A/N: Oh lord, the language! Due to popular demand, another chapter. I'm a sucker for peer pressure.

Jack heard the door close as he pulled his shirt over his head. He knew Sam was watching, he didn't care. He heard the closet slide open, the slap of wet leather.

Always polite, that girl.

Sam watched Jack pad off into the depths of his house, hugging herself. She could feel a reptilian warmth bubble inside of her, despite the chill. Basic instincts arose- foodsexwarmthsleep. Her boots were full of water, and she left a trail of droplets whenever she tried to move. Finally, she simply gave in. She slumped back against the door, and sat down in a puddle.

What the hell am I doing?

"Christ on a cross, Carter! What happened?"

Jack had another shirt on, unbuttoned. Scarred, taut flesh framed by white cotton. He tossed her a blanket, a comforter. It smelled of dank and him. She pulled it close, and those primal instincts rose once again.

"I...I was m-m-motorcycling..."

She was shivering as she followed him into his living room. Lots of wood, fireplace, rug, couch. Man-smell, man-place. Not just in that masculine sense, like on the base, but in that basic sense. Instinctive, in that fight-or-flight sense. Messy and practical.

"Rain?"

The chattering of her teeth beat a counterpoint to the rain on the windows.

"B-b-b-blew...g-gasket..."

Every word a struggle. Sam tensed her jaw, trying to speak. Words broken by the cadence of thunder.

"Oh, fuck it Sam, get over to the fireplace. Turn the damn thing on, I'm getting you some coffee."

He stalked back off into the house, and she heard him fumbling around. Her trembling hand reached out out, flicked the switch on the wall. The little flames sprang to life behind the glass, heat slowly seeping through. The rain continued to pound the windows.

Forces of nature, tonight- all of them beautiful.

She looked around as she rubbed herself down. Woodland scenes, pictures, beer bottles. Her fingertips began to tingle, so she pulled them back. She curled up her knees, rested her chin on them as she shifted beneath the heavy comforter. Her clothes were starting to soak through it. It was a vague, damp feeling that left her feeling inexplicably embarrassed. She suppressed the urge to strip out of her clothes, lie down and wrap her arms around her man.

My man. It's so right...but it isn't.

Jack fiddled with the coffee maker and managed to burn himself. He cursed, poured the stuff out into the mugs. They steamed a little as he carried them out to her. She was there, staring mindlessly into the flames, lost in some far off thought...or perhaps a memory. She stared up at him wanly, hair still dripping. Trembling hands, slender digits reached out to him and caught a cup. A bolt of lightning light the room, casting bizarre shadows.

Lookit her.

She said nothing, slurped the coffee loudly. He sat down beside her, a smaller heat emerging through his proximity. Something was doing flips and loops in Sam's stomach. Without thinking, she leaned against him. The heat continued to radiate through the blanket, growing slowly warmer. Those basic instincts were rising again. She was getting warm, but she was hungry, sleepy, and damn horny.

It's perfect, almost. Why ruin it? Close as we'll ever get. Fucking regs, I could have married him. Could have been happy.

Jack smiled, looped an arm around her. They snuggled in the dank, both of them damp as they drank coffee. It lasted almost twenty minutes, not a word between them as they watched the dance and leap. He sighed, inside. A perfect night, all in all. What more could he want? But she was still shivering and wet.

"Ca- Sam, go and take a shower. Grab whatever you need, you're going to get a bitch of a cold. if you dont' warm up."

She stood, nodding as her blanket swept over his face.

Absolutely perfect.

Sam stripped and showered, trying to ignore the thrill. His soap. His smell. His bathroom. His house. It felt so right to be there, so natural. There had been some days where she dreamt of living here, without knowing what it looked like. Oh, she had let Janet show her all his personal information, memorized his address. She wrapped the towel around herself, dressed herself in his clothes. Then, it all went wrong.

Stolen intimacy.

She suddenly felt like an intruder in his life, a voyeur. But walking back, seeing that smile of his as he poked around the fridge in his damp clothes, made it all better.