A story that's been kicking around in my head and on my notebooks for a while :-)

Tagged

The battle raged, but with SG-3 standing over them, Jack looked down at Carter.

"Sir…" she sighed, voice broken by the pain that was wracking her body.

"Shhh," he whispered, willing her not to die while knowing that her chances were slim. He looked up as rocks exploded above their heads, checking to see if their position was still safe. He looked down to see her reaching into her shirt, tugging out her dog tags. She gently detached the second tag, handing it to him.

"No," he mouthed.

"Jack," she whispered as his hand closed around hers.

Her eyes closed.

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Sitting in the infirmary waiting for her to wake up, Jack twirled the metal chain around his fingers. Carter had obviously thought herself dead on that battlefield. For once, she was wrong. Jack couldn't have been more thankful.

Nothing had scared him more than having her hand him that tag with such a defeated look.

Now he sat, waiting for her to wake so he could return the chain that had been taken off for surgery, slip it over her head without a word and two tags in place. They wouldn't need words.

She'd be able to see the difference.

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Sam had obviously been up all night when she arrived at breakfast, but Pete hadn't been prepared for her falling asleep at the table.

Carefully, Pete carried her to the couch. Sleeping, she shifted onto her side, her dog tags slipping from beneath her shirt. He'd never noticed her wearing them off-base before. Curiosity getting best of him, he picked up the tags for a better look, not expecting to find what he did.

Yes, one tag held the expected details of Samantha Cater – but the other belonged to Jack O'Neill.

Pete tried not to think of what it meant.

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This was why she never took her dog tags off base, she thought desperately as she rummaged through her bag. They went missing! She was sure that she'd dropped them in there during the evening, when she'd realized that she had them.

What was she going to tell General O'Neill? They'd made a point of not mentioning the tags, or what he'd done.

It turned out to be easy.

"General, sir, I've lost my dog tags."

"I'll get you another set made, Carter."

She tried hard not to cry when the new chain came back, both tags bearing her name.

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The package came three days after she'd left him. She hadn't heard from him since he had walked away, leaving her alone in the garden.

Her hands shook as she opened the small brown package and she nearly cried with both dismay and relief when she saw the contents, lying in amidst torn up newspaper.

It was her dog tags. She didn't need to read the names impressed onto the metal to know that he'd taken from them from her, that she'd never really lost them.

Picking them up, she gave into that urge to cry.

He'd known all along.

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Since she'd gotten her tags back, she'd gotten into the habit of fiddling with them. Maybe it was a way to distract herself, maybe a way to remind herself.

She wondered if he wore his, the ones he'd created. Had he stopped when she'd met Pete? She hoped against hope he hadn't.

The answer came when he leant over while she was fiddling. His tags slipped from beneath his shirt, tangling with hers.

Four tags. Two names. He still wore them.

Without another thought, she leaned forward. He met her kiss halfway, their fingers coming together, tangling around the tags.

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