Author's Note – Hi All, sorry it's taken me so long to post this chapter. I struggled for a long time with how to bend all the characters I wanted into going the direction they needed to go. I then took a little break and wrote some other stuff (which some of you have very kindly read and reviewed – you are all lovely, lovely constructive & supportive people. I feel utterly cherished and admired so consider yourselves warm fuzzied!) to see if coming back to this piece would re-inspire. This chapter is actually more of a link but I promise the next chapter should be up in a day or so.

Standard disclaimer applies – characters are not mine and I know that.

This piece is just Jack. He's talking to himself. The bits in "plain text in quotation marks" are him speaking aloud. The bits in "italics in quotation marks" are his brain. The bits in italics but without quotation marks are his body. If that's all just too confusing, don't take it too seriously, read it and go with the flow. He's drunk, very drunk, but there's no-one else there but him.

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Jack was asking himself exactly what sort of life he was living anyway?

And it wasn't purely rhetorical because he was actually putting some thought into it. Drunken thought, and that was another thing that happened more often than he'd care to admit to these days, but he still liked to think it was deep thought nonetheless.

Ninety percent of the time he quite liked his life. He loved his house, his job wasn't completely crap and he got to spend his time around good people who, mostly, appreciated him. And Carter was still laughing at his jokes; always a source of pleasure.

So why, on a fine, late Summer, Saturday afternoon, was Jack O'Neill sitting in his living room and drinking himself insensible? Yet again.

"You can lead a horse to water but you cannot make it … … think."

Okay. Maybe he'd had enough for today, he thought to himself as he drank the dregs from the bottle, resisting the temptation to stick his tongue in the neck for those last few drops.

"Now don't let anybody actually catch you doing that anytime soon." Great. Now he was giving himself tips on how to avoid looking like a total drunk.

"AA here we come."

"Shut up!"

"No."

"Right! This stops NOW!" his brain told his body, which was jolted into action by the ferocity of the mental attack. Upright, and swaying only slightly, his body awaited further instructions. His brain was too busy congratulating itself on getting the rest of him vertical to formulate any sort of structured plan for the moment so Jack headed for the door, figuring he'd just get a head start, so to speak.

He was halfway to his truck when Brain realised what he was up to. "Hey! What the hell?"

Body halted, over-correcting for the continuing forward momentum and then having to hold onto the mail-box for support.

Brain continued, in a slightly hysterical tone, "You can not drive in this state! You'll kill yourself!"

Too bad, so sad.

"You'll kill someone else!"

Can I pick who?

'NO!'

Brain and body reached an impasse before brain realised something else. "You haven't got the keys anyway."

Aw, Crap.

Brain reasserted itself. "Did you shut the front door?"

Yes.

Body did its best to match brain in the sarcasm stakes.

Brain said nothing, just letting the rest of him work it out for himself.

"Aw, Crap."

Brain decided it might be a good time to go to the 'happy place' while Jack's legs set off in the direction of the nearest person he knew with a key to his house.

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Sorry this chapter is so short but anybody have any idea who Jack might just be about to run into at Sam's place on a fine, late Summer, Saturday afternoon?……