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