It was half past six when the doorbell rang. Vaguely annoyed (she'd only just sat down after seeing the dress-fitter out) she got up to answer it.

It was raining outside; she could hear the patter of the drops on the windows. She opened the door, her mind still full of the indescribable feeling she had sensed when trying on her wedding dress.

Jack O'Neill, soaked from head to toe, stood on her doorstep. She took a step back in shock, not sure of what to say.

"Can I come in?" he asked. A bead of water ran the length of his nose, dripping off the end. She shivered.

"Yeah. Uh, what are you doing...?"

He stepped inside, the water pooling off him and onto her hall carpet.

"Is Pete in?" he asked, looking past her.

"No," she replied, growing slightly suspicious, "I've just had a dress fitting... he's at his place."

He rocked back on his heels. "A dress fitting... So, that means you're still...?" He left the question hanging.

"Why are you so wet?" she asked, instead of answering. She wasn't sure she knew the answer anymore.

"I walked. It rained," he explained.

"And your car was...?"

"With Cassie," he winced.

"And so you walked here."

"Yeah."

Why? She didn't have to ask the question, and she was pretty certain she already knew the answer.

"Um. Could I borrow a towel?"

She smiled in spite of herself and the dangerous situation.

"Course." He slipped his shoes off and followed her to her bathroom. She pulled a warm towel out of the airing cupboard and gave it to him.

Their fingers touched under the material. She blushed. He took the towel from her and rubbed it through his hair, patting his face dry. His tee shirt was sticking to him and she could see every muscle in his torso. Her stomach leapt and she dragged her eyes away, guilty at her uncontrollable reaction.

He put the towel on the rack, staring at it as he spoke. "You're going to marry him, aren't you?"

Her heart plummeted. "I think-I do-" She stopped, took a deep breath and then continued. "Yes."

His shoulders sagged slightly and he turned to look at her, a crooked smile on his lips. "I knew you would. It was a feeble..." He broke off. "I should go."

She bit her lip. He nodded, almost to himself and made to move past her.

"Don't."

She wasn't aware that she had spoken the word aloud until he stopped.

"Don't?"

"Just stay. For a while. Please."

There was a long pause.

"Ok," he replied, voice rough.

She thought she might cry. "I'm sorry Jack," she whispered.

"Come here," he said in reply, voice equally as thick.

He hugged her, as he had hugged her nearly a year ago, when Janet had died and she had nearly lost him, too.

Except this time, he didn't bury his face in her neck and gently brush the skin with his lips. This time he drew back from her shoulder and kissed her on the mouth, as he had in the bar.

He broke away from her mouth and stood, his forehead against hers, still sopping wet, in her bathroom. The strangeness of the situation was almost comical, but he didn't feel much like laughing. "I should have resigned a long time ago."

She sniffed. "Probably."

He kissed her again and she was horrified to find herself responding to his kiss as she had on her hen night. Pete was driven from her mind, all guilt gone. She loved Jack, loved him more than anyone else she had ever loved in her life. She had loved him for a long time. The realisation flooded through her, shocking as a dunking in icy water.

She wasn't betraying Pete by kissing Jack, she was betraying Jack by marrying Pete. Jack wasn't 'the other man.'

Pete was.

The half-remember feelings; the longing she had buried, continued to bury, filled her mind as she kissed him. Sam and Jack. They went together, naturally as breathing.

I thought I was over him... the rational part of her brain argued.

Guess you were wrong.

Her hands slid under his wet shirt, touching the muscles her stomach had filled with butterflies at the sight of. Unthinkingly he pulled off the wet garment, still kissing her, her face in his hands.

There was nothing wrong about this scenario, she realised. This felt natural, it felt right.

His hands slid to her own shirt, fumbling her buttons undone, and she knew at that moment exactly how far things were going to go

And it felt right.

He left her house at quarter past eight. She watched him walk down her driveway, longing to walk with him, to spend more time with him. He kept turning back to look at her, a wonder in his eyes. When he was almost out of sight she shut the door, leant against it.

Pete would be home soon.

With that thought, all of the wonder in the events of the past hour collapsed. She fell to the floor, back still pressing against the wood of the door. She had-They had-

And she was engaged to Pete. How could she tell Pete that she no longer wanted to be with him? That is was a mistake, that she was still in love with a man he so reminded her of but could never be? And that she had come to realise all of this by cheating on him?

She ran to her bathroom and threw up violently, the physical effect of her mental anguish. There was water on the carpet from where they had stood and kissed, from where O'Neill's shed shirt had been cast aside. There were watery footprints into the bedroom. (Their bedroom, her guilty thoughts shouted, The bedroom she shared with Pete.) She followed them. The bed was a mess, covers rumpled and creased, the taint of a wet body everywhere.

She went back into the bathroom, flushed her toilet and turned on the shower. She washed herself, trying to soap away every trace of O'Neill, every trace of her guilt. When she was done she used the slightly damp towel O'Neill had used to dry his face and hair. She realised it smelt slightly of him and she began to shake. Mentally scolding herself, telling herself to get a grip, she went into the bedroom and made the bed with fresh bedclothes from the linen cupboard.

The sound of Pete making his way up the drive made her knees weak, but she ran down the stairs in her dressing gown. Her hair dripped onto the floor, masking the nearly dry drips cause by O'Neill walking upstairs earlier; all evidence of her 'crime' now removed or hidden.

Pete opened the door to find his fiancee standing in the hall.

"Hi," he said, smiling and kissing her, "Did the fitting go well?"