Colorado Springs, and downtown a light dusting of powder snow presaged the start of another cold winter. At a table by the window of a busy pizza restaurant, SG1's latest recruit, Jonas Quinn, was finding it hard to suppress an almost permanent boyish grin. Jonas's fascination with the planet's weather system bemused and amused his fellow team members; his delight at this fall of snow - his first since he'd attached himself to Earth's Stargate Command - was proving to be infectious. For a while, his smile lightened the mood of everyone there, everyone except Colonel O'Neill, whose glum expression had not gone unnoticed by Doctor Frasier, or indeed by Major Carter, whose questioning glances had met with nothing more than blank stares. The colonel's apparent lack of appetite - evidenced by a half-finished pizza and an untouched bowl of french fries - was noteworthy. Jonas, being new to the team, had noticed nothing unusual. "You going to finish those?" he asked, waving a fork in the direction of the fries. The colonel nudged the bowl in Jonas's direction, his action eliciting annother broad smile from the alien, and concerned glances from the rest of the team. Aware of the attention, O'Neill threw a questioning look across the table. "What?" he asked, all feigned innocence, his attitude oozing defiance, daring any one of them to offer up an opinion. Teal'c, Samantha Carter and Janet Frasier knew better than to accept the challenge. Oblivious to the growing tension, Jonas forked in another mouthful of fries.
Without asking if anyone else wanted a drink, O'Neill ordered another beer and whisky chaser. Mindful that he had a drive ahead of him, and this would be the colonel's third round of the night, Janet risked a comment. "If you don't mind me saying so, Colonel, do you think that's wise?" "No, I don't think it's wise, but frankly I don't give a damn." "Gone With the Wind!" Jonas prodded the air with his fork, proudly emphasising the fact that he'd spotted one of Earth's literary references. Under the combined withering stares of his companions his cheeks flooded with colour. He grinned sheepishly, stabbing at another french fry with a sudden and distinct lack of enthusiasm. Major Carter turned to her commanding officer. "Sir?" That simple word voiced the concern of all those present. "Major?" O'Neill stared down his second in command, issuing yet another challenge she was unwilling to face. Janet and Sam exchanged looks, Sam's face asking, what's going on? Janet's raised eyebrows indicative of a mental shrug that said, beats me. The colonel's dark mood enveloped the party like a shroud. The five sat on in deadly silence. Jonas smiled at no one in particular, his attempt to ease the atmosphere apparently doomed to failure.
O'Neill watched as the waitress placed his order on the table. He picked up the beer and slowly savoured its pale coolness unaware that he had become the centre of attention. As he exchanged the empty beer glass for the shot glass of whisky, he finally became aware of the watching faces. He held the amber liquid up to the light then, his eyes on Major Carter, threw the whisky down his throat in an emphatic gesture of defiance. Samantha Carter pursed her lips and turned away, disapproval and disappointment written clearly across her face. Janet reached out and touched her friend lightly on the arm, offering a sympathetic gesture of comfort and support. Disturbed by the sudden change of mood, Jonas fiddled nervously with a fork, while Teal'c stared across at O'Neill, trying to work out why his friend was being more than usually belligerent. "Well, this is fun." The colonel's time worn expression was recognized by Major Carter and Teal'c as a sign of his general unease. Neither of them could find anything to say.
In reality, O'Neill's profound melancholy was a result of an unhealthy preoccupation with his second in command. It had been two years since he had reluctantly admitted, under duress, that he cared about Samantha Carter far more than he should. At the time she had voiced reciprocal feelings, but, with military regulations denying them any outward display of affection, they had tried to suppress these unwelcome and inappropriate sentiments. While outwardly nothing more than friends, inwardly they were a knot of conflicting desires and repressed emotions. This particular night, on SG1's first leave of absence after a plethora of tough offworld assignments, O'Neill was feeling extraordinarily tired. Weary of flesh, and exhausted by his inner demons, he was finding it more than usually hard to suppress his feelings for Major Carter. Lying to the military and to his friends had, after all, always been easier than lying to himself. Out of drab airforce uniform, wearing clothes that showed off her lithe physique, in colours chosen to complement her blonde hair and fair complexion - well, when she looked like that, how could he possibly resist the charms of his 2CO. Seated opposite the colonel, Sam Carter was forever in his line of sight. Watching her, he found himself wishing it was just the two of them, alone. While the others had exchanged friendly banter, the colonel had fallen into a well of silence. He kept thinking, what would it hurt to allow himself just one kiss? But then, because he never really could believe that this bright and beautiful woman would be attracted to a loser like him, he started to wonder how she'd react if he even tried. He'd begun to wish he'd refused the offer of an evening out. He could have gone straight home and got quietly drunk on his own, something he did more often than was generally known. Drink brought his covert dreams to the surface, allowing him to mull over the various possibilities and improbabilities of a relationship with his blonde haired, blue eyed temptress. Eventually, he knew, the fug of alcohol would ease the pain of his unfulfilled longings.
With the atmosphere now as frosty as the air outside, it was inevitable that the party should break up. Teal'c and Jonas needed to get back to the base, neither of them yet permitted permanent accommodation outside the Cheyenne complex. It made sense for them to make their way back to the mountain before the weather deteriorated and the roads became unduly icy. O'Neill took care of the bill while his comrades donned coats, hats and scarves against the winter chill outside. They left after saying their goodbyes, Jonas looking particularly relieved to leave the sombre mood behind. O'Neill made no move to depart, finding it somehow impossible to walk away from the woman whose presence was such a delight and a torture. Unable to face the lonely journey to a cold and empty house, his deep depression glued him to his seat. Thinking that Sam and Janet would leave together, he was surprised out of his reverie by the touch of the doctor's hand on his arm. Dressed for the outside weather, she was ready to depart. "Goodnight, Colonel," she said, "and drive carefully." "Yeah, 'night, Doc." Janet cast a questioning look in Sam's direction. Sam's answering smile was fleeting, but it was enough for Janet to recognise that her friend knew what she was doing. She hoped to God that, in hindsight, leaving those two together wasn't going to be a spectacularly bad idea. In truth, Sam and Janet had already indulged in a non-verbal conversation - unobserved by Jack, who was lost in contemplation - that spoke of Sam's desire to stay behind with the colonel. Janet could only guess at some earlier incident between the two that needed discussion or resolution. Being privy to that moment when their feelings for each other had been made known - feelings that Janet was certain had never really gone away - she considered it unwise for Sam and Jack to be alone together, but they were responsible adults and should be allowed to conduct their lives as they saw fit.
Now it was just the two of them, which is what the colonel had wanted all along, except the fact of their relative solitude only made the burden harder to bear, because now there was no one's presence reigning in his libido. His elbow on the table, his chin in his hand, he stared into Sam Carter's blue eyes, waiting for her to say something, anything that would break the apparent stasis. "You okay to drive, sir?" It wasn't what he'd been expecting. "I'm fine, Major." "You sure?" "I said I'm fine." Silence. In which they both picked at invisible stains on the surface of the table, unaware that they were unconsciously mirroring each other's gesture. "Sir . . ." "Major . . ." They exchanged smiles, an acknowledgement of their mutual awkwardness. Neither of them could summon up the courage to say what was really on their mind. "Come on, Major, I think it's time to go." O'Neill stood. Taking his jacket from the back of his chair he put it on. Pulling a woolly hat from the pocket, he tugged it down tightly over his ears. Sam Carter smiled to herself as she prepared herself for the certain chill outside. Colonel O'Neill's prediliction for strange hats was a source of amusement at the base. Sam liked the fact that he couldn't care less what he looked like in them as long as they served their purpose. It demonstrated that the colonel's occasional acts of self-aggrandisement were nothing more than a show, part of an act that masked an underlying and rather surprising insecurity.
Outside, the snow drifted gently down in giant flakes, the initial light flurry fast becoming a major fall. As they walked across to their respective vehicles - the major's classy little Volvo dwarfed by the colonel's giant SUV - Samantha Carter berated herself for not finding the resolve to ask the colonel why he was in such a strange mood. Perhaps the fact that he wasn't one to open up, even to a long term friend and companion, had baulked any effort she might have been willing to make. Jack O'Neill thrust his hands into his coat pockets, not so much to keep them warm, but because instinct told him that his arm should be around Carter's shoulders, and hers around his waist. The inches between them might as well have been miles. The colonel stopped by the bonnet of Sam's car. He watched her unlock and open the door, wanting to ask her home, equally afraid that she'd accept or refuse. Sam paused with one hand on the door of the Volvo. She looked at O'Neill where, oblivious to the snow settling lightly onto his head and shoulders, he presented a somewhat sad and lonely figure. For a moment they made eye contact, real contact, not the brief and relatively safe exchanges they usually allowed themselves. All too easily, Sam read the longing in the colonel's eyes, aware of the question his heart was asking, even if he couldn't speak the words aloud. She knew, if she could only allow herself to make the right move, that just a few simple steps separated her from a warm and very welcome embrace. She hesitated long enough for the fiercely logical side of her ego to take control. Before she could change her mind, she slid into the seat of the sports car, slammed the door, turned the key in the ignition and accelerated away in a flurry of tyre-driven snow, barely missing O'Neill in her eagerness to get away. He watched her slalom the Volvo out of the parking lot and onto the freeway, where, gunning through the gears, she quickly disappeared into the thickening mass of falling snow. O'Neill slammed his fist into the side of his SUV, then kicked the crap out of the front, offside tyre until, frustration finally exhausted, he climbed wearily into the cab. As he switched on the ignition he was greeted by words that seemed just a little too appropriate:
". . . I know I'll never get inside of you
to make your eyes catch fire
the way they should
the way the blue could pull me in
if they only would
if they only would . . ."
With a sigh he switched over to the CD player. He drove home to the sounds of Shostakovich, the haunting, melancholic themes of the Quartet in C Minor doing nothing to dispel his sense of hopelessness and despair.
Story Notes: SPOILERS: Window of Opportunity.
ARCHIVE: SJD Yes. Anyone else, please ask.
Copyright (c) 2003 Jeannette Simpson
I haven't got my own web site up and running yet, so thought I'd use this opportunity to get some of my fic out there. First attempt - hope the formatting's okay.
The lyrics are from The Cure's "A Letter to Elise", (c) fiction records ltd.1992
ARCHIVE: SJD Yes. Anyone else, please ask.
Copyright (c) 2003 Jeannette Simpson
I haven't got my own web site up and running yet, so thought I'd use this opportunity to get some of my fic out there. First attempt - hope the formatting's okay.
The lyrics are from The Cure's "A Letter to Elise", (c) fiction records ltd.1992
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 ]