For the Uniform
For the Uniform
by Callista
TITLE: For the Uniform
AUTHOR: Callista
EMAIL: kim1013@hotmail.com
CATEGORY: Angst- well, that's what I was aiming for . Partial RST.
SPOILERS: None
SEASON / SEQUEL: Set during season 3.
RATING: PG-13
CONTENT WARNINGS: Hmm, watch out for the angst if you're in a particularly depressed mood. And avoid high bridges
SUMMARY: The outcome isn't always positive when things get out of hand, if even for a moment.
DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. We 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 authors. Not to be archived without permission of the authors.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I owe this to all the fanfic writers out there, who's work I've been reading for years, and to YCD, who wrote Kathryn and Chakotay in a very similar scenario. I'm not sure how alike these are, but I hope I haven't offended anyone with any similarities- it was a long time ago that I read her story and I don't remember the details. Kudos to her. Oh yeah, and I'd love feedback, cos this is my first post, and
I would like to know what you think.
Daniel's fault.
Well, maybe Ferreti's too. He decided that the SGC hadn't had a party in a while, came up with some excuse of an anniversary or something. I think maybe he wanted an excuse to see Lieutenant Hayes out of work, without actually having to ask her on a date, without making it personal. So we went. Not together, of course. Late, since we'd both had paperwork to do, as it seemed there always was.
The crowd had thinned by the time we got there, and General Hammond had left earlier with excuses of being to old for this kind of party, but I suspect that he knew his presence would put a damper on everyone's spirits. I wished that he was still there, though, liked the security that his presence brought. Needed the reminder. Fewer people still when we'd finished the rounds and said our hellos; a few at the bar, others dancing with abandon, more in easy groups around the edges of the room. Ferreti had grinned wildly at me, brought me a drink, then left to wind up some of the marines on the other side of the room.
I'd been considering leaving for the last ten minutes. But I was comfortable, slouched in a corner, safe in the semi-darkness, watching him- no, not Ferreti, he was dancing with some new technician or other, I didn't recall her name.
Him.
I was reluctant to think of him by name, maybe because of the things it reminded me of, the intensity it represented, of the times when it had been just him and me, and the first names had been used to pretend that we weren't afraid of dying. Mostly I addressed him by rank, because it allowed me to fall back on protocol, to remain numb and indifferent, isolated, without it looking unusual- like my emotions had got the better of me. Mostly he addressed me by rank or surname, but I thought that sooner or later he was going to slip up and call me Sam, Samantha. Even when he called me by my rank, professionally, efficiently, I could always tell when he was thinking of me by name: it showed in his eyes, his dark, possessive gaze.
I was trying to make small talk with him, and he was smiling at me, his eyes flashing, a dangerous grin. All his grins were dangerous, but most of them were controlled by circumstance. Not here. This was a party, we weren't on duty. Except we were always on duty. We were the two people remaining there with the least opportunity to use the phrase "off duty." We were even there that night out of some false sense of duty.
Daniel swung by and muttered something suggestive to him. I couldn't hear, but he looked startled, agitated, amused at his own reaction. Wiped his palms on his thighs. Looked back at me, the grin tighter, the posture forcibly relaxed, he rose and moved toward me, just a few steps, my eyes followed his movements as his arm extended towards me, palm up.
"Want to dance?"
"What?"
I felt like an idiot. I knew what he had asked, he knew that I'd been watching him for the past eternity, and maybe he thought I was trying to make him say it again. He gritted his teeth below the smile.
"Would you like to..."
"All right."
I didn't quite take his hand; instead I caught his wrist just above his palm and let his fingers close around mine so he could pull me up. I felt the strong, unmistakable beat of his pulse, and closed my eyes for an instant so they wouldn't have to meet his, wouldn't have to acknowledge the dark, dilated pupils or the desire undulating beneath the surface.
"I'm a terrible dancer."
That wasn't exactly true, I just wasn't particularly good, not terribly adventurous, especially when there were other people who might be watching, and in that tight skirt and those shoes it was going to be worse than usual. He smiled, unsurprised, and set his feet, waiting.
Waiting for me to move closer to him, to step into his arms. I wanted to, more than I had wanted anything in my life, ever, but I knew that it was a risk, given the darkness in his eyes and the discreet, fierce flutter in my stomach.
I took a quick look around. By appearances, none of the few remaining people were paying attention to us, but I imagined that I could feel their eyes nonetheless, their awareness of us. Together. I took a step towards him, and he let his hand fall onto my side, barely touching. I put my hand on his shoulder and let my arm rest against his. Our opposite hands had found each other, hardly holding really, just pressing against one another. He took a step forward; I took a step back. And then we were dancing.
And I couldn't meet his eyes because I found I had no excuse for the way my heart was fluttering, like a bird trapped in a cage- he must have known I wasn't this nervous just about my steps, or even the others watching. The people there were all busy dancing themselves. His hand was resting low on my hip, more firmly than it needed to be, he was edging me closer, craving contact.
It had been so long since I danced with anyone, except when we got silly or drunk during an occasional downtime gathering. I stole a glance at him and of course he was looking right at me, his cheeks were flushed but that might be just because he was warm, because we were both sweating, his lips were parted a little and damp and I had to stop looking at his mouth.
Did he know I was looking at his mouth?
I couldn't risk glancing again to see.
He was tilting his head a little, probably trying to figure out what I was looking at. And letting me back off a little, he felt it, too, the fire between us, or was he just nervous about pressing up against me? I couldn't blame him, I was aware of the indiscreet tug of arousal through my body, the way my breath caught at just the idea of him touching me.
Nobody else in the room was paying attention to us anyway, they were too far away and too busy with their own partners, concentrating and smiling and moving closer- when did I start looking at him again? We were barely moving then, just shuffling our feet, much closer together than we should've been.
Back off.
But I didn't want to back off. And he knew this as much as I did.
I could smell him, his sweat clean like soap, he must have showered right before he went there and there was another scent, familiar, radiating off his skin. It was too dangerous, thinking like that, and I desperately searched for something to watch, to think of, to pretend that this wasn't a problem. We were too close. We were hardly moving, not even pretending to lift our feet.
If he'd wanted to kiss me, he'd barely have had to lower his head.
Maybe I was making it easy for him, I was still looking up at him, he probably thought I wanted him to kiss me. My lips were parted because I was breathing too fast and it wasn't from dancing, he knew that, and his eyes were closing, his arm snaking up around my shoulders hiding our faces. And I knew he was going to, if I didn't kiss him first... his mouth on mine, just barely and I kissed him back, just a brush, incidental, chaste, like a kiss between children, but it was the promise, the passion lurking beneath the surface ... it overwhelmed me. Finding my lips again as he stepped forward, part of the footwork, my lips were opening and so were his, my tongue, his tongue, dancing.
I wished my arms were someplace else so they could pull me closer to him, we were not moving at all; we should've been dancing. I swayed against his thigh, he swayed back toward me and we turned in a slow circle so we could pretend nobody saw what we were doing, we were just dancing very close together, two co-workers, friends, just dancing. I could taste him, then, taste his breath mingling with mine around our mouths, the desire raging like a current through me. His body surged forward against mine.
We couldn't do that there, we couldn't do that at all, I wished he would remember that and stop because I didn't think I could stop. His lips found mine again, and as his tongue flickered against my palate, I stopped thinking, anyway. I wished for a code nine or someone dropping a glass, anything that could interrupt us and not make it so damn easy. So much easier to stop thinking, worrying, remembering, than to pull apart and acknowledge this... thing between us.
If we had been in my quarters or his quarters or his office or mine, if we'd been alone, we would never have let this start because we knew we couldn't stop. We'd always known that. There we were safe because we were surrounded by people, and being surrounded we were safe because we had to stop.
And I was going to stop.
As soon as he edged back a little, I was going to stop. As soon as he pulled his leg out from between mine to keep his balance, as soon as my body began to co-operate and stopped threatening to shut down permanently if I so much as moved in his arms. As soon as his fingers came out from beneath the edges of my shirt where they were stroking my skin and creating fire. I was dizzy because I'd forgotten to breathe. He pressed forward again, almost knocking me off my feet, and he was so hard, and I was probably leaving a damp spot on his thigh. If we'd been alone then we might not have even stopped to take our clothes off, we might've kept dancing like that until one or the other of us couldn't stay upright, and we'd have both gone down on the floor ...I had to stop thinking like that.
STOP.
His breath mingled with mine, around our lips, and my eyes burned with the same ardour as his.
STOP.
How?
Well, tear myself away from his mouth. And slide down his leg so I could stand again, and lower my chin. That was all I had to do and we wouldn't be kissing anymore, I could press my face into his throat instead and catch my breath, he could rest his face in my hair and control his ragged breathing, we could dance again like everyone else. Wait until our bodies cooled and we felt we could separate without forgetting how to breathe. Pretend that the rushing of blood in my ears was just fatigue, that the world wouldn't end if we stepped away from one another, that we had always been friends and that was all it ever was.
Everyone. Else.
The room was quiet--too quiet. When, exactly, did the music stop?
Slowly I looked around his neck over his shoulder, and it was deserted. All the others had left. Left us alone. Left the colonel and his second in command alone together, to...but we weren't going to. Oh yes. Yes we were. If not right then in the room, then in my quarters or his, on one of the regulation air force beds, or the floor, or the table or the bathtub or the locker room on the bench ... stop remembering.
I knew that we couldn't possibly be alone there; I had gone over in my car with Janet and Teal'c, and he had brought Daniel in the Jeep. Even if they had decided to leave together, they would have told us, told someone, and I was aware that they would not have left us there, alone, when we all knew the repercussions of what was about to happen. Oh god, what we were about to do...
I pulled myself away from him, painfully aware of the separation, the feeling of loss. I looked into his eyes again and saw desire swirling there, like a haze; felt myself drawn closer, by invisible forces, and I whimpered, softly. I looked away, and I felt as if I had lost my world. There was a quiet cough at the door, obviously intended as a distraction, and I danced away from him, as if it would deny what had just happened.
Daniel gazed at us, embarrassment written over his features, and pity, too, for the both of us, further apart now than we had ever been. " Party's over," he said, "Janet's waiting for you in the car, Sam. An airman's taking me and Teal'c back to the base- thanks for the ride over, Jack." His name felt like a slap in the face, and I hid a sob behind my hand, before pushing past Daniel with a murmur of goodbye.
I should have known. Jack caught up with me before I made it to my car. I heard him coming, but when he touched my shoulder, I gasped. I spun around to face him; any attempt at controlling my ragged breathing gone the moment I saw his sober features, half illuminated by the parking lot's lights. Our frozen breath, white and tangible in the chill night air, mingled together, and I caught that look in his eyes again, the feral, possessive one, and I drew towards him again; magnetism.
He backed away a little, and I looked at him.
" Goodnight?" he asked.
We could've changed things, gotten out of there and maybe headed for a motel, or his place. Forgotten protocol and regulations, and ignored the consequences. Created an illusion, no sense of our responsibilities, dealt with it some other time.
To dangerous even to contemplate.
Instead I nodded, echoed him, tried to ignore the growing numbness in my chest, the iciness of the night air. Left him, for the uniform.
Left him.
We stepped apart, and I knew that it would be the last time I'd see that look in his eyes, and the last time it would shine in mine. It had to be that way. I turned away from him, feeling as if I had lost part of myself again, built another wall that would make it harder to find me. I began to rationalise it, more easily now that I was free of his presence. Whatever it was that happened was created by too much drink, the darkness, the tension of denial. An illusion. A connection between two people who didn't exist. Not us.
Not us.
FIN.
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