"Absolutely fucking not, Carter."
"Please, Sir; it's Cassie's birthday!" Sam bites her lip and stares up at Jack.
"Don't you dare give me puppy dog eyes," he groans. "Ice skating, yes. Roller skating, no."
"Roller blading, Sir."
"Whatever, still no."
"I can't believe you're afraid to-"
"I'm not afraid to," he hisses, bristling with indignation. What the hell are you saying that for? Yes you are afraid, you idiot. "I just-"
Sam shrugs and crosses her arms over her chest; she gives him a disappointed look she knows is unfair, but Cassie is turning 12, and all she wants is for them to join her on the rink for her new favorite hobby. Sam tells herself it's no different than when Jack uses their favorite little girl to guilt her into things, but she can already feel her resolve crumbling as the crease between his eyebrows sharpens and his cheeks suck in slightly.
"Gimme the roller skates, Carter."
"Roller blades, Sir." She hands him the blades she had correctly guessed were his size and chews her lips as she watches him drop to the bench between them and untie his shoes. His fingers easily push off the sneakers and press them into her hands for their shared locker before he slides his feet into the roller blades, curiously pressing his toes and flexing his arch against the confines of the hard plastic before he tightens the laces and ties them neatly. He stands confidently and winks at her despite his lack of comfort.
"How about that, Carter?"
"Very nice, Sir," Sam bounces gently in her skates, clapping her hands and grinning like a fool. "Now let's try moving."
Jack sighs and tests his balance with a few pushes forward. Okay, it's not too different from the ice. He mentally checks off information about his body and how it's dealing with the differences and how he's moving, reacting. He realizes that here on the low carpet is going to be wildly different from the glossy wooden surface of the actual rink, but he's a fucking former black ops interplanetary soldier and he'll be damned if a painted floor with strobe lights over it is going to be what takes him down after all this time. His eyes flick over to Sam, who is positively giddy with his participation, and given the somersault in his belly, he knows that's one more reason to succeed. "C'mere," he says, holding out his hand. She immediately reaches out to meet him and allows his long fingers to weave between hers. "If I go down, you go down." Phrasing, you idiot.
"Understood, Sir."
"No giggling."
"Of course not, sir."
"Well, let's go, Carter; you're taking the lead on this one," he says, gesturing with a flourish out toward the rink. He tries not to react to her nervous smile and instead only follows her gentle tug onto the wooden rink, heavily glossed over with resin.
The dazzle of the flickering lights and sudden increase in volume of music raises the hairs at the back of his neck, but her warm palm against his tethers him back to reality and he easily finds the brightest points in the room, her sparkling eyes and smile. He uses them as a focal point, her face a lodestar to help him focus as she skates backward at first and tugs him along. He realizes she's been talking and squeezes her hand, using his other hand to point at his ear while saying, "What?"
"Sorry, Sir!" she says with a raised voice. "So the mechanics here are basically the same as what you're used to on the ice, with the obvious exception of environment, and the other being that you might not be able to stop as easily as you would on the ice."
He looks down briefly and notices that he is, in fact, skating as he would on the ice and he hadn't even been trying. Like a bike, I guess? He feels balanced and safe on the surface of the rink, and he suspects that he could do without the added security of her hand in his, but he's not ready to relinquish it yet.
Jack tugs her a little closer so he doesn't have to yell. "Why is stopping different?"
Sam leans into his space a little further and points down with the hand not linked to his. "I mean, frankly put, Sir, ice is very slippery and you're not on ice, so if you turn the way you're used to doing here on these wheels, you'll find that it is much easier for plastic wheels to find purchase on this surface than it is for metal on ice." She leans closer to speak more directly into his ear to avoid shouting near the children skating by; he instinctively puts his hand on the small of her back. "You'll likely fall on your ass, Sir."
His eyebrows rise with the corner of his mouth, "Oh yeah?"
She smiles back and he wonders how she finds a new way to look so fetching every single day, even under gaudy flashing lights and against the rhythmic thumping of whatever song is playing. "Yeah, Sir. Right on your ass, very undignified."
He considers this and nods, never tearing his eyes from hers. His fingers feel something warm on her back and he realizes it's exposed flesh where her shirt has pulled away from the waist of her jeans. He lingers there for a moment before dropping his hand and asking, "So how do I stop?"
"You have a stopper on the back of the blade, sir. It's on your heel. But for now, it might be best if you stick with me and I'll help you?"
Jack recognizes an attempt to disguise a desire when he sees one, but since he shares that desire, he ignores it and nods, grinning at her. "Lead on, Carter."
Her smile gets even brighter again somehow, and now he barely notices the garish setting around them. She gracefully turns back to face the same direction as him and they skate hand in hand for a few songs, Jack gripping her close even though he's certain he'd be fine now and, worst case, he could basically skate into the wall with his hands out for an ungraceful but still successful stop. He makes enough mistakes to make it look like their contact is necessary, and he thinks he's successfully fooled everyone who sees them, everyone except Carter, of course, who knew he'd be fine all along.
Just as Jack is beginning to actually enjoy himself, the rink turns much darker and more intimate. He feels Carter's grip flex, weaken, and flex again and looks over in time to see the panic in her eyes. "It's, uh, a slow song sir."
"Ah," he says, not bothering to pretend he doesn't know what that means. "Beer break?" He squeezes her hand. She smiles and tugs him with her as they approach one of the exit areas, her body turning to face him again. Her free hand settles on his ribcage as she slows and he slows with her. He uses the final seconds of relative darkness as an opportunity to squeeze her elbow and wink at her.
They sit on a hard wooden bench looking over the half wall at all the awkward tweens skating hand in hand but with enough room for the whole trinity between them to something Sam says is by Mariah Carey. Jack sips on his beer and pops a tater tot in his mouth before looking over at Sam, who is smiling. "Whatcha smiling at?"
"Look at Cassie," she says, lifting her beer to indicate a hot pink flash in the strobing lights of the rink. Cassie is proudly at the center of two of her friends, three happy little girls skating hand in hand, not even concerned with the alleged purpose or reason for the slower songs and moody lighting. "She's so confident and so free. It's infectious."
Jack smiles and reaches his arm behind her on the bench. "Yes it is."
They both watch Cassie and her friends giggle and tug each other around and around the rink through the slow break and back into the hyped up laser light rotation when it comes back. The DJ announces they have a birthday girl tonight and Cassie positively glows as she's ushered to the center of the rink and all of her friends circle her for the promised tradition of birthday hokey-pokey on skates.
"You were fine skating on your own, weren't you, Sir?"
Jack smiles as he stands and pulls her up by her elbow before grasping her hand tightly again. "Yes, I was," he says. He tugs them both toward the entrance back to the rink. "But I'm gonna need some help with this hokey-pokey, Carter."
"Yessir," she laughs, falling in line and pretending to guide him out onto the glossy floor of the roller rink.
