Rating: PG-13 definitely. See notes.
Summary: How I want it to end...
A/N: I just.. kinda... wanted them to have sex. Is that bad? Well, obviously it is considering the amount of angst I poured into this thing. It's not explicit.
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It had happened only once before, as far as Sam was aware. Captain Graham on SG-7 had been assaulted by two of her male team members, under the influence of some alien hormonal drug, but when she'd tried to escape their advances, she'd walked into her CO's instead. As Sam understood it, Captain Graham and Major Hardy hadn't exactly been great friends - she was a replacement for the loss of another much grieved-for member - and their resulting carnal knowledge of each other hadn't helped matters. Captain Graham was transferred to SG-9 post-haste and both she and the Major had joint counselling together.
Sam had a suspicion that they were dating now though, actually, that was only rumour.
But that had been different. That had been mostly non-consensual. This time, the second time in SGC history, the drug had been influential, but it hadn't been everything. The incentive had been there, but neither had been unwilling. In fact, both had been decidedly... what was the word? Oh yes...
...acquiescent.
She wondered what would happen to them if they couldn't keep this out of the reports. Would she be transferred to another SG team? Back to the Pentagon? She knew Area 51 had been clamouring for her in recent months.
Was it really so awful? Two people consummating a relationship that had definitely been more than just friends? Hammond must have seen in coming. He'd seen the zay'tarc security tapes, after all, even if that had been two years ago.
Jack murmured something into the back of her neck, and she found herself smiling, turning her head to look at what she could of him. He was sleeping deeper than she'd ever seen him ever sleep before, his entire body relaxed against her back, breathing heavy and slow, face looking young and untroubled. The exceptionally tousled hair made him look ridiculously boyish, Sam decided, her heart filling with love for him.
Always off-world, his sleeping state was light so he could wake immediately alert. It was something she always admired in him, but she suspected had been a part of a training very different to hers. Looking at his file, and at the huge chunks of censored information, she could only piece together what little he had occasionally told them, but she knew black ops, secret ops, picked their men for their exceptional military skills.
And he was certainly exceptional.
Wanting to study him further while she still could, in the safe intimacy of darkness, she wiggled around in his arms until they were pressed together more intimately, her breasts pressed up against his chest, her legs running the length of his. The hands that had been cradling her abdomen protectively now wrapped around the small of her back, his face tucked in against the pillow.
He didn't even stir.
Looking at him longingly, she couldn't help but feel strange twinges of maternal feelings - she recognised them; she'd felt them before, but never quite to this extent. She knew he would throw himself in front of a staff weapon if it would protect her, but she suspected he didn't know she'd do the same for him. That she would do anything to protect him, save him, bring him home. She'd threaten superior officers with her P-90, work endless days and endless nights on a machine that would have won her the Nobel Prize, put herself into crazy situations on the slightest chance that she could get to him sooner.
She'd never felt this way about anyone before, never had the urge to watch someone in their sleep like this. To reach up, as Sam did, and just touch the tips of her fingers against the perpetually mussed hair simply because she could. Now. It seemed so strange that they'd waited so long to do this, to convey to each other in the most basic way how they felt. Criminal not to, really, she decided practically.
He murmured something again, eyelids fluttering. Her heart pitched in excitement, nervousness, worry. Then his brow furrowed, his expression confused, then... oh no... hurt. '' No,'' he said clearly, quite clearly. '' Don't.''
'' Jack,'' she whispered.
'' Stop it.''
'' Jack, wake up,'' she told him, putting her hands out and touching his face. '' Wake up, now, Jack. It's just a dream.''
'' Oh God... no, no, no, no.'' His fingers dug into her back, painfully, his face contorted into terror as he shook his head, kicked his feet. The sheet that had been covering them was sliding off, exposing their bare flesh to the coolness of the room. '' I don't know anything.''
Jonas, the man she'd nearly married, had had nightmares like this, Sam recalled as she shook him, touched his face, demanded that he snap out of it. He'd hated it, seen it as a weakness of his mind. Always, without fail, as soon as she woke him up he'd struggle out of her arms and leave the room. She learnt never to go after him.
'' Jack,'' she whispered, trying a new tactic and drawing her lips across his. '' Jack, it's me, Sam. Wake up now.'' She kissed him properly, coaxing his mouth open with her tongue, her fingers massaging his tense jaw.
He sighed against her mouth, his eyes opening slightly. '' Sam,'' he breathed reverently, eyes holding all the love in the world for her.
'' Yeah.''
'' I dreamed...''
'' I know.''
He kissed her back, his mouth moving against hers. Then he was pushing her over, sliding his body over hers, kissing her harder, slipping his tongue into her mouth. '' You're here,'' he murmured, hands streaking down to cup her breasts.
'' I am, yeah, ah...'' Her eyes fluttered closed as his hands worked pleasurable wonders on her skin.
'' I dreamed...''
'' I know.. oh!''
Afterwards, exhausted, Sam lay limply underneath him, her eyes closed helplessly. She felt him move off of her, was slightly surprised when she felt him sit up and the sheets rustle. She turned her head to the side and opened her eyes, but all she could see was the taut lines of his back as he sat, legs over the side of the bed. Something in his body language alerted an instinct in Sam that had her heart beating faster as fear trickled its way down from her brain. The worry that had raised its head so fleetingly before raised its pitiful head again.
He bent down and reached for his trousers.
Sam curled over onto her side, away from him, closing her eyes against what was happening. Cursing herself for not thinking about this beforehand, for not getting out of the room when she had the chance, Sam prayed that she would get through this. If she hadn't been here when he'd had that dream, he wouldn't have woken up with her, they wouldn't have taken the second step towards Court Martial, the destruction of the team they'd built. Alien influence could only go so far - and the second time they'd made love had nothing to do with alien influence and everything to do with emotions.
She felt the bed rise as he stood, heard the brush of material over his body as he dressed in the hurriedly, feverishly discarded clothing. Sam turned her head further into the pillows, bit down hard to stop herself from making a noise, from saying something that would only get them into more trouble. This was the right choice. They were not going to acknowledge what had just happened.
But her body was aching delicately and she could feel him all over her. If she took in a deep breath, she could smell him on her skin, and knew he could do the same.
Beyond her closed lids she could see the soft candlelight from the hallway as he, Colonel O'Neill, opened the door. Then the light was gone.
For a few minutes, Sam lay absolutely still. Dead still. All around her she could hear nothing but silence. No ticking clocks, no insects, no birds, no night noises at all. Nothing beyond the beating of her own heart. Then slowly she began to release her grip on the pillow, her jaw relaxing its tense hold. She opened her eyes and waited.
Waited.
Surely she ought to be feeling something right now?
Something?
Oh, yes, here it came...