samandjack.net



Sam glanced helplessly at the cookie-like remains of her first attempt at a chocolate cake. She'd done everything the recipe called for perfectly...then left it in the oven too long.

Well, it wasn't her fault that the dissertation on wormhole physics had made her oblivious to the sound of the oven bell going off. She just got...distracted.

Reading the instructions on the box, Sam grimaced.

Honestly, naquadah reactors were easier to make than this!

The knock on the door startled her, although not as much as it would have two days ago when she first arrived home.

Then, she'd jumped at every shadow, small and large. Only Teal'c's reassuringly solid presence in her house had kept her from heading back out and driving up the mountain to the SGC again. He'd stayed overnight after they'd gone shopping for something for Drey'ac, and Daniel had driven him back up to the mountain in the morning on his way to work.

Last night, she'd gotten so bold as to walk out into the inky darkness of the spring night and sit on the hood of her car in the pitch black, silently screaming at the night. Cars drove by, and it took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to run back inside, but she leaned against her car and forced herself to watch as they passed by, their headlights illuminating her for the briefest of moments before they continued down the street.

She was *not* going to hide, she would *not* let her kidnapping make her afraid, and she was overcoming her fears one day at a time.

Including not jumping at unexpected sounds around her house - such as a knock at the door.

Dusting off her hands, and grimacing at the state of her mix-bespattered t-shirt, Sam went to answer the door just as the visitor knocked a second time.

A glance through the curtains showed it to be Colonel O'Neill, his arm still in the sling as he waved to someone in the street. Probably whoever had given him a lift here.

"Carter!" He glanced at her t-shirt as she opened the door, and his eyebrows rose. "Cooking?"

"Uh, trying to, sir." She resisted the urge to dust herself off and make herself look presentable. This man had seen her covered with mud, blood, soot, and grime - what was cake mix compared to that? "You've been cleared to leave the base?"

"Well, I'm certainly not on the lam." He grinned, then paused, and his eyes flickered towards the interior of her hallway, "May I come in?"

She hesitated and saw his expression close up a little, the good-humour leaving him serious and intense. "I won't stay long if you're busy."

"I'm not busy." Sam stepped back and gestured him into the house, trying not to let the scent of him distract her. Fresh cut grass, musk and coffee, spring rain, roses in bloom, and soap - if that could be said to be a scent. "How's the shoulder, sir?"

"Aches a bit, but it's fine. Doc's getting naggy, of course. She reminds me of a girl I knew in elementary school," he said, annoyance in his voice as he preceded her down the hallway. "Bossy. Always telling you what you could and couldn't do. I've been through this often enough to know what's allowed and what's not."

Sam refrained from pointing out that just because he knew what was allowed and not allowed for a bullet-graze did not necessarily mean he obeyed. Knowing her commanding officer as she did, she had no doubt he'd been stretching Janet's requirements to the limit - if not outright breaking them. "When's the physiotherapy start?"

"It'll be a week or two before it's healed enough. I'm supposed to be catching up with the reports, and reviewing the training procedures." A shrug as he paused by the bench. "Teal'c dropped me off..."

"Oh, he's back from the Land of Light?" Sam asked, pleased to have something to talk about. "How did Drey'ac like the present?"

The Colonel looked surprised, "Present?"

Slipping behind the kitchen bench put some space between them, as well as a barrier between them. Barriers were good - she has so few of them when it came to this man. "I guess you don't know about that." She'd ask Teal'c tonight when he and the others came around for a potluck dinner.

"Guess not." He glanced over at the dining table, "Can't keep away from the work, I see."

Books were strewn over the table, and journals and papers lay open and half-read. Sam blushed, remembering another time when she'd been told to 'take it easy.'

"There were some recent articles about wormhole physics, postulating the possibility of transporting matter through space and time..."

"Ah-ah-ah!" He held up his hands to stop her explanation and winced as the movement of the sling-bound one pulled at his wound. "Ow."

"You shouldn't..."

"I already have the Doc grumping at me, Carter. You can save your breath." He glanced back towards the kitchen, and his eyes lingered on the smears on her t-shirt. "Never figured you as the kitchen type."

"I've just been trying to make a cake..."

He glanced at the flat round cookie-like first attempt, and the eyebrows rose as he drawled, "'Trying' would be the key word, right?"

She flushed a little under the amused gaze, "I wasn't any good at home ec."

"Neither was I," he drawled, "But I can make a cake from a mix."

Resisting the temptation to toss the packet at him and tell him he could do it, she just flushed harder. His presence in her house at this time was disconcerting, upsetting emotional and mental equilibrium that had been delicately balancing for over a year. "Was there something you wanted, sir?"

His expression shifted subtly yet again, and Sam braced her hands on the bench between them as he said in a too-soft voice, "I wanted to talk."

"About?"

"Us."

"There is no 'us', sir." The response was prompt and automatic. Instinctive by now. She could have answered it in her sleep to any brass of her choice.

"I know." Still the same gentle tone of voice. "That's what I wanted to talk about."

Her shoulders did *not* tense at his words, her stomach did *not* suddenly develop gymnastic skills, and her heartbeat did *not* suddenly speed up.

Yeah, right.

"You promised..." The accusation died on her lips as she met his gaze. No, he hadn't promised anything. She'd asked for grace and he'd given it to her. After Apophis' ship, after the za'tarc incident, after Jonah and Thera, after the electrical entity possessed her, after Orlin lived in her house for nine days...he'd given her the grace of space to deal with it as she would with no recourse to his feelings or opinions on the matter.

Sam had been given more grace than any woman had a right to expect.

She felt like she'd failed him. He thought her so strong, so tough, able to find solutions to technical problems, competent, and capable. And maybe a part of her was that person - when she had to do her job, she could be that tough, independent officer, unafraid of censure, knowing what she had to do. But inside the competent Air Force Major was a woman who pushed away
emotional entanglements, dealing with them by not dealing with them. Admiration or adoration she could cope with - Martouf, Narim, Ambassador Faxon, Orlin...even Daniel, Teal'c, and the Colonel in his 'affectionate CO' role - they were safe.

But a man who wanted to do more than just admire...

"I asked if we could leave it in the room." It was a plea.

"And I tried to leave it there, Carter," he said, equally softly. "It just kept...coming out."

Sam looked up, met his gaze, and saw the truth written there.

In spite of being kept at arm's length time and time again, he still cared. For some reason - maybe because they worked together so closely - so intimate and yet untouching - he'd never moved on.

And truthfully, neither had she.

She kept him at arm's length and convinced herself that there was nothing there that wouldn't pass. Told herself they could be co-workers and team-mates without wanting more. Lied to herself about her motives in their line of work.

"Have you ever stopped to consider that we hide behind the regs? That they' re our excuse not to do anything?"

"We have to follow the regulations, sir."

"They're guidelines..."

"Guidelines designed to prevent the deterioration of morale, and situations which could involve a conflict of interest!" Her voice got harder, fiercer. She could hear it. So could he.

It angered him. "Don't quote the regs at me, Carter - I know them as well as you!"

"Then why do you have such trouble following them?"

"Because even if they weren't there, we still wouldn't be doing anything!" His growl stopped her dead. "We're too scared to admit what we could have here!"

"We don't have anything..." It was another instinctive response. Hide. Protect. Deny.

"Dammit, Carter, will you shut up and listen for once instead of just denying everything?"

Sam shut up. The irritation in his voice was laced with desperation. She had the disturbing feeling that he was at a point where, if she *didn't* listen to what he had to say, he'd grab hold of her and *make* her listen to him. And that frightened her, because he was one of the most controlled people she knew.

She *didn't* have that kind of power over him - the power to disturb him so intensely. She *didn't*.

She didn't *want* that kind of power over him.

Keeping her mouth shut, she dropped her gaze back to the bench, feeling the tension in her shoulders.

"Thank you." The Colonel paused, as if collecting his thoughts before continuing. "I know you've got everything 'under control', Carter. You just...deny there's anything there and everything's fine for you." He flicked the bench with the fingers of his left hand. Long, lean fingers that had to be tucked into his pockets or else they'd wriggle and tap and poke. "Doesn't work that way for me."

"Sir..."

"Ah-ah!" He wanted her to be quiet, and so she fell silent, watching his fingers trace patterns on the benchtop. "I would never do anything to jeopardise your career, Carter. You should know that by now. I'm not gonna jump you, or cross any lines I shouldn't..." He trailed off, and she glanced up at him, finding him staring down at his hand.

"But?"

He met her gaze squarely. "I don't want to be shut out anymore."

And that was what she feared.

Jonas had pushed his way past her emotional barriers, laying siege to her heart until she surrendered.

The Colonel was asking instead of just taking, but the result could only be the same: an exhilarating ride until she failed his standards and expectations - and then only the long fall.

"And what do you want, then?" If she knew what he wanted, she could guard against it. If she knew her enemy, she could take measures to keep him out.

"Friends."

"Friends could be dangerous, sir."

"Yeah," one shoulder rose and fell in a shrug. "But so is our life, Carter. We're always on the run, always fighting." His mouth quirked, "Getting kidnapped by billionaires for use as a medical guinea-pigs."

Sam shuddered. She couldn't help it. What had kept her going through that time was the belief that her friends would come for her. That the guys would track her down and find her - and all she had to do was live long enough for them to do so.

He was around the bench and in her personal space before she could back away. "Carter!"

"I'm okay." She saw his disbelief and repeated herself. "I am."

Something flickered across his face, "I know you are." Was there the slightest edge in his voice? "But I'm not." The hesitation was marked, as if he struggled with himself, before he slipped his right arm from his sling stiffly, held his arms out and murmured, "C'mere."

And she did.

His body was warm beneath the jacket he wore, and she felt the heat sear through the layers of her clothing, the scent of him somehow easing her tension as she took a breath that shuddered slightly. It was stupid to feel safe just because he had his arms around her. Sam wasn't some 'damsel in distress' needing to be rescued; she never had been. Although the relief which had swamped her as he and Maybourne burst into the room...

"Waiting to find out what happened to your team-mate is hard, Carter," he murmured into her hair. "Friends is easy by comparison."

Maybe for him it was. Sam trembled a little, and pulled away from him. "But would it be wise?"

"Probably not. But it wasn't wise to stay behind on Apophis' ship, either." He let her go, wincing a bit as he rolled his shoulder easing the wounded flesh, but didn't move away, remaining distractingly close. "Carter - *Sam*, 'wise' went out the window after that damned Tok'ra confessional thing. Hammond knew about it - Fraiser would have had to report it - and he left us together as a team anyway."

"That doesn't mean we can just make up the rules as we go along."

"I'm not asking us to make up rules. I just don't want to end up on the outside."

"I don't shut you out."

He snorted, "Remember the other day at lunch? You came into the commissary, got your lunch and were debating about whether to sit with me or not."

She flushed. She'd gone into the mountain to pick up some stuff and prove that she could come in to work and return home without having a panic attack. Finding the files she'd needed took longer than expected, and she'd gone into the commissary to grab a bite to eat. The Colonel had been sitting at a table, alone and reading what looked like reports, and Sam had taken her tray from the counter and paused, torn between avoiding him and going to sit with him.

"I..."

"Look, forget the gossips. We know they're wrong. Hammond knows they're wrong. Daniel thinks it's a laugh and a half, and Teal'c..." The Colonel hesitated.

"What about Teal'c, sir?"

"Ah...Teal'c doesn't understand what the fuss is about."

That wasn't what he'd been about to say and they both knew it. She decided to let the matter pass - for now.

He sighed. "Sam, do you remember back when we first started up as SG-1? You and Daniel were pulling all-nighters most days of the week and the grapevine was going wild. For a while there, they had you pinned as a Suzy home-wrecker, and Daniel as a faithless swine. They were wrong, weren't they?"

"Yes, but..." The words were on her lips, but she caught them in time. *They're not wrong about this. About this attraction between us...*

He must have seen what she'd been about to say, and something like a wince crossed his face. "They *are* wrong about us, Carter. Our relationship is...a little more than professional - but it's not what they're suggesting. We're part of a team with Teal'c and Daniel - one of the closest-knit ones on the base. We trust each other and we know each other - in the non-biblical sense." The Colonel grimaced and glanced away, then back again, "Look, what I'm trying to say is...forget the gossips. Let them go on about whatever they like. We're friends. Hammond knows that and he trusts us a lot more than he trusts the grapevine." His eyes held her gaze, although she could guess how much he wanted to just stare down at his hands. "Is 'just friends' too much to ask?"

Sam hesitated.

She could tell him it was too much for her. He'd accept that. Whatever he'd ever wanted in their relationship, he'd always left the decisions about how far they were going to take things up to her - and then stood by them.

It was on her lips to tell him they couldn't and shouldn't, because the more time she spent around him the easier it was to forget she wasn't supposed to care about this man. The harder it would be to keep him at arm's length, and the more likely it would be that she'd find herself having to deal with him on an intimate level.

*So, what was new?*

A memory surfaced.

Waiting in the holding cell when Colonel O'Neill had been stuck on P7S-441 with the alien who had posed as Lieutenant Tyler, hating her inactivity, thinking of her commanding officer left behind on a planet full of Jaffa. *He could be dead by now for all we know!* The words had been said in frustration, but once they were said, cold rage had settled on her. She'd do whatever she had to in order to get him back. And if the Goa'uld had him, or if he was dead...

Standing in her kitchen, remembering the sick feeling of survivor's guilt and furious anger that stormed through her as she faced Colonel Simmons across the briefing room table, Sam acknowledged the truth. It was hard to walk the fine line between being friends with Jack O'Neill and being...more - but it was better than not having him there at all. Someday, things would have to change between them - either letting what they had drift into the ether of time, or acting on it - but until that day...

"No," she said quietly, staring carefully at his chest. "Friends isn't too much to ask, sir."

The tension in his stance eased, and she could hear the wry humour in his voice as he asked: "I guess persuading you to call me by my first name *would* be too much to ask, huh?" He must have been studying her expression, because he answered himself, "I guess it is." One finger touched her chin, and lifted her gaze to his. "This doesn't change anything, Sam."

Except that it did. It might not change anything for him, but it changed things for her. If she wasn't going to shut him out, then it would make interacting with him just that little bit more difficult on her part.

Still, there and then, Sam decided she *would* deal with it. For him. Because he wanted that little bit more, and because she... cared... about him. This would be her concession to their friendship. It was still admiration and respect... just a little more than was customary between professional officers.

So she smiled and began to move away from him, only to be caught and drawn back into a hug against his side, brief, hard, and warm. "I'm glad you're back, Carter."

And laughter - and a little tendril of excitement - bubbled up in her as she murmured back, "I'm glad I'm back, too, sir."

He snorted with amusement and let her go, easing his arm back into the sling. "So...about this cake you're trying to bake..."

"Are you casting aspersions on my cooking ability?"

"Do I look like I have aspersions to cast?" he responded, shifting around to the end of the bench, allowing her space again. "All I was going to ask was whether you want help making the next cake. From a pro."

"A pro?" Relieved that he'd stepped out of her personal space, Sam raised her eyes to him, amused.

He was undeterred by her skepticism. "Sure. I'll have you know my chocolate cakes have won awards in the Jackson County Bakeoffs!"

Laughter rose within her: "'Jackson County', sir?"

"You didn't think I'm fond of Daniel because he's so charming, didja, Carter?" Came the cheerful quip. "He just reminds me of home..."

She giggled in spite of herself and waved one hand at the kitchen. "Very well, sir. *Mi cochina, su cochina.*"

He shook his head, smiling, "You've been hanging around Daniel way too much, Carter."

"I'm just following in the footsteps of my CO, sir." Ah, yes. *This* was what she'd missed in the last year - the easygoing teasing, on the verge of something, but without anything to worry about. She might have to worry about the gossips - but who was to say her life wouldn't end on their next mission? And the Colonel was right. The people who were important - the people whose opinions mattered - they knew the truth, and so did she.

"That boy is a bad influence. All right then, pay careful attention, and I'll show you the finer points of how to make a cake from a mix, Carter." He glanced wryly down at his sling-bound arm, "But you'll have to stir."

Sam met his cautious expression with a slow smile, and watched him return it. He had a gorgeous smile.

It would be a challenge to not shut him out; to be 'just friends' and walk that fine line between their roles as part of a front-line military team and the necessary dependency on each other as part of that team.

But Sam Carter was always up for a challenge.

And as her CO began issuing 'orders', Sam allowed herself to contemplate that maybe someday, situations permitting, there'd be more.

*** The End ***




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