You're older than you've ever been
And now you're even older
And now you're older still.
~ They Might Be Giants

Sam Carter didn't so much as raise her head as her lover tipped a shoulder against the door frame, and Jack wondered for a moment if she was asleep. At seven o'clock. Still in uniform.

She was sprawled sideways across the bed, mostly on her stomach, her right arm stuck straight out over her head. The other hand rested on the inside of her elbow, her head on her left forearm. Her legs mimicked the pose, one straight out, one slightly curled up, making her look a little like a backward capital B.

Jack was stiff from several hours on a plane, but looking at her, it occurred to him that they'd known each other for a decade. And that meant she was rapidly approaching the age he'd been when they'd formed SG-1. It seemed a little like karma – fate paying her back for all the mornings she'd sprung out of her sleeping bag while he'd reached for the ibuprofen. He knew exactly how she felt.

But he still felt bad for her. Gently, he pushed her ankle aside to make some space. "Mmm," she murmured in greeting as his knees landed on the mattress between her legs.

"Rough one?" he asked, though he knew the answer already. He deftly untucked her black tank top and tugged it up.

Her head rolled against her arm in a shake. "Not really." But she squared her hips better against the mattress to let him work as he slid his hands firmly up and down her back.

"No?"

She shrugged, clearly realizing he'd already seen the report. "I got chained to a wall for a couple of hours. Coulda been worse."

"A couple like eleven."

"Yeah, well." Then she added, "I really had to pee."

He chuckled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her skin. "Where?"

"Low," she said, and he slid his hands down to the space just above her hips. Pressing his thumbs to the small hollows earned a groan, and he started small, gentle circles. She kept ungodly amounts of tension there even on good days, and he'd had a lot of practice wringing it out.

"Shoulders?"

"Eh." She shrugged again. "My wrists aren't particularly thrilled with me."

He didn't see any bruises, though, for which he was grateful.

Then she said, as she always did, "You don't have to do that, Jack. Let me grab a quick shower and we can get dinner."

And, as he always did, he answered, fingers still working, "Let's order in."

"You're so good to me."

He would run her a nice hot bath while they waited for the food, hang whatever robe was appropriate for the season on the bathroom door, pay for dinner and even make her up a plate. It was what he always did. Because he was madly in love with her.

And still, she wasn't used to it. Still, she thanked him for every nice gesture, usually with that tired but sweet smile he adored so much. Still, she tried to make up to him at every opportunity.

He hoped they were like that until long after his hands stopped working and his hips wouldn't let him crouch that way anymore.

"Thai?" he asked.

"Mmm," she murmured.

"Good." He pressed his lips to the soft, perfect skin on her back again, feeling her full breath beneath him before he pulled away to start her bath.