samandjack.net

Story Notes: I wasn't originally planning a sequel to "The Art of Dancing" but after being "asked" *cough*threatened*cough* to do so, I figured it couldn't hurt. There will be a sequel to this story, making the entire thing a trilogy.


Jack O'Neill snapped his eyes open sharply, too sharply it seemed, people had noticed.

Not just any old people either, but the one person that he really shouldn't be noticing if she noticed… ok, so now he had just confused himself. Sweet!

Her slow smile told him that she had noticed that too. Damn it!

He'd tried opening internal negotiations with his ears a while ago, to no avail. In the end, he'd had to resort to ordering them to tune into what was being said. That didn't work either, it seemed his body had developed an involuntary "shut-off" reaction to a monotonous drone heard at a particular frequency. A frequency that told him that Daniel was still extolling the virtues of another pile of rocks that he wanted to go play with as soon as the alien suns rose.

Been there, done that – he knew that he'd have to literally see the video – and so he *really* didn't want to buy the damned T-shirt!

He let his eyes travel back to the fire that his team were assembled around, Daniel and Teal'c were in deep discussion about what some randomly executed scratches meant, while Carter, well she seemed to be as lost in her head as he was in his. Which, granted, gave her a lot more territory to play around in.

Stealthily, he let his eyes linger over her face, ready to dart away at any given moment just in case she re-focussed and caught him. Did she know how beautiful she was? Did she know that he was sitting right opposite her and thinking about her in ways he knew he'd get *that* look for?

Jack hid a rueful smile. He wasn't widely known as being the type of man prone to fantasy. He dealt in the here and now and the black and white, admittedly taking in some of the varying shades in-between, but for the most part Jack lived in actuality. An existence that was hard and harsh at the best of times and that could sink to pretty damn cruel and vindictive when it got bored with the routine torture of his soul.

He felt the usual shroud of misery knock at his heart at the turn his thoughts had taken. Jack had seen the very worst that mortality had to offer, living it, breathing it and sometimes thinking that he wouldn't ever break free of it.

That was until she'd burrowed her way under his skin and landed herself smack bang in the middle of that weakness that he called a heart. She'd completed the task before he'd even realised that she had begun. And when he had realised, it was too late to do anything other than willingly surrender to her effects.

His eyes closed again as he tried to stop his thoughts from continuing down this rocky road, but he knew in his gut that it was already too late, he was dreaming again.

It had shocked the hell out of him the first time it had happened, the first time he'd seen her when she wasn't actually there. He'd woken up hot and sweaty and most very definitely in need of a shower… one of the damn freezing ass cold variety! I mean, sure he'd felt the jolt in his gut the moment she'd turned those baby blues on him, but he was her CO, for cryin' out loud! There was that whole, niggling little thing called "professionalism" that shouldn't allow him to dream dreams like that!

But professional or not, dream he did.

Still, the thing that got to him more was when the dreams had changed, when it wasn't a fantasy of physical gratification any longer. It was when he started seeing her as his emotional and spiritual anchor that he knew she was gonna give him one huge, great big honkin' "professional problem".

At first he denied and suppressed for all he was worth, refusing to admit a chink in his armour. But at some point along the line he'd realised that rather than a weakness, his imaginings were a blessing. He knew that a small smile had returned to his lips. It had become a defence and a solidity of strength that he used as a weapon. No matter how he badly he felt, where he was or what he was doing, conjuring her image would always ease whatever pain he was in.

He could close his eyes at any given moment and he'd hear her laugh and see her smile, and those images would keep him going, get him through anything. Hell, a single remembrance of her laughing eyes could get him through his entire lifetime.

He shook his head slightly; it would have to, because of that other pesky little detail called "regulations".

His smile turned melancholy. Yep… reality was a bitch. A ball- breaking, gut-crushing, first class bitch.

Once more he risked a glance, her eyes darting quickly from his face and back to the safety of her boots, but not before he saw that her face was as clouded as his. He knew why, she'd witnessed his solemnity and she could read him well enough to know its cause. There had been too many occasions all too recently when they had come close to altering the balance. Too many times when they had been dancing too close to danger, knowing how badly it could end. Yet they did it anyway, because the dance and the dream let them dare to hope that one day they'd suddenly discover that it could be different.

'Jeez O'Neill, when did you get poetic?!' He coughed again to hide the snort of derision that had crept up on him, but his thoughts would not be conformed.

It was so hard to keep duty and dreams separate at the best of times. So hard to dance the constraining tune when all either one had to do was look a certain way, for a fraction too long. Touch a certain way and those finely balanced worlds would collide with a bittersweet intensity that took them an age to move through.

Yet three weeks, four days and 13 and a half (Zulu) hours ago, he'd pushed that damned envelope again. He'd held her so close and said all those things to her that he'd thought and swore he'd never let himself say. His conscience raised its head to tell him that everything he had said had been scrupulously worded to maintain innocence, but they had both understood the resonance of the meaning. On a dance floor where anyone who cared to listen could have had them up on charges before he could say "Yasureyabetcha" or "Snookums", he'd told her everything that he had ever and would ever feel.

Without realising it, Jack took off his cap and started to play with the already perfectly rounded peak. It was that "moving on" thing that was getting harder and harder to do. Everyday he found himself resenting the intrusion of reality even more. But yet he knew that his hopes were transient and would always vanish when tested, leaving him cold and more alone than he had felt in a long, long time.

He figured his frustrations must have shown on his face because the voices had stopped and eyebrows had been raised.

"You ok, Jack?" Daniel queried.

"Huh?" Jack knew he wasn't at his most eloquent, so sue him, images of a laughing major had suddenly appeared, a now automatic balm to the wound his thoughts had caused.

"You look… kinda… I don't know… distant."

Jack hid a grin, to find his usually articulate friend lost for words was a rarity that could never be wasted.

"What do you expect, Daniel? You were talking about rocks again… please don't tell me you still think I actually *listen*?" Regardless of how churned up he felt, he always had the capability to harass Daniel. It was one of his more unique talents.

From the corner of his eye he saw her hold back the smile and his stomach dropped, did she have any idea how utterly gorgeous that little bite on her lower lip was?

"Don't worry, Jack, I got myself over that little misconception by our second de-briefing, but you sure you're ok?"

"Yes, Mom, I'm fine," he mimicked as he pulled himself upright.

It was unusual for him to lose alertness on a mission and if Daniel had started to notice, it was time to make a dignified exit. "I'm gonna go back to the stream for a while, I'm missing my pond."

"O'Neill, your pond lacks fish, this river does not. How then will you find comfort in it?"

Jack looked over his shoulder at the Jaffa.

"T buddy, if I didn't know you better, I'd swear that was sarcasm." The raised eyebrow and regal head nod told him enough, an answering smile quirked on his lips. "Now, you kids make sure you don't miss your bedtimes. Don't want Grandpa George to know I let you stay up past curfew."

He heard Daniel mutter something that could have passed as an insult, but he continued walking in the direction of the river and to solitude.

Something from his years of training railed at him for splitting the team while they were on a strange planet a billion light years from home, but he knew that there was nothing to go bump in the night, well not unless Teal'c lost it with the damn bugs again.

When did he get so stupid? He chided himself. He'd always kept work and emotions separate, he'd had to, to do what he did, to do what he'd done. He knew how dangerous it was to feel this way. He knew how badly it could cost them all, but he was powerless to stop it. Hoping only that by channelling the frustrations and fears he could utilise them decisively, when he was required to.

The throbbing that usually started around his heart and then slowly worked through the rest of his body was already beating a war-call. So often he kept it locked up so tightly within him, that when it did break free, he considered it a luxury and a therapy. Sometimes you just had to let yourself dream, to save yourself from going stark staring looney-tunes.

He had no real idea how long he'd been stood at the water's edge, allowing the gentle lapping at his boots to set the tone for his thoughts. It was the most relaxed he'd been since, well… since three weeks, four days and probably closer to fifteen hours ago, by now.

He almost laughed at himself. It really wasn't good for his reputation if anyone ever realised just how vulnerable he could be. Yet, it was that very vulnerability that made him stronger and more determined to win than ever before. He wanted to change the world, the galaxy so that it couldn't ever hurt her anymore. His atypical romanticism kicked a laugh from his mouth just as he was brought back to reality with one hard slap shot.

"Sir?" he could hear her calling him, and he knew she was heading in his direction, the murky darkness his only cover.

"Over here, Carter," he called to her, facing the inevitability that she would find him with or without his help.

He looked in the direction that her footfalls came from, she was light and graceful, even in heavy combat boots, but he knew exactly where she was, he always did. He had to squint against her torch- light, but as her eyes found his form, her smile made the intrusion of light worthwhile.

"I've been looking for you," she began.

"No, really?" His answer had been designed to evoke her usual response to his flippancy. The quirk of her mouth and tilt of her head mixed with the gentle exasperation in her eyes, tripped up his heartbeat.

"Daniel is bunked down for the night and Teal'c has started first watch." He wondered why she was really here; a report in the current status of his team was not it.

He made a small movement that barely passed as a nod as he looked at her. She was nervous. He could tell because of the way she was biting slightly at her lower lip and the way that her fingers toyed with the scope on her P-90. He knew this game. Normally it meant that he'd say something appropriate to a ranking officer and head back to camp. But tonight, he knew he was going to dance the boundaries again.

"So what brings you here, Major? You think the big, bad, bogey man is about to get me?"

He knew she didn't expect that by the way her eyes shot up to meet his. He should have made some glib comment about having to make sure Daniel was tucked in or about stopping Teal'c from deciding that a zat gun was an effective bug spray. But he hadn't, he'd manoeuvred her into having to answer, into having to dance.

"No, sir, I was just…" her voice trailed off and he could see the struggle in her eyes. "…I was just worried about you, Sir."

Ok, so whatever he had expected, that was the one thing he had trouble processing.

Honesty.

"No need, Carter, I'm fine. Just thinking, that's all." He smiled to reassure her.

"Yes, Sir, exactly." If he'd been able to see her face properly in the light, he knew he'd have seen that slight blush that showed her playful streak. She didn't do it often, but as his lips could verify, it always made him smile.

"Don't sweat it, Major, if you don't use it you lose it. Isn't that the cliché?" Jack tapped his head in emphasis and she laughed quietly.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, both watching the water, side by side, shoulders barely touching. And then she did something that surprised the living shit out of him. Keeping her eyes resolutely facing forward, she lowered her right hand from her weapon and laced her fingers firmly, but gently with the fingers on his left hand.

"You don't always lose it, Sir, even when you can only use it sparingly."

He knew in that moment that his heart had actually ceased function, because he'd felt it fly right out of his chest like in the cartoons.

Jack looked at her, seeing only the side of her face outlined by the dim moonlight, then he looked down to where his fingers wound around hers, committing yet another moment to the purgatory of dreams.

All too soon, their hands parted and without speaking they began to make their way back to camp. Later, he lay on his back, cap over his eyes and as he felt sleep begin to claim him, he smiled.

Tonight, his dreams had taken another step closer to reality.

The End.



End Notes: Feedback is much loved ;)

The Art of Dreaming, copyright to Lindsay Allen: April 2002

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