An Olive Branch
'An Olive Branch - Despite claims of Ancient Greek origins, the symbol first appears in Ancient Egypt as a symbol of peace many centuries before appearing in ancient Greek mythology'
Sam squints at the dune Katep gestures at a short distance away, managing to recognise a few words as he speaks rapidly to her. She smiles awkwardly as his tone turns excited, his words blurring into a stream she can't follow without Daniel's help. She looks over to find the archaeologist watching with a bemused expression; he steps forward to slide into the conversation without any prompting from Sam. Daniel alternates between talking to Katep and translating for Sam.
Sam allows the conversation to switch before excusing herself. She hefts the meter-long sticks under her arm, folding them into the fabric of her robes as she climbs the dune with sure, measured steps. She spots the figure huddled on the base of the other side as soon as she crests the mound. Jack's drawn his knees up to his chest as he gazes off into the distance. She doesn't want to describe him as sulking but his face is unreadable as she approaches.
Her footsteps are loud enough to alert him to her presences as she gets closer. She notices his boots to the side of him with his bare feet rest on the sand at the edge of the water. She crouches down next to him without waiting for an invitation. She plucks the sticks out from their hiding place in her robes, holding one out to him.
"They're a peace offering," Sam explains. He frowns at her, tilting his head to the side in silent askance. "It's my fault we're stuck here," she shrugs.
"We all knew the risks, Carter," Jack points out, yet he takes the stick from her anyway. Olive branches. He had seen the trees on the edge of the settlement when they first arrived. He notes the line threaded through a small hole near the top, secured around the branch with a knot. He huffs good-naturedly, appreciating the gesture. Fishing. She wants to fish with him.
"Are you going to keep calling me that now we're stuck here?" Sam asks, a teasing lilt in her voice, slightly curious. They were supposed to be working on using 'Sir' and 'Carter' less, or at least squashing their honorifics when they were alone.
"Not ready to give up hope of getting back to our time." He realises he's being an ass. He should have expected someone to check on him sooner or later. He would've given anyone of them hell for going off on their own right now. He's not angry, not with her. He's sulking, thinking of everything they'd spoken about, their plans they've made. After Pete, after Kerry, they were so close to having everything they wanted, yet never thought they'd have. Now, they won't. He's not quite ready to forget the promises they made. Calling her anything other than Carter right now would be sacrificing the future they were supposed to share. Really, he should've expected this. He remembers her being angry with him years ago when they were stuck in withdrawal from that damn light.
"Carter," he apologises. He feels trapped with her, not by her, only by time. Again. The timing sucks. "We're stuck here under Gou'ald rule."
"I'm not happy about it either," she huffs, as frustrated as he is. She usually pulls a brilliant idea out of her butt right about now. Only, this time, there isn't one. There's too much at stake. "Doesn't mean you have to call me 'Carter' while we are," she tacks on.
There's a gentle reproach in her voice, commiserating, comforting all in one. Jack relents as her expression softens. He leans back, his elbows dig into the sand as his head tilts back to look up at the clear night sky, unmarred by the pollution he is used to in their time. The crudely fashioned fishing rod falls on to the bank at his side. He feels her eyes on him, her guilt coming off her in waves. He can't assuage his own let alone hers. He wants to make things better, only he has no idea how.
"What are you thinking about?" She asks quietly.
"I'm wondering if we've already screwed everything up." She raises an eyebrow at him. "I mean in the future."
She winces and he knows she's thinking the same thing. She breathes out and leans back on the sand beside him, her arm resting against his, her warmth mingling with his own. "We don't know we haven't."
"How do we fix it?"
"Daniel has an idea to leave a recording with the ZPM," Sam explains easily, no doubt in her voice. Jack figures it's the best plan they have. "All we can do is hope is our future selves take our advice to correct it if things are different."
"What if we like the future we have, Carter?" He asks softly, thinking of a brown-haired boy who lives instead of dying. Or the alternate future where they make whatever this is between them work, with Sam and a little blonde girl sitting beside him on the dock at the cabin. If that's his reality, he's going to be a real stubborn son of a bitch at the prospect of losing it.
Jack shakes his head ruefully. He's not that lucky. He's more than likely going to be washed up somewhere, drinking himself into a stupor just to sleep and forget for a few hours.
Sam has no answer for him. Her fingers slide over his hand between them, interlocking tightly. Jack squeezes back. He turns his head to look at her to find her gazing up at him. She's going nowhere. She made fishing rods for them to fish with.
Oh.
They might be stuck, but they're stuck together.
Jack moves closer to her, inching across the sand, knowing the tiny grains will find a way through the layers they're wearing. They'll be cleaning sand out of every nook and cranny for the rest of their lives.
The rest of their lives, Jack likes the sound of that when thinking about Sam.
Being here simplifies everything that's pushed them together and held them apart for the last eight years. Free of frat regs, the chain of command, no waiting for transfers. His feelings for Sam haven't changed with their circumstances. He'll work on calling her Sam; she'll work on calling him Jack. They'll slip, those habits are hard to break.
They're not going back to their own time; they have to deal with that. He can't see himself sitting by under Ra's rule without doing something. He can't see her doing that, no matter how it would interfere with the timeline. At the moment, they're keeping a low profile without complications. How long that will last, he has no idea.
Right now, he feels like he needs an anchor to keep him grounded. Sam's always been good at that. He wants to be that for her. He searches her face for any doubt, any hesitation. Her lips curl slightly as her eyes drop to his mouth. Despite talking about their relationship, making plans, he's held back from kissing her, from crossing that final line, the ever-present consequences of crossing it holding them back.
Right now, he has Sam, the clear night moving in with nothing holding them back. Jack's confident she won't deck him for being presumptuous. She made fishing rods for them to fish with.
She chuckles softly at him, her eyebrow cocking at him; teasing, questioning, prompting, a combination of all three. He responds by ducking down to capture her lips softly. She sighs into his mouth as her free hand moves to the back of his head while he relaxes into her, deepening the kiss. This isn't how he imagined their first proper kiss, this wasn't the plan. Then again, when has plan A ever worked?