Yes, another story from me. Sigh. I know, I'm incorrigible. I am trying to update regularly, so I hope you'll forgive me. This story (of which I own nothing) tells the story of Jack and Sam. Hope you enjoy.

He sat contemplating his desk. It was a nice desk – big and wooden and very impressive looking. When people came to see him, and he sat behind this desk, he knew he was intimidating.

Which he guessed was okay. His job did carry a lot of responsibility – the safety of the entire planet – so it was natural that people were intimidated. And the desk did help.

He sighed. Right now the desk was intimidating to him too. Not because it was big, or made of solid wood, but because it was filled with paperwork. Important paperwork. Vital paperwork.

And he hated paperwork.

He sighed. He wanted to be out there, running around the universe, kicking butt and saving asses. Instead he spent his time sitting on his butt and kissing asses.

He pondered what Daniel and Teal'c were up to. He knew Teal'c was spending more time off-world now that he had a thing going with Ishta. He grinned – he bet that was quite some thing. He wondered what Jaffa sex was like. Probably a lot of wrestling and groaning.

He shook his head. What the hell was he doing thinking about Jaffa sex?

It was better than paperwork.

He knew that if he didn't get going on it, if he didn't get everything signed, changes made and instructions given, his assistant, Lieutenant Ian McCaffery, would give him hell! Oh, he wouldn't say anything. I mean, he couldn't or else he'd get in trouble. But boy could he let his feeling be known – in a perfectly respectful, subordinate manner. He was worse than Walter and Teal'c combined in the "you-are-being-an-ass, O'Neill" kind of way.

He sighed again and picked up a file folder and opened it. It was an MOU between the United States and the Russian government for the continued rental of the stargate. The Russians were demanding more – they always wanted more, he thought. Maybe we should just go find another stargate on a deserted planet and bring it back to Earth and give the Russians their damned gate back.

But how could they bring it back? They couldn't gate it back because – well – that would be impossible. But they could send the Prometheus to get one.

"Hey – what a great idea," he muttered to himself. He reached over and hit the intercom button. "Lieutenant?"

"Yes Sir?"

"Take a memo."

"What Sir?" McCaffery's confused voice floated through the machine.

"A memo."

"You want me to take a memo?"

"Isn't that what I just said."

"Uh – yes Sir. Who is the memo to?"

Jack sighed. "Don't ever end a sentence with a proposition Lieutenant!"

"I'm sorry Sir." There was a short pause. "Uh – to whom should I address the memo?"

"I don't know – who usually gets them?"

"It depends Sir," said his long-suffering assistant. "If it's -"

"No, no, that's okay," Jack told him. "Just write this down. I want an Sg team – wait do you think I should specify a specific team?"

"I – maybe?"

"Nah – any of them could do it. An Sg team is to find, procure and transport a stargate to Earth. No, make that to the United States. I don't want the Russians to get a second one."

"Of course not General."

"Good. And make sure it specifies that it must be from a deserted planet – an unused stargate. There, type that up and send it."

"Um – I'm still not sure who I should – I mean to whom I should send it."

"Oh," Jack frowned a moment but then his brow cleared. "Send it to Hank – it'll be one of his teams who will have to find one. And then you can send it to the Captain of the Prometheus because he's going to have to transport it."

"Yes Sir. Uh Sir?" McCaffery sounded hesitant.

"What is it?"

"Where should they put it – when they get it I mean?"

"Hmmm – I'm not sure yet. I'll have to ask Hank – or maybe Carter would have a good suggestion."

"Okay Sir. Is that everything?"

"Yup. Thanks Lieutenant."

"No problem Sir," the intercom went off and Jack sat back in his chair, contemplating how wonderful it was going to be when he could tell the Russians to go f-

He jumped a mile high when his desk buzzer went off. "What the hell?" He'd just finished speaking with McCaffery. "What?" he barked into the intercom.

"There's someone here to see you Sir," the poor Lieutenant answered.

"Who is it," he sighed. If it was the Russians – or Chinese, British, Indians, Japanese, Swiss, or French, he'd tell them to take their bellyaching and go away. Now if it was the Canadians (Rodney Mckay excepted) he'd be tempted to invite them in. They were just so damn polite and friendly and rarely bitched about anything. And they had great beer.

"It's a Lieutenant Colonel Carter, Sir."

"What! Send her in, send her in!" He jumped up from his desk and almost made it to his door before it opened.

"Carter! What the heck are you doing here? It's great to see you! Come in, come in!" He'd wanted to hug her as soon as he saw her, but unfortunately, at the last minute, had been attacked by an unusual sense of decorum. McCaffery would have crapped his pants if his superior had hugged another officer.

"Welcome to my new abode, Colonel," he grinned as he led his way to the desk. At the last moment he changed direction, almost bumping into Carter. "Oops – sorry. But let's sit here. Otherwise I'll feel like I'm in the Principal's office."

"But you're the Principal Sir," she grinned.

"Don't remind me Carter," he shivered dramatically. "God – what was I thinking!" He sat on the chair and motioned for her to sit on the couch facing him. He would much rather have sat beside her, but knew that would have probably made them both uncomfortable. There was a thin and wobbly line between them, and one which they had never crossed (at least not without alien influence or not in a time loop) and he wasn't about to start now.

"So Colonel – what brings you to this fair city of museums, monuments and – me!"

She laughed, although to his ears it sounded a bit forced. He frowned, suddenly worried that something was wrong.

"I brought the latest report on the upgrades to the 303," she told him. "General Iverson wanted some more detail on the power outputs based on the latest -"

"Ah ah ah," Carter, I haven't had lunch yet." Suddenly he scowled. "But I thought he was in Europe with the Transportation Minister."

She looked surprised at that, and even more uncomfortable. Now he really wondered what was going on.

"I hadn't heard that Sir," she said. "I'll feel very silly if he's not here."

"You, silly Carter? I don't think that's remotely possible. Now, can you tell me why you're really here?" He held her with his gaze. It wasn't unkind, and it certainly wasn't the gaze of a superior to a subordinate. It was, rather, the gaze of one close friend to another.

"I'm sorry Sir," she blinked rapidly, which Jack suspected was her way of keeping the tears at bay. Hell, there was something really wrong here.

He got up and moved swiftly until he was sitting beside her. She looked at him in surprise and edged away from him slightly – but then relaxed back closer into him.

"Sam – what's going on? What's wrong?"

"Nothing General. Really," she said when he looked at her disbelievingly. "I'm fine."

It hadn't been that long since they'd almost lost the entire planet and her father had died. And then, a few months before that they'd lost Janet, who he knew had been one of Sam's closest friends. It had been a rough year and he wondered if she had simply reached her breaking point.

He was abruptly brought back to the present when he heard a loud "sniff" and noticed that Sam was keeping her face averted from him.

"Hey," he said softly, "c'mere." He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. "Tell me what's bothering you."

"I – can't," she sniffled.

"Why not?" he asked, trying to look down at her but only getting to see the top of her head.

"Because – because you're my superior officer."

"Hey – that's no excuse," he told her gently. "I've been that for as long as we've known one another and you've never let that bother you before."

She raised her head, at that, and looked at him incredulously. "Never let – General, of course it bothered me. It's bothered me for years."

"What?" his brows crinkled in confusion. "How did it bother you?"

She sighed and didn't answer. She leaned her head back so that it was lying across Jack's arm which was behind her on the couch. That hadn't been what she had been expecting, so she quickly raised it back up.

"I'm tired of leaving it Sir," she finally said.

Jack sat there, puzzled. He knew he wasn't nearly as brilliant as Carter or Jackson, but he was no dummy. He had to be reasonably smart to hold down this job, for instance. But right now he felt like a complete idiot. What was she talking – oh. It suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks. His immediate reaction was to leap up and move across the room, as far away from her as he could get.

The next moment had him calming down and trying to think this thing through. It was only when he heard another "sniff" and he looked down, did he realize that she was upset – most likely at his seeming lack of reaction.

"Uh – by "leaving it" I assume you mean -?"

"In the room Sir – I'm tired of leaving it in the room."

Jack opened his mouth, but it appeared as if someone or something – he'd bet on it being an alien – had completely removed his vocal chords. Not a word or a sound was able to make it past his lips. He swallowed, and practically gagged. There was also no liquid whatsoever in his mouth.

Sam stood up abruptly and started to walk toward the door. He frowned, now thoroughly confused. "Sam?" he finally managed to croak. She turned – very slowly – until she was looking at him. Or actually she was looking at his shoes, which he was sure were very nice, but hopefully not more interesting than his face, which she was clearly avoiding.

"It's okay Sir," she said softly. "This was a stupid idea."

"No – no, not stupid." But that stopped him. He was sure it wasn't stupid, because nothing Samantha Carter ever did was stupid. But it was something – and he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out what that something was.

"I should be going. It was nice seeing you again. Maybe the next time you're in Colorado we can all go out for dinner or something."

"Sam," he said again. That seemed to be all his mind could handle. All he knew was that he didn't want her to go. "Stay." There, that worked.

"Uh – why Sir?" she asked softly. If there was a smidgeon of hope in her voice – well, he'd take that.

"We - uh – need to talk," he managed to gasp out. God, if anything was stupid in this room it was him.

"I – we don't have to Sir," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

"No – no spot. I mean yes, you did, but it's good. I mean – we should have – it's about - we need to – oh, for cryin' out loud - sit down Carter."

She made her way slowly back towards him, although this time she sat in the chair. If he hadn't been so terrified he would have laughed. She really looked as if she had been sent to the principal's office.

He moved, more slowly than he'd moved in a long time, to the couch where he slowly lowered himself. Then he looked at her – and had not a single, solitary thing in his head.

She glanced up once, but then down almost immediately. It struck him that it had been a lot of years since he'd seen Sam this unsure of herself. Back at the beginning she 'd been a young officer much more easily intimidated by him. But she'd grown out of that and could – and often did – give as good as she got, all while remaining respectful of her superior officer.

He sighed once more and put his hands through his hair. She glanced up at that and he was sure he saw a slight grin appear.

"Hair?" he asked, pointing to his head.

"Yes," she nodded.

"It's the bain of my existence," he confided to her. "Never could get it to do what I wanted it to."

"Kind of like Daniel," she said softly.

He cracked a loud laugh at that. "Exactly like Daniel. God – I never thought of it that way. Now every time I see my hair I'm going to think of him refusing to settle down and relax." That brief moment had allowed him to regain some equilibrium. He looked over at Carter and then made a decision.

He stood up – which caused her to look up in surprise and concern.

"Let's get out of here," he said. "This isn't a good place for – uh – conversation." He frowned. "You don't have anywhere you need to be?"

"No."

"Not going to see General Iverson," he smirked.

"No Sir," she rolled her eyes, but her face also turned a bit pink. "I'm free."

"Good. I'm gonna -" he looked over at his desk and sighed. McCaffery was going to kill him. "Let me just deal with this and then we can go." He stood and made his way quickly to his desk. With a quick sweep he gathered all the papers and folders in his arms. He then pulled open one of the drawers in his desk and shoved everything in.

"There – all done," he said. "Let's go."

"Are you sure they're okay there," she frowned. "I didn't mean to disturb you. If you need to finish -"

"Aaack Carter," he shook his finger at her. "I'm grateful you disturbed me. I can do all of that later." He opened the door out of his office and gestured her through.

As he tried to saunter through his assistant's office without creating suspicion, the man in question looked up from his desk and frowned. "General?" he asked.

"I'm heading out for a while Lieutenant," he said clearly. "Colonel Carter has some urgent business for me. Take messages."

"Uh – okay Sir," the man said, looking bemused. "Were you able to finish –"

"Later," O'Neill waved his hand and moved forward quickly to the outer door. "Important stuff to do Lieutenant. I'll see you later."

"Ok- ay Sir," McCaffery was speaking to an empty room. He shook his head, wondering, for the hundredth time, how O'Neill had managed to survive in the Air Force. With a heavy sigh he bent his head to finish working on his report.

"Where are we going Sir?" Carter asked breathlessly as they zoomed down the long corridor.

"Just – away," he waved his arm. "I can't talk here."

"Okay." She was silent as they moved out of the building and through the parking lot towards what she supposed was his car. She was a bit surprised, knowing that he must have the use of a driver. "You brought your own car Sir?"

"What?" he glanced at her in surprise, almost as if he had forgotten she was there. "Oh – yeah. I hate having a driver. I always feel guilty for making the person wait around."

Just then they arrived at a non-descript dark taupe sedan. It was the last car she would have expected the General to have. Instantly she thought back to his truck and felt a wave of nostalgia.

"They have a special deal for serving military," he explained. "I miss my truck though."

"Me too," she said softly. "This doesn't feel like you."

"No – it isn't. I've been thinking about exchanging it for something a bit different, but in the end I can't be bothered.

While he was speaking he had been maneuvering out of the parking lot. Soon they were heading along Washington Blvd into Arlington. She wondered if they were going to his house, since she knew that's where he lived.

But after a few minutes he pulled off the highway into a little strip mall. There was a quaint little coffee shop there, and that's where she assumed he was taking her.

"I get coffee here some mornings," he explained. "It's usually pretty quiet."

A few minutes later they were seated in a quiet corner of the shop, each of them holding a cup of coffee. Neither of them spoke – the silence heavy and uncomfortable.

Jack cleared his throat, knowing that he had to say something. After all, he was the one who had dragged her away from the Pentagon. She probably thought he was crazy.

"So," he said calmly. "What's this about taking it out of the room?"