Disclaimers: Previously.
Coconut Island, Chapter Two.
Six months and two weeks after the world is saved, a massive funeral is held to honor retired General Jack O'Neill. As one of the speakers, Dr. Daniel Jackson passes on the knowledge and wit of the great man. He claims that this was the way the man would have wanted to die.
With the world safe and the people he loved living on.
--
Kathy was right. They don't know how to talk to each other like real people anymore. So they simply didn't talk at all.
It takes almost a week before they settle into a routine. The first few days disconcert her when she opens the shop and finds him sitting at her desk.
"You have worse book-keeping skills than me."
A shrug. "Could be worse."
"I don't see how."
"I didn't make rent last week."
"Ah."
Two days later, he has the books in hand, and she's almost used to him being there with coffee. She never asks how he got into the shop in the first place.
He mocks her for only liking the powdered sugar doughnuts. She makes faces at his chocolate-covered ones. Although he also likes hers, and she sometimes has to smack his hand to keep hers safe. She doesn't notice when they get comfortable again.
But it hits her one night, when she's curled up in bed and thinking.
She is content here. Staying in one place does not make her feel lacking. Simply content. And she remembers once being certain that she deserved more.
The next morning, she gets to the shop before him.
"Hey."
She swipes a doughnut, suddenly bashful. It's irritating, this sudden flash of girlyness. She settled, last time. She doesn't want to settle anymore.
He pokes her. "What's up?"
"Why are you here?"
"Uh... I come bearing coffee and doughnuts."
"Yeah." She shifts, because she wants to clarify this, and she doesn't know how to without being blunt. "Jack. Why are you... with me?"
"Shouldn't I be?" There's a sudden depth of meaning in his eyes.
But it's been so long, and she isn't sure she's reading him right anymore, and she doesn't really want to make a mistake. "And Pete?"
"He's dead, Carter."
"Yeah." She looks away, "He is." She wonders if he understands that Pete had been emotionally dead to her for years.
"And you're not."
There's silence again, and she wonders if she's broken whatever fragile thing there was again between them. But she's still got powdered doughnut on her fingers, and he hasn't given her a cup of coffee yet. She points at the cups he's holding in one hand. "Vanilla?"
"Mocha and cinnamon."
"Ah."
"Opening the shop, Carter?"
"Yeah." Once inside she flops into her chair and stares up at the ceiling. "It's all broken and gone, isn't it."
"Carter, speak English."
"Did we--no, that's a stupid question." Dropping her head into her hands, she sighs. "Jack, I'm feeling stupid this morning. Do you love me?"
"Feelin' blunt this morning, too." He observes.
"Yeah." Making herself look up, she meets his eyes. "I am. I... I need to know, I think. And I'm asking without telling." She draws in a breath. "I don't know if I love you or if I did before or if I will. I know I need you, even if you sit in a corner and go mad, or go away and never speak to me again."
"Ah." He shifts, hands twitching, one still wraps around a cup of coffee. "I don't really know."
"Great."
So neither of them knew.
At least that was something.
-
Eight months after the world is safe, the Tok'ra Earth alliance has a minor break-through. All Tok'ra operations in ex-Goa'uld territory will be subject to examination.
Very little is said about what is exchanged for this information.
-
The first time they kiss it's awkward and she nearly jumps out of her skin. One moment, they were talking, the next, there was a mutual distraction and then they leaned in just a bit too much. Lips touched lips, and she waits for the fireworks, and then feels cheated because he doesn't even reach up to cup her cheekbones.
When he pulled back, she gathered her courage and moved, grabbing the lapels of his shirt and pulling. The tug was enough and he meets her lips again. This time, it's less awkward and she leans into him, careful not to be too forward.
His hand catches the back of her shirt, and she finds herself held tightly.
The shop bell ringing interrupts them, makes them jerk apart guiltily.
"Miz Anna?" Mrs. Catherine Spade runs the boarding house up the road. She's older than dirt, and cheerful in her sweetness. "There's--" Her voice pauses as she looks at them, and what might have been a grin touches her weathered lips. "Sorry, child, I thought--"
"No. No. It's all right. What's up?"
Jack wanders away, and she kind of hopes this isn't the last time they do something like that. Because she really really liked it.
And hopes he did, too.
Later, he takes advantage of her hands being buried in a pile of oil and metal and teases his lips across the back of her neck, causing shivers to dance up and down her spine.
"Jack," The catch in her throat does bad things to her competence, but she doesn't care
"Mmm?" He's smiling against her skin, leaning his forehead against the side of her neck while his tongue trails along her collar.
"Stop that."
"Why?"
She can't think of an immediate answer, but she knows it has to do with him being distracting and there being engine parts under her fingers. "I'm busy."
"So?" Oh. Smirk there, too.
A shiver dances through her, and she suddenly realizes that it's been a long time since any man touched her like this. At least with the intention of giving her pleasure and love. Something sad shifts through her. "He smothered me."
The lips on her neck still. "I know," he whispers softly.
Suddenly, she wants to know, "Why didn't you stop me?"
"That's not fair."
"I know." But this man still has the power to hurt her. "Jack."
"Don't." He moves away, strides to the door. "Don't turn this into an ultimatum, Carter. It isn't life or death."
"No." She looks down at her grease-stained hands. "No it isn't."
--
Nine months and 21 days after the world is safe for capitalism, Cassandra Fraiser completes her transfer to University of Wyoming at Laramie. Her double major of Psychology and Philosophy transfer naturally and she picks up a minor in Greek Mythology. When asked by her guidance counselor what she wants to do with her life, she simply says, "Help people."
--
"Hey."
"Hey."
The hug isn't exactly desperate, but she returns it with love. Cassandra smells of sunshine and wheat and growing things, and she's having to continually get used to seeing the way life springs outside her windows.
"I didn't tell Jack." Cassie finally says, breaking the silence. "I told Teal'c."
Sam pulls back and touches the young woman's face and half-smiles. "It's ok." This solitude wouldn't have lasted forever. Especially not now Cassie is here and alive and real and standing in her small shop. Someone would have run into her at some function, or she would have had to simply stay away, and she can't do that to Cassie.
"Like the hair." Laughter crinkles the young woman's eyes.
Kathy had convinced her to go red early last week. Self-consciously, she touches the short strands. "You do?"
"It's weird, but it's kind of you."
"Yeah." She knows the kids find it amusing. Some of the tourists even compliment her on her naturally lovely hair. She tells them she gets it from her Scots ancestor. "Tell me about school."
Cassandra launches into a hundred thousand words on her classes and the social life she may have, and why she thinks that frat parties are boring. Sam listens, remembering her own college days and wondering if she had been more naive then or if it was simply something that came with old age.
Five minutes into this, the shop bell tinkles.
She knows without checking who it is. They've been avoiding each other for weeks now. Seeing only little bits and pieces that they steal out of their days. Kathy told her he's been teaching the kids to play street hockey. With his knees, she hopes he's being careful.
"Hey."
"Jack." Cassandra looks at him for a moment, then half-smiles.
"Cass."
Looking between the two of them, she feels a strange jealousy. Nothing has changed with their relationship. There are no sharp edges to rip their skins to shred at the least expected moments. "I've got to go check something in the back."
She stays back there, sitting in a corner, her knees drawn up. There are no tears because she refuses to cry about this. Refuses to give vent to something so maudlin. Eventually, the shop bell rings.
Cassie finds her a few minutes later. "Still hiding?"
"Yeah." She's more honest now. Perhaps because she's dead in reality, and so she has to be up front with the people she exists around in this half-life.
"What the hell happened, Sam?"
"There was never anything real about what was there." Oh, those words hurt to say. She knows they're true, though. "I built up a dream of what was. So did he. And when it was blasted to smithereens..."
"You're being melodramatic."
"Am I?" She tries to laugh. Fails. "I faked my own death to escape a life that was slowly killing me."
"Yeah." Cass flopped down next to her with a sigh. "Funny. So did Jack."
--
Ten months, 14 days and six minutes after the world doesn't come to an end, the treaty for the new Tok'ra Earth alliance is signed. It's been a long, arduous process, but both sides seem to be happy.
Debuting the night after is a special documentary on the SGC, as seen through the eyes of reporter Emmett Bregman. It contains never before seen footage of the often-mentioned Angel of the SGC, Dr. Janet Fraiser.
--
They at least talk again. It's not flowing, but it's not stilted, either. Common ground in computers and scooters and the occasional sports topic. Sam doesn't really like hockey, but she can get Jack rambling about it for hours. It's a nice counterpoint while she works on scooters or the latest sculpture.
He never asks about them.
Sometimes, she wishes he would. But there's really no point to them, anyway. And so she simply makes them. And sometimes wonders.
They reach a middle ground at some point, where she feels like they are finally friends again. They talk easily about trivialities and serious things. She admits that there are times she regrets where she is. He simply watches her sideways...
Weeks are spent dancing around the topic, until Cassie finally breaks and yells at the both of them to just go on a damned date already.
So they do. And it's awkward and they have no fucking clue what to say each other, until their waiter drops her lasagne on the floor. He apologizes and blushes, and scurries off to get it re-made. And they mock him and each other and settle into something that might almost be normality.
Cassie still thinks they're cute.
The night Bregman's documentary airs, he arrives with a six-pack and a pizza. They watch it, then sit in silence for a very long time.
"I miss her still."
"Yeah." Fingers trail lazily along her arm.
She sighs and leans her head against his shoulder. "This is nice."
"Yep."
By unspoken agreement (and they're finally beginning to have THAT again), they take it no further than that.
--
Eleven months, six hours and ten seconds after the universe is safe for all mankind, contact is re-established with Atlantis.
A lot of information is passed back and forth before the 38 minute window is up. Some of it includes details on the newest threat to humanity.
Humanity isn't worried. It faced down the goa'uld and won, after all.
--
The first time they have sex, they aren't exactly ready for it. It's almost as awkward as their first date, and it's messy and not all-together great. He comes too fast and she comes too slow and she thinks they missed something in the middle. Afterwards, she stares up at him. "That was..."
"Yeah."
She shifts against him, hopeful and unwilling to let this go. Because it wasn't good, but it could be. And she doesn't want to remember that sex with Pete was mechanically fabulous the first time (maybe he was just a better slut). "Let's do that again?"
His head moves to rest on her shoulder. "I'm an old man, Sam. You tryin' to kill me?"
A chuckle escapes her. "Not until we've done this a couple hundred times."
It's the reassurance he needed, apparently.
This time, it's better. Not earth-shattering fire-works better, but she can tell that it will get to that point. And, dear god, she wants it to. Specifically with this man.
Cassie calls her the next morning, and they talk -- disturbingly enough -- about sex. Sometimes it's a stilted conversation, but both of them feel the strange need. Sam probably tells her too many times to use precautions. Cassie doesn't laugh her off, but snarks back that so should Sam.
"Oh." She blushes.
"Don't make me mock you, Sam."
"Never."
She hangs up with a smile and wanders upstairs to introduce the man still sleeping in her bed to breakfast.
The toast ends up burning.
Later, she's flopped across his chest, watching the way her breathing ruffles the hair there. His hand is slowly stroking her head, and they're both just. There. No worries, no ties, no lies and no in-betweens. She doesn't know if she ever wants this to end.
She suddenly wants to talk. "I always used to worry."
"Hrm?"
It's easier, looking at the chest under her head, not his eyes, not the rest of him. "That you'd all figure out what a fraud I was."
The chest shifts, he moves, and she is caught by the fascinating texture of his skin and the way it ripples. "Fraud?"
"McKay was Generally right, you know. I never did anything special, I just hatched half-assed ideas."
"That saved our butts."
She makes a face against his skin, then sighs. "Yeah. But I wasn't always right. I was just lucky."
"We all were lucky." The fingers thread through her hair again.
--
Coconut Island, Chapter Two.
Six months and two weeks after the world is saved, a massive funeral is held to honor retired General Jack O'Neill. As one of the speakers, Dr. Daniel Jackson passes on the knowledge and wit of the great man. He claims that this was the way the man would have wanted to die.
With the world safe and the people he loved living on.
--
Kathy was right. They don't know how to talk to each other like real people anymore. So they simply didn't talk at all.
It takes almost a week before they settle into a routine. The first few days disconcert her when she opens the shop and finds him sitting at her desk.
"You have worse book-keeping skills than me."
A shrug. "Could be worse."
"I don't see how."
"I didn't make rent last week."
"Ah."
Two days later, he has the books in hand, and she's almost used to him being there with coffee. She never asks how he got into the shop in the first place.
He mocks her for only liking the powdered sugar doughnuts. She makes faces at his chocolate-covered ones. Although he also likes hers, and she sometimes has to smack his hand to keep hers safe. She doesn't notice when they get comfortable again.
But it hits her one night, when she's curled up in bed and thinking.
She is content here. Staying in one place does not make her feel lacking. Simply content. And she remembers once being certain that she deserved more.
The next morning, she gets to the shop before him.
"Hey."
She swipes a doughnut, suddenly bashful. It's irritating, this sudden flash of girlyness. She settled, last time. She doesn't want to settle anymore.
He pokes her. "What's up?"
"Why are you here?"
"Uh... I come bearing coffee and doughnuts."
"Yeah." She shifts, because she wants to clarify this, and she doesn't know how to without being blunt. "Jack. Why are you... with me?"
"Shouldn't I be?" There's a sudden depth of meaning in his eyes.
But it's been so long, and she isn't sure she's reading him right anymore, and she doesn't really want to make a mistake. "And Pete?"
"He's dead, Carter."
"Yeah." She looks away, "He is." She wonders if he understands that Pete had been emotionally dead to her for years.
"And you're not."
There's silence again, and she wonders if she's broken whatever fragile thing there was again between them. But she's still got powdered doughnut on her fingers, and he hasn't given her a cup of coffee yet. She points at the cups he's holding in one hand. "Vanilla?"
"Mocha and cinnamon."
"Ah."
"Opening the shop, Carter?"
"Yeah." Once inside she flops into her chair and stares up at the ceiling. "It's all broken and gone, isn't it."
"Carter, speak English."
"Did we--no, that's a stupid question." Dropping her head into her hands, she sighs. "Jack, I'm feeling stupid this morning. Do you love me?"
"Feelin' blunt this morning, too." He observes.
"Yeah." Making herself look up, she meets his eyes. "I am. I... I need to know, I think. And I'm asking without telling." She draws in a breath. "I don't know if I love you or if I did before or if I will. I know I need you, even if you sit in a corner and go mad, or go away and never speak to me again."
"Ah." He shifts, hands twitching, one still wraps around a cup of coffee. "I don't really know."
"Great."
So neither of them knew.
At least that was something.
-
Eight months after the world is safe, the Tok'ra Earth alliance has a minor break-through. All Tok'ra operations in ex-Goa'uld territory will be subject to examination.
Very little is said about what is exchanged for this information.
-
The first time they kiss it's awkward and she nearly jumps out of her skin. One moment, they were talking, the next, there was a mutual distraction and then they leaned in just a bit too much. Lips touched lips, and she waits for the fireworks, and then feels cheated because he doesn't even reach up to cup her cheekbones.
When he pulled back, she gathered her courage and moved, grabbing the lapels of his shirt and pulling. The tug was enough and he meets her lips again. This time, it's less awkward and she leans into him, careful not to be too forward.
His hand catches the back of her shirt, and she finds herself held tightly.
The shop bell ringing interrupts them, makes them jerk apart guiltily.
"Miz Anna?" Mrs. Catherine Spade runs the boarding house up the road. She's older than dirt, and cheerful in her sweetness. "There's--" Her voice pauses as she looks at them, and what might have been a grin touches her weathered lips. "Sorry, child, I thought--"
"No. No. It's all right. What's up?"
Jack wanders away, and she kind of hopes this isn't the last time they do something like that. Because she really really liked it.
And hopes he did, too.
Later, he takes advantage of her hands being buried in a pile of oil and metal and teases his lips across the back of her neck, causing shivers to dance up and down her spine.
"Jack," The catch in her throat does bad things to her competence, but she doesn't care
"Mmm?" He's smiling against her skin, leaning his forehead against the side of her neck while his tongue trails along her collar.
"Stop that."
"Why?"
She can't think of an immediate answer, but she knows it has to do with him being distracting and there being engine parts under her fingers. "I'm busy."
"So?" Oh. Smirk there, too.
A shiver dances through her, and she suddenly realizes that it's been a long time since any man touched her like this. At least with the intention of giving her pleasure and love. Something sad shifts through her. "He smothered me."
The lips on her neck still. "I know," he whispers softly.
Suddenly, she wants to know, "Why didn't you stop me?"
"That's not fair."
"I know." But this man still has the power to hurt her. "Jack."
"Don't." He moves away, strides to the door. "Don't turn this into an ultimatum, Carter. It isn't life or death."
"No." She looks down at her grease-stained hands. "No it isn't."
--
Nine months and 21 days after the world is safe for capitalism, Cassandra Fraiser completes her transfer to University of Wyoming at Laramie. Her double major of Psychology and Philosophy transfer naturally and she picks up a minor in Greek Mythology. When asked by her guidance counselor what she wants to do with her life, she simply says, "Help people."
--
"Hey."
"Hey."
The hug isn't exactly desperate, but she returns it with love. Cassandra smells of sunshine and wheat and growing things, and she's having to continually get used to seeing the way life springs outside her windows.
"I didn't tell Jack." Cassie finally says, breaking the silence. "I told Teal'c."
Sam pulls back and touches the young woman's face and half-smiles. "It's ok." This solitude wouldn't have lasted forever. Especially not now Cassie is here and alive and real and standing in her small shop. Someone would have run into her at some function, or she would have had to simply stay away, and she can't do that to Cassie.
"Like the hair." Laughter crinkles the young woman's eyes.
Kathy had convinced her to go red early last week. Self-consciously, she touches the short strands. "You do?"
"It's weird, but it's kind of you."
"Yeah." She knows the kids find it amusing. Some of the tourists even compliment her on her naturally lovely hair. She tells them she gets it from her Scots ancestor. "Tell me about school."
Cassandra launches into a hundred thousand words on her classes and the social life she may have, and why she thinks that frat parties are boring. Sam listens, remembering her own college days and wondering if she had been more naive then or if it was simply something that came with old age.
Five minutes into this, the shop bell tinkles.
She knows without checking who it is. They've been avoiding each other for weeks now. Seeing only little bits and pieces that they steal out of their days. Kathy told her he's been teaching the kids to play street hockey. With his knees, she hopes he's being careful.
"Hey."
"Jack." Cassandra looks at him for a moment, then half-smiles.
"Cass."
Looking between the two of them, she feels a strange jealousy. Nothing has changed with their relationship. There are no sharp edges to rip their skins to shred at the least expected moments. "I've got to go check something in the back."
She stays back there, sitting in a corner, her knees drawn up. There are no tears because she refuses to cry about this. Refuses to give vent to something so maudlin. Eventually, the shop bell rings.
Cassie finds her a few minutes later. "Still hiding?"
"Yeah." She's more honest now. Perhaps because she's dead in reality, and so she has to be up front with the people she exists around in this half-life.
"What the hell happened, Sam?"
"There was never anything real about what was there." Oh, those words hurt to say. She knows they're true, though. "I built up a dream of what was. So did he. And when it was blasted to smithereens..."
"You're being melodramatic."
"Am I?" She tries to laugh. Fails. "I faked my own death to escape a life that was slowly killing me."
"Yeah." Cass flopped down next to her with a sigh. "Funny. So did Jack."
--
Ten months, 14 days and six minutes after the world doesn't come to an end, the treaty for the new Tok'ra Earth alliance is signed. It's been a long, arduous process, but both sides seem to be happy.
Debuting the night after is a special documentary on the SGC, as seen through the eyes of reporter Emmett Bregman. It contains never before seen footage of the often-mentioned Angel of the SGC, Dr. Janet Fraiser.
--
They at least talk again. It's not flowing, but it's not stilted, either. Common ground in computers and scooters and the occasional sports topic. Sam doesn't really like hockey, but she can get Jack rambling about it for hours. It's a nice counterpoint while she works on scooters or the latest sculpture.
He never asks about them.
Sometimes, she wishes he would. But there's really no point to them, anyway. And so she simply makes them. And sometimes wonders.
They reach a middle ground at some point, where she feels like they are finally friends again. They talk easily about trivialities and serious things. She admits that there are times she regrets where she is. He simply watches her sideways...
Weeks are spent dancing around the topic, until Cassie finally breaks and yells at the both of them to just go on a damned date already.
So they do. And it's awkward and they have no fucking clue what to say each other, until their waiter drops her lasagne on the floor. He apologizes and blushes, and scurries off to get it re-made. And they mock him and each other and settle into something that might almost be normality.
Cassie still thinks they're cute.
The night Bregman's documentary airs, he arrives with a six-pack and a pizza. They watch it, then sit in silence for a very long time.
"I miss her still."
"Yeah." Fingers trail lazily along her arm.
She sighs and leans her head against his shoulder. "This is nice."
"Yep."
By unspoken agreement (and they're finally beginning to have THAT again), they take it no further than that.
--
Eleven months, six hours and ten seconds after the universe is safe for all mankind, contact is re-established with Atlantis.
A lot of information is passed back and forth before the 38 minute window is up. Some of it includes details on the newest threat to humanity.
Humanity isn't worried. It faced down the goa'uld and won, after all.
--
The first time they have sex, they aren't exactly ready for it. It's almost as awkward as their first date, and it's messy and not all-together great. He comes too fast and she comes too slow and she thinks they missed something in the middle. Afterwards, she stares up at him. "That was..."
"Yeah."
She shifts against him, hopeful and unwilling to let this go. Because it wasn't good, but it could be. And she doesn't want to remember that sex with Pete was mechanically fabulous the first time (maybe he was just a better slut). "Let's do that again?"
His head moves to rest on her shoulder. "I'm an old man, Sam. You tryin' to kill me?"
A chuckle escapes her. "Not until we've done this a couple hundred times."
It's the reassurance he needed, apparently.
This time, it's better. Not earth-shattering fire-works better, but she can tell that it will get to that point. And, dear god, she wants it to. Specifically with this man.
Cassie calls her the next morning, and they talk -- disturbingly enough -- about sex. Sometimes it's a stilted conversation, but both of them feel the strange need. Sam probably tells her too many times to use precautions. Cassie doesn't laugh her off, but snarks back that so should Sam.
"Oh." She blushes.
"Don't make me mock you, Sam."
"Never."
She hangs up with a smile and wanders upstairs to introduce the man still sleeping in her bed to breakfast.
The toast ends up burning.
Later, she's flopped across his chest, watching the way her breathing ruffles the hair there. His hand is slowly stroking her head, and they're both just. There. No worries, no ties, no lies and no in-betweens. She doesn't know if she ever wants this to end.
She suddenly wants to talk. "I always used to worry."
"Hrm?"
It's easier, looking at the chest under her head, not his eyes, not the rest of him. "That you'd all figure out what a fraud I was."
The chest shifts, he moves, and she is caught by the fascinating texture of his skin and the way it ripples. "Fraud?"
"McKay was Generally right, you know. I never did anything special, I just hatched half-assed ideas."
"That saved our butts."
She makes a face against his skin, then sighs. "Yeah. But I wasn't always right. I was just lucky."
"We all were lucky." The fingers thread through her hair again.
--