CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

DEAREST READERS, SORRY FOR THIS LONG DELAY. BUT EVERY THING'S ABOUT TO CLIMAX, SO PLEASE HANG IN THERE WITH SAM AND JACK!! AND PLEEEZE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. FEEDBACK PLEASE???

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"Jack, are you coming to bed?" Sam stood alluringly in their bedroom doorway, wearing nothing.

Talking on his com to Maybourne, Jack held up a hand and winked suggestively as she turned and sashayed toward their bed.

"Look, Harry, I'm sorta busy. This can wait until tomorrow." Although the cycle of Sha'rutt was winding down, Jack and Sam's libido were still in high form.

"Jack, are you listening to me?" Harry spoke through Jack's lapel com.

"Yes, Harry, I heard you," he answered with annoyance.

"So you going to bring Sam here so we can test her with Zat'arc?"

"No. It's safer if you bring the contraption to the cabin tomorrow at 1400 hours."

"Okay, I'll tell McKay. And Jack?"

"What?" Jack yawned.

"Chill, willya."

"Sure, Harry, sure." Grinning, Jack clicked off the com walked into his bedroom and shut the door.

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"Samantha?"

"Jack?"

"Ya think?"

She blinked and looked around her. They were standing on a circular surface within a bright shaft of blue light. His hands jammed in his jean pockets, Jack wore a white pullover and black leather jacket. She loved that jacket. So sexy.

"Hey, Carter?" He grinned, his dimples tucking deep into his tanned face.

"Um, sorry, sir." She blushed.

"So did you find the traitor?" his voice altered to that of Fifth's.

"Yes."

"And he does not suspect you?"

"No. He believes I'm his wife Samantha O'Neill, so well that I almost believe it myself."

"You know of course you are not." Jack's smile flat lined.

"Of course, my dearest Fifth. I know I am yours and to you I will be forever linked."

"Excellent." He reached for her and she stepped into his arms and he nuzzled her neck.

"But sometimes . . .?"

"What?" He pulled back and stared down at her.

"I swear when I'm awake I am Samantha O'Neill. I mean my memories are so vivid, the older kids, giving birth to the twins."

"Seems so real?" He cradled her face and she saw Jack's tender gaze, felt his understanding.

"Yes."

"Remember that is because you downloaded the information directly from the real Samantha before we eliminated her?"

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot." Sam habitably chewed her lower lip. "And my body. I not only feel but I experience hunger and thirst. I bleed, sweat, and produce body fluids." Heat warmed her face. "It's amazing!"

"Yes, our brethren have finally evolved into the image of the Tau'ri. You my greatest creation have proven our superiority over these inferior fools. And once you are returned to us, we will clear your mind of Samantha Carter and you will be yourself again, Sam2. You will become my life mate, my chosen heart."

"I look forward to it." She smiled for him.

"Now you know what must be done?"

"Yes." She stepped back, but they continued to hold hands. "O'Neill's agreed to take me to the base. From there I will disable the force field that prevents our brethren from penetrating the facility. Once that happens, we can destroy the Wraith that prevent us from conquering Earth and this galaxy."

"I'm pleased with your progress, Samantha." He caressed her cheek.

"I know." She leaned into his loving touch, "But I miss you so much, my beloved."

"Be patient. Soon we shall be together forever and rule not just this galaxy, but the universe."

"I only need you, Fifth." She reached out and toyed with his unruly silver hair.

"And I you. Always, Samantha, always."

And he kissed her.

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His breath catching in his throat, heart pounding like a drum, Jack opened his eyes and stared at the woman asleep in his arms. Trying not to gag, he eased from her Replicator arms and stole out of the bedroom and then the house. He made to the front porch, leaned over the wooden rail and puked, praying no one heard. Limbs shaking, out of control, his stomach muscles painfully coiled and uncoiled like a slithering snake. Jack fought the desire to drop to his unsteady knees. Naked, clenching his stomach he ran to the pier and dove into the pond's icy embrace. There, he reached for the bar of soap that rested on a lower plank of the dock and began scrubbing his skin hard, especially his groin and lower.

Dear Lord in Heaven! He'd made love to a Replicator! He'd kissed, caressed and loved her in every intimate way known to man and Ancient. And she/it had done the same to him. As specific images of their lovemaking flashed through his mind's eye Jack's gut pitched with dry heaves so painful that tears streamed down his face. Hanging onto the pier's frame, his anger turned to agony. Still his Ancient makeup desired her, still, needed to be joined with her. He cursed the pleasant ache then glanced at the moon and cursed its existence. It figured that Fifth had mimicked the real Sam Carter right down to her genetic code for Sha'rutt. Fifth had managed to transfer Samantha's DNA code into RepliCarter's-2. That scrap heap even smelled like Sam, which drove him insane. Why hadn't he seen this coming?

Even before he'd almost tromped her to death two weeks ago, Jack had suspected that with Fifth's return, Sam would appear. He'd been right. He'd even been prepared for her being a Replicator, but the moment he saw her bruised head, felt the pulse of her beating heart, smelled the essence that belonged to Samantha alone, he believed his wife had returned.

What a stupid lovesick fool. How could he be so blind-sighted to not realize that sooner or later the Replicators would evolve in such minute detail that the Replicator detectors would fail to recognize them. Heck none of the dogs or horses had reacted. Not even Thor, his dog.

Jack thought about the real Thor's consciousness inside of him. He'd not spoken in a long time, even when Jack had tried to talk. Jack feared the worst, that Thor was truly dead. Jack could really use some Asgard advice about now.

So if Replicarter had slipped behind the JACOB force field, so had other Replicators. What happened to his Sam? Was she dead or alive? No! He felt sick again. She had to be alive! How else had he managed to link with her tonight? How else unless . . .

"Dad?" Charlie ventured onto the pier and stared into the dark water of the landing.

"Yeah."

"Whatcha doing?"

"Whatcha think?"

Charlie hunkered down on his bare heels and peered over the edge of the dock. Jack swam into view and placed the slippery soap bar onto the wooden slates below the dock.

"You forgot this." His son held up a thread-worn towel.

"Oh." Jack tried to keep the cold tremor from his voice but made no effort to leave the water. He felt too weak to hoist himself onto the dock. Crap, he was old.

As if sensing his father's emotional condition, Charlie walked back to the beach and returned with the rope ladder that he attached to the dock's hinges and tossed it over the side. "Give me your hand, Dad?"

Too tired to tread water Jack locked his heels on the ladder and accepted Charlie's strong grip. A moment later he squatted on the wood dock and Charlie draped the beach towel over his cold shaking shoulders.

"Its damn cold out here," Charlie commented.

Jack didn't reply. While he toweled down Charlie dropped onto his butt beside him. Jack noted the young man was in his skivvies and a t-shirt and wasn't warm either. Father and son knew each other's moods well enough and for the moment Charlie kept quiet.

Jack shook the water out of his hair and secured the towel about his waist.

"Wanna talk?" The younger O'Neill ventured.

"Nope."

"I'm your son."

"Last I checked."

"Funny." Charlie made the habitable O'Neill sniff.

Jack hedged a smile as he touched Charlie's forearm. "And what has that to do with me taking a midnight swim?"

"Everything. She's my mother and I'm supposed to love her. But I don't. In fact, I don't think she's Samantha Carter-O'Neill, but then when I suggested that you almost punched my lights out."

"Yeah, about that." Jack flinched and hugging his cold arms, turned to his son. "I should have listened to you."

"Really?" Charlie sounded incredulous.

"Yeah, and don't go all wacko 'I told ya so,' on me. This doesn't happen too often, but I messed up big time." Jack dragged a hand over his face and groaned.

"She's a Replicator." Charlie assisted Jack to his feet.

"Yes."

"You two tried to be talking heads?"

"Um, no not exactly." Jack glanced away. Man, he felt tired.

"Crap! You went in through the backdoor?"

"Yes." Bad enough he'D ordered his kids never try that underhanded, dangerous mind game. He stood and his knees creaked as he limped across the lawn toward the house. "Can we not talk about this?"

"Dad?" Charlie was on his six. "You can't just go back in there and act as if everything's okay. You've gotta take her out!"

"With what?" He turned and glared into the younger man's gaze that was equal with his own. "Loving human kindness? Don't you get it, Charlie? There is no weapon on Earth that can destroy them. Until now our greatest defense was they weren't like us, they had no souls. Now I don't know. Once we could track them, see them coming, and had a force shield they couldn't penetrate. A shield your mother developed and Doctor MacKay further perfected. Yet she . . . It waltzed right in here. And she's linked to Fifth and the rest of the Replicator brethren. We're dead meat, son!"

"So you're going to give up and let her on base?"

"Haven't decided on the base tour, yet. But give up? Never!"

Jack marched into his house and removed a pair of boxers and jogging pants from the laundry basket. After he heard Charlie's bedroom door close he checked the rest of his sleeping family. When he got to the nursery he found it empty and then checked the boys bedroom to find his four kids whom despite having their own beds were huddled in JJ's queen size bed. Kissing them, Jack slipped in between them, drew the twins to his chest, closed his weary eyes and prayed.

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After finding herself alone in bed, Sam strolled through the quiet O'Neill sanctuary looking for her husband. She'd earlier spotted him out on the dock with Charlie and decided not to interfere in what appeared to be a father-son moment. She expected Jack to return to their bed, when he didn't she found him asleep in JJ's bed with the other young children. Her heart experienced mixed feelings. He'd left her arms to sleep with their kids. Was that warped or what? Or was she the one with the problem? Why couldn't she bond with her children like he had? Why had the twins been so excited about her and then this afternoon accused her of not being their mother? The rest of the day they'd avoided her like she had the plague. Now her husband, who'd just made love to her, chose to sleep with their kids over her.

Swiping at a tear, Sam shuffled back to her large lonely bed, curled into a fetal position and wept, begging God to let her sleep.

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Jack sat up in the bed and stared at the open doorway, Sam had just occupied. His fists clenched around the bed sheets he fought the hunger to join with her again. He couldn't! That's exactly what Fifth wanted. The bug had found one of their Ancient weaknesses and used it against Jack. He inhaled and encountered Sam's scent that aroused him to a degree of madness. It'd been so long since he'd been with the real Sam, so long since he'd experienced this overwhelming physical desire. God help him, but he wanted her again, even if she was Replicarter! Clutching a pillow to his chest he rolled over and shut his eyes remembering . . .

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"It's always been like this hasn't it?" Sam murmured against his heart.

"What?" His breath moved a hair from her earlobe.

"Us?"

"Yes."

"Even before SG-1?"

"Yes."

"Even before the White House Ball?"

"Yes."

"Even before—"

"Yes." He drew her into his arms and began to make love again.

"Jack?"

"Hum?"

"Do you realize that other than the first four years of my life, we've always known each other?"

"Wrong."

"Huh?" She pulled back from his hot delicious lips.

"I was there."

"When?"

"When, you were born."

"Don't think so." She poked him, extracting a grunt.

"Your parents did tell you how and where you were born right?"

"Yeah. I was born in a disabled elevator at the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago and—My mom was all alone except for a teenager—Holy Hannah!"

Jack grinned back. "And that teen was a thirteen-year-old on a class trip, with a backpack that included a jackknife, duct-tape, white shoe strings, and a can of 7UP."

"You?"

"Yep." He pulled back and grinned at her. "I delivered you and was the first to hold you. I was clueless how that brief physical contact branded us. So you see, my beautiful hot wife, God bonded us as chosen hearts. You're mine, Samantha, and until God takes us home, I'm never ever going to let you go. Forever and for always."

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Sam bolted upright in bed. He'd never told her this . . . at least verbally. Another memory, more recent. After they were married on Earth and after Grace had been born. In her head! He'd told her without words. That was the missing link. They were telepathic!

"Jack?" She cried out in her head.

"Wha-at?" Came his fuzzy voice as if he were yawning.

"I'm not a Replicator!"

No response.

"Jack, for mercy sakes, please, you must believe me. We've been bonded since I was born in a Chicago elevator! Forever and for always."

The bedroom door swung opened and he stood there bare-chested in his sweats staring at her in the moonlight. Sam froze as he stepped into the room and then shut the door, erasing the moonlight from the room.

He strode toward her with fierce determination. She sensed his rage and something else. Lust! She'd earlier realized during their lovemaking that they'd behaved like sex-starved teenagers and her need for him had only been partially satisfied.

She'd originally gone to find him because well, she'd wanted him again. Even more she needed him, needed that physical bond and to appease an appetite only he could satisfy. She'd yet to remember that part of their relationship, but she instinctively knew that sex with Jack O'Neill was always high on her priority list. Although the rite of Sha'rutt was declining, she would always desire him.

Even after she'd found him with their kids, the ache hadn't left. Still her emotions had driven her to crying and eventually into that strange fitful dream. Now he stood here and she could smell pure testosterone. Two more steps he was shoving her into the bedding and, oh wow! He yanked her PJ top off, her panties followed as she heard their fabric tear. Her vision blurred as he took her like a starving man.

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A loud pounding sound awoke Sam. Tangled in the sheets, she rolled over in the large bed to find herself alone. No Jack or children. She was naked. The scent of spent sex tickled her nostrils. Her lips bruised and her body ached as if she'd been through an obstacle course. She had. And she wasn't happy about what had taken place. There'd been nothing gentle between them last night. And the only words they'd shared had been sexually vulgar. Sam felt dirty as if she'd been used and then disposed of by her husband. Then again, she'd done the same to him. So was this how the Ancient's made love? No. This wasn't how it'd been the days and nights before. Nor did she suspect in the past between them.

Another series of driving hammered sounds followed. Sam tested her feet and made her way to the window, but couldn't see anything. A few minutes later she took a short hot shower. Her fingers found tender spots everywhere including her pelvis that felt as if a jackhammer had . . . she frowned. Yeah that's exactly what had happened. More than once. She'd actually passed out crying out his name as the pleasure became more than she could consciously handle. Another Ancient thing she decided she didn't like. Samantha Carter didn't like losing control even with Jack, did she? Another unanswered question.

Looking in the mirror, she stared at her face for a while. Weird thoughts assaulted her again. She had to be at least fifty or more. However the woman staring back at her didn't appear over forty. She pulled her fine wet, blonde hair back. She'd yet to fix her first butchered haircut and everyone seemed to deal with it. She wished it even shorter, easier to style. She opened the medicine cabinet and found the hair shears. A vision of herself years ago flashed before her. Using her fingers to measure she evened off the sides. Nope. Shorter.

Twenty minutes later, she donned a pair of worn blue jeans. Too baggy, she belted her waist and then slipped on a faded orange t-shirt that read, "Homer Simpson for President." Sam wondered who the funny carton character was and why the oversized shirt was in her drawer.

When she entered the kitchen she found it empty. She called for the kids but got no response. Sam glanced at the mantle clock and winced. It was almost eleven am. Retrieving what tasted like a fresh banana muffin, Sam left the cabin and stepped into the warm sun. The crisp autumn air felt good and Sam breathed in deep.

The hacking sound came again from behind the house. She remembered it was Wednesday and assumed the men were splitting firewood. Sam rounded the backyard and spotted the long lean-to attached to the cabin that was sheltered on three sides, the south wall open. Split wood was stacked from floor to ceiling. A few feet away a flatbed wagon held an enormous pile of logs.

Wack! Wood splinters flew overhead and she tentatively walked around the wagon. Sam froze at what she found. Jack O'Neill splitting wood. Shirtless, dressed in his holed jeans and steel-toed boots, he loaded the pieces of wood onto another flat wooden brace then wielded the ax with the same accuracy he did his P90. His bare back to her, sweat tracked the lean tan lines of his clawed skin. Sam flinched as she recalled how he'd acquired most of those scars.

She returned her attention to the fluid power in his lean muscular arms and biceps as he repeatedly drove the axe blade into a large chunk of oak and it surrendered, splitting in half. His chest expanded with the exertion and her gaze riveted to the tight curly gray hairs that dressed his upper chest then trickled into a narrow darker trail of hair below his waist. Sam cleared her throat, realizing she'd not seen him naked in the daylight and wondered what she'd missed. Apparently a lot.

"Um, would you like something to drink?" she asked, surprised when her voice cracked.

Pitching the split wood onto the pile a yard away, he turned and glanced at her through sunglasses. She felt his scrutinizing gaze and watched his facial muscles tense when he noticed her even more shortened hair. She wished she could see his eyes. His lips pressed tight, Jack nodded and gestured toward the lean-to. "There's a pitcher of ice water inside." He returned to his labor.

"Sure." She walked to where a glass and half a pitcher of water set on a worktable. Sam reached for the glass until her gaze spotted his dog tags. She lifted the familiar metal chain. Another memory surfaced. He'd stopped wearing them after he'd been promoted to Brigadier General some fifteen years ago. Her mind whirled. If that were true, he had to be in his mid-to-late sixties. She turned and stared at his lean work-worn physique. Confusion washed over her. She then noticed another set of tags hung on the same chain. Sam glanced at the familiar numbers and name, Colonel Samantha Carter-O'Neill. Her heart hitched in her throat. He'd kept them. She shut her eyes and tried to remember more.

"Could use that drink!" Jack called out.

"Coming." She poured the water and then set down the tags. Sam hurried and offered him the cold glass. He'd removed his shades and wiped his damp brow. Sam spotted the hand towel and stepped forward to pat the perspiration from his arms and chest. Jack yanked the towel from her. "I'm not handicapped, Carter."

His hostile tone felt as if he'd slapped her. She bit her lower lip and turned to walk away.

"Why'dya cut your hair again?"

She froze and turned slowly. Jack leaned back against the wagon, his long legs crossed in front of him, one thumb in his front jean pocket, the other holding the empty glass. Something about that lazy pose took her off guard. She'd seen it before. Lots of times and it stirred something deep and lost inside of her. She shut her eyes and remembered what was missing. His goofy lopsided smile.

"Your hair," he said closer.

Her eyes snapped open to find him gazing down at her. She'd not even seen him approach. Sam trembled. Although her sexual need for him no longer uncontrollable, it smoldered under the surface.

"I," she stiffened when his long fingers toyed with a damp strand. "Wanted to even it out better."

"Ah," he smiled then frowned. "You never had the patience to grow it out. Rarely got passed the nape of your neck." He dropped his hand as if to touch her pained him.

"You liked it long?" She feared she'd disappointed him.

"Doesn't matter." He didn't sound hurt, but something in the way he'd said it bothered her. "Nothing matters anymore," he said then donned his shades as his mouth ironed out. There'd been no affection in his smoldering brown gaze, let alone the sexual dominance from the night before. He acted as if it'd never happened.

"Where is everyone?" she asked as he walked back to the woodpile.

"The kids are at the SGC daycare underground."

"Oh, I could have—"

He turned and glared.

"Watched them," she forced herself to finish. What was wrong now? What had she done, said, that he didn't even trust her with their children? Had the twins told him what happened yesterday?

"They go there every Wednesday. It's my time above ground, alone. Your arrival threw off the routine. Not anymore."

"Oh." She then noticed the diesel-powered wood splitter a few feet away.

"Does the splitter work?" she walked toward it.

"Died a few weeks ago. Haven't had time to futz with it. The bearings are shot and the belt's burned out. Besides I need the workout—"

Sam dropped to her knees and removed the outer casing. "I can fix this." She announced in one glance.

"Yeah, well, my Sam could fix anything . . ." Jack's voice bottomed out and he cursed.

My Sam? She snapped her head around and stared at his accusatory glint. That was it! He didn't believe she was herself. Sam shoved to her feet and stalked toward him waving her arms in rage.

"Why you cantankerous S.O.B.!"

"Excuse me?" He set down the ax and met her halfway.

"Don't pull that 'excuse me,' crap line on me, Jonathon J. O'Neill."

"Excuse me," he coughed, "crap line?" His mouth twitched.

"You heard, me you incorrigible lunatic on the fringe!" She turned to leave before she did something she'd regret like kick his ass. "Man, oh, man, why'd I ever think you were the Scarecrow I fell in love with on Nirrti's mother's ship?"

"Scarecrow? Wait?" He touched her shoulder.

Sam reacted with military instinct and her clenched fist made contact with his chin. She saw the stunned look on his handsome face before he toppled, face down. Wow! Who knew Jack O'Neill had a straw jaw? She did.

Jack was floating . . . in pain.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Carter was saying with emphatic regret. And then there was nothing for either of them.

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"Jack?"

"Um, Daniel?" Jack's mouth tasted like sawdust.

"Yeah. You okay?"

"Guess so." Jack rubbed his aching jaw and shoved upright. When he glanced around he found he was on the living room sofa.

"What happened?"

"We we're hoping you'd tell us," the linguist frowned. "Cass is watching the kids at our place. Where's Sam?"

"Ow." Jack hoisted himself off the sofa and winced. "Um, she slugged me and then . . ."

"What?" Daniel looked upset.

"Sorry, I've got nothing." He flexed his swollen jaw. "I forgot what a wallop Sam can throw. I think she broke a tooth."

"She's gone, Jack."

"Oh." He shrugged.

"Just, oh?" Daniel huffed.

"I mean. She couldn't have gotten far."

"It's night, Jack. You've been out for hours. Harry sent a high alert to the outer perimeter patrols, but so far no one's spotted her. It's like she just vanished and—." He looked away.

"Spit, Danny," Jack ordered.

"Well, about the same time you got knocked out, there was a temporal disturbance in the force field. McKay thinks that's when Sam vanished."

"And that means?" Jack was losing patience.

"Fifth's abducted Sam—again."

"Crap!"

END OF CHAPTER FOURTEEN