Title: And God Bless

Author: cgb (luberluber@yahoo.com.au)

Web: http://appelsini.tripod.com/Christine

Category: Sam/ Jack, Angst, "2010" universe.

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: 2010

Archive: Sure.

Summary: " As always with Jack, it was too little too

late."

Author's Notes: Love to Nanda for cracking down on the

exposition and generally being entertaining. 

*

"And it's goodbye, and God bless..." The Sundays,

"Goodbye"

*

The last time she saw him he had his pants down around

his knees, fucking her in the back of her car like

they were twenty years younger. She'd just told him

she was getting married.

She told him over dinner. She arranged to meet him in

Colorado Springs because he refused to travel to any

of the major cities. She chose somewhere off the main

strip, somewhere this whole inevitable scene could

take place without onlookers, because there was going

to be a scene and she and her recognisable face were

sure to be the focus of unwanted attention. She hated

being the subject of gossip.

She told him over dinner because distancing herself by

the phone seemed like the coward's way out. If she

were being truthful to herself she would have admitted

that she wanted to see his face when he heard. Not

because she was cruel or hoping for satisfaction but

because a part of her still needed to know she could

make him feel. 

He took it well. 

"Pepper," he said. She counted about four other

couples in the restaurant; all of them looked happier

than they did. 

"Excuse me?" 

He nodded to her left. "Pass the pepper." 

She handed him the peppershaker, adding a little extra

force as she placed it in front of him. 

"Congratulations," he said. 

"Thank you." 

"Joe's a great guy." He emphasised the 'great', smiled

a little as he said it. 

She wasn't going to bite. "He is." She stabbed at her

fish, telling herself, "I won't let him get me," like

a mantra in her head. 

She wondered why she still did this, why it meant so

much to have him respond to her. It was something that

just refused to die. 

"I'm happy for you." 

And that was the last straw. "Liar." 

He threw up his hands. "What do you want from me,

Carter? I haven't seen you in - how many years has it

been? Three? Four? You turn up out of the blue to tell

me you're marrying Joe Schmoe - the guy who engineered

the great alien invasion  - and you want me to say

'I'm happy for you' with feeling?" He put a hand down

hard on the table, as if he'd contemplated slamming it

with his fist and thought better of it. She flinched

anyway. "Jesus, Carter, if that's what you were

expecting then whatever they've put in the drinking

water has affected your brain." 

There were things between them, that was true, but

when he spouted conspiracy theories he seemed like

someone she didn't know. It scared her. "Sir - "

Another habit that wouldn't die. "Jack, do you listen

to yourself at all? You sound like one of those crazy

people wearing 'the end is nigh' on a sandwich board."

"Well they're having the last laugh, Carter, 'cos it

turns out they were right." 

Their voices were getting louder. The occupied tables

in the restaurant were looking at them while trying

not to look at them. 

She lowered her voice. "What are you doing this for,

Jack? Who are you fighting?" She remembered reading

somewhere that Alexander the Great wept when he had no

more armies to conquer. What's a warrior without a

war? And the Colonel was a warrior. Always would be.

He looked away. "Forget it, Carter. You didn't

understand seven years ago, you aren't going to

understand now. Go marry wassisname..."

He was right. She didn't understand. She made pretence

of continuing to eat her food but she ended up moving

it around her plate a few times before letting her

fork fall to the table. She stood up. 

"I'm going," she said. 

He looked blank. "You're leaving?"  There was

disappointment in his voice. It was the first hint of

real emotion she'd heard from him that night. As

always with Jack, it was too little too late.

She pulled a card from her purse and waved at the

waitress, who was already making her way toward them

with the bill. She paid, expecting protest. Instead he

looked away, leaning back in his chair, clearly

frustrated.

"I would really like it if you came to our wedding,"

she said. It sounded forced and it was. She turned

away from him, walked outside. 

He followed. She didn't turn around but she listened

for the sound of his footsteps behind her, listened

more intently than she wanted to. 

She knew she wasn't ready to walk away. There were

things that needed to be said, feelings that needed to

be resolved, and she knew it was imperative she do so

now. 

She was halfway to her car when she turned around.

"What is the matter with you?!" He was barely a foot

away. He had to pull himself up quickly to avoid

crashing into her. She took a step back. "You left us,

Jack. You said we were 'blind'." 

"That's crap, Carter! You left me." 

She took a breath. 'You' not 'you all'. There was

something in that. "If this is about us, then say it."

Her voice was softer but the accusatory tone was still

there. 

He rolled his eyes and looked away. 

"Say it!" 

"What do you want from me, Carter?" He waved a hand in

the air. "Why are you here?" He looked at her, eyes

filled with anger. 

And then he did something uncharacteristically

impulsive: he kissed her. He put a hand to her neck

and pulled her close, kissing her hard on the mouth. 

It wasn't sweet, wasn't tender, but it sent a shiver

through her body. She'd forgotten she used to react

like that when he touched her. 

He pulled away as quickly as he had drawn her to him. 

"Is that what you came for? Is that what you want?" 

The words cut her, drove like knives into her. She

flinched. He wanted to hurt her, have her admit how

much she wanted him only to have it thrown back at

her. It was betrayal, complete and unexpected. 

And then she noticed his expression changed. His rage

seemed to melt before her eyes, turning into something

more liquid like molten ash.

She knew what it was. She felt it too. 

She pulled him towards her. "Yes," she said, and she

kissed him with abandon.

It was madness. It shouldn't have happened, shouldn't

have been possible. But he was there and she was there

and he was pushing her into a wall, his hands in her

hair, his body pressing hard against hers so that she

could barely breathe. 

In moments his hand was under her shirt, racing along

her skin, searing a path from her waist to her ribs

and then further upwards. She moaned into his mouth as

his palm pressed against her breast. 

And he was hard. She could feel him against her thigh.

"My car," she said. 

"What?" His voice was muffled as he took mouthfuls of

her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder. 

"My car isn't far away."  

And it wasn't. They walked fast, not daring to look at

one another in case one of them changed their mind. 

He car was parked on a quiet street near the

restaurant. She fumbled with her mobiliser, hands

shaking, and then they were tumbling into the back

seat, legs entangled and clothing catching on the door

and in each other's fingers. 

She manoeuvred herself so that her back was against

the far door. She had one leg up on the seat and the

other on the floor and she was thinking vague thoughts

about her shoes which she'd lost somewhere. She hoped

it wasn't outside.

He didn't say anything but neither did she, so she

assumed it was a mutual complicity, an unspoken

understanding. Words were difficult anyway, when his

hands were underneath her blouse (she thought she

heard something tear) and his mouth was making its way

down her neck to her chest. 

She was at a loss for where to put her hands when he

seemed to be doing all the handling, so she ended up

grasping at pieces of him, his shoulder, his collar,

his hair. It felt manic, crazed, and it probably was.

This should have happened long ago and at this stage

it was destined to be messy. 

Messy afterwards too, but she was effectively pushing

that thought to the back of her mind. 

He pushed her skirt up around her hips so that he

could take her panties down with both hands. He

murmured words against the inside of her thigh, things

she couldn't identify. She thought she heard 'Sam' and

'God' and maybe even 'love' because she didn't want to

think she made that one up. 

And his fingers were moving inside her and his mouth

was between her legs and she had nothing else to do

then but put her hands in his hair (it was longer than

usual and damp from sweat) and lean her head back

against the window. She came like that, saying his

name over and over. 

She was still pulsing when he entered her. She had to

lower herself onto the seat and he helped by placing

his hands on her hips and pulling her under him. She'd

never been fucked in the back seat of a car before but

that was more about luck than good management. 

It wasn't comfortable, but she didn't care because

there was something right about the way the door

handle poked between her shoulders and the way the

blood supply to her leg was being cut off, pressed

between Jack and the back seat. 

It was desperate, and wrong and all she could think

about was if he thrust a little harder, made her hurt

a little more it would all make sense. 

She gripped his shoulders. "Harder," she said, and he

obeyed. She wasn't sure whether it was because she

asked or because of his own arousal. 

He came with his mouth buried against her neck, saying

her name between breaths and kisses. 

*

The afterglow was quiet, almost tender. It was dark

outside, eerily silent, and he was stretched out

across her, occasionally kissing her neck. She closed

her eyes, enjoyed the sensation of their two

heartbeats at odds with each other, never quite in

time. 

She opened her eyes again, looked down at the grey

hair buried into her shoulder. 

"Tell me," she said. 

"What?" 

"Tell me not to go through with it." She lifted his

face so that he was looking at her. "I won't do it -

if that's what you want." 

He looked at her for a while and then buried his face

in her neck again. "Shit, Sam, " he said. "You want me

to make your decision for you?" 

It wasn't until he said it that she knew it was true.

She cared enough about Joe to wish her own culpability

away. He'd blame her, of course, but she'd know, at

least she'd know that it wasn't her fault. Not really.

"Please?" she said. 

He didn't react at first but eventually her raised

himself off her, pulling his trousers up from his

knees. "And have you hate me for it? Yeah. Right." 

She began buttoning her blouse, straightening her

skirt. It was awkward, both of them trying to wiggle

themselves back into their clothes in the space of the

back seat. 

When he saw that she was dressed he opened the door to

let himself out. 

"You're going? Just like that?" 

Outside he looked at the sky, shoved his hands in his

pockets. "You'll do what's right, Carter," he said.

"You always do." 

And then he was gone. 

She had the good sense not to go after him. 

She climbed into the front and sank herself into the

driver's seat. She leaned her head against the

steering wheel and closed her eyes. She thought about

driving away, driving until she couldn't drive

anymore, proving that Jack O'Neill wasn't the only one

who knew how to leave it all behind. 

She started the engine and flicked the lights on. She

pulled away from the curb and onto the road, heading

in the direction of the hotel. When she got there she

decided she would call Joe and tell him she would be

on the next flight.

There was no turning back now. No second chances. 

Fini

"She was a head case, but she was worth it," Miles

talking about "Betty Blue" in "This Life". There's a

line or two borrowed from the final episode of "This

Life". It was too irresistible to leave alone.

And the title's from another Sunday's song. What's up

with that? 

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