"Don't talk." She says.

And he doesn't obey her, "Kara, what are you doing?"

Her shirts hit the deck and she's bending over, scrabbling at the laces on her boots, "What's it look like?"

Sam rolls out of the rack and stands. "Kara."

And she stops and straightens. "Sam."

As much as he wants to touch her, as much as his mind and body are filling him with the feel and touch and taste of her--and he can't help the glance at her bare chest. He hasn't seen that skin in too damned long. But he can't, "Kara, you said--"

"I changed my mind." There's something lost in her eyes.

This is not what she needs. He has a moment to think that before she reaches out for him. And he gives in. He hates himself, but he cups the back of her head and kisses her.

And its worse than her goodbye, because this time, he knows that if she runs it will be the end.

A small part of him wants her to run. Wants her to go before she can hurt him again. But this is his wife, the woman who saved his ass, the woman he married. And he doesn't have the luxury of letting her go. Not when she's all he wants.

"Sam." She whimpers against his lips.

Then he's kissing her, hard, shoving back until she hits the table.

(I have to go get my roommate from work)