Avenged.

Or Something.

I've never once, in all the years I've watched Stargate, considered Avenger 2.0 to be a shippy episode.

Somehow, however, in my latest rewatch, this happened.

Who knew?

He found her in her lab.

He really didn't know why he'd bothered looking elsewhere, but he had-traipsing up and down, to and fro, hither and yon like some discombobulated shepherd in search of a genius ewe who really didn't want to be found.

Still didn't want to be found, if her current surroundings were any indication. She hadn't turned on any of the overheads in the lab, and only a few of the winky-blinky arrays were doing their thing. The only significant light source was the single bulb burning kitty-corner to her office door on the opposite wall of the hallway, and that cast the entire lab into a strange half-shadow that seemed to distort reality.

Like he needed that, on top of everything else. Reality these days was a precious commodity.

She sat at her lab table, a three-quarter turn away from the door, so all he could see of her was the elegant turn of her chin and a head-full of golden curls. Her hair had gotten longer. He'd missed that, somewhere, in and around the past few weeks of Daniel going Ten-Ways-From-Sybil, Jack himself being wounded while attempting trade negotiations with the Lizard People, and then his 2IC haring off around a strange galaxy on a joyride-race with her newest BFF.

She'd still been grousing about the Loop of Kangaroo-or whatever-cheating yesterday morning at breakfast. Jack had listened with half an ear, mumbling at all the appropriate times. He'd been doing that more and more lately. He found that if he listened with both his ears, he paid entirely too much attention to the Major, and his resolve began to waver. If there was one thing he couldn't handle, lately, it was wavering resolve. Things started happening, thoughts started being dwelled upon, feelings resumed being felt.

Feelings.

Sighing, O'Neill raised a hand and knocked with the back of one knuckle on the jamb of her door. "Carter?"

She turned, and her eyes flew wide. "Sir. I didn't realize you'd returned."

"Yeah. Got back a few hours ago. The guys at Groom Lake are already geeking all over my new ride." He leaned a shoulder against outside framework of her door. Or door opening-or whatever. It still seemed like a barrier that he hadn't been given permission to pass through.

"I heard it was quite the dramatic entrance."

"Yes. Most triumphant." The Colonel smiled, rocking backward a little on his heels. "I was kind of surprised that you weren't there to greet us."

She looked down at her desktop, fiddling with a random gadget before glancing back up at him. "I had a few things I needed to get done."

"Very important things, I'm sure."

"Yeah." She nodded, turning back and forth slightly on her stool, pushing herself with one booted foot. "I suppose."

Taking her movement as an invitation, he stepped into the shadows beyond the doorway, giving his eyes a moment to adjust. It only took a moment to be able to start recognizing stuff again. To see the random tools spread haphazardly around her normally tidy workspace. Hex wrenches and screwdrivers and the omnipresent tweezer things that she used to grab everything. His perusal took him to her hands-one curled on her thigh, and the other absently playing with an object on the table in front of her.

"So, I hear you had a time of it."

"So did you and Daniel and Teal'c."

"Oh, pish, Major." He waved a hand in what he hoped was a careless manner. "It was an adventure."

"Adventure?" She grimaced, not convinced. "All right."

"Daniel's still a little water logged, but the natives are being resituated as we speak."

"The evacuation went well?"

O'Neill nodded, crossing the lab until he reached the opposite side of the table. There he stopped, crossing his arms across his chest. "As well as can be expected under the circumstances. Their planet is pretty much underwater now, and they lost damn near everything."

She looked down at the disc she'd been toying with. "What with the lessened evacuation time and all."

"But they saved all the inhabitants of that colony before the 'Gate was totally inundated, so we'll put that one in the 'Win' column."

"You do that, Sir."

The Colonel looked down at her-at the top of her head, really. She hadn't truly met his gaze since she'd first looked at him after he'd knocked. It was as if she'd erected some sort of energy field around herself, and all of his good attitude was bouncing off it like ping-pong balls hitting an oscillating fan. "And now we have a brand new ship to park in the garage, so it's all good."

"All good." Mocking, somehow. Her response was sardonic, at best.

O'Neill nodded. More to himself than to her, if truth be told. He had the distinct impression that whatever he said or did at this point would be met with the same distrust and skepticism he was being treated to now. With nothing else to do, he nodded again, then blathered a repeat to her previous repeat to his previous ridiculousness. "All good."

"Is that all, Sir?"

Dismissive. In the past several years, she'd perfected that tone. She'd make a fine Colonel one day soon, what with her ability to make people run away from her as quickly as possible. But he'd caught onto that trick early on. O'Neill was made of sterner stuff. "The ship looks like it's a keeper. The Groom Lake Squad said it was in really fine form."

"Oh?"

"'Perfect working order', they said."

"Wow."

"Ready to go." He waved a hand slightly upward, as if his palm had suddenly taken flight. "Just-off into the yonder. Or something."

"Sir." She finally-finally-looked directly at him. From under her lashes, those cerulean eyes holding something-everything-away from his view. Their gaze met, holding only long enough for her to breathe once before she dragged her attention down to her desk again. "I really do have a lot of data to crunch. Could we talk about this some other time?"

Jack tried not to be disappointed, and then failed. Deflating a little, he tried not to let his shoulders sag, shrugging one upwards, instead. "Sure. Sure." He took a step backwards, bumping into some contraption he'd never bothered learning the name of. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Right." She nodded, her hair catching just the slightest hint of light. "Sounds good."

Turning, O'Neill took a few strides back towards the door way before pausing, and turning, hands in his pockets, his gaze on the concrete floor. "Carter-"

She looked over towards him-past him, really, flattening her hand on the disc on the table before her. The virus.

He knew without asking what data that disc held, but Jack wasn't deterred. "It wasn't your fault." Some fan or engine or other doo-hickey made a sudden clunk, and he could have sworn that the Major jumped slightly. Not enough to be classified as a reaction, but enough that he could at least tell that she was still alive. O'Neill narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips a bit before trying again. "The whole virus thing. Felger. Crashing 'Gates and stranded people and hormonal Jaffas. It wasn't your fault."

She didn't answer that. She'd turned to stone, somehow, like one of those Greek statues hewn from perfect marble. The silence laid down over them, even drowning out the ever-present humming of the myriad machines in the lab. A cacophony of quiet. The ultimate oxymoron.

"Well, anyway." Jack shifted on his feet, his hands making tight fists inside his pockets. He tried to will her to meet his eyes, and failed. Tried to will himself not to care. Failed at that, too. His voice cracked when he spoke again. "All's well that ends well, right?"

"Hmm."

Well, then, to hell with it. He frowned, backing towards the door slowly while shaking his head slightly. "G'Night, Major."

He was halfway down the hall before he'd acknowledged that she hadn't answered him.

-OOOOOOO-

"Colonel."

That voice. Cloying. High-pitched. Juvenile and yet oddly old. Jack couldn't put his finger on where he'd heard it before, but he knew that he had.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself looking up from his lunch. Blonde hair, attractive, but not particularly memorable. Not military. She didn't carry herself like a soldier, but wasn't purely civilian, either. So-scientist. The lab coat was another useful clue.

"Colonel." She spoke again. Her fingers gripped her tray tightly-her knuckles were whiter than the aforementioned lab jacket. She was cute-although at the moment Jack would have used the adjective 'earnest' to describe her. Her little face just reeked of serious purpose. She moved closer, and Jack grimaced. Her lunch, on the other hand, simply reeked. Brussels sprouts and some kind of mystery cheese.

That voice, though. He knew that voice. His mind churned briefly to draw up the memory. Lab coat. Blonde bob. Cute girl. Science labs and doohickeys that exploded and dark goggle-things.

"Chloe." Sitting back in his chair, he offered what would have to pass today for a smile. Even Jack was surprised that he'd gotten her name right. And before he'd noticed her nametag, too. Good on him.

"Colonel O'Neill."

His brows rose. He thought they'd established identities already. But he'd humor her. "Chloe?"

She readjusted the tray in her hands, rearranging herself atop her sensibly-shod feet. "Colonel, can I talk to you?"

"Umm-"

"I mean, frankly. Like human to human."

"As opposed to-"

"As opposed to-you know-scientist to Colonel. Colleagues."

"Are we?"

Her tiny face screwed itself into a question. "Are we-what? Colleagues?"

Jack found himself nodding and shaking his head at the same time. A head-spasm born of confusion. "Yes. Or humans. Or something."

With a neat little sigh, Chloe sat her tray down on his table, then settled herself into one of the institutional chairs at his side. "Yes. But I need to talk to you as a friend."

That sounded both terrifying and unlikely. "Chloe, I don't think-"

But she seemed to be in some kind of zone, because she barreled through his protest. "I need to talk to you about our common problem."

His brows flung themselves upwards. "Do sprouts get you gassy, too? Because I-"

She frowned, her blonde bangs wiggling a little when she shook her head. "No. I don't want to talk to you about sprouts, Colonel. I'm talking about Major Carter and Doctor Felger."

Now she was terrifying and confusing. "Carter and Felger?"

"And their relationship."

"Their-" Jack was completely unable to speak beyond that. The rest of his breath came out in a strangled little cough.

"Their relationship." Chloe looked around the dining area conspiratorially before picking up her fork and returning her attention to the Colonel. "Something happened between them on that planet they went to when they were trying to fix the Avenger virus issue. I don't know what, but something happened."

Jack's expression must have asked the question that his mouth couldn't quite form.

"Because they've both been acting weird since they got back, that's why." She stabbed a sprout with such force that her fork skidded on the plate beneath. "Now, I've known for a while that Jay had a thing for Major Carter. Everybody knew that Jay had a thing for Major Carter, right? I mean-he made the dolls and everything, and who didn't know about the dolls? But I didn't think that she reciprocated it. I mean-he's a little Mister Hottie Pants and all, but I thought that her interests lay in certain-other quarters."

She turned her gaze on him, and O'Neill suddenly felt exactly like the Brussels sprout that still remained, grotesquely trapped between the tines of her fork. Skewered. "Other quart-"

"I was fairly certain that she was involved, or at least interested, in someone-else."

Behind her glasses, her eyes opened so wide that O'Neill was fearful-just for a moment-that they might just pop out completely. Narrowing his own in turn, he responded in the only way he thought seemly. "Okay?"

Chloe's mouth formed a little curl. "Anyhoo."

Just to keep from sticking his fingers into his ears, the Colonel picked up his nearly-empty coffee cup. "Yes. Any and hoo."

"Now, I thought that before he left on the mission, I'd staked my claim, so to speak."

"Staked a claim?"

"There was kissing. Lotsa kissing." All of Cheshire's cats would have envied her grin. Canaries everywhere quivered in fear. "Let's just say that when Jay Felger left this planet, there was no question whatsoever who he needed to return to."

O'Neill's fingers tightened on the handle of his cup even as his lunch launched a little revolt in his gullet. He wasn't even certain which offended him more-the images of Felger and Chloe playing tonsil hockey, or her rank abuse of the English language. "I'm not sure-"

"And then, when he got back, he returned to the fountain, if you know what I mean. We both had the weekend off, and we took full advantage."

"Oh-wow." O'Neill raised his cup and took a sip of air. There really wasn't anything else he could do and not become a spectacle. His spine desperately wanted to writhe in freakish agony, but he was pretty sure that would only get him enshrined within a straight-jacket and hauled away.

"But now I'm not so sure. Ever since they got back, Jay's been acting different. Like he's a different guy or something. And he hasn't been talking about the Major as much. It's like his curiosity has been assuaged or something."

"Assuaged."

"You know. Like when you haven't ever eaten at a new restaurant and everyone's talking about it and then you finally go to the restaurant and order like-everything on the menu-and you totally gorge yourself, and know what it's like now, so you don't have to obsess about it anymore."

"And Carter is the restaurant in this metaphor?"

Chloe nodded slowly. Soberly. The florescent overhead light catching briefly on the lenses of her glasses. "And Jay is the well-sated patron."

O'Neill had frequently felt more comfortable while being Zatted. Desperate for something acceptable to do, he gulped down another stiff jolt of air.

"So, you see, Colonel." Chloe finally raised the poor, defenseless Brussels sprout to her lips. "You and I have a problem."

"How exactly is this my problem, too?"

Chloe chewed, then swallowed. Hard. "Because of Major Carter." She leaned towards Jack. "Things have to have happened on that planet. I know that there was danger. And Jaffa. And shooting. I know that Major Carter called on Jay to perform miracles during the course of the battle. It had to have been a passionate time-fraught with intense emotions. They were going to die! People in danger of losing their lives often cave to their baser selves, don't they? It's entirely possible that they thought that the end was near and, fearing that they wouldn't have another opportunity-seized the moment. Reached for each other across the frightening void. Found solace in each others' arms. Did the horizontal mambo."

"Did the horizontal-" His voice cracked. Jack had to breathe deeply for a few moments before he could trust it again. "Have you ever been in battle? Or better yet-seen Felger in battle?"

Her determined little chin rose nearly as high as her brows, at that. "Jay Felger is a man of deep passions, intense emotions, superior intelligence, and tremendous bravery. His hackles would have risen at such an occasion."

"Please." Jack jabbed his coffee cup in her direction meaningfully. "I beg you. Don't bring up Felger's hackles."

"He would have done whatever he could to comfort Major Carter. And given his previous attraction to her, he may have fallen prey to her wiles and to the situation and given in."

"Really." Setting his cup down, Jack leaned forward on the table, resting on his elbows. "You'll have to excuse me if I don't see that happening."

"Are you implying that Major Carter wouldn't have succumbed?"

"Not implying." The Colonel glared at the scientist from beneath his lashes. "Stating as fact."

"Why not?" She slammed her fork down and sat up straight. "Just because she's beautiful and smart and accomplished doesn't mean she doesn't have the hots for a man like Felger. And he might not have been able to resist."

Too. Many. Words. Jumbling, turning, roiling around O'Neill's tongue like Pop Rocks in beer. In the end, he grasped for the inane. "Weren't you the one just now equating Carter with an IHOP? Pretty resistible stuff, right there."

Chloe faltered a little at that, slumping almost imperceptibly back into her chair. "Well, something had to have happened on that planet. Jay works alongside me for the better part of two years and nothing-not a moment's flirtation or anything. Then suddenly, he comes back from a mission with Sam Carter and he's Don Juan. I mean, I kissed him before he left. I thought we shared a moment, that he knew what I meant by it. But still. I don't get it. A guy doesn't usually go from nothing to fountains in a weekend."

Nothing to fountains. That was a veritable butt-load of metaphors. Jack sighed heavily, scrubbing his face with both palms at once. He needed some sleep. He needed to shave. Or retire. Or something. The little physicist next to him had slumped further in her chair, her petite form made even smaller by her posture. She seemed childlike, waiflike, too young, really, to be concerned with the hackles of a buffoon like Jay Felger. But the Colonel knew, better than anyone else, that the heart took people into often-shady territory. You couldn't choose where affection landed. It was like shooting a rocket into the air and waiting to see where it would land. And then it landed in a swamp, inhabited by alligators, and poisonous snakes, and weird moonshine-swilling swamp people who had disturbing affinities for banjo music and big knives.

He took a perilously deep breath, collecting his thoughts. "So, you think that, during a battle with Jaffa, Major Carter and Doctor Felger engaged in-non-sanctioned activities."

Her blonde head nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"And you think this because, after sending Felger off onto this mission with a little lip-lock, he came back and engaged you in-"

She nodded again. "Non-sanctioned activities. Only not, really, because we don't have the regulations that you military people do."

"So, you're worried that Major Carter whetted Felger's appetite and he came back and-" O'Neill tried to find an acceptable way to put it and failed, motioning instead at her with an open palm.

"He used me." Her bottom lip quivered. "In place of who he really wanted."

Around them, the commissary murmured. Clinking plates, boots on concrete, chairs scraping in and out beneath tables. The ever-present hum of people talking. If anyone thought it odd that the toughest Colonel at the SGC was sitting with a diminutive scientist on the verge of tears, nobody had the gall to say anything about it. Jack cast a look around at the sea of people. Not a soul was paying them a bit of attention.

He scooted his chair over towards the slouching lab coat. In a moment of-something-empathy?-he reached out and covered her hand with his own. "Listen, Chloe."

Her wide eyes looked up at him from behind her glasses. "Yes, Colonel?"

"I don't think that Felger was using you."

"You don't?"

"No." He shook his head once. With what he hoped was wisdom. "I think that being on that planet allowed him the chance to realize what he really wanted in life. That maybe he realized that he needed to get rid of his ridiculous obsessions and point himself towards what he needed. I think that he came back from that planet and knew that you were the one for him."

Her bottom lip quivered again. "Do you really?"

"I do."

"But what about Major Carter? Will she be terribly upset that he's chosen me over her? I still have to work with her. I don't want anything to get in the way of a good professional relationship."

Never in his life had Jack O'Neill felt more sure about anything that was about to come out of his mouth. "I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"Truly?"

"Nothing at all." He squeezed her hand briefly before letting go. Sitting back in his chair, he crossed his arms across his torso. "Now, finish your sprouts and get back to work."

Chloe hesitated, then seemed to steel her spine. Shoving backwards, she stood. With a determined look at the Colonel, she readjusted her lab coat, and straightened her nametag. If she'd had a weapon, O'Neill was pretty sure she'd have chambered a round, just for good measure.

"Thank you, Colonel O'Neill." Succinct. Her nod was strong. "I appreciate the talk."

"Don't mention it." He peered up at the New Chloe, impressed despite himself. "Really-just. Don't."

But she'd already made her way around the table and towards the exit, her little heels clicking rhythmically on the concrete floor, leaving O'Neill alone in the crowd with the remainder of her lunch. For a moment, he watched her go, and then her tray caught his eye. Her plate. The congealed mass of cheesy Brussels sprouts and the forgotten fork.

And Jack felt a quizzical kinship with the empty space in the cheesy melee. A place made lonely with the loss of its sprout.

-OOOOOOOO-

The mountain did odd things to your sense of time and weather. When O'Neill had shown up for work-when, yesterday? The day before?-the skies had been dark, and clear. Now, it was light outside, but dim. Overcast-the sun filtered through layers of clouds. The humid smell of rain permeated the air, and the wind felt damp.

Usually, he didn't really like storms, but this afternoon it seemed fitting that the Earth was all too happy to spit on him.

He hurried past the check point and into the parking lot, passing several people who were on their way into the mountain. He knew their faces, but not their names, knew that they belonged to the program, but wasn't quite sure where they fit. Kind of how he was feeling this-he glanced at his watch-afternoon.

O'Neill always parked as far as he could away from the entrance. He told people it was so that he could exercise his knee, but really it was so that he could park his truck across two spaces and not feel like a shrub. The Colonel turned right, towards the deepest part of the lot, passing the spots reserved for leadership and the handicapped before breaking into a quasi-jog to cross the lane and heading towards the South 40. He felt the first raindrop before he'd spotted his Ford, slowing slightly to zip his jacket higher on his chest.

He nearly missed her. Crouched down next to the Indian, her gilded hair was obscured behind the bike, and her dark jeans blended into the cars around her. Her leather riding jacket already held the sheen of the few sprinkles that had escaped the sky.

"Carter."

She was fiddling with something with some tool she'd always kept handy, her top lip pinched between her teeth. A sure sign of deep concentration for the Major.

"Carter." A little louder, O'Neill stepped into the parking space, ending up a few feet behind the motorcycle. "Major!"

The tool tumbled to the tarmac, clanking unceremoniously on the rails on its way down. Sam jerked herself upwards, her hands swiping first at the back, and then the front, of her jeans. "Sir."

"Need a ride?"

Sheepish, Sam glared at the machine briefly before turning her attention back to the Colonel. "She won't start. I'm not sure why. I was just trying to figure that out."

Jack nodded, then jerked a brow towards the sky. "It's going to rain."

"Yes, sir."

"So?"

She shrugged, thumbs hooking into the pockets of her riding leathers. "I've gotten wet before.

"Do you need a ride?"

Her gaze flew from O'Neill to the bike and back again before casting a grim assessment towards the heavens. "That's not necessary, Sir. I'll have her up and running in a few."

"You sure?" His voice conveyed his skepticism.

She blithely ignored it. "Yeah. No problem. It's just a little rain, right?"

The Colonel nodded, frowning. "Okay. Well. I'm over there if you change your mind." He gestured with a finger to where his pick-up hulked a few lanes away.

"I'll be fine, Sir."

He'd made a noise and walked away. A few spaces down, he cut between a mini-van and a sedan before hurrying into a jog again across the lanes as the sky opened fully and started pelting him with raindrops the size of olives. He was nearly soaked by the time he'd gotten himself situated behind the wheel.

He primed the engine for a moment before turning the key, satisfied as always when the big diesel roared to life. Heater-on. He flipped on his lights and windshield wipers and then flicked on the radio. Reached behind his left shoulder to grab the seat belt when movement at his passenger side caught his eye.

She knocked once on the window before heaving the door open. "Could you just drop me at the entrance so I can call a tow?"

He rolled his eyes before waving her inside. "Just get in, Carter. I'll take you home. You can arrange something from there."

She tossed a backpack into the passenger side, and Jack went into Mission Mode, grabbing it and placing it behind his seat as she hiked herself in. She seated herself and shut the door in the same graceful motion, arranging her seat belt with a neat 'snick' before heaving a deep breath. She ran long fingers through her wet curls. "That got ugly fast."

She hadn't looked at him, so Jack merely nodded, reaching for the shift lever and pushing the truck into gear.

It took twelve miles for anything else to be said. At first, he thought she was listening to the radio. Lynard Skynard, then the Dead, and then "Bohemian Rhapsody". "Classic Rock" the radio station called itself. He wondered if she was too young to remember when it had just been considered "Rock"-without the "Classic" part.

He could see her in his peripheral vision, and when he turned his head to check traffic. She'd fished a Kleenex out of her jacket pocket and swiped at the worst of the water clinging to her jacket, then taken a few unceremonious dabs at her face before flipping the visor down and checking things out in the mirror there. She'd folded the tissue over her finger and wiped at the skin directly beneath her eyes where mascara had run in the rain.

Overwhelmingly intimate, the ablution was intensely personal, and Jack had to look away, down the long frontage road that led from the Mountain to the highway. He grew intent upon the road, and the weather, trying to gain some composure in the gray skies and the steady "thwip-thwip" of the windshield wipers. The cabin had grown close-and not just from the heater. At a stoplight, O'Neill unzipped his jacket, his motions more terse than necessary.

Levity. He needed to change the mood. Heavier traffic loomed before them as he turned the big truck off the freeway and aimed himself towards her neighborhood. Further than his own from the Mountain by at least fifteen miles, he gauged that, in current conditions, they still had twenty minutes until they reached her house. Eternity.

"So. Dolls." His own voice surprised him.

"Sir?" She'd been looking off to her right, at the rain, or the city, or the poor yahoos stuck in the downpour. "Excuse me?"

"Dolls." He slowed and flipped his turn signal with his fingertips. "You know Chloe?"

"Doctor Felger's co-worker? That Chloe?"

"Yeah." He checked his left mirror and changed lanes. "I ran into her in the Mess today."

"She's a sweetheart. I really like her."

"That, she is." O'Neill was surprised to find that he actually agreed. "But she mentioned something about Felger making dolls."

Carter's face froze. "Uh. Yeah."

"You've seen them?"

"Unfortunately." She turned again towards her window. "Yes, I have."

"Baby? Porcelain? Voo-doo?" The Colonel settled back for a long spate of straight road. "Rag?"

"Rag?" Sam's lips thinned. "I'm-"

"Kind of doll, Carter." Jack adjusted his left hand on the wheel, his right arm resting on the console between himself and his companion. "What were they? Corn husk?"

A dimple dented her cheek. "No. Not corn husk."

"So, he made you into a doll?"

"Kind of." She raised a hand to probe at her right temple-as if the memory hurt. "He'd made dioramas of different worlds. Then he made costumes and gear for Barbie dolls and used them in his dioramas."

"Barbie Carter?"

"Yeah." She shook her head, her lips curving upward. "It was pretty creepy."

"I can imagine." Jack cast her a sideways glance. "Did you get to play?"

"Um-no." Sam grinned outright. "It was awkward enough as it was. I'd caught him unprepared, and he was in a bit of a state. Messy apartment. Pants on backwards. You know. The usual."

"Yikes."

"Indeed."

She turned again to stare out her own window, and the Colonel took the opportunity to look at her fully. At her pale skin, the curve of her ear, the damp curls clinging to her nape. He cleared his throat. "Coulda been fun, though, right? Just you and Felger and Stargate Barbie. Hanging out. Accessorizing."

Sam made a noise that was neither laugh nor snort, but somewhere in between. She fell silent as he turned onto another, smaller street. If anything the congestion was worse in the closer quarters. The rig slowed down to a crawl.

"It wasn't just me, you know."

O'Neill stopped behind a laboring Toyota at a stop sign and threw her a silent question.

"With the dolls. And dioramas." She pinned him in her deliberate gaze. "He'd made you, too. And Daniel and Teal'c. And himself, of course. I think he also made Coombs, but I didn't see that one up close."

"Holy Hannah." The thought made Jack a little sick. "What did he use-a GI Joe?"

"Nope-"

"Please don't tell me-"

"It was a Ken doll."

She'd relished sharing that tidbit a tad too much. Much more than Jack had enjoyed hearing it. "Damn."

"Of course, to be fair, he'd done a remarkable job. He's a talented painter and did wonders with the costumes."

"Carter-he made us into dollies." This time, O'Neill didn't even try to hide his distaste. "Anatomically inadequate dollies. And then he played with us."

"It wasn't that bad. I mean-" She shrugged, then shot him a strange, wide-eyed look. "It was bad-but I kind of feel for the guy."

"And how exactly do you feel for him, Carter? What are those feelings?"

The words were out before he could stop them. He lingered a bit too long looking at her stricken expression, at how her lips turned a little inward before thinning to a pale line, and ended up slamming on his brakes harder than he should have had to when the cars in front of him slowed. Swallowing a curse, he tightened his hand on the steering wheel and, in his turn, gave the truck a little more gas than he needed to. They lurched through the intersection in silence.

She was staring-too intently-at a strip mall when she spoke. "I guess I just understand him."

"Good." Jack was a little surprised to find that he was actually sincere. "Somebody has to."

"He's probably what I'd be if I hadn't had the help I'd had early on. Been raised military. Been given the chances I've been given."

"He's a screwup, Carter."

She said nothing, merely kept staring at the rain, or the scene outside her window. Or nothing at all. Maybe she was just avoiding him. O'Neill shifted in his seat, placing both hands on the wheel. He wondered if it was an unconscious effort to find some control, somewhere.

"Ultimately, Sir, the virus worked." She flattened her palms against her denim-clad thighs. "It was my fault that everything else went wrong. I'm the screwup-not Doctor Felger."

It took a moment for him to process what she was saying. "Carter-"

"Hear me out, Sir. I should have foreseen that a Goa'uld would take the virus and run with it. I should have been able to make an educated guess about the update, and that uploading Avenger would take down the 'Gate system. I've had more experience, both with the 'Gate systems and with the Goa'uld. I knew that virus almost as well as he did, and I didn't anticipate any of the problems that we ultimately had. Sure, Felger freaked out-that's on him. But I didn't prepare him for the possible eventualities, and so any fair person would say that, really, it's my fault."

The Colonel flicked the turn signal again, merging into a suicide lane and bringing the truck to a stop as he waited for a break in traffic.

"In the end, I'm responsible for all of it. I gave Felger too much pressure to produce something, and we both rushed the product, and when it all fell apart, I didn't act quickly enough to fix things."

He met her gaze in the deepening light of the evening. Her eyes were too bright-glistening with something beyond just their normal sheen. Not tears, but something. Regret, perhaps. Self-recrimination. When he glanced back at traffic, he noticed he'd missed an opportunity to turn and let out an exasperated breath.

"Carter-"

"I couldn't even get us-Felger and me-safely home." She was studying her hands, now, still splayed on her lap. "You had to come and salvage the mission."

Jack gunned the engine and made the turn into her community. Slowing down in the residential area, he turned right, then left, then right again, slowing even more when he noticed a group of kids playing in puddles near the park. Their brightly-colored rain coats and umbrellas danced in gleeful juxtaposition with the gray dullness of the sky. Despite the gloom inside the truck cabin, he found himself smiling at the scene. At least someone was enjoying the storm.

He slowed, then stopped, in front of her tidy little house, waiting a second before throwing the vehicle into "park" and then turning the ignition off. She made no move to leave-as if she needed his permission to go. Or as if she wanted absolution. He couldn't give her either. She had always taken too much blame onto herself. If she wanted forgiveness, it had to come from within.

"It wasn't your fault, Carter." He sat back in the leather seat, his hands still gripping the steering wheel. "Like I told you earlier. In your lab."

"Sir, the evidence speaks to the contrary."

"That's a total load of crap, and you know it."

She straightened, craning her head upwards to stare at the ceiling of the cab. Waiting for what-divine intervention? "Not to be disrespectful, Sir, but I don't know anything of the kind. The way I see it, I screwed up."

"And what do you want me to do about it?" He hitched himself a little to the side, so that he nearly faced her. "Flogging? Court Martial?"

She closed her eyes and dropped her head. "Sir-"

"Do you want me to yell really loud?"

The sun had gone completely and the only illumination inside the truck's cab was the light from the lamps in the park directly across the street. Her porch light was too far away and too dim to offer much in the way of light, and no other lamps burned in her house. Habit, he knew. He never knew when he'd be home or off-world for extended periods of time, and he got sick of replacing burned out bulbs, too. His eyes were taking their sweet time adjusting to the dark. Damn age creeping up on him again.

He almost missed the look she threw him. Hurt and disbelief and just a hint of indignation. She'd grown more pale, the gray of the skies and evening casting a pallor over her skin that made her seem sad. Forlorn.

"I told you once that you were a National Treasure." He measured his words out carefully, making certain his tone was even and neutral. "I meant it."

"Saying that kind of thing just makes it worse, Sir."

"How so?"

She steadied herself, breathing in deeply, and then out, gathering her thoughts. Preparing her words. Jack knew her well enough to wait.

"Because I'm not that person. Maybe I thought I could be-I expect a lot out of myself. I've tried to emulate my role models and to be like them. But I feel like a lot of times, lately, I just completely fail."

His instincts told him to be patient again, so Jack sat quietly, allowing her to figure out where she wanted to go. She didn't need platitudes, she needed to work this out for herself. He couldn't see her clearly anymore-the rain played havoc with the already squirrelly light from the park. He felt her more than anything else, like he could feel the tide when immersed in the ocean. At the moment, she was a rip tide-skittish and unpredictable and deep.

"I always thought I wanted to be like my dad. He was the ultimate Airman-and a terrific officer. Not so great at the Dad thing-there were tensions there, you know? Especially after my Mom died. But he was a good man. I thought I wanted to be like him. Strong. A leader. My mom was a college biology teacher. I guess that's where the science thing came from. She encouraged me to follow that, and I ended up following them both. I got early admission into the Academy, and the rest is history. And then I ended up loving flying-there's nothing like pulling Gs, right? Then I get pulled into the Stargate program, and I get this reputation that I can do anything-that I can pull solutions out of thin air-and people look at me like I can fix it all. And the truth is? I can't."

Her voice caught at the words, and she fell silent, the sound of the rain hitting the truck's roof filling the void before she breathed again. "I'm not the person everyone thinks I am. I was terrified out there, screeching at Felger like a moron, shooting at the Jaffa, missing every other shot. At one point, the gun jammed and I almost gave up completely and chucked it at the Jaffa. People expect me to be flawless. Felger said it himself-he called me 'perfect'. People think I'm this miracle worker, and in reality, I'm nothing more than a Stargate Barbie who happens to get lucky more times than not."

What to say to that? O'Neill stared at the windshield, where the rain now gloried down the glass in a perfect silvery sheet. He knew exactly what she was saying, but mentioning that would have seemed trite. She needed to work through this one on her own.

She made a little noise in the back of her throat. "And luck isn't going to win this war."

"It's going to help."

"It's not productive to wait for good fortune."

Jack sighed. His thumb found and rasped against the seam in his steering wheel. "Neither is beating yourself up, Carter."

She thought about that, then dismissed it. "Sir-in many ways, I'm just as inept and bumbling and useless as Felger." She leaned forward, bracing herself on her knees. "I run from crisis to crisis, doing what I can, but at the end of the day, I haven't accomplished anything truly worthwhile that will protect this planet from our enemy. I've made some gadgets. I've tweaked some alien technology. But yesterday, on that planet, trying to take the lead on a mission, I was an abject failure. I trusted the wrong science, the wrong people, and I nearly got a colleague killed."

"What exactly are you expecting of yourself?"

"I don't know." She let out a strangled laugh. "Something more than abject failure."

"Sometimes, the very best that we can offer is to move past our own failures and step up the next time, ready to try again."

"But I didn't step up. I had to be rescued."

O'Neill rolled his eyes, grateful that she couldn't see him it the dimness. "Let me ask you this. How many times have you rescued me?"

"Sir?"

"How many times have you engineered something, or figured out something, or bullied somebody into rescuing me?" Her shrug counted for something, he supposed. "I owe you my life so many times over that it's truly a little ridiculous. And regardless of how hopeless it seemed, youve never given up on me. Sure-we've won some, and we've lost a butt-load. We've failed countless times. But we haven't quit."

"I've wanted to."

"So have I. We all have. Except for Teal'c, but he's quite literally inhuman, so-yeah. There's that."

She snorted. "Since when is not quitting considered succeeding?"

"Since forever, Carter. Since the first cave man looked out the window of his cave at a dinosaur and said, 'Hm. I wonder what that tastes like.'"

Her smile wasn't one born of humor. "Stubbornness isn't necessarily a positive character trait."

The Colonel considered that for a moment before answering. "I don't know about that. I'd consider it to be essential in what we do. We all have to have a good portion of pain-in-the-assiness within us to do this job, don't we? Only, your stubbornness is a rare kind of obstinate. You expect too much out of yourself-you always have. You want too much, you think too much. You ask perfection when it's impossible. You perform the impossible when it's ridiculous. But that's part of what makes you you. As soon as we start thinking that mediocrity is the best that we can do is the day we lose this war. That's the day the planet loses its greatest asset."

"That makes me sound like a true joy to work with." Sarcasm. Pure, unadulterated sarcasm.

"Oh-you are." Jack ignored her caustic tone and answered sincerely. "A real peach. But there isn't a person in the universe I'd rather have at my side. In any circumstance, any situation. There's nobody I'd rather fight beside or work beside-or be rescued by-than you."

In the distance, lightning jumped from cloud to cloud, illuminating the elegant planes of her face. Something had eased there, some tension uncoiled, but not enough to relax the tight hold of her shoulders, or the pain he'd seen still dulling her eyes. The defeat swilling around in their depths. "I just-I can't-I don't know. I still don't think I'm doing enough."

The rain had lessened slightly, slowing to a steady drizzle. The cab quieted to the point where Jack could hear his watch tick. He steeled himself and cleared his throat. "Years ago-before the 'Gate. When things went wrong in Iraq, the enemy captured two of us. Me and another guy. He was younger than I was by a few years, enthusiastic. He'd completed a couple of tours, had some experience. But by the time he'd entered the front, most of the rough fighting was over. He didn't know what it was like to be truly in danger. He'd never seen his buddies die."

Jack scratched his forehead, then ran a hand through his hair. "He was a big guy. Muscular. Smart, too. Figured he'd sail through the enemy prison like he'd gotten through combat." He paused, looked to his right, where Sam sat in silence. "But he wasn't scared enough. You know? He didn't know how to fail. The first time they took us into the interrogation room, they broke him. It was bad. Just-" here Jack faltered, remembering. "Worse than anything I'd ever been through. Certainly nothing like he'd ever imagined. I'd lost guys, broken bones, been-broken. Had to come back. Had to survive. But this guy-he hadn't. He'd never been forced to figure out who he was."

Another lightning flash, and the muffled far-off rumble of thunder. The dark, close confines of the truck's cab seemed like a world away from the storm outside. A haven of sorts, albeit one filled with a different kind of storm. "Not even the training that they put you through can prepare you if you don't know who you are."

He let that sink in while he pulled himself back from that place-from that dirt-floored hovel where the smell of blood had become an almost-welcome sign that he was still alive. Where pain was good. Where the only relief from torture was death, and that wasn't an option. "He didn't make it past the first week. By the time they'd removed some teeth, some skin, he was begging them to kill him. So they did. Ultimately, his death meant nothing."

"Sir-" A whisper, nothing more.

"Carter. You know who you are. You know why you're here. You and I-we're a special kind of idiot. We're going to screw up, and fail, and feel like total-freaking morons half the time. But we know what we need to do, and as long as we don't give up, the battle's ours to lose. And like I said before, there is nobody-nobody--in the entirety of this galaxy or any other, that I'd rather have on my side. How you feel right now is exactly why I need you."

Wind buffeted around the truck, thunder rumbled on and off in the distance. The only true light came from the lightning that occasionally flashed, giving them the briefest respite from the oppressive dark of the night. For several long, long moments, they sat in silence. Jack trying to shake his demons, and Sam trying to face hers.

"I just don't know how to win this."

He couldn't stop his hand from reaching over and grasping hers. She was cold-her fingers frigid. He rubbed lightly at her skin, trying to chafe some warmth back into them before squeezing them-too hard, probably. "You don't have to know that right now. You just have to keep fighting."

"I think that's what's so terrifying."

"You're right. But it's also what'll make you stronger."

"Stronger?" Her entire body radiated disbelief. "I'm exhausted, Sir. In every way possible."

"Then c'mon." He squeezed her hand again. "Let's get you inside."

He let go of her hand, reaching down to unbuckle his seat belt. As he removed his key from the ignition, he glanced over to where she sat, unmoving, her wide eyes watching him.

"Carter?"

"Thank you, Sir."

He studied her-her fine cheekbones, her determined chin, her full, expressive mouth. Those eyes that at once mocked and revered him. He knew her face as well as he knew his own. Could read it even in the darkness of the night, through the veil of pain or anger. Loved it in every way he knew how. But just now, she seemed like a stranger. "For what?"

"For everything." Sam blinked, wriggling a little in her own skin before coming back into focus. "For this. For right now."

"It's nothing, Carter."

"No-really." She nodded, her hair catching at the tidbits of light making their way through the tinted windows. "I appreciate it."

Too close. Too much. Jack held his breath for a time, her eyes heavy upon him. They'd shared the same air for too long, exposed too many things. Allowed themselves to fall back on memories that they'd buried so unsuccessfully that they continually dug themselves out at the least opportune moments. He could feel the slide of her skin on his-as clearly as he could remember the heat from the furnace fires and the ice of Antarctica. His mouth went dry. "Hey-it's nothing. Really. Let's get you inside. I'll walk you up."

"Okay." Her nod was quick-efficient. Too much so.

And he knew she'd been thinking the same thing-been assailed by the same memories. It suddenly became absolutely necessary for him to leave the intimacy of the truck, to put more than the distance of a console between them. As she reached for her backpack, he flipped the switch that unlocked his doors, then pulled at the handle.

Cold-blessedly cold-air flooded through the cabin of the truck as his door flew open, baptizing him in reality. He jumped out, then checked behind him to see the Major following suit. She shut the door, then made her way around the back of the truck, jogging a little when a few straggling rain drops made their way onto her skin. Dropping his keys into the pocket of his jeans, he swung his own door shut before striding up the walk in her wake.

The porch light faltered a little as they neared, winking on and off before burning brightly for a breath and then dimming.

Jack motioned towards it with a jerk of his head. "I think your light bulb's dying."

"Yeah." Sam nodded, gravely, as if the state of her bulb was of national import. "It's been that way for a while."

"Could be the whole light fixture's going."

"No, I replaced that last summer. I'm pretty sure it's the bulb."

"Too busy to change it?"

She grinned. A real smile, this time. And one so tormentingly beautiful that he took a step backwards.

"Nope. Just lazy."

"You've got your key?"

"Yes." She raised her hand, jingling the ring as if in proof. "Right here."

"Okay then." He watched as she fitted the key into the lock and turned it, shoving the door inward. "I guess I'll just go on home then."

"Want some coffee?" Without ceremony, she tossed her pack onto the entryway floor. Jerking a thumb towards the interior, she offered a little smile. "I can have some made in just a few-"

Without meaning to, O'Neill allowed his eyes to dip downwards, to trace the leather of her jacket, and the still-damp darkness of her jeans. To wonder-just briefly-and wish. "Really bad idea. Colossally bad."

She nodded, her breath had suddenly hitched a little. "Yeah. You're right."

"So. I'll just head on home."

"Drive safe."

He paused, stupidly close to her, breathing the same air, inhabiting the same space. He tried avoiding her eyes, but couldn't, finally giving in and just looking at her, filling his empty with the light of her, the healing she'd started to find soothing his own hurts. His fingers tingled, his body aching to hold her, so he took another step backwards, onto the top step, directly beneath the eaves of her porch roof. "I've gotta go."

"I know." And yet she stepped towards him, following him onto the step, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket. "Like I said, drive safely."

He nodded again, then took the next step before turning back to catch her attention again. "You know, Carter. About Felger."

She ducked her chin, narrowing her eyes a little. "What about him?"

"You know he's got the hots for you?"

She rolled her eyes, stepping down to meet him on the step. "Not really. He had a-crush-is all. Now he and Chloe are an item, I think."

"Something like that." O'Neill offered an odd half-smile. "Chloe was concerned that you felt the same way about him. That you'd be upset with her for being with him."

Sam grinned. "She's welcome to the good Doctor."

"That's what I told her."

"Good."

The rain had stopped for the most part, but the wind still flurried around them, tossing the leaves in the trees and tickling at the grass. Jack glanced up at the eaves of the porch just in time to see a few drops of water drip through a crack and fall, one landing with an ignoble 'splat' on the Major's temple.

She startled, then shook her head, but the droplet only dribbled its way onto the fine line of her cheek. Lifting a hand, she swiped at the annoyance, but the Colonel's hand beat hers there, his heat invading her space even as his palm fit itself around her jaw. His thumb made a deliberate arc towards the drop, capturing it and wiping it away before pausing, and testing the softness of the skin directly in front of her ear.

Stupid. Stupid. Hell and stupid. His breathing nearly stalled while hers quickened. Jack's fingers felt the beat of her pulse in her throat, even as she turned her face into his hand, brushing her lips against the skin directly below his thumb, pressing her cheek against the rough strength of his palm. The heat of her breath warmed his wrist, sending a jolt of want all the way through his being.

Images pulsed between them-tangled, writhing, fawning-heat and ice and joy-despair. His thumb traced her mouth, the pad catching at and pulling her bottom lip just enough to feel the wetness within, and he remembered her taste, her feel, her essence. Knew once again the perfection of losing the edges of himself within the whole of what they'd become. Wanted it again-so badly that he could quite literally taste it-could feel the surge of what they'd been seething beneath his surface.

"Stupid." He breathed it more than spoke it. "So damned stupid."

Her smile-joyfully sad. How was that even possible? "We're complete idiots."

"That we are." He moved closer, as if to prove the point. "But none of this-none-is your fault."

She pressed her cheek against his palm, inhaling deeply. "I'll get there. I will."

His hand stilled on her skin, tightening-memorizing-before releasing to fall back to his side. "What I said before, Sam. About needing you."

"Yeah." Her hair caught briefly at the porch light as she nodded. "Me too."

He backed down the steps, then turned, aiming himself towards the salvation of his truck. Hiking himself onto his seat, he readied the engine, bringing the beast to life and fastening his seat belt before allowing himself another look towards where Sam stood on the wet grass of her lawn.

She'd wrapped her arms around her body-protection against the wind? or something else?-raising a hand towards him only when his headlights startled the night ahead of him.

And as he threw the truck into gear and gave it some fuel, he didn't know if it was providence or vengeance that the bulb in her porch light flickered its last breath, throwing the yard into darkness and cloaking the woman standing there within the velvet pitch of the night.