In Pursuit of Normal
Summary: Chimera; a thing which is hoped for but is illusory or impossible to achieve. Sam hoped for a normal life but is normal achievable for a woman who saves the world for a living?
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He couldn't get her humming out of his head. He heard it as he left the SGC, glad there wasn't a repeat of that morning's awkward encounter in the elevator but strangely disappointed there wasn't as well.
It distracted him, the humming – and the thought of why she was humming – so much so that he hadn't realised he'd driven to her house until he was pulling up behind her silver Volvo. Jack sat in his truck, watching the house, wondering if she was in, wondering if she was alone if she was.
As the memory of their conversation came back to him again – and that damn song he couldn't identify started to play in his head – he made his decision and got out of the truck.
What he was going to say was still a mystery to him; all he knew is that he needed to see her, needed to speak to her… about something.
His first knock when unanswered, but he could vaguely hear the sound of a hairdryer through the door so waited and knocked again when the sound stopped. It wasn't a good sign, he told himself and wondered if he shouldn't just make his escape and pretend he'd never been there in the first place.
But then he heard the sound of footsteps coming towards the door, saw the shadow of her figure as she approached through the frosted glass.
And then she was there in the doorway, looking very different to the Samantha Carter – Major Carter – he saw every day at the SGC.
His tongue felt thick in his mouth and his lips moved wordlessly for a moment as his brain short-circuited at the sight of her in the little black dress she had on.
Bad idea, O'Neill, his brain supplied, registering that the effort she'd put into her appearance was definitely not for his benefit. Not that he ever thought she needed to put effort into her appearance – he'd seen her covered in dirt and sweat and grime in the depths of Netu and still thought she was beautiful, after all.
"Um," he managed, after realising he'd been staring at her without saying anything.
"Sir?" Concern coloured her voice even as her cheeks flushed under his scrutiny. "Is everything okay? Is there a problem at the base?"
"No. No problem." He suddenly felt stupid, and uncomfortable. "I should… You've got plans."
Sam bit her lip, clearly torn. She glanced at her watch and a flicker of something he couldn't identify crossed over her face before she stood aside. "Not for a while," she said after a pause. "Why don't you come in?"
Because he shouldn't be allowed anywhere near her in that dress, Jack answered silently, because he definitely couldn't promise he'd be able to reign in the impulse to touch her, kiss her.
But his body didn't listen to the warnings his head was shouting, and he found himself stepping over the threshold and passed the point of no return.
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She felt his eyes on her back as she led the way into the kitchen, his gaze burning the skinned bared by the low backline. Her heart was racing a mile a minute and she felt warm all over after the not-so-discreet once over he'd given her.
It occurred to her, on some level, that this man could have more of an effect on her with a simple look than the man she'd got ready for had managed with his kiss.
That wasn't fair, she told herself sternly. She couldn't expect Pete to cause the same responses as Colonel O'Neill when she didn't know him as well. She hadn't given him a chance, not really, and he did make her feel things she hadn't felt in a long time. Like an attractive woman for starters, desirable.
Things Jack had managed to make her feel by letting his guard down for once.
Stifling a sigh, she went to the fridge. She got out a bottle of beer for him and poured some white wine into the glass she already had waiting on the bench.
"You sure you've got time for this, Carter?" He asked, opening the bottle automatically but using it to motion to her instead of taking a drink.
"I was getting myself a drink anyway," she said with a shrug, toasting him with the wine glass before raising it to her lips for a sip. "Dutch courage," she found herself admitting, and immediately kicked herself mentally for it.
"Why the need for courage?" He asked quietly. "You look… great. Really great."
Jack took a long drag from the bottle and she couldn't help but watch the way his throat moved at the action. He looked flushed, too, she realised, and that made her feel a little bit better about the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks.
Sam cleared her throat, realising she'd been staring, and averted her gaze to the glass in her hand. She glanced up and saw him waiting patiently for an answer. "It's been a while," she found herself saying, "I'm not used to the dating thing."
"You seem to be doing a good job at it," he offered, though she thought it sounded a little more accusingly than he intended. He set the half-full bottle down on the counter beside her, the sleeve of his leather jacket brushing the bare skin of her arm in a move she wasn't sure was deliberate or accidental. "I should get going."
And still, he made no move to leave, lingering in her personal space as if transfixed by the questioning look she gave him.
"Why did you come over?" Her voice was quiet but sounded loud in the silent room. She turned to set her glass down on the counter beside his bottle before straightening up, arms crossed over her chest. "What are you doing here, Sir?"
#
That was the million-dollar question, Jack thought, and he was damned if he knew how to answer it. His mouth was dry, and he found himself wishing he still had his beer, especially when she folded her arms, apparently unaware of how the action emphasised her cleavage.
"Sir?" Sam persisted, taking a step closer to him, which made him take a step back. "What's going on?"
I don't want you going out with the cop, he thought desperately but knew he had no right to say it out loud. He couldn't make her any promises, couldn't give her the normal life she'd decided she wanted. All he could give her was the vague promise of a someday that might never get there or if she was willing to forego waiting, a potential black mark on her record should they start something and subsequently be found out.
Neither was good enough for her. He didn't want her having to wait for however long it took; he'd had the wife and family, she hadn't. It would be wholly unfair of him to ask her to wait for him, to put that kind of life on hold until their roles permitted it. He was already a washed-up old Colonel; Sam was young and vibrant and deserved so much more than he could offer her.
And risking it all… It'd be worth it, he was sure, but he didn't want her paying the cost with her career. She was too damn good at what she did, destined for stars on her shoulders even if she didn't see it herself. The Air Force – the whole goddamn world – needed her and he'd be damned if he'd do anything that risked taking away the shiny future he knew she was destined for.
"Colonel?" Sam sounded concerned, and he snapped back into the moment to see her staring at him, her brow furrowed and her eyes worried. "Are you okay, Sir?"
Colonel. Sir.
Two words he was beginning to hate more than anything in the world.
"I'm fine, Carter," he told her, taking another step away when he realised just how close she'd gotten. "I'll make tracks, let you get ready. Not that you don't already look ready, you look great, but… I'll go."
He turned and made a swift exit, heading to the door. He heard her behind him but if she was going to try to stop him, it was thwarted by the sight of the man holding a bouquet of roses on the doorstep, hand raised to knock.
"Oh. Hi." The guy – Pete, Jack assumed – peered past him to look at Sam. "Are we still going out?"
"I'm just leaving," Jack excused himself, almost pushing passed Pete to get out of the house. He was down the first step when he heard Sam's voice and froze.
"Wait up, Sir. I'm sorry, Pete," she continued, her eyes drifting from the cop in the doorway to Jack as he turned back to look at her. "Something's come up and I have to go in. Sir, if you can wait a minute, I'll get my jacket and we can go in together."
"… Sure," Jack managed, resisting the urge to arch an eyebrow at her in question. He let his gaze drift to the disappointed man in the doorway and felt a little bit sorry for him.
"I'm sorry," Sam said again, her smile sincerely apologetic. "I'll call you."
"Um, okay." Pete looked deflated, and Jack couldn't blame him in the slightest. "Maybe tomorrow…?" He asked hopefully.
Sam bit her lip, reaching behind the door to grab a long coat that she shrugged into, sadly covering the short dress and soft skin that had been on display. "I don't know, I think this might take a while."
"I'm going back to Denver day after tomorrow," Pete persisted, seemingly struggling to take no for an answer. "Maybe we could meet for breakfast…?"
"I don't know," Sam repeated, a little firmer. "I'll call you. I'm sorry, Pete. We've got to go."
She brushed passed him, pausing to kiss his cheek in goodbye. From the downcast expression on Pete's face, the cop seemed to realise it was forever. She shut the door behind her and hurried to Jack's side, avoiding his gaze. "We should get going."
"Sure thing. It was nice to meet you, Pete," Jack called over his shoulder, following the blonde woman hurrying towards his truck. He was aware of the other man watching them as they got into the cab, and glanced at Sam to see her determinedly not looking back. "You want to tell me where we're going?"
"Anywhere," Sam said with a sigh, staring straight ahead of her instead of at either man. "Please, Sir. Just drive."
Unable to refuse her, Jack did as ordered.
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So, where does he drive them? His house, the SGC, a bar? You choose, I'll write the one most people go for :)