Falling

Three

Sam shook the dirt down to the bottom of the plastic baggie, squeezing out the excess air before sealing it. Tapping the excess dirt out of the auger, she set it at her feet and grabbed the pen out of the front pocket of her Tac vest. Clicking it open, she jotted down the coordinates of the sample and laid it in the case with the rest of them.

The cave was cool—dark, and damp. She'd packed headlamps in the kit, but the Colonel had refused to put his on, choosing to linger near the cavern's opening rather than accompany her deeper inside.

He'd mumbled something about the clouds and keeping tabs on the weather, but Sam had seen his eyes go glassy at the prospect of venturing into the enclosed space. One thing that Colonel Haymore hadn't included in his report was the narrowness of the abandoned mine shaft and its network of tunnels. Neither had he indicated how short the inhabitants of the planet must have been—even Sam had been forced to crawl her way through the deepest of the shafts.

"You about done in there?" O'Neill's voice echoed off the rock walls. Even distorted by the close confines of the caverns, he sounded concerned.

Sam picked up the auger and slid everything around five feet to her right. Eyeballing the wall of the shaft, she chose a site and pushed the tip of the tool into the hard-packed dirt. She gave it a good shove before glancing in the direction of the cave entrance. "Just about, Sir."

"Because the sky is looking awfully dark off to the west."

"Understood."

Twist. Twist. Twist.

Her knuckles hit the dirt on the sixth turn of the tool. Reaching out, she grabbed the baggie she'd prepared, propping it open just beneath the sample site. With a steady pull, she withdrew the auger from the wall, then dumped its contents into the bag.

Shake. Squeeze. Seal.

She wrote the specimen's location and number, then tossed it into the case with the rest of them.

"Carter?"

"I'm just about done, Sir." Wiping off the auger, she returned it to its spot in the sample case, then secured the flimsy inner lid over the compartment holding the samples. The pen went in last, and then Sam closed the two halves of the case together and flipped the latches shut.

Looking upward, she gauged the height of the chamber, then made one more cursory scan of the small room, pointing the headlamp into the pertinent areas—corners, ground, ceiling—she should have paid more attention in her geology classes. She'd liked to have included proper terminology for the topographical elements of the cavern system in her report. But, all she could recall was her college professor repeating some mnemonic dross about stalactites hanging tightly from the ceiling, while stalagmites grew up into mighty formations. Not so stupid, she guessed, since she still remembered them

Regardless, she'd gotten the necessary samples. The next step was to get them back to the SGC and hand them over to the correct team to do a more thorough analysis. They could take things from there.

"Major!"

Sighing, she gripped the case and rose, careful not to hit her head on the low ceiling. Sam headed back out the way she'd come—straight, then right. Right again and straight out to the main room, where the Colonel stood several feet away from the mouth of the cave.

His back was to her, but even so, she could tell that he was annoyed. And there was no question as to why.

Forty minutes ago, when she'd started collecting the samples, the weather had been cloudy, but stable. Now? Rain fell in sheets, and she could hear thunder grumbling against the mountain. And while she'd calculated upon reaching the summit that they had more than four hours before dusk, it was nearly as dark outside as if it were already night.

Sighing out a curse, Sam strode towards where the Colonel leaned against the inner wall. She tugged the lamp from her head and turned it off, letting it dangle from her fingers by the strap.

"Jonas and Teal'c have gone back to the SGC for some bad weather gear." O'Neill indicated his radio with a nod. "My guess is that the ravine down there is going to be flooded before too long."

There hadn't been a bridge—at least, not that Sam had seen. She'd followed O'Neill down the steep incline, turning her feet sideways for better purchase, then taking a running start to scramble up the other side. The ravine wasn't overly wide—but the distance from bank to bank made it impossible to jump across, and the depth precluded wading. At the very least, they'd need harnesses and safety gear if they didn't want to be swept downstream.

Sam edged closer to where the Colonel was standing. He'd situated himself wisely—well away from where the rain was already pooling around the entrance. His stance was deceptively casual—one shoulder propped up against a smooth spot in the rock wall, one leg crossed over the other. He'd wrapped the straps of the headlamp around his wrist, but he hadn't turned it on. There was no need for it—the lightning outside, intermittent as it was, combined with the sunlight filtering through the storm clouds was still sufficient to see.

Sam grimaced. It was downright ugly outside. More than just a squall—this was a full-fledged deluge.

"How long has it been raining?"

"It just started." Nodding towards the gloom outside, he frowned. "But it's not kidding around out there."

"I'm sorry, Sir." She glanced sideways at him, trying to gauge his mood, only to find his expression unreadable. "I didn't realize."

"It came on fast." He made a dismissive sound, raising a shoulder in a wry shrug. "By the time I figured out how bad it was going to get, it was too late to get back to the 'Gate. We'd have been out in the middle of it when it hit."

"Anything out of Jonas and Teal'c?"

"Not since they left. It hit them first. They hightailed it back home at the first crack of lightning."

Sam turned her gaze back out into the storm, nodding. The 'Gate stood in the middle of a valley. Other than the obelisk, there hadn't been anything else until the surrounding mountains. Certainly, nothing even approaching shelter. "Oh."

"The weather on this planet seems to be a tad more unpredictable than the survey team was able to apprehend." He looked over at her. "You might want to include that little tidbit in your report."

"Yes, Sir."

Shoving away from the wall, he moved a few feet further into the cavern to where he'd laid his gear. Turning, he slid down to sit on the ground and leaned back against the wall. "So, we might as well get comfortable."

"Okay." Sam busied herself checking the latches on the case as she moved to the part of the cave where she'd deposited her pack and weapon earlier. Setting the sample kit down next to her rifle, she squatted down and reached into her kit, rummaging around until she found the package she'd shoved in there earlier.

Grabbing her canteen from the side pocket, she stood and walked over to where the Colonel was sitting and stopped near his boots. She held up the bag. "I brought snacks."

"What kind?"

"Energy bars. Trail mix." She turned the package from side to side, taking a quick inventory. "Some dried fruit."

He sent a dubious sort of look her way. "Apricots?"

"Mangos." Handing him the bag, she pivoted, lowering herself to sit next to him and tossing the headlamp to the side. "And those peanut butter ball things that you like."

"Really?" Ridiculously, he'd perked up a little. Pulling the seal open, he handed her an energy bar before digging around until he'd found the mangos. "I only packed a few MREs."

Sam balanced the bar on her thigh and unscrewed the lid of her canteen. She tried to disguise the disdain in her expression, but knew that her tone would betray her. She'd never been able to hide just how much she hated the things. "I figured as much."

"We may still need those meals, Major." O'Neill chided gently. "Who knows when we'll be able to get out of here."

Sam glanced past him out towards the cave's entrance. "It's got to stop raining eventually, right?"

But he merely 'hmmmed' a little around a mouthful of mango.

Lifting the canteen, she took a long swig, swiping at the corners of her mouth with the pad of her thumb before setting the container back down on the opposite side of her. It was quiet, but for the roar of the storm and the sound of dirt and debris shifting beneath them as they fidgeted. Sam went for the oat bar on her leg before nodding towards the mouth of the cave. "We might have to retreat deeper into the cave system if that puddle expands—"

"No."

The response came too quickly—too loudly—and sharply enough that Sam startled and dropped the bar, which bounced on the uneven terrain and ended up skittering over to land next to O'Neill's thigh. Breathing out a curse, she reached for it, only to find he'd gotten there first, his fingers bumping against the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry, Sir—"

"No—I'm—just—" he'd gone pale, his lips thin, and white. He'd shut his eyes and was breathing carefully—deliberately—his fingers clutching the energy bar as if it were a lifeline. "Just no."

It was dim inside the cave, but she could still see the vein throbbing at his temple, the thin sheen of sweet on his throat. His jaw was tensing and releasing nearly as rhythmically as his breathing—quick hisses in and out through tight lips.

Almost as if he were—

Imprisoned. Bound. Held captive inside his own body. Forced to act against his will. Flayed, pierced, left to bleed out. Poisoned. Killed over and over again. Locked inside the sarcophagus—

Small, tight spaces.

Afraid—claustrophobic. Or haunted still.

He'd crushed her energy bar, his knuckles nearly as ashen as his face. When he opened his hand, he seemed surprised to find it there—misshapen and mangled, and glared down at it before hurling it across the cavern to explode against the opposite wall.

"Sir—I'm sorry."

Shaking his head, he swore—bitterly—crudely—before tucking his chin to his chest and squeezing his eyes closed. When he opened them again, he gave her a quick sideward look before refocusing away—from her—from the cave—out into the night, where the wind and rain seemed to mirror his sudden mood.

It took four separate rolls of thunder before he spoke again. "Stop apologizing, Major. It's not your fault."

Why she did it, she couldn't guess. It just seemed right to reach out and take his hand, threading her fingers between his and sweeping her thumb along the side of his palm. She didn't say anything—couldn't say anything—that would have made the situation any better. But since he'd told her to stop saying sorry—

So, Sam simply sat there, the rock wall rough at her back, and her butt slowly falling asleep as the storm thundered outside. After a few minutes, his fingers relaxed around hers, and he echoed her touch with his own thumb, skimming a path from her knuckles nearly to her wrist. And when she glanced over, she saw that his jaw wasn't quite as tight—his skin not as pallid. And eventually, he scrubbed at his forehead with the palm of his free hand and gritted out a groan.

"I couldn't leave her behind."

Sam's fingers stilled in his. "Sir?"

"Shayla." He glanced at her for a heartbeat before looking back over at the energy bar he'd thrown. "The woman."

"Oh." She'd seen her. The Tok'ra had allowed the Tau'ri to ask a few questions, at least, before they'd whisked her away to one of their strongholds. Sam recalled a slight woman—pretty. Waif-life. Light hair cut short and docile eyes. She'd radiated innocence. Naïveté. And Sam hadn't been able to reconcile that with the knowledge that she'd been Lo'taur to a monster. "Her."

"She was like this ghost in my head." His voice had gone dusky—hoarse. Only slightly louder than the rain falling outside. "A phantom—or whatever—just there on the peripheries. I could remember her, but I didn't know who the hell she was."

"From the shared memories." At least Sam understood that part. She'd seen Martouf—and other members of the Tok'ra—in much the same way. \aces and feelings without context or history. Like flipping through a stranger's family album and finding your own image in the background. "After Kanan suppressed you."

He sighed, turning his head to study her. "I guess that's one way to put it."

"It's how it felt for me." She hesitated. She'd never spoken about her own experience with him like this. "With Jolinar."

Usually, he flinched at reminders of her time as host. They hadn't understood it as it was happening—and it certainly hadn't been a true symbiotic blending. Through the years, Sam had finally found some peace with the experience, but she knew it would take more time for him. And sure enough, his eyes had gone hard again.

He looked down at their joined hands, turning them from side to side, seemingly rifling through his own memories. "I kept asking why he needed to rescue her. Why she was so damned important. It didn't make any sense. The Tok'ra aren't overly sentimental about operatives, right? Why was he so damned obsessed about one human woman in an army of thousands."

It hadn't been in any of the reports, but it would have been inane to dance around the subject. Still, Sam kept her voice impassive. "He was in love with her."

The Colonel grimaced, making a bitter sound deep in his chest. "Yeah."

"And he used your own moral code against you. Forced you to go after her, and then abandoned you." She leaned closer, bringing their joined hands to rest on her thigh. "But ultimately, the only reason that you were blended with him was because—"

"Of you?" Stronger, now, one brow quirked upward and his expression more drained than angry. "You are not to blame for any of this, Carter."

"Colonel—I was the one that asked you to do it."

"But you weren't the one that made me go back to that fortress." He sighed. "That was on him."

Him. Kanan. Sam sighed. "Maybe. But you would never have been blended if it weren't for me."

"You're right." He tightened his fingers in hers. "Because I would have been dead."

She merely waited, looking down at their clasped hands—at the bandage he'd positioned just behind her knuckles earlier. At his fingers—long and adept and scarred. Even in the fading light, she could see the hair on the back of his hand and the dirt around his nails. Could recall the care he'd taken to position the bandage just so, smoothing the adhesive around her wound with a tenderness she'd tried to neither notice nor respond to.

"I know why you asked me to take the snake, Carter." Lower, now. As if he were worried they'd be overheard. Ridiculous, given the circumstances. "But ultimately, the decision was mine, and mine alone. You might have been the one to extend the offer—but I was the one who agreed to it."

"If I'd known what would happen—" but she stopped herself before she could finish that thought. It would have been a lie at worst, and a distortion of reality at best. In that moment—the Colonel's body failing and no possible way to help him, she'd felt helpless. Desperate. Filled with despair at the thought of letting him go when there was any—any—other alternative.

"What would you have done, Carter?" His tone was mild, yet direct. Of course, he knew where she'd been heading. "Would you have let me die?"

Sam swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, blinking back the heated moisture stinging the corners of her eyes. She only spoke when she was certain she'd regained control. "No."

"There you go." As if that solved anything.

"I really, really didn't want to lose you, Sir."

"Yeah." He looked down at their hands again before lifting his head and focusing on her, instead. He'd lost the haunted desperation from before and something else had taken its place. Something—phlegmatic? Fatalistic. "I didn't want to be lost."

She closed her eyes, ducking her chin towards her chest and sucking in a tenuous breath. "Sir—I—"

"I couldn't leave her there." This time, his interruption was milder. More wry. "I tried. I kept telling myself that she didn't matter. That she wasn't worth the pain. I tried to leave her there and escape alone. But I just—I couldn't."

"We don't leave our people behind."

"Right. We don't." But he didn't sound convinced. Rather—he sounded cynical? No—agnostic. As if even he didn't quite believe the mantra. For a long, long time, he simply sat there—completely still. Only the subtle rise and fall of his chest gave any indication that he was still alive. Finally, he let go of her hand and rose in a single, smooth motion, pacing across the cavern towards the other wall. He stood with his back to her, his shoulders tight, his head bowed, staring down at the floor before turning half-way back towards her. "But when I looked at her—when I saw her face in my mind—in his mind—I didn't see her."

Sam roughed her palms against the fabric of her trousers as she considered what he'd meant. When she'd seen the woman—Shayla—she'd noticed the resemblance. But she hadn't known—not really. Not until just now, as she watched the Colonel pace, raking his hand through his hair and cursing quietly into the void. Still—she had to be sure she understood. "Who did you see?"

He stopped, pressing his palms against his eyes on a groan. Finally, he sighed, dropping his chin and glaring at the floor. His tone was quiet, but firm. "Who do you think, Carter?"

Somehow, having it confirmed didn't make it any better. "Oh."

"And that's why I went there. Why I had to go back into that hell hole. Not because I had any feelings for her." He made a helpless motion with his shoulders—half shrug, half-surrender. "But because the idea of leaving you in that place—or any place, for that matter—imagining you helpless and alone. Enslaved. Mistreated. At the mercy of that sadistic son of a bitch—I just—"

He scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. Touched two—five—seven different places on the wall with his fingertips. Leaned forward on the balls of his feet only to rebalance on his heels. Shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers and then pulled them back out. Made fists. Flexed his hands wide. And then stilled again.

Took a deep breath.

"I couldn't—I can't—leave you behind."

He wasn't looking at her, but Sam had never felt so seen. So wholly known. As if every cell in her body was in tune with each atom of his. And lord help her—she knew how it was. She'd felt the same way for entirely too long. Aware of this man with a totality that defied belief. As if the universe could burn around them both and she'd only care if he were the one in flames.

And it had hurt when he'd ignored her for all those weeks. As much as she'd tried to understand his withdrawal—justify it, even—she'd felt the loss of him just that acutely. Like she'd lost a piece of her own self—a limb, or an organ. As if whatever force that urged her body to breathe and her heart to beat had been cut in half and cast off into the aether.

Sam scooted her feet towards her and planted her palm on the ground, shoving herself upright. Still, she wasn't stupid—or brave—enough to move toward him—not when she couldn't trust herself not to do something foolhardy. So, when he started speaking again, she melted back to lean against the wall.

"I've tried to make it go away. I figured that distance would help. Some detachment. I just needed some space. So, for weeks, I tried. I went fishing. Did some flying. Completed a few projects around the house. Watched a hell of a lot of really bad TV." He made a sound that was half-groan, half-sigh, only more weary, and far more defeated. "But it's no use. There's nothing distracting enough. Nowhere far enough."

"Sir—" but there was no use in even trying. Nothing she could say. She hadn't figured it out, either. And during those long nights of his recovery, she'd lain in her bed and wondered why she needed to see him—to speak to him—to touch him—so damned much, only to find the answers more complex than the questions.

"But when all is said and done, I'm kind of glad to still be in mortality." He did turn around now, his dark eyes capturing her wide ones. Even through the dimness—the cold, wet dank of the stormy air—he found her automatically. Held her gaze with an intensity that was palpable. "Because even if everything sucks right now—it means there's still a chance."

"A chance." It was the closest to an admission that he could make—Sam was cognizant of that. What with the lump in her throat and the way her heart was constricting.

His eyes searched her face—as if seeking confirmation that she'd understood him. "For more. Someday."

Oh, dear heaven. More—more—more—the word pulsated in her head, her heart, her soul—reverberating right down to her very core.

More.

She did move then, a few steps towards the middle of the cavern, halting far enough away that he was outside of her reach—damned space and detachment and caution. But still, close enough that her whisper could find him. "Is that what you want?"

"You heard me." And unbelievably, he tossed her a crooked smile—a brilliant flash of teeth and dimple across the cave. Raw and sweet—only for him to suddenly go sober again, his expression something approaching grief. "Don't make me say it again. You know how things are."

She did. She did know. And still, she wanted to touch him. She'd never wanted anything more in her entire life. Her fingers itched with the need of it. And who would know? They were alone in the cave halfway across the galaxy, with not even a rat or a roach as witness. It would only take a few more steps—

"Colonel O'Neill?"

Loud and worried, the voice made its way through the static. O'Neill flinched—-his hand lifting to grip the radio at his shoulder. His eyes never left Sam's as he pressed the switch. "Go ahead, Jonas."

"We're back with the gear." There was a short break before Quinn's voice came through again. "General Hammond also sent some equipment that should get you two across the ravine safely."

He looked down at the ground and keyed the radio again. "And?"

"The storm looks like it's letting up down here. Sky's clearing off to the west." Jonas paused. "But I can see another band of thunderheads edging in towards your position from the north. It's even bigger than the one that just blew through. I give it forty minutes—maybe an hour—before it hits."

"So, it's now or never."

This time, it was Teal'c who responded. "It appears so, O'Neill."

He grimaced, pivoting to peer out the mouth of the cave and into the rain before turning back to capture Sam's gaze again. He'd already moved back into mission mode, planning. Strategizing. Pulling himself out of the personal and into the professional.

But still, it took him just too long to press the button, his expression inscrutable and intense. "Then I guess it had better be now."

To be continued. . .

This Ship Day prompt/story was supposed to be limited to 1,000 words. I failed that. Then, I had a plan for a three-chapter fling that would hint at an adventure but focus on the 'Ship. But, as often happens with my stories, the Muse has taken over and now it's going to be something . . . more. This won't be a long saga sort of thing, but it'll probably extend a few more chapters and include a little more angst and whump-which can be fun, right?

So? Buckle up. 'Favorite' if you want. 'Follow' if you don't want to miss anything. Feed me nice comments if you want faster updates.

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