Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate, I just wanna have some fun :)

To readers of "One Giant Leap": apologies for the length of time to update, we've been moving house over the Xmas break and I just haven't gotten back into the swing of it. I did want to write something though, and this plot bunny slipped out. It's a one off, so it didn't take as much concentration!

This fic is set 6-7 years in the future.

Daniel heard a rapid but quiet rumble and glanced at the coffee table. His phone was ringing, or vibrating, as the case may be. Not an uncommon event today, not by any means. He wondered if he should answer it this time.

The archaeologist stirred, shifting his weight in an attempt to get off the sofa without disturbing its other occupant – a certain blue-eyed, blonde team mate whose eyes were still red from crying. She'd poured her heart out to him last night, and then this morning, and she certainly hadn't stopped for lunch. At least her dreams didn't appear to be troubling her any more; her breathing was shallow and peaceful, and her eyes weren't flickering with REM patterns.

After replacing her original headrest – his lap – with cushions, Daniel quickly hopped to the cordless telephone and glanced at the screen. He didn't recognise the number. Was that a good sign, or a bad sign? Unsure, he pressed the green symbol to receive the call and covered the speaker until he'd entered the spare room and pushed the door so that it was almost closed. Disturbing Sam was not high on his agenda, whoever it was on the phone, but he wanted to be able to hear if she woke up or had a nightmare.

"Hello?" He asked eventually, praying that it wouldn't be Pete Shanahan on the other end.

"Hi Daniel," the dreaded voice replied. At least he sounded calm, and there hadn't been any muffled shouting before.

Pete had rung him over and over last night, as well as ringing Teal'c and especially Jack, who had commented that if he had a premium rate number he'd been rich by now. Trust Jack to find the sarcasm in any situation. Once Pete had figured out who she'd run to he'd also engaged in some front door buzzing, and had thrown some very unsubtle gravel at Daniel's window – there were chipmarks to prove it – until the big Jaffa had begun patrolling near Daniel's apartment block. Then he'd gone back to phonecall harassment.

"Pete." A little voice reminded Daniel that he should at least be civil, another that he had no right to judge the other man, while other voices clamoured that anyone who made Sam cry – the only sister he had ever known, biological or not – deserved hell. "What can I do for you?"

"Is she ok? Just tell me she's ok, please?"

Daniel sighed. Sam had come to him for respite, not probing questions. "She's asleep, does that count?"

"But is she ok?" Pete pleaded.

"Shouldn't you have asked her that question months ago?" Trickles of anger made their way into Daniel's voice.

There was silence on the other end. "I know that now. I want to make it up to her. I was wrong."

"Something else you should have said months ago," was his unhelpful response. "Listen, Sam's here to think. Give her time, then she'll talk to you herself."

Both men paused.

"I –" Daniel began.

"Why did you block my numbers?" Pete suddenly demanded.

It was true. All three of Sam's team mates had call the phone company to block Pete's home, work and cell phone numbers (as well as the CSPD's main exterior line). He was probably calling from a friend's phone now, or – Daniel shivered a little – a phone box. There was one less than a block away.

"Isn't that obvious? I needed some peace and quiet. Sam needed it even more!"

"I'm her husband!"

"And I'm her friend," Daniel stated firmly. "Sam will talk to you when she's ready, I'm sure of that, but she's not ready just yet. Give her time."

The archaeologist held his breath while listening for signs of stress in the other man's voice, glad that Pete did seem a little more reasonable than he had been last night (when Daniel had had to take out the phone's battery altogether) and this morning.

"Ok Daniel, I'll give her time. But can you promise me something?"

Pete's voice had gained tension over those few seconds.

"Depends what it is," Daniel replied uneasily.

"Keep O'Neill away from her."

The request – the demand – was understandable. Sam's strange relationship with Jack O'Neill had always disturbed Pete, even before they'd gotten married five years ago. Five years ago yesterday.

Pete, along with everyone else, knew that there was something between them, but the fact that they'd never done anything about it disturbed him more than most. To him a break-up proved incompatibility, while an unconsummated relationship was still something waiting to happen. For all his misgivings about Sam's husband, Daniel was inclined to agree. Passion and lust didn't necessarily accompany love, but not even Sam and Jack knew what might have happened had it not been for the frat regs.

Daniel took a deep breath. "I can do that. And Pete?"

"Yes?"

"He hasn't been here today, if that makes you feel better."

A pause. "Thanks."

The archaeologist sensed that Pete wasn't ready to hang up yet and fumbled for something to say.

"How's Ellie?"

Pete's end of the line sounded like he was shuffling his feet uncomfortable. "She's with her Nanna. Thinks Mommy's on one of her trips."

Daniel refrained from an unsurprised 'hmm.' Pete's mom had moved to Colorado Springs after Ellen Shanahan had been born, acting as an occasional babysitter and generally disapproving of Sam's 'trips', long hours and other habits that were apparently unbecoming for a young mother. Thankfully three year-old Ellie seemed to prefer the company of her peers at the home-based crèche she attended during the day, but Nanna was handy for evenings and other emergencies. Like when a hurt, confused Daddy was chasing after an equally hurt and confused Mommy.

"Give her a hug from Uncle Daniel later would you?" He asked, his voice tight as he tried to remind the toddler's father that this Sam shouldn't be his only concern.

"A hug from Mommy would be better."

Daniel squeezed his eyelids shut as he pondered what to say next. "She knows that Sam loves her, right?"

"Of course," Pete's voice was almost wounded.

"Sam loves you too, Pete. I know that for a fact."

"It didn't sound like that last night."

Pete's statement was flat, his tone detached, and to be honest Daniel couldn't blame him.

"I wouldn't know anything about it, Pete," was his lame reply.

The other man's dry laugh said it all. "Right."

The 'happy' couple had planned an anniversary dinner at a new restaurant in the city, but after reminiscing about all the good times they'd had Pete had thrown in a comment that he'd obviously seen no harm in. He'd suggested that Sam take a couple of years out of work to spend time with Ellie, maybe coach her bright young mind before she reached school age. It was an age-old suggestion that had always frustrated Sam with its frequency, and she'd said so. She'd said a few other things too, most of which she hadn't yet detailed to Daniel, but he was sure that both had given as good as they got, and his gut told him that paranoia was as much to blame as conflicting interests.

Jack O'Neill was now just Jack O'Neill. Major-General Jonathon O'Neill, USAF (retired), to be precise. He could have stayed on the promotion ladder for a few more years, but the new administration had made a clear statement to the SGC soon after election. They wanted a civilian in charge. It had taken careful bargaining and a lot of soul-searching on Jack's part before both parties could agree to the compromise, but the fall-out was spreading farther than the politicians would ever deign to acknowledge.

Daniel would love to blame the politicians entirely, but his sense of justice and fair play was too strong. Sam and Jack had issues, and the boundary that kept them apart had been removed. What was worse, neither could escape the situation – the SGC needed them, their skills, their knowledge, and neither would be happy working elsewhere.

They hadn't said anything, but they knew. Everyone knew, especially Pete. It was like a time bomb had been set in the middle of the SGC, and no-one knew how to disable it.

"Take care of yourself, Pete," he offered, suddenly wanting to wind up the call. The man's obsessive behaviour worried him, but Daniel remembered how he'd felt all those years ago. How long had he chased Ammonet across the galaxy? And then other Goa'uld when her destruction had annihilated the body of his wife Sha're? Saving the Earth was an obvious bonus, but Daniel was man enough to recognise the pain that drove him. This situation was only vaguely similar, but the emotion was just as jagged.

There was no reply from the other end, so Daniel tried the 'firm' approach, imitating the tone of voice used by most USAF officers when a subordinate needed discipline. "Sam is a sensible woman, and she will talk to you if you give her the time and space she needs. Go home and see Ellie."

The sigh from the other end was long and sad. "You're the boss."

There was a sharp click on the line as Pete signed off, and Daniel looked at the phone with a mild sense of shock. The conversation hadn't really ended, but then Pete wasn't exactly in great shape right now. Maybe telling him what to do had been the right thing. Like slapping a hypothermic to wake them up a bit.

A rustle caught his attention, and he saw Sam leaning against the wall across the passage. Her eyes were still red, but she seemed a little less jagged around the edges.

"What am I going to do?"

Daniel's heart almost broke with those words. He believed in the sanctity of marriage, with or without the religious baggage, but he also knew that this could be the hardest battle that Sam would ever fight.

Striding through the doorway he pulled his friend into a strong hug and shushed softly as she began to sob. He smoothed her hair gently and kissed the top of her head as she let it all out for the umpteenth time.

"Everything will be fine, you'll see," he assured her, hoping that he sounded convincing. "You'll see, Sam. Everything will be fine."

"But it won't…" she whispered into his chest. "It won't."

"You don't know that!" Daniel protested softly, but Sam cut him off by lifting her head and glaring as only a woman with smeared mascara and bloodshot eyes can.

"I do. I love them both. I've tried to stop it, to ignore it, to deal with it anyway I can – but I can't!" She sniffed loudly, wiping her nose with a fraying tissue. "Nothing will be fine, and there's nothing I can do about it."

As the sobs continued, Daniel squeezed out a few tears himself.

Damn those politicians.