Title: "Surface Tension"

Author: Sally Reeve

Email: sallyreeve@blueyonder.co.uk

Rating: PG

Classification: S/J UST, romance

Spoilers: Beneath the Surface.

Archive: SJA and Heliopolis. Anyone else, please just ask so I can find you!

Summary: After the events of "Beneath the Surface" how will Carter and O'Neill deal with the change in their relationship?

Notes: This fic was prompted after Joe Mallozzi told us that, in the original script for BtS, Sam and Jack were lovers during their time on the planet. It made me wonder how they might have dealt with that on their return to Earth...

My thanks to Ann for her very thorough Beta reading! I hope my commas are all in the right places! :)

Geocities is down this weekend, but this story will be up on my site as soon as Geocities is playing again!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret Productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

***

"Surface Tension"

by

Sally Reeve

Part One

"I love you." The words drifted through the darkness on gossamer wings of sleep, the breath caressing her ear where she lay wrapped in his arms. And from deep within it prompted a smile of utter contentment. Life didn't get better than this.

"Tell me why," she whispered back, snuggling closer under the rough woolen blanket.

It was too dark to see his answering smile, but she heard it in the soft chuckle that escaped his lips. "Why wouldn't I love you? You're the smartest, most generous, most beautiful, funny, sexy woman in the whole damn place!"

"You're just saying that."

"Am not."

She smiled again, delighted by the joy that rippled through her. This closeness, this intimacy, was so new. And every day they drew closer was another step into wonderland - a place where the daily grind, the conflicts and dangers of life were no more significant than summer clouds on the horizon.

Sighing as his lips nuzzled the back of her neck, she said, "Jonah?"

"Mmmm?"

"We're always going to be together, aren't we?"

His arms tightened around her protectively, a silent acknowledgement that they weren't masters of their own fate. But his words were spiked with a determination so absolute that he almost convinced her. "Sure we will. Nothing can separate us. Swear to God, Thera. Nothing."

She allowed herself to smile again and take comfort from Jonah's steadfast strength. And that night, their first together, she slept soundly in his arms, blanketed by the heat of his body and the warmth of his love. For she knew, with a certainty so profound it felt divine, that she was exactly where she was meant to be. And for the first time in her life, Thera knew what it meant to be happy.

***

Janet was bouncing on the balls of her feet as she stood with her team before the stargate. Waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

After weeks of searching, negotiating and double-dealing, SG-1 had been found. And they were on their way home in one piece. Physically, at least. But mentally...? From what she'd heard, their former memories had been written over with false ones designed to keep them passive, submissive workers.

How the hell do you even *start* doing that? Her mind boggled and she ran a hand through her hair, trying to quiet her nerves. She'd deal with it. She always did. Right? Right.

But that anything could keep Colonel O'Neill passive for so long was testament to the strength of the process, and Janet harbored deep and disturbing doubts about its reversibility. Her heart shied away from the idea, but her medical pragmatism forced her to confront the possibility that the people about to return home might be strangers. And that her friends might be as good as dead, if not worse.

The stargate began to spin, its motion not unlike the squirming in her stomach.

"Chevron One, locked. Chevron two, engaged..."

And as she watched the stargate whip around, faster and faster, Janet let a few words past her lips. "Come on, Sam. Come home."

But they were lost in the splash-back as the wormhole burst into the room. And there was no more time for hoping, only doing.

***

Daniel sat in the infirmary, blinking around at the odd strangeness of the familiar room. It was like a bad case of deja vous.

"Do you know who I am?" Janet asked as she shone her ubiquitous pen-light into his eyes.

"Doctor Janet Fraiser," he replied. "And you should probably be asking me if I know who *I* am!"

She smiled at that, just for a moment, and then said, "So, who are you?"

"Daniel Jackson. Doctor. Archaeologist, linguist and all-round geek. If you listen to Jack, that is."

Her smile returned, stronger this time, and she switched off her light. "Do you remember who you were? Back there?"

He frowned, not entirely comfortable with the person he remembered. "Karlan," he said, very aware that he'd almost spat the word. The doctor raised an eyebrow, inviting more. Daniel shrugged, "I can't say I really liked the guy. He was very...aggressive."

Janet simply nodded. "I haven't had time to talk to Brenna yet," she told him as she busied herself with his paperwork. "Until I do, I have no way of knowing the extent of any damage the 'stamping' process might have caused."

Daniel swallowed hard. "Damage?" he echoed.

Janet looked up, right into his eyes. "I doubt there's any physical harm," she assured him. "You and the others all seem to be yourselves and functioning normally. But..." She left it hanging, and he finished the sentence for her.

"But you're worried there might be some psychological damage."

She shrugged. "It's hard to see how there wouldn't be. You can't have your entire personality suppressed for that long without--"

"It wasn't," Daniel told her immediately. And then, seeing the hawk-like intensity with which she was suddenly watching him he wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

"What do you mean?"

Uncomfortable under her scrutiny, Daniel shifted on his bed and gazed across the room to where Jack lay sleeping. Or maybe he was just listening. You could never tell with Jack

"It didn't suppress our personalities," Daniel told Janet quietly. "Only our memories. We were the same people there as we are here, we just didn't know it."

As he spoke he saw Jack's face flicker, the merest hint of emotion. But for Jack O'Neill it spoke volumes. At his side, he heard Janet sigh softly. She said, "You make it sound like a problem."

He turned back towards her, only to find her eyes also riveted on Jack. "Not for me," he said softly, the words for her ears only. "But I'm not so sure about Jack and Sam."

She turned and her dark eyes caught his. She understood, without the need for awkward explanations. "This complicates things."

He nodded, returning his gaze to where Jack lay sleeping. Or listening. "Does it ever," he agreed.

***

Sam awoke in the early hours, shivering with cold and battling the same sense of panic that had gripped her every morning since her return home; the feeling of waking from a nightmare, not sure what's real and what's dream.

Only in her case, there was no relief when her mind sorted out the truth from the lie. There was only grief. For it was truth that had turned her life into a daily nightmare. And every morning since she'd gotten home, she'd woken to a memory of that single cataclysmic moment of recognition.

Colonel Jack O'Neill.

In the instant that name had crashed into her mind, she'd seen Jonah disintegrate before her eyes. His quiet strength, his easy-going attitude, his loving caresses... Gone. Forever. Disappearing like smoke in the wind.

With an inarticulate moan she rolled onto her stomach and pushed her face into the pillow. She felt as though she'd barely slept all night, moving fitfully from restless anxiety into unsettling dreams and back again, with no clear boundaries. And now she had to get up again, and face another day of denial.

She had to look O'Neill in the eye and not see Jonah. She had to ignore the longing she saw in his eyes, an emotion so powerful it sometimes looked like pain. She had to call him 'Sir' and hear him call her 'Carter'. She had to forget the feel of his lips against her skin, the comfort she'd found in his arms, and the friendship they'd explored in a relationship so profound that it had transcended the physical. Love was too small a word to encompass what they'd shared.

And then, in a brutal assault of memory, it was gone. Over, as if it had never existed. The single best thing that had happened to her heart had been exposed as a fraud, a sham. A fake.

Even the memories were tainted by the lie. How much of Jonah was real? How much of Thera? Had what they'd shared been real, or some part of the memory stamp? Could she trust her own heart? Was the dagger that twisted in her chest every time she saw the colonel real? Or was it some lingering side-effect of the stamp?

Sam rolled onto her back again, staring up at the ceiling as the pale gray light of pre-dawn crept into the dark room. Life had rarely looked so bleak. Jonah was gone, he'd never even existed, and she was alone again. So alone that it seemed no number of blankets was enough to keep her warm. The chill was bone deep, heart deep, like an icy fire inside her soul.

Forcing herself out of bed, Sam shivered as she walked mechanically into the bathroom. She knew she had to move on, forget it all. *Major Carter* had no choice. And if she could just keep going, she reasoned, she could get through this. If she could just keep swimming, she wouldn't drown.

But she sighed as she stared at her gaunt face in the bathroom mirror, and wished that drowning didn't seem so damn appealing.

***

It was like a sixth sense. Somehow, he always knew when she walked into a room. Any room. He remembered it from P3R-118. He'd feel her presence before he saw her, as if his body was somehow physically attuned to hers. Linked in some psychic way that defied rational explanation.

And so, Jack didn't need to look up from his coffee to know that Carter had walked into the commissary. He didn't need to. But he did anyway. Right into her eyes.

Bam!

It stopped her dead, just as it did him. The connection was instant and unavoidable. And she stood there, tray in hand, motionless until an impatient lieutenant behind her coughed her back to reality. She looked away and he saw her blush. Sam Carter blushed! Before P3R-118 he'd have felt some satisfaction in provoking that kind of reaction. But not now. Things had progressed way beyond that, to the point where he felt her discomfort as his own. He had to fight his instinct to go to her as she made her way down the line and paid for her meal. He had to remind himself that he was looking at her through glass, that he couldn't touch - either physically or emotionally. He had no right to. Not anymore. And yet...

God, had it only been a matter of days since she'd slept in his arms? It was inconceivable. But it was the truth. And it changed everything.

He was sitting close enough to the door that she had to walk past him in order to leave. And despite his best intentions, he followed her with his eyes.

"Carter," he called softly as she passed, the word breaking her determined stride.

She faltered, and looked at him as if it were painful. "Morning, sir."

She looked like crap. Thin, pale and sleep-deprived. Much like himself. "How you doing?" he asked, putting as much meaning into the words as he dared.

She offered him a feeble smile. "Good. You?"

"Good," he replied.

She nodded, and he knew that they understood each other. How could they not? Two people couldn't have been closer. "See you in the briefing, sir," she said.

He winced at the word. The damned, hated 'S' word, and said, "See you there, Carter."

And that was how it was. How it had to be.

And it sucked. It completely, utterly sucked.

***

It was late afternoon before Janet got a break and did the thing she'd been promising to do all day. Visit Sam.

Predictably, Sam was hard at work, buried nose-deep in her laptop. "Knock-knock," Janet said, pushing open the door and stepping inside.

The face that glanced up was something of a shock. Sam looked even worse than when she had first returned: flat, gray and lifeless. Her butchered hair spiked in all directions, her face was gaunt, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. But she tried for a smile nonetheless. "Hey, Janet. What's up?"

Knowing better than trying to pussy-foot around Sam, Janet got straight to the point. "You, actually. You look awful."

Sam scowled into her laptop. "Thanks."

"You know you do," Janet insisted, unfazed by Sam's apparent hurt. "So... What's going on?"

"Nothing."

Of course. "Nothing other than having been a slave with fake memories for ten weeks?"

"Nothing other than that," Sam agreed, still staring at her screen. "Which is probably enough to make me look awful. Don't you think?"

Janet shrugged, and took a seat. Uninvited. "Maybe." Sam said nothing, still intent on her work. And Janet knew her well enough to realize that nothing but a battering ram would get through the walls of denial her friend had so carefully erected around herself. So, battering ram it would have to be. "You should have told me that I need to run a pregnancy test, Sam."

Sam froze. Every muscle tensed, her face turning blank and cold. "What?" she breathed icily.

"A pregnancy test."

She was silent for a long time before she said. "I don't need one. I'm not pregnant."

"Are you sure?"

"Entirely."

Janet nodded. "Well, that's good."

Silence, long and painful. At last Sam snapped shut the lid of her laptop, the noise loud in the room. "Who told you?" she asked quietly.

Janet hesitated before she said, "Daniel mentioned that you and Colonel O'Neill might have some problems getting over--"

Sam's eyes flashed fire, meeting Janet's for the first time since she'd entered the room. "He had no right!"

Janet nodded. "No, Daniel shouldn't have told me. You should."

"It's none of your business - anyone's business!"

But Janet was already shaking her head, leaning forward in her chair. "I'm afraid it is, Sam."

Sam shook her head, but Janet could see the fight draining out of her. She was soldier enough to understand why it wasn't something they could keep to themselves. Slumping in her chair, Sam pressed her hands over her face, muffling her voice as she said, "For what it's worth, it's over."

Janet raised an eyebrow. "Just like that?"

"Those people, Thera and...and Johna..." Her hands fell away, and Janet could see the way her eyes were squeezed shut. "They weren't us. It wasn't real. None of it."

God, she was in pain. It was so obvious. Real, heartbreaking pain. Softly, Janet said, "Yes, it was."

Her face crumpled. "Don't say that," she begged.

"I can see it in your face, Sam," Janet said gently. "What you felt - still feel - is real. You can't just switch it off and pretend it didn't happen. It doesn't work like that."

Sam's tearless face was stricken. "Then what can I do?" she whispered bleakly. "Tell me, Janet, because I don't know what else to do."

Taking a deep breath, Janet said, "You need to deal with it. Come to terms with it and move on. But you can't deny it, Sam. It'll destroy you."

"Deal with it?" Sam shot to her feet, stalking around the lab. "Deal with the fact that I... That I feel... God!" Her hands clenched in her hair. "I can't even say it!" She laughed, but there was no mirth there, only fear.

Janet rose, gently pulling Sam's hands down to her side. "You need to talk to someone."

But she shook her head. "I'm not going to see McKenzie!"

"That's not who I meant," Janet assured her. "But..." It was her turn to falter, and Sam picked up on it in an instant.

"But?"

Janet had to take a deep breath before she said, "But, I'm sorry, Sam - I can't sign off on your mental health right now. Not until you've resolved this."

Sam blinked. "You're not...? Are you kidding me? You're not clearing me for duty?"

"I would be negligent if I did," Janet told her. "You're not--"

"I don't believe this!" Sam exploded. "How the hell do you expect me to get over this crap if you won't let me get back to work!"

"Work is not the answer!" Janet shot back. Then, more softly, "Be honest with yourself, Sam. Do you really think you could step through the gate with SG-1 and not have your judgement impaired? Could you serve as Colonel O'Neill's second in command?"

Sam stared for a long moment, eyes flashing fire. And then her head drooped. "Oh God, Janet..."

Janet's arms went around her in a heartbeat, holding her close. "It's gonna be okay." she assured her as her friend shook with dry tears.

But against her shoulder, Sam's head moved in slow denial. "I can't do this," she whispered brokenly. "I miss him. I miss him so much. And it hurts, Janet. God, it hurts..."

***

Part Two

Daniel found Jack in the gym, beating the life out of a punch bag. It was bad. As bad as he'd ever seen it. So he hovered in the doorway, figuring it was wise to let O'Neill get as much aggression out as possible before he entered the room. The conversation they were about to have would be difficult in the best of circumstances. And these were far from the best.

But Jack showed no sign of letting up, keeping up his rhythmic blows as Daniel eventually stepped into the room. Right, right. Left. Right, right. Left. Right, right--

"Fraiser send you?"

Left.

Direct, as always. Daniel shrugged. "Ah...not so much sent as ordered. Actually."

Right, right. Left. "If you're here to get me to 'talk' you're wasting your time."

Nodding, Daniel stepped further into the room. He kept a safe distance from the flying fists and shuddering punch bag and settled himself on the bench press. Just watching. "Janet told me you needed to talk to someone. I told her you never talk to anyone."

Left, left, left. "Good answer." Right.

"So," Daniel said, sucking in a deep breath as he took the plunge, "I guess I'll have to do the talking."

He could see Jack tense, his shoulders bunching as his fists pummeled the bag even harder. "Don't."

Ignoring him, Daniel pressed on. "Seems to me the problem is that Jonah and Thera never got to say goodbye. One minute they were lovers, the next--"

"Daniel..." He growled like the lion having the thorn pulled from its foot. Or perhaps it was just being pressed in more deeply?

"I've seen you and Sam ignore a lot of things the last few years," Daniel continued. "But this... Not even you guys can live with that much denial."

With a final, almighty punch, Jack stalked away from the bag and snatched up a towel. He pressed it over his face, his voice muffled as he said, "Wanna bet?"

"It's not healthy. For you or the team."

"I can handle it."

Damn it, but the man was stubborn!  Daniel hesitated before he spoke again, not sure if it was his place. But he knew Jack. He knew his strengths, and he knew his weaknesses. He knew where he was vulnerable. With a tremor of trepidation he said, "But Sam can't."

The effect was instant. Jack's eyes flashed to his, assessing the truth of his words. And then they darkened beneath a scowl as he realized there was no deception. "What do you mean?"

"You haven't even seen her the last couple of days, have you?"

Guilt twisted Jack's face. "I thought it would be best if--"

"Well, it's not," Daniel snapped. "She's grieving, Jack. And she's grieving alone, because you're the only one she could talk to."

Jack turned away, anguish shimmering beneath his impassive façade. "I can't," he replied, with more honesty than Daniel was used to hearing. "It's too difficult."

Daniel sighed. "Well, someone has to. And if it's not you, it's going to be McKenzie."

"No." He span around in absolute refusal. "No way in hell am I letting that freak near her again."

"Then I guess you know what you have to do," Daniel replied, pushing himself to his feet. "Good luck."

Jack said nothing, but the fear that flickered across his face was raw and visceral. Something Daniel had never seen in the field, not once.

***

Jack prowled down the corridor like a tiger looking for a brawl. Talk to her? Talk to her! How in God's name was he supposed to do that? Where was he even supposed to begin? It was far too complicated for words. He'd loved her from afar for so long, playing so damn carefully by the rules, and then... Bam! No rules. Just Sam and Jack. Or Jonah and Thera...whatever. Fact was, in those few short weeks of ignorance the feelings he'd so long repressed had escaped his rigid control. And in the light of freedom they'd blossomed into something real and deep and powerful. No longer loving from afar, and freed of all his past baggage, his heart had followed its bliss. He'd let himself love her. Really love her. Truly, madly, passionately.

And he couldn't stop. His heart no longer fitted into the little steel box in which he had locked it for so long. And instead it beat loudly in his chest, demanding its freedom and refusing to take no for an answer.

It was unspeakably painful.

With a growl of frustration, Jack slammed into the locker room, oblivious to the sign on the door. And it was only the sharp intake of breath that made him look up and see Carter standing there, wrapped in nothing but a towel.

He froze. They both did. He knew he should say something, but his mind was like ice and words slid from his grasp. Instead he just stared. She looked so beautiful. So familiar. So much like Thera.

After what seemed like an eternity she moved, clutching the towel a little tighter, her only defense. "Colonel...?"

Jack shook himself and looked away. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize..."

"It's okay," she whispered. But it obviously wasn't. Her voice was shaking, and if he hadn't known her better he'd have said she was on the verge of tears. But by the time he looked up again, she had her back to him. "I'll just be a couple of minutes," she said, her voice discordant in the silent room.

"No hurry," he managed to say. But he didn't move. Her distress was so palpable that he had to fight not to go to her and pull her into his arms. He remembered how upset she'd been after Brenna had turned down her improvement ideas, and he'd--

Viscously, he cut off the memory. It wasn't real. Only...it was. It was as real as anything else in his life. And the memory of her in his arms was so intense he could taste it. Taste her...

Sensing that he hadn't moved, Carter looked over her shoulder and right into his eyes. The impact was staggering. Her face was shadowed by such despair and longing that it almost undid him. He took half a step forward, his heart over-flowing. He just wanted to hold her, touch her, and comfort her. But with a little shake of her head, she turned away, hunching away from him. He could barely hear her whispered, "Don't."

But it stopped him dead. He felt like screaming! For a frozen moment he did nothing. Then he moved, almost stumbling out of the room before he did something stupid.

So much for talking to her...!

***

Sam felt as though her skin was on fire as she walked at an almost-run along the corridors of the SGC. Standing there, naked but for a towel, all she'd been able to think about was how much she wanted him to hold her, to take away the constant gnawing ache of loneliness.

"Oh God!" She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud until she heard her own voice, a whimper in the empty corridor.

Images assailed her. Their first kiss. Hesitant at first, quickly passionate. His delight when she'd shyly admitted to loving him. The intensity of his own declaration. The way he spooned around her as they slept, their bodies fitting so perfectly. The butterfly-softness of his kisses on the back of her neck. The ferocity of his love for her, the constancy of his friendship, and the passion in his eyes...

"Stop!" she hissed at herself, holding her head in a futile attempt to staunch the flow of memories. Touching. Kissing. Laughing. Holding. Loving. Every single moment they had shared was stamped indelibly into her mind. And all of it false, built on a lie. Suddenly she couldn't breath, the mountain suffocating her with its rules and procedures and duty. She had to get out. She needed some air. Some space. Some time to breathe.

***

Jack stood for a long time in the shower, letting the water beat down over his head. The image of Sam, vulnerable and hurting, flooded his mind. There were no fantasies, no adolescent wondering about what lay beneath the towel she'd clutched so tightly to herself. What was the point? He knew. In intimate detail.

No, it was her eyes that haunted him. Wide and despairing. He'd never seen her look like that, not Carter and not Thera. And with a sick kind of dread, he wondered if he was responsible. Daniel's words returned to him - "Jonah and Thera never got to say goodbye" - and he realized that there was truth in it. Their relationship had been cut off as abruptly as a bereavement. Nothing had been resolved, or even discussed. And all they'd done since their return was to try and bury the evidence.

But it wasn't working. That much was obvious. He turned off the water and stepped out, shivering slightly in the cool air. He headed to his locker with a new sense of purpose. Painful as it would be, this couldn't go on. Something was going to change.

***

The spring air was still cool as Sam made her way through the trees on the side of the mountain, and she sucked in deep, heady breaths. She felt free. And for a moment, she felt alive. She wondered if this is how she had felt before. It was difficult to remember her life before the stamp - so much had changed in those weeks that her life before it seemed distant somehow.

She stopped when she came to a steep drop-off, the rocks cascading below her about twenty feet and giving her a view out over the rest of the mountains towards the city. It was beautiful. She scanned the distant horizon, remembering her days beneath the ice-planet. Funny. As trapped and confined as she'd been down there, she'd never felt so free. But here, where she could walk for miles under the clear blue sky, she felt like a caged animal. The weight of her responsibilities were more oppressive than the chains of slavery, for they had at least left her free to follow her heart and love where she chose.

She took another deep breath and closed her eyes. The cool wind brushed her face and teased her hair, raising gooseflesh on her arms. And it was as she opened her eyes that the heard a noise behind her, a soft footfall. She tensed, knowing who it would be. Her instinct was to run, but there was nowhere to go. And reason told her this conversation was inevitable, and that it was best over and done with. Bracing herself she opened her mouth to speak, but she was too late. And the single word he spoke rooted her to the spot, sending her heart and mind tumbling into free fall.

"Thera."

***

Jack could see every muscle turn to ice the moment the name left his lips. She didn't move, didn't turn around. Didn't breathe.

Taking a step towards her, he caught the light scent of her still-damp air on the breeze. It urged him forward until he was close enough to touch her. But he didn't. He simply said, "We should talk."

A slight shake of the head in protest. "Sir..."

"No. Not to him," he told her quietly. "Just talk to Jonah."

Her chin tipped up, as if angling her face into the sun, and her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She didn't turn towards him, and he half expected her to simply walk away, or pull down her military mask of protocol. But she did neither, she just said, "What's to talk about?"

He was silent. Having gotten to the limits of his plan, he had no idea how to proceed. Talking had never been his strong point. If he had a choice, he'd always rather show someone how he felt than tell them. From a fist to the face, to a warm embrace, he'd never had much use for words. Which was probably why he found his hands moving to gently touch her arms, trailing his fingers up and down her cool skin.

She reacted instantly, a slight gasp that echoed with intimate familiarity in his mind. And he felt his body react with a flush of heat as her arms unclasped themselves and fell to her side, a tacit invitation to continue the soft caress. Up and down, his touch was feather-light and intoxicating.

"I've missed you," he said at last, husky with emotion.

She nodded. "Me too."

He'd run out of words, and found his hands stilling on her arms. Holding her, feeling her warmth penetrate him. And as he did so, she moved. Slowly, imperceptibly, she shifted her weight until she was leaning back against his chest, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. With a heart hammering for release, he slipped his arms around her properly and pulled her closer. Holding her. Tight.

His head span with the heady release of tension, and her hands clutched at his arms, holding on as if she were afraid to let go. She breathed his name, grief-stricken. "Jonah."

Turning his head slightly, his lips brushed her ear as he whispered the only words in his mind, "I love you."

Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath his arms, and he knew that she was fighting for control. His breathing matched hers, ragged and full of need. All it would take would be a slight movement, a slight twisting in his arms and her lips would be on his. Memory told him how she'd melt in his arms, their bodies merging in perfect synch. And if that happened...? He knew his limits well enough. If he didn't stop now...

With a deep breath that caught in his throat, he let go and stepped back. Still leaning against him, she stumbled a little as he moved away. Surprised, she almost looked around. But at the last moment she didn't.

"I...," he began, stuffing his shaking hands into his pockets. "I thought it would help if we said goodbye." A ripple went through her, leaving her head shaking in helpless denial. But he blundered on regardless. "Jonah and Thera... They have to say goodbye, because...because...that's the way it--"

"No."

He blinked. No?

"I can't do it," she whispered. "I can't say goodbye to him."

"But--"

"*We* can't be together," she said, "I accept that. But they..." She stopped, her voice hovering on the edge of tears. "Thera and Jonah would never give up on each other. They swore nothing would separate them." And then she turned at last, fixing him with her large, soulful eyes. "They'd never say goodbye. Would they?"

He just stared, the truth stark and painful in her face. "No," he agreed quietly. "No, they wouldn't."

She nodded once, bleakly satisfied. And then she was gone, striding back towards the entrance without a backward glance.

But Jack didn't move, he just stood staring blindly out over the beautiful panorama spread before him. And deep in his chest he felt the stirrings of panic, as he began to realize that the single most important thing in his life had been shattered. Beyond repair.

***

Anger blazed as Sam leaned on her horn, furious with the idiot in the wrong lane. Although she was well aware that road-rage wasn't her problem. This was life-rage!

His words ran through her head as she pulled into her neighborhood. "I thought it would help if we said goodbye." Goodbye?! It had all the hallmark's of one of Daniel's suggestions - intellectual, sensible and thoughtful. Hardly O'Neill. And, as it turned out, not her. Not this time.

Dry tears pricked at her eyes, and she felt a lump rise in her throat. She hadn't shed a single tear over this mess, and a stubborn kind of pride insisted that she wouldn't. She refused to let it control her. Slowing, she pulled up outside her house and slammed out of the car.

For a moment she considered hitting the gym for a couple of hours of stress-burning exercise. But her mood was too bleak for anything so proactive. All she wanted to do was curl up and torment herself with memories. To try and make sense of the past few weeks of her life, and to work out how the hell she was meant to put her world back together in their wake.

***

Colonel O'Neill burst into Fraiser's office in a cold fury. Without apology or explanation he slammed the door behind him and leveled a finger at her. "That was a damn stupid idea!"

She blinked, refusing to be intimidated by either his rank or his attitude. "What idea was that, sir?"

"Talking," he snapped. "To Carter."

Oh. She nodded seriously, still eyeing his bunched muscles and angry face. Not that she thought he'd hit her, but her instincts told her to be wary. "What happened?"

The question seemed to disarm him somewhat and he lowered his arm, as if only just realizing he'd been pointing it so aggressively. "It's personal," he replied curtly.

She nodded again, breathing a little more easily as the wind left his sails. "Take a seat, sir," she suggested, with little confidence that he would. But he surprised her, sinking onto the plastic chair like a puppet with its strings cut. His head sank into his hands, and for a while he just sat there. When he did speak, the words were muffled through his fingers. "I don't know how to fix this."

Gently, she said, "Why don't you tell me what needs fixing?"

Still talking through his fingers, he said "I just want things to be like they were before."

"Before the memory stamp?" she asked. "Or before you came home?"

He was silent for a long time. When he raised his head, his face was bleak. "I guess, before this whole thing got out of hand. Before...I felt like this. Before it got so damn complicated."

"That's a lot of history to ignore."

"Too much," he agreed.

Staring at his miserable face, Janet couldn't help but remember how awful Sam had looked only hours earlier. Slowly but surely, these people were destroying each other. Duty and loyalty, some of their finest qualities, were overshadowing their lives. Skewing priorities. And like flowers deprived of sunlight, they were both slowly fading. Dying. It broke her heart, and she was forced to look away. "Back on the planet," she said softly, "you and Sam were involved for a long time?"

"Yeah. We were--" He sucked in a deep breath and let it out with a flood of words, "They expect me to just stop. To pretend it didn't happen. But how can you do that? How can anyone do that?"

Janet shook her head. "I don't think you can." Her words seemed to startle him, because he just stared at her blankly until she said "Perhaps you should consider another option."

He blinked. "What other option?"

"The one you've both been dancing around for years."

There was a long silence as he considered her words, then, "The regulations--"

"Are a guideline."

He shook his head, an hesitant excitement bringing a new life to his face. "But Carter would never... I mean...." He looked right at her. "Do you think she would?"

Janet gave a little shrug. "I don't know. But I can tell you that these last few weeks have affected her deeply. It's not something she's going to be able to just shrug off."

"No," he said softly. "Me neither." For a long time he stared at the floor, lost in thought. And then, as if suddenly remembering where he was, he shook himself and stood up. "Ah...thanks, Doc."

She smiled slightly. "Any time, sir. And, um...good luck."

For the first time since he'd returned home, a smile touched his lips. "Thanks. I owe you one."

Smiling back, she watched him go with a sigh. "Don't thank me yet," she said as the door closed behind him. And she sat down, hoping she hadn't just made things worse.

***

The blue skies of the afternoon had given way to a spring storm, and as Sam lay on her bed the rain hammered down outside. It's incessant pitter-patter fitted her mood exactly. Dark and hopeless. Miserable.

Beside her lay a barely touched sandwich. She knew she had to eat, but food tasted like ashes in her mouth and the whole world seemed gray. The feeling was familiar; she remembered it from the days and months following her mother's death. And she supposed, in an odd way, this was not dissimilar. For all intents and purposes, Jonah was dead. Only the pain was worse, knowing that, had circumstances allowed, she could have reached out and pulled him back from the grave.

She closed her eyes and listened as outside a car rolled along the rain drenched road, its wheels slowly kicking up spray. It stopped and she heard a door slam.

***

The rain fell in sheets, drenching and cold. But Jack didn't move. He just stood outside her house, frozen in a moment of atypical indecision. What he was contemplating was insane! It could cost him his job, could even cost him a court martial. And yet as he stood there and stared through the rain at her house, his heart and stomach were fluttering like a teenage kid on his first date.

Their time together as Jonah and Thera had been so right. He'd felt peace for the first time in as long as he could remember. And although the stamp had wiped out his most disturbing memories, he knew that it had been Sam - Thera - who had done most to ease his aching soul. They worked together, fitted in every way. He'd always suspected it, now he knew it as fact. It would work. He and Carter, together, would work. More than work, it would make him happy.

And that was something work taking risks for, right? It was worth risking everything. Slowly, with his stomach twisting with nerves, he walked up the path to her front door and knocked.

In the last moments before everything changed, he flung a hasty prayer skyward. "Please, God, make this work."

***

A sharp rap on the door dragged Sam from her near doze. For a moment she just lay there, wondering if she'd dreamed it. But then it came again, more insistent this time. With an effort of will, she dragged herself off the bed and padded into the hallway. Knowing that she looked something of a wreck, she ruffled her hands through her hair and took a deep, steadying breath before she opened the front door. And there, soaked to the skin, stood a very nervous looking Jack O'Neill.

Sam just stared.

The rain was still falling, but the colonel didn't seem to notice. His eyes locked with hers and his lips moved as if he were trying to find the right words. And then he blurted, "Tell me to go, and I will."

A wave of light-headedness tingled, and Sam found herself clutching the door. What did he mean? "You," she began, faltering as her voice failed. She cleared her throat, "You're soaking wet. You should come in."

He looked at her seriously, as if trying to gauge her meaning. And then he moved, stepping onto the porch and into her house. Closing the door behind him, Sam felt the tension between them like something alive. It squirmed in her belly, arced between them like lightening bolts.

His hair was dripping wet, his leather jacket hanging heavy on his shoulders. But he was oblivious, his attention entirely fixed on her. It was a dangerous, intoxicating feeling. "Why are you here?" she said at last.

He nodded, acknowledging the legitimate question. "Because I was wrong," he said. "Earlier."

"About what?"

He took a step closer, and Sam found herself leaning up against the door, a willing rabbit caught in his headlights. "Saying goodbye. That was stupid."

"Not stupid," she whispered. "I know what you were trying to--"

"We belong together," he said, talking right over her. "Jonah and Thera showed us that. We can't go back."

Sam shook her head, his words opening up too many forbidden possibilities. "Please, we can't..."

Another step closer, the scent of rain and leather filling her head. "We can. If we're willing to take the risk."

Every part of her trembled at the prospect, half terror and half anticipation. Could she do it? Could she break all the rules, and risk everything for something is ephemeral and uncertain as love? "It can't be that simple," she whispered.

"It is," he assured her quietly, "it really is."

She looked up then, into his eyes. She saw Jonah there, easy going, trusting and warm. The colonel was there too, hardened, scarred and passionate. And then, like a fusing of the two, she saw someone else in the dark depths of his eyes. Someone she'd only glimpsed before, the person at the core of the man who stood before her. She saw Jack. Just Jack.

In that single moment of revelation, everything she'd kept hidden away for so long exploded into action. Heedless of the consequences, Sam threw her arms around him and clutched him tight. The rain on his jacket soaked into her shirt, but she didn't let go as he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face against her shoulder.

"I love you," he rasped into her ear. His words broke the damn. Emotions too long repressed raged through her, frightening in their intensity, ripping down all the barriers she'd built over the years. She clutched him to her, afraid to let go. Afraid that she'd be wrecked on the dangerous rocks of her fears and inhibitions if she ever left the warmth of his embrace.

They stood like that for a long time, swaying, and hugging. And then she felt the heat of a soft kiss on the side of her neck, then another. And like a wildfire she responded, as Thera had so many times before. Her lips found his, softly, full of need and passion as his hands slid under her rain-damp shirt. She gasped slightly at the electric flesh-on-flesh touch, and desire hit in a wave of fervent, frantic caresses. But this was no awkward, first time tryst. He knew exactly how to touch her, how to move her. As did she. It was practiced and loving, spiced with tension and a delicious illicitness.

Slowing the pace, he pulled back to look at her. Their eyes met; their silent conversation more eloquent than any words, asking and agreeing to hold nothing back. To risk everything to gain even more. Tears stood in Sam's eyes as she took his hand, pressed a kiss into his palm, and lead him slowly towards her bedroom. And towards a new life.

***

The rain still blew in sheets against the windows, but Jack lay warm, cozy and curled around Sam. It was late. Probably. He'd lost track of time long, long ago. But it didn't matter. The only important thing in the entire universe at that moment was the fact that he was here and that she lay sleeping in his arms.

Sam shifted slightly, and he kissed her softly on the back of the neck. She sighed, contented. And after a moment her drowsy voice whispered, "Jack?"

"Mmmmm?"

"This is for always. Right?"

His arms tightened protectively, images of an uncertain future filling his mind. They lived dangerous, unpredictable lives. But, "Yeah. If I have anything to do with it. This is for always, Sam. Swear to God."

Satisfied, she drew closer, her hair soft against his cheek. Jack closed his eyes and smiled as peace washed over him in an overwhelming tide of contentment. He felt as if all the grief and loss he had suffered in his life had prepared him for this very moment; from them he had gained a heightened appreciation of this rarest and most precious of all emotions. Happiness. Had he never touched the pits of despair, he doubted he could have soared to these heady heights of joy. And he knew, with a certainty so profound it felt divine, that he was exactly where he was meant to be. At last.

~End~