought for you."
She frowned anxiously at the concept. "Fought?"
"I shouldn’t have let you go," he said fiercely. "I should have told you how I felt."
Her cheeks flushed again at the heat in his voice. It echoed the memories Fifth had shown her - Jack’s memories. She heard the same passion in his voice now that had reverberated through the force-shield on Apophis’s ship. Dizzied by the emotional rush, she shook her head and tried to focus. "You couldn’t. As my CO you couldn’t have--"
"Oh screw that! That was just an excuse. Something to hide behind so I didn’t have to deal with the truth." He stared at her, into her. Through her. "I was a coward."
"No. Never. You’re the--"
"I loved you."
The words exploded between them, splintering the final taboo. He’d said it. After all these years, he’d spoken the forbidden words. Sam could say nothing, caught in the under-tow of an emotional breaker and unable to do anything but ride the wave. She simply stared at him. And he stared right back, astonished at himself. His mouth moved slightly, as if the aftertaste of his statement was peculiar. But for once he didn’t clam up and after a moment he kept on talking, forcing the words through his instinctive defenses with obvious difficulty. His only concession to self-preservation was the way his eyes dropped to stare at their entwined fingers as he spoke. "I loved you," he repeated carefully, "and I never told you. And I don’t think--" His voice cracked and he swallowed hard, shaking his head in ruthless determination. "I don’t think I’ve ever stopped."
Sam closed her eyes, not because she was afraid to hear him but because she wanted to feel the texture of this longed for moment without distraction. But it was like sunshine through fog; its beauty and warmth were clouded by duty, honor and guilt. Reality was never as perfect as the imagination. And when she opened her eyes her vision was blurred with tears. Cautiously he raised his gaze to hers and what she saw there was overwhelming; his naked hope and fear shook her. She’d never seen him risk himself like that, not for her, not for anyone. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. She squeezed his hands and could think of nothing to say but the unadorned truth. "I loved you too. I still do."
The impact of her statement showed in his eyes, like a rock cast into a deep, still pool. The aftershocks rippled outward in waves of delight as he moved to sit next to her, his hand still clutching hers. He was trying to say something, she could see the words sliding behind his eyes, yet somehow they never made it to his lips. But he was close, his thigh resting against her leg, and the heat of the contact was fierce. He shook his head slightly, his confusion evident as he disentangled his hand from hers and trailed it lightly up her arm. She shivered with guilty anticipation, her face heating as his fingers touched her cheek and lightly curled a lock of hair behind her ear. His tongue flickered over his lips and his breathing quickened as he gazed at her with eyes full of questions. Do you want this? Can I touch you? Can I kiss you? Do I have the right?
He was leaving the decision to her, like he’d always done. But he hadn’t stopped touching her, his fingers tracing the line of her collarbone and raising tiny, thrilled bumps across her skin. She shivered and ached with a desire so long repressed that it had ceased being anything but part of her, an integral, fundamental part of her. And she knew the answer to his silent questions. Just being there, in his house, was answer enough.
She didn’t speak the word, but he must have seen it in her eyes because slowly and reverentially he dipped his mouth to hers. He hovered there, tantalizingly close, his breath tickling her lips and his fingers laying still against the unsteady fluttering of the pulse in her throat.
He was waiting for her.
Never, since the day she’d first met him, had he made her life easy. Not once, and not now. He wouldn’t kiss her. He wouldn’t make the decision for her. He was waiting for her, forcing her to make the tough choice. She didn’t know if she loved him or hated him for it. But either way, she couldn’t match his restraint. Her mouth, her lips, her heart and body begged for the kiss. For more than a kiss. With the breath unsteady in her chest she lifted her head and gently pressed her mouth to his, tasting the coffee and hunger on his lips.
When he moved, it was slowly. One hand slid from her throat to her face and into her hair, and his kiss caressed her lips in a slow, steady rhythm that got deeper but not faster. Their fingers, still tangled together, lay between them and his thumb stroked the back of her hand in time with his gentle kisses. Backwards and forwards as their kiss grew deeper and deeper, her mind spinning like a planet in a decaying orbit around the sun, drawn inexorably towards perfect destruction.
Deep inside, the fire that had been banked for so long was reaching the climax of its slow burn. She could feel the pressure building, tightening in the pit of her stomach as his pace changed. The slow, deep kisses grew shorter and more urgent. Her mind span faster, in time with her racing pulse. Now. It was happening now and she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop. He broke away to draw breath and then fell on her, kissing, tasting, biting. Wanting. His hand locked with hers, squeezing tight until…he stopped dead.
At first, she didn’t know why his kisses were fading, why his forehead came to rest against hers and his breath washed hot over her mouth. She was confused, disorientated and frustrated. What was he doing? What the hell was he-- And then his thumb moved, deliberately and slowly running over a finger on her left hand. Over her ring finger.
Over her wedding band.
His thumb shifted the ring against her skin and she felt it bite like cold fire.
He didn’t move and neither did she, paralyzed by the enormity of what they’d done - of what she’d done. Matt was at home, waiting for her and worrying about her. How could she be here, like this? How could she be in another man’s arms when she was still wearing the ring Matt had given her four years ago? The ring that had pledged his life to hers, and her life to his. Her betrayal sickened her.
"Your mind is full of it," Fifth had spat at her.
"Full of what?"
"Betrayal. It runs through your life like poison."
Jack was still now, his fingers motionless on her hand as he slowly pulled away. Not far, just enough that she could see his face. He looked as wretched as she felt; this wasn’t who they were, this wasn’t what they did.
Silently she pulled away and he let her go. He didn’t move, just watched as she turned away from him and pressed her face into her hands. He didn’t move when she rose shakily to her feet. He didn’t move when she edged around the coffee table and towards the hallway. And he still didn’t move when she turned at the door to the living room and looked back at him, meeting the questions in his dark eyes but having no answers.
And he must have accepted that, because he didn’t even move when she turned and fled from his house, and from the guilt of this, her most ugly betrayal.
***
Matt smiled when he heard the key in the lock, glancing up at the kitchen clock. Four-thirty. For once she was home earlier than he’d expected. Sliding the chicken casserole into the oven, he closed the door and headed into the hallway. Sam was taking off her coat, and for once hanging it up on the peg and not flinging it across the back of the nearest chair. He smiled again. "Hey, hon. What did the doctor say?"
"Not much," she replied, casting him a half-look and a weak smile. "I’m fine." But she looked pale, worn out.
"You’re tired," he said, moving over to take her by the arm and lead her further into the living room. "I told you I should have driven you. Is your foot bothering you?"
"I’m fine," she repeated, pulling her arm out of his hand. "I’m just…" Her words and feet trailed to a halt, leaving her silent and still in the doorway.
He watched her for a moment, but she was lost. Miles away. He took her hand. "Come on," he said quietly. "Sit down. I’ve just put dinner in the oven, so you’ve got time to rest before we eat."
But again she resisted, pulling her hand from his and raking it through her mussed hair. He figured it was windy outside, because she looked pretty disheveled. "I, uh, I think I’m gonna take a shower." At his quizzical look she said, "It’s cold out. I’m cold."
But she didn’t look cold, she looked distracted and uneasy in her skin. Her hand lingered in her hair, trailing down to the side of her neck and towards her throat almost as if she was itching. God only knew what she’d been through during her abduction, and of course she couldn’t tell him. Which made it all a hundred times worse. "Are you sure you’re okay? You’re very pale, Sam."
Her teeth clenched and she shook her head, her eyes skittering around the room nervously. "I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry. Please don’t worry about me."
He laughed at that. "Yeah, right. Sam, I’m your husband, it’s my job to worry about you!"
She said nothing in response but an odd look crossed her face, as though his words had pained her. He was really beginning to worry now. "Sam? Honey, what is it? Did the doctor say something? Is there something wrong? Did they say--"
"No," she interrupted hurriedly, stopping his words with a hand on his arm. And he realized it was the first time she’d looked him in the eye since she got home. "It’s nothing like that. It’s-- I’m just in a stupid mood, that’s all. I need some space. Okay? I just want to take a shower and be alone for a while."
"Sure," he replied, mindful of the advice he’d been given by the military psychiatrist. ‘Don’t expect her to want to talk about what happened. Don’t press her. Sometimes she’ll just need space and time alone to process how she feels. Don’t crowd her.’ "I’ve got some work to catch up on," he said, keeping it light. "Dinner will be ready in a couple of hours."
Sam smiled with obvious gratitude, although her beautiful smile was shadowed by something he couldn’t identify. Unease, perhaps? Something was preying on her mind, that much was obvious. But he didn’t need the shrink’s advice to tell him that trying to get Sam to open up when she didn’t want to was an exercise in futility. "Thank you," she said, touching his arm again. "You’re a good man, Matt."
He half-smiled his thanks, but there was an odd intensity to her words that unsettled him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow he was out of the loop. But then, with Sam and her line of work, when wasn’t he? He watched for a moment as she turned and headed towards the bedroom, still limping slightly from her ordeal. But he doubted that the wounds to her feet were the worst of her injuries. He wasn’t a stupid man, and he knew Sam well. There was definitely something going on, but what it was he could only imagine.
He just hoped he could help her through it; he hoped she’d let him try.
***
In the shower, Sam let the scorching water wash away her tears. It was as hot as she could bear, but still it didn’t warm her or make her feel any less dirty. It scalded her skin, turning it red. But still she itched. She itched all over, everywhere he’d touched her. It was as if there were two people sharing the same skin; the sensible, responsible, honorable Colonel Carter and the wild, romantic, passionate Sam. And the two were irreconcilable.
She could feel her sanity slipping at the conflict tearing her apart. There was no right answer, no way out. She was careening headlong towards disaster and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The only choice she had left was the direction of her destruction, and the fork in the road was fast approaching.
God or the Devil had blessed her with the love of two good men, and now she had to choose between them. There was some kind of sick irony in that; it was the work of a twisted mind. Whose heart should she break? Whose life should she derail? Matt, the man who had loved her unconditionally for the past four years, whose steady, reliable presence had been a welcome port in her insane life? Or Jack, who had loved her relentlessly and passionately, against the odds and against the rules, for a decade? A man whose mercurial temperament had been the cause of most of the insanity in her life, but whose defiant loyalty had never wavered, not even when she’d left him for another man.
She had to choose, because she refused to stoop to a sordid, secret affair. That, at least, was beneath her. She couldn’t have both and so she would choose one. Unworthy as she felt, she had to decide whose love to betray.
Pressing her head against the cool tiles of the shower, she closed her eyes and let her tears mingle with the water. How could she choose? How the hell could she make that choice?
It was impossible. Utterly impossible.
***
After she left, Jack sat for a long time on the sofa, staring at her cold coffee and willing his world to stop spinning. There was a tornado in his head, whipping up stray thoughts and feelings and slamming them painfully into each other. He loved her. He’d told her he loved her. She’d said she loved him and he’d been ready to fall at her feet in gratitude. But now she was gone, and he didn’t know if she was coming back.
He sank his head into his hands and closed his eyes, swallowing the absurd tears that crouched like traitors in his throat. He hadn’t cried since he’d lost Charlie and he wasn’t about to start now. He had to get control of himself, tamp down on his feelings a little longer. He had to give himself room to maneuver, because he wasn’t going down without a fight. Not this time.
Eventually, after several deep breaths, he raised his head and pushed himself to his feet, picking up her mug and carrying it into the kitchen. It was dark outside and the bright lights reflected back at him on the black windows. He stared at his shadowy reflection, surprised to see the world looking so normal when he knew it was upside-down and spinning on a crooked axis.
What had happened? What did her silent flight mean? Was that it? Was it all over? Or was she just stepping back, unwilling to take things further while Matt was still in the picture? Her parting look had been miserable and confused, and it haunted him longer than the taste of her lips or the soft feel of her hair running through his fingers. He wished he’d gone after her and pulled her back into his arms. But the hard band of gold around her finger had shocked him too much, bringing home the truth of the situation like nothing else. In the past they’d flirted with the regulations, but now they were dallying with something much more profound. Where once their careers had been at stake, now they were toying with other people’s lives and happiness. Laura had already paid the price of his self-deception, and if Sam chose it, Matt would pay a higher price still.
The idea shamed him. Sam Carter was not the kind of woman to cheat on her husband and he was not the kind of man to steal another man's wife. And yet when they were together… He’d never felt anything so powerful. Like a crucible, their four year estrangement had scorched the chaff from their relationship until all that remained was the granite-hard, immovable, relentless attraction. Their working relationship was defunct, their military ranks were stripped away, and their pretence at platonic friendship was exposed as a sham. All that remained was a deep love, and a powerful physical and emotional attraction that grew more compelling each moment they spent together.
He turned away from his reflection and stared across the empty kitchen towards the phone. He wanted to call her, to understand what had happened between them and to ease his cold fear that instead of a beginning it had been an ending. But he stopped before he reached the phone. How could he call her with Matt there? He couldn’t talk to Matt when he could still taste Sam on his lips. He groaned softly, a mixture of frustration and hunger. Just the memory of her was enough to stir him. Thwarted desire flowed restlessly through his body, mingling with anxiety and making him jittery. He wanted her. God, he wanted her! Her heated kisses invaded his mind unbidden, and his body responded sharply to the memory until he slammed his fist hard against the kitchen counter.
Not now. Not like this. He wouldn’t reduce it - or her - to a mere object of lust. What he felt for her was so much more than that. So very much more.
He stalked out of the kitchen, past the phone and towards the bedroom. Methodically he began stripping off his clothes. He had to lose this energy somehow. And so he slung on his running gear and headed for the front door. He didn’t care that it was dark and cold outside, he only wanted to feel the hard beat of the pavement beneath his feet as he sweated out his frustrations and fears.
He loved her.
She loved him.
But when had that ever been enough?
***
Matt woke early to the soft sound of sobbing. Sitting up in bed with a thumping heart he knew instantly that he was alone and felt a cold flush of fear as he flung on his bathrobe and dashed out of the room.
He’d hardly ever seen Sam crying, she hated any outward show of weakness. But he found her curled up in the corner of the sofa with a box of Kleenex next to her, and - of all things - their wedding album open on her lap. She had a screwed up tissue pressed against her nose as she turned the pages, and was oblivious to his presence as she wept. Scattered around her were a hundred other photos, of holidays they’d shared, parties, Christmases… He stared at them in astonishment and concern. What the hell had the bastards done to her?
"Sam, honey?" Her head jolted up guiltily. But she said nothing, just blinked tears down her cheeks. "What’s going on?"
She shook her head and pulled another tissue from the box, wiping at her eyes. "I’m sorry," she whispered. "I didn’t mean to wake you."
"It’s okay," he assured her, picking his way through the photos towards the sofa. "What’s the matter, sweetheart? What’s going on?"
"Nothing."
Manifestly, it was a lie. He hated when she lied to him. "Nothing? Come on… Why all the pictures?"
She closed the wedding album slowly, the heavy pages thumping dully together. "Do you love me?" she asked softly, staring at the leather-bound cover of the book.
"Honey, of course I do!" He was by her side on the sofa in an instant, pushing scattered photos out of his way. "Why do you even ask?"
She shook her head again, dabbing at her eyes with a wad of Kleenex. "I don’t deserve you. You’re too good for me."
Pulling her into his arms, he stroked her hair. "Don’t be silly. Of course I’m not." But she leaned against him stiffly, resisting the comfort he was trying to offer, and after a moment she pulled away. He watched her in frustration. "Sam, tell me what’s going on. Please. What happened? Did that…that bastard do something to you? Please, just tell me. Let me help you."
"I can’t," she sobbed, breaking down again and reaching for another tissue. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."
It wasn’t good enough. Grabbing her shoulders, he turned her to face him. "You can," he insisted. "You can tell me anything. I swear, it won’t go any further than me. Whatever national security bullshit is involved. Please Sam, I love you - tell me what’s going on!"
He could tell she was struggling to control her tears, forcing herself back in line. She looked frightened and his fingers tightened on her shoulders. Nodding, she found her voice, still wiping at her face as she cleared her throat and tried again to speak. "I…," she began haltingly, "he just made me look at my life again. Reassess."
"This guy who abducted you?" That sounded odd. He gave a humorless laugh. "What was he, a shrink?"
There was a silver flash of anger in her blue eyes. "Something like that."
Glancing around at the photos he saw their entire marriage scattered around him and a sick kind of realization dawned. Was it him? Was it their marriage she was reassessing? He looked back at her and saw her watching him with painful honesty. She had always been a bad liar. "Is it me?" he asked in a sinking voice.
She blinked her wide eyes and they filled with tears. "No, it’s me."
He stared, feeling the world beneath him begin to cant. "I don’t understand." What was she saying? "Sam, I love you. Whatever this is, we can face it together. We’re a team, right? You and me? You know that, don’t you?"
Nodding, her hands fell to her lap and her tears flowed unchecked. "I know. I know that."
He was at sea with all this emotion. It was a side of her he’d only occasionally seen. Rarely did she succumb to tears, and never in this kind of inconsolable flood. It made him nervous and uneasy. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled her back into his arms and this time she didn’t resist. She didn’t hold him either, just sank her head against his shoulder and wept as though her heart had broken. All he could do was hold her, steadying her with his presence as he murmured soothing words into her ear. "It’s gonna be okay. Everything’s gonna be okay. I love you and I’m right here. I’m right here, Sam. We’ll get through this together."
But all she did was cry harder. It wasn’t like her. It wasn’t like her at all. And it scared him to death.
***
Chapter 14
The park hung cold and still in the early grip of winter, a few remaining leaves clinging valiantly to black branches stenciled against an opal sky. A few children played, their shouts loud and brittle in the cold air.
Jack shivered as he waited, half in cold and half in nervous anticipation. She’d sounded tense when she’d called, her voice weary and flat. "Meet me in the park," she’d said. The one outside her old house, on the other side of town from the home she shared with Matt. He’d asked if she was okay, but her clipped "I can’t talk," had been answer enough. She sounded as strung out as he felt, stretched thin by impossible choices.
And so he waited in trepidation, eager to see her but afraid of what she would say. In his fond imaginings she’d fall into his arms and tell him that she’d left Matt, that she’d never loved Matt, and that her heart had always been his. But he already knew that wasn’t true. She had loved Matt. He knew her, and he knew that Sam Carter would never marry a man she didn’t love - it was simply beyond her to take vows she didn’t intend to keep. And he’d heard her say those vows, heard her promise to love Matt Hutchinson until the end of her days.
The memory made him shiver from a deeper cold. She’d looked so beautiful and happy and unreachable. He deserved a medal for making it through the ceremony alive; death by staff-weapon would have been less painful. But even then he’d known, somehow, that he was still in her heart. She’d given him a look as she’d passed by on the arm of her father, a look that had cut like regret. And although it had haunted him for years, now, as he stood in the still cold of the winter park, he realized that he was clinging to that look as the foundation of all his hopes. She’d felt regret. And when she’d kissed him last night he’d tasted her desire. And she’d said she still loved him. Regret, desire and love - they were a potent combination. They had to count for something. She couldn’t just ignore them.
The air stirred. He dug his hands deeper into his pockets and wished he’d worn a heavier sweater. He could feel the cold seep into his bones, chilling him from the inside out. Cupping his hands over his mouth he blew on them to warm them, and it was then, over his knuckles, that he saw her walking along the path towards him. She was still limping slightly, but nonetheless walked with a determined stride. A long dark coat wrapped her elegantly against the cold, making her look sleek and exotic - like a Soviet spy secretly meeting her handler in an old Cold War thriller. Her face was certainly grim enough to fit the part. She slowed her pace and Jack lowered his cold hands. "Hey," he said cautiously, trying to gauge her intentions.
"Hey," came the unsmiling reply. "Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t get away."
He nodded, suddenly anxious. "I’m glad you called. After last night, I wasn’t sure what--"
"I know," she interrupted, and awkwardly slid her gaze away from his eyes. "I needed to talk to you about that."
The chill in his bones became more profound, rising from within, and his unease forced a nervous smile onto his lips. "That doesn’t sound too good." Sam flinched slightly and started walking. He fell in at her side, glanced once at her sober face and turned his eyes on the pathway ahead. Not good at all.
"I was awake all last night," she said after a moment. "Thinking. About you, and me. And Matt."
"Me too."
She flashed him a queasy glance and he braced himself for the worst. "Matt’s a good man," she said softly. "And I’m not the sort of person who can walk away from…from her duty. You know that. You’re the same. That’s why we never--" She cleared her throat and ran a shaky hand through her hair. "And that’s why I can’t--"
"Wait!" He had to stop her, had to keep the words from being spoken. "I…you," he fumbled, "we…don’t--"
"Just let me finish," she begged, scowling straight ahead and speaking as though she were reading a speech. Knowing her, that was probably exactly what she was doing. "As hard as this is, Jack - and, God, it’s hard - I don’t think I can walk away from my marriage just because I have regrets, and, uh, you know," she stumbled over the words, "an itch to scratch."
If she carried on speaking, Jack didn’t hear. All he could hear was the blood pulsing in his ears and the echo of her words…’regrets and an itch to scratch’. An itch? That was all he was? His throat tightened and something burned behind his eyes as he stared at the pale path; it seemed to be swimming away from him. But he refused to let it, refused to let anything get away from him. He slammed down as many barriers as he could, isolating the pain in his chest and detaching it from his mind. It was a well-honed procedure; emotional detachment had kept him alive a hundred times or more.
"…can be friends but I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to see each other again. At least, not for a while."
Her words crept back into his awareness, feebly quarantined behind his hasty barricade. It was over, he realized numbly. She was ending it. Again. Why the hell was he even surprised? He should have known better. He should have run the moment he’d seen her standing there on Matt’s arm in the middle of that tacky Florida hotel. He should have spared himself the grief.
A sprinkling of hatred scattered over his heart, turning paralyzing loss into something obscenely animate. Anger let him breathe; it clutched together the shreds of his self-esteem. But lost in the back of his mind he knew that it was fictitious; he’d tried hating her for four long years and it had never worked. But for now he didn’t care. Hatred, even fictitious hatred, gave him something to hold onto in the storm, it provided the illusion of control over his tumultuous emotions.
"Jack?" She’d stopped walking, and like an anchor she dragged him to a reluctant halt. "Say something."
The words tumbled over themselves to get out, everyone of them treacherous. Don’t do this. You don’t know how much I love you. This can work, this can be good. It can be great! And it’s all I have left. Don’t leave me behind, Sam. Please don’t desert me. But he refused to let a single, pathetic plea past his lips - he’d preserve what dignity he had left. So he just looked at her, hating her for the power she held over him. Hating her for destroying all his hopes. Hating her for looking so miserable, so utterly distraut, that he had to stop himself from reaching out and comforting her. Love and hate; never had they been so closely entwined in his heart.
Her eyes filled with tears as their gazes clashed. "I’m sorry," she whispered, pulling a tissue from her pocket and wiping at her eyes. "I’m so sorry, Jack. I do love you. I just can’t--"
It was the proverbial straw. ‘I do love you.’ How could she say that? How could she torture him with that? The impossible tension between love and hate shattered his control and he felt hot tears swamp his eyes, misery rising like a tide in his throat. He was gonna lose it, right there in front of her. And that was not an option. Turning savagely away he swiped a hand over his eyes and stalked away from her. He wouldn’t run, although it was an effort of will to retain at least that shred of dignity.
"Jack!" she called, her voice breaking over his name. "Oh god, please don’t go like this…"
He lengthened his stride, his fingers balled into fists as he swerved off the path and across the grass towards his car parked on the street beyond. It looked like salvation. If he could just get away from her before he collapsed, before the final defeat after ten years of loving her against all the odds crushed him beneath its weight.
"Jack, wait!" Damn it! She was coming after him. But he was almost at his car. If he could just get there, just get away from her before-- She grabbed his arm. "Jack, please…"
"Don’t!" He wrenched his arm out of her grip with such force that she stumbled. Anger raged beneath his paper-thin control, his muscles bunched angrily and his eyes spat fire. She shrank away from him, eyes wide. God only knew what she saw in his face, but he couldn’t control it anymore. The love and hate were one, a roiling mix of emotion about to erupt and destroy anything it touched. He didn’t want that to be her. Without another word he turned and walked away.
This time she didn’t follow him.
***
He left with a screech of tires that shattered the still afternoon and set disapproving mothers tutting as they shepherded their young children into the park. But Sam paid no attention, her blank gaze was fixed on his vanishing tail lights and her inner eye saw only his face. His devastated face would haunt her forever with its silent accusation. You lied to me, his eyes had said. You abandoned me, betrayed me, hurt me. How could you? How could you do it again?
Tears came, her constant companion over the last twenty-four hours. She felt as though she’d cried a lifetime since that incandescent moment when her lips had found his and a decade of frustration had melted, just for an instant, into joy. If only she could have lived in that moment forever, where everything had been clear and pure and right.
But reality was none of those things, it was muddy and dirty and ambiguous. And she’d had to choose - desire versus duty, passion versus honor, betrayal versus fidelity. When it came down to basics, the choice had been easy. She couldn’t walk away from Matt. She had never, not once in her life, abandoned her duty - not to her father, not to the Air Force and not to her husband. And she wouldn’t start now. The guilt would have eaten her alive, destroying Jack along with her. They’d have rotted together in a bed of lust, remorse and shame. That was why she’d never come close to breaching the regulations when they’d served together, and that was why she couldn’t betray her husband now.
But the air was thin on the moral high-ground, and her tears were shredding her shallow breaths as she walked on shaking legs towards to the closest bench. She sat and pressed her head into her hands, tears making her cheeks cold and slick in the winter air. All she could see was his face, so hurt. So deeply hurt. His eyes had been molten with resentment when he’d turned away from her - silent, wounded and betrayed.
If only he’d spoken! Shouted and raged at her. If only he’d damned her as a deceitful, heartless, treacherous bitch. She could have handled that, she would have welcomed it and accepted it as well deserved. But he’d said nothing, torturing her with his dark, forsaken eyes. She knew him too well to draw comfort from his silence - Jack O’Neill was like an ocean becalmed, mirror-smooth on the surface but churning with powerful tides beneath. And the more he felt, the less he revealed. No, his silence spoke louder than any angry rant - he would never forgive her this final betrayal. But even now, when his forgiveness could mean nothing, she still felt ill knowing that she had poisoned his love into hatred.
"I’m sorry," she whispered into her hands, vainly wishing the words into his heart. "I love you. I love you so much. And I’m so, so sorry."
***
Chapter 15
"So," Matt said, happily watching her walk into the kitchen, "first day back, huh?"
"Yeah. At last." Sam smiled, although he thought she still looked wan as she reached for the coffee. She hadn’t been sleeping well these past couple of weeks.
Taking the mug from her hands, he shooed her towards a chair. "You’re sure you’re okay? I know you haven’t been sleeping, and the doctor said if you weren’t feeling a hundred percent you could--"
"I’m fine," she assured him. "Really. This is what I need. I need something to take my mind off…things."
"Okay," he agreed, setting her coffee in front of her and heading off in search of the Cheerios. "If you’re sure. I just don’t want you getting too tired. You’ve been exhausted the past couple of weeks and I--"
"Matt?"
He looked over his shoulder as he pulled the Cheerios from the cupboard. "Yeah?"
"Thanks."
He smiled at her earnest expression. "What for?"
"For putting up with me. I know I’ve been difficult to live with."
"Oh, that," he laughed. "Well, I do what I can." A frown fluttered over her face as he crossed the room towards her. "Hey," he said, tilting her chin up towards him and kissing her softly on the lips. "I love you."
She nodded, but her eyes glistened with tears. Again. She was still so emotionally vulnerable, so unusually open with her feelings that he couldn’t help worrying. Sam had always been so strong, so in control of herself and the world around her. He wondered if she was suffering from some kind of post-traumatic depression. "Everything’s going to be okay," he told her, running a soothing thumb over her cheek. "You’re going to be okay."
Nodding, she turned away and blinked back the tears. "I’m sorry," she muttered, pulling in a deep breath and obviously trying to shake off her melancholy mood. "So, what are you doing today?"
Taking a seat opposite her, he sipped at his coffee and watched her start to eat. "I’ve got a meeting this afternoon," he said. "But I’m gonna skip out if it runs late. I’ll be home by seven."
Another faint smile crossed her lips. "Thanks."
"Anytime. You want to get Chinese tonight, to celebrate your first day back?"
"Sounds good," she said, glancing at her watch. "Talking of which, I need to go."
"You’ve hardly touched your breakfast," he objected.
"Don’t fuss."
"I’m just worried--"
"I’m fine," she snapped, melancholy turning to irritation as it had so often the past couple of weeks. And then, with another deep, controlling breath, she sighed. "I’m sorry. I’ll get something at work, okay?"
He got up and gave her a brief, warm hug. He wished it could make everything right. "Make sure you do, hon."
She hugged him back, but it was only a swift squeeze of her arms before she turned to go. "See you about seven."
"Don’t work too hard!"
She nodded and grabbed her keys off the counter. "You know me."
He just rolled his eyes, but his humor faded as she left the room and he sank back into his chair full of worry. She still wasn’t herself - irritable, restless, and over-emotional. It wasn’t Sam. And he didn’t have a clue how to help her.
***
Daniel could feel the meaning of the words hovering like distant birds, mere specks against the brilliance of the sun. If he could just focus a little more, just make the right connections, he knew that the writing in front him would resolve before his eyes into something legible and meaningful. The solution was just out of reach, just a heartbeat away, if he could only--
"Daniel?"
The voice from the door scattered his thoughts and he couldn’t help his involuntary tut of irritation. "What?" he snapped, looking up. "Oh! Jack."
"Am I interrupting?"
Daniel nodded. "Yes, actually. But that’s…that’s… Why are you here?"
With a cautious glance over his shoulder, Jack slid into Daniel’s office and closed the door. "Came to see Taylor." He glanced around the room, absorbing everything. "You got a bigger office."
"It’s one of the perks," Daniel agreed, sitting back in his chair and watching his friend curiously. He was out of uniform, and the black sweater and jacket seemed to accentuate the gray in his hair. He looked tired. "So, Jack, what’s going on?"
Dark eyes turned and briefly met his before sliding away. "I, uh, told Taylor I couldn’t take the advisory position."
Well that was news! "Why not?"
Jack shrugged. "I’m leaving town. Selling the house."
Okay. Something was obviously up. "That’s a little…sudden. Isn’t it? I was looking forward to working with you again."
Jack laughed darkly. "Yeah, right."
"And what does that mean?"
"Oh, come on, you never liked working with me!"
"I did."
"Did not."
"Did."
"Not."
"I--" Frustrated to have been drawn off track Daniel stopped, drew breath and said, "You didn’t answer my question."
"I can’t remember your question."
"Why are you leaving town?"
Jack shrugged, thrusting his hands deep into his pocket and toeing the floor self-consciously with his the tip of his boot. "Because I can’t stay."
He didn’t really need to say more. The doleful expression on his tired face, the slumped shoulders and the guarded, careful eyes told Daniel everything he needed to know. But he assumed Jack had come here for a reason, even if he would never acknowledge it to himself. Daniel guessed his friend wanted - needed - to talk. He took a deep breath, "Is it Sam?"
For a moment Jack closed his eyes, and then nodded. "I’m an idiot."
"Not always."
A smile played along Jack’s lips, but it was too weak to linger long. "She made the right choice," he said sadly. "I can’t blame her for that."
"For what it’s worth, I know she cares about you," Daniel offered. "Deeply."
"Yeah," Jack nodded, giving him a tight smile. "Just not enough." There was no answer to that, and so Daniel chose to remain silent. Jack was the last person to tolerate platitudes and, in his experience, silence was often the most useful kind of conversation. "I guess," Jack carried on quietly, "it was never going to happen. I mean, if it was going to happen it would have been years ago, right? Not now. It’s too late now."
"I’m sorry."
"Yeah, me too." Clearing his throat, Jack looked up and Daniel saw the iron resolve in his face. A lesser man would be crushed, but Jack O’Neill soldiered on. Daniel suspected it was the only way he knew how. "Come over some time, we’ll hang out. I’ll be around until the house is sold."
Daniel nodded. "I’ll bring the beer."
That vague smile touched is lips again, but left his eyes well-alone. "And listen, if you see Sam…" He frowned and dug a hand back into his pocket, pulling out a folded envelope. For a moment he toyed with it, tapping it against his fingers as if making a final decision. And then, resolutely, he offered it to Daniel. "Would you give her this?"
Daniel took the envelope cautiously, wondering what he was getting himself into. "What is it?"
Jack’s eyes met his, as dark and inscrutable as a midnight ocean. "It’s goodbye."
He looked down at the envelope, creamy-white with ‘Sam’ scrawled across the front in Jack’s bold handwriting. And his heart ached for his friend, for both of them. "I’ll give it to her."
"Thank you." Daniel glanced up, words of sympathy brimming on his lips, but Jack stopped him with a raised hand. "Don’t," he warned. "Nothing more to say."
With a sigh, Daniel nodded. That was Jack’s way, it always had been - the way of the warrior crap that had driven Sam nuts.
"Don’t forget the beer," Jack reminded him, turning with a tight smile towards the door. "I’ll get the snacks."
Daniel laughed, torn between admiration and pity. "It’s a date."
And with that Jack was gone, slipping out of his office and out of the SGC for the final time. Daniel sighed, glanced down at his dusty translation and pushed it aside. He wasn’t in the mood for the past, there were enough problems in the present without digging around for more. Picking up the envelope, he stuck it into his pocket and went to look for Sam. Today was her first day back, and he doubted very much that Jack’s letter would make it a happy one.
***
She’d only been away three weeks, but still her office had a strangely alien feel about it. Familiar, yet new, as if everything was slightly different. The dregs of coffee in the mug on her desk were dry, her papers piled where she’d left them before she’d gone home that fateful evening. It was as if her office still existed in her old life, the life when Jack had been bright on the horizon and her world had been full of impossible hopes. But now everything was dark, shadowed by the choice she’d made and the pain she’d inflicted upon him and upon herself. She wondered if she’d live the rest of her life in this gray half-light of misery. She wondered if she would ever feel like herself again, ever smile or laugh. She wondered if she would ever care enough to try.
She sighed heavily, dropping her bag onto the desk and shaking her head to try and clear the gloomy cobwebs. Focus. She had to focus on the job. It had pulled her through countless times before, and she was counting on it doing so again. The job, her work - it was the single constant in her life, the one thing she didn’t screw up on a regular basis. Work, like the mountain itself, would bury her grief until she could face the world without tears.
She sat down and switched on her PC, leafing through the papers in her in-box. There was nothing urgent - obviously someone had dealt with the important things while she’d been away. Taylor, she guessed. Her stomach grumbled and she remembered Matt’s entreaty for her to eat. He was right, she’d never concentrate if she didn’t eat. But her appetite had been feeble since it had happened… Not since her abduction, as Matt thought, but since her final meeting with Jack. Her stomach was tied into a knot that refused to ease and there seemed no room for food. But nonetheless she would try. One thing her eight years in the field had told her was to eat when you could, not necessarily when you were hungry.
Leaving her PC to boot up, she headed out of her office and towards the canteen. She passed a number of familiar faces and nodded her thanks to their greetings, but the smile on her lips felt forced and every corridor of the SGC seemed to remind her of him. Of Jack.
It was ridiculous. He hadn’t worked there for four years, but it was as if those four years had been washed away and all she could remember was how it used to be on SG-1 - the banter, the laughter, the loyalty. Back in those days she’d never thought it would end like this, never imagined a time when she and Jack would be strangers. Those golden days had seemed immortal. But now they were long gone and so was Jack. Gone forever, as good as dead. Worse than dead, because she’d driven him away with anger in his heart.
She felt the familiar bulk of tears in her throat and swallowed hard. She would not, under any circumstances, cry at work. Not over this. Angry at herself, she pushed open the door to the cafeteria and forced herself to choose breakfast. She would eat, she would work, and she would not succumb to the incapacitating pain.
Deliberately she did not look at Jack’s usual table in the corner of the room, deliberately she passed by the Jello-O and the cake. Deliberately she piled a Danish and an orange juice onto her tray and paid for them without comment. Deliberately she took the food back to her lab, passing by Jack’s old office without looking at the door, and deliberately she stepped inside and--
Saw Daniel.
"Hey," he said, rising from the chair where he’d been waiting. "Good to see you back."
She forced a smile. "Daniel. How are you?"
"Me? I’m good," he said, watching her with an unsettling intensity. "How are you?"
"Fine," she lied, not looking at him as she slipped around her desk and sat down.
Daniel sat too. "How are the feet?" he asked mildly, but his scrutiny didn’t diminish and she felt as though he were turning her inside out with his sharp, blue gaze.
"Fine," she said, concentrating on her breakfast.
He didn’t say more, but she could feel his eyes peeling her as she took a mouthful of pastry and washed it down with a slurp of juice. She wasn’t hungry and the food sat heavily, making her queasy and irritable. "Was there something you wanted?"
His eyebrows rose at her uncharacteristic tone. "Ah, no, not really."
She glared at the Danish, more angry with herself and her black mood than with him. She was pondering what else to say, fighting shy of an apology for her temper, when he spoke again. "I saw Jack this morning."
The world crystallized into vivid, abstract lines of shock, and a chill ran up her spine, tightening the skin on her scalp. Jack. He’d seen Jack? He was here on base? Blood rushed to her face and she had to work a bead of moisture into her mouth before she could ask, "How is he?"
"He seemed…he seemed unhappy," Daniel replied honestly, and his words tightened the knot in her throat. She didn’t know what to say, how much Daniel knew about what had and hadn’t happened-- "He told me," Daniel said in answer to her unspoken question. "About you and him. I’m sorry."
Sam’s blush deepened with shame but she forced herself to raise her eyes to his. "What must you think of me?"
His smile was gentle, if sad. "I think you’re probably unhappy too."
"I don’t know how it got so screwed up," she said with a sigh. "I always tried to do the right thing."
"Maybe that’s the problem?"
She fixed him with a look. "Meaning?"
"Nothing," he replied, shaking his head as he back-tracked. "Um, Jack asked me to give you something," he said and reached into his pocket. "Here."
He was holding an envelope out towards her, and she took it with icy fingers. A letter. He’d written her a letter? "Thank you," she said softly, wishing she couldn’t feel him so intensely, just from the sight of her name written in his familiar hand. He’d sent her a letter? Why? What could he have to say to her now? She was frantic to read it, but terrified at the thought of what it might contain. Perhaps the anger she’d seen blazing in his eyes as he’d stormed out of her life? She stared until the black ink seemed to run before her eyes and in the distance she heard Daniel clear his throat.
"I’ll catch up with you later."
She looked up, surprised to see him already standing by the door. "Thank you."
"If you want to talk…?" He winced awkwardly and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Well, you know where I am."
She didn’t answer, her eyes had returned to the thick paper of the envelope and the bold sweep of her name. Jack wrote like he spoke, blunt and to the point. Whatever the letter contained, she had no doubt it would pierce her right to the heart. And so the one thing she knew for sure was that she wouldn’t be reading it at the SGC.
With rigid self-control she pulled open the top drawer of her desk and slipped the letter inside. Later. She’d read it later, at home, where she could give way to the emotions it would provoke far from prying eyes.
The rest of the day passed in an agony of suspense as the hands on the clock crawled around the dial. All she could think of was her letter and what it might say and whether it would crush what remained of her heart. From time to time she pulled it out, fingering the heavy paper and devouring the sight of her name written in his writing. Pathetic. But she couldn’t help it - the letter represented her last contact with him, and for that alone it was precious.
At last the hour crept towards four-thirty and she figured she could skip out without comment. It was her first day back, after all, so she could take a little leeway. With a fluttering heart she closed down her computer and stacked her papers back into her in-tray. She added a couple of things to her ‘To Do’ list for the morning and then sat back and stared at her empty desk. Now was the time, and she found that as it drew nearer her anticipation was transforming slowly into fear. What would the letter say? He must hate her for what she did at least as much as she hated herself - did she really want to read it? But, in all honor, could she avoid it? Whatever he had to say to her, she was honour-bound to hear it. And so, with a liquid stomach, she pulled the letter from her desk and slipped it into her pocket. Just the half-hour drive home and all would be revealed. For better or for worse.
But the half-hour turned inexorably into an hour, and longer, as traffic snarled up on the freeway. Sam cursed softly at the crawling traffic, dragged to a halt by ghoulish rubber-neckers eyeballing the three-car wreck on the other side of the road. And all the time the letter called to her and her stomach churned queasily around the Danish that had sat leaden in her gut all day. She was half-tempted to just rip open the envelope in the car, but was afraid she might find herself having to drive through more tears. And so she waited. And waited. And at last she was off the freeway and skimming through the empty streets towards home.
But it was almost six before she pulled into the driveway and she knew Matt would he home in an hour. Unable to wait a moment longer, she slammed out of her car and into the house abandoning her bag and coat on the nearest chair as she pulled the letter from her pocket and walked into the bedroom.
Sitting on the bed she stared at it again, turning the envelope over and lifting it to her nose as if she could detect his scent on the paper. Her mouth was dry and her hands were cold as she slowly slid her finger beneath the seal and opened the letter. It was a small, single sheet of paper as creamy as the envelope and closely written in his bold, firm writing. Her eyes scanned the letter, picking out words - ‘my fault’, ‘idiot’, ‘I loved you’ - trying to take it all in at once and making sense of none of it. Her hands were shaking and her breathing short and sharp as she stared at the liquid writing, willing it to stay still so she could make sense of it. "For God’s sake," she hissed aloud, crushing her eyes shut and sucking in a deep breath. "Get a grip."
Blowing out a sigh, she made herself read slowly and carefully from the top.
Dear Sam
I know you said we shouldn’t keep in touch - and you’re right - but I couldn’t leave things like we did in the park the other day.
I was a jerk walking off like that and I’m sorry. You needed me to understand and I turned my back on you. I don’t handle that kind of situation well - I guess you knew that. But I want you to know that I do understand, and that I think you made the right choice. Matt’s a good man and can offer you way more than I can. And maybe one day I’ll be big enough to be happy for you. But not today - sorry.
I should never have come back to the Springs and I should never have let things go so far that afternoon at my place. I was an idiot. I was an idiot to tell you that I loved you, I was an idiot to kiss you and I was an even bigger idiot to think it had changed anything. But I did. I thought it had changed everything. What can I say? You always were smarter than me.
I’ll be out of the Springs for good pretty soon, but before I go you need to know that I don’t blame you for how things ended between us. I shouldn’t have expected anything different from ‘Major Samantha Carter’ - you’ve always put honor and duty first. It’s who you are.
And you will always have my respect for that, if nothing more.
Faithfully yours,
Jack
Sam had to swallow hard after she’d finished reading. It wasn’t what she’d been expecting. There was anger there, for sure, barely hidden beneath the surface. But there was more self-recrimination than she’d expected. He blamed himself? She was the one who’d dragged him down to the Springs, she was the one who had finally given in and kissed him! She was the one who’d told him that she loved him, and then the very next day told him that she couldn’t see him again. She was the one who had married a man she cared for dearly while she simmered with an unresolved passion for another. She was the one who had screwed up.
She read his words again, the restrained anger and hurt scratching across her heart like fingers on a chalkboard. ‘You will always have my respect, if nothing more.’ Nothing more. She didn’t want to damn him to a lifetime of unrequited love, but the thought that he could feel nothing for her but respect made her sick. Because she knew that she would always love him. Always.
Just thinking about it made her chest clench painfully. She loved him and she’d hurt him and she missed him. Helplessly she pushed herself to her feet and across the room towards the dresser where she kept her secret momentos. She pulled out the photos and his sweater - the one she’d borrowed and would now never return. Pressing her cheek against the soft fabric she closed her eyes and let her tears come. Again. How long would this go on? How long would she be hovering on the edge of this emotional pit? Sinking back onto the bed, his sweater over her lap, she picked up the photos and pored over them, savoring the memories they aroused like a starving woman remembering a feast. That golden day on the beach was where it all began - where the embers of their relationship had flared back into life and she’d begun to realize that he had never left her heart at all. It seemed like an age ago, a fragile moment where the world had been full of possibilities. But now they were all dashed against reality and against her resolute duty. He’d been right about her - she had always put duty and honor first. Like it or not, it was who she was.
But sitting there, missing him so much her lungs burned, she wondered what kind of person it had made her. Had she been so intent on putting duty and honor before everything that she’d lost sight of what was important? If she’d bent the regulations all those years ago, would she be sitting here now as miserable as sin? Would she have broken Jack’s heart? Would her own heart be betraying the love of her husband with each painful beat?
Was Matt paying the price for her rigid adherence to duty? Yes she loved him, but not with the passion she felt for Jack. She never had. Matt had been a refuge from her wild feelings for the colonel, and she’d fooled herself into thinking that safety was what she wanted. But it never was, and although every chance of a life with Jack was over she knew that Matt could never fill the hole he had left in her heart. All she could hope for now was that her regrets wouldn’t turn into a resentment. Because Matt, of all of them, did not deserve the pain she had brought down on herself and the men who loved her.
How long she sat there, staring at the photos and the letter, she didn’t really know. But eventually she was startled from her thoughts by the sound of a key in the lock swiftly followed by Matt’s cheery, "Hello!"
With a thundering heart she snatched up the letter, photos and sweater and pushed them to the back of the drawer. She wiped her hands over her face, hoping that her eyes weren’t too puffy from tears, and was just about to call out when she saw that one of the photos - her favorite, where they were staring into each other’s eyes and she was holding his sunglasses - had escaped her panic. Snatching it up, she slipped it hurriedly into her side table as Matt’s footsteps clumped down the corridor.
"In here," she said, running nervous hands through her hair. "I’m just changing."
Matt opened the door. "Hey," he said, smiling at her as he entered. "How was the first day back?"
"Oh, you know," she lied, "fine. Boring."
He held out his arms to her. "I missed you. Come here."
And so she did, holding him and trying to calm her racing, confused and aching heart. Everything was wrong. Everything was backwards.
The world was upside-down.
***
Chapter 16
At last things were easing up, Matt thought, as he watched Sam back her Volvo out of the driveway and head into the base. She’d been back at work for a month now and although she was still quiet and withdrawn, at least some of her usual vivacity was breaching the surface again. And last night they’d made love for the first time in…well, a long time. He felt as though they’d turned a corner, and that if he just hung in there the Sam he married would break through the shroud that had enveloped her since her abduction.
He smiled, tipped the remains of his coffee into the sink, and headed into his home-office to start work. It was one of the advantages of the job that, when the mood struck, he could decide to work from home. And today was one of those days. He had a couple of proposals to read through, some sales figures to chase and--
Bleep. Bleep-bleep. Bleep-bleep-bleep.
His cell started ringing bang-on eight o’clock and he cursed under his breath. Communications technology, he sometimes thought, was the curse of the modern world. You could spend all day communicating and never get a damn thing done! He answered the call grudgingly, opening his briefcase at the same time and pulling out the stack of proposals he’d brought home the night before. "Matt Hutchinson," he said shortly.
There was a pause before a female voice said, "Matt? Hi. It’s Laura Hartstone."
"Laura," he smiled, "great to hear from you! How’s the research going?"
"Fine. Thank you, it’s going well." But she sounded very tense for an author who’s project was going well and his suspicion was instantly aroused. "What’s up Laura? Anything I should know about?"
There was another long pause before she spoke again. And when she did her voice trembled slightly. "Actually there is something I have to tell you," she said. Matt grimaced and tried not to imagine her $30,000 advance disappearing down the toilet. "But it’s not about the book."
He frowned, pushing aside the stack of papers and leaning back into his reclining chair. "What then?"
"It’s… I’m sorry, but it’s about your wife. Samantha."
His heart stammered in confusion as a hundred incongruous images clashed in his mind - Sam had been in an accident, had been taken sick, had been abducted again! But why was Laura Hartstone calling him about it? She didn’t even know Sam. He shook the bewilderment from his head, "I don’t understand, what do you--"
"She’s having an affair."
The words slammed into him, and like a good left-hook he never saw them coming. "What?"
"She’s having an affair, with…with my ex-boyfriend. With Jack O’Neill. I’m sorry, I just thought you should know."
Matt was in free-fall and his only parachute was denial. "That’s bullshit. Who the hell do you think you are, making those kind of accusations? You don’t even know Sam and--"
"It’s true," came the faint voice down the line. "Ask her yourself. It started in Florida - that day they spent together on the beach. That’s why Jack went down to Colorado Springs, to be with her. But I think they were involved before, when they worked together."
Matt was shaking his head, refusing to accept the poisonous words. "You’re wrong. He was her commanding officer, that’s all. And…and Sam wouldn’t do something like that. She just wouldn’t."
"Look," Laura said, her tone sharpening, "if you don’t believe me, that’s fine. But I swear it’s the truth. Ask her yourself. Ask her to show you the photos they took on the beach."
He blinked. "What photos?"
"Just ask." She was silent again, and then, "Look, if it was me I’d want to know. But if I’m out of line, then I’m sorry. But I swear it’s the truth."
It couldn’t be the truth. It was impossible! He hung up the phone and stared out the window into the bright winter sky. Sam having an affair? No way. No way! O’Neill hadn’t even been in town until her abduction… Although, thinking about it, he had turned up pretty damn quick. And hadn’t he said something about having been in town already? Not that him being in town meant anything. It was a little odd that Sam hadn’t mentioned it, but maybe she hadn’t known?
And when was she supposed to have been having this affair? She was at work all day and hadn’t gone out for a single evening in weeks. There was the problem of her unusual emotionality, but that was easily explained by the trauma of her abduction. No, there was no way Sam was having an affair. He would know, she couldn’t hide something like that from him. No way. No way at all.
Determined to ignore the very idea, he pulled the pile of papers back in front of him and began to read from the top. But after only a few moments his nervous stomach was distracting him. What on earth could Laura Hartstone hope to achieve by making such an unfounded allegation? Why would she risk pissing-off her publisher? That didn’t make sense either.
But an affair…? He couldn’t believe it. But then he remembered her weeping over their wedding photos that night, shortly after she’d been returned to him. Been returned to him by Jack O’Neill who, now that he thought about it, had been acting mighty strange when he’d taken him down to see her in the mountain’s infirmary. She’d never talked about it, about what had happened or why she’d sat up all night looking at the photographic history of their relationship. But he remembered thinking it was odd at the time - what would their marriage have to do with some psycho who took her hostage?
Suddenly antsy, he stood up and started pacing around the small room. Could it be true? Could she have been considering leaving him? Could she still be considering it? Maybe he should just ask her, as Laura had suggested. Maybe he should call her now… But then he remembered her fragile state and knew that calling her out of the blue and accusing her of having an affair probably wasn’t a smart idea. Even at the best of times she’d rip his head off for that one.
Perhaps he’d just take a quick look through her things? See if he could find the photos Laura had mentioned. See if there was anything to make him take the accusations seriously. He didn’t expect there to be, but if he looked then his mind would be eased and he wouldn’t have to bother Sam with anything.
And he’d drop Laura Hartstone from his books faster than he could hit redial.
***
Fifth sat staring at the door to the small cell in which he’d been imprisoned since his surrender six weeks earlier. Outside he could hear footfalls and readied himself, rising slowly to his feet as the door opened.
The face that peered inside, before stepping fully into the room, was familiar, yet subtly different from the one he remembered. "Hello Samantha," he said, glancing over her shoulder at the heavily armed soldier who followed her.
She smiled. "Hello Fifth. Ready to go?"
He nodded. "The Asgard have been generous. They have forgiven me."
"Yes," she agreed. "They have."
"What about you, Samantha? Have you forgiven me?"
A flicker of pain crossed her features, and he realized that it was pain that had marked her face since their last meeting. "I have," she said, but there was sadness in her voice.
He looked at her closely, his mind whirring through his memories of her hidden secrets and trying to match them to the darkness he saw in her eyes. "You are unhappy," he said out loud. "Why?"
She shifted and uneasily glanced at the man standing behind her. "You can wait outside," she said.
"Colonel, I--"
"That’s an order Major."
With obvious reluctance the man withdrew and Samantha closed the door to the cell, turning back to look at Fifth. "I didn’t like what I saw," she admitted quietly. "I didn’t like the woman you showed me."
He was surprised by her candor. "And that makes you unhappy?"
She nodded. "I’m trying to be a better person. I guess I should thank you."
"I only showed you what you already knew," he told her, taking a step closer and delving into her eyes in pursuit of a truth he felt was hidden. "Tell me, Samantha, how are you trying to be a better person?"
She shrugged and flushed. "I’m… I’m not betraying my husband anymore."
Curious he took another step closer and she drew back a little, uneasy. "Do not be afraid," he assured her. "I will not enter your mind. I just…" He reached out his hand and lightly touched the side of her face, feeling a shimmer of emotion coursing into him. He felt her unhappiness, a deep and profound loss, and it dragged heavily through her weak, human mind. "How can you live like this?"
Her eyes were wide and determined. "I have no choice."
But he shook his head. "No. There is always a choice, isn’t there Samantha? Didn’t you teach me that? There is always a choice, if you are willing to pay the price."
"Colonel Carter?"
The voice, gruff and heavy, came from outside the cell and Samantha startled away from his touch. "Major?"
"The Asgard are waiting for us in the gate room, ma’am."
With a curt nod she turned back to Fifth. "It’s time."
He followed her silently from the room, his mind still full of her sadness. He wondered if he had done this to her. Had he forced her down the wrong path out of anger at her betrayal? Had he shown her a distorted image of her past? He felt the seeds of guilt germinating as he passed the endless gray doors of the humans’ Stargate complex, each one marking the passing of what little time he had left with her.
At last they stopped, Samantha passed a white card through a device on the wall and a large door opened into a vast room. He followed her inside and his eyes came to rest not on the huge Stargate looming above them, but on the small and delicate Asgard standing before it. "Welcome, Fifth," the Asgard said in his sing-song voice.
Fifth bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, Thor, for your patience."
"You are very young," Thor reminded him with a paternal sternness. "You have much to learn."
He glanced over at Samantha. "I do."
She smiled at him, an encouraging smile despite the clouds that hovered in her eyes. "We’ll see you again," she promised.
"I hope so, Samantha. And thank you." She just gave a short, tight nod as Thor’s small hand reached out to touch his arm.
"Come," the Asgard said. "The others are waiting."
With a surprising strength for someone so small, he led Fifth towards the ramp of the Stargate and the shimmering wormhole within. But Fifth walked with reluctant feet, still struggling to think of something more to say to Samantha, something that might put her on the path towards a happier future. He slowed, turning to look at her for the last time. "Samantha?" he said. "Be careful that you do not betray yourself. Your happiness is as important as theirs."
And with her surprised look fresh in his mind he felt the cold pull of the wormhole and knew that a new chapter of his life had begun.
***
Fifth’s parting words hovered in Sam’s mind for the rest of the day. In a strange way he knew the ins and outs of her messy life better than anyone, and during their last, brief contact she’d felt a definite connection. It was as if he could see into her heart more clearly than she could herself, which - let’s face it - wasn’t difficult.
Be careful that you do not betray yourself.
The words ran through her mind as she stepped out of the elevator and into the cold air of the parking lot. Winter had set in with a vengeance and the morning news had forecast snow this evening. She was glad she’d put her snow tires on a week ago. She jogged through the frigid air and slipped into her car, sparking the engine and waiting for the heating to come on before she started driving.
Be careful that you do not betray yourself. Your happiness is as important as theirs.
But was it that easy? Could she be true to herself and true to the men she loved? Wasn’t it more important to stay true to her word? That at least was objective, even if it meant that her own happiness was sacrificed in the short term. But wouldn’t the ‘right thing’ have it’s own rewards eventually?
She shook her head at the imponderable questions and shifted the car into reverse. The fact was, she’d made her choice and was doing her best to live with it as well as she could. Matt, at least, seemed happy and she had vowed that she would be happy too. She would be happy. They’d even talked, again, of starting a family. Maybe this year. It would have to be soon, she knew, because otherwise it would be too late. Her children would be her happiness, the family she had long postponed would fill her life.
The streets were dark as she sped through the early evening traffic, but there were no delays and she was home in less than half an hour. Always a good start to the evening. Matt’s car was in the drive as she pulled up, but she was surprised to see the house in darkness.
Her natural instinct to be suspicious of the unusual sent a practiced bolt of adrenaline rushing through her as she climbed out of the car and headed up to the front door. It was locked and nothing seemed out of place as she turned the key and flicked on the light. "Hello?" she called into the silent house. "Matt?"
There was no answer. With a deepening unease she closed the door and made her way into the living room. She couldn’t see much in the dim light from the hall, so switched on a lamp sitting on one of the side tables.
"Matt!" She jumped with surprise to see him sitting there in the darkness, his blue eyes glistening and his face haggard. So concerned was she by his appearance that she didn’t notice what was strewn across the coffee table in front of him. "Matt, what’s wrong? Are you okay? My God, what’s happened?"
He looked up at her with ice floating in his eyes. "How could you do it?"
She blinked, all confusion. "Do what?"
"I can’t even look at you," he choked, turning away from her but not moving from the sofa.
And somewhere in the back of her mind Sam heard alarm bells ringing; her heart accelerated and she went cold. "I don’t know what--" And then she saw them, spilled across the table like blood at the scene of a crime. The photos, Jack’s sweater. His letter.
"You must have thought I was so stupid," Matt grated, and she was mortified to see tears in his eyes. "I mean…to keep these…these things here? In our bedroom! In our fucking bedroom!" He kicked his foot angrily against the table, scattering the photos until some fell on the floor.
Sam felt the blood drain from her cheeks. "Matt… Oh God, I’m so sorry. I never meant to--"
"Shut up!" he yelled, driving himself to his feet and stalking to the other side of the room. His shoulders were shaking and when he span back to her his face was wet with tears. "How long?" he hissed through gritted teeth. "How long were you…doing it?"
She shook her head as she answered, "No. You’re wrong. We weren’t-- Nothing happened, Matt. I swear, nothing happened."
"Fuck that!" he shouted, storming back to the table and snatching up Jack’s letter. "I read the goddamn letter, Sam. I can fucking read!"
Her head was in a whirl, the words in the letter spinning away from her. What had he written? She couldn’t remember. "I-- We never--"
"What? You never fucked him?" Matt snarled. "That supposed to make me feel better?"
"No, I--"
"You were having an affair!"
The accusation hung on the still air like a tolling bell. He was expecting - hoping - that she would deny it. But she couldn’t. In her heart, she knew he was right. In every way but the physical she had betrayed him.
His angry face turned as gray as ash. "How long?"
She didn’t know how to answer. How long had she loved Jack? She couldn’t tell him that. "I…I don’t know."
He crushed the letter in his hand and threw it back on the table. "Bullshit."
"Matt… Look, just listen to me will you?" He was swaying slightly where he stood, very pale, breathing fast and unevenly. He was scaring her. "Come on," she said quietly, moving towards a chair, "sit down. Let me…let try and explain."
Sparks flew from his eyes like fiery steel. "You have no right to even ask me to--"
"No," she agreed, keeping her tone as soft and even as she could. "I don’t. I don’t have any right, Matt. But I want you to understand what happened - and why I’m here now. With you."
He stared at her for a breathless moment, but she could see his anger fraying at the edges as he moved on stiff legs to the chair furthest from her and slowly sat. But not a single muscle relaxed. He said nothing, just stared at her until she started speaking.
"Jack and I have always been close," she said, willing her voice not to reveal more feeling than she should. "But we’ve never had any kind of…romantic relationship and --"
"He kissed you," Matt ground out. "He loves you."
Sam felt a blush heat her cheeks as she nodded, glancing down at the crumpled letter and remembering his words. "Yes," she admitted. "He kiss-- We kissed, once. And he told me he loved me."
Matt’s blue eyes were steady on her, awash with hurt and suspicion. "What did you tell him?"
Her heart catapulted into her throat at the blunt, pertinent question. "I…" Oh shit. "I…I--"
"Do you love him?" He ground out the words like corn through a mill, rough and gritty.
Slowly she found herself nodding. "Yes," she whispered, refusing to lie to him. "But I love you too. I’m not leaving you, Matt."
Tears leaked from his eyes. "Why not?"
"Because you’re my husband."
He stared at her and then looked away, wiping his hands over his face. Standing up he moved towards the kitchen. "That’s it?" he asked after a moment, his back turned. "Because I’m your husband?"
"Yes," she replied, uneasy with his dismissive tone. "And because I love you."
He nodded slightly and wiped a hand across his eyes again. When he spoke his voice was firmer, but edged with something sharp. "What if I wasn’t?"
"What?"
"What if I wasn’t your husband? Would you still be here?"
The question knocked her sideways - or rather, her instinctive answer did. No. It sprang out of her heart, guileless and pristine. No, I wouldn’t. I’d be with Jack. Her stomach plunged at the moment of self-revelation, dizzying her with doubt. How could she admit that to him? It was insane. Admitting it to herself made her sick to her stomach. So she lied. What choice did she have? "Yes, I would."
His head sank in relief, but he still didn’t turn around. Instead he walked into the kitchen and she could hear him rummaging around in one of the kitchen drawers. When he returned he held a trash bag which he wadded into a ball and threw at the coffee table. It landed with a soft thud amid the evidence of her treachery. "Get rid of it," he ordered.
The demand tore at her heart like nails. Get rid of it? Get rid of the few, meager momentos of Jack? It was all she had left of everything she was giving up for Matt. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t get rid of it. "Matt," she protested, "please don’t. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just--"
"If it doesn’t mean anything," he grated, "then put it in the trash."
She couldn’t. She couldn’t do it. Her mouth was dry, her throat tightening around sudden panic. "It’s all I have. Please don’t ask me to get rid of it. You read the letter - I’ll never see him again. He hates me now!" She bent down and picked up his sweater and one of the photos. "It’s all I have left…"
"Either it goes or I do."
"No. Matt, please--"
"It’s his stuff!" Matt yelled, kicking out at the side table and setting the lamp wobbling. Crazy shadows danced around the room, bouncing off his angry face. "For fuck’s sake - how the hell do you expect our marriage to survive if you won’t even get rid of his goddamn sweater?"
Her fingers knotted in the warm wool. It felt like her memory of him and her heart was tearing apart. Tears sprang into her eyes; Matt was right. She should have gotten rid of everything weeks ago. Keeping it was weak and foolish. And it had already almost wrecked her marriage. If Matt had never found it… With tears spilling down her face she picked up the trash bag and fumbled it open. Crumbling inside as she moved, she carefully placed Jack’s sweater in the sack, followed by each of the pictures, and finally the letter, crushed by Matt’s angry fist - the letter that she’d read almost every night for the past month, the letter full of anger and affection and goodbyes. Her eyes were so blurred with tears that she could make out none of the crumpled words, but as she let the letter fall into the sack she sent out a final, heartbroken goodbye to the man she was blotting from her life.‘I’ll always love you, Jack. Be happy.'
"Is that everything?" Matt demanded, snatching the bag from her reluctant fingers.
"Yes," she mumbled, wiping the tears from her cheeks and looking up into his angry face. She deserved his anger, she reminded herself. She had earned it.
But it was only when he’d slammed out of the house to toss the bag into the dumpster that Sam remembered the photograph that had slipped away the night she’d read Jack’s letter. The photograph of her staring into his eyes. She hadn’t seen it go into the trash - it was safe in her nightstand where she’d hidden it. And although she knew she should go find it and cast it out with the rest, the stubborn kernel of defiance in her gut that had always caused her trouble refused to let her move.
It was just a photo. What harm could it do?
***
Chapter 17
The morning dawned cold under heavy skies pregnant with snow. It was a silent, expectant day and the chill without seemed to seep into Sam’s cold house as she opened her eyes with a sinking feeling of dread. Another day of apology at the end of a week of angry silences. It had been over ten days since Matt had found out about Jack, but like the weather outside the atmosphere was still oppressively icy.
Gritty with lack of sleep, Sam rolled out of her empty bed and into the shower. She didn’t want to face Matt in her vulnerable, undressed state and so washed and dressed quietly before padding into the kitchen. When she’d made the coffee - white, two sugars as he preferred - she headed with great trepidation into the living room. Matt was sprawled along the length of the sofa - he hadn’t slept in their bed since the night it had happened - and she perched on the closest chair, setting down his coffee on the table. He was still asleep. Unlike anyone field-trained, Matt would sleep through anything. And Sam took a moment to study his sleeping face in the dim half-light of the morning.
She hated that she’d hurt him, and she knew she deserved his anger. But the confrontation of the previous week had stirred other feelings too; a silent contempt of his ignorance - how could he not have suspected? - a resentment that he’d forced her to abandon her memories of Jack, and a claustrophobic panic that her life was forever tied to this man.
He had a power over her now that he’d never before possessed. She was the betrayer, the adulterous wife who had been grudgingly forgiven. And he would make her pay for her forgiveness, make her sweat out her punishment over the years to come. Of that she was certain, and she had no choice but to endure it because the crime was hers and so were the consequences. But still the thought was oppressive, and sitting in the gloomy room, listening to his quiet snores, the future stretched darkly ahead. This was the life she’d made, she reminded herself, this was where duty and honor had lead her.
Matt stirred, rolled over and opened his eyes. For a moment he looked at her as if wondering where he was, and then she saw the memories surface in his eyes and his face darkened. He sat up. "What time is it?"
"Seven," she said quietly, pushing the mug towards him. "I made coffee."
He glanced at it but didn’t move to touch it. "I’m going into the office today."
"Okay."
He got up, inelegant in his boxers and t-shirt. "Don’t know when I’ll be back."
Sam sighed at his dismissive tone, but reminded herself that his anger was justified. "I thought we could go out," she suggested quietly. "Get dinner."
The gaze he turned on her was baleful. "Out?"
"I thought it would be nice to--"
"For god’s sake," he snarled, snatching the blanket off the sofa and heading towards the bedroom. "It’s not that easy, Sam."
She didn’t follow, feeling gauche and inadequate. She guessed dinner was a mistake, but she couldn’t face another ice-box evening staring at the walls. How often could she apologize?
Jack wouldn’t act like this.
The thought sprang fully formed into her mind, complete with an image of him folding her into his forgiving arms. She shook her head at herself. Jack wouldn’t act like this? After she’d married Matt, he hadn’t spoken to her for four years! She was kidding herself; any man betrayed would act like this. And some much, much worse.
She heard the shower splashing but didn’t move from the dark living room. The thoughts of Jack rooted her guiltily to the spot. He was no saint and had faults enough, but try as she might she couldn’t cast him out of her heart as easily as she had cast out his letter. In her mind’s eye she could see his face, the smile behind his eyes and the warmth he disguised with humor and bluster, and she closed her eyes and wished herself to him.
Just for a moment.
***
Jack surfaced unwillingly from a restless night into a cold, gray morning. The drapes were open - he’d been in no fit state to close them the night before - and the clouds glowered heavy and ominous outside. They reflected his mood well.
He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, gathering the will to move. He really did need to get up, because the realtor was coming over with another perspective buyer this morning and he needed to make the place look as presentable as possible. He really had to sell; being in the Springs was a slow torture that was eating at his sanity. Knowing she was there, so close but untouchable, was a torment that never eased. I do love you… Her final words taunted him with dashed hopes. She loved him - she loved him! - and he adored her. But it wasn’t enough. It had never been enough.
With a growl he rolled out of bed and grimaced at the thudding of his head. Drinking himself to numbness hadn’t worked either, he remembered bitterly. Nothing could get her out of his heart and mind.
He showered, straightened up the bed, threw out the empty Scotch bottle, and made coffee to disguise the smell of whisky. Just as he was taking his first sip the doorbell rang, and he answered it to the bright, cheery face of Bella Johnston, his realtor.
"Hi Jack," she beamed, with a familiarity that made him cringe. "I have a lovely couple to see your house this morning - Bill and Martina Bandaras." The couple in question smiled pleasantly and he attempted to reciprocate.
"Come in," he said, in a voice decidedly more gravelly than usual. He hoped the house didn’t smell like a bar.
"Now this is the entrance hall," Bella announced. "I just adore the way the stairs lead down here into the living room, and wait until you see the view from the picture window…" Off she trotted, her cheap heeled boots clacking on the floor, flashing the white price tags that clung to their soles with each step. Jack wondered if he should hire someone more up-market.
He did his best to keep out of the way, listening to Bella babble away extolling the virtues of his house. The Bandaras couple were polite, but he didn’t think they’d fallen in love with the place. On the way out, Bella stopped to give him a reassuring smile. "Are you going to be in later, Jack? I may have another buyer who’d like to visit this afternoon. I’ll bring the key if you’re not home."
"I’ll be here," he nodded. Where else would he go on a cold, gray winters day in a city that haunted him?
Bella flashed him an over-white smile. "Okay! You have a great day Jack, and I’ll see you later." And then she leaned closer and whispered, "The coffee aroma is a little clichéd by the way. You might want to try baking some bread to create the right, homey feel."
Bake bread? What the hell was she talking about? "I don’t bake," he told her, opening the door and letting in a blast of icy air. "You have a great day Bella."
Her smile was uncertain, but whether it was due to his surly response or the wisps of snow blowing in the air as she stepped outside, Jack didn’t know. Or care. But he was beginning to consider abandoning his house to Bella’s care and retreating to the cabin until the sale was made. He didn’t think his battered and beaten psyche could stay so close to, and so far from, Sam for very much longer without imploding. And yet something kept him there, an invisible anchor line binding him to his misery.
Perhaps it was his just punishment for loving another man’s wife?
***
The snow was falling heavily by the time Matt crawled into the driveway. He’d left the office early, not wanting to hit the inevitable snow-bound traffic on the way home. The last thing his sour mood needed was a couple of hours freezing his butt off watching idiots sliding on ice like they’d never driven in the winter before.
And so he reached home while the last of the daylight was lingering in the gray afternoon, but his heart was as heavy as the clouds overhead and home didn’t seem welcoming. Sam’s car was gone, so he assumed she too must have gone into work. But his heart beat suspiciously and he squirmed in his skin to think that she might be with him. As he drew to a halt and switched off the engine his wipers flopped to a halt and the snow began to land and melt on his windscreen, soon building up a thin layer of opacity. He shivered but didn’t move, unmotivated to walk into a house as cold as the snow.
She loved another man. She’d kissed another man, given herself to him like a tramp. And not just any man, but Jack O’Neill. What the hell did she see in him? He was old and irritable, bullish and ignorant. He was the sort of bone-headed military bigot Sam hated. What did he have that Matt didn’t? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t even explicable!
But he saw everything differently now. Sam’s tension when they’d run into O’Neill in Florida made a new, sickening kind of sense - it was sexual tension he’d sensed, not unease. And O’Neill’s eagerness to help find Sam when she’d gone missing made him nauseous with rage… What a damn idiot he must have seemed to O’Neill - the stupid, gullible husband who sent the wolf to save the sheep.
And beneath his fury and humiliation there beat an incessant, bitter pain. He loved her, but she didn’t love him. Not enough to stay loyal to him, not enough to resist whatever charms she saw in Jack O’Neill. He hated her for that, he wanted to rage at her and shake the treachery out of her until her heart bled like his. And he wanted her to hold him and tell him she was wrong, that it was all a mistake and that she’d loved only him. And, most of all, he wanted to believe her.
With heavy fingers he opened the car and stepped out into the icy wind, buffeted fiercely by the snow. A storm was brewing, he could feel it in the whipping wind as he hurried up the stairs and into the silent house. But the storm seemed to linger around him, following him inside with oppressive tendrils.
Dropping his briefcase carelessly in the hallway, he ambled aimlessly into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He wasn’t hungry, it was just habit, and nothing appealed to him so he shrugged off his coat and went back to hang it on its peg. Sam’s jacket was gone. She had to be at work. But he couldn’t shake the suspicion that she was somewhere else and wondered if he should call her. He just didn’t know what he’d say - it would seem obvious he was just checking up on her and he didn’t want to look desperate. So, bottling his suspicion, he headed into the bedroom to change out of his suit.
Typically of Sam, the bed was unmade. It was as if all the military discipline with which she worked unraveled at home and she spilled over into chaos. Matt flung the covers over the bed, irritated at having to pick up after her. Sitting down on the edge of the bed he pulled off his tie and, as he sat, his eye wandered across the room to her dresser and the draw in which he had discovered her lies. The memory made him queasy, the jolt of betrayal still fresh in his mind. Suspicion and envy twisted bitterly in his gut, turning the world brittle with his unresolved anger. He’d never imagined she could lie to him like that, so smoothly and without any apparent guilt.
But she ended it, he reminded himself. Even the letter had confirmed as much. Shouldn’t he be comforted by that? Perhaps, but it didn’t soothe him. She loved O’Neill, she’d admitted it. She loved him and she’d kept the momentos of her affair, souvenirs of her betrayal. If she’d truly repented, wouldn’t she have gotten rid of them? If it had really been over, in her heart, would he have had to force her to throw them away?
He sighed heavily and flopped backwards on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. And then he wriggled, feeling something lumpy digging into his back. He sat up and pulled back the covers to find Sam’s bottle of hand cream, guaranteeing 50% stronger nails, hiding in the bed. What was the matter with the woman? What the hell was so difficult about opening the drawer of her side table and dropping the damn thing inside?
With an irritated grunt he did just that, letting the bottle thud into the assorted bits and pieces she kept next to her bed. A couple of books, a magazine, nail polish and--
His heart contracted so suddenly he stopped breathing. There at the back, its edge just visible between the pages of a magazine, was the glossy edge of a black-and-white photograph. He stared at it, cold with dread, knowing in his heart what it was and what it meant. Yanking the magazine from the drawer, scattering the rest of the contents on the floor, he pulled out the photo. It felt like the final nail driving into his heart.
Sam and him, sitting so close they could have been in each others arms. She was gazing into his eyes, his sunglasses dangling from her fingers as if she’d just pulled them from his face. And there was such a look of anticipation in her face, so bright and intent, that it broke Matt’s heart. He could see love there, pouring out of the flat image like water from a pitcher.
Numb fingers dropped the photo onto the bed, watching it nestle sordidly in the crumpled sheets. She’d lied. Again. She’d promised that everything had gone in the trash, but instead she’d been sleeping with this next to her bed. How much more was there, he wondered? What other squalid secrets had she hidden around the house? What other lies had she told? Just a kiss, she’d said, but how could he believe her? He backed away from the bed, horrific images of O’Neill pounding into his wife turning his mind crimson with rage and humiliation. How many lies had she told? Had they laughed at him while they screwed? Had they done it here? On his bed?
A growl ripped raw from his throat, and he span away from the picture so fast he stumbled to his knees. He couldn’t look at that smug, old, ugly, bastard face. How dare he? How dare that son-of-a-bitch touch his wife? On hands and knees he gasped for breath, blind with rage and mortification. She’d played him for a fool, they both had. Maybe they she still were? Maybe she was still lying and even now they were together? His fingers touched the edge of the bottle of hand-cream, the slight contact a fuse for his frenzy.
"You bitch!" he screamed, hurling the bottle across the room and splattering its contents all over the wall. He was on his feet in an whirlwind of fury, ripping aside all reason as he kicked out at the side table and sent it crashing to the floor. "BITCH!"
He wanted to hurt her, hurt the world! He kicked again, hard, at the side table until it cracked and splintered under his savage blows. But it still wasn’t enough, not nearly enough to ease the violence of his hatred. Blinded by fury, numb with desolation, he raged from the house and out into the teeth of the storm. Revenge was the only thing on his mind, and it beat like a banshee in place of his cold, dead heart.
***
The snow was driving blindingly at the windscreen as Sam crawled the last few feet along the street to home. But even at a snail’s pace she could feel the wind buffet her car and was glad she wasn’t on the freeway.
With relief she pulled into the driveway, glad to be home and - she admitted guiltily to herself - glad that Matt’s car wasn’t there. She’d have a little time to decompress before the evening freeze set in. She knew she shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts, that his anger was more than justified and that she couldn’t expect his forgiveness immediately. But she couldn’t help herself - there was only so much self-recrimination a woman could take.
Pushing open the car door against the wild wind, Sam hurried to the house through the heavy snow and fumbled for her keys. She sighed with relief as she stepped inside, the silence and warmth very welcome. With a shiver she shrugged off her jacket and deliberately remembered to hang it up. No point in pissing Matt off even more than-- Hang on, what was his coat doing there?
"Hello?" she called out. But there was no answer.
With a shrug she headed into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. She was hungry and the snow put her in the mood for something warm and comforting. She grabbed the bread and threw a couple of pieces in the toaster - nothing like hot, buttered toast to cheer you up on a miserable day.
Heading towards the bedroom she almost tripped over Matt’s briefcase, lying in the middle of the hallway. He wouldn’t have gone to work without it - he must have come home and gone out again. She picked it up and set it to one side. Where was he? Unsettled, she carried on to the bedroom. If he didn’t get back soon, she’d call him.
She pushed open the bedroom door, but something was blocking it from opening. A flurry of fear fluttered in her throat as she shouldered the door and heard something slide across the carpet.
"Matt?" she called, sidling into the room.
Oh. Shit.
Her side table lay broken on its side, blocking the door with its contents spilling onto the carpet. The bed was messy and unmade, and some kind of cream oozed down the far wall. But then her eyes fell on something else, something that perhaps her unconscious mind was prompting her to seek out. And there, almost hidden in the rumpled bed covers, was the final photo.
The one she hadn’t thrown away.
She closed her eyes, surprised to feel anticipation flickering through the guilty pounding of her heart. Anticipation and hope. He’d found the photo, the dice were spinning again and the dull certainties of the morning were once more whirling in eddies as violent as the snowstorm outside. And in a sickening flash of insight she understood her sudden hope - it was why she had kept the photo in the first place. She’d wanted Matt to find it. It was her final card, the ace she was using to force him into making a decision she couldn’t make herself.
She wanted him to leave her.
What sort of spineless cowardly bitch was she? Disgusted by the truth, she couldn’t bring herself to answer.
***
Jack lay drowsing on the sofa, nursing his hangover and eyeing the TV through hooded eyes. He really should move, but what was the point? He had no where to go, no one to see. So he might as well stay prone on the sofa until Babbling Bella returned with yet another hopeful couple to show around the house. Another couple who would smile politely and not return.
He wondered what he was doing to drive people away. It was a pretty cool house, after all. Great views of the mountains, everything in working order, even the yard was in shape. Perhaps he was giving off bad vibes? Laura had been hot on crap like that - ‘vibes’, auras and karma. Who knew, maybe she was right after all? Maybe the depression that infused him had seeped out and into the house itself, lending the place a mood as dark and unwelcoming as his own?
It was as good a theory as any.
His lazy contemplation was interrupted by a vicious gust of wind punching into the windows with a loud thud. Jerking upright he gazed out at the dark, snowy afternoon. The storm was here now, in full force, and he guessed Bella wouldn’t be trailing her clients around his house after all. They’d be nuts to come out in weather like this. He flopped back on the sofa and dug the remote out from under the cushions, flicking through the channels to find something worth watching. He’d just found a re-run of Futurama - certainly not as good as The Simpsons, but okay in a pinch - when someone thudded loudly on his front door.
Bella was braver than he’d thought! Switching off the TV he hurriedly punched the sofa cushions into shape and headed for the door. Maybe it was a good sign that these people had come out in the teeth of a storm? They must really want to see the place.
He pulled open the door, holding it against the sharp wind that blasted into his house. But Bella wasn’t there, instead there was a man looming on his porch, blond hair snow-covered, his thin shirt totally inadequate to the weather. It took a moment for Jack to recognize him as Matt and then--
BAM!
The fist would have hit him square on the nose if he hadn’t turned just in time and sent the blow glancing off his jaw. But the door flew from his grasp and slammed wide open as a second punch followed the first and sent him staggering into the wall of his hallway.
"You bastard!" Matt yelled, slamming shut the door. "You fucking bastard!"
Jack pushed himself up the wall, instincts taking over as he backed away, keeping his hands up. "What the hell are you--"
"She’s my wife!" Matt snarled, stalking him along the hallway. "You stay away from her you fucking freak!"
He recognized the ferocious rage in Matt’s eyes, and knew it was dangerous. "Easy," he said, knowing he could do far more damage to Matt than Matt could ever do to him - unless he was armed. "Come on, let’s not do this--"
Matt went for him again, lunging towards him in a hail of fists. Jack dodged the first blows of the inept assault, but Matt was fighting without reason and a couple of punches landed solid and true. Jack staggered again, spinning away from Matt, still holding back. He didn’t want to hurt the man; despite everything, he was Sam’s husband. And he was right, Jack had been a bastard. "Look," he said, "whatever you think’s going on, it isn’t. Nothing’s going on. I’m leaving town."
"Did you touch her?" Matt snarled, prowling closer as Jack backed into the living room.
"That’s not the point, is it? The point is I’m--"
"Did you fucking touch my wife?!" Matt yelled into his face. "Did you--"
"NO!"
"Liar!" The fist came out of nowhere, slamming into his jaw and sending him sprawling to his knees. "I read your fucking letter, you piece of shit!"
He was on his feet, but not before Matt landed a heavy kick to his side that sent him crashing into the glass coffee table. He thudded to the floor in a shatter of glass, but twisted back onto his feet in a heartbeat as the glass crunched underfoot. And then the colonel took charge, throwing restraint aside as he circled his enemy. "If you read the letter," he grated through a throbbing jaw, "then you know it’s over."
"Over?" Matt spat. "It’s not over."
"It’s over," Jack repeated. "Sam ended it, okay? Her choice."
"You expect me to believe that? You’re a lying bastard!"
"Then ask Sam!" He moved closer, waiting for the right moment. Circling. "She’ll tell you the same thing."
"She’s a liar too. She cheated on me, remember? She kept--" He choked off his words, his voice thickening with angry tears. "She won’t let you go, you bastard."
"Sam can do anything she wants. She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known."
Matt shook his head, kicking out at the shards of glass and sending them flying dangerously. He looked desperate. Wild. "But she won’t!"
"She chose you!"
"It’s not enough!" he shouted, launching himself at Jack, fists flying. "It’s not enough!"
But this time Jack was ready. He seized the flailing arms and with an experienced twist of his shoulder threw Matt off balance, landing him hard against the wall and pressing his forearm across his throat.
"It’s enough," Jack hissed into Matt’s face, heart racing with adrenaline and anger. "She chose you. Twice! It’s enough."
Matt’s head moved slightly and he choked out his words past Jack’s arm on his throat. "But she wants you."
God! If only it were true, he’d be out the door before Matt knew what had happened. But he knew Sam better, it seemed, than Matt. "She chose you," he repeated, loosening his hold on the man. "Go home to your wife."
"I--"
"…adore the way the stairs lead down into the living room. And wait until you see the view from the-- Oh. My. God!" Both men turned to see Bella Johnston staring wide-eyed at them from the hallway as she took in their aggressive pose and the shattered coffee table. Behind her stood a very shocked couple, open mouthed and speechless. "Mr. O’Niell!" Bella screeched. "You will never sell your home with this sort of attitude!" And in a flurry of apologies she was gone.
Jack turned slowly to Matt whose head had slumped back against the wall, eyes closed. Stepping away, still wary, Jack released his hold on him. Matt didn’t move and Jack could see the fight draining from his slack limbs. "I’ve been an idiot," he whispered without opening his eyes. "I loved her so much."
The words stung, echoing Jack’s own feeling. "Then be with her," he said gruffly, almost choking on the jealousy that rose in his throat. "It’s over Matt. You’ve won. Go be with her."
Matt said nothing, but his blue eyes were empty when they opened and stared at Jack for a long, final time. And then he turned and trudged to the door. He stopped before he opened it and spoke without turning around. "I’m sorry about the table."
Jack almost smiled, rubbing at the bruise he could feel swelling on his jaw. "I didn’t like it anyway."
Matt nodded but didn’t speak as he turned the handle and disappeared into the snow-bound evening. And as Jack watched him go he felt as though the last chapter was ending. With everything out in the open, it really was over.
The final whistle had blown and the score was Matt: Everything, Jack: Zilch.
***
Chapter 18
Daniel sighed contentedly. There was nothing like being inside, with a good book and a glass of fine red wine, while the world went to frozen hell outside. He actually liked snow, from inside his apartment. He could appreciate it very well from the comfort of his sofa, and unlike Jack or Sam he felt absolutely no need to strap a couple of planks to his feet and go sliding all over the place.
Snow was fine, outside and on Christmas cards, while he was warm and comfortable reading about the finer points of Phoenician culture. And this really was an exceptionally good cabernet sauvignon. He took another sip and relaxed further, banishing all thoughts of the SGC from his mind until--
Bzzzzzzz
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
Grumpily, Daniel set down his wine and padded over to the intercom. Who on earth would be calling around in this weather? He pressed the button. "Hello?"
"Daniel! Let me in, I’m freezing my ass off!"
So much for a quiet evening. "Come on up, Jack."
He just had time to stow the cabernet sauvignon and dig out a couple of beers when he heard two loud raps on his front door. He pulled it open and Jack pushed inside, wet with melting snow and bundled up to his eyes. Yanking off his hat, hair standing out in all directions, he said, "You have to call Sam."
Daniel’s eyebrows rose. "I do?"
Jack nodded. "Right now."
"Do you want to, ah…" Daniel said, indicating Jack’s jacket that was dripping all over his nice wooden floor. Tutting in irritation, Jack pulled off his jacket and draped it on the coat stand. It was only then that Daniel saw the large, dark bruise forming along his friend’s jaw. His heart sank. "What happened?"
Wincing, Jack touched his face. "Call Sam," he repeated. "I tried to call her at work, but they said she’d gone home. You need to--"
"Okay!" Daniel replied, holding up a hand to quiet him. "I’ll call her. Just tell me what happened."
Jack grimaced. "Matt."
"Matt?"
"He knows," Jack said, flicking Daniel an embarrassed look. "He read the letter."
Shit. "Does Sam know…he knows?"
Jack rolled his eyes impatiently. "I don’t know! That’s why you have to call her."
Daniel grimaced, leading him further into his apartment. "Maybe we should just leave it alone, let them sort it out between them. If we interfere--"
But Jack was shaking his head, pacing. "I have to know she’s okay," he insisted. "Matt was…he was crazy. I’m telling you, he was on the edge. I don’t want him to-- If he--" He rubbed again at his jaw. "Sam can handle herself, but he was wild."
Daniel’s eyebrows rose again. "He hit you?"
"Yeah, and some," Jack replied, wincing as he sat down in the chair. His hand pressed against his ribs. "Ow."
Genuinely concerned, Daniel slowly sat down opposite his friend. "You okay? Do you need a doctor or--"
"No, I don’t need a doctor," Jack snapped. "I need you to phone Sam!"
Daniel reached for the phone. But before he dialed a thought occurred. "What about Matt? You didn’t kill him did you?"
Jack’s glare was sour. "Funny."
"I’m serious! You’re special ops trained and he’s…he’s a book publisher!"
"He’s fine," Jack muttered. "I hardly touched him." He prodded gingerly at his ribs. "Although maybe I should have."
Still eyeing Jack, Daniel hit speed dial and waited for the phone to ring. It only rang twice before Sam’s anxious voice said, "Matt?"
"Ah, no. It’s me."
"Oh, Daniel," she sounded disappointed. "Hi."
Jack leaned forward in his chair, straining to hear the conversation. "Ah, listen," Daniel said, squirming awkwardly, "I think you should know that Matt-- He seems to know about you and Jack and--"
"Is he there?" Sam interrupted. "Is he with you?"
"No. He’s not. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay."
There was a long pause before she replied. "I’m fine, I’m just worried about Matt. He found out last week - apparently Laura Hartstone told him - and today--"
"Laura Hartstone told him?" Daniel repeated for Jack’s benefit.
The blood drained from his friend’s face, turning it white and rigid with a fury Daniel had only occasionally glimpsed. His heart began to thud heavily - this was bad and getting worse. Jack got to his feet and stalked to the window, staring out into the snow.
"Yeah," Sam carried on, oblivious. "We had a fight. But I thought-- Well, anyway, today he found something else. A photo. And now he’s gone. I don’t know where he is. He hasn’t even taken his coat, and in this weather…"
"He’ll be okay," Daniel tried to assured her, although she was right about the weather. It was a bad night for anyone to be out. "Maybe he just needed to, um, get some space?"
"In a snow storm? Daniel, what if he’s--" She swallowed her words. "I’ll never forgive myself if he gets hurt or--"
"Maybe he’s gone to a bar?" Daniel suggested. "You want me and-- You want me to go look? Check out his locals?"
She sighed. "No, don’t. Not in this weather, it’s not safe on the roads." And then, after a long silence she added, "I’ve messed everything up, Daniel. I feel like my whole life I’ve been making wrong decisions, one after the other. And now I’ve hurt him so badly. And not just him, either."
As she spoke, Daniel looked over to where Jack stood glaring balefully out at the snow. He looked as screwed up and miserable as Sam sounded. It was a nasty, painful, complicated mess. "You’ve always done what you thought was right," he told her quietly, watching as Jack’s ears pricked up. However lost in thought he seemed, Jack O’Neill never missed a beat. "What else can you do?"
"That’s the thing," she admitted, "I don’t know if I have done what I thought was right. I mean, I’ve always followed the rules but they’re not always right are they?"
Daniel winced at that, surprised that it had taken her so long to come to that understanding. "No they’re not," he agreed. "But that doesn’t mean you were wrong to follow them - your intentions were good."
She laughed dryly. "The path to hell, Daniel."
"You’re not in hell yet."
"Aren’t I?"
Jack turned from the window as she spoke, eyes fixed on Daniel as if through him he could somehow connect with Sam. Down the phone line she sighed, "Look, Daniel, I gotta go incase Matt calls."
"Okay," he agreed. "If you need anything…"
"Thanks. I’ll call."
"Anytime, really."
"Actually…" There was a hesitation in her voice, a reluctance that spoke of guilt. "Could you-- If you see Jack, could you tell him something from me?"
Daniel’s eyes flashed back to Jack, who was still watching him intently. "Tell Jack what?" he repeated. His friend’s dark eyes widened, utterly focused on the telephone as if it were the only thing in the world.
"Tell him he was right, it changed everything. Tell him he was always smarter than me."
"Okay," Daniel said slowly, without much idea what the cryptic message might mean. "He’ll understand that?"
"Yeah. Look, I gotta go Daniel. Thanks. And if you hear from Matt…?"
"I’ll call you. Take care, Sam."
And she was gone, but Jack was still staring at him like a hungry dog watching a bone. "What did she say?"
Daniel tossed the phone onto the sofa and rose to his feet, coming to join Jack at the window. "She said that you were right, that ‘it’ changed everything and that you were always smarter than her." He glanced at his friend out of the corner of his eye. "Make sense?"
Jack’s brow furrowed and he nodded slightly. "Something I said in the letter." Obviously he wasn’t going to elaborate, and his pensive gaze turned back to the whirlwind of snow outside Daniel’s apartment.
"Matt’s not there," he added when it became evident that Jack wasn’t going to speak again. "I guess he didn’t go back after he visited you."
Jack rubbed a weary hand over his face. "I hope he hasn’t done anything stupid."
"Probably in a bar somewhere, rat assed."
"Yeah," Jack agreed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Thanks," he said, "for calling her. I didn’t want to call her at home incase…"
Daniel nodded. "Probably a good idea."
Jack moved towards the door, snagging his heavy coat from the stand. "I’ll see you around."
"You’re leaving? It’s a blizzard out there. Stay for a while. Have a beer."
But Jack shook his head, brow furrowed and his whole body jittery with nervous tension. He looked like he was about to face an army of Jaffa. "I can’t," was all he said. "I’m too…" He shrugged, failing to find the right words. "I just need to go."
Daniel gave a small nod - at times like this, Jack’s restlessness was a force impossible to contain. "Be careful."
He gave a tight, unhappy smile. "You know me." And with that he opened the door and quietly left. After a moment Daniel turned back to the snowstorm blowing outside and wondered whether to retrieve the cabernet sauvignon. But the cozy mood had dissipated; Jack had brought the storm inside and Daniel couldn’t shake its chill.
***
The hands on the clock ticked inexorably towards midnight and Sam sat in the semi-dark living room watching them with a maudlin fascination.
He’d been gone seven hours. Seven stormy hours filled with snow and uncertainty. It left seventeen hours until she could report him missing. Her mind flitted through images of his car crumpled at the side of the road, or of him face-down in the snow, drunk and slowly succumbing to hypothermia, and she made a silent pact with a god she only occasionally believed in. Bring him home safe, she implored, and I swear I’ll make him happy. Just bring him home.
But God remained silent, as he always did. Occasional belief, she figured, didn’t count for much in the world of the divine. She sighed and got back to her feet, anxiety churning relentlessly as she paced, too nervous to sleep. Too guilty to rest.
Her life floated in tatters around her, like the ragged remnants of a once grand ball-gown. So much promise, so much anticipation and expectation had been bound up in its elegant fabric and sparkling jewels. Her glittering career, her extraordinary adventures, and her precious friendships had all been woven into the weft of her life. And now they were unraveled, ripped apart by the choices she had made. For a decade she’d placed her career and ‘the job’ ahead of everything else - she’d married Matt because he fitted the picture so much better than Jack had ever done. He was the stable, attractive, pleasant man who anchored her and gave her the hope of a future with children and a life beyond her frenzied work at the SGC.
But that had never been a good enough foundation for a marriage, and at the first sign of trouble the whole unstable edifice was crumbling. And she could have endured it, accepted the consequences of her mistakes, had it not been for the fact that she was bringing Matt and Jack down with her.
Fifth’s words came back to her again, her constant companions over the past weeks. Be careful that you do not betray yourself. Your happiness is as important as theirs. And she knew his advice had come years too late. She’d already betrayed herself, every time she had denied the truth in her heart. How long had she loved Jack O’Neill? Eight years, maybe? For eight years she had denied it, turned her back on a profound truth and now she was paying the price. They were all paying the price.
How noble she’d felt all those years ago, sacrificing her love for the greater good. How romantic it had all seemed. But it was neither noble nor romantic, it was simply a lie. Her whole life with Matt had been based on that lie. And the lie had destroyed everything. Her only hope for salvation was that Matt would come back to her, safe and forgiving. And that, together, they could move on and she could salvage something from the tattered remnants of her once beautiful life and make it work. Make the lie work.
If he came back to her. If he wasn’t freezing to death in a crumpled car, his blood the final stain on her conscience. Sam shivered, and for the third time that evening she found her car keys in her hand as she grabbed her jacket. And for the third time she stopped at the front door. What if he called? What if the police did? What if he came back and she was gone? He’d think she was with Jack. And what were the odds of her finding him anyway? He could be anywhere in the city, or beyond. And the storm wasn’t easing. She could do no good crawling through the icy streets, staring through a fogged windshield for Matt’s car - as impossible to find as a needle in a snow-drift.
She closed her eyes and let her car keys fall to the floor. She had to wait, she had no choice but to wait.
"Come home, Matt," she murmured into the silent house. "Please come home."
But he didn’t answer.
***
The constant flip-flop of the windshield wipers was dangerously soporific as Jack crept along the snow-bound street towards the fifteenth bar he’d visited since leaving Daniel’s. And he was still stone-cold sober. Cold, being the operative word. Despite the aggressive heating in his rental car, the sub-zero temperatures in the small hours of the morning left him chilled to the bone as he finally pulled into the large and mostly empty parking lot.
He drove around in a slow circuit, scanning the cars. Nothing. With a sigh he slowed at the entrance, searching his mind for another likely spot, when his eyes came to rest on a dark shape in the far corner of the lot. Low, sleek and covered in snow. He threw his truck into reverse and headed towards it. The car had obviously been there for hours, given the snow piled on its roof and windows. But the license plate was still visible and Jack felt a sharp burst of relief when he recognized it.
Pulling in next to Matt’s car, he killed the engine. He’d found him, at last. Or at least his car. If Matt wasn’t in the bar then things could be serious. Grimly, he pushed open the car door against the weather and stepped out into a crunch of snow. Dragging his hat low over his face he stomped across the parking lot towards the bar entrance. As he approached a tall man, bundled against the weather, pushed out of the bar trailing a little music and light into the white night. He nodded to Jack and Jack nodded back as he caught the door and stepped into warmth and noise.
It was large and impersonal, lit dimly by lamps in the booths and on the tables, while country music twanged in the air. Balls clicked on a pool table in one corner, but Jack paid it little attention as he walked further into the bar and began scanning its customers. Mostly men of a certain age, out drowning their sorrows at the end of the day. Or at the beginning of the next, however you saw it. He pulled off his hat and gloves and shrugged off his coat in the humid heat of the bar, his eyes probing the darkest corners of the room until they stopped at one of the furthest booths. He had to squint to make sure, but there, sprawled headfirst over the table, was Matt Hutchinson. An impressive array of shot glasses were scattered across the table, his head resting amid the debris. He was either asleep or unconscious, Jack decided, as he made his way to the bar and ordered a beer. And he was responsible; he’d reduced him to this state. Something to be proud of, huh?
He ordered a beer and held the bar keeper’s attention with a look. "That guy over there," he said in a low voice, "is a friend of mine. I need to make sure he gets home okay."
The bar keeper, a plain blunt-faced man, glanced over at Matt. "What is it? Woman trouble?"
Jack grimaced. "Something like that. Look, I’m gonna call him a cab. You got a card or something, so he knows where his car is in the morning?"
The barman nodded and produced a business card from beneath the counter. "You want me to call a cab? I know a firm who’ll take guys in his, uh, state."
Jack gave him a thin smile. "Thanks. Appreciate it."
It took a good half hour for the cab to turn up, and Matt didn’t move a muscle the whole time. Jack watched him intently, reminding himself over and over that this was the man Sam had chosen. Whatever the meaning of the message she’d sent via Daniel, she had still chosen Matt. Whatever else their kiss might have changed, it hadn’t changed that fact. She had chosen Matt, she wanted her marriage to work, and he was there to send Matt back to her. It was a slim reparation for the damage he had caused, but it was all he could offer.
"Someone call a cab?" The voice came from the doorway where a man stood dusting snow from his heavy coat.
"Over here," Jack called, grabbing his own coat and heading towards Matt. "I’ll get him."
Jack approached Matt warily. "Hey," he said, keeping his distance. The last thing he wanted was another fight. But Matt didn’t respond. "Matt," Jack called in a louder voice. Still nothing. So, moving closer, he shook the man’s shoulder, gently at first and then more vigorously. "Hey, Matt. Come on, wake up. Time to go."
Blearily Matt half-lifted his head, but there was no recognition in his drunken, blurry eyes. "Wha…?" he murmured, his head starting to sink again.
"Time to go," Jack repeated, tugging on his arm to get him on his feet.
"Don’t wanna…"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Jack agreed, pulling harder until Matt was forced to stand. "Come on, cab’s waiting."
Zombie-like, Matt staggered towards the door and the waiting cab driver who looked at him with a resigned displeasure. "Don’t puke in my car," he warned.
Matt just blinked.
"Where’s your coat?" Jack asked Matt. Drunk as he was, he’d freeze his ass off in just a shirt; many a drunk had frozen to death too out of it to know they were cold. Matt’s response was incoherent, so Jack slumped him down on a chair and forced Matt’s heavy limbs into the sleeves of his own coat. It was a little wide across the shoulders and tight across the stomach, but it would do the job. He glanced up at the cab driver. "Give us a hand, will you?"
Between them they manhandled Matt across the icy parking lot and towards the cab, pouring him into the back seat and shutting the door. Handing the driver a hundred bucks, Jack said, "Make sure he gets inside, okay?"
The money seemed to brighten the guy considerably. "Will do."
As the cab pulled out into the snowy street, Jack followed in his car. Initially he intended to go his own way once they reached the freeway, but somehow he didn’t. After all, he thought, he really should make sure Matt got home, just in case the cab driver’s good will couldn’t be bought for a mere hundred dollars. If he could just make sure Matt got inside then he’d know he’d be okay. Sam would be there, she’d take care of him.
His stomach tightened pathetically at the notion of being taken care of by Sam. How ironic, he thought bitterly, that while Matt was drowning in alcohol-sodden misery Jack actually envied him! And while it was certainly prudent to make sure Matt didn’t end up face down in a snow-drift, Jack couldn’t deny that the chance of seeing Sam - just glimpsing her - one last time was a powerful motive in following the cab back to her house.
And so as the cab pulled up into Sam’s driveway, Jack stopped his truck on the street and killed the lights. Waiting in blackness he watched as the cab driver pulled Matt from the car and helped him stagger to the front door. His chest tightened around his heart in anticipation as he waited. One last time, he told himself sternly. He’d see her one last time and then it would be over.
The cab driver rang the bell and almost instantly the door whipped opened in a flood of yellow light. Sam stood there, burnished in gold, reaching instantly for Matt in heartfelt relief. "Thank God!" she exclaimed, her voice faint over the distance. "I was so worried!" One arm slipped around Matt, helping him stagger into the house. "What do I owe you?" she asked the cab driver.
"Nothing, ma’am," he assured her. "The guy at the bar settled up."
Even from the road, he could see the curiosity in her bright eyes. "Which guy?"
"Didn’t catch his name, ma’am. Tall, grayish. Forties."
Sam’s eyes closed a fraction of a second too long for a blink, and she said thank you. But her voice was too quiet for him to hear. As the driver hurried back to his car, Sam moved to pull her door closed. But at the last moment she glanced out into the night as if she knew he was watching. He felt her eyes wash over his dark car for an instant, and then she turned and was gone.
The soft click of her closing door rubbed like a burr at the loss he already carried. The pleasure of seeing her was barely worth the pain of saying goodbye again. But it was done, his last duty had been fulfilled. Matt was home where he belonged and unless he was the world’s biggest fool he’d be staying there. Who wouldn’t stay, when Sam’s arms welcomed you home?
"You’re a lucky bastard, Matt Hutchinson," he told the dark night. "The luckiest bastard alive."
***
The day after the storm passed in silence. Outside the snow lay heavy under threatening skies, deadening every sound and leaving the world mute and gray. Inside, nothing but the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall and the sound of Sam’s soft footsteps stirred the air.
Matt kept to the bedroom, nursing his resentment alongside his hangover.
But at last, as the afternoon faded into evening, Sam heard the shower splashing in the en suite. Half an hour later Matt appeared in the doorway to the living room where Sam sat staring out at the dying day.
"Hey," she said quietly, uncurling her legs and sitting up nervously straight. Matt looked pale, dark rings sunk his tired eyes and his shoulders slumped wearily. He didn’t say anything, just came and sat down heavily in the chair next to the cold fireplace. "Can I get you something?" she offered. "Coffee? Maybe some--"
"I don’t want anything." His voice was thick and gravely, spent. He stared out of the window and after a moment said, "I don’t remember how I got home, but I do remember why I left."
Sam winced, and although she knew it was utterly inadequate she felt compelled to say "I’m sorry."
Matt’s expression didn’t change. "I’ve always known that I loved you more than you loved me. I mean someone like you… I knew I was out of your league but I--"
"Matt, don’t. I--"
He talked right over her. "I never realized there was someone else. I never thought--" He shook his head, eyes dipping to stare at his hands laying still in his lap. "I never realized I was your second choice."
His words hit home like smart-bombs, deadly accurate. Sam’s mouth dried as she tried to formulate a soothing platitude, but for once she seemed incapable of lying to him or herself. "I didn’t realize either," she admitted. "I was…I’d spent too long trying to live up to other people’s expectations. I didn’t know what I was feeling."
"And now?" he asked, raising his eyes to hers. "Do you know what you’re feeling now?" Fingers of anxiety curled into a fist in her gut and she didn’t know how to answer him. The truth was too harsh, too impossible to admit. She couldn’t find the words, didn’t know what to say. Matt looked away, frowning at her silence. "I thought about leaving," he said in a harsher voice. "I thought about just packing a bag today and walking out. But then…" His gaze was on her again, less weary and more angry. "Then I thought, that’s exactly what you want me to do. Isn’t it?"
"No." The denial was instant. And false. Hadn’t she already come to the same conclusion?
Matt obviously didn’t believe her. "That’s why you kept all that stuff in our bedroom. You wanted me to find it. You wanted me to leave and make it easy for you, right? Walk out so you can go running to him?"
"I never meant any of this to happen. I hadn’t talked to him for four years and I--"
"I’m not leaving," he blurted. "If you want to be with him, then you have to go."
"I already told you," she said, her own anger building. "I’m not going to leave you. You’re my husband and I owe--"
"You owe me the truth," he snapped. "If you stay, it has to be because you love me. And only me. I won’t be second choice any more."
Panic pushed Sam to her feet. He was driving her to the edge, taking away her cozy compromises, refusing to allow her the comfort of doing her duty. Blindly, she struggled to hold onto the middle ground. "I don’t want to leave you, but you can’t expect me to just stop caring about Jack. I can’t--"
"And you can’t expect me to live with that!" He was on his feet too, his face heavy with resentment. "I won’t do this anymore, Sam. You’re my wife! I won’t share you."
"But I’m not seeing him anymore!" she insisted. "I told you that. It’s over. Whatever it was, it’s over and--"
"Bullshit. You still love him. You said so last week!"
"But I’m not seeing him!" she protested. "What else can I do?"
"Stop loving him."
"I can’t just stop--"
"I can’t accept that!"
The room rang with silence in the wake of his words and Sam felt her mind reeling. Everything was falling apart. She couldn’t leave him, it was wrong. It was terrifying. "But I love you too."
Matt shook his head, blue eyes splintered with anger. "That’s not enough."
"Are you telling me to leave?" Her heart was racing, face flushed with panic and confusion.
"No. Don’t try and put this on me, Sam. You screwed it up."
"I’m trying to fix it!"
He stared at her, his eyes softening for a moment in a flutter of hope. But then they hardened once more. "You can’t fix something that never worked."
"It worked," she protested. "We were happy."
"Were we?" He moved closer, she refused to back away and he didn’t stop until he was right into her personal space, angry and intimidating. But she held her ground. "How could you have been happy with your second choice?"
Her voice came out short and harsh. "It wasn’t like that."
"Did you think about him?" Matt pressed. "Wish I was him? Imagine I was him?"
"Stop it!"
She pushed past him, but he grabbed her wrist and held her back. "It was all a lie, wasn’t it? Our whole marriage."
"No!" She yanked her arm out of his grasp and backed away, rubbing at her wrist. "I loved you Matt. And I still want to make this work - I meant it when I said ‘till death us do part. You’re the one pushing me away!"
He laughed, a dark miserable sound. "Oh, you’re such a martyr! Poor Sam, sacrificing herself for duty and honor." He barked another bitter laugh and turned away, stomping towards the window. "You really think I could live with you, knowing that you were only here because you’re too damn afraid to leave?"
"I’m not afraid!" she shot back angrily. "I’m trying to do the right thing!"
"I don’t want to be the ‘right thing’!" He span back to her, simmering with hurt and a need to be understood. "Don’t you get it? I don’t want you to stay because you have to, I want you to stay because you want to."
And with a bolt of understanding, she knew he was right. That was the crux of it - why did she want to make her marriage work? Because she wanted to be with Matt? Or because it was the right thing to do?
Their eyes met and held for a long time as she nodded in slow understanding and sat down on the sofa. Her mind was a whirl of disorder as she gradually began to realize that doing the right thing for the wrong reasons just wasn’t good enough. It was all very well to honor the vows she’d made before her family and friends, but in doing so was she condemning them both to a life of duty and not love? Her feelings for Matt were warm - although tainted now with guilt - but they stood no comparison with the love she’d long felt for Jack. Where Matt was steady and tranquil, Jack was unpredictable and exciting. Her love for Matt was as comforting as baggy sweats and cocoa on a cold evening, but her love for Jack was as intense and uncontrolled as a solar flare. It burned with a heat she couldn’t ignore. And it brought her to life even as its power threatened to overwhelm her.
If she stayed with Matt she knew she would be living with that fire, damping it down but never extinguishing it. For four years it had smoldered untended, but in all that time it had never died. And she knew without doubt that it never would; the sun would go cold first.
She looked over at Matt, still standing by the window staring at her with hurt eyes in his soft, sad face. Guilt made her nauseous and she longed to run from the moment and the truth she had to speak. But her sense of duty, if good for nothing else, was enough to make her stand her ground and tell him what he deserved to hear. "I don’t know what Jack feels about me anymore," she said, remembering his bitterness the day she’d told him it was over. "But I don’t think I can ever stop loving him. If I stay, that will always be part of me."
Matt’s eyes fell from hers and he seemed to sink into himself, diminishing in size. "You can’t expect me to live with that," he whispered in a voice choking with tears. "You can’t expect me to live with you, knowing that you love him more-- That I’m still the second choice."
"I know," she nodded, gathering herself and rising to her feet. "I know I can’t."
Tears stood in his eyes when he lifted them to her again. "You’re leaving?"
She tried to swallow around the sour mix of guilt, regret and remorse in her throat but it was impossible and her voice came out as a whisper. "I think I have to."
He said nothing, turning away as silent tears escaped. She felt physically sick and ached to reach out and comfort him. But she had no comfort to offer. She didn’t even have the right to try. And so silently, under a pall of disgrace, she walked into the bedroom and began to pack.
It was over. Her marriage was over.
And she was alone.
***
Chapter 19
The small house stood at the end of the street, alone and tinkling with wind chimes that swayed in the mild Seattle breeze. He frowned at it, and at the chaos in the front yard - his stuff, cast out into the rain like so much worthless junk. Laura was a woman of her word.
At least his truck was still there and apparently undamaged, parked where he’d left it on the street. With an angry sigh, Jack strode up the path to the front door and rapped loudly. It took her an age to answer, but when she did he had the satisfaction of seeing her start so violently that she spilled the herbal tea she was holding. "Jack!"
"Laura," he replied, curbing his anger as best he could. This wasn’t all her fault, he reminded himself. He was as much to blame. Probably more.
Her chin lifted in defiance, one hip tilted in a deliberately provocative pose. "Your stuff is out front."
"I saw that. Very mature."
"I warned you."
He glanced around at the soggy mess of clothes, books and CDs that matted the grass. "Neighbors still talking to you?"
She ignored the comment. "I’m writing, Jack. So if there’s nothing else…?"
The door started to close, but he held it open with one hand. "Actually," he said quietly, "there is." Her eyes widened and he saw a beat of hope in their depths. "We should talk inside."
Curious, Laura led him into her house. She thought he was coming back to her, he could see it in the sensuous sway of her hips. And he let her believe it, his anger at what she’d done to Carter overriding any residual gallantry. When they reached her small, bohemian living room she turned and faced him. "So?" she asked, hand on hip and a seductive smile on her lips.
He studied her for a long moment, taking in the slender body and remembering the feel of her beneath him. So young, so alluring, so beautiful. But not Carter. "What the hell were you thinking, calling Matt Hutchinson?"
Her poised sensuality crumbled and disappointment creased her smooth features. "Spoil things for you, did it?"
"For me? No. For Matt and Carter? Almost."
"He had a right to hear it."
"Not from you."
She fell silent, turning away from him and wrapping her arms around her chest. He was suddenly uncomfortable with how childlike she seemed - what had he been thinking? "Look," he said, suddenly feeling absurdly paternal, "I hurt you. I’m sorry. I was a bastard and you have every right to be angry with me. But you just can’t go around messing with people’s lives like that. You almost destroyed their marriage."
She laughed. "I almost destroyed their marriage? You were the one screwing her--"
"Okay, stop!" She jumped at his parade ground bark and he softened his tone. Slightly. "We’re not going to do this. I just want to make one thing clear - you stay out of Sam Carter’s life. Understood?"
"And what about you?" she spat. "Are you staying out of her life?"
Pride tempted him not to answer, but he figured he’d told Laura enough lies that he owed her this much truth. With a terse nod he said, "Yes, I am."
"All alone again, Jack?" There was a tinge of disdain in her voice. Or maybe it was pity. "Hiding in your cabin in the woods?"
"Once I sell the house," he agreed, offering a rueful smile. "I figure I can’t do much damage up there."
She returned his smile, more affectionately than he’d anticipated. Stepping forward, she reached out a slender hand and touched his wrist. "I loved you, you know?"
"I know."
"It’s not too late…"
But he shook his head, clear at last in his own mind. "I’m gonna grow old with a lake, no fish and a dog."
Her wide, young eyes stared at him in disbelief. "That’s so sad." She didn’t understand. She couldn’t, not with her whole life ahead of her. But he was looking backward, not forward, to a life with Sam that could never be. Somewhere along the way he’d taken a wrong turn and there was no going back. His life was a might-have-been, and the future held nothing and no one he wanted.
He didn’t try to explain, just smiled and forgave her more easily than he’d expected. She was more a victim of the mess he’d made of his life than anything else. "I’m gonna get my stuff," he said, nodding towards the door.
Laura winced guiltily, flushing a delicate pink. "I’m sorry."
"Me too, Laura. For everything."
He turned to go but she called him back. Looking around, he saw her scanning one of the crowded bookshelves before pulling something down. When she offered it to him he recognized it at once as his Dad’s leather folder, the one that held his few precious memories. The worn leather was soft under his fingers as he took it from her hand.
"I didn’t want it to get ruined," she said. "Your photos of Charlie are in there, and…and of Sam Carter."
He felt his heart skitter, but resisted the temptation to open the folder and look. He had to get past it, past her. "You’re a good person Laura. Really."
"Not really," she sighed and glanced out of the window. "I’ll help you with your stuff."
He smiled at her again and nodded. "Thank you."
***
The snow was still heavy in Colorado Springs, but the sun shone cold and crisp, sparkling with an aggressive brilliance that demanded sunglasses. The oppressive weight of the storm had passed, but Daniel felt a tension in the air as he drove into the mountain, as if the frozen world was too brittle to endure and would snap at the quietest of sounds.
Once inside he headed straight for the cafeteria. Coffee was, of course, always the first priority, even on days when the harsh sunlight had blasted him awake all the way to work. And he was just on his way to his office with a large cappuccino in one hand when he saw Sam at the far end of the corridor, dressed in civvies with an armful of coat. She didn’t see him as she strode around the corner, eyes fixed on the floor and lost in thought. From the direction she was walking he guessed she was heading for his office and so ran to catch her up.
"Sam!" he called once he’d rounded the corner, and she turned at the sound of his voice.
"Hey," she said with a weary smile. "I was just coming to see you."
He slowed his pace as he reached her, glancing down at the jeans and boots she wore. "Everything okay?"
He knew instantly that it wasn’t from the way her lips pressed into a tight line and she looked abruptly away. "Let’s go to your office."
As they walked silently together he studied her face; it was pale and drawn. Miserable. And she clutched the coat in her arms as though it was trying to escape, her fingers tight and white on the black fabric. Ushering her quietly into his office he flicked on the lights and waved her to a seat. "Is it Matt?" he asked as soon as the door was closed behind him. "Is he okay?"
Sam sat slowly, holding her coat on her lap. But she had to bite her lip before she spoke, and when she did her voice hovered on the edge of tears. "We split up a couple of days ago."
Dropping into his chair, Daniel’s heart sank with the news. But he was hardly surprised. To his mind, it had been inevitable from the moment she and Jack had stumbled across each other in Florida. But Sam was obviously devastated. "I’m so sorry," he told her quietly. "What happened? Did he leave?"
She shook her head. "No. I did. He-- He knew about me and Jack, about-- Not about what happened, but--" She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and began again. "He said he was my second choice, and he couldn’t live with that. I don’t blame him."
Second choice? Matt was more astute than Daniel had suspected, but that was a discovery that had to hurt. He felt for the man, he felt for Sam. He felt for them all. "Where are you staying? You can stay with me if you-- Oh, no. Of course, you’re staying at Jack’s--"
"No!" She seemed shocked by the idea. "No, I’m not. Jack doesn’t even know. We’re not…you know. It’s not like that." She sighed heavily, her words dull and flat. "I left him too, Daniel. I left Jack for Matt. Twice. I don’t expect him to forgive me either."
Daniel smiled softly. "Since when has Jack ever done anything you expected?"
But his gentle attempt at humor went unnoticed and Sam’s eyes dropped to her hands, still clutching the coat. After a moment she spoke again. "I’m going away for a while. I’ve cleared it with General Taylor - he’s given me a couple of weeks compassionate leave."
"Where are you going?"
She shrugged. "I don’t know yet. Back to where it all began, maybe? I need to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life."
He watched her silently, unhappy with the idea of leaving her alone when she was so obviously upset. "If you want some company…? I can bring a stack of books and--"
"No. Thank you." She smiled a watery but genuine smile. "I really just want to be alone for a while." Getting to her feet she bit nervously at her lip and added, "There is something you can do for me though."
"Anything."
She held out the heavy black coat. "Could you give this to Jack and tell him thanks?"
Daniel raised an eyebrow as he took the coat, now recognizing it as Jack’s. "Okay," he said, refusing to indulge his curiosity and ask how she had come by it.
"Thanks," she nodded. "I’ll call you when I get back."
Not ready to let her leave so soon, he rose to his feet and stepped around his desk towards her. "You take care of yourself," he entreated, pulling her into a warm hug. "And call me any time if you need to talk. Okay?"
Her arms went around him gratefully, holding on for dear life. When she spoke her voice was shaky. "Thank you, Daniel."
He held her for a long moment, wishing he could do more to shelter her from the troubled waters. But he knew there was a different port she needed to find in this storm, and that she had to find her way there alone.
***
Jack dragged the last box from the back of his truck with profound relief, balancing it on one hip as he locked the door and crunched through the snow towards his house. After three days on the road he was looking forward to spending some quality time with his bed.
He dumped the box with the rest in the spare room and closed the door on the mess. No point in unpacking since, with any luck, he’d be moving out of the Springs for good some time soon. The house was silent and cold as he headed down into the kitchen, and it reminded him of the day he’d arrived back home and ended up eating pizza on the roof with Carter. She’d borrowed his sweater, and looked damn sexy in it too. Entirely too touchable.
He sighed at the unbidden memory, hating the empty hole it tore in his chest. He missed her, just as he’d done every day of the four years he’d spent ‘getting over’ her. Only now it was worse, because her face was fresh in his mind, he could still taste her kiss on his lips and his mind echoed with the memory of her parting words - I do love you. The sooner he left Colorado the better.
Picking up the stack of waiting mail he thumbed through it on the way to the kitchen. All junk. Throwing it onto the counter he stared out of the window into his snow-covered yard. It had been two weeks since the storm, but the world was still frozen and only the tracks of a few birds disturbed the pristine whiteness outside. It looked wrong, too perfect. And he had a sudden flash of children’s footprints in the snow, a half-finished snowman and an armory of snowballs scattering the yard. He thought sharply of Charlie and how different his life could have been. Despite his irascible temper, he wasn’t made to be alone. But somehow he’d taken all the wrong paths along the way and here he was. Alone and lonely.
Pathetic.
With an irritated grunt at his maudlin thoughts, he dumped coffee in the pot and flicked on the switch. Life went on. It always did and always would. But sometimes it was better not to look too far ahead. Limiting his thoughts only to the end of the day, he decided that a soak in the tub would go a long way to ease the aches and pains of three days behind the wheel. And so leaving the coffee to brew, he headed towards the stairs. He was half way up when the doorbell rang.
Reluctantly he stomped back down, hoping to hell that Babbling Bella wasn’t back. The last thing he needed right now was to see her plastic smile and be told that the ‘coffee aroma’ was a cliché! Bottling his irritation as best he could he opened the door. To his surprise it wasn’t Bella.
"Hey Jack," Daniel smiled. "You’re back."
"What? Are you stalking me?"
"I saw your truck," Daniel explained dryly. "I swung by on my way home from work, just in case." When Jack didn’t say anything, he added, "Can I come in?"
"Uh, sure," Jack agreed, somewhat thrown by his friend’s unexpected appearance. Not that it wasn’t welcome. Anything that distracted him from too much introspection had to be a good thing. "I’m a little out of it," he explained as they headed into the living room. "Too much driving."
Daniel just nodded, glancing around as he sat down. "Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for a couple of days."
With a yawn, Jack sank onto the sofa and stretched out. "Flew up to Laura’s to get my stuff. And my truck."
"Oh, right." But Daniel seemed distracted and awkward, frowning down at the coat he held in his hands as if lost in thought. Then he looked up again, his face anxious but resolved. "I have some news."
His careful tone ignited little fireflies of unease in Jack’s gut. "About?" he asked, not moving from the sofa even though his entire body was curling with tension.
The look on Daniel’s face told at least half the story. "Sam came to see me a few days ago," he said, watching Jack with unnerving intensity. "She and Matt have split up."
The fireflies exploded into fireworks as he jolted upright. "What?! What happened? That bastard. If he hurt--"
"She left him," Daniel interrupted. "Sam left him, Jack."
He couldn’t breathe. His mind spun upside down, reeling with the implications. Sam had left Matt. She’d left him! There was a chance, there was still hope. Finding it difficult to think coherently he swallowed hard and tried to force his mind to work. "She… Why?" he began, before other thoughts overtook him and he jumped to his feet. "I have to see her. Where is she? At your place? I have to--"
"Wait!" Daniel broke in again. "Jack, relax. Just listen."
Cramming the lid on his chaotic feelings, Jack forced himself to stillness. Listen. He could do that. But - holy shit! - she’d left him. She’d left him!
Tensely, Daniel held out the coat to Jack. "She gave me this and said to tell you thanks."
Blinking in confusion he took Daniel’s coat, and then realized that it was his own. Understanding dawned and he sat back down slowly. "I sent Matt home," he explained. "That night. I found him in a bar and sent him home. It was freezing and he didn’t have a coat or anything."
Daniel nodded. "That was good of you."
"Did she seem pissed off?" Jack asked, putting the coat to one side. "I wasn’t interfering. I just didn’t want her to be worrying--"
"She’s gone away," Daniel told him carefully. "She said she needed some time alone to think things through. Taylor’s given her a couple of weeks leave."
Gone away? No, way. He had to see her! "Where’s she gone?"
"I don’t know. She didn’t say."
He couldn’t sit still and was on his feet again, pacing. Gone away? Why would she do that? Why wouldn’t she come to him? Unless he was one of the things she wanted to think through… That letter! What had he said? Had he pissed her off? Driven her away? He’d been angry when he wrote it… "I need to see her," he muttered to himself, suddenly terrified that he’d somehow managed to screw everything up. "Daniel - she must have said something about where she was going? To see her brother? Friends?"
Daniel shook his head. "No. She just said, um…" He frowned and thought for a moment. "Uh, she said she didn’t know where she was going but maybe…damn, what did she say?"
Biting back frustration Jack forced himself not to try and drag the memory physically from Daniel. All he said was, "It’s really important."
Daniel nodded slowly, eyes focused somewhere mid-air while his brow furrowed in thought. And then his gaze snapped back to Jack. "Where it all began," he said slowly. "She said she might go back to where it all began."
Frowning, Jack leaned forward as he considered her words. "Where it all began?" Where what all began? His feelings for her? He suspected they’d begun in the briefing room when she’d first marched into his life with a chip balanced precariously on her shoulder and an attitude to match. But she couldn’t mean that. Where else then…? Antarctica? Unlikely. Apophis’s ship? Impossible. Daniel’s apartment, where she’d first met Matt? Obviously not. So where else had anything begun that would--
And then he knew. He absolutely knew. And the knowledge brought with it a momentary flash of joy that was quickly chased away by churning uncertainty. He knew where she was, but should he go after her? He looked up into Daniel’s tense face and silently asked the question. His friend shook his head. "I offered to go with her," he explained. "She wants to be by herself."
"She’s left him," Jack insisted, that single fact ringing through his mind like a peel of bells.
But Daniel gave a half-hearted shrug. "I didn’t get the impression she was happy about it. She seemed devastated."
"So what are you saying?"
"Maybe now’s not a good time to, you know, rush things?"
He laughed humorlessly. "Rush things? Is that a joke?"
But Daniel wasn’t laughing. "You know what I mean."
He did, but refused to admit it. Instead he got to his feet and walked towards the window. The sun was dipping in the sky, painting long blue shadows over the silent, untouched snow. "I know her," he said softly. "I know how she’ll be beating herself up over this, and I can-- I want to--" He shook his head, astonished by the rush of tenderness that was overwhelming his usually unbreachable defenses. He knew her, he knew how she’d be blaming himself and he knew that he could help her through it. He wanted to, even if that was all he did. Nothing else mattered. "I have to go."
"Jack," Daniel warned, "I really wouldn’t--"
"Ah!" he cut him of with a raised hand. "Don’t. I know what I’m doing."
Daniel pulled off his glasses and started polishing them anxiously. "I hope so."
"Trust me," he said, smiling at the pulse of anticipation tingling through his veins. Everything had changed. Again. Doors he’d thought welded shut were flying wide open and everything was up for grabs - including his future.
Daniel said nothing, just looked away with a small shake of his head. But Jack refused to be daunted. For the first time since this whole thing had begun he knew what he had to do.
***
Chapter 20
The soft roar of the ocean was the only sound on the dark beach. White surf glistened in the moonlight as it hissed over wet sand, relentlessly moving backwards and forwards as timeless as the passage of the stars overhead.
Sam sat on the cool sand, her arms around her knees, letting her mind drift out across the dark water. She hadn’t intended to come here at first, but once she’d started driving she’d just kept heading south-east until her destination had become inevitable. The place where it had all begun, where her happy, safe and predictable life had been shaken until it broke. Funny how one chance encounter could change so much. If she hadn’t gone to Matt’s conference she’d never have bumped into Jack, and right now she’d be tucked up comfortably at home watching the snow fall.
But here she was, in the warm Florida evening, with her lungs full of salty air and her marriage in pieces all around her. She’d toyed with calling Jack and telling him what had happened, but each time her finger had hovered over his number her mind had emptied of words. What could she say? ‘I know I left you for Matt - twice. But things aren’t working out with him anymore, so how about you let me back into your life again? Promise I won’t walk away this time.’ She wasn’t sure she could even convince herself, let alone Jack.
And she had no right to even try, not when her feelings for him hadn’t been strong enough to find a way around the regulations all those years ago. Or strong enough to make her leave Matt until he’d forced the issue and she could no longer believe her own lies. How could she expect Jack to want anything more to do with her? The words in his letter were true - she’d always put duty and honor first, and it had ended up destroying everything else. Too late she’d realized that duty for duty’s sake was an empty gesture. No rules, regulations or vows could bend your heart in the wrong direction. You couldn’t regulate love; you couldn’t make it fit into your vision of a neat and ordered life. You could no more love on command than you could stop loving on command, and if you tried the result was misery, for everyone involved. If she’d understood that ten years ago she would have spared herself - and the men who had been wrecked on her flawed moral code - a decade of grief.
And so she sat alone on the dark beach, struggling to see a way through the mess she’d made of her personal life. She wasn’t the sort to give up, not ever. And so deep down hope burned dimly, providing just enough heat to keep her heart beating and her eyes focused on the distant horizon. Even if, as now, it was shrouded in darkness and the future seemed unknowable.
***
Jack slowed the rental car when he saw the exit sign. He couldn’t help himself, even though he knew it would be foolish and sentimental to stop now. What he really should do was find a place to stay and set about locating Sam in the morning. He was tired from long hours lurking at the airport, waiting for a standby ticket. He was antsy from the cramped flight and the nervous tension that curled through his entire body. But despite it all he felt a tug towards the ocean. He just wanted to make contact, to feel that he was close to her even though coming here at all was only a hunch.
But if Daniel had been right, and she really had gone back to where it had all begun, then this is where she would be. And he would find her. He had to. Almost without his conscious consent he pulled off the highway and found himself driving through the dark streets towards Playa Linda. The night air was warm and he switched off the car’s air conditioning and wound down the window, enjoying the feel of the salty breeze against his skin. After the ice of Colorado the warm Florida night sank into him easily, and despite everything he began to relax.
His car crawled silently into the little parking lot at the side of the beach, and his chest tightened with the memory of his last visit and all it had heralded. There were no hotels here to cast their light onto the beach, and a single street lamp illuminated the parking lot. It was quiet, the roar of the ocean the only sound in the humid evening air. At first he was surprised to see three other cars parked close to the boardwalk, until he saw the bumper sticker on one: ‘Live, Love, Fish’.
Night fishermen.
Climbing out of the car, Jack stretched and drew in a deep breath. He’d just walk down to the shore, he decided, watch the stars for a while and then go find a motel and--- Holy crap!
He stared, eyes widening, at the furthest car from his in the lot. - silver, sleek, funky. Sam’s vintage Volvo. His heart lurched into his throat, strangling him. She was there! She was on the beach. His head whipped around to the boardwalk, vanishing into the dark night, and then back to her car. What should he do? Go down after her? Wait by her car? Get the hell out of there and try and order his chaotic thoughts and feelings? If he saw her now, what would he say to her? But if he left would he find her again?
He couldn’t take that risk. He’d lost her twice already, and there was no way he was going to risk this last chance at getting it right. And so he started walking, his boots clumping softly on the wooden planks as he headed out blindly onto the pitch-black beach.
He had no idea what he’d say or what she’d answer, just that it was time to lay down their cards and finish the game. And he hoped to hell he held a winning hand.
***
Sam heard footsteps and the rustle of clothing as someone approached her from behind. Instinctively she was on her guard, acutely aware that sitting on an all-but-deserted beach in the middle of the night was a profoundly stupid thing for a woman to do alone. Casually she rose to her feet, not turning around but prepared if necessary to either fight or run. But she was irritated with herself for letting sentiment get the better of her. What had she been thinking coming out here alone instead of finding herself a motel and--
"Sam?" The voice that came out of the darkness knocked her sideways with such force that she actually stumbled as she span around. Her heart hammered, her mind struggling to identify the voice. "Hey, easy! It’s me. O’Neill."
Astonishment froze her. It was impossible. He couldn’t be there - how could he be there? - and yet he was. He’d come after her, like he always did. Gratitude and relief washed through her, scouring her bare and leaving her wrung out and exposed. She longed to go to him, to fall into his arms and blot out the world. But guilt restrained her, the image of Matt’s hurt and angry face holding her back. Paralyzed by conflicting emotions, she could only stare through the darkness as his figure resolved itself before her, the moonlight glinting off the silver in his hair and making his dark eyes glitter as he stopped walking a few yards up the beach. "You okay?" he asked in a voice as soft as the night.
She ached to spill her heart and be comforted, but she wouldn’t let herself. How could she, when she’d left Matt alone and comfortless? So instead she forced her mind to work, as always making herself think rather than feel. "How did you find me?"
He shrugged, his eyes never leaving her face. "A hunch, I guess. Daniel told me what happened."
Daniel. She turned away, staring back out towards the distant lights of ships on the horizon. "What must you think of me?"
"I think that you probably feel like crap."
"Yeah," she replied bitterly. "Well, if anyone deserves to it’s me. I’ve been a total bitch."
He made an angry sound in the back of his throat. "You have not. You just made a mistake and--"
"A mistake? A mistake is forgetting to use bullet points in a report! This was--" She cringed at the memory of Matt’s anguish as she’d walked out of their house, turning her back on him and four years of marriage. "You don’t understand. You didn’t see his face."
There was a long silence in which neither of them moved. Maybe she’d angered him? But she couldn’t turn around to see, it was taking all her self-control to just hold herself together. At last he spoke, without anger, in that soft, quiet voice that had always found its way straight into her heart. "I understand guilt, Sam. I know how it eats at you, makes you believe you don’t ever deserve a moment’s happiness. It poisons everything."
His words rang true as a bell. It did poison everything, even this. He was so close, and all she wanted to do was turn into his arms and let him hold her. But it felt like another betrayal and she couldn’t do it. "How can I be happy," she whispered, "when I hurt him so much? And you, I hurt you too."
He moved closer and reached out to take her hand. She didn’t look at him, still staring out to sea, but his touch stirred her so powerfully that the hairs on the back of her neck crept up on end. "You didn’t do it on purpose."
But it was a pale excuse. "That doesn’t matter."
He tightened his grip on her hand, his fingers strong and suddenly insistent. "No, you’re wrong," he said heatedly. "It does matter. It’s all that matters. It might not make you feel any better, but it’s the only thing that can let you live with yourself."
The heated emotion in his voice startled her and she looked over to see his face. He was staring out towards the dark horizon, his mouth compressed into a thin line of control and his brow drawn down into a frown. But it was the expression in his eyes that shook her - open, damaged and aching with grief. For a moment she didn’t understand, but then he turned and met her confused gaze with one brutally honest. And in that single look he let her inside, throwing down all the barriers that had ever stood between them and standing naked before her. Charlie. He was talking about Charlie. She reached out and seized his arm. "Oh God, Jack, I didn’t mean to imply that you were--"
He flinched, the expression silencing her, but he held his ground. And to her surprise the shutters didn’t slam down. "It’s all about living with yourself," he told her determinedly. "Forgiving yourself for making mistakes. If you can’t do that, you might as well put a bullet in your head because your life is over."
She nodded slowly, unwilling to drop the connection. He was so open, so alive and so full of her. She wanted to be gazed at like that forever. "This isn’t the same," she began slowly, "but I still don’t know how to start. I’ve made so many mistakes. And not just with Matt."
His eyes softened as he carefully took both her hands in his, turning her to face him. It was an intimate gesture, nothing profound but it broke new ground for them. A simple, loving touch. "You could start by admitting that you’re not perfect," he said quietly. "You make mistakes, just like everyone else."
Too emotional to reply, she just squeezed his hands and nodded. She loved him so much, so completely, but she was too full of it to speak. She hoped he could see it in her eyes.
Almost imperceptibly he tugged on her hands until they were closer still, their clasped hands held softly between them. "Why didn’t you call me?" he asked gently. "After you left him?"
She shook her head and cleared her throat. She had to look away when she answered, his eyes were too deep to let her focus on words. "I didn’t know what to say. I thought you must-- After what happened, I thought you must hate me or--"
"Hate you?" He sounded bemused and she turned back to see him staring at her in confusion. "But you know how I feel about you. I told you."
"But after what happened in the park, and your letter. What you said about me always putting duty first--"
"Yeah, well," he grimaced, "talking about mistakes…"
She shook her head vehemently. "No. You were right," she insisted, holding his hands tighter and trying to make him understand that she’d changed. "I do - did - always put duty first. And look what a mess I made!"
"But that’s who you are, Sam."
"No," she countered. "Don’t you see? That duty and honor stuff is bullshit! It’s screwed up my life, and Matt’s and yours and I’m sick of it! I don’t want to be that person anymore!"
"But I love that person!" he protested. And the words shocked the world into silence. All Sam could hear was the racing of her heart, blood thumping through her ears as she stared at him. He stared right back, stunned by his own admission. And then he blinked and a slow, hesitant smile twitched his lips as he said it again, "I love you."
His words fizzed joyfully inside her, like a champagne bottle about to pop. He loved her. He still loved her! But she shook her head, refusing to let it be this easy. Didn’t she deserve to suffer? To feel the pain she’d caused to others? "How can you?" she asked. "I left you, twice. I let you down, walked away and --"
She was silenced by his finger touching her lips. "Doesn’t matter," he told her softly. "None of it. All that matters is now."
She sucked in a shaky breath, her tongue flickering over her dry lips and brushing the tip of his finger. He shivered, and his flash of desire electrified them both. She felt as though she was going to fly apart, her conflicting emotions pulling her in all directions. "I still feel so guilty."
His fingers left her lips, tracing along her cheekbone and into her hair. His eyes followed voraciously, as if memorising every line. "I know. So do I."
"I made so many mistakes."
"We both did."
His fingers were in her hair now, curling and teasing as his eyes returned to hers and held her fast. She wanted him. She wanted to lose herself in him forever. But guilt sat like a dam holding back the flood, and it wouldn’t let her emotions free. "How can I deserve this?"
"How can I?" he countered, warm breath caressing her mouth. "It’s not about what we deserve. It’s about what we’ve got."
"But what have we got?"
He smiled at that, the hand in her hair cupping the back of her head and tugging her closer. "This," he breathed against her lips. "We’ve got this." And on the last breath of the last word he kissed her, a powerful, eternal kiss peppered with hunger, longing and devotion. She responded like dry tinder to a flame. Heedless of anything but the feel of his hard body against hers, she was overwhelmed by the emotions that broke free at last and swept her away. Time stopped, elongated, shrank. Dawn could have been breaking when at last they pulled apart and she wouldn’t have been surprised. Dizzy with desire, she let him pull her tightly against him and she stayed there, holding him and wondering at the insanity of a universe that could deliver such pain with one hand and such joy with the other.
"It’s always been you," she whispered shakily into his shoulder. "I just wouldn’t let myself believe it."
He kissed her hair, a gesture both comforting and arousing. "Believe it, because I’m not letting you go again. No more mistakes."
"No more mistakes," she echoed. But she knew it wouldn’t be that easy. They had a decade of mistakes to deal with and enough baggage between them to sink an ocean liner. But she said nothing more - there would be time enough later to untangle the knots in their lives. For now all she wanted was to hold him and be held, to stand on the dark beach and watch the distant lights on the midnight horizon. She loved him. That much was as certain as the slow passage of the moon across the sky. And for now, at least, it was enough.
***
It was past midnight and Edward Zola looked up from his book - ‘One Hundred Years of Solitude’ - as the door swung open and two very late arrivals straggled into the foyer. He stood up, pushing the book to one side and his glasses up his nose as he smoothed a professional smile onto his face and studied the newcomers - a man and a woman. He was older than she, graying but tall and possessing an air of command that drifted ahead of him as he strode towards the desk. Edward had the feeling that this was a man used to getting his own way. The woman was beautiful but weary-looking, and she followed him with a slightly apprehensive frown.
"Good evening," Edward smiled. "Welcome to the Inn at Cocoa Beach."
"Evening," the man nodded, glancing over at the woman as if making sure she was still there. "Do you have any vacancies?"
"Let me check our availability," Edward said, calling up the reservations screen on the computer. "Was that one room or two?"
There was an exaggerated pause before the man and woman spoke together. "One," she said.
"Two," he said.
Edward glanced over at them, eyebrows raised.
"Two," she said, blushing.
"One," he corrected.
Keeping his face straight, Edward turned back to the computer. He’d seen these late night trysts all too often when he’d worked for Motel 6, but it was less common at the Inn. Usually they had a higher class of customer. "We have two adjoining rooms, if that helps?"
"We’ll take them," muttered the man, pulling out his wallet. "What’s the rate?"
"One-thirty-five a night, per room," Edward replied. And when he saw the somewhat shocked expression on the man’s face he added, "All rooms have ocean views, a balcony and are individually decorated. Breakfast is home-baked and, of course, you have use of our swimming pool and direct access to the beach. Each evening we have a cheese and wine--"
"That’s fine, that’s fine," the man mumbled, sliding his credit card over the counter and stealing another look at the woman by his side. He rolled his eyes at her and she stifled a tired smile.
Edward cleared his throat and placed a registration form in front of the man. "If you could fill this in, sir?"
Adept at reading upside down, Edward saw the man write his name as Jack O’Neill and the woman’s as Sam-- He stopped then and glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, asking a silent question. She grimaced and quietly said, "Carter."
He didn’t even know her last name? Edward shook his head and looked away. The lives some people lead, he mused, thinking fondly of his own wife of twenty-five years currently babysitting their new granddaughter. "Just the one night, is it sir?" he asked pointedly, glancing up over the tops of his glasses.
The man’s dark eyes narrowed. "Maybe," he replied dryly. "Depends if we like the breakfast." At his side the woman turned away, gazing at the dark window. Only her reflection stared back at her, and Edward had the feeling she was uncomfortable with what she saw.
Once he’d taken the credit card deposit he pulled the keys from beneath the counter and handed them over. "Two-ten and two-eleven," he told them. "Breakfast is served on the patio from eight o’clock." If you’re out of bed that early, he added silently.
The man - Jack O’Neill - snatched up the keys and fixed him with a challenging look. And then, to Edward’s surprise, he said, "This isn’t what it looks like." Feeling himself blush to have been so exposed, Edward started stammering a response but O’Neill didn’t stay to listen.
The woman lingered for a moment though, and he saw a glow of pride in her eyes, softened by a sympathetic smile that lit her face like moonlight. "It’s been a long few months," she explained cryptically. "But he’s right, this really isn’t what it looks like."
"I--I--" he stuttered, but she too was gone, catching up with O’Neill who stood holding the door open for her. Edward watched as she took his hand, offering up a grateful smile that would melt concrete. It seemed to melt O’Neill, because the smile he returned looked like his son’s on Christmas Eve. And then the door shut on them and Edward was left to wonder if maybe he’d been witness to something far more significant than the sordid one night stands he’d come to expect.
***
The room was beautifully decorated, Jack had to admit. And for a hundred and thirty bucks a night, it damn well should be. But really the décor was the last thing on his mind as he lay in the large bed staring up at the white ceiling. Next door he heard the soft sounds of someone moving around, and his gaze wandered to the wooden door linking the two rooms. Sam was next door. Holy crap.
He closed his eyes, willing himself to relax and sort through the jumble of emotions in his mind. Checking into a hotel with another man’s wife wasn’t exactly his usual MO, and despite what he’d said to Sam about forgiving your own mistakes he wasn’t exactly proud of the fact that he’d all but stolen her from Matt. On the other hand, if he’d had to do it all again, the only thing he’d do different was oust Matt from the picture a few years earlier. And so he figured he’d just have to learn to live with the guilt, because he certainly couldn’t regret what he’d done.
Glancing at his watch he saw that it was past one o’clock. And although he felt too wired to sleep, he’d spent enough years in the field to be able to force his eyes shut if he had to. Leaning over, he switched off the bedside lamp and lay there, staring at the light seeping beneath the adjoining door. He guessed neither of them were in for a good night’s sleep, and he abruptly wished she was with him. Not to ‘sleep’ with, but just to be with. To hold. It was all so new, and now she wasn’t with him he felt doubts creep in. Did she really want to be with him? Would she go back to Matt? Was he too old for her? Was it all some kind of profound delusion from which he would emerge only to find Babbling Bella beaming down at him with a platoon of eager house-buyers on her tail?
He groaned quietly at his paranoia and rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in the crisp, white pillow. Sleep. He needed to sleep; he was strung-out, over-tired and not making sense. And so he slowed his breathing, disconnected his conscious thoughts and with well-practiced ease let himself drift into soothing darkness.
Sometime later in the dark, silent hours of the night a noise penetrated his sleep. A soft knocking. Instantly awake, Jack lay still until he could orient himself and the sound.
Knock, knock.
He pushed himself upright and turned towards the noise. It was coming from the door between the two rooms. From Sam’s room. He got up and switched on the lamp, the soft light making him squint. Padding across the carpeted floor he approached the door carefully. And there it was again, a quiet yet persistent knock. Not daring to imagine what it might mean, he unlocked the door and opened it. She was standing there in soft-looking pajamas with a strappy top, a worried yet apologetic look in her wide eyes. "Did I wake you up?"
He blinked, trying not to notice the enticing expanse of shoulder dipping down beneath her skimpy top. "I, uh," he mumbled. "No."
"I can’t sleep," she said nervously, gesturing at the room behind her. "It’s worse when I’m alone."
"It always is," he nodded, remembering a thousand sleepless nights after his own marriage had fallen apart. "Do you want to talk?"
She shook her head. "I just don’t want to be alone."
He was very glad she didn’t want to talk; it was never his strong point, especially in the middle of the night. And so he simply held out his hand to her. "Come on, I promise I’ll be a gentleman."
She laughed softly, but it sounded joyous to his ears. He hadn’t heard her laugh for a long, long time. Taking his hand she let him lead her back into his room and towards the bed. Afraid he’d say something stupid or crass to cover the thumping emotions in his chest, Jack stayed silent as he slid under the covers and scooted over to the far side of the bed. But his heart was in his eyes as he watched her, barely daring to believe that she was there and seeking him out. Without smiling she sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, and then lifted her feet and tucked them under the covers. She was as far away as she could get and he wasn’t about to crowd her. "Can you get the light?" he asked.
She looked at him, wide eyed, and then leaned over and plunged the room into darkness. Rolling onto his back, he was so keenly aware that she was mere inches from him that his skin tingled with a static fizz that reminded him of the stargate. She moved slightly, lying down perhaps, and every jostle sent sparks of excitement flooding his tense body. Sleep was so not going to happen, for either of them he suspected. And then he felt the bed shift again and after a moment her hand hesitantly found his beneath the covers. His heart stopped! But she said nothing, and neither did he. He couldn’t. Words clogged in his throat, mingling with a rising emotion that was hard to identify - happiness, relief, delight. Tenderness, affection. Love. He squeezed her hand and she moved closer, pressing her arm against his. Shifting slowly, not wanting to alarm her, he rolled onto his side. He could see her profile now that his eyes were used to the dark, and as he watched she turned towards him. There was a question in her eyes, a glimmer barely visible in the darkness. But he understood the need she would never voice and in answer he reached out and pulled her gently into his arms. She snuggled close, her head coming to rest against his shoulder and her arm sliding across his chest. Breathing in the scent of her hair he closed his eyes and just lived the moment - her head heavy on his shoulder, her hand warm through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, her even breaths caressing his throat. Her skin like warm silk beneath his fingers. Everything was sensation; the whole world was reduced to what he could inhale, or hear or touch. He sighed contentedly. Who cared about sleeping? He could stay like this forever.
Sam sighed too, but less happily. "Jack?" she asked softly.
"Hmmm?"
"Tell me I’m not a horrible person."
He kissed the top of her head. "You’re not a horrible person, you’re a beautiful person."
"Thank you," she murmured, and he could hear the smile in her voice. A little later she spoke again, drowsily. "Jack?"
"Hmmm?"
"I love you."
He smiled and drew her closer, pressing another kiss into her hair. "I love you too." And as he drifted off into warm, contented sleep he couldn’t help thinking that life just didn’t get better than this.
***
The next morning brought a mellow, hazy dawn peering through the curtains. Sam stared at the gentle light as it gilded the room with life and color, revealing the face of the man who slept next to her.
It was strange, waking-up to a different face. She was so used to Matt’s soft, rounded features that the tanned lines and angles of Jack’s face seemed strange and unfamiliar. Although not unwelcome. She reached out a hand to touch his cheek, but hesitated at the last moment. She wasn’t ready for him to wake yet, she needed some time and space to sort through the clash of emotions swirling in her heart. She loved him, so much. And she wanted him with a force that sent a powerful thrum of desire through every nerve. It was so intense, it was uncomfortable; it had been a long time since she’d looked at Matt with desire. But at the same time she was acutely aware that her wedding ring was sitting on the nightstand of the adjoining room, and that she was sharing a bed with a man who was not her husband.
Repressing a sigh, Sam climbed carefully out of bed and padded back to her own room. She’d escape to the shower for a while, she decided, and let the hot water ease her guilty qualms and loosen the tension that knotted tightly in the pit of her stomach. But even as she soaked herself in warm bubbles, she couldn't shake the memory of his touch. And she knew she wanted more, much more. If only her conscience would allow it.
When she emerged from the warm bathroom into the relative chill of her room, she heard Jack’s shower splashing. Feeling antsy, not knowing what else to do, she ran the hairdryer vaguely over her hair and wrapped herself in one of the long, white robes provided by the hotel. It felt soft and luxurious as she headed back into his room, drawn to the window where he’d parted the curtains and the sun was racing up from the horizon. The sky was pink and pretty, fading to pale blue. Another beautiful day. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stood and stared at the sun rising over the flat ocean. So different from home and the crystal beauty of the mountain light.
Behind her, the shower cut off and she turned around as the bathroom door opened. He stepped out, still damp from the shower, a towel tied around his waist. Her stomach tightened at the sight and he stopped in his tracks, staring at her. Forcing her gaze to move up from the towel and over his bare chest to his face, she met his eyes and held them. But his intent gaze was full of questions that she couldn’t answer and she turned away, staring out at the dawn sky, not sure why she was standing there in his bedroom. Not sure what she wanted. Or maybe she did know, maybe she knew exactly what she wanted but for once she didn’t want to have to make the decision. Throughout their entire relationship he’d let her lead the way; the ball had always been in her court. Maybe that’s why she was here, naked beneath her bathrobe, knowing what she wanted but too emotionally drained to act. Maybe she wanted him to make the decision, just this once.
And maybe he understood that, because suddenly his hands were running up and down her arms, a light touch on the soft cotton of her robe. "Sam," he said quietly, the love in his voice turning her stomach inside out.
She said nothing, just leaned her head back until her cheek brushed his and his arms drifted around her waist, pulling her close. He smelled of soap and toothpaste, and she smiled as guilty tears welled in her eyes. This was the final betrayal, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. It had been inevitable from the first day they met.
Jack lowered his mouth, pressing a light kiss into the side of her neck, and she tipped her head to one side, silently encouraging more. He kissed her again, his hands gliding back up to her shoulders and edging away the collar of her bathrobe. The slight chill of the air and the heat of his kisses against her skin made her shiver, and his fingers tightened possessively on her arms. This slow exploration was so different from Matt’s pedestrian lovemaking, so delicious and illicit. She didn’t want it to ever stop.
His lips found their way down from her neck to her collarbone and her robe slipped from her shoulder. She felt open and vulnerable, reckless and dangerous. Excited. And, God, she wanted him! The memory of her wedding band burned on her finger, but she ignored it and let her head drop back onto his bare shoulder as his lips lingered on her neck. She’d never wanted anyone like this. Lifting her hand she found his cheek, holding him there with a caress as his arm slid around her waist again, stealing beneath her robe and onto the bare skin of her stomach. She gasped, her mind beginning to mist and fade as she turned her head and brushed his face with her lips until he lifted his mouth to hers and devoured her with a ravenous kiss. Unwilling to break the contact, she turned in his arms and both his hands slipped beneath her open robe, exploring with gentle caresses. She felt utterly, deliciously exposed. Body and soul. It had been years - decades! - since anyone but Matt had touched her like this. And never him. Never Jack. Yet she’d never wanted anyone as much as this, not ever. If he stopped now, she thought she’d die.
He made a sound in the back of his throat as his hands ranged up and down her bared body, but his touch was too careful, too gentle. Too restrained. She knew he was holding back. Pulling away from his insatiable kisses she seized his head roughly in her hands. "Don’t stop."
His eyes were dark and doubtful, desire and hesitation mingling uncertainly. "Are you sure?"
She kissed him hard, her head spinning with a yearning that was at once new and ancient. She’d never felt like this with Matt, never felt so out of control, so ferocious, so wanton. And yet she knew this passion had always been there, beneath the surface, untapped and untouched. Waiting. Waiting for Jack to bring her to life. "Don’t stop," she demanded again, although it sounded more like a growl.
His restraint gave way like an avalanche, and with a growl of his own he pulled her away from the window and down onto the soft sheets of the bed they’d already shared. "I’ll never," he said between drowning kisses, "stop."
Her fingers clenched in his hair as his mouth blazed over her body and she arched up to meet him, images of Matt vanishing beneath this awesome, unleashed passion. "Oh God!" were her last coherent words before the world evaporated into a mist of ecstasy wrapped in so much love it made her want to weep.
***
It was just before ten when Edward Zola arrived for his morning shift, strolling towards reception past the patio overlooking the lush, tropical garden that separated the Inn from the white sands of the beach. A few guests still lazed over breakfast, newspapers scattered next to the elegant wrought iron tables and chairs. He walked past them taking little notice, intent on the day ahead, when his eyes were caught by the couple at the furthest table. He recognized them immediately from the previous evening: Mr. O’Neill and his beautiful companion.
Slowing to retrieve a napkin that had blown from a vacated table, he eyed them as they sat eating breakfast. They’d obviously only just arrived. The baskets of pastries and fruit on their table were untouched as they talked quietly together, heads so close they were almost touching. She was smiling at something he’d said, shaking her head as if in denial. And he was chuckling as he reach for one of the muffins, breaking off a piece and offering it to her. She took it from his fingers, their hands brushing and lingering together before she popped it into her mouth.
The tension he’d sensed the previous evening had dissolved, and in its place he saw something that reminded him very much of his wife. Even as the thought crossed his mind he saw O’Neill reach out and touch her arm, saying something that provoked a beautiful, self-conscious smile.
Edward felt a smile of his own break through, as warm as the winter sunshine. He realized now how wrong he’d been the night before, and grabbing a coffee pot from the nearest busboy he went to make amends.
O’Neill looked up as he approached, a beat of displeasure crossing his dark eyes. "More coffee, sir?" Edward asked politely, and O’Neill nodded slightly towards his cup.
As he poured, Edward saw the woman - Sam Carter, he remembered - reach out and take O’Neill’s hand in a gesture that was both restraining and affectionate. He couldn’t help smiling again; his own wife had done the same thing a thousand times. "I wanted to apologize," he said, keeping his eyes on the coffee, "if I caused any offence last night."
There was a pause before the woman said, "Don’t worry, it’s fine."
He looked up at her, smiling. "You were right," he said, "this obviously isn’t what I thought it was." Her eyes widened and a flush colored her cheeks. But he held up a hand to forestall a response. "I’ve been married for twenty-five years," he told her earnestly. "I know commitment when I see it." She blinked and turned her surprised look on O’Neill who seemed to be finding the crumbs on his plate especially fascinating. But he was grinning nonetheless. Edward backed away politely, "I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay."
And with that he turned and headed into reception to start his day. But he paused on the threshold to look back. The couple were laughing quietly together as O’Neill reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered there, touching the side of her face, and his expression sobered as he spoke. Edward couldn’t hear the words, but guessed the meaning from the way she smiled. Love sparkled in their eyes like stars in the night sky, abiding, unwavering and eternal.
The rare sight did his romantic heart good.
***
Chapter 21: Epilogue
The building was big, modern and ugly. The sun was too bright, dazzling the Christmas decorations that peered through the huge glass windows and half-blinding Matt as he waited at the top of the steps next to the revolving door. He adjusted his tie nervously, wanting to get the whole messy business over with. It was cold too, with an icy winter wind blowing down from the mountains and whipping his coat around his legs. Trust Sam to keep him waiting; so much for military punctuality. He set down his briefcase and clapped his hands together, blowing on them to keep them warm and wishing he'd worn thicker gloves. And as he did so he saw a large, dark green truck pull into one of the parking spaces outside the court building. Its smoked windows gave nothing away, but as the passenger door opened his heart thudded painfully when he saw Sam step out. Like him, she was smartly dressed, her golden hair flustered by the whipping wind. He hated that he still thought she looked beautiful.
She moved around to the front of the truck as the driver’s door opened and he stepped out, as smooth as ever in a black leather jacket and dark glasses. Sam glanced up, her eye catching Matt’s. She nodded a slight greeting and then turned back to O’Neill who pulled her briefcase out of the truck and handed it to her. She said something to him and he half-glanced up towards Matt, before nodding. For a moment Matt thought he was going to kiss her and his stomach bunched in dread. But at the last moment Sam’s lips moved, her head shaking slightly, and O’Neill stepped back. He didn’t go far though, leaning against the hood of his truck, arms folded, watching her as she climbed the stairs away from him and towards Matt. It was, Matt thought sourly, an ironic reversal of the true situation.
She smiled at him as she drew closer, a reserved careful smile that only pointed out how far they had come. Almost strangers now. As she approached him she slowed, and Matt had the dubious pleasure of noting that up close she didn’t look quite as good as she had from afar. Her face was wan and drawn, her lips pale.
"Sam," he said, bending to pick up his briefcase. "Your lawyer not with you?"
"He said he’d meet me here," she replied. And after a beat, "You look well."
He did, and he knew it - tanned and fit. "Just spent a couple of weeks in Cancun," he told her airily. "Conference."
She smiled, but it didn’t disguise how tense she looked. "Sounds like fun."
"It was. A lot of fun." He turned away, hoping that she wouldn’t see the truth in his face; not one of the women he’d flirted with in Cancun came close to the one he was losing today. "Let’s go, or we’ll be late."
Sam nodded, but said nothing. A year ago, when his life had been pointing towards the future, she’d have muttered at his insistence on punctuality. But not today, today she just agreed politely and followed him through the doors. But he didn’t miss the backward glance she cast towards the man waiting below, and when Matt also looked over his shoulder he saw O’Neill still leaned up against the hood of his predatory truck. Waiting.
The bastard.
They rode up to the lawyer’s office to a soundtrack of easy-listing Christmas classics, filling a silence that would otherwise have been awkward. But in the elevator’s harsh light and unforgiving mirrors, Matt couldn’t help but notice that Sam looked even worse than outside in the sunshine. And as they decelerated to a sharp halt he saw her jaw tighten grimly. "Do you feel okay?" he asked as they stepped out into the quiet corridor.
She gave him a quick, startled look and muttered, "Fine. Which way is it?"
Sick or not, it was obviously no longer any concern of his. With an irritated sigh he turned to lead the way, and all too soon they stood outside the offices of Joseph P. Graham, Attorney at Law. Matt didn’t stop to knock before he entered the set of offices with which he was reluctantly familiar. Claudette, the receptionist, looked up with a smile. "Mr. Hutchinson," she said, "go right on through, Joe’s expecting you." She turned to Sam, and Matt liked to think he saw her smile chill. "Ms. Carter, Mr. Elsworth is already here."
Sam nodded her thanks, and together they walked towards the lawyer’s office to sign the papers that would end four years of marriage and abort a long-imagined future together. He glanced over at her as they paused on the threshold. "Does this mean anything to you?"
"Of course it does," she sighed, and he was pleased to see her composed, set features cast in a queasy hue. "I hate what I’ve done to you."
"Didn’t stop you though, did it?"
She just shook her head and looked away, as if he were echoing an oft-repeated accusation to which she had no answer. And he wondered if she felt guilty. He hoped she did. He hoped they both did.
"Matt," Joseph Graham said, rising to his feet and offering his hand. "Ms. Carter. Welcome."
Matt took Joe’s hand with a sigh as Sam moved to talk quietly with the thin, wiry man who must be her lawyer. "Let’s just get it over with, shall we?" Matt said grimly.
Sam glanced over when he spoke, her face brimming with sympathy and sadness. And in that look, more than anything the last, horrible year had brought, he saw the end. It was over, and from this moment on their lives would forever diverge. She offered him a tentative smile, but he just looked away.
He’d always hated goodbyes.
***
Once, on a surveillance mission in Afghanistan twenty-ish years ago, Captain Jack O’Neill had spent ten hours crouched behind a lame-ass excuse for cover, reconnoitering a Soviet encampment. He hadn’t even been able to pee.
It seemed incredible to him now, pacing irritably in front of his truck, that he’d ever had that much patience. And when he glanced at his watch for the hundredth time, and saw that less than a minute had passed since he’d last checked, he’d have sworn blind that some cosmic prankster had actually slowed down time to the point where it had all but stopped moving at all. Where the hell was she? How long did it take to sign a couple of papers?
He glanced up at the faceless building, corporate Christmas trees twinkling blandly in the window. She’d been in there half an hour already! If she wasn’t out in the next ten minutes he was going to--
The door opened and Matt Hutchinson strode out. He walked quickly down the stairs, pulling out his cell phone and holding it to his ear. Jack didn’t think he’d noticed him and was about to make himself inconspicuous when Matt looked over and cast him a brief, bitter look. He felt a beat of sympathy for the man - he literally knew how he must be feeling - and would have said something if Matt had paused. But he didn’t, speeding past and yammering into his cell like a yuppy vying for pole position in the rat race.
Jack watched him go with compassion, and a familiar twinge of guilt. But Matt couldn’t hold his attention for long. There was still no sign of Sam. His patience exhausted, Jack was halfway up the stairs when the door spun open again and she walked out, looking pale. But she smiled when she saw him and he took the rest of the steps two at a time.
"Hey," he said as they met, automatically reaching for her hand. "How did it go?"
"Fine," she sighed. "All signed. The final decree should be through in a couple of weeks. They’ll mail it."
He gave her a hug - a gentle one - and said, "I saw Matt coming out. He looked okay."
She nodded as they started walking down the steps. "He was fine, no big scenes or anything. I didn’t think there would be."
"No," Jack nodded, glancing over at her tired face. He paused before he said, "Did you tell him?"
She shook her head. "No. I-- I almost did, but it didn’t seem like the right time. I’ll call him some time. Or maybe write."
"Yeah," he agreed as they reached the sidewalk. "There’s plenty of time." Dropping her hand, Jack dug into his pocket for his keys. But Sam reached for him again, taking his arm and resting her head sadly against his shoulder. Always more comfortable with actions than words, he just drew her into his arms and held her. But she pulled back and looked at him through tearful eyes, the guilt with which she’d struggled over the past year rising to the surface once more. "I can’t believe it’s over."
Tenderly, he brushed a kiss over her lips. "It’s beginning too," he reminded her, gently drawing her back from the pit of self-recrimination he knew so well. And he was relieved to see a smile as she blinked away her tears. "Come on," he said, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, "let’s go home."
She took a deep breath. "Yes," she agreed, with a determination that made him proud. "Lets go home."
***
Much later that day, when the afternoon had sunk gratefully into winter darkness, Jack found himself watching as Sam maneuvered a small Christmas tree into the right position next to the fireplace.
"You don’t think it’ll catch fire there?" he asked from the vantage point of the sofa.
She cast him an irritated look that made him smile, and moved it a foot to the right. "Better?"
It was too hard to resist! "Maybe an inch that way?" he teased, waving an imperious hand to his left.
Sam didn’t dignify the comment with a response and turned instead to the huge bag of Christmas decorations she’d bought a week earlier. "Lights," she muttered, delving inside.
He watched her, admiring the way the hair at the nape of her neck fell away as she leaned forward, baring an almost irresistible triangle of pale skin. If he kissed her there he knew exactly how she’d hum in approval and tip her head sideways, exposing that long, elegant neck she so enjoyed him kissing. He shifted on the sofa, sitting forward with every intention of standing up and distracting her from her tree trimming.
"If you’re bored," she said, pulling a packet of lights from the bag. "You can sort these out."
He narrowed his eyes and wondered if her sixth sense was God-given or a talent she’d deliberately honed. "You know," he said, slumping back on the sofa. "I’m surprised someone as eco-friendly as you would actually chop down a real tree just for the sake of--"
"They’re farmed," she told him, smiling but not turning around. "It’s a crop, like wheat. You eat wheat, right?"
"Hey!" he protested, "I’m not the eco-warrior around here."
She shook her head, at last turning to face him. Her eyes were sparkling brighter than any Christmas lights, and a thousand times more beautifully. "Recycling beer bottles doesn’t make me an eco-- Oh." Abruptly she sat down next to him, color leaching from her face. "Oh crap."
"Uh-oh," Jack muttered, taking the bag of decorations from her hands. "Come on, lie down."
Scooping her legs up onto the sofa, he swiveled her until she was lying flat and reached over to the large bowl of apples sitting on the small table next to the sofa. "Here," he said, putting one in her hand. "Eat."
Sam took a couple of deep breaths and nibbled at the apple. "This sucks," she complained.
He moved to crouch at her side, kissing her fondly on the forehead, "Yeah, I know." She looked pale and tired; he didn’t think she’d ever looked more beautiful. He could have sat and watched her all evening. But that wasn’t what she needed. What she needed was a distraction. "I guess," he said with an exaggerated sigh, "this means I’m going to have to figure out how these little lights work, right?"
She smiled, but kept her eyes closed. "I’ll talk you through the difficult bits."
"Remember to keep it simple, I never was that smart."
Her smile broadened for a moment, before she clamped her mouth shut and sucked in another deep breath. Jack squeezed her hand and then turned to the huge pile of decorations. "You do know there’s no way all of these things are ever going to fit on that little tree, right?"
Sam just laughed through gritted teeth.
By the time he’d finished, determined by the end to prove his point by putting every single decoration onto the overloaded tree, Sam was feeling better. And after he’d turned off the room lights to enjoy the full effect of the two sets - two sets! - of Christmas lights, he came and joined her on the sofa. She cozied up nicely against him so he could wrap both arms around her as she rested her head against his shoulder. The pine scent of the tree mixed deliciously with the warm spice of her hair and he sighed contentedly. "I feel like we should be on the front of a Christmas card," he murmured into her ear
She laughed softly. "Or a commercial."
Smiling, he pulled her closer and couldn’t resist sliding a hand over her firm, flat stomach. Her fingers laced with his and he felt a heady rush of concentrated joy. "I’ve been thinking," he said, "if it’s a boy, how about Bart?"
Sam snorted softly. "I don’t know, I was thinking Homer."
He grinned and nodded. "Lisa if it’s a girl?"
"No, Marge. That has a certain style, don’t you think?"
He laughed and so did she, a beautiful sound he’d never tire of hearing. Her laughter drifted into an easy, gentle silence and he kissed her softly on the top of her head. After a moment she said, "Dad suggested we call it Selmak. He said we could use it for either a boy or a girl."
He peered at her serious face. "You’re kidding, right?"
But Sam Carter had a poker-face to die for. "Teal’c thinks Bray’tac would be a strong name for a boy, and Daniel suggested Hathor for a girl."
He narrowed his eyes, catching her game. "I think Apophis O’Neill has a kinda nice ring to it, don’t you?"
"Oma O’Neill?" Sam suggested.
He chuckled. "Thor Carter-O’Neill? Thor Junior? Mini-Thor!"
"Noooo!" Sam laughed . "Oh my God, I’m so glad she’s a girl!"
"Hey, you don’t know Thor’s not a girl."
She laughed again, loudly. "Good point."
"Anyway, you don’t know it’s a girl," he pointed out, stroking the hair from her temple and replacing it with a kiss. "You just think it’s a girl."
But Sam shook her head. "I know she’s a girl," she smiled, pressing his hand gently against her stomach. "I can feel it."
"Doesn’t sound very scientific, Doctor Carter."
She just shrugged and didn’t argue, but the smile left her face and her focus drifted away. He said nothing more, kissing her temple again as he watched the lights on the Christmas tree bob and weave in the slight movement of warm air flowing through the heating vents. He felt warm and unspeakably happy. After everything - the loss, the loneliness, the uncertainty and the guilt - he was here, with her. At last.
"Jack?" she said softly, drawing his eyes back down to her face.
"Yeah?"
"Can we call her Abby?"
"Abigail? After your Mom?"
She nodded and looked around to see his face. "Would you mind? It would mean a lot to me."
"It’s a beautiful name."
She smiled and turned in his arms, her head coming to rest against his chest. "Do you ever wonder how we got to be this lucky?"
He shook his head and pulled her closer. "It’s not luck," he said firmly. "We earned this. The universe threw everything it had at us and we’re still standing. I figure it’s cosmic payback."
She sighed a soft laugh. "But we hurt people--"
"We made mistakes."
Her hands moved to her stomach again, a protective gesture that made his heart swell. "What if we make more? With her?"
"We probably will," he admitted, tipping her face up so he could look into her earnest eyes. "But this time at least we’ll make them together."
"Together," she nodded, her slow smile sending him floating. "I like the sound of that."
"Me too." He grinned and leaned in to kiss her soft, smiling lips. "I like it a lot."
And as he lost himself in her for the thousandth time he knew that, for this moment at least - this one precious moment in time - they were exactly where fate had intended them to be.
Together.
And it was perfect.
~End~
Story Notes: Spoilers: Unnatural Selection
Thanks: I started this story in March, since when I've had a baby and written another fic that was meant to be short but grew and grew ("Counterbalance"). And so I can honestly say that if it wasn't for the constant nagging (uh, encouragement) from Erika, Sandra and Sharon this story would never have been finished! So thanks to them for reading, brainstorming and commenting over the long-haul.
Many, many thanks also go to Linz; she is the punctuation queen. ;)
And finally, thank you to everyone who has enquired about this long fic that I've been promising for months and months. At last, here it is. I do hope it's worth the wait.
Happy Holidays to all the shippers out there! :)
Thanks: I started this story in March, since when I've had a baby and written another fic that was meant to be short but grew and grew ("Counterbalance"). And so I can honestly say that if it wasn't for the constant nagging (uh, encouragement) from Erika, Sandra and Sharon this story would never have been finished! So thanks to them for reading, brainstorming and commenting over the long-haul.
Many, many thanks also go to Linz; she is the punctuation queen. ;)
And finally, thank you to everyone who has enquired about this long fic that I've been promising for months and months. At last, here it is. I do hope it's worth the wait.
Happy Holidays to all the shippers out there! :)
End Notes: If you read it all, very many thanks. And Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and Happy New Year to you all!
Sally R.
Sally R.
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 ]