Snow was falling softly as Jacob left the airport. Not the hard kind of driving snow he remembered from his years in DC, but a soft, windless fall of white. And it was cold; a bitter biting air, cutting into cheeks and ears.
Colorado Springs was in the grip of frost, but the Christmas lights still shone against the dark, winter days. Somehow it felt more appropriate here than in the balmy light of San Diego. More appropriate to the festival, and more appropriate to the heaviness of Jacob's heart.
*You worry too much,* Selmac told him.
*If you'd ever had a daughter, so would you,* he groused in reply.
Selmac silently conceded the point. *Nonetheless, you should not interfere. It will do no good.*
It was Jacob's turn to be silent as he crunched through the snow towards a waiting cab. Selmak might be right. Probably was. But hell, he was her father! There were some things that a father had to do, right or wrong. And this was one of them. "2034 McCooke Drive," he told the driver, as he slipped into the back of the cab.
*Samantha Carter is a grown woman, more than able to live her life without your interference,* Selmac persisted. *What do you hope to gain by this?*
*Some peace of mind,* he replied. *I can't just ignore it.*
*Then why not talk to your daughter?*
That was a good question. He'd had Sam to himself for almost three days in San Diego. He'd seen the way she drifted nervously through the house, her mind distracted and her whole demeanor unsettled. He could have asked her about it - about what he'd half witnessed in the kitchen the night before O'Neill had left. But the truth was, he knew how she'd react. Sam had never been comfortable with her emotions, especially around him. Perhaps he'd been too hard on her as a kid? Driven her to repress anything he saw as weakness. Emotional displays included. Perhaps that was why she seemed so closed. Perhaps that was why she seemed so sad. *She wouldn't tell me anything,* he confessed to Selmac at last. *And...I have no idea what I'd say to her.*
*And O'Neill?* Selmac asked. *What will you say to him?*
Jacob smiled thinly. *Oh that's a hell of a lot easier. A hell of a lot...*
***
Jack felt like a spare part as he drifted through the quiet halls of the SGC. Like most staff, he was officially on down-time. But his home had proven too quiet for comfort. There was too much time to think there, too much time to remember the sensations and emotions that seemed to flow through his veins in lieu of blood. Sometimes it was hard to believe it had happened. Had he really touched her like that? Kissed her like that? Had her eyes really been that dark with passion? Had she really wanted him so hungrily?
God, even the memories had a potent physical effect! Shaking himself, he refocused on the here-and-now. On the gray of the corridor, on the clump of his boots on the concrete floor. And on the fact that, somehow, he had to make this right.
Opening the door to his office, he stepped into the room and closed it firmly behind him. Dropping into his chair, he sank his head back and let the memories come again. He should feel guilty. They'd crossed a line, and he'd breached his responsibilities as her CO. He should feel the guilt. It should be a weight on his shoulders.
But it wasn't.
It was a fire in his blood, a tension in the pit of his stomach that demanded release. And it was a hot, illicit pleasure. She'd wanted him. They'd wanted each other. He hadn't exploited her, hadn't forced anything. Everything had been equal, mutual, and long desired. They were partners in crime. No rank, no regulations. Simply two people acting on a feeling so powerful it had become irresistible Unstoppable.
And so he felt no guilt. Just frustration. If this was where it ended... God, he thought he'd go insane if he never got to touch her like--
"Colonel?" Hammond's voice splashed from the doorway like cold water.
"Sir!" He was bolt upright, eyes open, in an instant. Okay, so perhaps there was a little guilt... "I was just--"
"Here to see Jacob off?" Hammond guessed. Wrongly.
"Jacob?" Shit...! "Ah...he's leaving today?"
"At fourteen-hundred. You didn't know?"
Jacob Carter! The very last person he wanted to see. Jack glanced at his watch. Just past eleven. "I...actually, no," he replied. "I just came in to pick up some..." he glanced around his desk and grabbed a file., "...reports! Thought I'd get them out of the way over the holidays. You know? Thought I'd head home..."
Hammond was looking at him oddly. "Paperwork, Jack? On down time?"
He stood up, afraid that a wrathful Jacob might loom in the doorway at any moment. "Sure. Why not? Gotta be done, and you know the TV's always cr-- boring over the holidays. So..." He moved out from behind his desk. "Guess I'll be on my way, sir."
"Jack?" Hammond asked quietly, "Everything okay? You seem a little tense."
He did his best not to grimace. "No, sir. I'm fine. Everything's fine. No problems." But then he paused, a horrible thought abruptly souring his mouth. "Why? Did Jacob say something...?"
Hammond's confusion only grew. "Jacob? No. Why would--"
"No reason!" Jack smiled, mentally berating himself for the slip. "Ah...okay. I gotta go. Sir."
Hammond just nodded. "I can see that, Jack. You...you have a good New Year's, son."
Jack was almost out the door. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. You too." And then he was gone. Shit, was there *any* way he could have handled the situation worse? But at least one thing was clear, before he came back to work he needed to get a better grip on the situation. And on himself.
***
It was still snowing by the time Jack reached home, and he headed for the house head-down, files tucked under one arm. Reports...damn it. What the hell had possessed him to use *that* as an excuse? Still, anything was better than facing Jacob Carter, he supposed. But the key had barely slid into the lock when he heard a voice from behind him.
"Morning, Jack."
He froze. Jacob. Oh crap! Of all the goddamn bad luck... Slowly he turned, fixing a bland expression onto his face. "Jacob. This is a surprise."
Jacob simply nodded. "Open the damn door, I'm freezing my ass off."
With a sinking heart, Jack turned back to the door and stepped inside. Jacob. Looking pissed. He wasn't optimistic about how this was going to go. Behind him, the door slammed and Jacob stomped his feet on the doormat. "Give me San Diego any day of the week."
Dropping his files onto the nearby side table, Jack turned to face his unexpected guest. Or, perhaps, his inquisitor. "Not staying for New Year's then?"
"No," Jacob grunted, shedding his coat. "I couldn't get away for long. It's a difficult time for the Tok'ra, as you know. But I wanted to be here for Christmas. It's been too long."
Jack nodded. "Family's important this time of year." And then, because he knew he had to say it, he quietly added, "Thanks, by the way. For the invite."
"Yeah," Jacob snorted. "Well, no one should be alone at Christmas."
They sank into a tense silence, the unease palpable. But Jack didn't want to make the same mistake he'd made with Hammond and reveal too much, so instead he turned and headed into the living room. "You want a coffee? Or something stronger?"
"Coffee would be good," Jacob answered, following him. "The Tok'ra can't make coffee for shit."
But if Jack had been hoping for a moment to gather his thoughts, he was disappointed. No sooner had he poured the coffee into the machine than Jacob spoke again, leaning on the doorjamb close behind him. "I guess you know why I'm here."
Jack grimaced, and turned slowly around. "Why don't you tell me?"
A flash of irritation crossed the older man's face. "Are you trying to be funny?"
"No," Jack assured him. "Just want to make sure we're talking about the same thing."
For a moment, their eyes clashed and held each other. Then Jacob nodded and glanced past Jack's shoulder, out of the window. "Sam," he said quietly. "We're talking about Sam."
"Yeah," Jack agreed softly. He had the horrible feeling that something beneath his feet was beginning to shift; the foundations of his life were starting to subside. "Look, Jacob. I know she's your daughter, and God knows I understand that you'd be protective of her. But I--"
"How long's it been going on?"
He shook his head. "There's nothing--"
"Don't bullshit me, Jack," Jacob grunted. "She's my daughter. I'm not stupid. And, anyway, I *saw*."
The muscles in his neck bunched as the blood rushed to his face. He'd seen? Crap. "Oh."
"So... How long?"
"It's not what you think," Jack began. Then winced. "I mean... What you saw was what you think, but it wasn't...what you think. It was a one-off."
Jacob's blue eyes were as unforgiving as ice. "A one-off? A grope in the dark? A one night piece of--"
"No!" Jack protested. "God, no. It was... It was..." Mind-blowing? Heart-melting? Life-changing? "It was--"
"It was wrong," Jacob broke in, taking a step closer. "You know that much, don't you?"
Jack looked away. "Of course I do."
"But...?"
"But what?"
Jacob ran his hand over his mouth. "There has to be a 'but', Jack. Or you wouldn't have done it. Would you?"
Embarrassed and irritated, he turned back to the coffee and started pouring out a mug-full. "It's under control," me muttered.
But the lie cracked his voice, just as a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him around. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"I...," he stammered. "I... I can't--"
"You're her CO, for Christ's sake!" Jacob snapped. "I trusted you!"
Pulling his arm free, Jack backed away. "Look, this isn't all my fault--"
"You're blaming Sam?"
"No! That's not what I meant," frustrated and ashamed, Jack struggled to find the right words. "It's just... It's not what you think. It's not... It's not entirely one-sided."
Jacob grunted, a cold dismissal. "You think this is what Sam wants?"
Somehow, his words turned Jack cold. "I--"
"Do you think this is making her happy?" Jacob pressed, closer now. Furious. "Do you?"
Unsure, Jack shook his head. Happiness wasn't an issue. There were just the feelings, and the knowledge that they had to be ignored. The constant tension between desire and duty, between doing what felt right and doing the right thing. It wasn't about happiness. It never had been.
Jacob spoke into the silence. "I can tell you it's not, Jack. She's miserable. This is making her miserable. *You're* making her miserable."
*He* was making her miserable...? Sickened, he turned around and pressed his hands against the counter. No. He couldn't be. He couldn't. That would be--
"Jesus, Jack. Are you so blind you can't even see it?"
He was making her miserable. Inside, a long-held hope started to crumble. And suddenly Jack felt very old. Standing there, hands pressed against the counter top, he stared down at his weathered fingers and cringed at the thought of them touching her youthful skin. He was making her miserable. Somehow it managed to be a shock, and yet utterly inevitable all at once. "Did Carter tell you that?"
There was a long pause. "Carter?" Jacob said coldly. "You can't even use her name?"
Jack didn't bother to explain. How could he? Carter was Carter. The name was hers alone, and the most beautiful, powerful one he could imagine. "Is that what she said?" he repeated. "That I make her miserable?"
Again, another pause. And when he turned around he noticed a strange inward look in Jacob's eyes before he said, "Yes. That's what she told me."
Jack closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmured on a collapsing breath.
"It can't go on like this." Jacob's voice was softer now. Perhaps he felt some pity? "You know that, don't you?"
Jack nodded. "Yeah, I know." Boldly, he met Jacob's hard gaze. "The last thing I want to do is hurt her."
Saying nothing, Jacob moved towards the window and stared out. "It's for her own good," he declared firmly. "People don't always know what's good for them." Somewhat confused, Jack remained silent until Jacob turned around again. "I'm glad we've had this chat, Jack."
Jack simply nodded, too numb to do anything else. "You still want coffee?"
"No, I gotta get back to the SGC," Jacob decided, heading for the door. "I'm trusting you to do the right thing here, Jack."
Watching him go, Jack sighed. "I know. And I will. I swear."
Jacob nodded, his back turned. "I don't blame you," he said after a moment. "Sam's an exceptional young woman. But you--"
"I know," Jack interrupted, afraid to hear his many weaknesses detailed. He was too familiar with them all. "And for what it's worth," he added. "I don't blame you either." God knew, if he had a daughter he wouldn't want her mixed up with someone like himself!
Jacob opened the front door and paused. "Then we understand each other?"
"Yeah," Jack sighed. "We do."
Buttoning his coat against the cold, he nodded. "Then I'll see you next time there's a crisis, I guess."
"Yeah. You betcha."
Pulling on a hat, Jacob glanced out at the still falling snow. "Have a good New Year's then, Jack." And with that he was gone.
A good New Year's? He felt as cold and dead as winter.
Only this time there was no one to bring him back. No hope of spring.
***
Sam circled the block slowly, eyeing all the cars parked along Janet's street. The colonel's truck was noticeable by its absence. And Sam couldn't help but feel disappointed. Not that there wasn't plenty of time for him to arrive; it was only just nine o'clock after all. It's just that she hadn't wanted to be the first one there, spending minutes or even hours anticipating and dreading him walking through the door. But it looked like she had no choice, unless she was going to sit in her car until he arrived. Which would just be ridiculous!
No, she'd have to go in and brave it out. Her only comfort was that no one other than herself was expecting him; it was her own, guilty secret. A clandestine liaison amid a crowd of friends, significant to none but themselves.
By the time she passed Janet's house for the third time, so many cars had arrived that Sam was forced to park some distance away. She cursed out loud as she looked at the snow still falling, and wiggled her toes in her highly unpractical, yet definitely sexy, boots. "Should have worn my sneakers," she muttered to herself as she opened the door and climbed out into the icy air.
But the truth was, practicality had not been top of her agenda for the evening. If it had been, odds were she'd have stayed safely in front of the TV and out of temptation. Instead, she'd left the practical Major Carter fretting at home, and let Sam out to play. It was liberating and terrifying, all at once. But it was something she knew she had to do.
Everything had changed on Christmas night. Not just a fissure in the emotional damn she'd so carefully constructed around her feelings for O'Neill, but something more profound. A taste of a life unlived. A realization that an opportunity, once missed, is gone forever. And an understanding that she'd rather regret taking a chance than missing one. Emotional risks weren't something she was good at. Yet, staring out at the sleeping San Diego streets, she'd felt the passing of time like never before. And she still had no answer to the question that had struck her then and nagged at her ever since... Is this all there is? Is this as good as it gets?
Perhaps the answer was yes. Perhaps this really was as good as it got. She had the best job on the planet, the respect of her peers, and the love of her friends. But she knew in her heart that, if she didn't gamble on what she'd been half-chasing and half-denying for the past four years, she would never know if she could add that other, elusive dimension to her world; a love, a home, and even a family of her own. And that would be a more profound regret than anything else she could imagine.
Lost in deep thought, she picked her way carefully across the snow towards the sidewalk. It was icy underfoot, and her heeled boots didn't do much for her balance. But eventually she found herself climbing the steps to Janet's house, having avoided falling flat on her face en route. So far, so good.
The door was opened by a beaming Cassie, whose eyes instantly flew wide. "Wow, Sam. You look great!"
Sam smiled nervously, afraid she'd over done it. "I do?" she asked, slipping off her long coat as Cassie closed the door in the face of the snow.
"Black really suits you," Cassie enthused. "And I love that top! Man, you better watch out or Jonas won't be able to keep his hands off you!"
Sam rolled her eyes, and gently punched the girl on the shoulder. "Yeah, right!"
"I'm telling you," Cassie persisted, as Sam forged her way through the crowd towards the kitchen, "you look amazing. Really. I mean, most people your age don't have, like, any style. I mean, my Mom... Oh my God. But you look really great! I'm serious. I think--"
Chuckling, Sam held up a hand to silence her. "Cassie! Enough." She glanced around the room. "Where is your mom anyway?"
"With the booze," Cassie grinned. "Where else?"
Still laughing, Sam glanced over the heads of the crowd and spied Janet in the kitchen, pulling a six-pack from the fridge. Smiling and nodding through the party, she made it to her friend's side. "One of those for me?"
Janet looked up and grinned. "You made it!" And then she blinked, eyes widening. "And then some. Look at you!"
Okay, she'd definitely gone over the top with the outfit. "Too much?" she asked, smoothing her hands over the figure-hugging shirt and pants.
"No," Janet shook her head. "You look great. Really. It's just, you know - I'm used to seeing you in jeans and--" She stopped dead, blinked and said, "Wow!"
"What?"
Janet reached out and touched Sam's ear. "Those are beautiful. They look so real!"
Self-consciously, Sam touched her new earrings and tried to stem the blush she felt creeping up her chest towards her face. "Thanks, they're, um, new..."
"For Christmas?" Janet asked, reading her mind as she took a step closer for a better look. "I can't believe how realistic they look. I mean, obviously they can't be because that would have cost--" Something in Sam's face betrayed her, because Janet's mouth suddenly dropped open. "They're *real*?"
"I, um..." Sam muttered, raking a hand through her hair. "Huh, can you believe it's still snowing?"
"Sam!" Janet hissed, grabbing her hand and dragging her further into the kitchen. "You're wearing diamond earrings! I need details. Who gave them to you? And don't tell me it was your Dad!"
"Janet, I--"
"Sam!"
"I can't," she muttered, blushing hotly. "I'm sorry. I just--"
Janet's lips formed a perfect 'O' as realization dawned. "Oh my God. It was...him?"
Sam just shook her head, refusing to answer.
"Jesus," Janet breathed. "They must have cost a month's pay!"
A month's? "Really?"
Janet nodded heartily. "Trust me." Then she paused, her gaze turning speculative. "So, you guys are...?"
The instant denial that sprang to Sam's lips felt hollow against the memory of their brief, intense, encounter less than a week ago. "I... Janet, don't ask."
"Shit, Sam...," Janet sighed, her amusement washed away. "I hope you know what you're doing."
Sam laughed out loud, nervous. "Actually, I have no idea."
"Then just be careful," Janet cautioned. "I'd hate to see it all fall apart."
"I know," Sam agreed, more sober than she'd felt all week. "I promise. I just... Things are just complicated, that's all."
Janet shook her head, smiling ruefully as she glanced once more at Sam's earrings. "I can see that." And then her eyes sparkled, "You know, he has better taste than I'd have guessed."
Sam grinned, blushing again. "Yeah," she admitted, "that's what I thought."
***
Indecision.
It wasn't an emotion with which Jack O'Neill was familiar. To his mind, you either did something or you didn't. Dithering around in-between was the sort of thing he left to politicians, or Daniel. It just wasn't something he did.
And yet as he put on his coat for the third time in an hour, and paced once more around his living room, he had to admit that he simply couldn't decide what to do.
Vividly, he remembered his final meeting with Sam. Awkward, yet somehow sweet. She'd obviously just gotten out of bed, looking rumpled and enticingly soft. Yet eager to talk to him; the connection that had pulled them together as powerful as ever. If Abby hadn't turned up... But she had, and he'd found himself making a lopsided arrangement to see Sam at Fraiser's New Year's party. Anything, he'd thought at the time, to demonstrate that what had happened between them was more than some kind of random burst of lust. Anything to tell her he didn't want to leave it in the room. Not this time.
Of course, he thought sourly, that had been before his conversation with Jacob. Nothing like a concerned father to throw cold water over the whole affair. In other circumstances he might have been angry. But the truth was, in his heart, he knew that Jacob was right. What he felt, what he'd done, was wrong. Militarily and personally. God knew, Carter deserved someone better than himself. His personal life, both before and - he was ashamed to admit - during his marriage hadn't exactly been exemplary. And if being around Carter had made him a better person, that didn't mean he had any right to burden her with his baggage.
*You're making her miserable.*
He could believe that. After all, how long had it been since the painful confession of his feelings for her? Over two years. And in all that time, had he done a single thing to try and resolve the situation one way or the other? No. He'd just been content to follow his usual strategy of burying his emotions so deep he could forget they were there. Carter, he suspected, was different. Not that she wasn't the consummate professional, but he knew that her heart was less warded than his own. He'd seen it after Daniel died. And after the mess with the replicators. And he wondered how he could have spent two years pretending that her feelings for him weren't affecting her? How could he have put her through that, without even attempting to find a better solution?
"Because you're an inconsiderate son-of-a-bitch?" he suggested out loud. Either that or a coward. He didn't want to start anything, he didn't want to end anything. He'd kidded himself into believing that things could just stay as they were, unspoken and unresolved. But Jacob had shown him, at last, that ambivalence was no longer an option. He had to make a choice.
And he'd made it. Really, it hadn't been difficult. He wanted the best for Carter, and he was damn sure that he was not the best. That wasn't the problem. The problem was, what to do tonight.
He glanced at his watch. Nine thirty. He'd told her he'd be there. And he knew she'd be waiting for him. Expecting...? What?
"You should have called!" he muttered, sinking down onto the sofa in disgust. But he hated talking on the phone. He could never say things the right way. So he'd hesitated, considered turning up at her house, but shied away from the confrontation that would provoke. It would be better at work, he'd reasoned. Uniforms, ranks - it would make it easier to say what he had to say. And so he'd done nothing. Again. It seemed to be the defining feature of his relationship with Carter. Doing nothing.
And it left him here, between the proverbial rock and hard place. If he turned up, he'd have to deal with the memories of her heated kisses, still so fresh they burned, the twist of desire in his gut when he thought about her, and the ache of knowing what the future held. But if he stayed home, he'd know that she was waiting for him. Disappointed and hurt. And, as he'd told Jacob, the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her.
With a sigh, he sank back and stared up at the ceiling. When it came down to it, there really was no choice at all.
***
It was almost ten o'clock. The party was in full swing, and Sam's stomach was tied in so many knots that she was beginning to feel queasy. Every time the doorbell chimed, she felt her heart flip over. And then sink towards her toes in disappointment when it wasn't him.
She glanced at her watch again, as she tried to listen to Jonas enthuse about transcultural similarities during the festive season, and hoped he didn't notice her distraction. Jonas, being Jonas, did.
"Are you waiting for someone?" he asked abruptly, eyes following hers towards the front door.
"What?" Sam asked, turning back to him with a forced grin. "No. Are you?"
He frowned. "No. But everyone I know is here, so..."
Sam forced a smile. "So, you were saying... The use of fire at midwinter festivals is a commonality between how many northern cultures...?"
With a shrug, Jonas continued. Just as the doorbell rang. Sam's heart stuttered, but she refused to look. If it was him, then she'd find out sooner or later. If it wasn't--
"Hey, look! It's Colonel O'Neill," Jonas smiled. "Teal'c said he never came to these things, on account of..." He trailed off. Or maybe Sam just stopped listening as she turned towards the door.
The impact was startling and physical. Its intensity totally unexpected. She felt as though she'd been hit by a bus as she watched him shrug off his coat and hand a bottle of something to Janet. He smiled, and Sam felt her toes curl. Her vision blurred, and she realized that for the first time ever she was seeing him as something other than 'the colonel'. In the week since their encounter, something inside her had shifted so profoundly that when she looked over at the man with whom she'd worked for almost six years, she saw nothing but Jack O'Neill. Just a guy.
A guy who, at that moment, she wanted more than anything in her life.
Her mind flew back to the dark kitchen at Mark's house, to strong arms around her and the ferocity of their mutual desire. Blood rushed to her face, and she found it difficult to catch her breath. God, she wanted him to look at her! But he was talking to Janet, smiling again. Driving her insane. If he didn't look over she'd have to--
He looked. A half-glance around the room. But as their eyes met he hesitated for a beat, then looked sharply away. And his smile was gone.
It was a punch to the gut.
"Sam?" Jonas's concerned voice penetrated the blood that thundered in her ears. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."
She blinked and dragged her eyes back to Jonas. "I'm fine," she lied, struggling to pull her scattered thoughts together. "I need to... Um, excuse me."
And she was gone, pushing through the crowd towards the bathroom. She needed space. A moment to gather herself together. He'd looked at her. His smile had faded. He'd looked away.
She knew what it meant.
He'd changed his mind. God damn it! Hot anger flashed through her as she hurried into the, mercifully, empty bathroom and locked the door behind her. He'd changed his goddamn mind! How dare he?! She kicked angrily at the bath, furious. And hurt. Trying desperately to get herself back under control. Tears bunched in her throat, but swallowed them ruthlessly. There was no way she was going to cry. Damn him. Just when she'd gotten her own mind sorted out, he had to go and screw her up again.
Damn him. Damn all men! She was growing old with a cat. And that was that!
***
He was trying so hard not to look at her, that he didn't notice her move until she was heading right past him and into the back of the house. But he didn't miss the look on her face. Angry. Hurt.
Damn it. How could she know already? He'd barely looked at her! Although, he figured, maybe that was the point...
"...and there's plenty of beer in the fridge," Fraiser finished, dragging his attention back to her.
He smiled again. "Great. Thanks."
There was a shrewd look in her eye though, and he got the feeling she was seeing him in a new light. "Sam's here," she said then, studying him for a reaction.
He winced, understanding. Carter had told her. Shit. "Right," he muttered. "I thought she might be."
Fraiser smiled. "Yeah. She was over with Jonas a moment ago--"
"Teal'c here?" Jack interrupted, glancing around the room as nonchalantly as possible.
"Try the family room," Janet suggested, heading back towards the kitchen. "I think Cassie's showing him her X-Box."
Definitely not in the mood for games, Jack made a point of avoiding the family room. And Jonas, who seemed to be in deep discussion with a wide-eyed young woman he vaguely remembered as Lieutenant Rapkin. There was only one person he wanted to see, and she seemed to have disappeared.
Snagging a beer en route, Jack headed off in the direction he'd seen her flee. He hoped that, maybe, she'd found a quiet corner where they could talk. Even he knew that this couldn't be swept under the carpet without--
A door opened right in front of him. And there she was, stepping out of the bathroom. For a moment she didn't see him, and he felt a roll of tenderness in his throat at the sight of her sad and unguarded face. Then she looked up and turned as brittle as the Captain Carter he'd first met. "Sir," she said coolly. No anger, just icy professionalism.
"Hey," he said, "I was looking for you."
A moment of doubt clouded her eyes. "Oh?"
He couldn't help himself. "You okay?"
She looked away, her professional mask slipping so suddenly it shocked him. "Do you care?"
Crap. His mouth went dry, and he glanced nervously over a shoulder. There was no one around. He lowered his voice. "You know I do."
She gave a sour laugh. "Right. More than you should, huh?"
"Carter--"
"It's okay," she told him, starting to stride past him. "Really. I understand."
"Carter, wait--"
She span around, eyes flashing cold fire. "Is that an order, sir?"
"Of course not," he sighed. "Carter, we can't just leave things--"
"I need a drink," she announced. "Happy New Year, sir."
And with that she strode off, into the living room. He could have followed, but what would have been the point? She'd understood his intentions, and he had nothing to say that would make things right. Definitely not in the mood for a party, Jack slipped quietly into the bathroom and shut the door. A moment of peace, he told himself, before he tried to make a subtle escape.
Leaning back against the door, his gaze was caught by something sparkling on the side of the basin. His stomach twisted painfully as he stepped closer. He knew instantly what they were. Diamonds. With a leaden heart, he reached out and picked up the earrings. Still far less beautiful than Carter, they glittered in his hands like dying stars. And he felt a foolish urge to cry.
But he didn't. He just slipped them into his pocket and took a long swallow from his beer. The sooner he got home the better, he decided. There was a bottle of single malt with his name on it, and he didn't think he could bare to be conscious when the bells rang in this new year.
***
She saw him go soon after their stilted conversation in the hallway. Slipping on his heavy coat, he'd left as quietly as he'd arrived. And even though she'd been expecting it, the finality was still a blow to her battered heart.
"Sam?"
Startled out of her reverie by Janet, she tried to force a smile. "Hey."
But Janet didn't miss a thing. "Was that Colonel O'Neill leaving?"
"Yeah," she replied shortly, staring down into her wine glass.
There was a pause, then Janet's hand touched her arm. "Come on," she said quietly, and lead her down the hallway to her quiet bedroom. Closing the door behind them, she sighed. "What happened?"
Sam shook her head. "Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Exactly nothing," Sam corrected, dropping down on her friend's bed. "Back to square one."
"And you thought things had changed?" Janet guessed, sitting beside her.
Nodding, Sam glanced over. She knew she shouldn't say anything. It was putting Janet in an impossible position. But she needed someone to talk to, and there really was no one else. "I kissed him," she said softly. "At Christmas."
To her credit, Janet didn't seem surprised. "You kissed him?"
Sam shrugged. "Each other," she corrected. "I don't remember how it started, we just...gave in."
"What did he say?" Janet asked quietly. "I mean, what did you think would happen?"
"He didn't say anything," Sam sighed. "My Dad came in--"
"No!"
"I don't think he saw anything," she carried on, smiling at Janet's wince. "But we didn't have time to say anything before Jack left."
Janet sighed, shook her head and after a moment said, "I don't think I've ever heard you call him that before."
"What?"
"Jack."
Sam blinked. "Did I?"
Touching her arm again, Janet said, "But you talked about it later, right? I mean, this wasn't the first time you'd seen him since...?" Sam shrugged and Janet groaned out loud. "Why didn't you call him, or something?"
"It doesn't matter," Sam replied, getting to her feet. "It's just one of those things. I just assumed it meant more than it did."
"Are you sure?" Janet asked, still sitting on her bed. "Seems like it meant a lot to you." Sam didn't answer, and Janet carried on. "What did he say tonight?"
Feeling tears prick, Sam shook her head. "Not much."
"Did he explain anything? Sam, what happened?"
Blinking rapidly, she whispered, "It was just obvious everything had gone back to how it was before. The way he looked at me, kept his distance. Everything. I just knew. I *know* him, Janet."
"And I know you," her friend replied. "I bet you didn't even let him say anything, right? Just gave him the brush-off. Didn't even try to persuade him to--"
"Ha!" Sam snorted. "I'm not gonna persuade him to do anything! It's his choice, and I--"
"His choice?" Janet prodded, still infuriatingly calm. "Really?"
Sam's jaw tightened. "I'm not going to beg."
"What about just talking? Doesn't seem like that's something you guys have ever really done."
"What do you expect me to do?" Sam snapped. "Just turn up on his doorstep and demand that we 'talk about it'!"
"Why not?" Janet protested as she too got to her feet. "You ever think that maybe the colonel's as screwed up about the whole thing as you are? Maybe he doesn't know what to do either?"
Frowning, Sam looked away. If she was honest, that wasn't something she'd ever considered. In her mind, O'Neill was always the colonel. Always in charge, and usually right. She hadn't realized how much she'd transposed their professional relationship onto their personal one. Perhaps she was placing too much of the responsibility onto him? Too much of the power. "I suppose I could," she admitted at last, a good deal of the wind gone out of her sails.
Closer now, Janet softly said, "What happened to the earrings?"
Instinctively, Sam reached up and touched her bare ears. "I felt stupid wearing them. I should go and get them - I left them in the bathroom."
Janet's face paled. "The bathroom."
"What?" Sam asked, a beat of unease pulsing low in her gut. "It's not like anyone's going to steal them."
"No," she admitted quietly. "But it might explain why Colonel O'Neill looked like he'd been sucker-punched when I saw him come out of there and head home."
For the first time since he'd walked into the house, Sam felt her anger dwindle. Guilt rose to take its place. "You think he saw them? I didn't mean it to look like I'd just thrown them out or... Oh God, that's what it would look like! But I was so mad, I--"
Janet was already out the door and heading across the hallway into the bathroom. "Where?" she asked, as Sam raced in behind her. "Where did you leave them?"
"By the sink." But they were gone. Sam looked everywhere, on the floor, on the vanity unit. Nothing. "Maybe someone took them?"
"Who would take them?"
A good point. "Shit," Sam hissed, sinking down onto the edge of the bath.
"The colonel must have them," Janet sighed.
"Maybe he wanted to get his money back?" Sam suggested hollowly. Although she doubted it. Too vivid was the memory of the warm look in his eyes when he'd handed her the gift, and the way he'd smiled as he made the lopsided comment about diamonds being forever. She'd known it then as a token of his feelings - a damned powerful token - and she had no doubt how he'd have interpreted her rejection of them. She looked up into Janet's serious face. "I should go talk to him."
Her friend nodded. "Yes. I think you should."
***
The single malt was half empty, and it didn't seem to be having any impact whatsoever on Jack's sour mood. In fact, far from fuddling his senses, it seemed to be defining his emotions more starkly.
He cradled another large glass, and stared at the bottle on the coffee table. Alongside sat Carter's earrings, mocking him with their happy sparkle. He'd bought them over a year ago, on a stupid romantic whim. He'd told himself that, one day, he'd give them to her. It was a promise he'd held out to ease himself through the cold, dark days that had come between them. One day, he'd vowed, he'd be able to give them to her, and just knowing that had been enough. Only he'd blown it. He'd given them to her when he still had no right, and quite justly, she'd discarded them. CO's did not give diamonds to their seconds in command! And so now they sat there, their cold sparkle a mockery of the hopes that had seemed so vivid just a few days earlier.
He'd really believed, somehow, that things could change. That the emptiness at his core could be filled by her, and that all the problems that had kept them apart would melt away. How could he have been so stupid?
With a grunt, he got to his feet. Maybe some music would help? He certainly couldn't stand the banality of TV. Glancing out the window, he saw a car crawl past through the snow. He glanced at his watch. Almost eleven. An hour to go before another year dawned, as bleak and gray as so many others. With a sigh, he turned away. So much for the scotch; nothing, he realized, would lift this bleak mood but her. And she was as good as gone.
***
On her second pass of his house, Sam slowed and stopped. The street was empty and the tread of the car was quiet on the fresh snow. She didn't pull into his drive, wanting to give herself one last chance to change her mind. She couldn't quite believe that she was going to walk in there and demand that they talk about *it*. The thing that had hung between them so silently for so long. The thing that they'd done everything to avoid facing head-on; the thing that had driven her into his arms at last, still not talking. Just feeling, and wanting, and giving.
Janet was right. She had to talk to him. With a stomach full of butterflies, she opened the door and stepped out into the snow. It was getting deep, and her thin-heeled boots were woefully inadequate to the weather. But it was just a short step to O'Neill's porch. Closing her car door quietly, Sam picked her way through the snow and ice towards his driveway. She almost slipped a couple of times, only catching herself on the side of his truck, and muttered a curse at her own stupidity. Why couldn't she have worn proper boots? The snow thinned towards the porch, and she let out a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted to do was fall flat on her--
"Aargh!"
Black-ice. Her feet flew from beneath her and the impact knocked the breath from her lungs as her back slammed against the frozen ground. And then her head followed suit and she saw nothing but darkness and stars.
Meanwhile, the snow continued to fall...
***
Jack paused before the CD player, disk in hand. He could have sworn he heard something. A shout, from outside. He listened intently for a moment longer, but heard nothing more. Probably the kids next door, he decided, getting into the new year spirit early.
Dropping the disk into the machine, he hit play and headed back to the sofa. The music drifted out, soothing and complex. He had to concentrate on the notes to fully appreciate it, and he hoped the discipline would distract him from his other thoughts. He wanted to be transported away from himself, into another time and place.
He sat down, closed his eyes and tried to follow the complicated thread. The music danced in his head, and for a moment he let himself drift away. And then--
Her lips, hot against his skin. Her body, warm and soft. Yielding. Wanting. Hungry.
Eyes shooting open, he sat upright with a curse. So much for that. He got to his feet and circled the room again. Prowling. He couldn't settle. His mind drifted from the feel of her soft body in his arms, to the look of hurt in her eyes that evening, thinly disguised by anger. And then back to Jacob's words. *You're making her miserable.*
The situation was getting increasingly screwed up, and he didn't have a clue what to do next. Antsy, unable to sit still, he grabbed the remote and killed the music. He wasn't in the mood. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was almost eleven thirty. Perhaps he should just hit the sack? Bury his head under a pillow and hope for sleep.
Dragging his half-finished bottle of scotch with him, Jack climbed the stairs. His bedroom was dark, and he didn't bother to switch on the light as he crossed the room to pull the drapes. But even drunk, his eyes were sharp. And he instantly spotted the car parked outside his house.
He didn't have to look twice to realize that it was her car. Helplessly, his stomach back-flipped in anticipation. Carter! Mesmerized, he kept watching. Her presence brought life back into his heavy heart. She was there! He didn't know exactly what it meant, but hope buzzed deep in his chest. It meant something. It had to mean something...
But...what the hell she was doing just sitting outside? She didn't even have the engine running, and she'd freeze her ass off out there on a night like this! Sleep forgotten, he headed back downstairs and peered out the front window. The car was still dark, and try as he might he couldn't catch a glimpse of her sitting inside. Moving away from the window, he perched on the edge of the sofa. Should he open the door and ask her in? That had to be why she was there; to talk. Or should he let her make a move in her own time? The fact that she was hesitating spoke of her doubts. And he *had* made a promise to Jacob about doing the right thing; he was pretty sure that inviting her into his house on New Year's Eve was not Jacob's idea of the right thing.
Outside, a car engine roared. Jack jumped to his feet as if shot! She was leaving! NO! He dashed back to the window, heart thundering, just in time to see a car reverse out of his neighbor's drive. But, thank God, Carter's remained dark and quiet. Unlike Jack's heart, which was racing nineteen-to-the-dozen. Letting out a deep breath, he knew he'd answered his own question. He couldn't let her leave. Right or wrong, he was going to ask her in. They absolutely had to talk.
Pushing his feet into his unlaced boots he opened the door and peered through the falling snow. Still staring at the dark car, he didn't see any sign of movement. Shivering in his shirtsleeves, he stepped out onto the porch. "Carter? Come on in, it's freezing out here!"
Still nothing. Muttering under his breath, he stomped down the steps and around his truck. His driveway was icy; he should have taken the trouble to shovel snow the day before. But he'd been too preoccupied to--
HOLY SHIT!
His heart reeled as he saw her, sprawled on her back in the snow. All thoughts flying from his mind, he was on his knees at her side in an instant. What the hell had happened?! "Carter!" he called, leaning close and praying to feel her breath on his cheek. Nothing.
He moved closer still, his fingers fumbling at her neck to find a pulse. She was cold. But... there it was, strong and regular beneath his fingertips. Thank God! Then a breath brushed his face, warm in the icy night. For a moment he sagged in relief, before training snapped him back into action. He ran his fingers quickly over her neck, back and limbs. Checking for breaks, bleeding, any reason why he shouldn't move her. Nothing. She seemed okay, just out cold. And freezing. "Come on, Carter," he muttered, tapping her cheek. "Come on, wake up. It's cold out here." Her head moved. And she muttered something. "That's it. Wakey, wakey Carter."
Eyes fluttered open and a wince of pain flashed across her face. "God," she groaned, her hand reaching for the back of her head. "Shit."
He was shivering now, whether from the freezing weather or the relief that coursed through his veins he didn't know. Either way, "We need to get inside." He reached out to pull her up, but she pushed him roughly away. "Jeez, Carter," he growled. "Let me just--"
Abruptly she scrabbled to her knees and threw up. Noisily.
He scooted back. "Oh."
"God," she groaned, stuttering through chattering teeth and wiping at her mouth.
He really needed to get her inside! Who knew how long she'd been lying out there in the snow? If he hadn't seen her car... He felt sick just thinking about it. "Come on," he grumbled, taking command. "On your feet." As carefully as he could, he pulled her upright. Cautiously, he steadied her across the ice as they headed towards her house. "Christ, Carter," he breathed as he helped her up the steps. "That's a hell of an entrance."
She just groaned.
***
Sam was still shivering, despite the warm room and the blanket wrapped firmly around her shoulders. And she still felt nauseous. But neither of those problems were her prime concern. "Look, I'm fine," she insisted, for what felt like the hundredth time. "It's only a little bump. I'll be--"
"Just sit still," came the irritated reply from behind her, as gentle fingers probed at the back of her head. "No bleeding. Pretty swollen, though. You're gonna have a real--"
"Ow!" She jerked her head away from his hands. "I know!"
"Sorry," O'Neill apologized as she turned around on the sofa to face him. But he didn't look contrite, simply determined. "Now, let me--"
"I'm fine. Really," Sam protested, feeling stupid. Slipping on the ice! Off all the dumb things... She just wanted to get out of there before she made an even bigger idiot of herself. "I'll go home and get some sleep," she decided, half-rising.
But his hand was instantly on her shoulder, pressing her back into the sofa. "Not gonna happen. Now sit still and let me look at you."
For a moment she considered arguing, but when O'Neill was in command-mode she knew it was a pointless exercise. Steeling herself, she sat still and let him angle her head so that he could study her eyes. He was very close, his own dark eyes looking at her intently - at one eye, then the other. And back again. "Looks okay," he said after a moment. "Your lips are still kinda blue, but I don't think you've got a concussion."
"Great!" She was on her feet again, disentangling herself from the blanket. "In that case I'll be heading--"
"But you should see a doctor."
"No way."
"You were out cold, Carter!"
"It's just a bump," she insisted. "I'll be fine, I just need some sleep and--"
He was on his feet, moving around to block her path to the door. "You're not driving, Carter. And that's an order."
Gritting her teeth, she bit back her frustration. "Then I'll call a cab."
He nodded towards the sofa. "Sit."
"Colonel, I--"
"Sit down!"
She did, grudgingly. He draped the blanket over her shoulders again and dropped down next to her with a heavy sigh. For a long time they sat in silence until at last he quietly said, "So... Whatcha you doing here?"
It was a good question. But she didn't have a good answer. "It doesn't matter."
He fixed her with dark, serious eyes. "I think it does."
Sam shook her head. "I should go."
"We should talk," he countered. "We need to straighten things out."
Her head ached, and she was so tired she thought she could fall asleep where she sat. "What's to say?" she asked wearily. "Nothing's changed, right? Nothing can."
For a long time, he was silent. Obviously, he wasn't going to argue. When he did speak, it was on the breath of a sigh. "It's the way things have to be." But his words sounded hollow and forced. "We have to let this go."
"Let it go?" She repeated numbly. It sounded so final. So bleak.
"We have to move past it. We can't keep holding on to fantasies." He met her eyes again, silently pleading to be understood.
But she couldn't give him what he wanted. It didn't make any sense. He was ending it? Ending even the little hope they'd silently nurtured for so long? Ending *everything*? How could he just give up...? She felt sick. And tired. And so angry she thought she might scream. Jaw knotted, she spoke quietly. Coldly calm. "And you've decided that, have you? *You've* decided? For both of us?"
Frowning, he glared down at his hands. "As your CO, Carter, I have to--"
"Bullshit!"
He went very still. "Excuse me?"
"Don't give me that CO, crap. This isn't about that!"
Surging to his feet, he gave a bark of laughter. "It's exactly about that, *Major*. What else is it about?"
"What else...?" She rose, letting the blanket slip from her shoulders. "What about us?"
"Us?" He said the word as if it were foreign to him.
"Isn't that what it's about? Our relationship...?"
He scowled. "Carter, we don't *have* a relationship. We can't! That's the whole point."
Shaking her head - and regretting it as a wave of pain rolled towards her eyes - Sam took a step closer. "Of course we have a relationship," she said, wincing at the sudden headache. "What do you think this is?"
"An argument?"
"Funny." She blew out a sigh. "Jack, you can't decide how things are going to be between us just because you're my CO."
He wasn't buying it. "Carter, I have a responsibility to--"
"Oh, screw that!" she snapped. "I don't care about ranks, or regulations or the goddamn Air Force." She stepped closer again, seizing his hand. "We're in this together. Just us. It's not some kind of tactical situation. You can't fall-back, or regroup, or call for reinforcements. It doesn't work like that."
He swallowed hard, his face strained but impassive as his gaze drifted down and fixed on their tightly clasped hands. "It's all I know," he admitted at last. "I don't know how else to handle--"
"You don't have to," she assured him, tightening her hold on him. "We'll handle it together. You and me."
His eyes closed and his brow tightened. But resolutely he pulled his hand from hers. "It's not that easy, Carter."
"I didn't say it was easy."
He just shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Then don't."
His eyes opened, as clear and dark as a moonlit sky. "Isn't it too late?" She stepped closer, but he evaded her and crossed the room to the window. Staring out at the snow. "I spoke to Jacob."
"Dad?" Unease made her queasy again.
Jack's hand tapped against the windowsill, curled into a fist. "He told me what you said. About being miserable. About me making you--"
"What *I* said?" Sam interrupted, confused. "What do you mean?"
"He's right," O'Neill ploughed on, oblivious. "This is wrong, and I shouldn't have let it get this far before I did something. Truth is, I didn't want to end it because..." As he spoke, Sam crossed the room, her mind spinning with a horrible suspicion. "...because I thought something was better than nothing and I--"
She seized his arm and turned him to face her. "What are you talking about?"
"Carter, I *know*!" he protested. "I know that this has been hell for you. I know it's my fault, and I--"
"Stop!" she barked. And, to her surprise, he did. "From the top," she demanded, ignoring the arch of his eyebrows. So he wasn't used to taking orders from her? Tough. He'd have to get used to it. "Go on... What did Dad say?"
Frowning and wrong-footed, he stumbled to find the right words. "He, ah, he told me what you said, that's all."
"You spoke to my Dad?"
"Yeah. He stopped by on his way home."
The pieces slid inexorably into place. Her Dad... She'd kill him. She'd damn well kill him! "What, *exactly*, did he say?"
"Carter, I don't--"
"Tell me!"
Scowling, O'Neill headed back to the sofa and slumped down. "I can't remember *exactly*... Just that you were unhappy, and I should know better."
"Sounds like Dad," she agreed, joining him on the sofa.
He glanced at her quickly, then looked away. "He just wants to protect you."
"Maybe," she agreed. "But you have to know... Whatever he said, it had nothing to do with me. We never discussed this. Or you."
At her side, O'Neill went very still. "You never discussed this?"
"I might have been a little...distracted after you left," she admitted, remembering with a bitter fondness those confusing post-Christmas days of heart-racing anticipation. "Perhaps he picked up on that. But we never discussed it."
"Son-of-a-bitch," he murmured.
Sam snorted. "Yeah. Welcome to my life."
Shifting until he faced her, O'Neill searched her eyes. "You know he saw us, right? In the kitchen?"
Sam grimaced. "He did? He didn't say anything." She sighed, dropping her head into her hands at the memory. God, what must he have thought? "Dad's a by-the-book kind of guy," she explained through her fingers. "He wouldn't approve."
"No," came the quiet answer. "And he has a point."
"I know."
After a pause, O'Neill spoke again. "So you didn't tell him I made you miserable?"
"No," she smiled, sitting up slowly. "You've never made me miserable. This stupid situation has, but not you."
His fingers started moving, toying with the hem of his shirt. Nervous. Alive. It was Jack O'Neill all over. And Sam felt her heart begin to sing again. "Then I guess...," he began awkwardly. "What happened the other night...?"
She looked down at her hands, clenched in her lap. The memories were still so fresh, and he was sitting right there! So close she could feel him, like a magnetic pull it was impossible to resist. "Yeah, the other night..."
He smiled, his confidence growing. "It was pretty amazing huh?"
She blushed! She couldn't help it. But still she met his gaze, unflinching. "Amazing. And then some."
He had the warmest, darkest eyes, she thought, as they sat in a long, intimate silence. Just looking. Poised once more on the brink of something. He licked lightly at his lips, half-smiled and then slowly shook his head. "Carter," he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, "I have no idea what to do next."
She knew it was a significant confession. And his unusual vulnerability caught at her heart. "It's okay," she murmured softly. "Neither do I."
They were sitting close now, knees touching. Eyes locked. A thoughtful expression touched his face and he lifted his hand to her cheek. "You scared me," he said with a shake of his head. "When I saw you out there, I didn't know what had happened."
"I'm sorry," she murmured, his warm touch preventing her from saying more. Threatening to stop her thinking altogether. She wanted this so much...
But he shook his head again. "Not your fault. I meant... For a moment I thought I'd lost you, Carter."
"You almost did," she replied, covering his hand with her own. "I thought it was over, and I felt so--"
He turned away, eyes fixing on something. Following his gaze, her heart clenched painfully at the sight of her earrings glittering on his coffee table. So he *had* found them... "I was angry," she said hurriedly. "And I felt so stupid. I didn't think you wanted me--"
"I've wanted you for as long as I can remember," he broke in gruffly, turning his intent gaze back on her. "I just never thought I deserved you."
She smiled, but felt tears rise in her eyes. "You deserve so much more," she told him, turning her face and kissing his hand softly. "I'm not exactly the easiest person to-- I can be too detached. I know I seem cold and--"
His fingers brushed her lips, softly silencing her. "You're incredible," he murmured, tracing her features with his fingertips. "Perfect."
"No, I--"
"Shh," he murmured, holding her face gently as he drew closer. His nose bumped against hers, his breath hot against her skin. So close... Sam's eyes drifted shut and her soul soared as their lips met hesitantly and tenderly. No fireworks this time, just a kiss as loving as summer rain, bringing gentle tears to her eyes. Then he gently pulled away, still holding her face in his hands, and pressed a kiss against her forehead. "I lied to your Dad," he confessed, dipping his mouth to her lips once more.
She smiled around the kiss. "How?"
Another kiss, a fire kindling in its depths. "I promised to do the right thing." He paused to look at her, dark eyes burning with a heat she recognized. It made her shiver in anticipation as her arms went around him, pulling him tight against her as their lips met hungrily. With a gasp, she tipped her head back as he sought her throat. "And this," he growled between kisses, "is not...the right...thing."
Words fled Sam's mind, pushed out by pure emotion and sensation. His hair was soft beneath her fingers, his kisses hot, hard and demanding. "Oh God," she gasped at last, "this is so right!"
Breathing hard, he pulled far enough back to rest his forehead against hers. Holding back. Barely. His hands came up to her shoulders, fingers tracing her collarbone, then dipping lower to the buttons on her shirt. "We shouldn't rush," he murmured. "We shouldn't... We can't make a mistake."
His caresses were wrapping her mind in clouds of desire, and she craved a deeper, more intimate embrace. But she saw the uncertainty in his eyes, and felt it echo in her own heart. They were changing everything, setting their world spinning on a new axis. It was terrifying and exhilarating. And ultimately inevitable.
Reaching out, she raised his dark eyes to her own. "No guarantees," she breathed, almost sunk by the intensity in his gaze. He looked so unguarded and exposed. So unsure. As if a single word from her could breathe either life or death into his heart. "All I know for sure," she whispered with a shaky smile, "is that... I love you."
The words spilled out, over-ripe and aching to be spoken. And Jack simply stared, overwhelmed. His lips opened, as if to speak, but he made no sound as a barrage of emotions crashed over him like storm-waves. Sam's heart burst its banks, washing away the last of her reserve as she pulled him into her arms and held him close, delighting in the feel of his determined embrace and the burning kisses he pressed against her neck. "It's all I know," she whispered again, surrendering entirely. "It's all that matters."
There were no more words spoken. None were needed. The doubts and uncertainties of the past were cast aside as the New Year rang out. And lost in their own private world, they struck out together towards a new and brighter future.
***
Epilogue
Jacob couldn't help the beat of unease in his chest as he strode along the corridor of the SGC, George Hammond at his side. But it had little to do with the latest minor crisis in Tauri/Tok'ra relations, and far more to do with his daughter.
Several months had passed since Christmas, and he had received no word from her. No reply to his occasional messages, despite George's repeated assurances that she was fine. Happy, even. Which made his suspicions all the darker. He knew a Samantha-sulk when he saw one. And he was beginning to suspect that his conversation with O'Neill had somehow made it back to his daughter's ears. Now, if that were the case...
*You have no one to blame but yourself*, Selmac told him with her usual asperity. *Did I not warn you that your interference was unwarranted?*
*I can live without the 'I told you so',* he groused.
* Samantha Carter is too old, even by human standards, to require a father's interference.*
Jacob mentally bit his tongue and refused to answer. "So," he said instead, glancing over at George. "How's Sam been?"
An odd look crossed his friend's face. Guilt, perhaps? "She's fine, Jabob. Her usual self."
"But...?" Jacob prompted. He just knew there was a 'but' coming...
"Nothing really," Hammond replied. "She just seems happy. Not that she isn't usually, but there's--" He cleared his throat. "It's not really my place to comment."
"Huh," Jacob replied, suspicions crowding in from all sides. "And what about Jack O'Neill? He seem happy too?"
There was a long pause, punctuated only by Jacob's footfalls in the empty corridor. And it took him a moment to realize that George had stopped walking. When he looked back he saw his friend deep in thought, eyes fixed on the floor just ahead of him. Turning, Jacob narrowed his eyes. "George?"
Hammond looked up. "I don't know anything, Jacob," he said, on the move again. "Major Carter's performance is always exemplary. And Jack is... Well, he's still Jack."
"But you suspect," Jacob guessed.
"I try not to think about it," Hammond grimaced, falling in at his side.
"Don't ask, don't tell?"
He gave a gruff laugh. "Something like that."
Jacob felt himself squirming. Not that he had anything against O'Neill per se; he could be a stubborn asshole when he chose, but Jacob knew himself well enough not to condemn the man for that minor flaw. And if Sam was happy...? But still. "It's not right," he muttered. "He's her CO."
Hammond stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "You know - don't ever tell him this - but Jack O'Neill has taught me a thing or two. One of which is that some rules are made to be broken."
"What about her reputation?" he countered. "This could ruin her career."
George acknowledged the point with a nod. "I guess she thinks it's worth the risk."
"What does she know?" Jacob objected. "She's just a--"
"Just a kid?" Hammond laughed. "Believe me, Jacob, I know what it's like. One day they're bouncing on your knee and the next they're--"
"Out saving the world?" Jacob sighed. He shook his head. "I don't know. It just feels wrong."
Hammond clapped him on the back. "Come on, see them together. Then decide."
Jacob sighed again. But what choice did he have?
*Only this,* Selmac informed him smugly. *To allow your daughter to live with her own choices, or to lose her trust forever.*
*Oh shut up,* he groused silently, and followed Hammond into the briefing room.
***
Jack didn't know who was more nervous, himself or Sam. She'd been dreading this encounter, almost from the moment she'd woken in his arms on that glorious New Year's morning. And at the same time, she was so furious with her father that he thought she might just spit fire!
He'd tried to make her understand. After all, he'd been a father. He understood, all too well, the overpowering urge to protect your child from the world and its many predators. And he was quite certain that, in Jacob's eyes, he seemed as predatory as any Goa'uld. But it soon became clear that Jacob's interference in Sam's life wasn't exactly a new occurrence, and he suspected that this little incident might just have been the proverbial straw.
Not that he wasn't a little pissed himself. And as time wore on, more so. The past few months had been some of the happiest in his life, despite the threads of guilt that inevitably wound through their relationship. And the thought that he'd been so close to losing it all turned him cold. The fact that Jacob had been instrumental in that was pretty hard to handle. Even if he did understand his reasons.
Across the table, he watched Sam's fingers tapping impatiently on the desk. Her lips were a thin line, and he actually felt a moment of sympathy for Jacob. She wasn't gonna let him off lightly. Behind him, the door opened and Sam's head shot up. For a moment, their eyes met and he gave her a half-smile of reassurance. But her attention was soon fixed on a point behind his back as they rose to their feet.
"As you were," Hammond ordered, coming around to sit at the head of the table. Jacob Carter strode in his wake, sharp blue eyes fixed on his daughter. Sam met the gaze with an icy response, barely nodding a greeting.
"Hey Sam," Jacob said, taking a seat next to Jonas.
"Dad," came the short reply.
Jack was so intent on the exchange that it took him by surprise when Jacob said, "Jack. Good to see you."
"Yeah," he nodded, more uncomfortable than he'd anticipated. "Ah, you too." There was just something about meeting the father of the woman you were--
"Let's get started," Hammond decided. "Jacob doesn't have much time."
The briefing proceeded efficiently, with no undue disagreements. Jack made a couple of suggestions. As usual. Sam pointed out why they wouldn't work, then made some better suggestions of her own. As usual. Teal'c said little, and Jonas said way too much. As usual.
Within an hour, Hammond was on his feet again. "Okay. Unless there's nothing else...?"
Jack shook his head and the meeting was dismissed. With a brief nod, Hammond headed back to his office, launching them all into an awkward moment of informality. Feeling that he needed to fill the silence, Jack started talking. "So, Jake...how about those Canucks, huh?" Jacob just stared, while Sam skewered him with a sharp look that said 'What the hell are you doing?' He smiled and turned to Teal'c. "So...lunch?"
"A prudent decision," his friend replied, deadpan. "Jonas?"
"Oh, I'm not--"
"I believe you are most hungry," Teal'c interrupted, one hand on the man's shoulder as they headed for the door.
"Ah, right," came the bemused reply.
With a quick glance at Sam, Jack followed. But she wasn't looking at him, her attention was riveted on her father. Looking daggers.
Lunch suddenly seemed very appealing.
***
It was long after lunch that, after failing to find Sam in either her lab or her temporary quarters, Jack found himself hovering around the control room. No doubt his presence was making the lieutenants on duty antsy, but he didn't have the energy to worry about them. It had been hours since he'd left Sam alone with her father, and despite hearing no emergency calls to the infirmary, he was beginning to worry.
What if the proverbial shit had hit the fan? What if Jacob had taken the whole mess to Hammond? Or worse, what if he'd persuaded Sam to end their relationship? To leave the SGC? Join the Tok'ra? Marry some slimy snake-head guy with too many teeth and-- Okay, not likely. But, God, it had been *hours*. Literally. What the hell could they have been talking about for so long? He could only imagine--
"Dial up the Alpha site," Hammond ordered, entering the room and startling Jack out of his worries.
He turned, feigning nonchalance. "Problems, sir?"
Hammond shook his head. "Jacob's heading out, is all."
At last! "Oh." He paused, cleared his throat and searched for something to say. "It's always good to see him."
Giving him an oddly significant look, Hammond nodded down to the gate room. "Perhaps you should say goodbye?"
What did that mean? "Ah..." he glanced nervously at the seemingly incurious lieutenants. "Okay."
And then Hammond gave him a broad smile and clapped him on the shoulder. "Tell him goodbye from me too, son."
More than a little confused, Jack trotted downstairs and into the gate room. Jacob and Sam were standing at the bottom of the ramp, talking quietly. Standing close together, as it happened. Almost as if they'd just been hugging or something. Which, he hoped, was a good sign. Cautiously, he approached. "Ah...heading out then, Jacob?"
They both turned. Jacob's expression didn't change, but Sam offered him a watery smile. And he knew she'd been crying. Shit. He moved closer, instinctively protective. "Everything okay?" he asked her, eyes darting to Jacob. If he'd hurt her, god help him he'd--
"Fine," Sam replied, edging closer but not reaching out for him. She never did that, not at work.
Her gaze shifted to her father, and he smiled at her and nodded. Then, with a deep breath, he turned to Jack and held out his hand. Stunned by the gesture, it was a moment before Jack took his hand and shook it firmly. Jacob's lips pressed tightly together, and Jack was astonished at the emotion his saw in the man's eyes. For a horrible moment he thought he might cry! But no. "You take good care of her," he said at last, quietly enough that the Airmen in the room couldn't hear.
Jack nodded, tightening his grasp on the man's hand. "You can count on that, sir."
A brief smile touched Jacob's lips, as behind him the gate splashed open. He cleared his throat, broke the handshake and turned back to his daughter. "Sam..."
She hugged him tightly, then stepped back. "See you soon, Dad."
"You too," he smiled, and with a final serious nod to Jack, turned and headed up the ramp and into the gate.
As the wormhole disengaged and the Airmen filed back to their stations, Sam lingered behind. And Jack stayed with her, watching the silent gate. He wished he could put his arms around her, but that would have to wait until later. But there were some advantages in being forced to talk rather than simply act. He lowered his voice, "You okay?"
She nodded slightly. "He likes you."
Jack found that hard to believe, but was grateful that Jacob has said as much to Sam. "I like him too. So that's...good."
Turning, she glanced up at the control room and then towards the door. She was right. They should go. "You heading home?" he asked as she pushed open the door and held it for him.
"In a while," she agreed. And then, glancing down the empty corridor, she murmured, "Chinese?"
He grinned, falling in beside her as they walked. "You order, I'll pick it up on my way."
"Get some ice-cream too," she decided as they drew to a halt in front of the elevator. "Chocolate." She pressed the button and the elevator doors pinged open. "See you later, then."
"Yeah," he replied, leaning a shoulder against the wall as he watched her go. "Glad it went okay."
She nodded, a hand on the hold button as she leaned closer to him through the doors. "It's worth it, right?" she whispered, her fingers lightly brushing his. "Worth the risk?"
He caught her fingers for a moment, and squeezed gently. "There's nothing I wouldn't risk for this."
"No," she agreed, her blue eyes serious. "Me neither." Then, recalling where they were, she stepped back and released the doors. "Chocolate," she reminded him, just as the elevator closed on her smile.
Jack found himself grinning. And for a moment he just stood there, lost in a hundred beautiful memories of her. God, he loved her so completely.... He couldn't stop smiling.
"Jack?"
Hammond approached down the silent corridor, and Jack straightened from the wall. "Sir. I was just..."
The general nodded. "I know." The glint in his CO's eye suggested that he really *did* know. But all Hammond said was, "I need to run through some reports with you before you leave."
"Okay," Jack said slowly, eyeing his friend as they walked together towards his office. He wondered if Jacob had said anything. He knew he and the general were friends. The suspicion twisted uneasily in his gut, and suddenly he *had* to know for sure. "Sir," he said warily, "did Jacob raise anything else with you that I should know about?"
Hammond glanced at him, face impassive. A lot could be said with a silent look. "No, son," he said quietly. "I think everything was covered in the briefing, or in his conversation with Major Carter."
Jack nodded, eyes widening in understanding. "So...nothing I need to worry about?"
"You just keep doing your job, Jack. I'll let you know if you need to start worrying."
"Thank you," Jack replied softly, dropping all pretense. Hammond knew, but he wasn't going to do anything. Who'd have thought...? "I can't tell you how much this means to--"
"No," the general cut in, as they turned a corner into a busier corridor. "You really can't, Jack."
He smiled and nodded, eyeing a passing airman.. "So...how about those Canucks?"
Hammond just rolled his eyes, and they walked on together in a companionable silence. Just like normal.
Only it wasn't.
At least, it wasn't the old normal. It was a new, wonderful, exciting and profoundly fulfilling normal. And at that moment, Jack felt like the luckiest man on Earth, or on any of the other millions of planets that filled the galaxy he was so privileged to explore. Because he had Sam in his life, at his side, and in his heart.
And nothing the future could throw at him would change that. Ever.
Yeah. He was the luckiest man in the galaxy. He grinned. "Life's good, General," he said out loud. "Life is so good."
Hammond just chuckled. "Yes," he agreed. "Sometimes it really is."
~End~
Story Notes: Spoilers: None
Archive: SJD and Heliopolis. Anyone else, please just ask so I can find you!
Summary: A sequel to "Christmas Flame"...
Notes: Once again, apologies for the cliff-hanger last time! Thanks to everyone for the feedback, and I hope this was worth the wait.
The story can be found in its entirety at: http://uk.geocities.com/mystories_uk/
Archive: SJD and Heliopolis. Anyone else, please just ask so I can find you!
Summary: A sequel to "Christmas Flame"...
Notes: Once again, apologies for the cliff-hanger last time! Thanks to everyone for the feedback, and I hope this was worth the wait.
The story can be found in its entirety at: http://uk.geocities.com/mystories_uk/
End Notes: As always, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it! Constructive criticism is welcome at sallyreeve@blueyonder.co.uk
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 ]