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More String Theory: An AU Series
Dr. Samantha Carter joins the SGC and discovers a life she never expected.
Action/Adventure, Drama, Angst, Romance, S/J
Teen: minor language and violence
Ficlet 20: Fixation
She likes the way he chews.
It’s a stupid thing to notice, but inside the privacy of her own mind, she’s sticking by it.
He’s not one of those loud chewers, the kind whose jaw clacks with each compression or whose teeth somehow create bizarre suction with the food. And he doesn’t do that loud through the nose breathing while his mouth is occupied thing.
But he is a thoughtful chewer. She notices that he tends to be thoughtful about most things, belying his casual, go-lucky exterior. As the weeks pass she recognizes more and more how carefully he considers every action. She suspects this must be some extension of his military training, but to be honest she knows very little of that side of him other than the rare glimpses she has seen when the base almost explodes/gets invaded/gets sucked into a blackhole/etc. All she can do is watch his motions and try to uncover the familiar in them, even if her father is the only real point of reference she has.
When he chews the shadows deepen in the hollows of his cheeks and the tendons in his neck tighten as they move languidly under skin roughened by stubble. She watches his Adam’s apple rise and fall and she finally understands why dinner is such a traditional lead up to sex.
She really likes to watch him chew.
She doesn’t even try to pretend that Jack hasn’t noticed this. He takes it in stride along with everything else, just occasionally allowing for an exaggerated stretch of his neck with a gleam in his eye.
She’s getting used to feeling ridiculous. It’s almost strangely comforting.
More often than not, Sam is convinced that she’s the nut-case in this particular relationship. It seems the crazier she acts, the more levelheaded Jack becomes. It’s sort of their unspoken agreement, giving each of them a role to play.
She blames this particular dynamic for the unease she feels when everything suddenly flips on its head. Embarrassment and banter in the warm summer sun are things of the past, nothing more than fond memories that she begins to doubt ever existed in the first place. SG-1 no longer has time for bonding or relaxation and neither does Sam.
SG-1 is off-world these days more often than not. It’s been true of all of the SG teams for months. Sam can feel the subtle tension building up around the base, months old and showing no sign of waning. She can still remember General Hammond’s face as he encouraged her to move forward as quickly as possible on the naquadah reactors. She has permission to cut corners wherever she deems necessary, she was told. He doesn’t have to spell it out that the stakes are being raised as every day passes.
Something’s coming, they can all feel it.
But none of this has really bothered Sam until now, because suddenly Jack is doing things like ending up in the infirmary and she’s left to be the levelheaded one. But judging by the fact that she is hovering in the hallway thinking about the way Jack chews, she’s not doing a stellar job.
Logically, she shouldn’t be surprised by the situation. She understands the probability of off-world injury. She’s worked out the math. Literally. There’s comfort in the surety of the numbers, even if it’s an admittedly morbid exercise. Unlike people, though, numbers don’t lie, no matter how much you don’t like what they are telling you.
So, no, not a surprise that Jack’s in the infirmary. She just wasn’t necessarily ready for the reality of the experience.
Dr. Fraiser moves around the infirmary as if master of the realm, her heels clicking fastidiously on the hard floor. Despite her stature, Sam has no doubt that the woman towers over the servicemen and women whose lives rest in her very capable hands.
In a steady, no-nonsense tone she informs them that Jack will be absolutely fine. Despite the fact that Sam is trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, hiding behind the solid bulk of Teal’c, the doctor’s eyes still pointedly come to rest on Sam as she reassures them of Jack’s condition. She smiles, but Sam is too unnerved to reply in kind.
The angry red blisters streaking across Jack’s forehead don’t bother Sam, not really. Nor is she upset that no one seems to want to explain what exactly happened to him. She doesn’t flinch when Dr. Fraiser says things like “It could have been much worse.” She doesn’t snap, “*What* could have been worse?!”
Instead, she stares in quiet horror as Jack cracks jokes and complains about needles. On the surface this seems just like Jack, levelheaded even in the worst situations. But there is something frightening just behind the act that sends a frisson of unease down her spine. He smiles at her over Teal’c’s shoulder, but the gesture is anything but reassuring.
She can see there is something horrible lurking underneath and she hasn’t learned the rules of the game everyone else seems to be playing. She doesn’t need to be told to know he’s been tortured, or that they’re all going to ignore it. That Jack might just be the world record holder for ignoring it, judging by his well-practiced, artificial smile.
Underneath it all, his eyes are screaming at her and she’s having a hard time remembering that she’s not supposed to notice things like that. She’s not supposed to think about how sometimes she wakes in the night to find he’s fled their bed. She’s not supposed to know about nightmares and broken pasts and classified horrors. Ignore, repress, don’t discuss... Yet another one of their unspoken agreements.
Sometimes she wishes he would speak to her about it. Just say something, anything, to give her an idea of what might be going on inside that head of his. But most of the time she is thankful not to know.
Jack cracks another joke and she dutifully smiles even though it feels as if her face might crack under the strain of it. Apparently she needs more practice.
She escapes the room at the first available opportunity.
Now, hours later when the base is plunged in late night silence, Sam stands in the doorway to the infirmary and watches him sleep in a patch of light from the hall. She watches him twitch against unseen things beneath the marks of his torture and forces her mind to contemplate asinine things like the way he chews. Buying herself time to understand her place in this.
He jerks awake, his eyes wild and raw, fingers clenched in the sheets. But then he catches sight of her and she can see the gates slam shut. He smirks at her to cover, that same teasing, arrogant smile that first made her heart race. Now it only conjures roiling nausea.
She brings him a piece of contraband cake so she can watch him chew and patiently waits for the marks to fade.
Maybe by then she’ll be able to pretend too.
next
Dr. Samantha Carter joins the SGC and discovers a life she never expected.
Action/Adventure, Drama, Angst, Romance, S/J
Teen: minor language and violence
Ficlet 20: Fixation
She likes the way he chews.
It’s a stupid thing to notice, but inside the privacy of her own mind, she’s sticking by it.
He’s not one of those loud chewers, the kind whose jaw clacks with each compression or whose teeth somehow create bizarre suction with the food. And he doesn’t do that loud through the nose breathing while his mouth is occupied thing.
But he is a thoughtful chewer. She notices that he tends to be thoughtful about most things, belying his casual, go-lucky exterior. As the weeks pass she recognizes more and more how carefully he considers every action. She suspects this must be some extension of his military training, but to be honest she knows very little of that side of him other than the rare glimpses she has seen when the base almost explodes/gets invaded/gets sucked into a blackhole/etc. All she can do is watch his motions and try to uncover the familiar in them, even if her father is the only real point of reference she has.
When he chews the shadows deepen in the hollows of his cheeks and the tendons in his neck tighten as they move languidly under skin roughened by stubble. She watches his Adam’s apple rise and fall and she finally understands why dinner is such a traditional lead up to sex.
She really likes to watch him chew.
She doesn’t even try to pretend that Jack hasn’t noticed this. He takes it in stride along with everything else, just occasionally allowing for an exaggerated stretch of his neck with a gleam in his eye.
She’s getting used to feeling ridiculous. It’s almost strangely comforting.
More often than not, Sam is convinced that she’s the nut-case in this particular relationship. It seems the crazier she acts, the more levelheaded Jack becomes. It’s sort of their unspoken agreement, giving each of them a role to play.
She blames this particular dynamic for the unease she feels when everything suddenly flips on its head. Embarrassment and banter in the warm summer sun are things of the past, nothing more than fond memories that she begins to doubt ever existed in the first place. SG-1 no longer has time for bonding or relaxation and neither does Sam.
SG-1 is off-world these days more often than not. It’s been true of all of the SG teams for months. Sam can feel the subtle tension building up around the base, months old and showing no sign of waning. She can still remember General Hammond’s face as he encouraged her to move forward as quickly as possible on the naquadah reactors. She has permission to cut corners wherever she deems necessary, she was told. He doesn’t have to spell it out that the stakes are being raised as every day passes.
Something’s coming, they can all feel it.
But none of this has really bothered Sam until now, because suddenly Jack is doing things like ending up in the infirmary and she’s left to be the levelheaded one. But judging by the fact that she is hovering in the hallway thinking about the way Jack chews, she’s not doing a stellar job.
Logically, she shouldn’t be surprised by the situation. She understands the probability of off-world injury. She’s worked out the math. Literally. There’s comfort in the surety of the numbers, even if it’s an admittedly morbid exercise. Unlike people, though, numbers don’t lie, no matter how much you don’t like what they are telling you.
So, no, not a surprise that Jack’s in the infirmary. She just wasn’t necessarily ready for the reality of the experience.
Dr. Fraiser moves around the infirmary as if master of the realm, her heels clicking fastidiously on the hard floor. Despite her stature, Sam has no doubt that the woman towers over the servicemen and women whose lives rest in her very capable hands.
In a steady, no-nonsense tone she informs them that Jack will be absolutely fine. Despite the fact that Sam is trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, hiding behind the solid bulk of Teal’c, the doctor’s eyes still pointedly come to rest on Sam as she reassures them of Jack’s condition. She smiles, but Sam is too unnerved to reply in kind.
The angry red blisters streaking across Jack’s forehead don’t bother Sam, not really. Nor is she upset that no one seems to want to explain what exactly happened to him. She doesn’t flinch when Dr. Fraiser says things like “It could have been much worse.” She doesn’t snap, “*What* could have been worse?!”
Instead, she stares in quiet horror as Jack cracks jokes and complains about needles. On the surface this seems just like Jack, levelheaded even in the worst situations. But there is something frightening just behind the act that sends a frisson of unease down her spine. He smiles at her over Teal’c’s shoulder, but the gesture is anything but reassuring.
She can see there is something horrible lurking underneath and she hasn’t learned the rules of the game everyone else seems to be playing. She doesn’t need to be told to know he’s been tortured, or that they’re all going to ignore it. That Jack might just be the world record holder for ignoring it, judging by his well-practiced, artificial smile.
Underneath it all, his eyes are screaming at her and she’s having a hard time remembering that she’s not supposed to notice things like that. She’s not supposed to think about how sometimes she wakes in the night to find he’s fled their bed. She’s not supposed to know about nightmares and broken pasts and classified horrors. Ignore, repress, don’t discuss... Yet another one of their unspoken agreements.
Sometimes she wishes he would speak to her about it. Just say something, anything, to give her an idea of what might be going on inside that head of his. But most of the time she is thankful not to know.
Jack cracks another joke and she dutifully smiles even though it feels as if her face might crack under the strain of it. Apparently she needs more practice.
She escapes the room at the first available opportunity.
Now, hours later when the base is plunged in late night silence, Sam stands in the doorway to the infirmary and watches him sleep in a patch of light from the hall. She watches him twitch against unseen things beneath the marks of his torture and forces her mind to contemplate asinine things like the way he chews. Buying herself time to understand her place in this.
He jerks awake, his eyes wild and raw, fingers clenched in the sheets. But then he catches sight of her and she can see the gates slam shut. He smirks at her to cover, that same teasing, arrogant smile that first made her heart race. Now it only conjures roiling nausea.
She brings him a piece of contraband cake so she can watch him chew and patiently waits for the marks to fade.
Maybe by then she’ll be able to pretend too.
next