A/N: This was sparked by me watching Divide and Conquer with some friends on Valenship. That's all I can give as far as explanation/inspiration. :D If it makes sense, great. If it doesn't, well... It was written in half a day. That says a lot too...

Jack opened his eyes to see a ceiling he didn't recognize. His head pounded, but through the pain he knew that he was somewhere he didn't belong. Any ceiling that didn't lurk above his bed was a ceiling he didn't want to be under.

He groaned and lifted his hands to his eyes, blocking out the metallic geometric shapes dancing over his head. The design didn't even look human, and he'd been around the block enough times to know that wasn't a good thing. But as the heels of his hands dug into his eye sockets, a new image was presented to him.

Worried eyes and solemn features staring at him from behind a shimmering blue wall, transparent but impervious. She was going to die. But why? How?

Who was she?

He knew as soon as he'd asked it. Sam. Carter.

His hands fell away, and his head turned to the side. He was alone. The room that held him was empty, the table he lay on the only furniture. Where was Carter?

Where was he?

Slowly, clumsily, he rolled off the table, only just managing to catch himself before his legs gave away beneath him. He hesitated, letting his upper body rest on the platform, until he was confident he wouldn't collapse. He made a beeline for the doorway, which conspicuously lacked a door of any kind. But then his instincts were proven true when he rebounded off another force shield.

He was in a Goa'uld base, he realized as he lay flat on his back, his ears ringing. How he'd gotten there, he had no idea, and if he was betting man he would have said it looked more Tok'ra than anything else—

"Escape is impossible, Colonel O'Neill..." The voice was female, and almost-accented. Sounded Tok'ra. Jack lifted his head, and he was surprised at the effort it took.

He was even more surprised to see a tall slender woman in skin-tight leather. The colors were Tok'ra, but the style wasn't. But still she seemed familiar...

"I assure you, it's for your own safety, Colonel." The woman—Friar, his mind supplied—sounded almost apologetic.

He didn't care. "Let me out of here," he ordered, rolling over to get to his feet. The woman made no move to obey. "Shut that damn thing off, and let... me... go..."

His growl of threat fell on deaf ears. Irritation flared in his awareness, only to be eclipsed by fear and concern for his missing team member.

"Where's Carter?"

"Major Carter is not here." The response was accompanied by a nod of her head, though it wasn't for him. It was to someone out of sight, lurking off to the side of the door. "You must relax, Colonel. We are close to finding answers."

"What the hell— what kind of..." His thoughts were murky... clouded. A funny taste stuck to his tongue, and it was only then he heard the faint hiss of something. Gas... a drug.

"It's all right, Colonel... We are almost there..."

Almost where? He coughed, but it didn't clear his head. Instead he faltered, falling back against the table he'd woken up on. Dammit. He needed to get to Carter.

He slid to the floor, which was rough with the same geometric rock that patterned the ceiling. The last thing he heard was the low voice of that leather-clad snake, but his thoughts were of a blonde with worried eyes.

The next time he woke, he surprised his captor. She was leaning over him, futzing with some on the periphery of his awareness, and when her eyes met his, she froze. "Colonel—"

He lashed out before she could get any farther, her voice fading as his arm curled under her chin, his forearm and bicep pressing on both sides of her neck, cutting off the flow of blood to her brain. It took longer than it usually did, but when she eventually passed out it was without sound. He had to move quickly though; it wouldn't take long for her to recover.

The single guard standing watch the door—no longer protected by a force-shield—had heard nothing, and the zat at his hip was in Jack's hands before the guy knew what hit him. A moment later, the guard was slumped on the floor, and Jack took off towards the surface. He remembered this place now; it was where Major Graham had tried to assassinate one of the Council members. He knew where the ring platform was, and he had a trigger from the guard, and once he was on the surface of the planet he would only have to avoid a single patrol before zatting the guards at the 'gate.

He could only hope one of them would have his GDO. The surface of the planet was hot and arid, the turf under his bare feet scorching and yet hard as rock. He was reminded of Arizona. The patrol was easy to evade, and he made short work of the two Tok'ra at the 'gate. But as he rifled through their pockets, his gut dropped when he found no GDO.

Dammit. Of course it wouldn't be that simple. He debated the possibility of getting back into the Tok'ra tunnels. But in the end he dismissed it. It was easy to get out... it would be hell trying to get back in undetected. And if capture meant getting turned into a lab rat, he'd rather take his chances with the iris.

He plugged in Earth's address, not even pausing at the sound of someone calling his name. It was the woman he'd incapacitated, disheveled and panting in her flustered panic. "Colonel O'Neill!"

But he wasn't interested. The final chevron locked just as the woman came abreast of him, out of breath. He'd never heard a Tok'ra out of breath before.

She reached out to him but he was gone again, darting through the open wormhole with a prayer on his lips. Relief flooded him when a split second later he arrive in the gate room, alive and not just a spattering of atoms on the iris. He didn't even mind the weapons aimed in his direction.

His success was dampened slightly but the slurp of another body emerging from the 'gate behind him, but he ignored it in favor of focusing on the heavyset man who sauntered into the room with stars on his shoulders. But when the man spoke it was to the captor who had followed him.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"General Hammond," Friar offered stoically, her head bobbing minutely in respect. "I'm afraid Colonel O'Neill was... overzealous in his desire to return to Earth. I have not had a chance to explain—"

"We received the message you sent this morning," Hammond returned gruffly. "Are you certain that Colonel O'Neill is not a zay'tarc?"

A moment later, the woman's voice had taken on the double timbre of her snake. "We are certain, General Hammond. We can not explain why, but it seems that Colonel O'Neill was a false positive. We, the Tok'ra, apologize—"

But by then the General's gaze had passed to Jack, ignoring the rest of the words the followed. The man's hand rose, and the weapons lowered. "Colonel O'Neill?"

"Where is she?"

The question slipped out before his intended salutation. But instead of reprimanding him, the General's features softened and darkened all at once. "In the infirmary."

It was all the permission Jack needed. He was down the ramp and out of the gate room in seconds, and the journey was a blur, his focus on his destination alone. At the threshold he hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest.

Carter lay still and unmoving on the hospital bed. As Jack slowly moved closer, he saw that the only movement was the rise and fall of her chest as breathed. Somewhere, a monitor beeped in time to her heartbeat, and it was his only reassurance that she was still living. His legs bumped into the side of the bed, and he looked down at her like he was approaching a dream.

Her eyes were closed, and her hair fanned out across the pillow like a halo. His fingers curled around hers, almost wincing at the limp clamminess of her skin. She was still restrained, still bound to the bed on which she lay, in an effort to protect her from herself. It turned his stomach, and he turned his gaze again to her sleeping features.

When he felt Frasier approach from the far side of the bed he didn't look up, but he spoke to her softly. "How long?"

"Five weeks," came the solemn reply. "As long as you've been gone."

"Why?" his voice threatened to give out entirely. "You were supposed to bring her out of it when it was over."

The doc pulled in a deep breath. "We tried. When the summit concluded we tried to wean her off the drugs, let her wake up... but within seconds she became agitated, and her blood pressure spiked dangerously high. We had to put her back under or risk worsening her condition."

"I don't—" He didn't get it. It was supposed to help her. His sacrifice... it was supposed to help her.

"When your memory scan didn't yield any immediate answers," Doctor Frasier continued, "the Tok'ra brought you back to their base. Freya thought she might know more if she could get you in her lab. She wanted to run some tests."

Oh. That explained his relative good health and the reason for such poor security measures. Not officially a prisoner then. He'd have to apologize to some of them later. Yeah, right.

"Wake her up," he ordered stiffly. Doctor Frasier hesitated.

"Sir? Did you not hear what I said? It could kill her—"

"She's not a Zay'tarc," he delivered bluntly. He heard the doctor tense in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"Colonel O'Neill is not a Zay'tarc either," Friar supplied. "We don't understand why the machine diagnosed him as such, but—"

O'Neill effectively cut her off by raising his head. His gaze gripped Doctor Frasier, and her attention returned to him in an instant, dismissing the Tok'ra without a second thought.

"If I'm not a Zay'tarc, she's not a Zay'tarc," he said firmly. He tried not to let his anger bleed into his tone. It wasn't the Doc's fault this was happening. She was just trying to keep Sam alive. "Now wake her up."

He didn't say please, but she heard it in his voice, for she immediately began issue orders to her staff. Jack stepped back from the bedside just long enough for them to work on Sam, but the moment they'd done what they needed he was back, this time only just able to keep from touching her.

Jack was aware of their audience, the silent eyes watching every move he made. General Hammond might still be wary of the possibility he truly was a Zay'tarc, but Friar's gaze felt more like curiosity. He ignored the both of them.

Frasier remained with him at Sam's bedside, ever watchful over her unresponsive patient. They waited and waited, but when Sam still didn't stir his glare snapped up to the well-meaning doctor. "Why isn't she waking up?"

"We had to give her more sedatives than we'd anticipated," she replied gently. "Her unique body chemistry made her resistant to the drugs. It'll take a while for them to wear off."

Jack felt a vise settle in his gut, squeezing it until he wanted to vomit. If they had to adjust as they went, it meant that Sam had been awake for longer than they'd wanted. That she had been aware of the yawning pit of sleep they'd forced her into. The prison of nothingness that slowly swallowed her, sucking her in against her will, stealing her senses one by one until...

He shoved the thoughts from his mind, and the memories that came with it. Iraq was a long time ago, and this time he wasn't the victim. So he waited, patiently; he didn't know how long. But when he felt the first twitch of her fingers against the sheets, his attention snapped back into razor-sharp focus.

"Carter?"

All he got in response was violent beep from the heart monitor at his shoulder, which stuttered briefly before picking up the pace. Janet was already moving, having anticipated this very happening. "This is where it gets dangerous, sir. If we're not careful she could go into tachycardia..."

"Then help her—"

"Which would mean we put her back under and then slowly wean her off. We don't even know if that would work any better than this..."

"We're not putting her back under," he growled. When her fingers twitched again he held them in his hand, as though he could somehow add his strength to hers. But she was still too far under to wake up completely. He didn't even know if she knew what was happening yet.

But as he watched and waited, her heart rate only grew more erratic, and her twitching grew more violent. The movements were still weak, almost feeble in her drugged state, but as her wrists began to twist in their cuffs, his mind made the connection.

Without a word, he began to undo the restraints, only for the doc to inhale sharply in protest.

"She's scared, doc," he told her, his voice low.

"She may not even know where she is," came the swift counter. "She could hurt herself—"

He shook his head, already reaching over to release her other wrist. "She knows she's restrained," he stated. "She's aware of that much. She doesn't deserve that."

Frasier didn't offer any more protest. She swiftly moved to release the ankle restraints, and then Sam was free, if in body only. Jack held her hand, watching her eyes flicker beneath her lids. "C'mon, Carter. You got this..."

But she still couldn't wake, and he had nothing to do but wait. The circles beneath her eyes were dark smudges, belying the strain of her forced slumber. And she had lost weight, and the stillness between her movements was eerie.

Then, suddenly, her hand clenched on his, and the heart monitor spiked alarmingly. A groan caught in her throat, choking her, as her head jerked against the pillow in distress. Jack moved closer, gripping her her hand tighter.

"Carter?"

He looked up at the doc, whose eyes darkened in apprehension. "Her heart rate is too high. I'm sedating her..."

"No."

"If we don't her system will crash before she even wakes up," Frasier told him. "We can try again when she's stable..."

She was already motioning to one of the nurses, who smoothly began to draw a sedative into a syringe. The sight of it made Jack's heart stutter in his chest. He had to think fast. Sam's head jerked again, her features twisting as the heart monitor screamed in his ear.

He moved without thinking, spurred by the sight of the glinting syringe transferred to the doctor's waiting hand. In a flash his palms cupped her cheeks, stilling her movements just long enough for his lips to slam into hers.

The kiss began desperately, but within moments it softened, as her movements stilled and then, slowly the heart monitor ceased its shrieking. It paused, and then resumed— still too fast, but steadier than the thready sprint from before.

Jack's own heart thrummed in his chest, and he kissed her again, her lips soft beneath his. But despite their tenderness, they remained still. Lifeless. He told himself it didn't matter, because at least she had calmed. No more drugs.

He pulled back, suddenly aware of the silence in the room around him. He felt their eyes on him, the tension that gripped them all in the face of a situation so tenuous. But he ignored them, and looked down at Carter, only to be greeted by the sight of her looking back.

Her blue eyes were bloodshot and blearily, hazy with lingering sedatives, but she blinked at him, recognized him.

"Sir..." It came as a whisper, thick and raspy in her throat.

"Carter..." He didn't know what to say.

Her eyes blinked again, sluggish and heavy with effort. "Not a Zay'tarc," she said.

His hand smoothed the bangs from her damp brow, nodding. "I know."

"Not a Zay'tarc," she repeated, her head lolling slightly. The drugs were beginning to take hold again.

"I know," he assured her. "It's going to be okay."

"We were lying... We didn't even know we were lying..."

Jack blinked. He didn't know what she was talking about. He hadn't lied on his test.

"You wouldn't leave..."

Oh. That. He hadn't forgotten—how could he?—but he'd tried not to dwell. The agony of being so close, and yet so unable to help her. To protect her. And her voice, begging him to leave, so that he wouldn't have to watch her die. So that he wouldn't die with her.

In the lonely nights since that day, he'd dreamed of nothing but the look in her eyes, the cold truth of the situation like a knife in his heart. Each time he had woken up in cold sweats, at just the moment before the explosion knocked out the force-shield, the sight of the Jaffa rounding the corner the last thing he saw before he woke with the sound of staff blasts echoing in his ears.

"You wouldn't leave me..." Her eyes rolled, but his touch on her cheek brought her back for a moment. "Sir... you should have left."

Her eyes focused on him, and he could only offer her a smile. "Not a chance."

Her lips almost returned his smile, but then her eyes closed, and they didn't open again. Her breathing evened out, and though her heart monitor remained a little too rapid than was preferable, Jack knew she was sleeping easier. Frasier's lips twisted in mild displeasure, but she didn't say a word. Instead she gave him a nod of approval, a silent thanks as she returned the threatening syringe to her nurse.

Jack let himself settle down on the edge of the bed, keeping Sam's hand clasped in both of his. The sinking of the mattress stirred her, and her eyes blinked open. Her eyes sparkled in the pale light of the infirmary, and he couldn't be sure if it was tears or not.

"What're we going to do?" she asked.

He knew what she meant, but not what to tell her. What could he say? They'd been dancing around the subject for so long, he wondered if he'd be able to handle the task of actually dealing with it. But he knew it would be worth it. The tingle that still lingered in his lips was proof enough.

He'd kissed her. He'd broken through that blue force-shield between them and done the unthinkable. And he'd done it in front of their commanding officer.

He could blame it on alien influence. He could claim he wasn't in his right mind. But he was in his right mind. He'd never been more right in his life.

"Whatever it takes," he told her, taking her hand in both of his. He was rewarded with the slightest of smiles—a mere shadow of her usual beaming grin, but enough to make his heart warm. Her eyes closed into a semblance of peace, and her fingers relaxed under his.

His thumb traced soft circle on the back of her hand for a long moment, taking deep, steadying breaths. A treacherous new world lay ahead of him, full of uncertainty and doubt. He had no idea what was waiting for him, but he knew there would be no going back.

Jack looked over his shoulder, meeting Hammond's gaze without an ounce of regret. "Whatever it takes," he said again.

The General met his gaze, and then gave a solemn nod. It was all the reassurance Jack needed, and he returned his attention to his second-in-command. She wouldn't be his second-in-command for long, he knew. He might retire, or she might be transferred to another team... But it would work out. He'd make it work out.

He wasn't stupid. He knew that whatever they thought they felt might fade. She might move on to someone younger, with more to offer, once they no longer spent every day together in the field. He might not give her what she needed, and he might be left alone again.

They may not get a happily ever after... but a moment with her was more than enough to make the journey worthwhile.