When she sees him, after, they're both in the middle of other conversations, passing each other in the halls of Atlantis. He wants to grab her and take her to sit one of the piers. One of the private ones where no one else goes other than him. She wants to grab him and just… grab him. Hold on, while she can.
They can't do that, though. People are watching.
He finds her in the mess hall. He takes a deep breath, gripping his tray tightly, and goes to sit next to her.
"John," she says, and it feels like she's come up for air after swimming underwater for far too long.
"Hey, Sam," he says. He brushes his shoulder against hers just so. She's real, she's solid, not a disembodied voice in his ear. "They're still serving that? I thought we were almost out" He's gotta say something that she'll have to answer so he can hear her voice again.
She smiles and bites into the fruit from the Pegasus galaxy, letting the juice run down her chin. "I think some people have been eating out," she says, nodding towards the next table in front of them, where one of the gate technicians is sharing Burger King with a friend.
"There is just something wrong with that," he can't help but say, wincing a little. It's not that he's opposed to fast food per se, but he's worried about the things to come, now that Atlantis is on Earth.
"Some of these were in the fruit basket you brought me on my first day on Atlantis. They've always been my favorite." She carefully licks her lips to catch some of the juice, then grabs a napkin to wipe up the rest. "Messy, but good."
"Did I ever tell you that McKay actually made the basket for you? I tricked it out of him, convinced him to bring the flowers instead," he says. At some point he had decided to never, ever tell her that, but he's changed his mind under the circumstances. It'll keep her talking to him.
It makes her laugh, louder than it really should. It's not that funny. It's actually not that surprising, now that she thinks about it. "You didn't." She looks over at him. She can see the brittleness just under his sly, make you weak in the knees smile.
"I wanted to impress the new commanding officer," he says. He scrutinizes her as she catches his eye. It always frustrates him- he can't read her as well as she can read him. He can still tell that she's shaken like he is, and even if she doesn't show it, he knows she's shaken worse. It's always harder to be sitting still.
She shrugs, brushing against him again. It innervates them both. "You did okay."
"Okay?!" he says with fake outrage.
"Well, after you've watched Walter in action, really no other subordinate can compare. He can practically read his COs' minds," she says easily. It almost feels like a regular day. She could almost believe it, if their voices weren't both so strained.
"I've done alright over the years." He leans on her, just the slightest bit. Nobody else would notice except her.
She straightens to support him. "You've done more than alright, John. Always."
He flashes her a smile. They finish eating in silence and when he gets up, he whispers, "Eighteen hundred hours, that place I showed you last time you were here."
She smiles back and nods, and before she can blink, he's gone. She continues on with her lunch.
"Sam," John's voice reaches out and wraps itself around her mere seconds before his arms do. He jogs across the room and right into her outstretched arms.
"Hey." Her voice is muffled where her face is pressed into the crook of his neck. "Hey, John. It's good to see you."
John would be wincing at how tightly her fingers are digging into his back if they weren't so welcome. "Miss me?" He sounds cocky. He feels shaky as hell.
Sam pulls back to frown at him. "Don't. That was close, John."
"We do close all the time," John says and it sounds like he's brushing it off. He isn't, Sam knows it, but it's bothering her anyway. "Close is pretty much our job."
Sam looks up at him, unimpressed. "There are different kinds of close, and you know it," she says. There are good closes and there are bad closes. Then there are the closes that keep you up.
"Yeah, I do," John says, giving in and pressing his forehead to hers. It's been too long since he's had the chance to be with her properly. "Sorry."
She tilts her head so they're kissing. It's slow, but there's an urgency in Sam that John feels too. Her fingers eventually relax, no longer digging into his back.
For his part, John has his hands cupped carefully around Sam's face. Her skin is soft, and what's even better is how the wisps of her hair tickle at his fingertips. He loves how long her hair has gotten; it's so much longer than the last time they were together like this.
"I thought…" Sam's whisper is like ground glass after they pull apart.
"You don't have to say anything," John says. He can feel the tense, forced composure in the muscles trembling beneath his hands. He slides his hands down the sides of her neck to her shoulders, also tense. "I know. I thought so too."
"It was different for you," Sam says, daring him to argue with her.
"Yeah, yeah of course it was." It's easier to be on the suicide mission than to be waiting back home. He wouldn't've had to have lived with it, after all. He hadn't expected to live at all. "Sorry."
Sam kisses his cheek. "It's okay. I've been on the other side plenty of times. Actually died once, even, but it's-"
John holds up a finger. "Wait a sec, you died once?"
"I got better. The Nox," Sam says, like it made it non surprising information.
"Th-that's good," John says, processing it. He's a little wide eyed, a little white as a sheet. Maybe he'll run into Daniel and ask a couple discreet questions.
"Not the point, though." Sam says. Her fingers drag from his back down to his hips. "A wise man told me something about command once. I knew, objectively, that he was right, but I didn't really get it when he told me; I didn't really get it even after taking command at Atlantis and of the Hammond," her voice catches over the word, "I hadn't really understood until that moment. Until you flew into that dart bay."
"You didn't order me to do it. I didn't do it at your command," John says.
"I know. I wouldn't have ordered anyone to do it," Sam slips her fingers under John's shirt, just to feel his skin. It's warm. He's always so warm. "You were still under my command, though. Still my responsibility."
"It wasn't your fault. It wouldn't have been your fault." John had already been glad that he had made it out alive, because despite how often he ended up on suicide missions, he didn't actually have a death wish, but he feels another surge of gratitude for being able to tell Sam this himself. He knows that if the situation had been reversed and if Sam hadn't come home, it would have very quickly topped the list of things he couldn't live with himself over.
"The things that happen under my command are my responsibility, doesn't matter if they're my fault or not," Sam says. "It's okay. I'm not looking for anything." John is trying to give her absolution, and while she appreciates it, she doesn't need it. Maybe doesn't deserve it, she hasn't worked everything out. "I'm just explaining."
"Explaining what?" His voice wavers. John feels like he's getting ready to fly into the dart bay again. Wait, no, that's not quite right. Then, he had felt at relative ease and had been full of grim determination- he had known what he was doing, why, and he was sure it was going to save Earth and everyone on it. It hadn't been good, but it had been okay.
As Sam shifts and looks up at him with her crystal clear eyes, John's stomach bottoms out. He doesn't know what's about to happen, but he's pretty certain that Sam is about to break their relationship off. While they're not technically breaking regs, he knows they're skirting damn close and that him flying into the dart bay (and the entire Wraith attempt at invading Earth) had been a sharp reminder of just how close.
"What I have to tell you and why I have to do it." Sam shifts her hands and tightens them again so her fingers are digging into his bare skin. She leans up so she can whisper in his ear- and so she doesn't have to see his face. Their bodies are pressed tight together, so she can feel how taut his muscles are. She imagines she feels the same way to him. "I love you, John." It feels so good to finally say it, and the rest of the words fall out in a rush. "And I have for a long time. I thought that not telling you would be easier, if something was to happen, but when you were flying into that bay and arming the nuke, my biggest regret- other than not being able to save you in the first place- was that I hadn't told you. I hoped you knew, but it wasn't good enough. I love you and you should know it."
Sam is panting when she's done talking, the weight of it lifting off her. Her body is still pressed against his and she still can't feel his face, but even if he reacts terribly, she's glad she told him.
John pulls back, still holding her by her shoulders, and looks her up and down. He's looking for some trace that he interpreted what she said wrong. Because he must have.
Watching John watching her, Sam is pretty sure that he's not pleased by this news. He looks overwhelmed, and while Sam had thought he had known, maybe she should have waited to tell him. It's been a terrifying and emotional couple days. As necessary as telling him had been, it may have been selfish to do it immediately after they finally got some time alone.
"I can leave you alone, if you want," Sam says, grasping one of John's wrists and pushing so she can get free. She doesn't want to make him any more uncomfortable than she already has.
"Don't," John says roughly.
Before she can say anything else, he kisses her. Before, they had been slow and careful, but now the urgency and the overwhelming desire to be together and to be alive has taken over them.
John holds her waist while her arms go to his shoulders. Before she knows it, John has her pressed against the wall and Sam uses the leverage to wrap her legs around his waist. He slides his hands down to her ass to help steady her.
Sam holds on to him tight, and for the first time in a long time, she feels like both of her feet are on the ground. Metaphorically.
John kisses her cheek, openmouthed, before panting in her ear. "I love you, too. I wanted to tell you. There were people, though. I didn't want to do that to you."
And Sam is elated as he buries his face in her neck. She can feel his smile against her skin, matching her own. They stay like that for a while. The angle is awkward and it's hell on both of their backs, but it's not as important as closing every bit of space between them.
As their breathing slows and they both relax, Sam leans her head back against the wall and laughs. John joins her and before they know it, they're gasping together on the floor, in absolute hysterics as the tension of days and of lifetimes washes away. They're alive and they're in love and things are going to be alright.
"Come back to my room with me. Spend the night," John whispers. They never spend the night together on Air Force property because they don't want to risk accusations of impropriety, but there is nothing that John wants more than to wake up with Sam tomorrow.
Sam finds a hand and grabs it, her ear pressed against John's chest. She listens to John's steady heartbeat, grateful. "Sounds good."
"I'm warning you, though, my bed is kind of small," John says. His voice sounds natural and easy for the first time, and when she looks up at him, he's smirking at her.
She leans up to kiss him gently. "Well, I love you, so I guess I'll deal with it."
John snorts and they both start giggling like idiots again.