The Score

by AkamaiMom

He hates these pretentious shindigs. Getting all dressed up and schmoozing with geeks is NOT Jack O'Neill's idea of a good time. Luckily, his wife is here to keep things interesting. Sam has a proposal that might make this party bearable. So? Let the games begin. . . Fluffy, flirty fun with a side of mystery(?) told in three parts. Jack/Sam established.

5. Match

The Score

Match

"I asked you to come to my party, Jack." Daniel set his jaw, his eyebrows rising up to hover above the frames of his glasses. "Not at it."

Wincing, Jack let out a heavy sigh. "Look—Daniel—"

"Yes, Jack?"

Jack cleared his throat—then clenched his jaw as he searched his fron for a non smart-assy response. A task that proved far more difficult than he would have thought. "It's not what it looks like."

"Oh, really?" Daniel's eyebrows were practically in flight now. "Just what were you two doing, then?"

"Talking." Sam's answer was muffled again at Jack's collar. She tossed a quick glance up at her husband before craning a look over her shoulder at their friends. "We were just talking."

"That's right. You said that before. You were talking." Daniel's brows rose even higher, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "With your clothes off."

Damn. Jack had hoped he'd hadn't noticed the state of Sam's dress. But Daniel had always been more observant than the average geek—even about things as awkward as two of his best friends being caught in a position that—while not quite compromising—was still on the shady side of laudable.

"Not off." He hated feeling defensive. Sighing, Jack gestured towards his wife's back, which was still notably well-covered. In the interest of exactitude, he clarified. "Askew."

"Askew? Oh—well, if they're just askew—" Faux Indy's tone had rapidly morphed into a full-fledged whine. If Vala hadn't been there, he'd probably have clenched his fists and stomped his tiny booted feet.

But Vala was there—still holding the fuzzy bit of whatever she'd been brandishing before. Still wearing a suggestive smirk. And still nodding her encouragement even as she rolled her eyes at her husband. "Oh, come on, Daniel. It's not like this place is sacrosanct."

"It's my office, Vala."

"Yes, it is." Shifting, Vale took a step onto the carpet, juggling the entity in her arms. "And it was also your office when we did just what they're doing on that very desk. On that chair. And on the filing cabinet."

"Hon—"

"And let's not even mention the smaller of the two examination tables in the main lab—"

Daniel shuffled further into the room, steepling his fingers over his eyes. "Stop."

To which the former Ms. Mal Doran merely smiled more broadly as she gestured around the bit of fluff she was cradling. "You remember, don't you? When I scaled you like that Mount Everest thing that everyone's always going on about—"

"Vala!"

A quick glance downward told Jack that Sam was not only still giggling, but that the most delectable blush had crept up her throat to tease at her dimples and skim the tips of her ears. Why that was so hot, Jack had no idea—but it was. Or rather—she was—still half-undone and pressed tightly against him where she fit with such perfection that nothing but desire could exist between.

But musing on that fact would only get them into more trouble. Sighing, Jack squinched his eyes shut, seeking a modicum of control. He needed to get a hold on the situation.

Hold. Like he was holding his wife—who was squirming just enough to remind him of how she'd only just looked—sun-burnished and sweet and wonderfully rounded, gilded in lace and satin the color of the sea at noon surrounded by a drifting froth of navy sky. Soft, smooth—and oh, so very inviting—

Gah.

Focus, Jack.

"I'm sorry. Daniel—we're sorry." Jack gritted his teeth and forced himself back into the present, dragging his eyes from his wife's crinkled nose and dimpled cheeks to look back over at Daniel and Vala. "Tell you what. Give us a minute to get ourselves all put back together and we'll all go back out to your shindig and pretend none of this ever happened."

"Ooooh!" Vala beamed, turning her broad grin from Jack towards her husband. "Denial is what we do best!"

For several thick moments, Daniel merely glared at them all—his wife and his oldest two friends. Finally, he nodded, stepping backwards towards the door as he held up a splayed hand. "Five minutes."

"Five." Jack agreed.

Daniel made a random twiddling motion with his fingers. "And no more of whatever this was."

Sam took this one. "We promise."

Another groaned sigh, another shake of his head, and Daniel put a hand on his wife's shoulder, urging her towards the door. "Come on, Vala. Let's go."

"Wait, darling." Pulling away, Vala struck a dramatic pose before striding back towards Jack and Sam. Once she was closer, she thrust out the fuzzy bundle in her hands. "Here. This is yours."

Jack had no choice but to grab it or let it drop. Instinctively, his hands curled around the squooshy form—delving deep into the softest fur—the little body warm in his palms. And when he looked down, all he could see peeping up at him was a black nose. And the tip of a tiny, pink tongue.

And two huge, beseeching eyes. One chocolate brown and the other one pure-sky blue.

"Congratulations!" Vala brushed fur off her hands as she nodded at the fuzzball. "You're a father!"

"I'm a—" Jack angled a pointed glance at Vala before dropping his eyes again towards the puppy in his hands. It wriggled, and Jack pulled it in to brace it against his chest. "I'm a what?"

But Vala had already given them both an airy wave and was exiting the room, closing the door behind her.

XXX

"So." Jack watched as his wife lowered herself to sit on the grass next to him. "A puppy?"

She'd taken her time joining him. Jack had taken the dog outside just in case she—he'd checked on the way out—had needed to piddle. He'd patiently waited as the animal had taken care of her business and explored the landscaping a little before finding a spot to sit and wait for his wife.

Sam had emerged several minutes later, suitably attired and wielding a huge bag full of what Jack assumed to be food dishes and other canine accouterments. Even in her off-world days, she'd always packed all the necessities. If she'd been planning on acquiring this varmint for very long, she'd probably done doctorate-level research about the needs of the little thing.

She'd scanned the garden until she'd found him, moving towards him with measured strides.

At his quart in, she'd set the bag down, glancing over at him. "You were expecting something else?"

Well, yeah. Something not quite as—furry. Jack offered his wife a wry smile. "Honestly? I thought you were talking about what it is you're wearing underneath that dress of yours. 'Super cute, teeny-tiny'."

"Oh." Her dimples flashed in a not-quite grin. "That."

"Not that I'm complaining."

"I wasn't lying, though, right?" Sam leaned over and brushed her fingertips through the pup's soft fur, peeping up at Jack through her eyelashes. "She's special, just like I said, isn't she? Little and adorable."

Jack bit back a smile, looking down at the ball of fluff sleeping across his lap. She wasn't as tiny as all that—Jack estimated her to be about eight weeks old. Mottled gray and white and brown, with ears that flopped in ridiculous directions and paws the size of hockey pucks. A solid weight on his legs—somewhere between the weight of his fully stocked M-4 and the bulkier feel of the M249 SAW. Twelve pounds, give or take. She was going to be a decent-sized beast when all said and done.

Smart, too. She'd already accepted Jack as her best buddy. As he'd carried out the back door and into the museum gardens, she'd happily covered his chin and jaw with exuberant kisses, her entire body wriggling with joy. She'd ventured a few feet away from him to do her business, and then, for the longest time after he'd picked her up again, she'd simply studied him—those odd, intelligent, mismatched eyes seeking to make sense of him before she'd gone back to lavishing him with puppy love.

But for now, she seemed content to lay sprawled across Jack's thighs, those gigantic paws in the air, her little tongue lolling out one side of her mouth as her rhythmic snores punctuated the night.

Teeny-tiny and super cute.

To be honest, it was an apt description for both the puppy and the lingerie—but Jack wasn't going to quibble about the minutiae. "She is, indeed."

The breeze had kicked up, rustling through the branches overhead and ruffling the bushes. The cloying scent of roses wafted through the air to where Jack had planted himself on a small patch of grass on the northern lawn. It was cool and fresh and crisp out here—far more comfortable than the heated crush inside the atrium. Quieter, too, away from the constant chatter and hubbub of the crowd.

Sam sat silently, now, her face half-turned into the wind. She'd closed her eyes, seeming to enjoy the cool air buffeting her skin, even as tendrils of her hair escaped the confines of the clip to dance in the breeze. Moonlight glinted off the errant curls, undulating like wisps of spun gold.

Jack could practically feel the cool smoothness of it still—how the strands had slid between his fingers so few moments before. Back in Daniel's borrowed office—as he'd gathered his wife into himself and tasted her. As he'd swallowed her moans and felt her body melt beneath his touch. The fur beneath his fingers now was a pale comparison to the wonder that was the woman he'd married.

Even if she was still a mystery to him. Forcing his thoughts to the present, he cleared his throat. "Can I ask you why?"

"Why what?"

"Why you thought we needed a dog." Jack tilted a look in his wife's direction.

The rosy color was creeping back into her jaw and throat. Not embarrassment, this time. Indecision, maybe. Uncertainty, most definitely. She faltered a little before responding. "I thought that maybe you'd want one."

"Me? Why?" He'd spoken quietly—barely more audible than the breeze itself. He wasn't even certain she'd heard him until he noticed the way her body tensed.

Sighing, Sam shook her head a little, reaching into the bag at her side to withdraw a collar. She busied herself with yanking the tag off and tossing the bit of paper back into the bag "I don't know, Jack. I just thought it might be nice."

"Nice to have a dog?"

Again, the silence stretched between them before she answered. Only, this time, she captured his gaze fully before wrapping the little strap around her fist. "Sure. You like dogs, right? You've always talked about getting one. I thought she might be fun. Or good company—or something."

"I didn't think you liked animals."

"I like animals."

"Really." His dubiety was evident.

"I liked Schroedinger."

Jack had to search a little for that reference, finally coming up with a half-forgotten image of an orange cat. Once he'd placed the name, he frowned. "You gave him to that Toll House guy."

"Tollan."

"Right." Hazarding a sideward look, he continued. "Norman."

She quelled a smile, but just barely. "Narim."

"That's what I said."

To her credit, she only rolled her eyes a little. "I only gave him to Narim because I wasn't ever home. Schroedinger was having some separation anxiety, and it was costing me a fortune to take him to kennels or sitters while we were off world. It wasn't fair to him, and I knew that Narim would take good care of him."

"Oh."

"And then, it just didn't seem right to get another pet when I wasn't ever home long enough to give it the care and attention it deserved."

"That makes sense."

Sam pulled her heels up towards her butt, busying herself with tucking the skirt in around her legs. Finally, she wrapped her arms around her knees and leaned forward to rest her cheek on her arms—a pose Jack had just seen inside the soirée—while he'd been sitting on the floor next to Preston. And, just like the kid, she seemed to need some time to find her words.

So, Jack gave it to her—sitting quietly watching the puppy on his lap—counting the gentle expansions of her rib cage as she breathed. Ten—eighteen. Twenty-three.

When she finally spoke again, Sam was looking at him, a cautious expression on her face. "You've just always talked about having a dog. When Vala mentioned that their neighbors' dog had a litter of puppies, I figured that now was as good a time as any."

"Why now?"

"I don't know. Just—for company." She raised a shoulder, dangling the collar in her fingers. "You're settled now. You're not galavanting around the galaxy anymore."

You're settled now.

Not 'we'.

Jack gritted his teeth as he mulled it all over. But no matter how many ways he approached it, the implication was clear. "Company for me, you mean. For when you leave again."

She frowned, straightening slightly. "Who said I was leaving?"

"You haven't said you're staying."

"Do you want me to leave again?"

"I know you've been juggling various offers, Sam. I'm neither blind nor stupid, and I happen to have something of an 'in' around here. I know things. I hear things."

"So you know about General Landry's request."

"And the new battlecruiser they're launching next fall, which still needs a CO. And the position at Groom Lake you've been offered. The Alpha Site command. The President has even talked about making a special place in his Cabinet for you."

Her jaw tightened, her expression suddenly wary. "Don't forget about the position at the Academy."

"Ah yes. The Astrophysics Department chair."

"That's the one." She flicked the clasp of the collar with her thumbnail.

Jack teased at the puppy's ear with his fingers, watching as one little leg twitched. She was dreaming—chasing something, probably. Her paws jerked once—twice—and again—before she settled back into stillness. Her tummy was pink and spotted and sweetly rounded—just right for belly rubs—and her fur fluttered with the wind. She was perfect. Healthy. Warm and vital where her weight draped across his legs. Comforting as only a canine companion could be.

It was easy enough for Jack to imagine Sam's thought process. She—a young and energetically ambitious woman saddled with a much older man who's reached the likely pinnacle of a spotty career. He's a little more sedentary, now—boring, even—not the exciting guy for whom she fell so many years before. And when she comes home between gigs, she looks at the man she's married and wonders what the hell happened.

It's not like she really came home, either. She bears no love for the house itself. She'd never seen the place before he bought it—never lived in it for any significant length of time until recently. She has no ties to it—nor should she. She hadn't really chosen it, had she?

And so she makes her plans. Gets some R and R in as she takes her time picking from the best posts available. But because she's a good person, she worries about the husband she's leaving behind and gets him a puppy for company before she heads back out into the universe—

Jack shouldn't have been surprised. They both knew what they were getting into when they'd said their vows. Just because he'd hoped for something different—

Something—more.

Aw, hell.

Still. Just because he could explain it all didn't mean that it made sense.

Clearing his throat, he kept his tone light. "She's a cute little thing. She'll be nice to have around."

Sam made a noise that was neither repudiation nor assent—but, rather, something nebulous and indefinite. Setting the collar on the grass between them, she bent forward again to press her face into her crossed arms again.

Which wasn't quite the response he'd expected. Damn it.

Jack tilted his chin upwards to look up at the sky. There were too many lights here to see the stars, but he could imagine them above them—twinkling up there in the blackness. The moon gleamed brightly overhead, hazing off the leaves in the trees and kissing the tips of the blades of grass with silver light.

Maybe it was because of the seclusion of the place—the quietude of the garden—that he could hear Daniel's words ringing through his head. Every bit of the evening's conversations pricking at each and every one of his nerves.

"Is she okay?"

"She just seems—off. A rudderless boat on the ocean. Indecisive. Adrift."

"That all sounds like stuff that you should probably figure out."

Hearing it all again from Daniel had only brought home to Jack how very much he'd needed to have this conversation. And soon.

Damn it again.

Jack sucked in an unsteady breath before turning his face back towards her. "Sam?"

Meeting his gaze, she pressed her cheek against her arms. "Yeah?"

"Is something else going on?"

Her lips thinned, and she looked away from him—past him, really. Off into the night. Into the darkness and the trees and the roses, her sapphire eyes shadowed and obscure. When she attempted to smile, it didn't convince either of them. "Not really. Why?"

He steeled himself. "You've just seemed to be a little off lately."

"Off?"

"Daniel's word, not mine."

"Daniel?" Straightening, Sam's brows lowered. "You've been talking to Daniel about me?"

"He's worried about you, too."

"Why? I'm fine."

He tried to sound inquisitive rather than skeptical, but probably failed. "Are you?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Clenching his jaw, he looked away—over her shoulder towards the museum, where light glowed through the windows. He could see shadows within—people moving, large solid figures which were probably display cases or furniture—their images diffused by the frosted glass and decorative sheers. If he listened beyond the rustling of the leaves and breeze, he could hear faint music, still, and the steady hum of voices rising above the sounds of traffic farther off.

And the woman beside him—her breathing quick—staccato. Her pulse fluttering at the delicate skin in the hollow between her collarbones as her hands worked at the webbed collar she held. Every time her fingers shifted, the diamonds in her wedding rings glinted in the moonlight like fireflies.

"Why are you asking?" She'd stilled, regarding him steadily. Her expression didn't change when she spoke again. "What's this all about?"

"I guess I'm just a little confused."

"By the puppy?"

"By a lot of things." Jack sighed, choosing his words with care. "You've been a little absent. Kind of quiet lately—you haven't talked at all about which post you're taking."

"I just haven't decided yet."

"Which is odd." Jack lifted a brow. "You've never not had a plan, Sam."

She blinked two—three—times before setting her chin. "Maybe I don't like the options I've been given."

"What other option would you like?"

But she merely pressed her lips together and retreated back into silence.

"You just haven't been yourself, Sam." Even in the relative darkness, Jack could see how pale she'd gone. "And then there was the whole clothes thing today."

Groaning, she tilted her head back and rolled her eyes. "Ugh—Jack. Seriously?"

"You went shopping specifically for a dress to wear to a specific event that you didn't end up wearing to that specific event."

"It was just a dress, Jack." Her voice carried a sharp tinge to it. "Not the freaking Shroud of Turin."

"Not to mention this game you suggested—whatever the hell that was all about."

"You're always bored silly at these things." Sam shrugged. "I was trying to make it more interesting for you. Also, I'd arranged to have the puppy brought here tonight, and needed to figure out a way to introduce the two of you."

"So you lured me into Daniel's office."

Her snort was more incredulity than derision. "I didn't lure you."

"Oh—you so did." Jack's eyes flew wide. "What with all the hot looks and hair fluffing and futzing with your dress."

"Futzing?"

"You know—" He raised a hand to tug at his tie in some vague representation of how she'd teased at her neckline. "Futzing."

"Okay." Rolling her eyes, she huffed out a snort. "I may have adjusted my clothing from time to time. But that doesn't constitute luring anyone."

Jack raised his eyebrows. Meaningfully.

To which she had the grace to sputter—a bit. "I mean—maybe I was being a little suggestive, but it hardly means that I was trying to seduce you or anything."

"Then what about all the kissing?" He could still taste her on his lips—and not to put too fine a point on things, things had gotten rather—well—pointed in there. "And the other stuff?"

"Okay. I did do—" she twiddled her fingers in his vague direction— "that, it was only so that I could give you the damned dog."

"The damned—"

As if on cue, the aforementioned damned dog sneezed—her entire body curling into an impressive spasm-like knot before she flailing about wildly enough to tumble off Jack's lap to land in a heap on the grass.

Instantly, she righted herself, rolling nimbly to her feet and giving herself a good shake. Then, sensing freedom, she skittered off across the grass towards a convenient flower bed.

Desk jockey or not, Jack hadn't lost all of his field reflexes. Flinging himself to one side, he managed to grab her before she got too far, his long fingers delving deeply into her fur. "Whoa there, mutt—"

"Get her!"

He held out his unladen hand towards his wife. "Give me the collar."

But Sam was already there, crouching down to fit the nylon strap around the puppy's neck. Finishing with the buckle, she swiveled on the toes of her sandals to dip a hand into the bag again and withdraw another—much longer—length of braided nylon to snap onto the ring on the collar.

"There." Once the puppy was secure, Sam rose to her feet in a single lithe motion, threading her hand through the loop on the person end of the thing. "Now you can go play, girl."

But the puppy had changed her mind, aiming herself back at Jack, half-lying on his side in the grass. Her little tail wagged furiously as she started sniffing him again in between quick spates of wet kisses on his hands and neck.

He couldn't help but smile—rolling over onto his back as the dog nudged at him and then hopped her front feet onto his chest so that she could keep playing. At this angle, he could see her chest—purest white—and the mottled gray and tan of her legs and paws.

And the tag dangling from the collar. It was pink and shaped like a bone. He squinted through the darkness at the letters engraved on it. "Gracie?"

"Hmm?" Sam had taken a few steps away, still holding the leash as she gazed down at them, her expression cautious.

"The puppy." Jack tapped at the tag in between dodging that determined little tongue. "Her name is Gracie?"

"It's cute, right?" Sam gave a crooked smile. "The people with the litter named all the puppies for famous dancers. George, Fred, Vera, Danny—"

"George Burns, Fred Astaire, Vera-Ellen, Danny Kaye—" Jack poked the puppy's nose to keep her from biting his. "And Gracie Allen."

"I didn't know the last names."

"My mom loved Vera-Ellen." He craned his head up to look at her. "'White Christmas' was her favorite movie because of her and Danny Kaye."

"I've never seen it." Sam ran the toe of her sandal along the grass.

Levering himself upward, Jack captured the puppy and tucked her wriggly body under his arm so that he could brush the grass off her snout. "Really? It's great. I watch it every Christmas."

She took another step backwards, her chin tilted downward. Whatever smile had been on her lips had suddenly and inexorably fled.

And, just as suddenly, Jack knew precisely what she was thinking. Exactly why she was scowling, now, down at the grass. Why she wouldn't look at him. She was contemplating how much they'd missed. "Sam?"

She flickered a glance at him—quick. Fleeting—before returning her attention to where her skirt swirled around her calves. "Do you realize that we've never spent Christmas together?"

"Yes, we have. We used to—"

"Not as a team, Jack. Not as SG-1." She found his eyes through the darkness again, clear and intent. "Just you and me. As husband and wife."

Jack set the puppy back on the grass, watching the dog as she nosed around. Sam had been stuck at the SGC that first year, working on a cure for the Ori plague. Their second Christmas, she'd been off-world, looking for Merlin's Sangria thing and punching Ba'al in the nose. Then, she'd been given the command in Atlantis, followed by her stint on the Hammond. Neither gig had given her leave around the holidays.

They'd exchanged gifts once she'd been back on Earth. Weeks—or months—after the face, meeting in random hotels close to airports or at her little house in the Springs when their schedules had aligned. To be honest, he hadn't thought a lot about it. It had seemed normal for things to be not-normal. Non-traditional, or something.

Still, Jack winced a little, his jaw tight. "We've missed a lot of things, Sam. Birthdays, Thanksgivings, Anniversaries. It's the job. You know that."

But her nod wasn't convincing to either of them. "Do you remember when I was stranded on the Prometheus?"

How could he possibly forget? He'd been ready to walk straight through hell if that's what it took to find her. "Of course I do. I nearly lost you."

"I told you that I hallucinated while I was up there."

"Right. Apparently, your dad and I told you to go date Pete."

They'd already hashed that out. It was more a joke these days than anything else. Usually—she laughed—or smiled, at the very least. Tonight? Not so much.

"It wasn't just you. Daniel and Teal'c were there."

"That was all in the mission report."

"But there was something I didn't include in my report." The puppy had wandered around Sam, wrapping the leash around her legs. With a weary sort of sigh she switched the lead to her other hand and stepped over the length of nylon on the ground, freeing herself from the tangle before continuing. "There was this other person—other entity—there. A little girl. She had blue eyes and reddish-brown hair and ran around the ship blowing bubbles. She said that she was Grace."

Jack frowned. "Grace?"

Still another shrug. "It was just a hallucination, right?"

Jack ran the tip of tongue across the inside crease of his lips before pushing himself to a standing position. Damn—his knees complained more about that kind of thing with each passing day, no matter how much he exercised.

Sam watched as he stood—and as Gracie toddled over to sniff at his feet—before continuing. "Anyway. I've thought a lot about who she might have been. What she might have represented."

"Not everything has to mean something."

"I know." One shoulder lifted in a quick, half-shrug. "And I interpreted the rest of everything so badly that I should have just pushed her out of my head."

"But you didn't."

"I couldn't." This time, her smile seemed sadder—self-deprecating and distant. "I used to lie in my bunk in Atlantis—or on the Hammond—and think about her. About what she might have been there to tell me."

"That you had a massive concussion?"

"Maybe." Sam adjusted the loop on her wrist. Her lips were thin—pressed so tightly that they'd lost color. "Or maybe—what I just hoped she meant."

He almost didn't want to know. Didn't want to ask. But something—pure insanity?—complete and utter idiocy? No—absolute adoration of this woman standing next to him in the moonlight—made him push, anyway. "What did you hope, Sam?"

But she didn't answer. She stepped backwards, instead, moving away until the lead grew taut and the puppy flopped herself over in the grass, unwilling to budge.

"Sam?"

She caught his eye—holding his gaze for a long beat before looking back down at her feet. "I already asked you, Jack."

"Asked me what?"

"Nothing. It doesn't matter anymore." As if suddenly spurred into action, she took a few long strides towards where Gracie lay in the grass, bending down to comb her fingertips through the puppy's fur. "It's nothing."

"It had to be something."

She groaned, standing back up and shaking her head. "Jack—just let it go."

"I mean—you went to all this trouble with the flirting and the seduction and stuff."

"I had to do something to get you to Daniel's office." Grimacing, she sent a wry look in his direction. "Tempting you with sex seemed like an obvious strategy."

"Sam—" There were things they needed to discuss, yes. But first, Jack needed to establish one particular truth. "You don't need to try to seduce me."

Another snort, but this time she didn't roll her eyes. "Not that I even know how. I've never been good at that kind of thing."

He snorted. It wasn't subtle. "Are you kidding me?"

"I mean—I'm not that kind of woman, Jack. I'm too tall. I've got muscles and bruises and scars. I look at people and try to figure out how to take them down. I've spent so much of my life surrounded by men that I feel like one half the time." She craned her head back and looked up at the sky. "And, apparently, I don't choose the right clothes to wear to fancy schmancy soirées."

That was so not what he'd meant. Jack blew out a tight exhale and tried again. "You could be wearing a muu-muu. A wool one. Neon plaid. With those ridiculous floaty butterfly sleeves like that horrible woman on that stupid old show about the co-ed roommates—"

Of course she'd know the name of said stupid show. "Three's Company?"

"That's the one." Jack paused as the puppy squirmed around and then resettled on her side. "You could be fully encased in deep sea diving gear. A beekeeper's suit. Hell—you could be dressed like Sasquatch—and I'd still get turned on if you futzed with your collar."

It took her a moment to decide whether or not he was kidding—time during which her cheeks flushed pink again, and her eyes went a deeper shade of azure.

When she finally spoke again, her voice was husky. "You would?"

"Remember Lucinda?" At her confused look, he clarified. "When we'd just gotten here. I signed us in at the reception desk and you were giving me a hard time about her."

"Well, of course I was teasing you." Sam cocked a single brow. "She was flirting with you. She wasn't even subtle about it."

"Right." Jack resisted the urge to shudder. "I told you that she wasn't my type, and you asked me what was."

Sam merely watched him, her entire body still. Braced—tense. As if she were preparing for combat.

"It's you, Sam. You're my type." Jack exhaled sharply, struggling to control the rush of emotion that threatened at the back of his throat. It took a few moments before he could trust himself to continue. "It's always only been you. Ever since you first waltzed into the briefing room so many years ago and challenged me to arm wrestle."

"Really?" Small—her voice sounded small. Not weak—just unsure. As if she'd always wondered and had finally gotten the answer.

"And it's not that you're beautiful. I mean—you are. But it's not just that." Jack cleared his throat. "It's everything about you. Your drive. Your kick-assiness. Your intelligence. Your ability and focus. Your ambition. I'm a lucky man to have you in my life, no matter how I can get you."

She passed her tongue across her lips. Her breathing had grown a little quicker—a little more shallow, and she was looking down at her hands again, at how the loop of the leash made a dark slash across her palm. "But what if I wasn't all those things? Or any of them?"

She'd said it so quietly that Jack wasn't even sure he'd heard her correctly. And he didn't have time to respond before she'd continued.

"What if I wanted to be something different?"

Different?

Different?

Her words came back again—floating through the aether—tickling at the back of his mind.

"Have you ever thought about doing it again?"

Suddenly, his mouth was dry—his tongue felt like sandpaper—and his stomach did a little back flip as he looked over at her. "What are you saying, Sam?"

"I don't know." She exhaled roughly—more of a squeak, really—before scrunching the leash in one palm and covering her eyes with the other. "I don't know."

The puppy stirred, stretching out and scrabbling to her feet. Giving herself a good shake, she wobbled for a moment, and then went sniffing off through the grass.

He had to smile when Gracie reached the end of the lead, pulling at the collar, straining against her tether. When pulling didn't work, she flipped around and tried to rid herself of the collar—but that, too, was in vain. The puppy growled, then barked, then seemed to give up and toddled over to sit—whimpering—at Sam's feet.

Who immediately bent down to pick her up—tucking her into the crook of her arm as if she were a baby. And something—some innate reflex—compelled Sam to start swaying back and forth, stroking the puppy's fur and smiling down at her.

Jack took a step in her direction—just one—before he stopped. When he spoke again, his breath felt like straw in his throat. "The other night, you asked me a question."

"I ask lots of questions, Jack." She raised a shoulder before angling a hesitant look up at him. "I'm a scientist. It's what I do."

"This was a particular question, Sam." Exhaling carefully, he moved closer before pushing her a little more. "Not a science thing. You asked whether I'd thought about having another child."

"Jack—I—" But she bit her lips together and fell silent, shaking her head as she looked past him—through the trees into the night.

"I didn't think you were serious." Jack cleared his throat. "I thought you were just shooting the breeze."

She'd turned to stone. A lovely, conflicted statue, holding a ball of fluff.

"How long have you been thinking about it?"

For a beat, he didn't think she'd answer him. The only movement she made was the slow rhythmic movement of her fingers in the dog's fur and the gentle way her skirt moved in the breeze.

"Since the Prometheus." She peered up at him. "Since Cassie. Since before Cassie, really—since Jonas."

Swearing softly, Jack stepped closer. "That long?"

She sighed—seemingly resigned. And when she finally spoke, her tone held the somber note of a confessional. "I've always wanted to have children."

"You never told me that."

"Because I knew you didn't. When I asked about it, you shot me down." She toyed with Gracie's paw, then with the tag on her collar. "So, I was with Vala earlier and we saw these puppies. It seemed like a sign—providential or something—that this one was named Grace. And so I thought that maybe this was what I needed."

"For what, Sam?"

"To take care of?" She laughed, but the sound lacked humor. "That whole nurturing thing."

"Sam—"

"Maybe it's just that damned biological clock stuff." Her lips thinned, and her jaw stiffened before she went on. "Vala's pregnant. I'm probably just feeding off her excitement. I don't know."

"I think you do, Sam." Jack pressed his lips tightly together, clenching his jaw briefly before catching her gaze again. "I think you know what you want—you're just too scared to say it out loud."

"Say what? That I have no idea what I want anymore?"

"Talk to me, Sam." He said it quietly. So much so that at first, he wasn't even sure she'd heard him. She stood so still—the light of the moon shining nearly silver on her skin, her skirt fluttering around her calves as her hair tussled with the breeze. Jack took a few steps closer—until he was near enough to see how her chin was trembling. "Just talk to me."

She looked up from the puppy, then—her eyes searching his for what seemed like forever before she looked away again. "What if I don't want any of it anymore? What if I want to retire? What if I want to grab the brass ring and try to take the last chance I'll get to have a normal life?"

"We have a normal life."

"No—not weird normal. Not us normal." She rolled her eyes, glaring back up into the blackness overhead. "I'm talking normal normal. House in the suburbs. White picket fence. Regular dinner times. Watching the late show before bed."

"Grocery shopping. Changing the oil in the car. Paying bills." Jack tossed her a rueful grin. "We have all that now."

"Diapers." She'd blurted the word—unintentionally. But once she'd said it, she rolled with it. "Play dates. Nap times. Rocking chairs and bed time stories."

He edged closer. "Is that what you want?"

"If it is," she swallowed, her hands stilling in the dog's fur. For the first time since they'd come outside, she met his gaze fully. Without compromise. "Will that change anything?"

For a moment, he hesitated, unsure exactly what she was asking. But if there was ever a time for the ungarnished truth, it was now. "Sam—it'll change everything."

"Yes." She nodded, wincing a little as she looked away from him again. "It will."

Jack passed his tongue across his lips. "And you don't think I want that kind of change?"

"I know you don't."

"How do you know that?"

"Because we've already had this conversation."

"No, we haven't." Jack shifted on his feet, angling towards her. "Not this conversation. We had a moment a while ago during an interlude. But there was no real communication."

She seemed to cede that point, shrugging and tilting her face down to look at the dog again.

"Sam." He stifled a groan. "I didn't shoot you down. I was caught off guard. I didn't know what you were actually asking."

The puppy whimpered—wriggling around and trying to get free. Sam lowered her to the ground and watched as she toddled around again. Looping the leash around her wrist, Sam sucked in a bracing breath. "I asked you whether you'd ever thought about having another child, and you effectively changed the subject."

"You weren't explicit. You never asked if I'd thought about having kids with you." He knew that he sounded frustrated, but he couldn't help it. They were talking in circles. "And why would I have considered it? You never told me that you wanted children."

"And what would you have said if I'd been explicit?" She took a few shallow, quick breaths, her voice stronger—edgier. "If I'd said that I wanted to retire? That I wanted to settle down and have a few kids? That I wanted to actually enjoy this world that we've sacrificed so much to save?"

"Sam—" Jack was next to her now. Close enough that he could see the thin sheen of panic in her eyes and the color creeping up her throat.

"What if I told you that I'd given up hope of ever having a normal life?" The words came faster. Tumbling over each other, hectic and raw. "That every man I've ever known has made me feel like some sort of freak—performing circus tricks with math and engineering? I've had to prove myself for my entire life. First with my father, and then with my professors—and then with my fellow officers. And I fought so hard to be taken seriously that I felt as if I'd given up the right to want anything other than rank or status."

Jack merely watched her, listening as her voice grew stronger—more forceful. She was pale, but fervent. Like some kind of warrior angel.

"And then I meet you." She raised a hand and combed her hair back from her face, tucking it back behind her ear as a haphazard, rough giggle escaped her throat. "And with you—I don't have to fight. You just accept me—respect me. And—unbelievably—you actually want me for the human being—the woman—that I am, and not for what I can do for you."

"Because I love you." He couldn't have not said it. It was the truest thing he'd ever felt. "I love all of you—exactly how you are."

Her eyes were huge—luminous—searching his expression as if he were both salvation and damnation. As if he held the secrets to the universe in his pocket. "So I ask again. What if I want to change everything? What if I want something—to be something—different now?"

"Then tell me, Sam." The barest push. Not an order, but also not a request. "Talk to me."

She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she held his gaze. "I don't want another command. I don't want to go back to Nevada, or teach at the Academy. I don't want to return to Atlantis or the SGC."

"Okay."

"I want to stay here, Jack. I want to decorate our house and plant flowers and do all that grocery shopping and bill paying stuff." She smiled—a fleeting thing. One shoulder lifted in a halting shrug as she blinked against the wind—or perhaps against her own emotions. "I want to spend more time with you. Birthdays and anniversaries and Christmases—"

"Groundhog Days?" He couldn't help it—the words popped out before he'd been able to stop them.

And he was rewarded with another smile—a real one, this time, as she rolled her eyes. "And Groundhog Days."

He was close enough to touch her now—and so, he did. Reached out and splayed his hand on the fullness of her hip. It didn't take much—just a hint of pressure for her to turn to face him. And even then, it was awkward with her arm extended as the puppy explored at the end of the leash.

She was trembling—but not from the cold. She radiated some kind of fervent energy built up over how many months? Years? She'd been holding this in for who knew how long—and Jack was more than a little ashamed that he hadn't thought to have this conversation long, long ago.

He closed his eyes and bent his head until his forehead bumped hers. Her skin was cool, and soft, and her breaths little more than gossamer puffs against his cheek. She smelled like perfume and the wind and whatever magic of which she'd been fashioned. Like home. His home.

"And Jack?" She raised her free hand and touched his jaw—soothing along his skin until she could tangle her fingers through the hair at his nape. "I want a baby. A family."

It only took a shift, and he found her lips again. Soft—soft—his hands cupping her face and angling her until he could taste her fully. She hummed a little in the back of her throat as she opened for him, meeting him touch for touch. Delving deep and thorough.

He paused, dropping little nibbles at her lips—her cheek—her chin. Bumping noses as he drew her even closer. "Hey."

"Hmm?"

Smiling, now, against her cheek, his tongue teasing at the dimple there before he came back to take her mouth again for a lingering kiss. He pulled back only to look at her. To make certain there could be no misunderstanding whatsoever. "So, let's have a baby."

She bit her lip—her teeth a brilliant flash in the darkness. When she met his eyes again, the panic had fled—replaced by a tentative joy. "Really?"

"Hell, yes." He smiled, trailing his fingertip down her face from temple to collarbone. He swept his thumb across the navy fabric at her shoulder—deeper blue than the sky overhead, but nowhere near as soft as her skin. "But Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"We're keeping the dog."