Conquering time
A/N: Written for Ship Day 2009 on Gateworld - this fic imagines Sam and Jack on each anniversary of Divide & Conquer up to the present (spoilers through Continuum). With thanks to Aveo Amacus for the beta!
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The first year, they were on a planet whose sun turned as red and fiery as the eye of the za'tarc detector itself. Sam thought and puzzled and turned the problem over and over in her mind, while Jack felt increasingly helpless and frustrated, but was right once.
The second year, Jack was not himself, and Sam was left behind. Another shimmering blue barrier separated them, and Sam pleaded yet again with Jack to do what he did not want to do. The consequences hurt far more this time, but Jack still didn't get to die, and the guilt and the pain and the truth were almost more than either of them could bear.
The third year, part of Jack had a new life ahead of him, but one without Sam. He pretended it didn't hurt, left his feelings behind in Cheyenne Mountain, rooms within rooms, buried two-fold.
The fourth year, Sam had a new life ahead of her, but one without Jack. The ring burnt a hole in Sam's hand, in her pocket, in her drawer, in her mind, waxing and waning like the za'tarc read-out, every bit as damning.
The fifth year, they were finally together. No barriers between them as they lay, skin to skin in the morning light, moving together in a rhythm still new but already familiar. Sam encouraged, Jack gave, eyes and mouths opened wide and round and blue and brown and the words and the truth, I love you.
The sixth year, they were at the cabin, surrounded by friends, basking in the glow of a mission well done, and they both thought this was one room they could stay in forever.
The seventh year, Sam was in Atlantis, and once again they were divided. But Jack stepped through the rippling surface of the gate, this time, because distance is no barrier, not really.
The eighth year, Sam was left behind, and Jack was left behind - it's all a matter of perspective. The memory of the blood blooming at his chest, the last desperate plea, raised such a flood of guilt, and Sam could not find a way to fix this. He was right, but oh how it hurt.
The ninth year, on this day, they look back, and know that you can be apart when together, together when apart, and the truth of love can sting and burn and elate and ache and soothe, but they'd still rather die than lose each other.