Full Fledged Strangers PG-14

CATEGORY: Sam/Jack UST

RATING: PG-14 (for a few racy thoughts and a bit of cussin' that might offend some)

SUMMARY: Sequel to No Good Deed. The Plan is revealed and Sam and Jack end up just where they want to be...

DISCLAIMERS R US: You'll recognize all the characters I don't own in this story -- they are the famous, well-loved ones. I didn't ask anyone's permission to take them out for a spin. However, once you read it, you'll realize this is a non-profit venture 'cause no one would actually pay me for writing it . (And now, for the _real_ disclaimer.) All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ARCHIVE: Yes, SJD

STATUS: Complete

SPOILERS: Specifically, nothing. However, anything up to the end of Season Seven is likely fodder for spoilage. Oh, and the events in Chimera and Heroes Pts 1 and 2 didn't really happen here.

FEEDBACK: Both positive comments and tough (but fair) critical feedback help to improve my writing. Feedback very much appreciated and adored: tmpotter@widomaker.com

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Finally, an ending! Here's hoping it satisfies. Onces again, I have had a friend take a look at this for general content but it is an un-betaed effort. My apologies (and responsibility) for any errors within.

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The insistent knock on the door at 1:10 a.m. is unusual but not completely unexpected. I set down the mug of chamomile tea and pad to the door in sock feet, cinching up my robe as I walk. He's leaning almost nonchalantly against the doorframe, his long legs braced against the bricks of the stoop and his shoulders against one edge of the wooden jamb.

God, he looks good enough to eat. With or without a fork.

"Sam..."

"Jack?"

His gravelly rumble plucks a string deep inside me, setting my blood to humming, causing a sympathetic resonance in the general area of my heart...and another one a little lower than that.

He steps inside without being asked, pushing past me and closing the door as he grabs my wrist and tugs me along behind him. His grip is hard, almost bruising. While one part me wants to fight against his grip, I'm frankly too shocked at his rough manner to stop him.

He navigates us across the edge of the living room and stops short in the darkened hall that leads to my bedroom, releasing my arm and turning to crowd close. Close enough that I can smell him, that soap over man smell that makes my mouth water, makes me want to taste his skin every time I'm near him. Close enough that I can feel the incredible energy, the intensity of him, see the rigid set to the muscles in his jaw, feel the tension dancing through his body.

I feel my righteous indignation crumble under the assault of *him* on my system. Despite the fact that we're not actually touching anymore, I can feel the heat pumping from him. It pours off of him in coruscating waves that make me want to pull him around me and cozy down into the couch with him like a warm blanket.

But the look on his face is a long way from comfort. The glint in his eyes is one that a primitive part of me recognizes. It speaks of danger, like the intense gaze of a great cat just before it pounces on some unsuspecting prey. Feeling every bit like a bunny, I chance my voice at a whisper.

"What...what're you doing here?"

"Getting it right. Finally."

His voice is low, with a slight rasp on the edge that scrapes pleasantly inside my already swimming head. His nearness once again washes over me, further swamping my senses like a minor tsunami. I feel my good sense building a raft, but I don't think it will survive this.

Suddenly, I'm being pressed back against the wall, feeling the old family photographs of cousins, aunt, and uncle biting in sharply down the length of my spine. That small pain is swallowed whole by the incredible hard warmth of Jack O'Neill pasted up against my front. His busy hands have worked their way up under my robe, under the camisole and pajama pants, trailing fire across my shoulder, my back, my neck, the curve of my waist...

He's crowded my personal space all to hell, his face only inches from mine, his warm breath brushing my cheek, his hands stopping their exploration, coming to rest clutching my upper arms. Before my temper takes control of my tongue he has moved a callused index finger up to cover my lips and his eyes, hooded in shadows created by the tilt of his head, have captured my own.

"We need to get some things straight, Sam."

He pulls the hand away from my mouth and takes hold of mine again. His grip is gentle this time, taking a slow trip down my wrist and intertwining his long, strong fingers with mine. He finally begins to speak, giving my fingers a little squeeze for each point he ticks off.

"One: I meant what I said last night - I know what and who I want. And, here's the part you got wrong, it's *you*. Every hardheaded, techno-babble-touting, science-spouting ounce and inch of you. You. Only. Ever. You."

"Two: I've taken care of the regulations. As of today, I'm no longer in your chain of command. No command, no conflict."

His fingers disentangle themselves and those brushed suede hands slide up my arms, over my shoulders, up my neck and come to rest again just under my jaw line, almost cupping my head as he makes sure he has my undivided attention.

"Three: I'm going to kiss you, now. If you've got any objections, I'd suggest you get them out in the next two seconds or you may have to wait a while."

"Two seconds? Wh-"

I'm having that stroke he's always worrying about.

That's the only explanation.

None of this is making any sense but it all feels -- he feels -- *so* incredible.

My mind finally catches up, stutter-stepping its way through all he's just said, and sweet realization washes through me.

He wants me.

Not Sara. Me.

He's taken care of the regs. How and-

Oh my *Lord* where did this man learn to kiss?

His mouth against mine is like a stoked furnace, the flames licking higher with each movement of his lips over, around and on mine. His mouth moves frantically to devour, pressing his advantage, crashing my defenses, demanding my capitulation.

But I've always been stubborn. And while I might cooperate in my own downfall, surrender isn't in my vocabulary. My own mouth becomes demanding, taking the kiss deeper, and making it somehow, incredibly, hotter than it was before.

He's been slowly walking us down the hallway and now I actively help him, edging us towards my darkened bedroom door. I stop his hand at the light switch, not wanting to wreck the mood with bright light. Instead, I pull away, leading him by the hand, and click on the tiny bedside ginger-jar lamp. The small bulb is covered with a pale gold shade, casting a warm glow in the room, across his face, as I pull him close and pick up from where we just left off.

The comforter is soft and cool under my back. Somewhere from there to here I've lost the robe and I can feel gooseflesh rise. But Jack is hard and warm as his weight presses me deep into the queen-sized, extra-firm mattress. My hands steal up under the chilled leather of his coat and the smooth cotton of the T-shirt to find the smooth, warm skin and muscle of the man under the layers of cloth. He's wearing too many clothes, but then so am I. Him first, I decide, and tug at the jacket and shirt as he tries to touch every inch of me and I want him to.

His voice is a groan that cuts through the haze assaulting my senses.

"Sam."

A thrill races through me with the sound of that roughened voice.

"Sam."

He's stopped kissing me, touching me. Instead, he's suddenly shaking my shoulder...

"Sam? Sam?!"

Janet? His voice has suddenly become Janet's? What is Janet doing *here*? Whatever the reason, she has *the* most *rotten* timing. I'll kill her just as soon as I'm finished with Jack. Now where'd he go?

"Sam, wake up."

Her voice rips me away from the warm confines of Jack O'Neill and my bed and I jump, as if she'd actually walked in on us engaged in the act I was imagining. I go from mostly asleep to suddenly awake with a speed that leaves me disoriented.

Stalling for time to gather my wits, I yawn and rub at my sandy eyes with the heel of a hand. A glance at my surroundings reveals that I'm sitting on a bed in the infirmary, a privacy curtain pulled around to block the view of the larger room. God, I hope I wasn't talking in my sleep.

"J'net? What time is it?"

"0550. You needed to wake up anyway. We're just about finished with you. Your blood work just came back and everything looks great. As far as the physical is concerned, you're cleared for a GO on this mission."

I half cover a jaw-popping yawn, nodding as I scoot forward on the bed.

"Thanks. Has everyone else cleared through?"

"Hummm...All of the recruits cleared through last night and have been in isolation since then. Captain Andropov was looking a bit green after the last round of inoculations, but I'm going to double-check him today to give him one last chance before I scrub him. As for SGC personnel, everyone but the Colonel has come through this morning."

"The Colonel hasn't been in?"

"No, but TSGT Jenkins called from the parking lot checkpoint to let me know he's on his way down. I expect him-"

"Doc? Doc?! Ow! Are you in here? I need some help here! Ouch! Stop helping, Siler!"

"-at any moment. Speak of the devil and he doth appear."

His voice from the room outside the privacy curtain throws my stomach into knots and my pulse into overdrive. I beat back the instinctive response to his presence and desperately hope no one notices.

Janet's eyebrows shoot skyward and a look of concern crosses her face as she draws back the curtain around us.

The Colonel is late this morning...

The Colonel is yelling *for* a doctor, not *about* or *at* one...

Janet quick-steps out of the curtain and into the infirmary at large and I follow, keeping my distance and staying partially hidden so I don't crowd him or invade his privacy...and so he doesn't see me.

A little part of me winces at the knowledge that I hang back mostly so I don't have to face him just yet. I feel like a fool after the way I behaved last night. I shouldn't have lost my temper.

No matter that I found out he's back with Sara. That the hopes I had once had for us were over.

"Sit down, Colonel. Now!"

As doctor's orders go, this one sounds like she means it. Janet says something else to him, but, from my hiding place, I can't hear what.

"Ow! Doc! Yow!! Just quit it! Just-"

He's in real pain. I recognize the tone from the times when he's been wounded in the line of duty. Pain adds a rough edge and a strident tone to his moaning that takes it from just ordinary grousing over Janet doing her duty to something worse. I step a bit closer, using a conveniently placed equipment rack to hide my approach.

He's stretched out on the examination bed nearest the infirmary hallway door, with Janet bent forward over the lower half of his body. Over her, I can see his head is thrown back. A forearm slung up across his eyes is the classic 'Jack-in-pain' pose but that forearm is also holding a chemical ice pack of some sort in place. Janet probes at something, murmuring to him and getting now-quiet, monosyllabic answers back.

He must not be hurt very badly. And how is it that he's hurt anyway? He was just fine yesterday.

My stomach suddenly pitches and rolls as I think of the last time I saw him.

Feeling suddenly stupid and a bit guilty at spying, I turn to slip out the door while Janet and her staff have him engrossed in diagnosing the cause of his pain. Three steps from the safety of the hallway, I cringe as I hear him bellow.

"Carter!"

Ignore it and walk faster, maybe he'll think I didn't hear. One step more and I'll be-

"Carter! Stop right there. That's an order!"

Well, that's torn it. Why does God hate me so much? Or is this a joke of some sort? I turn, my stomach flopping, and take two steps closer to the bed.

"Sir?"

My heart climbs into my throat and I have to shout inside my own head to be heard over the groaning there.

Dear God, help me.

He's evidently without pants. A sheet drawn over one leg and up to and across his waist preserves his modesty just a bit. I can feel my eyes following his right bare leg like a road map, across the long, almost elegant foot and ankle, up the strong, lightly furred calf muscles to where his knee is propped up on a pillow, terribly swollen and currently several interesting shades of red and purple.

My face heats as I try to pry my eyes away from their meandering trip up the sculpted quads, the smooth skin covered in more light-brown hair that my fingers suddenly ache to feel, and beyond...

Oh Lord.

I drag my eyes away, forcing myself to look away from that bared, tempting skin and somewhere closer to his face. I glance at the chem-pack he's now holding to his forehead, a trickle of blood coming out from under the edge and leading down past his eye.

Skittering away from looking into his eyes just yet, afraid of what I'll see there, my eyes lock on the place where his shoulder peeks out of the collar of his stretched black polo shirt. That's a mistake. Suddenly my mouth reminds me of just what that small patch of skin tastes like, the salty-sweet flavor of him, the soft, yet toughness of that skin, the way the muscles bunch under my teeth as he shifts...

Arrrgghhhh! I look away, my eyes locking on the chromed IV stand slid up near the head of the bed where he's laying.

"What happened, sir?"

It comes out sharp. Sharper than I'd intended. I know this is somehow related to last night, but he'd been fine when I left him sitting at the table in the Diner. Sudden guilt at walking out on him assaults me but I push it away. I had nothing to do with this, whatever it is. He's done something stupid and it has nothing to do with what happened between us. It couldn't have anything to do with...

Could it?

I quickly glance into and away from his pain- blurred eyes, spotting an anger there that confirms my suspicions. Oh hell yeah, it has something to do with last night...

"What *did* happen, Colonel?"

Janet is probably not unaware of the exchange between us, but her interests now lay in diagnosing what he's done to damage himself. She's smart enough to know that what we've done to damage each other is outside her area of expertise.

"I...uh...I tripped last night. I was out for dinner and I...uh...bumped into someone and fell. When I was getting up, I stepped on something slick and my knee went out..."

"Last night? You didn't do this to your head last night, did you?"

He must hear the growl in her voice, because he hurries to explain.

"No, no. The knee. I messed up the knee last night. Then, coming in this morning I had my mind on other things and..."

"He tripped. Just stepped right off onto the steps and the knee collapsed. Fell down two whole levels before I could get to him. He's lucky I heard the noise behind me as I left the stairwell or he could have been down there for a while. Not that many-"

Siler supplies the comment, only to stop abruptly when he receives a murderous glance from the Colonel. The poor sergeant quickly turns his attention to Nurse Ryan, who is attending a cut on his left arm. Janet has to have seen the look the Colonel gave him, but she ignores it and comes back to the subject at hand.

"Why'd you wait so long to come in? Dave Thurgood was on duty last night. He could have seen you then and you could probably have avoided the trip down the stairs this morning."

"Ah, I didn't think it was that bad. I mean, I managed to get around okay after I fell. I actually hot-footed it aft-...over to where I was trying to go."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see his eyes flick over at me but I refuse to even look at him.

Wow, the privacy curtains in this infirmary are the most fascinating color of green. Maybe I need to redo the drapes in the living room with this color.

"Anyway, I went home, took some aspirin, put an ice bag on it and set the alarm. When I woke up, someone had come by with a baseball bat and jacked me up. But it was still bearable until I tried to use the stairs to get down here. Stumbled a bit and wham! I was down the flight in a heartbeat."

"Why didn't you at least use the elevator?"

"It was broken again. You know how they've been having trouble keeping them up and running while the do maintenance."

Janet removes the ice pack and tsks as she inspects the cut on his forehead and the damaged tissue around it. Her gloved hands are gentle, but I know it has to hurt as she probes the gaping edges of the wound.

"Well, you're pretty jacked up, alright. Colonel, I'm afraid you have just been scrubbed from this mission. If it was just the knee, you would probably have still been out but the head wound clinches it. You're going to need at least two butterfly strips, if not stitches. And I want to keep you under observation for a while to make sure you aren't concussed."

She ignores his protests, speaking a bit louder and matter-of-factly in her stern doctor-voice.

"As for the knee, I won't know for sure until we get some dye in and get a few films. But I'm fairly certain that you tore the meniscus and possibly damaged the ACL and the other ligaments in there."

"What? Ah, c'mon, Doc! Can't you just pull the fluid off and gimme a few Tylenol? According to all reports, my head is pretty hard and I'm just fine. I mean, I don't have time for this -- we're going to the Training site with the new crop of kids today...in about two hours, as a matter of fact."

"Colonel, I am very aware of the scheduled missions but I *think* it's safe to say that *you* won't be going anywhere today. Or for a while after today, either. Ah, ah-"

She holds up a hand to forestall his protests. The look on her face says she's not going to lose this one. After a moment, the tension drains from his body and he flops back onto the pillow.

"Alright, alright."

I look up in time to see the defeat in his eyes before they close in pain. I resist the urge to touch him, to try to comfort him, and shamelessly take my chance to flee.

"Sir? Should I go and inform General Hammond?"

There, that was good. It sounded just like the epitome of the efficient 2IC, didn't it? Not like an act of cowardice at all.

"Yeah, Carter. Go ahead. Tell him I'm out for the count and then let's see what we can do about the mission today."

I slip out the door, thankful to be away from him for now.

Not that I'm looking forward to telling the General that his team leader is injured and the very important mission he was scheduled to lead is in jeopardy.

My choices this morning are the frying pan or the fire, it seems. And I'll take either one right now, as long as Jack O'Neill isn't lying half naked in the one I choose.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"But, sir. Respectfully, I'm not certain that would be for the best."

When I land in the fire, I pick the hottest coals.

"Major. Are you saying that you don't feel qualified to lead this group out for the training sessions over the next three weeks?"

His eyes are narrowed and his head is tilted to one side. The look on his face is the one he gets when he knows he's being fed a load of crap, he just can't figure out why. It's usually reserved for a certain Colonel.

"No, sir. I'm not saying that. I just feel that the Colonel's greater field experience is a large contribution to-"

"I understand, Major. And I know that the Colonel is an important part of the equation. But Doctor Fraiser tells me that it will be at least a few days before the Colonel will be up and around. And that he may be on crutches, even then. She's called in an orthopedics appointment with the Academy Hospital. Colonel O'Neill will not be leading this mission but I see no reason to scrub it. Do you?"

"No, sir. I...suppose not, sir."

"I will delay the mission by a day, to allow you to consult with Dr. Jackson and Teal'c about the details of the training. I'm also going to call up Major Ferretti and Captain Griff of SG-4 to accompany you on the mission."

"Sir?"

"There are quite a number of recruits there, Sam. I have every confidence in your abilities to lead this mission and in SG-1, but being one member short makes completing the training a more difficult prospect. I had previously discussed this option with the Colonel. The mission is yours but Ferretti and Griff will be there to provide you with assistance with the logistics as well as the recruit evaluation."

Oh. Well, great.

Now, not only will I have Daniel and Teal'c to fend off, but I'll have to fool Louis into believing everything is okay, too.

"Yes, sir."

----------------------------

A little frisson of relief raced through me when I looked up over the Doc's shoulder and caught Sam trying to slip quietly out of the infirmary. I was so happy to see her alive and well, I wanted to grab her and hug her. I was so angry that she had avoided me all night, I wanted to grab her and shake her.

After she'd left me in the parking lot at the Diner, I'd limped back inside to check that Angie was okay. I handed out a few profuse and heartfelt apologies for the trouble and I tried to help clean up. Only I ended up seated on a stool, wiping at my shirtfront with a damp towel while Marty mopped the floor. I paid for our meals, leaving a *huge* tip and apologizing once more, trying to make sure that we would all be welcome the next time we came back.

A phone call to Sam's cel on my way down the mountain had gotten no response and driving over to her place had gotten me nothing, either. After sitting parked on the tree-lined street outside her place for another hour or so, waiting for her to show, I'd given up. By the time I'd made it home, my knee had long since begun to swell and was as tender as an infected tooth.

She should have answered the cel phone at least. That was the recall number everyone had listed for her. Of course, she'd gotten that new fancy cel phone that let her see caller ID, so she could easily see it was my phone number calling and not the base. But she should have at least clicked it on and back off to clear the line.

I was confused and we needed to talk about what was going on. But more, I was worried that she'd gone off and dumped the bike somewhere on a darkened road. I had no idea of which way she'd gone when she left the Diner, so looking would have been useless. Knowing there was nothing else I could do, I had returned home, set the alarm for three hours and fell into a fitful sleep filled with nightmare images of Sam Carter lying broken and bleeding in some ditch along a desolate road.

Waking this morning had been painful beyond even my previous experience with a bad knee. Even so, I had rolled over and grabbed the cel phone from my bedside table before I'd even scratched, gritting my teeth against the red- hot coal someone had shoved in under my kneecap while I dialed her number. I wasn't overly surprised at the lack of response from her home number, but when she still hadn't answered the cel, I felt the acid start to churn in my stomach once again.

She was probably just already in the mountain, her cel left in the briefcase in her office, turned off while she was prepping for the mission. Or she was still ignoring my calls. Or she was dead in a ditch or in a hospital or city morg-

Nope, I was *so* not going there.

Struggling through the bare bones of my morning routine, I hurried for once to get to the mountain. I was planning on avoiding the infirmary and Janet altogether while I looked for Sam.

Janet is always pissed when she has to come and do the last minute blood pulls in the ready room, but it would be easier to hide the knee behind a pack and just baby it along for the rest of the mission. I mean, it wasn't like this was a first-in mission, where me being less than 100% was going to cause a problem. I could make Danny and T do all the hard work to help Sam run things while I relaxed.

But when I'd asked Siler if he'd seen her (he always seems to know where Sam is...a fact that he and I *will* be discussing one day soon), he'd told me Sam was in the infirmary with Janet. Knowing the elevators in this section of the base were down for repairs, I'd started down the stairwell without thinking, intent on getting down in time to talk to her before we shipped out. I'd felt a wash of pain up my leg and next thing I'd known, I was flat on my back with Siler blocking the view of the ceiling above.

Which is how I ended up, flat on my back, wearing nothing but my Fruit of the Looms, a black polo, an ice pack on my hastily bandaged head and not much else. I'd groaned inside as Siler helped me through the doorway, knowing that Janet would figuratively rub her hands together over the thoughts of the torture she was going to inflict.

But all of that had fallen away when I'd seen Sam. It would have been better if she hadn't greeted me with just short of open hostility and a puckered frown...But any way I got to see her, to see she was okay, was a good thing.

She'd looked tired, though. And a little worn. I wonder where she was all night and if she'd gotten any sleep at all.

"You need something else for the pain, Colonel?"

Janet's voice interrupts my musings about Sam, making me jump and jar the knee again, sending a wash of pain up and into my hip and setting my head to pounding, again. Something for the pain? I should wish she had something that could help with my worst pain.

"No...uh...not right now. I'm doing okay right now. Was Sa-...uh, Carter okay this morning? Nothing wrong?"

"No, sir. Nothing's wrong that I know of. She was in for the pre-mission blood pulls. I mentioned to her that she looked a bit tired and she passed it off to a late night spent in front of the laptop."

She's gentle as she cleans the cut on my head, trying not to push on already bruising flesh or pull the ragged edges too hard. She gets the second butterfly bandage in place and frowns for a moment, as if considering of she needs another.

"She spends too many late nights like that."

"Not that you'd ever notice."

She is turning away as she says it, and she says it sotto voce, but (probably as she intends) I hear it anyway. I pause a moment, truly shocked that Janet said something so direct, even if her manner of doing it is less than direct. Following her lead for the moment, I go ahead and ask when she turns back, wielding another butterfly strip and aiming at my forehead.

"What the *heck* do you mean by that, Doc?"

There's no heat in my voice, despite the fact that my words are sure to inflame. My tone is low, however. I'd like to keep our private conversation private.

She presses the last strip in place, and then takes my hand to make me hold a 3x3 over them as she gets tape from the cart. Her expression, as she turns isn't exactly mad. Exactly. She's...intent. Her chocolate eyes are as keen as a pointer flushing prey - concentrated and intense. I've never really been comfortable when she looks at me like that.

"Colonel, is something going on between you two?"

One strip of tape goes on over the bandage, the sterile adhesive smell invading my nose and making me want to sneeze. I'm trying to figure out if Sam has ever said anything about us to Janet. Or, more accurately, if she's ever mentioned as much 'us' as there is to Janet.

Probably not, just because Sam's a terribly private person. And she wouldn't come in to work talking about such things anyway. Any hint of anything between the two of us would put Janet in a terrible position, as far as enforcement of the frat regs go. Even with the built-in automatic out of doctor/patient privilege, I don't think she could shirk the duty of telling Hammond if she thought we were making hot monkey love on a regular basis.

I think about lying to her. I figure I ought to at least *try* to lie. But when I open my mouth I suddenly find myself telling the truth.

"No. Yes. I don't know!!"

"You know, Colonel, that wasn't really intended as a multiple choice question."

A second strip of tape joins the first and she nudges my hand back down to my lap. I know I'm scowling at her. I know I've somewhat raised my voice to her and that she is gonna make me pay if I piss her off...Yet, I find myself talking again, pushing the limits.

"I don't know what's going on. I...we've been under a lot of pressure lately and yesterday was bad...We kind of had words..."

Janet gets up off the stool and leans forward across me, ostensibly to check the monitor leads protruding from my chest beneath my nifty new hospital-issue pajama shirt. She traces the wires to the honkin' huge combo monitor equipment they use down here and then punches a few buttons on the glowing touch screen. The smile on her mobile mouth is one I recognize from my own teenage years. It's a mixture of censure and reassurance that seems to come with being the parent of a teenager.

She finishes taping the edges of the bandage, pressing it down tidy before she gathers up the wrappers and wet sterile scrubs. Pushing everything into a bio-hazard bag, she turns back and strips the rubber gloves off as she speaks.

"You *always* manage to amaze me, Jack. Sam is one of the most even-tempered, easy-going people I've ever met. She gets a bit intense over her work sometimes, but she's always been an extremely open and giving person. For the last while, though, I've noticed how you and she seem to etch bits off of each other. You seem to be able to send her from mellow to enraged in less than a heartbeat."

"Enraged, huh? That's rich."

"You hadn't noticed?"

"Oh, yeah, I'd noticed. But, see, mad I can deal with, Doc. Mad is easy to fix. It's the not caring at all that's harder..."

"What?"

"Nothing. Nothing."

I've already said too much.

I close my eyes, shaking my head. I can still hear her moving around, fussing with the brace she's installed to immobilize my knee, adjusting the sheets so that less of my woven- cotton-covered-butt hangs out where my leg sticks out and rests up on the pillows piled under my knee. When she speaks again, her voice is softer.

"You know, Jack, Sam's really pretty easy. Both as a person and, I imagine, as a 2IC."

I crack an eyelid to find her fiddling with the drip line attached to the other end of my IV. She isn't looking at me, merely murmuring in a low voice. It's almost as if we've decided that if neither of us looks at the other we can deny we've ever had this conversation.

"I have a feeling that the very things you value about her as a second are what make her an easy person to know. She's a straight shooter, always telling you what she thinks. She doesn't play games and she wears her heart on her sleeve. You can always see how she feels, just by looking in her eyes. While she considers herself a strictly rational, logical person, there's a heart as big as all outdoors behind those brains. And one more thing: That heart is pretty easy to bruise but it's as resilient and as forgiving as any you could ever hope to find. Talk to her. Figure it out. If nothing else, your friendship alone is worth it."

She leaves the very last part unsaid: Not to mention any shot that you two might have at being together.

Janet reaches over to shift the chemical ice pack more fully back onto my knee inside the plastic cage surrounding it, cooling the inflamed tissues. A small pat on my shinbone and then the tap-tap-tap of her heels against the concrete floors marks her exit from the room.

Somehow, despite the gentleness of her rebuke, I feel like she just called me an idiot. And, I must say, I have to agree with her.

Mrs. O'Neill's little boy may have been born an idiot, but it doesn't mean I can't change.

I pull the sheet bottom out of the tight hospital corners, wrapping it around my middle and making sure I don't trip as I manage to stand. I take the IV pole and, thankful that it's on wheels, use it like a half-assed walker to help me get across the open infirmary room to the IC phone on the wall. I punch in a direct dial that only a few folks in the mountain get to have.

"General Hammond? Yes, sir, the good Doctor's taking excellent care of me. I need to speak to you again about the matter we discussed yesterday. Yes sir, it's become much higher priority since we last talked. Yes, sir. Down here is probably better, if you don't mind. I don't think Doc'll let me go up there."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm an idiot.

PhD not withstanding, and any awards I may have won aside, I am a certifiable idiot.

How could I have been *so stupid*?! I let myself get carried away and believed in something said during a reckless moment. And worse, I clung to the belief that what I'd felt between us was true and lasting. That he could still feel the same way after such a long time. And, like a petulant child, I'd become churlish and pouty when I discovered that the dream was only that.

The irony in here somewhere is that I let what was happening between us change the way I respond to him at work. I have been dangerously insubordinate and disrespectful and I should never have let that happen. I am living proof of the reasons for the fraternization regulations to exist at all.

Once upon a long time ago, I thought that we could manage to find a way to be together. At this point, I'm not sure we'll even remain friends when this is all over.

A muted explosion penetrates my concentration, making me look back down over the edge of the muddy ridge. I realize that the battle has gone from the careful chess game of flanking moves and spatter-shot test of firepower it had been a few minutes ago to a fully-pitched conflagration of both sides firing as much ordnance as possible at each other.

In the murky gloom that's passing for daylight today, INTAR staff blasts flash across the open field between the two sides. The rat-ta-tat- tat of INTARed P-90 and other automatic weapons fire answers those flashes, making the demarcation point between the two sides clear despite the liquid sunshine that has been plaguing us since the day we stepped through to the planet.

I'm supposed to be watching the firefight below me, evaluating the tactics involved and the way the men facing each other on the field of battle are handling themselves under the tutelage of Teal'c on one side and Ferretti on the other. We go home tomorrow and I'll be expected to make a recommendation on the top eight candidates plus two alternates, based on their performance here and in the other field tests we've given them over the last three weeks.

Right now, I really hope that Ferretti and Teal'c are paying attention, because I'm going to be useless when it comes to evaluating any of these guys on this battle. I've tried to keep my head on what we're doing, but every time I'm alone my thoughts turn to Jack and everything that has happened between and to us.

Adjusting my hat so that the rain doesn't run down into my collar again, I wipe at the mud clinging to my elbows. I hope that I'm not carrying a coating on my behind, too, but somehow I think I am.

The gritty scrape of a boot against stone on the path behind me alerts me to another's approach. I reach for my Zat, hoping that whoever it is will believe me distracted enough by the battle below that I can't hear their approach. I slide my hand down my right leg, knowing that the angle of my body will block the movement from sight.

"Ease back, Sam."

Thankfully, the voice is one I know. The tension drains from my shoulders and I slide the alien version of a pistol back into the thigh holster, slipping my fingers off the firing stud as it snicks home.

"Are you *trying* to get Zatted, Daniel?"

Daniel's face comes into view as I turn away from the scene below me. His blue eyes are full of mischief and the smile on his face is cheery and way too innocent, even for Daniel. I watch, distracted, as the smoke from our condensed breath mingles and is carried away by a playful puff of wind. He tips the ITAR staff weapon he's holding my way, indicating it with a jerk of his head.

"I think I would have had you outgunned, Sam."

With a small grunt, I come up from my kneeling position, ignoring the sucking squelch my movements make as I rise to face his smile. Pulling the brim of my cap closer to block out the raindrops aiming for my face, I look him in the eye and return a grin of my own.

"But I would have actually *hit* you, Daniel."

A particularly loud explosion below pulls our eyes back to the battle, reminding at least me of what I was doing up here in the first place. A pang of guilt washes over me, as I realize how remiss I've been in my duties today...this whole mission, actually.

"It's been a hard one, huh?"

I don't think he can see me flinch. But it worries me that he has learned to read me so well. I glance at his face, looking for the reasons behind that statement.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, this has been a miserable trip. We've had more go wrong on this trip than any of the previous three training missions. Plus, we're here without Jack so you've had to do twice as much, even with the extra help from Ferretti and Griff. And you're still dealing with those ridiculous charges made against you..."

He isn't looking at me. Rather, his eyes are concentrated on the scene below us. But I know what he's doing. He's letting me decide if I want to talk about any of the things he just named. In typical Daniel fashion, he's letting me determine if I'm ready to talk and offering an ear and a shoulder if I choose to take him up on it.

Just like he'd seemingly offered to listen so many times during the period when he was ascended.

"And you miss him even though you two are having some sort of trouble."

I sigh, my eyes staying on the battle below. Things seem to have turned to Teal'c's team's favor, Ferretti and his side losing ground as the opposing team pressed their advantage with INTAR weapons.

"Do you remember any of when you were ascended?"

He doesn't answer immediately. Daniel always considers when someone asks him any sort of question. I honestly think he uses the time to 'switch gears'.

"Actually, no. Not really."

"Nothing?"

"Well, Jack and Teal'c tell me that I was 'around' when they needed me a couple of times. And I have a few vague memories of being in the SGC from that time. But nothing much else from before I suddenly showed up in the flesh again."

"So you never visited me?"

"Visited you? Ah, I can't really say. I don't really know. Why?"

"Nothing. I just...Forget it."

The silence between us is perfect and unbroken, nothing passing between but the raindrops and a few stray breezes that slide across the hilltop. I want to talk to someone...Someone I can trust to be honest. The battle against talking to him is fierce, but three weeks of silence have not produced the keys to solving my problem...

"I...We've been...arguing."

"Over what? The frat charges?"

"The frat charges...I guess you could say its related to the charges. It all kind of started that way..."

"Look, Sam. I kind of...well, I *know* some of what's going on. And I don't, we don't see anything wrong with...I mean, Teal'c and I aren't *blind*. We've seen the way that you...and Jack..."

I feel my heart race at the thought that we've somehow unknowingly compromised ourselves. There was one kiss in the dark of my kitchen and hallway, one extended moment of weakness when he and I almost fell. Surely he hasn't told Daniel about that?

"I...the charges are false, Daniel. The Colonel and I have worked very hard to develop and maintain a cordial working relationship."

"But?"

"But I...we...It could be more. I think. And I used to think he thought so, too. I recently found out- I was told some things that make me question what's between us."

"And did you ask him about them? What did he say?"

"I found out that what I heard was true. And I reacted like a child, tossing accusations at him that were no better than the ones that the email idiot made against the two of us. I used the heat of my temper, not the brains that I've been given..."

"It's okay, Sam. This isn't the first time you and he have disagreed."

"It was different this time. More personal than professional. I've probably lost one of the best friends I've ever had..."

"No, Sam. I don't think so. I would bet almost anything on it. And I'm going to give you a little unsolicited advice."

He reaches over and clasps my hand in his. When he looks up, his eyes are concerned but a small smile plays over his mouth.

"Sam, you two are better together than most people ever get a chance to experience in a lifetime. I think there could be something great between you if you'd let it be. But you need to be honest with him and with yourself. He knows how you really feel, but what he doesn't know is what you want and what you're willing to trade for it. You need to help him with those."

"What I want? That seems to be so simple, and yet so..."

"Complicated. Yeah, I know."

I turn my back on him because the wind suddenly blows smoke from the battle into my face, not because I can't say this while looking into those wide, earnest blue eyes.

Yeah, sure, you betcha.

"Maybe I should never have talked myself into believing we could ever be together. Even just the idea is dangerous. It goes against everything we respect about our work and about how we define ourselves. But I guess maybe we were hoping that we'd somehow be immune to the consequences. That we'll somehow beat the odds and get away with bending the rules because we're always so careful not to go too far."

"But?"

"But..."

I stop, amazed for a moment that I am actually going to say this aloud. To another human being, not just an empty room. Of course, when I can't see him like this, it feels almost like when Daniel was ascended and my only interaction with him was when he was the 'Daniel-On-My-Shoulder'. There are days when I miss having that Daniel around...

"But I want...'us' *so* much. After all of this time, I've decided that the price is worth it. I've finally figured out that having what I know we would be together is worth trading my military career."

I hear his breath hiss in over perfect white teeth. Behind my back, I'm sure his eyes are goggled out, his face a mask of disbelief.

"You, you...You'd quit?"

"Not necessarily quit the SGC. Okay, well maybe quit the SGC. At the very least I'd resign my commission, quit the Air Force. My career has always been important as a way of life. I've enjoyed the challenges of life in the service. I've benefited from a top-notch education and opportunities I thought I would never have."

"But somewhere along the way, I forgot the important things outside of my career. I've defined myself by the title I hold - Doctor, Major, 2IC. All of those hold great meaning for me. They are a source of great pride for me. And yet, they're all becoming more and more meaningless as time goes on and I realize how close he and I have come to losing each other."

"Sam, I'd hate to see you leave your career. You love the job we do."

"Yes, I do. But we've been adding foreign military and civilian specialists to the teams left and right for the past two years. I see no reason why I can't still be part of a team. Maybe not SG-1, but while I'd hate to lose you and Teal'c-"

I turn to look into his face, to let him see the sincerity in my eyes. He holds up a hand, motioning for silence and nodding his head in understanding as he speaks.

"You'd rather lose us as teammates than lose Jack."

"When you say it aloud it sounds so...silly and...weak."

"No, no! That isn't what I mean. I think it's great! Not that I want to see you leave the team. Or even the Air Force. But I've known about how...Well, I'd have to be blind and stupid not to see how Jack feels about..."

He stumbles off into silence, looking very uncomfortable and even more chagrinned than I've ever seen him before.

"So, how transparent are we?"

"Not very. Not at all. It's just that Teal'c and I are so close to it all of the time... I mean, anyone who didn't spend as much time with you and know you as well as we do would probably never notice."

"Really?"

"Well, no, not really. But..."

He trails off into a miserable silence, pulling off his glasses and nervously polishing a mud- spattered lens on a hastily produced bandana. He couldn't be any more uncomfortable if I suddenly professed my undying love for him. I watch the top of his head bob up and down as he inspects the now-spotless lens, blowing on it in order to fog it and polish at it again.

I have to laugh. I can't help it. He looks so terribly adorable in that strange Daniel way, I just can't help myself. His head snaps up and a tentative smile appears on his puzzled face.

"Look, Sam. I just want you and Jack to be happy. You're my family, both of you. And I really think that the two of you together is a great idea. And it isn't weak, or silly, or anything except wonderful. So tell him you're ready, what you want to do, and I think he might just surprise you."

With that, I find myself watching Daniel pick his way down the muddy hillside, flabbergasted that he feels this way, and amazed that he's been so long aware of how we feel. Maybe I'm hoping or reading too much into his words, but I sort of feel like we have his blessing, should this whole thing actually ever work out between us.

And, of course, I've had Teal'c's blessing for a while.

It had been a strange chain of events that had led to my stoic Jaffa helping to clear my vision of where my future should lead.

The anniversary of my Mother's death was looming and I found myself feeling a bit blue. Teal'c, bless his observant soul, had seen it and had insisted that it was time the team spent an evening together watching movies.

Jack and Daniel had left early - they were accompanying SG-12 to P3R-932 early the next day. But I wasn't tired so Teal'c and I had popped in one last movie. Somewhere in the middle of Khan prancing on the bridge of the hi-jacked Enterprise, Teal'c had asked me what was wrong.

Maybe I was just tired or maybe I just needed to talk, but I ended up spilling out the entire story of my Mother's death, up to and including the longer-term damage it had done to my relationship with my Father.

It came as a shock, believe me, when, after a few moments of silent contemplation, Teal'c looked up and pronounced in that wise tone of voice that I was very much my Father's daughter.

"You blame your Father for your Mother's death because his dedication to the honor of his work kept him from fulfilling his responsibilities to her when he should have. Yet, you use your own dedication to your work to keep a distance between yourself and another who would care for you. You have not, I fear, learned from your Father's mistakes."

He said it without malice or venom, just a brutally accurate observation delivered without pulling the punch in at all. He said nothing else after that, instead excusing himself to drive back to the base so he could Kel'noreem. I was pole-axed, completely speechless, but as the destruction of the Enterprise took place on the screen in front of me, my mind was racing, tumbling over what Teal'c had said.

He was right.

I was sacrificing something I wanted, *someone* I wanted very much, for a career. Yes, I loved my work and I loved being part of SG-1, but was that so much when you weighed it against happiness and the chance for love and a life?

We had promised ourselves not to break the rules. To leave what was between us alone until we were free to live without the rules at all. And I'd finally come to the place where I could make the rules go away,

Unfortunately, now there seemed to be very little reason to bother.

As I stand here on this hill, considering the turns our relationship has taken in the last few years, I have to admit that somewhere someone was having a good laugh on us. Wouldn't you know that just about the time I'd made the choice to free us from the rules, to create an opportunity for us, Jack'd changed his mind and decided that this isn't what he wants?

If it weren't for poor timing, we'd have none.

I've finally had to decide what he means to me, what I'm willing to trade for the chance for us to be together...and suddenly nothing I have to barter is good enough. And just arriving to this decision to give us a chance has cost me too much already: possibly my good name in they eyes of a few people whom I respect, my possible chosen career path, my peace of mind...

We go home tomorrow. And not a moment too soon, for me. Three weeks have never lasted so long. I've been distracted, miserable, and if my performance evaluations rode on my leadership and usefulness on this assignment, I'd be packing my desk as soon as we touched Earth again.

Tomorrow, after we get back, I'll find him and tell Jack what I want. Even if it'll only lead to him telling me that he wants something else, now. Assuming he'll talk to me at all.

In this three weeks, Jack hasn't been there once for our daily check-in calls. No showing up while we're talking about the training plans. No tapping into the MALP for a conversation about the weather or the trees.

Nothing.

Zip.

Not once.

Daniel asked about him a few times when we had first arrived and the General or TSGT Davis had said that he was doing fine. Then a week ago, when Janet had come through to ensure Markus and Campbell were stable and could be safely transported home after an incident on this ridge, I pulled her to one side and asked about how the Colonel was faring with his injuries.

She'd avoided part of the question, saying she couldn't break doctor/patient confidentiality. But then she'd relented and told me he'd torn his knee up pretty badly but he was being taken care of by one of the top surgeons in the field. And he had, in fact, been away from the SGC since about two days after we left Earth.

Oh.

So, that explained his absence. Didn't it? And here I thought he was avoiding me. Which just proves how far gone beyond good sense I am. My behavior, my obsessing over what's going to happen...

This has to stop. As soon as I get back.

----------------------------

Home. Finally.

And I've never been happier to be here.

Slowing at the driveway, walking in circles to avoid the cramps after the longer than usual run, I wonder again at what I was thinking. Running home from the base was an ambitious feat on a warm, sunny afternoon. On a drizzly, cool evening it was sheer madness.

The front steps feel better than they should as I plop down and shuck off my knapsack. I finally locate the keys and grab the towel I left at the top of the pack as I throw the tumblers and swing open the door.

Untying my sneakers laces, I feel the muscles pull and vertebrae pop as my back complains about the three long hours I spent this afternoon, hunched over a preliminary report and the electee evaluations package. But I'd wanted to get at least one thing right on this mission and a prompt report was my goal.

I pause in the open doorway to strip away my dripping shoes. Doing a little hop-skip dance, I stumble through the foyer, closing the door behind me while pulling at my damp socks. I bite back a curse as I slip and fall into the wall, soundly thwacking my head on the way down.

Great. Just great. I travel millions of miles across the universe, seek out new life and new civilizations, boldly go where no one has gone before -- only to end up concussing myself in my own front hallway. I'll bet Kirk and Spock never had problems like this when they went home.

And I need to stop watching Star Trek with Teal'c -- it's seeping into my real life way too much.

Rubbing my aching head with a hand, I pause in my struggles for a moment, hearing the sounds of someone else in my house. Most people who haven't lived alone for a long time don't believe you can hear the sound of someone else even just breathing in your home. As someone who has mostly lived alone for the last fifteen or so years, I can tell you that you can. There is a quiet to an empty house that just feels *wrong* when it's been disturbed in any way.

I step down the hallway, trying to be quiet myself while I listen again for the intruder. There. A soft rustle, accompanied by an equally soft sigh of breath. Coming from the den.

Realizing that I have no real weapons at hand, I creep back into the foyer and grab an old boot from the front closet. Crouching low to throw off anyone expecting me to walk through the door, I ignore the small squeaks made by my remaining wet sock against the wood floor and do a modified Marine crawl back into the living room, stopping next to the end of the sofa. I hold my breath, and slowly look up over the sofa arm...

And struggle to suck air into my chest as an unseen hand pulls a band tight across it. I feel the boot drop from my hand and hear the soft plop as it hits the carpet.

It's him.

The Colonel.

Jack.

Lying on his back on my sofa, sock-clad feet propped on the arm closest to me, long jean clad legs extending in a landscape for forever up to where the loose black sweater chases up to his chin, resting forward against his chest. The sweep of golden brown lashes across his cheek, the deep even breathing, as well as his completely lax position on my furniture, tells me he is asleep. And that he hasn't noticed my less-than-quiet entrance. Unusual for a man who is generally a very light sleeper. When we're off-planet, a mere twig snap-

God he looks good.

The thought sneaks up on me, ambushing my brain even though I'm working to keep my interest professional. His hair is a bit longer than the spikes he usually wears, but it looks good as the salt and pepper fall with the added weight, settling into unkempt, soft-looking waves. My fingers itch with the urge to reach over and run through his graying temples.

I sit down on the edge of the sofa, trying not to disturb his boneless sprawl, settling in the empty place beside his narrow hips. As I get a closer look at his face, I realize that something's wrong.

In sleep, his features generally lose some of the weight of the life he lives. They somehow become softer. But there's something different now. Something's riding him. Lines around his eyes and mouth tell the story of cares that have been taking away too much sleep and causing too much worry. He looks exhausted. His jaw is shadowed with at least a day's worth of beard stubble and his eyes are shadowed. While he's sprawled across the couch in a typical boneless manner, there is a painful stiffness in him that isn't usually there.

What's he doing here? And what's wrong with him? Well, I'm not going to get answers as long as he's asleep and I'm talking to myself.

My hands are suddenly trembling as I touch his shoulder and softly call his name. I'm trying to bring him back to consciousness in a controlled, gentle way. It wouldn't do for him to wake in "full offense" mode. Daniel'd made the mistake of waking him abruptly when we were on our second assignment together as a team. Watching him come up from dead-asleep to having Daniel in a headlock on the ground in one fluid movement had been a graphic reminder of Jack's past in Special Operations.

Here on my couch, his Coca-Cola eyes open suddenly, sleepy and seemingly unsurprised to see me. A long arm snakes out, taking hold of my shoulder and pulling me down on top of him, wrapping me inside his warm embrace.

The hug is fierce, making my eyes water as he threatens to crack ribs that I might want to keep undamaged. I feel like a child's doll, flapping my arms ineffectively as he holds me captive, his breath rasping in my ear, his stubbled cheek slipped alongside mine, his hands, solid and warm, pressing me against the hard plane of his only slightly upright body.

"Sam."

My name is a rough sigh that comes out just as his mouth touches my neck, sending sparks shooting through my nervous system and stars dancing in front of my eyes. Or maybe that's lack of oxygen from where he's holding me too damned tight. My brain shuts down as my body goes into oxygen debt and I'm physically unable to stop this.

At least that's what I'm claiming at the court martial.

His grip loosens just a bit as his hands rub across my back, down my sides, and the static in my ears clears enough for me to hear him murmuring nonsense incoherently against my neck. Suddenly I realize my own hands have been busy as I feel the nubby fabric of his sweater, the smooth skin at the base of his throat, the springy hair at his temples under my own fingers.

Any intentions to stop this get bum-rushed, double-time, down the road to Hell along with any other honorable intentions I might have once had.

And I'm loving every minute of it.

He finally lets go, tugging back a bit on my shoulders as his head falls back on the sofa pillow. His eyes are luminous in the low light, his expression open and vulnerable.

"Sir?"

My voice is unsteady and I refuse to think of why. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and his restless hands are touching my cheek, my neck, my shoulder. His voice, when it comes, is rough and low.

"Jack. The Colonel...Well, he couldn't make it tonight. So it's just you and me, Sam."

If any sane human being heard this conversation we'd both be sitting in a psych ward, trying to watch the TV while the Thorazine cocktail they poured down our throats made the Road Runner and Wiley Coyote look even more fuzzy than usual.

But for us this is normal.

For now, at least, we're Jack and Sam.

Okay.

His voice interrupts my thoughts.

"Mmmmm...Where've you been? You got back hours ago. I checked."

"I was working on the trip report. Wanted to get the General the prelim ASAP. When I got ready to come home, I was still tense, so I decided to run. I didn't know I had 'company' coming over to see me."

His face pulls into a small frown and I can see him calculating the distance from my place to the base. He looks like he wants to say something, but then he backs away from it with a sigh.

My face is on fire and my backside is freezing and I suddenly have to be away from him and his suddenly open, accessible emotions. I gently disengage his hands, squeezing them for a moment before I drop them back to the couch.

I take two steps away from the sofa and end up at the fireplace. Turning my back to the room, I strip the sopping wet sweatshirt away from the damp T-shirt below it. I turn but still avoid looking at him as I pull off the remaining sock and toss the soggy bundle of both back down the hallway.

Feeling slightly less drowned, I pad barefoot over to the chair nearest the sofa. My equilibrium has swung closer to normal, but I still don't trust myself too close to him.

I realize as I hear the little grunt he makes that he's struggling to sit up. I sit forward in the chair, making an effort to help him but pulling back as I see he's doing okay by himself. He slips up, sitting back against the arm, leaving his legs sprawled across the length.

He doesn't speak, so I take the initiative.

"Why're you here? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. It's just-"

His voice is tired, with a ragged edge that sounds...odd.

"I...we need to talk."

He wants to talk.

Okay, I can do this.

I just need to remember that the goal is to manage to remain friends. If nothing else, we can at least be friends.

"Right now?"

"It's important. I wouldn't be here otherwise."

I pause, considering.

I want to talk. Really. And while I try to decide if I can handle this right now, he thinks I'm making a different decision.

"Uh, look...I didn't mean to ambush you. I know what it's like to get home and just wanna get things straight. I...I can come back later."

He makes a start to feeling around on the floor - probably for his missing shoes.

"No, no! That's not...Have you eaten?"

"Eaten?"

"Yeah, you know...dinner. I need a shower in the worst way, but it's late and I haven't eaten. Maybe while I'm cleaning up you can-"

"Sure. I mean, yeah, I can order food while you get changed. Ahhh..."

"Menus are on the pegboard in the kitchen. I'm not in the mood for anything in particular. As long as I don't have to drop a catalyst pill into an MRE bag, it will do."

I'm already walking back through the foyer, grabbing the dripping clothes from the floor. I turn and head back up the hall to my bedroom, ignoring the memory of the dream that has him right behind me, holding my hand, making this journey with me.

I hope the few minutes I spend away from him are going to be enough to get my racing hormones and whirling thoughts back under control.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wait until she's closed the bedroom door behind her before I drop my left leg from the sofa and use my hands to help shift my right one. Under the jeans, my right leg is encased in one of the ugliest leg braces ever made by man. Once in a more-or-less upright position, I grab the cane I'd stashed under the edge of the sofa and lever myself up.

I was hoping we could get to talk before she saw the leg. She's probably gonna be a bit shocked at the whole knee thing and the resulting consequences. And then there's the fact that she's probably a bit pissed cause I haven't talked to her in three weeks.

I thought I was prepared to see her. That's why I bothered to use the key and wait for her here at home. I thought I could keep my emotions in check and get some sort of perspective on all of this. But that was before I woke up and found her hovering over me, clad only in a pair of shorts and a ridiculously large sweatshirt, her smell enveloping me, her eyes unguarded and soft, her mouth wet and, my fevered imagination added, warm...

Oh Lord...

Looking good enough to make me forget everything I have to say. And making me want to make her forget everything except the two of us, right here and right now...

But now I gotta get it together and talk to her. Tell her what I've been working to make happen. I can't do that when all I can think of is the way she felt in my arms...

Oh, who'm I kidding?

This is gonna be hard even if she wears a habit and stands behind bulletproof glass. That's why I've avoided it for so long. But I can't put it off anymore. I need to straighten some things out and tell her a few new things, too.

God, I hope that old saying about no good deed going unpunished is a lie. 'Cause I've been a very good boy and I hope that what I've got coming is a reward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I come back into the den, I've gotten a better grip on my emotions. I'm ready to talk. To discuss the issues between us like adults.

He's in my kitchen, a hip propped up against the counter while the kettle heats away on the stove. The makings for a pot of tea are on the counter beside him.

"Hope Thai is okay. Felt the urge for Ginger Perfect Chicken and a batch of Drunken Noodles. Pho's cooking tonight and you know he makes the best."

"Fine. That's great."

"I also got spring rolls and the steamed dumplings, and I'm making some green tea. "

I nod, grabbing plates and chopsticks from the cabinets. As I turn back for napkins I feel hopeful.

Jack and Sam need to talk. He intentionally left the Colonel and the Major out of it. Maybe this won't be such a bad talk after all.

I turn back to face him and only then do I realize that he's limping across the floor to the table, using a cane. I stop to goggle and look up into eyes that are bright with equal parts pain and chagrin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She catches me limping across her kitchen to the little breakfast nook where she's set up for us to eat. I start as I hear her intake of breath and only just manage to not spill the whole pot of tea before I get it safely set down on the table.

I let her approach, leaning heavily on the cane as I do so. She pulls out the chair to my left, indicating I should sit, and I'm really too tired to fight about it.

"Wait, I can explain. No, let me sum up. It is too much."

I'm looking for a smile from a reference to one of Daniel and Teal'c's favorite movies. She humors me with a slight grin and then lowers the boom.

"You got some 'splainin' to do, all right."

I shift, reaching down to the knee of my right pants leg and pulling. As it slides up, the hideous-looking brace is revealed: carbon- fiber spars, with half-moon brace members held in place by crisscrossed black Velcro straps, securing it to my leg from the ankle she can see up to beyond where the pants leg won't lift up anymore.

"I...I guess you can see that my little accident at the Diner has had some longer-term ramifications. I mean, other than Angie charging me for her dry cleaning."

"She charged you for-"

"Nah, just joking. I did make a mess of things though. Got apple dumpling sauce all over me, her, the floor..."

"Wow. I had no idea..."

I let that one go. Even though a part of me wants to tell her that if she'd stayed and talked to me she would have noticed. But I want to talk about the future, not to argue the past with her.

"The brace is post-operative and it goes all the way up to my hip. It is supposed to be 'designed to immobilize the entire leg, providing the best opportunity for stressed tendons to heal' according to Janet. It is really just ugly as hell. Honestly, the whole injury looks worse than it should just cause the brace is such an ugly beast. I asked for the designer blue but they insisted that this 'birth control version' was all they had. Just like Uncle Sweet - no consideration for style."

Okay, so she didn't laugh.

"Don't look so *serious*, Sam. I *am* better. I'm actually recovering from round one of the arthroscopic surgery. Dr. Mandrel fixed the torn meniscus on this one and we're hoping to take care of some the rest of the ligament damage on the next one."

Her brow puckers at that, but she just settles back in the chair across from me, makes a show of getting comfortable, and then nods.

I take a minute, rubbing my hands over my face while I gather my thoughts. I lean forward, ignoring the brace creaking as I shift, and grab up my chopsticks. I'm gonna need something to help dissipate some nervous energy.

"Look, I really just need to tell you some things. I've been thinking and working on making some things happen that are going to be very important for both of us. If nothing else, it will give *us* a chance to decide."

"Decide?"

"Whether we're gonna stay...friends. Or maybe try something different."

"Different can be good."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He looks pleased with himself. But I still can't figure out exactly what he's talking about. The niggling worry that has hidden in the back of my brain for three weeks rears its ugly head. I know he said he's done all of this work but...

"Jack, I have to ask you something."

I'm too much of a coward to look at him when I ask this, so I carefully work at refolding the napkins and placing the chopsticks and spoons in a precise little group on one side of the plate.

"Sure."

"What's going on...I...I mean where do you and Sara really stand?"

He stops for a moment, consternation flashing across his face, making me think he isn't going to answer. A pass of his hands across his chin and up through his hair and he's ready to speak.

"Okay. I think we got some wires crossed about Sara. I guess we need to get those straight before we get on to the other parts of the evening."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sara?

The gerbil in my head has gone MIA. NID tried to use Sara to get to me, to destroy the fledgling thing between Sam and I. Trying to use Sara to make it look like...

Ah.

"Look, about that night at the Diner..."

She won't look at me and right now. I let it be, not pushing the issue.

"Jack, I'm sorry. I had no reason to speak to you like that. I had no reason to storm out on you. But I was under..."

"You think I've gone back to Sara."

She lifts her gaze for a moment, letting me catch a glimpse of fear and embarrassment before dropping those blue eyes back to her empty plate again.

"I...Yes, I do."

"You're wrong."

"But the General said...He had pictures of you two...I'm...I'm confused."

"The General told you I've been seeing her again. Not a lie, but not exactly the truth either. Sam, I...for the first time in a very long time, I'm planning a future."

I turn my hand to reach out and grip hers, using the other to capture her chin between my thumb and index finger and gently turn her head so I can look her in the eye.

"But to go ahead with my future, I realize I have to settle my past. Not forget it. Not bury and ignore it. I have to come to terms with what happened in my life and find some peace with it or it'll poison my shot at a future."

Shock. Yeah, I'd say her expression pretty much matches the classical definition of shock. I need to get her past the shock of hearing those words from me in order to make sure she hears the rest.

"Hey, I've dealt with quite a few injuries over the past couple of years. Watching that much Oprah and Dr. Phil while laid up on the couch eventually wears even *me* down."

That gets the laughter I was hoping for and breaks the shell-shock. She shakes her head after a moment and I continue.

"I...I can't change what happened with Charlie. My boy is gone and there will never be another who can replace him. I still love him. I'll always love him. And I'll always regret his death. But it was an accident. And I have to learn to forgive myself. There will always be an ache there but it doesn't hurt quite so much any more."

I glance up and look away quickly when I realize those blue eyes are full of pain and more than a bit watery. I need her to hear this, all of this, so I look away and keep talking.

"Besides what happened to Charlie, Sara is my biggest personal regret. We were friends for quite a while before we started dating and eventually got married. In lots of ways, that made the way things turned out between us twice as bad. We'd been on rocky ground for a while. I thought working black ops meant I couldn't be *me* at home any more. I didn't want to lie to her about what I did, so I just stopped talking. I became someone I wouldn't want to know, much less have married to my wife. When Charlie died, I treated her badly...both as a wife and as my best friend."

"I called Sara about ten months ago. I wanted to talk. I didn't think we could ever be friends again, but maybe we could work through some of the anger, the hurt. First it was coffee, then a lunch, then dinner. Before I knew it, we were getting together for dinner once a week, every week when I was around. We had kind of a set schedule. Once the weather got nicer, we started spending time outside, visiting places that we used to go before Charlie was born and when he was alive."

"The more time we spent together, the more it felt like old times again. We found our friendship again and somewhere in all of that we were honest about what happened between us. We've come to the conclusion that we both made a lot of mistakes. We both worked to cause the other pain when pain seemed to be all we could feel."

"As long as you can feel pain, you're still alive. Pain is better than nothingness."

Her whisper breaks my rambling thoughts and I feel my heart clench at the certainty that she understands that phrase. She looks away this time, hiding the truth of that knowledge away from my prying eyes.

"Sara and I've worked through a lot. I no longer walk around with this sucking chest wound with her name embroidered on it. Those pictures of us...They were taken during those outings. The ones in the mountains were taken just a few months back. We were in a section of the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo - the Will Rogers Shrine of the Sun. Ever been?"

"Umm, no."

"You should see it. Beautiful place really. It was one of Charlie's favorites. Anyway, we were out there, talking like we have been all this time. And she told me Hal had popped the question."

"Hal?"

"Her, uh...Hal Banks. She's been dating this guy for about a year. He's a loan officer at the AmericaWest bank in town. He's a bit of a cliche: Banker by day, drummer in a pretty fair pop/acoustic band by night. Never served - but he did register for the draft. Owns his own home, drives a paid-for classic Beamer, has a black lab named Zack, a clean criminal background...He generally votes Democrat...He was married once when he was 24, but it ended when he caught her cheating on him...Basically, no skeletons I could shake loose..."

Her eyes have grown large as I speak.

"You ran a background on this guy?"

"Well, technically, a friend dug up most of it, but...Hey! I couldn't let her get mixed up with some scumbag!"

"No, I don't guess you could."

Her voice is contemplative as she says it, something new, some emotion I can't grok, in her eyes.

"Anyway, she told me he'd asked her to marry him and she was gonna say yes. She, uh, she said that she felt like she was more 'whole' now, like she'd gotten a part of herself back together and could get on with her life now. I was so happy for her, I just...I mean...well, you saw the pictures."

"Yes, yes I did."

Suddenly the distance of the table is too much space. I don't want that much room between us for what I'm gonna say next.

"C'mere."

----------------------------

I stand up with the help of the table and the cane and take her hand to pull her out of the kitchen, into the den. I ease back onto the couch and pull her down next to me, angling myself so I can look at her where she's settled back into the cushions. To keep from touching her, I wrap my hands around the end of the cane.

"I think you misunderstood me that night at the Diner. Just to be sure we get this straight, I'm gonna say it again right now."

"When I look at you, I see my future. A future I very much want, Samantha Carter. I want to spend the rest of whatever life I have left with you right beside me. I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I see before I go to sleep. I want to hold you when you laugh and wipe your tears when you cry. I want to be your safe haven, the one place in the world where you know you're allowed to just be who you really are."

"I want to argue with you and make up afterwards with mind-blowing sex. I want to be there to let you vent when you need to. I want to show you the wonders of a cabin in the woods and teach you the real Zen of fishing. I want to learn what the universe looks like through your eyes. I want to grow old with you."

"I want to live where you live and go where you go. I want to spend lazy mornings with you and live crazy-busy days with you. I want to raise children or puppies or ficus plants or nanobots or whatever we decide on, as long as it's with you. I want to share every possible thing about me with you and know you'll still love me, even when the me you're seeing isn't the prettiest in the world. I want all of that and more. And I want it now. I don't want to wait for a year from now. It doesn't have to all happen at one time. But I'm tired of waiting."

Her eyes, her incredibly beautiful eyes, have been filling up with water again as I've spoken. Why does this make her sad? I said everything the right way. Almost just like I'd planned it. I hadn't forgotten anything-

"Oh, and one more thing. I love you, Sam. I love you."

Well, at least she didn't laugh.

I know I'm not a poet, but honesty has always worked best for me in matters of the heart. Suddenly she's holding my hand, her fingers tightening around mine and a watery smile crossing her lips as she stares back at me.

"Sounds like you have the future for us all worked out."

"Hey, it isn't *exactly* the way I'd planned to say all of this to you for the very first time. But the hallmark of a good plan is flexibility, adjusting to your changing obstacles in order to attain your goals."

She smiles even wider and then looks away for a moment. When she looks back, there is a sadness and a vulnerability in her expression that startles me.

"What? What's wrong, Sam?"

"I need to tell you...A couple of months ago I...well, I decided that I was tired of waiting. I was tired of wanting and never seeming to make any headway on that front. So I...Wait, let me show you..."

She gets up and goes through to what I know is the office. It doesn't take long but by the time she returns I have already started fiddling with the cane, moving the knick-knacks on the coffee table around. I look up as she shoves a thin sheaf of papers under my nose. Wordlessly, she motions me to go ahead and read them.

I open the pack and read it through. Inside is the resignation of her commission, all signed with everything on it except for the date. In addition, there are no less than seven different job offers from everyone from MIT to NASA to the University of Colorado.

"What is this?"

My voice sounds funny in my own ears.

"It was *my* plan. Or Plan B, I guess. I was going to resign my commission and go private. There are some nice offers there, working on everything from a new long-distance space vehicle to take man to Mars, to a design/programming job working for the next generation of command and control tools. And all of them have no problems with a remote assignment."

"You were gonna quit?"

"Yes, I was."

"But you love this job."

"It took me a while and a 300-pound birdie, but I finally figured out that I love *you* more."

I feel my heart grow three sizes and the warmth that washes over me when she says it is better than the best shot of scotch I've ever had.

"Oh, Sam. I want start things right between us. I want to do this right. We deserve to have all of the things other people have together. We've wasted too much time already."

"Well, then I guess maybe we need to decide what we're going to do and get to the together part very soon, huh?"

Her voice is low and somehow reaches into my chest to rub across my heart, startling it into a gallop. She pulls her hands free and slides forward, coming up onto her knees until we're sitting close, closer than I've been to her in a *very* long time.

Her smile is just a bit unsure, her hands just a bit hesitant as she reaches up and pulls me into a kiss that blows away any good intentions I may have had hiding in my head.

*Good Lord*, she's gonna be the death of me.

But what a way to die.

The alarms in my head are going off, flashing red and emitting a klaxon wail that cuts through the static in my ears. I can feel her all around me. The warm mouth distracts me from thought. The soft hands dancing on neck, then ribs, then to my cheek and ear torment me with promises of other touches. The feel of her knees brushing the outside of my hips and thighs as she plasters herself to my front, make me think I know exactly what heaven will feel like if I ever arrive. The small noises she makes in her throat drive me to touch her in a different way just to hear the tuning fork of her reaction change.

Stop. We need to stop this...

I capture her wandering hands with my own, and concentrate on pulling myself up from the nosedive of a kiss in time to keep from crashing at the perigee.

The wet noise our mouths make as we separate is almost my undoing, but I forge ahead, remembering why we can't do this and why it's so important. Still, my voice is little more than a groan as I shake her hands a bit in mine to grab her wandering attention from where she's nuzzling at my neck.

"Sam, no. We can't do this. Oh, God. Not yet. It'll have to wait until we decide what to do and Hammond signs the papers. We've waited too long to muck it up by cheating, even if it is only a technical foul."

Her groan mirrors mine, making it harder for me to continue to resist. I'm almost reduced to using the kind of mind control techniques that I'd been taught long ago. Things I hadn't had to employ since that time with Ba'al.

I slide back a bit, pulling myself closer to upright and pushing her back just a bit, gently, to get some space between our bodies. When she's no longer touching me maybe my mind might clear and I can think. "How long? How much longer?"

Her question comes out between panting breaths.

I pull back a bit more to look into those eyes and am surprised at the frustration and impatience I see there.

Oh, it would be so easy to just give in.

"It'll only be a few more days. I-"

We both jump and I think I'm the one who makes the little girly sound that echoes through the room when the doorbell rings.

That'd be Mikey with the best Thai food on the planet - this planet, at least. And while I'd rather sit here and stare into my future in her eyes, the second ring reminds me that we'd better at least answer the door and pay the poor kid.

"Sam, there's more. A lot more that I need to tell you."

The doorbell rings again.

"I...need to get that."

I hear the door open, feel the cold air rush by her into the house, and hear her asking Mikey about school and his parents. He responds in a murmur and she tells him to remember her to his Mom and Dad as she pays him and sends him on his way. Then her sock-clad feet are padding back across the house to me.

She stops at the counter, juggling a stack of white paper take-out boxes. And she takes my breath away. More than how she looks, who she is has to be one of the most beautiful things I've ever been close to.

For once I feel like maybe I belong here. Like maybe I deserve this chance to be with her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I spoon out the drunken noodles and other food onto two plates and plop one down in front of my chair at the table and the other in front of him. He's come back to his seat at the table, which is a good plan, I guess. I'm shaken by the fact that I'm not certain what exactly would have happened between us, there on my sofa, if Mikey hadn't arrived when he did.

He's been fiddling with the teapot, pouring out the steaming, fragrant tea into the crackled greenware teacups I picked up on a short TDY in Osan. I haven't used them in a long time. He looks up as he passes the teacup to me, a small smile lighting his face, taking away years and miles.

"So..."

"So...Right. Yeah. The 'more' that we need to talk about. Let's start with a year ago."

"A year ago?"

"Okay, twenty-two months, twelve days, five hours and forty-six minutes. But then, who's counting?"

"Oh."

I know he's talking about that night. The night he came to me and told me that what he wanted was me. That he wasn't going to walk away because the rules said he had to.

"Yeah, that night. Sam, I made you a promise that night. I walked away then because it was the right thing - the only thing - I could do. But I meant what I said. And I've been working to make sure things went as far our way as possible."

"Oh-kay. You're talking about your Plan."

He can hear the question in my statement, so he continues.

"When I left you that night, I went home and started doing an analysis of the frat regs. I never really paid them much attention, beyond knowing they were there and you don't screw around with the officers and enlisted under your command. Up until you, they never really mattered that much to me."

I feel a blush creeping up my neck and face, staining my cheeks, I'm sure. But my eyes are steady on him.

"I pulled a copy of the USMCJ, studied it myself, did research on like cases, had the lawyer I'd used in my divorce look it over...Hell, I even did internet research to figure out if there was a good way around the damned thing. I couldn't think of anything else, so I filled my time with trying to find a way past the intentions of the reg. I know that entire section of the code by heart now. I see the letters in my sleep. And I've come to an ugly conclusion. The regs were built for a good reason."

I feel my stomach plummet out of control. He came to tell me he wasn't with Sara, that he loves me, only to then tell me the regs are right and we can't be together?

"Discipline and respect in a team is important. And in most commands, a relationship between two officers in the same chain of command would have a negative effect. There would be open interpretations of favoritism, unwarranted privileges and promotions...All sorts of ugly things to break down the good order and discipline among the troops."

"I hate to say it but I agree with the regs. And that is just stupid and it makes me angry. Angry that we're trapped by all of this if we both want to keep doing our jobs. I finally, after all of this time, realize that we're only gonna be able to do this if one of us gets out of the service."

I start to offer up my Plan B again, but he cuts me off with a gesture and hurries on.

"Just listen to me, Sam. This great flash of genius hit me about three months ago, right after we came back from Thrombosis."

Thrombosis? What the he- Oh wait!

"You mean P3R-921? *Thrambatic* is what the natives called it."

"Yeah, well, as I recall the natives were a pretty nasty bunch. Don't get me wrong, it isn't every day that someone ties me up and offers to skin me alive. But then, who ever really wanted that experience?"

"That *was* a rough one. But we came home alive."

"Yeah, but we almost didn't. *You* almost didn't. When that idiot came at you to take your eyes as a trophy..."

"It's okay. Teal'c and Daniel got us out of it in time. I'll admit it was close, but no closer than a dozen different times we've lived through and walked away clean."

"Yeah, but that was the straw, Sam. The one that was it for me. I went home and wrote my resignation. Showed up at Hammond's house that next morning with coffee and danish and was ready to negotiate the end of my career."

My huge, strangled intake of air probably tells him that I'm shocked.

"The General listened to me when I told him I wanted to quit for personal reasons. I'm pretty sure he figured out what that meant. But he reminded me that while my personal relationships might not be what I wanted, I served my friends, my team, and my country better by staying where I was."

"Oh?"

"When I leave, there's no telling who'll be assigned to SG-1. You're admittedly junior to be considered for the team lead of the top team, even with the extraordinary performance you've had. When you get the light bird you've got a shot, but as a Major you'd be a poor bet. Hammond can try to control who gets assigned to the command, but he might not be able to catch someone that slips in."

"And if the NID or some other agency manage to get a ringer into the command, onto the team, you and Daniel, and Teal'c won't ever be safe. You'll never know when or where it may happen but they will use you and betray you and throw you away."

He pauses, and I can tell he's trying to phrase the next part just right.

"Hammond then told me something that no one else is supposed to know. Something that is gonna be big and gonna happen soon."

"You know that meeting he had with the Allies and the Coalition partners? The one where Thor made a big splash for us and made Kinsey look like an ass?"

"Yes, I remember. That's what started the whole international candidates training."

"Yeah, well it started a few other things in motion, too. The Stargate has to be one of the biggest scientific discoveries in the history of man. I think you yourself told the good Senator that when he tried to shut us down all those years ago."

"Well, it seems our international consortium of friends hasn't been quite as circumspect as we have all of this time. Word of the Stargate has been slowly leaking out in the international communities. People outside the straight governmental hierarchies have heard of it."

"Uh-oh."

"Yeah, uh-oh. Two and a half months ago, at an international court in The Hague, the topic of the Stargate came up in the closed hearing of an espionage case and someone at the UN got wind of it. There's nothing the US can do to suppress it, so a fact-finding committee has been formed."

"Holy Hannah. What does *that* mean?

"That means that it's just a matter of time before the Stargate is revealed to the world. Maybe not the general public, but the governments of every nation in the world are gonna know about it. And when it happens, they are gonna demand that they get a piece of the pie. They're not gonna want to leave it in military hands, no matter who that military is. And especially if it looks like the US've been keeping it a secret and got caught."

"So, over the last few months there has been a special committee put together that is going about the business of putting together a plan to 'out' the Gate in the best way possible for us. That committee has been putting together a plan to make the whole operation a less military and more visibly civilian agency project. They've been getting the State Department and the Interior Department involved along with Immigration and a bunch of other government agencies."

"They are basically looking to get the 'Gate program into a realm where it is still a secret but we are not just a military organization anymore. They want other government, civilian, non-DoD agencies involved and plans so we can go international when the time comes. We already have a few ambassadors established with other planets and we have mining and other resource rights negotiated. Hell, there's even paperwork in the works right now to get Cassie and Teal'c US passports, visas, and green cards."

"So, the fact of the matter is that by this time next year, no one expects this project to be just military anymore. Our exploration teams will stay, but we can expect to have more non-US members. We can also expect to have non-military, multi-national teams that are responsible for negotiating treaties and establishing outposts."

"The financial burden for the operation should be shifted to a multi-national one and the leadership should shift over to the UN before it's all over with. They will definitely eventually want to jerk the 'Gate itself out of the mountain and put it someplace more accessible but we'll block that as long as secrecy and security are still an issue. Possession is still nine tenths of the law, but eventually the US'll lose it. And maybe that won't be such a bad thing."

"Anyway, Hammond has some good ideas for options for me. Some options that could make sure that when I leave there is some protection in place for you three."

"*You're* going to quit?!"

He looks up and I am caught in his eyes. They're too bright and wide, like a man with a fever. I want to say something more, but I'm at a loss just at the moment.

He's very proud of himself. Almost smug.

"I'm not quitting. I'm gonna to make sure that things are set here and then I'm gonna to retire."

"Jack, you can't! You can't give up the work. You can't walk away from the responsibilities of what we're doing. You can't walk away from all you've worked to attain in the Air Force, what you've accomplished. Especially if what you say is going to happen actually does."

"Ah, but see, there's where you've got it wrong. I never worked for rank, it just happened through the years 'cause I mostly didn't like working for other people. As for the work...Yeah, it's important. But I'm not walking away, I'm just shifting out of the position I'm in and into another one."

He reaches over and his cool fingers clasp at mine as a quick squeeze stops my protests so he can speak.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I reach over, taking her hands in mine and I look up in reflex and find myself trapped by the depths of those expressive eyes. The intimacy of her intense gaze boring into me is almost painful.

"Please, Sam. Can you let me do this my way? I promise I'll answer all of your questions as soon as possible. But I need to get this out."

She nods and I shut my eyes, stopping the current flowing between us.

"Yes. Alright. We do this your way."

I say nothing for a moment, picking up a piece of chicken and popping it into my mouth, more out of a need to dissipate some tension than any true hunger.

"Back to what I was saying before: I'm resigning my commission from the Air Force. Not quitting, just retiring again. But I'm not gonna be gone for long and I'm not gonna be off away from the SG teams."

She wants to say something. I can tell it from her body language, but she doesn't speak.

"You know that the NID isn't strictly a government agency, right? They're a contractor that's come along and filled the role of think- tank, expert consultants for the big boys in the program office up in DC, right?"

She nods again.

"I dealt with some of them when I was at the Pentagon. I know they're not government but I also know their influence is very big in the corridors of power."

"Well, just like most everything else in the government contracting business, the work they do is an awarded contract that has to be re-bid and awarded every three years or so. And it seems that George and the Powers That Be think that our buddies at the NID aren't going to be the right people to take us into the bold new, multi-cultural future they know is coming."

"Suffice it to say that while their performance hasn't been bad enough to warrant firing them, they've been doing a poor enough job that the decision-makers in our organization are gonna seriously look at other contractors for filling that role. And with the hi-jinks we can place on their watch over the last few years, they're certainly not winning any friends. The NID's contract ends in two months."

"Okay, so, that's all fine and good, but what does all of this have to do with you quitting?"

"Patience, Sam. I'm getting there."

"So, like I said, the current contract has a shelf life of a few months. An RFP has just come out, looking for a less black world contractor to make a bid on it. Of course, things still get a bit sticky due to fact that it will still be classified, so it's hard to find companies with the appropriate credentials to bid. Well, I went out and found a contractor who's gonna be perfect for the job."

"Huh? How? I mean, how did you find someone without compromising your current status?"

"Well, that was actually the easy part. I talked to John Beck down at Nellis."

"John Beck?"

"Old buddy of mine from my early days in Special Forces. He retired out of EUCOM as a two star about seven years ago. I saved his ass once in a job we were doing in-"

He stops suddenly, remembering that he can't tell even me about *all* of his past.

"Anyway, when John retired, he started a company. There were lots of the big names out there trying to get him, but he didn't want to join the corporate rat race. So, he started this nice little company and began doing some nice work in command operations consulting as well as some of the more technical areas like logistics planning and coordination."

"As time has gone by, John has hired a few wunderkinds as well as some old retired farts and he's built things up into about a 300 person company. A very highly-respected company with all of the right security credentials, I might add."

"So, what, you told him about this opportunity and he jumped?"

"Oh, yeah. Actually, he was aware of the fact that the RFP was coming up, and he's been preparing for it for quite some time. Word around town between the contractors is that the NID is a lame duck in this next proposal period, so the sharks are circling."

"And that brings me to a topic that's a bit closer to you and me."

I take a moment, carefully placing my chopsticks on the plate, wiping my mouth and reaching into my back pocket for the quarter- folded sheaf of papers.

"The General and Davis finished their investigation into the charges against us. Seems they found an NID agent named Alfred Fenster who was responsible for sending the emails and the pictures."

"They caught him?"

She grabs up the papers, trying to make sense of the tangled legal mumbo-jumbo in the official report as I continue.

"Yeah, they managed to convince the ISP in New Zealand to release their records and back- tracked him to a street address just outside of Denver."

"Did he talk? Did he admit to anything? Did the NID admit to anything at all?"

"Nope, 'fraid not. NID is claiming he is an ex-agent, even though he is still on their payroll. And by the time the Denver PD and JAG reps got a warrant, old Al had made a close, personal acquaintance with one of the spiffy exposed rafters in his yuppie, chalet-style home."

"He's dead?"

"As a doornail. And he had been for three days, according to the Denver ME. Still, they managed to find enough data on his PC to prove he was involved. Someone trashed the hard drive along with the rest of the place. It took some work, but Scheaffer and Yee managed to recover the files and piece the whole scenario together well enough to prove it was all a set up."

"So-"

"So, we've been exonerated. Hammond and Davis filed the final report and the SGC offers its sincere appreciation for your cooperation in this matter."

"And that's it? We don't get anything else?"

"If they'd found the guy alive, we might have had something to pursue. As it is, we have a smoking gun that points directly at the NID. Another nail in their coffin as far as the SGC is concerned. The folks at criminal investigations have taken the case. Although, I expect the wall that the scum at NID have thrown up may hold."

"But we're in the clear and this incident gets completely scrubbed from our records. No further mention will ever be made unless or until they can find the people responsible for it."

"And we all know how likely that is, don't we?"

"The important thing here is that we're cleared. No more worrying about them trying to use us to bring down the Stargate program. Plus, they lose points big time. Maybe enough to lose them access to the 'Gate completely."

"That's good but..."

"But?"

"You said that you're going to quit. But with the NID gone, there's no reason for you to do that."

"Well, yes and no. The NID have known about the rumblings that have been going on over their contract performance for some time. And now, with this new world interest all coming together at just the right time for the contract to be competed, they figured that they're gonna lose the job."

"So, they fabricated this story about you and me, waiting for us to get fired or quit in disgrace and then they already had two operatives set up to come in and fill in for the leading wormhole theory scientist and SG-1 team lead. They actually submitted the paperwork for these two to transfer a few months ago. They wanted to get them into place before they took a swipe at us, but the personnel cutbacks at the SGC due to the Iraq operation were something they hadn't anticipated."

"Wait. You're telling me that all of these contracts and proposals are the reason they tried to end our careers?"

My outrage is pretty clear, and justified, I think.

"*That's* the reason I had to explain to a man who is very close to being my Father why I called 911 over a year and a half ago and then answered my door wearing nothing but a damp robe with you standing beside me?! *That's* the reason why I had to spend time in the his office three weeks ago denying to Paul Davis that we'd ever been...lovers?!"

"Wow, when you say it that way, it almost sounds dirty, Sam."

----------------------------

It isn't his words so much as the dark, smoky tone of his voice that causes the shiver to scuttle up my spine. Ignoring the pull the shiver exerts in my lower abdomen, I nurse my anger and keep at the topic.

"That is *absolutely* ludicrous! The NID can't be so uptight about losing a single contract!"

"But it's not ludicrous. Think about it. How is it that they have access to our facilities and our personnel? They're not really a government agency, even though they have Service-level backing. If they lose their contract, they lose their way in. They no longer have access or need-to-know. They no longer get to see the toys we manage to find. They no longer get to see the research Daniel pries out of those old books and stones. They are basically cut off from the one thing their sponsors want to control more than anything in the world."

He's right. I know he's right. But I still don't see how this all connects.

"Okay, that's true. But where do we come in? I mean, I know you're the one who went and found John, but what does that have to do with their attempts to discredit us? Explain what all of that has to do with your Plan and how you're going to retire but stay with the SGC."

"Umm...it's all kind of tied together. Remember I said that John is an old buddy? Well there's a little more to it...I'm kind of John's partner in the business. I made an investment into his company when he got started a few years back."

"I figured Sara didn't want my money, and...I was never gonna send Charlie off to college... So I might as well throw my money away helping out a friend as opposed to making more money that I would just leave to the state when I die. So, I helped John develop his business plan, get his financial ducks straight, chipped in as much as I could afford to at the time, and went to the bank to help get the backing he needed. All this time, we've been partners in WTFP, Incorporated. He owns 51 percent and I own 49. I've pretty much stayed out of it and let him run it all these years."

"WTFP? I've heard of them. They're running the acquisitions and control for the new unmanned aerial vehicle testing out of China Lake, aren't they? And they have the technical part of the support project down at Nellis that investigates our new technologies finds?"

"Yep, it's been a good few years for the boys. Anyway, I'm the reason that he's stayed away from our program management office organization for so long. As long as I'm anywhere in the power structure, I can exert undue influence. This type of thing is viewed dimly by the contracting gods."

His mouth quirks up at that one.

"So this is where my retirement helps out all around. I can't... I *won't* ask you to or *let* you give up your career. So, I had to find a way for me to get to a place where I could get what I wanted -- a way out from under the regs that also keeps me in the SGC and close to you."

He looks up into my eyes and I think I know where he's going with this.

"I found it. I've been skirting the edge of the physical requirements for our work for a while now...Let's just say that Janet's been grumbling more and more lately about the fact that I'm not 20 anymore."

My eyes travel a slow path down his body at that one and I can feel my lips curving into a little smile.

"No, thank God you're not."

Oh, Holy Hannah! I must have said that out loud! He drops my hand like its on fire, his eyes snapping to mine. I try a smile and the bold approach to cover my embarrassment.

"I mean that. Even if I didn't mean to say it out loud."

His eyes are huge and he looks like he just swallowed a fly. He clears his throat with an audible gulp, reaches for his teacup and sits back in his chair, a creak emanating from under the table as he does.

"So, I'm looking at a medical, here. That means I get my full pension, despite the fact that I'm not quite that social security age just yet. So, I spend a month working on my slice and bringing my handicap down. Who knows, I might just even go away to the cabin and spend some time catching less fish than I've ever caught before."

"And this keeps you on the SGC team, how?"

"Well, after a month of leisure, I'm gonna be bored out of my skull. So, I'm gonna need to look at doing something different. By that time, the contract is awarded and wouldn't it be grand for WTFP to be able to use one of the Vice Presidents as the lead for the work effort on-site at the SGC?"

"You're going to become a contractor?"

"Not just any contractor. I'm going be the liaison between the operations in our HQ site and the off-site work at Nellis and China Lake, too. I'll also coordinate the work being done on the proposed alternate sites out there in the 'Gate network and I'll be involved in the day-to-day planning and operations. I'll be wrapped up in the whole enchilada."

"So, you're betting it all on things working the way you want them to? And what happens if things don't work out? What happens if someone *else* gets the contract? Or the General denies your retirement? Or any number of the other variables you can't control gets out of hand?"

"Well, I could become a kept man, you know."

The offer makes me want to laugh but I'm not going to let him derail this conversation.

"You'd have to find someone who wants to *keep* you, first."

"Ouch. You wound me, woman."

"Seriously, what are you going to do if something goes wrong?"

"It can't go wrong, Sam. I have it all charted out. I know all of the plays."

"Were you expecting them to try to discredit us the way they did?"

The cocky grin drips from his mouth as it firms into a line.

"Well, not that specifically. I was expecting *something* like this, but I wasn't sure of the tactic they'd take."

"So you can see that you can't control everything on the board, predict every play, see into the future."

"Sam, I can't control *everything* but I'm telling you *this* is gonna come together. I've been spending all of my time since you've been gone and for quite a while back before that working the angles on this. And I've gotten a bit of help from a few folks."

"Who?"

"John Beck. Senator Boone from Illinois. General Hammond."

"What?"

"George knows the entire plan. I told him everything after you left with the new kids three weeks ago."

"You've *got* to be kidding?!"

"Nope."

"And what did he say?"

"Congratulations. It's about time. I want to be there when you tell Jacob. And you're not out of the Air Force yet, so stop calling me George."

"So he's..."

"Thinking it's a good, if reckless, plan. He thinks that he can sway a few of the PMO dweebies to his way of thinking. It's practically in the bag."

"Isn't all of this a bit...illegal? I mean, aren't you breaking some sort of contracting laws?"

"Nope. The contract is going to be awarded to the best bidder. I just happen to believe that John's gonna *be* that best bidder. I've had nothing to do with the company beyond a financial interest that has been reported on my public conflict of interest papers for years. My retirement is legit and I've already burned a lot of my leave so the terminal leave will only end up at about six weeks. I'll be long gone when the bid for the contract comes into the mountain. Nothing's rigged and nothing's illegal. I've just been connecting the dots in all of the right places."

He's certain. So sure of himself. And I can't help but instinctively trust him. I also can't help feeling like a kid who's just been told that school is letting out early this year. The anticipation and glee are hard to suppress.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I look down at the table, surprised to see the empty plates. I look up into her suddenly laughing eyes and realize that the facts are all on the table and she is fighting back a smile.

That means she's thought it through and she thinks it can work, too.

I really have taken most things into account with this plan. I still get to do the work I want to do, I still get to be in the SGC, and, most important of all, we still get to be together.

Assuming she still wants that. She did say she loves me...

I can't just sit here anymore. I rise, exhaling in a grunt as I press down on the cane to help me get the leverage to stand up. I take her suddenly extended hand and let her guide me back to the sofa.

"So there it is, Sam. I've got all of the paperwork lined up for my retirement. I've got all of the right people ready to assist."

"You have. And you do. I must say, it has evidently been one hell of a chess game you've been playing."

We sit on the couch again, this time with her right next to me, without even the short distance we had between us before.

This is good. Definitely good body language going here. Maybe this is actually gonna work...Assuming I haven't missed something somewhere...

I barely stifle a yelp as I realize that while I was crossing and re-crossing my Ts in my head, her body language has gotten even better.

"So, now that you've managed to gain the tactical advantage over the NID *and* the SGC, what're you going to do?"

I can hear the laughter in her voice, sense the playfulness behind it. So...

"Uh, I'm going to Disneyland?"

"Craving a ride on Thunder Mountain, are you?"

"Maybe."

"Well, let's see if you're tall enough to ride this ride."

I don't get a chance to answer that one as her mouth suddenly descends to mine. We're back to me dying at the not-so-young age of right-now- this-minute. And I still don't see the downside of a death at her hands.

My mind gets lost in a static haze as she turns up the heat from comfortably warm to roasting in a matter of seconds. I am caught up in her fervor, giving everything she's asking for in her kiss, letting her lead the way. Soft hands trace my hairline, dipping into the collar and causing gooseflesh to rise all over my body.

Wait. We need to wait. We can't do this. We need to stop.

I pull back a bit, look into those now open eyes, and am surprised at the frustration and impatience I see there. Oh, it would be so easy to just give in to this.

"We've got to wait, Sam. We need to make a few more decisions before this one comes along."

I gulp in air, forcing myself to grab those wandering hands and stop her from pressing up against me. It takes more guts than I ever thought I had to say the next words aloud while I keep the link with her eyes.

"Sam, it's not just the regs. Even after things are solved with the Air Force, I want to wait."

That stops her. The confusion washes through as she pulls back a bit more and her eyes drop away to my mouth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I lean back a bit, my lungs pumping like a smithy's bellows. My eyes are glued to his wet red mouth as I try to stop my racing pulse and think of something besides how it felt to be up so close to him that I couldn't tell where he stopped and I began.

"You want to wait? I...You don't want this?"

My voice is low and hoarse, the rough tone something I barely recognize. He shifts, his hips moving enough to remove the small space between us and lightening in a bottle begins to describe the overload in my body.

He must feel it, too. He stops breathing, his body going still, and his eyes locking on mine as his pupils contract to pinpricks. A hunger which mirrors my own is evident in those lovely brown eyes and his hips piston once more, letting me know that I'm not the only one fighting my more base instincts.

He sets me firmly back from him, putting more space between us as he flounders for a moment like a shell-turned turtle. He finally forces the braced leg around in front of him, and leans forward, running his hands up and down the outside seams on his jeans, fidgeting even now, revealing his jumpy nerves.

"Sam. I..."

His voice hisses out, full of wonder and a bit of fear. What now? What else could be wrong? He runs a hand over his face, closing his eyes, effectively looking away and leaving me breathless as he drags my heart out onto the floor. He groans, muttering something to himself that I can't understand.

My stomach knots and my palms go damp with a sick fear of what he might say, but I'm somewhat proud as I manage to stand on legs that aren't quite shaking. My voice, when I speak, is steady and I don't think much of the hurt shows through.

"I'm sorry I...I don't understand what's going on here. I...I don't understand. I mean, I thought that this - you and me, *together* - was the next logical step. But you act like there's something else. Something I don't know, so I guess maybe I was wrong."

He pulls his eyes back to mine, a fear to match my own showing there, concern and panic arranging the lines in his face.

"Sam, don't misunderstand me. Please, I..."

He grabs my hand before I can walk away, turning me so I'm looking down into those wonderfully expressive eyes. They're snapping now, with fear and anger, and maybe something else I thought I saw once long ago in my very own kitchen.

"Damnit! Sam, listen. You aren't wrong. You're the reason I did all of this. And I've been waiting for a long time to hear you say something like what you just said."

His sigh is gusty and raw. He sits me back down on the couch, a bit further away from him than I was before, and retires to his own neutral corner.

"God above, I used to wake up sweating at night after dreaming about you using that very tone with me. Right now, most of me wants to grab you and drag you onto the closest padded surface before you change your mind and I regain my sanity."

Well, hurrah for that.

"But the one little piece of my brain that isn't busy trying to figure out what you're wearing under those jeans and that sweater, wants to take this slow. That part wants, desperately, to try to keep from screwing up with you."

He goes quiet for a moment, his eyes miserable and distant.

"I...We've been dancing the dance for so long, Sam. Avoiding admitting what we're feeling. We've gotten so used to it...I'm so used to the alarms going off when I think of you, when I think of touching you. It's difficult...God, I'm not saying this right!"

The slick knot of fear in my stomach loosens. I'm pretty sure I know what he's saying. And it isn't nearly as devastating as I thought it might be.

"Well, thank God it isn't just me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My eyes snap to hers as my brain turns to mush and my voice abandons me. After attempts at clearing the baseball out of my throat, I manage a few words.

"You too?"

Okay, so it came out more of a mousey squeak than a manly roar.

"I...I'm...This is all just as new to me as it is to you. I just...I finally figured out what I want and I...I want to make up for all of the lost time between us. I don't mean to push but the idea of continuing what we've been doing for the past years isn't a happy one for me."

"Do you really want to just keep on from here?"

"I suppose so. I mean, what choice do we have?"

I hesitate. I've thought about saying this for a long time. But to actually say it aloud...I'm afraid it's gonna sound stupid.

But a coward dies a thousand deaths, a hero only once...

"I think we need to start over."

She looks sucker-punched. I think she would have been less surprised if I did hit her.

"Okay, I'm lost. You've hated pretending we're strangers all of this time and now, just when we can be something more, above-board and in public, you want to start over?"

"Not start over, really. Just not try to start 'us' at a dead run. I want to take it slow, give us time to get to know each other as Jack and Sam, not Colonel and Major."

She starts to protest, but I raise a hand in supplication.

"No, gimme a minute here, Sam. I've had a long time to think about this. A *very* long time. I want to be with you. But I think we need to get to know each other the way normal people do."

"But we know each other already. I mean, we've spent eight *very* intense years together."

I hate to do this, but I need to make a point.

"Okay. What's my favorite color? Who was my third grade teacher? Where did I go to summer camp?"

She can't answer. I knew she wouldn't be able to. These aren't the kinds of things that come up between team members, even on lonesome nights spent sitting around a fire as we trade watch shifts.

She sits forward, her eyes dancing around the room before they come back to me. She clears her throat and drops her chin a bit as she faces me again.

"So what do we do?"

"Samantha Carter, will you go out with me?"

She's gone suddenly still. The kind of still she gets when she's concentrating on solving a puzzle to save the world. At times like this, I know she probably won't hear anything I say, but I try anyway.

"I know it seems a bit backward, Sam, but I want to date you. I want to take you out for a movie and a meal and talk about nothing more important that what your fifth grade teacher said about your Christmas essay. I want to hear you tell stories about your Mother and grandparents."

"Date?"

Her expression gives very little away.

"Yeah, date. I want to find out all of those little things about you that I don't know: I want to learn the kind of salad dressing you order when you have a choice. I want to meet you in the coffee shop at the mall and go shopping for Christmas presents with you. I want to have all of the memories that other couples get as they get to know each other."

I stop, waiting for something more from her.

"Okay."

"Look, Sam. I know it's a bit stran- Huh?"

"I said okay. Okay. It's a great idea. We do need to get to know each other and dating has worked for men and women on dozens of planets for thousands of years. I think maybe it can work for us."

I feel the warmth wash through me as I realize how silly and sweet it is that she wants to date me, too. That she understands that I want the experience of getting to know her without the weapons and the BDUs. The goofy grin on my face doesn't embarrass me as I see one appear on hers.

"One thing, though, Jack."

"Yeah?"

"Slow. It doesn't have to be a bad thing, right?"

"No, it doesn't. Why d-"

Her smile is wide and lovely and the soft hand that touches my face is warm. Her scent fills my head as she leans forward, sending my good intentions to the edge of a slippery slope but not quite tipping them over it.

The long, thorough, somehow sweet kiss goes a long way towards making me regret my suggestion of slow. This "slow" could be the death of me. But hey, isn't speed a relative thing?

I should ask her. She'd know.

As she slides closer, her arms wrap around my neck and her smile becomes my entire world.

Wasn't I gonna ask her something?

This second kiss destroys the two brain cells I have left, leaving me panting and stretched as tight as a piano wire when she leans back against the cushions. She gets up to head to the kitchen.

I'm openly enjoying the departing view, loving how those faded jeans cling to just the right places, when I realize she's stopped. My eyes flash up and find a wicked grin pasted on that too innocent face.

"I somehow think this 'slow' thing is gonna be fun."

Her laughter incites me to struggle up from the couch, grabbing the cane to hobble into the kitchen after her.

Fun.

Yeah, you could probably call it that. And I can honestly say that my retirement definitely won't be boring.

###