Title: Rules of Relationship

Author: Sue Corkill

Category: Sam & Jack, Established relationship

Status: Complete

Rating: PG-13

Content Warning: M/F

Season/Sequel info: Third Season

Spoilers: Rules of Engagement

Archive: Heliopolis, SJA, SJHW

Summary: Sam and Jack have a quiet moment after they return from P89-534.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Feedback: Cheerfully accepted.

Author’s notes: One more offering in my attempt to put a ‘ship’ spin on a non-shippy episode.

Copyright © M. Susan Corkill, June 2001.

RULES OF RELATIONSHIP

He stood; waiting with uncharacteristic patience, on the ridge that over looked the encampment on one side, the Stargate on the other. A bluish-gray haze hung over the valley in which the encampment sat, a silent testimony to the battle that had recently been fought, the setting sun turning the clouds deep magenta, purple, and pink. The American flag still hung, limply, from the flagpole. The familiar smell of spent ammunition, explosives and staff-weapon fire surrounded him. Blinking against the irritants in the air, he went to wipe at his eyes, but then thought better of it as he remembered his face was still painted with camouflage.

He heard Carter approach, her voice muted as she talked into the radio. She came and stood next to him, looking towards the valley for a moment before speaking. "General Hammond is sending the medical and clean-up teams through, sir," she reported in her usual efficient manner. "Major Kovacek’s team should be here any minute."

"Right," he murmured, not taking his eyes off the encampment. Clean up, another military euphemism for dealing with the latest casualties of their war with Apophis.

"Kovacek will make sure they all get returned to their home worlds."

He turned his head and looked at his Major, as she too surveyed the site of their recent battle. She looked tired, her face smudged with dirt, the came stick she had applied so carefully, streaked and smudged. "I know, Major." Hammond had agreed that the ‘recruits’ would be returned to their home worlds. That is, if they knew the location of their home world. O’Neill turned his gaze back to the valley. Daniel and Teal’c were staying, to help in de-programming the young men, and in hopes of helping them identify their home worlds. The dead would be buried, the injured attended to, and the rest, well he hoped they’d be given back the lives that had been taken from them when Apophis had ruthlessly conscripted them into his service.

A hand gently touched his arm, "Sir."

He drew his gaze away from the encampment as he realized Major Kovacek and the rest of SG-9 had joined them.

"Colonel O’Neill." Kovacek saluted.

O’Neill nodded, "Kovacek, glad you could make it."

"We’ll take over from here, sir." At O’Neill’s nod of confirmation, Kovacek gestured for his team to continue. "The General’s waiting for you," he added as he followed after his team.

O’Neill turned his back to the valley and looked towards the Stargate, he could just see the event horizon glimmering as the last of the teams and equipment came through. He glanced at Sam, waiting patiently at his side. "You heard the man, the General awaits." He gestured for her to precede him, and taking his cue, she started slowly down the trail to the Stargate.

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She was tired. No, she was more than tired—she was exhausted, that bone-deep exhaustion that comes after battle, when the adrenaline has finally worn off. Only a few more miles, then they’d be at the Stargate and then finally back at the SGC. And being back at the SGC meant a hot shower and home weren’t that far away. She hoped Hammond wasn’t going to ask for a full debriefing, she looked at her watch, it was already evening on Earth. No wonder she was so tired, her attention wandered as she continued to contemplate the joys of the shower waiting for her, and as a result she stumbled on an exposed root.

"Major!" O’Neill called to her sharply.

"I’m all right," she quickly replied, regaining her footing before he could help her.

"Be careful," O’Neill chided. She winced just a bit at his impatient tone. It was practically the same tone that had been in his voice when it came over the radio, into the tent where she and Teal’c had been setting up the computer link to the Vo’cum. She had underestimated the time it would take her to establish the link, and she had almost gotten them all killed. She sighed, the Colonel hadn’t said anything to her yet—but he would.

Trudging on in silence, they quickly descended to the base of the ridge, meeting up with the rest of the SGC troops. Standing to the side of the trail, she and the Colonel watched as the airmen and medical corpsmen trooped on by, carrying various pieces of equipment. "Colonel O’Neill." Sam looked up in surprise at the sound of the familiar female voice.

"Doc," O’Neill drawled in reply. "Didn’t expect to see you here."

"My name was at the top of duty roster," she retorted. Sam tried to smile as Janet studied them both intently. "Either of you hurt?"

Sam shook her head, O’Neill muttered, "No, ma’am."

Apparently satisfied with her cursory visual assessment, Janet gave them a quick smile. "Rochewski is on duty in the infirmary—be nice to him," she added as she rejoined the cortege.

"Only if he doesn’t have any big needles," O’Neill called to her retreating figure. Sam smiled wearily at his attempted humor and heard Janet’s chuckle, as they once more started down the trail to the gate, the Colonel falling in behind her. They walked across the open field toward the DHD in silence, the sounds of the other teams fading into the distance. The sun was low in the sky as they finally approached the Stargate, twilight almost upon them. A MALP stood lonely sentinel duty next to the DHD, a sledge stacked with crates and covered with a tarpaulin sat nearby. "Anytime, Major," O’Neill instructed, as he went to stand by the MALP.

She quickly crossed to the DHD and dialed up Earth’s address. She studied him covertly, as he stood by the MALP, his shoulders were slumped and his voice had been heavy with fatigue. He looked bad, but probably no worse than she did, she realized. This whole mission had taken a lot out of all of them. The last chevron engaged and as the vortex stabilized, she input their IDC. She walked over to O’Neill, "All ready, sir."

He looked at her briefly, his expression unreadable under the layers of dirt and grease paint. "Lead the way, Major."

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"Welcome back, SG-1." Hammond’s customary greeting sounded over the intercom as O’Neill handed his weapon to the SF.

"Thank you, sir." He acknowledged his commanding officer as he continued down the ramp.

"Colonel O’Neill, report to my office." Jack nodded wearily. "Major Carter, report to the infirmary then you’re dismissed. We’ll debrief at 1400 hours tomorrow."

"Yes, sir." O’Neill heard the relief in her voice as she handed her weapon over.

"Don’t use all the hot water, Carter," he murmured to her as they exited the gateroom. She gave him a slight smile as she continued down the hallway, he turned and trudged up the stairs to the General’s office.

"Come in, Jack." The General greeted him as he entered his office. "Have a seat, this won’t take long. Just give me an overview, we can get into the details later." O’Neill sighed and then began briefly reviewing the events on P89-534.

"When Carter and I left, Doctor Fraiser and her team had just arrived." O’Neill couldn’t stifle his yawn then, "Sorry, sir."

"It’s all right, son. I think you’ve told me enough for now." The General closed his folder; "You’re dismissed. Report to the infirmary."

"Yes, sir," O’Neill replied as he stood, leaving the General’s office to make his way—slowly, to the infirmary.

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"Just take a deep breath, Colonel." O’Neill did as he was asked, the stethoscope cold against his back as Rochewski listened to his lungs. He was too tired to bait the young doctor; the sooner the exam was finished the sooner he could clean up and get some sleep. Rochewski finally seemed satisfied with the exam, as he hung the stethoscope back around his neck. Picking up the chart the Doctor added, "I’m just going to order a shot of an anti-inflammatory, should help with that knee. Otherwise, besides being a bit grimy," the doctor quickly walked to the sink to wash his hands, "you check out just fine."

"Thanks, Doc." He called to the man as he left the cubicle, "Tell the nurse to bring the ‘big’ needle, okay?" He slowly stood and began undoing his belt; they always wanted to give the shots in his butt…. Fifteen minutes later he finally was dismissed from the infirmary and wearily made his way to their locker room. Opening the door, he was surprised to see Sam’s locker open. He could hear water running…he let the outer door slam shut behind him.

"Colonel? Is that you?" Her voice drifted out of the washroom.

"Yeah, Carter, it’s me." He sat down on the bench, "You expecting somebody else?" He heard her chuckle as he tossed his helmet on the floor. Shit, he ached everywhere. All he wanted was to get cleaned up and horizontal. He reached up to rub his eyes, only to jerk his hand away and scowl as he remembered his face was still covered with grease paint.

"Jack?" At the sound of her soft voice, he realized he hadn’t moved since he’d sat down. "Let me help."

She stood before him, dressed in fresh BDU’s, her face scrubbed clean and hair still slightly damp. He sat docilely as she reached out, and taking his arm, began tugging his jacket off. Once it was off, she tossed it onto the pile of her dirty clothes and then kneeling down, she began undoing his bootlaces. Jack gazed down at her, watching her nimble fingers quickly undo the laces. He knew he should stop her, that they shouldn’t do this on base, but it was late and he was tired. But more than anything else, he craved her soft touch. She pulled his boots and socks off, tossing them in the same corner as the rest of their discarded BDU’s. Sam rose to her knees then, and after searching his eyes for permission, she reached out and began unfastening his belt. He let his arms rest laxly at his sides, willing himself to relax as she began unfastening his pants. He shifted, lifting his butt off the bench, as she slid her hands to the waistband and pulled his pants off.

Leaving him sitting on the bench in his T-shirt and boxers, Sam didn’t say anything as she stood and went to her locker. He watched as she took out a large jar of old-fashioned cold cream, opening it as she sat back down on the bench, straddling it so that she faced him. He shifted so that he too, sat facing her, their knees touching. He gazed into the deep blue depths of her eyes as she gently smeared the cold cream on his face, her brow furrowing slightly as she concentrated on her task. Her fingers left his cheek and she scooped out more cream, this time spreading it on his forehead. He closed his eyes and submitted to her gentle touch as it moved over his face, her fingers smoothing the cool cream across his chin and down his neck. He opened his eyes when he felt her shift, steadying herself with one hand on his knee, she reached down and pulled a tissue out of the box she had set on the floor. Folding the tissue in half, she began gently wiping the cream and greasepaint off his face.

"I’m sorry," she murmured, as she continued with her task.

"For what?" he asked, rubbing his cheek against her hand, as it moved against his cheek.

"For almost getting us all killed on P89-534."

"How?" he asked, confused by her comment.

She threw away the tissue she’d been using, then taking a fresh one, began wiping his other cheek. She brought her other hand up to his chin, to support his face as she scrubbed away at the grease paint. "I underestimated how long it would take to set up the computer link with the Vo’cum. I took too long."

He reached up and grabbed her hand, stilling her movements. He searched her eyes; "You did good, Sam." Her look said she didn’t believe him. "I mean it," he murmured softly. "You saved those boys’ lives."

She looked at him then, a soft smile on her face as she accepted his praise. "Let me just finish this…" she muttered, taking another tissue and starting on his forehead. He closed his eyes and sighed, her closeness and soft touch already seeping into the raw places opened by the recent battle. After several silent minutes she finally said, "There!" and ruffled her fingers through his hair. "You’re back to normal."

He smirked at her, his face finally free of the came stick. "What? You don’t like my ‘war’ face?" Her only response was to roll her eyes. "I’ll have you know it took me months to perfect that pattern," he complained.

Leaning towards him, she kissed him briefly, just the lightest touch of her lips upon his. "Let’s just say I like you better without make-up," she teased. She stood up then, and taking his hand, pulled him to his feet. "Come on Jack, go shower." He let her push him in the direction of the washroom. Throwing him a towel, she asked, "Your place?"

Catching the towel, he paused for just a moment before he replied, "Yeah, my place."

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Forty-five minutes later Sam pulled into Jack’s driveway and on into the garage. He had been insistent that whenever she stayed over at his house that she park in the garage. A necessary precaution, but one she begrudged. She hated that they had to hide their relationship, but that had been part of Jack’s terms. She hit the remote, closing the garage door and entered the house. Throwing her purse and jacket on the kitchen table, she headed for the bedroom. She quickly changed into the sleep T she kept there and turned back the bed. She brushed her teeth again before finally crawling into the large bed. Though she had been determined to stay awake until he got home, she soon found herself succumbing to the late hour and quiet of the house, and before she knew it she was asleep.

Sam woke suddenly, where was she? Looking around the darkened room she realized she was at Jack’s house. But where was Jack? Glancing at the bedside clock she saw it was past midnight. He should have been home by now. Getting out of bed, she pulled on her robe and headed down the hallway and followed the low murmur of the TV to the family room. She paused in the doorway; Jack sat slumped on the sofa—a beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other.

"Jack?" She slowly entered the room, trying to gauge his mood. She had thought he was okay, back at the locker room, when she had helped him get cleaned up. But she could see she had made yet another error in judgement. It seemed he was far from being okay about anything that had happened. There were still parts of him that he kept closed off from her, she sincerely hoped this wasn’t going to be one of them. When he didn’t answer, she took a deep breath and crossed to the sofa, sitting down next to him. She curled up into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. He shifted, putting his arm around her, but didn’t take his eyes off the TV.

She sat quietly with him, watching the last minutes of the hockey game. When the game ended, he began searching the channels, apparently looking for another distraction. She grabbed the remote out of his hand and shut the TV off. He sat the empty beer bottle down and finally turned to face her. She felt suddenly unsure, without his arm around her.

"You don’t want to watch more hockey?" His eyes caught hers briefly, but then flickered away.

"I thought you were tired, I thought we would go to bed." She cringed inside, her avoidance right up there with his.

"Well gee, Sam." He leered at her then. "I am kind of tired, but if you really want me…." He started pulling off his T-shirt.

She stared at him. When she’d imagined this conversation, while they’d watched the hockey game, it had been a lot different. She’d known exactly what to say and Jack, well, he’d opened right up to her. "Jack, what’s wrong?" she finally decided to forego subtle and settled on blunt.

"What?" His muffled voice sounding through the T-shirt as he pulled it off, tossing it aside.

"I asked, what’s wrong?" she repeated, as he reached for her robe, pulling on the tie.

His hands paused, then dropped back down to his lap. His eyes darting about the room before finally focusing somewhere behind her left shoulder. His expression went blank. "Nothing’s wrong."

Shit, she didn’t know what to do. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. They’d been lovers for less than a month and she was still testing the boundaries of their new relationship. She knew how far she could push ‘Colonel O’Neill’, what she didn’t know was how far she could push her lover. "You’ve been too quiet and, I don’t know, withdrawn since everything that happened on P89-534."

"So, you’re an expert in my behavior now?" he asked sharply.

She was startled by his reply, but forged ahead. "Well, I think I know you fairly well…."

"Just because we’re having sex now doesn’t mean you know me any better than you did before you let me into your bed," he retorted harshly.

She felt as if he had slapped her, his crude comment stunning her. He looked at her then, his eyes bleak. "Hell, Carter, you barely know me at all," he muttered, turning his eyes to the floor.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil his words brought to her insides. She had to remember they were both still new at this sharing and relationship business. It wouldn’t happen overnight, or in a month either, evidently. Just because she wanted and needed to talk didn’t mean he needed the same thing. "Jack," she began, "I know you well enough to know that something’s bothering you." She took another deep breath, "Part of being in a relationship means sharing—not just physically, but emotionally as well." He still stared at the floor. "You may not want to talk to me about this, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to ask. I love you," she said softly, and he looked at her then. "And I’ll take a lot from you, but don’t think that you can just shut me out."

He started to smile slowly.

"That’s not how this relationship stuff works…" Her next words were muffled by his mouth on hers, kissing her fiercely. She pulled away finally, a bit breathless, as the kiss ended. "And don’t think you can use sex to avoid talking."

He chuckled and drew her back into his arms. "Ah Sam, don’t every let me get away with any of that shit."

"You don’t have to worry about that, mister," she mumbled into his shoulder.

He leaned back and held her at arms length. "It’s not something I do intentionally, Sam." He sighed, releasing her. "It’s just, when I was married, I couldn’t talk to Sarah about what went on during missions, so it’s jut something I do automatically." He gave her an apologetic smile, "Force of habit."

"Well, that’s one habit you’re going to have to break—because you have me now."

A gentle smile curved his lips, "Be patient?"

"Always." When he made no move to get up, she settled back into his arms, resting her head against his chest. Idly stroking his warm flesh, she again asked, "What’s wrong?" She held her breath as she waited for his reply, hoping she hadn’t misjudged his change in attitude.

She felt the deep breath he took, the subtle tightening of his arms around her. His chin came to rest on the top of her head, the touch somehow reassuring. "You know I was in Vietnam."

She nodded her head.

"Well, it was only for a couple of weeks, right at the end of the war. I was part of a special envoy that was sent to Saigon to oversee the administrative aspects of the initial troop withdrawal." He gave a bitter laugh, "I was just a young first lieutenant, I was sent along at the last minute, as a replacement for an aide to one of the ranking officers."

He stopped talking then, and after several minutes, Sam quietly asked, "So, what happened?"

"The usual, for some reason the Viet Cong decided to practice more of their guerilla warfare—in the city." Taking another deep breath, he continued. "I really didn’t have many official duties; I spent most of my time hanging around the hotel and the general area where we stayed. Chatting up the locals, getting a handle on the local underground." His arms tightened around her as he continued. "Turns out now it was a good thing. When the shit hit the fan, I was the only one in our ‘special envoy’ who knew enough about the area, and had the guts, to get us all out of there—in once piece. Turns out I really impressed some people. After our return back to the States, it was less than a week before I was promoted to a more ‘elite’ group."

Reaching up, she gently caressed his cheek as he rested his head against hers. He spoke so softly; she had to strain to hear him. "I was only twenty-two, Sam. The same age as most of those boys. That was my final challenge, Sam." He sighed, "First blood was shed for me then, I wonder sometimes what would have happened if something different had occurred that day in Saigon."

She tilted her head so she could see him. His eyes were shadowed and bleak. "It just brought back a lot of memories—most of them not very good. And to see the same thing happening with those kids," he met her eyes then, "well, I knew I couldn’t let that happen because of some dead snake-head."

"You did good, Jack," she whispered, repeating his earlier words to her. "You saved those boys’ lives."

"Maybe," he murmured.

"Definitely," she countered. Pulling out of his embrace, she stood, and held out her hand to him. "Ready for bed?" She gave a silent sigh of relief when he took her outstretched hand.

"I really am tired, Sam," he warned her as she pulled him down the hall.

"Don’t worry lover, I’ll be gentle with you."

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Long moments later, Jack lay totally drained beneath Sam, his senses still overcome by her thorough ‘gentleness’. Exhausted now, he could only hold her, as they both relaxed in the aftermath of their shared passion.

Finally he had breath enough to speak, "God, Sam—that was…"

"Good?" she murmured, gently raising herself off of him and moving to curl up at his side.

"Well, I was going to say incredible," he drawled, drawing her into his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"I’m glad," she answered back and then yawned. "Sorry," she giggled; squirming into what he could only assume was a more comfortable position against him.

He held her, stroking her hair, physically content but still knowing he needed to do one final thing. "Sam?" he asked softly.

"Mmm," she murmured drowsily.

"I’m sorry for being such an ass." His hand stilled in her hair, the other tightening around her. "You should have kicked my sorry butt out of this house for the way I treated you."

She shifted and he let his arms fall from around her as she propped herself up on one elbow. Reaching out, she tenderly caressed his cheek. "That’s not how our relationship is going to work, Jack," she told him, her voice firm.

In the dim light he studied her face carefully, what he saw humbled him—equal parts of love and determination. "I don’t deserve someone like you," he finally whispered.

Leaning down, she brushed his lips with hers. "That’s bullshit, Jack O’Neill."

Smiling with relief, he pulled her back into his arms, holding her tightly as she buried her face in his neck. "Just be patient with me, Sam."

He felt her breath in a warm sigh against his ear as she whispered, "Don’t worry, love. I seem to have an unending supply as far as you’re concerned."

THE END