Author: Christi (christim@comcast.net)
Spoilers: Season Eight through Endgame.
Author’s Note: I hate writing angst. And yet, I did. It’s
not beta-read or anything except for what the spell check yelled at me for, so
excuse any glaring errors. It’s also quite possibly the weirdest thing I’ve
ever written. Just as a warning. Oh, and thanks to Lyssie, cuz she made me
write it in the first place to get rid of the evil angst bunnies and gave me a
title.
---
“My one regret in life is
that I am not somebody else.” –Woody Allen
---
For the first time since Jack O’Neill had taken over command
of the SGC, he had more than 36 consecutive hours off. He had an actual four
days of leave. In a row. To do whatever he wanted.
So he was baking cookies.
…Yeah, it didn’t make any sense to him either.
He hadn’t lied all those years ago when he had told Carter
that he couldn’t cook. He couldn’t. Obviously, this rule extended to his
non-existent baking skills. Yet, here he was with flour and sugar and chocolate
chips, attempting to create something edible from the mess of ingredients. And
he hadn’t the slightest clue why.
It sort of reminded him of all the weird shit he’d do when
his brain was being overrun with Ancient mumbo-jumbo. It was like he had no
control over his actions. He just felt…compelled to bake. Objectively, he knew
that this was a waste of time. Jack wasn’t even enjoying himself, not when he
could be spending his hard earned and long overdue downtime doing any one of a
dozen other things, like fishing or catching up on The Simpsons or hell, even
yard work. Yet, he didn’t stop.
Cream butter
with sugar and eggs until thoroughly blended…
His team…no…SG-1…was on downtime right now too. This used to
mean barbeque, movies, jell-o wrestling, something.
Lately, it meant, “See you in four days, sir/Jack/O’Neill”. And a few years
ago, that would have been okay. But at some point, Jack had gotten…accustomed
to them being around. Now, suddenly, they weren’t anymore. Which might have
been okay, if he still got to go off world and save the planet with them and
stuff. You could do an awful lot of bonding while fighting glowy-eyed
snakeheads and other scourges of the universe.
Combine the
flour, baking soda, salt, and baking powder, then mix it into the batter. Add
chocolate chips…
But he didn’t get to. They went without him now, and Jack
was stuck waiting, worried and alone and unable to do his job because he was
too worried about blowing up Daniel and Carter in her skin-tight patent leather
top.
Place dough
in balls roughly three fingers apart on tray. Bake at 375 degrees for roughly
10 minutes…
And damnit, why hadn’t she worn skin-tight patent leather
tops when he had been there to enjoy them?! If she was going to marry some
other guy and thus cut off all possible chances of Jack getting to screw her
stupid someday, then it seemed like the least she could do was wear leather
tops when he was around to enjoy them.
He was pretty sure all of this fed into the inexplicable
baking frenzy. It was because he was alone and left behind. Because when he had
spent hours paralyzed with fear for his friends, Daniel had said, “Maybe you
should have shot the ship after all”. Because when he had been horrified by the
idea, even Teal’c, his ping-pong pal, had gazed at him uncomprehendingly. And
because Carter was getting herself captured when he couldn’t go after her,
wearing leather tops, and marrying another man.
Hmm. The
smoke pouring out of the oven was probably not a good sign…
Crap.
He was stressed, alone, his kitchen was a mess, and his
cookies had just burned. Could he get more pathetic?
Apparently, he could, because quite without his realizing
it, he had picked up the phone and hit number two on speed dial. Carter’s
number. And she was talking. Damn.
“Hello?”
“…Hey Carter.”
“…Sir? What’s wrong? Did you need something?”
He sighed. This was stupid. And yet… “No, nothing like that.
It’s just…my cookies burned.”
This preposterous statement was greeted by silence, and he
wasn’t surprised. If he could recognize that he was being ridiculous, Carter
would spot it in a minute, and no doubt be at a loss with how to handle her CO
who was slowly sliding off his rocker.
But finally, she just said softly, “Mine always do too.”
Jack blinked. She had surprised him again. How did she do that? And could she possibly
understand what they were talking about when Jack wasn’t even sure himself?
Granted, she was a lot smarter than
him…he got confused sometimes. Now was definitely one of those times. So maybe,
just maybe, Carter understood it all. Or at least, understood enough. Maybe
things could start making sense again and he could go back to fishing, because
he definitely was not cut out for this baking thing.
“…Hey Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“You wouldn’t want to…I mean, would you…do you think maybe
if we made them together…?”
The stuttering invitation was the most he could manage.
Maybe it would be enough.
“I…” she sounded bewildered and lost and…hopeful. “I’ll be
there in an hour or so. There’s something I have to do first.”
They hung up and he tried to air out the kitchen while he
waited, waving out the billows of smoke and throwing the charcoaled cookies
into the trash. When she finally showed up, the kitchen was still a mess and he
was still confused. But she didn’t look at him like he was nuts and there
wasn’t a ring on her third finger anymore. She might have just forgotten it,
which happened a lot. It probably didn’t mean anything, and he certainly wasn’t
going to ask.
But she had ridden her motorcycle to his house, so she was
wearing leather pants, which totally made up for the shirt. And she hadn’t
called him ‘sir’ or ‘General’ since she had walked in. So…maybe…