August, 1991 – Washington, D.C.
The Gulf War had ended months ago, but the memories lingered in the hot, heavy air. The war had tested everyone in ways they hadn't anticipated—especially the pilots who had flown missions over the desert, risking everything. Captain Samantha Carter sat in a quiet corner of the bar, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her wine glass. She had survived countless missions, but something about being back in civilian life felt more disorienting than any combat zone.
She had flown dozens of sorties during the war—precision strikes that kept her in the cockpit for hours, her every move calculated to keep her alive. She had proven herself time and time again, and yet, now that the war was over, she felt lost in a way she couldn't quite explain.
The dim, golden glow of the bar reflected off the polished surfaces, creating a warm, intimate atmosphere. The quiet hum of conversation and the occasional clink of glasses filled the room. It had been a long week—another intense stint of working on nanotechnology while managing her commitments to the Air Force.
Her mind, usually occupied with equations and theories, wandered tonight. She hadn't come to this bar looking for anything specific. Maybe it was just a brief escape from the chaos of her life.
As she sipped her wine, the door to the bar swung open, and a man in his early thirties walked in. His confident stride and quiet authority caught her attention, even though she didn't immediately acknowledge it. She thought he was tall, with dark hair, hazel eyes, and an athletic build—military. He glanced around before walking to the bar, sitting beside hers with an effortless, comfortable grace.
"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, his voice deep but soft, as though he didn't want to intrude.
Sam glanced at him and offered a small smile. "Not at all."
There was a moment of silence as they both ordered drinks, but the man didn't seem in a rush to say anything more. He glanced around, his eyes eventually landing on her again.
"You look like you've had a long day," he commented, his voice casual but observant.
Sam chuckled softly. "You could say that. A long week, actually."
"Same here," he said, nodding. "Military?"
Sam turned slightly toward him, intrigued.
"Yes. You?"
"Colonel Richard Harris," he introduced himself, extending a hand. "U.S. Air Force."
Sam raised an eyebrow as she shook his hand.
"Captain Samantha Carter. I'm doing some research at the Pentagon."
There was a flicker of recognition in Richard's eyes.
"Dr. Timothy Harlow, right? I've heard of you. You're the prodigy everyone's talking about."
Sam blushed slightly, though she appreciated the compliment.
"I wouldn't go that far."
Richard smiled warmly.
"Well, I've read some of your papers. Trust me, you're far more brilliant than you're giving yourself credit for. Nanotechnology and genetics aren't exactly for everyone."
Sam's smile grew, and soon their conversation flowed easily. What had started as casual small talk evolved into a deep, animated exchange. They talked about their careers, their experiences in the military, the Gulf, and love for science and exploration. Hours passed without either of them noticing.
Richard took a sip of his drink, his eyes flickering with curiosity.
"You mentioned you flew during the Gulf War?"
Sam nodded, leaning back in her chair, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass.
"Yeah. I was a pilot on several missions—mostly strike sorties." She hesitated momentarily, her mind flashing back to the long, tense hours in the cockpit. "It was intense, but I learned a lot out there."
Richard's lips curved into a small smile of understanding.
"Reconnaissance specialist here. Spent most of my time flying deep into enemy territory, gathering intel for the ground operations." He paused, his voice lowering. "Not the most glamorous job, but we ensured the strikes hit the right targets."
Sam's eyebrows lifted in surprise.
"Recon? That's pretty dangerous work. I flew many missions but was never quite that deep in the action."
Richard chuckled.
"I wouldn't say you had it easy. Anyone flying through that war zone had their life on the line. Funny, though we were both out there, flying over the same desert, but we never crossed paths."
Sam smiled, though there was a hint of something wistful in her expression.
"Yeah, strange how that happens. We were both there but in completely different worlds."
"Guess it wasn't our time yet," Richard said softly, his eyes locking with hers for a moment. "Maybe now it is."
At one point, Sam laughed, the sound light and free.
"I haven't had a conversation like this in ages. Usually, people look at me like I speak a different language."
Richard leaned closer, his eyes soft but intent.
"Well, I'm glad we speak the same language tonight."
There was something electric between them—an unspoken connection, something more profound than just the words. Sam's heart quickened as she met his gaze, feeling a pull that surprised her. She hadn't come here expecting anything, and yet... there was something about Richard that made her want more.
"Do you want to get out of here?" she asked impulsively, her voice quieter now.
Richard smiled a slow, confident grin. "I thought you'd never ask."
Later that evening, Sam and Richard found themselves in the cozy warmth of her apartment. She hadn't planned to invite him over, but the conversation had been so easy and natural that it felt like the only logical next step. A bottle of wine sat open on the counter, and they sat close together on the couch, the city lights casting soft shadows across the room.
"You've really done some incredible work," Richard said, swirling the wine in his glass as he glanced at her. "You're going places, Sam. I can see that."
Sam smiled softly.
"I've always had big dreams. My father wants me in NASA, but sometimes… it feels like something is missing."
Richard leaned in slightly, his voice lower, more intimate.
"And what's that?"
She hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering to his.
"Someone who understands. Someone who knows what it's like to chase those dreams but still wants more from life."
Their gazes locked, and for a moment, the air between them crackled with unspoken tension. Sam's heart raced, and she made the first move before she could overthink it. She leaned forward and kissed him—soft at first, testing the waters, but the kiss deepened when his lips responded.
Everything else faded into the background—the hum of the city outside, the soft flicker of candlelight in the corner of the room, even the clink of their wine glasses as they were forgotten on the coffee table. Sam's mind, usually consumed with calculations and strategies, felt blissfully blank for the first time in ages. Every thought dissolved into the warmth of Richard's touch, the gentle way his fingers brushed against her arm before sliding around her waist, pulling her closer.
Her breath caught as their lips met, the kiss hesitant at first, testing, as if both were unsure where the line between curiosity and desire would fall. But once the spark was lit, it quickly became a fire, consuming them both. Richard's hand moved up her back, his tender and urgent touch as if he had been waiting for this moment for as long as she had.
Sam pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against his as she caught her breath. Her voice was barely a whisper, but the question hung between them like a fragile thread.
"Are you sure about this?"
Richard's eyes softened as he met her gaze, his thumb gently tracing her cheek.
"I've never been more sure of anything," he murmured, his voice low and full of sincerity. "But if you're not ready—"
"No," she interrupted, her voice firmer now. "I want this."
With that, the space between them seemed to vanish completely. She led him by the hand toward her bedroom, her heart racing, the anticipation almost overwhelming.
The bedroom was small but warm, tucked away at the end of the hallway. A soft light glowed from the lamp on her nightstand, casting long shadows over the room's modest décor—neatly stacked books on a nearby shelf, a worn leather armchair in the corner, and light gray sheets on the bed that was made with the precision of a military officer. But tonight, the bed wasn't just a place of order. It was where everything she had tried to suppress—the loneliness, the longing—was about to come rushing to the surface.
Richard paused at the doorway as if giving her one last chance to change her mind.
"Are you sure?" he asked again, his voice gentle and filled with concern but also unmistakable desire.
Sam didn't answer with words. Instead, she pulled him toward her, her fingers slipping under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin as she kissed him again—this time deeper, with all the intensity she had kept locked away for so long.
His hands moved slowly, reverently, as if memorizing the contours of her body, the way she fit perfectly against him. Every touch and movement felt deliberate, as though this wasn't just about physical desire but something deeper, more profound. It was the culmination of hours of building tension, the final release of everything they had held back.
Sam's hands fumbled for the buttons of his shirt, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps as she pulled it from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.
"I've wanted this…" she whispered, barely audible, her lips brushing against his ear. "I've wanted you since you first walked into that bar."
Richard's only response was a soft groan as he tangled his fingers in her hair, guiding her gently toward the bed. They fell onto the soft sheets together, the rest of the world slipping away as the only thing that mattered was the sensation of being close to each other. His hands moved over her body with a mixture of passion and restraint as though he were afraid to rush what had become a profoundly intimate moment.
Their kisses grew more passionate, more urgent, as they undressed one another with the same deliberate tenderness. Every touch was filled with the weight of unspoken words, every movement a quiet confession of how much they had both wanted this—needed this.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of whispered names, soft gasps, and the gentle rhythm of two people who felt whole for the first time in a long while. When they finally lay together in the stillness, wrapped in each other's arms, Sam felt something she hadn't in years—peace.
Richard brushed a strand of hair from her face, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked into her eyes.
"You okay?"
Sam nodded, resting her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
"More than okay," she whispered, lips curling into a soft smile. "I'm exactly where I want to be."
And for the first time in what felt like forever, she truly meant it.
For the next two months, Sam and Richard were inseparable. Their relationship moved quickly, fueled by passion and their unique understanding as fellow officers. They balanced each other perfectly—Sam's intellectual drive paired effortlessly with Richard's calm, steady leadership. He was stationed at Andrews Air Force Base and involved in operations and strategic planning. They hardly discussed their current assignments.
They would spend weekends at her apartment, talking late into the night, sharing stories about their time in the Gulf, their ambitions, and their hopes for the future. Despite his high rank, Richard had a gentleness about him that Sam found herself drawn to more and more.
It wasn't long before Richard, overwhelmed by their built connection, decided to take the plunge. One evening, while they were watching a movie on her couch, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.
"Sam," he began, his voice a little nervous, which was rare for him. "These past few months… they've been incredible. I've never met anyone like you. You're brilliant, kind, and everything I didn't know I needed."
Sam's heart skipped a beat as she realized what was happening.
"Richard, are you—"
He opened the box to reveal a simple, elegant ring.
"Samantha Carter, will you marry me?"
For a moment, Sam was speechless, her mind racing with the enormity of what he was asking. But as she looked into Richard's eyes, she saw sincerity, love, and a future that suddenly felt full of possibility.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "Yes, I'll marry you."
The meeting had been weighing on Sam's mind for days. Given their strained relationship, she debated telling her father about the wedding. But despite the distance between them, some part of her still felt compelled to involve him—at least in some small way. She didn't expect him to show up at the wedding. She wasn't even sure she wanted him there. But he deserved to know; more than that, she wanted him to meet Richard.
Since joining the Air Force Academy, she hadn't spoken with her brother Mark and wasn't planning to talk to him again. He had left without a word, and Sam was okay with that. Sometimes, one has to accept things for what they are and move on. Sam had done that with her brother.
They agreed to meet at a quiet café near the Pentagon in Arlington. Sam had deliberately chosen this neutral space so that emotions and old wounds wouldn't have a chance to take root. The café was small and cozy, with worn wooden tables and the faint smell of brewing coffee lingering in the air. It was the kind of place where people passed through without much notice.
Sam sat at a corner table, her fingers nervously twisting the ring on her hand as she glanced toward the door. Richard was beside her, calm and composed, though she could tell he was feeling the tension, too. He had been briefed about her complicated relationship with Jacob—how her father had been distant for most of her life, choosing his career over his family after the tragic death of his wife. But now, he was about to face the man who had shaped so much of who Sam was.
Sam felt her heart clench when the door swung open, and Jacob Carter walked in. Her father looked as imposing as ever in his Air Force blues, his posture ramrod straight, eyes sharp and focused as he scanned the room. His presence commanded attention, even here. And though Sam had grown used to standing her ground against him, today felt different.
Jacob spotted them and made his way over, his expression unreadable.
"Samantha," he greeted her with a nod, his voice flat but not unfriendly.
"Dad," Sam replied, standing up to greet him but stopping short of an embrace. The space between them was still there, invisible but undeniable.
Jacob's gaze shifted to Richard, who rose to shake his hand.
"Colonel Richard Harris, Sir," Richard said, his voice steady as he extended his hand.
Jacob studied him for a beat too long before shaking his hand firmly. "General Jacob Carter," he replied, his tone as formal as ever.
They all sat down, the air thick with unspoken tension. Sam glanced at Richard, who gave her a slight, reassuring nod. She took a deep breath and decided to rip off the band-aid.
"I wanted you two to meet," she began, her voice measured. "Richard and I... we're getting married."
There was a moment of silence, a charged stillness that hung in the air. Jacob's expression didn't change, but Sam could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, quickly masked by his stoic demeanor.
"Married?" Jacob repeated, his voice low, as though he were testing the word.
Sam nodded, bracing herself for whatever came next.
Jacob leaned back slightly, his gaze shifting between Sam and Richard.
"That's a big step, Samantha," he said, his tone almost challenging. "Are you sure?"
Sam stiffened at the question, her defenses rising. "Yes, Dad. I'm sure."
Richard remained silent, letting Sam lead the conversation, but she could feel the tension radiating from him. He wasn't intimidated by Jacob, but he understood the gravity of the moment.
Jacob turned his attention to Richard, and there was a sharpness in his gaze now—one that made it clear this wasn't just a casual meeting.
"Colonel Harris," Jacob began, his voice dropping to that authoritative tone that commanded respect throughout his career. "I don't know you, and I don't pretend to know what kind of man you are. But I do know my daughter. And if you hurt her—" his eyes darkened slightly as he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low growl, "—I will find you. And I will make sure you regret it."
Sam flinched slightly, a mix of frustration and embarrassment coursing through her. "Dad—"
But Richard didn't miss a beat. He met Jacob's gaze head-on, his voice calm but firm.
"With all due respect, General, I would never hurt Sam. She's... everything to me."
Jacob's gaze lingered on Richard for a long moment as if weighing his words, testing his resolve. The silence was heavy, but Richard's sincerity finally seemed to break through.
Jacob leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You better mean that." His tone was still harsh, but there was something else there, too—a begrudging respect, maybe even a hint of acceptance.
Sam exhaled, relieved that the worst was over but still feeling the emotional weight of the encounter. She wasn't expecting a heartfelt reunion with her father. That had never been their relationship. But this—this small, awkward meeting—was at least something.
"Thank you for coming, Dad," she said softly, her voice carrying the unspoken hope that this might be the beginning of a bridge between them.
Jacob's eyes softened slightly as he looked at her.
"I just want you to be happy, Samantha." It was the closest thing to an admission of affection she had ever heard from him.
Richard reached for her hand under the table, gently squeezing it. Sam didn't have to look at him to know that he understood—this was as good as it would get with her father. And for now, that was enough.
At first, their marriage was full of the same passion and connection that had brought them together. But by 1995, things had changed. The demands of their careers, the pressures of their separate paths in the military, and the growing distance between their goals slowly drove a wedge between them.
What was once a relationship full of late-night conversations and shared dreams had become strained silences and missed opportunities. They were both ambitious and dedicated to their careers, and while that drive had initially brought them together, it was now pulling them apart.
One evening, after a long day of work, Sam sat at the kitchen table, staring at a glass of wine she hadn't touched. Richard walked in, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. They exchanged a brief look, but neither spoke. The weight of unspoken words hung between them.
Finally, Richard broke the silence.
"We need to talk."
Sam's stomach twisted. She knew what was coming, but hearing it aloud would hurt more than she expected.
"Yeah... we do."
Richard sat across from her, his expression somber.
"This isn't working, Sam. We're not the same people we were when we met."
Sam swallowed hard, fighting back the lump in her throat.
"I know." Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I still care about you," Richard continued, "but we live separate lives. We don't talk like we used to. We don't connect anymore."
Sam nodded, tears stinging her eyes.
"I still love you, Richard. But you're right. We've changed."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The love that had once burned brightly between them now felt like a distant memory, something both cherished but knew they couldn't salvage.
Finally, Richard reached out and took her hand.
"I think it's time we let go. Before we hurt each other more."
Sam nodded again, her heart breaking.
"Yeah... I think you're right."
They filed for divorce a week later.
Two years passed after the divorce. Sam had thrown herself into her work, focusing on her career in the Air Force and the newly discovered Stargate program. To her surprise, Richard continued his secretive work and joined the program. While he became leader of SG-3, Sam found herself as part of SG-1 under Colonel Jack O'Neill's command.
By 1997, their relationship had shifted from the tense aftermath of their divorce to something more familiar and comfortable. They had become friends again, respecting the other's career and maintaining a professional but friendly rapport whenever their paths crossed at the SGC.
Sam was determined to separate her career from Colonel Richard Harris, especially after it became common knowledge at SGC that they had been married.
She threw herself wholeheartedly into SG-1, channeling every ounce of her energy and passion into the team, even though her initial relationship with her commanding officer had been far from smooth. At first, they had clashed, their differing perspectives often leading to friction. Yet, as time passed, they learned to navigate their differences, forging an unbreakable bond with each mission, every close call, and the hard-earned trust they cultivated.
But just as her heart began to open to the possibility of new love, Jack O'Neill stepped into her life. His presence ignited feelings she hadn't anticipated, pulling her in with a magnetic attraction that excited and terrified her.
Suddenly, Sam found herself caught in a whirlwind of emotions, torn between the unwavering loyalty she felt for her team and the complicated desires that surged within her for her CO. It was a precarious balance, one that would challenge her in ways she never thought possible, forcing her to confront her deepest feelings while navigating the complexities of her professional life.
Colonel Jack O'Neill was no stranger to pain. He had endured his fair share of scrapes, bruises, bullet wounds, and broken bones throughout his long and distinguished career with the United States Air Force and the Stargate Program. A pulled muscle was hardly something to be concerned about, or so he thought.
It happened during a routine training exercise in the SGC gym. One wrong twist, one overzealous movement, and a sharp pain shot through his neck and down his back. He'd winced and cursed under his breath but said nothing. The injury wasn't immediately debilitating, just a dull, annoying ache that he'd expected would disappear in a few hours.
Except it didn't.
Over the next few days, the pain intensified. When General Hammond briefed SG-1 for their next mission, Jack could barely turn his head without feeling like someone was driving a hot poker into his shoulder. Naturally, he didn't mention this to anyone. The mission was necessary—establishing diplomatic relations with the inhabitants of P3X-479, a lush, green world that had potential for future off-world bases.
The MALP had shown no signs of danger. It was supposed to be an easy in-and-out—talk to the local leaders, secure trade agreements, and maybe even recruit allies in the ongoing fight against the Goa'uld. Jack had endured worse pain for more trivial missions. Besides, admitting weakness was not in his nature. He took some painkillers and geared up.
The Stargate's blue event horizon shimmered as SG-1 stepped through, Jack's jaw clenched against the sharp jab in his neck. He could manage this. He would manage this.
"You all right, Sir?" Major Samantha Carter asked, her gaze lingering on him a second longer than usual.
"Peachy, Carter," Jack replied, his voice tight but laced with his usual sarcasm. He glanced at Teal'c, who raised an eyebrow—Jack was sure that somehow, despite the stoic expression, the Jaffa knew something was off.
On the other side of the gate, the planet was as serene and picturesque as the MALP data had suggested. A rich canopy of trees covered the sky, and the air was fresh, with the sounds of distant birds echoing through the woods. For a while, everything seemed fine—too fine.
"See? Nice little field trip," Jack remarked, trying to keep the mood light despite the increasing discomfort in his neck. "Maybe we'll meet the friendly locals, swap recipes or something."
Ever the optimist, Daniel Jackson was already cataloging the flora and muttering excitedly about the planet's historical potential. Teal'c, as always, scanned their surroundings, calm but alert. Sam was leading the team, her eyes moving between her scanner and their path ahead. Jack had fallen slightly behind, hoping no one would notice he was avoiding sudden movements.
The village came into view, a peaceful cluster of thatched huts with villagers who welcomed them with cautious but friendly smiles. Things were going well—until they weren't.
It happened fast, as it always did. A patrol of Jaffa warriors, led by a minor Goa'uld, appeared from the tree line without warning. Blasts from staff weapons scorched the air, and SG-1 found themselves diving for cover.
Jack was in the middle of barking orders when his body betrayed him. The pain in his neck flared up just as he tried to dodge a staff blast. He couldn't turn his head fast enough. The bolt seared past him, missing by inches. Only Sam's sharp command and a well-placed shot took down the Jaffa that had nearly fried him.
By the time the dust settled, SG-1 had repelled the Jaffa, but not without cost. Jack sat by the campfire later that evening, his mood more subdued than usual. His neck throbbed, but worse than the physical pain was the knowledge that his injury had nearly gotten him killed—and possibly worse, it had endangered his team.
"Colonel, can I speak with you?" Sam's voice was quiet, but it had an unmistakable edge. She approached the fire, glancing at Teal'c and Daniel, who were busy cleaning their weapons and pretending not to notice the tension brewing.
"I'm all ears, Major," Jack replied, leaning back against a log, trying—and failing—to appear relaxed.
Sam hesitated momentarily before sitting beside him, her expression unreadable.
"I saw what happened today. You couldn't turn in time."
"Just a close call. Happens all the time," Jack said, his tone flippant. "Part of the job description, remember?"
Sam's eyes narrowed, and Jack knew he was in trouble.
"With all due respect, Sir, that wasn't just a close call. You're hurt."
Jack opened his mouth to retort but stopped when he saw the determination in her blue eyes. She wasn't going to let this go. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, wincing as he felt the familiar pain spike again.
"It's nothing. A pulled muscle, that's all. It'll go away."
"Except it hasn't," Sam pointed out, her voice soft but insistent. "You could have been killed today. We need you at 100%, and you're not. Let me help."
Jack stiffened, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading.
"Carter, it's just a muscle. I'll manage."
But Sam wasn't backing down.
"I'm the only one here with any medical training, and we'll be staying on this planet for a couple more days. I've treated these kinds of injuries before. I can help you, but only if you let me. Sir."
There was a long silence as the two stared at each other, the unspoken tension thick in the air. Jack knew she was right, but admitting it—especially to her—was another matter entirely. His gaze flicked over to Teal'c and Daniel, who were both pretending not to listen but waiting for the outcome of this standoff.
Jack sighed heavily.
"Fine. You win. But let's make this quick."
Daniel glanced up, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Quick, huh? I know firsthand how Sam's massages last, and I'm sure they will be purely professional."
Jack glared at him because he couldn't shoot him with his weapon.
"Shut up, Daniel."
Teal'c, ever the stoic, merely inclined his head in Jack's direction.
"It would be wise to accept Major Carter's assistance, O'Neill. She is indeed very professional."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Wise. Got it."
Sam stood up, gesturing toward the tent and trying to ignore the mockery.
"Inside, Sir. It'll give you some privacy."
The walk to the tent felt longer than it was. Jack's mind was racing, the dull ache in his neck now accompanied by the uncomfortable realization that Carter would soon be massaging that injury. And while they'd been through more dangerous, intimate situations together, this felt different. The gossip, rules, and unspoken feelings between them—everything about this situation was a minefield.
Once inside the tent, Jack unbuttoned his shirt, his movements slow and stiff. He could feel Carter's presence behind him, her silence speaking volumes. When he finally pulled the shirt off, he turned slightly, catching her nervous expression.
"Relax, Carter. It's just a massage. Not like you're doing surgery or anything."
Her cheeks flushed slightly, but she gave him a small smile.
"Right. Just a massage."
From outside, Daniel's voice floated into the tent.
"Oh, I'm sure it's just a massage."
Jack groaned. "Daniel!"
Teal'c's deep voice followed. "Indeed."
Inside the tent, the air felt thick with tension, heavier than the humid night outside. Jack sat cross-legged on the thin mat, shirt off, back to Carter, his body as stiff as his military demeanor. Sam knelt behind him, her hands hovering hesitantly over his bare shoulders, unsure where to start. The peppermint oil moved from one hand to the other like a tennis ball.
"You okay back there, Carter?" Jack asked, trying for humor, but his voice carried the weight of unspoken nerves.
Sam swallowed, then forced herself to focus.
"Yes, Sir. Just… planning the best approach."
"Approach? It's a massage, not a tactical strike."
Sam smiled despite herself and finally placed her hands on his shoulders. The muscles beneath her fingers were knotted tight, tense not just from the injury but from Jack's inherent reluctance to be vulnerable, especially around her. She applied a generous amount of oil and then began to press into his shoulders, her touch firm but careful. She could feel his body bracing as if he was readying himself for a battle.
"Relax, Colonel," she said softly, her thumbs working toward his neck. "If you keep tensing up, this will take longer."
Jack shifted slightly, letting out a long breath.
"Relaxing's not really in my job description, Carter."
Sam's hands paused briefly before continuing their careful work.
"No, I suppose not. But if you want to get back to full strength, you're going to have to trust me on this."
"I trust you," Jack said quietly, surprising both of them. His voice had lost its usual edge, leaving the statement's truth hanging between them. Sam's hands faltered briefly, but she quickly refocused on the task.
Her fingers moved to the base of his neck, where the tension was at its worst. Jack winced as she pressed her thumbs into the tight muscles, a sharp breath escaping through his teeth.
"Sorry," Sam muttered, though her hands didn't stop. "It's pretty bad here. You should've said something sooner. Janet should have checked you before we've left."
Jack grunted.
"I didn't think it was that bad. And thank you very much, but I prefer to stay away from Doctor "needles" Fraiser."
Sam bit her lip to hide a smile.
"Right. Until you couldn't turn your head and almost got shot." Her voice hinted at reproach, but it was softened by genuine concern.
Jack exhaled slowly, and momentarily, their silence felt… different. Sam could feel it too, the way their usual banter gave way to something more personal, something they both worked hard to avoid.
"You always were too stubborn for your good," Sam said, her voice light, but she couldn't completely mask the care behind her words.
Jack tilted his head slightly toward her, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"You calling me stubborn, Carter?"
She gave a small laugh, her fingers kneading more deeply into his shoulder blades.
"Well, Sir, I'm just saying you might want to listen to me occasionally, especially regarding injuries like this. Or stick to Janet."
Before Jack could reply, the tent flap rustled, and Daniel's voice drifted in from outside.
"How's the 'relaxation therapy' going in there?"
Jack rolled his eyes, even though Daniel couldn't see it.
"Fine, Daniel. Just fine."
Teal'c's deep voice followed Daniel's, unhurried and serious as always.
"Major Carter's treatments are most effective, O'Neill. You should allow her to continue uninterrupted."
Jack muttered, "You've both had your turns, huh?"
From outside, Daniel's amused reply came.
"Well, Teal'c more than me. He's built like a tank, so, you know… more knots to work out."
Jack snorted, unable to suppress a grin.
"Glad I'm getting the same deluxe treatment."
Sam, who had been working her way deeper into the muscles of Jack's neck, suddenly felt the tension rise again—not in his muscles but between them. She was acutely aware of every inch of bare skin beneath her hands, of the warmth of his body so close to hers, and that they were alone in a confined space. They'd always managed to navigate their feelings through sarcastic banter, professional distance, and the ever-present barrier of military regulations. But here, in the dimly lit tent, those barriers felt more fragile.
Sam's voice softened, growing more personal despite herself.
"You really should take better care of yourself, Sir. We need you out here." She tried to keep it professional, but her tone sounded more like "I need you."
Jack didn't miss the undertone, but he knew better than to respond directly. Instead, he shifted the conversation, his voice lighter, though with that familiar undercurrent of something more profound.
"What would I do without you, Carter? Probably be a pile of broken bones by now."
"That's not funny," Sam murmured, her hands still working with practiced precision but her mind clearly on something else. The moment hung between them, loaded with things they couldn't say.
"Hey, lighten up," Jack said, trying to ease the tension he could feel building again. "I'm just saying, you've patched me up more times than I can count. What's one more?"
Sam's fingers slowed momentarily, pressing into the tender spot near his neck with a careful but firm touch. Jack flinched slightly, but he didn't pull away.
"It's different this time," she whispered before she could stop herself. Realizing what she'd said, she quickly added, "I mean, we're still on a mission. You need to be at your best."
Jack felt the shift, the unspoken things hanging between them like the weight of a loaded weapon neither dared to fire.
"Yeah, well… you're right," he replied, his voice unusually quiet. "We've still got work to do."
The professional tone snapped back into place, like a shield they both needed. Sam nodded, even though he couldn't see her.
"Hold still. Almost done."
She worked through the last of the knots in silence, her fingers expertly moving over the strained muscles until she could feel them relax under her touch. Jack's body finally started to ease, the tension slowly draining from him as Sam finished. But while his muscles were less tight, something else lingered between them—unresolved, unspoken.
Outside the tent, Daniel's voice broke the silence again.
"So, is it fixed yet? Or should we be worried?"
Jack chuckled, his voice laced with sarcasm.
"All patched up, Danny boy. No need to worry."
Teal'c added, "O'Neill will require rest to recover fully. It would be wise for him to heed Major Carter's advice."
Jack gave a heavy sigh.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm resting." He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Sam, who was already packing away her gear. "Thanks, Carter."
Sam looked up, her eyes meeting his for a moment longer than necessary.
"Just doing my job, Sir."
But they both knew it was more than that. They always did.
As Jack pulled his shirt back on, the familiar weight of his responsibility settled back onto his shoulders, but something else stayed with him, too—a quiet reminder of the line they couldn't cross. Sam stood, smoothing her uniform, the moment behind them, but the tension still hovering in the air.
Daniel's voice carried one last time from outside the tent, laced with a grin.
"Glad you're not dying, Jack. Sam's got enough on her plate without babysitting you."
Jack rolled his eyes but couldn't help the smirk.
"Thanks, Daniel. Really appreciate the concern."
Teal'c, as always, added the final word: "Indeed."
The mission continued, but two members of SG-1 felt a little less relaxed than the others.