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“And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.”
- Kiersten White, “The Chaos of Stars”
The cabin, Sam thinks, is almost exactly the way she’d imagined it. It’s rustic, dark wood and plaid, the smell of woodsmoke lingering in the air. Daniel and Teal’c are off to buy groceries in town while she busies herself stacking the cans of non-perishable foods they’d brought from Colorado into the pantry, wiping down the inside of the fridge, brewing a pot of coffee. She lingers in the kitchen, opens the windows, inhales the scent of spring and wet dirt, pulls off her shoes and socks and takes a moment to feel, really feel the cool floorboards under her feet.
She hasn’t felt grounded in a long time.
The General had disappeared into the back of the cabin with their luggage, and with the kitchen in order, she sets out to find him. Ever since her father’s death and her subsequent breakup with Pete, their relationship had subtly shifted to something more hopeful. He’d been there during the funeral and while she muddled through the messy business of canceling a wedding she’d realized belatedly she didn’t want. Not too late, thank goodness.
She peeks into the room Daniel and Teal’s will share, their bags set at the foot of each narrow, freshly made bed. The small window is open and the fresh breeze is making the curtains flutter. The cabin settles around her, beams warmed by the sun creaking overhead.
She finds the General in what she presumes is his bedroom, the log bed large and inviting as he pulls the sheets taut with military precision. He neatly folds the corners and she leans against the doorframe to watch him. It’s an indulgence she rarely allows herself, watching his long fingers, the way the muscles play in his arms when he shakes out the quilt and lets it settle on the bed. He knows she’s there, eight years of fighting a war side by side has tuned them all into each other’s presence, but he leaves her to her musings.
When he’s brushed the last creases out of the quilt, he straightens up and looks at her, his dark eyes serious. “Want me to take the couch?”
Sam pushes off the doorframe and steps more fully into the room. Her duffle bag sits on the dresser across from the bed while his leans against the wall by the door like an afterthought, like he doesn’t want to presume that this is where they’re heading.
“Is that what you want?” She asks quietly and crosses her arms in front of her.
He watches her, his dark eyes taking stock of her, of the way she still holds herself carefully, as if she’s fractured just a little after the past few weeks, of the way her blue eyes are so open and so vulnerable.
“No,” he says simply. He walks up to her, runs his hands down her arms until he can feel the tension easing. “But this has never been about what I want.”
She supposes he’s right, she’s known what he wants since being stuck on the wrong side of a force field all those years ago. But the ball has always been in her court because at the end of the day, it would be her career going down the drain. She may have saved the world a dozen times over but the Air Force would still frown upon her falling for her commanding officer. Some things you can’t get away with, even if you’re a hero.
Still, she drops her arms and takes a step closer to him. His hands find her wrists and she can feel his thumbs stroking along her pulse points. His gaze is dark and open, the same look he’d given her across the force field without the fear of either one of their imminent demises crackling blue between them.
“I want you,” she whispers. Something loosens in her chest, unraveling when he releases the breath he’s been holding and smiles at her.
She cups his cheek, runs her thumb along his skin, revels in the fact that she has finally given herself permission to touch him. When she leans in and kisses him, it’s as good as she always thought it would be, better even. He opens her up slowly, reverently, and she thinks she’s never quite been kissed this way before. He doesn’t kiss her senseless, he kisses her until her body hums, until she loses track of time, until she no longer knows where her body ends and his begins. If kissing him feels like that, she wonders what sleeping with him will feel like.
When he breaks the kiss, she sways in his arms, feels drunk and alive in a way she’s never felt before. Jack rests his forehead against hers and smirks. “I knew we’d be good at that,” he says.
“Me, too.” She leans back and looks at him, allowing herself to catalogue his face, the lines around his eyes deepening with his smile, the way he allows her to drown in his eyes.
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Night sets slowly, the sky a deep shade of blue and they all sit out on the deck, watching as the first stars appear. Sam is leaning back in her chair, beer balanced on her thigh, and listens to the conversation floating around her. Daniel’s a little drunk and Jack’s goading him on and she has listened to conversations like this for eight years. It’s the camaraderie that’s changed, the ease with which they banter, the knowledge that Daniel has recently died and come back again, that they’re all here together now and tomorrow the world might end.
It hasn’t been this close to not ending for quite some time, though. She feels light and happy, surrounded by the people she trusts most in the world.
When Teal’c finally coaxes a belligerent Daniel inside and to bed, she’s just on the right side of slightly tipsy to straddle Jack where he’s sitting, wrapping her arms around his neck and coaxing him into the kind of kiss that holds the promise for more. She’s been patient all day, most of the eight years she’s bravely followed him out into the field and she wants his hands on her skin now.
He’s right there with her, pulling her close, his mouth hot on hers. They make out on the deck until she’s opened all the buttons on his shirt, until her hands have mapped out his chest, until his fingers have found the clasp of her bra under her shirt.
When he pulls back they’re both breathless and she feels like she’s drunk on him, like the taste and scent of him is strong enough that it has seeped into the very core of her being.
“Let me take you to bed,” he says softly, brushing strands of hair out of her face, pressing kisses to her jaw, nipping at the soft flesh on the side of her throat.
They manage to traverse the cabin fairly quietly but she’s already opened the button on her jeans, and by the time he softly closes the bedroom door, she’s pushed them off, pulling up the hem of her shirt. He grabs her hands, kisses her again.
“Let me,” he says.
This, too, he turns into an art form. She’s watched him take apart his rifle, has watched his skilled fingers, has smelled the gun oil he’d wiped carelessly on his BDU pants, has wondered what those fingers would feel like on her skin.
He sets a slow pace, takes his time to undress her, leads her to bed and then explores her skin until her nerves hum, until her breaths are short and hitched. She drowns in the sensation of him, can’t stop touching every inch of skin she discovers, can’t stop kissing him. When he finally slides into her, she feels like she’s floating, like she’ll never touch the ground again, like she’s anchored only by the heat and feel of him.
When she comes, she breaks apart spectacularly and then clings to him until he groans into the side of her neck, until his movements become erratic and then slow down. He doesn’t pull out after and for that she’s grateful, she wants to feel the weight of him on top of her, wants to run her hands through the sheen of sweat on his back, wants to feel entirely surrounded by him.
“If we’d done this four years ago…” he starts, nipping at her ear, kissing the sensitive spot right underneath.
“… we’d never stopped.” She finishes his sentence, runs her hand through the short hairs on the nape of his neck.
He rolls off her slowly and pulls the covers up over both of them. She feels boneless when she turns towards him, strokes a finger down the centre of his chest and blinks at him. He’s smiling at her, tracing the curve of her hip with his hand.
“I don’t ever want to stop touching you,” he whispers and kisses her again.
“Then don’t.” She nips at his bottom lip and smiles against his skin.