Sam and her boys, 8d: Hit the road, Jack, Part 1, PG13, Sam/Jack/Siler
Back to Chapter 8c: Little moments like that
or to Chapter 1 for info
To read it all the chapters on one page, click here
Summary: A bike ride takes grim roads
Chapter 8d: Hit the road, Jack, Part 1 (PG13)
Bikes
"How have I never seen your bike??"
Siler glanced up from checking the air-intake valve, frowning at the general's honest confusion. "Well.. I almost never ride it to work; as wiped out as I tend to be, it wouldn't be safe for me to ride home," he shrugged, moving on to the rear break that had felt wrong as he'd ridden over, "And as busy as we are, I rarely ride these days in any case."
He took his time babying the twitchy calliper of his rebuilt Fat Boy, not paying mind to Jack's continued surveillance.
"..But you would."
The quiet implied question made him shrug, frowning at the rust starting on a fuel pump clamp, "Yeah, I guess. Some. Not seeing the bike, I never think about it. But I hardly go to the house anymore; what would I do? Somehow remember to deliberately stop there on Friday -*tired*-, bring it over, and then ride it back to change to the truck on Sunday?" He shrugged, knowing the riding lull was just that. Sooner or later the bug would bite him again. Wouldn't be the first year that the insurance went to practical waste.
"Siler..." He looked back up, distracted by the suddenly decided tone in Jack's voice before the general was interrupted.
"There's room in the garage for another bike." Siler turned his head to look at Sam, standing behind him for who knew how long. "Or two."
"Two?"
Sam smiled gently at Jack's avid curiosity, watching their sergeant slowly deal with the idea of his babies moving to their house too. "Shall I tell him?"
Smiling a little, an edge of uncertainty in his eyes that was making fewer appearances with every passing week, Siler nodded, standing up and absently wiping his hands on his jeans.
She grinned at Jack, knowing he was going to get a kick out of this, "A 1950 Thunderbird."
"Seriously??"
Siler laughed a little at the eager response; he could almost see drool on the corner of Jack's lips! "Yeah, seriously. Sergeant out at Fort Bragg heard of some poor old machine, abandoned in a shed by the widow of a pilot who died in Desert Storm. Made a holiday of it and went and trailered it up here back in '98." He smiled at the woman who'd sidled up to cuddle with Jack, "And Sam helped me fix it up, when she had time."
Sam rolled her eyes at him, leaning back on Jack and beckoning Siler to come closer, "I just passed you tools and lent you company. When *you* had time."
Ignoring the correction, he stepped up to close the circle around her, his hands on Jack's hips. The chaste kiss he brushed on her forehead made her growl and grip his ears to bring his grinning lips to hers while Jack chuckled at their antics.
When Sam let him up, the general stared at him for a minute before asking teasingly, "How's the hangover?"
Wincing slightly at the reminder, he shrugged, abashed, "Getting better. I'm out of practise; and Walter's obviously been getting way too much."
"You okay riding?"
Since Sam elbowed the general in the gut for the mothering, Siler only answered with a mild "Yes." before staring at the bikes already parked in the driveway. "When did you get the Ninja?"
Sam looked fondly over at the red and black sport bike, "Last year. We got them at the same time," she jerked her chin at the Road King, already half-packed for their weekend escape, "We wanted to start taking more rides together, and having to be so careful with the Indian wasn't conducive to spontaneous travelling. So when we were shopping for a new bike for Jack," she smiled gently over her shoulder, "I figured I'd get something lower maintenance."
Looking at Sam instead of the bike, Siler teased, "Sexy piece."
She just grinned right back, "*I* certainly think so."
"Ahh, Siler?" Jack's voice was so hesitant that both Siler and Sam turned their heads to look at him curiously, "About last night," Siler's brows raised in curious worry when he saw Sam wince and avoid his glance, "We kinda ended up telling Vala," he nodded at Sam, standing between the two of them, and Siler's eyes widened as he realized Jack meant 'about the three of them', "Yeah. So. Don't be surprised if she accosts you at some point.."
Sam patted his back in sympathy when he moaned and dropped his forehead on hers. Siler did *not* particularly like the overpowering woman at the best of times. He could just imagine what she'd come up with *now* to torture him. Damn it. Dammit dammit damn it.
"Come on, it'll all seem better with the wind blowing by your ears."
Giving Sam a pitifully dubious look, Siler nonetheless straightened with a martyred sigh. Too bad there was no way to pretend she was attacking him with her pestering. He was sure no one would really *mind* if he defended himself with a Vulcan nerve pinch.. or the Tau'ri equivalent...
Oh well. He'd dealt with worse... he'd have to think to pick a particular occasion.. but there had to have been worse things. Had to.
Going through the bags still waiting to be strapped-in, they split the travelling gear and their baggage between the three bikes with minimal discussion, meshing their differing habits together without particular hiccoughs, and then, last checks done, headed into the house to get changed.
####
Hearing his partners chatting outside, Siler gave the house a last once-over as he hurried to the door, still shaking himself every few steps to settle into his riding boots. He should have changed at his place and taken the extra time to get them softened up, but he'd known he'd be crawling around the bike after the short test-ride over, and riding gear only made that harder.
"Chaps??"
Looking up from locking the door, he started to give Jack a rolled-eyed look for the snobbery, but then got a little sidetracked. Between Sam walking over and Jack standing there, both in full leathers, he was reminded of one reason why he liked jeans better. Leather did *not* forgive a mind that slid a little too often into the gutter.
Not that jeans were *that* much better. He cleared his throat, firmly reigning his reaction; and shifting his eyes away. They were leaving for a long weekend bike ride. *Now*.
No matter how many fantasies of stripping the two of them, not to mention of just *opening* those leathers and then worshipping them as they deserved, he was developing; that's what nightly stops were for...
####
The open road was heaven. Bright sun, only a little warm -for now at least- and Sam rode, free to feel the pressure of the wind on her skin, with nothing but her clothes to buffer it; the flow of the road under her wheels... No starship canning her in, no car to absorb away the world around her. A wall of soothingly smooth sound isolating her with her thoughts and the beauty of the panorama.
It was a quiet road, hardly any cars to break the view from this mountain. Like the small green valley below them right now. And the perfect road conditions left her attention free to roam. Including to the man riding in front of her. She'd somehow forgotten that he wore chaps; if she'd ever known. She had a feeling that the year they'd been together had been another bad one for rides; both of them scrambling to settle into their new and very hectic jobs. Both of them the frequent guests of the infirmary, the reasons for which didn't really encourage long bike rides even after being released.
She did remember hearing the story of where he'd gotten the Fat Boy though, one night when he was on talkative meds. Listening to the story of a chopper crash in the Gulf War that only he'd walked away from. Except he hadn't walked; thrown barely far enough on impact to avoid the deadly explosion, his left femur broken cleanly, his left tibia with a compound break that picked up a nasty infection before they cleared his system up. The full leg cast had made a mess of the rest of his body before it came off and, all in all, he'd spent six months out of both physical and mental commission. A friend who knew of his mechanic's skills and understood the rocky road to recovering from such injuries had kindly found him the wrecked bike early on.
Terminator 2 had just come out a year before and Siler had admitted to her that he'd liked the association, at the time. Not to mention the idea of owning the bike he couldn't have afforded new. So he'd spent the months of rehab crawling, literally and sometimes very slowly, around the destroyed Harley, rebuilding the engine and body one piece at a time. She suspected he'd probably kicked the machine a hell of a lot as he worked his way through the rough period. Probably even smashed it a few times himself. But he'd finally gotten his body back on its literal feet, his survivor's guilt buried far enough to move on; and a shiny bike ready to be ridden.
She had to get him to tell Jack that story, and maybe some of the other crap he'd overcome over the years.
Maybe realizing that Siler was as much a survivor as the two of them would help the tension that had crept between them since they'd started training him.
Leaning into a sharper turn and kicking up the power, all the while appreciatively watching Siler's handling ahead of her, she quietly worried about the man who was riding behind her.
They'd only managed a few sessions with Siler, had basically only freshened up the skills he already had, up to now. But Jack was already going quiet and stiff. And she could see Siler getting annoyed, aware that Jack wasn't using his full abilities on him.
She understood how hard it was. The first time she'd had to throw Siler to the pile of comforter on the floor that they were using as minimal padding, simulating some of the real-world conditions that were part of *this* training, she'd flinched, feeling the pain herself and questioning the path they'd just started on. This was *not* something you should be trying to teach someone you loved.
She was all too aware that Jack had avoided joining her on a mat since shortly after SG-1 was formed. He'd trained Daniel hesitantly, but he'd left Teal'c to polish *her* skills. Had watched them work out, no doubt catching every nuance of her abilities, but hadn't come close.
And now.. some moves were simply more easily taught if the student watched them enacted. And so Jack was not only having to teach -hurt- Siler, he was facing *her*; with moves that they'd both used to kill. After all these years, she'd accepted that his refusing to fight her wasn't an insult of her ability to defend herself or take him down; it was simply avoiding the unnecessary chance of being the one to hurt her.
Siler would take a while to reach that same conclusion, let along give it sympathy. If Jack could be made to accept their partner's strengths, maybe things would go smoother.
And maybe an anonymous hotel room would also help, avoid destroying the safe sanctuary of their home with combat where there should only be caring.
####
"For fuck's sake, Jack, I'm not *that* much of an incompetent!" Standing over his unaccountably fallen -AGAIN!- supposed-trainer, Siler's fists were clenching with his choked fury, "Hell, Teal'c says I box *better* than you!"
Then, staring at his old commander, realization kicked him in the gut and he deflated, anger suddenly replaced with cold numbness, "Christ... do you.. really think so little of me?" Shaking his head and not waiting for an answer, he turned and took the few steps to get out of the room, automatically grabbing his keys and wallet from besides the door and letting it swing behind him.
Trying to catch his breath from the unrestrained slam on the floor and the shock of the sudden argument that followed, Jack heard Siler's Harley roar to life and tear out of the empty motel lot before he even got himself into a sitting position.
And before Sam stepped out of the bathroom with a confused frown.
"Did I just hear Siler's bike??" When her eyes met his, he knew he must look as stunned as he felt and she swore under her breath, hurrying over to help him up, "What happened??"
Not quite sure himself, he shook his head gently, feeling a little rung from the wrestling. "He-" His voice choked as the completely uncharacteristic injured-little-boy expression that had appeared in their partner's eyes wouldn't leave his vision. The sick feeling of having taken something from a man he admired all to hell, never mind of having hurt the man he loved, made it hard to breathe.
"Jack!" Too familiar with the way his expression was closing up, Sam snarled, shaking him with a deliberately sharp grip on his sweat-slick bare shoulders, "Where. Is. *Siler*?"
She was about to shake him again when he took an obviously painful breath and stuttered huskily, letting the dawning grief show as he looked at her pleadingly, "He.. left. He-" Another breath and he stiffened in her grip, straightening, just like he'd always done after getting kicked in the balls by something, "Was pissed that I.. wasn't beating the shit out of him."
Wincing as her prediction came unfortunately true, Sam helped him up without another word, a little annoyed at Jack for not talking this out with Siler before it blew up. He had to have known this wouldn't be easy for him; letting Siler know that *before* he got pissed would have done a world of good. Unless he'd really believed he'd be able to treat Siler as a casual enough friend to do this. Could bury his feelings somehow.
"Then he went off on some crazy idea that I-"
She frowned at the lost look he sent her as he trailed off. Uho, now what?
Jack dropped to the edge of the bed, feeling weak and chilled, staring at the door that hadn't closed as Siler walked out with slumped shoulders and such a lost, confused expression... "That I don't.. That I.."
Torn between the worry for Siler that made her want to chase him down, and the worry for the man collapsing in front of her, Sam threw a helpless look at the door herself. She had to accept that Siler needed time to clear his mind, and that chasing him would take actual detective work at this point; Jack, on the other hand, needed her *now*.
Awkwardly sitting in his lap in her wet towel, she wrapped her arms around him gently, wary in case he was in one of his 'don't touch' moods. When, instead, his arms came up stiffly, she relaxed a little, laying her head on his shoulder in relief, "That you don't respect him?" She felt his head turn, no doubt looking at her in surprise for her brilliant deduction, and she smiled sadly, wishing she'd been wrong. "It's not exactly surprising, Jack. He *is* a soldier, and you've been pulling your punches like he's a child," she shook her head when he tried to interject, "I *know* why you're doing it. You have to know I understand," she stroked a hand up his bare shoulder to his jaw and cheek, softening her voice, the memory of the moment she'd shifted her weight and felt Siler go flying like so many enemies had in the past coming back to her with a shiver of pain, "I don't enjoy hurting him either, you know."
It took a minute, but she felt him nod slowly, his arms, his whole body, tightening around her.
She wanted to talk to him, wanted to explain why Siler had reacted the way he had. But he felt breakable somehow. Holding her stiffly, an edge of fear in his unsteady breath. *If* she'd needed any confirmation of how he felt about Siler, she wouldn't anymore. As much as she was beyond grateful that he was letting her hold him, that they were close enough these days.. she *knew* this side of Jack. They'd spent entirely too much time on the knife's edge of pain, desperation and breakup that first year. She knew his usually steady strength got uncertain and ragged-edged when his heart was breaking.
Losing Siler would cripple him.
Cripple them both.
An insidious voice tried to sneak in and follow the thought to its logical conclusion, but she shuddered away from it convulsively, unable and refusing to even consider the idea of being left standing between them as they walked away from each other.
She *had* to believe that she could keep that from happening; could keep the two men from ripping each other to pieces. Jack had learned to let her in in the end. She only hoped that Siler's love was strong enough to keep him from simply locking them back out. Having finally understood just how far away he'd kept her all those years ago, she knew how high the risk was that he'd push that distance back into existence. He was definitely as much a survivor as she and Jack; as defencive and instinctively scared of closeness.
She wondered what the chances were that *she* and Siler could continue to avoid clashing.
But right now, Jack and Siler were the ones with a problem. They were the ones who needed caring. Borrowing more trouble was a waste of time.
Getting chilled, she finally tugged Jack to lay down, letting him take off his runners but ignoring the sweat slicking him. Covering them with a blanket and holding him tightly, she knew both their ears were straining to hear a motorcycle coming back to them.
Instead, after almost an hour, they heard the rain start with a sudden, heavy, downpour, and wordlessly got up, getting dressed with a lot of little touches to each other as they moved around the small room, a silent vigil reflected in their stiff movements and constant glances toward the stubbornly empty parking lot.
Stepping through the door to stand under the short overhang, staring at the gravel leading out to the country road they'd been following, Sam was glad that the dilapidated old motel was empty except for them. The quiet of the falling sheets of rain was unbroken, shrouding their pain as she and Jack leaned on the wall, side by side. The air was warm enough, but this rain made the roads traitorous for a motorcycle, even one not driven by someone with his mind elsewhere.
"How did you know?"
Sam's head jerked slightly, no matter how quiet Jack's voice had been. He looked much calmer now, not so shell-shocked; a little more up to dealing with her words. Looking out at the road, she thought back to the days when she'd just been finding her place; with the hard, silent, Colonel O'Neill, with SG-1 and with the SGC. In the field in the middle of a war that only seemed to get more hopeless with every mission.
"We both admire you, you know." She wasn't looking at him, but she still felt the look he sent her, though he didn't say anything; could imagine the mixed feelings in it. "Your leadership, your fighting ability. Having you refuse to spar with me.. kind of implied that you didn't think I could take it. That I wasn't strong enough, skilled enough, to stand up to you and learn."
"Carter-"
Now she did turn to him, smiling into his worried expression and touching his shoulder reassuringly, "It's OK, Jack. I understood, eventually. And so will Siler. But we're going to have to *explain* to him." Figuring it out alone had taken far longer than they could expect from Siler. He didn't have near the obligation that she'd had to see it through.
"*If* he-"
"We. Will. Explain to him." Jack was still shaken if he seriously thought for one instant that Siler would actually leave them without a word like this. "How often have we told him it's OK to need time to himself? Come on Jack, he just needs to clear his head." That he'd been caught on the road without gear in the middle of a nasty rainstorm wasn't remotely that bad in the late august heat; Siler was a fine rider *and* a skilled mechanic. They were only worrying because the two men had fought and now everyone was on edge.
Nonetheless, Sam felt a weight lift from her shoulders when she heard the familiar roar in the distance. She took one last stab at peacekeeping by giving Jack a sharp look, "Do *not* start lecturing him." Mothering at this point would be like throwing a lit match in jet fuel; they'd both go up in flames.
The look he threw back had enough of a guilty edge that she had some hope that she'd made him conscious of the danger and he'd avoid it.
The only problem with understandably not lecturing, was that Jack had no idea what to say to the man shutting down his bike in the dirt parking lot that was turning into a mud wallow.
He was unaccountably set on following Sam's lead; to try to avoid more trouble, but also because he had not the first idea what to say or do himself. So when she stepped off the porch and walked to Siler where he still sat, watching them with an unreadable expression, Jack followed silently, feeling twitchy and on edge.
Siler watched them walk up, seeming not even to notice the pouring rain that h ad already soaked their shirts and pants. But then, SG-1 had marched through so much worse, hadn't they? Was it reasonable to expect them to think anything of his un-warlike skills?
The open road had unfocused his mind enough that he could momentarily zone out the feeling of hurt and see past it. Part of him accepted that he just wasn't a warrior, and that he couldn't expect Jack to treat him like one; any more than anyone would expect him to fill Sam's brilliant shoes with any great accomplishment.
The oh-so reasonable reasoning didn't miraculously make him feel fine about not having his lovers' admiration, but at least he knew it was his own foolishness causing the hurt.
He'd get over it. He knew that.
He *did*.
He just wasn't sure about this in-between time. He still wanted to hit the road and let the wind lick his wounds, but the valley they were in was ridiculously boring. He'd stared at the ramp back onto the mountain road for 5 minutes as the rain started, tempted; yearning to lean into the curves and feel the empty space near his knee, feel the high air like the purest freedom. Sharp rock and scraggly trees filling his vision...
The chill on his bare back as evening started to fall was stronger than his self-pity, though, and he'd grimaced, turning back.
He was cold and he was hungry and at the least their room had a warm shower. He wasn't sure he could be bothered to go out for food; then again, he wasn't sure if he was up to sleeping in the same room with them either. He almost flinched when Sam touched his arm with a worried expression. Seeing them had zoned him out again. Damned mess. Even if it was his own fault.
"Siler? Come inside."
Wordlessly getting off the bike, he met and immediately avoided Jack's eyes, keeping his expression blank with effort he didn't ever remember needing to use to control himself. Yeah, he understood the reasoning. But it still killed his pride right now, and that alone wasn't something he was used to. Never mind the shivering hurt he was trying to bury behind that. It wasn't Jack's *fault*, but looking at him was too much right now. It was hard enough to face Sam, momentarily taken back to wondering what he thought he was doing between the two of them.
Maybe he should grab his things and go. A day or two on his own felt like a good idea; time to get his head on straight, stop feeling as though he was inferior somehow. Time to miss them enough for that to replace the hurt that hit when he looked at them. To once again remember the good times.
Jack stiffened when Siler wouldn't meet his eyes. Watching him turn to follow Sam, the two of them walking away from his frozen self, he felt a stabbing chill flow down his back that had nothing to do with the rain. Oh fuck, no. No way! Adrenaline hit his bloodstream and his breathing cranked up, the fight or flight response overruling his plan to let Sam lead them out of the mess he'd helped create.
He could feel Siler sliding away from them -feel his hold on *both* of them slipping-, and the last time he'd felt this way he'd lost Sam for years. *That* had been out of his control, but this time he wasn't going to be the nice guy. There was *no* reason he shouldn't fight for what he wanted.
His hand flew out to grab Siler's forearm with a desperate grip, yelling and as afraid of what words were going to come flying out of his mouth as he was of the consequences of staying silent. "Dammit, Siler! I *never* said or implied you were ANYTHING but a damn good soldier!"
"Jack-" Sam's warning was drowned in an apropos crash of thunder, but the glare she was sending him was clear enough.
"A soldier who's only good for staying behind your safe back."
Siler's defeated tone finished pissing Jack off all to hell and he shoved the other man's shoulders, palms half-sliding on frozen, water-slick skin, "I NEVER said that! Never *thought* that! *You* asked for training!"
It didn't escape his notice that Siler barely budged from the shove, even though *he* suddenly found himself sliding in the mud, ridiculously grateful to see the sergeant's eyes blaze with renewed fury as he returned the shove, absolutely no holds barred for once.
"I didn't ask to be treating like a fucking *child*, 'general'!" When Jack reached up to grab his shoulders, Siler's arm whipped up, elbow breaking the hold before Jack could even land it on his slippery, bare, skin. "All you had to do was say no if you didn't think I could handle it!" When Jack intercepted the next shove, Siler switched it to an uppercut that Jack's unsteady footing barely let him avoid, "There was no fucking reason to humour me like an imbecile!"
Watching Jack twist badly to get a headlock on Siler, Sam winced, knowing his back had just gone out. Emotionally, she wanted to kick both of them in the ass until they broke it up, but she made herself stay on the sidelines, simply watching that they stayed away from bikes, building or rocks. Resigned that they needed this.
Talking *should* have been better, but she knew that Jack, at least, was still pretty lousy at it, most of the time. And she was learning that Siler was almost as bad, now that his heart was engaged. If beating on each other was the only way they could communicate for now, she'd act as referee. And hope they never did this *without* a guardian; and that they learned saner coping mechanisms.
"I was NOT humouring you-" Jack's yell and hold were broken at the same time when Siler wriggled his arm loose enough to elbow Jack's diaphragm.
"The HELL you weren't! You put me on the mat all of TWICE. In-"
It was Siler's turn to cut off as he windmilled to keep from landing on his ass; though the rumbling sky would have drowned him anyway. And Sam groaned as Jack didn't follow the move through, letting Siler catch his footing. Didn't he understand he couldn't do this halfway??
Though she had to admit that Siler mad as hell -at Jack- loosened the knot that having him quiet and distant had put in her gut. If he was fighting, then he wasn't giving up on them; she couldn't deny that math.
"I don't happen to know what you can do, for crying out loud! If you've sparred with Teal'c then you sure as hell aren't just a behind the lines soldier. You expect me to see that with you lying on a ma-"
Jack ducked clumsily to avoid the flurry of roundhouse punches. It really *was* hard to place Siler; between the strength and endurance he had and the not-quite-there instincts. He'd be deadly if.. *once* he learned to actually try to kill rather than simply use the moves to work out.
"I EXPECTED you to actually *try* to make me black and blue and then TEACH me to avoid anyone else doing it!"
Sam winced at the flash of pain that crossed Jack's face, wondering if Siler was paying enough attention to notice it.
"Goddammit Siler! I don't happen to enjoy hurting you."
"*Enjoy*??" Sam's head tilted in sudden professional interest as Siler shifted to a threatening stance, actually triggering warning signals in her trained body, "How do you think *I* ENJOYED knowing you and Cass were in danger and I'd only be in your way if I tried to help!!!!!"
She could see that Jack was wary, but he didn't actually do anything to resist when Siler slid his hands to his jaw and kissed him, barely leashed violence in every line of his body, the rain splashing past their tightly clashing lips for the half-minute that they held the furious kiss, both their mouths shifting and trying to grind together any and every way, tongues flashing between. As much as the call to sex made heat flash through her, Sam was all too aware that aggression was still present in Siler's posture. He was still angry. Even if he'd reached the point where he no longer wanted to get away from them, thank any god that actually existed.
She was watching carefully enough to catch when his footing changed.
If Sam hadn't been taught the same move, she'd never have been able to follow as he suddenly pulled back, kicked, spun, went right through Jack's very real -this time- defences to drop him flat on his back with a painful-sounding splat. Yeah, Jaffa moves were handy. Even against Black ops major generals.
The geyser of mud that surrounded Jack for a second seemed to make Siler's fury flash away long enough for him to straighten back into a stance that Sam more readily identified as her sergeant and she slowly approached them as she felt the worst of the fight easing away with the perfectly executed shot. She touched Siler's shoulder carefully, wary in case he was still in fight mode, automatically respectful of any soldier coming off an adrenaline high.
She was still watching Siler for danger signs and sighed in relief, ignoring the storm getting worse around them as she saw the unwilling start of a smile on his lips when Jack complained breathlessly, "You know. *This* is one of the reasons I was sorta glad to get *out* of the field..."
She nodded her head toward the fallen man when Siler hesitated, an edge of hurt to his reluctance. She understood how hard it was to call off an argument just because Jack was feeling sorry for himself; but words like that were more than you got from a lot of people. Ignoring the general's low-voiced muttering, she brought her hand up to Siler's cheek, glad to feel the strength in the grip he took on her wrist; *holding* her, not pushing her away.
She made her voice loud enough to cover the rain and distant thunder, loud enough that Jack would hear and be quiet. "He *did* teach Daniel. But I watched him once when Daniel was having an off day, missing every grip and landing on the mat every single time. When Daniel finally limped out, he," she nodded at the man frowning at her from his cold bed of mud as though trying to remember, "Sat down on the bench." She stared at Siler, willing him to understand, "His hands were *shaking*, Siler. Training Daniel was a necessity for his own safety as well as ours, but there aren't a lot of ways to get trained properly that don't include the trainee hitting the mat a lot of times, and getting bruised as hell. And doing that to someone you.. care about... Just *hurts*."
And when he'd looked up and caught her watching him that day, she'd finally understood that he cared about *her*. And she'd been glad that she and Teal'c got on well enough and that he didn't mind being her sparring partner.
Now, she watched Siler absorb the same idea, knowing that he was smart enough, honest enough with himself -most of the time-, to understand that doing that to *him* would hurt Jack far worse than whooping the butt of the archaeologist who too often tweaked his temper *ever* had.
When he finally moved out from under her touch, Sam's eyes closed in relief to see him reach a helping hand to Jack.
Next in the verse, Chapter 8e: Hit the road, Jack, Part 2 (NC17)
or to Chapter 1 for info
To read it all the chapters on one page, click here
Summary: A bike ride takes grim roads
Chapter 8d: Hit the road, Jack, Part 1 (PG13)
Bikes
"How have I never seen your bike??"
Siler glanced up from checking the air-intake valve, frowning at the general's honest confusion. "Well.. I almost never ride it to work; as wiped out as I tend to be, it wouldn't be safe for me to ride home," he shrugged, moving on to the rear break that had felt wrong as he'd ridden over, "And as busy as we are, I rarely ride these days in any case."
He took his time babying the twitchy calliper of his rebuilt Fat Boy, not paying mind to Jack's continued surveillance.
"..But you would."
The quiet implied question made him shrug, frowning at the rust starting on a fuel pump clamp, "Yeah, I guess. Some. Not seeing the bike, I never think about it. But I hardly go to the house anymore; what would I do? Somehow remember to deliberately stop there on Friday -*tired*-, bring it over, and then ride it back to change to the truck on Sunday?" He shrugged, knowing the riding lull was just that. Sooner or later the bug would bite him again. Wouldn't be the first year that the insurance went to practical waste.
"Siler..." He looked back up, distracted by the suddenly decided tone in Jack's voice before the general was interrupted.
"There's room in the garage for another bike." Siler turned his head to look at Sam, standing behind him for who knew how long. "Or two."
"Two?"
Sam smiled gently at Jack's avid curiosity, watching their sergeant slowly deal with the idea of his babies moving to their house too. "Shall I tell him?"
Smiling a little, an edge of uncertainty in his eyes that was making fewer appearances with every passing week, Siler nodded, standing up and absently wiping his hands on his jeans.
She grinned at Jack, knowing he was going to get a kick out of this, "A 1950 Thunderbird."
"Seriously??"
Siler laughed a little at the eager response; he could almost see drool on the corner of Jack's lips! "Yeah, seriously. Sergeant out at Fort Bragg heard of some poor old machine, abandoned in a shed by the widow of a pilot who died in Desert Storm. Made a holiday of it and went and trailered it up here back in '98." He smiled at the woman who'd sidled up to cuddle with Jack, "And Sam helped me fix it up, when she had time."
Sam rolled her eyes at him, leaning back on Jack and beckoning Siler to come closer, "I just passed you tools and lent you company. When *you* had time."
Ignoring the correction, he stepped up to close the circle around her, his hands on Jack's hips. The chaste kiss he brushed on her forehead made her growl and grip his ears to bring his grinning lips to hers while Jack chuckled at their antics.
When Sam let him up, the general stared at him for a minute before asking teasingly, "How's the hangover?"
Wincing slightly at the reminder, he shrugged, abashed, "Getting better. I'm out of practise; and Walter's obviously been getting way too much."
"You okay riding?"
Since Sam elbowed the general in the gut for the mothering, Siler only answered with a mild "Yes." before staring at the bikes already parked in the driveway. "When did you get the Ninja?"
Sam looked fondly over at the red and black sport bike, "Last year. We got them at the same time," she jerked her chin at the Road King, already half-packed for their weekend escape, "We wanted to start taking more rides together, and having to be so careful with the Indian wasn't conducive to spontaneous travelling. So when we were shopping for a new bike for Jack," she smiled gently over her shoulder, "I figured I'd get something lower maintenance."
Looking at Sam instead of the bike, Siler teased, "Sexy piece."
She just grinned right back, "*I* certainly think so."
"Ahh, Siler?" Jack's voice was so hesitant that both Siler and Sam turned their heads to look at him curiously, "About last night," Siler's brows raised in curious worry when he saw Sam wince and avoid his glance, "We kinda ended up telling Vala," he nodded at Sam, standing between the two of them, and Siler's eyes widened as he realized Jack meant 'about the three of them', "Yeah. So. Don't be surprised if she accosts you at some point.."
Sam patted his back in sympathy when he moaned and dropped his forehead on hers. Siler did *not* particularly like the overpowering woman at the best of times. He could just imagine what she'd come up with *now* to torture him. Damn it. Dammit dammit damn it.
"Come on, it'll all seem better with the wind blowing by your ears."
Giving Sam a pitifully dubious look, Siler nonetheless straightened with a martyred sigh. Too bad there was no way to pretend she was attacking him with her pestering. He was sure no one would really *mind* if he defended himself with a Vulcan nerve pinch.. or the Tau'ri equivalent...
Oh well. He'd dealt with worse... he'd have to think to pick a particular occasion.. but there had to have been worse things. Had to.
Going through the bags still waiting to be strapped-in, they split the travelling gear and their baggage between the three bikes with minimal discussion, meshing their differing habits together without particular hiccoughs, and then, last checks done, headed into the house to get changed.
####
Hearing his partners chatting outside, Siler gave the house a last once-over as he hurried to the door, still shaking himself every few steps to settle into his riding boots. He should have changed at his place and taken the extra time to get them softened up, but he'd known he'd be crawling around the bike after the short test-ride over, and riding gear only made that harder.
"Chaps??"
Looking up from locking the door, he started to give Jack a rolled-eyed look for the snobbery, but then got a little sidetracked. Between Sam walking over and Jack standing there, both in full leathers, he was reminded of one reason why he liked jeans better. Leather did *not* forgive a mind that slid a little too often into the gutter.
Not that jeans were *that* much better. He cleared his throat, firmly reigning his reaction; and shifting his eyes away. They were leaving for a long weekend bike ride. *Now*.
No matter how many fantasies of stripping the two of them, not to mention of just *opening* those leathers and then worshipping them as they deserved, he was developing; that's what nightly stops were for...
####
The open road was heaven. Bright sun, only a little warm -for now at least- and Sam rode, free to feel the pressure of the wind on her skin, with nothing but her clothes to buffer it; the flow of the road under her wheels... No starship canning her in, no car to absorb away the world around her. A wall of soothingly smooth sound isolating her with her thoughts and the beauty of the panorama.
It was a quiet road, hardly any cars to break the view from this mountain. Like the small green valley below them right now. And the perfect road conditions left her attention free to roam. Including to the man riding in front of her. She'd somehow forgotten that he wore chaps; if she'd ever known. She had a feeling that the year they'd been together had been another bad one for rides; both of them scrambling to settle into their new and very hectic jobs. Both of them the frequent guests of the infirmary, the reasons for which didn't really encourage long bike rides even after being released.
She did remember hearing the story of where he'd gotten the Fat Boy though, one night when he was on talkative meds. Listening to the story of a chopper crash in the Gulf War that only he'd walked away from. Except he hadn't walked; thrown barely far enough on impact to avoid the deadly explosion, his left femur broken cleanly, his left tibia with a compound break that picked up a nasty infection before they cleared his system up. The full leg cast had made a mess of the rest of his body before it came off and, all in all, he'd spent six months out of both physical and mental commission. A friend who knew of his mechanic's skills and understood the rocky road to recovering from such injuries had kindly found him the wrecked bike early on.
Terminator 2 had just come out a year before and Siler had admitted to her that he'd liked the association, at the time. Not to mention the idea of owning the bike he couldn't have afforded new. So he'd spent the months of rehab crawling, literally and sometimes very slowly, around the destroyed Harley, rebuilding the engine and body one piece at a time. She suspected he'd probably kicked the machine a hell of a lot as he worked his way through the rough period. Probably even smashed it a few times himself. But he'd finally gotten his body back on its literal feet, his survivor's guilt buried far enough to move on; and a shiny bike ready to be ridden.
She had to get him to tell Jack that story, and maybe some of the other crap he'd overcome over the years.
Maybe realizing that Siler was as much a survivor as the two of them would help the tension that had crept between them since they'd started training him.
Leaning into a sharper turn and kicking up the power, all the while appreciatively watching Siler's handling ahead of her, she quietly worried about the man who was riding behind her.
They'd only managed a few sessions with Siler, had basically only freshened up the skills he already had, up to now. But Jack was already going quiet and stiff. And she could see Siler getting annoyed, aware that Jack wasn't using his full abilities on him.
She understood how hard it was. The first time she'd had to throw Siler to the pile of comforter on the floor that they were using as minimal padding, simulating some of the real-world conditions that were part of *this* training, she'd flinched, feeling the pain herself and questioning the path they'd just started on. This was *not* something you should be trying to teach someone you loved.
She was all too aware that Jack had avoided joining her on a mat since shortly after SG-1 was formed. He'd trained Daniel hesitantly, but he'd left Teal'c to polish *her* skills. Had watched them work out, no doubt catching every nuance of her abilities, but hadn't come close.
And now.. some moves were simply more easily taught if the student watched them enacted. And so Jack was not only having to teach -hurt- Siler, he was facing *her*; with moves that they'd both used to kill. After all these years, she'd accepted that his refusing to fight her wasn't an insult of her ability to defend herself or take him down; it was simply avoiding the unnecessary chance of being the one to hurt her.
Siler would take a while to reach that same conclusion, let along give it sympathy. If Jack could be made to accept their partner's strengths, maybe things would go smoother.
And maybe an anonymous hotel room would also help, avoid destroying the safe sanctuary of their home with combat where there should only be caring.
####
"For fuck's sake, Jack, I'm not *that* much of an incompetent!" Standing over his unaccountably fallen -AGAIN!- supposed-trainer, Siler's fists were clenching with his choked fury, "Hell, Teal'c says I box *better* than you!"
Then, staring at his old commander, realization kicked him in the gut and he deflated, anger suddenly replaced with cold numbness, "Christ... do you.. really think so little of me?" Shaking his head and not waiting for an answer, he turned and took the few steps to get out of the room, automatically grabbing his keys and wallet from besides the door and letting it swing behind him.
Trying to catch his breath from the unrestrained slam on the floor and the shock of the sudden argument that followed, Jack heard Siler's Harley roar to life and tear out of the empty motel lot before he even got himself into a sitting position.
And before Sam stepped out of the bathroom with a confused frown.
"Did I just hear Siler's bike??" When her eyes met his, he knew he must look as stunned as he felt and she swore under her breath, hurrying over to help him up, "What happened??"
Not quite sure himself, he shook his head gently, feeling a little rung from the wrestling. "He-" His voice choked as the completely uncharacteristic injured-little-boy expression that had appeared in their partner's eyes wouldn't leave his vision. The sick feeling of having taken something from a man he admired all to hell, never mind of having hurt the man he loved, made it hard to breathe.
"Jack!" Too familiar with the way his expression was closing up, Sam snarled, shaking him with a deliberately sharp grip on his sweat-slick bare shoulders, "Where. Is. *Siler*?"
She was about to shake him again when he took an obviously painful breath and stuttered huskily, letting the dawning grief show as he looked at her pleadingly, "He.. left. He-" Another breath and he stiffened in her grip, straightening, just like he'd always done after getting kicked in the balls by something, "Was pissed that I.. wasn't beating the shit out of him."
Wincing as her prediction came unfortunately true, Sam helped him up without another word, a little annoyed at Jack for not talking this out with Siler before it blew up. He had to have known this wouldn't be easy for him; letting Siler know that *before* he got pissed would have done a world of good. Unless he'd really believed he'd be able to treat Siler as a casual enough friend to do this. Could bury his feelings somehow.
"Then he went off on some crazy idea that I-"
She frowned at the lost look he sent her as he trailed off. Uho, now what?
Jack dropped to the edge of the bed, feeling weak and chilled, staring at the door that hadn't closed as Siler walked out with slumped shoulders and such a lost, confused expression... "That I don't.. That I.."
Torn between the worry for Siler that made her want to chase him down, and the worry for the man collapsing in front of her, Sam threw a helpless look at the door herself. She had to accept that Siler needed time to clear his mind, and that chasing him would take actual detective work at this point; Jack, on the other hand, needed her *now*.
Awkwardly sitting in his lap in her wet towel, she wrapped her arms around him gently, wary in case he was in one of his 'don't touch' moods. When, instead, his arms came up stiffly, she relaxed a little, laying her head on his shoulder in relief, "That you don't respect him?" She felt his head turn, no doubt looking at her in surprise for her brilliant deduction, and she smiled sadly, wishing she'd been wrong. "It's not exactly surprising, Jack. He *is* a soldier, and you've been pulling your punches like he's a child," she shook her head when he tried to interject, "I *know* why you're doing it. You have to know I understand," she stroked a hand up his bare shoulder to his jaw and cheek, softening her voice, the memory of the moment she'd shifted her weight and felt Siler go flying like so many enemies had in the past coming back to her with a shiver of pain, "I don't enjoy hurting him either, you know."
It took a minute, but she felt him nod slowly, his arms, his whole body, tightening around her.
She wanted to talk to him, wanted to explain why Siler had reacted the way he had. But he felt breakable somehow. Holding her stiffly, an edge of fear in his unsteady breath. *If* she'd needed any confirmation of how he felt about Siler, she wouldn't anymore. As much as she was beyond grateful that he was letting her hold him, that they were close enough these days.. she *knew* this side of Jack. They'd spent entirely too much time on the knife's edge of pain, desperation and breakup that first year. She knew his usually steady strength got uncertain and ragged-edged when his heart was breaking.
Losing Siler would cripple him.
Cripple them both.
An insidious voice tried to sneak in and follow the thought to its logical conclusion, but she shuddered away from it convulsively, unable and refusing to even consider the idea of being left standing between them as they walked away from each other.
She *had* to believe that she could keep that from happening; could keep the two men from ripping each other to pieces. Jack had learned to let her in in the end. She only hoped that Siler's love was strong enough to keep him from simply locking them back out. Having finally understood just how far away he'd kept her all those years ago, she knew how high the risk was that he'd push that distance back into existence. He was definitely as much a survivor as she and Jack; as defencive and instinctively scared of closeness.
She wondered what the chances were that *she* and Siler could continue to avoid clashing.
But right now, Jack and Siler were the ones with a problem. They were the ones who needed caring. Borrowing more trouble was a waste of time.
Getting chilled, she finally tugged Jack to lay down, letting him take off his runners but ignoring the sweat slicking him. Covering them with a blanket and holding him tightly, she knew both their ears were straining to hear a motorcycle coming back to them.
Instead, after almost an hour, they heard the rain start with a sudden, heavy, downpour, and wordlessly got up, getting dressed with a lot of little touches to each other as they moved around the small room, a silent vigil reflected in their stiff movements and constant glances toward the stubbornly empty parking lot.
Stepping through the door to stand under the short overhang, staring at the gravel leading out to the country road they'd been following, Sam was glad that the dilapidated old motel was empty except for them. The quiet of the falling sheets of rain was unbroken, shrouding their pain as she and Jack leaned on the wall, side by side. The air was warm enough, but this rain made the roads traitorous for a motorcycle, even one not driven by someone with his mind elsewhere.
"How did you know?"
Sam's head jerked slightly, no matter how quiet Jack's voice had been. He looked much calmer now, not so shell-shocked; a little more up to dealing with her words. Looking out at the road, she thought back to the days when she'd just been finding her place; with the hard, silent, Colonel O'Neill, with SG-1 and with the SGC. In the field in the middle of a war that only seemed to get more hopeless with every mission.
"We both admire you, you know." She wasn't looking at him, but she still felt the look he sent her, though he didn't say anything; could imagine the mixed feelings in it. "Your leadership, your fighting ability. Having you refuse to spar with me.. kind of implied that you didn't think I could take it. That I wasn't strong enough, skilled enough, to stand up to you and learn."
"Carter-"
Now she did turn to him, smiling into his worried expression and touching his shoulder reassuringly, "It's OK, Jack. I understood, eventually. And so will Siler. But we're going to have to *explain* to him." Figuring it out alone had taken far longer than they could expect from Siler. He didn't have near the obligation that she'd had to see it through.
"*If* he-"
"We. Will. Explain to him." Jack was still shaken if he seriously thought for one instant that Siler would actually leave them without a word like this. "How often have we told him it's OK to need time to himself? Come on Jack, he just needs to clear his head." That he'd been caught on the road without gear in the middle of a nasty rainstorm wasn't remotely that bad in the late august heat; Siler was a fine rider *and* a skilled mechanic. They were only worrying because the two men had fought and now everyone was on edge.
Nonetheless, Sam felt a weight lift from her shoulders when she heard the familiar roar in the distance. She took one last stab at peacekeeping by giving Jack a sharp look, "Do *not* start lecturing him." Mothering at this point would be like throwing a lit match in jet fuel; they'd both go up in flames.
The look he threw back had enough of a guilty edge that she had some hope that she'd made him conscious of the danger and he'd avoid it.
The only problem with understandably not lecturing, was that Jack had no idea what to say to the man shutting down his bike in the dirt parking lot that was turning into a mud wallow.
He was unaccountably set on following Sam's lead; to try to avoid more trouble, but also because he had not the first idea what to say or do himself. So when she stepped off the porch and walked to Siler where he still sat, watching them with an unreadable expression, Jack followed silently, feeling twitchy and on edge.
Siler watched them walk up, seeming not even to notice the pouring rain that h ad already soaked their shirts and pants. But then, SG-1 had marched through so much worse, hadn't they? Was it reasonable to expect them to think anything of his un-warlike skills?
The open road had unfocused his mind enough that he could momentarily zone out the feeling of hurt and see past it. Part of him accepted that he just wasn't a warrior, and that he couldn't expect Jack to treat him like one; any more than anyone would expect him to fill Sam's brilliant shoes with any great accomplishment.
The oh-so reasonable reasoning didn't miraculously make him feel fine about not having his lovers' admiration, but at least he knew it was his own foolishness causing the hurt.
He'd get over it. He knew that.
He *did*.
He just wasn't sure about this in-between time. He still wanted to hit the road and let the wind lick his wounds, but the valley they were in was ridiculously boring. He'd stared at the ramp back onto the mountain road for 5 minutes as the rain started, tempted; yearning to lean into the curves and feel the empty space near his knee, feel the high air like the purest freedom. Sharp rock and scraggly trees filling his vision...
The chill on his bare back as evening started to fall was stronger than his self-pity, though, and he'd grimaced, turning back.
He was cold and he was hungry and at the least their room had a warm shower. He wasn't sure he could be bothered to go out for food; then again, he wasn't sure if he was up to sleeping in the same room with them either. He almost flinched when Sam touched his arm with a worried expression. Seeing them had zoned him out again. Damned mess. Even if it was his own fault.
"Siler? Come inside."
Wordlessly getting off the bike, he met and immediately avoided Jack's eyes, keeping his expression blank with effort he didn't ever remember needing to use to control himself. Yeah, he understood the reasoning. But it still killed his pride right now, and that alone wasn't something he was used to. Never mind the shivering hurt he was trying to bury behind that. It wasn't Jack's *fault*, but looking at him was too much right now. It was hard enough to face Sam, momentarily taken back to wondering what he thought he was doing between the two of them.
Maybe he should grab his things and go. A day or two on his own felt like a good idea; time to get his head on straight, stop feeling as though he was inferior somehow. Time to miss them enough for that to replace the hurt that hit when he looked at them. To once again remember the good times.
Jack stiffened when Siler wouldn't meet his eyes. Watching him turn to follow Sam, the two of them walking away from his frozen self, he felt a stabbing chill flow down his back that had nothing to do with the rain. Oh fuck, no. No way! Adrenaline hit his bloodstream and his breathing cranked up, the fight or flight response overruling his plan to let Sam lead them out of the mess he'd helped create.
He could feel Siler sliding away from them -feel his hold on *both* of them slipping-, and the last time he'd felt this way he'd lost Sam for years. *That* had been out of his control, but this time he wasn't going to be the nice guy. There was *no* reason he shouldn't fight for what he wanted.
His hand flew out to grab Siler's forearm with a desperate grip, yelling and as afraid of what words were going to come flying out of his mouth as he was of the consequences of staying silent. "Dammit, Siler! I *never* said or implied you were ANYTHING but a damn good soldier!"
"Jack-" Sam's warning was drowned in an apropos crash of thunder, but the glare she was sending him was clear enough.
"A soldier who's only good for staying behind your safe back."
Siler's defeated tone finished pissing Jack off all to hell and he shoved the other man's shoulders, palms half-sliding on frozen, water-slick skin, "I NEVER said that! Never *thought* that! *You* asked for training!"
It didn't escape his notice that Siler barely budged from the shove, even though *he* suddenly found himself sliding in the mud, ridiculously grateful to see the sergeant's eyes blaze with renewed fury as he returned the shove, absolutely no holds barred for once.
"I didn't ask to be treating like a fucking *child*, 'general'!" When Jack reached up to grab his shoulders, Siler's arm whipped up, elbow breaking the hold before Jack could even land it on his slippery, bare, skin. "All you had to do was say no if you didn't think I could handle it!" When Jack intercepted the next shove, Siler switched it to an uppercut that Jack's unsteady footing barely let him avoid, "There was no fucking reason to humour me like an imbecile!"
Watching Jack twist badly to get a headlock on Siler, Sam winced, knowing his back had just gone out. Emotionally, she wanted to kick both of them in the ass until they broke it up, but she made herself stay on the sidelines, simply watching that they stayed away from bikes, building or rocks. Resigned that they needed this.
Talking *should* have been better, but she knew that Jack, at least, was still pretty lousy at it, most of the time. And she was learning that Siler was almost as bad, now that his heart was engaged. If beating on each other was the only way they could communicate for now, she'd act as referee. And hope they never did this *without* a guardian; and that they learned saner coping mechanisms.
"I was NOT humouring you-" Jack's yell and hold were broken at the same time when Siler wriggled his arm loose enough to elbow Jack's diaphragm.
"The HELL you weren't! You put me on the mat all of TWICE. In-"
It was Siler's turn to cut off as he windmilled to keep from landing on his ass; though the rumbling sky would have drowned him anyway. And Sam groaned as Jack didn't follow the move through, letting Siler catch his footing. Didn't he understand he couldn't do this halfway??
Though she had to admit that Siler mad as hell -at Jack- loosened the knot that having him quiet and distant had put in her gut. If he was fighting, then he wasn't giving up on them; she couldn't deny that math.
"I don't happen to know what you can do, for crying out loud! If you've sparred with Teal'c then you sure as hell aren't just a behind the lines soldier. You expect me to see that with you lying on a ma-"
Jack ducked clumsily to avoid the flurry of roundhouse punches. It really *was* hard to place Siler; between the strength and endurance he had and the not-quite-there instincts. He'd be deadly if.. *once* he learned to actually try to kill rather than simply use the moves to work out.
"I EXPECTED you to actually *try* to make me black and blue and then TEACH me to avoid anyone else doing it!"
Sam winced at the flash of pain that crossed Jack's face, wondering if Siler was paying enough attention to notice it.
"Goddammit Siler! I don't happen to enjoy hurting you."
"*Enjoy*??" Sam's head tilted in sudden professional interest as Siler shifted to a threatening stance, actually triggering warning signals in her trained body, "How do you think *I* ENJOYED knowing you and Cass were in danger and I'd only be in your way if I tried to help!!!!!"
She could see that Jack was wary, but he didn't actually do anything to resist when Siler slid his hands to his jaw and kissed him, barely leashed violence in every line of his body, the rain splashing past their tightly clashing lips for the half-minute that they held the furious kiss, both their mouths shifting and trying to grind together any and every way, tongues flashing between. As much as the call to sex made heat flash through her, Sam was all too aware that aggression was still present in Siler's posture. He was still angry. Even if he'd reached the point where he no longer wanted to get away from them, thank any god that actually existed.
She was watching carefully enough to catch when his footing changed.
If Sam hadn't been taught the same move, she'd never have been able to follow as he suddenly pulled back, kicked, spun, went right through Jack's very real -this time- defences to drop him flat on his back with a painful-sounding splat. Yeah, Jaffa moves were handy. Even against Black ops major generals.
The geyser of mud that surrounded Jack for a second seemed to make Siler's fury flash away long enough for him to straighten back into a stance that Sam more readily identified as her sergeant and she slowly approached them as she felt the worst of the fight easing away with the perfectly executed shot. She touched Siler's shoulder carefully, wary in case he was still in fight mode, automatically respectful of any soldier coming off an adrenaline high.
She was still watching Siler for danger signs and sighed in relief, ignoring the storm getting worse around them as she saw the unwilling start of a smile on his lips when Jack complained breathlessly, "You know. *This* is one of the reasons I was sorta glad to get *out* of the field..."
She nodded her head toward the fallen man when Siler hesitated, an edge of hurt to his reluctance. She understood how hard it was to call off an argument just because Jack was feeling sorry for himself; but words like that were more than you got from a lot of people. Ignoring the general's low-voiced muttering, she brought her hand up to Siler's cheek, glad to feel the strength in the grip he took on her wrist; *holding* her, not pushing her away.
She made her voice loud enough to cover the rain and distant thunder, loud enough that Jack would hear and be quiet. "He *did* teach Daniel. But I watched him once when Daniel was having an off day, missing every grip and landing on the mat every single time. When Daniel finally limped out, he," she nodded at the man frowning at her from his cold bed of mud as though trying to remember, "Sat down on the bench." She stared at Siler, willing him to understand, "His hands were *shaking*, Siler. Training Daniel was a necessity for his own safety as well as ours, but there aren't a lot of ways to get trained properly that don't include the trainee hitting the mat a lot of times, and getting bruised as hell. And doing that to someone you.. care about... Just *hurts*."
And when he'd looked up and caught her watching him that day, she'd finally understood that he cared about *her*. And she'd been glad that she and Teal'c got on well enough and that he didn't mind being her sparring partner.
Now, she watched Siler absorb the same idea, knowing that he was smart enough, honest enough with himself -most of the time-, to understand that doing that to *him* would hurt Jack far worse than whooping the butt of the archaeologist who too often tweaked his temper *ever* had.
When he finally moved out from under her touch, Sam's eyes closed in relief to see him reach a helping hand to Jack.
Next in the verse, Chapter 8e: Hit the road, Jack, Part 2 (NC17)