This long distance thing was a killer. Not that he'd swap it; this was how it had to be for the time being, but every day still sounded a lot more attractive than two or three times a month.
A lot more attractive.
He had to admit that maybe the distance helped as much as hindered, especially in these early stages. There were times he still needed his own space (not that he didn't love having her around, but sometimes it was just overwhelming after a decade of solitude, to have somebody persistently there, an extra presence that he was constantly aware of).
And he was fairly sure his razor wasn't that blunt the last time he used it.
And he knew that he must grate on her nerves sometimes; he could see it in her eyes when he zoned out over The Simpsons, or a game. Or when he forgot that he had another person to consider in his decisions (there was something she didn't quite like about his new house, but he wasn't sure what. He'd filed it mentally under "Things To Find Out").
And the fact that a lot of their relationship was conducted over the phone was forcing them, for the first time in a lot of ways, to talk. Oh, there had always been jokes and one-liners aplenty, but all the important stuff had been implied with looks and occasionally the briefest of touches (and even with the phone, he still hadn't said it – that word they'd been avoiding like the plague since that damn Za'tarc, yes he could remember the words when he needed to. She knew he did, he was fairly sure of that, like he was fairly sure that she did – the notion that she didn't was too terrifying for consideration, but neither of them had actually said …anything along those lines).
The strange thing was, they'd got quite good at it. They could still talk like they used to – she could confuse him, he could make her laugh – but they could have other sorts of conversations as well.
They were becoming better friends, he'd realised some time ago.
They could have inconsequential conversations about her bike, the strange women Daniel had attracted recently, and the weird ad that had just started appearing everywhere.
They were quite happy to sit and watch the same programme on TV, chatting away, discussing the plot lines (to his amazement, he'd discovered that the amazing Samantha Carter couldn't work out whodunits in advance, and, he'd discovered with glee, hated it when other people could).
It would have been better with her in the same room, but it was still pretty good just hearing the warning "Jack!" that accompanied his teasing, and imagining the look of frustration on her face.
They could even have serious conversations about anything and everything, exchanging viewpoints more frankly than they ever could have in the superior/ subordinate relationship, sometimes even getting heated when their viewpoints were radically different.
He'd even put down the phone on her once – but she had just announced that Futurama was better than The Simpsons. He'd rung her back immediately, mock-contrite, while she'd maintained a façade of anger, horror and indignation. It'd ended when one of them broke, and the ensuing giggling fit had lasted a good five minutes on both ends of the connection, and hiccups on one (though he'd never admit which, even if he revisited Ba'al).
Completely unlike Major General John O'Neill, USAF, Head of Homeworld Security. Completely unlike the Black Ops and SG team leader.
Even completely unlike Jack O'Neill, divorcee.
Completely unforced and natural, he could be the biggest child or the most passionate man in her presence, and he couldn't scare her off.
Except for that word. The one they avoided. They'd got over "I miss you" and "I wish you were here," and even "I want you," but they'd avoided the biggie.
The phone rang.
He picked up.
"O'Neill"
"Let me guess – you're going for the quickest scare any salesperson ever had." God, he'd missed her voice.
He grinned. "Hey, you," he said, a lot softer.
"Stop grinning"
His grin grew wider. "Why not? You are!"
"I don't suppose because I said so is going to work?"
"Nope"
"Anyway, this is just a quick call – I don't trust these guys not to break anything."
"They worse than me?"
"No one's worse than you," she countered.
"But hey, that's why you love me."
Oh hell, did he just say that? That's what happens when you think, buddy.
"No," she countered.
No? Did she just say no? As in the terrible alternative?
"I love you for lots of other reasons. You've got it back to front – I don't get mad at you for breaking stuff because I love you."
Oh. Right. He could live with that.
Sweet, added in the less delusional part of his brain that admitted he was head over heels.
"I really have to go, though," she added after they had grinned inanely at each other down the phone for a few moments.
"Okay, I guess I'll hear from you when I hear from you."
"As always," she countered.
"And Sam? Love you too, you know."
He heard the return of the grin.
"Yeah. I know," and then she put the phone down.