Warnings: Violence (of the bar room brawl variety)

Walking into the commissary a week later, Jack's arms and legs threatened to collapse on him. Every night since Dr. Carter agreed to help him, he'd met her on the same catwalk under Banshee's right arm. Carter claimed she was making strides. The graphs backed those claims: the bars weren't quite so jagged anymore, but they still rose and fell steeply. However, in the connpod it hadn't made a single ounce of difference. After a week, the immense resistance fought them at every turn. Jack still wasn't used to it, and he doubted he ever would be. He resigned himself to feeling trapped in the connpod, and wooden outside of it.

He spotted Dr. Carter almost immediately. A swath of empty seats surrounded her, and she ate with her head down and shoulders tight, discouraging visitors. Jack let his gaze linger for just a moment more, before he caught sight of Manhattan's team sitting off to the left. At Kowalsky's nod, he moved to join them. "Hey, guys," Jack greeted, sliding down onto the bench facing them. They lifted their chins at him in response, before Kowalsky perked up.

"You and Hanson were looking sharp today," Charlie told him, as Ferretti dug back into the large mound of mashed potatoes piled onto his tray. "I'd say it was your best run yet."

Jack pegged him with a look, and saw the man wasn't mocking him. An open gaze looked back at him, with honest support. Jack shrugged. "If you say so." It felt the same as the day before, and he wouldn't know the numbers until he met up with Dr. Carter later. He didn't bother to say so, though.

Kowalsky and Ferretti seemed decent guys, as far as Jack could tell from the week he'd known them, but they were so frequently in Jonas' company that he couldn't quite bring himself to trust them with the fact that he'd been meeting with Carter. Jack refused to put her in Hanson's line of fire, and honestly the less he gave his copilot to gripe about, the better.

Speak of the devil, Jack thought to himself when Jonas slid in beside him. Jack suppressed a shudder of irritation. During the ten minute walk back to the Shatterdome that afternoon, Hanson used the time to pick apart Jack's technique, one insult spilling out after another. The sympathetic looks he'd gotten from the guys coming out of LOCCENT on his way to the locker room reminded him that the comms had been wide open the whole time. He'd wished then that he hadn't remained silent throughout the tirade, but he had done so for one reason only. That day marked the third anniversary of the May Day Massacre.

He'd noted the date when Teal'c and Daniel had told him the truth of Carter's situation. The days since had grown increasingly more tense, and while Carter had met with him the night before as promised, she'd said very little, and they'd ended early. Now he could only hope that Jonas would simply continue his rant from the connpod. Jack sensed from the smell of booze in the air around him that he wouldn't be so lucky.

Pilots weren't supposed to drink on base, since they could be called to service at a moment's notice. The mechanics the next table over weren't similarly compelled. They listed slightly while their cups clanked together in a sloppy toast. Watching them consumed Jack's focus for a long moment until his vision was eclipsed by a grinning Jonas who leaned in to wrap his arm around Jack's neck in rough playfulness. The familiar scent of hops wafted over Jack in a fresh wave, and he had to keep his face from showing his disgust and resentment. Of course he'd been drinking. Jack could hardly be surprised but it burned. If caught Hanson would be on forced downtime for three days minimum, and while Jack could personally see the appeal of not climbing into the connpod tomorrow, they couldn't afford the delay. Carter needed as much data as they could give her, and they didn't have the luxury of waiting 72 hours while the alcohol cleared his system. Besides that, Jack didn't look forward to joining minds with a hungover copilot.

Jack turned his attention to his tray, buttoning up his anger and resentment. Jonas didn't seem to notice. "Great day, isn't it?" Hanson crowed, just a hair shy of sincere.

Jack locked gazes with Kowalsky, surprised to find the man as unimpressed as he himself felt. "Not sure many would agree with you on that one," Charlie told his friend. From what Teal'c had said, Manhattan wasn't at the Shatterdome when May Day happened, but they must have walked in on the aftermath, and it seemed to have made an impression. "You shouldn't be drinking, man."

"Of course not," Jonas chirped. "Wouldn't dream of it!" He beamed widely, laughing. "Come on man, lighten up! It's the one day a year when the brass turns the other cheek on the booze. I gotta take it when I can get it." Hanson elbowed Jack's arm just as he was lifting his cup for a drink, sloshing blue energy drink into his half-eaten vegetable medley. "We should get some into our new friend here! He could stand to loosen up a little!"

Jack didn't bother to respond. He should have sat with Carter. He fought the urge to turn and look at her amongst the empty seats; if he did, Jonas would turn and look as well, and he would never forgive himself for turning Hanson loose on Carter. He kept his eyes down as he piled his fork high with vegetables now dripping with energy drink. Hanson nudged him again, knocking the peas, corn and carrots back to the tray. Jack froze. Do not punch your drunk copilot. Do not-

"Watch this," Hanson urged expectantly, jerking his chin towards Dr. Carter's table with a gleeful gleam in his eye. Jack craned his neck and spotted another of Hanson's fan club, a Manhattan mechanic named Hans Klepper, moving through the quieting crowds with his eyes on Carter, while his buddies trailed behind him with drinks in hand. They paused in the center of the bay, and Klepper raised his glass, but his glare stabbed daggers at Carter's hunched back.

"Let's raise another glass!" Klepper called, to the tune of over a dozen cheers as arms lifted their drinks high. "To my brother, Franz, who perished with his copilot Tahno Yuri when Hiroshi's Sabre fell to Athos three years ago this very day!"

At a second nudge from Hanson, Jack lifted a heavy glass. From what he could see through the forest of cups, the only one not joining in on the toast was Carter. Declining to toast would only make her more noticeable, but Jack knew that with Klepper still glaring at her, raising her own glass would only invite further antagonism. Carter stared at her tray, combing through her vegetable medley without taking a bite, each pass of her fork growing more and more tense. Jack sensed the same as she did. The somber toast was about to take an even darker turn.

"And to the rest of us, who will likely be gone soon!" Glasses remained up, but the room fell silent at the addendum. There was a line between somber and sordid, and Klepper had passed it. The sudden quiet didn't slow him a bit. "Come, now! We're a dying breed! We should celebrate! Today is the anniversary of our death knell. It started with the May Day Massacre, and every day brings us closer to the brink. Isn't that right, Carter?"

Now all eyes flew to Carter. She'd risen as soon as Klepper continued his toast, and froze in the aisle with her tray in hand. Jack could see her running through her options. She chose as he would have, by ignoring Klepper's call and and moving away from his group towards the nearest exit.

"Oh, come on, Sam, don't be like that!" Hanson called out. "He's just letting off steam."

"Back off, Hanson," Jack warned. The atmosphere shifted drastically, taking on an electrical charge. It wouldn't take much to spark the tempers brewing around them. Every gaze in the room bounced between Klepper and Doctor Carter, souring as the mechanic's negativity spread.

"Yeah, Sam," Klepper picked up the taunt. "I lost my brother three years ago! You haven't forgotten, have you?" He leered menacingly. "I sure haven't." He stepped towards her. The drink in his hand wasn't his first if the slur in his voice was any indication, but kept his feet well enough. Carter would know how to defend herself as a Ranger, but Klepper boasted about fifty over Carter, and for all Jack knew Dr. Carter hadn't trained since she last stepped in Banshee. If she'd lost her edge, Klepper could easily overpower her.

Carter seemed to sense the ever-growing animosity and resumed her path towards the hatch. A man wearing Manhattan's colors rose from his seat to cut her off. Dr. Carter's steps slowed, then reversed several paces to maintain the distance between them. Klepper continued to move in behind her. Jack rose to his own feet, as did several others. None of the faces around him expressed any concern for Carter. The Shatterdome was tired of hurting, tired of grieving, of barely breaking even against the Kaiju. These people couldn't fight the real culprits spilling out of the Breach, so they found a softer target.

"We're not saying it's your fault," Klepper continued, closing in on Carter, "but if you hadn't choked so spectacularly, maybe a few more of us would be alive. You ever think about that?"

Carter's grip tightened on the edges of her tray. Rather than face the milling mob at her back, she decided to take her chances with the lone man barring her escape. Klepper's face reddened with rage.

"Hey! I'm talking to you!" He grabbed her by the arm, and yanked her to face him. Carter reacted in an instant. She turned with the grab and slammed the flat of her tray into the side of Klepper's head, sending food and utensils flying. The tin tray bent upon impact, and sent Klepper reeling. The lone man barring her way before closed in as soon as she turned her back. Carter anticipated the sneak attack. She pivoted and threw the ruined tray in his face. The man's hands lifted to catch it, and Carter darted in with two swift jabs to the torso. The first blow found the sweet spot that instantly winded him, followed by a sharp elbow that sent the man sprawling backwards. He stayed there, clutching his chest and gasping for breath.

Jack pushed against the crowd, trying to reach her. The other spectators resisted, unwilling to relinquish their vantage points. Over their shoulders he saw Klepper straighten, wiping blood from his nose as he turned towards Carter with murder in his eyes. He took a breath to call a warning, but Carter moved before he could say a word. Klepper's punch overbalanced him, so eager was he to get the drop on her. Carter deftly dodged the blow to trap Klepper's wrist in both hands and jerked him further off balance.

Hanz barely managed to hop the foot she stuck out to tangle his own, and freed his wrist. He wound up for another blow- and dropped almost instantly. Carter's boot connected with his ribs so quickly Jack almost didn't see it. Jack blinked, and then took in the dead calm set in her expression. The nights spent under Banshee's arm made it easy to forget that Carter was anything more than an engineer. Now there was no denying it. Jack had worried about her edge- Samantha Carter had been raised in this very Shatterdome, recruited early to pilot the greatest Jaeger ever made. Nothing on Earth could dull an edge like that.

Klepper's friends moved in then, and now Jack began to shove his way into the fight, now counting five against one. Two went to get a wheezing Hanz back on his feet, and the remaining three lunged for Carter. Jack pushed and shoved his way through the crowd just as the first of Klepper's men reached Dr. Carter. Carter blocked his kick with a shin check and then snapped her foot up towards his chin. His head snapped back, and his legs melted out from under him, senseless.

"Hey!" Jack barked. Klepper took a step back when he realized the shout was directed at him and not his victim. In the end, it didn't matter who his target was- Klepper just wanted to hit something. He swung his fist at Jack's head, who ducked and swept out his leg, returning Klepper to the steel deck. Hanz's head clanged against the hard surface, which Jack followed up with a sharp fist to the mechanic's chest.

Klepper gasped and rolled pitifully onto his side. He made no move to rise. Jack turned back to the main fight to find Carter had disabled two of her opponents, earning time to catch her breath. "Carter!" Her eyes flew to him, and he stuck out his hand. "Let's go!"

She clasped his wrist, but a new opponent caught her other hand before Jack could pull her from the ring. Jack immediately let her go, giving her hand back to defend herself. Carter tucked herself into a ball and rolled, taking her attacker with her. Jack saw her curl her legs up to set for an omoplata before a fist flying towards his face consumed his entire focus.

Jack didn't recognize the face glaring at him from behind the sucker punch. More people joined the fight, limiting the space they had to maneuver him. Their only grace was that many didn't seem particularly incensed against him or Dr. Carter. The gladiator fight sparked by Klepper's rage dissolved into an all-out brawl as fists swung left and right, not caring who hit who. Dark expressions morphed into an embittered glee as they channeled their hurt and grief into sloppy bruises and forming bruises.

Dodging a second swing from his unscrupulous opponent, Jack returned the favor by thrusting his knee into their groin. The beefy man dropped, hands cupping his crotch in agony. Behind him a woman surged forward, ducking under Jack's guard. Her shoulder caught him just under the ribs, her arms trapping him bodily in a familiar grapple. Jack dug his feet in and refused to let the woman's weight carry him down. Her stout form gave her a lower center of gravity, and she had densely packed muscles along the tops of her shoulders and upper back. If she got him on the ground, it would be difficult to recover.

When she couldn't tackle him she redirected her momentum and tried to pull him down by the shoulders. Jack kept his feet, barely, bent at the waist with thick arms tight around his neck and shoulders. His hands searched for an opening, and earned an elbow to the kidney in return. He smacked away the knee she tried to slam into his face, then caught her leg and pushed all his weight upwards. Unbalanced, Jack finished the job by driving his shoulder into her sternum. She kept her hold on him, pulling him with her and only released him when she collided with the deck.

Jack scrambled to recover. The best he could manage was a left hook as the woman started to rise, snapping her head back into the commissary floor. He didn't chase her when she curled onto one side, groaning. He found his feet and searched the crowd for the next crowd. For now, he had a moment to catch his breath. Backing up, he bumped shoulders with Carter.

"You okay?" he panted over his shoulder, not taking his eyes from the faces surrounding them.

"Yeah, you?" She sounded winded, but alert, and didn't seem to be favoring any broken bones or serious injury.

"Yeah," he grinned. After his hard week in the connpod, fighting both Hanson and Banshee, an honest brawl envigorated him. Without the mech, his limbs moved freely, unencumbered by false drift and Hanson's overwhelming presence in his mind. Those few not participating in the melee chanted, crowing for blood. Klepper and two of his friends had regained their feet, and Jack counted another three who slowly stepped into the circle to join him, their eyes hungry for violence. Adrenaline burned through Jack's body, gearing up for another fight.

"You ready?" he asked.

He could almost hear her smile when Carter responded. "You bet."

The crowd pushed in, no longer caring who aimed for whom. Behind him, he could feel every shift of Carter's stance, and his body responded to the rhythm she set. Jack let his instincts take over. Her height gave Carter an advantage: she favored the longer reach of her legs to kick and knee, but as the crowd pressed in closer, she seamlessly transitioned to tightly controlled strikes with fists and elbows to keep his back well-guarded. As he fended off a left jab from an unfamiliar NCO in front of him, Jack sensed when she ducked to avoid a hammerfist descending towards her head. Without thinking, Jack twisted into a back kick, his leg passing over Carter's head to crack against the man's chin. Carter sprang backwards, checking the axe kick about to come down on his head from his original opponent. They swapped partners seamlessly.

Carter's shoulder brushed his as she crab-hopped to avoid reaching hands. Jack sank into the fight, letting his body take over. He felt weightless, and moved effortlessly with Carter. His focus narrowed to precisely the two of them, seeking out holes in his opponent's' defenses while filling the ones he spotted in Carter's.

Jack registered another fist coming at him and parried without looking at the face behind it. He blocked and answered with a sharp jab; his opponent dodged and lashed out with a vicious kick towards Jack's knee- a career ender if it landed. Instead of retreating into Carter's back, Jack advanced before the strike could connect, landing a solid hit on his opponent's solar plexus, doubling him over, and finished with an uppercut.

The clack of teeth snapping together reverberated down Jack's arm when his fist connected with the underside of his attacker's jaw, reminding him to pull the punch at the last second. He needed to disable, not maim. Panting, he gave his opponent time to recover- and felt his heart stop in his chest when he recognized the angry glare of Jonas Hanson stabbing back at him. Jack stumbled out of his rhythm, and when Hanson's gaze traveled to Carter- still working on her own attackers- Jack realized that he hadn't been Jonas' target at all. Jack simply stood in the way.

Something dark bloomed in Jack's chest- the phantom pressure of the bo staff against his throat that morning in the kwoon made him swallow as he came to a decision that would mean the end of his career as a pilot. He would not let Jonas get through to Carter.

Jack attacked, throwing first one punch and then another, only for Jonas to catch both of them. Jack continued to push against the palm stopping his blows; Jonas pressed back, unyielding even as his glare turned into a smirk when he realized he had Jack in a bind. His hands tightened on Jack's fists, grinding bones together in an intense grip. Jack needed to end this now, before Jonas acted on the advantage Jack had unwittingly given him. He paused, took a breath, and launched himself forward to headbutt his copilot in the face.

Stars exploded behind Jack's eyes when his forehead connected with the top of Hanson's nose, too close to the forehead to break anything and nearly knocking himself senseless in the process. Still, Hanson reared back in pain, releasing his hold on Jack. As his vision cleared Jack dodged the wild blows Hanson chased him with, but missed the knee aimed for his ribs. It connected solidly, winding him. He got his hands up, but soon found himself staring at Kowalsky's back as Manhattan's pilots pushed between them, breaking up their fight.

He heard someone heavy collapse behind him, the victim of a well-placed roundhouse kick from Carter. Jack turned to check on her, saw the man who had first tried to keep Carter from leaving darting towards her. Carter parried the feint he sent her way and grabbed the true uppercut he tried to sneak under her guard. She caught him by the wrist and twisted, stopping just short of breaking bone. The man froze when he felt his bones grind together, not noticing his too-wide stance.

Carter's knee slammed into his crotch before she twisted him around and shoved him towards the crowd. He didn't stagger far, and dropped to his knees only a few feet away, hand pressed tight to his groin. Two technicians tripped over him on their way into the fray, creating the start of a barrier between Carter and the mob beyond. No one noticed the sharp-jawed figure that had come to stand on the catwalk above them, observing the violent tumult below with a heavy glare. Jack's fist collided with a sharp jaw just as his haze was shattered by a harsh, familiar bellow.

"A-ten-HUT!" Jack jerked, cutting his dodge short and catching the tail end of jab on his jaw. He staggered, but didn't retaliate when the man's buddies turned the guy around to stand at attention. "What in the hell is going on here?!"

How a man could yell so loud with so tight a jaw Jack would never know. Marshal Pentecost pinned them all in place with a single, scathing stare. Jack felt the back of his neck heat. He straightened in place, breathing heavily as sweat dripping into his eyes. From the corner of his eye he watched for any indication one of their opponents would use the Marshal's appearance to sucker punch him. None did. The only movement was Carter straightening as he did, and the heaving shoulders as those around him struggled to catch their breath.

Klepper was the first to speak, stepping out of line with a hand bracing his injured shoulder. "Sir, we were having a few drinks when Carter-"

"Before you continue, Mr. Klepper," Pentecost cut in, "I will remind you that this mess hall is under constant video surveillance, and the footage will be reviewed before punishment for this drunken brawl is meted out." He glared at the mechanic unforgivingly. "Do you still care to continue?"

"No, sir," Klepper replied after some hesitation, far more quietly than he'd started. He stole a look at Hanson. Jack followed his glance and found Jonas glowering back over a bloodied nose. Jack's spine stiffened under the glare, and his chin lifted as he returned his attention back to the Marshal. He had chosen sides yet again. This time, he knew it was the right one.

"You two," Pentecost jabbed a single finger towards Jack and Carter. "Report to Doctor Frasier immediately." The Marshal turned his glare to the rest of the mob, who stood panting and bruised around them. "Anyone else needing medical attention will report to Dr. Brightman. The rest of you have fifteen minutes to clean this mess up! There will be a thorough inspection at the end of those fifteen minutes, and if there is a single crumb of food on this floor, you will try again with your personal toothbrushes!"

"Yes, sir!" The room thundered with the combined voice of two dozen men and women.

"Get to work!" The Marshal spun on his heel and marched out and immediately the room erupted into motion again, this time not to attack him or Carter but to obey the Marshal. Speaking of Carter… Jack whirled towards her, grinning breathlessly to meet Carter's gaze. Though her features remained carefully neutral, her eyes were alive in a way he hadn't seen before. They sparkled in the fluorescent lights, their corners crinkled with muted delight. She tilted her head towards the door.

"We need to get to Frasier," Carter said finally. "Follow me."

Jack kept pace with her long strides. No one intercepted them, though the thrill of the fight almost made Jack wish Hanson or Klepper would show their smirking faces again. He noticed his steps synced with Carter's, but if she noticed the same, she didn't say. Before long, two nurses planted them on two cots in a small, semi-private infirmary. They measured both their vitals before leaving Jack and Carter alone to await Doctor Frasier. Without the distraction of answering the nurses' questions, Jack couldn't keep his own at bay any longer.

He looked up at Carter on the opposite bed- and his questions died on his lips. The enthusiasm he'd glimpsed in the commissary had vanished, eclipsed by dark thoughts now clouding her features. Her eyes refused to meet his, focusing instead on the scuffed toes of her boots. Her hands gripped the edge of the mattress under her tightly, compressing the foam to nothing. Jack's stomach sank.

Carter's distance when they met made sense now. It had started to click when Teal'c first told him about May Day, but understanding the reason for the animosity was far different from witnessing it himself. The dark toasts and angry fists today explained why she'd declined to eat with them that day, and why she'd urged him to stay away from her. In the face of all that, what little he'd done to connect with her didn't measure up. That she'd even risked a conversation with him was a miracle. He should have done more. He should have ended Klepper's toast the second he started. He should have shut Jonas down on the catwalk the day Carter first introduced him to Banshee.

Jack wondered how the base would move forward now. Did this happen every year? Did they blame Carter even more when she refused to lay down and take her licks? Blood crusted at the corner of her mouth, surrounded by the beginning bloom of a nasty bruise, and her left eye already swelled, but the damage all appeared superficial- lucky shots lacking the necessary force to do any real damage. She cradled her right hand, the knuckles split and raw.

Carter lifted her chin and caught him staring. He grinned, the elation from the fight rising swiftly again. The last push of adrenaline still hummed in his system, itching to find their fluid synchronicity that had guided their movements during the fight. Jack would never pilot with Hanson again- Jonas' hateful glare back in the commissary assured him of that. He might never pilot a Jaeger again but, for just a few minutes, he'd had the chance to be the warrior he'd been trained to be.

"It could be worse," he offered as a distraction when the silence stretched on.

Carter raised an eyebrow, then glanced away, inspecting her knuckles. "Your face suggests otherwise."

"What?" Jack reached up, and felt around until he felt the beginnings of his own black eye. When he brought his fingers away they were tacky with blood, which he soon traced to a cut bisecting his eyebrow. "Oh." When had he gotten that? Damn. That was going to scar. Now aware of the injury, it began to throb painfully. Ow. Still, he grinned, now that he had her attention. "Nope. Could still be worse."

His captive audience stared, then lifted the same eyebrow again in question. Prompted to continue, Jack's grin broadened. "No shots," he explained. "I got all my boosters back at the Academy before I left, so, therefore-"

"Therefore, you decided to get into a bare-knuckled fight in the mess hall." The doctor who shoved through the door to finish Jack's sentence was small, but Jack's spine immediately straightened. Doctor Frasier carried two brown medical files in her arms, emblazoned with each of their names. She deposited them on a rolling table and turned to regard them. She took one look at Carter and immediately began to tut.

"Good lord, Sam," Doctor Frasier scolded. "Did you headbutt them?" She pulled on a pair of sterile gloves before gently prodding the area around the knot growing on Carter's forehead. Carter suffered the abuse well, only flinching once when the doctor hit a particularly sore spot. "I thought we learned our lesson the last time."

Jack smirked, pleased to find he wasn't the only one willing to stoop low when the occasion called for it. "You headbutted somebody?"

"In the Academy. Once. I learned my lesson." Carter winced away from Frasier's cotton swab, then stilled when Frasier swatted at her for fidgeting. She raised a stiff eyebrow in Jack's direction, confirming she had seen him headbutt Hanson. "That was years ago, Janet, and it wasn't me doing the headbutting this time. I didn't even start this one."

"No, you only finish fights. I remember." Frasier flashed a light in Carter's eyes to check pupil dilation before moving on to Jack. Jack gave his most charming grin, which Dr. Frasier blithely ignored. "I don't think your face is broken," she told him after probing the bruise forming on his forehead where he'd butted Hanson. She handed him an ice pack, then tossed a second to Carter. "Keep that ice on," she instructed. Both patients obeyed; Jack took his lead from Carter, who apparently knew better than to argue.

"Both of you know you need your hands to pilot, right?" Frasier sighed, peeling off her gloves. "I'm ordering scans for each of you to rule out any fractures." The doctor marked a note in their files. She turned away from Jack, clearly done with him. To his surprise, she paused next to Sam's bed.

"I know I asked you to stop by my office soon," Frasier murmured, barely loud enough for Jack to hear, "but this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

Carter looked away. "I know," she said softly. "I'm sorry, Janet. It's just…"

"You're busy," Janet finished for herself. "I know." She studied her file absently. "You're welcome here any time, Sam. You don't have to wait for an injury, or orders from the Marshal. I hope you know that." A small hand touched Carter's wrist briefly.

Carter gave a minute nod. "I know."

Janet nodded, appeased. "All right, I'm going to go order those scans," she informed them, snapping her file shut and tucking it under her arm. "Keep icing," she ordered emphatically.

"Yes, ma'am," they chorused dutifully. Jack lifted his for good measure, so she could see for herself. As soon as she was out of sight, however, Jack's attention narrowed to only Carter. She inspected her bare elbow, which sported the pink rawness of one who'd elbowed a grizzled jaw. A nurse had doused all their scrapes and scratches with antiseptic even before Doctor Frasier arrived, but Carter dabbed at her elbow as though it was still tacky.

"You felt it too, didn't you?" His quiet query carved through the silence. Carter's hands returned to her lap, as did her gaze. "Back in the mess hall," he continued. "I've never felt anything like it. Fighting with you… that's what the kwoon was supposed to feel like."

His bouts in the kwoon had been a good challenge before Jonas tried to strangle him. The first two had even been satisfying, to come out on top against an opponent who clearly knew his stuff. But none of them had been enlightening. He'd never felt one with Hanson. Jack had read Hanson's style and body language to anticipate the next blow, but never felt a part of it. With Carter… with Carter he'd moved in concert, like they both knew the steps to a dance no one else could hear. The legends didn't do it justice.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

Carter shifted the ice pack on her elbow, studying the cuticles on her free hand. The tense line of her jaw conveyed sudden doubt, a moment of uncertainty that flashed out of sight before either of them could address it. Finally she met his gaze. She took a breath to respond, parted her lips, and- the door slammed open, admitting Marshal Pentecost. They both scrambled to their feet, but Pentecost made a beeline for Carter.

"Did I just see what I think I did?"

Carter looked away, searching for time. "Yes, sir," she admitted softly.

The Marshal, for all his alarm, didn't seem surprised. He inhaled deeply, settling into a more casual stance. He looked Carter dead in the eye. "You know what that means?"

Now, her colorfully bruising chin rose, meeting his heavy gaze with a defiant one of her own. "Yes, sir."

A moment of quiet followed, and out of the corner of his eye Jack saw Pentecost relax, softening into someone no longer their commanding officer. "I will not order you, Sam," Pentecost told her. His voice pitched even lower. "Are you ready for this?"

Carter's eyes held Pentecost's. Jack looked away to find something, anything, to study to feel less like a voyeur. "Yes, sir."

He nodded. Straightening back into the stern Marshal Jack was far more comfortable with, he addressed the both of them. "Having reviewed video footage of the altercation this afternoon, no charges are being pressed against either of you." Jack released a breath of relief, drawing Pentecost's attention. The Marshal turned to face him directly. "Pending medical approval, I expect to see you in Bay 3 bright and early tomorrow morning. You've got training to do."

"Sir," Jack started, past the sudden lump in his throat, "with all due respect, Ranger Hanson-"

"Hanson is no longer your copilot," Pentecost informed Jack bluntly. "Effective immediately, Ranger Carter will be your number one."

Jack stared at Carter disbelievingly as Pentecost strode out of the room. When he was out of sight, Carter turned to face him, a tired but happy smile curling her lips. "Call me Sam," she said, extending her hand. Jack clasped it, and smiled himself, feeling elated and weightless. Drift compatible. This is what it felt like. Get a grip, he told himself, still shaking Carter's hand. Even if they fell short of true compatibility, anything would be better than Hanson. Their fight in the commissary was proof enough of that.

"I can take my hand back now," Carter reminded him. Jack blinked, and started, his grin diminishing only slightly as a flush heated his neck.

"Oh!" He released her hand, relieved to see that her smile lingered as well. "Sorry."

Doctor Frasier clipped back into the room, her nose buried in his medical file.

"Looks like you're due for your flu shot, Ranger O'Neill. The Academy missed it when they discharged you." She pulled out a large, very sharp needle. Jack froze, wide eyes darting to Carter for help. She lifted her hands helplessly. Not even she would dare challenge the Shatterdome's Chief Medical Officer. "We can take care of that for you before you leave today."

Jack cursed under his breath and reluctantly rolled up his shirt sleeve. Carter snickered behind her ice pack, which almost made it worth it. Almost.