Transatlanticism
Title: Transatlanticism
Author: ardvari
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Angsty future fic.
Transatlanticism
They never really fought; it was the silence that did them in. His unwillingness to talk, her insecurity keeping her from prodding. Years ago that was okay, months ago it hadn’t mattered much but now, now she needed him and she needed him to talk and she needed to know how he felt.
She pushed open the doors to the indoor soccer complex, walked along the bleachers slowly, deliberately seeking out a spot that allowed her to watch one of the kids’ games. Settling in beside the proud mothers and fathers, she rested a hand on her own swollen belly.
This wasn’t the first time she’d come here, she’d been here a few times looking down at the kids kicking a ball that reached to their knees, tumbling and falling as they learned what it meant to control it.
Why she’d picked soccer she didn’t know, couldn’t remember what exactly had compelled her to stop here of all places a few months back. Being here, watching other people’s children, helped soothe her frayed nerves, eased the anxiety a little.
What if this baby, their baby was a boy? She’d always wanted a boy, small and eager and out to catch frogs in mud puddles on rainy weekends. She’d wanted a boy up until she’d found out about this pregnancy, and had looked at the boy whose face smiled down at her from the living room wall. What if this baby would one day resemble his dead brother, would outlive him, would be too similar to him for Jack to bear?
They’d never talked about this, not even when she’d stopped taking birth control, when they’d decided to try and have a baby. All these years, all that silence. Six months into this pregnancy and she still had no clue how he really felt, if he’d even considered the possibility of this baby resembling his dead brother.
She probably worried too much; probably didn’t give Jack enough credit. He wouldn’t have been so eager to have a baby with her if he knew; deep down, that the part of him that had shattered the moment Charlie had shot himself would overshadow this baby’s life.
But he never talked about Charlie, not even when she tried to prod, when she tried to get something, anything out of him. His eyes went blank, his body tense, and he shut her out, dismissed her, told her not to worry about it.
She wanted to worry about it, worried about it without him anyways, wished that he’d see that they were in this together. There were times when she questioned the decision to have this baby, thought that maybe the fact that time was running out and they both knew that had driven them to make this decision in the first place.
Her cell phone vibrated in her hand, once, twice, three times. Thunder shook the complex and rain was pelting the windows behind her. He was probably worried, wondering where she was, even though he’d let her go through the Stargate for years, even though she’d lived in another galaxy, had commanded a space ship.
When he called again, she finally flicked the phone open, held it to her ear.
“Sam? Where are you?”
“At the soccer complex,” she answered.
She’d told him that this is where she came sometimes, this is where her thoughts wandered and her nerves calmed.
He hung up and she knew he’d be on his way, his truck slicing through the rain, along the rain-soaked streets. This time their silence had lasted long enough even for him to figure out that things weren’t okay, that she wasn’t okay.
She watched the kids on the field score another goal, smiled along with the parents around her. When the kids were done two teams of women came onto the field to warm up, their jerseys bright, their eyes determined. She watched the entire first half of their game before he found her, settled down on the bench beside her.
His eyes were on her the way they always had been out in the field, checking for obvious injuries, making sure she was okay, not in danger. She wasn’t going to make this easy on him, she’d thrown him a lifeline often enough. The ball was in his court now because she was tired of running into the same damn wall he’d built around himself.
“So… this is where you come to think?” he asked.
She chuckled dryly, gave him a long, hard look. No more bullshit, no more distractions. No more running away and not talking.
“Sam… I know you’re worried. I know…”
“You have no idea. This isn’t about me, Jack. It’s about you not talking about Charlie and me hanging by a thread, hoping this baby won’t look like him, won’t be like him because I’m scared of what that might do to you,” she blurted out.
He stared at her for a moment, then looked away, almost embarrassed. Running a hand through his hair he visibly deflated, grew uncomfortable in his skin. He’d probably rather be anywhere else but here.
When they both pretended that everything was alright, when they didn’t dig deeper, they were okay. She could laugh at his jokes and watch him rake the leaves outside. He could smile about the fact that she couldn’t tie her own shoes anymore before he kneeled down to do it for her. But this issue hung over them, seeped between them, and would suffocate them sooner rather than later. He knew that.
Her fear was his pain, the fact that he’d been unable to talk about Charlie had wrecked his first marriage. He knew that he was well on his way to wreck this relationship, too, if he continued to steep himself in the loss of his son. If he didn’t let her see this darkest, rawest part of him that still cut so very deep and ached so much.
“Charlie’s gone, Sam. I know that,” he said, swallowing hard. “Nothing can bring him back and this baby, even if it looks identical to him, won’t be him. I won’t expect it to be like him. Maybe some of the things it does will remind me of him, of things he used to do, but I will not blame our baby for the fact that my son died.”
He reached out a hand, placed it on the bench between them with his palm up, hoping she would take the invitation. She did, the tips of her fingers cool against his skin.
“Sam… I’ve never been able to talk about Charlie to anyone. It still hurts, even after all these years. This baby is not going to grow up with a legacy of all the things Charlie didn’t get to do. When I said I wanted this baby I meant it, and I’m not going to sit there thinking about the past while you’ve given me a reason to look into the future. I wouldn’t have been able to do this with anyone else, but I can do it with you. I want to do this with you.”
She smiled at him, a faint, flickering smile, and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. Apparently it had cooled down outside, he was wearing the leather jacket he’d bought in ’69 and she was sitting here in a t-shirt stretched across her belly.
“Will you please, please not shut me out, Jack? I wanna know when you’re hurting, I need to know,” she asked, her voice soft, swimming under the weight of her own desperation.
“I promise,” he said, tugging on her hand until she moved closer and their shoulders bumped.
They watched the end of the game below them before he helped her to her feet, shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.
Author: ardvari
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Angsty future fic.
Transatlanticism
They never really fought; it was the silence that did them in. His unwillingness to talk, her insecurity keeping her from prodding. Years ago that was okay, months ago it hadn’t mattered much but now, now she needed him and she needed him to talk and she needed to know how he felt.
She pushed open the doors to the indoor soccer complex, walked along the bleachers slowly, deliberately seeking out a spot that allowed her to watch one of the kids’ games. Settling in beside the proud mothers and fathers, she rested a hand on her own swollen belly.
This wasn’t the first time she’d come here, she’d been here a few times looking down at the kids kicking a ball that reached to their knees, tumbling and falling as they learned what it meant to control it.
Why she’d picked soccer she didn’t know, couldn’t remember what exactly had compelled her to stop here of all places a few months back. Being here, watching other people’s children, helped soothe her frayed nerves, eased the anxiety a little.
What if this baby, their baby was a boy? She’d always wanted a boy, small and eager and out to catch frogs in mud puddles on rainy weekends. She’d wanted a boy up until she’d found out about this pregnancy, and had looked at the boy whose face smiled down at her from the living room wall. What if this baby would one day resemble his dead brother, would outlive him, would be too similar to him for Jack to bear?
They’d never talked about this, not even when she’d stopped taking birth control, when they’d decided to try and have a baby. All these years, all that silence. Six months into this pregnancy and she still had no clue how he really felt, if he’d even considered the possibility of this baby resembling his dead brother.
She probably worried too much; probably didn’t give Jack enough credit. He wouldn’t have been so eager to have a baby with her if he knew; deep down, that the part of him that had shattered the moment Charlie had shot himself would overshadow this baby’s life.
But he never talked about Charlie, not even when she tried to prod, when she tried to get something, anything out of him. His eyes went blank, his body tense, and he shut her out, dismissed her, told her not to worry about it.
She wanted to worry about it, worried about it without him anyways, wished that he’d see that they were in this together. There were times when she questioned the decision to have this baby, thought that maybe the fact that time was running out and they both knew that had driven them to make this decision in the first place.
Her cell phone vibrated in her hand, once, twice, three times. Thunder shook the complex and rain was pelting the windows behind her. He was probably worried, wondering where she was, even though he’d let her go through the Stargate for years, even though she’d lived in another galaxy, had commanded a space ship.
When he called again, she finally flicked the phone open, held it to her ear.
“Sam? Where are you?”
“At the soccer complex,” she answered.
She’d told him that this is where she came sometimes, this is where her thoughts wandered and her nerves calmed.
He hung up and she knew he’d be on his way, his truck slicing through the rain, along the rain-soaked streets. This time their silence had lasted long enough even for him to figure out that things weren’t okay, that she wasn’t okay.
She watched the kids on the field score another goal, smiled along with the parents around her. When the kids were done two teams of women came onto the field to warm up, their jerseys bright, their eyes determined. She watched the entire first half of their game before he found her, settled down on the bench beside her.
His eyes were on her the way they always had been out in the field, checking for obvious injuries, making sure she was okay, not in danger. She wasn’t going to make this easy on him, she’d thrown him a lifeline often enough. The ball was in his court now because she was tired of running into the same damn wall he’d built around himself.
“So… this is where you come to think?” he asked.
She chuckled dryly, gave him a long, hard look. No more bullshit, no more distractions. No more running away and not talking.
“Sam… I know you’re worried. I know…”
“You have no idea. This isn’t about me, Jack. It’s about you not talking about Charlie and me hanging by a thread, hoping this baby won’t look like him, won’t be like him because I’m scared of what that might do to you,” she blurted out.
He stared at her for a moment, then looked away, almost embarrassed. Running a hand through his hair he visibly deflated, grew uncomfortable in his skin. He’d probably rather be anywhere else but here.
When they both pretended that everything was alright, when they didn’t dig deeper, they were okay. She could laugh at his jokes and watch him rake the leaves outside. He could smile about the fact that she couldn’t tie her own shoes anymore before he kneeled down to do it for her. But this issue hung over them, seeped between them, and would suffocate them sooner rather than later. He knew that.
Her fear was his pain, the fact that he’d been unable to talk about Charlie had wrecked his first marriage. He knew that he was well on his way to wreck this relationship, too, if he continued to steep himself in the loss of his son. If he didn’t let her see this darkest, rawest part of him that still cut so very deep and ached so much.
“Charlie’s gone, Sam. I know that,” he said, swallowing hard. “Nothing can bring him back and this baby, even if it looks identical to him, won’t be him. I won’t expect it to be like him. Maybe some of the things it does will remind me of him, of things he used to do, but I will not blame our baby for the fact that my son died.”
He reached out a hand, placed it on the bench between them with his palm up, hoping she would take the invitation. She did, the tips of her fingers cool against his skin.
“Sam… I’ve never been able to talk about Charlie to anyone. It still hurts, even after all these years. This baby is not going to grow up with a legacy of all the things Charlie didn’t get to do. When I said I wanted this baby I meant it, and I’m not going to sit there thinking about the past while you’ve given me a reason to look into the future. I wouldn’t have been able to do this with anyone else, but I can do it with you. I want to do this with you.”
She smiled at him, a faint, flickering smile, and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. Apparently it had cooled down outside, he was wearing the leather jacket he’d bought in ’69 and she was sitting here in a t-shirt stretched across her belly.
“Will you please, please not shut me out, Jack? I wanna know when you’re hurting, I need to know,” she asked, her voice soft, swimming under the weight of her own desperation.
“I promise,” he said, tugging on her hand until she moved closer and their shoulders bumped.
They watched the end of the game below them before he helped her to her feet, shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.