Fluffy fluff drabble.

"So, Carter."

They sat on the couch, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. His arm curved around her shoulder, and her head rested on his collarbone. The television cast a hazy, lazy glow around a room that had settled into twilight.

She looked up at him, drowsy, her eyes a little unfocused. "Hmm?"

"You know, right?" He glanced down at her, and then back at the hockey game muted on the television. His jaw tightened at the feel of her hand on his knee.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Know what?"

"That I—that is to say—" He gestured, the remote in his hand a black blur in the evening dim. "That—we—that there's something—"

Sam sat up, pulling slightly away from him so that she could see him better. "That there's what?"

"You know." He pursed his lips before making a cryptic nod towards nothing in particular. "That."

"What that?" The beginnings of a smile teased at her lips.

"That I—really—uh—" Jack cleared his throat, narrowing one eye. "That I—"

"That you—" Her prompt came, quietly insistent. And those eyes—seeking.

One long hand gestured between them. "That we—you know."

"What?" Shaking her head slowly, she caught his eye. "I do?"

"Yes—that. That we do."

"That we do what?"

His look was piercing, contemplative, with the barest hint of frustration. Finally, after a pause and a half, he pressed his lips together before taking a different tack. "You remember when we were on that ice planet?"

"You mean Antarctica?"

"No." He frowned, lowering his chin to his chest, looking down at where her hand lay on his thigh. "The mining planet. The mind stamp place. When you were Thera. And I was—"

"Jonah." She looked down at his hand, where it had come to rest on hers, before angling her gaze back at him. "You were Jonah."

"Right." His fingers traced a lazy tattoo on the sensitive skin on the back of her hand. "And we were sitting just like this in those orange pajama things, and it was just you and me?"

Heat and humidity and the acrid odor of burning fuel. And the constant sensation of not quite belonging. Except in a single corner, with a single woman.

She nudged him on. "And you were talking about General Hammond. 'Balding man in a short sleeved shirt'."

"Yeah. But I also talked about other stuff." His arm tightened around her shoulders. "Stuff that I remembered from before."

She smiled, her perfect, even teeth a flash of white in the glow of the television screen. "You might have to remind me."

He rolled his eyes, his hand stilling on her wrist. Dark eyes captured azure, and he quirked one brow high. "Feelings."

"What about them?"

"That I did. Do." He scowled. "That I still. Do. That."


"Mmm-hmm." He nodded again, his hand rising to smooth an errant hair back behind her ear. "That."

"Are you telling me that you still feel those particular feelings?"

His nod was slow, and purposeful, his fingers traced lightly along her temple, her cheek, his thumb brushing her lower lip. "Yeah."

She settled in closer to him, her ear pressed against the steadfast beat of his heart. Inhaling deep, gathering in the unique essence that was Jack, she nodded against the smooth cotton of his shirt before sighing out an answer. "Yeah. Me too."

"Good." His arm tightened again, and he bent his head to tease her hair with his lips, his breath. "Just so we're clear."