Alea Iacta Est

by Mabyn

SamJack Let one equal the whole allow three to equal the value of one. Should two only be present, formulate a means by which the remainder may be reintegrated into the whole.

4. Recollection

Warning: This section includes a graphic description of a flashback, mention of suicidal ideation and, um...French toast... Right.

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Alea Iacta Est

Part III:

Recollection

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Morning found them as the night had left them--nestled securely against each other, legs intertwined and fingers interlaced, their breathing deep and even amidst the early morning bustle of the deep woods. Sam's mind had allowed her the precious hours of dreamless sleep her body required, a variance in its typical pattern eased by the warm, reassuring presence of the man sleeping beside her.

She awoke before he did and seized the opportunity to gaze at him unabashedly under the light of a yawning sun. The egg-shell rays highlighted his remaining innocence and, in the dim, freckling glow, she was permitted to believe that the lines etching his face were due solely to age and not the weathering of pain or the surviving of battle. Here, in their bedroom, he was just a man; a man free of the burden of the world's security and numinous threats to the galaxy, a man just like the millions of others who lived richly in blissful ignorance.

Just a man lost in the peaceful dredges of sleep.

Holding her breath as he shifted, a smile broke across her face as he reached for her and urgently breathed her name through the veil of his slumber. Her arms opened to his willing body and easily wrapped around his shoulders as his head settled in the crook between her neck and breast, his arm looping loosely around her waist. Languidly she ran her fingers through his hair, skirting his scalp with her nails and inhaling deeply of his scent--rich, musky, and masculine. The scent of safety, of strength.

She would depend on him today as she depended upon oxygen. Her fingers stilled in his hair momentarily as she ruminated the coming hours; she supposed that she should not be nervous. After all, it was only Janet, Daniel, and her father coming to stay with them for--how many days did Jack say? Three? Four? She sighed. The number didn't matter. The reason, however, did. As much as Jack argued the fact, they were coming to check up on her, to make certain she was all right, that she was safe. Why shouldn't she be safe? She was with Jack. Grimacing as Jack shifted against the bandages along the slope of her breast, she was forced to remember the previous night--the night she had crossed the boundary between mental planes. Janet would undoubtedly question the injuries and regard her with that infuriating look of concern she had attributed only to her late mother until she had met the doctor. God only knew what sort of tests her friend would want to run on her, what she would want to peruse, topically and physically, in the name of medicine.

And her father...

Her father would want to know what happened, how she had been abused, what exactly had taken place on 275. But he would not ask her. He would ask Janet and Daniel and probably even Jack, but he would not ask her. He would inquire into her current condition, perhaps prod for her mental, maybe even her emotional, well-being. And he would pretend to believe what she told him. Then, much later, he would sit silently by her, perhaps hold her hand or wrap his arms around her shoulders, waiting for her to delineate her experiences and the truth about her current state.

He would be waiting an awfully long time. She had decided that she was not going to offer information unless asked directly, and even then she had given herself permission to disregard the query should the answer prove too difficult. They would tell her that they "were there" for her if she needed to talk, that all she had to do was phone them any time of the day or night. That was all well and good, and she felt a deep twinge of guilt for even thinking it, but they had not proven themselves to her as of yet.

Jack had. And, right now, Jack was all she needed in this struggle between her and her unconscious mind.

"You awake?"

She smiled at the gruffness of his morning voice and pressed her cheek to the top of his head, her fingers running lazily through his sleep-tousled hair. "Mmhm."

"What time is it?"

Glancing over at the clock on the nightstand, she replied, "0939." The stubble lining his jaw lightly scratched her skin when he spoke and she fought against the urge to giggle at the sensation.

Jack groaned softly. "I don't get out of bed until at least 1000 when I'm on leave." Hugging her body tightly to him, he glanced up at her, his eyes shining, and murmured, "That means you don't either."

She smiled softly down at him. "I'm okay with that."

Lifting his head from her chest, he raised himself up onto his side, his head resting firmly against his palm, and gazed down at her face, his eyes soft and warm in the growing light of morning. Smoothing her hair away from her eyes, he asked, "How did you sleep?"

"Well," she replied, snaking an arm through the small hole created by his arm and the mattress. "I don't think I dreamt at all. At least, not that I remember."

"That's good," he murmured as he began to trace the contours of her mouth with an outstretched finger.

He was staring at her lips, she realized, a faint flutter forming in her stomach at the thought. He wanted to kiss her...kiss her good morning. Kiss her like he had last night.

But this was not like last night. Last night they had been on the porch and she would have easily been able to escape. Now she was lying down--beneath him--in his bed. No, this was much, much different.

But Jack wasn't. Jack was the same man. Only...scruffier. Warmer. More comfortable.

Pushing her fears aside, she offered him a small smile and softly cupped the back of his neck to pull his mouth down to hers. As soon as their lips touched, Jack relinquished control over the contact to her, being conscious to keep his responses to her proximity apparent, but not overbearing. However, when she parted her lips to him, her fingers flexing intermittently as they tangled in his hair, he surrendered to the desire to gently and thoroughly explore her mouth in depth. Their tongues tenderly caressed each other and the surrounding tissue in tandem as Jack slowly moved his forearms underneath her shoulders, inching her closer to his body. Smiling as she moaned softly and tightened her fingers in his hair, he circled his tongue one last, leisurely time around her warm recesses before pulling away to secure some much needed air.

Contrary to her fears, Jack did not attempt to settle his weight onto her, but braced himself above her body on his elbows, the tips of her breasts just barely brushing his chest as he rested his forehead against her own. After he had caught his breath, he lifted his head, a smile gracing his features, and gazed down at her. "Good morning," he whispered.

"Morning," she replied breathlessly, smiling as Jack gently brushed his nose against hers.

He rolled onto his back then, beckoning her into his arms. As she settled against him, her head resting fully on his chest, he asked, "What were you thinking about?"

"How did you know I was thinking?"

He chuckled and affectionately kissed her forehead. "Because you're always thinking."

Smiling, she conceded his point. "True." After wrapping her arm around his stomach and shifting closer to him, she murmured, "I was just thinking about today. Trying to gather any last little bits of courage, I guess."

He was silent for awhile, presumably contemplating her comment, and then muttered, "They love you, you know."

Nodding, she sighed. "I know."

He fingers alighted in her hair, lazily combing the tangled strands away from her face. "I'm sensing a but'."

"Mmm," she affirmed. "But the but' sounds too...snobby, I guess, to say."

"Try me."

"Jack..." she sighed, not wanting to voice the thoughts that had so recently coagulated in her mind. "I don't--"

"Seriously, Sam," he interjected, his other hand settling reassuringly on her forearm. "Say the but' and I'll tell you if it sounds snobby."

She sighed as he gently nuzzled the top of her head. They were silent for a moment before she said softly, "I guess I don't know if I can trust them...like I used to." Before Jack could wager his judgment of her thought, she continued, "Which is ridiculous, I know. Janet's saved my life a million times, I've worked with Daniel for years, and my father...well, he's my dad. I've always trusted him."

Jack was silent for moment, as Sam was beginning to realize was a trope in his intimate conversations. Finally, he asked, "You trust me, right?"

"Yes, of course."

"Why?"

Taken aback slightly, she frowned, the answer to his question eluding her. "I-I don't know if I can put that into quantifiable terms, Jack." She paused, staunched in thought. "I guess...you've had the opportunity to prove yourself."

Jack nodded, obviously accepting her answer. "Okay, so then it stands to reason that Janet, Daniel, and your father--none of whom you've had much contact with since 275--would prove themselves trustworthy if given the opportunity."

Slowly, she nodded. "Theoretically."

"So give them the opportunity," he exhorted softly, his warm breath tickling her ear. "Don't write them off without reason. And, no," he added, pressing a kiss to her temple. "That doesn't sound snobby."

"Really?" she asked, looking up at him, her eyebrows upraised in hesitation.

He caressed her cheek softly, his eyes sparkling tenderly down at her. "Really."

She regarded him skeptically for a moment before sighing and settling back down beside him. They lay in silence for several moments before Jack's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"Gotta question."

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you again?"

Taking her immediate outburst of giggles as a sign of consent, he gently pulled her body half-way atop his and drank deeply of her laughter.

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"If you hit the fork in the road you've gone too far.--No, actually, if you head right you'll end up at the bottom of Lake Superior which, even though it looks like a massive Stargate, is, I'm sorry to say, a point of no return.--No DHD, yeah."

Sam smiled into her coffee cup as she listened to Jack guide Daniel down the last leg of their drive to the cabin. Glancing at her watch, she noted that their ETA had been a gross miscalculation--of course, they hadn't planned on obtaining an earlier flight out of the Springs, either. She had panicked when she realized that she did not have as much time to prepare herself before their arrival as she had originally planned, but Jack had once again reassured her, calmed her reservations as he had proven himself so proficient at doing.

"No, Swelgert Road, Danny, Swelgert Road.--Yeah, right after the moose crossing.--No, the next moose crossing--Oh, funny man this morning, aren't ya?" Jack crossed the kitchen to the table where Sam had sequestered the coffee pot and, after placing a quick kiss on her cheek, refreshed the liquid in his mug. "Well, you can only turn left, so unless you want to witness the beauty of Minnesota while waiting for a tow truck..." After taking a sip of his coffee, he placed the mug beside Sam and stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, and gently began to knead her knotted muscles. "Yeah. Oh, and sorry about the road. It's a sacred road, a holey road, if you catch my drift. --What?--No, all the way at the end. It's about four miles, give or take.--Yeah, just follow Swelgert and you'll end up in my drive way. Hit the truck and die.--'Kay. See you in a few."

Jack set the phone down on the table and continued massaging Sam's shoulders, wondering to himself how it was possible to build up that degree of tension in less than twelve hours. "They're about four miles away," he said, shifting his attention to her upper arms. "They'll be here in a couple of minutes. You still doing okay?"

She nodded quickly--too quickly apparently.

Jack stopped his work on her shoulders and pulled out the chair beside her, noting painfully that she had hardly touched her eggs and toast. Instead of mentioning it, he took her hand in his and gently cupped her jaw in his palm. The sight of her eyes so wildly frantic reminded him of the animals his grandpa used to slaughter and their demeanor right before their moment of death. Racking his brain for something reassuring to tell her and finding nothing of particular merit, he realized that he had not yet told her that--

"I love you," he said simply, his thumb brushing against her cheek.

Her eyes widened for a moment as the depth of his admission sunk into her addled brain, but in the wake of her realization, he noted with some satisfaction that the frenetic shifting of her eyes lessened, that her pupils constricted, her focus clearer. "I love you, too," she whispered back, her fingers tightening around his hand.

In light of that, there was nothing more to say.

Slowly she leaned forward and met him half-way for a tender kiss; it was in no way passionate, not like the kisses they had shared this morning, but it was in all ways loving, just the reassuring pressure of his lips pressed securely against her own. From that gesture she drew an extra draught of strength, its warmth spreading rapidly through every pore of her body. And when he whispered, "It'll be all right," she very nearly believed him.

A gentle rapping on the door effectively killed the tender moment between them. As Jack rose to answer the door, he lightly grasped her arm and said, "Throw the rest of your breakfast away. If Janet sees it, she'll flip."

She nodded, realizing for the first time that she had hardly eaten a thing that morning, and quickly did as he suggested. Then, smoothing her hands down the legs of her jeans, she drew a deep breath and walked out to the living room to greet the guests she could hear milling about in the entryway.

Her father saw her first.

"Sammie," he whispered, his eyebrows creasing as he surveyed her gaunt form. Crossing the room in two quick strides, he swept her up in a tight embrace that she struggled not to evade. This was her father, she forced herself to remember as she twined her arms around his shoulders. Dad. The man who had rid her closet of monsters and their many attics of ghosts; the man who had bandaged her scrapes when she had fallen off of her bike or out of a tree; the man who--

--the man who would always be proud of her.

"Hi Dad," she said softly as he drew back to look at her. "How was the trip?"

"Fine, fine," he answered absently, his hands gripping her upper arms with a force to which she was unaccustomed. "I'm so sorry I didn't get here sooner, honey. The damned council didn't tell me George contacted them until I got back."

Nodding and straining not to wince at the horrendous pressure he was exerting on her bruised skin, she said, "I know. Jack told me." Sensing his continued air of self-reproach, she added, "It's okay, Dad. Really. I understand."

"Well, I'm glad one of us does." Narrowing his eyes, and thankfully lessening his grip on her arms, he asked hesitantly, "So, how you doing with everything?"

"Okay," she lied, not prepared to journey down that facet of conversation quite yet. "Still kicking."

Jacob smiled proudly, obviously placated by her addendum. "That's my girl," he enthused quietly before adding, "I spose I shouldn't hog you. There's a couple more people here who've been dying to see you."

Plastering a thick smile across her cheeks, she looked over her father's shoulder to see Janet silently regarding her, a tangible air of empathy and concern enveloping her short frame. "Hey Janet," she greeted her friend as she moved away from her father and into the doctor's much gentler embrace. The woman held her for a few moments longer than necessary, but Sam attributed it to Janet sincerely missing her presence at the base and stoically swallowed the discomfort.

"So," Janet began, stepping back to examine her friend's features.

Sam thanked whatever gods were listening that she had had the foresight that morning to don one of Jack's old sweatshirts. The material billowed around her frame, hiding her emaciated body, at least for the time being.

"I hear that you're doing okay."

Sam nodded, knowing that Janet did not believe for one fraction of a second that she was anywhere close to being okay.' In an attempt to substantiate her claim, she offered, "Jack said this was a good place to think and recoup. I guess he was right."

Catching the almost imperceptible narrowing of Janet's eyes, Sam shifted her focus to Daniel, a much safer, much less clinical companion. Currently engaged in an intense festival of whispers with Jack--Daniel appeared to be losing--he did not notice her approach until Jack cleared his throat and nodded towards her. The younger man glanced up, his expression of open curiosity quickly melting into a warm, loving smile when he saw her. "Hey Sam," he said as she neared him, making no move to embrace her until her arms lifted and she stepped close to him. He cradled her gently against his body, his hand alighting softly on the back of her head as a mute and welcome display of his devotion. As she retreated from his embrace, she was somewhat shocked to find tears lining not only her eyes, but his as well.

"How you doing?" he whispered around the constriction in his throat, his concern for her pouring out of his eyes in droves. And then she remembered Daniel as the man he had been before the hell of 275. He was her brother; a soul mate of sorts whom she had depended on for years and he had yet to let her down; yes, she did trust him. And, more importantly, he trusted her.

She could not speak for the pain and she could not lie for the faith between them; she simply nodded, hoping that the tears would keep themselves at bay. But as she continued to hold his gaze, his blue eyes swimming in compassion directed solely at her, her defenses weakened; her eyebrows creased as she bit her bottom lip and tears began to silently slip down her cheeks. Eyes bright with moisture, yet clouded by the nakedness of her pain, she shifted her gaze to the floor, unable to look at him any longer. As she felt Daniel's arms loop loosely around her silently shaking body and pull her near to his chest, she sensed the inaudible snap of her mental defenses and allowed her tears to fall freely as she sagged heavily against him.

"I know," Daniel whispered against her hair. He placed a chaste kiss on her temple before resting his chin delicately on top of her head. Gently rubbing her back, he murmured, "Just keep crying..."

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In a show of tremendous foresight, Jack had escorted both Jacob and Janet to the bedrooms as soon as Sam had been safely nestled in Daniel's arms. Neither of them would witness the tears that Jack had felt certain would begin to fall as soon as Sam saw her old friend and was given the opportunity to remember.

"This," Jack said with a flourish, "is the not-so-master bedroom, home of two twin beds, one dresser, and a poor excuse for a closet."

"I assume this is for Daniel and myself," Jacob guessed as he passed by Janet and set his bag on one of the beds.

"You would assume correctly, sir," Jack answered, turning on his heel to the room next door. "And this," he continued, ushering Janet into her temporary quarters, "is the really-not-so-master bedroom, home of a fairly comfortable hide-a-bed and--" he paused for dramatic effect, grasping the back of the chair in both hands, "a desk." Walking over to the opposite wall, he indicated to a frame hanging lopsidedly from a nail and scrutinized it carefully. "And lest we forget ol' Alan Kooper, local artist and garbage man, here is one of his early masterpieces--Still Life With Bass."

Janet grinned at the colonel and shook her head. "Oh goodie. Just what I've always wanted--four days and five nights with the work of an artistic garbage collector. How'd I get so lucky?"

"Well, my first choice was Trout Playing Poker,' but the guy in front of me got to it first."

"Shame," Janet muttered, plopping her bag down at the foot of the couch.

"Now if you'll follow me--" Jack began, moving to exit the room before Janet stopped him.

"Colonel, just a second."

Slowly Jack turned, his shoulders sagging as Jacob appeared in the doorway, his face solemn. Mustering up as much pleasantness as he could, he uttered a polite, "Yes?"

Janet sighed and slunk down into the soft cushions of the couch. "How is she? I mean, really?"

"She told me she was okay, but I don't buy it for a damned second," Jacob intoned softly, his brown eyes flashing as he walked past Jack and planted himself near the desk. "There's no way in hell she's okay. It's been what? A month?"

"Twenty-nine days," Jack supplied tiredly as he discreetly shut the door further, leaving a crack of about two inches between the door itself and the frame. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he arched his eyebrow at Janet and said, "I told you that I resent being grilled about Sam."

"And I told you when you first proposed this trip that that was one of the conditions," Janet returned hotly. "And, frankly, you've done a poor job at it."

"Well, what do you want me to tell you, Janet?" he whispered fiercely. "That she has flashbacks? She's depressed? She doesn't eat? She's more high-strung than a rat in a tank full of piranhas? You knew all that was going to happen. Why do you need to hear it from me?"

"Because that's what we agreed on, Jack," Janet said slowly. "She should be under heavy supervision right now in a mental health facility, but this provisional medical supervision' loophole that you found effectively negated that. And now, I have the General, Dr. Roberts, and several people in Washington breathing down my neck for a report on her condition and all I can tell them is that I haven't heard anything because she's in the fucking north woods of Minnesota."

"I hope you didn't use that exact terminology," Jacob inserted wryly, eliciting a small smile from both Jack and Janet. "Look," he continued. "George, Dr. Whosits, and Washington aside, this is Sam we're talking about. I wanna know how my little girl is doing, Jack. How's she really holding up?"

Jack sighed and pressed his thumb and first finger against his eyes in an attempt to quell his impending headache. "She's...doing better than I had hoped," he finally said. "Frankly, I didn't expect that'd we get all the way up here before she wanted to turn around and go home."

Janet narrowed her eyes slightly. "She didn't? Not once?"

Jack tossed her a withering glance. "If she had, we wouldn't be here right now." Drawing a deep breath, he reiterated, "I really don't know what to tell you guys. I mea--"

"Tell us what happened yesterday afternoon."

Jack squashed the faint tickle of nervousness in his gut as Janet brought the events of the previous day to mind. Swallowing quickly, he glanced up at her, vying for time. "What?"

"Yesterday afternoon," she repeated. "You said it was hellish. What happened? Give me something to tell the general, at least."

Sighing as he reluctantly admitted the validity of Janet's insistence, Jack consented. "Fine, fine," he began. "We pulled into the drive way and I told her that I would show her around as soon as we got our stuff in. Well, she, uh..." He paused, attempting to find the most delicate words to phrase the imminent section of the events. After clearing his throat softly, he continued, "She had injured herself the previous night--"

Janet quickly cut him off. "On purpose?"

"Not...exactly," Jack responded. "She wasn't aware of what she was doing."

Narrowing her eyes as she assimilated this information, Janet asked after a moment, "Where did she hurt herself?"

"Her, uh, her breasts," he answered with some difficulty, fully aware that Sam's father was hanging on his every word. "She did a number on them."

"And you know this how?" Yep. Good ol' dad.

Ignoring the pointed looks being shot at him by both parties, he stared back at them, his confidence suddenly returning as he remembered the trust she had placed in him that night and next. She had allowed him not only to bandage her wounds, but also to care for her broken spirit; she had allowed him to witness her nakedness, both in body and in heart; and she had just that morning verbally professed her love for him. Suddenly, the handling of a protective father and an irate best friend seemed like a cake walk.

Straightening his shoulders and looking Jacob directly in the eye, he replied, "Because I bandaged them for her."

The older man stiffened visibly, his eyes hardening slightly as he continued to regard Jack with suspicion.

"And she let you do that?" Janet's incredulousness irritated him to no end.

"Yes," he replied tersely. "Now, may I continue with the story you so desperately wanted to hear?" Conciliated by their silence, Jack continued. "She said her injuries were warm and that she was worried about infection; she asked me," he glanced pointedly at Janet and Jacob in turn, "to help her redress her wounds. So, I did. After I had finished with one side, she began telling me what had prompted her to make the cuts in the first place and eventually that recount evolved into a fairly intense flashback." Suddenly quite weary of discussing Sam while she was nowhere in sight, he greatly truncated the remainder of the experience, "I held her, she cried, she took a bath, she told me more about 275, I finished bandaging her wounds, she fell asleep, and they all lived happily ever after in the magic forest by the sea. The end."

A heady silence ensued as soon as he had finished his relation.

Jack raised his eyebrows and bounced to the balls of his feet. "Dismissed? Meeting adjourned? No further comments?"

"I have one," Janet said softly. "I noticed there are three bedrooms." After a brief pause, she asked, "Where are you and Sam sleeping?"

"In the master bedroom," Jack replied without missing a beat.

Jacob raised his eyebrows sharply and looked ready to jump out of his skin. "Together!"

"Yes," he answered coolly, resisting the urge to add but I make her sleep under the bed. Naked. Without a blanket.

Janet sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose tightly. "Is that such a good idea?"

Turning to face the doctor, Jack flashed her an exasperated glare. "Weren't you the one who kept telling me--"

Before Jack could finish his rebuke, Jacob interrupted him, advancing on him slowly, his eyes venomously flashing. "Do you mean to tell me that you've been sleeping with my daughter who was brutally and repeatedly raped not one month ago!"

"Yes," issued a cold, even voice from the hallway. The three occupants of the room each stiffened visibly as Sam, her eyes red and swollen and her voice congested, slowly opened the door and ventured into the room. Walking over to Jack, she slid her arm around his waist and perceptibly relaxed as he gently looped his arm over her shoulders.

"Yes," she repeated, her voice hard and dangerously soft. "He does. And he will continue to do so because it is to the benefit of your daughter." Turning to focus her gaze on Janet, she said, "Which should answer your question, Doctor. And I would ask you both to address any further questions you have regarding my well-being and my state of mind directly to me. Jack shouldn't have to put up with all this shit. He hasn't done a thing to deserve it." After pegging both Janet and her father in turn with a biting glare, she muttered, "If you'll excuse us," and turned to vacate the room, Jack firmly in tow.

The pair silently crossed the living room, but before they got to the kitchen, Jack stopped their trek, gently pulling Sam to him. When she did not meet his eyes immediately, he cupped her face in his hand and slowly directed her gaze to his. Tenderly trailing his fingers along her cheek, he whispered, "Go, Sammie."

She smiled slightly at his approval and then wrapped her arms around his waist. After a moment she muttered, "Daniel said they'd try to corner you. He told me that you were only able to bring me out here on the condition of offering provisional medical supervision."

Stepping back from her slightly, he drew a breath in preparation to defend himself, but was stayed by Sam's hand landing softly on his chest.

"It's okay," she murmured. "I know why you didn't tell me." She shrugged and looked up at him, her eyes still red and swollen, but replete with understanding. "I wouldn't have come with you," she stated. "Simple as that."

"You're not mad?" he asked hesitantly.

She shook her head. "No."

"Phew," he sighed, hugging her to his chest. "I was expecting the wrath of Sam Carter to rain fire and brimstone down on my sorry little ass."

Chuckling softly, she said, "Nah, I save the fire and brimstone for special occasions."

"Oooooh," he groaned dramatically. "Note to self..."

"Come on," she said through her smile, disengaging herself from their embrace and tugging lightly on his hand. "Daniel's in the kitchen."

"Just a second," Jack said suddenly, gently pulling him back towards him.

"What?"

"It's just that..." He trailed off and slowly leaned down to capture her lips in a soft, tender kiss, his impulsiveness deliciously rewarded when she softly bit his bottom lip before gradually pulling away. Smiling impishly up at him, she tugged him in the direction of the kitchen. Daniel was sitting at the table, perusing an old fishing magazine and drinking a cup of coffee when they rounded the corner. Hearing their approach, he glanced up at Sam. "How'd it go?"

"Fine," she sighed, coming to rest beside his chair and leaning slightly against Jack's chest. "You were right."

Daniel poured her a cup of coffee and pulled the chair next to him out from under the confines of the kitchen table. Sam indicated to Jack to sit in the proffered chair and then settled herself comfortably across his lap, sipping her coffee thoughtfully as Daniel poured a cup for Jack. As Daniel took Sam's rather intimate seating selection in stride, Jack assumed that she had informed him about their recent change in status. "I take it they weren't happy," Daniel muttered, handing the mug across the table to his friend.

Sam shook her head. "No, I don't think so." The back of her right hand absently brushed against the fabric of Jack's shirt as she asked him, "What did you say to them?" There was no hint of reproach in her voice, her query spurred by simple curiosity.

Jack took a sip of his coffee before answering her. "I, uh, told them a few things about yesterday afternoon," he muttered, hazarding a glance up at her. He sighed as she turned away from him, her shoulders drooping somewhat. "I had to tell them something, Sammie."

"No," she said quickly, quietly, her body still turned from him. "It's okay."

Daniel regarded them each in turn, curious. "Why? What happened yesterday afternoon?"

"Oh, lots of shit," Sam muttered into her coffee cup as she took a deep sip of the liquid.

His eyebrows raising half-way up his forehead, Daniel squinted and drawled, "O...kay."

While Daniel seemed content to leave it at that, Jack arched his neck to look at Sam, silently questioning her. When she nodded for him to specify, he did so, quietly and with much deliberation. "We, uh, talked, she cried, I held her, and uh, well..."

"He deserves better than that, Jack," Sam whispered softly. Turning to Daniel, yet not meeting his eyes, she drew an audible breath and began hesitantly. "The night before last, I, uh, hurt...myself. Deliberately."

Straightening in his chair, he leaned towards her, incredulous. "W-what?" he sputtered. "Are you all right?" Immediately he cringed at his own words. "Sorry. Bad question. But--"

Sam raised her hand to still any of his further verbal stumbling. "Just...let me." He nodded and relaxed back into his chair, his eyes intently focused on her as she continued her story. "I am all right," she affirmed, "I don't really remember...doing it, but it's apparent that I did." She paused, sifting through the events of the past thirty-six hours, trying to weed out the imperative information. "Anyway, when we got to the cabin, Jack helped me redress the wounds and then helped me through an...episode." She cringed as she uttered the word, hating how it implied her mental instability, but at the same time recognizing its validity. "He helped me bathe after that and then stayed with me until I fell asleep."

Daniel nodded and thoroughly contemplated the remaining drops of his coffee before offering, "I can see how they'd get upset at you for that."

Her face falling slightly, Sam choked out, "You can?"

"No, not at all, actually," he returned, reaching for the coffee pot to refill his mug. "Hey, hey, hey! Hot coffee!" he yelped as Sam reached over and smacked the side of his arm, a dark stream of steaming liquid cascading directly from the mouth of the pot and onto the table.

"Danny..." Jack groused, shoving his finger at the mess. "Look what you did."

"Sam hit me!"

"Yeah, well, you probably deserved it."

Sam nodded, a small smile playing about her lips. "He did."

"There," Jack said markedly. "See?" Pointing at a roll of paper towels on the counter, he said, "Number one rule of life at Jack's cabin: if you make a mess, clean it up."

"I thought the number one rule was Eat, drink, and be merry,'" Sam said, settling her head against his shoulder as Daniel rose reluctantly to retrieve the paper towels.

"No, see, that's the Golden Rule, the rule that is aided and abetted by the existence of all other rules." Indicating to the puddle of coffee on the table, he explained, "Now, we couldn't eat' and I would not be able to be merry' while there was an ocean of coffee in the middle of my kitchen table. Hence, the number one rule facilitates the...proliferation, if you will, of the Golden Rule." Tightening his arm around Sam's waist as she giggled softly, Jack smirked haughtily as Daniel returned to the table, paper towels in hand.

"Yes," the younger man drawled as he sopped up the mess. "But if I'm not mistaken the entirety of the phrase reads, Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we may die.'"

"Yeah, see, that's just too foreboding, so we nixed the second half."

"I see," Daniel said, a small smile tickling his lips as he went to place the towels in the trash. "And lunch," he asked, his stomach suddenly growling. "Did you decide to nix lunch, too?"

"Is it that time already?" Sam asked, glancing down at her watch. "We just ate breakfast."

"Well, I did," Jack muttered softly in her ear.

The shuffling of two pairs of feet garnered their attention then, eclipsing the glare Sam was about to shoot Jack; the three kitchen occupants looked up as Janet and Jacob contritely entered the room. Sam regarded them warily while Daniel and Jack kept their expressions decidedly neutral.

"Hey kids," Jacob said at last. "I was thinking--"

"Again?" Jack asked, his eyebrow arched in mock amazement.

Smiling, Jacob said, "Yeah, scary, I know. Anyway, it's a beautiful day. Any chance you'd be up for a picnic or something?"

A smile slowly flitted across Sam's face as the tension melted out of her body at her father's meek request. "That sounds great, Dad."

Jacob smiled gratefully at her, his eyes wavering slightly as he nodded, inferring from her tone that she had forgiven him. He grew slowly content in the security that knowledge afforded.

--------------------------------------------

Her father was correct--it was a beautiful day. The sun shone brilliantly down on them, a light breeze flittering through the tops of the pines and wild grasses every now and again, tossing Sam's hair playfully as she sat beside Janet on a checkered blanket beneath a large oak, her stomach contentedly full for the first time in many days. The boys were several meters in front of them, Jack and Jacob trying to teach Daniel the finer points of throwing a football and providing the women with a tremendous source of amusement.

"At least if he gets hurt you're only a short dash away," Sam said smiling. Their conversation had been tentative at best since being left alone in the name of reconciliation and pigskins. That vacuity ached within Sam more than she cared to admit, but she was not about to broach the subject of their earlier clash. She deserved an apology, she knew. And before she was going to offer any kind of information--to Janet, her friend, or Janet, her doctor--she was going to get one.

Apparently aware of this, and apparently just as uncomfortable in the fragile silence as she, Janet softly cleared her throat, and, picking at a bit of fuzz on the blanket, said, "I'm sorry about earlier today."

Sam said nothing at first, withholding her forgiveness until she felt compelled to forgive. And then she softly muttered, "My father I can understand. He's never been good at those sorts of confrontations." Looking up at her plainly, she asked simply, "Why?"

The purport of the question was clear to Janet, accustomed as she had become to Sam's conversation. Why didn't you trust me? She had effectively asked. Why go behind my back? She sighed and returned her attention to the now imaginary piece of lint on the checkered fabric. "I guess in the mess of reports and briefings and phone calls and whatnot," she said quietly, her voice belying her tremendous exhaustion, "I forgot about you." She glanced up at Sam then, her eyes weary and plainly apologetic. "The real you, not the you on paper."

Sam nodded, appeased by the explanation, and whispered, "It's okay."

And it was; suddenly and wholly, it was all right.

The silence surrounding them grew companionable, more comfortable, and finally Sam asked the question that had been plaguing her since the previous night. "What kind of tests do you need to run?" Her voice was quiet and woefully uncertain. While she had been subjected to a barrage of tests during her month long stay in the infirmary, she had not enjoyed the physical intrusions and knew that part of Jack's reasoning for securing provisional medical supervision was to allow her a much needed reprieve from that environment.

"Well," Janet said briskly, her next words issuing clearly and cleanly, but not devoid of her standard dose of compassion. "I need to check your vitals, see how your wounds are healing--routine physical stuff. I also need a blood sample to check for infection and bacteria growth. Doctor Roberts gave me a couple of questions to ask you and..." she trailed off, knowing that Sam would loathe her impending assertion. "...I need to perform a pelvic exam." Wincing in sympathy as she watched Sam's eyes slip slowly, painfully closed at her last statement, Janet added gently, "I'm sorry, Sam, but I have to do it."

Sam nodded and drew a deep breath, her stomach twisting into painful knots at the mere mention of the dreaded invasion. She did not trust herself to speak.

"I'll go as quickly as I can, I promise."

Again, Sam nodded, and several moments passed before she quietly added, "We can start when we get back."

Janet placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We don't have to do it today, honey--"

"No, I know," she muttered, watching her father zip the football across the open field and into Jack's waiting arms. "But I want to get it over with."

"All right," Janet consented after a moment. "When we get back, then."

Absently twisting her fingers together, Sam gazed over at the makeshift game but failed to see it, her mind already thousands of miles away. Yes, she thought distantly, when we get back, then.

Jack and Daniel collapsed to the ground, their chests heaving and sweat plastering their tee-shirts to their respective chests.

"Come on, boys," Jacob grinned, flipping the ball expertly between his palms. "I'm just getting warmed up."

Jack glared at the older man standing above them, noting that he had barely broken a sweat. "Yeah, no thanks to that damned snake in your head, I'm sure."

"Hey," Jacob warned good-naturedly. "Leave Selmak out of this. The poor girl's had a rough week."

Daniel cast a withering glance at Jacob and accepted his proffered hand up. "Poor Selmak," he muttered dryly as he climbed wearily to his feet.

Jacob grinned and led the way back towards Sam and Janet, his cheerfulness dissipating somewhat as he drew closer to his daughter and was able to fully evaluate her expression. "Sam looks out of it," he muttered to Jack trying to maintain an air of nonchalance.

Jack looked up and squinted into the sun at the woman in question. Observing her blank expression and absent hand motions, he quietly returned, "She's zoning. " Catching Jacob's askance look, he clarified. "She's had a rough morning. She'll be all right."

"If you say so," he replied softly, obviously unconvinced, but lacking the time and space to push the issue as they rounded the slight incline and stood over the blanket.

"Hey ladies," Jack said, plopping down next to Sam, his hand gently alighting on her back. "Got anything in the cooler for a bunch of old, sweaty men?"

"Speak for yourself," Daniel intoned, reclining on the grass next to him and tiredly removing his glasses.

"Okay," he drawled, trying again, "Two old, sweaty men and an impertinent, young archeologist."

"Actually, thanks to Selmak, I'm going to outlive you by a good hundred or more years, so, generally speaking, I'm younger than you." Jacob smirked at him as he settled himself a respectable distance from his daughter.

Glaring at the two men before turning to look at Janet, Jack said, "For crying out loud...Janet, I'm old. Hand me a beer."

Turning her head slightly towards him, Sam smiled gently and murmured, "I told you, you're older, not old."

Cracking open the cold can in his hand, he readily returned, "Eh, I got my beer. Age--or the lack thereof--" he said, pointing a glance at Daniel, "--doesn't matter anymore." Pressing a kiss to her temple, he muttered, "But thanks for the attempted ego boost."

"You're welcome," she said, leaning against him slightly before drawing back in mock disgust. "Jack, you're sweaty."

"Way to be quick on the uptake, Sam," Daniel all but groaned from his place on the slope. "An hour of testosterone-driven pigskin flinging does that to a person."

"And for Daniel," Jacob added, smiling, "it has a clearly soporific effect. Looks like nap time to me."

"Hey," Daniel tiredly enthused, his eyes closed and his finger pointing in the general direction of Jacob's voice, "good idea. Who's up for going back to the cabin? I am," he said, forcing his hand in the air.

Jack smiled wryly. "A shower doesn't sound like such a bad idea." Turning to the rest of the group, he asked, "You guys ready to head back?" Sam stiffened noticeably against him as the question passed over his lips, something he studiously noted, but refused to visibly acknowledge to Jacob and Janet.

"Yeah, why not," Jacob answered, taking time to stretch before lifting himself off of the blanket. Janet, who had been casting surreptitious glances at Sam during the whole of this exchange, silently followed his lead.

Jack gently prodded Sam to her feet and, after they had cleaned up the area and were heading back, purposely pulled her behind the others, his hand firmly sidling into hers. "What's up?" he asked softly. "Not ready to head home?"

Sam wrapped her free arm protectively across her stomach before answering him. "No," she said. "I told Janet that she could check me out when we got back to the cabin."

"Ah," Jack muttered, suddenly understanding her reticence. "I see." After a few seconds' silence, he asked, "Did you find out what kind of tests she's gonna run?"

"Routine physical, vitals, blood work, some questions from Roberts..." she listed absently and proceeded to pull her bottom lip in between her teeth, her eyes fixed blankly ahead of them.

"Well," Jack said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "That doesn't sound too bad."

"She needs to do a pelvic exam," she murmured, her voice hardly audible, but her words unmistakable to him.

She was terrified, he knew, having not been touched internally since the horrendous abuses of 275. While she had had a similar exam upon returning to the base after the incident, she had been unconscious, blissfully unaware of the invasion. Now, however, she would be alert, agonizingly so, during the entirety of the examination.

Knowing that she did not require him to say anything, he draped his arm across her thin shoulders, pulling her body closely beside his own and offering her what comfort he could. Placing a quick kiss on the top of her head as they came up on the cabin's walk, he whispered, "I'll be there if you need me, baby."

She nodded and watched Janet as she plucked the keys from Daniel's hand and walked toward the car in order to retrieve the medical supplies she would need for the impending tests. "I know," she whispered, a dreadful tremor tickling her spine. "I know."

-------------------------------------------

Janet selected Sam and Jack's bedroom as her impromptu exam station and quickly disappeared into it in order to set up the necessary equipment. Jack had instructed both of the other men to shower before him, wanting to be available should his presence be required at all in this next stretch of time. They sat on the couch together, Sam curled up beside him, her legs pulled protectively against her chest and her head resting lightly on his shoulder. She had lost a substantial amount of weight, he noticed, not for the first time, as he again realized just how compactly she could compress her body without a hint of visible effort. Plucking one of her hands from off of her knee, he held it against his own, palm to palm, and splayed their fingers simultaneously, scrutinizing the sharp protrusion of her bones against her cold, pale skin.

"You've lost a lot of weight," he murmured, carefully keeping his tone neutral lest she think he was accusing her.

But she did not seem to care that he had even mentioned it. Stretching her fingers gently against his hand, she asked softly, "Have I?" When he nodded, she replied, "I didn't notice." Shivering slightly, she drew her hand from his grasp and burrowed into the warmth of her sweatshirt. "Does it seem a bit chilly in here to you?" she asked softly as she shifted closer to his side.

Narrowing his eyes at her, he wrapped his arms around her shivering body and rested his cheek on her head. "No," he answered, "it doesn't." After a moment, he added, "I can build a fire in the fireplace tonight. How's that sound?"

"Mmm..." she sighed, seemingly contented by the mere mention of the promised warmth, "heavenly."

He smiled down at her, mentally likening her reaction to the purring of a cat. Just as he was going to mention his parallel to her, Janet appeared from around the corner. "Sam?" She called from the hallway and smiled warmly when her blond head poked up from behind the back of the couch.

Jack placed a soft kiss on her forehead before she rose and reminded her, "If you need me..."

"I know," she assured him and squeezed his hand quickly before turning down the hallway to follow Janet to the bedroom, her internal organs beginning to quake as she rounded the corner and Janet shut the door behind them. Sam elected to perch on the edge of the bed, unsure of how this volley of tests was going to play out.

Janet turned to face her, her black tank top now partially obscured by her white lab coat. "How do you want to do this, Sam?" she asked her gently. "Do you want to do the pelvic exam first and then proceed to the other tests or--"

"No," Sam responded immediately, her eyes widening slightly at the suggestion and her anxiety sky-rocketing. "Not first."

"Okay, Sam. It's okay. We won't do it first," Janet soothed, kneeling in front of her patient. "I could take your vitals, but you're going to have to calm down a bit, all right?"

Sam nodded, silently conceding the point, and closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, willing her body to slow itself.

"Take a couple deep breaths," Janet instructed as she rose to collect her data sheets and clipboard. Noting the lessening of Sam's tension upon her return to her side, Janet said, "Good, now I'm going to quick get your vitals and then draw the blood sample I need, all right?"

Again Sam nodded, sitting silently on the edge of the bed as Janet placed a thermometer under her tongue and proceeded to record her pulse rate and blood pressure. When she removed the thermometer and checked its reading, Janet frowned slightly and gently settled her palm against the back of Sam's neck.

"Your body temperature is three and a half degrees below normal," the doctor softly informed her. "Can I see your hands?"

Sam obligingly lifted her hands up for Janet to inspect, wincing slightly when the doctor gently squeezed her knuckles. Janet frowned, set Sam's hand back against the bed, and scribbled a note on her sheet. "Do you feel any physical pain right now, Sam?"

She nodded.

"Can you tell me where?"

Sam blinked once and brought her hands to rest on her lap, her shoulders hunching slightly as she unconsciously drew her body in on itself to conserve heat. "Everywhere," she whispered reluctantly. "My bones, my muscles, everything..."

Janet repressed the sudden urge to forget the fact that she was a doctor and wrap her friend in a gentle embrace; instead she asked, "Have you been taking anything for it?"

Sam shook her head and stared at her fingers.

"Why not?" Janet gently asked.

Her shoulders shrugged and then sagged tiredly as she contemplated her answer. "Just never though about it," she offered at last.

Narrowing her eyes slightly at Sam's answer, Janet jotted another quick note on the sheet in front of her. "If I prescribe painkillers, will you take them?" she asked, her pen ceasing its flurry momentarily.

Sam looked up, her eyes focused just to Janet's left, and nodded slowly.

"Good," Janet answered quietly, her concern ameliorated somewhat at Sam's agreement. Pulling a syringe out of her pocket she proceeded to draw her needed sample, unerringly puncturing Sam's vein on the first try and quickly filling a collection vial before deftly taping cotton across the puncture mark.

Sensing that Sam would be more prone to follow directions than give them at the moment, Janet placed a folded garment next to her and stated gently, "I'm going to check your wounds to make sure that they're healing properly, all right? I need you to undress and put this gown on; don't worry about tying it. Do you want me to leave the room?"

Sam shook her head and proceeded to gingerly remove her sweatshirt and toss it into a grey puddle on the floor. When she reached for the hem of her shirt to pull the garment over her head, she gasped softly, eliciting a concerned glance from Janet.

"Sam? What's wrong?" The doctor had busied herself needlessly with her medical equipment in order to give Sam a modicum of privacy, but stopped short when she heard her friend's quiet cry of discomfort. Crossing over to where she sat on the bed, Janet quickly surmised the quandary and asked softly, "Can I help you?" When Sam nodded, Janet slowly grasped the hem of the shirt and gently worked it up and over her friend's head.

Janet's mouth dropped open slightly when she saw the angry red gashes crisscrossing her friend's breasts. Hastily averting her eyes and attempting to regain a sense of clinical detachment, she turned back to her equipment, mindlessly shuffling the various utensils around on the short dresser she had requisitioned. She had seen self-inflicted gashes as a med student during clinicals, but they had been nothing close to the severity of marks that currently ran across her friend's chest. From her quick glimpse, she had determined that many had needed stitches, but, by this time, it was too late to administer them. Drawing a deep breath as Sam vocalized her readiness, Janet smiled as she turned and approached her.

"Go ahead and lie down," she instructed Sam gently, moving to stand alongside her as her patient eased herself stiffly onto the bed. Sighing inaudibly as Janet watched Sam stare blankly up at the ceiling, she said, "I'm going to check your ribs first; tell me if you feel any discomfort." At Sam's slight nod, Janet skillfully prodded the woman's ribcage, carefully watching her for any sign of distress. Finding none, Janet inwardly smiled. There was little indication that her ribs had ever been broken. Satisfied, she next examined her wrists and ankles where the metal bonds had bitten deeply into her skin, damaging several layers of her tissue. The area was speckled with healing scabs and free of infection, just as it should have been.

"Everything looks great so far," she commented softly and silently steeled herself against Sam's reaction to her impending request. "I need to look at the wounds on your upper body, so I need you to draw the gown down to your waist."

Initially, Sam did not move, electing to lie stiffly on the backdrop of the comforter, her hands lolling limply from her wrists, her eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling. Janet was about to repeat herself when, suddenly, Sam, her motions more robotic than human, slowly drew her hands up to her shoulders, grasped the neck of her gown between her fingers and then drug it back down to rest at her waist.

Janet silently cursed the inhabitants of 275 as she looked down at the battered, emaciated body of her friend. Her once taut, muscular abdomen had given way to concavity, her skin sinking into the crevasses between her ribs and tightening itself over the slopes of her clavicles. "You've lost a lot of weight, Sam."

"That's what Jack just told me," she answered dully, her voice quite distant.

"Do you have an appetite?" she asked neutrally as she shifted her gaze upward to inspect the lacerations covering Sam's breasts.

"No."

Wincing at her friend's vacant tone, she offered, "I can prescribe something to help get it back in gear."

"All right."

Narrowing her eyes slightly at the cuts before turning to grab a portable overhead lamp, she said, "It's going to get bright. I'm just going to get a better look at these lacerations, okay?"

Sam nodded.

Janet switched the lamp on, its brightness causing Sam to flinch slightly. Gently prodding the flesh surrounding the wounds, Janet silently chided herself as Sam jerked away from her touch, her eyes, wide and fearful, suddenly latching onto the doctor's. "I'm sorry, honey," Janet whispered, her voice laden with apology. "I should have told you what I was doing." Sam swallowed harshly, her eyes closing before being directed once again at the ceiling. "Can we try that again?"

Slowly, Sam nodded, the tension in her body visible.

"Okay," Janet said, drawing a breath. "I'm going to have to touch you, all right? I promise I'll be gentle." Again alighting her skilled fingers beside the injuries, Janet quickly and carefully inspected the worst of them. "Jack said that you did this yourself," she murmured gently. "Is that true?"

Sam's throat constricted painfully as she swallowed, her reply tearing from her throat. "Yes."

"Do you remember why?"

Closing her eyes against the sudden onslaught of horrid memories and grotesque images that poured into her consciousness, Sam bit her lip to stop herself from crying out in horror. Drawing a deep breath, she whispered, "No," and immediately all of the pictures faded to black and white and then disappeared all together.

"They're not infected," Janet was determining above her, "but they are quite deep. Is it all right if I bandage them for you?"

Releasing her lip from in between her teeth, Sam nodded.

Janet turned back to her supplies and quickly gathered the necessary materials. Squeezing a dab of ointment onto the tip of a cotton wand, she said, "First I'm going to put antibiotic cream on them. It'll be a bit chilly." Quickly dabbing the ointment onto the five angriest wounds, she disposed of the wand and the packet of ointment before opening an envelope of gauze pads. "Here comes the gauze," she said, lightly pressing a strip of the fabric to each band of ointment; "And here comes the tape," she muttered, deftly affixing a strand of wide, breathable tape to the entire surface of each pad, firmly locking them in place. "I'll leave some supplies for you so that you can bandage these after I've gone." She paused, placing a roll of tape, several envelopes of gauze and a dozen or so ointment packets in a large plastic bag and depositing it on the dresser. "Change the dressing once a day for the next ten or so days."

Sam nodded absently and Janet sighed, making a mental note to relay the information to Jack.

Returning to Sam's side and having attended to the worst of her physical wounds, Janet made quick work of the rest of her clinical perusal. The bruises were fading, her abrasions were healing, and she bore no signs of infection, bacterial or otherwise.

When she could put it off no longer, Janet looked sympathetically down at Sam and said, "Honey, it's time."

There was no mistaking her meaning. Sam closed her eyes, her agony tangible, and nodded slowly.

"Do you want me to get Jack?"

"No," she whispered. "It would just upset him."

Janet frowned. "You're sure?"

Again, she nodded, her chin set determinedly.

"All right," she sighed. "Let me get set up."

--------------------------------------------------------

Sam rhythmically clenched and released the comforter beneath her as she forced herself to placidity as Janet gently elevated her heels and directed her to bend her knees as the doctor guided her feet into the raised cuffs half way up her calves. Attempting to choke back the bolus of bile that rose to her throat as Janet sanitized her flesh, she struggled to remind herself of her location, of her company, of her safety.

But her mind slowly lost the battle...

The attendant helped her rise, this time slipping a hand beneath her shoulder as she faltered slightly when her feet hit the floor.

"Thank you," she whispered to the young girl, her eyes thick with a haze that seemed to never fully dissipate. As she regained her equilibrium, she walked haltingly over to the gilded doors where the guards waited for her patiently, ready to lead her into the throng of penitents who simultaneously loved her for what she gave them and despised her for the nature their doctrine ascribed to her. Each step drove a sharp stab of searing pain deep into her lower abdomen, like several bent nails being driven into her core by a metal mallet.

She nodded in silent thanks to the guards for opening the doors before her. Hearing their heavy footfalls directly behind her, she paused as she waited for them to again clear the way in front of her and usher her into The Passing room. The penitents bowed humbly towards her as they lined the walls of the ornate expanse, each quieting his own plea to Da'Ni'I as she passed.

After climbing the stairs to the altar, she eased herself onto the face of the slab, allowing them to bind her hands and feet in the metal cuffs. As the priest began to speak their ancient, sacred words over her prone body, she swallowed the tears that threatened to slip down her cheeks. It was happening again.

And she could not stop it.

-------------------------------------------------------

"Okay, Sam," Janet said clearly, "You're going to feel a gentle prod as I insert the caliber, okay?" Hearing no response, she glanced up at Sam's face, her tightly closed eyes and pained grimace striking the doctor fully. "It'll be over soon, honey," she whispered. "I promise." Taking a deep breath, more for Sam's sake than her own, Janet slowly inserted the metal caliber into Sam's body.

Abruptly an anguished cry tore loudly from Sam's throat, her body clenching uncontrollably around the caliber.

"Sam!" Janet cried, carefully removing the instrument and dropping it to the floor before running over to her friend's side. "Honey," she soothed, "It's all right, it's okay. We don't have to do th--"

"NO!" Sam screamed as Janet reached out to smooth her hair, and began rapidly twisting her head from side to side, her face contorted in a cast of horrific fear. Sobs began racking her body and strings of desperate pleas issued hoarsely, painfully from her throat.

The door to the room burst open and Jack suddenly appeared beside Janet, surveying the scene before him with wide-eyed horror. Without bothering to ask what happened, he roughly pushed the doctor aside and knelt beside Sam, gingerly stilling her head between his palms. "Get her feet out of that thing," he called over his shoulder before turning back to the woman sobbing in front of him, lost somewhere in the dredges of her own past.

Forcing himself to remain impervious to her continued exhortations, Jack held Sam's face firmly between his hands, caressing her cheeks gently with his thumbs. "Sammie," he called urgently, "Samantha, open your eyes, baby. It's Jack." When she continued to struggle against him, her arms remaining fixed to her sides and her legs conspicuously stationary after having been freed from the confines of the exam cuffs, Jack swore softly and leapt to his feet to crawl up onto the bed next to her. He made no effort to move her, but knelt beside her, again taking her face in his hands and directing her to open her eyes.

"Sam, come on, honey," he whispered, "Baby, open your eyes. It's just Jack." He continued whispering platitudes to her until, finally, he was rewarded when her eyelids snapped open, her wide, terror-filled eyes desperately seeking his.

"J-Jack...?" She whispered through her continued sobs.

"Yeah," he affirmed, smiling and tenderly stroking her face. "Yeah, it's me."

At his words, her face crumbled and tears poured out of her eyes anew as she whispered hoarsely, "Make them stop." Reaching up to firmly grip the fabric of his shirt, her eyes pleaded desperately with him. "Make them stop..."

Looking deeply into her eyes and choking back his own sting of impending tears, Jack said, "They're just a memory, Sam. You're reme--"

"No," she cried, her eyes closing as she vehemently negated his words. Her voice straining and her body beginning to rapidly convulse, she issued a low, guttural moan as her hips bucked once off of the mattress. Powerless to stop this influx of memory, Jack released her head, allowing her to swing it desperately from side to side. After several arduous moments, she gasped, her eyes again finding his. "I-I can feel them, Jack..." she whispered when she regained the power to speak, her body still trembling violently. "I can f-feel them all around me..." She groaned again as another powerful convulsion claimed her, this time leaving her body tense, her head flung back against the pillow, and her face contorted in blinding pain. "God!" she cried when it was over. "Make them stop!"

"Baby," he whispered, his throat achingly tight, "look at me." When she finally found his gaze again, her terror mounting and tangible, he murmured, "Whatever happens, just try your damndest to keep looking at me, okay? Can you do that for me?"

She nodded, a choked sob escaping her lips and her hips bucking for a second time. "God," she whispered, "God, it hurts."

"I know it does, baby," Jack answered, smoothing her sweat- dampened hair away from her face. As her eyes closed and another spasm racked her body, he silently cursed and realized that no amount of coaxing would ease her out of this. Knowing what he had to do, but hating it just the same, he called to her softly. "Sam, tell me what's happening." She shuddered violently then as another anguished moan escaped her lips. "Sam," Jack repeated urgently, "tell me what's going on, baby. What are they doing to you?"

"He's...he's on me...his hands..." Her eyes closed tightly as her body rocked slightly back and forth against the mattress. "No," she groaned, her neck arched against the pillow, "No!" Her breaths coming in ragged gasps, Jack tried to direct her face back to his, but she would not let him. "God, stop!" she screamed, her body shaking uncontrollably.

"Baby, tell me what he's doing," Jack said softly, hating the answer before she even uttered it.

"He's..." she gasped faintly, her hands viciously clenching the comforter. "He's..."

"Is he inside you?" He whispered, his voice constricted as tears welled up in his eyes and slid silently down his cheeks.

Her eyes snapping open to tumble head-long into his, she nodded, her face wide and frantic. "God," she cried though tightly gritted teeth as her body again clenched involuntarily. "God, it hurts..." she whispered, eyes closed firmly against the pain. As the assault lessened in its intensity, her body still trembling, her eyes still thick with terror, she gazed up at Jack, her pupils dilated, but her eyes not quite seeing him. "So many..." she whispered, "...so many..."

Tenderly stroking her face, he whispered, "So many what, Sam?" When she did not respond, but started to slowly clench her abdomen, her torso curling into the mattress, he took her face gently in his hands and asked again, "So many what?"

She looked at him for a moment, her face fluxing between confusion and horror before she whispered at last, "Men...so many..." Tears suddenly brimming her eyes yet again, she began quaking violently, spurred this time by her revulsion and dread. "All of them..." she muttered, tears flowing freely down her cheeks, "...for me..." Wonder slowly flitted across her pupils as she found the great number unfathomable. "...for me..." she whispered again, her horror apparent as the reality began to sink in. Sobs clutched violently at her chest as she again stiffened, low, protesting moans issuing unabashedly from her lips.

Firmly taking her face in hand again, he beckoned to her urgently, his tone laced with unacknowledged fear. "Sam!" he said. "Baby, look at me. Please, dear god, Sammie, open your eyes and look at me." His frustration and fear mounting as she continued to remain oblivious to his entreaties, he grasped her shoulders and shook her firmly, her name echoing from his lips.

To his great relief, huge, fearful eyes fell into his then and he buried his fingers in her hair, his palms pressed firmly against her cheekbones. "Fight them," he whispered fiercely, his eyes burning with feverish intensity. "Don't let them take you again, you hear me? Fight them."

Slowly, she began shaking her head back and forth, her dilated pupils once again misting over as great, heaving sobs racked her body. "I can't," she whispered between her gasps for breath.

"Yes," he insisted firmly, "you can."

Her eyes glided closed, again breaking their visual contact. He was about to call her name again when she breathed miserably, "No..." Opening her eyes slowly, she gazed at him, her eyes mourning as if in the wake of a death, "...they'll kill you..."

The words she had tearfully spoken in the bath last night flooded back to him. "They told me that I could either participate willingly or they would let me go and...and they would kill you and Daniel."

"...participate willingly..."

And then he understood. He understood her reluctance to fight, her aversion to referring to her assault as rape,' and the scope of her great and infinite suffering. He understood why she could not remember, why she remained steadfastly unaware as she had brutally carved her misery into the swells of her breasts; why she could not name her demons as such, but still jumped at the slightest hint of spatial intrusion. He was not witnessing what had occurred in that room; he was not seeing her responses as they had happened. This was the recollection of her unconscious mind, the progeny of bottled agony and the desperate, dying hope that perhaps history had not played out to such a harrowing end. Her conscious mind had been struggling to forget while her unconsciousness had been slowly dying to remember.

"Sam," he whispered, finally gathering her trembling body into his arms, "I know you didn't want this happen, I know you wanted to fight them, baby. God, I know all that." He drew a deep breath and pulled her tightly against his chest. "They can't hurt me anymore," he murmured, grasping her tremoring wrist and pressing her palm to the stubble along his cheek as she convulsed against him. "I'm right here, Sam," he whispered and placed a long, tender kiss on her forehead. "I'm right here."

Jack held her tightly for many long minutes as her spasms gradually lessened and then stopped altogether. He loosened his hold on her body when he felt her relax willingly against him, her head lolling against his shoulder, her muscles warm and decidedly supple. As she slowly began to stir, he gazed down at her heavily-lidded eyes, breathing a sigh of relief as he glimpsed a wide swath of crystal blue surrounding her pupils.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching towards her to gently run his fingers through her hair, "there you are."

"Here I am," she breathed hoarsely, her eyelids slowly drooping closed as exhaustion slowly usurped her consciousness. As Jack began to gently lay her back onto the mattress, she clutched at his shirt and urgently whispered, "Don't leave."

Smiling softly, he bent to gently brush their lips together and then rested his forehead against hers. "Never," he whispered, and then settled her back onto the mattress before stretching out alongside her, leaning most of his upper body against the headboard. She instinctively shifted towards his warmth, nestling herself securely against him, her fingers still clutching the fabric of his shirt. Placing a soothing hand over hers, he gently removed her hand from his chest and pressed it tenderly to his lips. "I love you," he whispered, reveling in the sound of her soft, steady breathing as she painlessly and wholly succumbed to an exhausted slumber.

----------------------------------------------------------

Jack gently moved an errant blond tendril away from Sam's face as she lay beside him, deep in the hold of sleep. It had been nearly an hour since she had first succumbed to her exhaustion and he thanked any deity listening for every blessed moment. Vaguely aware of voices droning quietly in the living room, he wondered how much of Sam's recollection the rest of them had witnessed. His curiosity would have to wait, however; he was not moving until Sam awoke, natural disasters, alien invasions, and biological functions be damned.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the movement of the door as it shifted slightly open and Daniel poked his head hesitantly into the room. After Jack beckoned the younger man over, he quietly slipped in and shut the door behind him. Concern etching his features, Daniel peered over at Sam's softly breathing body before pulling up a chair next to the bed. "How is she?" he whispered.

"Exhausted," Jack replied, tenderly running his fingertips across the arm circling his waist.

"I don't blame her," Daniel said, steepling his fingers and resting his elbows on his knees. "That looked pretty intense."

"You saw?"

Daniel nodded, his eyes downcast. "Yeah," he said. "The three of us left after she started to calm down. Jacob was about ready to tear your head off when you kept asking her to tell you what she was remembering."

Jack nodded and rested his head wearily against the headboard. "I didn't like asking, but she needed to tell someone," he muttered. "There was a reason she reacted so strongly to the test."

"Pelvic exam?"

"Yeah," Jack sighed. "I should've made Janet hold off on it for awhile, Danny. A few days at least. After the past few days, she needed a break from all of...this."

"Maybe," Daniel drawled. "But maybe this...remembering will end up being beneficial." He paused before regarding Jack with an upraised eyebrow. "You said there was a reason she reacted the way she did. Did you mean a reason other than the obvious one?"

Jack nodded, his head cocked towards Daniel, but his gaze resting on the far wall. "I think what we saw was what she wanted to happen on 275."

Daniel's eyes widened. "What do you mean, what she wanted to happen'? Why would she ever want that to happen to anyone, least of all herself?"

"She had to participate willingly, Daniel," Jack murmured. "I don't know what that means to them, but I know what it means to us." After a moment, he continued, "If she hadn't, they would have killed us both. And," he said sighing, "the...penetration of the...whatever it is, gave her the opportunity..."

"...to relive the experience sans willingness, to set it right in her mind," Daniel finished slowly, his eyes far away and his mind deep in thought. After a moment he whispered, "Wow."

Jack nodded. "Behold, the power of the unconscious."

"Well, yeah," Daniel agreed, "but I was thinking wow' more along the lines of the implications her sacrifice, for lack of a better term, bears in her relationship to us."

"Yeah," Jack muttered softly, sadly gazing down at the woman curled beside him. "But I would rather die than have her live through this."

"True," Daniel conceded, his forehead furrowing for a moment. "But at least this way you're both alive and..." he trailed off, pegging Jack with a pointed glance. "And together. Apparently that was more important to her than her safety."

Despite the circumstances, Jack smiled softly at his friend's words.

"And despite what other people may think," Daniel continued, casting a withering look over his shoulder in the general direction of the living room, "I think that now is as good a time as any, especially watching you handle the earlier...situation."

Jack flashed Daniel a look of gratitude before grousing, "Those two are still against us, huh?"

"Janet isn't, not anymore," he said immediately and then looked thoughtful for a moment before stating, "Let's just say that Dad's not entirely convinced."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Jack muttered rolling his eyes slightly.

"My thoughts exactly."

Jack chuckled wryly and placed his hand softly on Sam's head. Gazing down at her he murmured, "How bout that, Sam? We've been together for less than twenty-four hours and already your dad hates me. I think that's a new record."

Daniel frowned. "Less than twenty-four...?" He paused. "Jacob and Janet made it sound like you've been together since before this trip."

"What?" Jack shook his head. "No. We didn't...talk talk until after I heard for sure that she'd been kicked off the team."

"So you didn't sleep together the night she...hurt...herself."

Jack sighed, his frustration building, and struggled to keep his voice low and his movement to a minimum lest he awaken Sam. "Well, we did sleep together, but that's all we did. Sleep." He paused. "She needed someone," he muttered, "and I was there. She probably would've slept with you had you been the one with her."

Daniel's eyebrows rose a bit at Jack's last comment. "Oh," he said slowly, "I doubt that...You were the one she wanted on the planet and in the infirmary when we brought her back. She asked you to go in with her during her psych evaluation." He paused and regarded Jack carefully, a slow smile spreading over his face. "It's always been you, Jack. Even when she couldn't have you...it was you just the same."

Jack's eyes never wavered from Sam's face as Daniel spoke, his throat suddenly tight as he recognized the truth of the man's statements. As much as he had wanted to be with her, to hold her as her mind remembered what her Self had tried so urgently to forget, to soothe the nightmares that invaded not only her sleep, but her waking hours as well, to love her as she needed to be loved...she had yearned for it--yearned for him--just as desperately. He had seen it in her eyes, felt it as she lay against him, her body soft and supple, and he had witnessed it the previous night when he had asked for her heart and she had willingly given it to him.

No, he realized. She had given him her heart a long time ago, just as he had given her his. But last night, the words that he had hungered to speak for so long were finally granted permission to be spoken. Their conversation had merely been a formality, a chance to give their minds time to absorb what their hearts already knew.

Smiling and lost wondrously in thought, Jack blinked and looked up when Daniel uttered a low, conspicuous cough. "I'm gonna go," he said, "Janet wanted to go into town to pick up some prescriptions for Sam and I seem to remember something about Jacob saying he needed a shotgun..."

Jack smiled dryly at the young man's jab, muttering, "Funny. Why are you going?"

A sardonic smile stretched across his face and he nodded once, his lips pursed. "Because I am the chauffer. Apparently, neither one of them were paying attention on the way up here, so I was elected driver."

"Fun, fun," Jack muttered as Daniel rose to his feet.

"Yeah-sure-ya-betcha," Daniel whispered to him before bending down and placing a chaste kiss on the top of Sam's head. When she stirred slightly beneath him, the young man froze, his eyes wide as he glanced at Jack. He could see only the top of the man's graying head as Jack peered down to look at Sam's face. Her eyebrows were furrowed slightly and, as she snuggled herself closer to Jack, her shiver was unmistakable. Jack had covered her with the thin, handmade blanket at the foot of the bed, but he knew that recently she tended to grow steadily colder the longer she slept.

"She's just cold," Jack whispered to Daniel, to the younger man's immense relief. "You wanna get the quilt out of the closet and hand it to me? It's on the top shelf." Daniel quietly slid the closet door open and pulled out a worn patchwork quilt, its faded colors indicative of its age and extent of its usage. He unfurled it before walking over to the bedside and gently laying it over Sam, tucking the edges in under her feet while Jack settled the covering around her shoulders.

"Thanks," Jack whispered.

Daniel nodded, smiling slightly, and silently exited the room, making certain to close the door behind him.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Jack dozed off and on after hearing the front door latch and the engine of Daniel's rental burst to life and fade into the distance. Loathe to fall too deeply asleep lest he snooze through Sam's return to cognizance, he contented himself to slowly drift along the ebbs and flows of semi-consciousness. About a half hour after Daniel, Jacob, and Janet had left for Silver Bay, Jack's eyelids flew open as Sam stirred restlessly beside him.

"Jack..." she muttered, her arm around his waist tightening minutely as her head burrowed deeply into his shoulder.

"Sshh, baby," he whispered, tenderly stroking her tangled hair and pulling her closer to his body. "I'm right here." Stay asleep, he pleaded silently. You need the rest.

But his entreaties remained unheeded as she slowly drifted back into awareness. "What time is it?" she groggily muttered, freeing one hand from the blanket to rub the sleep from her eyes.

"1722," he answered softly. After placing a kiss on the top of her head, he murmured, "Go back to sleep, Sammie. You have to be exhausted."

"I am," she agreed readily, her voice adorably slurred as her brain struggled to wake up. "But I don't wanna sleep anymore." Pausing as a tremendous yawn overcame her, she rolled away from Jack to stretch languidly, audibly cracking several of her joints in the process. Sighing contentedly, she snuggled back against Jack's side and murmured, "You're nice and warm."

Smiling affectionately at her and her endearing state of sleepiness, he said, "And you're nice and cuddly." Feeling her chuckle softly against his chest, he lifted her head gently and scooted down until his entire body was stretched out next to her. "C'mere," he whispered, opening his arms to her.

Gravitating willing towards him, she pressed herself fully against his side, resting one bent knee on his thigh and hugging him tightly. As her grip gradually lessened and the clock ticked closer and closer to the hour, he thought that perhaps she had drifted off again; but several moments later, her voice barely audible, she whispered, "Thank you."

Puzzled, he turned his head towards her, his lips centimeters away from her forehead. "For what?"

Obligingly releasing her body as she slowly raised herself to her knees to look down at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, she said, "For not leaving me. For helping me fight."

Jack gazed up at her, speechless. A simple acceptance of her gratitude seeming rather foolish, he sat up and slowly closed the space between them, smiling inwardly as Sam met him half-way, her lips already parted slightly to allow his lips and tongue immediate entrance. Twining her arms around his neck as he thoroughly kissed her and buried his fingers in her hair, she gasped slightly when he broke free of her mouth and gently pulled her head back before placing a line of soft kisses along the underside of her jaw. Tenderly, he claimed her mouth once more, his fingers running soothing caresses along her cheeks as she slowly drew back from him. Afraid that he had crossed an unknown boundary, he opened his eyes, his gaze wary. But her eyes were still closed and a small smile danced about her parted lips as if she was savoring the last delicious moments of their kiss. When she slowly opened her eyes, his own were smiling back at her, drinking in her look of utter satisfaction. Silently, he began to urge her back to bed, back for a few more hours of much needed rest and frowned slightly when she shook her head.

Gazing down at her hands cradled in her lap, she was suddenly overwhelmed by her own nervousness as she whispered, "I was wondering if you wanted to take a shower."

Immediately he understood her implication, knowing that she was frightened to be alone with herself in that environment. Gently cupping her chin, he murmured, "Why? I smell that bad?"

She chuckled softly at his quip and raised her head to look at him, her eyes replete with relief.

Throwing the covers aside, he climbed out of bed and took her hand, helping her as she rose unsteadily to her feet. "You okay?" he asked as he grasped her elbows to steady her, his eyes wavering with concern.

"Yeah," she answered, winding one arm around his and leaning heavily against him. "Just a little light-headed."

"You're sure you're okay to shower?"

She nodded. "It'll pass, just give me minute. Besides," she added, smiling slightly, "you smell." He smirked and wrapped one arm protectively around her shoulders, watching her carefully as her equilibrium reestablished itself. After a few moments, she nodded again and shifted her hand to rest in the crook of his arm. "Okay," she said, tugging on him gently, "let's go."

"Yes, ma'am."

-------------------------------------------------------

The gentle spray of the hot water felt like heaven. Sam could feel the perpetual ache of her muscles gradually recede until it shrunk into a dull, manageable throb; her bones grew warm under the intensity of the encompassing heat, their marrow humming with delight at the reintroduction of this forgotten sensation. She sighed softly and closed her eyes as Jack poured a dollop of shampoo onto her wet hair and massaged it thoroughly into the tangled strands, his strong hands tenderly draining the tension from her scalp. After several minutes, Jack turned her to face him and tipped her chin back, clearing her hair and body of the herbal-scented foam. She stayed facing him as he worked conditioner through her hair, her eyes remaining closed and her hands alighting softly on his bare chest for counter-balance.

His hands leaving her for a moment, she heard the cap of her body wash being flipped open and then smiled as its gentle fragrance filled the air. Starting slightly as she felt a bath sponge land softly on her shoulder, she opened her eyes when she felt it hastily disappear. Jack stood before her, water streaming down his chest in gentle rivulets, his eyes apologetic and questioning. Smiling reassuringly at him, she turned around and glanced quickly over her shoulder only to be rewarded seconds later as Jack understood her intent and began slowly working the sponge along her back, neck, and shoulders. When he was finished, he tentatively shifted her to gain better access to each of her arms in turn, moving her back to her original position when he was done.

Feeling his presence inch closer to her, she was prepared when his voice sounded softly in her ear. "Do you want to finish?"

The thought of cleansing her own body, of having to look at herself again, drove a sharp spear of dread into the pit of her stomach. Shaking her head, her eyes widening, she quickly answered, "No," and before she could stop herself, continued, "please don't make me." Closing her eyes at the slip her fear had engendered, she sighed heavily as Jack's hands lightly grasped her upper arms and pulled her back to settle against his chest.

"I'm not going to make you do anything, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing the ridge of her ear. She nodded and pressed her hands against her face, her eyes sliding tightly closed. After a few moments he whispered, "Do you want me to finish up or do you want to get out?"

Drawing a deep breath, she pulled away from him somewhat before gradually turning to face him. Looking up at him, into the loving depths of his warm brown eyes, she said softly, "You can finish."

"You're sure?" he asked, his eyebrows arched.

She nodded, her eyes falling shut as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Jack gingerly drew the sponge in small circles along the ridge of her collarbones and then down the valley between her breasts to gently cleanse her abdomen. Working up a hefty lather, he moved it carefully around the sides of her body and then returned to her chest, gently cupping both of her breasts in turn and whisking the edge of the sponge around the bandages.

Stooping to kneel in front of her, he began to run the sponge along her legs only to halt his movements when he heard her sharp intake of breath. Rising quickly, his eyebrows furrowed as he observed the renewed tension along her shoulders and jaw, and the conspicuous inward collapse of her body. Resisting the urge to curse himself, fully aware that his own guilt would serve no useful purpose, he crooked a finger beneath her chin and gently directed her head back into the stream of water. Running his fingers through her hair repeatedly, he simultaneously rinsed out the conditioner and attempted to soothe part of this renewed stress. Finally, he pulled her out from under the spray and, after placing a soft kiss on the ridge of her cheekbone, he helped her out of the tub, saying, "Give me a minute to wash up."

Nodding, her eyes downcast, she wrapped one of the bath towels around her body and sank heavily onto the closed toilet seat. Staring blankly ahead, lost in her own world of rampant thought and revelation, she did not notice when the water stopped and Jack stepped out of the shower, pausing to sling the other towel low around his hips.

"Hey," he said softly as he squatted in front of her, his short, wet hair spiking out in a multitude of different directions. "Why the long face, Mr. Ed?" Frowning when she failed to respond, he gently cradled her jaw in his palm. Her eyes remained fixed over his shoulder, her face slack and expressionless. "Sam?" he called quietly, running his thumb softly across her cheek. "What're you thinking, baby?"

A few moments passed before her lips parted and a silent, deep breath filled her lungs. "They raped me..." she whispered, the reality hitting her squarely as she forced the thought into words. "It really happened, didn't it?"

He sighed, his eyes slipping painfully closed. "Yeah," he murmured, his eyebrows creasing at the admission. "Yeah, it did." She said nothing, her body remaining slack and heavy as her two minds slowly melded together, their conjoining cemented by her realization and his reluctant affirmation. It did happen and as willing as she had appeared, she had not been; she had suppressed her disgust, her torment, and now her body numbed as the amalgamation of her two minds slowly usurped her full consciousness, leaving her vacant, spent, and utterly exhausted. Taking her hand, he helped her to her feet and tugged her gently towards their bedroom. "Come on," he whispered, "let's get you dressed." She obediently followed him, her new awareness deeply weighting the movements of her fragile, weakened body.

Closing the bedroom door softly behind them, Jack led her to the edge of the bed and gently urged her to sit; she did, her eyes still unfocused and hazy. Quickly perusing the offerings in the dresser, he selected a pair of black fleece pants and, locating her favorite sweatshirt of his, pulled the white hooded garment out from between his stock of hockey jerseys. After nabbing a pair of cotton underwear for her, he placed them beside her on the bed and asked, "Do you want me to help you?" Nodding as she numbly shook her head, he turned back to the dresser and pulled out a pair of old jeans and a Minnesota Timberwolves jersey. Promptly toweling himself off, he pulled on a pair of fresh boxers and then donned his selected clothing. Not wanting to invade Sam's privacy, he hesitantly glanced over at her and, seeing that she was fully dressed, silently offered her a hand up. She accepted it, her eyes densely packed with conflicting emotion, and followed him as he led her towards the living room and into the kitchen.

When he released her hand and walked over to the cupboards, she sank wearily into one of the kitchen chairs, her hands resting limply in her lap. As Jack set a glass of water and two ibuprofen on the table in front of her, she simply stared at them for a moment and then, sensing his scrutiny, placed the tablets in her mouth and washed them down with a large sip of water. As the liquid coursed over her parched tongue and down her throat, she realized the extent of her dehydration and proceeded to sip the fluid as Jack cracked open two cans of soup and poured their contents into a saucepan. She watched him as he hovered over the stove, wooden spoon in hand, adjusting the heat of the flame beneath their slowly warming supper.

He loved her, she remembered suddenly. This man--this kind, gentle, and patient man--loved her. How could she have forgotten, and so quickly after he had told her?

Shifting through the numbing flux of two memories' progeny, she remembered also the devastating humiliation she had been forced to endure on 275, the comprehensive debilitation to which she had been forced to succumb.

But he loved her.

She remembered their sweaty, work-roughened skin as their driving weight ground her fiercely against the face of the stone altar; their respect for her that had turned so swiftly into pulsing hate.

But he loved her.

remembered the repulsion that had consumed them as they stared down at her after she had taken away their sin, her own disgust of herself growing to rival that of her abusers.

But he loved her.

remembered the force with which they had ripped into her body and thrust into her depths, heedlessly plunging themselves towards release, their sin spilling into her body as their euphoric cries echoed loudly throughout the vast chamber.

But he loved her.

remembered their horrible ultimatum and her failure to conceive a feasible alternative; her lack of recourse, her vacuity of hope; her helpless submission to their brutality; and her mind's slow and torturous deconstruction into a dichotomy.

But he still loved her.

Here, under the encroaching evening's waning light, dressed in an old pair of sweatpants and his sweatshirt, her feet bare, her hair tangled and dripping, the edges of her face softly blurred by the flux of recollection,

he loved her.

Placing her glass on the table, she shakily rose and shuffled towards him, her eyes misting slightly as she advanced. Hearing her movement, Jack turned to look at her and, seeing her watery eyes and trembling hands outstretched towards him, set the spoon against the rim of the saucepan before gathering her carefully against his chest.

"I remember," she whispered against his shoulder, her voice violently quaking with irrepressible sorrow. "I remember everything..."

-------------------------------------------------------

"You know, for someone who speaks twenty-something languages, you sure have a hard time remembering Swelgert,'" Jacob said as Daniel went about the delicate task of turning the car around on the narrow, winding road.

"I don't have a hard time remembering Swelgert,'" Daniel retorted softly, peering quickly around the vehicle to check for oncoming traffic. "I just have trouble remembering which moose crossing the turn is after."

"It's the third one," Janet intoned from the back seat.

Daniel glared at her in the rear view mirror and righted the car. "Now you tell me."

"You didn't ask."

"And you said you didn't remember the way back out here."

"Children," Jacob interrupted them, a scowl set deeply into the grooves of his face. "Can we please stop arguing and just get back to the cabin? I don't like the idea of Sam being alone this long."

Daniel frowned as he directed the car onto Swelgert road, the gravel washboards shaking the vehicle gently as he eased forward. "She's not alone. Jack's with her."

"Sorry if I'm not imbued with confidence, Danny," Jacob said, his jaw set in a firm line. "I know he's your friend, and he's a damn fine officer, but his judgment regarding my daughter leaves a lot to be desired."

"What do you mean?" Daniel asked, casting a quick glance to Janet in the backseat. She had unbuckled her safety belt and sat perched on the edge in the middle of the bench seat, her face turned to regard Jacob with hard, questioning eyes.

The old man sighed and stared out the window, wishing vainly that he had kept his mouth shut. "I mean pushing Sam into a relationship right after this whole thing on that goddamn planet. Anyone with sense would know better--"

"Than to forsake the one they love for the sake of supposed propriety," Janet finished, her voice soft and reproachful. "Jack loves your daughter, General. He has for a long time." Recalling the words the colonel had been forced to speak a year or so ago, she said, "He'd rather die himself than lose her."

"Jack didn't push her into anything," Daniel intoned, glancing sidelong at the man beside him. "They've been together for less than twenty-four hours. He waited until he heard from the general about Sam's status as a member of SG-1 before broaching the subject."

"Sounds pretty honorable to me," Janet said pointedly before sighing. "I understand your position, General. While I did tell Jack that Sam would need him during her recovery, I didn't mean to this extent immediately after the start of it. But..." she trailed off, her shoulders shrugging slightly. "...that's what she wants."

"Has it occurred to either of you that perhaps Sam isn't thinking clearly right now?" Jacob stormed, his eyes blazing.

"Yes, actually, sir," Janet informed him crisply. "It has. But after seeing the way he handled her flashback--"

"That wasn't a flashback," Jacob sharply interrupted, "that was a fucking mental breakdown."

"Perhaps," the doctor conceded, "but the fact remains that Sam was not afraid of him and even allowed him to guide her through it."

"Guide her through it!" Jacob said incredulously, his voice raising slightly in the confines of the car. "You call that guiding her through it! He was perpetuating it, Janet. He was forcing her to remember what happened!"

"Actually," Daniel ventured, carefully keeping his tone decidedly neutral. "Jack has an...interesting theory regarding...that."

Jacob's eyebrow arched skeptically at the young man. "He does?"

"Yes." Daniel cleared his throat quietly before recapping what Jack had told him hours previously. "He thinks that she was remembering what she wanted to happen on 275--Let me finish," he quickly added as Jacob's mouth opened to vehemently object. Taking in a deep draught of air, he continued, "She was forced to willingly submit to her captors. If she didn't, they would have killed both Jack and myself. So through reliving the experience in a relatively safe environment, she was able to mentally reconcile what she wanted to do--scream, fight, etc.--with what she was forced to do."

"Which was to lie there and passively..." Janet muttered, her eyes widening as Daniel delineated this new information. "Oh, god..." she whispered, "Poor Sam..."

Jacob said nothing, his mind churning over the horrid abuses his daughter had been forced to endure for the sake of the men that she loved...for the sake of the man she loved. He stared at the dashboard, his mouth agape and his eyes transfixed as if hypnotized by the peripheral unfurling of the surrounding forest.

You knew, a voice softly pointed out. You knew long ago that her feelings for him could one day drive her to something of this severity.

Sighing as he reluctantly conceded the accuracy of Selmak's observation, he thought Yes, but their duty--

No longer binds them, Selmak gently intoned. And it never made concession for the complex scenario in which they found themselves. As an officer, she sacrificed her Self and saved the life of her commanding officer; as a woman, she saved the life of the man she loves. Such actions do merit a response, Jacob, especially in light of his emotional reciprocity. Would it please you if he simply watched her succumb to madness instead of aiding her through her turmoil?

Jacob sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose tightly between his thumb and forefinger. No, he admitted. But I'm her father, Selmak. Seeing her like this...it's damn hard.

I know, she soothed, his impending headache lessening as she worked to relieve the pressure of the constricting blood vessels. Trust her, Jacob. Despite her fragility of mind and body, she does know. He will not harm her.

Yeah. Just...give me some time to get that through my thick skull, all right?

Selmak chuckled softly. Of course, my friend. Of course.

As they pulled into the driveway, he automatically reached for his seatbelt as Daniel parked the car beside Jack's truck and deftly performed the motions required to exit the vehicle and walk towards the cabin. The sun was setting in the distance and the light chill in the air was off-set by the promised warmth offered by the smoke softly wafting up from the chimney. As they approached the front steps, the sound of Sam's voice floated haltingly through the open windows, simultaneously stopping all of them in their tracks.

"...would perform some sort of ceremony at the start of...of everything. She poured some kind of musky oil...o-over me and then pressed soft cloths against..." Her voice stopped only to be replaced moments later with Jack's low timbre.

"It's okay," they heard him tell her. "Take your time, baby. You don't have to tell me everything at once."

"It's too much, Jack..." She was crying now, the vibration of tears caught softly in her throat. "God, it's just...all in my head and I can't...god..."

"Does talking about it help?"

Faint sniffling meandered out from the screened casements. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, it does."

"Do you want to keep going?" There was a pause, presumably as she nodded as he then said, "Okay, there was a young girl performing a ceremony..."

Daniel turned to Janet and Jacob, his hands stuffed deep within his pockets and his eyes hesitant in the fading light. "So, I'd, uh, feel a bit...odd going in there right now."

"Yeah," Janet murmured, glancing up at Daniel. "Same here."

They each regarded Jacob, his silence unsettling in light of his lost, longing stare at the open window.

Trust her, Selmak softly exhorted him, her voice wafting around his mind like the tendrils of a dream dreamt long ago. Trust her and let her go.

His eyes closed as he drew a deep breath, his mind churning with the profundity of Selmak's counsel and the opposing yearnings of his heart. He wanted to be the one holding her, the one easing her through her suffering...but she would come to him when she had need. She loved Jack, he knew, but she still was his little girl. His brave, beautiful Samantha.

"Yeah," he muttered eventually, his tone wistful, but decidedly firm. "Let's go back to town and grab something to eat." Selmak's presence in his mind eased, her approval and comfort wrapping around his thoughts like a warm blanket.

Daniel was quiet a minute before softly venturing, "You buying?"

A small smile touched on Jacob's lips. "Yeah, kid," he said. "I'm buyin'." As they turned back towards the car in tandem, he added, "But only if you'll let me drive." Selmak chuckled as the keys landed in Jacob's palm.

"You got it."

------------------------------------------------

Jack groaned inwardly as he heard the muffled roar of an engine approaching and began mentally shouting at Daniel to herd everyone back into the sedan and drive them to a place far, far away. He and Sam had been curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace for nearly fifteen minutes, the past ten of which had been eerily silent--Sam had been searching for words to contain the breadth of her excruciating narrative while he sat quietly beside her, encompassing her with his warmth and silently assuring her of his devotion.

When she had told him that she remembered--remembered everything--he had held her for a short while before quietly asking if she wanted to impart to him her recollections. When she had nodded, he promptly turned off the stove and escorted her into the living room; he built the fire at her timid request but elected to leave the windows partly open to prevent the rest of the cabin from overheating. She did not mind, she had said; from her place in front of the fire, she could not feel the light draft. After he had gotten the fire started, he had eased himself down beside her, welcoming the gentle pressure of her weary body against his chest with open arms.

Now, only minutes into her account, it appeared as if she would be forced to contain the entirety of the description for an undetermined length of time.

"The attendant, I guess she was...she was only fifteen or sixteen...and so sad, Jack--" she swallowed bitterly, oblivious to the dull throb of the encroaching engine. "She was too young to see that kind of..." Her eyes shut painfully as she recalled the young woman's face as she had gently tended to Sam's injuries and prepared her body for the onslaught yet to come. "She would ah...would perform some sort of ceremony at the start of...of everything. She poured some kind of musky oil...o-over me and then pressed soft cloths against..." She trailed off, her head turning once from side to side, unable to form the words.

"It's okay," he told her softly as he leaned forward to press a kiss to the side of her head. "Take your time, baby. You don't have to tell me everything at once."

Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled quickly down her cheeks. Roughly wiping them from her skin, she said, "It's too much, Jack..." Leaning forward to bury her head against her knees, she managed, "God, it's just...all in my head and I can't...god..."

Placing his hand lightly on her back, he asked her softly, "Does talking about it help?"

She sniffled and slowly sat up beside him again, shifting herself securely against his side. "Yeah," she said, drawing her knees up to her chest. "Yeah, it does."

"Do you want to keep going?" She nodded but did not speak. After several silent seconds, he gently prompted, "There was a young girl performing a ceremony..."

"Right," she murmured, her chest expanding as she breathed deeply, trying to gain some semblance of thought. "She poured the oil...between...between my legs and then pressed it into me with cloths. She was so gentle, so scared of hurting me. And when the guards called for me, she always looked...desperate, like she wanted to do something, but couldn't. After that first day, I couldn't--couldn't get off of that table by myself. She helped to my feet and I--I had to follow them, the guards into...into that--" her voice broke and she swallowed before whispering bitterly, "that damned room. There were men packed against the walls, all of them saying prayers to their god...when I passed them, they bowed to me...but they didn't look at me, they weren't supposed to look at me until--until it was their time..." She paused to draw another deep breath and her words grew steadily faster as she progressed through the chronology burned into her now reconciled mind.

"I climbed the stairs to the altar, it was stone, hard, cold stone that scraped against my back if I moved at all. I laid down on it and they--chained my hands and feet to its corners. They were tight--the cuffs--but the chain wasn't." She faltered slightly, her body trembling as her mind forced it to remember. "It wasn't because...because they needed to--to move my legs for the priest. They grabbed my ankles while the priest chanted and--and pushed them...pushed them against my thighs--so that I was...open when the priest...when..." She stopped, her body silently pulsing with disgust as she recalled the next series of events.

Jack rested his head against Sam's, closing his eyes as he felt her tremors escalate in time with her mind's mad rush against her past. "When the priest what, baby?" he whispered to her, his voice low and soothing. "What did the priest do to you?"

Tears cascading down her cheeks, she gasped suddenly for air as sobs racked her body, punctuating her next halting string of phrases. "He...he had a--a...staff, a long, round--staff, metal with a--a blunt point...the top was--was rough...like they had shaved it--" She paused suddenly, and drew a deep draught of air into her lungs, her eyes tightly closed and her fists clenched around the edges of the blanket pulled over her knees.

When she spoke again, her voice was calmer, lower, yet insistently vacant. "It had hundreds of points, tiny glints just barely visible. But when he...god, it tore me apart...it fucking tore me apart. I could feel it. I could feel it when he thrust it into my body, I could hear my skin screaming, but...but it wasn't my flesh, Jack..." She had relinquished her hold on the blanket, her hands lying loosely in her lap as she turned her head towards him slightly, her eyes wandering absently over the space above his right knee. "My flesh wasn't screaming," she muttered to herself as if the fact had never occurred to her. Her face filled with a wide, fearful wonder, she looked up at him and whispered, "It was me. I was screaming."

She paused, her eyes shifting down to his chest, filled with a disconcerting, bitter haze. "I was screaming and all they did was watch. They didn't try to help, they didn't stop, they didn't do anything except keep coming, one after another after another..." Tears forming again in the back of her throat, she paused for several long moments before whispering, "And I couldn't do a damn thing about it."

Finally, as she succumbed to tears, Jack wrapped his arms around her trembling body, and pulled her as close to himself as he could, unable to speak in the face of her misery. As his hand soothed over her back, he painfully closed his eyes against his tears as he heard her anguished whisper.

"I wanted to die, Jack. I wanted them to kill me so that it would all just stop."

Tightening his grasp on her body, he pressed his lips against her temple, communicating to her in that one gesture the depth of his understanding and the boundlessness of his love. He only hoped it would be enough.

-------------------------------------------------

Daniel hesitantly opened the front door of Jack's cabin at exactly 2204, roughly four hours after he, Jacob, and Janet had attempted to return the first time. Taking a quick glance around the room and seeing no one, the expanse silent except for the intermittent crackling of the dying fire, he nodded to his companions and smiled tiredly as they each waved a silent, weary goodnight and headed for their respective bedrooms. Daniel, his throat parched from the cigarette smoke he had been forced to inhale during their super-deluxe stay at one of Silver Bay's many bars, quietly made his way to the kitchen for a much-needed glass of water.

"Wanna grab me a beer?"

Daniel's head snapped toward the direction from which Jack's hushed voice had issued, squinting into the darkness in order to make out the faint outline of his friend's head against the orange blush of the fire. Frowning, he retrieved the required beverages against the glow of the dying embers. Drinks in hand, he padded back into the living room and handed Jack his beer before plopping down in the chair next to the couch, angling it slightly towards his friend. His eyebrows arched as he observed Sam's body huddled compactly against Jack's side; her legs were pulled tightly, protectively against her chest while her head rested against his ribcage at an awkward angle. The fingers of her right hand peeked out from underneath the folds of the thin blanket that covered her; she looked decidedly vulnerable and entirely spent.

Shifting his gaze from Sam to the sharp line of Jack's profile, Daniel muttered, "...dj vu..."

Jack did not answer him, electing instead to twist the cap off of his beverage and immediately down the first third. Daniel frowned. "I take it your little talk didn't go...well."

"Oh no," Jack murmured, his voice dangerously low. "It went fine. Fucking fabulous actually."

Daniel's eyebrows shot up as he instinctively leaned back to give Jack's fury a wide berth. After clearing his throat softly, he murmured, "Well, that's...good, I guess." He paused. "That is good...right?"

"Sure," Jack muttered staring deeply into the warm glow of the fireplace. "Damn near perfect." The words echoed in the thick glass cavern of his bottle as he pressed his lips to the opening and took three large swallows of the golden liquid.

Daniel sat silently for several minutes, watching Jack as he downed the last of his beer and tossed the bottle softly to the carpeted floor beside him. Glancing from the abandoned bottle to Jack's profile, he asked softly, "Need another?"

Jack nodded. "Two if you got em."

"O...kay," Daniel whispered when he was out of earshot, silently hoping that Jack was not planning on drinking himself into a stupor tonight, especially with Sam curled immediately beside him. Promising himself that he would not let Jack's drinking get out of hand, Daniel nabbed the bottles from the fridge and ambled back to his chair.

"I'm cutting you off after these two," Daniel said quietly, handing over the beverages. "Janet, Selmak, and I just spent four hours convincing Sam's father that this relationship is beneficial. The last thing any of us need is him waking up to his daughter cuddled next to you passed out drunk."

Again, Jack simply nodded and twisted the cap off of one of the bottles before tipping it to his lips for a long pull.

Daniel watched him swallow before asking, "So you gonna tell me what this booze fest is about?"

"You heard her, right?" Jack muttered, his tone clipped.

Daniel nodded. "I caught enough to know that we probably wouldn't be welcome," he answered, choosing his words quite carefully.

"Yeah," Jack agreed softly and took another draught from his bottle.

After several moments' silence, Daniel frowned, his hands splaying before him. "So...?"

"So, what?" Jack muttered, obviously frustrated, and rubbed his free hand across his eyes. "You heard what she was talking about."

"Yes," Daniel agreed. "But I still haven't heard you say how that explains all the, um, bottles."

Jack's eyes flashed angrily and he struggled to remain still so as not to wake the woman sleeping beside him. "How that explains the...God, Daniel, you are naive."

"I wouldn't say that," he answered smoothly.

Jack sighed angrily. "You wanna hear me say it? Fine. She sat here and told me a part--a small part, mind you--of what happened to her on that fucking planet when there wasn't a goddamn thing I could do to help her." He paused, his fingers tapping absently against the bottle in his hand. "...not a goddamn thing I could do," he muttered, raising the beer to his lips.

"No," Daniel agreed, his face long with growing sadness. "No, there wasn't."

"She couldn't even cry, Daniel," he whispered, his eyes staring mournfully into the fire, his body slackening as his rage dissipated. "Couldn't fight back, couldn't scream when they were... All she could do--" He closed his eyes briefly, his throat tight and suddenly very dry. "--all she could do was lay there and let them..." He trailed off, unable to bring the sentence to its gruesome completion. "If Hammond hadn't locked out the coordinates, I would go back right now and kill those mother fuckers with my bare hands."

Daniel nodded in silent agreement. Casting a quick glance at Sam's frail body, he muttered, "Somehow, I don't think you'd be the only one on that mission."

Silence enveloped them, casting each to his respective thoughts for a short while. Then, Jack whispered, "She told me that she wanted them to kill her...that she wanted to die," jerking Daniel harshly out of his reverie.

He stared wide-eyed at Jack for a brief moment before gazing down sharply at the orange-tinged carpet. Biting at the inside skin of his lower lip, he slowly absorbed the implications of his friend's statement. Softly, his voice deadly serious, he asked, "Do you think she's suicidal?"

Jack closed his eyes and sighed heavily, his hand coming to rest instinctively on the crown of Sam's head. Tenderly smoothing the knotted blond strands away from her face, he whispered, "I don't know, Daniel...I wouldn't doubt it, but..." He trailed off, obviously pained by the admission.

"But what?" Daniel prodded gently.

"Goddammit, I don't know. I'm not a shrink," he answered curtly. Sighing, Jack closed his eyes, his head hanging heavily from his neck until his chin rested against his chest. After a moment, he looked down at Sam resting obliviously next to him, his eyes misting tenderly as he scrutinized her lax features. "I do know," he offered softly, his voice strained with imminent tears, "that I don't want to lose her...I can't, not now..." Lovingly brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek, he murmured hoarsely, "God, I love you, Sammie." He smiled softly as she sighed in response to his caress and shifted closer to him, her fingers gently curling into the fabric of his shirt as she slowly breathed his name.

Daniel silently observed the quiet exchange, a smile gradually lightening his features as he heard Sam's hushed response to Jack's declaration. Rising silently from his chair, he leaned over and softly clapped Jack on the shoulder before heading to the kitchen to deposit his glass in the sink. With one last look back at Jack silhouetted by the dying flames of the fire, he trudged out of the kitchen and to his room for a night of much needed, much deserved rest. He only hoped that it would find him before the first light of morning.

------------------------------------------------------

Jack grunted as he brought the axe down on the cut surface of the log, his ego swelling in satisfaction as the blow split the wood into two halves. It was mid-morning and the air was still cool from the recent lapse of sun. Even so, his brow was slick with perspiration and his shirt lay several feet away from him, having been shucked when Jack had decided the fabric was more a detriment to the arch of the blade than a benefit.

He had left Sam shortly after breakfast; she had found an old science fiction novel buried in the troves of the bookcase and had requisitioned a corner of the couch on which to delve into the pages. Smiling as he thought of her curled up amongst the cushions-- book in one hand, cup of coffee in the other, her eyes darting back and forth across the page while her teeth worked absently across her upper lip--the clear, biting echo of a gun shot caught him off-guard.

It had come from inside the house.

The axe falling heavily from his upraised hands, he stared transfixed for several seconds, his eyes telling him that everything--the house, the porch, the morning--was as it should be, that the shot had been fired from miles away. Some poacher, a frightened camper, someone, anyone but...

"...Sam..." he murmured, horrified as the name lashed through his throat as if he had screamed it. Vaguely aware of his feet hitting the walk and then the stairs to the porch, he frantically tore at the door handle and searched the living room. Her coffee was sitting on the floor in front of the couch; her book was laying face down, the pages splayed to keep her place; the blanket he had tucked carefully around her shoulders before softly kissing her good-bye lay crumpled around the small imprint her body had left on the cushion.

"Sam!" he called desperately as he raced down the hallway, his blood thundering loudly in his ears. "Samantha!" He pushed open the door to the bathroom--dark and cold; the first guest room--musty, empty; the second--nothing; their room--

He stopped.

"Oh god, no..."

---------------------------------------------------------

"Sam!" Jack called, his eyes snapping open as he sat up abruptly. His heart pounding frenetically, his chest lurched for breath as a cold sweat broke out over his body.

"Jack, what's wrong?"

He turned towards the sound of her voice--very close, very near--and gasped her name in relief when he saw her troubled eyes still somewhat clouded by sleep. Reaching out towards her, his sweaty palms tenderly encased her jaw before winding his arms around her body to clasp her desperately to his chest. "Oh god, Sam..." he gasped softly, his breathing slowly stabilizing as her sweet warmth gradually melded with his.

Sam laid her head against his chest, the crease of her brow deepening as she heard the wild beating of his heart. "Jack," she asked softly, "what is it, baby?"

God, that word sounded so good rolling off of her lips.

His hand came up to cradle her head as he moved his legs up onto the couch and then gently pulled her down as he lay stretched across the cushions, yearning suddenly to feel her body pressed, whole and complete, against his own. Obliging his silent, urgent request, she settled herself on top of him, her right leg unconsciously curling over and around his left. They laid together for many quiet minutes, Sam listening to the slowing of his heartbeat and reassuringly tracing patterns along the fabric of his shirt while Jack reveled in the gentle pressure of her body pressing him deeper into the cushions and ran his fingers through her hair.

She was waiting, he knew; patiently waiting for him to spell out the cause of his upset. But, despite how much she had confided in him earlier, he was not certain he would be able to put the images of his nightmare into words...especially for her.

Finally he broke the silence. "Promise me something," he whispered.

Her fingers ceased their gentle caresses as she paused, considering his request, and then shifted to see his face. "Depends on what the something is," she replied softly, her lips briefly upturned in a small, apologetic smile.

Jack nodded. "Fair enough." He sighed and laid his head back against the arm of the couch. His eyes fixed inches over her head, he murmured, "Promise me...that if this--" He broke off and looked back down at her, lightly tapping his finger against her temple as he repeated the word, "this...gets to be too much too handle...that you'll--you'll tell me." He stared at her pleadingly as she absorbed his words, her brow creasing incrementally before her face broke in sudden understanding.

"You dreamt I killed myself."

It was a statement, he realized, not a question. Unable to look at her any longer, he laid his head back against the armrest and tightly pinched the bridge of his nose. He did not move when she slowly inched her way up his body, his eyes steadfastly remaining closed lest he catch the betrayal that he imagined lingered hotly in her gaze. Her lips pressed softly against the back of his hand and he felt the light tickle of her hair brushing the sides of his arm.

"Hey," she whispered, grasping his wrist and tugging it away from his face. Slowly, he opened his eyes to her, his face gradually losing the weight of his consternation as he saw the light mist that clouded her irises. Lovingly tracing the roughened line of his jaw with a single, gentle finger, she hoarsely whispered, "I promise," before wrapping her hand around the nape of his neck and lowering her mouth to his. As he quickly realized the import of her assurance, he buried his fingers in her hair and ardently, thankfully returned her kiss, allowing his mouth and hands to communicate all that he could not say.

------------------------------------------------------------

The smell of fresh coffee and the faint trickling of the morning sun across his face roused Jack to semi-consciousness the next morning. A smile crept gradually over his lips as the rich, herbal scent of Sam's shampoo wafted across his nostrils and the pressure of her body pressed tightly against his side registered in his sleep-dulled mind. Opening his eyes a fraction of an inch, he looked down at her, sandwiched between himself and the back of the couch, and noted that she had draped a blanket over them at some point during the night and had since sequestered most of it. Her head rested on the slight slope between his neck and shoulder--nicely placed for a light good-morning kiss to her tousled hair; her arm was draped across his chest, her delicate fingers wrapping loosely around his neck; and her right leg was wrapped entirely around his. Vaguely he realized that he had lost feeling in his right arm due to the placement of her head, but, as comfortable and satisfied with his position as he was, he could not bring himself to care.

As emotionally turbid as last night had been, it had ended on a much grander note than he could have anticipated--he had made out with Sam Carter on the couch at his cabin. Just the thought widened his smile into a full-fledged grin. God, had they made out... While they had not gone very far, per se, she had allowed him to turn her onto her back, stretch his body gently over hers, and very thoroughly explore the tender flesh of her neck and jaw. He had also tried to nibble her earlobe, but as soon as his lips had touched her skin, she had immediately dissolved into a fit of giggles; apparently his unshaven face was "tickly." In all his years he had been called many things , he told her, but tickly' was not one of them. He was overjoyed that he could now add it to the list.

When he remembered that he had also attempted to caress her bare stomach, their movement having caused the fabric of her sweatshirt to gather just at the ridge of her hipbones, his grin softened. She had gasped and stiffened at the unexpected contact, but only slightly; and instead of drawing an abrupt halt to their intimacy, she had grasped his wrist and softly uttered, "Not yet," before pulling his mouth back to hers for a long, insanely passionate kiss. God, he loved her.

Absently, he ran his fingertips along the forearm stretched across his chest, following the valleys and peaks of the bunched material with a feather-light caress. She shivered suddenly, her head shifting against him as he heard her mumble, "You're being tickly again." Chuckling, he stopped his movement over her arm to press her head tenderly to his chest. As her body rode the undulations of his laughter, she grumbled, "Now you're being earthquakey," before shifting her jaw into his palm and placing a kiss to the calloused skin.

Smiling, he muttered, "You know you're adorable in the morning?"

Her reply was muffled against his chest, but only served to strengthen his opinion. "Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

She lifted her head to look at him, her brow creased in mock agitation. "Am. Not."

He grinned. "Are too."

"Dee two," she said, smiling triumphantly.

Jack chuckled at her unexpected reply and leaned forward to tenderly kiss her forehead. "See?" he said. "You've just proven my point. Samantha Carter has an acute case of morning adorableness."

"Hmm," she murmured, grasping his shoulders and slowly working her way towards him. "Hope it's not contagious."

Jack frowned thoughtfully and adjusted his position as she gradually drew closer. "I don't think so," he murmured, her lips mere centimeters from his. "But I do think that overexposure by certain outside parties could have lasting repercus--" Before he could finish his thought, she had captured his mouth for a languid good morning kiss--languid, this is, until they heard dishes clinking and the sound of hushed conversation emanating from the kitchen.

"Sounds like the troops are up," Jack muttered, his hand dropping from its place on her cheek.

"Yeah," she sighed. Looking at him askance, she muttered, "I would rather my father not see me like this."

"Well, apparently Daniel and Janet spent four hours last night convincing him that this," he flapped his hand slightly at the two of them, "is a good thing."

"Only four?" she whispered incredulously. "Did he believe them?"

His eyebrows arched; quickly he answered her question before offering one of his own. "Uh, I dunno. Daniel never really said. And what do you mean only four'?"

She smiled wryly, resting her cheek against her hand and settling against his chest, her eyes focused just to the left of his jaw. "It usually takes him a good three months to get used to the idea that I'm in a relationship. With anyone."

He smiled gently and combed her mussed hair away from her forehead. "You're his little girl; he's going to be protective."

Nodding as her jaw stretched to accommodate a massive yawn, she rested her temple against her palm to look down at him. "I know," she said softly, her dry smile returning. "I'm used to that. Just so long as you know that he's being paternal, not personal."

Jack grinned and brushed his knuckles across her cheekbone. "I'll keep it in mind." Watching her as she nodded, her eyes drooping slightly as she yawned again and rested her forehead against his chest, he smiled inwardly. Her mussed hair, her sleepy slur, her brilliant mind marvelously lax and dulled by the remaining whispers of slumber, and her wit that was as endearing as his was acerbic... He tenderly caught her chin in his hand and directed her gaze up to meet his. "I love you," he whispered, eyes smiling and bursting with the emotion.

She smiled up at him. "I love you back." Giggling then as his stomach grumbled loudly, she said, "Maybe we should go take care of that."

Jack winced and gingerly rubbed his abdomen. "Yeah. Good idea." He paused as he surveyed their position. "But you're gonna have to get up first cause I can't move...at all, really."

Smiling softly as she threw off the blanket and grasped the armrest over his head, she pushed herself off of Jack's body, his hands alighting softly on her hips to help her balance, and stood beside him. Gasping, she clutched the couch tightly and closed her eyes, her body feinting gradually from side to side.

Immediately grabbing her waist to steady her, he sat up quickly, not at all surprised when she plopped down into his lap several seconds later. "Lightheaded again?"

Silently nodding, she slowly massaged her temples, her brain suddenly reeling and pounding loudly within her skull. Taking several deep breaths in an attempt to stabilize herself, she heard Jack whisper, "Do want me to get Janet?"

"No," she answered vehemently, panic lacing her tone as she recalled the events following her last clinical encounter with her friend. More calmly she added, "I'll be fine. I just need to eat something."

Behind her, Jack's face lit up exponentially at the admittance and he barely resisted the urge to sweep her into a bone-crushing hug. Aloud he merely muttered, "Good thing it's breakfast time. Maybe they've left us some of whatever it is in there that smells so damn good." Spotting her as she slowly rose from his lap, he followed at her nod, her elbow grasped firmly in his hand as they slowly traversed the living room and entered the kitchen.

"Most of the Tok'ra missions are even more classified than the SGC itself," Jacob was telling Daniel, who was listening with rapt attention while watching the older man expertly attend to the steaming frying pan on the stove.

"I thought I smelled your French toast," Sam said, smiling, as she stiffly walked over to her dad's side.

"Hey!" Jacob greeted her, his face lighting up as he turned to gently embrace her, and left one arm loosely around her waist as he carefully flipped the toast in the pan. "I was wondering if you two were planning on getting up today." Smiling shyly as he grinned at her, Sam planted a kiss on his cheek before disengaging from his embrace to rummage through a cupboard.

Handing her a cup of coffee laden with her preferred measure of sugar and cream, Jack asked, "Watcha lookin' for?"

"Ibuprofen," she answered, immediately finding the bottle. Before she could remove the top, Jacob cleared his throat. The sound's intent ground into her from early childhood, Sam instantly looked up at him, her eyes wide and attentive.

"I don't know if she wants to talk to you first, or what," he told her, flipping the thick, sandwich-like piece of French toast onto a plate, dusting it with powdered sugar, and handing it to Jack, who hesitantly accepted the offer with a curiously arched eyebrow. "But last night Janet took the liberty of picking up a few prescriptions for you," he continued, nodding to the non-descript white bag resting next to the open breadbox on the counter. "I seem to remember her saying something about pain-killers and anti-inflammatory medication or something."

Sam's mouth dropped open slightly in surprise as she eyed the white bag. After placing the bottle back in the cupboard, she perused Janet's selections with a mixture of curiosity and dread. Jacob glanced sympathetically at his daughter. She despised taking pills, always had and probably always would. Frowning slightly, he turned back to the mission at hand--Operation: Dad's French Toast--but not before wryly smiling at Jack who was still curiously inspecting his breakfast.

"You eat it," Jacob told him. "Pour syrup on it and dig in."

"It's a sandwich."

"Very astute," Jacob observed as he turned back to his production line and quickly dropped a small glob of a white and red concoction in the middle of a piece of bread, slapped another slice over it, drowned the whole thing in an aromatic, wonderfully-spicy egg mixture and then laid it carefully in the frying pan.

"It's okay, honey," Sam muttered as she looked up briefly from the prescription information sheets and placed a light hand on Jack's arm. Offering him a reassuring smile, she said, "Don't worry, you'll like it."

Raising a wary eyebrow, he peered at her cautiously. "That's what my grandmother told me about Brussels sprouts."

She chuckled and plucked a fork from the drawer beside her. Pulling him towards her, she reached the fork towards the plate he held securely in his hands, cut off a small square of the sandwich, impaled it, and then popped it into her mouth, withdrawing the fork with slow and delighted relish. "Mmm..." she groaned, savoring the heavenly taste of cinnamon, strawberries, and sweetened whipping cream. "Dad, you still got it. This is delicious."

He smiled proudly and winked at her. "Thanks, honey."

Still chewing, Sam hacked off another square of the toast and offered it this time to Jack's mouth. When they remained steadfastly closed, she gently nudged the offering against his lips, a smile slowly breeching her face as powdered sugar clung to the whiskers that roughened the surrounding skin. Adorably pursing her lips as she contemplated his stubborn refusal of the proffered food, she sighed, her eyes twinkling, and muttered very softly, lest the others hear, "You didn't have any problem opening up last night." He grinned at her, but still did not accept the waiting morsel.

Suddenly Jacob tapped Jack's arm with the back of his hand and said matter-of-factly, "You don't try my food, I don't let you kiss my daughter. Simple as that."

And immediately the square of French toast vanished and Jack was enthusiastically chewing. His eyes slowly widened as his taste buds registered the delicate, yet harmonious blend of the flavors and silently begged for more. "Wow," he enthused, "this is amazing!" Pointing to the fork perched in Sam's fingers, he politely asked, "Could I have that?" Smiling, she handed him the utensil and affectionately watched him amble back to the table while muttering the glories of the new-found food.

Chuckling softly, Jacob handed a laden plate to Sam. She smiled her gratitude and setting her breakfast on the counter as she turned to uncap one of the bottles, pull out the cotton, and tap a large white pill into the palm of her hand.

"What's that?" Jacob asked.

She picked up the bottle and scrutinized the label. "Ibuprofen," she answered. "800 milligrams."

Jacob lifted his eyebrows in appreciation. "Wow," he breathed. "That'll take care of what ails ya."

She smiled softly. "I certainly hope so," she murmured and picked up her plate and coffee to join the others at the table. He watched her retreat, her stiff, hesitant movement striking a profound measure of sorrow into his depths. She was still his strong, brave, beautiful little girl, but there was more now, an infinite melancholy, an inescapable sadness that permeated the air around her. Imperceptibly narrowing his eyes, he renewed his resolve that he would help her defeat this new, machinating enemy, whatever the cost, whatever her need. The high council could object all they wanted to; he was staying as long as she had want or need of him. He smiled in gratitude as Selmak agreed with his resolutions and promised to clear his stay should the want or need arise. There were perks to being the oldest and wisest of the Tok'ra.

"Hey, Dad," Jack called. "Got anymore of this...French toast stuffed sandwich stuff?"

Jacob lazily shook himself back into time and turned back to his production line. "So you like it now, huh? I think you're just scared I won't let you kiss my daughter again." His smile broadened to a loving grin as Sam's laughter pealed merrily throughout the kitchen.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fully aware that her eating habits were now under the surreptitious scrutiny of three hawk-eyed individuals, Sam made a great effort to eat as much as she could, which was still pathetically little, whenever meal time rolled around. She had managed to eat half of her breakfast that morning, more than she had eaten at the meal since 275; still, she knew that her father, in all of his paternal wisdom, would find the amount of her leftovers disconcerting. Her assumption was proven correct as she helped him clean up after everyone had finished eating.

Handing her a newly washed plate to dry, he told her, "Ya know, for not having lost my touch, you left an awful lot on your plate. You used to be able to eat three pieces no problem."

His words were meant as a vote of concern and intended with the utmost love she knew, but still she could not help the immediate defensiveness that leapt to her throat. "I ate as much as I could," she answered, inwardly cringing at her unintended severity.

Jacob was silent as he contemplatively scrubbed the frying pan. "I'm just worried about you," he murmured after awhile. "I mean, I didn't recognize you when I first saw you...you've..."

"Lost a lot of weight," she sighed, accepting the frying pan and drying it quickly before walking it over to its place below the stove. "I didn't do it on purpose," she assured him quietly when she had returned to the sink. "I didn't even notice, really." When he did not respond, her heart dropped several notches as she imagined his profound disappointment and she felt tears slowly gather in the back of her throat. "I am trying, Dad," she whispered, her voice catching. "It's just...hard..."

"Oh, Sam," he sighed, immediately attuned to his daughter's distress and dropped the plate he held into the sudsy water in order to pull her into a comforting, warm embrace. "I know, honey," he soothed, running his hand tenderly across her back. "I know you're trying, Sammie, I can see you trying." He pulled away from her to look lovingly into her teary eyes and grasped the sides of her face with both hands. "And you know what?" he asked, his voice hushed and kind. "I am so very, very proud of you, baby." Drawing her back to his arms as he watched her tears well up and spill shamelessly down her cheeks, he placed a gentle kiss to her temple and murmured, "So proud of you, Sammie, my brave, beautiful little girl."

His own eyes misting as he continued to hold her as she cried, his heart swelled as her arms wound around his back and she whispered, "I love you, Daddy."

Recalling their ritual from her early childhood and the precious few times he had been able to tuck her in at night, he returned, "I love you bigger," choking on the words as his throat constricted and small tears fell softly from his eyelashes.

"Always?"

Pulling her tighter, he pressed a loving kiss to the side of her head, his tears dampening her sleep-mussed strands, and cradled the nape of her neck with a gentle hand. "Forever," he breathed.

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Note: Sorry for the posting delay. I had to drive across the country (1680 miles!), and decided to do so in 27 hours. There's little wireless access along 94W/90W. Also, thank you for your sublime words of encouragement! I wrote this story about a year and a half ago, but never posted it because I thought it might be a bit too in-yer-face and...well, real to actually be received well. Thank you all very, very much; I'm thrilled that you're following and reading AIE.