Author's Note: No your eyes don't deceive you, you're getting two chapters in as many days. Thanks the fangirls on twitter for the begging. :)
It was an adjustment, getting used to life under the mountain without Colonel O'Neill, but she was adapting. It helped that SG-1 was still on stand-down. She didn't think she'd be doing so well if they were going out on missions without him or with someone in his place.
As it was, she hadn't seen him since their bike ride the previous Sunday, but she had talked to him on the phone every night when she'd gotten home from work. Either she'd call him or he'd call her and they'd just chat, mostly about nothing. He hadn't opened up anymore about what had happened to him on Astarte's planet.
But it was Friday evening, and she wasn't due on base again until Monday and she fully intended to spend the better part of the weekend with her... what? Boyfriend? Seemed an odd thing to call him, all things considered, but they were seeing each other and she definitely wasn't seeing anyone else and neither was he.
Of course, until his retirement was finalized, the fact that they were seeing each other was strictly between the two of them. Not even Daniel or Teal'c had been let in on the development, despite the fact that they obviously knew of her feelings for the man. It was just all around safer for both of them if there was no hint of impropriety wafting around either one of their careers, even if his was essentially over. It still mattered greatly for hers as she still had plenty of upward mobility and she'd have enough of a fight on her hands when the rumor mill got started up after word of her relationship with her former CO got out. So no, she was in no hurry to broadcast her change in status.
Besides, it was kind of nice to keep it between the two of them. It was new and fragile, especially considering the circumstances, and it felt like there was less undue outside pressure on the whole thing if other people didn't know.
She put the finishing touches on her outfit, a simple ensemble of jeans and a blue silk blouse, before slipping on some sandals and grabbing her car keys and slipping out the front door. He wasn't expecting her, but she was anxious to see him after five days apart. And he'd sounded so good all week that really, she thought that maybe he'd turned a corner and the angry version of himself that they'd rescued from the planet, maybe, had become a thing of the past.
And then she knocked on his door. He answered it with a tumbler in his hand and a dark look in his eye. Immediately she felt her stomach clench and the expectant smile slid off her face. "Bad day?"
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to see you."
"I'm not in the mood for company tonight." He didn't sound completely unkind and she knew he was trying.
"Maybe tonight is the night you really do need the company," she countered.
"Carter-"
"Really," she pressed. "You don't have to tell me anything new. Let me just sit down and have a drink with you."
He looked at her crossways. "You want to drink with me?"
"I want to have a drink with you."
He huffed. "Come on in."
She followed him into the house and into the kitchen where he poured her a couple of fingers of whiskey over ice. She tried not to be disappointed that he didn't touch her, that there was no hug or kiss hello. She chalked it up to his brain being back somewhere on P3R-289 and she wasn't going to push him. She'd promised him slow and she'd already invaded his space tonight, that was enough.
Drinks in hand, they settled onto the couch. Sam kicked her sandals off and curled up on the couch facing him so that her back was to the arm of the couch and her feet were near him. They sat quietly for a long time until he reached out and ran his finger down the arch of her foot. She resisted the urge to jerk the extremity away with the way it tickled, just glad to have his hands on her someway, somehow. His finger was cold from the condensation on his glass and it made goosebumps spring up in the wake of his finger, all the way up her leg. She shivered, but it might have been, also, just from the effect of having his hand on her.
Next, he covered the whole of her foot with his hand and squeezed, his cool palm chilling her foot and toes. She flexed her foot in his hand and he squeezed again, then trailed his hand up to her ankle and banded it around the joint. She was thankful she'd shaved her legs despite not knowing he was going to have his hands on her in such a way.
It was odd for him to be touching her this way and still no words being exchanged between them. But after long, long minutes, long after his hand had warmed to the temperature of her skin, he cleared his throat. "I'm glad you're here."
"Yeah?"
"I'd have just gotten drunk if you didn't show up."
"It doesn't solve anything."
"It's a temporary fix," he admitted. "I took a nap today. And I dreamed."
Ah. So that's what had happened. "Bad dreams."
"They're all bad anymore," he confessed.
"Do you want to tell me about them?"
"Fuck," he spat. "No."
"Okay," she said soothingly and settled her hand over his on her ankle.
"Just... tell me about your day."
She did. She told him about the three new devices she'd gotten her hands on and how she'd gotten two of them to do exactly what Daniel thought they were supposed to do and how the third one seemed different than anything they'd ever seen before. So different, in fact, that Daniel had no idea where even to start on translating the information that had been found around it. She talked on and on until his eyes slipped closed and the hand that was holding his drink steady on his thigh had begun to go lax.
She carefully took the drink from his hand and set it on the coffee table. She wasn't tired, but he clearly was, and she wasn't ready to leave him just yet. So she took a chance and curled into his side. He wound an arm around her and pulled her in tight. It made her smile. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was several hours before midnight still but clearly between the emotional toll his day had taken and the alcohol he was down for the count.
For a while she just enjoyed the feeling of being in his arms, she was thankful he hadn't turned her away despite the fact that it was clear, when she arrived, that he hadn't wanted company. But he'd made an exception for her and she was grateful.
She'd been lying there for maybe a half an hour when she felt him jerk underneath her and groan. She reached up to put a palm on his cheek and the rest happened so fast she could scarcely believe how she ended up on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, with Jack above her, his hand tight around her throat.
She panicked momentarily but then the wild look started to dissipate from his eyes almost immediately and his breathing began to slow and soon after that the tight grip around her throat began to loosen and she was able to take a breath. She figured it had been thirty seconds, maybe forty-five, during which he'd had her in his hold.
He scrambled back and up off her, looking mortified. She propped herself up on her elbows so she could see him but also stayed put to give him his space.
"Are you okay?" were the first words out of his mouth when he was finally able to speak.
"I'm fine," she said evenly. So maybe her voice was a little hoarse, but it was nothing that wouldn't pass in a short while.
"What happened?"
"I think you were dreaming. I touched you. I shouldn't have."
"I could have killed you."
"Maybe," she conceded, though it would have taken more than a sleep addled Colonel to really hurt her, and if he was thinking straight he'd remember that, "but you didn't even hurt me." She got up off the floor and crossed the room to him.
He raised his hand to her throat. "You're going to have bruises."
She shrugged. "I'm fine, really."
"I was dreaming about Iraq," he said softly, as if confessing to a crime.
She raised her hand to his cheek, laid her hand again where she had before he'd flipped her up and over and onto the floor so lightning fast. This time he allowed the touch, fully awake and cognizant of her. "Did you ever hurt Sara, after you got back home?"
He shook his head, "No, though I don't know how I avoided it."
"Because you're strong."
"Not strong enough. Look at what I just did to you. And it could have been a lot worse."
"But it wasn't. And remember, I know how to take care of myself, too."
"I didn't see you trying to protect yourself from me just then," he accused.
"Because you weren't hurting me, I could see in your eyes you were letting me go. I promise, if it had gone on, I'd have fought you."
He suddenly gathered her into his arms and buried his face in the crook of her neck. She could feel his lips against her skin, warm, and it sent shockwaves to the center of her. He pressed his lips against her, then she could feel his tongue against the skin of her neck, she gasped. She realized he was laving the place where his thumb had pressed into her. "Oh, Jack," she breathed and sunk her hand into his hair to direct his face to hers.
She kissed him deeply, to prove to him that what he had done had left no lingering doubts or resentments within her. He skimmed his hands down her body leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He grasped her hips and pulled her body flush against his so she could feel the way he was growing hard against her. It never ceased to amaze her how ardently he reacted to her kiss. He wound his arms around her back and ended up with one hand full of her ass, she could feel everyone one of his fingertips like he was fire.
He pulled back from the kiss. "Would you stay tonight?"
She looked at him sharply, her eyes wide. "Stay?"
"On the couch," he reassured. "It seemed to help, last time, knowing you were in the house when I woke up."
"Oh," she took a deep breath, that was half reassuring half disappointment, "sure."
"I'll even give you something to sleep in this time so you don't get your clothes all wrinkled. I'll take you to breakfast in the morning."
She smiled. "That sounds nice."
"I really am sorry."
"I knew better, it's not your fault."
"Sam, if I hurt you, no matter the circumstances, it's my fault. Don't try to talk me out of that one."
She took in the serious look on his face and realized he was dead set on what he was saying. This was a Jack O'Neill constant and there wasn't going to be any convincing him different. "Okay," she finally relented.
"Now, I'll go get you something to sleep in."
"Something warm," she requested.
He threaded his fingers into her hair and pulled her in for one more kiss before leaving her in the living room to go and get her nightclothes.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Jack stayed in bed until he heard the television come on in the living room. It wasn't that he wasn't anxious to see her, it was that he wasn't anxious to see the tell-tale purple bruise around her throat that would be a reminder of how close he'd come to doing some real damage to her. As it was he was already worried about how she was going to explain the marks when she got to the mountain on Monday. Surely they wouldn't have faded completely by then. Daniel or Teal'c would notice, maybe even one or both of them would deduce that Jack had made them. And then where would he be?
She'd been understanding about what had happened. More understanding than he deserved. He could have really hurt her. Could still really hurt her. He'd been honest with her when he'd told her he wasn't sure how he'd managed not to hurt Sara. He'd known lots of guys who had hurt their wives or girlfriends and it wasn't something they did on purpose. It happened with them the same way it had happened the night before with Sam. It was just by the grace of whoever that he'd managed to not mount an all out attack when he'd launched himself at her from his sleep.
With a groan he climbed out of bed. Out of deference to the woman in his living room he'd slept in sweats and a t-shirt, very similar to the ones he'd handed her the night before. He made his way out to the living room and found her sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee watching a twenty-four hour news network, dressed in the clothes she'd come over in the night before. In the low light he couldn't see if he'd marked her or not.
"Good morning," he said, his voice rough from disuse.
"Good morning," she replied sweetly, a soft smile touching her lips.
He crossed the room to her, sat down on the couch next to her. "Let me see," he requested.
She didn't pretend to not know what he was referencing. She clicked on the lamp next to the couch and then bared her neck to him. He exhaled roughly. He had marked her.
"Jack," she said carefully, reaching out to put a hand on his forearm, "I'm fine. The bruise will fade."
"Not before people see it."
"We don't have to go to breakfast," she offered.
"I meant Daniel or Teal'c."
"Oh. Well..." She blew air out through pursed lips. "What would you like me to do about that?"
"You're asking me? I did that to you. I have no say in what happens next."
"If you'd done it to hurt me, I'd agree. I can cover the marks with makeup," she told him. "No one has to know."
He reached out and trailed a finger over the bruise left by his thumb. "I'll know."
"I think we need to also accept that if we don't hide the marks we also don't hide that things between us are changing. And right now, for both our sakes, it's important that we not rock the boat."
"Maybe it would be best if we didn't make any changes until my retirement was fully processed," he said then and tried to ignore the stricken look on her face. "It would keep us out of potential trouble and it would give me more time to sort through what happened to me and potentially keep you safer."
"Is that what you want?" she asked quietly after a few moments.
He could honestly say no, that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted her now that he'd had a taste of her. "It might be better all around."
"That's not what I asked."
He couldn't lie to her. "No," he said softly, "it's not what I want."
"Well, it's not what I want, either. But I do feel better knowing we're both going into this with our eyes wide open. That we both understand we're breaking some regs. Even if you are on your way out the door."
"It's the reason why we're going to be discreet."
"And it's one of the reasons we're going to take things slow," she said.
"The other reason being that I'm fucked up," he groused.
"Jack," she admonished.
"Well, I am."
"You're not. You've been through a lot, yes. And yes, there are some lingering issues, but you're doing remarkably well considering."
"I'm not. I'm not doing well at all. I've made you think I'm doing well, but I'm not, Carter."
She looked at him, stricken, sad. "Please don't feel like you have to lie to me."
"It's not you I'm lying to. Not you personally, anyway."
"There are going to be a lot more bad days," she surmised.
"I think so."
"You don't have to do it alone," she told him, reaching for his hand.
For the first time he felt like maybe that was true. Even the first times he'd dealt with the demons Astarte had brought back up, he'd always felt like he was the kind of guy who had to go it alone – even when he'd had his folks, even when he'd had Sara. Sam was the first person in his life who made him feel like he had a teammate, someone on his side, someone who truly understood him. Maybe it was because of what they had been through together, maybe it was just because they fit, he didn't know, but he did know he didn't feel so alone.
He squeezed her hand. "I want to take you to breakfast. If you don't mind going out with the marks on your neck. People might give you funny looks."
"I don't care. If you don't."
"I think... I think I can handle it."
"Good. Then get dressed and take me to breakfast," she said with authority in her voice and a smile on her face.
He couldn't help but smile back. "Yes ma'am."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Breakfast might have gone well, but the bad dream on Friday night was a harbinger of things to come. It was an all around tough weekend for him and he struggled. Sam did her best to be there for him but she felt like she was coming up short at every turn. By Sunday night they were both exhausted.
"You should just go home," he told her after a particularly emotional recollection of his father's suicide. "You've got to work tomorrow."
She looked at the clock on the wall. It was getting late, but it wasn't quite there yet. She shrugged and shook her head at him. "There's nowhere I have to be right now."
"I'm exhausted," he said, wiping a hand over his face.
"C'mon," she said standing and holding a hand out to him.
"Where are we going?"
"You're going to bed."
"You coming with me?" He asked her, rather boldly, she thought.
But they both knew why she was shepherding him to bed. The night before she'd sent him off on his own and he'd spent more than half the night standing in front of his bedroom window, staring out, with the weight of his world on his shoulders. "Do I need to?" she asked him.
"I don't know," he said tiredly. "Maybe."
The idea of lying down next to him did funny things to her stomach, but if that was what he needed then she'd do it.
In his bedroom she picked up the t-shirt and sweatpants that were on the floor next to the bed and turned the t-shirt right side out. She watched him strip off his button down shirt and take the t-shirt from her, all the while a fire was lit in her belly but she didn't fan the flames. He was a sight to behold, sure, but he trusted her and she wasn't going to give him any reason, not the first moment, for pause. When his hands dropped to his waistband she felt herself blush and she presented him with her back. She held the sweatpants out behind her until he took them and then she gave him another moment before turning back around to find him fully dressed in his night clothes.
He slid into bed between the sheets, his eyes on her the whole time. She stood there, watching him, silently begging him to get comfortable, to find ease, to find sleep. "What do you need?" She asked him.
"Can you just... stay for a little while?"
There was a soft, comfortable looking chair in the corner of his room that had a pair of jeans thrown over the arm. "Sure," she said. She took a step in the direction of the chair and he stopped her.
"Here," he said. "With me."
"Oh. Okay." The funny things were happening in her stomach again.
She walked around to the other side of the bed and contemplated it for a moment before climbing on top of the blankets and settling down on her side with her hand propping up her head. He rolled over onto his back, tucked his hands up under his head, and stared at a fixed point on the ceiling.
She thought for a while that maybe he wanted to talk, but as the minutes stretched on it became clear that he didn't. She didn't know why she was there, really. He was staring, unseeing, at the ceiling, she could see in the moonlight filtering in the window that his eyes weren't closed. Finally, for lack of knowing what to do to help him, she placed her free hand on his belly. Immediately, he covered it with a hand of his own and she knew she'd chosen a right thing. But still, his eyes didn't close.
"I'm not gonna sleep," he finally said. It must have been after twenty minutes of them lying there silently. "You should just go home."
She sighed and scootched close to him so she was pressed against his side and reached over him to switch on his alarm clock. "What time is it set for?"
"Oh five hundred."
"Fine." She settled herself down so her head was in the hollow of his shoulder and her hand was on his chest.
"What are you doing?" he asked her, though he sounded more amused than anything else.
"I'm sleeping over."
"Wouldn't you be more comfortable in... I don't know... not those clothes?"
"Probably. But I'm not giving you a chance to talk either one of us out of this."
He chuckled. "Okay." He sobered quickly, though. "Promise me... if I try to hurt you..."
"I'll fight you."
"Good girl," he said and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.
They lay there until she was nearly asleep herself when she heard him whisper, "Thank you."
She turned her head and pressed a kiss into his chest. "You're welcome."