Sam's Hands
Jack has watched Sam field dress a wound with her bare hands. He's seen her open doors, manipulate computers, fight hand to hand, and even cry into those hands when despair took her.
He's felt her hands on him, in that cool, detached manner she'd learned to present, as they wiped his feverish face with a cool cloth, or supported him when he'd been wounded.
Sam's hands have always fascinated him. They are small and feminine, yet at the same time brutal. He's seen her hands, balled into fists; take down men twice her size. He's watched those hands, wrapped around the handle of a zat'ni'katel, calmly take out their enemies at lightning speed.
He's felt her hands on his back, nails digging into him as he brought her to an earth-shattering climax. Her hands have brought him great pleasure over the years.
Sam's hands have done many things, but, as he sits and watches her, he knows that nothing will ever amaze him more than the gentleness with which she uses those hands to care for their newborn child.