Author's Note: Before I went to Wales (hence the unforeseen delay, sorry!) I was reading the news on Gateworld and happened to stumble across a (hopefully new) season nine character called 'Khalek'. Just to clarify the obvious, this is not the 'Kalek' in my story. The name for my Hetorian governor came solely from my mind. Whether or not I subconsciously thought of the existing 'Khalek', I don't know, but I can assure you it wasn't intentional. If this is a huge problem (?), I can change the name to avoid confusion.

Chapter 8 – The Ochalet

"Is something bothering you, Jack?"

General O'Neill stopped in his tracks. Surprisingly enough as the days had progressed and the hours they were spending in one another's company had increased, Sam had become incredibly suited to calling him by his first name only. The occasional slip-up still occurred, but after eight years of referring to him as 'Sir', 'Colonel' or 'General', this was to be expected, especially from someone as dedicated to the Air Force as Colonel Sam Carter. It was something that made Jack swell with happiness inside. But he had to admit that it still caught him off guard a little at times. Like now, for example, when he'd been deep in thought.

"You just seem a bit… distracted."

Jack glanced at her where she stood at his side. She appeared relaxed and healthy, and he had a feeling that the past few days away from the dark underground of the SGC really had done her mind and spirit the world of good. Yesterday the weather had taken a rather chillier turn than was common for the spring season. As a result of this she was now wrapped up in a long, elegant and black coat, the wind whipping the short, feathery strands of her blonde hair casually around her pink-tinged face. It sounded a typical thing for a man with feelings for a good-looking woman to say—it probably even bordered on pathetic—but Jack thought the scenery around them was bland compared to the image of her today, so peaceful and unwounded.

"Jack," prompted Sam. A small frown line appeared between her eyebrows.

Lips curling into a small smile at her usual attentiveness, Jack started walking again. "Yeah, there's something. Kinda, anyway." Suddenly his coat pocket felt accusingly heavy, reminding him of the task he should have done and dusted weeks ago. He'd also begun to wonder whether the woods was the best place for this after all. He'd been relieved when Daniel and Teal'c had rejected Sam's suggestion of a stroll—if he was honest, he had a feeling Daniel was trying to give he and Sam as much personal time together as he could without making anything look too suspicious. The quiet walk outdoors had provided the perfect opportunity. Only, now, the problem was just getting on with giving the letter to her.

"Are you going to tell me what?" she questioned quietly, looking out at the picturesque landscape as they approached a huge gap in the trees on the edge of the cliff. The mountains and surrounding moat of forests became a customary sight in this spot of Minnesota.

Jack considered the best answer for the time being, and settled with, "When I figure out what I'm going to say, yeah."

"Right." They carried on walking. She wouldn't push him now, he knew—because he could be as stubborn as he liked sometimes, in which case he wouldn't budge. Instead they slipped into another companionable silence. The thuds of their footsteps and the surrounding nature echoed in the trees around them, cocooning them in their own little world. He felt like he could say anything he liked to her out here, without there being consequences; it was merely the starting part that seemed so difficult.

After a long while Sam did something that surprised Jack completely and reached for his hand where it swung idly down by his hip. Cool, feminine fingers wrapped around his own. Jack stopped his long stride once again, and despite that the simple touch was friendly and encouraging—harmless—he frowned at her. For a brief moment they simply stood, attached but apart. Resembling their current relationship.

Almost warningly, he acknowledged her with a low, "Carter…," surpassing her first name only because he knew they needed to keep at least a vague check on reality. No matter what it felt like out here in the middle of nowhere, there were consequences to disallowed actions: it was the only damn thing that was stopping him from swooping down and kissing her right there in the midst of the woods.

"Sir," she responded. That one small word told him that she agreed with his thoughts.

"I—uh…" He glanced down at their joined hands, as entwined as their lives.

"There's something on my mind, too." Wanly, awkwardly, Sam attempted to smile. Jack knew what she'd been thinking about before she even tried to explain. "Actually… it's been on my mind for a while."

"It has?" Damn it, O'Neill, this is so not the time…!

"Things have changed between us," she stated quietly. "Since my dad died, I mean. Or, maybe… maybe since I split up with Pete, I don't know."

He gave a slow nod. "It's… less tense. More friendly."

"Yeah," Sam admitted, and let go of his hand to wander a short distance away. "Better than it's ever been." Following her misted gaze, he nodded again unconsciously. "But I—I still don't think I can go on… pretending," she continued quietly. "Not any more."

"Sam—" Jack interjected, and stamped forward on the dry ground to grip her arm gently. He needed to stop this right now. Too many emotions weren't good when he was about to add more to the brew. "We can talk about this another time. Some place else."

She faced him and sighed, dejected and miserable; but he was relieved to see that no tears shimmered in her bright blue eyes. Nevertheless, for a moment he was sorry he'd halted the train of out-loud thoughts, so needing to be spoken.

"I have something I need to give you," he told her calmly.

"Me?"

The curiosity in her voice was bound to be there, it was only natural, but it didn't prevent the inward wince that released the dread in his heart. Instead of replying vocally, Jack merely guided her to a clean, dry, grassy verge. A narrow stream trickled at its edge and the water tinkled over pebbles like the mellow, musical sound of a piccolo. They automatically sat down, and, reluctantly, he slipped his hand into his warm coat pocket to pull out the item belonging to her.

"Your dad—he gave me this before he passed away," he explained quietly, handing her a large white envelope. "It's for you."

During his Air Force training—a long time ago now—Jack had been taught to focus on the subject's eyes for reactions. Sam's had widened, and she was visibly swallowing as she took it in her hands and turned it over in her fingers.

"You can wait till we get back to the cabin, if you want," Jack suggested, feeling strangely like he was intruding on a private moment. "Or I can go away for a little while…?"

There was no answer—she was simply staring at the dense white paper as though she was drawn to it magnetically, like she couldn't look away—and he assumed this was an affirmative. He began to get to his feet when she reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

"Stay," she said thickly. "Please, Jack."

Nodding, he settled down by her side again—he leaned back on his elbows in the grass, knees arced in front of his body. With one tentative finger Sam traced the seal of the envelope that had 'Sam' scrawled across the front in her father's tall, slanting writing. She inhaled a deep breath, before slowly easing it open.

As she pulled out a folded piece of paper the envelope dropped from her hands like a stone. Literally. There was something solid in there, Jack knew—he'd felt it digging into his pocket as they'd walked here. But he doubted it was the first thing she really wanted to inspect right now. The letter Jacob had written was stretched like a cotton garment in a wrack between forefingers and thumbs as her eyes first scanned over the words. And still he watched as she began to read his writing properly.

Anxiety was exhibited in every contour of her slender face. But lying there in silence, Jack was infinitely surprised as the worry and dread soon began to melt away to show a weary relief instead. At times, the corners of her mouth would twitch in the tiniest of smiles, and she would shake her head in what seemed to be disbelief. Finally, she looked up, a distant look on her face.

Jack cocked his head slightly. "Hey," he said, softly getting her attention. She met his eyes. "You okay?"

Sam nodded and gave him a swift but genuine smile. He regarded her cautiously.

"You're not about to—to burst into tears, or… anything?"

But Jack found himself blinking in even greater surprise. Who would have thought it? She was now laughing loudly, disturbing the silence! And when he sat up so he faced her he only prompted further chortles. Afraid that his 2IC was losing it completely, he leaned forward and held her shoulders, shaking her.

"Sam, snap out of it!" he commanded with confusion, looking at her incredulously as she choked. "What the hell is so funny?"

"I'm sorry!" She swiped away the moisture in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Jack… it's just, I must have been acting like such a baby lately." Calming to chuckles, she held on to his elbows and shook her head. "Is this why it's taken so long for you to give this to me? Because you were scared of seeing me cry again?"

"Something like that, yeah." He failed to see why this was funny. "I didn't want to hurt you more."

"Oh, Jack, I'm sorry," she said, the smile fading. "I've been so sensitive—"

"It's okay."

"No, really… the number of times I've cried, I…" The sentence ended abruptly with a sharp sigh. "I think I'm getting better now. Thanks to you… this week."

Jack nodded shortly. "Not a problem, Sam."

"I guess I really lost it for a minute back there," she observed a little sheepishly.

"Ya think?" replied Jack dryly. "Pray tell. What was so hilarious?"

She shrugged, and fingered the letter still clasped in her fingers. "Honestly, I don't know. Maybe all my emotions just had a huge relapse…"

"Definitely huge," he agreed with raised eyebrows.

Whilst relaxing again on the soft grass, the slackened hold on her arm lingered, and he squeezed gently as the discarded envelope caught his eye.

"So what did dad have to say?" he enquired very lowly. It was a personal question—one that, before this week, he would never have dreamed of asking—but he had a feeling that she wouldn't mind him knowing. And when she smiled reassuringly at him, he assumed he'd been correct.

"Just a few words of wisdom," said Sam. "He says he's sorry for how screwed up our relationship became; how he wishes he'd seen me more when he was with the Tok'ra." She toyed with the corner of the paper. "That he loves me."

Jack nodded, and then pointed to the ground. "What's in the envelope?"

For a split second she looked confused. Then her eyes widened and her hand darted out to grab what she'd abandoned, and she dug inside, quickly sliding out a… well, actually, Jack didn't really recognise the chunky metallic mass to be anything he could name.

"I assume Jacob read the description before ordering?"

But Sam was inspecting it thoroughly, holding the object close to her face which held that familiar creased-up expression of deep concentration. His eyes flicked to her occupied hand. Jack supposed it looked rather lavishly like a piece of heavy jewellery. Fitting snugly into the cavern of her palm, it was a hunk of shiny silver metal that had been cut into a perfect oval shape, with strange and detailed indents creating significant-looking markings around its edges—ones that Daniel would undoubtedly be able to decipher. Its core had been left open, and at its centre loomed a smooth, round, amber-coloured stone. Orange and brown seemed to merge like juice in its solid depths.

"Huh," remarked Jack, craning his neck to get a better look, "didn't know your dad had such good taste."

"Why would he give me this?" puzzled Sam.

"Well, now you mention it, that brooch would look dazzling with your dress blues."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Dad says it's called an Ochalet," she supplied informatively, glancing down at the letter as she rotated the peculiar object between finger and thumb-tip. "It's very rare, apparently."

"Ah!" responded Jack, and feigned disappointment. "Not a brooch, then, huh?"

Sam met his eyes and he could see the smile brimming behind them. But her interest in the Ochalet didn't wane.

"Does he tell you what's it's for?"

"Not specifically… only that it'll 'come in handy' and that I can use it to bend the Tok'ra to my will. And before that he says he won't go into details."

"Useful," Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah. Maybe he wants me to re-strengthen the alliance with it," she mused outloud. After a few more minutes of pondering she placed it carefully back into the envelope; she refolded the letter and returned that, too, then gazed at Jack and smiled at him.

"What?" he said. "Toy not complex enough?"

"I'll get Daniel to take a look later," she said softly. "Thanks for—"

"Aggghh!" He cut her off by swiping a hand through the air. "What did I say about 'thank you's?"

"That was on my dad's behalf," Sam insisted.

"You know, I've spent sleepless nights over that letter. I can't believe you actually laughed when you read it."

She reached over and covered his hand with hers, and he watched as she played gently with his thumb. It was sweet, he thought, but confusing that she suddenly seemed so shy—like she was trying to hide in the collar of her coat. But he'd learnt over the past week to disguise the awkwardness with humour, so without considering it twice he jumped up and leapt forward to smother her in a big bear hug. Huh, lately he really had given her more hugs than deemed appropriate for the regulations… but who cared right now? He had her chuckling.

After seconds of rocking her dramatically he let himself fall back into the grass with Sam practically on top of him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, cuddling her into his side, and thoroughly enjoyed that she was still grinning.

"What was that for?"

"Being you," he replied.

"I'm enjoying this," she conversed gently. "Having this easy… friendship, with you. A little too much, perhaps."

Well, Jack could agree with that. I mean, when had he ever pounced on Teal'c for an affectionate embrace in the grass? But he sensed a change in her mood, and kept quiet. He really, really wasn't ready for this conversation. If he was honest with himself, he didn't want to spoil this—something he'd only really begun to appreciate.

Sam sighed tiredly. "What are we doing, Jack?"

Jack shrugged. "Acting on our friendship?" But the small snort she gave agreed with his Teal'c theory.

"Friends," she murmured, and sounded unhappy.

"Yeah."

"You know, my dad said something else in that letter." Her voice was suddenly a whisper; she was looking into his eyes. Jack couldn't look away, but at the same time the smart side of his brain was sending overflowing wavelengths of alarm to his conscious mind and telling him to shift his ass right now. And God help him, but she was so damn close now. Close enough to—

"It was almost like he knew I wasn't going to marry Pete," she ploughed on, calm, firm and determined.

"Sam," he mumbled quietly, clenching his eyelids shut, "what does this—?"

She moved a hand to his shoulder. "He told me not to be alone, Jack."

Warning bells were ringing in every corner of his active mind. But no matter how much he wanted to ignore them, and despite that he knew he could very well do so without a great deal of difficulty, he was aware that if he did, everything would be ruined, and therefore if anything he needed to enhance their messages. Which he did… He thought about their careers and everything that was at stake if they gave in to their raging feelings. At the harsh realisation that he needed to pull away his heart gave a painful tug.

But Sam's gaze was so desperate, so pleading, that he couldn't just roll away and get up with the incredible sense of nonchalance he needed to summon, or the hard mask he needed to meld on his face. Instead, his hand drifted through the air like a raft on a river and touched her face gently—brushing the hair back from her temples and tucking it tenderly behind delicate, heating ears. Fingers traced her jaw lightly. The touch was unusually intimate for them. It was also why he sensed, rather than felt, the small shiver that ran through her—and also why he pulled back before the savoured closeness escalated.

He lay beside her, though, trying to maintain the barrier between them—but at the same time, delighting in the fact that if they each surrendered in this everlasting inward battle, she was willing to be his.

Unfortunately that could not happen today.

Jack quickly evaded her eyes, chewed his lip and sat up. "We should head back," he stated reasonably, and even he could detect the flatness of his voice. Disguising his emotion. "It's gonna get dark soon. Danny and Teal'c will start wondering."

He pushed himself up to his feet with his bad knees creaking in protest, not before hearing the frustrated sigh behind him—but didn't turn around. Life was damn unfair at the best of times. It was just getting harder and harder to cope with.

"Hey," Jack said to announce his presence, poking his head round the living room door. "We're back."

"Finally," added Daniel. He stretched and got up from the sofa. "We're starving."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry, Daniel." Entering and closing the door behind him, he sank into the big squashy armchair, slinging his coat over the back of it and closing his eyes. "To tell you the truth, I'm not that peckish. But you and Teal'c go ahead and grab a bite… wherever T is."

"Outside on the deck. Where's Sam?"

The General didn't look up. "Went to bed," he shrugged.

"This early?"

"Yeah."

Daniel sat down again. "Is she all right?"

"What?" Raking a hand through his silver grey hair, he straightened up a bit. "Oh, yeah, she's fine—just tired, she said." Although he had the distinct feeling that this wasn't the case.

"That's strange… for her, anyway."

"A little."

"Jack," frowned Daniel, "don't tell me you argued."

"No," he immediately denied, knowing how uncomfortable he looked; knowing how uncomfortable he felt. "'Course not... it wasn't like that."

"Then… what happened?"

Jack twiddled with his fingers, flexing his lips with an air of awkwardness he could not banish. But it was a conversation too many past a time when he could make a nonchalant joke of his feelings for Sam Carter; to Daniel, in particular.

"I think," he confessed, "we're both starting to feel the strain."

"Of staying friends?" Daniel asked sympathetically. Jack nodded, and his friend smiled slightly. "Well, it's not really new. You mean the strain's become more noticeable?"

Silently, he nodded again.

"Did you kiss?" It was a blunt, direct question. Jack looked up sharply.

"God, Daniel, no! Carter would never—" Breaking off, he scrubbed a hand over his face in confusion, and sighed as he realised he wasn't sure how true that stilted statement had been following he and Sam's exchange in the woods. She really had come across to him as though she wanted to change things.

"Ah," the archaeologist mouthed.

Feeling like a caged animal inside his own mind, Jack stood up and crossed to the window.

"And what about you? Would you?"

"I—" Jack rubbed his eyes. "It's getting harder. Put it that way. And I'm beginning to think whether inviting her here was a good idea."

"That's called avoiding the problem," Daniel pointed out. "Prolonging it."

"It's so damn frustrating," growled the General, pacing over the carpet. "She wants to talk about things, it's obvious. But I dunno if I do. I don't know if I can face that."

"Well, I think you should try." Daniel stood and moved to the door, but paused. "Talking is one thing you can do. I'll be back in a minute. You sure you don't want something to eat?"

"Nah," sighed Jack. "Think I'll go to bed, too."

Food was the last thing on his mind when he still craved the unknown taste of Sam on his lips.

The following morning, Sam was the first to wake. Well, so she assumed. The spare bedroom Jack had insisted she took was right next to the kitchen, and as there was no banging and clanging sounding through the wall, it was likely that everyone else was still asleep. She sighed. It had been a restless night. On one hand, she wanted to get up now and go for a walk before anyone else got up, and on the other, she dreaded seeing Jack. But Sam was a sensible person; she couldn't very well stay in bed all day.

Fumbling for her watch on the bedside cabinet, she saw it was just past six. He usually rose at about seven. God, this was so stupid… and it was all her fault. Even she didn't know what her intentions were, yet there she had been flaunting her desires to her commanding officer where they'd been alone in the woods.

He told me not to be alone, Jack.

What a great way to start a difficult conversation. It had earned nothing but a chaste touch that had caused shame to flare up among other more expected feelings.

What was more, the tension that had plagued them for several years now had blossomed afresh on their way back to the cabin last night, but in full force; they hadn't spoken a word to one another. That upset her more than anything. It was why she'd made some pitiful excuse about being tired so she could escape to the privacy of this room.

Deciding that she hadn't come here to pine, but to confront, she forced herself to get out of bed, grab her towel and robe and cross the hall to the bathroom. She pushed open the door and—

—oh, shit.

"Agggghhh! SAM!" Jack had been pulling down his boxers and they pooled around his ankles as he flung his hand out to grab a towel instead.

"Oh, God, sir, I'm sorry," she stammered. She backed out, slamming the door shut.

A moment's silence followed.

"It's okay!" called Jack, then. The door opened again to reveal him standing there with a fluffy white towel wrapped securely around his waist. "I'm all covered!"

"I—really didn't know you were in there," she muttered, flushing crimson and avoiding his eyes. There was an awkward pause. "Sorry."

But when he spoke next, there was a familiar playful drawl to his voice. "You know, Sam, if you wanted to share my shower with me, all you had to do was ask…" He was grinning.

She folded her arms. "I do no—"

"Must've forgotten to flick the lock across," added Jack less teasingly. "My fault. No harm done, Carter."

But Sam's cheeks sizzled. Forcing an apologetic smile, she turned away, and rolled her eyes at how typically ironic the situation had been. In an effort to avoid him, she'd stumbled in on him naked instead.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?" She spun around; tried to focus on his dark brown eyes instead of his bare, smooth chest.

"We're okay now?" asked Jack tentatively.

It wasn't over, by a long shot, but she nodded. "Yeah," she replied, softly, "we're okay."