Jack stood and slipped his arms around her. He could do this. He'd hugged Carter a handful of times in the line of duty; every officer knew that sometimes after a tough firefight physical comfort did more than any words could ever do.

They'd been dancing around the fire for a month now, stepping back when they got burned, and Jack didn't want her to think they couldn't have this, at least, even if the rest of it was too hot to handle safely.

"You're my best friend, Carter," he said quietly, "You and Daniel. I don't want you killing yourself to fix us and get us off this island. I want you to sleep eight hours a night and eat regular meals and take breaks. And that's coming from Jack, not from Colonel O'Neill. So I don't need a sir on that one or a salute. Just...healthy respect that I'm worried?"