---------
"You put your face in front of mine, all but hiding
desperation, hunger leaks out of your eyes, whetting me
with dark temptation, and all I want all I want is to hold
you, but instead I hold my breath..."
~ Bree Sharp, "Smitten"
----------
I think that I'm in some form of shock. Or maybe somebody spiked the punch. Or maybe it's true that you simply can't be in a bad mood at weddings. Even if it's a wedding you never wanted to take place.
The ceremony itself - rings, 'I do's... it's all faint and fuzzy in my head. One minute I'm listening to Rick jabber endlessly, nervously, and the next I'm watching the happy couple flying down the aisle. I don't even remember what Sam looked like in her traditional white, flowing dress. Maybe I don't want to... but I'm sure she was beautiful.
I've gone through all the motions and now we're at the reception. Dinner's imminent. I've been avoiding Teal'c and Danny all night but in just a few minutes I'll be sitting between Pike and Jackson. I don't know which one I'm more afraid of at the moment.
Dinner is served, and I lapse into another catatonic state, eating mechanically, even exchange passable dialogue with Daniel and Mark and... Jacob? Jacob's here? He must have walked Sam down the aisle,
but I don't remember. Conveniently I've blocked it all out, for the moment anyway, so that later - perhaps tonight - I can take out the memory and play it like a movie reel. Over and over in my head, berating myself, hating myself. Because if it wasn't for me, Sam and Rick would have never met. Never had a reason to meet. She went to him because she couldn't talk to me. She couldn't approach me... but
since when does anyone? I must seem pretty imposing... surrounded by astral barbed wire, perhaps? Celestial signs that advise people in emotional upheaval to walk in the other direction? Do I have "No
Trespassing" tattooed on my forehead?
And then comes the most awful part of the entire night, awful because everyone's looking, because I can't let my mind drift off, because I have to pretend I mean what I'm saying. The speech. The dreaded
speech.
I am, after all, the best man. Even if I was only second best to Sam.
I clear my throat and rise, ignoring the expressions of those closest to me.
"For those of you here who don't know," I begin informally, because the guest list was quite large. "I'm Samantha's commanding officer. And I can't begin to go into what we've been through..." 'Because then I'd have to kill you,' I add wryly. "But it's been a lot. More than I would wish on my worst enemy." I resist a glance at Rick. "Long hours, bad conditions... no one's idea of paradise, especially when you have to go home to an empty house. I know." That elicits a few chuckles, which is nice even though I didn't intend for it to be funny. "So I'm relieved that she's found someone she can be happy with for the rest of her life... someone to go home to... someone to be a family to. There's not a person in this world, in this UNIVERSE..." I see Hammond, at the front of the room, scowl, but ignore him. It was my one concession to Danny and the other attending SGC members, who smile secretly. "...Who deserves it more than she does." I raise my glass, and wonder how much I've been drinking. Plenty, I suppose, if I can't count that high. "A toast. To..." I shrug. "To making dreams come true."
I see Ferreti gag, but smile as he does it, and then we all drink. When I dare to glance at Sam, she's staring at me with a truly unreadable expression. Good or bad, I can't tell for the life of me. Damn.
I sit, and Jacob raises an eyebrow at me. "Nice bullshitting, son," he praises, and I all but fall out of my seat. But... I... that is...
Damn Tok'ra. I swear they're telepathic.
"I agree," says Daniel fluidly. "Well done."
----------
The ideal situation would be one in which I could make a hasty exit, but no such luck. In fact, I seem to be having a luck shortage.
That's the rotten thing about Luck, though. You figure that if you've been having some Bad, you're due for some Good. It's the way the world works. Ups and downs, good times and bad, and on and on. But
it isn't that simple. Luck discriminates. She isn't an Equal Opportunity Employer. And frankly, she isn't a lady. She's a bitch. She'll play with your head and your heart, be there right behind you, and then when you really need her, you turn around and there she is giving you the finger. Or maybe pointing a gun in your face.
Excuse me for being cynical.
According to Janet, who's a little... shall we say... inebriated... I'm a catch. Meaning I'm single and I'm too distracted to put up much of a fight. So I've been dancing with a seemingly endless slew of partners since that dinner from hell ended... the women are nice enough, I'm sure, but I'm simply not paying attention to them. In fact, I doubt I would have realized if Teal'c had cut in.
I'm too busy watching Sam. She and Rick are making the rounds, flitting in between groups of dancers and drinkers and dancing drinkers. This is good; it means I can stare at her while pretending I'm not staring at HER. But it isn't what I call luck.
Every once in a while, Sam will glance in my direction. But there's nothing devastatingly urgent in her eyes... she probably just wishes I'd stop watching her.
Everything fuzzes again and the next time I surface it's to a slow song, and Sam's soft voice. I jump. She's standing right in front of me, watching me curiously. "Dance?" I entreat dumbly, and Sam nods, almost reluctantly. She's probably worried about my mental state. So am I.
The song isn't important; I don't pause and analyze the words and how they fit the situation. I'm not that kind of guy. Besides, my five senses are a bit preoccupied. I can see Sam standing before me, smell her perfume, hear her voice as she idly chats while we sway with the music, feel her body pressed against mine, and the delicate lace of her dress under my fingertips. And I can taste the bitter taste of defeat. He won, I lost.
Maybe we were never in direct competition. But he now has what I wanted... what I want. I have this short dance but then, but then...
"Am I going to have to start calling you Major Pike?" I blurt.
She looks amused. She's probably already answered this question a million times. "No, Colonel. I'm sticking with Carter." Of course: strong, liberated, independent woman that she is. "So many people on base just call me by last name, and I'd hate to confuse them."
I hide a frown. Was that directed at me, at least partially? "Well, they could always just call you "Sam"," I say carefully.
"I'd like it if they did that," she answers forwardly.
The song ends, and I let her go. Not that I ever had her to begin with.
----------
The End.
Story Notes: The Whole Affair 4: Spoilers: POV
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 ]