fanfic: Taking It Hard
Taking It Hard
Rating: R for sex & language
Pairings: Sam/Janet, Sam/Weir
Spoilers: Heroes and Lost City
Summary: Sam can't stop thinking
Notes: Thanks to sage_theory for the beta Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue
Shit. Shit, she shouldn't be doing this: this is probably the stupidest idea she's ever had, or at least right up there with thinking Jonas Hanson was a good catch. God, this is stupid. She's about to sleep with her commanding officer. Only, not her commanding officer, because technically, Elizabeth Weir isn't anything, isn't even military. She's just a really smart woman who really hates Kinsey.
So Sam has stayed late and maybe accidentally wandered down to the storeroom where Daniel's artifacts used to be kept, where a few dusty statues from Abydos still sit, forgotten by their former owner in his excitement over new finds. Dr. Weir looks at the statues with a strange expression, and Sam knows that she still hasn't woken up to the idea that they're from another planet. She walks over, doesn't say anything, notices that Weir has a clipboard clutched to her chest the way Daniel hugs himself when he's frightened or sad. She wishes she'd thought to bring something for Weir to sign, some excuse for being here. If General Hammond were around, he would find her, find the right words to say, apologize for yet another mission shot to hell--something. General Hammond knows them, understood why Colonel O'Neill means so much to her.
If Janet were around, she would have taken the night shift and snuck out at half past three, and Sam would have brought the bike around and they would have ridden, the hum of the machine grinding against them, Janet's arms pressed tightly to her breasts, and when they got to Sam's house, they would have been dripping wet and needing the quickie that was all they had time for. If it had just been another mission gone wrong, Janet would have kissed her long and tenderly before driving her minivan back to the base. And if it had gone really badly, if it was Daniel in the infirmary, or Colonel O'Neill, then they would have ridden back together on the motorcycle, and Sam would have joined her teammates in sitting vigil.
She knows that somewhere, far away in the upper levels of the SGC, Teal'c is asleep, sitting cross-legged on the floor, without candles now, because he once fell over and knocked over a candle and the SFs had had to put the fire out. She wonders what Teal'c dreams about.
She knows that somewhere, miles away, Daniel is out driving. Maybe he's driving past the Colonel's house, or past the places they hung out together. She wonders where men go to hang out. When Cassie wants to "hang out," she means go to the mall and go shopping, and when Janet said, "hang out," she usually meant, "have sex while Cassie is at the mall." But Sam doesn't think Colonel O'Neill and Daniel used to do either of those things.
She hates thinking about him in the past tense. It's stupid, unprofessional--dammit, Sam, it's not unprofessional to realize that your CO is dead. Unprofessional is going to find the commanding officer of the whole damn base and coming on to her.
Of course, the latter will require actually opening her mouth, and suddenly Sam's throat is dry. She should have brought some paperwork, definitely. This is insane. That's why she's doing it, after all. Because it doesn't make any more sense than Janet dead and Colonel--Jack--being who knows what, frozen or dead or possibly just waiting until Thor shows up. She's standing close enough to smell Dr. Weir's perfume. It smells strange on base, where people are more concerned with clean efficiency than with smelling pretty. Dr. Weir doesn't belong here. Then, she thinks, she doesn't really belong here either, does she? Not here in Daniel's storeroom. Since no one is on active duty, actually, she probably should just be at home right now, sleeping, like people do when they have nine to five jobs.
Dr. Weir finally turns around and jumps when she sees Sam. "You startled me, Major Carter. Er, did you want something?"
Sam takes a deep breath, thinks about why she came here. "Just thought I'd bend your ear a little about some very exciting things we've been doing with what we found in Antarctica."
"At two in the morning?"
Sam shrugs her shoulders, and thinks, "That's how we do things around here," although she doesn't say it aloud, and plunges into the technical details. She's reasonably sure Dr. Weir doesn't understand a word of what she says, which is okay, because she's too busy watching Weir's bottom lip and noticing how very in-control and un-cowed she is, even though she's sure to be totally lost.
"Major Carter? Is there something else you wanted to talk to me about? I understand that this has been a very convoluted time for SG-1, with this-whatever--happening so soon after Dr. Fraiser's death."
Sam looks at her like that was the last thing on earth she was thinking about. She thinks about Hammond coming into Daniel's office two years ago, telling her that people died, that their friends got on with life, even when their best friends died. Come on. Tell me to get on with my life. It's okay. Tell me that it's all going to be okay. Don't you dare try to be touchy-feely with me, Elizabeth Weir.
"We're dealing with it."
"Are military teams always that close?"
Sam thinks about that. About losing comrades, watching planes spiral down and knowing that they wouldn't be taking off again, about basic training and about training cadets and telling them why the fraternization rules were in place. "No," she says. "SG-1 is special." Dr. Weir doesn't say anything. "We've been through stuff you can't possibly imagine what it's like. Not unless you've been doing it for seven years."
"Tell me about it, then." Sam stares blankly. "Okay, don't tell me about it. But I think we're done here."
Now or never, Sam. Quick kiss on the lips, just to gauge response. Then a few breathless moments later, a surprised Elizabeth Weir has bent down to pick up her dropped clipboard, and when she comes up, her face is flushed. "Is this another military thing the vice president didn't tell me about?"
"No. It's another SG-1 thing." Sam thinks about how they are all falling apart, away from each other. Jack chose his path, and now he isn't even human. Teal'c chose his path, and now he is And she doesn't know where Daniel is. "We do some pretty wacky stuff." And she kisses Dr. Weir again.
"Samantha."
"Sam."
"Elizabeth. Now tell me what you really want."
"Well," said Sam, "it's funny, actually... I just wandered down here, and then I saw how absolutely beautiful you looked, and I was struck with this urge to, well..."
Weir puts her clipboard down carefully. She moves deliberately until there isn't any space between them. Sam closes her eyes and realizes that she doesn't have to bend down to kiss. That Weir is right there, in her face, kissing her, tilting her head just right. She pulls the other woman closer to her. Elizabeth. She tries to pull away, for air, for a moment, but there will be no pulling away. She had imagined for some reason that Weir would fold in her arms. She isn't sure why. Janet had never done that.
Janet would never have fucked her in Daniel's storeroom, either, would never have slid between her legs just so and made her moan too loudly. Janet didn't like to take risks. "I'm a mother," she said (like she couldn't believe it) when Sam suggested things like that. Weir seems to know just how to do it, just where to put her knee. They're tilting, falling over backwards. They collide with a shelf and knock a pot onto the floor. It shattered. Sam isn't sure how they get themselves onto the floor without breaking any bones. It feels like they're just falling, down and down and down, until there's hard concrete beneath her back and soft womanliness poised to pounce above her.
She can tell Weir is a civilian by the way she has her back to the door, the way her clothes hang on her body like they don't really belong there. Sam opens the first button of Weir's blouse, thinks better of it, tears the whole thing off, indicates that Elizabeth should come closer. This is more like it. The warm familiarity of a breast in her mouth, a strip of cloth, a strip of skin, her own saliva and the smell of another woman's arousal. She props herself up with her elbows, angles for another kiss. BDUs are ridiculous for getting out of, the least sexy garment she can imagine. She helps Elizabeth undress her
It makes them equal somehow, neither wearing anything except bland white cotton underpants and unfrilly bras. This is not (shit) sleeping with her commanding officer. It's just sex, just any other woman, just someone who isn't asking a lot of hard questions but is only asking if it's okay if she unhooks Sam's bra. "Please, yes," says Sam, and isn't sure when she lost her breath. Elizabeth removes her bra, adding it to the pile of folded clothes (she's a bit compulsive about that, for a civilian. Sam is pretty sure Daniel doesn't care about where his clothes land when he's having sex) and puts a tentative finger on Sam's areole. Sam closes her eyes.
Elizabeth's touch (she is now just Elizabeth, not Dr. Weir, which makes it easier for Sam to reconcile herself to the absurdity of the situation. Elizabeth, generic name, generic woman, blonde hair and hesitant wit but obviously skilled at making love) is very light, almost but not quite tickling her, which isn't exactly what Sam likes. Sam likes it rough and fast and scarring, likes the afterburn that stays with her when she goes back to work, a reminder that she's been loved. But though Elizabeth is very gentle, she is not shy like Sam thought at first. She knows exactly where to touch Sam, tracing lines down both sides of her abdomen, just touching her lower thigh with her long hair, then moving back up to her stomach, kissing her very gently.
Sam is turned on, but she hasn't lost herself to the experience. She's thinking about the formula Elizabeth is using to arouse her. Elizabeth doesn't know her at all, has never made love to her before, has no idea what her special quirks are, so she's going for broad, generic strokes with her tongue and with her fingers. She doesn't know how much teasing Sam wants before the payoff, how rough Sam will take it, so she's erring on the side of caution. Like that--Elizabeth licks up her inner thigh and Sam shudders--that's a classic move. Can't go wrong with that. Janet knew that it would drive Sam really insane, that she would be fucking howling if instead of licking up, Elizabeth licked down, further and further away, and then bit a bloody kiss onto her calf. Elizabeth couldn't possibly know that.
She can tell that she's thinking too much. She probably has that look in her eyes.
"What look, sir?"
"The look like you're memorizing vocabulary words for the SATs. No one should have that look after they're done with college. Ever."
"Yes sir."
"Come to the commissary with me." It was an order, not an invitation. "Eat Jello. Tell me about the modifications to the MALP. Stop thinking so much."
Sam feels like she's trying to meditate (like Teal'c taught her) in reverse. Instead of trying to focus on one thing, or on nothing, she's focusing on everything that isn't Elizabeth's tongue slowly winding its way home. She's driving herself further and further out of the moment. She's frustrated. She knows that she won't come because while the body is willing, the mind is weak, is several light-years away and moving further every millisecond, according to certain theories of cosmogony. She has to do something about this, so in the middle of one of Elizabeth's more elaborate attempts to get Sam to pay attention to the business at hand, she sits up straight, pushes Elizabeth off her, and pulls on her BDUs as fast as she can. Standing up, Sam can see that Elizabeth looks very forlorn. Her perfect hair is mussed, her bra is askew, and her mouth is red and puffy. There's a wet stain on the front of her underpants; she was turned on too.
Was it good for you? It was good for me, she thinks, obscenely. We should try this again sometime. Now I know why Kinsey doesn't like you very much. I had no business doing pleasure with you... Her brain isn't functioning normally or she wouldn't be here in the first place. The first time Janet kissed her, she ran out of there so quickly Janet swore there was a breeze.
"Not that I didn't mind watching your ass, sweetie, but I do want to see your front sometimes. And your sides. And your insides. Don't take that literally, it's not a medical thing, really. I can show you what I mean, if you want." Janet had always started to babble when she was trying to be seductive; she was really too straightforward to be a very effective seductress, but that was okay, because Sam is also straightforward (if not straight) about sex. She likes ooey gooey Valentine's chocolates and late night movies and snuggling, too, but when it comes to sex, she doesn't like a lot of frills or complications. That's what made Janet so different, because there were so many complications, so many ways for it to go wrong, and there was commitment and there was Cassie and there was the incredibly large violation of ethics and military protocol that always seemed to crawl into bed with them.
Sam is still trying to get herself presentable, and Weir has finally stood up, too, and is pulling on her slacks as rapidly as she can. Sam realizes that all the buttonholes on Weir's blouse are ripped. What on earth was she thinking with that cavewoman shit? Dammit, Sam, how stupid are you trying to be? Are you hoping that the court martial will be a quick and painless death for a long military career? "I'll get you a shirt," she says, and she knows that somewhere on this level there sure to be a spare lab coat or set of BDUs--something that Weir can wear until she gets herself out of here, up to the surface and the safety of her own car and her own house. If Weir is smart, she'll get out of here as soon as she can. Not just tonight, but permanently. If she's smart, she'll be gone by morning, convinced that Sam and by extension the rest of the people in this crazy place are unstable and unmanageable, uncouth and... Sam searches for another word that starts with "un"... unhappy.
Absolutely, mind-bendingly, incurably miserable. Janet is dead and Jack O'Neill might as well be dead and Daniel has just been accumulating losses and at some point he'll just have to crack and Teal'c is having an identity crisis and Airman Parker just lost his father to cancer and Lieutenant Patterson is suffering from a mental breakdown and according to Mackenzie will never go back to the field, even when they start sending teams through the Gate again. And the Stargate, the beautiful betrayer, gateway to the heavens, thief of lovers, friends, lives, stands silent and immobile, iris sealed over her gaping cavern, watched by a few bored airmen.
Sam turns down the tab on her zipper. Somehow, even though she is only wearing beige slacks and a white cotton bra and is so far out of her home territory that she might as well be on another planet, Weir looks like she's in control, and Sam is jealous, because even though she is fully dressed, she is not in charge of this situation. Tactically, she has just made a terrible blunder, lost territory to the enemy. The enemy is everyone else, everyone who isn't SGC, who isn't part of her family.
She finds a rain slicker folded up in the bottom of a filing cabinet and doesn't question who put it there. Serendipity works mysteriously at the SGC, just as the rules that apply to the rest of the Air Force don't seem to have jurisdiction here, while there are unwritten codes of etiquette that wouldn't make sense at any other command. She wouldn't be surprised if the rules of physics she has discovered and outlined and annotated here don't even apply in the outside world. She brings the rain slicker to Weir, hands it to her without a word.
Somehow, Weir manages decorum, regality even, wearing a yellow rain slicker that's a size too big for her and carrying her omnipresent clipboard. Impulsively, Sam kisses her again, feels a slight twinge in the area of her groin. It's been so long since she's been fucked properly, she's not sure she's even capable of the proper responses. She considers trying to explain this to Weir, but the look on her face is one of distant dignity. She lets Weir leave first, stays to examine the newly formed potshards on the dusty floor. She wonders if Daniel will be upset, and hopes he will be. She hasn't seen him in awhile.
"You're all welcome to take some paid leave while things get straightened out."
"Thank you, ma'am," from Sam, silence from Teal'c, and, "Thanks, I think I will," from Daniel.
Sam has been on pins and needles, waiting for something to happen, for someone to say something, for Hammond or O'Neill or Weir to tell her to pull herself together, but no one has said anything, and now she's sitting on the floor of this abandoned storage room, biting back tears, because she doesn't know how to deal with it anymore, doesn't know how to raise Cassie and mourn Janet and calculate planetary alignment and command SG-1, how to be a friend and a soldier and a woman and dammit, she needs to stop feeling sorry for herself and taking stupid risks.
If only she could stop thinking for a minute.
Fin
Rating: R for sex & language
Pairings: Sam/Janet, Sam/Weir
Spoilers: Heroes and Lost City
Summary: Sam can't stop thinking
Notes: Thanks to sage_theory for the beta Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue
Shit. Shit, she shouldn't be doing this: this is probably the stupidest idea she's ever had, or at least right up there with thinking Jonas Hanson was a good catch. God, this is stupid. She's about to sleep with her commanding officer. Only, not her commanding officer, because technically, Elizabeth Weir isn't anything, isn't even military. She's just a really smart woman who really hates Kinsey.
So Sam has stayed late and maybe accidentally wandered down to the storeroom where Daniel's artifacts used to be kept, where a few dusty statues from Abydos still sit, forgotten by their former owner in his excitement over new finds. Dr. Weir looks at the statues with a strange expression, and Sam knows that she still hasn't woken up to the idea that they're from another planet. She walks over, doesn't say anything, notices that Weir has a clipboard clutched to her chest the way Daniel hugs himself when he's frightened or sad. She wishes she'd thought to bring something for Weir to sign, some excuse for being here. If General Hammond were around, he would find her, find the right words to say, apologize for yet another mission shot to hell--something. General Hammond knows them, understood why Colonel O'Neill means so much to her.
If Janet were around, she would have taken the night shift and snuck out at half past three, and Sam would have brought the bike around and they would have ridden, the hum of the machine grinding against them, Janet's arms pressed tightly to her breasts, and when they got to Sam's house, they would have been dripping wet and needing the quickie that was all they had time for. If it had just been another mission gone wrong, Janet would have kissed her long and tenderly before driving her minivan back to the base. And if it had gone really badly, if it was Daniel in the infirmary, or Colonel O'Neill, then they would have ridden back together on the motorcycle, and Sam would have joined her teammates in sitting vigil.
She knows that somewhere, far away in the upper levels of the SGC, Teal'c is asleep, sitting cross-legged on the floor, without candles now, because he once fell over and knocked over a candle and the SFs had had to put the fire out. She wonders what Teal'c dreams about.
She knows that somewhere, miles away, Daniel is out driving. Maybe he's driving past the Colonel's house, or past the places they hung out together. She wonders where men go to hang out. When Cassie wants to "hang out," she means go to the mall and go shopping, and when Janet said, "hang out," she usually meant, "have sex while Cassie is at the mall." But Sam doesn't think Colonel O'Neill and Daniel used to do either of those things.
She hates thinking about him in the past tense. It's stupid, unprofessional--dammit, Sam, it's not unprofessional to realize that your CO is dead. Unprofessional is going to find the commanding officer of the whole damn base and coming on to her.
Of course, the latter will require actually opening her mouth, and suddenly Sam's throat is dry. She should have brought some paperwork, definitely. This is insane. That's why she's doing it, after all. Because it doesn't make any more sense than Janet dead and Colonel--Jack--being who knows what, frozen or dead or possibly just waiting until Thor shows up. She's standing close enough to smell Dr. Weir's perfume. It smells strange on base, where people are more concerned with clean efficiency than with smelling pretty. Dr. Weir doesn't belong here. Then, she thinks, she doesn't really belong here either, does she? Not here in Daniel's storeroom. Since no one is on active duty, actually, she probably should just be at home right now, sleeping, like people do when they have nine to five jobs.
Dr. Weir finally turns around and jumps when she sees Sam. "You startled me, Major Carter. Er, did you want something?"
Sam takes a deep breath, thinks about why she came here. "Just thought I'd bend your ear a little about some very exciting things we've been doing with what we found in Antarctica."
"At two in the morning?"
Sam shrugs her shoulders, and thinks, "That's how we do things around here," although she doesn't say it aloud, and plunges into the technical details. She's reasonably sure Dr. Weir doesn't understand a word of what she says, which is okay, because she's too busy watching Weir's bottom lip and noticing how very in-control and un-cowed she is, even though she's sure to be totally lost.
"Major Carter? Is there something else you wanted to talk to me about? I understand that this has been a very convoluted time for SG-1, with this-whatever--happening so soon after Dr. Fraiser's death."
Sam looks at her like that was the last thing on earth she was thinking about. She thinks about Hammond coming into Daniel's office two years ago, telling her that people died, that their friends got on with life, even when their best friends died. Come on. Tell me to get on with my life. It's okay. Tell me that it's all going to be okay. Don't you dare try to be touchy-feely with me, Elizabeth Weir.
"We're dealing with it."
"Are military teams always that close?"
Sam thinks about that. About losing comrades, watching planes spiral down and knowing that they wouldn't be taking off again, about basic training and about training cadets and telling them why the fraternization rules were in place. "No," she says. "SG-1 is special." Dr. Weir doesn't say anything. "We've been through stuff you can't possibly imagine what it's like. Not unless you've been doing it for seven years."
"Tell me about it, then." Sam stares blankly. "Okay, don't tell me about it. But I think we're done here."
Now or never, Sam. Quick kiss on the lips, just to gauge response. Then a few breathless moments later, a surprised Elizabeth Weir has bent down to pick up her dropped clipboard, and when she comes up, her face is flushed. "Is this another military thing the vice president didn't tell me about?"
"No. It's another SG-1 thing." Sam thinks about how they are all falling apart, away from each other. Jack chose his path, and now he isn't even human. Teal'c chose his path, and now he is And she doesn't know where Daniel is. "We do some pretty wacky stuff." And she kisses Dr. Weir again.
"Samantha."
"Sam."
"Elizabeth. Now tell me what you really want."
"Well," said Sam, "it's funny, actually... I just wandered down here, and then I saw how absolutely beautiful you looked, and I was struck with this urge to, well..."
Weir puts her clipboard down carefully. She moves deliberately until there isn't any space between them. Sam closes her eyes and realizes that she doesn't have to bend down to kiss. That Weir is right there, in her face, kissing her, tilting her head just right. She pulls the other woman closer to her. Elizabeth. She tries to pull away, for air, for a moment, but there will be no pulling away. She had imagined for some reason that Weir would fold in her arms. She isn't sure why. Janet had never done that.
Janet would never have fucked her in Daniel's storeroom, either, would never have slid between her legs just so and made her moan too loudly. Janet didn't like to take risks. "I'm a mother," she said (like she couldn't believe it) when Sam suggested things like that. Weir seems to know just how to do it, just where to put her knee. They're tilting, falling over backwards. They collide with a shelf and knock a pot onto the floor. It shattered. Sam isn't sure how they get themselves onto the floor without breaking any bones. It feels like they're just falling, down and down and down, until there's hard concrete beneath her back and soft womanliness poised to pounce above her.
She can tell Weir is a civilian by the way she has her back to the door, the way her clothes hang on her body like they don't really belong there. Sam opens the first button of Weir's blouse, thinks better of it, tears the whole thing off, indicates that Elizabeth should come closer. This is more like it. The warm familiarity of a breast in her mouth, a strip of cloth, a strip of skin, her own saliva and the smell of another woman's arousal. She props herself up with her elbows, angles for another kiss. BDUs are ridiculous for getting out of, the least sexy garment she can imagine. She helps Elizabeth undress her
It makes them equal somehow, neither wearing anything except bland white cotton underpants and unfrilly bras. This is not (shit) sleeping with her commanding officer. It's just sex, just any other woman, just someone who isn't asking a lot of hard questions but is only asking if it's okay if she unhooks Sam's bra. "Please, yes," says Sam, and isn't sure when she lost her breath. Elizabeth removes her bra, adding it to the pile of folded clothes (she's a bit compulsive about that, for a civilian. Sam is pretty sure Daniel doesn't care about where his clothes land when he's having sex) and puts a tentative finger on Sam's areole. Sam closes her eyes.
Elizabeth's touch (she is now just Elizabeth, not Dr. Weir, which makes it easier for Sam to reconcile herself to the absurdity of the situation. Elizabeth, generic name, generic woman, blonde hair and hesitant wit but obviously skilled at making love) is very light, almost but not quite tickling her, which isn't exactly what Sam likes. Sam likes it rough and fast and scarring, likes the afterburn that stays with her when she goes back to work, a reminder that she's been loved. But though Elizabeth is very gentle, she is not shy like Sam thought at first. She knows exactly where to touch Sam, tracing lines down both sides of her abdomen, just touching her lower thigh with her long hair, then moving back up to her stomach, kissing her very gently.
Sam is turned on, but she hasn't lost herself to the experience. She's thinking about the formula Elizabeth is using to arouse her. Elizabeth doesn't know her at all, has never made love to her before, has no idea what her special quirks are, so she's going for broad, generic strokes with her tongue and with her fingers. She doesn't know how much teasing Sam wants before the payoff, how rough Sam will take it, so she's erring on the side of caution. Like that--Elizabeth licks up her inner thigh and Sam shudders--that's a classic move. Can't go wrong with that. Janet knew that it would drive Sam really insane, that she would be fucking howling if instead of licking up, Elizabeth licked down, further and further away, and then bit a bloody kiss onto her calf. Elizabeth couldn't possibly know that.
She can tell that she's thinking too much. She probably has that look in her eyes.
"What look, sir?"
"The look like you're memorizing vocabulary words for the SATs. No one should have that look after they're done with college. Ever."
"Yes sir."
"Come to the commissary with me." It was an order, not an invitation. "Eat Jello. Tell me about the modifications to the MALP. Stop thinking so much."
Sam feels like she's trying to meditate (like Teal'c taught her) in reverse. Instead of trying to focus on one thing, or on nothing, she's focusing on everything that isn't Elizabeth's tongue slowly winding its way home. She's driving herself further and further out of the moment. She's frustrated. She knows that she won't come because while the body is willing, the mind is weak, is several light-years away and moving further every millisecond, according to certain theories of cosmogony. She has to do something about this, so in the middle of one of Elizabeth's more elaborate attempts to get Sam to pay attention to the business at hand, she sits up straight, pushes Elizabeth off her, and pulls on her BDUs as fast as she can. Standing up, Sam can see that Elizabeth looks very forlorn. Her perfect hair is mussed, her bra is askew, and her mouth is red and puffy. There's a wet stain on the front of her underpants; she was turned on too.
Was it good for you? It was good for me, she thinks, obscenely. We should try this again sometime. Now I know why Kinsey doesn't like you very much. I had no business doing pleasure with you... Her brain isn't functioning normally or she wouldn't be here in the first place. The first time Janet kissed her, she ran out of there so quickly Janet swore there was a breeze.
"Not that I didn't mind watching your ass, sweetie, but I do want to see your front sometimes. And your sides. And your insides. Don't take that literally, it's not a medical thing, really. I can show you what I mean, if you want." Janet had always started to babble when she was trying to be seductive; she was really too straightforward to be a very effective seductress, but that was okay, because Sam is also straightforward (if not straight) about sex. She likes ooey gooey Valentine's chocolates and late night movies and snuggling, too, but when it comes to sex, she doesn't like a lot of frills or complications. That's what made Janet so different, because there were so many complications, so many ways for it to go wrong, and there was commitment and there was Cassie and there was the incredibly large violation of ethics and military protocol that always seemed to crawl into bed with them.
Sam is still trying to get herself presentable, and Weir has finally stood up, too, and is pulling on her slacks as rapidly as she can. Sam realizes that all the buttonholes on Weir's blouse are ripped. What on earth was she thinking with that cavewoman shit? Dammit, Sam, how stupid are you trying to be? Are you hoping that the court martial will be a quick and painless death for a long military career? "I'll get you a shirt," she says, and she knows that somewhere on this level there sure to be a spare lab coat or set of BDUs--something that Weir can wear until she gets herself out of here, up to the surface and the safety of her own car and her own house. If Weir is smart, she'll get out of here as soon as she can. Not just tonight, but permanently. If she's smart, she'll be gone by morning, convinced that Sam and by extension the rest of the people in this crazy place are unstable and unmanageable, uncouth and... Sam searches for another word that starts with "un"... unhappy.
Absolutely, mind-bendingly, incurably miserable. Janet is dead and Jack O'Neill might as well be dead and Daniel has just been accumulating losses and at some point he'll just have to crack and Teal'c is having an identity crisis and Airman Parker just lost his father to cancer and Lieutenant Patterson is suffering from a mental breakdown and according to Mackenzie will never go back to the field, even when they start sending teams through the Gate again. And the Stargate, the beautiful betrayer, gateway to the heavens, thief of lovers, friends, lives, stands silent and immobile, iris sealed over her gaping cavern, watched by a few bored airmen.
Sam turns down the tab on her zipper. Somehow, even though she is only wearing beige slacks and a white cotton bra and is so far out of her home territory that she might as well be on another planet, Weir looks like she's in control, and Sam is jealous, because even though she is fully dressed, she is not in charge of this situation. Tactically, she has just made a terrible blunder, lost territory to the enemy. The enemy is everyone else, everyone who isn't SGC, who isn't part of her family.
She finds a rain slicker folded up in the bottom of a filing cabinet and doesn't question who put it there. Serendipity works mysteriously at the SGC, just as the rules that apply to the rest of the Air Force don't seem to have jurisdiction here, while there are unwritten codes of etiquette that wouldn't make sense at any other command. She wouldn't be surprised if the rules of physics she has discovered and outlined and annotated here don't even apply in the outside world. She brings the rain slicker to Weir, hands it to her without a word.
Somehow, Weir manages decorum, regality even, wearing a yellow rain slicker that's a size too big for her and carrying her omnipresent clipboard. Impulsively, Sam kisses her again, feels a slight twinge in the area of her groin. It's been so long since she's been fucked properly, she's not sure she's even capable of the proper responses. She considers trying to explain this to Weir, but the look on her face is one of distant dignity. She lets Weir leave first, stays to examine the newly formed potshards on the dusty floor. She wonders if Daniel will be upset, and hopes he will be. She hasn't seen him in awhile.
"You're all welcome to take some paid leave while things get straightened out."
"Thank you, ma'am," from Sam, silence from Teal'c, and, "Thanks, I think I will," from Daniel.
Sam has been on pins and needles, waiting for something to happen, for someone to say something, for Hammond or O'Neill or Weir to tell her to pull herself together, but no one has said anything, and now she's sitting on the floor of this abandoned storage room, biting back tears, because she doesn't know how to deal with it anymore, doesn't know how to raise Cassie and mourn Janet and calculate planetary alignment and command SG-1, how to be a friend and a soldier and a woman and dammit, she needs to stop feeling sorry for herself and taking stupid risks.
If only she could stop thinking for a minute.
Fin