Her bedside clock beeped quietly, proclaiming it late enough on Friday night for it to actually be Saturday morning.
She slid into bed, her house eerily quiet, pulled the bedcovers up to her chin and stared at the dark ceiling.
How well do I really know Jack O'Neill?
Apparently, not that well. In eight years she's never once heard him mention his love of the theatre to her. She had been surprised in equal measure to learn of his passion for opera.
Jack O'Neill loved to play the fool and to act stupid. He was showing her the deeper, thoughtful side of his nature that he kept hidden from most of the rest of the world.
Why does that scare me so much?
He wasn't the vacuous simpleton he painted himself to be, with his Homer Simpson humour and face-pulling over scientific terms. He was no scientist, but it was dawning on her that in some areas, Jack O'Neill was considerably more 'cultured' than she was.
She'd never been a great theatre lover. She'd always preferred physics to Puccini and shooting to Shakespeare. It was... almost disconcerting to learn that O'Neill, a man with a black-ops file as thick as a sonata-score patronised the high cultural capitals of Colorado while she was secluded in her science laboratory, conducting experiments.
Being a geek.
She sighed.
How can I love a man I know so little about?
She turned over, pulled the covers over her head, and tried to push the thoughts away for consideration at a more sensible time.
Like tomorrow morning.
Lying in bed at eleven o'clock in the morning, filled with an apathy that precluded movement, Jack O'Neill was debating internally the difference between romance and stalking.
Turning up at Cart-Sam's house with a bunch of flowers at midday, despite having no reason for being there...
Romantic or obsessive?
Phoning her now, just to see how she was, what she was doing...
Too pushy, or showing her I'm thinking about her?
He threw the covers off his bare legs and growled bad temperedly.
He would ring her. He would 'phone her up and tease her about how boring she had found the play last night and hopefully secure another date.
But first he would shower.
Yes. That was a good plan.
Predictably, his cell phone rang just as he was rinsing shampoo out of his hair. Leaving a trail of wet footprints on his carpet and a speckling of water droplets he punched the answer call button on his cell.
"O'Neill."
"Sir, we've got a bit of a problem here..."
Spending his Saturday at the SGC had not been number one on his list of plans for the weekend.
However, the dialling system's computer crash had presented him with the opportunity two hours of sleepy thinking had not.
It had given him a perfectly legitimate excuse to 'phone Sam Carter and spend all afternoon with her.
Admittedly the 'quality time' consisted of watching her, buried in the innards of the computer, and occasionally passing her various tools.
He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head.
She was lying on her back, the only way she could get inside the workstation the faulty cabling she was trying to locate had been concealed inside. Aesthetically, it was sensible to have the wiring hidden away, and in terms of protecting the staff working at the computers when the wire had burnt out, as well as protecting the cabling from stray bullets or staff blasts should the control room ever be the scene of a fire-fight the hidden wiring had worked well.
It did make repairs more difficult and awkward than they might otherwise have been though, she noted unhappily.
She was also uncomfortably aware that her BDU clad backside was facing O'Neill. Her neck prickled uncomfortably. She felt sure he was watching her...
She peered around her bent knees to see him leaning back in his chair, eyes fixed on the 'gate through the window, a far-away expression having claimed his face.
He grinned.
Glancing left and right to make sure they were alone he met her curious stare. "Give me some credit."
She blushed in spite of herself, cursing his apparent ability to read her mind. "Sorry." She fiddled pointlessly with a wire.
His grin widened. "Credit for not getting caught," he muttered.
The entrance of Sergeant Siler ended their brief moment of banter, although it failed to remove O'Neill's devilish grin.
"Everything seems fine as far as the 'gate itself is concerned, sir," he said, discomfort edging his words. O'Neill's unexplained smile was somewhat disconcerting.
Carter extricated herself from the computer. "Okay... let's give it another shot."
An hour and a half later, O'Neill had retreated to his office. There were too many technicians now working in the control room for him to reasonably explain his presence. He was buried in a particularly befuddling expenses review when there was a knock on his office door.
Carter entered, shutting the door gently behind her.
"Colonel?" he asked, a measure of pride still audible in his voice when he addressed her by her title.
"We're back online, sir."
"Excellent."
There was a beat of awkward silence.
"I should get going. It's still technically my day off," she said after a moment.
"And mine. Did you... uh, did you enjoy last night?"
She smiled. "Yeah. It was... different."
"Not your sort of thing?" he asked, shrewdly.
She half-sighed, half-chuckled. "Not really. But that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it," she added hastily.
"Hey, it's fine by me. Pizza and a DVD works out a lot cheaper than opera tickets."
She laughed. "We've still got four DVD discs worth of Lord of the Rings to get through."
He rubbed his chin, still unshaven after his hasty exit earlier in the day. "Well, whenever's good for you. Just tell me and I'll be round with a take-out and the box-sets."
Did that sound too desperate?
She gulped. "You busy tonight?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light, casual, uncaring...
Oh God. That sounded desperate.
"I am now."