Fic: Trial and Error
So I have 2000 words of S/J for you guys. All this crappy weather we've been having makes me stay inside and write fic. Thanks to thothmes for her beta work and general cheerleading (hugs!).
Title:Trial and Error
Author: Remi G. Craeg
Pairing: S/J
Rating: PG
Season/Spoilers: S8ish? I'm messing with the timeline here, just go with it. :)
Word Count: ~1750
Summary: These are the times you long for her the most. Long for her sitting on the dock at your lake in the summer time because December has always been the loneliest month of the year for you.
You hate these gray winter days when the cold crawls past your lapels, slides up your sleeves, makes you believe you really won’t get warm again. You wish the sun would come out too so you can smile at the way it illuminates her eyes when she can’t help herself from looking for its place in the sky. You always look up too.
These are the times you long for her the most. Long for her sitting on the dock at your lake in the summer time because December has always been the loneliest month of the year for you.
Daniel senses your mood like he senses ancient artifacts light years away; he’s acutely attuned to all mysteries in the universe and you wonder if it has anything to do with his time as an ascended being. You’re pretty sure that has everything to do with it, but he’s always been a little weird. And annoying; just like an artifact he knows nothing about, he can’t leave well enough alone.
Teal’c counsels you on the finer points of being a warrior, even though he knows you know. There are nuances he is sure no one-human nor Jaffa-can fully understand and it is therefore important for an individual to find their own inner strength. He suggests meditation. You prefer beer and hockey highlights.
The last time you saw Carter, low thick clouds were dropping jumbo snowflakes onto the brim of your hat. They fell slowly. They stuck to every horizontal surface like the volcanic ash on PT-694. They may have been perfectly camouflaged in her hair, but her nose was so red you knew she’d hesitated on your porch before she rang the doorbell.
She'd left shortly after she arrived. You watched her turn away. You watched her follow her tracks back to her car. You followed as far as the driveway and then watched her leave before you had a moment to really process what happened. It'd happened so fast but the snow was coming down so slowly that it felt surreal.
That was exactly six days ago.
You wish (but you don’t) Daniel was with you to translate the whole mess.
These are the times you wish paid more attention.
"This isn't going away, is it," she’s saying.
Jack's too busy watching the guy across the street shovel snow with poor form. She'd noticed him when she drove up.
"Sir?" She doesn't think he's listening.
"Was never really convinced it would," he says, glances down at his feet, tucks his hands away in his pockets. "I thought I'd at least try for something…" He looks up, "Normal."
Sam puffs out a quick breath. She appreciates his honesty, but it's hard to hear. Some little corner of her flashes, the part where she keeps irrational hope, then it fizzles out. Sam wants him to be happy, she really does, it's just that nagging little part of her that was hoping he couldn't find it unless it was with her. It's juvenile and it's true and she hates herself thinking it.
"It never works out. I don't know why I try anymore," she says.
"It's not wrong to want happiness, Carter. You're allowed that much."
"No. I'm not." She meets his eyes fully. She doesn't look away and it makes him shift on his feet.
Jack breaks first, glances down again. "Carter…" he says, then sighs.
Sam won't be dissuaded. "I'm definitely not allowed to have that."
Jack is suddenly animated; he pulls his hands out of his jeans, makes a giant arc between them and says, "How do you know I'd make you happy? I can't do it for myself. It'd be complicated and messy and--"
"Not worth it," she finishes for him.
He's leaning toward her, still working on the same breath. "Yes." He pauses a moment, lets his brain catch up.
Sam looks away, frowns, nods slowly. "I see," she says quietly.
"Carter, no. That's…" He runs a hand over his hat, smoothing it closer to his head. His ears are red. His nose is too. He doesn't turn to the house like he wants to go inside or like he wants her in there either, just rubs his hands together, blows on them a couple times to keep them warm. "That's not what I meant."
Her eyebrows rise, challenging him to clarify.
"It's probably too late to shove all this back into that room?"
Sam laughs. It's a bitter, defeated sound. "I'm not sure that actually worked."
"Clearly," he says and tries on a smile. It just ends up being a wince.
A beat of silence bounces between them, sort of hangs in the air and starts falling with the snow.
"I'm tired," Sam says, sags against the cold steel of his truck, lets it bear the load for a while. "And I obviously can't move on."
Jack glances over her shoulder at his neighbor again. He squints and then coughs. She can tell he wants to say something because his Adam's apple bobs a little bit and his eyebrows are drawn tight together, but he doesn't actually speak.
She shrugs. It feels more like a shiver. She's getting pretty cold now. "I don't know what to do."
Jack meets her eyes. He's clenching and unclenching his jaw, keeps his hands tucked in his coat pocket. "Me either," he finally says.
Sam doesn't know what he's supposed to say to make everything okay, but he's not doing it. He's not even trying and it makes her feel stupid. "Okay," she says. She gives him exactly twenty seconds and decides she wants to feel her toes again so she turns and leaves him standing there in the falling snow.
He doesn't call her for nearly a week.
"I'm sorry," he's saying while she's letting the receiver settle against her shoulder. No hello, no it's me. Just, I'm sorry.
She's relieved, but still hurt, so she won't let him off the hook. She feels childish again, and hates him for bringing it out of her. "I'm in the middle of something, sir."
"Okay," he starts to say.
"I just…can't right now. I should go."
"Sam. Wait."
She squeezes the phone tighter to her ear. It's a reflex. Like how her mouth opens and her hands stop mid-pour.
He always knows how to get her attention.
And now that he has it, he seems unsure what to do next. "I am sorry."
"I know."
"Okay."
"I'll come by later," she tells him.
"Alright."
And then he's severed the connection and she's standing in the middle of her kitchen with a half a glass of tea and she wants to run straight to his house and tell him that she doesn't care about anything that will happen tomorrow if he just tells her how he feels now. No bullshit, no circumventing, no consequences. Just the facts, ma'am. She settles for making dinner instead.
Someone's knocking on her door. She doesn't have the phone back on the cradle or the tea back in the fridge and there's already another interruption. Sam takes her time getting to the door and she's glad she does because when it's open Jack is standing there not at all looking like he did when she'd left him last week. He's looking right at her.
"Sir?" she says, straightening her back and then taking an unconscious step backwards.
He moves a step forward, one foot on the threshold.
"I was going to come by later. Now's not really a good-"
Before she can push him back, before she has a chance to tell him to get out, before she can get the anger out in front of the surprise, he gets up close to her and pulls her right up against him. And then he's kissing her and pulling off his hat and taking deep breaths in through his nose and walking her backwards into the wall of her entryway and unzipping his coat like he means to stay a while.
And then he stops.
She stands there with her eyes closed, too stunned to move. Now she's the one that looks like he did last week. Shell-shocked. His arms drop down to his sides, she can hear the coat's fabric swish as he moves, but he's still a solid heat in front of her.
"I leave too much of this for you to figure out. It's not fair," he says, his voice low and uneven.
"It's okay," she says because it's something to say.
"No it's not."
"Okay, it's not."
"For some reason I thought it'd be a great idea to keep either one of us from saying or doing anything…wrong," he says, his face screwing up into a grimace because he can't find the right word. "You know," he adds.
She nods.
"I guess I thought that would be enough." Jack reaches out to her arm, hooks his pointer finger under the cuff of her sweater. "I'm sorry."
Sam exhales, a wistful smile where his lips were only a moment ago. "We're good at following rules."
Jack finds this funny, probably because they're only really good at following those rules, so he nudges her a little and then draws her into a hug.
He's inhaling, tucking his nose into her neck when he says, "I hate it when I do that."
Sam pulls back, brushes her bangs out of her eyes. "You thought this would be a better way to go?"
"I thought I'd give it a try, yes." He shrugs.
"Now what?"
"I don't know, that's as far as I got." Jack half smiles, wiggles his eyebrows and then kisses her again.
"Okay. I still have no idea what to do." She can barely breathe. Her thoughts aren't in any order or there at all.
"Yeah, that's always a scary thing to hear coming from you, Carter."
She shrugs, smiles, tugs on the collar of his coat so he'll bend down again. His lips are soft and warm, his cheeks are cold and pink from Colorado air. "I like this."
"You up for winging it?"
This makes her eyebrows jump. "Wing it?"
"Yeah, you know, what we do when plans B, C, and D go poof," he explodes his fingers to demonstrate, his pinky brushing against her nose. "Right out the Tel'tak's window."
She can't help a smile, it's involuntary, genuine. "Yeah, that might work."
It was definitely worth a try.