Author's Note – another short chapter because I was half way through the whole three way confrontation scene and it occurred to me that it might be nice to see how Sam and Jack react before John comes back on the scene. So here it is…

Disclaimer – as per previous chapters. You know the score.

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Jack was someone who needed to be needed. Appreciating that fact about himself didn't mean he particularly liked it, but he was self-aware enough to recognise he did his best work when he could be said to be 'emotionally engaged with the subject at hand.'

And it helped that he had long arms.

Forget having a cool head in a crisis, although as it happens he had one of those as well, because long arms were really where it was at.

He also knew that, for however short or rare a moment it was, Samantha Carter's need for him to do so outweighed the pain of actually holding her. Holding her and surrounding her with his long arms and his reassurance that it would all be okay.

And this time his demons hadn't even compelled him to offer the usual verbal surrender. He'd just gathered her in, tucked her head into his neck and lowered his cheek onto her hair.

When Sam finally lifted her face from his now damp shoulder and stepped out of his embrace, he'd fully expected to see embarrassment and shame for her loss of control, possibly combined with a healthy dose of self-loathing. He'd been prepared for that and had already marshalled his mental resources to offer her whatever comfort she needed.

"You are such a bastard."

"What?"

"He's you. He has your memories. He has your emotions and motives. Don't tell me you didn't see this coming."

Not self loathing then.

"I should have realised when he shouted at me."

"He shouted at you?"

"Oh, don't give me that look. You shout at me all the time."

Jack's brain was still stuck somewhere back in to the reality where she needed his compassion and understanding.

"And I guess the only reason I didn't pick up on it right then was because I was too busy being distracted by the fact he had his shirt off."

Jack smirked, despite an odd pang in the region of his heart and an answering echo in the pit of his stomach at the thought of her ogling anyone, even his younger self. "I like to think I've improved with age, Carter."

She returned him a level look. "Don't flatter yourself too much. He works out. Seriously. And he's spent a lot of time this summer working on his tan in my back yard."

It was a verbal slap in the face.

Jack then had to watch as Sam allowed herself a lazy smile of remembered lust, knowing she was doing it on purpose and probably solely to piss him off but still helpless in the grip of his own insecurities. "I think we're getting a little off topic here, Carter."

"Gimme a minute, Sir."

"CARTER!"

She glared at him. "I'm still blaming you."

Jack threw his hands up in surrender. "Whatever!"

There was a quiet moment while they separately cooled off and digested the situation.

"Okay, Jack, I think you need to go have a shower while I ring him and get him over here. We, and I mean all three of us, need to talk."

Jack debated whether to take issue with the whole name thing but decided he was in so far over his head here it was probably not something he wanted to expend a lot of energy on.

"What are you saying, Colonel?"

She gave him the pissy look again. "I'm saying you spent God knows how many hours drinking yourself into oblivion, then walked to my place, got involved in a less than awe inspiring … confrontation," Jack winced at the slur on his combat abilities "and then passed out. Work it out for yourself."

"Fine." Jack decided to cut his losses and stalked back towards the bathroom. There was only so much he could take and at this particular moment in time he was feeling like his ego had been attacked with a machete.

"Towels are in the cupboard in the hall."

"Can I use your toothbrush?"

"NO!"

"Just askin'"

He grinned. Nice to know there were still some boundaries.