fic: SG-1, In the Aftermath of Victory, Sam/Jack, PG
dislaimer: not mine
pairing: Sam Carter/Jack O'Neill
genre: romance, fluff
rating: PG
length: 1000
set: post-Redemption, season six
notes: This is quite possibly a sequel to 'All is Quiet' an episode insert for 'Redemption' (which, fair warning, has porn, and small text). About two-thirds of it was sitting unfinished in a file. I'm making the assumption it hasn't been posted (the SG fic is more up-to-date on my site than the BSG fic, and it isn't there, as far as I can tell). I dug it out for posting (and rewriting/finishing) as I've been informed only one Sam/Jack fic was posted all week. Man, I feel we are slacking, you guys.
In the Aftermath of Victory
by ALC Punk!
The celebrations were over. There had been the usual cheering squads, hyper, excited people who were glad the world hadn't ended. Walter and the general had hastily arranged a small party for the entire mass of scientists and SGC staff which included smuggled-in vodka. Everyone was happy.
Sam Carter had been one of the last to leave the mountain, she'd even seen Rodney McKay out the door first (so to speak). McKay had seemed almost happy to be going back to Russia. Sam figured that was a bluff, given that he was reportedly miserable there and driving everyone who worked with him insane.
Driving home took effort (she really should have asked for a driver), and she was practically asleep as she got out of her car. Days of unending discussion and theories, physics and flight, and failed attempts to save the world were taking their toll on her.
Not to mention the part where she'd thought--but she wasn't thinking about that. Allowing herself to think about moments spent in despair would be distracting, and she couldn't afford a distraction. Though that would be macabrely amusing; surviving the end of the world only to crash on her way home.
Maybe she should have stayed at the mountain, slept in one of the utilitarian rooms there.
But she'd wanted her own bed and sheets, stale and dirty though they might be. She'd wanted to be away and out of reach of Jonas' boundless enthusiasm.
She'd wanted to be alone to think about all the things she might have done wrong.
There was a figure sitting on her porch.
As she got closer (too tired to be more than slightly wary), she recognized him. Her commanding officer, Colonel Jack O'Neill. He obviously hadn't slept much, either, since he'd fallen asleep leaning against the wall next to her door. She should have known he'd be there, but she'd simply been too tired to think of it.
She stood on the path and considered for a moment whether she could sneak by him or not, then sighed. His neck and back were probably never going to forgive him. Besides, he'd hear her opening the door. "Sir?"
Bleary brown eyes met her equally bleary blue ones. He coughed. "Carter."
She shoved her hands in her pockets, conscious that it was a habit she'd picked up from him, and said, "Forgot your way home, sir?"
"I, ah, no." He made a face and glanced away from her.
"You almost died," she said abruptly.
"The world didn't end."
Very true. She stepped forwards, then stopped and looked down, "I... Sir? Why are you here?"
"The world didn't end," he repeated softly.
For a moment, Sam wondered if she was hearing anything but the crickets. Or if, perhaps, the world had slowed down and she was standing in the midst of a thunderstorm. Conflicting emotions slithered through her. Want, need, fear, duty... They had thought the world was ending and it hadn't. They'd given in to something that had been held in check for years, let things go too far.
They should have known.
Irrationally, she wanted to be pissed that he was there. She'd wanted at least a day to process everything, to come to terms with it and decide where to go next. For just an instant, she was. Then she thought about him never coming back and swallowed, "Sir, I--"
He shifted, resignation apparent. "I'll just, ah, go."
"No."
He stared at her.
Sam licked her lips. "Please stay."
The weight of the world pressed down on them for an endless second, and then he nodded. Sam stepped forwards again and held out a hand. He took it, letting her haul him to his feet. Then they were standing face to face.
It seemed natural to shift her fingers, and thread them through his before turning and unlocking the door. It was just touching him, connecting in a way that neither had allowed themselves since everything was locked tight in a room and 'sir' became a curse.
Sam led the way into her house, pulling him with her.
He shut and locked the door, his other hand still entangled with hers. It was strange, but neither of them seemed to want to let go.
Without bothering to turn on the light, Sam led the way down the hall to her bedroom, dropping the keys on her dresser. The house tasted slightly stale, and she wondered vaguely how long it had been since she'd actually been home.
The colonel kicked off his shoes and looked at her in the dim light.
She gave him a half-smile and removed her own shoes before walking over to the bed. Silently, she pulled down the covers and considered a moment before regretfully releasing his hand to tug her sweater and shirt off.
"Beautiful." The word seemed to break their stillness, and Sam turned to him and half-smiled as his eyes traveled across her skin. One hand came up to tentatively stroke her shoulder.
A shiver went through her as she remembered exactly what those hands could do to her. Her body tightened in anticipation.
"Carter."
"Sir." She couldn't quite shake that last bit of formality. Not yet.
He shook his head, "Oh, for cryin' out loud, Carter."
Ignoring him, she unbuttoned her pants and kicked them off. "I don't know about you, but I'm tired."
"Yeah."
She clambered into bed, then watched him remove his shirt and pants. Reaching behind herself, she undid her bra, feeling a vague relief as she tossed it across the room.
A strangled sound came from the colonel, and she glanced at him, amused to find him gaping at her with his mouth open. "Sir."
"Carter, you're naked, and you're still calling me sir?"
She chuckled and snuggled down, head on her pillow. "Doesn't matter, Jack." There. She'd managed it without even stumbling; a yawn escaped her, ruining her triumph. "I'm too tired to care." She closed her eyes and felt the bed shift a moment later as he climbed in, pulling the blanket up and settling it over both of them. "Night, sir."
"Night, Carter." His arm slid over her.
She sighed and relaxed, snuggling closer to the heat coming off of his body.
"They can wake us for the next apocalypse," he grunted before his fingers tangled with hers again.
"Don't think they'll be able to," was her mumbled reply before sleep swept her under its mantle.
-f-
pairing: Sam Carter/Jack O'Neill
genre: romance, fluff
rating: PG
length: 1000
set: post-Redemption, season six
notes: This is quite possibly a sequel to 'All is Quiet' an episode insert for 'Redemption' (which, fair warning, has porn, and small text). About two-thirds of it was sitting unfinished in a file. I'm making the assumption it hasn't been posted (the SG fic is more up-to-date on my site than the BSG fic, and it isn't there, as far as I can tell). I dug it out for posting (and rewriting/finishing) as I've been informed only one Sam/Jack fic was posted all week. Man, I feel we are slacking, you guys.
In the Aftermath of Victory
by ALC Punk!
The celebrations were over. There had been the usual cheering squads, hyper, excited people who were glad the world hadn't ended. Walter and the general had hastily arranged a small party for the entire mass of scientists and SGC staff which included smuggled-in vodka. Everyone was happy.
Sam Carter had been one of the last to leave the mountain, she'd even seen Rodney McKay out the door first (so to speak). McKay had seemed almost happy to be going back to Russia. Sam figured that was a bluff, given that he was reportedly miserable there and driving everyone who worked with him insane.
Driving home took effort (she really should have asked for a driver), and she was practically asleep as she got out of her car. Days of unending discussion and theories, physics and flight, and failed attempts to save the world were taking their toll on her.
Not to mention the part where she'd thought--but she wasn't thinking about that. Allowing herself to think about moments spent in despair would be distracting, and she couldn't afford a distraction. Though that would be macabrely amusing; surviving the end of the world only to crash on her way home.
Maybe she should have stayed at the mountain, slept in one of the utilitarian rooms there.
But she'd wanted her own bed and sheets, stale and dirty though they might be. She'd wanted to be away and out of reach of Jonas' boundless enthusiasm.
She'd wanted to be alone to think about all the things she might have done wrong.
There was a figure sitting on her porch.
As she got closer (too tired to be more than slightly wary), she recognized him. Her commanding officer, Colonel Jack O'Neill. He obviously hadn't slept much, either, since he'd fallen asleep leaning against the wall next to her door. She should have known he'd be there, but she'd simply been too tired to think of it.
She stood on the path and considered for a moment whether she could sneak by him or not, then sighed. His neck and back were probably never going to forgive him. Besides, he'd hear her opening the door. "Sir?"
Bleary brown eyes met her equally bleary blue ones. He coughed. "Carter."
She shoved her hands in her pockets, conscious that it was a habit she'd picked up from him, and said, "Forgot your way home, sir?"
"I, ah, no." He made a face and glanced away from her.
"You almost died," she said abruptly.
"The world didn't end."
Very true. She stepped forwards, then stopped and looked down, "I... Sir? Why are you here?"
"The world didn't end," he repeated softly.
For a moment, Sam wondered if she was hearing anything but the crickets. Or if, perhaps, the world had slowed down and she was standing in the midst of a thunderstorm. Conflicting emotions slithered through her. Want, need, fear, duty... They had thought the world was ending and it hadn't. They'd given in to something that had been held in check for years, let things go too far.
They should have known.
Irrationally, she wanted to be pissed that he was there. She'd wanted at least a day to process everything, to come to terms with it and decide where to go next. For just an instant, she was. Then she thought about him never coming back and swallowed, "Sir, I--"
He shifted, resignation apparent. "I'll just, ah, go."
"No."
He stared at her.
Sam licked her lips. "Please stay."
The weight of the world pressed down on them for an endless second, and then he nodded. Sam stepped forwards again and held out a hand. He took it, letting her haul him to his feet. Then they were standing face to face.
It seemed natural to shift her fingers, and thread them through his before turning and unlocking the door. It was just touching him, connecting in a way that neither had allowed themselves since everything was locked tight in a room and 'sir' became a curse.
Sam led the way into her house, pulling him with her.
He shut and locked the door, his other hand still entangled with hers. It was strange, but neither of them seemed to want to let go.
Without bothering to turn on the light, Sam led the way down the hall to her bedroom, dropping the keys on her dresser. The house tasted slightly stale, and she wondered vaguely how long it had been since she'd actually been home.
The colonel kicked off his shoes and looked at her in the dim light.
She gave him a half-smile and removed her own shoes before walking over to the bed. Silently, she pulled down the covers and considered a moment before regretfully releasing his hand to tug her sweater and shirt off.
"Beautiful." The word seemed to break their stillness, and Sam turned to him and half-smiled as his eyes traveled across her skin. One hand came up to tentatively stroke her shoulder.
A shiver went through her as she remembered exactly what those hands could do to her. Her body tightened in anticipation.
"Carter."
"Sir." She couldn't quite shake that last bit of formality. Not yet.
He shook his head, "Oh, for cryin' out loud, Carter."
Ignoring him, she unbuttoned her pants and kicked them off. "I don't know about you, but I'm tired."
"Yeah."
She clambered into bed, then watched him remove his shirt and pants. Reaching behind herself, she undid her bra, feeling a vague relief as she tossed it across the room.
A strangled sound came from the colonel, and she glanced at him, amused to find him gaping at her with his mouth open. "Sir."
"Carter, you're naked, and you're still calling me sir?"
She chuckled and snuggled down, head on her pillow. "Doesn't matter, Jack." There. She'd managed it without even stumbling; a yawn escaped her, ruining her triumph. "I'm too tired to care." She closed her eyes and felt the bed shift a moment later as he climbed in, pulling the blanket up and settling it over both of them. "Night, sir."
"Night, Carter." His arm slid over her.
She sighed and relaxed, snuggling closer to the heat coming off of his body.
"They can wake us for the next apocalypse," he grunted before his fingers tangled with hers again.
"Don't think they'll be able to," was her mumbled reply before sleep swept her under its mantle.
-f-