A/N: Former readers from here may have noticed most of my stories have disappeared. They are all publicly available on "archive of our own dot org (slash) users (slash) Nynaeve" (remove the spaces). This is set in the same thread as my "The Fundamental Theorem of Samantha Carter" which I can't post here due to it being "R" rated - it's not overly explicit, but I think it might not fit the TOS for here. Not necessary to have read it to read this one, but if you like this one, you'll like that one even more.

Original Pub Date: 12/7/2011 (US Date)

A/N2: I took some liberties with when exactly Sam returned from Atlantis. Other than that, this sticks with canon. Thanks to SaraBahama for beta reading – and Happy Shipmas 2011! Read, review, but as always, enjoy!

I have returned to the northern skies
Where summer hasn't touched the clouds that pass above
I have returned to the somber grays
Of days too early to come and too hurried to stay. – Dido "Northern Skies"

Silver tinsel drenches the Christmas tree while multi-colored lights blink haphazardly. Sam swears she can see her reflection in the delicate strands lumped unevenly on various branches. It's perfect, she tells herself as she pulls off strategic clumps and moves two of the heavier ornaments lower. The design is inherently Jack, right down to the ornament made out of old Guinness beer caps. She shifts the unsightly object to the back and moves a candy cane higher up.

The tree is more uniform now and she tucks an errant lock of hair behind her ear. She doesn't want to contemplate Woolsey's smug expression or the fact that she didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. The lack of prior notification worries her even though it shouldn't. Her record is spectacular, flawless, beyond reproach. At her rank it's politics and red tape which is why so many people retire before they reach her pay grade. Friends she went to the Academy with and old colleagues from previous assignments are all starting on second careers and new hobbies. She gently tugs on a string of lights.

The front door opens and shuts and she turns around in time to see Jack shaking out his scarf and slipping off his wet boots.

"Hey," he greets her and pads over in his socks to plant a kiss on her lips. "I didn't think you'd be back already."

In reality she's been back for a few hours, enough time to shower and discard the uniform that's no longer relevant. At the sight of Jack in his service dress, guilt seeps in and mixes with her warranted vexation. From the moment Woolsey had informed her that she wasn't coming back for an evaluation, she's been consumed with all that's been left undone.

He disappears down the hall and she finds him in their bedroom, undressing. She leans against the door jamb as he unbuttons his jacket. The lines around his mouth are more pronounced and his skin hangs more loosely than she remembers.

"I've been replaced," she says and his lack of response reminds her that he's the head of Homeworld Security. He already knows. "When did you find out?"

"Three days ago. I knew they were deliberating, but they kept waffling." He meticulously hangs up his jacket and his pants. His hair maybe always mussed, but he knows the rules and he knows that he's got to set an example.

She throws her hands in the air. "They sent Woolsey of all people. A bureaucrat has no business in what is effectively a combat zone."

"It was originally an international program run by a civilian," he points out as he grabs a faded black sweatshirt with Minnesota Vikings' logo.

"So you agree with the decision?" She hears the accusation in her own words and immediately wishes she could take them back. "That's not what I meant. I mean, do you think it's the right thing to do?"

He pauses for a second. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"That's not what I'm asking."

"I don't know if it's the right decision because I wasn't the one to make it."

His non-committal comeback makes Sam feel off kilter. She wants him to protest, to tell her that it was a shitty move they pulled on her, but the doorbell rings and he's gone faster than the Daedalus traveling at FTL. By the time she makes it to the front of the apartment, Cassie has her arms around Jack's neck and there's a young man shifting awkwardly at her side. He's holding a large duffel bag with a worn Hello Kitty decal and he looks absolutely ridiculous.

"Sam!" Cassie squeals.

The hugs and handshakes are exchanged and she discovers the boyfriend's name is Travis. He has military written all over him and Sam watches as they wander back as though they live there. It dawns on her that maybe they do, after all, Jack is only ever here when business brings him to Colorado.

"How long?" She used to be the one with this kind of information.

"A year. She met him just after you left. I think it's serious," Jack comments as they head into the kitchen. "Cassie moved in here this past summer. Decided she liked it better than the dorms."

Her knee-jerk reaction is to wonder why he didn't bother to ask her about Cassie moving in. Not that she minds. She doesn't. Last summer she was kicking Wraith ass in a galaxy far, far away, does she really believe that she would have been able to confer with Jack about each decision that needed to be made? She hears clichés about the world turning and life going on jingle through her head.

"Does Travis live here too?"

"Travis?" he echoes. He grabs two beers from the refrigerator and hands her one. Cold beer. Another luxury of the Milky Way. "No, he's on SG-7. Has an apartment with some buddies of his."

Somewhere between beer and stilted conversations with a boy that is clearly intimidated by her, she ends up staring out the back door to the small balcony. Snow lazily drifts from the gray sky and she sees the reflection of the tree in the window. She tilts her head and decides the tree is leaning too far left. She's going to have to fix that after everyone goes to sleep. Cassie and Travis are cuddled on the sofa watching Miracle on 34th Street and she would think it were adorable if they both didn't seem so grown-up.

Walking by the tree that she's certain is askew, she finds Jack finishing up a pizza order. She gets herself another beer and thinks about mentioning the tree issue.

"I can call in some markers," he states. He's hedging his expression and she can't read his honest opinion although she has no doubt he's sincere in his offer.

"You would do that?"

"Is that what you want?"

She can't answer him because she doesn't know.

He leaves her alone with her beer and she sits in the chair he had occupied seconds before. This is more than about indignation at having her command stripped from her unceremoniously. It's about her people. About Sheppard, Keller, Ronon, and even Rodney. Could she leave them with Woolsey? Her sense of responsibility has been her driving force since childhood and she can't shake the feeling that she ought to be the one making the hard choices for her team.

The situation continues to roll around in her mind even as she lies next to Jack in bed that night. His breathing is even and soothing, and the covers are warm and familiar. On Atlantis she slept alone in a sterile environment and she wonders if the Ancients ever had a period where they were kitschy. She imagines Rodney finding a room in the lowest levels of the city full of baby cherubs with badly painted gold wings. It almost lifts her spirits. She rolls over once and then again and finally gives up. Gingerly she creeps out to the living room and plugs in the lights to the Christmas tree.

It's definitely leaning left.

Gently she pushes the tree right and once she's satisfied, she steps back to admire her handiwork. Except now the star is crooked. She flops on the sofa in exhaustion and glares at the tree she cannot fix.

"Sam?"

Cassie's voice interrupts her private musings as to what exactly constitutes failure and what is simply the natural way of trees. The young woman sits next to her and lays her head on Sam's shoulder.

"Did I wake you up?"

"No," Cassie assures her and she yawns. "Okay, well maybe I noticed the lights."

"Sorry."

"Don't be," she replies and she snuggles against Sam. For a half second she can pretend that Cassie is eleven and that Janet isn't dead and that everything is the way it should be instead of the way that it is.

They sit together for a few minutes basking in the flickering glow. Sam figures out the pattern of the lights, a habit she's had since childhood.

"I'd like to marry him," Cassie confesses, her words slurred by sleepiness.

One strand is off the rhythm. "That's a big step."

"Yeah, I know, but I don't have to pretend with him."

When Sam goes back to bed, she lays her head on her pillow and finds herself face to face with Jack. He's waiting for her to talk because she solves her hardest problems through honest discussion. She kisses him instead, pressing her lips hard against his. His musky aroma, the sharp scent of his aftershave, the spearmint toothpaste he uses all mix together and reminds her that they've both been alone for a year. His hands find bare skin and her fingers trail down his back. They make love underneath a quilt that is at least twenty years old and the bed creaks in response to their silent union. It's raw skin against skin and when she climaxes she bites his shoulder to keep from crying out.

Afterwards, when he's got his arms wrapped around her, she is fully aware of how deeply he's felt her absence. Maybe it's okay that the tree leans too far to the left. Perhaps Atlantis isn't her only responsibility.

"I'd like you to stay."

His confession in the dark is everything she needs to hear. Closing her eyes, she smiles.

"Okay."

The End