My first SamxJack oneshot, I hope you guys like it! Feedback in any form is greatly appreciated!

Thanks a lot to Emily, who betaed this for me! :)

(1250 Words)

In The Middle Of The Night

Worst nightmares can also appear with your eyes open.

Florence Welch

The half moon was standing high in the night sky, its silvery light filtering through the blinds of Samantha Carter's bedroom, barely touching the white sheets between which the young woman was writhing. Her breathing was ragged, and her fingers were clutching the fabric so tightly that her knuckles were white and the sheets crumpled. Gasps escaped her lips, and her head was rolling from one side to the other, her body shaking, as if she was trying to get rid of something.

Again and again, she was kicking, and sweat was shining on her forehead as she suddenly screamed and sat up straight in her bed. Sam's blue eyes were wide, staring into the room as if she was somewhere else, and she was panting hard, like she'd just run a marathon.

An eternity seemed to pass until she realised that she was safe, that she was at home, and a choked sob shook her body before she wiped over her damp eyes with the back of her hands. Her heart was racing, and her whole body was shivering as she wrapped the blanket around herself. She was exhausted, but going to sleep again was the last thing she wanted – she was too scared of returning to the dream she'd been trapped in, but also now as she was awake the pictures were haunting her.

Days had passed, and the location was thousands of lightyears away, but she could still smell the odour of death – burnt flesh and decay. The screams of despair were still ringing in her ears, and from time to time, the images flashed past when she blinked. Faces, contorted by fear and panic, or the dead eyes of those lying on the ground...

Or the numbing feeling of not being able to do anything against the genocide that had happened in the village that they'd found on the other side of the Stargate. They'd supplied the survivors with food and everything they required to live, medics had tended the wounds and helped to bury the dead. But still it felt like she'd not helped anyone, and it had shocked her to see all this misery.

Since they'd returned, she'd been having nightmares every single night, not able to forget the scenes that she'd witnessed.

Sam was feeling unsettled, and she was longing for anything to sooth her. Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to find anything that could achieve that yet – she'd tried cleaning the kitchen, reading a book, doing a shooting practice, jogging, working on her naquadah reactor...

Nothing had helped her.

Slipping out from under her blanket and padding into the hallway, she grabbed the phone, though she had no idea why. It was in the middle of the night, who was she supposed to call? Everybody she knew was asleep by now, and it would be rude to wake someone just because she couldn't sleep.

Clutching the phone, she walked back into the bedroom and crawled under her warm blanket, staring into space for a moment, and before she knew it, her fingers were dialing a number.

She didn't know who she was calling until a deep voice on the other end of the line answered: "O'Neill?"

Gulping, she hesitated for a moment, biting her lip, and O'Neill asked: "Hello? Who is there?"

Taking a deep breath, Sam said: "Hi, Sir... uh... I'm sorry for waking you, it's just..."

"Carter."

O'Neill's voice was full of surprise, but she also noticed that he didn't sound like someone who'd just been ripped from sleep. He didn't say anything, and she guessed that it was time for her to explain why she was calling her commanding officer in the middle of the night. "I... I couldn't sleep. You... you can hang up if you want, I just... just wanted to hear someone's voice."

"Nightmares?"

It was a simple question, but it told her a lot. His tone was soft, understanding, and she counted one and one together. He wasn't sounding tired because he hadn't been sleeping as well, and he wasn't saying anything about her calling him randomly because he knew what she'd been dreaming about.
"Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes and leaning back against her pillow. Suddenly, she felt a little bit better. "I... I see it again and again..."

"I know."

"Will it be over one day?"

For a very long moment, he was silent; all she could hear was his even breathing and the faint splashing of liquid; O'Neill seemed to be drinking beer. Then, he slowly answered: "It gets less frequent and less vivid over the years. But those pictures never leave you."

Sam bit her lip and closed her eyes; the thought of being haunted by the pictures of burnt bodies and screaming orphans again frightened her, and she asked herself how many sleepless nights she would have to endure before the nightmares would get less realistic.

"Sam. Are you alright?"

A shiver ran down her spine; the formulation of the question was intimate, and Jack's tone a lot more personal than it was supposed to be between them. Alarm bells were supposed to ring, but like always when they were having rather private moments, that didn't happen. On the contrary, this was the soothing thing she'd been searching for.

His voice was calm, and he really seemed to care about what her answer would be. It woke nice memories of SG-1 team moments, of the good things they'd achieved in the last years, but also of the moment in which they'd both been forced to admit that they had deeper feelings for each other than they were supposed to have as commanding officer and second in command.

"I don't know," she admitted, longing to hear him say something; it was like home, like safety, and she needed more.

"It's going to be okay, Sam. Lie down, and try to sleep," Jack said, and she was clinging to the phone, her heart starting to beat faster upon the thought that he might end the call. Still she rolled onto her side and snuggled deeper under the blanket; the phone was lying next to her ear on the pillow, and she calmed down as Jack spoke again.

"Close your eyes. You're safe, it's okay to fall asleep. I'll stay with you, Sam, don't worry."

After a moment of hesitation, she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to fight against the reflex upon which her body wanted to tense up. Only as Jack whispered calming words her muscles would relax, and she could slowly feel how she dozed off, carried into the calm waters of sleep by Jack's voice.

She woke up once or twice, not from a nightmare, but because she feared that he could be gone, but to her surprise, he was always immediately there to sooth her. And by the break of dawn, she felt more rested than in all the nights before that. He was still on the phone, sounding tired but also happy as she admitted that she'd slept well, and 'ordered' her to eat some pancakes.

When they met at work the next day, they didn't talk about that particular night; it seemed to be a silent agreement that it would stay their secret.