There were no lights on at his house when she reached it.

Granted she'd just driven around his neighbourhood for the past – she checked her watch – hour and a half, but she'd expected him to be awake.

She got out of her car and approached his house.

The truck was parked somewhat haphazardly in the driveway, so he was home.

A suspicion began to form in her mind. Knowing Jack O'Neill for almost nine years had given her some idea of how he would behave in any given situation.

A head start on working it out, anyway.

If he was home, and she suspected he was, he was likely to brood, rather than go to bed.

She found she was angry at him. There was so much she didn't understand, and the scientist in her hated that.

Her anger lending her confidence, she approached the front door.

Finding it unlocked, as always, she opened it and stepped inside, closing it behind her.

Feeling her way in the darkness, she almost tripped down the steps that led to his den.

He was lying on the couch, heavy glass tumbler in hand. The bottle of whiskey that he was currently drinking from sitting on the coffee table.

"Whoever you are, you'd better have a damn good reason for interrupting my quality time with-" A quick glance at the bottle, "Mr. Jim Beam."

Since he didn't bother to look round and see who it was, Sam guessed he knew.

"This is a bit of a cliché, isn't it?" She asked scornfully, eyeing up first the bottle, then the empty beer bottles standing next to the couch.

"You come here to piss me off, Carter?" He asked, still not bothering to move.

Sam shook her head and made her way back up the steps and into the kitchen.

After opening and closing several cupboards, she found what she was looking for and returned to the den with a tumbler matching his own.

She took a seat on his coffee table and poured herself a good measure of whiskey.

She sat back and sipped it, watching him.

"What do you want, Carter?" His tone matched her earlier one.

"Why did you come to my house?"

"Doesn't matter."

"I want to know." She told him.

"Why?" He finally looked at her, shifting so that he was sitting up slightly.

"Because I do." She said.

"Not good enough." He snapped. "Go home, Carter."

"Can't." She said. "I've had a drink." She held up the tumbler to demonstrate. "And then I have to wait at least an hour before I drive."

His eyes met hers briefly and she saw confusion there, as though he were trying to remember something but couldn't.

His reaction answered something she'd been wondering about for the past year: how much he remembered from his last 'ancient download'.

Not much, it seemed.

When the confusion disappeared it was replaced by anger, making Sam look down at her drink. 'Strategic withdrawal', she thought, stifling the ridiculous urge to laugh at herself.

"You quit?" She asked, not looking up.

"Yes." He said, not bothering to elaborate.

"Why?"

"What was Shanahan's problem?" He asked, draining the last of his whiskey and sitting up to pour himself more.

The bottle was empty and he picked it up from the table, holding the neck between thumb and forefinger, swinging it slightly so that it hit the edge of the table.

She stared at him, momentarily shocked into silence. "His problem?" She asked incredulously.

He looked up at her, stilling the motion of the bottle. "Yeah, Carter, his problem?"

She shook her head, still staring at him in disbelief. "I broke off the engagement." She told him, her voice cold.

"Don't look at me like that; I'm not a mind-reader. How was I supposed to know?"

"I would have thought it was obvious." She snapped.

"A lotta things are becoming obvious to me tonight that weren't before." He said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked, anger suffusing her words.

"You figure it out." He said. He stood and walked into the kitchen, returning a moment later with another bottle of whiskey.

Watching him closely, Sam saw that he was slightly unsteady on his feet, his movements slightly less balanced than usual.

"You're drunk." She accused.

"Yep." He answered, pouring himself another drink and setting the bottle on the table. "No work tomorrow."

He sat down opposite her position on the coffee table. Their knees were almost touching and the almost-contact made Sam uncomfortable.

"What do you want, Carter?"

"What?" She asked, thrown by the sudden question.

"What do you want?" He repeated.

She met his eyes.

He was still angry. She could barely see him in the darkness, but knew him well enough to know what his complete lack of expression meant.

So what? She was angry too.

"Why'd you quit?" She asked.

"They were gonna 'keep an eye on me'." He told her, disgusted.

"Why?"

"Finally went too far, I guess." He paused. "Why'd you break up with Pete?"

"It doesn't matter." She told him.

He smiled and shook his head. "Go home, Carter."

"Sam." She said, quietly.

"What?"

"My name is Sam." She snapped.

"Fine. Sam. Whatever. Not like it matters what I call you anymore, is it?" He asked, his own anger rising to the fore.

"No, sir." She said, stressing the honorific and watching him flinch.

He glared at her. "Go home, Sam."

"No." She said.

"No?" He repeated, incredulous.

She shook her head.

"Why are you so angry with me?" She asked.

"I have every right to be pissed at you, Carter." He snapped, rising suddenly and walking to the window, anything to escape her.

She glared at his back. "Why?"

"We were supposed to be friends." He told her. "But we can't even do that, according to you."

"According to you!" She shot back, surprised at her own vehemence.

"Me?" He asked, turning to look at her.

"Why weren't you going to come after me, Jack?" She asked again.

He didn't answer her, just knocked back the last of his whiskey.

"Do you know the only thing that kept me sane in that cell?" She asked.

Her question caught Jack off-balance, he turned to look at her and the anger in his expression was replaced with confusion. "No, what?"

"I knew you would find me. I knew you would. That's why I broke up with Pete."

She stared at him a long moment, watching her words sink in.

"The only reason I made it out of that cell was because of my faith in you. In this." She gestured between them. "And then I get home and I find out that it's not real. That it probably never was. That you don't care." She said, anger and hurt revealing themselves in every syllable, making her feel vulnerable and exposed.

Jack stared at her. "How the fuck can you accuse me of that, Carter?" He growled, the look in his eyes setting off warning bells in her head.

"Because I'm right?" She retorted, sounding braver than she felt.

He snorted at that. "Yeah, you always gotta be right, don'tcha Carter? Never occurs to you that maybe, just maybe, I might just be smart enough to know what's going on in my own head just a little bit better than you."

"What is that, then?" She asked.

"What?"

"What's going on in your head?"

"Why ask? You already know everything." He said, sweeping the hand that held the tumbler out in an all-encompassing gesture.

"Do you always have to be so childish?" She yelled.

"Yes!" He answered.

Having reached an impasse, they glared at one another.

Jack was the first to look away, he sighed, dragging his free hand through his hair, and said, "Look, Carter, why don't we just cut our losses here, huh?"

"What?" She snapped. "You want me to just leave?"

He nodded. "Yep." He said, walking over to the coffee table and pouring himself another drink.

She glared at him. "You selfish son-of-a-bitch."

"I'm selfish?" He slammed the tumbler down onto the table next to her leg. "From the get-go this has always been about you, Carter. Your feelings, your career, your engagement." He glared at her a moment before continuing. "And now, you come here, to my home, to get up on your soapbox and tell me you're pissed at me? Go home, Carter."

He turned and walked away from her again.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Fine, stay then. I don't care."

"Why shouldn't I be pissed at you?" She asked, baiting him.

He was just drunk enough to be slightly more talkative than usual, snapping, "Because I never put you second."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"God, Carter, you're the genius here, you figure it out."

"You said it."

"I just gave up my career to make your life easier. I really don't need you comin' round here," he swept out an arm to encompass his living room, neatly knocking over some photographs that were on the sideboard behind him, "telling me how angry you are at me!" He paused to glare at her. "I'm angry with you!"

"Why?" Sam asked.

"Because I'm in love with you!" He yelled, stopping suddenly as though he'd suddenly realised what it was he'd said.

Sam stared at him, speechlessly for a full minute before asking, "What?"

Jack didn't answer her, he had his hands over his face. She heard him mutter "Oh crap" through his fingers.

She was still staring at him, disbelieving. "In love with… but… you… you never said!" She stammered.

"I thought it was kinda obvious." He growled, dropping his hands to resume glaring at her.

"How?" She demanded.

"You know, for a genius, you can be extraordinarily dense sometimes." He told her.

"This from you?"

"Hey! I'm dense all the time! At least I'm consistent."

"And what, in your opinion, Jack, am I dense about?" She challenged, her brain still too numb from the magnitude of what he'd just confessed to think properly.

In two quick strides he was across the room and pulling her up from the coffee table, knocking it over in the process.

She heard the bottle and glasses hit the floor behind her.

"This." He pulled her face up to meet his, kissing her forcefully.

She stopped trying to push him away and dug her nails into his SGC-issue black t-shirt, pulling him towards herself.

She felt his hands slide into her hair, pulling on it, yanking her closer.

She thrust her tongue into his mouth, tasting the whiskey he had been drinking.

After several searing moments Jack released her, stepping back.

She stared at him, not understanding.

"Now go home, Carter." He said nastily, still breathing heavily.

"What?" Sam asked, dumbstruck.

"I was just proving a point, Carter. Go home." Jack said.

Sam stared at him incredulously for a moment.

Seconds ago this man had been kissing her. Passionately. Desperately.

Seconds ago this man had been pulling on her hair in an effort to get her body closer to his.

Seconds ago this man had made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world. The galaxy. The universe.

She hit him.

She didn't slap him. Sam Carter had been an Air Force officer all her adult life. She punched him.

Hard.

He must've been drunker than she thought. Her punch caused him to sway on his feet. The man that sparred with Teal'c was swaying.

He was going to fall. Sam knew it in the split second before it happened.

At the last moment he reached out and grabbed her arm, trying to steady himself.

Sam tried to wrench it out of his grip, and ended up toppling to the ground with him, landing on top of him.