I have revised the story rating to "M" because of this chapter, just to be on the safe side. Thanks to gspin for the kick in the pants and aurora1101 for the hand-holding! I've also gone ahead and posted the epilogue, it's just a short follow-up.

High Noon

"…She had the address to get off P3X-124, and didn't even know it!" he chortles. "Oh, I can't wait to tell her."

O'Neill stares at the field notes in his hands. "I bet you can't," he says quietly.

"Well, off to the great white north," McKay says expansively, and he leaves O'Neill standing speechless on the tarmac.

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It takes a few minutes for him to slip away from his obsequious assistant and find an empty office where he can be sure he won't be disturbed. In his hands is the key, he's sure. The answer to why Carter has been hiding from him under the cover of a convenient medical diagnosis. Although Jack can't really say she ever lied about it- he'd just made assumptions without really talking to her because he didn't want to deal with the fallout. And that's certainly nothing new.

He takes off his hat and tucks away his sunglasses before carefully taking the dog-eared volume in his hands, leafing through it slowly, memories of their time on the planet coming back to him as if it were a photo album. The first entries from P3X-124 that he finds are copies of the glyphs from the gate, some of them written in his brief, impatient style as if getting stranded was nothing more than an annoying flat tire on the way home. About halfway through are his hesitant calculations with her sure interpretations right next to his and it's like he is still lying next to her on the porch in the soft evening light. There's a torn page where she removed the paper for his puzzle, and he runs his finger along the jagged edge and thinks about the joy and anticipation on her face when she decided she wanted to brave the cold and bring it to him.

Finally, he comes across a cartouche circled in red ink with exclamation points and McKay's unintelligible handwriting beside it, and turning the page, he notes that this address- earth's address- is the last entry in the book with a dozen blank pages following it. It's apparent that McKay's desire to feel smarter than Carter has blinded him to the other obvious message contained in those six symbols.

Carter knew the way home, but didn't want to go.

He remembers how she stubbornly stayed out in the snow during those last few hours and he realizes he never saw her write in the book once in the half-dozen times that he'd checked on her that night. And how agitated she'd been when he'd brought her in.

Time is running out, and I don't know the answer. He'd thought she was talking about the gate address, but she'd been talking about them.

O'Neill slowly lifts the front cover of the book and watches it fall shut on its own. Then he rubs his face with both hands as he recognizes how shortsighted he's been- and that's just when he's not been completely blind. What had started out as a barrier he put up to protect them both had turned into an obstacle course over the past few years, and she did what she had to in order to get through it. And now she's paying the price.

He gets to his feet and tucks his hat under his arm, and then picking up the notebook he walks off to set the record straight.

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Sam watches anxiously as the carefully packed crates are unloaded by a pair of gangly young airman who don't seem all that certain about where their own arms and legs are, much less the corners of the box. "You know, you really can't miss the floor- just- just leave it there. Good." She nods vigorously as the last one settles onto the tile in her new, spacious lab, her hands guiding it the last few centimeters. Her eyes cautiously follow the airmen out, and as they leave another one steps in and shuts the door- a major general in service dress whom she recognizes so very well.

"Nice digs, Carter." O'Neill thinks she looks exactly the same as she did when she realized the DHD couldn't get them home. Shocked and uncertain, but not afraid.

"Sir," she says, blinking once as she hears him turn the lock. Her hair has grown in, but it's cropped close in a blonde fringe that only serves to frame her face and wide blue eyes.

"You're gonna have to work on that, Carter." He looks at her steadily and she seems to know that her cover has been blown as she nods and perhaps develops the tiniest of smiles.

"So are you, Jack."

He sets his hat down on a desk just inside the doorway as if he's been here a dozen times before, but really it's just because he's afraid he'll drop it, and then he hands her the open notebook because he can't trust himself to speak. She looks at it with a deep sigh and Jack can't decide if it's relief or resignation he sees on her face. Maybe both. "McKay figured it out," she says.

"He figured it out, but I did the math."

"I'm sorry, Jack."

"I never understood that the first time you said it." The remorse in his voice is so thick he can barely force the words out. "I made you fly blind. I always have."

She shakes her head quickly. "I know how hard it is for you. You're a good man, a good officer. Too good." Her eyes are glistening now as she fights to tell him what he needs to know. "And the charges against you were my fault. I had to give you the chance to undo everything I did."

"We did."

"I shouldn't have put you in that position, sir."

"Oh, I don't know, Carter. It wasn't that kinky."

She smiles briefly and looks down, but this time he's not going to let her hide. He reaches out and takes hold of her upper arm, pulling her toward him. It's completely unlike him to do that, but she brings out a lot of surprising things in him, she always has, and that's what he craves. He wants to feel the way he did when they were lost, when the world was just stripped down to its essential ingredients- her, him and a will to survive.

She's still too thin, his hand easily encircling her arm even with her lab coat on and his breath catches in his throat as he understands that she's been stuck just like him, in her own personal hell, trying to do the right thing and being wrong the entire time. "Hammond promoted me to save my sorry ass and you didn't know, did you?"

She smiles with pride as she runs her fingers over the new star on his epaulet and for the first time Jack actually gives a damn about that kind of thing. "That's not the reason he did it, but no, I didn't know until yesterday. It doesn't make everything all right, though."

It finally dawns on Jack that to Sam Carter the scientist, withholding even irrelevant data is unethical and she won't cut herself some slack for being less than perfect. He holds her close, just feeling her breathe, immersing himself in the sensation of being near her. "Do you know what I'd have said? If you'd told me right away that you had the address?"

He can feel her shake her head silently against his shoulder.

"I'd have asked for one more day."

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The sound of metal on concrete indicates to Sam that Jack is home, followed by the "Son of a bitch!" that confirms it. She stops tentatively by the open garage door and knocks on the wooden frame.

Jack looks up from the workbench, his look of consternation rapidly fading as he sets down the wrench he'd just retrieved from the floor. "Hi."

"Hi."

He's been waiting for so long and there's so much to say, but first he has to find the words, and there are none to be had. He stares at her for a moment and then reaches for a rag and wipes his hands.

"I like this part of Alexandria," Sam says.

"It's nice. A little crowded, but I'm not here much." He doesn't use the word 'home,' because he doesn't really have one anymore. It's certainly not here.

"I can't believe you brought that back." She walks into the building, her hands jammed tightly in her pockets.

"Sentimental value." He pats the vat fondly. "I happened to be out at Area 51 anyway," he glances over at her, "and they didn't want it anymore."

Her eyes are drawn inexorably back the contraption. Admiring her restraint, he taps a nut on the flange that fixes the tubing to the bottle. "Stuck."

"Ah."

"Go on. You know you want to." He watches her step up to the workbench, and can't help but notice how terrific she looks. What she's doing to that pair of jeans is probably illegal in ten counties including the one he's in. She's getting her curves back and he appreciates that, in more ways than one.

She runs her finger around the stubborn hardware. "That Allen wrench won't work. You'd get a lot more torque out of a socket wrench without stripping it."

"I'm plenty torqued as it is, Carter."

"I see that." She motions toward the driveway. "I can go buy you a set."

"Later." He leans back against the workbench and sets down the rag. "How'd it go in Colorado?"

"Hard."

Jack nods. "Yeah, I know."

"But I'm closer to Cassie this way, and they don't need me anyway."

"That's good," he says a little too quickly, then stops. "I mean… I don't mean that..." Someday he hopes they'll both learn to talk. It doesn't look like today's the day, though. "It's safer in Nevada," he finally says.

She smiles at his awkwardness and he can feel a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. Her eyes are sparkling in that way that makes him think all kinds of sappy thoughts he thought he was too old and cynical for, and if she turns that smile up another notch he'll be down on one knee in seconds. But he figures they've both had enough drama for a while. "How long can you stay?" he asks. He thinks that sounds a little less intimidating than Marry me, dammit.

"As long as you want me to."

"Yes. Well, that would be for the rest of your life- but for the good of the country, I'm willing to compromise," he says generously, slipping his thumb through her belt loop.

"That's very big of you," she teases.

Something's very big of him, Jack suddenly notices, but it's not what she thinks. He pulls her closer, needing her in so many different ways that sometimes it's a little overwhelming and he can't really sort through it in his mind, much less articulate it and so he decides he's finished talking. He kisses her gently, and it's as if his life is focused right here in this moment in this garage like light through a magnifying glass; and the thought of how perilously close he'd come to having her completely out of his life is too close. It's still too recent, too close to this reality and he needs to do what he can to seal that possibility away, send it off down its own timeline and let some other Jack O'Neill lead a ruined life. And given how many times he could have lost her, there are a lot of those Jack O'Neills out there.

His other hand slips behind her head, weaving his fingers through her hair, keeping her steady against the increasing pressure of his mouth until the intensity of it causes her to break away. But he doesn't mind not kissing her lips if it means he can give her neck his undivided attention, if he can draw his tongue along her collarbone and press the soft skin under her jaw between his teeth until that's too much for her, too.

"Jack," she whispers, surprised by his sudden assault.

"What?" he says softly, lifting his head to speak directly into her ear. "Should I invite you in for a beer?" He slips her jacket off of her shoulders. "Maybe see if the Vikings are playing today?" There's an edge in his voice as he lays the jacket on the workbench and turns back to her, his hands resting on the swell of her hips, his eyes meeting hers. The spark that was there has smoldered into a deeper glow and it still makes him want to get down on his knees only now it's for a far less innocent reason. "If you don't know me by now, there's not much I can do."

Jack knows that sounds like the worst kind of ultimatum, but given what they do for a living he's not sure if they'll have a happily-ever-after, so he'll take right-damned-now if he can.

Her fingers are tracing along the side of his face and he's not sure what she sees but he feels like an open book and that's new for him, and a little frightening, if he'd go so far as to admit that to himself. Which he can't- but it's still a thrilling reassurance when she kisses him and he knows she understands him, because it's important to him that she know all of the multiple complicated reasons why he intends to screw her senseless.

He takes her by the hand and leads her into the house, shutting off the lights and closing the garage door on their way out just to show he hasn't lost his mind quite yet, and he doesn't want her distracted by things left undone. In the afternoon light of the bedroom he finally gives in to the desires that have been at the edges of his thought and fully occupying his dreams for the better part of four months. Her clothes disappear and finally he's got his hands on her, soft skin and curves wherever his mouth and hands can wander. He appreciates her height, the expanse of skin from her smooth, rounded shoulders, across the graceful curve of her back to the appealing swell of her ass. She's strong and supple and there's a current flowing between them, a desire to take and be taken and he doesn't have to worry about breaking her.

He committed her to memory during that fleeting, intimate morning they spent together months ago and it's been one of the few things he's had to sustain him ever since. So he notices that she's changed- not only less thin but softer, less muscular than before and just knowing that gives him a unique satisfaction as well as a desperate hope that they'll both be around long enough for him to go through every little change and flux, ebb and flow of time with her and somehow run out the clock on their military duties. But the feel of her lips on his throat, sucking his skin into her mouth, little nips and kisses wipe time completely out of the equation and he's suspended in space connected to the world only by her hands, her mouth and her body as the last of his clothes hit the floor and he's finally able to pull her into his bed.

She murmurs something against his ear, something about how she feels or he feels but it's all the same now because there's no boundary, they're molded together and when she moves he moves unwilling for the tiniest amount of contact to be lost. His skin is on fire, her touch exquisite as she traces patterns across him, not formulae but magical spells and they're definitely conjuring up some very wicked spirits, her fingernails dragging lightly across his waist, his belly, from the crest of one hip to the other. She breathes against his lips, a lost, yearning sigh and moves again, warm and soft and smooth against him as her fingernails trace down his rigid, heavy length and he has a distant memory of her talking about feedback loops and electricity and things exploding.

There's another sigh, another squirm, another delicate caress and he breaks the circuit with his tongue in her mouth and takes her hands in his hands. Her body rises against him and he's not sure if it's desire or because she's pissed at being stopped in the middle of a project but she's suddenly a handful in more ways than one as she proves by rolling him flat on his back. Her aggression totally turns him on. "Oh, Carter," he taunts her, her eyes flashing back at him, "I can take it, trust me." Because even when he loses he wins, and it's a delicious victory as he catches her full, round breast and tight nipple with his mouth, working her over with his lips, his teeth, his tongue and all she can do is arch and twist and breathe his name and he swears he can feel the charge building up in her, too.

Jack can't control those elegant, strong legs, though as she strokes his body with the smooth skin of her inner leg, knee and thigh, sweet friction teasing him mercilessly, entwining her limbs with his, pressing against him until the temptation is just too much. He frees one hand so he can sink his fingers into the flesh of her ass, gripping and caressing her thigh, drawing her legs around him, the wet heat between them burning the tips of his fingers. She's got her hand in his hair, clutching his head then his neck, shoulders, moving tortuously against him, reaching for him.

But he's not ready for this to be over and he's through playing games. He grips her hips tightly and with one last kiss releases her breast, and then using his weight and strength to his advantage he turns and pins her to the bed. He doesn't care if he's being unfair as he holds her still, immersing himself in her scent and the taste of her sweat as he kisses his way down her stomach, pausing to drive the tip of his tongue into her belly button in a blatant hint at what he intends to do next. He slips down, gently biting her skin when her fingers tighten in his hair and she cries out, pleading in sweet frustration.

If there's one thing that's always been true it's that whenever Carter says "please," he does whatever she asks.

He had intended to take his time, to make her fly apart under his fingers and mouth and have the incredible privilege of putting her back together again but his resolve shatters at the sound of the need in her voice. He's driven, every part of him aching for that ultimate connection, to possess her like she possesses him because he's discovered the only thing worse than losing Samantha Carter is having her and losing her again. So he climbs back up her body and sinks in to her, claims her, hard and hot, his muscles taut and straining, pulse pounding, his eyes riveted to hers because he needs her to see straight into his soul and know she's never, ever going to be rid of him.

And he can see in her sky-blue eyes that's exactly what she wants. Her skin is flushed and damp, lips cherry red and swollen from the passion of his kisses, thighs parted wide to take him, ankles locked behind his back to keep him. He drives a little deeper just to watch her reaction, her erotic trance disrupted. "Beautiful," he whispers, dropping his lips to her temple. "So damn beautiful." He closes his eyes and his restraint slips away until he's moving slow and strong, grinding into her sweet, tight body at the end of every stroke until he feels her spasm and jerk, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, biting his chest to keep from screaming. Wiring completely overloaded, the fuses blow and so does he, deep, pushing her knees up and out, his back tensed from his neck to his thighs. And in the subconscious recesses of his mind, under thick layers of reason and common sense and against all the odds there hides a little hope that some of him will find a home in her and grow, binding her to him irrevocably and filling the void Charlie left in his heart.

But she's already filled in the rest of it, more than enough, certainly more than he deserves. Again she weeps and this time he thinks he knows why and it's nothing that needs to be fixed. It's a little like seeing earth from space, he thinks as he wraps her up in his arms. Perfect, beautiful and heartbreakingly fragile, and only the lucky few ever get to experience it.