A/N: This chapter has a TW for a PTSD nightmare and harassment from law enforcement.
Sam was pinned down, immobilized as Pete pressed a heavy boot into her damaged thigh. The pain was excruciating; it froze her more than the ice forming on her skin. The scene changed. It was Jack on the ground of the Antarctica outpost, slowly dying. Sam watched in helpless horror as Pete appeared, looming over Jack…
"NO!!!" Sam screamed, thrashing in bed, frantically trying to reach Jack in time.
"Sam!" Jack grunted as she grazed a sensitive spot between his legs.
He'd been awake for the last hour, content to hold her while she slept on top of him, so he had felt the marked change in her as the nightmare began. He'd been hoping she'd wake up, knowing it was best not to jar her out of sleep. But she was trapped in the dream.
Worried she would injure her wrist or thigh, Jack pinned her to his body, desperately trying to keep her safe from self-injury. "Dammit, Carter!" He bit out as her knee jerked upward, nailing him in the groin.
"Jack?" She stilled, blinking up at him as he grimaced in pain.
"You were dreaming," he told her with a gruff voice. "I was afraid you'd rip your thigh or whack your wrist on something."
"Did I hurt you?" She glanced downward, then bit her lip, drawing a groan from Jack for an entirely different reason. "Sorry," she wrinkled her nose and offered a sheepish smile, realizing what she'd done.
Jack's chest vibrated lightly with a suppressed chuckle. The movement drew Sam's attention to the way she was plastered against him. Usually, she liked to sleep apart from a bed partner; preferring not to snuggle. But with Jack, she found herself drawn to him, like iron to a magnet. With Pete—she tensed at the thought.
"Hey," Jack squeezed her gently. "Where'd you go?"
"It's nothing," she shook her head, unwilling to give in to the fear tickling her brain.
Jack frowned at her but said nothing.
"What time is it?" She changed the subject and stretched as much as her battered body would allow.
"Around ten-ish," he replied, finally loosening his grip.
"Really?" She asked incredulously. Even after pulling all nighters she had a hard time sleeping past eight.
"You needed rest," Jack shrugged, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. With a grace that belied his age, Sam watched as he crossed the room and pulled on a blue and grey bathrobe. "Bathroom?" He asked, holding out a hand.
"What, no door-to-door service?" She joked, grasping his hand firmly and pulling herself into a standing position.
"I assumed I wouldn't get away with it during the light of day," he grasped her hips to steady her.
"You assumed correctly," she huffed out a breath as she tested weight against her thigh.
"Although, I wouldn't mind a human crutch."
"Whatever the lady desires," Jack said, shifting so he was fully supporting her injured side.
Hobbling to the bathroom, it struck Sam how easy this all was with him. There was no awkwardness around their state of dress, no hesitation on his part as he waited for her to lower her pants, then settled her onto the toilet seat.
"Call me when you're done," he said simply, stepping back into the bedroom.
When she called for him a few minutes later, he returned fully dressed in jeans and a navy blue t-shirt. She noted with some mirth that he was barefoot.
"What?" He arched an eyebrow at her giggle.
"Nothing," she giggled again before relenting. "You have cute feet."
"Cute…feet?"
"Well yah," she felt her cheeks warm. "I've very rarely seen you barefoot. Not since—"
"I remember," he finished the sentence, then glanced at her feet. "Hmm," he hummed.
"What?" She laughed as he examined her.
"Nothing," he quirked an eyebrow then shook his head.
"What?" She asked more seriously, looking at her own feet. They looked normal to her. "Jack!" She playfully punched his shoulder at his continued examination.
"It's just that, Sam," he placed an arm on her shoulder in a supportive manner and took a deep breath. "You have big feet."
"I—" she sputtered as laughter consumed her. Jack O'Neill thought her feet were big. Her feet.
"Don't you wear a size twelve?"
"Thirteen," he shrugged.
"Right. I wear a size nine in women's, which converts to around a seven in men's," she scoffed. Her feet were not huge.
"What's the average shoe size of an American female?" He looked at her expectantly.
"You think I know that?" She countered.
"You don't?"
"It's a nine in the United States but a seven across the globe," she finally answered under the scrutiny of his stare. He smirked at her. "Relatively speaking," she shrugged. "I'm simply average."
"Samantha," he emphasized her name and grinned at her. "There is absolutely nothing average about you and that includes your feet."
Sam was trying to process the way her heart tumbled in her chest at his words when a knock sounded at the door.
"Mr. O'Neill, CSPD. Open up!"
Sam's hand grasped Jack's, her entire body going rigid as the lighthearted moment vanished.
"Oh god," she whispered.
"Stay calm," Jack ordered. "You've done nothing wrong." He crossed to the door and pulled it open.
"Good morning," Jack said cheerfully, sizing up the two officers gracing his doorway. The first was a dumpy-looking man with short brown hair. He appeared to be in his early forties. The other officer was a red-headed woman who was around thirty.
"Mr. O'Neill?" The man asked.
"Colonel," Jack replied.
"Ahh," the man nodded as if that explained something. "Have you seen a Ms. Samantha Carter?"
"It's Major," Jack said.
"Excuse me?"
" Major Samantha Carter," Jack said sharply. "My second-in-command. And yes, she's inside."
"We'd like to speak with her," the female officer said.
"Hey, Carter?" Jack made a show of calling to her over his shoulder. "You feel like chattin' to these policemen—err—police officers," he flashed a smile to the female officer who smiled back.
"Sure," Sam answered. "But you'll have to help me."
"Carter is injured pretty badly," Jack said, leaving the door open so they could watch him help Sam. "Gimme a minute."
Stay calm , Jack told Sam with his eyes, then pulled her onto her good leg and played human crutch again as she hobbled to the door. Once there, Jack kept his arm around her waist, despite the dark look from the male officer.
"Hello officers," Sam greeted them, not trying to hide any pain.
"Ma'am," the male officer tilted his hat. "A buddy of mine at the precinct is worried about you. Says you disappeared last night."
"I'm assuming you mean Pete," Sam barely kept the disgust out of her voice.
"Yes, ma'am, Pete Shanahan," the female officer confirmed. "He's afraid you may be in danger."
"I'm not," Sam said simply.
"According to Detective Shanahan, you became disoriented last night and fled his residence," the woman added, eyeing Sam carefully.
"That's not true," Sam countered. "I did leave my home in the middle of the night, but after a domestic dispute. I came here and I plan on staying here until Mr. Shanahan vacates my residence."
"I see," the woman said.
"Do you have proof of this domestic dispute?" The male officer asked, drawing a warning glare from the woman.
"Do I need it?" Sam countered, feeling Jack's arm tighten around her.
"No," the woman replied sharply, giving the man a side-eyed look.
"If you are accusing a police officer of domestic violence," the man said, his voice almost a growl.
There it is , Sam thought as she watched the police officer's entire demeanor change. That right there is exactly why she didn't want to go through proper police channels to deal with this.
"Carl!" The woman reprimanded. "I'm sorry, ma'am," she apologized. "If you'd like to file a police report, please contact me," she handed Sam her card.
"Thank you," Sam told her sincerely. "Please convey to Mr. Shanahan that I would like him off my property as soon as possible."
"Immediately," Jack interjected. "Tell him to leave immediately."
"You can't—" the man started to object.
"That property belongs solely to Major Carter," Jack's voice left no room for argument. "Shanahan has no right to be there."
"We'll let him know," the woman said, all but pulling the man off of Jack's porch. "Good day, Major. Colonel."
Sam sagged against Jack as soon as the door was closed. Her leg was throbbing from standing for so long, but there was no way in hell she was going to invite them into Jack's home just so she could sit down.
"Door-to-door service?" Jack offered, seeing her grimace of pain. At her nod, he scooped her up and carried her back to the couch.
"Thanks," she told him once she was settled.
"You handled yourself well," Jack told her with pride, crossing to the kitchen.
"Pete came at me when I was vulnerable," she said sharply. "I let him get under my skin. Let him make me feel alone and afraid."
"Carter, that's an understandable reaction," he said, pulling out a stainless steel skillet.
"He thinks I'm still scared," Sam realized. "That's why he sent them. He wants to scare me into coming back to him."
"Well, that's not going to work," Jack stated calmly as he fired up the stove and went about slicing vegetables for omelets.
"No, it won't. Because I'm not afraid anymore. Now I'm pissed."