Butterfly Kisses
Butterfly Kisses
by annaK
Summary: Saying goodbye.
Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene/Epilogue
Episode Related: 817 Threads
Season: Season 8
Pairing: Jack/Sam, none
Rating: GEN
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author(s).
Archived on: 2005-02-12
Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta, Foxcat.
**
"Oh the precious time, Like the wind, the years go by..."
-- 'Butterfly Kisses' by Bob Carlisle and Randy Thomas
**
She makes it as far as the corridor before her vision blurs.
She makes it as far as the elevator before she starts to shake.
She makes it as far as the locker room before her legs give way.
She makes it through two more breaths before she breaks.
**
Samantha Carter was seven years old the first time she said goodbye to her father. Her mom told her that he was lost, that he couldn't find his way home, and that the angels would probably find him before she did. Daddy was going to Heaven, and it was okay to cry.
Mark wanted to send him a map.
**
She's aware that he's standing in the doorway. Feels his presence seep through her skin. She's always been able to sense him.
She remembers a time when she'd sat in this very room, her vision blurring and her stomach aching with the maybes and the might-have-beens and the lingering, acidic burn of discarded hope, and felt another man's presence behind her. Teal'c never promised her forever, but his anchoring presence had been a lifeline that kept her above the waves.
He was there for her then, when Daniel was gone and he, the other he, the one whose eyes are burning through her skin but who she can't yet bring herself to recognize, was not.
But she's trying so hard not to think about Daniel now. About where he is. If he's alive. And how her father held her in this room after a heroic act and a glow of white tore a hole in her heart the last time.
**
The second time she said goodbye to her father, Sam was baking cookies. Mom wasn't coming home. And part of Dad had left with her.
Soon after, Mark assured that the rest of Dad followed suit.
She wonders if she should still hate them both for that.
But, Tok'ra symbiotes aside (and she takes a moment to appreciate the irony of that); life's too short.
**
His arm brushes hers as he sits beside her. His hands clasped in front of him, arms resting on his knees and head slightly bowed. She listens to him breathe and wonders if he wants to cry.
*"You have to actually marry my daughter before you can call me that."*
Jack called him "dad" all the time.
**
She said goodbye a third time, though looking back it was too spur of the moment to count. Tears in her eyes and dress blues that had once made him proud. But time distorts the pictures, and she knows that his pride and her pride had never been the separate entities that she wanted to make them. Not so separate at all. They were bound together intrinsically, two serpents plaited on Medusa (and she knows she should worry that even now, even as the ground opens up and she's not sure if she jumped or if she was pushed, her mind makes images out of snakes).
But he hurt her and he left her, and she started to say goodbye for the third time.
The phoenix rises, though. And wormholes and molecules and protein in her blood, and warm hazel eyes that she wanted to melt into (but it wasn't her, God, it wasn't her) gave her a second chance.
She wonders if Selmak thought of her as his little girl.
**
"I'm so sorry."
A quick glance to her left, and even through the tears she can see that he wants to say more. Do more.
*Always.*
Trembling fingers finally release the material of her pants (she's getting motor-functions back, but her hand's still too slow in obeying her mind's command), and she lies her palm face up on the bench between them.
His hand feels too heavy when it clasps hers.
His grip is too tight.
There's no band on her finger, and when his thumb brushes the bare skin, she wonders if that should mean something.
She grips back even tighter.
*Always.*
**
The fourth time she said goodbye, she thought Mom had been wrong about the angels. Too many devils in this world to let anyone make it to Heaven. But Dad was still alive when they burned through the sky, and the Blood of Sokar stung her soul to clarity. Dad had never really gone away, and maybe all the times she'd said goodbye before were too pre-emptive.
Just like Dad; giving up too soon. Jack hated that.
Netu released them with a billow of smoke and an indignant scream, and Yosemite's frosty climes welcomed them with open arms. Two weeks in the snow and Mark's kids skating around in cotton candy delight, and she let herself believe that families really could survive.
**
"I need to call Mark."
She breathes once, twice. Sniffs and pulls her right sleeve across her cheek.
Her left hand feels clammy in his.
His thumb absently traces her knuckles, a gentle pressure encouraging her to keep talking. To keep breathing. Sometimes it's the simple things that are the hardest.
"I can do it, if you'd like."
His voice is gruff, and she wonders if the grip on her fingers is for his comfort as much as for her own; she hasn't heard the thickness in his voice since one late night around a campfire when he told her that Charlie had been afraid of the dark.
"No, it's okay."
*I need to do this.*
She doesn't say it. But she knows he hears it anyway.
**
The fifth time she said goodbye to her father, she was too bruised to hug him. She remembers that that was her one regret. If she's honest, she thought it was goodbye for good.
She told him she'd miss him.
She cried.
But, eleven months later, when his arms enclosed around her at the base of the ramp, she wasn't really surprised.
She's lost her dad many times.
He always comes back.
**
The tears are still coming, but the knot in her throat is easing away. She concentrates on her heartbeat. She rests her thumb on Jack's pulse and feels it move with her own.
Her breath catches.
"C'mere."
The word is whisper soft, and she turns into his arms, melts against him, holds on for dear life.
His shirt creases beneath her fingers.
His lips brush her cheek.
His breath caresses her face.
*Always.*
**
Samantha Carter is thirty-nine years old the last time she says goodbye to her father.
Jack O'Neill's arms are tight around her. Her face is buried in his neck.
She thinks that Dad would be proud.
**
End
Feedback is lovingly received at annakarrennina@hotmail.com
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