Author: Jojo
E-mail: randomleaves@yahoo.co.uk
Rating: PG-13
Category: Romance/Angst Sam/Jack
Archive: SJD, my site (www.geocities.com/randomleaves), ff.net
Summary: It's the last time. Season 4.
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 is an original MGM, Greenburg/Anderson, Gekko, Top Secret, Kawoosh! production. Any material relating to Stargate SG-1 is for entertainment only, and is in no way meant as an infringement on copyrights. In other words, I own nadda.
Spoilers: Serpent's Song, D&C
Status: Complete
A/N: With much thanks to Emry, Mel and Kat
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A warm, soft comfort had stolen over the moment, fueled by golden liquid and bubbles. The sound of the rest of the bar had softened to blurred background noise and Jack was having no difficulty in thinking they were alone. He was drinking steadily, the bottle clasped between the fingers of his hand, while his eyes roamed over her. He didn't think he was being particularly lascivious; it was just natural male curiosity.
Carter was slumped in front of him, her head turned into the cradle of her arms, the empty bottles of beer shielding her from his view. Mostly all he could see was hair, tousled from carelessness and hairstyle. He figured she was growing it out. God knew he'd gone through years of Sara growing her's and cutting it and growing her's and cutting it. Then there had been that day he'd returned home to find he had a brunette instead of a blonde for a wife.
He winced, recalling his unfettered, horrified reaction. And Sara's narrowed, threatening eyes. The night he'd spent in the spare room kicking himself. That had been a clear-cut example of the O'Neill-foot-in-mouth syndrome. His father had it. His father's father had it.
Charlie would have had it.
Lifting his free hand from the table, where his skin stuck momentarily on *whatever* was all over the table, he delicately moved one beer bottle, then another, to the side so the brown glass no longer protected her. Now he could see one of her hands. Long, smooth hands with long, capable fingers. Short, neat fingernails coated with a clear, protective varnish. Not one for colors, was his Carter. Somehow, picturing her painting her nails scarlet in front of the television made him smile just a touch.
They were dating.
Definitely.
He hadn't been sure in the beginning. They hadn't exactly got on very well. She was too smart and he was too stubborn. Late cancellations on behalf of Teal'c and Daniel had meant they'd been forced into each others company more than they had wanted to. Nearly four years later and now it was the other way around, Teal'c and Daniel were only occasional participants in the Sam and Jack show.
She moved suddenly, turning her head and resting her chin on her fingers. "Sorry," she murmured, yawning without bothering to cover her mouth.
"It's all right." He tilted his beer, looking through the dark glass at the liquid inside. "Hard day."
She blinked at him a few times, her lids obviously heavy and her eyes glazed with drowsiness. He'd figured she'd been having a nap but he had been too comfortable and too okay with it to wake her.
"Do you want to go?" she asked, the question laced with uncertainty.
He shook his head. He wanted this to last for as long as it could. This quiet, comfortable time when desire was running several layers below the surface, when he could just sit across from her and watch her without thinking about undressing her. If they went home, there would be that increasingly tense journey home in his car before he dropped her off, before she paused and considered whether to ask him in.
As of yet, she had never asked him in. And he was pathetically grateful.
So they were dating...
... but not.
The first time they had seriously kissed weighed heavily on his mind sometimes. Mostly when she gave him one of her soft good-bye kisses that just missed his mouth. The first time he had kissed her he had been furious, with her, with Daniel, with everyone. It had been shortly after the first time Apophis had died and her compassion and humanity for him had irritated Jack, her ability to see beyond the evilness that was Apophis to acknowledge the host.
The feeling that she was right.
"You look funny."
She was watching him. Not surprising, really. He'd been watching her. "Just thinking."
Carter knew him too well; she didn't ask him any further questions. Just looked at him inscrutably, blue eyes permanently wide. Whether she knew it or not, he was a sucker for her eyes.
Jack remembered, with the vagueness of the memories of their first few months, that he'd once thought she put on the wide-eyed childish facade as a method for getting what she wanted. It had certainly seemed to work with Hammond.
The bottle of beer finished, Jack put it aside, toyed with the idea of finishing off hers. They hadn't really drunk very much but a hard day's work, a hard month's work, had lowered their defences. So while her sleepiness was half alcohol-induced, he was sure of it, he knew Carter wasn't usually a cheap date. There were very few things about her that were cheap. But her taste in lingerie, she'd told him once, might just shock him.
Yeah. Sure. He was pathetically grateful she hadn't asked him in once.
Sure. Grateful was the right word.
You betcha.
Her smile became sinuous, almost as if she knew where his mind was. "Now what?"
Jack toyed with the idea of acting innocent, but then decided that was her forte. He leaned forward on the table and lowered his voice, "What color?"
She grinned, tucked her hair behind her ears with those fingers he admired so much and sat up straighter, all business. Reaching up casually with one hand, she pulled at the stretchy black material of her sleeve, showing him briefly the color of her bra strap before the material slipped back into place.
He sighed with weary frustration and soft, low-lit fantasies. Bright pink.
Dating.
Definitely dating.
Damn Tok'ra.
She picked up her bottle and drained the last couple of mouthfuls. He watched her throat work and wondered if she'd blush if he reached out and stroked his finger down the protruding tendons.
The first kiss had been cruel and she'd hit him for it. Then she'd unbuckled her seat-belt and kissed him properly, her mouth soft against his, hands equally soft on his face. Fairly dazed afterwards, he'd apologized, but the memory of that kiss had lived on until the day she told him to do it again.
Carter ordered him around on their dates. With ease.
"I'm hungry."
He looked around the bar. He'd chosen it for its out of the way appeal, knowing full well that no one they knew would come here. Not that he and Carter ever did anything in public that was remotely suspect. "I'm not sure you want to *eat* here."
Suddenly, Carter wasn't looking at him. It wasn't obvious or anything but her eyes were just about missing contact with his. She was focussing on the bridge of his nose. "We can get take-out."
His thumb nail started raking at the beer label as he mulled over the idea. "Take-out? What kind?"
"What do you feel like?"
"Chinese."
"Italian?" Since they were bargaining, she put her looks to full effect. The eyes came back to him, glinting slightly, her tongue dabbed at her bottom lip, her chest started to rise and fall just a little more obviously.
Or maybe, and this was a scary thought, maybe it was just him.
Maybe she had no idea what she was doing.
Somehow that was more frightening.
"Italian it is," he agreed smoothly, eyes on her now damp lips.
Slowly, lazily, they made their move. She excused herself, went to the rest room - probably just to use the facilities, not to 'freshen up'. He waited patiently for her to return, hands in the deep lined pockets of his leather jacket, toying with his car keys. She'd left her bag on her chair, reminding him to watch it for her. Just like Sara had done.
Jack watched it. Knew that inside it was meticulously organized. Knew that she had a packet of Kleenex in there, a travel-sized case of ibuprofen, a comb, her pager, cell phone, wallet and a box of mints. That was all. No receipts lying around, no fluff at the bottom, no empty packets of chewing gum.
He really hated the Tok'ra.
She came back out and he watched her legs unashamedly. When he'd picked her up she'd been ready for him, punctual as always, but dressed slightly different. Slightly more... *more*. He figured it was because of the occasion and he'd appreciated the black skirt, the slit, the bare legs and heels. All the way over, he'd kept looking down to see that flash of thigh and she'd smirked at him knowingly.
She'd never dressed up before. It wasn't like she tried to impress him, even if she managed it without trying.
Really, he ought to tell her these things.
Giovanna's was buzzing like it was a Saturday night when it was only a Wednesday. A normal, average working Wednesday. Carter already knew what she wanted while Jack stood in the line with his eyes fixed to the menu, deciding at the last moment what he was going to have. She hung by his right arm, body turned in towards him slightly and he found himself wanting to do strange, protective, possessive things. He made himself stand still, forced his arms to lie at his sides.
Their hands brushed on the way out and his fingers curled towards her. Fortunately, the car was parked nearby so they never quite made it to holding hands. But it was a close call for a moment there.
"You want to drive?" He dangled the car keys invitingly.
She looked longingly at them, then at his car. "Can't. Heels." She made a face down at her feet and Jack was given yet another opportunity to admire the length of leg he was so privileged to be privy to.
They put the take-out at her feet so she could watch it while they took corners. The skirt, Jack noticed, had hiked up further and his heart skipped a beat.
He stared at the wheel for what seemed like an inordinately long time, trying to get his mind focussed. He realized as he turned the key to start the engine, that he didn't have a destination.
Wordlessly, he turned to her, his mouth opening to voice the question.
"Yours," she said, looking straight through the windshield, one of her hands tapping an unknown rhythm on her knee.
He nodded and told himself to focus.
The radio was turned on low, the DJ's voice a surprisingly soothing addition to the noises of the car. They talked a little, nothing serious. Comments on the music, on the people that were walking the street. Carter told him a witty little story about her brother and his wife's latest spat that had culminated in Mark spending the night in the car. Apparently, Carter marriages were never sedate.
His house was dark when they drove into the driveway and she took the food into the kitchen while he made the place more welcoming. He flicked the television on to a channel he knew she liked, put it on mute and ran down to the basement to grab a nice bottle of wine. Something special.
Last night and all.
*Really* hated the Tok'ra.
Upstairs, he could see she'd kicked off her heels behind the couch.
"Do you want to eat in here? Or the living room?" she called from the kitchen, unaware that he was staring at her shoes.
"Which would you prefer?"
"Living room."
He put the bottle on the coffee table, shoving a few magazines and mail underneath onto the shelf where he shoved everything. His shoes joined hers intimately behind the couch and he went into the kitchen where she was carefully dishing out, having protected her clothes from splash back with his apron.
"Very domestic," he murmured in her ear, passing by her closely, too closely, to get the corkscrew.
She smiled halfheartedly, concentrating on not spilling sauce. "Trust me. The only time I ever get domestic." Reaching up, she slowly slid a sauce-covered finger in her mouth and sucked. Hard. She glanced his way, raised her eyebrows suggestively - which wasn't really necessary, he was *so* already there - and pulled the finger out. She lifted the plates. "Get the silverware, would you?"
Silverware. Sure.
It was while he was burrowing in the cutlery drawer that Jack realized - his house. If she'd said her's, he could have just driven home after they'd eaten. But this was his house. Unless she expected him to drive her home after the meal...
Yeah, that was probably it.
Still, it wasn't like her.
They kept the television on mute, curled up on the couch opposite each other. Carter tucked her feet under the middle cushion and he propped his legs up on the coffee table. Since she was the one who had raised the interest in food, Jack was surprised to see she wasn't eating much. She was sure drinking down her wine quick though, he thought as he refilled her glass. Her eyes were skittish, searching the room hard. She'd been there any number of times so it wasn't as if her surroundings were new.
She was nervous.
Which brought him back to his original, slightly unnerving, thoughts. His house. Not hers.
"Carter..."
Carter glanced at him and then leapt off the couch, taking her plate and wine glass with her. "I'm just going to put this in the dishwasher."
Jack rolled his eyes and leaned forward to put his plate and glass down so he could follow her. "Carter." He walked through into the kitchen and saw she was hunched over the sink, wine glass resting by her left hand. "What is it?"
Like he didn't know.
Her shoulders moved up and down. "I hate the Tok'ra."
He nearly laughed. If only she knew how close her thoughts were running to his. "No, you don't."
"Martouf..." Her voice broke and her shoulders hunched further over the sink.
"I know," he said softly.
"I can't believe he died... that way."
"He died with honor." He shook his head, ignoring his uncharitable jealousy of a dead man whose host's heart, at least, had always been in the right place. How could he blame Martouf for that? Jack's heart lay in exactly the same hands, after all. "I really believe that, Carter."
Thankfully, her shoulders were rock steady now. "I know you do." She lifted her head and he could see her reflection in the black windows. "This is... this is the last time, isn't it?"
"It has to be."
Now.
Now, just when things were getting interesting. Regulation-breaking, but interesting.
The Tok'ra had magnificent timing.
Slowly, she turned around and he saw a new look on her face, a look that he'd seen flashes of in the past four years, however quickly repressed they had been. He knew what this look meant because he'd seen it on his own face too.
His hands came up straight away, his brain in charge. "No, Carter. Absolutely not."
She stepped towards him, hips swaying. Jack's brain, which may well have been saying no, warred with his sex drive which was screaming to be put in use. No, not screaming. Demanding, trembling, fighting, urging to be put in use.
After a swift, bloody, but thankfully swift, battle, his brain won.
"There is no way this is going to happen now. Not here..."
"You've said that before."
"I'll say it again." She was standing right in front of him now, staring at him intensely. "Carter..."
"Why not?" Fingers played with the buttons on his shirt, popping one, popping another. His breath was coming faster. Why had he never realized quite how easily she could seduce him? It wasn't supposed to work like this.
"Lots of reasons."
"Name some..."
The whisper of her hair over his mouth caused his heart to thump ridiculously loudly. "Regulations."
"Oh yeah, like we haven't been completely screwing those over the past four years." She'd undone half his shirt by this stage, revealing the black T-shirt underneath.
"Not *really*."
"Yes, really."
"Not on purpose."
"Okay," she inclined her head to the side, "I'll grant you that."
His fingers were literally *itching* to touch her but he knew if he did that, it would all be over. "Carter..." he said, using a more commanding, decisive tone.
It worked. She looked up at him, tentative, nervous. Like she knew the truth and was trying not to face it. "Sir?"
He smiled, felt the corners of his eyes crinkle. He could count on the fingers of one hand how many times she had called him 'Jack'. "We cannot do this."
"But I want to." Carter closed her eyes and sighed, her head lowering just a little. "I can't believe I just said that."
"Hey, I like that you said that..." Jack gave in to temptation and kissed her forehead, his mouth lingering a little too long on her soft skin. She tilted her head up encouragingly but he refused to be drawn in further. His mouth lifted from her skin and he looked into her eyes. "Not our first time, Carter."
"But... but you know... I'm going to miss this." Her face crumpled and she quickly hid it against his shoulder. "Dammit, I'm going to miss this so much."
"Me too."
"I'm sorry I... you know."
He let out a shaky breath, feeling the situation was coming under control once again. There was nothing he liked better than being in control. "Next time... you can come on to me all you want. Just... next time."
"And when's that gonna be?"
"When this whole thing's calmed down."
She turned her head to the side on his shoulder, a hand coming up to rest over his shirt pocket. "Do you think the General will call you into his office tomorrow? After he's seen the video evidence?"
There was no doubt in Jack's mind. Admitting his feelings for his 2IC weren't entirely platonic - were definitely *not* platonic - was hardly impressive. Hammond would be on him like a pack of dogs. He knew she wouldn't be transferred, knew there wouldn't be any serious problems, but he doubted he'd get away without a serious paternal-sounding warning.
"It's likely."
"And?"
"What?"
"What will you say?"
"That he has nothing to worry about."
She sighed, her body moving against his. "And now he won't."
"No. Now he won't."