The morning sun glistened over the water, casting soft ripples across the dock where Sam and Jack had settled in for their fishing expedition. It was warm and quiet, the kind of peace Sam had imagined when she'd first proposed this new "therapy." And to her surprise, it seemed to be working—Jack had started talking, but not about his usual guarded topics. She had decided to keep things simple and friendly, not venturing into anything too personal, letting him lead. All she did was ask about fishing.

"So, Jack," she began casually, casting her line again, "how did you get into fishing?"

Jack leaned back, stretching his legs and gazing over the water as he pulled out another small fish and tossed it into his nearly full bucket.

"Well, I wasn't always the angling expert you see before you," he joked, giving her a slight grin. "Started when I was a kid. I didn't have a lot back then, so whenever my dad could get time off, he'd take me out to the lake near our place in Chicago. Just… us, the rods, and nothing else to worry about."

There was a warm look in his eyes, one she hadn't seen before, and she found herself smiling.

"Sounds like it left a good impression on you."

"Yeah," he said, nodding as he cast his line again. "It was the only time I felt like… everything slowed down, you know? The world could be falling apart, but none seemed to matter on the water." He paused, glancing at her. "Guess that stuck with me."

She nodded thoughtfully, and when he turned his attention back to his fishing, she let out a breath, feeling she was finally making a small breakthrough.

"Do you still go fishing often?"

"Whenever I can," he replied, keeping his eyes on the water. "Got a cabin up in Minnesota, right on a lake. I go there when I need to escape everything: no cell service, no people—just me and the fish. You should try it sometime, Doc. Best therapy around."

She laughed softly. "Maybe I will."

The hours drifted by, with him continuing to talk about his fishing trips, cabin, and how he'd once accidentally hooked a hat out of the water, claiming it was the best catch he'd ever made. Sam listened with rapt attention, completely absorbed. Jack's guard was down for onceandseemed almost… happy.

But as the sun climbed higher, Sam could feel its heat bearing down on her. Her skin tingled, the heat prickling her shoulders and arms, but she pushed the discomfort away. This was about Jack, not her, and she didn't want to break the flow of conversation. He had already talked about his father, some glimpses of his childhood, which was much more than she had expected. So she stayed quiet, even as her face began to feel like it was on fire, the warmth turning to an intense, unmistakable burn.

Jack was still talking, his tone light, sharing an anecdote about catching his first fish with his father, when Sam's vision started to blur. Her fingers grew slightly numb, and she suddenly felt parched, as if the sun had drained all the moisture from her body. She slowly placed her fishing rod and opened the cooler, fumbling for a water bottle. She managed to drink some, her face flushed and hot, but even as she drank, she felt the world start to tilt a little.

She wet her face with the remaining water, hoping it would bring relief, but the burn felt embedded in her skin. Damn, she thought, blinking against the blurred edges of her vision. She hadn't brought sunscreen, and her fair skin was taking the full brunt. But she kept quiet, unwilling to interrupt Jack's rare openness.

It wasn't until her silence stretched on a little too long that Jack noticed. He glanced over mid-sentence, only to see her flushed, red skin and a pained expression she couldn't hide.

"Wait—didn't you put on sunscreen?" he asked, his voice sharp with concern.

Sam swallowed, wincing at the dry ache in her throat.

"Uh… no. Forgot that part," she admitted weakly.

Jack cursed under his breath, setting his rod down and standing up.

"Let's go. You're burning up, and you need to see a doctor."

She tried to wave him off, chuckling, though it came out weak.

"Don't be dramatic, Colonel. It's… just a little sun," she said, attempting to stand. But as she did, her vision spun, and her knees wobbled. She would have toppled straight into the water if he hadn't caught her by the arm.

"Jesus, woman," he muttered, his voice laced with worry and frustration. "We're leaving. Now!"

Without another word, he practically carried her off the dock, one arm around her waist as he led her to her car. He helped her into the passenger seat, buckling her in before tossing the fishing gear into the trunk, fish and all. Then, he climbed into the driver's seat, starting the engine with a controlled urgency.

As he reversed out of the lot, he cast her a sideways look, a slight smirk breaking through his worry.

"I take it you fish a lot, Doc?"

She closed her eyes, feeling the throb of the burn on her arms and face.

"Actually, I used to… with my father."

The last word was barely out of her mouth before she drifted into unconsciousness, leaving Jack stunned for a moment. He hadn't expected that—hadn't expected her to say anything about herself at all.

Figures, he thought, shaking his head as he sped toward the nearest hospital. Leave it to Dr. Carter to open up when she's half out of her mind with sunstroke.

He took the roads quickly but safely, glancing at her every few minutes to ensure she was still breathing easily. She looked so different like this—her usual sharpness and control melted away, replaced with vulnerability and the soft flush of sunburn. He found himself studying her, noticing things he hadn't before. The slight freckles on her nose, the way her hair fell just slightly out of place… details that didn't fit the image of the rigid, unyielding Dr. Carter he knew from her office.

When they reached the hospital, Jack pulled up to the entrance and, after helping her out, got her admitted for a severe sunburn. As she was wheeled back into a room, still half-conscious, he found himself pacing the waiting room, unable to shake the strange, unexpected worry gnawing at him. The whole trip had gone completely sideways, but part of him couldn't ignore thathe'd spent a morning talking freely for the first time in a long while. It was as if the dock, the sun, the gentle sounds of the water—all of it had pulled something loose in himlike she had managed to take him back to Minnesota and his cabin.

After a while, the doctor reassured him that she'd be fine. After sunburn treatment and IV fluids, she'd return to her usual self.

Eventually, Jack was allowed to go in and see her. He pulled up a chair beside the bed where she lay, eyes still closed but breathing evenly, her skin already looking less flushed. He found himself chuckling under his breath, shaking his head.

"Next time, Doc," he murmured, "bring sunscreen."

Sam stirred awake as the sun set over the hospital, her face and arms prickling from the burn. The sterile white of the IV tube caught her eye as she focused, her mind hazy.

"What… happened?" she murmured.

Jack's voice was low, steady as he answered, "You got a sunburn, Doc. Didn't bring any sunscreen."

With a slight frown, she shifted, trying to sit up. "I'd like to see the doctor."

Jack nodded, getting to his feet.

"Be right back." He stepped out into the hall, and minutes later, a doctor entered, a calm presence as he approached her bedside.

"Dr. Carter, I'm Dr. Aldridge. You'll be alright—severe sunburn and mild dehydration. We've given you fluids, pain relievers, and a cooling cream to help reduce the inflammation. You must stay hydrated and take it easy for a few days. And, in the future, sunscreen's non-negotiable," he added with a gentle smile.

Sam nodded, appreciating the clarity. "Thank you, Dr. Aldridge."

She glanced past the doctor as Jack returned, arms crossed. Dr. Aldridge gave Jack a nod, then turned to her.

"Let the nurse know if you need anything further. You're free to go as soon as you're ready."

Jack was silent as he led her out to her car. She leaned back into the seat with a sigh, exhaustion weighing heavily. They drove through the city in comfortable silence, and the familiar outline of Georgetown soon came into view. When Jack pulled up in front of her townhouse, he hesitated.

"This is it?" he asked, taking in the neatly kept, understated building. He followed her as she unlocked the door, taking in the cool simplicity inside. The townhouse was almost military in its minimalism—neutral tones, carefully placed furniture, and immaculate order. Each room seemed more meticulously organized than the last.

Sam noticed Jack glancing around, and she finally asked, "Want a tour?"

He looked at her, expression inscrutable.

"If you're up for it, sure."

She led him through the living room, office, gym, and kitchen, each space reflecting her neatness and penchant for structure. They finally reached her bedroom, the last stop, where she turned, eyebrow arched.

"I'm fine, Colonel. Really, you don't need to stay."

He brushed off her attempt to dismiss him, his eyes drifting around her room. The space was minimal, meticulously ordered—just like her. A simple bed with crisp ivory sheets was perfectly aligned against the wall, its clean lines and neutral tones echoing the theme of controlled simplicity he'd noticed throughout her home. The room was sparsely decorated, with no clutteror personal items. There were no photos, no small trinkets or keepsakes that spoke of family or friends, no hint of a life beyond the pristine space he found himself in.

However, the large canvas mounted on the wall above her bed caught his eye. It was an abstract painting, strikingly familiar yet distinctly different from the one in her office. Bold, sweeping lines arched across the canvas, painted in dark, somber shades—deep blues, sharp charcoal, and muted grays that bled together like storm clouds caught in perpetual motion. Despite its abstract nature, the piece conveyed an intensity, a sense of tension that seemed to pulse from the colors themselves.

Jack tilted his head, studying it more closely. Something was haunting about it, a feeling that lingered on the edge of recognition. It was as if, hidden within those sweeping lines, therewas an unresolved conflict, a story he couldn't quite decipher but could almost feel. It struck him as both powerful and oddly personal, as though the artist had somehow captured an echo of something deeply buried.

He glanced back at Sam, who was watching him with a guarded expression, her arms crossed.

"You have a thing for abstract art," he observed, his tone soft, almost curious.

She nodded, her gaze flicking to the canvas, a hint of something unreadable flashing in her eyes.

"It… speaks to me," she repliedquietly. "Abstract art can hold things that words can't—it allows room for interpretation, for understanding without having to define everything."

Jack nodded slowly, a new awareness settling over him. This wasn't just a painting on her wall; it was a reflection of her, of the complexity she kept tightly coiled beneath her professional demeanor. The absence of photos and personal items might have suggested a carefully crafted image of detachment. Still, the painting betrayed something more—something restlessand unresolved, just like the swirling shapes and shadows on the canvas.

"Does it mean something to you?" he ventured, glancing back at her.

She hesitated, her fingers brushing her still-heated arm absently as though considering her answer.

"Maybe," she murmured, her gaze fixed on the painting. "Or maybe it just… reflects things that I don't always understand myself." Her voice softened, and for a moment, he saw a glimpse of vulnerability, a crack in the cool, collected facade she always wore.

In that instant, Jack felt the distance between them narrow. This wasn't the distant, reserved Dr. Carter he faced in therapy sessions—this was Sam, a woman with her layersand hidden depths. And just as she studied and unraveled others' minds, he realized she, too, wrestled with things kept carefully beneath the surface, truths only hinted at in shadows and brushstrokes.

"It's beautiful," he said softly, his eyes returning to the painting. "Complicated… but beautiful."

Their gazes met, and he saw her lips part slightly as though she wanted to respond but couldn't quite find the words. The silence between them was thick, layered with unspoken emotions that neither was ready to confront yet.

As he helped her settle in, Jack's eyes lingered on a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice on the nightstand—the only personal touch amid the order. He closed the door softly, his steps deliberate as he left. That knot in his stomach had returned, sharper than ever. As he climbed into the taxi he had called and drove back to his hotel, he couldn't shake the thought that Sam's home, despite its perfection, hinted at a solitude he hadn't expected.

That impression stayed with him as he fell asleep that night, haunting him like an unfinished thought.

The soft glow of a Sunday morning cast a warm haze over Sam's room as she indulged in the rare luxury of staying in bed. Her body still ached from the sunburn, a dull reminder of yesterday's unexpected outing, but the quiet was calming. She rolled over, ready to drift back to sleep, when her doorbell's sharp, persistent ringingshattered the tranquility.

Barely awake, Sam sat up, rubbing her eyes. Who on earth would be at her door this early and with such urgency? She pulled herself out of bed, wincing as the sting of the sunburn flared with each movement. Her usual composure was far from intact as she padded toward the door, wearing only a sheer black nightgown that clung lightly to her skin. She didn't even think to grab a robe—too exhausted to process that she wouldn't be alone entirely.

Swinging the door open, she blinked against the harsh morning sunlight to see Colonel Jack O'Neill standing on her doorstep, looking remarkably awake and holding a large box in one hand. He gave her that roguish half-smile she'd come to recognize, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"Hi. Feeling better?" he asked, a trace of amusement in his voice.

Sam squinted, bewildered.

"What…what are you doing here?" She rubbed her eyes again, trying to confirm that this was real and not some strange post-sunburn delirium.

Unperturbed, Jack stepped past her into the house, not even waiting for an invitation.

"Brought you breakfast," he said casually, his eyes taking in her minimalist living room. He scanned the area as if trying to remember where her kitchen was, entirely at ease in her space.

Sam shook her head, still dazed, trying to regain her bearings.

"What?" she asked again, her brain finally catching up. She hadn't expected to see anyone this morning, much less Jack O'Neill, and much less while she was half-asleep and standing in her doorway in a flimsy nightgown.

He was already halfway to the kitchen, eyeing her coffee machine like a man on a mission.

"You've got time to change, Doc," he called back, glancing over his shoulder with a crooked smile that seemed to widen as he finally took in her outfit.

Sam blinked at herself, the full realization of her attire (or lack thereof) hitting her in a delayed wave of mortification. Heat rose to her cheeks as she met his knowing gaze.

"I…uh, I'll be right back," she mumbled, retreating as gracefully as she could, trying to cover herself as she quickly disappeared down the hall to her bedroom.

Jack chuckled, setting the donut box on her kitchen counter. Nightgowns and heels…hot damn, he thought, barely concealing a grin. He found her coffee machine, hit the brew button, and then leaned back, taking in the crisp orderliness of her home. It was a beautiful space, immaculate and refined, just like her. But as he stood there, he couldn't help but feel that the perfection and cool color palette only highlighted something else: quietness and solitude. The woman was brilliant, accomplished, and possibly the most put-together person he knew—but standing here, Jack saw that her life was as perfectly contained as her townhouse, as if nothing was allowed to disrupt its order. Or maybe…nobody.

He popped the lid of the donut box, and the sweet scent wafted up. Grabbing a glazed one, he took a bite, leaning against the counter as he waited. A few minutes later, footsteps sounded down the hallway, and Sam reappeared, dressed in a soft, fitted sweater and jeans. Her cheeks still carried a trace of pink as she approached him.

"So…" she started, crossing her arms in mock exasperation, "you just thought you'd show up and, what, make yourself at home?"

Jack shrugged, completely unbothered.

"Pretty much. Figured you'd be hungry and didn't want you passing out on me again," he said with a smirk, pouring her a steaming cup of coffee. "Besides, I told you I'd check on you."

She shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"You do realize most people would call first?"

He handed her the coffee, unfazed.

"Ah, where's the fun in that?" He watched her take a sip, his gaze lingering longer than intended. "Besides, you looked like you could use a break."

She laughed softly, setting the cup down.

"Right. Because donuts are just what the doctor ordered."

Jack's expression softened as he met her eyes.

"You don't really get a chance to stop, do you?"

The question caught her off guard; it washonesty catching her defenses before she could raise them. Her gaze dropped to the countertop, and she shrugged lightly, her voice softer than before.

"Sometimes, I guess. It's hard to…switch off."

He nodded, understanding that better than he could explain. There was something unspoken between them, the quiet acknowledgment of two people who both knew the weight of responsibilities that rarely left room for anything—or anyone—else.

"Then consider today a forced break," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "I'll even let you pick which donuts to start with."

Her eyes flicked to the box, the aroma of sugar and coffee filling the kitchen.

"Well, in that case…" she murmured, reaching for a donut and taking a small, indulgent bite.

The sweetness was unexpected, almost decadent, a treat she rarely allowed herself. She hardly ever ate sugar, but after the past few days, a little indulgence felt more than justified. As she savored the soft, sugary warmth, she felt a sense of calm settle over her, a quiet reprieve from the exhaustion lingering from her sunburn. Somehow, Jack's easy presence made it feel all the more comforting. Smiling, she reached for the box, deciding one more bite wouldn't hurt.

Jack sat across from her, grabbing another donut, but his eyes wandered around the room as he took in every detail of her meticulously ordered life. The shelves held neatly stacked books that appeared new and unused, her countertops spotless, everything perfectly aligned. But beneath the flawless surface, he sensed something else—something quieter, almost lonely. Sam Carter, he realized, might have a few carefully concealed cracks of her own.

A comfortable silence settled between them as they finished breakfast, each of them quietly lost in thought. After a while, Sam leaned back, crossing her arms with a smirk.

"So, you do this for all your sunburned doctors?"

Jack grinned, his eyes twinkling.

"Just the ones who make it entertaining. And you're a tough act to follow."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was warm, her usual reserve giving way to something softer.

"I don't think I'll be rushing back to fishing anytime soon," she admitted.

They spent the next hour like that, sipping coffee and trading stories over donuts in her kitchen. Jack seemed uncharacteristically relaxed, and Sam found herself laughing more than she had in weeks, her usual reserve forgotten as he teased her about her fishing "technique."

"I didn't think you were serious about taking me fishing," he said, shaking his head.

Sam's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Sometimes you have to try new things. And hey, you showed up."

Jack smile. "I did, but I didn't forget to put sunscreen," he said.

"Oh, don't remind me." She smiled ruefully, glancing at her arms and then back at him. "Next time, I'll be better prepared."

He paused, his gaze lingering on her with a warmth that made her feel suddenly self-conscious. "Next time," he echoed softly.

As he got up to rinse his coffee cup, he glanced around her pristine kitchen again.

"Doc, you really know how to keep things…in order."

She met his gaze, a little sheepish but resolute.

"It helps me think. You know, keeps things manageable."

Jack nodded, drying his hands on a towel, but he sensed the weight behind her words, something that went deeper than mere tidiness. And as he headed toward the door, a thought lingered in his mind. Maybe Dr. Samantha Carter's perfectly ordered life wasn't as invulnerable as she liked to believe.

"Take it easy today, Doc," he said as he left. "And remember next time? Sunscreen."

She laughed slightly, leaning against the doorframe.

"Duly noted, Colonel. Thanks…for everything."

Jack tipped a casual salute, giving her one last lingering look before he stepped out into the morning. And as he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to see a side of her that no one else had.

As the door clicked shut behind Jack, the silence of the townhouse enveloped Sam, settling around her with a weight she hadn't noticed before. She stood in the entryway for a long moment, staring at the door as if it could somehow explain the sudden shift she felt within herself. Then, slowly, she returned to the living room, sinking into the couch. The soft leather felt cool against her still-warm skin, a reminder of yesterday's impulsive outing—an outing that had seemed harmless but now felt laden with something she couldn't easily define.

Her gaze drifted absently to the coffee cup on the table. Jack O'Neill had just spent a Sunday morning in her home, making coffeeandsharing donuts, and for a tiny, precious hour, she'd felt a sense of ease she hadn't allowed herself in years. Her life had always been carefully segmented: work was work, home was home, and her role as a psychiatrist was the most assertive boundary, a shield she wielded against the emotional entanglements her job could provoke. But Jack was slowly unraveling those boundaries, and she was struggling to understand why.

She pressed her fingers to her temples, closing her eyes. This was not her. Sam Carter didn't let patients into her home. She didn't accept donuts and coffee on a Sunday morning, certainly not from someone whose file sat in her office, laden with classified redactions and guarded by the heaviest emotional barriers. She'd met complex cases before—she often welcomed them—but none had ever left her feeling… unmoored.

It was her duty to remain impartialanddetached. Her role was to help guide Jack back to stability, not to view him through the strange, shifting lens she'd felt herself peering through today. As she sat alone in the quiet of her home, a truth she didn't want to face rose to the surface: her curiosity toward him quickly became personal, driven not only by professional concern but by a feeling she couldn't name, an urge to know him. To really know him.

Sam moved through her day with a mounting sense of turmoil as the hours ticked by. She tried to readand lose herself in work, but every thought seemed to loop back to the past two days' events. She could still see his easy smile as he leaned against her kitchen counter, the glint in his eye when he'd teased her about sunscreen, andthe surprising gentleness in his gaze when he'd checked in on her before leaving. Her cheeks flushed anew at the memory, and she immediately reprimanded herself. This was her patient, not a… friend. Not a person she could allow herself to see in any other way.

But the more she tried to suppress her feelings, the stronger they seemed to grow, each thought peeling back a layer of her carefully built restraint. And underlying it all was a single, troubling thought she could no longer deny: she was drawn to himin a way that could not, under any circumstances, be allowed to continue.

She needed to regain control, to bring their sessions back to the structure she'd built her career upon, free from the unpredictable familiarity that had begun to seep into their interactions. Her mind flashed to the fishing trip—the moment she'd felt a thrill of anticipation at spending time with him, a thrill that had nothing to do with therapy. Her impulse to invite him hadn't been purely professional, and she knew it. Yet it was too late to reverse what had happened, and even if she could, she wasn't sure she'd want to.

The realization left her hollowand unsettled. She'd kept her personal life cleanly divided from her practice all these years. But Jack had somehow slipped through, drawing her out of her usual, safe detachment. It had only been two sessions, yet she felt her neutrality slipping as though she were perched on a precipice, staring down at the possibility of losing her professionalism and crossing into dangerous, unfamiliar territory.

What terrified her the most was the realization that she didn't want to stop. Because passing him on to a colleague, disengaging from his case meant relinquishing her chance of comprehending him—the man beyond the file, who concealed himself behind sarcasm and a carefree attitude. She knew that was what she should do, professionally and ethically. But in her heart, she didn't want to let go.

For the rest of the day, Sam moved from one room to another, restless, unable to shake the unsettling questions that haunted her. Was it attraction? Curiosity? Or was she projecting, seeing something in him that she was missing in her own life? She pressed her hand lightly against her forehead, feeling the coolness of her fingers against her skin, and tried to clear her mind. But every thought circled back to him: his voice, smile, infuriating stubbornness, and the faint, undeniable sense of connection between them.

Meanwhile, across town, Jack also spent his afternoon thinking of her. He knew he should have felt relieved that he'd made it through another session. Yet here he was, finding himself eager to see her again. And it wasn't just about the therapy. Sure, he'd resisted the process initially, but something about Sam Carter intrigued him in a way he hadn't felt in years. Her intensity, calm intelligence, and how she challenged him without ever fully backing down drew him in, sparking a strange sense of anticipation. It was more than just a professional relationship; there was an undeniable mutual attraction.

He hadn't meant to drop by that morning. It had been a whim, a split-second decision he hadn't thought through. But as he'd stood in her doorway, watching her emerge in that black nightgown, the vulnerability of it, the softness, he'd felt a sudden rush of… something he couldn't define. He'd laughed it off, calling it breakfast, but the truth was, he wanted to see her again, wanted to understand why she seemed to look at him like he was more than just another patient.

Jack found himself strangely energized as the sun began to set. A sense of possibility stirred within him. Maybe, just maybe, this whole therapy thing wasn't so bad. He smirked, tossing back another sip of coffee, his thoughts drifting to their next session. Therapy or not, he couldn't deny he was looking forward to spending more time with Doctor Samantha Carter.