Stargate SG1 is somebody else's, probably MGM/Gekko Corp/Sci-fi, and I freely admit that whoever's it is, I'm borrowing their show and they retain all rights, etc

Author's Note: Sam/Jack established - please turn away if you don't like the pairing. Written for the Gateworld Sam/Jack ficathon. Prompt was cherish. Could be considered a counterpoint to Chaos Theory (don't worry - you don't need to have read that to read this!) although set later post-SGA S5 finale. Minor spoilers for SG1 and SGA. Mild references to adult situations.

Cherish The Moment

It was warm in the sunshine. Samantha Carter lifted her face to the dappled light and closed her eyes. She breathed in deeply. The scent of roses was heavy on the air but saved from sickly sweetness by the sharper undertone of freshly mown grass. A bee buzzed by and somewhere the quiet chirruping of a couple of birds provided a musical lilt to the silence. She felt a breeze pluck at the thin blouse she wore but it was anchored by the hands she'd placed over her belly where her fingers grazed the heavy denim of her jeans. She wriggled her bare toes further into the grass, nudging the book she had long abandoned reading, and knew she'd have dirt and stains on the soles of her feet.

Sam didn't care.

It was rare that the universe allowed her a whole day of undisturbed peace and she was taking advantage of it while she could. Her eyes opened, filled with a light-hearted care-free happiness she hadn't felt for a long while. But then, it wasn't often that there wasn't some intergalactic bad guy with some invasion of Earth plan to foil. The Replicators were destroyed, the Lucien Alliance was quiet, the Ori army back home in their own galaxy rebuilding, the Wraith had been firmly turned away at the door and the Goa'uld were almost gone. Ba'al had been the last of the System Lords and his end almost a year before had been satisfying on many levels – most to do with the man she was using right that moment as a pillow, her head resting on his lap; Jack O'Neill.

She turned her gaze, filling it with him. He sat propped up against the old oak tree at the bottom of their garden, his chocolate brown eyes closed and his mouth slightly open as he napped unashamedly. His hair, more white than grey with each passing year – a fact that infuriated him and which he blamed entirely on Daniel Jackson, was askew and ruffled. There was a day's growth of stubble adorning his square jaw and he'd shrugged on an old blue cotton shirt over his rumpled grey t-shirt. It added an edge of reprobate to the otherwise adorable picture he made with his hands resting on top of the book he'd been reading and his long rangy legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle.

He was so much better at letting go of everything in their downtime and just enjoying the time they had with each other. Theirs was a long distance relationship; one required because of their tangled professional lives and their status as husband and wife. The wedding band glittered in the sunlight and she stroked the warm metal almost reverently. She wore the ring so rarely. It was a liability on duty, signalling too clearly that she had someone she loved and could lose, whose life could be threatened to coerce her or threaten her. She hid it to protect him; to protect her; to protect them.

The frown marred her delicate features for a second before Sam shook it away. She wouldn't allow the thought to ruin her mood. Her lips lifted. Hadn't she just been thinking how much better Jack was at setting it all aside? It wasn't as though his plate was empty; his retirement was weeks away but his work showed no signs of slowing; there was the political wrangling over Atlantis and whether it should return to Pegasus, the situation with the Odyssey, the mess on the Icarus base and the new alliance agreement with the Jaffa not to mention a hundred other balls in the air for him to juggle. Sam suspected the President wouldn't let Jack go completely; her husband was too vital to the Stargate programme. She knew it had taken Jack a lot to carve out a whole day to spend with her before she left to oversee the final preparation and the shakedown cruise of the General Hammond.

The thought sent a rush of renewed sadness through her. George Hammond had been more than a former CO. He had been a family friend, a mentor and a surrogate father. He had been the rock that held SG1 steady all the years they had served under his command; he had been their greatest advocate. He had trusted them and been rewarded with their trust and respect a hundredfold in return. He had been a great man; a warm, wonderful man who had been taken before his time with a sudden heart attack. Perhaps he and her father sat together in whatever life came next; she liked to picture them gossiping and laughing, enjoying their friendship again.

Tears stung and Sam blinked hard to clear them.

She would command the X304 that bore his name. She was insanely proud of that. More so than her brief stint as the leader of the Atlantis expedition or her command at Area 51. The General Hammond would be hers, and it would be the best of the fleet. Already her mind was filling with the last repairs and projects, the few remaining crew she had to assign, the details of the shakedown cruise.

Damn it, Sam thought with wry chagrin. Jack was so much better at this than her; so much better at just cherishing their time and each other. He'd tried to teach her. Their fishing trips hadn't just been about the fishing – a lightening quick grin flitted across her face at the memories that thought provoked – but about fishing. That sense of stillness wherein the noise of nature competed with the plonk and reel of the line with nothing but silent companionship and the steady weight of the rod in a hand, where a mind could go blessedly blank of everything but that. A perfect moment captured in a bubble that seemed to exist outside time.

Like this single precious day together.

The previous evening had been given over to their friends; to congratulating Teal'c on the news his son was becoming a father, on teasing Daniel about Vala, Vala about Daniel, on seeing Mitchell finally relax around Jack enough to stop jumping up every time he moved. It had been an evening filled with laughter and friendship but they'd kept the day for themselves; hoarded it like squirrels burying nuts in winter.

Her mind filled with the remembered pleasure of waking up with Jack's arm wrapped around her waist, his feet tangled with hers along with the memory of slow loving with the morning sun bathing the bed. Sam could still feel the same dazed contentment as she had in the aftermath when they'd cuddled with damp skin and quiet looks. He'd gotten up and made her breakfast in bed; pancakes and syrup; strong hot coffee. She'd tasted both on his lips and tongue before they'd finished. The bed had been a wreck – was a wreck, Sam corrected absently. They'd left it unmade and messy when they'd gone in search of lunch.

The picnic had been his idea; the back garden hers. They were both too circumspect in front of others; their years of denying their feelings and their continuing required professionalism on the job translating into an almost subconscious avoidance of contact in public arenas. She just about managed holding hands at the movies; his hand at her back and dancing at the various social events they attended; his arm around her shoulders when they sat with close friends – family – in their own home. She didn't want subconscious hang-ups between them when they had so little time. So, they had packed a hamper and spread a blanket on their own lawn. They'd eaten their fill of hastily put together peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Jello pots, all washed down with cold beer. They'd laughed and talked of nonsense, before they'd settled to hold each other and read under the branches of the tree.

Sam stared upwards, beyond the swaying branches and dancing leaves to the sky. The afternoon was almost gone; the sun sinking. She didn't want it to end. She didn't want the streaks of purple to signal the twilight and the end of the day. There was another evening; a night to come but she wanted more time with him; would always want more.

They had wasted so much time. She had wasted so much.

The thought caught her by surprise. Jack had told her once not to dwell but it was her way. She couldn't forget that she had almost lost him. She had forgiven herself – possibly long after he had – for the years spent avoiding loving him, for giving up on the possibility of them only to find her love for him wouldn't shift despite all her efforts. Not that he had ever blamed her. The one and only time they had spoken of it, Jack had accepted his contribution in what had happened. He had purposefully set out to hide his feelings for her – the reasons myriad and varied but among them that he'd wanted her to be happy and he'd believed she'd find someone better.

Sam almost snorted out loud. Who was better than Jack O'Neill? Oh, he had his flaws. She wasn't the same starry-eyed Captain who'd walked into a briefing room filled to the brim with hero-worship and covering it with a sass that would have earned her a reprimand from anyone else. No, Sam considered with a quirk of seriousness, she knew Jack wasn't perfect. But he was Jack, and she loved him, all of him;

the good – the quick humour, the steadfast loyalty to his friends, the warmth and humanity of him, the strength and purpose of the leader who fought every day to keep their world safe, the man who she would follow to Hell and back - literally;

the bad – the silences, the occasional grumpiness, the impatience he sometimes had when faced with something he wasn't interested in or people he didn't want to deal with, the way he'd hog the blankets and hold onto the TV remote as though it was a prize;

the ugly – the nightmares that plagued him in his sleep of things he'd done and seen done, the ruthlessness, the cold biting anger when his temper was hot, the darkness that lurked sometimes.

And he loved her too, all of her despite her many imperfections. Sam never understood how Jack thought he wasn't good enough for her when it was clear to Sam that it was her who was not good enough for him. She had so many faults…like over-thinking. She was trying, she argued with herself. And Jack loved her anyway. The thought baffled her but with the bafflement was a wondrous acceptance not to question her luck.

Her hands spread out over her flat stomach and Sam wondered for a moment whether they would have a baby to add to the mix in the future. They had eschewed birth control leaving it to fate once her assignment on Atlantis had been terminated by IOA politics. The idea of a baby thrilled and scared her in equal measure as it did Jack. Her front teeth caught her lower lip and worried at it. A baby – a child – was a responsibility and they had danced around the subject for months before agreeing that while a child wasn't necessary, it would be a much loved addition. Still, months on and it hadn't happened. Maybe it never would.

Sam rolled her eyes and blew out a sharp breath to shake off the sneaking edge of sadness and disappointment. Sure it had been months but she and Jack had barely been in the same place at the right time to practice making babies. If it was meant to happen; it would and if it didn't, she and Jack would weather it. They could weather anything together.

She turned her head to look at him again and started when she found him looking back at her. There was a hint of amusement in the smile tugging at his lips.

'You're thinking so loud you woke me up.' Jack accused her lightly, a finger tapping her nose softly.

Sam shifted in a smooth motion, straddling his legs, one of her knees either side of his thighs, and she spared a thought to be thankful for the lack of neighbours. His hands discarded the book, throwing it haphazardly aside into a bush of bright yellow flowers, before they settled on her hips, steadying her. She held his face with her hands and kissed him gently; her lips brushing across his softly, reverently. Sam raised her head and placed a hand on his lips to prevent him kissing her or talking.

'I was thinking.'

She smiled when he raised a scarred eyebrow in response to her rueful admission, his eyes laughing at her.

'About how happy you make me.' Sam continued. Her voice was roughened with unexpected emotion.

The gift of her words brightened his whole face with an awed delight and his hands tightened on her waist.

'I just wanted you to know.' She finished awkwardly. She removed her finger and pressed her hand to his heart instead.

Jack smiled – the lopsided, mischievous smile that brought out his dimples and had made her fall in love with him. 'I love you too, Carter.' Her heart jolted, leaped as it always did when he told her.

And then he was kissing her – or maybe she was kissing him; Sam couldn't quite work it out; it was too fierce and deep and needy…and as his hands slid across her skin, and hers went in search of his, she decided it wasn't important.

All that mattered was the moment.

The End