Beauty In The Broken

Annealing

"Major."

Sam looked up, quickly quelling a grimace as Colonel Samuels stepped through the doorway. She'd been expecting him to appear eventually, but it didn't make it any easier to watch him intrude into her space.

Not her space anymore. She couldn't help but glance sideways at the changes to her lab. Her work table shoved off to one side—the new flimsy tables arranged in a row on the other half of the room like an opposing army. Her desk had been overrun by files and office supplies, rendering it unusable. Five computer monitors now, instead of just one. Five new chairs at five new workstations.

Two of her new colleagues had even had the nerve to bring in decor—personal photographs and kitschy knick-knacks. Sam's plants had been banished to a corner, and someone had mentioned putting a coffee maker on the filing cabinet next to the door.

A coffee maker that would no longer be a possibility. Sam quickly tucked the outlet faceplate into the side pocket on her BDU trousers, glancing down at the brand spanking new phone jack she'd just installed. Not that it would work, either. She'd merely capped the existing wires and placed the new plastic lid on the site, thus obscuring the only electrical outlet that could have been used for something other than necessary technical equipment.

Coffee pot problem solved.

Standing, Sam fell into what she hoped was a serviceable stance. Not at attention—but something close enough to respectful that Samuels would think she was showing him the deference he believed he was due. "Colonel Samuels."

"Or is it O'Neill now?" Samuels ventured further into the lab, stopping just past where Sam still stood next to the filing cabinet. "I understand that you have recently gotten married."

She kept her tone prosaic. "'Carter' is fine, Sir."

"Interesting." Samuels' sharp eyes narrowed further. "I would have thought that, having gone to the trouble of marrying your CO, you'd at least take advantage of the use of his name."

Sam bit her lips together and remained silent.

Samuel's keen eyes studied her for a bit too long before he nodded. "I see."

"Was there something you needed, Colonel Samuels?"

"I expected you at the briefing."

"I wasn't informed about any briefing, Sir."

"As a member of this unit, it is your responsibility to remain current on all required meetings and activities, Major Carter." Somehow, he'd managed to make her name sound like an epithet, overemphasizing the honorific and drawing out the vowels. It was as if mention of her existence tasted foul on his tongue. Like sour milk or chicken that had been in the fridge too long. He licked his lips and continued. "I would have expected you to know that."

"I wasn't aware it was a unit, Colonel." Tightening her fingers around the handle of the tool she held, she forced her face into a bland expression. "It has been my understanding that my colleagues and I are working within the general structure of a scientific team under the command of Colonel Torres at the Groom Lake facility."

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

Not really, but Sam wasn't sure where he was going with this, so she didn't push. It was splitting hairs, anyway. She had the sinking feeling that she wouldn't be able to hide behind nitpicky definitions anymore.

She hadn't seen Colonel Samuels for years—not since she and the rest of SG-1 had defied orders and 'Gated aboard Apophis' ship. There had been a moment after they'd returned that she'd glimpsed him in the corridor—when they'd locked eyes and she'd felt a wave of hatred surge in her direction.

She felt that same animosity emanating from him now. He was better at hiding it, but it was there, seething beneath his too-smooth, too-polished surface. She could see his pulse beating in his temple—a single vein protruding beneath the pale skin there. And when he offered her yet another wan smile, his top lip twitched.

"I'm sure there was just some sort of misunderstanding." Sam slid the screwdriver into the side pocket of her BDU trousers. It settled against the faceplate with a quiet, plasticine 'click'. "We're still working out the ins and outs of this new arrangement, and I'm the loose cog in the machine."

"Loose cog?"

"The team at Groom Lake has been working as a cohesive unit for years, Sir." Sam offered a half-shrug. "I'm new, and, as of yet, unproven. It's possible that they simply didn't consider me necessary for this particular briefing."

"You're part of that team, Major Carter." His pasty face attempted a look of friendly understanding that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course you were supposed to be there."

"There was no meeting listed in our specs for today. I transfer scheduled events directly from the team agenda to my digital calendar every week after the main planning meeting."

"It's possible you just forgot about it." Samuels plucked a pen out of his front breast pocket. Wiggling it mid-air, he flashed his teeth in a semblance of a smile. "Perhaps you could just—you know—write it all down on paper. Stick it somewhere where you can see it."

She tightened her fingers around the handle of the screwdriver still in her fist. "Well, then, I apologize. I was told that it was mission-critical for me to double-check the probable yields of the last set of experimental mixtures."

"By who?"

"By whom?"

Sam heard Jack's voice clearly in the back of her mind but pushed it away. She needed to focus, and remembering how her husband had lulled her—sated and thoroughly satisfied—to sleep the previous night wouldn't help her accomplish that. She swallowed hard, schooling her features into something bland. "By General Hammond, Sir."

"Well." Samuels' lips curled. "General Hammond is no longer in charge around here, is he?"

He wasn't. That had been the harshest blow thus far. The first brick to fall. The General had given his excuses, pleading family issues and personal reasons. Then, he'd packed up his personal effects and taken his leave of the SGC. They hadn't heard from him since the new commander had appeared. "No, Sir."

Samuels ventured further into the lab, making a careful scan of the place before turning to look at Sam over his shoulder. "Next time, I expect you to actually attend team meetings, Carter. You aren't SGC personnel any longer. You're part of the Groom Lake organization."

"Yes, Sir."

"You do understand that, don't you? Despite your history here—and in light of the recent changes at home."

Sam tilted her head with a benign smile. "I don't know what my personal life has to do with this conversation, Colonel Samuels. I assure you that I am dedicated to this team and its goals."

Samuels regarded her for a long beat before turning and wandering towards her work space. He touched the files there, running his stubby fingers along the microscope at the far end of the bench before rifling through the tools scattered on the table top. With a wry 'hmmph', he pivoted around to face her again. "Are you sure about that?"

"Sir?"

The Colonel leaned forward on the toes of his over-shined shoes and clasped his hands behind his back. His eyebrows flew high—as if chasing his receding hairline to the back of his head. "I just know how devoted you were to SG-1, Major. And how odd it must feel to be shunted off to serve under a new command while still working within this facility."

"It was an adjustment." It wasn't anything even close to a lie. The past six months of her life had been nothing but adjustments—right down to having to use a different notch on her belt this morning as she'd gotten dressed. Thank heaven for the overshirt she wore—the new thickness of her pregnancy wasn't yet noticeable. "But I've gotten used to it."

"Really?" Samuels picked up a slide from next to the microscope. Holding it up to the light, he squinted at the specimen, then twisted it so that the glass reflected the lights overhead. "You don't feel a little mixed allegiance? You were so integral a part of General Hammond's team. Surely you resent being forced out of the inner circle, so to speak."

"Forced out?" She canted a look at him. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I've read the reports. Hell—I even sat in on some of the briefings about you, Colonel O'Neill, and this whole kerfuffle." Placing the slide on the work surface, he sent it off towards the microscope with a flick of his finger. "If you ask me, even if you were kicked off the flagship team, the entire situation has been remarkably advantageous for both you and O'Neill."

"There was a child involved, Colonel." Sam tread carefully, but firmly. "An infant who, through no fault of his own, found himself orphaned and alone in a world into which he wasn't born. Because of that child, and the heroic actions of his dead mother, we know about the weapon in Antarctica and a possible means of protecting this planet from alien incursion. I assure you that without all that kerfuffle, Colonel Samuels, Jack and I wouldn't be in this present situation."

"Ah. So convenient for you all. Playing house with your commanding officer and your dead alternative self's baby." Those keen round eyes gleamed a little brighter as he let out a thin sigh. "And here I was led to believe that the marriage was a love match."

Sam clenched her teeth against the anger flooding through her. Fighting for control, she watched as he picked up a mechanical pencil from the table, turning it in his fingers until he found the trigger that dispensed the lead. He pressed it once—twice—before flickering a glum look up at her. Testing her reaction. Gauging it, certainly. Seeing how far he could push her and whether she'd break.

And she knew it. Sam returned his regard, pressing her lips together tightly—forcing her body to relax—her hands to un-fist—before inhaling carefully. "I know where I belong, Colonel. And I know that my work here is vital to the security of this planet."

For a long, long time, he merely looked at her, clicking the tiny button on the pencil as the lead extended by degrees out of the bottom of the implement. Raising his hand, he peered quizzically at the length of graphite, as if surprised to find it there. With another glance in Sam's direction, he flicked at the lead with his finger, snapping the length and sending it flying off across the room. This time, his smile was genuine as he tossed the pencil onto the table behind him.

It was more than a little disturbing that the only time he showed real emotion was when he destroyed something. Despite herself, Sam found herself taking a step backwards when he made his way in her direction.

"Anyway, Major Carter." Samuels attempted another smile. "If I were you, I would redouble your efforts around here. Put in work commensurate with your new position. Prove yourself. You don't have the protection of General Hammond anymore. You never know what changes might happen around here, and you want to make certain that you're on the right side of things when they do."

And then he breezed past on his way to the door, his shoes little more than whispers on the concrete floor.

XXX

"They have a plan."

"We know that, Sam." Daniel took a sip of his coffee, swallowing before taking a surreptitious look around at his friends. "We just don't know exactly what that plan is yet."

They'd taken to meeting in Teal'c's on-base quarters. His apartment was in a quiet corridor far enough away from the hubbub of the base that they could come and go without much notice. Jack had taken care of the camera watching over the intersection leading down Teal'c's hallway—a little bit of grease on the lens blurred the surveillance feed. Guards in charge of watching the monitors couldn't get much more than hazy images that would cause neither alarm nor suspicion. They'd just chalk the fuzziness up to bad tech and ignore it.

After all—nothing ever happened on Level 25. Not unless they had alien dignitaries or VIPs in residence.

Which they did—sort of. Samuels and Torres had both claimed quarters on the opposite side of the level from where Sam and the guys were currently gathered. The rest of the members of Sam's new unit had been given bunks up a few floors and closer to the mess and other base amenities. They hadn't been given access to levels that weren't mission-critical—the base techs had provided them with specially-coded key cards that only allowed them to exit the elevators on certain floors and gain entrance to specific areas.

Sam's base access, on the other hand, remained unchanged. She could still go wherever she wanted, a fact which made Teal'c's room the best place in the Mountain for this kind of quick meeting.

Jack leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. The mattress squeaked beneath him as he resettled his weight. "Sam thinks she does."

"Oh?" Daniel's eyebrows rose up above the rims of his glasses. "Do tell."

Sam leaned back against the door, crossing her arms over her body. "Colonel Samuels paid me a visit today."

Jack's expression darkened. "I hate that imbecile."

"We all do." Gesturing with his cup, Daniel scowled. "He's a complete jerk."

"I would use different words, but Sam says I need to stop swearing so much around Jake." Throwing a rueful smile in his wife's direction, he made a vague shrug. "Seriously though—who invited that smarmy little weasel into this?"

"Other than Colonel Torres? That's what we're trying to find out, Jack." Daniel—as always—stating the obvious. He took a sip and swallowed before squinting back up at Sam. "Was it about the meeting?"

"I think he knows I missed it on purpose. I pled ignorance, but—I'm pretty sure he knew that I wasn't telling the whole truth."

"At the very least, your absence delayed things up there, right?"

It had been part of their plan. Since she was closest to the project, she had the best chance at slowing it down. She couldn't go so far as sabotage—that would have been too obvious. But a skipped meeting, slow fulfillment of supply requests, or a mysteriously missing piece of technology or hardware could make a difference—no matter how small it seemed.

Sam glanced over at Teal'c. "Maybe. I can't do it again, though. That has been made very clear to me."

"What did Colonel Samuels say to you?" Teal'c stood at the rear of the room—near the area he used for kel'norim. As always, he appeared the least agitated.

"Nothing overt. Nothing outright." Sam worried at her lip with her teeth as she thought back over the conversation. "He took some pot shots at Jack and me—at our marriage and the circumstances of it all. He made a few veiled threats about my position here."

Daniel frowned. "Oh?"

"Threats?" Jack's voice rose precipitously. "What kinds of threats?"

"He was trying to see where my loyalties lie, I think. He said something about how I'm not protected by General Hammond or by being part of SG-1 anymore." Sam straightened, taking a few steps away from the door. "I still think we made a strategic mistake letting him retire."

That particular debate had been heated. Jack, Teal'c, and the General had been on the same page—theorizing that giving up some ground would provide them all a better idea of what the game plan was. Once the big office was empty, then whatever powers were at work here would install a new Commanding Officer. That choice would, in turn, lay bare their agenda and expose more of the operation, forcing them to show their hand.

Sam and Daniel had believed that Hammond's presence could keep things at the SGC from going completely awry. That even with the Groom Lake infiltration, the General could still maintain at least a modicum of control over things. Perhaps even prevent the worst case scenario.

But no matter how much she hated watching Hammond leave the SGC, she couldn't deny that Jack's plan had, thus far, yielded results. She hadn't expected Samuels to install himself at the SGC, nor had she foreseen the fervor with which the new General—a taciturn, abrupt man named Bauer—had hit the ground. He'd halted most of the pre-planned SG teams' missions, ordered Daniel to stay on Earth cataloging mission artifacts, and assigned two new hand-picked members to SG-1.

"He didn't really retire." Jack had sensed where her mind had gone, his lips thinning as he looked down at his hands. When he started again, he sounded more than weary of reiterating the point. "But it had to happen, Sam."

"Maybe." She shifted on her feet, looking past him towards the far wall, where Teal'c gazed back at her, his expression calmly commiserative.

As was his voice when he spoke. "General Hammond has many contacts within the Pentagon who may be able to shed more light on what is happening here."

"Right, Teal'c." Daniel nodded, the overhead lights glinting off the lenses of his glasses. "He also has friends in the intelligence community who are trying to help him get to the bottom of things."

"He can't talk to any of these people in an official capacity." Jack sighed. "That's another reason why he had to step down. We've talked about this."

"I know." Sam covered her eyes with her palm, taking a deep breath. Buying time to organize her jumbled thoughts. "But I hate having him gone. I hate having them here. I detest having to suck up to Torres. And I really really hate Colonel Samuels."

"I know." Jack stood, tucking the tips of his fingers into his pockets. "We all do."

"And I abhor having to make this monstrosity of a bomb without knowing what they intend to do with it." She suddenly felt tired—so weary that she could scarcely stand. It was the hormones—at least, that's what she was telling herself. Janet had warned her that the first trimester could sap her energy and make her more emotional.

But, logic told her it was more than just pregnancy symptoms. She felt mired in the middle of it all—like that loose cog she'd mentioned to Samuels. She had to tread that fine line between her friends and those who would be her enemies. And a glance at her husband—at her friends—at the worry evident in their expressions—brought home just how dire the situation had become. "We need to end this soon."

"We do." Jack moved toward her, stopping a yard or so away. "And I know how."

"Jack—I'm still not sure that's the best option."

"It's our only option."

"Sam—" Daniel's tone was hesitant. "I think I'm with Jack on this one. We've tossed a handful of pebbles and caused a few ripples. But if we're going to get to the bottom of this cesspool—we need to make bigger waves."

"Waves." Sam knew she sounded bitter, but found it impossible to mask it anymore today. "Waves? What you're suggesting is a damned freaking tsunami."

XXX

"I won't be gone long."

Sam stood just outside the bedroom door, leaning against the frame. She'd only just come home—still dressed in BDUs and boots while Jack had changed into jeans and a flannel shirt over a plain tee. But then—he'd left work long before she had.

Or rather—he'd been thrown out of work.

She'd heard about it after the fact. She'd known what the plan was, of course—she'd objected to parts of it, even though her arguments had been in vain. Still—hearing the play-by-play of Jack being dressed down then relieved of command and his access cards before being forcibly removed from the base by the SFs had still been painful.

Sam had played her part to the best of her abilities—sitting stoically in her workstation as Bauer's assistant had informed her of the events. She'd continued working once the lieutenant had left, mechanically—numbly—quietly giving in to emotion as her colleagues had tittered amongst themselves. And to be honest—the tears weren't much of an act. She hated this entire circumstance just enough that it hadn't taken any effort to drum up the waterworks. She'd just had to let them flow.

But right now? She was too upset. No—too agitated—to cry.

Digging in an open drawer, he withdrew a belt before glancing up at her. "Sam?"

"I heard you."

He was packing. Black duffel gaping wide on the bed and a few shirts folded on the quilt next to it. He'd already tossed in socks and underwear—Sam could see them sitting in the bag atop what she assumed to be an extra pair of jeans.

And the Sig Sauer sitting holstered next to the stacked shirts along with a couple of extra magazines and a box of rounds.

Studying her for a moment, he shut the drawer and placed the length of leather on the bed next to the shirts before turning towards her. "I put Jake down about thirty minutes ago. He couldn't keep his little eyes open."

"Mmm." Sam tried not to look at the duffel bag—tried not to think about the implications of it and the clothing he was packing. Or the gun. Not his regular carry piece, but a secondary weapon. Smaller and lighter than his Walther—easier to conceal and quicker to draw. She forced her mind into kinder territory. "I'm sorry I missed dinner."

"You didn't." Tossing an indulgent smile her way, he gestured in the vague direction of Jake's room. "I made something for the critter, but thought that you and I could eat by ourselves once you got home."

Ah. She passed her tongue along the inside crease of her lips. "I wasn't sure you'd wait. I didn't think to call."

"No big deal." He shrugged. "I figured you'd hang around the Mountain for a while."

"Oh?"

"To gauge reaction." Sticking his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans, he rocked forward on the toes of his shoes. "See how my ignominious exit went over with your peeps."

"They're not my peeps."

"Okay." His brows rose. "Up on your level."

Sam looked away. At the door—the hinges—to the paint on the inside of the frame. It was peeling. And one of the hinges was missing a screw. She'd never noticed that before—but then, she'd never stood here before. Not here—standing next to the doorway outside the room she'd slept in for the past five years.

Nor here—in the position of trying to maintain some semblance of calm when it felt as if the proverbial rug was being pulled out from under her. Again.

She tried not to grimace. And failed. Tried not to show what she was feeling—and failed again.

And, of course, he noticed. His dark eyes took her in—her stance, the tightness of her expression—the way she hadn't yet breached the threshold of their bedroom. His stance turned cautious as he looked steadily at her. "Is everything alright?"

"Is everything alright?" She couldn't help it—her voice rose in tone, if not volume. "Is anything alright?"

"Sam—"

"You were escorted off the base by security, Jack."

"Yes. I was."

"You've been relieved of command. You've been placed under official censure. Conduct Unbecoming. That's what they said."

He paused, and it was obvious that he was confused. "This was the plan, Sam."

"I know." And she did. But knowing it didn't make it easier. And whispering it into the air again didn't, either, but for madness' sake, she did it anyway. "I know."

"Look." Moving towards her, he stopped just on the other side of the threshold. He reached out and took her hand, threading his fingers between hers and giving them a little tug. "We knew that this would get dicey."

"Dicey? Jack—General Bauer mentioned a court-martial."

"Which won't happen."

"How can you be sure?" Sam looked down at their hands, at how his larger fingers enveloped hers so completely that she could barely see her own skin. "How can you know that all of this won't come back to bite all of us in the ass?"

"We can't."

So, so simple. The king of positive thinking, and he couldn't even be bothered to lie right now to spare her feelings. Feelings that, at this exact moment, were surging through her even more strongly than when she'd had to drum up the tears in her lab in front of the team. Not just sadness. Not only terror. Not frustration or fury—but some sick amalgamation of them all that seemed fueled by a singular hormonal turmoil that she was helpless to fight.

And damned but if Sam didn't feel the tears well up again—hot and mean against the backs of her eyelids. She blinked a few times as she pressed her palm to her forehead, fighting for control. Imagined that damned porcelain bowl again, filled with its useless water that she could try to push over the blasted edge—

"Sam." He touched her cheek—just the pads of his finger brushing against her skin as he peered down at her. "What's going on?"

Breathe, Sam. Just breathe.

Only she couldn't focus enough to even try, and she was mortified when her voice quivered. "I'm scared, Jack."

"Of what? Of me?"

"What? No." She pulled her hand free, stepping backward into the hallway and away from him. It was darker in the hall—shadowed. He hadn't turned the nightlight on after he'd put Jake down, and the only light in the bedroom was the lamp. It was easier to be candid when she couldn't see the duffel bag—or the gun. Couldn't imagine all the possible outcomes of this insane plan—both positive and negative. She swallowed. "Yes. Maybe."

Stepping across the threshold, he took her place at the door jamb. The lamplight hazed upon his shoulder—glinting in his hair until it shone like spun silver—but shrouding his face in shadow. His eyes narrowed, so dark they seemed black. "Why?"

It was close—intimate. Sam could see his jaw tense, the stark set of his shoulders, and the way his hands were ready at his sides. The smell of him—the feel of his body near hers—both achingly familiar and profoundly provocative—

And she couldn't help but think of a similar moment from months before as they'd stood in this very hall and he'd kissed her sweetly—soundly—with Jake in his arms and her father in the kitchen.

Lord, how she loved this man. How he made her whole. How she hated having finally gotten to a place in her life when she didn't fear her future, only to have more outside forces working to destroy everything they'd worked to attain.

"Sam?" Despite everything, his voice was muted. Restrained, while his expression radiated concern. "Why are you scared?"

"Maybe not scared, really." She moved back towards the wall, resting back against it as she looked down at her feet. "I'm worried."

"About me?"

"For you. About us." She looked down at her feet—at how her boots were incongruous shapes on the floor. At the shirt she wore, and how its bulky shape disguised the slight changes in her body—changes that only she and Jack had even noticed. The changes that would eventually change everything. "About this ridiculous plan. About what you're about to do."

"Things will work out. We'll get to the bottom of all this and everything will go back to normal."

Normal. Normal? Nothing was going to ever be normal again. She'd thought they were heading in a different direction. Away from constant chaos and towards something—more balanced. To a place where every day didn't end with more questions than answers. Even though she was fully aware of their positions—with Jack going off world and her working with doomsday weapons, it had felt good to be working towards a shared goal.

And all of a sudden, the hall was too close. Too intimate. She wanted to touch Jack so badly—while at the same time it felt as if he were overwhelming her. She desperately wanted his arms tightly wrapped around her and at the same time needed space.

She slid sideways, walking past Jake's door, past the little hall closet with its still-churning washing machine and dryer. Past her office and into the kitchen. Around the island and towards the sink, where the evening's dishes lay neatly on the rack to dry.

Of course he'd taken care of things while she'd been held up in the Mountain. Of course he'd picked Jake up from daycare. She could see the stroller near the back door, with Jake's little jacket folded over the handle and a nifty selection of toys in the basket beneath the seat. He'd had what—five hours?—alone to play with their son while she'd been fretting at work. He'd taken care of everything like the competent, loving, amazing father that he'd proved himself to be.

And for some stupid reason, all of that made the whole situation worse.

"Sam—what the hell is wrong?"

He'd followed her, his footsteps quiet and even on the tile. Stopping just inside the arch, he watched her as she paced restlessly in the tiny kitchen.

"Sam?" Sharper, now. More insistent, and far, far less patient.

Sam stopped next to the sink, her feet wide, her body ready. Fight or flight—although this was a different sort of battle, one from which she knew she could not flee.

"Jack—what if it doesn't work?"

"What if what doesn't work?" He moved closer to the island, reaching out to rest his palm on the cool surface. "The plan?"

"All of it. Trying to root out the NID. General Hammond off mining his contacts. Me staying here and trying to slow things down from the inside." She hesitated, summoning up the courage to question the most insane part of the whole thing. "You and Colonel Maybourne."

Ridiculously, he smiled at that. "You make us sound like a couple."

"Damn it—Jack." Sam covered her face with her hands, backing up until her hips bumped up against the counter. "I'm serious."

He took his time responding. His eyes moved over her—taking in her face, her body, pausing briefly in the general area of her abdomen—before rising again to capture hers again. Not angry—not even worried—just thoughtful. Intent to the point of pain. "You know how it has to be."

"But why?"

"Because I need him. Maybourne is the key to taking these people down. He knows where to go. How to contact them."

"He's a convicted traitor, Jack. Sentenced to die. And if things go sideways, you'll be painted with the same brush as he is." She reached for the towel sitting on the counter next to the sink. It was still damp—obviously used to clean up after Jake's dinner. "And we have a family now. One baby sleeping in his crib and another on the way."

"I know that, Sam."

"Then why are you so intent upon risking it all?"

"Risking what? I've spoken with the President. He's signed off on all of this."

"And how do we know that we can trust him?" Her fingers tangled up in the cool dense fibers of the towel. "He's screwed us over before."

"He won't screw us over."

"How can you be so sure? How do you know that he's not in on this? How can you be certain that he won't have you arrested? Thrown in Leavenworth? That you won't end up in some deep, dark hole for the rest of your life?"

Jack took a few steps around the end of the island, stopping just shy of the corner. He weighed his words carefully, taking everything in—assessing her before speaking again. "Sam—it's the only play, and you know it."

"But why you?" She had to swallow past the tightness in her throat. "Why do you have to do it? Why do you have to be the one to take this on?"

"I'm the only one who can."

She had to concede that point. Even so, she needed to put it into words. "I can't do it. Daniel's a civilian with absolutely no clue how this needs to go down. Teal'c's even more on the outside than Daniel."

"I have the connections." He sounded almost apologetic about it. Stating facts with the clinical straightforwardness that the situation warranted. "I have the skill set."

She knew that, of course. She knew who he was. What he was. What he'd been, back in the days before the Stargate Program. Before she'd even met him. She'd read parts of his file—those parts that hadn't been redacted until the pages were little more than glimpses of white upon a sea of black swaths. He'd told her as much as he'd been able to—as much as she'd been able to stomach. But Sam knew that much of his past was just as dark—just as dense—as those carefully obscured paragraphs.

He took a step closer to her. He was deceptively easy—casually on guard. His knuckles were white where he'd clenched his fist, and his jaw was taut. "The NID is the problem, Sam. Torres and Samuels and the rest of those bastards. They're the ones who are the enemy here. Not me."

"I know that, Jack." Sam closed her eyes, lifting a hand to press against the pain throbbing in her forehead. "I do. It's just—"

"Just what?"

"I'm just—" Damn—why was this so hard? Why was it so damned difficult to explain how she was feeling? She recognized the genius of his proposal. And hell—in the past, she'd have applauded his plan. Logically, she knew that it was probably their only play. Still—it seemed so foolhardy—beyond arrogant—brash and brazen when her heart told her they should be playing things more safely.

Damn his insane belief in the plan. Damn his sheer bravado. His audacious sanguinary. Blinking, she swore softly when she felt the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes yet again. Damn the tears. And damn the hormones, too.

"Sam?"

Footsteps—he was coming around the edge of the island. A shift in the air told her that he'd stopped next to her. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, smoothing down to caress her arm.

And even now, his voice was completely, absolutely controlled. "Sam? Please talk to me."

"It feels reckless."

"It's not reckless. It's strategy."

"I'm just scared, Jack." She turned into his warmth, threading her arm around his neck and leaning into his body. "I'm terrified about losing what we've finally found."

For a long beat, he merely stood there, holding her close and pressing his lips against her hair. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded deeper—and rough. "You don't think I realize what's at stake?"

"I know you do. But I also know that this could get really messy."

"If I have to shoot someone, I'll make it as clean as possible."

Despite it all, she smiled at that, turning her face into the warm column of his throat. "You're ridiculous. You know that, don't you?"

"I do. But I'm also ridiculously in love with you." He lifted his hand and touched her temple—her neck—threading his fingers through the strands at her nape before pulling away just far enough that he could see her face. "You know that, right?"

Sam sighed, closing her eyes and drinking him in. She could feel him breathe—feel his ribcage expand even as his exhale stirred the hair at her ear. His pulse beat against her temple, his hands making gentle, nonsensical circles on her shoulders—her back—her waist. Yes. Yes, she knew it. Just as she knew that losing all of this would be a tragedy beyond measure.

"Let's go. Get out of here. Just you, me, and Jake." She'd whispered the words without really thinking, the idea merely a glimmer in the back of her mind. Cupping his jaw in her palm, she angled and searched his eyes. "Up to the cabin. You're already out. I'll resign. Let the world go to hell and we can just live up there in the woods and raise these children and be together."

His smile seemed at once doleful and ruminant. And when he answered, there was a catch in his tone that had never been there before. "You know we can't do that. We couldn't live with ourselves knowing that we'd surrendered to them."

Nodding, Sam leaned closer. He smelled like Jake's baby soap. Like whatever he'd cooked for dinner, and like whatever it was that made Jack Jack. No cologne, no fancy fabric softener or bath product. Just—him. His shirt felt soft under her hand, his body strong and vital as she touched him—his side—his chest—his ribs beneath the plaid flannel and atop the cotton of his t-shirt. The new growth of beard on his jaw and cheek tickled her fingers as she swept a path up towards his ear. As she tangled her fingers in his hair and tilted up on her toes to press a kiss to his mouth.

The house lay still—quiet but for the faint hum of the baby monitor on the counter and the ticking of the kitchen clock on the wall. Sam touched her tongue to Jack's lips as she moved her hand back around to work at the buckle of his belt—gratified when he groaned, when he instantly responded to her. When his fingers immediately went to work on the buttons of her shirt as his teeth captured her lip, sucking gently before he urged her chin upward and went deeper. More, now, lips and tongue and breath mingling as he made a thorough study of her—as if this were the first—or last time—he'd have the opportunity.

Belts. T-shirts. The flannel hit the ground first. Quick tugs at zippers and closures. Touches. Caresses. Lingering and quick and rough and achingly gentle. Sam watched as he bent to untie her boots, tossing them one-by-one towards the refrigerator before he rose to kiss her again while his fingers unfastened her trousers and let them fall to 'whump' softly on the rug beneath her feet only to straighten and take her close once again.

He tasted even better than he smelled—salty. Warm. She sampled him in tiny, flitting darts of her tongue along his cheek—his throat—his chin—before returning to his mouth—open and full and willing. Hands everywhere, kneading and skimming. She felt weightless and grounded all at once. As if they were celestial bodies ensnared in synchronous orbit.

"Jack—please." She didn't even know what she wanted or needed, but he did. He'd already grasped her hips, stepping out of his jeans and kicking them away as he lifted her against his body. Both arms hauling her up, his hands curved beneath her bottom as she wrapped her legs around his waist, as her arms went around his shoulders—all warm skin and muscle—and her hands found his hair. "Now, Jack."

His weight anchored her against the edge of the counter as he paused. In the vague glow of the fixture over the kitchen sink, he appeared harder. Fierce, even, with the angles of his face cast in relief and the cut of his arms and his chest outlined in shadow. His eyes were dark—obsidian—as they roved over her, taking in the tumbled gold of her hair, the hazy look in her eyes, the stark white of her serviceable bra on the pale smoothness of her skin.

He touched her reverently—purposefully—tracing a provocative line from her temple to the curve of her shoulder before sliding lower—lower—to the generous swell encased in white cotton—lingering there for a heartbeat before finally moving past her breast to curl around the fullness of her hip. Fingers digging, moving intently lower—closer—and lower still.

"Jack—" She needed him. Now.

Right now. Forever.

"I'll be back soon." Spoken between kisses. Between caresses. Between long, sweet explorations, knowing nudges, and low moans. Against her lips, as his hands found her center. "I'll come home soon."

"Promise me."

And he did.

Just before the sun rose the next morning. As the night still lay, heavy and steep, on their bed. The zipper of his duffel bag roused her into consciousness, as did the weight of his body as he braced himself above her with his hands on either side of her pillow.

"Come home." She'd said, touching his face with her fingertips.

"I will." Whispers against her forehead—her cheek—her lips once more before he pushed away. Before he rounded the end of the bed and picked up his bag and slipped out the door.

And Sam lay still on her pillow, eyes wide open. Watching until the pink light of dawn chased away the last vestiges of the night.