Fic: 'Down Here Among the Wreckage', Part Three, 2/8

Apr 12, 2010 09:09

Title: Down Here Among the Wreckage
Author: Annerb
Summary: Five years ago, SG-1 broke in half. Two years ago, Earth lost. Today, there is one last chance to fix things. But sometimes the pieces just don’t fit back together again.
Warnings: Mature for language, violence, torture, non-con, adult themes, and some temporal meandering.
Categorization: AU, H/C, darkfic, tragedy, and apocafic for flavor. Team, Sam/Jack.
A/N: Special thanks to holdouttrout for the beta.

Part One-History
Part Two-Prodigal

Part Three-Reckoning
Prologue

Chapter One: Steady Pull

McKay’s lab is as empty as Sam has ever seen it. Everyone with even the tiniest amount of technical skill has spent the last three weeks in the storage bays, modifying every weapon they have to emit the energy pulse to disable Anubis’s drone soldiers.

This leaves only Sam and McKay in the lab digging through a backlog of research, trying to find anything that might increase the chances of success of the mission to retake Earth. Unfortunately this means that McKay has given up any pretext of not being obsessed with her quilt. Sam thinks she may have to smother him with it if he looks at her one more time with that half-confrontational, half-wheedling gaze of his.

“What about this?” McKay asks, jabbing a finger at an equation he’s copied to a whiteboard. There are four such boards hung side by side, covered with her numbers, and none of them make any more sense to her than they do to McKay.

“I don’t know,” she says, keeping her gaze averted from the numbers. It hurts to look at them.

McKay eyes her, and for a second she thinks he’s going to push her on this, call her bluff, or maybe just ask why she bothered to come back if she was going to be so unhelpful. It’s just a flash though, quickly subsumed. She wonders what Daniel and Teal’c have threatened him with.

Don’t push her. She’s way too fragile.

McKay turns back to the numbers and she feels a beat of something that should be relief but instead tastes far too much like disappointment.

She doesn’t know why it’s easier to dismiss the numbers as echoes of insanity than to admit that maybe she hadn’t been quite as stoic as she thought that day her father told her about Earth. Maybe it’s hard to accept that a lot more has been going on than even she’s been aware of.

She lifts her eyes to the quilt and its familiar contours, letting the details blur out to something indistinct and comforting. She lets the familiar feeling build in her chest-blankness, numbness-but just underneath, memories. They rise sharp and uninvited, her skin tingling with an unexpected rush.

She’d been thinking about Earth and protection and what she possibly could have done to save them, if only she’d been there. That’s where the numbers came from, she realizes, it’s what they create, a leap of faith and logic, a way to turn brutality back on the assailant, how to neutralize violence. How she might have wrapped herself up in an impenetrable shield, how nothing would have been able to reach her-isolated, protected, perfect.

She’s still not sure if it’s a schematic or a fantasy.

But she must have known, even then, that it would lead her here. Inevitable.

McKay sighs, his pen skittering across the table. “It has to all mean something,” he mutters under his breath.

Like most people here, McKay is looking for a miracle. He’s just looking in the wrong place.

Sam pushes to her feet, trying to ignore the way her fingers are shaking, the breathless edge of panic never far from her chest. It’s all getting louder day-by-day.

McKay swivels to look at her as she makes her retreat. The disappointment on his face is obvious, but to his credit, she can see that he’s at least trying to hide it. “Yeah,” he says, nodding like it was his idea in the first place. “Why don’t we take a break?”

She’s already halfway to the door.

Out in the hall it’s quiet. Quiet, blissful calm, but it doesn’t last, voices echoing in the distance. There’s too many people here, too many knowing looks and high tension and it’s building up on her skin, threatening to flatten her.

What she really needs is to get away. Just for a little while, a few days to breathe. Only she doesn’t have anywhere to go. She’s scared that if she sets foot on Cimmeria again, she’ll never leave.

It’s dangerously appealing.

So instead she stays. Stays and tries not to crumble.

* * *

Jason Reynolds’s office is much like the man himself-Spartan, utilitarian, but with the occasional glimmer of forgotten comfort and camaraderie. There’s order here, certainly, but also memory. The stiff regularity of rows of binders and logs and rosters and maps are only occasionally interrupted with the few items that could be considered personal-a worn baseball tucked in next to a small color photo with curling edges, a spindly plant somehow kept alive in the underground space against all odds, and a framed drawing of the Enola Gay, whose symbolism Daniel can’t even begin to interpret.

He hadn’t known Reynolds all that well before the move to Omega. All he has are vague impressions of Reynolds and Jack serious and focused on joint missions, and almost gregarious on downtime, lobbing jokes and half-serious bets about whose team will end up inexplicably naked next. Serious and focused certainly still describe Reynolds now that he knows him better, but there isn’t much humor left. Daniel doesn’t know if that’s because there really isn’t much to laugh about anymore, or if like many commanders before him, Reynolds feels the need to keep himself slightly aloof from those he commands.

That had never been Hammond’s way, but Daniel feels disloyal even entertaining the comparison because it not only belittles all Reynolds has done for them, but also Hammond’s last great sacrifice, this feeling that the general had abandoned them rather than protecting their retreat. Idle comparisons don’t do either man justice.

Daniel drags his attention from the office around him and focuses back on the report in his hands. He meets with Reynolds here once a week on what careful calculations have told them are as close to quiet Thursday mornings as exist anymore. They sip the not quite coffee from ‘732 while Daniel updates him on the latest work done in the research and translation department. They are all still searching for that one alien cache with the power to change everything, their own private Holy Grail.

“Anything from that Ancient cartouche SG-4 found?” Reynolds asks.

Daniel nods. “There were several addresses on it, but we’ve already visited most of them. There is one they seem pretty excited about in particular though: P9R-872.”

“And?” Reynolds prompts, apparently hearing the hesitation in Daniel’s voice.

“No gate as far as we can tell,” he says. “It should take about three days by ship to get there.”

Reynolds whistles. It’s a SG team’s most feared mission-long-term space travel. Daniel thinks they’ve all become far too accustomed to the instantaneous after so long with the Stargates in their lives. No one has time for the journey.

“Do you think it could be important?” Reynolds asks, probably already mentally deciding who can be pulled off tasks, what ships can and can’t be spared. At any given time the guy has to have thousands of details and tasks up in the air, and Daniel in no way envies him that.

Daniel shrugs. “It could be. But I also wouldn’t bet my life on Gary’s grasp of nuance.” Making the jump from a word that might possibly mean depository if you twist it enough to assuming there is an Ancient repository on the planet says a lot more about Gary’s enthusiasm than his translation skills. Not to mention the small fact that the word depository and repository are not as synonymous as Gary may hope.

Reynolds is still mulling it over when there’s a brisk knock at the door. “Come,” he calls out.

Daniel looks up as Cam and Jack step into the office. “Look who’s back,” Cam says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at Jack.

Reynolds leans forward, possible Ancient planet pushed aside. “Did you track down Ms. Mal Doran?”

“Eventually,” Jack says, stepping into the room and leaning back against a bookshelf. There’s something hard in his voice that Daniel takes to mean Vala had done her best not to be found. Despite Daniel’s misgivings, she had come through on the weapons delivery, but disappeared again soon after. Apparently her reluctance to get involved with their quest for the Lucian Alliance resurfaced with a vengeance. Jack’s been chasing after odd sightings of her on and off for weeks now.

“And?” Reynolds prompts.

“And she’s arranged an introduction.”

Daniel wonders exactly what Jack had to say or do to get it. As far as he can tell, Jack doesn’t seem to have any new bruises.

“When?” Reynolds asks.

“Four days.”

Reynolds’s hand twitches. “That soon?”

Jack shrugs as if to say, “It is what it is.” It’s not his job to think of the big picture, to know how all the pieces fit together, to foresee gaps and problems and double crosses. It’s Reynolds’s, whether he wants it or not.

“Okay,” Reynolds says. “You and Daniel-.”

Jack lifts a hand to stop him. “You’re going to need to find someone else.”

“What?”

“Trust me,” Jack says, “you do not want me there for that meeting.”

“Why not?”

He pulls a face. “Let’s just say the Lucian Alliance and I have had our disagreements over the years.”

“So you’re asking us to trust Vala?” Daniel asks.

Jack gives Daniel a wry smile that seems to question Daniel’s sanity. “Trust her? No. She’ll sell you out to save her own skin, never forget that. But right now her interests line up with yours and she’s the best bet you’ve got.”

A ringing endorsement.

“I’ll go, sir,” Cam volunteers.

Daniel doesn’t miss the way Reynolds’s eyes dart to Jack as if looking for his opinion on who should replace him. It’s becoming a dangerous tic. The way Jack stares back at Reynolds, his face schooled to stubborn blankness, tells Daniel he is more than aware of this.

Reynolds returns his gaze to his desk, staring down at the files in front of them as if he can portend the future in them if he just shifts through them enough. He rolls his neck and closes the file in front of him with a brisk snap.

“Okay,” he says. “Daniel, tell Gary we can’t get to the new address right now. And Jack, contact Vala. The meeting is on.”

Jack nods, pushing off the wall and heading for the door. Passing Cam, he pauses, darting a quick glance at Daniel. “Netan’s a slimy son of a bitch and smart as all hell,” he warns. “But if it’s power you’re after, he’s your guy.”

Cam nods, looking grateful for any insight of what it is he’s getting himself into.

“Just watch your back. And if Vala runs…” Jack slaps Cam on the shoulder, leaning into him. “For God’s sake, keep up.”

On that promising note, Jack disappears back out the door.

“Goody,” Cam says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sound like this is going to be fun.”

“I can’t wait,” Daniel mutters.

The door closes after Cam as he leaves.

Behind his desk, Reynolds is still staring at the tangle in front of him, a giant Gordian knot waiting to be cut.

Daniel settles back in his chair, the small, framed drawing on the office wall catching his eye again. He considers that maybe what the Enola Gay is really about is reminding Reynolds that in the end, someone has to make that final call, decide to push the button.

No going back.

* * *

Jack is slouched in a chair in the back of Daniel’s office, his feet kicked up on something that could be a really old artifact. Daniel, working at his desk, hasn’t so much as glared in Jack’s direction, so he has to assume it isn’t all that important. Either that, or Daniel has just gotten used to things breaking.

Jack has been carting back and forth to Omega for almost four weeks now. Just long enough for Daniel to stop looking surprised every time he comes back. Now with the Netan thing finally set in motion though, Jack doesn’t have a heading. He’s left treading water like everyone else here. Daniel’s office is as good a place as any, he supposes.

There’s a soft knock at the door.

“Yeah,” Daniel says, not looking up from his desk.

Carter walks in, coming to a stop as she catches sight of Jack out of the corner of her eye. She turns towards him, the motion controlled, methodical. She nods, acknowledging his presence. He nods back. That’s pretty much the extent of their interactions these days, but it still feels like a small miracle. She’s getting used to seeing him around. Slowly.

He still almost automatically gets to his feet in slow, predictable steps, circling around the room so he’s not between her and the only exit. He sees her shoulders relax as she tracks the movement.

When he settles down in one spot again, Carter turns her full attention back to Daniel, the entire little dance between them having taken only moments. She hands Daniel a folder.

Daniel glances at it, his eyebrows scrunching. “P9R-872? Reynolds decided not to send anyone.”

She bites her lip, her eyes darting briefly to Jack. Turning back to the desk, she grabs a pen and scribbles something on a piece of paper. She shoves it towards Daniel.

“You want to go there,” Daniel says slowly like he’s trying to wrap his mind around Carter’s sudden interest in a planet the Ancients may have possibly once visited. “You think it’s really that important?”

She nods, but Jack’s more interested in the way her hand is fisted behind her back, one finger hooked in her belt like she’s agitated but trying to hide it.

“For your project?” Daniel asks.

She hesitates just a fraction of a second this time before she nods.

She’s lying.

Daniel doesn’t seem to notice. “There’s no Stargate there, Sam. And we don’t have any ships free to make the trip right now.”

Jack is absolutely certain it isn’t the destination she cares about, probably not even the mission. It’s all there in every angle of her body, the way she’s holding herself. She wants the time, the chance to get out of here. Jack figures she’s got to be feeling at least as claustrophobic as he is these days.

He thinks maybe that’s what makes him do it.

“I’ll take her,” Jack says.

Daniel’s eyes fly to him in alarm, his disapproval of the unexpected offer clear. It’s like an unspoken agreement, this idea that no one is going to push Carter, to expect too much from her, but Jack figures expecting too much from her is about as close to normal as they can ever hope to get. Or maybe he’s just sickly curious to see if she’ll actually push back.

Carter turns to look at him, something sharp and almost familiar in her eye like she’s perfectly aware that he’s testing her. He wonders if she knew what she was getting into when she didn’t ask him to leave while she had the chance.

“You don’t need me for the Netan thing anyway,” Jack reminds Daniel with a shrug.

Daniel looks like he really wants to object, to come up with any other plan, and Jack doesn’t blame him. But they both know that everyone else is already busy with other tasks, their meager population stretched dangerously thin.

There’s no other choice. It’s nice to have that work in his favor every once and a while.

“Is that okay, Sam?” Daniel asks when he comes short of any other options.

Carter opens her mouth as if to speak, but can’t quite force the words. Jack wonders if anyone else has even the slightest idea why.

His hand, tight around her throat. Her body helpless under his.

“Say it!”

Not even his fists convince her to speak.

Jack shakes free of the clinging memory. God, this is a really bad idea.

“Sam?” Daniel asks again.

She lifts her chin and nods firmly, managing to look a lot less panicked than he would have expected. Or maybe he just honestly hadn’t thought she’d take him up on the offer.

Hell.

“It’s settled then,” he forces himself to say with more nonchalance than he feels. “I’ll make sure the ship’s ready to go.” Turning on his heel, he strides out of the room, coming to a stop right out of sight.

“Sam,” he hears Daniel say.

There’s a shuffling sound like someone moving papers, but nothing more. Jack tries to imagine the unspoken.

“You don’t have to do this,” Daniel says. “We all understand how you feel…”

There’s the thump of a palm against a flat surface, a voiceless burst of temper that surprises him. In the following silence, he hears it.

“No, you don’t.”

The voice is low and thin, the words stiff like a foreign language on a clumsy tongue…but it’s her. Her voice.

Jack leans back against the wall next to the door. He’s not consciously eavesdropping, just can’t move away. He’s frozen to the spot. He hasn’t heard her voice in well over five years, and only then raised as a scream or a curse.

“I…I forgave him a long time ago,” she says. “He was a prisoner too.”

Jack closes his eyes.

“Then why….” Daniel’s voice trails off, clearly thrown by their behavior, by her inability to say so much as a word in his presence.

Daniel thinks he has it all worked out. Thinks he knows what really happened between them.

He doesn’t have a clue.

“Because this isn’t about what he did to me, Daniel,” she says, and it feels like Jack’s skin is too tight, squeezing out all his oxygen. “It’s about what I did to him.”

You should have killed me.

I know.

Jack pushes away from the wall, unable to bear hearing even one more of her words.

* * *

Teal’c opens the door to his quarters, his eyes sweeping across the space.

He finds Sam sitting against the wall with her knees drawn into her chest, an open cardboard box on one side of her and a small packed bag on the other. She’s changed into jeans and casual athletic shoes, but still wears her patched green shirt over a black T-shirt, her fingers picking at the threads in the shoulder. It seems the rumor he has heard is true.

“Sam,” he says, and she looks up at him, her eyes wide and cheeks pale. “You do not have to do this.”

Her arms flex around her knees, something in her eyes shifting as the stubborn line of her jaw lifts her chin. “Yes, I do.”

“You have nothing to prove.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what this is about, Teal’c.”

“Are you certain?”

She stares back at him, but before she can answer there is a brisk knock at the door. She stares at it a moment before turning her regard once more to him. “I need to do this, Teal’c.”

Whether or not that is true, it seems equally clear that he will not be able to change her mind. He crosses the room and pulls the door open.

O’Neill stands on the other side, his body mired in the stillness that Teal’c still finds difficult to reconcile with the man he had once known. “Teal’c,” he says, nodding his head.

“O’Neill,” Teal’c answers, pulling the door wider.

“I’m looking for--,” he starts to say, stalling when his eyes find Sam. “Ah.” He gestures back over his shoulder. “The ship’s ready.”

Sam nods, pushing to her feet and shouldering her bag, nothing of hesitation in her stance. While the wisdom of this trip is still uncertain, her determination is not. There is nothing for Teal’c to do but step aside and hope that whatever it is she is looking for will not merely make things worse.

She pauses by his side, touching his arm and turning her face up to him. She gives him a small smile of farewell, her words having fled her completely.

Teal’c inclines his head. “Be well.”

She nods, her fingers squeezing his arm. Letting go, she walks to the door, her path keeping her as far from O’Neill as the small space allows. O’Neill quickly steps out of her way. They are both giving so much effort to staying out of the other’s way, to not looking at one another that Teal’c wonders how this mission can possibly work.

Once Sam is in the hall, O’Neill turns to follow her, but Teal’c stops him by reaching for his arm. “O’Neill, you will speak with me.”

His eyebrows go up, but he still steps back into the room as if he has accepted the fruitlessness of attempting to avoid this conversation. “Sure. Of course.” He turns to Sam. “I’ll meet you in the hangar?”

She nods, glancing between them, sending Teal’c a look he doesn’t find difficult to interpret. He has become accustomed to the assumption that any meeting between himself and O’Neill will end in blood, no matter how misplaced it is. The door closes behind her.

“You are going,” Teal’c observes.

O’Neill grimaces, perhaps finding criticism where Teal’c intends none. “We’ll be back. Long before Reynolds gets things moving.”

Plans have a way of spitting out and flaring like a candle in a careless draft. O’Neill’s intentions may very well mean nothing. No more than Reynolds’. No more than his own. But that is not why he has held O’Neill back.

He watches O’Neill, searching himself for the anger everyone suspects him of, the disappointment or betrayal that they say should be brewing in his chest. O’Neill lied to them, abandoned their cause mid-fight, and yet Teal’c feels none of this. Perhaps he truly is nothing more than the stone Ishta accuses him of being. And yet Teal’c finds it difficult to keep his eyes upon the once familiar face of his comrade.

Maybe O’Neill sees something of this because he shifts, his voice lowering. “I’m sorry, Teal’c.”

“For what reason?” For the real truth is that Teal’c begrudges O’Neill his decisions no more than he does Sam. They both faced an untenable situation in what may have been the only possible way. He accepts that and needs no apology for it.

O’Neill’s eyes shift, drifting past Teal’c. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be who you wanted me to be.”

Teal’c feels his heart leap in his chest, a dull throb that seems to radiate from his very bones.

I can save these people.

Many have said that. But you are the first I believe could do it.

That day on Chulak seems so far away now. Teal’c suspects neither of them really understood what it was they embarked on that day, nor the inexorable chain of events they had recklessly thrown into motion. And perhaps this is the real reason Teal’c has avoided O’Neill so well since his return, not out of anger, but of fear of what he represents-the foolish hopes Teal’c had once blindly clung to, this path they began together so many years before.

Teal’c swallows against the dryness in his mouth, the tightness in his throat. “These days we live in…this fate… None of this is the burden of a single man, no matter how much we both try to carry it.” Ishta would call it the foolishness of men, this need to carry blame, assign fault. No one man is so essential that his decisions alone can shape the destiny of an entire galaxy.

Teal’c tries to believe it.

He suspects O’Neill carries more than his fair share of guilt, but Teal’c understands that it can be no more O’Neill’s fault than his own because blaming either of them raises the question of this all being avoidable-that dying free means nothing.

He cannot bring himself to contemplate a universe where that is true, could not bear to live in it.

“We have both done what we must, and will continue to do so,” Teal’c says, holding his arm out.

There is a flicker of surprise across O’Neill’s face as he takes the offered arm, his grip firm above Teal’c’s elbow. “I think you may be the best man I have ever known, Teal’c,” he says.

If only that were so.

O’Neill releases his arm, attempting to step back away, but Teal’c holds him in place, his fingers biting into the flesh of O’Neill’s arm.

“Teal’c?” O’Neill asks, wariness once more leeching into his expression.

Teal’c meets his eye. “Though she seems strong, you would be a fool to assume all is well with her.”

The stony mask slamming down on O’Neill expression is not unexpected, but slightly chilling nonetheless. Teal’c does not retreat from it.

“You will take great care,” he insists.

O’Neill’s cheek flexes, something dark passing through his eyes. After a long moment, he nods. “I promise.”

Teal’c holds his gaze, impressing upon him the importance of this pledge. Eventually appeased that his message has been heard, he nods, dropping his arm. “Then I bid you good journey.”

O’Neill steps away, his face clearing, becoming once more inscrutable and unfamiliar. “Yeah, you too, Teal’c.”

Teal’c watches O’Neill stride from the room. He can only hope that the two of them will find some form of peace on their journey, rather than simply invent new ways to harm one another.

Just one more thing he can no longer control.

* * *

Carter is waiting for him in the hangar when Jack catches up with her. She looks so small, standing there uncertainly in the large space with nothing more than a small bag clutched in her arms. She’s pale, but he recognizes that stubborn angle to her spine, has seen it so many times before.

“Sorry about that,” he says, trying to squash that dangerous feeling of familiarity.

She shakes her head, eying him like she hopes to figure out what he and Teal’c had discussed just by looking at him.

“It’s fine,” he says. “Just a nice chat about old times.”

The look Carter shoots him seems aimed at reminding him that mute or not, she is no idiot.

Jack shakes his head, still not quite sure what that whole thing with Teal’c had really been about himself. “It’s fine,” he repeats, heading for his ship.

She follows him in and he can’t help turning to her as she enters, judging her reaction, watching the way she looks around the space.

“It’s not much,” he says.

It’s weird having her here, like he has to somehow account for what he’s done with the last five years.

Her eyes come to rest on the small bunk in the back, covered with a quilt he’s sure she recognizes. The one he couldn’t bring himself to trade. The one small part of her he’s allowed himself out here in the emptiness of space.

He’s not sure he deserves even that much.

Clearing his throat, he points to a hatch. “That one’s empty if you’d like to stow your stuff.” He glances at her pathetically small clutch of belongings and tries not to wince.

Deciding to quit while he’s ahead, he leaves her to get settled in and heads into the forward compartment to start the pre-flight routine.

He’s almost done when she reappears, settling in the other seat with her hands carefully tucked in like she’s scared of accidentally bumping something. He wonders if this is her first trip in a spaceship since... He ruthlessly shoves the thought aside.

“This is the Orfeo requesting permission for takeoff,” Jack says into his radio.

Carter looks expectantly at him, a question there, but Jack pretends not to notice. If she wants to know, she’s going to have to actually ask.

He gets a flash of Daniel’s horrified face in his mind, Teal’c’s words echoing in his ears. You will take great care. But the very fact that Carter is here tells him she’s been coddled long enough.

“You know, Carter,” he says, his hands still mechanically working their way through the preflight. “This trip probably won’t be the cake walk Daniel says it will be.”

Peripherally, he catches the wry twitch of her lips. ‘It never is,’ he can almost hear her thinking. At least he hopes. Because if not, he might just have Carter’s voice in his head too. Wonderful. It’s going to get crowded.

“I only point it out because if this is going to work,” he trails off, clearing his throat. Hell. “You’re going to have to be able to speak to me.”

He catches quick movement out of the corner of his eye. She’s looked sharply at him and he lets her take her time studying him, keeping his eyes straight ahead. There’s still time for her to jump out of the ship, to change her mind, to realize this is probably the worst idea they’ve ever entertained. He waits for it, part of him really, really hoping for it. Eventually she looks away, back out at the hangar.

“I know,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.

Jack lets his eyes close for a moment at the strange swamp of emotions conjured by her voice. It’s a relief, almost a triumph, but mostly…mostly it reminds him of the last time she spoke in his presence.

Jack.

He needs to get over this if they are going to get out of this alive. They both do.

Anhur thinks that’s funny as fuck.

Good luck, sport-o.

Asshole.

The radio crackles. “You’re clear to depart, Orfeo. The doors are open. Safe journeys.”

“Ready?” Jack asks her one last time.

She nods, the gesture halted halfway through as she forces herself to try again. “Yes,” she says, her breathing unnaturally even. “I’m ready.”

“Okay,” he says, forcing his attention back on the controls in front of him. He focuses down on the hum of his ship pulling back against gravity. Guiding them under the huge tunnel rising above them like a grain silo, the ships rises slowly through the layers of earth hiding the outpost from enemy eyes. He engages the cloak because the last thing Omega needs is traffic zooming in and out of the system in the odd chance that someone is actually watching.

Above them, the sky gradually lightens. He can hear Carter’s breath quicken, imagines her leaning forward, straining for that first glimpse of space, but keeps his eyes trained straight ahead on the grey walls like looking at her might just make this all disappear. With one last swoop of competing currents, they pull free of the moon, zipping up through the thin atmosphere.

Setting their course, Jack banks away from the brilliance of the system’s sun, aiming for the familiar, endless black.

And then it’s just the two of them.

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annerb_fic, jack/sam, ending_the_world, wreckage

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