Chapter 13

Lexington, Nebraska
19 September 1995

Jack followed the interstate as much as he could for about an hour, giving the woman in the passenger seat a concerned glance. The nearest town wasn't far away, but he was wary of going too near to civilisation, even though Lexington appeared to be small enough a town.

"Where're you heading?" Carter asked. She dug through Frasier's medical kit, retrieved a pair of long tweezers and carefully began to pick out the splinters in dim light of the car's front ceiling lights. Ever so often she hissed when the sharp edge encountered more tender flesh, muttering profanities under her breath that would have – on an ordinary day – gotten him snickering at the extensive range of her colourful vocabulary.

"Just out of the area."

She stopped long enough to see a cluster of building up ahead. "Hey, look. Pull up there."

He slowed to stop beside its gate, squinting at its fenced perimeter that had holes liberally cut in them. Parts of the building walls appeared to have suffered the whims of some graffiti artists. Clearly, the sign 'No Trespassing' had been disregarded many times over. "Thinking of stopping here?"

She shrugged. "Only for a couple hours. Just to get cleaned up, and look sort of presentable by the time we head to some place where people will actually see us."

"Looks like an abandoned military barrack, or some old training facility. Garrison town?"

"Who knows? It's …" she leaned over to looked at the car's digital clock. "0447. This is our best bet for the rest of the night."

He agreed. "Or the morning. Yeah, why not?"

The buildings turned out to be storage facilities that some agricultural company had most likely abandoned a few years ago. The cavernous space dwarfed them as they walked into the high-ceilinged warehouse that was so reminiscent of the military barracks in basic training.

He walked its interior, looking for anything – any sort of supplies at all – that might help them.

Carter turned to the cobweb-covered electrical box near the building's main entrance and swept the gossamer threads away. She opened it and started fiddling with some switches, supporting all her weight on the uninjured foot as she worked.

All of a sudden, the lamps hummed on, revealing the sheer size of the storehouse. Light brown paint peeled off from its sides, held in place by the cloud of cobwebs that clung to the upper parts of the walls and ceiling.

It was musty and dirty. Disused. But it was perfect.

Jack turned back just to catch Carter's slight grin. He walked up next to her and they slid down next to each other, leaning on the wall.

"Got them all out?" He nodded to the pinprick scratches from where she must have removed the splinters.

He eyed the angry welts that marred her pale skin, then took the medi pack from her, fishing out the antiseptic lotion and the gauze. The welts had deepened the gash where bullet graze was and were making the old wound bleed afresh.

"That's going to scar."

"Don't I know it," she said through gritted teeth, saturating the wounds with several disposable packs of saline, washing out the debris as much as she could.

"Turn and face me," he ordered softly, then shifted her himself gently when he saw her grimace at the slightest movement.

He dabbed some iodine on each scratch, and then poured a bit more over the welt and the bullet graze. His actions were meticulous but gentle and she felt herself relaxing. She kept silent throughout, clenching her teeth as the antiseptic lotion seared each open cut.

That was when he realised just how shredded her once-pristine tank top was; it was torn in places that left nothing to the imagination. Quickly averting his eyes, he shrugged out of his jacket and cursed himself for not noticing her sorry state of dress earlier. But it seemed that she had forgotten about it herself.

"Here, take this," he hurriedly pulled his jacket over her shoulders and helped her arms into the sleeves. "I…er…don't think you'd like to change?"

She glanced down and reddened immediately, pulling it tight around her middle. "Yeah, it's better if I did," she acknowledged awkwardly, reaching for the bag that held her spare change of clothing.

To her relief, he wasn't looking at her as he dug through the medi kit. "Might have to splint your ankle," he said nonchalantly, waving a roll of bandages, his back to her. "Janet's given us some bandages and it's probably not stiff enough, but it'll have to do."

He was giving her space and privacy to change, as much as this place allowed.

Sam struggled quickly into a clean T-shirt but had some trouble pulling on her sweats. Gritting her teeth, she tugged the pants up, a harsh sound escaping her lips as her sore ankle got in the way.

"Need help?" His voice floated to her.

"No! No, I'm just about done," she announced breathlessly, slowly stretching her leg out. He turned and shifted, sitting across her and placed her leg gently in his lap, gently touching the aching part.

"Carter, I'm going to try to do this slowly, but it might hurt in the process," he warned.

Sam nodded and watched him work. His unbelievably gentle touch as he wound the bandages around her ankle was surprising for a hardened military man, and she found herself soothed by his ministrations.

By the time she was changed and bandaged up, it became clear to her that he wasn't going to say a word about what had happened at the ranch. She was going to have to talk first. Inwardly sighing, she tentatively ventured, "I'm sorry about Col and Rosie."

He fixed his eyes on her impossibly blue gaze, bright with unshed tears. She was the first to look away.

"Why did you do it?" He asked quietly, keeping the lotion and the spare gauze, after he applied some on his own arms.

"I thought that if there had been any chance…any chance at all, I should try it," she said tiredly, then took a deep breath. "I thought about it. There must have been an accelerant in the fields and possibly in their house. I knew it the moment I saw how mu–"

"Samantha," he cut in, reaching out to smooth a stray strand of hair over her ear. "It's OK. It's over."

The unexpected gentleness of his fingers brushing across her ear caused her to stutter to a stop. From the moment he'd barged into her house guns blazing three days ago, his sudden, constant presence in her life had unhinged her. Having claimed that she had been his intended target then decided against it, he'd near-ordered her to trust him and then proved himself – thus far – to be as he had promised to be. She had no doubts that he was a capable, resourceful ally but much to her amazement, he'd made no demands of her other than to ask for her trust.

Thus far.

And now she was fearing something else entirely. Her own involuntary reactions to him. But it was natural, wasn't it? It hadn't escaped her notice that the former black-ops Colonel was an extremely handsome man despite that controlled sternness; his athletically fit physique was incredibly toned for his slightly lanky frame, his mystery of his military past chiselled into his lean, tanned face.

He was sitting close, and the proximity of their bodies registered like it hadn't before.

As quickly as it came, that stray, inappropriate thought dissipated into the furthest reaches of her mind, replaced by an assault of blinding guilt and horror that she felt when she'd saw the burning Nebraskan farmhouse.

It was back again, that outraged helplessness, the revulsion and the memory of the pain of having failed to save a life given up to the flames.

A sob escaped her lips which she immediately tried to stifle. Then it was his arm that she felt come around her shoulder. He felt her resistance for a second, fighting the fear and memories as she stiffened away from him. But it was only for a moment. Then, as though reliving a part of her life still unbeknownst to him, she slumped, overwhelmed and shaking against him, clamping her hand over her mouth as tears spilled uncontrollably from her eyes.

He didn't say a word, simply fighting through the tempest of the roiling emotions with her, offering whatever comfort he could in return.

It was a long time before words came.

"Is it?" She took a deep breath, clearing her wayward thoughts, answering the question that he'd asked many, long moments ago. "I think we've just barely started."

"I wasn't talking about that."

She said nothing in response. He shifted until he leaned against the wall next to her.

"What happened to Col couldn't have been the result of a crop fire," he answered finally, looking at her sideways, trying to gauge her reaction. "But I think you know that already."

"And made to look like an accident. It's obvious that they're on our trail," she said flatly. "I thought we shook them off when we ditched your rental car."

"Whoever's doing this has got unlimited resources, unlimited funds. We're probably going to need another form of transport and a route to the next contact using different roads."

Carter made a non-committal sound.

"So, what is it about fire that makes you do stupid things?" He hazarded a guess.

Her hesitation was obvious; her eyes had dropped to the ground and her brow was furrowed in a fierce frown.

So this was bigger than he thought. Certain now that her uncharacteristic, emotional bout of tears had less to do with what really happened at Colin's farmhouse, Jack backpedalled, stumbling on his way. "Hey, you know…it's really none of my business so you can tell me to fuc-"

"He was my second date in college," she interrupted. "It went well at first. Then…in my final year, we saw each other lesser than usual because of the amount of hours of lab work." A soft sigh escaped her lips. Her sentences were short and clipped as the ghastly memory washed over her. "He thought I was seeing someone else. I barely had time for our dinners, or our weekend walks in the park…so he…did things to himself."

He stared at her mesmerised, not daring to stop her, both thrilled and terrified that she had so willingly taken the bait he'd thoughtlessly put out. Somewhere, somehow, Carter had ceased being an assignment, a case, a service number in the military's database. As she revealed piecemeal portions of her life outside the military, he found that he really wanted to get to know her as a person, a woman who lay behind the target. He wouldn't want to settle for anything less.

Carter's speech had rolled to a halt. She turned her glassy eyes up to his. His encouraging gaze didn't waver.

"Threatened to hurt himself if I continued to see other people," she continued bravely, sucking in a deep breath. "Then one day, I caught him holding a knife to his wrist. God, I should have walked away. But I didn't – I couldn't. I stupidly thought that if I walked, he'd really do something to hurt himself and I'll be guilty for his actions," she bit out scathingly, "Fucking lot of good that did. He self-immolated in my apartment when he saw me walking with a lab assistant in the college café earlier in the day. I couldn't stop him. He had poured petrol over himself and –"

Fuck. He lifted his hand off her shoulder and raked both hands through his hair roughly. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear more.

"Carter…"

"Well, you can guess what happened after that," she finished sombrely. "It made regional news. My dad found out. The daughter of a General in the USAF. Hanging out with psychos who went for the extreme. Who had mental problems, had issues…you name it, he's got it. My dad was furious. Beyond furious. With everything. With my grades plunging, with my choice of boyfriend."

Jack fought the rising tide of anger on her behalf. Hadn't her father recognised the aching loneliness of a motherless teenager? Or was he so committed to duty and discipline that he'd forgotten what it was like to foster a relationship with his children? Instead, had her dad alienated the only relationships that could have saved all of them? Didn't he care that they were – emotionally, if not physically – as good as gone?

He would have given everything to get Charlie back. The gulf that the elder Carter had helped enlarge between him and his children made it all that more unforgivable.

It took him a second to realise that she was still speaking.

"Dad transferred me to another college," she smiled ironically. "And because he was worried that I'd do something stupid, he made sure that the guidance counsellor was on my case for the remainder of my degree. First thing I was told in my counselling sessions was that I had a thing for the lunatic fringe, a dangerous obsession with mad men. You know, she's probably right."

There was more lingering bitterness than anger in her words, something he thought he could understand.

"God." Jack tiredly rubbed a hand over his face. He didn't know what to say to the next-most screwed-up relationship he knew outside his own failed marriage. The emotional manipulation that she'd gone through…the shame and guilt that must have plagued her…he shuddered to think of how she'd reacted when that boy had set himself alight. And if he had died….

"Did he die?" He asked abruptly.

She looked startled at his brusque question, then nodded hesitantly in response. "Severe third degree burns. They couldn't save him. I swore then," she added softly, "that no one was going to die because of me."

"Fuck." This time he didn't bother to silence the expletive. It explained why she'd reacted the way she did when Col's house was burning, why she's kept going even when she already knew of the probability of only recovering charred bodies.

"Well, now you know," she said wanly.

He sat up suddenly, wanting to alleviate the pain of the memory for which he now felt responsible. "Col and Rosie died because of them, Carter. Whoever those bastards are," he couldn't help but point out. "Not you."

"We were staying with them when it happened. I'm part of the cause. I should have guessed that this could happen!"

"No, it's not, Carter," he said firmly. "Quit blaming yourself. And trust me on this one. There was no way you could have known."

Her only reply was an unhappy look and a proffered yawn that she'd tried too late to suppress. He hadn't come out of the fire unscathed too, she realised, having just seen the singed flesh on his arms.

"You're hurt too," she said aloud, then tried to scrabble for the kit. "You'll need –"

"Nothing that won't go away," he replied dismissively. "I've used some salve. Now get comfortable." He stretched his long legs out and slouched a bit more against the wall. "C'mere."

She did the same and drew closer slowly, tentatively leaning her head on his shoulder. He wound his arm around her again and buried his nose in her hair, taking comfort in that unusual lemon-vanilla fragrance that he'd come to associate with her.

They stayed that way until the sun was high in the sky.

Despite having cleaned their faces and their arms as best as they could, Jack knew they looked like they had been put through a ringer when they presented themselves at the reception of a low-key motel along the road that led northwards, away from Lexington.

Luckily, their only company was one blond student receptionist too engrossed in Star Trek: The Next Generation reruns on a tiny TV to even really look at them when he handed them their room key and held his hand out for the rent money.

"Fond memories," he scoffed dryly as she twisted the key in the lock easily and pushed the door open.

What he saw inside was unsurprising. Narrow twin beds. A small stained bathroom with a slow, leaking faucet. The same kind of tacky, run-down décor that plagued many motels in the country.

He switched on the small TV next to the coffee table. CNN's familiar logo appeared on screen. He flicked another button.

The BBC.

And flicked another.

ABC News.

A repetitive reportage of the electricity outages and the science behind solar flares.

"I'm thinking that we should head to Des Moines," Sam began. "Not that I trust my friends about Col's informant, but if they've gotten to him, then it's possible that his military contacts might also be under surveillance."

"Got a point, Carter," he acknowledged. "But we'll stay low, find some other secluded place until your ankle's better."

"But in the meantime, we could make our way northwards, can't we?"

"That's the plan."

CNN was still playing in the background when Jack emerged from the bathroom towelling his wet hair. He was amused but not shocked to see her lying on her stomach on one of the beds, bent over his electronic equipment, having taken apart his laptop and the non-standard issue parts.

She heard his approach, paused in her study and grinned. "Didn't know the military gave these expensive gadgets to you to play with."

He shrugged. "Gets the work done. Especially when surveillance is needed. So," he asked casually, "Whatcha' doing?"

"Just looking at the non-standard make of your computer," she said wryly. "I promise it'll still function when I put it back together."

"Doesn't worry me too much," he said. Days of surveillance in the past few weeks had taught him how to read basic-Carter facial expressions. She hadn't quite mastered a classic poker face, and her unguarded reactions that surfaced constantly reminded him of the emotional chasm that still separated them. "But that's not exactly why you're doing this, right?"

Sam bit her lip in hesitation. "Actually, using your program set-up and its several encryption systems, I might be able to access several military bases' networks. It probably wouldn't go far though."

He motioned impatiently for her to get to the point.

"I was thinking of using my dad's account to get in," she said, clearly troubled by what she was suggesting.

He was looking at her inscrutably. "Jacob Carter's clearance isn't as high as yours."

He was right, she thought. Jacob Carter's portfolio as deputy commander of the Air Force Security Assistance Centre at Wright-Patterson was essentially handling international relations, entering into negotiation with allied forces to provide defence materiel and services. His level of clearance wouldn't have been sufficiently high for top-secret project access.

Was O'Neill, then, giving her a way out? Or was it his way of assessing where her loyalties lay? She didn't know where he was coming from and frankly, she quite muster up the strength to care. Pushed into this impossible situation, she was more bothered by her willingness to do all it took to survive.

"My dad's the deputy chair of the Air Force Security Assistance Center, so no, he probably wouldn't have that level of clearance," she admitted. "But he might have access to additional information when it comes to your CO and West."

"Hypothetically," he started slowly, thinking of the possibilities that this particular avenue opened up to them. "Could you do that? While covering our trail?"

"Maybe," she hedged uneasily, blinking at him.

"What are you worried about?"

"Hacking my father's account for…I don't even know what this is…" she trailed off, putting her head in her hands. "I never thought that I'd ever be on the wrong side of military law. And now, I'm suggesting something that will put me in deeper trouble, if that's even possible."

He rounded the bed and sat next to her. "Look, you do this only if you know it'll help. I should probably tell you that we need all the damn info we can get, but if you're worried about this additional breach, I understand."

He'd thrown the ball in her court, now he waited to see what she would do.

In response, she hurriedly reassembled the laptop and booted it.