When the Dream is Over

This story is based some time in season 4, after 'Window of Opportunity'. At that point, it veers from canon. I don't own any of the characters in the story, nor do I own the Stargate or anything to do with it. Personally, I just want Sam and Jack come clean. No money is made from this fiction.

I'm new to Stargate fiction, although I've been writing in another fandom for some time. Please be gentle with me if I've made some assumptions about things that've been explained differently in an episode I haven't yet seen. Feedback is very welcome.

Summary: When the dream is over, real life has to begin, but whether that's a good thing or a bad depends on the detail. Rated suitable for mature teenagers for sexual situations.

Thanks to my beta, tgeyer.

Chapter 1

I can't believe I'm this nervous. I know him so well; it's not like going out with a stranger. But going out with a stranger would actually be easier because there'd be nothing to lose. I agonised over what to wear this evening, undecided between a dress I'd wear on a first date (nice enough but fairly restrained) or something that's designed to make sure he notices me. I was still making up my mind, pulling on the dress when he rang the doorbell, putting an end to my indecision and making the decision for me - the red, low cut, figure hugging creation I wouldn't dare wear normally.

I quickly decide it was worth it, for the way he pauses, apparently unable to speak, when I open the door. The pause is good in more than one way, as it gives me a chance to take in the man I've never really seen before. I've seen Jack in civvies, in uniform, wet to the skin, splattered with mud and worse, but I've never seen him in a suit. And despite his reluctance to dress formally, he looks good. The suit is dark, the shirt white and the tie silver grey. He's pulling at the neck of his shirt as if it's chafing, but his eyes haven't left me yet.

"You ready?" he manages to mumble.

"Yes, Sir. All set."

"No 'Sir' please, Sam. I'm retired."

"And how's that going for you, Jack?" I answer, trying to keep the mood light. "It's been all of…," I glance at my watch. "Twenty-eight hours."

"That long, eh?" he grins at me, taking my cue. "I hope you're hungry."

"I expect I could manage to eat," I answer, knowing that the way the butterflies are churning in my stomach, eating's going to be difficult.

I pick up a wrap, and as I go to put it around my shoulders, he's there, behind me, arranging it, and the feel of his hands on my back and shoulders causes me to shiver.

"You sure you'll be warm enough? You're shivering."

"I'll be fine, Sir … Jack. It's not cold out, is it?"

"I didn't think so."

His hand is on the small of my back as he guides me out to his car, opening the door for me and seeing me in before going round to his own seat. My heart's hammering in my chest, fear and excitement warring for the upper hand. This, what we're doing tonight, is a huge risk. He asked me to have dinner with him, a celebration of his retirement. I assumed at first that it was an SG-1 thing – that the others would be there too, but he quickly made it clear that wasn't what he had in mind. Exactly what he does have in mind isn't clear either, and my own hopes are threatening to take over my behaviour.

We drive to the restaurant in almost silence, and once the car is parked, he's back round to my door to open it before I've managed to arrange the dress to let me get out.

I knew where he had in mind, knew I needed to dress up, but the actual place takes me by surprise. It's intimate for such a large place – tables placed in such a way that you can hardly see the other diners. In the centre of the room is a small dance floor where two couples are already moving to some slow, sultry music.

We order, and as I'm wondering how I'm going to find conversation to fill the time until it arrives, his hand reaches across the table to trap mine.

"Would you like to dance?"

I nod, suddenly feeling the nerves multiply, but he doesn't seem to notice. He guides me to the floor, and once there, pulls me close to him with one arm while holding my other hand.

"Relax, Sam," I hear him whisper in my ear, and I realise that I've tensed up. I try to do so, one muscle group at a time, finally allowing myself to feel comfortable with him in such close and intimate proximity.

"Too close?" I hear him asking, and his voice sounds unsure.

"No, Jack. It's just … different."

"Oh yeah." His words sound heartfelt. "You know how many times I've wanted to do this?"

"Dance with me?"

"Hold you like this. Scared to touch you at all in case it became too comfortable. I … I hoped you felt the same."

"You know I did."

"I know you … care … more than you should. I suspect you care more about Daniel than you really should,but I hope to God you don't want to do this with him."

His mouth moves towards mine then, slowly, giving me ample chance to turn away or give him a signal that I don't want what he's offering, but I move towards him instead. The initial touch is soft, tentative, sweet, but once he knows that I've accepted that, it changes, becomes more demanding, harder, and I match him. I don't know how long the kiss lasts, but we're no longer moving to the music, and we're both breathing hard when we break apart. He looks at me, questioning without words, making sure that what he'd gleaned from the kiss is real.

I put my arms around his neck and drop my cheek onto his shoulder, and it's his turn to relax.

Time seems to lose its meaning as we dance, pausing to eat, but the details of the food just aren't important. When we're finished, we dance again, but it's no longer enough for me. I don't want to be among other people, I want to be alone with him.

"Jack, take me home?" I whisper in his ear.

I immediately realise he's misunderstood, that he thinks I've had enough. He starts to pull away, but I hold onto him tight, turning his face back towards me and kissing him again, harder than before.

"I don't want to share you," I tell him when the kiss is over. His grin lights up his face.

The mechanics of getting out of the restaurant are done and we make it out to Jack's car. Before I can get into it, he's pulling me into his arms and kissing me again and I don't want it to stop. But it has to, and he pulls away, running his fingers down my face as he does so.

"Sam," he says softly, and there's such love in his voice that I can hardly believe that it's aimed at me.

"Take me home, Jack. Before I decide to start undressing you here."

He laughs at that - a full laugh the likes of which I've rarely heard from him.

"Home it is then."

The journey is a blur, but as soon as we're inside, it starts again. I pull off his jacket, and his tie, while he's trying to undo the zipper at my back. I direct us toward my bedroom, and moments later, we're there, facing one another, side by side on my bed, as the last items of clothing are removed. All I'm aware of is Jack. Every sense is saturated with him - the sound of him, the scent, the taste, the sight and most of all the touch of him.

"If I'd known you felt this good, Carter, I would've retired years ago."

"Mmm," I agree. "I might even have considered retiring myself."

And then, the phone's ringing.

"Leave it," he murmurs, and given what his mouth is currently doing, I've got every intention of doing just that. But the phone continues. Something's not right … Jack's no longer here, and my stomach contracts with dread for a second until I realise that I've been dreaming. And what a dream!

I pick up the phone, managing to get out a single word to identify myself.

"Carter."

"I didn't wake you, did, Carter?"

Jack's voice following so quickly from the dream throws me into a loop.

"Carter, you there?"

"Yes, Sir. What's up?" Given the circumstances, I'm quite proud that I managed those four words.

"I know you booked a few days of leave, but Hammond wants us in. Some crisis, you know the drill. Briefing in an hour?"

"I'll be there, Sir," I promise before hanging up.

Getting to the SGC in an hour is a tall order, but I can't quite bring myself to move. That's the second time in as many days that I've had that dream. Of course, yesterday, it didn't get interrupted by the phone, and I feel put out that I missed the rest of it. But I'm needed, so I drag myself out of bed and into the shower - a cold shower. How else can I face my CO after that?