Sam rubbed her hands over her face, partly out of frustration and partly out of exhaustion. They kept saying they weren't going to talk about this anymore and they kept talking about it; they said they weren't going to cross that line again and they kept crossing it. It was the same thing, over and over again, and it was wearing Sam down. She felt like she'd been here for months instead of weeks. She wanted to remind him that everything about her timeline was wrong, broken, and controlled by the Goa'uld, and if she went back at the wrong time she was dead herself and Jack would still be too, but she couldn't make herself bring any of that up again. Not one more time. Because if she did, and weighed what she was going back to against what she could have here, then it wouldn't measure up.