![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
For the Sam/Jack, Jack/Daniel Ficathon
The request
Name/LiveJournal:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nostalgia_lj
Requests (one or two things you'd like in the fic written for you,
i.e.: setting, genre, object, concept): ANGST! And... umm... sex! And umm....
ANGST!
Restrictions (one or two things you don't want in the fic written for
you, i.e.: no angst, pr0n, whatever): Weird-ass kinks, yo.
This was the hardest thing I've ever written.
ETA: Link to the formatted version is here.
Title: Left Behind
Author: elly427
Summary: Jack O'Neill thinks he’s taught his team a little too well that no one gets left behind.
Warnings: R, character death, het, slash. This fic's got it all.
Author's notes: Fornostalgia_lj's Sam/Jack Jack/Daniel ficathon. Unbetaed.
ETA: (24 hours later) Spoilers for season 8.
ETA2: Link to the formatted version is here.
[][][]
Jack O'Neill thinks he’s taught his team a little too well that no one gets left behind.
[][][]
Jack suspects that there should be someone ranking higher than a one star running the SGC.
His suspicions are confirmed in General Hammond’s backyard as the older man passes him a slightly charred burger and says in a low voice, “Get the second star quick, Jack.”
Nothing else and so Jack continues to contemplate his burger, schools his expression and any of the other members of the SGC currently in attendance would assume he was thinking about nothing more important than how to get his former commanding officers from behind the grill. Instead he tries to figure out how many times he’ll have to save the world to get a promotion this time.
[][][]
The casualty report is not that bad, all things considered, and he still manages to hate that part of him that thinks that way. Three men killed and five in the infirmary, one of those unlikely to make it.
The carefully written report doesn’t detail the shaken confidence of the officer standing at attention on the other side of his desk.
“You did everything you could, Colonel.” It comes out with a little more sternness than he meant.
“Yes sir.” She doesn’t blink, doesn’t flinch, is the perfect goddamned soldier.
“I mean it.”
“Yes sir. May I go sir?” and he knows she never would have pulled this shit with Hammond, but that’s a moot point at the moment.
"Yes, Colonel." And she turns and is gone and he doesn't know what to do for her.
[][][]
Samantha Carter walks into Jack's office late at night and closes the door, adjusts the briefing room blinds and is not herself.
[][][]
The last time Jack O’Neill has sex with Samantha Carter he’s got a dull green star on each collar and is sitting in the nice leather chair that came with the new office. None of that is particularly connected with the fact that he’s having sex, but he is glad they didn’t try this in his old office because this never would have worked with his old chair.
There are so many parts of his life he can’t control; they just increased a hundredfold, but in this moment he can control her, even as he can’t control himself.
“God yes, Jack, harder” and her pants and underwear are around her ankles and she grinds against his fingers, traps his hand between her legs and moves up and down and in and against him even as he rubs at her clit hard enough to generate heat, friction in her wetness.
He doesn’t want her like this but it’s more than apparent that this is the way he’s going to get her, so he reaches with his other hand and holds on to her hip even as he moves her forward, pulls her to the edge of the general’s - his, he has to remember- desk and moves his other hand, wet and shiny and fragrant, to her hip and pulls her off the desk and into his lap.
And she lands and it's good for him and for her and her mouth goes slack and he feels her soft tongue against his throat and she’s limp for a moment until finally she slides her knees next to his hips in the wide seat, until she sits up enough to rock herself against him and her hands move to his fly and the first button there even as she moves against him harder, pauses and grinds against him
Her hand unbuttons as she shifts back and straddles his thigh and grinds down and something tells him he should be doing more but her hands, hands he has admired for years, encircle him and pull him out of his pants and she stops moving, interrupts her rhythm just long enough to look down at him, hot and hard and straining away from his body.
The penis is such a strange looking thing he thinks and is somewhat dazed, and then she shifts up his body, gives his thigh one last good-bye grind that leaves her gasping and panting and so, so ready for more of him.
And she holds him steady at the entrance to her body and it occurs to him that he’s about to fuck a subordinate officer (on his desk. Fuck. On his desk) and he just can’t find the will to care as her thumb sweeps over the underside of his head and she lowers herself onto him.
And then, and then thinking seems like something he should be doing but he's not. For the first time in a long time there's not really anything in his head except maybe where to put his hands so he can help her move, god help her move without leaving bruises that the doc will question.
And she rotates her hips as she falls back down on him and he pushes through and he's not even thinking about that anymore as she tilts her head back and her neck is right there. He takes some skin between his teeth and sucks and bites and knows he's leaving a mark but just can't bring himself to care as his hips thrust up and she pushes him back down, her breath sobbing and his nearly huffing.
One hands leaves her hip and moves down and in and she stops moving for just a moment as he slides down and around and finds her clit and he doesn't even really have to move his hand when she starts moving again, just keep the pressure steady and thrust his hips up every now and again and she does that twisting thing again and starts to stiffen and now his fingers move, rub madly and out of control and she arches some more and shudders and he pulls back from her neck in time to see her face stretched in what looks like pain and then she's all but boneless against him and he doesn't think, just moves up once, twice and then everything is white stars and black against his eyelids and his lips are back to her neck to muffle his groan and he has fucked Samantha Carter on his desk.
Fuck.
[][][]
It's not that Carter doesn't look at him anymore, it's just that she can't quite seem to meet his eye in the briefing room.
[][][]
His days are something of a blur, and that’s not all that different from before except now he can’t distinguish things by the colour of the trees or the length of the local princess or priestess or medicine woman’s skirt.
Now his days are full of meetings and conference calls and he sits through a briefing for SG-1 and almost forgets that this used to be his team, that less than two months ago he’d have been sitting one chair to the left and wouldn’t have had the briefing read. Today he has both Carter and Daniel’s briefings read and has made notes in the margins.
Simple recon and minor negotiation; an easy mission, something to let them all recover from the last mission, to build Carter’s confidence. He nods his head and signs his permission and SG-1 is headed for their locker room long before he remembers that he should feel like he should be going with them.
A SF pokes his head into the briefing room. Another phone call. He’s not going to have time for lunch today, either.
[][][]
SG-1 goes through the gate with a smile and a nod and five minutes later SG-5 comes through with two team members swollen up like balloons.
He does not think of SG-1 again until he’s going through his inbox two days later and hits a requisition from Carter, and even then he doesn’t have time to miss them or wish he was out there with them. Instead he puts the folder on top of the small pile to his left and makes a mental note to get Carter to explain what she wants in plain English when she gets back. Then it’s another file, another requisition, and he has no time to waste if he wants to be home before midnight.
[][][]
It’s not that he suddenly understands what he put Hammond through, it's just that now he understands why generals get paid so much more than everyone else.
“Colonel-” and he’s pretty sure he’s somehow managed to subconsciously adopt half of Hammond’s mannerisms and ways of dealing with subordinate officers.
“General, with all due respect, we can handle this. There’s no need to send another team. Daniel assures me the negotiations are going to end up fine, and Teal’c doesn’t think the people here are a threat.”
He puts his head down and thinks that General Hammond deserved a hell of a lot more credit that he’d ever given him, and Jack had given him a lot of credit.
“That’s enough, Colonel,” and he can see her eyes flash a thousand light years away thanks to the MALP camera.
“SG-1 has 24 hours. Then I’m sending a diplomatic team along with backup no matter what you say. Capice, Carter?” She looks tired, and for a minute he wishes he could b easier on her.
“I understand, sir.” She nods smartly and he can almost see the salute behind it.
“Good luck.” It’s softer, a gesture from friend to friend, from someone who understands the troubles of commanding a flagship team on a world caught up in the importance of protocol.
“Thank you, sir” and she flashes a smile and he feels better.
[][][]
SG-1 arrives through the gate exactly on time for the first time in the history of the SGC.
[][][]
SG-1 arrives home missing one member.
[][][]
Apparently, Carter didn’t bow when she was supposed to. Or she may have bowed when she wasn’t supposed to. At this point nothing is clear except her team just fell through the gate bruised and broken and without her.
Teal’c’s got a broken arm and something’s wrong with his leg because he’s pretty much balanced like a flamingo in the middle of the infirmary but he’s not complaining and the new doctor seems a little leery about approaching the big jaffa when the alien says he is alright. Daniel’s got some pretty impressive bruising around the face and the Doc won’t rule out internal bleeding.
Sedated and passing out from it, Daniel’s insisting they go back using every trick in the book from large eyes to anger to a quiet vehemence. “Jack. This is Sam we’re talking about.”
And goddamn Daniel, he knows that. He does. He’d promise the other man that he knows exactly who is on the other side of the gate if only Daniel would stay lucid long enough to listen.
The doctor looks at him and he nods slightly, watches as the practiced hands of the young man up the dosage of sedatives entering Daniel’s IV. Slowly Daniel’s eyes droop and his words slur until everything runs together and for a second Jack is comforted, wants to close his eyes and pretend he’s off world, in a tent, listening to Daniel ramble to whoever’s on watch with him.
And that brings him back, because more often than not Daniel and Carter ended up on the same watch, and it’s only the doctor’s carefully considering eyes that prevent him
from heading through the gate himself as soon as he can suit himself with enough C4 to blow the other planet to hell.
[][][]
He addresses the letter to Mark because he can’t send it to Jacob, because he can’t quite make himself send it to Pete, because writing to himself is just a little too ludicrous.
He tries to take some comfort in the fact that he’d have written this letter even if he wasn’t in charge of the entire program. For just a second he’s glad to spare Hammond the chore, and for an even smaller moment he’s glad he wasn’t the one who was in charge of SG-1 this time, wasn't the one who ultimately made the decision that lead to this.
He doesn’t say that in the letter.
[][][]
He's never known exactly what to do with what happened to Jonah and Thera. It was too easy to rationalize it all later, when he realized how alike Thera and Sara were, how much like Jonas> the name Jonah sounded.
But that was more than likely all a distraction, a way not to think about the other things that had happened in the plant.
He doesn't remember it all, and Doc Frasier told him that was natural. But he does remember leaning up against a wall, hands digging into steel because the last time he'd grabbed her head, hands in her hair to pull her closer, she'd stopped and looked up and he'd known that that was the wrong thing to do.
Instead he wastes his fingernails against the steel of the walls and tries not to think about the fact that their break time is running out, or that they might be found (even though the last time he thought about that he'd come, come hard and all over her and it had been so messy, hard to clean up) and instead thinks about her, Thera, warm, wet mouth up and down and around and taking him in and he leans his head back and groans.
He feels her speed up and he wants to look down, to watch her, but some part of him can't, won't watch her do this and he wishes he knew why even as her hand comes up to slide his balls together, even as she increases the friction and he lets out a grunt, something deep in his throat and it's all he can manage as a warning and she sucks harder and he comes.
[][][]
Teal’c and Daniel appear in front of his desk the next day. Daniel looks grey and keeps blinking as if his eyes aren’t quite focusing correctly. Teal’c stands at attention but tilts slightly to the left.
Jack knows what is coming.
“No.” He needs to get this out of the way, needs to think of other things right now. SG-15 hasn’t checked in and that is not like them.
“No, O’Neill? You have not yet heard our request.” Teal’c speaks and Daniel fidgets next to him and Jack knows this is all part of their plan.
“You want to go to P7T 4E4 and try to bring Carter home. I’m telling you that you can’t. And if you try something crazy like I would have, neither of you will get off world for a year.”
Teal’c lifts an eyebrow and Jack hopes he knows that most of what he’s said is directed at Daniel. Teal’c is here in front of him out of loyalty and sense of duty. Teal’c knows Carter is dead, saw the blow being struck and was the one who insisted they go through the gate while they could.
Daniel doesn’t quite believe what he didn’t exactly see, and Jack thinks that tangled up with concern for Carter is the worry that they didn’t really chase after him when he ascended.
“I just don’t understand how you of all people can just leave her out there.”
“Daniel-” he hopes there’s enough warning in his voice, because Jack can’t quite believe it either.
“No. I want to grieve for my friend. I want to believe in that tiny chance that she’s still alive out there, and I want to rescue her if she is. And if she’s not, I want to bring her home to her family, to her friends, to her planet, for god’s sake, because she would do the same for me.”
And Jack knows it’s true, knows all of it is true and a year ago he would have felt exactly the same. Now, now he can’t risk it, can’t let his people risk it.
“My answer’s still the same.”
“Fine.” And the two men leave and Jack doesn’t have time to feel remorse or to dwell because SG-15 just checked in and Vidrine wants a word on line two.
[][][]
As far as Jack can tell, Teal’c stays mostly in his quarters. He runs into Daniel once, on the elevator, and they both look at the floor.
“The funeral’s tomorrow at four.” Daniel grinds the toe of his boot into the floor and doesn’t look at Jack as he speaks.
“I know.”
“Okay. You’re just so busy-”
His arm swings out and his palm slams against the metal of the wall. “Goddamnit, Daniel, she was my friend too and I know she’s dead and I damn well know when the funeral is. I’m sorry you're grieving but fuck, I don’t deserve this.”
And the elevator doors open and Jack is off the elevator before Daniel can say anything else.
[][][]
Jack O'Neill is not the sort of man to let anyone see what he's feeling.
He goes to the funeral, says what's required and uses the obligatory adjectives like brilliant and wise, says she laughed at all my jokes, and sees Hammond nod approvingly. Sits next to Jacob who sits next to Shanahan and doesn't hold Cassie's hand, lets Daniel take that burden.
He stays in his chair at the grave until nearly everyone is gone, then accompanies Teal'c to where the hole is not filled, looks down and wonders how the funeral directors will get the straps from around the coffin. Does not notice the one handful of dirt Pete threw onto the casket.
Teal'c moves as if to remove his hat in one final gesture of respect but Jack's hand shoots out too quickly, stops the bigger man from making a move because while it's unlikely there's anyone watching, anyone around who's not consumed with grief and unable to see past the hole and the pile of dirt covered in astroturf, they can't risk it, not even today, not even for Carter.
So instead Jack leaves his hat on too, stands next to Teal'c and stares down into the hole and tries not to think about the sandbags, carefully weighted to approximate Sam Carter, tries not to think about the fact that he's going to have to look Mark Carter in the eye and tell him that the Air Force did everything they could to save his sister because that was his job, and he’s starting to think that if he'd done all he could have he wouldn't be here now, and she wouldn't be half way across the galaxy, rotting in a garbage dump or being torn apart by the local vermin.
He salutes and Teal'c bows his head as he puts his hand to his heart and Jack wishes he were allowed to do that much, to show that much. Jack wonders if maybe now it would be okay to show some emotion, to act like he’s lost a friend who was maybe something more and not just a coworker. But he knows himself too well, so he stands there for one more minute and then turns away, turns and sees Daniel with an arm around Cassie and it's time to go.
[][][]
The first time Jack O’Neill sleeps with Samantha Carter is in a hotel room in Washington D.C., not five miles from the Pentagon and only two floors above their commanding officer.
She’d looked beautiful and soft and sad and when he’d said goodnight at her door after a couple hours at the hotel bar she’d looked at him, really looked at him for the first time that night.
Then she’d reached up and kissed him, just brushed her lips against his. And he’d leaned down to return the gesture, but he’d been taking a breath, or maybe she had and their lips had been just a little open and he’d kissed her, really kissed her, caught her lips between his and it had felt good and it had been so long since sex was this easy.
And so when she’d pulled him into her room he’d let her. It was surprisingly easy not to think of the consequences and harder than he'd expected no to think of Sara.
But that had been the first time.
[][][]
He thinks it's weird and strange and wrong that they've got blue jello at the wake.
[][][]
The unofficial wake ends up at his house, and it’s almost like he planned it except he’s got no booze in the house but a trip to the corner store cures that.
This isn’t the sort of wake where people get drunk and remember happy stories and everything ends up in laughter. No, this hits too close to home for too many people.
SG-1 isn’t supposed to die.
Jack remembers a night like this for Daniel, remembers the whispers and the people who’d looked at him and he’d looked back, full of the knowledge that Daniel wasn’t exactly dead and calmly offered them another beer.
That isn’t happening tonight and Jack wonders exactly how many people know it was an empty coffin that was buried today.
Teal’c’s in the kitchen and Daniel’s on the couch staring morosely at his beer and when Siler approached and offers him a glass of something murky that smells strongly of alcohol, Jack takes it with a nod and tips the entire thing back.
And he doesn’t want to do something so clichéd as get completely drunk but there doesn’t seem to be anything else to do, so when Sgt. O’Brien walks by a minute later and offers him another drink, he doesn’t say no.
[][][]
Jack wakes up to feel someone else’s hand on his dick.
He’s not exactly sure he cares that he doesn’t quite remember falling asleep with someone but old instincts are hard to fight, so as he thrusts up into the hand on doing something amazing to him - twist and swirl across the head and a hard twist down - Jack rolls over and even though he might want to he can’t quite stop his hips from thrusting up.
Daniel is next to him, eyes half closed in concentration and for a second he notices how different the other man always looks without his glasses, more focused maybe, but that’s a thought that goes unnoticed as Daniel squeezes and jerks Jack's cock a little harder than is pleasurable.
Jack thinks he understands, thinks that he knows that this isn’t about anything more than distraction mixed with a little guilt and, aside from a little pain, which maybe he deserves, Daniel’s hand feels good, feels something like his own as it doesn’t quite glide up and down, as hard calluses catch at the skin and add another sensation to being jerked off by another man.
Jack closes his eyes and doesn’t think about who is doing, just thinks about the feeling and if he closes his eyes tight and arches his back and just holds his breath it feels really good, feels like himself or a woman or just a hand, up and down and up and down and over and around and his hips arch away from the bed and he hovers there, muscles clenched and knees and back suddenly impervious and twist and over and he comes, comes hard and it’s almost painful and he keeps his eyes shut until it’s over, until everything has stopped and careful hands remove themselves from his body and he hears them wipe against the sheets and he thinks he hasn’t done laundry in a while and this was the only clean set the last time he changed the sheets and then he starts to wonder if he’s even got laundry detergent and damnit, he is fucked up.
He lays relaxed against dirty sheets and tries not to think and next to him the bed shifts and Daniel gets off the bed and leaves the room and he listens, listens until he hears the front door shut and then he gets up and goes to the guest room and slides between the sheets, heart still pounding a little faster than normal and his body still sticky and relaxed and he thinks that tonight he’ll suffer with the double bed instead of trying to find clean sheets.
And he lies awake and stares at the ceiling and tries not to think of the body that was next to him and brought him here. Thinks so it’s come to this and berates himself, just a little, for thinking of the Simpsons at a time like this
[][][]
Jack wakes up, takes a shower, makes a piece of toast and a pot of coffee and reads the paper and does not allow himself to think about the previous four days until he is finished the sports section and has only the classifieds left.
He looks around and notes that someone at least attempted to clean up but the job was half-assed. He shoves his feet in shoes because he’s pretty sure he saw pieces of a broken bottle on the counter and attempts to find garbage bags.
He does not allow himself to think about the previous four days.
[][][]
He arrives at work and finds at the top of his in pile a request from Daniel to be transferred to a research unit, a unit that works primarily out of Area 51.
His first instinct is to refuse, to insist Daniel be left on SG-1, tries not to think about two nights ago and resolves that he will deal with whatever it was that happened because the archaeologist is too important to loose.
This is followed swiftly by the impulse to grant the request, thinks that it would make his life and some unanswered questions a hell of a lot easier.
Instead he pages his assistant and makes an appointment with Dr. Jackson later in the day and feels like he is not cut out for this job at all.
[][][]
Daniel knocks and enters without waiting for the command and Jack can’t decide if it’s because of familiarity or because Daniel still clings to the notion that he’s a civilian who doesn’t have to follow military rules.
Daniel sits and slouches and Jack recognizes the belligerence from a hundred new recruits.
“Area 51?” Jack knows he has to start this and accepts it as a burden of command.
“Yeah, they’ve done some interesting research but they really need someone who’s been out there to go any further.” Daniel pulls off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose and avoids eye contact and Jack refuses to remember the last time he saw Daniel without glasses.
“We need you here. You’ve got a lot of experience. I don’t know if I can just let you go.” Jack drums his fingers on the blotter and then stops. He’s been trying to control his fidgeting lately.
“Jack-” Daniel replaces his glasses, sits forward, one hand going to push his glasses up unnecessarily. “This isn’t about . . . ..” And Jack breaks eye contact, looks back down at his fingers, now clenching the desk. “I’m sick and tired of losing people. Between losing Sam and being gone for a year and not having you out in the field and Teal’c almost ready to bolt to help what’s left of the Jaffa resistance-” and that’s news, but Jack doesn’t let it show “- I just want to be somewhere where there’s some stability. After eight years I don’t think it’s so much to ask.”
And if it were anyone but a member of his team, it wouldn’t be much to ask. Eight years is a long time in one assignment, and the requirements for that assignment have changed dramatically in the last few months.
He owes Daniel nothing less than the truth, he thinks. “We’re considering SG-1 staffing in the next few days. If I can find someone to replace you I’ll consider your request.”
Daniel nods and gets up and leaves and for just a second Jack misses Carter’s automatic respect and wishes she was here instead of Daniel.
[][][]
Jack’s got five minutes between a call with the Pentagon and a mission briefing for SG-7 and is determined to make the most of it. He bolts from his office and ignores the sqwak from his aide and heads for the cafeteria, determined to choose his own piece of cake and flavour of coffee today.
The cafeteria staff always makes sure they’ve got at least two kinds of cake these days and while he appreciates it, Jack still thinks it’s weird that he can influence cafeteria decisions.
[][][]
Somehow, Jack knows Teal’c knows what happened. Knows everything that happened. Jack knows that Teal’c doesn’t exactly approve, and since Teal’c is the best man he knows, he thinks that fact should bother him more.
[][][]
Between Jack and the President and General Vidrine and a few hundred personnel files it’s not that hard to find three new people to staff SG-1.
He calls Daniel and Teal’c to tell them to come to his office personally. Once there, Daniel nods curtly at his replacement and Teal’c inclines his head and waits as Daniel leaves.
“Let me guess. You’re leaving the SGC to continue the fight elsewhere.”
“Yes, O’Neill.” Jack was prepared for this and silently shifts a file to join the other three piles on his desk.
[][][]
He regrets he never had the chance to fuck her and call her by her name. Regrets that there was never a time when she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him towards her and he sighed her name, Samantha, like he'd been saying it in his head for years, and watched as her eyes opened and she looked into him and saw everything.
But that never happened, and he's not willing to pretend it did, or that it ever would have.
[][][]
It’s a Wednesday morning and Jack has just watched Teal’c head through the Stargate and he is the last member of the original SG-1 left on base.
Jack O’Neill sits at his desk and thinks that maybe he got left behind and can’t quite figure out how it happened.
[][][]
'shipper safe? I don't know. Ooo, wait,lisayaeger says it is.
The request
Name/LiveJournal:
nostalgia_ljRequests (one or two things you'd like in the fic written for you,
i.e.: setting, genre, object, concept): ANGST! And... umm... sex! And umm....
ANGST!
Restrictions (one or two things you don't want in the fic written for
you, i.e.: no angst, pr0n, whatever): Weird-ass kinks, yo.
This was the hardest thing I've ever written.
ETA: Link to the formatted version is here.
Title: Left Behind
Author: elly427
Summary: Jack O'Neill thinks he’s taught his team a little too well that no one gets left behind.
Warnings: R, character death, het, slash. This fic's got it all.
Author's notes: For
nostalgia_lj's Sam/Jack Jack/Daniel ficathon. Unbetaed.ETA: (24 hours later) Spoilers for season 8.
ETA2: Link to the formatted version is here.
[][][]
Jack O'Neill thinks he’s taught his team a little too well that no one gets left behind.
[][][]
Jack suspects that there should be someone ranking higher than a one star running the SGC.
His suspicions are confirmed in General Hammond’s backyard as the older man passes him a slightly charred burger and says in a low voice, “Get the second star quick, Jack.”
Nothing else and so Jack continues to contemplate his burger, schools his expression and any of the other members of the SGC currently in attendance would assume he was thinking about nothing more important than how to get his former commanding officers from behind the grill. Instead he tries to figure out how many times he’ll have to save the world to get a promotion this time.
[][][]
The casualty report is not that bad, all things considered, and he still manages to hate that part of him that thinks that way. Three men killed and five in the infirmary, one of those unlikely to make it.
The carefully written report doesn’t detail the shaken confidence of the officer standing at attention on the other side of his desk.
“You did everything you could, Colonel.” It comes out with a little more sternness than he meant.
“Yes sir.” She doesn’t blink, doesn’t flinch, is the perfect goddamned soldier.
“I mean it.”
“Yes sir. May I go sir?” and he knows she never would have pulled this shit with Hammond, but that’s a moot point at the moment.
"Yes, Colonel." And she turns and is gone and he doesn't know what to do for her.
[][][]
Samantha Carter walks into Jack's office late at night and closes the door, adjusts the briefing room blinds and is not herself.
[][][]
The last time Jack O’Neill has sex with Samantha Carter he’s got a dull green star on each collar and is sitting in the nice leather chair that came with the new office. None of that is particularly connected with the fact that he’s having sex, but he is glad they didn’t try this in his old office because this never would have worked with his old chair.
There are so many parts of his life he can’t control; they just increased a hundredfold, but in this moment he can control her, even as he can’t control himself.
“God yes, Jack, harder” and her pants and underwear are around her ankles and she grinds against his fingers, traps his hand between her legs and moves up and down and in and against him even as he rubs at her clit hard enough to generate heat, friction in her wetness.
He doesn’t want her like this but it’s more than apparent that this is the way he’s going to get her, so he reaches with his other hand and holds on to her hip even as he moves her forward, pulls her to the edge of the general’s - his, he has to remember- desk and moves his other hand, wet and shiny and fragrant, to her hip and pulls her off the desk and into his lap.
And she lands and it's good for him and for her and her mouth goes slack and he feels her soft tongue against his throat and she’s limp for a moment until finally she slides her knees next to his hips in the wide seat, until she sits up enough to rock herself against him and her hands move to his fly and the first button there even as she moves against him harder, pauses and grinds against him
Her hand unbuttons as she shifts back and straddles his thigh and grinds down and something tells him he should be doing more but her hands, hands he has admired for years, encircle him and pull him out of his pants and she stops moving, interrupts her rhythm just long enough to look down at him, hot and hard and straining away from his body.
The penis is such a strange looking thing he thinks and is somewhat dazed, and then she shifts up his body, gives his thigh one last good-bye grind that leaves her gasping and panting and so, so ready for more of him.
And she holds him steady at the entrance to her body and it occurs to him that he’s about to fuck a subordinate officer (on his desk. Fuck. On his desk) and he just can’t find the will to care as her thumb sweeps over the underside of his head and she lowers herself onto him.
And then, and then thinking seems like something he should be doing but he's not. For the first time in a long time there's not really anything in his head except maybe where to put his hands so he can help her move, god help her move without leaving bruises that the doc will question.
And she rotates her hips as she falls back down on him and he pushes through and he's not even thinking about that anymore as she tilts her head back and her neck is right there. He takes some skin between his teeth and sucks and bites and knows he's leaving a mark but just can't bring himself to care as his hips thrust up and she pushes him back down, her breath sobbing and his nearly huffing.
One hands leaves her hip and moves down and in and she stops moving for just a moment as he slides down and around and finds her clit and he doesn't even really have to move his hand when she starts moving again, just keep the pressure steady and thrust his hips up every now and again and she does that twisting thing again and starts to stiffen and now his fingers move, rub madly and out of control and she arches some more and shudders and he pulls back from her neck in time to see her face stretched in what looks like pain and then she's all but boneless against him and he doesn't think, just moves up once, twice and then everything is white stars and black against his eyelids and his lips are back to her neck to muffle his groan and he has fucked Samantha Carter on his desk.
Fuck.
[][][]
It's not that Carter doesn't look at him anymore, it's just that she can't quite seem to meet his eye in the briefing room.
[][][]
His days are something of a blur, and that’s not all that different from before except now he can’t distinguish things by the colour of the trees or the length of the local princess or priestess or medicine woman’s skirt.
Now his days are full of meetings and conference calls and he sits through a briefing for SG-1 and almost forgets that this used to be his team, that less than two months ago he’d have been sitting one chair to the left and wouldn’t have had the briefing read. Today he has both Carter and Daniel’s briefings read and has made notes in the margins.
Simple recon and minor negotiation; an easy mission, something to let them all recover from the last mission, to build Carter’s confidence. He nods his head and signs his permission and SG-1 is headed for their locker room long before he remembers that he should feel like he should be going with them.
A SF pokes his head into the briefing room. Another phone call. He’s not going to have time for lunch today, either.
[][][]
SG-1 goes through the gate with a smile and a nod and five minutes later SG-5 comes through with two team members swollen up like balloons.
He does not think of SG-1 again until he’s going through his inbox two days later and hits a requisition from Carter, and even then he doesn’t have time to miss them or wish he was out there with them. Instead he puts the folder on top of the small pile to his left and makes a mental note to get Carter to explain what she wants in plain English when she gets back. Then it’s another file, another requisition, and he has no time to waste if he wants to be home before midnight.
[][][]
It’s not that he suddenly understands what he put Hammond through, it's just that now he understands why generals get paid so much more than everyone else.
“Colonel-” and he’s pretty sure he’s somehow managed to subconsciously adopt half of Hammond’s mannerisms and ways of dealing with subordinate officers.
“General, with all due respect, we can handle this. There’s no need to send another team. Daniel assures me the negotiations are going to end up fine, and Teal’c doesn’t think the people here are a threat.”
He puts his head down and thinks that General Hammond deserved a hell of a lot more credit that he’d ever given him, and Jack had given him a lot of credit.
“That’s enough, Colonel,” and he can see her eyes flash a thousand light years away thanks to the MALP camera.
“SG-1 has 24 hours. Then I’m sending a diplomatic team along with backup no matter what you say. Capice, Carter?” She looks tired, and for a minute he wishes he could b easier on her.
“I understand, sir.” She nods smartly and he can almost see the salute behind it.
“Good luck.” It’s softer, a gesture from friend to friend, from someone who understands the troubles of commanding a flagship team on a world caught up in the importance of protocol.
“Thank you, sir” and she flashes a smile and he feels better.
[][][]
SG-1 arrives through the gate exactly on time for the first time in the history of the SGC.
[][][]
SG-1 arrives home missing one member.
[][][]
Apparently, Carter didn’t bow when she was supposed to. Or she may have bowed when she wasn’t supposed to. At this point nothing is clear except her team just fell through the gate bruised and broken and without her.
Teal’c’s got a broken arm and something’s wrong with his leg because he’s pretty much balanced like a flamingo in the middle of the infirmary but he’s not complaining and the new doctor seems a little leery about approaching the big jaffa when the alien says he is alright. Daniel’s got some pretty impressive bruising around the face and the Doc won’t rule out internal bleeding.
Sedated and passing out from it, Daniel’s insisting they go back using every trick in the book from large eyes to anger to a quiet vehemence. “Jack. This is Sam we’re talking about.”
And goddamn Daniel, he knows that. He does. He’d promise the other man that he knows exactly who is on the other side of the gate if only Daniel would stay lucid long enough to listen.
The doctor looks at him and he nods slightly, watches as the practiced hands of the young man up the dosage of sedatives entering Daniel’s IV. Slowly Daniel’s eyes droop and his words slur until everything runs together and for a second Jack is comforted, wants to close his eyes and pretend he’s off world, in a tent, listening to Daniel ramble to whoever’s on watch with him.
And that brings him back, because more often than not Daniel and Carter ended up on the same watch, and it’s only the doctor’s carefully considering eyes that prevent him
from heading through the gate himself as soon as he can suit himself with enough C4 to blow the other planet to hell.
[][][]
He addresses the letter to Mark because he can’t send it to Jacob, because he can’t quite make himself send it to Pete, because writing to himself is just a little too ludicrous.
He tries to take some comfort in the fact that he’d have written this letter even if he wasn’t in charge of the entire program. For just a second he’s glad to spare Hammond the chore, and for an even smaller moment he’s glad he wasn’t the one who was in charge of SG-1 this time, wasn't the one who ultimately made the decision that lead to this.
He doesn’t say that in the letter.
[][][]
He's never known exactly what to do with what happened to Jonah and Thera. It was too easy to rationalize it all later, when he realized how alike Thera and Sara were, how much like Jonas> the name Jonah sounded.
But that was more than likely all a distraction, a way not to think about the other things that had happened in the plant.
He doesn't remember it all, and Doc Frasier told him that was natural. But he does remember leaning up against a wall, hands digging into steel because the last time he'd grabbed her head, hands in her hair to pull her closer, she'd stopped and looked up and he'd known that that was the wrong thing to do.
Instead he wastes his fingernails against the steel of the walls and tries not to think about the fact that their break time is running out, or that they might be found (even though the last time he thought about that he'd come, come hard and all over her and it had been so messy, hard to clean up) and instead thinks about her, Thera, warm, wet mouth up and down and around and taking him in and he leans his head back and groans.
He feels her speed up and he wants to look down, to watch her, but some part of him can't, won't watch her do this and he wishes he knew why even as her hand comes up to slide his balls together, even as she increases the friction and he lets out a grunt, something deep in his throat and it's all he can manage as a warning and she sucks harder and he comes.
[][][]
Teal’c and Daniel appear in front of his desk the next day. Daniel looks grey and keeps blinking as if his eyes aren’t quite focusing correctly. Teal’c stands at attention but tilts slightly to the left.
Jack knows what is coming.
“No.” He needs to get this out of the way, needs to think of other things right now. SG-15 hasn’t checked in and that is not like them.
“No, O’Neill? You have not yet heard our request.” Teal’c speaks and Daniel fidgets next to him and Jack knows this is all part of their plan.
“You want to go to P7T 4E4 and try to bring Carter home. I’m telling you that you can’t. And if you try something crazy like I would have, neither of you will get off world for a year.”
Teal’c lifts an eyebrow and Jack hopes he knows that most of what he’s said is directed at Daniel. Teal’c is here in front of him out of loyalty and sense of duty. Teal’c knows Carter is dead, saw the blow being struck and was the one who insisted they go through the gate while they could.
Daniel doesn’t quite believe what he didn’t exactly see, and Jack thinks that tangled up with concern for Carter is the worry that they didn’t really chase after him when he ascended.
“I just don’t understand how you of all people can just leave her out there.”
“Daniel-” he hopes there’s enough warning in his voice, because Jack can’t quite believe it either.
“No. I want to grieve for my friend. I want to believe in that tiny chance that she’s still alive out there, and I want to rescue her if she is. And if she’s not, I want to bring her home to her family, to her friends, to her planet, for god’s sake, because she would do the same for me.”
And Jack knows it’s true, knows all of it is true and a year ago he would have felt exactly the same. Now, now he can’t risk it, can’t let his people risk it.
“My answer’s still the same.”
“Fine.” And the two men leave and Jack doesn’t have time to feel remorse or to dwell because SG-15 just checked in and Vidrine wants a word on line two.
[][][]
As far as Jack can tell, Teal’c stays mostly in his quarters. He runs into Daniel once, on the elevator, and they both look at the floor.
“The funeral’s tomorrow at four.” Daniel grinds the toe of his boot into the floor and doesn’t look at Jack as he speaks.
“I know.”
“Okay. You’re just so busy-”
His arm swings out and his palm slams against the metal of the wall. “Goddamnit, Daniel, she was my friend too and I know she’s dead and I damn well know when the funeral is. I’m sorry you're grieving but fuck, I don’t deserve this.”
And the elevator doors open and Jack is off the elevator before Daniel can say anything else.
[][][]
Jack O'Neill is not the sort of man to let anyone see what he's feeling.
He goes to the funeral, says what's required and uses the obligatory adjectives like brilliant and wise, says she laughed at all my jokes, and sees Hammond nod approvingly. Sits next to Jacob who sits next to Shanahan and doesn't hold Cassie's hand, lets Daniel take that burden.
He stays in his chair at the grave until nearly everyone is gone, then accompanies Teal'c to where the hole is not filled, looks down and wonders how the funeral directors will get the straps from around the coffin. Does not notice the one handful of dirt Pete threw onto the casket.
Teal'c moves as if to remove his hat in one final gesture of respect but Jack's hand shoots out too quickly, stops the bigger man from making a move because while it's unlikely there's anyone watching, anyone around who's not consumed with grief and unable to see past the hole and the pile of dirt covered in astroturf, they can't risk it, not even today, not even for Carter.
So instead Jack leaves his hat on too, stands next to Teal'c and stares down into the hole and tries not to think about the sandbags, carefully weighted to approximate Sam Carter, tries not to think about the fact that he's going to have to look Mark Carter in the eye and tell him that the Air Force did everything they could to save his sister because that was his job, and he’s starting to think that if he'd done all he could have he wouldn't be here now, and she wouldn't be half way across the galaxy, rotting in a garbage dump or being torn apart by the local vermin.
He salutes and Teal'c bows his head as he puts his hand to his heart and Jack wishes he were allowed to do that much, to show that much. Jack wonders if maybe now it would be okay to show some emotion, to act like he’s lost a friend who was maybe something more and not just a coworker. But he knows himself too well, so he stands there for one more minute and then turns away, turns and sees Daniel with an arm around Cassie and it's time to go.
[][][]
The first time Jack O’Neill sleeps with Samantha Carter is in a hotel room in Washington D.C., not five miles from the Pentagon and only two floors above their commanding officer.
She’d looked beautiful and soft and sad and when he’d said goodnight at her door after a couple hours at the hotel bar she’d looked at him, really looked at him for the first time that night.
Then she’d reached up and kissed him, just brushed her lips against his. And he’d leaned down to return the gesture, but he’d been taking a breath, or maybe she had and their lips had been just a little open and he’d kissed her, really kissed her, caught her lips between his and it had felt good and it had been so long since sex was this easy.
And so when she’d pulled him into her room he’d let her. It was surprisingly easy not to think of the consequences and harder than he'd expected no to think of Sara.
But that had been the first time.
[][][]
He thinks it's weird and strange and wrong that they've got blue jello at the wake.
[][][]
The unofficial wake ends up at his house, and it’s almost like he planned it except he’s got no booze in the house but a trip to the corner store cures that.
This isn’t the sort of wake where people get drunk and remember happy stories and everything ends up in laughter. No, this hits too close to home for too many people.
SG-1 isn’t supposed to die.
Jack remembers a night like this for Daniel, remembers the whispers and the people who’d looked at him and he’d looked back, full of the knowledge that Daniel wasn’t exactly dead and calmly offered them another beer.
That isn’t happening tonight and Jack wonders exactly how many people know it was an empty coffin that was buried today.
Teal’c’s in the kitchen and Daniel’s on the couch staring morosely at his beer and when Siler approached and offers him a glass of something murky that smells strongly of alcohol, Jack takes it with a nod and tips the entire thing back.
And he doesn’t want to do something so clichéd as get completely drunk but there doesn’t seem to be anything else to do, so when Sgt. O’Brien walks by a minute later and offers him another drink, he doesn’t say no.
[][][]
Jack wakes up to feel someone else’s hand on his dick.
He’s not exactly sure he cares that he doesn’t quite remember falling asleep with someone but old instincts are hard to fight, so as he thrusts up into the hand on doing something amazing to him - twist and swirl across the head and a hard twist down - Jack rolls over and even though he might want to he can’t quite stop his hips from thrusting up.
Daniel is next to him, eyes half closed in concentration and for a second he notices how different the other man always looks without his glasses, more focused maybe, but that’s a thought that goes unnoticed as Daniel squeezes and jerks Jack's cock a little harder than is pleasurable.
Jack thinks he understands, thinks that he knows that this isn’t about anything more than distraction mixed with a little guilt and, aside from a little pain, which maybe he deserves, Daniel’s hand feels good, feels something like his own as it doesn’t quite glide up and down, as hard calluses catch at the skin and add another sensation to being jerked off by another man.
Jack closes his eyes and doesn’t think about who is doing, just thinks about the feeling and if he closes his eyes tight and arches his back and just holds his breath it feels really good, feels like himself or a woman or just a hand, up and down and up and down and over and around and his hips arch away from the bed and he hovers there, muscles clenched and knees and back suddenly impervious and twist and over and he comes, comes hard and it’s almost painful and he keeps his eyes shut until it’s over, until everything has stopped and careful hands remove themselves from his body and he hears them wipe against the sheets and he thinks he hasn’t done laundry in a while and this was the only clean set the last time he changed the sheets and then he starts to wonder if he’s even got laundry detergent and damnit, he is fucked up.
He lays relaxed against dirty sheets and tries not to think and next to him the bed shifts and Daniel gets off the bed and leaves the room and he listens, listens until he hears the front door shut and then he gets up and goes to the guest room and slides between the sheets, heart still pounding a little faster than normal and his body still sticky and relaxed and he thinks that tonight he’ll suffer with the double bed instead of trying to find clean sheets.
And he lies awake and stares at the ceiling and tries not to think of the body that was next to him and brought him here. Thinks so it’s come to this and berates himself, just a little, for thinking of the Simpsons at a time like this
[][][]
Jack wakes up, takes a shower, makes a piece of toast and a pot of coffee and reads the paper and does not allow himself to think about the previous four days until he is finished the sports section and has only the classifieds left.
He looks around and notes that someone at least attempted to clean up but the job was half-assed. He shoves his feet in shoes because he’s pretty sure he saw pieces of a broken bottle on the counter and attempts to find garbage bags.
He does not allow himself to think about the previous four days.
[][][]
He arrives at work and finds at the top of his in pile a request from Daniel to be transferred to a research unit, a unit that works primarily out of Area 51.
His first instinct is to refuse, to insist Daniel be left on SG-1, tries not to think about two nights ago and resolves that he will deal with whatever it was that happened because the archaeologist is too important to loose.
This is followed swiftly by the impulse to grant the request, thinks that it would make his life and some unanswered questions a hell of a lot easier.
Instead he pages his assistant and makes an appointment with Dr. Jackson later in the day and feels like he is not cut out for this job at all.
[][][]
Daniel knocks and enters without waiting for the command and Jack can’t decide if it’s because of familiarity or because Daniel still clings to the notion that he’s a civilian who doesn’t have to follow military rules.
Daniel sits and slouches and Jack recognizes the belligerence from a hundred new recruits.
“Area 51?” Jack knows he has to start this and accepts it as a burden of command.
“Yeah, they’ve done some interesting research but they really need someone who’s been out there to go any further.” Daniel pulls off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose and avoids eye contact and Jack refuses to remember the last time he saw Daniel without glasses.
“We need you here. You’ve got a lot of experience. I don’t know if I can just let you go.” Jack drums his fingers on the blotter and then stops. He’s been trying to control his fidgeting lately.
“Jack-” Daniel replaces his glasses, sits forward, one hand going to push his glasses up unnecessarily. “This isn’t about . . . ..” And Jack breaks eye contact, looks back down at his fingers, now clenching the desk. “I’m sick and tired of losing people. Between losing Sam and being gone for a year and not having you out in the field and Teal’c almost ready to bolt to help what’s left of the Jaffa resistance-” and that’s news, but Jack doesn’t let it show “- I just want to be somewhere where there’s some stability. After eight years I don’t think it’s so much to ask.”
And if it were anyone but a member of his team, it wouldn’t be much to ask. Eight years is a long time in one assignment, and the requirements for that assignment have changed dramatically in the last few months.
He owes Daniel nothing less than the truth, he thinks. “We’re considering SG-1 staffing in the next few days. If I can find someone to replace you I’ll consider your request.”
Daniel nods and gets up and leaves and for just a second Jack misses Carter’s automatic respect and wishes she was here instead of Daniel.
[][][]
Jack’s got five minutes between a call with the Pentagon and a mission briefing for SG-7 and is determined to make the most of it. He bolts from his office and ignores the sqwak from his aide and heads for the cafeteria, determined to choose his own piece of cake and flavour of coffee today.
The cafeteria staff always makes sure they’ve got at least two kinds of cake these days and while he appreciates it, Jack still thinks it’s weird that he can influence cafeteria decisions.
[][][]
Somehow, Jack knows Teal’c knows what happened. Knows everything that happened. Jack knows that Teal’c doesn’t exactly approve, and since Teal’c is the best man he knows, he thinks that fact should bother him more.
[][][]
Between Jack and the President and General Vidrine and a few hundred personnel files it’s not that hard to find three new people to staff SG-1.
He calls Daniel and Teal’c to tell them to come to his office personally. Once there, Daniel nods curtly at his replacement and Teal’c inclines his head and waits as Daniel leaves.
“Let me guess. You’re leaving the SGC to continue the fight elsewhere.”
“Yes, O’Neill.” Jack was prepared for this and silently shifts a file to join the other three piles on his desk.
[][][]
He regrets he never had the chance to fuck her and call her by her name. Regrets that there was never a time when she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him towards her and he sighed her name, Samantha, like he'd been saying it in his head for years, and watched as her eyes opened and she looked into him and saw everything.
But that never happened, and he's not willing to pretend it did, or that it ever would have.
[][][]
It’s a Wednesday morning and Jack has just watched Teal’c head through the Stargate and he is the last member of the original SG-1 left on base.
Jack O’Neill sits at his desk and thinks that maybe he got left behind and can’t quite figure out how it happened.
[][][]
'shipper safe? I don't know. Ooo, wait,
lisayaeger says it is.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Of course, it's never really established that she's actaully dead so I'll keep hope that she'll came back to him.
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And you don't know how hard it was to kill off Sam. I love me some Sam. I write Sam POV almost exclusively. I just couldn't come up another way to have Jack and Daniel go at it.
And Sam *is* dead. Get over it. *g*
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Babies, you say?
But really? Thank you. Glad you liked it. Thanks for coming up with the (hellish) idea for the ficathon.
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*hugs*
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It could use a bit of polishing (which I think you know) but WOW. The many unspoken and conflicting emotions, the way Jack deals (or doesn't deal) with his new status, the way SG1 just falls to bits when they lose Sam and Jack just watches it happen. Wonderful, believable, and very nicely written. Thank you!
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But, in other news, I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was my pleasure. :)
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--one more thing - I really really like how Daniel and Teal'c react to Sam's death. I thought that was dead-on. Poor boys.
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I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'm especially glad you liked Teal'c and Daniel in it - I don't write them often so it was nice to hear they worked.
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The writing is, as always, lovely (just a little polish, like n said). I do love the way you describe their actions, and make the feelings of the moment implicit in them. You have a real knack for that, and it makes your descriptive imagery very powerful.
It may have been hard for you to write, hon, but I think the effort was well worth it. Bravo.
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As usual, anything coming from you means so much. I'm glad you liked it so much. :)
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And, I'm so glad you like my writing! It's very nice of you to say so. And I saw you added me to your flist, so I added you back. Hope that's alright.
Thanks again!
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You should do this again.
Wow.
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And thanks for coming up with the idea. As difficult as it was to write this, I actually kinda enjoyed the struggle. So thanks. :)
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And your beta! Eek! It's thisclose to being on it's way. I got distracted by the deadline for this.
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I read character death fic and am not even mad at you for it :-D
I love your General Jack. Poor guy.
Way to go writing this; you are a stronger woman than I. *applauds and adores you*
(is now the time to suggest we revive pants!verse so that there can be unabashed squeee and safe cuteness with pants but no death?)
-- Little Red, who still needs your address, woman
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*glee*
And why do you think I was so prolific in the pantsverse there for a while (hey! 2 stories is prolific for me!) I needed so angst relief, yo. And I want to play there again, but some of us got a little caught up in their new ship. Not sayin' who, just sayin' ;P
Address! Crap! This should all go in an amail, but I'm leaving to go back to school in a week and I want the tapes sent there, but I don't have that address yet. Thus my reluctance to provide you with it. But I will! In a week! I swear! *feels Atlantis heat*
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Excellent Jack, and I love the way you leave Sam's fate just a little ambiguous.
So very very good. Especially the last line.
::sniffles for Jack::
I love stories that remember these are human beings, and breakable.
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And thank you! I really feel like my Jack voice is a little iffy, so I'm glad it worked for you.
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Secondly, glad you enjoyed. Thanks for reading.
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Favorite scenes/lines:
His arm swings out and his palm slams against the metal of the wall. "Goddamnit, Daniel, she was my friend too and I know she's dead and I damn well know when the funeral is. I'm sorry you're grieving but fuck, I don't deserve this."
He thinks it's weird and strange and wrong that they've got blue jello at the wake.
The cafeteria staff always makes sure they've got at least two kinds of cake these days and while he appreciates it, Jack still thinks it's weird that he can influence cafeteria decisions.
One of the best (read: deep) stories I've read lately. Thank you.
Btw, where can I find the rest of the stories from this ficathon? Can't seem to follow the correct links...
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The rest are here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/nostalgia_lj/517194.html Well, not all of them are listed, but the rest are in the comments. Enjoy!
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Anyway, thank you for reading. I'm really glad you liked it.