The first few hours of playing nurse to Sam Carter were enough for Jack to learn one thing: she was about as stubborn when sick as she was when perfectly healthy. He wasn't surprised, but that didn't make it any easier.

After coaxing her into drinking half the cup of tea and ensuring she took the cold medicine, he figured she'd finally settled down enough to sleep. But barely an hour later, she was up again, looking slightly disoriented as she fumbled around the kitchen.

"Sam, what are you doing?" Jack's voice was a mixture of exasperation and concern as he entered the kitchen, catching her mid-sway as she reached for a glass. She was paler now, with bright, fevered cheeksand eyes unfocused.

"I was…getting water," she mumbled, her voice rasping painfully.

"You have water," Jack replied, pointing at the nearly full glass on the counter beside her. "And you need to be lying down."

She sighed, casting him a look that probably would've held more authority if she wasn't leaning on the counter for balance.

"Jack, I'm fine. I just need to...catch up on some things."

"Catch up?" he echoed, incredulous. "With a fever over a hundred? I don't think so. Back to the couch, Carter."

"Or what? You'll court-martial me?" she shot back, her voice losing its edge as she let out a muffled cough.

Jack crossed his arms, smirking slightly.

"Tempting, but no, since you're not military. I'll just stand here and look really disappointed until you give in. I'm known for my persistence."

Rolling her eyes, she started back toward the couch, muttering under her breath, "You're unbelievable."

Jack followed close behind, shaking his head.

"Look, you're the one who says I need to follow orders. So now it's your turn to take mine."

Sam sank back into the couch, mumbling something unintelligible as she pulled the blanket around her shoulders. Jack poured another cup of tea, adding more ginger and honey, and handed it to her. She accepted it with a reluctant nod.

"Better," he said, watching her take a sip. "Now, how about some rest?"

"I'm trying," she said, her voice muffled by the blanket. "But you hovering doesn't help."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Hovering? If I weren't here, you'd be out in the cold picking up the mail, trying to analyze patient files, or something equally ridiculous. Someone has to keep you in check."

"Fine," she muttered, barely holding her eyes open. "I'll rest. But I don't need…babysitting."

"Too bad," Jack replied, grabbing a chair and pulling it close to the couch. "Because it's not just babysitting. This is a mission."

She blinked, managing a half-smile.

"Since when did taking care of your sick doctor qualify as a mission?"

"Since it became the only way to get back out there," he said lightly but with an undertone of truth that she couldn't ignore.

A few hours later, Jack noticed her forehead glistening with sweat, and her skin was flushed a deep red. He reached over, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead, his heart beating faster as he felt the burning heat. Her fever wasn't going down—it was spiking.

"Carter, you're on fire," he said, pulling his hand back and reaching for his phone.

"Don't call anyone," she rasped, her voice barely audible. She tried to sit up, but the effort only seemed to drain her more.

"Then let me do something," he replied, his tone insistent. "Ice packs, a cold shower, whatever it takes to bring this down."

She shook her head weakly.

"I'll be…fine. Just…need to ride it out."

Jack wasn't convinced. He was no medicbutknew a dangerous fever when he saw one.

"No. You're getting some treatment, even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming."

She gave him a look that was almost a glare. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I would," he replied, with a grin that was more grim determination than amusement. "Now, stay put."

Ignoring her weak protests, Jack left the room, heading straight for the bathroom. He turned on the cold water in the bathtub, testing the temperature with his hand before grabbing a couple of towels. Once satisfied, he returned to the living room, where Sam was trying—and failing—to push herselfoff the couch.

"Alright, Carter," he said firmly, looping one of her arms over his shoulders. "If you're not going to help willingly, then I'm enforcing my own protocol."

She mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a curse but didn't have the strength to pull away. Jack carefully helped her into the bathroom and seated her on the tub's edge, one hand steadying her as she leaned heavily against him.

"Jack, this is…ridiculous," she managed, her voice barely more than a whisper as he dipped one of the towels in the cold water.

"Ridiculous is the fact that you think you can beat this by sheer stubbornness," he replied, wringing out the towel. "Now, hold still."

With surprising gentleness, he draped the cool towel across her forehead and another over the back of her neck. She shivered, but the relief was immediate, and she relaxed slightly, her breathing becoming easier.

"See? Not so bad," he said, his tone a mix of teasing and concern.

She rolled her eyes faintly, but there was no fire behind it.

"Only you would treat a cold like a special op."

"Well, I had to improvise," he said, kneeling beside her, his gaze serious. "Because you've got a fever high enough to worry a seasoned soldier."

They stayed like that for a few minutes, the silence broken only by her uneven breathing. She closed her eyes, letting the coolness from the towels seep into her, and Jack kept a close watch, refreshing the towels as soon as they warmed. After a while, her breathing deepened, and she seemed to drift into a more restful state, her body finally starting to cool.

But he wasn't letting his guard down just yet. When she finally opened her eyes, she looked at him with a tired but grateful smile, and he felt the tension in his chest ease just a bit.

"Thanks, Jack," she whispered, her voice softer than he'd ever heard.

He shrugged, brushing it off with a smirk.

"Anytime, Carter. It's not every day I get to boss you around."

She laughed weakly, barely more than a breath, and shook her head.

"Enjoy it while you can. When I'm better, you get a full report on boundaries."

"Good," he replied with a grin. "By then, I'll have you up to speed and back to work."

As the night wore on, he stayed close, swapping out the towels as her fever began to break. He was determined to see her through every stubborn, feverish step of the way—because if there was one mission Jack O'Neill didn't intend to fail, it was this one.

The following day, Jack found himself exactly where he'd spent most of the night: slumped in an armchair near the couch, his arms folded as he kept a close watch on Sam. Despite her protests and glares, he'd stayed put, unwilling to risk leaving her fever unchecked. His stubbornness had paid off; though she still looked pale and drawn, her breathing was steadier, and her fever seemed to have finally broken.

Jack glanced at his watch and, realizing it was late morning, decided to risk waking her up with another dose of cold medicine and some tea. He slipped into the kitchen, setting the kettle on, and took a deep breath. Being here—taking care of her like this—it felt natural and strange at once as if they were two friends passing the time in a storm. But something more had begun to creep in as he watched her sleep, as he took the time to care for her. Something that both excited and terrified him.

When the tea was ready, he returned to find her blinking up at him, her eyes squinting against the morning light. He offered her a small smile.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Carter."

She tried to sit up, but he stepped in, easing her up and propping a pillow behind her back.

"Jack, really," she mumbled, clearly irritated. "I'm not an invalid. I don't need…" But her voice trailed off, betraying her fatigue.

"Uh-huh. Sure you don't," he replied, passing her the cup. "Now, drink up. Doctor's orders."

She raised an eyebrow at him, managing a small, wry smile.

"You're not a doctor, Colonel."

"Nope, but I know a thing or two about field care. And if there's one thing I learned, it's how to handle stubborn patients who insist they're fine." He grinned, watching her reluctantly sip the tea.

She sighed, clearly resigned to his help, though her expression still held a spark of defiance.

"You can't just...keep hovering over me," she said, voice faintly exasperated. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Clearly," he said dryly. "That's why you were barely conscious last night with a fever that could've lit up half of D.C."

She rolled her eyes, coughing a little as she tried to sip her tea.

"You're relentless."

He shrugged, his tone casual but his gaze warm.

"So I've been told."

They sat in companionable silence, broken only by the soft sounds of her sipping tea. But as her eyes drifted closed again, Jack felt the tug of something else—a protectiveness that went far beyond duty. How she looked, her defenses finally down, her vulnerability so openly displayed shook him. He wasn't supposed to feel this way, not about her. But the reality hit him with a clarity he couldn't deny: he was falling in love with her.

Badly.

Pushing the thought aside, he stood up, running a hand through his hair. She was sick, not helpless. He had to get his head straight and focus on getting her well. But when she opened her eyes and looked at him, her gaze softened by her exhaustion, he couldn't help but feel the pull.

"Jack," she said, her voice softer, her usual guarded look gone, "you don't have to do all this. I'll manage. I've always managed."

He swallowed, trying to ignore the ache in his chest.

"Well, maybe you don't have to this time," he replied quietly. "Maybe I want to be here."

She gave a tired smile, clearly touched but reluctant to show it.

"Still...you have things to do, probably. You don't need to waste your time—"

"Waste?" he cut in, leaning down, his teasing and serious tone. "Carter, if you're going to throw a word around, try a different one because I don't consider this a waste. Not even close."

For a second, her expression softened further, her blue eyes meeting his with a depth that nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. But then she looked away, clearing her throat awkwardly.

"Fine. But I don't have to make it easy for you."

He laughed, and the sound was warm, surprising even himself.

"Wouldn't expect anything less."

Later that evening, she finally convinced him to let her get up for a shower. He reluctantly agreed, but only after making her promise to sit down and rest afterward. She'd scoffed but eventually nodded, and he waited in the living room, idly flipping through the books on her shelf.

It wasn't long before he heard her voice calling out, faint and slightly embarrassed.

"Jack?"

He rose immediately, his heart pounding as he walked to the bathroom door.

"Everything okay in there?"

There was a long pause before she answered, her voice barely audible.

"I...I don't have a towel. They're in the linen closet, but I don't exactly have the energy to reach."

He smirked, stifling a laugh. "Need me to rescue you, Carter?"

"Just hand me a towel," she replied, her voice muffled but clearly annoyed. "Before I regret letting you stay."

Still grinning, he grabbed a fresh towel from the linen closetand knocked on the door. She cracked it open just enough to stick her hand out, and he handed it over, his gaze carefully averted.

"Thank you," she muttered, quickly closing the door.

"No problem," he replied, though his heart was pounding for entirely different reasons as he returned to the living room. He'd seen the faintest hint of her bare shoulder through the gap in the door, and it was enough to send his thoughts spiraling.

Get a grip, O'Neill, he scolded himself, dragging a hand over his face.

A few minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a thick robe, her hair still damp but looking a bit healthier, if not mortally embarrassed. She gave him a sheepish smile as she settled back onto the couch, clearly bracing for his teasing.

"See? You can let someone help you without the world ending," he said, settling across from her.

She rolled her eyes. "I'll admit, the world's still intact. But only barely."

"Careful," he replied, grinning. "You might end up liking having someone look out for you."

She shook her head, though there was a warmth in her gaze he'd never seen before.

"That's…highly unlikely. I'm too stubborn."

"Oh, believe me, I've got a strong tolerance for stubborn types," he replied, his tone light. But his eyes lingered on hers, and for a brief, charged moment, the air between them felt heavy with something unspoken.

Sam cleared her throat, looking away.

"Well, thank you. I mean it, Jack. This isn't…easy for me."

He nodded, his voice gentler. "I know. But sometimes…even the best need a little backup."

They sat silently for a long while, the faint sounds of the city humming beyond her window. But in that quiet, Jack felt the depth of his feelings settling over him, undeniable, overwhelming, and utterly terrifying. He knew he couldn't say anythingor act on what was steadily breaking through every line of professional decorum she'd drawn. But he could be here for her for as long as she'd let him. And for now, that was enough.

Jack was still lounging in the armchair when his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he frowned when he saw Hammond on the caller ID. Glancing toward Sam, who was dozing on the couch with her head propped on a pillow, he quietly stepped into the hallway and answered the call.

"Colonel O'Neill here."

"Jack," Hammond's voice came through, laced with urgency. "The Tok'ra matter has escalated. I need you back in Colorado Springs within the next 24 hours. We've got intel that suggests this resistance group has critical information, and SG-1 needs to confirm it firsthand. A special plane is waiting for you both."

Jack's mind reeled, taking it all in. "Both, Sir?"

"Yes. Dr. Carter is required as well." There was a pause, and Jack could almost picture Hammond's no-nonsense expression as he continued, "She'll be compensated for her time away from her practice, plus a bonus. But this is not optional. She'll perform an expedited assessment on you once you're back, and then SG-1 deploys."

Jack's gaze flicked toward the living room, where Sam still rested, oblivious to the storm about to hit. "Right, Sir," he said, finally swallowing the lump in his throat. "Do you… want to talk to her?"

"Yes, Colonel. Pass the phone over," Hammond replied in that stern tone that left no room for argument.

Jack covered the mic and returned to the living room, clearing his throat.

"Carter," he said, keeping his tone light though his expression was anything but, "it's General Hammond. There are… new orders. He wants to talk to you."

Sam groaned, pulling herself upright with effort. He offered her the phone. She took it, her brows knitting in confusion as she held it to her ear.

"Hello, General."

Hammond's voice was clear enough for Jack to hear, even from his vantage point. He repeated what he'd told Jack, explaining that she was expected to travel back to Colorado Springs immediately and to pack for an unknown duration.

Sam's eyes narrowed as she listened, a flash of anger crossing her face.

"Wait, General Hammond… is that even legal? You can't just pull me out of my practice and whisk me off to some classified… wherever you're taking me." Her voice was strained, and her frustration and confusion wereevident.

Hammond sighed on the other end, his tone softening slightly but still resolute.

"Dr. Carter, when you signed that NDA, you agreed to the terms of involvement with the Stargate Program. This is one of those times when we need you, and there's no choice in the matter. We'll expect you both at the airport. Safe travels." And with that, the line went dead.

Sam lowered the phone, staring at it as if it had personally betrayed her. She turned to Jack, who had been watching with a guilty expression as he focused intently on his shoes.

"Is he serious?" she demanded, her voice rising as she searched his face for any hint of a reprieve.

Jack nodded, trying to keep his tone sympathetic.

"Yeah, he's serious, Sam. Look, I know it's not ideal—especially since you're not fully recovered—but there's a great doctor at the SGC. She'll check you out when we get there. You won't be going into this without proper clearance."

Sam scoffed and threw the phone onto the couch, where Jack barely caught it.

"Fantastic. So not only am I forced into this, but now I'm a patient, too?" She ran a hand through her hair in frustration, muttering, "Why did you ever have to enter my life, Colonel?"

Jack's stomach twisted as he watched her dial her office. The look of betrayal in her eyes wasenough to silence any reply he might've made. He listened as she spoke to Martha, her tone weary and resigned.

"Hi, Martha. Yes, it's Sam. I'm…a little better, thank you." She paused, taking a slow breath as she gathered herself. "Listen, something unexpected came up, and I will be out of D.C. for a while. I don't know exactly how long. You'll need to clear my schedule for the week, at the very least." She pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly struggling to keep her frustration in check.

"Yes, Martha—the whole week. I'll update you as soon as I know more."

She hung up, her gaze hard as she looked at Jack. "Alright, Colonel. What's next?"

Jack swallowed, the apology on his lips barely surfacing.

"Pack a bag—comfortable and professional clothes. A car's on the way to take us to my hotel. I'll grab my things, and then we'll head straight to the airport."

With a sigh that spoke volumes, Sam turned on her heel and went to her bedroom, coughing. He watched her go, feeling her bedroom door slam andecho through the quiet townhouse. He winced, raking a hand through his hair.

"Shit," he muttered. This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to get dragged into his world against her will.

The car arrived within minutes, and a government-issued SUV waswaiting in the driveway as Jack finished packing a few medicines she might need in the kitchen. He stayed at the door, his jaw tight with apprehension. After a few more minutes, Sam emerged with a small suitcase, her eyes red-rimmed and her expression stoic.

Without a word, she walked past him and out the door. He followed, the silence between them feeling thick enough to cut. They climbed into the car's back seat, and he looked at her sideways, unsure what to say.

Sam leaned back as the SUV pulled away, her eyes fixed out the window. Jack could feel the tension radiating off her, and he finally broke the silence, his voice low.

"Sam, I know this isn't fair. If I could change things, I would."

She turned to him, her gaze piercing.

"You keep saying that, Jack, but somehow, it always feels like you and your world keep dragging me in deeper."

He sighed, trying to hold her gaze. "I didn't ask for this either, you know. I didn't want you pulled away from your life. But this mission—"

"—This mission isn't my life, Jack. And it shouldn't be my responsibility," she cut him off, her voice tight. "I was dragged into this because you can't pass a simple psych evaluation without…whatever this is between us getting in the way." She looked back out the window, her words heavy with disappointment. "I can't just turn my life upside down every time the Air Force needs a quick fix."

Jack leaned back, her words hitting him squarely in the chest. She was right, and he knew it. He'd been so focused on his need to get back to the teamand be helpful that he hadn't considered the cost for her. They sat in strained silence, the unspoken frustrations and hurt feelings filling the space between them.

By the time they reached his hotel, Sam was leaning against the door, her exhaustion evident. "I'll wait in the car," she murmured, closing her eyes and crossing her arms.

Jack swallowed the apology he couldn't bring himself to say and climbed out, grabbing his bag from the room as quickly as possible. When he returned, she hadn't moved, her expression still guarded. He slid into the seat beside her, and they continued in silence until they arrived at the airport.

They passed through the discreet security at the private terminal, and a small team escorted them to the waiting plane. The private jet gleamed in the late afternoon sun, and as they approached, Sam stopped, hesitating at the bottom of the steps. Jack paused, too, glancing back at her, knowing she was close to her limit.

"You know," she began, her voice low, "when I first signed on as a consultant, I thought it was for the odd phone call or the eventual evaluations. Not this." She looked up at him, her eyes weary but steady. "But here we are."

Jack met her gaze, the hint of regret in his eyes.

"Look, Sam, I know this is more than you signed up for. If there was any other way—"

"There isn't, is there?" she finished for him, her tone resigned. She sighed, shaking her head slowly. "This is on me. I pushed to know more, and I signed an NDA without even reading it first." She let out a weary breath. "So… let's just get this over with."

They silently climbed the steps, sitting in the small, empty cabin. Jack looked over at her as the plane began to taxi, her head resting against the window, eyes closed as if she could block out everything by sheer will. He wondered what he'd brought into her life, how his own needs had bulldozed her boundaries.

When they were finally in the air, she opened her eyes and looked at him, a faint, rueful smile on her lips.

"You'd better be ready for this evaluation, Colonel. If I'm putting my life on hold, you'd better pass it."

Jack chuckled softly, though his voice held a note of sincerity.

"I'll give it my best shot, Doc." He leaned back, trying to ease the tension between them, though he couldn't shake the weight of her words. He was falling for her, deeper than he'd ever thought possible, but as she sat beside him, closed off and distant, he wondered if she would let him in enough to know how much he cared.

For now, all he could do was wait, hoping that, somehow, he hadn't just ruined the one connection that mattered more than any mission ever could.