Crisis

Brief Summary: The WIP that would never end.

Rating: PG-13

Season: Early 5, before Desperate Measures. Remember that ;)

A/N: I refuse to read this again. I have an awful feeling it's a load of melodramatic rubbish - and I'm quite convinced Sam would never do this. Much thanks to my betas - Emry, Mel, Sandy and Kat who were really quite patient with me considering how long it took me to grind out each chapter.

As always, feedback is much appreciated.

"How do you feel?"

She finally looked up from her lap, where she'd been firmly staring since he'd 'dropped by', unable to find the strength in herself to look at him as they talked 2IC to CO. "What?"

"How do you feel?"

She couldn't believe he was asking her that. Standing there, so cold and hard, hands in his pockets like nothing had changed, like the past couple of weeks were of no consequence to him whatsoever. There was enough of Her left for her to respond honestly, though, to Him, "Like someone's just turned around and told me I'm not real, of course. How do you feel?"

He hovered, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. For a long moment, she thought he wasn't going to say anything at all. That he was just stand there like the emotionless bastard he was. Then he broke up her thoughts with a very quiet, hurt statement, "Like my last chance of happiness has been taken away from me."

Her voice was a brittle whisper, "Oh God," and quietly, ever so quietly, her thoughts added, 'Jonah'.

Inside, she crumpled like paper. Her heart absorbed the words, but it also absorbed the truth in them, the unspoken emotions he had to be hiding. He wasn't an emotionless bastard, no matter how hard sometimes she tried to convince herself he was. It was easier to believe he felt nothing, easier to think that if he could deal with it, then so could she. But both him and Him had hid their feelings, a characteristic defence weapon that probably hadn't existed twenty years ago but was an intricate part of his shell now.

For her, right now, only military spine and the years of her father's accidental influence were holding her upright.

He made a bitter face, half turned in the doorway and carefully shuttered back his expression to his usual dark, somehow threatening facade. "Guess I'll see you later, right?"

"At the briefing. Sure."

He made to leave, then stopped, stepped back into the room, his fingers tapping on the door jamb. "Sit next to me?"

*

Of course, from then onwards, whenever she sat next to him - and more often than not, she did - Sam always remembered that conversation, the most awkward, painful, heartbreaking conversation she'd ever had with him. She wondered if he did, if he remembered in detail how he'd felt that day, that afternoon after the truth was revealed. If he remembered the nuances, the way Janet had tried to look each of them in the eye as she'd completed their physicals, of the strange compulsion to keep those ugly orange suits, to cling to them.

Or maybe he didn't. Maybe he'd buried it, maybe he'd repressed it. Maybe it had joined the long litany of things that he Just. Didn't. Think. About. Certainly it was never spoken of again.

God knew there were millions of things they didn't speak of. Side arms, force fields, alien women, alien men, little touches, smiles, the occasional, accidental, oh-so-bittersweet moments of shared understanding.

This is what we have to do, this is the way its going to be. Remember who we are.

For the moment, Sam pretended not to know why it was now, in this particular briefing, that she was revisiting old and painful memories. Most days she refused to think of them, used work to distract herself, an age old Carter tradition of simply filling her mind with everything else, important or not, so she didn't have to focus on the pain.

Today, it was different. Today, sitting next to him, listening to the General talk, Sam wasn't listening. An outsider would have probably thought that the tall, blonde woman in the blue SGC Air Force uniform was focussing intently on her General's words, nodding at the pertinent places, smiling when he joked, when he smiled. Agreeing, disagreeing, abstaining. But she wasn't doing any of those things. Not today. Today she was just too damn tired to be a Major in the USAF.

And now, though it hurt, if she was honest, and, at least in her head she could be honest, she knew what had happened to spur on this moment of self clarity. It was a cliché. She knew that. A tacky, stupid reason to suddenly reassess the losses and regrets in her life.

On her answer machine this morning she'd found a message, a message from the night before that she'd missed, coming in from work too late and being too tired to listen to whatever the machine had to say. Besides, usually no one called her. Seeing the blinking light just as she was about to leave at six that morning had been a surprise. She'd already spoken to Daniel about what colour they'd be wearing to work that day - what could it possibly be? Daniel was always the one who called her, once in a blue moon Teal'c would if Daniel was unavailable (unconscious/missing/presumed dead), but mostly it was Daniel. Not Colonel O'Neill, for obvious reasons. And she, in turn, never called him. There was no one else she knew of who would have any reason to contact her.

She'd reached over, pressed the button.

Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Samantha, Happy Birthday to you!

In the background, an argument had broken out between the children and the adults. She was Auntie Sam to her niece and nephew, Sam to her sister-in-law but always Samantha to her brother, had been since she was very small. His lower timbre voice had naturally overtaken theirs in the traditional, out of tune birthday song and the children were aggrieved.

Daddy you sounded so cross with her.

Mark, really, you promised.

Mark had been laughing as he'd said, "Never mind them, Samantha. Happy Birthday. Present should arrive on the day itself but you know how it is. We missed you this Christmas. Hope Dad's remembered, but don't worry if he hasn't. He doesn't even know his own middle name."

She was, of course, horrified that she'd forgotten her own birthday. It had seemed outright ridiculous, awful, beyond belief. But, frankly, that had happened a lot in the last five years. She didn't celebrate birthdays anyway, not since she'd been in her twenties when they'd been more of an occasion to throw everything aside and go out until the small hours. Besides, only last week she'd helped save the world again and turning thirty-two was very little in comparison.

Since she'd forgotten, she'd not been surprised that they'd forgotten. Her friends, supposedly, Daniel, Teal'c, the Colonel, Janet, even Hammond, had no surprise party prepared for her, no big joke to tease her about for years to come. They just forgot. Not terrible. Yes, she did know all their birthdays (even Teal'c's) off by heart, but that was the type of person she was. They didn't mean to forget, after all. They all had their own worries and problems.

No matter how she tried to rationalise it, the truth remained: she was hurt.

She was hurt. She wasn't going to kid herself about that. She was hurt. It was easy to admit, less easy to say, but she didn't want that. Sam didn't want their sudden, horrified pity, guilt, whatever. She didn't want to tell them and have Daniel beg her forgiveness, for Teal'c to act confused over the Tauri's prevalence for celebrating what was another day of the year, for Janet to gasp and whisper an apology. She didn't want to see the flash of pain in the Colonel's eyes. A birthday was supposed to be celebrated by those closest to you, and, apparently, Sam didn't have anyone close to her anymore.

In an effort to be positive and, let's face it, Samantha Carter was Miss Positive, she told herself it was so sweet of Mark and his family to have remembered. After all, they'd only become friends again in the past two years and were working up to their old brother-sister relationship. He'd simply sent a card the previous year but this year... a full out singing marathon on her answer machine.

It was an awkward date to have a birthday on, anyway. Just after Christmas, just before New Year's. Everyone was busy. It wasn't the silly season for nothing. The past few months hadn't exactly been her best either.

The fact that they'd remembered last year was no reason to think they'd remember this year. The fact that last year he'd got her a beautiful, slender little gold bracelet was no reason to think he'd get her anything this year. This year, things were different. This year, the secret that she and Colonel O'Neill had privately cherished had slipped out. There would be no more comfortable, delicious conversations alone in tents off-world. No more flirting in her lab, silly jokes aimed to make her smile.

"Major?"

Sam snapped out of her internal thoughts, and an icy cold shudder ran through her body. She reached up to rub the top of her arms. "Sir?"

General Hammond smiled, as did the rest of the table, at her obvious inattention. "I was just thanking SG-1 for working over the Christmas period and hoped that a week's downtime over New Years would be sufficient reparation."

"Oh. Sure. Thank you, sir." She blinked, shook off the funny feeling she was getting, and smiled around the table.

Daniel was looking at her intently, his pale blue eyes concerned. "Are you all right, Sam?"

She nodded firmly. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Now they were all looking at her.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, guys, sirs," she tacked on at the end, giving them all a more energetic smile.

Easily reassured, they all turned back to Hammond.

A weeks downtime over New Years. No doubt there would be the same party at O'Malleys, which she couldn't attend, banned as she was from that particular branch. Daniel was going to Abydos to visit Share's family, and, she supposed, his. Teal'c was naturally going to see his son and wife. Colonel O'Neill? She didn't know and obviously wasn't going to ask. Way too personal. No one had asked her what she was doing: either they all assumed (correctly) that she'd be spending her downtime on base or she'd be visiting her limited close family.

Her father hadn't been in contact in months which was both worrying and pleasing. Worrying, in case he was on some dangerous mission or missing, pleasing because he was doing something he'd always enjoyed - throwing himself at death's door and scrambling back out alive. Alive. Alive, thanks to a parasite, a snake, a Goa'uld with a conscience.

"Sam? Sam?" Daniel laughed as she finally looked up. Both he, Teal'c and Colonel O'Neill were watching her curiously. Hammond had left - oops, she missed the end of year dismissal.

Ah well, there would always be next year. And the year after that. In front of her, all Sam could see was the SGC. An endless stretch of working ridiculous hours, protecting her world with limited recognition, and going home to an empty house and no messages on her answer machine.

Grow up, Sam. Grow up. This is important. This is more than you. This is bigger than you will ever be.

"Sorry," she murmured, grabbing her things - her file and some odd bits of papers she'd happened to be carrying about - and standing up.

Daniel caught up with her around the other side of the table, nudged her in the arm, his hands full of books and paperwork as well. "Something on your mind?"

"Something's always on her mind, Daniel. You know that," came the Colonel's reply before she could come up with something suitable to fob Daniel off.

Daniel rolled his expressive eyes and cast a scornful look over his shoulder at their sarcastic leader. " More than some, anyway."

"That's not under dispute, Danny. You're the brains, we're the brawn." He pushed his hands in his pockets, nodded at Sam. "Just an expression. No offence, Carter."

"None taken,' she murmured, absently, looking curiously into offices and labs as they walked down the corridor, staring fixedly at the odd personnel who walked past them, nodding respectfully at the immortal flagship team.

What were other people doing this New Year's? Were there parties she didn't know about, team gatherings that didn't happen with SG-1, surprise functions? Would the New Year bring new, random frowned-upon couples into the SGC? People who were, just about, allowed to be together, to see if it would work or the demands of the job would force them apart.

What did normal people do out there in the real world anyway?

"Hey! Sam!"

She stopped, turned and look at the trio of bemused faces. She came back to them and saw that she'd continued walking when she should have turned left. "Sorry."

"Uh, Carter, maybe you should go and see Fraiser?" the Colonel suggested. "You're looking kind of... peaky."

"Peaky, sir?"

His eyes shifted away from her face. "Maybe it's the lights."

"No, no," Daniel persisted oblivious to the Colonel's discomfort at simply looking at her. "I think you're right. Sam, are you feeling okay? I've not seen you this distracted since.. since... well, never."

"It's been a rough couple of months, Daniel. I think I have a right to be distracted," she responded, just a little more harshly than she'd intended.

If anything, this made them stare at her more.

Suddenly, it was too much. It was cloying. They'd forgotten her birthday. He hurt her every time she saw him. She winced and looked away from them, from their strange version of friendship. "Look, I can take of myself. See you next year." She turned and walked swiftly away, narrowly avoiding crashing into an airman.

"Carter!"

"Sam!"

As she turned around the corner, she couldn't help but feel relieved. Away from them, things seemed to get better. The further she walked, the faster, the better she felt. She would go home this week. No. She'd go home, pack a bag, and she'd get away. Get the hell away from this place. Just for a little while. Maybe she'd go see Mark, drop in uninvited. Maybe, maybe... maybe she wouldn't.

Maybe she'd just drive. North, east, west, south. Just drive. Away.

She went home, this one thought reverberating in her shattered mind.

The speed with which she'd packed, the ease with which she threw her things into a bag, locked up her house and didn't even bother to give the spare set of keys over to a neighbour, really should have told her something. Told her that she was running away. Carters didn't run away.

Then again, that was probably, no, definitely, why she was choosing this course of action. Something out of character, something completely un-Carter-like. But maybe Sam, Sam who rarely got an outing these days, maybe Sam would do this sort of thing. Maybe Sam would love the feel of throwing her bag into the boot of her car, of the sound that slam made up and down her quiet road.

With a delight that was bordering on hysteria, she turned the key in her ignition and drove away from her neat little house in Colorado Springs.

As soon as she could, she put her foot down on the accelerator, hard. Faster, faster. Her radio was on but she couldn't hear the songs, the voice, the ads. She kept turning it up, though, wound down her windows despite the chill air and actually felt the cold on her skin like it was an emotion. A bracing, chilling, refreshing epiphany that seemed to leap into her blood, rush around her body with the fast beat of her heart, cooling heated, hurt thoughts, soothing the burn of anger and numbing all the pain that she regularly carried around with her.

This was so right, nothing had ever felt so right before. She was leaving, she wasn't running away. And at that moment, she never wanted to go back.

*

*

*

"So what do you think?"

"About what?" Sam looked over at her CO of nearly a year, saw that he'd torn his beer label to shreds. Again. What was that thing someone had once told her? Ah, yes, that tearing up the labels was a sign of sexual frustration.

If that was true, she'd have a mountain by now.

Besides, he was separated, getting a divorce. She was sure sex really wasn't top priority at the moment. Even if he had slept with that Kynthia woman. Unconsciously, Sam started picking at the label of her own beer bottle. It had been a surprise to find out that she and the Colonel drank the same brand of beer.

"That we were engaged."

She couldn't help but smile. She'd been thinking about that a lot, too, now that she'd had the time to. "I think it's... theoretically possible." Nice one, Sam.

He snorted, leaned back on his chair and looked over to where Daniel was trying to teach Teal'c the fine art of pool. "I was trying to work out... how. I mean, I'm not sure about you, but traditionally I don't marry a woman I barely know. We must have met before."

"Yeah, but when?"

Was it weird how neither of them questioned the fact that they were engaged? That they were romantically involved. It had been a shock, of course, when Daniel had said it, but then Sam had looked at him, he'd looked at her, and she'd thought - why not? Why the hell not? She thought he was attractive. Okay, very attractive. He could be a royal pain in the ass, but then she liked difficult men. They were illogical and she liked the illogical. She liked making the logical out of the illogical.

And he had that touch of the lunatic fringe that she always, without fail, found appealing.

"Well, it must have been through the Stargate program."

"It took me six years to meet, propose to, and get engaged to Sara."

That seemed an awful long time to Sam. "It was probably me, then. I got engaged to Jonas about six months after meeting him."

"Six months!" He whistled. "That's fast."

"I make most decisions quickly. Even wrong decisions."

"How did you know... when did you know it was a wrong decision?"

She paused in her picking at her label, glanced up at him through her eyelashes. She felt comfortable with him. Maybe it was the beer, the several beers they'd consumed, maybe it was the atmosphere of a job well done, of a year survived, of the war to come.

Maybe she just felt comfortable with him because he was a nice man who respected and liked her. Maybe.

She decided to tell him something she'd never told anyone. " I was trying on my mother's wedding dress. I was standing in the mirror in our bedroom, trying to do up all the buttons."

She could picture it all so easily. There had been millions of them. Tiny pearl ones all up the back. Jonas had been out somewhere, she didn't recall where, so he was no help.

"It took me fifteen minutes to get them all done up and then I was standing there, trying to decide what I would do with my hair, it was long then, what jewellery I would wear. I was thinking about the something old, borrowed and blue stuff. I figured the dress was old; it had been my gran's too..."

"Wow," he'd interrupted. "What did it look like?"

Her brows flickered at this unusual male interest. But then he wasn't a typical guy. "It was white. Well, by that stage it had actually gone this old, kind of cream colour. Thank God." She'd grinned as he'd laughed. "Pearl buttons up the back. Tight sleeves, tight bodice, the usual explosion of skirts. I think my mom modified it because the neckline was decidedly lower than I could ever imagine my gran coping with."

"Thank goodness for mom."

She sighed. "Yeah. She would have loved to see me..." Shaking her head, telling herself not to go down that road, she continued with her story. "I was looking in the mirror and I felt funny. I felt... regretful. And I wondered why. I spent ages staring into that mirror trying to work out why I was feeling regretful. Then I got it. I regretted the fact that I would be wearing my mother's wedding dress for Jonas." She winced. Even now it sounded cruel.

He looked fascinated. Probably never thought she'd have this much of an interesting past. "Man. Did you, ah, give the ring back straight away?"

Sam shook her head. "God, I couldn't. I panicked, as usual. Packed the dress up and told myself I was being ridiculous. I loved him. I did, really. I just..." She rolled her eyes, leaned forward. "I have this tendency to want to fix men. I don't know where I get it.... okay, I do know where I get it from, but I'm really not going to tell you about that. He needed me, or I thought he did. That's what I told myself. I told myself I couldn't do that to him, that he deserved better than that. " She shook her head. "It didn't work. I gave the ring back two weeks after that, using some argument we'd had hundreds of times as the reason, though I knew the truth."

"Christ. And I thought my love life was messed up."

She pursed her lips. "I should tell you about my first boyfriend then. That would really astonish you."

"Go on, then."

"No. I don't want to shock you," she said primly, reaching for her beer as he chuckled.

He tipped his own beer up to his mouth, paused and said, "You shock me daily, Captain, trust me."

She didn't ask him what he meant by that, didn't think he'd tell her. Something in his voice, though, reminded her of that first mission, of the tone of his voice when he'd said 'Oh I adore you already'. And it made her feel suddenly warm. She wondered, absently, what it would be like to sleep with him.

*

The entire bar was staring at the TV screen now, ever since Eve's screech of excitement. The girl was clutching at Sam, her long, pale pink nails digging into the muscle of her upper arm. It was actually quite painful, though Sam couldn't feel a thing apart from shock.

He was a freaking film star.

The local news segment eventually moved on from the astonishing news that Daniel Frakes had randomly selected some off-road bar to dance with some random barmaid and had been caught by on amateur film footage.

Daniel Frakes? Sam thought urgently. Who? What? A film star. Hollywood. Talk of Oscars and Academy Awards. After being out of touch with the real world for half a decade, ending up here in the middle of nowhere had hardly helped her general knowledge much.

"I knew he looked familiar!" Evie shrieked, jumping up and down again.

"OHMYGOD!" Rachael raced across the room, black dreadlocks flying, and threw herself under the bar. Enthusiastically, she grabbed Sam by her shoulders and shook her hard. "You've slept with DanielfuckingFrakes. I'm so freakin' envious of you!"

Sam was still standing there, shell shocked. Well, she'd known when he'd told her his name that he'd been lying. But then she'd been trained to notice that sort of thing. He couldn't be that good an actor if he couldn't even lie to some nobody barmaid he'd taken a fancy to.

How ironic. Her one and only one night stand was famous. Her first and last casual affair was some superstar.

"I knew I should have hit on him," Evie was saying to one of their regulars. She was leaning on the bar, her Wonderbra-d cleavage pushed up further, a fresh cigarette in her mouth as she sought in a drawer for a lighter or some matches. "I just knew it. It was the stubble that put me off. You'll notice Sam's a little more pink about the, er, face, arms and chest than usual."

Blushing - which no doubt went with the rash on her face and upper chest - Sam went to fetch the drinks that had been ordered only moments before the blurry image of herself on the local news had sent her into shock. Her customers were obliging, grunting their thanks and sliding cash over the bar before shuffling off to a dark corner.

"Daniel Frakes," Rachael sighed, still staring at the TV as if she could drain the last dregs of fame from it. She patted a hand over her heart. "Ooh, what I wouldn't give to take back last night. I should have worn my blue top, not that horrible old black thing. Not that I grudge you your five minutes of fame, Sam, but, really, we all know it should have been me."

Sam grinned, knowing that, despite Rachael's serious tone, she was joking. "Naturally."

Rach laughed, threw a beer-smelling rag at Sam's head, missed, and laughed harder. "Was he good?"

"Good? Good? Of course he was good. He's a superstar!" Evie glared at Sam, hands on her ample hips. "Well? Was he?" she demanded, not to be outdone by Rachael.

Sam found herself blushing harder, which was ridiculous. "I'm not going to tell you that."

"What? Not ever?"

Mindful of the eyes on them, Sam hissed, "Later."

Evie and Rachael rolled their eyes but knew they weren't going to get anything out of her until 'later', whenever it was, arrived.

"Stubborn woman," Rach muttered, thumping away in her huge combat boots.

Evie just sighed deeply, as if the whole world was resting on her shoulders.

Sam smirked, feeling vaguely pleased with herself, the same she'd felt this morning ebbing away. Of course he'd been good in bed. He'd been wonderful, considerate, gentle, all the things she'd expected him to be. Sam could usually tell when she danced with men, just from the way they held her. Funnily enough, it had been the way he'd been dancing with her that had decided her. She'd had plenty of offers from men in the time she'd worked at that particular bar, but she'd never seriously considered them until 'Jack Mathers' had walked in.

He'd grabbed her attention immediately. The way he'd walked into the bar, his eyes had swept the room and landed on her, the way he'd smiled ever so slightly, like he'd expected her to be there, like he'd been looking for her. That kind of attention was bound to get a woman's head turning. Now, knowing who he was, she thought that he probably looked at every woman he wanted like that. It was probably a practised look. But she didn't mind that. She was never going to see him again. One night had been all she'd wanted.

The pictures they'd shown on the news had shown a far neater man than the one who had turned up in the bar the previous night. His eyes had been the same, the deep brown, pained eyes that had seemed so achingly familiar, but his hair had been swept back neatly, his face clean-shaven. He hadn't been the rugged, casual man who'd walked in through the door in old, faded blue denim jeans and black T-shirt, abused leather jacket.

Then there was his 'name'. 'Jack'.

Jack.

When she'd cried out his name early in the morning, she'd known then and there it had been someone else's name she'd been screaming. Afterwards, lying sleepily together, sweaty bodies sticking together, she'd still known. Known that the brown eyes she'd been staring into had somehow materialised into someone else's. But that didn't bother her. For all she knew, he was using her in exactly the same way. They were never going to see each other again.

He didn't need to know she'd picked him because he'd reminded her of another Jack.

So she missed him sometimes. There was nothing she could do about that. Technically, she was AWOL. In fact, AWOL as of four and a half weeks ago. She was in deep, deep shit. Maybe Hammond would swing it for her, cite her importance to the SGC, to the world, to the future of the human race...

Perhaps.

Didn't mean she wanted to go back, though. The black and white pain of life before, of living on the edge of physical danger, or potential death, of suicide missions and duty and honor and regulations.... they were nothing to this life. To the technicolour of the people around her, these normal people eking out a normal existence. Somehow, what had been before didn't seem real any longer. If she let herself, she could imagine that it wasn't. That it had all been some long, twisted dream in which Jack O'Neill had repeatedly featured in a torturous recurring role.

"Maybe he'll put you in his next film."

Sam glanced up, smiled. "Sure, Robert. Like I can act."

"I don't know. You're a smart girl. I'm sure you could manage." He winked at her, tapped the dollars he'd put on the bar. "That's my payment for tonight. Your tip's in that." He slid off the stool with some difficulty. "Night, young lady."

"Night, Robert. Sleep well." She picked up the crumpled money, worriedly watched as the elderly man shuffled towards the door, waving goodnight to the odd familiar friend. He was a small, frail old man, with a cap of thick white-as-snow hair that contrasted strongly with the deep, nut-coloured permanent tan of his face. His eyes were an extraordinary pale blue, clear, unfocussed and as sharp as anyone's. He had the eyes of a hawk, could spot a contact lens on the floor before the rest of the 'young ladies' at the bar did. Still, his frail appearance kept reminding her of his age and she knew the wind was blowing bitterly outside.

"Oh, stop it," Evie muttered as she swept past the till. "He'll probably outlive you."

"Is he really a hundred-and-two?"

"Apparently."

Well if that wasn't impressive, Sam didn't know what was. "Man."

"Exactly."

It wasn't until she was walking up the back outdoor staircase to the rooms that she, Evie and Rachael shared that it occurred to Sam that someone might recognize her. The possibility was slim and didn't throw her into an instant state of panic. The bulletin had been virtually last on the local news. And it wasn't as if she was in Colorado in the first place. Only if the news went national, then she might have to think about moving, which was a shame. She'd gotten used to this place.

*

Ingrained military training habit had her waking at dawn, her body turned towards the pale, fairy light filtering through the thin cotton curtains. These days she woke up easily, slowly, and she was allowed to enjoy for however fleeting a moment the beauty that winter mornings could bring.

Had this been before, she would have jumped out of bed, headed for the shower immediately. Skipped breakfast, usually, got in her car and driven to the mountain, her brain already humming with the things she'd do today the, excitements she'd see, the new experiences. She'd be inside before the sun was above the houses and probably wouldn't come out again until it was several hours past sunset.

Now, Sam couldn't imagine it. Couldn't imagine missing the beauty of the planet she had been so dedicated to saving.

She sat up, reached for the frayed edge of the curtains and tugged it over the curtain rail until a clear shaft of sunshine slit through the dimness of the closet masquerading as a bedroom. Smiling, she rested her arm on the window sill and looked out at the bare fields, the twiggy trees and the crisp new sky. It wasn't a spectacular view, but it was enough and Sam loved it.

Ten minutes later, she decided the chill her arms were getting was enough of a reason to climb out of bed and see what she could scrounge in the kitchen for her breakfast. If she was lucky, there'd be some fruit and she could make herself a salad. If she wasn't, it was going to be a slice of bread again and she hated eating stodgy foods in the morning.

No one else was up, which was of no surprise to Sam. Rachael, who was in her early twenties, couldn't survive on a few hours sleep a night and so wouldn't surface until before noon, just in time for opening. Evie usually roused herself around ten, so Sam had a good few hours by herself.

Which was just perfect.

She found an apple in the refrigerator and climbed out of the kitchen window onto the rusty iron balcony that wasn't strictly up to code (hence the locked exit onto it). She'd wrapped herself up in a long, soft grey lambswool cardigan that had been her mother's and had Evie's fluffy neon green slippers on so the low temperature didn't immediately start to bother her. Walking slowly along to the balcony, mindful of the ominous creaking noise, she climbed over the end banisters onto the gravel top of the roof extension which housed the public toilets. Avoiding the little mossy lumps that would stain Evie's slippers, she ambled over to the far edge where there was a clean patch of roofing, her favourite spot to sit and think.

From this spot she could see the main road and the approaching cars, beyond that there were more fields, the occasional, lone house and beyond that still an endless view of trees. Crunching and munching her apple, the early morning sunshine a warmth on the side of her face, she sat listening to the stillness, the quiet. Even the occasional HGV passing and spitting out gravel did nothing dissolve the pleasure she felt at her alone time. It was almost surreal, these moments in the morning. She could imagine doing this every day and never getting tired of it.

So it was with some surprise that she watched a batted old pickup truck pull in at the entrance, heading towards the packing lot of the dilapidated motel across from the bar where she worked. That in itself wasn't a surprise. It was the man who got out of it that shocked the hell out of her.

He turned from closing and locking his door, seemed to know exactly where to look for her because he pulled his sunglasses off and waved at her.

At her.

The apple core dangling from her fingers, Sam continued to stare, watching as he walked over to her. There was nothing out of the ordinary in his appearance. He was wearing a denim shirt over a pair of khakis, normal dusty workman's boots on his feet.

He came to stand directly beneath her, his smile a mile wide. "Major. I've been looking for you."

"You saw me on the news," she deduced, somewhat nervous about the expression on his face.

"Not me, per se, but yes, that's how I've been able to track you down. I must say, you're looking well. Considering."

"Considering what?"

"Well. May I?" He nodded to the ladder that was lying on the ground at his feet.

"Go ahead," she sighed, throwing the apple core down into the flower bed.

She didn't quite know what Maybourne was doing here. Last time she'd seen him he'd been in Russia, curiously, being his usual mysterious and irritating self. She'd presumed he'd gone to jail, where he belonged.

"How are you enjoying your little, um, vacation?" he asked, setting the ladder up next to her and carefully climbing up.

"Just peachy, thank you." Not really knowing what she was doing, she held the top of the ladder for him. After all, she didn't want him to have an accident now did she?

When he reached the top, he sighed loudly and stretched. "Nice view."

"I like it. What are you doing here, Maybourne?"

"Looking for you, of course." He moved the ladder along and sat down next to her, swinging his legs over the side. If anyone looked at them, they would surely have thought it a cosy scene, two friends, dangling their legs off a rooftop.

Frankly, it was creeping Sam out.

"Why?"

"Why not? So, a waitress in a bar. I'm sure your father would be proud."

She wasn't going to rise to that, particularly since she dearly wanted to. "How's running from the law? That treating you well?" At least, she presumed her was running from the law - though how he got out of jail for treason she couldn't imagine.

He smiled again. "I always did like you, Major."

"No you didn't. And I don't like you." She looked away from him, shaking her head. "Have you come to turn me in?"

Maybourne laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Major. Why would I do that?"

"Seems like the type of thing you'd do."

"Then you don't know me very well at all, now, do you?"

"And I don't really want to."

Again with the laugh. "No, Sam - I may call you Sam may I? - Sam, I'm in need of your help."

She thought the words first and decided against them, then realised she really didn't need to be polite to him. "Get lost."

The smiled faltered slightly. "Now, now. You don't even know what I'm about to ask."

She sighed, her good mood completely gone. It was starting to get a little breezy now, too, and underneath her cardigan all she was wearing were a pair of thin pale sweats and a white strappy top. "Go on, then, Maybourne. Tell me what you want."

"There's a Goa'uld I've been tracking....."

She hissed at him, immediately, looking around even though it was far too early in the morning for anyone in the area to be up and about. "Maybourne, what the hell...?"

"Sam, listen to me. NID brought back several Goa'uld specimens from their travels off-world. Five died, one was zapped back by the Asgard from the NID site Colonel O'Neill infiltrated and one... went missing."

"Oh God." She lowered her head into her propped up hands. "How? How did it go missing?"

"No one knows. It just did." He nudged her shoulder with his own. "Suffice to say, a number of people are concerned. The Goa'uld goes by the name of Mut."

"Mut?" She felt decidedly Colonel O'Neill-ish in saying it with such scathing in her voice, but it couldn't be helped.

"I have a folder in the car for you detailing her particulars but suffice to say, she was considered the queen of the Gods. Mut means 'mother'."

"How do you know.. I mean, presumably the Goa'uld were brought back in contained form. How do you know it's not sitting on someone's shelf somewhere?"

He gave her a very patronising look. "Because I've already found her. And believe me, she's not in a jar."

The implications were horrifying. Her own experiences with Seth and the cult he'd formed full of young people brainwashed into believing he was a real god, destroying families in process, was enough of an impetus not to let any Goa'uld, however minor, infiltrate Earth's population. "What do you want with me, then?"

"I need you to get close to her."

Her mind automatically starting picking apart his plans. "I can't get close to her, Maybourne. I've been blended. She'll be able to tell."

"Yes. I know. That's the point."

Maybe it was because she'd not exercised her brain seriously in several weeks, but she'd just lost the plot. "What?"

"Her Highness is living it up royally. Her host ran a.... well, a restaurant, if you like and Mut sees no reason not to continue this particular avenue for the time being. She likes attractive, slightly mysterious staff who'll appeal to her clients...."

Clients? Attractive staff? No way... "A strip joint."

"No, no, an exclusive restaurant where the waitresses and waiters are simply skimpily clad. It's a very classy joint now that Mut has got her claws into it."

Claws. Hand devices. Oh, there she went again....

"Maybourne. She'll recognise me," Sam pressed.

"And if she does? It'll just add to the mystery. You can claim to have had blackouts, then a strange illness. Say your doctors have decided it was a form of epilepsy. Make something up, Sam. You're a bright girl. She'll employ you, let me tell you. She likes natural blondes."

Even if this Goa'uld did employ her - and Sam wasn't suggesting she was anywhere near agreeing to this ridiculous plot - what then? Why hadn't he gone to the SGC? Something was up here, but for the time being she was going to keep her suspicions to herself. At the very least, she could send a communication to Daniel or someone, warning them about what Maybourne was up to. "Why do you think I'll do this for you?"

"A well placed phone call and the Air Force will be here in mere minutes, my dear."

Casually, Sam shrugged. "Maybe I want to go home."

"To jail? Your warrant is already out. Hammond tried to squash it as best he could, the President was willing, but a month without word from you? There's only so much pressure Hammond can be put under." He patted her knee. "You'll do this for me."

"Why?"

"Because, if you do, I can get you back into the SGC. I can make the warrant disappear. I can make it seem like this was a government sanctioned undercover operation all along."

She blinked. "I don't want to go back."

"Yes, you do. This isn't you, is it? Do you really think it is? This is some personal crisis, Sam, and a perfectly well deserved crisis too. Come on. I'll buy you breakfast; you're looking skinny."

*

*

*

Janet, eyes lowered and voice tempered, had casually suggested that the Colonel drive her home.

Daniel had chimed in immediately, sitting next to Sam on the infirmary bed and reaching out to touch her hand. "That's a good idea."

Sam, fixated by the feel of Daniel's hand on hers, simply stared at the human contact as if it was the be all and end all of her world. How strange were human hands... Four fingers, one thumb. Hard little nails, wrinkles, blue veins, dips and bumps and excess flesh. Daniel's fingers were currently dirty, black ink prints on his thumbs from the books he'd been reading recently. Sam's fingers were immaculate. Short nails, white tipped, fair skin, pale from spending too much time inside.

".... that, Sam? The Colonel will take you home, then," Janet said decisively, snapping her clipboard together. " Perhaps he could stay for a while, too. Help you settle in. Colonel?"

Her CO spoke for the first time. "Sure." His voice sounded rusty and unused. She knew he was looking at her hard, but she didn't know why. He had this awful, awful look in his eyes and Sam wasn't quite up to emotions just yet, she didn't want to think about why he was looking at her like that.

"Well. No time like the present." Janet smiled at them all. "Teal'c, perhaps you could wheel Major Carter to the elevator? Just ....."

Sam's attention was drawn to the lights. She'd been staring at the lights before. If you stared long enough, the light became everything, a blinding synthetic whiteness. So very beautiful, the edges tinged with all the colours imaginable.

".... an honour, Doctor Fraiser."

Not protesting as she normally would have done, Sam hopped off the bed she had been residing in for a week, recovering from a malady no human on Earth had ever experienced, and sat down in the wheelchair.

The Colonel walked beside her, not saying anything, his presence soothing. He helped her out of the elevator and she smiled her vague thanks to Teal'c and Daniel as she walked into the elevator.

The silence on the route up was unpleasant. The elevator hum wasn't quite loud enough in Sam's mind, which was a problem. "I was in here at one point," she said suddenly, jerkily.

He blanched and looked at the ground.

Not understanding, just yet, about why he was taking this so badly when everyone else seemed only to be relieved, she reached out and just grazed his elbow, aware as she had always been aware that contact between them was fleeting. "Hi," she said simply.

He gazed at her, his expression suddenly raw, eyes burning with intensity. "I-"

The elevator pinged at their destination and she looked up, through the opening doors. He had lost the impetus to talk, apparently. "Is my car still here?"

"Yeah. We'll take mine."

She shrugged, able to agree with him. The idea of him folding himself up into the driving seat of her car was slightly ridiculous and had she felt able to hold a long conversation she would have shared it with him. He didn't look up to talking, either, though, and she watched him carefully as he walked slowly with her to his truck.

The car journey was better for Sam. Noises, loud ones. The radio, the indicator, people outside the drawn down window. The sun came out between bursts of cloud and the heat on her skin was a delicate, lovely thing. She felt almost at peace, but for the quiet, intense presence of the man next to her.

She turned her head to look at him, admiring his profile, found herself admiring the aesthetic qualities of his appearance. She loved his hair best. No, maybe his eyes. Okay, they were pretty much top equal on the Jack O'Neill list of attractions. She loved his height, too. She'd always found it difficult to find men taller than her - she'd tried dating men shorter than her but it was often awkward and uncomfortable, for both sides. Besides, she had this inbuilt belief that said the right man for her would fit her perfectly, that if he held her he could hold her tightly, her head could come down on his shoulder at just the right angle and it wouldn't be uncomfortable. She didn't know when she'd noticed that he had that quality, but she certainly knew it for sure now.

Just as she knew that he was the right man for her.

Vaguely, Sam knew this wasn't something she'd admitted to herself before. Whether it was the re-booting of her brain that had triggered this epiphany, or perhaps just the trauma involved in being trapped inside her own body, she didn't know. All that mattered was that for this brief moment, at least, she realised that this man was her future. This man who was quietly torturing himself over what he had to do for duty.

They pulled in front of her little house and he turned the engine off, unclicked his seatbelt, and then couldn't seem to move further. "Carter, I-" he began, then faltered, shook his head. "Never mind, never damn mind."

She watched her hand drift from her own thigh over to him, watched her fingers slide into his hand, saw his face soften. "Hi," she said, smiling openly at him.

Jack O'Neill turned to look at her. "I killed you."

Oh, yes, so he had.

She had a strange, flickering image of him holding the zat up at her, aiming, but then there was nothing but the rush of what she assumed was the computer mainframe, strange, flashing images from terminal screens, video security and her consciousness scattering I AM HERE. Screaming...

"You're never going to think otherwise are you?"

He shook his head, smiling tightly, his hand squeezing hers. "I saw you die. I killed you. You died."

"Guess I'm a ghost, then."

He swallowed. "It sure feels like it."

She wrinkled her nose, reached down to unclick her seatbelt. "I suppose I'll have to prove it to you, then." So saying, she climbed up onto her hands and knees and crawled over to him, slid a leg across his lap, straddling him. Sam took great delight in the way he sucked in a shocked breath, his eyelids fluttering. The physical contact was more intimate than they'd ever had, even as Jonah and Thera, and his hands went to her thighs, unconsciously shifting her closer. "Feel real, yet?" She shifted her hips deliberately, rotated them so his head dropped back against the seat rest and his back arched, hips jerked against her ever so slightly.

Lust, desire, deep, low feelings she hadn't felt in so long flowed through her blood. Blood that was organic.

"Sam, this isn't you..." he managed on a moan.

"I know. Maybe tomorrow I'll be shocked at myself. I'd take advantage of this, if I were you," she whispered, grinning and kissing his forehead, the little crinkles that said he was confused as hell. "You did the right thing, Jack. The entity could have done anything. It could have set off the self-destruct, blown the mountain to pieces and all the people inside." Her hands came up and stroked the sides of his face, watching as he eyes tried to take in everything she was doing at once. "But, that's all beside the point. I'm alive. I'm right here." She reached down and picked up his hands, drew them to her chest so he could feel her heart beating, then, mischievously, she drew them down over her breasts.

His mouth gaped a little, a rush of breath leaving in shock and excited pleasure, his eyes leaving his hands briefly to look at her. "Sam..."

"What? You think we're going to have sex in a car? Don't be ridiculous. We're way too old for that," she chastised him.

His hands were cupping her breasts, his eyes now fixated on them. "Well, you've kinda gone and got my hopes up there, Sam."

She giggled. "Do you mean to tell me that if I dragged you into my bedroom right now, you'd just give in?"

Jack's response was immediate, and honest. "No, you're in no state to make that kind of a decision."

"See? Gentleman that you are, you'll wait until, I don't know, next week. When I'm feeling better."

"Next week you'll be mortified." His eyes went to hers. "Next week you won't want to remember."

The possibility that that was true shocked her cold. Her faze outs, her delightful little forays into a dreamy state of wakefulness... this did have all the qualities of one of her more lurid fantasies. "I'm sure I..."

"You're traumatised, Sam. This isn't you. This is... the you that wants to re-experience everything." Quickly, he lifted his mouth to hers and kissed her, a little open mouthed, a little slip of his tongue, enough for her heart to skip a beat. "Just for the record, I want you to remember that what we have is nothing to be ashamed of."

"And, just for the record, if next week I hate myself, remember that deep down I know I'm in love with you."

His reaction was swift. His hands swiftly moved up to cup her face, draw her closer for another kiss, this time more involved, this time a kiss to end all kisses, his mouth slanting over hers, tasting her completely, turning her insides to jello and her heart into a hammering unstoppable thing. "I love you too," he whispered, over and over and over again.

*

Gasping, Sam threw herself upright in her tiny bed. She'd had that dream before, and it had always caused her to react in the same way. Her heart was literally trying to get out of her chest, hammering so hard she thought it would break something, burst a vessel. Hot and bothered, more than a little turned on, she fanned her face repeatedly, pushing the sheets down off her body. Her insides were still squirming, as if he'd been there right then, putting his heart behind a kiss she'd made up.

Hadn't she?

The weeks after the entity had snatched her body were very disorganised in Sam's mind. Her waking state had been full of strange images, daydreams. She'd see snippets of people walking down corridors, in offices, working away in the labs and realise that they weren't her memories. Sometimes she'd zone out for a few minutes, sometimes she'd drift off into a strange sort of waking sleep. The first time she'd realized that, possibly maybe, the dream she had repeatedly of her taking advantage of her CO could have been real was when Janet had told her he'd taken her home that first time.

And, just as he'd told her in the dream, she'd been mortified.

His attitude towards her when she'd come back to work had been the usual concerned, sarcastic, joking, serious mess that it usually was. She'd sought his face for some kind of recognition of the words she may or may not have said to him, and his own response, but had dubiously concluded that she must have dreamt some if not all of it.

It just wasn't her, was it? Climbing onto him, teasing him that way. Oh God, she was getting hot again....

Strange that dreaming of him put her into a state of amazing sexual frustration. If they ever did the real thing...

Not good, not good, she thought, getting out of bed and slipping her feet into a pair of shoes. Sam left her room and, more importantly, the bed behind as she shuffled into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. Cold, icy cold, water.

The sunflower on the wall told her it was half past four, not too early in the morning considering how early she usually woke up. She shouldn't have been surprised she wouldn't sleep well, and that dream always visited in the most awkward of situations. She'd once had it off-world, lying right next to him and he'd reached over to touch her in concern and she'd got out of that tent so fast he thought she'd been having a nightmare. He came after her, his concern so plain on his face that she'd have laughed if she hadn't frantically been trying to avoid his hands. He'd been so hurt by that night, by her perceived rejection. After that she tried not to sleep next to him, always putting at least Daniel between her and him, maybe even Teal'c if he felt like sleeping.

Sitting down at the small table, Sam regarded the beads of water on the outside of the glass, watching them tremble and succumb to gravity. Maybourne. Maybourne.

Perhaps it wasn't shocking that she was considering his offer. The sight of an ex-Air Force officer had sent her mind into what could conceivably be called confused turmoil. Her bubble had been popped, neatly and efficiently, in true Air Force style. Sam Carter was exposed to the real world now, the real world, not the normal world, because there had never been a normal world for her. That was for people who didn't know what was out there.

The Goa'uld were out there, and now they were down here. It was something she'd been consciously not thinking about, not thinking about the greater good of mankind, of Earth, of the fight she had sworn to fight, the duty she'd sworn to perform for her planet. If anything, the people on Earth were in a bubble, a lovely bubble where reality had no part.

She pushed aside the glass and lowered her head down onto her folded arms. Absent without leave. She never thought she'd see the day when Major Samantha Carter gave in to a personal problem and let it overwhelm her.

Oh well done, Sam, well done. Way to go.

What had she done?

Right, enough was enough. Decision making time. Fast decision. Stay or go?

Go.

Well, that was easy enough. But which path did she take? Did she help out Maybourne in a plot that dubious, devious and probably very illegal, all on the remote chance he would get her back into the SGC without a hitch? Hmm.

Or did she give in, turn on her mobile phone which had lain dead and uncommunicative at the bottom of her sports bag and call up her CO, or Hammond, even Daniel. Did she give in the hard way? Take the legal route, the route she clearly deserved for breaking regulations and upsetting everyone she knew.

Well, Sam?

What are you going to do?

*

The answer machine. Of all the ironic....

"Hi, this is Jack O'Neill. Leave a message after the tone."

"Colonel, this is Carter. Hi!" Hi? You ran away from SG-1 and all you can say is 'hi'? "Look, I've just met Maybourne and he has this deal for me. Apparently there's a Goa'uld running around and he wants me to catch it for him. Just wondered what you thought about this idea, considering I'm technically AWOL and have spent the last three weeks working in a bar off of Route..." She paused, decided it wouldn't be a good idea to give that away, just in case the bar got in trouble for housing a criminal. "Well, suffice to say....." She stopped, as the connection jumped.

"Hullo?" a breathless voice said, panting down the phone. "Hullo?"

Sam stopped. The voice sounded... sounded distinctly female but she tried just in case, "Colonel?"

"Um, no, no, this is Sara O'Neill. Who's speaking? Damn, I don't suppose you know how to delete messages do you? Ah-hah! There it is, sorry about that. Jack's not... able to come to the phone right now - is it urgent? I mean, is it work? He is on official vacation."

Sam couldn't speak. She was speechless.

What the fuck was his ex-wife doing in his house?

That thought, vilely bitter and furious against a woman she knew little about, certainly had no cause to dislike her on personality alone, drove Sam into automatic. "I'm sorry, of course. I'll call some other time. Thank you, Mrs. O'Neill."

"Well, if you're sure..."

"I'm sure. Sorry to bother you."

The woman laughed lightly. "Oh, no bother. Good bye."

"Bye."

Sam found herself standing in the middle of the gravel car park with no idea how she'd got there and no idea what to do. Calling Colonel O'Neill had been her last option, her last chance. She knew he could keep her secret, she knew he would know what the score was. Even he had contacts. The President loved him, for Christ's sake. If anyone could help her, he could.

But he was unable to come to the phone. Why? What was he doing? She hadn't said he wasn't there, he was out buying marital groceries, just that he was 'not able to come to the phone'. What did that mean?

Must not jump to conclusions, must not jump to conclusions.

Could it be... no.

No, that was ridiculous.

A month out of the picture and he was shacking up with his wife?

As he had an absolute right to do. The mother of his son. His wife. Ex-wife.

WHATEVER.

She about turned in the car park, the gravel grinding underneath her sneakers. Furiously, she marched ten steps forward, then spun on her heel and marched back, ordering herself to think about work. Work, work, work. She would think about this issue later, later when she was free to... panic.

Why the hell was he on 'official vacation' - what could only be downtime? Unless they'd been on some hectic mission without her. SG-1 minus Sam Carter. Oh God, was that the way it was going to be?

Focus, Samantha. Pull yourself together.

She couldn't call Hammond. She could not and would not put him into that position. Ditto Janet. Daniel would be useless - he wasn't military and he would just tell her to come home where he'd... make her a mug of coffee and tell her it'll be fine. Well it wasn't going to be fine. She wasn't an idiot. She was in trouble, trouble of her own making. Correction: she was an idiot. This was the stupidest damn thing she'd ever done.

"Your energy is astonishing. It doesn't surprise me that you're such an effective member of the SGC."

Sam stopped abruptly and glared at him. "Where did you come from?"

"I rented a room. I've been watching you from up there for the past half hour." Both of them glanced up to the white painted building behind them, where several windows looked down into the car park. "I imagine you called O'Neill."

She looked down at the cell phone clenched tightly in her fist. "He wasn't there. I got... his wife." Why was she telling him this?

Maybourne smiled, tilted his head to the side. "Shame. Of course, they can trace that, you know." He held out his hand. "Best give it to me."

Not listening to her instincts, Sam handed over the cell phone. He pocketed it. "What now?"

"Now, a road trip. Bathroom break's not for another two hours. You might want to go before we leave. Your bag's in the front of the car." He nodded to the pickup truck.

She watched him amble over to the truck, and wondered if she was insane.

Hey, that was an idea. She could claim insanity. Mackenzie was sure to back her up.

So thinking, Samantha Carter said goodbye to her home of less than a month and walked over to work side by side with the enemy.

*

*

*

He, the object of three months intense slave labour, came barrelling through her office door only moments after she had finally decided that maybe, maybe, it was time to go home. In fact, his entrance took her by surprise and the papers she was holding in her hands slid to the floor, scattering like white leaves across the carpet. "Oh, hi, sir," she said. Stupidly.

He looked around her room, hands deep in his pockets. "Carter... got a little.. messy, while I was gone."

Gone. Such a short, simple word for where he'd been. Trapped, lost, away. From her.

"I picked up some bad habits from Daniel," she murmured as they both crouched down and started sweeping up the sheets into some kind of order.

"We'll work on it," the Colonel assured her cheerfully.

She shot him a look through her eyelashes, was relieved to see that he'd changed out of his Edoran clothes into a pair of jeans and a cream sweater that showed off his tan. "Going home, sir?"

His reply was jubilant. "Yes!"

At least he sounded like he wanted to this time. "Um, I know Daniel and Teal'c did a lot of cleaning but your cupboards might just be a little empty. Except for the coffee."

"Coffee? Oh, of course. Teal'c cleaned?"

"He likes feather dusters, apparently."

"I don't have a feather duster."

"Daniel did."

"That's really... disturbing."

She smiled at him, really smiled. This was the Colonel she had missed, she told herself firmly. The banter, the witty comebacks, the constant need to make situations ironic. Not the secret looks, the occasional touches, the shared smiles and that one particular expression that he only saved for.....

Ah, God, it was happening again. Maybe Janet was right to be worried. Maybe what she'd thought of as just male-female attraction, a normal, healthy attraction for a man who was good and kind and passionate.... see? Who thought of their CO as passionate? Who?

Her. She did. Somewhere between blue dresses, rapid ageing, end-of-the-world, Tok'ra, Sam found herself... caring for him. In a way that, mindful of their positions and the command structure, really wasn't terribly appropriate. She'd even go so far, early, early one morning a few weeks ago, to look up that regulation in the regulations manual.

Then, of course, she'd thrown it across the room.

The papers collected, they stood and he shuffled his collection over to her, smiling ever so slightly. He rubbed a hand underneath his nose, then toyed with his ear. Fidgeting.

"Sir?" she asked, knowing he would have had some reason to come to see her, whatever flimsy it may be.

"Sam, I-"

Sam? When was the last time he'd called her that? Somehow, it made her extremely nervous. "Colonel, is something wrong?" Other than, you know, the fact that you were SLEEPING with some woman while she was working her ass off to get him home. Did he know how much weight she had lost? Did he think the grey look was in for skin colour this year? She'd felt sick when he'd been gone, did he know that? Did he know that she'd missed him so much she'd felt sick?

No, he didn't. And he'd never know. She'd make damn sure of it.

" No. Well, not with me. I'm glad to be home, Sam," he said, heavily.

She stared at him. "Good. That's... good, sir." She deliberately emphasised the 'sir'.

O'Neill continued to fidget, moving from foot to foot. "I didn't... I hope I didn't give you the impression... Laira was... this woman...."

"Observant of you, Colonel."

His mouth twitched. "You do know what I'm trying to say, don't you?"

Honestly? She thought he was trying to apologise for his initial reaction to returning home, but there was no way she was going to let him go this easily. He had hurt her, and that scared her more than anything. If he could hurt her, then the feelings she had for him were deeper than they should be. "I have no idea."

"Oh, for... Thank you!"

She grinned. "Hard was it? Next time, you could write it on a piece of paper, slide it under my door and avoid all speech whatsoever."

He had the grace to flush slightly. "I'm crap with words, Carter, you know that."

She sniffed, privately pleased that he'd even bothered. 2IC were supposed to rescue their COs. It was part of the job. Admittedly, 2IC were supposed to do it out of duty and respect, not confusingly strong emotions akin to the L-word. "I think you're catching up with Daniel, though."

"Huh?"

"Woman on every planet?"

"Why you little... hey! Carter, come back here so I can give you a reprimand! Carter!

*

The file Maybourne had prepared for her was full of snippets from Ancient Egyptian mythology books and they painted a pretty attractive picture of the 'goddess' she was helping him to capture.

"What are you going to do with her once you've got her?"

"I was thinking of maybe buying back my way into the programme."

She glanced at him sharply. With Maybourne, that could mean any number of things. God knew what was going on in the small world where the Stargate was general knowledge. "Which programme?"

He smiled and glanced in the rear view mirror. "Do you really want to know?"

Yes, actually, she did, but she had a feeling she wasn't going to find it out from him. For now, she'd go along with the ride, make the decisions that would have to be made once she had more information. She had no intention of trusting him completely.

Maybourne reached out and tapped the folder. "Read up, Major. I want you to know everything that's in that file."

"It reads like one of Daniel's reports," she muttered.

"That's because Dr Jackson wrote it."

She blinked. "What?"

"Dr Jackson has written files on each and every major and minor god and goddess in Egyptian mythology. Each SG leader is supposed to be at least familiar with every file, should the information be useful." Maybourne chuckled. "I can't imagine Colonel O'Neill spending much time reading, however."

"He doesn't need to. We've got Daniel," she pointed out defensively.

"And Dr Jackson's penchant for dying doesn't bother you?"

Sam turned to look out of the window.

*

"I'm sure Hammond understands that the car window just needed to go."

Colonel O'Neill stared up at her from his prone position on his deck, eyes narrowed, hand shielding his eyes from the sunlight. "What are you doing here?"

She tilted her head to the side, noted the bags under his eyes and empty bottles of beer sitting on the outside table. "I should think that was obvious, sir. I came to see you." Why had she come to see him? She didn't know. And she'd decided not to think about it.

Carefully, as if his back was hurting, he edged his way into sitting and looked with some surprise about his deck. "I think... I fell asleep."

"You think?"

"I think, Carter. I'm drunk, Carter," he pointed out heavily.

She smiled faintly, her heart heavy from the loss of Daniel and the fear that her Colonel wasn't going to recover from that loss. "Yes. I can see that." Her hand reached out, unbidden, and brushed a hand over his hair. She was surprised when he reached up, caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. Her heart leapt, while her conscience wept. "Sir?"

"Wanna sit with me?" He was already pulling her down onto her knees - awkward considering her dress - and holding her hand tightly in his, so tightly that once she had finally sat, all he had to do was give it a good yank and she fell into him.

Sam couldn't help the yelp that she let loose when he tipped back onto the deck, arms around her, and she ended up half sprawled on top of him. "God, Colonel..."

"Shh. Listen."

She sighed against his chest and turned her head to the side. He was drunk, she told herself - hopefully he wouldn't remember what he'd done the next day. "To what?"

"I don't know. It seemed a good way to shut you up."

"Oh, for crying out.." Then she clamped her mouth shut, risked peeking a look up at his face. He didn't seem to have noticed, thank goodness, that she'd let slip one of his favourite phrases.

"Daniel's dead," he said eventually.

A tingling began behind her eyes so she closed them quickly. "Yes."

"He's dead."

"I know!"

"I can't believe... I mean... Daniel."

Despite his garbled words, she couldn't help but agree. Of all of them, it seemed unlikely that he would be the one to die first. "I know," she sighed, one of her arms coming up to wrap around his rib cage. She could feel his hand on the small of her back, his fingers circling lightly. She didn't think he was aware of doing it.

"I want a drink."

She guessed that meant he wanted to move, so she started to sit up.

"Hey! Where are you going?"

She stared into his panicked eyes. "You said you wanted..."

"I want a drink, but I need you." He shook his head at her, like she'd done something silly, and pulled her back down, this time both his arms coming around her. "I'm not letting you go. We've got to stick together."

Clearly, he was far more drunk that she'd previously thought. The way he'd said that, it had almost been... well, almost desperate. "Okay, Colonel," she promised, resting her head over his heart, "I'm not going anywhere."

*

Three hours of driving, break, three hours of driving, break, three hours of driving, break. He was like a damn machine, Sam couldn't help but think as she climbed back into the passenger seat of the truck. She looked at him for any signs of tiredness, any sign at all that this pace was knocking him back, but all he did was smile at her, nod, and start the engine.

They continued driving late into the night, with Sam dozing in and out of consciousness. They were heading back into Colorado, which had been something of a surprise. The Goa'uld was in the same state as the primary defence force - how ironic.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

Sleepily, she leaned against the pillow she'd made with her folded sweater to protect her against the vibrations of the window. "What happened to you, Maybourne? You were selling our secrets to the Russians."

He snorted. "Sure I was."

"You were," she pressed.

Maybourne reached up to scratch at his five-o'clock-shadow. "I need a shave. There's a motel up here where we'll be stopping for the night."

Sam sighed; this was intolerable.

"Actually, I saw Colonel O'Neill rather more recently than you think."

"Did you?" Sam tried to make her voice sound tired and wearily, as if she didn't care overmuch, when actually the opposite was true.

"Yes. How do you think he found out what was happening to your dear general?"

He could only be referring to one thing - General Hammond's enforced retirement. But the Colonel's details about that event were sketchy beyond belief, in fact he down right avoided the topic whenever it was raised. Was Maybourne suggesting it was Colonel O'Neill who had got him out of prison?

Sam looked over at Maybourne. "I don't believe you."

"He didn't tell you, then."

"He's my CO. He doesn't have to tell me anything."

Maybourne smiled smugly. "No, I can see that now. I would have thought you and him..." He trailed off, alarmingly in Sam's mind. Surely he wasn't... Maybourne wasn't under the impression that...

She so had to smooth this out with a reasonable explanation, providing what Maybourne was saying was actually true. "Just because we're both military doesn't mean he tells me any more than Daniel, or Teal'c. In fact, I imagine he'd tell Daniel more than me for that very reason." Even if there were other reasons now for the Colonel's distance from her beyond protecting her career.

Maybourne turned off the road, the truck bumping over uneven gravel as they entered another parking lot. "Oh, look, vacancies. Aren't we lucky?"

Guess that was the end of the 'conversation', then.

Maybourne paid for adjoining rooms, engaging the woman at the front desk in surprisingly animated conversation, pulling unforeseen charm out of some orafice. Not having the energy to pay attention to his lies, Sam wandered away, her eyes running around the small, dark reception. There was a soda dispenser over by the wall and she shoved in a few coins and got herself a Coke, glancing out of the dark window and seeing very little beyond dark shapes. She wondered how the night was going at the bar.

This was so surreal - any moment now, she was positive several armed Air Force officers (okay, so she had a really good imagination) were going to come flying through the window, accusing her of siding with a criminal and she'd be jailed for life. The Colonel would visit her once, at Christmas, and tell her he'd never loved her anyway. Daniel would refuse to speak to her. Her father would disown her. And Janet and Cassie would sob through the glass.

Yeah right.

Maybourne dangled a key in front of her, its bright yellow plastic tag blurring in front of her tired eyes. "Yours. I got you a single bed. Hope you don't mind."

Oh no. She was used to it.

*

Muttering to himself, Colonel O'Neill rolled onto his side and sighed. "How come camping off-world is more comfortable than camping... on-world?"

Since Sam was the only one awake, her mind still on camp fires and solar flares, she answer, "I don't know, sir. It's probably just psychological." She dragged her eyes away from the fire and looked at him. "So. How cool is this?"

He smiled, knowing exactly what she was talking about. "Back to the past. Very cool, Carter, very cool. 1969. Never thought I'd see it again." The Colonel glanced at her sharply. "I guess... Daniel being four you'd be....?"

"My date of birth is in my file, Colonel."

He made a disgusted noise, waved a hand at her. "I never read files, Carter, you know that. They're too closely related to 'reports'."

She rolled her eyes. "At this very moment I am about seven and a half months old."

"Holy Shit!"

Sam giggled furiously, tucking her head into her arm as her CO swore fruitfully.

"And I thought four was bad! You're not even a year old!"

"I'm sorry, sir, if that upsets you."

"*Upsets* me? I'm travelling the universe with children!" He threw up his hands.

Daniel groaned and rolled onto his back, obviously woken by the Colonel's outrage. "Jack, you know full well that Teal'c is old enough to be your grandfather."

"Great-grandfather, O'Neill," Teal'c added, joining in the conversation.

"See, Jack? Does that make you feel better?"

"Sarcasm, Daniel, is the lowest form of wit," the Colonel said through his teeth. He directed a glare at Sam. "Couldn't you have lied or something?"

"Lie, Colonel? To you?" she said sweetly.

"Ah, crap, I'd forgotten you were the honest type. God. What I wouldn't give for a little deception right now."

*

The next morning, Sam awoke, the words of her Colonel ringing in her ears. Somehow, she couldn't quite believe he'd feel the same way now.

*

*

*

Sam brushed her teeth and propped the Mut file up against the back of the sink so she could digest all the information available as she washed.

Mut was the divine mother, the queen of all gods. She was the female counterpart of Amun (see attached notes). Mut usurped many of the other Egyptian goddess that exhibited the attributes of motherhood. During the New Kingdom, The marriage of Mut and Amun was one of the great annual celebrations. Amun would be brought from his temple at Karnak, a great following would escort him to visit Mut at her temple at Luxor. In spite of her marriage to Amun, Mut was bisexual, perhaps to reinforce her position as the mother of all things. Her hieroglyphic symbol was a vulture, it was worn on the crowns of Egypt's queens to typify their motherhood - see diagram, as possible Jaffa would wear a variation of this symbol.

Well, that was all very interesting, but it didn't really tell Sam much about the modern day Goa'uld who will have taken on a rather different persona to the one she may have had in ye olde times. On the other hand, this 'queen of all gods' thing was just a tad worrying. Having come across the ones that were supposedly simply gods of the dead, or sex, drugs and rock n' roll, and experiencing first hand their particular powers, it was a little unnerving to be potentially meeting the one so called 'the divine mother'.

A knock on the adjoining door had Sam spitting out the toothpaste in the sink and calling out, "I'm coming!" before filling her mouth with water and gargling. When she was done, she flicked a small towel from the handrail and hurried to the door.

Maybourne, already dressed in yet another ubiquitous outfit, greeted her by holding out a duo of green apples and a carton of orange juice. "Breakfast."

She took the food and put it aside on a table. "Are we leaving? Already?"

"I'm up. You're up. I see no reason to stall. The quicker we get there, the faster we can set this up. I have a new file for you." From behind his back he pulled out a black file with a white stripe down its side. When she reached for it, he swiftly pulled it out of the way. "This is your new persona."

"What's wrong with my old persona?" She shook her head. "I mean, me?"

"We're back in Colorado, Sam, in case you haven't noticed. You need to take on a low profile. Don't want you getting caught before you have a chance to do your good deed. You'll keep your first name, if it's any help."

He dropped the file on the floor, and then closed the door. "Five minutes!" he called.

God, he was worse than Colonel O'Neill when it came to timekeeping, she thought grumpily, bending down and picking up the file. Deciding she would save that delight for the journey, she tossed it on the bed and went back into the bathroom to give her skin a good going over. All this deception was making her feel dirty.

It took her little time to pack, but Maybourne was at the truck before she was, impatiently sitting in the front seat. He didn't say anything, however, just started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot.

Sam sipped her orange juice, munched her apple, and started on her 'new persona' file.

Name: Samantha Maria Clorel

"Clorel!" she exclaimed.

"I thought it would be nicely ironic. I imagine she'll associate the name with Klorel as well."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"You mean, am I being an idiot?

Sam knew she'd regret that quip, even if it had sounded pretty good at the time, almost worthy of Colonel O'Neill. Even if he had been a... giant bug at the time. "No, I mean... you don't know what her relationship with Apophis was like."

"That'll be for you to find out, then, won't it? Just think, you can get the Goa'uld gossip firsthand."

"Oh Jesus."

Age: 30.

Hey, cool, she was thirty again.

Date of Birth: 28/12/70.

Fine. She could manage that.

Parents deceased.

"How did they die?"

"Mysteriously."

Naturally, Sam thought. "Of course. Any relation to my mysterious blackouts?"

He smiled. "Yes. Notice the date." Reaching across, he tapped with surprising accuracy the date of 'her parents' deaths. Six months ago. You were visiting them, fell asleep upstairs in your room. When you came downstairs they were dead. Necks broken. A complete mystery. Their deaths are part of the reason you're having this personal crisis."

She stared at him blankly. "Personal crisis."

"Yes. I thought you could put a little of your own emotion behind the character."

Again, blank expression. "Character."

"You've never gone undercover before, have you?"

"Maybourne, my whole life is undercover. I barely know who I am."

Huh. Never before had she realised how true that statement was. Classified work had long since stopped being the all-round big special secret it had been when she'd been in her twenties. It had long since stopped being fun. You went into that mountain and that was your life - when you came out, that entire part of your life was locked away. And it was a big part.

They were quiet for a while, the nonsense on the radio filling the void where talk should have been. Therefore, it was a surprise when Maybourne finally spoke, and it was in no way related to the job at hand, "Why exactly did you go AWOL? I mean, it's a little out of character for you, don't you think?"

Sam stared out of the window. "How would you know, Maybourne?"

"I know a lot more than you think. Kerrigan brought you to the attention of the higher powers almost the moment you stepped through the Academy doors."

She glanced at him sharply. This was the first she'd heard of it - General Kerrigan and she hadn't exactly got on in the first couple of terms. Her tendency to fall asleep in lectures and argue with her superiors having something to do with it. At least she made up for it in her later years - funny what a few years of maturity could do to previously troubled relationships.

"I suppose you've had a tough couple of years," he mused. "But it just doesn't run true to me. Everyone in SG-1 has had a bad couple of years. It's not like you're being picked on."

She faked an interest in her file, unwilling to comment.

"Getting snaked must have been a real blast, though."

*

Sam was crushed in an SG-1 sandwich. She didn't quite recall how it had happened. One moment Janet was saying Sam could have a couple of visitors now that there appeared to be no apparent effects from... from...

.... the next thing she knew, Daniel was perching on her right, the Colonel was perching on her left and Teal'c was hovering, actually hovering, in concern for her.

Daniel brought chocolates. He'd snuck them in under his shirt, crab-walking past Janet so she didn't see and then stuffing them under Sam's pillow as soon as Janet's back was turned. Teal'c had brought her some tabloid magazines, the kind that detailed all sorts of alien conspiracies, and he'd highlighted the ones that he thought should be brought to the attention of the SGC.

The Colonel had bashfully told her that he hadn't got her a present and Sam had to stop herself from telling him that he was quite enough of a present as himself.

So while Daniel had picked up one of the tabloid magazines and was laughingly debating its merits with Teal'c, the Colonel nudged her shoulder with his and taken her hand in one of his large ones. " How you feeling?" he'd asked, softly.

Sitting so close to her, his warm body thawing her chilled one, Sam couldn't help but feel the distinct prickle of intimacy that was probably a little too friendly for CO and 2IC. "Well.... honestly?"

He nodded, squeezed her hand. "Of course."

"It was probably the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

The Colonel winced. "Yeah. I guessed as much. Um, do you... remember anything?"

"I remember... everything. But it was kinda like a dream, like I was watching from a distance." MacKenzie hadn't gotten as much out of her as the Colonel was. Funny that. "He, the symbiote, didn't let me... I mean, he was crushing me." She swallowed hard, and with her free hand reached around him to grab her glass of water. Her sore throat had yet to let up; it remained a constant reminder of what had just happened to her.

"Did it... tell you anything?"

"No... and yes. Sometimes I would get these flashes, almost like he forgot I was there. And then.. now... "Now, sitting at the back of her neck, the body of the symbiote was dying, being absorbed into her body. Right then. Right there.

She gulped from the glass and felt a fine tremble run through her body.

Don'tthinkaboutthesnakedon'tthinkaboutthesnake.

"Sam?" He leaned forward, briefly pressed his forehead against her temple, then drew back. "You'll get through this. We'll be here for you. It will never get any worse than this."

Strangely, that was comforting.

*

What could she tell him? It wasn't the job that was getting her down - okay, it sure didn't help much. Getting snaked, zapped, brainwashed, occasionally killed, copied, downloaded.... she tried to get over each event one by one but things like that never really went away.

Then there was Him.

"What's wrong with losing it?" she asked softly. "What's so bad about that? Why do I have to be strong all the time? Where does it say that?"

Maybourne looked at her, taking his eyes off the road for too long a span of time. "It doesn't say that anywhere, Major. Do you know what the therapy bills amount to in the SGC? Do you know how many specialist staff had to be shipped in just so we could have on-hand doctors with the clearance suitable to deal with the issues the SG teams brought back with them? Seeing aliens on a regular basis isn't a healthy life. I'm not condemning you."

He wasn't? "You're not?"

"No." He laughed. "I'm just surprised you didn't go about it in a more intelligent manner. A person with your skills and aptitude could have at least faked her death or something if you were serious about giving it all up. Then you could have worked in that bar until you were one-hundred-and-two and no one would be any the wiser."

Sam swallowed.

"The fact that you didn't... I should imagine, subconsciously, you always intended to go back." He smiled. "We're going to Denver, though I suppose you've already worked it out. I was thinking of having MacDonalds for lunch. Sometimes, a Big Mac can go down really well."

Maybourne liked MacDonalds. Who would have thought.

Surreal didn't really cover it.

*

"Oooh, burgers...." Colonel O'Neill looked longingly out of the window at the fast food restaurant bar, still in 'Homer' mode. He did quite a good impression, actually, but Sam knew Daniel was pissed off at him and she didn't want to be tarred with the same brush.

Teal'c came out from behind his paper. "Approximately how long will it take to reach our destination, Daniel Jackson?"

"In other words, are we there yet?" the Colonel demanded, leaning forward to look at Daniel, then Sam.

Daniel glanced at Sam and rolled his eyes. "Children."

Sam grinned and looked down at the radio. "Can I put this on?"

"Sure, Sam."

Happily toying with the radio dial, she found a station that she liked, and she knew Daniel liked. The groan from the back seats could only come from one person.

"This is an oldies station. How can you guys listen to this crap?"

Daniel's eyes moved to Sam again. "I'm not kidding. I'm feeling like a parent. I'm not old enough to have a child that annoying."

She giggled this time. "He must get it from you. I was a perfect teenager."

He looked at her shrewdly. "Fear of failure?"

Casually, Sam nodded. "Still going strong. You?"

"Fear of rejection."

"Healthy."

Colonel O'Neill leaned forward again. "Will you two stop having a conversation amongst yourselves?"

"Sorry, Jack. Feeling left out?" Daniel reached forward to the dash board and plucked a boiled sweet from the bag he'd brought. "Here you go."

Grumbling, the Colonel took the sweet anyway and sat back. "I want to drive on the way home."

"Fine. Teal'c can sit in the front as well."

"I prefer to sit in the back, Daniel Jackson. There is more room for my legs."

"Fine. Jack and Sam can be the parents on the way home." Daniel shook his head. "Man, I am never, ever doing this again."

*

*

*

Jonas's memorial service was held outside the SGC so his family could attend. Sam went, of course. Jonas's mother had phoned up, asked especially for her, said she'd always wished Sam could have been her daughter-in-law. There was very little Sam could say to that.

It rained.

By the time she got back home, Sam was drenched, despite her raincoat and umbrella. She stripped off her clothes steadily as she walked from front door to her bedroom, then she stood under the scalding hot shower and cried for her ex-fiancé. For the man he'd been when they first met, for the flowers he bought her, for the way he smelt and the sound of his breathing in the dark.

Three messages on her answer machine: Daniel, Colonel O'Neill, Colonel O'Neill.

She smiled slightly at the last message - "Captain, if you don't take tomorrow off I'll lock you in the trunk of my car and abandon you in Utah."

Utah? she thought, shaking her head. The guy was nuts.

She picked up the phone and called Daniel, just for a chat. She'd gotten to really like Doctor Jackson over the past few months and at the moment she felt he, at least, would have some empathy with how she was feeling. Then again, he was still in love with his missing wife, whereas her feelings for Jonas had long since reached that stage of ambiguous confusion.

"Sam? Hey, how are you?"

"Fine." She pulled her robe-covered legs up onto the sofa and stared down at her bare toes. Knowing herself, she would have painted them four colours by the end of the evening and then resorting once again to her normal nude look. Besides, it was kinda against regulations. "His memorial service was today."

"Yeah. Was it... all right?"

Leaning forward, Sam picked up a couple of magazines that were lying on the floor and she threw them onto the coffee table. "About as all right as a memorial service can be when the person you're remembering is your ex-fiancé, Daniel," she said dryly.

"I'm sorry, Sam, that was..."

"No, no, Daniel, it's not your fault. Anything exciting happen at work today?"

"Changing the subject already?"

"I just want to talk to someone about something... normal, for a change."

"Normal? SGC normal?" He laughed, and she joined in. "Oh, Jack just came in."

"That's nice, Daniel."

She could hear murmuring in the background, then, "He says 'hi'. No, actually, now he wants to talk to you."

She raised her eyebrows, but didn't have a chance to question what her CO wanted to talk to her about, because he was already on the other end, "Carter?"

"Sir, I got your messages."

"Good - just checking. So we won't be seeing you tomorrow."

Sam grinned at the half-order in his statement. "No, sir."

"Atta girl." He sounded pleased and she told herself it was because he was concerned for her. "Want to speak to Daniel again?"

"No, it's all right. Tell him goodbye and I'll see you all the day after tomorrow."

"Okay. See ya, Carter."

"You too, Colonel."

*

The phone was just sitting there.

Maybourne had left only thirty-five minutes before, according to the loudly ticking clock on the wall. Dropped her off in the apartment, given her the keys and a cute, mocking salute, and said he'd see her around. Like he was James Bond, or something.

Sam automatically pictured Maybourne in a tux and shuddered. Shaken, not stirred.

So very, very wrong.

Once she'd investigated every inch of the apartment - and, let's face it, there weren't many inches to it - and made sure there wasn't a bug, camera or anything else, she'd sat down to take a moment for herself. To collect, so to speak. Here she was, Samantha Carter, in an apartment rented by Maybourne (or not?), with a file just by her knees that depicted her new identity.

It was a tiny apartment but, frankly, she'd seen worse. Hell, she'd lived in worse. In the corner, there was what someone would no doubt claim to be a 'kitchenette' - a stove, a stainless steel sink, small refrigerator/freezer, and a microwave. The patch of linoleum around that area separated it from the vaguely blue carpet of the rest of the room. In the far corner, by the window, was a queen sized bed, a bedside table with a lamp. Against the other wall was the living area, where Sam was sitting. One sofa, one sofa chair, and a coffee table.

Already, Sam was mentally redecorating. The place needed shelves. Pine ones. Books. A TV, for God's sake. A nice rug, something colourful. Better curtains that, you know, blocked out the streetlights rather than just dispersed the light slightly.

The phone was still there.

She wished she had her laptop. Or a computer, even. Any computer. Somehow the place would look more like somewhere where Sam Carter might live. Even if she'd lived in places like this in her earlier twenties. Actually, she and Jonas had shared a place only a little bigger than this. Their first place, all they could really afford considering Jonas's tendency to seriously blow his money when out with his friends. Back then, of course, being young and immortal, Sam had thought it exciting, fun, dangerous. And Jonas had certainly been that last thing.

Thinking of Jonas made her miserable; it always did. Just the sound of his name brought up memories, both good and bad, that Sam had learnt not to dwell upon. Age and practise had taught her that the best men were the ones who could make you feel like they were dangerous when inside they were responsible, respectful, kind and passionate. Perfect.

Pouncing, Sam grabbed her cell from the coffee table. Maybourne had to have left it there for her deliberately and she wasn't too keen to know the reason why.

Fumbling, she switched it on, waited in agony. She dialled the Colonel's home number as soon as she could and stood up, nimbly avoiding the unfamiliar coffee table. She walked away from the windows, towards the door as the phone rang. And rang. And rang.

Then it stopped. Sam held her breath.

Someone cleared his throat. "O'Neill."

So overcome for a moment by the sound of his voice, Sam felt her knees weaken. She was unable to speak.

"Hello?"

"Colonel," she managed on an out-breath.

"Carter? Carter, is that you?"

"Hi." There it was again. The word that she never meant to say. "Hi, how are you?" She turned against the wall, pressing her forehead against the pale paint and wishing she wasn't such an idiot.

"How am I? How am I?" Colonel O'Neill raged in ascending tones. "How the hell do you think I am, Carter? My fucking second in command disappears off the face of the earth and you're asking my how I am?"

"I know, it's a stupid question. I'm in Denver. Maybourne..."

"Maybourne!"

She laughed, stupidly. "Maybourne. God, I'm killing myself here, do you know? This is so not who I am. I don't know why I even called you. God knows what you're going to do now. I'm sorry, Colonel. It's an awful situation to put you in." She slid down the wall, giving in, finally, to her legs' protests. Somehow she felt like she could deal with the situation a whole lot better on the floor.

"Where are you? Denver? Where in Denver? I'll come and get you."

"No, no, you can't. I've got.... work." Sam smiled foolishly, wished she could tell him that his voice was making her insides squirm, that she'd like it more than anything for him to ride to the rescue and take her home with him.

Sara.

She was sure there was a tactful way to bring the topic up. For her, his second in command, to demand the reason for his ex-wife being at his home.

She was sure there was. It was just the Sam didn't know it.

"I... called before."

"What? When?" he said, his voice distracted.

"Day before yesterday. No, yesterday." She shook her head. "It's getting confusing. Your wife picked up." Damn, she'd missed out the 'ex'. Perhaps it was a sign.

On the other end of the line, however, there was a distinct, definite pause.

"Right."

No denial. No instant claims that she 'had just dropped by'. Just an acceptance.

Sam waited that extra beat longer, mentally pleading with him to make up some pathetic excuse just so she could agree with him and they could move on.

But he didn't.

"Carter, I want to see you."

She was shaking her head, then realized he couldn't see her. "You can't. Do you know.... Maybourne told me that there's a warrant out for me now."

"You're AWOL. At first we thought... maybe you'd got hurt. But some of your clothes were gone. Your car. A neighbour of yours saw you leave suddenly that night. Why the hell did you leave?" he hissed.

"You forget my birthday."

Sam cringed, pulling the phone away from her ear. She couldn't believe she'd just said that. That had been the last thing she'd wanted to say. What was she? Fifteen? That was the year her father had forgotten too. A running theme, it seemed.

When she put the phone back to her ear, he was speaking again. "- didn't."

"Sorry?"

"I said, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't," he repeated quietly. "I kept waiting for someone to say something. I've got your damn present here, for God's sake. But no one said anything and I didn't want to be... the one."

"You didn't want to make the first move," Sam said coldly.

"No."

Well, there was only one thing to say to that, then, wasn't there?

"You bastard."

She could almost hear him run his hand through his hair. "Carter, you know why I.... you know," was all he could say.

"Oh, come on. A damn birthday present. You could have left it on my desk, for crying out loud."

"I wanted to give it to you face to face."

"But you didn't give it to me. You let me think... " Were these tears? she thought wildly, a hand going to her face to touch the strands of wetness. Good God, was she crying now? "It's not fair."

"No, it's not fair. Tell me where you are."

"Some tiny apartment. With no bathroom," she added, suddenly noticing. "Damn. I don't think I have a bathroom."

"You've only just got there?"

"Well, yeah, Maybourne only came and enrolled me......" Too late, she thought, sucking in a breath. Where the hell had that Air Force mentality gone? She was just blurting out random, stupid things now. Hell, if she did go back, they'd have to send her to boot camp.

On the other end of the line, the Colonel was carefully sorting out his words. "I'll come to you. I won't tell anyone," he said in deceptively calm tones.

"Not even Daniel and Teal'c?"

"I can't anyway. We're on downtime for another two weeks. Teal'c's off on Chulak. Daniel's practically living on base, and besides, he's not speaking to me."

"He's not? Why?"

He ignored her. "Tell me where you are. I can be there in about an hour and a half."

She swallowed, looked around the room. "I don't know where you're gonna sleep," she said pathetically.

"I'll bring a sleeping bag. Tell me where you are."

Sam crawled forward, her boots dragging on the carpet as she pulled the file towards herself. Flicking open the first page, she read off the address quickly, before she changed her mind.

"Okay. I'll be there soon. Stay right where you are. Don't move."

"Colonel?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you bring some food? Chips or something?"

For the first time, he laughed almost inaudibly. "I'll bring food."

He had no idea how good that laugh made her feel. "Bye," she whispered.

"I'll see you soon."

They hung up. Sam even turned her cell off. Actually, as she was looking at it, though it was the same make as her cell, it wasn't actually the same phone. It was brand new. The screen wasn't scratched, the buttons weren't worn. The flap opened smoothly. Could it be that Maybourne had got her a new cell so she couldn't be traced? That seemed almost... trustworthy. Like this was the real thing.

Nervously, Sam looked at the folders sitting on the coffee table. More information. More clues.

The real thing.

There was a Goa'uld out there.

*

"This is new. Who are they?"

She didn't look up from her computer screen, her mind still running over the figures, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. There must have been some variable that she had missed out, or had changed over the past three days. "Who are what?"

His fingers snapped in front of her face. "Carter, attention, please."

Rolling her eyes, she dragged her attention from the screen, swivelling on her stool to look at him. "What is it, sir?" The 'sir' only just making the question respectful. She didn't know what the hell he was doing there, but it had become a recurring theme in the past couple of months. He'd drop by for no apparent reason and just linger... ask her questions, touch things, generally be a pain in the ass.

He probably did it deliberately, just to get out of doing paperwork. And no doubt with Daniel, too. It wasn't as if she was special.

Colonel O'Neill grinned that smile that had been known to charm nurses out of the big needles. It had a similar effect on Sam, though she chose to put it down to the fact that her father and the Colonel shared some... character traits. He pointed to something on the wall questioningly.

Sam leaned a little to her right and smiled. "My niece and nephew."

"You have a niece and nephew?"

She nodded. "Yes. My brother's children."

"You have a *brother?*"

Again with the nodding.

"How did I not know this?"

She opened her mouth to say she had told him once, but realized, actually, she hadn't. She'd told Jack O'Neill II. "My brother and I haven't spoken since after his children were born."

The Colonel put his hands in his pockets. "I guess I figured you were an only child. Like me."

Sam shook her head. "No. My father and my brother don't get on. He.. blames, blamed, I don't know, Dad for my mother's death. So does my dad, but that's not the point. He never really forgave Dad for putting the Air Force before us. The mission with Seth - you remember?"

"It was only last week, Carter," he said dryly. He tapped the side of his head. "Brains not that far gone."

She blushed a little. She hadn't meant it like that. "Selmak requested the mission - she wanted Dad to mend his relationship with Mark." She flicked a smile at her CO. "Said it was irritating her."

Colonel O'Neill smiled again, this time a less exuberant, slightly more sensitive version. "The trip to San Diego?"

She hadn't thought he'd have noticed that, but then, he always noticed more than he let on. It was probably a training technique - let the enemy underestimate you. Though, thinking about it, she wasn't the enemy, was she?

"To see Mark and his family. Clare, his wife, sent that to me. They're pretty great."

"Cute. The girl looks like you."

"Uh-huh. Talks like me too. Bigger words than her brother and won't shut up."

He laughed, hands in his pockets as he looked at the photo she'd tacked to her wall. "The boy looks like your dad."

"It's the eyes. He has Carter eyes. Everyone on the Carter side does, except for me. Mom's genes won out in my case."

"Charlie had brown eyes." He said so calmly, so matter-of-fact, that Sam didn't immediately connect.

"Brown eyes are dominant," she said automatically. She'd been thinking a lot about family in the past few days, going through old photo albums at home, with her dad, and by herself when he'd gone.

Then she realized what he'd said.

Somehow, Colonel O'Neill voluntarily giving information up about his son, seemed to be a major breakthrough in their relationship.

Hell, it had only taken them three years to get to this stage. Who knew, in another three years, where they would be?

*

*

*

It probably said a lot about their relationship that for the first few minutes after he'd walked through the door, all they did was stare at each other.

That was it.

The awkwardness was familiar. In the weeks shortly after the armbands mess, they'd avoided each other like crazy, all the while aware that no one knew exactly why they were so jumpy. Their reports had been carefully worded, avoiding all mentions of near-declarations and near-suicides as the two had faced each other over the forcefield.

Sam wanted to move forward, towards him. She wanted to put her arms around him and for him to do the same to her. She wanted more than anything to do that.

She just couldn't. Something stopped her, the same damn something that always stopped her from physically expressing her feelings for him.

So, instead, she watched him, taking in every inch of his presence. He had a holdall over his shoulders, the brown leather of the bag merging into the soft brown leather of his jacket. There was a grocery bag under his other arm and from the top she could see a prominently displayed bag of chips. His hair was messy, his eyes were dark, and he seemed to have lost weight around his face.

He looked wonderful.

Again, more than anything, she wanted to walk forward and put her arms around him. To see if he felt as good as he looked. For the time being, that was as far as her fantasies went, but experience told her that would change quickly.

Tentatively, Sam reached out with arms towards the bag. "I'll put the groceries away."

He nodded slightly and handed over the bag without their hands or arms brushing. His holdall slid down his arm and dropped down onto the floor with a loud thump and Sam backed away from him. Actually putting the groceries away seemed beyond her. She put them on the top of the microwave and then pushed her fingers into the back pockets of her trousers.

"You, um, want the tour?" Sam suggested, trying to get a little humour into the situation. That usually worked with him.

Colonel O'Neill looked around. He didn't look amused. "No bathroom."

"Actually, while I was waiting for you, I found the bathroom. I hadn't noticed..." She stopped and decided to show him rather than tell him. Speaking seemed way too much of an effort, so she walked over to the right hand wall and showed him the faint outline of a door. The handle was a built in affair, which you had to pulled out with your fingertips. "It's not much."

In fact, it was probably the smallest bathroom she'd ever seen in her life. She imagined it had once been a closet.

"That's just... extraordinary," he said.

Sam jumped, because he was a lot closer to her now than she was used to. She could practically feel him breathing down her neck - actually, she wanted to feel him breathing down her neck. Okay, here came the slightly more heated fantasies.

Seeming to sense her discomfort, he stepped back a couple of paces. "Gonna be hard to find that in the dark."

She hadn't thought that far ahead. She'd just been excited by the fact that she wouldn't have to share a bathroom with strangers. "I'll put some glow-in-the-dark stickers on it or something."

"Genius," he said softly.

She closed the door, heard the slight click as the lock took. Without turning around, she addressed him, "Just how much trouble do you think I'm gonna be in, sir?"

"I honestly don't know." He sighed and moved around. "Carter, what the hell happened?"

Sam run her thumbnail down the door crack. "You ever have a really bad day?"

"Frequently."

"I had a really bad day, sir."

"Because we forgot your birthday? Major, that's no excuse."

"I know." She decided she would have to turn around and face him sometime, so now was as good as any time. "I forgot my birthday too. I only realized when Mark left a message on my answer machine. I know it's hypocritical to be hurt when I didn't even remember, but there is it. I'm a fickle person." She shrugged. "But that's not the reason I left. It was the last straw, I suppose."

*

"A *week*?"

The Colonel looked horrified, and Sam found that she wasn't too emotionally shook up about him to smile. She didn't seem to feel as bad as he did about their enforced medical leave. The way she was feeling, she could sleep for a week and so it really wouldn't be a problem to be in the infirmary during that time.

"A week, Colonel. I want to keep an eye on you, make sure there are no after effects that haven't been mentioned to me." Dr Fraiser's tone of voice was almost uniformed calm, ordered, correct - but there was something in it that was just a little off. Like she was pissed off about something.

Anise, Sam thought understandingly. Or Freya. Whatever.

Daniel was already lying on his bed, his glasses crooked on the pillow. He'd long since given up the battle to stay awake any longer to listen to Janet's lectures. One of the nurses started pulling the curtain around him.

"I suggest you all try to get some sleep."

Sure, Sam thought, looking at the soft infirmary pillow. She could do that. In fact, her body was already leaning... leaning... oh. Falling.

Janet chuckled softly. "Sam - get undressed first. Your gown's on the end of your bed."

She nodded tiredly, pushing herself upright, her eyelids heavy. She yawned and glanced up at the Colonel. "Aren't you tired?"

He looked tired, at least. The dark circles under his eyes and unusual, pale colour certainly suggested he was feeling the same after-effects as her and Daniel.

The Colonel stared across at her. Something in his eyes brought up thoughts that she knew she had to forget, so she looked down at her lap and blushed. Thankfully, the curtain was pulled around her before she had to give in and look at him again.

Sam fumbled her way into the draughty gown -wishing Janet would let them bring in their own sleep-wear considering the amount of time SG-1 spent in the infirmary - and managed to slid under the sheets. She expected to fall asleep immediately, expected that the moment she closed her eyes and the lights dimmed she'd just drop off into nothingness.

The was what she expected.

But nothing happened.

For a long moment, Sam lay there, waiting. She could hear Daniel breathing heavily to her right, but she couldn't hear anything from her left.

Slowly, Sam sat back up, every muscle in her body protesting. She slid her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Carter?" he whispered.

"Yeah?"

"You awake?"

She smiled faintly. "No."

"You're lying to your commanding officer."

Despite herself, she giggled. The curtain waved, then moved. He poked his head around. "Good. You're decent. Well, sort of." He was looking at her legs.

She looked down at the gown that was hoiked up her thighs. "They're just not designed to be attractive," she sighed, mostly to herself.

"Looking pretty good from where I am."

Her face flushed swiftly so she refused to look at him.

The Colonel came into her cubicle. She noticed *he* wasn't in his gown, but she was strangely relieved he was still in his uniform. Even if his T-shirt was hanging down to mid-thigh and his feet were bare. He had really nice feet, actually, Sam realised, getting a good look at them.

"Carter. They're feet."

Embarrassed, but really too tired to be bothered with it, she sighed. "I'm so tired."

"You're not asleep, though."

"No. My brain's..." She made a gesture with her hand to mimic what her brain was doing and he nodded understandingly. Then he came to sit down next to her on the bed.

"Um...."

She looked at him sharply. "Oh God."

"Don't say things like that. I'm not going to jump you, for God's sake."

Her eyes widened. "I didn't think you would!"

Awkwardly, they both stared at the curtain.

"I just -"

"Colonel, I -''

They both laughed the way people always did when they spoke at the same time.

"Sam I -"

"Don't call me that," she said quickly.

He winced. "Christ, that was harsh."

"It is harsh. It's the way... it is. Sir, what happened..." Oh God, now they were going to do it. They were going to have the conversation. The conversation she'd been trying to avoid for what seemed like the whole of their relationship.

No.

They. Did. Not. Have. A. Relationship.

"...I didn't realise," he whispered.

She closed her eyes. "Didn't realise...?"

"That... that the idea of losing you... would do that to me."

She would have asked him 'do what to you?' but she knew the answer. She knew because he had frozen on the other side of the force field and shown more emotion for her than she had ever dreamed about. And she dreamed about him so much.

Sam kept her eyes shut - willing herself to forget the rush of hope that was rising up in her now. It had taken her months to protect herself from him. The moment she'd realised her feelings went beyond those respectable for a 2IC for her CO, Sam had started rebuilding. Moments alone were not to be spent dwelling on him. She was not to think about him at all in any way that wasn't appropriate because HE DID NOT FEEL THE SAME WAY.

But now he did.

"It didn't happen."

"Carter -"

"It didn't happen." She looked at him now, forcing him to understand that she couldn't deal with this right now. The way she was feeling, if they made any decisions now they would inevitably chose the wrong ones.

"It did happen," he hissed, leaning towards her.

She longed to reach out and touch him. God, her heart ached for him so badly. "Colonel, what would you have me do?"

"Try to deny that it didn't drive you crazy knowing we couldn't reach each other," he said, his eyes literally *burning* her.

She couldn't deny it and he knew it. "Sir -"

His hands came up and covered her mouth. The contact was electric. "It didn't happen. Okay. I happen to agree with you on that one. God knows we're not in any kind of situation where.... Nothing happened. Get some rest, Major." He hopped off the bed and pushed through the curtain.

Sam was left, once more, on the wrong side.

*

Whoever he was, he wasn't Colonel O'Neill, Sam thought, watching him. This wasn't a man she knew. He sat too cold, too detached on the sofa, reading through Maybourne's files, making notes in the margins. Everything about him was calm and relaxed - which went against everything she thought she knew about him. He was never calm and relaxed.

"Why are SG-1 on downtime?" she asked, speaking for the first time in three quarters of an hour.

He carried on reading, writing.

"Sir?"

"SG-1 aren't on downtime," he responded.

Her brows came together. He was deliberately being cryptic. She wished he'd just shout at her and get it the hell over with, instead of being so quiet. He had to be angry with her, and yet after the first initial outburst on the phone all he seemed to be was tired and withdrawn. Weary.

Had she pushed him over the edge this time? Had she made it so that he could feel nothing for her? This time, was Major Carter not going to be forgiven?

Disturbingly, Sam sort of felt like she deserved it. Like she deserved the worst sort of punishment for betraying him.

"Why isn't Daniel speaking to you?"

"Because I pushed him through a window."

Sam exclaimed, "What?"

He continued writing. "You heard me the first time."

"Holy Hannah, what did you do that for?"

Colonel O'Neill shook his head, closed the file and threw it onto the table. He turned his head and looked out of the window. It was pitch black, but she'd pulled back the curtains earlier to look down into the street. She wondered, distantly, what time it was.

"He wants you to get a job at this place. Check out the owner."

"Yeah."

"Why not just go in and grab her?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybourne doesn't have the resources for that. Besides, I think he wants to keep it quiet. He'd going to use her for something - buying his way out of jail, probably." Which reminded her. "Did you get him out in the first place?"

"When are you planning on applying for a job?"

She paused because he hadn't answered her previous question, but one look at his closed up face told her she wasn't going to get anywhere with him. "Tomorrow. I suppose... I suppose I better get some sleep."

The unspoken question was whether or not he was going to stay there with her. He was perfectly capable of driving home, of finding a room at a motel. It was up to him.

He was looking around the room. "The couch is too small for me. It might fit you though."

She raised her eyebrows. "You want me to sleep on the couch?"

Normally, he would have smiled, but apparently they weren't doing normal today. "Unless you want to share the bed," he replied bluntly.

"I'll sleep on the sofa."

*

"Left or right, Captain?"

Malevolently, she pointed to the right hand side - there weren't words to describe how she was feeling at the moment. Forced to spend the night with her CO in some horrible, dank, cold little room on some vile mattress that was no doubt *crawling* with lice, Sam was living what had to be a nightmare.

If he could stop cracking jokes for one damn minute....

Turning their backs on each other, they started to strip. The rustle of clothing behind her told her he was undressing faster than she was and she hoped to hell he didn't turn around at any point.

"Decent yet?"

"No, sir."

"Okay. Take your time, Carter."

Grudgingly, she decided he was at least trying to be gentlemanly. But, God, if she'd known beforehand what sharing rooms meant, she would have asked to share with Dr Jackson.

Done, Sam cleared her throat and turned around. The Colonel turned also and they started to check the bed, looking at each other through their eyelashes. His sleepwear consisted of boxers and his T-shirt. Hers consisted of shorts and her T-shirt and she'd also removed her bra through her sleeve.

"No bed bugs," he announced casually.

"Thank God." Even if there was an odd little patch down the end of her side of the bed that she wasn't going to touch even if it meant she had to sleep in the foetal position all night.

He bent his head over the candle on his bedside table and blew. Copying him, Sam did the same to hers. Then they climbed into bed together.

Clinging to the outside edge, Sam resolutely closed her eyes. This was simply the last time she shared with this guy. At least with Dr Jackson she could be sure he respected her. Colonel O'Neill barely tolerated her - she was a scientist and a woman, a combination he apparently couldn't cope with.

One day she would prove to him that she was his equal. She would show him.

Though why it mattered so much to her she just didn't know.

*

*

*

Showering was hard. She lay on the couch at half past eight the next morning, contemplating the best way to do it. There wasn't enough room in the bathroom to take her clothes in and get changed. She was going to have to bend over slightly the whole time and she couldn't dry herself in a steamy room anyway. But there was no way in hell she was going to wander around outside in a towel.

"Colonel?" She spoke before she'd confirmed that he was awake, assuming that he, like her, hadn't slept very well either.

"Yeah?"

" I want to have a shower."

H moved slowly in the bed, then she could see his head. He was looking at her. "Are you asking my permission?"

"No." Well... "Yes."

"I'll close my eyes."

That hadn't exactly been what she'd wanted. She'd hoped he'd offer to go out or something. Get a newspaper. Do *anything* that got him out of the apartment so she could get changed without feeling uncomfortable.

Apparently not.

Deciding to get it over and done with, Sam unfolded herself from the couch,acknowledging the crick in her spine as she stood up. Her bag lay by the wall and she bent down and pulled her shampoo and conditioner from one of the side pockets. To aid her when she got out of the shower, she laid out her clothes for the day, mindful that she would be applying for a dubious job, and then picked up a towel that had come with the place. Nice of Maybourne to provide her with linen and towels. Pity he hadn't taken into account that she was rather tall and the towel was not.

She made deft work with her hair, brushed her teeth and dried herself as best she could considering the fan didn't work terribly well. When she opened the door, the cold hit her at once, and she watched steam rise to the ceiling. She peeked around and saw that he was lying on his front, his head turned away from her. Relieved, she walked over to the sofa and started drying herself, her back to him. She wrapped the towel around her waist and hurriedly clipped on her bra, then put her on her wrap-around-shirt. She checked over her shoulder to once again confirm that he still wasn't looking - she didn't know *why* she was suddenly so concerned about this - and pulled the towel off in order to put on her panties and grey pants.

Once fully dressed, and remarkably more secure for it, Sam worked the towel over her hair, rubbing and rubbing as she walked over to the window to look out at the city. Well, what she could see of it. A parking lot, some more apartment buildings and if she pressed her nose against the window, a grocery store down on the corner.

Colonel O'Neill rolled over suddenly and she looked over at him, and threw the towel over onto the sofa. "Good sleep?" she asked, falsely.

"No," he answered, much to her surprise. "You?"

Since they were being honest.... "Not particularly."

He didn't say anything to that, just sat upright and rubbed a hand over his hair. "You're going to go to the restaurant."

"The impression I got from Maybourne was that calling it a 'restaurant' would be a bit of a stretch."

"I've heard of it."

She raised her eyebrows. "Really, Colonel?" she said dryly.

"A friend of mine had a bachelor party there."

"Ah."

"Don't use that tone of voice with me, Carter," he said scathingly, viciously in fact. "You have no right to dictate what I do with my meagre personal life."

She blanched and turned to look out of the window. "Of course not, Colonel. I'm sorry," she said softly, obediently.

"Shit." He fell back down onto the bed and covered his eyes with his hands.

Sam pressed her head against the glass and closed her eyes.

"What do you want me to do, Carter?" he appealed, lifting his hands into the air imploringly.

"I don't know."

"Why did you call me?"

"Because I... I wanted to."

"What do you expect to happen here, Carter? You went AWOL, and nothing you've told me - which isn't a lot - has indicated that you didn't deliberately do so."

"I did go AWOL. I didn't exactly mean to. I meant to get away for the week of our downtime, but once I was away, I just couldn't seem to come back," she whispered against the glass.

"If you wanted to leave, why didn't you resign? Why didn't you just call, for God's sake? Send a fax, a memo..."

"You never get your memos. Do you know why that is?"

"What? Are you changing the subject?"

"It's because they're yellow. They look just like your notes. You just put them in the bin when you see them." She smiled faintly, recalling the numerous times she'd actually seen him do it. "The SGC memos are different to the ones in the real world."

"That's really fascinating, Carter..."

"You don't have to call me that. You can call me Sam."

"I don't want to."

She sighed, watched as the condensation patch grew, and then shrunk on the window. "Are you deliberately being nasty? Is this what it's going to be like?"

"Just be glad I haven't beaten you to a pulp," he muttered.

"If it would stop this, I'd rather you did."

"Don't temp me."

Sam turned her head to the side and looked at him. "I thought I did that already. Remember that New Year's?"

*

"He's drunk."

"How can you tell?"

Sam shrugged, put her beer down. "I've seen it before."

Janet frowned, her brow furrowing. "When have you?"

"Usually after yet another SG-1 narrow escape."

"Don't jinx it, Sam." Janet sipped her wine thoughtfully, watching Colonel O'Neill from where they were standing in the corner of the room. "He's so gorgeous. Not my type, but still gorgeous."

Sam grinned. "Yeah."

"You know, you're the envy of most of the women on base."

"What? All twelve of them?" she quipped. It was standard routine with the women - to lighten the fact that they were a distinct minority. She lifted her beer to her lips and gulped. "I ought to go and sit with him."

"You don't have to baby-sit him."

"I'm not baby-sitting him. I care about him."

Janet's eyebrows shot up. "Sam!"

"Not like that." Like that. So, totally, totally, like that. "Look, Daniel's seen him too." She nodded to the scientist, who was trying to edge out of the too-intense conversation with Dr Hawley.

"Fine. Go. Abandon me. I don't care." Sighing like a martyr, Janet went on to her next victim, while Sam wound her way through the crowd in O'Malley's main bar area, smiling and nodding at people she knew, somewhat relieved when the crowd thinned out around the booths.

"Hey, Colonel," she said, sliding in to the other side of the booth.

He regarded her suspiciously, even more suspiciously when Daniel slid in next to her. "Did you time that?" he asked crossly.

They looked at each other, grinned the smile of good friends, and then went back to their drinks.

"So," Sam said, turning to Daniel, knowing full well the Colonel wasn't in a talkative mood, "how's Dr Hawley?"

Daniel winced. "She's very.... intense."

"She luurrrves you," Sam announced, giggling.

Predictably, Daniel flushed. "I'm married."

She giggled. "So's Dr Hawley."

"No way." Daniel blinked several times. "You're kidding, right?"

Sam shook her head. "Uh uh. Married." She waggled her wedding finger. "Three kids."

"Then why... why does she... um, that is to say..."

"Why does she flirt like it's her last day on Earth?" Sam shrugged. "Got me there. As far as I know, she never goes through with it."

Daniel looked like he'd been hit by a truck. "Wow." He stared down at his beer, shook his head slightly and lifted it to his mouth. Brought it back down and managed another, "Wow."

"Jeez, Carter," the Colonel murmured, "never thought you'd be the type for idle gossip."

Something in his tone suggested he was being unpleasant, but Sam decided it was New Year's and she was going to be resilient. Okay, so she was going to be unpleasant right back. "What was that Colonel? Were you, God forbid, participating in our conversation?"

"Hey, you came over here," he pointed out.

She tilted her head to the side. "Yes, we did. And we're going to stay here because I'm going to kiss you both at midnight."

"Really?" Daniel perked up, deliberately.

She cuffed him around the shoulder. "Okay, okay, so I have another motive."

He nodded wisely. "Simmons is looking for you."

"Shut up. Can you see him? I don't want to give him any ideas." She was already stretching up in her seat, her eyes searching the crowd.

"I think he's... er... making out with Lieutenant Farrah."

"The slut!"

"Lieutenant Farrah?"

"No, Simmons!" She snorted and sat back down. "Well. There goes my chance of a love life. Again."

"You weren't seriously considering...."

"No, but it was nice to feel wanted."

Daniel laughed. "Sam, that's ridiculous."

She made a face and stole his beer. "Man, my life sucks. You know when I last went out with a guy?"

"No, Sam, I don't," he wrestled the beer back from her, "and how much have you drunk?"

"Enough to make me really talkative. You noticed?" She grinned at him, and he grinned stupidly back. "You'll want to record everything I tell you so you can wind me up until next New Year's."

"I'll do that."

"I've forgotten what I was going to say."

"Thank you God," Colonel O'Neill whispered loudly, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

"Jack," Daniel chastised.

"Can I go yet?"

"No, because we're