This chapter gave me indigestion. Seriously, I wanted to strangle it. That's why it took so long. I have to thank samfan9 for helping me see what was missing.

"What?" Sam felt her whole body shudder with the release of tension and nervous energy she'd felt building the closer this conversation drew. She hadn't expected an apology. More angry yelling, more wilful blindness on the General's part, anything but an apology. And for what?

She narrowed her eyes and studied him, tried to read a face that used to be familiar and known. Every expression and twitch had once meant something to her but now his visage was that of a stranger's, closed off and blank – she imagined hers looked the same way to him. "What do you have to apologize for?"

He fiddled with his files again and found a pen from somewhere that he twirled in his fingers. This was familiar; the nervous man who wasn't comfortable with anything resembling a sensitive chat, who stalled, who spoke in fits and starts. But as she watched his nervous fidgeting stilled as he made the decision to continue and physically straightened.

The General met her eyes deliberately, and the intensity in his gaze brought that nervous tension cascading back. "Didn't you ever wonder who started pushing for a naquadah weapons program? Didn't you think it was odd that you worked on garden variety munitions for almost six months and then suddenly it was all naquadah?"

"I… I'm not sure… what…" Sam stumbled to a halt and stared. Blindsided. "I don't know what you're saying…" But she did, some part of her did, because her mouth had gone dry and her hands had curled into fists. She knew exactly what he was implying but apparently couldn't articulate and it nauseated her.

"Come on Carter, you're smart, figure it out." His voice turned angry again as he leaned slightly across the desk. There was a note of something else that she couldn't quite place and didn't have the energy to dissect.

"It was you? You pushed for the program?"

He nodded and that confirmation froze all thought. She'd never considered who started the program. Someone from the SGC, the Pentagon, the Joint Chiefs, the President himself. The possibilities had been numerous. But Jack O'Neill?

She swallowed down a lump in her throat and stared at him. He was the same man who'd led SG-1, who'd shown her how to lead and command, who'd gotten them through situations beyond comprehension. And yet…

And yet she couldn't help feeling, somehow, betrayed.

He hadn't said anything else, just leaned back in his chair, shoulders relaxed, and his expression reflected a mild attitude of waiting. Waiting for her to react. But she didn't know what she was supposed to feel, say, or do. Except… "Why?"

"Because it was something we had and they didn't. Because it would help us win." He shifted closer to the desk and leaned his arms on the edge. "Because as a military officer it was my job to ensure we used everything at our disposal. And I won't apologize for that."

"Then what…" Sam cleared her throat when her voice cracked. "What are you apologizing for? If not the program?"

He tilted his head back and his eyes shifted down and away for a second. When he spoke he kept his gaze on the blotter on his desk. "That it was you. It wasn't supposed to be you."

Somehow, for some reason, that knocked her from her stupor. She blinked; her brow furled. "What?" She barely heard herself so she said it again and only realized she'd yelled and stood all at once when she felt his desk under her palms. "What the hell does that mean?" She slapped the top of the desk, uncaring of the papers that fluttered to the floor, and glared into his eyes.

"Carter-"

"No! Just–" she flung up a hand, "be quiet!" She turned on her heel then whirled back, one finger extended and aimed at his chest. "So, what? It would be okay for someone else to have led the program, for someone else to be feeling like this, but because it's me somehow it's not okay? I'm different? I'm special? Because you know me?" She drew in a breath and held it, counted the rapid tattoo of her heart, conscious of how close she was to hyperventilating. The beach and Mark flashed into her memory but she shoved it away.

"Yes!" He shot to his feet. The desk chair bounced off the cabinets against the wall. "So I wanted to protect someone I know, what's wrong with that?"

"Protect?" She closed on his desk rapidly. "Bullshit. You weren't protecting anyone. I bet I never even crossed your mind until I walked through your door. Did I?" She paused and in that instant read in his expression that she'd nailed him. "You're just wishing it hadn't been me because then you wouldn't have to face up to it. Like every other decision we make in war you'd never have to see the result. Well, General, meet the consequence of your decision."

She turned away from him, pulled her hands through her hair, and left her fingers locked behind her neck. She remained rigid and furious, just focused on breathing slow deep breaths, and fought the urge to turn around and smack him. When her heart had calmed she dropped her arms and started moving. Pacing. Short digging strides from one wall to the other. She deliberately didn't look at him, ignored his existence, because she needed time and space to figure out how she felt and the office was too damn small. And then she remembered the elevator and Bill Lee and knew exactly what she needed to ask. "You… do you know what you turned us into?"

SGCSGC

Jack watched her erratic pacing. She was bouncing from one place to another completely oblivious to his presence. Even though she was as close to falling apart as he'd ever seen he just watched. He'd started this with the intention of letting her get it off her chest – whatever it was – which meant he had to give her the time to respond. To process. Even if it felt like a fist was squeezing his chest.

Mostly he watched her face. As the conversation went on and full realization dawned on Carter her expression had loosened. She'd lost control of it, perhaps in favour of keeping control of everything else. But now he could read what she was thinking and feeling – not as well as he once had – and one thing was clear: whatever was going on in her head was as chaotic as what he was seeing.

Slowly, incrementally, she stilled like she'd finally settled on one thing to say. She turned to him and he thought her eyes looked more bloodshot than when she'd entered. "You… do you know what you turned us into?"

"You were scientists, Carter. You were all just scientists and that's what you still are."

"No!" Her voice rose sharply and crackled. "We're not just anything, anymore. We're responsible for everyone those bombs killed."

Jack scoffed. Softly, low in his throat, completely without thought. Just a reaction to a wildly outrageous statement. But Carter heard it; she froze on the spot and turned towards him rigidly. Her eyes snapped fire at him, her interpretation of the sound formed even as she asked, "What did that mean?"

For the first time she didn't just sound furious, she sounded betrayed. Wounded. Dismissed. He'd never regretted a single sound more in his life.

SGCSGC

She decided in that moment, with that single vocalization, that she could handle him being angry that she didn't want to stay at the SGC. She could handle him acting like the war hadn't happened. But she could not – would not – handle him so cavalierly, so easily dismissing how she felt. Brushing it off like it was nothing. Like her experiences somehow weren't valid.

Sam stepped closer to him when he ignored her question. She wanted an answer and she wanted to see his face. "Well?" She heard ice in the word.

His lips twisted in thought and his head dropped. "Fine." He nodded to himself. "Fine, Carter, let's really talk about it." He took one step towards her. "If you want to take on all the guilt for every person who died, you do that. Go ahead, knock yourself out! But don't expect me to take responsibility for that guilt just because you're into self-flagellation. You're a scientist. You made some bombs. You didn't kill anyone. You think the people who manufacture guns feel responsible for every person who gets shot?"

She kicked the desk because she couldn't hit him. "It's not the same thing!"

"The hell it isn't! Weapons are weapons. The people who build them aren't responsible for what's done with them."

"Stop being so obtuse!" She raised an arm and flung it to the side instead of into his chest. "We built something that no one else on the planet was capable of. That makes us responsible," a thumb against her own chest, "because without us, you," she made contact this time, jabbed a finger into him, "never would have dropped those bombs and those people never would have died!"

Sam whirled away from him and her hands returned to her neck. Her pulse throbbed against her skin. She closed her eyes and remembered the reports she'd had to read about the efficacy of the bombs. Even though they'd been crafted to be non-specific – the range and grade of the units – only an idiot or someone incredibly naïve wouldn't have known what they were reading. And it'd been her job to make them better.

"Bombs aren't like guns," she said. She spoke with her back to him. "You don't aim and shoot and choose who you kill. You drop a high-yield explosive on a target area and pray to God that the only people you're slaughtering are enemy combatants. But they never are and those... those are the people I'm taking onto my conscience. The innocent." She felt her heart hammering against her chest, her pulse racing at her neck, and this… was it even a conversation?… whatever it was, it was exhausting. Her anger was spent, at least for now, and she was ready for this to be over. She dropped into a chair and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

"That was my research." Her voice sounded raw to her own ears. "I fought to study naquadah. I built the first reactor. I told you everything you know about it, including what a naquadah bomb could do. If you're responsible for the program and I'm responsible for teaching you everything you needed to institute it, doesn't that make me culpable?" She dropped her hands from her eyes and looked at him. For what, she didn't know.

He'd apologized but… did it really mean anything to her? Had this accomplished anything? All she knew now was that she didn't expect him to understand because he couldn't, he hadn't been there, hadn't made the decisions and compromises she'd made. Her experiences were her own, the General's were his own, Daniel's were his own. None of them could really, truly comprehend where the other was at and it was all too raw and new to move past. Sam closed her eyes and dropped her head back. She just needed a minute to compose herself, to still the roiling emotion in her gut so she'd be able to leave without splintering.

The General hadn't moved yet, he was still just standing there. She hoped he wouldn't say anything else but she hoped he would. And didn't that define the last two years of her life? Torn, divided, confused. Pulled apart. A rustle of clothing signalled his return to his chair. It creaked as he sat. He remained silent.

When she felt certain that she could look at him without yelling or vomiting, without doing anything except calmly walking away, she raised her head and opened her eyes. He simply looked back at her from his desk, expression blank and composed once more. He tilted his head just a tiny bit in question, as if he feared what might spill forth if he opened his mouth. Perhaps he thought, like her, that they'd said more than enough. That they'd done enough damage.

Sam stood. "Don't hold onto my resignation hoping I'll change my mind." She turned for the door.

The General finally stirred. "This was your life, Carter."

She paused at the door and studied its surface. Suddenly the conversation was mundane and not rife with emotion and guilt and the switch made her head spin. She wouldn't turn around. She just needed out. "I'll find a new life."

"Are you leaving Colorado?"

She squeezed the doorknob and nodded once, a sharp jerk. "Yes. The… the Air Force uprooted me two years ago." She paused and measured her next words. "There's nothing here for me."

He shifted. Maybe he stood.

Sam pulled open the door but stopped halfway out at the definite sound of him taking a step. She hesitated but the thought of turning around stoked the anger. But she could wait a beat, two, three, in case he wanted to say goodbye.

"I… Carter." His tone dropped and softened – slightly – because there was a question in her name. One perhaps long unasked and unanswered. "I don't know what to…"

"You just say goodbye." She spoke the words into the hallway. "There's nothing else here." She stepped into the hallway. The door swung shut behind her, but not before she heard him.

"It was an honour to serve with you, Carter."

She walked away.