Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions.
Not beta'd, so sorry if I missed something.
Feedback highly appreciated.
The first time it happened, they were both drunk.
Her on grief, him on Jack Daniels. Not that thats any excuse, for either of them.
It wasn't how he'd pictured their first time would be. There should have been candles, maybe wine. A letter of resignation, perhaps. A bed, in the least.
Instead there was the hard, unforgiving floor of his hallway that had wreaked havoc on his knees. Most of his clothes had stayed on, too, but since it didn't bother her it shouldn't have bothered him any. It wasn't very thought-out, on either of their parts.
All that had mattered was that for all intents and purposes, Daniel was dead. She had needed to talk to someone. Correction, she had needed to talk to him. Needed to talk about it. He had needed her to just shut the hell up.
When he opened the door to the incessant ringing that afternoon, he wasn't sure if he wanted to take her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay or to ask her to leave the property. He had compromised.
"Can I help you, Major?" He had asked. Oh, such a loaded question, but his harsh tone had implied the words were pure formality.
She didn't say anything for a moment, and he wasn't sure if it was what he said or what she saw that made her pause. He hadn't slept in a while, hadn't shaved in much longer, and had happily started crawling his way down a bottle that he kept around for just these kinds of occasions. His hair uncombed, face gruff, eyes red and posture defeated, Jack O'Neill still kept managed to be cold and formal with his hand on the knob, blocking the entrance to his house.
"Can I come in?" She asked quietly, teeth worrying her top lip as she briefly met his eyes and dropped them down again.
He raised himself up to his full height, defenses automatically raising against this new threat. Why bother drinking if she was only going to remind him?
"Look, I have no--"
"Please?" It was the pleading in her voice that did it, and the fact that she left the obligatory 'sir' out. Still, he had to try.
"What do you want, Carter?" He sounded hard and impatient even as he turned and walked back towards his couch and his whiskey, letting the door open wider behind him.
She followed him in, closing the door behind herself with a soft click. Her footsteps made soft thuds as they echoed his down the hall, quiet and deliberate and he knew she was as tense as he would have been if he was sober. But he wasn't and he needed to work on keeping it that way.
Jack let himself down on the edge of the couch, reaching for the bottle and the glass next to it. He was working his way up to drinking straight from the bottle. But while he still had the capacity to pour straight, he damn well would.
Placing the bottle back on the table, he lifted his eyes to hers as he reached for the glass.
"What do you want, Carter." The annoyed emphasis on the word and the pause before her name made Sam wince.
"I just wanted to... I came here so we could... I, uh, I need..."
She broke of on a loud, frustrated breath, both hands running through her hair and then rubbing her face in defeat.
'See how you were doing'? 'Talk'? 'Not be alone right now'? She had sat in the car for an hour and now all the words seemed ridiculous when talking to the one man who would understand if he just cared enough to listen. She met his eyes and quickly looked away, starting to pace, trying to get the words past the bitter lump in her throat.
It was almost funny that suddenly she nothing to say. She had thought if she could just see him, get him alone and in private where they could talk about this, that they could fix this.
No, not fix it. But make it better. Make it as bearable as losing a brother and best friend could ever be. She had been so sure he would understand, because she knew he felt it too. Felt the deep, gaping hole that was slowly bleeding all her dry, the cold that threatened to overpower her as her body shook and trembled even under piles of blankets.
"Major, if you don't mind, I was in the middle of something important here." He said when she didn't say anything for a few long seconds and stood up again, hand gesturing to the whiskey and then towards the front door.
Sam stopped, facing him full on and met his guarded, shuttered eyes. Her arms were wrapped protectively around her torso and her eyes were blue and wet and vulnerable and oh so threatening to him.
"Colonel, please." It was that soft pleading again, the sounds torn painfully from her throat.
He broke the eye contact and walked away, back to the door. She felt the unspoken dismissal physically, a harsh slap to her face. In the pit of her stomach it felt something like pain or nausea or both, twisting her insides.
Jack was waiting by the door, gripping the door knob painfully, knuckles white from the effort when she finally followed. But she stopped just 6 feet short of him, mouth opening then closing again, eyes looking away helplessly. So open and vulnerable and there. And he couldn't stand it.
"What, Carter, please what!" He hadn't meant to yell it, but he did and now she was looking at him again with those huge doe-like eyes of hers.
And then he had moved towards her, aggressively and with clear intent but she didn't move away. The hand that moved to grab her hair was only slightly less harsh than the one that pulled her against him, digging into the flesh in her back. He crushed her to him fully, lips bruising as they forced hers apart, pushing her head back and into his own.
She wasn't fighting him. In fact, she was all but clawing at his back, desperately trying to get even closer. The hands roving his back and arms and neck were greedy, pulling him in to her, afraid if they didn't he might fall away. She barely noticed the wall at her back.
And then they were sliding down to the floor, and her skirt was around her waist, his pants around his hips, as were her legs. And then he was shifting, his weight heavy and reassuring on hers. This wasn't how he'd pictured their first time, but if this was all he was going to get he'd take it. Just then she was warm and willing and so damn safe around him, her breath hot and wet on his ear as she half sobbed and half moaned his rank. It was frantic and urgent and finished all too fast as she shook almost imperceptibly around him, arms and legs and teeth clenching down hard as he finished, panting and boneless on top of her.
He had rolled off of her then and separated, no small feat in the confines of the narrow hallway, adjusting his clothing and catching his breath.
Well, at least he had tried to prevent this.
Just like afterwards, he had tried not to look at her until it was just her back, already decent and walking out of his house.
"Sam..." But she wasn't within hearing distance anymore when he got the word out. The only reason he got up that soon after she left was because he couldn't reach the whiskey from there.
And in the next few days, when they saw each other at work, he was glad he still had that bottle for just these kinds of occasions.
He's not surprised anymore when she shows up at his door in the middle of the night. Usually, he can see it coming half way into the day. If everything goes well on a mission, his only company for the night is a game and a box of pizza. If someone dies, he leaves his front door unlocked.
The first time she came back she didn't say anything, just kept standing on the other side of the doorway even long after he invited her in. It took a long-suffering, deeply meaningful "Carter..." and a gently tugging hand on her wrist to get her through the door. After that, she had had no more problems making up her mind if they should really be doing this because he did it for her. Took her by her almost trembling hand and led her into the bedroom, then stood in front of her and waited. It didn't take her 2 seconds to grab onto him, desperately trying to force her way down his throat and hide inside him. She was the one that had started crying even as she pushed him unto his back on the bed and latched to his warm body like a life preserver.
If she thought about it deeply, she'd probably realize that was why she came to him in the first place, because he would take over when she needed him to. Not push. Never push. He could pull her enough, and then let go to let her take that final step. Its the inertia of his actions that keeps her moving towards him. Bodies in motion will stay in motion is what Sam had thought at the time, even as they had made their way out of their clothes.
Still, Sam had decided a long time ago that thinking deeply about this just wasn't a very good idea.
So usually its Jack that pulls her against him, his frequently battered and aching arms holding her tightly as she either sobs or grinds her hips against him. And its always one of the two, because she doesn't come over unless its really bad. Either he had almost died that day or someone else did. Well, that's how it started out, anyway.
Most of the time, she doesn't stay the night. On a few rare occasions she was too tired to move away from the body lying spent next to her, and he was grateful that she wasn't able to see just how much the whole thing exhausted him emotionally. Not that he would ever object to the visits– on the contrary, he morbidly looked forward to the next time the world would almost end or Teal'c would almost die. Because then she would spend the night with him, and that almost made up for how much he hated himself for thinking those thoughts. But if this was all he was going to get, it was more than enough compensation for risking his life for this ungrateful planet, and he would take it willingly.
When she does leave, she tries not to look at him too much. She gets out of bed, careful to keep her eyes averted as she visits the bathroom or goes immediately in search of her wayward clothes. And then she leaves, closing the door behind her.
All the while, Jack stays in bed, thanking God that the pretty blue marble they live on is still in one piece and so is the woman stealthily making her escape from his house. Every once and again a piece of clothing becomes a casualty of the mad race to have skin on skin contact and she leaves without it. Neither of them mentions it the next time they see each other but Jack's started a drawer.
Another thing is, they almost never talk when this happens. Sometimes, when its really bad, usually when someone close does die, he asks her if she's ok. And she tells him no, then lies and tells him she'll be fine.
The only time they're "fine" is either when the two of them are together like this or the three of them plus Jonas are eating pie in the commissary, weeks since the last time just the two of them had been "fine".
At the base its almost always ok. If she had been over any time in the last week or so, then things are strained between them. But thats ok, because it always, always, correlates to some narrowly averted disaster-- no one thinks much of it. And Jack is painfully aware that that is the only reason that brings her to his door at 3 am on a Wednesday morning. No one suspects anything out of the ordinary. But the two of them know better.
A week or two after the deed its almost completely back to normal. He jokes and she makes eye contact and smiles, but soon looks away. He only touches her briefly, if at all. It's almost like they're being too careful, too aware of what they've done wrong. A few more days and she starts to laugh again. His hand lingers on the small of her back after he holds the door and leads her to the team's table for lunch. Off world its always pure professionalism and that is the only reason she allows this to happen. Because everything always goes back to normal.
And then he does something stupid like get himself captured by Ba'al, and all the sudden things aren't ok again. That time she's at his house almost every night for two weeks straight, playing the concerned second in command. Instead of sex she orders take-out and sits next to him on the couch while they watch Vancouver obliterate the Avalanche and he knows she doesn't even like hockey. She cleans up before getting into bed with him, wearing some borrowed clothes. They only have sex twice, and both times Jack wonders if Daniel is watching.
TBC