A/N: Okay. I'm posting this because the prospect of reviews to come home to will help make my second interview go smoother. Well, that, and I have no willpower. So basically, this will have to be it for the week, or else I'll run out of material. :D

So, better enjoy it while you can! Hehehehe...

Enjoy!

P.S. Oh, and for those who didn't ask, but are wondering- this story is canon in that it will end how the movie did. But it is AU in the fact that it will take longer than the canon "one year later". Sorry. But think of it this way- more time=more fic=more possibilities. :D

The next morning dawned, and this time she woke before he did. She was already looking at him in curiosity—not panic or fear, he was glad to see—by the time he opened his eyes. It wasn't until he started on the rote questionnaire of names, events, and dates that she became distressed, and Jack tossed the list aside after three questions.

Instead he spoke to her with soft words and reassuring touches. He talked about himself, which he'd learned was a safer topic than reminding her of everything she didn't remember about herself. He showed her a picture of Charlie, and her fingers trailed lightly over the lines of his son's face. The delicacy, the reverence of her touch made Jack's throat tighten with emotion, but he let her take her time with wallet-sized photo.

She had no memory of the day before, and while she regarded the doctors and nurses who filtered in with some mild apprehension, she wasn't afraid of them. She didn't even blink twice when they offered her painkillers.

Jack refrained from mentioning that he'd authorized their use after she'd fallen asleep the night before—he hated to go against her wishes, but as always his desire to keep her pain to a minimum had won out. And she'd gotten a full night's sleep as a result, so he knew that he'd made the right decision.

That morning, she remained awake for several hours before she nodded off again. She even began to ask her own questions before she ran out of steam. He answered to the best of his ability without having to delve into the cover story. He was reluctant to start in on the lies. But if she detected the hesitation in his voice, she gave no indication, and when she fell asleep she was peaceful and serene.

That night, he pored over the files Landry had provided him, learning the life that the news outlets had been flooded with in the aftermath of Mission Commander Carter's death. He learned her parents' names, learned where she grew up and when she'd been recruited first by the Air Force and then by NASA. He read some of the papers she'd published in theoretical astrophysics—or, he tried to, at least.

To be honest, it was all gibberish. The equations were mindboggling, and he eventually settled for reading some of the peer reviews included in the report. Every single one was positively glowing, singing the praises of a woman who seemed more and more like a supergenius. One even implied that she was on the verge of rewriting the laws of physics.

The private sector mourned her loss to NASA years before her death.

Her contributions to the space program had been equally mind-blowing. She'd helped to redesign the Intrepid shuttle—of which four were sent up before the one she was on failed—and helped it go farther and faster with less fuel. And once she was up there, in the depths of space, she continued her astrophysics research, making strides that no one else on Earth could make.

The last mission, the one that crashed into the ocean, would have been her third voyage into space.

That was where the facts ended and the lies started. He stared at the false rescue mission report for a few long minutes, before he finally closed the file. Maybe, if he was lucky, she wouldn't ask him about the shuttle crash. And maybe if he focused on the facts of the Mission Commander's real life, he could at least pretend he was giving this unwitting imposter a better life.

Maybe, just maybe, he would come out of this with his soul intact.

The following weeks passed much the same. The stretches between Samantha's mental flushes grew, until the point that they usually only happened when she fell asleep. She still had bad days, and she still remained more disoriented than anyone would like, but the conversations Jack shared with her grew longer and more numerous, a sure sign that she was improving.

He told her about the weather, Charlie's latest college escapades, the news… anything that crossed his mind, anything that took her mind off the fact she was bedridden and without any memories. Whenever he dropped any names of celebrities, or politicians, or anything anyone else might have recognized, her eyes remained blank, but they both took it in stride. For the most part, she simply didn't react to her lack of knowledge of the outside world.

It was the more integral information, the personal memories she didn't have, that bothered her the most and he made a point to leave it out of their conversations. For the most part, the tactic prevented as many episodes as they could hope for. And every episode averted was a victory in Jack's book.

More than once, it occurred to him that their interaction was one-sided—she learned about him every day, but he never got the chance to learn more about her. The only facts she had were the ones he gave her.

But eventually, he started to pick up on the subtler things. Like the look in her eye when she was about to laugh. Or the little crease between her eyebrows when her pain meds needed to be upped and she was too stubborn to say anything. And he couldn't forget her nervous habit of picking at the bandages keeping her right arm braced when she was anxious. And there was one that he soon began to strive for with every chance he got.

He did absolutely everything in his power to get her to smile.

Not the little shy ones she offered when she was trying to pretend to remember him, and not the twisty ones she pasted on when the doctors kept nagging at her.

But the honest-to-god, full-blown, cheek splitting grins that lit up the whole damn room.

He lived for those. It turned into something of a self-imposed challenge, and every day he earned one was a day in which Jack O'Neill didn't fail as a man and her self-proclaimed friend. And if he didn't know better, he'd have sworn that it got easier and easier to coax them from her as time went on, as the conversations got lighter and their friendship strengthened.

One morning, after another rare night of sleep in his own bed, his phone rang as he poured himself a bowl of Frootees. The simple act sparked a furious storm of thoughts within him, eliciting memories of the conversation he'd had about Frootees with Colonel Carter, so the shrill interruption came as a welcome one.

"Yello," he drawled into the phone.

"Colonel O'Neill?" The voice on the other end was inquisitive, but familiar.

"Yeah," Jack returned easily. "Doc? That you?"

"Yes," Doctor Mackenzie answered. "I know you're probably going to be on your way in soon, but there's been a development with Ms. Carter."

Alarm flared in his gut, and Jack stood, shoving his bowl of cereal away. "What kind of development?"

"Well… she's asking for you, sir."

Jack blinked. "What?"

"She's awake, Colonel, and she's asking for Jack. It was the first thing out of her mouth this morning."

Jack didn't say a word before hanging up. Less than an hour later he was sprinting into the hospital, flashing his credentials at the SFs standing guard at the entrance as he blew past them. Luckily they either recognized him on sight, or the doc had thought to call down and tell them to expect him.

Either way, he skidded to a stop outside her room, panting and sweating. He paused only a minute in an effort to get his breath back, but the anticipation had him moving again long before his respiration evened out. He didn't care.

As soon as he stepped into the room, the patient on the bed glanced at him, her features brightening with recognition. He hesitated though, gauging her reaction. She was sitting up, supported by a pile of pillows. She was still bandaged, still braced and protected, but her eyes were clear.

And then her lips pulled into a smile that made his heart skip a beat.

"Hi, Jack."

The sun might've risen hours ago, but Jack's world brightened at the sound of her voice.

"Good morning, Samantha."