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Title: Ghosts On Silk
Author: Rowan Darkstar
Fandom: Stargate: SG-1
Rating: R
Character: Sam Carter
Pairing: Sam/Jolinar/Martouf, tiny hint of Sam/Daniel
Warnings: None
Prompt Number: List 1, Prompt 97 "Sheets"
Disclaimer: Not mine, not gettin' paid.
"Ghosts On Silk"
by
Rowan Darkstar
Copyright (c) 2007
She remembers him at times she doesn't want to.
She remembers him in ways she never asked to have in her privilege.
Five years have passed since she held Jolinar inside her, since they lived in shared thought, breath, aches. The memories have become part and parcel of her texture. But they catch her off guard, some days.
SG-1 has been on this planet three days. Not a lot of danger, but a laundry list of tedious delays. The heat is wearing, and Sam has abandoned her BDU blouse for her sleeveless black tee. Jack and Teal'c are appeasing the local men by assisting in a ritual hunt before a holiday feast. Sam and Daniel are browsing the local marketplace.
The banquet of offerings is impressive for the modest village. Shoppers have gathered from distant ports, and the merchants seem eager to impress the tourists. Daniel indulges one of the craftswomen and fingers the delicate silk of her scarves. He drapes an expanse of sheer blue cloth over Sam's bare shoulder and lets it shimmer down her arm.
She remembers.
"For you, my love," Baskilian sheets imported from Hal'bad'nu, strewn across the cot in their private cove.
"You don't have to buy me things. Coming home is gift enough. Home to you."
"I know, Jol. But you should know you are loved. And I know my words do not always suffice."
She smiles, lips to his palm. "Your words are not all you give."
Tongue to fingers to salty taste and silk.
"Sam? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. It's just...Martouf used to buy me...he used to buy Jolinar..." She shivers in the heat. "Never mind."
"Sam?"
She shrugs free of the silk and walks away, unable to explain the memories on her skin, the lingering feather touches between her thighs -- from a lover she's never had. Her eyes are hot with tears and she lets the desert winds wash them dry. The dampness against private cotton remains, her secret to hold.
Daniel hangs behind, then trails in silence.
She catches glimpses as he falls in step beside her, minus one wristwatch, silk cloth spilling from his pocket.
She will find the words to accept this gift she knows is hers. Later.
She will take it home, sleep in its silken embrace.
Later.
For now...she walks.
***
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