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She spends a lot of time touching him, stroking his arms and back, kissing his throat, running her tongue along his lower lip, rubbing her cheek against his and her breasts on his chest—making his nerve ending sing. He gets to know every nuance of her expressions, the faraway look in her blue eyes as they make love, the little hitch in her breath when she sees him naked, the faint hum of pleasure as he caresses her sensitive places, the tiny sigh that says she is momentarily satisfied. It is like a drug, a long delirious high. They are totally besotted with each other; each touch demands more, every look evokes desire...
It is two days before they begin to come back down to earth. He arrived at her house early Tuesday morning; Thursday around noon they wake to a more realistic world.
Jack is awake first, and he lays quietly watching Sam sleep beside him, his passion banked for now to warmth and tenderness. Bright sunlight is coming through the window, and there is something very stable and ordinary about it; it almost makes him wonder if the past two days have been an extension of the dream.
He gets up and puts on his jeans, and goes downstairs to the kitchen. Coffee, he thinks, and finds what he needs and sets up the coffee maker. The kitchen is a mess. He recalls that they have eaten sporadically, whatever came to hand, ignoring dishes, silverware, crumbs and trash. The cat is crying at his feet and he sees that her water bowl and her food dish are empty. Jeez, I hope we fed her, he thinks. He gives her water—the milk in the carton on the counter has spoiled—and starts searching the cupboards for her food. Above the refrigerator he finds cans of cat food, opens one and spoons the fishy smelling stuff into her dish. She dives into it, throwing a reproachful 'meow' in his direction.
At first he can't find any bread—he finally locates bagels in the freezer, and puts one in the microwave to thaw, and then pops it in the toaster. He butters it and eats as he works in the kitchen. Sorting over the dirty dishes, and rinsing them, he loads the dishwasher. He dumps the spoiled milk down the drain and rinses the container, wipes down the countertop, picks up clutter from the table and floor, and begins to sweep the floor.
All the time he is doing this, his mind is working, considering... He is one month short of his forty-eighth birthday, too young to give up his military career, but too old to think he's going to get many other opportunities like this one with Carter. Besides, he thinks, he doesn't want 'other opportunities'—he wants Carter! This is a somewhat shocking revelation for him, he has never admitted it to himself before, and he stops what he is doing to consider it. He wants Sam Carter. He tries out the idea in his mind. He wants to spend the rest of his life with her. He lets this truth settle into his head.
After a little bit, he goes back to his clean-up. Another truth he's refused to acknowledge is that since he met her the choice for him has been between Sam and the Air Force, and he's been refusing to choose. But not deciding is also a decision, he realizes. He is, in effect, not choosing her. And you can be sure she knows it, Jack! She knows she has never come first with you! It is a humbling thought, one he does not really want to face.
So where does he go from here? He finds he is sweeping the floor with much more vigor than is needed. What am I willing to give up to have her? he asks himself. How far am I willing to go? Searching out the dustpan, he picks up the sweepings and puts them in the trash, then replaces dustpan and broom in the hall closet. The kitchen definitely looks better than when he came down. Coffee is ready, so he pours himself a cup, and sits down at the table.
Sam wakes and rolls over in the bed to find that Jack is not there. For an instant her heart seizes, but she sees that his sneakers and socks are still beside the chair and his t-shirt is thrown across it. Only his jeans are missing. She doesn't hear shower sounds, so he must have gone downstairs.
She sits up in bed and considers the way she felt in that first instant when she saw that he was gone. Disappointed, she realizes, but also resigned—it is what she expects; eventually he will leave. And they will go back to the non-relationship they have at the SGC. No—it is a relationship, just not the one she wants. Not the only one she wants. Because he is the best Commanding Officer that she can imagine—she fully appreciates the qualities that make him just that, and she loves that he is her CO. But she wants the other, too. She wants him in bed every night, she wants his kisses and his touch and his words whispered in her ear…
"Argh…" she exclaims, in a perfect imitation of Jack, shaking her head and putting her face in her hands. I will not cry! Not now! He's not even gone! But a tear slips down her cheek. Angrily, she dashes it away, and gets out of bed in a huff, goes to her closet and pulls out her robe, wraps it around herself and heads for the bathroom.
When she gets downstairs, hair wet from the shower, dressed in lounge pants and t-shirt, she finds the kitchen cleaned up, coffee made and Jack standing at the glass doors staring out at her back yard, a cup in his hand. Her morning paper is spread out on the kitchen table; he has been doing the crossword. He turns around and smiles at her, a smile that engages every bit of his face and tells her plainly how glad he is to see her. "Mornin', Sexy." His voice is a rough purr.
She blushes and heads for the coffee. "Morning yourself. You cleaned the kitchen. And fed the cat. Thank you."
"Well, I helped make the mess," he says. "And Puss already thanked me." The cat is in fact at this moment winding herself back and forth around his legs. He bends down and scratches under her chin. "What's her name, anyway?"
"Gretel. Her name is Gretel." She sips her coffee.
"Nice name." Jack walks over and sets his cup on the counter, then reaches out and strokes her cheek. "Good morning, beautiful," he whispers, then leans down and brushes her lips gently with his.
She puts her own cup beside his, and with a tiny whimper, moves into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder, holding on tight.
"Hey," he says, startled. "What's the matter?"
She shakes her head. "Nothing." Her voice is muffled against his chest. "I thought...maybe you'd left."
He pushes her away a little and takes her face in his hands and stares into her eyes. "Not. On. Your. Life." he says very slowly and clearly. He kisses her then until he begins to hear that little hum, and they both have to lean against the counter to keep their balance.
"I don't think there's much food left in the house," she says apologetically, a while later.
"Okay. So let's get dressed and go out to eat. I know a great little diner, over near the park, where you can get breakfast all day."
He has to shower first, of course, and dress, but that is exactly what they end up doing. They eat pancakes and sausage and eggs, and drink more coffee. They discover that it is Thursday, September 14, and are a little embarrassed to admit they did not know.
"So we've still got until the middle of next week before General Hammond expects us back at work," Jack observes. "What would you like to do?"
She looks at him in surprise. "Well, I brought some files home…"
"Not work, Carter," he cuts in. "Something fun, relaxing. Wanna go to my cabin? We can go fishing."
She hesitates. "It's a long way, sir."
He waves a dismissive hand. "If we leave in the next hour, we can be there by three a.m. I drive it several times a year. Once we hit the interstates, it's smooth sailing."
She looks into his brown eyes—his expression is so hopeful—and suddenly something in her really wants to say yes. Slowly, she begins to nod. "Okay, sir."
"Okay?" he repeats, as if he can't believe what she's saying. His face lights up with a smile. "Okay! Sweet!"
She grins at his happiness. "Yes, sir."
"Finish your breakfast, Carter, and let's get going!" he says. "And Carter, please lose the 'sir.' You were calling me Jack… before."
"Okay… but, you're still calling me Carter, s…Jack."
"At least Carter's part of your name, but mine is definitely not 'sir.'" He pauses and looks in her eyes, and his expression softens. "Sam."
It is actually closer to two hours before they get on their way. There's the matter of packing a few clothes, and getting some food to take along, and Sam has to make arrangements for her neighbor to take care of Gretel. And their houses are some distance apart, so getting both of them ready requires a bit of hopping around. Sam says they should let someone know where they're going—Daniel, maybe; he's left several messages on each of their phones in the past couple of days. She's surprised he hasn't arrived at the door! Jack says a call to Daniel can wait until they're on the road. So around half past two, they are headed north in Jack's truck to pick up the east bound interstate. It is about three hours later, as they are entering Nebraska, that Sam remembers they were supposed to go in to see Janet on Tuesday.
"Give her a call and tell her we'll see her next week," Jack says with a shrug. "Hammond said get off the base and we're going."
She deliberately calls Janet's home number and leaves a message on her voice mail.
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