Chapter Text
It was a chilly Saturday afternoon when he stood at her door. Several long minutes passed before Jack finally found the courage to knock.
Three weeks. Three damn weeks of her avoiding him. Sidestepping conversations, volunteering for double shifts, inventing reasons to be anywhere but near him.
At first, Jack hadn’t thought much of it. After what they’d been through off-world, a little distance made sense. The mission had gone to hell fast - hostile natives, a power-hungry warlord, and days spent in a filthy cell while he drifted in and out of consciousness from blood loss due to a shot in the upper thigh, dangerously close to the femoral artery. But they made it out. They’d faced worse and walked away.
Except this time something was different.
They had barely made it back. He remembered flashes - Sam’s voice ordering Teal’c to move faster as he carried him towards the Stargate, the icy grip of the wormhole, the metallic taste of blood when he tried to breathe, the white-hot pain in his upper leg. Then white lights, Janet shouting orders, the burn of IV lines and the sterile smell of the oxygen mask. Then.. nothing.
After surgery when he slowly became aware of his surroundings, Sam was sitting at his bedside, motionless, eyes red but dry, hand wrapped around his fingers. Daniel was pacing the room while Teal’c practiced kel no’reem in the back of the room. He couldn’t manage to keep his eyes open.
When he finally woke for real, she was still there. Silent. Watchful. She tried to smile when he turned to her and said her name but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
In the days that followed, something shifted. She was still kind, still professional, but a step removed. She timed her visits for when others were around, left before the room went quiet. When he tried to catch her eye, she always found something to check on, a monitor, a chart, anything but him.
Jack noticed. Of course he did. He’d spent years reading her behaviour - the flicker of her gaze, the way her shoulders tightened when something was wrong. Now, every movement was guarded. Controlled. And it struck him harder than any bullet that had ever hit him. He told himself to give her space, that pushing wouldn’t help, but each time she walked out of the room, it felt like she was taking something vital with her.
Since then, she’d built a wall between them, brick by brick. He’d catch glimpses of her in corridors when he was able to walk again on crutches, turning away before he could speak, busying herself with nonexistent tasks, vanishing into her lab. He’d tried to let it go, to respect whatever space she thought she needed. But every instinct screamed that something wasn’t right.
-----------------------------
Last night, Daniel had confirmed it.
Jack had been sitting in his office, pretending to go through overdue mission reports, when Daniel appeared in the doorway. He’d looked off, too stiff, too careful. That alone had set off alarms. Daniel never did careful unless he was hiding something.
It had taken ten minutes of stammering and evasions before the truth came out. And when it did, it felt like the floor dropped out from under him.
During their captivity, Sam had made a deal. When it became clear that Jack probably wasn’t going to make it - that the infection, the blood loss, the fever would take him down - she’d gone to their captor. The self-proclaimed ruler of that miserable planet had agreed to let them go… if she would spend the night with him. A trade. Her body for Jack’s life.
And she had done it.
Jack hadn’t said a word at first. His mind couldn’t wrap around it. Daniel kept talking, apologizing, explaining how Sam had begged him and Teal’c to leave it out of the debriefing, how she hadn’t wanted Janet or General Hammond to know, how she’d sworn them to silence. He said she’d looked him straight in the eye and told him she just wanted to forget.
Jack had finally asked, voice low but with barely suppressed anger, “And you LET her?”
Daniel’s answer had been barely audible. "She was falling apart, Jack. What were we supposed to do?”
Then the thought hit him, sharp and unwelcome: they hadn’t chosen this for her. They had only followed her wishes. And yet… if they hadn’t, if he’d been stronger, faster, smarter… maybe she wouldn’t have had to make that choice at all.
He couldn’t blame Daniel or Teal’c. Not really. But the image of Sam, of what she had endured, what she had given, burned in his mind like acid, and for the first time he wondered if he could ever forgive himself.
He hardly slept that night. He’d lain awake, staring at the ceiling, Daniel’s words replaying in an endless loop. She’d saved his life. At that cost.
By morning, the decision had already formed in him. He couldn’t leave it like this. She was out there carrying that weight alone, and he couldn’t - wouldn’t - let her. And still he waited till the afternoon to finally get in the car and drive to her apartment complex.
----------------------------------
So here he was.
The hallway was silent except for the faint hum of a light fixture. Standing in front of her door, hand half-raised, pulse hammering in his throat like a rookie facing his first combat. He’d knocked on plenty of doors in his life. None of them had felt like this.
And suddenly he thought of turning back. Of giving her more time. Maybe she didn’t want to see him. Actually, who was he kidding - she went out of her way to avoid him. He was the last person on earth she wanted to see right now. But the thought of her alone in that apartment, tearing herself apart in silence was worse.
He inhaled sharply and finally knocked. The dull sound was barely audible outside, but inside him it landed like an explosion.
After some time that felt like an eternity there were light, hesitant footsteps.
The lock turned, the door opened. Sam appeared, hair looking like it hadn’t been brushed in a while, shadows beneath her eyes that hadn’t been there before the mission.
“Sir!”
Her voice cracked, the word too quick, too tight. Her blue eyes widened, startled, then narrowed, suspicion flickering behind them. She leaned into the doorframe like a shield, one hand tight on the edge of the door.
„Carter.“
“What are you doing here?”
Jack tried for casual, although his mouth felt dry as sandpaper. He cleared his throat.
“Just checking in on you. Can I come in?”
Her knuckles whitened on the wood. She didn’t answer immediately, every muscle taut, like a coiled spring.
“Now isn’t… really a good time.”
His gaze sought hers, but her eyes darted to the carpet. He tried to keep his tone light, soft.
“Please.”
That was when the thought hit him - *she’s scared of me*. Not because he’d ever given her reason to be, but because seeing him meant remembering.
The silence stretched. Finally, her shoulders sagged just a fraction. With a sigh heavy, she opened the door wider and stepped aside.
“Fine. Come in.”
Jack crossed the threshold. The air inside felt stale and heavy. She gestured vaguely toward the living room without looking at him.
“Sorry for the mess,” she said, words tumbling too quickly. “Can I get you anything? Coffee?”
Her movements were mechanical, already halfway toward the kitchen.
He scanned the room. The blanket on the couch was a crumpled heap. Empty mugs sat on the table, some half-finished, rim-stained. Books and papers scattered in piles that spoke more of frantic hands than leisure reading. The television was off but the remote sat clutched in the corner of the couch. The chaos was quiet but telling: this was not how Samantha Carter usually lived.
Jack took off his jacket and sat down, the couch dipping beneath him. “Sure,” he said absently, though the idea of coffee turned his stomach. His eyes roamed over the subtle signs—long nights, restless pacing.
His gut clenched.
*So, how do you plan to start this?* his mind mocked. He shook it off and spoke.
“You okay?”
The air froze. Sam halted mid-step, her spine a steel rod. Her hand hovered above a mug. Slowly she turned, her face careful and calculated.
“I’m just a little under the weather. Didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”
Her arms folded tight across her chest, shield and barrier. She met his eyes for a fleeting moment before turning away, the connection severed.
Jack leaned forward. “Then why do I get the feeling you’re avoiding me?”
The words landed like both a challenge and a plea. The silence that followed was unbearable. She turned back to the counter, rattling mugs, filling the silence with sharp clatters and the hiss of the coffee machine. Her hands shook faintly, betraying the lie her voice had just given.
“Sam.” His tone was quiet but firm, cutting through the noise. “C'mere?”
A beat, then softer: “Please?”
She stilled again. For a moment she seemed carved out of stone. Finally, with a sharp exhale, she set the mugs down hard enough to clink. Turning slowly, arms locked across her chest again, she approached like she was walking into fire. Every step radiated reluctance.
“Sir…”
“We're not at the SGC right now. It's Jack,” he corrected gently, patting the cushion beside him. “Sit?”
Her lips pressed thin. She stayed standing. “I’m really tired. Please, could we do this another time?”
He shook his head faintly. He didn’t know what words would come next. Only that he had to find them.
“Sam… I know. Daniel told me.”
Her reaction was immediate, visceral. Her face went white, tears flooding her eyes before she could blink them back. She bit down on her lip so hard it looked painful.
“What … what do you mean?” Her voice wavered.
Jack’s chest squeezed tight. He wanted to find the words that would make this bearable. Nothing came. Only raw honesty.
“I’m sorry, Sam. God, I’m so sorry.”
She inhaled sharply, spinning toward the patio. The glass door slammed open, shuddering in its frame. Cold air blasted into the room as she stormed outside.
Jack took a deep breath and followed her, slow and careful, giving her space. Outside she was turned away from him, gripping the railing with both hands, her knuckles bloodless. Looking into the distance, her shoulders trembled with each breath.
“Daniel had NO RIGHT!” Her voice shattered the air, jagged and raw.
Jack’s voice was low, cautious. “He thinks I need to know what happened. I owe you my life.”
Her shoulders shook harder. She buried her face in her hands, sobs ripping through her.
“You didn’t want me to know,” Jack said gently, without accusation.
Her head snapped up, eyes wild. “Of course not! Would YOU have wanted me to know if it was the other way around?”
Jack froze. His throat worked but no words came. He knew the truth. She was right.
„Did you talk to someone? Janet?“
She dragged her hands down her face, frustration sparking through the tears. “What’s the point? Talking doesn’t change it! It happened, Jack — it’s done. You can’t talk it away, can’t undo it.”
Her voice cracked to a shout. She turned away again, clutching the railing.
Jack’s fists clenched at his sides. He wrestled with the urge to close the gap and pull her in, to fix everything. He forced himself still. Not yet. He made his voice steady, slow.
“Sam. I know I can’t undo it. But I can be here. With you.”
Her sobs came sharper, quicker. He saw her shoulders rise and fall too fast. Panic. Breath hitching, shallow. His instincts surged. He stepped closer now, hand extended, palm up. Not touching. Just offering.
“I’m here.”
Still she didn’t move. Didn’t look. So he shifted his stance, lowering his shoulders, softening his posture, making himself smaller - not looming over her, just present and grounded. His gaze lifted toward her, waiting.
Her face was streaked with tears, eyes bloodshot and her lips trembled. Jack slowly raised a hand, his fingers brushing her cheek. No flinch. She slowly turned and looked at him. He then dared to cup her face fully, thumbs brushing away the tears.
“Sam,” he whispered. “Listen to me. You’re one of the bravest people I know. Please don’t carry this alone.”
That’s when something inside her broke. A low sound tore free, like an animal. Her knees buckled. Jack caught her before she hit the ground, arms wrapping her tight as she collapsed against him.
The dam burst.
Ugly sobs ripped out of her, violent and unrestrained. She clutched at his shirt, fists bunching the fabric as she held on. She buried her face in his shoulder, soaking it with tears and snot, grief pouring out in waves she couldn’t stop.
Jack tightened his hold - one hand cradled her head, the other braced her waist. He didn’t hush her. Didn’t say *it’s okay*—because it wasn’t. He breathed slowly, deliberately, lending her the rhythm she’d lost.
The sobs came in waves, ebbing and surging back. She choked, coughed, gasped for air.
Jack’s own throat burned, eyes stinging. He pressed his face into her hair, swallowing the tight ache in his chest. Guilt gnawed at him - guilt that he’d put her in harm’s way, that his weakness had forced her choice. His arms tightened, as if to make up for what he couldn’t change.
Her sobs finally began to falter. Strength drained out of her, leaving tremors and shudders. Her grip on his shirt slackened, though her fingers still curled weakly, refusing to let go.
He lowered them gently, easing both of them onto the patio floor. She curled against him, small and fragile. He reached back for the blanket draped over a chair, pulling it around her shoulders without breaking his hold.
“Shhh,” he murmured, pressing his cheek to her damp hair. “I’ve got you.”
Her body sagged heavier against him, boneless with exhaustion. Her breathing slowed, ragged but steadier. She clung faintly to his sleeve, an anchor she refused to release.
Her words slipped out, muffled into his chest, almost inaudible. “I couldn’t lose you. I just couldn’t.“
Jack’s breath caught. His throat ached. He kissed the crown of her head, voice barely a whisper. “You didn’t. You won’t. I’m right here.”
Jack held her, rocking slightly, his gaze drifting out toward the dusky sky above the patio, where the last light of day lingered.
His own thoughts looped. He thought of his own scars, the nights he’d hidden them behind jokes and whiskey. He’d never wanted anyone to see him like that. And now Sam had laid herself bare in the ugliest way. Because of him.
His jaw clenched. He tightened his arms around her. Jack consciously exhaled, slow and shaky, and leaned his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes, letting the weight of her trust settle over him. Heavy. Precious. Fragile. And he would carry it, for as long as she needed.
Jack remained still, arms steady around her, his shirt damp with tears. He didn’t rush her or speak too soon; he simply breathed with her, chest rising and falling against hers until she slowly matched his rhythm. Every time her body shuddered with another wave of grief, he tightened his embrace just slightly, anchoring her.
The cold floor reminded him that this wasn’t the best place to be right now.
„Sam, it’s getting cold out here. Let’s go inside.“
His voice was low, almost a whisper. He waited till he felt her nod against his shoulder. He shifted carefully, stood up and let one arm slide under her knees, the other cradling her back.
She resisted for only a second, embarrassed at the idea of being carried, but her exhaustion won.
„I’ve got you.”
He lifted her up while she let her head rest against his shoulder. He let the blanket slide down onto the railing and nudged the patio door open with his right foot.
For a moment, Jack hesitated. The sofa was definitely closer. But she was bone-tired and needed real rest, not a nap between cushions. The bed would be warmer, safer. He adjusted his hold on her and made up his mind.
He carried her through the living room into the bedroom. There, he set her down gently on the edge of the bed and pulled back the covers. She looked at him then, eyes red-rimmed, lips pressed tight as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Finally, she grabbed his arm and whispered.
„Jack. Stay, please?“
He gave a small nod, no hesitation, then crouched to take off her shoes and place them neatly beside the bed. Then he sat down to pull off his own, setting them quietly next to hers — two pairs side by side on the floorboards.
“Lie down,” he said softly. He then guided her down onto the pillow, tucking the blanket around her with deliberate care.
When she curled onto her side, drawing her knees up instinctively as if to take up less space in the world, Jack eased down behind her. He left a breath of distance between them, enough for her to move if she needed to - his presence filled the room anyway.
His arm settled lightly across her hip, a quiet promise rather than a claim, his breath warm against the back of her neck. A barrier against the dark, but never a cage.
Sam exhaled shakily. For the first time since the mission, she felt something close to safety - not absolution, not release from the memories, but safety in its rawest shape.
Her hand reached back, hesitant, brushing against his. Jack caught it, fingers weaving through hers without hesitation. She drew their joined hands forward to her chest, anchoring them there, until the steady rhythm of his breathing seemed to match her own.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured.
The tension bled from her muscles little by little, leaving only bone-deep fatigue. Her eyelids fluttered shut, though a last tear slipped free. Jack squeezed her hand, silent promise in the gesture.
As she drifted, he stayed awake, listening to her breathing, replaying every choice he had made that night and wondering if he had done enough. When she twitched restlessly, he whispered reassurances until she stilled again.
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and brushed his forehead lightly against the crown of her hair.
Only then did he let his own eyes close, holding her steady in the fragile calm after the storm.
---
The nightmare began innocently, as dreams sometimes do: A dimmed light source above her, walls covered with precious fabric. She was lying on a thick, very soft mattress that threatened to swallow her.
Then everything shifted, the air grew thick. A shadow moved toward her, faceless, cold hands touching her. Sam tried to move, to shout, but her body betrayed her - paralyzed, every command from her mind swallowed by the weight of fear. She felt herself pinned, her voice strangled in her throat. The smell of sweat filled her nose, and the memory blurred into one sharp truth: she had been used, her body taken as a bargaining chip, and she had endured it because Jack’s life hung in the balance.
In the dream, she heard his voice - Jack’s - but distant, muffled, like he was calling her name through a wall. Her mouth tried to form words: *I’m here. I’m sorry.*
But the shadow pressed her down harder. Her heart pounded until she thought it might burst. Shame rose like acid in her chest, burning hotter than fear.
Sam jerked awake with a cry, thrashing. Her hand shot out, grabbing at invisible restraints, until Jack’s voice cut through.
“Easy, hey - Sam, it’s just me. You’re okay.” She had turned during her nightmare so that she was facing him, lashing out now to get away from a dark threat.
He caught her wrists gently but firmly, pinning them against his chest so she couldn’t hurt herself. His voice was calm, even though his heart hammered against his ribs.
“You’re safe. Nobody’s here but me.”
Her eyes were wild and unfocused, darting around the dark room. Sweat slicked her forehead, her hair sticking to her skin. “Jack ….” The word tore out of her, half plea, half apology.
“Right here,” he whispered, releasing her wrists only to cup her face. He kept his touch feather-light, afraid of adding to her panic. “Breathe with me. In, out. In, out.”
It took agonizing seconds, but finally her gaze locked on him. She gulped down a breath, her body trembling so hard the mattress shook. Jack pulled her against him, his arms circling her with deliberate steadiness.
He pressed his cheek against her temple, murmuring softly.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”
He kept talking even when her breathing hitched, even when his own throat tightened. Little things, not for meaning but for rhythm - the sound of safety, of presence.
“You’re safe now… no one’s gonna hurt you.“
Sam’s voice was hoarse when she finally spoke. “It felt so real.”
Jack closed his eyes, pressing his chin to her temple. “I know. I know.”
“I was so scared … for you.” Her throat worked around the words, ragged and raw.
Jack’s chest clenched. He wanted to rage, to break something, to punish the bastard who had done this. But all he could do was hold her tighter.
“None of that is on you. None of it. You did what you had to. You survived. And you saved me. That’s that’s more than anyone should ever have to do.”
Tears welled in her eyes again. “But it felt like I lost myself.”
Jack pulled her even closer. He spoke softly, each word measured, fighting the crack in his own voice.
“You didn’t lose yourself. You’re here. With me. And I swear to you, as long as I’ve got breath in me, nobody touches you like that again.”
She clung to his shirt, fingers fisting the fabric. “I don’t know how to forget it.”
“You don’t have to forget,” he said. His throat burned with the admission. “But you don’t carry it alone. Not anymore.”
Silence stretched between them, filled only by their uneven breathing. Jack stared into the darkness, his mind churning. He felt guilt heavy in his chest because it had been *him* they’d used against her, because she had suffered for his life. But when he looked down at her, he knew self-loathing couldn’t be the answer. She didn’t need his guilt. She needed his strength. His love, even if he couldn’t name it out loud, yet.
He kissed her hair, just once, letting the gesture speak what he couldn’t say. Sam closed her eyes, and though fear lingered like a shadow, something steadier anchored her: his arms, his voice, his refusal to let her face this alone.
Gradually, her body softened against him, exhaustion winning again. Jack stayed awake long after.
---
The light came soft and hesitant, a pale band slipping between the blinds and cutting across the bed. Dust motes drifted in the air, catching gold where the rising sun touched them. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the heater and the slow rhythm of two people breathing.
Jack stirred first. His back protested from staying too long in one position, but he didn’t move right away. Sam was still curled against him, her head tucked beneath his chin, his arm heavy around her waist. Her breathing was steady now, deep and even. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest, the small shifts when she exhaled.
He stayed still and let the moment sink in. Her hair smelled faintly of almond shampoo, soft and warm, the scent barely there unless he was this close. He rested his cheek lightly against it, eyes half-closed. Part of him wanted to believe she was fine now, that she’d slept it off, that the worst had passed. But he knew better.
Beneath the calm, she was cracked, held together by sheer will, the kind that could give way at any second. And if he pushed too hard, too soon, he’d only make it worse.
Sam shifted against him with a quiet sigh, the kind that belonged to the space between sleep and waking. Her hand flexed against his chest, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt before curling back.
“Jack?” Her voice was small, rough with sleep.
He kept still for a beat before her next question came, softer. “Are you awake?”Jack smiled faintly - the sort of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes but made the effort. “Yeah. Have been for a while.”
She didn’t move yet, just breathed. He could feel her hesitation like a pulse. Finally she tilted her head enough to glance at him. Her eyes were puffy, red-rimmed, but clear now - alert, wary, softer than last night.
“Sorry,” she murmured, almost inaudible.
“For what?”
Her gaze dropped to the sheets. “For … all that. Last night.”
He shook his head. “Don’t.”
“But …”
“Sam.” His voice stayed low but carried weight. “You don’t apologize for breaking when you’ve been holding up the sky.”
She blinked at him, caught off guard by the phrasing. He shrugged, pretending nonchalance.
“It’s true.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them wasn’t empty - it was full of everything they didn’t say.
Then she gave a tiny nod, her expression flickering through disbelief, exhaustion, and something like gratitude.
Jack raised a hand and brushed his thumb over her temple. “You should try to rest more.”
She nodded again but didn’t close her eyes. Instead, she shifted closer, seeking warmth or maybe reassurance. Jack didn’t hesitate. He pulled her gently back against his chest, wrapping both arms around her like something precious.
He kissed her forehead, light and brief.
“You’re safe,” he murmured.
Her breath hitched once, then steadied. “I know.”
They stayed like that until the light shifted higher, creeping across the floor. When Sam finally sat up, she moved slow, deliberate, like someone testing the ground before stepping. She ran a hand through her hair, grimacing faintly.
„I need a shower.“
Jack pushed himself upright too, stretching sore shoulders. “And after your shower - breakfast? You hungry?”
She shook her head without hesitation. “Not really.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, tone skeptical. “You’ve eaten since yesterday?”
“If coffee counts,” she muttered.
He gave her a look that said nice try. “Coffee is not food, Carter.”
“I’m not hungry,” she repeated, sharper this time.
Jack didn’t argue. He rose, crossed to the door, and said over his shoulder, “Then you won’t mind sitting at the table while I eat.”
She stared at him, caught between exasperation and surrender. Finally, she sighed.
“You’re impossible.”
“Persistent,” he corrected, disappearing into the kitchen.
---
The smell of scrambled eggs and coffee hung in the air. Fresh from her shower, Sam sat at the table, hair still damp, one knee drawn up. Her fingers toyed with the handle of her mug, tracing the rim over and over again.
She looked like she wanted to disappear but didn’t have the energy to leave.
Jack moved with quiet efficiency, frying pan in one hand, coffee machine gurgling behind him. Every so often he glanced over at her. She kept her eyes down, but her posture wasn’t as rigid as last night.
He set a plate in front of her - a piece of buttered toast and a heap of scrambled eggs - then reached for the coffeepot. The smell deepened as he poured, dark liquid filling her mug in a slow stream. She frowned, watching him.
“I told you …”
“I know.” He poured himself a cup and sat opposite her. “Eat anyway.”
“But ...”
He cut her off gently. “Humor me. Two bites. Then I’ll shut up.”
Sam eyed him, the faintest spark of defiance flickering. But after a few seconds she picked up the fork.
The first bite was small, mechanical. The second came a bit easier. Jack pretended not to watch. He sipped his coffee and acted as if he were reading the newspaper, giving her space.
When she finished half the plate, she pushed it away, muttering, “Happy?”
He smiled faintly. “Ecstatic.”
Her lips twitched - the ghost of a smile - but it faded quickly. She sipped her coffee, both hands around the mug like she needed the heat.
She looked up, meeting his eyes across the table. Sam hesitated for a moment.
„Thank you.“
He blinked, caught off guard by the fragility in her voice and leaned back slightly.
„For what?“
„For being here for me.“ She set the cup down carefully, as if it might shatter her composure.
Silence. A heartbeat. The room seemed to shrink around them, the faint hum of the heater the only sound. Then he answered, quietly but firmly.
„Always.“
Their eyes locked, steady and warm.
Jack leaned back in his chair, studying her. She looked steadier now, pale but grounded. It was the first time since he’d come through that door that she didn’t seem like she might shatter.
He decided to risk it.
“Sam,” he began carefully, “we need to talk about what comes next.”
Her fingers tightened on the mug. “What do you mean?”
“You need help,” he said plainly. “Real help. Not just me sitting around making coffee and pretending I know how to fix this.”
She went still.
He pressed on before she could retreat behind silence again.
“You’ve been through hell. What you did … it wasn’t just another mission gone wrong. And trying to bury it, to act like it didn’t happen…” He shook his head. “That’s not going to work. Not for long.”
Her eyes stayed on the mug, voice low. “You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you’re trying not to know it.”
That got her attention. She looked up sharply, hurt flashing in her eyes. “That’s not fair.”
He held her gaze, steady but not unkind. “Maybe not. But it’s true.”
Sam’s jaw tightened. “I don’t want Janet to know. I don’t want anyone to look at me like …” Her voice broke off.
“Like what?” he asked quietly.
“Like a victim,” she whispered.
Jack exhaled slowly. “You’re not.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “Sure feels like it.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Sam, listen to me. What you did saved my life. I’ll never forget that. But pretending it didn’t happen won’t make it go away. And the longer you try to handle it alone, the harder it’s going to hit you later.”
She shook her head, shutting down again, walls coming back up. “I can deal with it.”
“No,” he said simply.
Her eyes snapped up. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You can survive it. You already did. But handling it? Healing from it?” He shook his head. “No one does that alone.”
“Jack …”
He cut her off gently but firmly. “You trust me, right?”
She hesitated, then nodded once, eyes dropping.
“Then trust me on this. Janet’s not just your doctor - she’s your friend. And she’ll know what to do. We tell her together. You don’t have to say a word if you don’t want to. I’ll do the talking.”
Sam looked at him, torn. The air between them thickened again, heavy with everything she couldn’t bring herself to say.
“I can’t,” she managed at last.
Jack hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”
The simplicity of it threw her. “Okay?”
"Yeah.” He rose, gathered their dishes, and carried them to the sink. The sound of running water filled the silence. “Then we’ll just stay here,” he said quietly. “I’ve got nowhere else to be.”
She frowned, confused by the sudden calm. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
He turned to her then, eyes steady. “For you to realize you’re stronger than the fear telling you not to.”
Sam looked away, jaw clenched. “You can’t just wait me into changing my mind.”
He shrugged. “Sure I can. I’m a patient guy.”
The silence that followed was thick. She stared at her coffee again, at the steam rising from it, as if answers might form there.
Minutes passed. Jack didn’t push. He sat down again, quiet, sipping his coffee, letting her breathe.
When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible. “It’s not just about me. If Janet knows, there’s a record. An investigation. It’ll drag it all back up.”
He nodded. “Maybe. But hiding it doesn’t erase it either.”
She exhaled shakily. “I just … don’t want to live it again.”
“I know.” He rose, came around the table, and crouched beside her chair. “But living it alone, Sam? That’s worse.”
Sam turned her head away. Her throat moved as she swallowed. He could see her fighting it, the instinct to stay silent, to stay strong.
Jack rested a hand lightly on her arm. “You don’t have to talk about everything in detail. Not yet. Just let someone help you carry it.”
For a moment, she didn’t move. Then he felt her tremble, just barely.
“Jack…” Her voice broke on his name.
He squeezed her arm gently.
Her eyes filled again, tears she’d sworn she wouldn’t shed anymore. She met his gaze - raw, stripped of pretense - and whispered, “Okay.”
He frowned slightly. “Okay what?”
“Okay. I’ll tell her.”
Jack exhaled slowly, the tension leaving his shoulders. He didn’t smile, didn’t celebrate. He just reached up, brushed her cheek with his thumb, and said quietly, “Good. That’s all I needed to hear.”
Sam closed her eyes, leaning into his touch for half a second before pulling herself together again.
“But not today,” she added quickly.
“No rush,” he said. “Tomorrow’s fine.”
„Do you want me to be there with you when you tell her?“
„Yes.“
„Okay.“
Something in his chest eased at the word — not much, but enough to let him breathe again. He nodded once. “Okay.”
He stood and went back to pour them both another cup of coffee.
When he looked up, she was watching him - tired, wary, but lighter somehow.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He met her eyes. “You don’t thank someone for doing the right thing.”
“Still,” she said.
He set the mug in front of her and sat again. “Drink your coffee, Carter.”
She rolled her eyes but took a sip anyway.
Outside, the day brightened, sunlight filling the kitchen window. Inside, the heaviness wasn’t quite so heavy anymore.
Jack let himself look at her a long moment - at the steadying breath she took, the faint color returning to her face. Glass with a crack, he thought. But still whole.
And he’d make damn sure it stayed that way.
---
The rest of the day had passed in a kind of quiet limbo - neither of them quite knowing what to do with the hours. Sam had spent most of it on the couch, wrapped up in a warm blanket while a cooking show was on and Jack pretended to read the paper. They’d talked a little - anything that didn’t touch the raw center of things.
By evening, she’d fallen asleep there, head tilted against the armrest. Jack hadn’t woken her. He sat nearby, nursing a beer that went warm before he finished it.
He watched her as the daylight faded, the faint blue glow of the TV casting soft shadows across her face. She looked younger in sleep, exhausted, but peaceful in a way she hadn’t been for days. There was a looseness in her expression that told him just how much she’d been holding in.
He leaned back, the bottle turning slowly in his hand, and felt that ache in his chest again. It had been there for years, ever since, no, even before that damn Za’tarc test. Ever since they’d been forced to say out loud what they both already knew - that there was something between them that went far beyond regs, beyond friendship, beyond anything either of them had the words for.
They’d never talked about it again. Didn’t have to. It lived in the silences, in the way she looked at him across the briefing room, in the way he could always tell when she was hurting before she said a word.
But now, sitting there, watching her curled up under the blanket, Jack realized how deep it really went. Not the crush, not the what-if, but love, real, solid, bone-deep love. The kind that didn’t need to be said to exist, but damn it, he wanted to say it anyway. She deserved to hear it.
Only he couldn’t. Not now. Not like this.
She’d been through too much already. What she’d endured on that planet wasn’t something a few kind words could fix, and the last thing she needed was him complicating things by making it about them. She needed safety, not promises. Space, not pressure.
Still, the words burned on the tip of his tongue. *I love you, Sam*. He wanted to whisper them, wanted to make her believe she wasn’t alone, that she hadn’t lost herself out there. But she needed time to breathe, to find her own footing again.
So instead he just sat there, quiet, eyes on her. Guard duty, of a sort. He’d done it a hundred times in the field - watching over her through the night, making sure she got a few hours of rest while he kept the perimeter. This wasn’t all that different, really. Just the battlefield had changed.
When her fingers twitched in her sleep, he reached out instinctively, stopping just short of touching her hand. Close enough to feel her warmth, far enough not to wake her. He stayed like that for a while, the silence wrapping around them both.
He could wait. However long it took. When he also finally dozed off in the chair, the house had been utterly silent.
---
When dawn came, the light crept in slowly, brushing over the furniture, catching on the edges of the blanket, nudging them awake one breath at a time. Jack shifted first, not fully conscious, just a small turn of his head as the brightness pushed against his eyelids. Sam stirred a moment later, pulling in a deeper breath, her shoulders tightening against the chill before she blinked herself into the room.
It took them both a few seconds to register the other - that quiet moment of awareness where sleep still clung to them and reality settled back into place. Jack’s gaze found her, unfocused at first, then steady. Sam turned her head, meeting his eyes with the same slow recognition.
“Hi,” he said, voice low, rough from the night.
“Hi,” she answered, just as soft. She cleared her throat, trying to shake off the heaviness.
A beat passed before he asked, “How did you sleep?”
Sam huffed a small, honest breath. “Not good. You?”
Jack gave a tired half-shrug. “About the same.”
---
Jack took a quick shower, and as he pulled on his clothes again, he found himself thinking that keeping a few fresh sets of clothes here wouldn’t be a bad idea, for mornings like this, or for any morning where she might need him close.
- - - - -
He stepped quietly into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he prepared tea and set out a small plate with toast. When he looked back, Sam was still curled on the couch, her hair slightly mussed, eyes heavy but aware.
“Hey,” he said softly, trying for casual. “Thought you might be hungry.”
“I’m … not really,” she murmured in a husky voice.
“You don’t have to eat much. Just a bite. And tea for a change - don’t go sneaking your way into a caffeine rehab like Daniel.”
That earned him a small chuckle. Still, she hesitated, but he held her gaze gently as he approached her, a quiet insistence there without pressure. Slowly, she took the cup he handed her, sipping carefully, and nibbled at the toast on the plate he placed on the coffee table. Jack stayed nearby, not hovering, just present, letting her find her rhythm while his eyes never left hers.
“Better?” he asked after a few minutes, his voice low, warm.
„Yes, thanks“ she whispered, almost imperceptible, but enough to make him feel relief.
- - - - - -
She’d simply nodded when he offered to drive.
They drove in silence. Sam sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her gaze fixed on the road ahead but seeing none of it. Her hands rested motionless on her knees. Every few minutes, Jack glanced her way - not to check, not exactly, but because he couldn’t not.
They hadn’t further talked about it. Not since she had said 'okay' back at her apartment. It hadn’t been loud or emotional. Just a quiet, steady 'okay', the kind that came from a place of exhaustion rather than conviction.
He’d take it.
When they reached the mountain, the guard at the gate waved them through without question. The base loomed - gray concrete, familiar and sterile.
And yet Sam’s breath caught when the elevator doors closed around them, sealing them in. Jack watched her from the corner of his eye: the set of her shoulders, the faint tremor in her fingers when the lift hummed downward.
He wanted to reach out, to take her hand like he had the night before. But he didn’t. She was holding herself together by thread and willpower. Touching her now might have undone both.
When the elevator opened onto Level 21, the familiar antiseptic smell hit instantly. The medical wing. Janet’s domain.
Sam’s steps faltered, just barely. Then she squared her shoulders and kept walking.
Janet looked up from a stack of files when they entered the infirmary. Her expression shifted immediately - surprise, then something softer, cautious.
“Colonel. Major.”
“Doc,” Jack greeted quietly. He kept his hands shoved in his pockets. He felt useless — like a bystander at the edge of a detonation.
Sam’s voice was even, but too controlled. “Do you have a minute?”
Janet’s gaze flicked between them. She read people fast; it was one of her strengths. She nodded slowly.
“Of course. My office?”
Sam just nodded.
Inside, Janet closed the door behind them and gestured to the chairs. Sam stayed standing. Jack took one look at her posture and decided to remain standing too, leaning against the wall.
Janet folded her arms lightly. “You’re both making my blood pressure rise, so how about you tell me what’s going on?”
Jack glanced at Sam. She wanted to be the one to say it, he gave her a small nod.
Sam inhaled through her nose, exhaled - the sound almost too soft to hear.
“It’s about the mission to P3X-495.”
Janet frowned, the memory clearly slotting back into place. She looked at Jack.
“You were in critical condition, when you came back." Then she turned to Sam again. "And you .. you were calm. Too calm. I remember thinking something didn’t add up.”
Sam nodded sharply. “I… there’s something that wasn’t in the report.”
Janet’s brows knit together. “Go on.”
Sam’s throat moved when she swallowed. Her voice, when it came, was flat - not robotic, just stripped of anything that could make it crack.
“When the situation turned bad, I made the leader, Taren, an offer. He promised he’d release our whole team … in exchange for one night.... with me.”
Janet didn’t move. She just watched her, eyes narrowing in slow comprehension.
“He agreed,” Sam said quietly. “He kept his word.”
Silence.
Jack kept his eyes on the floor. The seconds dragged, taut and unbearable. He knew Janet well enough to recognize the moment she pieced it together, the faint tightening around her mouth, the way her breath caught.
“Oh, Sam,” she said finally. Her voice was soft, but there was a raw edge under it. “He …” She cut herself off, didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t need to.
Sam just nodded once. “Yes.”
Janet pressed her hand to her mouth, eyes closing briefly. When she opened them again, she was steady, clinical, but there was emotion simmering behind the control.
She lowered her hand and spoke gently. “Do you want to tell me the rest .... somewhere more private?” Her gaze flicked briefly toward Jack.
He still didn’t look up but his shoulders pulled tighter.
Sam shook her head. “No. Jack already knows.”
Janet’s eyes softened, she didn’t argue.
“Did he ….” she started, then stopped again. She chose her words carefully. “Did he use force?”
Sam shook her head almost before the sentence ended. “No. Not in that sense. And he used protection.”
Jack hated this. Hated every goddamn second of her having to say the details out loud.
Janet’s tone softened further. “But he coerced you. That’s still …”
Sam cut in, her voice sharp. “It was my choice.” Then quieter, almost to herself: “My responsibility.”
Janet didn’t argue right away. She looked at her for a long moment - assessing, weighing. “Sam, that’s not how that works. You made a decision under duress. To save your team. That’s not consent, no matter how you frame it.”
Sam’s eyes flicked up, meeting hers for the first time.
“I know what it was. I also know what would’ve happened if I hadn’t done it.” Her voice didn’t waver, but there was pain under every word. “I made peace with that.”
Janet shook her head slightly. “No. You buried it, maybe. You didn’t make peace." She exhaled once, steadying her tone. “How are you holding up? How's your sleep?”
Sam hesitated for a second, then gave in. “Not much. And not well.”
Janet didn’t look surprised. “You look thinner, Sam. Are you eating at all?”
Sam's eyes dropped for a second. “Enough to function.”
Janet's brows pulled together. “That’s not an answer.”
Sam shrugged. “Some days I forget. I’m managing.”
The silence after that was heavy.
Jack cleared his throat quietly. “Doc.”
She glanced his way - and he could see the unspoken gratitude there. *Thank you for bringing her.*
Janet nodded. “All right. I’m glad you told me, Sam. I wish you’d done it sooner."
She moved around her desk, perched on the edge of it. For a moment she just looked at her, the way a doctor does when she’s weighing damage that doesn’t show up on scans. Her expression tightened, not pity, just grim understanding. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, steadier, as if anchoring the room.
“What happened to you isn’t minor, Sam. It has consequences — medical, psychological, command-level. This isn’t something I can just gloss over.”
She let that settle, heavy and unvarnished. “But how it gets recorded… that’s something I can manage. We need to talk about the report.”
Sam looked away. “I don’t want it to go in there.”
“Then it won’t,” Janet said simply.
Jack blinked, surprised. “That easy?”
Janet’s lips twitched - humorless, weary. “Technically, no. But paperwork can be… flexible. I won’t put you through an investigation or let this become gossip fodder. You've been through enough, Sam.”
Sam’s relief was barely visible - a loosening of her shoulders, almost imperceptible. But Jack saw it.
Janet exhaled slowly, then looked between them again - this time with the cool, procedural focus of a Chief Medical Officer handling the fallout no one else would.
“There’s one more thing,” she said, her gaze shifting to Jack. “If this stays off the record, I need to know I have your full agreement. You’re her commanding officer. Officially, you should be the one reporting any irregularities.”
Jack finally met her eyes. “You think I’m going to force this into a file?” His voice was low, clipped. “No. Not happening.”
“I didn’t say you would.” Janet folded her arms. “But I need it stated. If I bury this, the only people who know are the three of us… and this circle stays closed.”
Jack hesitated, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. “Not entirely,” he said. “Daniel and Teal’c know.”
Janet’s head snapped up. “How?”
His voice stayed even. “Daniel put the pieces together. Teal’c confronted him about it. Sam made both promise to keep quiet.” A hard edge underlined the next sentence. “Daniel held out as long as he could. Then he told me.”
Janet absorbed that with a slow, controlled breath. “All right. That still keeps it contained, but it means the circle is wider than I’d prefer.”
“I’ll deal with it,” Jack said without hesitation. “I’ll make sure they understand this doesn’t get repeated. Not to Hammond, not to anyone.”
Janet accepted that with a quiet nod but still looked skeptical. “Are you absolutely sure, Jack? Because once I leave it out, there’s no supplemental report later. No addendum. No trail.”
Jack straightened. He glanced at Sam - just long enough to ground himself, to make sure they were on the same page - then looked back at Janet. “I’m sure.”
“Okay” Janet said. “Then it ends here.”
Sam didn’t look up. “General Hammond?”
“I can keep it out of his inbox unless it becomes a medical issue,” Janet said. “If you stay stable, he doesn’t need to know.”
She hesitated, then added, “If you want him informed, that’s your call. Not mine.”
Sam shook her head immediately. “No. He doesn’t need to hear any of this.”
Janet softened, just slightly. “I’ll monitor you privately. No flags in the system, nothing that triggers a review.”
Sam nodded once, grateful but too worn out to show it.
“That said", Janet continued, "you need help, Sam. I can’t stress that enough. What you went through isn’t something you can just compartmentalize away.”
Sam stared at the floor. “I’ve managed.”
“No,” Janet said softly. “You’ve survived. That’s different.”
For a moment, the room was still. Then Janet stepped forward and crouched slightly to meet Sam’s eyes. It wasn’t the doctor’s posture - it was a friend’s.
“Listen to me. I know you. You don’t like feeling out of control, or weak, or pitied. But this isn’t weakness. This is trauma. And if you don’t deal with it, it’ll find its way out in other forms.”
Sam looked like she wanted to argue, then just… didn’t. Her mouth opened, closed again. Her eyes flicked toward Jack for half a second - enough for Janet to catch it.
Janet stood, crossing her arms loosely.
“I have a colleague - friend, really. Dr Elise Navarro. Civilian psychologist. Works with trauma survivors, mostly from combat and intelligence backgrounds. She’s discreet, Sam. If anyone can help you find your footing again, it’s her.”
Sam’s expression hardened. “I don’t want it to be in any file.”
“It won’t be,” Janet assured her. “I’ll set it up quietly. Off-base, no record. Elise only knows that I work for the Air Force, she doesn’t know about the SGC. I’ll just give her a general idea of the kind of situation you’re in - no specifics, no paper trail back to the SGC.”
She paused, expression firm but not unkind. “But I need one thing in return. I need your consent for her to speak to me - not details, not sessions - but whether you’re showing up, whether you’re stable, whether I should be concerned. I won’t do this blind.”
Jack finally stepped closer, his voice low but steady. “It’s a good idea, Carter.”
Sam didn’t answer right away. She stared down at her hands, at the faint tremor she’d been hiding since they got there. Then she looked up, meeting Janet’s eyes steadily. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
Janet exhaled softly, a small relief showing in her posture. “Thank you for trusting me.”
There was another pause - then Janet moved forward and, without warning, wrapped her arms around her.
For a heartbeat, Sam froze. She hadn’t been hugged like this in months - not since Jack, and not like this: full, grounding, no agenda. Just care. Then slowly, almost reluctantly, she let herself lean into it.
Janet’s voice was quiet, right by her ear. “You’re not alone in this, Sam. We’re going to help you through it. Every step.”
When she pulled back, her eyes were wet but steady. “Okay?”
Her nod was brief, but there was no hesitation in it.
Jack cleared his throat again, mostly to cover the sound in his own chest.
Janet straightened, slipping back into doctor mode. “I’ll reach out to Elise, see if she has space in her schedule soon. When I hear back, I’ll let you know exactly when. But you need to call her. Promise me you’ll make that call.”
“I will. Thank you, Janet.”
Janet held her gaze a moment longer, then gestured toward the door. “Go on. Get some air.”
Sam stepped out first. Jack moved to follow her as Janet lightly caught his arm. Sam was already outside, out of earshot.
Janet’s voice dropped. “Keep an eye on her, will you?"
He gave a faint nod. “Always.”
That earned the faintest ghost of a smile from her. “Didn’t doubt it.”
She paused, weighing her words. “She’s on thin ice right now. So… don’t hover, but don’t vanish on her either. I know it sounds impossible, but it’s what she needs.”
Jack’s jaw tightened, just a fraction. “I can do that. Whatever she needs, I’ll figure it out.”
Janet gave a small, approving nod. “Good. That’s all I wanted to hear.”
When he joined Sam in the corridor, she walked a little slower. The tension hadn’t vanished, but something in her posture had shifted - she stood a touch straighter.
They didn’t talk until they reached the elevator. Jack hit the button, then glanced sideways.
“You did good.”
She shook her head. “I barely said anything.”
“Sometimes that’s the hardest part.”
Her lips twitched — not quite a smile, but close enough to count. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
When the doors closed, the reflection in the brushed steel showed them side by side — him steady, her pale but upright. Two soldiers who had walked through too much together to ever pretend again.
In that quiet moment, Jack felt something shift. Not a fix, not a miracle — just the sense that she wasn’t carrying it alone anymore. She had finally let someone else see the wound.
And because now, maybe, she could start to heal.
..... to be continued ...