His fingertips slid over the smooth lacquered surface of the bathroom door and thoughts of what Samantha Carter's skin must feel like, especially in the soft places where the sun never touched, slipped through his mind and down into his body. Relishing the feeling, his lips slowly parted, and he kneaded the soft pads of his fingertips against the hardness of the door.

She's your teammate, he reminded himself. She might not outrank you, but she's got the knowledge and the training and the experience that you'll never have, so trying to instigate anything with this particular Lieutenant Colonel right now would… He swallowed hard as his mind shot off in fifty directions musing about what would happen if he… if she… if they… of how…

Cameron Mitchell pulled himself back from the door and shook his head, his thumb and index finger working overtime on the deep ridge straddling the bridge of his nose and the long deep furrow that split his forehead in half. And just why was he going in there? It wasn't the right time.

She'd just been released from the infirmary and hadn't wanted to stay cooped up in the officer's quarters in the mountain. The doctor had been adamant that she be under someone's care if she wasn't under their own medical supervision, and he'd be lying if he didn't admit there was more behind his volunteering to bring her back to his place than just friendly teammate-to-teammate concern because Teal'c and Daniel Jackson were unavailable to watch over her.

He blinked back a sudden rush of anger at his uselessness and incompetence as he remembered being at her side as the life was slowly draining out of her. Off-world and seemingly without options, he'd felt like he hadn't been able to do a damn thing to help her. Leave her and she dies. Stay with her and she dies. Leave it to her to come up with a plan to save herself and him. He squeezed his eyes shut. Damn. What the hell had he done to deserve the right to be with people like Sam and the rest of SG-1? Missions like that one didn't help his confidence one damn bit…

Once out of the mountain, Sam had dropped the perky act and had slumped down into the corner of his car. He'd stopped his rambling and nonsensical jokes after the first couple minutes of the drive, and the only response he'd gotten out of her was one short nod when he'd asked if she wanted to take a bath. Hell, what else could he say or do to comfort her? Every other mission something happened that drove SG-1 right to the brink of death and yanked their hearts out before spitting them back out, each time a little more worse for wear than before. What could he say that'd help Sam this time?

He guessed that's why Jackson had been so eager to get the hell out of the SGC to Atlantis when he'd first arrived at the SGC two years ago. Staring at some glyphs on the wall was a hell of a lot less emotional than watching someone you cared so deeply about go through hell and back. Unfortunately, he wasn't as gifted with languages as Jackson was and couldn't sit still long enough to read the comic section of the morning paper, let alone stare at a wall full of chicken scratch all day long, so he had less of a ticket out of field assignments than SG-1's linguist extraordinaire.

And he was light years behind the woman who was lounging in his bathtub. Correction - the genius who lounged there. He cocked his head to the side to listen for sounds of movement. Sam was too quiet, way too quiet. For all he knew she could have fallen asleep and drowned in there.

He reached for the handle and pulled the door open. Sam was staring blankly at opposite wall, ignoring the quiet sizzling of the bubbles from the bubble bath Teal'c had gifted him the past Christmas. He'd poured the whole bottle in there, assuming, wrongly as he found out, that the frothy tub would get some kind of reaction out of her. Cameron idly wondered if it had been regifted to him by Teal'c – the bubbly froth had already started to flatten and dissipate.

Sam's slow, steady breaths were all he could hear. He forced himself to release his own held breath, and he swallowed hard as he followed the curve of her knee down to the beginning of her thigh that disappeared into some of the last remaining bubbles and he forced his gaze up to her head. Her hair was still mussed from so many days spent in the infirmary bed, a long section flattened with moisture where she must have pushed her wet hand up through it. He balled his hand into a fist to keep from reaching out to smooth the wayward strands and to tell her it was all right. To tell her that he'd never leave her. That things would be okay. That he…

He stepped into the room, careful to watch out for the slippery rug that he'd been meaning to throw out for the longest time, ever since he'd joined SG-1, and that'd been… He looked back at Sam. She was out there in her zone; still unaware he was in here with her. His gaze traveled down her neck to her chest, stopping at the mound of bubbles that clung to her creamy white skin.

He remembered his hand on the door and pulled it shut to keep the remaining steam and heat in the small room. He hunched down next to the tub, his knees hitting the wooden base. He gripped the side of the tub to keep from falling back and hitting the door, his right hand brushing up against her warm shoulder. Damn, his hands were cold and she was so…

Sam shivered and looked over at him, not making any move to cover herself. Cameron gave her an unsure smile. That meant she was either super-comfortable with him, or she just didn't give a damn about anything anymore. He hoped it was the first reason, or something close to it.

"Sorry," he said with an embarrassed twitch of the brows and forehead. "My cold hands have lost me more women than you'd…" He bit back the remainder of his explanation. Sam's eyes were dull, even in the brightness of the harsh bathroom light.

He frowned as he glanced up at the light. That damn too-bright sconce was something else he'd been meaning to change, but just hadn't gotten around to doing. What he wouldn't have given to have installed some mood lighting, especially if he'd have known he'd have Sam Carter lounging in his tub. He frowned again, trying to keep his focus on his friend.

He leaned forward against the tub, warming his hands next to his chest. Sam still looked lost, her eyes wide and rimmed at the bottom with a shimmering band of unspent tears. "Sam," he said roughly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Sam, you were too quiet," he said, his voice sounding too loud for the tiny room. He glanced away from the questioning look in her eyes. "I just wanted to make sure you were still alive… I mean, that you hadn't dro-… that you were okay…" his voice trailed off. Feelings of his inadequacy rose up in him again.

Sam rewarded him with a wan smile. "I'm still here," she said, her voice filled with a tiredness and weariness that he hadn't noticed back in the infirmary when she'd joked with him about macaroons. He tried to smile at her.

"I'm warming up macaroons in the oven right now," he joked. The slight upward curve of his mouth froze. Her facial expression hadn't changed. "I thought… you might… want something to eat…" The frown returned. Damn, he was making a mess of this. He looked down at his kneecaps that were protesting the amount of time he'd been pressing them into the rock-hard beadboard. The furrows he'd tried pressing out of his forehead reappeared and he sighed.

He heard a splash and, feeling lukewarm water sluice over the side of the tub and onto his chest, he looked up at Sam, surprised as her wet hand slid back around his head. He didn't try to stop his now-warm hands from reaching up to gently touch and then hold her shoulders.

Sam bent her head toward his, pulling him toward her, and buried her nose into his cheek. She held him tightly, not giving him any explanation, just the slow in and out of her breath keeping time against his cheek.

If holding her hadn't felt so right at that moment, he'd be wondering how the hell he'd gotten into this situation. Her warm breath acting as his guide, his head turned slowly into hers. "It's okay, Sam. I'm here," he assured her.

"I don't want to be alone," she whispered softly, her lips touching his.

Cameron swallowed hard and gripped her tighter. "You won't be, Sam. I won't allow it."