Beauty In The Broken

Resist

Darkness.

Stone. Harsh gray floors and walls. A circle on one side—a porthole, or window.

Arms reeling in, gray arms, lights twinkling.

Round. Round. Round on the floor and walls. She whirls in place—dizzy. Dizzy.

Sir!

Echoes. Screams and echoes and the odd metallic whir of alien technology.

He stands before her, his face a mess of passive denial. "Major."

NO. No no no. Whirling again—find him!—there! No, there!

Running. Her footsteps loud against stone—

Gone.

Laughter in the mist, lights bobbing within the darkness. She turns—hits the wall, and pivots again. Doors within the walls. Circles of doors winding out from the middle. Running, she collides with the first—ricochets to another—finds the knob—her fingers frantic on the metal.

Thrown open to blackness. More laughter—a voice. "Carter."

Find him. Find him! Empty arms. Empty—flaccid. Flailing in the darkness, sliding on wet stone, running towards the next door.

Open it. Open! Light—he's there. Mist, smoke, far-off flames, crackling minerals. Orange and brown and stubble on his cheeks. "Jonah."

"Thera—come here." His hands, mouth, tongue—everywhere and nowhere. She whimpers against his lips—gives up—-gives in. "Beautiful. So beautiful."

Blue. Blue on contact. Forced back—suspended between gold.

"Sir—there's no time!"

Turning, turning—nowhere and everywhere. Stairs. Metal vats. Concrete halls with red piping. Through the mist, she sees yellow paths—painted floors, round and round.

"Sir!"

Green jacket, boots on concrete—stone—gray in the mist, brown, brown eyes. Dark. Darkening. "Major."

"Jack—please." She falters, slips, runs anew, bare feet on stone, then stairs, and then heat. Heat. Heat and mist and rain and showers of sparks. "Just go!"

Save yourself. Live. Ripples of electric blue between.

"No!" Shouts. Screams. Rhythmic footfalls—marching. Stoic, fierce—kill. Kill. Burning—the brightness burns! Pain in the light.

Sun. Steps. White marble, elegant pillars. Blue, blue and white and smartly fitted caps. "Galaxy. Galaxies, Carter. Across galaxies."

"Worth it?"

"We'll see, Captain."

Smiles. Smiles. Promises. Heaviness on her breast, the weighted metal. Honors for salvation. Medal. Salute. Salute—hands. His hands. Reaching. Bloodied hands reaching—slick against her skin.

"Love him." Blue—pure blue. Her blue. Blue within blood. Blood. Blood and sinew and the smell of death. Brown eyes and chubby legs. Socks. Socks and white sneakers. So small. So, so tiny. "Love him."

"I will." Mist. Mist and memory. She's dying. Dead. Dead. Gone. Vows. Fingers slip free—lifeless. Glittering metal, stones, crystals catching light. Hearts and tails. Rings falling, raining down, everywhere.

"Colonel!" Shimmering lighted rectangle—another door. She reaches for it, opens it. Running, now, boots in grass, gravel, sand. He's just beyond her—dark glasses and a Cheshire grin. Gone, gone, gone in a flash of light.

Empty arms. Empty heart. Hearts with tails. Searching, running. Slick floors, mud, stone. Grass—trees—fire—explosions. She runs—flees!—waves of sand rise and fall around her. Circles. Round and round—gray, then blue—water standing tall, undulating as she cries.

"Come here, Sam." His hand. Long, long fingers, strong palms. Calloused, agile. Triggers and grenades and a blood-stained watch. "What if, Sam? Come to me."

"Sir?" Asking, pleading. Protection. Care.

"With my life."

Alone.

Damn it. Damn it straight to hell.

Sam stared up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. She could hear her pulse throb in her ears, could feel the tremor in her body at each frantic beat of her heart. Could hear her heartbeat even past the sounds of her own sobs.

She'd thought the dreams were over. She'd thought she was free.

Her room was cold—but it felt good on her overheated skin. She was drenched in sweat. She'd kicked off her quilt, her feet were tangled in the sheets at the foot of her bed. Somehow, her pillows had ended up on the floor next to her nightstand. She could see the white of their cases out of the corner of her eye. She sucked in a deep breath—-trembling as her body fought against the images still whipping through her mind.

Pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, she gathered herself, fighting against the terror that beckoned just beyond the night. Damn her loss of control—she was spiraling again—drifting back into the nightmare.

Water. Imagine the bowl. Slowly she inhaled, holding the air for a beat before exhaling. She pictured the water as it pushed against the edge of the porcelain and trickled over the edge. Again. Breathe in and slowly out. Again.

Again.

Something—a tear?—sweat?—trickled down her cheek to settle in her ear.

Why? Why now after so many weeks of relief. Why?

Calmer now, she rose, scooting back on her mattress, pulling her feet free of the mess of bedding below. She leaned back against her headboard, glaring out into the dark of her room. Just beyond the threshold of her door she could see the shadowy fog of the nightlight in Jake's room casting its glow into the hall.

Quiet. He was still sleeping. Thank heaven for small favors.

Sam scrubbed at her face with her hand, smoothing her hair back behind her ears as she turned to sit on the edge of her bed. On the nightstand, the luminescent green display of her digital clock was fuzzy before she forced herself to focus in on the time. Two eighteen.

The hurtle down the mountain had accomplished its purpose. She'd left the Indian at home and taken the Volvo the last eighteen miles to the Fraisers', arriving in time to join them for dinner. Cassie had just finished buckling Jake into his portable high chair as Sam had rung the bell.

They'd welcomed her with hugs and excited chatter–-Cassie had been eager to tell Sam everything that she'd missed in the three days that she'd been gone. They'd taken Jake to the park, where he'd loved the infant swings and he'd squealed and bounced up and down in his stroller at the sight of every dog. He'd enjoyed the mall, too, where Cassie had bought him a stuffed Golden Retriever that was practically as big as he was. He'd stood on his own for fifteen whole hippopotamuses—a unit of measurement that would have seemed foreign and inane to Sam a few months before, but one that was now practically scientific.

She'd used a washcloth on his hands and face as Cassie and Janet had gathered up his things, and together they'd packed up Sam's car. She'd listened to him babble all the way home, waiting to unload the car until she'd bathed him and put him to bed. She'd lingered over the bubbles until the water had cooled and he'd pulled himself up at the edge of the tub begging her to pick him up.

Two stories and then a bottle. He preferred sippee cups now, except at bed time, when he nestled against her and looked up at her while he drank, reaching up periodically to touch her nose, or lips, or cheek. And when he fell asleep still in her arms, she'd waited to put him in his crib, relishing the weight of him. The solidity of his little body was intensely satisfying against her own. She'd touched his face with her fingertips, amazed at the wonder that was this child.

She'd been over an hour late getting him to bed, and then she'd been slow to put her coat on and get to the task of unloading Jake's stuff from her car. She'd thought that maybe—-maybe—

But he hadn't. The Colonel hadn't come.

Standing, Sam crossed to her bathroom and used the facilities. After washing her hands, she splashed some water on her face, and then wet a hand towel and swiped at her neck and shoulders. Without unbuttoning her pajama top, she stripped it off, tossing it into the dirty clothes hamper before heading back into her room towards her dresser. The cold November air hit her with a vengeance, but she welcomed it. The t-shirt she pulled on was soft against her sensitive skin.

Sitting back down on her bed, she reached for the phone charging next to her clock. She pulled the cable free, flipping the device open with her thumb and hitting the first number on her speed dial. Ridiculously, Sam counted hippopotamuses until the ringing stopped. Six.

"Sam?" Janet yawned into the phone. "What's wrong? Is Jake sick?"

"He's fine." She had to push past the lump in her throat to continue. "I just—uh—I had another dream."

"Okay." She'd drawn out the first syllable, and Sam could hear the bedding shift in the background. "Tell me about it."

The images blazed through her mind again, sending waves of trepidation through her core. "Searching. I was searching for him. There were fires and circles everywhere. And blood. Samantha was in it, dying. And the rings. I don't remember it all."

"So, it was a nightmare."

"Yeah. I guess." She sighed—-the sound fell heavily in the dark. "I couldn't reach him."

"To which him are we referring, Sam?"

"Him. The Colonel."

"Okay." Again, with the long, drawn out O. "And what rings?"

Sam hadn't had a chance to fill her friend in on everything that happened in Carlsbad. "You know the engagement ring that Samantha was wearing when she came through the mirror?"

"Yes."

"It's the same one that Mark used to propose to my sister in law." Sam drew her knees up, wrapping an arm around her shins. "I had Samantha's rings in my room, and Heather saw them."

"Did you explain it all to her?"

"No." She laughed—the sound was harsh in the darkness. "How could I?"

"Right." There was a little scrape in the background, as if Janet had raised a glass or a cup off her night table. "That's a tough one."

Sam listened as Janet took a sip of water, rubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Why am I having the dreams again, Janet?"

On the other end of the line, the doctor paused. It seemed ages until she answered. "I don't know, sweetie. My guess is that it was just a nightmare."

"Just a nightmare?"

"Sam." Endless patience tinged Janet's voice. "Sometimes, we just have nightmares. Or even normal dreams that are really bizarre. Not every dream is indicative that something's wrong."

"But what if it is?"

Another yawn. More shushing sounds—she'd flipped the blankets back, or perhaps settled down more deeply into her mattress. "What were you thinking about before you went to sleep?"

O'Neill. That's what she'd been thinking about.

She'd been wondering why he hadn't come. A quick call to the SGC infirmary at around eleven had assured her that Teal'c was improving, and the charge nurse had told her that only Daniel remained in the medical facility. He'd indicated that the Colonel had headed home a few hours before.

Sam had sat up well past midnight waiting. She'd left her lights on—-just on the off chance that he'd head her way. The fact that he hadn't appeared at her door made her admission even more embarrassing. "I was thinking about him. He'd said something about talking things out. I thought he might come by to see Jake."

"And you."

"Excuse me?"

"You thought he might drop by your place to see Jake and you."

It took Sam entirely too long to respond. "Yeah. I guess."

"See?" Janet sighed. "That's why you had a dream about him. Frequently, the last thing on our mind when we finally drift off is what we dream about."

Sam frowned down at her toes. "Maybe."

"Sam."

"Yeah, Janet?"

"Try to go back to sleep. This isn't a sign that things are going south again. If you're really worried, though, I'll take some blood tomorrow and see if anything turns up."

Pressing her lips together, Sam fought back another wave of panic. "I can't go through it again, Janet."

"I know, Sam." She sounded more 'mom' than 'doctor'. "But please don't let this worry you. I really do feel that this was just your run of the mill, ordinary, normal dream."

It took Sam forever to reply. "Okay."

And it took Janet nearly as long to ask, "Do I need to come over?"

"No." Sam shook her head. Stupid, since Janet couldn't see her. "No. I'll try to go back to sleep."

Another long pause stretched across the distance. "Sam. It's going to be alright. Please don't worry about this."

But against her best efforts, fear tickled at the back of her mind again, the panic that she'd fought for weeks welling up within her anew. "I'll try."

Lying was getting easier and easier.

—-OOOOOOO—-

Jake slept in later than usual. Ironic—since Sam hadn't been able to sleep at all. In all fairness, she'd tried to sleep, rearranging her bedding and fluffing her pillows. She'd tossed and turned until around four when she'd finally conceded defeat. As a result, her refrigerator was spotless, all of her laundry was done, and she'd made headway in purging the myriad emails that had collected in her inbox while she'd been away.

The baby had finally woken up at around seven, and Sam had changed his diaper before giving him his breakfast. She'd bundled them both up for a quick run around the neighborhood, buckling him into his stroller and tucking his favorite blue blanket around him. It was colder than normal for November, but Sam hadn't minded. She'd needed the exercise. It helped clear her head.

She'd gone grocery shopping. Filled the Volvo with gas. Changed the light bulb in the porch fixture.

Daniel had phoned with an update on Teal'c. He was still deep in kel'norim, but his condition had drastically improved. There had been no mention of their conversation on the bridge of the Tel'tak—a fact for which Sam was grateful.

She'd called a nanny agency, an act which had felt at once overdue, precipitous, and surreal.

Janet had called to check up on her after lunch. Almost as soon as she'd ended that call, Heather had phoned. They'd chatted about nothing and everything until Jake had awoken from his nap.

Slipping her cell phone into her pocket, Sam had bundled Jake up again and headed across the street to the little neighborhood park. The infant swings had entertained him for around a half hour, and then he'd wanted down. She'd spent another twenty minutes holding his hands as he practiced supporting himself on his chunky little legs. Up and down the sidewalk, his feet churning on the pavement as he figured out balance and forward motion.

"Have you just moved in?"

Sam looked up to see a smiling woman approach. She was younger than Sam—pretty in a granola kind of way. Dark curls tumbled out of a high ponytail that had been secured with what looked like a velvet scrunchie. Her ears were warm under a fleece headband. She wasn't wearing any makeup other than what appeared to be lip gloss.

"Ummmm—-no." Sam took a stilted step when Jake lurched forwards. "I've lived here for a while."

"Really? I've never seen you in the park. I thought I knew the entire Mommy Brigade around here."

"The Mommy Brigade?"

"Moms with small kids. We tend to congregate in the same places." She pointed towards the playground where a dozen or so kids were playing. Four other moms stood near, holding mugs of coffee and sneaking glances over in Sam's direction. "I'm Allison Fletcher. My little hellions are in the red plaid coats. Logan is almost five and Brielle is two. All of us live in the neighborhood. I thought I knew all the mommies around here."

"I've been out of town for a few months." Sam swung Jake up into her arms, dodging when he reached for her nose. "This is Jake."

"He's adorable. Let me guess—about eleven months?"

"Eight." She dodged his little finger again, biting back a smile when he blew a raspberry.

"Eight months and already trying to walk?" Allison's eyes widened. Leaning in to catch Jake's attention, she grinned and poked his tummy. "Well, aren't you both big and precocious?"

"My friend Janet says that he was born on the Fast Forward setting."

"Funny."Allison laughed, throwing a glance towards the playground equipment before looking back at Sam. "And you are—?"

"Oh—sorry." Frowning, Carter ducked her chin. "Sam Carter."

"Nice to meet you." Allison shook her ponytail, tucking her coat around her body. "And what do you do?"

"Other than take care of Jake?"

"Yes." With a little shrug, she repositioned herself at Sam's side. "Like—-I'm in finance, although I'm taking a break at the moment. Doing the Stay At Home Mom thing for the foreseeable future. Brian—that's my husband—and I are trying for number three. We want to keep to our schedule."

"Schedule?"

"You know. The optimum amount of time between siblings. Too little space and they get jealous of each other, too much space and they feel like only children and don't bond. And we won't even talk about birth order issues. Both Logan and Brielle are oldest children, and so if the next one's a boy I'll have three alphas, which would be a pain. And I have terrible pregnancies—barfing—both were low-lying placentas—and both were C-sections, so—-well—-you can imagine."

Of course she could. Or not. Sam tried not to look confused. She resorted to channeling Teal'c. "Indeed."

"TMI, right?" Allison tossed that ponytail again.

Just a little. "Hmmm."

"Anyway. Over there are Katie, Lorraine, Marlynn, and Francie. We've been hanging out together for a few years. Katie still works on the outside—-she's an aesthetician—-facials and stuff—-Lorraine and Marlynn are dedicated stay at homers—Marlynn's a homeschooler—crazy girl—and Francie just finished her Master's in Early Childhood Education. But, since she's expecting number two, she's trying to decide what she wants to do with that fancy-schmancy degree."

"Oh." Sam tried to figure out what name went with which member of the Brigade, but quickly decided it was a futile endeavor.

"And you?"

Sam bobbled Jake a little in her arms, switching him from one perch to another. He'd discovered her earrings, and was determined to figure them out. "I'm in the military. The Air Force."

"Really?" Allison could not have looked more intrigued. "You do not look military."

"Thanks?" She honestly didn't know whether that was a compliment or not.

"What do you do there?"

As if the Air Force were a place—-like the Circle K or the Zoo. "I work within a special unit in Cheyenne Mountain. We monitor deep space radar telemetry."

"Monitor it for what?"

In spite of her exhaustion—-or maybe because of it—-she couldn't quite quell the smart-ass retort. "Aliens."

Allison hesitated for the scarcest of moments before giggling. She leaned in towards Sam with a conspiratorial air. "Your secret's safe with me."

Jake had lost interest in her jewelry and was looking off in the distance towards home. Suddenly, he bounced up and down on Sam's arm and started babbling. Pushing against Sam's body, he tried to get down even as he extended his other hand towards the other side of the park. "Da da! Da-ba!"

Allison followed Jake's gaze across the meadow, towards where the large truck was parked at the edge of the sidewalk. Where the Colonel was standing on the outer perimeter of the common area. "I'm assuming he's here for you?"

"Yeah."

"Silver fox. But I'm guessing not Grandpa."

"No."

Allison's gaze was frankly appraising, then appreciative. She quirked a well-arched brow upwards, smiling in Sam's direction. "Lucky girl."

O'Neill started towards them, his long strides eating up the distance. Sam watched as he neared, trying to control the wild fluctuations in her heartbeat. Trying to stop the trembling that had already started within. He stopped several yards away, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his BDUs. His expression was careful—inscrutable. Hesitant, maybe. Expectant.

"I'd better go." Sam flashed a smile in Allison's direction. "It was very nice to meet you."

"Yeah. You too." The younger woman made a random gesture towards the playground equipment. "We're usually out here around this time of day. You're welcome to join us."

"Good to know." Sam nodded, then turned and headed across the park, her shoes kicking up the dregs of the dead brown grass. As she neared the Colonel, Jake reached out with both hands, launching his body across the divide just as he had at Mark's house. As soon as he'd ended up in O'Neill's arms, he settled against his chest with a happy sigh.

"He missed you."

"The feeling's mutual, little man." Jack pressed a kiss to the top of Jake's head before passing a glance towards Carter. "Making new friends?"

"Allison Fletcher. She tends to have low-lying placentas."

The Colonel's brows scrunched towards each other above the bridge of his nose. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I don't know what that means, either." Sam lifted a shoulder with a sigh. This was easy. Inane conversation in a public place. "Apparently, the Mommies around here run in packs."

"Like wolves?" He deftly removed his sunglasses before Jake could snatch them. "Sounds dangerous."

They started back towards the house, not quite on par. He and Jake took point, while Carter hung a little way back on their six. She pretended to fumble in her pocket for her house keys, extending the distance between them. "How's Teal'c?"

"Better. Awake." O'Neill looked both ways before leading them across the street. "I stayed with him for a while after lunch, and then Daniel and I debriefed Hammond about the mission."

"I thought that my dad was going to fill him in."

"He did—-a little—before he needed to head back to Vorash. Daniel and I did the rest."

"I probably should have made arrangements and tried to come in today."

Jack grinned at Jake, who was fascinated by the pins on the Colonel's collar. "No need. Although Siler and Doctor Lee are itching for you to get started on the power module."

Sam climbed the steps to her front porch, stopping at the door to fit her key into the lock. "Siler tried to get me to stay to play with it last night, but I really needed to get home."

Following her through the door, O'Neill stepped aside to allow her to shut it and turn the deadbolt. "I know."

She paused in the entryway, staring down at the keys in her palm. "I should have waited for you to come with me. I know that you missed Jake as much as I did."

Jack smoothed Jake's hair back from his forehead, his expression relaxing. "Don't apologize for wanting to get back to your child, Carter."

"My child?"

"Our child." He lifted his shoulder in a nonchalant shrug before fixing his gaze on her. "Whatever."

She wasn't sure how to take that. But then—she wasn't sure what she had been expecting from any of this. Here, inside her house, his presence was acutely unsettling—the easy levity they'd shared in the Tel'tak had vanished. And she kept seeing images from the dream she'd had that morning superimposed upon the reality of his nearness. She felt intensely apprehensive—unnerved not only by his proximity, but by what it might portend. Setting her jaw, she edged past him and towards the kitchen. "Have you had dinner?"

"No."

"Are you hungry?"

"Also no." He'd set himself to unfastening Jake's coat, pulling the sleeves off the baby's arms. Tossing the jacket onto the couch cushions, he lowered himself to sit on the sofa and then set Jake on the carpet to play. "Are you?"

"Not really." She couldn't have eaten if she'd tried. Her stomach roiled at the thought. "I'll just get Jake's dinner started then."

"Sam." Standing, he turned to face her, grimacing when he saw how she'd placed herself on the other side of the island. A tactically protective position. He passed his tongue over his lips.

"Yes, Sir?"

His eyes became guarded. Hesitant. "What's going on here?"

Her breathing was stilted. Shallow. She backed away from him. Even on the other side of the island, with the couch between them—he felt too near. Memories flashed through her mind. Circles, and fire, and blood. "I'm sorry, Sir. I'm not sure. I don't know."

"Something's changed." His tone had grown harder, somehow, without being forced. "What aren't you telling me?"

She moved backwards even further, until she came up against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. Crossing her arms across her body, she looked down at her feet. "I had another dream last night."

"Oh?" So careful. His tone was perfectly casual. "What kind of dream?"

She shook her head, her eyes closing against the memory of it. "Sir."

His jaw worked at that for a bit, his lips thin, his eyes tight. "And you think it means what, exactly?"

"You know what it means."

"Cold turkey didn't work?"

But it had—as long as she'd kept her distance. As long as they'd kept several hundred miles between them. "Doctor Fraiser thinks that it's a fluke. That it was just an ordinary nightmare."

"But you don't agree."

"It was terrifying, Sir. Just like the others."

"We all have dreams, Carter."

But not everybody had been mind-stamped. Not everybody had been enslaved, forced to kill their friends, or compelled to admit their deepest secrets against their wills. "This feels different."

"Of course it does." A hint of something tinged his tone—skepticism, or cynicism. Or irritation.

"Sir?"

"Damn it, Carter." The Colonel's gaze bore into her, dark and oppressive. "If things have changed—if things are different, just tell me."

"I can't go back to that. I can't do that again."

She didn't need to elaborate. He knew precisely what she meant. His entire body seethed with frustration—-the tight set of his jaw, the way his eyes hardened. When he finally spoke, his voice was bitter. "So what does this mean?"

"I don't know."

"The hell you don't."

The kitchen was dim—-she hadn't turned the lights on. Across the island, her little living room was brighter. The symbolism wasn't lost on her—she was cowering in shadow while he was owning the light. And that's exactly how it felt. She'd lost her courage somewhere along the way. Lost the chutzpah she'd once had.

She was dying. Dying inside, yet unable to save herself. Drowning again within her own uncertainty. "Maybe we should just agree to share Jake. You take him part of the time, and I'll take him the rest."

"What—-like a custody arrangement?" He made a noise deep in his chest. A grunt, or a growl. He swore—bitterly. Crudely. Turning, he paced back towards her fireplace, dodging around the child playing on the rug. "If I knew what the hell was happening, I might agree to that. But this—-damn it, Carter—this doesn't make sense."

Sam faltered, biting her lips together, the physical pain a welcome distraction from the emotions flaring within her. "Before—-before I went to California. I was so, so terrified. Exhausted. I was losing who I was. It felt like I was being swallowed by something—pain, or fear. I don't know. And then, after a while, the dreams went away. I could sleep again. I wasn't haunted by the images of what—-"

His dark eyes found hers, held her gaze. He knew what she'd been about to say, and his lips curled into the cruel affectation of a smile. "Of what we'd had? Of what we'd been?"

She caught a glimpse of a memory—his hands as they'd wandered up her body, her response swelling between them. And then the agony of those memories assailing her, overtaking her, overwhelming her. "I don't want to lose who I am again."

"You don't think that I was feeling the same way? That the visions—or whatever they were—didn't freak the living hell out of me as well?"

That thought truly hadn't occurred to her. "I don't know how you were feeling. I just know that I've never been that scared. Or lost. I felt like I was on the edge. Like I was falling off it."

"So being with me—being with me—is so dangerous that you're afraid it will destroy you?"

"Isn't that what happened before?"

"Hell no." He raked a hand through his hair. "What happened before is that those assholes screwed with our minds. Screwed with our bodies. What happened before wasn't anything that we could control."

"I couldn't control the dream I had last night."

"No." Impossibly dark—his eyes were brooding, obscure. "But you can control how you respond to it."

No. No she couldn't. Even now, the fear, the confusion was pooling in her gut—even now she couldn't control the waves of anguish coursing through her system. It was worse than combat—worse than how she'd felt when the mine's controls had flashed green—worse than watching him walk down the corridor towards Anise and her treatment. When they both thought it would kill him.

Worse than staring at him through the morphing blue haze of a force shield, knowing she was about to die.

Knowing that he was going to die with her.

"Fight for this, Sam." He was breathing as heavily as she was, his body struggling to find a semblance of control. "Fight for us."

But everything had been thrown off kilter—all of a sudden, things had changed. Irreversibly, maybe. Irretrievably. She shook her head. "I'm not sure I can."

"You're stronger than this."

"I'm not. Not anymore."

"Damn it, Sam." He exhaled in a broken way, through clenched teeth. "Don't give up."

"Maybe it's better like this." She turned halfway—away from him, so she was facing the little dining table at the back of the house. "You're better off without me."

"Don't say that."

"It's true. I'm broken—"

"God help me, Carter. If you say that again—"

"Why shouldn't I? When it's true. When the dreams are back—"

"How the hell can someone like you be so damned insecure? I've seen you in battle. I've seen you go head to head with gods. I've watched you hold a knife to the throat of a Mongol warlord. I've seen you level superior officers—including myself. You've proven yourself to be capable, strong, and tough as all get out. Why is fighting for this—-for us—-so damned difficult for you?"

She honestly thought about her answer—her brilliant mind kicking in in the most brutally cruel methodology. Sam could see herself—all of her frailties, her detriments—laid out before her in a bleak and austere way. Like a Venn diagram of her own madness. She knew exactly why she couldn't gather the resources she needed to battle for her own happiness—she was pretty certain that she didn't deserve it. "Because there's no training for this. No protocol. If I fail out there—-on another planet—-I die, and I don't have to suffer the consequences of my failure."

"That's ridiculous and you know it."

"But if I fail at this. If I fail with you—"

"You won't. We won't."

"But if I do. Then I'll have to live the rest of my life knowing that you're out there hating me."

"That won't happen."

"How can you be so sure? How can you possibly know?"

"Because I just do."

"I failed with Jonas Hansen. And look what happened there. One could argue that he ended up how he ended up because of me." She let that hang there for a moment. "And innocent people died."

O'Neill rolled his eyes, groaning. "That's unbelievably arrogant of you to take that on yourself, Carter. Hansen got there all on his own—not because of something you did."

"So which am I? Insecure or arrogant?'

He made a noise that sounded more like a snarl than a groan. "Son of a bitch, Carter. Will you just be reasonable?"

"I am being reasonable. I'm looking at all this logically. That's the definition of 'reasonable', isn't it?"

"Logic." He snorted, the sound derisive in the small space.

"Yes, logic. Logic has saved us more than any kind of misplaced courage." She looked straight at him. "If I hadn't been on that Tel'tak with you, you all would have died. I was the one that figured out the mine."

He tilted his eyes upwards, as if searching the heavens for patience. When he spoke, it was quiet, but acrid. "You figured out a zero. You did math."

"So, what are you saying? That logic wasn't necessary? That I contributed nothing?" It was incongruous, how controlled their tones were. Even in this fight, they were both aware of the child between them. Literally and figuratively at their feet. "That any idiot with some knowledge about mathematics could take my place?"

"Damn it, Sam. You're putting words into my mouth."

"No, I'm just inferring what you mean from what you're saying. I'm expendable. I'm replaceable. An Algebra teacher could have stopped that mine from detonating."

"That's not what I'm saying."

"Oh really?" She snorted out a laugh. An embittered, vicious sound. "So which am I? Arrogant or insecure?"

"I'm saying that you're a coward."

That actually stung. She looked over at him, narrowing her eyes, tightening her arms around her body. He'd never gone that low before—that deep into what he knew would hit hardest.

"Maybe I am." She would concede his point. But still, it hurt. It hurt to hear the truth. Especially from someone who had professed to care for her. "Maybe I am. But you're foolhardy and unbelievably naive if you think that this—that we—-could possibly work."

He simply stared at her for the longest time. Suddenly, he pivoted, leaning up against the mantel of her fireplace, his hands gripping the beveled edge. He looked down—-down to where Jake was playing at his feet—before angling his head to speak over his shoulder. "So what has this been for the past four years? A game? Some kind of sick amusement? What have we been doing if you had no intention of things becoming something more?"

Her heart faltered—just for a beat. What was she doing? Oh, so briefly, she'd thought she could do it. She'd entertained the fantastical notion of doing just what he'd suggested—with the love, and the family, and the crazy sexist pig stuff.

But ever since this morning, when she'd been chewed up in her own dreams—when she'd revisited the agony that she'd gone through two months before. . .

She thought she'd been building protective barriers, erecting walls that would keep them both safe. Both whole. But right now, she felt embattled. Attacked—assailed by some kind of emotional blitzkrieg. Those walls weren't enough. She'd need to build them higher.

This was the right thing. All that logic she'd clung to during the course of her life assured her of that. Emotions weren't reliable. Feelings weren't quantifiable. Empirical evidence counted for more than the despair that was screaming within her.

She'd been ready to try for that something more. Prepared to throw away theories and statistics and reason for the chance of the nebulous idea of happiness. What if it's amazing? That had been her internal mantra over the past few months as she'd tried to find the strength to be someone else. She had been willing to give 'amazing' a chance.

But now? Now, she was still reeling from the dream—still shaken. Splintering again, when she'd just begun to entertain the notion that she could possibly be kintsugi. Flying apart at the first crack in her fragile veneer. Cracking just as badly as the ruined mirror through which Samantha had come.

Now? Obviously, she'd been right to give up on that ridiculous notion that she could ever be happy.

His voice drifted to her again—across the room, and into the haze of her mad thoughts. "You said that I compartmentalize everything. Tackle box, remember? That you're different from me. That you can't put everything in its own little box. But you're putting me into a box right now, Sam. Just like you chose to leave us in that room."

She had no answer for that—-nor should she. It had been the right decision, to leave what had been revealed behind with Anise and her machine. Just as this was the right thing now. Wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

"So, what do you want, Carter?"

I want it all. I want nothing. I want you. I want my independence. I want peace. I want joy. I want. I want. I want. Desperately.

Oh, good heavens above. She wanted him. Him—but it was too late. She'd been so stupid. He was too angry, and hurt, and gone, already, even though he hadn't moved from in front of her fireplace. On the other side of her couch.

So she lied. Again. Unconvincingly, she was certain. And even to her, the lie sounded small. "I want things back to how they were."

But his response was absolutely honest. And true. "You can't have that."

He dropped his gaze towards the floor, then bent and picked Jake up. Turning his back on her, he made silly faces, whispering quietly until the boy laughed and patted his cheek and blew a raspberry. Then, he hugged that little body close, one large hand at the back of Jake's head, tucking it beneath his chin as he pressed a long kiss against the boy's crown.

He pivoted half way, still holding Jake tightly to him. Still without looking at her. "So, I guess we'll need to make that custody arrangement."

"I'm sorry." Whispered. Barely, through the dim of the kitchen.

"It would be easier if I understood this in any way."

She shook her head, her eyes drifting closed. In surrender, maybe, to her own foolishness. That cowardice he'd identified on full display. "I don't know how to be this person that you want me to be."

He paced a little towards her, stopping at the edge of the sofa. Incongruously smiling at Jake even while he spoke to her. "I don't want you to be anyone but who you are, Carter. Every brilliant, neurotic, frustrating, ridiculous, kick-ass bit of amazing that you are. I've never wanted anything but that."

"I'm not any of that. I think that's fairly evident."

He smiled for real, then. At her, and not at Jake. "I think you are, Sam. The crazy thing about you is that you're as much of a mess as you are a miracle."

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a box. Small, black, velvet. Gently, he set it on the raised part of her island. Near the basket she used to hold her car keys.

Damn it. She swallowed past the ache in her throat. "Was this going to be a proposal?"

His eyes bored into her—through her—-before dropping to fix themselves on the box, or the basket, or the salt and pepper shakers she'd left out at breakfast. "What would you have said? If it were? If I'd started off with the box and the question?"

"I don't know." Her voice broke. She was breaking. She watched as he crossed the kitchen and lowered the baby into his high chair, buckling him in for his dinner.

He walked around the island again—out of her reach—stopping once more in the archway between the great room and her entryway. "Then once you grow up, Carter-once you figure it out. Call me."

She barely heard the door when he closed it behind him.