Bring on the Rain
Disclaimer: Not my show, not my characters, but my idea. I make no profit from this.
Post Threads
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It's storming outside, you realize, as a flash of lightning enters your dark bedroom via one small window to your left. Thunder follows and you wonder why you're just now noticing the way the weather has changed. Earlier that day, the sun was shining and there were a few innocuous clouds littering the sky, but now, as you peer out of that same window, you discover that the sky is as dark as your room, that is, until another flash of lightning makes its presence known.
The coffee in your hand is cold now, but that doesn't stop you from taking another sip of it. The liquid feels thick as it runs down your throat, but the feeling just reminds you that you're alive, and you're strangely depressed by it. The lightning is closer now, streaking across the sky as if it were liquid itself, much like the coffee you're forcing yourself to drink. It's late, but you know you won't sleep tonight, and caffeine just makes that more of a reality. You don't care though, you don't want to sleep. You're not sure if you ever want to sleep again.
It's not raining yet, you see, when you step out on your back porch. For some reason, you find yourself disappointed, had you wanted it to be raining? You'd be soaked now if it had been, but, you think that might be better. At least you'd have a reason for feeling this cold and numb.
You filled the cup up once more, and you don't even acknowledge that until you take another sip. It's warm now, but still on the cold side. Had you made a stop in the kitchen before coming outside? You don't even remember. It's like you've become a robot.
Except, maybe, for the broken heart.
You sit down in one of your patio chairs, thinking that maybe being outside in the middle of a storm isn't the smartest thing to do, rain or no. The lightning is close and the thunder is loud, the vibrations reaching your bones, but you don't care. The danger of being out in the storm reminds you, once more, that you are alive. It seems that, as of late, everything does. You decide that you hate that. You don't want to feel alive. It doesn't seem fair.
It's not fair that you buried your father that morning, well... you buried a casket that was supposed to have your father inside (tomorrow you will attend a separate funeral on the Tok'ra home world, where his ashes will be released into the wind), your best friend has been gone for more than a year, and you haven't had a mother since you were 12, and for some reason, life has chosen to keep you breathing. You don't want to breath, there's nothing left to breath for.
Once again, you find yourself alone.
It's been two days, since you gave the ring back, and you're still waiting for regret to find you. It should have by now, you think, as the wind blows through your growing hair. You're thirty seven years old, still single, engaged twice, but never married. Maybe if all your love interests hadn't died that would be different.
But maybe, you wonder, they weren't meant to be love interests in the first place.
A flash of lightning, now unbelievably close, followed by a boom of thunder, reminds you that it's storming. It's dark outside, unsettling so, but, then again, it should be at two in the morning. The clouds are moving fast above your head, and you think that, were it not the end of spring, snow would be in the forecast. The wind blows through your hair again, and that nagging voice at the back of your mind tells you to stop being stupid and go inside. It's getting dangerous.
How fitting that the voice belongs to Janet, the woman who took care of you for seven years. It brings a smile to your face, knowing that at least a part of her will never leave, a part of her has become a part of you. You know that, were she alive that day, she would have already forced you into the house, and that makes you smile all the more. You miss her. It's strange that you're just now admitting this to yourself.
The door to your house slides open, and you jump, despite yourself. Looking behind you, your not surprised to see her stepping out onto the back deck. Who could sleep in this kind of weather, anyway? Not to mention, the smell of coffee must be strong throughout the house, since in her right hand there is a cup, much like your own.
Without a word, she sits in the chair next to yours, and looks up at the sky. A sigh escapes her lips, and the roar of thunder drowns it out. She looks at you, not with pity, but with love, and it reminds you that, although you have lost so much, there are more things to live for. There are no words, because she knows that speaking would make things worse. She's gone through this before, twice, just as you have, but it's different for her.
She lost two mothers, having never known her father, who died when she was a baby. Her first mother, her birth mother, had died along with the entirety of her people, and that makes your losses seem minute. Her second lost mother was your lost friend, and while it burns you to your core, you know it has to tear her apart. You've felt that before. You feel that even now, as you sit on your back deck, the lightning flashing every minute or so.
Your father is dead, and you're just now realizing the full scope of that loss. You told yourself that, because of the added six years, it was easier. You had more time with him than fate had intended, and you're grateful for that, but now you've lost more than a father, you've lost one of your greatest friends. And that makes it all the more painful.
Her coffee has been abandoned, sitting idly next to yours on the patio table, and you don't even notice when she reaches out and takes your hand. The pressure on it when she gives it a squeeze reminds you that she's still sitting with you, and you look at her and smile sadly. In the darkness, her face nothing more than an outline against the night, you see the scared little girl that you met all those years ago. You couldn't leave her then, and she won't leave you now.
Tears sting at the back of your eyes, and you shut them tightly, to keep the liquid from flowing. You haven't cried thus far, and you're not going to break now. You're strong, you can handle this. If you give in and cry now, you don't think you'll ever be able to stop.
It's still calm outside, the clouds are suddenly still over your heads, and you think it might start to rain soon. Neither of you make a move to go inside, and neither of you will be the first to do so. Your stubborn that way, and years of being around you has made her so, as well. You wonder briefly if she counts you as her third mother, and the possibility that she does makes life seem worth living.
You remember the conversation you had with her, the day before. She asked you why you left. Two months left before the wedding, and you gave back the ring. She didn't understand that your father saw what you had been hiding from yourself. She didn't understand that he knew you were miserable, while you were still telling yourself that you had never been happier. And you couldn't tell her of the conversation, not yet at least. It was still too fresh. Too final. His last words to you, in a manner of speaking, and you tried to fool him just as you had fooled yourself.
But he hadn't been so easily persuaded. He had died knowing you were unhappy. And that brings the tears back, and this time one escapes before you can stop the others.
She noticed, and the hand that holds yours tightens around your fingers. But still, there are no words spoken. You tell yourself that it's better this way, and maybe for once, your not lying.
Maybe.
The skies open, and the rain suddenly pours out, drenching you and ruining your coffee. You don't care and she doesn't mind, for now. Soon, she would force you inside, and both of you know that. But for now, you sit still in your chair, letting the rain run through the thickness of your slightly longer than normal hair. You'll keep it this way, you think, because your father had always said he liked it that way. It doesn't seem like much of a tribute, but it fits anyway. He would smile at you, if he were alive, and your stomach jumps into your throat at the thought.
Crying is inevitable now, but at least the rain will hide it.
Strangely, the screen door opens once more, and you look to your right, confused. She's still sitting there, the rain curling her much longer hair, and she smiles at you. Looking back, you see the three men standing inside the house, the door leading outside ajar, and you're not surprised that she called them.
And, to your amazement, you're not upset, either.
You look over at her once more, and she nods, "Time to go inside, Sam."
She's right, you know. Nodding, you stand up from your chair, and she does the same. You leave your coffee cups sitting outside on the table, which is now covered with light-brown liquid, but you don't care. The rain will wash it all away.
Standing in the dining room of your house, you break down, the rain no longer hiding your stubborn tears. You're still dripping water, your hair and clothes soaked, but he doesn't care, and pulls you into his arms anyway. It's then that you realize he's wet too, although not as much as you are. You're reminded of a time when this happened before, and it brings more tears to your eyes. You cling to him desperately, as your body shakes from the intensity of your tears.
"It's ok, Carter," he whispers into your hair, and you start to believe that maybe, one day, it will be. "I've got you. I've got you. It's alright."
But, at the moment, it's not. Your father is dead, you're an orphan, and all you want is to be seven years old again, still thinking your dad is a superhero. He was, you realize, in a matter of speaking, and that brings a defiant smile to your face. The action is hidden though, in the wet shirt of the man still holding you, telling you that things are going to be just fine.
You finally pull back, your tears slowing down to a manageable pace, and he loosens his hold around you, allowing you to do so. You don't leave the embrace entirely, but you're far enough away now to see that you're the only two in the room. The others must be changing out of their wet clothes. You don't care that you're wet though, the shirt clinging to your skin, and the pants still dripping with water only remind you, once more, that you are alive. And you think that maybe you don't hate that reminder as much as you thought you did.
He kisses your forehead, and you smile sadly. You're still not sure how you feel about breaking down like you did, but for some reason, your burden doesn't seem as heavy as it did before. You still feel empty inside, but you know that, with time, it will fade away, somewhat, at least. You're still going to know that your father is gone, and it won't ever hurt less, but with time, with time it will become bearable. A part of you. Your mother and Janet were the same way. You're only now learning to deal with the latter.
You hide yourself in his shirt once again, and although you're no longer crying, he still lets you hold on to him. "I'm here, Sam," he tells you, his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you close. "I'm here."
You know, more than he realizes, but say nothing. There will be time for the necessary words later. Right now, silence is what you need, and he knows that. You hold on to him, and he lets you, although you understand that you're clinging a bit too tightly. In the morning, you'll color at the memory, a deep red blush brought on by the fact that you allowed your walls to crumble, but you don't care now.
He clears his throat finally, and you look up at him to see why he did so. "You'll catch your death in those clothes," he whispers to you, and you see reluctance in his eyes. He doesn't want to let go just as much as you want to stay in his arms. But he's right. You're wet, and you're starting to shiver. "Go change..."
You obey, although you're off duty and aren't required to do so. You change quickly, putting on a new pair of track pants, and a simple black tank top. You almost reach for one of his old shirts, but realize how awkward that would be, and not only because you gave back the ring. You think to yourself that one day you're going to have to go through your things and send him back his. It would be strange to keep them.
As you walk back down the hallway, headed for the living room, you hear a hushed conversation in the guest room where Cassie is staying. A small smile is brought to your lips as you realize they're talking about the few times that all three of them were with your father. You're tempted to go in and talk with them, but you still crave silence. You know that to talk would only lead to more tears. And at the moment, you're too exhausted to do much of anything.
He anticipated your change of venue, and is sitting in the livingroom, freshly changed, when you enter. You smile slightly at his understanding of you, and sit next to him on the couch. He pulls you into his arms, and you don't care that you're not supposed to be this close, because you know he's the only one who can comfort you. He doesn't realize it, but he's willing to help, since you obviously need somebody's shoulder. After all these years, he's still yet to realize how much you need him, and it floors you.
"Thank you," you whisper, surprised by the quiver in your voice. You wonder if you'll ever be stable again. But as he rests his chin on your head, you think that you're already on your way to becoming so, and you know that without him, you'd never return to normal.
"Anytime," he tells you, tightening his hold on you. "I'll always be here for you, Sam." You know. He's told you before. But, he could say so a million times, and it would still send chills down your spine.
You've sat there for hours, you know because the sun has began to rise, and the rain has long since stopped. A door creeks down the hallway and footsteps echo through the house, and you open your eyes, the image of the other three closest people to you standing in the beginning of the living room. They all smile sadly, except maybe Teal'c, who still hasn't mastered smiling yet, and enter the room, each sitting down in their respective seats. Daniel and Cassie take the sofa, and Teal'c sits in the recliner. The two of you are still merged together on the love seat.
"You ok?" Cassie asks, after minutes of silence. The three look at you, anticipating your reply, and you smile slightly at their worry.
Looking up when he gives you a reassuring squeeze, your smile grows, "I will be," you tell them simply.
For once, you think that maybe, just maybe, that might be the truth.
The End
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A/N: Just one of those ideas that pop into your head. It was storming outside, but not raining, and it kind of just came to me. I've been on a 'post-threads' kick here lately, I guess. I'm not sure how good this is, so if it sucks, please be kind! Let me know what you think, either way.