Written for Penguin's Challenge no.11
"Most people never have to face the fact that at the right time and the right place they're capable of... anything!"- Chinatown
The small moments of discovery throughout the years.
A Sam-focussed S/J one-shot, fluff and angst and some suggested smut, with a hint of Jack!whump, Team!fic and God knows what else thrown in. Basically, a big melting pot that churns out some S/J goodness at the end... that is all...
Enjoy!
xoxoxoxox
She watched the hardened officer she called 'Sir' follow the small girl, the dog safely on the lead between them. She shook her head and shared a rueful look with Daniel, the both of them marvelling at the change the girl brought out in him. The softness that he lacked in any other setting. Sam ached for him- for the pain he had endured and continued to endure with every reminder that his son would never outlive him.
She watched as he sat on the swing she had occupied the first time they had come to this park, only a few short weeks before. He waved to her, and she and Daniel walked together slowly and leisurely towards the playground. Cassie was occupied on the merry-go-round, and Daniel quickly joined her, spinning it a little more before claiming a spot next to her.
Sam, still smiling at the domesticity of it all, claimed the swing next to her C.O, and gently rocked back and forwards, her feat not leaving the ground.
"Hey Carter"
She turned to said officer and raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement.
"Bet I could swing higher"
She grinned, and almost laughed out loud. Almost, except for that little voice in her head that told her propriety was expected in every environment, even on the park swing set.
"I'm sure you could, Sir, but given we're, ah, heading out tomorrow, I'd rather not break my neck"
"You mean to tell me the great Captain Carter, brainiac extraordinaire, is afraid of a little swing set?"
"No. Captain Carter is afraid of making a complete fool of herself in front of the two people who would never ever let her live it down" she answered, her tone just the right mix of sincerity and chagrin, with a hint of a smirk on her face.
And even though she hadn't laughed out loud, he did, and proceeded to swing higher, though she got the impression he was genuinely enjoying himself rather than challenging her. So she joined him, swinging a little higher, though not as high as him, and she couldn't help but tilt her head back a little and let herself experience that split second of weightlessness as the swing reached the peak of its momentum.
And when she noticed him looking at her with a mix of amusement and something unidentifiable, she could only shrug and straighten her legs in order to soar a little higher.
"You're not the only one who loves flying, Sir" she said, and took his light chuckle as a good sign.
That was the day she discovered that even straight-laced women and men with ghosts could enjoy the wonder of a playground swing.
xoxoxoxox
"Sir"
"Carter"
Her tone revealed nothing of the turmoil she felt inside, and his was flat as a tack, betraying nothing. The hurt and confusion and more than a tinge of disappointment stayed hidden under her many layers of training and a heavy dose of stubborn pride. He had offered no explanation then, and he offered none now that she was there, tugging at her own boots and throwing them with just a little bit of force into her locker. Not hard enough to startle, not enough to be downright subordinate, but enough.
And that was it. A brief exchange of monikers, a nod, and fleeting moment of eye-contact and the moment of betrayal was lost to the wind, never to be spoken of. Acknowledged without being recognised for what it really was.
And she was not so naive as to think it meant nothing.
You let him follow. You knew he would, she wanted to shout. You knew that you were going to close the iris. You lead that man to his death and did nothing to stop it. Nazi or no Nazi, who are you to play God?
And she knew that no matter what she learned about him today, it meant nothing compared to the enormity of the revelation that, for the tiniest moment, his past and present had merged, and the Saint that was her boss was suddenly the Sinner he so hated. And she knew what he would have said, if any of their conversations were in words these days.
Now you know. See the real me. See what decisions I make, have made, and will forever make, because someone has to. The wrong action for the right cause. Welcome to the truth, Carter, and don't let me break my neck as I go crashing down from that pedestal.
A shudder ran through her as she stood alone in the elevator a few minutes later, and she felt as though she had gained something small and lost something a lot bigger. Lost not just an illusion, but a dream, a hope, a prayer. They couldn't all be like her ex-fiancé, could they? Or could they, if given the chance, when necessary?
She didn't know the answer to that, and she wished she still had the delusions and hero-worship to hold on to.
That was the day she learned of the devil that lay small and dormant inside Jack O'Neill.
xoxoxox
He had done the right thing. The proper thing. He had pulled the trigger, pulled it again, watched her crumble, didn't crumble himself.
He had done the right thing.
He had killed her.
He had done it without knowing she was somewhat safe inside the computer.
He had done it because he was first and foremost an officer, and no amount of emotion could curb that. She knew from Janet that he had regretted the decision a little, had sat that the foot of her bed for two solid days, refusing to enact her wishes because he was having a hard time letting go. A hard time forgiving himself, again.
He had regretted his decision, and he hadn't made it lightly, and he had to live with what he'd done.
But that didn't quell her urge to shiver. It didn't mean she didn't feel just a little bit sick to her stomach. It didn't mean she didn't question every decision she'd ever made and wondered if she had been so impartial. Wondered if she could have done the same in his place.
Something told her she couldn't.
And she was grateful for his ability to switch it off in a way she never had been before. She was grateful he could make those decisions even if nobody else could because, as he'd shown, someone had to, and she certainly wasn't stepping up to the plate.
That was the day she realised the tiny black demon inside him was as integral and necessary as the fun and the laughter and the levity. Someone had to shoulder the burden, and he was the only one strong enough to take it and ask for more.
She didn't envy him.
xoxoxoxox
"Found you"
"Tag, I'm it"
His joke fell flatter than his tone, and she didn't need to be psychic to figure out why. But given she hadn't been involved in Daniel's glowy exchange with the Colonel, she couldn't fully understand his peace- couldn't hold onto the certainly that Daniel would be fine the way the Colonel could, sad as he was to lose his best friend.
All she knew was Daniel was gone, and she missed him, and their team would never be the same, no matter how much Daniel may have accepted his fate.
She sat next to the Colonel on the bench of the change rooms and sighed, her elbows coming to rest on her knees, mirroring him. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and continued to fiddle with the blue yo-yo Daniel had bought him as a gag gift.
"He's fine" he said quietly, not looking at her.
"I know"
"Really, he'll be okay"
"Mm-hmm"
"And we'll be okay"
"You think?"
"I do. We've still got each other- the three of us. We'll pull through"
She sighed, nodded her head. "Doesn't mean I don't miss him already" she whispered.
"Yeah"
And that was it. But, with a certain startling clarity she realised that it was enough, for now. It was enough to know that they had each other, and that Daniel would be okay, that they'd find a way to go on. And she knew that somehow they would pull through, hard as it may be, because SG-1 always pulled through. Always.
And that was the day she discovered the beautiful simplicity of the Colonel's pep-talks. Because although they had always been short and sweet, she had never before heard the many layers underneath, the hidden promises and friendly jibes and, occasionally, the solid hand of comfort that told her she would never be alone.
xoxoxoxox
He was quiet, and they didn't begrudge him that, and though he had never seemed so quiet, he had never seemed more comfortable in the infirmary either. But she watched him from the other side of the room- watched the way he subtly felt the sheets, tapped the lights, double-checked his food. To anyone else it would appear to be simple restlessness- an urge to be totally free, sitting at home drowning in the comfort of his beer and Simpsons.
To her it was a sign of what he'd been through- a reminder that the physical scars barely scratched the surface of his ordeal.
So she watched him scratching and checking and pulling and she wondered how long it would be before he stopped questioning whether or not it was real. And she tried not to flinch when he looked at her with a little distrust. And she tried not to cry when he awoke in a layer of sweat, his jaw sore from clamping it tightly shut.
And she clamped down on the part of her that wished she could see him though those nightmares, and she tried to let go of the guilt over putting them there in the first place.
That was the day she discovered that all men have their breaking points, and this man may very well have been standing on the edge of his, holding on for dear life. And he was strong enough to keep his grip, despite the odds. And he never let go, much as he really wanted to.
And he might not be so lucky next time.
xoxoxoxox
She was happy. For the first time in a long time she was genuinely happy. Not just content, satisfied, accomplished, proud or any of the various other emotions associated with world-saving and problem-solving. No, Samantha Carter was really and truly, wonderfully happy.
Humming.
She was humming for crying out loud, and she couldn't even look back at the encounter in the elevator with regret because, damn it, she'd been happy then too, and it was a feeling she really liked.
Happy over a man she really liked, who really liked her.
Who took her to the movies and held her hand and opened doors for her, not because he thought she couldn't, but because he figured every girl should be doted on now and then. And he liked it when she got all dressed up, but only told her she was beautiful when she walked into the living room towel-drying her hair, her baggy sweats hanging loose on her hips.
A man who made her feel feminine and sweet and, some nights, hotter than fire.
She was really very much, and with great certainty, happy.
Until he asked her to make it permanent.
And suddenly she was left to question whether it could work.
Would he really be content being on the outer forever? Could he really be expected to understand her nightmares, to rationalise her irrational phobias, to sit back and watch as she trekked across a galaxy? Was it fair to expect so much? Could she really say good-bye to it all and accept some mediocre job someplace else when it came time to choose between him and her life?
Questions. So many questions.
And one that, really, she refused to ask. The most important.
Was it the right guy who was asking this of her?
She didn't know the answer to that. She was so sure, until it actually came time to say it out-loud.
So, as they so often do, they had an encounter that said much more than it appeared to, unspoken meanings under the subtle looks and quirks and grins.
And she'd been as direct as she could be without asking for trouble.
And he, with utmost sincerity, had stepped aside, wished her luck and told her, in no uncertain terms, that she couldn't wait to live her life. Shouldn't wait. That he was not worth the wait, or couldn't promise a desired outcome.
He couldn't really promise her anything.
So he did all he could, and virtually gave her permission to leave him behind so she could have all he couldn't give her. That was the day the seed of doubt was planted, whether she realised it or not, because he cared that much.
And that was the day she realised Jack O'Neill really would do anything for her, even if it meant he had to lose her.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxox
He was there beside her as they watched the coffin being lowered, and though it was empty, it felt right to give her Dad this much, in a place where heroes came to rest. She let herself cry, and he was there, leaning into her a little, offering her support the way he had countless times before, and she was so utterly grateful she didn't move away. Her brother noticed from his place beside her, but he didn't comment or give any significant gesture except to place his hand on her shoulder.
Forgiveness?
Understanding?
An acknowledgement, finally, that these last few years had been the best since their childhood and they couldn't let it all go now Dad was gone?
She didn't know, but a part of her didn't want to know. Here was her big brother, standing next to her. The boy who had boosted her to the height of the cookie jar. The teen who hugged only her as he walked out to his loaded car with college duffle in hand. The man who opened his door to her for the first time in ten years the night she discovered her first fiancé was not Mr. Right.
Here was her big brother, lending his shoulder, and damn it, why did it feel like she had to trade her Dad's life for this final act of absolution- this understanding between them, after all this time?
So she cried some more and allowed Mark to pull her into a hug, and when everyone had left her house that night and there was only her family left- all her guys, Mark included- she let him wrap his arms around her in the kitchen.
And when Mark left the next morning, whispering his promise to stay in touch, he told her that she shouldn't regret anything that had happened. And that life was too short. That he was so proud of her, and all she had done (even if it was in the Air Force), and she had a group of people around her who would go to the end of the Earth for her.
If only he knew.
That was the day she discovered Jack O'Neill had a way of winning over her male relatives like no-one before him, and she kind of had to smile at that.
xoxoxoxoxoxox
There were very few sensations that had her insides squirming. Her first trip through the Stargate made her feel queasy from her toes to her hair. The feeling of dropping from a plane gave her a rush of hot and cold that ran down her spine and lingered for hours. Even a fast ride on her bike made her feel like she'd lost her stomach at the top of a rollercoaster.
But none of these compared to the feeling of his toes slowly raking up and down her naked calf, his fingertips tracing the length of her arm, his breath on the back of her neck.
She was blissful. No other word for it. Blissful, relaxed, thoroughly satisfied and quite possibly head over heels. Even now, even after all that time.
She grinned and rolled over, pinning him under her body and kissed him languidly, and hummed with satisfaction when he moaned. She could really get using to this. So could he, apparently, if she correctly remembered any of his words from the night before. Her brain had been a little too fried to expect any complex equations, but she got the gist of what he was saying. And if she was going to forget for a second, she had the sparkly new diamond on her finger to remind her.
And this time she hadn't needed two weeks to think it over. She hadn't even taken two seconds, if you don't count the moment of speechlessness that made him grin.
And that was the day she realised that, despite needing over nine years to discover the many sides of him, she loved him completely, loved that he knew her just as well, and loved that he could still make her heart flutter wildly.
And she now knew that he was capable of a great many things, but what he was currently doing with his tongue was definitely his greatest skill.