![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
icepixieOkay, as promised, the fluffy Sam/Jack fic. I'd post header material, but it contains a very small spoiler for the S7 ep "Heroes," so not this time. If you're the kind of person who avoids the previews Skiffy shows for fear of spoilage, then avoid this, but if you're okay with one-sentence spoilers that don't give away the plot, then this should be okay.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Nope, nope, nope. I am a lowly college student who just likes to play in the sandbox.
FEEDBACK/ARCHIVING: Please and thank you to both. Send it all to author1@comcast.net .
RATING: PG
CATEGORY: UST-bordering-on-romance with a teensy bit of humor thrown in.
PAIRING: Sam/Jack
SEASON: 7, after "Heroes"
SPOILERS: It's complicated. Yes, it jumps off a spoiler for the episode, but AFAIK, it's a very small spoiler that reveals practically nothing about the plot. The *big* spoiler for that episode isn't included or acknowledged because I'm just not ready to deal with it yet. (And those of you who know me and know what I'm talkin' about probably have a damn good idea why, too.)
SUMMARY: Gateworld sez: "[A] scene toward the end indicates that...Jack, recuperating from his own injuries, gets something special." This is my take on what that "something special" could be.
"Something Special"
by Rebecca Helton, June 2003
* * *
The knock on Jack's door was a quick, efficient three raps, but soft, as if whoever was out there didn't want to wake him in case he was sleeping. Jack groaned, and gave a thought to ignoring the knock. It was such a pain in the ass to actually *move*...
The knock came again, this time with five raps, and louder, as if the person standing outside had decided that he or she didn't care if Jack was woken up. With a muttered, "Fer cryin' out loud," Jack turned the television off with the remote and levered himself off the couch. He called, "Hang on a minute," as he grabbed the set of crutches Fraiser had sent him home with and maneuvered them under his arms. If this was some sort of door-to-door salesman, he was *so* not going to be responsible for his actions...
Jack unlocked the door and opened it to find his 2IC. She was dressed in jeans and a form-fitting red sweater. Civvies. Apparently she was actually using the downtime that his injuries had given to all of SG-1. "Carter?"
She nodded. "Sir. I just came by to see how you were doing."
With a commendable bit of maneuvering, Jack managed to both motion her in the door and keep himself upright. As he and Sam walked--well, hobbled, in his case--back to the couch, he replied, "Well, other than the various broken ribs that hurt every time I try to take a breath, the broken leg that makes it impossible to move without these instruments of torture that could rival anything Anubis might come up with, and the giant bump on my head, I'm just peachy."
As always, Carter's lips quirked up in a smile at his sarcasm. As always, Jack felt a secret thrill in his heart that he and he alone, it seemed, could make her smile in that particular way.
That sat down on opposite ends of the couch, Jack waving off Sam's attempt to help him manage the crutches. "So, did Fraiser put you up to this?" he asked once he was settled.
She shook her head. "Nope. Janet seems to think you're too injured to get into any more trouble. I know better." He rolled his eyes in response to the smirk she gave him.
"And what kind of trouble, exactly, do you think I might be getting into?" He hadn't meant it to come out quite that way; "teasing and flirty" had rather outweighed "slightly annoyed commanding officer."
Her look was unreadable, although a grin still lurked in the corners of her mouth. She had turned playful now that her concern for his well-being was satisfied. "Wouldn't you like to know," she teased.
A spurt of laughter escaped his lips. He could think of plenty of ways he could get in trouble, but most of them involved Sam's direct participation. And she knew it, too.
"All right, Carter, I'll bite. Why are you here, really?"
She gave him a Cheshire cat grin that he knew was dangerous. "I have something special for you," she replied, the grin only intensifying.
A part--okay, to be truly honest, a rather *large* part--of Jack's mind quickly ran through the possibilities inherent in *that* statement. The tiny outpost of logic in his tangled neurons quickly informed him that none of the images his imagination presented for approval were going to become reality any time soon.
Jack blinked. "Um, okay. It had better not be paperwork, though..."
"Oh, no, it's not." Was it his imagination, or had her voice gotten lower, and maybe just a bit breathy? And was it getting warm in there?
He was going to respond, make another smartass comment, but found that his power of speech had been stolen. Probably by the woman who was sitting not more than two feet away from him...or *had* been sitting two feet away from him. Now she was most certainly closer. When the hell had she moved?
"It's something much better than that..." She was definitely inside his personal space, by any definition of the term. Mere inches separated them. Jack's heartrate was far beyond the point where Fraiser wouldn't have liked it.
And then her face filled his entire field of vision, the lids closed over her blue eyes, and she kissed him.
She *kissed* him.
As kisses went, it was rather chaste. Her lips exerted a sweet, soft pressure on his that was gone, abruptly, almost before he had time to return it. He caught one glimpse of the flush on her cheeks and the dazed, cloudy quality in her eyes before she bounced off the couch, practically running for the door. Apparently her courage, whatever it was born of, had just run out.
"Um, I'll see you later, sir," she mumbled, barely loud enough for him to hear across the room. She grabbed the doorknob and was about to turn it when Jack finally recovered his voice.
"Sam, wait."
The use of her first name paused her action, and she turned to look at him for a microsecond before once more averting her gaze. "I really should go--"
"Sam." He pushed himself up and wobbled unsteadily on his good leg, clutching the arm of the couch for dear life. He probably should let her go, keep them from swaying too much on the tightrope they walked, but hell--the way he was feeling at the moment, there was absolutely no danger of anything else happening, that was for damn sure, no matter how much he might want it to. "Stay. I can't do much," he indicated his ribs and leg, "and you know how easily I get bored."
He could tell that she struggled not to react, to school her features into "serious, regulation-abiding Major who knows what's good for everyone involved," but one side of her mouth turned up anyway, and the sparkle returned to her eyes when she met his own. Slowly, she removed her hand from the doorknob.
With a grateful sigh, Jack collapsed back on the couch. Yes! Cautiously, Sam returned to her place beside him. "I'd offer to get you a drink," he said, "but I'm afraid that's a little difficult right now."
She settled back a little further into the cushions. "That's okay, sir. I'm fine."
They wouldn't talk about her "something special" now. It would float between them for a while, unacknowledged except in their own minds, until they finally got a chance to...talk. Yeah. Talk.
In the meantime, she was here, beside him, keeping him company while his injuries healed. There was a lot to be said for that.
-End-
I'm thinking of writing a companion to this from Sam's POV. Should I? Opinions would be appreciated. There was gonna be an angsty "companion" to this about a different point in the ep ("companion" in quotation marks because it bascially doesn't exist in the same universe as this piece), but I'm not sure if it'll ever get finished.
*
For some reason, I seem to be all about the third person limited omniscient POV (aka "first person POV without the 'I'") lately. This is weird because in the past, all I've ever used is first person or third person omniscient (where you can play god and dig into the heads of all the characters, and not just one as with 3PLO). It's an interesting challenge, because you definitely get a different feeling out of 3P versus 1P, but you're still limited to the perspective of one particular character. I didn't set out at the beginning of any of my last three fics to write from this POV. It just sort of happened, and I couldn't bring myself to change it. I wonder if it's because I'm not really comfortable with these characters yet, and this is a way to only have to be in the head of/intimitely know one at a time, instead of both of them, as would be the case with 3PO POV. *waits for everyone's Star Wars refs to finish*
Anyway. Just my self-absorbed ramblings that I've been kicking around in my head for a while. I'd be surprised if anyone bothered to read this. ;)
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Nope, nope, nope. I am a lowly college student who just likes to play in the sandbox.
FEEDBACK/ARCHIVING: Please and thank you to both. Send it all to author1@comcast.net .
RATING: PG
CATEGORY: UST-bordering-on-romance with a teensy bit of humor thrown in.
PAIRING: Sam/Jack
SEASON: 7, after "Heroes"
SPOILERS: It's complicated. Yes, it jumps off a spoiler for the episode, but AFAIK, it's a very small spoiler that reveals practically nothing about the plot. The *big* spoiler for that episode isn't included or acknowledged because I'm just not ready to deal with it yet. (And those of you who know me and know what I'm talkin' about probably have a damn good idea why, too.)
SUMMARY: Gateworld sez: "[A] scene toward the end indicates that...Jack, recuperating from his own injuries, gets something special." This is my take on what that "something special" could be.
"Something Special"
by Rebecca Helton, June 2003
* * *
The knock on Jack's door was a quick, efficient three raps, but soft, as if whoever was out there didn't want to wake him in case he was sleeping. Jack groaned, and gave a thought to ignoring the knock. It was such a pain in the ass to actually *move*...
The knock came again, this time with five raps, and louder, as if the person standing outside had decided that he or she didn't care if Jack was woken up. With a muttered, "Fer cryin' out loud," Jack turned the television off with the remote and levered himself off the couch. He called, "Hang on a minute," as he grabbed the set of crutches Fraiser had sent him home with and maneuvered them under his arms. If this was some sort of door-to-door salesman, he was *so* not going to be responsible for his actions...
Jack unlocked the door and opened it to find his 2IC. She was dressed in jeans and a form-fitting red sweater. Civvies. Apparently she was actually using the downtime that his injuries had given to all of SG-1. "Carter?"
She nodded. "Sir. I just came by to see how you were doing."
With a commendable bit of maneuvering, Jack managed to both motion her in the door and keep himself upright. As he and Sam walked--well, hobbled, in his case--back to the couch, he replied, "Well, other than the various broken ribs that hurt every time I try to take a breath, the broken leg that makes it impossible to move without these instruments of torture that could rival anything Anubis might come up with, and the giant bump on my head, I'm just peachy."
As always, Carter's lips quirked up in a smile at his sarcasm. As always, Jack felt a secret thrill in his heart that he and he alone, it seemed, could make her smile in that particular way.
That sat down on opposite ends of the couch, Jack waving off Sam's attempt to help him manage the crutches. "So, did Fraiser put you up to this?" he asked once he was settled.
She shook her head. "Nope. Janet seems to think you're too injured to get into any more trouble. I know better." He rolled his eyes in response to the smirk she gave him.
"And what kind of trouble, exactly, do you think I might be getting into?" He hadn't meant it to come out quite that way; "teasing and flirty" had rather outweighed "slightly annoyed commanding officer."
Her look was unreadable, although a grin still lurked in the corners of her mouth. She had turned playful now that her concern for his well-being was satisfied. "Wouldn't you like to know," she teased.
A spurt of laughter escaped his lips. He could think of plenty of ways he could get in trouble, but most of them involved Sam's direct participation. And she knew it, too.
"All right, Carter, I'll bite. Why are you here, really?"
She gave him a Cheshire cat grin that he knew was dangerous. "I have something special for you," she replied, the grin only intensifying.
A part--okay, to be truly honest, a rather *large* part--of Jack's mind quickly ran through the possibilities inherent in *that* statement. The tiny outpost of logic in his tangled neurons quickly informed him that none of the images his imagination presented for approval were going to become reality any time soon.
Jack blinked. "Um, okay. It had better not be paperwork, though..."
"Oh, no, it's not." Was it his imagination, or had her voice gotten lower, and maybe just a bit breathy? And was it getting warm in there?
He was going to respond, make another smartass comment, but found that his power of speech had been stolen. Probably by the woman who was sitting not more than two feet away from him...or *had* been sitting two feet away from him. Now she was most certainly closer. When the hell had she moved?
"It's something much better than that..." She was definitely inside his personal space, by any definition of the term. Mere inches separated them. Jack's heartrate was far beyond the point where Fraiser wouldn't have liked it.
And then her face filled his entire field of vision, the lids closed over her blue eyes, and she kissed him.
She *kissed* him.
As kisses went, it was rather chaste. Her lips exerted a sweet, soft pressure on his that was gone, abruptly, almost before he had time to return it. He caught one glimpse of the flush on her cheeks and the dazed, cloudy quality in her eyes before she bounced off the couch, practically running for the door. Apparently her courage, whatever it was born of, had just run out.
"Um, I'll see you later, sir," she mumbled, barely loud enough for him to hear across the room. She grabbed the doorknob and was about to turn it when Jack finally recovered his voice.
"Sam, wait."
The use of her first name paused her action, and she turned to look at him for a microsecond before once more averting her gaze. "I really should go--"
"Sam." He pushed himself up and wobbled unsteadily on his good leg, clutching the arm of the couch for dear life. He probably should let her go, keep them from swaying too much on the tightrope they walked, but hell--the way he was feeling at the moment, there was absolutely no danger of anything else happening, that was for damn sure, no matter how much he might want it to. "Stay. I can't do much," he indicated his ribs and leg, "and you know how easily I get bored."
He could tell that she struggled not to react, to school her features into "serious, regulation-abiding Major who knows what's good for everyone involved," but one side of her mouth turned up anyway, and the sparkle returned to her eyes when she met his own. Slowly, she removed her hand from the doorknob.
With a grateful sigh, Jack collapsed back on the couch. Yes! Cautiously, Sam returned to her place beside him. "I'd offer to get you a drink," he said, "but I'm afraid that's a little difficult right now."
She settled back a little further into the cushions. "That's okay, sir. I'm fine."
They wouldn't talk about her "something special" now. It would float between them for a while, unacknowledged except in their own minds, until they finally got a chance to...talk. Yeah. Talk.
In the meantime, she was here, beside him, keeping him company while his injuries healed. There was a lot to be said for that.
-End-
I'm thinking of writing a companion to this from Sam's POV. Should I? Opinions would be appreciated. There was gonna be an angsty "companion" to this about a different point in the ep ("companion" in quotation marks because it bascially doesn't exist in the same universe as this piece), but I'm not sure if it'll ever get finished.
*
For some reason, I seem to be all about the third person limited omniscient POV (aka "first person POV without the 'I'") lately. This is weird because in the past, all I've ever used is first person or third person omniscient (where you can play god and dig into the heads of all the characters, and not just one as with 3PLO). It's an interesting challenge, because you definitely get a different feeling out of 3P versus 1P, but you're still limited to the perspective of one particular character. I didn't set out at the beginning of any of my last three fics to write from this POV. It just sort of happened, and I couldn't bring myself to change it. I wonder if it's because I'm not really comfortable with these characters yet, and this is a way to only have to be in the head of/intimitely know one at a time, instead of both of them, as would be the case with 3PO POV. *waits for everyone's Star Wars refs to finish*
Anyway. Just my self-absorbed ramblings that I've been kicking around in my head for a while. I'd be surprised if anyone bothered to read this. ;)
no subject
Date: 2003-06-19 05:06 pm (UTC)Thanks!
I don't know - it's pretty perfect on its own, though you might want to do Sam's POV to show *why* she'd suddenly decide to do that. Hmm. It's up to you, of course.
Yeah, I kind of want to do that, but I also have five zillion other things to work on, and this doens't need a companion...
Might be a fandom thing - most S/J Stargate fic is written in the.... 'third person limited omniscient POV'. Very few write in any other POV.
(Is there another term for that POV? That was the only one I could find that describes it accurately.) Yeah, I have noticed a lot of that POV in this fandom, even in the long fics. Other fandoms seem to gravitate more towards third person omniscient. Interesting. I think you're probably right...