STARGATE SG-1

ECHOES

By

AstraPerAspera

A/N: This didn't start out as a bridge from SGA "Search and Rescue" to "Stargate SG1: Continuum", but sometimes a story just takes on a life of it's own. Thanks to mara-anni, who made me write it and then helped me fix it, and to JenniferJF for giving me a glimpse into the future. Contains spoilers for SGA S5 "Search and Rescue" and Chapter 5 has MAJOR spoilers for "Stargate SG:1 Continuum". You were warned.

Chapter 1

"Not exactly the welcome home I had planned, I want you to know."

Jack's muffled voice from the depths of the sofa caused Sam to look up from her book. She hadn't noticed until now how dark the room had become, the late afternoon light swallowed up by line after line of passing thunderstorms coming over the mountains and rain that did not seem to end. The power had gone out about two hours before and the distant rumbling suggested that it wasn't going to be coming back on any time soon. Jack had been drifting in and out of sleep all afternoon, refusing to go to bed and maintaining that he felt "fine". But if the hollowness of his voice was any indication, he probably still felt—and looked—as bad off as he sounded.

"I know," she replied, closing her book and unfolding her legs from the armchair she had curled up in. She couldn't remember when the last time was she'd spent the afternoon just reading. Certainly none of her afternoons in Atlantis had been so indulgent. And considering the over-sized and deliciously comfortable nature of this chair, it occurred to her that she should really have been reading some great work of literature…or at the very least, some steamy romance novel. Instead, she had marked her page in Chapter Five of a book on theoretical time travel, written by a former classmate—now a full professor of quantum theory at Georgetown University. She knew she shouldn't let it bother her, but the fact that two thirds of what he'd written she knew outright to be wrong…not to mention that the book was being highly acclaimed in the field for its ground-breaking (and did she mention, wrong) theoretical constructs, irked her, nevertheless. Not that she had any desire for fame or notoriety herself. Been there. Done that. Glad to get back to her own universe. But bad science was bad science. And not being able to tell anyone it was bad science gnawed at her in ways few people could understand.

Not even the man under the comforter on the sofa, who'd once told her that she was a national treasure. Of course that had been before he'd finally told her a lot of other things. Things that meant a whole lot more to her than a comparison to the Declaration of Independence. Things that she kept in her heart and which had brought her solace during her year-long stay in Atlantis, much too far from home. And from him.

She had mixed feelings, admittedly. The decision by the IOA to back away from military leadership of the Atlantis site hadn't bothered her as much as the way they'd handled it. She felt like she'd been yanked off the battlefield in the middle of a fight. Who knew if Michael was dead or not. And there were still threats in Pegasus that Woolsey didn't begin to understand or have the background to deal with. Worse, she felt like she'd let her people down. Run out on them and left them hanging and at the mercy of the ever changing whims of the IOA. She hadn't even been given an opportunity to say a proper good-bye, except through Atlantis' next scheduled dial-in the following day. And she was still waiting for her gear to catch up with her. That took more paperwork than requisitioning a naquada generator.

In spite of her sudden and abrupt reposting, however, she had to admit that she felt a certain sense of relief. For all their head wagging over the military presence in Atlantis, the IOA had been surprisingly positive in her performance review. They'd even gone so far as to state that it was because of her successful leadership there that they felt comfortable returning command of the Atlantis expedition to a civilian. It had alleviated some of the sting. That and the fact that Jack had let her vent about Woolsey for at least a solid half-hour over dinner that evening before finding a suitable way of distracting her for the rest of the night.

All things considered, for her first Full Bird command she felt quite good about it. And, if she had to be honest, not a little relieved to be able to put it behind her. Another galaxy was another galaxy, after all. The past few months since the loss of Midway Station had seemed nothing less than an eternity apart from Jack. Only the seamless sequence of crises with Michael and his hybrids and the search for Teyla had distracted her from the pangs of homesickness she'd felt for him. Which was why, she had to admit, part of her hadn't exactly been put-out when Woolsey was tapped to take her place. He was, after all, her ticket back to earth. Back to the SGC. Back to Jack. Back to her life.

Except now it would be their life.

He'd offered to buy her a ring to go with the proposal, but she'd told him no. In her mind she could never be rid of the memory of Jack snapping shut the ring box that Pete had given her. It had been like a gunshot right through her heart. She understood now how she had hoped he would talk her out of it, validate one of her many excuses for not accepting Pete, or even outright confess his own feelings for her. But he hadn't. For her, shiny engagement rings and black velvet boxes would only ever remind her of that horrible, painful scene.

So she'd accepted the proposal, but turned down the ring. And she didn't wonder but that he understood why. There'd been a knowing look in his eyes that told her he did. Which was good, because she really, really hadn't wanted to explain herself. But, as usual with Jack, she didn't have to. He just knew and accepted it, no questions asked.

"There was supposed to be a party, you know. With cake," Jack's voice emerged once more from the shadows. Setting the book down, Sam went over and sat on the edge of the sofa, feeling his forehead with her hand. His fever was still high.

"I heard," she replied, looking at her watch. Too early for more meds. Not that they were doing much good anyway. They would actually have to stay down long enough to have any effect. "Sounds like fun."

"Woulda been," muttered Jack. "Though I have to say…at the moment…the whole cake thing isn't doin' much for me."

Sam looked at the now empty wastebasket she'd strategically placed by the side of the sofa and could sympathize. She'd had to clean it out twice already.

"I still think you should let Dr. Lam take a look at you. I've never seen you this sick for this long," she admonished him. Not that it would do any good.

"Landry's kid's not poking and prodding me and looking in places she has no business looking. I remember when she was in diapers, for cryin' out loud. Besides. I'm fine. It's just a little upset stomach. I coulda sworn that salsa was still good."

Sam shook her head in exasperation, even as she couldn't help but smile. So Jack. God, how she'd missed him! She hadn't even realized how much until now. It was like being hungry and not knowing it until the plate of food was sitting in front of you. She had been starving for Jack O'Neill. Even if, at the moment, he was sick as a dog.

She felt his forehead again and pressed the back of her hand to his face. It was rough—he hadn't shaved for a couple of days—but she didn't mind. He often ignored his razor whenever they went to the cabin and she had to admit, she rather liked it. And she also liked the fact that the day was soon coming when shaving would be optional for him regardless of location. As soon as they could put this whole Ba'al extraction behind them, Jack's retirement would take effect. No more Washington. No more long distance relationship. No more keeping things quiet and on the low down. And the one ring she would accept from Jack she could wear openly and without any hesitation.

"I told you, I'm fine," Jack growled and she realized she'd gone back to feeling his forehead.

"No—you're not. But since you're going to be stubborn about it, then I suppose you'll just have to suffer." She moved to stand up, but felt his hand grasp her arm.

"Sam…."

She sat back down. Even after all this time, the sound of her name on his lips could catch her off-guard and do strange and wonderful things to her heart.

"Hey…I'm here." She softened her voice and found his hand in the dark, twining her fingers through his, stroking his cheek this time, resisting the urge to check his forehead yet again.

"Not that I'm sick or anything," he began. Sam hid her smile, even though she knew it was unlikely he could see it, now that the room was so drenched in twilight. "But if you wanted to…you know…sit here for a while…I wouldn't exactly mind."

"Really?" She tried to sound disbelieving. She could almost feel him grin.

"Not that I'm sick or anything," he repeated.

"Ah. And the whole, heaving your guts out thing?" she asked. She felt him shrug.

"Oh…that…." There was a pause. "Yes. Well. Let's not dwell, shall we?"

She leaned forward and kissed a forehead that was still way too warm.

"I wouldn't dream of it."