Posted March 2004
DISCLAIMER: Yeah, the SG-1 guys are all property of MGM, World
Gekko Corp and Double Secret productions. This is all in fun, no
infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. All other
characters, ideas, etc., herein are copyrighted to the author.
TITLE: Glimpses of Reality
SUMMARY: Jack's thoughts during the Infirmary scene in "Heroes II."
TITLE: Glimpses of Reality
AUTHOR: Rowan Darkstar rowan_d1@yahoo.com
RATING: (G)
CATEGORIES: S/J Friendship/USTt
SPOILERS: Through "Heroes II"


Glimpses of Reality
by
Rowan Darkstar rowan_d1@yahoo.com
Copyright (c) 2004



He hasn't wanted a family in too many years. He hasn't wanted
to care.

Helping people at arms' length. Fighting the good fight and
going home alone. It works for him. Keeps him moving forward.
Keeps the demons at bay.

Once upon a time he said he wouldn't take his family back if it
meant losing them again, losing his son. He said those words in
front of Sam, knew she heard them, but all he saw in her was the
empathetic ache.

He doesn't want to know he feels what he feels, doesn't want to
cross the bounds of professional friendship. They've lost a
comrade, and it's only natural they should support one another in
their grief, comfort one another in the mourning.

But that's not what this is--not all it is--and he knows this.
He wants to run.

Except she's Sam.

And she's crying.

And she doesn't want to be. It's clear as the shimmer of tears
in her wide blue eyes that every inch of her hurts. And she's
asking nothing of him but a moment to hear.

She will play formal to the end, will never ask anything she
believes he is unwilling to give.

A pink flush on pale cheeks, a hitch in her breath.

It's Sam.

"Come here."

She feels good; warm and solid and right and home. The contact
is bringing his own flesh to life, affirming his solidity. But
the pain is palpable in her touch, in her muscles. She wants the
comfort, but it takes her a beat to accept it. When she does, he
feels her fingers digging into his back, the length of her body
molding against his.

And he wants to give her this, needs to give her this.

I gotcha, Sam. We're okay.

He nestles in closer, every moment of contact a catalyst for more
than he allows himself to feel. He buries his face against her
neck--and that's it, the moment he has crossed the line. They're
not professional comrades, anymore. They're Jack and Sam. And
they're the only ones who can give this moment to one another.
For these next few breaths, he needs to believe this.

He's seen her hit the ground in the field, could easily have seen
it for the last time yesterday. But he never looks that in
the eye, or their lives as they know them would shatter.

Yesterday, she watched reality in Technicolor. No lies or delays
or self-deception. He surrounds her with his arms, suddenly
feels his strength inadequate.

They are breathing together, chest to chest.

He doesn't want to let go. Doesn't want the only moments of good
to ride on the heels of sorrow. Doesn't want to hear the word
"Sir". He wants her tongue to curl around the simple syllable,
"Jack". Doesn't want her fiery spirit reigned in any longer.

Another moment. Another synchronized breath. A hope that maybe
she'll let him lead her for this moment longer...

Maybe she won't let go until he does...

*****


rowan_d1@yahoo.com



H O M E
Copyright (c) 2004 Rowan Darkstar