They sat around their usual table, each drinking their usual drink. It was the same every Wednesday night. The nine of them, every week. One would always be ordered to go by the General, the others went of their own accord. It was their routine. It was normality.
The three young Lieutenants watched the dance floor, trying not to be too obvious as they stared at some of the female regulars. The others talked amiably over their drinks, except the silent one. She was wrapped up in her own thoughts, not speaking unless asked a direct question or she felt she had something really important to say. It had been like that for three years since the group had started working together, and it was unlikely to change.
A few things were different, this time. The evening started out as it usually did, the usual waiter taking their orders and bringing them their drinks, the Lieutenants downing theirs in one gulp and ordering another round before turning on their chairs to watch the dancing women.
Then the youngest of the Lieutenants, affect by his drink more than he usually was, stood, egged on by his friends, and crossed over to where a young woman in her early twenties sat. She was not a regular, she was new. The others let their conversation drop a bit while they watched what happened, causing the silent one to look up, following their eyes.
She gave a slight start of suprise. The others looked back to her, wondering what had startled her. She was staring at the woman the Lieutenant was talking to, the expression in her eyes belying the now-composed look on her face. Her companions exchanged glances.
The woman got up to dance with the Lieutenant, who sent a look of triumph back at his friends, one of whom handed the other a ten-dollar bill, shrugging as he did so. The young woman did not appear to notice, and the two started to dance.
The silent one returned her attention to the contents of her glass, painfully aware of the curious stares her friends fixed her with. She ignored them, shutting out her surroundings as she let the liquid pour down her throat, burning her as it did so. It was more bitter than she had remembered.
The song ended, and the dancers left the floor, the Lieutenant bringing his new friend over to the table. She smiled at them as he introduced her, accepting the general invitation to sit down with them. She did not notice the silent one who sat in the shadows at the corner of the table.
They got up again a few minutes and several drinks later. The silent one breathed more easily. She had not wanted to be recognised, not here, not now. It wasn't the right time. Perhaps it would never be the right time. She didn't like that thought, and forced it out of her mind by listening to the conversation of the others. They were discussing the woman. More of a girl than a woman, not far into her twenties. The others had liked her, hadn't noticed the way she fielded their questions to avoid telling them anything about her life. The silent one knew how that felt, knew how hard it was to do that when so many fixed their attentions on you.
The door opened and closed again. A man on crutches limped in. Strange, to come in so late. It was not all that far off closing time. And it was midweek, most people would be working the next day. Though the man probably wouldn't, not if he needed crutches. She wondered who he was. Not a regular, all the regulars were already there, though some had left. Perhaps someone jsut out of the nearby hospital, desperate for a drink.
The waiter, who had been coming over to her table, stopped and walked back to serve the man. She couldn't hear what was said. The newcomer spoke quietly, as if he knew someone was trying to listed. The waiter poured him a scotch. Double, from what she could see, and on the rocks. He drank it quickly, then sat back and looked around him.
The others on her table had noticed that the waiter didn't come. He seemed to be speaking to the newcomer. The Major drew a deck of cards from her pocket and began to deal, waiting for the Black Ace to hit the table. The silent one watched as she did so, knowing that somehow she would end up with the unlucky card, she would be the one to cross over to the bar and order the next round. And probably pay for it.
She was right. She stood and squeezed past the others, walking over to the bar. As she drew near, the newcomer turned on his stool, hearing her approach, and stared at her. Less than two feet away from him, she stopped dead, not daring to believe what she saw, not wanting to disbelieve it.
It was him. Back from the dead.
***
Back at the table, nothing was happening. Bored, a Captain turned round to see how far away the drinks were. The amazed expression on his face caused the others to turn and look too. The silent one was staring into the eyes of a stranger, apparently lost in their depths.
The Colonel sighed. He had known her for five years, and he'd never seen her look like that, even with someone she knew well. Half the male officers in Washington had tried to get through to her. She was beautiful, you'd have to be blind not to at least try. He had seen the ring that hung on the chain with her dog tags, had once summoned up the nerve to ask her about it. She'd only told him that he was dead. Nothing about him. Not his name, how she knew him, how he died. Only that he was dead, and that he had been the bravest man she ever knew. She'd been involved in something classified before coming to Washington. The cover story, deep-space radio telemetry, really needed some work.
They all leaned back in their chairs, watching to see what happened next.
***
He had not aged. Not a day in the six years since last she had seen him. He was not a Goa'uld or Tok'Ra, she would have felt it if he was. That meant a sarcophagus. The Tok'Ra didn't use them, which meant Goa'uld. He must have been a prisoner for six years. And they would only have used the sarcophagus on him if they had been torturing him. Despite the sarcophagus' healing powers, the left had side of his face was horribly twisted, scarred. His head around his left eye was bruised, the eye itself was bloodshot. His right leg hung down from the stool at an awkward angle; it had been broken and had set crooked.
He stared at her. It was as if he could not believe his eyes either. The waiter watched the two of them, not talking. He could feel the sparks flying between the two, even as they stared at each other in silence.
Then the newcomer, leaning heavily on the bar, pulled himself to his feet, his eyes not leaving the silent one's face. He reached out with one hand, running his fingers down her cheek. Then he put his hand behind her head and pulled her to him, kissing her. The kiss was gentle, but it spoke volumes. Six years of yearning, six years of loneliness and anguish were behind that kiss, and both knew it.
***
The girl dancing with the Lieutenant smiled. Daniel had been right. It had been much better for her to find out like that than by through the official channels. Sam could come back to the SGC now, it wouldn't cause her the pain it had after Jack had supposedly been killed. Jack had agreed to stay at the mountain, his injuries meaning he couldn't go through the gate any more but not preventing him from staying on as an advisor. Hammond had hinted that it might improve his chances of taking over when Hammond retired.
Glad that she could have witnessed the reunion, Cassandra Fraiser turned her attention back to her partner.
**Fin**
Story Notes: FEEDBACK: Please. It makes me happy :)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Um, some might find this sightly depressing. My beta-reader did, but then she finds most things depressing at the moment.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Um, some might find this sightly depressing. My beta-reader did, but then she finds most things depressing at the moment.
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 ]