*ding*
*diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing*
*diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing*
Damnit!
Sam slapped the latest copy of Astronomy and Astrophysics face down onto the coffee table with an irritated thwack.
Why didn't people realise that when she said she was "fine" it was relatively simplistic code for "I. Am. *Fine*!"? That fine in this case meant, literally, fine and was not some lame attempt to either garner sympathy or company. She'd been waiting to read this article on gravitational lensing in quasar samples for weeks and now, and she'd finally got the chance…
*diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing*
Whoever was leaning on her doorbell with the tenacity of a dog with a large, juicy bone, sure as hell didn't care. Or more accurately, they did - too much…
Besides, Sam knew that ring. It was a ring that meant he wasn't going away until he'd at least seen for himself that she was as "fine" as she claimed to be. And yes, she knew it was a 'him', and she knew which 'him' he was. Out of the two men it could be, she could eliminate one right away - Teal'c always knocked on the door itself, twice.
Giving in to the inevitable she headed to the door and wrenched it open with a force designed to send him scurrying for cover. Unfortunately, he didn't even bat an eye lash. Sam did though, a few times, because it was *SO* not the 'him' she expected.
Having opened the door expecting to see a sympathetic and rather sheepish looking Daniel Jackson, she was left feeling stunned and not just a little bit uneasy as she looked up into familiar dark eyes that seemed to bore into her very being.
He said nothing, just raised an eyebrow in a move that would have done Teal'c proud, issuing an implicit command. Keeping with the silent thing, she stood aside and let him in. Why she had, she didn't know. Why he was there, she didn't know either. But what she did know was that she had let him in, followed him through to her living room and now they were… in… together.
In fact, this scenario was, quite possibly, the absolute last situation she could have ever imagined occurring. Not here and sure as hell not now. He didn't do this, he never had. All that 'Way of the Warrior' and 'Shake it off' bullshit that he spouted meant he didn't have to ever get entangled in pesky emotional stuff, unless he was bound, gagged… or tied to a chair by a Tok'ra weilding a Zay'tarc detector.
She blinked at him again as he absentmindedly reached for a picture frame on her mantle before thinking better of his action.
But, her logic chided, if he doesn't do "this" why the heck has he just walked through your front door? Why is he here, now? She tried to pretend that it didn't make her nervous, that *he* didn't make her nervous. She tried to hold onto the fact that she was making her way through another emotional minefield right now, treading carefully, trying to work out where she should go from here. And because of that she absolutely, totally and definitely did not need to be confronted by six feet two inches of brigadier general in her living room! She pulled her scrambled brain back on track and tried to think of any plausible reason for *him* to be *here*, *now*.
Unfortunately, any hypotheses of 'global politics', 'interplanetary crises', or the commissary running out of red jello – again – went out the proverbial window as he spoke.
"How you feeling?" He said without preamble as he turned to face her.
It was, quite probably, the dumbest thing he had *ever* asked given the events of the last four days… And wow, he'd asked a few dumb questions in his time. She bit back her instinctive snarky retort, as eight years habit had taught her.
"I'm fine, Sir," she replied as she faced him, refusing to let him see anything other than Lieutenant Colonel Sam Carter - who was Just Fine.
"Hmm, really?" He looked more likely to believe that Baal was really sorry for being such a mean, nasty Goa'uld and now wanted to be best friends.
"Yes, really." Her irritation was beginning to show through, not that she cared. So reasoning that the best defence was attack, she stood straight and refused to back down - "I told Daniel I was fine."
"Yeah, that's what he said you'd said. S'what T said you'd said too…" Evidently he'd confused himself and Sam would normally have had to bite back a smile at the furrow on his brow and the adorable confusion in his eyes.
"That's because I *am* fine, Sir!" She wondered why he was pushing this, pushing her. Usually when he knew she was lying like this, he'd back off and let her deal. What was different this time? But she knew the answer to that. That small, itty-bitty "dealing" thing…
"Good to hear, Carter. Now… aren't you going to be polite and ask me how I am?"
She knew from long experience that the quickest way to end this was to play along. Fine!
"How are you, Sir?" Her tone was clipped but she did nothing to alter it. She was about a hair's breath away from losing what little composure she'd double-duct-taped to her façade. And she knew that when she did finally deal with all this, she was going to lose it big time. So losing it here was something she really couldn't do, not right now, and sure a hell as not with him.
"See, Carter, that's the thing…" He paused for effect, hands on hips. And she just *knew* that he wouldn't be talking about himself. "I've I feel… strange… all messed up inside. Like someone has ripped out my head, my heart, stomped all over 'em, zatted them a few times and then stomped some more." He paused again obviously noticing the sheen of moisture that had begun to form in her eyes.
She wanted to speak, to stop him, to beg him not to do this… To make him understand that she was so very close to breaking right there in front of him and she didn't know how much longer it would be before she couldn't fight it any more. And if he carried on telling her exactly how *she* was feeling, while he looked her square in the eye, almost daring her to deny it, she knew she'd cave.
"I feel like everything I thought I had, everything I thought I wanted has just flipped one-eighty on me and the worse thing is that when I told him it was over, I realised that what I had wasn't quite what I wanted after all, and it sucks. I suck."
That did it. His words, his rough, gentle, mind-reading words cracked her previous self-control. They were too close, too accurate… too much.
She felt, rather than saw, him break his ground and pull her abruptly against him. Holding her tight and secure and stroking her ever so gently as she fought against her emotions.
"Sam," she heard from somewhere so close to her ear that the breath of the words tickled, "just let it out."
And that was the final shot that sank her. For days she'd dealt with the decision, her choice. She'd watched as Pete had absorbed her words, watch the hurt shadow his face, but oddly not an ounce of surprise had been present. She'd watched as he got up to leave, saying nothing, just picking up his coat from the arm of the couch and closing the door behind him as he walked out of her life.
She'd promised herself she wouldn't do this, she wouldn't be like every cliché she'd ever watched and read. She wouldn't waste tears on a decision she didn't regret. And she'd sure as *hell* promised that if she did grieve for what she lost, for who she'd hurt, she wasn't ever going to do it right smack-bang in front of Brigadier General Jack O'Neill.
But here she was, doing all those things and feeling entirely clichéd about doing them. And to make it all so much worse, she was doing them wrapped in arms that really, *really* shouldn't be holding her so tight, so warm and so safe. Arms that really, *really*, shouldn't feel *so* right. But they did. They really did.
Did he realise that she was crying not for what she had lost, but over what she'd never had in the first place?
She started from her thoughts when she felt his cheek rest lightly on the top of her head, started more when she felt his jaw begin to move, started completely when she heard what he barely even whispered. "I lent Shanahan my girl and look what happened."
Shocked from her cocoon of warmth she pushed herself away from that indescribable aura of him to look him square in the eye. "What?" Tell me, her eyes pleaded, say that once more…
He played dumb, presumably having realised she'd heard what he *surely* hadn't meant to say.
"Sir, I…" …need to know that you said … that…
He silenced her with two long fingers over her lips. "Don't "Sir" me, Carter. Not tonight."
"But…" tell me!
She saw his measured surrender as it flashed quickly across his face just before he spoke. "Fine, you kept saying you were… fine…" he said, as if that explained everything perfectly. Her eyebrow promptly told him otherwise. "Well, you know Daniel, T too… they care, they worry."
Yes sir, "they" do. She thought, but was totally unwilling to break into his discourse. Not when he was being more talkative than she had ever seen. At least when it came to matters like this.
"It should affect you, you should react… although you have just woken up, smelled the cake and *finally* realised that he was a jerk who was really not fit to kiss your…" He paused and bit off his original word, supplying another instead. "…Reactor… And so you did something about it!"
She knew her eyes gave her away slightly; his shoulders relaxed a fraction as he continued.
"Honestly, Carter, it's about damned time! It doesn't usually take you so long to figure stuff out," he stopped again then, obviously realising that he had gone somewhat off-track, before taking a breath and starting again. "But you know the boys, they get all "worried" and "caring" and want to make sure that you let yourself regret that it didn't work out with the cop, rather than pretend nothing happened. Pretend that you were 'Just. Fine'."
The "boys" did? Probably, but I'm not buying that, Sir, she thought, slightly tunned by his… well, by *him*. Jack O'Neill in touch with his feminine side? What's that pink thing flying past her window? Oh, yeah, a pig! But she couldn't help but grin inwardly at his new found talkative nature - apparently the general had learned a certain eloquence from all those meetings he bitched about so much.
He sighed as he took a step back, but she could still feel the imprint of his body and the distance didn't stop her from sensing the raw, barely restrained intensity he exuded.
She knew he understood her silence as he ran an absentminded hand through his silver hair, took a deep breath and began to explain.
"Four days, Carter, four days since you told Cassie, who then told us – you know, you upset Daniel and T… and… others… by not telling them yourself, " he paused, realising he'd wandered away from the issue again, visibly righted his thoughts and resumed once more. "Four days and nothing… You hadn't worked yourself into the ground, you hadn't yelled at anyone -- by the way, Airman Morris apologises profusely for screwing up the … doodad thingy -- and you kept saying you were 'fine'." He stepped a half pace forward and took up her left hand, running his thumb lightly across the area of her third finger that was so recently made bare. "But this was missing. It doesn't take a genius to figure it could't possibly be 'fine'. So the whole 'engaged to Pete' thing wasn't right, deal with it, and then move on." He lowered her hand. "The operative term there, in case you missed it, Carter, is "deal". You weren't. Now you are."
She nodded. Half impressed, half amused and not just a little bit turned on. But he'd figured it ever so slightly wrong.
"Why?" She posed; her voice quiet and thoughtful.
Clearly, judging by his expression, he'd noticed her lack of any kind of address, formal or otherwise. He didn't comment other than to answer her question, his eyes honest.
"Why now?" It wasn't what she meant but she didn't correct him. "Honestly? I've just finished briefing the president on SG-3's latest screw up and I knew you'd be home."
Her gazed stayed pinned to his, a gesture more eloquent than words. Not enough, General. More.
"Oh," he sighed, figuring he'd worked out her meaning on his second attempt. "Why me?"
He lowered his eyes briefly, evidently made some kind of decision, then squared his shoulders, lifted his head and gave her the answer. "Because, Sam, it's my job. Always has been, always will be."
She brutally quashed any and all visible reaction those words elicited. But she knew he'd let her in, however subtly, and probably against his better judgment; certainly against his intentions. He'd come here with honour and understanding paramount in his motive and reasoning. But he'd given her an opening. She wanted - and needed - more from him now.
She could see his indecision. She could see his own needs vying with his integrity; his own feelings being held tight by his assumption of her feelings. His acceptance that, for now, she should be grieving. Grieving for a just-finished relationship that should never have begun in the first place. He respected that fact enough to be her friend. But she realised that even though he had figured out all this, he still didn't totally understand. His logic was just a little flawed.
After all, how could that relationship have ever held a future? How could she have married one man while she knew in her soul that she loved another?
In fact, that realisation had been the catalyst in her decision to break it off with Pete.
Yes, she grieved for the security Pete had given her. And yes, she was truly sorry that he'd been hurt - if she could've avoided it, she would have. She'd loved him in her own way and would miss him a great deal. But the tears she had fought in front of her General were for the man she couldn't have, the man she wanted more than anything in the world. Her tears had been born of the inability to be honest with herself until she had no choice but to hurt an innocent man; tears of frustration, of being right back were she had started from all those years ago.
But he'd stepped over a line this evening. She knew that he'd said more than he ever intended to say. He'd given her the opening she wanted, but had done it so obliquely that she could ignore it if that was her wish. At first she'd thought it had been an unintended slip, a reaction to the sudden hike of emotion. But knowing Jack O'Neill as she did, she doubted very much that he'd ever do anything so important unintentionally. Quickly letting her mind add up the facts, she realised that she had never seen that man do anything he didn't mean to do. Or that he hadn't thought out a hundred different outcomes before he'd even opened his mouth.
The pieces clicked into place. He'd come here tonight solely to make her face what she had lost, to make her deal and move on. But he'd understood her better than she had given him credit for (which in itself was saying something) and in doing so he'd taken a small chance on her. He'd given her exactly what she was grieving for most. The chance she'd been waiting eight years for.
Ball in her court, she decided she was going to slam it right on back to his.
"No. Not that," she began in a voice confident, but tinged with a nervousness she couldn't quite hide. He obviously didn't get - or didn't want to get - her meaning but she'd made her choice. "Why did you let him borrow me?"
If her throat hadn't closed over with emotion, if her pulse hadn't been rocketing around like a jackhammer, and if her blood hadn't been travelling faster than the '303, she would have been thoroughly amused by the comical shock that spread over his face… and body.
He'd so not expected that.
She let him stare at her, let him evaluate her frame of mind and, quite likely, her sanity. She let him realise that she was determined and serious and oh so sure of herself and her emotions this time. It's time to stop screwing around, Jack. Yes or no, you in or out? Guts and glory, flyboy, right here, right now.
He heard her words as surely as if she'd spoken them out loud. She knew it the second a half smile turned up the corner of his mouth and a light sparked behind dark eyes.
"Why did I let him 'borrow' you?" He concluded and then resolutely held her gaze as he answered. "So that when you came back, you'd know I loved you enough to let you go, Sam."
She hadn't been sure what to expect from him, but the absolute certainty, unabashed romance and total cliché of his answer… well, it was so "Jack" that she smiled. Never underestimate Jack O'Neill. If you do, he'll whup your ass and sell tickets.
He moved then, with all the agility that had been bred into the soldier and was now natural to the man. She leant into him as his arms trapped her to him, his very being wrapping her up and quite blatantly refusing to ever let go again. She titled her face up to capture his gaze once again and smiled. "You won't need to let me go again, General." He smirked at her reference to his title and all that still stood in their way. She grinned back, knowing that neither of them cared even though they really should. Everything they'd been so afraid of crossing for the last few years was still there, but it was somehow different enough, *they* were somehow different enough, that it didn't matter anymore.
She felt his arms tighten and his body finally release every ounce of tension it had carried since he'd arrived. She stretched up onto her toes so that she met his lips halfway and gave just as good as she got until air became a pressing issue.
He kissed the tip of her nose gently before resting his forehead against hers, as she fit this tender, unique man with that of the soldier she had always known.
"This time it's for keeps, Sam," he all but whispered making sure of her one final time. "So if you don't want to deal with the implications of that, tell me, right here right now."
Sam smiled his surprisingly unsure eyes found hers. She was already considering the possible consequences of their future relationship. But she didn't need a retirement or a transfer to allow her take her chance; she didn't need anything other than him. And for the first time, she accepted that and all that it brought with it.
"Have you forgotten that you're the General?" She queried as his eyes lit and he smiled back in understanding.
"… and I can do whatever I want," he finished on a shudder, as her hands slid down his back and found the hem of his T-shirt, while fingers began to slide over the sinew of the muscled back he hid under layers of baggy clothing.
"What *do* you want to do, Jack?" She asked innocently as her inquisitive fingers found a particularly sensitive spot.
"You," he growled without missing a beat, but losing all his earlier finesse as his hands began their own wanderings, making her gasp. "Right here, right now!"
"Oh definitely, yes… sir!"
THE END.
Story Notes: damn, but i thought i'd killed off fic!muse once and for all!
If you want to read this all nice and formatted correctly, go here - http://www.sjhw.net/linz/righthere.htm
If not, read on... (lindsaymallen@yahoo.com)
CATEGORY: SJ, Future Story.
SPOILERS: Chimera, New Order for sure, and one for the Affinity rumours. Passing glance for Divide and Conquer.
SEASON: Mid to Late Season 8.
ARCHIVE: SJD, Heliopolis, JackFic, others only have to ask.
NOTES: You know, I'm supposed to be too busy with other stuff to be writing fic. A 'fic sabbatical' this is supposed to be… hmmm! This stemmed from a line I read in a novel by Judith McNaught called 'Someone to Watch Over Me'. I fell in love with the line the second I read it and muse has been badgering me ever since. Hopefully by saying that the original line is hers and I'm only borrowing it anyhow, Ms. McNaught won't want to sue me.
(By the way, my variation of the line is given as the summary to this fic).
For A - Happy birthday!
If you want to read this all nice and formatted correctly, go here - http://www.sjhw.net/linz/righthere.htm
If not, read on... (lindsaymallen@yahoo.com)
CATEGORY: SJ, Future Story.
SPOILERS: Chimera, New Order for sure, and one for the Affinity rumours. Passing glance for Divide and Conquer.
SEASON: Mid to Late Season 8.
ARCHIVE: SJD, Heliopolis, JackFic, others only have to ask.
NOTES: You know, I'm supposed to be too busy with other stuff to be writing fic. A 'fic sabbatical' this is supposed to be… hmmm! This stemmed from a line I read in a novel by Judith McNaught called 'Someone to Watch Over Me'. I fell in love with the line the second I read it and muse has been badgering me ever since. Hopefully by saying that the original line is hers and I'm only borrowing it anyhow, Ms. McNaught won't want to sue me.
(By the way, my variation of the line is given as the summary to this fic).
For A - Happy birthday!
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 ]