A-Wake

by Major Clanger

Jack, Sam and Teal'c come to terms with the events of the Season 5 episode 'Meridian'. Caution: huge spoilers for that ep.

1. A-Wake: Part 1

Title: A-Wake
Author: Major Clanger
Email: majclanger@aol.com
Category: H/C, humour
Pairing: S/J, Teal'c/Other
Spoilers: Season 5 Meridian. Little spoilers for any and all eps that have gone before
Season: 5
Rating: PG-13

Status: Complete
Summary: Sam, Jack and Teal'c come to terms with the events of the season 5 episode Meridian.

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and it's characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions and Gekko Productions. These stories are for entertainment purposes only, and no money exchanged hands. Really. Honestly. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations and stories are the property of the author. That is me, and I write under the name of "Major Clanger" for reasons that are unclear, even to me. These stories may not be posted elsewhere without my consent, although if you really want to, you could send me an e-mail and ask. After you get the smelling salts under my nose, I'll probably say "yes".
Author's notes: I'm not a shipper. I'm not. But, well, to be honest the idea of getting Jack and Sam together does have it's appeal. So, this is especially to warm the shippy hearts of Kat and Feli. Thanks as always to Kat for the beta, and to Gipsy for the encouraging noises. As always TinyCoward stood there and didn't wince once as I bounced this off her time and time again. Cheers hun – the comic and Teal'c are just for you.

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"Ah... Colonel," Sam hurried to keep up with her CO as he strode down the corridor. "Do you think this is a good idea?"

"Sure I do, Carter, I only have good ideas!" He looked sideways at the Major and spoke in a mock indignant tone. "Are you giggling?"

"Who me Sir? No Sir!" Sam snapped to attention but she was having a hard time keeping a straight face.

Which relieved Jack no end. It was the first time she'd come anywhere near her usual self since Daniel... he couldn't bring himself to think of him as dead, but to try to imagine a Daniel comprised solely of swirly white light was beyond him. He shook the thought off and spoke again.

"He wouldn't have wanted us to be sad..." Cliché man was back too.

"Are you sure you weren't just..."

"He spoke to me. That's it Carter. He told me what he wanted."

"Ah, but he didn't mention this specifically did he?"

"Well... who would turn down a party in their own honour?"

"Daniel probably," she muttered under her breath.

"Eh? Speak up?" Jack cupped a hand behind his ear. "The hearing is one of the first things to go you know."

Carter sighed. "Nothing Sir," The Major stopped walking. "It's just that, well, Daniel didn't really... you know... he wasn't..."

"A party animal," he finished for her. Jack grabbed her sleeve and recommenced walking. "I know that. But this party isn't for him."

"Not for him?" Now she looked confused "How so? It's his wake."

"It's in his honour, not for him," Jack suddenly stopped, and spoke very loudly. "Although if he's around and listening, he's more than welcome to join us!"

"So. It's for us."

"Carter, I know you have no life outside of here, but you're not telling me you don't want to come to Daniel's wake?!" He was incredulous.

"I do have a life," she rolled her eyes. "Just because my downtime doesn't involve looking at a piece of wood with a string attached..."

"Fibreglass and line..."

She held up her hand to stop him and continued. "It's just that after the last one I swore off them... I mean..." Her voice trailed off and the laughing woman of a few moments ago was replaced with the teary-eyed one that had haunted Jack for the past week.

"How about a compromise?"

"I'm listening."

"Much as the Irish part of me..."

Sam snorted. "You're about as Irish as Teal'c!"

"The Irish part would be the name... O'Neill." He affected a thick Irish-type brogue. "And we O'Neills always give the dear departed a good send-off."

"Oh. Well in that case then, I've got a few ideas."

They reached the commissary and looked around for an empty table. Seeing none O'Neill made scary Colonel noises in the direction of some young airmen, who mysteriously found something very pressing to do elsewhere. Jack pulled a small notepad and pen from his pocket and flipped to a blank page.

"Okay. Where shall we start?" He scratched his head with the end of his pen. "Guestlist first."

"Where are we having this... this... er..." She cast around in her mind for an appropriate word but came up with nothing.

"I thought here would be good." Jack leaned back in his chair and looked around.

"Here?"

"Yup."

"The commissary?"

"Why not?"

"It sucks, that's why not," she pulled a face. "Anyway, Daniel... didn't like this place. Too gloomy, bad coffee... he could never get out quick enough."

Jack noticed the pause after Daniel's name and gave her a sympathetic pat on the hand.

"Tell you what, you get the coffee and I'll start the guest list."

Sam stood at the end of the small line of people waiting to collect their food, eventually picking up a tray and loading it with coffee. In the middle of picking up a third cup she realised what she was doing.

She stood gazing at it for a few moments with her arm stretched out but not quite touching it and was brought back to Earth with a bump when the person behind her coughed loudly. She pulled herself together; no good having the Colonel think she was going soft. Glancing over at him she noticed that he was leaning back in his chair, staring into space.

It had to be hard, she thought, losing one of your team, although she'd been surprised at how well O'Neill had taken the blow. She'd expected a lot more sadness and anger, but he was calm and accepting. Of course he missed having the archaeologist around, but this hadn't been a normal week and most likely it hadn't hit him yet. Maybe this wake idea of his wasn't such a bad idea after all.

For good measure she threw a couple of donuts on the tray.

Rejoining Jack she glanced at the pad. "So, all your friends then?"

He looked at the blank page. "Looks like it."

"Well, starting at the top, there would be: you, me, Teal'c, General Hammond, Dad – if he's still here, Janet." She ticked the names off on her fingers.

Jack tapped the pen on the paper and carried on writing. "Sgts Siler and Davis..."

"What about Major Davis?"

"That little weasel..." Jack flushed. "... I'm not sure how much General Hammond told DC about what went down here, but... nope. Not him."

"I don't know what you've got against him. Apart from the fact that he works at DC."

"Do I nead any other reason?"

"So... what form, exactly, is this wake going to take then?"

"Ah you know, the usual..." He took a bite of donut and spoke through the crumbs, "wake stuff."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You don't have a clear idea, do you?" Her tone was accusatory.

"I have done this before – you do remember  Major Hawkins'? – but Daniel... well, he didn't even like beer!"

The thought of Daniel's memorial party turning into a beer spattered, drunken, boiled-egg eating competition turned the Major's stomach.

"Tell you what, Sir," Sam mentally pulled herself together. She was going to have to be convincing or he'd never go for it. "You're pretty good at motivating people, you take care of the guest list and find a mutually convenient date, and I'll take care of the... ah, refreshments."

Jack looked relieved. "You know, Major, if I'd suggested that you'd have had my... well you'd have been pretty upset."

"How so?"

"Food? Hello! That's woman's work!"

"Well, if you don't..."

"No. That's fine. I'll get working on it right away." Draining his coffee he picked up the remains of her donut and stood up. "We can have a progress report at my place this evening. Bring Teal'c along too."

"Erm..." She swiped the donut. "I think you'll find that's mine!"

"See you around seven then."

*****

Major Carter took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Enter," the deep resonant voice boomed through the metal door making her jump.

"Hey Teal'c," she said to the cross legged figure on the floor. "Am I interrupting you? Because this can wait."

"You are not interrupting Major Carter," he kept his eyes half-closed until Sam had closed the door then looked directly at her for the first time since she'd entered. "How may I be of assistance?"

"I need to pick your brain about something." She sat opposite him and folded her legs into a slightly uncomfortable approximation of the Lotus position. I'll remember to wear looser clothes next time.

"Should we not be in the infirmary for such a procedure?"

"Ah no, it's a figure of..."

"…speech. I know. DanielJackson has instructed me in many of your curious phrases." Teal'c gave her a small smile "I was attempting to..."

"Oh, sorry. I guess I didn't think you'd be up to cracking jokes yet."

"I apologise." Teal'c looked genuinely uncomfortable. "I have distressed you Major Carter. I was unaware of  a taboo regarding levity. Is there a prescribed period of time after someone's death during which mourners must not laugh?"

Teal'c was still shocked at the sudden loss of DanielJackson – especially the manner of his demise: Dying to save a race of people he didn't even like! Teal'c had requested, and received, permission to perform a Jaffa ceremony for a fallen comrade. But he was waiting for the right time. With his emotions still in turmoil he could not give DanielJackson the honour he was due.

He would never have said this to Major Carter, however, because he knew that she was suffering greatly from the loss of her friend. Added to which, he didn't yet have enough of a command of the English language to articulate his feelings sufficiently. So he stayed silent and buried the pain deep within himself. The ceremony he planned to honour DanielJackson would be a more appropriate time for him to release it.

"Ah... no... well..." Sam didn't know how to explain herself, she groped around for the right words. "It's up to the individual. Anyway... we're having a wake for Daniel and I'd appreciate your ideas on how best we can do this."

"Wake?" For a split second Teal'c looked confused.

Recognition dawned. "Ah. Yes. When he was trapped with the Nem..." Sam and Teal'c both pondered the improbable fact that they were planning a second wake for their friend.

Again they had no body to keep watch over, there was no body to bury – nothing tangible to mourn. Sam was having a huge problem coming to terms with the fact that there would be no more Daniel in their lives, in her life. She looked over at Teal'c. He too looked ragged around the edges, his eyes were puffy and he appeared tired.

He waited patiently until Sam had her emotions under control and spoke again.

"It will be a celebration of his life." A statement not a question.

"Yes." She fiddled with her bootlace. "Colonel O'Neill has agreed to let me organise something for Daniel, he's going to take care of who comes and when and where."

"A wise decision."

"We want to keep this small, just here on the base, maybe Kassuf and Skaara – if we can find him."

"Laia."

"The Nox? I'd almost forgotten them. Yes, we must include them."

Teal'c inclined his head. He'd long suspected that the Tau'ri had no real respect for their warriors, and he felt that a wake did not fully acknowledge the fight that Daniel had put up to save his planet. But if this was the custom on his adopted planet, one thing he could do for his friend would be to give his best effort.

"Teal'c... what I'd like to do is organise something that Daniel himself would like to take part in. Remember Major Hawkins'?"

"Indeed. DanielJackson left when Colonel O'Neill tried to kiss him."

"Exactly. That's why I had to head him off at the pass. We can get some ideas together, and have the whole thing in place, if we're quick, and present it as a fait accompli – ah, as a finished package. So we have to work quickly, before the Colonel has the cooks start boiling the eggs already."

Teal'c knew what was required here. He uncrossed his legs and stood. Holding out his hand he hauled Carter to her feet.

"Sergeant El Hori is Lebanese. We should speak with her."

While Sam gaped at him, he walked over and held the door open.

"Is this against the protocol of the wake? To ask somebody outside of the family of the deceased."

The gape became full-blown open-mouthed astonishment. Again, Sam shook her head and made up her mind that she would definately get to know this man better.

Teal'c found it perfectly normal to regard SG-1 as a family. This time she wouldn't make the mistake of... feeling the tears well up at the memory of the last time she'd spoken to Daniel, she pushed them down again and resolutely followed the Jaffa to the commissary.

As he punched the elevator buttons, she voiced some of the questions that had formed back in his quarters.

"How do you know about Sergeant El Hori?"

"DanielJackson told me that her family owns a Lebanese restaurant not far from here."

As an explanation it didn't rate much with Sam's enquiring mind.

"Yes, but why were you talking about Lebanese food."

"The food here at the SGC is very different from that which I am used to. DanielJackson noticed that I did not relish it, and asked what we eat on Chulak. He told me that it is similar to Middle Eastern food, and asked the Master Chef if they could prepare some."

"And Sergeant El Hori is a cook?"

"No, a vehicle mechanic."

Sam waved her arm in a cranking motion.

Teal'c gave a twitch of his lips and continued. "But she is now seconded to the commissary."

"Poor thing."

"She said that it is preferable to stinking like a jeep."

*****

"OK, let me see what we've got then..." Sam ran her pencil down the list of dishes that Sergeant El Hori and Teal'c had suggested as Daniel's favourites "... falafel, tabbouleh, um... those cheese things in pastry..."

El Hori and Teal'c nodded in unison.

"... then there are the lamb and chicken doo-dahs... sorry, I didn't write the names, just the descriptions... that chickpea thing... various dips and side dishes. And about 500 desserts – ah, no jello. That's an order Sergeant."

"Dr. Jackson has a sweet tooth." El Hori realised what she'd said and coloured.

"It's alright Sergeant." Sam gave her a sympathetic smile.

"Okay drinks then." She flipped her pad to a fresh page, and wrote at the top in big letters 'No Beer', looking sheepishly at the other two she stated simply. "He doesn't... like it."

"Tea and coffee. I never saw him drink anything else." Sergeant El Hori shrugged. "Although I guess water too."

"Beer and wine would be good." Carter scratched out what she'd written at the top of the page. "Juice and stuff. Okay there's something I'm missing..." she tapped the end of her pen on the table-top and let her mind drift.

Sam cast her mind back to the first time she'd met Daniel. That first shove in the back had sent her flying through the Stargate and into an adventure so huge it almost didn't bear thinking about. And there, among the people of Abydos, living in a pyramid, she'd met Daniel.

He had been bursting to share the information he'd discovered on the cartouche with someone who could understand. She'd shared in his excitement, made a few of her own observations and from the moment she'd explained his inability to dial anywhere with her theory about planetary drift she'd seen how quick he was to grasp new ideas.

Sam had always loved his enthusiasm for everything new, for learning. He was one of the first people she'd ever met with whom she didn't feel like the geeky outsider...

Not liking the maudlin turn her thoughts were taking she went back over that meeting, that first time O'Neill and the others had returned to be welcomed like long-lost friends. What a celebration that had been.

And then it came back to her.

They had been drinking some sort of alcohol that Daniel had taught the boys to make. Sam had no idea how to make the stuff, but she thought that she might know a man who could.

She realised that someone was talking to her and looked over at the source of the voice.

"Major Carter, perhaps you should rest?" Teal'c looked concerned.

"How long was I..." She shook her head. "We need to make a still."

The Jaffa and the Sergeant looked at her blankly.

She grinned at them. "We're going to make moonshine!"

"Well, Ma'am, don't look at me." Sergeant El Hori stood up. "I'll go and start getting this organised – do you have a date yet?"

"I'll let you know after I speak with Colonel O'Neill."

"If you're going to be speaking to him anyway, Ma'am..." She looked shiftily around, then leaned towards her and whispered conspiratorially. "Ask him if he's still got all the gear in his cellar."

Tapping the side of her nose she disappeared quickly back into the kitchen.

*****

Sam pressed her index finger firmly on the doorbell and waited patiently for the door to open.

And waited.

She looked at her watch and smiled, 19:01 – he was late!

Suddenly the door was wrenched open and O'Neill stood there, panting slightly with an apologetic smile.

"Sorry I was up on the..." He waved his arm to indicate the deck.

"I was just going to check around there."

"So," He waved her in. "Do you want a beer or something?"

"Better not, I'm driving. Any coffee going?"

They sat at the kitchen table, he pulling sporadically on a bottle of beer and she sipping her coffee.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours!" He leered at her, stood up and started fumbling with his jeans.

"Erm... Sir..."

Feigning innocence he gave her a wide-eyed stare "What? What?! We're supposed to be comparing notes! Get your mind out of the gutter, Major!"

He pulled a notebook out of a front pocket.

Sam grinned. This was like old times.  Each of them pushed their notebook towards the other, flipped them open and began to read. The Major glanced surrepticiously over at her CO and waited for the inevitable explosion.

Which didn't come.

She looked down at the pad in front of her. A list of names, mostly those they'd already discussed, plus a few of the other SGC personnel, was followed by a scrawled sentence that she was having difficulty reading. She looked closer, and managed to make it out. Her face twiched but she managed to squash a full-blown smile as she read aloud what he'd written.

"Erm... Colonel... 'If you're thinking of organising some of that sheep's eyeball stew type stuff – count me out!' Damn! I knew I'd forgotten something!"

She reached over and pulled her notebook out of his hands, held it out of his reach and scribbled furiously 'Sheep's Eyeball stew – check it's organic'.

As soon as it came back within his range Jack snatched the notebook away and continued to read with a half-smile on his lips. If they could stay like this, things would get back to normal in no time. Well, as near normal as life got when you went through a wormhole for a living.  As normal as it will be without Daniel...

He looked over and spoke aloud. "What? No pizza?"

Jack read further and finally grunted his approval, as she knew he would.

So far they had a guest list, a food list and...

Jack casually turned the page and started to read the drinks list. "No! You put tea at the top?!"

"Teal'c's idea. They drink a refreshing type of tea on Abydos, which is similar to green tea. Oh, that reminds me. We'd better get in touch with Kassuf. He doesn't know about... Daniel."

The pause before their erstwhile colleague's name reminded them why they were making the lists. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Jack spoke.

"Look, if you think this is a bad idea..."

"No, it's a good idea. We all loved Daniel in our own way... and without a..."  She swallowed. "Funeral... well you know."

"Yeah. I know."

Sam collected herself and spoke with a smile. "This time I'll make sure I hide your hockey stick!"

"It's in the basement with the..."

"Ah! That reminds me! I heard you have a still down there? Have we got enough time to make some moonshine?"

"Major! As if I, upstanding pillar of the military community that I am, would have such a..." He wilted under her penetrating stare. "I'll show you."

Jack lead the way and Sam followed muttering under her breath. "Some black ops guy you must have been... talk about caving in!"

"I warn you now, it's not pretty down there... but at least I don't have the makings of a mini Stargate lying around."

Sam shoved him in the back. "Lead the way, or I'll bust you to the feds."

Contrary to Jack's protestations the basement was the picture of tidy orderliness that she had come to expect from the Colonel. They went through a utility room with a washer/dryer in one corner next to a set of carefully labelled – whites, lights and darks – laundry baskets (all empty) and a small pile of neatly folded clothes on a cabinet next to it. Cleaning materials were on a shelf fixed above a large chest freezer. Sam barely had time to register a rack of cleaned and securely stored power tools before she was whisked into the next room which was an angler's paradise.

Jack was tugging a cabinet but waved away her offer of help. She looked around the room, fascinated that one man could need so much equipment to not catch any fish.

Underneath a plaque on the furthest wall there was a table laden with small, clear plastic boxes of the type used to freeze fresh herbs.

Closer inspection of the table revealed a jeweller's lamp and several small feathers.

"Admiring my flies Carter?"

"You made these?" She indicated a row of tiny feathered hooks stuck into a boonie hat.

"Yeah – keeps me out of mischief." He jerked his thumb and she looked past his shoulder to a large square of cloth hanging on the wall. It was about 3 feet square, barely recognisable as white because it was covered with hundreds of the flies.

They probably represented a whole lot of sleepless nights she summised.

"So. Here it is!" He gave the cabinet a last shove and revealed a dusty still. "Of course, we don't have the time really, but we could use it as a centrepiece..."

"Well... General..." Jack held up an imperious hand and slienced her.

"We could use it as a centrepiece and drink these," he pulled a cloth and revealed a crate full of bottles.

"What the...?"

"Daniel had hobbies too you know."

"Hobbies? You mean he... I mean... Daniel..."

"Yep."

"No!"

"He wasn't exactly a goody two shoes you know."

"Yeah, but this is... well... illegal!"

"So – it's ok for me to have it here, but not for Daniel?"

"Yes. I mean. No. I mean... Daniel?"

"I made the mistake of asking him once what they'd done for entertainment on Abydos. I figured that even Daniel couldn't spend the whole time ogling rocks. So he showed me."

Jack plucked one of the bottles, all of which had previously contained whiskey, out of the crate and handed it to her.

She stood looking at the clear liquid for a while, remembering the man who had made it, hoping that he really had gone somewhere where he could be happy. Sighing she handed the bottle back.

"How much of that stuff is there?"

"Oh, around 20 bottles," he gave her a sly smile. "So, that's me and the doc taken care of..."

He was rewarded with a smile. "I'll tell her you said that."

Jack winced. "Guess I'm in for a whole load of shots then."

"Okay then, let's go back up and see if we can do something about a venue."

Sam took a last look around the fishing paraphernalia and started up the stairs.

Watching her Jack paused for a bit to admire the view, and then called after her. "No chance that you want to come to Minnesota with me? The bass there are..."

"I know. That big!" Her voice floated down to him. "Thanks, but no thanks."

Walking into the kitchen Jack automatically refilled her coffee cup and took another beer out of the fridge for himself.

Sam indicated the bottle in his hand. "Got another one of those?"

The innocent question stopped him in his tracks. He swallowed once or twice before answering.

"Sure, I'll have to go down and get some from the basement."

His exit from the kitchen was swift and Sam was sure she'd seen something glint in his eye. She pondered what she might have said to make Jack go off like that. Sam knew that it must have been something bad, because she'd seen at least another six brown bottles before Jack had slammed the fridge door closed.

Knowing that grief could catch someone totally unawares, she decided to give him some space. Tearing off a blank sheet she scribbled a note and weighted it down on the table with his beer bottle.

She was opening her car door when a shout from the house made her turn and walk back.

"Thought you might need some time to yourself."

"Thanks – I'm okay." He held out a bottle. "Here, still want it?"

As she approached the front door Sam saw Jack's slightly reddened eyes but made no comment.

"He said that when he came here, and I..." Jack stared up at the starry sky and spoke so quietly that Sam could hardly hear him. "I said awful things... I never knew if he understood..."

Sam too had never fully discussed Jack's little extra curricular NID activities with Daniel. She and Teal'c had totally accepted – after the event – the secrecy insisted upon by the Asgard and the Tollan.

Understood.

They hadn't necessarily liked it but they'd understood.

It must have been hard for Daniel, she reflected. Subterfuge was almost a dirty word to him.

Absently she rubbed Jack's arm. "Well, if he didn't before, I'm sure he did after his little trip with Dad."

The catch in Sam's voice made him turn and put his arms around her. She rested her head on his shoulder and linked her hands behind his back.

Tears that he had been fighting off for a week threatened once again to win the battle and Jack cast around for something to say that would lighten the mood. He opened his mouth to speak but was surprised to find a hand covering it.

"Save it Colonel. It's okay to be sad."

"Yes, but it's not okay for us to be sad like this." He moved abruptly away and immediately cursed himself when he saw the momentary flash of regret on her face.

Such expressive eyes, he thought, I wonder what I'd see in them if I looked real close.

"Fancy a pizza?" Not waiting for a reply he disappeared back into the house and pressed #1 on his speed dial.

Sam walked past him into the living room, swigging on her beer as she did so. As she got to the entrance she looked back over her shoulder and smiled.

"No anchovies, right? And extra peperoni, not too much garlic and make sure they use fresh tomatoes..."

Jack was making yapping signs with his hand. "Jeez! I know! I know! You're worse than that one in 'When Harry Met Sally'... what was her name now?"

Half wishing that the moment by the front door hadn't passed, Sam made herself comfortable on the sofa and looked around the room. She smiled at the model aircraft which seemed so old-fashioned to her, being so used to gliders and Asgard motherships.

"Hey, you should make a model of the O'Neill!"

"Yeah right. I never even saw it. And I never will since you blew it up in a jealous fit!"

"As if I'd do a thing like that!"

Jack stood in the doorway displaying uncharacteristic indecisiveness. Part of him – a very large part he had to admit – wanted to sit on the sofa right next to Sam, put his arms round her and never move again. However, there was another very large part – a very vocal large part – that wanted to keep her on his team.

Jack wanted her there for various reasons, not only because of her prodigious abilities but also, he'd long ago admitted to himself, because he wanted to make sure she was safe.

Although being on SG-1 wasn't a guarantee that she would come back in one piece. Nor that the one piece that did come back would still be alive. Jack sighed. Thinking like that would take him back to Daniel again and he wasn't ready for that right now.

"So, what happened to Teal'c? I thought he was coming too?"

"He's been invited out with Sergeant El Hori. Some huge family celebration."

"El Hori? Who's he?"

"She."

"Okay. Who's she?"

"Vehicle mechanic. Works in the commissary.

"Oh that El Hori. Where else would a vehicle mechanic work? She's probably..." Jack's tirade against military chefs was, mercifully for Sam, interrupted by the pizza being delivered.

After paying for the pizza Jack walked back into the living room. "Here, take this, I'll get some more drinks."

The next few minutes were silent as they ate pizza washed it down with beer.

"So." Jack spoke through a mouthful of food. "Where are we going to hold the... you know."

"Sir, it's a wake. And if you're not ready to say the word, well... maybe this isn't the time to have it." Sam had a sudden and irrational flare of anger that was gone almost as soon as it had arrived.

"Sorry. It just seems so... oh I don't know... not final... I can't..."

"I know. But look at it this way. At least we got to say goodbye. To tell him we..." She stopped and looked over at Jack. "I mean, you did tell him, didn't you?"

"I think he got it. I'm not good at that sort of thing. You know," he waved his hand around. "The whole 'feelings' thing."

"See? We've already said goodbye. The sad part is over, now we have to honour him, and remember the good things." Sam stopped to finish her beer and picked up the next one.

Jack thought she had said it more to convince herself, her voice had had a distinct wobble to it.

After a short pause she spoke again. "If we're going to do it properly we're going to have to go to Abydos."

They both fell silent again, devoting their surface attention to their food but in actuality they were both thinking about Daniel and how his absence would affect their lives.

The pizza was only half eaten when Jack's watch gave a series of bleeps. "Ah, damn it, is that the time?"

"Got to be somewhere?"

"Not exactly. Come on, you can help me."

Sam followed as Jack went up the stairs and into a room on the first floor. She stopped dead in the doorway when she saw that it was the master bedroom.

"Carter! Drag your mind out of the gutter!" He grinned. "How much do you know about fish?"

"Catching or eating?"

"Feeding and maintenance," Jack indicated an alcove behind the door.

Peeking round Sam saw a fish tank. "Um, isn't that kind of 'poacher turned gamekeeper'-ish?"

She looked closer. "Oh. Isn't that..?"

"Yes. And last time you saw it there were about a dozen more fish in it."

"Are you feeding them enough?"

"No idea."

"You have to be careful though," she said thoughtfully. "I'm pretty sure they can die of overeating. They have a very short memory span, so they forget they've eaten and then..."

"Ka-boom?"

"Well, not exactly. But I think their internal organs explode or something."

"Thanks for that mental image."

"You're welcome."

Side by side now, they leaned forward for a closer look.

"Look, that one does tricks!"

"I don't really think it's supposed to be doing that. There aren't many fish that... oh, it's floating on the top now." Sam looked around. "Have you got a net? You'll have to get it out."

"Net? I haven't got a net." Jack gave her a sideways look. "Wait, I've got one downstairs."

Before she realised what she was doing Sam reached out and slapped Jack's rump.

"Ouch!"

"You deserved that," she smiled. "I'll hold the lid up, you get it out with your hand."

"That lid is heavy, I'll hold – you fish..." Once again he was beaten by the icy stare of doom. "Okay, okay. You hold."

With a sigh, Jack unbuttoned his cuff and rolled his sleeve halfway up his arm.  Grumbling and muttering under his breath, he scooped the lifeless fish from the water and made his way to the bathroom, where he unceremoniously flushed it down the toilet.

Drying his arm he wandered back in the bedroom where he was surprised to find Carter leaning against the wall next to the fish-tank. Her head was pushed back exposing her neck and her eyes were tightly shut. She was shaking uncontrollably and tears were streaming down her face.

Jack was nonplussed. She'd been alright a moment ago. Probably the fact that he was killing off Daniel's pets one by one was having an effect on her.

Standing in front of her Jack didn't know what to do. That hug on the porch had resurrected feelings he thought he'd had well under control, but they'd bubbled up to the surface, just like the dead fish and he knew that he'd have a hard time stamping them down again. He watched aghast as Sam slid slowly to the floor still shaking, eyes tight shut, hugging her body tightly.

It must be bad, how can I have been so stupid?

Jack knelt next to her and tentatively reached out a hand, to hell with regulations, and touched Sam on the arm. She gave a small, convulsive jerk and opened her eyes.

The sight of Jack, face full of concern set her off again, but this time instead of silent shaking she gave way to a complete belly laugh. Tears didn't just stream down her cheeks they seemed to spring from her eyes with the force of her laughter and her face was bright red.

Jack knelt back, puzzled at her behaviour.

"Carter! What the..." She merely waved her hands in front of her in a gesture that told him she couldn't talk. "Sam! Snap out of it!"

His use of her first name was so unusual that she managed, somehow, to stop laughing long enough to take three huge gulping breaths, before disolving into silent giggles.

"So... so... sorry, Sir. Wait." Sam flapped her hands around some more and tried to calm down. But each time she thought she was close, she looked over at Jack and lost control.

Jack stood up.

"Okay. I'll call the doc shall I?" His face was serious.

"No no no no no no no... I'm fine. It's just that you.... and the fish... and fishing... and you never... I mean... I've never actually..." Sam had been sitting with her back to the wall. She slid slowly sideways until she was lying on the floor. "I mean... you could have had it... mounted... on a... like a ..."

"Oh very funny. I've been worried sick that you're having some kind of ... attack... and you're making jokes," he stifled a laugh. "About my fishing abilities?"

His indignant tone caused Sam even more mirth, and her laughter was infectious. Within seconds they were both on the floor with tears streaming down their faces. Eventually they stopped and looked at each other guiltily. The fact that they were laughing about something so trivial while still under the shadow of Daniel's death shocked them into silence.

Sam gathered herself together first.

"C'mon. Our pizza will be stone cold by now." She held out a hand to pull him up.

Jack, however, didn't want to stand up. Didn't want to eat cold pizza. Didn't want to do anything except... he put out his hand, grasped Sam just above the wrist and pulled her down. She landed awkwardly across his knees.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Not really."

"Want to talk about it?" Sam manoeuvered herself into a more comfortable position. If this was the only way she could get him to talk, she'd use the opportunity and worry about possible consequences later.

"Not really."

"I know you don't really go for the 'Pop Psych' thing, but I really think it would help."

For the second time that day, Sam's unconscious repetition of a phrase that had popped up during that awful exchange with Daniel stunned Jack into silence. The difference this time was that with her sitting on his lap he couldn't run away.

His reaction to her words didn't go unnoticed by Sam.

"And it's no good pretending you have to get beer from the basement, because we don't need any."

"You want to talk?" Jack chanced a look at her face.

"No. I don't want to talk. But I think you need to. And if you'd rather talk to a professional, or another guy, then that's ok too. But I'm here if you want me."

Another silence.

Sam reddened as she realised what she'd said.

Jack shifted underneath her.

"Well, I guess that's an offer I can't refuse. Let's get comfortable then." It was his turn to blush as he heard the time honoured invitation leave his lips. "I mean, let's go downstairs."

This time when she held out her hand to him he took it and pulled himself up, muttering that his knees weren't what they used to be. But he didn't let go of her hand as they made their way back to the living room, and Sam was unresisting as he led her to the sofa and made her sit next to him.

Outside it was dark and the room was dim. The cloud cover had all but dissipated and the half moon shone through the uncurtained window. Neither of them made an attempt to switch on one of the lamps.

They sat for a few minutes, holding hands on the sofa in the gloom each of them deep in thought.

Jack spoke first. "So, how does this work then?"

"No idea."

"You go first then."

"No, you go first."

"No you."

"No... Oh, I know where I'm going." Sam stood and went up to the bathroom.

When she returned Jack had closed the blinds and switched on a few table lamps. The character of the room had changed. Whereas before it had been dark and gloomy now the pools of yellow light made the room welcoming and cosy. Jack came out of the kitchen with two more bottles of beer and pressed one into Sam's hand.

He sat on the sofa, leaned back, put his feet up on the coffee table and looked at Sam expectantly. But the mood had gone.

"So, you had something you wanted to say?"

"Not exactly."

The silence was uncomfortable. Jack distracted himself by peeling the label off his beer bottle. Then he blew across the top a few times and looking satisfied at the different resonances he achieved after drinking and blowing again.

Sitting at the opposite end of the sofa Sam merely watched him fiddling nervously with the bottle, waiting for him to settle down a little before trying to draw something out of him.

Jack blew across the bottle once more, not raising his eyes to look at Sam, not trusting himself not to melt when he saw her intense stare. Finally he looked up and simply stared. He couldn't find the words to start to say all he had to get off his chest. And as usual in such situations instead of doing what he thought of as 'a Daniel' – opening his mouth and letting it all run out – he did what he always did. Stayed silent.

After a few seconds Sam winked at him and the moment was gone. The atmosphere lightened and finally Jack looked directly into the eyes he'd been avoiding all evening. Sam looked expectantly back and he gave an inward sigh.

He couldn't do it. There was no way he was going to talk about his feelings to this woman. To any woman come to that. Not that he had any intention of talking about them to a man either.

Sam spoke again.

"Look, Sir, you really need to talk. Daniel was a huge part of our lives. He had an effect on people."

"He had an effect on me alright. Annoying isn't the word!"

Sam was shocked. Searching Jack's face for some indication that he was joking and not finding any,  her shock transformed into anger.

"This is a waste of time."

Carefully placing the nearly full bottle on the table she stood and stalked towards the front door. She was so angry with him, and not wanting to speak to her CO she simply let herself out, got into her car and drove home.

Sam had drunk only one bottle of beer over the whole evening, and eaten some pizza. She trusted herself to drive, but was careful nevertheless. Although there was a part of her that was so livid with the Colonel's attitude that she thought it would serve him right if she ended her life wrapped around a tree.

*****

Having arrived safely Sam walked into her house and not bothering to switch on any lights went into the bathroom. Often when she was mad she had a long soak and worked through her anger, examining it as carefully as she looked at soil samples that SG-1 brought back through the Stargate.

Turning the taps full on, Sam decided that tonight would be a good night to try a scented candle she'd been given for Christmas. The moon shone through the small window and reflected off the opposite, mirrored cabinet door giving enough light for her to make out the label.

"Lavender, a good aid for a restful night." She read. "Sure, I can go for that."

Sam rummaged around in the bathroom cabinet for a lighter. She'd put it in there when she'd decided that she wanted to try a bath by candlelight. It always looked so great in films and on TV, but she'd not tried it yet.

Of course, it would be so much more atmospheric if she had someone to share the bath with. Harrison Ford or Al Pacino for example.

Or Colonel O'Neill.

She snorted at her own wild imagination. Further rummaging in the cabinet produced a bottle of lavender scented aromatherapy bath oil, and a couple more small – unscented – candles. The room was warming up and the smell of the lavender rose and swirled around Sam with the steam. She decided to go the whole hog.

Shivering in only her underwear and socks Sam turned off the taps, scurried into the kitchen, and scrabbled around in a drawer until she discovered the corkscrew by jabbing her finger with it. Crouched down in front of the wine rack, she toyed with the idea of opening the bottle of Champagne that she'd been keeping in the fridge for a special occasion.

Nah, that's for happy times... what's this one? Sam finally settled on a Côtes du Rhône, and pulled the cork. After collecting a glass, she opened the freezer, and finally had to give in and switch on the light so that she could find what she was looking for.

I don't know why they don't put lights on freezers as well as fridges she grumbled to herself as she delved among Ben and Jerry's finest and frozen gourmet meals for one.

Not long after she'd started at the SGC Sam had decided that normal methods of shopping and eating couldn't apply. After having emptied the entire green-furry contents of her fridge into the trash for the third time, she'd placed a standing order with her local supermarket. They delivered the meals once a month, which her neighbour deposited in her deep freeze when Sam wasn't at home. That meant that Sam only had to spend a little of her first downtime morning at the local market buying fruit and vegetables. The only problem with this was that her fridge was usually empty but she'd learned to live with that.

Sam smiled to herself as she remembered the first time that Daniel and the Colonel had been in her kitchen. They'd all gone to a bar after a particularly tiresome mission to a hot, dry, sandy planet. It had been made worse by the fact that it had been high summer and uncharacteristically hot at the SGC complex for the previous week because the air conditioning was broken. SG-1 had been scheduled to visit a lush green planet, but the mission had been changed at the last minute when the Tok'ra had reported a potentially useful site on another planet.

The Colonel had bitched and moaned about the heat and the sand the whole time, Daniel had been disappointed that the artefacts they had found weren't at all helpful and even Teal'c had been relieved to get back to the SGC. After one of the quickest debriefs in the history of SG-1 they met at a bar to unwind over a few beers.

The few beers had stretched to several but eventually their hunger had won out over their thirst. As Sam's house was closest they had summoned a taxi and much to the bartender's relief, made a noisy exit.

Still standing in the kitchen in her underwear, Sam let her mind drift back to happier times...

After some good-natured bantering about who should use Sam's 'facilities' first – an argument that Sam had won by sneaking into the bathroom whilst Jack and Daniel argued the point – they descended on the kitchen like a hungry pack. As the hostess she'd offered to cook something, but waving her aside Jack had declared his willingness to prepare a feast. His exact words were somewhat slurred but the rest of the team got the meaning.

Sam, Teal'c and Daniel sat at the breakfast bar and watched as Jack rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands. He looked around for a few seconds before locating an apron.

"What? What?!" his indignant, hands on hips posture sent Sam into a fit of giggles, caused Daniel to choke on a mouthful of beer and it was left to Teal'c to point out that an apron decorated with Broiderie Anglaise hearts was rather incongruous coupled, as it currently was, with desert boots, ancient jeans and a black shirt.

Jack shrugged off his friends' astonishment and swaggered over to the fridge. Two pairs of eyes looked expectantly at him, the third pair closed slowly and remained in that position for the several seconds it took him to throw open the door – and let out a shout of surprise.

"For cryin' out loud, Carter! What's this?"

Sam opened her eyes to see the Colonel, dressed in the apron her neighbour had given her last Christmas, standing in front of a near empty fridge – with the door wide open - holding something fluffy at arm's length. He held it gingerly, as though it would bite at the first opportunity.

She sighed and looked at three expectant faces.

"Close the fridge door first, Sir."

Jack complied with a guilty look. But not before he'd pointedly looked at each shelf in turn and rolled his eyes at Daniel and Teal'c.

"Carter?"

"It's no different at your house."

"There is nothing blue and furry in my fridge!"

Daniel made a barely audible comment.

"What's that Daniel?"

"Er... nothing."

"I believe DanielJackson said 'Green and fluffy more like' O'Neill."

Jack gave Daniel a withering glance. "And I suppose yours is stuffed with healthy snacks and fruit juice, Dr. Jackson?"

He struck his forehead and did a passable Homer Simpson impression. "Doh! I forgot, it's all chocolate cake and fish-food in yours!"

Daniel muttered again.

"Speak up Daniel, I can't hear you!" Jack's singsong voice finished Sam and she slid from her stool clutching her stomach – and her bottle of beer – laughing silently.

"I believe..." Teal'c was surprised into silence by a sudden dig in his ribs from Daniel.

"It doesn't matter, Teal'c, it wasn't important." Daniel reached down and hauled Sam back up to her stool. "What is that thing, anyway?"

"That thing," Sam was indignant. "That thing, as you call it, is a ball of mohair."

"Is it edible?" Teal'c looked dubious.

"No it isn't!" Sam slid off the stool but this time stayed on her feet – just – walked around the bar and snatched the expensive ball of wool from the Colonel's hand and put it back in the salad crisper from whence it came. As she was closing the door, Jack's hand shot out and wrenched it open again.

"Aha!" He reached into the fridge and removed another item. "What's this then?"

Sam blushed to her roots and tried to snatch the object from him, but Jack was too fast and too tall. He held his hand over his head and pushed Sam gently away.

Jack brought his arm down and squinted at the object in his hand. It was blue and shiny. He poked it with a wary finger, and registered with some surprise, in his semi-drunken state, that it was some tightly rolled fabric. He raised it to his nose and inhaled. The blue satin gave of a faint smell of lavender.

Sam was staring at her COs behaviour, but made no move to stop him. Her wide-eyed gaze soon became open-mouthed incredulity when he shook the material.

It flapped gracefully before him, then separated into two parts, one of which fluttered onto the surface of the breakfast bar. Daniel and Teal'c merely gazed at it. Jack suddenly realised what it was and turned to Sam.

"Carter?" he raised both eyebrows – regretting yet again that he didn't have the facial muscles to execute a Teal'c-style slow arch of one brow – and held the garment up against himself.

"Hmmm... blue silk jammies. Not really me, are they?"

"It's a good thing they're mine then, isn't it?" Sam snatched both pieces of her nightwear and rolled them expertly into a small bundle. Placing them back in the door rack of the fridge she tried to shoo the Colonel away, but he was having too much fun.

Pushing her gently back towards her stool, he patted her shoulder sympathetically.

"You're obviously deranged, perhaps I should check your drawers for lettuce and milk?"

"Not deranged, and if you go near my bedroom I'll shoot you."

Daniel held up a hand, like a child at school, with one finger extended.

"Uh... Sam?"

"Yes Daniel. What is it?"

"Uh... what... I mean... um... well..." His voice petered out and he gave up the effort, looking helplessly at Teal'c and Jack, in turn, for support. Which was not immediately forthcoming.

After a few seconds, Jack sighed loudly and spoke slowly, as though to a child.

"The man with a million languages in his brain is trying to ask you why you keep your jammies in the fridge." Jack looked like the brainy kid at school who knew the answer but wouldn't tell.

The man who, in reality, had rather less than a million languages in his brain, but rather a lot of beer in his belly, blushed furiously, nodded and took refuge in his beer bottle.

Teal'c cleared his throat.

"Would it not be sensible in this heat to place items of clothing in the refrigerator?"

"And why would that be sensible?" Jack attempted the eyebrow manoeuvre again, but succeeded only in looking as though he were constipated.

"In weather like this, it's nice to put cool clothes on at bedtime. That's all."

"So… what else have you got stashed in here?"

"Let me think…" Sam ticked the items off on her fingers. "Pajamas, Champagne, beer, mohair, films, coffee beans… Yes. I think that's about it."

"And it hasn't occurred to you that none of those items are edible?"

"MREs aren't edible." Daniel was slumped over the breakfast bar, muttering to himself. "And we eat those."

Sam was brought back, shivering, to the present. She was feeling cold now, so she roused herself and walked quickly back to the bathroom. The room smelled faintly of warm lavender. Sam poured a glass of wine and lit the candles, increasing the warmth and adding to the smell. Stripping off her underwear she stepped into the bath and sank back, glass in hand, luxuriating in the feel of the warm water.

Closing her eyes and relaxing as far back as she could, Sam let her mind go blank. Sipping the wine she tried to get rid of the tension that had built up that day. It wasn't easy. Losing one of her best friends had been a terrible blow but she was starting to get used to the fact that Daniel wasn't going to be around anymore.

Actually that wasn't entirely true.  It was quite possible that he would be around sometimes, but it wouldn't be the same. Nothing was ever going to be the same. She sighed.

Right now her biggest headache was Jack's refusal to confront his feelings about what had happened to Daniel. How to get him to talk was what concerned her. Sam knew that until she came up with a solution, the problem was going to bug her endlessly.

Finishing the glass of wine, Sam ran some more hot water into the tub and tried once more to relax. For just over a week now, every time she'd closed her eyes she had seen Daniel's face. Not how he'd been the last time she'd seen him in the infirmary, but a stream of pictures – like an old-fashioned film reel – of Daniel looking happy at a discovery, looking pensive whilst trying to decipher some writing he'd discovered, looking devastated when something awful had happened.

This time was different. This time she saw the face of Jack O'Neill.

Sam inhaled deeply and tried to dispel the vision and clear her mind. The lavender was soporific, however, and she drifted in a waking dream in which she wasn't sure what she was doing, but she knew it was something important.

Feeling totally relaxed, if not happy, Sam wallowed in the me-time that she had finally allowed herself.

The water was starting to cool, so she reluctantly decided to finish her bath and get ready for bed. Giving herself a wry smile she pulled on flannel pajamas – it was far too cold for silk – and wrapped a towel around her wet hair. She opened the mirrored cabinet to get her toothpaste and brush. Brushing her teeth with one hand she replaced the toothpaste and closed the cabinet door – and promptly spat the toothpaste and brush into the sink.

Reflected in the mirror was a pair of eyes… and they were right behind her!

Sam spun round in time to see something duck down from the window. Wiping her mouth on her towel, she ran to the bedroom and grabbed the baseball bat that lay beside her bed. Without stopping to put something on her feet she ran down the hallway, wrenched open the door and was confronted with 6 feet 2 inches of Air Force Colonel.

Jack stood with one hand raised to ring the bell, the other clutching a bunch of flowers that, Sam saw with surprise, had been picked from his garden.

They gaped at each other for a few seconds before he spoke.

"Well, aren't you going to ask me in?"

"Uh… yes. No! I mean you can't come in!" Sam hadn't loosened her grip on the baseball bat and her knuckles showed white in the dim hallway. "What the hell do you think you were doing at my bathroom window?"

"Let me in and I'll explain." Jack was slurring his words slightly. He looked awful, his eyes were redder than they had been before, his shoulders were uncharactistically slouched and he hadn't bothered to put a jacket on.

Sam stood aside as Jack walked past her. He paused, turned back and thrust the flowers at her.

"Oh. These are for you."

"You shouldn't have."

They both regarded the bent and bedraggled flowers.

"I should have been a bit more sober when I picked them." Jack managed to look sheepish. "I acted like an asshole, and I apologise."

Sam took the flowers. "I'm sure we can do something with them."

Jack followed the pyjama clad woman into the kitchen. She pointed at one of the stools. "You'd better sit down. I'll make some coffee."

Jack slumped against the breakfast bar and watched while Sam quickly set the coffee machine in motion. She rooted around in a cupboard and brought out a tall, slim vase and trimmed the worst of the bent bits off the flowers and put them in water.

"So... care to explain?" Sam spoke without turning round choosing to gather the cups, cream and sugar together instead. Jack had given her a terrible shock, but seeing him in that state had taken the edge off her anger. Now she simply wanted to find out what was eating him.

"No." Came the grunted reply.

"In that case, you can just slope off home again. I'm tired and ready for bed."

"Sorry." Jack's eyes were focussed on his hands splayed on the counter. "I felt bad about earlier and wanted to apologise. I'd better leave." He stood up.

"It's okay. You gave me a shock that's all." Sam gave him an encouraging smile. "So, how long have you been a peeping Tom?"

"Oh that... not long."

"I can see that. You're not very good at it." She brought the coffee to the counter and pushed him back onto the stool. "At least drink this before... you don't have to leave though."

For a few minutes there was silence as they drank their coffee.

Suddenly Sam remembered her hair.

"Uh, Sir? Why don't you sit in the living room while I just get my hair dried?" Sam didn't wait for the reply, which was just as well because there wasn't one, and disappeared into her bedroom. Hastily pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt she then dried her hair quickly, and ten minutes later went into the living room.

Which was empty. As was the kitchen. Sam tensed, her fists were screwed into tight balls and her heart beat faster.

"What the...?" Now she was worried what the Colonel might be up to.

The toilet flushed and she heaved a sigh of relief. Appearing suddenly in the doorway the man in question looked at her worried face in confusion.

"What? What have I done now?"

"Sorry, nothing. I just thought you might have gone..."

"Where? Home? I thought that's what you wanted."

"That's not what I want. What I want is you to talk about this so we can get back to normal."

"Normal? How normal is it going to be 'round here without Daniel?" Jack's voice raised to a shout and his eyes flashed angrily. "What is normal anyway? We spend our lives going to different planets through a wormhole for christ's sake! How normal is that?"

He ran his hands through his hair and looked straight at Sam. "I'm thinking of retiring." He spoke so quietly Sam almost didn't hear him.

And suddenly Sam completely lost her temper with Jack.

"Oh that's right, run away and hide. Only you can't can you? This time he's really gone, there won't be any 'coming out of retirement to find Daniel' this time. He's gone and you're going to have to deal with it. So get in there," Sam pointed towards the living room. "Sit down and get ready to talk!"

To the surprise of both of them, Jack simply followed her shouted orders. Sam stomped over to the fridge, extracted two beers and followed him. She was shaking from a mixture of anger and something else that she couldn't quite identify.

Sam's anger carried her into the living room, onto her armchair and as far as opening her mouth to speak. Jack held up a hand to stop her, but she merely thrust a bottle into it and once again launched into her tirade.

"I mean, you're not the only one who's sick of it all you know! Don't you think I'd like some nice safe job doing some research. But what do I do instead? I'll tell you what: I get shot at, I get beaten up, I get locked up. I'm permanently tired and filthy, some of my best friends have been killed, my Dad is always up to something dangerous and now one of my team-mates has gone God knows where and I'm sick of it all and..."

Sam's voice had grown progressively quieter and now she and Jack sat in stunned silence at her outburst. She was shaking with a mixture of cold and grief which was also manifesting itself as tears that streamed from her eyes. They gathered at her chin in huge drops and fell one by one, slowly at first but as she talked they increased in volume and intensity until her voice gave out and she was in what can only be described as floods of tears.

Jack stared open mouthed at his second in command as she slowly lost her composure. In common with many career military men, when confronted with a woman displaying emotion he was lost. Sam was very aware of how uncomfortable she was making Jack. She could see him fiddling with his beer bottle in her peripheral vision. He was slowly stripping the label away, and blowing across the top between drinks.

Unknown to him this activity was comforting to her in a strange way. It was normal behaviour – for Jack. Slowly the pile of small strips of paper on the coffee table grew. Jack's subconscious timed this activity perfectly. When all the labels had been destroyed, and the bottle was a pure brown glass vessel, unsullied by decoration of any description, the beer was gone. Jack absently reached for the other bottle – Sam's – and started the procedure again.

He had no idea what to say to her, if he should go to her or go away. So they stayed as they were, Sam huddled miserably on the chair, knees drawn up with her eyes buried in them now. Jack sat as close to the edge of the sofa as it's possible to get, decimating the label of yet another bottle.

Of course, it's impossible to cry forever. There always comes a point when the sobs continue without the tears, but even they dwindle – first to gulps then to large hiccoughs and finally to the occasional snivel. In Sam's case it took more than 40 minutes to get to the hiccoughs, and a further ten for the snivelling to fade away completely.

For all of that time, Jack sat concentrating on his bottle, never once looking up at her, but he could sense every twitch and shiver she made. On Sam's part, she was vaguely aware of his hands moving constantly, peeling, scratching and pulling at the damp paper label on the bottle. Now and then he would raise it to his lips and take a small swig. After his drink he would carefully examine the bottle, turning it round three times – always three times – before placing it very carefully on the glass table top, on exactly the same wet ring it had been on before.

Finally, however, Sam finished crying and Jack finished his beer. Sam was still in the same chair, with her knees pulled up to her chest and her forehead resting on them. Jack was uncomfortable on the edge of the sofa, gazing at two identically stripped brown bottles, next to two small piles of minutely shredded paper. He looked over at the chair. It broke his heart to see Sam, who was usually so alive, unmoving. He had to look very closely to see the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed.

Wanting to leave and wanting to stay in equal measure, Jack realised that he was in a situation that he couldn't see a way out of. If he left now he would never be able to comfort Sam. If he stayed he might want to give her too much comfort – and she might not want that. One of them would have to say something, so he sighed and decided it may as well be him. She was mad enough at him already, he really couldn't see how she could get any madder.

But what to say? Something bland and noncommittal? Something gentle and kind? Something facetious? Nothing came immediately to mind so Jack did what he always did. Said nothing.

Silence reigned – and we all got wet. Jack's thoughts were taking a turn for the facile when he realised how he could break the ice.

"Have you ever tried drinking to forget?" Jack closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face.

Sam looked up in surprise at Jack's quiet enquiry. He was still looking at the beer bottles and she wondered for a moment if he was talking to himself.

"No. Never."

"It doesn't work in the long term. But..." Finally he felt he could look at her.

Sam looked awful. Never mind what you see in the movies when the heroine has had a good sob session and then the camera goes all soft focus and shows a glitterey eyed, pink nosed beauty. Sam's eyes were red, puffy and half-closed because of her crying. Her face was white except for her nose, cheeks and forehead, which were a blotchy, angry red. Her nose was running.

Jack spoke very quietly. "So, you want to try it?"

"Not really." Sam looked around for the Kleenex. Finally locating them she ripped 5 out of the box in quick succession and scrubbed at her face, succeeding only in making her forehead redder and her nose shinier. At least it had stopped running.

"Sir, I'm sorry about that. I was speaking out of turn."

"I probably deserved it."

Jack had expected a denial or a small smile at that, but was surprised when his comment only drew a small nod from his 2IC.

"So, Sir, are you going to take your turn?"

"My turn?"

"Well, you know how I feel about all… this," Sam gestured vaguely with hands full of damp tissues. "It's only right that you… well, you know."

"You want me to talk about my feelings?"

"That's right."

"I can't."

That simple truth had more of an effect on Sam than an outpouring of grief. Her eyes widened and her face softened.

Now I'm getting somewhere. If he'll admit he can't talk it's a step in the right direction. She spoke aloud. "Do you want another of those?"

Jack looked at the bottles and the little piles of paper as if seeing them for the first time.

"Yeah, why not."

"Uh, Sir?" Sam shouted from the kitchen. "How did you get here this evening?"

"Cab." He took the beer she offered.

"So?" Sam made herself comfortable in the armchair again, and took a drink.

"Carter, I'm not going to talk about it." He took a long pull at the bottle without taking his eyes off her.

"What do you want to talk about then?"

"There's a conversation killer." Jack started to peel off the label.

"There must be something…" She held up her hand. "Not fishing."

"Ice hockey?" Jack's tone was speculative.

"No. No fishing. No ice hockey.

"Ah."

"How soon do you think we'll get a replacement for Daniel on SG-1?"

The simple statement so casually, yet so carefully, dropped into the conversation had the desired effect. Jack's eyes flashed and his hands worked faster at picking at the bottle.

"Carter! There won't be a replacement for Daniel. Unless it escaped your notice he is…" there was a slight gulp of realisation. "He was one of a kind." Jack concentrated on the bottle in his hand as though he were a heart surgeon at a very difficult stage of a procedure.

There was a very uncomfortable silence, which Sam was determined not to break. She figured that if she could force his hand, the Colonel would let it out this time.

She waited.

And waited.

Jack's bottle was nearly empty, so Sam went back to the fridge and silently handed him another. He drained half of it in one go so, without saying a word, she fetched another and stood it on the table next to the two empty ones.

Jack was carefully pushing his piles of confetti'd lablels into small pyramids. His lips were pressed tightly together, so she simply kept silent and sat down again.

The Colonel finished the third beer and placed the bottle on the damp ring on the table next to it's one-time label. Absently he picked up the next. He read the label and seemed to be weighing something up in his mind. Finally he settled back comfortably on the chair, beer clutched tightly – Sam could see his white knuckles – other hand resting on his thigh.

He swallowed a few times and then started to talk. Not directly at Sam, just to the room in general and his drink in particular, and once he'd started they were both surprised at the volume of words that came out.

Jack started with how he'd felt when he had seen Daniel for the first time, how he'd wanted to kill him – on behalf of the rest of the team, not for himself – when Daniel had explained that he had no idea how to get back to the SGC. He spoke of his relief when the box of tissues had come flying back through the gate, and other episodes of his life with Daniel.

At the beginning it was stilted. Jack spoke in short staccato sentences. But as he warmed up, he relaxed further back on the sofa and closed his eyes, not drinking any more, just telling the Jack and Daniel story.

Sam had been present at more than a few of the incidents he related, and she was pleased to confirm once and for all in her own mind that the antagonism between the two men hadn't been because of their dislike for each other. In fact she began to speculate on their relationship.

Jack spoke with a warmth bordering on passion about Daniel. Sam's eyes widened in surprise as she gradually realised that there had been a very deep friendship between the hard bitten Air Force Colonel, veteran of many dangerous and, frankly, questionable missions, and the archaeologist.

Lost in her own thoughts she suddenly felt a hand on her leg.

"Carter!" The hand shook her. "You okay?"

"Uh… what? Um… yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"Thought you'd gone to sleep." Jack looked suddenly very shy and vulnerable. "Sorry. Didn't mean to bore you. I must have learned a lot more from… well… you know how he could lecture."

Sam put her hand on his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Bad enough to bore you to sleep."

"I wasn't asleep. I just hadn't realised how much you…" Sam stopped abruptly when Jack's hand was suddenly removed and he stood up.

"I'd better go. Can I call a cab?"

"Sir… you don't have to."

"I've taken up too much of your time already."

"You're not going like this."

Jack was swaying slightly as he stood in the middle of the living room, holding a nearly full bottle of beer. With a start, he remembered that he had it and took a long drink. He put the bottle down and peered at his wrist.

"What time is it, anyway?"

"Um… wait…" Sam squinted at the VCR. "It's three-thirty-ish."

"Way past my bedtime."

"Look, stay in the spare room, it's made up already."

"What, and have you talking to me about my feelings over breakfast? No thanks." But Jack made no move.

"Sir, we've done talking. Unless you want to..." Sam looked at him closely and realised she wasn't spinning him a line. He was a lot less tense than he had been for the past few days – she thought the monologue had done him good.

"You okay now?" He searched her face, carefully avoiding eye contact, for signs that she was about to cry again. He didn't think he could cope with that.

"Not really," Sam saw his shoulders sag. "But I will be. Come on, I'll show you where everything is."

*****

Sam woke to the smell of coffee and, for a moment, wondered where she was. She could hear music, some sort of dire German opera, floating out of the kitchen and remembered her houseguest.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but a quick glance over at the alarm clock told her that asking someone, who was so obviously a morning person, to spend the night was rarely a good idea. She wasn't lazy, but Sam was used to staying up for more than half the night and then she liked to squeeze at least six hours worth of sleep in before facing the next day.

Grumbling she pulled on pajamas, slippers and a robe and stumbled her way to the kitchen.

Jack was sitting at the table looking at the paper, eating toast and – judging from the cereal bowl in the sink and the half-empty coffee pot – had been there for some time.

"Mornin' Carter, wasn't expecting to see you at this hour."

"I wanted to mention that." Sam reached over and turned down the volume. "Do you actually know what time it is?"

"Yes thanks."

"I'm going to get the United Nations onto you."

"What?"

"Cruel and unusual punishment. They'll lock you up and throw away the key."

"It's 07:30."

"Correction: it's 07:30 and… and…" Carter spoke very slowly and clearly to get her point across. "It's Saturday, it's 07:30 and… that's Wagner!"

"The sun is shining too. Perfect day isn't it?"

"That's not the particular word I was looking for." Sam slumped in a chair and absentmindedly lifted a piece of toast from the Colonel's plate.

"Here." He thrust a mug of coffee into her hand. "Want some toast to go with that?"

"No."

"How about some cereal? I actually managed to find milk in the fridge today, among the balls of wool, the films and… well whatever that was in the Tupperware box."

"Kimchee." Sam had her eyes closed. "It's edible."

"No. I beg to differ."

Her eyes snapped open.

"You didn't?"

"What?"

"You ate kimchee for breakfast?"

"I didn't know that's what it was. I was hungry and it was…"

"…the first box you opened." Sam finished his sentence.

"But it's okay, I found some cereal and some milk – surprise! – and this green jelly is great!"

Sam stopped chewing and looked at her toast. She gave it an experimental sniff, leapt from her chair and spat her mouthful of toast in the trash, throwing the rest of the slice of toast in after it.

"You okay?" Jack looked confused.

"Green jelly."

"Yes."

"You put the green jelly on toast."

"Yes."

"And ate it?"

"Yes," Jack was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "So…"

"So, that's not jelly."

"No?"

"No!"

"Care to tell me what it is I've just eaten on six pieces… no, you ate one, make that five pieces of toast?"

"Ah. No. not really."

"Carter!"

"Alright. But I don't think it's fatal or anything."

"Fatal?"

"It's 'Swarfega'… you know…"

"Swarfega? For cryin' out loud! What the hell did you have swarfega in the refrigerator for?"

"I'm not really sure to be honest. But couldn't you smell that it wasn't jelly?"

"Of course you put it in the fridge. It's where you put everything. How stupid of me." Jack tried to glower but he had an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. "So, perhaps we have to call the doc? Would you like to tell her that I've been eating the stuff you use to get axle grease off your hands? Or shall I?"

"I said I don't think it's fatal. Anyway, you've been eating rations for years now. You must have a cast iron stomach."

"True. But… tell me. Why do you have that stuff in a jelly jar?"

"I ran out, and my neighbour only had a giant can of the stuff. It was the first thing we found."

"Of course it was."

"I wasn't expecting house guests."

"That's your defence?"

"You've seen my fridge before."

"Ah yes, I should have realised that 99% of the things in your fridge are unfit for human consumption."

"Sir!" Sam gave him a grin. "I have apologised."

The banter was doing both of them good, it was very nearly like old times.

"Okay, I'd better get going. I still have some things to organise."

"I've been thinking about that, Sir."

"Oh?"

"Do you really think it's such a good idea?"

"Like I said, I only have good ideas." Jack put his mug and plate in the sink and walked over to where Sam was sitting. "Don't worry, Major, I won't let it get out of hand."

Jack patted her on the shoulder and walked over to the front door.

"Shouldn't I call you a cab?"

"Ah… I lied last night."

"I've heard that before," Sam muttered, under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. See you later, Sir." Sam closed the door behind Jack and walked slowly into the living room. Last night had been interesting and she wanted to think about it at her leisure.

She sighed as she swept the myriad tiny pieces of paper off the table into the trash and replenished her stock of beer in the fridge. Of course Sam had noticed the Colonel's tendency to fidget and touch things before, but the compulsive beer bottle label thing was a new one on her.

Sam wondered aimlessly around her house. If she were honest with herself she was at a bit of a loose end. Since Daniel's… Not dead! She insisted to herself. He's just… well… different now…

Sam sighed and sat down on the edge of her bed. Now that Daniel was no longer corporeal she couldn't just call him on a Sunday and see if he wanted to go somewhere with her.

Not that she'd ever done that before, it was just now that she couldn't call him she was beginning to regret not having done so before. What was it she'd said that time in the infirmary about not telling people how we feel before it's too late.

Sam sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. This was going to be difficult, the old adage was true: you don't realise what you've got until it's gone. With a very heavy heart Sam went back to the kitchen although she couldn't help but smile when she saw the remains of Jack's breakfast.

Swarfega on toast! Wait until I tell Dan… Sam suppressed the tears that wanted to fall at the thought of her friend. It was going to be more than difficult to deal with having no Daniel around. But at least she wouldn't have to do it alone. Jack was suffering too, and she was pretty sure Teal'c was having an equally hard time of it.

Spending the rest of the morning pottering around half-heartedly straightening the already immaculately tidy house, and doing half a machine-load of laundry Sam found herself sitting in the kitchen, staring blankly at the newspaper wondering what she should eat for lunch.

She wasn't hungry, but wasn't stupid enough to go without food for too long. Her work at the SGC was very physical and she couldn't afford to get out of shape. Instead of moving however she merely sat and stared some more at the newspaper. There was a story on the front page about a dog that had gotten loose and caused havoc on a chicken farm. Some children had collected junk and sold it to raise money for their partner school in Africa. And the local mayor was planning a new 'park and ride' scheme to keep congestion out of town.

All of it totally uninteresting trivia. Sam sighed again. For this they risked their necks a few times a week. So that everyone could go on leading their trivial uninteresting lives. But not only people on Earth, the people of Colona could also now carry on their quarrel with their neighbouring countries thanks to…

It was no good. Everything was leading back to Daniel. Sam felt as though she was being crushed under the enormity of life without him. And he hadn't even been anyone more to her than her team-mate. Her colleague. Her friend. Her best friend. All this and she had waited until only hours before he'd – What? Died? – to tell him so.

Wondering how the married members of the SG teams – Oh God, what about the ones with children? – managed to carry on risking their lives and their families lives to carry on their work Sam felt the slug of despair creep on her. Pretty soon it would crawl over her and cover her with its sticky blackness.

She had sometimes sat alone at home in the evening lamenting her lack of partner. It didn't even have to be a husband, just someone to share the evening with. Sam didn't necessarily bemoan her lack of a sex life, that was something she'd been used to from early on in her carreer. Now that she was engaged on work of such a sensitive nature, she knew that it would be difficult to sustain any sort of serious relationship with someone from outside. And she really didn't want to start a relationship with someone from inside the mountain, although she'd had a few, discreet, offers. One thing she really didn't need was a reputation as the base bicycle.

Now, though, in the immediate aftermath of another… death? I'm really going to have to find a more accurate way of describing what happened to Daniel… He's not dead he's just… ascended. The more often she said that word, the more often she thought it sounded like wishful thinking on Jack's part. On all of their parts.

Although, she did have a hard time explaining to herself the lack of a body to bury. So maybe Jack had been right after all. They'd all seen the swirly white light thing come off the bed where previously Daniel had lain.

Sam let her thoughts drift although she made a conscious effort this time to kep them away from her friend. She was trying to recall just what she had in the freezer when the telepone rudely interrupted her.

*****

"Thanks for coming over."

"No problem, Sir." Sam stepped through the doorway and looked around. The cushions on the sofa were all in a pile at one end, and an afghan was draped casually over the back, as though someone had been lying there and tossed it off suddenly.

She looked more carefully at Jack's face. He looked awful. His hair was sticking out at odd angles, he had lines on his face and his eyes were red and puffy. Sam squashed an indignant thought that he'd woken her early, only to go straight to sleep as soon as he got home.

"So, where's the fire?"

"Sorry. I thought you might like some lunch or something." Jack shifted from foot to foot nervously.

"I'm not really hungry," she lied. "But I don't mind watching while you eat. I could do with some coffee." Sam realised that Jack was in the same position as her: he simply did not know what to do with himself.

A few minutes later she was sipping coffee in the kitchen watching while he expertly whisked some eggs for an omlette.

"Perhaps we can go over the arrangements for Daniel's …"

"No."

"Oh? Why not?"

"I'm not so sure about it now. I mean… the guy's not dead, we don't need to…"

"It was your idea."

"Yes, and now I've changed my mind."

"Maybe we should talk about this on Monday, back on base. We can see what Teal'c and General Hammond think?"

"Whatever."

Jack stirred at some vegetables in a pan. "We've got a mission lined up for Thursday."

Sam gaped at him.

"We're going to stick to having a team of 3 on SG-1 for the time being. Until we can get a fourth."

"So, where are we going?" Sam recovered her composure.

"Not sure. Something to do with naquadah though. So you'll be happy." Jack gave her a sly look. "In your element, so to speak."

His rewarded was a quick flash of smile. "Not that old joke again… how many times have you used it now?"

"Only about a million times." Jack tipped the egg mixture onto the vegetables and concentrated on stirring and tilting the pan. He grated some cheese quickly on top and pushed it under the grill. "Would you pour me some coffee?"

Sam refilled her own and put a second mug on the table. She sipped her coffee and watchd as Jack expertly flipped the omlette onto a plate and carried it over to where she was sitting. He wafted the plate under her nose before sitting opposite her and attacking it as though he hadn't eaten for three weeks.

"Sure you don't want some?" He spoke through a mouthful of egg.

"Nah, it's okay. I had some more toast after you left this morning." Sam coloured.

"What's wrong, Major?"

"Ah, nothing. It just sounded strange. That's all."

Jack continued eating, concentrating on his plate, never raising his eyes to look at the woman sitting opposite.

"I'm sorry about last night. I don't know what came over me."

"It's okay."

"I was… well… kinda lonely I guess."

"I know how you feel." Sam looked as though she were about to burst into tears at any moment.

"Carter… I…" Jack gestured helplessly with his knife and fork.

"I know."

"We need the wake don't we?"

"Yes."

"We have to get… what's the phrase they use?" Jack finished eating and placed his knife and fork neatly on the plate. "Ah yes. Closure. We need to get some closure. We have to get this over as quickly as possible."

"Get it over?" Sam's eyes started to narrow at Jack.

"You know, hold it soon." He was trying to dig himself out of a hole using only his fingers.

"Okay. I've had an idea about that. We have to tell Kassuf. He'll want to do something on Abydos... perhaps we should ask them to prepare it. All we have to do is turn up."

"No sheep's eyeball stew?"

"Nope."

"And I don't have to get out the still?"

"Nope."

"I'll ask the General."

"Of course, Sergeant El Hori and the chefs can still help out with the food if they want. And we can provide refreshments..."

"Except the moonshine. That will be the real thing. The way Daniel taught them."

Sam and Jack regarded each other across the table. It hadn't slipped by them that it was the first time since... well since Daniel had... ascended, that Jack had managed to say his name without a pause either just before or just after his name.

"He's really gone this time, isn't he?" Sam was almost whispering.

"Yep."

"Teal'c thinks our fight against the Goa'uld will suffer because Daniel's not here." Emboldened by Jack's previous success with not choking up over their friend's name, Sam had determined to do the same.

Jack gave her a small smile of encouragement.

"We're getting closure, aren't we?" He imitated the well known host of a daytime chat show.

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Speaking of Teal'c... how is he?" Jack was ashamed to admit that he hadn't checked on the Jaffa more than twice in the past week or so. He'd been too wrapped up in his own grief.

"If I'm honest I haven't a clue. He'll be okay."

"I know he'll be okay – but I'm wondering if he is okay."

"He wants to hold some sort of fallen-warrior-comrade thing."

"Maybe we should send him to see Kassuf?" Jack's tone was hopeful. "Nah. That's my job."

The afternoon wore on. After a week where they had both been wrapped up in their feelings of grief and guilt over Daniel's death they were very nearly back to their old selves. An easy-going bantering relationship, which translated well from their private to their work environment and back again.

The weather was sunny so they decided to take a walk in the woods behind the house. Despite the sunshine, however, it was bitterly cold so Sam borrowed a warm jacket.

Watching as she stood in the hallway adjusting the too long sleeves of a that was several sizes too big, Jack thought she looked like a kid dressed in her father's clothes. He wondered what she would say if she knew that the sight of her like that brought out all his paternal instincts and, if he were totally honest with himself, a few of the baser ones too.

The woods were beautiful even though the trees were still black and skeletal. Underfoot the leaves that had been lying on the ground since last fall had settled into a soft blanket that released an earthy scent as they walked over it. There was a faint aroma of pine too and the smell of smoke drifting from one of the neighbours' gardens.

They walked in silence, neither of them having anything to say, but it was only slightly uncomfortable. They walked and walked. Sam's nose soon went through various shades of pink, to red to blue. It wasn't yet bad enough for her to ask Jack to turn back, and so they plodded on in a seemingly aimless fashion.

"I wouldn't have thought this was your kind of place." Sam broke the silence at last.

"How so?"

"Trees. You're always moaning about the trees."

"Am not."

"Come to think of it, you're always moaning about the sand too, when we gate to a sandy place."

"Don't."

"And the ice and rocks when we..."

"Are you trying to tell me something, Carter?"

"No, Sir. Just making an observation."

"These trees are different."

"No they're not."

"Are too."

"They're trees. Roots, trunks, branches and leaves. Well, obviously not right now, but there are leaves sometimes."

"They're Earth trees though. Our trees."

"So if we took you to the Sahara you wouldn't complain because it would be our sand?"

"You got it."

"What about the Antarctic?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth Sam blushed. The word floated out of her mouth, a white plume, which hung between them for a second or two before dissapating.

"What about the Antarctic?" Jack looked directly into her eyes. "Wanna go there again?"

They came to a stop and stood among the leafless trees and stared at each other. The silence lengthened. Sam's feet and hands were getting cold, she hadn't dressed for hiking in the woods, although her face was still warm from the blush.

In the immediate aftermath of what Jack had said, all the possible answers flashed through her brain at once, colliding with each other and becoming mixed up into still more permutations of an answer. She pressed her lips tightly together, not trusting herself to say anything.

Jack was mortified at her reaction. He was so sure that he'd been the very personification of subtle. Chances like she'd just thrown at him didn't come often, and he'd been very careful to gently lob the conversation back at her feet and let her choose the direction it would take.

She's either going to hit it right over my head, right into my balls or... Jack wanted her to take the third option. But he wanted it to be her decision. He'd decided long ago that if anything ever happened between them, Carter would have to be the one to choose – she had her whole career ahead of her. He'd already retired twice. He'd make it a third – permanent – time if she wanted.

Sam's brain was working overtime. She was surprised that steam wasn't coming out of her ears. She kept her eyes on the Colonel, trying to guage what he wanted her to say, but he'd assumed a bland expression. Shit. He's leaving this up to me...

Jack was despairing of ever getting an answer, and his fears were further confirmed when Sam finally dropped her eyes and looked at the ground. She turned up the collar of her jacket, stuffed her hands in her pockets and scraped at some leaves with the toe of her boot. Back and forth with her foot.

Jack found the movement slightly hypnotic. So much so that when Sam finally did speak he almost didn't hear it.

"Yes," she breathed. "I'd like to go there again." Sam didn't raise her eyes. She shifted her position very slightly and started scraping at the leaves with her other foot.

You've done it now. She thought. He surely knows what I meant. Sam's mind stubbornly returned to her last conversation with Daniel, and she knew she'd said the right thing this time, whether or not the Colonel wanted that for his answer.

Up until very recently she hadn't given much thought to the dangers that their missions through the Stargate entailed. Okay, that wasn't strictly true, but she hadn't, until Daniel's death – the final, irrevocable one – let it bother her unduly. The chance to do what they did, to discover new planets, people and all the rest of it was enough to make the danger pale into insignificance. Well, not insignificance exactly, but it receeded into the shadows, only rarely to be brought out and dusted down for inspection.

Well, now the unthinkable had happened. After a few scares when Daniel had been missing and presumed dead – and actually been dead on one or two occasions – they were finally faced with the fact that this time he wasn't coming back. Sam fervently hoped, although she knew that it was a folorn hope, that she would never have to lose another team-mate again.

Especially not before she'd told them how much they meant to her.

Especially not the one who was standing opposite her right now.

Even though she was looking down, she could feel that he was looking at her but didn't want to meet his eyes.

Jack's store of patience could, at times, be infinite. On this occasion, however, after ten minutes of silence, he'd had enough of waiting.

He went over to Sam, took her by the elbow and pulled gently until she followed him.

Once again they walked in silence. They hadn't made eye contact since Sam's almost inaudible answer and both had a lot to think about.

Jack was in two minds. On the one hand he was ecstatic. He had offered her a choice and she'd chosen him. He was in no doubt that when she'd said 'Yes', it wasn't to going back to the Antarctic but to going back to how they were then... how it might have been if they'd let it. Knowing that the woman he wanted, wanted him in return was a feeling he hadn't had in a long time. But he worried. Worried what it would mean for the future. He wasn't afraid of change, but with Daniel now being permanently off the team he wasn't sure if he wanted to carry on with SG-1. Perhaps now would be a good time for him to stand down.

On the other hand, he had an urge to protect Sam that he kept well hidden from her. He knew that she was as good, often better, than any of the men at the SGC. Her place on the team had been hard won, she deserved it. But he didn't know how he would react to seeing her go through the Stargate time after time without him, knowing that one day she might not come back. Or come back like Daniel.

Sam was wondering if she'd interpreted Jack's question correctly. What if he'd meant just what he'd said? What if he'd been asking simply if she would like to freeze nearly to death in an ice hole? She allowed herself to be lead, not really looking where her feet were going, stumbling occasionally, deep in thought.

And what if he really had meant what she thought he meant? That really would be the end of SG-1. One of them would have to go. She certainly didn't want to and up until today she would have said the Colonel didn't want to either. But something about the way he'd carefully worded his question, the way he was leading her back – she assumed he was taking her back – to the house, the way he was so silent – but not in a cold way – indicated to her that he was doing some thinking of his own.

She wondered what conclusion or decision he'd come to.

Whether or not Jack had reached a conclusion or decision or whatever was someting that she was going to find out later. For the present he strode along, slightly in front of her – not deliberately so that she couldn't see his face, but because he knew a direct route back to his house. After about 15 minutes of walking they reached his house.

Throwing the door open and almost dragging Sam inside, Jack almost immediately shed his coat and boots and walked into the kitchen. He said nothing.

Slowly Sam followed his example, only to bump into Jack coming out as she was going into the kitchen.

"I thought it would be more comfortable in there." He waved a bottle towards the living room.

At her inquisitive glance at the beer – there were a further three bottles stuffed into the crook of his other arm – Jack answered. "I thought you might like a drink after all that walking."

"Well tea would have been nice..." Sam made a face at him. "But this is fine."

She went into the indicated room and settled herself into an easy chair.

I'm not making it easy for him – let's see how he handles this. A slightly uncharitable thought, but Sam wanted them both to be very sure what they wanted. Ha! Him? Sure? You're not even sure yourself.

Looking slightly surprised at Sam's choice of seat, Jack handed her an opened beer and sat on the sofa opposite. He examined his bottle, took a quick swig and then recommenced the label decimating activities to which Sam was by now becoming accustomed.

Determined to make him speak, she had been the last one to speak after all, Sam looked at him with the sort of detatchment that she usually reserved for aliens when they hadn't quite decided if they were potential allies or not.

Having quickly despatched the first beer, and disposed of the label, Jack quickly got to work on the second. Sam sighed and hearing this he finally looked at her, but soon dropped his gaze and concentrated on reducing the silvery paper to the tiniest pieces pieces possible.

He fiddled with the label. Sipped sporadically. Blew over the top of the bottle. He passed the bottle from hand to hand and studied what remained of the label very carefully, almost as if he were seeing it for the same time.

In short he was nervous.

Sam watched amused as he stuck his index finger into the hole and took it out again. He repeated the action with his middle and ring fingers. Not for the first time she noticed Jack's hands, with those impossibly long, slim fingers. The fingers of an artist or musician, they seemed incongrous with his chosen career. Jack was concentrating on his bottle and totally unaware of the close scrutiny he was under.

Pinky finger went the same way as the other three, he took a drink and then he started on the other hand. Index finger. Middle finger. Ring finger. Pinky finger. Jack took another drink and started again. Index finger. Middle finger...

The repeated movement was somehow hypnotic. Sam relaxed back into the armchair, holding her beer on her stomach with both hands clasped tightly together. She closed her eyes.

They flew open seconds later when Jack suddenly spoke.

"Aw crap!"

"Sir?"

"Got my finger stuck." He should have been, but he didn't look at all embarassed – merely resigned. Sam guessed that this was not the first time it had happened.

"Got any liquid soap?"

"Nah. Just a bar of soap in the bathroom."

"Dishwashing liquid?"

"Dishwasher."

"Cooking oil, butter, axle grease?"

Jack stood wearily and walked back into the kitchen. Suppressing a smile Sam followed.

"What?" He demanded. "Haven't you ever done something like this before?"

"No."

"Of course not." He gave her a dazzling smile. "I can check with Jacob you know."

"He doesn't know the half of it." Her smile was equally dazzling, and Jack could quite believe that she had kept a lot of her escapades secret from her father.

"Okay. Try it now."

Sam held the bottle and Jack twisted and turned his hand.

Nothing.

"You know what we need?" She asked.

"Sergeant Siler?"

"No. WD40."

"That will melt my finger."

"No it won't. Wait, I've got some in my car." Sam disappeared and reappeared almost before she'd gone. "Ah. I came in a cab."

"Peachy."

"Well, if we gently heat the bottle, the glass will expand, the hole will get bigger..."

"... and I'll burn my hand off. No way Carter!"

"Don't be such a baby." Sam was laughing out loud now. "We could always break it."

"Yeah. It usually comes to that." Jack sighed and made as if to swing his arm into the sink.

"Usually?"

"Usually."

Sam grabbed his arm. "Wait. You've got a hammer right?"

"Yeah."

"So I'll tap it carefully. That way we won't have glass splinters everywhere."

"Yeah. It usually comes to that too."

"Stay there and don't do anything."

Sam ducked out of the kitchen and a few seconds later Jack heard her rummaging around in the cellar. She re-appeared a short time later equipped with a small hammer, with a set of welding goggles over her forehead and carrying something else that was partially obscured by the fact that she was holding it behind her back.

"Okay, we're going to have to be careful here," she said pulling the goggles down over her eyes. "Here, Sir, put these on."

She laughed at the expression on Jack's face as he pulled a snorkel mask – complete with snorkel – over his head.

"Very funny, Carter."

"I'm not doing it without them." She folded her arms across her chest and smiled broadly as he pulled the mask on.

"Hit the bottle already!"

Sam held Jack's hand firmly onto the kitchen counter and raised the hammer.

"You sure?"

Jack scowled. "Just do it, Carter."

While he was otherwise distracted Sam gave the bottle a sharp tap, then turned Jack's hand and tapped it on the other side. The top part of the bottle cracked in two places enabling her to pull the finger free.

"You okay?"

Jack was sucking his finger. Sam pulled at his hand and examined the digit, seeing that there were no injuries, apart from a ridge around the knuckle where it had been wedged tight, she let go and started to clear up the glass.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

They descended once again into a silence which extended to cover the disposal of the glass pieces, the retrieval from the fridge of two further bottles, the resumption of their positions in the living room and, on Jack's part at least, the drinking of a half a bottle of beer.

"Sir?"

"Carter?"

"Am I so difficult to open up to?"

"What?" He started to scratch at the label with his thumbnail.

This was too much for Sam. She stood up took three strides and plonked herself down next to the Colonel. She prised the bottle out of his hands and put it out of his reach on the table.

"You came over to my place last night to say something. But instead you drank beer, made a mess, slept and left. You dragged me back here to say something. And yet again you mucked around with some bottles and... well, you know." Sam put her hand on his arm and twisted round so that she could look into his face. "And now you're at it again."

"I'm no good at... you know... feelings and stuff."

"No, you're not."

Jack pulled away from her, his face suddenly closed.

"What? What did I say?" Sam was confused now and felt the first stirrings of anger. She stood up. "It's no use. You'll have to 'not talk' to someone else. I can't take any more of this."

Sam was halfway across the room when Jack spoke again.

"You two, you're so alike."

"Who two?"

"You and Daniel."

"What makes you say..." Oh, Sam had an idea she knew what was going on. She sat down next to him again, and took one of his hands in hers.

"Okay. You're not going to talk, so you'd better listen. I'm only going to say this one time."

"Mmm."

"Did I just say something Daniel said?"

"Mmm."

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

"It's not the first time this weekend?"

"Nope."

"So you think that just because I say the things that Daniel says... said... that I'm the same as him? That I'm going to do something stupid and... "

"It wasn't stupid."

"Yes it was. He could have been..."

"He was."

"No. I meant firing into the glass like that... I mean... you know... doing something like that... God! He hated the idea of that weapon..."

"He wasn't the only one."

"Yes, but I wanted to see how it worked, to get some naquadria(h)... he just wanted them to see sense. He's nothing like me."

"You didn't want them to make a bomb. You didn't want them to destroy their world. And if you'd been there instead of him then you'd be... dead... and I'd be having this conversation with Daniel."

Sam stared open-mouthed at what amounted to a very long speech from her CO. At that moment he looked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and she suddenly had a glimpse of the O'Neill she'd only read about in the report from the first mission to Abydos. How he must have been after his son died.

Back then he'd retired from the service and retreated to the bottle. She wondered if he had planned it like that or if it had just happened and if he was planning to do it again.

Lost in thought she suddenly realised that he was talking to her again.

"It was so easy to like Daniel. He was an annoying little... well, he was a pain in the ass a lot of the time, but he got under people's skin. They wanted to do things for him. I tried not to, but what can an old Colonel like me do against someone like that? Carter I don't..."

Jack waved a hand at the beer bottles on the table. "This is no good." He stood and removed a bottle from a cabinet. Here, you want some?"

"No, I don't really like that stuff."

"You don't have to like it."

"I'll get you a glass," Sam interrupted him before he got the bottle to his lips.

"Don't need one."

"Yes you do. Unless you want to sit here alone and drink it?"

"Uh."

In the event, Jack simply put the bottle on the table and walked over to the picture window. Eventually Sam joined him.

"I loved him too you know." Her voice was low and gentle. She rubbed his back. "You know that it will get better in time."

"Yes."

"And that you'll remember his annoying tendencies as much as his good qualities."

"Yes."

"Until then it really is okay to be sad."

"I thought we'd gotten over this bit."

"Apparently not."

"Will you quit that. It's like having him here and not having him here."

"I guess he rubbed off on me a lot more than I thought."

Jack gave her a sideways glance. She was crying again, huge, silent tears collected on her chin and fell in massive drops, some onto the carpet, some onto her sweatshirt. One grew very large, wobbled a little and was obliterated as she rubbed her hand over her face.

"I'd better go. I'll get my bag."

"No. Stay."

"I can't."

"Please."

"Sir..."

"Sam..."

"Don't..." Sam pulled away and sat on the floor in the hallway to put her boots back on. "That's not fair."

"Nothing's fair."

"You can say that again." Sitting on the floor, holding a boot in her hand, she turned huge miserable eyes towards him.

Jack finally made his decision. The regulations could go to hell. For now anyway. Dropping to his knees beside her, he unlaced her boot and put it next to the coat rack. He pulled it's twin from her hand and placed it neatly alongside. Sam didn't resist, even though she wasn't sure she wanted to go where this might be leading. Jack pulled into his arms and hugged her tightly to him, resting his chin on her head.

They stayed there for a while, saying nothing, until Jack started to lose all sensation in his legs below the knee. Groaning he stood up, which was an awkward process since he refused to release Sam. Somehow they made it to an upright position but still they said nothing.

It wasn't a comfortable position for Sam. Her arms were pinned down by her sides so she struggled to free them. Only when Jack realised that she wasn't pulling away from him, merely trying to return the hug, did he losen his hold – but only a little.

Jack knew that he would have to be the one to break the silence this time. Sam was a little stiff in his arms – he knew he'd have to come up with a good argument to make her stay. He tried to relax, and started to rub gently with one hand, keeping the other pressed into the small of her back.

It had the opposite of the desired outcome so Jack arrested his movement and infinitely slowly released her. Automatically she pulled back, but he didn't allow her further away than arm's length by grabbing her wrists when she looked as though she might take a step backwards.

Finally he looked into her eyes.

"Stay." It was neither plea nor order, just a simple statement. But with that one short word, coupled with the intensity of the look he gave her, he managed to convey that it was the only thing in the world that mattered. 'If you stay,' the look told her. 'We'll get through this.'

"I can't." Sam tried to get away, but his grip on her arms was firm. "No. Don't."

Jack's face began to close to her again but then Sam saw the visible fight he was having to get the next words out so she stopped moving.

"Please. I need you here." Jack abruptly let her go, spun on his heel and disappeared up the stairs.

What the? Sam was worried now. She wondered what the Colonel was up to. The half of her that had found his lack of communication over the past few hours almost unbearable, wanted to go home and forget him. The compassionate half, the half that had seen the devastation in his life that Daniel's death had caused, moved her feet so that she followed him up.