Fic - Ten of Swords
Title: Ten of Swords
Summary: After a party, Jess struggles to deal with a haunting tarot reading. A fic told in three tarot cards; one for the past, one for the present, and one for the future. Stanford Era. Jess POV.
Rating: PG13
Genre/Spoilers: Sam/Jess. None.
Warnings: My knowledge on tarot and palm reading is limited to Google, so I hope a little artistic license is OK.
Word Count: 2800+
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to CW, Kripke and Co, I'm simply borrowing them for a while. I'm not making a profit, this is just for fun and all the standard disclaimers apply.
A/N: This was written for the 2015 spn_j2_xmas challenge for sophiap. I've used a few of your likes, and I really hope you enjoy it. Happy holidays! A huge thank you to my awesome beta harrigan who helped me brainstorm and fix this fic - you rock! I've tinkered so all mistakes are mine. Thank you also to tebtosca for keeping this challenge running for another year.
Ten of Swords
Queen of Pentacles: A nurturer, independent and determined. There was a woman in your life, someone strong and loving, someone you admired. You model yourself on her, and she gave you the drive to work hard, and your need to protect and take care of the ones you love.
Her ass is numb; either from the cold or from being sat on this stupid log for too long. She looks into the bright orange flames of the fire, entranced by tiny sparks that are thrown high up into the clear night sky; crackling and exploding.
She picked this fire on purpose. It's the last one in a long line on the beach front, and in the distance she can hear the party; the buzz of chatter and drunken cheers. Digging her toes into the damp sand, she takes a sip of beer from the sticky red cup in her hand, jumping slightly as a familiar navy blue jacket is draped over her bare shoulders. She looks up, and Sam lowers himself down close to her hip.
“You OK, Jess?” His cheeks are pink from the stinging wind, his hair curling at the nape of his neck from the sea salt that hangs heavily in the cooling night air.
She feels stupid, and she knows what he's going to say, because they had this conversation before they left for the party. This is her fault, and now she's being a pissy cry baby about it.
“If I tell you no, will you leave it at that?” She tugs Sam's jacket closer, lets herself sink into its warmth, wrapping herself in Sam's comforting smell; musk and something sweet that she can never put her finger on.
“Honestly? Probably not.”
Sam's eyes are glimmering in the firelight, the colours ever-changing, from blues, to greens, and a fiery yellow that must be from the flames. He's looking at her so seriously it feels like he's reading her mind, like he's already trying to figure out and solve whatever is upsetting her.
“I'm being stupid. Let’s just drink the night, and our worries, away.” She plasters on her best 'I'm fine' smile, trying hard not to look into Sam's eyes for too long as she downs the last of her flat beer.
“Brady told me that you went into the tent.” To his credit, Sam says it gently, like he's trying to ease her into a conversation that he must know she doesn't want to have. He's good at it too, which drives her crazy sometimes.
“He did, did he?” She rolls her eyes. They both know how she feels about Brady, they've had enough fights about it. He used to be the sweetest boy, a little shy and awkward, but wicked smart with a quick wit. But now, for whatever reason, Brady's on a downward spiral of his own making, and even though Sam doesn't want to see it, or refuses to, he's going to drag Sam down with him. But not on her watch. Never on her watch. “Are you gonna say it?”
“Say what?” He takes a breath likes there's more he wants to say, but then wisely pinches his lips closed to stop himself.
“That you told me so.” Jess pulls her gaze towards the tall flames of the fires that are licking the pile of beach wood they collected only a few hours ago.
She'd mentioned the fortune teller that morning when they were talking about whether to come to Becky and Zach's beach party, or not. Sam had been dismissive, and she can't blame him; she was sceptical herself. But then they got here, and Becky was going on and on about how 'awesome' she was, and the next minute she was pushed inside a white and red tent pitched into the sand, and a middle-aged woman with nails painted gold and pink was asking her to shuffle a pair of worn and frayed tarot cards.
Now she feels so messed up, she's not sure what she thinks.
“You wanna talk about it?”
Crashing waves sound somewhere in the distance, and the inky sky is filled to bursting with sparkling stars. She scans the sky for the constellations that her science teacher Mom showed her when she was a wide-eyed kid fascinated with all things science. She idolized everything about her Mom back then; still does.
“Not really.” She looks up and finally spots Aquarius in the stars, her sign, just like she used to when she younger; it still grounds her, still makes her feel at ease, like her Mom is sitting right next to her pointing up into the sky, instead of thousands of miles away.
She wants to tell Sam about the pit in her stomach that she can't seem to shake, that she feels different somehow, like she's scared. She wants to tell him that like her Mom, she's a woman of science and that she knows this is stupid. Instead she loops her arm through his, hugging it close, and then rests her chin on his slouched shoulder.
“Whatever she said to you, your future can't be determined in a pack of cards.” Sam brushes stray blonde curls from her face, as the wind combs through it.
She can feel Sam's eyes on her, and she turns to look at him; the light from the fire casts so many shadows on his face. He frowns a little, one of those sad looks she's noticed recently, like something is troubling him, weighing him down.
Jess leans forward and kisses him, lets her lips linger over his. “Let’s just enjoy the rest of the party.”
XoXoX
The Lovers: Trust, strength and harmony. You're in a relationship where the bond is strong, and you see a future with him. But someone will arrive to challenge this bond, someone from his past, and you must decide whether your future lies in this relationship, or not.
She's staring at the photo on their dresser of Sam's family; baby Sam with his parents and his big brother. She found it in the bottom of one his boxes when they first moved in, and framed it. Every now and then she moves it somewhere close to him, especially if there's a paper due, or if exams are looming, and Sam's stress levels are sky-rocketing. He never says anything, just kisses her, his eyes misty.
He does the same thing with her family picture too. It's funny, she thinks, how couples have their own little quirks and traditions. And now she's one of them, and she wouldn't change it for the world.
Out of nowhere a steaming mug of what smells like hot chocolate appears in front of her eyes. She looks up, and Sam smiles softly, taking a seat next to her.
It's late, after midnight, but Sam opens a fat Law text book, long fingers leafing through the pages until he finds the chapter he's looking for. With her back resting against the arm of the sofa, she tucks her toes under his thigh and sips at the chocolate froth from the top of the mug.
She watches the little crease in between Sam's eyes as he concentrates on the book, his right hand jotting scratchy notes onto a yellow legal pad, and all she can think about is how happy she is. She's worked hard to get here, and now she has someone by her side who she can share it with, who means everything to her. No matter what the tarot reader said, no one can get in the way of what they have. Right?
“You've got that look.”
Startled, Jess looks up, and Sam is staring at her. “What look?”
“The look you get when you're trying to analyse an equation, or a particularly difficult problem.” He closes the book, and places it on the coffee table.
A knot starts to form in her belly, like she's been caught doing something she shouldn't. “Well, Sam, I'm not just a pretty face, y'know. I got into Stanford.”
“Really? What a coincidence, so did I.”
She laughs gently. She's always enjoyed the way can they spar like this; little jibes and in-jokes. But she feels the shift in the air as the mood changes.
“Seriously, Jess, what's going on with you?” He's frowning now, his eyes full of concern and worry and it makes the knot tighten in her stomach, and her eyes sting with tears she won't shed; not about this, because it's ridiculous. She's being ridiculous.
She looks at him, and she has no words. What is she supposed to say? That she had a tarot reading days ago at the beach party and it scared her, that she feels that she's changing because of it, that she's doubting things that she would never have questioned before.
Sam shifts on the sofa, and then he's wrapping her in his arms, holding her tight and not letting go. She closes her eyes, and buries her face into his neck, breathing in his scent like it's her oxygen.
“I hate seeing you like this.” His words are muffled by her hair, and now he's rubbing small circles onto her back. “This about the fortune teller at the party?”
She hasn't exactly been stealthy, and Sam's good at reading people, too good sometimes that it makes her wonder how he learned to do it so well. So really, it shouldn't be a shock that he knows what's going on, and yet it is.
“She read my palm.” Sam's words are gentle, quiet, like he's trying not to spook her.
Jess pulls away from Sam's neck and looks him straight in the eye. She's not sure what she's looking for, but she can spot a half-truth when she sees one. Sam's fond of half truths. But that isn't what she's seeing.
“She just walked up to me, and sorta reached for my hand and stared at it.” Sam looks at her from under too much hair, and then opens his palm.
“She told me this is the life line.” Sam traces it with his index finger, and she notices how it branches out into multiple faint lines. “Then she said she'd never actually seen so many fractures in a life line before. That she's heard about them, but never seen them. Then she said they mean that I'm going to die many times!”
Jess huffs, and then she notices Sam's amused smile, and the disbelief in his eyes. “Seriously? She told you that?”
Sam nods, and then she's laughing, completely uncontrollably. Relief floods through her veins like a drug, and now she's flying as high as a kite. She doesn't know how she built this up to be such a problem, but the rush of relief is so strong that it overshadows her embarrassment.
Sam's laughing now, that boyish laugh that she loves so much, the way he leans back and tilts his neck a little.
She loves this boy, with every ounce of her being.
XoXoX
Ten of Swords: Crisis, endings, loss, pain. A sudden and unexpected disaster looms ahead, a dark time, a violent ending without warning or mercy. You are powerless to change or alter its course. You must be wary of those you mistrust, as you will be betrayed by someone you thought was a friend.
“We should do that more often,” Sam says, a lazy smile digging dimples into his flushed cheeks. He's lying on his back, his bare feet poking out of the bottom of the white sheets, hands folded under his head.
Breathing hard, Jess tucks her hair behind her ear, and rests her head on his chest. “Seconded.”
She loses all sense of time as the silence of the room, and the steady rhythm of Sam's fingertips tracing up and down her arm, pull her into a light doze.
What feels like moments later, but could be hours, she feels Sam tense next to her, her body so attuned to his she can feel muscles and tendons lock and jump.
“Jess!” He calls out suddenly, pained and desperate. Then he's startling himself awake, jackknifing up off the bed.
She's up in a flash, hands reaching for him, smoothing matted and sweaty hair off his brow, words that sound like 'I'm right here', 'it's OK', 'you're OK' rolling off her tongue in shocked panic.
He holds her tight, fingers almost bruising, and she guides them back down into the warmth and comfort of their bed.
It's not the first nightmare he's had. Originally she thought it was LSAT stress, but that was weeks ago, and it's still going on. She thinks about asking him about it again, trying to lure him into a conversation, but she hasn't been successful before. She's pretty sure now, that she never will be. Whatever it is, Sam doesn't want to talk about it.
They lie in comfortable silence, limbs wrapped around each other.
“Is that a Halloween costume?” It sounds so loud that she jumps slightly, shifts around a little to try and hide it.
“It might be,” she says coyly, looking at the grey dry cleaning bag hanging on the front of the wardrobe door. She knows how he feels about Halloween, but she'll get him out of the house. Sam always downplays his academic successes, like somehow they're not worth anything, but she won't let his scary good LSAT score pass without some sort of celebration. She has plans; mostly involving friends, a few bars, and too many shots.
Jess squeals as his fingertips dig into her ribs. She twists and turns and tries to squirm out of his reach. He's laughing at her, and it's so good to see him smile that she can't make herself get mad at him for it.
“OK, OK, I surrender!” She's breathless, and Sam is hovering above her, his breath warm on her face. “What if I told you there was a sexy nurse costume in there. Would that change your mind?”
She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.
Sam's grin is wide and sorta dirty. She's always felt that that smile belongs to her, and only her. “Y'know, it just might!”
Sam kisses her, and then drags himself up so that he's sitting on the foot of the bed. “I should really get some studying done.”
“You do know that you've already taken the LSATs, right? I mean you do remember sitting down, and colouring in those little boxes with your number 2 pencil?” She's teasing him, and they both know it, but then Sam's smile drops a little.
“I still need to prep for the Stanford Law interview. I've heard that Professor Langton likes to throw in a few surprise questions, so I need to be prepared, which means I need to study and-”
“OK, I get it. Sam needs to study - shocker!” Shuffling across the mattress on her knees, she places her hands on Sam's shoulders, his muscles knotted under her fingers. “Just promise me that you'll try to take it easy. That you'll let yourself sleep for a least a few hours.”
She looks at him pointedly. Nightmares or no nightmares, he needs to sleep, and if she has to, she'll make him. He's been wound so tightly recently, that she's starting to seriously worry.
Sam turns his head to look at her, his hand covering hers. “I promise.”
It should make her feel better, but for some reason it doesn't. “You'll ace the interview! Trust me, I'm a wise woman!”
Sam kisses her, and then pulls on a pair of navy blue sweat pants and his ratty Metallica T-shirt that he's been overly protective of ever since they met. It's weird though; she's never heard him listen to their music.
He's walking out of the room, sweat pants hung low on hips, a sliver of tanned skin peeking out, when she shouts. “Pop quiz: Would you rather have a client who committed a crime malum in se or malum prohibitum?”
Sam spins around, his eyebrow raised like he's impressed.
“What?” She shrugs, smoothing down her bed-head hair. “I was bored, and the book was right there, and I figured you'd need a study buddy, and I'm the right kinda girl for that position. Y'know, if you're hiring, that is?”
She looks at him playfully. He's all puppy-dog adorable, lost for words, but his eyes are pinned fiercely on her, like she's the only thing in the room. It reminds her of when they first met.
“Jessica Moore, what would I do without you?”
She smiles at him so hard her face hurts. “Crash and burn, baby. Crash and burn.”
The End