Title: 9.4 Seconds (One of the Many Lives of Samantha Carter)

Rating:MA

Warning: Dark Fic, Mirror Universe, Angst. Discussion/Memories include a previous Suicide attempt, and remembrances of torture and being a POW. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Cussing, And two mind-bleaching Squicky pairings, so keep your Clorox wipes handy if you decide to brave this story.

Geek!GirlSamantha was seen in Ripple Effect. She was the quiet one, wearing glasses in the scene with the multiplicity of Carters. This is her story.

Pairings:

Geek!GirlSamantha and her Colonel.

Vixen!Janet and most of the SGC.

Family!Man!GeneralJack and Mrs.General!Sara.

My apologies for any typos. My betas seemed to have overdosed on the mind bleach and have run screaming for the hills. I think that's a compliment?

We left Geek!Girl learning how to play baseball. Or something like that.

In spite of Samantha's resolute vow to be gutsy and thrilled about this new experience that she'd be sharing with George, rather than gawkily fearful, she was quaking in her boots and a quivering in her camo panties, and not in a good way, either!

George knew how nervous she truly was. He opened the door to his condo, and he ushered her in. Then he motioned for her to sit on a wooden bench that was near the front door. She sat down quickly, hoping that her nerves would settle. George sat down next to her, and to her delight, he ran his fingers through her blond hair. He played with her hair for a bit, running it through his fingers, even twirling a strand of it around one finger. Samantha closed her eyes, and just enjoyed the tingling sensations.

Maybe… just maybe… George wouldn't be turned off by her nervousness.

Naturally, Geek!Girl Carter's luck held true to form. George ceased playing with her hair, and he put his hand on hers and gave her hands a reassuring squeeze.

"We don't have to do this," he reminded her in that soft, affectionate, low voice that Samantha knew that he only used with her. With the others, his voice was brusque and unemotional, dripping with his Texas accent, whereas when he spoke to her, each syllable was an almost physical caress. "We can wait until you're ready."

"I want to," Samantha protested, wishing that her voice didn't sound so unsteady.

Good God, she bet the supremely self-confident Janet Fraiser had never acted like this on her first time. No, by God, Janet would have pounced by now, gotten ridden of that pesky tag of virgin and would probably be on round 3 by now!

"We can wait," he protested. "There's no hurry, Samantha. I don't want you to tell me one day that you regretted this."

"Please," she whispered. "I trust you. I'm thirty years old, and you're the first…"

Samantha paused and gave him a shy smile. George returned her smile, and Samantha could sense that George had already decided that she wasn't truly ready for the next step as his smile was a mixture of desire, compassion and bittersweet regret.

"You're nervous, Samantha," George stated again. "There's no hurry. We'll do this another day."

"I trust you," she explained, stopping before her voice grew shaky. "I really want my first time to be with you. Please."

"Samantha, why do you have your heart set on this broken down old war horse?" George asked. "Why not someone younger?"

"Because you're not like the other guys," Samantha explained softly.

"Samantha…" George protested. He was shaking his head, and she knew that she had to expand on her comment.

"I mean that in a good way," she explained. "I feel safe with you."

"You deserve love, Samantha, you shouldn't settle for safety," he insisted.

"When I was younger, I had hoped for love. You know, a handsome guy would find something in me that was worthwhile…"

"You are worthwhile, Samantha…" interrupted George.

"But the guys that were interested in me weren't very nice. They wanted me for what I could do for them, help them pass their classes. Jonas thought it would be helpful for his career if he was married to a General's daughter…" Samantha smiled tightly after she admitted that. "And the guys I liked weren't interested in a geek girl with glasses."

"Your father liked Jonas, right? Is that the reason why you put up with him?" George questioned.

She had never really talked about her abusive relationship with Jonas to anyone, and so Samantha slowly began trying to explain the twisted, tangled, hellish relationship she and Jonas had and why she had stayed with him long enough to get engaged.

"Yeah, my dad liked him. Jonas could be very charming when he wanted, and Dad thought Jonas was a real man's man and good son-in-law material because my brother blamed him for my mom's car accident," Samantha explained. "My mom had been drinking before she had her accident. My father told her to get a cab as he was in a meeting, and instead, some guy offered her a ride home. My mom didn't realize that her new buddy was loaded."

She stopped, uncertain if she should continue her story, especially with Hammond's painful familiarity of the consequences of reckless, drunk drivers. To her genuine astonishment, George reached over and gave her a hug. He held her tightly and she clung to him.

It had been fifteen years and more since that fateful day her mom had gotten into the accident, but Samantha still remembered everything about that painful moment when she had been informed that her mom had been in an accident. Her father had been in TEARS, real honest-to-god TEARS and Mark had gotten so angry with their father, screaming like a banshee, and blaming him for the accident that had nearly killed their mother.

She had wanted nothing more at that horrible moment then to have Mark stop screaming his accusations, to have her father hug her and assure her that everything would work out fine, but Jake had been far too busy to have much time for her. He had to call her grandparents, figure out who was going to watch her and Mark, and a thousand other things that were far more important to him than his worried daughter.

"When you're ready, continue…" George rumbled, as she clung to him tightly. "And not a moment before."

Regretfully, Samantha shrugged off his embrace, wanting to appear stronger than she was.

"She was in a wheelchair, but she's managed to walk again," Samantha continued slowly. "My mom started drinking because my father was cheating. Since the accident, my father has been devoted to her, but…"

"I don't expect love, George. I just want my first and probably only time to be with someone who won't hurt me just because they can," she whispered. "I know you won't deliberately hurt me, because you've had so much pain in your life. I can't see you willingly inflicting pain on someone else."

Left unsaid was that Samantha, geek girl, possessed a painful teenage crush on him. Perhaps it would be better for both of them, if she just pretended that she wasn't head over heels for the older man. George wanted to bed her, so she wasn't foolish enough to think that he cared for her, but he had promised to go slow.

George just stared at her for a moment, and then he shook his head.

"Please," Samantha whispered. "Please make love to me."

"Samantha…" he protested, but she could sense that his firm resolve was weakening.

"Please…. I trust you."

Oh God, she was getting teary-eyed, and George carefully wiped away a tear that had escaped from her eye and was running down her cheek.

"Don't put me on a pedestal that I don't deserve," he warned her. "I have feet of clay, a heart of stone and an extremely hard head covered by very little hair."

That quip broke the tension, as Samantha found herself nervously giggling in spite of the 100 million Monarch butterflies in her stomach. Yes, she laughed even as she put her hand on his very tight buzz cut. George had the smallest fringe of auburn hair that he faithfully buzzed every week. She tentatively rubbed her hand against his slight stubble, enjoying the rough feel against her hand and Samantha was quite delighted when George closed his eyes.

"Don't stop," George pleaded. Then his voice turned into a low, dangerous growl, "That feels so good."

"Really?" Samantha questioned as she began to be more assertive in rubbing his stubble.

George reminded Samantha of a cat being scratched as he moved into her touch.

"Yes, it's one of my quirks. Fuzz Therapy. Between that and rubbing my neck and my shoulders, all I will be able to think about is how I want to get you horizontal. Seriously, sometimes, I get these really bad tension headaches, and the only way I could ever get any relief was when…. she… would massage my shoulders and neck."

His voice had slowed before George had halting said "she," as though he had abruptly realized how inappropriate it was to mention his late wife to his girlfriend.

"George, you can mention Angie's name," Samantha protested. "She's part of who you are."

"It's not right to you," he disagreed fervently. "It's downright disrespectful in fact. There you are, wanting this old war horse to be your first, and like the idiot I am, I mention my late wife."

"No, it's all right," Samantha assured him. "I'd like to change into something; is that ok?"

"Is better than camo?" George teased. "Is something that's a little…naughty?"

Damn it, she knew was blushing and she nodded her head. George gave an appreciative wolf whistle and Sam swore that even her toes were turning red.

"Then come with me, and I'll show you where you can change," he commented. He held out his hand, and gave her an encouraging smile. "I'm looking forward to seeing you in it. I really want to know if you blush all over…"

"George!"

His place was huge! Samantha had only dreamed about renting a place like this when moved to Colorado and George apparently owned it. There were four bedrooms, assorted bathrooms and a huge kitchen. There also was a large TV in the rather Spartan living room, a stereo that would probably shake the floors if he turned it up too loud and…a large fish tank that caught her eye. It was full of bright salt water fish darting back and forth.

"This is incredible," she exclaimed. "This entire place is beautiful."

George looked uncomfortable, and then he explained, "I got settlements from the kid, his parents and the bar that…."

He motioned with his hands, letting her know that he couldn't continue the sentence.

"So… the money's cold comfort indeed. It won't bring them back. I donated most of it, and I bought some things they would have liked, if they were alive. Kayla and…Tessa…," he paused to regain his composure, and she grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, glad that for once, she could reassure him, rather than the other way around, "Would have loved that damn tank. I had a forty gallon one…the girls used to like to watch the fish dart back and forth. Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I sit on the couch and watch those damn fish for hours."

"I'm sorry that I'm such a downer," George said after a very long pause in the conversation. "You're the first person I've ever invited here…so I'm out of practice being a good host. Do you want anything?"

"You," Samantha blurted out hastily.

George blushed! He actually turned rosy, grinned a crooked smile and he rubbed the back of his neck as though he disbelieved her.

"Got one thing on your mind, girl," George grimaced and then barked a loud laugh. "Let me show you where you can get changed."

Nervously, she changed into the blue lingerie, and Samantha couldn't help but stare at herself in the bathroom mirror. Besides the obvious, what did George see in her? She really looked at herself in the mirror, and she tried to imagine what George saw.

Yup, it came down to the Girls.

The Boobs.

Well, the lingerie certainly accented them, and the Girls were simply delighted that they were about to manhandled, so they were perky and proud and her nipples were already standing at attention.

God, she looked ridiculous!

She nearly jumped when she heard George knock on the door.

"Are you ok? You've been in there for a while," he questioned.

"I'm ok," she called loudly, then whispered to herself, "I can do this!"

Then Samantha raised her voice, and assured him that she was coming out.

George nearly swallowed his tongue when Samantha Carter exited the bathroom. She was wearing an Air Force blue nightie and he just couldn't help but stare at her. Lord, she was blessed with a munificent amount of round curves that she was hiding behind that strategically cut baby-doll. A man could drown in her cleavage, and do so willingly. Hell, he was quite looking forward to going down for the third time.

"What?" Samantha questioned, as she nervously brushed her hair with her fingers. Her shoulders started to hunch, and then she put her free arm over those beautiful, glorious, magnificent breasts of hers to shield them from his sight.

"Oh my good God girl, you're beautiful," he blurted.

"Really?" Samantha questioned in true, honest disbelief.

"Really," he assured her. "Now, stand up straight, and stop hiding. I'd like to look at you, admire how beautiful you are…"

It took a lot of cajoling and talking sweet, but Samantha soon let him see her in the nightie. Then "Starman" was quickly forgotten, as he led her to his bedroom, gently grasping her hand, before he had sat down next to her on the edge of his bed. Deliberately, he held out his arm, and she just looked at him, with her sky blue eyes faintly perplexed, obviously wondering if he wanted her to undress him.

"Unbutton my sleeve," he commanded in a very soft voice.

Hesitantly, she unbuttoned both sleeves, and he requested that she unbutton his shirt. She fumbled with his buttons, but he didn't murmur a single complaint about her awkwardness, instead, he gently kissed the top of her head which just got her more flustered!

"Help me take my shirt off," George requested, and Sam did so.

Samantha was pulling his arms out of the sleeves when she stopped. He knew exactly sight what had distracted her.

"The first time I show them to anyone is always… nerve wracking," George explained, after he shrugged his long sleeved shirt off, leaving him wearing a short-sleeved black T-shirt.

"I wasn't staring at them," Samantha insisted.

"The eye can not be helped but be drawn to them," George's voice was emotionless as he held out his arms to her. "I will show them to you, so you can realize that I'm nervous about your reaction to them. You tell me to stop, at any moment, and I will. I can sense that you're a little nervous about me seeing you naked. I can close the curtains; turn the lights off, let you hide underneath the blankets, if it makes it easier for your first time."

"But darling, you're beautiful. You shouldn't hide," he insisted. He pointed at the long, thin, parallel lines that ran from his wrist to his elbow. "These are ugly and repulsive, they represent despair and madness. I so wish that I could hide my scars from everyone…especially from you."

"But I can't hide them, so all I can do is show them to you, let you touch them, let you understand that they're who I am. Go ahead, touch them."

Carefully, she took her index finger and she gingerly touched his forearm.

"Go ahead. You can look at them. You can touch them. Don't be afraid. You need to comprehend that those ugly, ugly scars are part of who I was, who I am and who I will ever be."

That confession was said in a voice so soft that she almost didn't hear him.

"You must have been…overwhelmed…" Samantha whispered.

"I don't…. really remember. They tell me what I did… and I can see me doing what they said I did… It's like watching the TV….. I don't remember living through it, though…I…snapped…. And my sanity…. It went on vacation. To Tahiti, I think. Damn thing didn't even send me a postcard in Camp Mental Snap."

George paused, and then he looked at her. He was smiling a crooked smile even as he wiped the tears from her eyes. "I always wished that I had died that day…but…lately…I'm glad I survived…."

"Really?" Samantha questioned softly before they started kissing.

"I couldn't be doing this with you…. Now could I?" George questioned her.

Carefully, he removed her glasses from her face, folded them cautiously before placing them on the nightstand. "Lights on or off?"

"Please don't turn off the lights," Sam decided after a moment.

A lot of gentle touches, softly spoken words and hot, blistering kisses soon followed and then George carefully undressed Samantha.

A few hours later:

"So…" George questioned softly. "Was it good for you?"

George had rolled on his side to watch her doze. His question had roused her from the half-doze state she was in, and Samantha sighed as she was luxuriating in the languorous, post coital mood. After they had made love, George had insisted on still more kissing, cuddling, hand holding and soft whispers, and she had felt… cherished…safe… sated.

But now he wanted to talk, and she just desired to enjoy that sweet, all encompassing feeling of utter contentment and complete physical and emotional relaxation for as long as it lasted.

"Well…. Was it good for you?"

He grinned lazily at her, and then pulled the covers over his head in a vain effort at preemptively shielding himself from her pillow. His efforts at hiding had the effect of taking all her covers from her so she then thwacked him with her pillow. A few minutes later, her relentless pillow bombardment having ceased as quickly as it had begun, her lover's closely cropped head popped up from underneath the covers.

"Seriously… I really want to know…" His voice took on a wheedling tone. "I sincerely want to know."

"It was… wonderful… and better than I ever dared hope," she assured him.

"I felt you tighten up…at that particular moment…" her lover sighed. "Did it…"

"A little," she admitted.

George softly rattled off a few curses.

"No… no… just a little," Samantha protested. "You were… wonderful. Thank you for being patient with me."

"Patient? I wasn't 'being' patient with you, Samantha."

"Understanding…about this being my first time," Samantha offered that word carefully, not wanting to injure George's pride, but still wanting to convey how she felt. "How you made sure…"

"Hey…we had this conversation early on, while you were still wearing the naughty little nightie of yours. Remember? Gentlemen bring their own condoms; they don't expect the lady to provide them. They also ensure that the lady comes first…. and that the lady comes repeatedly… He cleans up afterwards, and most importantly, a gentleman always sleeps in the wet spot, as he made the mess," he reminded her.

"No…it's not just that…you did all the work…and I didn't…" Samantha paused, and then continued, "Get very hands on."

"I wanted you to just relax and enjoy what was happening. If you decide you want to keep seeing me, you'll get more comfortable in touching me," George assured her.

"I want to keep seeing you," she insisted. "I'm worried that you don't… was I OK? Was it good for you?"

George kissed her a few times and then he began whispering in her ear.

"It was… fantastic… for me… It felt so damn good to be inside you, girl. I just wish that I was younger, as I'd be ready for another round right about now. But I'm older, and it takes a while to get my howitzer primed and back online."

She giggled at Hammond's naughty streak, and they kissed for a bit.

"Now, do you want to take a shower before we got out to dinner? I've got a spare yukata or three from my tours in Japan, so you can wear one. You'll swim in it, but that way you can dry off."

"Yukata? You were in Japan? What base?" Samantha questioned sleepily while she stretched. "My father was stationed there back in the late seventies."

George paused, and then gave her a white lie. He had first met her father in Japan, when their tours had overlapped shortly. He had been a short timer; had been "partnered" with Jake, who had just begun his tour in Japan, his CO's horseshit attempt at trying to get the newbies familiar with the dos and don'ts of Japanese culture as quickly as possible.

"Stationed there right after we got the hell outta 'Nam," he lied. "So I probably missed your dad by a few years."

Samantha gave him a sleepy smile, and George wished he could stop hearing his conscience yelling, "Liar! Liar! You're a goddamn liar, Hammond!"

Janet Fraiser was a single-minded woman on a mission, searching for someone in particular at the SGC. Her slightly higher than regulation heels, clicked clacked determinedly through the empty hallways of the SGC while she ruthlessly hunted for her latest prey.

A new boy toy.

To replace Hammond who had gone to the light side. When she had suggested to Hammond that he pop the Virgin's cherry as part of his plan to enact revenge on Carter's father, she should have realized that he'd be unable to follow her plan.

No, crazy George would instinctively protect anyone that gave him the slightest bit of compassion.

Once upon a time, he had defended her honor. Now, she was nothing more than a cold-hearted bitch that he mentioned to score points with Samantha.

She truly hoped that Hammond was enjoying little Ms. Wonderbread.

No doubt he was being exceedingly romantic to little Ms. Purity, showering her with flowers. Knowing George to be the obsessive compulsive nut job he truly was, the bald wonder had over planned everything; there'd be champagne, flowers, and Barry White playing when he seduced her. Hammond was no doubt, preparing to deflower Wonderbread on a bedsheet that was covered in rose petals. He was probably even now hand picking the roses and hand positioning the petals on her bed.

Hopefully, the roses had six inch thorns.

The mental image of Hammond bleeding all over the satin sheets while cursing about the eight inch thorns made her cynically laugh.

She shouldn't care that he had gone over to the vanilla side!

She shouldn't!

Yet, God damn her for a complete fool, she did!

What was that term of endearment Hammond had once called her?

A black widow spider?

Therefore, this black widow spider in Air Force Blue was going to find a new man to enthrall and destroy.

But who?

Not McKay, he was too whiny.

Zelenka?

Too Czech for her, as she often found Zelenka shouting curses in Czech at McKay. If he cried out in the moment of passion, she'd want him yelling in English.

Felger, Coombs? No, no, no…

Daniel Jackson….

Yes, he was soft spoken, smelled good (a rarity among some of the men of the SGC), and Janet had to admit that she was wondering about his flexible tongue. If Daniel was able to twist it to form strange vowels and consonants in two dozen strange languages, she was sure he was no common cunning linguist.

Just the thought of playing with his diphthong got her panties all wet.

Janet caught him in his office, and he was busy peering over a stack of ancient artifacts. The mold in the room made her happy that she had taken her antihistamines. Intently she watched him for a few minutes, and unbidden the thought of Hammond and his new squeeze came to mind. Then she realized that she really wanted to deflower Jackson.

In his office.

She watched the security cameras for a bit, figured out where they would be and wouldn't be positioned… and then she pounced. Deliberately, Janet sat on the edge of his messy desk, carelessly knocking a few books onto the floor, and making damn sure that she hitched the hem of the skirt up slightly, so it was definitely not regulation length.

Jackson murmured a protest, and then she crossed her well toned legs. His eyes followed the length of her shapely legs and upwards, landing firmly in her cleavage that her deliberately unbuttoned shirt was displaying. His eyes were trapped, and Janet deliberately leaned over to give him a better view.

"I hear linguists make the best lovers, Doctor Jackson," she purred.

"I haven't… heard that…" he squeaked. "Why… do you… say that?"

"Because linguists are oral as hell," she purred before she kissed him.

"Whoa!" Siler nearly choked on his coffee, and thankfully did not spit it up on several million dollars worth of computer equipment.

"You know you're not supposed to drink coffee in the control room," Walter Harriman protested in a very long suffering tone. The control room was Walter's private domain, and he took responsibility for it being ship shape and presentable very seriously.

Left unsaid was that Walter shouldn't have been blasting music in the control room, either. But after all, it was a weekend, and it was highly unlikely that General Goof Off would stop by and visit.

"Walt! Close up on CAMERA # 9Z. I need you to verify this."

Walter Harriman sighed, but powerless to resist the excitement in Siler's voice, he zoomed the camera in tight to where Janet Fraiser was busy kissing a rather stunned and non-resisting Daniel Jackson. Daniel Jackson wasn't completely stunned, as he had one hand underneath Janet's skirt.

"In his office?" Walter sighed. "His OFFICE! On his Desk! That's not very sanitary!"

"Yes!"

Walter then growled in disappointment as he had lost another wager, before he "accidentally" knocked the camera into being out of service. "I bet in the staircase between levels 26 and 25. His office? That's just so… tame. Janet Fraiser and a desk? The General's desk, hell yes, but not Jackson's desk."

"I'm rather disappointed also," Siler admitted. "Appears our good Doctor Fraiser is in danger of being domesticated."

The two men looked at each, looked at the blank monitor, imagined at that very moment Janet Fraiser was rather proudly showing her latest victim how flexible and sexually sophisticated she was, and then the two men looked at each other again.

"Naaaaaaaw," they both said at the same time.

"Who won?" Harriman asked.

"Makepeace," Siler admitted.

"He threatened to break your legs again?" Harriman quipped.

"Yup," the SGC bookie drawled. "So I gave him two chances this time. Fortunately, he actually paid for the winning bet."

"That leaves…. "

"Samantha Carter and Colonel George Hammond," Siler stated. "Though no one is supposed to let Hammond know. After he threatened me with joining Hansen on Penguin Watch, the bet wasn't who was going to do Carter but when Hammond was gonna get the home run. Between cracking Hansen's skull by bouncing it off the locker and that, it's obvious Hammond's interested in Snow White."

"I don't think betting on Hammond is a very smart thing to do," Walter reminded him. "He's crazy."

"Why do you think everyone's giving her a wide berth? If the old man's interested, no one wants to get in his way."

Janet Fraiser sighed contentedly, with her eyes closed, resting herself against Jackson's desk and she was too tired to do more than make a passing effort at straightening her very messy hair. It had been quite some time since she had sex like what she had just experienced. Earth-moving, solar system-shaking sex with Dr. Jackson proved that linguists did do it with their tongues. And they did it a hell of lot better with their hands than anyone else, whether general, sergeant, mechanic or whomever she had dallied with in the last few years.

She managed to rub her hands against her naked skin, enjoying the feeling of the cool air conditioning against her skin, and she could do no more.

Oh God, it had been wonderful.

Janet hadn't been ridden like that in years.

Even General Jack O'Neill of the glib tongue hadn't been that creative and attentive a lover as Jack O'Neill was completely self-absorbed and focused on his own enjoyment. But Danny boy, oh her sweet Danny boy, he had wanted to make sure she was, from her top to her bottom and every part in-between, utterly satisfied.

Daniel's enthusiasm and sexual imagination must be the result of Jackson's experience with other cultures. No doubt he had read the Karma Sutra in whatever the original language it was in, and like a good little boy, he had memorized it. Normally, she'd know that little tidbit of what the original language of Karma Sutra was, as she had read it several times, but dear God, she was exhausted.

"Here," Jackson whispered. "Let me get you buttoned."

She again sighed in utter contentment, as Daniel Jackson carefully buttoned her shirt. He was just so sweet, making sure that she was presentable, before he jumped into his pants and made an insincere promise to call her one of these days.

Daniel would never call. He'd just meet her in her office one day, and slip her a piece of paper with his address and a time on it.

Daniel was sliding her panties up her legs, and Janet just sighed, vocalizing her utter contentment once again. Her muscles were just so loose and relaxed, as Daniel had managed to get rid of all of inner tension.

Nothing like a good ride to cure what ailed a girl.

"Janet…" he whispered again. "Can you lift your butt?"

"Don't want to," she whispered. "I'm just so worn out."

"Come on, Janet, we've got the security cameras, I don't want them seeing you naked."

"The camera is broken," she informed him. Janet pointed at the camera to prove her point. "The little red light is off."

He kissed her again, and then Daniel gave her a gentle smile.

"I know this new place; maybe we can go have dinner?" Daniel asked.

"You want to have dinner?" Janet questioned in surprise.

"Yeah, my treat," he insisted, even as he tenderly brushed one curl away from her eye.

"You want to have dinner with me?" She repeated.

"Well, yes. I mean, we just had dessert first, but… I know this great Thai place," Daniel insisted.

Sara O'Neill rubbed her burgeoning belly and glared daggers at her husband, who was pretending that he didn't notice how truly annoyed the exceedingly pregnant Sara was. She was almost nine months along, and she blamed her expectant condition on Jack plus too much Guinness at a retirement party so Sara was making sure that Jack paid and paid big.

"I'm craving Thai food," she announced regally.

"I hate Thai," Jack explained. "The last time I had Gai Pu Khao, and they did the flaming, exploding Volcano Chicken thing, they nearly set me on fire."

"That's because the ambassador saw that you were flirting with his wife," Sara snapped. "Get your boots on, Airman, we're getting Thai."

And Jack O'Neill, knowing that in Sara O'Neill's Air Force, he was the lowest of airman and on the verge of a court martial, agreed that he'd love to go out for Thai. But this time, he was not getting the flaming, exploding Volcano Chicken dish!

First thing George noticed was that the Thai place was packed. Then he noticed Janet Fraiser and DANIEL JACKSON were waiting in line. Janet had that smug look on her face that meant she had ridden Jackson hard, hung him up wet and then ridden him some more. Deliberately, he moved his hand away from Samantha, as he had been resting it against the small of her back.

"There are people from the Mountain here," he explained in her ear. "Remember, we need to keep this quiet."

"Who is here?" Samantha questioned before she saw it was Janet and Daniel.

"Hello, Colonel," Janet's voice carried over the crowd. "Samantha! How are you?"

It was a disaster in the making, he knew, and he tried not to show his fear. Janet, that damn vixen, gave him a wink that let him know that she knew that he was terrified over what she'd do, and for now, she was content to watch him squirm.

The two women hugged, and they made a great deal of conversation. Meanwhile, George kept his eye out on the horizon, waiting for the metaphoric massive iceberg to appear, the one would slowly and steadily creep up to the Titanic, and then deliberately sink it, sending far too many innocents to an icy, watery grave.

George finally interrupted the two women's energetic conversation, "Dr. Fraiser, I took Dr. Carter to the firing range…"

Janet blinked coquettishly at him, just to make him squirm, and he continued gamely on, knowing that he was blushing like the fool he was.

"She re-injured her wrist due to the recoil of the pistol," he explained. "You should look at it tomorrow, just to make sure she didn't screw it up."

"Yes, the Colonel wants you grabbing a gun with both hands as soon as possible," Janet said sweetly. "Let me look at it."

"I'll go see about our reservations," George inserted.

Sometimes the hardest lesson in the USAF was to learn when to leave your pride behind and strategically retreat. Now was such a time.

Daniel followed George to the maître de while Janet examined Samantha's wrist, and Janet waited just long enough to confirm that Samantha's wrist was just bruised, before she grabbed Samantha's non-injured hand.

"Well?" Janet asked. Her tone was conspiratorial and she bobbed her head in Hammond's direction.

Samantha blushed, and nodded her head.

"And?" Janet questioned.

"It was wonderful," Samantha admitted with a rather embarrassed grin. "He was so patient and gentle with me. And he really enjoyed the camo."

"Doctor Fraiser, Dr. Carter," said an all too familiar voice. "Fancy meeting you here."

Hammond returned to the bar and he realized that during his brief escape, the iceberg had hit the Titanic, and every hand onboard had been lost. He muttered a quick prayer, whether for those lost at sea or for his own survival, he couldn't tell you. Dinner had turned into a literal Convergence, a meeting of personalities so diverse and so pregnant with past indiscretions and previous wrongs and insults that he was surprised that the windows hadn't blown out due to the emotional pressure that was building.

It must be his imagination, but he swore he could hear a children's choir energetically singing, "O Furtuna" from Carmina Burana.

O Fortuna,

velut luna statu variabilis,

semper crescis;

vita detestabilis nunc obdurat

et tunc curat

ludo mentis aciem,

What the hell were JACK O'NEILL and his wife doing here? Sara looked like she was about to expel the twins on the spot and Janet, Samantha and Sara were busy chatting.

Yes.

It was the Apocalypse.

Judgement Day.

Armageddon.

Ragnarok, Gotterdammerung!

The damn air conditioning was blowing so hard, that he couldn't imagine that Fimbulvetr, the Norse winter of winters that would proceed Ragnarok could be any colder.

All he needed was the Four Horsemen to ride through the Sawatdee Thai Restaurant, dispelling plague, war, famine and false gods, because as far as he was concerned it was the end of the universe. On second thought, maybe Kali with her bloody sword could dance on one of the tables, while the ad-Dajjal and the anti-Christ did shots while they watched and catcalled obscene comments to the waitresses just to make sure that all the major religions were covered.

The potential for trouble with Sara and Janet in the same room?

He knew damn well that Sara didn't know about THAT particular affair, but he DID know that Sara had threatened to divorce Jack on charges of adultery due to another fling. Therefore, he wouldn't be surprised if Janet did something… and did it big.

That little Napoleonic Dominatrix known as Janet never did anything or anyone half way.

Siler wouldn't even bother opening his books to place odds on something happening!

He'd just accept bets on how gigantic the resulting disaster would be.

Hiroshima! Nagasaki! The Chicago Fire of 1871! The San Francisco Earthquake of 1906!

Then the maître de, being far too helpful, and no doubt wanting a big tip, arrived to inform him that his table for two was ready, but he'd be delighted to set it up for six people, as that way the others wouldn't have to wait to get a table.

Janet ended up sitting between George and Jack, a rose between two thorns. She had whispered quickly to Daniel that she didn't want O'Neill to suspect anything about their new relationship, so he had agreed to sit at the opposite side of the table. Sara was at the head, Jack at the other end. George was to her right, and Daniel was directly across the table from her.

Deliberately, she kicked her shoes off, and she stretched one leg carefully. Yes, since the table was a tight fit for six, she could reach his leg with her foot, and so she began rubbing her foot against his leg. Daniel gave her a quick smile, and moved his chair closer to the table, so her foot was soon resting someplace very nice indeed. His hands began massaging her foot, and she couldn't help but smile.

George and Jack were looking extraordinarily uncomfortable, and the opportunity to raise hell with the two men was just too tempting for their mutual spurned and rejected lover, Janet.

Cast her aside, would they? Hell, she knew their sexual foibles, knew how to get both men's rocket ready to fire in record time and how to keep 'em ready to launch for the longest time, and by God, she'd remind them that she couldn't be cast aside so easily.

Janet had a brief moment of doubt and indecision, maybe she shouldn't do this, not with Daniel, her sweet Danny boy, her newest lover who had treated her so carefully,so gently, sitting across the table from her. He had told her that she was beautiful, had spoken soft romantic words in French during the afterglow. But Bernie had been so sweet and attentive in the beginning, and she knew enough that she couldn't trust any man, not even one as sweet as her Danny boy.

Janet then slid her hands under the table. One hand was soon caressing George's brawny leg and her other hand had found its way to Jack's muscular leg. Neither man could protest verbally or physically so she gradually moved her hands higher, while she pretended to peer at the menu.

Deliberately, she squeezed both boys' family jewels hard. O'Neill straightened in his chair immediately while Hammond inhaled sharply before he gave her a very disapproving glance.

Making sure no one was looking, as everyone else was reading the menu intently and inwardly debating if they wanted their stomach intact after eating, Janet secretively blew Hammond a kiss.

His icy blue eyes narrowed in disgust, and she squeezed him harder.