Chapter 9

Baths, Sam thought, truly were God's gift to women. Only a woman could properly appreciate the soothing effects of hot water and fragrant bubbles on frayed nerves. She lingered in the tub for a long time, indulging in a pleasure she knew she wouldn't find in the middle of the Dakaran desert.

Dealing with Jack had been a monumental pain in the ass this week, stretching her professional reserve to the breaking point. She was damned if she'd confront him about the way he'd left, though. If he'd wanted to explain himself, he would have. As it was, she could only assume that whatever feelings he might once have had for her had faded beneath the weight of time and self-denial. Still, she thought, it was disappointing to realize that he hadn't even cared enough to say goodbye.

As the water finally began to cool, and the few remaining bubbles disappeared one by one, she reluctantly climbed out of the tub. Wrapping her still damp hair in one fluffy white towel, and her equally damp body in another, she pulled the plug, watching as the water drained away. What a waste, she thought. At one time she'd been convinced that she and Jack could have something special - so convinced, in fact, that she'd called off her engagement to a thoroughly decent guy, hoping for a miracle. She scoffed lightly at herself. Theoretical astrophysicists should know better than to believe in miracles.

Once she'd dried her hair and tidied the bathroom, she collected the few things she'd need for the next day's mission. The she put her pack by the front door and settled down with a book, determined to spend the remainder of her evening on completely mindless entertainment.

Deeply involved in the latest Robin Cook novel, she almost didn't notice the light tap at her front door. Frowning, she looked at the clock. Nobody she knew would make an unannounced visit at this hour. She checked to make sure the deadbolt and safety chain were engaged, and then looked through the peephole. A bottle of beer met her gaze, and then a very familiar eye. Okay, so maybe someone she knew would make an unannounced visit.

"We come in peace!" He called through the door.

She considered ignoring him. In a matter of hours she'd be safely off world. A few days after that, he'd be gone again, most likely disappearing back into the fabric of humanity without a word, the same way he had before.

He knocked again. Louder this time.

"Carter!" He barked. He was the only man she'd ever known who could speak in a manner that fit that particular verb. Even her drill instructors had never quite pulled it off. "Carter, come on! Let me in before your neighbors call the cops!"

She sighed. They'd probably do exactly that. She lived in a quiet neighborhood, and it was well-known that she lived alone. Her neighbors wouldn't be impressed if a raving lunatic disturbed their rest, and bailing her former CO out of jail didn't sound like something she wanted to be doing tonight. Reluctantly, she released the locks and opened the door.

"Sir!" she said. "What are you doing here?"

"Drop the 'sir,' Carter. I'm a civilian now."

He hadn't answered her question, but she didn't push – yet. Instead, she waited for him to step inside, then closed the door and turned to face him, arms folded protectively across her chest. Something about greeting him in a fluffy white bathrobe and little else made her feel rather at a disadvantage.

He held up a six pack of beer. "I brought a peace offering," he said. "Kitchen?"

She jerked her head slightly, pointing him in the right direction, but didn't say anything else. He'd been in her house before. He already knew where the damn kitchen was. Jack smiled a little weakly and headed off to put the beer in the fridge. Meanwhile, she sat back down on the couch, tucking her suddenly cold feet beneath her.

Jack came back, two beers in hand, and offered one to her. She accepted it, but didn't pop the top. The coming conversation was better handled with a clear head. She watched him take a long drink of liquid courage.

"Why are you here, Jack?" His given name felt strange in her mouth.

He mulled that over for a few seconds, obviously uncomfortable. She considered saying something to make this easier on him, but rejected the idea. Let him squirm. She'd made a fool of herself over him often enough already. She thought back to the time she'd gone to his house unannounced and discovered him entertaining another woman. No way was she going to set herself up for that kind of embarrassment again.

"Teal'c called," he said, looking pleased. Only Jack would liken a wormhole transmission to a simple telephone call.

"Did he?" Maybe his reasons for coming weren't what she'd thought they were.

"Yep. Said he'd be glad to meet you at the gate tomorrow."

"That's good news." Inane Conversation 101 she thought to herself. Surely he didn't come all the way over here to tell her something she could have found out in the morning briefing.

When he didn't say anything else, she uncurled her legs and stood up, thoroughly frustrated with his inability to communicate. "It's late, and I'm tired, so if you don't mind…"

He stood as well, but he made no move to leave. Something about the way he looked at her made her tighten the tie of her robe. "Is something wrong?"

"Nope," he said, and Sam would have sworn that he was nervous as well. Now, there was an interesting thought.

Tired of waiting for him to get to the point, Sam moved to the door, stopping beside it and staring pointedly at him. "Is there anything else?"

"No," he said at first. Then, angrily, "Yes! Damn it!"

"Which is it?" she asked coolly. "Yes or no?"

"Carter!" He glared at her in frustration. "Will ya just…?"

She held her peace, waiting for him to go on.

Finally, he raked a frustrated hand through his silver hair. "Look, I screwed up, okay?"

She snorted. Yes, he'd screwed up, as he so diplomatically stated it. No, it wasn't okay. Not by a long shot.

"So what?" she asked bitterly. "Is this where we're supposed to share a couple of beers and pretend it never happened?" She couldn't do that. He'd hurt her badly. And it was going to take a hell of a lot more than a six pack of beer to make it right.

"Yes!" He almost shouted the word. Then, with a sigh, "No."

She watched him as he finished his beer and set the bottle on a nearby table. There was something defeated about the way he moved, something that made her wonder, just for a second, if maybe she was being too hard on him. Then she remembered the sucker punch feeling she'd had when she'd first heard about his retirement, and the faint stirring of sympathy disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"Why did you do it, Jack?" She spoke softly, the words barely making it across the room to where he stood. "Would it really have been so hard to say something?"

"I just… couldn't," he said finally, his voice as soft as hers had been.

"The great Jack O'Neill, slayer of gods, couldn't say goodbye?"

She'd hit a nerve. Spinning abruptly on his heel, Jack grabbed the empty beer bottle and threw it towards the trash. It hit the wall with a dull thud before dropping in. Ordinarily, she would have applauded his aim. Tonight, she just looked at him.

When he looked back at her, his dark eyes were angry. "You know, for a scientist, sometimes you aren't too bright."

"Excuse me?" She felt defensive anger flooding into her system, adrenaline beginning to pump through her veins.

"You heard me."

"I think you'd better explain yourself."

He walked toward her, his steps almost predatory. Unaccountably nervous, she nevertheless held her ground.

"Why do you think I left?"

He took another step towards her, so that now she could easily have reached out to touch him. Instead, she clenched her hands into fists at her sides.

"I don't have a clue, Jack." She took a steadying breath. "And frankly, I don't give a damn."

"Is that so?" He smiled thinly, his eyes openly communicating his disbelief.

She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "I can only assume you'd had enough."

"Close," he said, "but not quite."

Sam had to resist the urge to stamp her foot in childish frustration. Why were they playing this game of cat and mouse? All at once her emotions boiled up and out, bursting through the barrier of professional distance she'd so carefully maintained for so many years.

"All I know is that one minute you were telling me you'd 'always' be there, and the next minute you were gone without so much as a single damned word!" She snapped the deadbolt free, jerking the door open. "And then you show up at the SGC acting as though nothing happened." She stood back out of his way. "Obviously I completely misinterpreted something somewhere, but then that shouldn't be so surprising." She fought for control, breathing heavily, as bitterness replaced anger. "I am only a scientist after all."

"Sam…"

"Just… Go, Jack." Suddenly all she wanted to do was to curl back up on the couch with Robin Cook and forget her personal problems. At least in storybooks, relationships sometimes behaved the way they were supposed to.

"Damn it, Sam. You don't get it!"

She looked at him, seeing the anger and frustration she felt reflected in his eyes. "Then why don't you explain it to me?"

"Fine!"

And suddenly his arms were around her, pulling her so tightly against him that the open collar of his shirt brushed against her neck and sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. She opened her mouth to ask him what was going on, but before she could speak he took her lips in a kiss that made all higher level brain activity come to a screeching halt. And then, for a long time, there was no thought at all, just the touch and taste and smell of him. And while her first reaction might have been surprise, it only took a heartbeat for her to give in to the explosion of feeling that rocked them both to the core.

When he finally eased the kiss to gentle end, and she wobbled slightly on weak knees, he held her until she steadied herself enough to pull away.

"That," he said softly, "is why I left."

And that was it. Before she could gather her scattered wits enough to respond, the door clicked softly shut and he was gone.