Chapter 1

Samantha Carter poured herself yet another cup of coffee and rubbed her forehead, trying to focus on the paperwork from the SGC that was spread all over her kitchen table. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't let herself think straight or she'd go a little crazy. So the only feasible solution was clearly the same one that had always clicked perfectly for her: to overwork herself into a comfortable mental glaze, obscuring her problems as best she could. Even this wasn't really working, possibly for the first time.

She stared down at her engagement ring and turned it a few times distractedly around her finger. Part of her wanted to yank it right off, to go tell Pete their marriage was never going to happen. It was the same part of her that had brought her over to Jack's house a few days ago, where she had been right on the verge of rather pathetically confessing her love to him when another woman, Kerry, had stepped out into the yard.

What an obnoxiously profound interruption. Now it was back to square one.

Jack had moved on. He didn't seem to be thinking of her romantically these days. Sure, he'd been there for her after her father had died, and it meant the world to her. But there was friendship and then there was love. Pete was a good man who offered her the latter, so who was she to deny herself and him that chance for happiness, all because of these nagging, never-ending doubts that hassled her day and night? She could have a fascinating and rewarding career filled with adventure, and she could have Jack's loyalty just as she had Daniel's and Teal'c's. Why wasn't it enough? Sam kept reminding herself that she couldn't have it all, but that never stopped her from wanting it anyway.

The knock that sounded at her door startled her out of her reverie. She glanced at the clock…it was past midnight. It must be an emergency…which alien enemy had reared its ugly head now? She went rushing over to the door and opened it to find Jack O'Neill standing there in the pouring rain, dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans. His eyes were swimming with some emotion she couldn't identify that struck her to the heart. But naturally, as always, his dead serious expression relaxed into a teasing smile.

"You look terrific," he remarked admiringly, raising his eyebrows at her attire.

Dammit! Sam glanced down at her white tank top and pink-striped sleep shorts. She wasn't even wearing a bra. Oops.

"Sorry, sir," Sam said, blushing. "It's late, you know. I was about to go to bed," she lied. Now was she crazy, or did that statement make Jack blush back a little bit? What was going on here, anyway?

"Not that I don't love an impromptu bath, Carter, but can I please come in?"

"Oh, sorry, sir," she said again, irritated with herself for knee-jerk apologizing to the man twice within a thirty second span. Why did he get under her skin and bring out this bizarrely submissive streak in her? The longer their lives stretched on without their ever getting together, which she was increasingly seeing as a waste of time, the more his effect on her made her angry. She'd spent enough time feeling like a lovelorn schoolgirl around Jack O'Neill. That had to end.

Good luck with that, she thought sardonically.

"Thanks," Jack said, stepping inside and looking around as if he'd never been there before. "Oh, you moved the couch," he observed pointlessly, turning a black baseball cap over and over in his hands.

"Is there a…uh, reason why you're here, sir?" Sam asked.

"Oh, good, coffee," Jack noticed, glancing towards the kitchen. "Can I have a cup?"

"Sure," Sam said, "Follow me." She thrust a mug into his hands and pointed at the pot, then sat on a stool in front of the island, propping her legs up on the adjacent seat. Resting her chin on her knee, Sam watched as Jack poured the dark liquid crookedly into his cup, almost spilling.

"Sir?"

"Carter?"

"It's 12:30am. What's going on?"

"Uhhh….." Jack stalled, running a hand through his damp salt and pepper flecked hair. He swallowed hard, downright staring at her as she sat there with her blue eyes turned upward at him imploringly. "I thought you said you were going to bed," he said, changing the subject. "Why the coffee?"

"I was up late working," she explained. "How about you? Why are you still out and about at this hour? What brings you here?"

"You look really pretty," he suddenly observed, "And I'm really nervous."

Was he here to say what she thought he was? Sam's heart beat so hard she thought it would burst.

"Thanks, sir…but why are you nervous, and what's with the sudden interest in my appearance?" Now she was teasing him a little bit, but he had it coming.

"I'm always interested in your appearance, Sam," Jack said, his voice quiet and revealing. "And I think it's about time you stopped calling me sir."

Sam had waited years to hear him say that, but on the other hand, something about this random undoing of the boundary between them, rank, set off her temper. He could have done that at any time but had chosen not to until now, of all times.

"Oh, thanks, that's really big of you, Jack," Sam stated in a snarky tone.

"Oh," Jack gulped. "You're mad."

"That's right, I'm mad," Sam confirmed, standing up and getting right in his face. "For the thousandth time, what's this all about? Eight years we've been circling each other, me just hoping maybe someday you'd get your act together and make a move before we both slipped away from each other." Jack flinched, feeling the raw emotions of her words.

"And now, when I'm engaged to someone else and you're banging some CIA bimbo, suddenly you wanna show up on my doorstep soaking wet with your big brown eyes and your shaking hands and tell me I'm pretty and I don't have to call you sir?"

"I don't know if my favorite part of that sentence was "banging" or "CIA bimbo," Jack remarked, clearly a tiny bit amused by her even now. "And my hands aren't shaking." He put them behind his back anyway, though.

"Don't be condescending," Sam ordered. "You've got a hell of a lot of explaining to do."

"I know that," Jack admitted. "And Sam, I could never condescend to you in a million years. You're the most beautiful, tough, intelligent woman in the world. I'm lucky to get to interact with you every day, and I've acted like a complete moron since the day I met you."

Wow. Those words were like a massive water tower bursting out and drowning every iota of her anger.

"Continue," Sam said, her face easing into a smile that surprised her, but one she couldn't hold back. She crossed her arms, maintaining the pretense of confrontation.

"Continue?" Jack repeated incredulously. "That's all I get for that speech?" She shrugged and waited for him to keep talking. "Fine, I'll continue," he said huskily, taking her face into his hands and kissing her deeply.

Sam's body seemed to melt against him automatically, wanting to plaster itself to him and never let go. His tender, yet needy and increasingly aggressive kiss met an immediate reciprocation from her as she sighed, feeling herself floating somewhere far above reality as she'd always known it.

The cravings for each other they'd tried so long and hard to repress came rushing back at triple speed, more overwhelming and irresistible than ever. His hands began to run all over her upper body, slipping under her shirt to finger her bare back. She gasped at what ought to seem like an innocent enough move on his part. It was junior high dance level erotic, or should be, but instead the sensation of his finger on her skin ignited a fire within Sam she couldn't withstand. It had to be all that time she'd spent feeling that any physical contact between them was taboo.

"So," Sam whispered, biting his lip very lightly and enjoying the little start that went through Jack, "was there something else you wanted to tell me?"

"Yeah," Jack murmured, running his lips down her neck enticingly. "But my mind doesn't seem to be working very well right now. Or maybe it's just going a little crazy, you know?"

"I know," Sam smiled against his mouth, grabbing his hand and leading him to the living room. God knew how she was able to unpeel herself from him for even that long. She pushed him gently back onto the couch and sat beside him. Her libido was screaming obscenities of complaint at her for interrupting that encounter, but Sam still wanted full disclosure.

"Jack, why are you here?" She stared at him, her breath coming slightly raggedly, her skin buzzing with excitement.

"I'm here to tell you not to marry Pete," Jack stated simply.

"Because…" Sam prompted.

"Because I love you," Jack confessed, angst painting his features. "Isn't it obvious? Hasn't it always been obvious?"

"Yes! No! I don't know!" Sam laughed shortly, tears spilling out of her eyes, but she didn't feel embarrassed or even mind them. "And how long did you plan to wait for my psychic powers to kick in before you actually said something about it?"

"Aw, don't be like that," Jack pleaded. "You could've said something too, you know. And anyway, I did tell you, four years ago, in front of Anise or Freya or whatever her name was. You know, the one with the slutty outfits and the intellectual jargon and the lie detecting, Goa'uld spy detecting super machine."

"And I admitted it back," Sam reminded him.

"Not in so many words," Jack insisted. "Why don't you say it now? Or don't you feel the same anymore?" Fear flickered in his eyes.

"I love you, Jack," Sam said softly, drawing closer to him and resting her legs in his lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His hands clasped them and his face reflected an immense relief at her words. "I always have," she added helplessly. "And from the way we just kissed, don't you think that's obvious?"

"Then why are you putting me through this interrogation?" Jack asked.

"Because I was mad," Sam replied, her voice breaking. "I needed to get it out of my system. Maybe it wasn't fair, expecting you to be the one to make the first move. We were both in this mess together from the beginning. From the first time I ever met you, I knew you were what I wanted."

"And now?" He bent his head so that their foreheads touched and she closed her eyes, slipping into contentment.

"It's only gotten more true," she smiled, "But what about-" she drew back slightly - "'Kerry?'" Sam put finger quotes around the name.

"Now who's condescending?" Jack quipped. "You know, it was Kerry who smacked some sense into me - verbally, of course. She broke up with me and told me to be with you, all in one fell swoop. Smart lady."

"Oh," Sam said, feeling a bit sheepish about her instant resentment of Jack's most recent girlfriend. Kerry wasn't all bad after all.

"Hey," Jack said, "it's not like she was the one standing between us. What about Pete?"

"Well, I have to break up with him," Sam explained, "but I was gonna do that anyway. I just realized that."

"I see," Jack said, smirking as he sat back and stretched his arms behind his head proudly. Sam swatted him affectionately.

"Pete's a good guy, so try taking this more seriously. And anyway, it means you have to leave," Sam pointed out.

"What? Why? We waited all this time to be together…" Jack stroked her hair and looked into her eyes soulfully, temptingly. "And are you not wearing a bra?"

"Get out," Sam laughed. "I mean it. It's not right for us to be together until I have a chance to break it off with Pete. Tomorrow."

"Call me tomorrow?" Jack asked quietly.

"You'll see me in a few hours at work," Sam reminded him.

"I know. Call me?"

"Of course," Sam agreed.