Had this all happened earlier in his career, Qetesh would have probably had her way. Ironically it was Daniel - the real Daniel - who had helped him all those years ago go from suicidal over the loss of his son to something more productive. Since then, he had lost others. Sam's death had been particular hard, but all the grief he felt he fueled into anger. It was probably an unhealthy amount, but it wasn't like Madison had a shrink to help him through it. Madison was a fend-for-yourself place.
He'd grown a beard since Sam's death and practically forgotten how to smile, which was fine by him. He really just wanted to kill the Goa'uld and then he'd hermit away until everyone kill each other.
Like usually, he couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned and whenever his body did let him sleep, he had nightmares of reliving the moment when he had been unable to keep Sam safe. Jack rolled over from the sleeping bag he had set up in the living room of an abandoned house. His hand bypassed the bottle of water and went for the half full bottle of beer as he sat up and downed the last of it. It was then he heard some sort of movement outside and he reached for his side arm. He needed to find more ammunition soon, but he could probably bluff his way out of a situation with the five bullets he had left.