(SV) SG-1: To Free From Oppression (PG - Carter, O'Neill)

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title : To Free From Oppression
author : SV, 1998. Reprinted by permission.
keywords : angst, Carter/O'Neill
rating : for general consumption
archiving: NO
spoilers : post-episode "Emancipation"
notes : could be better, imo.



They'd all stammered at the sight of her, speechless at the reminder that
Sam Carter was a beautiful woman.

O'Neill looked at her one more time, on his way out, following the rest of
SG-1. "You look great."

Carter nodded. Then looked down at herself, after they were gone.
"Hellooooo, cleavage." Laughed out loud, startling the other women. Next
planet, all the women better have harems, as payback for this.


*********************


When it was all over, though, she tried not to think about it. That moment of
purely liquid fear when the chief of the People of the Forest had forced
himself on her. That he wouldn't stop at the kiss. That he'd still beat
Nya's mother. That he would rape her.

Carter was no idiot. Yeah, it could happen in this line of work. She could
look the word in the eye intellectually, but _it could happen_. She'd kill
him in his sleep afterwards, but _it could still happen_. And then where
would she be?

And there was the colonel, cracking wise as always. But shooting her the
oddest looks as they came home through the gate.

The adrenaline wore off so quick, Carter almost didn't make it through the
debriefing. She just wanted to curl up in her quarters and not come out for
a month. Actually managed to drop onto her bed, fully clothed, before the
colonel chased her down.

Oh, god, is this shock? What am I supposed to be feeling? I _beat_ him.
Damn it, _I_ won.

*knock*knock* "Sam, you in there?"

She lurched up for the door. "Yes, sir. Come in."

Colonel O'Neill surveyed her quarters. "Nice digs. Military issue green is
such a..._vibrant_ color."

"Thank you, sir." She smiled at the thin joke and ran her fingers through
her hair.

There was a predictable pause. "So, um..."

"You okay, Sam?"

"I'm okay, Colonel."

O'Neill just looked at her. "Sam." He paused. "_Captain_." The colonel sat
down on her bed. "You want to try that question again?"

Carter folded inward, sinking down on the mattress and drawing a leg up. "I
was scared, sir."

"It's okay to be scared." Soft, casual, non-judgemental. "We were scared,
without you."

Sam smiled down at her hands. "I knew you'd come, sir." She hated admitting
it, hated her hands for shaking. "But I was still afraid, I was so afraid
he'd --"

"Sam." O'Neill reached out for her hands and held them still. "Samantha. Did
he rape you." The question was so quiet, so cool, Carter was stopped
completely.

Her superior just searched her eyes, the tight grip on her hands the only sign
of his tension.

"Oh, god," Carter pulled back then launched into O'Neill's arms. "No, sir."
Wrapped herself up in a moment of pure solace, shaking her head against
O'Neill's chest. Ignoring the difference in rank, ignoring propriety, hearing
nothing but the deep shudder of relief from someone who'd feared the worst.

"Thank god." Came the rumble in her ear. "When you left the debrief without
talking to anyone, I didn't --" O'Neill's arms tightened for a moment, "we
didn't know what to think."

"It could still happen, sir." She whispered to his chest.

"I know, but we'll deal with it then and not before, all right?"

Carter pulled back. "All right, sir."

"Glad to hear it."

Sam breathed deeply. "Thank you, Colonel."

"You're welcome, Captain." O'Neill stood. "What do you say we rustle up some
chow?"

"Sounds like a plan, sir." Carter rose. "Just don't ask me to cook." She
grinned.

O'Neill grinned back: "Wouldn't dream of it."