Title: A Second Chance

Author: Sally Reeve

Email: sallyreeve@blueyonder.co.uk

Rating: PG

Classification: S/J UST, romance, A/A, *angst*, sappy mushiness.... Think that about covers it all! <g>

Spoilers: Nothing major, vague refs to season four.

Archive: SJA and Heliopolis.   Anyone else, please just ask so I can find you!

Summary: Jack has a woman in his life, and it's not Sam....

Note:  Thanks as always to Erika and Lynn for their patience and comments.  Since this is a long story I'll be posting it over about four days, but if you would like to read it all in one go the whole thing is on my website:

http://uk.geocities.com/mystories_uk

But I warn you, it's long!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and places  are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret Productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for  entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was
intended.  Previously  unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are  copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
 

'A Second Chance' by Sally Reeve
 

Prologue

Jack O'Neill lay on his back with his eyes closed, breathing heavily.  "Oh my God," he whispered at last, "Oh God."

She smiled, propping herself up on one elbow.  "Told you it'd be fun," she murmured, trailing a finger across his sweat-damp chest and smiling as she felt him quiver at her touch.

Jack opened his eyes and reached up to stroke her face.  "You're incredible," he breathed.

"I bet that's what you tell all the girls," she teased.

A grin flashed across his face, lighting up his dark eyes like starlight and sending her heart tripping wildly.  "You're the first," he said seriously, "the first in a long, long time."

She just smiled at him again, letting her fingers drift slowly down his chest and across his stomach.  Jack's eyes fluttered shut and a little moan of anticipation escaped his lips as her fingers worked their way downward....

And then her cell phone started to ring, the tone muffled beneath the pile of tangled clothes that that lay discarded nearby.  "Now what?" she sighed.  Reaching over Jack, she rummaged through her clothes until her fingers closed over the phone.  But the feel of his body beneath hers, still hot and slick with sweat, was enough to drive all but desire from her mind; she had to struggle to keep her voice steady when she spoke, "Hi, Natasha Greene."

"Sorry to interrupt your vacation, Professor," said the familiar voice of her assistant, Bill Tuck.  "But Doctor Jameson wants me to send you a new draft of his ASAS paper and I need an email address."

She glanced down at Jack.  "I don't have an email address here," she said and he nodded in amused agreement.

"A fax then?"

"Bill," she said slowly, "I'm in a cabin, by a lake.  I have a phone.  That's all."

There was a long pause.  And then, "What should I tell Doctor Jameson?"

She was tempted to say, 'Tell him to get a life' but resisted.  "Tell him I'll call him in the morning and we'll discuss it," she said.  "And Bill?  It's late.  Go home."

"I'm about to," he assured her, although she doubted it.  The man worked too damn hard.  "See you next week."

"Goodnight Bill," she said, switching off the phone and throwing it back onto the floor.

"Trouble?" Jack asked.

But she shook her head, watching him carefully.  "Just an over- anxious lecturer," she said.

"Ah," he nodded, feigning understanding, "I hate those."

Tasha smiled and leaned down to kiss him.  "I've already forgotten about it," she assured him, and it wasn't far from the truth.  "This place is too magical to worry about reality."

Jack smiled and reached his arms around her, pulling her into a warm embrace.  "Not always," he told her, "but this time it is.  Thanks to you."

She smiled against his chest, running her fingers over his warm skin.  "I'm glad I agreed to come along," she said.  "It's been fun."

"Yeah," he agreed.  "It has.  It's been too long since I've had company up here."

There was an odd sort of melancholy in his voice that drew her attention, and she propped herself up again on her elbow to study his face.  There was sadness there and regret.  "Did you used to come up here with your wife and son?" she asked softly.

Jack nodded.  "Yeah," he sighed, lowering his eyelids slightly as he looked away.  "A long time ago now."

"Not so long," she said, stroking the side of his face fondly.  And then, to change the subject slightly she said, "How about your friends?  Do you ever come up here with them?"

"Not really," he replied, his pensiveness increasing.  "They have different ideas about...fun," he explained with a sad smile.  "So it's usually just me."  Then, after a moment he added, "I managed to drag Teal'c up here last year though."

Tasha smiled at that.  "I didn't know Jaffa fished," she said.

"They don't," he assured her, smiling more warmly at the memory.  "They complain about the bugs though."

She laughed and lowered herself back into his embrace, resting her head comfortably against his shoulder. "So," she said, "when do I get to meet Teal'c?  And Major Carter too."  She felt him shift slightly at her words, as if her request made him uncomfortable.  "I don't mean to intrude," she added hurriedly, "it's just that you talk so much about them.   But if you're not comfortable with me meeting them...?"

"No," he said slowly, his arms tightening around her.  "It's not that.  It's just...its difficult to find the right time.  You're busy, they're busy...."

"Right," she replied, not entirely convinced.  But in the short weeks she had known Jack O'Neill she had swiftly learned not to press him unless she wanted him to clam up entirely.  "Well, I'd like to meet them some time," she said mildly.  "When you're ready."

"You will," he assured her, that oddly wistful expression back in his voice again.  "You will."

***

Part One

It had been a long difficult mission at the end of a series of long difficult missions, and Sam felt both mentally and physically exhausted.  But nonetheless, despite the fact that she felt as though she could sleep for a week, she found herself dutifully walking towards the commissary for one of SG-1's little rituals.  It was always the way in the military, each unit developed its own little customs and rites that had to be observed.  Not that they were
superstitious, but when you put your life on the line day in and day out you did your best to service the capricious gods of luck, wherever they might be.

And so SG-1 had a rule that, whenever they'd made it back safe and sound, they'd all gather for a bite to eat to celebrate their safe return.  Sometimes it was no more than a coffee and donut in her lab, sometimes a beer in town, occasionally a full blown meal at a restaurant.  Today, since they'd gotten back at a reasonable hour, it was dinner on base.  It didn't really matter what they ate or where, it was just one of those knock-on-wood type rituals that had to be
observed.

Since the guys had showered first, Sam was the last to arrive.  But someone - she suspected O'Neill - had already got her a plate of lasagna.  "Hey," she said, smiling as she slipped into the remaining seat at Daniel's side and opposite the Colonel.  "Thanks," she added, nodding towards the plate.  "I'm starving."

O'Neill looked up and favored her with one of his rare, non-sarcastic smiles.  "It was either that or something I couldn't quite identify."

She nodded, feeling a small pulse of warmth as their gaze held for a fraction of a second - one of those fragments of intimacy that peppered their professional relationship and gave it such zest.  "You know me," she told him, dropping his gaze and picking up her fork, "I'd kill for Italian food."

"Huh," O'Neill snorted poking at his own plate, "not sure this actually qualifies as Italian."

"Undoubtedly it is not," Teal'c observed.  "The meal is likely to have been prepared here, in Colorado."

Jack smiled and gave Sam another amused look.  "Thanks for the clarification, Teal'c."

"Okay, okay," Daniel chimed in, tiring of the banta and raising his can of Coke in the air.  "To safe returns," he said, uttering their customary toast.

"Safe returns," they all echoed, clinking glasses and soda cans together before getting back to their meals.

After a long, comfortable silence punctuated only by the sound of silverware clinking on plates, Daniel spoke again.  "So," he said slowly, "anyone got any plans for this weekend?"

There was a feigned innocence in his voice that drew Sam's attention from her plate to his face.  "Why?" she asked, smiling as he raised his eyebrows.

Daniel met her gaze and returned her smile.  "Well," he said, "in case you didn't remember, it's my birthday on Sunday and...."

"We hadn't forgotten," Jack jumped in, way too quickly to be believable.  Sam flung him an irritated glance and he shrugged defensively.  "I was just saying...," he mumbled, before dropping into silence.

"So are you celebrating?" she asked, turning back to Daniel.

He looked a little shy as he replied, "Um, actually, yes.   I thought I'd have a few people round for dinner.  I know it's short notice, but I didn't really think of it until...I was just in shower...but if you guys are free...?"

"It sounds great," Sam grinned, reaching out and touching him on the arm.  As if they wouldn't turn up!  "Is it going to be in the evening?"

"I guess," he nodded.  "Seven o'clock?"

Still smiling, Sam turned to Teal'c.  "You free?"

"I am," he replied.  "I shall be honored to attend, Daniel Jackson."

Daniel winced as he took another gulp of Coke.  "Please don't feel honored," he told him.

Teal'c made no reply, but Sam still found herself smiling at his silent response.  It was always like this, she thought happily. After the tension of the mission, she always found herself smiling at these little social get-togethers - it was a kind of emotional release for them all.  Turning back to O'Neill, she was surprised to see him staring distractedly down at his almost empty plate pushing the remains of his meal around with his fork.  His brow was knitted together the way it always did when he was lost in thought.  "So how about you, Colonel?" she asked curiously, drawing his attention from his food.  "Do you have plans?"

"Ah...no.  Not really," he said, sounding as evasive as a cornered Tok'ra.

"Not really?" Daniel echoed in amusement.  "What does that mean?"

O'Neill shifted in his seat, beginning to look decidedly uncomfortable.  He glanced over at Sam again, but for some reason couldn't seem to meet her gaze.  His fork was tapping nervously on
the side of his plate and Sam could practically see him trying to formulate words.  "I, um," he mumbled, looking over at Daniel again, and then back to his plate, "I was just wondering if it would be okay if I brought someone?"

There was a long silence.  Sam felt her smile freeze on her lips, not quite sure she understood him but feeling an icy dread touch her spine.  Bring someone?  Bring who?

"As in a woman?" Daniel asked, breaking the stunned silence with amused incredulity.

O'Neill's frown deepened.  "No, a dog," he snapped.  "Of course a woman!"

The last bite of lasagna stuck in Sam's throat and she found herself unable to swallow the lump.  Her mouth was dry, her heart thudding and her mind spinning.  A woman.  A date.  Oh God, no.  He couldn't be.  Could he....?

Daniel was her voice again when he said, "I didn't know you were seeing anyone."  He sounded mildly offended, or perhaps he was just surprised.

But Sam didn't dare look at his face to see, she didn't dare do anything other than stare at her own plate and pretend to be eating. God only knew what was showing on her face and she didn't want anyone else to find out.  Jack was seeing someone else?  Oh God....

"Yeah well," O'Neill muttered in response to Daniel's question, "that's probably because I didn't tell you."

"No," Daniel agreed, pushing his plate away and leaning his elbows on the table.  He was as curious as a gossipy woman.  "So how long has this been going on?  Is it anyone I know?"

Sam raised her eyes just enough that she could see Jack's serious face, but she looked down again before he could catch a glimpse of hers.  "A few months," he said quietly.  "Kinda slow to start with, you know?"

Months?  Sam felt as though every precious feeling in her heart were being ripped out and stamped on.  He'd been seeing someone else for months and she hadn't known - he hadn't seen fit to tell her?  And all the time she'd thought...she'd imagined that he cared for her in the same way she cared for him.  But he didn't.  How could he, if he was seeing someone else?  Anger pulsed deeply within the hurt she felt; hadn't he owed her the truth at least?  Hadn't she deserved to hear about this in private and not in front of the whole damn team? Did he care so little about the feelings that had blossomed silently between them?  Did he care so little about her?

"And yeah," the Colonel carried on quietly, "it is someone you know."

Worse and worse - it was someone on base?  Someone she'd have to work with?  Sam reached for her glass of water and took a sip, proud of the fact that her hand didn't tremble and her face remained impassive.  Hell, she even managed a passable smile.  But on the inside....  Suddenly all she wanted to do was leave.  Get the hell out of there and scream her anger aloud.  How could he do this to her?  How could he be so callous?

"Who?" Daniel asked, oblivious to the turmoil in which Sam found herself.

The Colonel shrugged.  "Remember that mission a couple of months ago, to P8G-827?"

Sam frowned as she tried to recall, but her mind was too fraught to serve her properly and before she'd had time to sort through her memories Daniel said, "The one when you bitched the whole time about having to baby-sit a bunch of scientists while Sam and Teal'c were off having fun on J5R-689?"

Okay, that explained it, she hadn't been there.  So what the hell had she missed?

"Yeah," Jack replied, with a sheepish smile.  "That's the one."

But Daniel was obviously perplexed.  "So who...?" he asked.

"Tasha," Jack replied.

Tasha.  Damn, she hated the name already.

Daniel was still confused for a moment and then his eyes widened in astonishment.  "Not Natasha Greene?"

"Yeah."

"*Doctor* Natasha Greene - professor emeritus in anthropology at the University of Colorado?"

O'Neill shrugged again.  "Guess so."

Daniel laughed.  "Oh that's a good one Jack," he said, "you really had me going there."

For a moment hope sprang up in Sam's chest, but one look at O'Neill's dark and slightly hurt face killed it.  He was serious, absolutely so.  "I'm not joking," Jack said suddenly, pushing his chair out as if he were about to leave, although he didn't stand up.  "I don't know why you think it's funny."

The sharp scraping of the chair on the floor had snapped Sam's eyes up and for an instant they met his.  But she looked right away, embarrassed and terrified of seeing pity or an apology in his face. The only way she could protect what little dignity she had left was to hide how much this felt like a betrayal and how much that betrayal hurt.  It was a physical pain in the center of her being, but she swore then and there that he would *never* know.  He would never know how much he'd hurt her or how much she'd cared.  Never.

"I'm sorry," Daniel said immediately, realizing that Jack was speaking the truth.  "It's just...she doesn't seem your type.  I mean...she's a scientist."

"I like scientists," he muttered and he might have looked in her direction, but Sam was concentrating hard on the pepper pot at the center of the table and so she couldn't tell.  After another long pause the Colonel spoke again in a lower voice, "So you don't mind if I bring her then?"

"No!" Daniel said immediately, his enthusiasm genuine.  "Please do bring her!  She's  a fascinating woman - well, of course you know that - but I've read some of her recent papers and I'd love another chance to talk with her."

"Right," O'Neill muttered and rose to his feet.  He seemed almost as keen to leave as Sam felt, which somewhere in the back of her mind she considered odd.  "Well, guess I'll see you Sunday evening."

"Yeah, great," Daniel replied.  "Around seven."

Jack just nodded, and then Sam felt his attention shift to her.  "Um, have a good weekend Carter," he said.

With a tremendous act of willpower, Sam forced the hurt and the anger to one side and made herself look up and into his face.  But she barely knew what she saw there, so intent was she in keeping her own features devoid of treacherous emotion.  "Thank you, sir," she said.  "You too."

He hesitated, watching her uncertainly for a moment, before he nodded and turned away, leaving her shattered.

"Huh," Daniel muttered at her side, "that's classic Jack O'Neill for you.  'Oh by the way, I've been seeing someone for a couple of months - and it just happens to be the world's leading expert on.... Sam?"

Shaking herself, she turned to Daniel with a smile she knew was sickly.  "Huh?"

He frowned and suspicion flared in his eyes.  "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she sighed, also rising to her feet.  "Tired.  I think I'm gonna hit the road.  It's been a tough week and I just want to go home."

Daniel nodded slowly.  "Right," he said.  "Well, goodnight then.  And see you on Sunday?"

Forcing herself not to grimace, Sam nodded.  "Yeah," she said, "looking forward to it."  Yeah, right, looking forward to it about as much as a root canal.  God, there had to be a way to get out of it!

With another forced smile she left, wondering how the hell it was possible for the bottom to fall out of her world within ten short minutes.

***

Jack pulled the door to his office closed slowly and turned the key in the lock.  He couldn't wait to get home.  It had been a long, long week and he sometimes genuinely thought he was getting too old for all the shit they had to put up with.  His lower back ached dully and his knees....  Hell, he couldn't remember a time when they didn't protest most of the time.  With a yawn he shrugged on his jacket and made his way to the elevator, his thoughts distracted.

He'd told them.  After three months of dithering and procrastinating he'd bitten the bullet and told them about Tasha.  Not there was any real reason not to, other than his own preference for privacy.  It had been so long since he'd done the dating thing that the last thing he'd wanted as he'd fumbled through the early stages were the curious questions and smooth smiles of his team.  But now they knew, all of them.  Including Carter.

He sighed as he rounded the corner, watching his polished boots as they traipsed along the dull gray floor.  He hadn't known what to expect from Carter - relief, indifference or disappointment.  And even now he wasn't entirely sure how she'd taken the news.  She'd been quiet, hadn't said anything really, but she hadn't looked upset.  Which was a good thing, he reminded himself.  Hurting her was the last thing he'd ever want to do, and if he'd thought for a moment that she felt for him what he felt for her....  He sighed and shook his head, refusing to go over that old inner-debate again.  Any hope on that front was over and in the past now, she'd made that clear every day since the whole zay'tarc fiasco - leave it in the room, Jack.  Leave it in the goddamn room.

As he approached the elevators he raised his pensive gaze from his feet and they came to rest squarely on...Carter.  Typical.

She stood before the elevator dressed in her civvies with her black leather jacket flung over one shoulder, raking a hand through her slightly disheveled hair.  He slowed abruptly, suddenly wary, but at that moment she glanced over and their eyes met.  Damn.

He forced a smile and crossed the remaining distance between them.  "Hey," he nodded, not quite looking at her, "heading home?"

"Yes sir."  Her voice was thin and dry, drawing his attention to her face.  She looked pale.

"You okay?" he asked..

A brief, dark smile touched her lips before she said, rather coldly, "Sure.  Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know," he muttered awkwardly, surprised by the chill in her voice.

After a moment she added, "It was a tough mission.  I'm tired."

"Yeah," he agreed, watching her from beneath his brow.

Silence stretched tensely between them.  She didn't look at him, didn't speak, and neither did he.  But he watched her, noting the hard set of her jaw and the tense line between her eyes as she stared at the elevator doors as if willing them to open.  Nervously he scuffed his boots on the floor, wondering if he should say something about Tasha.  Although what he could say, he had no idea.  It wasn't as if he owed her an explanation - Carter had made her position clear
enough to him many times.  Whatever she might have felt for him, her professionalism would never permit her to cross the line beyond friendship.  And however hard that had been for him to accept at first, he'd done so and he respected her choice.  Hell, he knew he wasn't worth jeopardizing her career over.  He'd have thought she'd be pleased that he was seeing someone, that it would ease the awkwardness that occasionally rose between them - no more tentative suggestions that they go for a drink after work for her to politely turn down, no more invitations to his cabin for her to decline.

This was what she wanted.

And yet looking at her now, he wondered.  She seemed...angry.  It was the only word for it.  The question was whether or not it had anything to do with him seeing Tasha.  But he'd made a fool of himself enough times with Carter not to want to risk jumping to that assumption, and he certainly wasn't going to ask her about it just to have her give him that polite, slightly apologetic smile and tell him that she was pissed off because her naquada reactor had just
exploded.  No, there was probably some other reason, something totally unconnected with him or....

The doors to the elevator slid open.  Carter cast him a sideways glance and stepped inside, still silent.  They were alone. Together.  Jack could feel the tension mount as the doors slid
closed, until at the last moment Sam slammed her hand on the button and they swished back open again.  "Sorry," she muttered, "I left something in my lab."  And with that she was gone, hurrying back down the corridor without a backward glance.

The doors slid shut again before she had turned the corner, cutting off his view of her as the elevator hummed smoothly into motion. With a sigh, Jack leaned his head back against the wall.

He was doing the right thing, he reminded himself.  This is what she wanted, what was for the best for both of them.

It was.

***

Sam stood before the full length mirror in her bedroom and stared at herself.  She was surrounded by clothes strewn across the bed and discarded angrily on the floor, none of them suitable. None of them  making her feel even remotely attractive - she hated them all.

"Well you have to wear something," she told herself crossly.

"If I go," she retorted, glaring at her reflection.  Even her hair wouldn't cooperate, making her look more like a boy then anything else.  If only she could grow it a little longer, she thought, prodding the one bit that insisted on sticking up the wrong way.  "Stupid regulations," she muttered, the words only leading her thoughts down an even darker path.

Regulations.

If she hadn't been bound by the wretched regulations who knew what might have happened all those months ago when she and Jack had been forced to voice the feelings they'd kept so secret.  If only....  She closed her eyes against the image of herself in the mirror, sick of
her pale face and too-wide eyes.  Sick of feeling so crappy.  God, there was nothing like being dumped to make a girl feel...like shit.

"You haven't been dumped," she growled at herself, slumping down onto the bed amid the chaos of clothes.  It was true, technically, but it sure as hell felt like it.  One minute she'd been sharing a warm, affectionate smile with him, the next he'd been telling them all that he was involved with Tasha.  Bastard.

Her anger hadn't decreased over the weekend, in fact it had only hardened.  She hadn't cried though, and she was fiercely proud of the fact.  Wouldn't catch Sam Carter sniveling into her pillow like some heartbroken adolescent.  No way.  She had some pride left.  And so slowly her hurt was freezing into anger - the emotions that raged in her heart without release were finding another vent.  If she wouldn't cry, if she wouldn't give in to her sense of loss, then they'd find another method of expression.

She'd loved him.  Up until that moment, only two days earlier, she'd loved him - a quiet love, perhaps, an unspoken affection, but one so deep she'd never managed to fathom its depths.  But now...?  When she thought of how he'd told her, so carelessly and callously, she actually thought that she might hate him.  And the strength of her anger mirrored the depth of the love he'd betrayed.  She hated him.  With a passion.  She didn't care if he was happy, she was too angry to be reasonable.  Screw his happiness - he certainly didn't give a damn about hers.

And now she had to face him - and *her*.  She had to make small talk and smile and be polite when all she wanted to do was yell, "Why don't you want me anymore?  Why didn't you tell me about her?"

"Bastard," she said out loud, opening her eyes and staring at the ceiling.  "Stupid, arrogant son-of-a-bitch."

If there had been any way to avoid going to Daniel's party, she'd  have taken it in a second.  But there wasn't, not without hurting Daniel.  She'd even toyed with the idea of calling from the side of the freeway in the pretense that her car had broken down, but she'd known that someone would have offered to come rescue her.  O'Neill, most probably.  No, there was no avoiding it.  She had to go.  She had to smile and do the right thing, just like she'd done for the whole of her goddamn wretched life.  She had to pretend that her heart wasn't aching, that she wasn't so hurt she wanted to cry or so angry she could have hit him.  And then she'd have to go back to work, and see him every day knowing that the special connection she'd cherished so silently in her heart was gone and that he didn't want the tender feelings that even now fluttered inside her.

"You can do it," she told herself firmly, sitting up again and staring at her face in the mirror.  "You're strong.  You've survived worse than this."

Glancing around, she forced herself once more to think about what to wear.  The dangerous side of her mind hinted at the short, tight- fitting black dress that she'd only worn once before.  That would make him sit up and take notice!  Either that, she thought with a grim smile, or she'd look like a desperate flirt.  And besides, she thought wearily, she really didn't have the energy.  After a moment she reached for her black jeans, a red t-shirt and her leather
jacket.  It was only Daniel's after all, and since she felt dull and unattractive she may as well dress the part.  It wasn't like anyone would notice.

With a sigh she pulled on her boots, made one final effort with her hair and dug around for a lipstick that vaguely matched the t-shirt without making her look like traffic lights stuck on red.  Then, with a sigh, she picked up the small gift she'd bought for Daniel and headed for the door.

It was going to be a long evening.

***

Jack was nervous.  It was ridiculous, since he'd never exactly been a shrinking violet when it came to parties, but this evening he was nervous.  From Tasha's bedroom he heard the hairdryer buzzing and glanced down at his watch.  It was already ten 'til seven and she was still drying her hair!  They were going to be late.  He hated being late.

Getting up from the sofa he wandered around her cluttered living room, trying to quell his nerves.  It was ridiculous to be this nervous.  He was having dinner at Daniel's with his team and whoever else Daniel had invited.  He was having dinner with his team and his girlfriend.  He winced the moment the expression popped into his head.  Girlfriend?  Hardly that!  Well, whatever the hell it was called in the twenty-first century when you were almost forty-five,
Tasha was it.  And she would be there tonight, with the rest of his team....  With Carter.

He stopped his pacing and gazed out of her apartment window.  His own reflection was ghostly against the city lights below, pensive. Carter.  He was smart enough to know why the thought of Carter and Tasha in the same room was unsettling.  His feelings for both women were more than a little ambiguous; he liked Tasha a lot.  She was smart and funny and patient.  Not to mention beautiful.  And she was very open and easy to understand, she said exactly what she felt when she felt it.  It made a very refreshing change.

Carter, on the other hand....   He never really knew what she was thinking.  No, that wasn't true.  When they were working together he knew exactly where her mind was going, militarily they were almost always in sync.  But on a personal level she'd look at him with that expression that was half-amusement and half-indulgence and he didn't have a clue what it meant.  Sometimes he thought it might be pity, other times maybe affection.  But she hid herself so effectively behind her military persona that he'd begun to think he didn't really
know her at all.  Not that it made any difference to the way he felt about her.  He still cared about her, far more than was appropriate given both their professional relationship and the fact that he was involved with another woman.

The thought made him uneasy and he looked away from his pale reflection, back into the room.  He knew there was no romantic future for him and Carter and the sooner he got over her the better.  And if Tasha could help him do that with her warmth, openness and unguarded affection then he'd be a fool to turn her away in favor of a hopeless dream.  Wouldn't he?

"Jack?" her voice from behind him startled him somewhat guiltily, but he managed to smother the emotion before he turned around and smiled.

"You look great," he said, taking in her dark curls and elegant, understated dress.  She was always so damn elegant it made him feel scruffy.  He looked down at himself.  "Am I letting you down?"

Tasha smiled.  "Daniel's your friend," she reminded him, moving closer and taking his hands.  "But I think you look fine."  Then she glanced at her watch and winced.  "We're late," she said.  "Sorry."

Jack shrugged and reached for his jacket.  "Doesn't matter," he assured her.  "Daniel's never been on time in his life, he won't even notice."

"This is going to be fun," Tasha said, slipping her hand into his as they headed for the door.  "I can't wait to meet everyone."

Jack just smiled, wishing that his own feelings on the subject weren't so confused - and that the army of butterflies stomping around his stomach would just take a seat.

***

Given the short notice, Daniel had managed to pull together quite a little crowd, not all the faces familiar to Sam as she stepped into his living room.  She spotted Janet immediately though, and made her way over to where she was pouring herself a drink at the makeshift bar.

"Hey," Sam said, coming to stand at her side, "I wasn't sure you'd make it."

Janet turned with a smile.  "Well, neither was I," she agreed, "but the gods - and SG-8 - were kind to me so I got off early."

"I'm glad," Sam replied earnestly, casting a wary glance around the room in search of Jack.

"He's not here yet," Janet said, taking an innocent sip of her drink.

With a frown Sam turned to pour herself a gin-and-tonic - she needed one.  "Who isn't?"

"You know who," Janet said.

Sam glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.  "You heard about his date?" she asked, trying not to sound too bitter.

Janet nodded.  "Daniel seems to think its pretty funny," she said.  "He can't imagine how anyone as smart as Professor Greene could fall for the Colonel."

"Huh," Sam replied, reaching for the tonic water.  Just a splash.

"I told him that he had no clue about women," Janet replied with a grin.  "He agreed."

Sam smiled at that and took a sip of her drink.  "Whoa," she sighed - that was strong!  "Just what I need."

Janet gave her a shrewd look, then placed a hand on her arm and said, "Come on, let's talk."  Leading her to a quiet corner of the room, she sat down and gestured Sam to follow.  She obliged, finding herself relieved to have a little female company for once and suddenly knowing that she was in the mood to talk.  "So," Janet said once they were settled, "how long's he been with the Prof?"

Sam shrugged, sighed and sunk back in the deep armchair.  "A few months, apparently."

"Wow," Janet breathed, "and you didn't know?"

"No."  She shook her head and took another sip of her drink, feeling the alcohol start to work loose the tension in her muscles.  "I can't believe he didn't say anything."

"Maybe he didn't want to hurt you?" Janet suggested, although she didn't sound convinced.

"Huh," Sam grunted, "if he cared about that he wouldn't be seeing Tasha, would he?"

"Tasha?" Janet repeated.  "That's her name?"

"Yeah.  Sounds like the kind of name you'd give a dog."

Janet winced.  "Careful Sam," she warned gently, "it's not her fault."

"I know," Sam sighed, lowering her eyes.  "It's just...I know it's not like we were involved or anything, but...there was something there.  You know?  I thought we had an understanding."

"So did I," Janet nodded.  "I know he cared about you, it was obvious."

"Not anymore though," she replied glumly, swallowing another mouthful of her gin-and-tonic.

Janet made no comment, just said,  "So, you're pissed at him."

"He came right out with it in the middle of the commissary," Sam replied, allowing a bubble of anger to rise to the surface.  "Right in front of Daniel and Teal'c!  I didn't know what to do....  I was so...."

"Hurt?"

"Yeah."

"Bastard."

"You said it."

Sitting forward in her chair, Janet reached over and closed her hand over Sam's.  "I'm sorry," she said. "You deserved more than this, Sam."

Sam rolled her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.  "I'll survive," she assured her friend.  "It's not the first time I've been dumped."

"Jack O'Neill's an idiot," Janet declared.  "He doesn't know what he's passing up."

But even now, despite her hurt and anger, Sam felt the need to defend him.  "Come on," she said ruefully, "he's not passing anything up.  There was never any chance for us.  You know that."

But Janet shook her head.  "No such thing as never," she said firmly.

"There is now," Sam pointed out with a sad smile, reaching for another sip of her drink only to discover that her glass was empty.  "I need a refill," she decided.

Janet smiled and knocked back the remains of her own drink.  "Sounds good to me."

As they made their way back to the bar, Daniel joined them with a  wide smile.  "Sam," he said, slightly tipsy and in a very good mood. He reached over and gave her a warm hug, "Glad you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it," she assured him, hugging him back and pecking him on the cheek.  "Happy birthday."

"Thanks," he replied merrily, leaning down to give Janet a hug too.

"I thought we already said hello," she laughed, her voice muffled in his enthusiastic embrace.

"I know!" he smiled, releasing her and glancing over her shoulder.  "Oh, there's Jack," he exclaimed and rushed off to meet his friend.

Sam's heart jolted painfully and her stomach tightened.  This was it.  She felt a small, reassuring touch on her arm from Janet but was unable to smile a response as she turned slowly around and followed Daniel with her eyes.  Jack stood just inside the door, looking around the room with his usual poise, and at his side stood the woman who had to be Tasha.  She was slim and elegant, her dark hair falling in bubbly curls down to her shoulders and her dusky oval face brightened by large eyes as dark as Jack's.  "Oh God," Sam murmured half to herself and half to Janet, "she's beautiful."

"Looks older than you," Janet replied after a moment, obviously unable to deny Sam's words and looking for a shred of comfort.  Sam gave a thin smile, but took no comfort.  Glancing down at her scruffy jeans and t-shirt she felt more like her adolescent tomboy self than she had in years.

"I should have worn a dress," she muttered.

"You look great," Janet assured her.

Daniel reached Jack with enthusiasm, and treated him to a bear-hug that Jack accepted with relative good grace.  Sam couldn't make out what they were saying, but Daniel was chatting enthusiastically to Tasha who was smiling and nodding in response.  After a moment Daniel
turned away and started to lead them back towards where Sam and Janet were still loitering at the bar.  Impulsively Sam tried to move away, but Janet's hand was on her arm again.  "Get it over with," she advised quietly.  "You know you're gonna have to at some point."

Sam nodded at the logic, but her stomach was twisting so tightly it was almost painful.  Hurriedly she poured herself another drink, sloshing the gin as she filled her glass.  This time there really was only room for a splash of tonic.

"Sam, Janet," Daniel said, rather more soberly than before, and to Sam's extreme consternation she saw his eyes flick to her with an expression bordering on concern.  God, did everyone know?  "Look who I found."

Sam managed a weak smile as Jack and Tasha joined them.  "Hey," Jack said quietly, lacking his usual exuberance and looking more than a little awkward.  "How are you?"

"Good," Sam lied and heard Janet mutter something similar.

Jack nodded almost as if he hadn't heard, and then turned to Tasha. "Um, Tasha, this is Carter and Doctor Fraiser."  He spared them a hurried glance, "This is Natasha Greene."

Janet did sterling work.  With a broad smile she reached out her hand and said, "It's great to meet you Natasha.  And call me Janet."

Tasha shook her hand warmly.  "Nice to meet you too," she replied with a wide smile and a flash of white teeth, before turning her attention on Sam.  "You too, Major Carter," she said, offering her hand.  "Jack's talked a lot about you."

Sam took her hand, feeling something inside herself start to tremble as she realized that this was the woman...this was the woman who go to be everything she could never be.  Got to do everything....  Okay, stop right there. "Nice to meet you," she replied, keeping her voice even and, she hoped, not too cold.  "And it's Sam, not Carter."

Tasha smiled.  "So you're the one who keeps Jack on his toes all day?"

She gave a little laugh, and flicked a quick glance at O'Neill.  His eyes were already on her and for an instant their gaze locked, but the moment was so confused that she had no idea what he was thinking.  "I, um, do my best," she replied inanely.

"Tasha," Daniel jumped in then, "would you mind...?  I just...I read the paper you published in the last edition of 'Athena Review', and, um, I had some thoughts...."

Sam tuned out, relieved that Daniel had diverted the conversation, and turned back to the drinks.  "Can I get anyone anything?" she asked over her shoulder, glad to be doing anything but talk to them.

"I'll have a beer," Jack said, moving to stand at her side.  "Tasha? White wine?"

"Great, thanks."

Wine.  Okay.  Sam reached for a glass and a bottle without thought, barely believing that she was standing there pouring drinks for Jack's date.  More than a date - his girlfriend, partner, significant other...whatever.  She started pouring, paying little attention to what she was doing as she began to plot her escape.  Teal'c had to be here somewhere, she reasoned, she'd disappear and try to find him. Maybe hang out on the balcony for a while....

"Um, Carter?"  Jack's quiet voice was at her ear.  "White, not red."

"Huh?" she mumbled, so on edge that his soft voice made her jump.

"I think she wants white wine."

"Oh," Sam said, nodding.  "Right.  I wasn't thinking."   She reached for the bottle of white, but in her agitation managed to knock over the half-full glass of red, sending wine spilling across the table and dripping onto the carpet.  "Shit!"

"Whoa!" O'Neill exclaimed, grabbing a handful of napkins and dumping them on top of the spilled wine before more could reach the floor.

"I got it," Sam muttered, angry at herself and highly embarrassed, her heightened emotions almost bringing tears of frustration to her eyes.  But Jack didn't let go of the soggy mass of napkins when Sam reached for them and somehow their fingers got tangled together.  The
fleeting contact raced through her like an illicit high, arousing a fierce desire in the pit of her stomach and fueling an insane impulse to tighten her hold on his hand.  Her fingers twitched around his in a gentle squeeze before she managed to pull her hand away, feeling her face flush with both desire and the confusion of the entire incident.  God, what the hell was she doing?  Tasha was right there!

Next to her she heard Jack clear his throat.  "You should pour some white wine on that," he said gruffly, nodding towards where the red wine had spilled on the carpet.  "Stops it from staining."

"Yeah," Sam muttered, and then glancing up at Daniel she winced.  "Sorry Daniel, I'm such a klutz."

He just shrugged.  "These things happen.  Should I open another bottle?"

"I think there's plenty," Janet said, taking over wiping up the spill on the table while Sam dribbled white wine onto the floor.  "Sam," she said after a moment, touching her lightly on the shoulder.  "Why don't we find a cloth or something in the kitchen?"

Sam looked up with huge gratitude as she and Janet shared a significant look.  Escape.  Thank God.  And with that she rose to her feet, picked up the soggy napkins and fled into the kitchen, chased the whole way by a cacophony of confusing emotions.

She'd touched him, she'd felt the warmth of his fingers against hers, and she'd wanted him so much it hurt.  But he didn't want her, he wanted Tasha instead.  And she hated him for that.  So much it hurt.

She hated him.

She loved him.

Oh God.

***

Jack only half-listened to the conversation as Daniel and Tasha talked shop.  Although he wasn't as disinterested as he sometimes made out, he really wasn't in the mood for their discussion.  His thoughts were too distracted.  And so he stood with them, sipping at his beer as his eyes turned, more often than not, towards the kitchen.

He could see Carter in there, talking quietly to Janet.  She'd found herself another drink and was knocking it back pretty fast.  That surprised him, he'd never had Carter pegged as someone who drank much.  She seemed too self-possessed to enjoy letting go like that, unlike him of course.  Just another of the many differences between them.

He sighed as he watched her leaning against the kitchen counter, talking while Janet fiddled with something in the sink.  It wasn't often he got to see her out of her uniform, and he had to admit...wow.  Black jeans that hugged all the right places, a t-shirt that did the same, her hair just tousled enough to make her look full of life.  He was never really one for the sort of static beauty some women preferred, the kind that you were afraid to touch in case you spoiled their hair or creased their dress.    But Carter....

"So," Tasha said at his side, slipping her arm through his.  "Now I only need to meet Teal'c.  Is he here?"

"Um," Jack muttered, clearing his throat and turning his eyes hurriedly to her, "I haven't seen him...."

"He's in my study," Daniel explained.  "Doctor Bell was talking to him earlier, and they got into this whole cultural relativism thing....Teal'c's giving him the brief history of Jaffa culture.  I think Steve's taking notes."

Tasha glanced up at Jack and grinned.  "You know," she said, "I have to say that does sound rather interesting.  I know it's a terrible party-pooper thing to do, but...?"

Jack smiled at her embarrassed enthusiasm.  It was one of the things he liked about her.  "Hey," he said, taking a step backwards, "if you wanna go listen to Teal'c talk about dead Jaffa, don't let me stop you.  I'm happy with my...," he glanced at his beer, "...Bud for
company."

"Are you sure?" Tasha asked, searching his face.  "You're not going to sulk?"

He raised an eyebrow.  "I don't sulk."

"Huh!" she laughed, and over her shoulder Jack caught a glimpse of Daniel doing a poor job of repressing a grin.  But Tasha softened her exclamation with a touch on his arm.  "If you're sure?"

"Sure," he replied, meaning it.

She smiled and reached up to kiss him lightly on the lips.  He felt oddly self-conscious with Daniel standing so close, but kissed her back nonetheless.  As they moved apart he instinctively glanced towards the kitchen, just in time to see Carter's head turn sharply away and he knew she'd seen.  And that bothered him.  More than he'd anticipated.

"Come and get me if I'm too long," Tasha called as Daniel started to lead her away.  "And I mean that!"

Jack just smiled and raised his beer in a farewell salute.  But as he turned away his smile faded and he returned his attention to the kitchen.  Carter was gone, nowhere in sight, but Janet remained busy in there - it looked like she was doing something with a stack of take-out pizza boxes.  Jack grinned suddenly.  Way to go Daniel, nothing like sophistication!

Moving through the crowd he stepped into the kitchen.  "Need a hand?" he asked Janet as she rummaged through a cupboard, searching for something.

She turned and he caught a little frown before her face smoothed and she said, "Do you know where he'd keep anything like a serving platter?"

Jack shrugged.  "I know where he keeps the beer," he offered.  And then, "What's wrong with those plates?"

"Nothing," Janet muttered, "just thought they were too small."

"I think we'll managed," Jack decided, pulling down a stack of plates and beginning to unload the pizza.  "And here I was," he said smiling again, "thinking that Daniel was gonna cook."

Janet returned a faint smile as she handed him another pizza box.  "Life's too short, Colonel," she told him.  "Personally, I haven't cooked in ten years."  Her tone was light but there was a
tension behind her voice that was unusual, a hardness that he rarely saw in her.

"You okay, Doc?" he asked, glancing at her as he continued to pile pizza onto one of the plates.  "You seem a little on-edge."

"Me?" she asked, spinning to face him with a flare of anger in her eyes.  Her jaw clenched.  "*I'm* fine, sir," she replied carefully, swallowing the emotion and turning back to what she was doing.  Her face grew impassive.

Jack licked his lips and glanced around the kitchen.  They were alone.  "Um...what?" he asked, knowing he wasn't getting the full picture.

Her eyes flashed darkly again and she picked up a loaded plate of pizza to take out for Daniel's guests.  "It's none of my business, sir," she told him, her intent scrutiny not far short of a glare.

"Probably not," Jack agreed, picking up his beer and taking a nervous sip.  "Why don't you tell me anyway?"

Janet said nothing but watched him carefully.  After a moment she said, "Go ask Sam."

He stared, not entirely surprised.  "Carter?"

"Talk to her, Colonel," Janet said.  "And try not to make her feel any worse than she already does."

And with that she pushed passed him and out into the living room, leaving Jack bewildered in her wake.

***

The evening air was cool, almost cold.  But the alcohol that burned down Sam's throat gave her a false immunity to the chill and let her mind drift distractedly over the glittering lights of the city. Their garish light drowned out that of the stars, flickering in all colors, accompanied by the occasional wail of a police car or honk of a horn.  A whole city full of people, and here she was so very alone.

It had been a long time - years - since she'd felt this lonely. There was a unique bite to rejection that added a sharp edge to everything.  Sam had no qualms about being alone, she never had.  But that was very different to being lonely, especially the bitter loneliness she felt this evening.  Going from meaning so much to someone that they were willing to die for you to being...less than that, carried with it a unique sense of isolation.  She'd gone from being part of something, albeit unspoken and barely acknowledged, to being entirely on her own.  Her feelings for Jack remained powerful, although they trembled now between love and loss.  But whatever else they were, one horrible fact was as clear as the night sky - they were unrequited and unwanted.

The realization was so sad she could have cried.  She almost wished she was the sort of woman who would.  But she wasn't.  Instead she took another sip of her way-too-large gin-and-tonic and sighed out her frustration into the still, cold air.

"It's a beautiful night," a voice said from behind her, startling her.  It was Jack.

Sam didn't turn around, didn't move.  "Yes, sir."

There was a pause, and then, "Whatcha doing out here alone?"

Sam felt her throat tighten at the genuine concern she heard in his quiet voice.  Damn him.  Why did he have to talk to her like that? Why did he have so sound so gentle?  It always made her feel so.... She closed her eyes to regain her composure.  "I just felt like being alone for a while," she said, hoping he'd take her words as a hint.

Typically, he didn't.  Or, more likely, he simply chose to ignore it.  Jack took a step closer.  "You look sad," he said bluntly, coming to stand at her side.  "What's up?"

"Nothing," she replied, the overused lie springing automatically to her lips as every muscle in her body began a slow, painful tensing until she was so taught she was afraid she might snap.  "I'm fine."

Jack nodded.  She could see the gesture out of the corner of her eye, but she didn't turn her head.  "I, um," he began quietly, "I hope...."  He cleared his throat and turned to face her, leaning his arm against the balcony rail.  "Look, Carter...I may be way off the mark here, but....  This doesn't have anything to do with me and Tasha, does it?"

Not a muscle moved.  Not even an eyelid.  "No, sir."

"No, sir," he repeated quietly.  "Well...I'm glad.  So what is it? You've been acting kinda weird since Friday.  Did I do something? You seem pissed."

Still she didn't move other than to raise her glass to her lips and take another hefty swallow.  She was  feeling the effects of her three - or was it four? - very strong drinks.  But she wasn't tipsy or mellow, although she could feel some barriers of restraint begin to fall - or perhaps her anger was simply demolishing them.  But she wasn't out of control.  In fact she'd never felt more controlled as she slowly said, "I wish you'd told me, that's all."

"Told you what?" he asked curiously.

"That you were seeing...someone," she explained, finding herself unable to speak the woman's name.  How ridiculous was that?

"Oh."

Sam moved at last, turning her head to face him.  Jack was frowning down at the beer in his hands.  "That's it?" she asked bitterly.  "Oh?"

He looked up, still frowning.  "I...," he began uneasily, "I...didn't....I mean, it kinda developed so slowly that I didn't...think...."

"Right," Sam interrupted, snapping her head back to glare out over the city.

"It's not like anyone else knew before I told you guys," he added rather defensively.  "You're the first people I told."

Sam shook her head, breathless with astonishment at how little he understood her feelings.  "I meant," she said in a carefully controlled voice, refusing to give in to her fierce sense of betrayal, "I meant that I wish you'd told *me* - just me."  Her eyes flashed to his face and she saw him flinch at the anger he must have seen, and in that moment she didn't care.  "Didn't I deserve that much consideration?"

He was obviously taken aback.  "I thought you'd be pleased,"  he stammered.

Pleased?  She stared at his confused face through a haze of alcohol. Pleased?  Pleased that he was seeing someone else?  Pleased that he was happy...?  A niggle of shame twisted in her gut, prompting reason to assert itself through the gin.  He was right.  If she cared about him at all she should be pleased that he'd found someone to make him happy.  It wasn't as if *she* could ever do it.  Not in this reality.  Shame turned quickly to a remorse that washed over her in a thick, stifling wave.  "I'm sorry," she said abruptly, looking away and out over the cityscape.  "I am pleased for you," she added, saying the words he deserved to hear and wishing she could actually mean them.  "I guess I was just surprised."

"Yeah, well, me too," he muttered.  Then he took a step closer, "Look, Carter," he said quietly, "I hope I didn't....  I mean...God, I'm crap at this."

She glanced over at him then, almost provoked to smile by his honest
confession.  But the familiar surge of affection she felt for him was painful, and instead of a smile she felt a lump rise in her throat and had to look away.  "You don't owe me an explanation," she said wearily.

"I know," he agreed.  "But...I hope I didn't upset you, or anything. Hurt you.  I'd never want to do that."

This time Sam did smile, although the expression felt bitter.  "Right.  Sure."

"I mean it," he said touching her lightly on the arm to try and get her to face him again.  She resisted.

"It doesn't matter," she replied, refusing the gentle pressure on her arm.

"It does if I hurt you, Sam," he said, the use of her name only heightening the pain.  "I didn't think you felt...."

She moved away, unwilling to let him finish.  "We should go inside," she interrupted him, "Daniel will wonder where we are."

But he moved to block her.  "No he won't, he's in the middle of some anthropological ...thing."

Sam blinked, her eyes caught by his at last.  Dark, deep and serious he watched her with genuine, if guarded, emotion.  It wasn't the first time he'd looked at her like that, but on every other occasion she'd managed to keep from losing herself in the shared moment.  This time though, with the alcohol impeding her judgement, she was less confident of her self-control.  "Please," she said quietly, "let's just forget about this."

"About what?"

"Everything," she replied incoherently.

"Sam...?"

"Please," she muttered, pushing her way past him.

But he wouldn't let her leave, reaching out and taking her arm firmly. "No," he said, holding her in place.  "We can't just forget this, Carter.  We need to sort it out.  We need to...."

"No we don't!" she snapped, turning on him.  "We don't need to do anything - we've never done anything before, so why now?"

"Carter," he said carefully, still holding her arm.  "We still have to work together.  That's not gonna happen if you're pissed at me over this."

Sam felt her anger bubbling close to the surface.  "Oh, so it's a team issue now, is it?"

"It's always been a team issue," he pointed out, his stone-cold-sober gaze pinning her in place.  "That's the whole point, isn't it?"

She held his gaze in silence as his fingers still gripped her arm tightly.  "Fine," she said at last.  "You want me to fake it for the sake of the team?  I can do that, sir."  She forced a bright grin that she knew must look sickly.  "I'm fine, sir.  Happy as a clam."

"I don't want you to fake anything," he objected.

"Then what?"

He paused, still staring at her.  "I don't understand why you're so mad.  Can't we just be friends?" he asked tentatively.  "Like before?"

Friends?  "Just good friends?" she suggested bitterly.  "I don't think so, sir."

"Why not?"

She looked away, pulling her arm from his loosening grip and hugging herself tightly.  "Because we've never been friends, sir."

"Sure we have," he replied nervously.  "I mean, I thought we had...."

"Then you've been kidding yourself."

"I don't think so."

Sam shrugged.  "We've never been friends," she repeated, venting a childish need to hurt him back if she could.  "And we can't be now."

His reply was intrepid, if apprehensive. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want to be your friend," she said quietly.  "I never have."

Jack said nothing, but she saw a moment of shock in his eyes before he hung his head.  "I see."

She doubted that he did see, but wasn't about to explain.  Her feelings for him were too complicated and deep to ever be encompassed by something as simple as friendship.  He obviously felt differently and the last thing Sam wanted to do was point up the difference.  He'd moved on, but she knew it would be a long time before she could conquer her own heart so thoroughly.  "I'm sorry," she muttered, not entirely sure for what.

"Me too," he murmured, his head still lowered and his gaze fixed somewhere near his feet.  He didn't move as she headed past him, didn't look up and didn't speak.  She glanced back once before she left the balcony, to see that he'd moved towards the edge and was standing there staring out over the city.  His face was only visible in profile, impassive and hard.  Sam shivered.  If it were possible, she felt even worse than she had before.  Something had just broken, she realized, something that had bound them together for so long - a trust, a mutual understanding.  A friendship.  And the hole its destruction left in her soul was so deep she was afraid it might consume her entirely.

***

The drive back to her apartment was silent.  Tasha glanced a couple of times at Jack, but his eyes were fixed on the road as he drove and she could tell by the tense set of his jaw that he wasn't in the mood for talking.  She repressed an irritated sigh and thought back over the evening.  All in all it had been fun, and she'd enjoyed Daniel Jackson's company quite a lot.  The man was brilliant, if a little eccentric.  And the Jaffa, Teal'c, had been a real eye-opener.  She'd kill for a chance to visit his home planet.  What had he called it?  Chulak?

"Jack?" she asked quietly, ignoring the twitch of irritation that flickered over his face at her interruption of his brooding.    "Does Teal'c ever visit Chulak?"

"Not often," he replied.  "He's not exactly popular there."

Damn.  That was that, then.  She lapsed back into silence, but their brief conversation seemed to have reminded Jack of the need to talk and after a moment he spoke, with considerable effort, she suspected.  "Liked him, did you?"

"Teal'c?" she smiled.  "Yeah.  Jaffa society is fascinating.  Do you ever talk to him about it?"

"Not much."

Big surprise.  "It wouldn't hurt you to," she said quietly.  "He's got more to teach than weapons and tactics."

"I know that."

Tasha sighed and thought for a moment, looking for a subject that might open him up.  She wasn't sure why, but he'd fallen into one of his tight-lipped silences halfway through the evening and nothing she'd done or said since had come close to breaking open the shell.  "Major Carter seemed...nice," she tried.

Jack said nothing.

Her mind wandered to a suspicion that had entered into her head during the evening.  "Is there something going on between her and Daniel?" she asked curiously.  "She was all over him when we left."

"They're friends," Jack replied stiffly.  "That's all."

"Really?" Tasha pressed, sure she was onto something.  "She was sitting awfully close, practically in his lap...."

"She was drunk," he snapped, swerving out into the next lane to get around the car ahead.

"No kidding," Tasha agreed with a small laugh.  "I thought only under-grads got that drunk at other people's parties!"

A flicker of emotion touched his face and the car accelerated again.  "She had a bad day."

"Right," Tasha replied, glancing over at the speedometer.  He was driving fast.  Very fast.  "Um, are we in a hurry?"

Jack frowned, still irritated.  "What?"

"You're doing over ninety-five."

He eased up immediately and slowed the car.  "Sorry," he muttered, although he still sounded more tense than sorry.  Tasha bit her tongue.  She'd had a taste of this side of Jack O'Neill before and knew he was best left alone.  Part of her thought his brooding was dark and mysterious, but mostly she sighed at its adolescence.  At last he pulled off the freeway and into her quiet neighborhood, slowing and stopping outside her building.

She glanced over at him.  "Are you coming in?"

He turned to look at her at last, a hint of apology softening his dark features.  "No.  Sorry.  We're off-world tomorrow, briefing at oh-seven-hundred.  I'm gonna sleep on base."

Tasha nodded.  "Okay," she said, leaning over to kiss him goodnight.  "Be careful, won't you?"

"Always," he assured her, kissing her lightly in response.  But before she pulled away he reached over and took her hand.  "Sorry," he muttered.  "I've been kinda... distracted this evening."

"Yeah," Tasha agreed.  "Anything you want to talk about?"

He shook his head.  "No."

"Okay," she shrugged, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze before climbing out of the car.  "Goodnight Jack.  And have a good trip."

"You betcha," he replied with a thin smile.  And then he was gone, disappearing into the night.  Tasha sighed and shook her head, not entirely sure if she was attracted or wearied by his dark, volatile moods.

***

Jack drove to the base slowly, the tension subsiding now that Tasha was no longer in the car and his need for solitude was at last fulfilled.  It gave him space to think back in painful detail over his conversation with Carter and to try and understand exactly what had happened.

She'd been angry that he hadn't told her about Tasha, which had surprised him, but when he'd gone on to reassure her of his friendship she'd thrown it right back in his face.  He didn't think he'd ever forget the icy tone of voice in which she'd said, "I don't want to be your friend.  I never have."

And since he knew for sure that she didn't want anything more than friendship, what else did it leave?  Nothing.

Gradually the tension that had haunted him all evening transformed into a black sense of loss.  It was probably the emotion with which he was most familiar.  Loss.  Bereavement.  Grief.  Separation.  He'd had his fare share, more than his fare share if he was honest, but fate didn't seem to care much for fairness because it had taken one more precious thing from him.

'Because I don't want to be your friend.  I never have.'

It had taken away his faith.  If there was one thing he'd come to believe in over the years they'd served together it was that Carter would always be there, at his side, fighting the fight - his comrade in arms and his friend.  Above all else, that's what she'd been.  Above the chemistry, the attraction, and the deepening emotions, she'd been there as his rock in the chaos that so often overtook them.  Carter, he'd trusted more than anything.  His Carter.  His
friend.  Or so he'd thought.

Of course, he had always suspected that she didn't return his feelings, not really.  There'd been an attraction for sure, an enjoyment of their subtly flirtatious relationship, but she'd never wanted to pursue it further.  Not that they could have gone very far, given their professional relationship, but Carter hadn't even been willing to push the bounds of the envelope even as far as a quiet drink after work.  But despite that, he thought they'd been friends.  He knew she didn't really approve of his feelings for her, but he'd never thought she didn't approve of him!

It was late by the time Jack pulled up at the checkpoint and flashed his ID.  He parked in his favorite spot, next to the elevator, but he didn't get out of his car immediately.  Leaning back in his seat he sighed, wondering exactly why Carter had been so angry.  It didn't make sense that she was jealous.  She was the one, after all, who'd insisted that the whole mess be locked away: 'None of this needs to leave this room,' she'd said - almost the first words out of her mouth after his painful, forced confession.  So what did she have to be jealous about?

A nasty suspicion crept darkly into his mind as he stared out at the darkened parking lot.  What if his feelings for her had given her a sense of power over him?  It had to have changed things for her to know that her CO would have laid down his life for her, and not because he had to but because he would have rather died than lose her.  What if she'd enjoyed the sense of power that came with such knowledge?  What if it was the loss of that apparent power that rankled her now?  Maybe that was why she'd rejected his final offer of friendship.

He scowled at the idea.  He'd have never thought it possible for Carter to think like that, but his faith had been profoundly shaken.

'I don't want to be your friend.  I never have.'

She didn't want his friendship, she certainly didn't want more than friendship, so what the hell did she want from him?  Nothing, it seemed

Feeling his hurt start to harden into anger, Jack pushed open the door of his truck and stalked towards the elevators to take him down to the SGC.  She didn't want to be his friend?  Fine.  Then they wouldn't be friends.  He'd be her CO and nothing more.  He could do that.  Hell, he could do that very, very well.

She wouldn't know what hit her.

***

Sam awoke with a thumping headache, driven from sleep by a desperate thirst and she stumbled along the dark hall from her bedroom to the bathroom to fill her glass.  Again.  God, she felt rough, so dried out she was practically desiccated, her stomach already empty of whatever alcohol hadn't made it into her blood stream, and her head pounding.

She didn't dare turn on the light as she drank, and then refilled her glass for a second time, before retreating back to bed.  But as she laid down wearily and slid under the covers she had a vague thought that she was meant to be somewhere, early, and peeled open an eye to stare at her alarm clock.  It told her it was six-forty-two.

She closed her eyes and tried to think where she was meant to be and when.  But her head was throbbing hard, her stomach still writhing so unpleasantly that...shit!  Her eyes flew open as the remains of her professionalism fought through the hangover.  Mission briefing, oh-seven-thirty.   She had forty-five minutes.  Oh God.

Flinging off the covers she struggled out of bed again, ignoring the pain in her head and the fact that her mouth tasted like cotton wool.  Forty-five minutes to shower, dress, get to the base.  At least there wouldn't be much traffic this time of day, but...  SHIT!  No car.  Janet had driven her home and she'd left her car at Daniel's.  Shit, shit, shit.

Cab.

Still wincing against her headache and nausea, Sam reached the phone and began to dial.  The bleary voice that answered her didn't sound enthusiastic, but at least he promised that someone would be there in twenty minutes.  With superhuman effort, Sam dived into the shower and almost fell into her uniform.  She was still tying her boots when there was a sharp hoot from outside her house.  She winced for the neighbors, but could have hugged the cab driver for getting there so soon.

"Cheyenne Mountain Complex," she told him as she collapsed into the back seat of the car.  Her wet hair was making the collar of her jacket damp, but at least she wouldn't be too late.  Late, but not too late.

Sinking her head back against the seat of the car her mind had space, for the first time since she'd crawled out of bed, to think.  She felt flat and heartsick, but couldn't quite put her finger on why until she remembered her conversation with the Colonel the previous evening.  He'd given her the tired old line about wanting to be 'just good friends' and she'd told him that she didn't want his friendship.  Great.  That would do wonders for their working relationship, let alone her self-respect.

A small groan escaped from her lips.  Why the hell had she said it?  Why the hell had she even *had* that conversation?  She should have just toughed it out and kept her feelings to herself - God, she was never drinking again.  Never.

***

General Hammond sat at the head of the briefing room table watching his flagship team in silence.  Daniel was at the far end with his head in his hands and a tall glass of water at his side.  Teal'c sat next to him as impassive as always, although Hammond thought he could detect a hint of humor in the man's eyes as he occasionally turned his gaze on the suffering Doctor Jackson.

Opposite them both sat O'Neill, grim faced and tapping his pen nervously on the table-top, it's staccato patter the only noise in the room.  He seemed tense, perhaps even angry.  Hammond frowned and glanced down at his watch.  It was oh-seven-forty-five.  Carter was late.

"We'll begin without Major Carter," Hammond decided at last, receiving a small nod of approval from O'Neill in response.  "In her absence, Colonel," he continued, "perhaps you could give us a brief run-down of the mission objectives?"

O'Neill cleared his throat and started shuffling through his papers.  "Yes, sir," he said with a frown, "um...."

"That won't be necessary, sir," Carter's voice said from the doorway as she hurried inside.  "I'm sorry I'm late, sirs."

"Got a good reason, Carter?" O'Neill said, his attention snapping up from his papers.

Carter's face was already very pale, her eyes dark ringed.  In fact, the General didn't think she looked well at all.  O'Neill, however, seemed immune to any sympathy her appearance might generate and just watched her steadily, waiting for her answer.  She grimaced but didn't flinch.  "No, sir," she replied.  "I overslept."

He nodded slowly.  "Over slept?" he asked.  "Or just hung-over, Major?"

Her lips tightened.  "Both, sir."

O'Neill glanced back towards Hammond, gathering up his papers and sliding them inside his folder.  "Sir, recommend that this mission be delayed for twenty-four hours on the grounds that half my team," his gaze flicked over Carter to Daniel and back again, "are unfit for duty."

Hammond's eyes followed his and he had no choice but to agree.  The vagaries of Doctor Jackson's character made his condition explainable if not desirable.  Major Carter, however, should have known better.  He frowned.  "Agreed, Colonel," he said, and then turned his eyes on Carter who still stood stiffly behind her chair, mortification evident on her pale face.  She really did look rough.  "Major," he said, "you're aware of the regulations regarding the consumption of alcohol within twenty-four hours of a duty shift?"

Her pale face flushed slightly.  "Yes sir, I am."

He nodded.  "Then don't let this happen again."

"No, sir."

"Very well," he said, irritated but apparently not as angry as O'Neill whose dark gaze was fixed on the tabletop.  "Report back at oh-seven-thirty tomorrow so we can do this properly."

"Yes, sir," Carter said stiffly.

"General?" Jackson piped up from the end of the table.  "I feel like I'm to blame here.  It was my birthday yesterday and...."

"Carter knows the rules," O'Neill said, slapping him down.  "Don't you Major?"

She squirmed.  "Yes sir."

"Yes sir," he mimicked, rising to his feet.  "Go home, Carter," he said, barely looking at her, anger lacing every word.  "And I expect you to take today as part of your annual leave entitlement, not sick leave.  Understood?"

Hammond was more than a little shocked by Jack's severity, yet he was well within his rights as her CO and Hammond wasn't about to interfere despite the way Carter's lips were pressed tightly together.  She looked more hurt than angry and there was a catch in her voice as she quietly replied, "Yes, sir.  I'm sorry.  Sir."

O'Neill didn't spare her a glance.  "Dismissed," he said and she turned away, visibly shaken.  But then, at the last moment, Jack gruffly added, "Make sure someone drives you home - you're probably still over the limit."

"Yes sir," came the subdued response as Carter left the room, plunging it into silence.

But not for long.  Doctor Jackson's innate sense of justice had been tweaked.  "What the hell was that?" he asked Jack, casting a slightly unsure glance towards Hammond.  The General remained silent, allowing O'Neill to deal with his team as he saw fit.

"That," O'Neill replied, looking up at last, "was discipline.  Got a problem with it?"

Jackson's mouth opened and closed for a moment before he said, "Well, yes.  Actually.  That was also Sam."

"And?"

He shrugged in the face of O'Neill's intransigence.  "And...wasn't that a little harsh?"

The Colonel's face was granite-hard.  "You think I should let her turn up for duty so hung-over she looks like she's about to puke on the desk?" he snapped.  "How the hell's she supposed to function off-world, in a crisis situation, if she's in that state?"

Daniel's lips compressed into a thoughtful line.  "Good point, but...."

"Damn straight," O'Neill agreed, cutting him off.  "And there are no buts, Daniel.  No exceptions."  With that he made to leave, but Hammond stopped him.

"Colonel," he said, rising to his feet.  "I have something I need to discuss with you.  In my office."

O'Neill froze, obviously suspecting that his harsh treatment of Carter was going to be questioned.  He was wrong.  "Yes, sir," came the curt reply as O'Neill turned on his heel and followed him into his office.

As Hammond stood by the door, ready to close it, he saw Daniel Jackson rise slowly to his feet and pad thoughtfully from the now empty briefing room.   Equally thoughtful, Hammond turned and came to sit behind his desk, waving O'Neill to a seat as he did so.

"Sir, I know what you're going to say...," O'Neill began immediately.

"I very much doubt that," Hammond interrupted, silencing the Colonel.  And then, sliding a piece of paper across his desk he said, "I received this today."

O'Neill took it and read it, his eyebrows rising in surprise.  "Major Coburn's resigning?"

"So it seems," Hammond said, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

"Why?" he asked, glancing up with genuine curiosity.  "He's what?  Forty?"

"Forty-two," Hammond nodded.  "Apparently his wife got offered a new job overseas and he wants her to take it."

Jack let out a low whistle.  "That's devotion for you," he muttered.  "He's gonna give up all this so his wife can...what?  What does she do?"

"Apparently she's an Environmental Scientist," Hammond told him.  "Don't ask me what that means, because I'm not entirely sure - something to do with climate change."  He sighed again, rubbing a hand over the top of his head,  "Coburn said she had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and he didn't want her to miss it.  They have two young children and he doesn't want the family to be split up."

O'Neill nodded, more than a tinge of respect in his eyes.  "Coburn's a good man," he said, returning the letter to Hammond's desk.  "We'll miss him."

"We will," the General agreed.  "But you can see that it leaves us with a problem."

Again O'Neill nodded, dark eyes astute.  "We need a new CO for SG-2," he said, frowning as he considered the options.  "Vorhiss is competent, Ferretti's been after a command for ages, Kennedy...well, okay maybe not Kennedy.  How about...."

"Major Carter?" Hammond butted in.

O'Neill stopped dead for an instant, and then with a rise of an eyebrow he queried, "Carter?  As in...Sam Carter?"

"Do you think she's ready for command, Colonel?" Hammond asked bluntly, pulling Carter's hefty file in front of him.  "Aside from this morning's uncharacteristic display of ill-judgement, that is."

Jack looked away, brows lowered in thought or...alarm.  Hammond wasn't sure which, and didn't really want to know.  All he was interested in right now were the facts.  "I, um," Jack began quietly, one hand beginning to tap nervously against his leg, "I...."  He stopped and was silent for a long time before he at last looked up, face resolved.  "I do," he said firmly.  "She's ready.  She'll make a fine team leader, sir."

Hammond nodded.  "I appreciate that you don't want to loose her from your team, Colonel," he said carefully, aware that there was rather more than professional respect clouding the picture in this case.

But O'Neill's expression didn't waiver.  "She's an integral member of my team, sir," he acknowledged, giving a carefully bland answer to a question that clearly cut too close to the bone.  "We'll miss her, but she deserves this, sir.  She's earned it."

"Yes she has," Hammond agreed, "but I haven't made the decision yet.  I wanted your opinion, as her CO, before I considered her for the post - there are many other able candidates and Major Carter is both young and somewhat inexperienced by comparison.  But I recognize her formidable talents and appreciate your candor, Jack.  Some COs wouldn't be so generous if they thought they'd lose a good second-in-command."

O'Neill gave a faint smile.  "So I suppose it's too late to tell you that she's incompetent, insubordinate, and doesn't bathe often enough?"

Hammond ignored him, sensing the melancholy behind the Colonel's attempt at humor and deeming it wiser not to comment.  "Please don't mention this to Major Carter, Colonel," he said instead.  "I'll have made a decision by the time you return from G8K-139."

"Yes sir," Jack replied, rising slowly to his feet.  He was serious and thoughtful for a moment and made no immediate move to leave.  "Sir?" he asked then, looking down into Hammond's face.

"Colonel?"

"If you choose Carter," he said, "I'd like to be the one to tell her."

Hammond smiled at that.  "Of course," he agreed.  "It's your prerogative."

"Thank you, sir," O'Neill replied with a smile that was obviously forced.  "If there's nothing else....?"

"That's all Colonel.  You're dismissed."

"Thank you, sir."

"And Colonel?"

"Sir?"

"Whatever was bugging you in the briefing this morning?  Sort it out."

A self-conscious wince touched his face and he dipped his gaze.  "Yes, sir."  And with a final, tight smile he was gone, leaving Hammond alone with Carter's impressive file and a difficult decision ahead of him.

***

It wasn't exactly a two day hangover, but as Sam traipsed through the soggy ground on G8K-139 she felt its last vestiges clinging muzzily to her mind.  Not that she was unfit for duty, but her head still ached with a woolen dryness and her stomach recoiled queasily from food.  She glanced up, watching the Colonel stride ahead of her across the barren terrain towards their rocky objective, his silent disapproval not having softened an inch since the icy dressing down she'd received the previous morning.

She winced at the memory, not so much at O'Neill's harshness but at her own mortification.  And with General Hammond there too!  She marveled at her capacity for spontaneous acts of idiotic behavior.  What the hell had possessed her to drink herself unconscious the night before a mission?  Well, she knew the answer to that, but a little self-pity was hardly an excuse to act like a kid who'd broken into the drinks cabinet.  By her age it was more than stupid to get that that drunk - it was downright embarrassing.  A small groan escaped from her lips as she remembered the way the Colonel had watched her after their stilted and unpleasant conversation on the balcony.  He hadn't said another word to her all evening, but it seemed that his eyes were always fixed in her direction and that the drunker she became the deeper the hauteur that spread across his face.  What the hell must he think of her?

"You okay?"  The voice at her side belonged to Daniel, and she gave him a rueful smile.

"I feel like an idiot," she admitted, casting a wary glance towards the Colonel.  "It was so stupid!"

Daniel shrugged.  "Even you're allowed to be stupid from time to time," he assured her.

But Sam rolled her eyes.   "Tell that to the Colonel," she said bitterly.

"Humph," was the only response she got and they trudged on together in silence for a while.  The terrain that surrounded them was flat and featureless.  A sharp, cold wind swept across the barren landscape, scudding fast-moving clouds before it and setting the sun blinking in and out.  It felt like spring, Sam thought absently.  That was one of the stranger things about gate travel, you could leave home in mid-summer, spend the day in the depths of winter, and return home to catch a long summer's evening.  Weird.

"You know," Daniel spoke again, still quiet and introspective, "don't you think Jack should be a little...I don't know, happier?"

Sam frowned, guessing where the conversation was headed.  "Why?" she answered reluctantly.

"Well," Daniel mused, "he's got Natasha Greene to go home to at night, for a start.  You'd think that would make him...happier.  More relaxed."

Really not wanting to dwell on what Jack might do at home, with Natasha Greene, that might relax him Sam just said, "I hadn't thought about it."

"I mean, if anything," Daniel carried on, apparently oblivious to her lack of interest, "if anything he seems even more on-edge than normal.  The way he chewed you out yesterday for being a little hung-over was...."

"Justified," she finished for him, glancing over at his surprised face.  "I wasn't a *little* hung over, Daniel.  He was right - I wasn't fit for duty."  She shook her head again, dislodging another muzzy ache.  "I was an idiot.  I'd have done the same thing in the Colonel's position."

"Yeah, but come on," Daniel objected, his voice rising a little as he caught the scent of debate, "you guys are friends!  And it's not like you make a habit of doing anything like that.  In fact, I can't think of any time when you've ever done anything remotely out of line."

Sam frowned at the image of herself.  It was, she had to admit, true.  At least, so it appeared.  But Daniel had no idea how out of line her thoughts were, how out of line she'd been that night at his party.  He had no idea.  But O'Neill did.  He knew it all and the cold disdain on his face each time he looked at her told her all she needed to know.  "The Colonel and I aren't friends, Daniel," she pointed out quietly and calmly.  More calmly than she felt.  "We can't be, not given our respective ranks.  We're colleagues.  He's my CO and so has a duty to discip...."

"That's just...bullshit!" Daniel laughed.

"Shhh!" Sam hissed, afraid that O'Neill would overhear.  "Daniel...you don't understand."

He was shaking his head now, plodding along and doing his best to avoid the worst of the soggy ground.  "I might not understand what it is to be 'military'," he said with a resigned sigh, "but I know friendship when I see it."

Sam was silent.  Daniel was right, of course.  They had been friends, of a sort.  Not the kind of friends who hung out together or chewed the fat over a cold beer.  Theirs had been a uniquely reserved kind of friendship, as bound by the regulations as any other aspect of their relationship.  They'd been the kind of friends who would have willingly laid down their lives for each other, but who couldn't go out and share a pizza incase the simple act was misconstrued.  Strange friends.  But now, she feared, even that was gone.  Her selfish jealousy of Tasha had driven her to say too much, to say what should have remained unvoiced.  'I don't want to be your friend.  I never have.'

O'Neill had looked shocked, and she wasn't surprised.  He knew, after all, what it was she did want - what it was she wanted to be to him.  And he knew how wrong it was, doubly wrong now that he was involved with someone else.  What had she been thinking?  I don't want to be your friend, I want to be your lover.  Please!  Stupid, stupid  woman.... She shook her head, humiliation washing over her again.  She was never, ever drinking again in her entire life.  Never losing control again.  Never.  Ever.

"Carter?"  The Colonel's cool tone jerked her head up guiltily, still flushed from her embarrassing memories.  But her heightened color soon faded when she saw the distant look in his eyes as his gaze flickered briefly over her face before coming to rest on an object somewhere out in the distance.  "Still with us, Carter?"

"Yes, sir," she replied.

He gave a brief nod.  "How far did you say it was to the terminal moraine?"

"Uh, about eleven klicks from the Stargate, sir," he replied, pulling out the MALP survey from her pocket.  "Ten-point-eight," she confirmed.  And then squinting out across the suddenly bright landscape she said, "Although I think that might be an underestimate."

O'Neill pulled his sunglasses over his eyes and turned to face her, hidden now behind the dark glass.  "Ya think?" he replied, the sharp edge in his voice not lost on her.

Sam looked away, unusually uncertain around him.  Normally she didn't put up with this kind of bullshit, but today her reprehensible behavior at Daniel's party was eating into her self-confidence.  "I'm sorry, sir," she mumbled, gazing down at the survey and trying to figure out her error.  "It looks like...yeah, it looks as though we might have mistaken this for the start of the glacial valley, whereas if fact...."

"We, Major?" O'Neill interrupted.  "*We* might have mistaken it?"

Sam looked up.  "Well, I...," she stammered.

"Yeah," he snapped.  "You.  So, what's the revised estimate?"

Sam glared back down at the survey, her sense of guilt beginning to soften under a growing sense of anger.  Did he really have to be such a bastard?  "I'd say twenty, sir," she told him, head up, chin sticking out belligerently.

"Twenty," he repeated, his mouth a tight line of irritation.  "Well, that'll take us over our twelve hour deadline."

"Yes, sir," she agreed.

Teal'c, who had been watching the discussion in silence up to that moment, chose to speak.  "O'Neill," he began, "I will return to the Stargate and convey news of our delay to General Hammond."

The Colonel nodded, turning to Teal'c.  "Well, we gotta tell him," he agreed, "but that's a couple of hours each way.  You won't get back here 'till after dark."

"I am not fatigued," Teal'c assured him.

"I appreciate the offer," O'Neill replied, slapping him on the back in a gesture of forced bonhomie.  "But really, why should you go?  It's not your fault we underestimated the mission time, is it Major?"

Sam's muscles were stiffening slowly, stretched tightly by anger and hurt.  "No sir, it's not."

The Colonel nodded.  "Carter, go back to the gate.  Tell Hammond we'll need forty-eight hours, then come find us.  We'll keep going for another couple of hours then make camp."

Her jaw clamped shut on her anger, preventing a response as she just stared at him in disbelief.  His eyes were still hidden beneath his dark glasses as he regarded her impassively.  He was ordering her on a six mile hike that would last well into the evening.  So this was her punishment, was it?  This was her punishment for letting her feelings get the better of her.  Son-of-a-bitch.

"Jack, you're kidding!" Daniel exclaimed while Sam's mind was racing.  "You can't make her do that."

"Keep out of it, Daniel," O'Neill snapped, turning away.

"Ah. No, I don't think so," Daniel objected.  "Just because Sam got a little drunk the other night doesn't give you the right...."

Sam could see O'Neill's back stiffen in anger and decided to intervene.  "Daniel, it's okay," she told him, placing a hand on his arm.  "It's not that far.  I'll be fine."

"No," Daniel objected, "it's not right.  Jack - you're being an ass.  Just because...."

"Daniel, shut up," Jack snapped, turning back around.  "This has nothing to do with the other night.  Carter screwed up, it's her job to fix the mistake.  End of story."  His gaze turned coldly back to her.  "Still here?"

Sam felt the anger flash across her face and hoped he saw it.  "On my way, sir," she replied icily.  And then, quietly to Daniel she murmured, "Save me some dinner."

"Yeah," Daniel replied, casting a disgusted glance towards Jack.  "We won't go too far from here," he promised, "even if I have to sprain my own ankle to stop him."

Smiling faintly at the image Sam gave his arm a light squeeze and headed back the way they'd come, taking her punishment like a good little soldier.  It was like being back in boot-camp!  There was an up-side though, she decided as she trudged back towards the gate.  She was beginning to think that Tasha Greene was welcome to him, lock, stock and barrel.

***

Jack could feel Daniel's disapproving eyes boring into his back and at his side Teal'c's silence seemed equally cool.  Not that it was always easy to tell with Teal'c, but somehow Jack knew.  Either that or his conscience was pricking.

Pricking?  Try pounding with a jack-hammer.  What the hell was he doing, sending Carter off on her own like some kind of tight-assed drill sergeant?  Christ, didn't he have more self-respect?  Apparently not.  Apparently his anger was as brutal as ever, his tongue as sharp.  It was easy to hate himself on days like this.

"Okay, that's it.  We're stopping."  Daniel's outrage had breached the surface.  Jack was surprised it had taken so long.

Turning slowly Jack regarded his friend carefully, took in the angry flashing eyes and the steely determination.  The clouds had covered the sky again and behind them the sun's light was beginning to fade into dusk.  But Jack kept his sunglasses on nonetheless, hiding from his friend's anger.  "Seems like as good a place as any," Jack agreed at last.

Daniel barely acknowledged his words and set about the business of making camp.  Teal'c moved to assist him, favoring O'Neill with a single withering glance as he passed.  Jack held firm, his pride refusing to let them see his self-reproach.  Dropping his pack to the ground he pulled out the small tent they'd share overnight, while above him a distant growl of thunder shuddered through the sky.  Looking up he saw the bruised blues and yellows of a storm-front crouching low over the horizon - it looked as though it was right over the Stargate.  Crap.  Crap, crap, crap.

"Looks like Sam's going to get wet," Daniel noted acidly.

Jack said nothing, feeling awful.  Abruptly he rose to his feet and strode a few meters from the camp before keying his radio.  "Carter, come in."

There was a hiss of static and then, "Carter here, sir."

"Sit rep, Major."

"About