Chapter Three: The One In The Dark

A/N: You guys…the support for this story has been overwhelmingly to say the very least. Thank you all so, so much! This was crazy fun to write! I do want to address some of the reviews from people without PM capabilities, though—this fic was just supposed to be a bit of unabashed fluff, without really delving into the deeper stuff. A sexy fight to end in a sexy not-fight. It's not a unique ending, but it is unique for my stories! I've never written one ending like this before…I don't think?

But, anyway, I hope some of you aren't too disappointed! I have more stories in the works, some silly, some serious…so there's a little something for everyone!

Enjoy!

He heard Sam's surprised bubble of laughter behind the door before she called out. "Seriously?"

Jack let that question really hit, let it wash over him as he thoroughly and completely thought it all—

"Hell no." Jack turned the knob and stepped back into the room before shutting the door again—this time with him on the right side of it.

Except now the room was in total darkness and he couldn't see a damn thing. The only reason he knew Carter was even still there—and hadn't, you know, teleported or whatever—was because she was laughing hysterically. Like full on hiccupping laughter. Jack felt his own grin begin to tug on his lips when the sound of her hiccups changed abruptly and Jack realized that she was no longer laughing.

Nope. Now she was crying.

"Tell me what you came here to tell me." Crying and making demands.

"Maybe now isn't the time?" Jack stood helplessly in the dark, debating whether or not she'd appreciate his approach.

"I swear to god." She laughed through the tears and Jack could practically feel the look she was giving him. It made him tingly. But also a little remorseful.

"I talked to Hammond." Sam went deathly quiet, her laughter and her tears both silenced by his words. When she didn't say anything, he continued. "I told him that my judgment had been compromised and that I wasn't fit to lead SG-1 anymore."

"Sir!"

Jack held up his hand in the dark, knowing full well she couldn't see him. "I'm not objective anymore. I haven't been objective in a long time."

"SG-1 needs you, sir." Her voice was quiet, but sounded a lot closer than he remembered.

"And my needs? When do I get to stop pretending those don't matter?"

"When SG-1 isn't needed."

Jack let out a singular, dry laugh and threw up his hands. "Great. That's just the answer I wanted to hear."

"It's not exactly the answer I wanted to give, sir." Yes, her voice was definitely getting closer.

Taking a step back, Jack felt the unyielding presence of Carter's door make itself known. "Can we not with the sir right now?"

"What did he say?" Jack realized that there was a very clear relationship between Carter's proximity and the amount of sense she made to him.

"What?"

"General Hammond. What did General Hammond say when you told him you weren't fit to lead SG-1 anymore?"

"He said, "Too damn bad."" Sensing her disbelief, he held up his hands, some part of him secretly hoping that she'd moved even closer and his hands would conveniently end up on—

"But what does that mean?" Her voice had moved away again and Jack looked accusingly at where he thought his hands were, stupid things hanging uselessly in the air…

"It means I'm still leading SG-1."

"Okay, so nothing's changed." Her voice was closer again—how was she doing that?

"Something's changed." Jack leaned more of his weight against the door, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Jack." Her voice was so close that Jack was sure she was standing right in front of him. All of his black ops training and Jack was absolutely positive even he could never move that stealthily. Wait, Jack. She'd said his name…albeit in a very exasperated, no nonsense tone…but still.

"He said that it was more detrimental to my command if I was constantly worried about hiding my lack of objectivity. He said that there have been contingencies. He said that SG-1 isn't SG-1 without you or me or, actually, both of us together and that there are contingencies." He took a deep breath, a little deflated that she'd managed to undo him and all his mystery just by saying his name.

"What contingencies?" The man had mentioned them twice, though she doubted he realized.

"I don't know. I didn't ask." Jack shrugged.

"You didn't ask."

"Nope."

"May I ask why?" Sam frowned in the darkness, feeling for all the world like she was talking to a particularly difficult child.

"Because he said everything I needed to hear and then he dismissed me." Jack was suddenly aware that not only was her voice even closer, but he could actually feel the heat coming from her body. She was standing directly in front of him, the rise and fall of her chest causing her flannel shirt to brush his crossed arms. Her not buttoned flannel shirt…

"Why are you here?"

"To bring you pizza."

"That it?"

"Not enough?"

"No." Over the course of the conversation, their voices had dropped—they were speaking in near-whispers, each word sending a shiver of breath across the space between them. A soft scrape on either side of him alerted him to the fact that Carter now had him effectively pinned against her door, her arms blocking any escape he might've been stupid enough to try. "Not so fun, is it?"

He didn't ask for clarification. "Actually, I was just thinking that we should do this more often."

"Should because we can?" Her voice was so quiet, Jack wasn't even sure she'd actually spoken.

"We can."

The words hung between them for a long moment. After so many years and so many close calls, it seemed like a very anti-climactic way to finally let that proverbial eighty seventh shoe drop. He should've planned something so much better than pizza and hysterical laughing and crying and now he couldn't even see her face because his stupid self had closed the stupid door!

"We can." She repeated after what felt like an eternity of loaded silence. Another minute passed and he'd swear to god he felt her smirk. "So why aren't you?"

Jack didn't need telling twice. Actually, he did. He had been told a lot of things a lot of times, but in this one instance he was not letting another second go by wasted on words. Uncrossing his arms, his fingers wrapped around the soft material of her open flannel and tugged—or, rather, yanked—her against him. Not needing any light, his lips found hers in the dark and proceeded to do devastating things to them, encouraged by the little sounds she couldn't manage to suppress.

Sam's hands slipped from their positions on the door and Jack took that opportunity to wrap his arms around her and flip them so that she found herself—once again —sandwiched between Jack and the wall.

Well, technically, this time it was a door, but…oh…where had he learned to do that?

Sam gasped as he shifted his hold on her, lifting her into the air and tilting her head back to gain access to her neck. Time seemed to slow down and speed up all at the same time as they explored each other, for the first time totally within their right minds and regulations.

Growling low in his throat, Jack spun and carried Sam to the bed, miraculously managing to remember exactly where it was. He dumped them both unceremoniously onto the comforter and finally allowed himself to peel Sam's flannel away from her shoulders. It wasn't exactly ideal that it was still totally dark in the room, but he just made a mental note to set up floodlights for next time.

Sam stilled beneath him and Jack had a momentary flash of panic; she had changed her mind, she was backing out—

"Just so you know, this is leaving the room." Her voice was breathy, but serious.

"This?"

"Well, not this this…but I mean it. We go there and we're there, Jack. I cannot and will not pretend that it doesn't mean anything." His name still felt foreign on her lips, but she decided that she liked it. And she figured she'd be getting well acquainted with the name in the very immediate future.

"You won't have to." Jack pressed a searing kiss to her mouth. "Unless this is actually some sort of an alternate reality or we actually got infected with some alien virus thingy on that last mission or we-,"

Sam cut him off with a searing kiss of her own. "Stop talking."

Jack happily complied.

END

A/N: Man oh man! That story went in the exact and total and complete opposite direction I originally had in mind. The note of inspiration I have on this story is, "Jack and Sam have a fight." That's it. That was all. They were just supposed to fight. And then plot happened. Ack.

Thank you for reading!

P.S. To those of you wondering what the deeper motivations for Jack's actions on the planet were—it was just that the natives were getting riled and he lashed out because, like Sam, he was fed up with their situation. I was going to add a little bit about how Jack overheard some of the natives talking threateningly about Sam…but it got too complicated. So, I'm sticking with the emotional response reasoning. Thank you!