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For my Take Back the Weekend Ficlet Challenge.
Er...This one is a WIP that never seemed to want to go anywhere. Parts of the rest of the idea got explored in other fics, but I still like this scene, so I wanted to share it. It's unabashed cliche-fic. Forced marriage. What? I'm sorry I read too many romance novels, too. *grins*
This has happened before: Sam slides into bed next to Jack, who pretends he is asleep. He considers her straight back, the rigid shoulders, and thinks that they are not handling this well. He wonders if anyone who was told that they had to get married (surprise!) and couldn't do a thing about it could possibly handle it well. He sees her shoulders gradually relax as she fades into dreams, wondering what the hell he's supposed to do to fix this, make it better.
It wouldn't be so bad, he knew, if they weren't forced into this farce. Or if this particular world, this particular culture had a more progressive view toward women. Of course, that was one of the things they were supposed to be working on. Hammond's orders, handed to him from his own superiors (superior assholes), stated that he and Major Carter were to work within the culture “to effect positive change and maintain diplomatic with the people of P3X-224, otherwise called Iela.” Hammond said that if anyone could change the Ielans' minds about women and the role they should play, it would be Major Carter. After all, she had a pretty good track record as far as these things went. Unfortunately, it seemed that even Carter's influence was limited without a desire inside the culture for change, and she was forced day after day into mindless gatherings Jack knew she hated.
Jack fell asleep a few minutes later, having reached no conclusions. When he awoke, it was still dark. And cold. Beside him, Carter shifted. After two weeks of sleeping next to (but not touching) her, Jack had Carter's sleep cycle down cold. This was the restless stage.
Carter turned over, regular as clockwork. Her eyes fell open slightly, and she saw him looking at her. Restless Carter forgot she wasn't speaking to Jack, smiled, snuggled into the pillows, and Jack smiled back. He shifted closer, was rewarded with a small sleepy sigh, and as Carter's eyes fell closed again, he just barely brushed her lips with his.
Another sigh. Jack knew he was pushing his luck, moved back, but Carter followed, nuzzled him (oh god), kissed just to the left of his mouth, and he couldn't help but move...just...there and capture her lips again. If he ever had to explain why he'd kissed her to anyone, which he hoped he never would, he was totally going to suck at the explanation.
Then she woke up properly.
He could tell, because for just one instant she kissed him back—really kissed him, and then she froze, pulled back, and he knew her brain was going a million miles.
“What the hell were you doing?” she demanded, which was the most she'd spoken to him in days.
Jack couldn't think of a real explanation, or even a weak excuse. And he was so obviously not sleepy that he wasn't going to get away with pretending he'd just woken up, either. So he said the first thing that came to his mind.
“Kissing my wife?”
It was the wrong thing to say. Sam glared, threw off the covers (and it was even colder outside the bed), and grabbed her bag from under the table. She proceeded to start cramming stuff in it from her drawers (she'd taken the left side).
“What are you doing?” Jack asked.
“Packing. Leaving.” She shoved something viciously into the bag, paused and seemed to consider something. “I'm going to go tell those assholes exactly what I think of their policy regarding insane off-world cultural practices, and then I might just hit you for good measure.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. He had never seen Carter angry enough to actually defy orders. In the next moment, he remembered it was technically his fault. The whole mess.
“I'm sorry, Carter. About everything. Especially the kiss.” He considered that for a moment. He sort of was, he guessed.
Carter wasn't listening. “It's bad enough the whole SGC thinks this is funny. Apparently you do, too. I don't think there's anything funny about it. At all.” she stopped shoving things into the bag and gestured with one large dark lump of what Jack presumed were clothes of some sort. “My career, my life has been put on permanent hold, and I'm supposed to go along with some outdated, antiquated, ridiculous cultural expectation of marriage? I don't care what these people have in the way of technology. It's not right, and I thought you understood that, at least. I don't suppose anyone ever thought about the fact that I might want a family some day, and not just a pretend husband who I'm not even supposed to have.”
Jack felt himself getting angry, stood up and walked over to her. “You think I think this is funny? Oh yeah. Hah. Hah. I spend three years pretending I don't see that my 2IC is gorgeous, funny, likes my sense of humor, and then my superiors—who are, indeed, assholes—tell me that I have to stay married to her, despite her and my wishes, oh, and just for fun, we get to go play diplomat with the people who were backwards enough to marry us in the first place!”
During his speech, he'd backed her into a wall, and despite being pressed up against it, she was staring him down, not giving an inch, and Jack noticed her hair was still ruffled from sleep, and he could see her eyes, although they looked black in the half-light illuminating the room. With a small groan of desperation, he pushed against her, lowered his head just a fraction, and kissed her. Hard. He knew that in just a second, she was going to make him pay for this, but he was damn well going to enjoy himself now, because if he didn't, he would never, ever, get this opportunity again.
And sure enough, he felt her push against him, but she was kissing him back now, and suddenly he was the one with his back against the wall, and her hands were under his shirt, and oh god this couldn't possibly be happening because there was a rule, one the universe had followed for years, that said Sam was the logical one, that she would do the Right Thing when he couldn't.
There was obviously a flaw in this rule somewhere, because it seemed Sam was through with the Right Thing and Jack certainly wasn't going to start now. He pushed back because he knew she'd let him, and suddenly his hands were under her shirt, and she was so unbelievably warm.
Jack pulled Sam's shirt off, dropped it on the floor.
“Better,” he said.
Her hair was crazy, sticking up all around her head, and Jack could trace the exact lines of her flush, all the way down from her cheeks to her stomach.
He had paused a moment to look at her, and now it seemed as though the Right Thing finally popped into his head.
“We should probably,” he was a guy, he couldn't help it, his eyes kept trying to leave her face, “talk.”
He winced. That was lame. And she might take him up on it.
She was nodding, he knew that had been a bad move, she was backing away, dragging him with her, tugging at his hand. She sat on the bed, pulled him down next to her.
“We can talk later,” she said, and kissed him.
They did. Much later.
Er...This one is a WIP that never seemed to want to go anywhere. Parts of the rest of the idea got explored in other fics, but I still like this scene, so I wanted to share it. It's unabashed cliche-fic. Forced marriage. What? I'm sorry I read too many romance novels, too. *grins*
This has happened before: Sam slides into bed next to Jack, who pretends he is asleep. He considers her straight back, the rigid shoulders, and thinks that they are not handling this well. He wonders if anyone who was told that they had to get married (surprise!) and couldn't do a thing about it could possibly handle it well. He sees her shoulders gradually relax as she fades into dreams, wondering what the hell he's supposed to do to fix this, make it better.
It wouldn't be so bad, he knew, if they weren't forced into this farce. Or if this particular world, this particular culture had a more progressive view toward women. Of course, that was one of the things they were supposed to be working on. Hammond's orders, handed to him from his own superiors (superior assholes), stated that he and Major Carter were to work within the culture “to effect positive change and maintain diplomatic with the people of P3X-224, otherwise called Iela.” Hammond said that if anyone could change the Ielans' minds about women and the role they should play, it would be Major Carter. After all, she had a pretty good track record as far as these things went. Unfortunately, it seemed that even Carter's influence was limited without a desire inside the culture for change, and she was forced day after day into mindless gatherings Jack knew she hated.
Jack fell asleep a few minutes later, having reached no conclusions. When he awoke, it was still dark. And cold. Beside him, Carter shifted. After two weeks of sleeping next to (but not touching) her, Jack had Carter's sleep cycle down cold. This was the restless stage.
Carter turned over, regular as clockwork. Her eyes fell open slightly, and she saw him looking at her. Restless Carter forgot she wasn't speaking to Jack, smiled, snuggled into the pillows, and Jack smiled back. He shifted closer, was rewarded with a small sleepy sigh, and as Carter's eyes fell closed again, he just barely brushed her lips with his.
Another sigh. Jack knew he was pushing his luck, moved back, but Carter followed, nuzzled him (oh god), kissed just to the left of his mouth, and he couldn't help but move...just...there and capture her lips again. If he ever had to explain why he'd kissed her to anyone, which he hoped he never would, he was totally going to suck at the explanation.
Then she woke up properly.
He could tell, because for just one instant she kissed him back—really kissed him, and then she froze, pulled back, and he knew her brain was going a million miles.
“What the hell were you doing?” she demanded, which was the most she'd spoken to him in days.
Jack couldn't think of a real explanation, or even a weak excuse. And he was so obviously not sleepy that he wasn't going to get away with pretending he'd just woken up, either. So he said the first thing that came to his mind.
“Kissing my wife?”
It was the wrong thing to say. Sam glared, threw off the covers (and it was even colder outside the bed), and grabbed her bag from under the table. She proceeded to start cramming stuff in it from her drawers (she'd taken the left side).
“What are you doing?” Jack asked.
“Packing. Leaving.” She shoved something viciously into the bag, paused and seemed to consider something. “I'm going to go tell those assholes exactly what I think of their policy regarding insane off-world cultural practices, and then I might just hit you for good measure.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. He had never seen Carter angry enough to actually defy orders. In the next moment, he remembered it was technically his fault. The whole mess.
“I'm sorry, Carter. About everything. Especially the kiss.” He considered that for a moment. He sort of was, he guessed.
Carter wasn't listening. “It's bad enough the whole SGC thinks this is funny. Apparently you do, too. I don't think there's anything funny about it. At all.” she stopped shoving things into the bag and gestured with one large dark lump of what Jack presumed were clothes of some sort. “My career, my life has been put on permanent hold, and I'm supposed to go along with some outdated, antiquated, ridiculous cultural expectation of marriage? I don't care what these people have in the way of technology. It's not right, and I thought you understood that, at least. I don't suppose anyone ever thought about the fact that I might want a family some day, and not just a pretend husband who I'm not even supposed to have.”
Jack felt himself getting angry, stood up and walked over to her. “You think I think this is funny? Oh yeah. Hah. Hah. I spend three years pretending I don't see that my 2IC is gorgeous, funny, likes my sense of humor, and then my superiors—who are, indeed, assholes—tell me that I have to stay married to her, despite her and my wishes, oh, and just for fun, we get to go play diplomat with the people who were backwards enough to marry us in the first place!”
During his speech, he'd backed her into a wall, and despite being pressed up against it, she was staring him down, not giving an inch, and Jack noticed her hair was still ruffled from sleep, and he could see her eyes, although they looked black in the half-light illuminating the room. With a small groan of desperation, he pushed against her, lowered his head just a fraction, and kissed her. Hard. He knew that in just a second, she was going to make him pay for this, but he was damn well going to enjoy himself now, because if he didn't, he would never, ever, get this opportunity again.
And sure enough, he felt her push against him, but she was kissing him back now, and suddenly he was the one with his back against the wall, and her hands were under his shirt, and oh god this couldn't possibly be happening because there was a rule, one the universe had followed for years, that said Sam was the logical one, that she would do the Right Thing when he couldn't.
There was obviously a flaw in this rule somewhere, because it seemed Sam was through with the Right Thing and Jack certainly wasn't going to start now. He pushed back because he knew she'd let him, and suddenly his hands were under her shirt, and she was so unbelievably warm.
Jack pulled Sam's shirt off, dropped it on the floor.
“Better,” he said.
Her hair was crazy, sticking up all around her head, and Jack could trace the exact lines of her flush, all the way down from her cheeks to her stomach.
He had paused a moment to look at her, and now it seemed as though the Right Thing finally popped into his head.
“We should probably,” he was a guy, he couldn't help it, his eyes kept trying to leave her face, “talk.”
He winced. That was lame. And she might take him up on it.
She was nodding, he knew that had been a bad move, she was backing away, dragging him with her, tugging at his hand. She sat on the bed, pulled him down next to her.
“We can talk later,” she said, and kissed him.
They did. Much later.
