Title: Need
Author: Sarae
Status: Complete
Category: Romance
Pairings: Sam/Jack
Spoilers: Vague spoilers up through season 8, spoilers for Endgame and speculation on Reckoning and Threads.
Season: 8, after Threads
Rating: K+
Summary: Sam's need prompts a long overdue discussion.
Disclaimer: Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, SciFi Channel, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.
Author Note: Unbetaed, so all mistakes are mine. Although, I would like to thank Lisa, Rosemary and Tricia for reading early drafts and lending suggestions and encouragement. Fluff warning...not much plot here, folks.

Need
© 2004 Sarae

Sam forced her legs to lift up her feet and ascend the four aggregate steps that led to her front door. She fumbled with her keys as she trod along; the sun was nearly set and she was having difficulty distinguishing between the keys on her ring. She cursed herself for not replacing the bulb in her porch light that had gone out two nights previously. Her eyes were just not focusing and she wanted so badly to just find a place to sit.

This had been one of the longest days of her life. Her dress uniform felt far more uncomfortable than usual. The collar of her blouse was irritating her neck. Her jacket felt like a lead weight hanging on her shoulders. Her hose were itching like crazy. The waistband of her skirt was chafing and her shoes were pinching her toes.

After finally finding the right key, she let herself in and dropped the bag she had been carrying in the entryway. She walked a few more steps, kicking her shoes off, leaving them where they lay before turning right and heading down the hallway to her bedroom.

Her jacket was the next to go. She dropped it on the floor and then began unbuttoning her blouse. Before she unbuttoned her cuffs and removed the blouse, she unfastened her skirt and let it slide to the floor. A few steps later and she had finally reached her bedroom. She plopped down on a chair and began removing those irritating hose. Swearing as she put a hole in the left thigh, she continued pulling the hose off with increasing vigor.

When the hose were nothing more than a gauzy pile on the floor, she leaned her head back until it contacted the wall and closed her eyes. Then she couldn't feel anything…no itching, no irritation, no pinching…just exhaustion, emptiness and an aching need.

This day, she had steeled herself to say a final goodbye to her father. This day, she had been strong and genial to those attending the service, wishing to honor her father and his service to his country, his world and the galaxy. This day, she had buried her remaining parent, but the days preceding this day were beginning to take their toll.

At first, she'd been stunned, shocked, disbelieving, in denial. Then she'd had to tell Mark and the aching had begun. She'd remained strong, ignoring the ache, in order to provide support and comfort to Mark and his family. Her family at the SGC had been supportive and sympathetic. She knew they all meant well and cared for her deeply, that they would miss her father as well. Now, however, she was exhausted and wanted time to herself.

The numbness and emptiness had started a few days ago, increasing in magnitude each day until they now threatened to overwhelm her. There had been plenty of food at the wake that followed the service, but she had felt no desire to eat. She'd tried to be congenial and converse with others, but this had been the second service and it had been exhausting. Because Mark had no clue about the SGC or what her father had been doing, they'd held a separate service for the family and what few friends of her parents remained. It had been the day before. The whole week had been a blur of activity and decisions she had not felt equipped to make, but made none-the-less.

When her thoughts strayed from Mark, his family and the tremendous loss she had suffered, they strayed toward the one person she was not supposed to think about. No matter how hard she tried, she could not suppress her thoughts of him. Her dad's last words had been about him. As hard as this day had been, there was only one thing she could imagine that would be more difficult and that would be losing him.

She pulled her head to an upright position again and began to slowly work on the buttons of her blouse cuffs. She was finding it difficult to breath. Her chest ached. Her head was beginning to float because she had been taking such shallow breaths. She forced herself to take a deep breath and she bent over, laying her head in her hands, her elbows propped on her thighs.

Her thoughts began to stray to him again. She knew he'd been watching her at the service and at the wake. She'd felt his eyes on her several times and she'd turn to meet them on more than one occasion. She knew he was concerned about her. She tried her best to let him know she was fine. But he could always tell when she was lying.

She also knew he was hurting and that he would never show it. However, he'd been uncharacteristically calm since her father's death. There had been no sarcastic outbursts, no petty bickering, no witty platitudes. Even the battle hardened general was having a difficult time with this loss.

Forcing herself to get off the chair, she looked around the room for her robe. She longed to be warm and to snuggle. She had yet to cry, yet to truly grieve for her loss. She had been too stunned, too numb to cry at first. Then she'd felt the need to be strong for Mark. Now, she was just too exhausted. She knew the tears would come. She dreaded them, but she knew they needed to be shed.

She finally spotted her robe in a heap on the floor just on the other side of the bed. She ambled over and retrieved the robe from the floor. Then she slowly worked her way into the bathroom. She closed the door, pulled a towel out of the linen closet and placed it on the rack next to the tub.

Turning on the water to start it warming up, she divested herself of her undergarments. She hoped a long hot soak in the tub or perhaps a long hot shower would provide the warmth and comfort her body craved, though she knew it was a poor substitute. She berated herself for the umpteenth time that day alone. Why did she keep thinking about the general instead of grieving?

As steam started rising, she slid back the glass doors and climbed in the tub. She switched the flow of water from the faucet to the showerhead and flinched as the hot droplets stung her chilled skin. Then she moved until the water was streaming over her head and face. Slowly, she sank until she was sitting directly under the stream.

This was the day that was never supposed to happen. When her father chose to accept Selmak, he was supposed to live forever. Selmak would heal his wounds, give him exceptional health and rejuvenate his somewhat aged body. Hell, Sam was convinced he would outlive her.

But the Trust had changed everything and the SGC had been powerless to stop them. One minute the gate had been where it belonged and the next minute, it was gone, courtesy of transportation technology pilfered from the Asgard. The lack of a 'gate and their fractured ally status had inhibited their ability to communicate the threat to the Tok'ra.

The poison they'd developed had been efficient and effective, but it had also had an unexpected side effect. When her father and his associates had gone to retrieve Zaren from P3S-114 after what they thought was enough time for the poison to dissipate, they'd unknowingly contaminated their symbiotes. Within days, Selmak and the others had begun to feel the effects of the residual toxin.

Her father had chosen to return to Earth. He'd known there was nothing that could be done for either of them, but he'd wanted to see his daughter, meet her fiancé, be sure she was finding happiness before he passed on.

At first, she had been thrilled to see him. She had no idea he was so ill. He'd played the probing father, asking questions, insisting on meeting Pete. She'd found excuses not to introduce him, insisting on learning about his activities since his departure. He'd been relentless, however and eventually, she'd had to tell him about the nightmares she'd been having, the stress she'd been feeling and the decision she was avoiding making.

He'd been understanding and had offered fatherly advice, insisting he only wanted her happiness. Then he'd collapsed and the truth about his condition had been revealed. All thoughts of Pete went out the window at that point.

They moved him to the Academy hospital before the end so that Mark and his family could visit. Though they'd seldom seen each other since their reconciliation, Sam knew Mark would want the chance to say goodbye and she wanted that for her father as well.

Jack pulled at the tie around his neck to loosen it and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. He set his keys on the dining table before continuing into the kitchen to grab a beer from the refrigerator. He opened the bottle and took a large swig. Then he carried the bottle as he walked to his bedroom.

He sat on the edge of the bed and placed the bottle on the bedside table. This had been another long day, a day similar to many he had faced before. In fact, it had been a long week. He was concerned about Sam. Though he questioned his right to feel that concern, he could not stop the feelings.

Sam had been a rock throughout the week. As far as he knew, she hadn't shed a tear. She'd been too busy making arrangements, consoling her brother, making excuses to his family. She'd talked with Teal'c and had even checked in with him…briefly. Sam was denying her grief and he knew it would catch up with her.

And through it all, he'd not heard a mention nor seen a sign of Pete. He found that curious. He'd expected to see Pete at the memorial held topside, but there had been no sign of him. Perhaps he had been unable to get away? Perhaps there was trouble? He still found himself wondering what Sam had been trying to say that afternoon at his house, before Kerry had interrupted her, before the phone call informing her that her father had arrived.

I've been sitting in your driveway for ten minutes trying to get up the nerve to come and talk to you. Actually, the truth is I've been trying to get up the nerve for a lot longer than that.

The truth is... I'm having second thoughts about the wedding.

I mean ... the closer it gets, the more I start feeling like maybe I'm making a mistake.

Was that why there had been no Pete around? Had she even told him about her father? If not, he wouldn't be coming…at all. If that was the case, Sam was going to need someone…now…this evening.

He formulated his plan and quickly went into action. He changed out of his uniform and into some comfortable jeans and an old t-shirt. Then he pulled out his cell phone and called a cab.

Twenty-five minutes later, he stepped out of the cab, paid the driver and walked toward the entrance to the Sports Edition Bar & Grill. Almost an hour after leaving his house, he was leaving the Sports Edition with a 'to go' order for two. He crossed the street and began walking along the path through the park that would eventually wind its way toward Sam's house.

It took less than ten minutes for him to reach his destination. He looked around to see that no one was out and about. It had grown quite dark and though the streetlights provided enough illumination to make out shapes, details would be lost to distant observers.

Only a dim light could be seen shining through the front windows to the right of the door. Those were her bedroom windows, he knew. He decided to go around to the backside of the house, just in case someone might be watching.

Walking quietly down the slope on the left side of the house, he considered going in through the basement but then climbed the wooden steps that led to the covered porch on the main level. He knew Sam kept a key hidden in a flower box to the left of the French doors into her living room. When there was no reply to his knocking, he located the key and quietly let himself into the living room, replacing the key in his its hiding place before closing the French doors behind him.

He heard the shower running as soon as he opened the door. So, he didn't bother to call out. He simply made his way into the kitchen and conducted a quick search of the cupboards near the refrigerator. A few minutes later he began setting the small table in the adjoining dining area. Grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup were, in his humble opinion, the perfect comfort food. Now, if only Sam would finish her shower before it all got cold.

Her loss, his passing, this difficult time…how many terms had she used or heard used to describe the death of her father? She'd lost count. The water was beginning to warm her and she relished the sensation. She shampooed, washed and rinsed, all from a sitting position in the tub. The smells of the shampoo and soap mingled and helped to comfort her. The aromas reminded her of home, safety and comfort.

Still, she longed for…no, needed more. She ached to be held, to be comforted, to share her grief. Why had she been unable to bring herself to call Pete? He would have come right away and she could have been snuggling in his arms at this very moment. Why had she refused to even let Mark call him?

She still could not bring herself to cry. Because she'd been sitting under the hot water for nearly thirty minutes, her fingers and toes were beginning to wrinkle; disappointed that she still had not managed to let her grief out, she finally, reluctantly, shut the shower off and exited the bathtub.

As she was drying off, she heard a muffled sound outside the bathroom. She stopped and listened, hoping she'd imagined the sound. Nope, there was another. Someone or something was definitely in her house. She dropped the towel and threw on her robe. Then she quietly opened the bathroom door. Peering across the hall into her bedroom she saw no motion. So she quickly and quietly walked into her bedroom and opened her nightstand drawer.

In the darkness her fingers felt around the contents until they contacted the cold steel of her pistol and its fully loaded clip. She inserted the clip as she turned and listened again. The sound was coming from the kitchen area. Good, she'd be able to surprise whoever it was and probably scare them off.

All thoughts of grief, fatigue, anything were gone as her instincts took over and adrenaline kicked in. She worked her way down the hall, all the more silently because of her bare feet. Turning the corner from the bedroom wing to the entry hall, she listened and heard someone going through a drawer. She took a deep breath and continued forward.

Back to the wall, she sidled up until she was even with the cupboards beside her refrigerator. Then taking another deep breath she spun and aimed her gun. "Stop what you're doing and turn around, slowly."

She registered that the intruder was male before she aimed her pistol. It wasn't until he turned around with his hands casually raised and began to speak that she registered her recognition of who that male was.

"Whoa, Carter, don't shoot. Take it easy."

"General," she said, stunned by his presence. She lowered her gun and felt her hand began to shake. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, I didn't mean to startle you. I just…when was the last time you ate anything? I didn't see you eat anything at the wake. You need to eat, Carter."

It was then that she smelled the food. Where had that come from? How had he gotten in here?

Her stomach growled and she ran her empty hand through her hair. Oh my god, she thought, I must look terrible. She'd only run the towel through her hair as she'd partially dried coming out of the shower. Here she was, naked under her robe, hair mussed and tangled, pistol in her hand. She must be a sight to behold.

"Uhm…that smells good," she said, smiling weakly. "Give me a minute, okay?"

"Sure," he said and smiled.

She stared at him for a moment, still trying to comprehend the fact that the general was in her kitchen preparing food. Then she walked back toward the bathroom to at least comb her hair and put on some clothes.

Jack was putting the last of the dinner on the table he'd set with Sam's dishes when she re-emerged, this time wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a baby blue turtle neck sweater. Her hair, though damp was combed and she looked exhausted. The sparkle he was accustomed to seeing in her big blue eyes was gone. Her eyes were darker, almost grey and dull.

He smiled as she approached the table. He realized he had no idea what to say to her. As he'd planned this little covert operation, he'd failed to include conversation. What do you say to someone who has just lost their father?

"I'm really sorry, I startled you. I was fussing with keeping this hot until you got out of the shower. I should have yelled to let you know I was here."

"It's okay," she said as she sat in the chair he was holding out for her. He helped her slide the chair in, then worked his way to the opposite side of the table and sat in the chair there.

He watched as she inspected the paltry offering he'd brought. "Grilled cheese sandwiches and…" she sniffed the soup again to be sure, "tomato soup?"

"Yeah, well, in Minnesota, this is the epitome of comfort food. I didn't know what else to bring."

"Comfort food?" she repeated. "To tell you the truth, I don't know what I consider comfort food. Thank you."

She felt his eyes on her as she continued to look at the food. Then she realized he was waiting for her to start, so she picked up a spoon and dipped it in the soup. She blew on the spoon slightly before bringing it to her lips to test the temperature. Realizing she would not be getting out of eating at least a little of the soup, she took the spoonful into her mouth. Surprised at how good the soup tasted and feeling her stomach growl again, she force a smile on her face. "This is good," she said, hoping he would now stop watching her and begin eating his portion.

They continued on in silence and before she knew it, she had consumed the entire meal. She did feel better when it was over and when she smiled to thank him at the end of the meal, it was not a forced smile, but a genuine one. As was the smile he returned to her. She knew his smiles and that one expressed relief as well as concern.

"You really didn't have to do this," she said as she rose from the table, taking her dishes with her. "But I appreciate it. I guess it has been a while since I've eaten."

She was rinsing her bowl when she felt him approach from behind and reach around her to deposit his dishes in the sink. His presence was like a jolt of electricity and she nearly dropped the bowl she'd been rinsing as her mind flashed to a nearly forgotten dream. Not one of the nightmares she'd been having lately where Pete's eyes flashed and he held her down determined to place a goa'uld inside her, but one of several fantasies that had fed her soul shortly after Daniel had returned through the quantum mirror from the universe where Doctor Carter had been engaged to General O'Neill.

From time to time after that revelation, and for the next several years, she'd dreamed of what it would be like to be married to Jack. Mundane things like doing the dishes together that would lead to foreplay, that would lead to…but she would often wake up, warmed and contented by her secret crush. For that was all it could ever be…a secret.

But it had become more than a crush…and then more than a secret. As the Zatarc testing had revealed, he'd felt for her as well. That had changed things. Tension had built up as both now knew the other cared…a lot more than they were supposed to. The casual flirting that had fed her fantasies died and was replaced by cold professionalism and a fear of expressing anything that could be construed as inappropriate.

Then Daniel had ascended, but for all they knew, had died. The loss was devastating to the entire team and was a reminder that they weren't invincible. Defense mechanisms had begun to build walls, cutting off emotions and his walls were much higher than hers at that point.

Jonas had joined the team and she'd sensed that desperation in him to be accepted, to connect. So, she'd let her defenses down a little and had befriended him. The guarded joy she'd allowed herself to feel at Daniel's return softened the loss she felt when Jonas decided to return to Kelowna, but she had felt the loss none-the-less.

Then they'd lost Janet. The death of her best friend had nearly overwhelmed Sam and uncharacteristically, she'd thrown caution to the wind and had sought comfort in the arms of the one man who could give it. And uncharacteristically, he'd offered it. That one tearful embrace had threatened to knock down all the walls she'd built to protect herself from the pain of loss, had threatened to awaken the feelings she'd buried so deeply, they'd nearly died from asphyxiation.

But she'd managed to keep them buried as threats from Anubis continued to keep them busy and a nagging uncertainty about the state of his feelings for her picked away at her resolve. And then the Prometheus incident had happened. That near death experience combined with the ticking of her biological clock to produce a need to feel alive, to be alive that was strong enough to finally allow her brother to fix her up.

As hard as she'd tried to allow Pete to make her feel alive, to give herself over to him, she knew he wasn't what she needed. The moment of clarity was as simple as a reminder of what would make her feel alive – or at least what she imagined would make her feel alive.

Would he, could he make her feel alive? Would it be as she'd always imagined, or was reality nothing like the fantasy she'd created. At that moment, in her state of mind, she just needed to know. She was so tired of hiding from it, so tired of fighting it, so tired of wondering about it, she had to know. She needed to know.

She turned, grasped his face in her damp hands and kissed him.

Jack was stunned at first. The last thing he'd expected her to do was kiss him. And God help him, he'd responded. He couldn't stop himself. Her kiss was anything but tentative. It was demanding and desperate and filled with enough passion to ignite a passion in him that had been frozen out by news of an engagement and the responsibilities of promotion.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. He allowed his body to react as he pushed her back, pinning her between himself and the counter. This was so much more than the tentative kiss he'd given her all those years ago in the time loop. The kiss that she'd responded to and deepened, that she couldn't even remember. The kiss that had fueled many now buried fantasies about her. A kiss he'd been trying to forget since he'd held an engagement ring in her lab months earlier.

Then he came to his senses and through some strength of will he didn't know he possessed, extricated himself from the kiss. He was breathless and reeling. If he'd been unable to forget the time loop how would he ever put this out of his mind? What was she thinking?

As he pulled his lips away, he was forced to tighten his grip as he felt her knees buckle. He scooped her up into his arms and though he thought about carrying her to the bedroom, he felt the sofa would be a much safer choice. The last thing he was going to allow himself to do was to take advantage of her frame of mind.

As he lowered her to the sofa, the tears came.

"I'm sorry…" she said as the sobs began. "I'm so sorry." And she was feeling incredibly sorry for so many things. He was kneeling on the floor in front of the sofa and through her tears she could see the concern for her etched on his face. She was feeling bereft and desperate to have his arms around her again. As guilty as she felt for compromising him, for lying to herself, to Pete and to him, her need to feel his arms around her was greater, stronger, more desperate.

She'd been right. The fantasies had been fueled by some perception of reality that she had yet to understand because that kiss had confirmed the question that had kept her wondering for years. He was what she needed to feel alive. She needed him like she needed the very air she breathed.

Though it had been just a kiss, it had been enough to tear down the defenses she'd built and her loss had hit her like a zat blast. She began to hyperventilate; she couldn't breathe for the pain in her chest. She needed him. She needed to lean on him, to draw strength from him.

"Please, hold me," she begged between gasping breaths.

He'd never seen her this vulnerable, this needy. And he'd been with her through a lot. There was no way he was going to refuse this request and he'd already moved off the floor and onto the couch beside her. "C'mere," he said as he took her into his arms and began stroking her hair. "Let it out, Sam," he whispered as she sobbed and shook, leaning against him.

"Oh God, this hurts so much," she managed to say between her sobs.

"I know," he said, trying to soothe her.

"This was not supposed to happen," she said as her sobbing became less pronounced. He reached for a tissue on the table beside him and handed it to her. "He was supposed to outlive me," she said just before accepting the tissue and blowing her nose. "Selmak was supposed to protect him."

He could think of nothing to say. What was there to say? She was right. This should never have happened, but life was full of things that shouldn't happen. And as much as he was feeling badly for her, as much as he would miss Jacob, there was something else niggling at the back of his mind. He kept trying to put it out of his mind, but it wouldn't go.

Being there, comforting Carter was where he wanted to be. It felt right; it felt good. He did find it odd, however, that he thought nothing about her promotion being his first act as a general, but when he'd considered coming to comfort her, he'd felt the need to plan it like a covert operation.

And he couldn't help but wonder where her fiancé was and why he wasn't here comforting her. The conversation she'd started on his deck kept coming back to him. What was she trying to say?

As hard as he'd tried to keep himself from caring about her, from thinking about her, from wanting her, he was losing the battle. The last thing he wanted was to let his guard down and consider making life altering changes just to have Pete jump in and take it all away.

He felt her shift and snuggle in closer to him, rubbing her forehead into the crook of his neck. Her breathing was becoming more regular and her tears were drying up. He could feel her relaxing against him and he knew it would not be long before she drifted off to sleep.

"Feeling a little better?" he asked, softly.

"Yes, thank you," she replied in a whisper.

"I know this is really none of my business, but I just have to ask," he paused and listened, wanting to be sure she wasn't asleep.

"What?" she said and sniffled.

"Have you told Pete about your father?" She didn't reply immediately and he couldn't hear her breathing. He was afraid she'd fallen asleep. "Sam?" he asked quietly, not wanting to wake her if she had indeed drifted off.

"No," she said.

"I see," he replied.

"Do you?" she asked.

"No," he admitted.

He heard her sigh and felt a slight shudder in her shoulders. "Why does everything happen all at once?" she asked, though he knew she was not expecting an answer. Sensing that she'd lost what little calm she'd found, he cursed himself for bringing the guy up as she suddenly rose up off the couch and began pacing.

"Pete's on a stake out…somewhere…" she said without stopping.

"Oh," Jack said, feeling a wave of disappointment wash over him. "It must be tough…with your jobs and all."

She stopped and looked him in the eye. "Yeah, well, that's not the reason I didn't tell him."

"Oh?"

"I wouldn't have called him even if he'd been on office duty. I was relieved when he called," she said and nearly laughed. "I'd been feeling so much pressure with the wedding coming. I mean, it's such a huge step. I was thankful for the time to think…without Pete around."

She resumed her pacing. "Why am I telling you this?" She threw her hands in the air and spun around. "Why are you here? I can't be talking to you about this. I should be talking to him about this…I'm just not in the right frame of mind to do that right now."

Jack was stunned. He was loathe to say anything. She was more emotional and agitated than he could recall ever seeing her.

"I mean, lets analyze this. What are you doing here? Won't tongues wag? We're unchaperoned."

He didn't stop her; he just sat and listened.

"Look where that got us! I kissed you!" She stopped and put her face in her hands. Jack was just starting to get up when she rubbed her hands over her face hard and walked to a chair on the other side of the living room.

"Hey…" he said and tried to think of something…anything to say to make her feel better. "You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come over. I was just concerned that you were not taking care of yourself…"

"No, don't apologize," she interrupted. "I appreciate your concern." She took a deep breath and he fought the urge to go and take her in his arms. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. It's just been…" she sighed. "God, I'm just soooo tired! This is so frustrating."

"Frustrating?" he asked the question before he even thought about it. It was the last thing he'd expected to hear from her.

"Yeah, frustrating. I can't even begin to describe how frustrating…and really, there's an awful lot I shouldn't be discussing with you."

"Oh." Nope, he wasn't going to push her, he wasn't going to take advantage of her vulnerable position.

"I need chocolate!" she said as she jumped up out of the chair and walked toward the kitchen. "You want some ice cream?"

"Uh…no…thanks," he replied. He watched her as she strode into the kitchen and opened a cupboard. She pulled out a bowl and then opened the drawer beneath the cupboard and pulled out a spoon. As she walked a few steps and opened another drawer, he considered making his exit before things got more complicated. But the truth was, he was more concerned about her now than he had been before he came over.

She continued toward the fridge and pulled out a carton of ice cream, set it on the island in the center of the kitchen and placed a large spoon on top of it. Then she turned to face him, leaning on the island. "You sure you don't want some?"

"I'm sure," he said, holding his palm toward her momentarily.

"You're loss," she said turning back toward the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of Hershey's chocolate syrup. He watched as she opened the carton and began scooping out the ice cream with the large spoon.

"You know, it's a wonder the doc hasn't put me on a diet. I've been eating way too much of this stuff lately." He knew better than to respond to that one.

A few minutes later, she returned to the living room and plopped herself in the chair, having returned the ice cream and the syrup to the appropriate sections of the refrigerator. She'd smothered the ice cream with chocolate syrup and he watched as she began to eat. After a moment or two, he had to force himself to look at something else. Watching her eat that ice cream was causing all kinds of inappropriate thoughts to pop into his head. That was the last thing he needed to be doing right now.

"You're sucking all the fun out of this." She set the ice cream down on the end table next to her chair and heaved a big sigh. "Crap!"

"Hey, you know, I should probably let you get some rest," he said, sensing that he was beginning to be a nuisance. She stared at the fireplace and said nothing. So, he stood up and started walking to the French doors he'd entered earlier that evening.

"Don't go," she said, her voice nearly a whisper.

He stopped walking, swallowed hard and turned, slowly.

"I'm sorry. I really don't want to be alone. Too much time to think…to dwell…"

"What do you want, Sam?" he asked, gently.

"Well, that's the million dollar question, isn't it? But you know…I know what I want…now. I really do. I guess I always have. I just tried to deny it…for a while. I tried to change it. I really tried…" her voice trailed off.

Unsure of what his next move should be, he stood there. He didn't want to interrupt her, didn't want to stop this particular flow of thought. He was fighting an urge to take her in his arms. It was nothing new, he was used to fighting urges where she was concerned, but he wasn't used to being in this situation with her, alone.

"And Dad knew…he knew…" She looked toward the fireplace again and he could see tears glistening on her cheek.

"What did he know, Sam?"

"He knew that I want what I can't have; that I will forever be frustrated by an impossible situation. He understood."

Jack moved toward her and stopped again. "When you came to my house the other day…"

"I was trying to get up the nerve to ask you if you still cared for me…"

"Sam…"

"I had no idea you were seeing someone," she looked up at him and his heart felt like a vice was squeezing it.

"I'm not," he said, hoping to alleviate even a small amount of her pain.

"Neither am I," she said, standing. "I just haven't told him that…yet. I need to tell him that. I have to be fair to him. It just won't work. I just can't…it's just…it's not what I want." She clapped her right hand around her mouth to suppress a sob.

In two strides he was there, taking her into his arms again.

Oh God, she thought as he pulled her into his embrace. I can't keep doing this. This is not me. I'm so tired. Ah…I'll be so glad when this is all over and it's a distant memory that I'll do my best to forget!

She could feel him stroking the hair at the back of her head and she felt herself melt into him. The last conversation she'd had with her father invaded her thoughts.

"I just wanna know you're gonna be happy," Jacob said, squinting slightly as he looked at her.

"I am," she said, doing her best to persuade him.

He continued, unconvinced, "Don't let rules stand in your way."

Sam looked at him, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"You joined the Air Force because of me," he said, closing his eyes as he leaned toward her.

"I love my job," she insisted, emphasizing the word love.

"Mmm," he murmured as he reached out to stroke her cheek. "You can still have everything you want."

"I want you," Sam whispered as Jack continued to hold her, the two of them swaying gently as they stood in front of her fireplace.

Jack froze as he felt her breath warm his ear, unsure if he'd really heard what she'd said. Had she really said she wanted him? Though his heart soared at hearing those words, his head was hammering warnings at him. She was vulnerable, tired, letting her emotions rule. This was not the time to take action, take advantage.

He pushed away, slightly and took her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. This was a situation that required delicacy and that was not his specialty. He swallowed hard, hoping the eye contact would convey what he knew his words could not.

"Sam…"

But she interrupted him before he could choose the words.

"No…don't. I know this is not the time…God, I know that! But I'm tired of this." She pulled away from him and started pacing again. He stood near the fireplace feeling helpless to make her feel better.

"The kiss was…okay, I know that was too much. But, can't we at least have an honest conversation about this? Is that really so wrong?" she asked as she suddenly stopped pacing and turned to face him from across the living room.

"No," Jack simply replied.

"Well, then…I want you. Not Pete. I've wanted you for years…but I've fought it, denied it…it's impossible!" Her voice rose in volume.

He fought the urge to close the distance between them, sensing that she needed it at the moment and struggled to make his brain put two coherent words together.

"I know how you feel," was all that managed to come out.

"Do you?" she asked, her voice much quieter.

"Yes," he said and swallowed again, "because I feel the same way."

There, he'd said it, admitted it to her. And for the moment, at least, nothing had changed.

"So what do we do now?" she asked, looking at him with a sad smile.

"Well, I've been giving that some thought," he said as he took a step toward her. And he had been thinking about it since he'd spoken with Kerry in his office. He just hadn't acted because…there was Pete.

"You have?" She looked surprised.

"Yeah, well, that's all I've done…thinking. Because there was…" and he gestured with his hand, "Pete."

"Yeah," she said with a heavy sigh.

"It was something Kerry said…" he said and moved another step closer.

"What was that?" she asked.

"That there had to be a way to make this work. She knew…just from that moment on the deck." He shrugged slightly.

"God." She closed her eyes and ran her hand over her face.

That gave him enough time to cross the distance between them. He reached out and pulled her into his embrace.

"I'll find a way to make this work, Sam. I swear," he said. "I don't care what I have to do…if you're sure this is what you want."

This time, she pushed him back.

"I'm sure that I want you. But I still want you at the SGC too. I don't see how you can do both."

"Don't worry about it," he said as he caressed her cheek and smiled. "Just let me handle it. I'll find a way. I'm the general. I can do whatever I want now, remember?"

"Within reason," she reminded him and smiled, before pulling herself back into his embrace.

His mind was racing. He had a few ideas about how to make some changes. It was just a question of who to approach and in what order. Then there was Sam…and how much he wanted to be here for her. There were nagging doubts that once this crisis passed and Pete came around, she might see things differently. But he was keeping those doubts at bay and looking forward to a day – very soon – when he could give her a true option. Perhaps by then Pete would be nothing more than a memory. When that day came, he hoped he would never have to leave her alone again.

The End