It was really, really warm here. The sand--scorched by a relentless sun--infused his bare toes with uncomfortable heat, and Colonel Jack O'Neill wondered where in the hell his shoes were. He scanned the parched horizon, but the shimmering heat tinged his sight with its blinding glow. He sighed, looked at his toes, and wiggled them uselessly in the sand.
Wherever he was, it had a dress code far more casual than any Air Force regulations. The tropical shirt--a cheerful, if cheesy, mix of orange and blue--was nearly as dazzling as the sun overhead; the shorts, though comfortable, reminded him all too clearly that it had been too long since his last outdoor exercise. He must remember to do a little yard work the next time he had downtime, because if Daniel ever saw these knobby white knees, Jack knew that he'd never hear the end of the teasing.
Daniel... Where was Daniel? And Teal'c? And Carter?
As if in answer, a figure emerged over the crest of a sandy hill. O'Neill opened his mouth to call out, but his throat was so dry that he could muster barely a croak. Disconcerted, he clamped his jaw shut. Where was a waiter with one of those little umbrella drinks in a chilled glass when you needed one?
Abruptly, he could almost feel the painful cold of a nearly-frozen glass on his fingertips, and the thought made him shiver unexpectedly. He pushed away that uncomfortable feeling and concentrated instead on the approaching figure.
It was a woman. Oh wow, was it a woman. She was barefoot too, clad in a shimmering wrap-around skirt and a halter top. Her hand was clutched around something, though he couldn't quite tell what it was. As she stepped closer, Jack was surprised to see that the figure was Carter, the sun glinting off the silky gold of her hair. He blinked.
It wasn't Captain Samantha Carter. It was Sara. How had he ever mistaken his wife--his ex-wife, he reminded himself--for Carter?
O'Neill could not remember the last time that Sara had smiled at him like this. That secret, soft turning up at the corners of her mouth...it was a smile that Jack knew by heart, that he had traced with the edge of a fingertip on many moonlit nights. His ache for those lost nights was suddenly so fierce that it hurt to breathe. Jack put out a hand to her, but she stopped him with her words.
"You're so cold."
By god, he did feel cold when she said it. She'd said those words before, of course. As if on cue, her lips formed them again, echoing the litany in his mind.
"You're so cold. I don't know how to be with you anymore, Jack. I don't know how to love you anymore."
Finally, he found his voice. "What do you want?" It was so soft, he wondered almost immediately whether he'd actually said the words aloud, but she seemed to have heard.
"I wanted to say goodbye," she said simply. Sara extended her hand, and he watched transfixed as she opened the clenched palm to reveal the golden band laying in her palm. "It's time to say goodbye."
The pain in his chest was getting stronger, as if to whisk away his breath before it had half-formed there. He tried to sigh, but couldn't. Instead he grasped her arm, his wide hand circling her bare forearm, ignoring the ring still between them.
"I know." How long had the knowledge been there, that this was an ending which had to be completed now, here in this strange landscape? Wherever it had come from, it was inexplicably fixed in his mind. "Goodbye." O'Neill leaned forward, enough to feel her warm breath on his face, and touched his lips to hers. Sara's lips were soft, welcoming, familiar...
These lips weren't familiar. They were salty, challenging, inviting and insistent. Jack blinked in surprise, and realized that it wasn't Sara who stood before him.
It was Carter. And she wasn't holding a ring in the hand still outstretched between them. Sam Carter was holding a big damned knife. His first thought was that it seemed a little much, even for a possible case of sexual harassment. His second, more immediate thought, was to wonder how he would ever do without those lips after this.
He didn't have long to dwell on it. Carter whirled away from him, expertly tossing the knife up to reverse her grip on it, grasping it in a firm clench. As the blade snicked through the air towards him in a downward arc, for an instant he pictured her fighting Turgan, a passionate mix of trained Air Force officer, offended female, and--oh yes--a woman showing off to the boys. There were worse ways to die, he thought, than with a smile on your lips.
But the blade came nowhere near him. Sam had hurled it to the ground, driving it into the shifting sand, digging relentlessly. She was saying something, as if shouting from a great distance. What was it?
"It's an ice planet. That's all there is, as far as the eye can see." She sounded miserable, near tears, and the sound made him wince. He watched her uselessly, wanting to help her as she clawed at the ground beneath them.
No, not ground. Not sand. It was ice. Carter was chipping away at the ice with her knife, trying to get to the DHD. Ice, and cold. He was so damned cold.
Christ. The pain no longer seared at him, and he knew that was a bad sign. The sunny landscape of his imagination was gone. They were trapped in some sort of ice cavern. No more heat. No working Stargate. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move. Carter had been working non-stop--for how many hours? How long had he lay unconscious while she tried to find a way for them to get home? No wonder she sounded so near the breaking point.
"No chance."
Oh, Carter... Sam. Don't give up, Sam. O'Neill wanted to comfort her, but he knew now that he couldn't move, could barely even hang onto consciousness. He was dying.
The thought didn't bother him as much as it ought to. Instead, all he could think was that even if it was too late for him, Carter could make it. She could stay alive until help came. She just needed something to hang on for. She needed... a Sara. He'd told her about Iraq, about crawling through the desert with only the promise of Sara to keep him alive.
He tried to form his lips around the word, to make her understand. If she had something--someone--to survive for, she'd do it. Sam was strong; he knew that. O'Neill had watched her toughen as an officer, and grow as a person, under his command. Sam could do it. She just needed....
Her lips were close to his ear, her hand on his chest. "I'm here, Jack."
Sam was strong. She could make it. She had to make it. O'Neill didn't want to think about how much the thought of her death left him troubled, cold. So cold....
"It's alright. You can sleep now."
Sleep... Perchance to dream. Just him and Carter back on that deserted beach.
Now there was something worth dreaming about.
*end*
Story Notes: SPOILERS: Emancipation, Solitudes
SEASON: 1
Blame my first piece of Stargate fic on the Sam and Jack list; it was our discussion about "Solitudes" there that inspired this. Unfortunately, it won't make sense unless you've seen "Solitudes." Many, many thanks to those on the Sam and Jack list who said kind things about this story. Thanks to Leslie for beta-reading.
SEASON: 1
Blame my first piece of Stargate fic on the Sam and Jack list; it was our discussion about "Solitudes" there that inspired this. Unfortunately, it won't make sense unless you've seen "Solitudes." Many, many thanks to those on the Sam and Jack list who said kind things about this story. Thanks to Leslie for beta-reading.
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 ]