Slowly, Real Slowly
Slowly, Real Slowly
by Run
Title: Slowly, Real Slowly
Author: Run
Email: almacantar@bigfoot.com
Category: MissingScene/Epilogue
Episode related: 521 Meridian
Season: Season 5
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Rating: G
Warnings: no info given
Summary: If she waits, then everything will unwind.
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).
Title: Slowly, Real Slowly
Summary: If she waits, then everything will unwind.
Story note: Ah, first fic. A big betaless heap of needless 'ship. Completely propelled into AU by "Revelations". Suggestions for revisions will lead to groveling and many thanks.
I'm watching him, spine curved, bowed head, eyes closed.
He's rocking slightly, though I don't think he knows it.
Daniel's gone. Danny's gone.
And I can see, this new loss, it doesn't fit so well with all the other losses. He's having trouble, can't look up and say, "c'mon, kids! We've played this game before". I can see, the pieces, this time they're pulling him apart, small tears now, big cracks later.
I nod to Teal'c - go home. Teal'c is devastated, floored, lost, but I know in my heart, that his clear efficient emotions can get him through tonight. He must know too, because he leaves slowly, quietly past the Colonel.
There's a heavy, infinitely slow moment.
Then his head snaps up, eyes very very still, straight at me.
"You alright, Carter?" The words are sharp.
I've seen this Colonel before - still, dark, all hard edges. He is his team and they will be fine.
If I wait, then everything will unwind.
If I don't wait, I will lie.
I take, take the coward's way out and nod.
"Okay," he says but he's caught the lie.
Slowly, bit by bit, the focus is coming back, grief still on his face, in his skin, but his back straightens, his hands uncurl.
So we sit there, on the plastic chairs outside the infirmary. With the ache to cry spreading across my cheeks and chest while I sit opposite the fragile, fragile Colonel and he stacks the pieces back together.
"It's okay," he lies back softly, but I'm not looking at him so I don't have to answer. I don't. I can't.
If he gives me another minute, I will pretend with him.
('How are you doing, Carter?' 'Just peachy, sir, never been better.')
I just need that minute.
I have that minute. I have half an hour while we study our boots in silence. Every time I think I can look up--
I can't cry here. Not now.
An orderly finally passes, says "Sir! Ma'am!" and we look up startled with twin wan smiles.
But no tears.
I want to say, 'Jack? Lets go, sir', but instead I stand, not looking down at him.
"Sir."
He looks up, purses his lips, nods, meaning 'off you head, Carter. Have a safe trip home. Try not put a scrape down the side of Staff Sergeant Baldwin's car like you almost did last time you were in that tight corner spot. Why don't you have a nice warm shower? Try not to cry yourself to sleep, we need you for the debrief bright and early at 0700 tomorrow. Try not to think about the fact I'll either be sitting in my car all night crying or drinking myself stupid only to arrive hurt and angry tomorrow, Carter. Bye now.'
I.
Can't.
I can't tonight.
I look no lower than his forehead and give him the best smile I can manage as I turn away. But it must look pretty scary, because I can see his hand reach out for me as I turn.
It's not hard to dodge and be in the door way before he knows it. There's a small slap as his hand falls back on his thigh and I know I'm being cruel, but I only have so much strength, see?
Right now I'm teetering on the edge, standing in that doorway and feeling so very weary.
I know what will happen if I turn back. I know I will see him sitting there, and I know I will reach out.
Touch.
And that will be that moment. That single second when suddenly nothing matters, and nothing is the same and nothing ever will be.
(If Daniel was here, he'd laugh. "I died, and they did what?!")
So I know what will happen, when I turn round and walk back. Reach out and place a hand against his shoulder.
That second.
I half think maybe everything will stop, but then it's just the second after and the second after and then he is touching my hand, thumb curling into my palm as he holds on and I drop into the chair next to him when the ache starts to overwhelm.
"Hey," he says and gives my hand a slight shake.
I look up, knowing my chin is shaking, tears are just a kind word, a warm smile, a warm hand away from the surface.
But it's easier when you're not the only one crying.
It's after that second, but we're still sitting here watching each other cry.
Then slowly, real slowly we're getting closer, like maybe we're made of glass and we aren't sure if glass was made for this.
But it is and we do and this is ok.
Colonel O'Neill and Major Carter are sitting on plastic chairs outside the infirmary clutching each other the way you grasp at warm bedclothes on a cold winter night.
This is ok because things are different now.
If I sniff and rest my lips against his collar, against his neck, that's because his shaking hand is stroking my hair and if he presses a quick kiss next to my eye, it's only because my arm is wrapped too tightly across his back.
I think; maybe there'll never be enough tears, and I don't want to stop crying if it means that it doesn't hurt anymore. If crying doesn't feel like bleeding, how do I know I still care? I don't want there to be a day, at the finish, when I realize it hasn't hurt, I haven't remembered and it hasn't burnt.
I hear Janet's heels on their way past, but she manages to ignore the two wet faced people shaking together on the chairs. The heels stop in the doorway, and I look up in time to catch a watery smile before she walks away. I know she thinks, she's thinking about how it took something horrible like this. Or how Daniel would roll his eyes into next week.
The Colonel pulls back then and he looks a little older and a little softer with tear tracks on his cheeks.
"You wanna get going?" he says gently.
I don't have to say 'Jack, let's go, sir' because things are different now.
I press my lips softly against his mouth and pull back.
"Let's head home."
Because it's our second now.
*
fin!
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