Title: Reconciling the Tulips
Author: Genie Este
Pairings: Sam/Jonas Hansen, I suppose (if any).
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of
Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko
Productions. This story was created for entertainment purposes only.
No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters,
situations, and story are the property of the author(s).
Spoilers: None
Episode: The First Commandment
Summary: She thinks about moving on.
Author Notes: Written for Gateship Wednesday Shorts for "The First Commandment". The fic is only slightly longer than the notes.
It's been seven days since Jonas' death, and Sam thinks about moving on.
She's counted the last seven days with memories of her time with Jonas
- meeting him in the bar, the first date to the Smithsonian (he
greeted her at the door with tulips), and his proposal. The proposal
he made in the middle of the night, in their bedroom, because he
thought the moonlight on the pillows was romantic.
She's spent the last week trying to focus on the fact that he could
have killed her, and her teammates. Tried to focus on his madness and
its inevitable conclusion, instead of the shining dark on his face,
and the way he held her after she said yes.
So she's marked each day with a new self-inflicted tear, and the
memories just keep coming. She finds herself grieving for the man who
could have been her husband. She thinks that she must have been there
for the change from the man who was her fiancé to the man who thought
he was a god - surely she must have seen it? If she had been smoother,
or smarter, or more loving maybe, maybe she could have saved him.
She doesn't share this with her teammates. This inadequacy is just one
of the many things she's ashamed of feeling. Like the simultaneous
guilt she feels at being so, so grateful at escaping not just death
but him. She's ashamed of being relieved that he's gone and no longer
such a glaring reminder of her failure.
Rationally she knows that the decision was always ultimately his, and
that he never could make the right one. She just can't seem to escape
either version.
She thinks 'moving on' is what people do when they can't stand to
remember anymore.
She remembers the tulips.