February 2012

When Jack snaps awake in the middle of the night, he's disoriented. He knows something must have woken him, but he hasn't got a clue what that something might be. The alarm isn't beeping at him and the phone isn't ringing incessantly. As far as he can tell, there's no good reason for being awake.

Or so he thinks, until a fearful cry rings out down the hall.

Jack's moving before his brain has finished processing the sound. He's out of bed and through the door before he realizes he's violating the rule about pants. Sam's been gone for three months and in that time, he's gotten used to having the apartment to himself. He only makes a habit of casually flaunting the ground rules when he's alone, but under the circumstances, he's pretty sure she'll forgive him this infringement.

Probably.

He's halfway down the hall when she cries out again, and then pants are the furthest thing from his mind.

"Sam?" He pounds on the closed bedroom door with his fist, but there's no response.

He bangs a little harder and repeats her name a few more times. When it becomes clear that she won't be answering anytime soon, he opens the door and steps into the room for the first time since it became her room and not just a guest room they never used.

She's tangled up in her sheets, desperately twisting away from whatever is haunting her sleep and whimpering quietly. The room smells faintly of sweat; she's been trapped in the nightmare for a while.

Jack crosses to the bed, speaking the whole time so as to avoid startling her should she wake up. "Sam, you're okay. You need to wake up now."

Nothing.

He sits on the edge of the bed, just out of range, in case she comes up swinging. "Open your eyes, Sam."

Still nothing.

One hand goes to her sweat slicked shoulder, the other hovers just above the opposite hand, ready to block a blow. He shakes her firmly, still talking. "Wake up, Carter!"

She stiffens beneath his touch. Wide blue eyes snap open and scan the room, searching for threats. She makes to swing with her right hand, but Jack pins her wrist to the bed before she can build enough momentum to shake him off.

She's becoming as bad as he is.

"You're okay, Sam. It was just a dream."

Her eyes meet his through the dark. He can tell when she finally breaks free of the dream's hold. There's a spark of recognition, then she goes limp. While she tries to slow her ragged breathing, Jack wills his racing heart to ease up. She's a little shaken, but she's been through much worse than a bad nightmare and lived to tell the tale. She'll be fine, just not in the next five minutes. He can relax now.

Or something.

Long minutes later, she shakes him off and sits up. She runs a hand through her long blonde hair, pushing the sleep tousled locks back from her face. "Sorry."

"Not your fault. You want anything? Water? Tea?"

"I'll be fine. You should head back to bed."

"I'm wide awake now." Adrenaline tends to do that to a person.

"Sorry."

"Stop – I know you can't help it. It's no big deal." He gives her his best General Stare, and, miracle of miracles, it works. She stops looking embarrassed and goes back to looking badly shaken up instead. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

Jack nods in understanding. "Why don't you go wash your face?"

Without another word, she bolts for the bathroom. He's under no illusions. Jack knows he offered up an easy out and she pounced on it. He's just glad she hadn't gotten around to throwing him out of her room first. Ever since they moved into separate bedrooms, they've been pretty diligent about respecting one another's privacy. They share just about everything else, but their respective bedrooms are off-limits. The fact that she's in no rush to kick him out says a lot about how far they've come in strengthening their friendship since ending their relationship.

Even though she hasn't said anything, Jack decides not to linger. He makes his way to the kitchen, fills the kettle with fresh water and goes about making the tea that Sam hasn't asked for, but hasn't declined either.

When she reappears looking slightly less shaken, Jack hands her a steaming mug of chamomile. She accepts it without a word and then makes a beeline for the couch.

Jack is torn between following and respecting her obvious desire for privacy. He's not sure what his role is tonight. He knows how to help her through her nightmares as a commanding officer, as a friend, and, much as he hates the word, as a boyfriend. He doesn't know how to help her work through them as a roommate she sees less often than she sees her XO.

He finally decides a little friendly concern isn't likely to be out of line. Standing at the arm of the couch, he spends a few minutes watching her stare into the mug cradled in her still slightly trembling hands "You're staying up?"

"Won't be able to get back to sleep."

"You feel like some company?"

"You've had a long week."

"You've had a long few months," he says, voice gentle. "So, company, yes or no?"

She hesitates briefly before nodding. "Please."

Glad that she's willing to help him navigate this unfamiliar territory, Jack gets comfortable on his end of the couch. He props his sock clad feet up on the coffee table, realizing too late that the move flaunts the fact that he's still in boxers. It doesn't seem to be bothering her – this time – so he decides to stay put, pants be damned.

"I don't want to talk about it," she says tiredly.

Jack shrugs. "You don't have to. We can just sit here and… watch The Simpsons?" His voice turns hopeful with the suggestion.

In spite of her somber mood, she manages a small smile. "Yeah. That sounds good." She pulls the thick quilt off the back of the couch and arranges it over the pair of them while Jack gets the DVD going.

If someone had told him five years ago that he'd succeed in getting the great Samantha Carter hooked on his favourite TV show, he'd have laughed in his or her face and asked which planet's happy juice they'd been indulging in. Yet here they are, staying up late into the night with their favourite animated family, and not for the first time.

It takes two and a half episodes before Sam really starts to relax. Her shoulders slowly retreat from the vicinity of her ears and she leans a little further into the overstuffed couch with each passing minute. By the time the third episode comes to a close, she's managing to chuckle right along with him.

When the time comes, Jack gets up to swap discs before she has the chance to. Now that she's finally unwinding, he doesn't want to disturb her. "Want some more tea?"

"No, thanks."

"Water?"

"I'm good."

Jack could do with some coffee right about now, but the last thing she needs is caffeine, and there's no way she'd let him sit in the same room sipping away while she goes without. So instead of giving into his body's demands, he resumes his position on the couch and gets comfortable once more.

He does his best to hide his surprise when Sam shifts to tuck her cold toes under his thigh, as she'd done so many times back when they were still a couple.

"Thanks," she says simply.

"Anytime."

"I know you're tired. It's okay if you want to go back to bed now."

"I'll sleep when you sleep."

She musters a tired smile as she snuggles deeper into the couch. Just a few minutes into the next episode, her breathing settles into a slow, steady rhythm. A short while later, once he's sure she's out for what little is left of the night, Jack joins her in slumber.