Title: Red Wine on a Vanilla Sky: Time will tell
Author: Athena.
Email: atheniandream@aol.com
Content Warnings: Drama, angst.uh?
Pairings: Dunno. Read it.
Spoilers: None? Is that right?
Season: Seven
Rating: PG13
Summary: The Final PART of the fic.
Author's notes: Sorry, it's short. It might not be bet'd either....
Archive: Anywhere. I'm my own publicist.
Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING. I know this.
-------------------------------------------
Thanks to all who have fed, sorry to those who have had to wait...
-------------
Red Wine on a Vanilla Sky: Time will tell
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'The chef prepares a special menu for your delight, oh my
Tonight you fly so high up in the vanilla sky
Melted tinbeads cast your fortune in a glass of wine
Snail or fish, balloon or dolphin, see yourself shine' ~~~ 'Vanilla Sky, By Paul McCartney.
The verse that made this story, thanks Paul...
-------------------------------------
It hadn't been the catastrophic event that'd he'd hoped for.
No Impending Goa'ould attack or Doomed earth knocking at the gate. Not even so much as a memo to say 'Danger' on a paint tin, so that he could smile and offer his sarcastic comments, to alleviate the pressure when Carter once again saved the day, much to his constant annoyance,
Instead, Nothing.
In fact, the alarm sounding was nothing more than a sprained ankle too many, I mean the least excitement they could have tossed him was a broken leg. Geeze, it wasn't too much to ask, you know, just maybe a little event to take his mind off...well...*her*.
HER.
Now, Her, seeming bitter, as the word reluctantly rolled off of his tongue. Not so much curled off as leaving a bitter aniseed taste to hang around his tonsils, instead of Her.
And as one Jack O'Neill winced in the misty steamed mirror, playing with limp strands of his hair. Occasionally re-wrapping the towel around his waist from his not so distant shower, he winced again.
He could do nothing else.
Except think, muse and play with the idea, that in the morning, this morning, she wasn't in her bed alone, sleep laden and tousled.
Because she was with HIM.
HIM. The other guy.
That man who wasn't him, and therefore did not deserve a title of any kind for that matter.
And JUST because he didn't talk about her didn't and doesn't JUST mean that he didn't want to.
Or didn't care.
For Crying' out loud, that was never the damn point.
And he should have kissed her. Even if he shouldn't and can't, he wanted to.
He shouldn't have dicked around with the idea. I should have been an impulse, a common reaction, and a smooth displacement of words...
Just for the single reason that women shone when they were angry and he along with the rest of the male population knew it. Their faces seemed to flash, dark and dangerous when angered. But underneath, underneath a glow, distained perfection swelled there. Which was probably why men pushed their luck so often...
Still. He should have kissed her.
Maybe...she'd have kissed him back...
Or beaten him some more.... whatever...
He just wanted.... CONTACT...
Of any kind.
------------------------------
This is your time
This is your day
You've got it all
Don't blow it away ~~~~ "Okay, now you're just taking lines right out of the song!"
----------------------------------
"Thanks." Sam answered to her mailman before closing the door with her foot as she turned, making her way into the kitchen.
It didn't shut.
She turned to look around,
The gasp didn't come from he lips though...
"Jack...No." He arms immediately leapt from her sides.
"Carter, I-" So did his.
"I declined his invitation."
"What?" He stopped thinking, completely. "What?"
"I said no. To his proposal."
"Oh." He couldn't have been more relieved, but chose to at least ask why before jumping to premature and overly simple conclusions. "Why?"
"Truthfully. I don't know." She hugged the baggy parts of her bathrobe, teasing at the towelled threads as she slowly made her way to the lounge.
He calmly sat down on the armchair opposite her, watching her expressions solidify. "So, what about us?"
"I guess, Time will tell."
There couldn't have been a worse answer than that. It created a grey area. And only highlighted the one that had been there in the first place. Which annoyed him a tad, for sure, still. It could be worse...
"I handed in my resignation today." He admitted quietly to the floor, not meeting her gaze, but not avoiding it with the trepidation that he had before.
He'd thought long and hard about it, and sooner or later they would have ''desked'' him. But he'd talk, in length with Hammond, and he wasn't going to keep him out of the dark, that was for sure, even though Jack had declined the off-world post, he'd even, much to Jack's surprise, invited him to come along in the future; just in case he was needed for any special reasons, then he'd communicate a pass his way, which made him feel better. Now all he was looking for was her direction. He'd follow any day. After all just because he'd retired, didn't mean I 'Grand Stargate World' that the Asgard, or Tok'ra would let him retire in the human and 'Earth-bound' sense.
So he waited. Studying her face, which soon blank that the fact that she wasn't even making a face.
She seemed calm, serene, tranquil, obviously beautiful but yet complacent, as if it was effortless.
And it did seem effortless, for her to just sit there, drinking that tea that he'd placed earlier and keep him so still and silent, waiting on her every breath and movement for a reply.
"Sam?"
Her eyes were steely, but not angered. And she wasn't going to move an inch. Maybe it was best that she didn't, just because the urge to kiss her would have buried him six feet under, especially knowing what he knew now.
And why did she refuse the proposition?
The more naïve and pig-headed reply to that question wasn't half as satisfying as it was appealing.
He wait and waited, as thought time itself was buried beneath a piles of her answers, waiting to burst fourth and smack him in the face. Oddly he welcomed it, if not to soothe his waiting.
Finally, she looked ready to answer him.
"Time will tell, Jack, time will tell."
---------------------------
Poetry Lacks in it's own splendour,
And forgets to tell of time itself,
And all the love in the world diminished,
If not added to its spiteful wealth,
The world be woken at an unholy hour,
Thought forgotten in the arms of love,
Until bursting as an open flower,
Plucked, it flies and soars above...
-------------------
The End. If they're ever is one...
-------------------
Sorry to leave you guys on the end there....
I didn't want to go the way of many writers and give you cliché; you're in the wrong place if you want that ;)
Feedback is like gold. Completely pure, unattainable and Yes please.
Athena
Author: Athena.
Email: atheniandream@aol.com
Content Warnings: Drama, angst.uh?
Pairings: Dunno. Read it.
Spoilers: None? Is that right?
Season: Seven
Rating: PG13
Summary: The Final PART of the fic.
Author's notes: Sorry, it's short. It might not be bet'd either....
Archive: Anywhere. I'm my own publicist.
Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING. I know this.
-------------------------------------------
Thanks to all who have fed, sorry to those who have had to wait...
-------------
Red Wine on a Vanilla Sky: Time will tell
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'The chef prepares a special menu for your delight, oh my
Tonight you fly so high up in the vanilla sky
Melted tinbeads cast your fortune in a glass of wine
Snail or fish, balloon or dolphin, see yourself shine' ~~~ 'Vanilla Sky, By Paul McCartney.
The verse that made this story, thanks Paul...
-------------------------------------
It hadn't been the catastrophic event that'd he'd hoped for.
No Impending Goa'ould attack or Doomed earth knocking at the gate. Not even so much as a memo to say 'Danger' on a paint tin, so that he could smile and offer his sarcastic comments, to alleviate the pressure when Carter once again saved the day, much to his constant annoyance,
Instead, Nothing.
In fact, the alarm sounding was nothing more than a sprained ankle too many, I mean the least excitement they could have tossed him was a broken leg. Geeze, it wasn't too much to ask, you know, just maybe a little event to take his mind off...well...*her*.
HER.
Now, Her, seeming bitter, as the word reluctantly rolled off of his tongue. Not so much curled off as leaving a bitter aniseed taste to hang around his tonsils, instead of Her.
And as one Jack O'Neill winced in the misty steamed mirror, playing with limp strands of his hair. Occasionally re-wrapping the towel around his waist from his not so distant shower, he winced again.
He could do nothing else.
Except think, muse and play with the idea, that in the morning, this morning, she wasn't in her bed alone, sleep laden and tousled.
Because she was with HIM.
HIM. The other guy.
That man who wasn't him, and therefore did not deserve a title of any kind for that matter.
And JUST because he didn't talk about her didn't and doesn't JUST mean that he didn't want to.
Or didn't care.
For Crying' out loud, that was never the damn point.
And he should have kissed her. Even if he shouldn't and can't, he wanted to.
He shouldn't have dicked around with the idea. I should have been an impulse, a common reaction, and a smooth displacement of words...
Just for the single reason that women shone when they were angry and he along with the rest of the male population knew it. Their faces seemed to flash, dark and dangerous when angered. But underneath, underneath a glow, distained perfection swelled there. Which was probably why men pushed their luck so often...
Still. He should have kissed her.
Maybe...she'd have kissed him back...
Or beaten him some more.... whatever...
He just wanted.... CONTACT...
Of any kind.
------------------------------
This is your time
This is your day
You've got it all
Don't blow it away ~~~~ "Okay, now you're just taking lines right out of the song!"
----------------------------------
"Thanks." Sam answered to her mailman before closing the door with her foot as she turned, making her way into the kitchen.
It didn't shut.
She turned to look around,
The gasp didn't come from he lips though...
"Jack...No." He arms immediately leapt from her sides.
"Carter, I-" So did his.
"I declined his invitation."
"What?" He stopped thinking, completely. "What?"
"I said no. To his proposal."
"Oh." He couldn't have been more relieved, but chose to at least ask why before jumping to premature and overly simple conclusions. "Why?"
"Truthfully. I don't know." She hugged the baggy parts of her bathrobe, teasing at the towelled threads as she slowly made her way to the lounge.
He calmly sat down on the armchair opposite her, watching her expressions solidify. "So, what about us?"
"I guess, Time will tell."
There couldn't have been a worse answer than that. It created a grey area. And only highlighted the one that had been there in the first place. Which annoyed him a tad, for sure, still. It could be worse...
"I handed in my resignation today." He admitted quietly to the floor, not meeting her gaze, but not avoiding it with the trepidation that he had before.
He'd thought long and hard about it, and sooner or later they would have ''desked'' him. But he'd talk, in length with Hammond, and he wasn't going to keep him out of the dark, that was for sure, even though Jack had declined the off-world post, he'd even, much to Jack's surprise, invited him to come along in the future; just in case he was needed for any special reasons, then he'd communicate a pass his way, which made him feel better. Now all he was looking for was her direction. He'd follow any day. After all just because he'd retired, didn't mean I 'Grand Stargate World' that the Asgard, or Tok'ra would let him retire in the human and 'Earth-bound' sense.
So he waited. Studying her face, which soon blank that the fact that she wasn't even making a face.
She seemed calm, serene, tranquil, obviously beautiful but yet complacent, as if it was effortless.
And it did seem effortless, for her to just sit there, drinking that tea that he'd placed earlier and keep him so still and silent, waiting on her every breath and movement for a reply.
"Sam?"
Her eyes were steely, but not angered. And she wasn't going to move an inch. Maybe it was best that she didn't, just because the urge to kiss her would have buried him six feet under, especially knowing what he knew now.
And why did she refuse the proposition?
The more naïve and pig-headed reply to that question wasn't half as satisfying as it was appealing.
He wait and waited, as thought time itself was buried beneath a piles of her answers, waiting to burst fourth and smack him in the face. Oddly he welcomed it, if not to soothe his waiting.
Finally, she looked ready to answer him.
"Time will tell, Jack, time will tell."
---------------------------
Poetry Lacks in it's own splendour,
And forgets to tell of time itself,
And all the love in the world diminished,
If not added to its spiteful wealth,
The world be woken at an unholy hour,
Thought forgotten in the arms of love,
Until bursting as an open flower,
Plucked, it flies and soars above...
-------------------
The End. If they're ever is one...
-------------------
Sorry to leave you guys on the end there....
I didn't want to go the way of many writers and give you cliché; you're in the wrong place if you want that ;)
Feedback is like gold. Completely pure, unattainable and Yes please.
Athena