There was a breeze. Standing on the edge of an elegant garden patio, Sam Carter watched the final tendrils of evening sun descend beyond the Washington horizon.

Contented, away from the buzz of the other guests in the Oval Room. she allowed her shoulders to drop and her shawl to slide against her arm on a slow exhale.

As one of D.C.'s most auspicious downtown dining venues, everyone who was anyone ate at the Oval Room. Which was why, several months earlier, she'd received an invitation all the way in Area 51; accompanied by a formal military memo which stated that she would be "more than welcome to attend" a special reception for the IOA and the Joint Chiefs. Succinctly, she'd inferred the actual message to contain the words: "Please don't bother trying to excuse yourself again, Colonel."

It was inevitable that they'd want her to put in face time at a few of these. Her relatively short stint as an assignee in the Pentagon had prepared her for the eventual inevitibility of such politics. Rationally, she knew HE had nothing to do with the call. Still, she and had been woefully unable to stop an automatic jolt of adrenaline at the thought. Jack O'Neill would most definitely be there. General ... Jack O'Neill.

And he was. Accompanied by a very lovely - very young - female escort she'd never seen before. But then, it had been a good many years since she had spent a great deal of time in Washington. A lot had changed since then. Including her.

For his part, the General had seemed genuinely pleased and surprised to see her. Waving off the introductions of a nearby aide, he blinked several times and announced a cordial, "Carter!".

Proffering her most affable smile, Sam shrugged. "I suppose they had to get me down to one of these things some time, sir."

"Well I, for one, am very glad they did," he scowled, "At least one person in this room won't bore me to death with their operating budget..."

As though realizing instantly he'd made a faux-pas, the General -- Jack, Sam scolded herself, she was no longer under his direct command -- Jack turned to his youthful companion, who was sporting a bemused expression. "Present company excluded?" he cringed.

"It's all right General," the young lady laughed. "I've come to understand your ... unique ... method of communication quite well all ready, sir."

Rolling his eyes in mock-indignation, Jack turned back toward Sam. "Carter, I'd like to introduce you to my personal assistant, Captain Lisa Ramirez. Captain," he gestured between them, "This is Carter. Colonel Carter, as a matter of fact. What is it ... three weeks ago now?"

Despite the formality, Sam felt a sudden surge of warmth flood her cheeks at his deliberate praise. "Something like that, sir," she glanced briefly at the floor.

He hadn't been at the ceremony. She remembered, because she'd looked for him out in the throng of people who'd attended. Searching the small crowd for any sign of his familiar face. But he was not to be found, and she'd taken herself to task later on for the gaping maw of disappointment she had felt over it. He was, after all, two thousand miles away and working on projects of no less importance than her own.

Jack looked as though he was about to respond, when a gaggle of bureaucrats in darkly expensive suits swept suddenly into their circle. A man Sam recognized as a committee member of the IOA held out his hand and perfunctorily introduced two similarly overdressed gentlemen.

Diving into an apparent opening, Sam excused herself, affecting a polite -- if hasty - retreat from the ensuing diatribe.

She didn't look back; didn't catch the ambivalent look on Jack's face, or notice the way his eyes followed her all the way to the other end of the crowded restaurant before returning with poorly concealed disappointment to his uninvited company.

Nearly forty minutes later, exhausted by the unending sea of meet and greet formality, Sam scanned the room and found her way to a sliding glass patio door which opened up into the summery Washington evening.

Bliss. Freedom. The smell of fresh air and budding flower blossoms.

It was 2100 hours. In a very short while, she'd be able to make an acceptable escape. With any luck thereafter she'd be back at her hotel suite and on the very first morning hop back 'home' to her lab. And God help her, if the butterflies which had suddenly taken up refuge in her chest cavity were any indication, the sooner she got back to Groom Lake, the better.

"So..."

A low voice startled her. Sam's shoulders snapped taught as she recognized it, but she made no move to turn when he approached and stood adjacent to her. Together they observed the silent garden; its hanging lanterns and carefully pruned flora shifting slowly in the warm breeze. When the quiet became awkward, Jack tried again.

"You... hide here often?"

Trying unsuccessfully to quell the upturn of her lip at his characteristically mangled cliche, Sam afforded him a sidelong glance, which turned into a look of challenge before she had a moment to think better of it. "I'm good, sir. Great, actually. Thanks for asking. How are you?"

Jack sighed, raking his fingers through a crop of short, silver hair. "Carter..."

"Sorry. That was out of line." Her mouth clamped shut and she turned to the garden; amazed at her own audacity. Of all the scenarios which spun through her mind, this had not been among them.

"No, it wasn't." Jack told her softly. Placing a hand on the railing between them, he waited until she looked back at him. "It wasn't out of line. I should have called."

Unable to formulate a cogent reply, Sam simply stared at him.

"Or written," he went on, dropping his eyes and then recapturing her gaze. "Or, you know... something." He cringed. "I would have. Planned to, actually, but things kinda... got busy."

"Yeah," she nodded thoughtfully. "I guess they did."

The moment stretched between them like liquid plastic and then Jack loudly cleared his throat. "So... hey, Carter. How are you? You... doing okay?"

Despite herself, Sam smiled. A small tilt of her lips and a roll of her eyes, but it was enough. A flicker of light flooded back into Jack's familiar expression and he rocked back onto both heels.

"I'm good," she said again. "You?"

"Good," he echoed, "Yeah, pretty good. Can't complain, I guess."

Her eyebrow rose.

Jack huffed. "Okay, fine, the complaining part maybe a bit."

Sam's smile grew into its full measure. "It's nice to know some things still haven't changed."

"Some things will never change, Carter."

Jack's glib expression slipped for an instant. Sam caught herself as a new wave of warmth spiraled outward from the pit of her stomach across her chest.

Moving quietly behind her, he took a seat at one of the patio tables and fiddled for a few seconds with the candle-holder on its center. An instant later, the tiny glass enclosure flickered merrily; licked by the shifting summer air. He motioned her over and pulled out a chair next to his.

"Take a load off, Carter," he said. "Give an old guy with a bad knee a break."

She shook her head. "You're a lot of things, sir. An 'old guy' is not one of them."

"Ah!" Jack held up one hand. "Would ya knock if off with the 'sir-ing' already? I'm not your CO anymore, for crying out loud."

"True," she agreed. "I guess old habits die hard." Aligning her dress, Sam sank into the seat he indicated. "Technically however, you do still outrank me."

Jack grimaced. "You wanna talk technically, Carter?" he said. "Fine. Technically, you're the hottest damn astrophysicist I've ever seen. But you don't see me making a big deal out of it at every opportunity."

Sam's eyes grew wide. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out as Jack continued, undaunted.

Shifting forward, he slid his chair toward her until they were inches apart; there was a trembling beat of silence before he took her hand in his and whispered, "If I haven't had the guts to say so already... you look beautiful tonight. You look beautiful every night. Even the ones I'm not there to see. And I know that for a fact. Technically."

It was several pregnant moments before Sam realized she was still sitting with her lips slightly parted, on the cusp of absolute shock. And that Jack, for his part, was no longer filling the silence.

"S--" she began on autopilot, quickly amending herself, "I--"

Jack's slow growing smirk alternately irritated and captivated her. He knew. Damn him. He knew he'd not only tread across the line they'd lain for themselves years ago. He'd damn well shot it to pieces and jumped over it with both barrels still blazing.

Her hand was still in his. She registered that first. Along with the fact his eyes had not left her own. That her heart was racing faster than was likely safe; and that she wanted to kiss him. Desperately.

"I didn't return your calls, Sam," Jack told her, "Because I figured... you could do a hell of a lot better."

Somehow beyond her knowing, Sam leaned toward him. With their faces barely a breath apart; chairs touching and eyes locked on his, she finally found her voice. "Well than, technically," she whispered, feeling his forehead finally - oh, god, finally - brush softly against her own. "You're an idiot." Her eyes slid shut in such proximity to his, her fingers curled around his own and she clutched his hand tightly between them before finishing with a very quiet, "Jack."



His hand was in her hair. Against her cheek. The touch was so quiet and compelling, her eyes reopened and met a dark, intense stare.

"No argument there." The breathy caress of his words against her lips caused a shiver to ripple across Sam's shoulders. She leaned into him. Willing him to close the torturous gap between their mouths; begging him with her body, but he spoke again instead. "Technically..." He nudged her nose with his own. "You're still way outta my league."

"Technically," she whispered, "I don't even know what a league--"

Before she could finish, Jack's mouth closed over hers. His lips were demanding, slow, deep and delicious kisses that bled from one to the next. She felt drugged. Drawn as she had always been in a way she couldn't begin to rationalize. And god help her, she didn't want to anymore.

The slow caress of his tongue against her own; the way she shivered and hummed when he pressed against her, elongating each moment with such deftness she was uncertain where he left off, and she began. Jack's fingertips traced a pathway from her jaw, along the curve of her neck and down toward the single strap which held her dress atop her shoulder.

Their mouths moved in synchronous tandem, neither willing to relinquish such new and illicit intimacy - and Sam was certain, if they broke free of it, one or both of them would realize they were making a mistake. A big one.

Huge.

As thought he'd read her thoughts, Jack's hand ceased its fervent exploration, settling feather-gently on the side of her arm. He made no bolder move and she heard her own groan--halfway toward desperate frustration--when he began to pull backward slowly.

The sound of their mouths separating was an audible 'pop'; a symphony of ragged breathing, and a shared crescendo of loss.

Jack's hand slid slowly along the length of Sam's arm. His eyes continued their vigil - locked on hers - and she swallowed nervously after too many moments ticked by.

Despite the reception mere meters away, the incongruity, the potential for any of the guests to wander outside at any moment, there was an almost serene sense of inevitability. As though an otherworldly bubble had descended and captured the two of them in a separate reality. She nearly laughed at the thought, given just how apropos it would have been for them. But it was only a feeling. As she slowly dropped her eyes, she heard the silence fill with the sound of Jack's quiet sigh.

"I'm not gonna apologize," he said, somehow knowing that she would look up again.

"Then don't," she tugged loosely on her shawl, re-orienting it across both shoulders. The din of the Oval Room behind them was a low rumble of indistinguishable voices and unknowable music.

"I didn't know you'd be here tonight," Jack fingertip brushed over the back of her hand, and the feeling of it seemed to electrify every nerve ending in her entire body.

"I was invited four months ago," she countered with a challenge; trying in vain to keep the tears she felt from filling her eyes. The weakness they implied was incomprehensible and she shunned them as such.

"I didn't figure you'd come."

This time she glanced sideways in surprise. "Why?"

He shrugged, looking out at the garden beyond.

"Why?" Sam's hand seemed to lift of its own volition; it settled lightly on his, then curled to envelop several fingers. He stared at it, then at her. "After dad passed away. When we talked, at your cabin, we made promises. We were going take things slowly. Jack, you told me that--"

"Carter," he growled in frustration, "You're a god damned national treasure! I've told you that before. I can't compete with that. I don't deserve to. For crying out loud, I can't even--"

"Love me?"

His rant cut short, Jack dropped his eyes.

"Because, I can't do this anymore."

"What?"

She ignored his question for what it was -- an attempt to stall; to gather his thoughts together and reorient. Squeezing his hand, she brought it slowly to her lips.

"I'm so in love with you," she said softly, "I tried not to be. I tried so hard. I feel like I'm dying inside. Every day. And I can't-- I don't want to--"

Abruptly he stood. And took her with him. Crushing their bodies together and cupping her face in his grasp. "Carter, you're... everything." His urgent whisper tickled the edge of her ear. "Everything. You deserve EVERYTHING."

"Except to be happy?" Sam shut her eyes and pressed his open palm against her cheek.

Jack's brow furrowed. His hands dropped and he pulled her fiercely into an intimate embrace. He held her with a sense of desperate urgency she'd only ever felt twice before in him. As though the universe might rip them apart at any moment and tear everything they knew to pieces. He held her like a priceless refuge he could never afford to lose. Only when the bite of the decorations on his uniform began to gnaw through her dress did she begin to pull away.

"Ow," she scolded fondly.

Jack soothed the skin above her collarbone with the pad of his thumb. His forehead tilted and touched upon hers. With his other hand he brushed at the single tear which had managed to escape her vigilance. They stood that way for several minutes in the shifting summer breeze.

"Prickly is the pin cushion that wears the crown?"

She half laughed, swiping at her own teardrops and then shifting her cheek to rest against the side of his for a brief instant. "You are so odd."

He huffed. "Says the science geek."

Tracing the front of his uniform with careful fingertips, Sam allowed her head to drop on a quiet sigh. She felt his chin descend to the top of her hair and the rumble of his voice when he spoke.

"For what it's worth," she heard him say, "That whole... trying not to... thing... didn't work so well for me either."

Her expression lifted and fixed on his. His arms wrapped loosely around her; her own laid flat against his uniformed chest. She arched a brow and Jack cleared his throat self consciously.

"You are so going to make me say this out loud, aren't you?"

Sam didn't move; didn't speak; didn't alter her expression until Jack grumbled quietly to himself and shifted back and forth on his feet.

"YOU, are a force for evil," he muttered, all the while tugging her body gently toward his until they were flush, "--and must be stopped."

His mouth caressed her lips. Once, twice, and then a third time before the warm and welcome reality of a languid, drugging kiss swept both of them into pure sensation. God, he was good ... she had the presence of mind to realize they were swaying; clutching each other sharing sweet, erratic lungfulls of air, only when the need for oxygen became too much.

"When's your flight?" Jack asked between fevered kisses, nudging her head to one side and tracing the rapid pulse point he found in her neck.

"It's... oh god..." she sucked in sharply when his tongue caressed the shell of her ear. "Tomorrow, I guess."

"Tomorrow?" He turned her chin toward him with the crook of his index finger, kissing her deeply one more time. "What time?"

"Dunno," she sighed, uncaring that her answers had been reduced to monosyllables. "Need to ... ohh, Jack..." she gasped as the firey path he forged along her neck descended downward. "B... book a... hop."

"Don't bother," he murmured, lifting a fingertip to trace the line of the strap along her shoulder.

"Don't bother?" she kissed him back, wrapping both her arms around his neck for stability as much as closer contact, and threading gentle fingertips through soft, wayward silver hair.

"I'm thinking..." he caught her smile between his lips as she giggled.

"Wow."

"Don't make me punish you."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she whispered. "Sir."

Jack's dark eyes flashed. They stared at one another, standing toe-to-toe; impossibly close, before he lifted his hand and tucked an errant lock of blond hair to one side.

"We are both due for a little vacation, Colonel," he told her firmly. Then bent his head and brushed his open mouth across her ear. "And oh yeah, in case I forget to tell you..." He kissed her neck, "I am crazy," her jaw, "...stupid," her forehead, "...wacko," she grinned at him, "...out of my god damn head ..." and then he kissed her nose before staring down directly into her eyes. "...in love with you. Samantha Carter."

There were a handful of instants in her life that Sam knew she would remember for all eternity. The fierce demand of Jack's mouth against hers in that singular moment; the way she melted against his body and felt her soul expand to encompass him in a way she'd never dreamed possible--all of it merged and liquefied, binding her heart to his for what felt like ... the only time she'd ever truly known what it felt like to love.

They swayed together in the whispering summer breeze to a song that only they could hear. But it was real. For the first time ever. It was right. And Sam took a shuddering breath; tucking her body into the heat of Jack's unwavering embrace. She opened her heart. Because she trusted. It was the most beautiful, most seductive and sensual melody she had ever heard.


end