New Stargate SG-1 Fic: "Rocket Fuel"
DISCLAIMER: Yeah, the SG-1 guys are all property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret productions. This is all in fun, no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. All other characters, ideas, etc., herein are copyrighted to the author.
TITLE: Rocket Fuel
AUTHOR: Rowan Darkstar
RATING: Mature
CATEGORIES: Angst, Sam/Jack, hurt/comfort
TIMELINE: Due to the request I received for this story, I chose to bend the timeline a bit. The story needed to take place at the holidays, but also needed "Heroes" to have happened very recently and for Sam and Pete to have been dating for only a little while. So, here, I have moved the events of Heroes from their original springtime location, to early December. Please forgive the poetic license.:)
Major Last Minute Beta Thanks to the amazing Teddy E, amilyn, and taliatoennien. You all ROCK.
Written for the sj_everyday Secret Santa Ficathon. mtrainiergirl wished for: "I'd love to have a very simple, non smutty *god headdesk, can't believe I'm saying this* Sam/Jack fic when Sam and Pete are still dating but Janet is gone. Angsty, desperate, doing everything they can to hold onto each other, Christmas smut.....*I just couldn't do it :-D*"
I'm not entirely sure this is what you had in mind, but the story just insisted on being told the way the muse says it happened, so...I hope this is what you wanted.:) Sorry it's a bit late! It got longer than I thought it would. Oops. Happy Christmas!:)
"Rocket Fuel"
By
Rowan Darkstar
Copyright (c) 2010
"Use me forever, use me as rocket fuel
I'll be air, I'll be fire
...
I know I love you like the silvered gold of dying days
I know I love you like an ancient history brought to life
...
I know I love you like the million times I never said"
--'Engines' by Snow Patrol
SG-1 skips the annual holiday mixer at the SGC. None of them says why they don't want to attend. No one mentions how much Janet loved the traditions the rest of them feel such ambivalence toward. No one mentions how much they enjoyed watching Janet climb on tables to hang wreaths or push team members out of their seats to tie little candy canes to the backs of chairs.
So little time has passed since she was ripped from their midst, they are too raw to prod the wounds.
Sam invites Jack, Daniel, Teal'c, and General Hammond to join her and Cassie on Christmas Eve. She's surprised when even the General accepts, saying he won't be visiting his grandkids until Christmas morning.
This year will hurt whether they walk through the motions or not, the warmth will be tinged with sadness and quiet aches, but Sam doesn't want Christmas to be tainted. She didn't let it happen when she lost her own mother and she refuses to let it happen now. She wants this night to be a reason to pull together and hold one another close. She doesn't say this to anyone. She says she thinks it will be good for Cassandra to have friends around and thinks maybe the rest is understood.
There is a part of Sam Carter that relishes having a piece of family in her home, again. Someone to be with her while she rummages through the packages beneath her tree, padding about in her pajamas on Christmas morning. The guilt that wells in her guts with the vaguest acknowledgement of these thoughts is almost too much to fathom.
The Christmas Eve gathering turns out to be sweet, pleasant. Cassandra smiles a bit more, and Sam is grateful for this small sign of life, but her surrogate-daughter radar is in high gear and she's struggling not to hover. Cassie's tough as hell, but Sam knows what it is to lose a mother, and she can't imagine doing so twice in a lifetime. Before the age of 19.
Daniel starts the package opening with a collection of designer coffees. He looks thrilled and thanks the General enthusiastically even as they all exchange surreptitious glances knowing he will never drink a sip. He never strays from his time worn blend, as often as the others try. Teal'c opens a baseball cap from Daniel with a "Doom" insignia on the front. Sam opens a pair of gold earrings from Teal'c that leaves her surprised and rather deeply touched. Jack opens a Simpsons edition of Monopoly from Carter and he grins at her for a long time. His eyes sparkle back into hers, and for those moments, she forgets why everything here's not okay.
Cassie rips open a next-gen iPod and tackle hugs Jack, who weathers the customary "you spoil her" looks from Sam and Daniel.
The packages turn to a pile of wrinkled paper before their eyes and Sam gathers the remnants into a garbage bag. The six of them sit for a while just enjoying the tree lights and the fire; they sip hot cider and cocoa. They fall to telling stories of Christmases past, until Cassie abruptly stands and leaves without a word.
*****
Jack's eyes dart to Carter as he hears Cassie's bedroom door slam. He will go if he's needed, would do anything for this not-so-little-anymore girl. But he thinks Carter has first rights. She's taken on the guardian role and they all acknowledge it.
Carter sits unmoving for a long moment, eyes closed as she draws a couple of breaths. She's slowing her racing pulse from the adrenaline rush, he knows this from the movement of her chest, the slight trembling in her jaw. She sets down her cider mug and with a brief glance his direction, she follows Cassie down the hall.
The men sit in uncomfortable silence, wishing there were something, anything they could do to fix this.
The empty chairs dominate the room.
*****
Carter's gone a long time.
The General offers to drive Teal'c back to the base. Jack gives Teal'c a nod and says, "Go on, we'll bring you back here in the morning." Teal'c gives a wordless nod and takes his leave.
Daniel stays a while longer, but in the end Jack tells him to go home before he's too sleepy to drive.
Jack fishes a beer out of Carter's refrigerator, and settles in by the fire.
*****
Midnight has come and gone when Samantha Carter carefully pulls the door of Cassandra's room all but closed and makes her way toward the front of the house.
She's carrying her heeled shoes, padding in nylons, cool air between the paths of the heat vents dancing shivery tendrils beneath her skirt. She hasn't left home all day, yet she feels like she's run a marathon. She's too tired for noise, for light, for any more words or sharp edges and she wants comforting dimness and warmth.
The night feels misplaced in time, far removed from her ordinary day to day, and she feels through her thoughts for something to put her back up against.
Everything has been wrong this year. Off.
Sam's indescribably grateful when she emerges from the hallway to find the lights little more than firelight, and the room empty of company save for Jack O'Neill.
The Colonel sits in a rocking chair by the fire, beer in hand.
She offers him a sad smile. "Hey," she says simply. She knows she looks and sounds bone-tired, but she can't summon the energy to cover like she's supposed to.
"Hey. How's she doin'?" the Colonel asks softly.
Sam nods. "Better. She's pretty much asleep. She should be able to rest now, I think."
Jack moves with careful, deliberate motions, sets the last of his beer on the coffee table and pushes to his feet. Sam hears the familiar pop of his knee. He moves through the light and shadows to stand in front of her, hands hooked on the pockets of his jeans. He doesn't speak, but he holds her gaze for long moments, narrows his eyes and angles his head.
She's been dry-eyed and immovable for Cassie. She's been placing one foot in front of the other and reporting the outcome with the same determined stoicism that carries her through a Goa'uld invasion. She's still listening for movement from the back of the house. But if the Colonel keeps looking at her, through her into her like he is right now her guts will melt and her knees will give way.
Jack reaches out a hand, and Sam takes a hard step backward.
"I ummm...," she clears her throat and brushes the side of her thumb against her lower lip. "I'm going to make some coffee, sir. Would you like a cup?"
His eyes grow unfathomably dark, concern lining his brow, but he nods his assent as his hand falls limp against his leg. "I'll take some," he says, and Sam doesn't care if he really wants the coffee or not, she's grateful he's playing along.
She replies with a silent nod and retreats into the kitchen.
Sam has never before wished that her kitchen had a door. But the breakfast bar offers no privacy. She keeps her back to Jack as she pulls the coffee grounds and mugs from a high cabinet. She can feel him take the few steps toward the couch that bring her full kitchen into his view.
She plays with the mugs a few moments longer, taking any excuse to stay in the far corner of her kitchen with her back to the living room.
Her fingers fumble in her manufactured tasks. She gives in and grips the edge of the counter as the mugs and canister blur and swim through her tears. "Fuck...." The curse is a barely whispered breath, but she knows he hears it.
She doesn't even hear him approach before his arms are tight around her from behind and he's warm and unmoving and wrapped around her like a blanket.
*****
Carter's fingers curl around his wrist, and she draws several tremulous breaths within his embrace. She makes no move to turn, to face him. Jack presses his lips to her hair, breathes in peppermint and strawberries, and says softly, "Cass is lucky to have you, Carter."
Her chest sags beneath his arms on a bitter exhale. "I don't know how to help," she chokes out.
"You're doing everything right," he says simply, "there's no fix, you know that. All you do is be here and love her, and you're doin' that in spades, Carter."
She sniffs and nods. She draws a few more breaths and he can feel her muscles trembling and rippling beneath his touch, then she gives his arm a gentle, dismissive squeeze. He feels her drawing up, pulling herself together, and, as she reaches again for the coffee mugs, he reluctantly relinquishes his hold and lets her step away.
His fingers trail down her back as she crosses to the silverware drawer, and regrets shimmer in her path like electricity.
Carter's dressed beautifully tonight. A simple, flowing black skirt that ends just above the knee. A soft and fitted wintery sweater that drapes in all the most flattering places, baring just a flash of skin at her midriff when she bends or turns. At her shoulder is pinned a Christmas broach of gold and red and green he thinks might have been some sort of family heirloom. Something of her mother's, perhaps. Carter moves elegantly in feminine clothing. She has not lost the art for all her days in BDUs.
Her make-up is darker than what she wears at work but still subtle and elegant. The pearl earrings that dangled and sparkled on his arrival have been traded for the gold filigree from Teal'c. The gesture clearly warmed the heart of the quiet Jaffa, and Jack is almost jealous of the simple affection between his friends. The uncomplicated show of devotion.
Jack and Carter have never been...uncomplicated.
When she places the warm mug into his hand with a soft warning about temperature, her pale complexion is still a bit blotched and flushed from her tears, but her expression is composed and controlled.
The gold bracelet on her wrist tickles his knuckles as she withdraws and reaches for her own mug.
"So...I thought we might see Pete tonight," Jack begins tentatively as Carter moves toward the fire and the tree.
She chooses her place on the edge of the sofa, and he debates returning to his chair or taking a seat beside her. She's taken her part out of the middle and angled his way, so even if he sits at the far end their knees will brush. But her body language is not unwelcoming (it rarely is), and he takes the chance and sits beside her.
Carter seems too involved in composing a reply to even notice a choice has been made. "Pete, yeah, he's um...he's with his sister's family up in Cheyenne. We met up on Saturday, traded gifts, and...went ice skating."
"Ice skating!" Jack lifted his eyebrows and gave her a quirk of a smile. "Sounds nice."
Sam didn't return the smile. "Yeah, it was...he actually asked me to go up to Cheyenne with him, but I...didn't." She's seated with her knees together, elbows resting on her thighs as she cradles her warm drink. Her gaze moves restlessly from the coffee table to his eyes.
"Why not?" he prompts.
"Well, I wanted...I didn't want to leave Cassie."
Jack shrugs. "I could have taken her to my place, I think she would have been okay with that."
She draws a breath, clearly wanting to right the perceived misunderstanding. "Yeah, yeah I'm sure she would have. I-I didn't..." She stares at him a long time, then sags on a heavy sigh, and he knows if he just doesn't blink he may pull the truth out of her. He's known her for a long time. "I'm kind of...slowing things down a little," she says at last.
Jack pokes a finger at his coffee, testing the temperature. Still too hot. "Not going as well as it was?" he asks, licking the coffee drop from his finger.
Carter shakes her head dismissively. "No, it's...Pete's been great, I..., " she takes a small sip of her coffee and Jack frowns briefly, wondering how her mug is cooler than his, or if she's just that numb to the heat. "Actually. It's just I'm...I've been through a lot, lately. I think I just...need the space, you know?"
"Yeah. I know."
She seems almost surprised by his easy understanding. She holds his gaze a moment longer, then nods and retreats behind another sip of her coffee.
Jack tries a sip of his and burns his tongue. He sticks his tongue to the back of his wrist for a moment to cool it off. Sam gives him a brief double glance, but doesn't speak.
They watch the fire.
"You want to watch some TV?" he asks.
Carter looks at him as if she's replaying his words to catch up. "Uh, sure, I, but--no, sir, you, you probably want to get going. It's really late..."
Jack shrugs. "You want me gone? 'Sokay if you do."
The urgency in her reply warms his guts more than the coffee he still can't drink. "No. No, sir, I just...if you want to..."
He shakes his head, says simply, "I don't want to."
"I think 'Miracle on 34th Street' is on TMC."
"New one?"
"No. Old one."
"Cool."
He reaches for the remote.
******
They've been watching the movie for a good hour, and Carter is growing visibly sleepy, though she gives no sign of wanting to turn in for the night. Jack guesses she needs the company, and he's willing to stay as long as she needs. He's none too eager to be alone himself. Jack catches Carter turning now and then, listening for signs of life in the rear of the house. She shifts position a few times, and her hand keeps wandering to her thigh, absently massaging the muscles. He knows it's the leg she injured on the Alpha site, and by the time Kris Kringle is on trial, Jack's hand moves without his own permission to rest on her leg. "How's it feelin'?" he asks, attention still half on the film as he runs a hand over her cramped muscle, realizing how much thinner her skirt is than the BDUs he's used to as a barrier.
"Sir? Oh, it's...fine. Just gets a little stiff, that's all."
He turns for a moment and meets her gaze in the light of the dying fire. The black and white of the film flickers over her skin, reflects in her pale eyes. "Hurts?" he asks.
She takes a breath, moving her head a bit as if to say 'no', to brush the notion away. But something stops her, and she looks at him, defenseless for a moment. "A bit. Yeah. It's getting better, but..."
His hand is still on her leg and he presses with the heel of his hand, massages up and down a bit. He feels her posture straighten, feels the slight tension in her muscles, and the moment suddenly buzzes electric. The movie is forgotten and the hair on the back of Jack's neck prickles and shifts. He falls still, letting the tension quiver in the air like the last tendrils of warmth from the fire, then he pats her knee and draws his hand away.
He feels her swallow then settle back into the cushions as they return their focus to the screen.
But she sits a bit closer.
*****
The dust drags gritty in her lungs and the noise of the weapons fire pushes her vision into slow motion. One minute they're shouting to one another but they have a plan. They know they're outnumbered, but there's still hope; they're going through the well trained motions, adrenaline burning through her limbs.
Then a single staff weapon fires, and her world explodes. She is aware she's screaming his name, but she can't hear or recognize her own voice. She is across the gap between them in a heartbeat, not caring if she's throwing herself in the line of fire.
"Sir..."
He's not responding. She's on her knees in the dirt, shaking fingers pressed to his throat. No pulse, no pulse, no pulse... "I need a medic! The Colonel's down, I need a medic!"
Blood on her hands. Then the field has gone quiet. The medics are crowded around them and she's being edged away, her fingers clinging desperately to the Colonel's.
"Ma'am, it's too late..."
"What?"
"It's too late, there's nothing we can do."
"NO! Help him!"
Cold fingers limp in her hand. Eyes staring into the fire-smoked sky. Everything silent and motionless. The dust sucking the air out of her lungs... "Help him! Sir!"
She's awake, scrambling for her bearings, and out of the haze Jack is there, right above her with a sleepy look of concern in his eyes and gentle fingers in her hair. "Heeeeyyy...hey there. Carter..."
No smoke. No dust. No noisy, frantic field where her world is falling apart. The television flickers the Twilight Zone marathon and Jack's skin feels warm and soft as though he's been asleep as well. She wonders if her nightmare woke him.
She's stretched out on her couch with her head on the armrest. She doesn't even remember falling asleep, but Jack is sitting beside her, leaning over her with deep lines in his brow, and she knows she's been dreaming. Because he's not dead. He's right here.
"Sir?" Her voice shakes, and she realizes there are tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. She must have been crying through the dream. She should feel embarrassed, humiliated; should be fighting to pull herself together and sit up and shake this off, but the field and the heat and the blood are still as real around her as her own living room. She can feel the panic, see the pallor to his skin. She draws a trembling breath and lets it go on an almost whimpering sigh.
Jack's hand smoothes her hair, cradles the side of her neck and she focuses on the warmth of his skin. "Hey, there...bad dream?"
She tries to reply, tries to speak, but trying to talk just makes her cry.
"Easy...," Jack whispers, fingers now drawing feathery lines down her cheek. "It's all right, Carter. You're safe."
But she shakes her head. Because, yes, he's alive, but it's not all right, nothing's been all right for weeks and she's too damned tired to pretend it is. "No," she finds her voice through her tears. "No, sir. I almost lost you. I almost lost you, right in front of my eyes. And I can't lose you. I can't. I was so scared. So fucking scared, Jack. It could have been you."
To her disbelief, the Colonel takes her desperate confession entirely in stride. The words she's been hiding inside for weeks, letting burn a hole in her guts, seem by his reaction the most natural thing she could have said. He continues to stroke her hair from her forehead with one of the warmest, most comforting touches she's felt in her life. "Well," he says simply, "now you know how I felt when you got yourself lost on the Prometheus. You scared the living crap out of me, Carter. Not a damned thing I could do to help you."
She looks at him, eyes wide, struggling to absorb what she's just heard. She's still emerging from the dream and she doesn't trust her sense of reality. But his gaze is steady and strong and his touches are certain and he smells like coffee and pretzels and maybe this is all she's ever wanted of home. The words fall out of her mouth before she can catch them, "Then why did you leave me?"
Jack is suddenly utterly lost, and she feels like a petulant child for taking a grim satisfaction in the hurt in his gaze. "What?"
Sam closes her eyes and turns away, shaking her head. She can't do this, they can't have this conversation, dream or no, Christmas Eve or no, it has to stop. "Never mind, sir."
Her breath is sucked away when Jack cups his hand to her cheek and gently but firmly turns her face to his. His gaze holds an intensity she has never seen outside of a life or death crisis. "No," he says, so close she can feel the heat of his breath on her skin, see the lines and valleys at the corners of his eyes. "No more 'neverminds', Carter. No more 'it was nothing', no more 'forget it, sir'. You feel something, you tell me. I'm here."
Sam can't breathe. Jack. He's here, Jack's here on this Earthly plane on her living room couch, and a minute ago she was running her hands over him and his heart had stopped, his blood drained away, and there was gunfire all around, and now he's here, inches from her and looking into her like he's never looked at her before.
For what feels like an eternity, she stares into his eyes, aware of every inch of her skin touching his, the rate of his breath, the texture of his shadow of a beard, the calluses on his fingers. Then with a desperation born of blood and hot zones, she cups a hand behind his neck, pulls him down, and crushes her lips to his in a wildfire kiss.
*****
The room spins. Jack's not sure when the floor dropped out from under him, but he's definitely lost hold of solid ground. Carter. He's tasting and breathing and feeling Carter all around. Her lips are warm and soft, and she tastes like a mixture of coffee and tears and peppermint candy canes, and the flavor is so uniquely Carter the ache in his groin is near unbearable.
Her body comes to life beneath him. She pulled him down hard, and he lost balance on his support arm, so he's practically lying on top of her, her breasts pressed to his chest and her hips against his own.
His body has joined her on instinct, his lips eagerly drinking from her mouth, his hand shifting from caressing her hair to massaging her scalp and cradling her close.
Carter lifts her knee beside his hip and her skirt falls to the top of her thigh, exposing the lace band of her stocking to his wandering hand. She's all soft cloth and long legs and skin and he's used to hard edges and atmosphere scanners and P-90s.
Carter's hands are in his hair and down his back and she doesn't seem to want to stop for air. He opens his eyes for half a second and so does she, but she doesn't stop kissing him, and she closes her eyes again to focus on her apparent task of driving him insane.
Blue eyes by firelight. Blue eyes too blue. Always unfathomably blue. ("Please, sir. Don't leave them, sir. Take the symbiote, sir. Keep me safe, sir." He is without defenses.) Jack has never distinguished Carter's eyes from the event horizon.
But those beautiful eyes, only a couple of hours ago, were drowning in tears over the death of her best friend.
Crap.
Jack O'Neill draws one of the hardest deliberate breaths he's ever drawn and breaks away from Carter's touch with a physical stab of loss.
"Carter. Wait."
She blinks at him and he tries to ignore the flash of genuine pain in her eyes. He moves a hand to caress her cheek, to ease the blow, smooth the understanding. "Carter...we shouldn't...shouldn't be doing this tonight." He's careful to be clear with the word tonight. Too many years have passed and he can't live with the lies. He can't say he doesn't want this. Can't say he doesn't want her. Love her.
He learned to face the essential human truths of his life long ago.
"Why...?" is all she says, and he wishes like hell he could hear her thoughts, know what possibilities are racing through her fire-quick mind. Maybe she just wants to hear him say it.
Still smoothing her hair back from her forehead with the flat of his hand, he says softly, "Carter, you said it yourself, you're havin' a pretty rough month. This hasn't exactly been an easy night for you. "
"You don't want this?"
Even as the words cross her lips he feels like the worst failure in Colorado Springs, because this is exactly the pain she wasn't supposed to feel, the thing she was never supposed to feel, and he knows he's contributed to the recurring hurt for years. "Carter. I want this. I want you. I just don't...well, what about Pete...?"
Carter flinches, but then she shakes her head. "Pete and I aren't...we're not at a point right now where this isn't okay."
Jack takes that in, holds her gaze until he thoroughly believes her. Betrayal isn't something Carter does. "Carter. I want this. I want to be here. But I don't want you to do this because... if...I mean right when you've..."
Sam wrinkles her nose and looks up at him, sincerity and a bittersweet ache shining through her haze of tears, "Because...wanting you is something new?" She looks into his eyes, angles her chin and sags just a bit; speaks volumes without any words.
He's seen this look before, a look that stripped him raw and tore his heart, watching her through the flash and pulse of a Goa'uld force shield when he thought his soul was dying before his eyes.
"It's always been you, Jack," she whispers.
The weight of the years crashes upon him, and he drops his forehead to rest against hers. "Christ, Carter," he breathes, blood rushing through his veins and pounding in his temples until he loses track of time save for the pulse in her throat.
Carter sniffs delicately beneath him and he pulls back to meet her eyes. "I should have mentioned the 'scared the crap out me' part at the time, hunh?" he says, and he catches the vaguest pull of a smile at the corner of her mouth.
But she gives no words in reply. She stretches her neck up and presses her mouth to his in a kiss vastly different from any they've thus far shared. The tenderness in the simple contact moves through his stomach like a hot chocolate ache.
And from that moment, their touches are no longer acts of lust, born of survivors' passion. Jack O'Neill and Samantha Carter begin to make love.
In a fleeting impulse between caresses and kisses and eyelashes against tender skin, it occurs to Jack that neither of them has mentioned the regs, that Carter stopped saying "sir" the moment she slipped her tongue down his throat. But in truth, it was only ever Carter who cared more about her career, and his vicarious concern for her isn't strong enough to hold when she seems to have let go of the formalities for herself.
He's only human in the end. And he's loved her for such a long time.
Jack pulls back just long enough to swing his legs around and stretch out properly beside her. Carter shifts a bit deeper into the cushions and welcomes him down on top of her.
Their mouths and tongues entangle, and Carter's hands work their way beneath Jack's loose shirt to explore his skin. Her touch leaves trails of gooseflesh on his hyper-sensitive flesh. She must notice, as a soft moan of appreciation passes from her mouth into his.
Jack still has one hand in Carter's hair, and the other is cradling her hipbone. He's fascinated with the inherent femininity in this curving protrusion. He slides higher, craving contact with the stretch of flesh bared by her misplaced sweater. She gives a soft gasp at the touch. "Jack..." she breathes, and he wonders if she's just trying out the name on her tongue. He's wanted to hear it from her for years. He loves the way she speaks his name.
"Carter?" he says between the kisses carrying him from her bejeweled earlobe down the powerful line of her jaw. "Did I ever mention you're the most damned beautiful woman I've ever seen?"
Carter falls still. Her head drops back onto the armrest, leaving space enough between them for her to meet his gaze, and her blue eyes hold a look of painfully innocent wonder. He can't imagine these words could come as news to her. But he's never been able to understand Carter, she surprises him every day of his life.
He gives her all the assurance he can with his gaze, then leans down to kiss her again.
She kisses back with equal passion. Jack's hands start to roam. He explores every inch of her flesh he can reach, sliding beneath the hem of her sweater and caressing her ribcage, toying with the edge of her bra. He feels traces of lace and can't suppress a shiver that echoes through her body beneath him. He finds the line of a scar and wishes he could trace the hurt with his tongue.
Carter takes his hand from her hair and presses his palm to her breast. Oh, Dear God... She arches into his touch as he grips and kneads the delicious prize he's spent so very long wishing he could unsee.
He explores for what feels like hours.
The call of her skirt is irresistible. Jack lets his hand follow the natural line up Carter's muscle-hard thigh, taking no small amount of pride in the quivers that follow his thumb along her inner curves. He presses his hand into the softness of the couch cushions as he cradles the curve of her ass, catching some of her weight in his hand.
Carter sighs heavily and lets her head fall back, opening her throat to his hungry lips.
"Please..." she whispers.
He knew it. He just knew there was a beautiful woman under all that protocol. Lust and desire and love and compassion, and he's drowning in a pool he's been watching through glass for what feels like a lifetime.
She slides her finger tips beneath the band of his jeans.
*****
The essential clothes disappear. Carter's stockings are gone, her sweater tugged over her head, enticingly tousling her hair. The sight of Carter's ample breasts barely contained in the sky blue lace is almost enough to send Jack over the falls without a barrel.
His jeans have been worked off, and his shirt hangs open.
He's lost all sense of everything but Carter, when it's her turn to pull away on a wave of doubt that clenches his gut like a fist.
"Sir. Jack... Cassie....what if she...?"
This he understands, and his relief that she's not having second thoughts about him, about them, is all consuming. "It's all right, Carter. She hasn't made a sound in hours. And if she does hear...she's over eighteen. She might even be okay with it."
"She just lost her mother." Carter is frowning a little and she looks lost and sexy and beautiful, and even through the selfless concern the arousal is dark and warm in her eyes.
"And you just lost your best friend," he says gently. "Cassie loves us. It's okay."
Carter nods, working it through in her mind and he wants so much to smooth the worry from her brow, let her stop thinking for just a little while. "Okay," she whispers at last.
"Come here, Carter," he says, straddling the line between rough and loving, and his hands on her breast have taken on an element of possessiveness he can't suppress. He kisses a trail down her collarbone and buries his face in the valley of no return.
"Sam," she says as she arches into his mouth.
That throws him. He may be high on pheromones, but he's pretty sure she's Sam. "What?"
"Sam," she insists.
He lifts his face to look at her for a long moment. Then he gets it. He stretches the word deliberately across his tongue, "Samantha."
And she smiles.
Her smile gets to him as much as her tears.
*****
Jack starts out with delicate patterns drawn by fingernail on the outside of her panties. He thinks Carter might write out equations or symbols from an ancient language. But he just draws his name.
He doubts she gives thought to what the patterns might mean. Her breath is growing shallow and needy, and he feels the first hints of moisture soaking through the crotch of her silk coverings.
"Oh, God...," she whispers, teetering on the edge of pleasurable anticipation near the pain of deprivation.
He always meant to make their first time last (if he were ever so lucky as to have this first time). To take all the time in the world, explore and learn and taste every inch of her skin. But tonight is not what either of them envisioned, yet it means the world all the same. She needs this now, sure and fast, assurance that he's alive, they're alive, and time won't steal this moment from them, this connection. He can't leave her wanting any longer than he has.
Jack slips his fingers beneath the silk and into her folds and the sound from the back of her throat is a relief so deep it hurts.
*****
Carter looks at him for a moment, pants to catch her breath, and he realizes there's something off, something... Dammit...she's scared.
"Samantha? Talk to me." He starts to withdraw his hand, but she grasps his wrist with a firm reassurance he should stay, warm and solid between her legs.
But her breath is still shaking.
"What is it?" he asks, voice full of all the tenderness and love he can give, free hand fingering the paths of her ear.
"It's just..." she's breathing hard, visibly struggling for the words. "It's you. I've...so long, I've...and it's you..."
"I know. But, Carter...it's me." He hopes she gets it, and after a moment he's sure she does.
She nods, and her eyes roam down the length of his chest with little masked desire. She whispers, "It's you," and nuzzles into his throat with a thready moan.
She nibbles his neck.
*****
"Oh, God....Oh, God, Jack...please..."
His fingers are so wet he can barely stay in place, working her, guiding her, pulling her as close to the edge as he can without letting her fall, and the mere thought that his fingers are between Sam Carter's legs is putting his personal control to a test the likes of which he hasn't attempted in decades.
"Please, Jack...Oh, God, please..."
"All for you, Carter," he breathes into her throat, and with a last frenzied vibration of fingers over her clit, Carter is clawing into his back and crying out to the darkness.
The sound is his undoing. The hoarse edge of passion in her cries holds as much pain as pleasure. One day he hopes his touch will bring joy without shadows, but he knows their lives may never allow for such simplicity of sensation. His own black-and-white vanished with a gunshot one sunny afternoon.
Carter's comedown is slow. He eases his fingers away from her core, and Carter shivers deeply and shifts to lay his weight between her legs. She pulls him down on her like a heavy blanket, and he surrounds her, sensing her need for shelter, security. Carter has always needed strong arms around her, needed to be held, enclosed, and loved. This much he's known for a very long time. The difference is...now she'll come to him for it, instead of running away.
*****
She can't believe this is happening. She can't believe she's skin on skin with Jack O'Neill by Christmas tree lights only moments from feeling him move inside her. And at the same time, she's struck by how natural this all feels. This is Jack, and he and the rest of SG-1 have been her family for so long. She trusts him with her life, her soul, her secrets, her fears. Trusting him with her intimate desires (her love) isn't the drastic leap she might have expected.
She knows she'll be scared in the morning. But she's all right, right now.
Her panties are gone, but her skirt is still on for warmth more than anything.
Jack has pulled a blanket over them, but it keeps slipping aside and is soon forgotten.
It's time, and her legs are parted. Eye contact is something she and Jack O'Neill have never shied from. In the end, it may be the place she is most at home in the world. Jack holds her gaze without blink or waver, as their hands mingle on the heat of his erection and guide him into the cave of her folds. She keeps her fingers entwined with his as he settles his hips gradually between her legs. His length fills her, warms her.
A quiet sigh passes over her lips and she thinks she hasn't felt this whole in too long to remember.
She cups a hand to his face and searches for words, but finds none.
He offers her his most beautiful smile, and she finds the words just don't matter.
*****
His rhythm starts soft and lingering, and ends up hard and steady, and she's right there with him, her body taking over without input from her conscious mind, hips rising to meet his, hands running over the linear muscles of his back, grasping at the firmness of his hips. She loves the power in his thrusts and the ripple of muscles in his ass. The pressure and weight between her legs gives a kind of security found nowhere else, and she wraps her legs around him to hold his body close.
*****
Jack doesn't take too long. He's as wired as she is tonight. But she almost cries at the throaty sound he utters into her neck as he empties inside her. Because this man of such unfathomable strength, inside and out, has been brought to his knees by her touch. The profoundness of the sensation rushes tears to her eyes.
*****
They breathe together in the aftermath.
Jack is sinking back to reality, shaken by the force of his own climax. He's softening his hold a little, when he realizes Carter is still tucking her face a little too tightly into his chest and won't relinquish her grip.
"Hey..." He shifts his weight, moves a hand to nestle into her hair. "Car--Samantha?"
Her arms tighten around him, long fingers digging into his shoulder blades. "Don't leave me," she whispers shakily, "Don't leave me."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa..." Jack drops onto his side, keeping their contact as close as he can as they move. He pulls Carter in close, surrounds her, hooking a leg over her hip, and tugging the blanket to cover them. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. Hmmm? Heeeyy...."
She's shaking. And he realizes her plea is many layered. Don't leave her tonight, tomorrow, in the battle field, at the point of a Jaffa weapon. Don't leave her alone, don't leave her behind. He can't promise it all. She can't promise it back. It's the nature of their lives.
Jack presses his mouth to her hair, breathes his words against her ear. "You are the most important thing on this planet to me, Carter. Or any other planet we might stumble onto. You know that, right?"
A quiet beat. Then a whispered, "Okay." Which means, no, she didn't know, she's learning now, and he sure as hell should have done this sooner.
They huddle in the colored light. Carter relaxes a little and shifts to settle her head on his shoulder. He thinks there's another episode of The Twilight Zone playing in the corner.
Cassie's asleep down the hall. Janet's gone and they'll never have her back. Daniel and Teal'c are safe in their homes for tonight. Carter is hurting like hell, but she's well and strong and pliant and trusting in his arms....and that's all he can ask for now.
Jack places a lingering kiss in Carter's hair, and she nuzzles against him and wraps her fingers around his upper arm. Her eyes have closed, and he knows exhaustion is taking over. It must be near three in the morning, and she's been through hell and back amid all the interwoven beauty.
She slept the night on his shoulder in a glacier they thought was on an alien planet. She giggled and told him she respected him. They expected to die that night.
Six years later, and tonight they expect to live. Maybe more so than they have in a long time. Funny how life thrives in the wake of loss.
He pulls the blanket closer and thinks tomorrow he should stay. That he and Cassie and Carter should play Simpsons Monopoly in the morning sun. That he should make them coffee, and hold Carter's hand.
*****
#
TITLE: Rocket Fuel
AUTHOR: Rowan Darkstar
RATING: Mature
CATEGORIES: Angst, Sam/Jack, hurt/comfort
TIMELINE: Due to the request I received for this story, I chose to bend the timeline a bit. The story needed to take place at the holidays, but also needed "Heroes" to have happened very recently and for Sam and Pete to have been dating for only a little while. So, here, I have moved the events of Heroes from their original springtime location, to early December. Please forgive the poetic license.:)
Major Last Minute Beta Thanks to the amazing Teddy E, amilyn, and taliatoennien. You all ROCK.
Written for the sj_everyday Secret Santa Ficathon. mtrainiergirl wished for: "I'd love to have a very simple, non smutty *god headdesk, can't believe I'm saying this* Sam/Jack fic when Sam and Pete are still dating but Janet is gone. Angsty, desperate, doing everything they can to hold onto each other, Christmas smut.....*I just couldn't do it :-D*"
I'm not entirely sure this is what you had in mind, but the story just insisted on being told the way the muse says it happened, so...I hope this is what you wanted.:) Sorry it's a bit late! It got longer than I thought it would. Oops. Happy Christmas!:)
"Rocket Fuel"
By
Rowan Darkstar
Copyright (c) 2010
"Use me forever, use me as rocket fuel
I'll be air, I'll be fire
...
I know I love you like the silvered gold of dying days
I know I love you like an ancient history brought to life
...
I know I love you like the million times I never said"
--'Engines' by Snow Patrol
SG-1 skips the annual holiday mixer at the SGC. None of them says why they don't want to attend. No one mentions how much Janet loved the traditions the rest of them feel such ambivalence toward. No one mentions how much they enjoyed watching Janet climb on tables to hang wreaths or push team members out of their seats to tie little candy canes to the backs of chairs.
So little time has passed since she was ripped from their midst, they are too raw to prod the wounds.
Sam invites Jack, Daniel, Teal'c, and General Hammond to join her and Cassie on Christmas Eve. She's surprised when even the General accepts, saying he won't be visiting his grandkids until Christmas morning.
This year will hurt whether they walk through the motions or not, the warmth will be tinged with sadness and quiet aches, but Sam doesn't want Christmas to be tainted. She didn't let it happen when she lost her own mother and she refuses to let it happen now. She wants this night to be a reason to pull together and hold one another close. She doesn't say this to anyone. She says she thinks it will be good for Cassandra to have friends around and thinks maybe the rest is understood.
There is a part of Sam Carter that relishes having a piece of family in her home, again. Someone to be with her while she rummages through the packages beneath her tree, padding about in her pajamas on Christmas morning. The guilt that wells in her guts with the vaguest acknowledgement of these thoughts is almost too much to fathom.
The Christmas Eve gathering turns out to be sweet, pleasant. Cassandra smiles a bit more, and Sam is grateful for this small sign of life, but her surrogate-daughter radar is in high gear and she's struggling not to hover. Cassie's tough as hell, but Sam knows what it is to lose a mother, and she can't imagine doing so twice in a lifetime. Before the age of 19.
Daniel starts the package opening with a collection of designer coffees. He looks thrilled and thanks the General enthusiastically even as they all exchange surreptitious glances knowing he will never drink a sip. He never strays from his time worn blend, as often as the others try. Teal'c opens a baseball cap from Daniel with a "Doom" insignia on the front. Sam opens a pair of gold earrings from Teal'c that leaves her surprised and rather deeply touched. Jack opens a Simpsons edition of Monopoly from Carter and he grins at her for a long time. His eyes sparkle back into hers, and for those moments, she forgets why everything here's not okay.
Cassie rips open a next-gen iPod and tackle hugs Jack, who weathers the customary "you spoil her" looks from Sam and Daniel.
The packages turn to a pile of wrinkled paper before their eyes and Sam gathers the remnants into a garbage bag. The six of them sit for a while just enjoying the tree lights and the fire; they sip hot cider and cocoa. They fall to telling stories of Christmases past, until Cassie abruptly stands and leaves without a word.
*****
Jack's eyes dart to Carter as he hears Cassie's bedroom door slam. He will go if he's needed, would do anything for this not-so-little-anymore girl. But he thinks Carter has first rights. She's taken on the guardian role and they all acknowledge it.
Carter sits unmoving for a long moment, eyes closed as she draws a couple of breaths. She's slowing her racing pulse from the adrenaline rush, he knows this from the movement of her chest, the slight trembling in her jaw. She sets down her cider mug and with a brief glance his direction, she follows Cassie down the hall.
The men sit in uncomfortable silence, wishing there were something, anything they could do to fix this.
The empty chairs dominate the room.
*****
Carter's gone a long time.
The General offers to drive Teal'c back to the base. Jack gives Teal'c a nod and says, "Go on, we'll bring you back here in the morning." Teal'c gives a wordless nod and takes his leave.
Daniel stays a while longer, but in the end Jack tells him to go home before he's too sleepy to drive.
Jack fishes a beer out of Carter's refrigerator, and settles in by the fire.
*****
Midnight has come and gone when Samantha Carter carefully pulls the door of Cassandra's room all but closed and makes her way toward the front of the house.
She's carrying her heeled shoes, padding in nylons, cool air between the paths of the heat vents dancing shivery tendrils beneath her skirt. She hasn't left home all day, yet she feels like she's run a marathon. She's too tired for noise, for light, for any more words or sharp edges and she wants comforting dimness and warmth.
The night feels misplaced in time, far removed from her ordinary day to day, and she feels through her thoughts for something to put her back up against.
Everything has been wrong this year. Off.
Sam's indescribably grateful when she emerges from the hallway to find the lights little more than firelight, and the room empty of company save for Jack O'Neill.
The Colonel sits in a rocking chair by the fire, beer in hand.
She offers him a sad smile. "Hey," she says simply. She knows she looks and sounds bone-tired, but she can't summon the energy to cover like she's supposed to.
"Hey. How's she doin'?" the Colonel asks softly.
Sam nods. "Better. She's pretty much asleep. She should be able to rest now, I think."
Jack moves with careful, deliberate motions, sets the last of his beer on the coffee table and pushes to his feet. Sam hears the familiar pop of his knee. He moves through the light and shadows to stand in front of her, hands hooked on the pockets of his jeans. He doesn't speak, but he holds her gaze for long moments, narrows his eyes and angles his head.
She's been dry-eyed and immovable for Cassie. She's been placing one foot in front of the other and reporting the outcome with the same determined stoicism that carries her through a Goa'uld invasion. She's still listening for movement from the back of the house. But if the Colonel keeps looking at her, through her into her like he is right now her guts will melt and her knees will give way.
Jack reaches out a hand, and Sam takes a hard step backward.
"I ummm...," she clears her throat and brushes the side of her thumb against her lower lip. "I'm going to make some coffee, sir. Would you like a cup?"
His eyes grow unfathomably dark, concern lining his brow, but he nods his assent as his hand falls limp against his leg. "I'll take some," he says, and Sam doesn't care if he really wants the coffee or not, she's grateful he's playing along.
She replies with a silent nod and retreats into the kitchen.
Sam has never before wished that her kitchen had a door. But the breakfast bar offers no privacy. She keeps her back to Jack as she pulls the coffee grounds and mugs from a high cabinet. She can feel him take the few steps toward the couch that bring her full kitchen into his view.
She plays with the mugs a few moments longer, taking any excuse to stay in the far corner of her kitchen with her back to the living room.
Her fingers fumble in her manufactured tasks. She gives in and grips the edge of the counter as the mugs and canister blur and swim through her tears. "Fuck...." The curse is a barely whispered breath, but she knows he hears it.
She doesn't even hear him approach before his arms are tight around her from behind and he's warm and unmoving and wrapped around her like a blanket.
*****
Carter's fingers curl around his wrist, and she draws several tremulous breaths within his embrace. She makes no move to turn, to face him. Jack presses his lips to her hair, breathes in peppermint and strawberries, and says softly, "Cass is lucky to have you, Carter."
Her chest sags beneath his arms on a bitter exhale. "I don't know how to help," she chokes out.
"You're doing everything right," he says simply, "there's no fix, you know that. All you do is be here and love her, and you're doin' that in spades, Carter."
She sniffs and nods. She draws a few more breaths and he can feel her muscles trembling and rippling beneath his touch, then she gives his arm a gentle, dismissive squeeze. He feels her drawing up, pulling herself together, and, as she reaches again for the coffee mugs, he reluctantly relinquishes his hold and lets her step away.
His fingers trail down her back as she crosses to the silverware drawer, and regrets shimmer in her path like electricity.
Carter's dressed beautifully tonight. A simple, flowing black skirt that ends just above the knee. A soft and fitted wintery sweater that drapes in all the most flattering places, baring just a flash of skin at her midriff when she bends or turns. At her shoulder is pinned a Christmas broach of gold and red and green he thinks might have been some sort of family heirloom. Something of her mother's, perhaps. Carter moves elegantly in feminine clothing. She has not lost the art for all her days in BDUs.
Her make-up is darker than what she wears at work but still subtle and elegant. The pearl earrings that dangled and sparkled on his arrival have been traded for the gold filigree from Teal'c. The gesture clearly warmed the heart of the quiet Jaffa, and Jack is almost jealous of the simple affection between his friends. The uncomplicated show of devotion.
Jack and Carter have never been...uncomplicated.
When she places the warm mug into his hand with a soft warning about temperature, her pale complexion is still a bit blotched and flushed from her tears, but her expression is composed and controlled.
The gold bracelet on her wrist tickles his knuckles as she withdraws and reaches for her own mug.
"So...I thought we might see Pete tonight," Jack begins tentatively as Carter moves toward the fire and the tree.
She chooses her place on the edge of the sofa, and he debates returning to his chair or taking a seat beside her. She's taken her part out of the middle and angled his way, so even if he sits at the far end their knees will brush. But her body language is not unwelcoming (it rarely is), and he takes the chance and sits beside her.
Carter seems too involved in composing a reply to even notice a choice has been made. "Pete, yeah, he's um...he's with his sister's family up in Cheyenne. We met up on Saturday, traded gifts, and...went ice skating."
"Ice skating!" Jack lifted his eyebrows and gave her a quirk of a smile. "Sounds nice."
Sam didn't return the smile. "Yeah, it was...he actually asked me to go up to Cheyenne with him, but I...didn't." She's seated with her knees together, elbows resting on her thighs as she cradles her warm drink. Her gaze moves restlessly from the coffee table to his eyes.
"Why not?" he prompts.
"Well, I wanted...I didn't want to leave Cassie."
Jack shrugs. "I could have taken her to my place, I think she would have been okay with that."
She draws a breath, clearly wanting to right the perceived misunderstanding. "Yeah, yeah I'm sure she would have. I-I didn't..." She stares at him a long time, then sags on a heavy sigh, and he knows if he just doesn't blink he may pull the truth out of her. He's known her for a long time. "I'm kind of...slowing things down a little," she says at last.
Jack pokes a finger at his coffee, testing the temperature. Still too hot. "Not going as well as it was?" he asks, licking the coffee drop from his finger.
Carter shakes her head dismissively. "No, it's...Pete's been great, I..., " she takes a small sip of her coffee and Jack frowns briefly, wondering how her mug is cooler than his, or if she's just that numb to the heat. "Actually. It's just I'm...I've been through a lot, lately. I think I just...need the space, you know?"
"Yeah. I know."
She seems almost surprised by his easy understanding. She holds his gaze a moment longer, then nods and retreats behind another sip of her coffee.
Jack tries a sip of his and burns his tongue. He sticks his tongue to the back of his wrist for a moment to cool it off. Sam gives him a brief double glance, but doesn't speak.
They watch the fire.
"You want to watch some TV?" he asks.
Carter looks at him as if she's replaying his words to catch up. "Uh, sure, I, but--no, sir, you, you probably want to get going. It's really late..."
Jack shrugs. "You want me gone? 'Sokay if you do."
The urgency in her reply warms his guts more than the coffee he still can't drink. "No. No, sir, I just...if you want to..."
He shakes his head, says simply, "I don't want to."
"I think 'Miracle on 34th Street' is on TMC."
"New one?"
"No. Old one."
"Cool."
He reaches for the remote.
******
They've been watching the movie for a good hour, and Carter is growing visibly sleepy, though she gives no sign of wanting to turn in for the night. Jack guesses she needs the company, and he's willing to stay as long as she needs. He's none too eager to be alone himself. Jack catches Carter turning now and then, listening for signs of life in the rear of the house. She shifts position a few times, and her hand keeps wandering to her thigh, absently massaging the muscles. He knows it's the leg she injured on the Alpha site, and by the time Kris Kringle is on trial, Jack's hand moves without his own permission to rest on her leg. "How's it feelin'?" he asks, attention still half on the film as he runs a hand over her cramped muscle, realizing how much thinner her skirt is than the BDUs he's used to as a barrier.
"Sir? Oh, it's...fine. Just gets a little stiff, that's all."
He turns for a moment and meets her gaze in the light of the dying fire. The black and white of the film flickers over her skin, reflects in her pale eyes. "Hurts?" he asks.
She takes a breath, moving her head a bit as if to say 'no', to brush the notion away. But something stops her, and she looks at him, defenseless for a moment. "A bit. Yeah. It's getting better, but..."
His hand is still on her leg and he presses with the heel of his hand, massages up and down a bit. He feels her posture straighten, feels the slight tension in her muscles, and the moment suddenly buzzes electric. The movie is forgotten and the hair on the back of Jack's neck prickles and shifts. He falls still, letting the tension quiver in the air like the last tendrils of warmth from the fire, then he pats her knee and draws his hand away.
He feels her swallow then settle back into the cushions as they return their focus to the screen.
But she sits a bit closer.
*****
The dust drags gritty in her lungs and the noise of the weapons fire pushes her vision into slow motion. One minute they're shouting to one another but they have a plan. They know they're outnumbered, but there's still hope; they're going through the well trained motions, adrenaline burning through her limbs.
Then a single staff weapon fires, and her world explodes. She is aware she's screaming his name, but she can't hear or recognize her own voice. She is across the gap between them in a heartbeat, not caring if she's throwing herself in the line of fire.
"Sir..."
He's not responding. She's on her knees in the dirt, shaking fingers pressed to his throat. No pulse, no pulse, no pulse... "I need a medic! The Colonel's down, I need a medic!"
Blood on her hands. Then the field has gone quiet. The medics are crowded around them and she's being edged away, her fingers clinging desperately to the Colonel's.
"Ma'am, it's too late..."
"What?"
"It's too late, there's nothing we can do."
"NO! Help him!"
Cold fingers limp in her hand. Eyes staring into the fire-smoked sky. Everything silent and motionless. The dust sucking the air out of her lungs... "Help him! Sir!"
She's awake, scrambling for her bearings, and out of the haze Jack is there, right above her with a sleepy look of concern in his eyes and gentle fingers in her hair. "Heeeeyyy...hey there. Carter..."
No smoke. No dust. No noisy, frantic field where her world is falling apart. The television flickers the Twilight Zone marathon and Jack's skin feels warm and soft as though he's been asleep as well. She wonders if her nightmare woke him.
She's stretched out on her couch with her head on the armrest. She doesn't even remember falling asleep, but Jack is sitting beside her, leaning over her with deep lines in his brow, and she knows she's been dreaming. Because he's not dead. He's right here.
"Sir?" Her voice shakes, and she realizes there are tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. She must have been crying through the dream. She should feel embarrassed, humiliated; should be fighting to pull herself together and sit up and shake this off, but the field and the heat and the blood are still as real around her as her own living room. She can feel the panic, see the pallor to his skin. She draws a trembling breath and lets it go on an almost whimpering sigh.
Jack's hand smoothes her hair, cradles the side of her neck and she focuses on the warmth of his skin. "Hey, there...bad dream?"
She tries to reply, tries to speak, but trying to talk just makes her cry.
"Easy...," Jack whispers, fingers now drawing feathery lines down her cheek. "It's all right, Carter. You're safe."
But she shakes her head. Because, yes, he's alive, but it's not all right, nothing's been all right for weeks and she's too damned tired to pretend it is. "No," she finds her voice through her tears. "No, sir. I almost lost you. I almost lost you, right in front of my eyes. And I can't lose you. I can't. I was so scared. So fucking scared, Jack. It could have been you."
To her disbelief, the Colonel takes her desperate confession entirely in stride. The words she's been hiding inside for weeks, letting burn a hole in her guts, seem by his reaction the most natural thing she could have said. He continues to stroke her hair from her forehead with one of the warmest, most comforting touches she's felt in her life. "Well," he says simply, "now you know how I felt when you got yourself lost on the Prometheus. You scared the living crap out of me, Carter. Not a damned thing I could do to help you."
She looks at him, eyes wide, struggling to absorb what she's just heard. She's still emerging from the dream and she doesn't trust her sense of reality. But his gaze is steady and strong and his touches are certain and he smells like coffee and pretzels and maybe this is all she's ever wanted of home. The words fall out of her mouth before she can catch them, "Then why did you leave me?"
Jack is suddenly utterly lost, and she feels like a petulant child for taking a grim satisfaction in the hurt in his gaze. "What?"
Sam closes her eyes and turns away, shaking her head. She can't do this, they can't have this conversation, dream or no, Christmas Eve or no, it has to stop. "Never mind, sir."
Her breath is sucked away when Jack cups his hand to her cheek and gently but firmly turns her face to his. His gaze holds an intensity she has never seen outside of a life or death crisis. "No," he says, so close she can feel the heat of his breath on her skin, see the lines and valleys at the corners of his eyes. "No more 'neverminds', Carter. No more 'it was nothing', no more 'forget it, sir'. You feel something, you tell me. I'm here."
Sam can't breathe. Jack. He's here, Jack's here on this Earthly plane on her living room couch, and a minute ago she was running her hands over him and his heart had stopped, his blood drained away, and there was gunfire all around, and now he's here, inches from her and looking into her like he's never looked at her before.
For what feels like an eternity, she stares into his eyes, aware of every inch of her skin touching his, the rate of his breath, the texture of his shadow of a beard, the calluses on his fingers. Then with a desperation born of blood and hot zones, she cups a hand behind his neck, pulls him down, and crushes her lips to his in a wildfire kiss.
*****
The room spins. Jack's not sure when the floor dropped out from under him, but he's definitely lost hold of solid ground. Carter. He's tasting and breathing and feeling Carter all around. Her lips are warm and soft, and she tastes like a mixture of coffee and tears and peppermint candy canes, and the flavor is so uniquely Carter the ache in his groin is near unbearable.
Her body comes to life beneath him. She pulled him down hard, and he lost balance on his support arm, so he's practically lying on top of her, her breasts pressed to his chest and her hips against his own.
His body has joined her on instinct, his lips eagerly drinking from her mouth, his hand shifting from caressing her hair to massaging her scalp and cradling her close.
Carter lifts her knee beside his hip and her skirt falls to the top of her thigh, exposing the lace band of her stocking to his wandering hand. She's all soft cloth and long legs and skin and he's used to hard edges and atmosphere scanners and P-90s.
Carter's hands are in his hair and down his back and she doesn't seem to want to stop for air. He opens his eyes for half a second and so does she, but she doesn't stop kissing him, and she closes her eyes again to focus on her apparent task of driving him insane.
Blue eyes by firelight. Blue eyes too blue. Always unfathomably blue. ("Please, sir. Don't leave them, sir. Take the symbiote, sir. Keep me safe, sir." He is without defenses.) Jack has never distinguished Carter's eyes from the event horizon.
But those beautiful eyes, only a couple of hours ago, were drowning in tears over the death of her best friend.
Crap.
Jack O'Neill draws one of the hardest deliberate breaths he's ever drawn and breaks away from Carter's touch with a physical stab of loss.
"Carter. Wait."
She blinks at him and he tries to ignore the flash of genuine pain in her eyes. He moves a hand to caress her cheek, to ease the blow, smooth the understanding. "Carter...we shouldn't...shouldn't be doing this tonight." He's careful to be clear with the word tonight. Too many years have passed and he can't live with the lies. He can't say he doesn't want this. Can't say he doesn't want her. Love her.
He learned to face the essential human truths of his life long ago.
"Why...?" is all she says, and he wishes like hell he could hear her thoughts, know what possibilities are racing through her fire-quick mind. Maybe she just wants to hear him say it.
Still smoothing her hair back from her forehead with the flat of his hand, he says softly, "Carter, you said it yourself, you're havin' a pretty rough month. This hasn't exactly been an easy night for you. "
"You don't want this?"
Even as the words cross her lips he feels like the worst failure in Colorado Springs, because this is exactly the pain she wasn't supposed to feel, the thing she was never supposed to feel, and he knows he's contributed to the recurring hurt for years. "Carter. I want this. I want you. I just don't...well, what about Pete...?"
Carter flinches, but then she shakes her head. "Pete and I aren't...we're not at a point right now where this isn't okay."
Jack takes that in, holds her gaze until he thoroughly believes her. Betrayal isn't something Carter does. "Carter. I want this. I want to be here. But I don't want you to do this because... if...I mean right when you've..."
Sam wrinkles her nose and looks up at him, sincerity and a bittersweet ache shining through her haze of tears, "Because...wanting you is something new?" She looks into his eyes, angles her chin and sags just a bit; speaks volumes without any words.
He's seen this look before, a look that stripped him raw and tore his heart, watching her through the flash and pulse of a Goa'uld force shield when he thought his soul was dying before his eyes.
"It's always been you, Jack," she whispers.
The weight of the years crashes upon him, and he drops his forehead to rest against hers. "Christ, Carter," he breathes, blood rushing through his veins and pounding in his temples until he loses track of time save for the pulse in her throat.
Carter sniffs delicately beneath him and he pulls back to meet her eyes. "I should have mentioned the 'scared the crap out me' part at the time, hunh?" he says, and he catches the vaguest pull of a smile at the corner of her mouth.
But she gives no words in reply. She stretches her neck up and presses her mouth to his in a kiss vastly different from any they've thus far shared. The tenderness in the simple contact moves through his stomach like a hot chocolate ache.
And from that moment, their touches are no longer acts of lust, born of survivors' passion. Jack O'Neill and Samantha Carter begin to make love.
In a fleeting impulse between caresses and kisses and eyelashes against tender skin, it occurs to Jack that neither of them has mentioned the regs, that Carter stopped saying "sir" the moment she slipped her tongue down his throat. But in truth, it was only ever Carter who cared more about her career, and his vicarious concern for her isn't strong enough to hold when she seems to have let go of the formalities for herself.
He's only human in the end. And he's loved her for such a long time.
Jack pulls back just long enough to swing his legs around and stretch out properly beside her. Carter shifts a bit deeper into the cushions and welcomes him down on top of her.
Their mouths and tongues entangle, and Carter's hands work their way beneath Jack's loose shirt to explore his skin. Her touch leaves trails of gooseflesh on his hyper-sensitive flesh. She must notice, as a soft moan of appreciation passes from her mouth into his.
Jack still has one hand in Carter's hair, and the other is cradling her hipbone. He's fascinated with the inherent femininity in this curving protrusion. He slides higher, craving contact with the stretch of flesh bared by her misplaced sweater. She gives a soft gasp at the touch. "Jack..." she breathes, and he wonders if she's just trying out the name on her tongue. He's wanted to hear it from her for years. He loves the way she speaks his name.
"Carter?" he says between the kisses carrying him from her bejeweled earlobe down the powerful line of her jaw. "Did I ever mention you're the most damned beautiful woman I've ever seen?"
Carter falls still. Her head drops back onto the armrest, leaving space enough between them for her to meet his gaze, and her blue eyes hold a look of painfully innocent wonder. He can't imagine these words could come as news to her. But he's never been able to understand Carter, she surprises him every day of his life.
He gives her all the assurance he can with his gaze, then leans down to kiss her again.
She kisses back with equal passion. Jack's hands start to roam. He explores every inch of her flesh he can reach, sliding beneath the hem of her sweater and caressing her ribcage, toying with the edge of her bra. He feels traces of lace and can't suppress a shiver that echoes through her body beneath him. He finds the line of a scar and wishes he could trace the hurt with his tongue.
Carter takes his hand from her hair and presses his palm to her breast. Oh, Dear God... She arches into his touch as he grips and kneads the delicious prize he's spent so very long wishing he could unsee.
He explores for what feels like hours.
The call of her skirt is irresistible. Jack lets his hand follow the natural line up Carter's muscle-hard thigh, taking no small amount of pride in the quivers that follow his thumb along her inner curves. He presses his hand into the softness of the couch cushions as he cradles the curve of her ass, catching some of her weight in his hand.
Carter sighs heavily and lets her head fall back, opening her throat to his hungry lips.
"Please..." she whispers.
He knew it. He just knew there was a beautiful woman under all that protocol. Lust and desire and love and compassion, and he's drowning in a pool he's been watching through glass for what feels like a lifetime.
She slides her finger tips beneath the band of his jeans.
*****
The essential clothes disappear. Carter's stockings are gone, her sweater tugged over her head, enticingly tousling her hair. The sight of Carter's ample breasts barely contained in the sky blue lace is almost enough to send Jack over the falls without a barrel.
His jeans have been worked off, and his shirt hangs open.
He's lost all sense of everything but Carter, when it's her turn to pull away on a wave of doubt that clenches his gut like a fist.
"Sir. Jack... Cassie....what if she...?"
This he understands, and his relief that she's not having second thoughts about him, about them, is all consuming. "It's all right, Carter. She hasn't made a sound in hours. And if she does hear...she's over eighteen. She might even be okay with it."
"She just lost her mother." Carter is frowning a little and she looks lost and sexy and beautiful, and even through the selfless concern the arousal is dark and warm in her eyes.
"And you just lost your best friend," he says gently. "Cassie loves us. It's okay."
Carter nods, working it through in her mind and he wants so much to smooth the worry from her brow, let her stop thinking for just a little while. "Okay," she whispers at last.
"Come here, Carter," he says, straddling the line between rough and loving, and his hands on her breast have taken on an element of possessiveness he can't suppress. He kisses a trail down her collarbone and buries his face in the valley of no return.
"Sam," she says as she arches into his mouth.
That throws him. He may be high on pheromones, but he's pretty sure she's Sam. "What?"
"Sam," she insists.
He lifts his face to look at her for a long moment. Then he gets it. He stretches the word deliberately across his tongue, "Samantha."
And she smiles.
Her smile gets to him as much as her tears.
*****
Jack starts out with delicate patterns drawn by fingernail on the outside of her panties. He thinks Carter might write out equations or symbols from an ancient language. But he just draws his name.
He doubts she gives thought to what the patterns might mean. Her breath is growing shallow and needy, and he feels the first hints of moisture soaking through the crotch of her silk coverings.
"Oh, God...," she whispers, teetering on the edge of pleasurable anticipation near the pain of deprivation.
He always meant to make their first time last (if he were ever so lucky as to have this first time). To take all the time in the world, explore and learn and taste every inch of her skin. But tonight is not what either of them envisioned, yet it means the world all the same. She needs this now, sure and fast, assurance that he's alive, they're alive, and time won't steal this moment from them, this connection. He can't leave her wanting any longer than he has.
Jack slips his fingers beneath the silk and into her folds and the sound from the back of her throat is a relief so deep it hurts.
*****
Carter looks at him for a moment, pants to catch her breath, and he realizes there's something off, something... Dammit...she's scared.
"Samantha? Talk to me." He starts to withdraw his hand, but she grasps his wrist with a firm reassurance he should stay, warm and solid between her legs.
But her breath is still shaking.
"What is it?" he asks, voice full of all the tenderness and love he can give, free hand fingering the paths of her ear.
"It's just..." she's breathing hard, visibly struggling for the words. "It's you. I've...so long, I've...and it's you..."
"I know. But, Carter...it's me." He hopes she gets it, and after a moment he's sure she does.
She nods, and her eyes roam down the length of his chest with little masked desire. She whispers, "It's you," and nuzzles into his throat with a thready moan.
She nibbles his neck.
*****
"Oh, God....Oh, God, Jack...please..."
His fingers are so wet he can barely stay in place, working her, guiding her, pulling her as close to the edge as he can without letting her fall, and the mere thought that his fingers are between Sam Carter's legs is putting his personal control to a test the likes of which he hasn't attempted in decades.
"Please, Jack...Oh, God, please..."
"All for you, Carter," he breathes into her throat, and with a last frenzied vibration of fingers over her clit, Carter is clawing into his back and crying out to the darkness.
The sound is his undoing. The hoarse edge of passion in her cries holds as much pain as pleasure. One day he hopes his touch will bring joy without shadows, but he knows their lives may never allow for such simplicity of sensation. His own black-and-white vanished with a gunshot one sunny afternoon.
Carter's comedown is slow. He eases his fingers away from her core, and Carter shivers deeply and shifts to lay his weight between her legs. She pulls him down on her like a heavy blanket, and he surrounds her, sensing her need for shelter, security. Carter has always needed strong arms around her, needed to be held, enclosed, and loved. This much he's known for a very long time. The difference is...now she'll come to him for it, instead of running away.
*****
She can't believe this is happening. She can't believe she's skin on skin with Jack O'Neill by Christmas tree lights only moments from feeling him move inside her. And at the same time, she's struck by how natural this all feels. This is Jack, and he and the rest of SG-1 have been her family for so long. She trusts him with her life, her soul, her secrets, her fears. Trusting him with her intimate desires (her love) isn't the drastic leap she might have expected.
She knows she'll be scared in the morning. But she's all right, right now.
Her panties are gone, but her skirt is still on for warmth more than anything.
Jack has pulled a blanket over them, but it keeps slipping aside and is soon forgotten.
It's time, and her legs are parted. Eye contact is something she and Jack O'Neill have never shied from. In the end, it may be the place she is most at home in the world. Jack holds her gaze without blink or waver, as their hands mingle on the heat of his erection and guide him into the cave of her folds. She keeps her fingers entwined with his as he settles his hips gradually between her legs. His length fills her, warms her.
A quiet sigh passes over her lips and she thinks she hasn't felt this whole in too long to remember.
She cups a hand to his face and searches for words, but finds none.
He offers her his most beautiful smile, and she finds the words just don't matter.
*****
His rhythm starts soft and lingering, and ends up hard and steady, and she's right there with him, her body taking over without input from her conscious mind, hips rising to meet his, hands running over the linear muscles of his back, grasping at the firmness of his hips. She loves the power in his thrusts and the ripple of muscles in his ass. The pressure and weight between her legs gives a kind of security found nowhere else, and she wraps her legs around him to hold his body close.
*****
Jack doesn't take too long. He's as wired as she is tonight. But she almost cries at the throaty sound he utters into her neck as he empties inside her. Because this man of such unfathomable strength, inside and out, has been brought to his knees by her touch. The profoundness of the sensation rushes tears to her eyes.
*****
They breathe together in the aftermath.
Jack is sinking back to reality, shaken by the force of his own climax. He's softening his hold a little, when he realizes Carter is still tucking her face a little too tightly into his chest and won't relinquish her grip.
"Hey..." He shifts his weight, moves a hand to nestle into her hair. "Car--Samantha?"
Her arms tighten around him, long fingers digging into his shoulder blades. "Don't leave me," she whispers shakily, "Don't leave me."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa..." Jack drops onto his side, keeping their contact as close as he can as they move. He pulls Carter in close, surrounds her, hooking a leg over her hip, and tugging the blanket to cover them. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. Hmmm? Heeeyy...."
She's shaking. And he realizes her plea is many layered. Don't leave her tonight, tomorrow, in the battle field, at the point of a Jaffa weapon. Don't leave her alone, don't leave her behind. He can't promise it all. She can't promise it back. It's the nature of their lives.
Jack presses his mouth to her hair, breathes his words against her ear. "You are the most important thing on this planet to me, Carter. Or any other planet we might stumble onto. You know that, right?"
A quiet beat. Then a whispered, "Okay." Which means, no, she didn't know, she's learning now, and he sure as hell should have done this sooner.
They huddle in the colored light. Carter relaxes a little and shifts to settle her head on his shoulder. He thinks there's another episode of The Twilight Zone playing in the corner.
Cassie's asleep down the hall. Janet's gone and they'll never have her back. Daniel and Teal'c are safe in their homes for tonight. Carter is hurting like hell, but she's well and strong and pliant and trusting in his arms....and that's all he can ask for now.
Jack places a lingering kiss in Carter's hair, and she nuzzles against him and wraps her fingers around his upper arm. Her eyes have closed, and he knows exhaustion is taking over. It must be near three in the morning, and she's been through hell and back amid all the interwoven beauty.
She slept the night on his shoulder in a glacier they thought was on an alien planet. She giggled and told him she respected him. They expected to die that night.
Six years later, and tonight they expect to live. Maybe more so than they have in a long time. Funny how life thrives in the wake of loss.
He pulls the blanket closer and thinks tomorrow he should stay. That he and Cassie and Carter should play Simpsons Monopoly in the morning sun. That he should make them coffee, and hold Carter's hand.
*****
#