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High Noon

"Well, if there was no solar flare, we have to assume time didn't change," Dr. Daniel Jackson muses. His many degrees aren't in the "hard" sciences, but he's learned a thing or two from Sam over the years. "That just leaves space."

"Oh yeah," McKay says sarcastically, "and there's hardly any of that out there."

--

Carter catches the silver glint through the trees just before O'Neill does, and breathes a sigh of relief. "Water, sir."

"Yeah. One down and two to go." He pauses at the edge of the meandering rivulet as it crosses through a small square culvert under the road, the opening barely visible through clumps of ferns and flowering plants. The cool air wafts over them as she kneels down to replenish their empty canteens, dropping an iodine tablet in each of them, and then soaking their caps in the crystal stream.

"Ugh," he screws the lids shut. "You really need to work on your cocktail recipe, Carter."

"Sorry sir. We can't take any chances. If something goes wrong, I can't just gate you home." She stands up and hands him his dripping cap. "If anything is wrong- I mean anything, sir- you have to tell me. I don't want a re-enactment of The Snows of Kilimanjaro."

"I'm pretty sure I didn't gouge my leg on the way through the gate. Although I could get use to you catering to my every…"

"I mean it." She doesn't laugh, or even smile.

"It works both ways," he points out, suddenly serious as he jams her canteens into the side pockets of her pack. She nods and they move out again, keeping to the road as it gradually turns to parallel the creek, staying silent because they know they're close to something.

Within a few hundred yards she stops and raises her field glasses. "Two down, one to go." She hands over the binoculars and squints to see the small stone village shimmering through the heat waves rising up from a grassy field, the only break in the dense forest they had yet seen apart from the area around the stargate.

"I'll take point," he says as casually as he had a hundred times before, not meeting her eyes as he readies his weapon. He has the luxury of not having to explain the sudden change in command, which is convenient because he's not sure if he can.

It's easy going securing a deserted village, however, and in a few minutes the tension between them evaporates in the hot dry air. Returning to the first building, O'Neill uses the barrel of his automatic to swing open the door. "Friendly folks. They don't lock their doors."

"Maybe they're just forgetful." She flashes a little knowing grin at him and steps with relief into the cool shade of the structure. "It's got to be twenty degrees cooler in here. These walls must be an incredible heat sink."

He follows her in but doesn't set down his gun as he peers cautiously into each small room. "This place is familiar in an evil, goa'uldish kind of way." He finally relaxes his guard just enough to take off his cap and ruffle his hair, glad to be out of the sun and dust.

"I wish Daniel was here." She locks eyes with him briefly, unmistakable worry etched on her face, then runs her hand over the smooth, skillfully dressed stone walls that hold not even a trace of mortar just like the joints of the stones that had comprised the Abydosian pyramids.

"He can't read what isn't here," O'Neill says quietly."The goa'uld kept 'em stupid."

She nods in grudging acceptance of that fact, and turns to open a window in the dark room, unlatching a simple shuttered window. The light floods in, her short hair moving gently in the first breeze they'd felt the entire two days on the planet. There's something so sweetly domestic and out of place about the scene that O'Neill stands mesmerized, forgetting where and who they are until the heat from the window nudges him back into reality.

"Better close that," he says, a little too gruffly. For the first time, it dawns on him how damned difficult being stranded with Samantha Carter is going to be. He shakes the pack off of his back and sets it on a stone bench near the doorway. "I guess this is as good as any."

Carter takes one last glance out then shuts and latches the window. "I can take the one right over there."

"I think you should take the one right over here," he nods in the direction of the small room through the doorway opposite the fireplace as he loosens the laces on his boots. He doesn't see her blush in the darkened room, but notices her hesitation and doesn't know quite what to make of it, because he's resigned himself to the fact that she sees him as more of a father figure than anything else. His tone softens a bit. "I won't borrow your cream rinse without asking, okay?"

She smiles without answering and then walks into the small room, able to make out a wooden sleeping platform in the dark onto which she sets her pack. Removing her flashlight from it, she stops and then lays the light carefully on a stone shelf that's been carved into the wall, choosing instead to open the window slightly. He doesn't tell her to shut it this time, but watches through the doorway as her eyes follow a sliver of golden light across the windowsill and onto the first inch or so of floor. He's never seen anyone so interested in a thin beam of light before, and he stops working on his boots as he sees a triumphant smile forming on her lips, her fingers held out to touch the light. He slowly shakes his head in amazement, realizing she's the only person he's ever known who really can pull something out of thin air. She turns and his eyes drop back to his laces, the negative imprint of the light dancing across his own hands until his eyes adjust to the dark.

Carter quickly organizes her gear, gathering up the first aid kit and food supplies. Stepping into the common area, she finds he has done the same. "We've got rude hosts," he grumbles, "It's one thing not being home to welcome us. But they didn't even leave out any cookies."

She eases herself onto the worn wooden planks of the floor. "I wonder what happened to them. It looks like they just walked out, and not too long ago."

"Were herded out, more likely." He stretches out his legs on the planking. "If we are close to where Abydos was, it might have been that reptilian-brained Apophis trying to cut his losses."

"Reptilian-brained?"

"I'm a general, now, Carter. 'Snake-head' just won't do."

She chuckles and he smiles. "The sun isn't straight overhead anymore, sir. I think I can set up a sundial."

"And then?" He pulls off his boots and tries to recall the last time he's worn them for forty hours straight. He's getting soft.

"Then I'll know how long until sundown."

"And then?"

"Then we watch the stars come out." She reaches behind her for her laptop and Starry Night. "Of course, you're welcome to watch them now, if you want. I've got to get started on these calculations."

"Go ahead and play with your Lincoln Logs, Carter," he says, rolling out his sleeping bag to cushion him from the floor. "I'm turning in." O'Neill sets his boots aside and flops down, his back to her. She watches him for a moment and then slowly returns the computer to its case, a look of sad surprise playing across her features.

He just stares at the wall.

--

They keep their days synchronized on Earth time, sleeping and standing watch in shifts that limit their time together, which is a good thing given the sweltering, confined spaces they're in and the stress they're under. Over the course of the next few weeks they encounter no hostiles, figure out the cistern system, re-shingle thin spots in the roof, and perhaps most importantly, discover an overgrown community garden. "Three down?" Carter asks doubtfully, uncovering a nondescript tuber from the desiccated soil. She lets O'Neill try it later that day, makes sure he doesn't die of alien potato poisoning, and by the end of the week they've filled what he interprets to be a root cellar beneath the house, although he thinks it would make a pretty good wine cellar, too.

"That could be your winter project," she says as she shuts the door, wiping the dirt from her palms.

"Winter?"

"Night." She looks at the squat buildings around them. "That's what bothers me about this place. These houses just look like they're waiting for bad weather."

O'Neill nods, glancing from the huts to the forest. "Well, that's why we have spruce trees."

"Aren't these pine trees?" Carter hasn't given them much thought beyond the fact that she's very tired of looking at them.

"Spruce. Just like in Minnesota."

"You always said there were pine trees at your cabin."

"Guess you'll never know, will you?"

She stares at him in surprise and he knows he's said way too much. Quickly retreating behind a carefree smile, he says, "I think what you're trying to tell me is that I need to go chop some wood."

"Yeah," she says uncertainly, "I guess so."

--

Later that 24-hour cycle, he wakes to silence and the persistent heat, a sheen of sweat having accumulated across his bare chest and shoulders even while he slept. He swears there isn't much difference in temperature now between the interior and the exterior of the house but knows twilight isn't all that far away, thank God. He stares at the rough ceiling boards and waits to hear Carter in the back yard fiddling quietly with the sundial, a makeshift ruler and her notebook; or maybe the erratic sounds of data entry. In the absolute silence of a world with apparently no animate life, any sound at all is amplified- but today he hears nothing. He isn't really alarmed yet, so he gets up and pokes around the house a bit until he notices her radio is gone. Picking up his own, he calls her but receives only static in return. Without bothering to find his shirt he reacts by checking his sidearm, grabbing the automatic and barreling out the door, very nearly colliding with her as he rounds the corner of the house.

"Where the hell were you?" He doesn't notice that her arms are full of wet clothing, with her hair combed back and the clothes on her body still quite damp. Despite his harsh words, he's visibly relieved.

Her glance flicks quickly over his torso before meeting his eyes. "At the pond. I didn't want to wake you."

"I radioed you." It's more of an accusation than a statement.

Carter shifts her weight uneasily. He's really ticked off at her and that's extremely rare- in fact, this might be a first. "I guess I was in the water."

"Dammit, Carter, you put down the radio and your sidearm, too."

"There's no one here," she points out the obvious.

"There never is- until you let your guard down."

Stung by what she interprets as implications of incompetence, she veers around him and begins to toss the clothing on a scraggly hedge they've been using as a makeshift clothesline. "I just wanted some privacy, sir." She's careful to turn her face so he can't see her blinking back the tears.

O'Neill watches her lithe, tan arms angrily jerking tiny articles of clothing into place and the tension building up within him suddenly shifts. He lets his eyes drift down to the tank top that stretches over the the delicate hollows of her collarbone before conforming to her breasts like a second skin, like his hands in some alternate timeline. Her reach hikes the top up, drawing his gaze to the creamy white skin of her narrow waist, the flare of her hips barely holding up the damp BDUs perilously clinging to the firm contours beneath. The slanting red rays of the sun casts sharp shadows, highlighting every curve, dip and angle of her body with light and dark as if somehow he might overlook how beautiful she is. But he's never done that, not even when he tries to.

And he's really trying. "While I might prefer watching your six, Carter," he says with a great deal more control than he feels, "my job is to cover it."

"Sorry sir," she says without a trace of regret as she tosses her over shirt on the hedge and turns to face him, "I just didn't think it would bother you." Whether she means to be sarcastic or whether she really doesn't know that she looks like an airman's fantasy isn't clear. What is clear is that she isn't going to back down.

A surge of anger, relief and white-hot desire trip the circuit breakers in his mind and his last rational thought is to drop the P-90 before wrapping her in an over-arm body hold, pulling her nearly off the ground. "Do not," he whispers hoarsely into her damp, clean hair, his arms locked around her, "play games with me, Carter."

Even if he hadn't squeezed the wind out of her she wouldn't be able to speak, stunned as she is by his actions. Neither of them move for a moment as he holds her, cool smooth skin under his rough hands, her lips millimeters away from the hot pulse of his neck and certain disaster. Her defensive options are limited and he finds himself anticipating the feel of her mouth on his shoulder, her teeth sinking into his skin- but it doesn't come. Instead, she manages to draw a breath, the slight movement of her body against his finally bringing him back to his senses and he abruptly lets her go, picks up his gun and stalks off, leaving her standing alone.

After just having lectured her about taking off by herself, he doesn't go very far. She quickly finds him sitting on the floor in the near-dark of the house next door that they use as a storage area and workshop. "Sir?"

He's actually relieved she found him because the last thing he wants is for her to be afraid. He turns to look at her, but sees only her silhouette back-lit by sunshine. "This isn't going to work."

"I already know that."

"I mean- I can't be in charge here."

"Oh." She comes into the room and sits opposite of him, and his eyes gradually adjust to the point where he can see her face.

"You're the leader of SG-1. It would have been ridiculous not to go, and even more ridiculous to wake me up and tell me you were going."

"'Ridiculous' would not be the word I'd choose, sir. More like 'dangerous'."

O'Neill nods his head in agreement. He would still have grabbed her; only with a gun to her head until he woke up and figured out she wasn't a threat. He never sleeps well off-world. "What about a note, for crying out loud?"

"I couldn't… spare the paper." She doesn't wanted to tell him that. He'd helped her copy the glyphs and she knows there's no way he'd miss the fact that her notebook is brand new. And yet not enough. Which means it's going to take a whole lot of calculations and charts to get them off the planet.

He's silent for a while, understanding her reluctance to tell him anything that might disappoint him. After all, she's the lieutenant colonel and he's the general. "When were you going to tell me that you were worried about plan A?"

"When plan A fails."

"It doesn't always fail." He smiles ruefully. "Carter, this is survival, not combat. On the list of things to worry about, following orders is pretty low. Way below things like, oh- talking to me. Or doing what you think is right. There's only us here."

Carter just nods and straps her holster back on her leg.

"But you knew all that."

"I guess so."

"The next time you have a point to make, could you just do it verbally?"

"Next time, I'll be able to." She gets to her feet and waits to see if he's coming, but he just watches her without saying a word until she finally walks out on a superior officer for the first time in her life.

O'Neill sighs and rests his head back against the wall. He knows weakening the command structure might create a problem for them if they make it back to the SGC, but as a rule he never hesitates to trade a real problem for one that's only theoretical. Unfortunately, it's also going to make another real problem worse. He remembers the near-panic of finding her missing and the pure sensual pleasure of her body against his, and realizes he still cares about her a lot more than he's supposed to. And it hurts. Which really takes him by surprise because most of the time he thinks he can't feel much of anything anymore. And God help him, that makes him angry, too, but he couldn't even face that until today when he'd just about lost it because she'd not only rejected his love but his authority as well.

Only she hadn't. He had given her no choice, and she reacted. That's the way it had always been.

But getting worked up over Carter is nothing new and nothing he can't repress as efficiently as he has for the past several years except for one thing, the thing that hit him so hard he had to sit down just to breathe. She hadn't fought back. Not only is she getting married, but she's also highly trained airman and she had let him pin her down. For a split second she had seemed just like she had in that time loop. Surprised, a little shocked, and completely willing to be where she was. Jack draws a deep breath and wonders if they'll ever stop fighting- the rules, their feelings, the war. And now each other.

Her clothes are already bone-dry when Carter retrieves them from the hedge and retreats to her room to dress. Slipping the tank top off over her head, she pauses and lifts it back up to her face. Her eyes suddenly open and with a look of puzzlement she stares through her window at the shuttered house next door. "You had a point to make," she says in a quiet voice, "and you didn't do it verbally, either."

She finishes dressing and puts the top back on, her dog tags clinging to her skin as if she'd never gone for a swim at all. Fluffing her hair with her fingers, she walks out on the back porch and then down the solid stone steps to check her sundial- but by the time she reaches it the brutal sun finally slips behind the highest treetops around the house, at long last offering them a reprieve from the heat.

TBC...