Disclaimer Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

Sam dragged the swiffer across the wall one last time and stepped back, craning her neck to survey her work. It was clean. Nice and clean.

A gentle breeze wafted in the open window, ruffling her mussed hair. Through the screen, she could see the tiny, light green leaves on the trees and hear the occasional bits of bird song. Technically, it wasn't quite spring yet, the equinox was still weeks away, but someone had forgot to remind Mother Nature of that fact.

The air still held a chill and the temperature at night still teased the freezing mark, but during the day it was refreshingly warm, the fifties and occasional sixties feeling almost tropical after months spent below freezing.

She knew it wouldn't last, winter never gave up that easily and they were due for at least one more frigid blast, but Sam planned to take full advantage of the taste of spring and air out and clean her house.

She went into the kitchen and grabbed a can of soda, then plopped onto the couch, surveying her work. She really had too much junk, too many things cluttering the tables and shelves of her place. It gave the dust somewhere to settle. She should box up some of it, pack it away.

Unfortunately, she knew what would happen if she did that…she'd just go out and collect more.

Getting to her feet, she paced around the room, unable to squash the unsettled feeling that she had. Something different. That's what she needed, something different.

She'd gotten in a rut. Get up, go to work, work, come home, sleep, get up, go to work….yadda, yadda. Maybe that was what was wrong. Her life had become predictable, comfortable, boring.

Something needed to change.

The couch? No. It was only a couple of years old and she loved her leather couch, she really did. She'd finally gotten it broken in and had spent more than one long night cushioned in its soft embrace. Not her entertainment center either.

That was a lovely oak piece and had been really hard to find considering that she'd bought a large TV without thinking about just how big of an entertainment center it would take to hold it.

She wouldn't get rid of the rug either. It was a fantastic soft Persian she'd found at a flea market a couple of years ago and she loved the rich reds and blues in it.

Maybe she'd go look for some different things to hang on the walls. She could try that antique mall down on Colorado Boulevard. Nah, that'd just be more to dust.

Plopping back down on the couch, she idly grabbed for the remote and turned on the TV, her thumb automatically starting to surf. She might as well face it; she was well and truly stuck in a rut, set in her ways…boring. It was official, she was a boring person, doomed to spend the rest of her life surrounded by the same old stuff because she was too attached and comfortable to let anything change. She was a wimp. She was a wuss. She was going to be the odd old lady with twenty cats and every edition of Astrophysics Today stacked in her basement.

A commercial came on and she stopped surfing, leaning forward. Paint. A good looking guy was painting a house, using a combination of some paint pumping thing and some sort of ladder that changed into four different positions…one that would even reach a tall vaulted ceiling and go up and down stairs.

She had never painted this place; the walls were the same color they'd been when she'd moved in. Heck, she'd even used some of the same nails to hang her random pictures and posters.

It really wouldn't take that long, not with a roller. Maybe a couple of hours. And even if it did take longer, so what? What the hell else did she have to do during her enforced long weekend, her recent experience on Prometheus gaining her two weeks of medical leave, only three days of which were over.

Buoyed with enthusiasm, she gulped down the last of her soda and got to her feet. Making her way to the hall closet, she grabbed her coat and purse and headed out the door. This was going to be fun.

<><><><><>

Oh, this sucked, she thought, staring at the bewildering selection of colors in front of her. There were six different kiosks, all by a different designer, all with similar but slightly different pallets. There was Behr, Sherwin Williams, Martha Stewart and more. Although she thought she could give the Nickelodeon selection a pass, that still left thousands of colors, any of which could be equally fantastic or horrible on her walls.

That yellow looked nice…no, it'd clash with the red in the rug. Maybe green…no, there was already too much green in her life. Studying the colors, her eyes settled on a warm, silvery gray. She picked up the paint chip, holding it at arms length and studying it closely. That could be nice. It would go with everything, even her sofa. It had a slight sheen to it, something that made it seem pleasant and inviting, not like the cold gray of the walls of the SGC.

"Can I help you?" a clerk asked.

"Yeah," she said, handing him the paint chip. "I need three gallons of this."

"Flat, gloss or semi-gloss?"

"Semi-gloss."

"Ok," he said, stepping back behind the counter and reaching for unblended cans of paint. "It'll be a few minutes."

"That's ok," she said. "I need to go see about a ladder."

"Aisle twenty-three."

"Thanks." She walked away, slowly weaving her way between other customers. The warehouse store was huge, people's voices echoing off open raftered ceilings. Occasionally she could catch a glimpse of a couple of sparrows, birds that had obviously found their way in an open door and decided to make their home in the rafters.

Finding the ladder aisle, she found the one she was looking for and stared in consternation at the apparatus. "This could be a problem," she muttered, mentally measuring the bulky ladder against the confines of her Volvo…and her car came up short. Maybe they had a truck she could rent…or better yet, one that she could borrow.

Digging her cell phone out of her pocket, she dialed a familiar number. "Colonel, hey, are you busy right now?"

<><><><><>

Jack drove through the parking lot, expertly dodging the occasional SUV and pick-up driver, all intent upon achieving their goals as quickly as possible.

Spying the blond head of his teammate, he maneuvered over to her, coming to a stop. "Carter," he said, rolling down the passenger window. "Your eyes bigger than your wallet?" he asked, blinking at the heavily loaded cart.

"Just my car," she said. "I really appreciate this, sir."

He put his truck into park and got out, moving around to the back. "Building a supersized reactor?"

She smiled. "No. I'm painting my living room," she said, hefting cans of paint into the bed of the truck. He could see that she also had a bundle of plastic sheets and bags of brushes and other things. An orchid peeked its head jauntily out of the bag and she set it aside. "This is what I needed your truck for," she said, pointing at the ladder. Together they lifted it up and slid it into the bed of the truck. She stepped back and Jack raised the tailgate.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"I'll take this home," she said, picking up the flower.

"Ok. I'll meet you there."

"Thank you." She walked across the lot to her car and Jack climbed up into his truck, pausing a moment to watch, his eyes lingering on her ass, appreciating how the worn denim clung to her curves, the blue material faded white in places.

Who knew that her fatigues covered such a fine form? Talk about camouflage.

That was one of the things he loved about his job…travel, fun, scenery.

The honking of a horn pulled him from his fantasy and he waved, putting the truck into gear and pulling away from the store. For once in his life he was grateful that he'd answered the phone.

<><><><><>

Sam carried in the last of her supplies, maneuvering herself around Jack who was standing in the middle of her living room. "So, what's wrong with these walls?" he asked.

"They're white," she said.

"Yeah."

"They were white when I moved in."

"So?"

"So, I've spent the past few days doing a lot of staring at these walls and I'm sick of them being white," she answered.

"Ok," he shrugged. "Where do we start?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm guess you want to cover this stuff." He waved his hand around the room.

"I will. I didn't mean for you to help paint, I just needed the help getting the ladder here," she said.

"I know," he said, slipping off his leather jacket. "Look, I'm going stir crazy at home. This is a way to kill an afternoon."

"You're sure?" she asked, eager for the help but not wanting to deal with reluctant assistance.

"Yep."

"Ok, umm…" She looked around the cluttered room, trying to find a place to start.

"Why don't we drag stuff into the center of the room. You can pile the stuff on the couch and such and we'll cover it. All we need are the walls anyway," he suggested.

She nodded. "That sounds good."

He clapped his hand. "Well, then, let's get this show on the road."

<><><><><>

Three hours later, Sam stood back and surveyed their work. Her once white walls were now a soft, silvery gray. Instead of being depressing, she found the color inviting and even comforting in a way.

"Not too bad," Jack said, setting down his roller.

"Nope, not bad at all," she agreed. Her stomach growled and she looked at her watch. "I'm hungry, pizza?" she offered.

"Sure," he agreed, wiping off his hands.

"I'll call it in." She found the phone and called in the order, then grabbed a couple of beers from the refrigerator. "Want one?"

He accepted and she sat down on the floor, finding a small clear spot in the middle of the room. They'd pushed all the furniture away from the walls, creating a small island of jumbled chaos. The floor was covered with plastic sheets, protecting the wood and they rustled slightly as they'd walked on them.

Sam had also draped the furniture with the same plastic sheets and it gave the room a surreal cast. She found if she let her eyes go out of focus a bit it almost looked like they were in the midst of a huge, puffy cloud.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the back of her sofa, sighing softly. She was tired, but it was a pleasant kind of tired. The kind that comes from accomplished hard work, not the bone numbing kind that comes from a battle or an infirmary vigil.

"You ok?"

She opened her eyes at his voice. "What?"

"Your head's not bugging you, is it?"

She smiled faintly, warmed by his concern. "No. Just…pleasantly tired," she said.

"That's good. Fraiser'd probably have my head if she knew you were climbing up on ladders," he said, taking a swig of his beer.

"I haven't had a dizzy spell for days, and she knows that," she muttered.

"Aahah!"

"What?"

"So you were feeling bad," he said, pouncing on her words.

"Concussions tend to do that to you," she said, venturing into a topic she'd been trying to ignore for the past few weeks. She hadn't told any of them what she remembered from her time on Prometheus, nothing beyond the most basic. That she remembered being knocked out, remembering staggering around the ship. She remembered inventorying the food and attempting to escape. In other words, she'd told them only what they already knew with not a peep about the other parts. The bits and pieces that she didn't know if she even wanted to admit to herself.

"You told Fraiser that you felt fine," he challenged.

"And if I told her every single time I had a headache or bit of vertigo, she'd have me in that MRI so often half the compasses in Colorado Springs would point to my house," she said. "You've had concussions before, headaches are par for the course."

"Headaches, yes, dizzy spells…"

"Twice, as in two…and both times I just moved too fast," she corrected. She looked at him. "Is that why you're here?"

"What?"

"Is that why you offered to help? Afraid I'd fall down and need more time off or something?"

"No," he said, frowning at her. "I offered to help a friend paint her house. I'd do the same for anyone." He frowned, struggling to his feet. "Maybe I'll just go."

"Hey, be careful or you'll---"

The rest of her sentence remained unsaid as he stumbled, one foot caught in a fold in the plastic. He fell, landing with a large splat, his butt squarely in the middle of the roller pan. "Son of a bitch!" he cursed.
Despite herself, she started to laugh. "It is not funny," he protested, which only made her laugh harder.

"You have absolutely no idea how wrong you are," she said, wishing she had a camera. His long legs were sprawled and she could only admire how the paint ran down his legs as he tried to stand up.

"I was just getting these jeans broken in."

"I'm really sorry," she apologized, getting to her feet.

"It's not your fault, I'm the klutz. I'll just go and-"

"You can' t go home."

"Why not?"

"You'll ruin your car seat," she said.

"Just give me some of the plastic sheeting and-"

"I've got a better idea."

"There's a big surprise."

"I'll be right back," she said, ignoring his words. She hurried back into the guest room and returned a few seconds later, a pair of navy sweats in her hands. "I keep these around for dad," she said. "They might be a little short, but they should fit you."

"Thanks," he said, starting to walk towards the bathroom.

"What are you doing?" she asked, moving to stand in his way.

"I'm going to go change," he said slowly.

"You're not walking across my floor in those pants," she said.

"What's wrong with-"

"You are not going to track paint all over my floor."

"Then what do you suggest-"

"Change here on the plastic. I'll go get a sack to put your pants in and-"

"I am not changing here," he protested.

"Why not?"

"I'm not going to strip in your living room."

"Oh for crying out loud!!!! Trust me, this is not the first time there's been a naked body in my living room," she said, regretting the words as soon as the words left her mouth.

"Really?" he asked, his eyebrows creeping up his forehead.

"Look, you change, I'll go…wait outside," she said, turning on her heel and stalking from the room.

<><><><><>

Jack watched her go, frowning a bit at her mood. She did seem a little tense. Or maybe she was just tired. He knew, despite the time off she had to recover from her concussion, that she had been pushing herself very hard over the past few months.

Shrugging, he bent over, loosening the laces of his sneakers. He slipped them off and reached for his waist, frowning when he caught movement on the porch. Sam was pacing back and forth, visible through the open windows.

He turned his back and unbuttoned his pants, wincing at the feel of paint sodden denim pulling away from his flesh. Great, it'd soaked through.

He pulled the jeans down his legs, not caring if they wadded up, they were ruined anyway. He looked up, pausing as he caught sight of the mirror hanging on the dining room wall. Sam was standing on her porch, staring in her window…at him.

He started to step away, walk around the corner, then stopped. No. She wanted a show, he'd give her a show.

Abandoning his boxers, he reached for his shirt instead, slowly unbuttoning it. He let it slip down his arms, catching it in his right hand and tossing it onto the furniture. Wishing that he was wearing more, he snagged his waistband with his thumbs and slowly eased them down his ass, taking his time with the cotton fabric.
The elastic slid down his legs and pooled around his ankles.

Feeling particularly ornery, he bent over, giving her ample time to look her fill. He picked up the boxers and hooked them around one finger, spinning them slightly before tossing them over to rest with his jeans.

He picked up the sweat pants and slowly shook them out, holding them up in front of him, measuring them for size. Shrugging, he flicked them and slowly slid them on, balancing on first his left foot, then his right foot.

He slowly pulled the waist band over his hips, pausing to wiggle them slightly before settling the sweats around his waist. Glancing at the mirror he smiled, thoroughly enjoying the look on her face, the way her eyes were riveted upon him.

Maybe realizing that she was staring, she turned, quickly leaving the window. Chuckling, he fished his wallet out of his ruined pants and reached for his shirt, sliding it back on. He loved winding her up, it was just SO easy.

<><><><><>

"Dinner," Sam said, spying the delivery guy pulling up to the curb. She walked in through the open door, grabbing her wallet out of her purse. She paid the man and re-entered the house, the steaming box held in her hands. She made her way into the living room, sorry to see that he'd put on his shirt. "Another beer?" he asked.

"Sure." She walked past him, setting the box down on her kitchen island. He brought them each a beer and twisted off the tops as she opened the box. Not bothering with plates, they both pulled a piece out of the box. Sam took a bite, closing her eyes in appreciation as the spicy combination of melted cheese and pepperoni washed over her tongue.

She heard him moan softly and she opened her eyes, watching as he chewed, the hot piece of pizza held in his long fingers. She blushed, remembering watching those same fingers caress his ass just minutes before. She knew she shouldn't have looked, but she hadn't been able to help herself. And anyway, what harm was there in looking?

"So," he started, making her look up at him, her mouth full of pizza. "You never did tell me what happened on Prometheus."

She choked a bit, struggling to chew and clear her mouth. "What?"

"Ronson said the aliens kept them for four days. You never did say what you did when you had the ship all to yourself."

"I aah." She set down her pizza and reached for a napkin. "Why does it matter?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. You've just…you've been different since you came back."

"I have been?"

He nodded. "Yeah." She picked up her beer and took a deep draw, debating whether or not to tell him. He was right. She had left her recollections of those four days out of her report, not only because she didn't know which parts were real but because there were things that she remembered that she didn't want to be part of any sort of official record. She didn't want to write them down, because if she did, then the second those words were on paper they'd be real. And she wasn't quite sure if she was ready for that yet. "What happened?" he asked softly.

She stared at him, searching his face for any sign that he was teasing her. She saw nothing but sincere, serious gray eyes. "You ever…seen things?"

"What kinda things?"

"I saw people when I was on the Prometheus. Teal'c, Daniel, my Dad…you." He stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. "They talked to me…or I guess I talked to myself since you weren't really there but…this is silly."

"What'd I say?"

"That you'd always be there-"

"I will."

"That you knew I'd find a way out of it."

"You did."

"That you're a safe bet and as long as I kept thinking about you, I didn't have to worry about getting hurt by anyone else."

He stared at her for a few seconds. "You think about me?" She looked down, suddenly fascinated with her bottle of beer. "You know, you do think too much," he teased gently. "Maybe you should try acting on it more often," he whispered.

"Maybe I should," she agreed, setting down her beer. "There was one more thing that I know was just a dream." She leaned forward, laying her hands on either side of his head and lowered her lips to his. He stiffened for a second and she nearly pulled away, only stopping when his hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her close as his lips opened and he returned her kiss.

She pulled away, staring into his eyes. "So you fantasized about kissing me?" She nodded. "Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one," he said, lowering his lips to hers. He tasted of pepperoni and beer, spicy, warm and a little dangerous. She scooted off the stool, moving to stand between his legs, her hands sliding from his shoulders to brush across his chest.

His hands crept around her waist, sliding up under her shirt, his fingers skimming up her spine. She broke the kiss, leaning back slightly, her breathing fast. "What?" he asked.

"I don't do one night stands," she said bluntly.

"Neither do I."

"And I don't want to stop," she confessed.

"Neither do I," he agreed. She reached down and took his hand in hers. She pulled him off the stool and led him down the hall towards her bedroom.

Once there, she released his hand and turned to face him. She kicked off her shoes and pulled her t-shirt over her head, all the while staring into his eyes. "Hang on, this isn't a race," he said, moving forward and taking her in his arms.

He kissed her again, one hand threading through his hair while the other wrapped around her back, his fingers brushing across her bare skin. She moaned softly, returning the kiss as her fingers found the buttons of his shirt, quickly undoing them so that she could run her hands across his chest. His chest hair tickled her palms as she dragged them across his chest and he groaned, his arms tightening around her.

She smiled against his mouth, pulling him as she stepped backwards. The back of her legs hit the edge of the bed and she fell upon it, laughing when she bounced a bit. "Are you just gonna stand there?" she asked, saucily scooting towards the center of the bed.

"Are you sure you want me to answer that?" he smiled, pulling his shirt off. He climbed onto the bed and laid down beside her. "You're sure about this?" he asked seriously, his eyes meeting hers.

"I've never been more sure in my life," she said, pushing him to his back. She climbed on top, her knees planted on each side of his waist, keeping most of her weight off his stomach.

She knelt forward and kissed him, her tongue sliding into his mouth to duel with his as she felt his hands slide up her side, his fingers slipping under her bra. She moaned as his warm hands caressed her breasts, his thumbs flicking across her nipples, the sensation bringing them to hardened peaks.

His hands crept around to her back and she smiled as he fumbled for the catch on her bra. He unfastened it and she felt the material slide away from her body, the cool air of the room brushing across the sensitive surfaces.

He pulled it forward and she let go of his head, allowing him to slide her bra off. He tossed it across the room and she leaned back, allowing him to look his fill. "You know, fair's fair," she said, reaching behind her to slide her hand under his waistband.

"Carter," he muttered, her name ending in a choked gasp as she grasped him, tweaking his hardening length slightly.

"Sam," she corrected.

"Sam," he agreed, moaning as she caressed him, smiling as she felt him harden under her fingers. She reveled in her strength at that moment, in the power she had over him. She could do it, she knew, she could make him lose control right here, right now. But where was the fun in that?

Sensing her distraction, he bucked, the sudden movement sending her flying…right off the bed and onto the floor. Startled, she cried out, her arms and legs tangled together. "Jesus, Sam, are you ok?" he asked, quickly kneeling at her side.

"That hurt," she whined, absently rubbing her elbow.

"Where?"

"Here," she said, holding out her arm. He took it, gently kissing it, his warm lips lingering over her skin, brushing it with a feather light touch. "And here." She held out her other arm and he kissed it as well, this time tracing his lips from elbow to finger tips, pausing to draw one finger into his mouth, sucking it gently.
She pointed at her knee.

"There too?"

She nodded and he frowned, shaking his head. "I guess I'm just going to need to examine you." He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. "You know it's gonna be hard to do this with those in the way," he said, pointing towards her sweat pants.

She smiled and reached for the waist band, slowly sliding them down her legs, watching him watching her as more and more of her flesh was revealed. She finally stepped free and stood before him, clad only in her panties. "I seem to recall a knee," he said, spinning her around and giving her a gentle shove towards the bed.

She landed with a laugh and rolled to her back, crooking her finger at him. "You're not done yet," she said.
He crawled onto the bed, sitting by her legs. He raised her leg, kissing the soft skin there. She propped herself up on her elbows, watching as he worked his way down her shin and calf, pausing to tickle her foot, tightening his grasp as she laughed and wiggled, struggling to free herself.

"Ticklish are we? I'm going to have to remember that," he teased, releasing her one leg and picking up the other. He kissed his way up her leg as she watched him, her breathing quickening as she watched his lips flutter over her skin. He reached the apex of her thighs and she tensed, her belly quivering as he bypassed her center, moving onto her stomach, licking and nipping at the skin.

She closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensation as her hands found their way down to his head, her fingers threading through his short hair. His tongue dipped into her belly button as his hand settled between her thighs. He caressed her through her panties, the muted feel of his fingers made no less arousing by the thin fabric.

He pushed the crotch aside, touching her for the first time. She gasped, her hands tightening reflexively around his head as he explored her most private parts, his fingers unerringly finding the tiny nub of nerves hidden within the folds of her flesh. She pulled his head away from her stomach, guiding it to her breasts pulling him down as his finger slid into her, the unexpected invasion making her eyes fly open and her hips buck.

Undeterred and possibly encouraged by her response, he took her nipple into his mouth, laving it gently with his tongue as his finger explored her, wiggling in and out of her tight passage. A second finger joined the first and she felt her orgasm begin, pleasure coiling low in her belly. Her thighs tightened around his hand, striving to drive him further and further inside her as her fingers dug into his hair.

Sensing her impending release, he nipped her nipple gently as his thumb massaged her nub, pushing her over the edge.

<><><><><>

Jack released her breast, craning his neck to look at her face, taking immense satisfaction in her closed eyes and the satisfied groan that spilled from her lips. Her muscles relaxed and her thighs fell apart, releasing his hand. Despite that fact, he continued to explore her, enjoying the sensation of her inner muscles clenching around his fingers, imagining how good it would feel to have them clench around something far more sensitive than his callused hands.

Giving into his primal urges, he pulled his hand from between her legs, ignoring her mews of protest as he yanked his sweat pants down, freeing his burgeoning erection. Moving over her, he positioned himself between her legs, only remembering her panties as the head of his penis brushed against them, the damp cotton an impenetrable barrier.

Sweeping them aside, he slid into her, groaning as her hot flesh surrounded him, the juices created by his fingers allowing him to slide most of the way in before he encountered resistance. He felt her tense and he stopped, looking up at her. Her eyes were wide and he was afraid that he'd hurt her. "Sam?"

"Just a second," she said, rearranging her legs, opening her thighs to allow him greater access. He pulled out and thrust again, sliding deeper inside her. He thrust a third time, pausing when she reached up to again grab his head, pulling his lips down to meet hers. She kissed him, one hand sliding between them to caress his chest, her fingers finding his smaller nipples. She pinched it, the tiny bit of pain shooting down straight into his belly.

Sensing that he didn't have too much longer, he thrust again, his goal no longer to seat himself but to explore, riding the exquisite friction. He felt his orgasm build and he struggled to shift his weight to allow one hand to slide between them. Before he could accomplish his goal, he tensed, feeling himself gain his release.

He shot his seed into her, experiencing a moment of pure masculine thrill as he claimed her, branding his ownership as surely as if he had marked her skin. He collapsed on top of her, well aware that he should move, but incapable of it at the moment. He could feel her breathing, her chest heaving under him as her arms explored his back, fingertips swirling through the sheen of sweat covering his back. "Sorry," he muttered, rolling off her.

"For what?" she asked, moving to her side, propping her head in her hands.

"I aah, you…It's just been a while. I'm out of practice," he said, blushing despite himself.

"Oh, that," she said, her fingers tracing circles through the thin mat of hair covering his chest. "We'll just have to work on it."

"We will."

She nodded, leaning in to nuzzle his neck. "You know what they say."

"What do they say?" he asked, one hand lazily exploring her breast, smiling when the nipple hardened under his palm.

"Practice makes perfect," she quipped, her hand reaching down to take his flaccid length in her grasp.

"It does?" he gasped out, pleasantly surprised to feel himself hardening again.

She nodded again. "And I should warn you…I'm a bit of a perfectionist," she said, covering his lips with hers.

He closed his eyes, pulling her into his arms as he sent a quick prayer to whatever cosmic force had told him to pick up the phone that afternoon before turning his attention back to the matters at hand. Perfection, after all, did take a lot of practice…and he planned to enjoy every single second of it.

~Fin~

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