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"Ground of All Being"
By Aeryn
It wasn't what he expected.
Not at all.
It was wondrous. Warm.
Quiet.
As if his mind had shut down – and the part of him that was part of the whole had taken over.
He understood, now. Understood everything.
He could have laughed, cried. But he was so consumed by the sacred peace of this place that he did neither.
He waited.
Then finally, he felt the other's presence.
His heart swelled until it filled all of eternity. Their spirits intertwined in an ecstasy of greeting, a soul dance of joy and boundless love, of peace, and of unnecessary forgiveness, for there was nothing to forgive.
Everything within him was uprooted, smoothed over. Healed.
He offered himself fully to the ground of all being, humbled. He felt the joy of response and acceptance, and something else.
A sense of timing. No words, but he knew. Not yet.
He understood.
He felt himself being pulled back, to the self he'd known before. He felt a twinge of regret and grief that lasted but a moment, because he knew now everything was in its proper place.
Blackness.
He could hear them, chattering.
Yelling. Barking orders.
He could feel them.
Rough touches, searing, painful yanks against his skin. They wanted him. They wanted him very badly.
And he wanted them.
"Sam!"
She looked up from the chair in the corner where she'd been praying. And weeping. For days upon days, it seemed.
"He's conscious."
She stood and felt the ground fall from beneath her and she was gone.
She awoke, in the bed next to his. She sat up quickly, looking at him.
His eyes were open. He smiled. "You've been asleep a long time, Major."
Before she could stop them the tears came; tears of relief and joy and exhaustion.
She slid quickly off the bed and went to him, grabbing his hand.
"We thought we lost you, sir," she whispered.
"You did," he murmured. "I was gone. But I'm back now and everything is all right."
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and soon he slept.
Six weeks later, he was ordered to go home for a month of rest and recuperation.
Daniel waited as he dressed. "May I offer you a lift, Jack?" he asked, grinning.
"Please," he said. "I'm ready to go home."
Daniel started to turn left when Jack stopped him. "Not my house," he said. "Carter's."
Daniel looked at him a moment, then understood; and drove on.
He walked up her front steps slowly, still stiff from his injuries. Before he could get to the door she flung it open and threw her arms around his neck. Again, she was crying.
"Sam," he whispered into her ear. "It's all right, I swear. Please."
She released him and stood back, letting him in.
She looked at him. He was pale, and had lost weight. She could see he was trying to hide the pain he was in. Her mind flashed back to that day, the day he'd leapt in front of her to shield her from the staff blast of the Jaffa, of the beating he'd taken on her behalf, how he'd died.
He'd fucking died.
She saw and felt and remembered it all and suddenly she was overtaken with senseless, unstoppable rage.
"Don't you EVER do that to me again, you stupid son of a bitch! What in the hell were you thinking? You DIED, Colonel! Don't you ever, EVER –"
She stopped when he grabbed her hands, pulling them to his chest. She'd been hitting him, she realized in shock. "Oh God, sir, I'm sorry, so sorry, did I hurt you?"
"Hush. Can I sit down?"
"Of course."
She led him into the living room and helped him ease down on the couch. He sunk deeply into the soft cushions, grabbing her hand and pulling her down next to him.
He watched her for a moment. She turned her face away and wiped at her eyes, then asked if he wanted anything to drink.
"Not right now. Sam, look at me."
She did. And he knew. He'd made the right choice, had known it even before he made it.
"Sir, shouldn't you be resting?"
"Stop with the 'sir.' I've retired."
She stared at him in shock. "Why?!"
"Because . . ."
He paused. He didn't think he should go into the details of everything he'd seen and felt, of the knowledge he'd gained. At least, not right now.
"Because I'm tired. Because my knee hurts. Because I want to get a lot more fishing in before I die and stay dead."
She waited.
"And because of you."
She started to protest; he knew she had a litany of reasons, arguments – but she wasn't going to win this one. Not this time.
"Sam, stop. I'm tired, I hurt all over, and I need a place to stay for the next month. Or two. Or forever."
She leapt up from the couch and ran out onto the back deck, arms wrapped around herself as she stared blindly at the mountains.
He waited. It was a lot to take in, he knew.
After an eternity, she came back, staring at him from across the room.
He stared back.
Without saying anything, she found the remote to the television and handed it to him. Then she left again, going into the kitchen and returning with two glasses of iced tea. Placing them on the coffee table in front of him, she sat beside him, not looking at him, and took his hand.
Silence.
"Well?" she asked. "Aren't you going to turn it on? Isn't there a game or something you want to watch?"
He smiled and withdrew his hand from hers, prodding her until she was at the opposite end of the couch. Groaning, he lay down with his head in her lap.
"No watching. Sleeping," he mumbled, and as he felt her hand run tentatively through his hair that sweet uplift of joy from before, from when he was gone, swept over him briefly.
He smiled slightly, his spirit kissing his son goodbye, for now; and he slept.
The End