Let Your Demons Run, Stargate SG-1, Samantha Carter/Jack O'Neill, want, forbiddenmrspollifaxFebruary 3 2014, 22:58:26 UTC
Jack slams the door of his truck and wends his way across the parking lot, through the eclectic mix of trucks, motorcycles, and high-end sports cars. He comes here every now and then; not often, but sometimes when he wants to get away. The bar's clientele is as mismatched as the vehicles in the parking lot, odd enough to make things interesting. More importantly, it's far enough out of town that he's never once run into anyone he knows.
Not before tonight, that is.
He's barely through the door when he spots her, way down at the other end of the bar. The bright blonde head and the even brighter smile are kind of hard to miss, after all. Add in the tight jeans and the close-fitted and still-zipped leather jacket she's wearing, and there can't be that many eyes in the building that haven't noticed her.
The fact that noticing her is Jack's job and his hobby all rolled up into one? Doesn't have anything to do with it. At all. And the memory of how she'd looked in the infirmary a mere two days ago, with her face slack and her body moving to the rhythm of the ventilator and nothing more - well, that doesn't factor in either, Jack's completely sure.
He hesitates for a moment there in the entryway, trying to decide whether to make camp or bug out. Spending an evening watching Carter flirt with other guys, or whatever it is she's planning to do here, doesn't rank particularly high on Jack's to-do list. And that's without even factoring in the hours he'd spent keeping vigil over her in a hospital cot, unable to let her go. He should really be doing anything but watching her now.
Not before tonight, that is.
He's barely through the door when he spots her, way down at the other end of the bar. The bright blonde head and the even brighter smile are kind of hard to miss, after all. Add in the tight jeans and the close-fitted and still-zipped leather jacket she's wearing, and there can't be that many eyes in the building that haven't noticed her.
The fact that noticing her is Jack's job and his hobby all rolled up into one? Doesn't have anything to do with it. At all. And the memory of how she'd looked in the infirmary a mere two days ago, with her face slack and her body moving to the rhythm of the ventilator and nothing more - well, that doesn't factor in either, Jack's completely sure.
He hesitates for a moment there in the entryway, trying to decide whether to make camp or bug out. Spending an evening watching Carter flirt with other guys, or whatever it is she's planning to do here, doesn't rank particularly high on Jack's to-do list. And that's without even factoring in the hours he'd spent keeping vigil over her in a hospital cot, unable to let her go. He should really be doing anything but watching her now.
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