Chapter Eight

Sam knocked on the door of 25R3-02, the guest quarters Jack was staying in while he was confined to the base. It had been a few days since he left the infirmary, and Janet hadn't let him go home yet.

"What?" Jack called irritably.

Sam winced. "It's Carter, Sir."

"Come in."

Jack was sitting on the edge of a pile of furniture set against the right hand wall, in a chair with his feet up on a table in front of him. In his hands, he was turning a pen end over end, running his fingers over its surface. He never could keep his hands still, but there seemed to be something other than the need of movement involved in the action. He didn't move as she walked in, but continued his study of the writing implement.

"Hi, Colonel," Sam greeted him, her initial smile falling as she realized he couldn't see it.

"It's Jack, Carter. I'm retired…again," he told her ruefully. "Though, this time I won't be called back."

Sam looked down at her hands, unsure of how to answer him. She didn't have to, because just then his pen slipped from his fingers. "Aw, for crying out loud," he groused, dropping his feet off the table with a thud.

"I'll get it, Sir," Sam offered, crossing the room.

"Thanks, but no thanks, Carter. I didn't want that particular pen anyway," Jack told her sarcastically.

"Sir—" Sam started.

Jack stood up suddenly. "Drop the Sir, for crying out loud!" he all but yelled at her. He attempted to cross the room, but slammed into the table. "Darn furniture!" His hand brushed against what Sam guessed was another pen there, picked it up, and threw it across the room. It crashed into the wall with a thud.

He ran both hands through his silver and gray hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. "What's the point?"

"The point of what?" Sam frowned, confused as to what he meant.

"Of everything! What's the point of living anymore?" he exclaimed, turning and running his hands over the table so he could half-sit against it.

Now that he was facing her, Sam saw how his eyes stared straight ahead of him, gazing unseeing in her general direction. It pained her to see those deep, expressive brown eyes blank and emotionless. "What do you mean?"

"I've got nothing to live for! I'm an old, blind, cynical Air Force colonel who's not even fit to 'fly a desk,'" he told her intensely, his anger radiating from him and bringing emotion to his eyes at last.

"Jack, you can find a job." Sam tried to hide the fact that his words cut into her.

"Doing what?"

"I don't know, but you can learn something!"

"I don't want to learn, Carter."

"You have hobbies," she tried again.

"What hobbies, Major? Fishing? Need to see for that. Hockey? Need to see for that, too. Can't possibly look through a telescope if you're blind! Sure, I can yo-yo, but it somehow loses its appeal when you can't see it," Jack finished sarcastically.

Sam bristled at his self-pity. Forcing down her raging emotions, she said, "I'm sorry you feel that way, I won't bother you anymore."—and left the room.

Sam's tone slapped Jack across the face. And he suddenly realized the regulations were gone. "Sam, wait—" he called after her, but the sound of the door slamming shut cut him off. The ominous sound seemed to end more than just their conversation. To Jack, it seemed to kill any chance that their relationship, which had always threatened to become more than was allowed between an Air Force officer and his subordinate, could finally be pursued beyond mere friendship.

He had been so focused on what he had lost, he hadn't thought about what he stood to gain. For once, the cliché was true; this cloud, at least, had had a silver lining. He wasn't in the Air Force anymore, so he wasn't Sam's commanding officer; the regulations didn't apply. He had finally had a chance for a romantic relationship with her, and he had blown it.

He had been a selfish jerk, ranting about there being nothing for him to live for to the one person who made his life worth living. It was his own fault; it always was—like when he had left his gun out where his son could get it, and after Charlie's death, by cutting himself off from his ex-wife, so Sara had left him.

Now, he was doing the same thing to Sam. He was destroying the one good thing that was left in his life. Sam probably thought that he didn't care about her. But he did; he loved her. Sometime in the endless darkness of his cell, he had finally admitted it to himself.

A sickening, lonely feeling settled into the pit of his stomach, and his heart ached at the thought that he had caused her to stop caring for him. She would never forgive him, not after the way he had acted. That fact brought his world tumbling down around him. Without Sam, he really didn't have anything to live for.

Daniel stretched his right arm, being careful not to move his left too much, and yawned. He shifted in his chair trying to put as little pressure as possible on the multiple cuts and bruises in his left side, wincing as they inevitably started throbbing.

Trying to ignore the pain running up and down his body, he reached for his pen again and continued taking notes on the artifact sitting in front of him.

In an amazing display of psychic powers, Janet walked in just then, catching the pained expression on the archaeologist's face.

"Daniel!" The doctor scolded him. "You shouldn't be working. I thought I sent you home hours ago."

"Um…well…if you did, then why are you here?" he asked impishly.

She shot him a glare, but immediately belied it by breaking into a beautiful smile that Daniel would have endured a lot more pain just to see. "Because I know that you and Sam never leave without a direct order and that was more of a…strong suggestion," she replied. "Here, take these, and I don't want to see you anywhere near this office for the next twenty-four hours. Go home, Dr. Jackson."

Daniel nodded reluctantly and then gave the pills she handed him a skeptical look.

"Painkillers," Janet answered his unspoken question, her psychic abilities showing up again. "And I don't want you drinking coffee, at least until tomorrow. Take them with water." She took his coffee mug, glancing at its contents, and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye, Janet," Daniel said as she crossed the room, picking her way delicately through the piles of artifacts, books, and notes. He sat there for a few more minutes before gingerly lifting himself out of his chair and turning toward the door.

Janet was still standing by the doorway. "Good night, Daniel," she said with a sugar-sweet smile.

Daniel watched her go, smiling to himself. Glancing down at the pills in his hand, he pocketed them before following her to the elevator. By the time he got there, she was gone, so he waited for it to come back down from, assumedly, sub-level 21.

Stepping in, his hand hovered over the button for sub-level 25, which held the locker rooms where he could change into his civilian clothes.

Maybe he should see what Sam was doing. She would probably still be on base. Besides, he needed a ride anyway and it would do Sam good to turn in early. He knew she hadn't slept well in weeks; he certainly hadn't.

"Dr. Jackson?"

Daniel suddenly realized someone was trying to get his attention, and it wasn't the first time: he could tell by the man's tone.

"Huh? Oh, yes?" Daniel turned toward the airman who had said his name. The man was looking at him curiously, probably unused to Daniel's idiosyncrasies.

"Are you going to pick a level, Dr. Jackson?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah…sorry." Daniel licked his lips and pressed the button for sub-level 19. "What level are you…?"

"20," he replied. Daniel pushed that button, too.

A few minutes later, Daniel emerged from the elevator and followed the corridors until he reached the far end of one, where Sam's lab was. He knocked on the door.

"Come in," Sam called from inside.

Sam was sitting at her lab bench, tinkering with some device. Daniel didn't know what it was supposed to do.

"Hi, Sam," he greeted her, approaching and looking curiously at the alien technology.

"Hi, Daniel. Is there something I can help you with?" she asked; her tone seemed rushed, and Daniel hoped he hadn't interrupted a vital experiment.

"Um, well, if you're busy I'll…" He frowned at her, noticing for the first time something different about her. She seemed…distracted, but not by her work. Her eyes were red, and she had the air of someone who didn't want anyone to know she was upset about something. "Are you all right?"

Sam put on a fake smile. "I'm fine, Daniel. How's your shoulder?"

"I'm…fine. Uh, how's Jack?" he asked, deciding not to press her for now.

There was a definite change in Sam's demeanor. "He's fine," she said curtly. "I'm sorry, Daniel, but I really need to finish this, so unless you need something…?"

She's dismissing me. Something's bothering her. What does Jack have to do with it? Daniel thought. He had a hypothesis as to what it was.

"Sam, Jack will adjust. He's adaptable that way," he told her. Then something occurred to him. "Now that he's retired again, the regulations don't—I suppose you realized that already," he cut himself off.

Sam rather suddenly turned away from her friend, pretending to busy herself with something on the table behind her. "Yes, I had. But why would I care?" Her voice sounded strained, causing Daniel's brow to furrow in worry.

"I thought—you and Jack—um…you don't?" he asked, eyebrows fairly dancing in confusion.

Sam sniffled and cleared her throat, the first indication she was holding back tears. "The colonel's still the colonel, so why should I?"

"Oh…What did Jack do?"

"Nothing! He didn't do anything. I thought…" Sam's exclamation trailed off into more sniffles as she brushed back the tears that had escaped.

"Thought what, Sam?" Daniel asked gently, coming up behind her and comfortingly putting his hand on her shoulder.

"I guess it doesn't matter anymore," she said, turning tear-filled eyes toward him. He pulled his hand back and crossed his arms over his chest as well as he could—having only one good arm—hugging himself tightly in an attempt at a posture he used a lot. "I thought…Jack…Do you remember four years ago, when we thought the colonel and I were Zatarcs?" Sam asked.

"Yes, it turned out the two of you had left something out…Was it…?" His eyes widened at the implications. He suspected that it had had something to do with Sam and Jack's relationship—and Janet had hinted—but this confirmed it.

Sam nodded. "Jack said…" She took a deep breath. "That he…cared about me a lot more than regulations allowed." She dropped her gaze; her tears streaming freely now.

"I assume you said something similar," Daniel said.

Sam nodded. "All I could think was, if only Jack survived, it would be alright if I died. At least he would be safe." Daniel reached out and pulled the blonde astrophysicist toward him, wrapping his arms around her. She laid her head on his shoulder. "I thought that Jack cared about me…but I was wrong." She buried her face in his shoulder and cried.

Daniel whispered comforting things to her. When I catch Jack, I'm going to kill him! Daniel thought. Sam was like a sister to him and Jack was like an older brother; an older brother who could be a jerk sometimes. Daniel understood that it must be hard for him to adjust to everything that had happened, but that was no excuse for hurting Sam like this. He wondered if Jack even knew he had.

Sam pulled away, wiping at her tears. "Thanks. I'm sorry for dumping all this on you."

"You're welcome; it's what friends are for," Daniel dismissed it as a common occurrence, pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. "Sam, Jack does care about you. If you ask me, I think he's head over heels in love with you, but you know Jack, he can…well, he can be a little dense sometimes."

"Don't let the dumb act fool you," Sam said bitterly. "He spelled it out to me, loud and clear." She was angry now.

"Maybe you should talk to him about it."

Sam shot him a look that said, "Whose side are you on?", causing Daniel to half-cross his arms again. "What's there to talk to him about? He might have cared about me once, but not anymore. It's been three years." Sam wiped at her face again, trying to clean it and headed for the door. "I'll be alright. See you tomorrow, Daniel." And she was gone.

"Or, I could talk to him," Daniel said to the empty room.

On his way to Jack's room, Daniel stopped by the commissary to get some water and take the painkillers Janet had given him.

He arrived in corridor R3 to find two airmen standing outside what Daniel assumed was Jack's door.

"How did you get assigned to colonel-sitting duty?" one of the men asked the other.

"Isn't that a little harsh, Wilson?" the second man asked.

"Nah, you won't think that after you've been here for a few hours. Colonel O'Neill's never been the most likable person, but since he went blind, he's been downright…cantankerous. And he's gotten worse since Major Carter came to see him a few hours ago. I don't know what's up with those two," Wilson complained.

I guess Jack does realize how much he's hurt Sam, Daniel thought.

"Should you really be talking about the colonel that way?" the other airman asked.

"O'Neill's not Air Force anymore. You could say anything about him you wanted to. In fact I think General Hammond gave him way too much leniency—Dr. Jackson!" The man's expression was the epitome of guilt as he noticed Daniel.

"Airmen," Daniel said simply, knocking on the door. "Jack, it's Daniel," the linguist said, in answer to Jack's surly reply to the sound.

"Come in," Jack called, and Daniel did.

Jack was sprawled on his bed, looking bored to death. He sat up as Daniel greeted him. "Hi, Jack."

"Hey, Danny," Jack answered dryly.

"Uh…you…how…are you?" Daniel asked, hesitatingly, hugging himself with one arm again.

"Oh, just peachy." Jack's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "You know, the room service here is really great. And there's just so much to do."

"Did you need—"

"Don't—say it!" Jack said, raising his hands in protest. "What do you want, Daniel?" he asked sharply.

Daniel took his friend's rude tone in stride. "Jack, you should at least try to be civil. We all missed you, especially Sam."

Jack's face hardened noticeably, "She may have, but—Look, Daniel, if you want to talk curling or something go ahead, but I'm sick and tired of people asking if I need anything," Jack said, changing the subject suddenly. "If that's what you're here for…don't bother."

"I, uh, came to talk," Daniel told him, licking his lips.

"Oh, here we go!" Jack exclaimed, sitting up. "I thought I told you explicitly what I thought of this whole feelings sharing thing," he said, referring to the time when he had been on a covert mission he couldn't share with the rest of his team. He had been acting uncharacteristically and Daniel had come over to talk.

Jack was sitting in his living room playing chess with himself when the doorbell rang. Getting up, a beer in hand, he opened the door.

"Hi," Daniel greeted him, looking a little uneasy.

"What do you want?" Jack answered sourly.

"I'm not, uh, I'm not sure, to tell you the truth. I'm here to talk, I guess."

"So talk," was Jack's curt reply, not letting him in, but staring at him impassively. He took a swig of his beer.

"You got another one of those?" the archaeologist asked, in an obvious attempt to get Jack to let him in.

"Yeah," Jack answered obstinately.

"Feel like sharing?" Daniel tried again.

"Beer? Sure."

Jack went into the kitchen, leaving Daniel to come in if he wanted. Daniel took a seat in the living room. Jack came out a few minutes later, bottle in hand.

"So? How are you feeling about all this?" Daniel started.

"Yes to the beer. No to the feelings," Jack said.

The rest of their conversation hadn't gone much better, ending with Jack saying there was no foundation to their friendship. Daniel had been relieved to find out it had been an act for whomever had bugged Jack's house.

"Well, I thought it had all been an act," Daniel returned, "So I disregard that conversation."

"Most of it was an act. But not that part; everything after that was—except…we're all right with that, aren't we?" he trailed off, changing the subject again.

"We are," Daniel replied. He thought for a moment. "Jack, what did you say to Sam?"

The abrupt topic change—a taste of his own medicine—threw Jack off for a moment. His unseeing eyes darted around for a second, before settling straight ahead again. Recovering quickly, his omnipresent sarcasm laced his tone, "'Hi, Carter. How ya been? Get any fishing in, lately?' That sort of thing," Jack replied flippantly.

"Jack…" Daniel said, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

"Daniel," Jack replied warningly.

Daniel decided to try the blunt approach. "Jack, I found Sam crying in her lab. She'd probably kill me if she knew I'd told you," he said, his words coming out in a rush. "I don't know what you said or why you said it, but she's hurting, and I think you are too," he said, fervently gesticulating.

Jack twitched, but he patched the crack in his stoic demeanor almost immediately. "Daniel, stick to archaeology," he said unkindly. Standing up, he started following the wall with his hand, turning his back on his friend.

"Jack…She thinks you don't care about her anymore. I know you do—"

"Daniel!" Jack yelled, turning back, allowing the younger man to see the turmoil in his eyes. "Don't you think I know! I've been torturing myself since she left. Sam—Sam has every right to hate me!" Jack admitted, "I love her, Daniel."

"Then tell her, Jack."

"I can't!" Jack told him angrily, turning again to slam his fist against the concrete wall. Daniel cringed at what the action must have done to his hand. "She'll never forgive me! Besides she deserves better," he said despairingly.

"What…happened?"

"I'm a jerk. Leave it at that," Jack growled. "I was frustrated and wasn't thinking. I forgot who I was talking to."

Daniel sighed. "Jack, Sam will understand. Just talk to her."

The only response he got was Jack flexing the hand he had jammed into the concrete. Knowing his stubborn friend could stonewall with the best of them, Daniel left, hoping Jack would come to his senses before he caused Sam, and himself, any more pain.

Author's Note: Poor Jack and Sam. Jack really needs to work on his people skills. Let's hope Daniel has knocked some sense into him. Not that I don't know whether he does. Grins Don't worry I'm not stopping here. I was going to, but chapter ten really needs to be by itself so I've decided to give you nine now and ten tomorrow. Ten's not that much longer than most of the chapters, but a lot of things go on in it. Eleven and the epilogue will be in the same chapter because the epilogue is short. Keep the reviews coming, please. Thanks!