Drowning the Memories

Pairing: S/J

Spoilers: Metamorphosis

Disclaimer: not mine

A/N: This really isn't my best effort but I'm in a rut, so consider this an attempt to de-rut myself. Wish me luck ;)

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They didn't talk about it; after six years, some things didn't need to be said. Sam didn't know if Jack's arguments had helped sway Janet, or if she would have been eventually persuaded to release Sam from the infirmary without him. It didn't matter, she was just happy to be going home. 

Janet gave her a list of instructions: she had to take said meds at such an hour, spend the evening relaxing instead of poring over a laptop or science journal, and contact her _immediately_ if she felt any of the symptoms of Nirrti's experiment returning. Sam smiled and nodded, and promised to behave. She'd have promised a lot of things just to escape from the mountain and have some breathing space.

As an afterthought, Janet insisted that Sam find someone to drive her home. Blue eyes met brown, and Jack casually suggested that, since he was heading off base, it would make sense for him to give her a lift. Sam smiled and thanked him, and it was settled.

They spent the drive in silence. A few times Sam felt herself drifting off to sleep and jerked upright to wake herself. Jack glanced at her and smiled; she could tell that he was trying not to laugh, but she didn't mind, not until the time she woke with a start as her jaw clamped down onto her tongue. That time he did laugh, not daunted when she turned her stream of curses onto him. It took a few seconds for her to remember the rules governing the behaviour between commanding officer and his subordinate and bite her tongue; she started forming an apology, but he was still laughing and maybe it didn't matter.

She didn't question it when he parked by her house, and she didn't comment as he followed her to her door. Once inside she headed straight for the kitchen, digging out her pile of take-out menus from a drawer and almost throwing them at Jack. "Here, order something. I need to shower."

She ignored his raised eyebrow; she had showered back at the base, but she could still remember the humid air of Nirrti's dungeon and the sticky feel of her sweat clinging to her skin. She could almost smell it when she moved.

It was a struggle, but she didn't give in to ragged breathing until she was alone in her bathroom. A few minutes later and she was calm enough to strip, toss her clothes into her laundry hamper, and step under the shower. She turned the heat as high as she could bear and let the jets of water pummel her skin, but that brought back too many memories of hopelessness and pain and the knowledge of impending death. A mere flick of the wrist caused heat to give way to cold, and goose bumps pebbled her skin as she scrubbed it frantically with shower gel and a sponge.

Somehow it was impossible to feel dirty under the flow of icy water. She took it for as long as she could, staying in till her body was racked with shivers. The room-temperature air felt warm on her skin, and she shivered again.

When she finally made it downstairs, she found that Jack had ensconced himself on her couch with a beer, watching an old rerun of the Simpsons. She eyed him carefully; when she had her teammates over, Jack and Teal'c always took the two armchairs while she and Daniel shared the sofa. Still, it was her couch, and she settled down on the opposite end, hugging a stomach to her middle. She could feel him watching her, but resolutely kept her eyes on the television.

And then she looked at him. Darkened eyes met her own, and she resisted the urge to flinch away or to shiver. Finally he turned back to the screen and she followed suit, staring mindlessly at the images flickering across the screen.

He had ordered enough food to feed to last her a few days at least, and she dug in contentedly, starving after the past few days. A couple of plates later and she was done, and it seemed only natural to sprawl out and rest her feet in Jack's lap. His thighs tensed and she felt him turn to look at her, but she stared at the TV and gradually he relaxed. She resisted the urge to wriggle her toes.

An hour or so later, the Simpsons marathon ended and she was half asleep. She heard plates clatter, but it took her a while to open her eyes and work out why, and even longer to force herself to get up and help.

Just a few steps to the kitchen, and then she stood in the doorway, watching. Rather than use the dishwasher, Jack was up to his elbows in soap suds, wiping her plates clean. He even appeared to be washing the breakfast plates that Sam hadn't had time to rinse on the morning of their mission.

She must have made some noise, because Jack half turned to her. "Carter! I thought you were asleep."

She shrugged, considering. "I woke up."

"Right." He turned back to the dishes. "I'm almost done here, just give me a minute."

She considered a little longer and then walked up to him, leaning into his back and wrapping her arms about his waist. He tensed against her, dropping the bowl he held and gripping onto the edge of the counter, but didn't pull away, not even as she buried her face in his neck. Warmth seeped into her skin, nerves tingling with the contact, and as her breathing grew shallow she became more aware of the smell of soap and aftershave that masked the odour of his skin. One of his hands drifted to her arm, fingers brushing her bare skin, and she bit down at the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Then he was turning and she was turning, and somehow she was slammed against her kitchen cabinets while his mouth pressed down on hers. One hand was on her neck and the other gripped her hip – both wet, but if there was a moment to care, now wasn't it. The kiss was rough and his fingers were biting into her, but she hadn't been gentle either – wasn't being gentle – and now that she was finally touching his skin, there was no way she was going to complain.

Thought and sensation tangled together until she found it hard to concentrate on the details, focused only on the fingers rubbing circles into her back and the mouth that sucked and nipped at her neck. In turn she slipped her hands under his shirt, scraping her nails across bare skin so that he hissed and bit down harder, till she moaned as her back arched in response. Lips curved against skin as hands fumbled with the clasp of her bra.

As the hooks came undone and the band around her ribcage loosened, reality slammed into her and she gasped, trying to clear her mind. The distraction of teeth and fingers made it all but impossible, and she shook her head.

"Jack." He didn't stop, but she couldn't really blame him when her voice sounded so breathy, so damn infatuated. "Sir!"

He stiffened, hands stilling on her curves. Then they were moving, till his body wasn't pressed up again hers any longer and she could see the eyes that were biting into hers. Sam wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to shiver.

"It's just..." She faltered, and then forced herself to continue; Carters didn't falter or take the easy way out, wouldn't slide their hands back into his hair and kiss him until his mind became as clouded as theirs.

Or maybe this one would, only she gripped his shoulders instead, kissing him with all the desperation she'd been trying not to show. As his lips parted she allowed herself to relax, leaning into him, only to feel her skin burn with a sense of irrational hurt as he pushed her away. It was very hard not to whimper; she wanted those hands exploring her skin, cupping her breasts and sliding between her thighs.

Except that wasn't going to happen now. At least his eyes were kinder this time. "You know that if we see this through, one of us will have to transfer off the team."

Sam bit her lip. She remembered why they never talked; some things shouldn't be said out loud, shouldn't even be acknowledged. "I know."

He stepped away again, and she watched him pull away with a sense of futility. "So that's it?"

"Yep." He paused. "I should go."

"Yes." She hated the hopelessness in her voice and it seemed that he did too, for he ducked his head and looked away. She didn't want to look at him either, and definitely didn't want him to see the tears that stung her eyes, so she turned to the sink and plunged her hands. It had cooled off and the bubbles had burst, but there was enough soap still in the water for her to finish off the dishes.

"Carter." His lips brushed the back of her neck, and then she heard footsteps leaving the room. Once the front door had closed behind him she finally allowed herself to slump, wet hands coming up to cup her face. Somehow, she forced herself up to her room and crawled into her bed, ignoring the burning eyes and tightness in her chest, ignoring her bra which was still undone. Curling up into a tight ball seemed to compress the misery somehow, making it almost bearable. It wouldn't help forever, but she had a week's downtime, and somehow in that time she'd pick herself up again. She always did.


End file.
