Fall Colors

Author: [email protected]

Series/Sequel: Fifth fic in the Colors Series (Technicolor, New Colors, Colors Revealed, and Charismatic Colors) but like all the others, this actually can stand alone

Season: 8

Pairing: Jack/Sara

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Adult sexual content. What can I say, they’re two healthy adults who love each other. They just couldn’t be denied any longer. Explicit sex ensues. (A G-rated version is also available on my website, www.geocities.com/sg1_oneills_house)

Summary: Jack invites Sara to his cabin: the story of two people torn apart by fate… but has love survived the blows dealt them by the cruelties of life?

Category: Friendship, Romance

Spoilers: Cold Lazarus, Covenant

Disclaimer: I don’t own Stargate, and I know it. I am just a fan of the show, and specifically the character of Jack O’Neill

Author’s Pledge: All Badgergater fics are honestly and fairly labeled as to content and pairing. I do not feel a need to sucker in readers by attempting to mislead readers or omit information that will help the potential reader decide whether or not to read the fic.

Author’s note: I never thought I’d write romance, but something about this couple has always intrigued me. The first SG ep I ever watched was Solitudes, and when Jack talks about surviving his nine day ordeal after the parachute accident because "I had to see her again… Sara" I knew they were something special. As he is dying, it’s Sara’s name he whispers… And again, in Cold Lazarus, when he says "we were the greatest." And all the way in season 7, he still has her picture in his bedroom, and then his living room in S7 and S8. Love like that, despite the tragedy life threw at them, has to survive. Despite the fact that I whump him often, I *do* want to see Jack’s story have a happy ending, and this is the woman who can provide it.

/-----------------------\

His voice, over the phone, sounded a bit hesitant, like he was worried that she might say no; that maybe he was stepping beyond the promise they'd made to go slow with their growing friendship/relationship/courtship. "I’m going to take a couple of days off, over the weekend, make it a long weekend." He didn’t tell her he had to take them off, at doctor’s orders. That would just upset her. "So, um, I was wondering if you’d like to come up to the cabin. With me. No strings or anything. There’s two bedrooms, and I’d, um, like some company."

"Just some company?"

"Your company," he specified.

"Your cabin?"

"Yeah. I know you always liked it."

"I loved it," she answered, pleased that he remembered, "being there with you."

"It’s a bit older now, a bit the worse for wear. Not that it got used much, but you know those Minnesota winters."

"Yes, I do," she smiled, remembering how they’d kept warm during those winter weekends.

"So?"

"Sure."

"Good. I’ve got a military flight arranged…"

"I can fly with you?"

"Yeah. Sure. I’m a general now, remember?"

"Nice perk."

"Yes, it is." He paused. "Just one warning, though, since I *am* a general, I do have to take my pager. I could get called back on short notice."

"Ah, well, that sort of off-sets the perks."

"Yes, it does," he answered soberly. "If you don’t want to go, I’ll understand."

"Oh, Jack, I’d love to go, of course. What should I bring?"

"Just yourself. Dress casual. And warm."

"What else would it be?" she laughed.

Sara packed very carefully… hiking boots, jeans, thick socks, her favorite sweater that highlighted the blue in her eyes, an old comfy sweatshirt, and, on a last-minute impulse, she tossed in that skimpy little negligée she’d bought long ago on a whim. It had spent all this time in her dresser drawer; she’d never had the occasion to wear it. Of course, she’d probably freeze to death wearing it to bed at the cabin…

/-----\/-----\

"Now, General…"

"Yes, Doctor, I know. I’ll be careful. Won’t overdue things. Guard my stitches with my life…"

"Yes, Sir, do be careful. Be sure to complete the antibiotic therapy, and don’t skip any doses."

"I know, Doctor, I’ve done this before."

"I know you have, Sir, I’ve read your file, or part of it, at least."

"So you know that I know the drill."

"Good, Sir. Then relax and recuperate."

"Got it, Doc. R and R."

/-----\/-----\

She was surprised when a plain blue military car pulled up in her driveway. But then, Jack *was* entitled to a driver now that he was a general. It was taking some getting used to, though, thinking of Jack as the man in charge.

Sara was even more surprised when Jack didn’t get out to greet her. Instead, the young driver trotted up the walk and rang the doorbell.

She opened the door.

"Mrs. O’Neill?" he asked, politely.

"Yes?"

"Ma’am, I’m Airman Humphreys, the general’s driver. If you’re ready?"

"Yes." She reached for her bag.

"I’ll get that, ma’am."

"Thank you." She *could* get used to these nice benefits now that her ex-husband, current some-sort-of-boyfriend, was a brigadier general, Sara decided.

The young man walked beside her to the car, opening the door for her, and she slid in.

Jack was seated on the other side. "Hi," he smiled. He was dressed in comfortable khaki’s and a black sweater. His leather jacket was on the seat beside him. Maybe it was just the light, but he looked pale. He also looked a little stiff as he leaned over and kissed her cheek in greeting.

"What’s wrong?"

"Wrong?"

"With you."

"Me?"

"Jack, don’t…"

He waved a hand in the air. "I just got banged up a little."

"Generals don’t get ‘banged up a little’, Jack."

"This one does. You know me. Always got to be different."

Once they arrived at Peterson, he climbed out of the car, moving stiffly and carefully. Her mind was soon occupied by other observations, however, as she watched him in his element, returning the salutes of the security personnel and chatting with the flight crew. Within a few minutes, they were comfortably seated aboard the Air Force plane.

/-----\/-----\

At the airbase in Minnesota, a rental car was waiting.

She slipped the keys out of his hand. "Let me drive."

"Sara…"

"I can see you’re tired. I don’t mind driving. Really."

It worried her that he agreed, but he did, and she slipped into the driver’s seat, adjusted the seat, the mirrors and the tilt of the steering wheel, and headed out on the road.

It was quiet in the car as they drove through mile after mile of pristine woods, dark green pines interspersed with oaks and birches that were just starting to turn brilliant colors.

Two hours later, she pulled in to the gravel road, knowing the cabin was at the far end. It was a good thing she remembered how to get there, because Jack had slept most of the way.

The slowing and turn woke him.

"Did you have a good nap?" she asked.

He rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Yeah. Guess I just ruined my macho image, huh, falling asleep?"

"Nothing wrong with resting up. When you’re sick," she added pointedly.

"I’m not sick."

"Hurt, then."

He shrugged and she didn’t miss the little grimace at the end of it.

"So, something broken?"

"No."

"That’s good. What is it then?"

"Just some stitches."

"Stitches?"

"A little minor surgery."

"How minor?"

"Minor," he insisted stubbornly. "I feel better already, just being here," then added quietly, "and with you."

She sighed. Jack never revealed things he didn’t want to reveal, never admitted when he was hurt, never admitted to needing anything or anyone, not directly anyway. "You just want someone to cook you some decent meals."

"Well, yeah, but…" he looked down.

"But," she prompted, not letting him off the hook.

"But you improve the scenery. Immensely."

"Was that a compliment?"

"Yes."

She smiled, and pulled the car into the driveway and up close to the cabin, climbing out quickly. "I’ll get the bags."

"You don’t have to," he disagreed, as he got out of the car, more slowly than her.

Across the top of the car, she stuck her tongue out at him. "I don’t mind."

"You’re gonna *completely* ruin my tough guy image," he protested.

"Jack," stepping around the front of the car, she leaned closer to him and whispered, "there’s no one here to see."

"Good thing." He leaned over and kissed her. "No one to see that, either."

"Hmmm, maybe I’ll have to carry your bags more often, flyboy," she told him lightly as they headed for the door.

/------------\

Going inside the cabin was like stepping back in time. She hadn’t been here since she and Jack and Charlie had been a family.

She remembered the place so very well. Nothing fancy, but everything comfortable, homey, and relaxing: the stone fireplace, the overstuffed old furniture, the log walls with fishing prints, the big oval rag rug on the floor, and the front wall of windows facing the pond. It was the place where the O’Neill family used to fish, and not care at all when they caught nothing.

"No," he agreed.

"That’s the charm of it, I guess."

"View is still nice," he commented, tepping up to stand behind her, his arms sliding casually around her shoulders, bending to lightly nuzzle her slender neck.

"Very nice," she agreed, leaning in to him. "I’ve missed this place," she said, unsure herself whether she meant the cabin, or the place she now stood, in that spot next to him, tucked safely and warmly in his embracing arms.

For several moments, they stood silently watching the trees and the lake and the clouds floating by overhead.

He leaned over slightly to put his chin atop her head, and she felt the little hitch in his breathing as he did so, but said nothing. He relaxed against her then, and she sighed and turned to him, putting her arms around his waist. It felt so good, so right and comfortable, so safe and cherished, within the grasp of his arms.

They stood like that, leaning against one another for several minutes, soaking up the comfort of their touch.

"Let’s go for a walk," he suggested. "Around the lake."

She raised her head and looked up at him. "You’re sure?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe you should rest…"

"I was resting in the car. I’m all rested up."

"Jack…"

"It’s only a few stitches."

"I want to see."

He pulled back. "You want to look? At me?"

Sara nodded.

"You don’t know where these stitches are. They could be anywhere," he warned, raising an eyebrow.

She could see the sparkle in his eye, his face looking all offended innocence. "I’ve seen everything you’ve got, flyboy."

"We were married then," he answered glibly.

"Yes, we were."

"Of course, before we got married, we did check out the scenery," he reminded.

"That’s neither here nor there, airman," she answered quickly. "Take off the shirt, Jack."

"I don’t know. This might not be safe."

"You’re not *that* scary."

"I didn’t say *you’d* be scared."

She laughed.

"This could be dangerous," he warned. "You could swoon or something."

"Yes, it could be…" Before he could protest further, she slid her hands up under his shirt and pushed it up.

Sara gasped. "A few stitches?" She’d suspected he’d been making light of the injury, but this was a neat, precise, straight line surgical incision, high on his rib cage on his right side. The line was still bright red and quite recent. "What did you do?"

"It was nothing, really."

"Nothing?"

"I’m fine."

"Maybe now you're fine. This looks… deadly."

He wasn’t about to tell her how nearly deadly it had been, a wound inflicted by the dagger of a glowing-eyed alien who had been out to kill him. "The doctor said I’ll be all right with a bit of rest…"

"So that’s how you got the time off."

Jack nodded.

Sara sighed. He never changed, and never would. The bravado was still there, front and center, covering up the rest of him.

"Let’s go for that walk now."

/------------\

They walked along the path that skirted the shore of the pond, circling around through the brightly colored trees, their boots causing the leaves to lift and swirl. More leaves, dark gold and rich russet and brilliant yellow, twirled and drifted on the slight wind.

The forest was silent except for the noise their footfalls made.

After a few minutes, she reached out and he took her hand, and they walked on, slowly. It took them about a half hour to get to the spot she remembered, where the large rocks lay scattered along the shoreline. Still holding onto his hand, she led him over to the stones, and sat down. "Let’s take a break."

"I’m okay to go further, you know. The doctor said exercise was good for me."

"As long as you don’t overdo it."

"True."

He sat down beside her, and she slid closer, her hip against his, her arm brushing his.

It felt natural to him to reach out his arm and put it around her, holding her close. Just so neither of them would get cold, he told himself.

Hearing a far-off faint sound, he tipped his head to listen better. "Did you hear it?" he asked.

She listened intently then, concentrating, and caught the distant laugh of a loon.

Laughter.

That’s what she associated with this place- the sound of her family’s laughter.

And the love they had shared.

Now, the only laughter was that of a far-off waterbird.

She looked around her at the rich fall colors, the harbinger of the approaching winter, and felt indescribably sad.

/----------\----------/----------\

Back at the cabin, Sara made their dinner while Jack lit a fire that brightened and warmed the room. They ate by the flickering light, and when they were done, sat side by side on the old sofa, in front of the fire, watching the flames dance.

Jack stretched out, feet up on the old coffee table, one arm around her shoulder. She leaned in closer, careful of his wound. Soon, his fingers were playing with the long strands of her hair.

They stayed like that while the fire died down to embers. Finally, she felt him stir. "Want to go out and look at the stars?" he asked.

She nodded, getting up, finding her shoes and a sweater while he did the same. Once again he took her hand and they walked out to the small dock beside the cabin.

The stars were magnificent. Living so long in the city, she'd forgotten how beautiful they were out here, enhanced by the inky darkness that surrounded the cabin. It was so quiet, she could hear Jack's soft breathing as he stood behind her, then gently put his arms around her, drawing her back against his chest. She leaned back against him, trusting the strength of his embrace, as she looked up and up.

"The stars are incredible," she whispered, breaking the silence.

"Yes, they are," and she heard the wistful tone in his voice, a tone that said more than his words. She thought of his recent comments about his job, not about deep space radar telemetry which she knew was a cover story, but the cryptic references he had made to science fiction TV shows and Alex Colson's discredited alien. Had he really been out there, among the stars? The rational part of her mind said no, of course not, but her heart, the part of her that knew Jack O'Neill wouldn't exaggerate or mislead her, the part of her that so long ago had seen that image of Jack engulfed in blue fire, and that image of her dead son, knew there was something more. Much more. She shuddered.

"Cold?" he asked, pulling her in closer.

"No, just… thinking."

"Thinking too much is dangerous."

"Sometimes," she acknowledged. "Jack?" she started, then realized she couldn't ask him, couldn't put him in that position where he couldn't tell her. The day they'd talked about his job, he'd told her as much as he could, she knew that. Asking him for more would only intrude on the sanctity of this night.

"What?"

"Thanks for asking me to come up here. I'd forgotten how peaceful it is."

"It's good for the soul."

"Yes it is."

"I come here whenever," he paused a long moment, "whenever I can. When I need…" his voice drifted away, but she knew what he meant. Whenever he needed to cope, to recover, to find himself.

"Does it work?"

"Yes. Sometimes," he shrugged. "It helps."

"It always did." She wondered what he'd been through the last eight years, wondered how he'd coped alone, because she knew, better than anyone, how needy he could be. He hid it well, buried his need deep inside, but he'd needed her, and Charlie, to keep himself grounded. She knew that, and she'd treasured it. Without them, what had kept him going? What had gotten him through the rough times of the past eight ears, besides his stubborn Irish pride? And she knew there'd been rough times, terrible times, just by the look she saw sometimes, the fleeting glimpse of true darkness in his eyes. She knew there were so many things there he would never tell her about, never share with her, never acknowledge.

She was glad of that, because she knew whatever it was had been bad for it to affect him so. Yet, at the same time, she was sad that he wouldn't or couldn't share it with anyone. She knew it made his burden so much heavier, and it hurt, that he wouldn't let her help him. But that was the way he was, the way he always had been and always would be. The O'Neill bravado ran deep.

Perhaps, even now, too deep.

As much as she was drawn to him, as much as she still loved him, she admitted to herself she wasn’t sure she could cope with him and his silences. It was a wall between them, and she still wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to reach across it to hold onto him; wasn’t sure if that wall wouldn’t always keep them too far apart for their once-strong bond to ever be rebuilt.

And for certain, she knew that one of them would have to find the courage to breach that wall if they were ever to discover the truth about themselves.

With a sigh, she leaned forward, pulling away from him. He resisted for a moment, then relaxed his arms and let her go.

"I think I’ll turn in," she told him, without meeting his gaze. "Good night."

"Good night."

Silently, she walked back into the cabin, and the bedroom she'd chosen, down the hall from his. Digging through her bag, she by-passed the little negligée and pulled out sweat pants and t-shirt. Sara brushed her teeth, washed her face, and crawled into her bed, alone.

When she turned out the light, Sara could see Jack outside her window, standing alone, still staring at the stars.

/------------\

A long while later, Sara heard him come back into the house.

Despite the emotions swirling through her, Sara slept soundly. It was still very dark when she woke. The small clock beside the bed said 3:12 a.m. The cabin was quiet with the kind of silence found only in remote places. Yet, something had awakened her. She listened closely, and then she heard it, or rather, him.

She couldn’t make out the words, but it didn’t matter, she knew what it was. Eight years had passed, but Jack was obviously still having nightmares.

She climbed out of the warm bed, shivering in the chill air, and stepped into the dark hallway. As she approached his room, the sound got louder until she could make out his words, the mumbled "no, please, no. I told you, I don’t know," and the nearly inaudible sounds of him moving restlessly on the bed.

She was at his doorway now, watching him, feeling the voyeur, unsure if she should go to him, if it was safe to go to him. Waking Jack in the midst of one of his nightmares had always been a risky thing to do. And then she heard him utter a small sound, low and filled with hurt, and without thinking she moved toward him. "Jack?" she asked softly, then a little louder. "Jack?" Carefully, ready to duck back if he reacted violently, she reached out to stroke the hand of his outstretched arm, the fingers curled into a fist. He jerked at her light touch, then relaxed, the fingers loosening as she stroked them and spoke softly. "Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay."

His eyes were still closed, but his fingers wrapped around hers. "Sara," he whispered.

She wasn’t sure if he said her name in recognition or in longing, but he sighed, and held her fingers tightly.

Uncertain, she stood beside the bed, the rational part of her insisting she should pull her hand from his grasp and go back to her own bed; the emotional side of her, the side that loved him still despite what had happened between them, despite the times he had disappointed her, despite his failure to comfort her when she had needed him most, demanded that she stay.

Emotion won.

She sat on the side of the bed, her hand still enclosed by his much larger one, and finally, she slipped down to lie uncertainly atop the covers beside him.

"Sara," he whispered her name again, and rolled over toward her. With a sigh, she slid under the covers, and pulled him in closer.

/----------\/----------\

"This is nice," the rumble of Jack’s amused voice beside her ear, very close beside her ear, woke her. They were in his bed, spooned up, on their left sides, her back against his chest, his right arm draped loosely over her, the way they’d slept together for years.

She jumped up, scrambling out of the bed to stand looking down at him. "Jack, um, I’m sorry."

"I’m not. It was a pleasant way to wake up, though I don’t remember how…"

"You were having a nightmare."

He closed his eyes slowly. "I didn’t…?"

"No, you were just mumbling things. I was worried that you might be… sick… running a fever or having a relapse or something."

"I’m okay."

She looked at the clock, and saw it was nearly 9 a.m. "You slept awfully late," she said, worry creeping back into her tone.

"I was tired. I’m recuperating, remember."

She spotted the pill bottle on the bedside table, and realized that explained why he hadn’t really wakened when she’d entered his room, or why he hadn’t been up at his usual break of dawn. When she turned back to him, he was staring at her. She felt suddenly self-conscious.

"You used to wear nicer stuff to bed… and, um, less..."

"Sleeping alone, it doesn’t matter much," she answered, and turned and fled the room.

/----------\

She was in the kitchen, making breakfast by the time he emerged from his room. "I assume eggs and bacon are still okay?"

"Fine."

They ate in awkward silence, and when they were finished, he carried the dishes to the sink, and wordlessly, he went out to sit on the dock.

Sara washed the dishes, all the while thinking, about him, about them, about her life, about what she wanted, and if she wanted him. No, that was the wrong question. She wasn't wondering if she *wanted* him, but if she could *cope* with him. Would the positives of getting involved with him overcome the negatives? A relationship with Jack was work, filled with uncertainties, shadowed by their loss, with the unanswered questions that still hovered between them, and knowing him, most likely always would.

Dishes dried and back in the cupboard, she rummaged around under the sink and found some cleaning supplies, and started to work. She was on her knees, picking up a scattering of magazines that had fallen onto the floor, when the door opened, startling her.

Jack stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the light, his face shadowed. All she could see was his tall, broad-shouldered, lean outline.

"I didn’t bring you here to clean," he said.

She turned to him. "Then what did you bring me here for, Jack?"

"Company."

"You could have brought someone else. Your friends."

"They… I…," uncharacteristically, he stammered, and then answered honestly, hurt in his voice. "I invited them, lots of times. Teal’c came once, and he hated it." It was as close as he could come to admitting he was lonely and that he needed her.

He shifted his gaze and met her eyes, and in that moment she saw the aching emptiness in his soul. It scared her, but it also touched her deep inside.

Silently, they stared at one another.

"C’mon, it’s too pretty a day to be in here," he waved outside. "Nature awaits."

/----------\

They walked all morning, a slow and easy pace, stopping often to admire the beauty. Hand in hand, they strolled down the lane past the pond, all the way to the nearby river, without exchanging a word. The day had grown warmer, and he took off his coat, spreading it down on the grassy knoll that overlooked the waterway.

Jack sat down, stretching out his long legs.

Sara sat beside him.

Geese called as they flew overhead, the wind whispered through the trees. The air smelled of water and damp leaves and pine trees. The forest was a riot of color- yellow, red, brown, gold, and green.

"This is so nice. Quiet. Peaceful," he laid back with a long sigh and she snuggled close to him. "No one making demands, no one expecting answers, no one calling, not even the President."

She sat up to stare down at him. "The *President* calls you?"

"I *am* a General."

"There are lots of generals," she countered knowingly.

"Deep space radar telemetry is important. To the President. Its, uh, a uh… hobby of his."

She laid back down beside him. "Funny, I never heard that during his last campaign."

"Top secret hobby."

"Ah, huh. So, what’s he like? The President?"

"Presidential."

She playfully punched his shoulder. "Jaaack…"

"He’s, uh, I don’t know, sort of ordinary, really. Shorter than you’d think. Smart, though. Perceptive."

"He must be smart, he promoted you."

Jack snorted derisively. "Very funny, Sara."

"I wasn’t being funny."

No, he thought, she’d always supported him, stood up for him, and, as much as anyone ever had, understood him. He damped down the urge to say something sarcastic, and said, instead, simply, "Thank you."

She sat up again, to once more stare down at him, surprised at his candor. Jack had always had a problem with being serious, with accepting compliments or praise. Maybe he had changed over the last few years, not a lot, but some. She hoped he had; in fact, she knew he must have, or he wouldn’t have been promoted to general. "You know, Jack, I think you’ve finally grown up."

He shot her a not entirely feigned look of horror. "Grown up? Me?"

"A little," she qualified.

"Not too much, I hope."

She laughed, running a hand through his silvered hair. "Maybe it’s just the gray. Makes you look grown-up."

"Old?"

"No, mature."

"That bad, huh?"

"That good, flyboy." She leaned in, and kissed him.

/----------\

Their walk home was leisurely, their simple supper by firelight comfortable and cozy.

When the sun finally set, they went back outside and sat on the deck chairs in the dark, watching the stars emerge one by one. He named them, and the constellations, and when she listened very close, she could almost hear Charlie’s voice repeating the names after him, as he used to do.

Quiet moments passed.

His next words surprised her. "Not too long ago I was to a wedding…"

"You?" she asked in surprise. She’d always had to drag him along to any formal occasion.

"Yeah. Teal’c’s kid. He’d be about the same age..." Jack paused. "I don’t think about him everyday anymore. Sometimes, days go by," Jack said softly. "Should I feel guilty?"

She didn’t need to ask whom it was he was talking about, though it surprised her that he could speak at all about their son. Apparently, he finally had come to terms, though his voice was still raw with the pain of loss. "It’s okay, Jack. Life goes on. We need to forget sometimes. Just like we need to forgive."

"I still feel guilty."

She knew he meant something different this time. "I know. But you don’t need to. It’s okay to forgive yourself."

It was so dark she could barely discern his head shake. "Never."

She squeezed his arm, and said nothing, because there was nothing she could say to change his mind. She’d long ago forgiven him, and she knew that he knew that, just as she knew that she couldn’t absolve him of his stubborn need to punish himself. "Sometimes, I wonder what he’d be like. What he’d look like, what he’d be doing."

"College."

"The Academy. He always wanted to follow in your footsteps."

Jack was silent for a long moment. "When I got the promotion, at the ceremony, I thought about him being there, and you, too. I’m sure he’d have hated it, but…" he let the rest of the thought drift away.

"I’d have loved it," she answered honestly.

"It happened pretty fast, there were some, ah, odd circumstances. Maybe some other time you can go to the White House."

"They held your promotion ceremony at the White House?" she asked in disbelief.

"In the Oval Office."

"What did you do?"

"Pretty much just stood there and spoke when spoken to," he deadpanned.

"Jack. That’s not what I meant. And you know it."

She felt him shrug, and knew he couldn’t tell her, which meant it was something big and important and incredibly top secret.

"Deep space radar telemetry," he said, knowing she knew it was a cover story that left far too much uncovered.

/----------\

Finally, the chill turned to cold, even snuggled up to the warmth that was Jack.

"Time to go in?" he asked.

She nodded. "It’s late."

"We’re on vacation," he reminded.

"Even on vacation, it’s late. And cold."

He followed her inside, and stood watching as she headed for her bedroom.

She heard the subtle noises as he stoked the fire to heat the cabin for the night. Slipping out of her sweater, she reached for the t-shirt. With the soft cotton in her hand, she stopped. It was time, if it was ever going to be time. Throwing the shirt down, she dug into her bag and pulled out the silky negligée. Short, soft pink, tiny spaghetti straps, an embroidered rose trailing down the hip. Sexy. Skimpy. Definitely not designed for sleeping alone on a cold night. She slid into it, feeling the goose bumps rise on her arms. She shivered, both from the chill and from the risk she knew she was taking- not just the risk of this one night, but the risk of letting him back into her life.

This was an irrevocable step, a commitment, to move beyond the easy friendship and casual romance they'd been sharing and on to something more intimate. It would be an attempt to breach the wall that stood between them, and there was the risk that if she failed, if *they* failed, they could lose one another again, forever.

She didn't want that to happen, but she was scared to succeed, too. It was hard to offer her heart once more, to risk heartbreak at his hands, because she'd been there before, and knew how deeply he had wounded her.

He'd told her once, long ago, that as a leader, the most important thing was to do something, even if it was the wrong thing.

Follow your heart, Sara, she told herself, and stepped out of the bedroom.

The living room was dim, lit only by the glow of the fireplace. He was bent down before it, feeding more wood into the flames, the fire reflecting off the silver in his rumpled hair.

"Jack…"

He jumped up and turned toward her, surprised. "I thought you were going to bed…" his voice drifted away as he looked at her, seeing what she was wearing. He licked his lips. "That, uh, looks cold."

"I thought maybe you’d have some ideas on how to warm me up," she suggested, provocatively.

He was staring at her, his eyes bright as he stepped toward her. "Sara, I, uh…"

"Me, too, flyboy," she whispered, walking forward into his arms.

He bent down and kissed her shoulder, trailing tiny kisses along her collarbone, up her neck, along her jaw to her chin, to her inflamed lips. His hands rose to the back of her neck, burying themselves in her hair.

Her breathing was shaky already, she could barely utter the words, "I think the bedroom might be better for this."

Taking her hand in his, wordlessly he led her down the hallway.

Only a slice of moonlight filtered into the darkness of the room.

He undressed her first with his eyes, and then with his hands. Slowly, gently, he slid the silk straps down off her shoulders, letting the soft material slide down her body to pool at her feet.

She returned the favor then, sliding her hands under his sweater, lifting it carefully up his chest, over his head and arms. Her hands went to his belt, undoing it, then the buttons and the zipper on his pants. Finally, she was sliding the khakis down his hips, tugging his baby blue briefs with them, over the growing bulge at his groin.

He kicked his clothes away, and reached for her.

Sara moved to him, her hands against his chest, pushing him back until his knees bumped the bed and he slid down onto it with a choked sound she hoped was agreement. Still taking charge, she straddled him, her kisses working their way from the sensitive edges of his earlobes along his jawline and over to his lips, down his neck, across his chest, carefully avoiding the still vivid stitches there. Her exploring hand slid down to his groin and discovered he was rock hard. When her fingers brushed across his erection, he bucked against her, and almost came right then.

"Down boy. Your time will come," she smiled at her own double entendre.

His one coherent thought was a fervent prayer that if this was one of *those* dreams, no one would wake him up.

She wasn’t done exploring him. She knew his erogenous zones well. Bypassing his groin, even when his hips bucked upward in a blind search for contact, she slid her hands down his long slender legs. Feathering her fingers along the sensitive flesh on the inside of his thighs, she skimmed over the edges of the unfamiliar scar on the outside of his right leg just above the knee. Leaning down, she kissed it, then kissed her way up along the outside of his long, lean thigh. Her hands planted firmly on his hips, holding them down, she leaned in and breathed on his groin.

He writhed as, eyes closed, a moan escaped him. "Sara, please," he whispered.

Her hands slid upward, brushing across his nipples, as hard and erect as his straining organ. Bending down, letting her long hair trail across his chest, she nipped lightly at one nipple.

Once more he moaned, his breath coming in panting gasps as he called her name.

She grinned wickedly, enjoying the ability to be in control.

And just as suddenly, she wasn’t.

Somehow, in an instant, she was no longer on top. He rolled over, carrying her with him, his knees on either side of her thighs, his hands braced on the sheet next to her forearms, his face buried against her neck. She could feel the faint scratchiness of his whiskers against her throat as he raised one hand and slid it across her shoulder and sought her breast. She arched her back upward, craving his touch. But the hand was moving, sliding along her ribcage, across her abdomen, along the line of her hip. The long fingers were tickling the back of her knee, then gliding upward along the softness of her thigh, and into the hair at her center. His fingertips brushed her clitoris, and she shivered and moaned as they slid inside her, finding her moist and warm and ready.

Holding back, he entered her slowly, her hips rising to meet him and pull him deeper inside. With one hard thrust, he buried himself deep within her. Withdrawing slightly, it was Sara moaning now as he slid forward once more. Fighting to hold himself in check, to make this last, he kept the easy pace, holding the rhythm. He was lost now, head thrown back, breathing ragged, focussed only on the hot, slick sensations of fulfillment. Even as she whispered his name and began to shudder with her own climax, he felt the first shiver building along his backbone, drawing a feral growl from him. He tried to hold back, tried to hold on, but the rising tide was unstoppable. Suddenly, he was drowning in the overwhelming sensation of release.

/-----\

Sara woke with the strange feeling that someone was watching her, maybe because he was. Light was streaming in the windows.

"Good morning." He was smiling like it really was a good morning.

"Mmmmmm. Yes." She savored the warmth of the covers, and of his body curled next to hers.

"Sleep well?" he asked, his hand sliding along her arm, up to her shoulder.

"Very." She slid across the smooth sheets, closer to him. "You look well rested."

"I had a good night."

"Really?"

"Really," he deadpanned, waggling his eyebrows.

"That’s good. Injured soldiers need their rest."

"Not too much rest, though. I’m feeling *quite* recuperated." There was a smug tone to his voice.

She could tell, from the way his hip fitted next to hers, that he was in fact *very* well rested. And quite wide awake. All of him. "I can tell."

He leaned toward her, dropping a light kiss on her shoulder. "Wanna fool around?"

"I thought you’d never ask."

/-----\

Breakfast was late, making their long morning walk late as well.

After lunch, he went out to the dock. Sitting in one of the lawn chairs, feet up on a cooler, rod and reel in hand, a line thrown in the water, he looked every inch the definition of masculine relaxation.

As she finished washing the dishes, she realized he was really relaxed. He was sleeping.

She let him rest.

Finally, she went out to join him, letting the screen door bang shut to warn him of her approach.

He didn’t move, but she knew he was no longer asleep.

She walked up to stand beside his chair. "Sleeping?"

"Just resting my eyes," he answered, without opening them.

She put her hands on his shoulder. "Ah, yes, now. But you were sleeping."

"Just resting up."

"For?"

"Tonight?"

"Oh. I thought maybe tonight we’d go to bed early."

"That’s why I’m resting up."

She leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Yeahsureyoubetcha, flyboy."

/----------\/----------\

She couldn’t believe the weekend was nearly over. After a second passionate night together, they had gone for one last morning walk, and sat once more on the rocks along the shore, looking out at the wilderness. In a few hours, they would have to leave the peace and beauty behind, drive back to the airbase, and return to Colorado.

"You know, this is kinda us," he pointed around them at the trees.

She looked back over her shoulder at him. "What do you mean?"

"Fall. Late in the year. The days getting shorter. Colors changing," he waved a hand at his hair, gone nearly white along his temples, a light gray elsewhere, only a few bare hints of brown remaining here and there.

She snuggled in against him, seeking his warmth. "Where did the years go?"

His eyes looked smoky, dark, and once again she wondered what he had endured during the last eight years. Difficult things, she knew, dangerous, and dark. Nothing else could put that kind of look in his bright eyes.

He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. "I don’t know. Seems like yesterday, the first time we came up here."

"Yes," she answered quietly, remembering their honeymoon here. "I shouldn’t have stayed away so long."

"You could have come up here anytime, used the place…"

"Not alone. It wouldn’t have meant anything that way. Besides, it wasn’t really the cabin I was referring to."

"Oh," he looked away. "Sara, what I’m doing…"

"Is important. I know."

"I’ll retire…

"When you’re ready."

He nodded. "I can’t just walk away. I have a duty to the people I command…"

She sighed. "Duty always did come first."

"I’m sorry for that."

"Don’t be. It’s who you are."

"It’s been unfair to you."

"No one ever said life would be fair to us, Jack."

"No, they didn’t." He paused. "I’d like us to stay," the right word eluded him, "friends."

"The last couple of nights we've been more than friends."

"Yes, we have," he agreed.

"We can keep doing what we’re doing," she suggested hopefully. "We're adults. We *do* only have to answer to ourselves."

"The Air Force frowns on its Generals, ah, doing, ah, what we’ve been doing."

"Generals aren’t allowed to make mad passionate love? Isn’t that *good* for troop morale?"

"It can be distracting."

"True."

"But we are grown-ups."

"Yes, we are."

He sighed. "I don’t get much time off."

"Then we'd better make the most of it, flyboy." She leaned in and kissed him.

/---------------\finis/---------------\