Sam/Jack fic to 2010
Title: Trembling.
Fandom: Stargate SG1.
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Rating: Mature.
Warning: Sexual situations.
Summary: In 2010, Sam stayed behind to think after Daniel left the museum. Jack simply stayed to watch Sam.
Author notes: I have always loved the tension that AT and RDA protrayed between Sam and Jack in this episode, it just sparks off the screen. This fic was written a few years ago, and I'm reposting it now with a fairly extensive revamp, and to give it a home on LJ.
Sam wrapped her arms around her body, trying to quash her trembling and keep warm in the stale air that permeated the abandoned briefing room. She watched the last of the tourists below, her expression blank as their muffled footsteps echoed around the concrete. Theirs were slow unhurried steps signifying nothing, no emergency, no duty…just the murmur of polite reverence to the past. The murmurs died down until finally a hassled looking mother tugged a young girl away from her open mouthed stare at the height of the ceiling. The doors closed. Silence settled.
Sam sighed, a frown creasing the smooth skin of her brow as she stared down at the ‘gate, an imposter sitting silently and majestically between the displays and paraphernalia of the memorial museum. Dust motes floated in the strip of dull artificial lighting which glinted off the fake stone surface.
Ghosts of the past mingled with the fading murmur of the present.
The room seemed to crackle with his presence as he entered, stepping up behind her, almost but not quite physically touching.
“Carter?”
Her stomach swooped. It had been so long since she’d been called that…or at least in the same way he said it, low and deep like it was the name she’d been christened with and ‘Samantha’ was purely a figment of someone else’s twisted imagination. She was Colonel, Samantha, Doctor, sometimes Honey even though it made her cringe, always Sam. She was Mrs Faxon. Carter died around the same time that she betrayed her commanding officer.
She didn’t turn around, didn’t give any outward sign that she had heard him apart from a tiny tilt of her head in his direction.
His breath was hot on the back of her neck and the fleeting affirmation of his being there, really being there, sent shivers running up and down her body.
She indicated to the ‘gate.
“I miss it.”
Her eyes drifted shut when without warning his hands settled on the curve of her waist and he shifted so that his chest was pressed against her back. Her mind hummed softly. She tried to ignore the distant sirens that were telling her this was wrong, reminding her caustically that she was a married woman. Jack may have been something in her life, years ago, before everything had gone to hell. Acknowledged or not, they had a history that had never been resolved when he ran away to his cabin and she immersed herself in the wonder of the Aschen. The Aschen, and her fledgling romance with the ambassador.
Jack shifted behind her, and Sam wondered at his extended silence, hoping that his mind hadn’t taken the same path as hers. “Yeah” he finally replied, grimacing at the gruffness of his voice and clearing it with a quiet cough, “yeah, me too.”
She sighed again and leaned her head back on his shoulder, her hands falling to rest over his own, moving them to hug her body to him. They stood in silence, each lost in their own thoughts and memories, Sam absently stroking the male skin of his arms, playing with the soft silver hair.
This…they had never done before.
A shuddering breath racked her frame as his arms tightened around her and his face slowly dipped to the hollow of her neck. Her eyes fixed on the ‘gate below, she licked away the sudden dryness of her lips. She was in the briefing room, tilting her neck for the scratch of his stubbled chin on her smooth flesh as his lips nipped and kissed along the exposed skin. She was in the briefing room where it had all gone to shit, where she had unknowingly done so much damage by doubting this man. She gasped at the remembered sting of his final appalled yell before he had stormed out so many years ago.
Joe had been at that meeting.
She should be asking herself why she wasn’t stopping Jack’s kisses, why, upon returning to this room frozen in time she was once again betraying a good man.
But a heat was spreading from where his lips brushed her skin and a strange sense of calm soothed her mind for the first time since she’d left the harsh truth of Janet’s office. If she were honest, it was the first time in a very long time since she had felt this sense of security. It was ironic, what with the impending threat of oblivion, apocalypse and his kisses. Fate and all those things she swore she didn’t believe in telling her that right now, this was where she was meant to be, here in Jack O’Neill’s arms. With the universe laughing at her.
Sensing her thoughts, he shushed her softly, smoothing his lips up her cheekbone, to her temple, moving a finger to her chin and turning her face towards him to claim her mouth in an unhurried acknowledgement of something indefinable.
Wordless. Words had only ever gotten them into trouble.
For a while the sounds of their hushed breathing and quiet moans were all that could be heard in the echoing silence of the museum at night.
Jack stroked a hand down her body, running over the dips and curves to the waistband of her pants, and was met with a whimper from Sam as his nimble fingers fumbled momentarily with the catch before slipping into the restricted confines of the material.
Eyes closed, Sam pressed her palm to the glass, bracing herself as his fingers dipped lower, playing through her folds. He groaned and whispered her name, his eyes slamming shut. With a huffed breath, he dropped his mouth back to her shoulder, nose pushing at cotton until he was biting softly at supple skin.
He explored her, quietly marveling in the soft scratch of her damp hair on his palm, the pad of his finger smoothing over the slick heat, catching her sweet spots and circling so slowly. He caught her shivers on the tips of his fingers. His other arm held her firmly against his body, trapping her against him so tightly it were almost as if he expected her to come to her senses any minute and demand he stop. But Sam had no intention of interrupting what (if their plan worked) might be their last chance to finally have - this - together, whatever this was. She threaded her fingers through the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck, holding him to her and stroking in time with him to ease away the desperation in his grasp.
The room was empty, the table pushed aside, pens, paper, chairs no longer used. General Hammond’s office stood bare, mourning its owner. Daniel had left over an hour ago, uncomfortable with the questions that haunted their silences. Walter, bless him, was somewhere going about his duties…always there and dependable, making sure all the strings that sg1 pulled were the right length. The lights were off, a subtle glow from the corridor outside spilling in, and illuminating the Gate Room around the shadows of their silhouette. They swayed slowly in the darkness, caught in their own rhythm.
She cried out.
Her body shuddered against his, her head heavy on his shoulder. The hand she held pressed against the glass slipped slightly from the light liquid sheen spread over her flushed body. Her gasping, panting breaths hit the side of Jack’s neck, the shadows in his eyes deepening as he silently observed her whilst she fell apart in his arms. A rumbled whimper escaped her lips and Jack’s arm tightened around her as her knees gave out.
Slowly, he spun her around to rest against the cold window.
Sam opened her eyes and looked up at him from under lowered lashes, her hands now resting lightly around his neck. Their eyes locked and Jack waited, holding his breath, for her to find her voice to speak.
“You were right.” She whispered, her breath trembling and blue eyes bright with salt.
“About the Aschen?” He murmured, a flash of anger dulled by reluctant unstoppable affection.
A tear spilled over her lashes and weaved a path down her cheek. Her lips turned up in a painful smile, eyes flitting over his face.
“About so many things. So many…”
A small nod and he was leaning forward, pressing his mouth to hers and catching the tear.
“It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”
She lifted a hand to his cheek, her thumb tracing over tired lines and peppery stubble. Closing her eyes she nodded in dull acceptance. They were putting past where it belonged. The hand slipped down over his chest and lower, pulling on his zipper, her eyes fixed on his…they worked quietly together, until finally they were both free. Pushed back against the window, back turned away from the large room below, she arched to accept the meeting of their hips.
The ‘gate stood silently, observing, the dust sheets flung over tables and chairs hiding the disrepair underneath and for a while everything bowed to the moment. But as Jack growled into the dip of her shoulder and his hips bucked uncontrollably against her, Sam blinked back the hot tears that suddenly sprang up in her eyes at the errant thought that had entered then refused to leave her mind.
By this time tomorrow, she will have returned to her husband, told him of their risky idea, and this…the first time together with Jack O’Neill…will be nothing more than another forgotten relic in a dusty old museum, with little more meaning to their timeline than the plastic gate and the fake GDOs.
Fin.