Filling the Spaces
Free Space
Part Two
I marked this story "complete" when I'd finished the original spaces on the Trope Bingo Board.
Now, with the completion of the "Free Space", this story/challenge/series is officially done.
Thanks to everyone who has played along. I appreciate your support!
—-OOOOOOO—-
The park was busy—some sort of event to which it seemed that the entirety of Alexandria had been invited. Creeping his way slowly through the parking lot, he stopped several times as groups of people moved through the cars. Jack parked in the furthest part of the public lot, carefully pulling the beast into a space between a minivan and a sedan that looked like a veteran of a demolition derby.
He turned the engine off with a practiced twist of the key. "Tell me. Why are we here again?"
Sam simply smiled at him, opening her door and hopping down out of the truck.
She'd been wily this morning—waking early to load up the truck for whatever she'd planned. He hadn't been allowed to help, so he'd sat in the living room reading until she'd told him it was time to go.
Now, Jack yanked the handle of his door, swinging the panel wide and sliding to the ground. Locking up, he walked around to the back of the truck where his wife was already at work unpacking. Sitting on the edge of the tailgate were a tacklebox and a pair of fishing poles that she'd dug out of the garage. She handed him a large insulated bag which he suspended over one shoulder, then she dragged out a heavy quilt that she'd unearthed from some closet somewhere. He vaguely remembered it from his past—some aunt had made it for him out of old Levis as a Christmas gift. Sara hadn't wanted to keep it, so Jack had gotten it after the divorce.
"So, what now?" He picked up the tackle box, watching as she tucked the quilt over her arm before he slammed the tailgate shut.
"There's a lake in there somewhere." Pointing towards the park, Sam smiled over at him—a good smile. The kind that engaged all of the best parts of her face. "I thought we could do some fishing."
"Fishing?" He was leering. He knew that. The word had gained a different—slightly sketchy—connotation since he'd taken her to his cabin the first summer after they'd gotten married. Alone that time—without the added company of Daniel and Teal'c—-they'd been freer. Enough so that she'd taught him that the pier down by his pond could be put to much, much better use than angling for non-existent fish.
He still daydreamed about that night, the moonlight making silver shadows on her curves, the cool breeze tickling at their skin. He'd never felt quite so perfectly complete than he had while lying there with his wife in his arms, listening to the breeze tussling through the branches and the subtle lap of the water against the shore.
Damn it all straight to hell. He was going to miss her.
"Fishing." Her eyelids fluttered on a roll. She'd followed his train of thought. "In the most conventional sense of the word."
"Dagnabbit." He let loose an over-exaggerated sigh as he followed her through the cars towards the common areas. "I like the other one better."
"Anyway." She stepped off the asphalt onto the grass. "On Sundays, this park has all kinds of things going on. Sports, a farmer's market, craft fair, and there's usually live music somewhere."
"And fishing."
"And fishing in a fully stocked pond."
They hit the main entrance, moving from the asphalt of the parking lot to grass. The main lawn of the municipal park was enormous, sloping down on the south side towards the aforementioned pond, and on the north to an amphitheater where a guy with a guitar and an amplifier was plucking out tunes. Far to the east, large stadium lights suggested soccer or baseball fields, while Jack could see basketball hoops in the distance. Immediately in front of them, the grass had been taken over by pop-up tents and awnings where people milled around in what Jack assumed was the farmer's market. Off to one side of that, a series of free-standing fenced kennels were positioned around a central axis in what looked like some sort of petting zoo.
"Busy place."
"I saw a flyer advertising Sundays at the Park on the bulletin board at the grocery store the other day." She dodged nimbly around a woman with a baby stroller. Hustling, she fell back into step beside Jack and smiled up at him. "So, I thought we could do something different. Make a new memory."
Her eyes were bright, her dimples deep—and her mouth—well, that mouth had kept him awake entirely too late into the early morning, so he kind of loved that part the most. Jack couldn't help but smile back. "Fishing memories are good memories."
"True."
"Do we need a license?"
"I have no idea." She peeked over her shoulder as he angled around a group of kids playing with a ball.
His long strides quickly brought him back to her side. "What if we do?"
"Need a fishing license?"
"Yeah. What if we get caught, Colonel?"
"I don't know, General. Tell them that, for us, fishing is a matter of planetary security?"
Yeah. That would work. With half of a resigned grunt, he followed her through the crowds. Southward, across the lawn, to where the little lake made a brilliant blue divot in the center of velvety green.
The pond was large—oval-shaped, and obviously man-made. A concrete path encircled the entire thing, set back from the shoreline enough to allow some sand and grass in between. On one side, a large stand of reeds had been allowed to promulgate, providing shade and protection for the ducks that paddled lazily around the place. Nobody else was fishing, although a few kids were sailing a remote control boat around near the reeds. Jack scouted out a suitable spot—near a tree and away from the boat—and set the cooler and the tackle box on the grass.
Laying the rods down, Sam unfurled the quilt and spread it out on the lawn. Sitting cross legged on the quilt, she patted the space next to her in invitation. "Well?"
Jack deposited the tackle box and cooler on the quilt to one side, then lowered himself down onto the quilt at her side.
For a long moment, he simply took in the place—green grass, the sandy man-made "beach", the hundreds of people milling around them. He could just barely hear the guitarist at the amphitheater over the hubbub of people talking and laughing and moving around under the awnings of the farmer's market. Animal noises flittered in and around the people noise—barks and yips and brays—probably from the petting zoo. Every once in a while, the metallic jolt of an aluminum bat hitting a ball stung through the sky. It sounded eerily like a staff weapon being fired.
On the pond in front of them, the little remote control boat sped past, and the boys ran along the shoreline after it. They were lanky and raw-boned—ten years old or so—one freckled and tow-headed, the other darker—straight black hair and deep brown eyes. Not brothers, but close friends. One boy's shirt had Spiderman on it, while the other's was white with blue stripes. Both wore jeans and generic sneakers. Normal kids. Doing normal things. Normal things that weren't conducive to fishing.
With a sigh, he stretched one leg out, cocking the other, balancing his forearm on his up-bent knee.
"So, are we actually trying to catch something?" Jack flickered a look at his wife, nodding towards the water. "Or are we here just for the ambiance?"
"Both?" Sam shrugged. "I don't know. I just wanted to do something different today."
"Something different."
She squinted off into the distance, a tiny smile playing around the corners of her lips. "Something Earthy. Does that make sense?"
It did. Complete sense. If you were who they were. Knew what they knew.
A group of teens strolled past—full of themselves and the bravado of youth. Couples—old and young—wended their various ways along the path, or across the grass, or through the trees. Families—scolding moms and protective dads and kids simply being kids. A veritable melange of humanity.
A little girl—young—no more than two—toddled towards them from the area with all the tents, her mom —heavily pregnant—waddling along behind her. The girl made it to their quilt, reaching her chubby little hands out towards Jack. He couldn't help but smile at her, holding out his finger for her to take.
"Hey, kiddo."
"Ba." The little girl beamed at him, tugging on his finger as she aimed herself across his lap in the direction of the fishing poles. "Po."
"That's probably not a great idea, honey." Jack grabbed the child beneath her arms and lifted her high, eliciting a giggle and a squeal. "Fish hooks aren't great for your little hands. Owie."
"I'm sorry." The mom had finally caught up with her toddler. She was breathing heavily, her cheeks ruddy from the warmth of the morning and her exertion. Pausing for a moment to catch her breath, she scratched absently at her belly. "She's quicker than I am at the moment."
"No problem." Jack turned the child in mid-air, handily settling her on the grass next to her mom. "They're pretty crafty at this age, too. They take advantage of all your weaknesses."
"That's so true." The mother grabbed her child from Jack with a practiced motion, settling her on her hip. Murmuring another 'thank you', she smiled again and turned back towards the crowd.
Glancing sideways at Sam, Jack started to reach for a fishing pole, but stopped short at the look on his wife's face. She was staring back over her shoulder at where the young mother was carrying her toddler away into the crowd, her expression a bit distant, a tad empty. A worried little frown played around the corner of her mouth, and a telltale furrow had made its way to the spot above her nose.
She was brooding.
"You okay?"
Sam smiled, averting her eyes as she turned back towards the lake. After a long beat—quietly, she angled a look in his direction. "Are you?"
She'd brought her heels up towards her body, wrapping her arms around her knees. In her jeans and tank top she seemed fresher. Younger, somehow—especially wearing one of his shirts like a jacket, sleeves folded neatly to her elbows and the front tails tied into a knot at her waist.
Despite how she seemed, however, Jack knew that something was off.
He could pretend. Could make believe that he was fine with everything that was happening. He probably should act that way—just to spare her feelings. He should deny that he was dreading saying goodbye to her all over again. That he didn't wish that she hadn't accepted the mission. He should make her believe that he truly was glad for this new opportunity for her. Shouldn't he? Time was short. It'd be torture if she left thinking that he didn't support her in every way possible.
Still, with the lives they led, the uncertainties with which they lived—prevarication would be wrong. Cliches being what they were, well, there was something beautifully simple about that whole honesty thing. Less to keep track of later. Less guilt to allow to fester.
Pressing his lips together, Jack considered his words, organizing his thoughts before broaching his target subject. Even then, it took him a minute to speak. "What did you mean yesterday? About taking us in a new direction?"
Sam suddenly found the toes of her sneakers fascinating. It seemed like forever before she answered, and when she did, she avoided his gaze. "I was just thinking about our future."
"Our immediate future?" He exhaled slowly. Speaking more softly, now, he pushed back a little. "You're going to Atlantis."
"No." She shook her head, tucked her hair back behind her ear. "Further than that."
"What about it?"
Sam pressed her cheek to her knees, turning her face towards him, studying him—his posture—his expression. He was used to this—to her almost unnatural ability to read him. It seemed that she was more hesitant just now, though, her eyes cloudy, and the full line of her lips taut. "When I spoke with General Landry yesterday, he asked me to take a pregnancy test."
Jack's fingers tightened on the quilt, digging into the ground beneath.
"I did it. Took one. Yesterday after my run. You were in your office reviewing the budget requirements for the Alpha Site or something."
"It was actually personnel exchanges for your new command."
"Whatever." She lifted a shoulder in a haphazard shrug. "It doesn't matter."
"And?"
"And it was negative." She swallowed, returning her focus to the way the water sparkled gently in the late-morning sun. "Just as I had expected."
"Was there the possibility that it could have been positive?"
"Not really. It's only been a few weeks that we've been together. But realistically—no. It was—unlikely. I've always taken precautions."
He hadn't. He'd known that she was pretty rigorous about her birth control, so neither of them had thought that necessary for him to do anything more. She'd never been missish about talking about that kind of thing, just as he'd never been obtuse about how biology worked. It was just how it was.
Jack watched as she lowered a hand to play with the reel on the rod closest to her. He was certain that she hadn't wanted to bring this up—had been trying to ignore the subject. But he was equally sure that she needed to talk about it. Still—the conversation was hers to lead, and he'd let her have it.
She worried at the handle, swinging it back and forth before flickering a look at him again. "I've been thinking about it, though."
"About what, Sam?" He didn't want to force her to say it, but he needed to know exactly what they were talking about. "About kids?"
"About the possibility of them."
Damn it. Damn it all. Jack pressed his eyes closed as he dipped his chin towards his chest. He threaded his fingers through his hair, finishing with a scratch at the nape of his neck."Do you want to have a child?"
"I didn't think so." She shook her head, a harsh laugh escaping her lips. "I really didn't think so. But lately—it's just—well. I don't know."
"Sam—"
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Jack." Looking over at him, she bit her lips together before continuing. "I know that you don't want children."
Didn't he? Had he ever said that? To be honest, he hadn't really ever thought about having another child. He'd never considered that Sam might want that complication in their lives. Not once in the two-plus years that they'd been married had this subject been hinted at, let alone discussed.
That she was so hesitant about it—that her cheeks had lost all color, her eyes progressively becoming wider—her breathing stilted, and raw—all bore testament to the fact that she had been thinking about it. And she'd been hesitant—nervous, perhaps—about bringing it up.
Well, hell.
"It's not that I don't want them, Sam." He leaned towards her, edging a little closer as he tilted his head to catch her eye. "I love kids."
"I know. I always thought that you'd be such a great dad—" she faltered, sucking in a breath in a sound that could only be described as a hiss. "I know that you were a great father."
In the moment, he had to tear his gaze from hers, returning it to the water, and the reeds, and the ducks as they lazily paddled around the glassy surface. The boys laughing as their boat grazed the water—joined now by a dog splashing at the water's edge. "Not so great."
It lay thick and deep between them—the chasm they'd never crossed. Charlie. Charlie and his death. She'd never asked him about it, and he'd certainly never offered it up as fodder for conversation.
Still—
He usually couldn't think about it without pain. Pain and guilt and that clench in his gut that reminded him that he'd failed so spectacularly in his responsibilities that his own life had been forfeit because of it.
Nuclear bombs and alien 'Gates and suicide missions and all.
The pain was still there. Not even lessened—just more bearable, maybe. Less acute. Not as searing. Tempered by time and experience. And perhaps a little grace. Mercy, damn it. When he never thought he'd deserve such a thing.
When had that happened? When had he begun to heal?
Probably at about the same time that she'd entered his life. Sam Carter, with her endless plucky determination. The ridiculous faith that she had in him. The possibility that she carried deep within.
And eyes so blue that the oceans and skies billowed with envy.
"I would never ask you to do anything you don't want to do, Jack."
"I know, Sam." Reaching towards her, he took her hand, threading his fingers between hers. "I just—"
Wetness. Fur. And worse—the musky, dense stink of wetness and fur. And rough paws and sharp nails and bits of grass and dirt flying—
"Matilda! Stop!"
The furry wet stink slammed into Jack's back—throwing him to one side and yanking his hand from Sam's—then scrambled around him in a tumble of soft ruff and flailing limbs. Before he'd even processed the sopping fur, Jack was being mauled by a tongue—and a tooth every now and again, as a slobbering sodden mess took over his lap, seemingly intent upon invading his actual body.
"Matilda!"
"Matilda! Come back here!"
Two voices now, and footsteps running across the grass towards them. Paws everywhere—on his legs and chest and coming to a rest on his shoulders—and then more of that tongue—and a whiffing kind of bark every once in a while, just to make things interesting. And that tail—whipping back and forth spewing more water and mud with every stroke.
Jack instinctively grabbed the wet furball with both hands, leaning back out of tongue range and glaring at the animal.
"Sit." He'd used his 'General' voice.
Matilda sat.
Gingerly, he shifted so that the dog was sitting between his outstretched legs. Maintaining a grip on the scruff of the mutt's neck with one hand, Jack swiped wet leaves and broken twigs out of the dog's coat with the other. It was the same dog that had been playing near the boys at the pond. White paws and legs, gray muzzle and face, one black ear, one white. Matching gray patches were over her eyes—which were a startling shade of icy blue. The rest of the dog was a lively mottle of black, gray, and white, with a splotch of brown here and there, just for fun. One ear flipped forwards, while the other ear was perked up in a perfect little triangle.
"You caught her!"
Jack glared first at the dog, and then down at what had been a clean t-shirt, but which now was a wet, muddy, grassy mess. Tilting his head back, he looked up at the newcomers—a pair of twenty-somethings—one male, one female. They were wearing matching shirts emblazoned with a cartoon dog and the words Alexandria's Fur Lovers.
Clever.
"I'm so sorry, sir." The guy reached over and slid a thin cord around the dog's neck. Sliding the loop closed, he stepped backwards, trying to haul Matilda with him. He had a tattoo of a paw print on the inside of his forearm just above his wrist. "This one has been giving us trouble all day."
"She just won't stay in the kennel." The girl piped in. She was short. Cute and perky, her hair was caught up in ponytails on either side of her head. "She got out and we've been chasing her ever since."
"Well." Jack looked down at his shirt, where smears of mud were plastering the fabric against his body, before grimacing down to his legs, where sludgy paw prints made a dense pattern on the denim covering his thighs. Grunting, he peered back up at Tattoo. "Now, you've caught her."
Except that he hadn't. Matilda shook her head—a shake that traveled all the way down her body to the tip of her flowing tail—throwing even more water and mud off her as it went. She whined, dancing backwards before twisting her entire body and nimbly slipping free of the make-shift leash. Leaping to the side, she dodged around Ponytails and Tattoo and made a run for it back down towards the pond.
"Son of a bitch!" Tattoo groaned, whipping the cord against his leg as he spun around and ran down in the direction of the water.
Ponytails threw an apologetic look at the O'Neills, then turned and sprinted after Tattoo. Within moments, they'd all disappeared around the large stands of reeds on the far end of the pond.
"I think he's got that wrong." Jack frowned. Standing, he brushed off the worst of the muck on his jeans. He was wet from head to toe—wet dirt in his hair dripped down over his forehead and around his ears to land on his muddy t-shirt. His jeans had been blue—but now they seemed more brown than anything else. Even his shoes had guck all over them.
"Oh?" Sam was biting back a smile as she scrutinized the wreckage. "Which part?"
"The whole 'son of a' part." Casting her a wry look, he swiped at the grit seeping from his hair down under his collar, shaking it off his fingertips before going back for more. "The dog's name was 'Matilda'. So—she'd be the bitch, right? Not the 'son of a'. In the purely conventional sense of the word, of course."
"I guess." Sam brushed dirt and grass off the quilt. With a graceful motion, she rose, making a thorough survey at his shirt—at the dirt on his thighs and lower legs—trying to make sense of the mess before breathing out a hapless chuckle. "It's no use, Jack."
She was right. With a final go at the muck on his cheek, Jack grimaced. Sighing, he gave up on trying to mitigate the disaster and brushed at the crap on the quilt with the side of his shoe. "I've been dirtier."
"Remember that one planet?"
"Where it rained for two days—"
"And we got caught in that mud slide—"
"And 'Gated back home so filthy that Hammond actually ordered us to be hosed off topside?"
She grinned. A little sadly, maybe. Peeking up at him from beneath the fringe of her bangs, she crinkled her nose again. "Do you want to go home?"
"Not really." It was a beautiful morning. Warm—breezy—clouds dotting the sky. Perfect. And she was here with him. Even more perfect. As if to prove the point, he sat back down, extending one leg and propping his elbow on his bent knee. "I'll dry."
Down by the water, Tattoo and Ponytails were still chasing Matilda. They were past the reeds, now, on the other side of the lake, ducks quacking and squawking whenever the dog got too close. Some bystanders had joined in the race—including the boys, who had apparently grown bored with their boat. While the kids were laughing as they ran after the beast, the other volunteers and park-goers seemed rather less than amused by the game.
The dog, on the other hand, was having a ball. Ears erect, tail wagging, tongue lolling out the side of her mouth, Matilda was having her best day.
Jack's gaze moved from the scene back towards his wife, who had lowered herself to sit next to him. Closer, this time, both knees drawn up. She'd rested her chin on one upturned hand, using the other in a vain effort to clear the mud off the quilt between them. In between passes, she was watching him—her face an amalgam of expressions too complex—too disparate—to try to read.
For a moment, he simply looked at her, finally bridging the distance between them to lay his hand over where hers was still worrying at the mud on the quilt. "There's no point, Sam."
"I'm sorry your quilt got dirty."
"It's ours." He flickered a glance at it. "And I'm pretty certain that it's indestructible."
"Was it special to you?"
"Not really." Jack thought about it for a minute, trying to recall which of his aunts had made it for him. Margaret, probably. His mother's older sister. Or maybe it had been his father's only brother's wife. She'd been crafty. What was her name? Did it even really matter? "I don't even remember exactly where I got it."
"Well, I'm still sorry."
"Don't be." Her fingers felt smooth beneath his, a little gritty, but soft beneath the grime. "Did you want to keep talking about—"
"Not really." Her cheeks flushed pink. "Not here. Not now. I shouldn't even have brought it up."
"Sam, if this is something that you want, then let's talk."
"I'm not sure it really is, though." She let out a wry, half-hysterical laugh. The kind that meant the opposite of how it sounded. Tilting her head away from him, she chewed at her bottom lip a bit. "The only living being for whose life I've ever been responsible was Schroedinger."
Jack needed to work to place the reference. "The cat. You gave him to Nariz."
"Narim."
The correction was automatic. Jack doubted that she even knew she'd done it. Stifling a smile, he gave her a nod. "Right. Narim."
"I just gave him away. I didn't even really miss him."
"Which one? Narim or the cat?"
"Take your pick." Her tone had turned a little sour. "So, you can see what kind of mom I'd be."
Oh, lord. The images that conjured. Images he'd never allowed himself to even begin to entertain. Sam pregnant. Sam with a newborn in her arms—cuddled at her breast—or sitting on the couch in the living room reading a book about quantum mechanics to a toddler. Building a potato battery—or a naquadah reactor—with the kid for his science fair project. Christmas mornings and new bikes and lazy afternoons at the park with swings and slides.
Images that—if he were to be honest—were things he'd wanted to indulge, but had been afraid to. Despite the moment, he smiled, breathing past the sudden twinge in his throat. "You'd be an amazing mother, Sam."
For a long, long, time, she let that linger between them. She turned her hand, threading her fingers through his, her thumb rasping against the skin of his wrist. "I just think about it sometimes. But I've always known that isn't what you want, so I shouldn't even have said anything at all."
"I don't know that." He clenched his jaw, his fingers closing around hers. "I didn't know that you might want all that, so I've never really thought about it."
"We don't live together, Jack. At least, not until recently. We don't talk about these things. How could you know what I might want?"
As usual, she was right. O'Neill watched as a pink haze crept up her throat and painted her cheeks. "You could have told me."
"You're right." She leaned into his shoulder, resting her arm against his. "I thought you might be disappointed in me for possibly wanting something other than becoming a general."
"Never. I could never be disappointed in you, Sam." Vehement. Sure. Certain. If there was anything he knew—it was that. "Ever."
She relaxed some, her body melting into his side, her cheek against his shoulder.
"Do you want a child?"
"I never thought I did. Until—"
Until I fell for you. That's where she'd edited herself. Jack knew that for certain. "Until recently?
Her nod was hesitant, and small. As was her voice. "Yeah."
"I'm pushing sixty, Sam." It had to be said. The reality of the situation needed to be stated. "Don't you think I'm kind of old to be thinking about starting down that road?"
"And I'm nearly forty." More informational than anything else. She was weighing the arguments. Making some internal study of the facts. "We're both healthy. Active. Mentally sound. Ages are just numbers, aren't they?"
"You're going to be in a different galaxy." He reached out with his hand and flicked a chunk of drying mud at her—more teasing than anything else. "That would make this entire operation a little difficult to accomplish."
"True."
But. It was there. He knew that there was more she wanted to say.
Hell. He may as well hear it. He prodded her, his tone gentle. "But?"
She shoved her hand through her hair—then seemed to remember that there was still mud on it. With a resigned kind of groan, she ducked her chin towards her chest. "I was kind of thinking about retiring. About bowing out of all this."
At first, he thought he'd heard her wrong, but then he looked at her, at how the color was creeping up her throat. How she'd pressed her lips tightly enough that even her jaw was tense. She was in earnest. "Really?"
"I had lunch last month with some friends from the physics department at the Academy."
Jack's brows rose, and he passed his tongue over his lips. Tasting dirt, he wiped his face again on his sleeve before responding. "Oh?"
"Colonel Aldrich says there's a place for me there should I ever want it."
"In the Springs." Again—not in DC. Not with him. Jack turned his face into the wind, glaring past the reeds and the lake and the grass beyond towards the ball fields in the distance.
"That opportunity was in the Springs." She inhaled deeply before continuing. "But with my credentials, my education, my training, my service record—I could really get myself a position anywhere."
His mind worked through that in moments. "And if you're teaching, your life would be more conducive to the other thing."
"To having a baby." Her eyes were so, so blue. Wide—intense, really. She only looked at him for a beat before focusing back on the water. "It's why I asked for leave. I thought that you and I could have some time to really discuss it."
"So, this is something you've been thinking about."
"Maybe. Yeah." One tawny eyebrow peaked upwards. Her shoulders fell as that wrinkle appeared above the bridge of her nose again. "Yes. For a while now."
He wasn't sure what to say to that. On one hand, he'd been peeved that she'd taken the new assignment so quickly. On the other—he honestly had no idea how he felt about starting a family. It seemed that she was just as confuddled about the options as he was. In the end, he merely pressed his lips together and exhaled steadily.
"I'm sorry, Jack."
It shouldn't have taken him as long as it did to answer. When he finally found the right words, they seemed weak, somehow. He raised their hands, pressing a kiss—slightly gritty—to the inside of her wrist. "There's nothing to be sorry for, Sam."
"This is all wrong. This isn't how I'd wanted to have this conversation."
At this, he actually smiled for real. Shifting, he let go of her hand, draping his arm over her shoulders and pulling her close. He pressed his lips to her temple, breathing her in before smiling against the silk of her hair. "Wrong how? In public, in broad daylight, covered in mud and grime a few days before you're leaving our solar system?"
"Pretty much." Somehow, she pressed even closer—hip to thigh to calf—she turned her face towards his, capturing his dark eyes with her own blue ones. "So—just think about it, okay? When I get back, we can make decisions."
Fair enough.
Damn, but she was beautiful. Even smudged here and there with dirt and mud. Even with her hair mussed, and her lips pale, and her cheeks still tinged with pink. Even with the look she was giving him—uncertainty mixed with a raw brand of need that he didn't quite know what to do with.
Jack reached towards his wife, nudging her chin upwards with the back of his hand and picking at a splotch of dried mud with his thumb. His fingers wandered, brushing her hair back from her face, flicking some grass off her arm. Touching the soft curve of her cheek, the tantalizing fullness of her lower lip, he wondered again at what remarkable luck he'd had, to have been blessed with this woman.
Damn again. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. A pit had suddenly opened in his gut—the stark reality of what awaited him only a few days from this moment hit him with force. Good lord, he was dreading her leaving. "I'm really going to miss you, Sam."
"Me too." She turned towards him, leaning in to rest her forehead against his cheek. After a moment, she tilted her head up and pressed her lips to his jaw, his cheek, using her fingers to clear away whatever grime remained as she went. Her lips moved against his throat as she sighed. "I'll miss this."
She wasn't talking about the quilt, or the park, or the situation. Jack was intuitive enough to know that. She would miss him. Being with him. Being part of each other's lives. Doing this whole 'married' thing together.
"C'mere." He urged her closer, gratified when she complied immediately and pivoted around to end up straddling his lap.
Scooching closer to his body, she framed his face in her palms and bent to take his mouth, her touch light as her lips whispered against his own. Soft—undemanding. Nearly delicate—until she pressed further, urging his mouth open with her tongue against his lips and her fingers on his chin.
He should be used to this by now—the frisson of sensation that overtook him every time she touched him like this. But it still felt new. Perfect—exotic, somehow—whenever his wife reminded him that he wasn't alone in this intense need. Whenever she touched him in this way that reminded him of how many years they'd had to refrain from such indulgence.
"I thought you wanted to go fishing." Jack smiled against her lips, groaning a little when her hands wandered down his throat—his chest—coming to a rest on his sides as her knees tightened against his thighs. "In the purely conventional sense."
"I did." She nuzzled against his cheek, bumping his nose with her own, coming back to his lips again and again in between. "But now, I want to do it in the decidedly unconventional sense."
"I'm not sure that the Sundays in the Park people would appreciate that."
"They can go straight to hell."
"Even guitar guy?"
"Especially guitar guy."
Jack chuckled at that, capturing her jaw in his palms and delving deeper into her mouth. Damn, but she was sweet. Sweet, and eager, and forthright. Strong and lithe, her legs braced at his thighs, her body deliciously soft as she rocked against his own—
This time, he heard it first—even through the haze. Paws on the grass, excited panting, soft whuffling snorts. Shouts and hollers followed by footsteps sliding on the grass and sand.
Jack pivoted on his butt—reflexively shielding his wife with his larger body as Hurricane Matilda took aim once again on their position. The dog skidded to a stop at his side, then pushed her nose between Jack and Sam, whimpering as she tried to insinuate her body between theirs. Like a rabbit crawling into a burrow.
"Damned dog—"
"Whoa, girl—"
Who had said what didn't matter. Jack tangled his fingers in the dog's fur again, hauling her back as Sam rose on her knees and rotated off his lap.
The General voice had worked once, right? What the hell, he'd try it again. "Sit."
Matilda sat.
"Down."
She cocked her head to one side, her eyes focused on Jack, that single ear perked upright, the other one flopping forward. With barely any hesitation, she dropped down on her belly, then crossed her paws neatly in front of her. The image of a perfect little lady.
Despite himself, Jack smiled, then gave her an affectionate pat behind her ears. The dog seemed to relish it. She touched his hand with the tip of her nose, then whimpered again, pawing at the quilt in an effort to get closer to him.
"What is it with you and this guy, Matilda?" Tattoo had gotten there first. He was sweating profusely, breathing in large, heaping gasps. He practically fell to his knees beside the grubby beast, following Jack's lead in gripping her fur in his fist. "Again, sir. I am so sorry. I don't know why she can't leave you alone."
Jack looked down at the dog in front of him. She'd positioned herself at his side, looking up at him expectantly, her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. Her long, plumed tail was making neat fans in the grass behind her, as her entire back half wagged along. She was a pretty dog—obviously intelligent. More than a little wily. Too intelligent by half.
Kind of like another gorgeous girl he knew with piercing blue eyes and more brains than she knew what to do with.
Tattoo thrust his hand into his back pocket and withdrew an actual collar. Unfastening the plastic buckle, he slipped it around Matilda's neck and clipped it tightly. Then, he tugged on the adjustable strap until it was snug. From his back pocket, he took out a more substantial lead and hooked it to the metal clip on the collar. Apparently satisfied, he stood and passed a look of pure exasperation towards the General. "Again—I need to apologize for this damned dog."
"She might need a little training."
"She's had training." Ponytails careened to a halt just off the quilt. Bending forward, she braced her palms against her thighs and sucked in deep breaths as she cast less-than-kind looks at the dog. "Tons of it."
Tattoo raised a shoulder in a motion that was less 'shrug' and more 'resignation'. "She has. She just doesn't care. She's the last of a whole litter that we rescued last year. They were strays that we found in a culvert. That's why her tail hasn't been docked."
"That's usually done when they're pups." Ponytails wheezed a little, straightening and squinting off into the distance. "Obviously, there's no point in doing it now that she's nearly grown."
"She's not quite a year old, so she's really still a puppy." Tattoo grunted. "She's been through four different foster homes—all of whom have done the requisite training. She's the sweetest girl. She's not destructive. She's house trained. She's an Aussie, though—loaded with energy—and her breed doesn't technically mature for another year or so. She's just so damned willful. It's like she doesn't respect anyone and therefore doesn't see the need to obey them."
"I told you, Tony." Ponytails dragged her palm across her forehead, wiping at the sweat beading there. "We should just give up on this one."
Tony frowned, looking down at where the dog had crept even closer to Jack—close enough that her nose was tucked against his leg. "I don't believe that. And besides, I don't want to, Amber."
"Why not? She's not adoptable."
"If we can just find the right—"
"We'll take her."
It took Jack a moment to figure what had happened—who'd interrupted with the offer—only to realize that Sam had said it.
Sam—who had just waxed eloquent about handing her cat over to an alien without any afterthought. Sam, who had barely tolerated the dog he'd borrowed for Cassie so many years before. His wife, who was suddenly talking retirement, and babies, and new directions.
"Sam?"
"She could keep you company." Reaching across him, Sam ruffled her fingers through the soft fur behind the dog's ears. "While I'm deployed."
"Deployed?" Tattoo—er—Tony exchanged a look with Amber. "Are you military?"
"Air Force." Jack frowned. "Both of us."
"Adoption fees are always cut in half for those who serve." Amber's hair bounced as she spoke. "And you get a free bag of dog food."
Matilda had gotten close enough to him now that she could rest her muzzle on his thigh. She hadn't taken her eyes off him since she'd lain down.
"Aussies are a working breed. High energy and very focused." Jack buried his fingers in Matilda's fur, the corner of his mouth tilting when the dog leaned into his touch with a happy sigh. "She just needs a job."
"You like dogs. And she seems to like you." Sam flickered a look at Tony and Amber before meeting Jack's gaze again. "She could keep you busy. Lord knows that's one—maybe two—full time jobs."
"Because I'm such a hermit?"
"You calculated the nutritional value of Guinness, Jack." Sam grinned. "You need her as much as she needs you."
He caught her eyes in a narrow gaze. "I thought that you were thinking about expanding our family in other ways."
"Think of it like a dry run. Having a dog is kind of like having a kid. A little, at least. Maybe? If you hate it, then we'll draw back and punt."
"Are you sure that we need a dog and a kid?" He'd spoken quietly—practically whispering directly into her ear.
Not directly enough, however. Tony had heard him. Damn the ears of the young. "Aussies are great family dogs."
A selling point that Amber glommed onto. "Most of her foster families have had young children who have all loved her. And Matilda's a sweet girl, even if she's sometimes a pain in the ass."
Standing, Jack watched as the dog inched forward to put her muzzle on the tip of his shoe. "I have to ask—why 'Matilda'?"
Tony scratched at his chin. "We name our litters thematically. There were five puppies, all Australian Shepherds. So, we named them iconically Aussie names. Dundee, Barbie, Koala, Outback, and—"
Jack got there before Tony did. "Waltzing Matilda."
"Yep. Matilda." Amber nodded. "Adoptive families typically change the names, though."
"We'll take her."
Jack grimaced. "Sam—"
"I'm serious, Jack." Sam rose to her feet, reaching towards Tony and taking the leash out of his hands. Glancing down at the dog in question, she watched as Matilda lurched upwards, then bounded around Jack to sit obediently at Sam's side. "And look. She likes me a little, too."
"Are you sure?"
He'd asked her that once before—a few years before, standing outside the bridal suite in a swanky hotel. On the day that she'd planned to marry Pete. He could still see her—lips swollen from his kisses, her shoulders and back bare, her hair tangled by his hands. That damned peach dress with its layers of fluff and its traitorous straps and the holster on her bare thigh. He'd asked her, and then she'd taken him inside. And then—he'd asked her to marry him.
"I'm sure, Jack." She was there, too. She'd remembered. She'd followed him into their past. "Just like last time."
"Because if we do this," he reached for the leash, running his fingers up the braided nylon until he was touching her hand. "If we do this, I'm going to want it all."
"All?" Her eyes were wide—her cheek just hinting at a dimple. Her lips tilted upwards in the beginning of a smile. "You mean—"
"Everything."
"We'll take her." Sam ducked her chin to her chest, biting back the grin that was begging to be released. "We'll take the damned dog."
—-OOOOOOO—-
"I'll be 'Gating out soon."
"I figured." Jack glanced down at his watch. He'd already set the secondary time face to reflect Atlantis mission time, or its nearest approximation. From experience, he knew that he'd have to rejigger that every once in a while in order to keep tabs on what time it was where she was.
"I'm sorry to have to call so late."
"It's early, Sam." Just after two in the morning. Two-eighteen, to be precise. He'd been in bed, but he hadn't been able to sleep. They'd talked about her calling before she shipped out, and he'd been anticipating it. "And you know that I don't mind."
"I just really wanted to talk to you before I left."
He was in bed. The bed in which, forty-eight hours before, they'd both lain awake, alternately talking about nonsense and losing themselves in each others' touch. He could still smell her on the sheets, on her pillow. Could still practically feel her heat, even though right now she was all the way across the country from him.
Soon to be on the other side of the galaxy. Or something. He never could figure out exactly where things were in the Great Dark Beyond.
Last night had been rough. He'd showered and sat in bed reading for a while. She'd called and they'd talked about the mundane—packing up the Colorado house, having her mail forwarded to his Virginia address, leaving an extra key for Cassie. And when they'd hung up, he'd sat there for hours, staring at the ceiling trying to sleep.
That's when a whimper at his bedside had caught his attention. A whimper that had become a whine, and then a muzzle on the mattress. And then a paw.
Ultimately, the dog had made her way up onto the bed, turning in a tight circle three times before flopping down where Sam's feet had been the night before. With a grand sigh and a twitch of her pointy ear, she'd promptly fallen asleep. Not a substitute for his wife, but certainly a comfort in her absence.
"I'm glad you called." Stifling a yawn, Jack lay back on pillow, raking his fingers through his hair. "I miss you."
"You're probably cuddling with the dog." Sam chuckled softly on her end of the line. "Is she on the bed with you?"
"No."
"Liar."
"Look at it this way." Jack passed a glance down at the furry mass near his feet. She was clean, at least. They'd bathed her as soon as they'd gotten her home, brushing out the loosened leaves and sand she'd gathered up in her grand adventure. "She's keeping your side of the bed warm."
"I've been replaced."
"Never."
"Good to know."
"But hey—I finally figured out the right name for her." Jack smiled, pressing the receiver to his ear. Reaching out his foot, he rifled the dog's fur with his toes. They'd gone through myriad names without having found one that fit.
"Oh?"
"You know how she does that dancing thing?" It was sweet, really. Whenever he or Sam had walked in the house, the dog had followed along—anticipating their course in an oddly endearing kind of dance routine. She was dainty, almost—lissome and nimble—her paws light on the hardwood floors as she'd pranced around them.
"Yeah?"
"So, today I was doing laundry, and she was right there, and I looked down at her and felt like I was in one of those old movies. You know—the ones where people burst into inexplicable song and dance."
"My mom and I used to love watching those old movies." Sam's voice had gone a little wispy. "Like White Christmas, or Singin' in the Rain."
"Right." Jack kicked the sheet off his feet, cocking his knee and digging his heel into the mattress. "Anyway, so I looked at her and just knew."
"Are you going to keep me in suspense?"
"Do you want me to?"
"Well, I do have a rather important appointment on the opposite end of the universe." Her voice carried more than a hint of laughter. "But take your time."
"Smart ass."
"You knew that before you married me."
"Anyway, so I've named her Gracie." Jack smiled down at the dog, whose ear had twitched again at the sound of her name. "Grace. You know—like George and Gracie."
"That's really perfect." Sam switched hands with the phone receiver—things got muffled for a moment before she spoke again. "I've got to go. They're dialing the 'Gate."
"Sam—I—"
"Jack—"
A brief pause, then Jack broke the silence. "You first."
"I was just going to tell you that I love you."
"Yeah." Closing his eyes, he tried to memorize exactly what that sounded like. What this moment felt like. How he could still smell her, could instantly remember how she'd felt the night before in his arms even as she talked to him now from thousands of miles away. How this woman—the most incredible woman in the universe—could possibly have chosen him. How damned lucky he was. "I love you, too."
"I'll be home before you know it." She dropped her voice. There were sounds behind her—crew members, tech support, the other people traveling with her to the new assignment. "And then we'll get started on what comes next."
"I'm ready for all of it."
"Me too."
She inhaled sharply, and Jack could imagine her face. Could practically see her eyes—cloudy, visceral, raw. Could hear the hitch in her breath that told him that she was struggling to stay strong. "Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Just come back safe."
"You stay safe, too." Silence, then a swallow, and a sniffle. "I've got to go."
"'Bye, Sam."
"'Bye, Jack."
—-OOOOOOO—-
Thank you to everyone who has followed along in my Bingo adventure. This has been such an amazing ride for me—and I'm so glad that starrybouquet set this whole thing up! I appreciate each and every read, kudo, comment, review, and follow—you all are the best!
Oh—and this trope was "Little Girl Named Grace", of course. Another Sam/Jack trope favorite that I've never used. ;)