Chapter 6
The briefing room was empty now, save for the two of them. The overhead lights cast a soft
glow over the table, the room quiet except for the faint hum of the base's systems. Sam sat at one
end of the table, her laptop open, fingers skimming over the keyboard as she finalized the report.
Jack stood near the projector screen, arms crossed, his gaze drifting between the now-dormant
equipment and the woman across from him.
The mission debrief had gone smoothly enough—SG-7's off-world recon had uncovered promising
data—but as the rest of the team had filed out, Sam had stayed behind, determined to finish
compiling
the
technical
analysis.
Jack
had
lingered
too,
offering
some
vague
excuse
about
reviewing tactical protocols, though his attention had rarely left her.
"You know," Jack said finally, breaking the silence, "most people would wait until morning to finish
the paperwork."
Sam glanced up, her lips curving into a small smile. "Most people don't have the deadlines I do,
sir."
"Ah,
Carter,"
Jack
said
with
a
smirk,
pushing
off
the
wall
to
stroll
closer.
"Always
the
overachiever."
She shrugged, her focus returning to the screen, though the faint warmth in her cheeks betrayed her
composure. "It's important to keep the data fresh while it's still clear."
Jack moved to her side, leaning casually against the edge of the table. "You could've fooled me.
Looks more like an excuse to avoid heading home."
Sam's fingers faltered over the keys thinking about her daughter waiting for her, but she quickly
recovered, her voice steady as she tried to diffuse. "I could say the same about you, sir. You've been
standing there for fifteen minutes, and I haven't seen you open a single file."
Jack chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. "Touché."
The air between them shifted, the easy banter giving way to something quieter, heavier. Jack's gaze
lingered on her profile as she typed, her brows furrowed in concentration. The glow from the screen
highlighted the sharp lines of her face, the way a strand of blonde hair had fallen loose from her
braid and curved along her cheek. He wanted to reach out, to brush it back, but his hand stayed
firmly at his side.
Sam was acutely aware of his presence, the subtle scent of his aftershave mingling with the sterile
air of the room. She couldn't ignore the way her pulse quickened when he was this close, the
warmth that crept up her neck every time his voice softened. It was maddening—this pull toward
him, as undeniable as it was inappropriate.
"Carter," Jack said quietly, his tone different now—less teasing, more thoughtful. "You ever take a
break?"
Her fingers paused over the keyboard. She turned to look at him, her expression unreadable. "I take
breaks, sir."
"Yeah?" His gaze held hers, the space between them narrowing even though neither of them moved.
"Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're running yourself into the ground."
"I manage," she replied, her voice softer now. She forced herself to look away, back at the screen.
"It's part of the job."
Jack leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down her spine. "Doesn't
mean you have to carry it all alone."
Her throat tightened, and she wasn't sure if it was his words or the way he said them that affected
her more. "I'm not alone," she said, almost a whisper, though the words felt more like a defense
than a truth.
He didn't respond immediately, and the silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of
everything unspoken. When he finally straightened, the movement was slow, deliberate, as if he
were forcing himself to pull back.
"Well," Jack said, his tone lighter again, though the intensity in his eyes hadn't faded. "Don't let me
keep you. I'd hate to be the reason your report isn't perfect."
Sam exhaled, a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "It's already done," she said, closing the
laptop and standing. The proximity was too much—she needed distance, space to think.
As she gathered her things, Jack stepped aside, giving her room but not letting her retreat entirely.
"Good work tonight, Carter," he said, his voice quieter now, almost too soft to carry the weight of
the words.
Sam nodded, her eyes meeting his for one last, fleeting moment before she turned and walked out.
Her steps echoed down the hallway, but the tension in the room lingered long after she was gone.
Jack stood there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway, his hand absently brushing over his
wedding ring. It felt heavier than usual, but he didn't move to take it off. Instead, he sighed, raking
a hand through his hair, and turned to shut off the lights.
The house was quiet when Sam unlocked the door, stepping in with careful movements to
avoid waking Grace. She set her bag down by the couch, her body heavy with the weight of the day,
but the sight of a light still glowing softly from Grace's room brought a faint smile to her lips.
"Liz, I'm home," she called out in a low voice.
Liz appeared from the kitchen, a mug of tea in her hand and a knowing smirk on her face. "Tough
day, Blondie?"
Sam sighed, pulling off her jacket and draping it over the back of a chair. "You could say that."
Liz nodded toward Grace's room. "She tried to wait up for you. Fell asleep right in the middle of
showing me her 'biggest tower ever.' It's all blocks and chaos in there."
Sam chuckled softly, the exhaustion easing slightly as she thought of her daughter. "Thanks for
watching her."
Liz waved her off. "Go say goodnight. I'm heading to bed. Tea's on the counter if you want it."
Sam mouthed a "thank you" before slipping into Grace's room. The warm glow of a small star-
shaped nightlight illuminated the space, casting soft shadows across the walls decorated with hand-
drawn pictures and glow-in-the-dark stickers.
Grace was sprawled across her bed, her small arms hugging a plush bunny tightly to her chest. Her
blonde
curls
were
tousled,
her
breathing
soft
and
steady.
On
the
floor
by
her
bed,
the
aforementioned "tower" of brightly colored blocks leaned precariously.
Sam knelt beside the bed, brushing a gentle hand over Grace's curls. The little girl stirred, her blue
eyes fluttering open sleepily.
"Mommy?" Grace murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
"I'm here, sweetheart," Sam said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Go back to sleep."
Grace yawned, her tiny hand reaching out to touch Sam's face. "You were gone a long time."
"I know, Pumpkin," Sam whispered, guilt creeping into her chest. "But I'm here now."
"Missed you," Grace said, her eyes already drooping closed again.
Sam smiled, her heart swelling as she tucked the blanket more securely around her. "I missed you
too. Sleep tight."
Grace's breathing evened out once more, and Sam stayed there a moment longer, her fingers lightly
tracing the soft curls at the edge of her daughter's face. No matter how long the days were or how
difficult the challenges at the base, moments like these grounded her.
As she stood to leave, her gaze fell on the scattered blocks on the floor. Sam smiled, crouching to
quietly stack them back into a small pile, knowing Grace would want to rebuild her "biggest tower
ever" in the morning.
Returning to the kitchen, Sam sat curled up on the couch, her tea cooling on the table in front of her
as she stared absently at the bookshelf across the room. The house was quiet now, with only the
faint hum of the heater breaking the silence. Liz emerged from the hallway, her hair tied up in a
loose bun and a blanket draped over her shoulders. She plopped down next to Sam, tucking her legs
beneath her.
"You're brooding," Liz said, breaking the silence. "That's never a good sign."
Sam exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. "I'm just… tired."
Liz squinted at her, unconvinced. "Nope. That's not just tired. That's Sam Carter Overthinking
Something Important tired." She nudged Sam's leg with her foot. "Spill it, Blondie."
Sam hesitated, running her hands over her mug. "It's nothing."
Liz raised an eyebrow. "Come on. I let you drink the last of the tea. The least you can do is let me in
on whatever's eating you."
Sam sighed, leaning back into the couch. She stared at the ceiling for a moment before finally
speaking. "It's… someone at work."
Liz's eyes lit up with intrigue. "Oooh, someone at work? Do tell."
"It's not like that," Sam said quickly, though her cheeks flushed slightly. "It's just… complicated."
Liz snorted. "When isn't it with you?"
Sam shot her a half-hearted glare but continued. "It's my boss. General O'Neill."
Liz blinked, sitting up straighter. "Wait, that General O'Neill? The one you said was all gruff and
no-nonsense? That guy?"
"Yes, that guy," Sam muttered, shifting uncomfortably.
Liz grinned, clearly enjoying this. "Okay, now I'm interested. What about him?"
Sam hesitated, her fingers tightening around her mug. "I don't know how to explain it. He's… I
don't think he even notices me, not like that. But there's just something about him. He's sharp,
funny in his own way, and when he focuses on you, it's like nothing else in the world matters. It's...
distracting."
Liz's grin softened into something more understanding. "And he's married."
Sam nodded, her throat tightening. "Exactly. Which makes this even worse. I feel horrible just
thinking about it."
"You can't help what you feel, Sam," Liz said gently. "But you're not acting on it. That's what
matters."
Sam let out a bitter laugh. "The problem is, we're going to Washington next week for a conference.
Just the two of us. I'm already dreading it."
Liz's eyebrows shot up. "Alone? With him? Oh, that's going to be interesting."
"Liz, it's not funny," Sam groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I'm going to spend the whole
time feeling awkward and trying not to embarrass myself. He doesn't even see me that way,
anyway."
Liz tilted her head, studying her friend. "Are you sure about that?"
Sam's hands dropped from her face, her eyes meeting Liz's. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Liz said, her tone casual but pointed, "you're smart, gorgeous, and probably the most
competent person he's ever worked with. If you're feeling something, maybe he is too."
Sam shook her head. "No. He's married. And I don't think I'm even on his radar."
Liz leaned back, shrugging. "Maybe you're right. But maybe you're wrong. Either way, the guy
would be an idiot not to notice you."
Sam rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "Thanks, Liz. That's helpful."
Liz grinned, throwing the blanket over both of them. "I try."
Sam hesitated, biting her lip before speaking again. "Speaking of Washington… would it be okay if
I left Grace with you for two days? We'll be staying at a hotel, and I…"
Liz's grin softened into something warmer. "Of course it's okay. You know I love that little
munchkin. Grace and I will have a blast—probably build the tallest block tower in history."
Sam laughed softly, the tension in her chest easing slightly. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do
without you."
Liz nudged her shoulder playfully. "Well, you'd probably still be overthinking things alone on this
couch. Now stop worrying. Grace is fine, you're fine, and this conference is going to be fine. Trust
me."
Sam sighed but smiled, finally relaxing into the couch. Whatever happened in Washington, she'd
face it one day at a time.
The steady hum of the military jet filled the cabin, blending with the soft rustle of papers as Sam
reviewed her presentation. Seated across from her, Jack leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed
and his eyes fixed on her with mild curiosity.
"Still reviewing?" he asked, his tone light.
Sam glanced up, her expression calm. "It's not every day you present to the President, sir."
Jack smirked. "You've worked at the Pentagon, Carter. I'm guessing this isn't your first rodeo."
"It's not," she admitted, closing her folder and setting it aside. "But it doesn't mean I take it lightly."
"Of course not," Jack said, leaning forward slightly. "You don't do anything lightly. That's what
makes you... you."
Sam blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected comment, but Jack quickly shifted back, his smirk
softening the moment. "Relax, Carter. You've got this."
The rest of the flight passed in comfortable silence, punctuated by occasional comments from Jack
about the turbulence or the coffee. When they finally landed, the familiar sight of Washington
greeted Sam, bringing back a rush of memories she hadn't quite expected.
The halls of the White House were as grand as Sam remembered them, the polished floors gleaming
under the soft glow of ornate chandeliers. It had been a while since her last visit, but the weight of
the building's history and significance still pressed on her shoulders. She adjusted her jacket as they
approached the meeting room, her steps measured and professional. Beside her, Jack walked with
his usual casual stride, as if he were heading into a neighborhood diner rather than a meeting with
the President.
As they entered, the President looked up from his desk, a broad smile spreading across his face.
"Jack O'Neill," he said warmly, standing to greet them. "I figured it was only a matter of time
before you showed up in my office again."
Jack extended his hand, his smirk firmly in place. "You know me, sir—always finding excuses to
come say hello."
The President chuckled as they shook hands, then turned to Sam, his expression brightening even
further. "And Samantha Carter! It's been too long."
"Mr. President," Sam replied with a smile, shaking his hand firmly. "It's good to see you again."
"Still the same sharp, no-nonsense Carter," he said, his tone fond. "Though I see you've traded the
Pentagon for something a little more… off the books."
Sam's lips twitched. "The SGC keeps me plenty busy, sir."
The President's gaze shifted between them, his grin turning playful. "So, you managed to snag
Carter for your team, huh, Jack? Lucky guy."
Jack raised an eyebrow, his smirk tilting into something closer to a grin. "Let's just say I know
talent when I see it."
Sam felt a warmth rise to her cheeks and quickly looked down, adjusting the files in her hands. "It's
an honor to be part of the program, Mr. President."
"Oh, I don't doubt that," the President replied, his eyes twinkling. "Though I imagine Jack doesn't
make it easy on you."
"Carter handles me just fine," Jack quipped, glancing at her. The look he gave her wasn't teasing,
though—there was something softer behind it, something unspoken that made Sam's breath catch
for just a moment.
The President didn't seem to notice, gesturing for them to sit. "Well, let's get to it. I want to hear
about these advancements you've been working on."
The meeting began, and Sam quickly fell into her element. She laid out the key points of the project
with clarity and precision, her voice steady as she walked the President through the technical
details.
Jack
chimed
in
occasionally
with
his
trademark
humor,
simplifying
concepts
where
necessary and keeping the tone light.
As Sam spoke, Jack found his attention drifting—not to the diagrams or the presentation, but to her.
The way her expression shifted with each point, the confidence in her tone, the slight crease in her
brow when she paused to emphasize something important. She wasn't just brilliant; she was
magnetic.
"Carter makes this sound easy," Jack added at one point, drawing a chuckle from the President.
"But trust me, sir, the rest of us just try to keep up."
Sam glanced at him, surprised by the compliment, but quickly masked it with a polite nod. "It's a
team effort," she said, her voice calm. But as she turned back to her notes, her hand trembled
slightly, betraying the steady exterior she worked so hard to maintain.
By the time the meeting wrapped up, the President was thoroughly impressed. "Well done, both of
you. The program is in good hands."
As they stood to leave, the President clapped Jack on the shoulder. "You've got a hell of a team,
Jack. Don't take it for granted."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Jack replied, glancing at Sam again. This time, their eyes met, and the
charged silence between them felt almost tangible.
On the drive back to the hotel, the weight of the day's events hung in the air. Jack sat beside Sam in
the back seat, his usual banter replaced by a thoughtful quiet. Sam kept her gaze fixed on the city
lights outside, but her mind was far from calm. Every word, every glance exchanged during the
meeting replayed in her head, each one carrying a weight she didn't know how to process.
When they arrived at the hotel, Jack broke the silence with a casual, "Dinner?"
Sam hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Sure."
The restaurant was tucked away in a quiet corner of the hotel, its elegant decor softened by dim
lighting and the gentle hum of muted conversation. Sam arrived first, her heels clicking softly
against the marble floor as the maître d' escorted her to a table near the large window. The view
overlooked the city, its lights glittering like stars against the night sky.
She smoothed the skirt of her dress as she sat, acutely aware of how the deep blue fabric hugged her
figure. It wasn't a dress she wore often—it had felt a little too bold when she packed it—but
tonight, she'd slipped it on without hesitation. And though she'd never admit it out loud, she knew
exactly why.
When Jack entered, his usual casual confidence seemed to falter for a split second. He stopped just
inside the doorway, his gaze finding her immediately. His eyebrows lifted, almost imperceptibly, as
he took in the sight of her. Then, as if regaining his composure, he strolled toward the table with his
hands in his pockets, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Wow, Carter," he said, pulling out his chair. "Guess I should've dressed up."
Sam smiled politely, her cheeks warming. "You look fine, sir."
"Jack," he corrected, sitting down. "Off duty, remember?"
"Jack," she echoed, the name feeling foreign but oddly comfortable on her tongue.
A waiter appeared to take their drink orders, and for a moment, they sat in silence. Sam traced the
rim of her glass with her finger, stealing a glance at him. His shirt was crisp, his tie slightly
loosened, and he exuded a quiet confidence that made her pulse quicken. She quickly looked away,
focusing on the menu instead.
"So," Jack said, breaking the silence. "What's the plan for tomorrow? More impressing the
bigwigs?"
Sam nodded, grateful for the professional topic. "There's a briefing with the Defense Secretary in
the morning. After that, we're scheduled for a few smaller meetings to go over funding proposals."
"Sounds thrilling," Jack said with a grin. "I'll make sure to bring an extra cup of coffee."
Sam chuckled, the tension easing slightly. "It's not all bad. At least we're making progress."
Jack leaned back in his chair, studying her. "You really believe that, don't you?"
She tilted her head, curious. "What do you mean?"
"That all this—the meetings, the politics, the bureaucracy—is worth it," he said, his tone soft but
sincere. "You really think we can make a difference."
Sam hesitated, caught off guard by the question. "Don't you?"
Jack shrugged, his gaze thoughtful. "I want to. Sometimes it's hard to see the bigger picture when
you're in the trenches."
"That's why we do what we do," Sam said quietly. "So that one day, those trenches won't be
necessary."
Jack smiled, the edges of his expression softening. "You're something else, Carter."
She felt her cheeks flush again and reached for her glass, hoping the wine would steady her. But as
she took a sip, her hand brushed his across the table. The contact was brief, almost accidental, but it
sent a spark through her that she couldn't ignore.
Jack didn't pull his hand back immediately. Instead, his fingers lingered for just a moment, his gaze
holding hers. The room seemed to grow quieter, the background noise fading as the air between
them grew heavier.
Sam cleared her throat, breaking the spell. "So, uh, how long have you been working with the
President?"
Jack leaned back slightly, giving her space but not retreating entirely. "A few years now. He likes to
check in on the Stargate program personally."
"Must be nice to have that kind of trust," she said, her voice steady but her pulse racing.
Jack tilted his head, his smirk returning. "It is. But I think he trusts you more. Can't blame him,
really."
The compliment hung between them, unspoken but undeniable. Sam's lips parted slightly, a
response forming in her mind, but the waiter arrived with their meals, breaking the tension.
They ate in relative quiet, the clinking of silverware and soft murmur of other diners filling the
space between them. But the charged atmosphere remained, a magnetic pull that neither of them
seemed able—or willing—to escape.
At one point, Sam laughed at something Jack said, a soft, genuine sound that made his chest tighten.
She reached across the table to emphasize her point, and Jack's gaze fell to her hand, her fingers
delicate yet strong. He imagined for a moment what it would feel like to take her hand in his, to
close the distance between them.
When their plates were cleared, the waiter offered dessert, but Jack waved him off. "I think we're
good here."
Sam nodded, though she hesitated, her hand brushing her glass one last time. "Thank you for
dinner. It was… nice."
"Yeah," Jack said, his voice quieter now. "It was."
As they stood to leave, Jack placed a hand lightly on her back, guiding her toward the exit. The
touch was brief but firm, sending a warmth through her that she didn't dare acknowledge. They
walked back to the elevator in silence, their steps slow, as if neither wanted the evening to end.
The elevator ride was quiet, the soft hum of the machinery underscoring the charged silence
between them. Sam stood on one side, her arms folded lightly across her chest, while Jack leaned
casually against the wall, his hands in his pockets. Neither spoke, but the weight of the evening
hung heavily in the small space.
When the doors slid open onto their floor, Jack gestured for her to step out first. She hesitated for a
fraction of a second, her pulse quickening as she brushed past him. The hallway was dimly lit, the
soft glow of sconces casting warm light against the patterned carpet.
They walked side by side, their steps slow and unhurried, though the silence between them felt
deafening. Sam's heart thudded against her ribcage, each step bringing her closer to her door and to
the moment she wasn't sure she was ready for—or maybe she was. She couldn't tell anymore.
When they reached her door, she turned to face him, fumbling briefly with the keycard in her hand.
Jack stood close, his presence filling the small space between them. Her fingers trembled as she slid
the card into the slot, the green light flashing briefly before she pulled it out.
"Well," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Goodnight."
"Yeah," Jack replied, his tone equally low. "Goodnight, Carter."
Neither of them moved. The quiet hum of the hallway seemed to stretch endlessly as their eyes met,
unspoken words passing between them. Sam clutched the keycard in her hand, her knuckles white,
while Jack's hands remained buried in his pockets, his shoulders tense despite his casual stance.
"You were…" Jack began, his voice rough, before trailing off. He cleared his throat, his gaze
dropping briefly to the floor. "You were great today."
"Thank you," Sam replied, her voice steadier than she expected. But the way he was looking at her
—like she was the only thing in the room worth noticing—made her stomach flip.
The air between them grew heavier, charged with an intensity neither could ignore. Jack took a half-
step closer, his eyes scanning her face as if searching for permission. Sam didn't move, her breath
catching as her pulse quickened, the closeness of him both thrilling and terrifying.
Her hand brushed lightly against the doorframe, an anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside
her. Jack's hand came up, hesitating for a moment before it landed softly on her arm. The touch was
light, almost tentative, but it sent a jolt through her that she couldn't suppress.
"Sam," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
"Jack," she whispered back, the single word breaking whatever restraint either of them had left.
He leaned in slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Her breath hitched as the distance between them
disappeared, her body drawn to his like a magnet. When his lips met hers, it was soft at first,
hesitant, as if testing the waters. But then it deepened, the kiss growing bolder, more desperate, as
weeks of suppressed emotion spilled out in a single, electrifying moment.
Sam's hand found its way to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she melted
into him. His hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks with a gentleness that made
her chest ache. The kiss was everything she hadn't let herself imagine—heat, intensity, and an
overwhelming sense of rightness.
And then, it was over.
Jack pulled back abruptly, his breath uneven, his hands dropping to his sides as if burned. His gaze
darted downward, catching on the faint glint of his wedding ring in the dim light. He froze, his
shoulders tensing as a flicker of guilt flashed across his face.
Sam blinked, her lips still tingling from the kiss as her mind scrambled to catch up. "Jack—" she
started, her voice barely a whisper.
"It was a mistake," he said quickly, his tone sharp and pained. He stepped back, putting distance
between them as he ran a hand through his hair. "I shouldn't have done that."
Her chest tightened, the sting of his words cutting deeper than she'd expected. "I—"
"I'm sorry, Carter," he interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. "I can't—" He stopped himself,
shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. Without another word, he turned and walked
briskly down the hallway, his footsteps echoing against the quiet.
Sam stood frozen, her back against the door as she watched him disappear around the corner. The
warmth of the kiss still lingered. She exhaled shakily, her fingers brushing her lips as she fumbled
with the door behind her. When she finally stepped inside, the room felt cold, empty, as if the
moment in the hallway had drained it of its warmth.
Leaning against the closed door, she stared blankly ahead, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions—
confusion, longing, and a heartbreak she couldn't bring herself to name.