samandjack.net

Story Notes: WARNINGS: None that I can think of, except for those who don't like Orlin

SPOILERS: Chimera, Grace, and Ascension

SEASON: Future

A/N: This hasn't been Beta'ed and it's my very first story, but I had to get it out of my system. All mistakes are so mine!


Jack needed downtime in the worst possible way. More than that, he needed to be away from Carter's humming. He knew it was selfish to ask her to love him when their current positions made it against the regulations. There was also no denying he had temporarily formed a "love the one you're with" bond with Laira while on Andorra, and he could assume Carter's relationship with Pete was the same type. Neither of those two things, nor a list of others he could use to reason out why he should be happy for her, made up for the fact that it was driving him crazy. Insanity had driven him to ask her how things were going between herself and Pete when he visited her lab. He had hoped to hear it was all over, but no. Instead he heard the worst possible thing he could imagine – that she wanted to tell Pete about her work. He had to get away!

Several days later, after General Hammand had granted him a week's leave, Jack found himself sitting on the dock at his cabin, favorite rod and reel in hand, and feeling worse than he had at the SGC. Too much quiet and too little distraction kept his thoughts focused on Carter instead of off of her. What would it take to free his mind of her – an all out Goa'uld attack? Beer hadn't helped. He was ready to graduate to the stash of Scotch whiskey left over from when he put himself in a stupor after Charlie died. Yes, it was time to break out the hard stuff in the name of a little peace - just a few days peace.

Reeling in the line and setting the rod in the holder at the side of the dock, Jack groaned in protest at the pain in his knees as he stood up. Funny how sitting too long didn't affect you until you weren't sitting any longer. Yes, the whiskey would help that too. After all, he didn't have to see anyone or report for duty for another five days.

Jack brought out a bottle and a glass. He assured himself he wasn't going to get to the point of drinking straight out of the bottle and he was going to control himself this time. This was strictly for medicinal purposes – to find some peace.

By this second triple-shot, Jack was long past caring that the fishing lure he was using wasn't going to work if he merely threw the line in and let it sit there rather than reel it in so that it resembled the wounded minnow it was supposed to represent. Casting out, he put the rod back in the holder and poured more of the amber liquid. Trouble was, he had lost his fishing dexterity, and he probably couldn't walk, but he could still see Carter hunched over her bleeding lover willing him not to die.

"That isn't going to help," a male voice said firmly from several feet behind him. Jack twisted around sluggishly in his chair to see a young man with light brown hair and stubble, wearing a canvas jacket and jeans.

There was something familiar about the guy, but Jack couldn't put his finger on who he was. "Who the hell are you?" he asked none too politely, "And why are you on my property?"

"I'm a friend," the young man said, making no move to come closer. "You need a friend right now. One who understands your pain."

Jack couldn't deny the accuracy of that statement, even in the bit of fog he was in. But this guy was a stranger and he certainly didn't know what Jack was going through or why.

"What makes you think that?" he asked with way too much dramatic bravado.

"Because I love her too," the man replied evenly.

Squinting, Jack stood and took a closer look. "I know I know you, but I can't quite place you . . ."

"It is true we did not meet before I reascended."

"Orin!" Jack cried out in recognition.

"Orlin," the entity corrected. "Yes."

So . . . whacha doing here, Orlin? Why aren't you stalking Carter and her new beau?" Jack asked, taking a long pull on the glass to finish the rest of the whiskey there. "By the way, while you're stalking her, see if you can send the cop away."

"There is nothing I can do to send him away," Orlin stated. "Only Samantha can do that."

"Then I repeat my question," Jack muttered, some of the fog in his brain lifting, but feeling none too steady on his feet. "Whacha doing here?"

Standing almost without any other movement than his lips as he spoke, Orlin's penetrating stare was a bit unnerving as he spoke, "I have come to help Samantha."

"Well, she's not here," Jack retorted, trying to surpress a burp as he did.

"I know. "

Jack walked toward the alien. "For cryin' out loud! Would you quit being so cryptic and just tell me what you want?"

"First," Orlin replied, "I want you to drink lots of coffee and have a shower. Then we will talk."

Looking down at his feet as if they held the key to whether he needed a shower, Jack then sniffed around his chest a few times for signs of body odor and then looked back up to make a smart-a**ed comment only to find the alien gone. He looked to the left, right, and behind him to see no trace of the young man. Wondering if he had been victim to a whiskey induced hallucination, Jack decided the coffee and shower weren't a bad idea, and that food and aspirin should probably accompany the coffee as well.

************************

There was nothing on television that interested him, even on the sports channels. Jack was in the middle of going through the scant few DVDs he owned when he heard a now familiar voice coming from the kitchen area. "I hope Samantha bought a good toaster to replace the one I ruined."

Jack turned swiftly to see Orlin inspecting the toaster on the countertop next to his range. "So you are back? Isn't meddling something that got you in trouble before?"

"Yes. I am just here to talk Jack."

He was about to tell him to go away when he realized he wanted to talk. It wasn't his strong suit, but there was a bit of appeal in talking to a man who could become light vapor and fly away at a moment's notice. "So . . . talk."

Walking through the kitchen island, Orlin came around to face Jack. "Pull up a chair," Jack offered politely.

"Thank you, but I am not able to in my present form."

"Oh,," Jack mused, raising an eyebrow in thought, trying to remember if Daniel ever sat in his presence as an Ascended being. He couldn't remember. "I supposed you want to talk about Carter?"

"Why do you call her Carter?"

"Habit," he pondered, twirling the television remote in his fingers "Less personal at work I supposed."

"When she awoke from her concussion, why did you object to her calling you Jack?"

Feeling like he was being interrogated, Jack took the defensive, "She wasn't supposed to . . . "

"No one was there to object except you," Orlin countered. "Even from where I observed, I thought your meaning was to tell her she was not to have those feelings about you."

"Not at the SGC!"

"Where then?"

"Here . . . her place . . . O'Malley's . . . " While mostly sober, Jack's head still felt some affects from the earlier bottle of whiskey. "It's complicated. Why were you there anyway?"

Orlin's focus shifted from Jack's face to the wall, "I had a feeling of unease about her. The soonest I could get to her was when she was in the infirmary. I have only visited her, without her knowledge, three times since I reascended."

"You get a sense when she's in danger?"

"Something like that," Orlin gazed at him thoughtfully. "I am not here to discuss my comings and goings. I am here because I understand you, Jack, and sympathize with your situation. I, too, had to decide between my feelings for Samantha and saving the world."

Jack hadn't considered that, but the short guy was right – he had. The weapon they were firing up after Orlin went back into his human form would have led to the Ascended beings either destroying Earth to spare them the use of the weapon or the weapon itself leading to the destruction of Earth. "You've already played her hero and I'm supposed to stand down, is that it?" It was more something to say than a real belief Jack had.

Orlin smiled a half-smile. "That is the problem. Neither you nor Samantha can see your way together without believing you would be destroying your planet, that the fate of your entire race rests on your shoulders and those of your other two friends."

`Wasn't that the way it was?' Jack mused bitterly.

"I was not playing her hero and more importantly, I did not have the dilemma you have."

"And that would be?"

"She did not love me."

Jack didn't miss the note of sad resignation in Orlin's voice or the rush at hearing someone else reaffirming that Sam loved him. "She liked me a great deal," Orlin continued, "but she did not love me. Nor does she love Pete."

"Then she'll end it with him?" Jack asked hopefully.

"I can not say. I do not read her mind, only her spirit. What I have done is learn to understand her by watching her, admittedly at times you can not."

Jack started to ask if he watched her at inappropriate times, anger and protectiveness rising like bile, but he quickly realized that wouldn't be. Orlin was a bit like Daniel and far too honorable for such a thing. "You're worried she doesn't love him, but she'll marry him anyway?"

"It is possible."

Several expletives ran through Jack's mind - expletives, but no solutions. "Samantha is very lonely. She also feels unloved," Orlin said breaking into his thoughts.

"That's ridiculous! She knows we all love her," Jack spurted out, "She knows that goes more so for me."

Orlin's light eyes penetrated Jack's dark ones to ensure he made his point clear, "Perhaps there is a difference in knowing something to exist and actually feeling its presence."

He would have loved to accuse Orlin of talking in Oma Desala-type riddles, but he wasn't. What he said made perfect sense and rang true. There was a difference in knowing someone would give their life for you, and knowing they'd live their life with you.

"Well," Jack nodded. "You know the problem. Got any solutions?"

Orlin's attempt to be patience against Jack's impatience was palpable. "It fascinates me that SG-1 can find the solution to so many complex situations and can not resolve this seemingly easy one in comparison."

Jack's forehead screwed up in contemplation. "Are you saying she could solve it if she wanted to? That she doesn't want to?"

Again, Orlin greeted him with a patient half-smile that was more in his eyes than in the movement of his lips. "Does she solve all these problems alone, or is there input from the others that assists her?"

"A little of both, I supposed. I'm never much help to her, but Daniel and Teal'c are."

"That has not been my observation, " Orlin replied, "What is my observation is that the problem can not be solved until the two of you address it together as a problem that has a resolution."

"We have!" Jack cried out. "Damnit, Orlin, we both know the Air Force's regulations put the screws to our . . . relationship."

"You are convinced you must both be in the Air Force, must both be on SG-1, to save your world?"

Jack looked longingly at the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter. "It's true, we could be on different teams and the problem wouldn't exist. If we were, I couldn't watch her back," he offered as an explanation.

"Gain is seldom met without some sort of sacrifice. And that is why I am here . . . "

Jack peered at him, "Now you've finally lost me."

"She knows you'd sacrifice your life for her. What else will you sacrifice? What will she gain by any sacrifice she makes to be with you? Does she know she will gain a life with you? It is time for you to talk to her, Jack. Before the sacrifice she makes is to give up on you entirely."

With that, Orlin's corporeal form started to change into the glowing white light form. "I love her too, Jack, but only you can make her happy."

Jack watched as the light flowed out of the den, through the sliding glass doors, and upwards into the dark night. He had a few more days of leave. Orlin was right – it was time to get it out in the open and see if they could find a way to be together and still do what they felt they had to do. Jack went to the kitchen island countertop and opened the whiskey bottle, then slowly poured its contents into the sink and the bottle into the trash.




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