Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at works/2721791.

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Fandom: Stargate SG-1 Relationship: Sam Carter/Jack O'Neill Character: Sam Carter, Jack O'Neill Additional Tags: Stranded, Romance Stats: Published: 2014-12-05 Words: 2287 Softening the fall

by iblamethenubbins

Summary

They are stuck on this godforsaken planet with no way of going home, and Jack has made peace with that fact for a long while now. Sam hasn't.

Notes

It's rated M just to be safe, but nothing that couldn't be on prime time. Thanks to my wonderful wifey Mon for reading and liking it and pointing out that one little thing that makes all the difference :)

He finds her standing in the bedroom by the drawer, in front of the mirror. She isn't looking at herself, though. Her head is down and her eyes closed. Her now long hair falls freely on her shoulders. She is dressed for bed, a simple nightgown that leaves her shoulders bare. He has seen her many times like this, in the dim light of the nightstand, while she brushes her hair or cleans her face before sleep. They have shared that bed and that room enough times for that to have become normal, almost natural. Tonight he stops to look at her and knows something is different. She has heard him coming in but keeps her eyes closed, her head down, her hands tightly clutching the drawer in front of her.

"Sam," he whispers, behind her back.

She doesn't respond, just clutches the drawer even harder. He puts a hand on her bare arm and waits.

"It's over," she says, finally, shaking her head. Her voice strained with the effort to fight the tears. "There's nothing else I can do. There really isn't."

Jack draws closer to her, wraps both of his arms around her waist and rests his chin on her shoulder.

He knows. He's known a long time, but has never tried to convince her to give up. They are stuck on this godforsaken planet with no way of going home, and Jack has made peace with that fact for a long while now. Sam hasn't. Every day for over a year she had worked on their Tel'tak in a desperate attempt at making it fly again. She knows all she needs are spare parts that could only be found on a Tok'ra planet, and theirs isn't one. They don't even know what sort of planet it is, exactly. It had served as a convenient emergency landing, they never planned to make it their home. With no radio communication and no Stargate, only a miracle can bring them back and Sam can't be that miracle. She knows that now.

"I'm sorry," she says, lifting her head to look at him in the mirror.

"Shhh. Don't be. It's OK. We're going to be OK," he says softly.

One single tear runs down her cheek and he catches it with his lips. And that's when she lets it all out. She stops pretending to be strong, stops caring about all the walls she has built around her to keep her from falling apart, from showing how lost she is. All at once, she lets all that go and lets herself fall apart in his arms. He's there to keep her together, not to stop her. He knows she needs to cry or she'll go crazy. He holds her, brushes her hair with his hand, rocks her and kisses her cheek softly, while she mourns all she has left behind. He knows there will come a time when she'll recognise what she has gained, but now it's too early, now it's time for the tears to come.
She turns around and buries her face in his neck, to be hugged, but also to hide her face from him. She needs him but she feels naked, exposed. She never planned to break down in front of him, but now she's grateful he's there to catch her, to hold her broken pieces together, maybe even heal them, slowly, with time.
He keeps her close to him even when her sobs have calmed down. He waits, patiently, until she's quiet again. He knows better to think that there won't be any more tears, but he promises her silently to always be there to soften the fall. He wishes he had the power to take the hurt away from her, to somehow transfer it all to himself, because he knows he can take it. But with that knowledge comes also the guilt of having welcomed their forced exile, maybe too soon, maybe too easily. He has never admitted it to her, but somehow he thinks he doesn't need to. There had been times when the tension between them wasn't caused by their ever-present feelings for one another. Sam had sensed his willingness to accept their situation and she had known, then, that she was alone in her desperation. Only her unwavering faith in making it back home one day had stopped her from yelling at him, from completely subverting their power structure she so stubbornly clung to.

But not tonight. Not once has she called him "sir". Not once has she stopped herself from revelling in the comfort of his presence, of his chaste kisses, his steadying embrace. Tonight she needs them to be just Sam and Jack.

"Come on," he says once he thinks it's safe to talk to her again. "Let's go to bed."

Up until tonight, they had shared a bed, but they had been very careful about maintaining the distance. They might have slipped sometimes, instinctively finding each other's embrace in their sleep, but they always, always regained their composure by morning. Now Jack leads her to her side of the bed and then lies on his own side. Sam pulls the covers on and turns her back to him. She waits a moment, lets him adjust under the blanket, and then, very quietly, says, "Will you hold me? Just… just for tonight?"

Jack feels his chest tighten at her request. He wishes he could say so much to her. How, if she let him, he'd hold her every night for all eternity, until the world – every world – stopped. How glad he is that it's him who got stuck with her, so that he can take care of her in moments like this. How hopeful he feels about everything, because she's with him, and nothing matters more to him than that. But he can't, not yet. So he just says "Of course" and scoots close to her, pulling her to him with his arm. She moulds her body to fit his, entangling their legs together and holding his hand in hers. She falls asleep soon after, exhausted by her restless day and the crying. He can't, for a long time. He feels he doesn't want to waste time sleeping, while he's holding her. He wants to relish the moment, but he also wants to be awake to guard her. There aren't any imminent threats on that planet, they don't need to keep watch like they used to. In his mind, that doesn't matter. He tells himself that whatever happens, he'll always keep her safe. Even if the worst thing that can happen to her right now is having bad dreams. He wants to be there if that happens, ready to comfort her, to whisper sweet nothings in her ear and lull her to sleep again. He just wants to be there. But eventually tiredness has the best of him and he surrenders to it, with his head on her shoulders and his fingers still intertwined with hers.

It becomes their ritual. Every night, in bed, he waits for her to look at him. She doesn't need to ask anymore. She looks at him and there's that plead in her eyes. The first few days, she still looks anguished, so he holds her and lulls her, sometimes he rubs her back or her stomach, until she falls asleep. Sometimes she cries, quietly, and he lets her, as always. Sometimes all she can do is sigh heavily. They don't talk. Those moments are too intimate, too fragile, to be filled with words. Besides, what else is there to say? Jack knows all he wants to say is still forbidden. He has long abandoned the need to keep their ranks. He had given them up as soon as he had abandoned hope of ever going home. Or as soon as he started calling this planet 'home'. But Sam needs more time and he is willing to let her discover exactly how much longer she needs.
At night, she looks at him, asks the question with her eyes and is always answered in the same way. It's her look that starts to change, slowly. Anguish is replaced by quiet sadness and then, one day, by a timid smile. It's tentative, but it's there. He still holds her in the same way, but, this time, some of the heaviness lifts from his chest.

He has noticed the small changes, the gradual softening of her mood, but he is not prepared when it happens. She comes to bed and as usual she asks him silently to hold her. He complies, happily finding his place behind her back, letting her holding his hand, smelling her hair, still slightly damp from the bath she has just taken. As usual he waits for the steady breath that tells him she's fallen asleep, but it doesn't come. She's wide awake and he can sense it. She starts by rubbing her thumb on his palm. Slowly, ever so softly he should barely feel it. But he does. He's so focused on the sensation of her on his skin, he can't even feel his own heart beat. Every inch of his body is paying attention to her touch. She lifts his hand onto her lips and kisses his wrist, very delicately, just a graze, before moving on to his palm. When she kisses his thumb he has to remind himself to breath. She lets the thumb go and continues onto his other fingers, so slowly he starts to suspect she's deliberately trying to drive him insane. He wants to shift closer to her, to turn her around, kiss her senseless, but he restrains himself, afraid to break the spell. Because that's what it feels to him. A magic, miraculous, delicious spell that could be broken with the slightest of movements. And he so desperately doesn't want to break it.
After she kisses his little finger she pulls his hand down, letting his fingers graze her neck on the way, until she leaves it on her breast. He's still completely enthralled by the spell that he doesn't react, until she presses his palm, encouraging him. It's only then that his instincts kick in, telling him what to do. His pulls his knee up between her legs, pulling her even closer to him and starts touching her, first tenderly, just a caress, and then more intensely, feeling her sensitive skin through her thin nightgown, wanting her, so much more than this, so much more. As if responding to his need, or maybe just answering her own, she turns and pulls herself up to face him. She pauses and looks at him, her hair falling on his chest, almost covering her face. He can see the desire in her eyes, but also the doubt, the question, the fear of never being able to take this back. He can barely stop himself from putting a hand behind her neck and pulling her down to him, but he doesn't. He lets her be in charge. He's waited years for this, he can wait another excruciating moment. She bites her lip and then leans down, holding his cheeks with her hands, while she tastes him. That's what it feels like, because she's still unsure she should do this and it still feels wrong, but the more her mouth is on his, the more she decides that it belongs there. She shifts and pulls herself on top of him, never leaving his lips, slightly moving her hips in time with his. He lets his arms roam along her body, still clad in her nightdress. He slides his hands on her legs and on her waist, pulling the nightdress up but not taking it off completely, so she smiles on his lips and pulls herself up, taking the nightdress off in one swift movement. She pauses again; judging from her little mischievous smirk, he thinks this time it's simply to savour the effect it has on him. And this time he doesn't stop himself, he just wants to wipe that smirk off her face in the best way he knows. He grabs her neck and pulls her down again, demanding her mouth, kissing her they way he's always wanted to. And now every thought about this being wrong, every doubt, every indecision, is forgotten. There's just them, wanting each other, needing each other. Without even realising how, they're soon both naked, and free, completely free, to discover what this feels really like. They've known it forever in their fantasies, but nothing could ever prepare them for the stark reality of this flood of raw emotions engulfing them. They're exactly where they should be, doing exactly what they want to do, and neither of them can remember the last time they felt like this, so undone and so whole at the same time. She screams when she comes, something she had never let herself do, and it feels so good she wants to cry. Jack follows her soon after and then, still inside her, holds her so tight she can hardly breathe. She doesn't stop him, she wants to be held this tight, she wants to merge with him and become one single, sweaty, sticky body and forget about anything else.

The morning finds them still wrapped in each other's arms, naked and warm. She wakes up first and looks at him, caressing his cheek with her thumb.
He opens his eyes and when he sees her looking at him, he smiles, the memory of last night coming back all at once.
"You were right, you know?" she says.
"I was?"
She nods. "We are going to be OK."
He smirks and kisses her.
"Yes, we are."

The end.