Fragile Balance Series

Fragile Balance Series

One Year Later

It was the little things that drove him nuts, he thought, as he stood in front of the washer-dryer for the third time that week. The people he lived with, his “Aunt” and “Uncle”, were nice enough, perfect, in fact. Their kids were adults already and they had “parenting” out of their systems, so they gave him a wide berth. And the Air Force was pretty generous. It had been a year since he'd left the SGC. When he turned 16, got his learner's permit (again) and passed his driver's license test (again), they'd ponied up and bought him a nice truck. But these wet dreams were killing him.

Night after night, he'd lie awake and think about his life, his adult life. He missed Carter, Daniel and Teal'c, missed his house, missed his job, yeah, even his job. But when he fell asleep, and his 16 year old body took over, his dreams were graphic!

Last night, for example, he dreamed about Carter. She was in her lab and he came by just to chat, bring her coffee like he always did. But when he said, “Whacha doin'?” she'd launched herself at him, pulling him into the room. She locked the door, slammed him against the wall, and pressed her breasts into his chest.

Dream Carter did what real Carter never would. She popped open his pants button, unzipped his fly and dropped to her knees. Fishing his already hard dick out of his pants, she gave him a look of pure lust through her eyelashes. Licking her lips, she drew the head of his cock into her mouth, sucking and licking, with just a hint of teeth. And as her hot, tight, wet mouth fastened on him, he came, shooting streams of semen down her throat. Only Carter wasn't there, and he'd soiled the sheets again. Shit!

High school wasn't that bad. The math was harder than he remembered. English and Social Studies were okay. The teachers were decent, all except Bio, where he had an old guy, biding his time until retirement. Gym was great, but the afterschool activities were what kept him sane. The hockey team, astrology club, pottery, he enjoyed things ways he never had the first time around. Even so, it wasn't enough.

He spent a lot of time alone and he found he was getting depressed. When he tried to keep himself busy, even distractions didn't really help. Everything was ambiguous to him. Take the honeys, for example. He didn't know what to do, because he couldn't help but look at them, and then he felt terribly guilty about it. The pretty one flirting with him after hockey practice was too young for him, just a child, could be his daughter. But, hey! They all were, weren't they? And no matter how much control he tried to exert over his own urges, his 16 year old body couldn't help but respond to them.

And things were different between boys and girls now than when he was a kid. He'd learned that at the first party he went to. The ski team invited him to one of their homes. It was pretty wild, no adults, lotsa booze, but not the good stuff. And these teenage girls were hot to trot... sort of.

One pulled him into the bathroom, shoved her tongue down his throat and began to stroke his dick right through his jeans. He didn't even know the girl! When he tried to hold her off, she leaned in, whispered, “Let's hook up,” and licked his ear. He'd gotten a beer or two downstairs, so he was feeling a little reckless, and thought, why not?

He drew her hard against his chest and pulled her ass close, angling his hips into hers. “Ooooh,” she squealed. He slipped his hand up the back of her shirt and flipped her bra open, moving around to her front to seize a breast. He pinched her nipples hard and she began to rub herself against him. He popped open her pants and reached inside her thong to find her wet and wanting.

He whispered hoarsely in her ear, “Turn around.”

She looked up into his eyes. “Why?” she asked.

“Because I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked,” he said, emphasizing the profanity, watching her eyes.

“Oh Jonny,” she said, her voice just a little sing-songy, rubbing up and down his body. “I'm saving myself for my husband.” She unzipped his pants and brought his painful hard-on out into the open.

“Wha....?”

“Shhh,” she said coyly. “Let Marla take care of you.” She began to stroke him firmly, knowingly. “Wanna come in my mouth?” she asked him, twirling a finger around the swollen head of his cock. By this time, his hormones had completely taken over and he could do nothing but nod.

Marla knelt gracefully in front of him and took his dick into her mouth. Without thinking, he bucked into her, shoving his cock into the back of her throat. She pushed him away from her, sputtering. “Jonny!” she said, a bit angry. “Do that again and we're not doing this!”

He slouched against the door, waiting. She looked up at him, and seeing his apparent acquiescence, she took his dick between her lips again. She bobbed up and down his length. There was no artifice. No alternating textures or pressures, just a mechanical action, which for his teenage body was enough. He felt his balls tighten and his cock swell, and he was coming, pumping into her.

When he was done, she stood, slipped his dick inside his fly and zipped him up. She patted his softening cock gently through his pants. Then she turned and looked into the bathroom mirror, taking a piece of toilet paper to dab at her ruined lipstick. She ran a hand through her hair. “Ready?” she asked him, looking at his reflection in the mirror. She moved to unlock the door and leave.

None of this felt right to him. Sure, he got his rocks off, but in his world, the lady should also come, preferably twice, before she left. “Wait a minute, Marla,” he said.

“I told you, Jonny. I'm not that kind of girl. I'm a virgin.”

“I know,” he told her, “but I want to show you something.”

She looked at him suspiciously. He held his hands up, palms facing her. “You're going to like it, Marla.”

“Okay,” she flounced, “but make it quick.”

He pulled her jeans down sharply, making her gasp. Over her startled objections, he slipped two fingers between her labia and began to stroke her. Her voice broke suddenly as a long, low moan came from deep inside her throat. Good, he thought.

He found her clit with his thumb and began to circle it, flicking it with his nail and rubbing it. Her exclamations were little exhales of sound, somewhere between squeaks and groans. Carefully he slipped one finger inside her, making sure she was ready for the penetration, not wanting to damage her preciously guarded virginity.

He began to slide his finger inside her rhythmically, rubbing her clit harder. She grabbed his shoulders and screamed, coming, perhaps for the first time in her life. As she breathed heavily, he petted her sex, still penetrating her and retreating, but more softly, still pressing on her clit, but gently. Her body clenched his hand hard, her fluids dripping.

He withdrew his hand. She leaned against him, her face on his chest. “That was awesome, Johnny.” she said.

“Thank you, ma'am.” He grinned at her, little more than a smirk. “Do you mind?” he asked, gesturing toward the sink. She stood to one side. He brushed by her to wash his hands. She circled his waist from behind, giving him a hug. Just then someone knocked on the door and they broke apart guiltily.

When they went outside of the bathroom, he lost track of her in the press of kids. Later that week, when he didn't see her at school, he asked his friend on the ski team about her. She went to a local Catholic school, and he was unlikely to see her again.

All of this was confusing to him. When had a blow job ceased to be sex? When did girls start sucking dick as easily as kissing? How was he supposed to fit in?

After that the boy who used to be Colonel Jack O'Neill spent even more time alone, thinking. He became increasingly despondent. One night, a kid was badly hurt at hockey practice. He felt responsible, because he couldn't break up a fight among his teammates. When he was ready to go to the place everyone called his home, he got in his truck and just started driving. His mind was a blur of thoughts and feelings, but most of all he realized that place really wasn't home.

Getting on the Interstate, he put the truck into fifth and drove. By the time he recognized where he was, he saw the signs for Colorado Springs. He knew where he was going. It didn't matter if it was 2 am, he was going to see Carter.

* * * *

She was sleeping fitfully. When the knocking on her front door finally penetrated her subconscious, she rose and looked at the time. Who the hell could that be?

She slipped a robe around her shoulders and went to the door. She turned on her porch light and looked out the peep hole. She saw... Young O'Neill! She opened the door immediately.

He stood on her doorstep, his face a mass of conflicting emotions. He was happy to see her, smiling at her, but he was so tired and upset, unshed tears shimmered in his eyes. “Sam,” he croaked.

She opened her arms to him and he flung himself into her embrace. He had grown in the last year and was now taller than she, more filled out, muscular. His movement into her arms nearly knocked her over, but his momentum succeeded in pinning her to the wall instead. “Hold on there, little man,” she said, slightly breathless.

But he remained where he was, encircled by her arms, his arms holding her tightly to him. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. She began to think this was a bad idea, when he started to cry. Huge sobs shook his body. His tears wet her skin. He held her tighter. He felt like nothing made sense. He was all alone. There was only this woman in his arms, and he loved her.

Sam struggled to slide out of his grasp. His tightening arms were nearly crushing her. Her heart went out to him and his obvious pain, but she was rapidly losing consciousness here. She quickly searched her brain for the name he used now. “Jon!” she said sharply. “Jon! Let go! You're crushing me!”

He heard her suddenly and loosened his grip, letting her breathe, but not escape. “Sam, please.” His voice was muffled against her shoulder. He lifted his head and looked at her. “Please,” he said softly.

She put her hands flat on his chest and pushed him away from her gently. “Come on,” she said, taking his hand in hers. He closed her front door and walked behind her, head down, tears still streaming down his cheeks. “Want something to drink?” she asked him, turning to look at him as she switched on lights. He mumbled something she took as a negative. She went to the sofa and sat down, pulling him down beside her.

“Okay, start at the beginning,” she said, still holding his hand.

He started talking. At first he was hesitant, had trouble finding words to express his feelings and experiences. Slowly he became more confident. Looking into her eyes, knowing that she was listening to everything he said, seeing her acceptance and affection, healed him. “I guess I'm still struggling, Sam,” he said, “between the man I was and the boy I am.” He yawned suddenly, and she took that as her cue.

“Come on, Jon. Let's get you set up with a pillow and a blanket. You can bed down here for the night and in the morning I'll take you home.”

“No,” he said, his tone tight. “I don't want to go home.”

“Well, let's cross that bridge when we come to it, shall we?” They smiled at each other, remembering Brei'tac's fondness for the metaphor. “We'll talk about it in the morning. It's time to get at least some sleep.” She went to the linen closet and pulled out the promised items, fluffing the pillow before laying it on the sofa for him.

He watched her, his need for her resurfacing. Sam set up his sleeping area, unselfconscious and unaware that her robe had opened, offering him a choice view of her legs and unfettered breasts in her khaki shorts and tank top. “Do you need something to sleep in?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Well, help yourself to the bathroom. And if you want anything to eat, go ahead. You know where everything is.” She smiled at him, flashing her eyes at him, reminding him of all the times she'd done that before. She went to hug him quickly, and he clung to her, turning her gesture awkward. “Get some rest. We'll continue this in the daylight.” She turned to leave him.

“Sam!” His voice was full of the tears he'd shed earlier. She looked at him. “Thanks,” he said. She smiled and left him, returning to her bedroom and closing the door.

* * * *

Young O'Neill sat on the sofa and took in the familiar scenery of Sam's living room. It hadn't changed much in a year. He stood and went to her bathroom, looking in her mirror, touching her things, surrounding himself with her scent. Without conscious thought, he leaned over and lifted the lid of her hamper. A pair of her panties were right on top. He speared them and brought them to his face, inhaling deeply. He slipped them into his jeans pocket.

After peeing, he lingered outside her bedroom door, contemplating opening it, just to see her in her bed. Instead he went to her kitchen, opened the fridge and found some beer. Just what he wanted! Content for the first time that day, he sat on the sofa, turned on the TV to mute, and drank a few cold ones in his big t-shirt and boxers.

Before he realized it, he was just a little drunk, so the idea of checking out Sam in bed didn't seem too outta bounds at that moment. He shuffled down the hallway and quietly opened her door. He stood there in the dark, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Then he saw her, her blond curls decorating the pillow, her blankets thrown off, her tank top ridden up to reveal the smooth plane of her stomach.

He moved to the side of the bed. His long fingers reached out to stroke her belly. “Jack,” she sighed. Without thinking, he slid into bed next to her, continuing to stroke the skin of her stomach. She turned to him, still very much asleep, and cuddled into his chest. His stiffening cock bumped her hip and she moved to trap it between them. His hand slid down to her ass, drawing her closer. “Sam,” he breathed and kissed her, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

Her dream was very real, she thought, as she swam toward consciousness. The delicious tightness in her pussy was almost unbearable. Jack's mouth on hers was exquisite, his tongue, lips, teeth, her salvation. She kissed him, letting her dream take her, feeling his hard cock against her belly. His hand slid up her body, taking her shirt with it, exposing her breast. His mouth left hers, his lips and teeth latching onto her nipple, flicking it with his tongue.

Her pussy pulsed with need, and, as a good dream lover, Jack's hand slid down into her shorts to please her with his fingers. He stroked her, as he nuzzled her breast, two fingers slipping into her, his thumb caressing her clit. He bit her nipple, sucking and biting again. She gasped and came truly awake in that instant, but it was too late, his fingers inside her brought her to orgasm, hard, thorough, total.

She shuddered in his arms. Her pussy clenching his fingers, drenching his hand. He held her tightly to his chest, her breaths ragged, her body trembling. All at once, she came to full consciousness. He noticed the change in her immediately and let her go, pulling his hand out of her shorts. She pushed him away from her forcefully. “What the hell are you doing in here?” she asked through clenched teeth.

He looked at her calmly. “Making you come,” he replied.

She stood up suddenly. “Get out!”

“No,” he said. His own anger flared. He hadn't asked to be made. He hadn't wanted to be abandoned, all alone, away from everything familiar, everyone whom he cared about. He didn't want to be a kid anymore. He wanted his life back. He wanted Samantha Carter.

She circled the bed, grabbed his shoulders and tried to pull him upright. He laughed and put his arms around her, pulling her down on top of him and trapping her arms between them. She tried to gain some leverage on him with her legs, kicking, but he wrapped his legs around hers and held her still. When she stopped struggling, briefly, he used his greater bulk to flip them, holding her captive with his body. His hands held her wrists above her head. He insinuated his hips between her legs, prodding her with his hard- on.

“Don't do this,” she said, the sound of her voice pleading, even to her own ears. “The Jack O'Neill I know would never do this.”

“Well, I guess I'm not him anymore,” he said. He held her wrists tightly in one of his hands and stripped down his boxers and her shorts with the other. He impaled her with his dick in one harsh movement. She screamed.

In the briefest of moments he was on his back on the floor, the wind knocked out of him, hauled off Sam by unseen forces. “You bastard,” Jack — the “original” — said.

Young O'Neill rolled to the side and curled into a ball, protecting himself. His original yanked him off the floor by his hair and slammed him into the wall. A spate of profane abuse spewed from Jack's mouth. “You little shitheel! How dare you come here! How dare you hurt Sam! I'm gonna kick your ass and then I'm going to castrate you!”

Sam sat, watching dispassionately as her Jack pummeled the kid. He took a fist to the cheek, a blow to the belly, knuckles to the chin. The boy tried to protect himself defensively, but he was no match for the original Jack O'Neill, who delivered this beat-down with surgical precision.

Eventually, the boy slumped over, all his fight gone. Sam pulled her shorts up and stood, coming up behind Jack and touching his shoulder gently. “I'm okay, Jack. That's enough. Leave him alone now.”

He flinched under her touch, but her words reached him, even in the rage-induced haze under which he was operating. He dropped his fists and the boy slid down the wall. Sitting on the floor, his face was already starting to swell. “Come on, Jack,” she said, pulling him from the room, away from the boy.

He was breathing heavily and starting to shake. She led him to her kitchen, filling two plastic bags with ice. She made him sit at her table and gave him a bag of ice for his knuckles. She took the other bag to the bedroom and gave it the boy for his face. She returned to her Jack quickly, worried about his state of mind.

Sam put her hand on his arm. He looked at it and then at her. “How did you know?” she asked him softly.

He took a deep breath. “I got a call a little while ago from the couple he lives with. They said he'd been depressed lately and when they couldn't find him or his truck, they were worried. I don't know how I knew he'd be here, except if it were me, I'd come here too.” Jack looked into her eyes. “Sam, I'm so sorry he hurt you. I never want any harm to come to you.” He stood, pulling her up with him, putting his arms around her, holding her.

The shock of the whole thing set in. Her flesh pebbled up and she began to tremble. He picked her up, bringing her into the living room. He put her on the sofa and took the blanket she'd given the boy. He wrapped her in it, trying to warm her. “It's okay, Sam. I'm here. You're gonna be fine.”

Behind him, Jack heard movement. Young O'Neill was coming out of Sam's bedroom, looking like he'd run into a firetruck. Jack turned to him angrily. “I need to talk to you, boy,” he said. The kid flinched away from him, but Jack grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out the front door.

Sam lay down on the sofa. She could hear the two voices, so similar in tone and pitch, through the door, but she couldn't make out any words. After a few moments, one voice dominated, punctuated by single sounds, monosyllabic responses, from the other. Eventually she heard the sound of a truck starting, then driving away. She sat up.

Her Jack came in, his face grim. “I sent him away, Sam. He doesn't really deserve to go free, but what was I going to do? Call the MPs?” He looked at her. She knew he was asking for her forgiveness, for her acceptance. She nodded.

“It's over. It was the right thing to do,” she said. She looked at his face. I never knew he had such darkness in him, she thought. I knew he had pain. I knew he had sadness, but never that much darkness.

“Did he tell you what he did to me?” she asked him, as she turned her face away from him. He stared at her.

Jack shook his head. Still not looking at him she said, “I was dreaming, and he came into my bed.” Jack reached for her chin, turning her to look him in the eye.

“Then what?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“He put his hands on me, Jack. He did things to me ... I... liked it,” she finished, her eyes darting away.

“Why are you telling me this,” he asked, his voice shaky.

“Because I was dreaming of you, Jack. Everything he did to me, I thought it was you.”

He turned away from her. “Bastard,” he said.

“Jack?”

“He was in bed with you, and you thought it was me. Great!” He sounded pissed off, really pissed off. “He gets to touch you and I... Maybe I should go,” he said. He turned to walk away from her, but she stood and touched his arm, the blanket draped around her shoulders. He turned back to her, hopeful, “Unless you want me to stay...”

“C'mere,” she said, opening her arms. The blanket fell to the floor.

He slid his hands around her waist, drawing her close. Her head rested on his chest, her arms around him just as tightly. She could hear his heartbeat, faster than it should be, she thought. She looked up at him. “Stay with me, Jack, please.”

He leaned down to kiss her, gently at first, then more deeply. “Do you want this, Samantha?”

“More than you know,” she said softly. “When he had his hands on me, your hands, realized I never wanted to go back the way things were. I need your hands on me, Jack.” He kissed her again, his tongue entering her mouth, touching hers. Her tongue followed his back into his mouth. His taste was overwhelming to her. His lips encircled her tongue and he sucked, pulling her deeper into his mouth.

“Bed, Jack,” she said. She took his hand and led him down her hall. As she entered her room, she stopped. “Let's change the sheets, okay?” Together they stripped the bedclothes and quickly remade the bed. As they tucked in blankets he teased her, snapping them out of her hands, tossing pillows at her. By the time the last blanket was in place, both of them were laughing, holding their stomachs, letting everything go.

He flipped one corner of the blankets and sheets back, making an opening in the bedclothes for her. She slid in and patted the mattress next to her. He stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers and dove in. He reached for her, tickling her when he found her middle. Her laughter filled him, but when she begged him to stop, he did, drawing her close.

Sam looked into his gorgeous brown eyes, smoothing his short, silver hair and feeling the soft bristles on her fingertips. “You don't know how long I've wanted to do that,” she said. He pulled her hips toward him, pressing his hot length into her. She reached down between them and ran her hand over his cock. He drew in a sharp breath. “And this,” she said, giving him a wicked grin.

He settled his hand over hers, guiding her as she stroked him. He kissed her, his fingers caressing her cheek, their tongues twining. He pressed his thumb between her lips, filling her mouth with both his tongue and his finger. She moaned, her teeth scraping his hardened thumb, her tongue darting to his.

He stopped her hand on his cock. “Keep doing this, I'm gonna come in my shorts. I'd much rather come inside you.” He gave her a quick and roguish smile. He rolled on top of her, cradled by her hips, her knees raised and open. He dipped his head to take her nipple into his mouth through the fabric of her cropped tank top. He bit down on her, making her writhe beneath him. “Can I take this off?” he asked.

She nodded and he gripped the hem of her shirt in his teeth, playfully tugging it upward. She wiggled, helping him to strip her. As she pulled the rest of the shirt over her head, his lips fastened on her other nipple. Her hands grasped his head to hold him close, scraping her nails through his hair.

She felt as if there were direct conduits between her breasts and her pussy. His tongue and teeth on her nipples were sending jolts of pleasure to her sex, making it throb. Jack rolled off of her slightly, his hand gliding down her body. He pushed her shorts down, pulling hard on the curls of her sex, making her hiss. His middle finger slipped between her labia, unerringly finding her clit, stroking it with the callused pad of his finger tip.

Her shoulders rose up from the bed, her head falling back, her breasts offered to his eyes and mouth. He scraped his chin and cheeks across the tender globes, the short bristles of his day's growth stimulating her skin. He kissed her sternum, her navel, her pubic hair, replacing his hand with his mouth between her thighs, drinking in her taste and smell.

He stripped her shorts the rest of the way off. Spreading her legs wider, opening her sex to his tongue and teeth. Her pussy clenched as he insinuated two fingers into her. His lips closed over her clit. His tongue flicked back and forth, up and down, licking her. He scraped his teeth over the sensitive bit, and she bucked up into his face, her muscles grasping his fingers over and over.

Jack crawled up her body, kissing her stomach, her breasts, her neck on his way. She welcomed him, kissing him, tasting herself. She pulled on his lower lip with her teeth. Sam grabbed a handful of his t-shirt and said, “Take this off.”

He sat up and tugged off his shirt, lifting his hips to skim off his boxers. He moved to roll on top of her again, but she stopped him with outstretched palms, pushing him back onto the mattress. He lay back, looking at her. She smiled at him and kissed his flat nipple, making it crinkle. His smile grew, a pleased smirk. He tucked his hands behind his head, his elbows bent to support him.

Sam sat up, leaning on one hand. She stroked his chest, petting his silver hair, tugging it between her fingers softly. She dragged the backs of her nails across his nipples, making them harden. She pinched him gently, then a little harder, making him draw in a breath sharply. She lowered her mouth to his scrunched brown nub and scraped her teeth across it. “Fuck!” he said.

“Not yet, airman,” she said giving him a smirk of her own. She shifted so she could lean over him, looking at him, broad shoulders, hard muscles, scars, lots of scars. She stroked each imperfection, leaning down to kiss and lick it, wetting his shoulders, arms and chest with her tongue. His skin rose up in gooseflesh, his cock straining toward her as she worked her way down his torso.

He watched her, his eyes following her fingers, lips and tongue. His hands came out from behind his head to grasp and pet her back and her neck, fluff her hair, caress her cheek. When she arrived at the part of him which appreciated her most, she tucked her fingers around his cock and kissed the weeping head.

Sam turned so he could see her face, her eyes looking right into his. She flicked out her tongue and circled around the plummy head. She lowered her lips onto him, slinking her tongue down his length as the tip slid into her mouth. Pulling back up, she gently pressed her bottom teeth into his underside. She moved down his dick again. Her lips stretched to accommodate his girth. She sucked him, moving her tongue from side to side, feeling his heart beat in the pulsing of his veins.

She slid one hand to his balls, pulling gently, squeezing softly. Reaching under them, she moved a finger between the cheeks of his ass and stroked him carefully.

Jack sat up suddenly, his hands on her shoulders. “Now,” he said forcefully. “I need you now, Samantha.” He pulled her up and kissed her deeply. Moving over her, he pressed his knee between her legs. He rested on top of her, his face in the crease between her neck and shoulder, breathing heavily.

He reached down to pull her knees up and out, opening her completely. She slid her legs over his hips. His cock was pressed between them, the silky skin rubbing her belly. He rose on his hands and reached between them, grasping himself and moving to her center. “Yes, Jack,” she whispered.

In one hard thrust he was deeply inside her. He withdrew and pressed in again. His back muscles, hips and ass controlling his movements, keeping rhythm, feeling her tighten around him. He lowered his head to take her nipple into his mouth. His teeth closed on her gently. Her hips rose up into him hard. “Sam, Sam, Sam,” her name became his mantra.

He changed his angle, twisting his hips as he pushed into her. She raised her legs higher on his back, pulling him in even deeper. His thrusts connected with her clit, making her gasp with each penetration. Her fingers held his biceps, her face buried in his shoulder, muffling her cries. Her muscles trembled and shuddered around him, delicious spasms of pleasure, as she called his name.

He slammed hard into her, and then he was still, imbedded deeply. His cock erupted, his seed pumping into her. His voice was hoarse as he growled into her neck, “Mine!”

Jack collapsed on her, his breath still coming heavily, his heart beat loud in his ears. He could feel the lingering pulse of her orgasm caress his cock deep inside her. Sam stroked the back of his neck, his hair. “I love you, Jack,” she said. “I have loved you for a long time.”

Jack O'Neill raised himself up on his elbows to look at her lovely face. “Poor, unlucky, little bastard,” he said, stroking the hair off her temple. She looked at him, a little confused.

“Here I am. I am the happiest man in the galaxy, because I'm in bed with the woman I love, trust and respect more than anything.” He swooped down to kiss her lips, then raised himself again. “He loves you too, but he can never have you. You're mine.”

Sam enfolded him in her arms, kissing him. “Yes... sir.”

* * * *

Young O'Neill wept as he drove. His face was numb from the original's beating. His ribs hurt when he took in a deep breath as he sobbed. Sam is with him, he thought bitterly. I can never have her as long as she's with him.

He drove, the darkness around him reflecting the state of his heart. Someday, he thought.