We can be heroes
Summary: "Though nothing, nothing can keep us together. We can beat them forever and ever. Oh, we can be heroes, just for one day".
Heroism is sometimes simply carrying on.
A/N: David Bowie's greatest song (IMHO). This one-shot is set in two time periods. It begins with a current time frame then moves back approximately 7 years before returning to a current time frame. I realise that the lines are not in the same order as the lyric – apologies for any upset my tampering with the order of a classic causes. Not a song-fic, just inspired by the song.
Disclaimer: Stargate and its characters do not belong to me and remain the property of the legal owners. The lines taken from "Heroes" certainly don't belong to me either – if only that genius were mine!
I, I can remember
It would blindside him every so often, his mind imbuing the memory with detail so real he could still touch, hear and taste her as she lay beneath him. His eyes would open, his breath would catch in anticipation, but not hope, never hope.
The years had passed, at first slowly – time passing in aching seconds. But looking back from this distance it seemed a dizzying pace. Wars – come, gone and won – hardened the shell he'd erected to keep the pain and rage in.
The memories broke through that carapace, bringing back the man she'd brought to life. That Jack had risen from the ashes of tragedy, and she had moulded him into something new. The pain had tempered the metal that she had forged into a whole person. But he wasn't that Jack any longer. Jack mark III was simply General O'Neill, a semblance of the man but not the spirit. That had left when she did, and now the only trace was the memory that would briefly resurrect him.
And we kissed as though nothing could fall
How many tales start with 'It was a day like any other'? They all do, because in that split second of waking everything is as it always has been. Only as his awareness imprinted itself on reality did the world start to coalesce into what he least expected.
Truth be told though, it remained hard to cope with the memory. He'd woken with her beside him in his bed. Sam. Even after all these years he could only bring himself to breath her name, the effort of speaking it being more than he was capable of.
She'd been awake for some time and smiled when he had opened his eyes.
" Morning."
"Mmmm" was all that he could manage in response.
That had only made her smile more brilliantly. "Jack?" she questioned. He'd had no idea what she was asking, he'd just known that he wanted her to keep looking at him like that, his name on her lips.
"How long have you been awake?"
"Well, all night. I couldn't sleep, I just..." she had trailed off, looking away from him.
"What?" he'd pressed.
"I didn't want to miss this, I've waited too long."
He'd been stunned. It wasn't that they hadn't known how they felt about each other, they had. It was that her feelings were every bit as deep as his, and he kept running up against proof of that. He hadn't wanted that because it meant that all the years of discipline had been just as painful for her as they had been for him.
Sam had arrived at his door the evening before following his invitation to spend her last night at his place in DC. He hadn't thought she'd say yes, and had prepared himself for what he was sure would be her polite refusal. Her acceptance had genuinely surprised him, and until she actually arrived he had not let himself fully believe she'd come.
The disbelief had lingered, even as she stepped across the threshold; but belief had come soon enough when she hugged him. Sam had held him so tight it had been all he could do not to gasp.
"I missed you," she'd said, and, after a beat, added "so much". She'd kissed his neck and then pulled away to look in his eyes.
Jack had seen the emotion reflecting there, but was having difficulty interpreting it. There had been so much he had wanted to say, to tell, to release. She hadn't given him the opportunity as she'd kissed him.
They had spent the previous two years keeping in careful contact. Stilted phone-calls had gradually become easier, each of them relearning the rules of easy friendship. It had not been enough for him, but he had held on tightly to what was available with a gratitude borne of being glad to have anything.
But then Sam had been there, in his arms, kissing him with a passion he'd never thought she had. Even now he had to fight the instinct to describe it in clichés. It had been unexpected and beautiful. He knew that it needed no romanticising; it had simply been a moment out of time in its perfection.
The night that followed had not been what he would have expected if someone had ever asked. His passion for Sam had always been a given; a deep undercurrent that dragged him towards her again and again. He'd never even considered that she had an undercurrent of her own. But her heat had matched and even outstripped his, dismantling all of the safe constructs he'd held onto over the years.
Allowing himself to accept that he was loved, wanted, and desired was not something that came easily. Jack had always held the belief that Sam's feelings were less than his. It had been a form of protection. Keeping his feelings in check had been easier when he told himself that they were not returned.
That night had removed each and every prop that had held him up over the years. As she had moved against him - gifting all that she contained in word, caress and look – he had realised that her feelings were every bit as profound and consuming as his.
Making love again that morning they had each clung to the other. The knowledge that this would be the last time until she returned had lent urgency to their movements. The desire to feel and experience it all in those moments made every kiss, touch and sigh heavy with meaning and regret. Regret that this could have been theirs if either had believed in themselves more; the meaning a love that had never let them go.
"Hey, none of that," he had chided gently.
"I'm sorry, I've just needed...so long...now." Her broken phrases trailed off as she looked at him, and he knew. Knowledge wasn't difficult when the feeling was in his bones as well.
"It's not forever," he'd replied. How those words still taunted him all these years later.
The commission of command had taken place at the Pentagon. It had been a formality really. All of the details of Sam's mission to command Atlantis had been worked out in the preceding weeks. Somehow, though, the Joint Chiefs physically passing the orders had made it feel more real, and it had brought Jack out of the fog he'd walked in that morning. She was really going, Sam would be gone.
He had been sitting in his office when she found him. Closing the door she'd been the first to break the silence. "I can't say goodbye," she had said, "but I have to say I love you." He had smiled in response. "I know, but I am going with you." Her confused expression had prompted him to rise from behind his desk and walk over to where she stood. "I'm always with you" he'd added. "No matter where you've been you've always carried a piece of me with you, whether you knew it or not. That will never change."
Jack had held her then, whispering his love to her. The moment passed as the staff driver had arrived to transport Sam to Andrews for her flight back. Their salutes had been precise and, coupled with the clipped "General" and "Colonel", had been a model of propriety. But anyone looking in their eyes would have no doubt what was actually being said.
And the guns, shot above our heads
The call had come at the end of a very long and infuriating meeting with the IOA. Jack had been arguing with the country representatives over Sam continuing as the commander of Atlantis. She had been doing an amazing job, even Woolsey had agreed on that. However, the politics had meant rationality had taken a hike and Sam was to be relieved of command.
He had been torn. The General had been enraged that his most capable officer was being sacrificed to the gods of politics. The lover had been thrilled that she would be returning. All of which had led him to the barked "O'Neill" when he'd picked up the phone.
Even now, even after all these years with the words burned in his memory, Jack still had difficulty comprehending what Hank had told him. She was still so present, every moment of every day Sam was with him – so the words of death just made no sense.
This was what had kept him alive. Just. Every instinct had told him to leave it all, but the Sam that assaulted his memory would not let him do it. He had told her that there was a piece of him that was always with her; he had not realised that there was a large part of Jack O'Neill that existed only because there was a piece of Samantha Carter always with him.
General O'Neill functioned as befitted the dignity of his office. Jack O'Neill came to life only when Samantha Carter was at the forefront of his mind. The memory of her kept him human, stopping him from tearing the galaxy apart in rage and despair.
And he had returned here. For seven years he had avoided coming to Atlantis; but this time, unable to find an excuse, he'd steeled himself for the inevitable torrent of pain the visit would bring. Looking round the control room now he could hear her voice, see the compassion in her eyes as her presence filled his mind.
It had been such a senseless almost mundane death. Samantha Carter saver of worlds had succumbed to an alien variant of the flu virus. She had faced down psychopathic Goa'uld, fanatic Ori and life-sucking Wraith, but this... this should not have been.
Jack was lost in reflection, the noises of the city not registering with him as he made his way through Atlantis. He found himself following a path that was all about her; a grief tourist finding points of connection at every turn, absorbing the scenery of torment.
We can be heroes, just for one day
Finally he stood on the pier looking out over the water as the sun fell below the horizon. They would be dialling the midway station for him in the next thirty minutes. With all boxes dutifully checked, General O'Neill had performed on cue. For now, though, only Jack was present; standing memorising the beauty before him as an addition to his mental album of Sam.
He wasn't so naïve to believe that the visit would bring him closure. Some things just cannot be healed. But as he stood watching the last rays of light disappearing he knew that what she had given and sacrificed over the years had been worth it. Her loss wasn't diminished by this knowledge; that hole would never be filled by anything other than his pain and grief.
Yet they had prevailed – she had prevailed. Samantha Carter lived on in the freedom she had fought for. Worlds of slavery had become worlds of potential because of her. The regret he felt for what they had missed paled against his pride in what she had achieved.
As he turned to leave he would have sworn that he could hear her embarrassed giggle, and, just for one day, he knew he had the strength to continue the fight.