Title: Safe Bet
Author: N. Y. Smith
Email: minismithaol.com
Date: January 18, 2004
Rating: G
Pairing: Jack/Sam
Genre: Vignette
Summary: Samantha Carter takes the gamble of a lifetime.
Disclaimer: Don't we know they're not mine?
"I'm a safe bet, Sam."
Safe bet? Jack O'Neill? I should have laughed in his face when he-- no I, whoever-- said that months ago. I probably would have laughed if I hadn't seen the look in his
eyes despite my pounding head and double vision. I couldn't laugh at that face. I couldn't laugh at Jack.
"Safe" is not a word I've ever heard used to describe Jack O'Neill. He's brash, he's irritating, he's arrogant. He has enough reprimands in his personnel file to warrant
court-martial and dishonorable discharge many times over. If he didn't have as many commendations, he'd have been gone a long time ago and I'd never have met him.
He has the knees of a used-up quarterback. His hair is as snowy as the mountains in winter. The scars on his body bear testimony to his willingness to sacrifice himself for
his friends, his country, his world, his honor. I'm not sure how much more his body can bear, but I know how much more I can stand.
It's time. I've tried loving other people. They just fall short when judged on the O'Neill Scale. How could they? He's ten times smarter than he'll admit, and he loves
with a fury born of a lifetime of sorrow. His passion is so fierce it takes my breath away. One day, one year with him is worth ten lifetimes with someone else. How could
any mere man measure up?
So, I have gathered my courage and vested my hope for the future in the contents of the envelope in my hand. After a lifetime of risk-taking as a pilot, a scientist, with
SG-1--I'm rolling the dice. My palms are sweaty as I wipe them on my BDUs then rap on the door to his office.
"Enter," comes the voice from inside.
He looks up, molishly, from his neglected stack of paperwork.
I place the envelope in his hand and stand at ease.
"What's this?"
"You're retiring." I use my most reasonable tone, but my mouth is parched.
His eyebrows try to crawl into his hairline, his mouth that crooked smile I can't wait to wipe off his face with a kiss. "I am?"
"Yes, Jack, you are." He grins when I call him by his first name.
"Why would I want to do something like that?" He stands, then steps around the desk until he is leaning against it, in front of me, so close I can feel his warmth.
"Because I want you to live long enough to torture Grace's boyfriends when they come to pick her up."
He crosses his arms over his chest. "Grace?"
"Our daughter. Grace." I continue to stand with my hands clasped behind me.
"Grace." He tries out the name. "Grace O'Neill."
"Grace Carter-O'Neill," I correct and he nods with a smile.
"And when will I be meeting Grace Carter-O'Neill?"
"With any luck, Jack, about ten months after you retire."
He studies my face for a moment then stares at the envelope while he turns it over in his hands. "I would never ask you to give up your career. . ."
"I know; I'm asking you." I still his hands with mine. "I'm asking you to give me children," his eyes meet mine, "and help me raise them. I'm asking you to wait at home
for me while I'm on missions. I'm asking you to give to me the same passion you've given the Air Force and the SGC, Jack. I'm asking for the rest of your life."
He studies me, silently, the tactician in him trying to size up the situation. Finally, he swallows. "Are you sure you want to take a chance on a washed-up old soldier like
me?" I've seen Jack O'Neill in every conceivable situation, but I've never seen fear in his eyes like I see now.
Without thinking, I step between his knees and pull his arms around my waist before wrapping my arms around his neck. "I never gamble with my heart, Jack."
Author: N. Y. Smith
Email: minismithaol.com
Date: January 18, 2004
Rating: G
Pairing: Jack/Sam
Genre: Vignette
Summary: Samantha Carter takes the gamble of a lifetime.
Disclaimer: Don't we know they're not mine?
"I'm a safe bet, Sam."
Safe bet? Jack O'Neill? I should have laughed in his face when he-- no I, whoever-- said that months ago. I probably would have laughed if I hadn't seen the look in his
eyes despite my pounding head and double vision. I couldn't laugh at that face. I couldn't laugh at Jack.
"Safe" is not a word I've ever heard used to describe Jack O'Neill. He's brash, he's irritating, he's arrogant. He has enough reprimands in his personnel file to warrant
court-martial and dishonorable discharge many times over. If he didn't have as many commendations, he'd have been gone a long time ago and I'd never have met him.
He has the knees of a used-up quarterback. His hair is as snowy as the mountains in winter. The scars on his body bear testimony to his willingness to sacrifice himself for
his friends, his country, his world, his honor. I'm not sure how much more his body can bear, but I know how much more I can stand.
It's time. I've tried loving other people. They just fall short when judged on the O'Neill Scale. How could they? He's ten times smarter than he'll admit, and he loves
with a fury born of a lifetime of sorrow. His passion is so fierce it takes my breath away. One day, one year with him is worth ten lifetimes with someone else. How could
any mere man measure up?
So, I have gathered my courage and vested my hope for the future in the contents of the envelope in my hand. After a lifetime of risk-taking as a pilot, a scientist, with
SG-1--I'm rolling the dice. My palms are sweaty as I wipe them on my BDUs then rap on the door to his office.
"Enter," comes the voice from inside.
He looks up, molishly, from his neglected stack of paperwork.
I place the envelope in his hand and stand at ease.
"What's this?"
"You're retiring." I use my most reasonable tone, but my mouth is parched.
His eyebrows try to crawl into his hairline, his mouth that crooked smile I can't wait to wipe off his face with a kiss. "I am?"
"Yes, Jack, you are." He grins when I call him by his first name.
"Why would I want to do something like that?" He stands, then steps around the desk until he is leaning against it, in front of me, so close I can feel his warmth.
"Because I want you to live long enough to torture Grace's boyfriends when they come to pick her up."
He crosses his arms over his chest. "Grace?"
"Our daughter. Grace." I continue to stand with my hands clasped behind me.
"Grace." He tries out the name. "Grace O'Neill."
"Grace Carter-O'Neill," I correct and he nods with a smile.
"And when will I be meeting Grace Carter-O'Neill?"
"With any luck, Jack, about ten months after you retire."
He studies my face for a moment then stares at the envelope while he turns it over in his hands. "I would never ask you to give up your career. . ."
"I know; I'm asking you." I still his hands with mine. "I'm asking you to give me children," his eyes meet mine, "and help me raise them. I'm asking you to wait at home
for me while I'm on missions. I'm asking you to give to me the same passion you've given the Air Force and the SGC, Jack. I'm asking for the rest of your life."
He studies me, silently, the tactician in him trying to size up the situation. Finally, he swallows. "Are you sure you want to take a chance on a washed-up old soldier like
me?" I've seen Jack O'Neill in every conceivable situation, but I've never seen fear in his eyes like I see now.
Without thinking, I step between his knees and pull his arms around my waist before wrapping my arms around his neck. "I never gamble with my heart, Jack."