Previously

Suddenly, shrieking filled his ears and Martin clapped his hands over them, putting so much pressure on his ears he felt his head might explode. The noise was deafening; a thousand clamouring voices of different volume and pitch joined the screamer, splitting his head in agony. Unable to take the pain, Martin dropped to his knees, barely noticing as Siler called a medical emergency.

Two pairs of hands dragged him carefully by the armpits. He had a strange floating sensation. Then once again, familiarly now, everything went black.

Chapter Three

Raising her hand to knock on the door in front of her, Sam hesitated as she noticed the plaque. She smiled, brushing across his recently engraved name with fingers that trembled. It had only been a couple of months since he was trapped; left in stasis in the Antarctic outpost. Abandoned. Or as good as. And now he'd been promoted to General, commander of the SGC. She was happy for him, but she couldn't help feeling it was another step away from the team; from her.

Coughing slightly, the guard outside his door shifted and as Sam turned to look at him, a knowing smile rushed from his eyes. Feeling a blush rise up her face she knocked hastily. Hearing his lazy, "Yeah," she rushed in, eager to retreat from knowing looks and their potential consequences.

He looked up from a desk covered in paper, pens and some ornaments. The room definitely had the sense of organised chaos to it, and Sam noted, with some amusement, the increasingly indignant assistant at the cabinet behind him. He smiled, catching her eye for a little longer than he should have, and had the grace to chuckle lightly.

Something was funny? "Hot out there, Carter?" She stared at him blankly until he waved a hand in front of his amused face.

Realisation dawning in her eyes, she rolled them. "Funny." Belatedly she added the "Sir". The aide de camp frowned behind her glasses. Hiding a grin, Jack motioned for the woman to leave. She gathered up a box and hastily left the office. Jack put his pen down, leaning back in the large chair and motioning for her to sit. Sam smiled tightly, looking around for some employment for her hands.

"Something I can do for you, Carter?"

"Yes, Sir. The Gate diagnostic review is nearly finished. I'll have a full report ready and on your desk tomorrow morning."

Jack paused. "Great!" He sounded falsely bright.

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, awkward in each other's company. For all Sam knew he didn't remember the painful conversation they had had just a few short weeks ago at his home whilst the knowledge of the Ancients re-wrote everything in his mind. Nor the follow-up she had attempted in the Alkesh engine room.

It was difficult not to think about these moments as she stared into his chocolate brown eyes.

"Was there something else, Carter?" His question snapped her back to the present and she felt the blush rising in her cheeks again. Still, back to business.

"Yes Sir. I, uh, saw Major Wood before." She paused, "In the Gate room."

He nodded. She seemed to expect him to say something. "Right…" Jack drew the word out, clearly rather confused.

"Look, Sir. Something was 'off'."

He raised an eyebrow, "'Off'?"

"When he looked at me, I mean. I could…feel him."

The second eyebrow joined the first.

"I mean…God this is all coming out wrong. It wasn't threatening Sir, it was more of a…presence."

Jack remained silent, hearing her out.

"I know it's odd, Sir, but I just think we need to keep an eye on him."

"It was just an electric shock, Carter."

"Yeah, a bad one! And," she stopped, sighing, "and it was my fault. I asked him to review the rig. I feel guilty!"

Jack leaned forward, frowning. "Carter, what happened to Wood wasn't your fault."

"But-"

"But 'nothing', Carter. I don't want to hear it. It was an accident. I'm just amazed it didn't happen to Siler."

She looked despondent and he sighed.

"Look, I've been around long enough to know I should take you seriously when you've got a hunch. If it makes you feel better, I'll keep an eye on Wood."

She smiled, recognising the dismissal when she heard it. Turning, she made her way to the door.

"Carter!" She turned back to him. His face was aimed at the desk. She frowned slightly, choosing to say nothing.

"On the ship, a few weeks ago, when I told you I knew what you wanted to say…" he paused, struggling with the words. Suddenly he raised his head, looking deeply into her eyes. Her breath caught in her chest. "I just wanted you to know, I…I didn't forget. I won't forget."

Sam swallowed, unexpected tears pricking her eyes.

"Thank you Sir." Turning again she left the room.

He didn't move for a long time.

Martin woke this time in complete silence. At least, there were no hushed voices, but there was a steady thud, thud against his leg.

He opened his eyes tiredly, wishing his mountainous headache would just go away. It didn't.

He wasn't alone in the room and as his guest shifted, coming into focus, Martin realised it was Rick; General O'Neill. He raised his head slightly. Jack looked over at him. He held a small yellow yo-yo in his hands.

"General," Martin smiled.

"Major, glad to see you're awake. How're you doin'?"

Martin shifted. "Still got the headache. Sir," he added with an afterthought," but generally, I'm ok."

"Do you remember what happened?"

Martin frowned, "Sort of. I remember being with Sergeant Siler in the Gate room. We were making some repairs to the Gate. And then," he closed his eyes, "then nothing."

"You collapsed." Jack wound the string around his fingers. "You don't remember anything just prior to that?"

"No, Sir…I…" Martin stopped, his breath hitching in his chest. Screaming. He remembered screaming. And thousands of voices clamouring to be heard.

"Major Wood?" Jack was saying.

Martin blinked. "It's nothing, Sir. Really. I think I could be discharged now."

Jack laughed. "Well the good Doctor will be the judge of that, Major. Glad to see you're feeling better. And…normal." He rose with a smile, tucking the yo-yo back into his pocket and making his way to the door.

Better go tell Carter. He's fine. Little bump to the noggin' would knock anyone for six. It's the guilt she's feeling. Damn fine officer. Damn fine ass too. Shit! Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts…uhh…Bra'tac naked, Bra'tac naked, Bra'tac naked. Aaaah…that's better.

Jack sighed loudly and Martin let out a strangled cough. "Ri-, I mean, Sir, did you, um, just say…something?"

O'Neill froze, eyes glancing from side to side in panic. His gaze snapped to Martin who was trying, and failing, to suppress his mirth.

"No. Why? What did you hear?" Rapid questions fired from Jack's mouth. Please god, tell me I wasn't thinking out loud.

Immediately Martin stopped laughing and started forward in the bed. O'Neill was facing him, and his lips hadn't moved once. He swallowed.

"Never mind, um, Sir. No, I don't think I did hear anything." Jack closed his eyes briefly as Martin stared at him in disbelief; the General's thoughts sounding in his ears like he was listening to the radio.

Jack drew himself up, "As you were then, Major," and stalked from the room.

Thank God. Now, Carter's six…Shit! Stop it Jack! Think something else, anything else! Martin watched, agog, as O'Neill beat a hasty retreat from the infirmary.

Lying back on the pillows he tried to connect events together. He remembered a feeling of pain and panic when he'd been in the studio. He thought he remembered tripping, although that was so hazy it could have been part of this dream. Or what he was regarding as a dream. He'd collapsed whilst he and Siler had been discussing some 'Book'. Something the personnel used around here for fun on quiet days. And now apparently he could hear people's thoughts.

Or maybe just a few people's thoughts in particular.

Considering this, Martin called a nurse over to ask for some water. He asked her when she thought he might be discharged and listened, hard. Nothing. He couldn't hear a word.

As the nurse moved off, Martin smiled slowly. This could be very interesting.

Rounding the corner to Carter's lab, Martin wondered if this was a bad idea. No, an order was an order, apparently, when issued by the Lieutenant Colonel he was going to work with. Besides, if it was a dream, how much did it really matter? One of Teal'c's lines from early on in the show echoed in his mind, "Which reality is really real?"

He found her sitting in silence, her chin resting on folded arms. She hadn't noticed his approach so he waited, leaning on the door frame, watching her as she stared mindlessly at the complicated object in front of her. Closing his eyes against the now constant roar of his head, Martin listened. Surely enough, after a few moments he could hear her thoughts.

There's no way. It's not possible. Even if I wanted it. Which I don't. I mean, there's Pete now. And anyway, he doesn't care about me like that. Friends, good friends. That's enough.

She sighed loudly, and he could barely comprehend the flood of emotion that nearly overwhelmed him. Love. And fear. And passion, pain, joy, agonising desire; all at once. He didn't see how she could deal with it on a day-to-day basis. Shocked as he was by what he was hearing, it was nothing compared to the depth of emotion expressed in Sam's eyes. He'd always thought Amanda played that part brilliantly; sad but detached and totally in character. But apparently, the 'character' thought differently.

Coughing loudly, Martin stepped forward. She looked up, startled, wiping a dry eye quickly.

"Major," she smiled, "glad to see you're feeling better."

Martin smiled in response. "Thanks. What is it you wanted help with?"

She pointed to the object in front of her. "It's a module we recovered from the Antarctic outpost. I just want to run a few electro-magnectic output tests. General O'Neill," she paused and he had the strange sensation of hearing her own heartbeat through her ears, "and I figured you'd be a tad more comfortable down here than up in the Gate room!" Her eyes twinkled, inviting him to share in the joke.

They settled into a comfortable silence; Martin picking up on what she expected him to do surprisingly easy. He stole glances at her, hearing snatches of her thoughts. But it was like the radio was tuning out sporadically. Occasionally, Martin filled up with the painful emotions that weren't his own.

Biting his lip, Martin was filled with an odd realisation. Perhaps this is it; perhaps this is the way to end Season Eight. I don't think any of us ever realised how deep this ran. But if this is a dream?

Suddenly he blinked, his fingers halting their movement. That's it! It's like Sam in 'Grace'! It's me talking to…me!

"So, Colonel Carter," he began uncertainly, "I never…I never congratulated you on the…promotion. Congratulations!"

She smiled, and he was rewarded with a flood of happiness and images of General O'Neill's proud smile as he saluted her, murmuring quietly, "Lieutenant Colonel Carter".

In that moment Martin was decided. He knew she loved him, couldn't question it or understand it, but he knew. He knew he'd never hear her say it either, knew it was too painful for either of them to contemplate it. And with all his heart he knew the perfect way to end Season Eight.

The room began to swirl and spin as he lost his grip on her reality. Martin closed his eyes for what he thought would be the final time, and let go.

He could smell coffee and burning. His head throbbed and his eyes swam as he opened them groggily.

Briefly, Martin heard a gasp and a shout, "He's awake! Easy Martin, I've got you!" He felt two strong pairs of hands under his head and shoulders as he was lifted. Raising one of his own hands to his forehead he felt the tacky sting of drying blood. Breathing deeply, he focused on the voices around him, supposing he was back in the infirmary.

"Martin? Martin, can you hear me?"

He frowned. That voice. It was so familiar. Not a character's voice. He fought to open his eyes again, taking a moment to recognise a familiar face.

Smiling widely, Martin laughed, relieved. "Brad!"

His friend looked down at him worriedly. "Martin, what happened? We just called an ambulance!"

The young director looked around, noting Rick and Amanda, Torri and Dan were there. In civvies. He shook his head; out of costume. The floor felt marvellously real under his back as Dan, Rick and Brad helped him up, protesting that he should wait for the paramedics. He shook his head, ignoring the tumultuous headache. Apparently he was able to withstand even the most painful headaches now.

He laughed, his smile reaching deep into his eyes and infecting the others as he clasped Brad's shoulder.

"It's all in the fishing Brad." He sighed.

"I have the perfect way to end Season Eight."

A/N - Thanks for reading folks, I hope you enjoyed this random take on the S/J relationship. If you'd like to appreciate the delectable Martin Wood in the company of others, feel free to join us over on the Martin Woohood Stock Thread at Gateworld DOT net.

Please, leave a review, and let a tired writer know you still care. Even after this complete bastardisation of fanfiction.