The List

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine; I just enjoy playing with them. No remuneration of any kind has been exchanged in relation to this work of fiction. All rights are retained by the legal owners of the Stargate franchise, its subsidiaries, licensees and assigns.

Set in Season Ten, between The Pegasus Project and Insiders; established Sam/Jack relationship, with all that implies. Based on a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (you'll recognize it). This hasn't been Beta'd so all mistakes are my own.

Author's Note: Written in honor of Ship Day 2010 on the GW Forum. This is a little piece of fluff that entered my consciousness and wouldn't stay put. As an angsty cavern dweller, I'm not sure how the sunlight and fluffy clouds broke through, but I am taking bids from contractors to fix the hole in my roof as you read.

Sam sat at her breakfast table with a pen between her teeth typing on her laptop. She looked up from the screen as the tea kettle whistled insistently on the stove. She stood and stretched the cramping muscles in her neck and shoulders, looking at the papers scattered about the table in no recognizable order. "How had this little project gotten so out of hand?" she wondered, as she walked over to the stove to pour herself a cup of tea.

Leaning on the counter she thought about the conversation she had with Jack just a few hours before. He had called to say he was not going to make it tonight. To say she was disappointed would have been an understatement for sure. It's always end-of-the-world this and total-annihilation that, as Jack would say. With the continuing Ori invasion, the search for Merlin's weapon, and SG1's little fieldtrip to Atlantis, it had been almost three months since they had seen one another. If it weren't for fairly regular calls and e-mails Sam might feel like she wasn't in a relationship at all.

They had finally carved out a few days to be together. Sam had taken some well-deserved leave and Jack was using a long weekend to come to the Springs for a few days. Just as soon as he finished his meetings with the Joint Chiefs and the IOA this afternoon he was supposed have been on a plane. She might have known it wouldn't be that easy. When he had called to tell her that the meetings were running long and he wasn't going to make his flight she didn't do a very good job at hiding her disappointment. He had tried to make light of the situation, saying that the French IOA representative, by far the most long-winded of the lot, was definitely off his Christmas card list, but she could tell he was frustrated too.

He had told her to look on the bright side, more time to play with her favorite doohickeys, and other ridiculous nonsense. But what had really set her off was his remark that he couldn't see that she really needed him around at all. Oh, it had been one of his self-effacing jokes—he was always saying things like "if you're so smart, what are you doing with such a loser?" and such; she didn't think he was serious. She knew there was a part of him that didn't believe he deserved her. She felt the same way about him. It was part of what made their very unusual, very long-distance relationship work, despite the obstacles. They each believed he or she was the lucky one.

At times, though, she wondered if he really understood what he meant to her. They never talked about these things in great detail—it wasn't how they communicated—and it had been weeks since they had been in close enough proximity that she could show him how she felt. So that's when she began her list.

It started out as a few scribbles on a note pad after she hung up the phone. "Why I Love Jack O'Neill" Putting up with all the political crap he hates and taking a job in a city far from the people he loves so they could pursue a personal relationship was one of the first things that came to mind. After jotting down a few other reasons like, "He makes me laugh even when I really shouldn't" and "How he says, 'C'mere' when he knows I need him," the list began to take on a life of its own.

She wandered from the kitchen back to the table and browsed through some of her notes. She had quickly realized that she couldn't just list everything out on a single page, and her obsessive need for organization wouldn't allow it anyway. She needed a classification system.

That's when she began composing categories.

Physical: Because let's face it, Jack O'Neill is HOT! Shallow? Maybe. But still very important. Under this heading she included things like his supremely ruffleable hair, that adorable smirk that never failed to turn her insides to goo, and other exceptional attributes.

Intellectual: Because he was smarter than he let on and she very well knew it. Here she noted his penchant for leading her to a solution in his own unique way when she had become stumped by a problem with phrases like, "What about that Ben Franklin thing?" or "Too bad this isn't ER."

Professional: Because she could never have gone as far as she had without his unfailing support. She noted his trust in her skills and leadership and how he liked to brag about her and show off her abilities and accomplishments.

Shared Interests: Because some might think a theoretical astrophysicist and a former special forces commander were an odd pair. Yet they had so much in common. They both loved astronomy; the stars had brought them together and continued to inspire them. Flying was a shared passion, and it was a joy to be able to navigate the clouds and the heavens together, on those rare occasions. He had introduced her to fishing and she found it relaxing and enjoyable; she had introduced him to motorcycle racing and he found it thrilling and addictive.

Emotional: Because Jack had a tender side that he often hid behind a stone faced mask, which she saw behind more and more each day. She listed his love for dogs and his way with children; she especially appreciated the relationship he had built with Cassie.

And it went on from there.

Now she was converting her notes into a spreadsheet, filling out the entries with additional details as she went along. It was quite an extensive list. She knew it would be. Preparing it had eased some of the frustration of not being with him. It allowed her the chance to really think about him—about them—in a way she rarely gave herself permission to do. She didn't often indulge in something so . . . her first thought was juvenile, but she decided to go with romantic.

She sat her mug down on the table and recommenced typing. She figured she could occupy herself with her little project for a couple more hours. Then go to bed early, a rare treat in and of itself, and with any luck, Jack would arrive in town the next morning.

When the phone rang it took her a moment to find it. It was buried beneath the papers strewn about the table. The caller ID read SGC. She sighed; maybe it wouldn't matter that Jack made it to Colorado Springs that weekend after all. She flipped open the phone.

"Carter."

"Ah . . . Sam?" Daniel responded incredulously on the other end of the line.

"Yes, Daniel. Who were you expecting?"

"Well, no one actually. I figured you'd be . . . busy. I was just going to leave a message on your phone for you to pick up later. You know, after Jack left."

"Jack's stuck in Washington. What do you need?" Sam replied brusquely.

"Yes, well, OK then. I was just calling because you know we sent teams to search the addresses we got from Atlantis for Castiana and Sahal. And, as you know, they haven't really found anything except a few ancient stone structures on Sahal. I mean ancient as in really old, not Ancient as in . . ."

"Daniel." Sam gently prompted him to get to the point.

"Right. So, I was looking at the photographs SG7 took of some of these buildings and there are a few panels on the wall of one structure that look like some kind of plaque or marquee maybe. Anyway, the writing is extremely faded and difficult to make out, but as far as I can tell it's not in any dialect of Ancient I know of. However, examining it more closely it seems to be a blend of letters and numbers, and some other symbols I'm not familiar with."

"Like equations."

"Yes. Exactly."

"And you want me to see if I can understand any of it."

"I know it's unlikely that Merlin, or anyone for that matter, just left a formula for destroying the Ori on the walls of some building 40,000 or so years ago, but you never know, right? Can't hurt to give it try?"

"I'll be there in 30 minutes."

"You know, Sam, it's not urgent. The teams are still searching the planets. It's rather slow going from what I hear. And I plan on re-visiting Merlin's library on Camelot. I may find something helpful there. You don't have to come in tonight."

"I know Daniel. But I'm here alone, with nothing better to do. And, you know, Ancient math; it could be fun."

"OK. Then I guess I'll see you in a half hour. Oh, and I'll buy you dinner."

"You're on."

Sam closed the phone as she stood and moved away from the table. She could clean it up later. Even if Jack got an early flight, he wouldn't be there before noon. And unless someone really did leave a formula for riding the galaxy of the Ori on the walls of Sahal, she didn't think she'd be at the base all night. She would just look over the photographs Daniel had pulled out for a little while and have dinner with her friend. Maybe she'd stop by for a chat with Vala or Teal'c before coming home. As engrossing as her list had become, she could still use some interpersonal interaction. This wasn't exactly the kind she had been hoping for tonight, but better than sitting in her house alone she supposed.

Several hours later, Sam opened the front door and almost tripped over the suitcase shoved carelessly aside in the entry way. Flipping on a light, she saw the evidence that Jack must have gotten away from D.C. tonight after all. "Why hadn't he called to tell her?" she thought absently, taking in the trail of discarded uniform as she moved further into the house; cover on the credenza, shoes by the couch, tie on the bar. Then she came to his jacket slung over the back of the chair before the kitchen table. She took in the papers and her laptop and remembered the little project she had set aside when she received the call from Daniel—her list. She wasn't sure she ever intended for Jack to see it, and frankly she was a little embarrassed. Since her notes were in no particular order when she left, she couldn't tell at first glance whether he had been through them or not. Then she spotted a paper with Jack's handwriting lying beside the laptop.

Carter,

Saw some of your list. Sweet!
I wanted to write you a list of my own, but you know I'm no good with that kind of stuff.
So I borrowed one from someone else.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being an ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love the with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

I mean it.
Jack

After staring at the paper for a few moments Sam smiled gently as she opened up her laptop and added one more item to her list. Then she moved toward the bedroom in search of Jack; she planned to share with him a few more things that weren't on the list, yet.