Title: Unsolvable
Category: Apocafic
Pairings: Sam/Jack implied
Summary: Sam was always worried the world would end if she wasn't there to save it.
She barely made it off-world when the world ended.
The one time it really mattered, and she was away from the mountain. If she was honest, she'd admit that it had always been a private fear of hers--it wasn't that she didn't think someone else could save the world, but deep down, she always held that if you wanted something done, you had to do it yourself.
The only other people she really trusted were her teammates, and they couldn't be counted on to know which crystals to force in a pinch. They had their own area of expertise, and Sam was aware that they'd needed her and she'd let them down.
Not that they'd ever say that. They might not even think it, and if they did, they would bury the thought as irrational and petty.
She was beamed aboard the Prometheus just before the strike hit Denver, the timing so close she felt the concussive wave from the explosion tap her on the chest. She staggered back into a medic, who checked her out briefly and told her she was lucky she hadn't been facing east at first, or she would have been blind. She thanked him and went to the engine room, where she coaxed the overtaxed systems to get them the hell out of there and stayed, after, to help remove the bodies from the damage suffered in the initial attack. She saw Cameron and Teal'c pass by, Teal'c holding Cameron up.
Cam grinned wearily as he saw her look. "Just a sprained ankle, Sam. Doc says I'll be running around again in no time."
Sam nodded. Teal'c gave her a look she couldn't translate, and they left her to what had, she realized suddenly, become her engine room--she was the highest-ranking officer of any experience on three decks. She spent another four hours repairing systems, two clearing dangerous debris out of the way, and another one convincing the commander--a Colonel she'd never met before--that they couldn't afford to toss anything out the airlock, not even the scraps of metal currently filling two storage closets on deck four. She crawled into a currently empty bunk and slept, still wearing her civilian clothes.
Daniel woke her up, looking as though he'd slept less than she felt she had.
"They need you on the bridge," he said, and handed her some BDUs. She changed, holding onto the edge of her bunk to keep from falling over, and then she straightened and forced herself awake. She met with the commander and his bridge crew, returned to her engines to find her crew already there, already clearing the major non-essential systems and even working on setting up the secondaries. She almost cried, almost told them how much she appreciated it, but held herself back and nodded to her new second instead. He returned her nod gravely, and then yelled at a young captain for not paying attention, and the work continued.
Hours later, when they had everything nearly done, she told her crew to get some rest and that if she saw them in the engine room before eight solid hours had passed, she'd lock them in the storage rooms. Her second hinted that she should sleep, too, and she smiled at him and told him she'd be fine.
About a half-hour later, she was sitting on the floor, digging into the guts of the beaming technology when she heard a voice behind her. "They gave me my own quarters, although I don't know why."
She practically leaped up, but her voice was calm as she replied, "That's because they figure everyone's too scared to share with you, sir."
Their eyes met and spoke for them, radiating absolute faith and certainty tempered by respect for personal limits and something so overwhelming Sam wasn't sure what to call it. It was the most honest exchange she'd ever had in her life.
She looked away.
"What's the plan, sir?" she asked, but he was suddenly next to her, his hand gripping her arm, his usual relaxed demeanor gone. She felt his gaze as if he was trying to see into her head, but still didn't look at him.
"Carter...you need to get some sleep."
She shook her head and swayed on her feet. He tightened his grip and steered her out of the room, catching a startled lieutenant in the corridor outside.
"You, stay here, and if anyone needs anything, come find me," he ordered. Sam opened her mouth to protest, but the lieutenant snapped off a salute and looked pathetically grateful for something to do. Sam realized he was part of a diplomatic contingent and wondered why he was there.
As if he read her mind, Jack muttered, "Stupid politicians. I've been up to my ass in their shit all day. All of them--all of them--seem to think we should turn around and get our asses kicked. As if that would help anything. At least I managed to convince them to talk to Thor, first."
As he spoke he'd maneuvered her along the corridor and down through a hatch onto the next level. He stopped in front of a door and punched in a pass code. She hesitated, but he just shoved her in and followed her, grabbing a tie, a jacket, and some ridiculously shiny shoes from the bed and tossing them into a drawer. There was barely enough room for them both to stand, but it was a lot of space for one person on a ship, even a ship the size of Prometheus.
Sam opened her mouth to speak, but Jack held up a hand. "Ah! Sleep. I'll keep the hounds away for a few hours. I have to go meet with them anyway. I assume all systems are near-perfect?"
Without waiting for an answer, he said, "Good. Anything else, Carter?"
She shook her head, already aching to lie down on the bed now she could see it.
He opened the hatch again and paused. "I'm glad..."
Sam looked up. He stepped back into the room and let the hatch close. He gathered her up in a fierce hug and she was suddenly clinging to him like she'd wanted to the moment she'd seen him, like the moment she turned around and had realized her world was literally ending, like she had every other time they'd been in a situation that looked unsolvable.
Only this one probably was, and so she didn't let go.