Keep the streets empty 3
Title: Keep the streets empty 3
Author: ardvari
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: This normalcy- thing... is hard.
Keep the streets empty 3
If I can make your heart feel always loved
I’d give my whole world up for you to feel always loved
If I can make your heart feel always joy
I’d walk a thousand miles for you to feel always joy
- Azure Ray
She pushed open the heavy doors to the rink, breathed in the scent of the ice, of hockey, of winter in a small town. Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket, she walked through the empty upper hallway, pushed open another door and climbed down the stairs beside the colorful plastic seats.
His kids were the only ones on the ice tonight, seven boys and three girls bundled up in thick jackets, chasing a puck across the ice. She smiled to herself, sat down in one of the uncomfortable seats and watched him as he yelled directions to the kids.
He’d started coming to the rink after Christmas, had taken her along a couple of times even though her skating abilities were limited at best. Apparently he’d struck up a conversation with the guy that drove the zamboni and, long story short, he’d let himself be talked into teaching the kids’ hockey team. This was his fourth week as their coach and it was obvious they adored him. He adored them right back, all ten of them, proudly telling Sam they’d won their first game.
She watched undetected for a while, until one of the little girls noticed her and pointed her out to Jack. His eyes locked on hers through the glass, across the ice, and he waved. She smiled, climbed down the last few stairs and came up to the railing that surrounded the rink.
He called over his team, ten little Pillsbury dough people in their heavy outfits, and briefed them on the next game, handing out little slips of paper to give to their parents. She knew what they said; she’d printed them last night.
“See ya all on Saturday,” he called, waving the kids off.
They scattered like drops of mercury, some of them scurrying across the ice, chasing each other while others went straight to their waiting mothers. Jack skated up to her, a big grin plastered on his face.
“What do you think?” he asked, resting his elbows on the railing.
“I think half these kids skate better than I ever will.”
“Well… there’s hope for you yet,” he smirked, pressing his lips to hers.
Taking on this team had made him happier, had prevented him from finishing his pond project in their backyard. It gave him something to do, a new purpose. She knew, had always known, that he wasn’t one to just sit around. Coaching these kids was perfect, making the long transition into a normal life easier on him.
“Thor at home?” she asked, knowing that he sometimes brought the dog along for the kids to pet and fuss over.
“Yep. Listen, I need to clean up here a bit. I made lasagna, it’s in the fridge. Just pop it in the oven, I’ll be home before it’s done.”
“You made lasagna?” she asked, a disbelieving look on her face.
“I found a recipe online and followed it exactly. It should be edible,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
She chuckled softly, nodded and leaned in to kiss him again.
He was already collecting a variety of tennis balls and pucks off the ice by the time she reached the doors. Strangely enough, just like his new hobby helped him settle into his new life, it had also helped her settle into hers.
Granted, the IOA continued to be a major hassle and she was barely in her lab anymore, reading up on other scientists’ reports of alien technology instead of working on new things herself. She missed the lab, missed studying new technology. Having replaced the lab work with stacks upon stacks of paperwork kept her busy though, along with coordinating the Hammond’s flight schedule. Kendrick was, against the odds, doing remarkably well. She’d been on Earth for a couple of days last week, and Sam had seen the changes in the young woman. Her eyes had grown harder, her body leaner under the pressure of commanding a ship. She’d aged, losing the last few traces of someone who hadn’t quite grown into themselves yet.
It happened to all of them, she knew that from experience. This job was tough, and it didn’t allow for mistakes of any kind. Either you cracked under the pressure, or you mastered it. Kendrick, apparently, had done the latter.
Thankfully the drive from the rink to their house didn’t take long, despite the icy streets and the freshly fallen snow. Thor was ecstatic to see her, bounding around her, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. She opened the glass doors to the back yard, watching him shoot past her like an arrow, kicking up snow as he ran along the fence line.
Jack’s lasagna did look edible. It looked downright delicious, in fact. Pushing it into the oven, she set the temperature and the timer before she took off her jacket and wandered into the bedroom to change. She’d driven to the hockey rink right after she’d left Homeworld Security, having actually left work in time to see his kids play. In time to see him blossoming under a new task.
Every day, it seemed, they settled down a little more. Every day the pull of the universe lessened, though its mysteries still held her enthralled. She longed for some time to spare in her lab, studying, analyzing. She’d been born to solve scientific mysteries, to study the laws of physics and quantum theory, to challenge science and do things most people thought impossible.
Now she was playing a small part in solving an intergalactic crisis, no longer defying physics, and she wasn’t doing impossible things, she was working with, and for, impossible people. Looking at herself in the mirror she knew that she was being unfair. She’d worked for this, she’d saved the planet countless times, and she’d risked her life. She was here now because everybody knew she deserved to be here. That after years in the field, years of being unsure whether or not she’d come home, whether there’d be enough left of the planet to come home to, she deserved to relax a little, let someone else save the world for a chance. She knew all that, and yet there were days when she felt like she’d been tossed out.
Shaking her head, she walked back into the living room, grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch, flung it around her shoulders and stood by the doors to watch Thor play in the snow. The dog was digging up clumps of snow and frozen dirt, happily getting rid of some pent up energy. Whistling softly, she called him back inside, closed the doors again and stacked logs in the fireplace.
By the time he got home, the scent of lasagna mingled with the scent of burning wood. She sat on the couch, a cup of tea in her hand, her laptop perched on her outstretched legs. Taking him as a bad example, she’d taken to resting her feet on the coffee table, next to a stack of science journals she occasionally read before bed.
He sat down beside her, still wearing his fleece jacket, and looked at her. There was nothing she could hide from him, no thoughts he couldn’t decipher. He knew exactly what was going on in her head, and sometimes that made her feel vulnerable. He was her solid ground, the only thing in her life that didn’t shift. Sometimes she feared he’d be hurt by the things he saw in her eyes, the fatigue, the longing, the near-constant nagging thought that she was destined to be out there still, to be fighting for this planet instead of dealing with the paperwork, with the people, so that someone else could do just that.
“You know I love you, right?” she asked quietly, closing her laptop.
He picked up her hand from where it rested in her lap, held it between both of his.
“I do, Sam,” he said.
Sam, not Carter, a sure sign that he was onto her, that once again he was reading her like an open book.
“Maybe it would have been easier if I’d stayed at the SGC, they did offer me Landry’s position,” she whispered.
“It would’ve been just as hard. I’ve been there. Do you regret… this?” His voice had grown soft, his free hand gesticulating between them, trying to bridge the gap that separated them.
“No, Jack. I don’t regret this, us. Never. I don’t regret my decision. But it’s hard, harder than I thought. I wish they’d just give me some time for lab work, some time to do something valuable for the people out there instead of those insane budget meetings that don’t get us anywhere,” she rambled, her voice growing louder, “Every day I argue with them and they just don’t get it. They’ve never been out there; they’ve never seen the things we’ve seen. They have no clue what it feels like to be stuck on another planet, unsure if you’re ever going to make it home. And yet they keep cutting the SGC’s budget, they make it impossible to go after people, to rescue people, to make sure every single person gets a chance to come back home. It’s frustrating.”
“That’s exactly the reason why you’re here, Sam. You’re the only one that can make them see. You’re the voice of all the people currently out there. I know how frustrating it is, but you’re the one making the difference. Don’t think it’s a lost cause. Take a step back, give yourself some perspective. You’re doing a great job,” he said, turning her hand over in his and lifting it to his mouth so he could press a kiss into her palm.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, her eyes shining.
He smiled at her wryly, running his thumb along her jawbone and across her lips.
“Always.”
The timer on the oven beeped, wedging its way into the moment. He leaned in, kissed her gently and helped her to her feet. She left the laptop on the coffee table and followed him into the kitchen. Normalcy, she thought, was nice when given some perspective, when knowing that she wasn’t alone in this.
Author: ardvari
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: This normalcy- thing... is hard.
Keep the streets empty 3
If I can make your heart feel always loved
I’d give my whole world up for you to feel always loved
If I can make your heart feel always joy
I’d walk a thousand miles for you to feel always joy
- Azure Ray
She pushed open the heavy doors to the rink, breathed in the scent of the ice, of hockey, of winter in a small town. Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket, she walked through the empty upper hallway, pushed open another door and climbed down the stairs beside the colorful plastic seats.
His kids were the only ones on the ice tonight, seven boys and three girls bundled up in thick jackets, chasing a puck across the ice. She smiled to herself, sat down in one of the uncomfortable seats and watched him as he yelled directions to the kids.
He’d started coming to the rink after Christmas, had taken her along a couple of times even though her skating abilities were limited at best. Apparently he’d struck up a conversation with the guy that drove the zamboni and, long story short, he’d let himself be talked into teaching the kids’ hockey team. This was his fourth week as their coach and it was obvious they adored him. He adored them right back, all ten of them, proudly telling Sam they’d won their first game.
She watched undetected for a while, until one of the little girls noticed her and pointed her out to Jack. His eyes locked on hers through the glass, across the ice, and he waved. She smiled, climbed down the last few stairs and came up to the railing that surrounded the rink.
He called over his team, ten little Pillsbury dough people in their heavy outfits, and briefed them on the next game, handing out little slips of paper to give to their parents. She knew what they said; she’d printed them last night.
“See ya all on Saturday,” he called, waving the kids off.
They scattered like drops of mercury, some of them scurrying across the ice, chasing each other while others went straight to their waiting mothers. Jack skated up to her, a big grin plastered on his face.
“What do you think?” he asked, resting his elbows on the railing.
“I think half these kids skate better than I ever will.”
“Well… there’s hope for you yet,” he smirked, pressing his lips to hers.
Taking on this team had made him happier, had prevented him from finishing his pond project in their backyard. It gave him something to do, a new purpose. She knew, had always known, that he wasn’t one to just sit around. Coaching these kids was perfect, making the long transition into a normal life easier on him.
“Thor at home?” she asked, knowing that he sometimes brought the dog along for the kids to pet and fuss over.
“Yep. Listen, I need to clean up here a bit. I made lasagna, it’s in the fridge. Just pop it in the oven, I’ll be home before it’s done.”
“You made lasagna?” she asked, a disbelieving look on her face.
“I found a recipe online and followed it exactly. It should be edible,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
She chuckled softly, nodded and leaned in to kiss him again.
He was already collecting a variety of tennis balls and pucks off the ice by the time she reached the doors. Strangely enough, just like his new hobby helped him settle into his new life, it had also helped her settle into hers.
Granted, the IOA continued to be a major hassle and she was barely in her lab anymore, reading up on other scientists’ reports of alien technology instead of working on new things herself. She missed the lab, missed studying new technology. Having replaced the lab work with stacks upon stacks of paperwork kept her busy though, along with coordinating the Hammond’s flight schedule. Kendrick was, against the odds, doing remarkably well. She’d been on Earth for a couple of days last week, and Sam had seen the changes in the young woman. Her eyes had grown harder, her body leaner under the pressure of commanding a ship. She’d aged, losing the last few traces of someone who hadn’t quite grown into themselves yet.
It happened to all of them, she knew that from experience. This job was tough, and it didn’t allow for mistakes of any kind. Either you cracked under the pressure, or you mastered it. Kendrick, apparently, had done the latter.
Thankfully the drive from the rink to their house didn’t take long, despite the icy streets and the freshly fallen snow. Thor was ecstatic to see her, bounding around her, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. She opened the glass doors to the back yard, watching him shoot past her like an arrow, kicking up snow as he ran along the fence line.
Jack’s lasagna did look edible. It looked downright delicious, in fact. Pushing it into the oven, she set the temperature and the timer before she took off her jacket and wandered into the bedroom to change. She’d driven to the hockey rink right after she’d left Homeworld Security, having actually left work in time to see his kids play. In time to see him blossoming under a new task.
Every day, it seemed, they settled down a little more. Every day the pull of the universe lessened, though its mysteries still held her enthralled. She longed for some time to spare in her lab, studying, analyzing. She’d been born to solve scientific mysteries, to study the laws of physics and quantum theory, to challenge science and do things most people thought impossible.
Now she was playing a small part in solving an intergalactic crisis, no longer defying physics, and she wasn’t doing impossible things, she was working with, and for, impossible people. Looking at herself in the mirror she knew that she was being unfair. She’d worked for this, she’d saved the planet countless times, and she’d risked her life. She was here now because everybody knew she deserved to be here. That after years in the field, years of being unsure whether or not she’d come home, whether there’d be enough left of the planet to come home to, she deserved to relax a little, let someone else save the world for a chance. She knew all that, and yet there were days when she felt like she’d been tossed out.
Shaking her head, she walked back into the living room, grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch, flung it around her shoulders and stood by the doors to watch Thor play in the snow. The dog was digging up clumps of snow and frozen dirt, happily getting rid of some pent up energy. Whistling softly, she called him back inside, closed the doors again and stacked logs in the fireplace.
By the time he got home, the scent of lasagna mingled with the scent of burning wood. She sat on the couch, a cup of tea in her hand, her laptop perched on her outstretched legs. Taking him as a bad example, she’d taken to resting her feet on the coffee table, next to a stack of science journals she occasionally read before bed.
He sat down beside her, still wearing his fleece jacket, and looked at her. There was nothing she could hide from him, no thoughts he couldn’t decipher. He knew exactly what was going on in her head, and sometimes that made her feel vulnerable. He was her solid ground, the only thing in her life that didn’t shift. Sometimes she feared he’d be hurt by the things he saw in her eyes, the fatigue, the longing, the near-constant nagging thought that she was destined to be out there still, to be fighting for this planet instead of dealing with the paperwork, with the people, so that someone else could do just that.
“You know I love you, right?” she asked quietly, closing her laptop.
He picked up her hand from where it rested in her lap, held it between both of his.
“I do, Sam,” he said.
Sam, not Carter, a sure sign that he was onto her, that once again he was reading her like an open book.
“Maybe it would have been easier if I’d stayed at the SGC, they did offer me Landry’s position,” she whispered.
“It would’ve been just as hard. I’ve been there. Do you regret… this?” His voice had grown soft, his free hand gesticulating between them, trying to bridge the gap that separated them.
“No, Jack. I don’t regret this, us. Never. I don’t regret my decision. But it’s hard, harder than I thought. I wish they’d just give me some time for lab work, some time to do something valuable for the people out there instead of those insane budget meetings that don’t get us anywhere,” she rambled, her voice growing louder, “Every day I argue with them and they just don’t get it. They’ve never been out there; they’ve never seen the things we’ve seen. They have no clue what it feels like to be stuck on another planet, unsure if you’re ever going to make it home. And yet they keep cutting the SGC’s budget, they make it impossible to go after people, to rescue people, to make sure every single person gets a chance to come back home. It’s frustrating.”
“That’s exactly the reason why you’re here, Sam. You’re the only one that can make them see. You’re the voice of all the people currently out there. I know how frustrating it is, but you’re the one making the difference. Don’t think it’s a lost cause. Take a step back, give yourself some perspective. You’re doing a great job,” he said, turning her hand over in his and lifting it to his mouth so he could press a kiss into her palm.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, her eyes shining.
He smiled at her wryly, running his thumb along her jawbone and across her lips.
“Always.”
The timer on the oven beeped, wedging its way into the moment. He leaned in, kissed her gently and helped her to her feet. She left the laptop on the coffee table and followed him into the kitchen. Normalcy, she thought, was nice when given some perspective, when knowing that she wasn’t alone in this.