title - An Honest Transaction

author - Wistful

contact - vjoyfever@yahoo.com

rating - Nc-17

summary - "Give me what I want..." Or: the ten missing years revealed.

spoilers - 2010, and everything up to. A missing scene.

archive - SJD, yes. Others - ask.

disclaimer - These characters do not belong to me.

status - finished

site - http://www28.brinkster.com/wistfulworld/index.html

author's note - This is a first Stargate SG-1 story for me, as I'm very sure you'll be able to tell without too much trouble. I'm a newbie to the fandom. Wet behind the ears. Expect drool.

beta reader - Jo. Very helpful for the newbie. The mistakes are all my own.

- - - -

Hot sun shines and lays bare.
Shadows cross cut heavy air.
So over in love with you.
I don't even care...

"Over In Love" by Tracy Chapman

- - - -

"Give me what I want."

The words stopped Sam in her tracks. The muscles in her neck tightened painfully as she turned to stare at him in question. There had been something about the way he said it; low, in the back of his throat, that dragged open a long-locked gate inside of her. The expression on his face only mystified her further.

She shook her head to show her confusion. "What?"

Jack's lips pursed, eyelids falling low. "You want me to help you save the world, Carter?"

Sam didn't bother to correct him on the usage of her maiden name. It wouldn't do any good, since his use of it was purposeful. Biting back her pride, she nodded. "Yes. We need you."

He took a couple of steps forward before casually leaning his hip against the wooden pole holding up the porch. He looked away from her, toward the trees, at an object she couldn't see, before sighing as if giving in to something. "You want me to help you save them world," he said again, but this time it wasn't a question. "You give me what I want."

Still confused, an uncomfortable sensation for her, she carefully edged over the rocky slope of his drive toward him. His stance didn't change as she approached him. The only things that shifted were his eyes, leaving hers to travel down the rest of her body. A dry heat swept over her as she realized what he meant.

"Sir!" she cried, voice cracking over the single syllable. Old habits died hard. But nothing died harder than unrequited desire. It reared its ugly head at her as she took a few quick steps away from him, stumbling over a large rock sticking out of the ground. Catching herself, she stilled, forcing herself to keep her hands at her sides when one wanted to rise up and press against her furiously pounding heart.

"I thought I told you to call me `Jack'," he said dryly, and then pushed his body away from the pole, stalking toward her with his mouth turned down. The frown was familiar, but somehow, the look in his eyes was not. Then again, she hadn't seen him in five years. She shook the memory of their last run in away. Her wedding day would always be the best and worst day of her life, and she rarely let herself think on it.

Sam stood her ground. "What's happened to you?"

He stopped a foot short of her and cocked his head to the side. A humorless smile briefly lifted the edge of his wide lips and he shrugged, lifting his hands to gesture to the space around him. "It's all this good ol' country air, Carter. Does things to a man. Gives him plenty of time to think. About things he's done wrong. Things he wouldn't do differently. About the possibility of insects taking over the earth." He paused. "About you."

Tension buzzed between them.

"Maybe you should get out more," she suggested, only half-kidding. Her face heated as blood rushed to her cheeks. "You want me to have sex with you?" The words strangled in her throat, fighting to stay buried, but she pushed them out, furiously embarrassed. He couldn't be serious.

Jack shrugged, looking as calm and confident as if he had asked her for the time. "That's one of the things I regret," he said. "Not getting my hands on you when I could."

Swallowing hard, Sam couldn't even look him in the eye. "I can't do that," she said weakly. And then she tilted her chin up, hardening her eyes and voice. "I won't do that. If you don't want to help, then fine. But I'm not going to sell myself and damage my marriage just to get you to cooperate." She lifted her hand and pointed at him. "And I think you knew that. You wouldn't suggest it otherwise. You're not like that."

"A lot can change in five years, Carter," he replied seriously. The blankness in his eyes only served to prove his statement further. "And hey, if you don't need my help that bad, it's fine by me." His lips twisted wryly. "Like I said, life is good. I'm not exactly having any more children, am I? It doesn't matter to me."

"I don't believe that."

"You can believe what you want," Jack said.

Sam's throat tightened. "Why can't you just help us?" she demanded. "One last mission."

"How do I know it would change anything?" Jack asked dispassionately, slumping his shoulders. "You'd still end up with him. No one would believe me. And I'd get kicked to the curb when everyone decided they'd be much happier having that crazy old guy out of their lives."

There wasn't any bitterness in his voice, and that was what frightened her. She lifted a hand, rubbing her forehead. "You left," Sam reminded him. "We never asked you to. We never wanted you gone."

He gave a raspy chuckle. "Coulda' fooled me. You sure as hell made it clear when you got married that I wasn't to do anything to mess up your new perfect life."

Sam flushed, looking away from him. "I don't want to talk about that," she said through clenched teeth. "This isn't about us, Jack. It's about saving the entire human race. It's bigger than us both."

He shrugged. Silent.

"Damn you." She stared at her toes for a moment before she squared her shoulders, and lifted her stony gaze. "I'm married."

"I remember," he said. "Pretty hard to forget after a wedding like yours."

"Then why would you ask me to betray my husband?" Sam yelled, tossing her hands in the air. Her blood pumped hotly through her veins, singing with anger. "What kind of person do you think I am? I don't just randomly decide to cheat on him." She took a deep breath, searching and coming up empty for control. "How the hell would having intercourse with me change your mind about helping us? Sex... it's just sex."

"Maybe to you," he responded, and the quiet darkness in his voice forced her into stillness. "But you broke me open the day you went to him, and I've been bleeding from it ever since. I want you. I always have. And it never gets any better; it just gets worse. It's like a fucking disease, and I'm so sick of suffering from it. I'm only asking for a single goddamn time. That's it."

Sam realized her hands had begun to shake, so she clenched them together in front of her. "You know how badly we need your help," she whispered desperately. "I can't believe you'd use that to make me do this."

"Make you?" Jack shook his head. "I'd never make you. You come to my bed freely, or not at all." When she opened her mouth to argue, he lifted his hand, cutting her off. "You wanted me back then. Almost as much as I wanted you." His voice softened as he stepped closer to her, licking his lips. "Don't you ever... wonder?"

Heat stifled her as she struggled to find an answer that wouldn't condemn her. He nodded when she only shrugged helplessly and dropped her eyes. A satisfied smile widened his lips, and he leaned forward until his forehead was only inches from touching hers. She shut her eyes, stunned by the effect his proximity had on her. `I'm a married woman,' she told herself silently. `I have morals, and values, and a sense of right and wrong...'

His breath moved over her mouth, and Sam's knees nearly gave out.

`... and I'm in serious trouble.'

Jack didn't kiss her, as she expected. Instead he cupped her shoulders with his palms and pulled her carefully into his arms until her cheek pressed against his neck. He held her like that for a pained moment, and then swept his palms down the length of her back to grip her hips, pulling her tighter against him. It was so unexpected, and so Jack, that Sam couldn't control the bittersweet moan that crawled slowly from her throat as she arched into him.

Just like her wedding day.

Her eyes snapped open as she stepped back hurriedly, her hands raising to her cheeks in abject humiliation. His tired gaze met hers with determination, and that was something she could recognize in him from when they had shared a friendship and passion for their work. She'd only had it leveled at her a precious few times when she'd known him, and she'd never reacted well to it. This time was no different.

Sam dropped her hands and was about to turn away and leave like she should, when he spoke.

"I've had a lot of time to think about this," he stated, taking an urgent step forward. Sam searched blindly within herself for a defense against the look he wore. He continued, heedless of the pleading on her face. "And I made a promise to myself a long time ago that if I ever saw you again, I'd make it clear what I want."

She couldn't move as he edged toward her again, holding his hands up to show that he wouldn't hurt her. Not that she thought he would physically assault her, but he had always held an emotional power over her, and it looked like that hadn't changed. Sam's heart thrummed in her throat as his hesitant, almost awkward steps, brought him to her once more. They'd moved out of the shadow of the cabin, and the sunlight glared down at them through a break in the trees, bright and unyielding.

His skin seemed tight across his cheeks, she thought, as he lowered his palm until it lightly touched the side of her face. Sam's breath suspended, waiting. She knew she should leave and forget about this incident, but a surge of old feelings left her frozen. Would she ever be free of his ghost?

"So," he began in a casual way that belied his internal need. "What's it gonna be, Captain? Or do I get to call you `Sam' now?" She shook her head, unable to speak, and he nodded. "You need more time to think," he stated. "Well, I'm sorry for that, but it ain't happening. If it helps ease that conscious of yours, then consider this: if you give in, just once, to this thing between us, there won't be any consequences for it."

"How's that?" Sam rasped.

"Because I'll help you," he said clearly, eyes not moving from hers. "And we'll change history. You won't remember. Neither will I. In fact, this might never even happen."

"And if we fail?" Sam asked, acutely aware of the length and breadth of the fingers stretching across her cheekbone.

Jack chuckled mirthlessly, gently shifting his forefinger against her skin, stroking it. "If we fail," he started, "then we'll be dead and it won't have mattered anyway." He considered her for a tense moment. "Do you really want to die with this regret? I know you'd regret not being with me. You may have fallen out of love with me, or whatever it is you were, but looking at you now, I see I'm not totally out of your system."

He wasn't lying. Her system was on high alert, every movement of his finger against her skin sending another streak of pure need to the center of her body. She blinked, shaking off his hand. It was the ache in her heart that bothered her. She remembered him as he used to be, sitting happily beside her in the briefing room, carelessly droning off when Daniel stood to speak in what Jack considered to be an entirely different language than English.

"I... just..." She held up her hands, palms facing the sky. What could she say? She herself didn't understand why she was reacting this way to him.

He looked almost sympathetic. "I know." Jack pursed his lips before releasing them into a calm, thin line. "Yes or no, Sam. You don't have to do anything. Hell, I'll probably end up helping you anyway."

After, she would wonder if it was the weight of the world on her shoulders that made her reach up, grab the back of his head, and pull his lips down onto hers, or if it was simply that he was right. She'd always wanted him. For years it had tormented her until she decided to slice it down the middle by marrying a man that was in love with her, and that she certainly loved, if not desired madly. At the time, she'd figured not being head over heels about him would be a welcome relief compared to the consuming passion she'd felt toward Jack.

When their mouths met, she knew she'd made her choice. His lips were warm and welcoming, even though his hands kept to himself for the moment, and she fell into him like a child tripping into a well. She held him tighter as vertigo overwhelmed her, breathing through her nose. She rose onto her tiptoes and kissed him that much harder.

Jack for his part, moved his mouth against hers roughly, hardening his lips to part hers, thrusting his tongue inside. After a moment of tangling with her tongue, he pulled back, licking his bottom lip to capture the last bit of her there. She stared at him, unblinking, wondering what he would do.

"I assume that was a yes?" He asked thickly, running a hand through his mussed hair.

She nodded.

"Well, okay then," he said, capturing her hand in his and tugging forcefully. Sam almost fell as she was jerked forward, but managed to catch her balance. She didn't resist as Jack dragged her up the drive, onto his porch, and past the creaky door into his cabin. She blinked as she was suddenly cocooned in the dark heat of his home, eyes adjusting to the difference in light and textures. Breathing deeply as if she could catch the scent of the years that had passed, she looked around his cabin. It was obvious he spent most of his time alone. There had to be a hundred movies stacked carelessly around the main room, and God forbid, a few books too. His tackle equipment laid haphazardly across what she assumed was the kitchen table. But somehow, amidst all the cluttered junk, it was clean and broken in. She imagined if she went and took a seat on the lazy boy in front of the television set, she'd find a depression from his body in the cushion.

Somehow, seeing the cabin made an ache well up inside her. He'd wanted to bring her here. It had been a rare trip he took here that he didn't ask her to come with him. Jack let her look around, standing with his hands in his pockets as he watched her move across the room toward the curtains. She swept them open sharply, so that they rattled on the bar holding them up, and gasped.

He came up behind her, looking over her shoulder at the view from the window. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

At a loss, she nodded.

His breath ruffled the hairs at the nape of her neck. Sam fought a shiver, staring at the stretch of river and lake running between the mountains. She had a bird's eye view from where she stood in Jack's cabin, and suddenly she understood the appeal. There was something so open about staring down at the valley before her, like she was on the highest spot in the world. Logic couldn't fight the feeling, so she closed her eyes, and breathlessly moaned as Jack gently pressed his lips behind her ear. "I've wanted to see you here," he whispered.

She turned, eyebrows raised. "It wouldn't have been a good idea at the time."

"Maybe you're right," he conceded. "But it sure as hell would have been fun."

"I'm here now," Sam pointed out.

His eyes lit a little, and for just a second, he looked like his old self. "You are. And, uh, it's not an offense worthy of a court martial anymore if I touch you."

Sam thought of the ring on her finger, and bit her bottom lip. They wouldn't get a court martial for this, but that didn't make it any more right. He seemed to know what she was thinking, because he took her hand into his. Jack looked into her eyes for permission, and guiltily, she nodded her assent. His face, sad, didn't change as he gently removed the ring that testified her vows to another man, and sat it on the window sill. After, he stroked the white line of skin the ring had left behind on her finger. He sighed as he stared at the mark, then dropped her hand with a tired smile.

She had the oddest urge to apologize, but managed to stifle it.

"Speaking of touching you," he said, toying with the zippered edge of her long jacket. "Mind?"

Sam shook her head and slipped her jacket off. She held onto it as she considered where to put it. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed it from her and threw it to the floor. Her lips parted as she stared down at the puddle of it on the floor. "That's white, sir."

His lips thinned. "Could you lay off with the `sir' crap, already?"

"Sorry," she replied sharply.

They stared at each other for a moment, before lunging at the same time. They both stopped short of kissing, awkwardly shifting back when they almost bumped noses.

Jack scratched his head. "Uh..."

She rubbed a hand over her chin. "Again?"

He nodded, and they stepped toward each other again. She angled her head toward the left. So did he. Jack let out a breath and leaned back, closing his eyes in aggravation. "This is awkward," he said.

"Agreed." Her lips twisted to the side as she considered their predicament. "So, why isn't this working? Shouldn't we be on top of each other, drowned by passion?"

Jack lifted an eyebrow in reaction.

"Okay," she sighed, chewing on her bottom lip. "You go right, I'll go left. We'll meet up somewhere in the middle."

He shook his head. "No. I'm a lefty when I kiss."

"What does it matter?"

"It just does," he replied. "Trust me."

"I've heard that before," she snorted, but began leaning toward him, angling her head to the right. A part of her felt even more guilty because of the light moment they had shared. She shouldn't laugh with him. She shouldn't fuck him, but she definitely shouldn't laugh with him. That was too much like...

-head bent down, laughter in his eyes as she tried to explained a `doohickey' to him and failed-

...how it used to be.

His lips touched hers again, and she lost her train of thought. If she had been paying attention, she would have noticed how loud the birds were tweeting, that she could hear the stream rushing over rocks outside, and that the sun was very bright around them, but her senses had fragmented. Her focus was on his mouth attached to hers. Jack broke the kiss after a minute, angled his head further to the left, and went in again, kissing her more insistently. His hands found her waist, and he pulled her closer.

Her shoes scuffled across the wooden floor as she moved forward, pressing the front of her body to his. It was like igniting a match. His skin even smelled like firewood. When his tongue slid inside her mouth, she spread her lips open, and returned his kiss wildly, digging her nails into his shoulders. Jack shuddered when she pressed her hips into his, so she did it again. He was already halfway erect. She smiled into his mouth.

Jack pulled back with a little pop as their lips released each other and looked at her. The expression on his face was absolute, almost desperate. She felt a similar feeling rise up within her, and thought of her husband, who didn't even know she was here. As if he again knew what she was thinking, he wrapped his hands around hers, and began dragging her away from the window. She followed him willingly past the kitchen table, down a short hall, toward his bedroom.

Sam stepped inside ahead of him, and stared at the bed. It was unmade; a ragged quilt covered the surface, and the single pillow sat more in the middle of the bed than at the top. The curtains shrouding his windows were shut, but the sunlight burned through it, appearing hot and overbearing. Sam licked her lips nervously, fighting the suddenly rampant need to turn and run. At this point, she wasn't sure he'd let her go without a fight. And dammit, he'd always been so good at fighting.

She jumped when she heard Jack close the bedroom door behind them. When she turned, he was looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face. Sam fidgeted, fingering the edge of her shirt. Taking a deep breath, she started to lift it over her head, when he suddenly moved toward her. Her eyes widened, and she stilled, shirt raised to just beneath her breasts.

"Let me do that," Jack said, replacing her hands with his own. She met his eyes as he dragged the shirt off over her head, dropping it to the floor. After a moment of simply holding her gaze, his eyes moved down her body to her breasts, encased in a practical, white bra. She felt her stomach contract as that dark look passed over his face again. He reached out, gently making a cup for her breasts with his palm, and squeezing.

"A breast man?" she asked, short of breath.

Jack didn't reply. His hands smoothed over her breasts, rubbing in short, clipped circles until he released her, and ran his palms up over her collarbone and shoulders. She stepped forward when his hands continued to travel behind her, over her shoulder blades and down to the hook of her bra. There, they stopped. With little struggle, as if he had been waiting for years to do this simple task, Jack unhooked her bra, and dragged the straps down her shoulders, away from her body. The bra, too, landed on the floor at her feet.

"We don't have very long," she warned, when he just stood there and stared at her breasts for so long it made her self-conscious. She fought the urge to lift her forearms and hide herself.

Jack tilted his head to the side before he lifted a single finger and traced it down the side of her face in a way that was so tender, her heart pinched in reaction. "There's time," was all he said.

Odd, she thought. Jack always seemed like he'd be talkative in bed.

Sam kissed him, attempting to hurry him along, but he wasn't won over. Instead, he forced her to keep the kiss slow and deep by holding her chin and hardening his lips. She gave up when she felt his other hand between them, unsnapping the button of her jeans and dragging down the zipper. His hand pushed inside the fabric, cupping her mound as he began to kiss her a little harder, dragging his tongue over the roof of her mouth.

For her part, Sam wasn't inactive. She had begun dragging the flannel shirt over his shoulders, but he didn't seem as if he planned on releasing her any time soon, so she was only able to get it down to his elbows. Because she felt the urge to touch him insistently pushing to the forefront of her brain, she pushed the shirt beneath up his stomach, and felt the hot skin there. His muscles clenched, making a gap between his flesh and his jeans. Sam slowly dragged her nails down to the button of his pants, releasing it with an audible pop.

He gasped and broke the kiss, breathing hard as he waited for her next move.

She looked at him seriously as she tugged his zipper down. Challenge met, Jack began moving his hand around inside her pants, wiggling his fingers into her underwear. She hissed and rose to her tiptoes when he hooked his forefinger into her damp passage, pushing it inside her to his knuckle. Jack smiled smugly. Realizing he'd distracted her with pleasure, Sam continued where she'd left off, pulling on his pants so that they slipped off his hips and fell down to his knees. His boxers were easy enough to move out of the way, and then he was standing before her with his bottom half undressed, and his top half clothed. It would look pretty silly when she thought of it later, but right then she wasn't in the mood to laugh.

His penis was engorged with blood, standing sharply away from his body. Sam swallowed, then wrapped her fingers gently around it, stroking him from base to tip a single time before he grabbed her wrist roughly. She jerked, looking up at him to find his eyes narrowed into slits, his jaw clenched tightly. Fear and lust warred within her as he pulled his digits away from her and then out of her clothes, clasping a wet- fingered hand around her shoulder and giving her a small shove. She fell back onto the bed, gasping in surprise.

There was nothing soft or gentle about the man before her. He'd been worn down to sharp edges and angles since she'd seen him last. He kicked free of his shoes, toed off his socks and ragged jeans, then left his boxers on the floor behind him as he moved toward the bed. Kneeling on it, he finished undressing himself and then grabbed onto the ankles of her pants and yanked them off. This was a man serious about getting serious. A curious part of her wondered as she lay there, just how much he had really wanted her all these years. The idea that he really -had- been planning something like this for such a long time was slightly disturbing, even if it caused another gush of wetness to release from her center.

She gave a little moan as he levered his rangy body over her, staring intently at her features. There was something so sexy about his intensity. It spoke of many nights spent in this same bed, thinking about doing this to her.

Had she thought of him like this? No. She couldn't have possibly let herself.

The feel of his body against hers was incredible, and she felt herself immediately conforming to his shape. Sam spread her thighs wide, enveloped his hips in the space between, and wrapped her long legs around his back, humping against him. His lips pulled back from his teeth, a savage power masking him. He captured her arms before she could trap him completely, pushing them firmly against the mattress.

He shook his head when she would have argued from her position, and she found years of conditioning pull her into compliance. So she remained silent as he bent down and gently bit the skin beneath her chin, marking her. It didn't matter if he did, she realized. He'd been right earlier. They'd either be dead or back where this entire thing had started.

"There's something I need to do," Jack rasped, a startling drop of sweat falling from his brow.

And then he moved down her body. It was swift, commanding, as if he knew already what her reaction would be. Sam gasped, trying to sit up, but he gave her a warning look from her stomach before licking a line down to her panties. The air cooled the wet trail of saliva he left behind. This was the something he had to do? Her husband wasn't a big fan of it, so it had been quite a while since anyone had been down there. A long while. Self-consciously, she wondered what she should do.

She felt a school girl urge to lock her thighs together. When she tried to, he wouldn't let her, firmly pushing her legs apart so that he could slick his tongue against her through the thin cotton of her panties. She bucked her hips against him in reaction, a sweet moan vibrating from her throat. Her nerves began to frazzle. She felt his teeth nudge against her clitoris through the fabric and almost shot off the bed. He was barely able to hold her down.

Jack drew the panties off of her, his breath loud and overlying hers, then made a place for himself between her thighs as if he planned on a nice, long stay. His eyes closed on a sigh as he placed gentle kisses up the inside of her left thigh, scraping his teeth over the small mole there. Sam stared at the ceiling, fingers tapping nervously against the mattress. They clenched together when Jack's tongue grazed the crease where her pelvis became her thigh. He moved into her without warning or concern for the yelp she let loose as her body jerked in surprised delight mixed with mortification. The man she had called `sir' for years was eating her out.

Jack's tongue did all kinds of delicious things to her while she writhed on the bed, completely lost. This was what people talked about when they mentioned losing complete control. Sounds Sam didn't know she was making left her mouth, begging him to go deeper, to press harder, for - oh, yes, more. She wasn't sure what was doing it for her: the way he used his mouth, or the fact that it was his mouth doing it. When she built up the will to look down at his head between her thighs, she found his dark eyes set on her face, very still compared to the rolling hips beneath his vigilant mouth. The way he was watching her-

White light overwhelmed her, shocking her body. A spasm broke into two, and became more, throbbing pleasure thundering out from her center, into her spine. What seemed like forever was actually only a few seconds, and then her body hit the mattress, depleted of energy.

While Sam struggled to return to herself, Jack alternated between gently lapping at her labia and clit, eyes finally falling shut as he enjoyed the fruits of his labor. Too soon, Sam couldn't stand it anymore and had to push him away from her oversensitive flesh. He grinned in reaction, rising to his knees before her spread legs, and made the bed jiggle. Feeling strangely like a jelly fish flopping about, Sam stretched on the bed, trying to make her limbs work. The smile on his face only made her blush, which was a little late considering what she'd let him do to her.

"Sir," she said, embarrassed

He shook his head, not bothering to correct her. "Good ol' Joe never does that for you, does he?"

Sam froze, chest cold. "You had to say that didn't you?"

The ache spread into her throat. Infidelity. She'd just had an affair, eyes wide open the entire time. Well, mostly. And this was certainly not the time for ironic little jokes, no matter how witty. She hadn't been raised to behave like this. What would her father say? Sam brought one hand up and covered her eyes, turning her face away from Jack as he looked on in confusion. Always so fucking clueless. A bitter sickness rolled in her stomach. Oh, God, what had she done?

She knew what she'd done. The worst part of it was that she wasn't sure she'd done it for the sake of the world.

"Hey," he whispered, touching a fingertip to her cheek, making her bottom lip tremble. "C'mon, it's okay."

She wanted to tell him that it really wasn't, but she was afraid that her voice would crack if she spoke. She wasn't about to burst into tears in front of Jack O'Neill. It was far too reminiscent of her wedding day.

- - - -

Sam smoothed down the skirt of her wedding dress, staring into the long mirror set in the corner of the room. Outside, everyone in the church waited. She could hear the low rumble of far away discussion. The unique scent of a church that was part chemical and part worship filled her nostrils. Her stomach did somersaults, rumbling in discontent, and she desperately tried to find some part of herself in the mirror. Looking a little green, her hands began to shake. She didn't look like any Samantha Carter she knew.

There was a knock on the door. Her heart plummeted, gaze jerked to the wooden panel holding out the world. It couldn't be time yet.

"Yes?" Sam squeaked.

Not, not Samantha Carter at all. Samantha Carter didn't squeak.

"It's almost time," a woman's voice said, and she recognized Joe's mother.

"Thank you." She cleared her throat when her voice cracked. "I'll be out in just a moment."

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

She could still run. There was time. But then she thought of poor Joe waiting for her just a little ways away, and she knew that she wouldn't be pulling a `Runaway Bride'.

Sam pressed a hand to her stomach and fought the urge to throw up. When she turned back to the mirror, she almost had a heart attack. Behind her, she saw the window being pulled open by a very haggard looking Jack O'Neill. She felt truly murderous as she spun on her heel, marched over to him, and tried to jerk the window down before he could get in, but he'd always been physically stronger than her. He opened it easily and stumbled in, landing on his face, smelling heavily of alcohol.

Her anxiety rose at the noise he'd made, and she glanced uneasily at the door, then back at the man rolling around on the floor as he struggled to find purchase. Jack grinned crookedly at her as he finally dragged himself to his feet, lurching dangerously.

"Sam," he whispered, reaching for her with a stark expression. She backed away hurriedly, almost tripping over her wedding gown. She distinctly heard something tear.

"What are you doing here?" Sam hissed.

"Gotta kiss the bride," he mumbled, leering at her. "Can't get married without kissing the bride."

"You're drunk," she stated, turning her nose up. "You need to leave. Now."

Jack didn't seem to hear her. His features melted into despair. "Don't do this." His words weren't much more than a grunt.

She blanched. "I'm not doing anything. I'm just-"

"Marrying the wrong asshole," he finished for her, fumbling with something in his pocket. There was a horrible look in his eyes that she'd never seen before, and it made her shiver with pure emotion. "I..I, um."

When he pulled out a simple ring from his pocket, and held it up for her inspection, the color drained out of her face. "Sir, you can't. Not now."

He laughed humorlessly. His hand dropped to his side. "What is it with you, Carter? I know you don't love him."

How dare–

Sam slapped an angry palm against his arm, pushing him back a step.

"You don't know that," she insisted angrily with a swish of her dress against her legs and the floor as she turned her back on him. Dangerous move, she knew. "You haven't been around for a very long time, Jack. What'd you expect? That I'd wait for you, wearing a chastity belt until you decided you could stand being around me again? You knew we wouldn't get a happy ending. That'd be too easy, and we've never been easy."

"I didn't leave because I couldn't stand being around you," he gritted, clenching his fingers around the ring in his hand. His knuckles stood out, white. The confession obviously wasn't easy for him. He wasn't a man to spend a lot of time talking about his feelings. "I left because you didn't believe me. I wasn't going to stay gone forever. At first, I wanted proof... and then, I found out about Joe and I just... couldn't come back yet. And then, when I finally could, I came back and saw you. It hurt like hell, because you were with him and you acted like we'd never been..."

Jack trailed off, or cut himself off, she couldn't be sure. He waved his arms, as if the gesture alone explained everything. Sam waited. When he didn't speak, she shut her eyes and dropped her head. A crack, secret and long pampered, spread inside her at his words. Maybe, a long time ago, they'd had a chance. She just couldn't see it anymore.

She felt him come up behind her, and tensed, even the muscles in her fingers tightening. Jack pressed his chin against her shoulder. She peeked through her lashes at their reflection in the mirror, just couldn't resist the temptation. His eyes were open and on her. For just a moment, she entertained the fantasy that she was wearing this uncomfortable dress for him, but she pushed it brutally aside the next instant, squashing it before the regret could resonate.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, the stubble on his jaw scratching the sensitive skin of her cheek. It tickled a little, but more than anything it made her stomach flutter in a way it hadn't since he'd stared at her over the briefing table as he handed in his resignation.

"I'm getting married today," she reminded him, as if he needed it, but the words felt weak and tasteless in her mouth. She feebly moved her head away from his, nearly touching her ear to her shoulder. Jack, sensing the sudden weakness in her, only buried his forehead against her neck. His crisp gray hair teased the side of her face. So familiar.

"Don't," he rasped.

Her stomach contracted. She fought the moan of helpless desire bubbling within her like heating pudding, determined to be as strong as she had been around him all those years. She wasn't going to do this. Her resolve strengthened her. He seemed to know it, to feel it in the coiled lines of her body pushing away from him, because he forced her around and into his arms, gripping her chin to angle his mouth over hers. It was dry and sweet, with only a hint of wet tongue toward the end. A wave of remembrance drowned her, which was strange considering she'd never kissed him before without being under the influence.

Her hands fluttered, then reached for him.

Another knock on the door. "It's time."

Jack gasped, pulling back from her, gruff looking and angry. "Don't you do it, Carter."

"I'm sorry." Her heart knocked against her ribs as she backed toward the door. This was all too over dramatic, she thought desperately. He shouldn't have come. She should have been stronger and pushed him away. Now she would taste him still while she kissed her new husband's lips to seal their vows.

"No," he said forcefully, not looking so drunk anymore. Instead, he looked terrorized, like a man facing his return to a prison cell after a respite to freedom. "Carter, that's an order."

Blood rushed into her head so fast she thought she'd faint. "You're not my CO anymore."

Jack stared at her helplessly, with impatience. Sam realized dazedly that she was crying. Yes, she thought again dryly, who's being dramatic now? The sun glinted off the ring in his hand when he unfurled his fingers, looking down at it. The glint blinded her, causing her to lose her balance and fall against the door.

"Please leave, Jack," she said with as much control as she could muster. "I'm happy."

Something flickered on his face, twisted in regret, but she opened the door and left anyway, closing it quietly behind her. Control, she demanded of herself. When she turned she found Joe's mother staring at her in concern. Her normally smooth face looked weathered and pale against the green suit she wore. Sam bit the inside of her cheek and wondered if she had overheard any of the fight.

"My dear, are you okay?" Joe's mother asked, an oddly hollow glint in her eye. "You've been crying."

Sam fought insane laughter and assured the older woman that it was only pre-wedding jitters. She wasn't sure the explanation was accepted, but it didn't matter. Five minutes later she was married. Sam shook the entire way through the ceremony, but Jack never came barging in and she didn't puke until later that night, in the airplane bathroom on their way to Hawaii. After wiping her mouth and avoiding looking at her pallid features, she told herself that it was a very good thing Hawaii wasn't Minnesota and tried to believe it.

- - - -

When the heat of Jack's body blanketed hers, Sam blinked her way free of the past. Jack's torso pressed down on hers, heavy and hot, but a welcome escape from the horrible memories of that long ago day. She studied his features, searching for the missing puzzle piece that would explain the man he had become, hard nosed and willing to use the world's fate to get her into his bed. She couldn't be that missing puzzle piece, could she? It seemed too simple.

The lines around his eyes had deepened, but something told her that it wasn't from laughing. He remained still and let her inspect him, the skin around his mouth growing taut in the silence. The yellow light burning through the curtains burnished his cheeks a dusky copper, contrasting the deep grooves in his skin. It wasn't fair, she thought. He didn't look old, just sharpened.

His eyes stared hard into hers when she lifted them. The weight of him against her, his erection still solid between them, only made her wonder why he would ask such an insulting question after performing that intimate task. She supposed he hadn't meant to insult her. Jack had always been a little callous like that. When the line appeared between her eyebrows, he tore his gaze from hers and spread his hand through her hair. The sensation wasn't unpleasant. She sighed into it, closing her eyes as his blunt fingernails scraped over her scalp.

"You still keep it short," he observed.

Sam blinked her eyes open and smiled. She touched his temple. "You still keep yours gray."

He smirked at her. "Women say it makes me look distinguished."

She quelled the pinch of jealousy she felt with a liquid chuckle. The rumble of it rustled her breasts against his chest hair. "Jack, you're not exactly the distinguished type." She studied him again, this time less seriously. "No, it makes you look mischievous. Careless, but in a good way."

Jack mumbled something beneath his breath, and then gripped her shoulders solidly. "I'll show you mischievous." And before she knew it, the world had flipped and she was sprawled over him like a blanket, except for a blanket with all the working body parts required to take in the erection sandwiched between.

"This is mischievous?" Sam asked, propping her forearms on his chest. "It resembles pre-sex acrobatics to me."

"Mm," he hummed, rubbing his palms over her thighs as she sat up slowly. She scooted back and his hands rotated over her hips, clutching her flanks and then releasing them to palm her back. "Pre-sex is good, but I'm pretty happy with the idea of during-sex."

Sam's eyebrows drew together. He was laid out across his bed like a man who had everything he ever wanted in his grasp. And she couldn't help but notice that what he was holding onto so tightly was her. It made a lump rise into her throat. She swallowed it back, but that didn't stop the water that appeared conspicuously in her eyes. Struggling with her tears, she reached down and took his penis in hand. It was warm and solid in her grasp; she could feel his heartbeat through it.

"Why are you crying?" Jack asked lazily, even as his breathing picked up. His silver hair stood at odd angles on his head, flattened in some places, standing on end in others. Affection wormed a smile out of her.

"Just thinking," she replied, positioning her hips over his. The hiss he gave was of encouragement, and the springs squeaked a little, but they seemed to be of a different mind than Jack about the whole deal. She wondered how much action they'd seen over the years. The slick tip of his penis touched her and a void opened up within her. The need to be filled by him was too incredible, too shameful, and even she couldn't fight it.

"Well, don't," he said.

She wasn't sure if he was responding to her thoughts or her words.

It didn't matter.

She steadied herself with a hand on his stomach, clenched hard in anticipation. Jack grunted as she settled over him, forcing her body down onto him. His hips arched up and the hands that had been on her back swept down and gripped her hips. He wasn't gentle. Then again, she was glad. "Oh, goddamn, no thinking required Sam. Just... move..."

One of his hands left her hips to palm the slight curve of her belly, pushing gently against the muscles working together there. It felt like he'd reached inside and squeezed her central nervous system. She bit her lip at the friction of his callused hand touching her overheated skin, of his hard cock slip-sliding in and out of her as she rose and fell more quickly. Their breathing ricocheted, filling the silent room like the scrape of a Brillo pad across a smooth surface. Sweat disappeared in the space between their hips, lost as the space was eradicated. Heat heightened, as if the sun had gotten stronger just to prove a point to their slick bodies rubbing against one another. Even they could not out-burn the sun, right?

His eyes didn't leave hers. She almost wished they would. They just said too much. Be deaf to it, she begged herself. You have to save the world. Suddenly she wasn't sure whom she'd betrayed. Joe, absolutely. But then there was Jack, and she had this insistent thought probing her mind even as pleasure threatened to block it out...

- - - -

Sam shut the bathroom door with a sigh, leaning her back against it. They'd arrived home only two days ago, but somehow she still felt she was on her honeymoon. Nothing felt real. One day she was sure she was going to reach out to place her hand on Joe's shoulder and her fingers would go right through him like he was a cloud. Sam shut her eyes and shook the thought off. She listened to Joe's familiar night sounds as he moved around in the bedroom beyond the door. And then, with as much courage as she could muster, she stepped away from the door and took a seat on the closed lid of the toilet. It made a small plunk as she did, incriminating her.

In her hand, she clutched a card. The evidence. The crime.

Breathing deeply, she stared at the front of it. In bright colors, a woman was painted on the surface. She sat on a dock with a fishing pole in hand. At the end of her line, a huge fish dangled. She was grinning wildly. Sam glared at the woman. How dare her for interrupting her peace like this? Opening the card, Sam's sight began to blur. In bold print it said: `Congratulations. You've gone and caught yourself a big one!'

It wasn't signed. It didn't need to be. She knew who it was from. She'd known the second she opened the envelope and saw the image on front of the card. Sam sniffled, closed the card, and stood. In the pocket of her robe, she'd sneaked a lighter into the bathroom with her. She didn't smoke, but it was important to her that even now she be prepared for any situation. She was a regular Girl Scout. The flame hatched from the lighter, so blue in the center that it hurt to look at directly. Sam dragged her eyes away from the tiny fire in her left hand and held the card over it. Guilty, she waited. When it caught fire, she dropped it into the sink and stared, mesmerized by the display.

"Sam?" Joe's voice called to her, reminding her who she was and where she was. "Do I smell smoke?"

She blinked and looked toward the door where her husband waited on the other side. "Someone must be having a late night barbecue," was her reply. And then she went back to watching the woman fishing get eaten by the lighter's flame, her wide grin curling into ash.

- - - -

"You're thinking again," Jack accused, face flushed bright red. A thin line of sweat drifted back from his chest where it had pooled. She watched it idly dribble into the concave place above his collarbone. He thrust sharply, breaking her trance.

Sam shook her head to clear the thoughts away. He was righting. Thinking was bad. At least when she was cheating on her husband with a man she'd been in love with for what seemed like half her lifetime. She smiled gently at Jack, hoping he'd leave it at that. When he opened his mouth she picked up speed, rising and falling at a pace that pulled a fat moan from his throat instead of words. He shuddered beneath her, stomach muscles rolling as his gaze dropped to where they were joined and his jaw loosened. The palm that had been molding her stomach reached up to fondle her left breast.

"You shouldn't have married him," he grunted, the words barely audible. They pricked her ears anyway, sharp little needles popping her balloon of denial of what she was doing to the man she'd faithfully vowed to be loyal to until she died. Well, Hell, she was only a little early after all.

Sam laughed mirthlessly at her own joke. "It doesn't matter now, does it? Nothing matters."

Except the slip-slide, slip-slide. The wet noise of skin impacting skin. His lips curled down at her through a week's worth of unshaved beard. That mattered, she could admit, if only to herself. For now.

Rising over him, Sam felt unleashed. So wrong. This was so wrong. She'd been oppressing these urges for longer than she cared to admit, and now it felt like there was a demon clawing inside of her for release. She grabbed the hand that had stilled over her breast, the other from her hip, and pushed them against the mattress. He groaned in protest and jerked up into her so violently that she felt pierced and briefly fell out of rhythm. His cock rubbed against her inner walls, pushing its way through, and demanded solace. Sam arched her back, taken as much as she was taking.

His fingers flexed, once.

Jack bit his lip. Glared at her. Then he was bucking beneath her, and there was no way she could hold him down anymore. As his body clenched in his orgasm beneath her, his arms wrapped around her back like chains, and she was dragged down to his chest. Her hips were pummeled as he drove up into her for all he was worth. Sloppy. Jagged. Perfect. His back curved away from the bed. The new position jammed his pelvic bone against her clit.

Oh, she was going to be sore in the morning...

Except, she wasn't. She'd probably be dead.

Sam arched against him, crying out like she was already dying, and broke apart a final time. Her skin was too tight, muscles too prone to aching. She stilled, frozen like a creature in rigor mortis, shaking as she humped desperately against his still climaxing form so that his perfect pelvic bone rubbed against her just so. Small little jerks that rebelled against her body's immobility. Orgasm, white noise that resembled a snow storm, the silly way he called her by her rank; it burned from her crotch to her heart and back again, and was gone just as soon.

Neither of them made a sound. They were too used to being silent.

Sam went limp against him, shutting her eyes tightly. He had melted into a puddle beneath her. She pressed her cheek against the hairy expanse of his chest. One of his hands came up weakly, spanning the side of her face. Warm and big and salty as she darted her tongue out and licked a bit of herself off of him. Jack rumbled in pleasure, stretched beneath her, and then settled down with a quiet yawn. She forced her lazy eyelids to open, listening to his heartbeat level out under her ear while she stared at the side of his dresser where the sun shone and vanished in its fickle fazes.

It must have been ten minutes before the clock caught her attention. It sat on his dresser, its face that of Homer Simpson with the clock in his mouth. It mocked her, ticking as every second passed. There was a human race to save and she was lying around getting her brains fucked out by her ex-CO. Sam sat up on him so fast that her muscles cried out in pain, and so did Jack, slipping free from her body with a grimace of displeasure. It was odd that she should be sore, since she'd had sex with Joe just last week, but she didn't dwell on it. She rolled off of Jack and made a mad dash for her clothes. Instead of the neat pile that she put them in before she and Joe made love, they were everywhere.

"We have to go," she said, harried, scrambling into her panties. She nearly tripped when she had them up to her knees and attempted to walk toward her pants. The underwear were wet, she noticed with a curl of her nose, but shrugged herself through the sensation by telling herself she'd worn much worse. Alien goo, anyone? Her socks were still on, she realized dumbly, and reached for her pants again.

Jack sat up in bed. The creak of the springs made her wince. His stare imposed itself on her, but she refused to turn around. She was suddenly so horribly embarrassed of what she'd done with him after swearing him off so many years ago, that staring was not permitted. It didn't matter. He stood, touched her shoulder, and walked around her toward his closet.

She just couldn't help it. Her eyes tracked him like someone hunted, and she struggled into her bra with less grace than she'd like. The sunlight shifted, as if a cloud had moved over the sun, and she couldn't help but admire him. She suspected he knew the effect he had on her. The muscles of his back, buttocks, and legs were so thin and long that even after having had sex with him, Sam was surprised as they moved under his skin. Like a big damn cat, she thought grumpily. She'd seen him near naked several times, and completely nude a few, but it had never been in an ideal situation to observe him so closely. There was a lot to admire about his physique, she admitted grudgingly. If he was aging, he was certainly aging well. She wondered, looking down at her own lanky body, if she could claim the same.

Sam finally hooked her bra together and looked for her shirt, which had somehow ended up on the other side of the room. She frowned at it before stalking over to it, snagging it from the floor. She slipped it over her head and stuffed her arms into the armholes, then turned.

Jack stood there, clearly impatient with her.

Sam startled, shrieked, and hopped back. Jack reached out to steady her, and didn't release her.

"You can't back out," she warned, before he spoke, shaking off his grip. "We made a deal. I lived up to my end of the bargain, now you'll have to live up to yours."

The words slapped him in the face, turned him old in a second. He took a step away from her. Sam immediately wished she hadn't spoken, but at the time she'd seen the expression on his face and went on attack. It would be just like him to change his mind now that he'd gotten what he wanted, she thought, probably unfairly. She wasn't in the mood to be unbiased.

"It matters," he stated gruffly, responding to her words of before and ignoring the others even though they had obviously wounded him. "Soon, we'll either be dead or I'll be back in that time pining away for you like some lovesick puppy while you look everywhere but at me, so don't tell me it doesn't matter. Now, let's save the world, Carter. You tell me where to meet you. I'll be there."

The heat in his eyes made her itch. Before she could say anything, those big words that fell out of her mouth that even she wasn't sure of these days, he dropped his eyes. He turned and left, jeans hung low on his hips as he walked away. The room grew cold in his absence and Sam rubbed her palms over her arms, searching for warmth. She stared at the door after him, wondering about time continuity, and why she was even doing this, except for-

Sam touched a hand to her stomach, then her heart, and the sun came back out.

"I'm sorry, sir."

What was it Jack had said about mistakes? Oh yes, that they'd made plenty of them. That was something to think about for the next time around. She gave one last glance toward the bed. It was wrecked beyond repair. She didn't shut the door behind her when she left. Closed doors, she'd found, were tricky things. It'd probably end up open again somehow anyway.

- - - -

.e.n.d.

note - a lot of angst, huh? Yep, I think it's about time to write something just a little bit silly.