Classification: angst

Set: early Season 8 (pre-Affinity). This was in the works before Affinity came around.

Spoilers: up to early season 8, usual ship-friendly episodes

Pairing: Jack/Sam

Rating: R (I think, but YMMV)

Summary: Finding out the truth doesn't make it any easier

Archive: SJD, yes.

Disclaimers: All publicly recognisable characters and places are the property of MGM, World Gekko and Double Secret Productions.

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She's staring at his door at the moment. She's been staring blankly at her computer screen for most of the day and now she's doing the same with his door, well, more like staring at her fist hovering near his door.

There are eighteen small vertical cracks in the wood underneath her fist, three inches below his name plaque. She doesn't know if they're all hers or if others knock at this exact same place too; it's all a matter of size really. She's counted thirty-five deeper cracks, huddled together two inches above and to the side of hers. She thinks they might be his when this was still General Hammond's office. She tears her eyes away from her in-depth study to answer Siler's respectful greeting then brings them sliding back down the door to find evidence of Siler's knocks.

She could stay here longer and try to pretend she's not delaying the inevitable but that's twice now that Siler has gone past her, lingering outside the General's office with discomfort written all over her face, and a third time would get tongues wagging. She doesn't want that.

His answering "Come in" to her hesitant knock lacks its usual sharpness and for the umpteenth time in the past hours, she's compelled to run away and bury her head in the sand. She slinks inside and closes the door shut behind her, back pressed against the hard wood, hand clutched over the knob.

He's facing the transparent command map enlivening one wall of his office, standing with his back to her, hands clasped behind him.

She's relieved to see that the door next to him is shut for once. There are no briefings scheduled until the next morning, no teams offworld at great risk of a premature comeback. She checked on both counts. Her window of opportunity is as good as it will ever be.

He's taught her most of everything she knows outside of science. At times like these, she remembers that humour and anger are two possible cloaking devices to embarrassment. Military protocol doesn't take kindly to insults hurled at superiors and she's just never been good at anger with him, or anyone really. She squares her shoulders and takes two steps forward.

"Playing `spot the gate', Sir?" She quips, forcing lightness in her tone. He's twenty degrees off the correct vector her mental map of the SGC shows her but she doubts he'll call her on it.

He spins on his heels to face her. "I miss going out," he confesses easily.

She wonders if it means what she wants to answer. I miss having you.

"We miss having you, Sir."

He cocks his head at her, dark eyes skirting just under her shifty gaze. "Nah, you don't," he sighs dramatically, waving away her words. "You and Daniel can now study and babble at your hearts' contents." He moves towards his desk and flops down on his chair. "Teal'c may be the only one wishing for my presence, if only to get the two of you to shut up every once in a while."

"It's not like that at all, Sir," she protests with relief, latching onto the safe subject of work. "I actually have less time for scientific findings, I have to worry more about our safety."

"Disappointed?" He asks, mouth hidden in the palm of the hand supporting his head.

"No," she answers honestly. "I just need to get used to it. We're still finding our marks." She fights to keep her gaze level with his. Without you.

"Wanna trade places?" He offers, face lighting up with hope.

She can't help the smile. "That might lead to rumours of favouritism, Sir."

He nods then sighs and places both hands flat on his desk. "Well, you'll get there on your own, I've no doubts about that," he replies, seriously this time.

She stares at an empty space before her, both pleased and absurdly uncomfortable with the compliment.

He slides back in his chair, fingers playing a silent staccato on either side of him. "So, what's up, Carter?" He prompts then lessens his apparent impatience with an apologetic handwave and another easy grin. "Not that I mind the distraction from memos and reports." He stares at her expectantly.

The smile wanes on her face and her mind freezes again. And she was doing so well until now.

She finds a sudden interest in the littered top of his desk and tries to remember that she's here for a reason that cannot wait more than it already has.

"Let me guess," he pipes in, "you've come to apologize for not clocking your usual 90-hour work week lately. You're upset that Dr Lee has beaten you to that top spot and..."

He mistakes the frown of concentration on her face for confusion.

"Yeah, I get stats too."

She sees a blur of movement before her as he indicates a pile of documents on one side.

"Fascinating stuff really," he states with a total lack of enthusiasm. "Anyway, you're all forgiven, Carter. Dr Lee was ecstatic during the little celebration we had for him at the..."

She forces herself to fix his gaze.

"... commissary. He's been on cloud nine ever..."

"There's something I need to know."

She omits the `Sir' on purpose and hopes he'll notice.

And apparently he has. His eyes play pretend but his posture has lost some of its nonchalance.

"About?"

This is where it starts to hurt.

"You... Me..." she pauses, waves her hand aimlessly in the air. "You and me," she adds for clarity and feels like she's taken lessons from Daniel on Unas language.

He's the one now engrossed in the architectural display of papers on his desk, dark eyes hidden behind long eyelashes. She hears the faint ticking of the wall clock in the numbing silence. Her heart is slowing down to it, saving energy while it still can.

"You and Pete getting serious?"

His gaze is intense but his voice comes out flat, unemotional.

Her mouth opens in shock with a silent `How?'

He merely nods towards a stack of papers. "Stats."

She's been having a life and he noticed.

She swallows hard. "Possibly."

Though it's more like he's getting serious with me, talks about getting a job here, moving in together. I like it as it is, nice and simple, no strings attached.

He nods again, taking time to absorb her answer. A fleeting sad smile brushes his lips before he raises from his chair to face her to his full height, the tips of his fingers barely touching his desk, the stars on the lapels of his uniform dark and dull in the absence of direct light yet glaringly present. He wavers for a few more seconds then a gentle expression reaches his features and she knows what he's about to say.

"Carter, I have no say in your life..."

No!

She plunges in.

"I want a kiss for real."

"What?!" This time he IS upset and not hiding it. "Carter!"

"No virus, alien influence, alternate reality, near death experience or whatever..."

"Cart..."

"I'm not drunk and I'm not crazy, I just need to know if it's real and not a figment of my imagination," she ploughs on, headless of his attempts to interrupt her, determined to get through his walls now that hers are crumbling. "A long time ago you said you `cared about me a lot more than you were supposed to' and there have been other times when I believed those words to be true but," she shakes her head, overcome with a sudden helplessness, "you won't talk to me or let me talk to you and I don't know anymore." Her smile is sad and apologetic. "I'm not even sure I know that what I feel for you is..." she stumbles on that last hurdle and dives to the side, "not just a stupid girlish crush that I can't seem to get past."

He's grown silent during her forceful speech, unfocused eyes lost somewhere on her face. She takes the time to collect herself, breathing deep.

"Pete's a decent guy and we get along very well. I should be... happy and looking forward to a future with him but all I can think about is you and that I'll never know." She clamps down on the tears threatening to well up, she doesn't want to cry in front of him, and takes a shuddering deep breath. "I can't go on like that."

His eyes focus back on hers, dark, intent, burning with a fierceness she hasn't seen in a very long time. She tries to convey despair and urgency in her own gaze. Love too. It's easier when she doesn't have to voice it. The seconds tick by unperturbed in the stretching silence, fierceness quietly slips into sadness and she can feel the hints of refusal in the resignated sag of his shoulders.

"Don't make me beg," she whispers.

His gaze drops. She closes her eyes.

The good thing about never taking risks is the absence of pain, the bad thing is that when you do finally take that risk, you just don't know where to stop and stand a good chance of total crash and burn.

She was wrong after all.

Permission to talk freely denied, Colonel.

Dredging up the last shreds of her dignity, she straightens up for a regulatory salute, turns to leave even before her hand has had time to fall back limply to her side and gets stopped short, wrist caught and held in a firm grip.

She meets his gaze. The fierceness and sadness are gone, replaced by a quiet determination.

His left hand slides under his desk. She hears a soft click but nothing happens. She follows his gaze toward the corner of his office where the security camera is set and notices that it's no longer blinking red.

She meets his gaze again.

"One of the perks of Generaldom," he explains softly. "One of these days I'm gonna ask George if he ever used it himself," he adds without mirth.

He lets go of her wrist, fingertips brushing lightly along the soft inner skin. Her hand remains poised in mid-air, unsure of where it should go next.

He strides to the door leading to the briefing room, bolts it then flicks a switch on the wall that turns the transparent command map into a one way mirror. She blinks in the suddenly diminished lighting, wondering if she's ever seen it like that before.

She swivels on her feet to follow his brisk progression to the door through which she entered previously.

"No need to ruin your career over some intel gathering," he states as he bolts it as well.

It's meant as a joke but his tone is off.

She looks around at their dark bubble of privacy, the small lamp desk and the faint neon tube on the wall behind his desk glowing futilely behind her, and thinks back to Siler, who regularly haunts this part of the premises and spotted her around already.

"Won't people get suspicious if they try to enter and find all doors barred, the security camera off and us alone inside?"

He reaches blindly behind him and unbolts the door. "I'll just stand guard then." He backs against the door and waits, eyes fixed on her face.

Your move, she can hear as clearly as if he had voiced it.

She looks back at him. There are four steps between them, farther than before but without a desk interfering.

Now or never.

She takes the first step on wobbly legs and stops, fighting for control.

"Scared?" He defies her from the safe darkness of his spot, the right half of his face dimly lit by the light filtered through the darkened command map. "Need a virus?"

She takes two more steps out of spite, close enough now to see that she's not the only one battling fantasies and doubts.

For all his apparent bravado, he's nervous, so much so that she feels calm compared to him and yet her heart is pounding in her chest and her clammy palms rub her thighs incessantly. His own breathing is shallow, his dark eyes sunk deep in their sockets shine with unaccustomed brightness, his hands come in and out of his pockets, not knowing where to settle. At this very moment she realizes that she has the power to hurt him deeper than anything ever has or will, save Charlie's death.

For this could be goodbye and he knows it too.

The thought deeply unsettles her. She considers shying away and keeping up the professional pretence she's worked on those past years, exiling this confrontation to yet another locked room and living with a constant dull ache in her heart. But he's right there, exceptionally attainable, waiting for her to make up her mind, probably finding solace in the knowledge that every time they've been anywhere close to reaching a conclusion of any sort, they were interrupted.

Maybe if she just waits some more...

"So what are the odds of an off-world activation in the next twenty seconds?" He asks with a soft voice, as if reading her thoughts.

She stifles a snort and rewards him with a watery smile. "One in a million Asgards?"

He smiles back. "My buddy, Thor."

Her smile lingers along with his. His interruption has defused some of the nervousness shifting back and forth between them. She follows the lines on his face all the way up to his crinkled eyes and the scar slashing his left eyebrow in two. Her expression grows serious again. She loves his face, rugged and battered and all. She brings her hand up to rest on his cheek, feeling the light scratch of appearing stubble under her fingertips, and shuffles forward until she can feel his warm breath on her face. She licks her lips, flicks her gaze up at his and starts to lean in, her other hand coming up to cup his face.

"I have a confession to make," he blurts out in a murmur against her mouth, evading her first attempt at a kiss. His hands envelop her face in warmth, keeping her head still, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, lips a hair breadth away.

She lets out a whimper of despair, sagging a little against his strong body. "Will it make any difference?"

Mulling it over, he blinks several times, his long eyelashes brushing butterfly kisses against her skin.

"I don't think so," he replies finally.

"Good," she breathes out and dives in to capture his open mouth.

Her tongue thrusts inside, impatient and fierce, buds experiencing the lingering taste of coffee in his mouth and around his tongue sliding against hers. His lips are soft and pliant under her feverish attempts to cover them whole. His short hair sends ticklish prickles against the skin of her hands but the deeper her fingers thread through it, the softer it becomes, caressing her hands as much as she's caressing his scalp.

Their noses bump together as he angles his head the other way and takes control of the kiss, invading her mouth with his tongue, lips and jaw working together in an intoxicating dance.

Oh God.

She needs to breathe.

She really needs to breathe but this is way too good and she doesn't want it to end yet.

Her arms slide around his neck and she presses herself further against him, thankful for the door holding them both upright. He brings her closer still, crushing her against his chest. His hands find their way under her shirt, tracing hot trails along her back, fingers kneading into her flesh. His mouth suddenly releases hers and wolves down on her neck. She pants, half breathing, half gasping, hardly able to bring oxygen to her lungs before his lips capture hers again, swallowing her whimper. She can feel his growing erection fighting for space between them. She instinctively rubs against it and frees one arm to snake it down his chest, intent on her goal.

"Shit... Sam... can't... stop..." he croaks, jerking himself away, his whole left side banging against the door in his haste to escape her grasp.

She shoots him a look of confusion, feeling suddenly bereft; he's holding her arms away from his bent body, grip painfully firm on her wrists. She wants to smooth out his features marred by deep lines of pain as he wages some inner battle. She wants to smooth out his hair too, standing in all directions, mussed by her wandering hands. But he won't let her touch him, shaking his head minutely at her attempts.

She bites her lower lip, fighting resurgent doubts.

He sucks in a desperate breath and stares at her.

Her doubts recede before the desire burning beneath the thin veneer of his recovering self-control; she stops fighting him. Relief washes over his face and a pained expression fills his eyes. His slightly swollen lips curve in a sad apologetic smile. He cocks his head at her, serious eyes searching her face to make sure that she understands.

Not here, not now, not like this.

He loosens his hold on her wrists, looks at his thumbs drawing soothing circles on her bruised skin then gazes back at her.

One day, maybe.

He squeezes her wrists lightly for affirmation.

One day, for sure.

She nods weakly.

He releases his hold and she slumps against the door, eyes closed, the wood feeling incredibly cool under her flushed cheeks. He lets out a deep sigh and slowly leans into her side, his receding arousal achingly present against her thigh. His right hand starts to burn a hole in the small of her back.

She opens one eye into the blurred sight of her fingers next to her face, focuses a little further away where his left hand rests idly against her own on the door.

There are no cracks in the wood on this side.

"Sam..." He breathes into her ear, bringing hotness back against her cheek.

Her blood is pumping fiercely in her veins, beating against the door, drumming out her desire through the walls and corridors of the SGC.

"You knew..." She whispers, half accepting, half accusing.

His hand turns, palm facing outward and his index finger follows the curve of her cheek, starting from where his lips press a soft kiss against the corner of her eye to stop a wayward tear, all the way down to her jaw, his knuckles brushing her skin oh so softly.

His tenderness undoes her.

She makes her exit center-stage, fleeing through the corridors of the SGC into a once mercifully empty audience until she reaches the relative safety of her lab. The laser generator from P5X-347 is the first device to go flying off against one wall, followed closely by anything standing between her and the cramped corner space behind her twin set of metal shelves where she flops down unceremoniously, leaving a path of destruction behind her. She knows she's going to feel sorry about it later, patiently mending the broken pieces, but right now she doesn't care one bit if she gets kicked out of the SGC because of it. Quite the contrary.

She rubs her face with both hands, forcefully pressing them into her flesh then holds her head tight, gazing absentmindedly at the mess in her lab through the mesh of her fingers and the scattered slits of space on the shelves. She wanted simple and she got it, except simple doesn't equate easy. She's going to have to talk to Pete and she's not looking forward to it at all. She knows what she has to tell him, she just doesn't know how. Pete can be pretty insistent when he puts his mind to it and he won't understand why she'd choose misery over him. Not many people would. Beside her. And Jack.

She releases her head and presses her legs tighter, pushing her crossed ankles into her sex, trying to muffle the sound of her insides crying out in want. She refuses to cry over this but her brain plays dumb and keeps sending the unwanted message; moisture sneaks in on her face.

She licks her upper lip, tastes the salt of his sweat on it and swallows hard.

She should be thankful that their situation no longer puts them together in the field, because on a planet billions of light years away from the military confinement of the SGC, while Daniel sleeps like a log and Teal'c pretends not to notice, there'd be nothing to stop her from discovering just how high a percentage of his skin she can cover with her own. Inside and out.

The End