So. It turns out I'm incapable of ending this. This isn't so much an "epilogue" as it is a continuation. I've got stuff planned for Thanksgiving and Christmas chapters, and beyond.

You can blame my husband. He and I were chatting about this story line, and he started asking questions like, "Can you imagine the episode 'Entity' if Sam and Jack were married and he had to zat her twice?"

Oh—my heart! Just yank it out and stomp on it, why don't you?

So, yeah. It's totally his fault.

-OOOOOOOO—-

Beauty In The Broken

Aurene

Skin.

Fingers on her jaw, soothing along her hip, threading through her hair.

Lips at her throat, meandering downward. Down. Hovering. Warm.

Soft, soft, more. More.

Arching. His body heavy against hers, rough against soft. Reaching. Please, more, please.

Beautiful. Rush—beautiful. Revere-touch. Sweet-hot. Urgent. Linger. Slow, slow—beautiful.

Please. Jack.

Mine. Always.

Always.

—-—OOOOOOOO—-

Light.

Sam sighed into her pillow, turning her head away from the mid-morning glow making its way through the curtains. Beside her, the pillows lay empty but for the indentations he'd left behind. The bed seemed barren without him. How quickly that had happened. She, who had spent a lifetime sleeping alone, now needed to hear him breathe, to feel his heat—his weight—on the mattress beside her.

She'd never been one to sleep in, always having been an early, perfunctory riser. Apparently, some habits were easy to simply set aside. Especially when they were gradually being replaced by better ones.

She remembered him leaving, in a hazy, gray way. Jake fussing in the next room over had roused them both, but Jack had whispered that he'd take care of the boy so that Sam could get some more rest. Then, he'd kissed her—lips, cheek, throat—his nose chilly against her skin—untangled his limbs from hers, and slipped out from beside her.

He'd carefully tucked the covers in around her before he'd left. Sam had nestled back down under the thick quilts and given in to the warmth, the softness, and the lingering languor of sleep.

It had become a routine over the last few days. A pattern. A ritual, of sorts, for these people who until this point had clung to rituals that had kept them apart rather than together. For these people who were discovering how to become something more.

Lazy days playing with Jake—stories, toys, endless walking—hunched over, with his little hands in their fingers. Bundling him up to take him out to walk in the woods, or play in the snow, only to unbundle him moments later to change his diaper or dig mud out of his shoes. Baby-proofing—a trunk in front of the fireplace, chairs in front of outlets, duct tape holding the bottom kitchen cupboards closed.

Lists of things to bring and do the next time they were there. A real crib, a space heater for the chilly bathroom, a more comfortable couch in the living room. A rocking chair. Ways to make the cabin an escape not just for Jack, but for his family, as well.

There was a shift happening between the two of them—as they learned how to be together as normal people, attending to normal, earthy things—dishes, laundry, tidying. From Colonel and Major to Jack and Sam. Casual talk and subtle flirtation that morphed into not-so-casual touches and long, thorough kisses.

Then, there were the nights. After Jake had hummed himself to sleep with his blanket and his thumb. After the last dish had been placed in the cupboard, the lights turned off in the kitchen and dining room—after the moonlight sent a silvery glow across the snow and through the windows. After all that—casual and subtle had turned to intentional and purposeful.

And Sam had discovered what it meant to be well and truly worshiped. There was no other way that she could think of to describe how it felt to spend her nights in Jack O'Neill's bed. She'd thought she'd known how it would be—their time under the domed city having given her glimpses. But Jonah and Thera had only just scratched the surface. Sam and Jack's history had added a depth and emotion that had taken things to a level Sam had never imagined possible.

To be fair—she hadn't gotten a whole lot of actual sleep during the nights. Not that she minded.

Pressing her palms against her forehead, she smiled up at the ceiling. She felt complete, despite the lingering lassitude. Heavy—satisfied, but not just from the physicality of their nocturnal activities. Instead, her entire body throbbed with a sated sort of lethargy that seemed infused with something that she suspected was bliss.

She was happy. Bone-deep. Heart-full. Profoundly so—all the way to her soul.

Tugging at the covers, she turned to face the door, but he'd closed it behind him. It was quiet, although she could hear movement out in the house. They were probably in the kitchen—on the opposite side of the cabin from where she lay.

That, too, had become routine. Jack was surprisingly competent in the kitchen. He'd taken to breakfast duty with remarkable aplomb. Sam suspected that he liked cooking—-just as much as he savored having his early morning one-on-one time with Jacob.

She kicked at the quilts until she could maneuver to the other side of the bed and sit up. The room was tiny, and she'd ended up sleeping on the side of the bed that was shoved up against the wall. Swinging her legs to the side of the bed, she shivered, tugging the hem of her shirt down over her knees.

Well—technically, it was Jack's shirt. She'd rescued it off the floor after round three of their nocturnal activities. Or had it been round four?

Regardless, it had been handy, and it still smelled deliciously of him and the firewood he'd been cutting the evening before. And if she just happened to pull the neck of the shirt up just so she could inhale a little more of that scent? Well—nobody was around to see it, so what did that matter? She could do whatever the hell she wanted.

Besides—it turned out that he liked it when she did whatever the hell she wanted. That revelation had been a welcome surprise. Six days in, and she was becoming more comfortable with calling the shots—with taking the lead in more areas than just Jake's care and maintenance. Again—there was that gentle transition from subordinate to equal. More habits changing, becoming something better.

She hustled to the dresser, where she rummaged in a drawer until she found a pair of sweats and some thick, nubby socks. She was still tying the drawstring at the waist as she padded past the leather sofa in the tiny living room.

"Dada boo!"

"Just wait until you get older, kid." Jack was at the stove again, steam coming off whatever was in the pan. He had strapped the portable high chair to one of the kitchen chairs, turning it so that Jake could watch him make breakfast. "We'll come up here all the time."

"Da doo." Jake's face bore testimony to the fact that he'd already eaten—bits of egg clung to his cheeks and chin, and his hands were covered in crumbs.

"Right? We're going to have the best time. We'll go out exploring the woods. Hiking. Fishing. You're going to love fishing. We'll get you a little pole." He stirred at the stuff he was cooking, then whacked the utensil he'd been using against the edge of the pan and turned off the heat. "Once you can walk, of course."

Jake bobbled up and down in his seat, whacking the tray with his hands. "Ba!"

"How are you doing with those eggs, buddy?" Jack took a step towards his son, leaning to look at the contents of the tray. "Are you still hungry, or are you done?"

Jake grinned, kicking a little as he touched his index fingers together. "Ma!"

"That means 'more'." Sam walked into the kitchen, angling around the chair in the little space between the kitchen and the dining room. Dropping a kiss on Jake's head, she surveyed the mess on the tray with a bemused smile. "I had been teaching him a sort of sign language. He gets frustrated when he doesn't get what he wants, so I thought it would make things easier if he could just tell me."

Jack reached out and picked up the pan, stirring the eggs around with the spatula. He was still in the pajama bottoms he'd dragged on near dawn, although he'd put on a t-shirt since he'd gotten up. "That's pretty smart. But then, you are the resident genius."

With a little shrug, Sam watched as he blew on a scoop of eggs, cooling them down for little hands. "It wasn't my idea. Heather was a wealth of knowledge and brilliant parenting ideas."

"Even more reason to like her."

"Did you need a reason to like her?"

He tilted a look over at her, his expression speculative. His hesitation spoke nearly as loud as his words. "I was a little apprehensive when Doc Fraiser told me where she'd taken you. I know that things between you and Mark haven't always been easy. I didn't know how it would play out."

Sam smiled, smoothing at Jake's hair with her fingertips. "Things are better between us now."

"It looked like it." He scooped some eggs onto the tray, using the flat edge of the spatula to chop them into smaller pieces. "I'm glad. It's nice that you're closer with your family."

"It was a good place for me to land." Watching as he stepped backwards, she nodded. "I needed them."

"I know you did." Jack turned back towards the range, stowing the pan on the burner. Leaning back against the stove, he looked at her. He considered his next words. "Still. It was—difficult."

He didn't need to elaborate. Sam could easily construe what he'd meant. He'd needed her, too. He'd needed her, and she'd taken Jake and left. And then she'd thrown everything he'd given her back in his face and disappeared again—figuratively rather than literally. Still, the damage had been done.

It was the first time since she'd arrived on his porch six days before that he'd broached this particular subject. To be frank, it was the first time since the porch that they'd spoken of anything consequential. For days, they'd simply been working out what it meant to be together as a couple—as a family—rather than as members of the same combat unit.

Why it was happening now, Sam couldn't have said. Other than that their idyll was running out—they couldn't stay here in this cabin, keeping away from the real world—and their very real responsibilities—forever. They would eventually have to return to their duties. Their lives.

She bit her lips together before answering. Two steps took her alongside the stove in the miniscule kitchen. She stopped at his side, facing him, her stockinged feet close to his bare ones. "I can't ever give you back those months with Jake. And I'm sorry about that."

"It wasn't your fault, Sam." He shook his head, glaring down at the eggs cooling in the pan. "It was the whole damned situation."

Reaching down, Sam took his hand in her own, tugging him close. She waited for him to grip her hand back before speaking again. "What's happened? When you got up earlier, you weren't in this mood."

His eyes read her for a moment, his tongue passing over his bottom lip as he let go of her hand and stepped past her to the little wooden ledge that separated the kitchen from the dining area. He reached out and lifted a stack of newspapers, revealing a telephone attached to an answering machine.

"Since when have you had a phone?"

"It's always been there."

"Why didn't I know about it?"

His left eyebrow squeaked upwards in a look of such confident astuteness that it rankled a bit. "Because if you'd known it was here, you'd have wanted to hook up the internet and work, thus ending our vacation."

He had a point. Still. Sam frowned. "What if someone needed us?"

Without a word, he pushed a button on the answering machine.

Beep.

"Hey, Jack. This is Daniel. Call me, will you? I just want to make sure that you're okay. Teal'c's worried, too. You took off pretty quickly, and we didn't get a chance to talk. I'm concerned about you. Call me. Okay? Alright. Bye."

Beep.

"Sam? This is Pete. Just checking that you found the place okay. I looked up the records again and pulled the phone number. I hope that's okay. I was just thinking about you and hoping that you made it up there safely with that cute little guy of yours. Hey-–if everything doesn't go how you hoped, give me a call. Anyway. Call me. Pete Shanahan. You know the number."

Beep.

Jack? Daniel again. Teal'c's getting worried. If you don't call back for me—do it for him. 'Bye.

Beep.

"Sam? Why aren't you answering your cell phone? Seriously, Sam. I've been trying to reach you for days. I got this number from Daniel. You left so fast that you didn't pick up that prescription I ordered for you. The pharmacy has contacted me a few times about it. If you need me to, I can call it in to a pharmacy up there—wherever 'there' is. That way, you can use it if you need it, or not, or whatever. Anyway. Call me."

Beep.

"Oh—one more thing, Sam. Did you ever open the box? I'm dying to find out what it looks like. Call me."

Beep.

The light on the machine blinked off, and Jack hit the 'erase' button before turning back to face her. "Real life intrudes."

"It was bound to happen sooner or later." Her throat felt tight—her voice strained through it. "We couldn't hide out forever."

"No. I know that." He turned and leaned back against the wooden ledge. "Still, a guy can dream, can't he?"

Sam edged across the kitchen towards him, stopping an arm's length away. "We've been lucky that they stayed away this long."

"Almost a week." Jack tilted his head to one side. "Although Daniel left his first message several days ago. I muted the phone and machine as soon as I got up here and opened the cabin. I didn't even think about it until I saw the light blinking under the paper before dawn."

"How fortuitous." Sam looked down at Jake, who was chasing a slippery bit of egg across his tray. He was filthy—but smiling as he poked at his prey. "To be fair, we've been ignoring some pretty important stuff. We really haven't talked about what comes next."

"And what is that?" He braced himself on his hands, purposefully not touching her, or even reaching for her. "What does come next?"

Sam's brows crept low over the bridge of her nose. "I thought we'd already decided on parts of it."

"Which parts, Sam?" So, so quiet. He was controlled, but there was a thread of something else lying under the question. Uncertainty, perhaps. Or self-protection.

"You said you wanted to be a family. You asked me to marry you."

"And yet, you aren't wearing the ring I gave you."

Heat flooded Sam's cheeks and she tore her eyes from his. Suddenly, her socks seemed fascinating. "I—uh—I forgot it."

"You what?"

"It's still sitting on my counter at home." She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. "All I could think about was getting here to you. I wasn't thinking about jewelry."

"Jewelry." As if he didn't quite believe that she'd said what she'd said. "It was a little more than a pair of earrings."

"All I wanted was to get to you, Jack," Sam watched him—as he stood there avoiding her gaze. "The only thing I was thinking about a week ago was finding you."

He didn't answer for what seemed like an age. His dark eyes flickered up towards her. "I just heard that message and wondered."

"Which message?"

"From the guy." His lips thinned. "From Carlsbad."

"Pete?" She nodded, looking out the window above the sink. It was snowing again—just flurries. Nothing more than that. In between the trees, she could even see chunks of blue sky through the clouds. The new fall wouldn't stick for long. "I couldn't think of anyone else who could help me figure out where this cabin was. I could have asked the HR people at the SGC, but—I didn't. That would have been awkward."

"More awkward than asking the man that you were dating how to find the guy that you'd just left?"

"I wasn't dating him."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "And yet, you were actually on a date with him when I barged into Mark's place."

"Not by choice."

"He thought he had a chance."

She sighed—the sound ragged—before answering him. "He didn't."

"The Human Resources people have this address, Sam. And the phone number."

"I have to work with those people, Jack." She sent a rueful smile off through the glass into the woods. "If I'd come up here and you'd changed your mind—"

"But I didn't."

"I didn't know how you were going to react. I couldn't have faced them. Not if I'd come back alone."

"That would never have happened."

"Are you sure?" She looked back at him. "You were hurt, and angry. You'd retired again, for heaven's sake. You don't think that everyone in the Mountain hasn't been talking about us for months now? They're not stupid—and they all have eyes and ears. I had taken so much from you, and you had every right to tell me to go to hell."

"I would never do that to you."

Still, she shook her head. "The last thing I was going to do was open myself up to more gossip. Open us up to more. I was not going to ask the people we work with to look up the location of this cabin, so I found an alternative. And it doesn't matter, anyway. I don't want to date Pete. I barely know him. He was kind enough to help me in a pinch. That's it."

Jack seemed to accept that. He nodded, watching as Jake picked up the sippee cup and took a long swig of formula. "And the other?"

"Daniel?"

"No, the medicine thing."

"Janet." She scrunched up her nose with a little sigh. "I hadn't been on any kind of birth control since Jonas. I don't do well with taking hormones—obviously. They make me gain weight and get really moody, so I just didn't take anything. I really didn't see the point since I wasn't dating or anything. But, after -118, Janet insisted on making sure that I had options. She called in a prescription for something. Just in case."

His jaw worked for a moment before he looked up at her. "And you didn't pick it up."

"No." Sam raised a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "I didn't."

"Because you ran out of time?"

"Because I didn't want to." She peered you at him from beneath her lashes. "Because I finally figured out what I did want. What I do want."

It took him a while to work through that. When he did, he narrowed a look at her. "So, all this week—" His voice trailed off, his eyes speculative.

There was really nothing else to add. Sam stepped closer, until she could raise a hand and touch him. Until the space between their bodies had been winnowed down to nothing. Until he could hear her, no matter how quietly she was speaking. "I was serious when I said what I said on your porch. I'm ready for what comes next."

"Even that?"

"Especially that." She took his hand, weaving her fingers through his. "I kept saying that I was fine with how things turned out a few months ago. After we got back from -118. That I wasn't disappointed. But in reality, I was kind of praying that fate—or luck—or hell, maybe even deity—would make some decisions for us. I know what we would have chosen to do had it not been for—"

His lips relaxed into a wry smile, his brown eyes finding hers. "Shark week?"

Her smile back at him was real, and honest, and tinged with regret. "Yeah."

"I was hoping." So, so quiet. Not even a whisper. Barely even audible—little more than heat against her cheek.

She leaned into him, her eyes drifting closed as she felt his hand tighten on hers. "I wasn't sure that you would ever want that again."

"I didn't. But then this pain in the ass scientist captain wunderkind got assigned to my team." He pressed his lips to her temple, lingering, his hand sliding up her spine and then downward, hovering over the small of her back, putting just the scarcest hint of pressure there. "Things change."

"Ba do!" Jake was tired of being ignored. He squealed, straining against the straps of the high chair, and then tossed the sippee cup into the interior of the kitchen. It landed with a 'thunk' and skittered across the wood flooring. "Ba ma ma!"

Sam smiled against Jack's throat, "I think he's ready to get down to play."

"We'd better get him out of there before he starts chucking eggs." Jack raised his free hand, smoothing the hair back behind her ear. "However, Sam. We still need to decide on some stuff."

Tilting up on her toes, Sam pressed her lips to his. Too briefly—too softly—but enough for now. "Let's have one more day to play. We'll talk tonight after he's in bed. We'll make those decisions then."

—-OOOOOOOO—-

"Is he asleep?"

"Yeah." Jack looked down at the baby laying on his chest, angling his head to see Jake's face. "He finally conked out a few minutes ago."

It hadn't been the carefree afternoon she'd envisioned. Jake had woken up from his morning nap in a foul mood, which had only worsened as the day had worn on. Figuring that he was just tired of being cooped up in the cabin—and taking stock of their dwindling supply of groceries and diapers—Sam had suggested driving southeast to the neighboring town of Monticello to do some shopping and go somewhere new for dinner.

They'd managed to keep the baby happy until halfway through their dinner, when he'd erupted into a tantrum like they hadn't seen since that day so many months before—when Janet had marched into the briefing room and summarily thrust the shrieking orphan at Sam.

Jack had picked him up and removed him from the restaurant while Sam had hurriedly gotten the rest of the meal put into takeout containers and paid the bill. It wasn't until they were putting him into his car seat that Sam noticed how hot he was, and how flushed his cheeks were. The fever necessitated another quick stop at the local pharmacy for a thermometer and meds.

The drive back to the cabin hadn't been pleasant. Jake had screamed and strained against the straps of his car seat the entire drive. The toy trick hadn't helped. Neither had a sippee cup. Neither had pulling over and having Sam jump in back to sit next to him.

The remainder of the evening hadn't gotten any better. Jake had fought taking the liquid medication, spitting it back out between screams. He'd clenched his jaws, pursing his lips so that Sam couldn't even get the little dropper between them. When she finally managed to get it down his throat, he'd arched his back and screamed some more. He'd cried so vociferously during his bath that he'd thrown up—twice. And then he'd kicked and fought when Jack had attempted to put his sleepers on him.

"Should we take him to a doctor?" Sam glanced at the thermometer in her hand. The little screen on the back of the device still blinked its latest reading. "It's pretty high. A hundred and one."

"Little kids spike higher than adults. I wouldn't really worry until he's at a hundred and three." Jack's face was impassive—reassuring—the same one he usually wore when assessing a tricky situation off-world. "He's just teething, Sam. You can feel the top teeth breaking through."

"Are you sure? The book I read said that babies don't get sick when they cut new teeth."

Jack smiled down at the child on his chest, resuming the circular pattern he'd been making on Jake's back with his palm. His expression shifted—as if he'd retreated into his memories, somehow. Rifling through the past. "Charlie got sicker than a dog every time he got a new tooth. Once when he was around fourteen or fifteen months old, he ran a fever of a hundred and four and everything he ate or drank came right back up."

Sam hesitated, her fingers tight on the thermometer. Jack had so rarely spoken of Charlie before Jake had arrived that any mention of his son felt special somehow. Sacred.

"Sara was frantic and took him into the ER because he was dehydrated. They gave him IV fluids and ran a bunch of tests, but they couldn't find anything wrong. They got his fever down, rehydrated him, and sent him home. The next morning, he woke up with four new teeth. All four first year molars had come through in that one night. He was right as rain until the next time he cut teeth."

"That must have been frightening."

"I wasn't there." Jack shifted on the couch, scooting up and extending his feet to rest on the coffee table. "I was off in some hellhole somewhere dispensing with someone."

He'd thrown out that information as if it weren't consequential, but Sam knew that it had cost him.

"I was there for lots of other new teeth, though." He looked down towards his toes. "And for many other fevers. Jake isn't dehydrated. He's sleeping peacefully now. He might be fussy for the next few days—but just until this tooth breaks through. After that, he'll be alright again."

"But—"

"Come here, Sam." Patting the sofa next to him, he raised a brow in invitation. "It's going to be fine."

"Maybe I should call Janet." She took a step backwards towards the kitchen.

"Maybe you should trust me." His brown eyes met her blue ones. "Just like all the other times you've trusted me. This isn't so much different than hitting a snag on a mission, is it?"

He was right. Not for the first time, either. How many times had she followed his lead in the field, confident in his experience and perspective? Sam inhaled deeply, breathing out through tight lips. "Okay."

"Come here." He made the invitation again, quieter this time, his hands still. "We still have things to discuss."

Clicking the thermometer to the 'off' position, she laid it on the table and then slid in between the sofa and the coffee table. Tucking her leg underneath her, she sat on the couch next to Jack, turning her body to face him. "He's just never been sick before."

"It's new to you. It'll take time until you're confident."

"Is it like this when they come the usual way?"

Jack smiled, his fingers resuming the pattern he'd been tracing on Jake's back. The baby sucked in a ragged breath around his thumb and then exhaled slowly, nestling more heavily against his father's chest. "You mean when they're born to you rather than thrust at you through interdimensional portals?"

"You know how I am. I like being provided with all the pertinent information in advance." Sam nodded. "It's my habit to worry at something until I know everything I can about it."

"You might have to let go of some of those habits." He crossed his legs at the ankles. "Some things can't be planned or even anticipated—especially when it comes to kids."

"Like baby boys peeing on you on the changing table." She'd reached a point where she could smile about that incident.

"Among other things."

Sam settled into the couch more fully, sinking deeply into the ancient cushions, leaning her elbow on the back of the sofa and resting her cheek on the back of her hand. "There are, however, some things that can be planned."

He seemed to need a moment to put a voice to the words he'd been holding in. When he spoke, hesitation whispered through his tone. "Like weddings?"

Sam bit her bottom lip, suddenly wary. "Like those."

"So, what exactly did you and General Hammond hammer out?" He made eye contact with her. "How is all this going to work?"

"I'll be in charge of a team responsible for collecting and cataloging alien tech as it comes back through the 'Gate. And, of course, I'll be working on the Ancient weapon you found in the Antarctic." She picked at a spot of schmutz on the leather of the couch. "Stationed within the SGC, but under the direct leadership of General Bermudez."

"And when does this new assignment start?"

"Hammond put me on leave until the eleventh of December."

"So, we have another week or so."

Sam grinned, pausing in her work on the spot. "He told me to 'find a preacher and make things permanent'. It's the only way to make things legal, so to speak. To protect us within the system."

Jack reached out and put his hand on her knee. "Is that what you want?"

"What? To get married?"

"The preacher. The big church thing. Poofy white dress, flowers, a string quartet playing Pachelbel's Canon. The big deal."

She knew what he was envisioning as surely as she knew her own name. The photograph that Samantha had brought through the mirror—both times. The wedding of the other them—the Samantha and Jack from the other Earth—the other universe. Arches and gowns and flowers threaded through her hair.

Did she want that? Elegant. Staid. Traditional. "I'm not sure that's really us. Are you?"

"Not really." He shook his head, the gray in his hair catching the lamplight. "But if you want that, then we'll make it happen."

"I'd rather it be simple. Small." She took his fingers in hers. "Private."

"Vegas?"

"Eloping sounds good." She ran through scenarios in her head. "Although that's a long way to go."

"I'm pretty sure that little man here would revolt if we kept him in the car seat that long." Jack caressed the backs of her fingers with the pad of his thumb. "That's got to be a three or four day trip once you factor in diaper changes and other pit stops."

"We could fly."

"We could." But Jack didn't sound overly enthusiastic about that possibility. "Logistically, that's not that much easier."

Sam considered that for a minute. "We could just do it here. That little church down the way is fairly picturesque. And they were really nice when I was trying to find your cabin. Or, I'm sure there's a Justice of the Peace around here somewhere."

"True."

Still—there were other things to consider. Other people. "But I'm not sure that Cassie would ever forgive us if we got married and she wasn't there."

His thumb paused in its ministrations, his hand heavy on hers. "There might be a few people who would feel that way."

"Janet."

"Daniel."

"Teal'c."

"Your brother."

"My dad."

"He's good with whatever we decide." O'Neill threw a knowing look her way. "I've already talked to him about it."

Interesting. Sam smiled down at their joined hands before looking back up at Jack. "So, we do it in Colorado Springs. I'll call Mark and Heather and invite them, but it might be short notice for them."

"You know, Mark might be the key to something else, too."

"Oh?"

"I think that we've been going about this whole genetic thing wrong."

Once he'd said the words, Sam's mind immediately followed his train of thought. "You think that we should start testing our family first."

"It only makes sense. The gene has to travel with DNA, right?"

"True."

He uncrossed his legs, sitting up and planting his feet on the floor. Pulling his hand from hers, he steadied Jacob against his chest as he stood. "I'm going to go put him in bed."

"Do you want a beer?"

"Sure."

Sam turned towards the kitchen, stepping aside so that Jack could pass her on his way towards the room where they'd put Jake's crib. Once she'd grabbed the bottles from the fridge, she lingered in the kitchen, waiting for him to emerge.

She was startled when the phone rang. Setting the bottles on the counter, Sam reached across the counter and shoved the stacked newspapers off the telephone, yanking the receiver off the cradle.

"Hello?"

"Sam!" Relief coursed through Janet's tone. "I've been so worried!"

"Everything's fine, Janet." Sam pivoted, craning her head to peer into Jake's room. "The phone has been muted, so we've missed some messages."

"You could have called me when you figured that out."

"I was intending to."

"But?"

Sam shrugged, touching the bottles on the counter next to her. Opening a drawer, she dug around until she found the churchkey. "We've been a little busy."

Janet's snort needed no further translation. "So, that's what the kids are calling it these days."

"Get your head out of the gutter. We've been winterizing the cabin. Getting things ready to come home." Opening a cupboard overhead, Sam withdrew a pair of glasses. "And right now, we're just putting the baby to bed."

"Ah." Somehow, she managed to sound both skeptical and supercilious. "And so you answered quickly because you were worried that the phone ringing would wake him up."

"He's been a bit of a pill today." Sam smiled into the phone. "He's teething, and he spiked a fever while we were out to dinner, and screamed like a banshee the entire evening."

"The joys of parenthood."

"It's been super fun."

Janet paused. In the background, it sounded like a tv or a radio was on. Probably Cassie watching a movie. "It seems like you're gearing up for more of that fun."

Sam hesitated before answering, flicking a quick glance in the direction of Jake's door. "We're just playing that by ear."

"So, things are going well between the two of you?"

Jack emerged from the bedroom then, closing the door quietly behind him. When he saw Sam on the phone, his eyebrows rose, and his cheek creased in a smile as he moved across the little kitchen to where she stood.

Carter watched him as he got closer. She knew that look. Intentional—predatory—focused on his target. Her pulse kicked up a notch, and her breathing became stilted. Shaking her head, she raised a hand and shoved against his chest in a futile effort to stop whatever plans he was formulating. "Yes. Things are going well."

"Come on, Sam." Janet sighed heavily, exasperated—or perhaps amused. "Don't make me drag the juicy details out of you."

Biting back a frown, Sam looked downward, to where Jack's hand had settled on her hip. To where his body crowded hers against the cabinetry. He leaned in, grazing her cheek with his lips, silently kissing his way down to her throat as his fingers made their own path along her sides, her back, and up into her hair. Kneading, skimming, sending tingles of anticipation through her core.

Sam stifled a moan. She closed her eyes, fighting to concentrate on the conversation, and not the delicious things Jack was doing with his tongue. "I'm sorry, Janet. I've got to go."

A sound suspiciously like a snort echoed through the phone receiver. "He's distracting you, isn't he?"

Melting against the counter, Sam grabbed his hand as his fingers started in on the buttons of her shirt, flattening them against her sternum. She cracked open one eye, unsurprised at the triumphant look on the man's face. Scowling at him, she increased the pressure on his fingers, holding them still. Sam didn't know if she was gratified or annoyed when he ignored her and continued his explorations elsewhere. With other means. Oh—holy—crap. "Kind of."

"Well, far be it for me to keep you from that." Janet's tone turned to one of distinct resignation. "Call me when you're on your way home and Cassie and I can restock your fridge for you."

"Okay." How had he unfastened that? And what was he doing to—oh, heavens. Sam's knees quivered, and she was suddenly grateful for the solidity of the countertop behind her. It, and Jack's body, were the only things keeping her upright.

"And we're thinking that we can get together next week and have a late Thanksgiving with you. Daniel and Teal'c and I have been planning it."

Oh, sweet insanity. Shut up, Janet. "Sure. Yeah."

"Okay. 'Bye, Sam."

"'Bye."

The phone receiver was summarily plucked from her hand, and Sam felt Jack lean past her and put it back on the cradle. Then, his hands bracketed her hips and he levered her up onto the counter, guiding her legs around his waist. His body was hot against hers. Hard. Insistent, as his hands smoothed the shirt off her shoulders, and his lips traced the curve of her neck, the arch of her collarbone. The upper swell of her—

"So? How's Janet?" His words were soft against her skin, the calluses on the palms of his hands rougher—welcome. Real. Solid.

Who? Janet who? Sam sucked in a ragged breath—arching into his touch even as she sought his own skin with frantic hands. Her fingers shook as they worked on tugging his shirt up and over his head, dropping it on the floor next to his feet. She bent her head, pausing at the pulse point on the side of his throat, teasing at his jaw, tracing the outer curve of his ear with her tongue. Her hands moved up to rake through his hair, finally framing his face as she pulled him even closer.

Her lips hovering over his, she paused, her fractured mind racing. He'd said something—asked a question. Hadn't he? Hadn't he? Oh—Holy Hannah.

Skin. Heat. Press close—hug—linger—hold, hold. Love.

Sensation-–shiver—sweet-–hot—beautiful—agony. Shattering, shattering, glistening, joy.

But he'd said something, hadn't he? Asked her—mind—fractured—lost, lost, in feeling, in quiver, rush, slow—slow—light—hard. Now, now, Always.

His mouth met hers, hard—firm—open. Drawing back slightly, he studied her, his eyes hazy, clouded, his thumbs sweeping across the fine arched lines of her cheekbones.

The cabin lay quiet around them, dark, and private. A single lamp in the living room cast a gauzy, golden haze through the rest of the place. Outside, the trees seemed to glow in the light of the moon—silver and gray and black, as pinprick stars winkled through the canopy and shimmered on the wind-rippled pond.

And Sam noticed none of it, carried away by him. This man who had somehow become her home. Her anchor. Her focus—his hands, his lips, and the heat of his touch. His voice as it cut through the dark and eased its way through the rush of her senses. "Sam?"

"Yeah, Jack?"

In between kisses, his request felt profoundly urgent. Vitally important. "Let's go to bed."

Her answer was automatic. And sincere. Whispered against his lips, hot and wanting, and brash. "Yes, Sir."

Some habits were easy to change.

But others? Other habits died hard.