Jack Has a Ball (Adult Only)

Title: Jack Has a Ball

Author: Su Freund

Email: su_freund@ficwithfins.com

Category: Angst/Romance

Content Level: Adult Only

Content Warnings: Use of both mild and vulgar language. Graphic sexual situations and sex.

Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine)

Season: 8

Spoilers: Reference to Smoke and Mirrors

Summary: He just knew things were going to go from bad to worse. Maybe if he was lucky... but Jack suspected he wasn't going to be that lucky. Holy mother!

Sequel/Series Info: Sequel to Part 5, Jack's Great Weekend

Status: Continuing Series

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright 2007 Su Freund

Author's Note:

1. Some readers thought the previous chapter of this story too short, and maybe they were right. This one is quite the opposite, extremely long. But muses will be muses and mine simply wouldn't stop, so I make no apology for it, just provide the warning.

2. I wrote this chapter for Lynette (Flatkatsi) who supplied the original plot bunny that inspired me to write it, Jack dripping with medals notwithstanding. Thank you for the bunny, Lynette. I had such fun writing this, and getting carried away with the idea.

3. Also, Lynette deserves many thanks for beta reading the story and making her ever helpful comments/corrections. I subsequently tweaked the story a little (adding some extra naughtiness for those people who read the adult version) but, that aside, all errors found in this fiction would in any event be wholly mine.

Jack Has a Ball

This so wasn't Jack's day. First, he failed to wake up before his alarm went off. This was such a rare event it threw him for a loop from the get go. The alarm was a failsafe but he was so used to waking early that he never needed it, hence he woke with a start, instead of naturally. Temporarily discombobulated, he reached for a non-existent side arm, ready to confront an equally non-existent enemy, before realizing he was safe at home in his own bed.

The adrenaline rush provoked by the fight or flight response might have energized him, but as neither fight nor flight were necessary he was left feeling somewhat disoriented and disturbed, as if he'd forgotten something important. Somewhat akin to waking from a nasty nightmare, the experience turned his mind to dark and negative thoughts. Jack had much experience of bad dreams and should have been used to that disconcerted feeling, but this familiarity did nothing to settle him.

Because he'd overslept, he had to rush his morning shower when normally he took his time, relishing the hot jets of water awakening his tired flesh and fuzzy head. Man, he was getting old! There had been a time when he was neither fuzzy headed, nor tired of muscle or flesh on awakening. Back in the days when he was regularly out there saving the universe for his sins, he'd been immediately alert and active. It seemed those days might be well and truly over. Jack blamed it squarely on the desk job and never ending piles of paperwork.

Being in charge of the base was so radically different to simply being in charge of SG-1. Both jobs had their unique stresses and strains but, nowadays, O'Neill had weightier problems to contend with and felt their impact way more often than he cared to admit. And he thought life had been complicated before. Oh, man! How had General Hammond done it? Jack was a novice by comparison and his respect for the man, already right up there, had increased by several notches since he'd taken the job.

After the hurried shower, he gulped down a similarly rushed cup of coffee, and at such considerable speed that his throat was raw from its burning heat. Unwittingly, he also left the house wearing odd socks, which soured his mood still further. And then... a long list of small misadventures had occurred, and all this before he even made it into the mountain.

Jack hoped this bad start wasn't a sign of things to come because he could do without it being one of those kinds of days. He prayed this wasn't going to be the day some over dressed, pompous, egomaniacal, bad-assed alien with a penchant for pretending to be a god chose to invade planet Earth. Heaven help the human race if it was because General Jack O'Neill sure wasn't feeling much up to saving the planet. Wryly, he thought it surely had to be someone else's turn to do the planet saving thing anyway. Just as well.

Admittedly, even if the multitude of small mishaps hadn't occurred, even if the worst case invasion scenario didn't happen today, even if it turned out to be a perfectly normal day, Jack wasn't really looking forward to arriving at the SGC. He just knew things were going to go from bad to worse. Maybe if he was lucky... but Jack suspected he wasn't going to be that lucky. Holy mother!

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After his weekend in New York with Catherine, it pissed Jack off that the trivialities of getting up in the morning on the wrong side of the bed blighted his resultant up beat mood. The weekend had gone pretty well. In fact, it had been great, no doubt about that, with the possible exception of one or two relatively minor points - like Catherine's ex, her parents and some of the snobs who consider themselves the great and the good.

He tried not to let all that crap bother him because, more importantly, he and Catherine had been pretty damned amazing together and his passion for the woman had deepened. However, it was difficult to ignore that part of the weekend because it was, after all, what they traveled all that way for.

The building used to stage the event was of the older and more elaborate variety. The organizers hosted pre-dinner socializing in a large and ornately decorated room, hung with po-faced portraits of various luminaries associated with New York in bygone years. Huge chandeliers shone and twinkled from the intricate high ceiling, and a large, well stocked bar dominated one end of the room. O'Neill was vaguely impressed.

Peter Rodgers, probably of the Boston Rodgers or some such, and Catherine's ex, was one of those men Jack would have taken an instant dislike to even if he hadn't known the guy was wife-beating scum. That knowledge was merely one of the many nails in Rodgers' coffin. The man's smile was so phony it was reminiscent of Robert Kinsey on a good day, if the Senator ever had one of those.

O'Neill was a man with a mental list of the people he'd happily see in his own private cemetery while wearing a gratified smirk at their funeral. Kinsey, of course, was close to the top that list, but Rodgers was hanging on to a place just behind, ramming right up the Senator's rear end.

The phony smile was bad enough, and that was before Rodgers even opened his mouth. Jack found himself asking what the heck Catherine had ever seen in the man that made her accept a marriage proposal. But he figured anyone can make mistakes and Rodgers must have some charm hidden away somewhere. Just because Jack couldn't see it, didn't mean it wasn't there.

Sure, he exuded that type of poise the rich so often have in their manner, and he was good-looking in a sneering rat-assed bastard kind of way. Jack, however, filed the "what the f...?" question for use sometime when he and Catherine were alone, and the time was right to broach such a personal, probing subject.

As for Catherine's parents, they were snobs in the worst possible way. Jack couldn't figure how they'd managed to raise such a terrific daughter. He really got the point of why Catherine had severed most of her ties with her family. You can choose your friends, as they say... although some of those also left a lot to be desired, at least in Jack O'Neill's book.

Catherine had been so insistent on Jack wearing his dress blues, wanting to show him and his vast array of medals off. O'Neill hadn't objected to that. Dress blues might not be his favorite attire, he favored the casual, but he was proud of the uniform and what it represented, and it certainly beat black tie. However, from the way some of the guests looked down their noses at him, it seemed a lot of those snooty artsy fartsy folk didn't see the USAF in quite the same light as Jack O'Neill.

He didn't really care what they thought about him, although was bothered about how it might impact on Catherine, and believed it downright disrespectful of the American flag and the armed forces. His comrades in arms both risked and gave their lives to protect these people and keep them in the manner, and money, to which they'd grown accustomed. O'Neill believed they should show a little more respect and appreciation, but it seemed being a member of the armed forces wasn't in vogue right now - or not with many of the artsy crowd.

Jack had no doubt these people, including Pete Rodgers and Catherine's parents, would be the first to claim they were red blooded patriots. Yeah right! 'Get rid of the armed forces and see how much they like defending themselves,' Jack thought, 'and how long these jerks and their way of life would last.' You betchya!

What he thought and how he behaved were two different things entirely, of course. Jack was polite and at his most charming. Polite and charming simply didn't seem to cut much ice with some of the people he met. Your name, your background, your money, your power or your fame - that's what really seemed to count with many of those folks. One star generals didn't necessarily make the grade. Maybe if he'd been born to the Boston O'Neills... sheesh!

To be fair, not everyone had the same attitude, and Catherine was a star, being 100% supportive and talking him up to her friends and acquaintances in no uncertain terms. But Jack sensed the discomfort of many and the admiration and respect of the few. It was only later in the evening that attitudes seemed to change, but first things first.

The discomfort couldn't have been more palpable than when Catherine first introduced Jack to her ex and parents. He and Catherine were doing the rounds, making polite conversation, most of which he left up to her, or when it came to discussing art anyway. After all, what did he know about art?

Earlier, they'd attended the exhibition and Jack couldn't fathom most of it. He never had worked out the whys and wherefores of modern art. Give him something that looked like a real something any day of the week. What was so wrong with Leonardo, Rembrandt, or Turner? Jack had mainly lost it with art somewhere shortly after Impressionism.

Not all the art at the exhibition was of the modern, totally unfathomable kind, however, and he'd seen a lot of stuff he'd quite liked, as far as he knew what he liked. Catherine's works had ranked among them and he'd shocked her by buying one of them, despite being more than slightly nonplussed by the asking price - not half as nonplussed as Catherine was when he stumped up his hard earned cash.

Jack was well aware she would happily have given him one or more of her paintings but he'd taken such a liking to one on display that he couldn't resist the temptation. The painting was a self-portrait: her beautiful head, shoulders and totally adorable naked breasts. Catherine positively glowed in it and Jack fell in love on the spot. He simply had to have it.

She objected to the idea of Jack spending such a princely sum, told him he could have any of her paintings for free, promised she'd paint him another like it and did everything she could to dissuade him. He told her it was irresistible, and for charity, so bought it anyway, knowing she was thrilled and flattered that he did.

Her reaction alone was worth every dollar: the dancing light in her eyes, the brilliant smile on her face, the adoring look of admiration, the long lingering kiss when they were alone again, and the unspoken promise of more to come. So worth it!

Besides, he really, really liked the painting. She'd captured the essence of Catherine, just as she had captured the essence of O'Neill in the portrait she was painting of him. His portrait knocked him out. It wasn't finished, far from it, but he could see what it said about him, and it was him through and through. Catherine seemed to see him as him - all the complex stuff alongside the simple, the positive alongside the negative. She'd caught all of it on canvas.

He so loved the way she saw him. Raw O'Neill. How she portrayed him, the fact that she seemed to get right to the heart of him, was a heartwarming delight. Most of all he loved that she so obviously liked what she saw, warts and all. She seemed to get it, get him, and you couldn't get much better than that.

Her self portrait did the same thing. It showed her just as Jack increasingly saw her during the course of their developing relationship and growing intimacy. It was Catherine as Jack saw, knew and loved her. Love? Maybe that was going too far. He wasn't sure about that. Jack was reluctant to give it too much thought for fear of spoiling what they had for what might never be. But her portrait was just so her that he had to have it. He would hang it in his home as a constant reminder of Catherine when he was alone and lonely, then he could remember he wasn't so alone and lonely anymore because he had her, at least for now.

At the exhibition, she'd introduced him to some of the people they would meet again later that night, and at the fundraiser most of those people had been friendly and open in greeting and chat, not in the least perturbed by the uniform he now wore. Not so for everyone, as already explained, but not many of them had encountered Jack out of uniform so the O'Neill charm and wit wasn't given the chance to shine through their pre-conceptions.

Anyway, they were doing the rounds at the dance, some encounters positive, some downright negative, when Catherine's hand grasped and tightened around his, and he heard a sharp intake of breath and felt her stiffen. Immediately, Jack knew what was about to happen and he squeezed her hand and turned his head towards hers.

"It's okay, Catherine," he muttered in a low, reassuring voice. "I'm here." She smiled at him weakly and then plastered a probably overly bright smile on her face.

"Well, I'd heard you were here, Catherine," said the woman Jack took to be her mother in a snotty tone, turning to look him up and down with an even more disdainful expression on her face and in her manner. "Who is this?"

"General Jack O'Neill, mother. Jack, these are my parents, and this is Peter Rodgers, my ex-husband."

Jack plastered an equally bright smile onto his face and held out his hand to shake theirs politely. "Pleased to meet you, sir, ma'am," he said, and her parents shook his hand frostily, too well-mannered to do otherwise. Even Rodgers shook his hand, albeit with obvious reluctance and antipathy. Jack figured the man had many reasons for disliking him, given Catherine thought he still wanted her to be his wife and all.

The conversation that followed was somewhat stilted and of the small talk variety. They talked about the exhibition, the charities and some mutual acquaintances for a while, all very polite. Jack got the impression they were being civil because it was expected and things might have been slightly different had this meeting taken place in a more private arena. He chimed in when he felt able to, but knew nothing about Mrs. so and so of such and such and the like, so Jack mainly remained frozen out of the dialogue.

When Catherine loosed her grasp on his hand, Jack responded by placing an arm casually, but meaningfully, over her shoulder.

"This is your, um, boyfriend, Catherine?" her father asked, seeking clarification to ensure there was no misunderstanding of Jack's role in his daughter's life.

"I suppose you might say that, father, although boyfriend doesn't really do the relationship justice." Jack tried not to smirk at Catherine's response and the shocked looks of her parents and ex.

"You've sunk this low?" Rodgers asked nastily, making Jack want to punch him out without further ado, which of course he didn't. Instead, the polite smile remained on his face with no sign of a reaction.

Catherine's eyes narrowed. "Actually, I prefer to think I've gone up in the world, Peter," she retorted sarcastically.

"Catherine, you shouldn't speak to your husband that way!" her mother snapped haughtily, looking around to ensure no one had heard.

"Ex-husband, mother," she reminded them, although strictly speaking this wasn't true.

It had hurt Jack a little that Catherine had lied to him. Okay, it had been in the earlier days of their budding relationship, before they'd got quite so involved, but that didn't mean it hurt any the less. She'd given him the distinct impression she was divorced from Rodgers and the break up of their marriage had been many years before, but they were separated, not divorced, and this had only happened a couple of years ago.

She had `fessed up to Jack because she trusted him now, and he needed to know the truth before he met these people. Truth will out, as they say, and Catherine suspected Jack could discover her secret this weekend because it might come up in conversation with almost anyone who knew her at the fundraiser.

In bed a few days before, having made love to him in spectacular fashion, she'd coughed up; admitting she had been fearful Jack might have qualms about a love affair with a still married woman. O'Neill knew she was right to be doubtful. He would never have continued with their relationship if she'd told him she was married. That so wasn't Jack O'Neill's style, just as Catherine had suspected. Nor was it such a good thing for a General in the USAF to be caught with his pants down carrying on with a married woman. In a perverse way he was flattered she had thought him worth the lie.

Jack was angered on her behalf about her husband, the way he had treated her, which she revealed to him in more gory, Technicolor detail, and the way he still treated her. He was sickened at heart by her confessions: the beatings, the mental cruelty, the faithlessness. Not only that, but the man still pursued and pestered her.

Admittedly, he hadn't laid a finger on her since their separation, although she told Jack it had come close, but he menaced her with letters and emails and calls, as well as the occasional impromptu visit to the Springs. He frightened and intimidated her, and Catherine was scared she was too weak to continue standing up to him, that she might give way.

On top of that confession, she exposed another lie. Catherine had told him her parents were unaware of her abuse at her husband's hands. This wasn't strictly true either. She had tried to tell them but they simply had not believed her. Rodgers was the son of old family friends, rich and powerful ones. He'd strenuously denied her allegations, was charming and innocent in his demeanor, accusing her of wicked lies. He had smeared her reputation with her family and friends, lying about faithlessness and deceit, all the time claiming he would willingly take her back and forgive her. They believed him and ended up taking his side instead of supporting her.

Catherine's apparent treachery, and the desertion of her faithful and loving, seemingly perfect husband, had embarrassed them, brought shame to their family, or that's the way they saw it anyway. And they continued to apply the pressure and persuade her back to him and the way of life they thought she should be leading. So far, she had resisted, using all her strength to keep them at arm's length - so far.

As she told him this, Jack's heart had broken for her. Catherine was clearly humiliated and upset that her parents didn't believe in her, or the truth of her words. This and her obviously heartfelt contrition had helped soothe the pain of her lies. They'd stayed awake for a long time discussing it, Jack soothing and comforting her, Catherine thoroughly ashamed of herself. Her heartbreak, tears and pain rocked his foundations and he gave her more of his heart and soul than ever, his feelings for her expanding and intensifying, although he didn't admit that to himself.

Jack understood, he really did. He knew all about pain, heartache and shame. He knew all about the need for lies, and hiding one's true self and feelings behind a mask. Who better than him to understand?

In the end, the experience had served to bring them closer together rather than tear them apart as she feared. Jack was mollified about the continuing marriage by the fact that the separation was legal, rather than informal. His reputation would remain in tact. Not that he was sure whether he gave two hoots about his reputation anymore, but he cared about the repute of the USAF and would not wish to sully it. Anyway, he was probably way too deeply involved with Catherine to back away now.

It was a very good thing she had told him, as Rodgers' response might have come as something of a shock otherwise.

"Not legally speaking, Catherine," Rodgers intervened with great delight, eyeing Jack and not realizing how thin the tightrope was he walked upon. "When you come running back to me, which you will, no doubt I'll forgive you, darling. We belong together, you know that." He wore a supercilious, confident smile that Jack longed to wipe off his face and Catherine shot her ex a look but said nothing. "I can't believe you left me for the likes of this," he said waving a scornful hand in Jack's direction, "and such a mundane life."

"Well, there was never a dull moment with you, was there, Peter?" she responded.

"Oh you aren't going to rehash those old lies again, are you darling?" Rodgers replied, getting looks of encouragement from both of Catherine's parents. He moved towards Catherine and Jack removed his arm from around her shoulder and blocked his path.

"I wouldn't," he said, calmly, his demeanor belying the seething anger boiling beneath the surface.

"This is none of your business. Catherine has brought shame to our family. She should go back to her husband where she belongs," her mother said interferingly but, although angered by her words, Jack ignored her, keeping his eyes on Rodgers, who made to push passed him.

"I said I wouldn't," Jack repeated more emphatically, pressing his hand on Rodger's chest to stop him moving.

"She belongs to me," the man spat in response, still seemingly unaware of the danger lurking within the man he considered a rival.

"She doesn't belong to anyone, least of all you."

"She's my wife. This really isn't any of your concern."

"Catherine made it my concern. If she wanted to go back to you, that's where's she'd be. As it is, I think she prefers men who don't knock her into next Sunday week to get their kicks."

An audible gasp came from Catherine's parents. Not only were they perturbed there might be an embarrassing public altercation, but a man they hardly knew had accused their sainted son-in-law of something they had never believed possible of him.

"Now, look here, general whatever you name is," Catherine's father interrupted, "Peter would never do anything like that. You shouldn't take my daughter's word for anything."

Jack looked at the man with barely veiled disgust. "Really? Well, she's your daughter and you should. You two ought to be ashamed for taking the word of this scum over your own daughter's, so please don't bother lecturing me on what's right and proper because I think you gave up your right to do that a long time ago. And you have the nerve to want her to go back to all that humiliation and pain!"

Catherine seemed gratified by those words of support but her father looked aghast. "How dare you speak to us like that," he replied with scarcely concealed anger, but keeping his voice as low as his ire would allow. Meanwhile, Rodgers tried to take the opportunity to duck around O'Neill, who was alert to his move and grabbed his arm. The man winced at his powerful grip.

"As for you, you piece of shit, unless you want a public scene, I really wouldn't recommend taking another step. Now why don't you be a good boy and walk away while you still can?" The air of menace was apparent in Jack's tone and, so far, no one else in the room seemed to have noticed the small tableau presented by Catherine's family. The noise of incessant chattering, background music and the preoccupation of the other guests saw to that.

Deciding they ought to beat a retreat while they could with dignity in tact, before her uncouth boyfriend embarrassed them, Catherine's mother touched Rodgers on the arm. She seemed shocked by the hateful expression he shot at her for interrupting and backed away, slightly fearfully. Quickly pulling himself together, Rodgers put on the fake charm, fake smile, and fake acquiescence, taking the hint and turning away, but not before saying something to Jack in a quiet tone that no one else heard.

"This is not finished."

Jack's expression remained blank and composed, which made it even more threatening, if Rodgers had been savvy enough to read it. "I'm ready for you, Rodgers. I'd just love an excuse to kick your butt."

O'Neill realized the man hadn't grasped what he might be getting into, but didn't care. All the better for teaching him a lesson if he threatened Catherine in any way. It wouldn't be the first time someone had seriously underestimated O'Neill, and he doubted it would be the last. He could use that to his advantage, and often did.

The threesome walked away, muttering amongst themselves, no doubt insulting both Jack and Catherine, but Jack was convinced this was not going to be the end of it - far from it.

Catherine leaned into him and kissed his cheek, grasping his arm and smiling. "Well that went better than I thought," she commented.

"I hope I didn't embarrass you," he replied with concern for her feelings.

"They were the embarrassing ones. How dare they speak to you like that! How could they?" Her cheeks flushed slightly as she thought about how insulting they had been about him, although she was aware things could have been far worse.

"Hey," he responded in his best reassuring manner. "I don't care what they think. I care what you think."

She leaned into him and he could feel her trembling. "Thank you for being here, Jack."

"That bastard..." he cursed. He gave her a comforting squeeze, kissing her hair softly, and it seemed to calm her slightly tattered nerves.

"I don't know what I would have done without you here."

"You would have done fine. You're stronger than you think, but I'm glad I'm here. Are you okay?" Deep disquiet laced his tone.

"A little shaken, but I'll be fine. I don't think I am as strong as you like to suppose, but you give me strength."

"Sweet!" he exclaimed with a broad grin.

Jack realized Catherine was not entirely the super confident, tough woman he had first thought her to be. Like many, including him, she wore a mask that belied the vulnerability deep within. He was certain, however, he was right about her inner strength, that it was stronger than she imagined, while pleased she believed he helped bolster that strength.

Certainly, he thought none the less of her for any weakness. Their relationship had grown way beyond anything to do with first impressions.

Catherine looked up at Jack, warmed by the broad grin. His smile had that quality, the ability to soothe sorrows and make everything seem alright with the world. "Thank you so much," she said. "You so deserve me to come away with you fishing for the weekend for doing all this."

"You don't need to thank me, Catherine. I'm happy to be here for you. It's right that I'm here. On the other hand," he added with a boyish smirk, "I deserve a weekend in bed with you for doing all this, but I'll happily take the fishing. We might get a little bed action in too." He winked and Catherine giggled.

Then an old friend of hers, one who had supported her through the collapse of her marriage, despite Rodger's lies, came over and greeted them both genially, and she reverted to the normality of that confident, tough woman again.

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As he entered the mountain, Jack suppressed his ire at the memory of those darker moments, quickly plastering his best General O'Neill expression on his face. He was oblivious to the whispering and inquisitive looks that went on behind his back and unaware of Walter's slightly curious and agitated expression as he greeted him at the elevator with a morning coffee. Striding purposefully to his office, he gave no thought to the low voices of tittle-tattle surrounding him, way too preoccupied to notice any of these things.

That was until he entered his office and spied the newspaper lying open on his desk. Initially, he viewed it with an idle glance. Then O'Neill saw why someone had left it there open so conveniently on that page, so he saw what they had intended. It was some smart ass's idea of a practical joke. The kind of thing a certain Doctor Daniel Jackson might do, for example.

"Aw, crap!" he cursed aloud, wondering how much gossip was already circulating around the water coolers of the SGC, and what they were saying. "This is so turning into one of those days!"

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O'Neill tried to stay in his office as much as he could, slightly embarrassed by what he suspected people might be saying, thinking about the newspaper coverage of the fundraiser, and pondering how to tackle it, or if he should tackle it at all. Idle gossip about the base CO probably wasn't something to be encouraged, although he was aware it happened. In this case, maybe it was a good thing. Surely, the coverage couldn't harm his reputation, but Jack was not a person who enjoyed people speculating about his private life.

As was inevitable, later in the day Daniel Jackson found an excuse to visit him, armed with a tray bearing two cups of coffee from his own machine and a selection of cakes from the commissary.

"I come bearing gifts," he trilled gaily as he entered after failing to knock on the door, possibly because he didn't have a free hand to knock with, or maybe simply imbued with the normal Jackson over exuberance.

Jack looked up from the paperwork with a distrustful expression. "Might have known you'd turn up," he said snarkily. "Is this your handiwork?" He picked up the newspaper and waved it in the air. As he slammed it back on the desk again, the manmade breeze caused some of his papers to rise into the air and waft onto the floor. "Crap!" he swore crankily, starting to get up, wryly thinking, 'Sooo not my day!'

Daniel hastily placed the tray of coffee and cake on his desk and indicated with a wave of his hands that Jack should remain seated. "I'll get them," he said, bending to pick them up. "And no it wasn't me, by the way." Placing the papers neatly back on the desk, he closed the office door and sat down without Jack suggesting he was welcome.

"Well, you're the talk of the town, Jack. Have a good weekend?" His smile was sincere and Jack almost believed him, but not quite.

"I'm busy, Daniel," he snapped dismissively, looking down at the papers on front of him and pretending to read.

"Coffee... cake...? What more can a man do?" Daniel asked, prepared to sit it out, and Jack's gaze grudgingly strayed to eye up the tray.

"Cake... well..." Jack's countenance brightened. "It really wasn't you who left the paper? Open at the right page I might add."

"Hand on heart."

"Then who?"

Daniel shrugged, clearly not able to answer that question. "By the time I got here this morning there were a number of copies doing the rounds. Nearly everyone was talking about it. You're the news of the day."

"Can't say that makes me happy." O'Neill peered at the selection of cakes. "Is that chocolate?" he asked rhetorically as his eyes widened at the large display.

"Yep, your favorite. Help yourself."

Placing the cake on the small plate Daniel had thoughtfully provided, Jack took a huge forkful and crammed it into his mouth, making appreciative noises as he savored the taste.

"I wouldn't worry about the paper, Jack, it's doing wonders for your reputation," Daniel said. "Surely it's a good thing to have your picture in the paper with a beautiful woman on your arm?"

Swallowing hard, Jack nodded. "I guess it can't do much harm," he said, his reply slightly muffled because his mouth was still full of cake.

"Quite the opposite. I can't get any work done for people finding excuses to talk to me and ask curious and intrigued questions. They think I know everything. Of course I don't, but it doesn't hurt my reputation to be slightly enigmatic." Daniel grinned and Jack snickered, greatly cheered by the conversation, not to mention the cake. "I have to admit, seeing Jack O'Neill in the society pages is not something I thought I'd ever have the privilege to witness."

Jack's snicker turned into an outright laugh. "You and me both."

"So?" Daniel probed curiously.

"What? I'm meant to tell you everything so you can stop being enigmatic and become the fount of all knowledge?" Jack deliberately bit into more cake, avoiding Daniel's prying stare.

"As if I'd tell." Jack looked at him through narrowed eyes, his disbelief evident. "I wouldn't!" Daniel protested vehemently.

Cynical gaze firmly fixed on his friend's face, Jack finished chomping on the cake before responding. "What are they saying?" he asked eventually.

"Something along the lines of 'wow!', 'who'd have thought?', 'is that the woman he was talking to at Carter's engagement party?' and the like," responded Daniel, and Jack smirked. "As I said, they're curious and intrigued.

"Didn't think the old man had it in him, huh?"

"I don't think anyone's saying that. Or not when I'm around. They probably wouldn't dare."

Jack chuckled. "Who are they scared of, me or you?" Daniel responded with a smile. "Bet they're thinkin' it."

"Possibly. I think Walter's a little pissed he left Sam's party early and missed all the fun of you two meeting up. He's one of the biggest culprits, bending as many ears as he can manage."

"It might have been him who left this rag on my desk," said Jack, pointing at the newspaper.

"Could be."

"I'll so get him for that."

"Maybe he thought it was best you saw it so you knew what to expect." Daniel's tenor was placating. It hadn't been his intention to make trouble for Walter Harriman.

Jack waved a hand at the younger man, a slightly chagrined expression on his face. "Ack! Stop it with the good intentions. You're ruining my thoughts for a suitable comeuppance. Is that coconut, by the way?" he asked, eyeing the cakes again.

Daniel laughed at his friend's reaction. "Yes it is. Go on, Jack, spoil yourself."

"Don't mind if I do." He took the cake and placed it closer to him, and then reached for a coffee and took a sip. "You're not having any?"

"I'm waiting to see how much of it you can quaff down," Daniel replied with a sly smile.

"Buttering me up, eh, before moving in for the kill?"

"You might very well say that. I couldn't possibly comment."

The two men laughed good-naturedly. Jack and Daniel were old hands at verbal sparring matches with each other, quite the experts in fact. On some occasions, it could be irksome, but this wasn't one of them. Jack was thinking Daniel had improved his bad day tremendously, while Daniel was enjoying his old friend's company, whether or not he eventually learned any of the weekend's secrets.

At Jack's behest, Daniel picked a piece of cake for himself, and they sipped their coffees and ate cake in companionable silence for a while. Jack got the lion's share of the cake, but that had always been Daniel's intention. He knew his friend hadn't eaten since he'd arrived that morning and, although cake might not be the healthiest of diets, at least it would keep up the energy levels for a while.

Daniel understood his friend had a hard job to do, and sometimes struggled with the additional burden he carried, and the tedium of so much paperwork. Jack had a good heart and cared passionately about the work of the SGC, and each and every one of his subordinates. Sometimes Daniel took it upon himself to ensure O'Neill took care of himself for a change, even if it was something as simple as providing sustenance and good cheer through unwholesome but delicious cake.

"So, did you have a good time?" Daniel asked once they'd finished.

"I really should get on with some work, Daniel."

"Oh, come on Jack, throw me a bone. Then I'll leave you in peace, I promise."

"You expect me to believe it will be that easy?" Jack said with a smile, but continued. "We had a great weekend. The best. Catherine is a special kind of woman."

"She's certainly beautiful." He reached for the paper to look at the photograph. "And rich, and well known in these kinds of circles. You never said anything about that. What's she doing in Colorado for Christ's sake?"

"Getting away from those kinds of circles. Living an independent life. Doing what she wants to do. All that kind of stuff." Jack snatched the paper from Daniel's hand and glanced at the photo with a smile. "She certainly is beautiful isn't she?"

"Kind of begs a question..."

"What?" Jack queried, looking up to meet his friend's eyes. "Like what the heck she sees in a schmuck like me?"

"Something along those lines." Daniel was only teasing, although Jack tended to agree with him.

"Don't know, but I do know I'm one lucky schmuck. We're so different, different backgrounds, the whole thing. But as long as it's working, I'm not complaining, old buddy. And it's working. You couldn't be more surprised than I am, but it is."

"I'm happy for you, Jack, I really am."

Jack paused in thought before replying. "I know you are, Daniel, and she makes me happy."

"Is it serious?" Daniel asked more solemnly.

Once again, Jack paused before responding, observing his friend thoughtfully. When he spoke, his muted and faltering candor surprised Daniel. "I-I don't know. More serious than it was before the weekend, I think. We-we're kind of still...well, you know... developing... I guess." His gesticulations gave him an air of helpless puzzlement.

Daniel regarded his friend earnestly, noting the nervous disposition and slightly boyish manner. The archeologist suspected O'Neill's promotion, but resulting forced retirement from the field, had taken a toll on Jack, making him feel older than he should. Jack didn't deserve to feel like that, but it seemed Catherine was good for him, bringing a much needed flush of youth to the man.

The fondness for her that Daniel saw in his face eased those grey etched lines of responsibility, care and worry Jack had been wearing all too often lately. His burden seemed lighter. Daniel was delighted, believing his friend had earned the right to have someone special in his life. O'Neill had paid his dues many times over with loss, blood and pain.

Although his attachment to Catherine was apparent, however, those emotions clearly made Jack feel slightly uncomfortable. Daniel wondered what he was afraid of. Getting hurt, perhaps? Or maybe he feared dropping those barriers he'd so carefully built up around himself over the years. After so long spent as a solitary and private man it must be hard for Jack to let someone in, to let them get so close to his heart and his life.

Daniel wasn't sure he had the nerve to ask his friend such a question outright. There was only so far he could push Jack before he'd clam up tight and he never had been certain where that invisible line was drawn - it varied too much for certainty. Jack was far from a predictable friend, he thought ruefully.

The younger man nodded, a sage expression on his face. "I hope it all works out for you Jack, whatever you want from it. You deserve it, someone special, someone to be there for you. I'd really like to meet her."

Daniel's words affected Jack more than he wished to show, so he smiled and fidgeted, attempting to deflect the conversation away from such secret thoughts and dreams, particularly the ones he didn't even want to consider very deeply.

"I really have got a lot of work to do, Daniel," he said.

"Sure." Daniel rose from his chair, taking the hint. He thought maybe he should cut and run while he was ahead. Another day, another dollar and all that. "Get much fishing done in New York?" he asked with a devilish grin. As he left the room, Jack O'Neill's laughter rang in his ears, and Daniel returned to work with a grin on his face and a spring in his step.

Jack was in a much improved frame of mind too and briefly considered what a tonic talking to Daniel could sometimes be before picking up the paper and staring at the photograph.

"You sure are beautiful," he muttered. "We look pretty good together." His smile reflected his affection for the woman in the picture, and his distracted thoughts wandered back to the events of that weekend.

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The surprise of the night, at least to Jack, came when the President of the United States turned up at the fundraiser. No one had bothered to tell O'Neill his commander-in-chief would be dropping by and he was a might taken aback by that turn of events. Catherine swore she hadn't known either.

Jack learned later that the President was in New York for something else and many of the event's attendees were campaign contributors. He figured this was one way of keeping them sweet. Apparently, the President's schedule didn't allow much time for this charity shindig and, although he planned to appear, if only briefly, it was never certain he'd actually make it. The schedules of Presidents are prone to much disruption. For this, and security reasons, the plan was kept under the radar and very few of the guests had any notion he might turn up.

The packed but shifting sands of Hayes' schedule now allowed him sufficient time to stay for dinner, but not for the ball afterwards. He planned his attendance to be purely informal, but being the President of the world's most powerful nation, naturally a large retinue of flunkies and the ever present protection of the Secret Service arrived in his wake, as well as a photographer to record the excellent photo opportunities that would inevitably arise. Supporting the good causes of this fundraiser would do little to harm his standing, and much to bolster it.

Before they got down to the chow, Hayes was doing the rounds, meeting, greeting and shaking hands, with a few short words to each group of attendees. When he saw Jack O'Neill, that taken aback feeling was obviously mutual.

"Well I'll be... Jack O'Neill!" the President exclaimed with a warm grin. "You're the last person I expected to bump into here, Jack."

Jack stood to formal attention in the presence of his ultimate commander. "At ease, general," Hayes said light-heartedly. "It's good to see you, Jack. What brings you to these parts?" The President gave him a friendly thump on the back and O'Neill allowed himself to smile briefly.

"I have to admit it's not my normal neck of the woods, sir." Jack replied solemnly, now standing at parade rest.

"No need for such formality here, Jack. This is an informal occasion."

"Mr. President?" he queried. 'You could have fooled me,' he thought, wondering what constituted a formal occasion and how many additional flunkies and Secret Service men accompanied the President on such occasions.

"For crying out loud, relax will you man?" Hayes insisted. Jack's stance relaxed back to normal at this command. Then the President spotted Catherine by Jack's side. "Catherine Fellowes?" he said, peering at her with delight. "It is you, isn't it?" She nodded and smiled. "I haven't seen you for years! Still as beautiful as ever I see. Don't tell me it was you who dragged this old scoundrel here?" He glanced at Jack with evident affection.

"Yes, Mr. President, I'm afraid it was," Catherine answered warmly while he shook her hand with enthusiasm.

While Hayes worked his Presidential charm, Jack noticed the Secret Service men keeping their vigilant alertness at peak efficiency, despite the averred informality of the event and the President's apparent affability with the guests. They weren't taking any chances, not even in the presence of a well-decorated general in the Commander-in-Chief's own Air Force. Rightly so, in O'Neill's opinion; can't be too careful. Any one of these guests might be a crazy, including him.

"You have excellent taste, Catherine," Hayes said with a wink, leaning closer to her ear and whispering. "Way better than that jerk you married. I see he's here. Lucky, lucky you." The muted tone did nothing to stop Jack's acute hearing from picking up those words and he smiled, feeling smug. Hayes' distaste for Catherine's husband was unmistakable.

In a louder voice he added, "Jack's a good man, and a genuine all-American hero to boot. You can't get much better than that."

His aides tried to usher him onwards but Hayes shrugged them off, stubbornly refusing to budge. Turning to them, he said, "Didn't you hear what I said about this man being a hero? I always have time for the men and women who put their lives on the line, you know that, and Jack just happens to be an old friend." The aides backed off and Jack could feel the eyes of the room on their small party. Oh, man!

"Where were we Catherine?" asked Hayes. "Ah yes, I was complimenting you on your choice of escort."

"He's certainly a charmer, sir, and simply dripping with medals," she said in a slightly cheeky tone, briefly taking Jack's hand and giving it a squeeze. Jack's responding smile made her heart beat with excitement. 'He is so hot!' she thought, wondering if they should leave the event early, and she should drag him back to the hotel and rip the dress blues right off his lanky but muscular frame. She chided herself for allowing her mind to wander while talking to the President of the United States, realizing he'd just paid her a compliment by telling Jack how much he envied him.

"Don't tell the wife I said so, though, eh?" Hayes added with a bright smile.

He stayed talking to the couple for a few more minutes, not about anything Earth shattering, and spent way more time with them than he did with anyone else in the room. Before moving on, Hayes insisted the photographer take some pictures of the three of them, muttering something in a jocular manner about photo opportunities with handsome couples.

"I'll no doubt see you at the White House again soon, Jack," he said as he moved to the next group waiting for his attentions. Then he winked and smiled, indicating Catherine. "Take good care of that girl."

"I intend to, sir," Jack replied, saluting smartly.

It was clear to bystanders that this was a man the President had some time for. Catherine's parents and ex happened to be close by and Jack couldn't help but feel even smugger when he realized. They looked like they'd been sucking lemons. Maybe they'd get the hint he wasn't a total dweeb after all.

After that, the previous disdainful and snooty attitude many of the attendees had towards Jack was gone. The other guests became solicitous, and respectful, curious about the one star general who seemed to be the President's friend. Suddenly, Jack was the man of the moment, surrounded by admirers.

Inwardly, he cursed them for hypocrisy while outwardly charming everyone's socks off, now they gave him the chance to shine. Catherine was delighted, albeit she agreed with her lover about the two-facedness angle.

When they eventually managed a few moments alone, she grinned at her hero of an escort and pinched his cheek with a tease. "You never told me you knew the President."

"You didn't tell me either," he responded with mock schoolboy tone. If they'd been alone, he probably would have poked out his tongue to emphasize the effect. She giggled girlishly.

"Socially or work?"

"Mainly work these days, but we've known each other on and off for a few years."

"Your job really must be important if you know him for work." Jack shrugged but said nothing to affirm or deny her supposition. "You're quite a guy, flyboy," she said, chastely kissing his cheek. "The enigma deepens."

"Enigma? Oh, puleeze!" Jack replied with a self-deprecating laugh. "Open book, that's me."

He recalled his recent conversation with Daniel about the very same thing, and how he would quite like being a bit of a puzzle to her. It seemed he was and that pleased him.

"Ya think?" she countered in an impersonation of Jack, but then another eager new so-called friend interrupted so he never got the chance to respond to or return her tease.

Shortly thereafter, staff marshaled the guests into a dining room that was even larger and more imposing than the reception room. The chandeliers were bigger and brighter, the decor more elaborate. Large circular dining tables sported an array of cutlery and glasses atop the white linen tablecloths - perfectly set - and surrounded the medium sized dance floor. At one end of the room stood a stage where the band would be playing.

O'Neill wondered if there were going to be lots of boring after dinner speeches before they could tread the light fantastic, looking forward to twirling Catherine around that floor for their first ever dance together.

He was truly thankful when the company at their dining table turned out to be quite convivial. One of the men, Bill, was an ex-marine who had later made a small fortune with a chain of popular restaurants, and was a great art lover. He happened to be a big Catherine fan, thrilled to talk with an artist he admired, as well as a general in the USAF. Jack later learned he'd insisted he and his wife sit at Catherine's table, and paid additional money towards the charities to make it happen.

Apparently, Bill had also bought one of Catherine's exhibited paintings and was keen to visit Colorado to look at her personal collection and persuade her to sell him something no one else had seen before.

Ever more impressed by Catherine's apparent notoriety and fame, Jack pondered his mysterious lover. She was unbelievable, not showing many outward signs of this background and celebrity. Although he had never pegged her as ordinary, the more he got to know her, the more extraordinary she seemed to be: totally fascinating, totally charming and totally beautiful. Intrigued and besotted, he wasn't certain how he felt about being so deeply in her thrall. He was waiting for the other shoe to fall. After all, there had to be a downside, didn't there? Yeahsureyabetchya!

He tried not to let his doubts nag at him and enjoy it while it lasted, because O'Neill was sure it couldn't last, and increasingly wondered what the hell she saw in an ordinary man like him. They were worlds apart. Suppressing those thoughts, because they led to a dark and depressing place, he turned his full attention to the other guests seated at the table.

Bill and Jack exchanged some light-hearted banter of the competing branches of the armed forces kind, and O'Neill liked him despite that he was a jarhead. Unlike many he'd met, the man hadn't had a sense of humor bypass. Jack could relate to his humor, and they kept the other diners amused, like a comedy double act, although discussed serious stuff too, so it wasn't all for laughs.

After the sumptuous and delicious feast, Henry Hayes had to leave and it didn't harm O'Neill's kudos any when the President made a detour to say goodbye on the way out. He was all smiles and overt friendliness, and other guests watched enviously.

"Wish I could stay, Jack," he said, "I'd steal the beautiful Catherine from right under your nose."

'Wanna bet,' thought Jack. "I'm sure you would, Mr. President," he murmured aloud, standing to salute. The President signaled him to stop, reaching out to shake his hand.

"I'd be a fool to try," he joked. "I'd rather have you on my side. Heaven help any enemy of Jack O'Neill." Hayes grinned amiably and Jack returned the smile warmly.

"Yes, sir."

Genially, the President shook Catherine's hand and then turned, flanked by his watchful and eagle-eyed minders and ushered hurriedly away by his aides, waving to the other guests as he left.

The brief goodbye got tongues wagging around the room, including on Jack and Catherine's table. Bombarded with questions, Jack was relieved when the music started up and the dancing began, serving as a distraction.

As she talked earnestly to Bill's wife, out of the corner of her eye, Catherine saw Jack rise from the table. He stood beside her chair and bowed, taking her hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing it briefly. Then he gave her one of those cheeky half-smiles he often knocked her dead with.

"Would a beautiful sophisticate like you do a lowly schmo like me the honor of a dance?" he asked, thinking, 'So, it's a cliche. What the heck?'

Catherine replied with an appropriate inanity. "I assure you the honor is entirely mine."

A feeling of nervous expectation rose up from the pit of her stomach as Jack led her onto the dance floor. This would be their first dance together. The idea of dancing with him had excited her from the first moment she'd thought about asking him to come, and she was thrilled by Jack's manner of asking - charmingly quaint and sweet. He was such a big kid and she loved that about him.

As it turned out, Jack was not a bad dancer and Catherine relished the feel of his arms around her, and his cheek brushing against hers, as he led her around the floor. She was giddy with the thrill of the moment and figured they must look fine together, wishing she could watch as well as participate.

At first, they didn't talk much. For Catherine, Jack's breath whispering in her ear was enough, but he broke their silence.

"Henry Hayes is right. You really are beautiful," he whispered. "Belle of the ball and all that."

Catherine felt herself blush pink, but passed off his unexpected compliment with a joke. "You can't really disagree with your Commander-in-Chief, now, can you?"

He moved his cheek away from hers to gaze into her eyes. "I mean it Catherine," he said seriously.

"I know you do. You're looking pretty damned good yourself, flyboy."

Jack grinned. "Glad you think so." He twirled her gracefully and she hitched a thrilled breath.

"Must be all those medals, Mr. Hero," she added with a wink.

"Ack! They're just medals."

"The President doesn't seem to think so."

"He's a politician. They tend to be prone to exaggeration."

"Don't you enjoy compliments, Jack?" She hadn't been blind to his discomfort when flattered.

"Doesn't everyone enjoy compliments? I just... I don't always see myself the way others see me. It just feels odd. I'm not a hero, Catherine, only doing my job."

"None of us see ourselves like others see us. I can't speak for whether you're a hero or not, but I'll tell you this for nothing; you are a gorgeous, sexy man."

If Jack was a blushing kind of man, his face would have reddened. "Aw, shucks!"

"And you're also totally impossible."

"That sounds more like me." His smile was the epitome of shy modesty.

They hung silent again for a while until Catherine leaned to whisper in his ear. "Wait till I get you back to the hotel, my gorgeous, sexy flyboy."

Jack arched an eyebrow and smirked. "Got plans, have you?"

"You bet."

"Promise?"

"Count on it."

"In that case, I think we should duck out early." He smiled cheekily and winked.

"Mmmm... perhaps. But how often will I get the chance to dance with my very own personal hero?"

Jack chuckled. "Enjoying it?"

"Every moment."

A couple of dances later, they returned to their table to rest and Jack excused himself to go to the can. When he came back, Catherine was gone.

"She's dancing," Bill said by way of explanation. Jack nodded and scanned the dance floor, spotting her quickly. The man she was dancing with was her ex. Crap! He watched for a short time, concluding she didn't look happy and that Rodgers was holding her way too tightly. He wondered whether the man was drunk. It sure would vindicate Catherine if he showed his true colors in public, but Jack wasn't prepared to give him that chance. No way was he letting the man hurt Catherine.

Seconds later, he approached the pair. "Mind if I cut in?" he asked Rodgers.

"Yes, I do," he replied tartly.

"Tough shit."

Catherine never did work out how Jack managed to pry Pete away without making a scene, or appearing to muscle in on him, but he did. She was grateful for his intervention.

"You okay?" Jack asked as they danced.

"He was hurting me." Too well bred to have made a public fuss, she was obviously upset.

"What did he do, Catherine?"

"Pulled me to the dance floor too tight, held me too tight. My wrist hurts. He was being poisonously obnoxious. I think he's had too much to drink."

Jack regarded the wrist and the reddened mark where Rodgers had grasped and held it too tightly. He cursed, angry with himself for leaving her alone, but a man has to pee, doesn't he? Damn Pete Rodgers to hell!

"Strikes me he doesn't need a drink to be obnoxious." He gently lifted her arm and kissed the wrist. "Not sure kissing it better really helps, but it's worth a shot." Catherine grinned, but he could see she was still a little rattled. "Want to sit down?"

"Yes please."

Guiding her back to their table, he could feel Rodger's eyes glaring at him hatefully. As he glared back, the man dropped his gaze, and Jack turned his full attention to Catherine. A couple of minutes later, he saw Rodgers move in the direction of the gents, perhaps an opportunity not to be missed. Jack decided to check it out.

"Be back in a minute," he told Catherine, who looked at him curiously. "Must be drinking too much," he added lightly as if an explanation was required.

O'Neill saw Rodgers enter the bathroom, gratified he was right that this was where he was going, and swiftly followed. The bastard had hurt Catherine and he couldn't just ignore that. Entering cautiously, wary of a trap, Jack realized it was empty, except for one of the stalls. So he bided his time, hoping no one else would come in and spoil his fun.

When Rodgers came out, zipping his fly, he was surprised to see O'Neill. However, his surprise didn't have time to register as Jack struck like lightening. One arm across his throat, while the other pinned him to the wall, Jack glared at Rodgers threateningly.

"Keep away from Catherine."

"She's my wife. I'm entitled," the man squeaked.

"Okay, I'm only saying this once, so listen up," Jack said, tightening his grip. The expression on his face was a study of thunderous pure menace. "You don't want me as an enemy. I can maim and kill in more ways than the fevered imagination of your worst nightmare, and never leave a trace that it was me. No one would ever know.

"If I hear you've even looked at Catherine the wrong way, I will hurt you so bad you won't be spitting teeth, you'll be shitting them. If you harm her in any way, you'll be in hospital for a month and singing soprano." He loosed his arm from around Rodger's throat, grasping his testicles and squeezing them hard. Rodgers squealed. "Is that clear?"

Not having picked up on the danger earlier that evening, Rodgers realized this man was totally terrifying. He could barely open his mouth to speak.

O'Neill squeezed his testicles again, even harder this time, and the man screeched. "I asked you a question. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Rodgers replied with a croak.

When O'Neill let him go, Rodgers swung for him defiantly, but his adversary was too quick. Ducking the move, Jack punched him forcefully in the solar plexus, leaving him gasping and eyes watering.

"Seems you weren't really listening. You listening now, Rodgers?"

"I heard you. Loud and clear."

"Good, because I don't like wife-beaters. Men who bully and beat women are nothing but cowards, and their stench sickens me. I don't want to get this close to you again if I can avoid it. Avoiding it is entirely in your hands."

With that, O'Neill turned and exited the bathroom, returning to Catherine's side looking unruffled, not a hair out of place, as if nothing had ever happened. Beneath the surface, he was an angry and bubbling volcano, but most people would never have guessed. He was contemplating getting a background check run on Rodgers to see what nastiness he could dig up when Catherine surprised him.

"What's wrong Jack?" she asked.

It shocked O'Neill that he failed to pull the wool over her eyes. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Maybe it was a good thing she could see through him, maybe not, but there was something vaguely encouraging about it. Her uncanny observance had interesting ramifications for their relationship that he'd have to think about - maybe.

"Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"Not much, no. You look calm on the surface but I can sense something's happened. What?" She looked so concerned for him that he couldn't bring himself to evade her question completely.

"I just bumped into your ex in the john, that's all," he said, trying to make it sound innocent.

"Oh? He didn't try to hurt you did he?" Her eyes widened with increased anxiety.

Jack chuckled derisively. "You're kidding, right?"

"Did you hurt him?" Her apprehension was clear.

"You really don't want to know."

"I don't want you getting into any trouble because of me, Jack," she said, grasping his arm.

"I won't, although it might be worth it just to beat the crap out of the fuck." Anger briefly flickered across his features.

"Oh, Jack, what happened?"

He studied her face, realizing she needed reassurance. "I warned him off, that's all." Kissing her nose, he regarded her earnestly. "Catherine, if he bothers you, I want to know about it, okay? Don't keep it to yourself."

She smiled thinly. "I'm used to dealing with it myself."

Taking her hand and squeezing it, he looked at her with a fondness that made her heart skip a beat. "You don't have to deal with it alone anymore. I'll be there for you; that's a promise."

Catherine's smile broadened into a beam and her heart soared with emotion. In the back of her mind it worried her that she had grown so attached and involved with this man. She had never meant for that to happen, intending the relationship to be casual, but unsought feelings had snuck up on her with stealth and cunning, and continued to do so with increasing rapidity.

After Pete, and her parents, trust and love had become things she'd locked away, vowing never to make use of either, but Jack had opened her up to both again. This bothered the closely guarded part of her, but her heart told her to run with it and let it be what it would be because it was wondrous.

She knew with absolute certainty that Jack would never treat her with the contempt her husband subjected her to. He had many faults, didn't everyone, but he was fundamentally a good and honorable man. It was born and bred into him - he was a natural.

He had probably done some nasty, possibly unthinkable, things in his life. That was his job and she had no doubt he excelled at it, just as she anticipated he would excel at anything he set his mind to. Sometimes he could be slightly anally retentive, and he was a private person who found it hard to let people in and share of himself. Often he struggled to find the right words and wasn't too forthcoming with his emotions. He'd suffered a lot in his life that much was clear, and this was bound to have an impact.

Inevitably, there were negatives but she knew he was capable of so much, could give so much. He had a heart of solid gold, sometimes too well hidden by the gruff exterior, but Catherine knew it was there because she'd borne witness. She figured he'd got used to hiding it, from himself and from others, and she was a lucky woman because he revealed it to her sometimes.

A declaration of love lingered on her lips, but remained unspoken. It would have been too easy to say it, and she wasn't yet certain. That was a lot for her to give, just as she knew it would be a lot for him too.

She snuggled up to him, feeling the warmth of his words of assurance. "Thank you," she whispered; simple, but honest and heartfelt words.

Jack countered with one of his charmingly adorable and captivating smiles. "Wanna dance?" he asked.

"With you? Always," she responded, allowing him to take her hand and lead her into some moments of almost complete happiness.

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Now he considered it more closely, his appearance in the newspaper perturbed Jack less than it had a few moments before. The weekend in New York, and that evening at the fundraiser, was worth every word of the inevitable gossip and speculation circulating around the SGC.

A picture of him and Catherine was enough to cause rumors in itself, but the photo that adorned the newspaper page showed the couple in animated conversation with the President, not posed but candid. The caption underneath read: "Enigmatic bohemian heiress and artist, Catherine Fellowes, jokes with the President and her escort, General Jonathan O'Neill of the United States Air Force."

'Enigmatic is right!" muttered Jack to himself, reading the article again.

This referred to people that didn't interest Jack in the least, but what did interest him were the references to him and Catherine. They seemed to merit way more column inches than Jack thought they deserved.

"Catherine Fellowes, once considered amongst the cream of socialites, inexplicably dropped out of the high life after leaving her husband, the wealthy and urbane Peter Rodgers," it said. Jack sneered at the urbane reference. Yeah, right!

"The Fellowes and Rodgers families have been friends for years, so a match made in heaven, one would have thought. The break up remains a mystery. Her parents, the incomparable Gloria and Martin Fellowes, also attended the event, along with her estranged husband." Incomparable was one way of describing her parents, he thought.

"The glamorous ex-couple once appeared frequently in these pages, a regular fixture of many high society events. She now lives a quiet, almost reclusive, bohemian existence in Colorado Springs, but turned up at the fundraiser seemingly as enchanting as ever, with a surprising escort on her arm.

"Eagle-eyed readers might recall the highly decorated hero, General Jonathan O'Neill of the United States Air Force, as the Colonel O'Neill linked to the failed assassination attempt on Senator Robert Kinsey a couple of years ago. Instead of being the culprit, as originally assumed, he was an integral part of the Senator's plan to foil a corruption conspiracy. One of the good guys and a hero indeed.

"Making a very handsome couple, they talked and joked with the President as if he was an old friend, leading fellow guests to speculate on the relationship between the three. Once again, Ms Fellowes is in the news as an enigma waiting to be resolved.

"Also known as an artist, some of her artworks were amongst the many being sold as part of the fundraising events of the weekend."

The SGC scuttlebutt was so going to make a lot of this, most of it probably way off beam. What the heck! There's nothing wrong with the old man being in the company of a beautiful, mysterious, wealthy, bohemian heiress, right? And the presence of the President would surely serve to stoke the fire, in the best possible way, right?

Forcing himself out of his revelry, he recalled a pressing need to speak to Walter Harriman.

"Walter!" he called and the sergeant was standing in front of him in seconds flat.

"Yes, sir."

"At ease, airman. Why don't you take a load off and sit down?"

Walter shifted uncomfortably, taken aback by O'Neill's suggestion. A sudden fear crept into the pit of his stomach. The general had never asked him to do that before. "Sir?" he queried with a gulp.

"I said sit down, Walter," Jack said in a more commanding voice.

"Yes, sir." Walter sat, looking somewhat uncomfortable and fidgety, perched on the edge of the chair as if it would swallow him up if he sank into it.

O'Neill eyed the enlisted man wordlessly, a silence that made Harriman squirm even more. The silence continued for what seemed an age in Walter's mind. His eyes shifted to the newspaper on O'Neill's desk, open at the society pages. He wondered if O'Neill was pissed at him for leaving it there.

He thought he was doing the boss a favor, a warning of what he might have to look forward to, but he'd noticed O'Neill had been out of sorts when he came in that morning so had kept his mouth well and truly shut. Otherwise, he might have said something.

On the other hand, maybe he'd learn something from this little head to head. The whole base was talking about O'Neill's appearance in the paper, the mystery woman, the President. They were intrigued, and the rumor mill was rife with speculation. If he learned something the others didn't know about, he could dine out on it for a week.

The thought cheered him, and then he remembered they were talking O'Neill here. This was the man who kept his private life so close to his chest that he required special trinium pockets. The notion almost made Walter titter, but he didn't dare twitch his face.

"Did you leave this on my desk, Walter?" O'Neill asked, pointing to the paper. The sudden breach of the silence made Harriman jump slightly and Jack suppressed a small grin.

"Um...y-yes, sir." Walter stammered, wondering what was coming next.

"Thanks for the heads up," O'Neill replied, causing Walter's eyebrows to shoot ceiling wards with surprise. The long silence and O'Neill's flinty expression had led him to expect a somewhat different reaction.

"Y-you're welcome, sir," he managed to say, wondering if he dared ask a question about the general's weekend.

"Good to know you've got my back, Walter." Aware he'd surprised the sergeant, Harriman's reaction amused Jack.

"Always, sir."

O'Neill said nothing for a while, holding his hands in front of him on the desk and pressing his thumbs together, apart, and together again to keep them occupied. "So what are they saying about it?" he asked, surprising his subordinate once more.

"Um, sir?"

"What's the scuttlebutt, Walter?" The question so bowled Harriman over that he was finding it difficult to know how to react. "You of all people will know, won't you? I figure you know just about everything that goes on in the mountain." O'Neill viewed him with an eyebrow arched in curiosity. "Come on, man, I won't bite your head off."

Walter was thinking O'Neill could happily eat someone's head for breakfast and not turn a hair, and wondered what he should say. He took a deep breath.

"I think the prevailing mood is curiosity and intrigue tinged with envy, sir," he said eventually, choosing his words carefully.

"Envy?"

"With all due respect, sir, she's a very beautiful, young woman," he ventured daringly. "And it sounds like it was something of an event, sir."

"She most certainly is," O'Neill agreed with a twitch of a smile. "And it most certainly was."

"D-did you have a good time, general?" Walter asked even more daringly.

"I most certainly did." His smile broadened, then he paused in thought before replying, considering what information he might want Walter to convey to the other gossip mongers around the base. "Are they saying she's too young for an old guy like me? Because she isn't, you know. Way older than she looks."

Surprised by those words, the embarrassed Walter stammered a response, uncertain how to respond to his commanding officer. "I-I-I think some people might be saying that, sir. Y-you aren't old, g-general."

Walter was beginning to believe this chat was way too informal and personal for a CO and one of his enlisted men, wishing he was almost anywhere but right there in the general's office.

"Well, maybe I should be flattered, Walter."

"Yes, sir. Um..."

"Should I be flattered?" O'Neill pressed, his amusement at the situation growing in intensity. Maybe today wasn't so terrible after all, given the bad start and all.

The sergeant squirmed uneasily in his chair before replying. "I think so, general." O'Neill nodded an acknowledgement and Walter noted the far away expression that drifted briefly into his CO's eyes, thinking he should soak up every moment for a better retelling of the tale later. "The President, sir..." Walter risked courageously, tailing off on losing his nerve.

Aware of the slightly awed expression in Harriman's voice and features, Jack wondered how many of those impressed type thoughts and words were circulating around the SGC. He found himself feeling elated by the notion of gossip that might enhance his reputation, but waved a hand dismissively as if it were a trifle.

"Awww, me and Henry Hayes go way back."

That should add some grist to the rumor mill, he thought with an inward smirk, feeling smug and wondering what else he might want Walter to spread around. Remaining inscrutable might be the best policy. Inscrutable works every time.

"So, I'm guessing you have a job to do sergeant. Me too," said O'Neill, eyeing the pile of paperwork ruefully.

"Yes, sir." Walter rose from his chair, assuming from the General's words he was being dismissed.

"Keep up the good work... and keep me posted."

"Yes, sir."

"You're doing a darned fine job, sergeant," Jack added and he could almost see Walter's chest swell with pride. "I appreciate it. I know I don't often say so, but I do."

"Sir," he replied gratefully, a beam on his face.

"And, Walter, call the paper to see if you can get an original print of this photo, will you?"

"Yes sir!" Walter determined he would do way more than that, betting there were plenty more where that one came from. He'd give O'Neill a whole host of photos to choose from, he could have them all if he wanted. Dine out on it for a week? A month, more like. He returned to work with a hugely self-satisfied smile on his face and procuring the photos became his top priority.

Jack smiled at Harriman's retreating back, sighing wistfully. Once again, he eyed the photograph, thinking how good it would look framed and in a suitable location in his house. Or maybe he should place it in his office and keep the tongues wagging. That might be a bit of fun.

His mind turned to the painting he'd bought at the charity exhibition. He so had to find a good place to hang that up at home. Somewhere he could admire it to its best advantage. Eyes flickering over to the pile of paperwork, he realized his concentration was shot to pieces. He couldn't keep from straying to thoughts about the weekend.

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Jack was aware of curious eyes watching as he and Catherine danced. If he looked, he couldn't see them watching but he knew they were. It was a gut instinct, O'Neill thing. He wasn't sure how he felt about being the centre of attention, but knew it made him feel good in some perverse way. He was proud to be there with Catherine, proud to lead her around the dance floor, proud that such a beautiful woman had chosen him to escort her. His heart positively puffed up with pride.

He was just thinking about pride coming before the fall when Catherine whispered she'd like to sit down and have a drink. He nodded agreement, his hand automatically resting in the small of her back to steer her to their table. All the other occupants were off somewhere else doing their own thing and he left her alone to go to the bar next door.

The reception room was filled with small groups of people chatting merrily and he circumnavigated them to reach the bar area, acknowledging Bill when he spied him from the corner of his eye. He really liked Bill and his wife and was even considering exchanging contact details and trying to organize some kind of get together. He knew Bill would willingly travel to Colorado, particularly if he got the opportunity to look around Catherine's studio. Jack filed that under a subject to discuss with Catherine, because such an invitation was not his to give.

A few people were hanging around the bar and getting served took longer then he anticipated. As Jack entered the ballroom, he was surprised to see Catherine in apparently deep conversation with her mother at their table. Initially, he felt diffident about approaching, but swallowed his unease to brazen it out.

When Gloria Fellowes greeted him with a friendly smile, he chuckled inwardly. Another hypocrite impressed because he appeared to be friendly with the President. He certainly seemed to have gone up in her estimation.

"Ma'am," he said with a smile in acknowledgment of her presence as he sat, placing Catherine's drink in front of her and trying to fade into the background. He didn't want to interrupt their conversation and wondered what they'd been talking about.

"Think about it, Catherine," her mother said, rising from her chair.

"I will mother, but have to admit I'm slightly surprised."

"We can't go on like this. You are my daughter."

Catherine merely looked at her as if thinking it was about time she realized that fact, and Mrs. Fellowes had the good grace to look discomforted. She turned her attention towards Jack, a charming smile on her face that reminded him of his lover. He guessed she must have been as beautiful as her daughter when younger, and she was still a handsome woman.

"It was good to meet you, young man," she said, holding her hand out to shake his.

Jack stood, shook her hand and bowed his head slightly. "Ma'am." No way was he going to say something trite in response, such as likewise. It was totally inappropriate, given her reaction earlier in the evening. It so hadn't been good to meet her; not on any level.

When she left, Catherine turned to him with a faint smile, noting his quizzical eyebrow.

"You okay?" he asked, still uncertain of what had just happened and how it impacted Catherine's mood and feelings.

"That was weird."

When she said nothing further, Jack took her hand and kissed it briefly. "It's okay of you don't want to tell me about it. Neither of us is great at that private stuff. But if you want to, I'm listening."

She leaned into him, brushing her cheek against his. "It's getting so I quite like talking about 'that private stuff' with you, Jack. It's kind of growing on me."

"That bothers you, huh?" he asked, sensing her disquiet.

Her expression was sheepish and she nervously worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "Yes, no, I don't know," she admitted, indecisively.

Jack smiled lightly, rubbing his thumb gently over her bare shoulder and making her flesh goosebump with a frisson of delight. "I so know that feeling."

She beamed and placed a hand over his where it brushed over her shoulder. "I think I'd like to go back to the hotel. Do you mind?"

"This is your party, I'm just the escort," he said with a grin. "Of course I don't mind."

"I suppose I ought to say goodbye to some people first."

"Me too." Jack was thinking about Bill in particular. He'd get his number. It wasn't the right moment to discuss a visit to Colorado with Catherine.

They made their way to the exit, detouring for the goodbyes both of them wished to make, and on their way past her family, Catherine gave them a stiff nod but said nothing. Jack wondered if she would ever tell him about the conversation with her mother, and noted the resentful glare from her ex. Although Jack knew what kind of an enemy he could be for Rodgers, he wasn't sure what kind of an enemy the man could be for him and he pondered if he'd live to regret those moments in the bathroom, vowing to look into his background.

Eventually, he managed to steer her into the fresh night air and felt a weight lift when he realized the event he had been dreading was over. In the end, it hadn't been too bad and would always hold some very good memories to draw on: dancing with Catherine for the first time; meeting Bill as well as some of Catherine's more pleasant friends; the great food; the terrified look in Rodgers' eyes when he squeezed his balls. Jack chastised himself for that last thought, although had to admit it had been a pleasure.

Most of all, he cherished every morsel he had gleaned about Catherine over the course of the day and evening. The knowledge made him admire her more than ever. As they sat in the cab, he pondered that she was as diffident as he was about the various twists and turns of their relationship and how close they were growing. The notion made him feel better about his own nagging doubts.

The feel of her hand on his crotch abruptly interrupted his train of thought and he grunted.

"Watchya doing?" he whispered rhetorically.

"What do you think flyboy?"

"Is this something to do with those plans you mentioned earlier?" he retorted with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"You betchya!"

"Oh, man!" He could feel his body responding quickly to her touch, and the whole notion of lovemaking when they got to their room. "Making sure I'm ready?" He gave her a mischievous O'Neill grin and Catherine caressed his crotch harder, a seductive smirk on her face.

"That's the easy part it seems," she commented and he chuckled from deep in his throat.

"Mmmmmm..." was his only reply.

On reaching the hotel, they hastened to their room, and before he had a chance to make a move, Catherine was on him, hands grasping his face and pulling his lips to hers.

"I've been thinking about this on and off all night," she said breathily. "Dripping with medals, flyboy." She ran her fingers over the strips of ribbons on his chest. "That really turns me on. You are so darned hot in this uniform."

"You're pretty hot yourself, ma'am," he responded, hands smoothing over her curves. He'd love to have ripped her dress off to get her naked as soon as possible, but was sure it was expensive, designer wear, so refrained.

She didn't appear to have the same qualms about his uniform, hungrily tugging the shoulders of his jacket and pulling it down his arms with alacrity. Luckily, it held without ripping but his shirt didn't fair so well, buttons popping as she tore at it to expose his chest. Burying her head against his chest hair, she nuzzled, and then bit, nibbling all over before taking a nipple between her lips and sucking hard.

Jack groaned, reaching to unzip her dress, which fell to the floor along with his jacket. Neither of them paid any heed to the increasing heap of clothing. She was speedily undoing his pants, which swiftly joined the pile, and Jack was too busy enjoying her obvious need for his body, his desire growing exponentially along with hers.

Her hand snaked under his boxers, seizing him decisively. "Want to take a shower, General O'Neill?" she asked and he grinned with delight, knowing exactly what she was suggesting: screwing up against the shower stall wall. Oh, man!

His hunger-filled dark gaze was an answer and, rapidly, they removed the rest of their clothes. Grasping his dick, Catherine gently pulled him towards the bathroom with it enfolded in her hand.

'Whoa!' Jack thought, surprised but turned on by that unexpected act. Lamb to the slaughter, but he wasn't complaining - quite the opposite. The gentle tug of her hand as he submissively followed was making him ache with longing; enslaved by her hand, her whim, and his now acute lust.

Turning on the hot water, she pulled him towards her, clutching his ass and gyrating against him while they awaited its heated steam. By the time they entered the stall, Jack was more than a little ready for some sexual fun and games.

They probably could have got right down to it, but once the pair moved into the hot stream of water, they slowed down, both thinking they should indulge in some foreplay.

Jack turned Catherine so she faced the shower while he stood behind her, and squeezed some shower gel into his hands. His hardened dick pressed provocatively into her back as his lathered hands smoothed over her belly, one winding up to her breasts while the other headed downwards to her more intimate and sensitive regions. His head bent to kiss and bite her neck, and she sighed longingly. The sound turned to a groan when two fingers took a nipple between them and tweaked it gently - and to a squeak when another one glided softly through her folds and over her clit.

She reached up and grabbed his head from behind, pressing herself closer and swaying against him, rubbing her back against his already rigid cock. In response, he bit her neck hard, quashing his moan. When he raised his head, pushing against her grasping hands, she could feel the heat of his breath panting in her ear.

He continued to caress her breasts and slide through her pubes without pause and her panting breaths matched his for ferocity. Last time they had done this, the foreplay had been long: lathering each other's bodies, washing each other's hair. It had been highly erotic. This time, however, Catherine's yearning held hints of desperation, and she could sense from his quickened breath and straining stiffness, that Jack felt similarly.

"Do it, flyboy. Forget foreplay, do it now!" she begged. "I need you to fuck me. Hard, fast. Just fuck me, baby."

"God, yes!" he agreed, twisting her in his arms and pushing her against the wall forcefully.

The hot torrent of water powered over and between them, cascading across Jack's shoulders and down his naked back and ass, tumbling over Catherine's breasts and his chest, trickling down to those intimate places that were increasingly entwining together - urging them on.

When she saw his face, it was heated red with carnality, and wonton longing darkened his eyes. Catherine thought she must bear a similarly frantic expression.

His hands grasped her thighs, lifting her legs, and she curled them around him, clinging to his back with her arms. He impaled her vigorously with a triumphant grunt and she cried out as he entered, his tensile strength stretching and straining her flesh and muscle, the elasticity of her expanse giving way to his rock-hard length. The force of his penetration hurt, but it was a pleasurable excruciation.

Pausing before he continued, Jack sought her eyes, needing assurance that he wasn't hurting her too much, but Catherine's ardent craving was apparent in her expression, those salacious eyes pleading for animalistic abandon.

"No mercy," she whispered throatily, confirming her wish. Jack happily took her at her word, thrusting with bold wildness, and their hungry fornication became debauched and anarchic.

With each push, their chests thudded together, making outlandish slopping and sloshing noises that emphasized each movement of their union. They might have laughed and joked about that, but their keenly felt urgency kept them grinding on to the inevitable conclusion without the mirth they so often associated with their lovemaking.

One of Catherine's hands slid down to grab his butt, gripping Jack so tightly that he gasped with pain, although was simultaneously exhilarated. She plunged a thumb into his anus as deep as she could while her nails dug into his flesh, and he groaned euphorically. His hands responded by tightening their grasp of her thighs and he accelerated his pulsating pounding into her open and willing maw.

Breath becoming increasingly erratic, Jack repeatedly propelled into her up to the base of his dick and pulled out right to the tip again. There, again, there, like that, again, there! The water's surge seemingly matching their tempo, or maybe they matched it but, whichever, its pulsing beat on their skin enhanced their synchronicity.

Catherine's insides tightened towards orgasm, burning and melting in an ebb and flow of ecstasy. Small yelps of rapturous delight and base need laced every breath, the volume and strength increasing with each thrust of Jack's relentless and obdurate member. He was quickening his pace again, ferociously rapid lunges, sensing how close she was, thus realizing he was on the verge of being able to let himself go.

Fire blazed through Jack's groin, his gut clenching with the orgasmic urge as he fought not to come too quickly. Growling in her ear, feral and fierce, the intensity of his need matched his vehement velocity.

Then Catherine screeched, waves of bliss wracking her body, her muscles convulsing around his needy dick. Taking a few moments to luxuriate in the feel of those gloriously provocative tremors, Jack finally let rip, gushing into her and howling his satisfaction and victory to the world, continuing to drive on remorselessly until his cock ached from his exertions, his seed had released its full load and his erection abated.

Although he still gripped her hard, his flaccid cock lingering within, Jack collapsed against her, his head sinking into her neck, and he showered that delicate pale flesh with kisses before withdrawing and easing her legs down so she could stand. Then he pulled her into his arms again, (and) whispering in her ear, his breath still ragged and hoarse.

"Good, so good, so good."

Grasping his hair, she pulled back his head and met his eyes, a sated look on her face. Eyes loitering on his equally fulfilled expression for a while, her lips then enclosed his and she tongued his mouth aggressively before withdrawing.

"Yes, very good," she agreed with a smile.

"Too quick, you think?"

"No, we both wanted it quick, didn't we?"

He nodded and grinned, happy to have pleased her while also pleasing him.

"Wash? Bed? What?" he queried, taking her hand in his and kissing it briefly, the satisfied grin remaining on his lips.

She didn't answer at first, rinsing the sticky secretions of their lovemaking away in silence. Then she turned off the shower. "Bed, I think, don't you? It's been quite a day, and night." Her lips quirked into a smirk.

"That it has," he agreed amiably, happy at the idea of getting into bed with her and pulling her into his arms for sleep.

"Come," she urged, taking his hand and leading him out of the shower stall. Reaching for a towel, she rubbed his hair with it before drying him off, pecking his skin with small kisses as she did. He let her take control without demur, enjoying her attentions and watching languidly as she dried herself after him. His eyes roamed over her body as he observed, thirstily drinking in every curve and movement with joy borne from contentment and admiration.

When finished, she took his hand again, gently pulling him into the bedroom, leading him over to the bed and urging him under the covers before crawling in beside him.

They snuggled up together quietly, Catherine's head burrowing into his neck while his chin rested on her hair and their arms cozily snaked around each other. Jack could feel himself drifting into a satisfied doze.

"Mom wants a truce," Catherine said unexpectedly, waking Jack from his partial slumber. Although he craved sleep, there was no way he'd reject his lover's desire to discuss the subject.

Shifting from his cozy position, he kissed the top of her head and then wriggled down the bed to face her, without disturbing the mutually comforting embrace.

"That's what you were talking about?" he queried.

"Yes." She met his gaze, encouraged by the warmth and affection she saw. "She tried to hand me an olive branch."

"How do you feel about it?" he asked when she didn't elucidate.

"I don't know. They're my parents, Jack. I miss them."

Although he was thinking her parents were a couple of jerks who didn't deserve a daughter like Catherine, he didn't voice this opinion. "Then take the olive branch."

"But they've hurt me so badly."

He saw tears starting to well up in her eyes, and stroked her back soothingly, moved by her confusion and pain.

"I know. Forgiveness is hard, but it's not impossible to try, is it?" Fine for an unforgiving, obstinate bastard like him to be giving such advice, he thought sardonically.

"Maybe it's too late," she said uncertainly.

"You'll never know if you don't try."

He wasn't sure whether to encourage the ceasefire or not, hesitant about its potential impact on both Catherine and their relationship, but understood discouragement was the wrong thing and he had to do the right thing. That was deeply embedded in Jack O'Neill's nature and he could do nothing less, even if it might not be in his personal best interests.

"I miss what we had years ago, but we can never get that back." Her tone was wistful, tinged with memories.

He regarded her thoughtfully. "Maybe you can't, but maybe you can retrieve something. You have to follow your heart. That's the best any of us can do."

"I think my heart is confused. She says she saw something in Pete tonight that gave her pause and realized maybe there was some truth in what I told them about him after all. She says they're willing to listen."

"Then that's a good thing, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure I trust her anymore. It might be a ploy. She wants me to go stay for a weekend. What if she invites Pete?"

The very idea made Jack's blood boil. Could they be that guileful, unfeeling and tactless? From the little he'd observed of them tonight, and what Catherine had told him about her past, he figured the answer to that could be a resounding yes.

Catherine seemed to be keeping her emotions in check but Jack could see the pain, confusion and sorrow in her eyes. He wished he could wipe that pain away but knew he was powerless to do so. All he could do was be there for her and help in any way he could. He hoped that was enough.

"Tell them you won't go if he's there."

"They could lie."

"Yes, they could. I guess you'd know where you stood if that happened. You could walk out again and come straight back to the Springs." He couldn't let her face this alone so offered something that made his heart sink at the thought. He so hadn't liked what he'd seen of her parents. "Or I could come with... if you want me to."

She smiled and gave him an affectionate peck on the lips. "That's so sweet of you, Jack. They were unkind to you. I know you didn't like them. The idea of spending more time with them... a whole weekend... that must be hard for you to stomach."

"Sure, a little. But I would never let you do it alone if you didn't want to. You know that, don't you? I'll be there for you, Catherine, I promise."

'Maybe forever if that's what you want,' he thought. The idea came to him unbidden and unsettled him. Although Jack knew he needed to think it through, now was not the moment.

"Oh, Jack, what did I do to deserve you?" She nuzzled into his neck and he gave her a squeeze, recalling how often he'd thought the same thing about her.

"You deserve way better, but you got me," he said sardonically.

"You are almost totally adorable, Jack O'Neill," she attested with a smile, kissing his neck.

"Only almost?" he joked, trying to run with the light-hearted mood she was aiming for. Giggling appreciatively, she lifted her head to capture his lips, suddenly wanting them to make love, again. Jack caught on quickly to her desire.

"Oh, man, I'm getting too old for this," he mumbled.

"No way," she declared with a smile. "Sex on legs, that's you, flyboy."

Jack laughed outright at the idea. "If only."

"There's just something very special about essence of O'Neill," she started to say, and he quirked an eyebrow with self-mocking enquiry. "If I could define it, bottle it and sell it, I'd make a fortune."

"Ah! Well that's an old and very secret family recipe," he kidded, secretly flattered, and she giggled again.

Squeezing her gently, he leaned close for a kiss, realizing his desire was catching up with hers, and they spoke no more that night, the sweet sounds of lovemaking filling the air to replace the previously spoken word.

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Reaching for the top file in his pile of papers, O'Neill made a deliberate attempt to suppress his recollections of that night with Catherine in New York. Reminiscences about their lovemaking were making him feel horny and restless. He started to read SG-10's latest mission report but could summon no enthusiasm for the task, unable to concentrate. His neck and shoulders felt stiff and his head throbbed faintly from the tension.

Crap! He so wasn't getting much work done today.

Reluctantly, Jack allowed his mind to drift back onto the tricky subject of Catherine; vaguely hoping the tension might abate if he stopped stifling those thoughts. He'd got way too deeply involved way too quickly, and it bothered him. Remembering his unsolicited and unsettling thoughts that night about being there for her forever, he let the notion run loose in his brain, rolling it around and toying with it somewhat carelessly.

Conjuring her face, then bit by bit, her naked body, he wondered if his longing for her bordered on obsession and began to feel a trickle of sympathy for her fixated husband. Jack couldn't believe such a cruelly acted out passion was in any way related to love, but he wasn't certain the love word remotely described his feelings either.

He wanted her so badly in a physical sense that he hadn't truly considered how his heart felt if isolated from that sexual bliss, although the odd disconcerting notion occasionally slipped into his mind unbidden and unexpected.

Catherine was great in bed, the best he'd ever had, and Jack had enough experience to make that comparison valid. She was passionate, adventurous and playful, displaying degrees of skill and willingness that he couldn't recall encountering before.

O'Neill couldn't get enough of her, and if his tired, aging body failed him, she seemed to know enough tricks to perk it up again and get him started. Oh, man, was that an understatement!

He could feel himself becoming aroused at the thought of having her. Damn it, his ruminations were way too distracting and perturbing, but he couldn't stop from thinking about her, and about having sex with her. That had to be obsession, right?

In his mind's eye, he envisaged arriving at her place and seducing her. Full Technicolor, the whole works. Jack could almost feel the power of her thighs encompassing him, the softness of her skin, and the comfort of her embrace. Her hair tickled his face as he devoured her, her hands roamed his naked flesh as they moved synchronously, her sweet breath whispered seductively in his ear, her passionate moans moved him towards ecstasy - almost faultless actions and reactions to his lust and desire.

Damn! O'Neill was really feeling horny now. He had a hard on for Christ's sake, and was fully aware he shouldn't be having such thoughts in his office deep inside a mountain in Colorado. Jack knew he had to do something about this right now; he was choice less. Usually he could control these urges at work, but at this moment, he was losing it.

So not his day. He'd been right about that from the start.

If Catherine had been there, Jack might have been compelled to find an isolated storage room and screw her witless, that was if he could overcome the urge to do it right there on his desk. Get a grip, O'Neill, he told himself, but the reproach was futile.

Stirring from behind his desk, he lied to Walter on the way out, telling him was going to the commissary. Then, rapidly, Jack made his way to his quarters to do the only thing he could do to ease his frustration, short of actually screwing Catherine - make good use of his right hand.

Locking the door behind him, he leaned with his back to it and let out a long relieved breath before moving to the bed. If he was going to do this, it might as well be in comfort, right? O'Neill's pants were soon pooling round his ankles, along with his boxers, and he lay down on the bed, caressing himself with tender care at first, thinking he should savor this moment of R&R. That was a fruitless effort, because Jack was a lost cause - lost in the thrall of his fevered imaginings and way out of his normal self-control zone.

He probably didn't even have to picture Catherine, probably didn't have to think of anything to bring himself off, so great was his need. Nevertheless, he conjured her again and imagined her seduction during his act of self-abasement, his hand moving up and down the length of his hard, needy cock with increasingly powerful strokes, fingering its tip, exerting the right amount of pressure here, or there.

Catherine was teasing him, stripping off her clothes piece by piece in leisurely fashion; her eyes fixed on his and her expression filled with wanton desire for him - him, for pity's sake! What a lucky, undeserving bastard.

Prone on her bed, he waited her pleasure. As her tongue languorously licked her lips, Jack was bewitched, totally captivated by her lustful gaze.

She smiled, her low voice flattering him with words of longing. Hot Jack, sexy Jack, handsome Jack, delicious Jack. Want you, Jack, want you so much. Ready for me, my sweet, gorgeous darling?

Then, parting her lips again, she ran her tongue over her bright white teeth. Her hips swayed erotically; eyes darkened and hooded lasciviously, and lips lusciously red and swollen. Pert pink nipples peeked at him provocatively as she removed her bra, and dark pubic hair poked alluringly from the top of her panties as she slowly started to ease them off.

Then Catherine stood before him in naked splendor, caressing her pale flesh. He groaned with heightened desire as she massaged her breasts, tweaking her nipples and smoothing down her body towards her pubes, deliberately emphasizing her curves as she moved, and rotating her hips hypnotically.

As her fingers pushed over her hairs and between her legs, she changed her stance slightly, opening them so he could watch while she fingered herself. Hitching a deep breath, her eyelids drooped while lust sparked brightly underneath, but still she didn't drop her eyes from Jack's, keeping him hopelessly imprisoned in her spellbinding gaze.

So erotic, so sensual.

"Catherine," he whispered aloud to the empty room

Yes! Close now, so close.

As Jack's masturbation continued unabated, his powerful strokes lengthening and quickening, it crossed his mind to wonder how she would react if he asked her to let him watch while she stimulated herself. The notion turned him on but he wasn't sure he could ask. The idea might disgust her, or maybe not. Perhaps he should test those murky waters one day soon.

His erratic breathing was as heated as his throbbing groin, and quiet whimpers and grunts accompanied each breath as his hand expertly rose and fell in its beguiling and increasingly fraught and hasty massage. He gripped his eager hard-on tighter and squeezed, envisaging Catherine as she shook her dark wavy hair and it cascaded over her shoulders, glistening in the light.

Magnificent, enthralling and beautiful. She was there, right there, and she was his.

Jack gasped excitedly, begging her to make love to him. Want, need, desire. Please, Catherine, please. Now!

She sashayed closer to the bed, never once letting her eyes drop away from his, and O'Neill jerked off harder and faster, stifling noisy grunts and groans of unbridled passion with his free hand, until the savage beast of the other had the desired effect. The internal shriek of rapture as he climaxed was a loud silence, while on the inside his brain seemed to erupt, spewing fiery debris, and warm salty come ejected forcefully from his member, shooting over his hand, stomach and grey pubes.

It was over way too quickly, before his hectic imagination had even allowed her to make love to him, and Jack remained motionless for a number of minutes, regaining control of his breathing and trying to get his head together.

Shit! Shit! Shit! He cursed quietly to himself. Shit!

O'Neill couldn't quite believe he'd allowed himself to sink so low as to masturbate on duty. He felt ashamed and debased. But the act gave him blessed relief, even if it didn't rid his mind of Catherine.

When they met, he'd been so in need of someone in his life. His loneliness was verging on the desperate, not helped by Carter's engagement to her, seemingly much pleasanter and more deserving Pete. Her loss hurt deep in his gut, despite that he'd tried hard to let go of the long held fantasy. Sam was doing the right thing by getting on with her life and so should he, he told himself.

Catherine had walked into his life at such a perfect moment it had been almost too good to be true; still was now he thought about it. Nothing could be that good, that perfect, with timing so immaculately just right.

O'Neill reached over to a box of tissues at his bedside and picked one out, cleaning up the mess made by his irresistible self-indulgence.

Turning his mind once again to thoughts of love and commitment, he had to admit that he wasn't sure how he felt about Catherine if he took sex out of the equation. Sure, he enjoyed her company. She was amusing and bright, she was talented in ways no other previous love interest had been, she had a rich deep laugh and a sweet-toned voice, she was gentle and kind, loving and affectionate, and she had balls while still being vulnerable.

There had to be a downside, right? One of these days, it would probably come along and smack him right in the face. The only things he could think of offhand were her very different background, her wealth and fame and her family, all of which could turn out to be problems, or not.

Was it all about sex or was there more to it than that? Sex played a large part in their relationship, Jack knew it, but he was also aware that wasn't all of it.

"For crying out loud!" he cried out in frustration, deciding he was probably being too Carter like and over thinking it. Couldn't he just leave it alone and let it be what it was and become what it would become? Apparently not. He couldn't let it be that easy.

He needed a distraction. After a quick wash, he got dressed, checking in the mirror to ensure he looked relatively normal again, and smoothing his unruly hair. Then O'Neill covered his tracks by making his way to the commissary so he was in exactly the place he'd told Walter he'd be. Picking up a coffee and sandwich, he scanned the room, spotting Dave Dixon alone in the corner, reading a paper.

O'Neill was now all too aware of the curious eyes and whispers. Was he being paranoid? Probably not. He could see a few newspapers scattered around the room, and most of the occupants were studiously avoiding looking at them - way too studiously.

He nodded and smiled amiably at his colleagues, as if not in the least aware of what they might be thinking about, and swiftly walked to the corner Dixon occupied, hoping his old pal might be just the distraction he required.

"Mind if I join you, Dave?" he asked.

Dixon looked up from his paper, predictably the society page of the newspaper Jack and Catherine appeared in. He made no effort to pretend he wasn't interested, which Jack kind of liked.

"Hey, Jack, I see you're famous," Dixon said, greeting him with a grin and indicating he should sit down. "Oops, I mean sir."

Jack chuckled. "Takes some getting used to."

"What, being famous or being the boss?" Dixon asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"Both."

O'Neill sat opposite his old friend, knowing he couldn't stay long, but craving the company. He was already way behind with his workload, but it seemed unlikely the mountain would come crashing down on them if it waited a while longer. A few pen pushers in the Pentagon might be a little disgruntled but the interminable wheels of government wouldn't grind to a halt.

"Lucky guy, Jack," Dixon commented, referring to the picture of Catherine. "She's... wow! What the hell does she see in you? If that's what happens to generals, I want promotion now." The colonel's tone was jocular and Jack smiled.

"She doesn't come with the star, although it probably doesn't hurt," he countered. "Besides, Dave, you're crazy about your wife; everyone knows that, despite your constant griping."

"The kids tend to cramp my style, know what I mean?" Dixon responded with a cheeky leer.

"You're nuts about them too."

Jack bit into his sandwich and chewed, screwing his nose up with a discontented look.

"Sure," Dixon agreed, ignoring Jack's obvious distaste for his food, "but don't tell anyone, Jack. I have an image to maintain." The two men exchanged chuckles.

"Secret's safe with me, Dave," said Jack with a wink.

"Isn't she too young for you?" Dixon pointed to the picture of Catherine. Dave was probably one of the very few men on the base who would say something like that direct to Jack's face, let alone get away with it. O'Neill enjoyed their easy manner together and didn't discourage it, although as he was now base commander realized he probably should.

"No, she's not so young. I'm not a cradle snatcher or anything." Jack's tone was relaxed, with no rancor. "Although sometimes I think I'm a bit too old for her." He thought Dave would get his meaning but smirked to make sure.

"Energetic is she?" asked Dixon knowingly.

"A gentleman never tells, you know that."

"Wears you out, huh?"

"Absolutely no comment, buddy; none at all." A change of subject was in order; after all, he'd sat there for a distraction, not to talk about Catherine. O'Neill realized he should have known better on today of all days. The hubbub would die down, but not for a while. "Any other news in the paper worth discussing?" he asked, and Dave Dixon took the hint. One thing you could say about Dixon, he knew when to drop the subject and shut up.

The two men bantered easily for a while before Jack called a halt and returned to his desk, having eaten his sandwich with it barely touching his sides on the way down. That way he couldn't taste it. Sustenance it might be, but tasty it was not. More like thick blotting paper with something indefinable, and not that great, squidged in the middle. Jack didn't really care; all he needed was a bit more energy to keep him going, to top up the carbohydrate and sugar levels that had seriously depleted since eating Daniel's cake.

The first thing he did when he sat at his desk was call Catherine. Jack had to prove the relationship was about more than just sex, or the contrary. He had to see her. As he dialed, O'Neill wasn't sure if he really wanted her to answer or not, lacking the confidence he was ready to face up to his heart.

The nagging thought of obsession, however, wouldn't leave him alone. O'Neill didn't want to turn into another Pete Rodgers. Not that he was anything like that guy, never raised a finger to a woman in his life except when absolutely necessary in battle or on a mission, but still...

When she answered on the fifth ring, he paused before speaking.

"Hello? Hello?" she kept saying, and then cursed into the phone.

"Hi," he answered at last, worried she might hang up in disgust.

"Jack? Is that you?"

"Yeah."

If Catherine could have seen him she would have known immediately he was restless and fretful because he fidgeted, nervously twisting the telephone wire round his finger.

"I was beginning to think it was a crank call," she said, and Jack thought she might have believed him to be Rodgers playing his stinking mind games. He hated that she might have been scared because of his cowardice, even for a second.

"It is. It's me," he replied jokingly and she obliged him by laughing. Her mirth warmed his confused heart and he took a deep breath, his next words decisive. "You free tonight?"

"I, um, yes," she replied, obviously surprised. "You want to come round?"

"If you think you can stand my company."

"Yes, come." Her tone didn't hold any hint of doubt, which was encouraging.

"I might not get there until after midnight. I'm running behind at work. It's been one of those days."

"I see." She seemed more doubtful now but then her tone changed again to light-hearted sultriness. "Naughty flyboy. I bet I know what General Jack wants."

There it was again, the sex thing.

O'Neill contradicted her assumption immediately. "No, that's not it. I just... want to see you." Taking another deep breath, he bravely, perhaps foolhardily, confessed more. "Need to see you. I don't care if you're asleep when I get there. I just..." he tailed off tentatively, imagining waking up beside her. He smiled at the idea. There was no way a day started in Catherine's arms could turn out bad.

She was silent on the other end as if in thought and he wondered what she was thinking. Maybe she believed him too needy. Maybe he'd screwed up at last. He hoped not.

As soon as he'd heard her voice he'd known it was not just about sex. It was way more than that. Jack didn't want to ruin it now. He was willing to go for it, take it as it came, see what happened and not over think the relationship. It would be so like him to mess up now. Perhaps he shouldn't have called today on this crappy day of all days, but he really wanted to see her. The need to be with her twisted his gut, taking firm hold.

"I'd love you to come, Jack, even if it's just to sleep. Just come, okay? Whatever time it is."

His heart skipped a beat and he breathed easy again. This was exactly what he wanted to hear. Maybe it was too good to be true, but as long as it was good, as long as she wanted him, he'd be there.

"Great. See you later." He hung up still smiling, looking forward to it.

The twisted feeling in his gut settled down into a manageable anticipation. After that, he was able to concentrate at last, plowing through his workload like a demon on a mission. O'Neill wanted to catch up quickly, leave the mountain and get to Catherine's as soon as he possibly could.

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After he hung up, Catherine stared at the silent phone for a while in contemplation. Jack had sounded somewhat lost, and she wondered what was going on in that complex head of his.

His eagerness to see her was thrilling. When he'd mentioned how late he would arrive, her first thought was he simply craved sex. The tinge of disappointment she'd felt had surprised her, and she had glossed over it with a joke, delighted by his prompt denial of the notion. Catherine found the idea of just sleeping with Jack O'Neill by her side, if not in his arms, appealing. If his desire wasn't merely about sex, then it had to be something more than that didn't it? The notion both exhilarated and perturbed her.

She enjoyed being with him, loved the feel of his body close to hers, his arms around her, his scent, his breath in her ear. The smile alone was worth any amount of waiting and, as for his laugh... she cherished making him laugh. Jack chuckled and grinned, but outright laughter was rarer, and worth even more waiting.

Catherine had grown very fond of General Jack O'Neill in the weeks since she'd met him. He made her feel safe and warm, her heart flutter and her stomach churn with excitement, her crotch quiver with anticipation. She wanted to spend time with him, as much time as possible. Jack was a very sexy man, and filled with affection under all that gruffness and bluster. She didn't feel alone anymore.

And they had terrific sex; sometimes mind-blowingly terrific. He could be gentle, considerate and sensual; rough, rampant and animalistic. Sometimes he was selfish but not too often, and he always regretted it, making it up to her in the most pleasurable ways. His hands, those long thin and expressive fingers, could do staggering things to her body. He knew what to do and where to do it with uncanny skill. Jack O'Neill was hot with a capital H, O and T, followed by an infinite number of exclamation marks.

Frankly, he was the best lay Catherine had ever had. She yearned for him, was addicted to him, entranced by him. He did things to her sexually that no other man had done, which encouraged her to both respond and initiate in ways she never had. She wanted him with increasing desire; she wanted him a whole heck of a lot. But good sex was not all of it, she knew that. She'd started falling and hadn't landed yet.

The way he moved, his voice, his expressive manner, his good looks, his charming and cheeky smile, his glistening and often communicative dark eyes, his humor, his natural modesty. It all added up to make once heck of an adorable package, and one that was worthy of unwrapping with loving care.

Sure, he wasn't perfect, but who was?

In the bar where they met, she'd taken a big risk by approaching him. He probably thought she did that kind of thing regularly, but she didn't. There was something about him. He seemed worth the effort. While having a couple of drinks for courage, she watched him: talking, smiling, moving. He had something all right, so she had taken her chance. It didn't take her long to discover he had been worth that initial risk.

Since then she'd become increasing entwined in a trap. Although to say she loved him would be too easy, Catherine wasn't sure she did. She wasn't sure of anything. Jack continued to be a risk, but she still considered the risk worth taking.

Pete had torn her heart out, ripping it to shreds and stomping on it with his oversized feet. Catherine didn't want to go through such heartbreak again, thought she was cautious. Jack had pulled down those barriers, and was the first man she'd had a real relationship with since the breakdown of her marriage. She had experimented a bit, for sure, but only with the casual. She hadn't fallen, deliberately keeping herself at arm's length.

Catherine was surprised she'd let anyone get so close, but Jack had wheedled his way in unassumingly and was well and truly under her skin now. They'd moved closer and closer and neither of them was prepared for it, Jack no more than her. She was still fearful he would tear her heart asunder even while she trusted him.

But life is full of risks, and nothing comes of nothing. If you don't live it you might as well be dead.

Smiling, she pondered Jack's dislike of cliches, thrusting her thoughts aside to eye her watch and thinking she would prepare for him coming. Catherine wanted to look and smell as stunning and clean as possible when he arrived. The least she could do was attempt to catch him in the same trap with her, although she suspected that looking and smelling stunning would have little influence on Jack's feelings for her. If he fell, it would be because of what he saw inside, not outside, although beauty helped.

First a long, luxurious, sweet smelling and pampering bath. And she knew she should remember that sometimes less is more. Maybe tonight that would be more appropriate.

Easing out of the armchair, she went to run the bath, scenting it with delicious smelling bubbles and luxuriating in its warm embrace, the room filled with lit candles to heighten the relaxing atmosphere.

Recalling the baths she and Jack had taken together, Catherine sighed. He loved the candles, and said they reminded him of an old and dear friend. She believed the friend he referred to was male but didn't push for more.

A bath with Jack was to die for. She loved lying in his arms with her back sprawled along his lean length. He might kiss or bite her hair, neck and shoulders or give her a neck rub or massage. Inevitably, he would run his hands over her wet nakedness, caressing her breasts, and satisfying her sexual need with some deft fingering. God, she wished he was there right now, but in her fantasy, he could be.

She sunk into the suds and contemplated him for a while, picturing his handsome features and smiling to herself.

As she made him appear to her, a hand wandered over her body, and it was his hand. She envisaged lying in the bath snuggled against his fit, muscular body, his breath on her neck and shoulders, the hand a whisper of titillation on her flesh. He reached her breasts, turning his attentions to her nipples, tightening his fingers around them. They stood up in stiff peaks at his touch and she loosed a small sigh of ecstasy as he bit and sucked her neck.

Then his attention shifted focus, and he smoothed down her body until he accessed her pubes. Catherine's fingers followed the path he trod so artfully, alighting the small, sensitive nub that lay encased by those pubes and rubbing, gently at first but with increasing intensity.

The water lapped around her in small undulations, reacting to the vigor of her hand moving over her folds, and she gasped with delight. Jack was right there with her; his surprisingly delicate and long fingers, his welcoming warmth, his tender embrace.

He whispered in her ear, proclaiming her beauty, her sensuality, her sexiness, and his dexterous digits continued inexorably onwards, his thumb stroking her clit while fingers thrust into her.

"Oh, yes, Jack," she whispered. "That's so good. There, right there. Yes, my darling."

Water sloshed over the side of the bath as her body gyrated to his continuing ministrations, her breath becoming as choppy and erratic as its slopping waves. Catherine's free hand gripped the side of the bath as she felt her orgasm rapidly approaching. Oh, god!

As she pushed against it, Jack's hardened dick rubbed against her spine and she knew he was elated, turned on by her increasingly jubilant reactions to his hand's skilful plundering and the erotic movement of her back against that rigid length.

"I love you Jack!" she cried out as her orgasm hit in wave after wave, echoing the water's flow around her, and her hand stilled, nestling peacefully amongst her pubic hair as she gloried in the tension relieving contractions.

And, for a while, she silently contemplated the words she had called out without conscious thought, considering the implications, before forcing them away for later deliberation, because it wasn't something she could allow herself to mull over too deeply now.

Pulling herself together, trying to suppress those raging thoughts that threatened her equilibrium, she got out of the bath and studied her reflection in the mirror wondering whether to apply a smidgeon of make-up and what to wear.

Starting to rifle through her wardrobe for something suitable, she was frustrated at first by indecision, smiling when she spotted the perfect thing. Having settled on the look, she got ready and waited. Waiting was an irritation. She didn't know exactly when he would get there, but Catherine thought Jack O'Neill worth every minute of her time.

He arrived just after midnight as anticipated, and she answered the door with a sweet, welcoming smile. He smiled back, happy to see her, and silently appraised the apparition. This time she was real.

Jack very much approved of what he saw. She looked pretty, and natural, like the girl next door one hears so much about but rarely meets - no discernible make-up and wearing only one of the shirts he'd left there by mistake a couple of weeks before. He kept forgetting to take it home and she kept forgetting to remind him. It looked way better on her despite, or maybe because, it was too big. Her long shapely legs didn't hurt, and he liked the freshly scrubbed look she wore. Simple, but sexy. Less is more.

His appreciative gaze gave Catherine a frisson of pleasure. He liked what he saw, and what he saw was pure Catherine, no additives, no frills. Jack stepped over the threshold and enfolded her in his arms.

"I like it," he said "Remind me never to take that shirt home."

"I couldn't bring myself to wash it. It still smells of you," she replied, nuzzling into his neck, and Jack's heart lurched at the heartfelt comment. Oh, man!

Briefly, he wondered whether she was in seductive mode, hoping she wasn't because all he wanted was sleep. Jack was beat. He just wanted to be with her, it was that simple. He'd been torturing himself about her to no purpose. It wasn't so complicated, after all. What had he been thinking?

With a gentle squeeze and chaste kiss, he let her go and moved further into her apartment, starting to aim for her living room.

"You look tired," she said and he paused and turned back to face her.

"I'm bushed."

"Okay, flyboy, straight to bed."

He smiled faintly and nodded, and they walked in silence to her bedroom where he flopped wearily on the edge of her bed, hanging his head i

Fic With Fins