John paid the motel clerk in cash, relieved the man behind the counter didn't bother asking him for identification. The clerk eyed Sammi up and down, then winked at John. He bit back the urge to correct the man's wrong assumption, but they'd selected this motel because they didn't want anyone asking why two teenage kids would want to rent a room with cash. The man was making an assumption that helped them stay inconspicuous, but it still rankled John.
He could tell Sammi was exhausted as she followed him quietly to the last room on the second floor. He unlocked the door and stepped back so she could enter first.
"At least I don't see any bugs," she mustered the energy to quip, making John crack a smile.
"Why don't you hit the shower first," he offered, following her in and tossing their bags onto the bed.
"No argument from me," she kicked off her shoes and padded into the bathroom and closed the door.
John turned his attention to the elephant in the room. One bed. It was fairly large, likely a queen, but there was no other furniture, except a small writing desk. No couch. No chair. He glanced at the floor and cringed at the filthy carpet. Maybe Sammi wouldn't mind sharing.
She emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, wrapped in a dingy white towel that covered her from under her arms to just below her backside. Even if he hadn't been a hormonal teenager, his body would have reacted to the sight of her.
"Hand me my bag, will ya," she said, completely at ease with him and totally unaware that John had practically swallowed his tongue.
"Here," he tossed her bag across the bed and made a beeline for the bathroom.
Sammi giggled as John all but fled the room. She hadn't thought twice about her appearance, her exhaustion causing her to fall back into a mindset of intimate familiarity around him. In her memories, she remembered Jack had acted pretty much the same way the first time he'd seen Sam in a towel.
Sammi sighed at the pleasant memory and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and one of the t-shirts Sam had packed for her.
John came out a while later, hair still wet from the shower and a towel slung low around his hips.
"Forgot my bag," he said stiffly and Sammi swore she could see a bit of redness highlighting his ears. He re-emerged minutes later bare-chested with a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants. John was more muscular than Sammi had expected, given his age. He hadn't been joking about his physical conditioning, and she wasn't a bit surprised that she found him incredibly attractive.
"Is that my shirt?" John stopped in his tracks, ripping her out of her thoughts.
Glancing down, she realized she was wearing Jack's old grey US Air Force t-shirt. It was his favorite to sleep in before Sam had swiped it.
"Uh, yes?" She felt her cheeks flame.
"Why do you have my t-shirt?" John asked incredulously.
"I guess Sam packed it for me," she hedged, wishing the bed would swallow her up. She had no clue how he was going to react to the truth.
"Okay," he drew out the word, clearly annoyed with her evasive answer, "why would Sam have one of my t-shirts?"
"I'm guessing it's Jack's," the nervous giggle caught her off guard.
"Are you trying to be impertinent?" He cocked his head, a bit of his command tone slipping through.
"Not exactly," she caught another nervous giggle from escaping. "It's just, there's something I probably should have mentioned sooner."
"Okay," he waited for her to continue.
"You asked before if I left behind a boyfriend or a husband," she looked into his eyes and the unease she saw tore at her.
"You said you did," he recalled from their earlier conversation.
"Well, technically he is Sam's husband," she clarified. "I'm not Sam."
"No you're not," he agreed, a spark of something flashed in his eyes.
"But I do have all her memories, feelings," she continued, waiting for him to make what seemed to her an obvious connection. "It's hard, almost impossible to turn off those emotions; the strong connections I feel to others."
"I know what that's like," he began to deflate in front of her.
Had the last two years really taken such a toll on him that he'd began to doubt himself this much, Sammi wondered. Or maybe it wasn't just his belief that he'd been abandoned. Jack had told Sam that she was his north star. Maybe John hadn't just lost his identity, maybe he'd also lost his guidepost. Was Jack right when he had said every version of him would always need every version of her?
"You are so dense," she said, angry at what had been done to him and thoroughly exasperated that he couldn't see what was right in front of him, "every single version of you is dense!"
"What's that supposed to mean?" He growled, his defenses rising.
"Sam. Married. Jack." She enunciated each word. "My god," she shook her head, laughing at the look on his face. "Is it so inconceivable that they finally ended up together?"
"Married?" He rasped out. "But her career—" he began.
"Securely on track," she confirmed. "Made Colonel about a year or so back, General a few months ago. Commander of the SGC," she grinned with pride.
"Wedding?"
She nodded. "Small and private, but formal affair. Jack wore a tux."
"And you carry those memories, of us—er them," he shook his head, as if trying to keep the distinction straight.
"I do," she said softly. "Even before we found you, even before they got together, Sam had decided to ask Thor to clone her. She didn't want you to be alone. I don't want you to be alone," she dropped her eyes as uncertainty suddenly filled her.
She felt him before she realized he'd moved. Warm hands, familiar hands, cupped her face, urging her to look at him.
"I will always want you with me," he brushed a tear off her cheek. "But I'm not Jack. Our paths diverged two years ago and you might not like the rebooted me."
Sammi didn't pull back as John bent forward slowly, his lips tentatively touching hers. She didn't stop herself from kissing him, encircling his neck and pressing closer. The electricity between them crackled in a familiar yet new way.
"Wow," John rested his forehead against hers, "I always wondered what that would be like. Better than I ever imagined."
Sammi beamed.
"I meant what I said though, Sammi," John said seriously, ending their intimate moment. "I don't care what memories you carry, I do not expect you to fall into my arms because I'm Jack O'Neill's clone and your Samantha Carter's."
"It goes both ways, John. I'm not the Sam you remember either," she countered. "I've changed a lot since you left. You might not like who I've become."
He looked at her thoughtfully before nodding. "So where do we go from here?"
"Well, we've still got to make it to Silver Creek and get our new identities," she said thoughtfully. "I wouldn't mind getting to know you," she placed a hand on his chest, "John."
"I'd like to get to know Sammi, too," he grinned at her. "No expectations, no preconceived plans," he added.
"Agreed," she grinned, then moved to slip under the covers. She read his thoughts as he looked at the bed, then at the cringe-worthy floor. "Of course, I'm really not used to sleeping alone anymore," she pulled back the covers and patted the bed. "If you don't mind some accidental, sleep-induced, platonic, no expectations cuddling, that is."
She laughed as he practically dived onto the bed.
John relished the contentment filling him as he held Sammi in his arms. Once she'd fallen asleep, her body had instinctively sought his, molding to fit against him perfectly, her hand resting over his heart. He brushed a stray lock of blonde off her forehead, watching her nose wrinkle in sleep before she snuggled deeper into his chest. Any lingering doubts that his feelings had diminished over the last two years were quickly vanishing. Which made what he had to do next so much harder.
Carefully, he slipped out of her embrace, positioning a pillow to support her, and quietly grabbed his backpack. He retrieved a small earbud and paperclip before stepping outside and moving a few paces away from their motel room door. Using the end of the paper clip, he activated the earbud and slipped in into his ear.
"Sparrow reporting in," he clenched his eyes shut, trying to ignore the knot of betrayal in the pit of his stomach.
"Where the fuck have you been," a deep voice he only knew as Hawk replied.
"I'm on the move," he whispered harshly, "given who I'm with, you can thank me later."
"This better be good," Hawk scoffed. "Eagle has everyone out searching for you."
"Tell Bossman to stand down," John bit out.
"Yeah right," Hawk laughed darkly, "since when do any of us take orders from you, kid."
John bit back his retort; pissing off Hawk wouldn't get him anywhere. "Tell Bossman if he doesn't want to spook a national treasure, he better back off. He'll understand."
"Hang on, kid," Hawk replied as the line went silent. No doubt Hawk muted the line as he passed along John's message. The connection crackled, "you've got 72 hours."
"Understood," John removed the earbud and used the paperclip to disengage its power source, effectively rendering the tracer useless.
Slipping back into the room, he stowed the earbud and slid back into bed. Sammi, still asleep, immediately filled his arms. John arranged the blankets over them, making sure she was covered and warm before allowing sleep to claim him. His last thought was a silent prayer that after this was all over, she'd be able to forgive him.
