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Several days later:

Sam sat up carefully, appreciating Teal'c's strong arm around her waist as he and Daniel helped her settle into a wheelchair. She'd woken up fully six days ago from a very odd radiation sickness to find the Colonel's untidy silver head lying next to her abdomen and her hand held tightly in his large warm one.

During the first few days of her recovery, he'd made a number of visits that she'd enjoyed very much – he was witty and good company when he wanted to be – but then he had claimed the pressures of paperwork. And he'd effectively disappeared into thin air the last couple of days.

She snorted slightly. Paperwork. Right.

She knew the man worked hard. He spent a lot of time on the base – almost as much as she did – and his work always got done. Yet he'd perfected the art of seeming like he did nothing – always appearing to have plenty of time for his favorite game of 'bug the astrophysicist', followed closely by his second favorite: 'bug the archeologist'.

He was acting oddly, even by his own eccentric standards. But Sam was too tired to deal with her CO's peculiarities. She just wanted to go home and sleep in a real bed. Without beeping equipment and penlights.

"Major." Jonas Quinn walked in. "How are you today?"

"Good, thanks," Sam told the young Kelownan. "How was the mission?"

"Quiet – no Goa'uld activity," Jonas said. He'd been posted temporarily to SG-2 while Lieutenant Carlson was out with the flu, and seemed to be settling in well with Colonel Ferretti. He was less … ebullient than he'd been when he'd served with SG-1, still suffering from his people's open rejection of him, but was becoming reacquainted with his former comrades.

"That's good. Colonel Ferretti's pleased with you, from what I hear," Sam said, smiling at the young man as Daniel began pushing her wheelchair out of the Infirmary, holding an animated conversation with Teal'c.

Jonas went a light pink. "I'm glad," he said simply. "I like working with SG-2, and I'm starting to get used to the Colonel's sense of humor."

"Ah, just remember, Jonas; the man's full of shit," Colonel O'Neill said lightly, strolling out of the elevator. "Keep that in mind, and you'll do fine." He gave Sam a cheeky grin. "I see they've finally busted you outta there!" he pointed out.

"Hail, Prince of the obvious," Sam said, returning the cheeky grin. There was just something about the man – no matter how blue she felt, he could always cheer her up with one of his asinine quips.

"Smart ass," the Colonel said, nudging her gently and winking. "That's my job."

Sam laughed again – she'd missed his snarky comments the last couple of days. "Of course," she said. "Sorry, sir – wouldn't want to step on your turf."

"Better," he said. "So … where to, milady?"

"Home," Sam said, leaning her head back and seeing a brown hand near her right shoulder as the Colonel walked along beside her. If she just … tilted her head … ever so slightly … she could press a kiss to that warm hand.

Not that she would. No matter how great the temptation.

And she tried to ignore the little voice inside of her making chicken noises.

Her CO slapped Daniel on the back, causing the linguist to flinch then glare at him. "You heard the lady, Daniel!"

"Jack, you are such an ass," Daniel complained.

"Why, thank you, Daniel," Jack said sarcastically, then smirked at Carter. "He likes me really," he confided.

"Really, sir," she said skeptically.

"Oh yeah," Jack replied confidently. "My charm and effervescence could light up the whole of Vegas."

"You are so full of shit," Sam muttered, but couldn't stop herself from grinning. God … he was off the charts adorable!

Jack snickered. "Ah, it's the Irish in me," he said in a horrible attempt at an Irish brogue. "I kissed the Blarney Stone when I was just a lad."

"Yeah." Sam winced. "Name and distant ancestry aside, you're about as Irish as Thor."

Jack O'Neill was not a stupid man – despite the act he now knew no-one bought – but sometimes he could be a complete ass.

After the realization of his feelings for Sam and some pointed comments by Daniel of all people, he'd avoided her for several days with the lame excuse of paperwork. But he'd missed her. Missed the quiet conversations over the latest commissary delight, missed the comfortable silences they could fall into, missed the flirtatious repartee.

Okay. He was a sap. He could live with that.

He knew nothing could ever happen between them while they were still in the same chain of command. And by the time they weren't, he'd be too old and addled – if he wasn't already – to appeal to a bright beautiful woman like Sam.

So … he'd decided that he would just enjoy her friendship.

And that had led to him coming along for her liberation from the Infirmary.

She looked much better than she had a couple days previous. Her eyes were bright, a faint flush brightened her creamy skin and her full lips curved as she laughed at something Jonas said.

God … she really was beautiful. Why the hell was she alone? Maybe he could start scouting around for her.

He dismissed that thought as quickly as it had occurred. Not a good idea. They'd become good friends lately, and he didn't want to end up on her shit list.

"Ow … crap!" he griped as the wheelchair clipped him in the ankle. "God, Daniel; you can't steer worth shit," he added, shoving his friend unceremoniously away and taking the wheelchair himself. "Huh; I wonder how fast these babies can go?" he mused, picking up speed.

"Don't even think about it," Sam ordered. "Sir." Then gave him a wide Sam Carter smile – the one that he liked to think told him he was adorable rather than an immature idiot.

"Too late," he told the woman, then shot off along the corridor, pushing a giggling Sam Carter toward the elevators. "Make a hole!" he shouted to a bunch of startled SFs.

They looked at him like he'd finally lost it as they scattered, but Jack didn't care. So what if he was immature? Jack O'Neill had seen things, done things, experienced things that no-one should have to. He could so easily have become a user, a taker. It was only by indulging in moments of stupidity that he could keep the darkness from swallowing him whole.

So if he wanted to push an astrophysicist around in a wheelchair at near light speed, he wasn't going to stop himself!

"Colonel O'Neill!"

But that would stop him.

"General," he said quickly. "Sorry, sir; won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," the General said gruffly, over Sam's giggles.

Jack forced himself to move at a more sedate pace away from the irked General. And could have sworn he heard the older man chuckle.

Nahhhhhhhhhh.

Daniel shook his head at the older man's antics. God … he could be so immature, so child-like. This happy, cheerful Jack was a far cry from the bitter sarcastic man Daniel had met eight years ago. Back then, he'd been near suicidal due to his son's death, but Skaara's and Daniel's friendship had helped pull him back from the brink.

But Daniel knew that it was the tight relationship of SG-1 that had really brought the Colonel back to the land of the living. And especially the close friendship – the love – he shared with one Major Samantha Carter.

Jonas nudged him. "When did they start being so flirtatious?" he asked.

Daniel shrugged. "A few weeks before you came back to Earth," he said. He figured something must have happened to Sam while she was on the Prometheus. She'd … changed. Had become a lot more outgoing and much more of a smart ass.

"It's a shame they can't be together," Jonas said earnestly, unwittingly echoing Daniel's own sentiments on the matter. "Couldn't an … exception be made for them? I mean; they've saved this world and dozens of others so many times!"

Daniel felt a headache coming on. "Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that," he said. "To gain an exemption from the fraternization rules would mean some very pointed questions being asked about what we do under this mountain."

"Ah." Jonas grimaced. "I sometimes forget the Stargate's still a secret here." He frowned. "What about Sam becoming a civilian?"

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Jonas; you've been watching too much television," he said. "Even as a civilian on SG-1, she'd still be under Jack's direct command. The frat regs apply to civilians too, in those cases."

And since when had he learned so much about the military's code of conduct?

"Too bad." Jonas frowned again. "So, the only way is for one of them to leave the SGC …".

At which point, whoever left would no longer have clearance to know what the other did for a living, and the strain of keeping such huge secrets would permanently mar if not destroy any relationship. Daniel had seen many relationships crumble because of the secrecy surrounding the SGC. In fact, he'd broken up with his last girlfriend because of it.

Daniel shook his head and focused. "Right. Which they're not willing to do. They know they're still needed here." He sighed. He could admire that kind of dedication, but they could have had something so special. Sometimes he thought they should literally screw the regs, but he knew that they were too honorable to do something like that – no matter how strong the attraction.

"Daniel Jackson, Jonas Quinn," Teal'c interrupted. "We should not be discussing matters like this in public." He indicated a passing Marine. "Shall we adjourn this discussion to my quarters?"

Right. "Good idea," Daniel said a little sheepishly.

An hour later:

Sam wobbled as Jack helped her out of his big truck and he caught her round the waist, letting her rest against him for a brief, but pleasurable, moment. "You okay there, Sam?" he inquired.

Sam drew in a deep breath, willing the spots to go away, then nodded her head. "Yeah; just went dizzy for a second," she said.

Ohhhh, his hands feel so good on my waist!

Sam shifted uncomfortably and Jack dropped his hands as if they'd burned her. "Your palace, milady," he said, bowing in a vaguely medieval fashion.

Sam laughed, the sudden tension dispelled. "Thank you, good sir," she said. "I'm not quite up to a curtsy, but how about a cup of coffee?"

"Now that," her CO said, unlocking her front door and ushering her in, "I won't say no to." He held up his hand. "But I'll make my coffee. And you … you're having decaf."

"Sir …," Sam protested.

"A-ah! Doctor's orders, Carter!" the man said.

"Oh, and you're such a stickler for following Janet's rules, aren't you?" Sam laughed, but allowed the man to steer her to her settee and settle her there.

"Of course." Jack put a hand to his heart and fluttered his unfairly long eyelashes at her. "Innocence personified, that's me."

Sam let out a distinctly unladylike snort at that outrageous declaration, and thanked whatever gods were around that she hadn't been drinking anything – it was sure to have come out of her nose. "Sure, sir," she said. "And the Goa'uld have decided to stop decorating like a Vegas casino."

"It could happen!" Jack protested. Then gave her a trademark smirk. "Nah," he pronounced.

Sam couldn't resist – she reached over and patted his cheek. "Aww, you're funny, sir," she said. "And you need a shave."

His dark eyes twinkled and he snickered. "So, the hobo look doesn't work for me."

Sam tilted her head to one side and examined the man's unusual, handsome features. "No; not so much," she pronounced. She patted his cheek again. "Anyway; I could swear you were going to make coffee."

"Right," he said, but made no move.

"So move it, Airman!" she teased.

"Hey, you're ordering around a superior officer there, Major!" Jack grumbled good-naturedly, but got up nevertheless.

She watched him saunter over to her kitchen – no-one did a sexy saunter quite like that man – and begin to bang around. "You don't like taking orders from women, sir?" she inquired.

Jack's head disappeared into the refrigerator for a couple of seconds as he retrieved the can of coffee grounds. Then she heard him snicker. "Oh, in some places, Major, it's fine!" he taunted.

Then she distinctly heard him mumble: "Like the bedroom."

And her mind was instantly filled with all sorts of erotic imagery. Jack writhing naked underneath her, a sexy low moan rumbling out of his sweat-damp chest as she rode him to a …

Sam fanned herself rapidly with her hand. Damn; was it getting hot in here?

Jesus, O'Neill! Whatcha have to say that for?, Jack mourned as his mind was instantly assaulted by naughty images. Him writhing underneath Sam's nude slim body, moaning as she …

He shook his head quickly, then looked downward. Yep; hard again, he noted ruefully. He concentrated on boner-killing images.

Dead puppies, Goa'uld, Maybourne in a tutu …

Yeah; that did it.

He breathed out heavily in relief, then filled up the two coffee cups, staring at the contents mournfully. God, what idiot came up with the idea of taking the best stuff out of the coffee?

"Coffee's up, Sam!" he said, taking the coffee into the living room and handing one over to her.

"Thanks, sir," she said, with a small grimace. She was about as fond of decaf as he was.

"We're on down-time, Sam," he reminded her.

"Right, Jack." And now she leveled him with one of her giant beaming Sam Carter-esque smiles. "You know … I've really enjoyed the friendship we've had lately," she said.

"Me too," he told her. "I don't want that horrible awkwardness we had after the whole Xanax thing."

"Jack …," she protested mildly over his usual mangling of alien words.

"Zatarc," he humored her. "That whole situation just sucked." God, he was no linguist, but he could have come up with something better than that!

"Yeah," Sam agreed softly, some of the animation leaving her eyes. Doubtless she was remembering her role in Martouf's death.

Jack had his issues with the Tok'ra – they were Goa'uld, after all – but he'd come to trust Martouf after their experiences on Netu. Lantash …? Not so much. But Martouf had seemed to genuinely care for Sam – not just as a former host to Jolinar – and had treated SG-1 with respect even when disagreeing with them. Aside from Jacob, he was the only Tok'ra who didn't seem to view them as primitives.

He heard a small sniffle come from Sam's direction, and remembered that Fraiser had warned that she would be a little more emotional while she recovered from her coma. "C'mere, Sam," he muttered, sliding a gentle arm around her shoulders and giving her a hug.

Sam hated feeling so emotional, so vulnerable. She was a Major in the US Air Force, for crying out loud! And she thought she'd dealt with her grief for Martouf years ago. But sometimes Jolinar's memories of him would hit her, and she would grieve all over again – both as Sam his friend and as Jolinar his lover's symbiote.

She snuggled into Jack's embrace, appreciating the comfort. He was so warm, so caring … Nothing like the hard-ass she'd imagined him to be when she'd been preparing to meet him all those years ago.

As they were sitting side by side, he couldn't give her a full Jack hug, but she turned and dropped her head onto his shoulder, ducking her face into his neck. "Thanks, Jack," she mumbled, taking in his distinctive scent. A subtle, slightly spicy, cologne that mingled very nicely with his own natural scent.

She'd know he was around even if she was blind and deaf – simply by his great smell. Ever since her blending with Jolinar, her senses had become more acute, and she could identify each of her team-mates by their scent alone.

Not that she would ever tell them that – she could only imagine the plethora of 'sniffer dog' cracks that would come from her smart ass CO!

She took in another deep breath then, unable to resist, brushed a very faint kiss over the soft skin of his neck.

"You're welcome, Sam," Jack said, releasing her from the embrace and reaching out for his coffee once more. He took a sip, then grimaced, setting it back down on the table. His tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip, then: "Sam …," he added huskily, regarding her thoughtfully with those deep brown pools.

"Yes?" God, he had such beautiful eyes!

He leaned slowly over and she moistened her lips nervously as his hovered near hers …

And then the telephone rang.