"Circles"
By Aeryn
Chapter 5
Late that next afternoon, when all the puking had subsided (hers AND his) and the billy goat trying to kick its way out of Jack's skull decided to lay down and take a nap, the two of them lounged all over each other on the couch, staring into the fire.
"You know, he's right."
"Who's right?" asked Jack, kissing the back of her neck.
"Hammond."
"Oh. He's always right. Hey, that reminds me, did I do anything stupid last night?"
"Oh, yeah."
He grunted in satisfaction. "No point in gettin' stinkin' drunk if you're not gonna do something stupid."
"Well, you certainly don't have to worry on that account."
"I'm sure I don't. Now what about Hammond?"
"Our houses. They're both too small."
He groaned. "God, I hate house hunting," he said.
"Me, too, but we'd better hurry. We'll be lucky to find something, close on it and move in before the . . . baby gets here." She STILL found it weird.
"We'll start tomorrow. One of my neighbors is an agent; I'll get her to do all the dirty work."
"Her?"
He hid his grin in her shoulder. He'd found out, oh, about a year ago that Sam had a tiny jealous streak.
"Yeah, her."
"How do you know her?"
"I told you, she's my neighbor."
He silently counted out the beats; one, two, three . . .
"Did you ever go out with her?"
"Well, I wanted to, but I don't think her husband would have approved."
Pause.
"Jack . . ."
"Or her kids. Or her grandkids."
Elbow to the ribs, but he was ready for her and caught it just in time.
"Don't tease me like that, you jackass!"
He slid from behind and lowered himself on top of her, looking her in the eye. "There's one thing you need to learn, Samantha Carter, and that is there is only one woman for me."
He paused.
"Claudia Schiffer."
Full scale attack. "Goddamit, Jack!"
He laughed and caught her hands, holding them still. He tried to kiss her but she turned her face away.
"I love you."
"Shut up."
"You're the most beautiful woman in the world."
"Stop it."
"I'd live for you, I'd die for you, I'd lasso the moon and give it to you for Christmas."
Snort. "Get off me, you goofball!"
He gave up his attempts at romantic prose (he wasn't very good at it, anyway; he'd stolen the lasso the moon line from Jimmy Stewart) and switched tactics. Song lyrics.
"Maybe I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time."
"Wings?"
"Paul McCartney and Wings. Girl, how'd you get so fly?"
"Oh, for God's sake!" She was laughing now.
"I'm gonna love you forever, forever and ever, amen."
"Jack!"
"My love is like a wheel; let me roll it to you."
"More Wings."
"And I think it's gonna be a long, long time 'til touchdown brings me around again to find I'm not the man they think I am at all . . ."
"Rocket Man? Not exactly romantic."
"No, but a GREAT song. Can I kiss you now?"
"You dumbass. Yes."
And he did; a deep, long slow kiss.
"Hey, how'd that get there?" He looked at her hopefully, nudging his erection against her thigh.
She looked at him apologetically. "I'm really, really sorry, Jack. Unlike you, I'm just not up to it."
"Punny," he said. He kissed her again, and moved away to sit at the end of the couch. She rested her head on his thigh.
"So, no retirement."
He was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed. "I guess not," he said.
"You don't sound too excited. I thought this was what you wanted."
"I don't know . . ."
He was quiet for a while. She waited.
"It's just that . . . it's just that I really screwed up the first time."
She stilled. He didn't often talk about Charlie and Sarah.
"I mean, I was gone a lot of the time, I missed out on a lot of stuff. And when I was there, I wasn't REALLY there, not in the way I should've been."
She was quiet.
"And then . . . I ran out of chances."
She looked up at him. The walls were slamming down; he was closing in on himself. She was losing him.
"I just don't want that to happen again, that's all," he said, sliding from beneath her and getting up. She grabbed his hand.
"Jack," she said softly. "It wasn't your fault."
He bent down and kissed her briefly on the forehead, avoiding her gaze. "I'm going to go lay down."
He started to walk away.
"Jack," she said. He stopped and stood, his back to her.
"Will you promise me something?" she asked. "Promise me you'll try to forgive yourself."
And for the first time in their brief marriage; for the first time in the many years they'd known one another, he lied to her.
"I promise," he whispered, and was gone.
Everyone has ghosts; something or someone from the past that rears up from the grave to rip your heart out all over again.
The mind and heart of Jack O'Neill was full of specters; images and memories; horrible things he'd seen, horrible things that he'd done in the line of duty, because he'd been ordered to; and the memory of things that had been done to him.
And one ghost loomed the largest, even though in reality he'd really been quite small.
Most people avoided those memories; hid them in a box, ran away when they threatened to reappear.
Not Jack O'Neill.
When the past came back to haunt him, he simply lay down and let the ghosts come; biting at his heart and his soul. It was like a beating, those memories, a flogging. He let it happen; encouraged it, in fact, and added his own fists to the barrage.
The floggings he gave himself were the worst for the simple fact that he thought he deserved them.
He reached the bedroom, closed the door and lay down and waited.
It had been a very long time since he'd done this; she was terrified and felt completely helpless.
She didn't see him for the rest of the night; and knew better than to check on him. It made him angry, the interruption, he was seeking punishment, and absolution he would never find, and she was getting in the way with her concern and her questions.
She slipped into bed later that night and, even though she knew he might snap at her, she slid over to him and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened, but then relaxed into her.
It was quiet for a long time.
"I'm scared, Sam," he whispered.
"I know," she said softly. "Me, too."
He rolled over and pulled her to him and they wrapped themselves around each other and slept.