Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings are property of their lawful owners. This story is written for entertainment purposes only and no profit is made. No copyright infringement intended.
Rating: K+
Genre: Romance
Pairing: Jack/Sam, established relationship
Spoilers: None. Or I guess Singularity (S01E14) if we're being accurate.
Summary: He got rid of the alarm clock the day she retired so there's no way to tell how early it is. She kicked the military habits a lot better than he ever did so now he lies awake and watches his sleeping wife as the morning light slowly fills the room.
A/N: This is a fluffy, plotless little piece. Future!fic, several years after the show ended but the exact number of years is not mentioned nor relevant.
Time Stands Still in the Morning Sun
It's early, six at the very most, he thinks. He got rid of the alarm clock the day she retired so he can't be sure.
"No reason to wake up at ungodly hours anymore," he grunted as the clock shattered on the ground under the window. She laughed at him like she often does when she thinks he's wrong but decides to let him realize that himself. But the room is still clock-free so he still thinks he did the right thing.
The first rays of morning sun are filtering through the drapes. He always sleeps poorly when she's away and every time she comes back, he finds himself waking up even earlier than usual, almost like he's making sure she's really here again. She never laughs at him then. Usually she only smiles and runs her hand through his hair in a way that makes him think that maybe she needs the reassurance as much as he does.
Sam spent a week at Cassie's place and just got home yesterday. He's getting bit too old to travel now, not that he'd ever admit that, and came up with a bunch of reasons why he couldn't go this time. Sam knows fully well what the real reason is but she lets him get away with his excuses.
Besides, Cassie, Michael and the kids are coming to Springs as soon as the kids' summer vacation starts. Otherwise he might have made the effort to shove his wrecked body and busted knees into a commercial airplane. He loves those kids and he knows the kids love their grandpa but he's learned his limits by now.
Sam opens her mouth a little, takes a deep breath and adjusts her grip of the pillow. She's kicked the habit of military schedule a lot better than he ever did so Jack knows it's going to be a while before she even stirs and a very long time before she's coherent enough for a conversation.
Because he got rid of the clock, he's learned to measure time by the movements of the sunlight. There's a plant on the windowsill and it's become his personal sundial. He usually wakes up when the sun is barely high enough to create a plant-shaped shadow on the hardwood floor.
Sam usually stirs around the time the shadow reaches the armchair but she doesn't fully wake up until the sun has moved enough to turn the shadow to the bookshelf. Usually her eyes open between the Simpsons seasons 1 and 4 but if they had a late night, she might even sleep past the season 7.
The shadow is halfway to the armchair now so he should have plenty of time. However, there's always the chance that she senses he's watching and wakes up earlier.
He loves watching her when she sleeps. That's the easiest way to find out how she's really feeling. If Sam is stressed out, even her sleep isn't restful. Then she has these little lines on her forehead and in the corners of her mouth, like she's deep in thought even in her sleep.
Lately there have been a lot less of those days. Retirement has been good to her. Right now she looks happy, filled with peace. It's such a rare look to see on her but it suits her, makes her more beautiful than ever.
There are also lines on her face that won't go away, no matter how relaxed she is. She's aged along with him, a lot more gracefully but none the less. His hands are itching to trace the tiny lines and marks on her face. They're like a map of memories to him.
He can clearly remember that one line, the one on the corner of her left eye, the longest one that curves slightly upwards. The first time it appeared, she was laughing at one of his jokes so hard she actually doubled over, holding her stomach and gasping for air.
At first the line was only there when she was laughing, or trying hard not to laugh, but slowly it became a permanent feature on her face, her every expression. To him it always looks like she's smiling. He forgot the joke years ago but every time he sees that line, he remembers how she was laughing that day.
Another special memory is the tiny scar right under her left eyebrow, barely visible in the dim light of the morning. Sam got it the morning after he proposed to her, many many years ago. She tried to rub the sleep from her eyes and managed to cut herself with the diamond somehow. He's still not sure how that's possible because the ring is very modest and simple, not some grape sized stone with million sharp edges.
Jack searches for her face for the other familiar marks but the hairs that have fallen out of her carefully arranged bun cover her forehead. She always pulls her hair on top of her head for the night to keep it from sticking to her neck when she sleep. Every night, some of the hair escapes and in the morning they're pointing at every possible direction. She thinks it looks horrible, he thinks it looks sexy. It usually doesn't take a lot to make her see it his way.
Jack wants to push those few wild strands behind her ears right now but he knows that will wake her up. There are a few lines of silver between the gold. They sparkle in the morning sun. Sam hates finding gray hair and she used to pluck them out but now there are too many.
He loves them. He's getting a little sappy in his old age but years ago when they decided to give them a try, they promised to grow old together. Not that Sam is old, far from it. But she's older and he still gets to wake up next to her every morning. Well, most mornings. For some irrational reason it makes him extremely happy that they're turning gray together.
"I could dye them," Sam mumbles, her eyes still closed and he wonders how long she's been awake. He still has military reflexes on everything else but Sam could get away with anything because she simply distracts him so much that he doesn't notice what she's doing.
"I'd prefer if you didn't. But it's your head."
"I don't get why you love my gray hair so much," she mumbles and stretches a little before she opens her eyes and smiles at him.
"You always tell me gray looks sexy on me," he shrugs.
"It does," she says and runs her left hand through his hair once before it gets settled on the back of his neck. "But that's not your 'you look sexy' -face. That's your 'I'm a sappy old man but I hope you don't notice' -face."
He chuckles and pulls her closer. He plants a gentle kiss on her forehead and Sam wraps an arm around him. For a long time they just lie there, holding each other. He knows she's waiting for an explanation but he also knows she won't ask again.
"I just really like the thought that I'm gray and you're turning gray and we're still together. That's all," he confesses.
"Ah, growing old together, huh?" There's laughter in her voice and he wonders if it's aimed at him or her own insecurities. She has a lot more of those than he would have believed but he's decided to dedicate his life for making her forget them.
"I'd never call you old," he says firmly.
"I know." She kisses the point where his shoulder meets his neck and he sighs happily. It's crazy how he still reacts to her every touch after all these years.
"Can we just stay in bed today," she mumbles and if it wasn't for her lips moving against his skin, he might have thought she meant sleeping.
"Until six pm, yes. Or more like five because our ride arrives at six."
"I told you not to arrange anything fancy."
"Just a dinner. You, me, a couple of steaks and a bottle of good wine. None of that salad crap today. You don't even need to worry about what to wear. I found you a perfect dress."
"I've gained weight," she sighs. "It won't fit."
"I know what size you are. Trust me."
"You can't even buy yourself a t-shirt without calling me what your size is. And I'm supposed to trust you can pick me an evening gown?"
"Ah, but that's the thing, Sam. I've spent a lot more time studying your body than my own. I know every inch of you." She opens her mouth but he beats her to it: "Even that extra one on your waist and those two on your hips."
His hand slides from her waist to her hip and down, over her thigh and down to her bent knee and then back up again. He's traced that path millions of times by now, with both his hands and his lips. Yet still, every now and then, he has to pause mid-thigh just to take in the fact that he's actually here, with her, and he's allowed to touch her like this. He's stopped pinching himself, though. That's progress, he thinks.
"And they're just as beautiful and perfect as the rest of you," he continues and kisses her forehead.
"I don't know if I should kiss you or kill you for that," she comments.
"You can do both as long as that's the order."
She chuckles and her fingertips start to meander down his back, drawing geometric shapes, so he's pretty sure she's not mad. At least not too mad. Equations would be bad. She only draws equations when she needs to keep her hands busy so she won't strangle him. But geometric shapes are fine.
"Happy anniversary, Jack," she whispers against his throat and her voice sends shivers down his body as it resonates on his skin.
"Happy anniversary, baby," he says softly. She snorts but doesn't comment, because once a year she lets him get away with that pet name and every year he takes advantage of that.
"For the record," he whispers when they've been lying still and quiet for a while, drifting towards sleep again. "We're gonna spend the twentieth anniversary in a hotel suite. With champagne and strawberries for breakfast and a jacuzzi and a huge bed covered in rose petals. After a fancy dinner with everyone we know. I just thought I'd warn you now so you'll have time to get used to the thought."
"For the twentieth anniversary, I might even let you get away with it."
"Or you'll just have to dump me before that."
"Nah," she sighs and then breaths in, drawing in his scent. "I don't think that's going to happen. I've grown quite fond of you over the years, Jack O'Neill. Who would have thought."
A/N: Thanks for reading!