Judging Jack

 

By

 

moon_n_star

 

 

 

 

******

 

 

 

It was good to be back. 



Actually, it was *damn* good to be back.  As much as he liked downtime and, at times, getting away from all of this, he loved returning to it more. 



Hitting the appropriate button on the elevator, he thought about his friends, the ones he used to have, the ones who'd come over on Sunday for a backyard barbecue and complain about their jobs, and how they dreaded returning to work on Mondays.  Of course, he hadn't always been in the Air Force (he'd learned the hard way that the old saying, "the lower the wage, the harder the work," was true).  Nor had he always loved his job while *in* the Air Force. 



But the past was something he'd worked on forgetting for several years now.  There were times when he questioned this, wondered how in the world he'd gotten to this point (mom always said he was lucky), whether he even deserved to be here.  But not anymore.  Jack knew, through the wisdom born of lots - and lots - of years, that sometimes it's better not to overthink something, but just to enjoy it. 



He headed for the commissary first, his body's persistent call for coffee (his machine had crashed and burned - why did things always break down just when you needed them?) demanding to be heard. 



It was a day like any other, the SGC running in full swing.  The commissary, as usual, was packed this time of morning, with almost every table filled.  Nothing had changed or exploded while he was away, at least not that he could see.  And he was pretty sure that nothing had changed with him. 



So why was everyone staring?



Okay, so it wasn't like the room had come to a scratching halt when he'd walked in.  But, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. 



He kept to his normal routine, though, thinking that perhaps the feeling would just 'poof' away, or something.  He made his way to the line, just like normal.  He grabbed a quick cup of coffee, just like he always did, and then headed back out the way he came.  Everything done as normal.  Except when his shoes squeaked (he hated that sound) to a halt before he reached the doors. 



Eyes.  He felt eyes - definitely more than two - on him.  It wasn't paranoia; he just knew, could feel it.  And it was coming from beside him. 



Most of them (women, to be specific) at the table had already averted their eyes by the time he twisted his head ... save for one.  And she was staring at his back. 



That was ... odd.



"Sir."



The word whipping his head around, a little too quickly for his neck's liking, he forgot all about the shooting pain up and down the back of his head when he saw who was on the other side of that 'sir'. 



"Carter." 



He tried hard to act normal, but damn if he couldn't still *feel* the stares on his back. 



But if she'd noticed his odd behavior, she didn't show it.  "Welcome back.  Did you have a nice trip, sir?"



"Yeah." 



Okay, the staring thing was quickly departing odd and rapidly advancing toward annoying.  But even with a swift darting of his eyes to the table beside him, he still couldn't catch the rest of them in the act.  Damn.  Any other time he'd be flattered that a table of women should find him stare-worthy.  But now, at work of all places, it just felt weird.   



"Actually, I'm glad I ran into you, sir, because I have a question on the report for P47-3X2."



His eyes now zipped from side-to-side, moving like a tennis match between Carter and 'them' ... 'them' and Carter.



Still, she said nothing of it.



"Fine," he snapped out quickly.  "You wanna..."  The sentence broke off there, allowing his hand pointing toward the door to finish it for him.



A brief nod from her and they were on their way, wading through the various twists and turns of each hallway, with Carter talking and Jack listening.  Well, not *really* listening.  Carter's sentences tended to end up more like burbles (he felt like a kid in a Charlie Brown cartoon) as the words gained more and more syllables.



But, even though he didn't understand what the heck she was saying (and wasn't there supposed to be a question in there somewhere?), he rather enjoyed it anyway. 



First, because it was Carter. 



Second, because it was normal.  *This* was normal.  And after that strange encounter in the commissary, a little normal felt pretty good.



And it was going well (although he still had no idea what she was asking him, but then considering he wasn't listening ...) as they finally neared her lab.  Until, that is, two female officers appeared in the hallway. 



His pulse raced a little faster (how ridiculous was that?), and his hands seemed to clench in and out of fists as the two women approached them.  He watched them ... without really *watching* them ... with a nervous curiosity as they moved closer and closer.  Stepping to the left, with Carter moving ahead of him, he let them pass to his right, his eyes studying them as they moved past him, watching their eyes to see if they ...



Okay.  He'd had enough.



"Carter?"  Not waiting till out of earshot, and *so* not really caring, he just had to ask.  "Is there something on my back?"



He knew her reaction before she reacted - widening eyes, quizzical glare, amused half-smile ... right on cue, and in that order.  Her eyes gauged the seriousness of his question; obviously finding the answer, her eyebrows raised to request permission before she took a peak behind him.   



"No, sir."



Well, that didn't answer that.  Crap.  "Ever since the commissary, I get the feeling that people are staring at my back."



And then she reacted again.  Drained color, curled lower lip, worried eyes. 



Oh, *this* was gonna be good.



"Oh," she managed to say at last, "um, yeah, that."



Her mouth opened again, but it was her feet instead that acted, stepping out of the hallway and into her lab.  And, although he had no idea where this was going, he knew from her look of panic (a look he'd never seen on her before, and he practically had all of them categorized and stored in his memory banks by now) that moving this into the safer confines of her lab was probably a good idea.



"You remember that once in a while the female officers meet after work to blow off some steam? "



He nodded.



She continued.



"I'm not sure how it started, but somehow the question arose as to who on base had the nicest ... ass."



Oh yeah, *definitely* a good idea.  "Carter, are you trying to tell me that you get together to talk about our *asses*?" 



Typical O'Neill form, he realized what he said after he said it, and then put the two together. 



Jack was a guy. 



Guys talked about girls.   



Okay, so having engaged in a few "who has the nicest <insert body part here>" conversations in his lifetime, he supposed his question was a wee-bit hypocritical.  But still ... asses?  "Go on."



"A few suggestions were thrown out on the table ... Major Wilson from SG10, Captain Jamison from SG6 ..."



Then, a pause.  A rather *long* pause.  God, would he have to pull her teeth, too?  "And?" 



"Well, you ... sir."



"Really?"  It was an initial reaction, one he didn't know whether it meant he was flattered or angry.  Or perhaps a mixture of both. 



"Although, Captain ..." she started, but then thought better of it, "*someone* at the table disagreed with you as a candidate." 



"And you defended me, right?"  He had *no* idea where that came from.  He only knew that was probably the most inappropriate thing to say.  But then, this whole conversation was inappropriate, so what the hell?



"No, sir," she answered evenly,"I refrained from participating." 



Ah, well, typical Carter.  Didn't stop his heart from plunging into his stomach, though.



"They couldn't reach a consensus, so they ..."



Another pause.



"Spit it out, Carter."  This chat of theirs had been interesting when it first started.  But considering its recent developments, it was increasingly growing tiresome.  He didn't mean to take it out on her - he knew in his head that she couldn't argue with colleagues that her commanding officer had a nice butt. 



Yet he couldn't help but feel ... disappointed.



"So," she continued, "they asked *me* to decide.  I'm to, uh, take a good look," she quoted the words with her fingers," at the candidates, and inform them of my decision." 



Wow.



Carter looking at *his* butt. 



That was ... wow!



He held up pretty well considering, the look of shock on his face masking the parade of fireworks exploding within. 



Eventually (and we're talking eons here), his eyes regained focus, which meant they focused back on her.  Not for the first time today he saw a look of question on her soft face. 



She was asking his permission. 



To look at his butt.



Wow.



With a hesitant (man, was he a good actor!) nod of his head, Carter slowly moved behind him ... stopped ... and stared. 



Her eyes burned into him like a physical heat.  Except, this time, he didn't mind so much. 



Really, it should've only taken her less than a minute to "take a good look."  But being the efficient scientist she was, her examination lasted almost five minutes.  He should've felt uncomfortable, embarrassed ... unprofessional. 



Yet, he didn't. 



He felt ... good.  Better than he had in a long while.



Her fact-finding apparently over, she moved back in front of him with yet another look he couldn't match - eyes alight and lips curled just so.  If he had to name it, he'd say it was a look of utter delight. 



And he knew exactly how she felt.



But that was exactly why he needed to make a quick escape, his brain yelling for him to make a quick - and clean -  getaway ... and fast.  "Good?"



Oh, that was *so* not what he meant to say.



But she just nodded.  No shocked look, no angry set to her jaw.  Just a slight nod of her head.  "Yeah."



"Okay, then I'll just, uh ..." he pointed again to finish the thought.  His fingers were getting good at that. 



But even though his feet were fast, her words were faster, catching him before he reached the door.



"Uh, sir?" 



"Yeah?" 



"You know they called a stalemate on who has the best ass?" 



Okay, she was obviously way more affected than she looked, otherwise she'd remember that they covered this part already.  "Uh, yeah."



"Well, that wasn't the end of the, uh, competition." 



Oh god.  "Carter ..."  He really didn't think he could take much more of this without ... reacting.



"The most pinchable ass," she rushed, not really bothered to put them into a sentence.  



Then, he supposed, they kinda didn't need one. 



"Let me guess," he turned toward her, "they called a stalemate." 


Nod. 



"And they asked you to judge not his one, too."



Another nod.



He should protest.  He should be offended.  He should chastise a subordinate for even suggesting such a highly reprehensible thing. 



And yet, he *was* the second officer of the base.  Wasn't it his job to keep up morale?  If he knew there was a rift between officers, officers under his command, wasn't it his job to do whatever he could to help resolve it?



His feet moved him deeper into the room, his right hand (accidentally) closing the door behind him. 



And as he prepped himself for yet another Carter test, he repeated one word in his mind. 



Duty. 



He was doing this out of his duty.



Damn, he loved this job.



*****



The End