Author's Note: The next few chapters are wrought with angst and the mood of the story gets darker (for hopeful shippers) -- but shippers should hang on for the long haul, because there will be better times, and ship, in future chapters... starting with Chapter 11, I believe... :)

Thanks to all who've reviewed, you've provided the motivation for me to spend all day Saturday and part of Sunday working on what is becoming a saga!

Back to the story:

Over the next week, Daniel and Teal'c accompanied various teams to different planets. Searching and speaking with the natives. But no sign of the missing officers was found.

A message was sent to the Asgard asking for their assistance, but no reply had returned yet.

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Ch 8: VIVID

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Back on P8X-539

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She'd been extremely wary of him the first evening and neither of them had slept much that first night. But as the days passed and neither of them exhibited any unusual behavior, she'd relaxed a bit and fallen back on her long-learned trust in him.

He didn't. Trust himself, that is. Most of the time, he was careful to keep a distance between them. He couldn't be sure if he would have any type of 'flashbacks' from the Sandaran Vandi. When they needed to be close together, he was on edge... trying to maintain alert and vigilant of his behavior.

In contrast, in spite of her claims that she could take care of the first-aid for her feet, he insisted on helping her rebandage them every morning and evening. He'd warred within himself over the need to stay away from her and the need to help her because she was injured. So he'd settled for quietly working as quickly as he could until he was finished and could re-establish the distance between them.

Her ribs, however, he couldn't do anything about. There was nothing to do but wait for them to heal on their own. Doctors didn't even usually strap them up anymore. But he knew that she was in pain whenever she stretched too much, tried to pick things up... or even breathed too hard.

She wouldn't tell him how it had happened, either. She would either brush off or deflect his questions whenever he broached the topic.

He knew how her feet had been cut and bruised, but he'd searched his memories and could not remember any incidents or events where she was injured before they'd woken up in the clearing.

And yet, he seemed to remember everything else so vividly... from the time on Sandara to the SGC to the Safe Site and the new Alpha Site and all the way to P8X-539, where they were now. He could remember each action clearly and intensely. He remembered zatting the Alpha Site personnel and then hitting them with light, half-dose tranquilizing darts.

He also remembered swapping the half-dose darts out for the full dose ones before finding Carter, though. And then he'd hit her with two of the full strength darts, because he remembered her resistance to the sedatives used by the aliens who'd gained that Foothold situation on them a few years back at the SGC. Neither she nor Teal'c had fully succumbed to the normal dosage of sedatives that had worked on the rest of the SGC personnel.

So, he remembered hitting her with two of the full-strength darts. And the look of shock on her face was etched clearly in his mind. He winced as the vivid memories flashed before him now. The dosage that he'd given her was dangerous as it interfered with the subject's respiration and cardiovascular system.... in other words, too much of the drug could have paralyzed her lungs and/or her heart. But he hadn't thought of that at the time. He'd simply been fixated on his goal of getting her unconscious and through the gate.

He winced at the oh-so-vivid memories of destroying the DHD with his P90 on full automatic. He remembered needing to do it. That it was necessary and essential.

And then he remembered making made a few trips to this clearing. Piling and stacking supplies. And then he'd carried her here.

And then... and then here his memory got a little fuzzy... he remembered being tired... and feeling the overwhelming need to sleep. But his addled brain was worried that she wouldn't be there when he woke up. So, he remembered taking her shoes and socks off so that she would be able to go too far too fast.

And the cuffs. He'd been just about ready to drop. Tired and with overwhelming fatigue sweeping over him. He'd carried her across the clearing... away from the supplies, her shoes and anything she might use to pick the lock on the cuffs. Next, he'd lain down on the ground next to her and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around to hold her tight. And then he'd snapped the cuffs on.

And then he'd succumbed.
He'd fallen asleep.
Unconscious for all effective purposes.

And he didn't remember anything else before waking up with her sitting in front of him on the floor of the clearing.

He winced again. The cuffs and lack of shoes had worked. She hadn't gone anywhere. She'd been there when he'd woken up. Of course, when she'd woken up, she'd probably felt like shit and been hardly able to move due to the extra-strength dosage of the tranquilizer. He wasn't sure how long she'd been awake before he'd awoken, but she'd obviously been awake for awhile as she'd had time to shake off most of the effects of the drugs.

But he still couldn't remember when her ribs had been injured... the only time that seemed possible was between the times after he'd gone to sleep and before he'd woken up.

A sick feeling stole across his stomach. In his mind's eye, he could visualize the two of them spooned together, with his arms wrapped around her waist. The sick feeling in his stomach intensified as he realized that he must have squeezed her so tightly that he injured her.

He wanted to throw up. He couldn't remember squeezing her, but he was certain that that was what must have happened. To be honest, he was almost glad that he didn't remember that part... because if he had to remember it with the same clarity and intensity that he remembered the rest of the events, then he didn't think he'd ever be able to face her again. It was hard enough as it was.

He had a feeling that the Sandarans considered these extra-vivid, almost-tactile memories as another of the benefits of their Vandi. He could remember what he did and how he'd felt at each moment.

On Sandara, he'd felt jittery and restless... until he'd focused on his objective.... until The Plan crystallized in his mind. After that, he'd been calm and deadly serious... as if undertaking one of his countless Black Ops missions.

He knew that none of it would have happened if not for the Sandaran Vandi... but what Carter didn't know was that he had wanted to do what he was doing. A deep, buried part of his soul had wanted to cart her off to a place like this where the two of them could live in peace.

Without military regulations in the way. Without any planetary or interplanetary crises. Without supervillians like the Goa'uld or the Replicators. Without such large responsibilities. Because neither himself nor Carter was capable of avoiding their duty or obligations. And a large part of him despaired because he knew that those responsibilities would never go away. Not until one or the both of them were dead or injured too severely to continue.

Neither he nor Carter wanted to be the hero. Neither of them was looking for a cape. It was just a case of the 'right people at the right time'... and all that...

So the Vandi had allowed him to break them free of their responsibilities.

On a deep level inside himself, he'd known what he was doing.
He'd known exactly what he was doing.
But the Sandaran 'peyote' had allowed him to break the rules.
To do it anyway... in spite of the rules.
Because he wanted to... because a part of him needed to.

The Vandi had allowed him to suppress his conscience... just enough.

He looked over at Carter. Right now, she was working on the back wall of their shelter. Weaving and interlacing the branches and leaves that they'd culled from the nearby deadfall.

She didn't know. He hadn't told her.
He hadn't told her everything.
Because he didn't understand it.
Because he was afraid of the implications.
Because it was only the two of them here, and they needed each other.

She had written the entire set of events off to 'Alien Drugs/Alien Influence'.
And that was true... at least on the surface.

But he knew what was beneath.
He knew his driving motivation.

If only she knew.
...If only she knew...

His thoughts drifted back to a few weeks before they'd left for Sandara. It had been Major Brian Greenawalt's bachelor party. O'Neill had known Greenawalt since Brian had been a Captain in the Gulf War. A solid soldier. Competent and reliable. A stand-up guy.

So there they'd been... twenty or so military men... lots of drinking... lots of back-slapping and telling of tall-tales... Lots of gibes at the man soon to lose his bachelorhood.

And then there'd been that question.... Who would you most like to be stranded with on a deserted island? Greenawalt was given no choice – he would have to be stranded with his new wife-to-be, of course. And the others had all chosen the hottest 'babes' that they could think of... Angelina Jolie, the Baywatch version of Pamela Sue Anderson, etc., etc. When pressed, Jack had volunteered his standby: Uma Thurman... but that really was not what he was thinking... no, he'd been thinking of Sam Carter. And while the guys' not-so-gentle banter drifted into the background of his thoughts, he'd fantasized about getting stranded on a desert island with one Sam Carter.

And now here they were.
Just the two of them, stranded on this planet.

He didn't even know how she truly felt towards him.
He didn't even know how he truly felt towards her!

They'd never had a chance to spend much time together socially.
And never just the two of them alone.
Not just Jack and Sam.

- - - - - - -

"Sir?" she'd stepped around to where he was working on the side of their shelter... it was going to be big enough to protect a couple of tents and most of the stacks of supplies as well as provide partial cover for the fire - serving as a wind-break and slight overhang while still having plenty of open space for ventilation. At least, that was the plan...

"Yeah, Carter?" he looked up.

"I'm going to head down and get some water and then start fixing dinner, if that's allright?"

"Carter, I'll get the water," he informed her.

"Sir, I can take care of it. It will only take a few minutes," she was tiring fast of his 'mothering' over her.

"Carter, I said I'd take care of it," he repeated himself and couldn't keep the exasperation out of his voice.

"Yes sir." Her tone was clipped and he could see the angry glint of rebellion and indignation in her eyes, but she didn't contest his authority.

Well, a part of him was trying to push a bit. To make her stop treating him like The General. It was just the two of them stranded here... So he felt that honorifics such as 'Sir' and 'General' were a bit excessive. She'd refused, of course. She still maintained the proper military decorum. Sir here, Sir there, General this and General that.

He figured if they were here long enough... and if he was cranky just one too many times... well, she'd just have to lose it... she'd just have to give him a verbal barrage that overstepped those military protocols. He didn't think anything else was going to do it.

- - - - - - - - - - -

So here they were.
Just the two of them.

Just like in his fantasy.
And yet, not.

Because he couldn't have her.
It wouldn't be right.

Because he'd stranded them here, she now had no choice.
No choice but him.

So how could he enjoy that?
How could he enjoy that romantic fantasy?

He couldn't.

As long as it was just the two of them here, then he'd never know how she truly felt for him. He'd never know if she loved him more than anyone else. Because there was no one else for her to choose.

- - - - - -

The universe was screwing with him.

He was convinced of it.

Or maybe it was the Asgards... or some Goa'uld supervillian.

But someone who wielded a lot of power was definitely having fun at his expense.

And probably laughing their asses off... if they had asses, he thought acerbically.

He was stranded with Sam Carter.
Just the two of them on a planet without a Stargate, thousands of light years from Earth.
Just the two of them.

Should be romantic, right?
The stuff of fairy-tales, right?

Wrong.
Oh, so very wrong.

Now, he was stranded with what he wanted, but he now couldn't have.

Definitely not the stuff of fairy tales.

He had no clue how to fix this.

- - - - -

Finally, he decided to take the first few weeks one day at a time, while they established their camp and explored the immediate surroundings. After that, he could look at things a week at a time – he was certain that Carter would want to try working with what was left of the DHD. And if that didn't pan out, then they could set their sights on longer-term goals. And a long-term relationship between the two of them... whether they would decide to just be good friends... or to try for something more. All of which assumed that they didn't discover that they drove each other freakin' nuts on a day-in-day-out basis!

So, first things first. Camp, surroundings, followed by the DHD.

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TBC

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Author's note: Regarding Jack's introspection into how Sam's ribs were injured... I figured that I'd need to deal with that issue, but I couldn't figure out how to lead into it until fallingfromelysium's reviews gave me the proper motivation! :)

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