fic amnesty, aka hard drive exorcism
I have a few things I really need to admit are not ever going to get finished so I can get them off my hard drive. Here is one of them!
So, eons ago I posted a timestamp meme because I wanted to make a_loquita do one too, and managed to do some of the prompts but left several hanging out there incomplete. Mostly they were trying to be more story than they were supposed to be (it was a timestamp meme!!) but all of them ran into some snag or other. This particular request was by codo1019, for something after A Cappella. Which, by the way, is the first fic I ever finished and posted anywhere, and I might be a teensy bit neurotic about it. Like, I can't actually make myself re-read it, which makes writing a timestamp meme response for it kind of complicated. *g* No, seriously, I just tried to make this one into a longer story when it really wasn't meant to be, so I am posting this snippet and calling it done.
The Silence after the Song
Sam/Jack, Angst, UST, not at all my usual fluff.
The colonel catches her in the parking lot, puts his hand on her shoulder to turn her when she won't look at him.
It's the first time she's left the mountain for home in days. Her medical checks are completed, her paperwork filed, the team's debriefing put to bed, and she'd thought she was through; but apparently she didn't account for this final hurdle. She casts her eyes up at the sky before she lets him pull her around to face him.
The horizon's starting to grey with the dawn.
They've been strictly professional in the weeks since their indiscretion. Sam calls it that to herself, an indiscretion, because thinking about it in any other terms makes her stand too close and stare too long and yearn to do it again and again, and there's nothing about feeling that way that isn't a bad idea.
So she calls it an indiscretion, and she very carefully doesn't consider what he might be calling it as they carry out even the smallest interaction by form, not a smile out of place, all her 'sirs' and his 'Carters' spit-polished and lined up in perfect formation.
But this mission was bad, physically painful with a side helping of Sam on the business end of a hand device and the rest of the team forced to watch. And she can see what he's still feeling when she meets his gaze, in the tightness under his eyes and the furrow in his brow and the slight, slight tilt of his head.
While his fingers linger on her shoulder, his eyes drop away from hers, slip that little bit down; she bites her lips together against the memory that simple look awakens.
He might as well have kissed her again, because she's on fire anyway.
"You all right?" he asks.
All she can do is nod; she's still working on forcing her lungs to expand and contract while he's looking at her that way. Any way.
"Need anything?"
She takes a deep breath and, like the good officer she is, throws every remaining ounce of energy she has into looking like she doesn’t need his concern. "I'm good." She pastes on a smile.
"Carter," he says, slowly, "you don't have to ...."
She doesn't have to what? Pretend she's fine, go home, do this alone? She turns away before the worry in his voice can undo all her resolve.
It isn't until much, much later that she wonders if she was supposed to hear something else in his words.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she tosses over her shoulder as she takes the last few steps to her car.
"Right," he answers. "Tomorrow."
She slams the door before she has a chance to change her mind.
So, eons ago I posted a timestamp meme because I wanted to make a_loquita do one too, and managed to do some of the prompts but left several hanging out there incomplete. Mostly they were trying to be more story than they were supposed to be (it was a timestamp meme!!) but all of them ran into some snag or other. This particular request was by codo1019, for something after A Cappella. Which, by the way, is the first fic I ever finished and posted anywhere, and I might be a teensy bit neurotic about it. Like, I can't actually make myself re-read it, which makes writing a timestamp meme response for it kind of complicated. *g* No, seriously, I just tried to make this one into a longer story when it really wasn't meant to be, so I am posting this snippet and calling it done.
The Silence after the Song
Sam/Jack, Angst, UST, not at all my usual fluff.
The colonel catches her in the parking lot, puts his hand on her shoulder to turn her when she won't look at him.
It's the first time she's left the mountain for home in days. Her medical checks are completed, her paperwork filed, the team's debriefing put to bed, and she'd thought she was through; but apparently she didn't account for this final hurdle. She casts her eyes up at the sky before she lets him pull her around to face him.
The horizon's starting to grey with the dawn.
They've been strictly professional in the weeks since their indiscretion. Sam calls it that to herself, an indiscretion, because thinking about it in any other terms makes her stand too close and stare too long and yearn to do it again and again, and there's nothing about feeling that way that isn't a bad idea.
So she calls it an indiscretion, and she very carefully doesn't consider what he might be calling it as they carry out even the smallest interaction by form, not a smile out of place, all her 'sirs' and his 'Carters' spit-polished and lined up in perfect formation.
But this mission was bad, physically painful with a side helping of Sam on the business end of a hand device and the rest of the team forced to watch. And she can see what he's still feeling when she meets his gaze, in the tightness under his eyes and the furrow in his brow and the slight, slight tilt of his head.
While his fingers linger on her shoulder, his eyes drop away from hers, slip that little bit down; she bites her lips together against the memory that simple look awakens.
He might as well have kissed her again, because she's on fire anyway.
"You all right?" he asks.
All she can do is nod; she's still working on forcing her lungs to expand and contract while he's looking at her that way. Any way.
"Need anything?"
She takes a deep breath and, like the good officer she is, throws every remaining ounce of energy she has into looking like she doesn’t need his concern. "I'm good." She pastes on a smile.
"Carter," he says, slowly, "you don't have to ...."
She doesn't have to what? Pretend she's fine, go home, do this alone? She turns away before the worry in his voice can undo all her resolve.
It isn't until much, much later that she wonders if she was supposed to hear something else in his words.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she tosses over her shoulder as she takes the last few steps to her car.
"Right," he answers. "Tomorrow."
She slams the door before she has a chance to change her mind.