The Truths We Hide

by AkamaiMom

After Jacob's funeral, Jack's glad to see the last of the guests leave. Trouble is, Hammond decides it's time for a talk. And later, when the General leaves, Jack's surprised by another visitor-one with golden hair and haunted blue eyes. There are things that need to be settled, things that need to be said. The question is whether either of them are ready for the fallout.

3. The Truths We Hide—Tangled Sheets and

The Truths We Hide

Tangled Sheets and the Future

Thanks for your help, G. :)

XXX

"And I want you."

Jack's fingers scrunched up in the thick cables of her sweater, his eyes drifting closed as he breathed her in—as he felt her body brush against him—felt her hands on his skin. Dear lord in heaven above. It felt good. Better than good.

It felt right.

"Sam?" His voice cracked, damn it. Like a middle schooler asking his first girl to dance. Clearing his throat, he focused on her. On how she'd stilled—her bottom lip captured snugly between her teeth. The way the color had tinged her cheeks. The impossible blue of her eyes. "Are you sure?"

She didn't answer immediately, her fingers drifting from his cheek to skim along his smooth-shaven jaw, traveling further upward to brush at the close-cropped hair at his temple before she caught his gaze again. With a sharp inhale, she angled her chin in that way she had. "About this?"

"About this." Jack focused on her face—on her eyes, soft azure beneath lashes like coal. Something had changed. She'd moved from reticence to something else—intent, maybe. Resolve. It didn't matter other than it felt as if she'd finally made a decision. "About me."

For a moment she simply studied him again—letting her gaze wander across his features—his nose—his chin—his forehead—until she finally focused on his lips again—

And then she moved—that intrepid finger making its way back down, tracing a steady line along the firm angle of his jaw. Her body felt vibrant and real against his as she tipped up on her toes—and higher still—until her lips skimmed the side of his throat, her breath like sweet fire on his skin.

"Jack—"

It was automatic—innate—the way his body reacted to her. The way one hand splayed on the subtle curve of her lower back, pulling her into him, his fingers tangling in the knit of her sweater. And his other hand—rising to cup her jaw, his thumb sweeping a path across the perfect arch of her cheek, feeling her shiver along his entire body. "Sam—"

But she was finished discussing things. All it took was a tilt of her head and she'd found his mouth with her own—tentative at first—brief, chaste touches of her lips to his as her hands rose to move on his chest, his throat, his face—as she fit her body to his as if they'd always been meant to be together. Two halves of the same forged coin.

And then more. Her tongue laving at the corner of his mouth with such sweet invitation that he couldn't help but acquiesce. He opened for her, angling as she tasted him, tentative at first—hesitant flickers of her tongue against his, before she was emboldened by his response—by the way he groaned deep in his chest and hauled her up against him.

Deeper, now, longer—his hands drifting down her body—the strong, lithe line of her back, the perfect curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, his fingers digging into her softness before spreading at the small of her back and bringing her more completely against him.

It was everything—she was everything. Strong and soft and spellbinding. The salty tang of the tears dried on her lips juxtaposed with the sweetness of her skin against his and the shameless way she urged him deeper—deeper, and wider, and closer, with her body tilted into his and her lips—her tongue—her teeth—exploring in glorious little touches along his lips and jaw and throat.

Everything—sweet and hot, and so, so perfect against him. Faster—more urgent, now, as she grew bolder. As she pressed harder, moving from his mouth to taste his jaw, to toy with his ear, the underside of his chin, to flick the tip of her tongue into the dimple in his cheek. To linger at the pulse point of his throat, her lips catching the beat of his heart while her hands meandered along the planes of his chest.

He was beyond thought—only knowing that he needed more. "Sam—"

But she was beyond speech, moaning a little as she made her way back to his mouth, and then sighing into his kiss as he took control, tilting her chin up so that he could take her lips, exploring her with the same sanguine determination that she had him. So, perfect—warm, and willing, and wet—eager and earnest with her hands in his hair, on his cheeks and chest, finding his nipple with a fingernail and smiling against his lips when he gasped—

"Holy hell—Sam."

He felt, rather than heard her sigh. Pulled back to see her smile, her eyes misty and opaque. She traced his mouth with her thumb, the sharp edge of his bottom lip and the thin line of the top—before dipping the pad of it just inside to tease at the wetness there. As then she was kissing him again, and again. And again—harder, more thoroughly, more satisfying as she took his mouth over—and over—and over—

"Jack." She'd pulled away, tucking her head against his shoulder as she caught her breath. Somehow she'd insinuated her hand beneath his shirt and was doing delicious things to his chest—his abdomen—the buckle of his belt—

He muttered a curse, sucking in a sudden hiss as her fingers freed the clasp. How his own hands had made their way beneath her sweater was beyond him. He could only just hear her past the rushing of his own pulse in his ears, past the wanton rise of need with him..

"It's time, Jack." With a sudden move, she slid the belt free and let it fall to the floor before turning her attention to his shirt. "Things are different now."

Good lord—Jack was helpless as she pushed the Henley up his body, raising his arms obediently when she drew it over his head and dropped it next to the belt.

He shuddered as her hands returned to explore his body as thoroughly as she had his mouth—her fingers splayed flat on his sides, his abdomen, raking through the hair on his chest as her lips found his throat again, sucking lightly at his skin—

"Bed." This time, it was Jack saying it. Jack, who took her hand and pulled her past the couch, towards the entryway, pausing to watch as she kicked off her sneakers before taking his hand and following him.

Up the stairs to his hallway—pausing every few steps to explore each other some more—the pictures rattling on the wall as he pinned her there to taste her earlobe—the curve of her shoulder—bared when he finally—finally!—worked the sweater off her body, the knitted garment making a soft 'whump' as it hit the floor.

The sconces this time, clinking in their metal holders as she landed again, as Jack raked his fingers through her hair and bent in for more. She was tight against him, her skin warmed by his, their breath mingling in tight little bursts.

"Jack—please—"

He felt the words more than heard them. Felt her as she nuzzled his cheek. As her hands worked their way from his waist to his sides—his ribs—his chest—up further to rake through the hair at his nape. And softness everywhere. The silken glide of her lips against his jaw, her determined fingertips at the back of his neck, her body—such a perfect mix of supple strength and everything gloriously woman—

"Sam." Through the haze, past the tantalizing feel of her hands at his waist, he could still somehow think. A glint of reality making its way through the need. "What about protection?"

Her lips moved against his as she answered—her deft fingers now working at his fly. "The paperwork's already been filed."

The paperwork.

The what?

Paperwork? Jack lifted away from her mouth, dragging in air as he fought for focus. Protection. Paperwork. The documentation transfering Sam to Groom Lake thereby preventing them both from being subject to military punishment due to the fact that they were both half-dressed and heading towards something sure to raise more than just eyebrows. Holy crap—she actually thought he was talking about courts martial and the brig.

Trust Carter to be concerned about chains of command and codes of conduct while his mind went somewhere else entirely. With a quick smile, he shook his head, cupping her face in his hands as he met her gaze. "No—I mean—protection."

Brow furrowed, her hands paused—her entire body going still as she puzzled that through. Pushing away from him, she raised a hand to her forehead and made a strangled noise that could have been a laugh. "Oh. You mean—that."

Jack shuffled backwards to look at her. Half-bare—her hair tousled and her lips swollen—she looked deliciously disheveled. She'd lost the tight anger from earlier, and now passion, rather than hurt, smoldered in her eyes.

It appeared obvious that she hadn't intended on seduction tonight—her jeans had a grease stain near the knee and her bra was one of the serviceable sports contraptions that she preferred off-world. Her mascara was still smudged, and embarrassment had turned the skin of her throat into a mottled flush.

Despite all that—or probably because of it—she was the most remarkable woman he'd ever known, and Jack wanted her with a desperation that he had to fight to contain. Clearing his throat, he shrugged, his bare shoulders moving against the wood paneling of his hallway. "I just thought we should talk about it before—"

Her eyes moved towards the entrance to his bedroom, still a few feet away. The door sat ajar, and his bed lay just beyond. She tilted her head in its general direction. "Before that."

"Yes." Jack backed up a little more, until his shoulders hit the wall behind him. The wood felt cool against his heated skin. "Because that's going to complicate some things."

Her brows rose as she made a small nod. "It will."

It was quiet around them, but for the sound of the clock in the dining room. Outside, the wind had picked up into a full-blown storm, and Jack could hear a rhythmic, dull thud coming from the north side of the house where that branch he'd been meaning to trim was knocking against the eaves.

"I don't want a one-night stand, Sam." He could still taste her when he ran his tongue along the inside crease of his lips. "I want this to be for real."

Her eyes were impossibly wide. "Me, too."

"And it won't stay in the damned room this time, either." Jack motioned towards the door and the bed beyond. "I won't let it. This is for keeps."

"I know."

"I want it all, Sam." And just in case that wasn't clear enough, he went further. "I want all of you."

She just stood there, studying him, an enigmatic expression dancing on her features. After what seemed like forever, she took a deep breath and straightened.

"Really? Because I'm a mess, you know. I'm not an easy person to be with. I get too logical. Too focused on statistics and probabilities. I overthink everything and get hung up on the minutiae." So soft—here in the dim intimacy of the hallway. Her voice low, yet steady. She smiled—a sad little thing tinged with an obstinate sort of hope. "But I'm tired of talking myself out of happiness, Jack. I'm sick of clinging so tightly to stark rationality that I can't find the joy in life."

He couldn't rebut most of that, and he sure as hell couldn't hope to interpret exactly what she meant by the rest, so he simply waited.

"It's time I started listening to my heart."

He hesitated in asking, the question settling heavily in his throat, begging to be released into the aether. And then, he needed to clear his throat to say anything at all. "And what's it saying?"

"That I need you." She inched closer, stopping midway across the hall from him. An arm's length away as she glanced down at the floor, or her bare feet, or his boots, the smile on her lips turning wry. "That you're the only one in the universe who makes me feel safe, and comfortable, and alive. I love you. I've loved you for years."

Jack exhaled slowly. "You do?"

"I do. I can't help it." Stronger, now. More certain, her eyes meeting his—unwavering azure so pure that it hurt as a wonky grin dimpled her right cheek. "And I don't want to stop."

Holy hell. It felt as if his heart had stopped. As if the whole damned world had stopped just to give him time to process the enormity of the moment. That this was definitely more than a curiosity-assuaging fling. That she was in it for real, too.

And then she moved again, stopping just in front of him to whisper. "Ask me again."

His own voice was just as quiet. "About what?"

"About fishing." She tilted her head to one side. "Ask me to go to Minnesota with you, Jack. Ask me to go fishing."

Three steps. It took him three steps to reach his bedroom. One more to cross the threshold, and only a moment to turn and reach his hand out to her. Palm up—in invitation.

"C'mere, Sam."

And damned but if she didn't take his hand and let him lead her into their future.

XXX

She slept like a child. On her side, with her fist tucked under her chin.

At some point between their last round and now, she'd found her panties and one of his undershirts and put them on before crawling back into bed and nestling close to him. When he'd woken an hour or so ago, she'd been sharing his pillow and her legs had been tangled with his.

Jack had been indulging himself since dawn, just looking at her. Watching her sleep. Counting her eyelashes, memorizing the curve of her lips, and tracing the contour of her forehead—her cheek—her eyebrow. Listening to the tiny noises she made as she dreamed—sounds more than slightly reminiscent of the ones she'd made at other times during the night.

Times when more than their legs had been tangled and neither of them had been anywhere near asleep. When she'd tightened around him and melted against him and urged him on with her nails in his skin and his name—his name—whispered between the most euphoric, breathless, little gasps—

After the last time, he'd kissed her gently—her lips, her jaw, her throat—and tasted salt and realized that she was crying.

He'd felt a little helpless. Adrift in the moment—unsure as to the whys and wherefores. But then, he'd remembered what she'd lost lately—a friend, a father, a fiancé. Her position, her team. Her home—the Springs, where she could escape the city on her Indian and race around mountain curves at twice the speed of life. The dreams she'd had of simplicity and normalcy.

And what had she gained in the fallout? An ornery, broken-down General with bad knees and baggage enough for the both of them. So, in the end, he'd simply gathered her close and stroked her skin and stayed with her in her grief.

That had been a few hours ago. He'd drifted in and out of sleep once she'd drifted off. For reasons he was far too macho to contemplate, Jack hadn't wanted to miss a single moment of the first time she'd shared his bed. Her weight on the mattress next to him—or on him. The first time she'd talked in her sleep, mumbling things unintelligible and probably incomprehensible before sighing out a smile and finding his body with her hands beneath the sheets. The first time she'd stretched languidly against him only to settle back in with her cheek pressed to his chest and her arm draped across his abdomen. The first—and second—and third time they'd touched the sun.

Because, ultimately, he knew that it was only a matter of time before she'd be leaving him again for Nevada and her new posting. He'd acknowledged the truth of the situation years ago. In order to have her, he'd need to let her go.

Oh, the damned, horrific irony. Jack squinched his eyes closed—as if he could deny the inevitable just by pretending it didn't exist.

A shift in the weight against him made him look back down at her, only to find her eyes cracked open. She was a little fuzzy, but lucid. It was a byproduct of their trade—the ability to sleep wherever and then to wake up immediately.

"Hey, there." Rough. Gravelly. Jack cleared his throat before trying again. "Good morning."

She smiled, turning her cheek into the pillow to hide a yawn. Sunlight through the sheers at the window glinted in her hair and kissed her shoulders, making her skin glow like burnished cream.

And when she spoke, her voice was as husky as his. "Good morning."

Reaching towards her, Jack pushed the hair off her face, combing through the soft strands with his fingers. Some stupid, mad impulse made him ask, "Regrets?"

"About last night?" Sam studied his face. "No. You?"

The pillow rustled as he shook his head. "Only that it took us so long to get here."

"'Here' as in finally being able to communicate and discuss things?" Her foot made a slow, deliberate sojourn up his calf as she spoke. "Or 'here' as in here in your bed?"

Jack pretended to think about that before easing into a grin. "Both. But mostly the bed part."

She grunted, jabbing him with her toe. "I'm being serious."

"So am I." He reached over and touched her face. "I will never regret this. Ever."

Sam pressed her lips tightly together, turning her gaze to his shoulder, or the dresser just beyond the bed, or the wall. "I don't regret being here with you. But there are things that happened along the way that I'm not proud of."

Instinctively, Jack knew to what—or rather, to whom—she was referring. He had a few similar misgivings. Only, in his case, Kerry had been the one to recognize the reality of the situation and deal with it accordingly. Presumably, Sam hadn't had the same luxury. "How did he take it?"

"Who, Pete?"

"Yeah."

"He was upset. Hurt. Resigned to it." She shook her head with a grimace. "I think that, in the back of his mind, he suspected that things weren't right."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that I wasn't really in love with him. I'm sure he knew that." Her frown deepened. "I led him on, let him think that I wanted to be with him. Took his ring. Made promises to him that I couldn't keep."

"It wasn't your fault, Sam."

Her eyebrows rose as she regarded him. "Whose fault was it?"

"Mine." Jack shifted around, rising up to brace his cheek on his fist. "Like you said last night. I should have told you what I wanted. We should have talked this out long ago. Long before you hooked up with that shrub."

She angled away from him, rolling onto her back. "He's not a bad guy, Jack."

"Sure. What're a few broken laws, blown ops, and a little stalking between friends?"

"And yet you signed off on his security clearance." Not accusatory—she was simply stating facts.

"I thought that's what you wanted." Jack sent her a rueful shrug. "Besides. I figured that I'd get to shoot him when he inevitably did something stupid."

Levering herself upright, the bed rocked a little as she pivoted on her hip to sit facing him. Crossing her long legs, she studied him for a bit before sighing. "He didn't deserve what happened. All of it was my fault for entertaining the idea that I could ever have anything resembling normal."

Jack studied her for a moment before pushing himself around, maneuvering until he was sitting up against the headboard. "That's not true, Sam."

She went still, myriad emotions playing across her face. After what seemed like an age, she flickered a look at him. "It's never been easy for me. Relationships. Whatever."

Jack pulled the sheet up to his waist, settling himself in to listen.

"My parents were madly in love. It was almost embarrassing sometimes. My dad—the General—was a very different person before my mom died."

"He was a good man."

"He was. But after the funeral, it felt as if he'd just shut off. Like a light had flickered out and a hardness set in. My mother gentled him. Once she was gone, her influence left, too."

"I can understand both sides of that." And he could. Sara had been that influence for him. A rudder for a young man too frequently left to drift alone. Where his own parents hadn't been great examples of humanity, Sara had helped civilize him in ways that he'd only just begun to understand. And then, when Charlie had arrived—and left—

Well, everything left a mark. Only some of those marks were badges of honor while others manifested as ugly, angry scars.

She knew him well enough to understand what he'd meant. Nodding, she went back to chewing on that lip as she worked her way through the memories. "Anyway. From watching them, it seemed so easy to just be in love with someone. They made it seem so effortless."

"It's not, though."

"No." Shaking her head, she sent a wistful look off through the window. "Jonas was my first—everything. He just took charge. Made all the decisions. It reminded me of my dad and I thought I'd found the ideal man for me. Sure, he was a little rough around the edges, but I could be like my mom, right?"

"But you're not like your mother." How Jack knew this, he couldn't have told. It was just as clear as day that Sam Carter was far more like Jacob than she cared to admit.

"No. I'm really not. I don't take orders well."

He tried not to snort. "No kidding."

Slanting him a sour look, she raked her fingers through the mess that was her hair. "I made some decisions without asking him—things that affected my career, and he went ballistic."

No wonder she hadn't exactly mourned his death. Jack clamped his jaw shut tight.

"He never abused me physically, but it was close." Sam exhaled heavily. "And I was glad to put him behind me."

"You were lucky."

"To get away? Yes." She thought for a moment. "I had a few dates here and there. A few flings. But everything just—fizzled. I wasn't interesting enough. Or attentive enough. I don't know. I wasn't good enough, maybe."

"Sam—"

"So, then I get assigned to this new command. And I walk into the briefing room that first day and meet you." Her eyes drifted closed as she tilted her chin down towards her chest. "And it was like every nerve ending in my body went live all at once. I had never felt anything like that before. It made me—"

"Hot?"

Thankfully, she smiled a little at his smart-assery before correcting him. "Uncomfortable."

It was Jack's turn to frown.

And naturally, she noticed it. "You were my CO. How much of a cliche is that? The young, ambitious airman has the hots for her handsome superior officer. It was embarrassing. But then we got out into the field and you were so damned good at what you did. You taught me so much—saved my life too many times to count. And I grew to respect the hell out of you as well."

"The feeling was mutual."

Nodding, she tossed him a quick smile. "But it was messy, wasn't it? So damned hard. And painful. Every time you were injured, I could literally feel it inside me. I lived in a constant state of fear watching you get injured and captured. Being around you helped, don't get me wrong—I love backing you up. We work well together. But that constant closeness came with its own problems. Keeping my distance. Establishing boundaries. Coloring within the lines. It was—difficult."

Jack looked down at his hands, shutting his eyes against the flood of memories. Frozen caverns, alien prisons, kidnappings, long descents into decommissioned missile silos. The feel of her in his arms beneath the frozen city, when they hadn't been beholden to Earth rules, and then the brutal loss when they'd regained their own lives. Finding her—bruised and battered—being targeted by the Super Soldier. The terror in her voice when she'd realized that Nirrti's machine had changed her.

Force fields. Ticking bombs. Abandoned hospitals and pirated spaceships—

The look on her face when they'd managed to tunnel through to Edora. When he'd turned away from her to go say goodbye to Laira—poignantly similar to her expression from a week ago, when she'd found him grilling meat with Kerry. So painful that he could still feel it burn.

He'd felt the same way, swallowing back panicked fury whenever she'd been threatened. He'd lied to himself at first, telling himself that he'd react the same way about all of the people for whom he was responsible, but eventually, he'd had to admit that it was different for her.

He was different for her. And yes. He'd had just as many problems coloring within the lines. Keeping the colors separated. Keeping himself separated.

Her voice dragged him back from his own thoughts.

"And wanting to be with you, but not being able to be with you. With the job, and our positions—" she breathed out a sigh. "And our complete lack of communication skills. It took a toll, Jack. It hurt."

"It's how it had to be, Sam." Jack drew one leg up, resting the crook of his elbow on it. "You know that."

One pale, sculpted shoulder rose in a half-hearted shrug. "I guess. It didn't make it any easier to live through, though. To lie in bed, or in a bedroll in an alien forest, or on the floor of some damned miserable alien prison, and to ache for you. To want to be touched so badly that I would pretend not to realize how close our chairs were in the briefing room, or to feel like an idiot when I'd time my lunch break around when I knew you'd be in the mess. I felt so stupid—like some lovesick teenager pining for the popular senior football star."

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Jack exhaled a rough epithet. "You're not stupid, Sam. You're human."

She made a weak sound deep in her throat that might have been acquiescence before sucking in a deep breath. "Then I met Pete. And it was so easy. He was easy. He was cute. Uncomplicated. He treated me like I was normal. He didn't make too many demands. Mark loved the fact that we were dating. For the first time since my mom's funeral, he seemed to like me again. And Pete was attentive and thoughtful. He took me out dancing and gave me flowers and silly little notes just like I'd seen my parents do for each other, and it seemed—good. It felt like I'd always thought being in love should feel."

"And how was that?"

"Boring."

He hadn't been expecting that. "Boring?"

"Bland. Prosaic. Like I wasn't afraid all the time—I wasn't going to spontaneously combust at any given moment. Like I could simply exist, and float through it all, and nothing really mattered." She sniffled—swiping at her eye and frowning when her finger came away smudged with yesterday's mascara. "Like I really had nothing to lose if he just disappeared or if it all suddenly fell apart."

"You weren't invested."

"And shouldn't I have been?" Her question was sincere—as if it were something she'd been puzzling over. Her eyes were cloudy—troubled—when she looked at him. "When I asked you that question that day. When I showed you the ring. It had already been two weeks since he'd proposed. And even after what you said—after you'd shot down any chance of something between us—it took me another week to say yes."

Jack pursed his lips. You had to give it to the guy. Pete Shanahan had been a tenacious son of a bitch. Still—the fact that it had taken Sam nearly a month to make the decision spoke volumes.

A fact that she had, obviously considered. "It shouldn't take three weeks to decide whether you want to marry someone."

"No." Softly, gently. He shook his head. "It shouldn't."

"And even then, it was more of a giving-in thing than it was me wanting to actually be his wife."

"That would be a problem."

"It wasn't fair to him. I wasn't being fair to him." Leaning forward, she smoothed her palms down the length of her thighs before looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. "The whole time I was with him, all I could think about was you. You're all I've been able to think about for a very, very long time."

On impulse, he reached towards her, insanely gratified when she immediately placed her hand in his. Squeezing lightly, he sent her a knowing smile. "For the record, it's been the same for me, Sam."

"Really?"

"From the moment I first saw you. You waltzed through the door of the briefing room prattling on about your reproductive organs and I immediately wanted to give them a whirl."

Unbelievably, she laughed at that, tugging at his hand as she rolled her eyes. "That's—really shallow."

"I'm a red-blooded American man, Carter. And have you seen yourself? You're—" he faltered, his gaze traveling over her—from the tousled gold of her hair, to the luscious way she filled out his undershirt, to the long, perfectly-toned length of her legs. Every square inch that he'd kissed and stroked and explored during the preceding night and for which he'd grown more and more profoundly grateful. "You're phenomenal. And then add to that the smart thing, and the nice thing, and the badass thing, and the giggling thing and—well, damn. Hell—it's a miracle that I wasn't walking around at attention all the time."

As if to illustrate his point, she giggled. "You're such an ass."

"Yes. Yes I am." He adjusted his grip on her hand, threading his fingers between hers and skimming his thumb across the heel of her palm. "But it's true. I've wanted this with you—something honest-to-god real—with you—since Antarctica."

"Why didn't you fight for me? For us?" Her eyes flew wide, that little furrow forming between her eyebrows. "Why did you just give up when I told you about Pete?"

He had to bite back the bitter regret he felt about it all, swallowing past the sudden tightness in his throat. Even now, it hurt to think about. To remember how he'd recoiled at holding that damned box in his hands. It had felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him, as if whatever he had left of a soul had fled. Hopelessness flowing hotly through his system as he'd purposefully set her free.

"You're the one that started dating, Sam. What was I supposed to do? Order you not to? Ask you to keep waiting until god-knew-when? I couldn't do that. I respected your choice to move on, even if I hated it."

"I thought it meant you didn't feel anything for me anymore."

"No. Nothing even close." Choosing his words carefully, he continued. "That day in your lab—you asked me about children. Kids and marriage and a future. I didn't know you wanted all of that."

"I didn't know I wanted it, either."

He almost didn't want to ask it, but had to. "Do you?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Her voice quivered a bit, suddenly softer. And then stronger when she offered a tight nod. "Yes. I think I do."

Somehow, he'd guessed that. "And to be honest—I figured that he was better for you, anyway. If you wanted all that, I mean. More stable. More normal. Closer to your own age—"

"Does that bother you?"

"The difference in our ages?" Jack looked down at their linked hands—hers so elegant and lovely in comparison to his battled-scarred skin. "Maybe. A little. You're so young, Carter. So independent. Fierce. Too damned smart for your own good, and talented as hell. Let's face it. You're so far out of my league that we may as well be playing totally different sports."

"That's not true, Jack."

But he pushed onward. This was the time for a hard dose of reality, wasn't it? "I won't lie. I'm a little worried that one day you'll look at me—all grizzled and gray—and wonder how the hell you got yourself saddled with an old man."

Her tongue touched at the corner of her lips before she took a quick breath inward. Her eyebrows rose as she met his gaze. "Am I?"

Jack took his time studying her. Her face had color in it again—pink creeping up from her throat to stain her jaw and cheeks. She seemed completely focused on their hands, or her feet, or the mad tangle of sheets upon which she perched. Her breathing had quickened, and she'd captured her bottom lip between her teeth again.

His mouth felt as if it were filled with gravel. "Are you what?"

"Saddled." She angled a quick look his way before tightening her grip on his fingers. "With you."

Damn it. Jack had never felt so nervous asking a question in his entire life. "Do you want to be?"

Her eyes were so damned blue—pure, intense, and clear as they moved over him. Taking him in—seeing through him, really, as if she were capable of finding that last bit of soul he'd been hoarding deep within. And maybe she was. She'd rescued him in every other way—it was entirely possible that she could heal this hurt, as well.

Or maybe, they could heal together.

As if sensing his thoughts, she moved, her fingers sliding free of his as she leaned forward. So damned athletic. Strong, almost unconsciously graceful—as she unfolded from her position and found a new one straddling him.

Jack's hands immediately found her hips, slipping under the hem of his undershirt to find the soft fabric of her panties—and the softer wonder of her skin. He cocked a brow at her. "Does this mean yes?"

Slowly, her fingers trailed up his body to frame his jaw. Her breathing had turned shallow, even as she touched the corner of her lips with the tip of her tongue. "You said this was for keeps. Not just a one-night stand."

"I did."

Suddenly she bent her head and took his mouth. Firm—determined—she brushed her lips across his with a sensual sort of teasing deliberation. Different from the night before, when her kisses had seemed a little desperate—a little frantic.

But here? Now? In the light of the morning after the night in which he'd taken her to his bed—with the dawn luminescent upon her skin, and the bed soft beneath them, and her warmth—her feel—her smell—enveloping him? Her heels pressing into his thighs and her hips rocking forward against him—

She thrummed with life and tasted like his future.

Breathing out a groan, Jack urged her to part her lips wider—gratified when she instantly opened for him—even more so when her tongue immediately found his.

She moaned softly as she went deeper, raking her fingernails through his hair and angling herself for more. Whispering against his lips as her thighs tightened upon his. "I love you, Jack."

Bolder now, open and raw as she nipped at his bottom lip with her teeth, moaning deep in her throat as his hands left her hips—drifting lower—tighter—pulling her closer—

"Sam?" Whispered into her mouth, through the reborn haze swirling inside his brain. Insistent—he had to know. "Is that a 'yes'?"

And for the rest of his life, he'd taste her smile as she answered.

"Yes."

XXX

The doorbell rang while he was cracking eggs.

Casting a glare over towards the entry, he tossed the shells into the garbage and turned off the stove before making his way to the front door.

It wasn't the kid who mowed his lawn or the bug guy—they usually came on Saturdays, and today was Sunday. He'd checked the calendar when he'd made his way into the kitchen a few minutes ago. Not that he'd really wondered as to the day—he was fairly certain that he and Sam had only spent one night—and most of this morning—in their steamy, amatory endeavors—but rather he wanted to count how many days they had left in the same city—how long they had together—before she decamped to Groom Lake.

After all—they had a wedding to plan.

Jack ran his fingers through his hair—still damp from their shared shower. He'd volunteered for KP, leaving Sam in his room to rummage through his stuff to find something clean-ish to wear. He'd only just started food preparations when someone had rudely decided to appear at his front door.

His bare feet slapped against the wood flooring as he reached for the handle, the door swinging easily on its hinges.

"General Hammond."

"Jack." Friendly—casual. Non-officious. Appropriate, since the older man was wearing civvies—khakis and a golf shirt. Perfectly acceptable garb for a Sunday. Smiling, Hammond glanced down at O'Neill's pajama bottoms and raised a brow at Jack's bare chest. "No apron this morning?"

"It's at the cleaners'."

The General let loose an amused snort. "Well, I hope I'm not interrupting something important."

"Ten minutes ago, and it would have been awkward." Jack pulled the door open wide, leaning against the solid wood panel. "But at this exact moment, I'm making eggs."

"Eggs?"

"And toast." He was spitballing here. He hadn't really planned for much more than the omelet. He made a quick mental inventory of the items sitting in his fridge. "Maybe some cheese. And beer."

"Beer." The real General's light blue eyes gleamed as he made a cursory scan of the house's interior. "Not exactly breakfast fare, Son."

Jack turned his wrist to check the hour, only to recall too late that he hadn't put his watch on after the shower. He'd been far too busy watching his soon-to-be-wife dig around in his drawers—the storage kind, this time—for the accouterments necessary to complete her toilette. Still—the fact that the sun was shining on the driveway side of the house meant something. "It's past noon, Sir."

"That, it is." The General motioned towards the inside. "Aren't you going to invite me in, Jack?"

"Of course." Jack backed up, ushering the older man inside before closing the door behind them both. He watched as Hammond wended his way into the kitchen and stopped next to the sink.

Jack halted at the kitchen's entrance, and crossed his arms across his chest. "Make yourself comfortable, General."

The older man's genial face softened as he took in the scene—two plates ready on the ledge next to the breakfast nook, two coffee cups next to the pot. More eggs than necessary for a single person lined up next to the bowl on the counter. "I take it that you're not alone?"

"Uh—" Jack winced, taking a surreptitious gander down the hallway. But there was no point in lying. Carter's vintage Volvo had been right there out front, and it's not like there were too many of those gadding about. "No, Sir."

"I further surmise that the two of you have figured things out."

Several times, in fact. With splendid results. But Jack clamped his lips together to keep from waxing too eloquent about it all. In a rare moment of restraint, he merely nodded and said, "What gave it away, Sir?"

Hammond grinned outright, narrowing one eye and lapsing into a deep Texas drawl. "It's been a while for me, Son. But not too long that I can't recognize satisfaction when I see it."

Well, damn. That was just—well—just damn. Jack couldn't find any cogent response for that.

A fact that Hammond seemed to relish. "Is Colonel Carter still asleep?"

"No." Jack quelled a sheepish grin. "She's finishing up in the bathroom."

And really, Hammond seemed downright pleased at being proven right, damn the man. He picked up one of the coffee cups and made a pointed gesture towards the pot. "Mind if I have a cup?"

"No. Not at all."

Jack stepped forward, ready to serve, but the General waved him off and grabbed the carafe.

It didn't take long for him to fill his mug, turning towards Jack as he blew on the brew to cool it a bit. "I'm here for a reason, Jack."

"Oh?"

Footsteps and a touch on his back told Jack that Sam had arrived on the scene. Jack craned his head around to watch as she came to a stop next to him. She'd found a t-shirt to wear, and had thrown on a pair of his boxers that had no right to look as good on her as they did.

"General Hammond." Stopping next to Jack, Sam sent a leery look in Hammond's direction. "What's going on?"

"General. Colonel." He'd addressed them individually and with some deliberation. "Sadly, this is not a social call."

First things first. If he'd screwed the pooch, Jack wanted to know right off the bat. "We're not in trouble, are we?"

"No." The General took a hesitant sniff of his coffee. "Nothing like that, Jack."

"Has my report date been moved up?" Sam frowned. "General Flannery told me that I had a month until I needed to be at the Groom Lake facility."

"No, Sam." Shaking his head, Hammond set his cup down on the counter. It landed with a musical 'clink', sending a drop or two sloshing over the edge. "That's still the plan."

"Then what's this about, Sir?"

The General resituated himself on the soles of his loafers, drawing himself up to his full height. "Surely you remember our conversation from yesterday evening."

"Yes." Jack stepped closer, frowning. "Of course I do."

"I told you that there was talk in Washington about bringing you to the Pentagon."

"And I seem to recall telling you that would not be wise."

Those keen blue eyes narrowed further. "Jack, surely you know how valuable you are to the program. Hell—how vital you are to the security of the planet."

"Sir—I—"

"The truth is, President Hayes has asked for you personally. He wants you in Washington as part of Homeworld Security leadership."

"Washington." Jack made a vague attempt to disguise the disgust he had for that, but he was painfully aware that he'd failed. "I'm still trying to get used to this gig here, Sir. I'm only just keeping my head above water in the baby pool, and you think it's time to chuck me in the ocean?"

Hammond's expression softened, something akin to pride in his smile. "You've been remarkably effective at the SGC. Under your command, your teams have brokered dozens of important trade deals, defeated a number of threats both domestic and alien, and dealt serious blows to the Goa'uld and the replicators. I'd say that you've accomplished as much as anyone could ask."

"So leave me here, General. Let me continue with that work."

"There's another star in it for you, Jack. The president has already signed the paperwork."

Deliberately, Jack reached for Sam's hand, fitting his fingers between hers and clasping tight. "The thing is, Sir, I think I'm ready to start that new chapter we were talking about. Something different. I was hoping to find myself a new pond in—well—Nevada."

Startled, Sam edged closer, turning to peer at him. "You'd do that? You'd come to Groom Lake with me?"

For a long moment, he just studied her. Fresh-faced, bright. The shower had washed away the smudged makeup, and sleep and his touch had soothed away the hurt. Her hair wasn't quite dry yet—the strands curling into a delightful riot, framing a face so beautiful that it made his teeth ache.

And those luminous, cerulean eyes. Studying him as if he were a puzzle that she was intent upon solving. Keen and bright and nimble.

Still—didn't she know? Hadn't she figured it out yet? Jack squeezed her fingers, lowering his voice. "I'd go anywhere with you, Sam."

"But this is an opportunity of a lifetime for you." Sending a quick look towards the General, Sam tilted her head to speak quietly. "You shouldn't give that up for me."

Jack took a minute to consider. In his head, he could see the scene they'd left last night in the living room. The coffee table, where dozens of envelopes still lay scattered, along with the letters she'd read. He'd been serious. He'd been ready to throw in the towel and go with her the moment she'd followed him into his bedroom.

He'd be useful there, too. He could make sure she ate—that her car was always full of premium. That her uniforms were pressed and her shoes polished. He'd make certain that the house was always stocked with her favorite tea and whatever it was she bathed in that made her smell like oranges.

He'd be there to make her breakfast in the morning and to kiss her goodbye. He'd be there at night when the nightmares came. He'd hold her close and guide her back to the light and kiss her and make her laugh. There was nothing—nothing—more important than her. He'd make sure she knew that.

Maybe that's why his voice, when he finally spoke, sounded like it was being pushed through sand. "I wasn't thinking of it as giving anything up, Sam. I was thinking of it as finally getting everything."

"I know that you've been wanting to retire, Jack. But if you can give us a few more years, we'd appreciate it." The General suddenly sounded a little tired. "The truth is that we're waging some nasty battles within the government, and we could use your help."

"I'm hardly the guy you need when it comes to bureaucrats, Sir." Jack scowled, pushing away from his perch at the door frame and crossing to stand near the ledge separating the kitchen from the breakfast nook. "I'd just as soon shoot them as negotiate with them."

"Nobody on the planet knows better what we're up against. You've got the benefit of having experienced what's out there, Jack, and the gravitas of being the man who has literally saved us from alien invasion. There's nobody better equipped to fight on behalf of the program than you." Hammond sent an apologetic look first to him, and then to Sam. "And the truth is, we need someone who's a little light in the diplomacy department."

The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed deafening. Cumbersome noise beating within the scarce, tense standoff in his kitchen. Jack glared up at the thing—and then sent an equally sour look at the refrigerator, which chose that exact moment to drop a load of ice into the dispenser with a loud rattle that sounded eerily like his hopes being dropped off a cliff.

"He's right, Jack." Sam leaned back against the wall, her expression wreathed with acceptance. "Even though we've done a lot to secure this galaxy, there's still a lot to do."

"But we just got this, Sam. We only just got this."

This. This. Each other. A chance at happiness. The opportunity to finally touch joy. Jack rolled his eyes, sucking his chin to glare down at where his bare feet made pale splotches on the linoleum.

"Being in Homeworld Security takes you out of Colonel Carter's chain of command, Jack." Hammond lifted a brow. "Even if you two didn't get married, there would be no impediment for you two to continue on as you are right now."

"I could go back to the SGC if I hate Area Fifty-one."

"And you could keep your options open for future commands." The older man smiled at Sam before focusing back on Jack. "Or for whatever else you two decide to do."

Last night's argument assailed him again. Unsent letters and years of yearning. His own words, and his own acknowledgment of their stark, brutal reality. "To keep you, I had to let you go."

Damn it. Damn it straight to hell.

Heaving a grunt, Jack crossed his arms over his bare chest, leaning back against the cabinetry. "Are you sure? It'll be long-distance."

"No different than other military families." She gave him a gentle smile. "And, if you stayed at the SGC, we'd have been separated anyway, once I went to Groom Lake."

He had to give her that point. "At least we'll have more regular schedules. It makes it easier to plan visits."

"And we have phones. We can call each other."

"Or send emails."

"Road trips. We could meet up somewhere between for a weekend here and there."

"Airplanes would be faster."

She grinned, dimples and all, raising a sassy brow. "Asgard transport devices—"

Jack smirked, narrowing a look in her direction. "So—a little different from other military families."

"But we'll have each other." Her blue eyes glinted up at him. "And, even though it'll be a little different, I'll still have your six, and you'll have mine."

That was the crux of it, wasn't it? If he was in Washington, then he'd have some ability to fight for the resources and policies that she'd need to fulfill her objective. Jack glared down at his bare feet. He knew what he had to do—even though it wasn't what he wanted to do.

And he might as well pull the pin now—especially since it appeared that the clock on the wall wasn't the only one ticking. "Give me a month, Sir. Give us a month to figure things out."

"I can do that." The General relaxed, his genial face morphing into something familial. "You won't regret this, Jack."

"Maybe not." Despite it all, he smiled. "But let's just hope that you don't."

"I'm sure I won't." With a wry look, Hammond reached for his abandoned cup. Taking a healthy drag, he swallowed with a grimace. "Boy howdy. You make a terrible cup of coffee, Jack. This stuff is absolute swill."

"Hey, now, George." Feigning offense, Jack made a random gesture towards the pot. "I pride myself on that swill."

Chuckling, the General set the cup near the sink and swiped at his lips with the pad of this thumb. "I didn't just come to talk business, people."

Jack pushed away from the counter. "Oh?"

"Sam. Jack." Hammond passed a look between the two of them. "I have watched the two of you for these past years with a mixture of awe and sadness. The miracles you two have performed—and the sacrifices you have made—have not gone unnoticed."

Shifting uncomfortably on his feet, Jack scratched at the morning stubble on his jaw with the backs of his knuckles. A few feet away, Sam was looking down at her feet, her jaw set, and her lips tight.

"I know how hard you two fought to keep things kosher, so to speak. How much you've missed. What you have done for your country." He sighed, a little sadly. "And how much more I'm asking you to give."

"It's what we do, General." Sam offered this softly.

"It is." Sunlight bounced off his head as he nodded. "Still. The world doesn't know how much you've sacrificed for it, but I do. And maybe it's the father in me, but I could not be more pleased to see the two of you finally get your chance."

This time, it was Jack that answered. "Thank you, Sir."

"Having said that, I was asked to deliver a message to the two of you."

A little wary, Jack raised his eyebrows. "From whom?"

"From your father, Sam." Hammond tilted a look at her. "He called me the day before he died. We had a little talk about you both. It seems he had quite the soft spot for you, Jack, and suspected that there might be something between the two of you. He'd always kind of hoped that you'd find your way to each other."

Well, that was—shocking. Jack couldn't keep the dubiety out of his voice. "He did?"

"Yes, Jack. He did. Jacob Carter was no slouch. He could see what the rest of us did." Turning back towards Sam, the General grinned. "Sam—he asked me to keep an eye on things. Watch over you. And for me to stand in his place, should you need someone to be there on—shall we say—special occasions."

"Special occasions." Her eyes flickered towards Jack and then away again. "Thank you, Sir."

"Just in case such a circumstance might arise, I'll be here in the Springs until Wednesday, when I have to head back to Washington for a meeting with the Joint Chiefs." Taking a deep breath, he checked his watch. "Well, I guess I'll be on my way. Stacey and the girls want me to take them to the movies."

Straightening, Jack raised his hand in a casual salute. "Sounds like fun, Sir."

"I'm only in it for the popcorn." Hammond turned to look at Sam. "Colonel, would you mind walking me to my car?"

Sam furrowed her brow, glancing over at Jack before nodding at the General and starting towards the foyer. "Of course, Sir."

Jack watched them go, standing awkwardly in the middle of his kitchen briefly before heading back over to the eggs abandoned on the counter and the heavy cast iron skillet still waiting on the stove. Breakfast first—well, lunch, really—and then they'd figure out what came next.

He'd started whisking the eggs again when he heard the front door open and close, and he looked up from his task to see Sam meander back into the kitchen.

"So?" Jack stopped stirring, propping the whisk up against the side of the mixing bowl. "Was there more?"

Her eyes went a bit misty as she stopped at his side. Touching the handle of the milk jug, she sent a sidelong look Jack's way. "He said that my father was proud of me. That he loved me. And that Dad would have been 'pleased as punch' about us."

"No kidding?" Jack narrowed a single eye. "Pleased as punch?"

"Hammond's words, not mine."

"I'm sure he took a little creative license with that." Picking up the whisk, he gave the eggs another little stir. "I can't see your dad saying anything quite so—sweet."

"No. Dad would have said something like, 'well, Sweetheart, at least he's not a felon.'"

Jack bit back a chuckle. "Is that what he said about Pete?"

"No, actually." She turned sideways, leaning one hip against the cabinetry. "He said that Pete seemed 'nice'."

Ouch. Even Jack winced at that. "So, he wasn't a fan of ol' Officer Shanahan, either."

"No." She toyed with the milk jug, turning it to and fro on the slick counter top. "He wasn't."

She looked tense, with her lips thinned, and that little wrinkle deep over the bridge of her nose. Uncharacteristically restless, too. Sam Carter didn't usually fiddle with things. That was typically Jack's job.

Giving the eggs another whirl, he pulled the whisk free and tapped it against the side of the bowl, watching as the mixture dripped out of the metal wires. Turning towards her, he studied her for a beat before setting the whisk on the counter. "And what about the other thing?"

Her expression turned quizzical. "The other thing?"

They were close—his kitchen wasn't all that large, after all. A single step had him near enough that he could reach out and touch her. "The special circumstance to which the General was referring."

"Oh." Her cheeks bloomed with color. "That."

"That."

She considered things for a moment. "Well, I think I'd like that."

"To which 'that' are we referring?"

"Someone walking me down the aisle."

His brows rose high. "Are we going to have an aisle?"

She pretended to think about that. "A small one. Short. A few feet."

"I was kind of thinking about the corridor at the City Hall. Put on something acceptable and find an available judge."

"How about a chaplain?"

"A church?"

"No—but maybe out there." She motioned in the direction of his backyard. "Call Colonel Mills to officiate. He did well enough at my father's funeral. We'll invite a few friends. Get Teal'c back here. You can fire up the grill again. Cassie can pick some music."

Jack touched her left hand. "I need to buy you a ring."

Ducking her chin, she peered up at him from beneath her lashes. "Would you want to wear one?"

And let the whole world know he'd convinced the most amazing woman in the entirety of the universe to marry him? "Hell, yes."

And oh—her smile at his answer. He felt that one all the way down to his toes.

They'd have to make a few more arrangements. Get a license. Buy some more beef and hot dogs. Cake. Luckily, he still had the tables and chairs he'd purloined from the SGC, and his monkey suit was still in pristine condition.

"What about you? Do you need to buy a dress?"

"I was thinking about doing it in uniform." She glanced down at his pajamas, reaching out to brush her fingertips through the graying hair on his still-bare chest. "Service dress."

"That would be appropriate."

"And easy."

"And you look hot in that little hat." He grinned, waggling his eyebrows. "So there's that."

Rolling her eyes, Sam tugged at that hair, shaking her head as she edged even nearer. "So, that's settled then."

"Tuesday?" Just to make sure they were on the same page.

Both dimples emerged as she nodded. "Tuesday."

Not soon enough, really. But it would have to do. In the meantime, she was here. Standing barefoot in his kitchen, wearing his clothes, her hair in a casual mess of not-quite-curls. Close enough that he could smell the shampoo they'd shared an hour before—see the color of her eyes deepen as she looked at him.

"Jack." It was as if she'd read his mind. She flattened her palm on his sternum, the tip of her tongue playing at the corner of her mouth.

"Yes, Sam?"

"It's been entirely too long since you kissed me."

"Well, I was planning on making eggs—"

But she'd leaned up on her toes, taking his face between her hands, her thumbs sweeping wide arcs along his jaw. "I'm hungry for something a little different."

And then she was tasting him, pressing close—her lips soft and full and sweet. There was nothing frantic about her touch now—just warm joy as she settled into him with a delicious little sigh, skimming kiss after kiss on his mouth—his cheek—his throat—humming deep in her throat as he found her earlobe with his teeth. As his tongue tested where her pulse beat in her throat, and her eyelashes tickled against his cheek, and his fingers found what made her gasp.

Fingers through hair and bodies gathered close and I love yous whispered through the in between—

The clock was ticking still, and outside, the sun had passed its zenith, casting a shadow through the window above the sink. Eventually, he'd have to do something about the eggs. And about housing in DC and Nevada. They'd have to learn how to say goodbye again, and how to cherish their hellos.

But right here, right now, he was holding her in his arms, and she was pressing her lips against his throat, and her body was perfect and tight against his. And she was smiling as he kissed her—laughing when his hands wandered south and lifted her up against him—everything soft and firm and willing—

And just before the need overtook him, Jack couldn't help but think about chapters. And life. Time gone, time lost, time wasted—and how sometimes, when you got really lucky, the universe would give you a new clock. A blank book. A fresh start full of beginnings that glimmered like glinted hope on the cosmic horizon.

Like right here and right now. In this kitchen—with their bare feet on cheap linoleum. Tousled hair and happy whispers—with her soul pressed close, and her cheek soft against his jaw, and his fingers tracing mindless patterns on her skin.