Title: Ending Are Just Beginnings in Disguise

Author: Ayiana

Pairing: S/J
Wordcount: 5,700

Not mine, never were, never will be. Amen.

Rating: R
Spoilers: Through early S9

A/N: Parts of this story were a bit of a stretch for me, skill wise, and I owe a debt of gratitude to surrealphantast for her advice, to daisycm83 for her awesome beta talents (and endless patience), and to goddessandraste for putting up with my whining.

A/N: Written for the sjfanfic10 community. Prompt follows at the end. Takes place early in season 9, before Jack sells his truck.

Summary: Jack leaves without saying goodbye to Sam, touching off a confrontation that will change their lives forever.



"Sir, do you think…?" Sam stopped midstride. His desk, usually a mishmash of reports and half completed forms, was spotless. What the hell…? Slowly, she stepped inside. His books were gone. The medals and diplomas he'd had hung on the wall, also gone. Every sign of him had been erased. She turned a slow circle, unable to comprehend what her eyes were telling her.

"Strange, isn't it." Daniel's quiet voice at her back made her jump. "I think it echoes in here."

She spoke past a throat constricted by shock. "Where is he?"

"He didn't tell you?" Daniel looked surprised, and she felt a rock settle at the pit of her stomach.

"Tell me what?"

"He's gone, Sam. Left this morning."

Correction. Not a rock. A boulder. A boulder the size of Chulak. She swallowed. "I knew he was going, just didn't realize it would happen this fast."

"He said he had to be at the Pentagon for an afternoon briefing. Last time I saw him he said he was on his way to talk to you." Understanding dawned in Daniel's eyes. "I guess he didn't find you."

She shook her head and tried not to let the hurt show.

"Oh." Sympathy and confusion played over Daniel's features. "I'm sure he had a good reason."

"Yeah." But her voice sounded weak, even to her own ears. "I'm sure he did."

"He'll be back, Sam. You know he won't be able to stay away forever."

"I know." And he would. The SGC had been home to Jack O'Neill for too many years. If nothing else, he'd end up coming back just to make sure nobody had screwed things up in his absence.

"Listen," Daniel said. "Teal'c and I are going to get something to eat. Wanna come with?"

"No thanks." Her stomach was in knots, and the idea of eating anything made it do an uneasy little back flip.

"You sure?"

She nodded. "Positive. I've got some things I need to get done here." Like trying to decide whether to cry or scream.

"You work too hard."

Her lips twitched. "If that's not a case of the pot calling the kettle black, I don't know what is."

He grinned. "Do as I say, not as I do."

She rolled her eyes. "Go."

"Yes, Ma'am." His mock salute made her smile, but as he walked away, the smile faded. Jack had left without saying goodbye. The phrase replayed itself in her mind like a dog chasing its tail. He'd left without saying goodbye. After...everything.

The walk back to her lab was like moving through concrete. She felt heavy. Unbalanced. Eerily alone in a building full of people. He'd always been such a big part of her life here, his irreverent presence providing the grounding she'd needed to stay sane. And even though she'd had to be careful with her every word and action, she'd considered that vigilance a small price to pay for the privilege of continuing to work with him. Now she wouldn't even have that much. He'd be in Washington, and she'd be here, or, if her transfer was approved, in New Mexico. Alone.

And he hadn't even said goodbye.

Back in her lab, she settled on her stool, chin in hand. All those years of controlling her feelings, of suppressing them, of pretending that the connection between them began and ended with professional camaraderie – all of it leading to this moment – her alone in her lab, and him off to Washington D.C. to become a bureaucrat.

With a curse, she sat up and turned to her computer. He might be gone, and she might have to get used to his absence from her life, but she'd be damned if she was going to let it all end like this. She fired off an email to the new general, explaining that a personal crisis had arisen and requesting a few days leave. That done, she busied herself tying up loose ends on several reports. Two hours later, when she got word that her leave had been approved, she was ready to go.



The telephone rang, and Jack put down the magazine he'd been reading to pick up the handset.

"O'Neill," he said absently, his eyes still on the article.

"Jack? It's Daniel."

"Miss me already?" Jack grinned, pleased to hear a friendly voice.

"Not really, no."

Deflated, Jack let the smile slide off his face.

"Actually," Daniel said, and his voice held that tone that always made Jack remember the time he'd hit a baseball through the neighbor's window as a kid. "I called to warn you that Sam's headed your way. Apparently you left without saying goodbye?"

"Yes. Well..." Jack's chest tightened at the sound of her name. He hadn't been able to bring himself to talk to her, hadn't known what he could say that wouldn't give away his feelings at the thought of leaving her behind when what he really wanted to do was to beg her to come with him. He couldn't do that to her – not when she still had so much she needed to do. So in the end, he'd left without a word.

"She's pretty upset, Jack."

"I thought you had a mission scheduled." He'd been counting on it actually, hoping it might distract Sam long enough for her to adjust to his abrupt departure and for him to come up with a brilliant excuse.

Daniel sighed. "We did."


"Some kind of problem with the gate computer. I've got notes here somewhere..." There was a rustle of paper.

"Never mind." Jack shook his head, not in the mood for geekspeak. "How long are you grounded?"

"They're saying a week. SG-1's on stand down until they get the problem fixed."

Jack groaned. So much for distractions. "I gather she got leave?"

"She said not to expect her back before Tuesday." Daniel paused. Then, "She had that look when she left, Jack. Hope you're ready for it."

He knew which look Daniel was referring to. It was the one she got when she was either particularly determined or just plain pissed. And it never boded well for its target. His mind shifted into overdrive, planning his defense. "Thanks for the heads up, Daniel."

"Sure thing. Good luck."

"Yeah." Jack hung up the phone and shook his head. He'd expected her to be hurt, mad even. With that in mind, he'd planned on giving her a call in a week or so, apologizing for the way he'd left, and dealing with the whole thing during the course of a very respectable, and very safe, telephone call. Facing her here...wasn't going to be easy.

It had gotten harder and harder over the years to keep his feelings under control. There'd been times when he'd come within a hair's breadth of hauling her into his arms and telling the rest of the world to go to hell. But he'd never done it; and in the end, all those ruthlessly suppressed urges had come down to an absolute inability to say goodbye.

Now she was coming here. Did he have the strength to turn her away one more time? A quick mental inventory indicated it wasn't likely.



It didn't take her long to track him down, and when she spied his truck in front of the refurbished brownstone, she smiled. He probably already had his grill set up on the back porch and a case of beer in the fridge. You can take the man out of Minnesota, she thought, in a cliché that would've made Jack cringe, but you can't take Minnesota out of the man.

She sat in her rental car for several minutes, hoping she wouldn't wimp out at the sight of him. While she gathered her courage, she let her thoughts travel back over the past few weeks. Her father's death, that whispered "Always," the way he'd looked at her when they'd been at the cabin - had it really only been a few days ago? She'd thought, hoped, that maybe things were finally going to change between them. And now this.

Abruptly, she climbed out of the car, locked the doors, and set the alarm. With a sharp tug at the hem of her sweater, she marched up the steps. She wanted answers. And she wanted them now.

He opened the door in dark slacks and a t-shirt, looking cool, and collected...and sexy as hell. She swallowed hard, struggling to keep anger foremost in her mind and ignore the tempting rise of muscled shoulder under soft cotton.

"Carter?" His eyes were guarded, and he shoved his hands in his pockets as he watched her.

"You didn't even say goodbye." Damn. She hadn't meant to say it like that, but when she was pissed, she always forgot her manners.

He stared at her for a long moment while her heart thumped against her ribs. "Come on in," he said finally.

She moved past him into the deserted living room, then turned, holding her peace while he closed and locked the door.

"Beer?" he offered, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder.

"No." The single syllable sounded harsh to her ears.

Shrugging, he reached for the remote and clicked off the TV.

The sound of cheering crowds hadn't yet faded when she threw down the gauntlet. "Were you really in so much of a hurry that you couldn't even wave on your way out the door?"


"No..." she interrupted him. "That can't be right, because you managed to find time to talk with Daniel and Teal'c before you left, so it must've been something else." She was talking too fast, the words tumbling over each other. "I know! Thor beamed you out just as you were about to knock on my door. That's what happened, right? Because a real friend would never be so cruel."

He took a step toward her. "It wasn't like that."

"Oh no?" She blinked back angry tears. "What then? Did the Trust drag you away at gunpoint?"

He shook his head, and a muscle leapt in his jaw.

"Then tell me what did happen, Jack, because I sure as hell can't think of any logical explanation for the way you left." She deliberately used his given name because this, right here, right now, wasn't about work or careers or regulations. This was about them.

When he just watched her, arms folded across his chest, Sam began to feel like the world's biggest idiot. If he didn't care enough to even try to defend himself, then everything she'd thought she'd understood about them was wrong. And it was better she found that out now. With a bitter sigh, she started toward the door. "Have a good life, Jack."

Eyes blinded by tears, she fumbled with the deadbolt, pulling the door open with an angry jerk.

Then a familiar hand appeared over her shoulder to slam it shut.

Sam froze, her breath catching in her throat. He was right behind her. She'd been so immersed in her pain that she hadn't heard him coming. Some soldier she was. Now his clean male scent washed over her and his arm... His arm was so close that all she had to do was turn her head just the slightest bit and... But she didn't turn. She still had her pride, battered though it was.

"I didn't say goodbye," he said, his voice barely audible as it whispered through her hair, "because I couldn't."

She didn't know what she'd been expecting him to say, but this wasn't it. She sucked in air, struggling to control the rush of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. "Why?"

"Come on, Carter. You're the smartest person on this planet. Surely you can figure it out." There was a hint of self-deprecating humor in the words that slid seductively against her eardrums. "In fact...if the tables were turned, I bet you would've done the same thing."

Indignant, she forgot the danger and spun around, only to find herself trapped between his body and the door. His eyes glittered with something indefinable and his chest brushed against hers and Sam's knees went weak as heat blossomed in her stomach. She sagged against the door, swallowing hard. What had they been talking about? Oh, yeah. Turning tables. Or something. She gulped in a breath of air as alarm bells went off in her head. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but instead of backing away, she tilted her chin defiantly. "I would never--!"

He interrupted her, eyebrow raised. "You could say goodbye." With a single lean finger, he traced the line of her jaw, and she tried not to lean into his touch, but it was so hard, and she wanted him so badly, and dear God what had she been thinking coming here? "In the SGC. Not knowing if or when you were ever going to see me again."

She opened her mouth to defend herself, but he didn't give her a chance. "And you could do it without anybody suspecting that we were anything more than colleagues."

"Are we?" His finger had come to rest just below her bottom lip, and she wondered what he'd do if she flicked out her tongue for a taste. "More than colleagues, I mean?" The challenging tone she'd been aiming for came out hopeful instead, and she cursed herself for being an emotional weakling when it came to him.

He threaded his hand through her hair, rubbing his thumb against the nape of her neck, and a low hum of approval snuck past her traitorous lips. A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think." In fact, right now she was hard pressed to think at all, and it was so unfair of him to ask it of her while his thumb was systematically short-circuiting her thought processes.

"Then let me ask you this." He watched her carefully, and in his eyes she saw something both tantalizing and terrifying; something she'd never seen before. "Why are you here?"

She stared at him, nonplussed. Surely he had some idea of the answer to that question, of how she must've felt when she'd discovered him gone, his desk cleared, his office abandoned. "I told you why I came."

"Because I didn't say goodbye."

She nodded.

"You could've just called."

He was right. She could've. So why hadn't she? It would've been so much easier. She could've given him a piece of her mind, hung up on him, and gotten on with her life. But she hadn't. Why?

Because she was in love with him. The answer hit her with the power of a goa'uld shock grenade. She'd known for years that she cared for him, that she loved him, that she couldn't imagine a life without him in it. Hell, she'd even admit to a massive, and thoroughly inappropriate, crush! But she'd never, ever, allowed herself to acknowledge the truest, deepest truth of all. She didn't just love him. She was in love with him.

Oh, God. What had she been thinking? She'd flown here on the wings of anger, without thinking beyond the unmitigated gall of his abrupt disappearance. Only to have him point out in a perfectly reasonable voice that she could've just called. And she knew now what that look was in his eyes, the one she'd thought both tantalizing and terrifying. He knew.

Her gaze flew to his, snagged...held.

"So." His smile held a touch of sadness. "This complicates things."

Not that their relationship wasn't already complicated, but...yeah. She nodded.

"Let me ask you a question." He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder."What do you want?"

When she didn't answer, he went on in a quiet voice. "Forget the regs. Forget our careers. Forget saving the goddamned universe. Forget all of it. What do you want?"

You deserve to love someone. Her father's words during their final hours together. He'd been talking about Jack. She'd known that even then, though she'd avoided admitting it to herself.

Jack wasn't her CO anymore, but what about his reputation? So much of political currency stemmed from what people thought of you, and a relationship between them would send the rumor mills into high gear. Unfortunately, the Stargate program still had some very real enemies in Congress who would pounce on those rumors with sadistic glee.

Being in love with Jack meant putting his interests, his needs, ahead of her own. And those interests could only be hurt if she gave in to her feelings. She couldn't do that to him – wouldn't do that to him. Reluctantly, she dropped her eyes and turned back toward the door.

Always in the past when one of them had maintained a grip on sanity, the other had backed off; so when Jack stopped her, his hands bracketing her face, she blinked in surprise. "No." He shook his head. "Not this time. We're going to deal with this thing once and for all."

She wanted what he was offering, wanted it more than she'd ever wanted anything. But the price was too high. She reached behind her, feeling for the door knob while she blinked unwanted tears out of her eyes. Let me go, she thought. Let me go while I still can...before it's too late, before either of us crosses a bridge we can't un-cross. "I just...needed to say goodbye." Please, Jack. Please let me go. Because I'm not sure how long I can hold it together.

But he didn't let her go. Instead, he caught her shoulders, squeezed them, held her still, and for an unnerving heartbeat she thought he might actually shake her. "Damnit, Carter. We paid our dues! If some shrub wants to make something out of this, we'll deal with it. When it happens." He made a show of looking around. "But that's then. Right now, there's no one here but us." He lowered his voice, and in his eyes she saw the memory of another place, another promise, but one made under vastly different circumstances. "And nothing we say has to leave this room."

You can still have everything you want. Her father's voice again, breaking through the chaos of her thoughts.

"I asked you what you wanted," Jack said, and cupped her jaw, his thumb grazing the softness of her cheek.

He always had been the risk taker, the one who lucked into miracles. She was the one who thought about things, worked them out, put the pieces in their proper places, and made her own miracles. Now he was asking her to take the risk with him, to trust in faith and luck and providence to give them a miracle they could share. And maybe it was time. After all, the Goa'uld were all but defeated, Jack had left the SGC, and Sam herself was likely headed for a research position at Area 51. Maybe what she had here was a chance to see if there really was something special between them.

Sam took a deep breath. "You," she said, and now that the decision was made, she discovered that the words slipped easily past her lips. "I want you."



She wanted him. He'd never heard three more perfect words in his life. Her blue eyes, still sparkling with tears, looked straight into his soul, and when she added that little smile….

With the pads of his thumbs, he wiped the dampness from her cheeks. Then he bent his head, and kissed her, and sweet Jesus nothing in his life had ever felt this right.

Her lips were soft. And sweet--with just the slightest hint of salt. He traced the edges, learning the shape of them while her hands settled into the small of his back. Then she made a quiet little sound that turned his insides to mush, and he pulled her close, and oh, God, she felt so good in his arms.

She opened to him, and he darted his tongue forward to graze the tip of hers before slipping away to explore the edges of her teeth. When she made that sound again and relaxed into him--all softness and curves and feminine surrender, his entire body leapt to attention. He wanted her. Wanted her now.

But apparently she had ideas of her own, because she captured his tongue gently between her teeth, held it for a beat and then let go, and he knew he'd just been reminded that she was as much in charge here as he was. He was still thinking about that when she slid her hands under the hem of his shirt and smoothed them across his stomach, and suddenly he was trying to remember how many sit ups he'd done that morning.

"Do you have any idea," she murmured, as she drew delicate patterns on his ribcage, "how often I've wanted to do this?"

"Hey!" He caught at her hands as his skin twitched under her fingers. "No tickling."

Amusement danced in her eyes. "Jack O'Neill, defender of the known universe, is ticklish. I'll remember that."

Jack wasn't sure if that was a threat or a promise, but decided he didn't care when she walked her hands up his chest to trace the edges of his collarbone. He caught the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, and before it hit the floor, she'd followed her hands with her lips, leaving a trail of moist kisses on his heated skin.

Damn, but she was good.

And he was standing here like an idiot, letting her have her way with him while all that feminine skin was just begging to be explored. He so was not going to lose this opportunity to answer the questions that had plagued him for so long. And with that thought his hands were moving again, up slim arms, across shoulders that quivered beneath his touch, and then down her sides, lingering at the outer edges of her breasts long enough to make her moan before moving on to find the hem of her light sweater. Victorious, he slid his hands underneath.

Her lower back was soft and smooth, and he splayed his fingers over the skin, pulling her more snugly against his body. But it wasn't enough. Restless, he worked his way up her spine, counting the vertebrae as he went, until he reached a point just below her bra strap. Pausing there, he rubbed slow circles on her spine and waited for her to look up.

She did, sending him a questioning look. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head and smiled at her. "Not a thing."


"So I'm cranky, and sarcastic, and I don't understand half the stuff you say, and I'd just as soon shoot a snake as talk to it. And yet here we are..."

She shrugged and grinned, her hands tracing lazy spirals on his chest. "And what was that you said all those years ago? Wait. I remember. You like women, but you have a little problem with scientists."

"Yes. Well. I make an exception for hot astrophysists."

She blushed, her skin turning an entertaining shade of pink, but she lifted her chin and held his gaze. "Hot, huh?"

"Oh, yeah." And with that he took her mouth in another deep kiss and deftly unhooked the catch of her bra.

Catching her gasp, he tangled his tongue with hers and shifted his hands to span her waist, thumbs brushing against the edges of her freed breasts. When he wandered higher, she broke the kiss to arch her back, her fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders. She wanted more. He got the message, but she'd have to wait a little longer.

He nibbled his way down her jugular vein until he got to the pulse that fluttered in the hollow of her throat. Pausing there, he gave a lick, blew a gentle puff of air across the sensitive skin, and felt her shudder in his arms.

He repeated the action, and this time her hips ground forward into his as she dropped her head back and mumbled something his brain couldn't translate but other parts of his anatomy obviously did. "Carter..." He traced the scooped neckline of her sweater with the tip of his tongue. "I'm too old for floor sex, but if we don't move pretty soon I'm not going to give a damn."

Her breathless giggle was almost his undoing. "Lead the way, Sir."

How, he wondered, was he ever again going to be able to hear her call him that without remembering this moment?

Then she caught his hand and sucked his little finger into her mouth, flicking her tongue against the sensitive tip, and Jack just about leapt out of his skin. "Jesus, Carter! Are you trying to kill me?"

Impatient to see what other tricks she had squirreled away, he grabbed her hand and pulled her after him. Down a hallway, up the stairs, and then down another hallway that seemed to double in length with each step he took. When they finally made it to his room, he turned and caught at her sweater, tugging the knit fabric up and over her head almost before they'd come to a full step beside the bed. Sweater and bra fell to the floor, and he found himself staring like a teenaged boy.

"Damn," he said. "Really hot."

"Hotter than Uma Thurman?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Well." She tilted her head. "I feel better, then."

He traced the underside of one breast, testing its weight against his hand. "I'll say you do."

"Jack!" Despite her shocked tone, Sam was smiling. "Are you going to gawk at me or kiss me? Because if all you want to do is gawk—"

He pulled her hard against him, cutting off her last words. The sudden skin to skin contact made his blood soar, and pants that were already uncomfortable became almost excruciatingly so. Something had to be done about that situation. Soon. But first….

"You know," he murmured, his mouth close to her ear, "This might be easier without the shoes."

She nibbled his earlobe, swiped her tongue around the ridge of his ear, and murmured in a voice guaranteed to haunt his dreams, "What shoes?"

Somewhere on the trip from the front door to his bed she'd kicked them off, but he'd been in such a hurry to get her here that he hadn't even noticed. Later, she'd probably tease him about that, but right now he didn't care. All he cared about was the fact that the woman he'd been in love with for years was finally here in his arms, and for the first time in forever his world was full of possibilities instead of dead ends.

And so instead of answering her question, he kissed her again, and she kissed him back, and their tongues tangled and danced and teased, and somewhere along the way they ended up on the bed. Then he stopped kissing her long enough to prop himself on his elbow and gaze down at her. She was, he thought, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and she was his, and it was all so perfect that for just a moment he wasn't sure what to do next.

And then the moment passed, because she smiled at him and reached up to trace his lips with her fingertips, and he knew that he had to have her, had to claim her as his own, mark her as his territory, and God help the man who ever tried to take her away from him again.

He wanted to taste her, to know all of her, to feel the smooth softness of her skin beneath his lips and hands, and so he bent, ignoring the tangle of her hands in his hair and the low murmur of her voice as he nibbled and licked and tasted his way across the landscape of her body. She was soft here, and pliant, but over there, the skin was firmer, toned, and there were places—the underside of a breast, the inside of an elbow, the juncture of neck and shoulder—where the touch of his lips guaranteed a moan.

She tugged at him, and when he looked up, she rolled, so that now it was her turn to explore, her turn to taste and test and tease, hands and tongue sliding across his skin to light fires that threatened to race out of control until she blew gentle puffs of air that slowed the burn, banked it, easing the rush of need to something almost bearable.

But the heat stayed, grew, built into something more, a demanding, living thing that called out to them, drawing them in, pulling them deeper and urging them on.

When he reached for her skirt, she lifted her hips, and when she reached for the zipper of his slacks, he lifted his. There was no discomfort between them, no moment of self-doubt or anxiety, and maybe that should've been unusual for first time sex, but neither one of them thought about it. And then, finally, he pulled her into his arms, and her skin came into exquisite contact with his from ankle to chest, and he stopped, and held her close, and waited for her to look into his eyes.

"Okay?" he said, checking in, making sure she was still with him, holding his breath. If she said no, if by some freaking impossible far out chance, she stopped this, he was pretty sure he'd kill himself right now.

But she merely smiled, and rolled, and suddenly she was straddling him, her cheeks flushed, blue eyes dark with need. "Oh, yeah." And then she moved, sliding back and then forward again so that he rubbed against her but couldn't quite...

"Um...Sam?" He almost didn't recognize the strangled sound of his own voice.

She leaned down, nibbled at his bottom lip, and smiled. "Yeah?"

Bracketing her waist with his hands, he lifted her slightly and then gave an experimental nudge, finding her wet and ready for him. "That isn't my sidearm, I swear."

She pushed back, rested her hands on his chest for leverage, and then settled again, taking him in, all of him, in one long delicious slide into tight warmth that just about sent him over the edge. "Glad to hear it," she said, with a smug grin at his low groan.

And it hit them both then, what they were doing, and where they were and what it all meant, and for a split second he thought she might be having second thoughts, but then she tightened around him, her muscles pulling at him in a rolling motion that made his hips jerk of their own accord.

"Carter…" He ground out her name through gritted teeth. "Unless you want this to end in the next ten seconds, I suggest you stop that…whatever it is you're doing."

"You mean," she did it again. "This?"

The sight of her straddling his naked body was the stuff of more dreams than he could list, but if she kept this up... Shaking his head, he pulled her down to him, and this time he was the one who rolled, coming up neatly with her flat on her back and grinning up at him.

He'd managed the change of position without losing contact with her, and now, as though to prove a point, she tightened her muscles for a third time.

"Sam...for cryin' out loud..." He pulled back, desperately gulping for air. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Yoga," she said, very matter of fact--as though every woman could do this thing that was making him singularly crazy when he knew for a fact that it wasn't so.

And besides, when did she have time to... "Yoga?"


"Hmmm?" He was still puzzling over the whole yoga thing.

"Do we have to talk about this now?"

The discussion had distracted him, and he'd relaxed his position above her, a fact she took full advantage of by grabbing his hips and pulling him down, and as he sank into her softness he decided he didn't care how she'd learned to do it as long as she never forgot.

There wasn't any talking after that because he kissed her, and then he was moving against her, and she was meeting him halfway, thrust for thrust, and she was lithe, and firm, and strong, and easily kept up with him, even as he increased the pace. Then he braced himself against the headboard, and, still moving, reached down to touch her, and...

"Oh, God...Jack...!" Her head slammed back against the bed, her hips leaping against his.

Faster then, watching her, always watching, trying to hold on until he knew she was ready to come with him, until they could tumble off the cliff together. Touching, rubbing, teasing, until he couldn't anymore, until he needed both hands to brace himself, until she dug her fingers into his hips and begged him for more, faster, harder.

He felt it coming, knew he wouldn't last much longer. When her head dropped back against the pillow, her eyes closing as she rose to meet him one... last... time, and she cried out, and he felt the power of her climax, and it pushed him over the edge and she was there to meet him and they were flying, and oh, sweet Jesus...

For a long time, it was all they could do to breathe.



When it was over, he collapsed beside her with barely enough strength to pull her into his arms. Hazily, he reached for a blanket, tugging it up and over her body where it lay tangled with his.

"Comfortable?" he asked, brushing the hair off her face.

"Mmhmm." Her murmur was sleepy, her eyes already closing as she nestled her head into his shoulder.

Smiling softly, he mustered enough energy to press a tender kiss to her forehead.

As his eyes drifted closed, his last thought was that this was why they'd fought so hard to save the universe.

The End



Prompt: S9 Sam is furious that Jack has just up and left. She follows him to Washington without realizing that he was expecting her to do just that and has already been warned she's on her way. What she finds when she reaches his house is up to the writer and so is the rating.