AN: After Divide and Conquer

Just wanted to say a big THANK YOU to everyone who has taken time to read, comment, bookmark or favorite. It's not often that an author receives such a warm welcome to a fandom. We all have busy lives, and the fact that you spend your down time reading what I wrote just tickles me pink!

Whoever the genius was that thought of plunking down a liquor store on the only road leading out of Cheyenne Mountain had Jack's eternal gratitude. Grabbing a scotch from the middle shelf, he took the most direct route to the checkout. Crap... Because, of course, she would be there right in front of him.

"Carter," he greeted.

"Hi," she responded. No 'sir,' he noted. Good.

"Just that kind of day, I guess," he observed. Carter looked down at her tequila and back at him. "You don't strike me as the hard liquor type."

"Just that kind of day," she responded quietly. Jack knew she wasn't up for conversation. Neither of them were much for talking after operations like this, but he knew this one would be harder for her because of Jolinar. Today had been crappy for many reasons for him, but potentially dangerously crappy for her. He had checked in with her before he left, but he had gotten the standard "I'm fine," and like an idiot, preoccupied with his own frustration with the day, he had believed her. Clearly she wasn't fine if she was standing in front of him with a bottle of tequila. He needed to make sure she wasn't going to do something stupid. She was paying for her bottle, and about to turn and leave.

"Carter, wait a minute," Jack grabbed two shot glasses from a display and added them to his bottle on the counter. She may not take him up on this offer, but even if he was on his own, the second glass could come in handy. Moving through the line, he met her at the door. "So, I had this plan for the evening, and I was wondering if you had the same plan."

"Looks like it," she confirmed.

"Well, you know where to find me if you want to combine those plans. Guest room is yours, or I can call a cab when you want to go home."

"I don't really feel like company," she answered honestly.

"Good, neither do I. So, if Daniel shows up, we'll turn off the lights and pretend we aren't there." He didn't get a smile from her, but she wasn't shooting him down yet. "No expectations, Carter. Just a buddy to watch out for you. Somebody to hold your hair while you puke."

"Okay," she answered finally.

"Okay," he confirmed, "I'll see you in a few."

Carter pulled in right behind him, and it was then that he realized the utter stupidity of his plan. Of all days, he picked today to invite her over to spend the night in his guest room. Today, when they had both had to admit to feelings that they shouldn't have. They had a limited audience, but word would likely get out pretty quickly. There was a big difference between realizing a plan was stupid and wanting to abandon it though. She needed a comrade in arms today. She needed somebody who understood what it was like to make the hard choices. And more than anything, she needed to not be alone after being forced to make them.

Grabbing a blanket from his backseat, and the bag from his front seat, he met her at her car door. "Upstairs?" She gave him a nod and followed him up the ladder to the observatory where he spread the blanket and settled them into the crease where the platform met the roof. He handed her a shot glass from his bag and poured his own while she poured hers.

To Sam's relief, Colonel O'Neill hadn't said a word since they made it to the rooftop. The effort of existing was already overwhelming, and she didn't think she could handle talking. He didn't even acknowledge her as he knocked back his first shot, and she followed him with hers. The liquid burned her throat, and it occurred to her that it was the first thing she had felt in hours. It was the first thing she had felt since she had ended Martouf's life. She knew she would regret it, but she immediately poured and downed a second shot. She felt him look over at her and then he followed suit. Then he set his glass on a little side table, and did the same with hers putting it out of reach. Lying back against the roof he let out a sigh. She joined him. The shingles tugged a few pieces of her hair every time she moved. Two different feelings. Now she was getting somewhere.

Jack didn't know where to begin with everything that had happened today, so he didn't. He knew they couldn't talk about their test results. Even if she wanted to, it wouldn't be appropriate unless they were going to do something about it. And she had been clear about not wanting that. In spite of their increased flirtation and closeness with one another, she didn't want to address it. It stung, but he couldn't blame her. Things were complicated at best, and he didn't want her to have to work so hard or give up so much to be happy. But she wasn't exactly happy now, was she? Jack wondered how she was feeling the loss of Martouf, and chanced a sideways glance at her where she lay next to him staring at the sky. Was she feeling it as Jolinar or as Carter? Or both? That wasn't really a question you could just ask someone though.

Sam had many memories with Martouf, unfortunately they weren't all hers. When she and her team had gone with Martouf to bring her dad back from Netu, she had explored many of Jolinar's memories. Of those memories, the strongest were those that involved Martouf. They were undoubtedly in love. The kind little girls dream about. The grief she had seen Martouf go through for Jolinar's death was painful, but now she wasn't just grieving for him herself. She was grieving for Jolinar because she would never get to feel his loss.

Raising himself up from the semi-reclined position, Colonel O'Neill retrieved both of their glasses, giving hers back to her. She filled it, and just looked at it for a moment. It looked so clear, and so pure. Nothing like life which was perpetually muddy, cloudy, hazy, confusing, painful. At least she knew the enticing liquid would deliver on the painful part tomorrow morning.

"Trade?" he asked. His voice cracked a little from non-use, and she glanced over to see him offering her his amber liquid. It seemed more appropriate than tequila right now, so she accepted. The smoky, woody flavor filled her nostrils, and she had to admit, this was better. The tequila didn't seem to fit the darkness.

Jack took the clear liquid from Carter, and ran a finger along the rim, before raising it to his lips. He took his time with this one. Three shots in and no dinner wasn't a great mix, but the cherry flavor of Carter's lip gloss had been left behind on her glass and was a great mix with the tequila. Maybe, Jack thought, he could kiss away her pain this way—by proxy.

"Come on. Food," he informed her as he gathered both of their things and headed down. She followed and wobbled a little on the bottom rung, so he steadied her with a hand to her arm. "You all right?"

"Fine," she answered, even though she could tell that food was a very good idea.

Sitting in the armchair opposite him with her feet tucked up under her she was staring at nothing. She missed the nothingness of the sky.

"Sucks," she uttered unbidden. It was the first word either of them had said to each other since he had ordered dinner.

"Yep," he answered. There was no point in telling her that it was going to be okay. There was no point in telling her anything. She knew it already.

"But it won't always," she followed up. Jack wasn't sure if that was a question.

"Not as much," he answered honestly as he watched her drift between this world and another. He couldn't bring himself to say the other part which was that it would always suck. Taking someone's life wasn't easy, no matter how hardened you became. Taking the life of someone you cared about was worse.

"I know I had to do it, and know he wanted me to do it. But I just keep thinking..." she trailed off, speaking slowly as she sorted through her thoughts.

"That's probably not wise," he offered.

"I just keep thinking... what if it were you instead of him?" Jack felt the weight of her words when she turned her eyes on him.

"Definitely not wise." Carter was hugging her knees now and turned her face into them. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. Maybe there was no right thing to say. It could have just as easily been either one of them. It could have been him. It could have been his last moments staring across the Gateroom at her ending his life. Or it could have been her staring across the Gateroom at him while he tried to talk himself into firing that second shot. Anything he could say would only make this worse, so he stuck to the plan instead. He poured them each their fourth, and slid the glass across the table toward her. The gentle scraping drew her attention and she reached for it, tossing it back. At least now, he knew the answer to whether or not he should have been jealous of Martouf for the past year.

Saving them both from what came next, dinner arrived, and Jack gratefully, if carefully, pulled himself up from his chair to retrieve it. He filled a couple of plates and found some bottled water.

"Eat," he set her food down next to her and took his chair again. The food hit her stomach, and almost immediately she began to sober up. They finished in silence, and he took her dishes, returning with more water for each of them.

"Thanks," she managed. It was the first time she had really engaged with anything tonight other than her thoughts. He poured them each another drink.

"For what it's worth, I think you did the right thing," Jack offered while twirling his still full glass between his fingers. "Whether it was him or me, it would still be the right thing."

"Easy for you to say. You'd be dead. You wouldn't have to live with it."

"No, I wouldn't. Unless it was you."

"And would it still be the right thing if it were me?" she asked. Sam knew it wasn't a fair question, but he was always making excuses for her that he wouldn't make for himself. It made it tough to know if he was being objective.

"You tell me," he answered, as if he didn't know the answer without her.

"I think it would," she confirmed.

"There's a lot of grey in what we do. Sometimes there isn't a right thing; there's just the choices you can live with and the choices you can't live with. You can live with this, Carter."

"How do you know?" she asked.

"Because I know you couldn't live with the alternative." Sam finished her drink, and resolved this should be her last of the night.

"I should probably get going," she said. She pulled out her phone to make the call, but it slipped from her fingers to the floor.

"You should stay," he told her.

"What?"

"I'd feel better if you stayed. Instead of being in a car with some stranger right now."

"Is that the only reason?" she asked holding his gaze. Silence stretched between them as they bargained with themselves and each other about how much they could say without crossing any lines. Jack reached his conclusion first. It wasn't going to leave that room.

"You haven't even puked yet," he justified. Jack had never had to work quite so hard for a smile from her as he had tonight, but the work made him a little prouder of earning it. "There's a lock on the bedroom door if that makes this decision easier."

"Oh yeah, I was really worried about that," she joked. "Okay," she added, "I'll stay."

"Thank you."

"Morning, Carter! You have never looked better," Colonel O'Neill, seemingly unaffected by the night before, bellowed from the kitchen down the hall. The sun hadn't risen yet, but here they both were after a night of heavy drinking. Sometimes she just really wanted to sleep in, but after almost 15 years, her body wouldn't let her.

"Shut up," she answered with an attempt to conceal her grin as she entered the kitchen.

"The lady is spicy when hungover. Noted."

"Sorry. Shut up, Sir. Is that better?"

"Worse," he answered with sparkling eyes. Sam loved his eyes. She loved how much he said with them. She loved how she could look at them and just know what he was thinking. Like right now when he was telling her that she could drop the 'Sir' all the time for all he cared, and that he quite liked it when she did. Then again, maybe that wasn't his eyes. Maybe that was just them. Maybe they just knew each other. Sam's mind flitted briefly back to Martouf and Jolinar and the bond that they had shared. She wondered if they had something like what she was experiencing with Colonel O'Neill right now. It seemed absurd to be thinking of him as Colonel O'Neill in this context, but she couldn't let herself think of him any other way. Thinking of him as anything other than the Colonel was the first step toward losing him for good.

"Coffee?" she asked, glancing around the kitchen and breaking the loaded look they had shared.

"Obviously," he answered, pulling a mug from a cabinet and filling it for her.

"Aspirin?"

"A given," he assured her, opening a drawer and pulling out a bottle. "Hair of the dog?" he offered her a beer.

"Uhh, no," she answered with disdain.

"Your loss."

"Sir, I just wanted to say..."

"You don't have to say anything, Carter. That was the whole point." Sam wasn't ungrateful. He had been exactly what she needed last night. She still felt the weight of what had happened with Martouf. She still felt his loss. She still felt the impossibility of her situation with Colonel O'Neill. She still felt the inevitability of the loss of him if she gave in to a future with him. Two for two, her alternate reality self had fallen in love with him and given in. And two for two, her alternate reality self had lost him. She would rather have him as they were than lose him completely. Not having what she really wanted was tolerable. Not having him at all wasn't.

"Thank you," she answered. He acknowledged her with just a glance and a little grin. He was moving around the kitchen, digging in the fridge, just generally being too busy at the moment. What was it he had said last night? Something about a lot of grey area and how there isn't really a right or a wrong. There's only the choices you can live with and the choices you can't live with. Living with him in a world where he was the Colonel—that she could live with. Living without him in world where he had been Jack—impossible.

"Colonel, could you just..."

"Hmm?"

"Could you hold still for a minute?"

"What?" he asked, turning to face her with a carton of eggs in one hand. "Why?" With his eyes on her, Sam took the opportunity to step closer to him. With a healthy dose of self-doubt, she wrapped her arms around his back and hugged him close. She took him by surprise, she hoped, because he didn't respond. Until he did. She heard the foam of the egg carton squeak across the counter top, and then she felt his arms wrapping around her shoulders tightly. Sam relaxed into him, propping her chin up on his shoulder. Then for the first time since that horrible moment in the Gateroom it was safe to feel again.

She didn't feel despair at the loss of a friend's life at her own hand. She didn't feel grief for Jolinar's loss. She didn't feel disappointment at what she couldn't have from Colonel O'Neill. She only felt safe. She only felt protected. She only felt that she wasn't alone. She only felt that this man was the best friend she'd ever had. And maybe this wasn't how friends hugged, but that didn't matter. It was how they hugged, and it was all she needed right now.

Sam let it go on for longer than she should have, but opportunities were rare. She needed to remember this moment to get her through the rest of the moments. She needed to remember the warmth of his neck against her cheek, and the rippling muscle and bone of his shoulders under her fingers. The warmth of his whole body against all of hers was the ultimate comfort, and she couldn't let herself forget it. One of his hands held the back of her head—his fingers a perfect pillow, and she had to remember. His face was tucked into her neck, and she could feel him breathing her in and out. She could feel his lips on her skin. She memorized the exact spot on her neck that they were touching. She needed to remember how tightly he held her, as if he was afraid to let go. Likewise, Colonel, likewise. She couldn't forget those words he had whispered in uncertainty so many months ago, and how she had repeated them to herself over and over again as if they were a reward. His thumb started to stroke down her now longer hair; It felt so good, so proprietary, so sweet that she had to let him go. So finally, she did. He still held on to her shoulders, but with plenty of space between them now.

Catching his eyes again, and with sincerity that he seldom allowed, she repeated herself.

"Thank you."

"Anytime, Carter," he whispered brokenly to her. Jack wasn't sure how much longer he could have handled having her in his arms before he forgot that she didn't want anything more from him than a working relationship. Having her in his arms gave him ideas. Ideas about waking up to that every day or coming home to it at night. Hell, why not both? It gave him ideas about what it would be like to say damn the consequences. He was getting ideas about what she would do and say if he ignored her wishes and told her that he wanted more from her and with her.

"I should probably..." she hooked her thumb toward the door, "but I'll see you later."

"Yeah, later," he allowed. Always later. Later would be tolerable if he knew that there would always be a later for them.