"New Year's Revelations" By Sonia

Title: New Year's Revelations

Author: Sonia

Rating: PG (mild language)

Archive: SJD yes, Gateworld, otherwise just ask

Summary: Sam Carter does a favor for Janet Frasier, but finds herself in a fix and needs Jack's help getting out of it. Will he be there for her?

Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable 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 unrecognised 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.

Spoilers: DIVIDE & CONQUER, ENTITY, MERIDIAN, GRACE, CHIMERA (sort of)

Status: Complete

Author's Note: Special thanks to Chezza and Michelle L. for edits/comments. Would LOVE feedback from ya'll!

*******

Sam Carter pulled up to park in front of her own house before she remembered the obligation she'd promised to fulfill. Swearing softly at her reflection in the rearview mirror, she put the car back into gear and began the trek across town to Janet Frasier's house.

Driving through the cozy neighborhoods that lay between Janet's home and her own, Sam couldn't help smiling as her eyes were drawn to the various Christmas light displays that glowed in seemingly aggressive competition with each other. She had yet to manage outdoor Christmas lights at her own home, but felt some accomplishment in managing to put up her own tree for the last few years. Perhaps next year I'll ask the guys to help me string some lights along the front of the house, she mused to herself.

Her smile broadened at the mental image of Daniel compulsively untangling strings of the lights and Teal'c putting them up without benefit of a ladder. The Colonel, she imagined, would stand back and survey the progress, his cheeks aglow from the cold and his eyes twinkling below the severity of his black knit watch cap.

The clarity of her vision of Jack stirred a strange tingling somewhere deep in her stomach. Frowning faintly, she turned on the radio and refocused on the road. The remainder of the drive was safely occupied with singing along to various hits from the 80's . . . at full volume and often deliberately off key.

As she pulled into Janet's driveway she noted with some amazement that the petite doctor had managed to string lights on her house, as well as around some of the bushes and smaller trees framing her home. Sam sat back and admired the view for a moment, wondering if Cassie had helped, or if perhaps Janet had hired someone to do it. She knew there were people who would string outdoor lights for money these days, but the thought of paying someone else to do it just didn't strike the right chord with her. She couldn't imagine Janet doing it either. The woman had far too much energy to allow other people to do things for her. Well, except for small favors from friends who have nothing else to do on New Year's Eve.

****************************************************************************

"Sam! Go home!"

Janet's expression seemed even more animated than usual when she popped her head through the doorway of the lab. Sam tore her gaze from the computer screen just long enough to catch Janet's smile transform to a grimace at her obvious reluctance to quit working.

"Seriously, Major - your doctor is giving you an order."

At the tone of her friend's voice, Sam reluctantly turned to face her. "I know, I know. It's just that I really wanted to get through this new data before I left today."

After making a production of checking her watch, Janet cleared her throat briskly. "It's 7:00 p.m., my dear. You should go home and relax." Stepping in closer, she gently placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Actually, I'm here on personal business. I have a huge favor to ask of you before you go home. Are you going to be in town for the next couple of days? I mean, I know tomorrow is New Year's Eve . . ."

"Did you really think I'd be going anywhere with all this," Sam gestured at the piles of reports surrounding her computer, "to keep me occupied?"

Although careful to maintain a neutral expression, Sam couldn't quite suppress the faint glimmer of hope that perhaps Janet was preparing to offer her an invitation of some sort.

"Yeah, well, I figured." The doctor shook her head in affectionate perplexity. "Listen, Cassie's out of town on a ski trip with a girlfriend, and I'm going out of town for a couple of days myself, and I was wondering . . ." Janet scrunched her face in an imploring way, "if you could come by just once and check on my cat? You could come during the day - that way it wouldn't interfere with your evening plans." Sam snorted at this, but Janet ignored her and continued. "My fridge and cupboards will be stocked, and you're free to watch all the digital cable you want."

Sam repressed a vague sense of disappointment and smiled brightly in return.

"How can I pass up such an opportunity?"

"Oh Sam, you're the best!" Janet's face glowed with relief. She spoke quickly, as if fearing that Sam might change her mind. "I promise, all you have to do is check her food and water. You'll be glad to know that I have one of those self-cleaning litter plans. The most challenging thing will be finding her - she likes to search out covert little spots and fall asleep for hours on end, and she's so deaf that she doesn't hear me when I call. Really, the most important thing I need you to do is establish a visual," she nodded in recognition of her own bad military pun, "just to be sure that she's not ailing. She is quite old, after all. Even now I'm not quite sure how Cassie convinced me to keep her."

"Well if I remember correctly, Daniel chimed in on that argument along with your lovely daughter."

"Yes, well. We all know how persuasive he can be." Janet paused briefly, looking again at her watch, then seemed to refocus. "Anyway, are we set? Are you sure you don't mind?"

"No problem, Janet. Just give me a key to the house and it's a go."

******************************************************************************

Thinking about it now, Sam realized that she had never asked her friend what she would be doing "out of town for a couple of days." Janet really hadn't given her the chance to inquire, and Sam now found herself a bit ashamed to realize that she had been too absorbed in her own loneliness to even think to ask.

She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror again, only to see blue eyes staring back at her accusingly.

Sometimes I think you enjoy playing the martyr, she thought, as if you revel in your lonely, work-obsessed life.

Her eyes squinted slightly in scornful contemplation. Or maybe you just like it a little too much that everyone thinks you're married to your job. It's better than having them notice that you're nowhere near to being married to an actual human.

She looked away from the mirror with a sigh. Grabbing her purse, she fished inside for Janet's keys. Finding them, she turned off the ignition and got out of the car, stroking it affectionately as she closed the door. Ahead of her the house beckoned warmly, bedecked as it was with holiday lights and the Christmas tree glittering merrily through the window. Perhaps it would be nice to settle down in front of the TV for a bit and enjoy some feline society. Cats are good company, she thought, especially in the complete absence of human interaction.

The instant she placed a foot on the porch steps, a floodlight snapped on, prompting her to hop back in alarm. *Must be a recent security installation*, thought Sam, her initial annoyance dissolving as she contemplated the potential vulnerability of two women living alone.

Once inside, she was somewhat overwhelmed by the still air and silence. From the outside, the house had looked warmly welcoming, but now it seemed shadowy and abandoned - alien territory. She tossed her purse on the hallway floor, along with her jacket and the newspaper she had found on the porch. Shifting automatically into explorer mode, she did a visual sweep of the perimeter, but the cat was nowhere to be seen.

Walking toward the kitchen, she called out tentatively. "Cleo? Kitty, kitty, kitty?"

There was no answer.

Spotting Cleo's neatly arranged eating station, she went about the task of emptying, cleaning, and refilling the food and water bowls. Thinking that the sound of food hitting the dish might bring the cat out of hiding, she sat down and waited.

Nothing.

Well, Janet told you she was deaf, didn't she? Sam chastised herself. Getting up off her behind with a groan, she walked slowly around the kitchen and dining room, bellowing at the top of her lungs.

"Cleeee-o! Cleo! Here kitty, kitty, kitty!"

Still not seeing or hearing the cat, she continued through the living room, checking behind couches, near the tree, under the coffee table, and inside anything that looked remotely capable of hiding a cat.

"Stealthy critter," she muttered to herself in annoyance.

With some trepidation, Sam glanced down the hallway leading toward the two bedrooms. Janet had made it quite clear that she needed to actually see the cat to make sure she was okay, so surely she wouldn't mind if Sam poked around back there? In fact, wouldn't she insist upon it?

Sam checked Cassie's bedroom first, careful not to disturb anything among the young woman's various piles of books, CD's, art supplies, and toiletries. She remembered being a teenager and knew, without a doubt, that Cassie would be livid at the thought of an adult poking around in this sacred territory. Kneeling down to inspect under the bed, she grimaced a bit as she lifted up the bed skirt, steeling herself for certain horror. All she saw, however, were a couple of dust bunnies and an old hair clip. No mess, no dark secrets revealed, and no cat.

The bathrooms yielded no clues, nor did the closets. Upon reflection, Sam decided that it made the most sense for the cat to be in Janet's room, for this would be the safe haven from Cassie's blaring music. Feeling more comfortable than she had in Cassie's room, she did a quick visual survey, noting the neatly made bed and the spare but charming décor, before kneeling down again on achy knees to check under the bed. This time, not even a speck of dust was to be found. Sighing in exasperation, she smoothed out the bed ruffle and sat on the floor, her back against the bed.

Scenarios raced through her mind, each one more alarming than the last.

The cat is trapped behind an appliance, barely able to breathe and slowly starving to death. The cat somehow escaped and is wandering outside in the cold, searching for food. The cat ran out of the house just as I drove up and . . . oh god, she's probably squished beneath one of my tires!

Sam's heart began to thud as the possibilities multiplied.

She could feel the tension tightening painfully in her neck. Slowly rotating her head to release the stiffness, she noticed something shiny out of the corner of her eye. Lying next to Janet's bedside table was a small silvery square of paper. Leaning in closer, Sam noticed that it was a dainty gift tag - a folded piece of silver card stock decorated simply, yet elegantly, with silver glitter.

Without thinking, she picked it up and looked inside, reading the message that was written in tidy, masculine script.

Your beauty - of mind, body, and spirit - continually inspires me.

Merry Christmas

She closed the note. She did not have to look again, for there was no doubt about who wrote this message. She had seen his handwriting numerous times - scrawled on post-its and chalkboards, neatly inscribed in journals and transcriptions, and even penciled in the margins of her own reports, which he often felt compelled to annotate.

It was Daniel's writing.

Sam placed the note back exactly where she found it. Then she began to cry.

*****************************************************************************

Twenty minutes and half a glass of wine later, Sam sat at the kitchen table, blowing her nose and wiping away what she hoped was the last of the tears that smeared her entire face. Having temporarily forgotten the cat, she sat and mused aloud, attempting to apply logic to her sudden outburst of emotion.

"I was just surprised. That's all. I mean, sure I've noticed that Daniel and Janet care about each other, but I didn't know it was romantic. It was just the shock that they were keeping something secret from me, their friend, that bowled me over."

She paused for a minute, her voice cracking a bit, then picked up the glass of wine and slowly drained it. Nice stuff, Janet, she silently brooded to herself. Hope you weren't saving it for a special occasion. Pouring another glass, she cleared her throat and started again.

"All right, Sam, it's more than that. If you truly were honest with yourself, you'd realize that it irks you that two of your closest friends each have someone in their lives, while you don't have anyone. The kicker, the thing that surprised you and made you so irrationally emotional, was that each person's 'special someone' was actually the other person."

Sam decided to take a sip, rather than a gulp, of her wine, for she could already feel some fuzziness creeping into her brain. Putting her head down on the table, she groaned involuntarily as imaginary film reels of Daniel and Janet cavorting through fields of daisies played in her mind.

Raising her head, she took another couple of sips, resigning herself to a few hours on Janet's couch before driving home.

Slowly, relaxation drifted through her tense body as she tried to think about anything other than Janet and Daniel. Forcing her mind to go blank, she hummed a favorite Christmas carol to herself, letting her body sway ever so slightly. After a moment, she allowed herself thoughts of trees and snow, sleighs and horses, and snug little cottages with fires burning in the fireplace.

Unbidden, an image of Jack popped into her mind. She saw him clearly, sitting in front of his own fireplace, beer in hand, gazing intently at the chessboard on the coffee table in front of him. He moved his bishop, then looked up and smiled at her, brown eyes brimming with mischief.

"Woah! Where did that come from?" Sam shook her head and rubbed her temples. Pushing the glass of wine away from her, she sat back in the chair. "Okay, fine." She looked around the room, knowing it was silly, but needing to reassure herself that she was, indeed, still alone. "There's no one here except for that blasted cat, and she's probably asleep, or God forbid, in a coma, so I might as well come out and say it."

Her throat suddenly felt rather dry and constricted.

"I am going to say it now."

A dog howled plaintively somewhere in the distance, and she let it distract her for a moment.

"Okay, here's the truth." Her voice was low, almost a whisper. "I started crying because . . . because it seems unfair to me that Janet and Daniel work together and yet, they . . ." she trailed off. "No, let's be perfectly clear - she is his doctor and above him in the chain of command, and for various reasons it is inappropriate for them to have a romantic relationship, AND YET, they seem to be pursuing this relationship anyway."

Fresh tears were welling in her eyes, but she didn't bother trying to wipe them away.

"And then there's me. And there's Jack. It seemed that once there were feelings between us, very strong feelings. And I know that, at least on my part, they were . . . romantic feelings. But we decided to ignore them, to shove them down and out of sight, and we stuck to the regulations like good little soldiers." She paused for a moment, her voice growing hoarse with emotion. "But, at the same time, we lost something. We lost that ease of being together, that closeness that I didn't even realize was so important to me. It never occurred to me how much I treasured it, until it was . . . gone."

There. She had spoken it out loud. Now she wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh hysterically or throw up.

Rejecting either option as too extreme, she instead stood up and bowed to an imaginary audience. "And so, to sum it all up, ladies and gentleman, I am jealous of Janet and Daniel and I still have feelings for my boss. Yes, you've got it - my life is a soap opera. Tune in tomorrow for another melodramatic episode . . ."

Moving toward the sink and turning on the cold water, she splashed her face and patted it dry, noting with some irritation that even Janet's dishtowels were dainty and charming.

"And now I have to find that damned cat or I'll really have something to cry about."

***************************************************************************

She didn't know why she hadn't noticed it before.

Must have been too busy snooping around your friend's own home, she chided herself, to notice the obvious, eh Sam?

But now the solution to the mystery stared her in the face. The door to the basement had a little doorway cut into it, complete with a rubber flap to keep out the chill of the basement. Of course, the cat must have used the pet door to go down to the basement, perhaps to use the litter pan, or maybe to do something useful, like hunt mice.

Sam had no fear of basements, and certainly no fear of mice, so with a renewed sense of purpose she marched to open the door. It was an unusually heavy door, constructed of solid wood with a spring hinge that insured it would always close on its own. Putting her weight against the monstrosity to keep it open, she peered down the stairs but could see nothing in the blackness. She felt along the wall until she found the light switch and flipped it on. For an instant she had a faint and slightly yellowed view of the concrete floor of the basement, then she heard a sizzle and pop, and the light went out.

"Okay, what now?" She peered down into the darkness of the basement. "Cleo! Kitty? Please let me know if you're down there!"

Again, her entreaties were met with silence. Sighing, she let the door close slowly behind her, careful not to let it latch. "You never know with these old houses," she muttered to herself. In that brief moment of illumination before the bulb blew, she had seen a light fixture on the basement ceiling, so she knew that there had to be another switch at the bottom of the stairs. Feeling along the wall with her left hand, she gingerly began to step down the stairs.

On the fourth step her right foot encountered something disturbingly unlike a wooden stair, something soft and squishy. As her body reflexively recoiled, an ear-piercing screech filled the air. Lurching in alarm and somewhat disoriented by the darkness, Sam sensed that she was beginning to lose balance. Waving her arms and right leg in the air in a ridiculous attempt to regain her footing, she felt her left leg slip out from under her.

And down the stairs she tumbled.

***************************************************************************

The cat, who had made a beeline for the basement immediately after the menacing flash of the security floodlight, was much affronted by the unwelcome pressure of a foot on her belly, and thus scrambled up the steps to wriggle out through the pet door. As she made a final heaving effort to squeeze her plump self to safety, the heavy basement door clicked shut.

****************************************************************************

Despite the chill of the basement, Sam was beginning to sweat from the pain and panic coursing through her body. She lay crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, right leg bent under her body at an awkward angle. She couldn't be sure, but she thought her leg might be broken. It certainly hurt like hell, as did the bump that was quickly swelling on the back of her head.

She also was aware that the heavy door at the top of the stairs had shut on its own. That doesn't mean that it's locked, she thought, but if it is, you're stuck here until Janet gets home. That would be late the next day, and Sam didn't relish the idea of languishing in pain on the chilly, damp floor of Janet's basement. The only course of action was to drag herself back up the stairs and see if she could open the door.

Straightening out her leg was the worst part. Twice she almost passed out as hot waves of nausea washed over her. After what seemed like hours of slow, measured movements to prepare her body for the actual ascent, she began the tortuous backwards climb up to the door, one step at a time, sweat trickling down her temples.

At the top, she paused to catch her breath and to wipe her face with her sleeve. Then, reaching behind her, she felt along the door until she located the knob. Clutching it tightly, she gasped in relief as she felt the knob turning. She put her weight against the door and relief flooded through her as she heard the bolt retracting into the door.

But just as she was sure the door was about to give, the bolt slammed back into place with a resounding click and her hand fell away from the door.

The knob had fallen off and was now thumping down the stairs.

"Damn it!"

Sam moaned in anguish. It was hopeless. She would lie there on the stairs, racked with pain, for hours on end. Her leg and head would continue to swell, she would bleed internally, get an infection, and probably slip into a coma. The mice, if they did indeed reside in Janet's basement, would be nibbling on her before the good doctor came home. Janet would find her, half eaten and comatose, and would swoon in sorrow over the tragic demise of her friend. She damn well better be sorry, thought Sam grouchily, after the sacrifice I've made for her.

A sudden mental image of Janet turning to Daniel for comfort provoked her ire even further.

Wait a minute.

Sam swiveled around and scrunched down, ignoring the new waves of pain that were unleashed by her sudden movement. She lifted the rubber flap and looked through the pet door. Her purse lay inches away from the door, exactly where she had tossed it as she first entered the house.

Reaching her arm through the door, she could almost touch the strap of the purse. Fingers grasping and contracting, she gave a powerful shove against the door and finally managed to reach the strap. Pulling the purse toward her, she worked at the zipper until she was able to force her hand inside. She felt around, pulling items out and tossing them on the floor. Her wallet, sunglasses, a tube of lipstick - each hit the floor with a clatter. Finally she located what she wanted and pulled it through the pet door.

Triumphant, she flipped the phone open, impatient for the light to come on. But her smile faded as she realized that, even though she had a fairly strong signal, her battery was quite low.

"Stupid, you're just so stupid!" she growled to herself, exasperated by the irony of the situation. Apparently, she could reconfigure alien elements into high tech weaponry and fuel - in fact she could reconfigure just about anything - but she couldn't remember to keep her crappy little phone charged.

Realizing that she was running out of time, she quickly scanned through the numbers she had saved in the device's memory, but there were far fewer options than she remembered.

She didn't want to call the base switchboard because, at this time of year, there really wasn't anyone there that she knew or trusted. She didn't have Hammond's home number - only the Colonel seemed to have that direct line. She had Daniel's number, but knew that he consistently forgot to turn his phone on. Teal'c, of course, refused to carry a phone. Janet was away, and even though Sam knew that she could page her, she felt that there had to be a more expedient, and less intrusive, option.

That just left . . .

Him.

The phone beeped a warning at her.

"I know. Shut up for a minute." She selected the "O'Neill" option and pushed the green button. The phone took its time to begin dialing, then rang several times, beeping two more warnings before she finally heard someone pick up at the other end.

"Yeah?" The answering voice was somewhat thick and raspy. Had he been sleeping? Or was he drinking? She'd have to speak fast.

"Colonel, it's Carter. Listen, I'm in Janet Frasier's basement and I think I might have broken my leg." The phone beeped again. "Sir, my battery's running low. Is there any way you could get over here?"

"Carter?" There was a pause, then she heard him clear his throat. "What the . . ."

The phone suddenly went silent. Sam yanked it away from her ear and looked at the little screen, now dark. Then she clapped the contraption shut with all the violent force she could muster in one hand.

"DAMN IT! Why didn't I just call 911?"

And with that, she threw the phone down the stairs.

*********

"Carter?" Jack sat up and cleared his throat. "What the hell are you talking about?"

But there was no answer. Must have been disconnected, he concluded irritably, trying to shake off the sleepy fog that still shrouded his faculties. He quickly redialed Sam's number, but at the sound of her voice mail he shut the phone off in frustration.

Tossing the annoying contraption aside, he rubbed his eyes in an attempt to re-orient himself. He'd been sitting in front of the TV, drinking a beer, and must have fallen asleep. He checked the clock over the fireplace. It read 10:00 p.m.

This has to be a new record, Jack. How long has it been since you actually stayed up until midnight on New Year's Eve?

The ringing phone had awakened him. Carter had called, saying something about Janet's basement. She was in Janet's basement and her phone battery was low. She'd asked him if he could get over there.

It didn't make sense . . .

But it was Carter, and that was all he needed to know. Jack stood up slowly, groaning a bit at the stiffness in his joints, and turned off the TV. Spying his boots nearby, he stepped into them as he reached for the coat that was draped over the arm of the couch. The truck keys proved more difficult to locate, but after a few minutes of fumbling around and retracing his steps, he remembered that they were in his coat pocket. Clutching the keys in his hand, he made for the door.

At the last minute, however, he regained enough presence of mind to go back and exchange his pajama bottoms for jeans.

******************************************************************************

Jack had expected to find Sam waiting - impatiently - just inside the basement, but when he heaved the door open, she was nowhere to be seen.

He peered down the stairs, allowing a moment for his eyes to adjust. By the dim illumination of the foyer light he could see her body on the floor of the basement, and in that moment he felt a panic begin to build within him unlike anything he had experienced in past "close-calls" with his second-in-command. Away from the base and nowhere close to a combat situation, he felt entirely out of his element. At a loss as to what to do next, he opened his mouth to call her name, but no sound came out.

Barely mindful of the darkness, he barreled down the stairs. His left hand searched out the light switch near the bottom step, and as the light flickered on, he crouched over her. Gently placing two fingers on her throat, he felt immense relief at the sensation of blood pulsing at a healthy rate.

Her eyes fluttered open.

"Your fingers are so cold," she murmured absently, recoiling slightly at his touch. Then, seeming to focus more closely on his face, she lifted her head. "Sir?" Sam looked around her, blinking in apparent confusion, then turned back to stare wide-eyed at him. "You're here. I didn't know if you understood me on the phone."

The words finally began to tumble out of his mouth, forming haphazard questions. "Carter, what happened? Did you fall? Were you unconscious? How long have you been here?"

She lifted a hand to silence him, then gestured for his aid in getting her upright. After Jack had helped ease her into a seated position against the wall, she breathed deeply for a few seconds, then finally spoke. "I slipped on the steps, but I've only been here for about . . ." she checked her watch, "twenty minutes. I called you from the top of the stairs, but it was too painful to sit there, so I dragged myself here to lie down for a bit and rest my leg. I wasn't sure if you would come."

Jack sat back on his heels, coolly surveying her injury while at the same time trying to calm down after his panicked adrenaline surge. "You gave me quite a scare, Carter."

"It's bad, sir, but not as bad as it must have looked when you first opened the door." Her lips formed a crooked smile that was intended, he felt, to reassure him.

But he saw the smile dissolve into a deep frown when she looked past him toward the door at the top of the stairs.

"Oh no." Her voice conveyed an unmistakable note of alarm.

He looked behind him, then back at her.

"What?"

"Sir, the door shut behind you."

"So?"

At the insistent look in her eyes, he turned to glance up the stairs a second time. That was when he noticed the missing doorknob.

*****************************************************************************

Jack spent several minutes scrutinizing, pounding, and then viciously kicking the door before he realized that it wasn't going to budge.

"Alright, tell me exactly what happened, and I'll take a look around here."

As Carter recounted - in minimal detail and with audible embarrassment - exactly how she had come to be in her current situation, Jack searched along the floor at the base of the steps. He nodded from time to time as she spoke, careful for once not to make inappropriate cracks regarding the ironic humor of the situation.

Just as her voice began to trail off, he spotted something small and round tucked back in the corner under the stairs.

"Hey, there's the doorknob!" he cried out in triumph, scrambling around the steps to scoop it up. But once he held the vintage knob in his hands, he noticed part of it must have broken off in the door.

"Sir?"

"Never mind."

His next discovery was the phone that lay by the stairs in two mangled pieces, but he decided not to inquire further when he saw Carter's dark glare of recognition.

"I take it that you don't have your phone on you?" she inquired softly.

He shook his head, mentally kicking himself for not having been more aware when she had called him earlier. She needed you, and you were drooling on a couch cushion. What a hero.

He moved away from the stairs to the darker corners of the basement. His exhaustive search, difficult to conduct by the light of one bulb, revealed that, although there were two glass block windows, they were too small for escape. The search also revealed that Janet Frasier kept a meticulously neat and sparsely furnished basement. The only appliances were the washer and dryer, and the shelves merely held paint cans and cleaning supplies. There was no fridge full of food, no stash of blankets to keep them warm, not even a toilet.

He relayed this information to Carter.

"Sir, did you check inside the dryer?"

"Now why would I do that?" He lifted his hands in confusion, wondering what sort of salvation could be found inside of a dryer. "Were you thinking of climbing inside there to warm up?"

She sighed impatiently. "You should check, sir, because sometimes even a neat freak like Janet forgets to take a load out of the dryer before she leaves for a trip. There might be some extra clothes in there that we could wrap ourselves in."

Bending over, he opened the door and peered inside the dark barrel of the dryer. Tentatively reaching his hand in, he felt around until his hand encountered something soft. Better not be panties, he silently mused, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. Steeling himself, he pulled out the soft item, handling it with the barest tips of his fingers.

It was a fluffy white washcloth. When he reached in again he found several bath towels.

"Bingo!"

*****************************************************************************

"Now what do we do?" Carter asked, wrapping herself in one of the bigger towels.

"We wait. Didn't you say that Doc Frasier was due back tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow night - but that's almost twenty-four hours like this." She gestured toward her leg, flinching slightly.

"Let me check that, Carter. Maybe it's just a sprain." At her acquiescent nod, he gingerly felt her leg, grimacing every time she shuddered in pain. As many times as he'd seen her injured, he still couldn't stand to see her . . . hurting.

"Well, I'm pretty sure it's broken," he concluded gravely. "We definitely need to give it some support." He grabbed two of the towels. "I'm going to wrap these around both your legs, and then I'm going to use your good leg as a splint for the broken one."

He watched her brow furrow in obvious dread of the pain this would involve.

"Carter, I promise not to move you again until we can get an ambulance here." He kneeled down next to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. "I'll be quick and careful, I promise."

She said nothing, but her eyes opened wider. He couldn't quite tell if it was trust or apprehension in her eyes, but decided that it probably was a mixture of both.

After wrapping her legs with the towels, ever mindful of her acute discomfort, he stood up again and looked around, deliberating silently. An idea occurred to him.

He began unfastening his belt.

With a nod, Sam reached for her own belt and started to unfasten it.

"Now we're getting somewhere!" quipped Jack playfully, unable to pass up the obvious wisecrack in an attempt to distract her a bit from the pain.

Sam merely quirked an eyebrow as she handed him her belt.

He mentally applauded himself for the silly joke, but on a deeper level he gratefully acknowledged how well they worked together, and how, when it mattered, they could be on exactly the same wavelength.

With as much care as he could manage, Jack bound her legs together with both belts, careful to fasten the buckles against her good leg. Sam was silent, but he could feel her flinch each time he put pressure on the injured leg.

"There, I'm done." He arranged the towels over her legs. "I'm sorry," he said gently, as Sam surreptitiously wiped away tears.

"It had to be done, sir." She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide and moist with tears. The open, unguarded expression in them made the breath catch in his throat. "Thank you." Her voice was softly hoarse, accentuating her vulnerability.

Afraid that she might see something in his eyes that he wasn't ready for her to find, he turned away.

"Oh, it's nothing." He brushed off her gratitude with a casual wave of his hand. "I'm just returning the favor, Carter, from all those years ago." He had meant to speak with more detachment, but in those last few words his voice had betrayed him. Although a lot of what had happened at the Antarctic gate was a blur, her stubborn refusal to give up on him had made a deep impression on his memory.

She smiled in reminiscence. "But if I recall properly, sir, I was a whole lot rougher on you."

Her lighthearted tone beckoned the return of his former playfulness. "Well, Carter, it's always been my pleasure to take your abuse." They both grinned for a moment before Sam's expression turned more earnest.

"Sir, you should sit down. We might as well relax since we're not going anywhere anytime soon." She lifted the corner of the enormous bath sheet draped over her legs. "Here, you can share."

Her tone and manner conveyed practicality, but faint warning bells nevertheless went off in his head. Could he ever completely relax when sitting next to Sam Carter? Would he be able to sit with her for twenty hours and still remain as detached as he knew he should be?

At the same time, how could he refuse her? What was he supposed to do - banish himself to the other side of the basement? She needed him - his company, his moral support, his bodily warmth. With that broken leg she certainly couldn't have anything salacious in mind.

But she did look rather appealing sitting there under those towels. In fact, he thought with sudden inspiration, she looks downright . . . fetching.

And damn it if that's not the whole problem, he chided himself. She always looks fetching, and I never fail to notice it.

"Sir?"

"Yeah, yeah. Might as well relax for a bit." He frowned slightly, unable to stop stalling. "Are you going to be warm enough? Do you want my coat?"

"No, I'm fine. Just sit down." She peered up at him, her expression an endearing combination of perplexity and amusement. "You're making me nervous, hovering above me like that."

*****************************************************************************

So they sat together, under a towel, and chatted harmlessly. They talked briefly about work before progressing to the obligatory inquiries about how each had spent the holidays. Jack had little to report on that subject, but he smiled at Sam's account of her time spent with her brother and sister-in-law, and how both she and Jacob had conspired to leave earlier than planned in order to escape the chaos of a house containing two hyperactive children.

A wistful feeling settled over him as he further contemplated her story. "I always thought Charlie was enough of a handful. I could never really imagine having two at the same time." He was looking straight ahead, but he sensed that she turned sharply toward him as he spoke.

"Yes, well . . . it's obvious that I wouldn't even know what to do with one," said Sam quietly, with a barely perceptible sigh. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw her head lower to stare at the hands clasped together in her lap. An uncomfortable silence prevailed.

As the situation was threatening to take a maudlin turn, he attempted an impish grin and turned toward her, nudging gently.

"So, you stepped on a poor, defenseless, and need I remind you, old cat, eh? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Sam paused for a moment before replying, and Jack felt his own smile broaden as her lips curved into a sheepish grin. "What can I say?" She shrugged her shoulders. "It was dark, and the little devil was hiding on the stairs. She was pretty much asking to be squished."

"She was just scared, Carter."

Her expression grew more serious, and he felt her hand on his arm as she spoke again. "Did you happen to see her when you came in? I never got a chance to check if she was okay."

"See her?" He chuckled. "I petted her. The minute I walked in the door, she bolted out and flopped over to offer up her belly for a rub. And let me tell you, she has quite an expanse of belly. Can't see how you missed it."

"Are you serious?" Sam bit her lip, clearly frustrated. "Why was she hiding from me? What's so scary about *me*?" She looked at him with faint suspicion. "And since when did you become a cat person? I thought you were only into canines."

"Well, apparently my charm extends to all the furry four-legged creatures. They must sense a kindred animalistic simplicity." He was enjoying himself immensely - it was always nice to be better at something than Carter, even if it was only in how they related to animals. He couldn't resist rubbing it in a little. "Really, she and I bonded instantly. Had I a pocket big enough, she would've jumped right in."

"Well, at least she's okay," Sam admitted, with obvious reluctance. "Janet's going to get a kick out of this when I tell her."

"And just where is ol' Doc Penlight, anyway?"

"You know, I'm not sure. I forgot to ask . . ."

She trailed off, looking away. Jack waited for her to continue, but she remained silent, seemingly preoccupied.

"Carter?"

She turned to him, and he was surprised, after their recent levity, to see a pained expression in her eyes.

"Carter, what is it? Is it your leg? Are those belts too tight?" He reached over to check, but stopped when he again felt the pressure of her hand on his arm. She was shaking her head.

"It's not that. I suppose it's nothing really. It's just that . . . I learned something while I was looking around for the cat earlier."

"You were looking around Janet's house?"

"Yeah, I had to check all the places where I thought the cat might be hiding. And . . ." she paused, biting her lip again. "I ended up in Janet's bedroom."

"Carter! You were snooping in her bedroom?"

"Oh, be serious. It wasn't like that." She paused, tilting her head slightly as if reconsidering. "Not really, anyway. I just happened to see . . . something."

"And? What was this terrible thing that you saw?" He was beginning to lose patience as his imagination worked to fill in the blanks of Sam's confession. Visions of dire medical test results alternated with images of highly embarrassing personal items.

"Well, it's not that it's terrible. It's just surprising." She paused, then took a deep breath. "I found evidence that Janet is romantically involved with someone."

So it was the embarrassing personal item, he thought, relief flooding through him. A rather juvenile rush of mortification, however, closely followed this sensation of relief.

"Well, if that's it, I don't think I need anymore details." In spite of his best efforts, Jack could feel his face growing a bit warm.

Sam looked confused, but a glint of understanding soon flashed in her eyes. She shook her head again vigorously. "No! No, that's not it. I found a note. A very romantic note."

"Oh." He thought for a moment, then nodded, a complacent smile spreading across his face as he felt the heat of embarrassment dissipate. "That sounds nice."

But after mulling it over for a bit, he turned sharply to her. "So what was so surprising about all this? What's the big deal about a note, Carter?"

"Well, sir, the person who wrote this note, this decidedly romantic note, was . . . Daniel."

***************************************************************************

Much later he realized that he could have handled the situation better. He might have avoided the conversation entirely if he had distanced himself by simply showing detached scorn. He could have responded in a more professional manner, dismissing the issue, and thereby keeping the inevitable avalanche of feelings at bay.

But as it stood, his first reaction to her revelation was unrepressed and rather puerile. He was a man, after all. And a fairly simple one, at that.

"That old dog!" He grinned to himself, slapping his thigh lightly in macho glee. "Our favorite geek is getting it on with Doc Frasier!"

Jack turned, still chuckling, to find Sam staring at him, a cold fury glinting in her eyes.

"Did I say that out loud?" Flinching in embarrassment, he continued before she could answer. "What I meant was . . ." He grimaced, mentally flailing about for the right words. "I meant to say that this is . . . unexpected."

"Yes, it is." Sam's expression softened slightly. "I was completely thrown by it."

"Why?"

"Well . . ." She paused, and Jack felt the silence envelope them like a blanket. When she finally spoke, her words were vague, her tone guarded. "I guess it just seemed like we should have known. They're our friends." He watched her brow furrow into even deeper lines of concentration and she was quiet for another moment before continuing. "I wonder if that's where she is now?" She turned toward him. "Do you think they are . . . together right now?"

"I don't know. I suppose they could be . . ."

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes, that's it. She went off with him. They're off messing around while we sit here and rot in her basement."

She had crossed her arms against her chest and her jaw was set in an obstinate frown. To Jack, she looked like a pouting child in the midst of a tantrum. She seemed very far away from him, and he was desperate to find something light and funny to say - something that would ease the tension and make her feel better. But he had no idea what that might be. It was all he could do to keep from squirming.

She spoke again, and this time her voice conveyed an unmistakable note of challenge. "They are off together, carrying on with a relationship that flies against all the rules of the workplace, while we sit here and rot away." So that's it.

She'd spoken two of the unmentionable words in the same sentence: "relationship" and "rules." She was drawing an obvious parallel between their friends and themselves - so obvious that there was no way to play dumb about it. He searched his mind for an evasive maneuver, but nothing plausible came to mind

He sighed.

"Carter, are you sure you want to go there?"

"Well, it is still there, isn't it?"

"If I remember correctly, you set me straight on it more than once. You made it clear that we should get past it."

"What if things have changed?"

"Carter!" He rubbed his face in exasperation, then looked at her. "What am I supposed to say?"

"Will you just answer a question?"

He lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness, completely at a loss for words. After a moment, he nodded in compliance.

"All I want to know," she continued, "is why you pulled away from me after I almost died at the hands of the Entity, why you refused to be there for me after we lost Daniel, and why, why you can't bear to look me in the eyes anymore."

Jack flinched in astonishment, pummeled by her directness.

"Is that all?" he gasped, retreating behind a shield of sarcasm. "Are you sure you haven't left anything out?"

"That's certainly a start." Her blue eyes were steely and unrelenting.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, utterly flummoxed.

*********

What was coming out of her mouth? Had she just said what she thought she'd said? I just confronted my superior officer about his feelings for me.

Sam looked away from him, aghast at her own temerity. But the heavy curtain of silence that fell between them became unbearable and she eventually had to peek at him out of the corner of her eye. He was looking down, mouth slightly open, obviously somewhat dazed.

She hated to put him in this position. It truly was selfish. But they had skirted the issue for so long now. She had bravely tried to rise above it, to repress it, to ignore it, and yet still found herself eating her heart out on a regular basis, wondering how he truly felt about her.

The truth was that she missed him. She missed that camaraderie they used to share - that ease that existed between them before "feelings" had been admitted. In those days they had smiled often, joked, even flirted. They'd had no qualms about showing concern for each other, verbally and physically. She had admired him and enjoyed their interactions without torturing herself about it.

But in recent years she had grown painfully conscious of his presence, and even more so of her own reaction to it. Her visceral response to him was now complicated by her heightened consciousness of the "inappropriateness" of her feelings and the need to police her behavior. She constantly analyzed and adjusted her demeanor when she was around him. Was she looking at him for too long? Was she standing too close to him? Could she touch him without communicating the pent-up longing she'd been repressing for ages?

It was maddening, and when she wasn't punishing herself for it, she inwardly ranted at Jack, blaming him for various and mostly imaginary transgressions.

She peeked at him again. He continued to stare at the floor.

Her leg throbbed, her stomach churned, and she was beginning to feel those vague twinges that signaled the need for a trip to the bathroom. Well, you'll just have to hold it, she told herself, as you've done many times before. We're sitting here until he says something.

She twiddled her thumbs awkwardly. Maybe I can help move things along a bit, she thought.

"Sir? Are you okay?"

He turned toward her, exasperation clearly brimming in his eyes. He opened his mouth, paused, then raised his hands as if to frame his words.

"Before I answer your questions, we need to get one thing straight. If we're going to talk about this kind of stuff . . ."

"You mean feelings?" she interrupted.

He sighed. "Yes. If we're going to talk about . . . personal feelings . . . then you have to drop the 'sir'. We're not on a mission, and we're not on base. It's okay to call me Jack. Got it?"

Sam hesitated before replying, ever mindful of lines that were not to be crossed. But his request seemed harmless enough. "Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes . . . Jack."

And then, unexpectedly, he smiled, and her stomach lurched with a pang of joy. But, she reflected ruefully, this is the sort of joy that borders on agony.

*****************************************

Jack couldn't help but relish the sensation of hearing her actually speak his name. It was selfish of him, really. He knew that it wasn't professional - that she could accuse him of sending her mixed signals - but wasn't this a special circumstance? Couldn't they drop the formality for once?

Of course, he was allowing this inner debate on professional etiquette to distract him from the real issue. She had asked him some very pointed questions and had so expertly backed him into a corner that he was forced to respond or risk incurring her eternal wrath.

And he really hated to make Carter angry. Sure, he liked to rile her a bit, get under her skin, and gently tease her until she was mildly provoked. But that was because her reaction was so rewarding. He loved the faint pink flush that spread across her cheeks when she allowed him to get to her. He enjoyed the mock disapproving look in her eyes and the determined set to her chin.

But her anger - her cold, unyielding resentment - was a different story. He rarely saw it, but when he did he couldn't help but feel a sinking despair. And he was so loathe to reveal the effect her anger had on him that he would withdraw further into himself, deliberately distancing himself from her - emotionally and physically - simply for self-preservation.

Like when they lost Daniel.

How could he explain? He didn't have the words to express the effect that grief had on him. He just knew that if he allowed himself to feel it fully, he invited a darkness to grip his heart so tightly that it overwhelmed his rational mind. He'd almost lost control when Charlie died. And each time he'd been faced with loss since then, he had closed off another part of himself so that the darkness couldn't get that terrible hold on him.

He could barely wrap his own brain around it, so how was he supposed to explain it to her?

He fumbled for words. "Carter . . . I . . . you see . . ."

"Jack."

He looked up, somewhat startled by her interruption.

"By your own reasoning," she continued, speaking calmly, "you should be calling me Sam."

"Right." He took a deep breath and started over. "Sam, it's really hard to explain . . ."

"Jack," she broke in again, "you should try to look at me when you're talking."

He turned to face her, deliberately exaggerating the gesture. "God, Sam, you're really acting like a . . . woman."

She smiled in response. "Well, it's about time, isn't it?" The smile relaxed a bit, but her eyes retained a gleam of warmth that beckoned him to continue.

"You know that's kinda the core of our problem. I'm really not supposed to see you as a woman. In the past, it wasn't so much of an issue. We had a . . ." he searched around for the right word, "chemistry - I won't deny that. But it didn't get in the way. It was just kinda fun. Do you know what I mean?"

She nodded, but her eyes were uncharacteristically expressionless.

"But once the feelings were . . . out there," he waved vaguely at the air for emphasis, "everything changed. When the Entity had control of you," he paused, choosing words carefully, "I had a hard time making the decisions I needed to make because I didn't want to lose you. You weren't just a member of my team. You weren't Major Carter. You were Sam. And when I realized how much I was personalizing the situation, I began to reassess the way I was handling things."

"When we lost Daniel," he continued, "I couldn't be there for you and be an effective leader of SG-1."

There'd always been that double bind with Sara, he thought, and I learned a terrible lesson from that.

Sam's eyebrows raised in protest. "But all I wanted was for us to be able to talk about it!"

He sighed heavily. "Don't you know me at all? When have I ever been good at talking about things? You know that I'm much better at taking action. I have to be doing something." He smiled without humor. "I get into trouble when I talk. That's why this is so hard for me."

Her face remained unreadable.

"And as for never looking you in the eye anymore," he continued, "well, I don't know what to say about that. I used to take pride having an unreadable face, but you seem to bring out the feelings behind the facade. A leader shouldn't look at his second-in-command that way."

"What way?" Her tone expressed curiosity and . . . something else that was too subtle for him to identify.

He hesitated for a moment.

"The way I'm looking at you right now." He held her gaze, for once not hiding behind the usual masks of humor or authority. Her eyes widened in response, and he was so close that he could see their luminous blue tint deepening with emotion.

It was mesmerizing.

******************************************************************************

Even if she'd wanted to, Sam couldn't have torn her eyes away from the intensity of his gaze. But someone had to speak. Otherwise, she'd be staring at him forever. Or worse.

"So where does this leave us?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Nothing has changed."

What does that mean? She pondered his words in mild desperation. Is he talking about his feelings, or our situation? Why does he have to be so damned ambiguous?

"What if . . .?" she broke off, uncertain how she wanted to phrase the question.

"Sam," he interrupted, apparently anticipating what she'd intended to ask, "I can't keep leading SG-1 forever, but you've gotta know that I can't leave it just yet. I certainly can't ask you to give up your career because of this . . ." he gestured back and forth between them, "this stuff between us. And I can't ask you to wait. You deserve more."

She titled her head, suddenly bemused by his words. "This is so familiar. I think I dreamed about us having this conversation."

"You dreamed about me?" Jack eyes lit up with surprise, and she discerned a subtle hint of smugness in them.

"Well," she replied, after thinking for a bit, "I suppose it was more of a concussed hallucination."

He smiled in response, but the humor quickly faded from his eyes as he spoke again. "A part of me knows that you should find someone else."

Oh, not that. Please don't say that.

She fought to keep her expression neutral, but when she spoke she couldn't quite keep her voice from breaking. "And that would make you happy?"

He paused, running his hand through his hair and scowling. "It would be . . . uncomfortable for me." Breathing deeply, he let the air out slowly. "But you deserve something. And I can't give it to you. At least not yet."

The last few words echoed in her mind, and she knew that she was in danger of hanging her heart on them.

"Sam, how will you ever know for sure what you want from me if you don't first make sure that someone else can't offer you more?"

Even though it made her heartsick to contemplate, she couldn't ignore the logic behind his words. It wasn't fair for her to use him as her safety net. And it was perfectly natural for him to be suspicious of her feelings when it was obvious she hadn't experienced a real relationship for a very long time.

She was so tired. Tired of fighting the pain, in all its various manifestations. She really just wanted to collapse against him.

She nodded slowly, stifling a yawn. "What about you?"

"Me? I'll be okay. I'm a patient man."

His words were cryptic. Nevertheless, she felt comforted. When he leaned back against the wall, she surrendered to the urge to put her head on his shoulder, nestling into that familiar spot at the top of his arm. Just as she was feeling cozy, the arm moved, slowly slipping around her shoulders, and she found herself with her cheek against his chest. She smiled, feeling the fabric of his coat brush against her lips. The warmth emanating from him, and the regular rhythm of his breathing, made her drowsy. She put her hand against his chest, telling herself it was for balance but realizing on a deeper level that she simply craved the physical connection. Satisfied, she closed her eyes.

*****************************************************************************

Jack looked down at the top of her head. He lowered his face so that his lips lightly brushed her hair, and he breathed in her familiar warm scent. Gathering her a bit closer, he allowed himself to enjoy the relaxed submission of her body as it softened against him. Her breathing deepened into the steady rhythm of sleep.

He reflected on their conversation, considering what had been said and comparing it to what he'd left unspoken.

He could wait. That wasn't the difficult part. The difficulty would lie in watching her pursue a personal life that didn't include him. He knew that it would kill him to see with her another man, should she choose to take his advice. But he also knew that he would never allow her to see just how much it got to him. He wouldn't let himself prejudice her decision that way, and at the same time he couldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing his pain. He was a man, after all.

He forced himself not to think about it, and after a while, felt himself growing drowsy. Relaxing his body as much as one could on a cold basement floor, he closed his eyes.

He dozed fitfully for a few hours, constantly waking to check his watch and to make sure that Sam rested peacefully.

When it was close to dawn, an idea occurred to him. He carefully disentangled his arm from around Sam's shoulders, gently easing her head back and placing her hand on her lap. Then he stood up and turned off the light.

****************************************************************************

When Sam opened her eyes, the back of her head rested against the wall and she felt a damp chill penetrating the towels that enveloped her. She looked up, and when her eyes adjusted to the darkness she saw the dim outline of Jack's body standing just under one of the block windows that faced the street.

She watched as he suddenly dashed over to the light switch and flipped it on and off several times. Then, leaving the light on, he quickly stepped back to the window and began banging on it with his fists.

In her groggy state, it seemed a ridiculous pantomime. "What are you doing?"

He turned his head slightly, motioning for her to be silent, then turned back to the window. "Hey!" he bellowed, banging even more forcefully on the thick glass. "Hey you! We're trapped down here!"

After a moment, she heard a muffled reply from outside.

"The front door is open! Just come in and let us out of the basement!"

This time she could hear the doubt in the speaker's voice, even though she couldn't make out the words.

Jack's booming voice overflowed with impatience. "Well for crying out loud, find a pay phone and call 911!"

The muffled voice came again briefly, and Jack responded by patting the window in apparent glee.

"Ah, sweet!" He turned to her. "He's got a cell phone."

"Who? Who are you talking to?"

"The paper boy!"

*****************************************************************************

Hours later, Sam lay in a hospital bed with her injured leg suspended awkwardly in the air. It was very strange to be in a county hospital, surrounded by artificially cheerful décor and unfamiliar staff. But, of course, an ambulance procured by a callow newspaper delivery boy could not have taken her directly to the base.

Truly, she didn't mind. It would have been embarrassing to explain this injury to her acquaintances on base, seeing as it resulted from much less heroic circumstances than her usual bumps and bruises. She preferred the anonymity. And she really didn't care where she was as long as that pain medication continued to flow from the IV. That was such a relief. In fact, she felt rather . . . floaty. It was nice. She closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation.

When she opened her eyes again, her head was mired in a fog and her eyes were gritty. She slowly rotated her head toward the clock, only to find that she'd been asleep for several hours.

"Sam? Sam, how are you feeling?"

She turned to her right to see Janet standing next to her bed, smiling hesitantly even as worry creased her brow.

"Janet . . ."

"Honey, are you okay?"

"Oh yeah, I just screwed up is all. Is Cleo okay?"

"She's absolutely fine. Everything's fine at the house. I'm just worried about you. I came as soon as I found out what happened. Do you want me to see if I can get you transferred to the base?"

"No, that's not necessary. I just want to go home once they're done with me here."

"The Colonel told me what happened. I'm so sorry about that monstrous door. I guess I should have warned you about it, but I hadn't realized that the knob was loose."

"Is Jack still here?"

Janet blinked, and Sam inwardly cursed herself for opening her mouth before thinking about what was going to come out of it.

"He's in the waiting room. Visiting hours will start soon, and they'll let him in then."

"Oh."

They both sat in silence for a moment before Sam spoke again.

"Did you have a good time when you were out of town?"

"What? Oh yes. I was just visiting my sister - she needed some last minute help with a family situation.

"Your sister, huh? That's the story?"

"Excuse me?" Janet's tone was decidedly wary.

Sam decided to take the direct approach. She could always blame it on the medication later.

"Janet, I know."

"Know what?"

"I know . . . about Daniel."

Janet's mouth opened as she inhaled audibly. An uncomfortable moment of silence ensued, during which neither of them could look directly at the other. When Janet finally spoke, her voice was low and slightly uneven.

"Oh. Goodness. I don't know what to say."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Despite an attempt at nonchalance, Sam couldn't seem to keep the petulance from creeping into her voice.

"Well, to be honest, I wasn't quite sure what to tell." Janet paused for a moment, obviously taking care in choosing her words. "We've only just begun to acknowledge feelings for each other. I couldn't tell you about it until I knew where he and I stood."

"Well, you obviously felt comfortable enough about the relationship to go away with him overnight, didn't you?" Sam heard the accusing tone resonate through her words, and saw Janet flinch in response.

"What?" Janet shook her head slightly. "I told you I was at my sister's. What made you think I was with Daniel?"

It was Sam's turn to take a sharp breath. There was no subterfuge in Janet's expression or voice. She seemed genuinely shocked by the accusation that Sam had so cavalierly tossed her way.

"Oh, Janet, how embarrassing. I'm so sorry." Sam could feel her face growing hot with chagrin. "When I found that note and thought about how you'd never mentioned where you were going, I put the two pieces of information together and obviously came to the wrong conclusion. I'm such a jerk."

"You . . . you saw the note?"

"It was an accident! I was desperate to find Cleo, and when I peeked under your bed, the note caught my attention. I shouldn't have read it, but . . . I just couldn't help myself."

"Yes. I know the feeling." Janet's voice sounded like it was coming from far away, and Sam watched with growing interest as her friend gazed vaguely at the wall for a moment before speaking again. "That note." Janet turned and leaned in closer to Sam. "What did you think of that note?"

"Janet, it was absolutely . . ."

"Yes?"

"Divine."

"Oh, it was, wasn't it?" Janet's eyes gleamed with excitement, and Sam was pleased to find her own jealousy had dissolved and was now replaced with a corresponding enthusiasm.

A knock at the door startled them both, and they simultaneously turned in surprise.

Daniel's head poked through the doorway. "Hello ladies! Am I interrupting anything?" Seemingly oblivious to the awkward silence, he pressed forward, revealing as he rounded the door that he was carrying a vase of flowers. "Jack's right behind me. He was, uh, paying for these." He set the flowers next to Sam, without looking at her. Instead, his attention seemed focused on the petite woman standing next to the bed.

"Hello Janet."

"Hi Daniel." Janet's smile was demurely affectionate.

"It was kind of you to come see me, Daniel." Sam deliberately raised her voice for emphasis, and was secretly pleased to see him turn sharply toward her as if seeing her for the first time. His expression shifted from surprise to embarrassment. But, as usual, he recovered quickly.

"Ah, Sam. Vanquished by the mighty Cleo, eh? What a way to start the New Year. Think you're going to make it?"

"I'll survive. My pride is wounded more severely than my leg."

In one motion, Janet and Daniel looked at her leg and then back at her, the same quizzical look in both sets of eyes.

"Ouch!" Daniel laughed softly. "Pride goeth with the fall, I guess you could say . . ."

But Daniel's words faded into the distance as Jack entered the room. His presence suddenly dominated her attention, his familiar booming voice filling the small space and his mischievous grin triggering a powerful fluttering in her stomach.

"Well, I see the gang is almost all here! How's the patient?" He looked down at her, and she felt warmed by the gentle affection and concern reflected in his eyes.

"I'll be fine . . . thanks to you."

Sam didn't even try to suppress her satisfaction at the fact that, even though faced with a clearly emotional response, he did not look away. Then, hearing the unmistakable sound of Janet clearing her throat softly, she turned to glance expectantly at her friend.

"Sam, I think I'm going to be heading out now. You should get some rest. I'll be back tomorrow and we'll see about getting you home as soon as possible." She gave Sam's hand a comforting squeeze.

"Yeah, me too." Daniel stepped closer. "I think I'll head out with, uh, Janet. I hope you're feeling better soon, Sam."

Both of her friends seemed highly conscious of not looking at each other. Their shoulders were close, but not touching, and Sam believed she could almost see a current pass between them. She glanced toward Jack and saw a conspiratorial gleam of understanding in his eyes. Suppressing a smile, she bade them both goodbye and watched them leave, Daniel chivalrously allowing Janet to walk out in front of him.

She turned back toward Jack as he moved in closer to stand by her bed. He grinned openly as he spoke.

"They are sooo getting it on!"

She couldn't help but laugh softly in reply. "Well, maybe not yet. But I think they might be before too long."

"Ah, so you were a bit premature in your assessment?"

She nodded, and they both sat quietly for a moment.

"So, Colonel . . ."

"Yes, Major?"

"We really should stop meeting like this."

"Yeah, this whole hospital bed scenario is getting a bit old, isn't it?"

"I'll try to be more careful."

"And so you should."

Though their exchange had been lighthearted, she couldn't stop herself from pondering the subtler implications of his words.

"Carter, don't over-think things." His tone was authoritative. "Like I said before, nothing's changed."

That damned ambiguous phrase again. "Business as usual, sir?"

"For now. But I wasn't just talking about that. I think you know where I stand."

She felt her throat constricting, and she fought back the sudden and unwelcome compulsion to cry.

"I know," she replied quietly, "that I can't take anything for granted."

"No matter what happens, Sam, you can always count on me as a friend."

"I've never doubted that. But if I decide I want more?"

"If the time and circumstances are right, we'll move from there. But in the meantime . . ."

"I know." She suppressed a sigh.

He put his hands in his pockets and turned toward her elevated leg, studying the thick cast appraisingly.

"So, how long before you're back on your feet? You know, our projected mission list grows longer by the day, and we're not going to be able to get things done without you . . ."

They chatted easily about work, but in the back of her mind Sam still wrestled with the disquieting feelings that were left unresolved by their conversation. When she'd first pressed him for answers, she thought she had wanted closure for both of them, but now the idea of closure seemed artificial and dissatisfying.

He was right. She did know him well enough to realize that he couldn't talk openly about his feelings - not until circumstances between them were different. And even then it might be difficult, for he wasn't the type of man who wore his feelings on his sleeve, even in the most intimate situations.

He was an enigma. It was frustrating and disarming at the same time.

And she loved him for it.