Title: Unconscious Gestures
Rating: All Ages
Summary: Behind the scenes and beyond for "Solitudes", "Touchstone", and "A Matter of Time". They're connected, really. . . somehow.
Content Warning: None
Pairings: Sam/Jack, but of course
Spoilers for: "Solitudes", "Touchstone", "A Matter of Time", and "The Fifth Race"
Archive: Just ask, please!
Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate. I just like it :) All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: I couldn't help but wonder, after watching "Touchstone" again. . . . Kind of serious at first, lightens up toward the end. Oh, and you really should be familiar with the episodes. Chapter 1 starts with "Solitudes". . .
Copyright (c) 2007 SJ Author
Jack could no longer feel his legs. It was murder on his ribs just to breath. Somehow, he managed to depress the talk button on the radio Sam had placed in his hand. "Sam?" he called faintly.
"Yes, sir?" came the radioed response.
He could feel consciousness slipping away. What could he really tell her? "It was an honor serving with you," he said. It was true enough, but didn't come anywhere near what he really wanted to say. Still, maybe it was better not to leave her burdened by a deathbed confession—just in case she did make it out alive.
The radio slipped from his fingers. He wouldn't last much longer, and he could hear the acknowledgement in her voice.
Her voice. Not a bad way to go, with that sound in his ears. If he'd had the guts, he would have told her that Sarah wasn't his reason for living anymore. There was someone else who had him holding on as long as he had and wishing this wasn't the end. "Sam," he said again, this time mumbled to the empty ice cavern. He could almost forget that he was a million light years from home as he drifted off into warm, pleasant memories of their all-too-brief association.
Disjointed dreams and his painful limbs told Jack he wasn't dead yet. His mind drifted back to the parachuting incident that he'd begun to tell Sam about. He didn't remember much after he'd been extracted, until he woke up in a hospital stateside. A skull fracture hadn't been his only injury, and he'd felt about as uncomfortable as he did now, only warmer. He felt someone move at his side. "Sarah," Jack called, still caught up in his memories.
"I'm here, Jack," came a voice in reply.
Something was off. This wasn't how it had happened. For one thing, Sarah had been so upset that she'd almost hit him when she had finally been let into his hospital room. She certainly hadn't crawled into the bed with him. Also, it really had been a lot warmer. . ., "Cold. . . so cold," he said.
"I know, it's all right. You can sleep now." Sam. She was back. He guessed she hadn't found a way out after all. "It was an honor serving with you, too, Colonel," she said.
That brought Jack out of his musings and back to the present. Yes, they were both most likely about to die, and yes, he was in quite a bit of pain. Still, his biggest complaint against his injuries was that he couldn't reach out and hold her. He struggled against the black weight dragging him back into unconsciousness. "Sam," he managed to barely whisper.
"Sir? He felt her shift at his side. "What was that, sir?" she asked, leaning closer to his head.
"Sam," he said again, this time managing to open his eyes and turn his head just a fraction. She was right there in front of him, so close that he could almost—
He kissed her. And in his delusional mind, she didn't pull away, but kissed him back quite willingly. Suddenly, Jack felt a whole lot warmer, and didn't fight this time as he drifted off.
To be continued.