TITLE: Equality

AUTHOR: Sonia - sg791012@yahoo.com (Feedback greatly appreciated!)

CLASSIFICATIONS: Angst

RATING: R (sexual situations)

ARCHIVE: SJD, yes. Others, please ask.

SPOILERS: Season 7-8

SUMMARY: Jack's head reels as Sam takes advantage of her new promotion.

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

PLEASE READ! AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story started out as an experiment in contrived sexiness. It ended up with a smidge more plot and character development than I intended, but it's still mostly about angst and sex. So consider yourself forewarned! (Though it's not that bad.)

**Imagine that Carter is promoted BEFORE Jack - I guess that makes this slightly AU?**

Thanks to my wonderful friend Michelle for the beta!

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You can read this fic at my website, or in plain text below . . . (Notice "Sam-friendly" banner on my main page! Wee! Thanks Jara!)

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EQUALITY

"You're not saying very much," she pointed out.

Jack couldn't help fixating on the fact that Sam's eyes were very wide and very blue as she surveyed him over the cluster of empty beer bottles that the waitress had failed to clear away.

"No," he said simply.

"Am I boring you? You're getting that glazed look."

"Not at all." He smiled slightly. "I'm just enjoying this opportunity to stare at your cleavage."

In truth, he'd been having trouble breaking his gaze from her face - her eyes had held his own for over two hours now. Her expression had been disconcertingly unguarded the entire evening, and as a result his food lay scarcely touched in front of him. Earlier he'd resorted to nourishing himself with beer, for he could drink and stare at the same time. But having cut himself off an hour ago, he now had nothing to do but stare.

"I don't buy it," she said, and he knew she saw right through him.

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She had come to his office earlier that day, just as he was packing the last few sensitive items in preparation for his move to Hammond's old office. He was irritable, unsure of himself, and still slightly disjointed from his experience in Antarctica. But none of that prevented him from sensing her presence at the door.

"It's open, Carter," he said, trying to project an ease that he did not feel. He looked up to see her step forward hesitantly. As she approached, she gazed about the office, her eyes widening as she took in the various piles of paperwork, files, and flattened boxes that were strewn about.

"Hey, sir. There's still a lot in here. Are you going to finish up today?"

"I'm just taking care of the important stuff," he said, carefully placing his yoyo in a manila envelope marked CLASSIFIED. "Someone else will move the rest."

"Ah," she said, "one of the many benefits of command."

"I guess." He sighed. "Actually, it's going to be a pain having subordinates hanging about and messing with my stuff." He gently placed the envelope in the open box in front of him.

She appeared not to have heard him. "Listen, sir . . ."

Trailing off, she left the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. He was very familiar with that weight - a silence thick with an emotion that was intense and yet maddeningly ambiguous.

They'd never spoken of the last words they'd exchanged before he'd been frozen. Despite his condition at the time, he still remembered her trying to tell him something that he knew was important and yet difficult for her to say. He'd cut her off - an attempt to reassure her rather than an expression of understanding. It had seemed the right thing to do at the time, but now he wished that he'd let her finish the sentence, as tortuous as it might have been for both of them.

"Yes, Carter?" He kept his tone level. "You don't have to 'sir' me, by the way, at least not until next week."

"Well, um . . ." she paused again, but then raised her chin almost defiantly. "I came to tell you that we're having dinner tonight."

He relaxed - apparently there were to be no emotional proclamations. "Hey, sounds great. Where's the gang getting together?"

"The gang isn't getting together. It would just be the two of us."

A few seconds passed before Jack realized that his mouth was hanging open slightly. "Er, what's the occasion?"

"We're celebrating," she said flatly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, you don't seem too excited about it. Are we celebrating your promotion? 'Cause you know mine isn't official for another week, and I hate to be premature." He waggled his eyebrows mischievously.

"Actually, *that's* what we're going to be celebrating."

He blinked. "Come again?"

She took a breath, tilting her head slightly. "We're celebrating the fact that, for a short time, we're both, you know . . . *equal*."

He was briefly tempted to crack another lame joke, or play dumb, but it was impossible to pretend that he didn't know what she was talking about. He'd been thinking about it ever since he'd learned that she'd been promoted to Lt. Colonel during his recovery. They were, for the moment, of equal rank. And technically he'd resigned while they were in Antarctica, so didn't that mean that the whole "chain of command" obstacle was out of the way? This question had been haunting him lately as he'd found himself, on several occasions, staring sleeplessly at his bedroom ceiling in the middle of the night.

Of course it was all fantasy because next week he would be promoted and officially take command of the SGC. There was absolutely no point in pursuing this so-called equality - it would only complicate an already impossible situation.

He stared at the box in front of him for a moment, unsure exactly how to explain this to her. When he looked up, however, the prospect of her wide blue eyes snapped his resolve as though it were the flimsiest of twigs.

"Okay Carter, where are you taking me?"

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Now as he stared at her sitting across from him, he marveled at the sight of the understated, yet undeniably sexy, outfit that she had chosen to wear this evening. It was always cause for private celebration when Carter wore civvies, but tonight she had outdone herself. Her blouse was sleeveless and low cut, and though the rest of her body was now hidden under the table, he knew that her short black skirt, made of some alluringly clingy material, revealed and accentuated those racehorse legs that he rarely got the opportunity to see.

'It would be the simplest maneuver,' he thought, 'to oh-so-casually move my hand under the table and touch the soft skin on the inside of her thigh. . .'

He retreated from that thought before she could read his expression. Carter was very skilled at anticipating covert assaults.

Leaning back, he allowed his gaze to roam over what he could see of her body - it was simple enough to imagine what was hidden from view. Over the last year, Carter had become decidedly more voluptuous. There was no question that she was still in spectacular shape, but he'd begun to notice delicious new curves in all the right places. Fuller breasts, softly rounded hips - a subtle change to most, but to Jack it was enough to drive him to entirely new realms of inappropriate imaginings.

The changes he'd noticed weren't limited to the physical, however. When he thought about it, he realized that her voluptuousness had somehow carried over into her demeanor. A sense of fulfillment had become evident in her expression and the way she carried herself.

Part of this fulfillment, he knew, could be attributed to her relationship with . . . *him*. The cop. Her body had become more relaxed, and her face had softened with what he assumed were recollections of a lover's touch. At times, when they were sitting in the boardroom, or eating companionably in the mess hall, she would drift away into her own thoughts. At these moments he'd almost expected her to start purring.

This new Sam aroused and angered him at the same time.

He'd been somewhat pained to see that, after Janet's death and the various crises that had followed, she'd resumed the stiff demeanor and strained expression to which he had grown accustomed in the past.

On this night, however, the softness had returned, and the strangest thing of all was that it seemed to have something to do with him.

"So," she said, after taking a final swallow from her beer. "Are you ready?"

'Ready for what?' he wondered, a mild panic setting in. 'Ready to put this behind us, to go home alone and sulk? Or is she asking if I'm ready to take this further?' Judging by the intensity of her gaze, he deduced that she was alluding to the last option.

"Sam, are you sure about this?"

"Yes."

"You know, despite what we might tell ourselves, that this isn't right?"

"I know."

He really had no idea how to move things along without seeming overly eager. The last time he'd been with a woman, she'd been so direct that there'd been no call for seductive ploys. And he was painfully conscious of how long ago that had been. At this moment, Sam appeared to be just as direct, but the scenario was different. And Sam was an entirely different sort of woman. His feelings for her were . . . well, he couldn't even begin to describe his feelings for her.

"So, what's it going to be? Your place or mine?" He immediately cringed at his awkward use of the cliché. 'I can't help it,' he thought, 'she's making me so damn nervous.'

"Yours."

Her eyes were dark, her expression resolute. Without another word she signaled the waitress for the bill.

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She rode in the truck with him, having left her car in the hotel parking lot next to the restaurant.

"I'll catch a cab later," she'd said, and though the chivalrous part of him wanted to protest, he knew she was just being sensible. There was the possibility that her car would be seen at his house. And although he didn't expect Daniel and Teal'c to crash their little party, one never knew what to expect with those two.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She had leaned back against the seat and crossed her legs, and in so doing her skirt had risen higher, revealing a few more inches of her thighs. Jack quickly turned back to focus on the road. This was the sort of time when memories of baking pies with Grandma O'Neill came in handy.

'Please don't attack her the minute you get through the door, Jack,' he silently reminded himself. 'Show some self-control. Let her lead.'

As it turned out, he really didn't have any choice in the matter.

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He unlocked the door, hands shaking ever so slightly. After gently pushing it open, he stepped aside to allow her to enter first. As she walked past him, he thought for a brief moment that he saw a glimmer of apprehension in her eyes. Once inside, however, she turned and gazed at him steadily. Without looking away, he shut the door behind him and locked it. He saw her flinch slightly as the deadbolt clicked loudly into place.

He cleared his throat, his mind reeling with self-recriminations. 'Wait, Jack,' he chided himself. 'Don't be an idiot.'

Stepping forward very slowly, he moved closer until there were only inches separating them. In her heels, she was almost eye level with him. He smiled inwardly, knowing that his height was an advantage that he had over him. But he didn't want to think about Pete right now. He reached out toward her.

To his surprise, she stepped back.

"Why don't you get me a beer?" she murmured. "I'll be on the couch."

He stared at her for a moment, perplexed. "Okay . . ."

When he returned with the beer, he saw that she had slipped off her shoes and was sitting with her legs curled beneath her. She took the offered bottle and drank from it, never taking her eyes from him. He took a sip of his own beer, barely noticing the taste as the liquid slid down his throat. In a deliberate gesture, he set his bottle on the side table, then took hers and did the same. She did not protest. He reached for her again.

"No," she said, drawing back.

He fought back the rising tide of frustration than began to course through him. She wasn't being as direct as he'd thought. "Sam, what do you want? Do you want to talk?"

She gazed at him silently.

"Are you having second thoughts?"

She shook her head almost imperceptibly. For a moment they simply stared at each other, and he inwardly reminded himself to follow her lead. As if in response to this, her body tensed and she shifted her position so that she was in a crouch next to him.

Then, sliding her skirt further up her thighs to allow more freedom for her legs, she moved to straddle him.

His shock at this entirely unexpected maneuver was quickly replaced with desire, and instinctively he reached out to pull her hips even closer. Eyes still locked with hers, he slid both hands up her thighs.

"Stop." She pushed his hands away just as they were sliding beneath her skirt.

"Sam, are you trying to torture me?" he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion despite his intent to merely quip.

"No." She paused. Then her lips curved into a sensuous smile. "I just want to be in control."

He looked at her quizzically.

"I want to touch you," she explained. "I want to take my time. And I don't want you to interfere."

"So, basically, you want to torture me."

She laughed softly. "Maybe. Are you going to behave?"

He leaned back, placing his hands at his sides in silent submission.

Tentatively, she reached out to his face, lightly stroking the scar on his eyebrow before trailing her fingers down his cheek. With her thumb, she softly traced the outline of his lips. Her own mouth was so close, so inviting as she pouted in concentration.

"Kiss me," he murmured.

Her fingers lingered at his lips for a moment longer before she leaned down to brush her lips against his forehead, grazing the scar, then trailing along his cheek until she reached his ear.

"Hush," she whispered.

She brought both hands to his temples, her fingers raking through his hair and then lightly massaging the back of his neck. Her hands moved to his chest and she began to slowly and methodically unfasten each button. When the last one was finally freed, she spread his shirt open and placed her palms against his bare skin. Her hands were cool, and the contact sent tingles down his spine. Her fingers began to move again, twining lightly through the hair on his chest, sliding down to his abdomen, slowly moving lower . . .

He closed his eyes, willing himself not to touch her.

"You're being very good," she said in a playful purr.

"And you're being very bad," he replied, without opening his eyes.

She pulled off his shirt, gently easing each arm out of its sleeve. Through the thin material of her blouse he could feel the curve of her breasts, could sense her own excitement. He suppressed a groan as her hands deftly worked at his belt, unclasping it and unfastening his fly. With a tortuous deliberation she eased his jeans down, pushing his hand away when he tried to assist. And then her hands found him, and the sensation was jolting and profoundly more sensual than he'd ever imagined in the guilty fantasies he was forever trying to repress.

"Sam . . . I can't take this for very long." He opened his eyes to find her watching him intently, her pupils dilated and cheeks flushed. "Let me . . ."

She silenced him with her lips, kissing him deeply and insistently, all the while continuing to stroke him. Her mouth was warm and wet and oddly familiar to him. His self-control was rapidly waning as her hands and mouth exhorted him to take control.

She broke the kiss and shifted slightly to position herself above him. Time seemed to freeze as he waited for her to end the torture, to claim him, to change everything between them forever. And then, with a soft gasp, she slid down and he felt her warmth enclose him, and she was moving, and it was divine agony to hold out, to stay with her as she moved, until she finally cried out in pleasure. It was only then that he finally let go, allowed the release that he ached for, and he moaned as she slumped against him.

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Afterwards, they lay together in an awkward jumble on the couch. Jack's back was beginning to ache, but the feel of her body draped over his was compensation enough for his suffering.

"You want to explain what that was all about?" he murmured into her ear.

"What?" Her voice was drowsy.

"I never knew you had such control issues."

She pulled away to face him. "Well, I don't really." She brushed a strand of damp hair out of her face. "I mean, I suppose part of it was that you've always had authority over me, and it was nice to turn the tables for once. But . . ."

"But what?"

"I think it was something more." She looked past him, seemingly lost in contemplation. "It's difficult to explain," she continued after a moment, "but I think it was more about giving than controlling."

"How so?" he asked, genuinely curious.

She frowned slightly. "It occurred to me that there have been so many times when I was hurt, or in some sort of distress, and you held me, comforted me. I've never been able to do that for you. I wanted to touch you, to soothe every part of you that had ever been hurt."

Puzzled by this answer, he squirmed slightly beneath her. "You make it sound like you wanted to nurse me. And I have to tell you that's *not* how it felt, and I'm not sure I'm too thrilled by the idea."

She touched his lips as though to smooth away the scowl that had formed there. "Okay, I admit it. Most of all I just wanted to bend you to my will and ravish you. Does that make you feel better?"

"Definitely." He pulled her closer for a kiss, and as she swayed slightly on top of him to meet his lips he felt the stirrings of a renewed desire. She broke the kiss, trailing her lips along his cheek and down his throat. Her hands, warm now insistent, slowly made their way down his chest. The scent of her hair, the sensation of her lips and hands roaming his body - the desire was beginning to overwhelm him again.

Then a nagging inner voice - the voice of reason that had been suppressed by the shock and excitement of Sam's seduction - suddenly spoke up. 'Protection, Jack. Did ya even bother to think of that?' He knew that Sam got those birth control shots - Depo something - for he'd heard her joking about it with Janet when they didn't think he was paying attention. But those shots didn't protect her from . . .

He shuddered at the unfinished thought, for it brought *him* to mind. Just because Pete was a cop didn't mean he wasn't riddled with diseases.

"Sam . . . ," he faltered. "When you're with . . . *him*, do you use . . .?"

He felt her breath at his ear as she spoke. "I use condoms."

His relief was profound but fleeting, for the renegade thoughts kept tumbling around in his brain despite his best efforts to push them aside. The unwelcome reminder of Pete opened up a whole new can of worms. Would she return to his bed after this? How long would she wait? A few days? Or would she see him tomorrow?

"Are you going to keep seeing him?"

She froze in place at his neck, her entire body stiffening in response to his question. He well knew that he had no right to ask, but he wanted to know, and it was easier to ask when he couldn't see her face.

"I don't know."

He wasn't sure what answer he'd wanted from her, but he knew it wasn't that. He thought for a moment, somewhat surprised at the anger that was building within him, making him want to push her away, to slam a door in her face. Never before had he felt so vulnerable, and this made him want to hurt her, to render her equally raw and vulnerable. And, though he was vaguely sickened by the thought, he knew the best way to accomplish this.

"You *should* keep seeing him. He makes you happy."

She sighed and pulled away from him. "But things are different now."

"Only temporarily."

She looked directly at him, anguish in her eyes. "Why are you being such a bastard?"

Guilt flooded through him, but there was nothing to say that was both comforting and true. So instead of speaking he pulled her closer to him, ignoring her faint resistance, and buried his face in her neck. When she finally relaxed, he shifted underneath her, gently repositioning her until she was sitting next to him.

In silence, he contemplated her for a moment. She returned his gaze with eyes that were dark and imploring. He reached out to smooth a piece of her hair, to stroke her cheek. Then, collecting her in his arms, he lifted her in one swift motion and carried her to the bedroom. They bumped against the doorframe as he entered the dark room, and in spite of himself he ended up dropping her somewhat unceremoniously on the unmade bed. She giggled softly in response, but then grew serious as she saw the look in his eyes. She kicked the covers aside and reached for him.

He made love to her fiercely and possessively, touching her as she hadn't allowed him to before. Kissing and stroking every inch of her body, he devoted himself entirely to her pleasure, and yet still found it difficult to contain his own excitement. He kept his eyes open, watching every change in her expression, noting every shiver and gasp of pleasure, and in the final moments he saw her eyes pool with moisture, heard her sob softly, and felt his own heart breaking even as the passion overwhelmed him.

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He woke to find the room dark and silent, and he knew she was gone. Rolling over onto his side, he contemplated the empty space next to him, the neatly smoothed sheet and coverlet, the pillow plumped in its proper place. He tentatively placed his hand where she had lain, but his fingers detected no residual warmth. In fact, there was no sign that she had ever been there. He sighed.

After a moment, he pulled back the covers that she had smoothed into place and eased his body into the space that she'd once occupied. It was then that he sensed it - the faintest trace of her scent. Smiling, he burrowed into the spot, clasping the pillow that had earlier cradled her head.

As he began to drift once more into sleep, a haunting thought occurred to him. Not once had he made it clear to her that this night meant more to him than just sex.

And it also struck him that she had never once spoken his name.

The warm drowsiness now gone, he let go of her pillow and turned onto his back.

He lay like that, staring at the ceiling, until dawn.

*Fin*