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Jan. 7th, 2007 08:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
helsinkibabyA momentous occasion folks... my first post from my new house! (And can I just mention? 52kbps instead of 31.2? Woohoo! OK it's not broadband, but it's still faster!) Am starting to settle in slowly but surely, and though I miss Himself, I keep telling myself it won't be long till he's over here full time now... cross your fingers and everything else!
Also feeling very industrious as I finished my rarepairings ficathon entry... and about bloody time too, I've been feeling very guilty about not having it done, but Christmas just got away from me completely! I mean, seriously, how can I be going back to school tomorrow? How? How??? Anyway, it is here, lord save us all.
Title: A Day of Surprises
Fandom: Stargate SG1/Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: Sam Carter/John Sheppard
Spoilers: Rising and everything up to it.
Rating: PG
Notes: For the rarepairing ficathon. Very late for deaniebtvs, who asked for: Sam Carter/John Sheppard, either pre-pilot Atlantis, or during Pegasus Project; commiserating over problems with difficult commanding officers, no character
death, no slash. There was a slight problem, in that I wrote this, then watched the pilot again to check my continuity and discovered I’d screwed it up royally! So rather than being a pre-Rising (though about by five minutes!) fic, it actually came out as during the episode… and considering how long I’ve kept you waiting, I hoped you wouldn’t mind!
John Sheppard isn’t exactly the last person I expected to see when I walk into an almost deserted commissary, but I get the feeling from the look on his face that I’m one of the last people that he thought he’d see here. He stops dead in his tracks, which would be almost comical if the look on his face was one of surprise. It’s not, however: instead, his eyes narrow into what looks very much like a glare of accusation, and when he speaks, his voice is laced with sarcasm.
“Samantha Carter,” he drawls, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “Why am I not surprised?”
I shrug, giving him my best hopeful smile. “Natural talent?” I suggest, leaving it up to him as to whether I’m referring to him or me. It’s the kind of half-flirty line that he usually responds to, but then again, we’re usually in a bar then.
Not at the SGC, which he’s just found out about.
And when we are at a bar, even though I’m (very recently) Colonel Carter and he’s Major Sheppard, that doesn’t matter. Rank and assignments have never been an issue between us; we’re just John and Sam, who met when we were both serving in the Gulf War, who sat in tents underneath the desert sun bitching about commanding officers and exchanging stories about what we missed from home.
At a bar, we’re friends, occasionally more than that.
From the way he’s looking at me now, being friends is the last thing on his mind.
“Don’t give me that,” he says, and before I ask what, he tells me. “That smiling, winsome Meg Ryan thing that you do.” I open my mouth to protest, but he stops me with one hand up. “You do, and you know you do. How the hell can you people keep this a secret?”
Shaking my head, I pull the chair next to his out and sit down, leaning over towards him and being careful to keep my voice down. Wherever this conversation might go, it’s unlikely I’m going to want anyone hearing it. “How can we not?” I counter. “How would we explain some of the things we see and not have public panic? Think of what happened to you today…”
“I nearly got blown out of the sky by an alien missile,” he hisses, and I’m not sure whether it’s shock or anger or a mixture of both that’s in his eyes. “Then I hear these stories about aliens and travelling to other galaxies that are straight out of an episode of ‘Star Trek’, and then I sit in a chair and lights come on and maps of the Solar System come up…” He shakes his head, rubs a hand through his hair. “I was just supposed to be flying a general to Antarctica.”
My hand itches to take his, but that would be very much the wrong thing to do. So instead, I ask him gently, “Do you know how few people we’ve found with the Ancient gene? How few of them can make the chair work the way you could?”
I’m not so sure he even hears the last bit. “And then you walk in here. Someone I’ve… known… for years.” The little pause around ‘known’ makes us both look down, makes him look momentarily awkward, makes me smile. “And you know about everything they’ve told me…. And you say ‘Ancient gene’ like it’s no big deal, like it’s all perfectly normal… like aliens and travelling to other planets is perfectly normal.”
This time when I shrug, it’s reflex, rather than flirting. “When you do it for seven years, it is.”
“Seven years?” Genuine surprise breaks through his irritation, and I guess that John’s old habit of skimming briefing materials is still alive and kicking. “That’s how long you people have been doing this?”
“It’s how long I’ve been doing it,” I tell him. “General O’Neill led the first team through a year before that, when Daniel Jackson discovered how to work to the Stargate.” I swear I see him shudder at the mention of the word, and hastily continue. “It took two years to make it work… we could never have done it without him.”
John’s eyes narrow suddenly but I’m not sure why. “Is that the Royal we?” he asks, “Or were you involved in the research?”
Try as I might, I can’t see the trick in the question. “I worked on the project. But when the time came, I wasn’t picked for the mission.” Not that I’m in any way bitter about that. At least, not any more. At the time however… and then it hits me, where he was going with this.
“Eight years ago? Like eight years ago when you stood me up for dinner and I found you later in the biggest dive in town, completely shit-faced and bitching about endemic misogyny in the US Air Force?”
I remember very little about that night, but it doesn’t sound a million miles away from my state of mind right about then. I feel my cheeks heat up at the memory, and they heat up further when the memories I do hold of that night resurface. It wasn’t the first time that we’d left a bar together and ended up in bed, but alcohol has always made me a little … well, amorous is the polite word for it. I’ve taken my fair share of good natured teasing from John about that night, including pleas for a repeat, which has never happened.
Though I will admit, when Daniel died, it came very very close.
“Yeah,” I admit, squirming in my seat. “Like then.”
“Shit Sam…” he sighs, rubbing his hand over his chin. This close to him, I can hear the rasp of five o’clock stubble against his skin, and it makes me remember how it used to feel against my own… which is not a thought that I should be having in the SGC. Not with someone who knows me as well as John does.
“There are a lot of people who’d kill to go on this mission you know,” I tell him, which is not a word of an exaggeration. I think Daniel’s pretty close to murder over Jack’s continuing refusal to let him go through, while Jack’s ready to kill Daniel because he’s not taking no for an answer.
He chuckles without humour. “A possible one way trip to another planet… another galaxy… with no way of knowing what you’re going to find when you get there… I can see the attraction.”
“It’s never as bad as you think.”
I’m trying to give him hope; I’ve forgotten how well he knows me. “Except for the times when it’s worse, right?”
I look down at the table, tapping my fingers against the formica surface. “Apart from then.”
“What would you do?” The question makes me look up sharply, and I’m about to reply, but he shakes his head. “Forget I asked that…”
I grin, because there is only one answer. “I wouldn’t think twice. Going through the Stargate… I’m not going to lie to you John, it’s hard. And there are times when I wonder what the hell we’re doing here… times I wonder if it’s all worth it.” Janet’s face dances through my thoughts, and I push it away, swallowing hard. “But I promise you, you won’t regret it.”
He looks at me, really looks into my eyes, the way that he has a hundred times before in a hundred different places, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise one by one. “See Sam,” he says quietly, seriously, “It’s the one way trip to another world that I’m not too wild about.” He pauses then, and despite the fact that we’re in the middle of the SGC, he reaches over, touches the back over my hand with his. “There’s a few things I’d miss in this one.”
This completely unexpected development dries my mouth, and I swallow hard again. “John…” is all I manage, and somehow he seems to take more out of that than I intended.
“Yeah,” he says, standing up. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
I want to call out after him, want to stop him, ask him to go somewhere to talk. Instead I just watch him go.
Also feeling very industrious as I finished my rarepairings ficathon entry... and about bloody time too, I've been feeling very guilty about not having it done, but Christmas just got away from me completely! I mean, seriously, how can I be going back to school tomorrow? How? How??? Anyway, it is here, lord save us all.
Title: A Day of Surprises
Fandom: Stargate SG1/Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: Sam Carter/John Sheppard
Spoilers: Rising and everything up to it.
Rating: PG
Notes: For the rarepairing ficathon. Very late for deaniebtvs, who asked for: Sam Carter/John Sheppard, either pre-pilot Atlantis, or during Pegasus Project; commiserating over problems with difficult commanding officers, no character
death, no slash. There was a slight problem, in that I wrote this, then watched the pilot again to check my continuity and discovered I’d screwed it up royally! So rather than being a pre-Rising (though about by five minutes!) fic, it actually came out as during the episode… and considering how long I’ve kept you waiting, I hoped you wouldn’t mind!
John Sheppard isn’t exactly the last person I expected to see when I walk into an almost deserted commissary, but I get the feeling from the look on his face that I’m one of the last people that he thought he’d see here. He stops dead in his tracks, which would be almost comical if the look on his face was one of surprise. It’s not, however: instead, his eyes narrow into what looks very much like a glare of accusation, and when he speaks, his voice is laced with sarcasm.
“Samantha Carter,” he drawls, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “Why am I not surprised?”
I shrug, giving him my best hopeful smile. “Natural talent?” I suggest, leaving it up to him as to whether I’m referring to him or me. It’s the kind of half-flirty line that he usually responds to, but then again, we’re usually in a bar then.
Not at the SGC, which he’s just found out about.
And when we are at a bar, even though I’m (very recently) Colonel Carter and he’s Major Sheppard, that doesn’t matter. Rank and assignments have never been an issue between us; we’re just John and Sam, who met when we were both serving in the Gulf War, who sat in tents underneath the desert sun bitching about commanding officers and exchanging stories about what we missed from home.
At a bar, we’re friends, occasionally more than that.
From the way he’s looking at me now, being friends is the last thing on his mind.
“Don’t give me that,” he says, and before I ask what, he tells me. “That smiling, winsome Meg Ryan thing that you do.” I open my mouth to protest, but he stops me with one hand up. “You do, and you know you do. How the hell can you people keep this a secret?”
Shaking my head, I pull the chair next to his out and sit down, leaning over towards him and being careful to keep my voice down. Wherever this conversation might go, it’s unlikely I’m going to want anyone hearing it. “How can we not?” I counter. “How would we explain some of the things we see and not have public panic? Think of what happened to you today…”
“I nearly got blown out of the sky by an alien missile,” he hisses, and I’m not sure whether it’s shock or anger or a mixture of both that’s in his eyes. “Then I hear these stories about aliens and travelling to other galaxies that are straight out of an episode of ‘Star Trek’, and then I sit in a chair and lights come on and maps of the Solar System come up…” He shakes his head, rubs a hand through his hair. “I was just supposed to be flying a general to Antarctica.”
My hand itches to take his, but that would be very much the wrong thing to do. So instead, I ask him gently, “Do you know how few people we’ve found with the Ancient gene? How few of them can make the chair work the way you could?”
I’m not so sure he even hears the last bit. “And then you walk in here. Someone I’ve… known… for years.” The little pause around ‘known’ makes us both look down, makes him look momentarily awkward, makes me smile. “And you know about everything they’ve told me…. And you say ‘Ancient gene’ like it’s no big deal, like it’s all perfectly normal… like aliens and travelling to other planets is perfectly normal.”
This time when I shrug, it’s reflex, rather than flirting. “When you do it for seven years, it is.”
“Seven years?” Genuine surprise breaks through his irritation, and I guess that John’s old habit of skimming briefing materials is still alive and kicking. “That’s how long you people have been doing this?”
“It’s how long I’ve been doing it,” I tell him. “General O’Neill led the first team through a year before that, when Daniel Jackson discovered how to work to the Stargate.” I swear I see him shudder at the mention of the word, and hastily continue. “It took two years to make it work… we could never have done it without him.”
John’s eyes narrow suddenly but I’m not sure why. “Is that the Royal we?” he asks, “Or were you involved in the research?”
Try as I might, I can’t see the trick in the question. “I worked on the project. But when the time came, I wasn’t picked for the mission.” Not that I’m in any way bitter about that. At least, not any more. At the time however… and then it hits me, where he was going with this.
“Eight years ago? Like eight years ago when you stood me up for dinner and I found you later in the biggest dive in town, completely shit-faced and bitching about endemic misogyny in the US Air Force?”
I remember very little about that night, but it doesn’t sound a million miles away from my state of mind right about then. I feel my cheeks heat up at the memory, and they heat up further when the memories I do hold of that night resurface. It wasn’t the first time that we’d left a bar together and ended up in bed, but alcohol has always made me a little … well, amorous is the polite word for it. I’ve taken my fair share of good natured teasing from John about that night, including pleas for a repeat, which has never happened.
Though I will admit, when Daniel died, it came very very close.
“Yeah,” I admit, squirming in my seat. “Like then.”
“Shit Sam…” he sighs, rubbing his hand over his chin. This close to him, I can hear the rasp of five o’clock stubble against his skin, and it makes me remember how it used to feel against my own… which is not a thought that I should be having in the SGC. Not with someone who knows me as well as John does.
“There are a lot of people who’d kill to go on this mission you know,” I tell him, which is not a word of an exaggeration. I think Daniel’s pretty close to murder over Jack’s continuing refusal to let him go through, while Jack’s ready to kill Daniel because he’s not taking no for an answer.
He chuckles without humour. “A possible one way trip to another planet… another galaxy… with no way of knowing what you’re going to find when you get there… I can see the attraction.”
“It’s never as bad as you think.”
I’m trying to give him hope; I’ve forgotten how well he knows me. “Except for the times when it’s worse, right?”
I look down at the table, tapping my fingers against the formica surface. “Apart from then.”
“What would you do?” The question makes me look up sharply, and I’m about to reply, but he shakes his head. “Forget I asked that…”
I grin, because there is only one answer. “I wouldn’t think twice. Going through the Stargate… I’m not going to lie to you John, it’s hard. And there are times when I wonder what the hell we’re doing here… times I wonder if it’s all worth it.” Janet’s face dances through my thoughts, and I push it away, swallowing hard. “But I promise you, you won’t regret it.”
He looks at me, really looks into my eyes, the way that he has a hundred times before in a hundred different places, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise one by one. “See Sam,” he says quietly, seriously, “It’s the one way trip to another world that I’m not too wild about.” He pauses then, and despite the fact that we’re in the middle of the SGC, he reaches over, touches the back over my hand with his. “There’s a few things I’d miss in this one.”
This completely unexpected development dries my mouth, and I swallow hard again. “John…” is all I manage, and somehow he seems to take more out of that than I intended.
“Yeah,” he says, standing up. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
I want to call out after him, want to stop him, ask him to go somewhere to talk. Instead I just watch him go.
