Beauty In The Broken

Inclusions

A/N: Parts of this chapter *may* have been influenced by a GIF that "Beliskner" on Twitter made in honor of ShipDay 2023. If things feel a little more *heated* than normal, you have Beliskner to blame. (Or to thank. I don't judge.)

—-OOOOOOO—-

"Buh."

"That's right, little man. Buh!" There was a pause and an odd, muffled growl followed by a full-bodied giggle. "Anyway—so we're coming back from the temple, and Daniel starts making this noise."

"What kind of noise?" A familiar Texas drawl asked this question.

"Squeaking—shrill-like." Another pause, growl, and another giggle. "Like a chinchilla in a salad spinner."

The aforementioned chinchilla snorted. "I did not sound like that."

"Oh, you so did."

"I really didn't."

"Bah bah!" No accompanying giggle this time—just a series of huffing noises. "Guh!"

"See? Even Jake agrees."

"Jake wasn't even there!"

"I, however, was there." Teal'c's mellow baritone drifted across the space. "Your voice did rise in a precipitous manner."

"But I wasn't squeaking. Come on, now. If you're going to tell the story, Jack, at least be truthful."

"Ba-eee!"

"You tell him, Jake."

"Ba-Eee! Da!"

The drawl again—as if impatient to hear the rest of the account. "Doctor Jackson?"

"I might have shouted, General." Daniel sounded as if he'd argued this assertion before. "A little. But that was only because of the pyroclastic flow."

The what?

Sam cracked an eyelid. She was on a gurney—lying on her back in the eastern side of the infirmary. It was the fourth one from the end, nearest the nurse's station. She could place herself by the pattern in the ceiling tiles overhead and the water damage at the corner of the tile closest to the wall.

Her hand felt swollen—tight and heavy. A wriggle of her fingers told her that she'd been hooked up to an IV. She was fully clothed—except for her boots. And even though she was no longer feeling lethargic and weak, she was definitely still tired.

Levering herself upright, Sam turned and scooched to the edge of the bed. Her head felt remarkably clear, but her stomach was still turbulent—raw, persistent nausea and the sour, raw taste of bile in her throat. She glared down at her bare feet, seeking equilibrium—breathing in through her nose and slowly blowing out through tight lips until she felt certain she wasn't going to vomit.

She hoped.

The curtain around the isolation unit was drawn nearly closed, but a few inches' gap at the corner allowed her to see into the main infirmary area. She'd been here recently—hadn't she? Before the wedding. Before Minnesota. Before she'd been packed off to Carlsbad. She'd woken up just like this—in just this place.

Deja vu. Sort of.

Jack sat just beyond her curtain on a metal chair, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. He'd showered, shaved, and changed into a black tee and a pair of navy BDU trousers—no doubt scrounged from his locker. He'd obviously already had his wounds tended to—there was no sign of the nursing staff anywhere near, and he appeared to be in good shape.

Jake was in his element—standing on his father's good thigh, bracketed by Jack's hands. Balancing on his chubby little legs, he seemed intent on examining every inch of his father's face, which currently sported at least three bandages that Sam could see.

Jack didn't appear to mind either the bandages or the explorations of his son. Every once in a while, he grumbled deep in his throat and then playfully nipped towards Jake's little probing fingers, eliciting delighted laughter.

Growling noise explained.

Sam couldn't see anyone other than Jack and the baby. If she turned her head enough, she could make out more feet under the bottom hem of the curtain. The General's perfectly shiny dress shoes. Daniel, of course, wearing street shoes. Teal'c's gigantic boots, and Janet's neat heels were there, too, and two other sets of shoes—one civilian and one military-issue—that could have belonged to anyone.

"Anyway. It doesn't matter." Jack grinned at the baby, bouncing his knee up and down a little as Jake giggled some more. When he continued, his voice seemed softer—as if he were telling a bedtime story and not giving a mission report. "We'd thought that the clouds up at the top of the mountain were just clouds. But by the time we were halfway back to the 'Gate, the whole freaking side of the thing had started bulging outward."

"It was a volcano?" Hammond's voice rang with disbelief.

"A damned big one." Jack ducked those chunky little fingers again, tightening his grip on the baby and lifting him high enough that his legs kicked wildly in midair. "We started running—as fast as we could. But we were still at least ten klicks from the 'Gate, and we quickly realized that there was no way we were going to make it around before the thing erupted."

"It didn't so much erupt as it exploded." Daniel interjected. "Giant rocks hurtling into the air and falling no more than a quarter-mile ahead of us on the path. We took shelter behind a huge stone outcropping that was jutting out of the mountain's face—but that wasn't going to be enough."

"There was smoke and ash everywhere. Enough to block out the sun. We retreated back towards the temple, because the entire side of the mountain started sliding down towards the path we'd taken."

"But it was pitch black, and none of our tech was working anymore." Daniel's voice became more animated. "The eruption was enormous—like Jack said. Everything went black, except for lightning shooting through the clouds of ash."

A new speaker entered the fray. "So, what did you do, Sir?"

Sam recognized this voice. Lieutenant Baker. She'd bet money that the civilian shoes belonged to Doctor Hawes.

"We used flashlights to get to a place where we could hole up until the worst of it was over."

"It never seemed to be over." Even Teal'c sounded tired. "The ground shook as I had never before experienced, and deep cracks split the surface of the planet."

Jack brought Jake back down, laying the baby against his chest. Smiling, he wrapped his arm around Jake's little body as the boy nestled close to his daddy's chest. "It really was pretty crazy."

And, despite the fact that most of the team were sitting around telling the tale as if it were a visit to the zoo, Sam needed to make sure that they were all really home safe and sound.

Sliding off the edge of the bed, she balanced carefully as she settled her weight on her bare feet. The concrete was cool—restorative in a strange way. A jolt of something bracing that shivered its way up her body. It felt good to be upright. Standing made her head stop spinning and the nausea abate—a fact that seemed both incongruous and serendipitous. Once she felt certain she could balance on her own, she reached for the IV pole.

Jack must have sensed her movement, because he turned his head just enough that he could see her through the opening in the curtains. He'd been smiling before—his cheek pressed to the top of Jake's head—but now? Oh, lord.

Sweet. And real. And so heartrendingly beautiful that she could barely breathe.

"Hang on, guys. She's awake." Carefully, he stood, leaning awkwardly to deposit Jake on Teal'c's lap. Pivoting on his good leg, he limped deliberately towards her.

Pushing through the opening, he pulled the curtain closed behind him. He didn't say anything—just took her in—looking at her as if she were the only thing in the world worth seeing. As if, in seeing her, he'd finally found himself at home.

And when he did speak, it was low, and quiet, and intimate. "Hey."

Hey? Sam squelched the impulse to roll her eyes even as she couldn't help but smile. Ridiculous. What a ridiculous thing to say. After ten days, and a missed Christmas and so very, very much worry.

Sam stepped closer, pushing the stupid IV pole along with her, cringing at the squeaky wheel, and the tubes swinging around her elbow. "You're late."

"I'm sorry." He'd finally gotten close enough to touch her—reaching out to cup her jaw, his thumb making a tentative arc against her cheek. "I missed you."

"You promised me you'd come home."

"I was delayed. But I made it." He dragged his knuckles across her temple, tucking the hair back behind her ear. Searching her face as if to make sure she were real. "But I have a great excuse. You see—there was this volcano—"

"I heard."

"Then you already heard about the lava. And ash. And some weird lightning that killed our radios. The 'Gate fell over, and the DHD slid into a big-ass crack in the ground. It was pretty ugly over there."

"Jack?"

"Yes, Sam?"

She was the one to edge closer this time, until her body just barely brushed against his. Hesitant. Her free hand found his throat, smoothing upwards into the hair at the back of his neck. "Stop talking."

"Yes, Ma'am."

His lips felt dry—chapped against the softness of her own. But gentle—so gentle—as he leaned into her touch. As he chastely brushed his mouth across hers once—twice—and again until she groaned in her throat and tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer. As his tongue teased hers open and he tilted his head just slightly to go deeper, to explore her further.

Damn, she'd needed him. Needed this—the feel of his hands on her body, his tongue and lips lulling her into a hazy state of bliss. She rose on her bare toes, crowding closer, reaching for him with both arms, now, heedless of the insistent tug of the tubing taped to the back of her hand—

"Come on, you two. Stop that."

They'd missed the quick click of Janet's heels. Sam felt Jack smile against her mouth, and then the nearly imperceptible shift as he pulled back only enough to tuck her against his body and turn to face their chaperone.

"I'd like to get an accurate pulse, if you don't mind." One dark eyebrow peaked—sarcasm mixed with amusement as she stepped towards the bed. "Not one artificially raised by activity, if you catch my drift."

Janet was in full Doctor mode, clipboard in one hand and that omnipresent penlight in the other. She gave them a moment to compose themselves, seemingly focused on the papers affixed to the board rather than on the couple before her.

After a moment, she cast a glance in their direction, gesturing at the gurney with her penlight. "Sit down, Sam."

"I feel fine, Janet." Her protestation felt small as she obediently turned back towards the bed. "Really."

"That's what you said earlier." Janet slipped the penlight into her pocket and the clipboard under her arm. Reaching for her patient's wrist, she found the correct spot and started measuring Sam's pulse. "Remember? Right before you nearly threw up all over the 'Gateroom and then passed out."

"I didn't pass out."

"You've been out cold for almost three hours, Sam." Jack passed her an apologetic look. Clearly, he was on the doctor's side. "I thought it was on account of our powerful stench."

"Which was profoundly rank, to be sure. They stunk up the whole place." Janet's eyes widened as she dug around in her pocket until she found what she wanted. With a few deft moves, she removed the IV from Sam's hand and covered the site with a piece of gauze and a large bandage. "General Hammond suggested that we haul all of them topside and hose them down."

"But he settled for letting us shower."

"Yes. A shower was absolutely required." Janet tossed the garbage into the receptacle near the bed with a harried grunt. "After we'd patched them up a little. We did more once they didn't all smell like the north end of a south-bound mule."

On the other side of the thick canvas divider, Jake squealed again, his voice rising above the animated conversation still taking place in the main room. By the sound of it, Daniel had taken over the storytelling, with Teal'c's deep baritone providing frequent interjections. Recognizable, though indistinct. With the barrier closed around them, Sam felt cocooned. The isolation unit felt profoundly intimate.

Sam looked from Jack and then back to Janet. "How is Major Bledsoe?"

"In surgery." Fraiser did the flashy thing in Sam's eyes, then pulled out her stethoscope with the arm not holding the clipboard. "We stabilized him and then sent him to the orthopedic surgeon at the Academy Medical Center. Deep breaths, please."

"But I—"

Jack nudged at the gurney with his foot—just enough to get his wife's attention. "Let the doctor do her job, Sam."

With a resigned sigh, Sam gave up, taking steady, deep breaths until Janet appeared to be satisfied. "I feel much better now that I've gotten some rest. I think I was just tired."

"Well, just in case, I took some blood samples, and, in general, everything looks normal."

"Like I said. I was just tired." Sam scooted back on the gurney, swinging her feet off the edge. "How is the team? How's the wound on Jack's leg?"

"Teal'c is a horse, so he's fine. Miraculously, Daniel came through without a scratch, even though he's a little dehydrated and has some sunburn. And the Colonel here got lucky." Janet cast him a wry sort of look. "In addition to a few smaller cuts and bruises, he has a shallow laceration on his thigh that somehow managed to miss anything vital and didn't even need stitches. It's just ugly."

"Hey, now." Jack feigned offense. "Scars are sexy."

"Necrotizing fasciitis, however, is not." Janet narrowed a glare at the Colonel. "So, finish the antibiotics I gave you."

"Will do."

Lifting a hand, Sam combed her hair back behind her ear. "So, Major Bledsoe is the only one with serious injuries."

"Yes. The rest of SG-1 just needs to drink a lot of water, take some extra electrolytes, and get lots of rest. Doctor's orders."

"So, we can go home."

"Yes. But first, let's talk about you, Sam." Janet took her time putting her stethoscope away. With a tight little sigh, she pulled the paperwork out from under her arm and perused it, flipping pages back and forth. "Your hemoglobin is down, as usual. You really need to take the anemia more seriously, Sam."

"I will."

"And your blood sugar is a little low." Tilting her head, the doctor exhaled through clenched teeth. "Not unusual when you don't eat."

"I promise I'll gorge myself when I get home."

"You were also dehydrated when we got you up here. Hence the IV fluids."

"I'll be better about drinking my water."

Janet sighed, then raised her eyebrows and glanced at the Colonel briefly before looking back at Sam. "And, you're pregnant."

Sam opened her mouth to respond, then clamped it shut again. She was what?

Jack was the one to break the silence. "Uh—Doc—"

"See? Right here." Janet flipped the clipboard around and tapped her fingertip on the page.

"I'm what?"

"Pregnant." Janet bit back a smile. "I'd suspected, to be honest, what with the vivid nightmares, aversion to odors, and lack of appetite. The nausea could have been from stress—even though I thought it was more likely due to early pregnancy. But these test results confirmed it."

The gurney jostled as Jack leaned back against it, and Sam suddenly found her hand enveloped by his larger one. His skin felt dry and rough—but strong and sure. Solid. Comfortingly so.

When he spoke, his voice sounded like warm honey. "Are you sure, Doc?"

"I am certain, Colonel."

"Wow."

"This can't be that much of a surprise to the two of you." Janet's brows rose as she passed a look between the two of them. "I had thought that this was kind of the plan."

Sam turned to look at Jack—only to find that he was already focused on her, a slow, delicious smile teasing at the corner of his lips. He let go of her hand and slipped his arm around her lower back, his fingers rounding the curve of her hip, hauling her against his body as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

And suddenly, it became imperative to say it again. Just to make it real. "Pregnant."

"Knocked up. With child. Bun in the oven." Janet dimpled into a knowing little smile. "Or buns in the oven. We won't know for a few more weeks."

"Buns?"

"Depending on genetics and luck. Yes. Twins are always a possibility."

"Twins?" Sam had been reduced to monosyllabic communication. Ignoring her husband's snicker, she ventured forward again. "When?"

"Well, let's figure that out." Tossing the clipboard onto the gurney, Janet reached into a pocket and pulled out a palm-sized cardboard circle. "When was your last shark week?"

Shark week? Good grief. Ducking her head, Sam grinned as she counted backwards. It hadn't even occurred to her that she'd missed a period—she'd been so focused on her new life. Totally ensconced in figuring out the Antarctic device, dealing with Jake, and worrying about Jack that she hadn't even thought about tracking her cycle. "Ummmm—before the wedding. Actually—it was around a week and a half before I headed up to Minnesota."

"So, mid-November?" With her thumb, Janet manipulated a wheel attached to the cardboard disk.

"I can't even tell you how long it took me to find this thing. I can honestly say that we have never used it in this installation. I had to pull it out of the plastic. Anyway—around the fifteenth?"

"Around there. Maybe a few days earlier."

"We'll say the thirteenth. So, that puts your due date in the middle of August. The nineteenth, or thereabouts."

"August."

"We'll confirm that via ultrasound in a few weeks. Give the little bun some time to bake before we start peeking around in there."

Mentally, Sam counted ahead. "Jake won't even be eighteen months old yet."

Shrugging, Jack nodded. He'd done the math, as well. "Two kids under two. That'll be fun."

"It'll be perfect. They'll always have someone to play with." Janet slid the disk back into her pocket, switching her gaze from Sam to Jack and then back to Sam. Apparently satisfied, she picked up her clipboard and gave them both a brilliant smile. "So."

"So."

"So, you'll need to start taking a prenatal vitamin, Sam. Something with folic acid. If the nausea persists, try eating four or five small meals a day, and always include a protein. That sometimes helps. Oh—and my remarkably fertile sisters have told me that ginger can help with the morning sickness."

"Ginger?"

"Ginger ale. Ginger tea. They make ginger suckers that are popular. You can buy them at baby boutiques. You can even eat ginger snaps, if you'd like. Although I don't recommend cookies as a meal replacement." Janet tucked the clipboard into the crook of her arm, rocking back on her heels as she grinned at her friends. "And now, I'll let you two go home."

"Thanks, Doc." Jack raised a hand in a grateful wave.

"Don't mention it, Colonel." She turned, moving towards the curtain before stopping and turning back around. "Congratulations, you two. I'm really very happy for you."

Sam watched Janet leave, slowly exhaling as the curtain settled.

Pregnant. She'd known it was a possibility. Hell—a probability, given that they'd purposefully chosen not to do anything to prevent it. But still. It had only been a month—six weeks—since she'd driven up north. She'd expected things to take longer—especially in the aftermath of their time as Jonah and Thera.

But now—the reality of it was—well—

Pregnant.

Had it really only been four months? Four months since Samantha had burst back through the quantum mirror. Since she'd sacrificed herself for her child. Four months since she'd gripped Sam's arm and begged her to love Jake.

Four months since Sam had stood and looked at her own reflection in the bathroom mirror and tried to tell herself that it was better this way. That having Jonah's baby was too complicated. That she was glad that she'd dodged that proverbial bullet. Glad that she'd been granted a reprieve—especially with her sudden immersion into mothering Jake.

Four months since she'd told herself all those things—only to sit on the edge of her bathtub and cry because of the empty.

So much had changed. And now? Tears of a different sort teased at the corners of her eyes. Hormones. It was the hormones, right?

"You okay?" Soft, his voice soothed across the space between them, his breath warm on her cheek, his hand warm on her hip.

"Yeah." Sam nodded, angling her face towards his, taking in the tiny butterfly bandages on his upper cheek, the larger one just behind his ear. The scratches on his chin, the slight blistering on the tips of his ears and nose, the exhaustion that loomed behind his eyes. But, damn, he was handsome—even battered, sunburned, and fatigued. And he was looking back at her as if she were the only thing in the world worth looking at. "I'm better than okay."

"Oh?"

Leaning in, she pressed her cheek against his shoulder, leaning in to smile against his skin—to breathe him in. "I'm happy."

—-OOOOOOO—-

"What are you thinking?"

Sam closed her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nose. The tree smelled good—fresh and clean. She hadn't remembered the sweetness of that particular fragrance—it had been that long since she'd had a Christmas tree.

She'd slept late that morning—waking up to an empty house. He'd left her a note on the kitchen counter so that she wouldn't worry. She'd taken her time showering and getting dressed, brewing a pot of tea because the lingering smell of Jack's coffee had made her gag. He and Jake had been gone until late in the morning but had nevertheless returned in triumph.

Never mind that it was New Year's Eve and Christmas tree lots had long since shuttered. Never mind that the closest forest was miles away and federally protected, and that he didn't have a permit to cut a tree in the first place. Sam hadn't bothered to ask where he'd gotten the thing. She'd just unboxed the tree stand she'd bought weeks before and helped him set up Christmas.

So? They'd celebrated a week late, and it had been perfect. Just like the turkey sandwiches they'd had on Thanksgiving at the cabin had been perfect—and the traditional meal they'd had days later as their wedding feast. Just like the way he'd somehow produced a birthday cake for her the night before—when he'd only been back on Earth for a few hours and she'd fallen asleep on the couch before they'd lit the candle. Nothing they'd done so far had been according to any discernible plan, so why should Christmas have been any different?

During Jake's nap this afternoon, they'd stuffed his stocking and decorated the tree—then realized their own ineptitude when they'd scrambled to un-decorate the bottom third to protect the ornaments from Jake's grabby little hands. They'd shown him how to tear paper—a skill they were eventually sure to regret teaching him. He'd had a ball with the new toys—and even more fun with their boxes.

She'd thrown a frozen lasagna into the oven for dinner, but the smell had turned her stomach so badly she hadn't been able to eat it. She'd settled for some canned soup and saltines, as Jack and Jake had chowed down on the pasta.

After dinner, Jack had given Jake his bath and put him to bed. Coming back into the living room—barefoot and bare-chested—he'd finished tying the drawstring of his pajama bottoms as he'd looked for her. He'd seemed surprised to find her sitting on the rug in front of the tree, but had lowered himself to sit next to her all the same.

His hair was still damp. He'd taken yet another shower—a fact that immediately resounded with her. Dirty missions were the worst. The guck tended to linger.

Sam raised her hand and wiped a droplet of water off his temple, letting her fingers trail down his smoothly-shaven cheek. "I'm wondering where you found a fresh tree a week after Christmas."

Turning his face into her touch, he kissed her palm before shrugging. "I know a guy."

"You know a guy."

"I have a friend who owns a little airstrip outside of town. There are hangars on one side of the runway, and a nice little stand of fir trees on the other." He stretched his legs out in front of him. "He's ex-Navy, but decent. I asked him if I could cut one down, and he said 'yes'."

Looking back at the tree, Sam wrapped her arms around her knees. "Is there anything that you can't do?"

"Well." With a wry sort of grin, he sent her a sideways look. "I can't seem to be home on major holidays."

"What are you talking about?" She leaned over and rested her cheek on her folded arms—her face turned towards him. "You made it for the most important one."

"Christmas? I was a week late."

"No." Feigned solemnity followed by a slow smile. "My birthday."

"Ah. Well, I wouldn't miss that."

"You almost did."

He didn't say anything. Merely studied her, his eyes moving over her as intently as a caress.

The glow of the tree was the only illumination in the room. Sam had turned off the lights in the kitchen after finishing the dishes, and hadn't bothered with the lamps next to the couch. Her husband looked different like this—younger, somehow. More vital, with tinges of green and purple bouncing off the gray in his hair.

Sam reached up and ran her fingers through it, intrigued by the way the light glistened off his bare shoulders. The fresh shave on his jaw exposed the hollows of his cheeks, accentuating the creases at the sides of his mouth. His collarbones were just that much more angular. He'd lost weight on that planet. Enough for Sam to notice, at least.

Just like he'd noticed her reticence. "But you weren't really thinking about the tree."

"Not really."

"Sam?" Swaying a little, he bumped her shoulder. "What's wrong?'

She hesitated in telling him—and she really couldn't have said why. For half a breath, she considered ignoring his question, but knew he'd wonder. In the end, the words just seemed to tumble out of her mouth. "I started dreaming again while you were gone."

For the longest moment, he was silent, his eyes focused on her, but his mind working things through. "What kinds of dreams?"

"Not about Jonah and Thera. Not about that." Sam looked down at her bare knees. She'd thrown on an oversized t-shirt fresh from the dryer rather than bother with pajamas. A mistake, probably, since she was getting chilly. Tugging the hem of her shirt over her legs, she cast a look in Jack's direction. "But the dreams were—disturbing. I'd lost you and was constantly trying to find you. Running through the SGC, or forests, or ruined buildings. Jake was there sometimes in the dreams, too. And other people. Teal'c. Janet. Daniel. There was always blood or fire—devastation. Pain."

"Doc Fraiser said that it's because of the pregnancy, this time. Surging hormones of a different nature. Right?"

"I guess."

A longer silence, this time, as he processed both her words and her quietude. "Are you afraid that it's all starting again? Like before?"

"No." And really, she wasn't. Not like that. Except that it had felt like it had before, hadn't it? All desperation and agony. The realization felt like a gut-punch. Pressing her lips together, she stalled until she could speak again. "Maybe. I don't think so."

"Have you talked with anyone about it?"

Sam shook her head, biting her lip. "I made an appointment with Doctor McKenzie, but I didn't go."

"Oh?"

"I stood outside his door and stared at the nameplate on his wall and just—couldn't go in." She shifted, crossing her legs like a child, tilting her chin to get a better view up the top of the tree, where the lights made a hazy cloud of color in and around the lush needles. "It felt almost like I was admitting that I'm crazy."

He grunted—or it could have been a groan. Something guttural and raw. "You're not crazy."

"I used to be fearless, Jack. Nothing fazed me. I loved the adrenaline. The danger, you know? I flew fighter jets, for god's sake. I ran through alien worlds shooting enemy warriors. I made bombs and helped take down mother ships. I was a badass."

"You still are a badass." He took her hand, threading his fingers through hers. "That hasn't changed."

"I don't know, Jack. I feel—different." Sam closed her eyes, her hand loose within his grasp. "Like I'm afraid of everything. I feel like I've lost my edge."

He simply waited, knowing that there was more.

And there was. Sam slipped her fingers out of his as she fell back onto the plush area rug. After a moment, she continued. "While you were missing, I was terrified. It was paralyzing. I couldn't sleep. Didn't eat. Barely spoke with anyone but Jake and Janet."

"Why?"

This answer came immediately. "Because I thought I'd lost you."

Twisting a bit, he stretched out next to her—on his side. He propped his face on his hand. "You had to know that I'd do everything I could to make it home to you."

"But what if it wasn't enough?" She covered her eyes with her palm, sucking in a tentative breath. "What if you'd died on that planet?"

"But I didn't."

"But what if you had?" A hint of strain had made its way into her voice. Not panic—not quite. Shoving her hand through her hair, she turned her face towards him. "I'm not sure I would survive that."

His dark eyes studied her as he considered. "Sam—how many missions have we gone on together?"

She tried to calculate it, but the numbers just jumbled over each other in her head. "A few hundred. Maybe more."

"And in how many missions have we died?"

Despite it all, she snorted—a giggle threatening at the back of her throat. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Scratch that." Rolling his eyes, he tried again. "And how many times did we not make it back?"

"None."

His fingers brushing her cheek, her jawline, her chin. As if he needed to make sure she was still there and corporeal. As if we're reassuring himself as well as comforting her. "Sam—I will always come back to you."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

She splayed her hand on the rug, digging her fingers slightly into the soft nap. "Because that wasn't one of our vows."

"Do you want me to make it one?"

Even if she felt a tiny bit foolish for it? Even if her logical mind chided her for it? Even though it wouldn't make a bit of difference? She knew full well that there was no way he could guarantee such a thing. Still—she nodded. "Yes."

"Okay." He paused, studying her face. "Sam—I promise—"

"Wait!" Sam slipped her fingers under the neck of her shirt, pulling out her dog tags. With a quick twist of the links, she removed Jack's ring from the chain and secured the closure, then threaded it back over her head. Turning onto her side, she reached for his hand. "You need this."

He watched as she slid the ring home. "I wondered where that had gotten to."

Tightening her grip on his hand, she exhaled. "Okay. You can do it now."

But he was scowling down at her bare finger. "Where's your ring?"

She scrunched her nose—looking away a bit sheepishly. "In the kintsugi cup. I still feel so conspicuous wearing it at work, and then, with Jake and all, I just forget it completely."

His eyebrows rose as he frowned at her. "Sam—we're married. People on base know that we're married. It's not like it's a freaking state secret."

"I know. I know."

"Then wear the damned ring."

"I will." When he continued to look skeptical, she sobered. "I promise. I will."

"Great." His dark eyes warmed, a hinted smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "Samantha Carter—I—"

"O'Neill."

"What?"

"Samantha Carter-O'Neill. That's my name."

"Right." He shook his head, breathing out a little laugh. "Samantha Carter-O'Neill. I swear that I will always come home to you."

Sam tugged on his hand, pulling him nearer to where she lay. "No matter what?"

"Damn straight." Pressing his lips together, he angled closer to her, until he was nearly flush against her. Until he could wrap his arm around her waist and pull her fully against him. "No matter what."

He felt so good against her, solid and substantial. He smelled of soap, and shaving cream, and whatever it was that was just him. Strong—alive—able. Sam leaned into his touch, trailing her fingers along his waist, his side, along the soft flannel waistband of his pajama bottoms. Up his abdomen—between their bodies—over the planes of his chest, combing through the hair there, feeling the chain of his dog tags—warmed by his body.

Smiling, he brushed his knuckles along her cheek, his thighs hard against her own. Somehow, he managed to pull her even closer, to tweak their positions until she was lying half-beneath him and he was nuzzling her neck—warming her jaw with his mouth while his hand played at the hem of her shirt.

"Sam—" His lips moved against his throat.

"Hmmm?"

He took her earlobe between his teeth, biting gently before kissing his way down her face to tease at the soft skin beneath her jaw. "Have I told you that I love you?"

"Not recently."

His lips grazed her cheek, her chin, the corner of her lips. Light—feather soft. So, so gently—as his hands did divine things to her hip, her back, his thumb teasing just inside the elastic band of her panties. "Sam?"

"Hmmm?"

Against her lips, his knee insinuating itself between her thighs. "Because I really do."

"Jack." Her fingers raked through his hair, cupping his jaw as he urged her lips to open. As she did so—eagerly—her response so immediate that neither of them could help but delve further with teeth and tongues.

And his hand continued upwards beneath her shirt—skimming along her sides, her ribs—warm against her belly—

"Jack?"

"Mmm?"

Down—down—his tongue laving at her throat, the delicate curve of her collarbone—sending rich shivers throughout her entire body that kindled a wanton heat deep in her core.

"Jack—" She pushed at his chest with her palm. "Just a minute—"

Lifting his head, he looked at her through eyes so dark that they were practically black. "What?"

"Let's not tell anyone about the baby." Practically a whisper. Because talking about it still seemed too precious. "Not yet."

"Why not?"

"It's bad luck before the first trimester is over."

"Okay." He sucked in a deep breath, his palm smoothing along her abdomen. The touch was intentional. "Whatever you want."

"I just—want to keep this between us for a bit." Pressing her lips together, she squinted up at him. "Ours. You know?"

"Sure." A slow, easy smile curved his lips. "You want to know what else is just ours?"

Sam's brows rose. "What?"

"This. Right now."

"What about it?"

"I might have fantasized about this a little over the past few days—or years." Jack's fingers started working again. Back down her body towards the soft cotton he'd abandoned earlier as his mouth found her throat again.

"Fantasized about what?" Sighing, Sam gave herself up to his touch—arching towards it—her own hands holding him closer, urging him on.

"This." Back to her mouth, now—full and hot and sweet—his weight hovering over her as he worked her shirt up her body. "You."

She found the tie to his pajamas, working it free. Smiling against his lips, Sam tugged at the soft fabric, her fingers delving beneath, only to be displaced again as he divested her of her shirt. Somehow, between kisses and sighs and the need to breathe, she found the mental acuity to ask, "Me?"

"You. Under a Christmas tree." He tossed the shirt to one side, then rose up on one elbow just to look at her. He was breathing heavily, his eyes hooded and dark, his hands tracing the curves of her body. "Wearing nothing but the glow."

Hazy, the thought rose in the back of her mind that she should respond. But when he did that—oh, lord—and that. When he'd moved himself like that—slow, and deep and thorough—well, there were worse things than losing one's mind, right?

Except—she'd thought of something—some other bit of dross that needed to be said—

"Jack."

He was halfway down her body, finding new softnesses along the way, his tongue tasting her—his hands learning her—absently, nuzzling her there—oh, holy—there. Wandering, meandering—sucking oh-so-lightly on her—oh, sweet, holy hell—

At her moan, he smiled against her skin. "Hmm?"

"Jack—" Reaching down, she tugged at his hair until he'd paused in his forays. Sam scrunched her eyes closed—seeing him made it impossible to think. "You know what?"

Kiss. Feathery light—warm wet caresses touch hot wonderful—love, oh, love. His lips branded her skin—his hands and teeth and tongue eliciting delicious shivers everywhere—before he lifted his head to look up at her, his eyes unfocused and a little wild. "What?"

"I was just thinking."

"About?"

About how much she loved this man—about how he completed her. Made her whole. About how his touch brought her alive. About how his faith in her gave her strength.

But there was something more—some random tidbit. Through the maelstrom of sensation, she could just barely remember what it was—

"We should have bought that second crib."

—-OOOOOOO—-

A/N: Okay. Here's the deal. I never intended this to turn into "As the Stargate Turns" or "General Stargate".

I've honestly spent hours and hours looking ahead at how many ways this story could go—and the prospect is very daunting. Looking back on this process, I should have clicked "complete" on this story after their wedding. It was a logical point at which to give them their "happy ending" and move on.

But I had become so obsessed in it that I couldn't end it. There was still so much to explore! My imagination was wild for all the scenarios, the possibilities, the implications that arise from what's happened here. And believe me—I still am totally invested in exploring all of that.

But this thing is a monster. It's already pushing 200,000 words, and is only going to grow. I really don't want to make this into a soap opera. That does a disservice to these characters. So, I've mapped out an endgame to this particular story that will take us through a few (several) more chapters into what (I hope) will be a satisfying ending. We'll wrap up some storylines, expand a few plot points, and give us (and by that, I mean me) some closure. After that, I'll add to this universe with a few stand-alone stories (that I already have planned out) that will add to this universe without feeling melodramatic or gratuitous.

I have been absolutely blown away by the amazing response to Beauty In The Broken. I am so blessed by everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, and followed it. To say that you have humbled me by your support is a massive understatement. My greatest wish as a writer is to entertain other people, and you all have made me feel as if I've been granted that gift.

Thank you!