Chapter Ten

General Hammond sat in his office, reports and other military records spread out on his desk in front of him. The task he was tackling at the moment was trying to choose a replacement for Colonel O'Neill as second-in-command of the SGC.

Hammond sighed, looking up from the personnel records and leaning back in his chair.

He couldn't imagine what Jack was going through. It was a scary thing to go blind and lose your mobility, to lose control of your life, especially for someone like Jack. He was a man of action and of very few words. He disliked looking vulnerable.

Hammond's gaze rested on a television sitting on a wheeled stand at the far end of the room. In the VCR was a recording of O'Neill's debriefing on the mission to P8X-345 and his subsequent capture.

Picking the remote up off his desk, George pressed play. He had already gone over the tape once.

Colonel O'Neill was sitting at the briefing room table, across from the video camera. Even on the recording, you could tell he couldn't see anything, just by the way his eyes didn't move.

Hammond's voice came from off camera, Whenever you're ready, Colonel.

We arrived on P8X-345, and Daniel and Carter got started doing their thing, O'Neill started flippantly. Then he continued in a more serious voice. Hammond noticed this time around that Jack's tone seemed to change slightly as he said Major Carter's name.

The general found himself entranced watching O'Neill's sightless eyes. They moved ever so slightly once in a while, especially when someone spoke, but mostly they remained motionless.

I found myself separated from my team, the colonel was saying, Jaffa were everywhere. We were pinned down. I ordered them back to the 'gate. Jack's voice didn't change this time, but his eyes were suddenly full of emotion. Hammond had noticed this before, too. He wasn't sure what Jack wasn't telling him, but whatever it was, it was enough to break through the colonel's emotional barriers. Or was it? Maybe when he lost his sight, he lost the ability to keep his emotions from his eyes as he kept them from his face.

The next thing I knew I was in one of those dang sarcophaguses. Jack shivered visibly. I was taken before a goold. She shot me in the face with a Zat, Jack hesitated. I woke up…in the dark. I…don't remember anything else until I woke up again in the infirmary.

Hammond heard himself thank O'Neill; and right before the tape ran itself out, he just barely heard Jack mutter under his breath, Gosh, I hate the Goold!

Hammond pulled O'Neill's medical report out of the pile on his desk.

Doctor Fraiser had been interested to hear that a zatn'kitel had caused the colonel's blindness. That explains a lot, she had said. Unfortunately, it hadn't changed Jack's condition; there was still no way to fix it.

Sighing again, George put the medical file away and, turning back to the personnel records, wished, not for the first time, none of this had happened.

Janet led Jack to the briefing room. General Hammond wanted to see him. Jack had tried the first few minutes of their trip to get out of the good doctor what exactly the general wanted, but Janet wouldn't tell him anything.

"Hello, Jack," Hammond greeted him. "Have a seat."

"George," Jack returned as Janet laid his hand on a chair. "What can a blind, retired colonel do for you?" he asked, sitting down.

Jack heard Hammond sigh at his cynicism. "Dr. Fraiser tells me she's given you a clean bill of health."

"Such as it is, yes."

"If you're ready, you can go home. I'll assign an airman to help you out and drive you around until you've found a more permanent solution," Hammond told him.

Jack mentally scowled. "I'd prefer a member of my team, Sir."

"Dr. Jackson is currently in no condition to drive himself, let alone you."

"Teal'c can drive, General," Jack said hopefully.

"Teal'c doesn't have a driver's license, Colonel. That just leaves Major Carter."

That's no good, Jack thought, Not after the way I've been acting and that stunt I pulled on her in her lab… Than again, having Sam there would provide him with an opportunity to apologize, though it would also cause awkward silences—which he hated. He wanted to spend time with her, but not with the tension that had built between them. She's better than some airman, isn't she?

No, another part of his mind said, I obviously don't have any control over myself around her.

Well, I can't refuse Sam after I specifically asked for a member of my team; she hates me enough.

"Very good, Sir," Jack said, trying not to sound too against the idea.

Sam covertly glanced from the road to her charge in the seat beside her—an unnecessary precaution, considering he was blind. Jack was sitting in the passenger seat of her silver Volvo, fingers drumming restlessly on the armrest. She could tell, by the way he kept scrunching up his face, that he didn't like this arrangement one bit.

That's okay; I don't like it either, she thought, Just grin and bear it, Sam.

When General Hammond had asked her to do it, she had considered refusing, but who knew what Jack would think of that. She still couldn't figure out why she cared what Jack thought, but she did.

She was so confused. A bundle of emotions was all tangled up inside her. She could back-engineer alien technology without too much of a problem, but Jack O'Neill always left her lost and confused. He was a puzzle all right, one she had been trying to solve since that day she walked into that first briefing and challenged him to an arm-wrestling match. Her first impression of him had been of an arrogant male chauvinist who had no respect for anyone. She had been wrong then, but she had a feeling that he gave most people the wrong impression when they first met him. In fact, she had seen him do it on purpose hundreds of times.

She was mad at him, but at the same time, she was still in love with him. She wanted to yell at him, call him a jerk, slap him, but at the same time, she would give anything to kiss him. She was getting a headache trying to sort her feelings out. She wished he would just explain it to her straight out. Whether he told her he was in love with her and that it had all been a big misunderstanding, or he said he didn't love her anymore or that he never did, she would be satisfied as long as he told her the truth, no matter how painful.

"So…" Jack said awkwardly.

"So," Sam replied just as awkwardly.

"…Daniel says you haven't been off base since I…died."

"Yes, Sir—Jack. I…had a lot of work to do."

"Ah." Jack lapsed back into silence and Sam wracked her brain for something to say.

"I'm going to say this one more time," he spoke up, "Didn't I order you to get a life?"

Jack's tone, one of exasperation she had heard hundreds of times before without it bothering her, this time for some reason struck a chord, causing her anger to flair up. "I'm sorry; I didn't realize those orders still applied after you'd died!" she bit out.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack's face harden in response. For a moment, she thought he was going to come back with some angry retort, but he hung his head a second and said quietly, "Sorry…I didn't mean it like that. I sometimes forget to think before I talk."

Sam was a little surprised at his honesty. She wondered if his latter statement applied to what had happened the other day. "It's alright; I shouldn't have jumped at you like that," Sam said.

The awkward silence thickened. Jack cleared his throat, "So, pull any brilliant ideas out of your…head lately?" Jack asked. The slight pause before he said the word "head" was a subtle reference to the time he had used a different word before correcting himself; it was an obvious attempt to ease the tension.

It worked. Sam started to giggle, causing Jack to smile at her, and for a while, she forgot what he had done. "No, not really," she answered his question, still smiling. Jack's smile faded to a melancholy expression.

Sam felt sorry for him. It was a gorgeous day, she had the windows rolled down, the sun was shining pleasantly, and Jack was missing it all.

Sam pulled the Volvo into Jack's driveway and turned off the ignition. She watched as Jack's fingers found the button to release his seatbelt. Then getting out, she went around her car to help him into the house.

"Take the back way via the deck," Jack told her. Then, as she led him toward it, he added, "I've got this neighbor, Mrs. Sanders. Nice little old lady, but a bit nosey, and I don't feel like answering her questions right now."

As if hearing him, an old woman entered the driveway coming toward them. "Jonathan!" she called, causing Jack to wince.

"Mrs. Sanders," Jack greeted her with put-on cheerfulness, slipping his arm out of Sam's grasp. "How are you doing today?"

"I'm fine, dear. Who's your friend?" Mrs. Sanders' tone told Sam that Jack's attempt to hide the fact that she had been holding his arm had failed.

"This is Major Carter, a co-worker. Major, my neighbor, Mrs. Sanders."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Sanders. You can call me Sam." She offered the old woman her hand.

"Nice to meet you too, honey. And please, call me Bertha. I've tried to get Jonathan to, but he's just so darn stubborn," she said with a sweet smile.

"Yes, that would be me, Jonathan 'pig-headed' O'Neill," he muttered under his breath in a self- berating tone.

"Now, now, I didn't mean it like that," Mrs. Sanders chided him. She frowned a bit and looked at him closer. "Jonathan, is there something wrong?"

Jack sighed resignedly. "Yes, there was an accident at the place I work."

"That base where you study…" Mrs. Sanders started.

"Deep space radar telemetry, yeah."

"What happened?" she asked, sounding alarmed.

Jack grimaced. Sam interrupted, saving him from the awkward situation. "Bertha, Colonel O'Neill needs to rest. I'll come by your house a little later and explain everything to you, alright?"

"Of course. Get some rest, Jonathan. If you want, I'll call your parents and—"

"No! That's okay. I'll call them myself," Jack was quick to say.

"Alright, dear, I'll see you later."

When Sam returned from Mrs. Sanders' house about twenty minutes later, Jack called to her, "Carter? That you?"

"Yes, Sir," she replied out of habit.

Off the main hallway where she stood, the living room was down a few steps to her left, and the kitchen was through a doorway to her right. The dining room was directly in front of her, with a doorway into the kitchen on the right. The wall separating the dining room from the living room had a large, glassless window so you could see into it. The dining room table, which last time she had been there had been covered in week-old fast food packaging, was surprisingly clean.

She found Jack rummaging around in his kitchen, most likely trying to get a feel of where everything was.

"Carter?"

"Yes?" she replied, leaning against the counter, which appeared to have collected the containers the dining room table hadn't, and watching him.

"Thanks for the save back there. Mrs. Sanders can get a little…overprotective," Jack said, throwing out some Chinese food cartons that had probably been there for a while.

"I did have to do a lot of persuading to convince her that I could take care of—that you were fine," Sam corrected herself, clearing the counter behind her of the traces of tired nights after long missions that came in the form of take-out wrappers and pizza boxes.

"So, you hungry?" Jack asked, "We could order a pizza."

"Do you ever cook, Colonel?" Sam asked.

"Sure, I made…" He blew out his breath, as he couldn't think of an example. "How about Chinese?"

Sam laughed. "I'll make you something, Jack."

"You can cook?"

"Well, I'm no gourmet chef, but I can make something better than Chinese food and pizza."

Jack made a skeptical face. "I don't know…What did you have in mind?"

"Well, since you haven't had a home-cooked meal in a while, and I've been eating commissary food for weeks, I was thinking—" She opened and closed a couple cabinets, trying to see what he had in the way of food. "—Macaroni and Cheese?" she suggested dubiously when the only thing she found was a few boxes of it.

The corners of Jack's mouth twitched into a smile. "I meant to go to the store," Jack defended his sparse pantries with his usual irony. "Besides I like pizza and Chinese."

"Where are the pots?" Sam asked, smiling.

"Second cabinet, right of the sink." Jack started to feel his way toward the dining room as Sam pulled out a pot, filled it with water, and set it on the stove.

While the water was boiling, Sam cleaned up the kitchen a little. When the food was finished cooking, and Sam had set the table, she called for her former-CO, "Jack! Food's ready."

Jack came out of the living room. "Mmm, such delicacies."

Sam smiled. They sat down at the table across from each other. Jack found his fork with his right hand and his plate with his left. Carefully, he stabbed the fork on to the plate and then brought it to his mouth. He grimaced in annoyance when he realized there was nothing on it.

Sam wished there were some way she could help him. "Jack, when you woke up in the infirmary you said something about Daniel saying you were blind. What did you mean?"

"Daniel? I hadn't even seen Daniel yet. He was in surgery, right?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I don't remember." Jack shrugged.

Silence ensued, and Sam watched Jack continue to struggle with his food.

"Have you…seen Cassie recently?" Jack asked.

"No, but Janet told me she wanted to come over and see you."

Jack scraped at his plate, methodically checking every inch for macaroni. "I don't know if that's a good idea. I know she's busy, what with high school and all."

He doesn't want her to see him like this. Cassandra has always looked up to him, and he doesn't want her to see him so helpless, Sam realized, How like my dad.

Sam looked at Jack's plate. "It's empty," she told him.

"Thanks," he muttered, though he didn't sound grateful. He stood up and, picking up his plate, felt his way into the kitchen.

Sam followed, bringing her own plate. Jack found the sink and put his dishes in it. "I'll wash the dishes for you," Sam suggested, putting her own down to join his.

"No, that's all right, leave them," Jack said, a bit firmly. "You want some ice cream or a beer or something?" he offered, feeling along the counter toward the refrigerator. Sam stepped out of his way.

The refrigerator was practically empty, with only a few jars of various condiments and some milk, which was probably sour, considering how long Jack had been missing.

"I'll go to the store, if you're settled here," she said, trying again to help him.

"Thanks, Carter, but I'm fine. Like I said, I like fast food."

Sam glared at him. "Why won't you let me help you? You're so much like my father! If you can't stoop so low as to accept help, I don't know why I'm here!" she blurted angrily.

Jack seemed taken aback. He obviously hadn't expected that response. "Carter, I don't need your help. I'm a grown man and I can take care of myself," he said sternly.

"Fine! If you don't want me here, I'll go! I'll tell General Hammond to send an airman to be your chauffeur. I have work to do, anyway," she told him, storming out of the kitchen. She couldn't believe him, asking her here and then not letting her help him.

She was in the main hall when Jack called to her, "Sam, wait!" She stopped and turned around.

Jack, being the military man that he was, had thought to take the shortcut straight into the hall instead of following her through the dining room and was coming toward her with one hand on the wall to his left. She waited.

He stopped three feet from her. "Sam?"

"What?" she said harshly, tired of dealing with his stubbornness.

"What I said the other day, about having nothing to live for…I didn't mean it. I wasn't thinking and—" Jack stumbled awkwardly over what he was trying to say, but Sam interrupted him.

"Jack, I understand."

"You do?" The familiar confused expression crossed his face; the one he always wore when she tried to explain something scientific to him.

"Yes, you don't have to explain away what you said. You don't care about me anymore, and I've accepted that. I just wish you'd told me straight out."

"What? No, I—"

"Good-bye, Colonel." She took another step toward the door.

"Major!" Jack barked, putting all the force of his years as an Air Force colonel into his voice, and bringing Sam to an abrupt, conditioned stop. "Come here and listen," he ordered, holding out his hand.

Sam glared at him, but stepped closer and hesitatingly took his hand.

Sure that she was there, he let go. "Hear me out. Sam, I…I'm a stubborn jerk, and…I was so caught up in myself that I completely forgot about you and our 'situation.' I do care about you. I know you can't forgive me, but I…I'm sorry," he told her sincerely.

Sam felt her anger fading. Looking into his eyes, it vanished completely. They were filled with self-loathing. "I can forgive you, Jack," Sam said, taking his hand again.

"How?" he asked seriously.

Sam laughed, making Jack smile ruefully. Sam lifted his hand to her face and watched as Jack's expression changed to one of surprise. He traced his fingers along her genuine smile. His eyes were sorrowful at his lack of sight, but his expression was grateful.

"Sam," he said softly, cupping her cheek in his hand, "I love you."

Sam's eyes widened, she had never expected him to say that. She could see the truth of his statement clearly in his chocolate brown eyes. "I love you, too," she breathed.

Jack used the hand on her cheek to tilt her face toward his. Carefully, he leaned toward her. Sam met him halfway, kissing him. Jack returned it, bringing his other hand down to wrap around her waist. They were soon lost in a kiss full of four years repressed feelings and love that had been growing since they had met seven years before.

"I have to ask," Jack said as they broke the kiss, "Why do you love me? You deserve better."

The only answer she gave him was another kiss.

Author's Note: Thanks for all the great reviews! I can't believe everybody likes this so much! Here are two universal truths: Jack loves Sam. Sam loves Jack. Grins I'm so excited about posting this story I'm going to give you guys the end now, instead of tomorrow. Enjoy!