A/N: At end, save for this: As always . . . Leiasky, aka, "the Bridger" for saving this from mediocrity. And, as always, for brilliant beta work and being a great, great friend.

For Amy (Gater62). Because you kicked cancer's ass, but good.

Set after Prodigy on a planet of my own making. Episode synopsis: Carter must help keep a promising young cadet from throwing away a future in the Air Force and possibly at the S.G.C. O'Neill and Teal'c encounter a dangerous life form at an off world research base.

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Reasons for Being

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M5A-626

0121 SGCS

Sunset +6 Local

6Km E of Stargate

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Sam Carter stretched her long legs out before the fire and blew out a breath. Thankfully this mission was going a lot more smoothly than the last. Cadet Hailey's introduction to Stargate travel had been a bit more...harrowing...than Sam, or the team, would have liked.

"Major, do you have a minute?"

"Sure." She looked around. "Are you off watch?"

Hailey nodded. "Yes, Ma'am. Teal'c and Johnson relieved me and Baker ten minutes ago." Shifting her weapon awkwardly from its position at mid-body, Hailey hesitated, glancing from Sam to the nearby fire, then to the surrounding tents.

Sam studied the younger woman for a minute, then waved her to a seat near the fire. "Sit. Take a load off." She grinned to herself as she realized just how like her CO she sounded. "What's on your mind, Cadet?"

"I..." She awkwardly unclipped her weapon, her movements unsure and not yet the smoothly automatic procedure they could be. After setting it aside, but still within reach, Sam noted, Hailey simply stood there.

"Sit." The word was more of a command then invitation.

Hailey swallowed hard as she sat down. As Sam set the pot on the coals for her last cup of tea for the night, she tipped her head in question, then nodded when the younger woman shook her head. First-year Cadet First Class Jen Hailey had certainly come a long way in just the short few weeks she had been assigned TDY to the SGC. Gone was the know-it-all, outspoken cadet bent on proving the world wrong just because she could. Oh, the outspokenness was still there, and Sam had worked hard to make sure that particular quality had not been suppressed. No, it was the attitude that had changed the most; the "pushy, all-knowing, little snot," as O'Neill had dubbed her, had all but disappeared during Hailey's first mission with the team.

Truthfully, Sam was still surprised that nearly four years at the Academy had not taken that attitude down already. As she waited for Hailey to speak, she poked at the fire with the long stick the Colonel left behind earlier, sending sparks swirling up into the night air. The nights were longer here, and the days incredibly short, which made their fire that much more important. Sam really hadn't realized how much she depended on the simple, even rotational rhythm of sunlight to darkness until she and the team had gotten here. Two more days, she thought. Well, two more SGC days. Glancing again at the young woman by her side, Sam wondered if it would take the girl that long to speak her piece.

She'd poured steaming water into her cup, added a small tea bag, and set more water to heat for O'Neill's—well, anyone's really, she reminded herself—use later, and still Hailey hadn't made a sound. Instead, she sat hunched in her jacket, almost as if she were expecting a blow. Finally, Sam couldn't take it. "Do I need to remind you that you came to me to talk, Cadet?"

"Huh?" Hailey shook off her stupor. "Sorry, Ma'am. I was thinking."

"I get that."

"Huh?"

"Never mind." Sam bit back a smile. She really was sounding more and more like her CO every day.

Hailey nodded. "Um, okay. Well, what I wanted to talk about, Major, is . . . well . . . ." She shoved her green field cap up off of her brow and frowned into the fire. "I don't get it."

Surprised, Sam leaned forward to catch the younger woman's eye. "I'll bet that's not something you say often. You don't get what, exactly?"

"Well, why do you do this?" She looked up at Sam and immediately amended her statement. "I mean, I get that it's exciting, and fun, and . . . but hell, Major. I've been talking to the others, and listening. And the things you do, or have had to do. The things you've . . . seen. The things that have tried to kill you . . ." She trailed off, shaking her head. "No offense, Ma'am, but I think it's kind of nuts."

Sam sat there, open-mouthed in shock. Nuts? The kid thinks this is . . . nuts? Here she'd reached out—breaking one or two regulations along the way—to have Hailey assigned TDY to the SGC to get a hint of what her future could be, and the kid . . . Sam simply shook her head, at a complete loss for words.

Hailey sat up straighter in her spot, clearly defensive in her pose. I —I'm sorry, Major, if I've offended you. It's just that—"

She stopped when Sam's hand shot up, palm outward, silently cutting her off. "No, it's okay, Hailey. Really." Sam stopped to collect her thoughts, forcing her mind to stop spinning. "I'm just . . . well, honestly, you caught me off guard. I know your first trip out of the 'Gate was a bit, um, more exciting than we like, but in the end, you seemed to enjoy it."

"I did, Ma'am." Hailey bobbed her head. "I did."

"And on this trip we haven't had any major problems, as far as I can tell."

"No, Ma'am."

"So," Sam took a long, slow sip of her tea while she thought. What would have . . . ah, wait. "You've been talking to the guys in SG-5?" The Marine Combat unit was assigned on this mission as additional protection, if needed.

"Yes. Major Altman and his guys, Baker especially, were talking about that time on P2A-139 when you—SG-1, I mean—ran into–"

"Yeah. That wasn't pretty." Sam shrugged it off, though at the time she remembered wondering if any of them would get out alive. "But that was–"

Hailey interrupted her without seeming to realize it. "Then there was M8C-537–"

" . . . and the resonance disturbance," Sam finished. She swallowed a chuckle, remembering that it was Altman and his Second who'd come out the worse for that one. And they couldn't show anyone their injuries without compromising their dignity. "But Hailey, you can't seriously believe that it's always like that. Some days are just . . . well, just like this."

"But not most days."

"No," Sam answered honestly. "No, not most. But then, SG-1 is a first-contact team."

Hailey stretched her own legs out toward the fire, tucking her hands into her lap. "So, even though you brought me out here, you don't necessarily expect me to do the same thing?"

Sam sat up straight. "No! I mean, yeah. Yes. Hailey, I want you for the Stargate program. I brought you out here so you could know, could experience it first-hand. But do I expect you to be assigned to a first-contact team?" Sam shrugged. "No, I guess not. Not unless it's something you wanted." She studied Hailey's profile, noting the stubborn set to the chin, an expression that never seemed to go completely away. "You don't, do you?"

Hailey just shook her head. She opened her mouth, then closed it, clearly hesitating to overstep a second time.

"Spill it. No penalties. Speak your mind, Cadet." Sam stopped and then added, "What else is going on, Jen?"

The fire popped for several minutes, flames licking eagerly at the dry wood, before Hailey spoke up. "Why . . . why do you do it, Ma'am?" She looked up, her darker blue eyes black in the wavering light of the fire. "Why aren't you on SG-7 or 16, or any of the other exploratory teams? Or heading up a science team? Why be on a team that, more often than not, sees combat more than scientific discovery? What reason could you possibly have for putting yourself, your knowledge and expertise, at this kind of constant risk?"

The questions shot out of the young woman like bullets, fired one after another, leaving Sam somewhat stunned by the rapid-fire volley. It seemed that once the Cadet started, she couldn't turn it off. Sam nodded when Hailey was finished, drawing her legs up and resting her chin on her knee to give herself time to think. Noting the logs had burned low, she added another to the flames, then poked the embers until she was satisfied with the new burn. Her thoughts churned as chaotically as did the newly sparked flames, chasing themselves in and around the crevices of her mind. Of her memories. How could she explain it? Could she even explain it? She wasn't even sure if she could to herself, let alone someone else.

Beside her, Hailey fidgeted and then rose to her feet. "I'm sorry, Major. I've overstepped."

Sam shook her head but didn't wave the girl back down. Instead she looked up and made sure she caught Hailey's eye. "I guess, Jen, the best answer I can give, is that I belong here. With this team. You do, too." When Hailey's eyes widened, Sam smiled gently. "I don't necessarily mean with a front-line team. But . . . you do belong out here. With us. On a scientific team, on an exploration team, or . . . who knows what other teams we'll have in the future. All I wanted to do was show you what you could have, if you choose to."

The expression of relief on the Cadet's face almost made Sam smile. "You're . . . you're not disappointed that I don't want . . . that?" She gestured to the weapon that rested nearby.

"No."

Hailey blew out a breath. "Thank you, Ma'am. I think I would like to be a part of the team, just not the teams that, you know . . ."

"Get shot at so much," Sam finished dryly.

"Exactly." Hailey sketched a salute and turned away. "G'night, Major Carter. And thank you," she waved her hand to encompass their campground, the huge planet lumbering across the night sky. "For all of it."

"Hmm," Sam's response was quiet, since Hailey was out of earshot anyway. She frowned again at the fire at her feet, jabbing the stick more forcefully than was strictly necessary into the flames. She heard O'Neill's approach from her left, the far side of the camp, long before she could make out his outline in the firelight.

"What's up with Mini-me . . . you. Mini-you?" He sank down beside her and reached for the steaming pot of water. Pouring it into his mug, he glanced over at her. "Carter?"

Sam shrugged, still poking moodily at the fire. Hailey's questions had hit close to the mark, narrowly missing an area she herself had avoided examining too closely. An area she carefully steered the higher-ups from seeing too often, too. As good as she was, and Sam knew she was quite good in combat situations, she really didn't belong on a front-line team. Nor did Daniel, truthfully. Both of them would better serve the SGC and the mission of Earth if they used their skills elsewhere. Janet occasionally threw that at her when she came in with one injury or another, as did the General, from time to time. But the truth was, Sam was certain that Earth, and the SGC, were better served if she was here, with him. Them, she hastily corrected herself. O'Neill's nudge threw her both physically and mentally off-balance, and Sam reached out to steady herself, catching his sleeve. "Sorry, Sir. What?"

"Hey." The Colonel waited until she was steady before releasing her arm. "What's goin' on? You were at least one light-year away." He tipped his head toward the tents, the direction in which Hailey had disappeared. "What'd the kid have to say?"

Sam turned to him, dropping her legs to cross them Indian-style. "She was just letting me know her team preference. You know, for after graduation."

"Lemme guess. She wants on Five? Or maybe Sixteen? Seventeen?"

"How'd you know, Sir?"

"Dunno, just a guess." He sipped his coffee and, taking the stick from her hands, took over the fire-poking duties.

Sam studied him for a moment, then, like poking at a sleeping bear, couldn't resist asking, "Why haven't I been reassigned, Colonel?"

O'Neill turned to her. "You want to be?"

His expression was bland, his voice even. Too much so, she thought, even as her breath caught in her throat at his question. "No! I mean . . . I'm happy on SG-1, Sir. Very."

"Good."

"It's just . . . she is right, kind of. We do get shot at more times than not."

"We do."

Blowing out a breath, she rested elbows on her folded legs and her chin in her hands. "So . . ."

"So."

They sat in silence, Sam replaying her conversation with Hailey and toying with her now-cold mug of tea. She couldn't imagine doing this job, the "sciency" part, as O'Neill called it, from anywhere but here.

With him. Yes, she could admit that, if only to herself. Hell, they'd admitted it to other more than once, just this year alone. So . . . why hadn't the higher-ups pushed it? She knew why she was here. Or at least, most of why she was here. But . . .

"Sir? Why do you think Hammond hasn't pushed?"

O'Neill didn't pretend to not understand. He sat quietly for a long moment, only his fingers moving along the stick he still held in his hands, his expression still.

Too still.

Sam turned to face him fully as her stomach dropped to somewhere below her knees. "He's mentioned it to you, hasn't he?"

O'Neill turned to her, his gaze steady, his voice low. "He has." Sam simply waited, and O'Neill continued. "Keeler and the others brought it up after 862. Hammond shut them down. So did I."

Sam, whose heart had leapt into her throat at his first words, forced her breathing to stay steady. "What–what did Hammond say? What did you say?"

O'Neill turned back to the fire and stretched out, crossing his feet at the ankles and leaning back to rest on his elbows. "Well, you know the General, he gave 'em a little of this, some of that. The ol' one-two."

"Colonel." She hated when he did that. Just hated it.

"What do you want me to say, Carter? He told them 'no,' your reassignment wasn't up for discussion." He tipped his face up to the sky, where the large crescent of the low-hanging planet above dominated the sky. Eventually he slid his gaze over to where she sat, her eyes on him. "He might have implied that, ah, you were pretty much the reason we're as good as we are."

"But . . . but that's–"

"Nothing short of the truth, Carter. You keep us in line. You keep us focused. Hell, half the time, you keep us alive."

"That's it, Sir?"

"It?" Flames flickered in his eyes as he tilted his head toward her.

Now he was playing dumb and she knew it. Knew he knew she knew it. Knew, too, that she should leave it alone. But sometimes a girl just needed to hear it, thin and veiled as the confessions between them always were.

She gave him the look. A look that only he would ever be able to interpret.

"I think you know the answer to that."

"Sometimes, it's nice to hear." She felt like a child needing to be reassured.

"You keep me…balanced."

"You're not unbalanced, Sir. Far from it."

His expression said it all, that she'd just made his point for him. Frustrated, she shook her head. "Sorry, I don't buy it."

He huffed out a breath, frustration edging his voice. "Fine. You tell me, then. Why haven't you asked for a transfer? You're more than qualified to run your own team. The last two times we had a command slot open on an S team I halfway expected to find your papers on top." He nudged his chin back toward the tents, where Cadet Hailey was most likely already sound asleep. "She's nearly as bright as you, has—or will have—the same education you had, with the added benefit of your insight. Yet…she's smart enough to ask for a science team, and you…you're out here with me–us–out here with us."

Well crap. She'd pushed it, poked at it, and now the bear was grumpy. And grumpy enough to give her the longest lecture she'd ever had from him. And he was right. Well, about most of it. Too much had happened this year for either of them to play coy. Too many things shared; some whispered in the dark of a planet when neither had consciously known the other, or of their other lives; half-spoken promises on a back porch, or around other fires. No…too much to skirt this. To not be honest.

She ducked her chin and then lifted it, remembering that he hated when she did that. "You want to know the reason I don't ask? The thing that makes me different from Hailey?" She pivoted away from the fire to face him, though his face was hidden in shadow, just out of reach of the dancing firelight. "It's this," she gestured between them, then swept her arm wider to encompass the fire. "It's you," she paused, just enough to emphasize the difference, then continued, "and Daniel. And Teal'c. The team. But mostly…" her words stopped in her throat, choking her. She was not quite as ready as she'd first thought to simply lay it all out.

The moment stretched out between them, as endlessly long as the nights on this tiny moon. Around them, night sounds came and went; small animals foraging, the rush of wings on the wind as the night birds began their hunt, all accompanied by the snap and pop of the fire. That elemental thing that had become as much a part of their team as their packs, rations, and gear.

"Balanced, huh?" Well. That couldn't have sounded more...vague. I need to be out here. With him. With them, yes, but with him. Sometimes words were just so…simple, so inadequate. But still so important. Sometimes it wasn't about needing to hear, but about needing to be heard, even if she couldn't find the right words.. "Same goes, you know?"

O'Neill said nothing and, after waiting for him and realizing he had nothing to add, Sam turned back to the fire, feeling the warmth of the flames adding to the heat on her cheeks. He didn't have to say anything, she knew, but like she'd said earlier, sometimes a girl needs to hear the words. Knowing she wouldn't sleep now before her watch, she added another log to the fire and hunted around for the stick to poke and make room in the embers.

"Here," he said quietly as he lifted himself fluidly to his feet and handed her the stick he'd been using.

She took it from him and, before she could thank him, felt his hand brush across her shoulder once, then settle. The brief squeeze he gave warmed her almost more than had the fire, and it took everything she had to resist turning her head and laying her cheek on the fingers still resting there. Almost as if he'd sensed her thought, the fingers squeezed again, then lifted away, leaving behind the lingering impression of warmth as he stepped out of the light of the fire toward the tents.

"I do know."

The words, spoken almost too low for her to hear, drifted back on the rising breeze. And sometimes, the simple words are everything.

End.

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Author's note(s): Fanfic writers are a community who rely upon others' work. We write derivative fiction based upon characters we do not own. And we could not do so without the efforts of other fans, in this case, I am speaking of the Stargate Wiki. Brilliant collection of information of all-things Stargate, including information I had no idea existed, all packed into 9,402 pages of fabulous information.