Jack scowled, knowing that he was in the wrong but unwilling to admit it. He was extremely pissed off after a long unproductive meeting with Woolsey and had come home ready to tear off heads.
And Sam's had been the nearest head.
Not that she ever stood for any of his crap, giving just as good as she got.
He sighed heavily, squinching his eyes shut against the migraine that threatened. "I'm gonna go out for a bit," he said gruffly. "Need some air."
"That's right; as soon as things get a bit heavy, you turn tail and run," Sam snarled. "You're such a ... a coward at times."
Jack's own hands clenched into fists. He'd never hit a woman in his life, and he was damned if he'd start now. Instead, he headed back to his rented car and drove away.
He and Sam were, he had to admit, quite possibly a very odd pairing to an outsider.
There was a significant age gap between them for a start, although he could be very immature while she was a lot steadier in some respects.
They disagreed on much - favorite literature, TV shows, Harleys versus Indians (he just loved the hogs) - and both were stubborn and hot tempered.
He knew they had great chemistry - he'd felt the sparks fly during their first meeting, although she'd pissed him off at that time too. Oy; another AF feminist brat!, he recalled thinking. But there was more to a relationship than sex ... Okay; really great sex.
Heh.
He'd started really caring about her - as more than a colleague - when they'd thought Daniel to be drowned. Just the memory of her beautiful blue eyes swimming with tears brought a lump to his throat, even now, so many years later.
Their relationship had gone through many highs and lows - the lowest point being during the year after the Zatarc tests. It had taken them a long time to get back on an even keel, but they'd remained one of the best, most close-knit teams at the SGC. Things had started slowly getting better and by the time they were free of the shadow of the frat regs, they were good enough friends that a more romantic relationship was no longer out of the question.
Bright lights danced in front of his eyes - quite pretty, really - and he blinked rapidly. Then pulled in quickly to someone's driveway as nausea and dizziness made themselves known.
Someone knocked on the window. "You okay, young man?" a sweet little old lady asked.
"Peachy," Jack croaked. "Sorry; this your driveway?"
"You really don't look well," the tiny old woman responded. "Migraine, dear?"
"Yeah." Jack resisted the urge to curl into a fetal ball, breathing in deeply.
"My Harry used to suffer from them," his rescuer continued. "Can I call someone to come collect you? You can't drive like that."
Jack was known for his stubbornness, but he wasn't too big to admit that Fraiser #2 was right on the ball. "My wife," he said. "Number's 593 ... 593 ..."
And as the world crashed in around him, he whispered "Sam ... Carter."
Jack opened his eyes, relieved to find that the world had stopped spinning, although his head was still killing him. He looked around, noting the old-fashioned decor and hand-crafted coverlet that rested over his prone body.
"Wha ...?"
"Ah, hello, young man." #2 trotted into the room, followed closely by Sam. "There he is dear - he's feeling much better now."
"Hey, Sam." Jack was too tired to bear a grudge, offering her a small smile as silent apology.
"Hey, you." She sat down on the bed and brushed a tender kiss over his forehead. "I wish I'd known you were feeling like crap - I wouldn't have gone off at you the way I did."
"Nah." Jack waved a hand. "I treated you like crap - I'm surprised you didn't slug me."
His wife's cheeks went a light pink. "I wanted to," she admitted, "but I'm glad I didn't do it."
"Me too." His loving wife was also a gun-totin', ass-kickin' Colonel in the Air Force. He was stronger than her, but she could pack one helluva punch.
He looked around once more then smiled at #2. "Who are you and how did I get here?"
The little woman smiled. "My name's Mary Wilson - I live not far from you, it turns out. And my son helped bring you in - you're a big man."
Jack considered the old lady and realized that he did actually recognize her slightly. "Oh ... Well, thanks," he told her. He'd chew over the 'big man' comment later.
"You're quite welcome, pet," the English woman replied, coming over and patting his hand. "Just rest a bit longer while I make you and your wife some tea." She patted Sam's hand. "Come with me, dear; leave your handsome young man to sleep for a bit."
Sam looked startled and Mary laughed. "I'm old, my dear, not dead," she pointed out.
Jack snickered. "I still got it, Sam!" he gloated.
Sam leaned over and pressed her warm moist lips against his, tongue flicking out quickly to curl around his. "Indeed," she replied lightly a la Teal'c. Then she blushed slightly. Considering that she was quite the insatiable wench, she tended to be shy about showing her love for him in public. "Okay; get some rest and then we'll go home."
"Yes, ma'am," Jack said. Then he grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently. "And ... I'm sorry."
"Me too," Sam said softly. "I love you."
"Love you, too."
As the two women left, Jack allowed a smile to cross his tired features. Some might say love meant never having to say you were sorry, but sometimes an apology truly was necessary.