The Wiser Approach of Fifth

By Bren Ren

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Summary: If Fifth had truly seen into Sam's heart when he kidnapped her in New Order, he might well have taken this approach instead.

Rating: All Audience

Disclaimer: Dear PTB… For cryin' out loud, how many times do I have to tell you? If you'd gotten this right in the first place, I wouldn't have to fix it with fic! :P

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The first thing that came to Samantha Carter's mind when she woke up was that she was in a bed, and an unfamiliar one at that, according to her bleary eyes. She sat up slowly, closed her eyes, and shook her head as though the physical action would be enough to shake the mental cobwebs clouding her thoughts. When she opened her eyes again, she was still in the strange room, even though the last thing she remembered clearly was… Fifth.

The human-form Replicator she had betrayed some time ago had come after her for revenge… but somehow, she'd ended up here instead. Wherever "here" was.

She threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She rose to her feet cautiously; once she'd reached the fully upright position, she padded across the cold, bare hardwood floor and found herself standing in front of a full-length mirror staring at a reflection that was as unfamiliar as the rest of her surroundings.

Her hair was long, for one thing. She reached up to touch it, pulling on a lock to confirm it was indeed securely attached to her scalp. She smoothed her hand over a few wayward tresses as she took in the rest of her appearance. She was clad in a simple white nightgown, nothing more, nothing less. Her hands trailed down her torso and came to rest above her abdomen, which seemed… swollen, almost as if she were—no. That was impossible.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam murmured to herself. She turned away from the mirror to scan the room once again. She spied a robe hanging on the back of a door and quickly grabbed it. She was just getting her second arm through the sleeve when her ears caught hint of sounds coming from outside. Chopping sounds. More curiously concerned than frightened at this point, Sam left the bedroom.

The room directly across from her appeared to be a small kitchen/dining room combo, and to her left was a small living room, sparsely furnished with what one might call "shabby chic"—one well worn couch, a small end table bearing a lamp that had certainly seen better days, and a large fluffy throw rug covered most of the floor. The walls were made of logs, not a hint of sheetrock could be seen anywhere in this little cabin.

The chopping sounds continued, drawing Sam toward the front door, where a pair of worn, comfy-looking slippers seemed to be waiting for her. As she slipped them on, she realized that the insides seemed pre-conformed to the shape of her feet, like she'd been wearing these slippers every day for ages. Every new detail she took in only added to her confusion.

Sam opened the door and stepped out into the bright sunshine. It was fairly brisk out, and a light breeze played with the edges of her robe as she began to make her wary way towards the sounds coming from around the corner. And yet, even with all the strangeness she had awoken to, none of it prepared her for the sight on the side of this cabin.

Jack O'Neill, clad in jeans and an open plaid flannel over a gray t-shirt, was chopping wood near a small dock overlooking a large pond.

"Hey there, sleepyhead! Good morning," he greeted her warmly the moment he spotted her approaching.

"Good morning?" Her tone was decidedly incredulous.

Jack dropped the ax down, sinking it into the chopping block before he walked across the grass to meet Sam half-way. "Not having a good morning?" he asked her, concern lighting his eyes.

"What's going on here, sir?"

"Sir?" Jack repeated with a frown. "Thought we dropped the whole Sir/Carter thing when we left the SGC."

"Left the SGC?" The incredulous tone was replaced by dubiousness this time as Sam echoed Jack's words.

"Oh." Understanding seemed to fill his tone now. "We're having one of those mornings."

"What are you talking about?" She was clearly beginning to get more than a little agitated.

Jack draped an arm over her shoulder and ushered her over to a pair of rustic wood chairs. As they sat down, Jack reached over and took one of her hands in his own. "What's the last thing you remember?" he asked her gently.

Sam's eyes crinkled in a frown. "Fifth had kidnapped me."

"Sam," Jack said softly, "that was a year ago."

"What?!" Sam tried to leap out of her chair, but Jack held her still. "No. No way have I forgotten an entire year!"

"This isn't the first time you've woken up with a total memory black-out, sweetheart." That odd endearment suddenly stilled her. "About a year ago, after Fifth captured you, the Asgard managed to thaw me out. They finally came up with a weapon capable of stopping the bugs. We tracked Fifth down, rescued you, did a little galaxy-wide exterminating, came home. The first morning, you woke up with no memory of anything that had happened after Fifth had started torturing you. Same thing the next day. It was a full week before you woke up knowing where you really were."

Sam shook her head in denial. "No. That can't be true. This has to be some sort of trick."

"No trick, Sam." Jack spoke with his most reassuring tone. "Just you, me, and the wilds of Northern Minnesota. When your recovery was still slow going after a few weeks, we finally sat down and talked." Jack winced briefly. "And you know how much I love talking. Anyway, long story short: I retired, again, and you are officially on medical leave, although lately you've been talking about making it permanent."

"No," Sam denied again. "No, Fifth has to be behind this, and I'm not falling for it. None of this is real."

"What would it take to convince you this is real?" Jack asked gamely.

Sam narrowed her eyes at him. "One memory. Just one thing from this last year we've supposedly lived."

"All right. Fair enough." Jack stood up and dragged his hands through his hair. "You should know, though… We've never had much luck triggering a total recall. Usually just comes back to you in bits and pieces over time."

Sam rose up to stand toe to toe with Jack. "You're gonna have to do better than that," she challenged.

"Okay," Jack answered, drawing out the one word answer as he scanned their surroundings pensively. "That tree," he said after a moment, indicating a tall redwood a short distance behind her.

"What about it?" Sam turned to look at it, but there was nothing the slightest bit familiar about it.

"The day we arrived, you got out of the truck and walked to this tree," Jack told her, his actions mirroring his words. Sam followed a few steps behind, but Jack reached back and took her hand. He pulled her all the way over to the trunk, turning her so that her back was up against its rough bark. "You started having a panic attack—you get those sometimes, ever since… Anyway, there you were, wide-eyed, freaking out, rambling ninety miles a minute about making a mistake in leaving the base, so I did the only thing I could to shut you up."

"What?" Sam's heart leapt up into her throat and she barely choked out the question.

"This," Jack answered as he brought his mouth crashing down on hers. The contact was hot, fierce, even primal. As his lips and tongue continued plundering hers, she couldn't deny the strange familiarity in his touch; nor was she able to keep herself from fully responding to the demanding strokes of his mouth—or the sensations this connection wrought throughout her body. Just as she started feeling light-headed from insufficient oxygen, he released her.

"Still nothin'?" Jack asked after a breath-catching moment.

Sam shook her head. "That was… familiar, somehow, but… I don't remember anything different."

"Tell me," Jack said in a low voice. "Did not remembering make it feel any less real?"

Sam held his gaze for a long, tense moment before shaking her head. "No. That felt pretty real," she admitted begrudgingly.

Jack took a half step back. "Real enough for you to give it some time for it all to come back?"

Again, Sam held his stare for a while before giving him an answer. "Well," she finally began, "it seems time is the only thing I've got right now."

"Good enough," Jack replied. "You hungry?" he asked, abruptly switching subjects.

Once again, Sam shook her head in disbelief. "Well, if this really is all in my head, it's not going to make much difference whether or not I eat."

"Maybe not for you," Jack answered, good humor returning to his voice. "But I've been out here chopping wood all morning, and I could really use some sustenance." He slung his arm over her shoulder again and began leading her back around to the front of the cabin.

******

Sam pushed away her emptied plate with a little more force than necessary.

Jack scooped the last bite of his omelet into his mouth as he stared at her appraisingly. "Still not convinced?" he queried after swallowing.

"If I could remember just one thing, anything, of what you've told me…" Sam trailed off, her expression as befuddled as ever.

"I told ya, just give it some time," Jack answered in placating tones. "It'll come back. It always does."

Sam started to shake her head again, but a wave of nausea stopped her action short. She let out a soft moan as one hand dropped to cover her unsettled stomach. It passed after only a brief moment, and Sam lifted her gaze back to meet Jack's. "You said I've had these memory lapses before?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah, but they've been tapering off. In fact, last time you had one was almost two months ago."

Sam tipped her head quizzically. "Anything in particular that triggers these memory-wipes?"

"Well," Jack replied slowly, "the docs chalked it up to PTSD. Wasn't till you got away from the stress of the base that you really started recovering."

"And that's why we came here? To get away from the stress?"

"You gotta admit," he answered with a smile, "it's a lot more serene than the hustle and bustle under the mountain."

As she straightened her head, she still didn't appear convinced in the least. "I've dealt with post-traumatic stress before. Yeah, I've blocked out some memories on occasion, but this… this total black-out? There's nothing but a great big… nothing where the last year worth of memories should be—if any of this were real, that is."

Jack stood up from his seat and stepped round the table to crouch beside Sam. "This is real, Sam. I swear," he solemnly vowed.

There was something in the way he said her name just then that actually had part of her wishing this were real. "Then tell me something. If this place is so serene, what triggered this total wipe-out?"

Jack smiled broadly before answering. "Well, we did get some news yesterday that we weren't expecting." Sam raised her brows at him as he took one of her hands in his and lifted it to his mouth to press a soft kiss into her open palm. "Funny, too, since the news we weren't expecting is that… we are expecting."

"Expec— Sam broke off with a sharp gasp. Her free hand slipped lower down her stomach to rest on her abdomen—the very one she'd noted earlier had appeared swollen in her reflection. "Expecting?" she finally finished in a whisper.

Jack nodded. "We were both pretty surprised. We hadn't really even talked about the idea." Tears began welling up in her eyes, and she blinked fast to try to keep them at bay. Jack lifted his free hand to clasp her cheek; his thumb smoothed away the hint of moisture at her lids. "I know this is a lot to take in. It's hard, and it's probably gonna get harder before it gets better. You're going to remember some pretty dark stuff you'd probably rather keep forgetting. Just remember one thing, Sam: You are not alone in this. I promise, I will always be here for you. No matter what. Believe me."

Suddenly her brows arched sharply as her eyes narrowed critically. She rose from the table with deliberate force, giving the man crouched before her a good shove. "You just blew it, Fifth."

He looked up at her from his sprawled out position on the floor. "Huh?"

Sam stomped the short distance across to him. She dropped down to a menacing crouch over him and grabbed the front of his shirt. "There is no way in hell Jack O'Neill would just happen to use those very same words I imagined him saying when I was hallucinating on the Prometheus. Coincidence, I think not. Give up this game, Fifth. I am done playing along."

With a bright flash, Jack O'Neill disappeared, replaced by one very unhappy looking human-form Replicator. "I am only trying to give you what you want, Samantha."

Sam huffed. "What I want is for you to let me go. Now."

Anger suddenly coursed through Fifth's face as he tore her hand off his chest. He grabbed her shoulders in both hands and dragged them both up to their feet in one fluid motion. "You will not leave me again, Samantha Carter."

Sam held his stare, her eyes flashing her fury. "Don't bet on that."

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Fin ~