Beauty In The Broken

Chunked

Sam shoved the empty pizza box into the garbage can and closed the lid. She'd already consolidated the remaining pieces into another box and stuck it in the fridge. Picking up a towel, she tidied up the counter a bit—tossing empty soda cans and discarded napkins in the trash, wiping up the crumbs and a few random spills—before washing her hands and gathering up the dirty clothes piled next to the sink.

She now had dirty laundry in the kitchen.

Just like she now had a playpen in her office, a toy bin in her living room, and a high chair sitting next to the little dining table in her breakfast nook. Not to mention the car seat in the back of her Volvo, the stroller in her entryway, and the crib in what had been her storage room.

For someone so small, it was amazing how much stuff it took to keep Jake clean, fed, occupied, and happy. And how quickly it had taken over her home.

He was now "Jake". Daniel had decreed that yesterday evening as they'd all gathered around her kitchen sink for the baby's first bath in his new digs. Sam had planned on performing the task in her bathtub, but it would have been weird to have the entirety of SG-1 in her bathroom.

It was obvious that they weren't going to be left out of anything. Teal'c and Daniel had been waiting on her front porch when she and the Colonel had finally finished at Baby World, and between the four of them, they'd had the crib and the glider assembled before the Chinese food they'd ordered for dinner had arrived.

So, as she'd read the instructions on the box of cereal they'd bought, O'Neill had snapped the large, clunky high chair together, strapped in the plasticized cushion, and positioned it at the table.

It had taken longer to clean up the mess than it had for Jake to make his way through the cereal and the little jar of puréed butternut squash she'd opened for him. Yet again, the Colonel had been right. The kid was ready for something besides the bottle.

The squash and cereal were what had necessitated the bath. Daniel had suggested the kitchen sink. His years of experience in various foster homes had given him a unique and unusually broad breadth of knowledge on all aspects of baby-rearing. He was surprisingly adept at all of it—nearly as much so as O'Neill. And far, far more so than Carter.

"'Jacob' sounds too old for a kid this age." He'd squirted water at the baby from the mouth of a rubber duck, eliciting a round of giggles and excited splashing. "Too refined."

The Colonel had been sitting on Sam's kitchen island, watching. "Too much like your Dad, Carter."

She'd taken a little umbrage at that, scowling down at where the soapy water had made yet another large wet spot on yet another shirt. At least this time, it wasn't anything worse than bath water. "It's supposed to sound like my dad. He's named after my—her—-our—father, after all."

"Will not that become confusing, Major Carter?" Teal'c hadn't joined in on the bath, but he'd been standing ready with a large fluffy towel. "When your father travels through the Chappa'ai in order to visit you?"

Sam had sighed at that, shaking her head. "It's not like he comes all that often."

"Yeah, but when he does, it'll be obnoxious. You'll never know which Jacob anyone's talking about." Daniel wiped away some suds that had gotten splashed onto his glasses.

"So, you figure it out by the context of the conversation." Using a tiny Tupperware container she'd found in the back of a cupboard, she'd poured water over the baby's head, rinsing the last of the soap out of his hair. She'd been careful the first few times, fearing that he'd hate having water on his face, but the little guy had seemed to enjoy it. Apparently, the 'no more tears' claims that the shampoo company made were actually true. "'Jacob is driving to the store'. Obviously, that would be my father rather than the baby."

"Dunno, Carter." The toe of O'Neill's boot had nudged her hip. Damned small kitchen. "'Jacob needs his pants changed and a long nap.' That one could go either way."

Sam had cast what she'd hoped was a withering sort of look over her shoulder, but the Colonel had only smiled at her in that deeply intimate way he'd been doing most things lately. She wasn't sure how to interpret that, nor was she too disposed to try. She had the sinking suspicion that, had Daniel and Teal'c still been assembling furniture, he would have nudged something else a little further south.

Would she have minded? Honestly—she had no idea. She hadn't minded the kiss in the Baby World. If anything, it had helped center her—had eased her past the worst of the terror she'd been living with since Samantha had made her wishes known. It had reminded her of good things. Of possibilities. Of hope—or something. And what he'd said—well, it had struck a nerve she'd believed long-buried.

What if it's amazing?

His words had been playing on repeat in her heart ever since he'd uttered them. They'd kept her awake deep into the night, and had been the first thing she'd thought of when she'd awoken at around three this morning to Jake's soft cries in the room next door.

What if it's amazing?

Sam tucked the dirty clothes under her arm and headed towards the hallway, where she opened the door to her little laundry closet and tossed the clothes into the basket waiting on top of the dryer. Closing the door again, she walked further down the corridor until she'd reached the last door before her own.

Teal'c had claimed the glider, his large frame incongruously relaxed in the rocker. As Sam paused at the door, O'Neill finished snapping the multitudinous little closures on Jake's sleepers and lifted the baby into his arms, blowing little raspberries against the baby's cheek. With each new raspberry came a renewed spate of giggles. Daniel had parked himself on the floor next to the crib with one of the two books that Sam had impulsively tossed into the cart at the end of their shopping binge the day before.

"'But Not the Hippopotamus'?" He opened the book to the first page, obviously intrigued by the unyielding pages and glossy pictures. "Sandra Boynton. I've never heard of this author before."

"The clerk at the store said that she's popular." Sam waited until the next raspberry/giggle cycle finished before continuing. "You know, I do have a couch. There's a lot more space in the living room."

"True." The Colonel made a face at Jake, who smiled, then reached out and tweaked O'Neill's nose. "But the baby is in here."

"He's better than a couch." Daniel snapped the book closed and stood. "Hey, Jack. My turn."

"I just got him dressed." The Colonel made a face at the baby, hitching him up and down a little just to watch him smile. "Besides. He's not used to you yet."

"And he won't be unless you let someone else hold him." Daniel held out his hands. "C'mon, Jack."

"We're playing." Jack affected a serious face that Jake still somehow found amusing. "Aren't we, kid?"

"Ba-ba!" Jake reached out and patted O'Neill's cheek, apparently intrigued by the roughness of his beard.

The Colonel growled, smiling and pretending to nip at Jake's fingers. "Scratchy, isn't it?"

"It's nearly his bed time." Daniel wriggled his fingers, smiling invitingly at Jake. "Uncle Daniel's turn. Let's go read a book."

Jake was tempted. Sam could see his little mind working. It was the same look that he'd given her this morning when she'd put him on the playmat on the floor and dropped two different toys in front of him. At first, he'd reached towards the little dog he'd played with at the store, but then he'd seen the ball. He'd vacillated between them before simply grabbing both toys and rolling over to whack them together above his head.

But now—

Jake narrowed his eyes at Daniel in a look so reminiscent of his father—his sort of father—that Sam felt as if she'd been punched in the gut. So many times over the past what—thirty-six hours?—-she'd seen O'Neill in the boy. Or even more jarring—she'd seen herself. It had been a revelation of sorts. Something more compelling than it had been disturbing. At times, she'd glimpsed pure wonder—-at this child, at his reactions to her and to the world. At the way he gazed up at her past his bottle and studied something in her face. She'd felt something-–whatever it was— insinuating itself into her soul. And it was forceful—-far more powerful than the worry and fear she felt at the prospect of actually becoming the woman this child thought she was.

What if it's amazing?

She leaned against the door frame, watching. Other than herself, O'Neill was Jake's favorite. Every time he entered the room, the little boy immediately broke out into a dimpled smile—almost as if he knew that this man was meaningful to him. And maybe he was—the Colonel was the one that played the silly games and seemed to know what the kid wanted. He was the one that made Jake smile and laugh. He was the one that had made all this tenable. Made it feel like any sort of normal.

As if he'd felt her eyes on him, Jack looked over at the doorway and found her. There went that slow, easy smile again, that deeply personal way that he met her gaze. And there was that heat again—unfurling deep in her core to lick at her soul.

He turned his body so that Jake was facing her, then manipulated the little boy's hand in a wave. "Say hi to Mom, Jake."

"I'm not—" but it was no use. The automatic response was ridiculous, at this point. Sam swallowed it and waved back, gratified when Jake reached out to her with both hands, wriggling his fingers as if he were trying to pull her to him. With a little sigh, she capitulated, taking the few steps it required to lift him out of the Colonel's arms and take him into her own.

He was tired. The baby settled into her body, immediately finding his thumb and starting to work on it. Sam balanced him on one arm and then held out her hand towards the book in Daniel's hand. "Let's go find out if Ms. Boynton is as good as the clerk thought she was."

—-OOOOOOO—-

She was. Or at least, Jake thought so. He'd been glued to the colorful pages, clapping and kicking his little feet as Sam had read the catchy verse. Daniel and the Colonel, on the other hand, were left arguing as to whether hogs and frogs inhabited the same ecosystems, and who would win in a footrace between a bear and a hare. Jake's little head was bobbing by the time she closed the book, though, so she'd let everyone wish the baby good night, and then she'd walked down the hallway and laid him in his crib. He'd wriggled a little, flipped over onto his tummy and tucked his knees up under his body. He'd gotten his thumb and sighed himself to sleep before Sam had even closed the door.

Making her way back out to the living room, she drew up short at the sound of the doorbell. Turning left instead of right, she walked to the front door and peeked out the window.

"Who is it?" Daniel poked his head through the arch between the kitchen and foyer to investigate the chime. "Janet said she might drop by later."

"It's General Hammond." Sam cast her friend a questioning kind of look before reaching out to flick the deadbolt open and draw the door wide.

The General was in civvies, holding a large colorful bag with tissue paper sticking out of the top of it. His expression was wary, however. There was a certain tightness around his mouth and eyes. "Major Carter. I'm glad that I've caught you at home."

"Sir." Sam stepped aside to allow Hammond to enter. Once he'd cleared the entryway, she closed the door and slid the lock closed again. "Is there something that you needed?"

"Unfortunately, there is. First, though, I need to give you this." He smiled as he handed her the bag. "Just a little something for the baby. Is he still awake?"

"I just put him to bed." Sam tilted her head in the direction of the baby's room. "It's after eight."

"So, you're following her schedule?"

That might have been the thing that Samantha left behind that had reminded Sam the most of herself. The Schedule. She'd portioned out the days of the week on two sheets of paper, with different activities printed in different colors throughout each day. Whatever other kind of science she'd practiced, Samantha Carter-O'Neill had taken Organizational Motherhood to a whole new level. Sam had stuck the thing to her refrigerator with magnets, thinking that, at the very least, The Schedule would be a good jumping-off point into this new venture.

"I thought keeping things as familiar as possible would be the least disruptive for the child."

"Rightly so." Hammond's smile was kind, if not a little tense. He indicated Daniel with a nod of his head before asking, "Is the rest of your team here? I thought I saw Colonel O'Neill's truck outside."

"Yes." Sam raised her unladen hand towards the back of the house. "We just had pizza. I think that there's some left over if you haven't eaten yet."

"No, thank you." He shook his head, urging her into her living room ahead of himself. "I picked up something in the mess on my way out."

O'Neill stood as soon as he saw the General. "Sir. What brings you here at this time of night?"

"Well, Jack. I wish it were something more pleasant."

"Oh?"

"I had hoped to give SG-1 some leave in order to allow current events to shake themselves out, but I'm afraid that's no longer possible." He looked around for somewhere to sit, obviously grateful when Sam carried one of her bar stools into the living room and placed it in front of the fireplace. Sitting, he let out a long sigh as he waited for everyone else to situate themselves. "The on-base switchboard received a disturbing phone call today from a man claiming to have a considerable amount of knowledge of the Stargate."

"There are always kooks calling the Mountain blathering about conspiracy theories, General." Daniel sat down on the arm of the little couch. "We usually just ignore them."

"I thought that the official response to these calls was to deny everything." Sam lowered the bag to the floor in front of where she'd sat on the sofa.

"It's what we've always done in the past." General Hammond frowned. "Unfortunately, this one is different."

"How so, Sir?" O'Neill had remained standing, positioned between Daniel's perch and where the General sat on the stool. "It's not like we haven't successfully dealt with these things before."

"Well, Colonel." Hammond's gaze fixed on Jack. "For one thing, this man asked for you personally. He requested a meeting with you in Montana."

"Montana?"

"He's indicated a specific day, time, and place for this meeting." Shaking his head, the General scowled. "I don't know how he got your name, Jack. But if he knows you personally, then I'm a little concerned about what else he might know."

"Okay." Jack looked at his team. "So, what do we know about this guy?"

"His name is Martin Lloyd. He has a significant on-line presence in various chat groups and websites devoted to government conspiracies and cover-ups. Beyond that, however, we really don't know much about him at all."

"So, it's possible that he's already been disseminating information within those groups." Daniel used his index finger to shove his glasses back up on his nose. "That's not good."

"No, it really isn't, Doctor Jackson." The older man's expression turned more dour. "And that's why I need this team to investigate."

"But, what about Sam?" His brows rose. "She can't go to Montana. What about the baby?"

Of course, it was Daniel who'd asked the question. Sam suddenly felt heat rise in her cheeks as everyone else turned to look at her. Carefully, she schooled her expression into something benign. "It's okay, Daniel. I guess I'm sitting this one out."

"Unfortunately, Major," Hammond cut her off. "That will have to be the case. This situation has got to be nipped in the bud immediately. I'm ordering the remainder of SG-1 to report to the Mountain as soon as possible in order to prepare for this mission. I've already assigned a temporary fourth to the team."

"Who is it, Sir?" O'Neill's voice was strained. "This temporary fourth?"

"Major Allan Bledsoe." Standing, the General braced his hands on his sides. "He's had experience as an SF and worked extensively in investigations. He recently wrapped up the inquiry into the unfortunate incidents in Washington DC that happened two years ago."

"The dead reporter." Daniel scratched his ear as he remembered. "Armen Selig, right?"

"Yeah." The Colonel nodded. "He threatened to release an expose about the program, but was killed in an accident before he was able to do it."

"That incident occurred while Daniel Jackson and I were on Abydos, did it not?" This came from Teal'c. "When we discovered Sha're had returned to her family."

Daniel's nod was abrupt. "I remember."

"Major Bledsoe's investigation proved that the accident was, indeed, an accident, Colonel." Hammond raised a pointed brow in O'Neill's direction. "The driver of the car was inebriated and completely unrelated to the victim. I think that Bledsoe's skills and experience would be useful in our current predicament, as well."

"You mean, since Sam is stuck here."

"I don't like this any more than you do, Doctor Jackson."

Jack flicked a glance at Carter before addressing the General again. "You could send another team."

"I'm afraid we can't." Hammond drew in a deep breath. "Not this time."

"If this Martin Lloyd person has asked for you in particular, Colonel," Sam pasted what she hoped was an encouraging smile on her face. "Then it had better be you who meets him."

"I don't really want to break up the team, Sam." Pushing off the arm of the couch, Daniel pivoted to look at her, crossing his arms across his chest. "You shouldn't have to choose between your work and your—"

"My what?" Sam's expression was too bright, and she knew it. But there was nothing that she could do to fix that. Being real about how she was feeling right now would first necessitate knowing how she actually felt.

And, if she were being honest, she really didn't.

Any mission had its real risks, after all, even those being waged on Earth. And not only did she have Jake to consider, there was that other, still unresolved issue of whether or not she'd need that second crib. Janet had told her yesterday that she wouldn't approve Sam for active duty until that question had been definitively answered.

As if reading her mind, the General addressed Daniel. "It's not just me benching Major Carter right now. Doctor Fraiser has not yet given the Major a clean bill of health after your experiences on P3R-118. Even if little Jacob weren't an issue, the lack of medical clearance would be."

"What?" Clearly, this was new information for Daniel. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Sam sat forward in her seat, avoiding the Colonel's eyes as she met Daniel's. "I'm fine. Just some blood work that hasn't come back yet."

"I can stay here if you need me to." Daniel edged closer to O'Neill so that he could look at her head on. "Just say the word."

"Really, Daniel." She hoped that she sounded sure. "This will give me time to figure a few things out. It'll be okay."

"Well, all right then." The General rose from his seat, turning his wrist to look at his watch. "Let's plan on a briefing in around two hours. That should give you time to pack your gear and get to the Mountain."

"Yes, Sir." O'Neill shoved his hands into his pockets, glaring down at his feet. "We'll be there."

"All right." Daniel offered a half-shrug, his eyes wide. "I guess that's that."

"Oh—and SG-1." Hammond had started towards the foyer, but turned before he'd reached the arch. "Report to the infirmary before the briefing. Doctor Fraiser has some more tests that she'd like to run."

Sam followed the General down the hallway to her front door, making her goodbyes and closing the door behind him. She turned to find Daniel and Teal'c just behind her.

"I'll drive Teal'c back to the SGC. But first, I've got to run by my apartment for some clean things." Daniel explained. He gave her a quick, hard hug, speaking softly into her ear. "You'd tell me if anything was really wrong, right?"

"Of course I would." Sam pulled back to look at him. "I promise."

"Okay. Well, I just want you to know that I'm here for you." He squeezed her shoulder. "We all are."

"I know." Nodding, Sam stepped aside as he passed her and opened the door.

Teal'c stopped next to her, pulling his hat down over his tattoo as he studied her face. Finally, he laid his large hand on her arm. "I know that you have many doubts concerning this new challenge in your life."

He'd know if she tried to lie. He always knew. She nodded. "Yeah. I kind of do, Teal'c."

"There is an old Jaffa saying concerning situations such as this." He squinted a bit, as if he were endeavoring to remember with accuracy. "A warrior son requires a warrior mother. Only then can he believe in his battle."

Sam took that in, smiling at her friend in response, her hand coming to rest on his.

"You are a brave and formidable warrior, Major Carter. I do believe that your greatest battles are yet to be fought."

"Thank you, Teal'c." On an impulse, she rose up on her tiptoes and kissed his broad cheek. "I appreciate that."

And with that, he followed Daniel out the door.

For what seemed like the umpteenth time in the past twenty minutes, Sam headed again down the hall towards her kitchen. She found her bar stool placed back in its customary spot, but the rest of the room was empty.

"Sir?" She craned her head around the arch to peer down the hallway towards the bedrooms, but it, too, was deserted.

Weird. She walked over to the couch and grabbed the bag that General Hammond had left behind. Carrying it to the island, she set it up on the counter before hopping up to sit next to it.

Just as she'd reached for the top pieces of tissue paper, the back door opened and the Colonel walked in. Locking the door behind him, he crossed to the sink across from her and opened the cabinet door beneath. He pulled out a new garbage bag.

"You didn't have to do that."

"It's no big deal." He busied himself putting the fresh garbage bag into the can and then fitting the lid down on top. "I don't mind."

"You should probably go so that you can report on time."

He shoved the can back into its designated spot and then turned to wash his hands at the sink. Reaching for the towel hanging from the handle of the oven door, he dried his hands, then straightened the piece of cloth before turning and leaning up against the cabinetry. "So?"

"So what?"

"What's in the bag?"

"I don't know." Sam tapped at the bag with her knuckles. "I haven't opened it yet."

"Well?" He nodded at the bag, as if to urge her onward.

With a quick sigh, Sam pulled pieces of tissue paper out of the bag, discarding them on the countertop beside her. Reaching down into the bag, she found the gift and drew it out.

Blue, and soft, with satiny edging, the blanket felt like a cloud in Sam's hands. Turning it over, she noticed something embroidered across one corner—a name. His name. Jacob Charles.

Sam looked down into the bag again, noticing a card at the bottom. Fishing for it, she brought it up and slid it from the envelope.

"Every baby needs a blanket.

We can add the last name when you decide what it should be.

—Hammond"

She felt him rather than saw him approach. All of sudden, there he was, reading the card upside down as she held it. His large fingers teased at the thick nap of the blanket before coming to a rest where the gift lay on her thigh. His palm was heavy, and warm—even through the thick fabric.

"Well, at least we have his first name figured out now."

"We?"

His dark gaze met hers. Even in the dim light of her kitchen, she could see the tumult in his eyes. "You. You have it figured out."

"I don't have anything figured out, Sir."

"Haven't you decided yet?"

"It hasn't even been two days." She looked down at his hand on her leg, at how close his body was to hers. "Hell. I've lived on this earth for almost four decades and I don't even have my own life decided on yet—let alone his."

The corner of his lip tilted upwards as he stepped away from her. "I hate to break it to you, Carter, but you don't have forty years to make this particular decision."

She nodded, trying to stall the conversation that they needed to have. Folding the blanket back up, she dropped it back into the bag, along with the card. "I know."

He backed away, until he'd come up against the counter opposite her. "I'll take him. If you don't want him."

"Damn it, Sir." She pushed off her perch, landing hard on the tile of her kitchen floor. Turning, walked towards her breakfast nook, reaching out to run her hands along the metal scrollwork on the back of a chair. "It's not that I don't want him."

"Then what is it?"

"It's complicated."

He focused on her for a long beat before saying, "Then explain it to me."

Sam glanced at him—at his face—at how his body had stilled. She knew that stance—he was preparing himself for something. What that was, she couldn't have said. Regardless how much she knew him—how intimately she knew his body—he was still an enigma. But what the hell—he'd asked, right? "You ordered me to get a life once."

"That was a joke, Carter."

"I know." She smiled—a wan, weak attempt. "I do. But it got me thinking about the life I lead. You wonder why I'm always at work? It's because I have nothing else to do. You laughed about how I talk to my plants? It's because I have nobody else to talk to. No close family, no significant other, no real friends outside of the mountain. And, the truth is that I've been trying to get that life that you ordered me to get. The problem is that the life I want is the life I can't have."

"Why can't you have it?"

"Because it doesn't fit who I am."

"So, make it fit."

"It's that easy?"

"It should be."

"It's not."

"Why?" He folded his arms, crossing his legs at the ankles as he watched her. "If you don't like your life, then change it. Go make the life that you want."

She let out an exasperated groan, shoving away from the chair and pacing into the living room. Her mind was racing—too many thoughts whirling in there at once. Pressing the heels of her hands against her forehead, she turned towards him, looking at him from across the island. "It's not that easy, Sir."

He always had to push. Just that much further. "Why not?"

"Because I'm not like you! I can't just pack it all away." She wanted to shout, but the baby sleeping down the hall precluded that possibility. Her voice was harsh, and rough. "No wonder you like fishing so much. You're like a tackle box. Every individual part of you tucked into its own little compartment—like lures or hooks or sinkers. I'm not capable of being that way. Everything about me is all jumbled up. Everything that's happened to me—all my experiences—are all a huge mess inside me. I can't separate it into neat little packets and then file it away."

"Carter, you shouldn't have to—" He stopped himself, and then tried again. "We're all amalgams of what we've lived through."

"What happens if it's all too much, Sir?" She shook her head, breathing through a throat that seemed to be closing up on her. "What happens then?"

"I don't understand what you're getting at." He straightened, walking out of the kitchen in the opposite direction of where she'd gone, so that he was standing just in front of the arch. "You need to explain it to me."

She worked at it for a long minute, pressing her eyes closed as she tried to corral her thoughts into some semblance of order. "We go through the 'Gate. We see things—do things—become things—that we have no business seeing or doing or becoming. And you come home and shove all those things into your neat little compartments and consider them done."

"I'm not sure that's how I'd put it."

"None of it seems to bother you, Sir."

"What doesn't seem to bother me?" He stepped towards her, his entire being wary and loose.

"Any of it." She shook her head, gesturing as if she were counting ducks. "Becoming old before your time. Dying. Being brought back to life. Damning entire civilizations to destruction. Losing friends, losing ourselves. Knowing what's out there. Knowing what we don't know. Being given an entire new identity only to have it ripped away."

He was finally following her. He knew where she was heading. "Back on -118. In Brenna's office. You smiled."

"What?"

"You smiled." His shrug seemed deceptively casual. His voice was calm, but fervent. "We finally realized who we were, and you smiled. You looked me right in the eye and called me 'Sir'. As if you were relieved to finally know."

"I didn't know what else to do."

"You could have talked to me. We could have worked it out."

"I was dying inside. Of embarrassment. Of fear of being found out." Sam tilted her chin downward, looking down at a worn spot on her area rug where it stuck out beneath the back of her sofa. "I was trying to preserve some bit of my dignity. I didn't want to cry—to fall apart—in front of them. In front of you."

"Why not?" He took another step towards her. "Hell, I might have cried with you."

She clamped her jaw tightly—a combination of stubbornness and shame.

He was close now, a few feet away at most, his body lending some heat towards hers. "At the very least, I'd have held you while you cried."

"I didn't think that you would have wanted to."

"You never asked."

He was right. She hadn't. She carefully filed that away to consider later.

"Anyway," he continued, "we can't go back and change it."

"I know that. But sometimes, I feel like all that stuff building up in me is going to break me. Eventually, it'll all be too much, and it will destroy me from the inside out."

"And if that happens, we'll fix you, Carter."

"What if it's all too much? What if I'm too broken?"

He simply stood there, offering nothing more than his presence, the stolid strength of his body near hers.

When she spoke again, it was practically a whisper. "I miss them. Miss being them—you know? Why was it so easy to just give in—to do what we did—while we were there? Were we so different?"

"They were still us, Sam. The only differences were name and rank."

All it took was one more step. One step and he was there, sharing her space, her air. And all she had to do was lean into him, and his arms were around her, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, and his lips against her hair. She counted his heartbeats until she could speak again. "I want to keep him, Sir."

"I know you do."

"But I also think that I'm too screwed up to be good for him." She closed her eyes as his hands moved along her spine, as his fingers teased at the skin behind her ear. "Sometimes I feel like I'm barely hanging on. Like I'm one spark away from igniting."

"I think that most of humanity feels the same way." He tightened his hold on her. "You're not alone in that."

She breathed him in, lifting her hand to soothe along the stubble on his cheek, fitting her body closely to his. "You should probably go."

His hands stilled on her back. "You'll be okay?"

"Yeah." She nodded against his shirt. "For now."

"Okay." He swallowed, pressing a kiss to her temple before gently moving away from her. "I'm going to be late."

Sam stood still as he backed up towards the entryway, moving from the glow of the kitchen into the relative darkness of the foyer.

Halfway down the corridor, he turned and looked at her. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that you're never too far gone, right?" He studied for several long breaths, his jaw working tightly, his hands fisted in the pockets of his jeans. His deep eyes were profound again, appraising her, or maybe just watching her.

Whatever—it felt as if he were seeing her all the way to her core, all the fragments of self that she'd been struggling to hold together for longer than she could admit. As if she'd been laid more bare than she'd been at any moment upon the pallets in their sanctuaries behind the furnaces. This man knew her—far more deeply than he did physically. He knew her soul. Her heart.

"Carter." He knew her enough to read where her thoughts had taken her, and to know that she'd need a nudge to bring her back. He only continued once he knew that she was following him. "Whatever's broken—we can put it back together."

A memory tickled at the back of her head. Something he'd said in the back of a personnel transport back in 1969. "Where there's a will there's an or?"

He smiled, his teeth flashing in the shadows. "Something like that."

She nodded. It was all she had for now, but it seemed like enough for him. He nodded, pivoting on his heel, and walking down the hall.

The door closed with a soft 'click' behind him.