'And we're holding!'
Yep, you're holding onto the woman you love more than life, more than you have a right to love anyone, especially your subordinate. To hell with the regs! It feels good! Even better it's right!
You nuzzle the soft warm juncture of her bare neck and tell yourself, it's been so fricking long since she's been in your arms. And that you'd almost forgotten how it felt to have her long-legged, sensuous curves molded to your battle-hardened body. But you haven't forgotten. If anything this embrace confirms what you've always known, that your two bodies were created for each other. Yeah.
Two days in this stinking, flee-bitten cell and she still smells of vanilla and strawberries. If given half the chance, you'd discover that the rest of her smells just as intoxicating. Despite the dry arid heat, you relish the feminine warmth of her skin through your sweat-damp clothes. You feel the quickening of her heart while she clings to you as if you're the air she breathes. Her fingertips bite painfully into your shoulder blades. You don't give a rat's ass. That discomfort relays her desperation and reminds you how alive you are. And how dead you were without her.
You love her passionately, madly, completely without restraint! And for the first time in years you have no doubt about how she feels. Carter loves you! So don't mess this up—again. Don't lose her! Don't leave without telling her!
The tremor of a sob quakes her chest and shatters your hard Irish heart. She's your undoing. Always has been. You sense her struggle. She believes crying is a sign of weakness. You've never thought that about her. If anything, her tears are an extension of her humanity and generous caring heart. You feel privileged she's sharing her vulnerability with you.
Since Charlie's death you've rarely allowed yourself the luxury of tears, but this warrior-woman has given you back your compassion. Even though tears threaten to score the fringes of your eyelids you won't let her see them. Not here, not now. For her benefit you will remain the irreverent, self-defacing General Jack O'Neill she depends upon.
The clanking of Jaffa armor alerts you the barbarians are at the gate. In a matter of seconds you'll hear that dumb, dumb command of "Kree!" and one of you will be dragged from this Egyptian prison cell and drop-kicked before another egotistical System Lord.
You pull back and cradle her heart-shaped face. Her indigo eyes search your face. "Sir?" She nibbles her lower lip in the habitable way that's still makes you weak-kneed.
"Drop the sir, Sam. Just Jack, okay?"
"'K, Jack." A genuine smile tugs her lips before anxiety sweeps over her weary beauty.
You toy with her short blonde hair and your mouth opens as you strive to say something profound. Heck, you can't even quote her a love sonnet. Geez, your brain has left the building.
"I—" Words fail her as well. She blushes and looks at a point over your shoulder. But her tight grip assures you her love is as intense as your own.
"Hey, we've been in this situation before, right?" You waggle your scarred brow and force a glib smile, knowing how much she loves your dimples.
"No. Not really." She presses your hand to her lips and when her warm breath caresses your palm you shudder. "This is different, Jack." She's right. This is the first you've taken it out of the `room' during an off-world mission that's got, `hell of a mess,' written all over it.
You pull her deeper into your embrace and whisper against the softness of her cheek, "We'll get through this, Sam. Believe me."
"I do." Her slender fingers dance around your neck weaving themselves into your unruly short hair and you lean into her caress, wanting it to never end. "And always have, Jack."
"I know."
"Kree!"
Still holding each other, you glance up when guards return a semiconscious Daniel and tosses him at your feet.
"Daniel?"
"Jaack?" his rasping voice assures that he's still among the living.
In your arms Sam stiffens and you share the look. The same passionate look you'd shared when a force field separated you from her on Apophis' ship.
Before you can physically check out Daniel, a guard yanks Sam from your hold.
"No!" You step between her and the bear-sized Jaffa and glare him down. "Take me first, pinhead!" you order with such authority that he concedes with a grunt. He mutters some Jaffa gibberish and shoves you toward the open door and four, staff-weapon, armed Jaffa. As the iron door slams shut you glance over your shoulder. Her face pressed between the bars, blue eyes wet with unshed tears, she give you a hopeful smile. The soldier in her makes you proud. This time there's no restraint on your part.
"I love you, Samantha!" you state in the no-holds-bard tone of a man in love and see that love reflected in her emotion-lit eyes.
"I know." She yells before you are led around the corner. "I love you, Jack!"
Outnumbered by Jaffa and despite your aching bum knee, you walk tall and confident toward the inevitable. Because in your heart you know that no matter what — 'We're holding.'
Yeah.
The end . . .hope not!
Story Notes: Feedback: Gosh, darn, don't make me beg! Pretty Please??? Starvation of this writer's muse is no pleasant sight. All feedback is food for thought and well digested. "Feed me, Seymour!" (The Little Shop of Horrors)
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]