August, 1997

Sleep was really getting hard to come by. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since Sam's heart-to-heart with the general, and she'd done nothing but think about it since. She hadn't given Jonas the wrong idea, had she? She'd only been trying to be nice.

Maybe... maybe Colonel O'Neill had seen the same thing as General Hammond. That would explain their odd little exchange in the cafeteria, if the colonel thought she was trying to resurrect her old relationship. And while the whole situation made her a little ill, the idea of that – that the colonel thoughtso – was really, really upsetting. And she wasn't sure why.

But she couldn't deny that her feelings for Jonas were still there. They'd never gone away, really; they'd just been easy to ignore beneath the simmering anger and hurt. And without those...

She loved him. She couldn't help it. And more, she felt sorry for him. No one could deny that he'd had it rough in life, and the Air Force hadn't helped – his Black Ops days had just added stress. She'd seen it. It had driven him to the brink of insanity and damn near pushed him over.

Whether she liked it or not, there was a soft spot in her heart a mile wide with his name on it. If anybody deserved a break in life, it was Jonas.

"Hey, beautiful."

Speak of the devil. "Jonas," she greeted softly, steeling herself. She didn't agree with the general's assessment of the situation, but his advice was sound. She would tell him. She would make it clear that no matter how misguided their emotions might be, their relationship had to be professional.

But she turned around to face him, and the soft blue eyes threw her for a loop. She looked away.

"So, yesterday was spectacular," he told her, stepping up to rest his forearms on the end of her lab table. "I wanted to tell you about it when we got back, but they said you'd already gone home."

She nodded. "I'm still kind of settling in."

"Yeah? Got a nice place?"

That was a pretty personal question, and considering she constantly found herself comparing it to the house they'd had, she changed the subject. "I like it. How was... Where'd you go, again?"

"P3X-771," he offered with a smile, and if he caught her misdirection, he gave no sign of it. "Lots of trees."

"Seems to be the theme. Not as many deserts as we'd thought."

"A lot more people than we thought, though," he mused.

"Oh? I thought that planet was uninhabited."

"So did we. They're going to send SG-7 through to... study them... or whatever those guys do."

Sam winced a little – the typical soldier, Jonas put culture last. "You know, we can learn a lot from these people. Don't dismiss them."

"I know, I know. But that's really more your field than mine, huh?"

She nodded.

He straightened a little, palms flat on the table, and announced, "So... Sam..."

"Jonas." Now was the time. She could do this. "I need to talk to you about something."

"What a coincidence," he said. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Yeah?" The words had been on the tip of her tongue, but she completely chickened out. What if he took it wrong? She really didn't mean to hurt him – she just needed to make sure they were on the same page – but she knew it would sting, and she just couldn't work up the courage. Clearing her throat uncomfortably, she offered, "You first."

He shook his head, rounding the lab table. "Not here. Someplace... more private. Come to dinner with me."

The invitation hit her like a bat. So General Hammond had been right, after all. It had been four days, two hours, ten minutes since she'd seen him for the first time in the mess hall, and that was how long it had taken the other shoe to drop.

She sighed. "Jonas..."

Tender fingers brushed a piece of hair from her forehead, and she leaned into his hand instinctively precious seconds before her brain could tell her what a horrible, horrible idea that was. "Sam, I'm not the person I was then. When you left, I... That was the last straw. The thing that finally got through, Sam. I've pulled my life back together, and the only thing that's missing... is you."

God, she wanted his strength of will, his charm. He always had been able to say just the right thing to make her melt.

But she couldn't. Not again. Though the breath she took in was shakier than she'd have liked, she pushed from her chair and stepped out of his reach. Unfortunately, that was the extent of her show of will, and she couldn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"All I'm asking for is a second chance. Please."

"I know what you're asking for, Jonas, and I don't think I can give it to you." It had taken her almost a year to find herself again, everything she'd lost when she'd been with him, and it could only happen again. He would turn her back into that woman – the one she didn't recognize – and Captain Sam Carter, confident scientist extraordinaire, would disappear.

But he rounded the lab table, once again encroaching on her personal space, and her will faltered. They both knew she was losing ground. "You'll never know unless you try," he beseeched softly.

"Please," she whispered. "Jonas, I can't. I can't do that again."

"Baby. Sam. I still love you."

How could he twist everything so easily? She wanted to tell him to get lost, that she'd moved on, that she deserved better than he could give her, but her mouth couldn't form the words. She just couldn't hurt him like that. And his body was so warm as he stepped closer, pinning her against the cabinet – a wrenching reminder of a hundred nights that he'd held her in his arms, worshiping her like royalty.

"Let me show you I've changed," he murmured into her ear. "Give me a chance to treat you like you deserve to be treated. Like a queen. One dinner. That's all I'm asking for."

"Jonas," she breathed, trying desperately to figure out whether the next word out of her mouth was going to end up being yes or no.

A sharp rap on the door saved her from finding out. Her head shot up, gaze searching over his shoulder to lock onto Colonel O'Neill's face, his eyes leveled sharply on them. Jonas straightened, but didn't release her from the trap against the cabinet. "Colonel," he greeted coolly.

"Captain," the colonel responded in a voice no less chilly before his line of sight shifted to her. "Everything okay in here?"

"Everything's just fine, sir."

But Colonel O'Neill didn't even glance Jonas' way at his words; his eyes stayed locked on hers. She had asked him not to leave the two of them alone together, and he was apparently taking that charge seriously. Two points for the colonel.

And suddenly, staring into those deep brown eyes, she remembered not only where she was and why, but who. The officer that Colonel O'Neill knew. The person she so badly wanted him to respect. Sam Carter, the woman who had challenged her CO to arm wrestle in their very first briefing. The soldier who'd taken down a misogynistic tribal leader in hand-to-hand combat. The scientist with a doctorate and two masters degrees who'd risen to the top of her field in no time flat. She liked that woman. And she had zero intention of giving her up.

"It's fine, sir," she told him. "Captain Hanson was just leaving."

Her ex tensed, eyes flicking to hers in surprise, but he just said, "Of course. Mission prep, you know."

The colonel gave him a single, gruff nod in response.

"We'll talk later," Jonas promised, backing toward the door.

Sam sucked in a deep breath. Somehow, with Colonel O'Neill standing there, this was a thousand times easier. "No."

The look of abject shock he gave her shouldn't have come as such a surprise – in the years she'd known him, she couldn't remember ever once contradicting him and really meaning it. Not like she'd just done. "No?" he echoed in disbelief, his voice gaining a cold edge.

"No. Jonas, we're done."

She wasn't sure what to expect at that, but a smile certainly wasn't on the list. "You don't mean that," he murmured soothingly, and it wasn't the first time he'd spoken to her like an irrational child – not by a long shot.

In the doorway, Colonel O'Neill took one solid step into the room, still watching her intently. He wouldn't intervene, she knew. But he was more than ready to.

"Actually, I do," she pressed. "I'm not interested, Jonas. Leave me alone."

Did the colonel see the shadow that passed across her former lover's eyes, too? Or did she just know him that well?

"You'll change your mind," he growled, and before she could contradict him again, he brushed past her and took the other door.

Sam stared after him for a moment, well aware of what he was capable of when life didn't go his way. But she could feel her CO's gaze on her, and she slowly turned back to meet his eyes. "Thank you, sir."

He shrugged. "I didn't do a thing."

She shot him a small, grateful smile. He had no idea.

~/~ ~/~

Sam went home that night feeling like a complete fool.

He'd done it again.

He'd stepped into her life and made himself out to be the victim. The sad one. He'd convinced her that he could change, that he wasn't the man she couldn't help but remember. He'd spooled her along like a true professional, saying the perfect words until she'd fallen for it all.

But any sense of security he'd lulled her into was gone now. It had been since he'd walked out of her lab earlier that day.

Maybe he thought he'd hidden it – the ice in his gaze as she told him it was over – but she knew that look well. And that Jonas Hanson, the one who wore that look, was a very, very dangerous man.

On the entry table, her cordless phone rang, and she took the opportunity to check the front deadbolt on her way there. For the second time that week, she was well and truly bunkered in her own house, set off from the rest of the world.

The display on the phone glowed in the darkness.

Unknown caller.

Crap.

She ought to answer it, she knew – it could be the base, or her teammates. She didn't quite have all their numbers in her phone yet, and it could be important.

But she wouldn't put it past him to get his hands on her personal number. He could be... persuasive. To a fault.

Well, if it was important, they'd leave a message. She hit the "reject" button, silencing the ringer and sending the call to voice mail as she wandered to her kitchen to make dinner, setting the phone absently on the kitchen island. But she ventured through the fridge, freezer, and all the cabinets, and absolutely nothing looked appetizing.

She felt like crap. Really. How had he done it to her again? She was better than this! Stronger.

Wasn't she?

Only when the phone rang again did she realize that the first caller hadn't left a message. She was quicker that time, jabbing at the button to silence it before the first ring had even finished.

No, she really wasn't hungry. And she doubted she would be any time soon. Retreating to her living room, she yanked the blinds closed and curled up tightly on the couch, pulling the blanket over her folded-up knees.

The next time it rang, she couldn't quite convince herself to move. She stared at it, angry, unsettled, as it rattled its way across the coffee table. Somewhere around the fifth ring, it shook itself past its own center of gravity and tumbled to the carpet.

She didn't pick it up, didn't bother. Pulling the blanket tightly around herself, she ran for her bedroom and slammed the door.