Q is for Questions

"I know you don't like questions." He scoffed at her, and for once she found it difficult to gauge him.

"Come on, sir..." she tried, and put a hand on his arm.

He gave her a surprised look. Since they became a couple she rarely called him 'sir' when they were alone, even if they were on duty.

"No one's around, Sam," he said, with a sweeping gesture of his arm. It was a slightly redundant statement as they had been stuck on a foreign planet, alone in a cave, for a week.

"You're right though," he conceded, suddenly remembering a line from his most recent psych evaluation.

...he is still noticeably uncomfortable with most questions which aim to gain an understanding of his personal life and emotions.

"Well, I can't get to know you if I don't ask you things, Jack," Sam intoned, emphasizing his first name and interrupting his thoughts.

"Charlie is..." he objected weakly, struggling to find words.

"Different?" Sam filled in hesitantly. Jack nodded.

"I still can't, I mean, I dream about..." he went silent for a moment. Sam moved closer, squeezing his arm more tightly, "...nasty fucking dreams," came the strangled conclusion.

"So... I'll start with easier questions and then maybe, one day, we can talk about the, uhm, 'different' stuff?"

"Okay." He agreed, sealing the deal. The cave reverted to its default of pindrop silence for a moment.

"I've got a question!" Sam exclaimed suddenly, her voice ricocheting between the stone walls. He met her eyes as she made a dramatic pause; this was gonna be good. "Who's your favorite officer?" Sam leaned in closer for a saccharine, romantic moment as Jack let out an explosive laugh.

"General Hammond." He deadpanned, narrowly avoiding an empty tin which Sam hurled at him with the perfect aim of a seasoned warrior.

What was it the evaluation said other than him being terrible at opening up? Oh, right:

Prone to risky behaviors.