Over the course of the next several weeks Jack got very good at playing MacKenzie. Their sessions were an endless loop of questions that Jack hedged and fudged on until even he was buffaloed by the answers.
"Are you sleeping?"
"Yes."
Lie.
"Are you ready to lead your team?"
"Yes."
Lie.
"Can you command Major Carter in the field?"
"Yes."
Strong pang of pain slicing through his gut. Tamped back down, shoved in the box labeled Carter, to be dealt with at a later date with a tumbler of something dark and oaky.
It was after weeks of that that MacKenzie finally closed his folder and peered at Jack with a calculated look on his face. "Colonel O'Neill, I suspect that a lot of your progress is mind over matter, but in your case that might actually be enough."
Jack wasn't sure if that statement was leading up to something good or not.
"Moreover, your resistance to traditional therapeutic techniques ties my hands somewhat. You have been more cooperative than I envisioned, however, and with that in mind, and having seen the progress you've made," the man narrowed his eyes as if he knew Jack was a dirty, filthy liar, "I'm clearing you for active duty." He handed Jack a sheaf of official looking paperwork he knew he was supposed to take to General Hammond.
"Uh," he cleared his throat, "thanks," he said for lack of anything better to say. If he said anything else, he was afraid he'd give himself away as the fraud he knew himself to be.
Because there was a truth that Jack tried very hard not to dwell on. He slept, occasionally and fitfully. The nightmares were frequent and vivid and nothing chased them away. He thought incessantly of Sam in his bed and the further removed he was from his time with Astarte the more he contemplated what it would be like to feel Sam's hands on his body, wondered if she'd be able to drain him to a point that the dreams couldn't come.
He'd returned her overnight bag via Daniel but he'd broken and kept the t-shirt she'd slept in. She hadn't mentioned it but she wouldn't have. The few words they'd exchanged in the intervening weeks had been chaperoned by their teammates and had been stilted at best. They didn't know how to talk to one another anymore and it scared the shit out of him because how was he really supposed to command her in the field if he couldn't even look her in the eye when he talked to her?
His difficulty in talking to her was brought on by several things. He knew it hurt her to have to end their relationship, and after hearing how she felt about him for so long he suspected that it was a pain that ran deep. But also, dammit, whether he planned it or not it was hurtful to him too, which was why he'd had to shove his feelings for her in a box and forget about them. And he knew that he treated her differently because of that and he knew that had to hurt her as well. But there were also the fantasies of her, the fantasies he'd tried to convince himself that had nothing to do with feelings, even if they did frequently start out with that scene he remembered from his bathroom, when he stood between her thighs and trusted her with a razor at his throat. Together, those things made it nigh impossible for him to look her in the eye and speak to her with anything other than a stiltedness that made them both uncomfortable.
The nightmares and Sam weren't the only issues, though. He knew he was drinking too much – Daniel was quick to point that out. He knew he was angry and aggressive – Teal'c managed that as best he could in sparring sessions. He was, in short, very much the man that went through the Stargate to Abydos a handful of years before. He may not have just lost his son, but he could still feel the raw pain quite clearly after his ordeal. And pile on top of that the additional hallucinated losses he felt of his teammates and ex-wife, the real loss of Sam, the very real abuse he lived through at the hands of Astarte, and well, he was a shell of a man.
But he was a shell of a man who had papers that said he was cleared for active duty. He idly wondered how much of the clearance came from pressure from the brass to get him and SG-1 back in rotation. Loaning the other members of the team out had been working, mostly, but it wasn't the same as the formidable SG-1 in action.
Jack made his way to the General's office and was, surprisingly, able to see him right away.
"Colonel," Hammond greeted him and waved him into a chair.
Jack plopped into one of the chairs gracelessly, the paperwork clutched in his hand. "Any chance the joint chiefs have reconsidered my request for retirement?"
The General frowned, "No. But that doesn't mean that I'll stop trying. If you still want out..." he hedged.
Jack looked down at the paperwork in his grip and then handed it over. "I'm cleared for active duty," he said rather than address the General's statement.
Hammond leaned forward to take the papers from Jack. Jack let them go gratefully. Hammond flipped through them, skimming them quickly. "You're really feeling up to this?"
Jack swallowed then nodded his head once, definitively. "Yes, sir."
Lie.
"Okay then," Hammond said leaning back in his chair. "I'll put SG-1 back in rotation. Your first mission will likely be next week."
Another week to pull it together. Good. "That sounds fine, sir."
"I'll let you tell your team."
Jack had to school the scowl from his face quickly. He didn't want to be the one to share the happy news. But someone had to and he was the colonel. "Thank you, sir."
Hammond gave him an odd sort of look but it was fleeting. "Okay then. Dismissed."
Jack nodded once more and pushed himself up out of the chair. He left the General's office and decided to hit the gym. Maybe some punishing time on the heavy bag would do some good for his attitude. If nothing else, he figured, it would be good to work out his aggression before telling his team that the gang really was all back together.
God, Daniel was going to be so happy...
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Sam stepped onto the scale and waited for the verdict.
"You've gained five pounds," Janet pronounced.
"That's good," Sam said.
"Not good enough."
"Janet-"
"Sam, you're underweight."
"I feel fine."
"Blood pressure next," Janet said and directed Sam to sit down on one of the infirmary beds. She took the reading and then said, "Better."
"See?"
"Are you getting enough rest?"
"Yes." Which was mostly true and Janet didn't really need to know that Sam slept best on her couch in the hours just after dinner until the wee small hours of the morning.
"And enough exercise?"
"Yes – cardio five days a week, weight training with Teal'c three days a week."
"And still managing to put on healthy weight. Okay," Janet said tapping Sam's chart, "I am impressed. But I want to see you gain another ten pounds over the course of the next few months. Shoot for about a pound a week."
"That seems like a lot."
"Five hundred extra calories a day and keep up your weight training."
Sam sighed resignedly. "Okay."
"Ten pounds and you're still at the low end of your healthy weight range, Sam," Janet pointed out gently. "We're just trying to get you back in the healthy range."
"I know," Sam reassured her friend. She didn't like having to watch her weight but she understood the necessity. She was underweight enough that she could be chaptered out of the Air Force. She was lucky it hadn't come to that yet. She'd been underweight for quite some time. Since Edora, really. Had she had an official physical during that time she'd likely have been put on profile.
"How're things going, otherwise?"
It had been at least a week since she'd really had a good conversation with her friend, but honestly, how much more whinging could she do about her situation with Jack before even her friend got tired of listening to it?
She and the colonel had had a couple of brief run-ins that had been incredibly uncomfortable and it made her wonder how on earth they were going to perform together in the field once he was cleared for active duty. He couldn't even look her in the eye, would he be able to give her an order? But then, she supposed, one didn't need to be able to look a subordinate in the eye to issue an order now, did they? He'd been short tempered enough from what she'd heard to be able to bark any order he liked at her, eye contact or no.
"Fine," Sam answered, though that wasn't entirely true. But she wasn't going to get into it on base. "Actually... want to have dinner tonight?"
Janet frowned slightly. "I wish I could but Cassie's got friends coming over for a study group. You want to come to my place?"
Sam thought about trying to talk about her issues in a house full of gaggling girls. She shook her head. "Maybe some other time, then?"
"Sure," Janet said with a shrug.
"Am I done?"
"Yep! Just remember, ten more pounds. I'll see you back in ten weeks for a follow up. And, well, hopefully before that for a pre-mission physical."
Sam scowled. She wasn't sure she was ready for that, but it was out of her hands. "Yeah," she agreed anyway as she pulled on her BDU jacket.
"It'll be okay, Sam."
Sam just nodded. Yeah, she guessed it would be. After all, the colonel was the colonel – no matter what he'd been through he was still the man she trusted with her life.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Jack pulled the tape off his hands and hissed as the adhesive pulled at his knuckles. He might have gone too hard at the bag after all. If he was being honest, he'd spent the better part of the time he'd been on the bag with his mind on Carter rather than on his form and his physical wellbeing. Despite his best intentions, and despite the box marked Carter, she was never far from the forefront of his mind. For the moment, though, it was because he knew he needed to tell her he'd been cleared for duty and they were back in rotation.
He could leave it for someone else to do. He could tell Daniel and let Daniel tell her. But something about that felt disingenuous. Especially on the heels of his cowardly act of letting Daniel hand her overnight bag over. Though, in fairness, that had been as much for her benefit as Jack's.
No, he owed it to her. Actually, he owed it to them both to prove that he could speak civilly to her, that he could separate what they couldn't have from what they did have because, dammit, he didn't have a choice. And if that box marked Carter was worth a damn then really, it should be easy.
First, he hit the showers. It gave him some more time to think. Really, it gave him more time to hide, more time to collect himself, more time to not have to face her because damn if he had any idea what he was going to say to her. Could he look her in the eye after the things he'd been thinking about her when he was at home, alone? His fantasies hadn't been the tamest, despite the things that had happened to him... maybe because of the things that had happened to him?
And wasn't that just rich as all fuck? He wanted her, he dreamed of her, fantasized about her but he still felt completely unworthy of her and like the pleasure that welled up inside him at the thoughts of her was somehow forbidden. What would it take to finally disabuse him of that notion? Would he ever be able to be with a woman again? He wanted it... but could it really happen? Because what it really felt like was that he'd end up being a disappointment that couldn't perform properly.
But really, all of that was neither here nor there because he couldn't have her. All he needed to be able to do at the present was talk to her. To lead her. To command her. The thought sent little frissons of pleasure skittering through his body and what was that all about? He'd never gotten off on the power he'd held over subordinates before and certainly never over the power he held over Carter. But the last time he'd had any power over her he hadn't been thinking of her the way he'd been thinking of her recently. In his bed. Splayed out. His hands on her pale, creamy skin.
"Fuck," he swore and turned the piping hot water off and reached for his towel.
Once he was dried and dressed he took a few more minutes to simmer down entirely, his anger having taken its sweet time swirling around with tendrils of lust, before he set off in the direction of her lab. These days he was sure to find her there. She didn't dally in the commissary with her teammates. She didn't seem to do much besides bury herself in her work if Daniel was to be believed. And as much as the younger man seemed to worry, Jack figured he was probably right. Besides, leave it to Carter to self-medicate with science.
At her lab he stood in the open doorway for a few moments watching her work. She was bent over her lab table alternating between peering at a device and scribbling notes in a notebook longhand. He idly wondered where her laptop was and then caught sight of it, off to the side, hooked up to another device, likely running some kind of diagnostic. She was multi-tasking. Either she was in the zone or she was piling metaphoric pills on top of booze in her self-medication game.
She swiped at her temple, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear and something in the motion caused her to look up enough to see him standing in her doorway. She startled a little and then gaped at him. He cleared his throat but words, not even her name, would come. Finally, she spoke first. "Can I help you, sir?"
It bit into his insides to be spoken to so formally. He cleared his throat, shoved his hands in his pockets, and took three steps in to the room. "Hey, Carter. Whatcha working on?"
She canted her head as if trying to figure out if he really wanted to know.
He shrugged one shoulder and grimaced, made it clear he was floundering.
"This device is from P5C-" she started.
He waved her off. "Nevermind."
"Right," she said with a nod and a disappointed tone. And he wondered if she always sounded like that when he shut her down. Did she actually want to tell him what she was working on? Or was this time different because it would have given them something safe to talk about? For long moments they simply stared at one another. He was counting it as progress because at least they were meeting one another's eyes. Finally, she spoke. "Did you need something, sir?"
He pulled one hand out of his pocket to pick up a washer off her lab table for something to do. Her eyes were drawn downwards along with his and they spent long moments watching him spin the little disk between his fingertips. He cleared his throat again, it felt like he had something caught in it. His courage, most likely.
"I saw MacKenzie earlier," he supplied.
"Oh," she said softly.
"He cleared me for active duty."
Her head snapped up and he could feel her eyes boring into his, so he met her gaze. "He did?"
"Yeah. And I talked to Hammond and we're being put back in rotation."
"How long until we're up?"
"Probably next week."
"Oh. Okay."
And then silence. He put the washer back down on her lab table and put his hand back in his pocket. He fingered the loose threads at the bottom, scratched at some lint with his fingernail.
"Are you okay with that?" she finally asked him.
He contemplated how to answer that question. Honestly? No, that wouldn't really do. Ambigiously? No, she'd see right through him. Best to just outright lie to her. He was good at lying, she'd likely take him at face value. "Yeah."
She nodded slowly as if assimilating the information. "Okay."
He thought, perhaps, that this was the least nuanced conversation he'd ever had with her. Straight, formulaic, filled with the facts – and a lie – and no undercurrent. And he suddenly realized they'd always had an undercurrent. Something softer, slightly flirty, maybe. Oh, sure, they'd had plenty of purely professional exchanges, but there was something about their moments one-on-one that had always held a twinge of something slightly more personal. And he'd never even realized it until it was gone.
He wanted to say something to her, anything that would insert something familiar into their conversation but he realized that this was for the best. They were to be keeping each other at arm's length and there was no sense in making it difficult on one another. And he certainly had no desire to make it any more difficult on her than it already had to be. Because if it was hard for him... He didn't even want to imagine what it must feel like for her.
"So, finish up with your doohickies," he said tipping his chin in the direction of her work.
She scowled, and he wondered if she'd always disliked his faked irreverence for her work or if the rift between them had given her license to feel something new. He wondered if she even knew it was faked. He wondered if she knew how amazing he really found her, even if he couldn't begin to understand the things she did. Even if he still had no idea how she did things like, oh, say, rescue him from Edora. Not that he was ever going to bring that up again.
"I'm going to go tell the guys," he said, pulling one hand out of his pocket and jerking a thumb over his shoulder.
"Yes, sir," she said, her voice as flat as her eyes. He wondered what was going on inside her. Then he tamped that down. Best not to even care.
Before he could give her too much more thought he turned on his heels and fled from her lab. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd done a bad thing poorly or that he'd somehow done her a disservice. But he chalked it up to his first real encounter with her since their breakup. Things were bound to feel strange between them, right?
As he made his way to Daniel's office – where he was also likely to find Teal'c – he tried to push thoughts of Sam out of his head. But she stuck there, like a burr. A beautiful, blonde burr that rubbed at the raw parts him and left him feeling cantankerous. By the time he walked into Daniel's office he was frowning. The younger man looked up from his books and met Jack's intense look with a raised eyebrow and a slightly amused look.
"Let me guess... you finally talked to Sam?"
Jesus, when did he become so transparent?