A/N: My deepest apologies to everyone who has been reading, and most especially to those who have been reviewing. I broke my right wrist on 9/15 and have been in a cast until two days ago (10/30). I'm still in a brace but allowed to remove it for small windows of time (and I'm using those windows to write g). Thank you for your patience and understanding and especially for the great reviews. I answer (and save) every one, they mean more to me than you know. Extra thanks to the inestimable JenniferF (you can find her amazing fic on my "favorite author's page) for her quick beta work on this piece. Her input made things flow a bit better, all mistakes are mine. This is the longest Campfire yet and seems to have taken on a bit of a life of it's own in the telling.

Set a week after the ending of Message in a Bottle. Once again, we have another on-Earth campfire...simply because, after living for seven weeks with a cast on my wrist, I've discovered that some of the simplest tasks are no longer...simple.

Reaching Out

Jack O'Neill grimaced as he adjusted the sling holding left arm immobile against his side. Frasier had insisted that he wear it despite his shoulder showing no lingering injury following his impalement in the gateroom the week before. Twisting his neck again, he yanked his collar free of the blue Velcro that seemed to only stick to his neck and uniform and not to the material of the sling itself. Damned thing. O'Neill glanced up and down the empty hallway and, with a small smirk, began to slide his arm free of its entrapment.

"Damn it! Don't you dare!" The woman's sharp voice sliced through the darkened corridor, startling him.

O'Neill froze guiltily, hunching his shoulders in automatic response. He snuck a quick glance behind him, then turned fully around, his expression puzzled. There was nobody in his hallway. In fact, now that he thought about it, he didn't remember inviting Frasier to team night.

"Crap!" A loud bang followed that comment, chased immediately by another angry outburst. "Ow! Damn it!"

O'Neill's eyebrows rose to his hairline as he recognized the angry voice. Taking another two steps down the hall, Jack halted before the door of his guest bathroom. Inside he could hear small thumps and thuds accompanied by the occasional curse word. He smiled, those were words he wasn't used to hearing from her. Another inventive expletive popped forth, turning his smile into a rare, full-fledged grin. Ooh, he hadn't been aware she'd even known that phrase. It had been a favorite of Kowalsky's and Jack wondered when, exactly, Carter had picked it up. He took another step forward and tapped lightly on the door.

"Carter? You okay?"

A muffled thump was his only answer, followed by a quieter grumbling. Now O'Neill was concerned; this wasn't behavior he was used to from Carter. Sure, like everyone else she got angry, but she had never, as far as he was aware, thrown a tantrum. O'Neill knocked louder on the door.

"Carter!"

"Sir?"

"You okay in there?"

"Um...yes. Yes, Sir. Just fine."

She didn't sound fine to him. After a year and a half together, Jack liked to think he had a good handle on most things 'Carter.' The Carter he was hearing now was about four steps short of 'fine' by his measure.

"Look, Carter, I...are you sure?"

A loud crash was his only answer and O'Neill panicked. "That's it, I'm coming in."

Carter's frantic voice froze him with his hand on the knob, the other on the wooden frame.

"No! Sir, you can't! I'm, um..." Carter's voice faded away and O'Neill could hear the frustration in her voice. Frustration accompanied by a tone he wasn't used to hearing from his 2IC. It almost sounded like she was near tears. Jack sighed and leaned against the doorframe, absently tucking his cast-off sling into his pocket. He was glad that Daniel and Teal'c hadn't yet arrived. Something was bothering her and he didn't think she'd want an audience.

"Carter...Sam. What's going on?" O'Neill couldn't fathom what had possibly set off his normally steady 2IC. She'd arrived here not long after he'd gotten home, her overnight bag slung over her shoulder, her BDU overshirt hanging on her arm. She'd muttered something about needing a shower and he'd casually waved her toward the guest bath while heading to his own room to change. She'd been here often enough that he was sure she could find what she needed on her own. Once changed, Jack had gone outside the light the logs he'd laid in the firepit, happily watching the dry wood catch and blaze for a few minutes while he waited for his team to join him.

Jack knocked again on the door, concerned that Carter hadn't yet answered. He checked his watch and raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was nearly 8:15, much later than he'd thought. Damn. Where the hell were Daniel and Teal'c? Other than the short message he'd gotten earlier, he hadn't heard from them for over an hour. Fishing his cell from his pocket, he scowled as he saw that the battery was dead. Again. Crap, forgot to charge it. Behind the door he could hear Carter moving around, still talking to herself. When he heard her whimper, he snapped upright, instinctively opening the door. Something was hurting his Second and he was going to find out what the deal was.

A flash of blonde hair and pale skin blurred past his gaze before his eyes automatically snapped shut. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shitshitshitshit!

"Sir!" Carter's frantic voice filtered through the screaming in his head and Jack quickly spun back to face the door.

"God, Carter. I'm so sorry! I heard you, um, well, make a noise, and I thought...shit. I'm leaving now."

"Wait. Sir." Behind him he could hear her moving around, her bare feet slapping softly on the floor. "I, ah, need a hand. Quite literally. No! Wait! Don't turn around...not yet."

O'Neill leaned his forehead against the door, carefully keeping his eyes closed. In a million years he'd never expected to find himself alone with his Second...his mostly naked Second...in his guest bathroom. Crap, this could kill both of their careers, but especially hers. Carter's soft voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"Okay, Sir. It's safe. Well, mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Yes. Promise."

O'Neill turned slowly toward where he knew she had been standing and carefully opened his eyes. Before him sat his lovely Second perched on the edge of the bathtub, dressed in faded blue Academy sweatpants and with her feet stuffed carelessly into her unlaced sneakers. Looking closer he saw that she hadn't bothered with socks. From the waist up she was wearing...a towel over a...tank top? One hand held the towel securely around her torso while her other hand rested in her lap. That hand, her right O'Neill realized, was covered from fingertip to elbow in a bright blue cast.

"Carter, what the hell?" O'Neill shook his head and carefully sat beside her on the bench. "You, ah, weren't broken when I left you, were you?"

Sam shook her head, her still-damp hair flinging cold droplets of water onto both of them. "Sorry, Colonel." She half-heartedly swiped at the drops on her shoulder and shrugged, grimacing at the hand resting on her lap. "I went to lock up my lab and ran into Dr. Adams. Literally. I guess I 'zigged' when I should have 'zagged.' Sir."

"You're kidding. Broken?"

"Yes."

"Damn. Okay, that I get, but...?" O'Neill waved his arm at her getup and the still foggy bathroom.

Carter sighed. "Dr. Adams was carrying...well, let's just say it was an experiment."

"Oh."

"So, I needed a shower. Figured you'd rather I did team night not smelling like...well, I'm not sure what it was, but..."

O'Neill wrinkled his nose, the lingering scent of the botanist's experiment was what had been tickling his senses since he'd entered the small room. Carter's shampoo nearly drowned it out; the subtle strawberry scent she used certainly had distracted O'Neill from noticing the other aroma sooner. He gestured again to Carter's outfit. "I get that, but..."

Carter ducked her head, carefully avoiding O'Neill's gaze.

Jack tried to ignore the tingle of desire that swept through him as he watched the blush slowly crawl up his Second's long neck and disappear into her hairline. Everything about their current situation was baffling to him, but most especially why she was still covering herself with a towel. After all, she was wearing a tank top, and... Jack looked a little closer.

Oh. Ohhhhhhh.

Firmly telling his inner voice to pipe down, Jack averted his gaze. Carter was wearing a tank top and apparently nothing under it. A very small tank top. He glanced again at her face, startled to find her blue eyes staring back at him.

"I, ah..." Carter took a breath. "Daniel here yet?" She ran a frustrated hand through her hair, the towel still tucked firmly under her upper arms.

"Ah, no. He left a message saying he and Teal'c were stopping to pick up dinner."

"Oh. Great."

"Yup." Jack looked around the room, noting the piled BDU's resting under a wet trash bag. He tried not to notice the bra lying haphazardly on the floor, as if flung there. A bra that was most notably not currently on his Second. "So, um, the thumping and swearing?"

"Well...I um, couldn't fasten my, uh...bra. Then, I sort of lost control of it and it...ah, sort of...flew..."

O'Neill faced Carter, clearly puzzled. Why wouldn't she be able to hang onto...his eyes traveled again to the bulky cast completely encompassing her thumb and partially covering her remaining four digits and he bit back a chuckle. '...sort of...flew....' Oh. That's why. Well, he certainly didn't mind if...no, Jack, we stay away from that thought.

"Carter, I'm no expert, but I could, um..."

Sam quickly cut him off. "Sir? Do you have a sweatshirt I could borrow? I only have this tank, and it's kind of...well...and since Daniel's not here to, ah, help..."

"Oh! Sure. No problem. Wait right here." O'Neill absently patted Carter's knee and quickly headed toward his room. He rummaged through his drawers and pulled out a sweatshirt he though would work for Sam. Returning to the bathroom Jack found himself facing another tantalizing view of his Second as she bent low, awkwardly trying to retrieve her soiled clothing from the floor. This certainly seemed to be his lucky night.

"For cryin' out loud, Carter, let me." O'Neill pulled her out of the bathroom, absently handing her his sweatshirt. He quickly picked up her discarded clothes and stuffed them, errant bra and all, into the trash bag she'd obviously used to cover her cast while showering. Behind him he heard Carter start to giggle.

"I thought we'd talked about the giggling, Captain."

"Yes, Sir. Sorry." Sam bit back another laugh as she smoothed the too-large shirt down over her abdomen with her good hand. The green fabric was faded almost to grey and the silkscreened Minnesota Wild logo and slogan chipped and worn in spots. "'Wild Thing'? Really?"

Jack smiled, pleased to see Sam in a better mood. "Sure. That so hard to believe?" He kicked the bag against the wall and steered Carter down the hall toward the kitchen. "Come on, the fire's a-wastin' and the guys should be here soon."

They stopped in the kitchen to grab drinks and snacks, Carter trying to juggle her drink, the bag of chips and her cast. O'Neill winced as he heard his Doritos breaking as she pinned the bag to her side. He rescued the bag and snagged his beer, waving Carter outside just as the phone rang. Jack absently listened to Daniel's flustered and rambling conversation as he watched Carter make her way across his darkened lawn toward the now brightly blazing fire.

Inserting "mmhmm's" and "yeps's" into appropriate places in Daniel's discourse, Jack watched Sam settle into her favorite spot by the firepit. Christ, what a week it had been. The object Daniel called a 'time capsule' waking up and nailing him to the gateroom wall. The seemingly endless hours of heat and pain as his team–and the rest of the SGC personnel–worked frantically to save him. Jack's memories of the last few moments of the alien being's presence in his body was hazy at best, but a few moments stood out clearly. And now this, Carter broken for the foreseeable future.

"Jack?"

"What? Oh, sorry, Daniel."

"I said, the tow guy should be here soon to fix the flats, and then we'll be on our way."

"Good, fine. See you when you get here." Jack set the portable aside and quickly joined Carter outside. She sat with her head tilted back, broken wrist resting gently on her lap, her still untied sneakered feet extended toward the fire, legs crossed at the ankle.

"That was Daniel. He had a flat and I guess his spare is flat as well. They're waiting for triple-A to get there."

"Okay." Carter's voice was flat, almost too quiet for him to hear. Jack slid down into his normal place alongside Carter, their backs supported by the picnic bench. She scooted over slightly to give him room on the tattered blanket cushioning her from the hard ground.

Jack studied her, noting how she cradled her newly casted wrist in her left hand. He knew she was tired, they all were. It had been a long week for all of them, but somehow he knew it had been hardest on her. Carter, like him, took her responsibilities to heart, and in his absence–and especially with him injured–she had taken it on herself to fix the problem. To save him. O'Neill set his drink aside and slowly reached out, his fingers tenderly brushing hers where they poked out of the cast.

"Okay? Hurt a lot?"

"Hmm? Yeah. I mean no. I'm okay and I don't hurt too much...just an ache, you know?" Sam wiggled her fingers in response to his touch, turning her head on the bench to smile at her CO.

"What'd Frasier say?"

Carter's smile turned to a wry grimace. "Six weeks, minimum, then light duty. I broke the scaphoid clean through. 'Non-displaced,' and she said she's going to have to take the cast off every two weeks to x-ray it."

"At least you'll get a fresh one then." Jack quirked a small smile at Sam, raising an eyebrow. "You know, cut down on the icky 'cast arm' smell."

"Yes, I guess so, Sir."

Jack noticed that she hadn't moved her fingers away from his own, and he was glad. That was one of the clearest memories he had of that horrific time last week. Pinned to the wall in the darkened gateroom, perched, mercifully, on a tall stool taking most of his weight. Through the haze of pain and waves of heat he'd felt her. Marveled at the sensation of her cool, dry hand sliding easily into his. She'd spoken to him but he hadn't heard the words, only the warm tones of her voice. He'd felt her soft hand holding his, her thumb soothingly caressing the backs of his fingers. That feeling, the strength he'd gotten from those fleeting moments with her had sustained him, had gotten him through. Jack gently squeezed her fingers, bringing her gaze up to his.

"I don't remember much about last week, but I remember...this. Thank you." He slid his fingertips lightly across her own, pressing gently one last time before letting his hand fall away. Jack watched as a sad smile slowly crept across Carter's face. They hadn't had much time this week to catch up, which was one of the reasons he'd wanted this team night. In fact, now that he though about it, he hadn't spent more than twenty minutes in Carter's company–unless you counted official briefings–all week. O'Neill narrowed his gaze and lifted his chin slightly. "What's going on, Carter?"

Her eyes reflected her sorrow as she studied him. When she spoke he had to lean close to hear her, her voice was low and rough. "Do you remember...what I had to do?"

"What do you mean?"

Carter swallowed hard, her eyes dropping from his. She clenched her left hand in her lap, her fingers unconsciously playing with the edges of her cast. She began picking at it in agitation, her fingers worrying at the soft cotton that edged the blue fibers.

O'Neill pulled her hand away, preventing her from undoing Frasier's recent hard work. "Oh no, you don't get to take it off yet. I'm the only member of our team who gets to annoy Frasier. I remember you...everyone...being there for me. Teal'c, Daniel, Hammond, and the needle-bearer." Jack brushed her fingers again, asking, "What else am I supposed to remember, Carter?"

Sam ducked her head and said softly, "I had to...you had no pul... It was my decision." Frustrated and angry with herself, Sam shook her head, still refusing to meet his gaze. "Everything I tried, every decision I made...made it worse. Even Hammond...finally, we...I...decided to...end it. you were dead. I did that."

"No."

"Yes, I did. Sir."

"Carter...no." O'Neill let go of Carter's hand and lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. He had read the report, hell, he'd had nothing else to do while waiting for Frasier to release him. He knew what had gone on, and even more, he was very able to read between the lines and he knew what Carter had done. Had been forced to do. Jack struggled to find the words he needed to stay and still maintain that line between them. That very necessary line.

Oh, hell, Jack. Who are you kidding? That line is so far behind you...

He shook his head slightly, chasing his thoughts away. "Sam. You did no less than your duty and so much more. I know. I know. I've been there too, remember? When Jolinar...I had to..." Jack trailed off and took a deep breath, giving himself a second to gather his thoughts. He looked up and found Carter's gaze intent on his, her beautiful blue eyes shadowed with pain. "You...this time, you were...lucky, in a way." He winced at her flinch of pain, knowing he wasn't getting his point across. Damn it, he was no good at this 'talking' stuff!

"Carter, there was no trigger to pull, no hallway full of personnel watching you choose to shoot a member of your team. Choosing between your duty and your Second, someone who trusted you. Someone who..." Jack watched as her eyes filled with tears, the memory of him pointing a zat at her and pulling the trigger–despite her pleading–overwhelming them both. He reached his thumb up and gently wiped away the single tear that slowly tracked its way down her cheek. "What I'm trying to say, and very badly I might add, is that...I've been there. I know what you had to do, what you went through to make your decision. I do, believe me. You did the right thing, Sam. Captain. Never doubt that. I don't."

Sam sniffed and closed her eyes, pressing her cheek into O'Neill's hand. He cupped her face soothingly, reveling in this quiet, stolen moment. He knew, just as he knew she did, that moments like these were the exception, far, far from the norm. Commanding officer's couldn't and didn't wipe their Second's tears, shouldn't give in to the need to offer quiet comfort. Somehow, though, 'couldn't', 'didn't,' and 'shouldn't' fell by the wayside with this team. What they had was special, and what he and Carter had...well, that went beyond special. He knew it. He was certain Carter knew it. She trusted him; trusted that he'd never push, just as he expected...no, needed, the same from her. O'Neill watched with no small amount of pride as she collected herself.

With a final sniffle, Sam lifted her head from his caress, using her uninjured hand to wipe away the last of her tears. She sat up a bit straighter and turned, squarely meeting his gaze, the last of her pain slipping away. Carter offered him a small smile and sipped her diet cola as she pulled her legs back from the fire and tucked them under herself for warmth. With a final, rueful glance at her cast, she hunched her shoulder and maneuvered it up into the sleeve of her borrowed sweatshirt, folding the cuff down around her fingers for warmth. She glanced again at the faded logo on her chest and smiled softly.

O'Neill retrieved his beer and took a drink, enjoying this chance to sit quietly with Carter and idly wondering if he'd ever get that sweatshirt back. He didn't mind, it certainly looked better on her than it had ever looked on him. She'd be okay, her broken wrist would force the team into some much-needed downtime. He'd see to it, with the help of the rest of the team, that Carter didn't spend all of her enforced on-Earth time in her lab. Maybe he would enlist Janet and Cassie's help too. Beside him, Sam shifted position again, her movement bringing her closer, her shoulder just brushing his. He glanced down at her, glad to see the lines of pain and tension that had been so evident before now gone. He bumped against her shoulder and smiled at her.

"Hey, did I tell you? Teal'c told a joke."

Sam's quiet snort of surprise brought an answering grin to O'Neill's features and her gentle chuckles joined his as he shared Teal'c's humor with her. Their voices, his deeper and hers softer and lighter, blended into the sounds of the night as they sat together, waiting for their teammates to join them.