Title: Faith
Chapter: 7 of ?
Email: When everything else is stripped away, all you are left with is faith. You might find it is not placed where you thought.
Category: Angst/Romance
Rating: Teen
Pairing: S/J
Season: 8
Spoilers: General spoilers for everything up to, and including, season 8.
Content Warnings: None
Archive: My site: I don't own SG-1. Or Jack. Dammit!
Author's Note: All that writers' block for so long, then this comes to me on the train to work. Go figure.
When she awoke she was surrounded by softness.
She didn't open her eyes, just savoured the sensation.
Then the previous days' events came back with a vengeance.
Now she didn't open her eyes for another reason altogether.
She figured she must be in Jack's bed because she didn't remember going home.
Didn't remember much of anything, actually, after-
"Hey."
Yeah. She's been wondering where he was.
She opened her eyes and blinked in the dawn light that was filling the room.
"You okay?" He asked.
She nodded, avoiding looking at him for the moment and concerning herself with her surroundings: his bedroom.
"How did I get in here?" She asked, feeling oddly stupid that that was the first thing she said to him.
"Uh… you passed out." He replied, sounding slightly embarrassed by it. "I was worried." He admitted.
Sam blushed. "i think I was just exhausted and over… stimulated." She said, wondering if it would ever be possible to look at him again.
"Well, you had been through a lot." He reasoned, tactfully avoiding that avenue of conversation.
"What time is it?" She asked.
"Oh-six-hundred." He replied. His voice sounded strange. Muffled.
Puzzled, Sam finally dragged her eyes away from the coverlet and looked at him.
He was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, leaning on the doorframe. He was dressed in his green BDU pants and was holding what looked like an ice pack to his mouth.
"Isn't it a little late for that?" Sam asked, nodding at the ice pack
"Better late than never?" He suggested, the half of his mouth that she could see quirking upwards into a smirk. "Kinda hoping it's gonna work, though." He added thoughtfully. "I don't want to have to explain to Hammond why I've got a busted lip."
"Hammond?" Sam asked timorously.
"Flew in last night, apparently. He said he called when he got in, I must have been… busy."
To her eternal embarrassment, Sam blushed, again. "Is he coming here?" She asked, trying to ignore the heat she could feel in her face.
"Don't worry. You're safe." He smirked. He walked into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, facing away from her. "It's me that's gonna get my ass handed to me."
It was easier to look at him when he had his back to her, Sam mused.
He had obviously showered, his hair was still damp.
Studying the well-defined muscles of his back, Sam derived a strange sense of ownership from the deep scratch marks running down his tanned skin.
How does he have a tan? He's been in the mountain for god knows how long. So how does he have a tan? I just burn.
She shook her head to clear it of that thought. She still had no idea where they stood; what he wanted.
As though he read her mind he said, "What do you want to do now?"
"What do you want?" She asked.
"Doesn't matter what I want. Tried to tell you that last night, but I was a little-"
"Drunk?" She cut in.
"Pissed off." He corrected. He turned to look at her. "Why'd you come here last night?"
"I would have thought that was obvious." She said, sounding braver that she felt.
Her nervousness was slightly alleviated when he smirked back. "Uh huh. So you're tellin' me this was what you had in mind when you showed up last night?" He gestured along her body, which, she noticed for the first time, was only covered by the thin coverlet.
"Okay, maybe not." She said. "I wanted to find out why you came to my house."
"I told you: I wanted to make sure you were okay. I said some things and I think you probably got the wrong idea." He sounded uncomfortable, a sure sign that he felt guilty.
"Got the wrong idea?" She repeated. "You said you didn't want to be friends with me."
"No. I didn't." He said. "I said that I didn't think we could be friends."
"How is that different?" Sam asked, her relaxed mood receding to be replaced by her anger.
He stared at her for a moment. "You really are dense sometimes." He told her, smiling crookedly.
She glared at him. "Is this for the same reason you said I was dense last night?"
He nodded. "What do you wanna do?" He asked, his expression sobering.
"What are my options?" She asked shyly.
He stared at her again, that I-can't-believe-someone-as-smart-as-you-can-be-so-dumb look he sometimes sent Daniel. "What do you think?"
"Why'd you quit?" She countered.
"I told you. They wanted to-"
"That's all?" She asked.
"No." He admitted.
"I want… this." She said. "Minus the bruises." She added.
"Bruises?" He asked, refusing to let himself believe what he thought he'd heard.
She slid the coverlet down slightly to expose her hip, careful not to expose anything else. There were five little bruises there exactly corresponding with Jack's fingers.
"Sorry." He muttered.
"I like them." She said, blushing again when he shot her a disbelieving look. 'C'mon, Sam Lieutenant Colonels do not blush.'
Jack's eyes darkened suddenly.
"Jack?" She followed his gaze. Just above her hip was a large, dark bruise. It had obviously not been put there by him.
"Shoulda have nuked that place." He growled.
She reached out and touched his face. "No." She said. "You brought me home. That was more important."
He nodded.
"What are you gonna do?" She asked.
"Do?"
"About the SGC." She prompted.
"I've got a meeting with Hammond and the shrubs from yesterday." He said. "And Tom." He added as an afterthought.
"How do you know General Lewis?" She asked.
"Tom?" He grinned. "Oh, we go way back."
When it didn't seem as though he was going to say anything else, Sam prompted him again, "And?"
"I got into a fight at school when I was fifteen. Tom was there representing the Air Force, some careers thing, he broke up the fight. Anyway, the school called my dad in. He wasn't pleased." Sam snorted and Jack grinned ruefully. "Yeah. The last straw and all that. We got into an argument. A big argument. Tom overheard and tried to defend me. My dad lost it then, kicked me out. Tom took me in."
She stared at him, making him shift uncomfortably.
"What?"
"I just realised how little I actually know about your past."
"Well, its not that interesting." He said, looking down at the coverlet.
She watched him a moment. "What time do you have to go see the General?"
"Eight." He said.
"I'm coming." She said.
Instead of the disagreement she felt sure would be forthcoming, he said, "I thought you might be." He stood, making to leave the room. "Coffee?"
After she showered and dressed, Sam joined Jack in his kitchen.
"It's a mess in there." He said, inclining his head towards his living room. "Looks like somebody broke in."
"I'll help you clean it up later." She said, pouring herself a coffee and joining him at the table. "About last night…" She began. He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "I want to be absolutely certain where we stand, before we go to this meeting."
"You're not sure?" He asked. She shook her head. "I've made my position clear, Sam. Its up to you."
"You always do that. Why is it always up to me?"
"Was that whining, Carter?" He teased.
"Shut up." She snapped, smiling despite herself.
"I think you know where we stand." He said.
She nodded. She knew. "You're gonna have to get something other than Fruit Loops in for breakfast." She pointed out.
"Bring your own."