Related Episodes: All you really need to know is that this takes place after season 8's Threads episode. There might be bits of other late season 8 or early season 9 in here, but they'll be minor.

Notes: Unlike my last story that is a WIP (sorry!), this one is more or less complete and I should be able to post the whole thing in a week or two. It was never my intention to write something new, but this plot bunny kinda snuck up on me and I just had to write it. I think it's a bit different from other post Threads stories out there...but you tell me! - Shameless plug for feedback. g Thank you to my lovely Beta, Flatkatsi for her suggestions and edits.

I am only borrowing these wonderful characters. Jack, Sam and all things Stargate-related belong to MGM/Gekko. I write for entertainment purposes only.

Jack O'Neill sat down wearily on the bar stool and raised his finger to catch Mick, the bartender's eye. On a day like today, he felt every one of his fifty *cough* years.

"Rough day?" Mick asked, setting a pint of Guinness in front of Jack. He didn't see the colonel every day, or even every week, but over the past 5 years, the colonel had come in enough that Mick knew who he was and what he did for a living. Sort of.

Absently, Mick corrected himself. Jack was a general now, wasn't he?

"Definitely," Jack replied with a heavy sigh. He idly picked at the bowl of peanuts by his side, lost in his own conflicted thoughts.

"More trouble with your team?" More often than not, the general – Jack – came by when someone on his team was missing or injured. Mick admired the fact that Jack recognized that it was probably for the best not to drink in worry alone.

"Actually, not this time…" Jack began, before stopping himself, as he remembered that Daniel was missing again. "Wait, I mean yes. There is Daniel's current lack of being here…" Jack shook his head as if the notion of Daniel's ascension was starting to seem normal.

"Again?" Mick asked, raising an eyebrow. Jack shrugged.

"Yeah, well, that guy could get into trouble crossing a public sidewalk on National Safety Day," Jack groused. "But oddly enough, I'm honestly not really worried about him. I think he'll get home just fine. Eventually."

"Well that's something, right?" He'd heard about Daniel's death or disappearance at least twice now.

"Yeah," Jack said, not sounding particularly mollified. He took a large swig of beer.

"So… want to talk about it? Mick really didn't expect an answer, but as a bartender, it was kinda his obligation to ask.

"Nahh," Jack replied. As much as he appreciated Mick's company, he really didn't want to try and explain how hard it had hit him to lose Jacob. Not to mention his rather awkward breakup with Kerry.

And then there was the big honkin' elephant in the room, Samantha Carter. Jack chuckled morosely as he considered his last thought. Comparing Carter to an elephant was wrong on so many levels.

Seeing the Colonel looking rather lost, Mick reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle of Bushmills Black whiskey. He poured Jack a healthy shot and passed it over.

"You look like you could use this," Mick said with a supportive smile. "Let me know if I can get you anything to eat later, okay?"

Jack nodded. "Thanks, Mick."

Jack sighed and wondered, not for the first time, how the hell his life could get so incredibly complicated. He was just not a complicated guy. He took a sip of the Bushmills and let a little of the tension leave his body.

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Sam was exhausted. Emotionally and physically.

The death of her Dad had hit her hard, but oddly enough, she was at peace with his passing. It still completely sucked and she wished like hell Selmak hadn't been so old, but she knew that her Dad had done some pretty amazing things these past five years and was so damn grateful she had had a chance to get to know him again. To have him get to know her. He had been proud of her. She knew that. And that made the pain of his passing just the smallest bit better.

"Can I get you a drink?" Sam turned towards the voice, startled that someone had snuck up on her unawares. She frowned for a moment, taking in the man's wool 'v' neck sweater, pressed slacks, and fragrant cologne. Crap.

"No, thank you," Sam replied coolly, but politely. She turned away from the interloper, trying to catch the eye of the bartender.

"You sure?" the man tried again. "It definitely looks like you could use a drink." He gave her a bright smile. Sam sighed and glanced his way. He wasn't a bad looking fellow. Around her age, she guessed. Office worker, judging by his hands. Nice enough looking if you were into 6' guys with green eyes and wavy brown hair.

"Really not looking for company," Sam replied. A drink yes. Company? God, no. She glanced again towards the end of the bar. Clearly, there was a bartender, but he was busy schmoozing with other folks.

"Ah, come on," he cajoled, sitting down. "A beautiful woman like you shouldn't sit by herself in a stuffy bar."

Sam sighed audibly. Seriously? Could this day possibly get any worse?

"Look," she said, pivoting in her seat so she faced him completely. "My Dad died last night, I broke up with my fiancé this afternoon and I have a funeral to plan. I really don't want or need your company right now." The man's eyes went wide as he took in her words.

"Whoa, that's rough," he said nodding his head in sympathetic understanding. They sat in awkward silence for several long seconds. Sam turned back towards the front of the bar. Where the hell was that bartender?!

"Seems to me," the man continued helpfully, "like you could use a friend."

"Seriously?!" Sam said loudly enough to turn a few heads. She pivoted in her stool and stood, pointing a finger in his face. "I told you my Dad died, that I broke up with my fiancé, and you are still hitting on me?! What the hell is wrong with you?"

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Jack wasn't so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the bar around him. He smiled slightly as he watched a young 20-something couple fumble around awkwardly on an early date. He wondered if he had ever been that young.

He also noticed the 4 college guys by the pool table, trying (unsuccessfully) to pick up some rather classy looking ladies. He rolled his eyes. 'Best stick with women your own age, kids'. Jack frowned. Yeah, right. He seriously should take his own advice.

At the far end of the bar he could see a guy talking rather animatedly to a woman that apparently had no interest what so ever in him. Jack couldn't see anything more than a pale blue sweater and some glimpses of blonde hair, but the way she turned her back on him was a dead give-away.

Without warning, the woman stood up and Jack felt his stomach lurch in recognition as he witnessed his Lt. Colonel shouting at the poor bastard trying to pick her up. Knowing that Carter could totally handle herself, but wanting to offer moral support, Jack decided to take a stroll to the other end of the bar.

"Evening, Carter," Jack drawled. "Making friends, I see?" The poor bastard hitting on her turned around to stare at the unwanted visitor.

Sam was momentarily rendered speechless. She was 15 miles outside Colorado Springs city limits. She purposefully chose this place because it was far enough away from Cheyenne Mountain that she wouldn't be likely to run into anyone she knew. How the hell could Jack O'Neill be here?

"The lady is with me," Poor Bastard declared, taking a step towards Jack.

"Oh, for the love of…" Sam began, shaking her head.

"Really?" Jack asked, arching a single eyebrow that would have made Teal'c proud. "So you must know she's engaged, right?" Behind Poor Bastard, Jack noticed how Carter slumped her shoulders and ducked her head.

"Ha!" I know her better than you!" he declared. "She broke up with that guy!" Jack felt all the air leave his lungs. His eyes immediately found Sam's.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

"Not really sure," Poor Bastard admitted. Jack rolled his eyes.

"Not talking to you, moron," Jack shot back, as he side-stepped around the man in order to get closer to Sam.

"Hey!" Poor Bastard was not happy.

Looking straight at Sam, Jack rolled his eyes.

"For the record," Jack stated, "I definitely don't think this guy qualifies as 'lunatic fringe', Carter. Sam couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "May I?" Jack asked. Of course Sam knew what he was asking. If there was one thing General Jack O'Neill and Lt. Colonel Sam Carter were good at, it was silent, but effective communication.

"Normally, I'd say no," Sam replied tiredly. "But I've had a particularly shitty 24 hours, and really just want him to go away." She also kinda wanted to see Jack O'Neill defend her honor. How messed up was that?

Jack gave Sam a small nod and then turned to face the poor schmuck who was messing with his Major.

"Listen, Dick…" Jack began. Poor Bastard frowned.

"It's Grant." Jack shrugged and tried to look as unapologetic as possible.

"Listen, Grant," he began again. "My friend here has had a really rotten day. And that followed a pretty crazy couple of months. Actually, now that I think about it, she's had some pretty eventful last 7 years, but I'm rambling now…" Holding her hand across her mouth, Sam tried not to smile.

"Listen, Bub…" Grant tried, feeling braver than was probably warranted, but come on! The guy was like old, and wearing khakis!

"It's General," Jack interrupted, standing up a little straighter and giving Grant a particularly steely-eyed stare. "General Jack O'Neill. Air Force.

"Is that supposed to impress me?" Grant shot back peevishly. It actually did sort of impress him, but he wasn't going to let the General know that.

"Usually doesn't," Jack said with a shrug. "Until folks get to know me, that is." He then grinned. "I'll have you know I'm a hated and feared man in many far-flung locales." He paused and considered his next words. "We're talking seriously out of the way lands with…er… evil dictators and thousands of…" What was a sanitized was of saying Jaffa? "Minions."

"I wouldn't say feared, Sir…" Sam interrupted.

"Yeah, she's right," Jack agreed with a shrug. "But I am hated. I mean really hated. By a whole lot of really bad folks."

"He really is," Sam chimed in, enjoying the General's explanation.

Grant was confused. Who were these crazy people? All he wanted was to have a drink, and possibly a one night stand, with a pretty lady.

"Ah, screw this," Grant said finally, throwing some bills on the bar and walking away.

"Nicely done, Sir." Jack shrugged and took a seat next to her.

"Don't tell Daniel that I can be diplomatic."

"I don't think that was diplomacy, Sir." Jack tried to look offended, but ended up chuckling.

"No, I suppose not."

"Well that was entertaining!" Jack looked away from Sam as Mick pushed Jack's beer down the bar. He then walked over and set down the tumbler full of whiskey.

"You saw that, huh?"

"General, half the bar saw that!" Mick grinned. Waaay more entertaining than a bar fight. Less damage, too.

"So what can I get for you, ma'am?" Mick asked, turning away from Jack and focusing his attention on the lovely woman by his side. It did not escape his notice that Jack knew this woman. Apparently quite well.

Sam eyed Jack's drink. "I'll have what he's having."

"Guinness?"

"Nope, the whiskey. Make mine a double please. Neat." Mick raised his eyebrows slightly at the request. Usually women ordered wine. Or vodka. Clear stuff, with fruity overtures. Not this lady. He liked her.

"Mick, this is Carter.. I mean Sam." Mick's eyebrows shot all the way up this time. She was Major Carter? Wow. Jack had mentioned once that she was a looker, but he hadn't really given any details.

"Sam, this is Mick. He's the bartender."

"I can see that," Sam said with a smile. "Nice to meet you, Mick."

"You too, Sam," Mick replied warmly. "I'll have your drink up in a jiff." As Mick walked away, Jack pushed his tumbler towards Sam.

"If you need something sooner…" Jack began. Sam smiled. Again. She sure was smiling a lot for someone who was supposed to be wallowing in grief.

"I can wait, Sir, but thank you."

They sat in comfortable silence while Mick poured her drink. Sam lifted the glass and inhaled the rich aroma before taking a small sip. She sighed contentedly.

"I know, good right?"

"Very much so."

They lapsed again into silence. The sounds of pool playing and pick up lines rolled over them as they enjoyed one another's presence.

"So how'd you find this place?" Jack asked, deciding to ease into the conversation. Although he desperately wanted to hear what happened between her and Shanahan, even an idiot such as himself knew it would be a mistake to lead with that.

"Years ago, Janet told me about it," Sam said with a sad smile as she remembered their fallen friend. "The date didn't end so well, but she really liked the ambiance." Sam paused as she looked around. "It's comfortable."

"That it is." Jack paused as he too remembered Dr. Janet Frasier. Silently he raised his glass. Sam did the same and they drank. Eventually, Jack continued his story.

"I discovered the bar by accident shortly after returning from…" he paused, considering his words. "...that place with all the sand." Sam nodded in understanding. "I liked how it was a bit away from everything, ya know?"

"That's why I'm here, too."

"Yeah, speaking of that, Carter…" Jack began. "Didn't you kick Teal'c and I out of your house a couple of hours ago saying you wanted a warm bath and bed?" Sam looked a little guilty. She picked up her drink and swirled it around a few times.

"The phone kept ringing," Sam said finally.

"Huh?"

"I kept getting phone calls," Sam explained. "First it was my Great Aunt Betty, and then my cousin Louise, then…" Sam took a deep breath. "Then came my brother."

"I thought you called your brother yesterday." As in immediately after her Dad died.

"I did," Sam admitted. "He wasn't calling to talk about Dad."

"Shanahan?" Jack asked. Sam nodded. She looked down at her drink again and frowned. Had she drunk it all already?

Jack had very conflicted feelings about taking this conversation any further. On one hand, he wanted to know what the hell happened. On the other hand, he wasn't supposed to care what the hell happened. Hell, he wasn't supposed to care.

Before Jack could figure out how to move the conversation forward, Mick appeared with another drink for both Jack and Sam, along with a plate of nachos and a couple of waters. Jack smiled his thanks.

"How about you?" Sam asked, not quite ready to talk about Pete. "What brings you out to this fine establishment?"

"Me?" Jack said, taking a cheese-laden chip and putting it in his mouth. He chewed slowly, taking the time to consider his next words. Making a decision that might come back and bite him in the ass, he decided to go with honesty.

"I was kinda feeling sorry for myself and thought a couple drinks at Mick's might make me feel better."

"Sorry for yourself, Sir? Sam asked, puzzled. "Why?"

"Well, there is Daniel and his whole missingness…" Jack began.

"That's not your fault, Sir and you know it," Sam answered sharply. Sometimes she was so damn sick of Jack trying to take the blame for everything!

Shit. Did she just call the General 'Jack' in her head?

"Then there's your Dad," Jack continued, not noticing Sam's temporary discomfort. "I mean, I know his death didn't have anything to do with either of us, but it still sucked." Not for the first time, Jack really wished he was better with words. "I liked your Dad, Carter," Jack said. "A whole hell of a lot."

"To Dad," Sam said, raising her glass.

"To Dad," Jack agreed. They both emptied their glasses.

Mysteriously, full ones appeared moments later.

"And then there's Kerry…" Jack stopped, as if realizing that he probably shouldn't have said that.

"Kerry, Sir?" Sam sat up straighter and did her damndest not to be affected by the woman's name. Sam's discomfort did not go unnoticed, although for the life of him, Jack couldn't figure out why.

"She broke up with me." Sam blinked. Kerry broke up with him.

"Can I ask why, Sir?" The moment the words were out of her mouth, Sam realized she shouldn't have asked.

"I'm sorry Sir, that was highly inappropriate, and I…"

Jack had heard enough. He decided it was time to tell her why.

"Sam." With a single word, he silenced her completely.

Sam's mouth snapped shut. She could count on one hand the number of times he had called her Sam. At least after 1999. Their first year of course, he used it frequently… Sam's mind began to wander. Idly, she wondered if she was on her second or third drink.

"Sam," Jack said again, softer this time, as he tried to bring her focus back to him.

Feeling herself flush, Sam turned towards Jack, suddenly feeling very anxious as to what he was going to say.

Recognizing that Sam was listening now, Jack started to speak.

"Kerry broke up with me because she felt like I had issues." Sam had no idea what Jack (or Kerry) was talking about.

"Issues, Sir?"

Jack sighed. There was just not going to be an easy way to say it. Still, truth sets you free, right?

"Kerry hinted that my 'issues' had to do with you."