A/N: Normally, I would have the first reviewer choose what day of the week I post on. But as of right now I'm not sure how long this fic will be, so I'm hesitant to get into anything too regular. For right now, I'm posting when I feel like it, as often as I like. :) All you guys will just have to deal. Hee hee!
Enjoy!
Jack sighed. Frustration curled in his gut, twisting and coiling like a snake. He pressed the plastic payphone handset tighter to his ear, shooting a furtive glance over his shoulder at the growing line of cadets behind him.
"Come on, Sam," he said, trying his damnedest not to sound like he was begging. "I haven't seen you in months."
The fact that they were so close was supposed to make it easier. But since his surprise visit to meet her on campus, it had only made it harder. She was so close, but he still barely got to see her. Visitor weekends were few, and liberty even more so. And in the rare instances he managed to get up there, she was mostly distracted, her thoughts pulled from him to focus on school, or her research, or her work with the foster kids.
"Jack, I know it's hard, but I've got midterms the next two weeks, and then I'll be going back to DC for that legislation symposium…" Even now, she sounded distracted. Like he'd pulled her away from something important. He always was.
"And the week after we're going out in the field for a three-week training exercise," he countered. He was busy too, but the difference between them lay in the fact he was still trying to make it happen. "We won't even be able to talk on the phone until I get back…"
"Look, I'm sorry, but…"
"Sam!"
A sharp exhalation of irritation seared its way across the line. "It's hard on me too, Jack! Okay? It sucks, but we knew this was going to be difficult. It'll get easier in a few years—"
"Years?" Jack's gut dropped, a heavy weight of separation settling over him. This was how it started. "Sam… is it worth waiting for a few years, if we lose the time in between?"
Silence answered him. Then, "I can't believe you're asking me to choose…"
The accusation came softly, darkened by bitterness. Her disappointment washed over him in a wave, and his hackles raised in protest. She needed to stop putting words in his mouth.
"What? No! Dammit, Sam, I'm not asking you to choose! I'm just—" A cough barked behind him. He shifted on his feet, aware of his audience's impatience. "I miss you."
"I—" Her voice cut off abruptly, and he heard the murmur of voices in the background. Sam's voice pulled away to answer them, before she returns to him. "I have to go, Jack…"
"Sam, please…"
"We'll talk later, Jack. I promise." Her voice was low, focused. Despite the dread building in his gut, he believed her. They would talk—but he may not like what was said. "I just… I have to think. I don't have time, right now, and we won't get anywhere today. I'll call you. Soon."
Jack sighed. "Okay…"
"Jack." He paused, already about to hang up. He leaned against the payphone, lingering despite the unspoken pressure for him to get off. "I promise," she swore.
He tried to smile, but only got halfway. "I know."
They both hung up, neither able to utter a proper goodbye. Jack turned to face the sympathetic visage of the cadet behind him. A hand clapped against his shoulder in solidarity, before the man sidled past him, intent on calling his own sweetheart.
There wasn't anything he could do at this point. He couldn't leave the base until liberty, and even then, showing up before she was ready would only make things worse. All he could do was wait.
It was in her hands now.
Ronica watched her charge from across the cabin. The plane was small, private but luxurious. It may as well have been the jump seat of a C130, though, for all Samantha Carter noticed. For the past eighteen months Ronica had watched the First Daughter throw herself into her studies, devote herself whole-heartedly to the pursuit of thus-far unattained knowledge.
Her commitment showed—Ronica knew for afact she had yet to earn anything lower than an A, and she was passionate for her work in the national community. But it was everything else that suffered. She lost weight; not enough to be a danger, but just enough for Ronica to know the stress was there. And the fewer, curter conversations Ronica managed to overhear between her and Jack O'Neill was the biggest clue of all.
She was spread too thin, and Ronica thought maybe Jack had succeeded in forcing Sam to realize it.
Now the young woman sat, hands folded in her lap, thoughts a million miles away. She was processing something, and Ronica could only hope she would come to realize what everyone else already had.
Something had to give, before Sam lost sight of what was truly important.
