CATEGORY: Sam/Jack UST
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: Sometimes the only way you can save yourself is by letting go.
DISCLAIMERS R US: You'll recognize all the
characters I don't own in this story -- they are
the famous, well-loved ones. I didn't ask anyone's
permission to take them out for a spin. However,
once you read it, you'll realize this is a non-profit
venture 'cause no one would actually pay me for
writing it ARCHIVE: Yes, SJD
STATUS: Complete
SPOILERS: General knowledge of Season 7 major
events. This one sort of sticks to canon.
FEEDBACK: Both positive comments and
tough (but fair) critical feedback help to improve
my writing. Feedback very much appreciated
and adored: tmpotter@widomaker.com
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I had a friend take a look
at this for general content but it is pretty much
a raw, un-betaed effort. My apologies for any
(runs, hits or) errors.
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He found her sitting at the small river's edge,
hunkered down, taking water samples as well as
gathering up some bits of greenery from the
grassy bank and stuffing them into plastic
specimen bags. He ignored the rush of relief
that prickled across his skin, quieting his
nerves through sheer will alone before she
could look up and see the concern and
irritation written on his features. It wouldn't
do to look irritated if he was going to get her
to talk to him.
This had actually been the first place he'd
looked for her. So the feeling of unease that
had knotted his stomach hadn't had a chance to
bloom into the full-blown anger and blind
terror that had threatened him when she'd gone
missing before. He took a deep breath,
stepping carefully forward, trying not to
startle her.
He could tell the exact moment when she felt
his presence behind her. Her shoulders tensed
minutely, her back stiffened up a bit, and her
breathing changed for a moment, puffing out on
a small sigh. She felt him there behind her.
He didn't know how she did it, but he had no
doubt she knew.
And it wasn't just a one way thing.
They'd always had this connection between them.
For as long as he could remember. Even during
the roughest spots between them, times when
they'd disagreed or he'd made her obey an order
which he knew she found distasteful, they'd
kept this constant 'sense' of each other. He'd
taken to calling it his 'Sammie Sense' in his
own head, knowing she would un-man him where he
stood if he ever uttered the term aloud.
He paused, admiring the view as she knelt by
the water, long legs bent double as she leaned
forward, presenting the lean line from buttocks
to shoulder stretching on along her extended
arm, out above the shining water flowing by at
a quick clip.
God above, she could take his breath away.
Always and forever, she'd be able to take his
breath away. Even covered in mud, her hair
standing on end, the smell of earth and other
less savory organic things emanating from her
when the wind blew his way, he'd discovered
that she could still make him stop and fight to
remember to breathe.
With her clean blonde hair shining in the
afternoon sun, her long, lithe body folded in
unselfconscious grace, and her lovely face
relaxed and unlined in her contemplation of the
afternoon, she was absolutely stunning.
"Are you going to tell me what you want? Or
just stand there all day staring, sir?"
He was *so* busted.
He'd never managed to get the "look-without-
looking-like-you're-looking-at-her" stuff down
when it came to his 2IC. It wasn't like he was
leering and drooling or anything, but through
the years he'd found himself spending more and
more of his free time with his attention
directed at her.
He found that watching her work in the field,
especially, fascinated him. Watching the small
frowns that chased across her features, the
puckered brows that accompanied a hard problem,
the small, sly-shy smiles of triumph when she'd
thought through the problem and come up with a
solution was like magic for him. All of this and
more made her the best reality series he'd ever
seen. Of course, that was just his opinion, but
he was the Master of the Nielsen's in his own
O'Neill universe.
She had pulled back from her precarious
position, completely ruining the view, and
dropped her head forward as she spoke. She
still didn't turn to look at him, but her voice
wasn't quite as amused as it normally sounded
when she said things like this to him.
She still sounded pissed off.
He seriously hoped she didn't actually make him
grovel.
His knees had been acting up again.
"Uh...I came to see if you were okay."
Her lack of an answer spoke volumes. The
blatty sound of Dr. Remington's voice coming
across the radio on his shoulder interrupted
his thoughts and demanded an answer. As he
reached up to flick the receiver, he noted that
her radio was off, and the location beacon had
not been activated.
"I found her, Doctor. She's okay but her comms
seem to be down. We're down by the bend in the
river. We'll be back at the camp in an hour."
"Colonel, are you sure? She seemed pretty hot
about something-"
"I *said* we're fine. I'm going quiet comms
now. I'll report back in an hour if we aren't
already back at camp by then."
He switched off the radio, turning the peep on
so they could be found if they were really
needed.
"There. Now we can talk without interruption."
Her response was deadpan, non-committal.
"About?"
Okay, he could play that too...
"About what's wrong. About why you're so
angry. And if I can do anything to help you
get beyond it."
"You really don't know."
Somehow it didn't sound like a question.
"Ummm...Yes. I mean no. I...uh..."
She looked at him for the first time since he'd
walked up and he was chilled by the utter
neutrality of her gaze.
Samantha Carter was never indifferent.
Mad, yes.
Amused, yes.
Outraged, yes.
Neutral, never.
And now those warm blue eyes were bland and
completely neutral.
He stepped forward, reaching out a hand to help
her rise from the riverbank. He was slightly
comforted when she took his offer of help and
popped to her feet. Switching his light grip
to her upper arm, he guided them both over to a
fall of boulders that wended its way down into
the water. He sat on a fairly dry chink of
grey, pulling her down onto the flat rock next
to him.
"Sit. And talk to me."
Her face pulled into a frown and then cleared.
"About?"
"About what happened that made you mad enough
to walk away without a word about where you
were going."
She started to stand but he grabbed her arm,
stopping her halfway out of her seat. She
pulled at the arm, seemingly to see if he would
let go. After a moment, when he didn't, she
plopped back down onto the rock beside him but
refused to look him in the eye.
"Give it up, Carter. We're gonna talk about
this, now. We won't go another minute on this
mission with you this distracted and angry."
She sighed, then stood up and turned her body
away from him so that she was close enough for
him to hear her but far enough away that he
couldn't touch her without getting up from his
seat.
"I shouldn't have gotten upset. It was
childish...and stupid. And way out of line.
I'm sorry. And I'm also sorry that I broke
protocol, turned off my radio, and didn't let
you or anyone on SG-7 know my whereabouts."
He looked at her silhouette, willing her to
look at him, to let him see what was going on
in her head.
"Okay, now that you've completely avoided the
question, can we get back to what happened?"
She almost looked at him on that one. Her
hands, which had been by her sides, suddenly
dove in to her pants pockets, looking for
something to occupy them.
He almost thought she wasn't going to say
anything and then her voice, wispy and thin,
came floating back across her shoulder.
"I was...I walked up behind Meyer and Jacobs
back at the dig site. They were...talking. I
wasn't listening, really. I had just stopped
in the brush to get a lace out of some brambles
and re-tie my boot, and I suppose they didn't
really know I was there. They were talking
pretty loud across the artifact they were
recording. Speculating on whether or not we
were going to go home tomorrow or if we were
going to stay for three days as planned..."
"And?"
"And that led to them to speculate on what --
or more correctly who -- we had waiting for us
at home."
"Um-hmmm?"
"*You* are evidently considered to be quite the
catch. Jacobs figures you have a veritable
bevy of willing women who throw themselves at
your feet on a nightly basis. To use Meyer's
term, you're a certified stud."
"Ah...hah."
He tried to make his voice neutral. To keep
the somewhat smug edge of male pride from
showing through. So they thought he was a
stud, huh? It was kind of funny. If only they
knew the truth.
"Yeah. And I..."
"And you?"
That pause didn't sound good. He hoped they
hadn't been too graphic. Or worse, somehow
counted her amongst his bevy of beauties. That
would be-
"Well, let's just say that they don't think I
have as many options available. They figure
the closest I get to a warm body these days is,
and I quote, if I get too close to a star on my
way through the 'Gate. I believe Ice Queen is
the term they used."
Ouch!
That one hurt.
He knew how the idiots on base sometimes talked
about her. This was possibly one of the least
offensive things he'd heard said about her
lately. The fact that it didn't put her into
someone's bed didn't make it any less hurtful,
though.
He knew about the Ice Queen line that had been
circulating. He'd heard it a while back and
had ripped an airman's ears off for repeating
it. He'd been very careful to host that dressing
down in a corridor full of people, too. A little PR
about the hazards of saying crap like that
aloud should have put it to rest.
But it seemed it hadn't.
He'd seen this type of thing before with
beautiful, smart women who were available but
unattainable. The SGC personnel who'd offered
to fill her nightly dance card through the
years had, as far as he knew, always been
turned down. He'd actually seen the brush off
a couple of times. She usually used humor and
a great deal of grace when turning down the
hopeful pups. But some guys just didn't take a
polite but negative answer with a matching
grace.
"Idiots. You know how they are."
"Yeah, I do. But..."
"Look, some guys just can't figure out what
you're doing spending all of your time at the
mountain. Others just shouldn't open their
mouths 'cause as soon as they speak they have
outstripped their brains' capacity to support
their conversation."
"I guess so."
"No, I know so. Listen, it isn't often that a
beautiful, intelligent woman shows up in most
of these guys' lives. And when you never give
anyone the time of day...Well, some guys dream
and others go bitter. And the ones who get
bitter are generally the more stupid ones."
She didn't answer, but her body language spoke
of anger and hurt. He hated seeing her like
this, but he knew he couldn't take the hurt
away. Another thing on the long list of things
he couldn't do for her.
"Carter? Sam?"
She shook her head, not looking away from the
tree line across the river. He leaned forward,
trying to catch a glimpse of her eyes, trying
to read what she was feeling in their depths.
He half-stood and grabbed her arm, pulling her
back to sit with him.
He was...disturbed by the fact that something
like this could get her so tied up in knots
that she could forget her professionalism
enough to endanger herself and everyone else on
the team while on a mission. Which meant there
had to be more going on with her.
"Talk to me. Please tell me what's going on."
"Do you want a life?
It was sudden, out of the blue, catching him
off-balance. He recovered quickly, trying to
keep up with that lightening-fast mind.
He was caught in the thrall of those eyes,
having snapped his own to hers the minute she
asked the question. Somehow his eyes knew
she'd be looking at him.
"Huh?"
"You know, a life. Someone to come home to.
Someone to go out with. Someone to help wash
the car or cut the grass or go grocery shopping
with."
He sat very still.
Maybe if he never moved again he wouldn't have
to face up to the fact that it had finally
happened.
He saw nothing but confusion in her eyes. No
hidden agenda. In fact, he saw an open
sincerity and genuine yearning that made his
jaw clench and his stomach flip.
She had finally looked around and decided she
needed...More.
More.
More than they'd ever said to each other in
that room. More than he could ever rightfully
ask for again. More than he knew could ever
offer her.
More.
He asked questions, expecting no answers but
needing to work his way around to the place he
needed to be in order to handle this.
"A life? The white picket fence, the dog in
the back yard, the second mortgage and the
mini-van, the two point one kids, PTA and
Christmas pageants, Saturdays at Little League
and Sundays at Grandma's? That 'a life'?"
Her voice came again after a moment, quiet and
unsure but strong.
"That's one life."
He so yearned for More, himself. He so wanted
*her* to have More.
He so wanted *her* to *be* his More.
But he had no right to ask someone like her to
even consider someone like him. And the USAF
even went so far as to make it illegal.
He took a deep breath and held it. As if
filling one major organ would make it somehow
hurt less when he reached into his own chest
and ripped out another one.
"I had a life. Once. Long ago."
His voice was low, gravelly with an emotion he
didn't care to examine and he swallowed, hoping
to clear it before she heard. He refused to
look at her, now, staring across at the very
interesting tree line that had so fascinated
her just a minute ago.
"By the time I was your age, I was already busy
bailing out a marriage that was sinking under
the strains of my career. But we might have
been okay...We were working on patching the
holes and I was gonna take a desk job to spend
more time here with Sara and Charlie, both. We
were gonna work on being a full-time family, on
having a life."
"It was taking some time to undo the damage we
took years to inflict. But it was slowly
coming back together. And then Charlie...the
accident happened and there was no hope in Hell
that Sara and I...It was clear that what we had
was never gonna live through what came after."
His eyes flicked away to see her watching him,
her body as still as his, her eyes lost in the
shadows created by the twin setting suns behind
her. He looked away, knowing she could see his
eyes clearly from her vantage point and not
knowing what she would find there, not wanting
her to see too much.
Not wanting her to see the lie he was about to
tell.
"So, ya' see, I had a life. And I blew it up.
People got hurt."
He paused for a second, his heart giving a
squeeze before he said the next words aloud.
"So, no, most days I don't want a life."
He thought he heard a small rush of air through
her lips. He could almost have sworn that it
was a small sound of pain. But he couldn't
look at her for fear of crumbling under his
urge to recant. So he stared straight ahead,
into the nothingness he'd just made his life.
She slowly stood and walked a little way down
the riverbank, squatting for a moment to pick
up a handful of black river rock and toss the
little stones one-by-one into the fast-flowing
edge of the stream. Her voice, when it came,
was muffled by the hush that had fallen over
the shore, blanketing them like the mist that
was rolling down from the hills around them.
"I...I've been thinking lately. A lot."
"You're always thinking."
"Yes, I suppose I am. But lately I've been
thinking about a life. Maybe it's because of
what happened to Janet...I've...I just...I took
stock of my life and figured out that I feel
like...Actually, I really have no one. No one
at all in my life."
Ouch. That one hurt.
The first horizontal cut in a seppuku ceremony
she was slowly conducting on him. Pride and
his sense of honor refused to let him cry out
as she carved into his flesh with those
delicate, precise syllables. He only hoped
she'd have the decency to take his head with
the last stroke -- she was, after all, a
friend.
"And I want that. I want someone. A life. I
deserve one."
He realized she was waiting for a response. He
swallowed the blood filling his mouth from
where he was biting the inside of his cheek and
played straight man to her tragic comedienne.
"Oh yeah, you do."
He didn't know if she heard the low rumble of
response that came from him. He could feel her
eyes on him but refused to look.
"I..."
Her voice fell away and the sound of trickling
water interrupted by the sploosh of tiny rocks
hitting the surface was all that passed between
them.
He chanced a look her way, and when he saw she
wasn't looking back, he watched her. The
sinking warm light transmogrified her into
something ethereal, a golden-hued silhouette
against the dark edge of the water. She was
vital, and alive, lovely in her presence as
much as in her skin and eyes.
And she deserved a life. She deserved better
than him.
She deserved More.
"So get a life, Sam."
He was watching her and didn't miss the way her
body tensed and her eyes flickered up to lock
on his. There was a glimmer of something
there. He didn't delude himself into even
thinking he could guess what it was.
"Get a life. Find that someone. Go shopping,
go wash a car. Get those kids-"
His voice cracked there as he imagined tiny,
tow-headed babies, running around in a back
yard while she lounged with a faceless someone
on the back porch, husky laughter falling from
them both in waves as they observed their uber-
progeny. He pushed that picture away and
regained control of his traitorous vocal
chords.
"Get the mini-van and the Little League
schedule. Get it all and More. You deserve
More."
And with each falsely chipper word he died a
bit more. But like so many of the damned
distasteful things he done for all the right
reasons, he pushed through the pain and kept
his face neutral.
"But what about..."
He waited, wanting her to say it, dreading
she'd say it, willing to trade his soul if
she'd just say it.
"What about the team? I mean, I won't be
spending as much time at work..."
The team.
A low laugh tore at his reason as it rattled
from his throat. Of course she wouldn't be at
work. She'd be with Him. Whoever the lucky
bastard was...
"What about us? We'll get along just fine.
Despite what everybody tells you, most days the
Air Force owns you for 8 hours a day. They
reserve the right to ask you for the other 16,
or in your case 20, but that's all anyone would
ever really expect. And for crying out loud,
you don't need anyone's permission. We'll do
okay. We'll be okay."
Oh yeah, that one had cost him.
He'd have to get the new Doc to sew up the
sucking chest wound it left behind. Wouldn't
do to meet new civilizations with that bleeding
everywhere.
"Sam."
She looked back over her shoulder at him. He
felt his lips stretch in what he hoped was more
of a smile and less of a rictus of pain.
"Get a life. Be happy. No one deserves it
more than you."
A raised eyebrow was a perfect imitation of
Teal'c and he felt a squeeze in the place where
his heart used to be that he might, at any
other time, have worried was a heart attack.
Her questioning meaning was clear.
"No one deserves all of it more than you. No
one."
"I...suppose you're right, sir."
She turned back to look at the river, loosing
the remainder of the pebbles in her hand in a
zipper-rip splash. She dusted her hands on her
thighs and walked over to where she'd left her
sample case and the little vials and baggies of
her specimens. She gathered it all up,
seemingly surprised as she turned and saw him
still seated on the rock.
"You coming, sir?"
He stared at her, memorizing this moment. One
of the last moments when he would be able to
fool himself into believing that they could
have ever pulled it off.
The last moment before he let go, let her go.
The last moment that he would truly be human.
'Cause the lack of a heartbeat was probably
going to be a dead giveaway in the future.
The moment of their separation. The moment
when Sam and Jack were nevermore and Carter and
O'Neill and their separation - separate
futures, separate lives - were cast in stone.
"Gimme a minute, Carter. Just...gimme a
minute."
He waved her towards the path and she wandered
away, a speculative look on her face before she
finally turned away.
He watched her walk away from him, separated
now and forever by more than the physical
distance between them.
Leaning back against an outcropping that dug
into his back, he sat in the cool evening,
letting the mist crowd him into a private place
and start his knees aching in a way that almost
distracted him from the larger ache in his
chest.
It was a good pain, right?
He'd done the right thing, right?
He almost made himself believe it.
Almost.
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