Six months had passed since Sam and Jack had begun living together and roughly three weeks since they initiated a physical relationship. They were unmistakably in an adjustment phase. While the sex was undeniably gratifying, with sparks flying from the outset, their contrasting temperaments and struggles in communication led to occasional misunderstandings within the confines of their shared abode.
One day, Sam received a call from her father informing her of his intention to stop by her house. She promptly invited him for dinner the following Saturday, confirming that Colonel O'Neill was still residing with her. The absence of their regular father-daughter dinners had become noticeable since Jack moved in.
Upon returning home that day, Sam had news to share with Jack. In addition to his AA meetings, Jack had taken up a part-time position as a Group Fitness Coordinator at a nearby gym. Initially drawn to the gym for workouts, Jack noticed they sought someone with organizational skills. Seizing the opportunity, he applied, emphasizing his military background and commitments to AA meetings, expressing his availability for half the day. Jack was offered the position despite the less-than-ideal pay and lack of other applicants. In addition to organizing and scheduling fitness classes, hiring instructors, and boosting class attendance, Jack was granted access to the gym during off-hours. Although not the most suitable for someone with his skills, he found the work fulfilling, keeping him occupied while enhancing his fitness—a fact Sam could personally attest to, especially during their intimate moments together.
"Hey, how was your day?" Sam asked, stepping into the kitchen to find Jack seated, guzzling water like he'd run a marathon.
His gym attire, drenched in sweat, accentuated his physique, a sight she never tired of.
"Oh, hey," Jack replied, setting the empty water container on the counter and wiping his sweaty face.
"Work or pleasure?" she quipped, leaning in for a quick kiss.
Jack grinned, "This time, pleasure. Worked till lunch, hit the AA meeting, then back to the gym. Just got home five minutes ago," he said, glancing at his watch.
Sam's heart skipped a beat whenever he referred to her place as 'home.' It was a conversation they needed to have, but another matter weighed on her mind—her father.
"So..." she began, her gaze lingering on his enticing physique.
"What?" Jack asked, sensing the tension in her voice.
"My father called today," she revealed, her lip caught between her teeth.
"Oh boy..." Jack sighed, wiping his face once more.
"Yeah... I invited him for dinner. This Saturday," she said, the lump in her throat growing.
Jack swallowed hard.
"Sure. He's your Dad, and it's your house," he replied, though Sam detected a hint of reluctance.
Her heart sank further. "Now it was her house?" she thought.
"Do you mind?" she ventured cautiously.
"Of course not, Sam. I'm not exactly thrilled about having your Dad scrutinizing me and probably grilling me again, but I'll survive. Don't worry," Jack assured her, kissing her lips quickly.
Sam managed a half-hearted smile.
"OK," she said, her mind already swirling with thoughts of the impending dinner.
During dinner, they discussed what to prepare for her father's visit, and Jack suggested making meatloaf, a dish he was familiar with from his past cooking experiences. Though Sam refrained from asking about his previous marriage, she accepted the suggestion. However, it meant they needed to go grocery shopping the following day, a task Sam wasn't particularly keen on. Jack offered to go, but that would entail using her car, something she hadn't allowed him to do before.
"You can take my car," she offered, feeling a shiver run down her spine while she said those words.
Jack paused, his burger halfway to his mouth.
"I can what?" he asked, his eyes widening.
Sam cleared her throat and reached for a fry, dipping it in ketchup.
"My car. You can go to the supermarket with it. This one doesn't have enough stuff, so you need to go to the bigger one," she explained slowly.
Jack set his burger down.
"Sam, it's your car," he pointed out.
She took another fry. "I'm well aware of that," she replied.
"I haven't driven in ages," he admitted.
Sam suggested, "Okay, we can take her for a ride after dinner so you can get used to it."
Jack swallowed nervously.
"Are you sure?" he asked, starting to sweat suddenly.
"If I weren't, I wouldn't offer, Jack," she said with a smile.
Jack resumed eating his burger. "Okay," he said between bites.
They finished dinner in silence, both more nervous than they let on. After cleaning up the kitchen, Sam handed him the keys.
"Here," she said.
Jack took the keys, fidgeting with the custom-made keychain. She had a leather keychain featuring the Shelby GT-350 logo with her initials engraved.
"Sam..." he started, his fingers toying with the keychain.
"Come on, Jack. It won't bite you. You flew jets, for Christ's sake. It's just a car," she said as she opened the garage with the remote.
Still playing with the keys, Jack followed her.
She was right. He had flown jets and other aircraft, but that was decades ago when he ran black ops worldwide on active duty in the Air Force. Now, she wanted him to drive her precious 1965 Shelby Mustang GT-350, meticulously restored and continuously improved to her tastes. The responsibility weighed heavily on Jack's shoulders and hands.
"I'll go very slow," he assured her as he settled into the driver's seat.
"She's a muscle car. She doesn't like slow," Sam remarked with a smile.
Jack gripped the wheel, admiring the impeccable interior.
"She'll have to get used to slow with me—at least this time. I'm sorry," he said as he started the powerful engine.
Sam smiled again but remained silent, her nerves already heightened. Jack slowly reversed and then abruptly stopped.
Sam looked at him, alarmed. "What?" she asked, scanning their surroundings. She hadn't heard anything.
"Thanks for trusting me with your car," he said in a low voice.
Sam swallowed.
"I've trusted you with my heart, Jack. The car is just a thing," she said, placing her hand on top of his, on the gear knob.
Jack nodded. "I know, but even so, thank you," he said again.
Sam smiled.
"Now, Colonel, start driving and keep your eyes on the road, or you won't have sex for the next few weeks," she teased.
Jack swallowed.
"I'll drive like a ninety-year-old," he promised.
Sam started laughing.
"Sometimes they're the worst drivers, so I'm not sure if that's a good thing," she quipped as the powerful car glided down the quiet street.
Jack smiled, his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. It felt good to be back behind the wheel after so long.
"Well, Major, let's go for a drive," he said, pressing lightly on the gas pedal.
Sam's heart rate increased, but she placed one hand on the back of his neck, gently caressing his hair.
"Carry on, Colonel," she said as they drove into the night, cruising at a leisurely 20 mph.
One hour later, the Mustang rolled back into the garage without a scratch, and Jack sported a permanent smile on his lips. Sam couldn't help but feel relieved.
"Safe and sound," he declared as he turned off the engine.
"See? No big deal," Sam replied, opening her door.
Jack followed suit, tossing her the keys with a grin.
"I believe I was promised a reward," he said, his smile lingering.
Sam chuckled as they entered the house.
"You were warned about the punishment," she remarked, placing the keys in their usual spot and shrugging off her jacket.
Suddenly, Jack's hands found her waist, and his lips traced her neck.
"Now, Major, that's a very naughty thing to say after I drove us unarmed for almost an hour," he teased, planting kisses along her skin.
Sam smiled, her hands resting atop his.
"At the slowest speed that car has ever gone in its life, I'm sure," she quipped as his lips trailed from her neck to her shoulder.
"Not a scratch," Jack affirmed, his hands moving to more intimate areas.
Sam let out a soft moan.
"Oh... that's not fair," she murmured, biting her lip.
As usual, their evening in the bedroom concluded with Sam passionately detailing all her modifications to the GT-350. For Jack, there was something undeniably alluring about intertwining their discussions of mechanics with their intimate moments. Tonight, it seemed he was in for another lesson in automotive engineering, which suited him just fine. After all, they had already delved into topics ranging from the periodic table to black holes and planets. Sam had once mentioned that they still had many subjects left to explore, and Jack couldn't help but grin from ear to ear at the thought. She was a genius, after all.
Jack woke up alone the following day, his nerves already frayed at the edges, anticipating the task ahead. She had already left for work since she had an early presentation. After having just coffee and with a heavy feeling in his chest, he gathered Sam's car keys and made his way to the garage. Trying to muster some courage, he gave himself a pep talk before getting into the car, hoping no accidents would mar his journey. Despite his anxiety, he managed to navigate to the supermarket, though he arrived with beads of sweat dotting his forehead.
Shaky but determined, he locked the car and grabbed a shopping cart, clutching his list tightly as he made his way through the aisles, picking up each item with careful consideration. Once all the groceries were collected, he returned to the car, carefully loading them into the trunk before setting off home, feeling a tad more confident on the return journey. Arriving back at the garage with the Mustang unscathed was a small victory for Jack.
After bringing the groceries into the kitchen and putting them away, Jack texted Sam. "Hi. Gone and back. Everyone alive and well. Car without a scratch. Love you. J". Seconds later, she sent him a text back. "Hi. Never had a doubt. Love you too. S". Smiling, Jack took a shower to wash off the excess sweat before his AA meeting later in the day, his spirits lifted by the successful trip.
As he passed through Sam's office, something out of place caught his eye—a book lying on the floor, having fallen from its shelf. Jack hesitated before picking it up, noting the title: "Principles of Quantum Mechanics." Quantum mechanics was not particularly interesting unless they were in bed, and he wondered where it fit among Sam's extensive collection of books. He had never set foot inside her office since he had moved into her house.
As Jack perused the bookshelves in Sam's office, his gaze caught a glimmer of faint blue light nestled discreetly among the rows of endless books. Intrigued, he approached, his curiosity piqued by the mysterious illumination. The office was dark primarily because she had left the curtains almost closed, which was the only reason he noticed the light. Upon closer inspection, he saw a slight irregularity in the arrangement of the books on one particular shelf. Despite knowing he was intruding on Sam's personal space, Jack couldn't resist investigating further.
With a cautious touch, Jack nudged aside a volume, revealing a concealed latch cleverly integrated into the wooden frame of the bookshelf. A sense of anticipation surged as he pressed the latch, feeling a subtle click beneath his fingertips. With a barely audible whisper, a hidden panel slid open, revealing a narrow passageway leading into the depths of the office.
As Jack ventured into the clandestine passage, he found himself enveloped in darkness, fading lights suddenly turning on as he started to walk. The air was heavy with the scent of dust and neglect as he cautiously navigated the narrow corridor, his senses on high alert.
After what looked like an eternity, but in reality was just some seconds, the passage opened into a somewhat spacious chamber bathed in an automatic presence light. But this chamber held no treasure trove of scientific endeavors or mysterious Pentagon projects. Instead, it was filled with discarded items: old furniture, broken electronics, and various implements of destruction strewn haphazardly about the room.
"Holly fuck!" he mumbled aloud.
At the center of the chamber stood a dilapidated large desk, its surface marred by scratches and stains, broken chairs, old electronics, and assorted household items. Upon closer inspection, Jack noticed a collection of tools scattered across its surface: a rusty baseball bat, a sledgehammer, crowbars, and even an old-fashioned axe. He saw some safety gear on the wall – sturdy gloves, protective eyewear, and a worn-out helmet. Clearly, this hidden compartment served as a repository for Sam's darker inclinations. In this place, she could indulge in acts of violence and destruction away from prying eyes. It looked like a stress relief destruction room inside her house like he had seen on TV.
A chill ran down his spine as Jack surveyed the scene before him. He realized he had stumbled upon a secret side of Sam that he had never suspected existed. She needed to release a lot of pent-up aggression and stress, and apparently, that was how she did it. The sounds he had heard more than once must have come out from this room, which looked like it had been designed to withstand the onslaught of destruction, with reinforced walls and floors capable of absorbing the impact of even the most vigorous assaults. But lately, Jack had never heard those crashing sounds again. Had she stopped using the room, or did she wait to use it when he wasn't home?
With a sense of unease gnawing at him, Jack quickly retreated from the hidden chamber, the memory of what he had seen lingering in his mind long after he had left the office behind. What was he going to do about this? Talking about it meant he had trespassed the only place she had told him not to enter and break her trust. Keeping it to himself also felt wrong since this seemed important in her life, and Jack wanted to share everything with her: the good and the bad. He went to the shower with two things on his brain: her secret stress relief room and dinner with General Jacob Carter. Jack couldn't decide, which made him more nervous. It was probably a tide.
When Sam returned home, she immediately sensed a change in Jack's demeanor. His usual cheerful disposition seemed overshadowed by a weight she couldn't pinpoint. Aware of their upcoming dinner with her father the following evening, she approached him as he lay on the couch, engrossed in a book. Leaning down, she gently kissed his forehead, her fingers trailing soothingly through his hair.
"If the dinner is causing you too much stress, Jack, we can always cancel," she offered softly, concern evident in her voice.
Jack placed the book on his chest, contemplating her words. Stress—now, there was a word that carried a new significance after today's discovery.
"Nah, I'll manage," he replied with a faint smile, though the tension in his voice didn't escape Sam's notice.
She studied him closely, sensing that something more than dinner plans was weighing on his mind.
"Are you sure?" she pressed gently, her concern deepening as she observed his demeanor.
Jack's response was curt, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone.
"Yes, I'm sure. After all, I have to deal with stress, Sam. I'm not made of porcelain, and you can't shield me from everything that might cause me stress," he remarked, his words tinged with frustration.
Sam swallowed, taken aback by the unexpected sharpness in his tone.
"That's not what I meant," she replied softly, her hand retreating from his hair as she pulled away slightly.
Jack shifted uncomfortably, realizing he may have overreacted.
"You have a lot of stress in your life, too, I'm sure—lots of responsibilities. How do you deal with it?" he inquired, attempting to redirect the conversation.
It was a simple question, but Sam felt a surge of unease prickling at her skin.
Clutching her briefcase a little tighter than necessary, she forced herself to respond, her voice strained.
"I've told you, I have my music," she replied, her tone guarded.
Jack's gaze bore into hers, probing for something she wasn't quite ready to reveal.
"Only the music?" he pressed, his eyes searching hers for answers.
Sam's jaw tensed as she fought to maintain her composure.
"Yes. Why?" she countered, her tone edged with tension.
Jack hesitated, sensing her discomfort, before feigning nonchalance.
"Nothing, just curious," he murmured, returning his attention to his book.
Sam lingered momentarily, studying him with concern and uncertainty before quietly slipping away to change.
As Jack continued to read, absorbed in his book, he remained oblivious to Sam's departure from the room. Unbeknownst to him, she slipped into her office, closing the door behind her gently, her thoughts consumed by the secrets hidden within its walls.
Sam's gaze swiftly landed on the book lying innocently on her desk, confirming her apprehensions. Rushing out earlier, she had inadvertently knocked it off the desk yet neglected to retrieve it before heading to work. Now, there it sat, conspicuous on her desk. Jack had indeed been in her office. Slowly, she reached for the book, her heart pounding with dread and frustration. Without pausing to address the apparent breach of trust, she powered up her computer, her mind already racing ahead to the inevitable confrontation.
Ignoring the urge to check the security footage immediately, Sam focused instead on establishing a secure connection to the camera hidden within her office. With practiced efficiency, she accessed the recording from that day, and her suspicions were confirmed as she watched Jack's every move with a sinking feeling in her chest. There he was, meticulously inspecting every corner of the room, unaware of the watchful eye tracking his every move.
Covering her mouth with trembling fingers, Sam bit down hard, stifling a string of curses that threatened to escape. She had only asked him for one simple request, and he had violated it without a second thought.
"Fuck," she muttered under her breath, her anger simmering just beneath the surface.
Leaving her office in a whirlwind of fury, Sam found Jack still on the sofa, engrossed in his book. Without preamble, she confronted him, her voice barely containing her seething anger.
"Why, Jack?" she demanded, her eyes flashing with undisguised fury.
Caught off guard by her sudden outburst, Jack looked up, confusion evident in his expression.
"Why what?" he asked, perplexed by her agitation.
Sam's fists clenched at her sides, a dangerous glint flickering in her eyes as she fought to keep her composure.
"What? Get your ass in my office. NOW!" she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument as she stormed towards the bookshelf.
Jack swallowed nervously, sensing the gravity of the situation as he followed her lead, dropping his book onto the sofa with a heavy thud.
Standing before the concealed latch, Sam's voice trembled with suppressed rage as she addressed Jack again.
"I asked you for one thing, Jack, when you moved in—just one thing. Don't enter my office! And I gave you everything in return. My house, my support, my love, and my heart! Why did you have to ruin that?" she demanded, her hand hovering over the latch as she prepared to reveal the hidden passage.
"Look, Sam..." Jack began, his voice trailing off as she pushed open the secret panel, disappearing into the concealed passage before he could explain. With a frustrated curse, he reluctantly followed suit, knowing that he had some serious explaining to do.
When Jack entered the hidden room, he was met with a sight that took him aback: Sam stood before him, wielding a bat with a fierce intensity in her eyes. Her voice rang out, almost shouting, as she angrily addressed him.
"So, you wanted to know how I handle my stress, Jack? My anger?" she exclaimed, swinging the bat with such force that it shattered an old TV. Jack watched in stunned silence as she moved on to another appliance, demolishing it with a ferocity that left the bat splintered in her hands.
"Sam, I'm sorry..." Jack began, attempting to apologize, but his words were cut short by her relentless barrage of destruction.
"One fucking thing, Jack!" she repeated, her voice echoing off the walls of the room.
Swallowing nervously, Jack could only watch as Sam unleashed her fury upon the remaining objects in the room, each strike punctuated by a fierce cry of frustration. He had never seen her like this.
As she swung the crowbar with unrestrained force, Jack saw her suddenly wince in pain, dropping the tool to clutch at her thigh.
"Fuck," she yelled, her voice laced with agony.
Concern flooding his features, Jack moved closer, but Sam held out a hand to ward him off.
"Don't," she warned, but he could already see the blood seeping through her fingers.
"You are hurt," Jack stated firmly, his voice betraying his worry.
Ignoring her protests, he gently lifted her into his arms, determined to get her the needed help. Despite her attempts to resist, he carried her out of the room and into her office, where he carefully lowered her onto the small black sofa.
Seeing the wound continue to bleed, Jack's frustration grew.
"Let me see it, Sam," he urged gently, but she stubbornly pressed her hand against her thigh, the fabric of her dress blues skirt already stained crimson.
"If you don't let me see it, I'll take you to the hospital as you are," Jack threatened, leaving no room for argument. "And you'll stain your precious car with all the blood dripping," he added pointedly.
Reluctantly, Sam removed her hand, revealing a deep gash with a piece of wood embedded in her flesh.
"Fuck, you are hurt," Jack muttered again, his concern evident as he retrieved the medical kit from the bathroom.
"No shit, Jack," she mumbled between her teeth, fury and pain mixing with her frustration.
Returning to her side, he met her weary gaze with determination.
"You'll have to go to the hospital, but first, let's do some damage control," he said firmly, ignoring her protests.
Sam's voice was weak as she replied, "I surely don't."
But Jack paid no heed, focusing on tending to her wound gently, determined to see her through this ordeal.
With Sam's wound attended to as best as possible, Jack swiftly took charge, guiding her out of the office and towards the door.
"Come on, Major, we need to get you to the hospital," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument as he helped her to her feet.
Sam leaned on him for support, her steps unsteady as they made their way out of the house and towards her car parked in the garage. Jack opened the passenger side door and carefully helped her into the seat, ensuring she was comfortable despite the pain.
Once she was settled, Jack quickly moved to the driver's side and slid behind the wheel, focusing solely on getting Sam the medical attention she needed.
"Hold on, Sam. We'll be there soon," he reassured her, his voice calm and steady as he started the engine and pulled out of the driveway. He was a puddle of nerves inside, but that didn't matter. She had to go to the hospital and fast.
The drive to the hospital was tense, the silence between them heavy with unspoken worry. Sam gripped the edge of her seat tightly; her jaw clenched against the pain radiating from her injured thigh and her anger toward him. Jack glanced over at her occasionally, his expression a mix of concern and determination.
As they neared the hospital, Sam's breath caught in her throat, a sudden wave of anxiety washing over her. Jack reached out, his hand coming to rest gently on hers.
"It's going to be okay, Sam," he said softly, his eyes meeting hers with unwavering reassurance.
"Don't talk to me," she warned.
When they arrived at the emergency room entrance, Jack hurried around to help Sam out of the car, supporting her as they entered. When they saw Sam's condition, the hospital staff sprang into action, whisking her away to be treated while Jack waited anxiously in the waiting room.
Hours passed in a blur of anxiety and anticipation until finally, a doctor emerged from the treatment area with news of Sam's condition. Jack's heart skipped a beat as he listened intently, relief flooding him when he heard she would be okay.
With Sam's wound cleaned and stitched up, Jack helped her back to the car, careful to take it easy as they made their way home. The tension of the evening began to dissipate as they drove, mainly because Sam had been given pain relievers, which carried a load of additional problems that she was trying hard not to think about as they approached the house.
Jack parked the car and turned to look at Sam, and concern etched into his features.
"How are you feeling?" he inquired softly, his eyes searching hers for any signs of distress.
"Tired," Sam admitted with a weary sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly as she leaned back against the seat.
"Would you like to cancel tomorrow's dinner with your father? I'm sure he'll understand," Jack suggested gently, wanting to alleviate any additional stress for Sam.
"No, the dinner stands. If I'm standing, the dinner surely stands," Sam replied sternly, determination shining through her exhaustion as she opened the car door.
Jack shook his head, a mixture of admiration and concern swirling within him as he stepped out of the car to help her. They entered the house silently, the weight of the evening's events hanging heavily between them.
Suddenly, Sam stopped in the hallway, her words halting Jack.
"I want to sleep alone tonight, Jack," she said, her voice tinged with exhaustion and sadness.
Jack's heart sank at her words, a pang of hurt coursing through him.
"Sam... please, don't," he pleaded, his hand resting gently on her arm.
She slowly withdrew from his touch, leaning against the wall for support.
"Thanks for taking me to the hospital, but not tonight, Jack," she said quietly as she turned and went to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Jack stood in the hallway, his heart heavy with regret and longing. He resisted the urge to follow her, knowing that she needed space. Instead, he made his way to the kitchen, the weight of the evening pressing down on him like a leaden cloak.
Pouring himself a glass of water, Jack took a long sip, wishing it was something stronger to numb the ache in his chest. He closed his eyes, willing himself to push aside the tumult of emotions swirling within him. With a frustrated curse, Jack slammed the fridge shut, echoing through the empty house.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath as he retreated to the guest room.
Stripping off his clothes, Jack climbed into bed, the sheets feeling cold and unfamiliar against his skin. Memories flooded his mind, memories of happier times spent in Sam's warm embrace.
Closing his eyes, Jack tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat since Sam discovered his betrayal. He knew sleep would elude him tonight, his thoughts consumed by the ache of remorse and the hope for forgiveness.
As he lay in the darkness, Jack prayed that time would heal the wounds he had inflicted and that Sam would find it in her heart to forgive him. But for now, all he could do was lie in bed, tormented by his regret and the weight of his actions.