Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. Stargate and all associated characters belong to MGM.

Warning: Spoiler alerts for Seasons 9 and 10 of Stargate SG-1, Season 4 of Stargate Atlantis, and Season 1 of Stargate Universe.

Author's Note: As always, feedback is welcome.

Moving had never been one of Sam's favourite things. They had moved around a lot when she was a kid, following her dad from one military base to another as he advanced through his Air Force career. And of course, following in his footsteps, the moving around had never really stopped...at least, until Sam had joined the Stargate program, that is. Eight years. Eight blissful years living in the same place, doing the same job. A stretch like that was almost unheard of in the military, and she had been sure to enjoy it while it had lasted. All good things must eventually come to an end, however, and Sam's time at the SGC was no exception. After eight years with the program, she was now being transferred over to Area 51 as part of the new Stargate Research initiative. Head of Stargate Research, to be precise. And truth be told, she was almost relieved to be going.

With her teammates all preparing to go their separate ways, and the recent passing of her father and Selmac, the SGC was beginning to feel more than a little empty for her. Even after the recent fishing trip with Daniel, Teal'c, and General O'Neill, and the quality bonding they had gotten in there, she was ready to move on. Taping another box shut, Sam hoisted it onto the growing pile in her living room and moved to the next group of items to be packed away.

Most of her belongings were scheduled to be packed into a local storage unit in three days. Only the few things she would absolutely need to start her new position would actually be coming with her to Nevada next week. After all, there was no sense carting it all there and setting it up in temporary quarters only to have to move it all again when she found a place of her own. Sealing another box, Sam stood to stretch, working out the growing kinks of sitting hunched on the floor sorting her belongings into the bring/leave piles.

Debating whether she should tackle another box, or take a quick break for dinner, Sam was startled out of her contemplation by the sound of the doorbell. Heading quickly into the hall, she was even more surprised to see the familiar figure of her CO on her doorstep, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Pulling the door open and gesturing her guest inside, she greeted him saying, "Sorry about the mess, Sir."

"Don't worry about it, Carter," he replied easily, glancing appraisingly over the boxes filling the house. "Getting close to moving day, eh?"

"Three days for the stuff heading for storage, five until my actual moving day, Sir," she replied, a little confused by his presence. They had, after all, said their goodbyes just last weekend. Not exactly what she had hoped for after breaking up with Pete, but closure, at least.

"Well, the packing seems to be going well," said O'Neill.

"Yes, Sir," replied Sam, feeling more and more awkward by the minute. After a stretch of uncomfortable silence, she asked, "Sir, did you need something, or..." she trailed, gesturing vaguely in the air. She honestly could not think of a good reason for him to be here, unless...

"No," he said quickly. "Just thought I'd drop by, see how things were going..."

Sam sighed heavily. Somehow, it was never what she hoped to hear. "Well, things are good, Sir. Right on schedule," she replied, trying to keep her tone light and the disappointment from her voice.

"Good," he replied, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his brown leather jacket. "Hey, have you eaten yet?," he asked a moment later, seemingly out of the blue. Sam narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.

"I was just thinking of grabbing something from the kitchen when you showed up," she replied at last.

"Ah. How about I take you out, instead? Sort of a farewell dinner?," he asked, trying to sound casual.

"A farewell dinner?," she repeated cautiously, desperately trying to tamp down the hope threatening to spring to life over his casual invitation.

"Yes, Carter. A meal between old friends before you have to leave," he replied, with a touch of sarcasm. "We can even drop the formalities, if you'd like. No Sirs or Carters for the rest of the evening. Come on, it'll be fun!," he cajoled, as she eyed him skeptically.

Sam glanced around at all the empty shelves and sealed boxes. There really wasn't much left to do, and she would have plenty of time to finish tomorrow. What could it hurt? "Okay," she said at last.

"Great!," he said, a warm smile spreading across his handsome face. No matter what he said about getting old, Sam could never quite see him in that light. He was still too fit, too energetic, too much himself to be old. Grabbing her coat and locking the door behind them, Sam followed her commanding officer out to his truck, climbing up into the passenger seat.

"So what'll it be? Pizza? Chinese? Italian?," Jack asked, glancing over at her as he buckled up and started the engine. "Or there's this really great steakhouse over by my place.."

"Steak sounds good, Sir," she replied, starting to look forward to the meal.

"Ah! What did I say about Sirs, Sam? You are no longer under my command. Call me Jack."

If Sam's stomach had done a happy little flip at hearing her name, her given name, on his lips, she was in positive turmoil over his next two statements. She hadn't even thought, hadn't taken the time to notice... She was no longer under his command. And they were on their way to dinner. Together. Alone. Holy Hannah! Doing her best to quell her sudden anxiety about their almost-date, Sam replied, "Right. Sorry, Jack." She could feel her face flush slightly over the use of his first name, and blushed even harder in embarrassment over the realization. What was she, twelve? 'Get a grip, Carter,' she ordered herself.

They took a corner booth at the restaurant, quiet, secluded, romantic, even, some would say. There were candles. And music. It wasn't like eating at O'Malley's with the team, surrounded by the noise of others playing pool, or watching the game on TV. This was definitely more intimate. Sam was starting to feel underdressed in her tight jeans and plain white t-shirt, although Jack wasn't dressed much differently, she noted with some relief. Her stomach fluttered nervously as the maitre-d' left them alone to leaf through the menu. She still had no idea what this was. A farewell dinner, he had called it. But why bother, when they had just spent a weekend together at his Minnesota cabin? Everything had already been said, hadn't it? Why drag out the inevitable, unless there was something more? Unless this really was a date, testing the waters, gauging her interest? So much had been left unsaid in the four years since the Zatarc testing...

"What's on your mind, Sam?," Jack asked gently, eyeing her questioningly. "Already planning all your new experiments?"

Sam blushed guiltily, averting her gaze momentarily before looking back to him, and meeting his warm chocolate brown eyes. "Not exactly," she answered uncomfortably, shifting in her seat.

"Relax, Sam," he said, as if reading her mind. "This is supposed to be fun, remember?"

"Yes, S...," she began out of habit, quickly correcting herself as his eyebrow shot up, saying instead, "Yes. I remember."

"Good," he replied with a slight smirk.

"Jack, what are we doing here?," she asked abruptly, flushing again as the words tumbled from her mouth.

"Having dinner," he replied, as if that should be obvious. Which it was, in a way.

"But why?," she asked, probing for some hint as to his real intentions.

Jack sighed. "Look, Sam," he said, fiddling with his cloth napkin. "I just thought, given everything that's happened in the past eight years, that maybe you and I..."

"Can I get you two anything to drink?," interrupted a cheerful waitress now hovering over their table.

"Ah, I'll just have a beer," said Jack, glancing back towards Sam.

"Water," she answered, forcing a quick smile at the waitress.

"Perfect!," the woman said. "I'll be back in just a minute with your drinks," she added, turning to go. Jack groaned quietly, running his hands through his hair.

"Maybe you and I could what, Jack?," Sam asked, her heart beating heavily in her chest.

"Talk," he finished. "Maybe we could talk. If you want, that is," he added quickly, wincing slightly as he did. Sam was dumbstruck. Jack O'Neill wanted to talk?

"Have you decided on your orders?," asked the waitress, returning with their drinks. "Uh, yes," replied Sam, placing her order. Jack followed suite, not even bothering to look at the menu. The waitress smiled and left again.

"What did you want to talk about?," Sam asked.

Jack sighed heavily, playing with the condensation pooling around the base of his beer. "When we said we'd leave it in the room, did we mean forever?," he asked quietly, looking back up at her for her response.

Sam's heart leapt and her stomach lurched, both at the same time. Had he been waiting four years to ask that question? "No, not forever," she replied at last, meeting his gaze. Could this really be happening? Jack reached over, gently taking her hand in his.

"So, this is okay?," he asked. Her skin tingled beneath his touch, and her insides did another flip-flop at the feel of his skin, warm, rough, beautiful.

"Yes," she rasped, quickly trying to clear her throat. They had touched a thousand times before, wrapping wounds on missions, lending each other a hand, even occasionally hugging. But nothing compared to the warm current running through her right now, knowing they were on the same page, and finally allowed to act on their instincts...

"That's good," he said faintly, nodding slightly. Apparently she wasn't the only one feeling the effects of their joined hands. "What if I did this?," he murmured, leaning over the table towards her. Sam grinned, leaning towards him too, eyes closed. Their lips met, warm, moist, tender. Sam's mind shut off altogether as Jack's scent engulfed her, his gentle caress sending bolts of tingling warmth throughout her body. It felt like a first kiss, cautious, exploratory, exhilarating, lasting much longer than would ordinarily be prudent in a public venue, much longer than Sam could remember any other kiss ever lasting. And even still, it ended much too soon.

Pulling apart gently, Jack rested his forehead against hers, eyes still closed, fingers laced with her own. "That's okay too," she replied at last, a little breathlessly. He grinned, chuckling lightly. "Just okay?," he asked, a little breathless himself. Sam giggled quietly, leaning closer to his ear to whisper "Much more than okay." Leaning back into her seat, she couldn't help but smile at the sight of General Jack O'Neill blushing.

Their meals arrived shortly afterwards, conversation turning to more neutral topics while they ate. Sam couldn't remember the last time she had felt so relaxed, or had so much fun, on a date. Everything was so natural with Jack, like breathing, and she drifted through the rest of the evening in the warm glow of euphoria, her lips still warm from his kiss.

Jack parked his truck in Sam's driveway sometime later, his head still reeling from their kiss, their date. It was all almost too good to be true. Almost. Leaning over to her, he stole another tender kiss, basking in the feel of her lips, the smell of her skin, the way her hand gingerly crept along his neck before her fingers laced themselves into his hair. The feel of her tongue searching...

"Sam," he said softly, gently breaking away.

"Hmm," she answered, opening her eyes to meet his worried gaze. "Is something wrong?," she asked, concerned.

"Ah, no," he whispered, swallowing uncomfortably. "It's just that I think we should take things slow, given our past working relationship. We wouldn't want anyone getting the idea that this has been going on longer than it has..." he tried to explain.

"I understand," she murmured, pulling him close again. "But Jack," she breathed, tickling his ear. "I won't wait forever."