Seated in his D.C. townhouse, where he never truly felt at home, Jack found himself beside the woman he believed could offer him another shot at love: Samantha Carter. With her piercing blue eyes and brilliant mind, she had entered his life unexpectedly, yet he couldn't imagine letting her go once there. Despite the year without a single call from her, Jack couldn't shake the feeling of her absence, a void that only she could fill.
Unlike Daniel and Teal'c, who had tried to contact him numerous times, Carter remained distant until the moment she was called upon.
Carter and Daniel were the reasons behind many of Jack's grey hairs—the only reasons. Their antics and divergences from protocol kept him on his toes like nothing else. Yet, despite the frustration they often caused him, he couldn't deny their bond and the depth of his feelings for them both. In different ways, of course, but he truly loved them both.
As Jack's mind wandered, he suddenly felt Carter's body shift, seeking his own. He was jolted back to reality, his heart pounding as her hand moved to rest against his chest. He swallowed hard, struggling to maintain composure in the face of the temptation lying next to him.
Her hand remained on his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and Jack tried to move it away gently. But instead, she tightened her grip, drawing herself closer to him. Jack felt the heat rising in his veins; it was hard to keep his cool when Samantha Carter was so close, her body molding to his.
"Carter," he murmured, attempting to rouse her from her slumber.
She stirred, her head nuzzling into his neck, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Come on, Sam, wake up," he urged, his hand tracing small circles on her back, hoping to rouse her gently.
However, his movements seemed to have the opposite effect as she pressed her lips closer to his skin.
"Holy fuck" Jack trailed off, feeling a surge of desire coursing through him as her proximity ignited something primal within him.
"Hmm," was all she murmured in response, her body fitting perfectly against his, making it increasingly difficult for Jack to resist.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm his racing heartbeat. But it was no use. With Carter nestled against him so perfectly, Jack couldn't ignore their undeniable chemistry, and his resolve began to crumble.
Jack found himself at a crossroads, torn between two tempting options: succumb to the desire to take Carter to bed or muster the strength to leave her undisturbed on the couch. Though every fiber of his being yearned for the first choice, Jack knew he had to opt for the latter.
With a heavy heart, he gently disentangled himself from her warm embrace, rising from the couch with great care. Tenderly, he draped the Afghan over her sleeping form and placed a pillow beneath her head, ensuring she was comfortable before he stepped away.
It was a bittersweet moment as Jack sighed deeply, running a hand through his tousled hair. Casting one last glance at Carter, peaceful in her slumber, he steeled himself and quietly exited the living room. He had promised to behave, and despite the longing in his heart, he intended to keep it.
When Sam stirred awake, she found herself enveloped in warmth and comfort, the remnants of the painkillers Jack had given her before drifting into her mind. As she blinked, adjusting to the room's darkness, she realized she wasn't in a bedroom. Instead, she lay on a couch, wrapped in an Afghan. It didn't take long for her to know she was alone in Jack's living room.
Sitting up slowly, Sam ran a hand over her tired face, still groaning from her impromptu nap. She rose to her feet, leaving the Afghan on the couch. The room had cooled since she had drifted off, and she couldn't help but feel a chill creeping over her.
Carefully navigating through the dimly lit space, Sam approached the door. She noticed a small lamp illuminating the hallway, guiding her path. With a yawn, she ascended the stairs to her room, taking each step cautiously to avoid disturbing Jack.
Upon entering her room, Sam closed the door softly behind her, feeling a sense of relief wash over her as she spotted her bag resting in the corner.
"Thank you, Colonel Adams," she whispered gratefully.
Rummaging through her bag, she retrieved a T-shirt and sweatpants, preparing for a comfortable night's sleep. With a contented sigh, she slipped under the covers and closed her eyes. Fatigue washed over her; she drifted into a peaceful slumber before she knew it.
The following day, Jack and Sam found themselves in Jack's kitchen, dressed in crisp dress blues.
"Hey," Jack greeted Sam as he entered, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Good morning," Sam replied, returning the smile as she headed to the fridge to grab a water bottle. She noticed the pain pills Jack had set out for her on the countertop.
"Thanks," she said, picking them up and washing them down with the water before pouring herself a cup of coffee.
Jack filled his mug with coffee, and they stood silently, stealing glances between sips. Finally, Jack broke the silence.
"Feeling better?" he inquired, his gaze lingering on her.
Sam nodded, still savoring her coffee. "Yes, thanks," she answered softly.
"Good," Jack replied, setting his mug down before excusing himself from the kitchen, leaving Sam to ponder their complicated situation again.
Sam stood there, chewing on her lip. Complications seemed to be the constant theme in their lives, and this moment was no different.
They drove back to the Pentagon in silence, but upon arriving at Homeworld, Sam surprised Jack by asking if she could discuss something with him. Nodding, he cleared his throat, intrigued yet unsure of what she wanted to discuss. Instructing his secretary to hold his calls and not to disturb them, Jack ushered Sam into his office and closed the door behind them.
"Sit, Carter," he said, gesturing to one of the chairs as he settled into his seat and powered up his computer.
Sam complied, her demeanor serious as she sat, her hands resting on her knees. Without a preamble, she locked eyes with Jack.
"How well do you know Colonel Trevor Adams?" she asked, catching Jack off guard.
"Excuse me?" Jack responded, eyebrows raised in confusion. Why was Sam suddenly interested in Trevor Adams?
Sam pressed on, her gaze unwavering.
"I know this may seem like an odd question, Sir, but yesterday I came across some files and noticed that Colonel Adams's father was a British citizen."
"And my grandparents were Irish. Are you holding that against me?" he asked, confused.
Sam shook her head.
"No, of course not, Sir. That isn't the point", she said.
Jack crossed his arms.
"I'm waiting, Carter," he said.
Sam hesitated for a moment before elaborating.
"I'm still gathering more information about his father, but it seems he was a Literature teacher at Cambridge. Around 1988, when Trevor was 17, Thomas Adams moved with his family to Colorado Springs. He accepted a teaching position at the University of Colorado Colorado Springs."
Jack's interest was piqued, but he remained cautious. Her line of thought often zigzagged unpredictably, leaving him either scrambling to catch up or feeling like she was operating on a completely different intellectual plane. Either way, he wasn't quite grasping her point. He leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing with curiosity and a hint of frustration.
"And?" he prompted, hoping for a more precise explanation.
Sam chose her words carefully.
"I believe his father may have been more than just a teacher. I suspect he was involved with British Intelligence, and the teaching job was a cover. I'm waiting for confirmation on that."
Jack placed a hand on his desk, processing Sam's words.
"That's quite an assertion, Colonel. But having family connections to intelligence agencies isn't uncommon in our line of work."
Sam met his gaze squarely.
"I understand that, Sir. However, Colonel Adams is an officer in the United States Air Force and works for you. He had dual citizenship when he entered the Academy, which was accepted, but as he moved up and the Stargate Program became a possibility, he had to voluntarily renounce British citizenship to demonstrate allegiance solely to the United States. I believe there may be more to his story, and I found something else disturbing, Sir. Colonel Adam's father appears to have been a friend of General West," she said slowly.
Jack closed his eyes briefly, feeling the weight of Sam's implications.
"Please tell me you're not insinuating what I think you are," he said, his tone grave.
Sam swallowed, her resolve unwavering.
"As I said, Sir, I'm still gathering information. That's why I wanted to speak with you. You work closely with Colonel Adams. You must know him well."
Jack sighed heavily, realizing the gravity of the situation.
"Damn it, Carter. I hope you're wrong. I really do. Because if you're not, we've got a major problem on our hands."
Sam glanced down at her hands, her mind racing with the implications of her suspicions. She feared that the recent toxin attack might have been just the beginning, and she was determined to prevent any further harm to Jack, no matter the cost.
Sam pushed through the late-night workload, the hum of the computer a dull thrum against the hollowness in her chest. Sharing intel with Jack about Colonel Adams hadn't lessened the burden. She'd promised to stay, follow the President's orders, and find the toxin's source. But that was a temporary fix, a bandage on a gushing wound. Colorado Springs, her life there, left her now conflicted. Did she want to return to the place where the primary goal was to fight Priors who wanted to dominate the galaxy and demand utter devotion? Or did she want to stay and explore what Jack had told her about his feelings?
Despite the uneasy truce with Jack, despite the shared meals and stolen glances, despite his words confessing his love, Sam was deeply afraid that it might be just an illusion. His other words still echoed – the accusation of her choosing Pete, of giving up on them. She understood his pain, but it shouldn't come at the expense of her happiness.
Jack had told her he still loved her, but Sam was reluctant to trust that statement. Jack was a man who nursed his grudges, and the one involving her engagement had created a rift between them that felt insurmountable. She knew there was still so much left unspoken between them. He had told her about his feelings—about her, her engagement, and Pete. But Sam knew that there was much more than what he had said. The words Jack O'Neill left unspoken weighed heavier on her heart than anything else she had ever known.
Taking a deep breath, she forced her eyes back to the MI-6 file. Tonight, this case needed closure; the sooner, the better. Only then could she begin to mend the fractured pieces of her heart and move on, even if, in the end, it meant leaving a part of herself behind.
The computer's hum echoed in the empty office, starkly contrasting Sam's turmoil. Jack appeared at her desk, his voice a low rumble.
"Still here, Carter? Haven't we discussed overtime? Extensively?"
Sam's fingers froze mid-type.
"Yes, Sir," she replied, hinting at resignation. Her usual defiance was absent as she saved her work and began the familiar shutdown routine.
Surprised by her lack of protest, Jack asked, "Ready to go home?"
A muscle ticked in Sam's jaw as she paused, then continued closing down her computer. Her back remained to him, but her tense posture spoke volumes.
"Head to your house, you mean?" she countered, finally picking up her briefcase and standing.
Jack's gaze followed her movements.
"Yeah, that's what I said," he mumbled, watching her turn away from her desk and switch off the light.
A heavy sigh escaped Sam's lips.
"Something wrong, Carter?" Jack inquired, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"Nothing, Sir," she replied tightly, clutching her briefcase like a shield. That familiar action sent a pang through Jack.
"What's bothering you?" he pressed as they walked through the echoing Pentagon corridors.
Sam's voice was strained.
"Let's just say it's been a long day, and a pounding headache isn't helping."
Jack raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Sarcasm, Carter?" he questioned as they approached his waiting car. The driver and security details were ready.
Another sigh, this one laced with exasperation.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Sir," she muttered, sliding into the SUV.
Jack kept his eyebrow raised as they drove in tense silence. Sam stared out the window, the cityscape lights of D.C. blurring into a reflection of her internal chaos.
The tension followed them inside. As soon as they crossed the threshold, Sam muttered a hurried "Shower" and practically vanished into her bedroom.
Jack stood frozen in the hallway, hat clutched in his hand, a confused frown etching lines on his forehead. Hadn't things been... amicable? Maybe even a little friendly? She had fallen asleep almost in his arms the night before on the couch. Uncertain, he unbuttoned his jacket and headed towards his room, noting her door firmly shut. Perhaps dinner would break the ice.
He showered and changed into comfortable clothes, the silence in the house as heavy as his unease. Emerging from his room, he found her door still closed. He sighed, heading for the kitchen to scout out the fridge's meager contents. Chicken leftovers, eggs, and some sad-looking greens would have to suffice. Sam appeared in the doorway as he began prepping a makeshift chicken salad.
A white rock band t-shirt and dark blue sweatpants hung loosely on her frame. Fatigue shadowed her eyes, but a more profound emotion flickered beneath it – something akin to the raw grief he'd seen after Jacob—a lump formed in his throat.
"Chicken salad for dinner? Any objections?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.
She offered a single, tired nod. As the eggs boiled, Jack stole a glance at her. An undeniable sadness clung to her, a mirror of how he felt after his losses. He turned, unable to bear the silence any longer.
"Are you okay, Carter?" he asked gently. "Is the pain worse?"
The question hung in the air. Sam knew "okay" hadn't been true for a long time, but facing the truth felt like opening a bottomless pit. As for the pain, there was all sorts of pain, and right now, the hits from the baton weren't the ones bothering her. So, she lied.
"Fine," she echoed, sitting at the kitchen island.
Jack sighed a weary sound.
"You know your 'fine' by definition isn't fine, right?" he said, setting the pot aside and leaning against the counter. "So why even say it?"
"So why ask?" she countered, her blue eyes holding a well of unshed tears, usually defiantly sparkling.
Jack cleared his throat, about to speak, but the words wouldn't come.
"Because I ca..." Jack stopped.
Sam shook her head, a single tear escaping and tracing a glistening path down her cheek.
"Let's stick to business only," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "That's best, Sir."
With that, she pushed herself away from the island and left the room, leaving Jack alone with the clattering pot and the deafening silence of unspoken words. He closed his eyes, the unspoken half of his sentence echoing in the quiet: "Because I care, Carter. Because I fucking care."
Moments later, the silence stretched taut over the dinner table, punctuated only by the clinking of silverware. Sam barely touched her food, pushing it around her plate like an unwelcome guest. Jack, avoiding her gaze, focused on finishing his meal. Neither dared to break the unspoken tension hanging heavy in the air.
Sam rose without a word when he finally set down his empty plate. She cleared her dishes with practiced efficiency, a storm brewing beneath her carefully constructed facade. Leaving the kitchen, she found Jack in the living room, perched on a chair a safe distance from the couch.
The silence threatened to suffocate them. Finally, Jack spoke, his voice strained.
"So, are we going to talk about it or just sit here contemplating the paint on the walls?"
Sam inhaled a shaky breath, her eyes locked on a distant point.
"I've made some progress in the investigation. Tomorrow morning, I'll leave a file with everything I found on your desk and another with the President."
Jack ran a frustrated hand through his hair.
"Fine. But can you at least give me a hint of what to expect, Carter?"
Sam hesitated, biting her lip.
"Colonel Adams needs questioning. I believe he was blackmailed or coerced into poisoning you. The motive likely connects to his father's past as a spy. The full details are in the report, Sir."
Jack's temper flared.
"What the hell, Carter? You can't drop a bomb like that and expect me to sit on it until morning! Talk, damn it!"
Sam rose again, defiance flashing in her eyes.
"I can give you the report," she started, her voice tight.
Jack cut her off, a growl in his throat.
"I don't want a damn report, Carter! You can talk perfectly well. So talk!"
He wasn't asking this time. It was an order laced with a rising anger that mirrored the turmoil within her. Sam met his gaze, a storm brewing behind her own blue eyes.
"You do know I don't take orders from you, don't you?" Sam's voice was steady, but her words hung heavy between them. She had vowed never to use this argument, but now it felt like a necessary line in the sand.
Jack paled, his expression shifting from confusion to shock. "What?"
Sam clenched her fists, forcing herself to keep calm as she took a deep breath. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor, unwilling to meet his gaze.
"I report to the President now, Sir," she said, her voice measured but firm. "Not to you. As such, I only receive orders from him—not from you. I've been obliging and following your lead out of respect for you. For all the years we worked together. But I don't have to."
The words came out slowly, deliberately, each like a small crack in the foundation of their fragile relationship.
Jack's face hardened, his eyes darkening until they were nearly black. He crossed his arms over his chest, his posture suddenly defensive.
"I'm fully aware of who you report to, Colonel," he said, his tone flat and cold. "I wasn't aware of how vindictive you've become."
Sam cringed slightly at the word, her throat tightening. She swallowed before responding.
"Vindictive, Sir?" She looked up at him, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and pain. "That's a funny word coming from you."
Jack shrugged, but the tension in his body was palpable.
"What can I say, Colonel? I'm a funny guy," he replied dryly. His lips twisted into a brief, humorless smile. "Funny enough to expect some common courtesy from my former 2IC. But apparently, I was mistaken."
Sam opened her mouth to respond, to defend herself, but his words stung more than she anticipated. The unexpected cruelty of his tone took her aback so much that she sank onto the couch, her mouth closing in silent shock. She wasn't sure if she was more hurt or angry, but the bitterness in his words cut deep.
Jack watched her, his arms still crossed tightly across his chest. His expression was stony now, the sharp edge of his earlier humor gone completely.
"That's how funny I am," he said, his voice low and without any warmth. There was no smile left on his face—only a hard, distant look that sent a shiver through her.
For a moment, the room was heavy with silence. Sam sat there, staring at her hands, trying to process their conversation's bitter turn. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"You really hate me, don't you?"
The question lingered like a fragile thing, trembling on the edge of breaking.
Jack's jaw tightened, and he swallowed hard. When he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion.
"No," he said, shaking his head slowly. "I don't hate you. I could never hate you."
He took a step toward her, his posture softening just slightly. "I can't hate the woman I love."
Sam closed her eyes at his words, her heart twisting painfully in her chest. The confession should have been a balm to the wounds they had inflicted on each other, but instead, it felt like salt. She bit her lip, trying to keep the threatening tears at bay.
"Love?" she echoed, her voice trembling. She opened her eyes, looking up at him with sadness and disbelief. "I think we have very different definitions of love, Jack."
Jack stared at her, a flicker of vulnerability passing through his eyes before quickly masked it with his usual stoic expression. He had never been good with words, never quite knew how to express his feelings without tripping over his defenses. But he had always believed that his love for her was evident—even if he hadn't said it nearly enough. But he had said it—more than her.
"I've never claimed to be good at this," he admitted, his voice softer now. "But that doesn't change how I feel. I love you, Sam. I've loved you for years."
Sam shook her head, her voice thick with emotion.
"You say you love me, as you've said before, but love isn't just about words, Jack. It's about actions. And your actions… they've hurt me, over and over. You've pushed me away. You've kept me at arm's length for so long that I don't even know where we stand anymore. If we stand at all."
Jack lowered his gaze, the weight of her words sinking in. He had pushed her away—time and time again. He had told himself to protect her and them both from the fallout of their impossible situation. But in doing so, he had only created a chasm between them, which now seemed nearly impossible to bridge.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his voice barely audible. "I know I've screwed this up, over and over again, and that... I know I've hurt you," he admitted.
Sam looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for the truth in his words. She could see the regret there, the guilt, but she wasn't sure if it was enough. Could words and apologies ever fix the damage they had done to each other?
"I need more than sorry," she said softly. "I need time and space to determine if we can make this work."
Jack nodded, though his heart ached at losing her even further.
"I understand," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "But I'm not giving up, Sam. Not on you. Not on us."
Sam's gaze softened, but the pain was still there.
"Then give me the space I need, Jack. Let me figure out what I want without the pressure. To see if there's an us."
He nodded again, knowing that he had no choice but to respect her wishes, even if it meant waiting in the dark, uncertain whether the light would ever come back for them.
"Take all the time you need," he said softly. "I'll be here. And I'll read your report. You don't have to tell me anything."
As Jack turned to leave, the silence between them was heavy, but there was a fragile thread of understanding—one that might one day lead them back to each other. But for now, Sam was left with her thoughts and the questions that lingered between them, unresolved but not unspoken.