Six hours later, Jack O'Neill was more drunk than he had ever been before in his entire life (and that included his own stag night, when he'd been carried home in a shopping cart and had been sick all over the porch). He was so intoxicated he had stopped noticing the other amused revelers pointing and laughing at them; and he was even considering going onto the dance-floor to join Daniel and Carter.
He wobbled his way across to them, his legs seemingly more drunken than the rest of him and they were having trouble deciding where the floor was. This was the fourth club they had visited, running an over-thirties night (although Cassie had found no trouble in gaining entry, wearing her tee shirt with thirteen of the twenty-seven dares already ticked. O'Neill made a mental note to talk to her about that the following morning). She was sitting next to Teal'c behind a glass of coke. The jaffa was apparently equally as sober.
O'Neill realised moving his legs was proving difficult and opted for the shuffling kind of dance favoured by drunken men over the age forty at parties.
Daniel was also in a state of extreme intoxication which explained his exuberant if somewhat erratic bopping. Of the three Carter was the only one still moving with a degree of coordination, dancing unselfconsciously and with every sign of enjoyment.
By three o'clock O'Neill was beginning to sober up. He had pulled on his own shirt over his bridesmaid's one and was sitting on the wall outside the club, having decided he needed some fresh air. The bouncer had stamped his hand, rather enthusiastically and it was still throbbing, so he could gain re-entry and find the others; but right at this moment he felt he required a moment of peace.
There was an sharp increase in the volume of song that was playing inside, previously muted by the walls of the club, as the door opened. Someone stumbled down the stairs, coming to rest beside him on the wall. He could see out of the corner of his eye, Carter's legs, encased in denim jeans and stretched out in front of her. He turned to look at her somewhat muzzily.
"Good night?" he asked.
"Mm-hm."
"Good."
She giggled slightly and he found himself wondering just how much alcohol she had imbibed. "You've put your shirt back on." He'd removed the damn deely-boppers as well, but she didn't appear to have noticed.
"It's cold out here," he said, by way of explanation.
"Is it?"
"Yeah."
"I hadn't noticed." This appeared to concern her. She slumped down slightly, meaning her shoulder was now pressed against his. "God, I'm so drunk." She shook her head as if this could clear the befuddlement of her senses.
They sat in companionable silence for a while. O'Neill spoke eventually, needing to ask the question that had been buzzing around his brain a lot in recent times. "Are you happy?"
She nodded emphatically. "I am. I really love him."
Strangely, this didn't have the heart-breaking, soul-destroying effect O'Neill had expected it to. He felt slightly sad, but not particularly jealous or insane with misery. He decided that was a good sign.
He was looking right at her again, gazing deeply into her eyes and she read the honesty in his face,."I'm glad."
"Thank you," she replied instantly, instinctively.
"For what?" he asked, nonplused, looking at his feet.
"For understanding. I didn't think you'd make it this easy..."
He filled his cheeks with air and let out the breath. "What else is there to do?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. But thank you for not doing it." She hesitated for a moment, and then kissed him lightly on the cheek.
The sadness hit him in a rush. A chaste kiss was all they ever would, ever could share; the realisation assailed him with a shocking suddenness and the wretchedness hit him like a hammer.
As she drew away he turned his head towards hers once more, their close proximity meaning they were almost nose to nose. The sadness written so clearly on his face made her heart lurch. She knew the cause of his misery and would have given anything to heal it.
He knew what was going to happen as he sat there and stared at her, felt guilty for it, but was still powerless to resist as her head drew imperceptibly but inevitably closer to his for an infinite moment.
Their lips touched and the part of him that was always sober, always on watch, started to yammer. This is wrong!
He ignored it; as she did. His eyes closed to mirror hers as they remained frozen, their lips brushing one another's.
And suddenly their lips weren't just brushing; neither of them willing to say who had initiated the deeper, fiercer kiss and neither of them much caring. It was a soldier's kiss, the kiss only a warrior could know; a kiss that was tainted with the awareness that it could be the final kiss shared with the woman, or man, you loved. O'Neill had once kissed his wife in the same way.
Neither of them was aware of the passage of time as their hands slid over warm skin and fabrics, entwining, releasing; until they were holding one another in their arms.
The noise from inside the club blared again as more people moved through the open door. They ignored it.
"Oh my God."
The words, or more accurately the voice, made them jerk apart as if they had been electrically shocked.
Cassie, the speaker, stood between Daniel and Teal'c at the top of the stairs; staring openmouthed.
They sprang still further apart; filled with a guilty horror. O'Neill found his voice first. "Nothing.. Uh, nothing..." he stumbled over the words; unable to utter the lie.
Daniel cleared his throat and O'Neill felt the flicker of utter hatred rear sickening inside him before he doused the emotion. "Obviously nothing," Daniel said dryly.
O'Neill stood up so suddenly Cassie flinched, trying to keep his anger under control. Carter, feeling physically sick with guilt, saw his fist clench until his knuckles were white; held behind his back. "Are we leaving?" he snapped.
"I believe it is time we returned home O'Neill," Teal'c said calmly. He shifted slightly, Jack realised, so he was blocking the path between General and archeologist.
"Fine by me. Carter?"
She responded to the voice of authority, snapping to attention. "And me," she murmured.
Daniel held O'Neill's furious gaze for a moment and then started to walk away, following Cassie to the car. Teal'c trailed them without comment, leaving them alone again; perhaps believing they needed to speak to one another.
There was nothing to say. Carter couldn't even meet her former CO's eyes, simply walked to the car like a woman walking to her death. Daniel was sat in the front with Cassie, meaning they were forced to sit squashed together in the back of the car. O'Neill stared past Teal'c out of one window as she stared out of the other. No one spoke.
They arrived back at Carter's house. Somehow, O'Neill doubted she was going to invite them all in for coffee. Unusually, it was Teal'c that broke the spell as they clambered out onto her drive and then stood in awkwardness. He touched Carter's shoulder.
"I will take Daniel Jackson home. I believe Cassie can drive O'Neill safely also."
Carter was trembling slightly. "Thanks Teal'c," she replied, voice low. She hugged him and Daniel goodbye. O'Neill steadfastly ignored them, staring at the paving stones of the drive between his feet.
"I'm just..." Cassie muttered, clambering back into the car and maneuvering it back onto the street. The glow from the headlights cast the area into strange relief.
"Carter. We were both drunk. It doesn't matter," O'Neill managed, speaking to his sneakers.
"I know."
More silence, filled with the hum of the car engine. "I'll see you."
"Yeah. Bye Jack." Her voice was flat, uncaring. She sensed him stiffen, body held taut as a bow string. There was a slight delay and then suddenly he spoke again, voice choked with bitter anger.
"Bye."
He stalked down the drive and into the car, slamming the door and resolutely not looking at her as he was driven away. She stood stock still on her drive, still shaking. Eventually, when the light from the headlamps had long faded from her sight, she moved to open her front door and re-enter her house.
She moved neurotically from room to room, unable to settle, picking up and moving random articles only to replace them. The question spinning round her mind began to repeat over and over again in her head like a mantra; the words bleeding together.
Why him?
Of all the people to have kissed, why Jack O'Neill? She was over him, had dealt with him, confined him to the previous chapter of her life. She had ruled off, turned over the page and started a new entry. She loved Pete, she was marrying him, for cryin' out loud!
She realised what she had thought and her pacing quickened.
She refused to dwell on the kiss, to even let it enter her mind. It meant nothing to her. "Nothing!" she shouted aloud to an empty home.
Suddenly drained of her manic energy, she decided to go to bed. With any luck this would seem better in the morning. Or she might have forgotten events completely, thanks to her excessive consumption of alcohol.