Author's Note: Special mention goes to littlemaccyd, who's reviewed every chapter so far (you're a star!), but thank you to anyone who's taken time to review at least once! You guys are fabulous. :)

Chapter Nine – A Long Delayed Conversation

Even though the bathroom incident could in respects be classed as an ice-breaker, the tension throughout the day gradually resurfaced. Sam found this both upsetting and irritating. She couldn't understand why things had gotten awkward again, when all they'd been doing was sitting on the deck outside with Daniel and Teal'c. But perhaps therein lay the problem. It was all they'd been doing. What they needed to do was something they'd prolonged for a long time: find half an hour alone together, sit down with a drink in hand, and just talk about their feelings. In Sam's mind it was the only way they were going to move past this uncomfortable, can't-be-sat-next-to-each-other stage of their friendship, and despite the regulations she wanted to make her desires known. If Jack responded negatively, then that was that: at least he would know. Unfortunately, though, he showed absolutely no signs of wanting to discuss the topic that had easily evaded their conversation for the past six or so years.

"Well, that's good news, anyway," the man in her thoughts announced, closing his cell phone with a snap as he came into the kitchen.

Sam looked around from where she was chopping vegetables up for tonight's meal (since she'd first cooked for them all, Jack had decided that she wasn't as bad as he'd originally thought, and had encouraged her make their dinner more often).

Daniel asked, "What's good news?"

"The Hetorians have agreed to relocation, at least temporarily. SG-3 returned from the planet half an hour ago." With a smile, Jack added, "They must have taken to them more than you guys."

"Well, that's great!" said Daniel enthusiastically. "When do we start?"

"Relocating? Next week. SG-3 have arranged a Monday meeting with the Hetorian government, myself and SG-1. I think they want to meet the man they're trusting, and the people who'll be in charge of relocating them."

"Hopefully Kalek won't be there," Daniel frowned, and straightened his glasses as he bent down to open the fridge door.

"SG-1?" Sam checked sceptically, but to her surprise Jack winced.

"SG-1," he repeated slowly, "minus its leader."

For long seconds, she stared; the knife she'd been using hung limply in her idle hand. She only half-noticed as Daniel grabbed a drink from the fridge and slipped silently from the room. "What?" she said incredulously, frowning.

"I told you I wanted you to take some leave, Sam," he said calmly. "That hasn't changed. Danny and T can handle things just fine, you don't have to worry."

"Sir," she objected, feeling oddly singled out, "I was under the impression that all of SG-1 would be on leave… not just me."

"It's no big deal, Carter." It was his moment to frown.

"Yes, actually, it is," she argued.

"Oh?"

"If SG-1 are on active duty, I should be going with you to Hetora, sir. I am part of the team." She knew she sounded bold, but at the moment didn't care, having never wanted this grievance leave in the first place.

"You won't miss much," shrugged General O'Neill, leaning on the back of a sturdy chair. "Boring, non-scientific negotiations on relocation matters? The only ones who really need to go are Daniel and I."

"So Teal'c's just going along for the fun of it?"

"Carter…" he said warningly.

"General, with all due respect," Sam could feel her face heating in anger she herself didn't understand, "there is nothing wrong with me."

"Physically, maybe!"

"How do you know?" she countered vehemently.

The tension that had steadily climbed the scale throughout the day was beginning to climax. But Jack passed her a look of—almost disgusted—disbelief. "Is that a joke?"

"I feel," she responded, forcing her voice to remain calm, "I feel I should be going back to work now, sir."

"I've already told you, ignoring it will make things worse. You need some downtime to let things settle."

Calmness diminishing in the space of a heartbeat, her defiance roared up. "Oh, so that's why you requested SG-1 remained on active duty after Daniel ascended?"

A heavy silence leaked its way into the room like a dark cloud; it hung for several tense seconds before Jack spoke again serenely, "Daniel wasn't dead."

"We didn't know that, then!" she fired up. "At the time, though, we knew he was gone!"

Jack's patience was swept away. "You're pushing a fine line here, Carter!"

"Well maybe it's about time I did!" Sam shouted. "You were the one ignoring things then, sir… how can you possibly lecture me, now?"

"Because I am your commanding officer!"

"So much for informality…!"

"All right, that's it, stop it right there!" His eyes became dark and hard. "I wanted to forget ranks this week to make things more friendly," yelled Jack, "but seeing as though you're having trouble remembering I'm your CO, which is in fact the truth, maybe we should be using them after all!"

Sam lost every sense of things which ought to be hidden and a feeling of desperation overpowered her head. "Forget?" she repeated incredulously. "How could I possibly forget, Jack, when I think about our situation every single day?"

The familiar features of his face contorted. "Our situation?"

With that she whipped around—slamming against the hard counter—so she didn't have to face him. The sharp knife in her loosened grasp accidentally sliced across her left palm. Instantly, hissing, she dropped the blade like a scorching hot coal and twisted the tap to run her hand beneath cool water. Jack seemed oblivious as he continued, "There is no 'situation', Carter! You need to get a major grip on reality!

"The grip on reality is what makes things this difficult!" she insisted fiercely through gritted teeth.

"Nothing's difficult," Jack denied, pushing the chair so it banged against the wooden floor for emphasis. "I don't know what's got into you."

Taking a deep breath, she turned round again, leaving the tap water to run freely as she did, and steadily lifted her eyes to his. "I can't lie by agreeing with you there," she said quietly.

"Then don't!"

"Fine!" she snapped.

"I think that's 'fine, sir'."

"You know, I only came here because I wanted to get things out in the open and talk properly—figure things out! But you're so… every time I try… you change the damn subject." Her throat constricted slightly. "Every time!"

"That's because maybe I don't want to, Carter!" said Jack, and to Sam's ears he sounded so uncaring. "Jeez, I'm not a hormonal teenager—my feelings for you aren't that important!"

The kitchen's air tightened and froze into splintering ice—ice that stabbed and trapped the breath in her lungs. Stricken, blue eyes met those of dark brown in a fierce gaze that was wrapped up in shock and hurt. They stood there only for a few moments, Sam registering the implications of his harsh, rash words, but the scene rolled into a stretch of tense, sharp eternity. Her cut hand stung, although compared to Jack's bold statement the pain was nil. Perhaps in a realisation of some of the hurt he had caused her, he made to justify his words.

"Carter, that… that came out wrong," he mumbled. It was only because he looked down that he noticed for the first time her injured hand. Crimson blood oozed from the long, deep cut in her palm and ran in streams of red down her fingers. "Your hand!" he exclaimed, frowning and raising his arm to point a little.

He began to move closer. Sam, however, chose the moment to storm from the room and through the cabin to the bathroom, uncaring as to whether or not he followed with the undoubted intentions to make things up to her.

Quietly, she closed and locked the door, an action which was misleading regarding the churning turmoil in body, heart and mind. A hot, angry flush had crept up her neck and face and the adrenaline pounding through her was unbearable. She didn't cry—something that later on would surprise her. Instead she automatically forced her hand under the cold, clear water merging with scarlet blood in the sink.

A short knock sounded on the door, but she ignored his presence. The wooden frame was only the physical barrier she was prepared to slam down between them tonight.

"Sam?" The General's voice was muffled. "Can I come in?"

No answer. Silence was the best punishment.

"Look," he began hesitantly, regretfully, "I know what that must have sounded like. It wasn't what I meant. Even so… I'm sorry, Carter."

Rarely had Sam ever borne witness to a sincere Jack O'Neill apology. Usually he employed the attitude that what was done was done, and people should be punished without being given the chance to say sorry.

"Sam, please. Let me in."

As if daring him to make his request an order, Sam waited a while before resigning, too exhausted to stand her ground on a plane whereon she could never be victorious seeing as though they were in Jack's own cabin away from home, and she slowly undid the bathroom lock. Avoidance would be futile, that much was logical.

He entered with profound wariness as she slumped onto the toilet seat, head rested in her good hand whilst the other lay uselessly in the sink.

Silently, but deftly, Jack opened a cabinet, pulling out an old white and green First Aid kit, and came to kneel before her where she sat giving no indication that she neither wanted him there or hated him for it. With absolute tenderness he lifted Sam's bloody hand and held it in his own, pressing a thick clean cloth into her palm to stop the flow of blood loss. He steadily looked up to meet her eyes. She was unable to escape from him now, and gazed back, helpless, hurt and so wanted.

And for a while there were no more words. Once the blood had clotted, the larger hands set to work wiping the cut gently using antiseptic cream, covering it with a soft cotton pad, and winding a bandage around her hand, again and again. The careful ministrations were calming and though her skin was sore and throbbing, they felt nice. So nice that when his touch vanished a wild panic tore a plea from her throat.

"Don't stop," she begged desperately.

Jack looked up in surprise and confusion. It was as though he wasn't sure what to do for her. Then with infinite care and gentleness, he placed his hands atop of her injury. His index finger probed lightly and she sucked in a breath at the pressure.

"It hurts," he stated for her blandly.

She watched as his fingers travelled to her wrist, feeling their caresses. "It hurts," she admitted breathily.

"Forgive me?"

Sam glanced at him and sighed, and her good hand moved to his shoulder. "I can't blame you, Jack," she mumbled, numbly, "not for speaking the truth."

"Sam…" He didn't stop touching her; his caresses found the sensitive area beneath her elbow, while the opposite hand brushed the top of knuckles. Small shivers of pleasure threatened to let loose. "What I meant back there… I was trying to say that our—our feelings in the grand scheme of things aren't important—not as important as defending this country, this planet. Don't interpret it the wrong way and think they're not important to me, because they are. Damn them, but they are."

She nodded quickly. It was the first time (excepting the Za'tarc incident) he'd ever directly and vocally acknowledged his feelings.

"I'm sorry too. I don't think either of us was thinking properly just then," she said very softly. "I—it's just frustrating. All I want to do is get on with life." It occurred to her that she hadn't been clear whether she was referring to her attraction to him or to her father's death—and realised both were true of the statement. Jack, however, appeared to have chosen the latter.

"It's only 'cause I care, that I'm so determined for you to get away from work," he said. "You know that, don't you?"

Again she nodded, "Yeah."

Jack hesitated, then ventured slowly, "Did you really only come here because you think we need to talk?" He sounded hurt.

"Sir, no! I'm such an idiot, I say such rash things when I'm angry."

"Hey, that makes two of us then."

"I came here," she confessed openly, "because I wanted to. I always have—every time you asked. I was just afraid to."

"Why?" he asked gently.

Exhaling a sharp, loud breath to exert tension, she closed her eyes, and reopened them to lose herself in the soft expression of his face. "I think you know," she murmured, and after a significant pause, added, "I think this would be a good opportunity to talk, whilst we're still away from the SGC."

Jack smiled awkwardly. "I guess we need to, don't we?"

"You just told me you didn't want to," accused Sam, not unkindly, but there was a touch of firmness to her voice too. "What's changed?"

"It's kinda been touch and go since last night…"

"It has been for the past eight years," she pointed out, giving a faint smile.

"Yeah, well," he stalled, and sighed as if he realised this was a time of finality. "I just don't want things to get awkward between us again, Sam," he said. She was sure she detected some hint of fear in his tone. "I think if—"

He was interrupted as Sam removed the hand from his shoulder, raising it to press an insistent finger to his open lips.

"Sam?" he said nervously. The name reverberated on her finger, and she briefly closed her eyes before cutting the contact and gripping the hand stroking her forearm.

"We can talk tomorrow," she explained, lightly. "We'll send Daniel and Teal'c away. Thinks won't get awkward, I swear."

But Jack was doubtful. "How do you know?" he said uncertainly.

"I know," said Sam, "because over the past few weeks I feel I've discovered the absolute value of your friendship. It's priceless, sir. I can't allow my greed to destroy that now."

"Greed? No, Sam, it's not—"

"The fact that I want more, then," she quietened him.

Very slowly, he nodded. And Sam wanted—needed—desperately to feel his touch, like she had at her dad's funeral. Throwing caution to the wind, saving other cares for the future in which they wouldn't do this, she guided his gentle hand to her cheek. The situation was almost a repeat of the previous evening. The warmth on her face felt wonderful and the places where she had his glorious touch tingled in mild, comforting pleasure. In the light strokes of his thumb against her cheekbone she hadn't noticed how much the space between them had suddenly decreased.

Only when she caught his warm breath on her lips did Sam reopen his eyes, to find his face inches away. God, these moments were becoming more and more frequent. And each time she treaded dangerously closer to the line whereat she would give in and kiss him. Temptation enflamed her every cell. Desire strained to obey natural calls. But they couldn't. Never had they disregarded regulations on a whim, and without at least discussing it first, neither was about to.

"Sam." Jack leaned into her and the toilet seat so she practically lay in his arms; his fingers left her face to curl around her neck and delve into the coarse strands of her hair.

"This is what I mean by difficult," she smiled sadly, palm flat against his chest and obscuring the slogan of his simple T-shirt. "There's nothing I want more."

For a fraction of a second the tip of his nose bumped hers.

"We should move, then," he whispered hoarsely, "or we'll end up starting something we'll both regret."

Sam hated herself when she nodded, hated that she had to agree, and the muscles in her chest clenched painfully. One kiss couldn't hurt, could it? And despite that he had been the ones to voice the dreaded words, he brushed his lips over her cheek, just once; her hands responsively tightened on his shoulders.

"Jack," said Sam pleadingly. But it didn't have the effect she needed. His light lips merely moved over her cheek to the soft spot beneath her ear. She could feel him trying to pull away, and so weaving every thread of resistance into one string, she said more firmly, "General."

The title spurred their separation, as she'd known it would. It kicked out the reminder that supplied the willpower.

She swallowed. "We can't let this happen. As much as I—as much as we—"

He kissed her cheek one last time, a firm, chaste kiss.

"—we can't."

"I know," he murmured, and without another word he extracted himself, stood, and left. Until tomorrow, his eyes had read. Until tomorrow, they would leave the difficult topic behind them.

"So…"

"So…"

"This is…"

"Hard," sighed Sam, staring into her red hot coffee. "I know."

As far away as they could manage on the low sofa, alone in the sitting room, they sat simply as hefty logs of wood burned in the open fire. Jack had created the flames more to create a warmer, cosier atmosphere than to protect them from the nippy climate outside, but the temperature was something of a comfort nonetheless.

Tomorrow had reached them, already. Too soon than he would have otherwise liked, really.

"Even when we force ourselves into this," she struggled to say, "even when we, ah, know it needs to be done—we still don't know where to begin."

He agreed with her there. But if this conversation was going to strike up at some point, she would have to be the one to choose the match. Not because he was selfish, only because she was better at this than he would ever be. And Sam undoubtedly realised this, because she exhaled sharply, though not in annoyance or anything of the sort, and placed her coffee mug on the surface of the table in front before twisting round to face him, head on. He wished he could do the same.

"What I was going to say, yesterday in the woods," she began carefully, "was that… I can't go on pretending I don't have feelings for you, Jack. After Pete, after giving everything to that relationship—because I did, you know, I wanted to make things work—well it showed that I can't be with someone else." Her hands fidgeted in her lap. "I'd be… too distracted by what I feel for you."

Jack nodded. "It wouldn't have been fair on him."

"No," she agreed, "it wouldn't have."

"But you're not pretending you don't have feelings," he pointed out slowly. "If you were pretending, we wouldn't be having this conversation." With an additional thought, he muttered, "Or trying to have this conversation," but she ignored these last words.

"I don't think I can pretend at the SGC, I mean. Not anymore. It's where we see each other the most."

"You've—we've—done it for eight years," said Jack.

She shook her head. "We've both agreed that things have changed now," she replied. "And maybe, I don't know, maybe it's just been too long a delay."

"So…" Jack shrugged helplessly, "what d'you wanna do about it?"

But she said softly, "What I want, and what's allowed, are two completely different things."

Don't I know it? Jack wanted to add grimly. "But you're saying you can't work with me anymore?" he asked, watching her face intently.

"No," she answered immediately. "I can, but it'll be hard. What I'm saying is I don't know how well I can work with you now."

"Don't worry," he drawled, and although the following words contradicted it his voice was devoid of any natural humour, "I can employ extra body guards if you think you'll pounce on me when I exit my office."

The joke was lame—even he knew, wholeheartedly, the stab at lightness was pathetic—but unfortunately it was Jack O'Neill's way of dealing with awkward emotion.

"I'm talking about feelings," Sam implored thickly. "It isn't nice to have a lack of happiness, Jack."

He immediately regretted it, and faltered, "Sam—I never meant…"

"That I'm attracted to you because I want sex?"

The reply slipped off her tongue so easily, coolly and collectedly that he was forced to blink a few times. His reassuring reply came eventually: "You know I would never imply that."

"I know," she sighed heavily.

Something unknown pushed up his insecurities, then; he tapped his fingertips on the pot mug which made a dull tinkling sound and disguised the silence somewhat. When he looked up, he blurted, "Why are you—?" but stopped as he panicked mentally. It was something he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Sam was frowning.

"I mean, I always wondered," he mumbled, plunging on, "why you were attracted to me. It's obvious why I… y'know, have feelings for you…"

"No, actually," said Sam, her frown deepening, "it isn't."

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"To me, it isn't obvious."

"Sam, half of the base has a crush on you!"

She scooted just a little closer on the low, cord sofa. "I'm not interested in the rest of the base," she told him softly.

"Well, you're…" Okay, now he was panicking. "Aside from the fact that you're hot…"

He coughed and Sam bit her lip. "That's it?" she asked with uncertainty.

"Of course not," he assured her more warmly; the words he was about to speak were nothing but genuine. "You have a heart of gold, Samantha Carter. You'd do anything for anyone whether part of your team or no. You always want to do what's right, and when for whatever reason you can't, it upsets you. Example: when your jerk of a CO ordered you to leave that nuisance of a replicator guy behind and betray him. Ah! Let me finish." He wafted a hand airily as she opened her mouth to object. "You've saved me—hell, the whole planet—a hundred times or more not just with your amazing brain, but with determination, loyalty, God knows how much effort, and care for those you do and don't know. For that I respect you more than I respect… well, the President, for one. I respect you as much as Teal'c, how's that?"

Having realised he had twisted round on the sofa to face her, Jack found he could reach out and touch her knee lightly.

"You have unlimited enthusiasm towards anything which is an aspect that adds to your unique, and wonderful, personality. You laugh at my jokes and have a smile to die for: two things I'd have loved to see more often recently. Finally," he finished gently, watching her face, "you're just you, Sam. And it'd be cheesy for me to say you're perfect, 'cause no-one's perfect… but let's just say you're only a few meagre points below that standard. I think so, anyway. I can't explain why I have these… ah, feelings… for you… but after all I've just said—" He paused. "Well, it's pretty understandable, don't'cha think?"

Stunned, having never expected a long declaration, she looked down at the still hand resting on her knee and then back up to his eyes. They had become so familiar lately that she knew by heart how many lines were engraved in the curves of his sockets below. And then she smiled widely. "Wow," she remarked, moved and astounded all at once.

"Yeah," said Jack slowly, "I don't come across as the talkative type, do I?" His eyes became serious and the face lost its humour. "But all of it's true," he added, slightly gruffly.

"What," Sam smiled, "even the part about you being a jerk?"

"Yeah," he admitted in a quiet voice. "Even that."

"I don't think you're a jerk, sir," she said, and squeezed his hand briefly.

Frowning to himself, he argued gently, "You were angry with me," and he looked unhappy.

Feeling as though they were getting a little off topic, she shook her head and immediately corrected his belief. "No. I was never angry with you. Never. You did what you had to and you were right in a situation where both choices were wrong—to leave Fifth behind and to bring him with us. Both choices were right, too, because it was a no-win situation." She paused, then continued, "I know that. I know you did what you had to… just as I did what I had to."

He nodded carefully. "I appreciate you saying that, Sam," he thanked.

"And I," she said in return, "appreciate you recognising that I'm not perfect."

Jack, incredulous, raised his eyebrows sky-high. "I say a bunch of nice things about you and that's the one you have to quote?"

But she smiled shyly, and wondered how to best convey her strange gratitude. "I think it's just… well, everybody as the SGC sees me as this huge brainiac female who can do no wrong…"

"Ah… yeah!"

She shook her head fiercely. "You don't know how disconcerting it is, because I can do wrong. It's nice just to be recognised as a normal human being for once—one that isn't perfect."

"I… guess I can understand that."

"Anyway, I haven't wriggled away from your question," she muttered. She reached to the side and brought the coffee, no longer steaming, to her lips to take a small sip.

"Oh." Jack withdrew his hand from her knee to his. "Yeah. You know, I almost forgot."

"I doubt I can do as well as you, but…" She breathed in sharply. "I can't explain it either. All I know is that I've never, ever felt so strongly for anyone before. I've never had other feelings I've never been able to ignore."

"Sure you have," said Jack quietly, earning a confused glance. "Martouf?"

"They weren't my feelings," Sam corrected gently. "They were Jolinar's. I would've thought you understood that after Kanan." He winced, and she said quickly, "But this isn't the time to be getting into Tok'ra facts and experiences."

"No," he agreed. "It's not."

Staring at the carpet, she continued, "I think the first thing I really noticed about you was your sense of humour," and smiled reminiscently. "Some of those briefings with General Hammond were unbearable, you know… and I think you knew how funny I actually found you, didn't you?"

Eyebrows raised in innocence, Jack said, "Perhaps."

"Sometimes I couldn't believe your cheek." Still smiling, she caught his eye. "But I soon got used to it, that much is clear." There was a long, thoughtful pause. "I think the first time I really realised, though," she said seriously, "was during the armband experience… trapped behind that force field."

"Ah," he said uncomfortably.

"You wouldn't leave me."

Her words sparked a vivid but much older memory, one that had played over in his mind a hundred times but at the same time wanted to push itself into a dark corner and be forgotten.

Sir, when you wouldn't leave me… are you sure there wasn't something else you're not admitting?

A long time afterwards, and a long time ago now, he could have said they'd moved past that. Now, however, he assured her with, "I'd never leave you, Carter."

Sam twisted her hands together again. "Never?" she asked.

"I swear…" He swallowed, knowing that the words had been true for several years. "I swear I would never leave you behind. I… couldn't… leave you behind."

She nodded and allowed them to lapse into a peaceful silence, in which Jack got up to poke at the fire and shove another log in the flames. When he returned, the old sofa shifting slightly under his considerable weight, she rested her head on his shoulder.

Surprised to find that he hadn't stiffened, he squeezed her hand once.

She told him quietly, "I can't explain why I'm attracted to you, Jack. You're a remarkable man, and I suppose you don't choose the people you fall for. But despite the regulations… I'm glad it was you."

"Really?" he said in his softer tone. When she nodded shyly, he murmured, "Well, that's good enough for me."

"The only question left now is, what are we going to do?"

For the second time, he shrugged. "What are our options?" Although he had a rather distinct feeling that she'd played them over in her head a dozen times or more, just as he had.

"Number one…" She sighed and he smiled slightly, moved, at how much it was costing her to suggest this. "I leave the military."

"Nope," said Jack immediately. "Not gonna happen."

She looked like she'd expected this answer. "Why not?"

"You're in the prime of your already-successful career. You enjoy your job, you're good at it. You're one of the best we have. Fair enough, you have your science to fall back on but that wouldn't keep you in SG-1. And the SGC needs you and your experience as the team's leader."

"I knew you'd say that," she said wearily.

"You have to remember, Sam, that I've also got to bear in mind what's best for the programme, here."

"I know," she assured him. "And I understand that."

"Number one," Jack emphasised, "is I retire."

Shaking her head, she said, "Sir, that isn't what's best for the programme. You're valuable, too."

"They can easily replace me," he pointed out.

"No-one out there has as much experience as you do, and you know it. Besides, if you ask me, you're not ready to retire just yet."

Jack lifted his hand to his head and ran his fingers through his hair thoughtfully. Frowning, feeling almost ashamed of what he was about to suggest and attempting it to put it forth in a way that implied he didn't approve, he ventured, "I take it you've considered going against the regulations?" Sam looked at him carefully. "You know… ignoring them?"

Perhaps she felt she was being tested. She sounded cautious, as she answered, "I didn't think you'd ever even consider that yourself."

"Consider, yes," said Jack. "Acting on it, no." Seemingly unable to stay away from her these days, he lightly touched her arm. "There's too much at stake."

"I know," she nodded, closing her eyes. "Our careers, importance, reputations…"

"It's not just that," he replied quietly. "It's rare, now, that I have to go into the field. But even remaining on the base, I'm supposed to value the lives of everyone under my command equally. If it was a choice between you and someone else, Sam, I'd already choose you. Think how much harder that would become if were in a fully-progressed relationship." He hesitated. "I don't think I'd be able to put duty over that, if we did go down that road."

The second nod confirmed his statements.

"There's also our dedication to the Air Force," Jack continued grimly. "In a way, we'd be having an affair, Sam, and I know you respect it just as much as I do."

"So," she smiled sadly, "we're still stuck, then?"

"For now," he answered, and was for a moment silent, before heaving a great sigh. "You can't tell anyone else this, but… I might be in for another promotion in a couple of months' time… Head of Homeworld Security."

Shocked, Sam's eyes widened. "Already?" she exclaimed. "You've only just been made Brigadier General!"

He shook his head slightly. "I wouldn't be moved up in rank, just position. Hammond told me—he's planning to retire and apparently I'd be the one they'd look to for the job. But nothing's official yet."

"You'd still be in the military," she observed sceptically.

"Yeah," agreed Jack, "so if we… you know, 'embarked on relationship', it'd still be frowned upon. But because I wouldn't be your direct CO, it wouldn't be illegal."

"I wouldn't want you to leave the SGC."

"The SGC would still have me," he assured lightly. "I'd just be further away."

"Washington," said Sam, disapproving.

He squeezed her hand, crushing her fingers in his palm. "A long distance relationship would be more than we'd ever have if I stay at the SGC."

"I…" She swallowed. "I'd miss you, though. Being there, every day."

Watching her for a moment, and releasing her, he thought he'd never seen anyone look so inwardly confused. It seemed as though a secretive wrestling match was taking place between her conflicting feelings.

"Look…" Jack spoke firmly and reassuringly. "What I'm trying to say is, let's just wait a few more months and see if Hammond does decide to retire. If he does, we can talk about things again then. Just a few more months. All right?"

Sam smiled again weakly. "Sounds like a plan."

"Hey," he said gently, and she looked up at him with a masked expression. "We will end up happy. Okay?"

"I know," she murmured. "I hate myself for saying this, but… I think it'd be best to keep these next few months… formal… you know, no hugs, no in-depth conversations like this one… it'll be easier, that way."

"I thought my friendship was priceless?"

"It is," she insisted, strongly, "but just knowing it's there, knowing you care… it's enough for me… for now, anyway."

Knowing she was probably right—well, it was Carter, if not perfect, she was nearly always right—he agreed kindly, already absorbing the knowledge that a few months was actually a long time when you were waiting for something special. And this was something more special than Christmas for an excited child when it was still the end of September.

"And you wanna come to Hetora, next week?"

"Yeah," said Sam briskly, appearing, once again, defensive.

Sighing, he gave in. "Fine," he allowed. "If you're sure—if you think you've moved on now—you can come. But think hard and long about your state of mind, first, yes?"

"I promise, Jack," she said very softly. "Thank you."

"Good," remarked Jack gruffly. "Now, whadda ya say we go do the other thing we came here to do?"

When she raised her eyebrows, oblivious, he clucked his tongue in disappointment as he got to his feet. "Don't even tell me you don't know what I'm on about…"

"Jack, I don't know what you're on about," she smiled.

Grinning, he went to the window and pointed outside to the pond, their chairs still standing on the deck above the water.

"Time to go fishing, Carter!"

He heard a groan behind him as he made for the door, and smirked… but it quickly faded in the following seconds as his 2IC called, "Oh, and one more thing!"

Jack turned around and found she was stood facing him. A dirty smirk of her own spread across her slender cheeks.

"Just one?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

She began to walk past him in the doorway, and as she brushed his shoulder, commented, "Nice ass, sir!"

And then she was gone. Well, he supposed he should really be thankful. Although he'd half turned around when she'd opened the door to the bathroom yesterday morning, he'd been sure he'd still had his back to her. It was a blessing she hadn't seen anything more than his bare butt… or had she? His smile dropped in a heartbeat and, cheeks slightly reddened in a rare show of O'Neill embarrassment, he hurried after the one woman in life he would have to wait several months for.

And as he went to fetch the fishing lines—the bait, the hooks, the beer—the simple things in life which he enjoyed so much—he never suspected how eventful those several long months would actually turn out to be.

Nor how challenging.

Phew. Reviews for this one would be great… thanks. :)