He stared into the darkness, far from asleep. Sam stirred next to him, and he put a comforting hand on her arm. Reassured, even in the deepest of sleeps, she instantly relaxed. He gazed at her then, trying to make out the features of her face through the shadows. Sam. His Sam. His wife. She had surprised him by arriving home in the wee hours of the morning the day before, and she would be leaving again in a few short hours. The thought made him ache. It was not the first time they had parted, and it would not be the last. But, this time, this time had him irked. For reasons he could not explain, even to himself, he wanted to grab onto her, hold her close and beg her to stay. He didn't know whether to be sad at her leaving or pissed.
Just stay. We can have a kid like you've been thinking about. I know you've been thinking about it. I have, too. I know you only have a few months left in Atlantis, but life is so short. Stay with me. Don't leave me with this raw ache in my chest.
Jack O'Neill rolled onto his back as the ache grew, threatening to consume him if he let it. He didn't. He quickly remembered all he had shared with his Sam, all the moments they had to be grateful for. Even when they were serving together, there were the inside jokes, the looks that spoke more than a thousand words, and the silent acknowledgment that they had found their best friend in each other. He wouldn't trade it. Even to get rid of that damn aching in his chest. If he asked her to stay, he would be asking her to be less than she was. Less than the woman he adored. And he wouldn't do that.
He was surprised to find himself fingering his dog tags. He had worn them for so long, he didn't even think about them anymore. Usually. Today, it was as if they had a life of their own. He was constantly being reminded of them hanging around his neck. They seemed heavy and cumbersome. Like they didn't belong anymore.
Jack ran his thumb across the lettering. Two thin pieces of metal, held together by a chain around his neck. That's all they were. But they had defined his life. Made him who he was, for better or worse. The tags themselves had changed over the years, of course, but the feeling that they were a part of him had always remained. Until now. Until this moment, when he suddenly wanted to rip them off and throw them out the window. He grabbed them tightly in his fist, as if to do so, but stayed where he was.
A few more months. That's all. Now you know how Sara felt when she was at home waiting for you to come back from some mission you could never tell her about. You'd show up on the doorstep looking terrible, maybe recovering from being shot, with the horror of what you'd done showing in your eyes. And you couldn't tell her about it. Wouldn't tell her about it. Now you know. This is how she felt. Bastard. How dare you feel sorry for yourself? Sam can tell you about what she's been doing. You have no secrets. Do you know how many people have that? How many people have the trust you've built over the past ten years?
Jack let his dog tags fall back on his chest. They would go soon. Maybe he'd display them on the mantle someday. But not today. He rolled over and pulled Sam close, savoring her smell, the feel of her hair against his cheek. She gave a contented sigh and his heart echoed it.
As he finally drifted off to sleep, Jack could feel the two pieces of thin metal sandwiched between him and Sam. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Why was he worrying, anyway? Thinking was Sam's department, not his.
Go to sleep, Jack. Tomorrow's another day.