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He hears the details that Carter leaves out of SG-1’s post-mission briefing from Daniel.
And he’s angry. Not necessarily with Sam, but with the people the team encountered on their last mission to PCC-317.
Or, more specifically, their leader – Molorn. A tyrant, bully and all-round male chauvinist.
Jack’s jaw tightens. It always angers him when his people encounter a planet run in such an archaic and misogynistic way, but he finds it even more difficult now because he isn’t alongside his team anymore to support them on such occasions.
Or, more specifically, he isn’t with Sam.
It’s not that Sam is unable to defend herself – far from it – but even though she puts on a brave face and tries to carry on with the mission as usual, Jack knows that the disapproval, the doubt, that those men cast on her abilities – physical or otherwise – hurts her and makes her start to doubt herself.
And that’s unacceptable to him.
He makes his way towards the gym and soon the steady pounding of punches against a heavy bag reach his ears and he winces. Carter’s mad.
Which is completely understandable – because he’s also mad as hell – but he’s trying to keep his feelings in check because he needs Sam to see that everything is okay.
Or, more specifically, he needs Sam to see that she is okay.
He pushes open the door and spots her immediately, in the far corner and beating the absolute crap out of the punch bag. He briefly considers his options before he makes his way towards her.
“Carter.”
Her rhythm doesn’t falter as she answers. “Yes, sir?”
“I thought I put SG-1 on some downtime.”
“I’m fine, sir.”
“Carter –”
“I said I’m fine.”
Jack sighs, but decides not to point out her insubordination. “Your reaction tells me different.”
“I just need to blow off some steam, General.”
He glances around the room and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Daniel told me.”
This time her rhythm does falter, her left jab going just wide of its target and she has to hook onto the bag with her other gloved hand to stop herself from falling.
“He shouldn’t have said anything,” is all she offers as she tries to catch her breath.
“He was right to tell me.”
When Sam just stares at him, he shrugs. “You know me, Carter. I’m pretty lenient when it comes to briefings and mission reports. But not over things like this – you know that.”
She sighs.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wasn’t in any danger, sir,” she says. “They just didn’t look too favorably on women.”
He gives her a calculating look, because he doesn’t buy her excuse any more than Sam does herself. However, she refuses to expand on her reasoning and instead turns back to the punch bag, so he presses his lips together and finds his fingers drumming against his thigh in time with the punches.
“Carter,” he pauses. “Just stop for a sec.”
He shifts his stance slightly so he can see her better, and he waits until she halts in her abuse of the bag and meets his gaze.
“Moron –”
“Molorn,” she grinds out.
“Yeah, him. He and his followers are idiots,” he says. “But none of us see you the way they do.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she mutters.
“It matters to me.”
Sam’s shoulders sag a little then, her gaze trained on the ground. “I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much today.”
He goes to speak, only for Sam to continue, louder this time. “I mean, I should be used to it by now –”
“You should never have to ‘get used to it’, Carter,” he interrupts hotly and when she risks a glance in his direction, Jack sighs. “Because the kind of attitude he has shouldn’t even exist.”
“He said I was –”
She stops abruptly before she repeats the words Molorn used to describe her, but she doesn’t need to tell him, because he already knows. Daniel’s relayed message haunts him, but it is the look of pure hurt and despair in the eyes of the woman standing before him that fills him with an almost overwhelming urge to dial the gate right back to PCC-317 and seek his own revenge.
He takes a step closer. “Look, Sam, I hate this just as much as you, but –”
She huffs out a breath at his words, so he finds himself taking another step closer and lets his hands cup the underside of her boxing gloves. Even through the thick material, he swears he can feel her fingers twitch against his.
“You’re so much more than what they see.”
“They saw me as ‘unaesthetically pleasing’, amongst other things.”
“And I’ve said it already – he’s an idiot.”
Sam shakes her head. “I couldn’t make a difference. Those women –”
She closes her eyes and Jack knows she’s recalling the way Molorn treated the females within his tribe. And he also knows they've reached the root of why the situation is getting to her. She feels like she's failed the women back on that planet.
“Never forget the differences you’ve already made, Carter.”
“Sir?”
“So, this mission didn’t go to plan. That’s just the way things are sometimes, but think back to when you first joined SG-1. You provided Nya with freedom and introduced equality to her world. And Cassie? She sees you as a soldier, a friend, and as family. You’re good with her and she adores you. And then there’s Lieutenant Hailey.”
“What about her, sir?”
“Everyone else has given up on her, but you took an interest and gave her the opportunity to see what she could achieve if she put her mind to it. You fought for her and today she’s one of the best officers the SGC has. It’s because of you and the belief you’ve shown in her.”
He notices Sam’s taken aback by his words, and an illicit thrill runs through him as she starts to turn a deep shade of red. His praise makes her uncomfortable, so he decides he has absolutely nothing to lose at this stage, as they’re the only two people in the room and he knows their conversation will stay that way.
“And then there’s me.”
She frowns. “You?”
“Yeah. You make me a better person.”
“Oh,” she hesitates and Jack guesses at what’s coming. “Can I ask why, sir?”
He shrugs, but the intensity in his eyes belies his nonchalant stance.
“Men themselves have wondered what they see in me,” he murmurs. “They try so much, but they can't touch my inner mystery.”
He holds Sam’s gaze as she replays the words he heard years ago in a poem, and she has a look on her face as if she’s trying to solve one of her science experiments, and it only adds to the beauty and mystery that surrounds her.
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re Carter,” he answers simply, as if it explains everything, because to him it does. “You’re amazing, Sam. Don’t let people like Molorn get inside your head.”
The mention of Molorn’s name sends a flash of fire through her eyes, and Jack tries not to smile as sees her anger surge again as she wrestles with what he’s just told her compared to the comments the leader of ‘317 had voiced, so he knows he’s starting to get through to her and break through the doubt. But he also knows that she needs to release the frustration that’s been building inside her, so he silently removes his BDU jacket and tosses it onto a nearby chair. He steps up to the opposite side of the punch bag and places a hand on either side. With a nod in Sam’s direction, he braces himself as she grins right before she rolls her shoulders and starts to land punch after punch.
With each cracking sound the glove makes as it hits against the bag, Jack thinks of another word he could use to describe Sam. He’s already decided on intelligent, courageous, funny and beautiful. But he soon realizes that it isn’t enough, because everything about her just comes together and in his eyes, she’s perfect.
So, he tells her.
“It's in the reach of your arms, the span of your hips. The stride of your step, the curl of your lips.”
Crack.
“It's the fire in your eyes, and the flash of your teeth. The swing in your waist, and the joy in your feet.”
Crack.
“It's in the arch of your back, the sun of your smile. The ride of your breasts, the grace of your style.”
Crack.
“It's in the click of your heels, the bend of your hair. The palm of your hand, the need of your care.”
Crack.
“Now you understand just why your head's not bowed. You don't shout or jump about or have to talk real loud.”
Crack.
“When I see you passing it ought to make me proud.”
Crack.
Sam’s focus finally falters and she misses the bag, stumbling forward, but Jack’s there, his hands on her biceps as he keeps her upright. He meets her gaze and smiles softly.
“’Cause you’re a woman, phenomenally,” he finishes, his eyes full of reverence as he barely whispers his final words. “Phenomenal woman, that’s you, Sam.”