Samantha Carter sat up with a heavy sigh. Why was it that the one time she wanted to sleep she couldn't?

Peeking out of the tent, she saw the shadowed form of her CO sitting on a log conducting his watch. He always took the middle watch as it caused the most chaos in the body clock.

She crawled out of the tent and made her way over to him, glancing idly at the piece of paper he held. "Crossword, sir?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," he returned, evincing no surprise at her sudden appearance. Despite his lackadaisical mien, he had panther-like reflexes and missed nothing. He eyed her thoughtfully. "Can’t sleep, huh?"

"No, sir," she groused. "Brain won’t shut down."

He gave a soft huff of laughter. "I'd be surprised if that brain of yours ever shuts down!" he accused.

"Sometimes it does," Sam protested.

"Hah," he mumbled. "Carter; you were babbling on about Planck's Constant last night."

"And you recognized that ... how?" she shot back. She'd stopped buying his dumb act a long time ago.

The Colonel coughed. "Anyway ... Wanna do one of my crosswords?" He gave her that lopsided grin that ... absolutely did not make her insides turn cartwheels.

"Okay, sir." She settled herself more comfortably and accepted the puzzle and a spare pen.

+++++++++++++++

Three days later:

Just one answer left. That was all she had. Then she would finally be able to wipe the ever-constant smirk from his face.

He'd been taunting her for the last two days, stating that he knew the answer for 13 down. He seemed determined to make her ask him.

She was equally determined that she wouldn't. She was a Carter. And Carters never quit.

+++++++++++++++

Two days later:

"Major Carter," General Hammond said quietly, jerking her attention back to the pre-mission briefing.

She blushed and tried to ignore her CO's smug smirk. "Sorry, sir; I'm a little distracted," she admitted.

"We noticed, Carter," the Colonel said. "Something on your mind?"

He had the gall to droop his eyelid in a lazy wink, and she seriously debated the merits of kicking him in the shin.

+++++++++++++++

Five days later:

"So ... you ready to quit, Carter?"

She jammed her cap onto her head and glared daggers into the man's back as he sauntered up the ramp and into the wormhole.

Then she set her jaw and followed him through, wishing all kinds of bad luck on him. Maybe she'd yank his spark plugs. Or ... replace all his 'Mad' magazines with 'Scientific American'.

Heh.

"Why keep torturing yourself?" her CO purred as she fell into step beside him. "All you have to do is admit I am the king of the crossword and I'll give you that tiny five-letter word."

Sam clamped her lips on the urge to tell her CO to shove his tiny five-letter word up a three-letter portion of his anatomy. She wasn't ready to be busted back down to Captain.

+++++++++++++++

Two weeks later:

"No way." She stared at her CO, who was wearing the biggest shit-eating grin she'd seen in a long time.

"Way," he retorted childishly.

"That isn't even a word!"

The Colonel tsked at her before picking up her new electron microscope and fiddling with it. "Dear me, Carter; who knew you were such a sore loser?"

Sam closed her eyes, praying to whatever deity was up there laughing their ass off for patience. "Sir; that microscope cost over five thousand dollars."

"Your point, Carter?" He set the microscope down with a thump and she winced.

No way is that a real word!, she fumed to herself. She debated asking Daniel but didn't quite trust him not to be on the Colonel's side for once. His baby blue eyes and round glasses gave him a boy-next-door sweetness that belied his inner evil streak.

"Pay up, Major." Her CO waggled his fingers in a 'give' gesture.

She snorted. "Not likely, sir." Then spotted General Hammond strolling past. She knew he'd spent some time in that part of the world - maybe he'd know.

She darted out, hoping he wouldn't think her crazy. Well, any crazier than she'd appeared over the last few weeks. "Sir; you wouldn't happen to know an Afrikaans word for hemp, would you?"

"Major?"

"Crossword," the Colonel piped up cheerily.

"I see." General Hammond regard her as if she had a couple screws loose then sighed. "Dagga," he said.

It really was a word? She didn't even have to look at her CO; she could hear that smug smirk from here! "Ah." She cleared her throat. "Thank you, sir," she said politely.

Hammond gave her another measuring look then moved on.

"Pay up, Major," her CO taunted once more.

Sam groaned and went back into her lab, dug out a fifty and slapped it a little too hard into his palm. "There you go, sir." And I hope you choke on it.

"Why, thank you. Always a pleasure, Carter!" He made a great show of kissing the folded bill before putting it in his back pocket. "I'll be doing crosswords again tonight if you feel like joining me," he said.

She wondered what he'd do if she slapped him upside the head, but chose the wiser course. With gritted teeth she went back to her laptop and opened up the statistical probability study she'd been running. "I think I'll pass, sir," she said lightly.

"Ah, c'mon, Carter; lighten up! You can't be expected to know everything!" the Colonel retorted. "Do I know or care anything about science? Nope. You're a science genius - I don't expect linguistics from you too."

"You're not a linguist either, sir," she pointed out. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and bounced lightly. "Are you, sir?"

"Y'know; I could go for cake." The man pushed himself away from the door jamb in a fluid motion. "Kommst du, Carter?"

"Uhm ... okay!" She was kinda hungry, and so preceded him out. Then stopped short, causing him to nearly plow into her. "What did you say?"

"It was just German, Carter," he said innocently. Then added in perfect Russian; "It's not like I was speaking Goa'uld."

Sam shook her head. The man was incorrigible. "I loathe you," she muttered.

He clapped her shoulder. "Nah; you leave me really," he teased.

She smiled as she stepped into the elevator. Yeah; she did. God help her; she did.

Smug SOB.

That should be the man's middle name.

John J. Smug SOB O'Neill.

It had been several weeks since the crossword from hell and they'd declared a temporary truce.

But then, about a week ago, he'd brought in another crossword and offered to go triple or nothing.

There really was a fine line between love and hate.

Not that she loved him. Not at all.

Yeah, right, Sam; you just keep telling yourself that.

Clutching the completed crossword tightly, she rapped on her CO's door. "Sir?" she called.

Nothing.

She turned the handle and was spectacularly unsurprised when the door opened. For someone with an almost supernatural sense for danger out in the field, he was charmingly lackadaisical about his home security.

"Sir?" she called again.

Still nothing.

And now she was worried. She'd called him earlier, and told him she'd finished (with a bit of smug SOB in her tone), and he'd demanded proof. Told her to 'haul ass' (his words; the man was such a charmer) to his house ASAP.

She opened her jacket and removed her Beretta, looking for burglars or other miscreants. Or any of the long list of people who Jack O'Neill had pissed off during his life. Of course, if there were burglars, miscreants, or pissed-off people, they'd know she was here by now.

D'oh!

Nevertheless, she walked stealthily around the small, surprisingly charming house. Then got to his bedroom.

She was a red-blooded woman and he was an attractive (okay; really attractive) man. Of course she'd wondered what his bedroom was like. It seemed she was going to find out.

Ignoring the girly squee-ing coming from somewhere in her brain (maybe she was spending too much time with Cassie), she opened the door and walked in.

She was not prepared for what she saw.

Jack O'Neill in black knitted jockies, one gray sock and battered Air Force Academy tee shirt, with headphones clamped to his ears, singing and dancing.

Badly.

She was torn between admiring his muscled six so nicely displayed for her benefit and hysterical laughter at his performance.

The hysterical laughter won out.

The man jerked around then his eyes went wide and he ripped the phones off his ears. "Carter!" he exclaimed, blushing.

He blushed! God, he was adorable.

Sam waved her hand feebly, trying desperately to swallow her laughter. "S ... sir," she got out. "You ... you didn't come to the door."

"Ah ... yeah," he muttered. "You're kinda early."

"You did say ASAP," she reminded him, her blue eyes widening innocently.

"Carter?"

"Yes, sir?"

"How much to never tell anyone about ...". He waved his hand at his attire - or lack thereof.

"Oh, you couldn't afford it," Sam retorted.

"Samantha ..."

Oooooooooh, the full name.

She blinked and forced herself to focus. "Mmmm ... yeah?"

"You're evil," he told her.

Sam snickered. "But you love me, anyway."

"Yep."

And the man gave her the biggest smug-SOB smirk in his entire repertoire when she nearly swallowed her own tongue.

She loathed him.

Yeah, right, Sam; you just keep telling yourself that.

Samantha Carter growled when the ringing phone interrupted her calculations. Phones and base eight math were not a good combination.

Unfortunately, she had never been able to ignore a ringing phone. With a heavy sigh, she snatched up the receiver. "Carter."

"Whatcha doin'?"

Oh, fabulous. Major General Jack O'Neill, Head of Homeworld Security and a five year old trapped in an adult's body, was bored. Out of long habit, Sam moved her more delicate equipment out of reach before recalling that he was now miles away. And that she was in her own house. "Working, sir," she said pointedly. "You?"

"Don't think I didn't get that subtle hint, Carter," General O'Neill replied. "So ... ya get my latest fax?"

Oy. Since their respective transfers less than a month previous, he'd been torturing her on a regular basis with the resumption of the crossword war. Not just any old crosswords, though. Crosswords that seemed to hone in specifically on the areas in which she had less interest - history, art, literature - and in which he had suddenly seemed to become some kind of savant.

"Carter; stop rubbing your forehead, take some aspirin, put that laptop away and go through the crossword with me."

Okay; now he was getting spooky. Sam's hand dropped guiltily from her forehead. "How did you ...?" she spluttered.

The General chuckled. "I've known you a long time, Sam - coming up nine years."

Sam growled again. "Now you're making me feel my age," she complained.

Another chuckle came over the line. "Your age? I can barely remember bein' your age," he shot back. "You seem to forget; I'm nearly old enough to be your father."

"Only if you were extremely precocious." Sam noted absently that the 'sir' and 'Carter' seemed to have gone out of the encounter. "Were you extremely precocious?"

"So not tellin'," Jack said.

There was a knock on the door and Sam rolled her eyes. Coming up for nine at night and some idiot was still trying to hawk things? Well, they could forget it; she wasn't in the mood to humor them.

Instead, she reached into her pocket and dug out the battered crossword. "I'm stuck on 19 down," she admitted then wondered if a smirk could translate through a phone wire. If anyone could manage it, she thought, Jack O'Neill could.

DING-DONG.

DING-DONG. DING-DONG. DING-DONG. DING-DONG. DING-DONG. DING-DONG. DING-DONG. DING-DONG. DING-DONG. DING-DONG. DING-DONG.

Another growl emitted from her throat.

"Carter; were you growling?"

"Yeah," she said. "Some moron's leaning on the doorbell. I suppose I'd better go answer it. Hold on."

"Kay," he replied amiably.

Sam put the phone on silent then went to the door, muttering imprecations about the soon-to-be-dead doorbell-leaner. "What?" she practically snarled.

"Wow." Brown eyes blinked rapidly at her. "Love you too, Carter."

Jack O'Neill was standing outside her doorway. Dressed all in black and hair sticking up insanely from the damp.

He looked fabulous.

"Jack?" she squeaked. Still no sir, she noted.

"So; stuck on 19 down?" And now she could see the sexy smirk pulling at his lips.

She grabbed him by the collar and hauled him into the hallway. "Shut up, you smug SOB," she said, and fastened her lips to his.