Jack is never more grateful for the buzzy fluorescent lights of the SGC than he is upon their return from K'Tau. Even Doc Frasier's pen light directly into his eyeball is welcome if only because it's not fucking red. He'd had his fill of red. He puts up with the med check and the debrief, but only barely. After unraveling to one of his more violent layers and then being spooled back up by Sam, he's now feeling uncomfortable and twitchy. It's how he always feels when that part of him surfaces.
He can't bring himself to go home while knowing that two lockers will never be opened by their owners again, so he grabs a couple boxes from a storage closet and takes the job of carefully packing away the remaining evidence of two lost members of SG-6. Aside from the morgue, he thinks, wincing at the memory of body bags going through the gate.
"Sir?"
Jack twists from behind a locker door and sees Sam standing in the doorway. "Come on in, Carter. No one else is around."
"Teal'c said you were in here, you know…"
"Yeah."
"Do you want some help?"
He considers saying no so he can continue moping in private, but before that thought is even formed he realizes how badly he wants her company. He motions for her to join him. "Yeah, thanks, Carter."
"How are you feeling, Sir?"
"Oh, you know," he says, gesturing at the open locker between them.
"Yeah, me too."
They carefully remove the contents of Lieutenant Nizwicki's locker, folding clothes and arranging other possessions and photos in the box. Jack's fingers trace the edge of a photo he knows can't leave the base; it's of Nizwicki and the rest of his team laughing somewhere that is clearly not Earth. He tucks it into his BDU shirt pocket and glances at Sam when she notices. "I'll get it to them," he says. She nods.
With both lockers eventually clear, Jack looks down at the boxes sitting innocently on a bench below him. He scrubs a weary hand over his face, sighing, feeling every part of his body struggle not to lash out again, not to hurl the boxes against the walls or slam the locker doors shut repeatedly until, well, exactly what he isn't sure, but something violent and satisfying.
"I'm sorry, Sir," Sam says, hands fidgeting with the corner on one of the box lids. "I did this. This is my fault."
"Carter, stop. No. Absolutely not."
"Sir?"
"We're not doing this. I know, I know, you're thinking your override started it, and sure-it did. But this," he points at the boxes, "this is not your fault." He searches her eyes for any sign of agreement, but he knows it's not there. "Carter, what?"
"What made it right for me to override like that? You don't think it was arrogant for me to assume I could do that with something as complex as the gate system and not, you know, eventually cause something like this?"
"Carter, if it's hubris you're worried about, I think that ship sailed when we started hopping our little selves offworld with nothing more than a few P90s and a bit of pluck."
"If it hadn't been for the Asgard-"
"Stop it. No." Jack reaches out to grab Sam's hand and tugs her closer. "Look, that planet is still alive because of you. Your idea saved them. I don't care if the Asgard sealed the deal with whatever bullshit they know that we don't. I don't care if those people believe it was Freyr."
"Daniel said we could never be sure."
"Daniel is an idiot, Carter."
She finally laughs. "Sir?"
"Look, Freyr said people needed to have faith. Well I already have it- in you." He releases her hand but only to grip her shoulders and squeeze, bending at the knee and dropping his head slightly so they are eye to eye. "There is nothing you can do or say that will make me stop feeling like my best bet, my best hope isn't you. You're my faith, Carter. Because every single time I've needed you to come through, you have." He shrugs and smiles at her, sliding his right hand up to graze over her cheek.
Sam stares at him for what feels like a long time, a slight blush creeping along her throat and meeting where his thumb still rests on her cheekbone. "If you say so, Sir," she finally says.
"Yes, I do," he says, sharing a soft smile and dropping his hands to one of the boxes. "C'mon, help me get these where they're going, and then we're gonna get the hell out of here for a while, yeah?" They haul the boxes from the bench and he nudges her shoulder with his as they exit the locker room. "I just realized I have no idea what time it is, but I'll buy you whatever beverage is appropriate for the hour."
"Sounds good, Sir."
