A/N: This one is a little short, I know. But the second part will be posted for the usual update day, so we won't have to wait too long. :D I'm getting excited here folks!

Enjoy!

Thea stroked her daughter's brow, feverish and furrowed in distress. But her heart skipped a beat when blue eyes flickered open, focusing blearily on her face. She wished she couldn't discern the shock and disbelief in those eyes, morphing from one to the other in a flash. Confusion remained throughout, coloring her features and she had to remind herself that no matter how familiar this woman was—she might not know her in the slightest. How much of her daughter remained in this woman?

Her racing thoughts slammed to a halt when a hand pressed hesitantly to her cheek. Fingertips trailed gently along the planes of her face, and Thea met her daughter's gaze, unprepared for the awe that shone up at her. It was as if she were the one that had been lost. She supposed maybe that was accurate. In a way, she and Jacob were as lost to Sam as she'd been to them.

"Mom…"

"Sammie?"

"I'm sorry." Tears escaped her lids, spilling through damp lashes to trail down her cheeks. Thea gently wiped them away even as she fought her own.

She shook her head in an attempt to dispel her daughter's guilt without betraying her own wavering voice. "It's not your fault. You were confused—they warned us…"

The Air Force had warned them that she might not ever remember the last forty years of her life. That she might not ever remember more than the new memories she stood to create. At the time, they'd barely heard anything after "She's agreed to see you," so excited they'd been. But now she wished they had the sense to keep their spirits tempered. Maybe, if they had, it wouldn't hurt so much to be faced with the reality of what had happened to their beautiful little girl.

"I wished for this… To see you…" Sam's whisper was husky, her eyes clouded with pain and confusion. And her lids were heavy—no doubt fighting the effects of the medication. Her fingertips passed over Thea's lips, and Thea captured them, keeping them there as she kissed the callused skin. "You're so beautiful…"

"Sam…" Tears burned at her eyes, and she blinked them back, refusing to let her daughter see them. "It's all right, Sam. You're home now."

Blue eyes slammed shut, but a moment later they pried themselves open. "…Wanted to tell you…always…" She was near sleep now, and her words were muddled, but intelligible.

"Yes, baby?"

"Lo—Love you…"

Thea's breath scraped along her throat against sudden tears, and she could barely hold herself together even as her daughter's frame relaxed into unconsciousness. She sat back on her heels, taking the sudden solitude to pull herself together. But she didn't let go of the hand she held. That she clung to for dear life.

She didn't know how long she sat there, until a shuffle of footsteps at the door jostled her into awareness once more. She looked up to see her daughter's companion, his dark eyes warm and gentle in the dark of the room.

"She's asleep?" he asked, his voice low. She nodded, not trusting her voice. "That's a good thing, ma'am. This happens sometimes… it's nothing to worry about."

He came to crouch at her side, offering her the damp cloth he held in his hand. She took it with a murmur of thanks, pressing it to her daughter's brow. But that brought her attention back to the lengthening trail of blood that oozed slowly from her daughter's nose.

"Doesn't feel that way to me," she said softly, dabbing the blood away with a corner of the cloth. "What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing's wrong with her." The man tried to keep the defensive edge out of his voice, but Thea heard it. Part of her was glad to hear it, but the rest of her had no patience for it.

Her eyes narrowed. "She clearly isn't completely healthy, Mr. O'Neill. I want to know what my daughter is facing."

A moment passed, before the man seemed to relax a fraction. "Call me Jack… I think we're beyond formalities here, ma'am."

She nodded. "You can call me Thea."

Jack nodded. He hesitated, then took a deep but measure breath. "The docs think it's some kind of seizure. It started a couple months back, and they don't know why. The medication helps… We usually catch it before it gets this bad. This one came on quick."

"Because of me," she said, her voice dark.

He shook his head. "We don't know that. She's been under a lot of stress, and not just because of meeting you and your husband. It's been hard, and she's been facing it alone."

"Except for you."

He shrugged. "I've done what I can to make life easier. But in the end… it's her battle. And to be honest—I don't know what to do any more than she does."

But Thea knew the truth. Her daughter was lucky to have a man like this in her life. A friend like him, when she had nothing else…

"We want to be a part of her life," she declared. Being allowed a taste of her… it wasn't enough. She needed more.

One look told her Jack understood. He nodded. "I want you to be. She's lonely, and she deserves more than just a grumpy old man for company." But then he shrugged. "But it'll be her decision how much she lets you be there for her. I can't force her to do anything."

She nodded. "I wouldn't want you to…" She smoothed her daughter's hair from her face, running the pale strands between her fingers. "Do you have children?"

He nodded. "A son... Charlie."

Thea smiled. "That was always Sam's biggest regret. She loved NASA, her work. Space was always her dream, but… her biggest regret was that it kept her from starting a family of her own."

One of the last conversations she'd had with her daughter had been about her lack of family. Thea had only wanted the best for her daughter but… she hadn't realized until it was too late that it wasn't her business. That what Sam needed wasn't blind dates arranged by her parents.

"She told me she would give up NASA if she ever met the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with…" Her voice sounded strangled, even to her own ears, but Jack looked at her with nothing but understanding. "But she never got the chance."

She wondered if maybe now her daughter had that chance. She saw the way this man—this stranger who knew more about her daughter than she did—looked at Sam, always on guard for her. That kind of devotion… It was more than friendship. She could only hope that Sam had allowed herself to feel the same for him.

"Look… she should be out for a couple of hours," Jack told her gently. "But when she wakes up, she's going to be groggy, and irritable. She might be less on edge if you weren't here when she comes to."

Thea felt herself bristling, despite his logic. "I'm her mother—"

"I know that. But she doesn't. And I know her well enough to know that she won't appreciate a stranger seeing her like this. If you aren't here, then odds are she might not even remember that you saw this, period. It might make her more open to interacting with you in the future." Brown eyes looked at her with compassion. "I know it's hard, but I think that's the best option here. You'll just have to trust me."

Despite herself, she did trust him. She had no reason to doubt him, and if he was telling the truth, he knew her daughter's ups and downs better than anyone else. And he understood the need for parents to know their children. And he seemed honest enough. He was military, but not a flunky. He would do right by Sam.

Thea nodded. "You said she'd be out for a few hours…"

"Yeah. Stay until she starts coming to. I'll take over then, but for now… she needs you too."

She offered him a watery smile of gratitude. She ignored her aching knees, prepared to remain as long as he deemed wise. His eyes traveled between the two of them, his features gentle with understanding. He nodded. "I'll go let Jacob know that everything's okay. Are you all right here?"

She hummed an affirmation, turning her attention back to her daughter. She heard him stand and move out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. And so Thea settled in to wait, to be there for her daughter in the only way she knew how. She pressed a kiss to a warm but pale brow, and wiped away her tears.

The muffled voices of Jake and Jack O'Neill traveled back to her through the walls of the den. She couldn't make out their words, but if Thea knew her husband at all, he would accept the bare facts— would Sam be all right?—before falling into a solemn silence to wait. And sure enough, moments later the voices faded.

Thea occupied herself in the following silence by fussing. Where before she cleaned the house, she know focused on Sam, straightening the sling that protected her damaged arm, and daubing the cool washcloth to her brow. She listened to the heavy sounds of her breathing, thanking God for every intake of air she heard. But as time wore on, her eyes began to wander.

While resettling her daughter's slinged arm, the collar of Sam's shirt had fallen open, revealing an expanse of pallid shoulder to her mother's gaze. At first, she didn't make anything of it. But as she looked closer, she realized that the skin was smooth, unmarred by blemish or scar. It took her by surprise, and she blinked several times before her gaze traveled to the opposite shoulder, peeking at the skin there, just in case. But that shoulder was similarly smooth, and was even soft to the touch.

She saw the tracing scar of a healed surgical incision on her protected shoulder, close to the joint, dark and knitted in the dim light of the den. Her stomach turned to ice at the sight of it, Thea's gut churning at the proof of her daughter's mortality. But it wasn't the scar she was looking for.

The time passed quickly, and soon Sammie was stirring, moans catching in her throat as she began to wake. Thea tucked her puzzled thoughts aside, and gracefully removed herself from the room. She had questions now, so many questions, but questions that would only be answered if Sam decided she trusted them enough to let them be a part of her life.

For now, she would trust in the advice of Jack O'Neill, and hope that her daughter would remember enough to know they loved her. In the meantime, she would hold onto the words of her Sammie, whispered and pained and tearful as they were. Somehow, not even the nagging shadow of doubt could douse the hope that sparked at the choked words that assured her of her daughter's love.