Jack was quietly getting drunk.
Quietly because he was in no mood for loud noise and idle chatter.
Getting drunk because today there were another four officers who would never return to Earth again.
He didn't drink like this every time the SGC lost good officers, only when it became personal - he'd had a blinder the night after the black hole incident with Henry Boyd and Frank Cromwell.
In spite of his comments to Carter about the young officer, Elliot reminded Jack of another young Lieutenant just entering the Air Force. Stars shining in his eyes, ready to take on the world and whatever it threw at him, prepared to do his duty by his commander and his country.
The polish had swiftly rubbed off Jack.
How swiftly had the polish rubbed off Elliot?
Too swiftly.
*I feel like I've been training for this all my life. I don't intend to let it slip by me.*
And less than three months later, the young man, who'd been preparing for the 'something more' he'd known was out there, was dead.
It was a nice single malt.
So...Elliot. And Mansfield. And all of SG-16.
Another set of good people lost.
And Jack was tired.
Sometimes it seemed that this fight was getting them nowhere. A carrot of hope was briefly dangled before being cruelly snatched away. They tried to eliminate the threat of the Goa'uld, only to find that a new Goa'uld stepped into the breach.
Jack was tired.
Jack was *really* tired.
The alcohol was getting to him, and he was getting old.
Major Mansfield had been seven years younger than Jack, had left behind the proverbial wife and two kids. It was cold comfort that Hammond could tell them that Mansfield died helping others - what did that matter when the person you cared about was gone?
Sudden memory imposed itself.
*...running down the tunnels, yelling into his radio, "Carter!"...seeing the piles of rock and the limbs splayed out beneath them...feeling the cold terror creeping around his heart as no answer came...*
Jack poured himself another two fingers of whiskey and drank it down fast.
He didn't need this. Not right now. Not on top of everything else. Time to go to bed - to get some sleep instead of sitting up and drinking to numb the guilt, the anger and the confusion.
And maybe Jack had drunk enough so he wouldn't dream about a young man whose hopes and future had been crushed beneath a falling tunnel roof.
He was just getting up from his chair when the doorbell rang.
A sixth sense prickled his neck as he stepped up to the peephole. Not trouble, but something just as disturbing.
Carter stood on the doormat, staring blankly at the wood grain of the door. She was dressed in civvies: jeans and a leather jacket. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her arms were hugged around her body - the ultimate pose of emotional retreat for his 2IC.
What was she doing here?
He opened the door, "Carter."
"Sir." She looked like a raw recruit sent to the drill sergeant for a dressing down.
Exasperation flooded him. "Are you gonna come in, or are you gonna stand out there all night?" So he was a bit sharper than usual. He was drunk. And the sight of her on his doorstep was disquieting. Partly because she never came around to his place unless there was a 'team night' going on, and partly because it was *her* standing on his doorstep hugging herself.
She came in.
Jack shut the door, and immediately wished he hadn't. The movement of displaced air wafted a scent both familiar and unfamiliar into his nostrils - the scent of Sam Carter. It made him dizzy.
No, it *didn't* make him dizzy. He was already drunk, therefore the dizziness. It had nothing to do with her.
*Yeah, right.*
He hadn't asked for this.these feelings he couldn't do anything with. But he had them. He had them in spades - and they made his life a peculiar kind of pleasure and an equally peculiar kind of hell.
On one hand, it gave a whole new level of enjoyment to interacting with her. She was a good friend, a competent colleague, and he took pleasure in her company. On the other, he couldn't do a damned thing about their situation. If she was distressed he couldn't do a thing about her state of mind, either; helping her emotionally get through some of the things they had to face was too close to where they didn't want to go - it was easier just to avoid the possibility entirely.
"I guess, since you've turned up on my doorstep like a lost puppy, that things aren't okay with you." Oh, and that was just the *best* way to start a conversation with her! "Okay, disclaimer time. I'm drunk right now, Carter, so the alcohol is responsible for anything I say."
That eked out a tiny smile from her.
"Got a spare glass, sir? I could use a drink."
He knew his eyebrows jumped, they couldn't help it, but he walked past her and into the kitchen to fetch another glass. She hadn't moved when he came out, so, coming back through the hallway, he took her arm and gently prodded her along the hall. A gentle push moved her towards a chair, and he lifted the bottle, "Whiskey okay?"
"Fine. Single or double malt?"
Jack snorted, "Single. Double is saved for those really bad days..." Abruptly he realised that today probably qualified as a really bad day - for all of them. He poured the drink and handed it to her. "Here."
She downed it *way* faster than she ought. His throat burned in sympathy as she swallowed and rubbed the back of her hand over her mouth. Then she handed the glass back. "Thanks, sir."
Things were a lot worse than he thought if she was slugging good whiskey like that. "Sam?" The name came out very softly - he rarely used her name anymore, it was too...dangerous.
She stood up, as if that single word had galvanised her into action and for one moment Jack thought she'd run like Sokar himself had shown up. Although given that this was Carter he was thinking of, she'd probably reach for the nearest knife and take the snake on rather than doing a runner.
But she only stood and paced the room, whatever was eating at her forcing her to her feet, driving her onwards like a cattle prod.
And Jack just watched. Without words, because he had none to offer her. Hungrily, because she needed some kind of comfort and he couldn't give her any kind. Bitterly, because she was grieving another man as she paced like a creature caged.
He rose as she stumbled, reaching out to her, but she held out her hands to stop him and he stopped.
Denied. Always denied. Denied not only the care they had for each other, but also the friendship they wanted by the too much they already had. If there had been less between them then they could have shown more affection, but the extent of what they wanted meant they could only have the cold, impersonal relationship of working colleagues - or nothing at all.
"I'm tired of it," she said suddenly, her arms wrapped around her body, pacing like a caged creature. "I'm tired of losing friends and allies, living in fear, and never knowing if there's a tomorrow." Huge blue eyes were made clearer and bluer in grief. Jack felt her pain to the core of him, transmitted through the desolation of her expression. "I'm tired of holding back, sir. I'm tired of being good."
Her words froze him. He'd always counted on her to be the strong one.
And if he couldn't...
Sam stepped up to him, bare inches away. Near enough that he could feel the tremors in her body like a wavering of the soul; near enough that he could see the flecks in her eyes - an ocean of blue seas in which he was dangerously close to drowning. She looked up at him, eyes steadfast, lips slightly parted. Whether she knew it or not, she was devastating in her uncertainty and Jack moistened dry lips and asked, "What do you want, Sam?"
"What I can't have," she whispered. Her breath danced across his jaw, subtly shifting stubble in a caress that made Jack dizzy. "Because I'll just lose it again."
Jack was drunk and weak. He *wanted* to be tempted. He wanted to feel life instead of death and intimacy instead of distance. So he brushed his thumbs across smooth skin stretched over fine bone and brushed his mouth over hers, hungry for the taste of something more than whiskey.
If she had pushed him away, maybe it would have stopped there.
She didn't.
Instead, she responded, her lips opening so sweetly against his mouth, inviting him into darker realms of carnal satisfaction. The surrender ached in Jack's throat and chest and bound his will with chains of trinium. *It's just grief, Jack. Nothing else would have brought her to you like this.*
And, terrifyingly, a part of him didn't care.
The alcohol lingering on her mouth spiced the taste of her lips, and when he pressed his mouth deeper into hers she gave way to him. There were warm, slender curves under the butter-soft leather of her jacket and long slim thighs pressing at his legs. Her hands ruffled the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up. Cool fingers stroked his hot skin, trailing up the hollow of his spine at the base of his back.
Jack quivered with desire and despair.
They'd never done this before - with good reason. Too many lines crossed, too many rules broken, too much to lose, too much to gain, too afraid of what could be, too comfortable with what was.
He dragged his lips from contemplation of hers and he looked down into her eyes - beautiful, fearless, trusting eyes. If he led her to the bedroom and laid her down on the bed; if he undressed her with reverent hands and let his mouth learn the flavour of her flesh; if his body sank into hers as their mouths met and melded and he thrust into her as she arched against him, would he still see the fearless trust in her eyes tomorrow morning, next mission or next month?
Jack didn't know. And he was afraid to find out.
Because when all was said and done, he could admire her from a distance, but he knew the score.
"Sir?" The uncertainty in her voice hurt - almost as much as the crystallisation of all his fear into that one term.
In the end it didn't matter if he became 'Jack' to her, because someday, he'd just become 'sir' again. And he'd have to live with it.
"'*Sir*'"
The hand at his back closed into a fist as she shut her eyes in painful defeat. Too much. Too much and not enough.
"It's just grief," he told her softly.
Eyes opened. Eyes closed. Head bent down like a wilting flower, forehead resting at the juncture of neck and shoulder.
Silence.
A long silence.
Something fluttered past his collarbone - a soft snort. "Do you think they'd accept that excuse in a court-martial?"
He took her head in his hands and lifted her face to look at him. "I won't report this, Carter." And maybe there was the crux of the problem. Too close to touch, too far away to hold. Maybe he should report it and sever the bonds between them irreparably.
Except that he couldn't do that to her. He wouldn't. Not when there was so much more at stake than his own shabby reputation: her career, their friendship, their team, and five years of trust and affection - even without the dangerous 'more' that haunted them both.
She sighed. "I know." There was guilt and acceptance and weariness in her voice.
So tired of the fight. So tired of the losses. Afraid that someday it wouldn't be someone else's team, it would be his own. Daniel. Teal'c. Sam.
So tired of staying on the right side of the line.
So tired of being unable to make the step that would shatter all things between them and require their relationship to be made anew.
"Stay the night." The words were low and reckless. He watched her pale, then flush, then pale again. "Nothing will happen." He was no animal to let lust rule him. Desire was inevitable; its conclusion was not.
Her gaze clung to his face. "Maybe it's too late to say that," she murmured.
"Maybe. Stay." He paused and when no answer came, he added, "Please."
He didn't want to seduce her. Not like this, when she'd regret it in the morning. He just didn't want to be alone tonight - and neither did she.
Would the need for someone to share the burden of grief outweigh the reservations that were always there between them?
An eternity of uncertainty later, she nodded.
Their fingers laced together, cool fingers against his warm ones. He led them through the house, turning off the lights as they went, then drew her into the bedroom and closed the door behind them.
"I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere," he offered as she paused in the middle of the room, unsure of where to go or what to do.
She half-smiled, easing the tension between them. The mundane revoked the fear and the strangeness of this intimacy after such a long time spent being distant. "That would be good."
They muddled their way through their routines until he was in bed and she was just emerging from the bathroom.
He knew he was staring at her, but he couldn't help it. He'd never seen her legs in their full, bare glory before. Her fatigue pants did a good job of concealing the slender shape of them, even if they couldn't disguise the sheer length. Desire curled in his loins and he swallowed hard and dragged his eyes to her face.
Her expression was both amused and apprehensive, so he asked, "You sure about this?"
She nodded and pulled back the covers to slide into the bed beside him.
*Shiiiit...* She slid into the bed *against* him, shuffling all the way over so her legs slid down against his - the feel of the silky skin doing nothing to cool his desire. And when she settled back, her butt nestled in the cradle of his hips.
"Carter..." he managed, his voice breaking a little on the second syllable. Positioned where she was, there was no way she could miss the stirring of his body.
She put her head down on the pillow next to his, fitting the curve of her neck over his arm. "You can turn the light off," she told him in a voice that only shook a little.
Jack turned the light off and turned back to her.
Against his better judgement, he wound an arm over her waist and kissed the nape of her neck. "Sleep now, Sam." She smelled so damn fine...*felt* so damn fine as she wriggled against him a little but made no further moves to seduce him.
"G'night." There was an audible pause. "Jack." She said his name so softly, he almost missed it.
He breathed out slowly in relief.
His body protested. His mind overruled it.
For a moment, Jack had worried that she would turn on him and drive him beyond his ability to endure such exquisite teasing. It wasn't her willingness that gave him pause - it was how she would respond to him the morning after seducing him.
They were both a little drunk and grieving. Not a good combination for needy-sex. No matter how attractive it seemed now, by tomorrow morning she'd have come to her senses and realised what she'd done. And it would have pulled them apart - and Daniel and Teal'c with them.
Jack didn't want to risk them - not like this. Not over this.
It had been a bad year for her and guys. She'd always attracted them, however unconsciously, and there'd been the incident with the alien and the NID, then Narim and the destruction of Tollana. She'd left the ambassador behind on the Volian planet - and, although the man had been annoying, at least he was human and relatively normal. Jack had even admitted to himself that if Carter wanted to see the man, he wouldn't get in her way.
And now Lantash.
It had always been Martouf who worried him with regards to Sam. Partly professional - how much could she be trusted if she was running around with the Tok'ra? - but also personal, although that hadn't become really clear to him until less than an hour before Martouf died.
The Tok'ra had kept Lantash. And while Jack's interaction with the symbiote half of the Tok'ra was limited, Lantash had been as much Jolinar's mate as Martouf - Martouf was just more open about his love for the symbiote who'd briefly possessed Carter - and about his attraction to Carter.
She shifted a little on his arm and her breathing evened out.
More than anything, he was terrified that it wasn't really anything personal - just attraction and the fact that Jack was the last man standing.
Such a thought gave him no comfort.
*Then look at it this way. The last man standing is the one who's going to sleep with her in his arms, Jack.*
A melancholy peace settled on him.
He cared about her and she cared about him. More than they were supposed to, less than they were allowed.
He was the last man standing - and in the end, the race was not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but to the one who could endure.
Jack would endure.
And someday he wouldn't just be the last man; he'd be Sam Carter's man.
*
feed me! Oh feeeeed me!
Story Notes: EMAIL: SelDear
SPOILERS: 'Tok'ra', 'A Matter of Time', 'Divide and Conquer', 'Ascension', 'Between Two Fires', '2001', 'Summit', 'Last Stand'
SEASON/SEQUEL INFO: Season Five
CONTENT WARNING: Sexual situations, one swearword
DATE: 28th November, 2002
ARCHIVED: SJA, Infinitely Better, Jackfic, Carterfic
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is intended to go in a kind-of series with the 'Taking Measures' series post-Desperate Measures and the missing scene I wrote for Fail Safe: 'Two Hours of Life Support'. I'm thinking over the episode epilogue to Fail Safe - the one where Jack and Sam sit down and talk things over. We'll see.
This isn't as good as I wanted it to be. I personally think it lacks something. Exactly what, I'm not sure. But I've had this around for about ten months and I wanted it out so I could concentrate on other stuff.
SPOILERS: 'Tok'ra', 'A Matter of Time', 'Divide and Conquer', 'Ascension', 'Between Two Fires', '2001', 'Summit', 'Last Stand'
SEASON/SEQUEL INFO: Season Five
CONTENT WARNING: Sexual situations, one swearword
DATE: 28th November, 2002
ARCHIVED: SJA, Infinitely Better, Jackfic, Carterfic
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is intended to go in a kind-of series with the 'Taking Measures' series post-Desperate Measures and the missing scene I wrote for Fail Safe: 'Two Hours of Life Support'. I'm thinking over the episode epilogue to Fail Safe - the one where Jack and Sam sit down and talk things over. We'll see.
This isn't as good as I wanted it to be. I personally think it lacks something. Exactly what, I'm not sure. But I've had this around for about ten months and I wanted it out so I could concentrate on other stuff.
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 ]