Well ... so much for a romantic evening in with Jack!

I sighed and shifted uncomfortably, placing a hand on my aching back. I'd swear someone up there hated me.

It was Jack's last full day in Colorado, and he'd asked me to come over to his place for a nice dinner (the man actually could cook, not just burn meat on the barbecue). There'd been the hint of drawl that had suggested that he was more than ready to move things up to the next level. I was on board with that.

What? I'm a woman in the prime of life; I have needs. And Brigadier General Jack O'Neill is a gorgeous all-American chunk of hunk. Older than me, but amazingly hot.

But today ...

I'm also a woman with a seriously whacked-out body chemistry thanks to a little hitch-hiker named Jolinar. So I get no symptoms - no warnings of 'hell week'.

I shifted once more on Jack's recliner as the pain radiated low in my abdomen and sipped morosely at my wine. I'd had alien entities take up residence in my head, staff wounds, ribbon devices, and numerous cuts and bruises. But being on the rag was a bitch ... and I was as unhappy as I could be.

"Sam; are you okay?" Jack strolled out of the kitchen, bearing a large crock pot, Asha padding alongside him. I sometimes wondered if she was actually a dog in disguise - I'd never seen a cat take so well to Jack.

I sat up, wincing as another pain hit, and sniffed the air. "Fine," I said, not wanting to ruin his plans. "Something smells good."

He smiled boyishly and put the crockpot down on the table. "Thanks," he said, then crossed over to me. "Sam; I've known you for what ... eight years? You're a crappy liar."

I'd never been good at lying to this man. But men just didn't deal well with a woman on the rag. I sighed. "I didn't want to ruin your evening, but ...".

"But ...?" he prompted, sitting on the arm of the recliner, Asha now scrambling up his long frame to get to his shoulder.

I gave another sigh and indicated my grumbling abdomen, going pink. I know, I know! It's a natural part of a woman's life, nothing to be embarrassed about ... right? But who could be rational when every joint ached, and you felt bloated and ugly? "I ... gotmyperiodtoday," I rushed out.

"Ah."

I closed my eyes, waiting for the complaints, the sighs, or the ill-conceived jokes.

Nothing.

Then his large hand landed on my lower abdomen and my eyes flew open. "Got just the thing for this," he said, rubbing a warm circle on my distressed stomach. He got up and headed to the bathroom, his little fuzzball still on his shoulder.

So far, so good. He was taking it a lot better than the other men I'd been involved with. I shifted again, missing the warmth from his hand - really; the man was the human furnace!

Several minutes later, he came back out with a large warm robe, then took my hand and drew me to my feet. "You; come with me," he ordered.

Years of habit had me following this order, and I went with him to the bathroom. The bathtub was full of steaming water, and he took a handful of crystals and poured them into the water. "Right; you soak in here for a half an hour," he said, lighting some candles and dousing the electric light. "Then come out and stuff your face. And if you feel up to it ..."

I sighed slightly. I wanted to make love with him, but I couldn't. I should've known.

"... I'll give you a back rub."

Even after eight years, this man could still surprise me. "Jack?"

"A-ah!" His hand shot up. "No arguing, Carter. Strip, get that gorgeous body of yours into the tub, and I'll see you in a half-hour."

I gave him a crisp salute. "Yes, sir!" I said.

"Smart ass." He brushed the back of his fingers across my cheek in a tender caress, then headed out of the bathroom, closing the door.

I looked around, surprised when a tear made its way to the corner of my eye. I was always a little emotional during this time anyway, and when the rough tough General was so sweet ... I sniffed and began to undress, eager to hit the steaming warmth of the water.

The air was filled with the gentle scent of vanilla as the candles burned and ... Vivaldi played softly through the built-in speakers. Who knew Jack O'Neill could be so thoughtful?

I got into the tub, gasping a little at the heat, but soon adapted. I stretched out, appreciating the fact that Jack's long legs andbattered knee meant he had a full-length deep tub.

I closed my eyes and rested my head back against the cushioned head piece, shifting slightly as my stomach throbbed once more. If it hadn't been for the fact that I felt like dog-shit, this could have been really romantic.

Of course; if I hadn't been feeling like dog-shit, I wouldn't be in this tub alone.

Yep; someone up there hated me.


Two hours later, I wasn't so convinced that the gods hated me. I lay on my side on Jack's big bed with a heat pack strapped to my tender abdomen and Jack's long strong fingers working magic on my neck and shoulders.

"Jack ...," I said, sitting up and turning to face him, "thank you."

He seemed confused. "For what?"

"For being so good about ... this. I know it kinda ruined your plans for the evening."

The confused look didn't dissipate. "Well, I wasn't going to throw a fit just because you're feeling like shit," he said. He sighed. "Sam ... I'm not the most sensitive guy in the world, but I was married for fifteen years. You think I didn't manage to learn something in that time?"

I'd been engaged twice and neither fiancé had been as good as the man who had yet to become my lover. "So ... it's okay? That we can't ... you know?" Oh, very smooth, Doctor Carter!

His eyes hardened, and I tried to get a bead on what he was thinking. "I'd like to beat the shit out of whoever made you think like this," he said. "But something tells me you could kick their ass from here to Orilla without breaking a sweat."

I chuckled, glad that he didn't suddenly think of me as some fragile Dresden doll. Yes, I had issues - didn't everybody? - but I dealt with them, in my own way, in my own time.

I turned and lay back on my side. "More," I said, indicating my lower back.

"Yes, ma'am!" he said and slid his fingers under my tee shirt, kneading gently at the knotted muscles.

I gave a long sigh as he worked out knots I hadn't even known I had. "Mmmm, if the whole Pentagon thing doesn't work out for you, I'll hire you on as my personal masseur," I said, closing my eyes.

"You couldn't afford me, lady!" he teased, withdrew his hands briefly, cracked his knuckles, then slid his hands back under my shirt. He made his way slowly up my back, turning me into a ball of putty - the original boneless wonder. Damn, the man had skills! Which led me to wonder what other skills he had ... Wow; was it getting hot in here?

He paused suddenly at my bra strap. "Is it okay?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," I said sleepily. I reached round to undo the strap, but he beat me to it with a quick flick. Wonder if that was a Special Ops move?


Sunlight poured in through the window, and I woke up to find a pair of eyes in my face and a heavy arm across my stomach. "Morning, Asha," I muttered.

Asha?

I looked around the unfamiliar bedroom, then remembered ...

Right. I must have fallen asleep under his ministrations. And speaking of ... He lay quietly next to me on his back, one arm under his pillow, the other over my waist. I was relieved to see that I was still fully clothed - no lame 'Took off your clothes to make you more comfortable' AKA 'Wanted to see you naked'.

I took a moment to study the man. He looked so peaceful when asleep, some of the frown lines smoothed away and his mouth slightly open as a gentle snore emitted from him. After years of sleeping off world near Daniel - the king of the rafter-rattling snore - the soft rumble coming from Jack wasn't going to disturb me. It was actually quite soothing.

Asha lay on his chest, and stretched to stick her nose into my face, sniffing at the human who was with her favorite human. She purred softly, then got up, padding up Jack's chest to wake him.

Which she did by ... pressing her nose against his and mewing pitifully. His eyes snapped open and his hand shot to his hip for a weapon he didn't have. You could take the man out of the field, but you couldn't take the field out of the man. "Mornin'," he said, his voice slightly gravelly from sleep.

"Morning," I replied, sitting up and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek.

"Feeling better?" he inquired, getting up and scooping up the demanding little fluff-ball.

She purred smugly - she knew who the boss was around here! - and I smiled. "Yeah," I said, stretching. "The first day's always the worst. I'll be better in a couple more days."

Then I remembered that he wouldn't be here in a few days. Hell, he wouldn't even be in the state!

He sat back down and put a hand to my face, drawing me into a gentle kiss. "Don't," he said. "Yeah; I'm leaving the Springs, and you're off to Nevada. But there's such a thing as leave, ya know!"

"Yeah."

He paused. "Sure; you'll piss me off, I'll piss you off. We'll fight. I leave the seat up, you squeeze toothpaste from the middle - what's that about? - but we'll be good together; damn good."

It wasn't a sweeping romantic declaration, but it was honest and very Jack. As such, it meant more to me than quotes from Shakespeare.

An indignant mewing from Jack's shoulder interrupted what could have become a tender moment. "Yeah, yeah!" Jack grumbled. "Chow time."

He left the bedroom and I giggled. Totally whipped.


Dedicated to my fellow sufferers (and wishing that I had my own personal brown-eyed masseur).