STARGATE: SG-1 

Part 1

Jack was late and had to park a long way down the street. Getting slowly out of his car he squinted in the afternoon sunshine and pulled on his sunglasses, reaching into the passenger seat for the gift he'd brought. The shiny paper shimmered in the sunlight, its happy sparkle at odds with Jack's dark mood. Six months ago he'd never have imagined that a house-warming barbecue at Sam's new home would be anything but fun. But six months ago, he reflected sourly, he'd never heard the name of Joseph Callaghan. 

Jack sighed, slammed the door shut, and started walking down the hot sidewalk. Diplomats, he thought bitterly. He'd never trusted them. He was a black-and-white kind of a guy; he hated the shades of gray, the shadows between right and wrong where the diplomats lurked. They smiled and spoke smooth words, but you never knew what was lurking behind their practiced sincerity. It unnerved him. It always had. Which was why he'd been irritated by Hammond's request to escort one Joseph 'Joe' Callaghan, diplomat, to J43-492. Had he known the outcome of the mission, he'd have done something - anything - to avoid it.

Not that the mission hadn't been successful. Not that Callaghan hadn't secured the naquada mining rights that the SGC had needed so desperately. No, strategically, militarily and diplomatically the mission had been a huge success. Personally, however, it had been a shattering disaster....
 
 
 
 

"That him?" Jack asked, glancing down into the gate-room at the man standing awe-struck before the Stargate. 

"Yes it is," General Hammond replied.

Jack frowned, taking in the smooth young skin and the neat, dark hair. "He looks like a suit," he decided.

Behind him he heard the General sigh. "I know how you feel about this mission, Colonel," he said. "But I need my best team on this one. We can't afford any mistakes."

Jack nodded. "I understand, sir," he replied, having at least some idea of the pressures the General was under from those who held the purse-strings. He turned around and gave a brief smile. "No mistakes."

"Joseph Callaghan comes highly recommended for his professionalism and intelligence, Colonel," Hammond said carefully, fixing Jack with a meaningful look. "I'd like him to go back with a similar impression of our command."

Jack raised an eyebrow, getting the none-too-subtle point. "Yes sir," he replied, as seriously as he could. But he couldn't prevent the amused smile from creeping onto his lips at the way Hammond's eyes were narrowing suspiciously. "I'll get Carter to watch him, sir," he said, by way of reassurance. "If anyone's going to impress him with their intelligence and professionalism, it's her."

The tension eased at little from Hammond's face. "Good idea, Colonel," he nodded approvingly. "Now get your team ready, we don't want to keep Mr. Callaghan waiting."

"Yeah, coz that would be...," he bit back the rest of his sarcastic response at the sight of Hammond's disapproving glare, and instead finished with a rather lame, "...unprofessional. Sir." With a quick grin he decided to quit while he was ahead, executed a sharp exit and went in search of his team. 

He didn't need to look far. As he trotted down the stairs towards the control-room, he almost ran into Carter on her way up. "Sir," she smiled, a little flustered as they narrowly avoided colliding, "I was looking for you."

He grinned, catching her eye for a moment. "Really?" he asked with a suggestive twitch of his eyebrows. "What for?"

Catching his flirtatious glance her smile turned self-conscious, but all she said was, "Daniel said something about our mission being changed?"

"Oh," he nodded, with feigned disappointment, "that. Yeah, he's right. We're blowing off '923 to baby-sit a diplomatic mission back to J43-492."

"J43-492?" she repeated, thinking for a moment as they walked together towards the gate-room. And then, "The mining colony?"

"That's the one."

"You're kidding!" she exclaimed, pretty much voicing his own reaction. "Why us?"

"Hey!" he warned her gently, holding up a defensive hand. "I'm just following orders here, Major."

"Sorry, sir," she apologized, still shaking her head. "It's just...I'd done a lot of preparation for '923."

"I know," he said seriously, slowing as they approached the gate-room. He gave her a little smile, drawing a softer, more intimate one from her in return. "It's just a postponement, that's all," he assured her. "Once we’re done with the diplomats, we're cleared to go to '923."

Carter sighed, doing a poor job of masking her frustration. "Yes sir."

"And there's an upside," he added brightly, pushing open the gate-room door. 

"There is?"

He grinned. "The General wants us to impress our guest with our professionalism and intelligence," he told her, lowering his voice as they entered the room. "And I'm volunteering you to do the impressing, Carter."

She stared at him. "Sir?"

"Go on," he said, nodding towards the man who stood waiting for them, "impress. Dazzle. Charm."

"Dazzle?" she queried dryly.

"Professionally speaking," he assured her hurriedly. "Wow him with your techno-babble. He'll adore you."

She smiled again, shaking her head in affectionate exasperation. "I'll do my best, sir," she assured him, turning on her heel and walking confidently towards the waiting Mr. Callaghan.
 
 
 
 
 
 

And she had. She'd impressed, dazzled and charmed him all too well. Jack shook his head at the memory, slowing as he approached her driveway. He spotted Sam's sporty red car immediately, and next to it crouched the sleek, black BMW he knew belonged to Joe; its smoked-glass windows making it appear as inaccessible and opaque as the man himself. He paused, an errant thought suggesting that it would be such fun to run his key along the side of the perfect, shiny car. But he dismissed the thought back to the childhood world from which it had emerged, and turned his attention to the house. It was compact, neat and oddly charming, he thought. Perhaps it was because he knew it was Carter's, but something about the cheerful little windows, the rickety-looking steps leading up to the porch, and the scent of barbecue in the air leant the place a poignant domesticity that gave his heart another twinge. From behind the house he heard a bubble of chatter rise, and then burst into laughter. He decided not to ring the bell, and made his way around to the back.

The party was in full swing. Most of the people he knew, although there were a few strangers in the crowd; some women and children he didn't know, and an elderly couple. Neighbors, he suspected. He made his entrance cautiously, aware that he was late and not wanting to draw attention to the fact. But as he mingled with the crowd, he caught Daniel's eye from across the other side of the yard. His friend smiled and headed over towards him, snagging two beers from a cooler on the way. 

"Didn't think you were gonna show," Daniel said as he handed Jack a beer.

Jack took a long drink before he answered. "Why wouldn't I?"

Daniel just shrugged. He knew better than to respond; Jack's relationship with Carter wasn't a subject they ever discussed with ease. "Sam's really lucked out with this house," he said instead. "It's great. You should get her to give you the grand tour."

Glancing up at the small house he raised an eyebrow. "Well, that'll take five minutes."

Daniel shook his head, clearly irritated. "Fine," he said, angrily knocking back his drink. 

Jack grimaced, knowing he'd gone too far. "Sorry," he mumbled, squinting out through the sunshine at the smiling guests. "Guess I'm not really in a party mood right now."

"Well, perhaps you could try and fake it?" Daniel suggested. "For Sam's sake."

He nodded, unable to look at Daniel, afraid of what his face might be betraying. "Sure," he said quietly. "I can do that." Hell, he'd spent the best part of the last six months faking it; he'd perfected the art of smiling when all he wanted to do was yell, 'No! This is wrong!'. Feigned indifference was beginning to come as naturally as sarcasm, and as a defense mechanism it worked almost as well.

"Sam's in the kitchen," Daniel said then, nodding towards the gift Jack was holding, "if you want to give her that."

Jack just nodded, a brief gesture of thanks and understanding, before he headed up onto the porch and pushed open the screen door. It was dark inside after the brilliance of the sunshine, and he pulled off his sunglasses and blinked a couple of times before he could see. He recognized some of the furniture from Sam's apartment, although there was a fair smattering of new purchases too. He smiled a genuine smile when he saw the bookshelves lining one wall, already heaving under a full-load. 

"Joe?" Sam's voice suddenly called out, freezing the smile on Jack's face. "Hon, could you...?" She appeared at the kitchen door and stopped suddenly when she saw Jack. "Sir!" And then she smiled; she smiled the smile that he'd always thought was so full of promises. "Hi."

Well, the promises may have proven empty, but her smile had lost none of its power over him. "Hey, Carter," he said, glancing around. "I don't think Joe's in here."

She shrugged. "It's okay." And then, after a slightly awkward pause, she added, "I wasn't sure you'd be able to make it...."

"No," he nodded, glancing away from her as the familiar lies formed on his lips. "Well, I had a lot of paper work to catch-up on, but since it was such a nice afternoon...."

"Yeah," she interrupted, a little to quickly. "Guess I was lucky. With the weather."

He said nothing for a moment, eyes roving restlessly around the room until they were drawn irresistibly back to her. "Nice place," he said, for want of anything better.

"Thanks." Another pause. "You want the ten cent tour?"

"Yeah, that would be...."

"Sam, honey?" Damn it! Joe. "Sam, I think we're running short of burgers...." His tanned face popped around the door atop well muscled shoulders, and he smiled with a flash of perfectly straight, white teeth. "Oh, Jack. Didn't think we'd see you today."

"Sorry to disappoint," Jack replied, his own smile distinctly flat. His comment washed over Joe without affect, but he saw Sam flinch and felt a pang of regret; she deserved so much more than his bitter jealousy. "I, um, think I'll go get another beer," he muttered, figuring if he just kept out of Joe's way he'd be doing them all a favor.

Joe stepped aside silently to let him leave, and Jack headed out into the sunshine with the usual sour taste such encounters left behind. It was going to be a long afternoon, and an even longer evening. His only hope for a moment or two of pleasure would be if he could get Carter alone for a few minutes. But even then the pleasure would be a bitter one; their easy, warm - even flirtatious - friendship had ended the moment she started seeing Joe. And all that was left were regrets, painful, unrequited regrets. And little by little, day by day, they were tearing him apart. 

***

If she was honest with herself, Sam wouldn't have made such a fuss about moving into her new house. It was only a house, after all. But Joe had suggested the barbecue, and it had seemed like a good idea at the time. She rarely seemed to see her friends away from the SGC, and the idea of a relaxed little party had been quite appealing. She should have known better.

She sighed, gazing out of the kitchen window towards the cluster of shady trees at the back of her lot. O'Neill was sprawled under one, nursing a beer as he chatted with Teal'c, for all the world relaxed and at ease. Only she knew him so much better than that. She saw the tension in the set of his shoulders, and in the way his restless fingers were constantly fiddling with anything that came within reach. And she saw the way his eyes flicked persistently towards Joe as he manfully mastered the grill; despite Jack's dark glasses she could feel the animosity in those glances. She really hadn't expected him to turn up at all. He did everything he could to avoid even mentioning Joe's name, let alone meeting him. And although his coldness pained her, she understood it completely. He was jealous, blindingly jealous. It wasn't vanity that prompted her to think so, but a self-knowledge deep enough to understand that, were the situation reversed, she would be the one grinding out pleasantries through gritted teeth. 

"Sam?" Turning away from the window, she smiled to see Daniel standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Hey."

He frowned. "I came to see if you're okay," he said, taking a step closer. "You've been missing for a while."

"I'm fine," she assured him. "I came in to look for some more ice and just...." She shrugged. "Just taking a breather, I guess."

Daniel nodded. "I know what you mean," he said, joining her at the window and looking out over the yard. "So, Jack made it then."

"Yeah," she replied, forcing a note of brightness into his voice. "I'm glad."

Daniel didn't reply, but when she looked over at him she saw a sad expression lingering on his face. Sensing her eyes on him, he turned to her and smiled. "What did he get you?"

"Get me?"

"As a house-warming gift."

"Um...he didn't," she said, vaguely remembering that he'd been holding something during their brief, interrupted conversation.

"Oh," Daniel replied, obviously surprised. "He had something with him." Glancing over his shoulder, back into the living room he said, "There it is."

She followed his gaze and saw the quite large box that sat on her table, the pale blue metallic paper that covered it reminding her oddly of the Stargate's event horizon. With Daniel trailing her, she walked over and picked up the gift. It was heavy and she rested it back on the table, turning over the tag. 'Dear Sam,' it read, 'No home should be without one! Jack.' She smiled, curious now.

"Are you going to open it?" Daniel asked.

"Patience!" she smiled, starting to peel the paper carefully away. It was too pretty to rip open. 

At her side she heard Daniel sigh and mutter something, but she paid him little attention as she pulled the paper away from the box. Her eyes widened when she realized what it was. "A telescope." 

"A telescope?"

She smiled warmly. "No home should be without one."

As she opened the box Daniel peered inside. "Wow," he breathed, "that wasn't cheap."

"No," Sam agreed quietly, oddly touched by the gift. And more than a little surprised at his generosity. Glancing out at the yard, she saw that Joe was still busy with the barbecue. "I should go thank the Colonel," she decided, glad that Joe was occupied. He wouldn't understand the gift, and she was glad of the opportunity to thank the Colonel privately. 

"Do you want me to get the ice you were looking for?" Daniel called after her as she headed for the door.

"Oh, yeah thanks," she nodded, turning back to him with a smile. "It's for the cooler. There's a couple of bags in the freezer."

She trotted down the porch steps, realizing immediately that she'd left her sunglasses inside. But she didn't go back for them. Teal'c was talking to Janet near the grill, and O'Neill was alone. Perfect. He was miles away though, gazing into the distance and completely lost in thought, until she stopped just a couple of feet away and said, "Colonel?"

"Carter," he smiled, glancing immediately over her shoulder towards Joe as if assuring himself that they wouldn't be interrupted this time. When his eyes returned to her there was a hint of a smile in their depths. "Having fun?"

She nodded and sat down next to him in the shade. "I wanted to thank you for the telescope," she told him. "It was incredibly generous. You really didn't need to...."

"I wanted to," he interrupted, holding her gaze. "I wanted to get you something to remember me by."

Her eyes widened in a sudden panic. "What do you mean?" she asked urgently. "Are you leaving...?" Oh God!

"No," he said hurriedly. "I'm not going anywhere, I just meant...." He glanced away for a moment and frowned awkwardly. "You know what I meant, Carter," he muttered, glancing up and fixing her with such a serious look that she couldn't deny the truth of his words. Something to remember me by, now that you're with Joe. A parting gift. A remembrance of what could never be.

"I guess I do," she said quietly, her heart clenching with all the familiar regrets. 

They shared a long, pensive silence until, clearing his throat, Jack spoke in a lighter tone. "So," he said, glancing over at her with a smile, "I'm still waiting for the ten cent tour."

"Sure," she replied, glad for the change of subject. His words had affected her more than she'd have liked, and the distraction was welcome. She stood up. "How about right now?"

"Why not?" he replied, climbing to his feet. And suddenly they were standing very close together, and as she looked up into his dark eyes she smiled at the connection she felt. Despite everything, the bond between them endured. A little battered, perhaps, but it made her feel warm to know that their friendship was still intact. Impulsively she reached out and touched his arm. "I've got something to show you," she said, smiling with a sudden idea. "Come on."

The smile in his eyes reached his mouth and quirked it into a lop-sided grin. "Lead the way, Carter," he replied, falling in at her side. As they past the grill, she saw him glance once at Joe, who was still up to his elbows in food. But Jack's expression was impassive, giving nothing away as they walked into the house together.
 
 

Part 2

"Joe thinks it's totally impractical to have my bedroom up here," Sam was babbling as she climbed the short ladder ahead of him. "But I think it's wonderful." She glanced down at Jack where he was climbing one handed, the box containing the telescope under his other arm. "Can you manage that okay?"

He didn't reply immediately, a little unnerved by the discovery that Carter was taking him into her bedroom. Not that the idea wasn't appealing in a day-dreamy kind of way....

"Sir?" 

He shook himself. "Fine, Carter," he assured her. "I'm not that far over the hill that I can't climb a ladder."

She flashed him a smile. "That's not what I meant." And then she was gone, disappearing into the room above. 

Jack pushed the box ahead of him, and felt Carter lift it from his hands as he poked his head up into the room. He had to agree with Joe. It was totally impractical for a bedroom. But then who needed practicality? The room was fantastic. "Wow, Sam," he said, accidentally slipping into informality. "This is great."

The space had obviously been the attic, but it had been converted into a large, airy room, with a warm wooden floor that glowed in the sunlight streaming through the floor to ceiling French doors. They led out onto a small, wrought-iron balcony that looked out over the side of the house towards the distant mountains. "I couldn't resist the idea of being able to just step out here first thing in the morning," Sam enthused, flinging open the doors. "And now," she added, patting the box she'd set on her bed, "I'll have a great excuse to sit out there in the evening too." She grinned, cocking her head to one side. "Did I tell you about this?" she asked, suddenly suspicious. "Is that why you bought the telescope?"

"No," he shook his head, entranced as always by her enthusiasm. "You didn't. But you're right. This is a perfect spot." He strolled out onto the balcony. "I can just imagine sitting here with a beer...."

"Or a glass of wine."

He smiled. "Sure. Wine would be nice. Some music. It would be....." He stopped suddenly, realizing what he was saying. "I mean, I can imagine you doing that," he finished rather lamely. 'You and Joe.' He closed his eyes at the image, the sudden shock of jealousy rising like bile in his throat.

Sam was silent, thoughtful. "Well, maybe you could come round sometime?" she suggested tentatively. "Help me set up the telescope? You know more about it than me."

Jack shook his head, torn between laughter and despair. Oh yeah, he could just imagine it, sitting out there in the moonlight with Carter, while Joe sat downstairs watching TV! "I don't think you need my help with that," he told her. "I'm sure you can figure out the instruction manual."

"I don't know," she laughed, "sometimes they seem to defy the laws of physics!"

"But isn't that one of your specialties?" he replied, thinking back on all the times she'd conjured the impossible to pull his team out of the fire. "Defying the laws of physics?"

She smiled at that, shaking her head the way she always did when she was ducking praise - however awkwardly it was given. "Bending them, maybe," she agreed. 

He just nodded, keeping his eyes on her face. There was genuine warmth there, he realized. Affection, even. It gave him courage to ask her the question that was, almost literally, burning a hole in his pocket. He turned, his hand slipping into his pocket and fiddling with the folded envelope. "Carter," he began, clearing his throat before carrying on, "I...I wanted to ask you a favor."

Her eyes widened. "Of course, sir," she replied. "What is it?"

"Well, I...."

"Sam? Are you up there?" Joe. Again!

Sam winced, her jaw tightening a little before she called out. "Yeah, what is it?"

Jack heard footsteps on the ladder and braced himself, a little unsure how Joe would react to finding him in Sam's bedroom. "People are wondering where you are," Joe was saying as he climbed. "And Janet's about to leave and wanted to say goodbye." His head emerged from the hole in the floor, glanced around and stopped when he saw them both standing on the balcony. "Oh," he said. And Jack didn't miss the distinct flash of irritation in the man's brown eyes. "Jack," he said icily. "Looks like I keep interrupting."

"You weren't interrupting," Sam assured him quickly, moving towards him as he emerged fully into the room. "I'll be down in a minute. Tell Janet to wait, will you? I won't be long."

Joe was not happy. He glanced suspiciously over at Jack, and then back to Sam. "What are you doing up here anyhow?"

Even with her back to him, Jack could see the way Sam bristled at the question. "I'm showing Colonel O'Neill around my new house," she said, with obvious irritation and a trace of something that might have been embarrassment.

"We were just about done anyway," Jack said, with the absurd feeling that he was coming to her rescue. She smiled at him then, a strikingly intimate smile, like school kids caught doing something they shouldn't. "It was well worth the ten cents," he told her. And then glancing at the ladder added, "Better not keep Fraiser waiting, or she'll use your butt as a pin cushion at your next physical."

Sam chuckled. "Good point, sir," she nodded.

Joe didn't seem to see the joke, and even appeared a little shocked at the familiarity of Jack's comment. He made no move back towards the ladder. "You coming?" Sam asked as she dropped down onto the top rung.

"Yeah," he nodded, glancing around her room, his eyes coming to rest fleetingly on Jack as he said, "I couldn't find my wallet earlier. I was wondering if I left it up here last night." And as he spoke, their eyes met and Jack was under no illusion about the meaning of the cold glitter in the man's eyes; she's mine, it said. Hands off.

"I didn't see it," Sam said, disappearing down the ladder, oblivious - perhaps deliberately so - to the silent stand-off occurring above her.

Jack didn't respond to the unspoken threat. He merely gave a cold smile of his own and said, "You run out of burgers to flip?"

Joe glared for a moment, but then something caught his eye and a slow smile spread across his handsome face. "There it is," he said, taking two steps towards the wide bed and crouching down. Reaching underneath he snagged his wallet and held it up with a satisfied smile. "Guess it got lost in all the excitement last night," he said, standing up slowly and running a possessive hand across the soft white sheets. 

"You don't have to prove anything to me," Jack snapped, disgusted at the man's words; both at his allusion to something so private, and at the very thought of Sam being with him like that.... "See you around, Joe," he said, turning to the ladder and climbing down. 

"Jack?" Joe's voice stopped him before he'd taken a couple of steps. He grimaced a little. "That was out of line," Joe admitted awkwardly. "I guess I was a little - surprised to find you up here, together."

Jack looked up at the man, not quite trusting his words. "If you knew Carter as well as I do," he said quietly, "you'd know that there isn't a person in the world more trustworthy. If you want to apologize," he added, "apologize to her." And then he left, afraid that he might say more than he should. 

As he stepped down the final rung and walked down the short hallway into the living room, he was just in time to see Carter give a final wave to Janet and close the door. She saw him as she turned and smiled, her eyes flicking up the ladder towards the attic-room. "Okay?" she asked.

"Fine," he replied, unwilling to concern her with his little confrontation with Joe. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was just after six; he'd stayed long enough not to seem rude. "Think I'll be making a move myself," he said then.

"Really?" she sounded so disappointed that he almost changed his mind, until he heard the heavy tread of Joe climbing down from her bedroom. 

His resolve was strengthened. "I've still got three outstanding mission reports," he confessed, with a rueful smile that wasn't entirely feigned.

Sam nodded, although he wasn't convinced that she'd bought his half-truth. "I understand, sir," she said. "I'm glad you could make it. And thanks - for the gift."

Behind him, Jack heard Joe's slow approach down the hall, his footsteps sounding like a jailer's coming to return him to his cell. "You're welcome," he told Sam. "I'm glad you like it."

"I love it," she replied quietly. And was it his imagination, or did she stumble just slightly over the words? 

Joe was beside him now, walking past to stand with Sam. Automatically, he looped an arm around her shoulders and Jack's heart squeezed tightly as he saw Sam lean into Joe's embrace; she wanted to be there, it was clear. 

"'Night Carter," he said, heading for the door.

"'Night, sir," came her subdued reply. And then, suddenly, "Oh, sir?"

He turned. "Yeah?"

"You wanted to ask me a favor?"

He smiled tightly, looking at her standing there, her arm around Joe's waist. "It can wait," he told her. "It's no big deal. We'll discuss it on Monday."

"If you're sure," she replied, scrutinizing his face with her bright eyes. 

He nodded. "You have a good evening," he said. And then glancing briefly at Joe, he just managed a curt, "Joe," before he turned and trotted down the steps, walking swiftly out of her drive and towards his waiting car. It was over. Thank God! 

***

The night was dark, and despite the heat of the day a breeze had blown down from the mountains cooling the air. Sam lay in bed, Joe asleep at her side. Her eyes were fixed on the gauzy curtains that covered her French doors, billowing slightly in the cool breeze. Beyond the curtains she saw the telescope Jack had given her, glinting dully in the moonlight. And in the secret place in her heart, she felt a profound pang of loss. Despite the happiness she'd found with Joe, at times like this, in the soft moonlit night, she wondered how different her life could have been. If she hadn't joined the military, would it be Jack, not Joe, sleeping beside her now? The thought brought a guilty, almost shocked smile to her face. He was her CO! She shouldn't think of him like that. And yet...she did. There was no denying it to herself, even if the rest of the world must remain in ignorance. She loved him. And had the world been different; had she not been Major Carter, or had he not been Colonel O'Neill, then perhaps they would have found each other. But the world wasn't different, and she had to live in it the way it was. And so she'd found Joe instead; she cared about Joe, enjoyed his company. He was a good man, and they were firm friends. But the magnetism, the spark of mutual attraction that drew her inexorably towards Jack was missing.

"Sam?" he muttered sleepily.

"Yeah?"

"Did you open the windows? I'm freezing."

She sighed. "It's not that cold," she muttered. But nonetheless she got out of bed, padded across the floor and pulled the windows shut, cutting off the mountain breeze and stilling the life in the curtains. It was quieter in the room now, stifled. Sam crawled back into bed and curled up on her side, feeling Joe's arms slide around her and letting him pull her into his embrace. But closing her eyes, Sam imagined herself free of the still room, and dreamed of running wild and free in fresh mountain air until she soared up into the stars....

***

It was early afternoon and Jack was bored. They were on what Hammond liked to call Paper-Leave, which, in Carter and Daniel's cases, meant working on whatever had most recently been brought back through the gate. In Teal'c's case it usually meant a trip to Chulak, and in his case...reports. Mission reports, tactical reports, strategic assessments.... He wondered how the hell Hammond had the time to read all the paperwork that landed on his desk. He sighed, shaking himself from his musings and turning his attention back to the computer screen. It was flickering oddly, there was a strange green line at the top, and it was giving him a headache. His hand reached for the phone, but the thought of talking to some moron on the helpdesk just intensified his headache. And anyway, he was looking for an excuse to stop for a while; his mind wasn't exactly on the job. It was focused instead on the increasingly crumpled envelope that lay on his desk, the elegant handwriting on the front a little smeared from the constant folding and unfolding the letter had endured. He stared at it for a moment before he picked it up again and pulled out the card inside. "Sara Williams and Edward Newman have the pleasure of inviting Jack O'Neill (and guest) to their wedding...."

It was on Saturday. And he still hadn't replied. The thought of attending her marriage wasn't exactly appealing, but he knew she wanted him there - to show the world, or herself, that she was moving on and leaving no bitterness behind her. In a way he understood it, and it wasn't as if they weren't still friends. But.... He sighed and dropped the invitation back onto his desk. But the truth was he didn't want to go alone. There was no way he was going to parade himself as the lonely ex-husband, even if that's what he was. No, if he was going to go - which he probably should - then he needed someone to go with him. And there was only one person he could think of to ask, only one person who he'd want with him. But he didn't know if he had the right to ask her. 

Thinking back to the weekend, when he'd started to ask and then been interrupted by Joe - damn the man to Sokar! - he remembered the openness in Sam's face. She'd seemed willing to do him a favor, and that's really all this was. It wasn't like he was asking her on a date - attending your ex-wife's wedding certainly wasn't his idea of a romantic date. And he was quite sure it wasn't Carter's. The thought cheered him a little. There was nothing wrong with asking her to do him a favor, was there? They were still friends, and friends was all they were ever going to be, so there was nothing wrong with asking her as a friend....

It made an odd sort of sense. After another moment of staring at the crumpled invitation he made his decision and stood up, snatching up the letter and heading for the door. Carter was, as he knew she would be, in her lab working over something that appeared to be in pieces all over her workbench. Her answer to his gentle knock was a distracted, "Yeah, come in...," so he stepped in quietly and watched her work for a moment until she looked up.

The smile that lit her face took his breath away for a moment, until she cocked her head curiously to one side and said, "Sir?"

"Carter," he replied, shaking himself and looking away. Friends, he reminded himself, as the fingers in his pocket curled around the invitation. 

"Something I can help you with?" she asked, putting down what she was working on and sitting up straighter on her stool. Jack was suddenly nervous. The last thing he wanted to do was put her in an awkward situation.... What if she didn't want to come, but felt like she had no choice but to agree? His resolve was starting to crumble. And Carter, being Carter, picked up on it immediately. "What is it?" she asked quietly, standing up and walking around the side of the bench to come and stand in front of him. 

He looked at her open, honest face and took a deep breath. "It's about that favor I mentioned on Saturday," he said at last.

"Right," she nodded, remembering. "What is it?"

"You can say no," he told her immediately. "I won't mind. I don't want you to feel like you have some kind of obligation to agree just because I'm your CO...."

Sam raised her eyebrows. "Okay," she nodded slowly, watching him with increasing curiosity. "So what is it?"

Jack blew out a short breath and fished the invitation out of his pocket, handing it to her. "I got this a few weeks ago," he said quietly.

"Sara Williams?" Sam asked, frowning as she looked up at him. "Who's she?"

"Used to be O'Neill," he clarified, and watched as her eyes widened in understanding.

"Oh." A slight flush touched her cheeks and she said, "I'm sorry, sir. This must be difficult for you."

He nodded, drinking in the warmth and sympathy he saw shining in her eyes. "A little," he agreed. 

She smiled dryly at that, obviously suspecting him of understatement. But all she said was, "Are you going to go?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I don't want her to think that I'm bitter or anything." He shrugged. "I'm not. But I...." Again, nerves got the better of him and he glanced away, down at his boots as he searched for the right words. He needn't have bothered.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Carter asked quietly, almost hesitantly.

When he looked back up into her eyes, he was surprised at the depth of emotion he saw there. Nodding slowly, he said, "If you're not busy."

"I'm not," she replied, her gaze unwavering.

Jack's eyes were fixed on hers, searching for a glimpse of what lay beneath; all he saw was compassion. "Joe won't mind?" he asked after a moment.

Irritation flashed across her face. "It's got nothing to do with Joe," she assured him. "It's not like it's a date."

"No," he agreed hurriedly. "It's not a date." He nodded then, still gazing into her eyes. "Not that I couldn't have found a real date, if I wanted one," he assured her, drawing a small smile onto her lips. "It's just that I'd rather go with a friend."

Her smile broadened. "Then I'm glad you asked me," she replied. "I'd be honored to go with you, as your friend."

"You're sure?" he pressed. "I don't want you to think that you have to come because I'm your CO and...."

"Jack," she interrupted, stunning him by the use of his name. He'd barely ever heard it on her lips, and it sent shocks of electricity tingling up his spine. His words dried up, and when she was sure she'd caught his attention she said, "You asked me as a friend, not as my CO. And I agreed to go with you as your friend, not as your second-in-command." She smiled self-consciously then and added, "Actually, I'm touched that you feel our friendship's that strong."

He nodded, grateful for her words and her friendship. But aching with desire for more, nonetheless. Afraid that she'd see that in his face, he deliberately tried to lighten the mood, "Yeah, well," he said, "I asked Daniel and Teal'c and they both had plans, so...."

Sam smiled. "Third choice, huh?"

"Well, I was kinda curious to see Teal'c in an evening dress...."

Her eyes widened, glancing down at the invitation. "Evening dress?"

"Is that okay?" he asked. "Don't buy anything specially - I'm sure you have something...."

Sam was nodding, a slight frown on her brow. "It's fine," she assured him. And then, glancing up she added, "What are you going to wear?"

Good point. He hadn't exactly given it much thought. "Dress uniform, I guess," he replied. It was either that or jeans....

"Really?" Sam asked uneasily.

"You don't think I should?" he asked. "Why not?"

She shrugged. "It's just - you'll stand out a bit. Not that that's a problem, but I just thought maybe you wouldn't want everyone in the room being able to spot you....."

"God," he breathed, horrified by the idea, "damn right, Carter."

"Do you have a suit?"

"No."

Studying the invitation again, she said, "Well, it doesn't say 'black-tie', but since it's in the evening you could probably rent a tux."

"No way," he told her immediately. "I hate those damn things. They make me feel like a waiter."

She chuckled and handed him back the invitation. "Well, I guess it doesn't really matter. Wear what you like." She turned then, and moved slowly back around her bench and perched once more on her stool. "So, what time on Saturday?"

"About nineteen hundred?" he suggested. "It's about a 30 minute drive from your place. I can pick you up."

Sam gave a little shrug. "Why don't I pick you up?" she asked. "You'll probably need a drink more than me."

Another good point. "You don't mind driving?"

"No problem," she replied brightly. "Nineteen hundred, your place?"

"It's a date," he agreed, before he realized what he was saying. Crap. "I mean it's not a date date...." 

Sam just smiled, an oddly wistful expression. "I know what you mean, sir," she assured him. "And I'll be there. Nineteen hundred."

He just nodded. "Thanks, Carter," he said, catching her eye and holding it, hoping for once that she understood more than his words conveyed. "I appreciate this."

Sam made no answer, her gaze firm but unrevealing. And with a final nod he turned and left her to her work. But for the first time since receiving the invitation he felt a tingle of anticipation. A whole night with Sam. No Joe, no work. It was either going to be fun or unutterably painful. Perhaps both.

***

Part 3

"You're wearing that?" Joe asked, incredulous as he stared at the dress Sam had just pulled from her closet.

Barefoot and still wrapped in her bathrobe, she sighed. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing," he assured her from where he perched on the edge of her bed. "It's great. I think you look fantastic in it...."

She frowned, afraid that she knew where he was going with this. "So what's the problem?" she asked. Dropping the sleek black dress onto the bed she moved over to the mirror and squeezed a blob of hair-mousse onto her hand. 

"Is it right for a wedding?" Joe asked cautiously, picking the dress up and fingering the soft material. "I mean it's a bit....black."

"A bit black?" Sam repeated, ruffling the mousse through her hair. "It's an evening reception, Joe. That's an evening dress. The only one I have," she added for good measure. Joe was silent, and in the mirror she could see the unhappy look on his face. "You think it's too...what?" she asked. "And don't say black."

He nodded, glanced up and caught her eye in the mirror. "Sexy," he said. Bingo! Just as she'd suspected. 

"You'd rather I wore a burlap sack?"

Dropping the dress back onto the bed, he got up and crossed the room, coming up behind her. Still watching him in the mirror, she saw his apologetic smile as he slid his arms around her waist and dropped a kiss against her neck. "Sorry, Sam," he murmured. "I guess I'm a little jealous."

"There's no reason," she told him firmly. "This is a favor for a friend, that's all."

"I know," he sighed, pulling her back against his chest. "But I've seen the way he looks at you...."

Sam froze, suddenly angry and panicked. "What are you talking about?" she asked, pushing him away and picking up her hairdryer. 

"Come on," Joe protested, reaching for her again. "He's nuts about you. Everyone knows that."

Sam flicked the switch and the hairdryer buzzed into life. "He's my CO, Joe," she told him. "And a friend. That's all. You should know better than to listen to gossip - it's insulting to me and to the Colonel." Tipping her head upside down, she ran her fingers through her hair to dry it, boiling with outrage; how dare people say things like that, how dare Joe listen to them, how dare they...? Damn it, how dare they be right! 

Once her hair was dry, she stood up and started fiddling with it to get it into the right place. She was aware of the tight set of her jaw and consciously relaxed; there was no point in letting it get to her. Whatever the Colonel might or might not feel, it was irrelevant. Their relationship was bound by a strict code that neither of them were prepared to breach. 

Joe was contrite again. "I didn't mean to imply that I don't trust you, Sam," he said, once the hairdryer was silent. "I'm just saying you should be careful."

Taking a deliberate, controlling breath she said, "Careful how?"

He shrugged, but kept his eyes on hers in the mirror. "You don't want to send the wrong signals. That dress...."

"That dress what?" She turned on him with such force that the she swept the hairdryer from her dresser, sending it clattering to the floor. 

Joe raised his hands defensively. "I'm just saying," he said, taking a step backwards. 

"Saying what?" she snapped. "That you have some kind of say over what I wear?"

"No," he shook his head. "I'm just saying that if Jack can't keep his hands off you this evening, you'll know why."

Sam was so angry she could have slapped him. "He. Is. My. Commanding Officer," she told him slowly and coldly. "And my friend. I trust him. With my life." She folded her arms across her chest and glared. "The only person here with a problem, Joe, is you. Deal with it."

He just nodded, watching her. "I'm only trying to look out for you, Sam," he said quietly. "I don't want to see you get hurt. Jack might be your CO, but he's still a man. You should remember that."

"You don't know anything about it," she warned him. "We're military. And that means there's a line that he'd never cross - even if he wanted to."

Joe shrugged. "If you say so," he replied. "But don't say I didn't warn you. Military or not, he wants you."

Sam felt her cheeks flush and turned away to start fiddling with her make-up bag. '...he wants you.' Why did those words send the blood rushing illogically to her head, why did something low in her gut thrill to the idea? It was irrelevant. It was forbidden. It was wrong. And she had Joe. Retrieving the lipstick she was looking for, she glanced up into the mirror and saw him sitting down again on the bed, gazing out of the window. Could she blame him for his jealousy? She knew that nothing would ever happen between herself and the Colonel, but she also knew that Joe wasn't imagining the visceral attraction between them. Or the closeness of their friendship. With a sigh her anger evaporated, leaving only a residue of guilt. Joe gave to her unstintingly, yet there was a part of her heart she knew he could never touch. And sometimes she wondered how big that part was. "If you're really worried," she said quietly, watching him turn away from the window as she spoke, "I'll wear something else. I could wear my dress uniform."

Joe smiled slightly and shook his head. "No," he said, getting back to his feet. "I'm sorry, Sam. I had no right to talk to you like that. Or to imply anything about Jack."

She turned around and walked towards him, taking his hands. "I'm very close to my team, Joe," she explained seriously. "To all of them. We're almost like family. In fact, sometimes I think we are family."

"I know," he said, pulling her hands up so that they were clasped between them, resting lightly against his chest. "But sometimes I feel like the outsider, Sam.... As if I'm getting in the way."

His light brown eyes looked so dejected as he spoke, that Sam felt a sudden swell of affection inside and tightened her hold on his hands. "You're not getting in the way," she assured him. "What we have is different - it's not about survival, or the war. It's just about us being together. It's normal. A normal relationship." She laughed slightly. "You have no idea how nice normal can be sometimes."

"Normal?" Joe echoed, not appearing entirely satisfied with the idea.

"That's a good thing," Sam reassured him. "Really, Joe. Having someone to talk to, to have fun with, to come home to...." She smiled, reaching up to touch his face. "It's nice. And it's something I haven't had in so long...."

He relaxed a little at her words and managed a small smile. "So, do you want to come home to me tonight?" he asked, slipping an arm around her waist. "I could wait here, or you could come to my place?"

Sam kept the smile on her face, although her heart sank a little at the thought. "I might be late," she reminded him, trying not to think about why the idea of crawling into bed beside Joe this evening disturbed her.

"I won't mind," he assured her. 

Sam was silent for a moment, but had no good reason to dissuade him. "You should go back to your place," she told him. "I'll go there if it's not too late."

"I'll wait up."

She shook her head. "Don't," she said. "I've got a key."

His smile broadened. "Hmm, something warm to wake up to in the morning."

She raised an arch eyebrow, forcing humor through her uncomfortable emotions. "Coffee?"

"I was thinking of something more stimulating," he murmured, ducking his head to nuzzle her neck. And as he moved, the alarm-clock at Sam's bedside was suddenly revealed: eighteen-twenty-four. Shit!

"Damn," she hissed, pushing him away. "I'm late!" 

As Joe stepped back, she dashed to the bed and slipped out of her bathrobe and into the dress. It fitted tightly, and she was struggling to do the zipper up at the back when she felt Joe's warm fingers on her shoulder. "Here," he said, slowly zipping her up before turning her around. He smiled appreciatively. "You'll have to be careful not to out-dazzle the bride."

"Flatterer," Sam accused, pleased at his words nevertheless. Then, glancing around her bedroom she muttered, "Shoes...."

"These ones?" Joe asked, holding up a pair of strappy sandals.

"Thanks," she nodded, taking them from his hands. "But I need my sneakers."

He blinked. "What?"

"To drive in," she explained, scouring her mind for the last place she'd seen them.

"They're on the porch," Joe told her.

"Right!" Glancing at the ladder she winced a little, and hoisted her dress up around her knees before she started to climb down.

Joe laughed. "Very elegant!"

"This," she said, chuckling at the situation, "is exactly why I never wear dresses!" Eventually reaching the bottom, she smoothed her dress back into place and headed for the front door, sandals in one hand and snatching up her small, beaded purse with the other. 

Stopping on the porch, she slipped hurriedly into her sneakers and after a moment Joe appeared at the door. "Make sure you're back by midnight, Cinderella," he smiled. "And try not to leave a slipper behind."

Sam grinned. "I just hope my car doesn't turn into a pumpkin!" Standing up straight, she kissed him hurriedly on the lips and said, "You'll lock up before you leave?"

"Sure," he nodded, and with his eyes on her back Sam ran down the steps towards her car, slung her purse and sandals into the passenger seat, and was on her way.

***

Jack stood before the mirror in his bedroom, scrutinizing the man he saw staring back at him. The suit was okay, and according to Amy - the young woman in the store - it was even fashionable. It was dark, somewhere between navy and black, which was all he really cared about. And it fitted. The shirt and tie were unexceptional - he'd rejected some of the more flamboyant designs Amy had offered to him, and gone for something understated. Carter had been so right when she'd guessed that the last thing he wanted to be was conspicuous. He frowned, not really enjoying the sight of the sober, middle-aged man staring out of the mirror. 

"I hate suits," he told himself, adjusting his tie one more time. 

But he was rescued from his somber reflections by a light rap on the door. His stomach turned over, knowing that it was Carter. And even though this wasn't a date in any sense of the word, he couldn't prevent his heart from racing a little or his fingers from tingling as he strode swiftly to answer the door. But when he opened it all pretense at indifference was scorched away and his jaw nearly hit the floor. The woman who stood in the early evening sunshine looked nothing like the serious, capable soldier with whom he worked. Gone was the haphazard hairstyle, the practical fatigues and the boots. In their place was prettily tousled golden hair, a black dress hanging from delicate straps and draping softly in all the right places, suggesting tantalizingly what lay beneath, and...sneakers. Jack's eyes widened as he saw the white toes of her shoes peeking out from beneath her elegant dress.

"Nice shoes," he managed to say, deciding that humor was infinitely safer than any attempt at flattery. Stunning didn't even begin to describe her!

"They're for driving," Carter replied, her eyes checking him over quickly. "Nice suit." He smiled, forcing his gaze not to dip to the wide expanse of lightly-tanned shoulder, or to linger over the way her dress curved over slim hips.... Damn, he was beginning to think this was a bad idea. "Colonel?" Carter asked, watching him suspiciously. "Are you okay, sir?"

"Yeah," he said, tearing his eyes away from her and looking around the room for the wedding gift he'd bought. "Um, come in for a minute," he suggested as he spied the parcel on the coffee table. He picked it up carefully and took a calming breath, trying to compose himself. At last he turned back around. Carter stood just inside the door, watching him. Their eyes met and neither spoke for a moment. Jack felt his heart hammering, unable to control the distinctly unprofessional thoughts that were flooding his mind. He found it hard to tell what Carter was thinking, but she held his gaze with unwavering intensity. 

And then she said, "I didn't get a gift."

He blinked, glanced down at the parcel in his hands, and said, "I already signed your name on this one."

"Oh." She looked a little surprised, and then shrugged. "Thanks. Is that okay?"

"No problem. I didn't really expect you to buy my ex-wife a wedding present, Carter."

She smiled and it was like sunlight glinting against water. "No, sir."

He looked away, the word jarring painfully against his increasingly unrequited affection. Sir. He was so sick of hearing it on her lips, a constant reminder of how things would always have to be between them. He often thought about the alternate realities they'd encountered, and how that one little words seemed to make all the difference.... Sir. Just for once he'd like to be Jack - not her CO, not her colleague, but her friend. And then, in a pulse-racing moment, he realized that tonight was that once.... He took a step closer, fiddling a little with the parcel as he spoke, "Listen Carter," he began, "I was thinking that it's probably not a good idea for you to call me Sir or Colonel all evening. Might look kinda odd?"

"Ya think?" she asked, with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Do you think you could manage 'Jack'?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "Of course - Jack."

He smiled, his name on her lips instantly beguiling. "Thanks," he said, more quietly. "Thanks for doing this Carter, it goes way beyond the call of duty."

"It has nothing to do with duty," she replied. "I already told you that. This is just us - friends. No Colonel, no Major, no Sir..." She smiled slowly, the expression shining softly in her eyes, "No Carter. Just Sam. And Jack."

Just Sam and Jack? God, if only it was! But Joe's face swan into his vision, shattering the gentle illusion she'd spun. Then again, he mused, losing himself in her smiling eyes, Joe wasn't here tonight. Tonight it really was just Sam. And just Jack. The thought provoked a smile of his own, rising tentatively from his heart as he took a couple of steps closer to her. "We should go," he said, coming to stand at her side, close enough to touch her although he resisted the urge.

She just nodded and headed for the door. Following her, he pulled the door closed behind him while she waited on the porch. When he turned back around, the mellow sunshine was bathing her face in a soft, golden light and glinting in her hair. His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn't stop himself. "You look beautiful, Sam," he said helplessly, unable to take his eyes off of her. She turned slightly away, obviously self-conscious, and Jack silently berated himself for allowing his thoughts to escape. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

But Sam shook her head, turning back towards him. "Don't be," she smiled. "I'm flattered...." Their eyes met, and something that might have been an acknowledgment of regret passed between them, although Jack couldn't be sure; the shadow in her eyes could have been pity, or sympathy.... It just looked a lot like regret. Sam smiled again, and the shadow was gone. "We should get going," she said, glancing at the delicate watch around her wrist. "We don't want to be late."

"No," he replied, forcing his emotions back down where they belonged. "We don't want to be that."

***

Part 4

The hotel hosting the reception was rather exclusive, nestling at the foot of the mountains far from the beaten track. Wide doors opened out from the private function room onto a patio that twinkled with little white lights as the setting sun turned the sky azure. Waiters and waitresses mingled with the guests, carrying trays laden with food and drink, while in the background music vied with laughter to fill the air.

"Wow," Sam breathed quietly as she stepped into the room. "This is amazing."

"He does something with beans," Jack muttered at her side.

She flung him an amused smile. "Sells them or counts them?"

"Both, I think," he replied, too tense to return her smile. In fact, his eyes were roving around the room, obviously searching for something. Or, more accurately Sam realized, someone. Jack stopped moving, his eyes fixed on a spot at the center of the room. Following his gaze, she saw a woman dressed in a long, yet simple lavender gown, a couple of small flowers tucked into her ash-blond hair. Sara. She stood with her arm linked with an older man’s, his hair a distinguished gray, as they chatted to another couple. Glancing up at Jack she saw the way his eyes twitched in a repressed grimace, and knew that the sight was painful to him. How could it not be? Yet, knowing him as she did, she doubted that he’d allow himself to show much more than a grimace. Jack O’Neill was master of his emotions, to a fault she sometimes thought.

Realizing that they had stopped somewhat in the way of the door, she reached out and touched him lightly on the arm. "Sir…?" She winced. "Jack," she corrected herself, "shall we go in?"

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head as if pulling himself together. "Sorry."

"It’s okay," she assured him. "I can only imagine how weird this must be for you."

He smiled at that, a dark, melancholy smile. "Oh, you have no idea, Carter."

"Sam," she corrected gently, earning herself a softer smile.

"Sam," he agreed, saying her name as if he was tasting it. "Right."

As they moved further into the room, towards Sara and her new husband, Sam began to feel eyes turned upon them. The vainer side of her nature suggested that Joe had been right about her dress, but reality told her that Jack was the object of fascination, not herself. Jack O’Neill. The ex-husband. The father of the dead child. Was it her imagination, or were those whispers she heard through the music? Did they blame him for coming, she wondered suddenly? Did they feel awkward that he was here, a reminder that ‘till death us do part’ did not always mean what it seemed? She edged closer, suddenly as protective of her team as she would be in any enemy territory. Their hands bumped together as they walked, a subtle contact but all that she could offer him. Jack looked over at her and almost smiled, but it was a poor mask for the pain she saw in his eyes.

They slowed as they approached Sara, not wanting to interrupt the conversation. But Sara had obviously been aware of their arrival, for she turned to them immediately with an emotional smile on her lips. "Jack," she said warmly. "I’m glad you came."

"Hey," he said, smiling with obviously forced bravado, "I wouldn’t have missed it.

"They exchanged a long look, and Sam was startled to realize that Sara had seen through him as easily she had done. The woman knew him well, which, considering their ten year marriage, wasn’t surprising. What was surprising, however, was the way in which that simple shared look had jabbed Sam in the chest. It was an actual, physical pain that she could only assume was jealousy. How ridiculous was that?

"Nice to see you again, Edward," Jack was saying, and Sam realized she’d zoned out for a moment. "How’re things in the world of…beans?"

Edward, a friendly-looking man definitely the wrong side of fifty, smiled broadly. "Very profitable," he told Jack. "How are things in the world of national security?

"Jack shrugged, and glanced at Sam with half a smile. "Secure," he replied, turning back to Edward. He held out his hand, "Congratulations," he said. "You’re a lucky man."

"I know I am," Edward replied, shaking Jack’s hand.

Jack turned to Sara, and after a moment’s pause he held out both his hands to her. Taking them, she leaned in and he kissed her lightly on the cheek. "I’m glad you’re happy," he said quietly, "you deserve it more than anyone."Sam saw Sara’s eyes squeeze shut as she brushed a kiss across his cheek. "We both do," she murmured in a voice Sam only caught because she was standing so close to Jack. As she moved back, Sara’s eyes came to rest on Sam. Not waiting for Jack to introduce her, Sam held out her hand, "Samantha Carter," she said boldly.

Sara took her hand in cool fingers. "A pleasure to meet you."

"You too," Sam agreed. "And congratulations. You both look very happy."

Sara’s smile widened. "Thank you," she said, glancing back at Jack and then at Sam again. "You two are…?" she asked, indicating curiously between them.

"Friends." The way she and Jack said the word simultaneously was almost comic. 

Sara certainly appeared to think so, for she just raised an eyebrow and said, "Right."

"We work together," Jack clarified. "Sam’s my second-in-command."

"And friend," she added, glancing up at him with a smile. He returned it, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes; there was something darker there, a pain she had never seen before. "Well," Edward said jovially, interrupting their silent exchange, "you certainly have a beautiful second-in-command, Jack." 

Sam grinned at the flattery, and Jack muttered, "I guess she’s better looking than Kowalski."

The comment went over Edward’s head, for he had another agenda. "What do you say we let these two have a dance, for old times’ sake?" he suggested to Sam. "That is, if someone as young and beautiful as you wouldn’t mind being seen on the dance-floor with an old married man like me?"

Sam smiled again. "It would be a pleasure," she said, taking the hand Edward had offered and letting him lead her to the center of the room where a few couples were already dancing to a gentle melody.

She glanced once over her shoulder towards Jack, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was standing rather awkwardly in front of Sara until she reached out and took his hand with a nostalgic smile. Sam couldn’t see Jack’s face, but she did see the way his fingers curled around Sara’s before she turned away. She didn’t like the hollow feeling the sight was generating in her heart, and she didn’t like what that said about her and her complex feelings for the two most important men in her life.

***

As the dance drew to a close, Jack stepped away from Sara and smiled. Her face was so familiar; the soft crinkles around her mouth that deepened when she laughed, the subtle gray of her eyes that still reminded him of summer clouds, and the warm touch of her fingers on his hand. He missed her, he realized, though he would never say as much. Today was about Sara and her future, not about his regrets. "Thanks," Sara said into the silence. "For the dance, and for coming. It can’t be easy."

"It’s worth it to see you so happy," he told her, meaning every word. "Edward’s a nice guy."

"He is," she agreed. And then, cocking her head to one side, she said, "Samantha seems nice too."

Sam. God, was he that transparent? He gave Sara a flat smile, "Yeah, that’s just what Joe thinks." 

"Joe?"

"Her boyfriend," Jack said, for want of a better term.

"Oh," Sara nodded, frowning a little. There was an awkward pause, until Jack spotted Edward making his way towards them across the room. He turned back to Sara, "I should let you go," he said, the accidental double meaning not lost on either of them.

Sara just nodded, watching him for a moment. And then, to his surprise, she reached up and kissed him gently on the lips. It was a soft, loving kiss, devoid of passion or fire. It was a farewell kiss, and despite the events and years that separated them Jack felt the pain of losing her stir sharply in his heart. He said nothing as she moved back, her eyes bright with happiness despite the tears that glimmered on the surface. All he could do was force himself to smile and swallow the emotions welling in his throat. And then, as he heard Edward walking up behind him, he reached out for the final time to touch her hand. "Be happy," he told her.

"You too, Jack," she replied softly.

He just nodded, and with a tight smile walked away. He heard Edward’s rumbling voice talking softly to Sara, but soon it was drowned beneath the hubbub of the room as he strode away from them. Dimly he was aware of eyes on him, but he paid them no attention as he headed for the small bar in the corner of the room. "Whiskey," he said to the young man serving. "Double; no ice or water."

There really was only one way to deal with days like this, he thought, knocking back the drink in one go. "Give me another." And this was it. But before he could raise the glass to his lips, he felt firm fingers circle his wrist, holding his hand half way to his mouth.

"Jack?" Sam was standing at his side, watching him with frank compassion. The expression would have irritated him, had it been less honest. But there was no pity in Sam’s eyes, just an undemanding empathy. After a moment she said, "Dance with me?"

Maybe it was the whiskey already hitting his bloodstream, but those three simple words ignited something deep down in his gut - something too long denied. Dance with her? Hold her? In that dress? His lips felt suddenly dry and he licked them nervously. He probably shouldn’t. They should probably sit right here at the bar, surrounded by people, and chat for an hour until the requirements of duty had been fulfilled and he could leave. But she was standing right there, the touch of her fingers on his wrist burning like fire and her eyes watching him with warmth and expectancy. And he felt so empty, so alone after parting with Sara like that…. One dance wouldn’t hurt, would it? Friends danced. It didn’t mean anything, and it wouldn’t lead them anywhere they shouldn’t go. How could it? Sam was with Joe now, and he was no more than some old guy she worked with – a friend at most. Where was the danger in one dance? He lowered his arm, returning the glass to the bar. Her fingers didn’t leave his wrist until he turned his hand over and their fingers slowly entwined. She watched him the whole time, a slight smile on her lips and a light in her eyes. Jack stood up, and still holding hands, they walked together towards the dance floor. 

***

Sam was surprised to find her heart racing slightly as they reached the center of the room. The lights had been dimmed since she’d danced with Edward, and the music was decidedly romantic. Jack still held her hand, though his gentle grip was motionless, as though he was afraid to move even a finger. Slowing to a halt, Sam turned to face him. He was watching her intently and silently, but she saw the way his tongue flickered against his lips and knew that he was nervous. Ridiculous! They were just a couple of friends dancing; there was no need for butterflies in the stomach, or for fingertips to tingle with anticipation. "Shall we?" she asked, her voice sounding rather more husky that she’d have liked.

"Sure," Jack replied, his eyes still holding hers as he took a step forward. She saw him swallow, hesitating for a fraction of a second before he reached out to slide his arm lightly around her waist. She could barely feel his hand on her back, but even that soft touch was electric. Sam let her fingers come to rest against the shoulder of his jacket. The fabric was soft, warm and new, she noted, doing her best not to notice how very dark his eyes had grown, or the subtle scent of his after-shave, or the heat emanating from his body. She'd never been this close to him before, at least not in a non-operational situation. And as they began to sway gently to the music and his leg moved lightly against hers, she felt her stomach start cart-wheeling. 

"So, did Edward bore you about beans?" Jack asked suddenly, shattering her increasingly heated thoughts and bringing a relieved smile to her lips.

"No," she said, endeavoring to keep her voice even, despite the way her body was reacting to his closeness. "We talked about motorbikes."

Jack raised an eyebrow, almost amused. "Eddy has a bike?"

"Used to," Sam nodded.

"I can’t see him in the leather gear," Jack muttered, and then frowned. "No, I definitely can’t…."

Sam chuckled at the idea, relaxing a little. And her laugh brought a smile to his lips too, warming his eyes. "It was nice of you to dance with Sara," she said after a moment, probing gently to see if he wanted to talk. 

He didn’t. "It wasn’t like Ed gave me a choice."

"You could have walked away," she said quietly, trying to read the expression in his dark eyes. 

"Run away, you mean." He shook his head. "I don’t do that."

Sam nodded. "You’re a brave man," she said, smiling at him and giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. "It’s one of the things that first struck me about you."

"Really?"

She shrugged, her smile turning arch. "That and your love for scientists."

Something glittered darkly in his eyes, but he looked away before he quietly said, "Well, you know I love you now."

"You do…?" Sam whispered, her heart pattering unevenly at his words. What the hell was he saying?

"Scientists, I mean," Jack added, turning back to her with a smile that was more than a little strained.

Before she could answer, the couple dancing behind them jostled her slightly, causing her to take half a step forward, further into Jack’s embrace. In the heels she was wearing she was almost his equal in height, and she found herself now virtually face to face with him. Their eyes locked, but all she saw in his dusky gaze was sadness and loss; was he thinking about Sara? She’d rarely seen such exposed emotion on his face and so didn’t pull back from him, even when she felt his arm tighten around her. The sensation of being pressed firmly against him made her breathless, and she cursed her own weakness. She shouldn’t feel like this, not when Jack was struggling to cope with seeing his wife married to another man; not when Joe was waiting for her at home. Ignoring her hammering heart, she tried to show him that she understood and that she was here for him - as a friend. "It must be very difficult for you," she said, pleased that her voice sounded even, "to see her with someone else."

"Yeah," he said, still watching her intently. "It is. A lot harder than you think."

"I’m sorry," she said quietly, and because she couldn’t think of any words that might comfort him she leaned closer and slid her hand from his shoulder to his back, hugging him gently. But he didn’t relax in her embrace, in fact the muscles beneath his jacket only seemed to bunch harder. Afraid that she’d overstepped the unspoken barrier between them, Sam pulled back and looked hurriedly into his face. And as his eyes met hers something flashed in their depths; it was powerful yet unidentifiable, but Jack jerked visibly, as if stung, and took a step backward. The music was drawing to a close and his arm dropped from around her as he pulled his other hand free from her grasp. 

"I want…," he blurted, and then stopped and dropped his head, staring at his shoes. After a confusing moment he looked back up again and said, "Excuse me." And with that he turned on his heel and practically bolted from the room, leaving Sam staring after him amid a torrent of bewildering emotions.

***

The small balcony Jack had found, on the opposite side of the hotel from the wedding party, suited him just fine. From it he could gaze out into the darkness at the huge mass of the mountains, silhouetted against the evening’s starry sky. And how he wished he were out there among them, not trapped in his personal earth-bound hell. On the table at his side stood the half bottle of Irish whiskey he’d bought from the hotel’s main bar, and his hand nursed a very full glass. But as an emotional anesthetic, the alcohol wasn’t working its usual magic. He could still feel the pain of losing her, and the grief of seeing her with another man was as potent and bitter as it had ever been. Raising his glass to his lips Jack laughed darkly, aware that the sound was increasingly drunken. It was ironic, really. Here he was at Sara’s wedding, the woman to whom he’d devoted ten years of his life, and yet it was for Sam that he was grieving. It was the loss of what could have been, rather than what had been, that was eating at his heart. How perverse was that? 

Inviting Sam had been a bad idea he decided as he swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. His feelings for her were too strong, too unresolved to withstand the emotional roller-coaster he was riding. She thought she'd come with him as a friend, but he’d deceived her. Perhaps he’d even deceived himself. Either way, dancing with her like that had led his body to betray him thoroughly. Her touch had sent ripples of desire radiating out from every point of contact, igniting the passion he kept buried so deeply. And then, when she’d pressed herself against him, holding him tight in a gesture of innocent comfort, the need had simply exploded in his mind: *I want her.* The thought had scorched through him like a bolt of lightening, frightening in its intensity. There’d been no denial, no carefully crafted rationalization. Just raw desire. *I want her.* It wasn’t lust. Or, rather, it was more than lust. *I want her. I want her heart, body and soul.*

The startling flash of emotion had left him breathless, his heart pounding with the effort of not acting on his crushing need. But the feel of her soft body leaning against him, and the scent of her perfume, more intoxicating than the whiskey, had been almost too much to resist. He’d been forced to pull himself out of her embrace before he did something stupid. 

"Huh," he muttered, reaching over for the bottle and topping up his glass. "As if this isn’t stupid enough…." But he’d needed something to dull the longing and the bleak loneliness he’d felt in her arms, and alcohol was the closest thing to hand. "You’ve just gotta get over her," he told himself, the words sounding like a pathetic mantra. Over the past six months he’d probably given himself the same piece of advice a thousand times, and sometimes he’d even managed to convince himself that it was possible. But then she would smile. Or frown. Or laugh. Or do something to remind him how very much she meant to him, and he’d be back at square one. 

But today…Jack shook his head and shivered as he remembered. He’d never felt anything quite like that fierce, primal desire. Well, not since their encounter with the Land of Light, perhaps. But this was no alien virus. This was something a whole lot more profound, and infinitely more dangerous. ‘I want her. I need her.’ The words circled his mind, taunting him with the hopelessness of his desires. He raked a hand through his hair, and leaned his head back against the hard wooden chair. "Get a grip," he told himself, knocking back the rest of his whiskey and reaching again for the bottle. "Get a goddamn grip."

***

Sam had spent an uncomfortable half an hour peering into the dark corners of the hotel by the time she found Jack. He was alone on a narrow balcony leading off of a currently unused function room. Sitting at the far end, he was slumped in a chair, his long legs stretched out before him and an almost empty bottle of something on the table next to him. At first she thought he was asleep, until she saw his dark eyes glint slightly in the light that filtered through the curtained windows of the hotel. She hesitated on the threshold, not sure if she should disturb him; he obviously wanted to be alone. And yet, she felt as though she had some duty to prevent him from drinking himself into oblivion if she could.

Taking a deep breath, Sam stepped out onto the balcony. Jack didn’t move, didn’t seem to notice her. "Jack?" she asked quietly.

His head turned and he blinked, his face almost lost in the shadows. "Carter?"

"It’s Sam," she reminded him, walking slowly towards him and taking a seat on the other side of the small table. "So," she said then, watching him carefully, "whatcha doing?"

He smiled, a humorless smile. "Getting drunk," he told her calmly, his voice unslurred yet subtly different. More open, perhaps? It lacked the hard, military edge she was used to hearing. He nodded towards the bottle. "Want some? It’s a damn good single malt."

"I’m driving," she reminded him. 

"Right," he nodded. "Course you are, Captain."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Captain?"

"Captain Carter," he repeated, gazing out into the darkness beyond the hotel. In the distance the lights from a passing vehicle flashed. "Has a certain ring to it, don’t you think? Captain Carter."

"I prefer Major," she told him.

He turned to look at her then, sitting more upright and fixing her with a serious, frank look. "I prefer Sam," he said, as if the words were somehow shocking. She said nothing, startled and unsure how to respond, and he laughed. "Now, that’s pretty damn funny, isn’t it?"

Sam swallowed. There was no mistaking his meaning, or the raw look he was giving her. And it unnerved her. "I’m not laughing," she said quietly.

"You should be," he said, reaching for the bottle and pouring himself another glass. His hand didn’t even shake, Sam noticed. "I’m laughing," he added after he’d taken a swig. "On the inside."

She stood up, reached over and took the glass from his hand. "I think I should get you home," she said.

He didn’t protest, letting her take the drink from him. "Do you even get the joke?" he asked.

"Not really," she replied. 

Jack nodded slowly, the deliberateness of the movement the only concession to his drunken state. "The joke," he told her, watching her face the whole time, "is that I came to see the woman I used to love marry someone else, in the company of the only other woman I ever loved, who’s also…."

"Don’t," she protested, turning away from his words. "You don’t know what you’re saying."

"Yes I do."

She closed her eyes, trying to blot the words from her mind; ‘…the only other woman I ever loved…’. She didn’t want to hear that. She couldn’t hear that. Joe. Joe loved her. She loved Joe. "Let me take you home," she said more firmly, as she turned around. "You don’t want Sara to see you like this."

Her words seemed to get through to him, because after a frozen moment he gave a sharp nod. "No," he said, "I don’t."

With an effort, he pushed himself to his feet. He took a moment to adjust to the new situation but she didn’t see him sway as he took a step towards her. "You okay?" she asked, glancing at the almost empty bottle. God only knew how much he’d drunk.

"Not really," he told her. "But life’s a bitch like that."

His words startled her, unaccustomed as she was to such emotional honesty. "Yeah it is," she agreed, watching him out of the corner of her eye as they walked back towards the door. 

At the threshold they slowed, Jack was blinking in the brighter light, but he looked at her with open regret in his eyes as he stopped and reached out to put a hand on her arm. "Carter," he said, the use of the familiar name oddly intimate, "I wish things were different between us."

She stopped, caught by the intensity in his dark, slightly hooded eyes. There was regret there, and pain, and a profound sadness that touched her heart. Instinctively, she sought to comfort him and her hand covered his where it rested on her arm. She knew it was wrong, that she didn’t even have the numbing effects of alcohol as an excuse, but nonetheless she felt she owed him the truth. "I know," she said, quite clearly. "So do I."

Jack nodded slowly, his gaze still locked on hers. "Duty’s a bitch," he murmured as his fingers tightened around her arm.

"Yeah," she agreed again, "it is." And then she pulled herself gently free of his grasp and smoothed her hands over her dress, straightening her shoulders. "Let’s go home."

He said nothing, only nodded slightly, his face alive with emotions she had rarely seen him express; hope, regret, pain, desire, confusion, need…. She sighed, the avalanche of confusing feelings he was creating threatening to overcome her customary composure. 

***

By the time she pulled up in Jack’s driveway, it was almost midnight. He lay sleeping in the passenger seat of her car, his head lolled against the window, and didn’t stir as she pulled on the handbrake and cut the engine. 

"Jack?" she said, her quiet voice loud in the silence. "Jack? You’re home."

Still nothing, so she reached out and shook his arm slightly. "Jack, wake up."

He moved then, lifting his head with obvious effort and blinking out into the darkness. He pressed his hands against his face, and groaned. "God, I’m drunk."

She smiled. "Yeah, you are."

"Sorry."

"It’s okay," she assured him. "You didn’t throw-up in my car, which is the main thing."

Jack nodded slowly. "I never throw-up," he assured her.

"You’ll wish you had in the morning," Sam muttered, opening her door and climbing out. By the time she’d reached the passenger door, Jack had got himself out of the car and was leaning back against it, his eyes closed.

She eyed him for a moment, before she said, "House key?"

"Huh?"

"Where’s your house key?" she repeated.

Opening his eyes, a smile curved his lips. "I can open the door," he assured her, pushing away from the car and walking slowly towards his house. "I’m fine."

Sam wasn’t convinced, and trailed along behind him. She'd at least make sure he got inside before she left him. "I’m glad to hear that," she told him, climbing the steps to his porch, impressed by the fact that he didn’t even stumble. If she’d drunk half that much she’d be face down under the table.

Jack reached into his pocket for his keys, and unlocked the door. "See?" he told her, turning to her with another dark smile. "You can go. Get back to Joe. I’ll be fine on my own."

"You should drink a pint of water before you go to bed," Sam advised, reluctant to leave him in such a state. "It’ll help with the hangover."

He took a step into the dark hallway, and turned back towards her. "I’ve been drunk before, Carter," he told her. "I know the drill."

"Sorry," she smiled. "Just trying to help."

He said nothing, just watched her. And there was a definite hunger in his eyes as he said, "That’s not the kind of help I need."

Sam said nothing, aware of a sudden tension between them. Despite everything, she felt a pull towards him, a hunger of her own that had never been satisfied. She licked nervously at her lips and said, "I should go." 

"Yeah," Jack agreed, "you should."

She nodded, but didn’t move. He was still watching her, desire open on his face. She knew exactly what he wanted, and knew herself well enough to realize that his desire was matched and equaled by her own. But she kept the knowledge hidden behind her stone-cold-sober face and forced herself to do the right thing, the right thing for both of them. "Goodnight, Jack," she said.

He just nodded, his disappointment evident. No, it was more than disappointment. It was distress, grief…loss. "Goodnight," he whispered, in a voice thick with emotion.

Unable to just turn her back on him, Sam took a step into the hallway and reached up to kiss him lightly on the cheek. "Goodnight," she repeated, her face still close to his. And then she felt his hand grasp her shoulder, and froze at the warmth of his fingers on her bare skin. Her heart was racing, doing a damn good job of pumping reason right out of her mind. Her lips were still close to his cheek, but slowly, imperceptibly, he moved. His nose bumped lightly against hers, arousing sharp waves of desire as his lips hovered over her mouth. "Jack…," she managed to breathe, unsure if the word was warning or encouragement. It didn’t matter, for no sooner had she spoken than he silenced her with a slow, heated kiss.

For something so wrong, it felt incredible. Her rationality melted in the heat of their mutual desire, and her body responded instinctively to his touch. His grip on her shoulder tightened, and his other hand slid over her hip, pulling her against him as the force of his kiss intensified. It would have been so easy to lose herself in the power of the moment, to surrender to the need she felt in him and that was mirrored in herself. But she couldn’t. Duty and honor, both to the Air Force and to Joe, demanded her attention. This was wrong, on so many levels. With supreme effort, she pulled back far enough to speak. "I have to go," she rasped through a throat choked with desire.

But Jack made no move to release her, his forehead coming to rest against hers. "No you don’t," he murmured. 

"I think I do," she insisted, the hammering of her heart loud in her ears. 

Jack’s grip on her shoulder tightened and his other hand slid up from her hip to seize her other shoulder. "Stay," he breathed close to her ear, the thumb of each hand running along her collar bone and stroking the thin dress straps from her shoulders. His lips followed their path, blazing heatedly against her skin.

Oh, God! "You know I can’t stay," she told him desperately, taking a step backwards and finding herself pressed against the wall of his hallway. He followed her, his hold on her shoulders unrelenting as he dipped his head and kissed her again, more urgently this time. She moved her head sideways to break the kiss, "Jack, stop," she breathed.

"No," he replied, his warm whiskey-laden breath hot against her face. His hands were on her arms now, holding her tight. "Don’t go," he pleaded. "I don’t want to be alone tonight."

"I know," she replied, fighting desire and a tremor of unease. "But I can’t stay, and in the morning you’ll remember why."

He shook his head, and she wasn’t even sure he was listening. "I want you," he murmured, moving closer, trapping her between himself and the wall. "I want you so much…."

Suddenly Joe’s words were fresh in her mind: ‘Military or not, he wants you.’ Had she done this? Had she sent the wrong signals? God knows, her attraction to him was powerful enough that he could have easily seen through her thin attempts to disguise it. And she’d responded to his kiss readily, willingly, even though she’d known he was too drunk to be responsible for his actions. Even now her body was pulsing with the heat of his touch, eager to succumb to the desire that burned inside her. If she’d been wrong before, she knew that she had no choice but to impress the truth upon him now, however difficult it would be. "I’m sorry," she said, trying to keep her voice calm and firm as she pushed gently against his chest, "but this can’t happen."

Still he resisted. "Stay with me, Sam," he growled, his hands leaving her shoulders to cup her face roughly as he kissed her again.

Her heart was racing with a mixture of desire and fear. She pushed his hands away. "No!" It came out more of a bark than she’d intended, but nonetheless he reached for her again. 

"Sam, please…."

"Colonel," she protested, pushing more firmly against his chest and sending him stumbling backwards, "stop it!" 

Jack jerked, almost as if he’d been struck physically by her words. His eyes widened and a hand came up to cover his mouth. "Oh my God," he breathed, staring at her through horrified eyes. "Oh God, Sam…." She stopped, poised to run, but was caught like a deer in headlights as she watched the expression of disgust creep across his face. "What have I done?" he whispered in a tone of such desperation that her heart tripped over itself.

"It’s okay," she assured him quietly.

But Jack just shook his head, both hands raking through his hair, his gaze fixed on the floor at her feet. "Go," he said then, his voice cracked and broken. "Go home, Carter."

She nodded and headed for the door, but stopped before she stepped outside. "Are you going to be okay?" she asked, turning back towards him.

He made no answer, leaning back slowly against the wall, his hands pressed over his eyes. "Fine," he whispered, the lie as clear as glass. "Peachy."

Sam nodded, although he couldn’t see her. She didn’t know what else to do, and so she turned and walked slowly back to her car. She was shaking by the time she pulled open the door and slid behind the steering wheel, sinking back gratefully into the seat. Her mind was swimming with sensations and emotions; his lips on hers, the fire that had raced up and down her entire body, the strength of his hands on her shoulders, his need, his words – I don’t want to be alone tonight – his obvious hunger for her. They all rang like a cacophony in her mind, and she pressed her hands against her temples, squeezing her eyes shut as she attempted to make some kind of sense of what had happened. But it was hopeless. Opening her eyes again, she reached for the ignition, glancing back at Jack’s house as she did so. It was then that she noticed that his front door was still wide open. Damn it. For all she knew he’d passed out in the hall, too drunk even to close the door. 

Her hand fell shakily back into her lap as she stared at the door, waiting for it to close. But it didn’t. No lights came on. Nothing happened. She must have sat there for ten minutes, waiting. But still all was dark and silent in the house. ‘I don’t want to be alone tonight.’ His words rang through her mind, desperate and lonely. She glanced at her watch, and grimaced when she saw it was well past midnight. Still, Daniel would probably still be up. Maybe he’d come round if she called…? Cautiously, she climbed back out of the car and headed for Jack’s house again. She took a couple of steps inside, but saw no sign of him. Maybe he’d gone to bed and forgotten to close the door, she thought. She walked a little further into the living room, and stopped. Her stomach knotted at the sight before her. Jack sat on the edge of the couch, his head in his hands, and his shoulders shaking violently. He was crying. Jack O’Neill was crying. Sam bit her lip, torn between wanting to comfort him and wanting to run as far from the disconcerting sight as she could; she’d never seen him so vulnerable. She took a step backward, her foot scuffing against the wooden floor. Jack’s head shot up, and she had a brief look at his ravaged face before he jumped to his feet and turned away from her. "Christ, Carter," he snapped, "what the hell are you doing creeping in here like that?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," she said, nervous and uncomfortable with the situation.

He was wiping at his face with his hands, his voice shaky as he said, "I thought I told you to go home?"

"I want to know that you’re going to be okay," she insisted. "Should I call Daniel?"

"Daniel?" he asked, incredulity evident even as he struggled to control his emotions. "Why the hell would you do that?"

Sam was silent for a moment. "I thought you might want to talk."

"I don’t," he assured her vehemently. 

"Okay," she said slowly.

Silence descended, and Sam could hear the shuddering breaths Jack was trying to repress as he stood with his back towards her, struggling for control. At last he turned around, although he obviously couldn’t bring himself to look at her. "Go home," he said, more evenly. "I can take care of myself, Carter."

"Are you sure?" she asked. "I could make you some coffee…."

He squeezed his eyes shut, and she realized he was still on the edge of control. "For crying out loud, Carter," he grated, "just go. Please."

She could hear the tension in his voice, and knew that her presence was doing nothing but exacerbate the situation. Which pained her, to a surprising degree. "Okay," she said, sadly. "If you’re sure…."

"Please," he whispered, his voice cracking again. "Please, just go…."

Sam nodded, feeling her own tears prick behind her eyes as she turned away, knowing that by staying she was only causing him more pain. "Goodnight, sir," she murmured as she left, but heard no reply as she pulled the door shut behind her and left him, alone.

***

Part 5

Jack awoke to sunshine streaming into his eyes, and a spinning nausea in his head. Blearily he gazed up at the ceiling, for a moment wondering what the hell he was looking at. After a while he recognized it as the living room and turned his aching head to one side. He was sprawled on the couch, in a rumpled suit with his shoes still on. And he felt like crap. His eyes were heavy and he remembered that he’d been crying. The memory slid inexorably onto the reason for him breaking down so badly, and he squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Colonel, stop it!’ Carter’s alarmed words had broken through his drunken haze to show him exactly what he was doing – forcing himself on her. His throat tightened again at the memory, disgusted that he could do such a thing to anyone, let alone to her – the woman he cared for and respected more than anyone in his life. And now he’d ruined everything between them; she’d offered him her friendship and he’d abused it in the worst, most despicable way. He’d never felt as much self-loathing as he did right then, remembering the way he’d grabbed at her. Had he hurt her, he wondered, had he frightened her? Had she been afraid that he was going to…? God, he couldn’t even think the word. A painful sob rose in his throat as he realized how much she must despise him now, how he’d destroyed all the trust and friendship between them. Tears spilled from his eyes and he squeezed them shut, realizing that he was still drunk; Jack O’Neill never cried unless he was drunk. Very drunk. 

He forced himself to sit up, rubbing angrily at the tears. Such self-pity was almost as revolting as his behavior of the previous night, and he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve pity from anyone, not even himself. What he deserved was punishment, and although the loss of Carter’s friendship was probably the most severe he could imagine, it didn’t alleviate his guilt. He’d breached every code, personal and military, and deserved to suffer the consequences. The thought stopped him for a moment, diverting the path of his thoughts. Military codes…? Making sexual advances towards a junior officer under your command was a serious offence, especially in today’s Air Force. And for good reason if stupid old men like him couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. He pressed his fingers over his eyes and pushed them through his disheveled hair. Carter had to report him, he decided. There was no choice in the matter. They couldn’t ignore what he’d done, or how it would effect their working relationship – if they could even have a working relationship after this. He had to see her, he realized. Not only to apologize, if that were possible, but to ensure that she did what was right; Hammond had to be informed. Jumping to his feet he took half a step before his wildly spinning head forced him back onto the couch; he wasn’t going anywhere for a while. The last thing he needed was a drink-driving offense to add to the other charges. 

"God, O’Neill," he sighed, sagging back against the cushions, "you’ve really screwed up this time. Boy, have you ever."

***

Sam fidgeted nervously with the papers on her desk, unable to settle to anything. It was unusual, but her focus was totally blown today and it was all she could do to stay in her chair and stare at the blank computer-screen in front of her. The fact that she’d had next to no sleep wasn’t helping, and neither was the overdose of caffeine racing through her body.

She'd been too tense to sleep when she’d reached home, and had paced around her small house for over an hour before she’d even thought of getting out of the dress she’d been wearing. All she could think about was the sound of the front door closing, leaving Jack distraught and alone. Her fingers had toyed the whole time with her car keys, and more than once she’d decided to go back and make sure he was okay. But each time, her fears had stopped her. Not that she’d been afraid of Jack. No, it was herself she’d feared. She knew she couldn’t have walked away a second time, and knew equally that she couldn’t stay. The impasse had stalled her, frozen her with indecision until inaction was all that she could manage.

Wearily she’d crawled into bed and closed her eyes, hoping that sleep would soothe her. But it hadn’t. Instead, her mind had taken her back to the feel of his kiss, both gentle and fierce, demanding and giving. She'd never felt so desired, so wanted – not by Jonus, nor any of her other, infrequent, lovers. And not by Joe. That thought wasn’t particularly startling; their relationship had always been built more on friendship than passion. But still, the contrast was vivid. She'd felt on fire in Jack’s arms, responding to him helplessly as if they were wired together. The connection had been intense, both physically and mentally; mutual desire, mutual need. She'd wanted him as much as he’d wanted her, and it was a miracle that she’d stopped it when she had. But lying in bed, alone between the soft sheets, she’d ached for him and had wished that she too had been able to forget the barriers that kept them apart. Just for one night.

She'd slept fitfully, her thoughts running like a hamster on a treadmill, returning again and again to the events of the evening, until dawn had paled the sky. As the first rays of sunshine had broken free of the mountains, she’d given up entirely on sleep, pulled on a bathrobe and gone to sit on her little balcony. The dawn air was cool, but not chill and she’d sat there dazedly until the sun was fully risen and she felt its warmth start to heat her skin. As she stood up to start the day her eyes had lingered over the telescope he’d given her, and she’d trailed a finger along the smooth metal. 

"I should have stayed," she’d said quietly to herself. "I should have stayed with him."

And in that moment, with the morning sun warming her face, she’d known that she’d spoken the truth. Fear had forced her to leave; fear of what she felt, fear of the consequences of their actions, fear of stepping over the line and into the unknown. Fear, not bravery, not duty. And certainly not honor. True, had she stayed she would have contravened some regulations and, more seriously, betrayed Joe’s trust. But by leaving, she’d betrayed something more profound – she’d betrayed herself and all that she felt for Jack. She’d lied, hiding her true feelings behind the duty she wore like a shield around her heart; she'd lied to herself, to Jack - and to Joe. 

"God, Sam," she sighed, shaking free of the memory and getting up from her desk, starting to pace anxiously around her lab, "you really screwed up. Big time. Now what the hell are you going to do?"

She didn’t have time to answer, for at that moment the telephone rang, loud and dissonant in the pensive silence, making her jump. Jack! Her heart thudded at the thought that he might be calling her and she had to take a deep breath before she picked up the phone and said, "Carter."

There was a long pause, and then. "Sam, it’s me." Joe.

"Oh," she said, struggling to mask her disappointment. "Hey."

"Hey?" he repeated, and she could sense the silent anger in his voice. "I’ve been trying to get hold of you all morning. I was worried when you didn’t show up last night."

Crap. She'd completely forgotten. "It was late," she explained. "I just wanted to go home."

There was another long pause, before he quietly said, "Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Go home."

Her eyes closed, guilt and anger tying her tongue for a moment. "Of course I did," she said eventually. 

"I tried calling…."

"I had the answer-phone on."

He sighed, loud enough for her to hear it down the phone. "I wish you’d called."

"I’m sorry," she replied quietly. "It was a difficult evening…I just needed some space."

He was on to her in a flash. "Difficult how?"

"I can’t talk about it here," she told him. And that was God’s honest truth; you never knew who was listening on government phone lines.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his anger fading in the face of concern. "He didn’t try anything…?"

"I really can’t talk about this now," she told him, sidestepping the question. 

"Then tomorrow tonight?" Joe asked hopefully. "I’m out of town tonight, but tomorrow…?" 

"Maybe," she agreed.

But he was persistent. "Seven o’clock, my place?"

"I said maybe," she repeated. "I’ve got a lot of work to do and…."

"Sam," Joe said seriously, "work can wait. I want to see you, talk to you. It’s important."

She sighed, and nodded at the telephone. "Okay," she said, "I’ll try to be there."

"Just be there," he pressed. "Please."

She owed him that much, didn’t she? After everything that had happened, and had so nearly happened the previous night? She owed him that much. "I’ll be there," she promised. "Seven o’clock."

"Good," he replied firmly. And then, more softly, "Love you, Sam."

"Love you too," she replied, the words automatic. But she felt a guilty flush steel over her face as she said them, and wondered if they were really true. 

***

It had been a long morning, and Daniel’s mind was still work-dazed as he sat in the canteen poking at his lunch, still lost in the intricacies of the translation on which he had been working. So he didn’t hear her approach until she spoke his name. 

"Daniel?" Glancing up he saw Sam standing, tray in hand, watching him. "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course not," he replied, pushing his tray to one side to make room. "I didn’t realize you were on-base today."

She shrugged, lowering herself into the chair opposite him. "I’ve been busy," she explained.

Daniel nodded, his mind at last leaving the mysteries of the past to focus on the present. "So," he said, eyeing her over the top of his glasses, "how’d it go last night?"

"Okay," Sam replied quietly, but he didn’t miss the slight frown that creased her forehead.

"Okay…how?"

She looked up, glanced around and leaned forward, dropping her voice as she said, "Jack was pretty upset."

Jack? Daniel didn’t comment on the unusual familiarity. "I’m surprised," he told her, taking another mouthful. "It’s been a long time since they split up – five years."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, prodding her food thoughtfully. "Still, I guess seeing her with someone else…."

"I guess," Daniel agreed. But he wasn’t entirely convinced. "How long did you stay?"

"Late." She glanced up at him. "Jack got quite drunk," she confided quietly.

Daniel winced. "That’s…unusual," he said. He’d rarely seen the man drink to excess; Jack needed to be in control too much for that. 

"I know," she replied. "I should have stopped him…."

Daniel laughed. "I’d like to have seen you try," he said, imagining the scene. And then, more seriously, "He can look after himself, Sam. It’s not your responsibility."

"Isn’t it?" she asked. "We look out for each other all the time. All of us, I mean."

"On missions," Daniel agreed. "But I don’t expect you to sort out my personal life – and I’m sure Jack doesn’t, either."

She smiled, although the expression lacked its normal brilliance. "Still," she sighed, "I can’t help feeling that I let him down. As a friend. I couldn’t give him what he needed."

Daniel raised his eyebrows, holding her look with a searching one of his own. "And what was that?" he asked quietly. Sam looked away and shook her head. But she didn’t answer, and she didn’t have to. He knew exactly what he needed; he needed Sam. "You did what you could," he told her quietly. "As a friend."

"If you’d seen how upset he was," she began in a voice that shook slightly. But Daniel’s attention was distracted, for at that moment he saw the object of their discussion walk into the room. 

Reaching out, he touched Sam’s hand to silence her. "Talk of the devil," he murmured.

She tensed beneath his fingers, her shoulders stiffening into a straight line although she didn’t turn around. "He wasn’t due in today," she said rigidly.

"Guess he changed his mind," Daniel replied, watching as Jack glanced once around the room before he spotted them. He stopped dead for a moment and Daniel had the distinct impression that he was about to bolt for the door. But he didn’t, and slowly he started to walk towards them. Removing his hand from Sam’s, Daniel raised it in casual greeting. "Hey, Jack," he called as he drew near. "Thought you were off today?"

Jack stopped at the end of the table, his hands shoved nervously into his pockets. "I was," he said at last. "But there’s something I need to take care of." He didn’t look once at Sam as he spoke, which Daniel would have considered odd if his attention hadn’t been so wholly absorbed by the extreme tension he saw in Jack’s face. The man looked as though his world had just ended; dark rings around bloodshot eyes, pale face and thin lips. But that was the least of it – he looked like he was about to crawl out of his skin, as if at any moment whatever was holding him together would fly apart. Daniel was worried, seriously so.

"Jack?" he said. "What’s up?"

"Nothing," came the strained reply. Obviously a lie. 

Daniel glanced over at Sam, who was focused entirely on her lunch, and back to Jack. "You wanna sit down?"

"No," Jack replied, still staring at the table-top. Not sure what else to say, Daniel remained silent. After a moment, Jack spoke again. "Carter?"

Sam glanced up, almost as tense as he was. "Sir?"

"Are you going to be in your lab later?"

"Yes, sir. I’m there all day – working on the Goa’uld device SG-5 brought back from P4T-572."

Jack nodded absently, still not looking at her. "I, um, need to discuss something with you," he said quietly. "I’ll stop by later, if that’s okay?"

"Of course," Sam replied. "Anytime."

He nodded curtly, lingered for a few more moments, before turning to leave. "I’ll catch you later, Daniel," he mumbled, and then, looking briefly at Sam for the first time, said, "Carter." And then he stalked away, hands still shoved into pockets and head bent, staring at his boots as he walked. 

Daniel let out a long breath. "What the hell was that about?" he asked.

But Sam was silent as she pushed her half-finished meal aside. "I don’t know," she replied. And he knew she was lying too. Fine. Something had happened between them, that much was clear. And whatever it was, the aftertaste was bitter. 

***

By the time she heard his familiar rap on the door, Sam’s nerves were stretched so tight that anything could have snapped them. The small component she’d been attempting to study fell from her suddenly clumsy fingers, and she cursed silently. Then, taking a deep breath, she called out, "Come in."

The door opened slowly and the Colonel stepped inside. "Carter," he said quietly, meeting her gaze fleetingly, before glancing down at her work-bench. "If you’re busy, I can come back." He almost sounded hopeful, as if just standing there was painful.

"I’m not busy," she told him, looking at his pale, drawn face. "How’s the head?" she asked, imagining the sort of hangover that much whiskey would foster.

He was still loitering near the open door, staring at her desk. "It’s the least of my worries," he muttered. And Sam grimaced, remembering his distress the previous night. 

"Yeah," she said quietly, "I guess it is."

He nodded and looked up at her, straightening his shoulders with the sort of resolve she’d seen many times in the field. "I don’t know how to apologize to you, Carter," he blurted, fixing her with a look of such heartfelt contrition that she was lost for words. He spoke into the silence. "What I did last night was inexcusable. I can’t think about it without…." Behind him, Sam saw a couple of airmen stroll past the open door and glance idly into her lab.

"Sir?" she interrupted. "Perhaps you should close the door?"

He looked over his shoulder and frowned. But nonetheless he stepped further into the room, and pushed the door until it was only slightly ajar. Yet, strangely, it was clear that he was deliberately not closing it all the way. Was he afraid of being alone with her? Did he think she was afraid of being alone with him? Still hovering close to the door, he said, "I was way out of line last night, Carter. And I’m more sorry than I can say." His voice was even but brittle, and Sam knew that the emotions that had so overwhelmed him the previous evening were not far from the surface.

"It’s okay," she assured him, not making a move from behind her work-bench. From the way he was hugging the wall, it was clear he wanted to keep his distance. "I understand," she told him. "And you really didn’t know what you were doing." She smiled a little, hoping to reassure him. "You were quite drunk."

"That’s not an excuse," he told her sharply. "There’s no excuse for…." He stopped, his jaw clenched, and shook his head slightly, as if the words he was trying to utter were too difficult to say. But Jack, being Jack, said them anyway. "There’s never any excuse for trying to force yourself on someone like that."

Sam looked away, remembering the fleeting panic she’d felt at his insistence. Perhaps he had been out of line, but her initial response had hardly been off-putting; she’d received his advances more willingly than she could admit. "It’s really not a big deal," she said, knowing her words were insufficient but afraid to tell him more. Their mutual attraction was difficult enough to resist, without an open acknowledgment of her desire for more.

Jack was oblivious to her inner dialogue, lost in his own agenda. "Oh, I think it is a big deal, Carter," he said. "A huge, goddamn deal." He sighed then, seeming irritated that he’d allowed his anger to seep out. Sam looked at him again, and their eyes locked. "I want you to know," he said evenly, "that you’ll have my total support in taking this to Hammond."

She was stunned. "What?"

"You need to report this, Carter," he said, standing up straight, arms behind his back almost at attention. "You need to take it to General Hammond."

"No," she said immediately, flustered by the unexpected turn of events. "I have no intention of doing that, sir."

His face twitched, as if he’d been expecting her to object. "It’s a reportable offence," he told her calmly.

"Sir," she said, getting to her feet and taking a couple of steps towards him. "There’s really no need. It was just a mistake, and I’m sure it won’t happen again….."

"It won’t," he assured her immediately. "Swear to God, Carter, but still…. This is going to effect our working relationship, and Hammond has to know about it."

Sam shook her head. "Not from me, sir. I would never do that to you."

He was silent, the pain showing in his eyes and breaking through his fragile veneer of control. "I appreciate your loyalty, Carter," he said shakily, "but in this instance, I think it’s misplaced."

"I don’t," she told him firmly. "I’m not prepared to throw away four years of friendship because of one drunken…incident."

He looked up at that, his heart in his eyes. "You still think we have a friendship?"

Damn it, there it was again - that instinctive need to touch him, to comfort him with more than words. Ruthlessly repressing the emotion, Sam said, "Of course we do." 

Jack closed his eyes and lowered his head, his relief palpable. "Thank you," he said, almost too quietly for her to hear. "That means…a lot." 

"So," she said softly, watching him the whole time, "I guess this is something we can keep between friends, as it were?"

"I can’t order you to report it," he replied, still staring at his boots.

"No," she smiled, "you can’t, sir."

He looked up at her, his expression unreadable. "So you’re not going to say anything?"

"I’m not," she confirmed. "I think we should both just forget what happened, and move on."

He nodded, although she wasn’t convinced that he was agreeing with her. "You’re right," he said, surprising her, "it’s time to move on." He held her gaze for a long moment, but his eyes were closed to her and she couldn’t see what he was feeling. At length he turned away and reached for the door. "I’ll let you get back to work," he muttered, pausing for a moment and looking back at her over his shoulder. "You know," he said, frowning slightly, "Joe’s a lucky man. I hope he appreciates that."

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, unsure how to respond. But she didn’t need to, because with a parting nod and a ghost of a smile, Jack opened the door and left, pulling it closed behind him. And Sam was left alone, feeling confused and guilty, wondering just how lucky Joe would consider himself if he knew the strength of her feelings for Jack.

***

It was approaching the end of a long and, thankfully, uneventful day. General Hammond had his briefcase open on his desk and was rummaging through the papers in his in-tray, trying to decide what, if any, he needed to take home that night. The sharp rap on the door drew his eyes up from the papers, and he barked a rough, "Come in."

Jack’s head poked around the door, and Hammond’s smile wilted at the sight of the dark, anxious expression on the Colonel’s face. "What’s happened?" he asked immediately, his mind whirring with dire possibilities; a Goa’uld invasion, an SG team stuck in another impossible situation…?

"I need to talk to you, sir," came the restrained response, a far cry from the man’s usual ebullience. "It’s a personal matter."

Hammond beckoned him in, increasingly ill at ease. He’d never seen Jack so flat. "Take a seat," he said, closing his briefcase and lowering it to the floor.

"I’d rather stand," Jack replied, the tension in his shoulders deepening the General’s unease. 

"What’s this about, Colonel?" Hammond asked, never one to beat about the bush.

O’Neill nodded, the gesture stiff. His whole body was exuding tension. "Sir, I regret to inform you…." Hammond’s heart sank. Now what? "…that last night, I assaulted a junior officer under my command."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. "You did what?" he snapped, not quite believing what he was hearing. A junior officer…? He could only be talking about one person. "Colonel, are you telling me that you assaulted Major Carter?"

"Yes sir, I am." His eyes were flat, but Hammond could sense the turmoil beneath.

He took a deep breath. "Assaulted how? Is she hurt?"

"No sir," O’Neill continued. "She’s not hurt. It was…," his stoic demeanor faltered and his voice shook a little, "it was a…." He cleared his throat, "I made some extremely inappropriate suggestions, which Major Carter declined, and I attempted to…. I tried to…. I kissed her, sir. Against her will."

Hammond sat down heavily. "I see," he said quietly. "That’s a serious confession, Colonel."

"Yes sir, I’m aware of that."

He nodded, watching the obvious embarrassment and sadness playing across O’Neill’s face. Hammond wasn’t entirely surprised; he’d always thought that he might be having a conversation along these lines at some point, although he’d never imagined that it would be under these precise circumstances. One thing he did know, however, was that this was one can of worms he didn’t want to open in the formal setting of his office. Pushing himself back to his feet he said, "You’re off-duty today, aren’t you, Jack?"

The Colonel blinked, taken by surprise. "Yes sir."

Hammond nodded. "Good. Get your jacket."

"Sir?"

"Get your jacket, whatever you need. We’re leaving."

"Sir, we need to discuss…."

"Oh, we will," Hammond assured him. "But not here, Jack." He picked up his briefcase. "Come on."

***

The bar was just beginning to fill up, the bubble of conversation rising to the level that the music was getting drowned out. Jack sat in a booth towards the back, wondering how the hell he came to be there, while at the bar Hammond ordered drinks. As he watched, the General made his way back towards him, a drink in each hand. "Here," he said as he reached their table, "a soda for you – and a beer for me."

Even the sight of the beer turned his stomach a little; there was nothing like getting totally slammed to put you off drink for life. Or at least for a couple of days. "Thanks," he said, picking up his soda and raising his glass in a mock-toast before he took a sip. His stomach still wasn’t in the mood for anything much, least of all alcohol, although he wasn’t sure that the fierce fizz of a soda was a whole lot better.

Hammond eased himself into the booth opposite him, and took a sip of his beer. "So," he said then, his piercing blue eyes skewering Jack, "tell me what happened."

Jack took another swallow, before he lowered his glass and said, "I already did, sir."

Hammond nodded. "That was the official, version. I want to hear the real one."

Frowning, Jack shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be more explicit; it was painful enough to remember what he’d done, even despite Carter’s generous understanding. Did he really want his CO to know the sordid details? Would it make any difference if he did?

"Jack," Hammond said, his tone less formal than usual. "How long have we known each other now?"

Jack glanced up, did a quick calculation and said, "A little over four years, sir."

The General nodded. "It’s been a pretty wild ride, hasn’t it?"

"Yes, sir," Jack agreed. "Pretty wild."

Hammond nodded again. "I’d like to think," he said, "that during that time, we’ve become friends."

Jack paused before he answered. "I guess we have."

"Good," Hammond said, raising his beer for another swig. "In that case, talk to me, Jack. As a friend – off the record."

Jack blew out a long, slow breath. Talking wasn’t really something he did a lot of, not about this sort of thing. In fact, he realized as he sat there that he’d never talked to anyone about his feelings for Sam. Not even to her. He shook his head slightly, unsure where to begin. "I was drunk," he said at last, toying with his glass. "It was my ex-wife’s wedding."

Hammond blinked, surprised. "Yesterday?"

"Yeah," Jack nodded. "She'd invited me, and I didn’t want to go alone so I asked Carter to come with me."

"I can see why you wouldn’t want to go alone," Hammond said, his broad face marked with compassion. "It’s a hard thing to see a woman you cared about with another man."

Jack nodded sadly. "It is," he replied, quietly. His heart was thudding dully in his chest, heavy with the knowledge that the General’s words carried a double weight. It had been hard to see Sara so happy with Edward, but not so hard as seeing Sam with Joe. 

"So you got yourself drunk?" Hammond pressed when the silence between them had stretched too long.

"It was stupid," Jack muttered, taking another sip of soda. "But I was so tired of putting on a brave face, of pretending to be happy for her, pretending that I didn’t care – I just wanted to stop thinking for a while." He shook his head. "Should know better by my age."

Hammond snorted. "I don’t see why you should know better than any other man, Jack," he said. "After my wife died I spent a few evenings alone with a bottle."

Jack glanced up, surprised by the confession. "You, sir?"

"It’s a hard thing to lose someone you love, whether it’s to death or to another man."

"Yeah," Jack agreed.

They were both silent for a moment, before Hammond said, "We’re not talking about Sara here, are we Jack?"

His heart thudded hard and he felt a flush rise in his face. But he didn’t look away. He was tired of denying it, of hiding it, and trying to deal with it alone. After all, that was why he’d made his confession to the General in the first place, wasn’t it? So that he didn’t have to deal with it anymore. Nodding slowly, he said, "No we’re not. We’re talking about Carter."

"What happened?" Hammond asked quietly.

"I was drunk," Jack repeated, almost as a preface to what was to come. "She drove me home, made sure I got in okay, and then…. I kissed her. I just…lost it." He rubbed a hand over his face, sickened by the memory of her having to push him away. "She told me to stop," he whispered, too ashamed to look at the General as he spoke, "but I didn’t. She had to push me off of her before I…realized what I was doing. And then she left."

"Was she upset?"

"I don’t know," he replied, "a little, maybe. I was too out of it to notice. I just lost it, George. After she went I just…lost it."

Hammond made no immediate reply, looking thoughtfully at his beer. After a while he said, "Did you discuss what happened with Major Carter today?"

"Yes, sir," Jack told him. "I told her she should report it to you, but she wouldn’t."

Hammond nodded. "Can’t say I’m surprised by that."

"Me neither." He looked up then, and found that Hammond’s eyes were already on him. "She’s a better friend than I deserve."

The General declined to comment. What he did say was, "This is quite a can of worms you’ve opened, Jack."

"I realize that sir."

"Tell me," Hammond said, pushing his beer to one side and spreading his fingers on the table, "what exactly do you expect me to do with this?"

It was a fair question. And a good one. But Jack didn’t have an answer. "I don’t know," he said, slumping back against the wooden seat. "Something."

"If Major Carter doesn’t want to make a formal complaint, I’m not obliged to act," the General told him. "I’m sure you know that."

"Yeah," Jack nodded. "But I…." He shook his head, trying to formulate the words without making himself sound as weak as he felt, "I guess I just don’t think I can handle it on my own anymore."

Hammond watched him quietly. "Handle what, son?"

"The situation with Carter," he replied, quietly and honestly.

"I see," the General said, drumming the pads of his fingers slowly on the table. "You should know," he continued, "that I’ve been aware of the ‘situation’ for some time. You’ve never shown any difficulty handling it before." His eyes turned inquisitive. "What’s changed?"

The room’s warm air was condensing against the ice-cold glass holding Jack’s drink and was puddling at its base. Trailing a finger through the water, Jack drew randomly on the table as he said, "Joe."

He heard Hammond sigh quietly. "Joe. Well, I have to say I was a little surprised when he and Major Carter became involved."

Jack glanced up again. "You were? I wasn’t."

The General shrugged. "I guess I’d just assumed that you and the Major had already come to an…understanding."

Jack froze, his eyes widening. What was he saying? "An understanding, sir?"

"It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen it occur."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Jack said, "You never said anything."

"You never gave me a reason to," Hammond explained. "Hear no evil, see no evil – speak no evil."

He couldn’t believe this. Hammond had assumed that he and Carter were in a relationship? "Let me get this straight," he said, leaning forward with a good deal more energy than he’d felt all evening. "You thought that me and Carter were…together? Romantically?"

"I’m not blind, Colonel. I saw the chemistry between you."

"And you didn’t mind?" Jack pressed, the irony of the situation beginning to creep up on him. "You wouldn’t have minded, if we’d been discreet?" God, if only he’d known….

"I’m not saying that," the General replied, a touch of the officer in his voice again. "All I’m saying is that you gave me no cause for concern, no need to make any enquiries in that direction. Which," he continued with a wry smile, "was undoubtedly because there was no relationship in the first place. Am I right?"

"Yeah," Jack agreed, leaning back in his seat once more. "You are."

Hammond nodded. "I admire you for that, Jack," he said after a moment. "Both of you. It shows an exemplary restraint and devotion to duty."

"Don’t admire me," Jack warned him. "Carter’s the one who held back. If it had been up to me…." He left it hanging. 

"You still care about her," the General said quietly. "Despite Joe?"

"No," Jack said, getting closer to the truth with each moment and feeling an odd kind of exhilaration with every word he spoke. "I care about the environment, I care about third-world poverty…. I love Carter." He was almost light-headed with the admission, as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "I love her, and I can’t handle it anymore. I can’t see her every day. I just…can’t do it now."

"Now she’s with Joe?"

"Yeah," he nodded, emotion creeping into his voice. "Before, when it was just us – just SG-1 - I could deal with it. We were close, the whole team was close, and although I knew what I felt was…less than professional…I could handle it, keep a hold on it. But now, knowing that she’s with him…." He trailed off, exploring the feelings almost for the first time himself, increasingly oblivious to the General’s steady gaze, "I feel like I’ve lost her, and it’s driving me nuts." His gaze was turned inward has he spoke, realizing for the first time exactly what he was saying; he couldn’t handle it, couldn’t deal with her…

"Are you saying you can’t work with Major Carter any longer?" Hammond asked, anticipating his thoughts.

Jack only paused for a moment before he nodded and said, "Yes sir, I think that is what I’m saying."

The General ran a hand over his balding head. "This isn’t what I wanted to hear, Jack."

"No, sir."

His hand dropped back to the table and he fixed Jack with a steady look. "Do you want me to reassign her?"

"No!" Jack was sitting bolt upright again. "Absolutely not, sir. No way. Carter shouldn’t suffer for my problem. This isn’t her fault. She's done nothing…."

"Okay," Hammond raised a hand to interrupt the tirade. "I get the point." He frowned. "So what do you want me to do, Colonel? Reassign you?"

Jack stared, frowned and ran a hand through his hair. "I hadn’t really thought, sir. I guess there’s no other option."

The General looked thoughtful and raised his beer to his lips. "Actually," he said, taking a sip, "there might be. For the short term."

"The short term?"

Hammond nodded. "You need to get some perspective on this, Jack. I can see how the past few months would have been hard, and combined with your ex-wife’s marriage you might have gotten things a little out of proportion."

Jack doubted it – he knew his feelings for Sam went deep - but he said nothing and let the General continue.

"Three weeks ago," Hammond said, lowering his voice, "the friends of Jacob Carter contacted us." Jack nodded to show he’d understood; Hammond was talking about the Tok’ra. "They have a mission. Dangerous. Long. Undercover – an infiltration mission, I believe. And they want one of us."

"Why?"

Hammond shrugged. "They didn’t elaborate, but under the rules of the treaty we’re obliged to honor their request if we can. I was planning on sending Colonel Schwimmer, but if you’d be interested in getting away for a while…?"

"It’s not exactly Maui," Jack observed.

"No," the General agreed. "And I won’t lie to you about the risk involved."

"You don’t have to," Jack assured him. "I understand."

"Give it some thought," Hammond advised. "But don’t take too long. If you want it, you need to ship out to Vorash tomorrow."

Jack nodded. "A long mission?" Maybe the General was right, maybe if he just got away from her for a while he could move past this, come back and pick up the pieces? Maybe there’d be no need to break-up SG-1 if he could just have some time to move on…. It certainly beat the alternative, of destroying the team that meant so much to him – to them all. He nodded, to himself and to the General. "I’ll take it."

Hammond’s eyes widened slightly. "You’re sure?"

"Sure. What time tomorrow?"

"Ten-hundred hours."

Jack rose to his feet. "I’ll be there," he promised. "And thanks, General."

"Don’t thank me yet," Hammond warned, also standing up. "I doubt I’ve done you any favors here. Maybe worse."

Jack held out his hand, and with obvious surprise Hammond took it. "For the record," Jack said, "I appreciate you giving me this chance to pull myself together, sir. You’re right, I do need some perspective. But I want you to remember that the decision to go is mine, and mine alone. Whatever happens."

Hammond shook his hand, a tight smile on his lips. "You just make sure you come back able to take command of SG-1 again. You’re the best I’ve got Jack, and I don’t want to lose you – to enemy fire, or friendly fire."

Jack returned the smile. "I’ll do my best, sir."

"That’s all I can ask."

Jack just nodded, feeling more positive than he had for a long time. This was what he did best – black ops, deep cover, burying himself in his work. And if that didn’t cure him, then he didn’t know what would. He smiled. Tomorrow he’d be out of here and there’d be no more Joe, no more Carter. No more pain. Just Jack, relying on himself and himself alone. 

And if he didn’t come back? Well, he could think of worse fates. And losing Sam was one of them.

***

Part 6

At oh-nine-forty-five, as requested, Sam rapped smartly on General Hammond’s door. His reply was equally efficient. "Come in, Major."

She smiled to herself and pushed open the door. "You asked to see me, sir?" she said as she stepped inside.

He nodded once and motioned towards the chair that sat opposite his desk. "How are you, Sam?" he asked, surprising her by the use of her first name.

"Fine, sir," she replied. And it wasn’t a lie; a good night’s sleep had worked wonders. That and the conversation with Jack the previous day. Tense as it had been, she was glad that they’d talked and she hoped she’d set his mind at rest. 

The General just nodded thoughtfully, his brow creased slightly into a frown as he gazed at his hands folded neatly on top of the desk. Something, Sam realized, was up. "Sir?" she asked cautiously. "Is there a problem?"

Nodding slowly he looked up and leaned back in his chair, letting his hands fall into his lap. "Maybe," he said, watching her seriously. He was obviously deciding how to approach whatever it was that was on his mind, which only increased Sam’s unease; Hammond was usually bluntly straightforward. The waiting was tortuous, but at length he spoke. "Colonel O’Neill came to see me yesterday evening," he said, his eyebrows rising slightly in expectation that she would understand his meaning. 

She did, not entirely, but enough to feel the cold fingers of fate clutching at her gut. "Sir?" she replied, feigning ignorance and hoping the conversation would take a drastic turn. 

No chance. Sitting forward again, the General’s fingers started to fiddle awkwardly with the paperweight on his desk. "You can probably guess what he felt the need to tell me, Major."

"Actually, sir, I can’t." Anger and fear welled up in her chest. What the hell had he been thinking, taking this to Hammond? How could he endanger the future of SG-1 like this? She had to clamp down hard on a furious response. "I can’t think of anything the Colonel would need to tell you, sir. What he might choose to confide in you as a friend…."

Hammond held up a hand to stop her. "Jack mentioned that you saw no need to take the incident any further," he told her. And then, fixing her with his sharp, pale eyes he added, "He felt differently."

Shaking her head, Sam was at a loss for words. How could she explain this? Why the hell had Jack taken it to Hammond? What did he hope to achieve? "Sir," she said at last, "permission to speak freely?"

"Of course," Hammond nodded. "And for the record, Major – this is off the record."

"I appreciate that, sir," she said. After a pause to collect her thoughts, she carried on. "Sir, it was just a mistake. The Colonel was upset, he’d had too much to drink…. Did he tell you it happened after his ex-wife’s wedding?"

Hammond nodded. "Yes he did."

"Well," Sam continued, a little surprised that the Colonel revealed that much, "as you can imagine, he wasn’t exactly himself." She forced a smile and lied, "These things happen. I’ve already forgotten about it."

"Perhaps," Hammond said, with enough skepticism in his voice to tell her that the lie had been detected. "However, Colonel O’Neill felt – and I agree with him on this - that his assault upon you warranted my attention."

Sam’s jaw dropped. "Assault?" she repeated incredulously. "He told you he assaulted me?"

Hammond’s lips tightened and he swept a piece of paper in front of him, starting to read. "An unwanted sexual advance towards a junior officer is deemed to be an assault under section five of the…."

"No," she barked, surprising both of them with the vehemence of her interruption. "It wasn’t…." God, she could hardly tell him it wasn’t unwanted! "It wasn’t…an assault, sir," she repeated firmly. "It was a kiss. I wasn’t hurt, or traumatized or…." She closed her eyes, finding it difficult to believe that she was having this conversation. "Please," she said in a quieter voice, "this is ridiculous, sir. I’m not filing a report, because there’s nothing to report."

"I need to know that you’re sure of that," the General said seriously, "and that you came to that conclusion without any coercion."

"Sir!" Sam protested, outraged once more. "We’re talking about Colonel O’Neill!"

Hammond nodded. "I’m aware of that, but I still have to make sure. For your own protection."

"I don’t need protecting from the Colonel," she assured him. Although, she added silently, he might need protecting from me when I find him. How could he do this?! She shook her head, "I don’t understand," she muttered, "I don’t understand why he needed to bring this to you, sir. I told him it was okay…."

She expected the General to say something about regulations or discipline, but instead he was silent. Pensive. "Jack’s a man who feels things deeply," he said, once more surprising her. "I think we both know that the emotions that prompted his actions went deeper than the affects of too much alcohol." Sam felt herself blush, shocked that Hammond had seen that much in Jack and terrified that he’d seen the same in her. But she made no comment, and the General continued. "I think he told me about it because he no longer felt able to handle those emotions within his professional capacity."

Sam stared for a moment as the truth started to slide unpleasantly into place. Unable to handle those emotions….? "Sir," she asked, a horrible fear chilling her, "does Colonel O’Neill still have command of SG-1?"

"Yes he does," Hammond nodded, but she could sense his hesitation.

Oh God. "Am I still a member SG-1?" she asked, her voice strong despite her fears.

"Of course," the General assured her. "Your conduct isn’t in question here, Major." She just nodded and waited for the other shoe to drop. "However," Hammond continued, and Sam held her breath, "the Colonel and I both felt that it would be prudent for him to get a little perspective on the situation in order for him to decide how to proceed."

"Perspective?" was the only thing Sam could force through her dry throat. What did he mean, ‘decide how to proceed’?

"Colonel O’Neill has volunteered for a long-term mission with the Tok’ra," he explained. "It’s likely to take in excess of three months, and it is his hope – and mine – that when he returns he will feel able to resume command of SG-1 despite his personal…feelings."

Three months? He was going away for three months? "Where?" she asked. "Where’s he going, sir?"

The General shook his head. "Even if I wanted to tell you, I couldn’t. The Tok’ra didn’t say – it’s a deep-cover infiltration mission. I guess it’s need to know only. And we don’t need to."

Sam couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He was taking off on some Tok’ra mission, just to get away from her? Because his feelings for her made it difficult for him? Well screw him! If she could cope, then so could he. She'd be damned if she’d let him run away from it – from her. "When does the mission start, sir?" she asked, her voice doing little to mask her anger. There was no way she was letting him get away with this and she was sure that, in a day or two, she could talk him around – especially with Teal’c and Daniel on her side. Because, whatever the Tok’ra had planned, it would be four times as likely to succeed with all of SG-1 on board, a fact she was determined to make as clear as possible to the Colonel. 

She was almost begginingg to feel optimistic when she saw the General glance at his watch. At first she didn’t understand the significance of the gesture, but then he said, "About now, Major."

Her heart hit her toes so hard it almost started leaking from her boots. "What?!" She was on her feet before the word had left her mouth. "He’s leaving now? For three months? Does Daniel know? Teal’c?" Her heart was racing so hard she was getting breathless. How could he do this? How could he just walk out and leave them?

"The Colonel has already briefed the rest of SG-1," Hammond advised her. "He asked that I inform you myself."

"No," Sam said, heading unthinkingly towards the door. She had to stop him, or at least talk to him. She'd already pulled the door open when she remembered protocol and her head snapped back around to the General. "Sir, permission to go to the gate-room?"

Hammond hesitated, clearly uneasy with letting her go. 

"Sir," she pressed. "Please?"

He relented. "You’d better hurry, Major. You don’t have long."

Sam was breathless by the time she crashed through the doors into the gate-room, startling the SF’s on duty. Daniel and Teal’c were both there, but her eyes were fixed entirely on the activated Stargate and the two figures at the top of the ramp. One was Tok’ra – Anise, by the look of the unorthodox clothing – and the other was O’Neill.

"Colonel!" she called as she burst into the room, and she saw him start at the sound of her voice. He’d heard her, but he didn’t stop. "Wait!" 

He faltered and glanced over his shoulder. Regret was etched into his features, smothered by grim determination. Their eyes met and held for an instant, and his head moved in an almost imperceptible nod before he turned away and took the final step into the Stargate. And he was gone. 

"Dammit!" Sam hissed, kicking furiously at the foot of the ramp, adrenaline and anger needing an outlet however unprofessional..

"Well, that was classic Jack," Daniel muttered at her side. She looked over at him, too angry to find words. Daniel supplied them for her, his own anger evident. "Hey kids," he mimicked, in a passable impersonation of the Colonel, "just off on a suicide mission with the Tok’ra. Sorry I didn’t tell, you. Might be back in three months, or not. Don’t wait up."

Sam blinked, her heart racing from both her dash to the gate-room and the anger that was pulsing through her blood. "Suicide mission?" she repeated. "He said that?" It got better and goddamn better….

"Not in so many words," Daniel told her, "but I know Jack. It’s what he was thinking." He shook his head. "Why would he volunteer to do that?" he asked indignantly.

"Perhaps," Teal’c suggested, "because he believed himself best suited for the task?"

"Or because no-one else was stupid enough to volunteer," Daniel muttered. "I thought he hated the Tok’ra!" Then he turned to Sam. "Any idea what he was thinking?" 

She just shook her head, too full of emotion to speak. A strange sensation clutched at her chest; frustration, anger…and now heart-stopping fear. Suicide mission? General Hammond’s words throbbed through her mind – ‘he needs to get some perspective…to decide how to proceed…he hopes to resume command of SG-1 despite his feelings.’ Oh God, was this her fault? How could one, stupid drunken kiss lead to this? 

"Sam?"

But it wasn’t the kiss, she realized. It was the years of tension behind it - the forced confession of feelings best left unexplored, the helpless fall from companionship into something deeper and more insistent, and it was Joe. She hadn’t been blind to Jack’s jealousy, in fact she’d understood it. She'd even been guiltily grateful that the shoe hadn’t been on the other foot. But she hadn’t realized it would push him this far, so far that he couldn’t cope with the situation – with her - anymore. Jack was always so strong, so confident and competent, how could she have undermined him like this? ‘Because you were scared,’ a guilty voice whispered. ‘Because he wore his heart on his sleeve, and you rejected it again and again. Because you hid your feelings so deep that he never knew how you felt – until Joe. And then he knew, or thought he did. But he didn’t, did he? He never knew.’

"Sam?" Daniel asked, obviously repeating himself. "Hey, you okay?"

"Ah, yeah," she mumbled, trying to pull herself together enough to deflect suspicion. "Just a little – surprised."

"Join the club," Daniel sighed, turning away from the gate and heading towards the exit. "So, I guess now we wait?"

"I guess so," Sam agreed quietly, falling in at his side. 

Daniel shook his head. "I just can’t believe this. I can’t believe he’d do this to us. I thought we were his friends!"

"Yeah," Sam whispered, "so did I." 

Which, she figured, was the root of the problem. She'd thought they were friends, but they weren’t. She’d never been his friend, not like Teal’c and Daniel. There had always been something else between them, a tension more fervent than friendship, that had kept them apart even as it had drawn them inexorably closer, despite protocol or reason. And in the end the pretense of friendship had been too much to sustain, and the illusion had shattered under the stresses of the emotions they had been forced to resist for so long.

They weren’t friends. They were forbidden to be lovers. Which left…what? Nothing. Nothing but duty, and regrets. 

***

Joe had blown the candles out hours ago. Dinner was cooling in the cold oven, the wine warming on the table. It was not how he’d hoped the evening would go. 

He didn’t move from the couch when he heard the sharp buzz of the intercom. He knew it was Sam. And he knew she’d no doubt have a good excuse for being three hours late - saving the world again, probably. But still he didn’t move. The buzzer sounded again, more insistently. He knew he had no right to be mad at her, not really. Sure she could have called, but for all he knew she’d been off-world. 

Pushing himself to his feet, he walked heavily to the door and pressed the button. "Yeah," he said, and waited for her response.

"Joe, it’s me. I’m sorry. Is it too late to come up?"

He paused for a moment, hating the feeling that he was like a puppy waiting for crumbs, but unable to resist nonetheless. "It’s not too late," he said at last, releasing the lock on the door. "Come on up."

At least she was here, he decided. He’d been nervous ever since he’d seen her leave to spend the evening with O’Neill. He trusted Sam, but he couldn’t help the jealousy that bubbled up when she and O’Neill were together. There was something unspoken between them, a connection that excluded him, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Her tap on the door was light, and he did his best not to seem angry or jealous as he opened it. "Hey," he said, taking in her uniform and slightly unkempt hair in one swift glance, "you come straight from work?"

"No," she said, and then frowned and ran a hand through her hair. "That is, yeah. Kinda."

Suspicion extended its sharp claws, needling him to speak. "What does that mean?"

Sam shook her head and stepped around him into the apartment. "Bad day," she muttered, shrugging off her jacket and dropping it unceremoniously over the back of a chair.

Following her he picked it up and hung it on the coat-stand. "Bad how?" he asked.

"Just bad," she replied, dropping onto the couch and leaning her head back, covering her face with her hands. "God, I’m tired."

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

"No," she sighed, lowering her hands and watching him as he came and sat next to her. "I’ve gone past it. I’m not hungry."

She looked pale, he thought, and her usually brilliant eyes were pinched and tired. "You should eat something," he told her. He smiled slightly and added, "It’s not like I don’t have plenty."

For the first time her eyes went to the table at the far end of the room; it was a sad sight with its dead candles and unused glasses. Her eyes closed. "Joe, I’m sorry," she murmured, reaching out to take his hand. "I just…"

"I know," he assured her as he took her hand in both of his own, "you were out saving the world."

She snorted quietly. "Not this time." Her eyes glazed as she spoke and she didn’t seem inclined to say anymore, so with a squeeze of her hand he got to his feet. 

"I’ll get you something," he said, heading for the kitchen. He’d just put a plate of food into the microwave when he heard her heavy boots on the floor and turned around. "Wine?" he offered. "Beer?"

"Water’s fine," she decided, leaning against the countertop as he filled a glass from the water filter in the fridge. He handed it to her silently, but before she took a sip she said, "I’ve been driving."

Joe raised an eyebrow. "All evening?"

She nodded. "I’ve really screwed things up," she told him, alarming him with her serious, quiet voice. 

"What things?" He almost held his breath as he waited for her answer. Don’t say ‘us’ he implored her silently. Please don’t say ‘us’.

She didn’t reply immediately, her smooth brow drawing down low into a frown. "The team," she said at last, staring morosely into her glass of water. "Colonel O’Neill."

Jack! Damn it, that man got everywhere. "What happened, Sam?" he asked.

She closed her eyes, as if trying to deny a truth, and then looked up, straight into his face. "You were right," she said, "about his…feelings for me."

Joe felt his heart stall. "Oh?"

"And now he’s gone," she said, her voice husky with emotion. "He’s gone because of it. Because of what he felt."

Gone? Well that was a surprise, and not entirely unwelcome from his perspective. Although Sam appeared devastated. "Gone where?" 

"The Tok’ra," Sam replied, taking a sip of water and clearing her throat. "Long mission. We don’t know where, or when he’ll come back. Or even if…" She stopped and clamped her lips together, obviously struggling with her emotions. 

Behind him, Joe heard the microwave ping. He turned and busied himself with retrieving her meal and finding some silverware as he said, "It’s upset you. Jack leaving."

He had his back to her now, so he couldn’t see her face. But after a long silence she said, "It’s my fault. He could get killed, Joe. And it’s my fault."

"Your fault, how?" He kept his voice even, but inside the suspicion was growing. He’d heard the rumors after all. Who in the mountain hadn’t? But Sam had always denied them. And he believed her. He really did. "It’s not your fault if the guy falls for you, Sam," he said, glancing at her and catching her eye. "I mean, it’s not like you two ever had a thing. Is it?" Damn, he hadn’t meant it to sound so much like a question.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. "You know we haven’t," she replied curtly, slamming her glass down so hard that water sloshed onto the countertop. "I knew trying to talk to you about this was a mistake!"

Turning, she stalked out of the kitchen leaving Joe alone with her dinner. Slowly he followed, to find her pacing nervously before the window. Beyond her the city lights glittered, star-like on their terrestrial canvas. "I’m sorry," Joe said, placing her plate on the table and coming to stand behind her. He put a tentative hand on her shoulder and felt her stiffen at his touch, before she relented and her posture softened.

"No," she sighed, "I’m sorry. You don’t have to deal with any of this. It’s my mess to sort out."

"Hey," he said, turning her around to face him. "What’s mine is yours, Sam. And vice versa. I’m glad you felt you could talk to me about it. And I’m sorry Jack upset you."

She leaned closer, resting her head against his shoulder and he slid his arms around her. "He told General Hammond that he couldn’t handle working with me anymore," she whispered, her voice close to tears. "That’s why he took the mission."

Tightening his embrace, Joe sighed. "That’s hard," he said. "I know how much SG-1 means to you." 

He felt her head nod slightly against his shoulder. "If he doesn’t make it back," she whispered, "I’ll always blame myself."

"No," Joe insisted, holding her tight, "you shouldn’t. If Jack wants to play the melodramatic hero and rush off to join the Foreign Legion because he’s got a bad case of unrequited love, then that’s his problem. Not yours."

Sam pulled back. "That’s not fair," she protested, looking at him through miserable eyes. "Don’t mock him."

"What isn’t fair," Joe told her, reaching up to touch her face, "is what he’s done to you. Landing you with this guilt. He must have known how you’d feel." He shook his head, irritated by the man’s recklessness. "You’re not to blame here, Sam."

She didn’t seem convinced and shook her head, leaning forward until her forehead rested against his shoulder. "I feel guilty," she said quietly. "If I’d handled it better, been more honest…."

"Sam," Joe protested, stroking her hair, "what could you have done differently? How could you have handled it better?" She lifted her head at his words and gazed at him with wide, sorrowful eyes before she pulled out of his arms and turned away to gaze out across the city once more. But she didn’t speak, and seemed lost deep in thought or memory. There was a profound sadness in her face and he wondered what it was she was seeing in her mind’s eye. "Sam?" he prompted after a long silence. "You okay?"

She took a deep breath and turned around to face him. Her face was crumbling, on the edge of tears, and her voice was only a whisper as she said, "Joe - just hold me."

And so he did, gathering her into his arms and rocking her gently. "Shhhh," he soothed her, "it’s okay. It’s going to be okay."

"Don’t leave me," she mumbled into his shoulder, her arms tightening around him. "Please, Joe."

"I won’t," he assured her vehemently. "I promise. You’ve got me, Sam. For life, if you want me."

She stilled at his words, and his heart leaped slightly as he realized exactly what he’d said. Her face was still buried against his shoulder, but her words were distinct as she quietly said, "Do you mean that?"

It took him a moment, but at last he replied, "Yes. I mean it Sam. For life."

She said nothing, just tightened her arms around him as her shoulders started to shake. She was crying, and Sam never cried. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know for whom the tears were falling, only that she was here, in his arms, and that he’d meant what he’d said. She had him for life. If she wanted him.

*** 

Part 7

Daniel didn’t look up from what he was doing when he heard the footsteps crunching through the dirt outside his tent. The artifact he held was small, and the little brush he was using to clear the debris from its intricate design was so fine that he was having trouble seeing in the dim light cast by the lamp on his table. It had been a long day, albeit successful, and he wanted to finish what he was doing before he collapsed into his sleeping bag and crashed out for the night. Consequently he wasn’t in the mood for interruptions and groaned inwardly as he heard someone pull back the tent flap. 

"Daniel?"

The voice surprised him, probably one of very few that could have brought a smile to his lips as he raised his head. "Sam!" he beamed. "What are you doing here?" And then his face fell and his stomach lurched. "It’s not Jack is it?"

"No," she said shortly, "there’s been no word." She took a couple of steps inside his tent. "I’m just visiting," she said, glancing around his meager accommodation. "I was getting itchy feet stuck Earth-side."

Daniel placed the artifact gently on the table and got to his feet. "Well it’s good to see you," he said, walking towards her. "Sit down. Do you want some coffee or something? Tea?"

"No," she assured him. "Just some company. I’ve missed you."

"Me too," he said, giving her shoulder an affectionate squeeze and guiding her towards one of the two camp chairs. " It’s been a long eight weeks." He smiled and gestured around him, "But we’ve made some amazing progress – you can’t really see in the dark, but the excavation is huge."

Sam caught his expression and mirrored it. "You look excited," she said. "I’m glad it’s going well."

"And how about you?" he asked, noticing that she was rather more subdued than usual. "Everything okay at the SGC? Jack’s paperwork not drowning you?"

She chuckled a little at that. "His desk’s never looked neater."

"I’ll remind him to say thank you when he gets back," Daniel promised. But his words drew a frown to Sam’s face and she looked down at her hands where they lay clasped in her lap. 

"If," she said quietly.

"When," he replied.

Sam just nodded, still staring thoughtfully at her hands. "I wonder where he is."

"I know," Daniel replied, "so do I." He shook his head. "I still can’t believe he just went off like that, with no warning, no discussion. Just – bamm."

Sam frowned and slouched down into the chair, stretching her long legs out in front of her. "I’m kinda pissed off about it," she confessed. "I mean, I know he had his reasons. But he must have known how we’d feel, right? And he did it anyway, because it suited him."

"I guess we don’t really know what his reasons were," Daniel said, glancing at her slyly. "Do we?"

Sam’s eyes were fixed on a point just beyond her toes. "No," she said quietly, "I guess not."

Daniel shifted in his chair and picked up the artifact on which he’d been working, toying with it as he spoke. "I plan to find out though," he said, "when he gets back."

"If," Sam corrected.

"When."

They fell into silence then, and Daniel realized that Sam was lost deep in thought. He was beginning to wonder why she had come halfway across the galaxy just to sit in a morose silence when she spoke again. "I saw Joe at the weekend," she said.

"Oh," Daniel nodded, relieved at the change of topic. "How’s he doing?"

"Good," she replied. "We went skiing."

"Sounds like fun."

"It was." She looked over at him then and licked her lips slightly before she said, "He asked me to marry him."

Daniel’s eyebrows shot up. "Oh!" he exclaimed, surprised. "Um, congratulations!"

"I didn’t say yes," she replied with a small smile.

"Oh." He frowned. "Then…sorry. I guess."

"I didn’t say no, either."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Then…I don’t know what to say! What did you tell him?"

She shrugged. "That I’d think about it. It’s a big decision."

"It is," Daniel agreed, his mind drifting back to his own fleeting marriage. He sighed, his sadness bitter-sweet. "But when it’s right, you know."

He was watching Sam as he spoke, and so saw the way her jaw tightened and her eyes closed momentarily. It was a gesture of sadness and regret, he realized. But all she said was, "Yeah, you do. You know when it’s right." And then very quietly, so quietly that Daniel doubted she’d intended to say the words aloud, she muttered, "Even when it’s wrong, you know it’s right."

His heart ached suddenly, seeing Sam so low. And so lonely. She missed Jack, more than she’d admit. And she cared for him, he was sure of it. He felt a sudden pang of sympathy for Joe and wondered if the man understood the situation into which he’d stumbled. 

"How long are you staying?" he asked her quietly.

"Just till morning," she replied, looking up at him. "If you have a place I can sleep?"

He smiled. "Always," he promised, getting to his feet and going to the small chest that contained his personal belongings. Lifting the lid he pulled out a half-bottle of brandy. "For medicinal purposes," he told her, snagging a couple of small glasses on his way back to the table. He filled the glasses generously and handed one to Sam. She took it with a smile of thanks, but before she could raise it to her lips Daniel lifted his glass in a toast. "To absent friends," he said. 

"Absent friends," Sam echoed, clinking her glass against his. "Wherever they are, and whatever they’re doing."

***

The room in which Jack lay was small and the windows needed no glass for the temperature was never cold and the people were too poor to afford such luxuries. But the nighttime breeze that drifted through the open window was welcome against his bare skin, as he lay amid the twisted sheets staring out at the alien stars above him. That was one thing that he never got used to being off-world, the fact that he couldn’t recognize the stars. It told him more than anything else that he was far from home. And, on this occasion, far from his friends.

Next to him, Arla stirred, adjusting herself so that her head rested more comfortably against his shoulder. He moved his arm to accommodate her, before letting it drape over her slender shoulders as she settled against him. It felt good, he decided, to hold her and to be held in return. It had been a long time – too long – since he’d enjoyed the unique comfort of being this close to another person. Not since Laira, and that seemed long, long ago. And before that? Sara. 

His fingers traced idly along Arla’s arm, enjoying the touch of her warm, smooth skin against his own. She was young and beautiful, and he had no idea why she would want to be with him. Yet she did. Not in any permanent way - that was understood - but for the last week she’d chosen to share her bed with him and who was he to argue? He’d take his pleasure where he found it, however transient it might be. He knew they wouldn’t be on Incara much longer; this was the calm before the storm and his instinct told him that the brewing storm would be fierce and deadly. Their mission was nearing its conclusion, the powder was dry and now all that was needed was for someone to light the fuse. And that someone, he knew, would be one Jack O’Neill, Colonel. 

His mind drifted as he lay staring at the stars. It had been eight weeks since he left; eight weeks since he’d faced Daniel’s indignant protests and Teal’c’s stoic silence. Eight weeks since he heard Carter call his name, urgent and not without anger. Eight weeks since he’d turned back to see her staring after him in confusion, her eyes full of reproach. He wondered what she thought of him now, whether she despised him as a coward for running away, or whether she understood. Maybe she didn’t think of him at all? But he hoped she understood. He hoped that Hammond had explained why he had needed to get out of there while he still had a chance of holding it together. He hoped, but he wasn’t sure. 

"O’Neill?" Arla murmured, smoothing her hand across his chest. "You are restless. Can you not sleep?"

"Sorry," he said quietly, "I didn’t mean to wake you."

"I don’t mind," she assured him, "it is a beautiful night to be awake. The stars seem so bright."

He smiled and pulled her closer. "Yeah, they do."

"You are thinking of home," she said after a moment. "Of your friends."

He nodded. "Just yearning for a pizza," he told her, in an attempt to deflect her from his true train of thought.

But young as she appeared, Arla was perceptive. "Why does it make you so sad to think of your friends?"

"Who said I was sad?"

"Your eyes tell me so," she replied, propping herself up onto one elbow to look into his face. In the starlight her features were lost in shadow, although he could see the dark glitter of her eyes beneath her long hair. "There is no joy in your eyes, O’Neill."

He sighed, looking past her back out into the night. "Well," he said slowly, "I guess my friends and I didn’t part on the best of terms."

"You argued?" she asked, running a hand lightly across his chest.

He sighed. "Something like that."

She nodded and traced her narrow, elegant finger over his eyebrow. "Is Carter one of your friends?"

He blinked in surprise, suddenly suspicious. "What do you know about Carter?"

Arla smiled. "Only that you spoke the name," she told him, "while you slept last night."

Jack grimaced slightly. "Really?" He remembered the dream, vivid and erotic. "I didn’t say anything else, did I?"

"No," Arla replied, her dark eyes bright with curiosity. "Tell me about Carter. He is your friend?"

"She is – I hope," he replied. "But there’s not much to tell."

"Ah," Arla nodded, her lips curving into a languorous smile that was completely unlike Sam’s quick, eager grin. "You love her."

Jack froze mid-thought. "Says who?"

"Your eyes again, Jack O’Neill," Arla told him. "They are very warm," she said, "but has no one told you how expressive they are?"

He frowned, looking away from her inquisitive face. "Can’t say they have."

Arla moved, sighing happily as she nestled against his chest, her long dark hair spilling over his shoulder. "You love her," she insisted. "Why do you hide it?"

He didn’t answer immediately, but he knew she wouldn’t be satisfied with another denial and, truth be told, he wanted to tell her why. "Because I’m trying not to love her," he said at last. "I’m trying real hard not to."

She sat up, startled. Just as he’d known she would. "Why?" she asked, shocked. "Why do you attempt such an unnatural thing?"

"Because I’m not allowed to feel that way about her," he said quietly. 

"Not allowed?" Arla repeated. "Who forbids it?"

"There are regulations," he began, but watching her blank incomprehension he just shook his head. "You wouldn’t understand," he assured her. "Your people and mine are kinda…different."

"Anise warned me that the Tau’ri are inhibited about physical affection," she replied. "But I did not realize that it extended to your emotional life as well. It is one thing to inhibit this," she said, gesturing between them, "but to prohibit love? I cannot understand why any society should do such a thing."

"Really?" Jack asked, surprised. "It’s a powerful emotion – affects your loyalties, your decisions. It’s…dangerous."

Arla cocked her head to one side, watching him curiously. "Do you believe your feelings for Carter are dangerous?"

"No," he said after some thought. "Not really. I mean, I’ve felt like this for a long time and it’s never affected my judgement." He frowned, "Well, maybe once. But I’ve never put anyone else at risk."

"And what of Carter?" she asked then. "Does she feel such love for you?"

He had to swallow before he replied, and even then his voice was revealingly husky. "No," he said, the truth on his lips sharp and painful. "I don’t think she does. Maybe she did, or thought she did, but she doesn’t now. She’s with someone else."

"I am sorry," Arla replied sincerely. "It is a great sadness where such a situation occurs. And now I understand what I see in your eyes – a love unrequited is a pain difficult to ease." She leaned closer, her long hair brushing against his cheek as she pressed her lips against his. "But perhaps we can try to ease it, for a while?"

Her kiss was soft yet demanding, promising much. And his hands came to rest on the soft curve of her hips, running up and across her back as he pulled her tightly against him. Jack let his eyes drift shut and lost himself in the delicious sensations she aroused as their bodies moved slowly, deliberately against each other. And he tried very hard to forget Sam; to forget her smile, her laugh, and the way her forehead creased in concentration; to forget her enthusiasm, her bravery, and her brilliance; and to forget the feel of her lips and the intoxicating scent of her hair…. "Oh God, Sam," he breathed as the memories and the moment began to merge, "I want you…." 

"Then tonight I am yours," came the soft, slightly accented reply. 

And he let himself believe it for once, succumbing at last to the fantasy. 

"Sam…."

***

Sam was busy. She'd kept herself busy the whole time over the past twelve weeks. Busy in the lab, busy covering some of the Colonel’s responsibilities at the SGC, busy decorating her new home. Busy. It was easier that way; when her mind was occupied she didn’t have time to think or to worry or to miss him. But every so often, she stopped. Just stopped, and for a few minutes everything she was trying so hard not to think about would rise to the surface like dead fish in a pond.

And as she sat in Jack’s office, the last of the day’s reports written, dispatched and filed, she stopped. Her hands stilled in her lap and she leaned back in his comfy chair and closed her eyes, letting the emotions rise. She missed him. She was furious with him. She was worried about him. She was afraid he wouldn’t make it back. She was nervous about seeing him again…. The contradictory, chaotic emotions raced around her mind, chasing each other in spiraling circles, leaving her confused and unsettled. She hardly knew what she felt anymore; half of her wanted to yell at him for walking out and leaving her in such a state of confusion. The other half wanted to hold him and sooth away the pain she’d seen in his eyes that night, so many weeks ago. She wanted to talk to him, but had no idea what to say. 

Opening her eyes, she sighed and pushed her fingers through her hair. She was tired and it was late. She should head home. Only she felt a strange reluctance to leave; sitting alone in Jack’s office was comforting in a way. She could sense his presence there, as if his personality had somehow imprinted itself onto the room. Idly she pulled open the small drawer under his desk. It was stuffed full of clutter and Sam smiled to herself at the sight of the tangled yo-yo and the black enamel key-ring, baring the words, ‘The Truth is Out There", that lay amid the assortment of pens, pencils and floppy-disks that filled most of the drawer. But towards the back, in a neat little pile, she saw some photographs. Curious, she reached in and pulled them out, her interest outbalancing her sense of guilt. The top one was of Kowalski and Jack, both holding a beer and grinning. Turning it over, she saw that the date had been shortly after the first Abydos mission and that Jack had written, ‘Welcome Home’ on the back. Turning to the next one she immediately recognized Sara, and assumed that the toddler on her lap was Charlie. He was a cute kid – blond hair and wide, blue eyes. Quite different from his father. The next photo was of the team – SG-1. She remembered the occasion, but not the photograph. Daniel had thrown an impromptu promotion party for her, a week or so after the event, and the picture was of the four of them standing on his balcony with the cityscape behind them and a glass in hand, raised in salute. Janet, she remembered, had had a camera. Jack must have gotten a copy. Turning the photo over, she saw that he’d written ‘The guys’ on the back. As if he’d forget who they were! 

The final picture was a little dog-eared, but nonetheless it packed a powerful punch that she felt resonate deep in her chest; it had been taken the same day and was of herself and Jack, leaning against the balcony rail, obviously oblivious to the camera. She was smiling broadly and Jack was laughing. They looked so…normal, she thought. Just like a couple of regular people, enjoying each other’s company. She looked closer at Jack, realizing how much she’d missed even the sight of his face. It had been a couple of years since the photo had been taken and his hair was grayer now, but otherwise he looked much the same; same crooked smile, same dark eyes. She ran her finger over the image, feeling anew the ache of his absence. Slowly she turned the picture over and read his words. ‘Just Sam and Jack’. She smiled and her eyes misted at the poignant truth. Just Sam and Jack, for once. No Major, no Colonel, just them. God, she thought, overwhelmed by a sudden yearning as she looked at their smiling faces once more. Why couldn’t it be like that? Why couldn’t they just be Sam and Jack? Was it so much to ask?

Guilt was hot on the heals of her thoughts as she remembered Joe. She glanced at her watch, realizing that she was late. Again. Her head sank into her hands and she wondered what the hell she was doing sitting alone in Jack’s empty office, when she could – and should – be at home with the man who wanted to marry her. But deep in her heart she knew the truth, and it did nothing to ease her inner conflict.

"Quit being such an idiot, Carter," she told herself, sitting up straight and replacing the photos in Jack’s drawer. "This is reality. Deal with it."

Getting to her feet she shut down the computer she’d been working on and headed for the door, turning off the light as she left and pulling the door shut behind her. But she’d only taken two steps towards the elevator when the claxons started wailing. She faltered, her heart skipping. Every time the alarms sounded she thought it might be Jack coming home. Yet it never was, and she was tired of rushing to the control room each time just to be disappointed. Closing her eyes she decided to ignore it. She was tired, she was already late, and she was going home. Maybe she’d stop on the way and pick up a bottle of….

"SG-1 to the gate-room." General Hammond’s voice over the PA froze her for a millisecond before she span on her heel and started sprinting down the corridor.

Part 8

General Hammond stood at the foot of the ramp, watching as the wormhole burst into life and then settled quietly within the Stargate, waiting. For a long time nothing happened. Behind him he could sense the unease of his men, shifting slightly as they kept their weapons trained on the gate. A door opened and he heard the hurried tread of Dr Jackson enter the room, followed by the slower, more deliberate step of Teal’c.

"General?" Daniel asked, coming to stand at his side. "What’s going on?"

"We received a Tok’ra GDO," Hammond told him, not moving his eyes from the gate. 

"Jack?"

"We’ll see." 

At that moment the surface of the event-horizon shivered and a figure stepped through. She was tall and slender, with dark hair that fell across her shoulders and bright, intelligent eyes. And she was unmistakably a Tok’ra. Another figure emerged right beside her, who Hammond recognized immediately as Anise. He’d just opened his mouth to greet them when a third figure emerged; a little thinner than he remembered, rather more tanned, but definitely O’Neill.

"Colonel!" Hammond beamed. 

"General," Jack nodded, sauntering down the ramp behind the Tok’ra as if he’d just returned from a stroll in the park. "How’ve you been?"

"Better than you, by the looks of things," Hammond replied, taking in Jack’s roughly bandaged arm. 

Jack glanced at it and gave a dismissive shrug. "Just a scratch," he assured him. "Arla could have fixed it, but…." He grinned again, "What can I say? I guess I missed Doc Fraiser and her needles." As he reached the bottom of the ramp his face sobered and he turned to Daniel and Teal’c. "Hey," he said, with a subtle hesitation, as if he were not entirely sure of his reception. "Miss me?"

Jackson’s face was carefully schooled, but Hammond could see the conflicted emotions behind his eyes; relief and anger. "I see you’re all in one piece," he said at last.

"Yeah. More or less."

Daniel nodded and frowned, clearly at a loss for words. Teal’c came to his rescue. "It is good to see you well, O’Neill. We have been concerned for your welfare."

Jack glanced down, either embarrassed or regretful. "Yeah, well, there was no need," he assured them. "It was a piece of cake."

Teal’c raised an eyebrow. "I do not believe you."

"No," Daniel chimed in. "Neither do I."

The sudden tension between the three men silenced the room, and even the Tok’ra seemed uneasy. Hammond decided to defuse the moment. "Colonel," he said, calling Jack’s attention from his team, "are you going to introduce us to your…friend?"

Jack blinked as his mind switched track. "Ah, yeah. Sorry. This is Arla – she and I…," he frowned as if searching for the right word. But before she could finish, Arla spoke.

"O’Neill and I were partners in this mission," she explained. "With O’Neill’s assistance the Tok’ra were able to infiltrate and destroy the court of the Shabat’kla."

She sounded very impressed. Hammond glanced at Daniel, but the man just gave a little shrug, obviously not understanding her reference. "Shabat’kla?" he asked at last, directing his question to the Colonel.

"Long story," Jack advised him. "That’s why Arla and Anise are here – we figured it would be easier if we did a joint de-brief on this one." He looked pointedly at Anise. "After all, the Tok’ra and the Tau’ri share all their information, don’t they?"

Anise nodded her head slowly. "Of course," she said. "And as soon as you are ready, we can begin."

"Well, I’d like Colonel O’Neill to visit the infirmary first," Hammond began, "and since it’s…."

Behind him the door suddenly crashed open, startling the quiet room, and Carter raced in, skidding to a halt when she saw the scene before her. For a moment a wide smile broke out on her face, "Sir, you’re back!"

"Carter," Jack replied, his eyes flicking over her nervously. "Nice to see you again."

"You too."

O’Neill nodded and coughed to clear his throat. "Well," he said, turning back to Hammond, "guess I’d better get down to the infirmary so we can start the debrief?"

"Don’t hurry," Hammond told him. "It’s twenty-one hundred hours, Earth time. I suggest we debrief in the morning." He glanced at Anise, "If that’s okay with you? You’re welcome to use our accommodation here."

"That is acceptable," Anise assured him. "And thank you for your hospitality."

Turning, Hammond started to lead the Tok’ra towards the guest quarters, expecting O’Neill to stay back with his team. God knew, he had some explaining to do – SG-1 had been far from happy at their CO’s sudden disappearance, despite his own attempts to explain the importance of the mission. They hadn’t understood why he’d left them behind, and Hammond had no good answer. Carter was the only one who knew the truth, and she’d chosen to keep it to herself. 

But O’Neill didn’t linger, instead he walked along at Arla’s side, silent and thoughtful. Carter watched them leave, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Colonel?" she said as they passed her, drawing his attention.

O’Neill slowed. "Major?"

She shook her head slightly, as if she couldn’t quite believe his behavior. "Are you okay, sir? I mean, was the mission…?" She ran out of words and just stood there looking at him expectantly. Her face insisted that she deserved more than his curt acknowledgement, and Hammond agreed.

O’Neill apparently did not. "I’m fine Carter," he assured her. "Tired, and ready for a hot shower. I’ll tell you all about the mission in the debrief tomorrow."

"The debrief?" She blinked as the expectation in her eyes transformed into hurt. "Yes, sir."

Jack gave a tight, unhappy smile and looked away. "Did I ever mention Doc Fraiser to you?" he asked Arla, with a joviality even Hammond could tell was forced. "She has this thing about needles…."

The General felt tension creep up his neck as his jaw tightened. Whatever else had happened on this mission, it was clear that O’Neill was no more at ease with his feelings for Carter than he had been when he left. He sighed – this was a mess he really didn’t want to deal with. But looking at Carter struggling to hide her distress he knew that he had no choice but to tackle it, or SG-1 would be no more.

***

It was good to be home. Despite everything, it was good to be back in the mountain, in clean clothes and with familiar faces surrounding him – even if they weren’t entirely friendly faces right now.

Jack lay on the infirmary bed, alone and grateful for it. Hammond had taken Anise and Arla to their quarters, leaving him to the tender mercies of Fraiser. So, with his arm freshly cleaned and dressed, he lay staring up at the ceiling, thinking.

Daniel was pissed. There was no mistaking that, and he supposed he couldn’t blame him. Despite their sometimes abrasive friendship, they cared for each other and he guessed that he had kinda left his team in the lurch. Maybe if he’d been thinking straighter at the time he’d have made a different decision, but as it was…. He sighed heavily, remembering the emotional turmoil that had propelled him through the gate three months earlier. He’d felt control slipping through his fingers, and the memories of that night – of what he’d done to Carter – still haunted his dreams. Despite her generous forgiveness, his lack of self-control disgusted him, even now, months later. So, he knew he’d had no choice but to leave. And if it hadn’t been Vorash it would have been out of the SGC altogether. 

"It might still be," he warned himself darkly. For the moment he’d seen Carter race into the room, her face alight with that incandescent smile of hers, all the hard work of the past three months had begun to crumble. He’d done his best to ignore the jolt of happiness the mere sight of her had provoked, and when that had failed he’d simply tried to ignore her.

That had been even less successful. The look of hurt surprise in her eyes when he’d muttered something stupid about talking to her at the debriefing had pierced every defense he’d constructed, and he’d ached to tell her everything, to hold her tight, and to hell with the consequences. But he hadn’t. His resolve had held, which he hoped was a good sign. After all, it was all he had left. His faint hope that time might cause his feelings for her to fade had proved to be in vain, so all he had now was his determination to do the right thing. Because, if her friendship was all he could have, then he’d do his damnedest to preserve it; the thought of his life without her was too bleak to comprehend.

"O’Neill?" The soft lilting voice surprised him, and he opened his eyes.

"Arla. I thought Hammond was giving you the tour?"

She shrugged and came to perch on the bed next to him. "It was boring," she told him honestly. "And I wanted to see if you were recovered." Her dark eyes flicked to his arm. "It is still bandaged."

"Yeah, well that’s how we do things around here," he assured her. "The natural way."

"I could have healed you in moments," she reminded him, her face creasing into a frown. "You are stubborn, Jack O’Neill."

A voice from behind her replied, "Never a truer word was spoken." It was Daniel.

Arla rose from the bed and moved to stand close to Jack’s shoulder where he rested his back against a couple of pillows. She gave Daniel a slow, frank examination, and Jack was amused to see his friend blush slightly when Arla said, "You did not tell me your friend was so attractive, O’Neill."

He smiled. "Can’t say it’s something I’ve noticed." Then he turned to Daniel, his smile fading. "Hey."

"So," Daniel replied, stopping a couple of feet from the bed. "I thought I’d come and see if you…felt like talking."

Jack grimaced, remembering his brusqueness in front of Carter. "Look," he said, "sorry about earlier. I just…. It’s been a long mission and I’m…having a hard time adjusting."

Daniel didn’t look impressed, and he didn’t blame him. It was a lame excuse. The two men fell into a tense silence but Daniel’s gaze, at once hurt and accusatory, didn’t waiver for an instant. "We were worried about you," he said at last, the words a reluctant admission. 

"I’m sorry," Jack replied. "But I had no choice, Daniel. I had to go."

"Why didn’t you take the whole team?" 

"He could not," Arla replied for him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Only one man was needed, more would have undermined our subterfuge. I am sorry this has caused you distress, Daniel Jackson, but O’Neill’s role was necessary."

Glancing up at her, Jack gave her a nod of grateful thanks. "If it makes you feel any better," he told Daniel quietly, "I was worried about you too."

"Me?"

"All of you," Jack corrected, risking a tentative smile. "If something had happened to you because I wasn’t there…."

Daniel nodded, some of the tension leaving him. "Well, there was no need. I spent most of the time on a dig with SG-11 and Teal’c gave SG-3 a run for their money." He chuckled slightly, "They’ll be glad you’re back."

Jack shifted, aiming for nonchalance as he said, "What about Carter?"

Daniel’s eyebrows rose. "Oh, well she was pretty much buried under your paperwork mountain." He shrugged, "Plus, she didn’t like to stray too far from the SGC. I think she had some kind of mistaken idea that her CO might actually need her."

Jack winced, wondering if Daniel had any idea how ironic his words sounded. He’d never needed anyone in his life like he needed Carter, only not in the way Daniel meant. Not as a soldier, but as…. He stopped the thought mid-sentence, berating himself for his lapse. Instead he took a deep breath, before quietly asking, "Is she okay? Happy?"

Daniel frowned and he knew the question must have sounded odd. But he had to know. He’d dragged her onto an emotional roller-coaster and then bailed out halfway through the ride, leaving her to deal with the rest of it on her own. And for that, he was sorry. "She’s been a bit flat," Daniel said at last. "Not quite herself. We’ve all been worried about you, but…." He cocked his head to one side, his intelligent eyes growing speculative, "she seemed to think it was her fault somehow. As if she was responsible." One eyebrow rose in query, "Was she?"

"No," Jack replied firmly. "Absolutely not. And you can tell her that. It was definitely not her fault." 

"Maybe you should tell her yourself?" Daniel suggested. 

Jack nodded slowly. "Yeah," he agreed. "I should probably do that." He knew her too well to doubt the truth of Daniel’s words, and was sick with guilt at the distress he’d inflicted. God, how come everything he did seemed to hurt her, when all he wanted to do was protect her? 

Arla moved then, her hand rising to touch his shoulder once more. "I believe I must speak with Anise," she announced, glancing down at Jack with a smile. "Shall I see you later?"

He knew what she was asking and felt an embarrassed heat creep into his face. "Um, maybe," he muttered. 

She just shrugged. "You know where to find me," she told him, before leaning down and kissing him soundly on the lips, one hand caressing the side of his face. He pulled back hurriedly, aware of the inappropriateness of her behavior. But Arla was oblivious. "Sleep well, O’Neill," she told him, with a wicked glint in her dark eyes. And then she turned to a rather stunned looking Daniel and said, "Do not treat him too harshly, he loves you all deeply." 

Daniel’s eyes were out on stalks as Arla breezed past him and left them alone. Jack cleared his throat, "She meant as friends," he clarified. 

"Yeah," Daniel replied hurriedly, and with more than a trace of relief. "I got that." Silence descended then, but try as he might to find the right words, Jack was at a loss. Where exactly did he start trying to explain? But Daniel took matters into his own hands, "She’s, um, kind of demonstrative," he observed. "Is she always like that?"

"Pretty much," Jack nodded, relieved that Daniel’s previous resentment seemed to be fading. "It’s a cultural thing," he added. "Her people are rather…free. In that way."

"The Tok’ra?"

"No!" Jack laughed, his mind suddenly full of bizarre and unwanted images. "The Incarans."

"But Arla’s Tok’ra?"

Jack nodded. "Arla’s the host – she’s from Incara. Timonet is the snake. She’s…less friendly, but kinda keeps herself to herself."

Daniel’s suspicion was evident, and he made no attempt to hide it. "Sounds like you got to know her pretty well," he observed mildly, although the look he shot Jack over the top of his glasses was somewhere between disbelieving and amused.

"Pretty well," he agreed. But Daniel’s gaze didn’t waiver until he’d added, "Okay, very well."

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "You slept with her?"

"What, are you my mother?"

"Sorry," Daniel mumbled, pulling off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes. "I guess I’m just a little…surprised. I know how much you like the Tok’ra…."

Well, that was a good point. "She’s different," he explained. "And we worked together pretty closely. She’s okay, in a…weird kinda way."

"Doesn’t exactly sound like true love," Daniel muttered.

"No one mentioned love," Jack told him. "This was simply…."

"Sex?"

Jack shrugged. "Basically." And then catching Daniel’s disapproving frown, he said, "What? Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’ve never scratched an itch…." Daniel’s eyes were flat as he looked up, and Jack mumbled, "Don’t answer that." He took a deep breath and carried on, "Look, to her it’s not much different than…sharing a meal. It’s sociable, friendly. It doesn’t mean anything."

"Hey!" Daniel said, holding up a defensive hand, "You don’t have to justify yourself to me. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I thought that you…." He trailed off into an inaudible mumble.

"What?"

"It doesn’t matter."

Jack frowned. "You thought that I what?"

"I just…I never saw you as an itch-scratching kind of person."

Jack snorted. "Disappointed?"

"It’s none of my business."

"Damn right."

Daniel was silent for a moment, but before he could speak they were both startled by a polite cough from the doorway. The door was blocked from Jack’s sight until Daniel turned around, when, to his shock, embarrassment and total confusion, he saw Carter standing there. Her face was deadpan, revealing nothing about what she might have overheard. "Sam!" Daniel said, sounding ruffled and embarrassed. "I didn’t see you there."

She ignored him and addressed Jack instead. "Sir? General Hammond asked that you join him in his office as soon as you’re able."

He barely managed to meet her eye. "Um, thanks," he mumbled. She looked like she was about to leave and he suddenly didn’t want her to go, so he hurriedly added, "Do you know why?"

"No, sir," came the crisp reply. "Goodnight, sir." She turned and started to walk away. 

His mouth was moving before his better judgement could stop it. "Carter, wait!"

Dutifully, she turned back to face him. "Sir?"

Climbing off the bed, he skirted Daniel to come and stand in front of her. His mind and heart were racing in tandem, but he had no idea what to say. Especially with Daniel loitering awkwardly behind him. "I need to talk to you," he said in a low voice, fixing her with a meaningful look. 

But Carter remained unmoved. "I’m off duty as of two hours ago," she told him. "I’ll be at the debriefing tomorrow though, sir. I’m sure whatever it is can be covered then."

Zing! She was hovering on the point of insubordination, but he knew that his cold dismissal of her in the gate-room had probably deserved as much. He frowned, but Carter didn’t give an inch. Her face was like marble, beautiful but cold and unyielding. "I don’t think it’ll be covered in the debrief," he said quietly. "Let’s talk afterwards."

She gave a little shrug, as if the matter was inconsequential. "Yes, sir," she said. And then, when he made no reply, she added, "Am I dismissed?"

He couldn’t face her anger anymore, or his own tumultuous feelings. "Sure," he sighed, looking down at her polished boots. "Why not?"

***

Sam sat in her car, shivering. She felt overwhelmed by the events of the past few hours, her emotions were in turmoil and her head ached with the effort of staying in control. He was back, and he was safe. Thank God! But the first jolt of delirious relief had soon subsided in the face of his cold greeting and sharp dismissal. It was as if he’d deliberately ignored her, and perhaps he had. Perhaps this was the way he’d decided to cope with the complicated situation between them. But it had hurt, after missing him and worrying about him for so long it had hurt to be so summarily dismissed. 

But, if that’s how it had to be, then that’s how it had to be. She understood him, despite her disappointment. He was embarrassed. He’d told her everything, thrown himself at her, both literally and figuratively. And she’d given nothing back, not even a single indication that his feelings were returned. She'd let him think that he was at fault and that she’d forgiven him, when in fact she’d been an equal partner in crime; she’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her. And if she’d been as drunk as he had been, well, the evening would have had a different ending. She almost wished it had…

The last three months without him had taught her much about her own heart, and she’d come to realize that she loved Jack in a way that she could never love Joe. And she'd hoped that it would be enough, that even though their relationship could never progress beyond friendship, the strength of emotion beneath it would sustain them. She'd all but decided to confess to Jack what her true feelings had been that evening at his house. And she'd hoped that they could move on from that together, aware of their shared feelings but strong enough to resist acting upon them. And if she’d had a moment to speak with him alone, to see her own feelings reflected in his eyes, perhaps she would still have done it. But that’s not the way it had worked out. Instead he’d cut her off, cold as ice, his dark eyes like mirrors revealing nothing beneath. And then… and then there was Arla.

‘You slept with her?’ ‘She’s different. And we worked together pretty closely…’

Her initial reaction had been a sharp sense of rage and betrayal, and she’d been forced to walk away, pacing the corridor until her emotions could be brought under control long enough to give him the General’s message. But now she’d had some time to think about it, her anger was all internal. After all, what right did she have to feel betrayed? She'd been in a relationship with Joe for over nine months – she’d been the one to break the unspoken promises that had once bound them together. She'd moved on, and now so had he. Why should she feel so hurt?

‘Because you still want him,’ a quiet voice told her.

"Well I can’t have him," she replied aloud. "I could never have him, so I might as well get over it."

She could never have him, but she realized now that while she still wanted him this much they could never be friends. She understood anew how he must have felt during the months she’d been with Joe, and although the pain saddened her it strengthened her too. A clean break, a severing of all ties was what they needed. No loitering halfway between friendship and something more, torturing themselves and each other with all that they could never have. It had to end, all of it; the attraction, the smiles, the accidental touches, the wanting, the tension…. And the only way to end it was to move on. She'd started the process, he’d followed her lead, and now she had to finish the job and sever forever the ties that had bound them with tentative hopes for some unknowable future.

Pushing her hands through her hair, Sam peered at herself in the rear-view mirror. She'd shed no tears, although her face looked pinched and tired. Hell, she was tired. Still, it was the best she could hope for under the circumstances, and she climbed slowly out of the car and made her way to the building. She had a key, so didn’t bother to ring the buzzer. She was late, again, but she knew he’d still be up.

The elevator moved slowly and Sam felt a sudden unease creep up on her as the thought of what she was about to do settled in her mind. But she had no choice, did she? Play the hand you’re dealt, her father had always advised, and that was exactly what she was intending to do. With a ping and a judder the elevator stopped and the doors swished open. Stepping out into the carpeted hallway she walked to his apartment and turned the key in the lock.

The low burble of the TV greeted her as she stepped inside, accompanied by the smell of cooking. "Joe?" she called, and he appeared almost immediately at the kitchen doorway.

"Hey," he said, mild irritation immediately softening into concern. "What happened? You look awful? Are you okay?"

"I’m fine," she sighed, shrugging off her jacket, remembering for once to hang it on the coat-stand and not fling it onto a chair. "Sorry I’m late."

"It’s okay," he said, stepping closer and pulling her into a warm hug. "Bad day?"

She sighed and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his arms around her and the simple, uncomplicated feelings she had for him; gratitude and affection. She knew he would always be there for her, like a faithful dog or an old pair of slippers. "Colonel O’Neill is back," she said at last.

Joe was silent for a moment before he said, "Is he okay?"

"Seems to be," she replied, "I didn’t really get a chance to talk to him."

"You must be relieved," Joe said then, and she could hear a trace of unease in his voice. She could hardly blame him.

"I guess so," she replied, looking up at him and smiling, "but I didn’t come around here to talk about the Colonel."

Joe raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Well, good. You want some dinner?"

Sam ignored the question, her heart thundering suddenly as the moment approached. Could she do it? Should she? "Joe?" she said, her voice thinner than she’d hoped.

"Sam?"

"Remember that question you asked me a couple of weeks ago?"

Joe swallowed, suddenly nervous. "You mean which of the ‘Three Stooges’ is your favorite?" he joked, in an attempt to ease the tension.

She smiled at that, and shook her head. "No, the other one."

"Oh," he said quietly, "that." 

The words, reminding her sharply of Jack, almost floored her and she had to take a deep, steadying breath before she whispered, "Well, I think the answer’s yes."

For a moment he just looked stunned, and then he grinned and kissed her firmly, before pulling her into a bear-hug of an embrace. "Thank you," he murmured into her ear, "Thank you Sam."

Screwing her eyes shut, she held on to him. This is right, she told herself. I’m cutting the ties, I’m moving on…. But despite everything, it was Jack’s face she saw in her mind’s eye, and his pleading words that echoed through her heart - ‘Don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone tonight. I want you…I want you so much….’

Blotting the image from her mind, she clung to Joe and let her tears fall, hoping that he would mistake them for happiness rather than the grief that clutched at her chest. ‘Goodbye Jack,’ she whispered silently, ‘I have to let you go. We have no choice…. But I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry….’

"Shh," Joe murmured, stroking her hair. "Shh, Sam. I’m here, I’ll always be here. Everything’s going to be okay."

But it wouldn’t be. It would never be okay again.

***

Continued in Moving On Part 2

Thanks for reading my story. I'm always trying to improve my writing, so all constructive feedback would be gratefully received. Click here to return to homepage.