FIC: "Sam I Am" 2/2 (Stargate SG-1/Quantum Leap Xover Jack/Daniel pre-slash PG-13)

[dmarley]

Continued from "Sam I Am" (1/2)

For Notes, Warnings, Ratings, and Disclaimers, please see Part 1.

Sam I Am (2/2)

If he ever had to write a book on "How to Seduce in Two Days or Less," Sam knew already what would make number one on his list of "Top Ten Worst Dates." As a sport, hockey had a certain appeal. As a background for seduction, it couldn't have been worse. O'Neill spent the entire evening with his eyes glued to the set, not even looking away when he reached for his beer or the popcorn. They ordered pizza, which was probably a mistake because O'Neill kept the pizza guy waiting on the porch for nearly two minutes before a penalty call allowed him time to break free and dash to the door.

The intermissions were the only time Sam had to make his move, but by the end of the first one he'd made maybe a dozen attempts at conversation and been frustrated at every turn. O'Neill was by no means ignoring him, but every conversational sally was met with, at best, a one or two sentence exchange before the talk lapsed into awkward silence. The only time Sam got more than a few words out of him was when he asked a question about the game, but even that proved to be another mistake, as the entire remainder of the second and last intermission was spent talking about hockey and nothing else.

"How's it going, Sam?"

Sam gave Al a disgusted look, then glanced over at O'Neill. The game had just started again, and he probably wouldn't have noticed if Sam stood up and did a strip-tease next to him on the couch. "I'm going to the bathroom," he said, for Al's benefit as much as O'Neill's, and stood up.

"It's going terrible, Al," Sam said as soon as he was inside. "I'm practically throwing myself at him and all he's interested in is the game!"

"Well, it's a little soon to be expecting romance," Al pointed out. "Besides, you've got to remember that this is after that whole Tailhook mess. Any man in the military is going to tread very carefully around the women in his command."

"Then how the hell am I supposed to do this!" Sam nearly shouted, remembering barely in time to lower his voice.

"You'll have to be the aggressor, Sam. He won't make the first move, so you'll have to. Let him know, in no uncertain terms, that you want..." Al waved his cigar expressively. "You know."

"No, Al, I don't know." Sam paced to one end of the room and back, then stopped as a terrible thought suddenly occurred to him. "What if he takes me up on it, Al? How far am I supposed to go with this?"

"Ah." Al looked quickly at the handlink, mostly, Sam suspected, to avoid meeting Sam's eyes. "Well, Ziggy thinks that there's a...good chance that if you can get the colonel to kiss you, if you can just get him to accept the possibility of the relationship, then you'll Leap."

"'Good?'" Sam glared. "How good is 'good?'"

"Uh, well...." Al scratched his forehead. "Twenty-one percent?"

"Twenty--!" Sam groaned and leaned his head against the sink. "I'm never going to get out of here."

"Don't worry, Sam," Al said briskly. "We'll get you out of here, don't worry." He started punching buttons. "You just get back in there, kiddo, and I'll go see if Ziggy has any more brilliant theories."

"Thanks," Sam said sarcastically. "Thanks for all the help."

When Al had vanished, Sam took a long look at himself in the mirror. Samantha Carter's face stared back at him, blue eyes wide and round in a small, pretty face. "I'm sorry," he said to her, and saw her own lips shape the words. He sighed, and turned away.

There was a stop in play when Sam came back, and O'Neill spared him a glance as he moved around to take his seat again. "I was wondering if you'd slipped out the window," he said. "I had this date--" Sam gave him a sharp look at the word "date," but he went on, oblivious. "--do that during the Cup finals. Didn't notice she was gone until the second overtime." O'Neill glanced over, and a suddenly uneasy look passed swiftly over his features. "Not that this anything like that," he said quickly. "I mean, this isn't a date."

"No, of course not," Sam agreed after a beat.

They returned to the game. There wasn't much Sam could do except watch, and he forced himself to become re-involved in the game, keeping his eyes focused on the screen until it finally ended.

Sam blinked as O'Neill switched the television off, and rubbed his eyes as he reached up to turn on the light by the couch. "That was a good game," he said dutifully.

"Yeah. The Hawks won, therefore it was good," O'Neill said with a grin, and reached out to collect the empty popcorn bowl and beer bottles. Sam jumped to help, and got a grunt of thanks. He gathered up the pizza box and napkins and carried them into the kitchen behind O'Neill.

"Thanks again for letting me come over," he said. "I really enjoyed it."

O'Neill looked pleased. "I'm glad, Sam." He smiled. "I guess I enjoyed it, too. I didn't realize you were such a hockey fan."

Sam swallowed. "Well, the company had a lot to do with it, Jack."

The smile faded just a fraction, then returned. "Yeah," he said casually. "Well, like you said, we don't see each other much outside of work. Sometimes a change of pace is good."

"All work and no play..." Sam began, then stopped. "Well, I guess you've heard that about a thousand times."

"Only nine hundred and ninety," O'Neill assured him. "I've always been flattered to be associated with it."

"Well, I think it was probably made with you in mind. At least, I've never found you dull."

For the second time, the easy smile began to slip, and Sam was beginning to feel like he was banging his head against a stone wall. But O'Neill rallied again, even if the smile didn't quite return this time. "I'll remind you that you said that next time you start spouting quantum theory at me, Captain."

O'Neill knew. There was no longer any question in Sam's mind. He knew what Sam was trying to do, knew the subtle flirtation for precisely what it was. Knew it, and was backing away from it as gently and quietly as he possibly could.

This was wrong. Sam knew it, and yet he couldn't come up with a single cogent reason to justify that knowledge. A small part of his mind was timidly suggesting that the reasons might not have anything to do with the Leap, and everything to do with the fact that he couldn't even bring himself to imagine what it would be like to kiss Jack O'Neill. Could he really be that afraid of his own sexuality? Was he afraid of not being able to go through with it, or was his fear more because he was afraid that going through with it would be all too easy?

*There's nothing wrong with kissing him,* Sam told himself angrily. *You've kissed a dozen women in the name of fixing history, women that you didn't love, not really. There's nothing different between that and kissing this man. Nothing.*

O'Neill was looking at him oddly, and Sam realized that he'd been standing there, staring at him, for an awfully long time. He swallowed, and licked his suddenly dry lips. "Jack," he began, and had to stop. "Jack, I think I need to talk to you about something."

As Sam took a step forward, O'Neill stepped back, until he was standing with his back to the kitchen counter, hemmed in the corner between the stove and fridge. "Yeah?" he said warily, and Sam saw his eyes dart past, looking, Sam thought with a sinking heart, for an escape route. Sam ignored that, and moved forward again, until he was standing a mere breath away. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. What could he say, after all? He remembered Al's advice, and decided that maybe it would be best to make the move first, and deal with the rest later. Steeling himself, Sam leaned forward swiftly and pressed his lips to O'Neill's.

It was surprisingly easy. Once he'd worked himself to the point of actually doing it, the reality was far from unpleasant. With his eyes closed, O'Neill's mouth was nothing more than soft, warm lips, at first still and stiff against his, then briefly yielding as the other man let out a short exhalation of surprise. Then O'Neill was jerking back, breaking the contact. For a long moment, they simply stood and stared at one another, breathing hard across the short space of the kitchen.

O'Neill swallowed. "Captain Carter," he said unsteadily, and Sam felt his heart sink. "Captain Carter," he said again, "I like you. I like you a lot. You're a fine officer, and you've become a good friend." He breathed deep. "And because of that, I'm going to do both of us a great big favor, and pretend that the last two minutes did not happen. Okay?"

"Jack...."

O'Neill lifted a finger. "I think," he said slowly, "that it might be a good idea for us to stick with 'Colonel' and 'Captain' for a little while." He began to move, edging out slowly from the corner, escaping into the center of the kitchen with palpable relief. "And I think," he went on, "that it might be a good idea if I took you home."

Sam closed his eyes. *I'm sorry, Sam,* he thought wretchedly. *Please, forgive me.* "Yes, sir," he said miserably.

-----

Sam had had worse rides in his life, but as they drove across town to Sam Carter's apartment, he couldn't for the life of him think of any of them. He couldn't think of anything to say, anything to do that would salvage what had turned into a disastrous situation. How was Carter supposed to even work with O'Neill after this? What had he done to the friendship that had, apparently, been progressing right along before he Leaped in and messed it up? He couldn't just leave it like this. He had to try and repair the damage. Somehow.

Unfortunately, none of this cycled through his consciousness until they were pulling up in front of the duplex that, presumably, was Carter's. O'Neill put the car in park, but didn't make any move to turn off the engine, a silent, pointed, hint.

"Colonel." Sam struggled to find something to say. "Colonel, I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I've obviously made a mistake, and now I'm afraid it's cost me whatever respect you had for me. I might have been wrong, but I'd hate for you to be angry with me, too."

"Captain..." O'Neill sighed heavily, and looked away, turning his head to stare out the window at the dark street. "Carter," he said again. "I'm not--I'm not angry with you." He looked back, his face unreadable in the dimness of the dash lights. "And it'll take a lot more than one kiss to make me lose respect for you." He paused. "I meant what I said, Carter. I like you, I really do. I like you, and I respect you. But apart from everything else, I'm also your commanding officer. It would be wrong, and we both know it."

"Yes, sir. I understand, sir." Sam reached for the door. "Thank you for bringing me home, Colonel. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay. And Carter..."

Sam paused halfway out the door, his hand poised on the handle. "Yes, sir?"

"Tomorrow, it's still 'Jack,' if you want to. Okay?"

Sam felt relief flood through him. "Okay. Thank you. Good night."

"Good night, Carter."

-----

Al was waiting for him inside, his face set in a scowl as Sam walked through the door. "You're home early," he said disapprovingly.

"Yeah, well, it wasn't much of a first date." Sam shut the door behind him and plodded into the living room, flopping down on the first available piece of furniture. "It wasn't a date at all," he continued. "In fact, the word 'disaster' comes to mind."

"Hey, no one said it was going to be easy, Sam. All you have to do--"

"Al." Sam's tone stopped him short. "Al, forget it. He's not interested in me--in Carter," he corrected quickly.

"How do you know?"

"I know because I took your advice. It didn't work."

Al looked a little uncertain. "You kissed him?"

Sam sighed, and closed his eyes. "Yes, Al, I kissed him. He couldn't push me away fast enough."

"Sam, you've got to give this a little time. Maybe later--"

"There isn't going to be a later!" Sam propelled himself to his feet, pacing down the hall. "This isn't working. We're on the wrong track."

"Maybe," Al conceded, pacing along behind him. "But Ziggy still doesn't have any other ideas."

Sam's head was beginning to ache again. He started searching for the bathroom, hoping to find some aspirin. "Is she sure she even knows what pushed O'Neill over the edge?" he asked, opening doors and peering into darkened rooms. "Does she know it was Sara? It could just as easily be one of their missions that you don't know about because it's classified."

"Well, no, we don't know." Al glared defensively as Sam gave him a disgusted look. "Sam, we're doing the best we can with what we've got."

"Then you're going to have to try something else. Read my lips, Al: This is not working." Finally, Sam found the bedroom and navigated his way to the medicine cabinet.

"Well, do you have any better ideas?"

"Yeah." Sam found a bottle of aspirin and shook two into his hand. "Talk to the people who knew O'Neill best. Talk to Carter and Dr. Jackson and Teal'c, if you can manage it."

It took Al a moment to get it. "What? You mean now? *Now* now?"

"Yes."

"Sam, you know better than that."

"Well, why not? We won't be giving away anything about the future, you'll just be asking about things that have already happened." Sam swallowed the pills and chased them with water.

"It's against the rules, Sam, and you know it. We've never done it before."

"That's because Ziggy has always been able to get the information we need. Her hands are tied now because of the classification, and talking to the others might be the only way to find out."

"And what makes you think they'll even talk to me? If the files are too classified for Ziggy, then they won't be able to discuss them with anyone outside the project."

"Then get the classification. Go to the President if you have to, but find them and ask them why a man like Jack O'Neill would kill himself."

Al shook his head. "Well, Jackson's still in Egypt as far as we know, so it'll take some doing to get hold of him. Still no records of any kind on that Teal'c guy."

"What about Carter?"

Al consulted the link. "According to Ziggy, she's still in the Air Force, attached to the same bogus assignment, which probably means that she's still on the project."

"That's great. Then maybe she knows what happened to O'Neill." Al opened his mouth to protest, but Sam overrode him. "Al. You've got to try. I don't want to make any more mistakes."

"Okay," Al promised at last. "I'll try, Sam."

-----

Sam didn't go to sleep for a long time that night. He kept replaying the scene in O'Neill's kitchen over and over in his head, trying to decide what he'd done wrong, or if he'd done anything wrong. Could it be his fault? If he hadn't had his own hangups about approaching O'Neill, would the pass have been more successful? Maybe O'Neill knew, somehow. Maybe something had told him, during that brief moment of contact, that this was not Sam Carter pressing her lips to his. Or maybe that was Sam's way of justifying his own failure.

Finally, after more than a couple of hours of tossing and turning, Sam admitted to himself that the rejection had hurt. He'd been turned down before, more than a few times. While it was hard not to take it personally, in this case he'd expected to feel relieved. Instead, he was beginning to identify the vague, sick weight in his stomach as disappointment.

Perhaps it was only to be expected, at that. After all, he'd agonized about it for hours, overcome his own objections, his own admitted prejudices, and after all that soul-searching his only reward was a polite, gentle refusal. At the least, it would have been nice if his sacrifice, if he could even call it that, had been acknowledged with a little reciprocation.

*Okay, Sam. Admit it. You liked it. When you kissed him, it felt good. There wasn't any cosmic revulsion field around his lips just because he was a guy, and when you kissed him you'd have liked nothing better than for him to start kissing you back. Congratulations, Dr. Beckett. You've just scored lower than a six on the Kinsey scale after all.*

Oddly enough, the thought made Sam feel enormously better. Right. So he was attracted to Jack O'Neill, even just a little. *That* he could handle. It hadn't been his own fears, his own anxieties, that had ruined the moment in the kitchen. O'Neill wasn't interested in Carter, and that was that. Sam had given it his best shot, but clearly Fate had another destiny in mind for Sam Carter than becoming Mrs. O'Neill.

With that thought settling comfortingly in his head, Sam turned over, pulled the sheets up to his chin, and went to sleep.

-----

The next morning dragged by slowly. Al failed to appear, and Sam guessed that he was busy getting the clearances he needed from the President, and, hopefully, interviewing Carter and Jackson. It made him feel a little weird, to know that Al was more than likely having a conversation some six years from now, discussing things that wouldn't happen for another four years. But, after so many years of Leaps, it was a feeling Sam was getting used to.

He busied himself around Carter's apartment until noon, cleaning a little, doing some laundry, and finally, reluctantly, poking around looking for more clues about the life he'd fallen into. It always made him uncomfortable, prying into the private lives of these people, but he'd long ago come to terms with the necessity. Still, he couldn't say that he wasn't relieved when, as in this case, his efforts turned up little in the way of private papers. Like most modern people, Carter conducted her personal life over the telephone and in person, and as far as Sam could tell she didn't keep a diary. The journal he'd found in her tent was the closest he'd come to any personal writings, and there was no sign of any others in the apartment.

Of course not, he realized belatedly. Captain Carter was a member of a top-secret military scouting team. She would hardly leave what had to be highly-classified journals lying around the place. The Stargate project was her life, and Sam wasn't going to find evidence of that life here. Five minutes later, Sam was in Carter's car, heading back towards the base.

He was worried that he might have a problem getting back in when Carter was supposedly off-duty, but apparently it was nothing unusual for Carter to show up even on her days off. Sam signed in, flashing ID, clearance, and thumbprint, and was waved in with nothing more than a crisp salute and a brisk "good morning, Captain."

Sam had become acquainted with the general layout of the base during the flurry of the day before, and found what he had taken to be Carter's personal lab without much trouble. The small space was crammed with equipment and computers and electronics in various stages of construction, but there was a workbench near the far end that seemed to be Carter's workspace. Sam sat down, and started prying. Within moments, he'd hit pay dirt, a neat row of journals in the bottom drawer, arranged by date. Eagerly, Sam opened the first one and began to read.

He lost himself quickly in Carter's account of her first missions with the team, and was hardly aware of time passing until he heard a soft knock on the metal frame of the door. Sam looked up, startled, and was caught off guard to see Daniel standing in the doorway. It was a shock, and he had to take a moment to remind himself that Sam Carter had always known what Sam had read only moments before.

Sam Beckett knew Daniel Jackson as a brilliant linguist and archaeologist, focused to the point of obsession on his theories about ancient Egyptian culture, focused to the point where little else seemed to matter to him. But now, looking through the filter of Carter's words, Sam realized that there was another Dr. Jackson there, one that he'd never met, perhaps even one that hadn't existed until he'd gone through the Stargate to Abydos. A man who had found the love of his life, and lost her again in the most horrible way imaginable. *I'm so sorry,* he almost blurted, and only at the last moment stopped himself from saying the words aloud.

"Sam?" Daniel said hesitantly, and Sam realized that he was still staring.

"Oh, hi, Daniel." He cleared his throat, closing the journal on his finger and forcing himself to seem casual, normal. "I was just doing a little review. You know, looking over my notes to see where I've been."

"Oh. Okay." Daniel gestured vaguely down the hall, in the general direction of where Sam remembered his own office to be. "I was looking over some of those scrolls we brought back from P9T-559. I saw your light on and wondered who was still working on our day off." He smiled. "Besides me, of course."

Sam shrugged. "I wasn't really working. I thought I might...do a little housekeeping."

"Ah." Daniel smiled in understanding, and put his hands in his pockets. "So," he said. "You're still coming tonight, right?"

Sam would rather have had teeth pulled, but there was no way out of it now. "Yes. Of course," he said. "What time was that again?"

Daniel shrugged. "Oh, any time is fine. Jack's already picked up Teal'c, something about a 'field trip.' He'll be bringing him around six, but if you wanted to come earlier, anytime after five is great." He smiled again. "Just give me a chance to get home first."

"I'm looking forward to it," Sam lied.

Daniel seemed oddly relieved. "Good. I was worried that you--" He stopped, and shrugged. "Well, I'm glad that you'll be there."

A long, awkward silence settled between them, and it occurred to Sam, suddenly, that Daniel was behaving very strangely. He seemed almost embarrassed, clearly at a loss for words, a problem that hadn't seemed to plague him in the slightest the day before. Sam regarded him for a long, perplexed moment, then the truth hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks.

"He told you, didn't he," Sam said quietly, and tossed the journal aside as Daniel's silence gave him the only answer he needed. "Dammit."

"Please, don't be mad at him," Daniel said hastily. "He swore me to secrecy." That made him pause. "Which, I guess, is a moot point now."

"Great." Sam put his hand over his eyes. "So, who else did he tell? Teal'c? General Hammond?"

"Just me, Sam. I promise." Daniel hesitated. "Actually, he didn't even tell me, really. He came over last night, and I could tell he was upset, and, well, I sort of dragged it out of him. He would never have told me if I hadn't pushed him, so if you're going to be mad at anyone, be mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you," Sam said tiredly. "I'm just...a little embarrassed." He sighed. "Humiliated, actually."

"Oh, Sam." Daniel cast around for a chair, and settled for moving over and perching on the edge of Sam's table. "Sam, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. Things like this happen all the time. You've been through it yourself, remember? Lieutenant Simmons?"

"That was different," Sam said automatically, hoping that it had been.

"Maybe," Daniel admitted, to Sam's relief. "But we all know that it's impossible to throw several hundred people together in close quarters and not have us start to, well, interface a little."

"Interface?"

"You know what I mean. And Jack--" Daniel thought a moment. "Jack's easy to look up to."

"He is pretty tall," Sam offered, and Daniel grinned.

"You know what I mean," he said again. "There's a lot there to admire, and respect. He's strong, and solid, and caring, and he has a great sense of humor. He's saved our lives about a dozen times over, and he puts up with an unbelievable amount of crap from all of us--mostly from me," he amended with a smile. "And he never loses his head in a crisis. He might not know the difference between an alpha particle and a gamma ray, but he knows when something is likely to start shooting at people he cares about. He's helped us all through some rough times. I understand you...wondering."

"Yeah, but how does he feel?" Sam asked with a touch of bitterness.

"Flattered, mostly," Daniel said simply. "Sorry if he hurt you. He cares a lot about you. He's scared to death that he'll lose your friendship."

Sam looked at him wonderingly. "And he told you all this?"

Daniel had the grace to look embarrassed. "Well, more or less. You know Jack. He'll dive headfirst into a black hole, but say the word 'feelings' and he leaves a set of skid marks behind."

"So he didn't actually say it."

"He didn't have to. And he did tell me that he cares about you, and that he didn't want to hurt you. The rest, I could read between the lines."

"That he's flattered?"

"Sam, you're a beautiful woman. He'd be crazy if he didn't notice that. Who wouldn't be flattered?"

Sam ducked his head. "Thanks, Daniel," he said at last.

After a moment, he felt Daniel's hand on his shoulder. "Look, I understand how you're feeling. It can be hard, working with someone, going through hell and high water with them, and then finding out one day that you're wondering what it would be like to be with them, to be closer to them."

A terrible suspicion began to creep into Sam's mind. Slowly, he lifted his head and searched Daniel's face. Daniel was leaning close to him, his eyes worried behind his spectacles, his brow furrowed in sincerity. Sam swallowed. "Daniel," he managed to croak. "Daniel, you're not saying that you--I mean that you're feeling that way about--" He couldn't finish, could only gesture helplessly at himself, and after a moment saw understanding dawn in Daniel's eyes.

"Oh!" Daniel sat back, jerking his hand away from Sam's jacket as though it had burned him. "Oh, no. No, no, no, Sam. Don't worry. It's not you." Then, as if realizing what he'd said, he added quickly. "It's no-one. Really. I was just speaking...generally." He cleared his throat. "It's very common in closed communities like this one," he said rapidly. "When you see the same people every day, and especially when you can't really talk to anyone but them about what you do. You become closer to them than almost anyone else, and it's natural to form very strong relationships." He paused. "Very natural."

"Oh. Okay." Sam did his best to return the smile. "Thanks."

Daniel seemed relieved. "Anytime. And don't worry about Jack. He's a gentleman. He won't embarrass you with this, now or ever."

"Okay. I'll take your word for it."

"You do that." Daniel slid off the table. "Now. I've got to get to work, or you'll all come to my place tonight and find out we're having hot dogs and beer instead." But he made no move to leave, instead looking down at Sam with renewed sympathy. "You'll be all right, Sam?"

"I'll be fine," Sam assured him. "Thanks." He tucked the journal under his arm and stood up. "I'm going to do some reading, then I'll head over to your place, all right?"

"Okay. See you there."

-----

Sam stayed at the base for the rest of the afternoon, reading Carter's journals in the anonymous privacy of the comissary. Al remained conspicuous in his absence, and Sam began to resign himself to another long spell on his own. What could Al do, after all, except hang around to tell Sam that he still didn't know what to do? At least this way Sam could tell himself that Al was working on it, that he was trying hard to get him out of here. Sam could only do the same.

All that aside, he soon found himself absorbed in Carter's observations about the Stargate, searching through her journals and notes for references on what it was, and how it worked. Once Sam grasped what her notes were telling him, once he realized the sheer impossibility of what she described, all he could do was sit back in awe. *To hell with time travel,* he thought for a brief, blasphemous moment, then had to smile.

As he read the journals, though, Sam became aware of yet another niggling emotion, one that he wasn't proud of, but which he knew better than ignore. Reading through Carter's careful observations, her records and facts and data about the hundreds of other worlds she'd visited.... *Well, who wouldn't be a little jealous?* he rationalized. Sam had had nothing more than a taste of what it was like, studying a completely alien environment, and he could understand the passion for her work that underlaid Carter's words. This was her life, and Sam became convinced, more than ever, that if loving O'Neill meant leaving the Stargate Command, then it wasn't the right choice for him to make for her. There had to be another way. He only wished he knew what it was.

By the time Sam had returned the last of the journals to Carter's desk, it was past time to leave. Daniel had departed more than an hour ago, dropping by to tell Sam to come on whenever he was ready, and Sam realized that he couldn't put it off much longer. He wasn't looking forward to facing O'Neill again, but he owed it to Carter to do what he could to fix the mess he'd made.

Despite his lingering at the base, Sam was still the first to arrive at Daniel's apartment. "Jack's on his way," Daniel said when he answered the door. "Come on in."

"Thanks." Sam stepped in, shedding his coat gratefully in the warmth.

"Is it too hot?" Daniel asked, reaching his hand to hover next to the thermostat. "Jack's always complaining that I still live in a desert--" He stopped. "Sorry."

"Don't," Sam said firmly. "Look, it's okay. Really." He took a deep breath. "In fact, I think it's all for the best. You're right. I wondered what it would be like, and now I know for sure. So, I can stop wondering, and move on."

Daniel nodded slowly. "That's good. I'm glad to hear it." But he didn't look entirely happy, and turned away quickly to open the closet door. "Here. Let's put your coat away, and I'll get you something to drink."

As Sam followed him into the kitchen, he sniffed lightly at the smells drifting from the stove. "Mm. What's cooking?"

"My finest Abydonian meal," Daniel said proudly. "Well, my finest Abydonian meal with Earth ingredients." He lifted a lid and stirred a bubbling pot. "I didn't think General Hammond would authorize a return trip for me to borrow a cup of flour and some beans. So, instead of *ssehou,* *goilu,* and roast *zhukr*, we have corn cakes, lentil stew, and roast lamb."

"Smells delicious," Sam said truthfully. "I can't wait."

"Well, as soon as Jack and Teal'c get here, I'll serve the finest off-world cooking to be found on Earth." Daniel grinned again, and turned to the fridge. "Beer, Sam?"

"Uh, no, thanks. Maybe just some water for now."

"All right. Coming right up." Daniel poured a glass from the filter pitcher in the fridge, then re-filled the reservoir from the tap. As he turned, Sam suddenly started as the familiar outline of the waiting room door popped into place next to him, heralding Al's arrival a moment later. Daniel turned back as the door slid closed, and walked through Al, unconcerned, to return the pitcher to the fridge.

"Where have you been?" Sam couldn't resist hissing, and Al looked indignant.

"What was that, Sam?"

"Uh, nothing, Daniel." Sam thought frantically. "Can I use your bathroom?"

"Sure. You know where it is."

Sam didn't, but he was lucky enough that it was a small apartment. He stalked in and shut the door, then rounded on Al. "Where have you been?" he demanded again, and Al bristled.

"Hey, you try getting a top level clearance on two weeks notice, much less two hours. I had to fly to Washington, then to Colorado, and you're lucky I didn't go all the way to Egypt."

Sam relented. "Sorry, Al," he apologized. "It's just been a little tense around here." He ran his hand over his face. "Did you find anything?"

"In buckets," Al said, and started tapping buttons. "We broke every rule in the book, but I think it might have been worth it. First of all--" Al took a deep breath. "I owe you a big apology, Sam."

Sam couldn't help a smile of triumph. "Other planets? Aliens? Space travel?"

"Oh, yeah, Sam." Al wiped his face. "Oh, yeah. Some of it I wish I didn't know, let me tell you. You have no idea how close we've come."

"I've read Carter's journals. I have an idea."

"Then I think we both know how important this one could be." Al turned to the link again. "Speaking of which, believe it or not Ziggy was right in the first place about O'Neill's suicide. It was over his wife, or at least Colonel Carter and Teal'c think so."

"'Colonel' Carter?"

"Yeah, she was promoted when she took over command of SG-1. But if you ask me, Sam, she doesn't think the promotion was worth it."

But now Sam was confused, an emotion he was starting to get used to on this Leap. "I don't get it. If Ziggy was right, then why wasn't she right about how to stop it?"

"Because we missed one very important player in all of this: Dr. Jackson. He and Carter and Teal'c were O'Neill's closest friends, but according to Carter, Daniel was about the only person that O'Neill ever really talked to, the only person he trusted enough to open up to."

Sam was silent, thinking back to his conversation with Daniel. "Yeah. I saw that," he said slowly. "Last night, after he took me home, O'Neill went to see Daniel. When he's upset, I guess that's where he goes."

"Exactly. Carter told me that when O'Neill needed help, they were all willing to be there for him. Only thing was, it was usually only Daniel who knew that there was trouble in the first place." Al looked serious. "Except the last time."

"So what happened? Why didn't Daniel know?"

"Daniel didn't know because he wasn't there. He was in Egypt. A few months before O'Neill died, a team of archaeologists found some of the same technology from the people that left the Stargate. Jackson was the logical choice to oversee the dig, so he left SG-1 to go to Egypt for a year. While he was gone, O'Neill found out about his ex-wife's kid."

"And Daniel wasn't here."

"Teal'c says that they knew something was wrong, but O'Neill seemed to be handling it. They didn't know about Sara's pregnancy until afterwards. He didn't tell anyone, just kept it all inside until it got to be too much."

"Oh, boy." Sam ran a hand over his hair. "What happened to Jackson? Can you talk to him?"

"No. They said that after O'Neill died, there wasn't anything to keep him in the Stargate program anymore."

Sam frowned. "That can't be right. The whole reason he joined was to find his wife and get her back. I don't believe he would have given up."

Al looked at Sam with sympathy. "He didn't give up, Sam. He found her--finds her--jeez, I hate this jumping around stuff--about a year from now. She, or rather, that slimy thing inside her, tries to kill Daniel. Teal'c had to kill her to save him."

"Oh, god. God, that's awful."

"Yeah."

"And he stayed with the SGC even after that?"

"Apparently. At least until O'Neill dies." Al shrugged, then waved his hands. "But it doesn't matter, because you're not here for Jackson, you're here for O'Neill."

"Fine, great. So what does Ziggy say I'm supposed to do about him?"

"Well, you've got two options, according to Ziggy. Believe it or not, the first one is the one you had before: Get him to fall in love again, so he won't be alone when all this happens."

"Oh, well, that was a great one, Al. In love with who? Carter is out of the question, and there isn't anyone else." Sam glared. "What's the other option?"

"Make sure that Daniel doesn't go to Egypt. Ziggy says if he stays here, there's an eighty-five percent chance that O'Neill will talk to him about it and not commit suicide."

Sam blinked. "Al," he said evenly. "That's four years away from now. How am I supposed to stop something that isn't even going to be an issue for four more years?"

"Well, back to square one, then."

There were a lot of things Sam might have said to that, but a sudden muffled buzz from outside the door stopped him. "Great," he said. "They must be here." He turned back to Al. "I'll keep an eye on Jack tonight," he said. "You go back and see if Ziggy has any more options. Maybe we'll see some way out of this mess."

"Okay, Sam." Al didn't sound overly enthusiastic, but he went anyway, leaving Sam to go out into the hall on his own.

By the time he got to the front hall, Daniel was nowhere in sight, but O'Neill and Teal'c had finished shedding their coats and were heading for the kitchen. "Hey, Carter," O'Neill said. "You made it."

But Sam was staring at O'Neill's face, and the enormous shiner that was blossoming around his left eye. "Colonel? What happened to you?"

He grimaced. "Apparently on Chulak--" And he glared at Teal'c. "--cross-checking isn't against the rules."

"As I told you, O'Neill, we have no such game on my world. I was unfamiliar with the rules of play."

"Yeah, well," O'Neill grumbled, but Sam thought he looked more pleased than annoyed. He pushed his way past Teal'c into the kitchen, and Sam followed him.

"Okay." Daniel turned from the sink as they came in, a towel bunched in his hand. He lifted it towards O'Neill's eye. "Here, Jack, just put this on there for a minute--"

"Hey!" O'Neill jerked back as the ice touched his face, and scowled at Daniel. "It's only a black eye, Daniel. I think I'll live."

"Yeah, until the general sees that Monday morning." Daniel pressed the ice against his face once more, and this time he didn't protest. "Okay." Daniel grabbed O'Neill's wrist and slapped his hand on the towel. "Hold that there."

"Thanks, Daniel," O'Neill muttered, his face half-obscured by the ice pack. "This is much better, really."

"So, you two were playing hockey?" Sam asked, and O'Neill swiveled his head to bring his good eye to bear on him.

"I thought it might appeal to our staff-wielding buddy here. I thought I'd have to teach him how to skate first, but apparently they've got something similar that they do on glaciers or something."

"It is called *tu'zuzhe atuuq,*" Teal'c supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, whatever." O'Neill pulled the fridge open one-handed and reached for a beer in the door, nudging it back closed with his foot. He tried twice to open the can with one hand, then finally Daniel took it away from him and popped the top himself. "Thanks," O'Neill said. "Anyway, let's just say that it's a good thing there's not a Team Jaffa in the NHL. Those guys wouldn't stand a chance."

"So, that was your 'cultural field trip?'" Daniel asked. "Hockey?"

"Yeah," O'Neill said defensively. "And?"

"Nothing, nothing," Daniel said quickly. He turned to Teal'c. "You want anything to drink, Teal'c?"

"I will have beer also," Teal'c announced. "Colonel O'Neill says that it is the traditional drink of sporting events."

"Well, okay, I guess I can't disagree with that." Daniel seemed bemused. "Why don't you all sit down, and I'll bring it out."

"Thank you."

Still holding the towel to his eye, O'Neill led them into the living room and flopped down on one of the easy chairs, propping his feet on the coffee table. He gave a soft groan as he relaxed into the chair, then winced as he shifted to put his beer on the table beside him.

"You all right, sir?" Sam asked, taking his own place on the couch, and saw him close his eye.

"Oh, yeah," he said airily. "Just peachy."

"Colonel O'Neill successfully defended his goal many times," Teal'c informed Sam. "He is a skilled player."

"That's Chulak for 'Jack fell on his ass a lot,'" O'Neill translated from his chair.

"But you won the game, O'Neill, four goals to three."

"Yeah, against a guy who'd never picked up a hockey stick before. Thanks, Teal'c."

"You are welcome, O'Neill."

"I was being--Oh, never mind." O'Neill let his head fall back and sighed. A moment later, Daniel came in with Teal'c's drink and took the chair across from O'Neill's, casting him a sympathetic glance.

"How's the eye, Jack?"

"Fine." To prove his point, O'Neill took the towel away and prodded gingerly at the reddened skin. "Be good as new in no time," he pronounced.

"Great. Then, if you're all ready, how about we eat?"

"Sounds good," Sam said, and stood up. "I'm starving."

As he ate, Sam followed his own suggestion and kept a close eye on O'Neill. But if he hoped to gain any stunning insights into his character, or any hint of what to do to stop the tragedy he was here to prevent, then he was disappointed. All he saw was that O'Neill seemed happy and content and relaxed around the other members of the team. It was Daniel, though, who made him laugh out loud, Daniel who made him smile, and Daniel's words that brought the spark of interest to his eyes.

Al was probably right. If Daniel could stay around long enough, if he was here when he got the news about Sara, then Sam believed that he would be able to help him through it. But how the hell was Sam supposed to make sure of that? He was used to working on a much more immediate scale, preventing something that was going to happen in the next day, or week, or hour. Four years was a little too far-reaching.

Something had to be happening now. Some significant event that Sam could manipulate to produce the desired result. Something, he thought in frustration, that would either make Jack O'Neill fall in love again, or cause Daniel Jackson to stay here in Colorado. But what the heck was it?

It wasn't until Teal'c asked, politely, if he was all right that Sam realized he was sitting with his fork poised over a hunk of corn cake, staring into space while his mind spun fruitlessly, desperately searching the possibilities. "Uh, yeah," he said quickly. "I'm fine, Teal'c."

"Is the food all right, Sam?" Daniel asked, a little anxiously. "The corn cakes may be a little dry--"

"No, no. It's very good," Sam said truthfully. "I was just thinking about something else for a minute. Sorry."

"Yeah, well, while you're thinking," O'Neill said, gesturing with his fork, "you can pass the Roast Beast back this way."

"Lamb," Daniel supplied helpfully while Sam handed over the platter. "They actually have a kind of sheep-like animal on Abydos, but the meat is very tough. They have to--"

"Yeah, whatever." O'Neill teased a slice of meat onto his plate and passed the platter on to Teal'c. "The only thing I remember being served was that big--" He waved his fork expressively. "--lizard-armadillo-chicken thing."

"Yes, that was *ounash.* It's actually quite a delicacy, Jack. It was a great honor for them to serve it to us."

"Oh, yeah." O'Neill poked at the food on his plate. "Great honor."

But Sam only listened to the exchange with a small part of his mind. The rest of his attention was focused on the more immediate problem of how the hell he was ever going to leave this Leap.

Not, he reflected with a touch of wistfulness, that that would be so bad. Traveling to different planets every week, doing the kind of work he loved, living the life of a scientist-explorer. A life, he had to remind himself, that wasn't his.

Somehow, Sam got through the rest of the meal, though if asked later he would have been hard-pressed to recall the taste of anything he ate. After dinner, Daniel shooed them into the living room to sit while he brought coffee. Sam wasn't normally a big coffee fan, but he sipped the sweet, hot liquid gratefully, welcoming the surge of the caffeine to his tired brain. This Leap was wearing him out. Normally he had a goal, something to focus on, but this time there was nothing. He was floundering in a sea of confusion, and it didn't look as though things were going to get better anytime soon.

By the time O'Neill finally stood up and announced that he and Teal'c were going, Sam had the beginnings of another raging headache. He followed the others glumly to the hall to fetch his coat. There was no reason for him to hang around, and the best thing he could do was go home, go to bed, and hope that things would be better in the morning. *Tomorrow is another day,* he thought tiredly, and reached for his own coat as Daniel spoke up behind him.

"Hey, Sam, hang on a second. I forgot, I've still got that book you leant me. I keep meaning to give it back."

O'Neill already had the door open to leave, and he merely waved to them both as he followed Teal'c outside. "Good-night, kids," he said. "Don't stay up too late watching scary movies."

Daniel said good-night, and before Sam knew it the door had closed behind him, leaving him and Daniel standing alone in the hallway.

"Come on, I'll go get that book."

Sam followed him back into the living room, yawning. All he wanted to do now was go home. He was so tired that he didn't even notice Al standing in the corner until he spoke.

"Hey, Sam. Got a minute?"

"Okay," Sam said without thinking, and Daniel turned around.

"What was that, Sam?"

After a moment of hesitation. Sam bent down and picked up his coffee cup. "Uh, mind if I get some more coffee while you look?" he asked.

"Oh, sure. Help yourself."

"Thanks."

In the kitchen, Sam dumped the last half of his cold cup down the drain and started pouring another. "What is it, Al?"

Al looked apologetic. "This may not mean anything, Sam, but I figure every little bit of information helps."

"What? Did Ziggy find something?"

"You mean does she know what you're supposed to do? No. But we found out what happened to Dr. Jackson. Or, more to the point, we didn't."

Sam closed his eyes. "Al, I'm too tired for riddles. Just spit it out."

"He disappeared, Sam. Poof. Vanished."

"Huh?" Sam set the coffee pot down. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I told you that after O'Neill's funeral, he went back to his assignment in Egypt, and we assumed that he'd stayed there. But Ziggy couldn't find any records of him applying for funds or publishing papers, nada. So finally I get the brilliant idea of asking Carter where he is. Turns out that two months after he got back, he walked off the dig. No one ever saw him again."

"What?" Sam craned his neck briefly to look through into the living room, watching Daniel pore over the spines of his books. "Why did he do that?"

"I don't know. I asked Carter the same thing. She said, and I quote, 'I guess with Sha're gone, and the colonel gone, it wasn't worth it for him anymore.'"

"Wow." Sam leaned against the counter, folding his arms over his chest. "Sounds like Daniel needed O'Neill as much as O'Neill needed...." He trailed off, feeling his brow furrow as something in that thought tickled the back of his head. "Hang on a second," he muttered, and put his hands on his temples, trying to will his tired mind to follow the sudden, clear chain of logic.

O'Neill needed to fall in love. O'Neill needed Daniel.

O'Neill needed to fall in love with Daniel.

"Oh, God," Sam breathed, and pushed himself away from the counter. "Al, do me a favor. Pull up O'Neill's chances for survival, and keep an eye on it. I'm going to try something."

"Sam?" Al stepped in front of him. "What's going on?"

Sam looked at him. "Trust me, Al," he said solemnly. "You don't want to know." He waved. "Just...follow me."

With Al muttering in his wake, Sam went back into the living room to find Daniel just pulling a bright-jacketed book from the top shelf.

"Found it," he said. "Sorry, I thought I knew where it was." He dusted it off and handed it to Sam. "Here you go."

"Thanks," Sam said automatically. He stared down at the book, not even reading the title, trying to find the words to begin. He could be wrong. He could be hideously wrong. But there was only one way to find out. "Daniel," he began. "I was wondering...Could I ask you about something?"

Daniel, bending down to gather up the last of the discarded coffee cups, barely glanced at him. "Yeah, I guess. About what?"

Sam took a deep breath. "About Colonel O'Neill."

That stopped him. Sam steeled himself as Daniel turned his head to look at him full on, but there was nothing in his eyes but mild confusion. "What about Jack?" he asked gently.

"Sam, where are you going with this?" Al asked warily.

Sam ignored him. "About you being in love with him."

"Sam! Have you lost your mind?" A withering glare from Sam shut Al up, and he turned back to Daniel.

Daniel's jaw had dropped, and for second he couldn't even seem to speak. "E--excuse me?" he finally stuttered, trying to smile, and failing. "Is this a joke?"

"No," Sam said, and gave Al another hard stare.

Slowly, Daniel put down the cups he'd just picked up. "What makes you think I'm in love with Jack?" he asked warily. His voice was painfully casual, the attempt to make light of it achingly obvious, but his eyes were less prudent, the sudden flare of vulnerability all that Sam really needed to confirm that he'd been right.

"You told me," he said, feeling the sudden, heady rush of certainty fill him, the words spilling out in front of him as easily as if he'd opened the page of a new book. "This morning, in the lab, you told me all about him. I thought you were saying it to tell me that you understood that I could be attracted to him. I didn't realize until later that you were talking about yourself."

For a long time, Daniel said nothing. Then he walked over and sat down heavily on the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. "Oh, god, Sam. This is..." he laughed harshly. "This is embarrassing."

"You're telling me!" Al growled. "Sam this is ridiculous. You're here to save O'Neill, not get him fixed up with...with...some guy. He's a colonel!"

Sam closed his eyes briefly, and prayed for patience. "Hey," he said to Daniel. "At least you didn't throw yourself at him and find out that it wasn't you he was attracted to. That's embarrassing," he added pointedly, sending another look at Al, and got a glare right back.

"Look, Sam, I'm telling you. Jack O'Neill is not gay, and neither is Daniel Jackson. This is..." Al stared at the link as it started blinking again, frowned, and hit it absently. "This is..." Al swallowed. "Impossible?" He gaped almost comically at the numbers for a long moment. "Sam," he said incredulously. "Colonel O'Neill's chances of survival just went up by ten percent."

Sam felt a thrill of triumph, and stopped himself just short of saying "I told you so," to Al. He settled for a small, smug nod, and turned his attention back to Daniel, trusting Al to keep digging.

"Sam, I'm sorry," Daniel was going on, oblivious to the debate raging just beyond his left shoulder. "Really, I am." His mouth twisted into a small smile. "I know just how you feel, believe me."

Sam's heart sank. "You do? You mean you told--"

"No!" Daniel looked at him in horror. "God, no. I can't."

Al swallowed. "Sam, Ziggy says that you're on the right track--much as I think you're both missing a few screws--but O'Neill still dies. She says..." Al grimaced. "She says that Daniel must never have told him that he--told him how he feels," he finally temporized.

"Why not?" Sam asked both of them.

"No idea, Sam," Al said, but Daniel was already answering.

"Well, aside from all the other reasons...." Daniel blew out a long, tired breath. "There's Sha're." Sam said nothing, and Daniel cast him a sidelong look. "Come on, Sam, what am I going to say to him? Jack, I love you, but I'm still going to do everything I can to find my wife? I haven't given up on her, Sam. What if I say something to Jack, and then I find her?"

"She dies, Sam," Al interjected. "He's never going to get her back."

"What if you don't?" Sam saw Daniel flinch at the words, but he went on anyway, pushing relentlessly. "I mean, how long are you going to wait?"

"As long as it takes, Sam."

"The rest of your life?" Sam paused. "The rest of Jack's life?"

"Sam, it's not fair to him!" Daniel suddenly shouted. "I love Sha're, too. How am I supposed to choose between them?"

"Who says you have to?" Sam insisted. He thought for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. "Colonel O'Neill knows how you feel about Sha're. He already knows that you love her, and that you'll do almost anything to find her. He wouldn't expect you to stop looking for her."

"Oh, so you think Jack will settle for being my second choice? Waiting for me to find Sha're so I can go off with her instead of him? I wouldn't do that to him."

"I didn't think you would. In fact, I don't think it's really O'Neill that you're worried about betraying."

The color fled Daniel's face as though he'd suddenly lost a pint of blood. "That's a cheap shot, Sam."

"Yeah, but looks like it hit home," Al said quietly. "Keep going, Sam. I think you found something."

"I'm sorry, Daniel. That was pretty harsh, I'm sorry. But it's been how long?"

"Over a year and a half," Al supplied at the same moment that Daniel said, "Almost two years."

"That's a long time," Sam said. "I know you haven't given up hope, but no-one--no-one--would blame you for thinking about getting on with your own life. I'm not saying," he added quickly, "that you should run out right now and declare your undying love to Colonel O'Neill. But if one day, maybe, you did stop looking for Sha're, he would understand why you waited to tell him. Up to a point," he finished.

"That's it, Sam. O'Neill's chances just got over sixty percent. You're doing it!"

"Just promise me this, Daniel," Sam went on. "When you do decide, no matter when, don't think it's too late."

"You say that as if it's not too late right now. Jack's my friend, but I don't know if he's *that* good a friend."

Sam let his eyes drift to Al. "I can't promise anything," he said, still holding Al with his gaze, "but I do know that he loves you. Maybe you're right, and he doesn't think about you like 'that,' but I think we both know that sometimes the colonel needs to be led to the water, if you know what I mean."

"You know what they say about leading a horse to water, Sam," Al said grumpily, but the protest was feeble.

"Yeah, that's really encouraging, Sam." Daniel looked at Sam curiously. "But I have to ask you. Yesterday, you were, well, not to put too fine a point on it, trying to seduce Jack yourself. Why are you suddenly so interested in fixing me up with him?"

"Because I made a mistake," Sam said after a moment of frantic thought. "I saw all the things that you did, Daniel. Colonel O'Neill cares about us, he takes care of us, he risks his life for us. I just made the mistake of thinking that it was directed at me."

"And you think it's me?"

Sam shrugged. "Some of it, yeah. But you'll never know for sure unless you take the chance. The worst that can happen is that he'll say no."

"Yeah, and maybe I'll change our friendship into something I don't want. I don't know if it's worth that, Sam."

"I don't think that'll happen." Sam smiled. "Trust me, I know from experience. It'll take more than a pass to change the way he feels about you."

Behind Daniel, Al gave a sudden strangled shout of triumph. "Sam! You did it! You changed history. O'Neill's still alive, and living here in Colorado Springs. Daniel stays with the SGC, and get this, after he gets back from Egypt he moves in temporarily with O'Neill."

"Temporarily?" Sam couldn't help asking aloud.

"Well, temporarily for three years. Somehow he never gets around to finding his own place."

"Ah." Sam looked at Daniel, who was staring at him oddly. "It'll take more than a pass," he said quickly, "to change the way O'Neill feels even temporarily."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess you're right." Daniel managed a smile. "Thanks, Sam. You've really given me a lot to think about."

"Yeah, well, what are friends for?" Sam smothered a huge yawn, and a moment later Daniel did likewise. "Guess it's getting late," Sam said. "I should probably get on home."

"Okay. Thanks again."

"Anytime. Just remember what I said, all right?"

"I will. Good-night, Sam."

-----

Monday morning, Sam stood at the foot of ramp, watching apprehensively as the inner wheel of the Stargate spun around. O'Neill, Daniel, and Teal'c were standing by the door, O'Neill and Daniel idly chatting, giving Sam the chance to mutter to Al without being noticed.

"Why the hell am I still here, Al?"

"Uh, well, Ziggy's still working on that, Sam."

"Well, tell her to work faster!"

"We're doing our best, Sam. Far as we can tell, everything with the team turns out fine. They're still together, still going on missions through the Stargate. Carter gets promoted in a couple of months to Major, and O'Neill eventually makes General."

"And he and Daniel are still together?"

"As near as we can figure, yeah." Sam gave Al a look, and he shrugged apologetically. "It's not like there are marriage records or anything, Sam, and they seem to be pretty discreet. But they're still sharing O'Neill's house, and they seem very happy."

"None of which explains why I haven't Leaped yet." Sam jumped as the Gate suddenly exploded to life, flinching back involuntarily as the shockwave sprayed out over the ramp.

"Well, Ziggy's just come up with another theory about that, Sam. She thinks that in order to Leap, you need to step through the Stargate."

"Why? I've always Leaped just fine all by myself before."

"Yeah, and you never ended up on an alien planet before, either." Al shook his head. "Wish I could have been there. I've been in space, but I've never foot on anything other than dear old terra firma." He sighed wistfully, then returned to the handlink. "Anyway, Ziggy says that all you have to do is go through...that, and you'll Leap."

"Let's go, campers," O'Neill said, striding past Sam and up the ramp. "Captain, you coming?"

"Yes, sir." Sam adjusted his helmet and took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing," he muttered. "I just hope this works." He joined O'Neill at the top of the ramp, and got a brief, almost appraising glance from the other man.

"You ready, Captain?"

"Yes, sir." Sam gave him a grin.

O'Neill nodded. "See you on the other side."

"Yes, sir," Sam said, and stepped through.

THE END