Home Is Where Carter's Sofa Is
Title: Home Is Where Carter's Sofa Is
Summary: Five times Jack slept on Sam's sofa.
Timeframe: Varies. Mostly between seasons one and four in the same timeline.
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Jack, Team
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, UST, Kidfic
Rating: PG
Began: July-13-09 Finished: Feb-20-10
Home Is Where Carter's Sofa Is
I.
Sam emerged from her bathroom, dressed in oversized sweats and a t-shirt, toweling her hair dry and striding tiredly into her living room. The sight that greeted her caused a faint smile of exasperation to spread across her face. Daniel and the Colonel were both passed out on the sofa, their sock-clad feet propped up on the coffee table. Daniel's chin was resting on his chest, his glasses having slid nearly to the tip of his nose. Colonel O'Neill's head had flopped backwards over the cushions, his mouth hanging open as he snored softly. Teal'c, the only one of the four who hadn't drank anything other than cranberry juice all night, was resting in the arm chair, watching some old black and white episode of The Twilight Zone on television. Sam was just thankful she'd cut herself off at two beers and a shot of rum. She'd been a little buzzed, but not drunk, and that had been enough for her.
After a meal, a few games of pool and darts, and a good number of drinks at O'Malley's, the team had migrated to her place to hang out. Having gotten quite a good buzz at the restaurant, the Colonel and Daniel had raided her liquor cabinet and played a few drinking games. Sam let them have their fun, because SG-1 hadn't been able to go on leave for some time, and they finally had some well-deserved down time ahead of them. It was a celebration of sorts.
Sam had left Teal'c to watch over their drunken teammates while she excused herself to shower and get changed into something more comfortable. She was honestly surprised to find them all still there, but she truly didn't mind the company. She smiled as Teal'c glanced her way, and gesturing toward the two men asleep on the couch, said, "Okay, so who stays on the couch, and who gets the spare bedroom?"
Teal'c levered himself off the chair. "I believe O'Neill will awaken if I attempt to move him, so I shall carry Daniel Jackson to the spare bedroom."
"Yeah, you're probably right. And Daniel sleeps like a rock when he's drunk. A nuclear warhead could go off right next to him and he wouldn't notice," Sam said jovially, nodding. "I'll go grab some spare blankets for the Colonel."
-
Teal'c was still getting Daniel settled in the spare room when she returned with blankets for Colonel O'Neill. She put the blankets on the coffee table near his feet and just stood there a moment, watching him. He looked so relaxed and just so . . . perfect, sprawled on her couch; like he belonged there. The thought scared her, and she tried to banish the thoughts, but they just kept returning. Every time inappropriate thoughts about her commanding officer popped into her head, Sam would exile them to the recesses of her mind, but they always came back.
Sighing softly, with a somber smile on her face, Sam reached out to grab her Colonel's legs, slowly maneuvering them onto the couch. When he didn't wake, she took him by the shoulders and carefully laid him down. She almost let go of him and jumped backwards when he made a snuffling noise and took in a deep breath. The Colonel was known to occasionally wake in a violent manner if disturbed in his sleep, though it was rare to happen off-world. Sam guessed that off-world, O'Neill was never in a deep enough sleep to be startled, because he would spring to alertness at the slightest provocation.
Sam kept still for a few minutes, giving him a chance to settle as he shifted slightly in his sleep, adjusting to the new position he was in. When the Colonel stopped moving around, his clothes slightly twisted and rumpled, Sam draped a blanket over him. As a sudden wave of blind courage washed over her, Sam knelt in front of the couch and leaned over the Colonel, giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek.
Leaning back, Sam caught the brief twitch of his lips, forming a dopey smile and leaving her wondering, just maybe, that the Colonel wasn't as far gone in drunken dreamland as she'd thought.
-
II.
Sometime after "Singularity."
It was just so unexpected. He was sitting there when she came home, slumped on her doorstep with a big grey scruffy dog, who had hopefully seen better days, lying on the step beside him. Sam slowed her approach to the door, taking time to fiddle with her keys, making sure she had the one for the front door and not the garage, or her car. Trying to find something to say about the unusual sight before her, all Sam could manage was, "Colonel. I . . . didn't know you had a dog."
"I don't, Carter," he said, his voice surprisingly low and rough.
It was awfully late, and Sam had to wonder how long he'd been sitting there, waiting for her to come home. She didn't say anything, her gaze shifting to the scrappy dog by her Colonel's side. In the bright light from her front door, the poor animal's fur appeared dirty and matted. It had one ear sticking straight up, the other flopped down, and was staring at her beneath the shag of scraggly hair over it's dark, innocent eyes.
"He was on death row," O'Neill said, as though it explained everything. When there was silence for far too long, he looked up and sent her a bashful grin that lasted half a second. "I had a moment of weakness." He shrugged.
She gave him what was probably an odd look. "What were you doing at an animal shelter, sir?"
He smiled sheepishly. "I stopped in to give the dog officer a picture of Cassie with her dog. I wanted them to know the little fella got a good home."
Sam's eyebrows rose. She hadn't known that the Colonel had rescued the dog he gave to Cassandra from the pound. It was surprisingly sweet. And saving the life of this brutish old dog was just as noble an act. She felt her eyes begin to water and quickly blinked away the threat of sappy tears, turning her head slightly so the Colonel wouldn't see her. She never would have imagined her hard-assed Colonel could be such a softy at heart. Smiling at him, she cocked her head to the side and peered at the scruffy old dog. "What are you going to do with it?"
"Him," the Colonel corrected softly with a shrug. He glanced back at the filthy beast, and Sam had to admit that the dog had big, gentle eyes. "I wish I could keep him, but . . ." O'Neill trailed off with a grimace.
"But with our work, you don't have the time to take care of a dog," Sam finished with a sad, knowing smile.
"Yeah." He nodded with a resigned sigh.
Still having no idea why he'd come to her house with the dog, Sam stepped around the Colonel and his new friend to get to the front door, unlocking it and stepping inside before glancing back at them. They were both staring up at her with doleful brown eyes. She couldn't turn them away. "Bring him inside, sir. Let's see if we can get him cleaned up."
The Colonel quirked a lopsided grin, then levered himself to his feet and joined Sam in the house, patting his thigh and whistling for the dog to follow.
-
Sam was amazed at the dog's transformation. It turned out that the scraggly, grey pooch wasn't grey at all, but white with brown and black patches all over. Her bathroom was pretty much trashed, but as she glanced over at the Colonel, seeing his goofy grin, Sam thought that it was all worth it.
They dried the dog off with some old towels, and her hair dryer, then after bleaching and scrubbing nearly every surface in the bathroom, the trio headed out to Sam's living room.
As she sunk down onto the couch beside her CO, the now-clean mutt lounging on the floor at their feet, Sam got a good look at the Colonel and just noticed how exhausted he looked. She'd been about to say something when he spoke, sending a crooked grin her way.
"He cleans up nice, doesn't he?" O'Neill lightly nudged his foot against the dog's side, grinning down at the big mutt when the shaggy face lazily glanced up at him.
"I think we should be able to get him a nice home, now. What do you think, sir?" Sam smiled over at him.
"Yeah. Me too." The Colonel nodded, looking relieved.
Patting the dog on the head affectionately, Sam got up, gesturing toward the kitchen behind her. "How 'bout I get us some coffee?"
O'Neill nodded tiredly, still looking down at the shaggy old dog. Sam knew she might never find out why, but for some reason, she was certain that finding a home for the mutt meant a lot to him. Whatever the reason, Sam was just glad she could soothe even just one tiny ache in this man's troubled soul.
When Sam returned to the living room with two mugs of coffee, she came around the couch and stopped in her tracks. The Colonel was sprawled across her cushions, the big mutt laying half on top of him, and snoring loudly. Sam didn't have the heart to wake either of them.
Setting the coffee down on the side table, she grabbed a blanket to drape over them, and stood there gazing at the pair for a moment. Sighing softly and smiling to herself, Sam turned off all the lights and locked the doors before going to bed, not at all surprised by the relief she felt in her heart whenever the Colonel was near. Maybe some day he would become a permanent fixture in her home, but for now, Sam would take these small moments whenever she could get them.
-
III.
Sometime after "Spirits."
The sound of the pouring rain beating against the windows was keeping Sam awake. She grunted, heaving a sigh and dragging herself out of bed. Pulling on her warm, terrycloth robe, Sam trudged into the living room, turning on the television and hoping she could watch for a little while and fall asleep. As soon as her butt hit the cushions, there was a loud rap on the front door that made her jerk. Startled, Sam got up and cautiously went to the door. All the lights were still out, only the glow from the TV illuminating her house in any way, and she had no idea who would be at her door at this hour, and why.
Tentatively tugging the curtain at the door window aside, Sam peered into the dark, trying to make out the humanized shape on her front step. Taking a chance, she flicked on the outside light. The figure swayed, and she jumped back with surprise. It was Colonel O'Neill, looking quite soggy and somehow worse for wear, much to her disconcertment. Sam quickly pulled the door open. She didn't know what to say; her mouth just hung open as she gaped at him.
"Carter . . ." the Colonel began in a raspy slur, looking like he was barely keeping on his feet.
"Come in, sir." Sam finally found her voice, grabbing the soggy sleeve of his jacket and tugging him into the house.
He stumbled in, and Sam gawked at him, feeling incredibly uneasy with this behavior that was so unlike her Colonel O'Neill. "You're soaking wet," she exclaimed softly as he stood in her hall, looking lost and more than a little confused. Sam's brows furrowed, and she realized she hadn't seen his truck out front. "Sir, where's your truck? How did you get here?"
"Got towed. Took . . . the bus," he murmured, his head jerking. The Colonel's breathing was loud and heavy, and he looked like he was about to fall over.
"What?" Sam exclaimed with alarm and confusion. "Sir, the nearest bus stop is three miles from here. How did you get the rest of the way?"
He shrugged pathetically and grimaced. "I walked."
"Sir! You should've called someone, or at least gotten a cab!" He obviously wasn't entirely all there, and that worried her even more. Looking him up and down, Sam couldn't detect any obvious signs of injury. But then again, it was still dark inside the house and he was soaking wet, so it was hard to tell.
Without thinking too much about it, Sam helped him out of his jacket, tossing it on her coat rack and then guiding him to the couch before he fell flat on his face. His jeans and the grey Henley shirt he still wore were both quite soaked as well, but she figured she would deal with that in time. "Sit," she commanded in a firm, yet gentle tone borrowed from Janet, her eyes widening in surprise when the Colonel actually followed the order.
He folded into the couch with a badly-muffled groan, looking as though someone had just removed all his bones. "Sorry, Carter," the Colonel mumbled, and for a second Sam had a fleeting thought that he might be drunk, but quickly pushed that aside. He didn't smell of alcohol, and he carried himself more like he was injured and drugged, rather than drunk. Sam wasn't used to seeing him like this outside of the base infirmary after a particularly rough mission.
The Colonel forced himself to sit straighter, taking a slow breath, his face pinched, and his lips a thin line. "I don't remember why I came here," he said suddenly, staring across the room at her TV that wasn't on.
Sam didn't really know what to say. She gestured vaguely behind her. "I'll get you a towel and some dry clothes, sir. I'm pretty sure I have a decent collection of things you, Daniel, or Teal'c have left here at some time or another." She laughed awkwardly, hoping to get a more familiar reaction from him, like a quip or a sarcastic retort. But he didn't say or do anything, he just kept staring blankly. Not entirely sure he'd heard her, Sam left quickly, feeling a little uneasy, and not wanting O'Neill to be alone for too long.
With a million thoughts running through her head, Sam was a little flustered as she quickly pulled open the bottom drawer in her tall bureau, where she kept the scattered clothing the guys left at her house over time. She found a pair of track pants that looked like they'd belonged to Teal'c, going by the bright contrasting colors, and a soft flannel shirt that was probably the Colonel's anyway.
Grabbing a towel in the bathroom, then hurrying back to the living room, Sam was slightly dismayed to discover O'Neill passed out on her couch, his head thrown back, mouth open. She would have left him to rest in peace had his soaking wet clothes not been a concern.
Cautiously, she reached out to gently shake his shoulder, then took a step back, well aware that she did not want a startled, half-asleep, former Black Ops Colonel on her hands.
He groaned, his face scrunching up in pain before he peered at her through eyes that were opened to mere slits.
Sam held out the dry clothes and towel to him. "Sir?"
"Hrm?" he murmured groggily.
"Your wet clothes, Colonel? I thought you might want to change." Sam studied him carefully.
O'Neill nodded distantly, taking the items from her and setting them on the cushion beside him. Then he did something that Sam really wasn't expecting. Without getting up, he slowly pulled off his shirt, tossing the wet clothing on the floor.
Feeling a hot flush creep up her neck, Sam was about to quickly flee the room to let him change when she caught sight of the dark bruising on his naked chest. She bit her lower lip as her eyes automatically scanned the rest of his upper body, pausing at the fresh pink scar on his right bicep, a result of the Salish's Trinium arrow that went through his arm a few short weeks ago. Her focus finally stopped on something unfamiliar adorning the Colonel's left wrist. Sam swallowed the lump in her throat. It was a hospital bracelet.
Oh God, she thought, pressing a hand to her forehead. He'd been in the hospital? And he walked to her house, three miles in the pouring rain? Janet was going to kill him for sure. Hell, she might kill him herself for the damn stupidity!
Without thinking, Sam grabbed his wrist. "You were in the hospital?" she asked incredulously, suddenly feeling sick. There was a hint of repressed anger in her tone.
O'Neill blinked sharply, making a deliberate attempt to try and focus. "Banged up my truck . . . a little." He started to unfasten his pants, pausing to wave a hand dismissively. "I'm fine."
Sam snatched the towel from him and reached over to dry his hair, then draped it over his damp shoulders before she even realized what she'd done.
He stared at her through weary, cocoa-brown eyes for a fleeting moment, then attempted to stand so he could finish removing the rain-soaked jeans.
Unable to resist helping him, Sam hung onto the Colonel's arm, surprised at the wave of heat that swept through her due to the contact with his bare skin. He was so close, part of her forearm was touching his ribs. She tried desperately not to let her gaze wander as he bent slightly and then kicked off his pants.
Her mind was screaming at her that this was just so wrong, but what was she supposed to do, send him home in a cab when he could barely stay on his feet? The thought didn’t sit well with her.
The Colonel sunk back down onto the couch without warning, before he could even put the dry pants on. He was obviously exhausted, and had no reserves left to even try anymore.
Sam was inwardly cursing. Thinking fast, she pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa and quickly draped it over her CO's lap. She managed to help him get each arm through the sleeves of the flannel shirt, but failed when it came to buttoning it back up. O'Neill's fingers were slow and clumsy, and Sam just couldn't bring herself to get that much closer and button the shirt for him. Her fingers were sure to brush against his naked chest, and at the moment, she wasn't sure she could handle that.
"Colonel? Were you even released from the hospital?"
His lack of answer as the dark eyes tracked to her face was telling. Of course he hadn't been released.
Sam cursed under her breath. Heaving a sigh, she gathered his wet clothes from the floor, intending to take them to the laundry room. "I'm going to give Janet a call on base, alright, sir?" She wasn't entirely sure why she was asking permission. Of course he was her commanding officer, but this wasn't exactly a situation where rank should be involved. The boundaries were always there, but somehow this was different.
"Carter. Don't." The sharp tone of his voice startled her enough that she stopped in her tracks.
"Sir, I think it's best if-"
"I'm fine," the Colonel said firmly, his voice somehow convincing. He turned his head toward her, tugging on the blanket over his lap and bringing it up to cover his shoulders. "I'm just bruised . . . and tired." His eyes went wide momentarily with awareness, then he seemed to slump deeper into the sofa cushions. "And drugged." O'Neill gave his head a slight shake as if to clear it. "Gave me too much," he growled, sounding annoyed.
Sam's brows knit slowly together as she watched him, trying to figure out if he was really okay or if he was trying to pull the wool over her eyes. In the end, she decided it didn't really matter, but suddenly wondered if he'd come to her house because he'd known someone from the hospital may come looking for him at his own place.
Sinking down beside him, and dropping the wet clothes back to the floor, she regarded the hospital bracelet on O'Neill's left wrist, just visible where he held the blanket. "That's not the Academy Hospital, is it?"
Brows furrowing momentarily, the Colonel shoved his hand beneath the blanket, out of view.
Sam heaved an exasperated sigh. She crossed her arms, twisting to face him with a stern look.
"No," he muttered, not looking her in the eyes. The Colonel shook a finger at her. "I know what you're thinkin'. I didn't just sneak out. I signed the papers and left AMA."
"Against medical advice?" Sam eyed him incredulously. "Sir!" She frowned. "You really should be in the hospital."
He frowned back at her. "Carter, those docs don't know me like Fraiser does. Even she woulda released me," he exclaimed, his voice soft and indignant.
Sam snorted. "Somehow I doubt that." When he gave her a look, expecting her to get up and call Fraiser despite his wishes, she sighed reluctantly, already aware that she was giving in.
The Colonel started to list sideways on the couch, and Sam was aware that he was fading fast. Drugs and exhaustion took hold of him, and she doubted he would remember much of this in the morning.
Getting up, Sam went over to the closet to retrieve another blanket for him. He was still watching her warily as she made her way over again. She smiled gently. "Goodnight, sir."
Surprise and gratitude briefly lit up his eyes, then he slowly laid down with a soft grunt, and she covered him up with the second blanket.
"Thanks, Carter," he murmured, his eyes already closed.
She adjusted the blanket around him and smiled. "You're welcome, sir. But if Janet hears about you going AMA from the civilian hospital, I had no part in this, right?"
"Carter who?" he answered with a faint smirk before his features relaxed.
"Good." Laughing softly, Sam gave his shoulder a light pat and turned off the television and table lamp, bathing her living room in darkness.
She went to bed, smiling at the thought of the Colonel waking up in the morning, wondering why he'd been sleeping on her couch, and not wearing any pants.
-
IV.
Post "Shades of Grey."
Head throbbing with a vengeance, Jack could only remember a little bit about what had gotten him into this particular situation. He groaned, something hard and unresisting pressing into his back. Realizing that he was sitting upright, he opened his eyes, one hand feeling behind him as he waited for his blurry vision to clear. It dawned on Jack that he was sitting on the asphalt of a parking lot, leaning up against his truck. The front driver's side tire to be exact.
His stomach roiled as he struggled to his feet, vision still not clearing. Jack was very aware that he shouldn't have drank as much as he had, but also didn't think he should have a hangover yet, as it wasn't even morning. He leaned against the driver's side door of his truck with a heavy groan, suddenly dizzy with the effort of levering himself off the ground. What the hell had happened once he'd stopped drinking?
A quick check told Jack that he was still in O'Malley's parking lot. At least he hadn't tried to drive himself home. Or had he? Had he been that far gone? Had he passed out before he could open the door? Jack wondered, pressing a hand to the back of his neck.
Hearing a car pull up and park in the space behind him, beside his truck, Jack ignored it and just prayed that it wasn't a cop or someone looking to cause trouble. He really didn't need that right now.
"Colonel?"
Jack spun at the familiar voice, a little too quickly for his scattered brain to catch up. He staggered dizzily as the world spun, and fell back against his truck before sliding to the ground to return to the position he'd woken up in.
"Colonel!" He heard Carter's voice yell with alarm, then he squinted to focus on the two Carters getting out of the car and running over to him.
Jack jerked with surprise as two of them knelt in front of him, and he wound up smacking his head against the door of his truck with a loud thwack! He groaned and waved his hand out in front of him. "Carter?" he slurred, squinting to try and make the two women in front of him coalesce into one. "What're y'doin' 'ere?"
"You called me half an hour ago, sir," she told him; and although every sound was like an explosion going off in his skull, Jack picked up the concerned lilt in her voice.
"Oh," he murmured, blinking dazedly as she grabbed his arm and helped him back to his feet, slowly. His vision wasn't any better, but it helped a little if he squinted, even though he'd much rather just close his eyes.
Carter lifted a hand to touch a spot on his forehead, just over his left eyebrow, and he winced. "You've got quite the bump forming there, sir," she told him.
He blinked, dazedly, and winced again. "Ah. That explains . . . the killer headache . . . dizziness . . ." Jack groaned, squinted at her. "And double . . . vision."
"Ah, the drinking would explain that also, sir." Sam sounded slightly sympathetic, but a titch annoyed as well.
When he'd returned from his undercover solo mission, Jack hadn't quite felt that his team was exactly welcoming him home with open arms. Carter was military and understood the need to follow orders, but he could still tell that he'd upset her with his actions while under the guise of a traitor to his country. She felt betrayed. He could see it in her eyes.
Jack felt that Teal'c had some understanding as well, because of the things he'd been forced to do under the hand of Apophis. He obviously wasn’t happy about being kept out of the loop, but had seemed to understand why Jack had done what he did.
Daniel, however, had taken his supposed betrayal the hardest, leaving the younger man questioning their friendship and his leadership. That had been hard. After all of SG-1 had attended the debriefing and been granted a few days leave, his team had all scattered. Jack had been in hopes that a team night was in order, so he'd be able to smooth some ruffled feathers. But no, they'd all left him to wallow in his own self pity, doubting everything he'd ever done, for the military and otherwise.
Jack heard Sam retrieve a set of keys on the ground by their feet, which he assumed were his, and then she was guiding him away from his truck. "Let's get you sobered up, sir."
Wobbling at his 2IC's side, Jack staggered along, every step sending a spike of lightning into his skull. "I don'wanna g'home, Carter."
Sam's brows furrowed, and he assumed she'd picked up the subtle, pleading tone in his voice, because she sympathetically said, "Okay, sir. I won't take you home. You can stay on my couch, alright?"
Jack nodded distantly. He didn't want to be alone in his big empty house. Not tonight.
-
Sam held a cold cloth to O'Neill's head as he lay sprawled on her couch. She'd initially been annoyed at the fact that he'd gotten completely trashed and called her, expecting her to come to his rescue. When she'd arrived at O'Malley's to see him collapse in the parking lot, she'd been so scared that something had happened to him, her anger had fled. She didn't know what to think.
Sitting down on the coffee table in front of him, Sam left the cloth on his head and leaned back slowly. "Did you get into a fight, sir?"
He groaned, frowning, and flinging an arm across his closed eyes. "No." His memory was obviously fuzzy, as he paused for a lengthy amount of time. "Don't think so . . . Think I . . . fell," the Colonel finally mumbled.
"You don't remember what happened?"
"Ah, nope," he answered dopily.
More than a little concerned, Sam said, "Maybe I should take you in to see Janet, sir."
"No!" he barked sharply, quickly sitting up and then immediately holding a hand to his head with a groan.
Sam put up her hands to still his movements. "Okay, okay; we won't go see Janet." She heaved a frustrated sigh. He slumped back into the sofa. It probably wouldn't be a very good idea to bring her intoxicated CO to the base where he worked, anyway. People would talk, get the wrong idea. O'Neill wasn't a drunk, he'd just been having a bad time lately.
She got up and went to go put on a pot of coffee, wondering what had been going through her Colonel's head to make him go on a drinking binge. Sam started suddenly, half way to the kitchen when realization struck her. Oh God, she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before! He was wallowing in guilt over his last mission; the team dynamic had shifted when they all thought that the Colonel had betrayed them all, and his country. It hadn't been an easy few weeks, that was for sure. Sam had been in turmoil, not wanting to believe what had become of her commander.
Looking at him now, appearing so miserable after what he'd been ordered to do, it disgusted Sam how she'd almost been taken in by the lie. Guilt swarmed in her gut at the thought that she could have almost believed her unquestionably loyal CO to be a traitor. She was startled when he began to stand up, wavering on unsteady legs. "Easy, sir," she warned, softly.
He frowned, unfocussed eyes shifting from the floor to her face. "I oughtta go, Carter." The Colonel made an attempt to maneuver around the coffee table and tripped, but Sam got to her feet quickly and had grabbed his arm before guiding him back to sit on the couch. "Whoa," he muttered, rubbing his forehead with a groan. "M'sorry," he slurred.
"Colonel, please, stay put. You're in no condition to go anywhere." She smiled a little. "Besides, you don't have your truck."
His brows furrowed, and he blinked. "Oh. Right."
Sam helped him out of his jacket. The leather smelled of booze and cigarette smoke. She wrinkled her nose and went to go hang it on the rack by her front door.
The Colonel was dead to the world when she got back to the living room. She smiled sadly and then knelt down to remove his boots. When she pulled his legs up onto the cushions, he mumbled something in his sleep. She leaned closer to try and hear what he was saying.
"Shhhhoulda told . . . you guysss . . ." His brows knit together tightly. "Neverrrr . . . truuussst me . . . 'gain."
She frowned, stood, then smoothed back his hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. "It's not your fault, Colonel," Sam whispered to the sleeping man. "And we do trust you. Always, sir."
When the lines on his face smoothed out once again, Sam hoped his conscience was at peace now. She pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa, and draped it over him, bidding him goodnight. "Sleep well, Colonel. I'll never doubt your loyalty again."
-
V.
Sometime after “Divide and Conquer.”
Jack walked with the miniature Carter to her front door, his boots scraping softly on the steps as he slowly made his way up behind her. All he could think about was how bizarre the entire situation was. Carter looked like a five-year-old, but her adult mind was all there. It seriously baffled him, and the niggling headache he’d had all day was starting to ratchet up another notch on his pain scale, which did nothing to improve his mood.
“Colonel?”
The small voice called for his attention, and Jack realized he’d been standing dumbly on Carter’s front step while she was waiting just inside the door, beckoning him to come in. “Right,” he murmured, following her in and closing the door behind him.
Jack cursed inwardly and rubbed at his forehead. He shed his coat and hung it on the rack beside the door, still holding onto the bag of child’s clothes they’d picked up at the store before coming here, a small duffel for his own things slung over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry you have to stay here with me, sir,” Sam apologized, taking the bag from his loose grip and looking embarrassed.
Jack shrugged. Daniel and Teal’c were off-world helping Bra’tac with some Jaffa thing, and Janet insisted that Sam not be home alone in her current state. Jack knew he’d been the only one available, other than an SF or medical personnel, and agreed to stay with her so she could get off base.
“It’s okay, Carter. Really,” he said aloud, knowing she needed to hear it. Jack was just glad to escape the stack of paperwork he’d left behind on base. Besides, if the doc found out about his persistent headache, he’d be the one in the infirmary being poked and prodded.
“I appreciate it, sir.”
Feeling pretty lousy, Jack wandered into Carter’s living room and dropped his duffel before sinking into the sofa while she went to shower and change into some proper-fitting clothes.
-
O’Neill was asleep on her couch by the time Sam returned, having changed into some plain sweats and a t-shirt that was more appropriate for her current size. She felt awkward as hell around the Colonel, and as much as she appreciated him being there, hated the idea of him seeing her like this. Sam felt as small and vulnerable as her five-year-old body.
She was carrying sheets, blankets, and a pillow to set up the couch for the Colonel, but apparently he’d been too tired to wait. It was late, but Sam wasn’t even tired after all she’d been through today, and was surprised that the Colonel was already out. He’d kicked off his shoes, but hadn’t even bothered to change, which was odd.
Setting the linens and pillow on the coffee table, Sam took a brief moment to study her commander as he slept. She found it unusual that even unconscious, he seemed tense, brow quivering, deepening the lines on his forehead.
Unfolding one of the blankets, Sam draped it over him and turned out the lights. She wasn’t tired, but she went to her room anyway, deciding to curl up with a book for an hour so until she was ready to go to bed.
-
Sam was reaching for the light switch by her bed when she heard a noise from outside her room. She slid off her bed and wandered out into the hall to investigate. There was a soft thump, and she quickly discovered the noise had originated from her living room. Where the Colonel was currently sleeping on her couch. Well, as far she knew anyway.
As she slipped quietly through the dark house, she found O’Neill sitting up on her couch, leaning over with his head in his hands. Her small form remained unnoticed as she walked over to the end of the sofa.
“Sir?” she called tentatively, grimacing at the squeaky sound of her voice.
He turned his head slowly, squinting in the lack of light. O’Neill’s dark eyes glistened as he stared at her. Something was off.
“Is everything alright, sir?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he ground out shortly, his voice a low, gravelly mumble. “Just a headache.”
Sam waved a hand toward the hall, even though she knew he wasn’t looking at her. “I’ll get you something, sir.”
“Got anything stronger than Tylenol?” he asked as she was leaving the room.
“I think so, sir. I’ll find something.” She padded off to her medicine cabinet in the master bathroom. The Colonel’s headache must have been pretty bad if he was willing to take the strong stuff.
Cursing when she realized she couldn’t quite reach the cabinet, Sam had to climb up onto the counter, the porcelain around the sink digging into her knobby knees. She managed to find a half-empty bottle of painkillers from the last time she was out of commission. Figuring that would suffice, she brought the entire bottle with her back to the living room.
As she handed the Colonel the pill container, Sam turned on the soft light on the side table. She studied him carefully as he dry-swallowed a couple tablets. Despite her better judgment, Sam moved closer, noticing her commander’s flushed face, and the fine sheen of sweat on his uncovered skin.
Sam slowly sat next to him, and reached out, unbidden, to place her small hand on the side of O’Neill’s face.
He jerked slightly at the contact, shooting a raised eyebrow and curious look her way as she drew back.
“Sir, you’re really warm,” she blurted, her brows furrowing. “I think you’ve got a fever.”
O’Neill heaved a sigh and groaned, rubbing his forehead. He frowned and pulled a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, but didn’t dispute her words. He had to have known he was sick. The Colonel obviously wasn’t feeling very well.
“Why don’t you lie down, sir, and I’ll get a cool cloth for your head.”
“Hey, I’m the one that’s supposed to be lookin’ after you, Carter,” he mumbled as she started to leave.
Sam just sent him a half-smile and continued on her way before she said something she might regret later. The truth was, as much as she resented the need to be looked after, Sam appreciated the Colonel’s company more than she could say. If anyone had to be here with her, she was glad it was him.
-
Jack had managed to pull himself to his feet once Carter had gone. He found his duffel on the floor where he’d left it, and dug around to find some comfortable sleep clothes to change into. He felt like crap, so he might as well make sure he was as comfortable as he was going to get, and that meant not spending the rest of the night in jeans and a button-down shirt.
The room was starting to spin by the time he’d undressed, and Jack nearly fell over when he bent to pull his sweats and t-shirt from the duffle. A flush of heat washed over him, and before he knew what was happening, Jack was sitting slumped on the floor, half-naked, the clothes he’d intended to be wearing in a pile beside him.
This was SO not good.
-
Sam took her time in the bathroom as she retrieved a bowl of cold water and a washcloth for the Colonel. She desperately needed to compose herself, and was having a difficult time at the moment, feeling sporadic urges to confess feelings they shouldn’t talk about, to bring up things that were locked in that room not so long ago. Sam blamed the urges on her current situation. Yes, it had to be that. Perhaps being turned into a child had given her the blunt truthfulness of her younger self. Maybe that had even been the point of the device that made her like this.
Oh God, Sam mentally cursed, closing her eyes and nearly spilling the water bowl all over the floor. She steadied her feet, paused, and took a deep breath. Stop over-analyzing this, Sam, she growled internally.
She strode determinedly into the living room, and nearly dropped the bowl again at the sight that greeted her. Her commanding officer, the man she harbored non-regulation feelings for, was sitting on the area rug on her living room floor, wearing nothing but a pair of grey boxer-briefs.
“Um . . . sir?” she squeaked, hurriedly setting the water on the coffee table before she made an almighty mess, and wondering if the squeak was due to her current form, or her reaction at seeing O’Neill nearly naked in her house.
He cleared his throat, and even though she stood at a distance, the Colonel’s breathing was loud and harsh. “Just . . . gimme a minute, Carter.”
Sam bit down on her lip, hard, preventing herself from dashing over to his side while she watched him struggle. When he’d managed to get on his hands and knees, but lacked the strength to push himself further up, Sam sucked in a breath and moved forward.
Now more distracted by his unwell state rather than the fact that he was barely clothed, Sam wrapped two small hands around his left bicep before she really thought about what she was doing. “C’mon, sir.”
O’Neill shot her a skeptical look, and breathed out harshly. “And what . . . are you gonna do, Carter?”
She grimaced, reminded of how small she currently was, and how inadequate her size was for helping him up. “Um, it’s the thought that counts?” Sam threw out there with a one-shouldered shrug.
That actually earned her a raspy chuckle and a faint smirk. Breathing in and out a few times, O’Neill was able to push himself to his feet, using what little support Sam could give him.
Back on two feet again, however unsteady, the Colonel looked down at himself, then at the pile of clothes he’d meant to be wearing. He quickly dropped his hand from Sam’s bony little shoulder and bashfully held both hands over his crotch.
If the Colonel wasn’t already flushed, Sam swore he’d be blushing. She wordlessly bent to retrieve his clothes, then held them out to him and tugged him by the elbow to the couch before turning around so he could dress.
“Thanks,” he muttered gruffly when she’d turned.
Sam busied herself by wringing out the washcloth in the bowl of cool water a few times, then folding it neatly in preparation to place it on the Colonel’s forehead.
“Okay, Carter, you can turn around now.”
She did so slowly, just as O’Neill was pulling his t-shirt down. When he was lying down, his long, lean frame stretched across her sofa, Sam gently placed the neatly-folded cloth on his forehead.
“You should take some Tylenol to get your fever down,” Sam said quietly. “I’ll be right back.”
-
Sam got little sleep that night. She’d decided to camp out in the living room with the Colonel, concerned that he’d need something and she wouldn’t be able to hear him from down the hall. She’d been right.
By 0300, O’Neill was delirious with fever. A few times when she went near him, he looked at her oddly, like she was supposed to be someone else. He’d called her Charlie at least once. Sam blamed it on her short hair. When she’d been transformed into a child, her hairstyle remained the same, and without the feminine curves she’d grown into over the years, Sam was aware that her rail-thin frame looked boyish.
Having abandoned her makeshift bed on the armchair long ago, Sam had pushed the coffee table out of the way and moved her blankets and pillows on the floor by the couch.
The sounds of O’Neill’s loud breathing, combined with the restless rustling of blankets had Sam sitting up again. Nope. Definitely not getting much sleep.
“C’rrtr?” the Colonel moaned, curling into a ball on the couch and holding his head, shivering.
In the dim light coming from the table lamp she’d left on, Sam could see that he was still sweaty. She stood and grabbed for an extra blanket, draping it over his shaking form. “I’m right here, sir,” she told him softly, still hating how high-pitched and small her voice sounded coming out of her five-year-old body.
“Cold,” he murmured miserably, rubbing at his forehead, face scrunched up in pain. “Head . . . h’rrts.”
Sam smoothed down the blanket covering his shoulder. “I know, sir. You’re sick.” She definitely planned on calling Janet when it reached a decent hour if he wasn’t feeling any better.
After draping another blanket over him, she sat down on her pile of blankets on the floor, rested her chin on her knees, and just watched him. There was so much she wanted to say, Sam was feeling an almost physical ache having to hold back.
-
A blurred face kept floating in and out of his line of vision, but he couldn’t focus on it. Who was it and where was he? All Jack knew was that the shape of the person that continuously hovered in front of him was small, a blur of golden fuzz on top of it’s head. He tried to focus, but that only intensified the pounding pain inside his skull.
He flinched back as a pale blurb shot forward, and Jack felt what must have been a hand touch his forehead. The hand was cool against his skin, and he shivered with a groan.
“Sir, I’m going to give you some medicine. I want you to drink this, okay?” the figure in front of him was saying.
Jack squinted, and for a moment he could clearly make out a child’s face. Big, bright blue eyes in a small, pale face that was framed by wayward wisps of short blonde hair. His brows furrowed with confusion. Who was this kid? His Charlie had brown eyes and slightly-darker hair.
“Who’re . . . you?” he mumbled, his tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth. And why was this kid calling him ‘sir?’
“Colonel, it’s me. It’s Carter?” The voice sounded disconcerted, wary. “Do you know where you are, sir?”
“No,” he answered plainly, closing his eyes again. His unfocused vision was killing his head.
“Sir. Sir!” Small, delicate fingers wrapped around his wrists.
Jack’s hands were held protectively on either side of his head.
“Sir, stay with me.”
The hands tugged at him, and he rolled onto his back. Then something soft was pushed under his head, and the metallic taste of silverware and something tangy and foul like medicine was shoved into his mouth. Jack sputtered briefly, but swallowed.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m trying to help you.”
There was gentle pressure on his chest, a small hand rubbing in circles. Jack started to struggle and cough, but the hand pushed him back.
“Jack, please.” The high, childish voice softened. “Let me help you.”
He settled, somewhat reluctantly. There was just something in the voice that he trusted. Jack sunk into the warmth surrounding him and drifted off to sleep.
-
Sam tenderly smoothed back the Colonel’s damp hair while he slept. As she knelt on the floor at his side, she allowed herself to let go of the feelings she’d locked up in that room.
“I know this doesn’t mean as much with you unconscious, Colonel . . . Jack. But it’ll make me feel better, and I have to get it out.” Sam tried to block out the high voice, concentrating on her words and not the fact that she was currently quite a bit younger than she was supposed to be. Her mind was still the same, and so were her feelings.
She sucked in a breath. “What we locked up in that room . . . our feelings; I . . . I don’t want to let that go. I won’t let it go. And . . . regulations or not, I’m still going . . . I still love you, Jack.” Sam couldn’t believe she was saying this out loud. She swallowed thickly. “And I think I always will.”
Pushing herself to her feet, Sam brushed her small hand against the side of his face lovingly, then leaned over to kiss his cheek.
Satisfied that she felt a whole lot lighter now, less burdened, Sam sunk back into her pile of blankets and went to sleep.
-
The first thing Sam heard when she woke up was the raspy, very-confused sounding voice of her Colonel.
“Am I dreaming?”
Wondering if he was still delirious with fever, Sam opened her eyes and started to sit up from her nest of blankets on the floor in front of the couch. As she felt the blanket over her slip down off her shoulder, Sam felt a chill against her bare skin and paused.
She shifted slightly, then looked down at herself and realized two things. First, she was apparently back to her adult-sized self, and second . . . She was naked.
“Holy Hannah,” Sam gasped, clutching at the blanket around her and holding it tightly in place as she sat up all the way.
“That’s just what I was thinking,” O’Neill muttered under his breath from the couch.
The Colonel was sitting up with a blanket over his shoulders, hair sticking out every which way and looking decidedly groggy, but no longer flushed.
“Sir, I think your fever broke,” was the second thing out of Sam’s mouth that morning.
O’Neill scratched at the back of his head, still staring at her. “And you’re definitely you, again.”
Sam found herself blushing under his much-too-studious gaze. She pulled the blanket around her tighter, then carefully stood without exposing any embarrassing bits of bare flesh. She cleared her throat. “Um, I’m just going to . . . uh . . . get dressed, sir.”
She retreated hurriedly to her room, the tips of her ears and her cheeks burning.
-
O’Neill was staring at her, bleary-eyed, when she returned, having dressed modestly in some old jeans and a t-shirt. His own clothes were rumpled, and his hair stuck out all over the place, matted down in some spots because of how he‘d been sleeping. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was drawn and pale. To put it mildly, he looked like crap.
“How are you feeling, sir?” Sam asked softly, standing unsurely by the couch.
“Could be better,” he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. He squinted, and Sam got the idea that he still had a headache. The Colonel waved a hand at her vaguely. “You?”
“I’m good,” she answered quickly, rocking back on her heels and stretching absently. She was tall again. Sam smiled a little, then reluctantly sat on the couch beside O’Neill when he patted the seat.
“Hope I’m not contagious,” he murmured belatedly.
Sam gave him a small smile. “I’m not worried.” She could see him biting the inside of his cheek, and, sucking in her lower lip, she boldly slid her hand over to touch the fingers on the couch between them.
O’Neill glanced sideways at her touch, and as if without their own volition, his fingers lightly gripped hers.
“I think we need to talk,” she said softly.
“About?” He rose an eyebrow, with there was a slight twitch of a smile on his lips that told her he knew exactly what she meant.
Sam squeezed his hand, her thumb sweeping back and forth over his rough knuckles. “About things we aren’t supposed to talk about.” She trailed off, turning her head, but watching him out of the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction.
The Colonel released a slow breath. “Time for that, huh?”
“Yeah.” She exhaled slowly, nodded. “I think it is.”
O’Neill looked at her this time, and she met his gaze. Bleary, a little unfocused, but determined, and most all, willing. He nodded, smiling at her gently and turning his body toward her. “Okay.”
-
Summary: Five times Jack slept on Sam's sofa.
Timeframe: Varies. Mostly between seasons one and four in the same timeline.
Characters/Pairing: Sam/Jack, Team
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, UST, Kidfic
Rating: PG
Began: July-13-09 Finished: Feb-20-10
Home Is Where Carter's Sofa Is
I.
Sam emerged from her bathroom, dressed in oversized sweats and a t-shirt, toweling her hair dry and striding tiredly into her living room. The sight that greeted her caused a faint smile of exasperation to spread across her face. Daniel and the Colonel were both passed out on the sofa, their sock-clad feet propped up on the coffee table. Daniel's chin was resting on his chest, his glasses having slid nearly to the tip of his nose. Colonel O'Neill's head had flopped backwards over the cushions, his mouth hanging open as he snored softly. Teal'c, the only one of the four who hadn't drank anything other than cranberry juice all night, was resting in the arm chair, watching some old black and white episode of The Twilight Zone on television. Sam was just thankful she'd cut herself off at two beers and a shot of rum. She'd been a little buzzed, but not drunk, and that had been enough for her.
After a meal, a few games of pool and darts, and a good number of drinks at O'Malley's, the team had migrated to her place to hang out. Having gotten quite a good buzz at the restaurant, the Colonel and Daniel had raided her liquor cabinet and played a few drinking games. Sam let them have their fun, because SG-1 hadn't been able to go on leave for some time, and they finally had some well-deserved down time ahead of them. It was a celebration of sorts.
Sam had left Teal'c to watch over their drunken teammates while she excused herself to shower and get changed into something more comfortable. She was honestly surprised to find them all still there, but she truly didn't mind the company. She smiled as Teal'c glanced her way, and gesturing toward the two men asleep on the couch, said, "Okay, so who stays on the couch, and who gets the spare bedroom?"
Teal'c levered himself off the chair. "I believe O'Neill will awaken if I attempt to move him, so I shall carry Daniel Jackson to the spare bedroom."
"Yeah, you're probably right. And Daniel sleeps like a rock when he's drunk. A nuclear warhead could go off right next to him and he wouldn't notice," Sam said jovially, nodding. "I'll go grab some spare blankets for the Colonel."
-
Teal'c was still getting Daniel settled in the spare room when she returned with blankets for Colonel O'Neill. She put the blankets on the coffee table near his feet and just stood there a moment, watching him. He looked so relaxed and just so . . . perfect, sprawled on her couch; like he belonged there. The thought scared her, and she tried to banish the thoughts, but they just kept returning. Every time inappropriate thoughts about her commanding officer popped into her head, Sam would exile them to the recesses of her mind, but they always came back.
Sighing softly, with a somber smile on her face, Sam reached out to grab her Colonel's legs, slowly maneuvering them onto the couch. When he didn't wake, she took him by the shoulders and carefully laid him down. She almost let go of him and jumped backwards when he made a snuffling noise and took in a deep breath. The Colonel was known to occasionally wake in a violent manner if disturbed in his sleep, though it was rare to happen off-world. Sam guessed that off-world, O'Neill was never in a deep enough sleep to be startled, because he would spring to alertness at the slightest provocation.
Sam kept still for a few minutes, giving him a chance to settle as he shifted slightly in his sleep, adjusting to the new position he was in. When the Colonel stopped moving around, his clothes slightly twisted and rumpled, Sam draped a blanket over him. As a sudden wave of blind courage washed over her, Sam knelt in front of the couch and leaned over the Colonel, giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek.
Leaning back, Sam caught the brief twitch of his lips, forming a dopey smile and leaving her wondering, just maybe, that the Colonel wasn't as far gone in drunken dreamland as she'd thought.
-
II.
Sometime after "Singularity."
It was just so unexpected. He was sitting there when she came home, slumped on her doorstep with a big grey scruffy dog, who had hopefully seen better days, lying on the step beside him. Sam slowed her approach to the door, taking time to fiddle with her keys, making sure she had the one for the front door and not the garage, or her car. Trying to find something to say about the unusual sight before her, all Sam could manage was, "Colonel. I . . . didn't know you had a dog."
"I don't, Carter," he said, his voice surprisingly low and rough.
It was awfully late, and Sam had to wonder how long he'd been sitting there, waiting for her to come home. She didn't say anything, her gaze shifting to the scrappy dog by her Colonel's side. In the bright light from her front door, the poor animal's fur appeared dirty and matted. It had one ear sticking straight up, the other flopped down, and was staring at her beneath the shag of scraggly hair over it's dark, innocent eyes.
"He was on death row," O'Neill said, as though it explained everything. When there was silence for far too long, he looked up and sent her a bashful grin that lasted half a second. "I had a moment of weakness." He shrugged.
She gave him what was probably an odd look. "What were you doing at an animal shelter, sir?"
He smiled sheepishly. "I stopped in to give the dog officer a picture of Cassie with her dog. I wanted them to know the little fella got a good home."
Sam's eyebrows rose. She hadn't known that the Colonel had rescued the dog he gave to Cassandra from the pound. It was surprisingly sweet. And saving the life of this brutish old dog was just as noble an act. She felt her eyes begin to water and quickly blinked away the threat of sappy tears, turning her head slightly so the Colonel wouldn't see her. She never would have imagined her hard-assed Colonel could be such a softy at heart. Smiling at him, she cocked her head to the side and peered at the scruffy old dog. "What are you going to do with it?"
"Him," the Colonel corrected softly with a shrug. He glanced back at the filthy beast, and Sam had to admit that the dog had big, gentle eyes. "I wish I could keep him, but . . ." O'Neill trailed off with a grimace.
"But with our work, you don't have the time to take care of a dog," Sam finished with a sad, knowing smile.
"Yeah." He nodded with a resigned sigh.
Still having no idea why he'd come to her house with the dog, Sam stepped around the Colonel and his new friend to get to the front door, unlocking it and stepping inside before glancing back at them. They were both staring up at her with doleful brown eyes. She couldn't turn them away. "Bring him inside, sir. Let's see if we can get him cleaned up."
The Colonel quirked a lopsided grin, then levered himself to his feet and joined Sam in the house, patting his thigh and whistling for the dog to follow.
-
Sam was amazed at the dog's transformation. It turned out that the scraggly, grey pooch wasn't grey at all, but white with brown and black patches all over. Her bathroom was pretty much trashed, but as she glanced over at the Colonel, seeing his goofy grin, Sam thought that it was all worth it.
They dried the dog off with some old towels, and her hair dryer, then after bleaching and scrubbing nearly every surface in the bathroom, the trio headed out to Sam's living room.
As she sunk down onto the couch beside her CO, the now-clean mutt lounging on the floor at their feet, Sam got a good look at the Colonel and just noticed how exhausted he looked. She'd been about to say something when he spoke, sending a crooked grin her way.
"He cleans up nice, doesn't he?" O'Neill lightly nudged his foot against the dog's side, grinning down at the big mutt when the shaggy face lazily glanced up at him.
"I think we should be able to get him a nice home, now. What do you think, sir?" Sam smiled over at him.
"Yeah. Me too." The Colonel nodded, looking relieved.
Patting the dog on the head affectionately, Sam got up, gesturing toward the kitchen behind her. "How 'bout I get us some coffee?"
O'Neill nodded tiredly, still looking down at the shaggy old dog. Sam knew she might never find out why, but for some reason, she was certain that finding a home for the mutt meant a lot to him. Whatever the reason, Sam was just glad she could soothe even just one tiny ache in this man's troubled soul.
When Sam returned to the living room with two mugs of coffee, she came around the couch and stopped in her tracks. The Colonel was sprawled across her cushions, the big mutt laying half on top of him, and snoring loudly. Sam didn't have the heart to wake either of them.
Setting the coffee down on the side table, she grabbed a blanket to drape over them, and stood there gazing at the pair for a moment. Sighing softly and smiling to herself, Sam turned off all the lights and locked the doors before going to bed, not at all surprised by the relief she felt in her heart whenever the Colonel was near. Maybe some day he would become a permanent fixture in her home, but for now, Sam would take these small moments whenever she could get them.
-
III.
Sometime after "Spirits."
The sound of the pouring rain beating against the windows was keeping Sam awake. She grunted, heaving a sigh and dragging herself out of bed. Pulling on her warm, terrycloth robe, Sam trudged into the living room, turning on the television and hoping she could watch for a little while and fall asleep. As soon as her butt hit the cushions, there was a loud rap on the front door that made her jerk. Startled, Sam got up and cautiously went to the door. All the lights were still out, only the glow from the TV illuminating her house in any way, and she had no idea who would be at her door at this hour, and why.
Tentatively tugging the curtain at the door window aside, Sam peered into the dark, trying to make out the humanized shape on her front step. Taking a chance, she flicked on the outside light. The figure swayed, and she jumped back with surprise. It was Colonel O'Neill, looking quite soggy and somehow worse for wear, much to her disconcertment. Sam quickly pulled the door open. She didn't know what to say; her mouth just hung open as she gaped at him.
"Carter . . ." the Colonel began in a raspy slur, looking like he was barely keeping on his feet.
"Come in, sir." Sam finally found her voice, grabbing the soggy sleeve of his jacket and tugging him into the house.
He stumbled in, and Sam gawked at him, feeling incredibly uneasy with this behavior that was so unlike her Colonel O'Neill. "You're soaking wet," she exclaimed softly as he stood in her hall, looking lost and more than a little confused. Sam's brows furrowed, and she realized she hadn't seen his truck out front. "Sir, where's your truck? How did you get here?"
"Got towed. Took . . . the bus," he murmured, his head jerking. The Colonel's breathing was loud and heavy, and he looked like he was about to fall over.
"What?" Sam exclaimed with alarm and confusion. "Sir, the nearest bus stop is three miles from here. How did you get the rest of the way?"
He shrugged pathetically and grimaced. "I walked."
"Sir! You should've called someone, or at least gotten a cab!" He obviously wasn't entirely all there, and that worried her even more. Looking him up and down, Sam couldn't detect any obvious signs of injury. But then again, it was still dark inside the house and he was soaking wet, so it was hard to tell.
Without thinking too much about it, Sam helped him out of his jacket, tossing it on her coat rack and then guiding him to the couch before he fell flat on his face. His jeans and the grey Henley shirt he still wore were both quite soaked as well, but she figured she would deal with that in time. "Sit," she commanded in a firm, yet gentle tone borrowed from Janet, her eyes widening in surprise when the Colonel actually followed the order.
He folded into the couch with a badly-muffled groan, looking as though someone had just removed all his bones. "Sorry, Carter," the Colonel mumbled, and for a second Sam had a fleeting thought that he might be drunk, but quickly pushed that aside. He didn't smell of alcohol, and he carried himself more like he was injured and drugged, rather than drunk. Sam wasn't used to seeing him like this outside of the base infirmary after a particularly rough mission.
The Colonel forced himself to sit straighter, taking a slow breath, his face pinched, and his lips a thin line. "I don't remember why I came here," he said suddenly, staring across the room at her TV that wasn't on.
Sam didn't really know what to say. She gestured vaguely behind her. "I'll get you a towel and some dry clothes, sir. I'm pretty sure I have a decent collection of things you, Daniel, or Teal'c have left here at some time or another." She laughed awkwardly, hoping to get a more familiar reaction from him, like a quip or a sarcastic retort. But he didn't say or do anything, he just kept staring blankly. Not entirely sure he'd heard her, Sam left quickly, feeling a little uneasy, and not wanting O'Neill to be alone for too long.
With a million thoughts running through her head, Sam was a little flustered as she quickly pulled open the bottom drawer in her tall bureau, where she kept the scattered clothing the guys left at her house over time. She found a pair of track pants that looked like they'd belonged to Teal'c, going by the bright contrasting colors, and a soft flannel shirt that was probably the Colonel's anyway.
Grabbing a towel in the bathroom, then hurrying back to the living room, Sam was slightly dismayed to discover O'Neill passed out on her couch, his head thrown back, mouth open. She would have left him to rest in peace had his soaking wet clothes not been a concern.
Cautiously, she reached out to gently shake his shoulder, then took a step back, well aware that she did not want a startled, half-asleep, former Black Ops Colonel on her hands.
He groaned, his face scrunching up in pain before he peered at her through eyes that were opened to mere slits.
Sam held out the dry clothes and towel to him. "Sir?"
"Hrm?" he murmured groggily.
"Your wet clothes, Colonel? I thought you might want to change." Sam studied him carefully.
O'Neill nodded distantly, taking the items from her and setting them on the cushion beside him. Then he did something that Sam really wasn't expecting. Without getting up, he slowly pulled off his shirt, tossing the wet clothing on the floor.
Feeling a hot flush creep up her neck, Sam was about to quickly flee the room to let him change when she caught sight of the dark bruising on his naked chest. She bit her lower lip as her eyes automatically scanned the rest of his upper body, pausing at the fresh pink scar on his right bicep, a result of the Salish's Trinium arrow that went through his arm a few short weeks ago. Her focus finally stopped on something unfamiliar adorning the Colonel's left wrist. Sam swallowed the lump in her throat. It was a hospital bracelet.
Oh God, she thought, pressing a hand to her forehead. He'd been in the hospital? And he walked to her house, three miles in the pouring rain? Janet was going to kill him for sure. Hell, she might kill him herself for the damn stupidity!
Without thinking, Sam grabbed his wrist. "You were in the hospital?" she asked incredulously, suddenly feeling sick. There was a hint of repressed anger in her tone.
O'Neill blinked sharply, making a deliberate attempt to try and focus. "Banged up my truck . . . a little." He started to unfasten his pants, pausing to wave a hand dismissively. "I'm fine."
Sam snatched the towel from him and reached over to dry his hair, then draped it over his damp shoulders before she even realized what she'd done.
He stared at her through weary, cocoa-brown eyes for a fleeting moment, then attempted to stand so he could finish removing the rain-soaked jeans.
Unable to resist helping him, Sam hung onto the Colonel's arm, surprised at the wave of heat that swept through her due to the contact with his bare skin. He was so close, part of her forearm was touching his ribs. She tried desperately not to let her gaze wander as he bent slightly and then kicked off his pants.
Her mind was screaming at her that this was just so wrong, but what was she supposed to do, send him home in a cab when he could barely stay on his feet? The thought didn’t sit well with her.
The Colonel sunk back down onto the couch without warning, before he could even put the dry pants on. He was obviously exhausted, and had no reserves left to even try anymore.
Sam was inwardly cursing. Thinking fast, she pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa and quickly draped it over her CO's lap. She managed to help him get each arm through the sleeves of the flannel shirt, but failed when it came to buttoning it back up. O'Neill's fingers were slow and clumsy, and Sam just couldn't bring herself to get that much closer and button the shirt for him. Her fingers were sure to brush against his naked chest, and at the moment, she wasn't sure she could handle that.
"Colonel? Were you even released from the hospital?"
His lack of answer as the dark eyes tracked to her face was telling. Of course he hadn't been released.
Sam cursed under her breath. Heaving a sigh, she gathered his wet clothes from the floor, intending to take them to the laundry room. "I'm going to give Janet a call on base, alright, sir?" She wasn't entirely sure why she was asking permission. Of course he was her commanding officer, but this wasn't exactly a situation where rank should be involved. The boundaries were always there, but somehow this was different.
"Carter. Don't." The sharp tone of his voice startled her enough that she stopped in her tracks.
"Sir, I think it's best if-"
"I'm fine," the Colonel said firmly, his voice somehow convincing. He turned his head toward her, tugging on the blanket over his lap and bringing it up to cover his shoulders. "I'm just bruised . . . and tired." His eyes went wide momentarily with awareness, then he seemed to slump deeper into the sofa cushions. "And drugged." O'Neill gave his head a slight shake as if to clear it. "Gave me too much," he growled, sounding annoyed.
Sam's brows knit slowly together as she watched him, trying to figure out if he was really okay or if he was trying to pull the wool over her eyes. In the end, she decided it didn't really matter, but suddenly wondered if he'd come to her house because he'd known someone from the hospital may come looking for him at his own place.
Sinking down beside him, and dropping the wet clothes back to the floor, she regarded the hospital bracelet on O'Neill's left wrist, just visible where he held the blanket. "That's not the Academy Hospital, is it?"
Brows furrowing momentarily, the Colonel shoved his hand beneath the blanket, out of view.
Sam heaved an exasperated sigh. She crossed her arms, twisting to face him with a stern look.
"No," he muttered, not looking her in the eyes. The Colonel shook a finger at her. "I know what you're thinkin'. I didn't just sneak out. I signed the papers and left AMA."
"Against medical advice?" Sam eyed him incredulously. "Sir!" She frowned. "You really should be in the hospital."
He frowned back at her. "Carter, those docs don't know me like Fraiser does. Even she woulda released me," he exclaimed, his voice soft and indignant.
Sam snorted. "Somehow I doubt that." When he gave her a look, expecting her to get up and call Fraiser despite his wishes, she sighed reluctantly, already aware that she was giving in.
The Colonel started to list sideways on the couch, and Sam was aware that he was fading fast. Drugs and exhaustion took hold of him, and she doubted he would remember much of this in the morning.
Getting up, Sam went over to the closet to retrieve another blanket for him. He was still watching her warily as she made her way over again. She smiled gently. "Goodnight, sir."
Surprise and gratitude briefly lit up his eyes, then he slowly laid down with a soft grunt, and she covered him up with the second blanket.
"Thanks, Carter," he murmured, his eyes already closed.
She adjusted the blanket around him and smiled. "You're welcome, sir. But if Janet hears about you going AMA from the civilian hospital, I had no part in this, right?"
"Carter who?" he answered with a faint smirk before his features relaxed.
"Good." Laughing softly, Sam gave his shoulder a light pat and turned off the television and table lamp, bathing her living room in darkness.
She went to bed, smiling at the thought of the Colonel waking up in the morning, wondering why he'd been sleeping on her couch, and not wearing any pants.
-
IV.
Post "Shades of Grey."
Head throbbing with a vengeance, Jack could only remember a little bit about what had gotten him into this particular situation. He groaned, something hard and unresisting pressing into his back. Realizing that he was sitting upright, he opened his eyes, one hand feeling behind him as he waited for his blurry vision to clear. It dawned on Jack that he was sitting on the asphalt of a parking lot, leaning up against his truck. The front driver's side tire to be exact.
His stomach roiled as he struggled to his feet, vision still not clearing. Jack was very aware that he shouldn't have drank as much as he had, but also didn't think he should have a hangover yet, as it wasn't even morning. He leaned against the driver's side door of his truck with a heavy groan, suddenly dizzy with the effort of levering himself off the ground. What the hell had happened once he'd stopped drinking?
A quick check told Jack that he was still in O'Malley's parking lot. At least he hadn't tried to drive himself home. Or had he? Had he been that far gone? Had he passed out before he could open the door? Jack wondered, pressing a hand to the back of his neck.
Hearing a car pull up and park in the space behind him, beside his truck, Jack ignored it and just prayed that it wasn't a cop or someone looking to cause trouble. He really didn't need that right now.
"Colonel?"
Jack spun at the familiar voice, a little too quickly for his scattered brain to catch up. He staggered dizzily as the world spun, and fell back against his truck before sliding to the ground to return to the position he'd woken up in.
"Colonel!" He heard Carter's voice yell with alarm, then he squinted to focus on the two Carters getting out of the car and running over to him.
Jack jerked with surprise as two of them knelt in front of him, and he wound up smacking his head against the door of his truck with a loud thwack! He groaned and waved his hand out in front of him. "Carter?" he slurred, squinting to try and make the two women in front of him coalesce into one. "What're y'doin' 'ere?"
"You called me half an hour ago, sir," she told him; and although every sound was like an explosion going off in his skull, Jack picked up the concerned lilt in her voice.
"Oh," he murmured, blinking dazedly as she grabbed his arm and helped him back to his feet, slowly. His vision wasn't any better, but it helped a little if he squinted, even though he'd much rather just close his eyes.
Carter lifted a hand to touch a spot on his forehead, just over his left eyebrow, and he winced. "You've got quite the bump forming there, sir," she told him.
He blinked, dazedly, and winced again. "Ah. That explains . . . the killer headache . . . dizziness . . ." Jack groaned, squinted at her. "And double . . . vision."
"Ah, the drinking would explain that also, sir." Sam sounded slightly sympathetic, but a titch annoyed as well.
When he'd returned from his undercover solo mission, Jack hadn't quite felt that his team was exactly welcoming him home with open arms. Carter was military and understood the need to follow orders, but he could still tell that he'd upset her with his actions while under the guise of a traitor to his country. She felt betrayed. He could see it in her eyes.
Jack felt that Teal'c had some understanding as well, because of the things he'd been forced to do under the hand of Apophis. He obviously wasn’t happy about being kept out of the loop, but had seemed to understand why Jack had done what he did.
Daniel, however, had taken his supposed betrayal the hardest, leaving the younger man questioning their friendship and his leadership. That had been hard. After all of SG-1 had attended the debriefing and been granted a few days leave, his team had all scattered. Jack had been in hopes that a team night was in order, so he'd be able to smooth some ruffled feathers. But no, they'd all left him to wallow in his own self pity, doubting everything he'd ever done, for the military and otherwise.
Jack heard Sam retrieve a set of keys on the ground by their feet, which he assumed were his, and then she was guiding him away from his truck. "Let's get you sobered up, sir."
Wobbling at his 2IC's side, Jack staggered along, every step sending a spike of lightning into his skull. "I don'wanna g'home, Carter."
Sam's brows furrowed, and he assumed she'd picked up the subtle, pleading tone in his voice, because she sympathetically said, "Okay, sir. I won't take you home. You can stay on my couch, alright?"
Jack nodded distantly. He didn't want to be alone in his big empty house. Not tonight.
-
Sam held a cold cloth to O'Neill's head as he lay sprawled on her couch. She'd initially been annoyed at the fact that he'd gotten completely trashed and called her, expecting her to come to his rescue. When she'd arrived at O'Malley's to see him collapse in the parking lot, she'd been so scared that something had happened to him, her anger had fled. She didn't know what to think.
Sitting down on the coffee table in front of him, Sam left the cloth on his head and leaned back slowly. "Did you get into a fight, sir?"
He groaned, frowning, and flinging an arm across his closed eyes. "No." His memory was obviously fuzzy, as he paused for a lengthy amount of time. "Don't think so . . . Think I . . . fell," the Colonel finally mumbled.
"You don't remember what happened?"
"Ah, nope," he answered dopily.
More than a little concerned, Sam said, "Maybe I should take you in to see Janet, sir."
"No!" he barked sharply, quickly sitting up and then immediately holding a hand to his head with a groan.
Sam put up her hands to still his movements. "Okay, okay; we won't go see Janet." She heaved a frustrated sigh. He slumped back into the sofa. It probably wouldn't be a very good idea to bring her intoxicated CO to the base where he worked, anyway. People would talk, get the wrong idea. O'Neill wasn't a drunk, he'd just been having a bad time lately.
She got up and went to go put on a pot of coffee, wondering what had been going through her Colonel's head to make him go on a drinking binge. Sam started suddenly, half way to the kitchen when realization struck her. Oh God, she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before! He was wallowing in guilt over his last mission; the team dynamic had shifted when they all thought that the Colonel had betrayed them all, and his country. It hadn't been an easy few weeks, that was for sure. Sam had been in turmoil, not wanting to believe what had become of her commander.
Looking at him now, appearing so miserable after what he'd been ordered to do, it disgusted Sam how she'd almost been taken in by the lie. Guilt swarmed in her gut at the thought that she could have almost believed her unquestionably loyal CO to be a traitor. She was startled when he began to stand up, wavering on unsteady legs. "Easy, sir," she warned, softly.
He frowned, unfocussed eyes shifting from the floor to her face. "I oughtta go, Carter." The Colonel made an attempt to maneuver around the coffee table and tripped, but Sam got to her feet quickly and had grabbed his arm before guiding him back to sit on the couch. "Whoa," he muttered, rubbing his forehead with a groan. "M'sorry," he slurred.
"Colonel, please, stay put. You're in no condition to go anywhere." She smiled a little. "Besides, you don't have your truck."
His brows furrowed, and he blinked. "Oh. Right."
Sam helped him out of his jacket. The leather smelled of booze and cigarette smoke. She wrinkled her nose and went to go hang it on the rack by her front door.
The Colonel was dead to the world when she got back to the living room. She smiled sadly and then knelt down to remove his boots. When she pulled his legs up onto the cushions, he mumbled something in his sleep. She leaned closer to try and hear what he was saying.
"Shhhhoulda told . . . you guysss . . ." His brows knit together tightly. "Neverrrr . . . truuussst me . . . 'gain."
She frowned, stood, then smoothed back his hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. "It's not your fault, Colonel," Sam whispered to the sleeping man. "And we do trust you. Always, sir."
When the lines on his face smoothed out once again, Sam hoped his conscience was at peace now. She pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa, and draped it over him, bidding him goodnight. "Sleep well, Colonel. I'll never doubt your loyalty again."
-
V.
Sometime after “Divide and Conquer.”
Jack walked with the miniature Carter to her front door, his boots scraping softly on the steps as he slowly made his way up behind her. All he could think about was how bizarre the entire situation was. Carter looked like a five-year-old, but her adult mind was all there. It seriously baffled him, and the niggling headache he’d had all day was starting to ratchet up another notch on his pain scale, which did nothing to improve his mood.
“Colonel?”
The small voice called for his attention, and Jack realized he’d been standing dumbly on Carter’s front step while she was waiting just inside the door, beckoning him to come in. “Right,” he murmured, following her in and closing the door behind him.
Jack cursed inwardly and rubbed at his forehead. He shed his coat and hung it on the rack beside the door, still holding onto the bag of child’s clothes they’d picked up at the store before coming here, a small duffel for his own things slung over his shoulder.
“I’m sorry you have to stay here with me, sir,” Sam apologized, taking the bag from his loose grip and looking embarrassed.
Jack shrugged. Daniel and Teal’c were off-world helping Bra’tac with some Jaffa thing, and Janet insisted that Sam not be home alone in her current state. Jack knew he’d been the only one available, other than an SF or medical personnel, and agreed to stay with her so she could get off base.
“It’s okay, Carter. Really,” he said aloud, knowing she needed to hear it. Jack was just glad to escape the stack of paperwork he’d left behind on base. Besides, if the doc found out about his persistent headache, he’d be the one in the infirmary being poked and prodded.
“I appreciate it, sir.”
Feeling pretty lousy, Jack wandered into Carter’s living room and dropped his duffel before sinking into the sofa while she went to shower and change into some proper-fitting clothes.
-
O’Neill was asleep on her couch by the time Sam returned, having changed into some plain sweats and a t-shirt that was more appropriate for her current size. She felt awkward as hell around the Colonel, and as much as she appreciated him being there, hated the idea of him seeing her like this. Sam felt as small and vulnerable as her five-year-old body.
She was carrying sheets, blankets, and a pillow to set up the couch for the Colonel, but apparently he’d been too tired to wait. It was late, but Sam wasn’t even tired after all she’d been through today, and was surprised that the Colonel was already out. He’d kicked off his shoes, but hadn’t even bothered to change, which was odd.
Setting the linens and pillow on the coffee table, Sam took a brief moment to study her commander as he slept. She found it unusual that even unconscious, he seemed tense, brow quivering, deepening the lines on his forehead.
Unfolding one of the blankets, Sam draped it over him and turned out the lights. She wasn’t tired, but she went to her room anyway, deciding to curl up with a book for an hour so until she was ready to go to bed.
-
Sam was reaching for the light switch by her bed when she heard a noise from outside her room. She slid off her bed and wandered out into the hall to investigate. There was a soft thump, and she quickly discovered the noise had originated from her living room. Where the Colonel was currently sleeping on her couch. Well, as far she knew anyway.
As she slipped quietly through the dark house, she found O’Neill sitting up on her couch, leaning over with his head in his hands. Her small form remained unnoticed as she walked over to the end of the sofa.
“Sir?” she called tentatively, grimacing at the squeaky sound of her voice.
He turned his head slowly, squinting in the lack of light. O’Neill’s dark eyes glistened as he stared at her. Something was off.
“Is everything alright, sir?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he ground out shortly, his voice a low, gravelly mumble. “Just a headache.”
Sam waved a hand toward the hall, even though she knew he wasn’t looking at her. “I’ll get you something, sir.”
“Got anything stronger than Tylenol?” he asked as she was leaving the room.
“I think so, sir. I’ll find something.” She padded off to her medicine cabinet in the master bathroom. The Colonel’s headache must have been pretty bad if he was willing to take the strong stuff.
Cursing when she realized she couldn’t quite reach the cabinet, Sam had to climb up onto the counter, the porcelain around the sink digging into her knobby knees. She managed to find a half-empty bottle of painkillers from the last time she was out of commission. Figuring that would suffice, she brought the entire bottle with her back to the living room.
As she handed the Colonel the pill container, Sam turned on the soft light on the side table. She studied him carefully as he dry-swallowed a couple tablets. Despite her better judgment, Sam moved closer, noticing her commander’s flushed face, and the fine sheen of sweat on his uncovered skin.
Sam slowly sat next to him, and reached out, unbidden, to place her small hand on the side of O’Neill’s face.
He jerked slightly at the contact, shooting a raised eyebrow and curious look her way as she drew back.
“Sir, you’re really warm,” she blurted, her brows furrowing. “I think you’ve got a fever.”
O’Neill heaved a sigh and groaned, rubbing his forehead. He frowned and pulled a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, but didn’t dispute her words. He had to have known he was sick. The Colonel obviously wasn’t feeling very well.
“Why don’t you lie down, sir, and I’ll get a cool cloth for your head.”
“Hey, I’m the one that’s supposed to be lookin’ after you, Carter,” he mumbled as she started to leave.
Sam just sent him a half-smile and continued on her way before she said something she might regret later. The truth was, as much as she resented the need to be looked after, Sam appreciated the Colonel’s company more than she could say. If anyone had to be here with her, she was glad it was him.
-
Jack had managed to pull himself to his feet once Carter had gone. He found his duffel on the floor where he’d left it, and dug around to find some comfortable sleep clothes to change into. He felt like crap, so he might as well make sure he was as comfortable as he was going to get, and that meant not spending the rest of the night in jeans and a button-down shirt.
The room was starting to spin by the time he’d undressed, and Jack nearly fell over when he bent to pull his sweats and t-shirt from the duffle. A flush of heat washed over him, and before he knew what was happening, Jack was sitting slumped on the floor, half-naked, the clothes he’d intended to be wearing in a pile beside him.
This was SO not good.
-
Sam took her time in the bathroom as she retrieved a bowl of cold water and a washcloth for the Colonel. She desperately needed to compose herself, and was having a difficult time at the moment, feeling sporadic urges to confess feelings they shouldn’t talk about, to bring up things that were locked in that room not so long ago. Sam blamed the urges on her current situation. Yes, it had to be that. Perhaps being turned into a child had given her the blunt truthfulness of her younger self. Maybe that had even been the point of the device that made her like this.
Oh God, Sam mentally cursed, closing her eyes and nearly spilling the water bowl all over the floor. She steadied her feet, paused, and took a deep breath. Stop over-analyzing this, Sam, she growled internally.
She strode determinedly into the living room, and nearly dropped the bowl again at the sight that greeted her. Her commanding officer, the man she harbored non-regulation feelings for, was sitting on the area rug on her living room floor, wearing nothing but a pair of grey boxer-briefs.
“Um . . . sir?” she squeaked, hurriedly setting the water on the coffee table before she made an almighty mess, and wondering if the squeak was due to her current form, or her reaction at seeing O’Neill nearly naked in her house.
He cleared his throat, and even though she stood at a distance, the Colonel’s breathing was loud and harsh. “Just . . . gimme a minute, Carter.”
Sam bit down on her lip, hard, preventing herself from dashing over to his side while she watched him struggle. When he’d managed to get on his hands and knees, but lacked the strength to push himself further up, Sam sucked in a breath and moved forward.
Now more distracted by his unwell state rather than the fact that he was barely clothed, Sam wrapped two small hands around his left bicep before she really thought about what she was doing. “C’mon, sir.”
O’Neill shot her a skeptical look, and breathed out harshly. “And what . . . are you gonna do, Carter?”
She grimaced, reminded of how small she currently was, and how inadequate her size was for helping him up. “Um, it’s the thought that counts?” Sam threw out there with a one-shouldered shrug.
That actually earned her a raspy chuckle and a faint smirk. Breathing in and out a few times, O’Neill was able to push himself to his feet, using what little support Sam could give him.
Back on two feet again, however unsteady, the Colonel looked down at himself, then at the pile of clothes he’d meant to be wearing. He quickly dropped his hand from Sam’s bony little shoulder and bashfully held both hands over his crotch.
If the Colonel wasn’t already flushed, Sam swore he’d be blushing. She wordlessly bent to retrieve his clothes, then held them out to him and tugged him by the elbow to the couch before turning around so he could dress.
“Thanks,” he muttered gruffly when she’d turned.
Sam busied herself by wringing out the washcloth in the bowl of cool water a few times, then folding it neatly in preparation to place it on the Colonel’s forehead.
“Okay, Carter, you can turn around now.”
She did so slowly, just as O’Neill was pulling his t-shirt down. When he was lying down, his long, lean frame stretched across her sofa, Sam gently placed the neatly-folded cloth on his forehead.
“You should take some Tylenol to get your fever down,” Sam said quietly. “I’ll be right back.”
-
Sam got little sleep that night. She’d decided to camp out in the living room with the Colonel, concerned that he’d need something and she wouldn’t be able to hear him from down the hall. She’d been right.
By 0300, O’Neill was delirious with fever. A few times when she went near him, he looked at her oddly, like she was supposed to be someone else. He’d called her Charlie at least once. Sam blamed it on her short hair. When she’d been transformed into a child, her hairstyle remained the same, and without the feminine curves she’d grown into over the years, Sam was aware that her rail-thin frame looked boyish.
Having abandoned her makeshift bed on the armchair long ago, Sam had pushed the coffee table out of the way and moved her blankets and pillows on the floor by the couch.
The sounds of O’Neill’s loud breathing, combined with the restless rustling of blankets had Sam sitting up again. Nope. Definitely not getting much sleep.
“C’rrtr?” the Colonel moaned, curling into a ball on the couch and holding his head, shivering.
In the dim light coming from the table lamp she’d left on, Sam could see that he was still sweaty. She stood and grabbed for an extra blanket, draping it over his shaking form. “I’m right here, sir,” she told him softly, still hating how high-pitched and small her voice sounded coming out of her five-year-old body.
“Cold,” he murmured miserably, rubbing at his forehead, face scrunched up in pain. “Head . . . h’rrts.”
Sam smoothed down the blanket covering his shoulder. “I know, sir. You’re sick.” She definitely planned on calling Janet when it reached a decent hour if he wasn’t feeling any better.
After draping another blanket over him, she sat down on her pile of blankets on the floor, rested her chin on her knees, and just watched him. There was so much she wanted to say, Sam was feeling an almost physical ache having to hold back.
-
A blurred face kept floating in and out of his line of vision, but he couldn’t focus on it. Who was it and where was he? All Jack knew was that the shape of the person that continuously hovered in front of him was small, a blur of golden fuzz on top of it’s head. He tried to focus, but that only intensified the pounding pain inside his skull.
He flinched back as a pale blurb shot forward, and Jack felt what must have been a hand touch his forehead. The hand was cool against his skin, and he shivered with a groan.
“Sir, I’m going to give you some medicine. I want you to drink this, okay?” the figure in front of him was saying.
Jack squinted, and for a moment he could clearly make out a child’s face. Big, bright blue eyes in a small, pale face that was framed by wayward wisps of short blonde hair. His brows furrowed with confusion. Who was this kid? His Charlie had brown eyes and slightly-darker hair.
“Who’re . . . you?” he mumbled, his tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth. And why was this kid calling him ‘sir?’
“Colonel, it’s me. It’s Carter?” The voice sounded disconcerted, wary. “Do you know where you are, sir?”
“No,” he answered plainly, closing his eyes again. His unfocused vision was killing his head.
“Sir. Sir!” Small, delicate fingers wrapped around his wrists.
Jack’s hands were held protectively on either side of his head.
“Sir, stay with me.”
The hands tugged at him, and he rolled onto his back. Then something soft was pushed under his head, and the metallic taste of silverware and something tangy and foul like medicine was shoved into his mouth. Jack sputtered briefly, but swallowed.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m trying to help you.”
There was gentle pressure on his chest, a small hand rubbing in circles. Jack started to struggle and cough, but the hand pushed him back.
“Jack, please.” The high, childish voice softened. “Let me help you.”
He settled, somewhat reluctantly. There was just something in the voice that he trusted. Jack sunk into the warmth surrounding him and drifted off to sleep.
-
Sam tenderly smoothed back the Colonel’s damp hair while he slept. As she knelt on the floor at his side, she allowed herself to let go of the feelings she’d locked up in that room.
“I know this doesn’t mean as much with you unconscious, Colonel . . . Jack. But it’ll make me feel better, and I have to get it out.” Sam tried to block out the high voice, concentrating on her words and not the fact that she was currently quite a bit younger than she was supposed to be. Her mind was still the same, and so were her feelings.
She sucked in a breath. “What we locked up in that room . . . our feelings; I . . . I don’t want to let that go. I won’t let it go. And . . . regulations or not, I’m still going . . . I still love you, Jack.” Sam couldn’t believe she was saying this out loud. She swallowed thickly. “And I think I always will.”
Pushing herself to her feet, Sam brushed her small hand against the side of his face lovingly, then leaned over to kiss his cheek.
Satisfied that she felt a whole lot lighter now, less burdened, Sam sunk back into her pile of blankets and went to sleep.
-
The first thing Sam heard when she woke up was the raspy, very-confused sounding voice of her Colonel.
“Am I dreaming?”
Wondering if he was still delirious with fever, Sam opened her eyes and started to sit up from her nest of blankets on the floor in front of the couch. As she felt the blanket over her slip down off her shoulder, Sam felt a chill against her bare skin and paused.
She shifted slightly, then looked down at herself and realized two things. First, she was apparently back to her adult-sized self, and second . . . She was naked.
“Holy Hannah,” Sam gasped, clutching at the blanket around her and holding it tightly in place as she sat up all the way.
“That’s just what I was thinking,” O’Neill muttered under his breath from the couch.
The Colonel was sitting up with a blanket over his shoulders, hair sticking out every which way and looking decidedly groggy, but no longer flushed.
“Sir, I think your fever broke,” was the second thing out of Sam’s mouth that morning.
O’Neill scratched at the back of his head, still staring at her. “And you’re definitely you, again.”
Sam found herself blushing under his much-too-studious gaze. She pulled the blanket around her tighter, then carefully stood without exposing any embarrassing bits of bare flesh. She cleared her throat. “Um, I’m just going to . . . uh . . . get dressed, sir.”
She retreated hurriedly to her room, the tips of her ears and her cheeks burning.
-
O’Neill was staring at her, bleary-eyed, when she returned, having dressed modestly in some old jeans and a t-shirt. His own clothes were rumpled, and his hair stuck out all over the place, matted down in some spots because of how he‘d been sleeping. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was drawn and pale. To put it mildly, he looked like crap.
“How are you feeling, sir?” Sam asked softly, standing unsurely by the couch.
“Could be better,” he groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. He squinted, and Sam got the idea that he still had a headache. The Colonel waved a hand at her vaguely. “You?”
“I’m good,” she answered quickly, rocking back on her heels and stretching absently. She was tall again. Sam smiled a little, then reluctantly sat on the couch beside O’Neill when he patted the seat.
“Hope I’m not contagious,” he murmured belatedly.
Sam gave him a small smile. “I’m not worried.” She could see him biting the inside of his cheek, and, sucking in her lower lip, she boldly slid her hand over to touch the fingers on the couch between them.
O’Neill glanced sideways at her touch, and as if without their own volition, his fingers lightly gripped hers.
“I think we need to talk,” she said softly.
“About?” He rose an eyebrow, with there was a slight twitch of a smile on his lips that told her he knew exactly what she meant.
Sam squeezed his hand, her thumb sweeping back and forth over his rough knuckles. “About things we aren’t supposed to talk about.” She trailed off, turning her head, but watching him out of the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction.
The Colonel released a slow breath. “Time for that, huh?”
“Yeah.” She exhaled slowly, nodded. “I think it is.”
O’Neill looked at her this time, and she met his gaze. Bleary, a little unfocused, but determined, and most all, willing. He nodded, smiling at her gently and turning his body toward her. “Okay.”
-