Separation
Separation
by TM Potter
Summary: Sometimes the only way you can
save yourself is by letting go.
Category: Future Story, Romance
Season: any Season
Pairing: Jack/Sam
Rating: 13+
Warnings: language
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: 2004-07-26
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He found her sitting at the small river's edge, hunkered down, taking water samples as well as gathering up some bits of greenery from the grassy bank and stuffing them into plastic specimen bags. He ignored the rush of relief that prickled across his skin, quieting his nerves through sheer will alone before she could look up and see the concern and irritation written on his features. It wouldn't do to look irritated if he was going to get her to talk to him.
This had actually been the first place he'd looked for her. So the feeling of unease that had knotted his stomach hadn't had a chance to bloom into the full-blown anger and blind terror that had threatened him when she'd gone missing before. He took a deep breath, stepping carefully forward, trying not to startle her.
He could tell the exact moment when she felt his presence behind her. Her shoulders tensed minutely, her back stiffened up a bit, and her breathing changed for a moment, puffing out on a small sigh. She felt him there behind her. He didn't know how she did it, but he had no doubt she knew.
And it wasn't just a one way thing.
They'd always had this connection between them. For as long as he could remember. Even during the roughest spots between them, times when they'd disagreed or he'd made her obey an order which he knew she found distasteful, they'd kept this constant 'sense' of each other. He'd taken to calling it his 'Sammie Sense' in his own head, knowing she would un-man him where he stood if he ever uttered the term aloud.
He paused, admiring the view as she knelt by the water, long legs bent double as she leaned forward, presenting the lean line from buttocks to shoulder stretching on along her extended arm, out above the shining water flowing by at a quick clip.
God above, she could take his breath away.
Always and forever, she'd be able to take his breath away. Even covered in mud, her hair standing on end, the smell of earth and other less savory organic things emanating from her when the wind blew his way, he'd discovered that she could still make him stop and fight to remember to breathe.
With her clean blonde hair shining in the afternoon sun, her long, lithe body folded in unselfconscious grace, and her lovely face relaxed and unlined in her contemplation of the afternoon, she was absolutely stunning.
"Are you going to tell me what you want? Or just stand there all day staring, sir?"
He was *so* busted.
He'd never managed to get the "look-without-looking-like-you're-looking-at-her" stuff down when it came to his 2IC. It wasn't like he was leering and drooling or anything, but through the years he'd found himself spending more and more of his free time with his attention directed at her.
He found that watching her work in the field, especially, fascinated him. Watching the small frowns that chased across her features, the puckered brows that accompanied a hard problem, the small, sly-shy smiles of triumph when she'd thought through the problem and come up with a solution was like magic for him. All of this and more made her the best reality series he'd ever seen. Of course, that was just his opinion, but he was the Master of the Nielsen's in his own O'Neill universe.
She had pulled back from her precarious position, completely ruining the view, and dropped her head forward as she spoke. She still didn't turn to look at him, but her voice wasn't quite as amused as it normally sounded when she said things like this to him.
She still sounded pissed off.
He seriously hoped she didn't actually make him grovel.
His knees had been acting up again.
"Uh...I came to see if you were okay."
Her lack of an answer spoke volumes. The blatty sound of Dr. Remington's voice coming across the radio on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts and demanded an answer. As he reached up to flick the receiver, he noted that her radio was off, and the location beacon had not been activated.
"I found her, Doctor. She's okay but her comms seem to be down. We're down by the bend in the river. We'll be back at the camp in an hour."
"Colonel, are you sure? She seemed pretty hot about something-"
"I *said* we're fine. I'm going quiet comms now. I'll report back in an hour if we aren't already back at camp by then."
He switched off the radio, turning the peep on so they could be found if they were really needed.
"There. Now we can talk without interruption."
Her response was deadpan, non-committal.
"About?"
Okay, he could play that too...
"About what's wrong. About why you're so angry. And if I can do anything to help you get beyond it."
"You really don't know."
Somehow it didn't sound like a question.
"Ummm...Yes. I mean no. I...uh..."
She looked at him for the first time since he'd walked up and he was chilled by the utter neutrality of her gaze.
Samantha Carter was never indifferent.
Mad, yes.
Amused, yes.
Outraged, yes.
Neutral, never.
And now those warm blue eyes were bland and completely neutral.
He stepped forward, reaching out a hand to help her rise from the riverbank. He was slightly comforted when she took his offer of help and popped to her feet. Switching his light grip to her upper arm, he guided them both over to a fall of boulders that wended its way down into the water. He sat on a fairly dry chink of grey, pulling her down onto the flat rock next to him.
"Sit. And talk to me."
Her face pulled into a frown and then cleared.
"About?"
"About what happened that made you mad enough to walk away without a word about where you were going."
She started to stand but he grabbed her arm, stopping her halfway out of her seat. She pulled at the arm, seemingly to see if he would let go. After a moment, when he didn't, she plopped back down onto the rock beside him but refused to look him in the eye.
"Give it up, Carter. We're gonna talk about this, now. We won't go another minute on this mission with you this distracted and angry."
She sighed, then stood up and turned her body away from him so that she was close enough for him to hear her but far enough away that he couldn't touch her without getting up from his seat.
"I shouldn't have gotten upset. It was childish...and stupid. And way out of line. I'm sorry. And I'm also sorry that I broke protocol, turned off my radio, and didn't let you or anyone on SG-7 know my whereabouts."
He looked at her silhouette, willing her to look at him, to let him see what was going on in her head.
"Okay, now that you've completely avoided the question, can we get back to what happened?"
She almost looked at him on that one. Her hands, which had been by her sides, suddenly dove in to her pants pockets, looking for something to occupy them.
He almost thought she wasn't going to say anything and then her voice, wispy and thin, came floating back across her shoulder.
"I was...I walked up behind Meyer and Jacobs back at the dig site. They were...talking. I wasn't listening, really. I had just stopped in the brush to get a lace out of some brambles and re-tie my boot, and I suppose they didn't really know I was there. They were talking pretty loud across the artifact they were recording. Speculating on whether or not we were going to go home tomorrow or if we were going to stay for three days as planned..."
"And?"
"And that led to them to speculate on what --or more correctly who -- we had waiting for us at home."
"Um-hmmm?"
"*You* are evidently considered to be quite the catch. Jacobs figures you have a veritable bevy of willing women who throw themselves at your feet on a nightly basis. To use Meyer's term, you're a certified stud."
"Ah...hah."
He tried to make his voice neutral. To keep the somewhat smug edge of male pride from showing through. So they thought he was a stud, huh? It was kind of funny. If only they knew the truth.
"Yeah. And I..."
"And you?"
That pause didn't sound good. He hoped they hadn't been too graphic. Or worse, somehow counted her amongst his bevy of beauties. That would be-
"Well, let's just say that they don't think I have as many options available. They figure the closest I get to a warm body these days is, and I quote, if I get too close to a star on my way through the 'Gate. I believe Ice Queen is the term they used."
Ouch!
That one hurt.
He knew how the idiots on base sometimes talked about her. This was possibly one of the least offensive things he'd heard said about her lately. The fact that it didn't put her into someone's bed didn't make it any less hurtful, though.
He knew about the Ice Queen line that had been circulating. He'd heard it a while back and had ripped an airman's ears off for repeating it. He'd been very careful to host that dressing down in a corridor full of people, too. A little PR about the hazards of saying crap like that aloud should have put it to rest.
But it seemed it hadn't.
He'd seen this type of thing before with beautiful, smart women who were available but unattainable. The SGC personnel who'd offered to fill her nightly dance card through the years had, as far as he knew, always been turned down. He'd actually seen the brush off a couple of times. She usually used humor and a great deal of grace when turning down the hopeful pups. But some guys just didn't take a polite but negative answer with a matching grace.
"Idiots. You know how they are."
"Yeah, I do. But..."
"Look, some guys just can't figure out what you're doing spending all of your time at the mountain. Others just shouldn't open their mouths 'cause as soon as they speak they have outstripped their brains' capacity to support their conversation."
"I guess so."
"No, I know so. Listen, it isn't often that a beautiful, intelligent woman shows up in most of these guys' lives. And when you never give anyone the time of day...Well, some guys dream and others go bitter. And the ones who get bitter are generally the more stupid ones."
She didn't answer, but her body language spoke of anger and hurt. He hated seeing her like this, but he knew he couldn't take the hurt away. Another thing on the long list of things he couldn't do for her.
"Carter? Sam?"
She shook her head, not looking away from the tree line across the river. He leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of her eyes, trying to read what she was feeling in their depths.
He half-stood and grabbed her arm, pulling her back to sit with him.
He was...disturbed by the fact that something like this could get her so tied up in knots that she could forget her professionalism enough to endanger herself and everyone else on the team while on a mission. Which meant there had to be more going on with her.
"Talk to me. Please tell me what's going on."
"Do you want a life?
It was sudden, out of the blue, catching him off-balance. He recovered quickly, trying to keep up with that lightening-fast mind.
He was caught in the thrall of those eyes, having snapped his own to hers the minute she asked the question. Somehow his eyes knew she'd be looking at him.
"Huh?"
"You know, a life. Someone to come home to. Someone to go out with. Someone to help wash the car or cut the grass or go grocery shopping with."
He sat very still.
Maybe if he never moved again he wouldn't have to face up to the fact that it had finally happened.
He saw nothing but confusion in her eyes. No hidden agenda. In fact, he saw an open sincerity and genuine yearning that made his jaw clench and his stomach flip.
She had finally looked around and decided she needed...More.
More.
More than they'd ever said to each other in that room. More than he could ever rightfully ask for again. More than he knew could ever offer her.
More.
He asked questions, expecting no answers but needing to work his way around to the place he needed to be in order to handle this.
"A life? The white picket fence, the dog in the back yard, the second mortgage and the mini-van, the two point one kids, PTA and Christmas pageants, Saturdays at Little League and Sundays at Grandma's? That 'a life'?"
Her voice came again after a moment, quiet and unsure but strong.
"That's one life."
He so yearned for More, himself. He so wanted *her* to have More.
He so wanted *her* to *be* his More.
But he had no right to ask someone like her to even consider someone like him. And the USAF even went so far as to make it illegal.
He took a deep breath and held it. As if filling one major organ would make it somehow hurt less when he reached into his own chest and ripped out another one.
"I had a life. Once. Long ago."
His voice was low, gravelly with an emotion he didn't care to examine and he swallowed, hoping to clear it before she heard. He refused to look at her, now, staring across at the very interesting tree line that had so fascinated her just a minute ago.
"By the time I was your age, I was already busy bailing out a marriage that was sinking under the strains of my career. But we might have been okay...We were working on patching the holes and I was gonna take a desk job to spend more time here with Sara and Charlie, both. We were gonna work on being a full-time family, on having a life."
"It was taking some time to undo the damage we took years to inflict. But it was slowly coming back together. And then Charlie...the accident happened and there was no hope in Hell that Sara and I...It was clear that what we had was never gonna live through what came after."
His eyes flicked away to see her watching him, her body as still as his, her eyes lost in the shadows created by the twin setting suns behind her. He looked away, knowing she could see his eyes clearly from her vantage point and not knowing what she would find there, not wanting her to see too much.
Not wanting her to see the lie he was about to tell.
"So, ya' see, I had a life. And I blew it up. People got hurt."
He paused for a second, his heart giving a squeeze before he said the next words aloud.
"So, no, most days I don't want a life."
He thought he heard a small rush of air through her lips. He could almost have sworn that it was a small sound of pain. But he couldn't look at her for fear of crumbling under his urge to recant. So he stared straight ahead, into the nothingness he'd just made his life.
She slowly stood and walked a little way down the riverbank, squatting for a moment to pick up a handful of black river rock and toss the little stones one-by-one into the fast-flowing edge of the stream. Her voice, when it came, was muffled by the hush that had fallen over the shore, blanketing them like the mist that was rolling down from the hills around them.
"I...I've been thinking lately. A lot."
"You're always thinking."
"Yes, I suppose I am. But lately I've been thinking about a life. Maybe it's because of what happened to Janet...I've...I just...I took stock of my life and figured out that I feel like...Actually, I really have no one. No one at all in my life."
Ouch. That one hurt.
The first horizontal cut in a seppuku ceremony she was slowly conducting on him. Pride and his sense of honor refused to let him cry out as she carved into his flesh with those delicate, precise syllables. He only hoped she'd have the decency to take his head with the last stroke -- she was, after all, a friend.
"And I want that. I want someone. A life. I deserve one."
He realized she was waiting for a response. He swallowed the blood filling his mouth from where he was biting the inside of his cheek and played straight man to her tragic comedienne.
"Oh yeah, you do."
He didn't know if she heard the low rumble of response that came from him. He could feel her eyes on him but refused to look.
"I..."
Her voice fell away and the sound of trickling water interrupted by the sploosh of tiny rocks hitting the surface was all that passed between them.
He chanced a look her way, and when he saw she wasn't looking back, he watched her. The sinking warm light transmogrified her into something ethereal, a golden-hued silhouette against the dark edge of the water. She was vital, and alive, lovely in her presence as much as in her skin and eyes.
And she deserved a life. She deserved better than him.
She deserved More.
"So get a life, Sam."
He was watching her and didn't miss the way her body tensed and her eyes flickered up to lock on his. There was a glimmer of something there. He didn't delude himself into even thinking he could guess what it was.
"Get a life. Find that someone. Go shopping, go wash a car. Get those kids-"
His voice cracked there as he imagined tiny, tow-headed babies, running around in a back yard while she lounged with a faceless someone on the back porch, husky laughter falling from them both in waves as they observed their uber-progeny. He pushed that picture away and regained control of his traitorous vocal chords.
"Get the mini-van and the Little League schedule. Get it all and More. You deserve More."
And with each falsely chipper word he died a bit more. But like so many of the damned distasteful things he done for all the right reasons, he pushed through the pain and kept his face neutral.
"But what about..."
He waited, wanting her to say it, dreading she'd say it, willing to trade his soul if she'd just say it.
"What about the team? I mean, I won't be spending as much time at work..."
The team.
A low laugh tore at his reason as it rattled from his throat. Of course she wouldn't be at work. She'd be with Him. Whoever the lucky bastard was...
"What about us? We'll get along just fine. Despite what everybody tells you, most days the Air Force owns you for 8 hours a day. They reserve the right to ask you for the other 16, or in your case 20, but that's all anyone would ever really expect. And for crying out loud, you don't need anyone's permission. We'll do okay. We'll be okay."
Oh yeah, that one had cost him.
He'd have to get the new Doc to sew up the sucking chest wound it left behind. Wouldn't do to meet new civilizations with that bleeding everywhere.
"Sam."
She looked back over her shoulder at him. He felt his lips stretch in what he hoped was more of a smile and less of a rictus of pain.
"Get a life. Be happy. No one deserves it more than you."
A raised eyebrow was a perfect imitation of Teal'c and he felt a squeeze in the place where his heart used to be that he might, at any other time, have worried was a heart attack.
Her questioning meaning was clear.
"No one deserves all of it more than you. No one."
"I...suppose you're right, sir."
She turned back to look at the river, loosing the remainder of the pebbles in her hand in a zipper-rip splash. She dusted her hands on her thighs and walked over to where she'd left her sample case and the little vials and baggies of her specimens. She gathered it all up, seemingly surprised as she turned and saw him still seated on the rock.
"You coming, sir?"
He stared at her, memorizing this moment. One of the last moments when he would be able to fool himself into believing that they could have ever pulled it off.
The last moment before he let go, let her go.
The last moment that he would truly be human. 'Cause the lack of a heartbeat was probably going to be a dead giveaway in the future.
The moment of their separation. The moment when Sam and Jack were nevermore and Carter and O'Neill and their separation - separate futures, separate lives - were cast in stone.
"Gimme a minute, Carter. Just...gimme a minute."
He waved her towards the path and she wandered away, a speculative look on her face before she finally turned away.
He watched her walk away from him, separated now and forever by more than the physical distance between them.
Leaning back against an outcropping that dug into his back, he sat in the cool evening, letting the mist crowd him into a private place and start his knees aching in a way that almost distracted him from the larger ache in his chest.
It was a good pain, right?
He'd done the right thing, right?
He almost made himself believe it.
Almost.
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