AN: ok, so this story has been something like godot, so I decided to give you a really long part and put an end to the godot-ness of the whole thing. Enjoy!

Chapter Thirteen

Jack's eyes widened and Carter watched as he swallowed hard. She was quite pleased with herself when he took a long sip of his beer, knowing he was using it as a chance to gather his thoughts. Then he cleared his throat, being careful not to look at her. "So, dinner?"

Carter smiled at him innocently. "You don't want your backrub?"

"Later." He stood up and went to the kitchen, but she could hear him muttering. "Something tells me I'm going to need the energy."

She'd always heard it was mean to tease, but she'd never known how much fun it was. Besides, she told herself, she wasn't teasing if she had every intention of going through with it. She followed him out to the kitchen, watching as he started dinner. She stared in awe. Not only did he know how to take care of a baby, but he could cook too. He was a keeper.

Jack turned around suddenly and stared at her.

"Please tell me I didn't say that out loud." If she did, she was taking the knife right out of his hand and doing herself in.

"Say what out loud? You didn't say anything."

"Oh, thank God." Carter closed her eyes and warned herself against thinking anymore thoughts like keeping her CO around as a servant. A very attractive servant. And a love slave. She shook her head, willing the thoughts away.

"Carter?"

She opened her eyes. "I didn't say that either, did I?"

He looked confused as he set a pile of vegetables in front of her. "Make a salad, would you?"

"Yes, sir." It was instinct - when something sounded like an order, she responded in kind. She picked up the knife to start cutting the carrots.

His hand stilled hers. "I'm sorry."

She looked up, resolving that she wasn't going to tell him that she really liked the way his hand felt over hers. In fact, if she didn't think about it, she wouldn't even have to worry about accidentally saying it. "For what?"

"That wasn't an order. I didn't mean for it to sound like one."

Of all the men she'd dated, almost all of them liked to tell her what to do. She never let them get away with it, especially if he fully expected her compliance. Jack was her CO and it was perfectly understandable that he was used to giving her orders, the same as she was used to taking them. So she really liked discovering that he didn't get off on ordering her around. She smiled at him. "Sorry, force of habit."

He didn't move his hand from hers. "You don't have to. You made lunch. I'll make dinner."

"Jack, it's ok. I can help with dinner."

He looked nervous as he turned back to the pasta. His voice was soft, lending more credence to his words. "You don't have to do what I tell you. Not here. Not like this." He glanced back at her and she swore she loved him more for it.

She grinned. "I'll remember that next time we go to the grocery store."

Rather than laughing like she'd intended, he looked even guiltier. "Were you really mad? I thought you were just kidding."

She shook her head, marveling at just how insecure such a strong, confident man could be. "No, I wasn't kidding. But I am now."

"I'm not so good at reading you, am I?"

"You've never made a mistake reading me in the field. You're not used to me outside of work. I'm sure we'll both make mistakes."

He stirred the pasta for a few minutes, deep in thought. "So if I've been dead wrong about everything you've said today, I should just assume you meant the opposite of everything I thought you meant and then we'll be on the same page."

Carter snickered as she tossed the salad. "No, because I'll never be on a page that's that complicated in a relationship. If you don't know, ask. Otherwise, we're just going to wind up fighting."

Jack went back to cooking dinner. Once carter was done with the salad, she went to check on Cheyenne. When Jack brought the food into the dining room, Carter grabbed the dishes and set their places. She didn't comment on how well they seemed to work as a team; she chalked it up to how well they'd always worked as a team. It had nothing to do with the situation.

"I meant to tell you earlier, Janet can give us a birth certificate. She'll take care of all the paperwork as soon as she gets our ok."

He seemed terribly domestic as he poured out plates of spaghetti for both of them. "You could have done that, Carter."

"I know." She felt stupid admitting it, but she felt compelled to explain herself, especially when she thought about how stupid he had to feel about misreading her. "I just thought you should be there too."

He glances up at her, his face more open than she'd ever seen, as a smile spread across his lips. "Really?"

"You are her father." She grinned, glad she'd made the right choice. "Besides, I don't know your middle name."

"Janet could have looked it up." He grinned as he got them each a bottle of water; they both knew that wasn't the point. "Patrick." Then he stood there next to his chair smiling.

She didn't know why he was staring at her. "What?"

He nodded at her chair. "Ladies first."

Manners. She chuckled as she slid into her chair. He was definitely a keeper. She glanced up, remembering that she wasn't supposed to think such things.

He was laughing softly.

"What?"

He winked at her. "You said it that time."

"What?" She thought about his words, wondering how he'd known it was the same thing. And then it hit her. "Oh, God." She dropped her head onto the table and whined. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

He was still laughing. "You told me not to." He reached out and tucked her hair away from her face where it had been doing an excellent job of hiding her red cheeks. "But I couldn't let it go the second time."

She raised her head, hating the way he pulled his hand back. "Next time I say something embarrassing, please feel free to tell me immediate so that I can run away and hide. And if you think I'm about to say something embarrassing, you can tell me to shut up. Order me to shut up, actually. That would be best."

He shrugged. "Trust me, it's just as embarrassing on this end."

"You won't even gloat. You really are perfect." She said it mostly because it was entirely true, but partly because she loved to make him blush.

He stabbed his pasta with his fork. "You haven't eaten it yet, Carter."

Fearing what his threat could possibly mean, she took a bite of her dinner. It was good, better than she would have done. And there was something rather distinct about the sauce, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She thought about it while they ate, while she surreptitiously watched him eat. She knew she should be mortified over having said something like that to him once, let alone twice, but he didn't seem to mind.

The moment she let herself get distracted, the thought occurred to her and she dropped her fork. She stood up, looking for the beer bottle he'd had earlier. She only seen him take one sip and yet she spied the bottle, sitting empty on the counter. He was grinning as she sat back down. "Jack, did you put beer in this?"

"You liked it until you figured it out!" He was adorable when he got defensive.

"I still like it. I never imagined putting beer in spaghetti sauce."

"I put beer in everything."

"And I didn't have you pegged as an alcoholic." She smiled at him, enjoying the light hearted moment. "You didn't put beer in our breakfast."

He shrugged. "You don't know that."

For a moment, she thought he was serious. But she was fairly certain he was hiding a smirk behind the roll he was eating. She picked up her own roll and launched it at him. It seemed the only appropriate response. Of course, the idea that lobbing food at her CO was an appropriate response made her giggle.

He grabbed her roll in mid-air and put it on his plate. "I won't put beer in anything else, Carter, since you obviously object to my culinary skills."

"You already know I'm impressed by the attempt at cooking, the fact that it's edible is a bonus. Don't stop on my account."

They finished their dinner in silence. Carter spent the entire time wondering if he really was ok with the blatant flirting she'd accidentally and purposefully done with him. He'd been polite and receptive and he had actually responded to her, but she knew some part of that could have had to do with Cheyenne and his fear that Carter might try to cut him out. She decided that they should both make the decisions in moving their relationship forward, if it was going to move at all. The next move would be up to him.

"Leave room for dessert, Carter."

She looked up from the second helping of spaghetti she'd been devouring. "There's dessert?"

"Of course there is!" He jumped up from the table, bringing Cheyenne in and thrusting her at Carter, who realized she wasn't being given a choice about dessert. "And there's no beer in it, I swear."

She cradled Cheyenne. "I'm starting to think your Daddy is as crazy as I am which might spell out some problems for you, kid." She looked over her shoulder at the kitchen. "So, what's for dessert?"

A moment later, Jack reappeared with two cupcakes on a plate, each one sporting two lit candles. "Cake, Carter. Cake is for dessert. That's a stupid question."

"Of course it is." She smiled placatingly, like she might smile at an armed, unmedicated mental patient. "What's the occasion?"

He looked disappointed. "It's Cheyenne's birthday. For crying out loud, you're her mother. You should know these things."

"Jack, it's not Cheyenne's birthday." She used the same voice she might use when talking to an armed, unmedicated mental patient.

"Yes, it is. She's four days old today."

"Oh, right, how could I forget?" She looked at the way Cheyenne's eyes danced when she looked at the fire, much the way Jack's did.

"See, it's much easier for both of us when you just blindly agree with me, Carter."

"Yes, it's all becoming clear now, sir."

He looked up, startled. "That wasn't an order."

"So are we having cake tomorrow too?" She leaned forward to blow out the candles before the wax melted all over the icing.

"Naturally."

"And for her one week birthday, we'll have a party, right?" She concentrated on Cheyenne rather than on Jack who was licking the icing off his cupcake. "And when she's a month old, we'll go to Disney Land. And for her first birthday, we can take her to the moon. I'm sure Thor owes us a favor, right?"

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Now you're just making fun of me."

"Never." She waited for him to go back to the icing she was pretending she wasn't watching him eat. But he just kept staring at her. "Come on, Jack, sometimes you make it so easy and I can't ever give in. Can't I laugh at you this once?"

He shrugged. "Ok, as long as that backrub is still on the table."

"Are we going to have cake everyday?"

Jack nodded. "We don't know what's going to happen tomorrow."

Carter watched his eyes cloud over and she suddenly understood why he wanted to celebrate. Because he knew every minute with Cheyenne was special. Because he knew what it was like to be robbed of those special minutes with Charlie.

She didn't want to say anything; she knew it was best to change the subject. She picked up her cupcake and took a bite. "Mom always said girls ruin your figure. I never realized why."

Jack smiled, appreciating the topic change. "You look pretty good for a woman with a four day old baby."

She swallowed the bite in her mouth, trying to tell herself he really didn't mean anything by it. He probably just assumed she wouldn't take it the wrong way. But that was no reason not to tease him. She spoke with an edge to her voice. "What about a woman without a four day old baby?"

He started to cough, realizing he'd done the dumbest thing imaginable in making an offhanded remark relating to a woman's weight. "You still look pretty good."

It was too easy. She could barely keep herself from laughing when he walked right into the trap. "Pretty good? Is that all?"

He looked up, wide-eyed and terrified that she was about to start crying. "Hot, Carter. You're hot. Beautiful, gorgeous, sexy."

She couldn't stop the laughter as he started listing flattering adjectives. Cheyenne joined in the party waving her tiny little arms in the air. She leaned down. "Daddy thinks Mommy's hot."

Jack buried his face in his hands, acknowledging defeat while Carter gloated. "I give up. There's no way to win here. Please have mercy on me, Carter."

"I'm not God, Jack." She winked at him when he finally brought his head up to eat the rest of the cupcake she offered. "But talking like that might swell my ego considerably."

He polished off her cupcake and took Cheyenne out of her arms. "Cheyenne, Mommy's being mean to Daddy. You make her stop." Cheyenne was having a good time, gurgling and waving her arms in the air. He looked at Carter, still sitting at the table and smirking over her victory. "You get to do the dishes since you're mean. And you're not getting any cake tomorrow, you know, since you're so concerned about your figure."

Carter headed for the sink with the pile of dishes. "Although, since I have to wash all these dishes, I'll probably be too tired to give you a backrub later."

"Oh, no, Mommy's playing hardball." Jack settled Cheyenne in her bassinette and joined Carter at the sink. "Hey, Carter, there's an awful lot of dishes here. Why don't I help you?"

She moved over to block the sink. "Nope. They're all mine. You're just out of luck, I'm afraid."

He stepped beside her, pushing her sideways with his hip. "No, really, it's no problem."

"I insist, Jack. After all, I am the little woman, right?" She shoved him back, retaking her place in front of the sink. She wanted to make sure he had no idea how very much she wanted to give him that back rub, to get her hands on his skin. She was pretty sure he was so blinded by wanting it that he didn't know how much she wanted it too.

"I'm not a caveman, Carter. I can help. I cooked!" He tried pushing her, but she grabbed onto the counter and wouldn't budge.

"If you cook, I clean. It's a fair division of work there."

"No, Carter, I'm going to help. I don't want to tire you out." He must have realized that she had an iron grip on the counter because he changed tactics. He moved behind her, easily reaching his long arms around her. His hips pressed hers into the edge of the counter and his face brushed against hers. "You need to save your energy."

She wanted to scream. She wanted to shove him off and act offended, if only to conceal how very much she appreciated his presence. It took all of her strength to pluck his hands off the knobs for the water, and not because he was holding on tight. "I fear I've expended all my energy having this little wrestling match. It's a matter of principle now, and I swear I'll break every last one of these dishes before I give you the satisfaction of washing a single one of them."

"Fine, Carter, whatever you say." His hands retreated from the sink and Carter very nearly cheered fro her triumph. But his face stayed pressed against hers and his hands only retreated to her waist, where they brushed under the edge of her shirt. "I'll just wait in case you change your mind."

She shivered from the contact, but she didn't break. She took a deep breath and filled the sink up with hot water, reminding herself several million times a second that she was not about to let him win. Her pride was on the line. She was not going to be the one to break; that was the whole point of the backrub. Because she knew she could get him to give. "I guess I don't need a sweatshirt then."

She knew that Jack was every bit as competitive as she was, so she should have anticipated that he wouldn't give up so easily. But as his fingers danced further under the hem of her shirt, lightly playing against her bare skin, she realized she might have to concede the round. She bit her lip and pushed her hips back against him. "Stop."

"Carter?" He wasn't sure what to do, she could tell from the waver in his voice. His fingers continued to move lightly, barely brushing her skin.

She shifted more suddenly, barely biting back the giggle. "Stop it!" But her voice came out several octaves too high and decidedly squeakier than either of them remembered.

"Carter, don't tell me you're ticklish." She felt the laughter rumble through his chest as his fingers played their merciless game.

"Stop it!" She bucked against him as his hold tightened.

"Well, now, that changes things, doesn't it?" One of his arms moved completely around her to hold her close. He used his other hand to continue searching for spots that make her squeal.

She was laughing too hard to force out words; she could barely breathe. But she squirmed and twisted and wriggled and tried her hardest to get out of his arms. It was impossible, of course; Mark had taught her at the age of three that being ticklish was a decided disadvantage in a wrestling match. It had been more than twenty years since someone had tickled her, but it had the same effect. She gasped for air as she clawed at his arms.

His fingers found a particularly sensitive spot on her side, causing her to bend forward in an attempt to get away. His upper body moved with hers, maintaining his hold. Her hips pressed back as his pressed forward and in one sobering instant, she had all the proof she needed that he wasn't just playing along.

The torture stopped as his hands moved back once again. They paused on her hips, pulling her against him hard as his mouth found the tender skin where her shoulder met her neck. She felt the heat from his body surge through her. It felt like all of her nerve endings caught fire. She sagged back against him weakly, letting her knees buckle and her mind shut down.

Consequences.11