Destiny

Destiny
Tag for “2001", episode # 510, written by Brad Wright, directed by Peter DeLuise

He was a nice man, an attractive man, and she loved the way he looked at her, as if she were the most beautiful, intelligent woman he’d ever seen. He flirted shamelessly with her, looking her up and down, his eyes twinkling, and she liked it ... a lot. But when the time came, and she hung by a rope over an active Stargate, the Aschen bio-weapon poised to obliterate Earth, she left him behind. She knew he’d be killed, or worse, but she slit the rope which held her under the harvester, fell through the ‘Gate, tumbled onto the ramp at the SGC and slammed the iris closed. Ambassador Joe Faxon was history. She mourned the loss of his life, but she’d done her job.

It was regrettable, but that wasn’t what was making her blue tonight, sitting by her CO’s side at a table in their favorite bar, drinking and watching Daniel and Teal’c play pool. She sighed. “Carter?” he asked, his eyes on their friends, his lips playing with the top of a Guinness bottle, but his attention focused completely on her.

“Sir?”

“Something wrong?” he asked, putting down the bottle and turning to her. And as she began to shake her head, no, he held up his hand to stop her. “Don’t bullshit me, Carter,” he warned. “I know when something’s bothering you.” Her eyes widened at his unusually intimate admission. He held her eyes. “So, spill,” he said. “That’s an order,” he added gently, a hint of humor in his voice.

She blinked, looking into his dark eyes, and turned away. “Ambassador Faxon... sir,” she said, as if she’d told him everything he needed to know.

He turned away from her, as she knew he would, picking up his bottle again, his eyes returning to the safety of observing the boys playing pool. “Oh yeah?” he asked, non-committal. She nodded in his peripheral vision, knowing he’d see her response. “Miss him?” he asked, his voice gravelly. So, he noticed, she thought.

She watched Daniel lean over the table to set up a shot. “No,” she replied. “Not really.”

“Feeling guilty?” he asked, his eyes flicking toward her.

“I did my job, sir,” she said, only a glimpse of hardness in her tone.

“But you left him behind,” he said softly, turning fully back to her. “And we don’t leave our people behind, right?” he asked.

“Couldn’t be helped, sir,” she said, surprised by his concern, basking in it, nonetheless, worried that he’d think less of her, that he’d think she was soft.

“Carter...” Something in his voice made her turn toward him again, one of her hands in her lap. He sighed, reaching for it, playing with her fingers unconsciously. “Let’s face it. You liked the guy.” She looked up at his face, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at her hand, not realizing he was playing with it. “And you had to leave him behind. That couldn’t have been easy,” he said.

“It wasn’t, sir,” she responded. “But it was the only way to keep the Aschen from launching their bio-weapon.”

He stopped playing with her fingers and took up his bottle again, watching the pool players. “So, you shouldn’t feel guilty,” he said, with some finality.

“I don’t, sir,” she said, looking at the side of his handsome face, the way his day-old beard covered his strong jaw in stout, silvering bristles.

“Well, what then?” he asked.

“I guess, I’m ... sad,” she responded.

The muscles in his cheek flexed as his teeth clenched. “Don’t expect me to tell you not to feel sad for losing your boyfriend, Carter,” he said, his tone flat with controlled anger.

“What?” she asked, astounded at the conclusion he’d drawn.

“Was he a good kisser?” the Colonel asked, his face expressionless, hard.

“What are you talking about... sir?” she asked, almost breathless with surprise, her own anger starting to spark.

He turned to her, suddenly very angry. “It’s a simple question, Carter, was he a good kisser? Did he kiss well?”

She turned away. “We never kissed... sir,” she said, her tone of voice cold, her own anger fully blown. She sat for a moment, processing. A small part of her was astonished at the audacity of her CO, to ask such a question. But his jealousy was palpable to her, and she felt a small bubble of pleasure that he cared. “He wasn’t my boyfriend...” She let her voice die out, before adding, “Sir.”

He finished his drink, signaling the flirty waitress to bring another, ogling her obviously when she brought the bottle, all tits and teeth and wiggling rear. Sam rolled her eyes, watching him, feeling her own jealousy rise. He was putting on a display, and she knew it, but she waited for him to speak, knowing he needed to feel in control again. The waitress left with his order, her ass swaying, his eyes following obviously, before he spoke. “So, why are you sad, Carter?” he asked.

“It’s not because you feel guilty,” he said, ticking items off on his long fingers, turning to her, “and it’s not because you miss him.” He looked up at her, his anger abruptly gone. “You did a good job, Major.” He ducked his head, looking down. “Why are you sad, Sam?”

His use of her name startled her, and when he raised his chin to look her in the eyes, she averted her gaze, wanting to see almost anything other than the intensity in his dark brown glance. “I... I can’t talk about it, sir,” she said, standing, pushing back from the table.

She secured her leather jacket from the back of her chair and walked away from him, waving to Daniel and Teal’c as she passed. They looked at her quizzically, automatically refocusing on Jack, knowing without being told that something had transpired between them. They saw him rise, throw money on the table and take off after her, his expression grim. The two friends looked at each other speculatively. Daniel shrugged. Teal’c nodded once. They resumed their game.

Outside in the parking lot, the cold, winter night freezing the tears on her cheeks, Sam walked to her car. She unlocked her car door, before she realized he’d appeared by her side, stealth always his strong suit. “Tell me,” he said, startling her.

She recovered quickly, turning away to finger the wetness from her face. “I need to go home, sir,” she told him, opening the car door.

“Not yet,” he growled, taking her arm to prevent her from getting into her vehicle. “Tell me,” he repeated, giving her elbow a slight shake.

“I left him behind,” she said, fresh tears rising, but not falling.

“And?” he asked, knowing there was more.

“I saw he was in trouble. I knew he’d be killed... and I slit the rope and came home.”

“You saved us, Carter,” he said tersely. He couldn’t understand what her problem was. She said she understood, that she’d done her job.

She swallowed, wiping ineffectively at her cheeks. “He liked me, Jack,” she said. “I liked him too.” She blew out a long, warm breath, steam issuing from her mouth in the chilly night air. “And, still, I left him.”

“You knew what you had to do... and you did it,” he said. “You would have done the same if it had been anyone else, me, Daniel, Teal’c.”

She was quiet. “No,” she said softly, sadly. He leaned in to hear her better. “No, I wouldn’t... not if it had been you,” she said, admitting it as much to herself as to him. “I wouldn’t have left you behind,” she said, looking at him, her face a mask of pain. “I couldn’t have. I’d have let the Aschen destroy the entire planet, rather than leave you behind,” she said.

“What?” he asked, incredulous.

“Let me go,” she said, wrenching her arm away. She got into her car and pulled the door closed. He stood watching, frozen. She put the key in the ignition, starting her car. He reached for the door handle. She pulled away.

* * * * * * * *

By the time she opened the door of her house, walking through the darkened rooms, she knew her phone had rung at least four times. She listened as the answering machine kicked in. “Pick up the phone, Carter. The way you drive, you’ve been home for at least 10 minutes,” he said. She smiled, despite her mood. “Pick up the phone, Major,” he repeated. “If you won’t talk to me directly, at least do me the courtesy of picking up the phone.” He sounded exasperated. “Do I need to make it an order?” She huffed a derisive laugh. “Pick up the phone, Sam. It’s the least you can do.” Hesitantly, she reached for the handset.

“I’m here,” she said quietly.

“Finally,” he said, his patience strung tight. “Just what the fuck did you mean back there in the parking lot?” he asked. His tone was aggressive, his syllables a little slurred. She wondered if he’d been okay to drive home.

“You heard me,” she said, unwilling to get into this again.

He took a breath. “Yeah,” he said. “I did.” After a moment he added, “but I don’t get why that should make you ... sad.”

She sat, the phone in her hand. It was easier talking to him by phone than face to face. Did she dare explain it to him, say it out loud, especially when she wasn’t really sure she understood herself? “It’s personal,” she said, evading him.

“Not any more,” he said. “Not after what you said in the parking lot. Now, I need to know... you owe me that,” he asserted.

She squirmed in her seat, anxious, uncomfortable, wanting desperately to hang up on him, knowing it wouldn’t solve anything. “Okay,” she said, reluctantly. He waited. She could hear him breathing.

“Carter...” he warned.

“Just shut up, Jack,” she said abruptly, and just as quickly, she slapped a hand over her mouth, realizing she’d been insubordinate. “I’m... I’m sorry, sir,” she stuttered.

There was silence on his end for a few tense moments, before she heard him sigh. “Just talk to me, Sam,” he said. He sounded tired, down. It made her heart ache.

She settled into her seat, trying to make herself more comfortable. “It’s hard to explain, sir,” she said. “I just know that if it had been you on that ship, fighting for your life, I wouldn’t have cut the rope. I couldn’t leave you behind.” She sighed.

“But, why does that make you sad?” he asked.

“That’s the part that’s hard to explain,” she said, thoughtfully. “As I was hanging there, all I thought about was the mission. And when I got back to the SGC, and I internalized the idea that I’d left the Ambassador to die, I was upset, but I knew I’d done my job and done it well.” She wiped a tired hand over her face.

“He was a nice man. He liked me. He asked me out. He was available... and I left him behind to die.” She was quiet for a moment, before she continued. “But then I realized that if it had been you... I could never have left you. I never would.” She hesitated. “It makes me sad, because I found I could sacrifice one man, but not another. I could leave behind a man who wanted me and was available... but I could never do the same with you. Never.”

She didn’t notice the tears slipping down her cheeks, but he could hear the pain in her voice. “What does that say about me, Jack?” she asked. “That I care more for you, a man I can never have, as long as we serve together, than I do for a man who is available? Does this mean I am destined to be alone for the rest of my life?”

There was silence on his end of the phone, but she knew he was there. “You don’t have to be,” he growled softly into the phone.

“What?” she asked, not sure she’d heard. He didn’t reply. “Jack?” She waited. “Sir?” she asked again.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice coming from behind her. She turned, startled. He stood in her hallway, cellphone closed, in hand. He took off his jacket, untying and slipping out of his boots. He walked toward her, wary, waiting.

“What did you say?” she asked again, hanging up the phone, recovering her voice.

“I said, you don’t have to be alone.”

* * * * * * * *

It seemed to happen in slow motion. She rose from her seat. He moved toward her. Her arms draped around his neck. His hands settled at her waist. The space between them dwindled, until the heat from their bodies combined, their foreheads pressed together, afraid to look into one another’s eyes.

“You know how I feel about you, Sam,” he said.

“And you know how I feel about you,” she affirmed, “but that doesn’t make this any less ... wrong.” She wanted to pull away, to separate from him, to put the appropriate distance between them... but she didn’t. “We can’t do this,” she said, weakly. And, still, she didn’t step away.

“We can,” he said, his breath on her lips. It was enough. Her mouth rose to meet his, lips pressing, tentatively at first, then more firmly, his taste, her scent enveloping the other. He flicked out the tip of his tongue, slipping into the heated space between her lips. She opened to him. He stroked his tongue into her, tasting her, the softest flesh inside her mouth, invading her, his first foray into her body, but not his last.

His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, a large hand cuffing her nape, fingers up under her hair, to hold her for his exploration. She whimpered, sensations pulsing through her, pooling low in her belly, the hard, hot feel of his arousal, stiff against her belly, and her own hands slipping up and down his strong back.

They parted for air, both breathing heavily, chests rising and falling rapidly. “Don’t be sad, Sam,” he said. “I hate it, when you’re sad.” A tear rolled down her cheek and he leaned in to kiss it, catching the salty droplet with his tongue. “Besides, you saved the world... again... today.” He smiled at her, a crooked, smirky grin. “Be happy. Be proud,” he said, one big hand holding her cheek, thumb swiping over the wetness, to wipe it away. “I am.”

“Jack,” she said, as if his name were everything she wanted and needed to say, and the sound was so sweet to him, he had to kiss her again, leaning in to take her lips. Her fingers reached into the short silvered hair at his nape, scratching. He gasped, pulling away from her lips, angling his neck and leaning back into her touch. Emboldened, she scratched harder, her blunt nails scraping over his scalp, following him as he lowered his head to her shoulder, neck arched and wanting. Somehow the intimacy of this simple act, giving him such primal, animal pleasure, erased her reticence and resistence, the warring factions of duty and heart, of obedience to the rules and her need for this man in her arms.

Without thinking, which for Sam was saying a lot, she kissed his temple, a caress of simplicity and permission, intimacy for intimacy. And sensing it for what it was, Jack raised his head from her shoulder, looked her in the eye and asked, “Now?”

“Now,” she responded, without hesitation, breaking out of his embrace, taking his hand.

* * * * * * * *

In the briefest of moments not clouded by inescapable lust and the feel of the lithe body beneath him, Jack couldn’t believe he was shirtless above an equally shirtless Samantha Carter in her bedroom, on her bed. He was delirious with her, the sounds she made, the smell of her, the way her skin felt, the flick of her tongue, her taste. And she, thinking only intermittently, was awash in sensation, especially when his hand snaked under her arched back to undo the back closure of her decidedly non-regulation bra. His mouth, his scent, the feel of his calloused fingertips on her skin, the way he groaned when her tongue stroked his, he was intoxicating.

He drew the bra strap off her shoulder, pulling the only thing between him and his prize away from her body to reveal her breast, full, heavy, warm. He nuzzled the soft flesh, smirking against it, when her nipple tightened as he licked it. He parted his lips, bringing the sensitive tip between, suckling, his big hand holding her flesh, fingers clenching and releasing with the pull of his mouth on her. And her clit, untouched, began to pulse, filling with blood and heat, until she needed to squirm against the seam of her jeans to relieve some of the pressure.

As if he knew the effect he was having on her, he pressed his thigh between hers, angling his hip in the softness. She sighed, a hitching sound, part moan, cut off by her teeth clamping onto her bottom lip, the flush of her cheeks betraying her. “Too many clothes,” she gasped, as she squirmed. He rolled to the side and began to strip them both, removing the last physical barriers to their joining. And when she was completely naked, her pale skin, taut muscles and hidden curves, lying next to him, reaching for him, the peace which so often eluded him stole over his mind and heart. This was so right... no matter the regulations.

At her urging, the grasping of her fingers, he slid over her again, settling between her spread thighs, knees raised to receive him. He reached between their bodies, parting her folds, feeling her slick response, her clit enlarged, pulsing. He pressed the big head of his cock into her opening, urging her to accept it, waiting for her body to relax and receive his intrusion. “Oh god, Jack,” she whispered, clutching his shoulders, momentarily overcome by his size.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, kissing her. “We can take it easy, work up to it.” He was patient. She wasn’t the first woman to need some time to adjust. He pressed into her again, getting past her opening and pulling back, letting her rest.

“Jack!” she cried, an edge of hysteria in her voice, as images of the night she lost her virginity – the pain, the anxiety, the humiliation -- flashed through her mind. He felt so big and she felt so tight.

He rose above her and smoothed her hair from her temple, dipping down to kiss her, feeling the tension in her body. He wondered briefly what he should do. She was obviously tense and tight. “How long has it been?” he asked gently.

“A... a while... a long while,” she said, embarrassed. He made up his mind and drew out of her, leaving her simultaneously relieved and wanting. He rolled to the side again, pulling her against him, under his arm. She felt skittish and he didn’t want her to run from him, not when he was so close.

Not letting her think too much, he slipped his fingers into her damp curls and found her clit, slightly deflated now, her body trembling. He pulled her knees open, exposing her and began to whisper to her, while his calloused fingertips danced through her flesh. “We don’t need to rush,” he said. “Now that I know, we can take our time,” dipping a finger into her opening as he said “time”, stroking in and out of her, his breath damp in her ear. She tried to close her knees, but he opened them again, smoothing a rough hand down the silky skin of her inner thigh, stroking into her again, making her hips rise to meet his hand.

“You feel like warm caramel... the softest, silkiest ...” he murmured, his thumb circling her clit, throbbing again. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he asked, punctuating his words by dipping a long finger into her again. “And this?” he sighed, bringing two fingers to her opening, circling and plunging in. Again her hips responded, jerking up, to complete his movement. “That’s it,” he continued, encouraging her, feeling her loosen, feeling her arousal mounting. His fingers inside her body moved languidly, a solid, strong presence within her. His thumb stroked purposefully, circling and circling her clit, her hips beginning to circle with him.

“J-jack!” she cried, a pulse beating inside her, her muscles tightening around his fingers, her slickness coating them. He leaned down, taking her nipple between his teeth, tugging gently, suckling, the heat and wetness of his mouth on her sensitive peak making her wetter, his fingers and thumb continuing their movements, her body responding, her mind shutting down, sensation heating her belly, making her womb clench. Her hips rose, angling, to bring his fingers deeper within her, and her voice rose too, his name spilling from her throat as her muscles grasped his fingers rhythmically, her breathing heavy, measured in time with the spasms of her sex.

And as she hit the pinnacle of her release, he withdrew his hand, rising powerfully over her, pressing her knees apart, fisting his cock and impaling her with one forceful thrust, his big dick sliding into her, even as spasms rippled through her, too far gone to resist his intrusion, to do anything but receive him fully. And before she could tighten up, he withdrew slightly to drive into her again, insistent, undeniable, pressing into her, filling her, stretching her beyond all experience, the head of his cock imbedded as deeply as her architecture would allow, his veined shaft pulsing along her walls, drawing sensations from her previously unknown. She cried out. He took her mouth, drowning her voice, stealing her sob.

The heat consuming him, her tightness, the friction enclosing him, devastated his control. The look on her face as she accepted his girth, fierce, needy, erotic, eroded his restraint. He began to pound into her, hips grinding, muscles driving toward her womb, her thighs spread wide to receive him, taking the heavy weight of his body with each powerful thrust. “Sam!” he said, needing to say her name, to have her respond.

She pulled him down, arching up to meet him, pressing her oversensitive breasts to his chest, his silvered hair silky, stimulating her nipples. “Jack,” she replied, skin flushing, fingernails finding his scalp as she brought his lips to hers. She was barely capable of cogent thought let alone speech, but his name, huffing across her lips, rising from her throat, forced from her lungs as he rammed into her, was deeply satisfying.

As her sex began to flutter around him, he knew his control had reached its end. She was just too delicious, too juicy, too much for him to resist. He became little more than a creature of need, slave to the mounting pressure in his balls, to the increased friction of her pussy tightening, bolts of carnal energy jolting through her sex, fueling his desire to mark her. Coiling down his spine, tension building in his lower back, a screaming beast was primed for release. He reached for her breast, fingertips closing over her nipple. He squeezed.

Hardwired, tit to clit, her body reacted, the muscles surrounding his intruding cock began to spasm, her hips jamming upward toward him. Her fingers clenched painfully around his biceps, as she tried to anchor herself, spinning into mindless pleasure. And he, snagged in the vise of her intimate caress, clenched and released, drawn and massaged by unseen forces within her, was helpless, along for the ride. He withdrew slightly and slammed back into her, the pulsations of her orgasm driving him, and then he was lost, utterly out of control, a howling animal in the throes of his release, each wrenching pump of hot seed into her creamy depths filling him with powerful satisfaction.

He lay atop her, too tired to move, too sated to do anything more than enjoy the ripples of muscle within her, tender pulsing in the aftermath of her orgasm. In moments he softened, their fluids leaking from her, making her squirm beneath him. Finally he had to move off her, her hands restless on his back, her breathing shallow as his weight compressed her lungs. Rising above her, he moved off the bed, not seeing her arms, her hands grasping air, as she reached for him. He returned almost immediately, scrubbing a damp washcloth over himself, rolling her to the side, slipping a towel over the wet spot. “Let me,” he said, turning the washcloth over to the clean side, gesturing toward the apex of her thighs.

When he was assured that she was comfortable again, he slipped into bed beside her. “I meant it, you know,” he said, his voice rumbling as he held her to his side. Sleepy, she yawned.

“What?” she asked, comfortable, sated, her body pleasantly tired, blood still pulsing through her sex.

“You don’t have to be alone,” he repeated. “I’m here... now and always,” he said, pausing, a fleeting moment of self-doubt coloring his words, “... if you want.”

Rousing herself, knowing this moment was, in some ways, even more significant than what they had already shared, she raised herself to look at him, struck anew by his handsome face, the light in his eyes. She put her hand on his chest, palm over his heart. “I want, Jack,” she said. “Now and always... I want.”