He wasn't going to think about it. Wasn't. Absolutely wasn't going to cross his mind. No. Never. Ever. Ever. Again.

Jack O'Neill huffed as he pulled on the weight machine, only a little worn out by the effort. Not that he was old or anything – just sore from his last mission.

Oh, you mean the one where you jumped Carter and then kissed her senseless? asked the snide little voice in the back of his head. The one that snickered at him when he tried to be funny after an awkward moment with Carter.

"I did NOT," he muttered to himself. "I just… fell."

And her lips caught you? Right. the voice continued. Y'know, you really suck at this 'in denial' crap. He glared, and a sergeant that had been heading for the same machine as he was retreated, almost at a run. I am NOT in denial. That's a river in Egypt. His alter-ego, as he was beginning to think of it – the one that caused him to do things like totally ignore protocol and jump Carter when Jaffa were on their six, even though she was perfectly capable of not giving away their position and camouflaging herself – scoffed at him.

You can deny it all you want, the voice said. It was smug. He hated it when he was smug at himself. It was so unfair. Oh, I can, can I? he thought, sent even further into his bad mood. Yeah, sure, you betcha, the voice said. 'Cause I'm you. I know what you're really thinking. And, right now, you're thinking that Carter's sports bra is way too big for her. It needs to be skimpier.

He paused in his workout. Damnit. He really was thinking that. He dared a quick glance in Carter's direction. Her sports bra – which was more like a workout shirt-sports bra combo – was far too covering. Surely she was hot in that? Damn, damn, damn, damn! he thought. I don't need to be thinking this! I'm her commanding officer, forcryin'outloud!

He was so busy arguing with himself, he didn't notice Carter coming over to stand by his machine. "Sir?" she asked.

Thankfully, he didn't jump. Or say what first came to mind, which was something involving both of them and blue jell-o. "Yeah, Carter?" he replied, looking up at her, trying to maintain a vaguely disinterested expression. God, he hoped it worked.

It must not've, because she blushed. "Um, I was just wondering if, er…"

"Spit it out, Carter," he said, tapping his foot. "Not gettin' any younger here."

"Right. Uh. Are we going to O'Malley's tonight, sir?" She paused, and must have realized what that sounded like, because her eyes widened and she continued, "I mean, as a team night. Because otherwise I would make plans."

That last part sounded pretty lame to his ears, and since she was still red, he assumed it did to her, too. "Yeah, Carter. I'll make reservations after I shower off." In water so cold that going back to Antarctica would seem like Tahiti. The nasty voice injected into his stream of thought. "Up for a game of pool?"

"You know me, sir. Always up for anything." She grinned at him, and he could've sworn her eyes had a twinkle in them.

"Right. Well. I'd better get going. Let Danny and Teal'c know, would ya? I've got some things to take care of off base before dinner." He stood up and winced as his knees cracked – God, he hated that sound – and saw the strangest thing. As he was stretching his arms behind him, Carter gave him the once-over.

That's right. Major Samantha Carter, the most proper officer he'd ever met, gave him the ol' eyeball. He smirked a little, proud to see that while the strapping young Marines and Airmen that came in and out of the SGC hadn't made her so much as bat an eyelash, but he, an old – okay, not that old, he thought to himself – man made her give him the time-honored female eyeball. The one they held in check for all but the finest specimens of manly… er, manliness.

Okay, he admitted to the niggling little bit of him, maybe not the finest specimens. But certainly – probably! – the ones they find the most, uh… well, I don't know. I'm not a woman, thank God. Who knows why they eyeball one guy and stick their noses up at another?

He was surprised that the annoying part of him had nothing to respond with. What, did I finally silence you? he wondered. Are you gone? Can I be normal again?

Huh? the voice said. Oh. Sorry. Nope, not gone. Just, uh, admiring the view. He finally realized what was in front of him. Carter's… uh… frontal area. Breasts, the voice supplied, in – what he was horrified to realize – a dreamy tone. Oh, no, he thought. No no no no no. NO. We are NOT going there! That's off-limits! Even to you… uh, me.

But they're right there! the voice wailed. Right in front of you! You could just- GRPH FLBTH! The voice ceased to say anything, but only because the rational part of his brain – the part of him that didn't want to be seen staring at his second-in-command's frontal area by half the airmen on base – had grabbed it, stuffed a gag in its proverbial mouth and shoved it in the broom closet of his brain.

"Igottago," he said, the words coming out in one big jumble. "Seeyouatseven." Then he rushed out of the gym and into the locker room.

Coward, muttered the voice. Oh, you've escaped? he grumbled to it. Yeah yeah, you can try to keep me locked up. But I'm you! I say everything you can't. Get over it.

"I need to get a dog," he muttered, stepping into the shower.

"You know," he said to himself – because who else did he talk to nowadays? – as he climbed into his truck, "I could've sworn Carter was into Daniel. I mean, she was all… oh, I don't know… weird? About his death. Ascension. Whatever."

They're friends, the voice said.

"How do you know?" he grumbled. "You're just a voice in my head. My subconscious, trying to make me acknowledge my feelings for Carter. Well, there! I acknowledged them. Go away."

Ha, you won't get rid of me so quickly, the voice said, its tone definitely smug. And who said I was here for acknowledgement? Some of us are all about the whole all-or-nothing thing. Besides, would she give you the ol' eyeball if she were into Daniel? Carter doesn't strike me as the type who'd do that.

"Oh, shut up." And it did, for a while.

At least, until he got to O'Malley's. Where he saw Carter.

Good God, can jeans really be that tight? the voice said, in awe.

He groaned inwardly. It was going to be a long night.

And, as it turned out, it was a long night. A long night that ended around 3 AM – or 0300, as he was used to thinking – with Carter looking him in the eye and saying, "I don't think I can drive home. I may have had too much to drink." And then she swayed. A bit.

Daniel apologized and said that, normally, he would take her home. But he actually had to get back to the base and finish a translation and he was taking Teal'c with him and it would really be out of his way and would Jack please do him this tiny, miniscule favor and give her a ride home? And, being Daniel, said it in under fifteen seconds.

So, since he was a kind and benevolent person – okay, okay, not so much, but he was when it concerned the team (You mean when it concerns Sam the voice said, annoyingly present at the most inopportune moments) – he agreed to it.

Which, like always, when he agreed to do something nice, turned out to be a bad idea.

Oh, the drive was fine. Carter was mostly silent, except for a comment on his radio program of choice ("Art Bell, sir?"). It was the getting-to-the-house part that was difficult. Well, he said 'getting-to-the-house'. It was a bit more complicated than that.

They'd gotten to the house and were standing, leaning on his truck, and staring at it.

"Well," she said. "That's my house."

"Yep."

"Where I live."

"Mhm."

"And sleep."

"Yeah-huh."

"And work, after you order me to take downtime."

"Uh-hu- What?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Right."

"Soooo…"

"Carter, was there something you wanted to say?"

"Well, now that you mention it, sir…"

"Ohforcryin'outloud," he muttered as she turned towards him.

"Are we going to talk about it?" she asked, bluntly.

"To what 'it' are you referring?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "The pool game that I kicked your ass in? My mission report? The sun's gravitational pull and its effect on Earth's velocity in relation to the vacuum of space?"

She opened her mouth and then paused. "You made that last one up."

"Maybe."

"Sir."

He sighed. "Carter. Throw me a bone, here. I'm lost."

"What happened, sir. On the mission. The one we were just on," she added, unnecessarily helpful.

"Oh. That." He tried to keep a balanced tone, but his voice sounded flat to him. Thankfully, the minor haze of alcohol that enveloped him screened out that nasty, annoying voice. That, or it was shutting up to see where this was going. Which was nowhere, of course.

"Yes." She paused. "That."

"What about it, Carter?"

"Well, sir, I'm confused."

"Confused."

"Yes, sir."

"What about?"

She gave him a Look. "You don't know?"

He sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Spell it out for me, Carter."

"Why did you kiss me, sir?"

Jack shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time." Her mouth dropped open.

"'Seemed like a good idea at the-' Of all the conceited, masochistic things-" She was cut off because he kissed her again. When he pulled away, her eyes were wide and she stared at him.

"Carter. Kissing you always seems like a good idea. Though, apparently, it only happens when we're in mortal peril or one or both of us are drunk. Or semi-drunk. I'd do it more often, only I don't want to be court martialed. Get it?" She was still staring at him. "Carter?"

"Yes sir."

"Now go on inside and go to bed. We've got to be up early for a briefing, I think." He went over to the other side of the truck and was about to get in when she said something. "What was that?"

"Does this change anything?" She motioned between them with her hand.

"I don't know, Carter. You tell me." And then he left.

As he was driving away, the voice said: Oh, that was mature.