A/N: Short, but sweet. One of two chapters going up today. Thanks again to all of you who are reading and also to those of you reviewing.

Chapter 6

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Sam woke to find her face wet. Again. This time, however, she wasn't in the stream stretched out next to Jack O'Neill, she was tucked safely in the tent. She shuddered as fragments of the dream came back to her. She'd been dreaming...more of a nightmare, really. Someone was...lost. Someone she loved desperately was lost...just out of reach. She remembered reaching, pulling, trying desperately to extend that last little inch to get to him and suddenly he was gone. Sam freed a hand from the sleeping bag and swiped at the dampness covering her cheeks, unsurprised to find that she'd been crying in her sleep. Taking a deep, calming breath, she buried her head deeper into Jack's shoulder, seeking comfort in his warmth, in his scent, in his steady presence.

Jack.

Only in her head did she ever call him Jack. She was diligent about only calling him "Sir," or "Colonel," even off duty. Other Seconds at the SGC called their CO's by their first name; the stresses they lived with in the day-to-day performance of their jobs, combined with their family-like units, encouraged that familiarity, despite standard military protocol. On every team but hers. Between every 2IC and CO save for her and...Jack. And truthfully, the other exception was Jack and General Hammond, but Sam didn't think they avoided that personal interaction for the same reason that she and Jack did. Jack hadn't invited her to call him anything but what was proper by military standards. It was probably their strict adherence to protocol that fueled so many rumors, she mused, distractedly. Whatever his reasons, she kept to the formal side for her own protection. Jack was someone she loved. Colonel O'Neill was someone whom she admired and...yes, loved, but not in the same way. Jack...she loved and admired him, in an entirely different way. In a wholly inappropriate way. She'd admitted that to herself a long time ago. While it was okay for her to respect and admire Colonel O'Neill, loving Jack O'Neill was out of the question. Not allowed. So..."Jack" lived inside her head while "Sir" lived outside.

Sam sighed again, aware enough of her disjointed thoughts to realize that she...that they...were very sick and not yet getting better. She had no idea what time it was but had a vague memory of having spent some time outside earlier. Blinking sleepily, she peered around the tent and realized it was completely dark inside and out. They were on the planet for at least another full night.

Jack shifted beside her, muttering as he suddenly threw his arm up and over his head. "'M 'kay, I'll go, but not...no...don' do...no...no...NO!"

His sudden shout startled her and Sam jerked in surprise. She rested a gentle hand on his cheek, fumbling a bit in the darkness, trying to calm him down. "Sir...shh. Shh...it's just a bad dream." Daring, she whispered again, "Shh, Jack. It's okay. I'm here."

Slowly his breathing evened out once again. As he settled down he turned his face into her palm and placed a gentle kiss there. "T'nks, sweetheart. L've you."

Sam froze, her hand still against his stubbled jaw. She had heard him, she was certain of it. Just as the thought crossed her mind she laughed at herself. The man was as sick as she was and probably had no earthly clue what he'd just said. Sure, she knew he loved her, just as she knew she loved him. She was pretty sure he knew it too. They showed each other in a million different ways all the time. He brought her tea late at night in her lab, she made sure that his very favorite brand of coffee was always in their field gear. He knew her rhythms, her moods and brought chocolate when it was necessary, and left her alone when that was needed to. She humored his attempts to appear less than he was, knowing he was so much more than he'd ever admit to. Sam's mind whirled with other ways in which they'd showed their love, each gesture blending into the next, forming a mosaic of emotions that rippled throug her. But...the one thing that held true in all of their experiences was that they never said that kind of thing out loud. Never. It was too dangerous. Too far over the line. Too...true.

Despite knowing that in her head, her heart said something else, and Sam gently caressed his cheek with her thumb and whispered, "I love you, Jack. Good night." With her hand cupping his cheek, Sam closed her eyes and dropped back sleep, this time deeper and more relaxed, undisturbed by dreams of any kind. She didn't see his warm brown eyes slowly open, blinking sleepily in the darkness, nor, despite the hand she held to his face, did she feel the wide smile that slipped across his lips before he, too, drifted back to sleep.

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