The following morning, Sam walked into the familiar hallways of the SGC, her heart a mix of anticipation and apprehension. She left disconnected like she had been dropped back into a world that no longer felt hers. Everyone should know the true nature of her special investigation for the President by now, and Sam wasn't looking forward to meeting everyone. She had already received several stares as she walked through SGC.

She shook them off, straightening her posture as she approached General Landry's office.

She knocked lightly on the door, and General Landry's voice called, "Come in."

Sam opened the door and stepped inside. Landry looked up from his desk, a frosty expression on his face.

"Colonel Carter, already back," Landry said, remaining seated and looking at the paper in his hand.

Sam cleared her throat. "Yes, Sir. Reporting to duty."

Landry continued looking at the paper but didn't mention that she should sit, so Sam stood at attention. His body language said enough—trust had been shaken, and fences would not be easily mended.

"I'll cut right to the chase. After hearing about your presidential investigation, your return isn't exactly… thrilling. However, Mitchell is still out, and SG-1 needs to get back to work, and you are the senior ranking officer of the team. We've got our hands full with the Ori, and your expertise is needed more than ever."

Sam nodded. She understood perfectly. She wasn't welcomed but needed.

"I understand, Sir. I'm ready to get back to work."

Landry studied her for a moment as if weighing her words.

"I know you were following orders, Colonel, but…investigating all of us. That was damn cold."

Sam swallowed hard, her expression neutral despite the twist in her stomach.

"I'm sorry if I disappointed you, Sir. I was following President Hayes's orders. I had no other choice."

Landry nodded, though his eyes continued cold as steel.

"Dismissed, Colonel."

"Yes, Sir," Sam said, quickly saluting before leaving the office.

As Sam moved toward the briefing room, she could feel the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. As she entered the room, it didn't take long for her to notice the subtle shift in their demeanor.

Daniel offered a polite but restrained smile, his usual warmth tempered by a hint of guardedness. Teal'c stood stoically by the window, holding his head in acknowledgment. Still, the ease of their camaraderie was missing, replaced by a formal distance that stung more than any outright hostility. Vala, who usually had a joke and a smile, had neither this time and didn't even look directly at her. The team had been through countless battles together, but this felt different—more personal, more painful. Maybe she made a big mistake returning to SGC.

"Hey," Sam began, her voice steady despite the knot in her stomach. "It's good to see you all."

Daniel cleared his throat, trying to break the tension with a measured tone.

"Hey. So you're back?"

Sam's voice, though steady, carried the pain of everything she had been through.

"I know... that I've let you down." She swallowed hard, her eyes scanning the faces of her teammates. "I lied to you. I deceived you all because I had orders from the President. Orders that left me with no room to be honest."

Her voice faltered slightly, but she quickly regained her composure, her expression tightening with resolve. "But I want you to know that every lie, every secret I kept, hurt me as much as it hurt you. I didn't take it lightly. I hated every moment of it. But I had to choose between following the President's directive and protecting this team."

She took a breath, the raw emotion in her voice breaking through.

"I know that trust has been broken, and I don't expect you to forgive me immediately. But I will do whatever it takes to earn that trust back. I've always stood by you and will keep standing by you, no matter how long it takes to repair what's been damaged."

Teal'c, quietly observing, finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the tension.

"You were following orders, Colonel Carter. We understand this. However, the trust that was once unquestioned among us has been compromised. It is not something that can be easily restored."

Sam swallowed, nodding slowly.

"I know, Teal'c. And I'm sorry. For all of it. I did what I had to, but that doesn't mean I don't regret how it's affected all of you."

Daniel sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"It's not just about the orders, Sam. It's about what those orders did to us as a team. We've always been able to count on each other, no matter what. Now… it feels like there's this shadow hanging over everything."

Vala, who had been unusually quiet throughout the exchange, suddenly stepped forward, her eyes flashing with anger as she looked at the team.

"Really? This is how you're going to treat her?" Vala's voice cut through the air like a whip, her frustration evident. "After everything Sam has done for this team, for all of us, you're just going to let a little thing like following presidential orders turn you against her? Orders, mind you, that none of us could have refused either. Except maybe me, but I won't get into that now!"

She turned to Daniel, Teal'c, and finally focused on Sam.

"You all know her better than anyone! She didn't want this! She didn't enjoy lying to us, and she didn't make those choices lightly. This wasn't her decision. But instead of being angry at her, maybe you should be angry at the system that forced her hand."

Vala's voice grew more impassioned, her loyalty to Sam clear in every word. "Sam has been the heart of this team. She's risked her life for us all more than I can count. And now, when she needs us to have her back, you're acting like she betrayed us! I won't stand for that."

Her voice softened slightly, but the intensity remained. "We're SG-1. We've been through hell and back, and if we let something like this tear us apart, then we've lost everything we've fought for. We need to stand by each other, now more than ever. And I'm standing by Sam."

Despite everything that had happened, Sam was her friend, and Vala didn't have many of those. She would stand by Sam, even if it meant standing alone.

Sam allowed herself a small, tentative smile.

"You're right. We are. And I'll do whatever it takes to prove you can trust me again. I know it won't be easy, but I'm not giving up on this team."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, each member of SG-1 grappling with their thoughts and feelings. The path to mending their fractured trust was uncertain, but if there was one thing they had all learned over the years, SG-1 didn't back down from a challenge. And this was no different.

With a shared nod of understanding, the team silently agreed to move forward—together. It wouldn't be immediate, and it wouldn't be simple, but for SG-1, nothing ever was. And their first mission was to get Cameron Mitchell back.

Back in Washington, D.C., Jack sat at his desk, the walls of his office feeling unusually constrictive. Paperwork was strewn across his desk, and the ordinarily crisp reports were blurred. He was used to compartmentalizing his emotions, but the usual tricks weren't working today.

His secretary, Claire, knocked on the open door.

"Sir, the briefing with the Joint Chiefs is in an hour."

Jack glanced up, his face betraying nothing. He was knee-deep in the aftermath of the chaos that had unraveled within Homeworld. The arrests had stirred up more than just dust; they had left a stain that no cleaning could wipe away. The military was breathing down his neck, demanding a complete account of the events, every last detail scrutinized under the unforgiving glare of an official investigation. The President had made it clear—this mess was Jack's to handle, and handle it he would, with the quiet determination that came with orders from the top.

Rumors swirled like a storm on the horizon, whispers that Marcus Montague was plotting to press charges against Jack under the US Military Code of Justice. But the prevailing sentiment was that Montague would be tried swiftly and forgotten just as quickly—a footnote in a history book no one would read. The genuine interest wasn't in Montague anymore; he was a relic of betrayal, a stain on the uniform he had once worn. Everyone wanted distance, a clean break from the officer who had turned his back on his country.

To Jack, Montague was already a ghost, a distant memory of a man who had chosen the wrong side and threatened the life of the woman he happened to love. And now, with each piece of the puzzle he painstakingly put back together, Jack knew the truth: no one cared about the why or the how. They just wanted it over. They wanted Montague gone, his legacy buried in a forgotten corner of military shame, with the key tossed into the deepest ocean, never to be found. Jack's job was to ensure that happened, no matter the cost.

Philip Danvers and David Stroud had already been swept up and spirited away into the anonymity of the witness protection program. New identities had been crafted for them—new names, pasts, and lives meticulously designed to blend into everyday existence. They were given fresh starts with fabricated histories and carefully constructed narratives. From the outside, they were free men living ordinary lives in quiet towns under the watchful eye of their handlers. But freedom was an illusion, as thin and fragile as the paper on which their new identities were printed.

Their movements were restricted, and their contacts were monitored. They were free but tethered to the unseen hand of the government, kept on a short leash that could be yanked at any moment. They had swapped one form of captivity for another, trading the bars of a prison cell for the invisible cage of constant surveillance. Every step they took, every word they spoke, was shadowed by the knowledge that they were not truly in control. The promise of a new life came with strings attached, which were pulled tightly, leaving no room for error and no space for rebellion.

They lived under the constant, suffocating presence of control—a control that dictated where they could go, who they could see, and even who they could become. They had to remember the details of their new lives better than their old ones. A slip of the tongue, a moment of recognition, and the façade could come crashing down, leaving them exposed and vulnerable.

For Danvers and Stroud, the cost of freedom was high. They had traded the dangers of their past for a different kind of danger lurking in every mundane interaction, in every passing stranger's gaze. They were always looking over their shoulders, haunted by the shadows of their former selves. They had escaped one battle, only to find themselves enlisted in another—a quiet, unending war fought in the confines of their minds, where trust was a luxury they could no longer afford.

"Thanks, Claire."

Claire hesitated, studying him for a moment. The General's usually sharp and ever-present humor had been replaced with a heavy silence that she found unsettling. She gathered her courage and spoke up.

"Sir, is everything alright? You seem… different."

Jack raised an eyebrow, his tone sharper than intended.

"Different? What's that supposed to mean?"

Claire shifted, clearly uncomfortable.

"It's just… you don't seem like yourself lately. If there's anything I can do…"

Jack sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples.

"Unless you've got a solution for the mess in my personal life, Claire, I'm afraid you're out of luck."

She offered him a sympathetic smile.

"You know, Sir, people around here are used to your grumpy demeanor, but lately, it's… well, it's been on another level. We're worried about you."

Jack waved her off with a dismissive hand.

"Get used to it. This is the new normal."

Claire nodded, retreating with a respectful nod.

"Understood, Sir."

As she left, Jack stared at the door momentarily, feeling the room's emptiness nearby. He glanced at the picture on his desk—a candid shot of him and Sam at some SGC function, laughing at some long-forgotten joke. He picked it up, his thumb tracing the edge of the frame.

"Damn it, Carter," he muttered under his breath, setting the photo back down with a frustrated sigh. He reached for the stack of reports on his desk, but his mind kept drifting back to her—her voice, her touch, the way she fit into his life so effortlessly.

He tried to refocus, but the effort felt futile. As he stared at the papers in front of him, the words blurred and twisted into unrecognizable shapes, and he realized that no amount of work could distract him from the ache of missing her.

The phone on his desk buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at the caller ID, half hoping it was Sam. It wasn't. With a sigh, he picked up the receiver, bracing himself for another meeting, another crisis, another day without her.

But as he gave the perfunctory greeting, his mind wandered back to the conversation he needed—the one with Sam that could set everything right if only he could find the words.

Mitchell's eyes fluttered open, blinking against the harsh light of the infirmary. Dr. Lam was immediately at his side, her face a mixture of professional concern and personal relief.

"Colonel Mitchell, welcome back. How are you feeling?"

Mitchell groaned, his voice rough.

"Like I've been hit by a freight train. What happened?"

"You've been out for a while. We hope you can help us fill in some gaps about what you remember."

Mitchell's brow furrowed as he tried to piece things together.

"I… remember being fine, and one day, I started to have blackouts. But it's all hazy. Like a bad dream, I can't shake off."

Dr. Lam nodded.

"You were under the influence of drugs that affected your memory and decision-making. But we still need a full debrief to understand the extent of what happened."

Cameron closed his eyes.

"I…it was like sometimes I don't remember chunks of my life and what I've done. Like I had an on-and-off switch button on me. Does this make any sense, doctor?" he asked, opening his eyes.

Carolyn nodded.

"From what we know of the drug, yes. And after we gave you the counter-drug or the antidote, you experienced some unusual effects and became unconscious until now. Some time has passed, Colonel", Carolyn said softly.

Cameron turned even more pale than he already was.

"Shit. What have I done? Did I harm anyone?" he asked.

General Hank Landry stepped into the infirmary.

"Colonel, I'm glad you're awake. Several things happened since you were drugged, and we need to know everything you can remember. Even if you weren't in your right mind due to the drugs, lives could still be at risk. You'll need to be debriefed once you have medical clearance."

Mitchell nodded slowly, his eyes focusing with determination.

"I'll tell you everything I can, General. I'm ready to face whatever comes."

Landry gave him a nod of approval. "That's all we ask."

After enduring a battery of tests and finally receiving the all-clear from Dr. Carolyn Lam, Mitchell sat in the briefing room, still looking disoriented but with a determined glint in his eyes. He was ready to return to the game, even if his mind was still reeling from everything unfolding.

The room was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the base's operations. Mitchell's hands rested on the table, and the lingering effects of being unconscious for so many days shadowed his eyes. Sam and Daniel took their seats across from him, offering reassuring smiles.

"Cam," Sam began gently, "we know this isn't easy, but we need you to walk us through what you remember. We can take this slowly, at your pace. We'll stop if you feel tired."

Mitchell nodded, his face tightening as he tried to piece together his fragmented memories.

"I'm trying, Sam. I really am. But it's all messy. I remember meeting a guy from SG-16 when I was leaving and going to my car. I think his name is Marcus something… we discussed operational stuff, and then… nothing. Just blackouts."

Daniel leaned forward, his voice calm and encouraging.

"Anything specific? Maybe something that stands out—locations, conversations, anything?"

Mitchell rubbed his temples, and frustration was evident.

"It's like someone turned off the lights in my brain. One minute, I was fine, car keys in my hand; the next, I woke up in my house. I… I remember feeling disoriented like I was floating outside my own body. I don't remember driving there."

Sam exchanged a glance with Daniel, her expression one of deep concern.

"Do you recall what happened just before you were arrested?"

Mitchell squinted, the effort of recalling the details visible in the furrow of his brow.

"I remember a lot of pressure from this Marcus. He was… pushing me to give him information and things, but I can't remember what exactly. It's all so foggy. And then… I remember the MPs. I was cuffed and started coming to, realizing what was happening."

Sam leaned in, her tone gentle but insistent.

"How do you think he drugged you?"

Mitchell's eyes darkened as he searched his fragmented thoughts.

"I don't know. I just remember a bitter taste… something in my drink, maybe? I don't even know how many times it happened."

Daniel jotted down notes, his face thoughtful.

"It's okay, Cam. The important thing is you're here and willing to help us sort this out."

Mitchell clenched his jaw, anger mixing with regret.

"I'm sorry, guys. I should've been more careful. I should've known something was off and told you about it. I just got afraid when things started to feel strange…I should have spoken before," he said, looking at the table, ashamed.

Sam reached across the table, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

"This isn't your fault, Cam. Major Marcus Montague, the man who drugged you, is in jail, and we have everything almost sorted out."

Mitchell nodded, though his expression remained grim.

"Just tell me what I must do, and I'll do it."

Sam and Daniel exchanged a look, knowing the truth might still be buried in Mitchell's clouded memories. They concluded the debriefing, hoping that the pieces Mitchell managed to remember would be enough to close this chapter of the security breach.

Sam walked briskly to Landry's office, the debriefing notes clutched in her hand. She knocked on the door, and Landry's voice said, "Enter."

"Colonel Carter," Landry greeted as she stepped inside. "How did it go with Mitchell?"

"He's still struggling with his memories, Sir," Sam began, handing over the report. "But he's given us enough to confirm that Major Montague was likely acting alone when he drugged Mitchell to gain classified information. We believe Montague exploited Mitchell's compromised state, but Cam doesn't remember everything clearly due to the drugs, Sir."

Landry scanned the report, nodding thoughtfully.

"Hmm..." Landry looked at her, his eyes still holding the lingering coldness that had greeted her when she first returned to the SGC.

"Yes, Sir?"

"This is your investigation, Colonel, according to presidential orders. You should submit this report to the President, not me," he pointed out harshly.

Looking uncomfortable, Sam swallowed.

"I've already talked with President Hayes before coming to SGC, Sir. My involvement in this case is complete. You are my superior officer. The report should be sent up the chain, Sir," she said in a determined but respectful tone.

Landry looked at the report again, his fingers going over the pages.

"Very well. I'll follow protocol, Colonel. This should officially close the security breach at the SGC."

Sam nodded, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders.

"Yes, Sir. I'm relieved we're putting this behind us."

Landry looked up, his expression still frosty.

"I'm not concerned with your feelings, Colonel. I want SG-1 to focus entirely on Ori. We've got a planet under threat from a Prior, and I'm giving the go-ahead for you to depart immediately. Mitchell will remain here to recover, but the rest of the team needs to be at full strength."

"Yes, Sir," Sam replied. "We'll handle it."

As she left Landry's office, Sam tried to swallow the knot in her throat. This is what she had chosen. Fighting the Ori. Stay with SG-1. So why did she feel so miserable? She blinked away the tears that threatened to appear and moved to the locker room with a determination she didn't feel at all.

The familiar rush of the Stargate enveloped SG-1 as they stepped through to the embattled planet. The situation was worse than they'd anticipated, and the images sent by the MALP. As they moved closer, fires raged through the village, and Ori soldiers were everywhere. The team moved swiftly, blasters and staff weapons at the ready.

Sam took point, scanning the area with her weapon raised. Vala was at her side while Daniel and Teal'c covered their rear. They had one objective: neutralize the Prior and give the villagers a fighting chance.

"Spread out," Sam ordered. "We need to locate the Prior."

As they moved through the village, the sounds of chaos surrounded them—cries for help, the roar of flames, and the ominous chants of the Ori soldiers. Suddenly, a bright blast from a staff weapon struck near Sam's feet, sending her diving for cover.

"Ambush!" Daniel shouted, firing his weapon.

They were pinned down. Teal'c returned fire, but the Ori forces were relentless. Sam peeked from behind a fallen column, spotting the Prior in the distance. She aimed her weapon, but before she could fire, a searing pain shot through her side. She gasped, falling to the ground, clutching her side as blood seeped through her uniform.

"Sam!" Vala screamed, rushing to her aid. But a second blast hit Vala's leg, and she fell beside Sam, wincing in pain.

Teal'c and Daniel fought furiously to hold back the Ori soldiers.

"We need to retreat!" Daniel yelled, his voice tinged with desperation. He reached Sam, his face a mix of fear and determination. "Sam, hang on."

Teal'c lifted Vala, slinging her over his shoulder, while Daniel pulled Sam to her feet, her weight heavy against him. They stumbled back toward the Stargate, the Ori forces hot on their heels. Each step was a struggle, and Sam's vision blurred from the pain.

"Almost there," Daniel urged, his breath labored.

With a final push, they reached the Stargate, dialing home with trembling fingers. As the gate activated, Daniel and Teal'c dragged their wounded teammates through, collapsing on the other side.

"We need a medic now!" Daniel yelled.

Dr. Lam and her medical team rushed to their aid at the SGC gate room. Sam was quickly loaded onto a stretcher, her face pale and her breathing shallow. Vala followed, her injuries less severe but still requiring immediate attention.

Sam was whisked away to the infirmary, the staff working frantically to stabilize her.

Dr. Lam's voice was calm but urgent. "We need to prep for surgery—now."

Hank Landry watched from the observation window, his expression grim. He turned to an airman nearby.

"Get me General O'Neill on the line. Urgently."

When his phone rang, Jack was in his office, staring blankly at a report he couldn't focus on. He answered with his usual gruffness, but the voice on the other end cut through his fog.

"Jack," Landry's voice was strained. "I'm afraid I have bad news. SG-1 went on a mission to a planet to fight Priors and were ambushed. Colonel Carter and Vala were injured, and Colonel Carter is in surgery now."

Jack's world seemed to stop. He gripped the phone tighter, his voice low and strained.

"How bad?"

"I don't have all the details, but Dr. Lam is doing everything she can."

Jack's mind raced, his chest tightening. He couldn't be in the same room and couldn't bear to sit still.

"I'm on my way, Hank," he said, his voice steady despite the storm inside him.

He hung up, not waiting for a response, and grabbed his jacket. As he moved through the corridors of the Pentagon, every step felt like an eternity. His thoughts were a whirlwind of fear, regret, and determination. He had to get to her—he had to make sure she was okay.

As he prepared to be beamed to Colorado Springs, the only thing that mattered was getting to Sam. Everything else—the job, the Ori, the universe—could wait. Nothing was more urgent for Jack than being by her side, no matter what it took.

Jack materialized at the SGC, surprising the technician in control of the room.

"General!" he said with his eyes opening. He had just been warned that someone was beaming from the Odyssey.

"Airman," Jack said in a rush, his heart pounding with dread and determination. He left the room, the base corridors looking colder and more foreboding than usual as he made his way to the infirmary.

He was met by the sight of SG-1 scattered in various states of worry and exhaustion. Teal'c sat stoically in a chair, his face a mask of controlled concern. Daniel paced restlessly while Vala, her leg bandaged, was also seated, trying to appear calm but failing to hide her anxiety. Mitchell leaned against a wall, chewing his fingernails.

Jack stood by the infirmary doors, waiting anxiously. After what felt like an eternity, Carolyn Lam finally emerged, pulling off her blood-stained surgical gloves and removing her mask. She looked at him, her expression grave but professional.

"General O'Neill," she said, her voice carefully measured, "Colonel Carter is out of surgery."

Jack felt his stomach drop.

"And?" he asked, his voice tight with emotion.

Carolyn took a deep breath.

"The blast caused significant damage. The energy from the staff weapon burned through part of her abdominal wall, causing severe internal bleeding. We had to perform a laparotomy to repair the damage, but she also sustained damage to her liver and one of her kidneys. We've managed to stabilize her, but she's in critical condition."

Jack struggled to process the information. He was used to dealing with crises, but this was Sam.

"What's her prognosis?" he finally asked.

"She's not out of the woods yet," Carolyn replied honestly. "The next 24 to 48 hours are crucial. We've repaired the physical damage, but there's a high risk of infection and complications due to the nature of the injury. If she pulls through, it will be weeks before she's able to return to duty—possibly longer, depending on how her body responds to treatment."

Jack nodded, trying to keep his emotions in check.

"Can I see her?"

"Briefly," Carolyn said. "She's sedated and needs rest."

Jack followed Carolyn to the infirmary, his heart heavy with worry. When he stepped inside, the sight of her lying unconscious, hooked up to monitors and IVs, took his breath away. He approached her bed slowly, feeling the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch her, to assure himself she was still there.

"Hey, Carter," he whispered, taking her hand gently. "I'm here."

He stood by her side for a few minutes, watching her chest rise and fall with each labored breath. He squeezed her hand, willing her to feel his presence, to know she wasn't alone. But there was nothing more he could do for her at that moment.

Reluctantly, he let go of her hand and left the infirmary, his mind already turning to the next steps. He went to Hank's office, where he was given privacy to make a call.

President Hayes picked up after only a couple of rings.

"Jack," he said, his tone concerned. "Landry told me what happened. How's Colonel Carter?"

"Not good," Jack admitted, his voice rough with fatigue. "She's stable, but it will be a while before she fully recovers. If she recovers."

Hayes was silent momentarily, then said, "I assume you're staying at the SGC until she's out of the woods?"

Jack exhaled, his frustration boiling over.

"I'm not going anywhere until I know she will be okay. You can fire me, I can resign, or I'll retire—whatever it takes, but I'm not going back to D.C. until I know Sam's going to make it."

"Jack, slow down," Hayes interrupted. "No one's firing you. You can work remotely from the SGC like you did during the investigation. If anything urgent comes up, we'll deal with it. Right now, you focus on Samantha."

Jack closed his eyes, feeling a wave of relief wash over him.

"Thank you, Mr. President," he said, his voice calmer now.

"She's a fighter, Jack. She'll get through this," Hayes said with quiet confidence. "Keep me updated, and give her my best wishes for a swift recovery."

"I will, Sir," Jack replied, and after exchanging a few more words, he ended the call.

Jack silently vowed to himself as he stood alone in the office. When Sam would wake up, he would tell her the truth. He was done hiding his intentions and pretending he didn't want more than the possibility of a long-distance date. He would ask her to marry him and ensure she knew that no matter what happened, he wasn't going anywhere without her.

Time dragged on as Jack waited for Sam to wake up. The hours blurred together in a haze of worry and exhaustion. He spent most of his time in the infirmary, sitting at Sam's bedside or pacing the corridors. The rest of SG-1 took turns keeping him company, offering words of comfort, but Jack's thoughts were solely on Sam.

Vala, her leg still bandaged and using crutches to walk, tried to lighten the mood with her usual banter, but she couldn't break through Jack's stoic exterior. Daniel, Mitchell, and Teal'c remained nearby, their concern palpable, but they knew Jack well enough to give him the needed space.

Hank admitted to Jack that he regretted being too harsh with Sam when she returned to the SGC. He hoped for the chance to tell her that she was genuinely missed at the Mountain and that what had happened was water under the bridge. Hank Landry wasn't a man to hold grudges; he knew it was time to move forward.

Days passed, and Sam remained unconscious. Dr. Lam provided updates regularly, her words clinical but tinged with the same concern everyone felt. Each report was met with the same hope and dread—Sam was stable, but the threat of complications loomed over them like a dark cloud.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the moment Jack had been waiting for came. He sat in a chair beside Sam's bed, his head bowed in exhaustion when he felt slight movement. He looked up quickly and saw Sam's eyes fluttering open, her gaze unfocused as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.

"Carter," Jack said softly, leaning closer, his heart pounding in his chest.

She blinked a few times, her eyes slowly focusing on him.

"Jack?" Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper, but it was the most beautiful sound Jack had heard in days.

"I'm here," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You're going to be okay."

Sam looked confused, her brow furrowing as she tried to remember what had happened. Before she could ask, Dr. Lam entered the infirmary, having been alerted by the nurses that Sam was waking up.

"Colonel Carter," Dr. Lam said gently, approaching the bed. "You've been through quite an ordeal. How are you feeling?"

Sam turned her head slightly to look at Dr. Lam.

"Tired... and sore," she admitted, her voice still faint.

"That's to be expected," Dr. Lam replied, her tone professional yet kind. "You were injured pretty badly during the mission. The blast from the staff weapon caused significant damage to your abdomen, and you had some internal bleeding. We performed surgery to repair the damage, and you've been unconscious for a few days."

Sam's eyes widened slightly as the information sank in.

"How bad was it?" she asked, glancing at Jack, who watched her intently.

"It was serious," Dr. Lam confirmed. "You're lucky to be alive, Colonel. We managed to stabilize you, but you'll need time to recover. We're keeping a close eye on you to prevent any complications, and you'll need to take it easy for a while—no strenuous activities and no gate travel for at least a few weeks, probably longer."

Sam nodded slowly, processing everything she was being told.

"Thank you," she said, her voice laced with gratitude.

Dr. Lam offered her a reassuring smile.

"You're a fighter, Sam. We're going to do everything we can to make sure you make a full recovery. For now, focus on resting."

Sam nodded again, her eyes drifting back to Jack. Dr. Lam gave Jack a knowing look before stepping back, giving them some privacy.

Jack leaned closer, taking Sam's hand in his.

"You scared the hell out of me, Carter," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, squeezing his hand weakly, though a small voice in her foggy mind reminded her that she wasn't supposed to hold his hand openly in public.

"Don't apologize," Jack replied, shaking his head. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You're here. That's what matters."

Sam looked at him, her blue eyes softening as she saw the depth of his concern.

"You stayed?"

"Of course I did," Jack said, his tone firm but gentle. "I'm not going anywhere, Carter. Not until I know you're okay. And even then, I'm sticking around. I told the President I'm not returning to D.C. until you're well enough. He was fine with it."

Sam's eyes filled with tears, touched by his words.

"Sir... you didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did," Jack interrupted, his voice unwavering. "I should have done this a long time ago. I've been a damn fool, Carter. I let you return here without telling you everything you mean to me. When you're better, we will talk about the future—our future."

Sam's breath caught in her throat.

"But... we can't. I haven't spoken with Hayes yet."

"I'm asking you to marry me," Jack said, his eyes locked onto hers, his expression serious but full of hope. "No more waiting, no more what-ifs. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Sam's tears spilled over, and she smiled through them, her heart swelling with emotion.

"What?" she whispered, her voice breaking.

Jack leaned in to press a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Rest now, Carter. We've all the time in the world to talk about this."

As Sam drifted back to sleep, her hand still in his, Jack sat back in his chair, his heart lighter than it had been in days. He had said what he wanted. She could answer later; he could wait. He was there, she was there, and that was all that mattered.