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"If you were a king up there on your throne,
would you be wise enough to let me go... so
let me go, let me leave, for this crown you've
placed upon my head feels to heavy now and I
don't know what to say but I'll smile anyhow."
~ Dido, "Hunter"
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I think I'm going to be sick. I would be, but vomit might disrupt Sam's little party. And though I hate what she's doing, she's still my friend, and I still love her.
If only I could say that aloud. I guess I'm afraid that if I open my mouth to say the words, the only thing I'll be able to get past my lips is breakfast. Or maybe I'll REALLY embarrass myself and burst into tears, which is what I've felt like doing since hearing the news.
He proposed to her. The bastard did what everyone - even Sam - had been expecting. And he did it during dinner, on the date Danny and I saw them leaving on just two days ago. Ferreti threw together a little party with the help of some Marine friends. I'm glad he beat me to it, because otherwise I would have been expected to do the honors. And I couldn't do that. So Danny would end up doing it, and I would end up resentful towards all of them.
When did my life become so screwed up? I can't remember a time when it wasn't.
The party had a good turnout. Oh, all right, just about everyone was there. Sam's a popular person. The women love her because she's the paragon of feminine intellectual supremacy over us barbaric males. The men love her because she works on a level with them, without acting either omnipotent or vapid.
Well, that's not why all of us love her.
I watch Graham Simmons from across the room. I don't know if he honest-to-God loved her, but he sure as hell felt something for her, and there's not a person in the room I sympathize with more. Who's the lucky one, Graham? I wonder. Me, because I was so close to her? Or you, because you never were? You won't know what you're missing.
I shake my head slightly, telling myself that I have to stop thinking about Sam in the past tense. She's not dead, for crying out loud. She's not even leaving. But in one sense of the word she'll be gone - a part of her, anyway - forever. The part of her that I wanted, all to myself.
Irony and self-mockery still gurgle through my veins. I totally, TOTALLY deserve this. I drove her to it. I drove her into his arms.
And I'm still driving, I realize as I purposely avoid eye contact with Carter. She's been looking over at me all night, and I'd like to think she has some secret, lustful motive, but she's probably wondering why I haven't talked to her all night. When there's little parties set up - on base, like this one, or off - we usually make the rounds together. I don't know why she always stuck with me but I always liked the sensation of being one half of something, playing pretend couple for a few hours, enjoying sending warning glares to any uppity young men who showed any more then passing interest in her.
But now that's over. That part of our lives, that part of Sam, is all but dead and buried. And I already miss it. Miss her. She's standing across the room, staring purposefully at me, within earshot, and already I miss her.
But then again, they do say that the worst way to miss somebody is to have them sitting right beside you, and knowing you can't have them.
That just about summed up our relationship for a long, long time. She was treasure, and any temptation I might have felt to pursue such forbidden fruit was foolhardy and selfish. I knew my duties and I knew the promises I had made to my country, my superiors, and myself.
But still, there had always been that enticement, that appeal, that open door with the knob in easy reach.
Now that it had been slammed shut in my face, I felt claustrophobic.
"Sir?"
This time I didn't run for the relative safety of the hallway. This time, I pledged, I was going to face this, face her. "Yes, Major?"
I know from the hesitant look on her face that she thought - knows - that something is wrong, but she's tactful enough to not say anything. Or perhaps she's blind, and doesn't see it at all. Maybe I'm just projecting. I have a habit of doing that.
"Can we talk, sir?"
I just stare blankly at her, as though to say "Isn't that what we're doing?"
"Privately," she elaborates.
We step out into the hallway and walked a bit down the corridor, so as not to be interrupted by any merry and slightly inebriated airmen. I hope all of them were off duty and hadn't just sneaked in for a drink.
Sam stopped and turned towards me, and I mimicked her actions, trying to read her face while still retain my bored, easy-going façade. "What is it, Captain?"
She smiled a nervous little smile. "I've been talking to Rick about this, and he agrees with me."
"On what?"
She paused, poised on the brink of something BIG - or so it seemed - and then steeled her courage and said:
"We want you to be his best man. In the wedding."
"Huh?" It wasn't the most intelligent response, perhaps, but it was the only one I felt capable of making at the moment. Besides, there was no way she had just said what I thought she'd just said. That would have been simply too awful. Too cruel.
But she was smiling, apprehensively, and I knew I had heard correctly.
I blinked hard. "What about Mark?"
"I've discussed this with him, too. I realizes that lately you, well, you've played a bigger part in my life then he has. He understands. He's perfectly fine with being an usher with Daniel and Teal'c."
My head was spinning. She'd already talked this over with her brother, even? What, had she been on the phone for two days straight? Was there anybody she hadn't talked to except me?
-She's talking to you now, idiot- mumbled an annoyed little voice in my head. -Quit overreacting-.
Overreacting? Ha.
She's still talking, face flushed with excitement. "His sister Amy is going to be my matron of honor... kind of a compromise. And Janet-"
She rambles on, seeming to have already planned the entire ceremony, while I take the recess to wallow in self-pity. Irony upon irony. What god did I piss off to end up in this position? Legitimate god, that is.
She looks up at me, eager and expectant. What the hell am I supposed to say? Am I supposed to tell her the truth? No Sam, I can't be the best man because I don't want to be standing beside Rick, I want to be standing beside you. I love you, and asking me to be present at your wedding, much less a part of the ceremony is like... well, it's beyond imagining.
If I was a stronger man, one with more confidence in my masculinity and my ability to laugh off rejection, then I could say just that. Better late than never, yadda yadda yadda. Once she says those vows, I can never even consider broaching this topic again. If it's dangerous ground now, once she's Mrs. Rick Pike, it'll be a minefield.
"Sure," I hear myself say. I feel detached. My body is still where it's supposed to be, but my mind's floating up at the ceiling, shaking its head and making 'tsk, tsk' sounds.
Sam grins. God, she has the absolute most beautiful grin. Will I still see it? Or will she keep it for him?
"Thank you, sir," she says breathlessly. For a second, she seems poised to hug me, and I tense. Do I want her to hug me? Hell yes! But should she? Would it be good for me? For us?
Hell yes.
But it's not meant to be. Seems a lot of things aren't.
The door opens and it's Rick.
She smiles at him and hurries to greet him, turning her back on me so suddenly that I shiver. Then I turn and walk away. Quickly.
I'm still here. She's still here. But we're both still driving.
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The End.
Story Notes: The Whole Affair 2:
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 ]