Disclaimer - MGM/Gekko/Double Secret own them.
Set anytime after season four, though no spoilers. Feedback would be loved.
Thanks to Nellie {smooch}.
*
"What are you doing?"
He thinks it should be plainly obvious. He's sitting on a stool, next to the desk in her lab. His right elbow is resting on that desk in her lab, and the hand that elbow is connected to (via his forearm) is pressed against his chin, keeping his face propped up.
Yup. It really is quite obvious.
"Watching you work."
Rolling her eyes, she barely glances at him - so used to him doing this by now. They're both well aware of the fact that she was looking for a different answer. "If General Hammond comes in..." Her hand delves inside whatever that thing with blinky lights is.
"He won't." He responds, thinking for a moment just how darn *elegant* her hand is.
"And you know this how?"
"My recently developed telepathic skills."
"Really?" She asks, not looking up, as if none of this is a surprise to her. How does she do that? "Work well, do they?"
"Perfectly," He tells her. "Because right now, for example, I know that more than anything, you want to lean across this desk and kiss me."
She still doesn't look up. "We're on base, Jack."
He nods. "You know that. I know that. My telepathy knows that. Doesn't mean that you don't want to kiss-"
Her lips are suddenly on his, briefly.
He doesn't blink until she pulls away - which really, isn't that long.
Damn, she's a fast mover.
"I don't know," He sighs heavily. "My telepathy is feeling a little short changed. I mean, that wasn't very long, was it?" She's back working on the device already. "I really think-"
"Jack!"
Either her voice has dropped an octave, or that's not her.
Fortunately, he turns around to see that it's someone else - Daniel, specifically, standing in the doorway and looking like he's just run a marathon to get there. "Daniel?"
"It's time." He says, his distraught expression being all the answer Jack really needs.
His good mood falters.
Oh. 'Time'.
He hasn't forgotten about it, not really. It was just...nice, pretending that it wasn't yet another day when he has to do this. It happens with depressing frequency where they work.
Sighing, he turns back to face Sam.
She doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to.
His gaze falls towards the desk, and he frowns when he realises something.
The lights on the device aren't blinking anymore.
*
He hates funerals. He guesses that makes sense - after all, who would actually enjoy them? - but he's hated them even more since Charlie died. In recent years he's come to terms with a few things, but even so - even if the setting is completely different, the blankness, the silence...it's a vivid reminder.
But this isn't about Charlie. Isn't about him.
He makes a speech. In actuality, he barely knew her - they were on different teams, and well...she was a scientist. Scientists that he actually likes are few and far between. But she died on a mission that he was heading, so he makes a speech.
He mentions her bravery, her dedication, and her intelligence (though he doesn't mention that her brains seemed to rival even Carter's). He also mentions - purely because he knows it'll draw smiles from some - how feisty she was (though he may have phrased it differently). How, in the time he knew her, how absolutely determined she was to prove herself.
So yeah, he hates funerals. And as he runs out of things to say, he looks out amongst the people watching him and meets Carter's gaze.
She smiles faintly, giving him a reassuring nod.
He continues.
*
What it is with glasses that have handles he can barely get one finger through? Seriously, who designed them? He's sure that somewhere, the creator of those things is laughing in their grave (ah, how appropriate), and, in fact, the glasses were only ever designed with children in mind.
Sam, just free of talking and remembering and consoling, sighs as she appears next to him. "I hate funerals."
Funny how she reads his mind sometimes.
Her left hand is on the table, resting some of her body weight on it as she cranes her neck forward, looking over the contents of the table.
It's too good an opportunity to pass up, especially in such morose surroundings.
Transferring the mini-glass to his left hand (using the kind of dexterity he doesn't often have to employ), his free hand - there, risking it in front of everyone - rests on top of hers.
He watches her face, her body. There's no outward sign that she's noticed - she's still craning, looking - but her hand twists beneath his, their fingers locking together.
He might (and she might) joke, or try not to focus on what's really happening, but in those rare moments where they really do face the truth of the situation...at least they have this.
"O'Neill."
Their hands pull apart slowly. No sudden moves, nothing to draw attention. He lifts mini-cup to his mouth for a small sip and nods at the man to his left.
"Teal'c."
"That was a most pertinent speech."
After ten seconds of frowning, he decides that's meant to be a compliment. "Thanks. You know, Daniel didn't even help me."
Teal'c says nothing at his lame attempt at humour - which isn't really a surprise. But he *does* keep staring at him. Which is more than a little off-putting.
"Something else I can do for you?"
Apparently there is. "Are you well, O'Neill?"
That's a weird question. "I'm at a funeral Teal'c. I'm as well as I can be." Rolling his eyes, he glances towards Sam. She's shaking her head as if even despite his tendency to sometimes get lost with aspects of Earth culture (though Jack suspects many of those are accidentally on purpose - Jaffa humour), she can't quite believe Teal'c said that.
Good to know he's not the only one.
Teal'c apologises and leaves. Relieved (but not entirely sure why), Jack glances around the room, and when his gaze falls on Hammond he suddenly knows beyond logic that he is going to be the general's next port of call.
And it's suddenly very, very important that that doesn't happen.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Let's get out of here."
*
She's smiling at something he's said when it happens. They're walking along together, the other two a few feet behind, and he's making jokes about...about something that isn't particularly funny.
But it doesn't matter because she's there, with him, smiling. Even though whatever he said wasn't in the least bit amusing, she's smiling.
For some reason her expression falters. She pitches towards him, stumbling, and as he grabs onto her arms to support her, his mind connects it all together. Noise. Blast. Heat. Too much heat.
Staff cannon blast.
And he knows now that she didn't stumble forward. Her legs are no longer connected to her body, and he's the only thing keeping her torso from falling to the ground.
There's not much blood, but there's noise, and explosions, and someone yelling his name.
He keeps holding on to her. He can't do anything else.
Ridiculously, she says "Ow."
It's the last thing she'll ever say.
*
He wakes shivering, his eyes blinking open, gripped by terror. "Sam?"
She's there suddenly, touching his forehead. "Nightmare again?"
Calming considerably as she settles closer to him, her body warm and familiar next to his, he closes his eyes. "Hate those things."
"I know." Her fingers trace through his hair now - and damn, that always makes him shiver.
His arm moves, wrapping around her, pulling her closer. "Thank God I have you to wake up to."
The words stir something and suddenly he’s back in the nightmare; only it’s different, quieter, darker, and he’s lying in a cold bed that never held her naked form.
Until she kisses the top of his forehead. "Who else would put up with you, Jack?"
Who else indeed? He knows he's cynical, sarcastic, and difficult to live with. But it doesn't matter.
The nightmare doesn’t matter.
Because even with his eyes closed he knows she's there, with him, smiling.
Forever.
~FINIS