AN: Back in Jack's day, some things happen. During 1969.

Leave it to me to find a fun, light-hearted episode and take it to a dark place. I color outside the lines. I can't say what the general opinion is, but I can say that there are plenty of service members, my husband included, who never joined up for the purpose of making war, but for the hope of peace. They are defender personalities, not aggressors. So, while it may seem out of character from the perspective of a stereotype, I think Jack's feelings as represented here could be plausible, especially given the heated opinions surrounding Vietnam at the time.

"In war, truth is the first casualty." ~Aeschylus


Sam looked up from the rack she was browsing to see the Colonel pulling out a black leather jacket. She would be willing to bet he was more of a greaser than a hippie, and the leather fit that theory. Simultaneously curious and horrified, she pulled out the shortest emerald green dress she'd ever seen with pink trim. Perfect, she'd always wanted to look like a watermelon. Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped when she raised it up and saw a series of cutouts around the waist.

"Yes, that one!" Colonel O'Neill was finished finding his own disguise and seemed to think she needed his help. His grin was huge and annoying, but she couldn't help her laugh as she stuffed the dress back into the rack. "Oh, come on, Carter! It'll come in handy if we need to hitch another ride."

"Good point, why don't you buy it for yourself?"

"I don't have the legs for it," he answered seeming truly put out by the fact.

"I haven't had a razor in a few days. I'm not sure mine would do us much good either."

"Oh, no, au natural is in these days. Plus, I saw some patent leather boots over there that would really work with it."

"Knock yourself out, Sir." Sam tried, she really did, but the eyeroll was inevitable even if she was laughing.

"Kill-joy."


"So, you would have been how old in '69? Fifteen?" The familiar sight of a campfire flickered in front of SG-1 as Sam addressed Colonel O'Neill.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Captain. Try seventeen."

"Is that why you signed up?" she asked. The draft would have been impending for him the next year.

"Not exactly. Military family, but I did want it to be my choice." That sounded just like him. Bring on the torture as long as he could be in control the narrative.

"You were deployed, weren't you?" She thought she remembered seeing some ribbons from Vietnam on his rack the last time they were in blues.

"Oh yeah, right after flight school. The whole thing was pretty well wrapped up by then, but I did about eight months."

"What did you think about all of it?" she pressed. It was a quiet night with plenty of opportunity for the wet wood they had gathered to hiss and smoke. It was also quiet enough to feel the weight of his next words.

"'In war, whichever side may call itself the victor, there are no winners, but all are losers.'"

"Churchill?" Daniel asked.

"Neville Chamberlain, I think," Colonel O'Neill answered him.

"Guess we're losers together, then," she concluded.

"Indeed, Captain. Indeed. And a fine looking bunch of losers we are."


Sam hated herself a little for volunteering to sleep on the floor of the van. Their uniform jackets weren't exactly a great bedroll, but the Colonel had taken the floor the last two nights. She could tell he wasn't sleeping well, and he was getting stiff if the tone of his groaning at first light was to be believed. Daniel was up front with Teal'c giving driving lessons, so if she was lucky, she might die and not have to pretend to be asleep with the vibrations of the road under her tailbone.

Her consolation was that Colonel O'Neill seemed to be sleeping well finally. The loveseat was small for him, but he was making it work, curled up on his side with his face hanging over the edge of the seat cushion. As usual, he slept with his mouth slightly agape. Fortunately, he wasn't a drooler or her face would have been the soggy recipient of it. He hadn't been as religious about shaving the past few days saying that he needed to 'blend in with the locals,' and tomorrow was probably the day he would finally give in and take care of it.

His sixth sense must have kicked in and felt her staring at him because he shifted slightly in his sleep, turning onto his stomach which moved his arm over the edge of the loveseat and his hand lazily collided with her rib cage and rested there. Sam's pulse spiked as she lay frozen and unsure what to do about this situation. No one else in the back was awake. She could try to slide out from under him and go join the guys up front. It wasn't like she was going to get any sleep anyway. But she knew Colonel O'Neill was a light sleeper. If she moved while he had his hand on her, he would wake up, and that would be mortifying. Why exactly? She wasn't sure, but it just seemed like something to be avoided.

Pulling the corner of her lip between her teeth she worked to calm her breathing. Maybe if she could get her head out of the moment, she could figure out what to do. Just as her breathing returned to normal, and she was formulating a plan, she felt it. Instinctively, she assumed, he stretched out his fingers, flattening his palm against her ribs and slid his outstretched hand down to wrap around her side.

Oh God. This is not going in the mission report. Sam lay still for what felt like hours, waiting for the Colonel to move his hand, but he didn't. He was out. Then again, maybe she wasn't waiting for him to move his hand. Maybe she was just waiting for whatever happened next. Sleep. Sleep was what happened next, and when she awoke to the first rays of morning light she could almost convince herself that she had dreamed it.