Thanks to everyone for the great reviews. I hope I've replied to all the signed ones at least. For those I might have missed (slap my wrists) and to the unsigned reviewers, a big honkin' thank you!

"Carter?" With a swift easy movement, Jack caught at his sinking 2IC before she could hit the unforgiving ground and scooped up her form. She was surprisingly light for such a tall and strong woman.

She blinked slowly up at him. "Jack?"

Jack? He wondered irrelevantly if she always thought of him as 'Jack' when she was ill. Then he felt her forehead automatically and frowned when she turned her face into the warmth of his hand, shivering slightly. "Christ, Carter; you're half frozen," he noted disapprovingly. "Daniel, T; we're outta here," he announced, settling the barely-conscious Major more comfortably in his arms.

She sighed and turned her head, burying it in his neck, then he felt her eyelids flutter closed.

"Here, Jack O'Neill." Roisin dug in that capacious purse and produced a hunk of rock. "This is the mud in its non-viscous state – perhaps your medical people can use this to perfect a cure for her sickness."

"Ah …" – Jack looked around quickly, and Teal'c took the sample from Roisin, storing it in his backpack. "Thanks, T. Thanks, Roisin. Sorry to …".

"We understand, O'Neill," Lars said – never did get a last name for the couple, Jack noted. "Perhaps we may see each other again one day."

"Yeah. Maybe," Jack said. He nodded to the two adults then gave a quick smile to the adorable infant who had been watching the proceedings with wide eyes. "Bye, kiddo," he added.

Much to his surprise, she blew him a kiss, then giggled. "Bye-bye," she said, ducking her head into her mother's neck in an almost identical move to Sam's.

As the strangers walked away, Roisin stared thoughtfully at her husband. "The gray-headed one, Jack, is of the Ancients – why does he simply not heal his mate?"

"I sensed his power was diluted, my love," Lars said. "He may not even be aware of his origins." He smiled down at her. "You were not until I met you," he pointed out. "And I don't believe they are mated as we are – although the connection between them is powerful."

"They are not mated?" Roisin frowned. "But … that seems so wrong. They are very much in love."

"Yes," Lars agreed. "Something, however, constrains them." He smiled down at his beautiful wife of five summers. "A love like ours and theirs is rare – we can only hope that they will find each other one day."

Roisin shifted Maire more comfortably onto her hip, then leaned into her husband, kissing him softly on the lips and making their daughter giggle. "I love you, my husband," she said. "Let us go home."

Stargate Command:

"Off-world activation!"

General George S. Hammond jogged from his office into the control room with a speed that belied his stout frame. "Any teams due to report back?" he asked.

"No, sir." Sergeant Walter Harriman shook his head. "SG teams 4 and 7 are due to report in two hours, whilst SG-1 will make their first call in six hours."

"Receiving IDC," another tech confirmed. "General; it's SG-1's code."

Hammond got that sinking feeling he always got when a team – and SG-1 in particular – chose to report back early. "Open it," he told Harriman.

Harriman pressed his palm to the scanner, and the iris retracted. The wormhole whooshed out, then settled back, glinting invitingly.

And they waited.

Then Jack O'Neill stepped through the event horizon onto the ramp, with a limp bundle in his arms. A limp bundle that looked suspiciously like Major Carter.

"Medical team to the embarkation room!" Hammond barked into the intercom, then sped down to the embarkation room.

Generals weren't supposed to play favorites, but he had a special soft spot in his heart for the oddballs that made up his premier team. A civilian linguist, a rebel alien, a gun-toting astrophysicist and a former Special Forces Colonel who, General West had warned, came with two basic mood settings – surly and surlier.

West was a good soldier, but he could be blinkered – there was so much more to Jack O'Neill than his admittedly volatile and eccentric exterior.

Hammond shook his head and approached said Special Forces Colonel. "What happened, Colonel?" he asked the younger man.

O'Neill sat down at the edge of the ramp and hugged his unconscious 2IC closer to him. "She's … ah … freezing, sir," he said. He looked up and George caught a glimpse of anguish in the brown depths of his eyes before the shutters slammed down over them. "She fell into some mud that's got some microbe things in, and she's got an infection."

The door to the embarkation room opened, and Janet Fraiser and two of her orderlies sped in, pushing a gurney. "Put her on here, please, Colonel," she said.

"T," Jack barked suddenly, getting up and placing the Major gently on the gurney. "That mud sample."

Teal'c handed the sample over to one of the orderlies. "This is a hardened version of the mud with which Major Carter came into contact," the big Jaffa said in his usual placid tones. But his anxiety was betrayed by the faint frown, and the rapid jerking of the muscle along his jaw line.

Hammond watched as the diminutive doctor disappeared with the gurney, knowing that he would have to wait for an explanation. "Report to the Infirmary, SG-1 – we'll debrief later," he said.

"Yes, sir," Jack said, his eyes snapping back in Hammond's direction. He handed his P90 to one of the SFs, then hurried out of the embarkation room, followed closely by Daniel and Teal'c.

Hammond closed his eyes briefly as he thought about the agonized look on his 2IC's face. He'd known for a while that Samantha Carter and Jack O'Neill cared for each other – had feelings that fell outside those proscribed by the UCMJ …

But just when the hell had Jack fallen in love with her?

Cold.

She was so cold.

And everything hurt.

Then she felt the presence.

That presence that had warmed her earlier.

The presence was speaking to her, but she couldn't understand.

Then she felt it touch her.

And all was well again. She sighed and allowed herself to fall asleep, basking in the warmth of the presence.

Jack put a hand to his 2IC's forehead, frowning as she nuzzled up against the small source of warmth. God, she was so cold! That just wasn't normal for an infection.

Shit.

What if it wasn't a bacterial infection?

What if it was radiation?

In one of his more dubious endeavors during his Black Ops days, Jack had been required to learn about bacteriological and radiation warfare. And he'd learned well. More than he'd ever wanted to know.

In fact, he could probably teach a med school class on the topic.

"Ah … Doc?" he said. No; don't say it. She'll have run tests for it! But he couldn't even obey his own orders. "Have you checked for … ah … radiation poisoning?"

Be wrong, be wrong, be wrong, he begged of himself.

"We have, Colonel," the tiny Doctor told him gently but firmly. "The sample was dissolved and gave off no radiation."

"That we know of," Jack muttered pessimistically. Then his brain seemed to decide that it was sick of being hidden for so long. "What about the naqadah in her blood? Could one of the elements in the mud have bonded with the naqadah?"

Be wrong, be wrong, be wrong. And the litany continued.

Janet looked up at him thoughtfully, chewing on her bottom lip. "We'll investigate it, Colonel," she said. She patted his arm. "And, at some point, we'll discuss how much you really understand about my work."

Damn.

Crap.

His cover was so blown.

Then he gave a small smile.

If it brought Carter back to health, it was so worth it.

And she was cold again.

She mewled in discontent, her body instinctively seeking out the presence.

And the presence was with her once more, surrounding her with warmth, caring and a familiar comfort.

The presence spoke to her but, as before, she didn't understand. But she was happy that it was there. She could rest with the presence.

Janet Fraiser watched as Colonel O'Neill sat next to Sam's bed, his head propped on a hand, dozing uncomfortably. He was going to have one hell of a bad back when he awoke, but she knew that nothing short of a Presidential order would get him out of there.

Stubborn son of a bitch.

She rubbed her hands across her eyes, trying to massage away the tiredness. It was so hard for her to watch a friend in pain and know that there was nothing she could do to help. Her team were still running tests on the soil sample, cross-checking it against a small sample of naqadah obtained from Sam's latest blood draw. Until those results came in, all Janet could do was alleviate Sam's discomfort.

She went over to the bed where Sam lay so still, so silent, the shudders racking her slim frame the only indication that she was still alive. Janet looked at her temperature and noted it had slipped again. Damn it.

Sam was in danger of developing hypothermia if her temp slipped any lower. All the treatments Janet had available were not warming her up, and the only peace Sam had seemed to experience was during the brief contacts with the Colonel.

Janet shook her head as a thought occurred to her. It was crazy, it was unprofessional, it could open up a can of worms that no-one was ready for. But it just might work. And if it made Sam more comfortable …

She put a hand gently to the Colonel's shoulder and shook it lightly, then skipped quickly out of the way. She knew he slept on a hair trigger most of the time and had experienced his razor-sharp reflexes once too often. "Colonel?" she said softly.

He sat up with a small groan for his back. He was strong and healthy, had the fitness levels of someone fifteen years younger – but sleeping in a hard plastic chair would hurt anyone. "Doc?" he mumbled.

"She's losing warmth again, sir," Janet said. "In fact, the only time her temperature spiked was when she came into physical contact with you."

"Doc … That's crazy," the Colonel said, seeming to make the connection instantly. And, once again, Janet wondered at how much of his intelligence the Colonel kept hidden.

When he wasn't wreaking havoc in her Infirmary, Janet liked and respected the man. Who he was, what he'd done for the country, the world, the galaxy.

But right now? With his hair at all angles and his brown eyes sleepy and vulnerable … Frankly, he was adorable.

"Perhaps," she admitted, pushing the unprofessional thought aside, "but it's true. Indulge me, sir. Take her hand."

Eyeing her warily – like she was about to flash her penlight in his eyes – he took Sam's hand in his large one.

And Sam sighed and snuggled into her pillow, her breathing coming a little easier.

And the Colonel and the Doctor watched on the monitor as Sam's temperature elevated.

"Holy … crap," the Colonel muttered, squeezing Sam's hand.

And she was warm again.

But more so than previously. Now the presence touched her, soothed her, wrapped around her. He …? – yes, he … warmed her. He was warm, caring, loving and nurturing.

But not a father.

She was confused. He was a father. Or had been. But he was not her father.

For some reason, that distinction was important to her.

The presence – the man – spoke again.

And this time she could understand him.

"Holy … crap."

She felt a squeezing motion, and returned it.

And the presence spoke to her again, cajoling her to join him. But she was so tired …

Jack's battered old heart lurched when he felt a small squeeze of his fingers. "Sam?" he said. "Wake up, will ya?"

"Too tired," his 2IC whispered – and he could detect the grumpiness in her tone. That tone that indicated that he was about five seconds away from a naqadah bomb up the ass.

"She's back," he said to the Doc, a small smirk pulling at his lips at the familiar Carter's-just-woken-up grouchies. She never really kicked into gear till after her second cup of coffee.

"Warm," Sam whispered, clutching more desperately to his hand as he made to pull away. "Warm."

"We can't let her get distressed, Colonel," Janet said. "I'll work around you."

"Okay." He stroked Sam's soft cheek with his other hand. "I'm not goin' anywhere, okay, Carter?"

She turned her face and pressed a sweet kiss into the palm of his hand. "Warm," she murmured once more, then took a deep breath and relaxed.

Leaving Jack O'Neill with a tingling palm and a stunned guppy expression on his face.

Crap. Just when the hell had he fallen in love with her?

Talk about deep shit.

Several days later:

Sam opened her eyes and looked around blankly. Then she realized where she was. The Infirmary.

She felt something warm on her and looked down. It was the Colonel's large hand clutching tightly to hers. His untidy silver head rested on the bed near her abdomen and she winced in sympathy – that had to be murder on his neck.

She moved her free hand and stroked some of the silver hair – it was surprisingly soft and slithered through her fingers like the finest silk.

A groan came from the man and he lifted his head, blinking sleepily at her. "You're awake," he told her.

"I noticed," she said, then coughed, surprised at how dry her throat was.

Her CO let go of her hand – and she felt an immediate sense of loss – and sat up, dislodging her fingers from his hair. She blushed when he raised his eyebrows, and was thankful when he didn't call her on it.

"Thirsty?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," she said briefly.

"Doc! She's awake!" the Colonel said.

Janet came tip-tapping over to the bed, smiling warmly at Sam. "Good to have you back, Sam," she said, giving Jack a cup full of ice chips.

"Did I go somewhere?" Sam asked, resigning herself to letting the Colonel feed her. She could barely lift her head. She sucked eagerly at the ice chips, enjoying the moisture that lubricated her sore throat.

"You've been unconscious for three days, Carter," her CO said, digging the spoon in the cup and giving her more ice chips. "Seems that mud did some weird reaction thing with your blood and sent you off to la-la land." He waved his hand at the doctor. "Napoleon here has been working round the clock trying to figure it out." He beamed innocently at Janet.

Janet scowled at the Colonel and Sam giggled. "We tried a number of different remedies, but it was actually the Colonel who suggested that something in the mud could have bonded with the naqadah in your system."

Sam blinked. The Colonel? Yes, he was highly intelligent, but she'd never thought of him as a scientist. Then she caught that cute little 'busted' look he did. "Sir?" she said around a yawn.

"Need to know, Carter," Jack said and patted her hand. He mock-glared at Janet. "You know; you've just blown my dumb-ass reputation right out of the water."

"No-one bought the act anyway, Colonel," Sam said around another yawn.

"Ah." The Colonel looked startled. "Kay," he added agreeably. "Well, Sleeping Beauty; seems like you need another siesta." He got up, with a groan for his back and neck, and stretched.

Which gave Sam a highly enjoyable view of a flat tanned stomach as his tee shirt rode upward. Jack O'Neill was so sexy, and it was all unconscious. He looked great, moved great and smelled great.

"Okay," Sam said, dragging her mind out of the sewer. "I am a bit sleepy," she admitted.

"Then sleep, Sam," Janet said. "We'll talk later, okay, honey?"

"All right." Janet went off to her office, leaving Sam staring up at her CO. "Sir … you need rest too," she said. If she knew him, he'd probably spent much of the last three days in that hard chair.

"Yeah," Jack said, stretching again. He bent his long frame and brushed some hair out of Sam's eyes. "Sleep well," he said. "We want you back on SG-1, kicking ass."

Sam snickered. "Yes, sir," she said, and watched as he strolled out of the Infirmary, hands shoved in his pockets.

She was surprised at the immediate sharp sense of loss she felt. Like she'd lost a piece of herself.

Crap. Just when the hell had she fallen in love with him?