Shakespeare (Stargate SG-1 Sam/Jack)
Nov. 7th, 2003 11:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
applecameronTitle: Shakespeare
Author: Apple Cameron, 2002
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairing: Sam/Jack.
Rating: all audiences
Spoilers: set in a universe where Meridian occurred, but not Fallen/Homecoming. N years later, Jack is retired.
Shakespeare, by Apple Cameron
"Hey. This is a surprise."
His hair was almost all that gray-white shade it had been slowly migrating toward, the past several years. Looked good. "I wasn't expecting you for another couple weeks."
The cabin blended evenly into the aspens and spruce. The leaves on the deciduous trees were just starting to turn.
The Colonel hadn't lied: this was damn pretty country.
"Or did I forget to turn the page on my calender?" He gestured inside with his thumb. "Come on in. Beer?"
The blond woman followed, dropping her duffel in the corner behind the door. "Depends on what you've got, sir." Carter hooked her thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans and looked around. Snug, tidy. A pair of fishing rods leaned near the window, tacklebox by their side. That was about the only clutter. Small boombox perched on the edge of the loft, stack of classical CDs by it. She didn't need to look to know that's what they were.
O'Neill spoke on his way into the tiny kitchen. "Molson, Sam. And don't call me sir. I'm retired." He emerged, opening the two bottles.
Sam took the proferred beer and looked him in the eye. "Sure thing. Sir."
"Stop that." Still, he looked pleased. "How's things on the mountain?" He pointed with his chin as he sat down opposite her. "You hurt your arm."
Carter looked down at the bandage on her forearm. Only about a centimeter stuck out past her cuff. "Incursion at the base." The sofa was less comfy than it looked, but still serviceable. And the beer was cold. She clinked bottles with her old superior. "Simple pleasures."
They both swigged and O'Neill made a half-smile. "Can't talk about it, huh?" He nodded at her arm. "That why you came early?"
"Not really." She rubbed at the bandage. "Had to take some time off."
The Colonel leaned forward, inspecting her with an air of sudden seriousness. "You don't look that bad." He followed this assessment with a long pull on his bottle. "Fraiser okay with you so far away from her tender mercies?" That was Jack-ese for are you OK, really?
Sam smiled, shaking her head. "It wasn't that bad." At his look, "I swear."
The beer was good, and she leaned back against the sofa, conscious of the man's unblinking scrutiny.
"So." O'Neill was quiet a moment. "An incursion at the base. Let me guess: you forgot to duck hostile weapons fire, retaking the facility." There was an open book on the floor by his chair. Jack dropped a bookmark in place and closed it. "Figured, what the hell, go on vacation early." He rose again only to re-emerge from the kitchen with another two beers. "That about it?"
"Did you read the report?" Sam finished off beer number one and pressed number two against her arm for a moment. The burn still hurt.
"Nope. Just a good guesser."
She sighed. "Two stitches, some blistering. Not that bad."
O'Neill nodded, resting his foot on the little stool before his seat. 'How's Teal'c?"
"Spreading the gospel of Jaffa freedom."
"Good for him."
"And you, sir?"
The Colonel laughed. "Drop the sir, come on, Carter."
She blushed, looking at the mouthpiece of her bottle. Decided to risk the joke, delivered through lowered eyelids. "Oh, I don't know. Sir. It kind of adds a little...spice...to my visit."
The Colonel's -- Jack's -- ears turned just a little bit pink but he didn't look away.
Instead, he put his bottle down on the floor, reached up to tuck away his book on the floor of the loft above, and stood up. The jeans he wore had worn knees, and Sam could almost see scar tissue peeking through, from any one of a dozen injuries she could remember offhand.
The gleam in those birdlike eyes was a little amused, maybe even a little scared.
"I like a woman who gets to the point. Sam. Knows what she wants." He leaned down, giving her the chance to communicate 'no' in any of a thousand different ways.
Instead, she put her hand around the back of Jack's leg, to pull him closer. Their lips met, carefully.
***
"I saw Daniel."
Jack's brow furrowed. "Jackson." Not a question.
Sam nodded.
Jack shrugged. "OK. What'd he say?" He didn't seem surprised.
She rubbed her nose. This explained a lot.
"He said..." Sam cleared her throat. "He said, carpe diem, sir."
Jack levered himself onto an elbow. "He said 'sieze the day'."
"And you always told me you didn't know any Latin."
"Hey, I saw that dead-poet movie."
She sobered. "I'm paraphrasing, anyways. It was...a long conversation."
Jack was quiet.
"It was good to see him."
"Yeah."
They were both quiet for a while, curled in the warmth of each other's bodies. Jack's book was laying face down a few inches from Sam's head, on the floor to the side of the bed.
Finally, Sam reached out and flipped the book to survey the cover. "Shakespeare?" She raised a brow.
"Hey." Jack wrapped his arms around her, mindful of the bandage. "Don't lose my place."
"You never cease to amaze, sir."
Jack was quiet, fingertips touching the book lightly, like caressing flesh, then withdrew. "I have more time to read, these days." Diffidently.
"You saw Daniel. Before."
"Yep."
"And you never told anyone."
"Yep."
"Why not."
He shrugged, voice a rumble against her ear. "They were very...personal...visits. I just didn't talk about it." O'Neill pulled away to look at Sam. "Like you", his fingers waggled in the air. "Paraphrasing. I'm just a non-verbal kind of guy."
The waggling fingers walked along Sam's hip, exploring. They both watched his hand.
"That why you came early?" He asked.
Sam blinked but didn't look up. "Yep."
Jack shrugged after a moment. "Good reason."
THE END
Author: Apple Cameron, 2002
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairing: Sam/Jack.
Rating: all audiences
Spoilers: set in a universe where Meridian occurred, but not Fallen/Homecoming. N years later, Jack is retired.
Shakespeare, by Apple Cameron
"Hey. This is a surprise."
His hair was almost all that gray-white shade it had been slowly migrating toward, the past several years. Looked good. "I wasn't expecting you for another couple weeks."
The cabin blended evenly into the aspens and spruce. The leaves on the deciduous trees were just starting to turn.
The Colonel hadn't lied: this was damn pretty country.
"Or did I forget to turn the page on my calender?" He gestured inside with his thumb. "Come on in. Beer?"
The blond woman followed, dropping her duffel in the corner behind the door. "Depends on what you've got, sir." Carter hooked her thumbs in the belt loops of her jeans and looked around. Snug, tidy. A pair of fishing rods leaned near the window, tacklebox by their side. That was about the only clutter. Small boombox perched on the edge of the loft, stack of classical CDs by it. She didn't need to look to know that's what they were.
O'Neill spoke on his way into the tiny kitchen. "Molson, Sam. And don't call me sir. I'm retired." He emerged, opening the two bottles.
Sam took the proferred beer and looked him in the eye. "Sure thing. Sir."
"Stop that." Still, he looked pleased. "How's things on the mountain?" He pointed with his chin as he sat down opposite her. "You hurt your arm."
Carter looked down at the bandage on her forearm. Only about a centimeter stuck out past her cuff. "Incursion at the base." The sofa was less comfy than it looked, but still serviceable. And the beer was cold. She clinked bottles with her old superior. "Simple pleasures."
They both swigged and O'Neill made a half-smile. "Can't talk about it, huh?" He nodded at her arm. "That why you came early?"
"Not really." She rubbed at the bandage. "Had to take some time off."
The Colonel leaned forward, inspecting her with an air of sudden seriousness. "You don't look that bad." He followed this assessment with a long pull on his bottle. "Fraiser okay with you so far away from her tender mercies?" That was Jack-ese for are you OK, really?
Sam smiled, shaking her head. "It wasn't that bad." At his look, "I swear."
The beer was good, and she leaned back against the sofa, conscious of the man's unblinking scrutiny.
"So." O'Neill was quiet a moment. "An incursion at the base. Let me guess: you forgot to duck hostile weapons fire, retaking the facility." There was an open book on the floor by his chair. Jack dropped a bookmark in place and closed it. "Figured, what the hell, go on vacation early." He rose again only to re-emerge from the kitchen with another two beers. "That about it?"
"Did you read the report?" Sam finished off beer number one and pressed number two against her arm for a moment. The burn still hurt.
"Nope. Just a good guesser."
She sighed. "Two stitches, some blistering. Not that bad."
O'Neill nodded, resting his foot on the little stool before his seat. 'How's Teal'c?"
"Spreading the gospel of Jaffa freedom."
"Good for him."
"And you, sir?"
The Colonel laughed. "Drop the sir, come on, Carter."
She blushed, looking at the mouthpiece of her bottle. Decided to risk the joke, delivered through lowered eyelids. "Oh, I don't know. Sir. It kind of adds a little...spice...to my visit."
The Colonel's -- Jack's -- ears turned just a little bit pink but he didn't look away.
Instead, he put his bottle down on the floor, reached up to tuck away his book on the floor of the loft above, and stood up. The jeans he wore had worn knees, and Sam could almost see scar tissue peeking through, from any one of a dozen injuries she could remember offhand.
The gleam in those birdlike eyes was a little amused, maybe even a little scared.
"I like a woman who gets to the point. Sam. Knows what she wants." He leaned down, giving her the chance to communicate 'no' in any of a thousand different ways.
Instead, she put her hand around the back of Jack's leg, to pull him closer. Their lips met, carefully.
***
"I saw Daniel."
Jack's brow furrowed. "Jackson." Not a question.
Sam nodded.
Jack shrugged. "OK. What'd he say?" He didn't seem surprised.
She rubbed her nose. This explained a lot.
"He said..." Sam cleared her throat. "He said, carpe diem, sir."
Jack levered himself onto an elbow. "He said 'sieze the day'."
"And you always told me you didn't know any Latin."
"Hey, I saw that dead-poet movie."
She sobered. "I'm paraphrasing, anyways. It was...a long conversation."
Jack was quiet.
"It was good to see him."
"Yeah."
They were both quiet for a while, curled in the warmth of each other's bodies. Jack's book was laying face down a few inches from Sam's head, on the floor to the side of the bed.
Finally, Sam reached out and flipped the book to survey the cover. "Shakespeare?" She raised a brow.
"Hey." Jack wrapped his arms around her, mindful of the bandage. "Don't lose my place."
"You never cease to amaze, sir."
Jack was quiet, fingertips touching the book lightly, like caressing flesh, then withdrew. "I have more time to read, these days." Diffidently.
"You saw Daniel. Before."
"Yep."
"And you never told anyone."
"Yep."
"Why not."
He shrugged, voice a rumble against her ear. "They were very...personal...visits. I just didn't talk about it." O'Neill pulled away to look at Sam. "Like you", his fingers waggled in the air. "Paraphrasing. I'm just a non-verbal kind of guy."
The waggling fingers walked along Sam's hip, exploring. They both watched his hand.
"That why you came early?" He asked.
Sam blinked but didn't look up. "Yep."
Jack shrugged after a moment. "Good reason."
THE END