rachel500 | Fanfiction: Just A Kiss (Reply)

Title: Just A Kiss
Fandom: Stargate SG1
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Four times Sam and Jack Didn't Kiss and One time they did.
Author's Note: Sam/Jack. Spoilers for SG1. Inspired by Just A Kiss by Lady Antebellum
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Written for entertainment purposes only.

It's so cold. The ice is all around them; white and glistening; hard and unyielding. Sam snuggles into Jack's good side. Even in her sleep she's careful as though the reminder of the injuries he's sustained from earlier has followed her into her dreams and keeps her from pressing too close.

Jack lies awake, in too much pain to sleep. He distracts himself by looking at Sam; the curve of her cheek, the separate strands of blonde hair that fall against his shoulder where her head rests, the utter perfection of her lips despite their bloodless and chapped state.

He could reach over and kiss her, Jack thinks somewhat wistfully. If he wasn't injured. If he wasn't her commanding officer. If he wasn't certain that she would punch him for his audacity in thinking that she would welcome his kiss in any way. She murmurs and shifts slightly before settling again. He's frozen, certain that his want is written all over his face. He holds his breath, waiting for her to wake up but she doesn't.

Jack stays awake for a long time.

It's hard to describe the mix of emotions that sweeps through Sam as her doppelganger kisses the Colonel.

Anger. Yes, she's definitely angry. At her double for kissing a man that isn't hers. At him for kissing Doctor Samantha Carter who looks just like Sam but isn't her.

Hurt. Because he's kissing Doctor Samantha Carter who looks just like Sam but isn't her. She feels a rush of insecurity about her choices, about her looks, about her goddamn hair which is fine just as it is in its short serviceable style.

Understanding creeps in too for her double who has lost the love of her life and is now losing the man who wears his face, who is in every way him but for the fact that he isn't in every way that matters. Not that he's Sam's either.

She looks away.

Want. She wants it to be her so badly. She wants Jack to kiss her, wants to kiss him.

Jack steps back through the mirror; looks back and the realisation that his private goodbye wasn't that private dawns on his face an instant before the mirror goes blank. His eyes snap to hers immediately but she says nothing.

She could hug – hug – General Hammond as he orders everyone on the mission to the conference room for an immediate debriefing breaking the awkward silence. She turns and walks away.

The feel of her lips under his, the taste of her is addictive. Jack can't help the groan that escapes him as he sweeps his tongue across them asking, demanding, permission. They part on a moan and he tangles his tongue with Sam's as he kisses her deeply, one hand buried in her blonde hair, holding her gently. She presses closer to him.

'Kanan.' She whispers.

Jack wakes abruptly, bolting upright. The thin sheet covering him, falls and pools around his hips as he pushes his fists into his eyes and rocks helplessly against the memory of his dream – nightmare – fantasy – memory – whatever the hell it is. It's a long while before Jack lowers his hands and blinks hard at the shadowed ceiling of his bedroom.

He's kissed Sam before. He has the memory of several kisses in a time loop without consequences tucked away in his head. But he had never kissed Sam the way his dream self had even though the taste of her, the touch of her lips had been achingly familiar and Sam.

It's a memory, Jack determines grimly. Kanan's memory of kissing Shallan. It's not the first dream he's had since he's escaped Ba'al's little Fun Fair; not the first where he's played Kanan's role and Sam's played Shallan's. He doesn't need a therapist to know why his subconscious is playing that trick. He slumps back against his pillows but knows he won't get back to sleep.

It's late in the afternoon when Sam abandons the dead Replicator blocks and heads up to the top of the Mountain. The sky is cloudless and the sun is beginning its slow slide into the distant horizon. She breathes in deeply and tries to find some inner calm as she sits down on a nearby boulder. It's been a hell of a couple of days – the worst couple of days of her working career apart from when she's had to endure the death of loved ones. She's met her Replicator double – been outsmarted by her. She feels the burn of shame, of guilt, of fear low in her gut.

She wonders what was real of the memories her double had shared; what wasn't. Had she been forced to kill Jack in Fifth's training simulations or was it a clever lie to make Sam trust her? Sam thinks about Jack far too much for a woman with a fiancé. Her eyes drift over her bare ring finger. She rarely wears Pete's ring telling herself it's a safety thing but she knows better.

She's not surprised when Jack joins her and she slides over to make room for him. And they talk because despite all the complications that surround them, the feelings they never talk about, Pete, the military ranks that separate them, they're friends. He holds out a bottle of water to her and her hand grasps it but he doesn't let go, his eyes intent on hers. 'You can so take her, Carter.'

His faith in her is overwhelming; her chest tightens on a wave of need. She could kiss him. She can almost see it; taste it; feel it. It would be so easy to close the space between them, to brush her lips over his. But she won't. He lets go of the bottle and she takes it, drinking to drown her thoughts, drown her need.

'You deny yourself your own desires.' The Replicator's voice in her head mocks Sam. It's the truth. That's why it hurts so much.

It's a cold night - or morning; it's late and most the rest of the world is asleep except for Jack who has been travelling home for more hours than he cares to think about. He gets out of the car, shivers in a gust of icy wind, and waves the driver off helping him inside his house. He watches the car as it disappears from view and he's finally alone. He tugs on his tie. It feels like years since he was last there but it's only two weeks. Two weeks since George Hammond's heart attack had cut short a vacation at the cabin with his SG1 team-mates; two weeks since Jack was made Head of Homeworld Security and given another set of stars to go with the promotion and the giant headache of keeping the Earth safe.

His eyes catch on the glint of starlight off polished metal off to the side of the drive-way, almost hidden in darkness; a motorcycle – Sam's motorcycle. She had probably heard he was due home and had come out to wait for him. He curses the delays he's endured again as nerves assault him. There's no light within the house so he dumps his bag and cover at the front door and makes for the ladder up to his astronomy look-out, certain he'll find her there.

They had been on the verge of something at the cabin; confessions and commitments that had been bubbling up with Sam's broken engagement and their mutual if not completely spoken about realisation that it would always be them. Always.

She's asleep in the chair. He can't help crouching beside her, heedless of his bad knee and the uniform he's wearing, the blue trench coat settling on the surface of the roof. He touches her hand gently. She's half-frozen despite the leathers she wears; her skin too pale almost silver, her blonde hair mussed around her face, her lips tinged with blue.

A familiar craving fills him to kiss her, to hold her. He's not her CO anymore; doesn't have command responsibility for the SGC because he handed that right back to the Pentagon as soon as they'd pinned the extra stars on him. There's no regulation holding them back; there are no doubles in sight; this isn't a dream. There's nothing stopping him now except… Jack doesn't want to mess this up; she's too important.

Sam's eyes flutter open and she smiles at him; easy and delighted like he's the best thing she's ever seen; like she's been waiting for him her whole life. He can barely breathe. His throat closes up on anything he could think of saying.

She inches closer, so close.

Her eyes on his as she bumps her nose gently against his, as her cold hand curls around his neck. His own hand buries itself in her hair and she's smiling again. Her breath ghosts over his lips like a promise. Their lips meet softly; catching against each other gently; moving tenderly, barely touching except they are, they're kissing.

And it's slow.

And it's perfect.

It's just a kiss in the moonlight.

fin.