Passing Over
He left the mountain early.
After the confrontation with Jacob, he just couldn't concentrate—an act which, for O'Neill, was sketchy even on the best days. He'd read the same paragraph of his speech twice at the new recruit orientation, and then at the budget and human resources meeting, he'd spaced out over the entire section devoted to replacing the off world sand-colored BDUs with the new digitally enhanced version. They'd asked his opinion, and he'd told them that he'd have to see the tapes.
When he realized what they'd actually been talking about, he stood up abruptly and left. He hadn't even gone back to his office for his stuff. Keys and wallet were all he needed to drop by Neelan's on the way home and pick up some Guinness, anyway.
And crutch, or not, he was really in the mood for a good, old fashioned bender. The kind of drink-until-you're-incapable-of-opening-another-one binge that he hadn't allowed himself since he'd recognized that the drinking was becoming habitual rather than casual.
So he'd hopped up into the Super Duty and fired it up, driving the few miles to the liquor store without even being cognizant that he had. But then he'd sat in the parking lot, staring at the blinking 'Open' sign, wondering what the hell had brought him here. He needed an escape, an outlet. But he knew that this—oblivion—he'd been seeking, wasn't it.
It almost hurt, to know that release sat just within the ad-encrusted doors, and he couldn't let himself take it.
Still, it had taken several long, hard minutes to turn the engine back over and reverse his way out of the parking lot. And then he'd driven aimlessly for a long time through the Springs, finally coming to a stop outside a long, gray, low bank of buildings. He didn't know what made him feel weaker—needing the beer, or needing the good Doctor.
But he got out of the truck anyway.
Brittany was back behind her desk—along with her omnipresent gum. She looked up and grinned. "General!"
"Is she here?" He said, without preamble.
"Well, yeah, but—she's got a couple in there." Brittany glanced towards the doctor's office and then leaned towards the glass conspiratorially. "Big marital problems."
"Does she have someone after?"
Brittany looked down at her schedule. "On the half hour—but no one 'til then."
Jack twisted his arm to peer at his watch. "I'll wait."
"Wow." Brittany breathed. "Crisis?"
O'Neill ignored her and went to sit down. Before he could, however, Doc Polly's door opened and out came a middle aged man, followed by a much younger woman. The woman was crying profusely. "I just want to thank you, Doctor Biago." She sniffled. "I think I can endure now. Endure the pain of being neglected and ignored."
Jack glanced at the doctor, whose expression was one of muffled skepticism. "Remember to journal your feelings, Amanda, and communication is always the key."
Amanda burst into a new flood of tears and turned, throwing her arms around the doctor's neck. "Bless your heart, Doctor Biago! You have a gift!"
Doc Polly patted her on the back and then ushered them out of the office. Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned to Jack. "Well. The prodigal returns."
"Do you have a minute?"
"I doubt one will do, but we'll start with it, anyway."
She led him back, adjusting pillows and furniture as she went. "Drama queens are always the worst of the lot."
He stopped in the doorway and watched as she retrieved a yellow legal pad from her desk. "Should you really be talking about your other patients this way?"
"Well," Doc Polly dropped down onto the chaise. "Since she aired her laundry in the waiting room, I think you probably already know that she's a drama queen."
Jack forced a smile. "Young wife like that. Older husband." He shrugged. "Lotsa problems."
"Why is age their issue?"
O'Neill could feel the doctor watch him cross the room and sit in his tall backed chair. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. "Young wife, doesn't know what she's getting into. Marries for money, and finds out he's rich because he works a lot, and then feels neglected. Simple enough."
"Jump to conclusions much?"
"Usually." Jack tried to play it light. "You're not the only gifted one around here."
"Well, General, that particular gift isn't going to help you much."
He had no answer for that.
"Speaking of helping, I have this wonderful thing called an appointment book. How it works is you call ahead and choose which day you'd like to come and see me, and then we're both prepared."
"There is no preparation for my life." O'Neill spoke more to himself than to her. "I'm not sure there's any help for it, either."
"Wow. Self pity. That's fun." The doctor nodded her head slightly. "So why don't you tell me what brings you here today."
"I have a girlfriend." He scowled. "Although a guy at my age having a girlfriend—what do they call them nowadays? Women friends? Partners? Whatever. I seem to have one."
"That sounds like a good thing." The doctor picked up a legal pad and turned some sheets toward the back so that she could take notes on a fresh one. "Where did you meet her?"
"In a bar—but we discovered that we actually work together."
"Who made the move?"
"She did."
"Did that make you uncomfortable?"
"Everything having to do with women right now makes me uncomfortable."
"But let's focus on this particular time."
"We were both sitting at the bar, eating our dinners, and she started talking to me. Nothing more interesting than that."
"And how did that make you feel?"
"The wings?"
"Jack." Doc Polly tapped her pen against her legal pad.
"It felt good. It felt really good."
"Why?"
"I suppose you want a deep well-thought-out answer right here."
"I want your answer, whatever that might be."
Jack had actually thought about this before. "It felt good because she wanted me."
"Were you attracted to her?"
"She's beautiful and funny." O'Neill shrugged. "So, yeah, any guy would have been."
"What attracted you more—the beauty part, or her obvious attraction to you?"
The doctor waited patiently while O'Neill processed this. He studied his shoes as he did so, his face falling into an irascible frown. "I suppose that would make me really shallow to say that she had a great rack?"
Doc Polly smiled and tweaked an eyebrow. "I guess that would make you a guy. But a great rack doesn't necessarily rate a call back. You've seen one, and all that."
"My Dad used to say, 'you've seen one, you've seen them both'."
Doc Polly chuckled. "Okay. I think I would have liked your Dad. But go on."
Jack paused before answering. "I think that in the current state of things, any moderately intelligent, moderately attractive woman would have served my purposes."
"How emotionally attached are you?"
"It's only been a few weeks."
"We've already established the fact that you're not run of the mill. A few weeks for you is substantial."
Jack licked his lips. "I like her."
"Do you like her enough?"
"For what?"
"To give up everything else."
His deck shoes needed to be replaced. He could see the stitching unraveling around one big toe, and the heels were worn. But they were comfortable, so he hadn't done it yet. That, and it took time, and time was something he was always short of these days. And shoes being women. . .
"She suffices." Jack glanced up to the see the good doctor watching him. "For now."
"And is that enough for you?"
Jack knew the answer to the soles of those worn shoes. Hadn't he already recognized that? But people stayed together for convenience's sake all the time—it didn't matter what that convenience was. "Right now she's providing an escape for me."
"Escape from what?"
"From other crap—from other people."
"The one getting married?"
"Yeah. I guess."
"How are you doing with that?"
The look on Jack's face was answer enough.
"Okay, then. Does this woman know the complications involved with that?"
"No. I don't think so."
Doc Polly tapped her pen again. "And for exactly how long is this other woman going to serve as your stand-in for the one that you really want?"
Jack's lips pulled tight. His jaw clenched and unclenched rhythmically.
"Is it fair to her?"
O'Neill scrubbed his face with his hands. "No."
"Jack, I normally don't give people advice. I'm supposed to gently lead them to where they need to go mentally, emotionally." She clasped her hands in front of her and leaned forward, mirroring his pose. "But what the hell. Time is short." She paused. "You have an innate morality to you. You're one of those people for whom everyday decisions—a simple fling, for example—has long lasting spiritual connotations. I'm not talking religious here—I'm talking your spirit—psyche, soul—whatever you want to call it. I don't think that this new relationship is going to give you what you want, because what you want is to be with Sam. And you're trying to do the moral thing, by stepping back and letting her marry the shrub."
Jack smiled briefly. He hadn't remembered calling him that in front of the doctor. Apparently, it had snuck into their conversations somehow without him noticing.
The doctor must have read his smile. "Daniel calls him that, too." She laid her hands flat together, like a young child praying, the pen sandwiched between them. "Anyway, what I was saying is that the moral thing here is nebulous. Is it moral to let her go, or is it the right thing to do to let her know in no uncertain terms what you want? To give her that information before she makes this decision?"
"I've been asked that twice recently. Her father said basically that same thing this morning."
Doc Polly's eyebrows skyrocketed. "Wow. Dad even thinks so. That's big."
"Especially if you knew her dad."
"So, if you're looking for meaningless sex, then bully for you. Go on as you are." She sat back up straight on the chaise and capped her pen. "But I think that if you let this wedding happen without even trying—if you give up—you'll live with that regret all the rest of your life. And regret like that breaks people."
Jack stood up, but she fixed him in place with her gaze. "That kind of regret will break you."
He waited until she blinked before walking out.
----OOOOOOO----
Kerry was sitting on his front porch when he arrived home. She had a paper bag sitting on the step beside her. Poking out of the open top he could see a bottle of wine and a loaf of French Bread. Apparently, even paper bags could be clichés.
It wasn't that he wasn't happy to see her—it was just that he wasn't happy to see her.
He really had wanted to come home and sit for a while on his deck, watching his hummingbirds, flicking what—coke bottle tops, maybe—at the cats. Not that Coke bottle tops were as accurate as Guinness caps—but hey—make do, right? And he really, really needed to think. You couldn't do that with Kerry around. She filled a person's head.
"Hi, handsome." She called while he climbed out of his truck. "I thought I'd cook."
Jack forced another smile. "Okay." He passed her to insert his key in the door. He knew that she'd positioned herself for a kiss, but he'd avoided her. She'd cast him an odd look, then stood to follow him, hefting the package in her arms and tossing her hair out of her eyes.
They trailed into the kitchen, and stopped short.
Cassie stood at the refrigerator, holding a soda, and Craig sat at the table, a sandwich on a paper plate in front of him.
"Oh. Hi." Cassie glanced between Jack and Kerry. "I wasn't expecting you." She closed the fridge and opened her can of soda.
"No school today?"
"Break between terms." Cassie took a drink and forced it down. "School starts up again next week."
Jack gestured to Cassie, then Craig. "Kerry Johnson, Cassandra Frasier, and Craig—something. Cassie, this is Kerry. "
Cassandra smiled and gestured limply with her soda, although the smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
Kerry nodded to Cassandra and Craig in turn. "Nice to meet you. Would you like to stay for dinner? I've got enough for four."
Cassandra threw a scathing look at Jack, who rolled his eyes and sighed. After a beat he said, "Cassie—can I talk to you on the porch?"
She shrugged and set her can down on the counter before following him out through the living room and out the side door.
Jack stopped at the top of the stairs, and turned to wait for Cassie to catch up. She stopped in front of him and stood still, staring into the yard at the birdfeeder. For a second, there was a tense, loud silence, then Jack put his hands in his pockets and began.
"I know that you're mad at me, and I know that you're disappointed about how stuff's going. I'm going to try and fix things—try to do what I can, at least. And I'm asking you to trust me."
She stubbornly refused to look at him.
"Cassie."
She looked at him from under her fringe of hair. "I've always trusted you, Jack."
"Really?" O'Neill gazed back at her steadily. "You coulda fooled me."
"I just feel like I'm—I don't know—drifting—and there isn't anyone around who's normal. You used to be. I used to feel like you and Sam and Daniel and Teal'c were my family—especially right after Mom died. But now—Daniel's missing, and Teal'c's gone back to Dakara, and Sam doesn't care anymore, and you are," she cast a glance in through the window, where Kerry was visible busy at a counter, chatting with Craig, "otherwise occupied."
"Carter cares for you."
"She loves Pete more."
"No, she's just trying to find something—something she really wants."
"She's looking in the wrong places."
O'Neill nodded. "Yes. You're right. But she has to figure that out." He held out both hands to her, palms up. "I'm asking you to be patient. Support her."
"And you're never around anymore—you're always with her." She jerked her head towards the window, the counter, and the woman within.
"I'm never too busy for you."
"You didn't come home that night."
"You left Sam the same way." Jack countered.
"Yeah, but I'm the kid in this equation. You're the adult."
"Wasn't that just you a few weeks ago talking about how you're all grown up?"
Cassie had the grace to grin sheepishly. "Okay, then, you're older. You should know better."
"I do, Cass. And I know that you needed me and I wasn't there for you, and all I can do is say I'm sorry."
She stood quietly, chewing thoughtfully on her top lip. "I was a brat."
"Kinda." He gave her a half a smile. "But you're still my brat."
"I'm so sorry, Jack." Jack held out his hands to her, and she crossed the distance to hurl herself at him.
O'Neill enfolded her within his strength, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "We're gonna get through this, kid."
But Cassie only sighed and tightened her grip on him, and Jack was mollified by the fact that if everything really did go to hell, he'd at least have been a part of Cassie's life, and that counted for something.
If it went to hell, it might count for everything.
----OOOOOOO----
Craig and Cassie stayed for dinner. Their presence provided the buffer that Jack needed. He hadn't been expecting Kerry to be there when he'd arrived home, but watching her surreptitiously while she interacted with other people gave him an opportunity to assess his relationship honestly.
She was kind. She treated Craig and Cassie like long-lost relatives, offering advice and telling funny stories. She was also presumptuous. She treated Cassie and Craig as if she actually knew them.
She carried the majority of the conversation—she was bright and witty. She was too bubbly, too chatty. She reminded Jack of Jonas Quinn—and even though he'd deep down admitted a grudging respect for the Kelownan, he wouldn't have wanted to spend more time than necessary in his presence off-hours.
She played with her hair a lot—moving it this way or that, and shaking it out of her eyes like some Breck Girl ad from the seventies. That would get annoying.
She touched him a lot. It could have been sweet, if he liked sweet women, but sweet would get boring really fast—and it embarrassed him in front of Cassie, which surprised him. If they were meant to be together, shouldn't he like showing affection in front of other people he loved?
He felt like he was making a mental list—imaginary columns of positives and negatives. Right now, the columns were about even.
Cassie had honored Jack's wishes and been polite all the way through dessert, thanking Kerry genuinely for the meal. Then she and Craig had gone to the movies. Suddenly alone with Kerry, Jack found himself lingering over cleaning up the kitchen.
"So, Craig seems nice." She'd started several conversations already—he'd pretended he hadn't heard.
"He's a little jumpy."
Kerry leaned back against the counter and dried her hands on a towel. "He's sweet with Cassie."
O'Neill snorted. He stood at the sink, rinsing the last of the dirty water down the drain. "He's afraid of me."
"Well, when you sit through dinner and scowl at people, that's what happens." Kerry crossed the kitchen to stand next to O'Neill. "But I'm not afraid of you. I know what's under that foul look." She tweaked his chin, and he fought the urge to move away from her hand. He really wasn't in the mood.
She threw the towel onto the counter beside the sink and shifted so that she was right in front of the General. "I know what's under this shirt, too." Her fingers played with a button.
He caught her hand. "Look, Kerry—I need to deal with a few things in the morning—and I could barely keep my concentration today."
"It's early." She slipped the button free. "We'll go to bed early and then you can get up as early as you want."
"Kerry—" he stilled her hand with his own, pressing it to his chest. "Not tonight. Please. I'm not there tonight."
"Oh. Well. Okay. I'm sorry if I thought—" She pulled her hand free, looked around, found her purse and moved towards it.
Jack caught her arm and pulled her back to him. He gave her a quick, hard hug. "How's this for cliché—it's not you, it's me?"
Kerry grinned. She pressed her forehead to his chest, then followed that with a kiss on one pectoral. Looking up, she quirked an eyebrow. "I'll accept that cliché and raise you one. I'll stay and we won't do anything."
Jack grimaced inwardly. He couldn't think of a rejoinder to that. He shrugged and gently set her away from him. "Wanna watch some TV? The Simpson's is on."
Kerry frowned, then followed him as he walked into the living room. "Okay, I'll give it another try."
"Give what another try?"
"The Simpson's—I watched it once but thought it was pretty stupid."
That put another tic mark in the negative column.
----OOOOOOO----
He lay in bed later, listening to her gentle breathing, reflecting on his mental check list. She'd been true to her word, not making any physical moves on him other than a chaste peck on the lips as they'd bid each other good night. She'd turned over and been asleep within a few minutes.
Jack, on the other hand, couldn't get to sleep. As he'd tallied up pros and cons, the columns were even, until you got to one glaring point.
Kerry wasn't Carter.
And what was worse was that he still wanted to roll over and wake Kerry up and take his refuge with her—lose himself as he had been for the past few weeks. Only the fact that he was conscious of his motive now prevented him from doing it.
He knew that he was using Kerry's body to fill in for the one he really wanted. He knew that each time he'd stroked or caressed Kerry, he'd been imagining it to be Carter he was touching. Doc Polly had been right—once he admitted it to himself, he didn't feel right about continuing. Kerry was a good person—she didn't deserve to be used like that.
So he laid in his own bed like an interloper, trying to stay as far as possible from its other occupant. And when he finally drifted off to sleep, it was to dream brokenly of porcelain skin, wheat blond hair, and impossibly blue eyes, quiet moans and breathless sighs.
And when the phone rang and it was Carter's voice on the other end, telling him about problems with the Jaffa, he nearly cried with the unfairness of it all.
At that moment, he would have given anything to have been able to fall in love with the woman in his bed.
He would have given anything to be able to not love the woman on the phone.