Apparently our timeline isn't the correct one. In Daniel's time, Jack O'Neill is a Brigadier General and I am a Lieutenant Colonel under his command.
Wow.
Colonel Samantha Carter is confident, tough, outgoing, attractive - all things that I have never been. She has received many citations for bravery, gets along well with her dad and seems to have everything.
Except Jack.
Apparently she and Jack were very much in love for many years but wouldn't pursue it due to their code of honor. Even after they became trapped in BC Egypt, they couldn't get past their working relationship and died without ever telling each other how they felt.
How sad.
"Whatcha doin'?" The familiar Minnesota drawl brings me out of my reverie and a pair of warm hands slide under my shirt and around my waist.
"Just thinking," I reply, tilting my head to allow Jack to bestow a warm kiss on my neck.
A few weeks ago, I would've died of embarrassment at such a public display of affection, but I'd gotten a lot more confident after the way this sexy silver hottie responded to my grabbing him for a kiss.
It was so unlike me, but ... I really liked him and I hadn't thought we would survive the onslaught of Ra's Jaffa.
I lean into him and watch several other couples openly making out. Although courtship is highly ritualized in this culture, once a couple becomes man and wife they are surprisingly open with their affections.
"You shouldn't think so much, gorgeous - you'll break my brain!" Jack teases, nibbling at my earlobe.
"Mmmm," I agree.
He gives a sharp nip that makes me squeal then snickers into my neck. "So ... and I'll probably regret asking ... what were you thinking about?"
"The other us - the other SG-1."
"Ah. It's hard to think of you as a Lieutenant Colonel," Jack says.
I giggle slightly. "I know - I barely know which end to put the bullets in," I agree.
The hands on my waist slip upward. "And no Lieutenant Colonel ever felt so warm and soft."
I bite back the moan as his hands explore. "Felt up a lot of Lieutenant Colonels, have we?"
"Smart ass." He bites at the juncture of my neck and shoulder, causing me to squeal once more. "What happened to my sweet little nerd who stuttered and stammered?"
"She's using the Force," I reply and am met with a blank look. "Star Wars? Jedi warriors?"
"Geek," he chides affectionately.
"Jackass."
"Brainiac."
"Overgrown flyb ..."
My retort is cut off by the simple expedient of Jack's soft lips landing on mine.
And as our tongues mingle together in a now familiar - but no less wonderful - dance, I reflect that our reality might be the wrong one. But if this is wrong, then I don't want to be right.
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