Colonel Jack O'Neill was pulling on a black t-shirt when Teal'C entered the locker room.

"Colonel O'Neill." The tall Jaffa nodded solemnly by way of greeting.

"Hey, Teal'C. How've you been?"

"I am well, thank you, O'Neill, although I am better for your return."

"Thanks, T. It's good to be back." O'Neill was slightly distracted as he tucked his dog-tags inside his t-shirt and reached into his locker again for a jacket.

"I wished to talk with you about Major Carter."

"Oh? What about her?" There was a warning bell going off in O'Neill's brain, but he was too tired and distracted to pay any attention to it.

"I do not believe she is happy."

"She's not happy I'm back? Damn, and I was hoping there'd be cake."

"She is happy you are back, but she is not happy," repeated Teal'C, cryptically. O'Neill looked at him open-mouthed, the jacket hanging from one arm.

"I'm tired, T. You're gonna have to give me the Little Golden Book version. See Major Carter. See Major Carter upset. Why is Major Carter upset...?" He gestured to Teal'C to finish the.

Teal'C watched his commanding officer closely. O'Neill was floundering for the other sleeve of his jacket, and looking down at his belly as though he'd find it there. "I believe your treatment of her was thoughtless," he explained. It bewildered O'Neill how the Jaffa could make a remark like that without sounding judgmental.

"Thoughtless? Wait – what?"

"Major Carter has not had more than three hours' sleep a night since your disappearance," Teal'C explained. "She has disobeyed orders from General Hammond and Doctor Frasier, as well as the suggestions of Daniel Jackson and myself."

"Disobeyed – well, that doesn't sound like her," O'Neill replied, puzzled. "Why would she.."

"It was Major Carter who rescued you. While the rest of Stargate Command had assumed that the 'gate had been destroyed, she was using every waking moment to exercise her exceptional understanding of theoretical astrophysics to first determine that the gate had indeed fallen, and at what angle, and then to build a particle beam generator in order to try and rescue you. Indeed, the fact that you are here today is testament to her success. Everyone else's contributions were minimal."

"Minimal? T, you were hanging on by a thread when I found you," O'Neill started to argue, but something in the Jaffa's face stopped him. "A .. hang on, she built a.. what?"

"I believe that you would be better off asking Major Carter that question," Teal'C replied, calmly.

O'Neill stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "You know, if I do, she's only gonna tell me, right? And I'm not gonna understand? And then I'll be in more trouble than I am, apparently, already in."

"I do not believe it is the science you are struggling to understand, Colonel O'Neill." Teal'c responded. "I believe it is Major Carter. " He nodded again, and withdrew. Behind him, a slightly slack-jawed O'Neill eased himself down onto the bench.

Every spare surface in Major Samantha Carter's lab was covered in paper – sheafs of notes were stacked all over every surface. The whiteboard was covered in sequences, and she'd only just noticed that Daniel had enhanced her Coulomb repulsion algorithms with a big sad face and a picture of a coffee cup. Subtle, she thought, with a grim smile. At the top of the whiteboard was a series of tally marks – twenty small stacks of four columns, with a slash through each.

Carter had picked up a few archive boxes on her way back to her lab. She wasn't sure where to start, so she simply picked up the nearest pile of notes and started to pack. Daniel had pointed out that there were probably enough data in her research to write a book, but it's not like she would ever had time for that again. These notes would get filed with the rest of the mission report, and, God willing, she'd never have to look at them again. She'd just realised that she'd need at least another couple of boxes when she heard the knock and looked up.

"Colonel O'Neill," she said, as calmly as she could. She was kneeling on the floor in front of her desk, where she'd gathered up the biggest piles of papers, and straightened up to greet him properly.

O'Neill was surveying the wreckage with astonishment. Carter was ordinarily quite anal about her work but her lab looked like a bomb site. His eyes reached the whiteboard, and he frowned as he saw the tally marks and the coffee cup.

"Hey, Carter," he said, casually. "How's it going?"

"Fine, thanks, Sir," she replied. "I'm just tidying up. I, uh, was a bit busy."

"Yeah, I heard a rumour. Teal'C thought I ought to be aware you're due about a year's worth of time off in lieu," he explained. "You know, in case we had that here. He, uh, gave me sort of a hard time about it."

"Really, Sir? Teal'C? Why's that?" She dropped her gaze to the piles of paper, and knelt back down to keep packing up. O'Neill took it as an invitation to help, crossing the floor to crouch in front of her.

"Because you're a bit too nice to do it yourself, I think," he answered, picking up the top page of the nearest pile. "Pete's sake, Carter, you built a.. you just built one?"

Carter looked down, slightly flushed. "Well, it's not like nobody has ever built one before, Sir. I had the resources and, it turns out, plenty of time." Her last few words seemed to come out a lot more sharply than she'd intended, and she bit her tongue lest he react.

O'Neill sucked on the inside of his cheeks. "I, uh - I thought I heard Daniel say something about the Tok'ra having a ship there in the next couple of years."

"Yes, Sir. They were another possibility."

"Two years would've been too long?" O'Neill looked at her closely.

"Three months was too long, Sir," she answered, a little too swiftly, and he had to look away in embarrassment. "I kind of thought it might've been too long for you, too."

"Carter, when you guys came through, and you were trying to explain what you'd done – I was dismissive of you. And of the months of hard work you'd put in. And I apologise for that. I don't want you to think I'm not grateful."

"I know, Sir. It's fine." Carter was having a hard time controlling her voice. She was focusing completely on filling the boxes as quickly as possible, now, to avoid losing it.

"Are you pissed at me, Major?"

Carter's head snapped up to meet his gaze. "Permission to speak freely, Sir?"

She had no idea why she'd said it – she certainly had no intention of telling him the whole truth – but it bought her a bit of time.

"Carter, if there ever came a time when you didn't speak freely with me, I'd reassign you so fast even your geeky little brain wouldn't be able to process it," O'Neill responded, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice.

"Sir, yes. A little bit, yes, Sir."

"Because of Laira?"

Laira. Carter had been perfectly happy with the idea she'd never have to hear that name again when they left the planet. Trying to ignore the nagging feeling of misery in her stomach, she shrugged.

"Sir, I worked day and night on this generator for three months to get you back, and when we got there, it seemed like – well, it seemed that you'd given up."

"What did you want me to do, Carter?" O'Neill sounded weary. "I was trapped there."

"You gave up on us, though, Sir. You didn't think we'd keep trying? You didn't think we'd find a way to get you back?"

"I never gave up on you, Carter," he replied, firmly. "I thought the Stargate was destroyed. I was out there digging every day. Look at my arms, for cryin' out loud. I was working in the fields helping them to harvest, and then I'd go dig for the gate til after dark!" O'Neill half heartedly flexed to make his point. He did look even more sinewy than he had before, Carter acknowledged. "When I couldn't find it, I figured it was gone. And I knew you'd keep trying but I had no way to let you know I was okay."

"But it wasn't okay, Sir – you were trapped there for all we knew. But when we got there to rescue you – I gotta say, it kinda looked like you wanted to stay."

O'Neill knew they were verging on dangerous territory here. He dipped his head for a moment, then looked back at her.

"Believe me, Carter. I did not want to stay there. And I'd explain if I could, but suffice it to say – I could never, ever give up on you."

"Then Sir – with all due respect -why? You were making a life there. If you knew we weren't going to give up on you, why would you do that?"

O'Neill rubbed his hands over his face, and stood up.

"That's a pretty personal question, Carter," he hedged, his eyes narrowing.

She nodded, and paused, before standing up. "You're right, Sir. I apologise."

"Carter."

"I'm not sure what you want me to say, Sir," she told him. There was an edge in her voice, and O'Neill flicked his eyes upwards in discomfort.

"Sam, I think I got involved with Laira because both of us were missing someone," he answered, frankly. "Her husband had died, and I... was a long way from where I wanted to be. And who I wanted to be with," he added, softly. "I didn't want to stay there – but she had to. And I've got all the time in the world to fix the fact that you're mad at me, but I had to say goodbye to her then. It wouldn't have been fair to leave her without that, at least."

Sam had stopped moving, and remained, on her knees, beneath the whiteboard, her face a study in shock. He was sitting on the floor by the first box she'd begun to pack, staring at his feet. He swallowed hard, then got to his feet.

"Geez, this place is a mess, Carter," he said, with faux lightness, breaking the moment. "I think we should get it tidied up, don't you? Then we can go see if the others are up for some food."

Sam pulled a face. It was a smile – not the grin he associated with her, but it was a start.

"Sounds like a plan."