Sam was thankful that Cam had waited until everybody else had cleared out of the Briefing room before he asked the burning question.

"So." He pointed at her Ace bandage wrapped wrist. "You care to explain how, on your day off no less, you managed to injure yourself badly enough that you get yanked from today's mission?"

Sam could feel her ears burning before she even opened her mouth. They should have thought up some cover story. They'd had enough time in the hospital waiting room. Besides, she really hated to have to lie to a friend, commanding officer or not.

Like all brilliant plans conceived after two bottles of wine, this one had seemed like a good idea at the time.

She's couldn't remember what had even possessed her to invite Jack into the shower in the first place. She did remember him agreeing though, telling her that since she was just past tipsy, she should probably have someone to supervise her to make sure she stayed upright.

Well, that part had backfired. Spectacularly.

Because no sooner had she stepped under the warm spray had she felt Jack's arms around her waist and his hands running over her breasts. And his mouth beside her ear, asking her if she wanted him to lather up her hair. She thought she might have told him not to stop at her hair.

She did remember leaning back into him as he worked his hands across her scalp and down her neck. And she was definitely clear-headed enough to remember him hard against the hollow of her lower back. So she couldn't blame everything on the wine.

Things had still been going well when he'd slid his hands down her thighs and back up her belly, stopping to tease her as she steadied herself against the tiles like a prisoner being frisked, her head dropping so the hot water poured down her neck and she could watch his wandering hands.

And they were still going well when she'd turned to pay him back in kind, her hands reaching around to grab him and dig her fingers into his ass cheeks hard enough to leave marks and pull him into her under the spray. She remembered clearly the taste of his skin as she nipped at his shoulder and the water ran into her mouth, all salty and fresh mixed together.

It's was when he turned to pin her against the shower wall that things went south.

One of them, and it might have been her when he lifted her up and she wrapped a leg around his waist, hit the tap and pushed it all the way to cold. And one of them had definitely shrieked when they were doused in ice cold water. That must have been Jack because she had been mid-gasp and so very close to done just before the arctic dunking. But after the shampoo bottle got knocked over and stepped on, and the flailing and the swearing began, she lost track of who did what and what ended up where. She vaguely remembered aiming for the bathmat as she went pin-wheeling over the edge of the bathtub.

And then they were a tangled pile of naked arms and legs on the cold tiles of her bathroom floor. A very wet, tangled pile. A very bruised, twisted, tangled, wet, naked pile. She'd felt like a Dr. Seuss story gone horribly wrong.

Try to explain that one to the emergency room doctor who ordered the x-rays for Jack's knee and diagnosed the sprain to her wrist. They hadn't even tried to come up with an excuse because he probably wouldn't have believed them anyhow.

Which left her in this little lurch right now.

Sam Carter hated to lie to a friend.

"I slipped getting out of the shower. I think I need a better bathmat."

So she just told variations of the truth instead.