AN: During Threads - After Jacob, after Anubis, before Daniel comes back.

Are you busy?
19:23

Jack wasn't by nature the sort of guy who wanted to keep this damn phone next to him all the time, but the addition of a star to his uniform meant he had to be reachable by the base. He was the man. Damn it. But this wasn't the base. This was her. Was he busy? Taking in his own form, he found himself horizontal on the couch with a dirty plate and TV remote balanced on his stomach. It probably didn't qualify as busy, but before he could respond to the text—

Can you come over?
19:23

It was as surprising as it was saddening. In the eight years that he had known her, Carter had very seldom asked him for anything. More often than not, she refused anything that was offered. If she was asking, it had to be bad. It had been a tough couple of days for everyone at the SGC until the threat from Anubis had been neutralized, but it hadn't been tougher on anyone that it had been on her. Even after Jacob had passed, she had kept showing up.

On my way. Have you eaten?
19:24

Thanks. I'm not hungry.
19:24

"Not what I asked, Carter," he mumbled to himself as he finished brushing his teeth. "Wallet... wallet? Safe. Next to the gun safe," he solved heading toward the nightstand. He pushed his feet into his boots leaving them untied, found a jacket nearby the same spot and left, turning to lock the door. Fishing in the jacket pocket for his keys he realized they were in a different jacket—the one he had worn to work today. Annoyed by the delay and changing jackets, he dropped the one with the offensively empty pockets on the floor and finally made it to his truck. Sending one last message to her, he backed out. Finally.

Soup? Salad? Sandwich?
19:29

There was a deli that she liked that wasn't too far out of the way between his house and hers. He had seen her bring some things into the base from there so he figured he'd just wing it if she didn't answer. Or for those scientific types like her he would make an educated guess.

This is a bad idea. Sam stepped out of the shower and quickly dressed in a well worn t-shirt and some soft, stretchy pants. It matched how she felt today, and he had certainly seen her look worse. As soon as he had answered that he was on his way, her heart had dropped into her stomach. This week had been hard. It wasn't physically hard—that she could handle. She was exhausted and overwhelmed. She was thinking about Daniel, wondering where he was or if he was coming back. Thinking about her dad, missing her dad. Thinking about Pete, feeling guilty about Pete. Then she had thought about him and how even after her disastrous attempt at a confession in his back yard, he had promised her he would always be there for her. And tonight, that's all she wanted—to not be alone.

But now as she hurriedly towel dried her hair and took a quick blow dryer to it, she was beginning to question her sanity. Moisturizer, and she was done. She would go days sometimes without actually looking at herself, but today the red-rimmed eyes caught her attention in the mirror before she could leave the bathroom. Had he actually seen her look worse? "Not important, Sam." Checking her phone she caught his message from twenty minutes ago and wondered if he was waiting for her answer.

Anything is good
19:50

A knock at her door answered her question about whether he had waited. Checking behind the curtain she opened the door to find him with a large, paper deli bag in in one hand, a 6-pack of Guinness in the other and eyes that were rapidly assessing the situation. She knew that look, but hadn't often seen it directed at her.

"Hi. Thanks for coming over," she said more certainly than she felt. He stepped inside, squeezing between her and some boxes in the corner, and began setting himself up on her couch. Sam took a deep breath and followed him. His jacket had been tossed across one of her bar stools, and the sleeves of his dark long sleeve shirt were pushed up on his forearms. She had a good view of his hands as he unpacked their meal, or rather, her meal, it seemed.

"Thanks for this," she said quietly, and took a small bite from a sandwich. She wasn't hungry, but she hadn't eaten today, and he would worry if she didn't eat.

"You're welcome. Want a drink?" he asked as he stood up to stow the rest of the Guinness in the fridge.

"Uhh, yeah, actually. Some water would be good."

Filling a glass with water, Jack did some breathing. Why was he here? Sure, she had asked him to come over, and the odds of being able to tell her no weren't great. There was a moment during that conversation in his backyard when he thought she might have come to say that she was quitting the Air Force to be with Pete the Cop and make dozens of tiny Pete the Cop babies. A little voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Jacob told him that she hadn't showed up to hand in her resignation. At least not for Pete. Even Kerry had weighed in with her opinion about his ex showing up on their date. It hadn't seemed to matter to Kerry when Jack told her that Sam wasn't his ex when she returned his denial with a knowing "coulda fooled me." But knowing what Sam had wanted to say to him, or at least the topic of what she had wanted to say only made this harder. How was he supposed to help her without crossing any lines? How was he supposed to be there for her in the way that she needed without stepping on Pete's toes? And where the hell was Pete anyway? This was supposed to be his job now.

As Jack walked back to the living room, water glass in hand, he saw it. The head turned away, and the swipe of fingers under the eyes—tears. Great. Sam wasn't really much of a crier. She saved it for special occasions. This one certainly qualified. Setting her glass down and sliding a hand behind her shoulders he sat too close to her where she was teetering on the edge of the couch. He breathed her in too deeply, and with a tilt of her head she melted just a little too much into his shoulder. Normally, she was a silver lining kind of girl, but no silver or gold for that matter could take this ache away from her. No hug could either, but that's all he had to offer her.

"C'mere," Jack asked her, and Sam let out a soft little sob as she leaned back into the couch and turned herself more fully toward him, with her arms wrapped solidly around her middle.

Sam missed her dad. It was the heaviest weight she was carrying, but it wasn't the only weight. She had just started getting used to a world without Janet, but this week had been hard. First Daniel, then her dad, and now Pete. Losing Pete had been her choice, of course, and it had been the right one. But doing the right thing had left her completely alone. Almost. She did have Jack, but sitting here next to him and knowing that he wasn't hers—that he belonged with someone else—had almost made it worse. Could she ever be content with having this piece of him?

Had he been with Kerry before he came over? Her stomach turned over at that thought. She breathed in trying to detect if he smelled different—if he smelled like her. Taking in her own position, resting against him with her knees tucked up against his leg and his thumb rubbing sweet, soothing circles against her shoulder, Sam felt the inappropriateness of it. Jack didn't belong to her. He belonged to Kerry with her skin that actually tanned and her dramatic dark hair. Resignedly pulling away from him, she settled herself once again on the edge of the couch and took in a cool soothing sip of water.

"Sorry for ruining your evening," she said wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her t-shirt, and turning herself so that she could see him.

"Oh yeah, it was a really exciting night," he answered casually. "I was right in the middle of some... thing on the TV."

"I just meant, the other day when I stopped by your house, it seemed like I was interrupting your dinner," she explained lamely, not quite able to look him in the eye or say the word date. Sam watched him blink, before tipping back his beer. She was waiting for some kind of response from him, but he was impassive as usual. She hadn't intended to talk about this tonight, but now that her mouth had started down this dead end street, she couldn't stop it. If she was going to be in pain tonight, she might as well feel it all.

"Carter, while you may have been an unexpected visitor, you are never unwelcome," he answered, still casually unaffected.

"Even so, I'm sorry. I'll call next time," she apologized, finally looking him in the eye. He had been watching her, she noted, probably since he had first walked through her door. "Not that there will be a next time, just that... if I did happen to... well, I would call first."

"No need," he answered dismissively. "Dinner has been cancelled for the foreseeable future. And dinner with her has been cancelled, period," he explained with a slight squint of his eyes. On anyone else it might pass for a grimace, but on him it was just a twinge of discomfort.

"Oh, I didn't..." she schooled her confusion into nervousness and then slowly into the expected sympathy. "I'm sorry. I know how you love a good steak."

"Yes, don't we all?" he answered her with a raise of his brow. "But it wasn't a very good steak. I mean, it wasn't bad. Good seasoning, but overcooked," he finished.

"I'm sorry, overcooked?"

"It was sort of a one-night dinner that turned into a recurring... one-night dinner. At first, it was fine. It was..." He wasn't with Kerry. He hadn't really been with Kerry like Sam had thought when she had appeared on his deck. "Should we talk about something else?" he suggested.

"Yes, please," she answered quickly, and took another sip of her water. Closing her eyes, she swallowed the cool liquid, hoping it would soothe the fire in her eyes from the tears that had fallen earlier.

"What do you wanna talk about?" he asked, as his eyes wandered from what he could see of her face along the straight line of her back. Her blue shirt matched her eyes—pale and dappled and soft. The way she was leaning forward left an exposed glimpse of skin low on her back that had him making a fist to keep his fingers from reaching for her.

"Honestly, nothing," she answered.

"Wanna watch some TV?" he offered as he stretched out, throwing an arm across the back of her couch.

"Not really."

"Huh..." he answered looking around her house for something to fill the impending silence. Every square foot was covered in books. Glancing back toward the door he noticed the object that had almost tripped him as he arrived. "Hey, what's with the boxes?" he asked gesturing toward the stack in her entry way. "Finally getting rid of some of those books you pretend to have read?"

"Not a chance. That's..." she faltered before looking him squarely in the eyes, "That's some of Pete's things."

"Ah, making himself at home, finally?" When Pete had first entered the picture, she hadn't been able to look him in the eye when she was talking about Pete. But she had looked him in the eye when she told him that she was having second thoughts. And she was looking him in the eye now.

"Not here. We... we broke up. I broke up. With him," she answered hurriedly. More silence ensued—long and loaded, as Sam watched his eyes. His face had never been more unreadable, and she had never wanted to see behind the mask he wore more than she did in this moment. It's not like she wasn't used to his silence, but at this particular moment something a little uncharacteristic would have been nice. She could see him still turning her words over in his mind.

"You okay?" he finally asked, setting his bottle down on the table. This night just got a whole lot more interesting and a little bit dangerous, but Jack had never shied away from danger before. Why start now? He watched in what he hoped was a relaxed pose. Sam tilted her head first this way, and then that before letting a little grimace spread across her features.

"I will be. I'm not good at breaking up with people. I usually just leave the planet."

"That could be arranged, ya know," he offered. "I know a guy." Seeing her smile for the first time in days, he knew now why he was here. Not just to see her smile, but to be the one to make her smile. Pete was history. Jacob would have been proud of her. Come to think of it, Jack was pretty proud of her too. It wasn't that he wanted her relationship to fail. He wasn't in a position to have an objective opinion about it, but he had his concerns. The fact that she had done it for herself and not for him just made it that much sweeter.

"Tempting, but no. It just got so out of hand. I feel like an idiot," she concluded.

"You are many things, Carter. An idiot will never be one of them."

"He bought us a house, Sir. A house."

"So, maybe he's the idiot," he suggested with eyebrows raised. Sam shot him a chastising look. "Too soon?"

"Yeah, a bit," Sam had to admit, in spite of the slightly cruel joke at Pete's expense, it felt good to let go of some of the gravity this week had brought. "Thank you for being here with me," she repeated. After a long moment of looking at her, he made a decision.

"You finished with this?" he gestured toward the food spread across the coffee table.

"Uh, yeah, thanks." Jack cleared her table, and it sounded like he was putting it away in her fridge. Sam tried not to overthink what this night had turned into. She hadn't meant to bring up Kerry Johnson or Pete or that day that she had stopped by his house. All she had wanted was to not be alone tonight, but all she could think of now was how unattached they both were, how much she still cared about him, and how she still didn't know if any of that mattered to him.

Jack returned and settled himself into the corner of her couch with his feet on her table, his boots abandoned. He looked comfortable until she saw him reach out a hand to her. Staring for a moment too long at his open palm, she gave her head a little shake to clear the confusion and looked up to see the question in his eyes. He cocked an eyebrow at her and summoned her with a couple of his outstretched fingers. Sam felt her hand shaking just a little, but quickly steadied it as she raised it to his. Jack gave her a little smile she couldn't remember ever seeing on him before as he closed his fingers around hers and pulled her into his side. Her head landed just so on his shoulder with his arm behind her back encouraging her to lean into him. She fidgeted for a moment before she realized there was nowhere for her hand to go except on him. Settling for the least inappropriate position she tucked it up on his shoulder near her cheek curled into a fist.

"You good?" he asked. And wasn't that just a loaded question? Physically, oh yeah. Mentally, maybe not so much.

"Yep," she gave the less complicated answer.

This is okay, right? Jack wondered to himself. They weren't exactly horizontal, but also not quite vertical. Hand on the shoulder is just a hug, he bargained. The challenge would be keeping that hand still. The need for her skin under his fingers was palpable and, quite frankly, annoyingly persistent. He could feel her hair and smell its bright scent right under his nose when he turned his head toward her to speak his next thoughts low and slow. He knew this could be exactly the wrong thing to say, but eight years of experience had led him to believe that there would never be a better opportunity. And Jacob had told him to trust him.

"I know you don't feel like talking tonight, and that's fine. It's not really my thing anyway, but the other day at my house... I wish we could have talked more." Jack felt her breathing come to a halt for several long seconds before she let out an uneven exhale against his neck. He knew he was probably a chicken for bringing this up when she couldn't look at him, but it had always been easier for him this way. In the infirmary, falling asleep, in the dark around the fire—those were his favorite times to talk to Carter. When she was on her A game, when she could analyze every thought that he couldn't hide from her, it was just too much.

"I hope we still can," she answered finally, uncurling her fingers and letting her opened palm rest on his chest.

"Likewise, Carter... Sam." They stood on the precipice together in silence, the culmination of years of self-denial, misunderstanding, desire and pain looming over their heads. They stood there together, both acknowledging that it was time and both not knowing how to begin.

Jack knew he was in no danger from Sam legally or professionally. He trusted her, but it wasn't appropriate for him to initiate this discussion. She had to know what this—what she meant to him. She had to know that he had more respect for her than to put her in a difficult position. Still, it wasn't just about the rank, was it? They had history, and not all of it was good.

"What are you thinking?" Jack whispered against her temple, and finally let his fingers move against her shoulder, tapping and tracing and drawing little shapes. She had nested herself into him, occupying every empty space that could have existed between them. He was already dreading the moment when she would pull away, putting all that space between them again.

"Everything," she answered. Until tonight, Sam had thought that she had broken up with her fiancé for a man she couldn't have—a man who had moved on. But now, he had pulled her into him, and he was tempting her with impossible possibilities. It seemed very much like he hadn't, in fact, moved on.

"Reader's Digest version?" he prompted.

"This can't be real," she abbreviated.

"Sure, it can. If it were a fantasy, I wouldn't have these love handles," he joked with a little pinch to his own side. Sam snickered and nuzzled her nose up to his ear.

"I don't mind." Jack felt her lips moving against his jaw as she whispered, and he granted himself a few seconds to compose himself from the sensation that ran through his neck and down into his fingertips.

"Who asked you? I mind," he teased. If Jack thought her lips moving against his jaw was good, her chin propped up on his shoulder and her eyes looking for his was a miracle. They were a little sad still, bloodshot and outlined in pink, but they had never looked better. They looked real.

"Guess I've been a little negligent about making you go hiking with me," she observed as she allowed her finger to trace across his collarbone.

"Well, you've been busy," he excused. "And the cake probably didn't help either."

"No, probably not. I should have used a different motivator," she suggested as she pressed her palm against him and took in the expanse of his chest before settling on his opposite shoulder.

"I could think of a few alternatives," he offered. Too soon she hid her blushing smile from him, settling her cheek back onto his shoulder. "What else are you thinking?" he softly persisted.

"I'm thinking that I like being here with you." Sam knew it wasn't enough. It didn't come close to describing everything she was thinking or feeling. "A lot more than I'm supposed to," she nearly whispered, hoping that he would understand.

"Me too." Sam felt his fingers slip under the sleeve of her t-shirt to brush lightly against her arm. This is what had been missing every time he had hugged her, and Sam closed her eyes and held her breath so that she could feel it fully with no distraction. He wasn't just holding her because she was upset. He wasn't just holding her because he thought she needed it. He was letting himself enjoy their closeness for himself. It was the piece of the puzzle that even now made her feel uncertain. Did he truly want her, or was he just here to take care of poor Sam? But there were always variables, weren't there? She could only control her response.

"And also that I'm tired of caring that I'm not supposed to want this," she continued. Jack gave soft squeeze to her shoulder, and then indulged in brushing his fingers down her arm and back again. He probably took a little too much satisfaction in the tiny bumps he felt forming along her skin at his touch, but there was nobody here to keep score.

"And that means what exactly?" Maybe he was pushing her a little too hard given the situation and what she had been through lately, but he hadn't heard anything yet that gave him permission to say what he wanted to say.

"I'm not sure yet." It was the truth, but Sam felt him grow tense and his fingers stilled on her arm. She wished that she could have given a different answer. Even when she had gone to his house to talk to him, she didn't exactly have a plan for what would happen after she made her confession. God, that sounded so melodramatic. When had this become her life?

"Okay," he accepted.

"That's it?"

"Yeah. If you're not sure, you're not sure. It's fine." Sam felt his hand settle back on top of her shoulder with her sleeve between them. He was retreating. Not fully. He wasn't making a move to leave or push her away, but he was closing the door on the subject. Searching for his eyes again she was relieved to find him quick to meet her gaze.

"I'm not saying that I don't want something more. I do, but I don't know what that looks like," she explained in an attempt to keep his attention.

"I get it, Carter," he excused easily.

"Do you? Because I don't. It's a lot to wrap my head around."

"There's your problem," he answered with an affectionate squeeze and a crooked grin. "This isn't really a wrap your head around it kind of thing."

"Are you angry?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"No," she answered timidly. He kicked his feet over from the coffee table to her couch. Insinuating himself further down, he dragged her with him. Completely horizontal now, and perfectly aligned from shoulder to hip, he slid his good knee between both of hers, enjoying the warmth and pressure. Her head was pillowed on his arm, and almost tucked under his chin, and he hoped she knew that she could always rest here.

"Is this okay?" he whispered against her hair. He thought he might have felt a gentle nod of her head, but he needed to be sure. "Sam? Is this okay?"

"Yeah," her answer crackled a little. "Yes, this is okay. This is good." With a soft kiss to her forehead that was probably a little out of line, he slid his hand up and down the curve from her rib cage to her hip and back again.

"Sam, look at me," he prompted. Sam felt his request breathed against her face and turned her gaze into his brown eyes that were inches from her own. She had seen glimpses of his eyes looking this way over the years, but not often. It was familiar and strange at the same time. "This is enough. If this is all we ever are, I will still be the luckiest son of a bitch I know. I've accepted it. More is just a bonus."

"How can you... Okay, now I'm angry," she stated with a shove of her palm against his shoulder.

"You're angry?" He was smirking at her now, and gave a teasing little squeeze to her waist.

"If it doesn't matter to you, maybe that answers the question for me."

"Whoah. I didn't say it didn't matter. I just said that whatever you decide you want or don't want, I'm not angry." Sam knew that, objectively, this was a good thing. He wasn't putting pressure on her, but she couldn't help feeling that he wasn't as invested in the outcome as she was.

"Maybe I want you to be," she suggested softly, and watched as his face contorted. Several times it looked like he might say something before stopping himself.

"I may have forgotten how complicated women are," he finally answered with the same look on his face that she had gotten when she tried to explain wormholes to him.

"I'm not a woman. I'm a scientist." They both smiled at their old joke. It had quit being funny a long time ago. "Would it be okay if..." Grasping his hand in hers at her waist, she pulled his arm more firmly around her back and tucked her face into his chest. Sam was inside of a Jack O'Neill cocoon. The thought distracted her for a moment as she tried not to think about the stages of metamorphosis.

"Maybe for now we just do this," she suggested.

Jack thought she always did have good ideas as he pushed himself closer to her. He was about to fall off of this damn couch, but as long as he could use her as an anchor, he should be fairly secure. She had eliminated any space between them, and if she weren't still trying to wrap her head around things, he would find it difficult to keep his hands still. As it was, he was content to hold her close, just feeling her breath push against his chest and recede slowly away from him. He could practice some restraint, even if he was going half crazy with the feel of every one of her curves and angles pressed against him.

"What if we screw it up?" she whispered unevenly against his throat. Jack hadn't talked to this version of Carter in years—this unsure, tentative Carter who could only see the problems. Fortunately, he had a lot of experience with her.

"That would suck. But what if we don't?" He floated the idea to her like a challenge, hoping that she would bite.

"You're really important to me. It's a big risk." Oh. This wasn't young, inexperienced Carter. This was scared Carter.

"It's not," he argued, allowing his middle finger to stroke her temple. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You say that, but what if... God, I don't know, what if I screw up and you end up hating me?"

"I won't hate you. And we are going to screw up. No matter what you decide, we're going to screw up. Hell, we're not doing such a great job right now, but here we are. Well, you're doing fine. I'm a certified disaster."

"No, you're not," she assured him. Jack thought it was probably a kind lie, but he appreciated it still. "I can't lose you," she admitted. Jack felt her nuzzle his chest and dig her fingertips into his shoulder.

"Never gonna happen," he assured her with a full body squeeze. "I'll always be here for you. Believe me." Jack wasn't sure how to make her understand. He knew he wasn't great at the relationship and talking stuff. Sara had told him often enough that he remembered it still. But he wanted to be better. He had lost Sara. He couldn't lose Sam. There was one part of this that he was good at though. Sliding his hand down her back, he tested her with tentative, teasing movements. A soft sigh escaped her, and he smiled at his success. Dancing his fingers lower, he found that bare spot on her lower back that he had been itching to touch earlier. Her skin was soft and heated, and her body tensed a little at his touch. He flattened his hand, just resting on her bare skin until she breathed again.

"Should I stop?" he asked, as his fingers began to circle the tiny bumps of her spine.

"God, no," she answered easily, and he smiled. With her blessing he gave her more, skating his thumb up the slope of her side under her t-shirt. She jumped a little before relaxing again, as if she were a little ticklish so he moved away, focusing on the line down her back that was flanked by well-used muscles.

Sam was flashing back to a thousand little daydreams, all of which centered around this moment. The moment that Jack touched her on purpose for the first time. His fingers were observant and curious as they swept across her skin, and all she could do was lie here and let him find out all her secrets. He was studying her. In truth, she didn't want to move. An object in motion tends to stay in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. In this instance, she was the outside force, and she didn't want to do anything that might stop what he was doing right now.

"What are we going to do?" she asked sounding a little lost.

"Whatever you want, Samantha." Her skin was smooth under his fingers, and her muscles gave way under his touch. He could feel the stress she had been under this week stored in her body.

"What about what you want?"

"You know why I can't make this call." Gently pressing into her muscles, he tried to sweep away her tension with his fingers. It was working.

"Well, can you give me a sign? How am I supposed to know what you're thinking?" she asked, sounding a little sleepy now.

"You don't have to know. You just have to know that whatever it is that you want, I also want." Why he should have to explain this he wasn't sure, but she didn't seem to understand.

"You know, you're a very difficult man." Not unlike this knot in her lower back that wouldn't give way, but she wasn't the only one who enjoyed a challenge.

"So I've been told."

"I do know one thing I want."

"Lay it on me."

"I want to stay on this couch forever," she declared as she miraculously discovered a way to worm her way even closer to him.

"Really? I was just thinking it was a little cramped."

"Probably all that cake," she suggested.

"Ha."

"Sorry. We could... go somewhere less crowded."

"Disneyland? Tokyo subway? Or... Game 7 of the Stanley Cup finals."

"Funny," she answered giving him the so not funny face as she looked up. "Actually, I was thinking we could go to bed. Could you stay? If you're okay with that."

"Okay?" Jack cleared his throat as he considered. "Yeah, I think I could be okay with that."

"Just to sleep. I mean, I'm not really tired yet, but there's more room than this couch and we could... talk some more. Not that you would think that we were... I just didn't want you getting your hopes up."

"Relax, Carter. It's not my hopes you have to worry about getting up," he teased.

"Jack..."

"Excuse me?" he responded with a smug grin.

"Jack," she pinned him with that one word, letting it become a part of both of their realities, and all of his amusement fell away.

"Samantha?" he prompted.

"Come to bed with me."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Jack cleared the coffee table of his half empty bottle and Sam's water glass while she locked up the house for the night and started hitting the lights. Something about the descending darkness of the interior smacked him in the face, and he was no longer going to bed with Sam. Just for an instant he was transported to a time and a place in which he was living with Sam, and this was a daily routine. His heart raced at that thought, and he smiled—not a smirk, not a twitch of the lips, but a smile. He was still sporting it when she stopped in the darkened kitchen to collect him.

"Ready?" she asked as she extended her hand to him, just like he had done to her earlier. He had asked her without asking her. Now she was asking him. He laced his fingers through hers deliberately and firmly.

"Yeah, I think I am," he answered cryptically while drawing near to her. She wasn't sure when she had started watching his hands, but it had been years ago. Broad and strong with long, capable fingers that were always busy with something, and now it was wrapped up in hers. He seemed entirely too pleased with himself at the moment, but truth be told, she was pretty pleased herself so she let it slide. She turned and led him down the hall, wondering if he was staring at her ass on the way, but she kind of hoped he was, so there was no point in checking.