#

She realised on the third pass of his house that he was as nervous as she was and that they'd driven past his home three times without him making any indication to turn onto the drive. Sam appreciated the thought behind his indecision, knowing he didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable by taking it for granted that she'd want to go somewhere private to continue the sort of conversation they'd started.

As they turned into his street again, she cleared her throat and forced herself to speak. "You'll run out of gas if you don't pull up soon." She couldn't bring herself to look at him, still reeling from her impulsive decision to follow him instead of going on her date with Pete as planned.

She didn't need to look at him to know he'd glanced in her direction and felt her cheeks flush in response. He didn't say anything, either, but instead of driving past the end of his drive, he turned in, bringing the truck to a stop and switching off the engine.

For several long moments, neither of them dared move, each afraid of breaking the silence and stillness that descended on the cab.

Soon, though, the air in the truck began to cool and Sam couldn't stop herself from shivering. The coat she'd chosen was thin and stopped around the same place as the hem of her dress, leaving her bare legs exposed to the chill of the evening.

"C'mon," Jack murmured, his voice hushed. He didn't need to say anything else, the spell broken as both unfastened their seatbelts and left the relative safety of the truck for his house.

Sam told herself it was stupid to feel like she was venturing into unknown territory; she'd been to his house on more than on occasion during SG-1's tenue, for team nights and gatherings, and a wake or two for teammates who didn't stay dead for long. Still, she felt as though they were on the precipice of something new, something terrifying but maybe exhilarating, too.

The only question was, would she back away from the edge, or be brave enough to let herself fall?

#

"You want a beer?" Jack asked, leading the way through the house to the kitchen in a way that was startlingly familiar. "I don't have any wine, sorry."

"Beer's fine." He sensed her hovering awkwardly in the doorway, not sure what she should do or where she should go.

He himself was torn between offering to take her coat – the polite thing to do – but the inherent danger of that didn't escape him. It would put too much Carter skin on show, provide a temptation he wasn't sure he was steady enough to resist. "We could go up to the roof," he offered, voicing the suggestion as soon as it occurred to him.

He held out a bottle of beer to her, his hold lingering as her fingers brushed his as she went to take it. It was a simple touch but had an electrifying effect on him, and the flush that rose in her cheeks told him she felt it, too.

"That would be good," Sam answered with a note of relief in her voice.

The roof was open, with plenty of space to keep some distance between them, and the stars would provide a welcome distraction from having to talk about the elephant in the room until one of them was brave enough to broach the subject. There was, however, the issue of getting up there, since the route to do so meant climbing up a ladder.

She'd usually have no problem with it, Jack knew, and he'd followed her up a number of times, allowing himself a brief moment to enjoy the view of her ass in the jeans she tended to wear for team nights, but he wouldn't be able to do that this time. He'd have to forego his usual 'ladies first' gesture, as the more gentlemanly thing to do would be to go up first, allowing her the dignity of being able to take her time. His gaze dropped to her feet, to the high heels she was wearing, and he had second thoughts about the wisdom of the idea. Surely she couldn't navigate the ladder with those heels, heels that emphasised the fact her legs went on for miles and put her on his eye level, at least two inches taller than the cop who'd –

No. He put a stop to that line of thought, telling himself he had to put Peter – Paul – whatever his name was out of his mind. This was no longer about the cop; it was about them and the critical point their relationship had reached.

They made their way wordlessly through the house, with Sam hanging back to let him lead the way. It did cross his mind as he preceded her up the ladder, clutching his bottle in one hand as he navigated the ascent, that she'd have a good view of his six as she followed him up and he tried not to think about that as he made his way to the top.

He was glad it was a cool night, the clear inky sky giving them a clear view of the stars. He busied himself with arranging the two chairs and the throw blankets, listening to the sound of her climb in case she gave some indication of needing help.

Her footsteps were silent when she made it up to the roof, and he glanced at her feet again to see they were bare. The sight of her toenails painted in a delicate pink colour was almost his undoing, and he tightened his hand on the bottle, knuckles turning white.

If he didn't hold on to it, he'd reach out for her.

If he reached for her, there wouldn't be much talking.

Not that either of them was doing much of that, either. He groaned internally, settled himself into one of the chairs and waited for her to join him.

#

Nowhere felt like safe, neutral territory, and the sense of being surrounded by Jack didn't relax or reassure her as it usually did. Instead, she felt on edge, her body on full alert. Even being on the roof, out in the open air, she was conscious of his scent lingering on the blanket that covered the back of her chair, and she had to fight to resist the urge to pull it around her shoulders, burying her nose in the soft material that smelt like Jack.

She knew he was waiting for her to speak first, giving her time to gather her thoughts. She knew he would be expecting an explanation for her rash decision to leave with him but if she was honest with herself, she didn't really have one. She just hadn't been able to let him walk out of the house, unable to share the feeling that if she did, he'd be walking out of her life, too.

On a personal level, anyway, and the sudden panic she'd had at that thought startled her.

Hadn't that been why she'd agreed to Mark's idea that she meet up with Pete in the first place? Hadn't she convinced herself that it was time to stop holding onto the unobtainable as a way of protecting herself?

Hadn't she decided to let him go?

But when push came to shove, she couldn't do it. She couldn't watch him walk away, no more than she could walk away from him.

And so they were here. Back in what should be the status quo but which felt like anything but.

"Thank you for not telling Pete there wasn't an emergency," she found herself saying. She focused on the label of her beer bottle, picking the corners with her nails.

"Anytime," he returned, his voice still quiet. There was a small pause, then she heard the rustle of material as he shifted in his chair. "You didn't have to, you know. You could've gone on your date."

"No, I couldn't." She stifled a sigh, choosing to be honest with herself as well as him. "Well, I could," she corrected, thinking of the scenarios she'd spent most of the day thinking of when it came to her date with Pete. She was reasonably sure that, had she gone out with him, she would have invited him into her home, into her bed. He was sweet, attentive, funny... but there was one very important thing he wasn't. Jack. "But I didn't want to."

He cleared his throat but said nothing for a while. When he did speak, it was to have his voice clash with hers. "Look, Carter –"

"Sir –"

Their eyes met as they fell silent. Held, a wordless conversation taking place.

'I'm glad you didn't go with him.'

'I don't want to go anywhere you can't follow.'

'I'm sorry I can't give you a normal life.'

'I don't need normal if I can have you.'

As she stared at him, willing him to read her mind the way he seemed to do so effortlessly when they were in the field, she found herself leaning closer.

Dimly, in the area of her mind not caught up in the soft heat of his gaze, she realised that he was moving closer, too.

Closer, closer still.

She felt his breath on her face, found herself licking her dry lips in anticipation. His gaze dropped to her mouth at the gesture and she saw him swallow, noted the way his eyes grew darker.

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart thudding an unsteady rhythm in her chest. She remembered the kiss she'd imagined aboard the Prometheus and wondered how it would compare to the real thing.

Realised she might actually get to find out...

The shrill sound took a moment to register.

Sam closed her eyes in frustration, felt his answering sigh against her face as he lingered a moment more before pulling back. The instant he moved away, standing with a muttered curse, she felt cold and bereft. She wrapped her arms around her upper body, trying to recapture the sense of security she'd felt when he'd been near.

Her eyes opened when she heard Jack return a few moments later, the phone still clutched to his ear. His expression unreadable. "Yes, Sir," he said into the receiver, dark eyes locking with hers. "I'll call Carter, have her meet me there."

#

The next decision to make is… where are they going? The SGC, Daniel's apartment, or an as of yet disclosed location?