Title: A Certain Degree of Spark

Title: A Certain Degree of Spark

Author: Rebecca Johnson rebeccavoyicon.

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Rating: G

Spoilers: none

Summary: Daniel's brief contemplation on the attraction between Sam and Jack

Author's Note: I wrote this quite some time ago and was just waiting for a longer story to put it in, but every time I tried to I would take it out again and again. I think I just like it on its own, so on it's own it will stay.

Disclaimer: Well, technically speaking I didn't use any names, references or anything, so I spose I could say it's my own … but that would be a smidge dishonest. I do not own Stargate, merely gleam inspiration from it.

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I don't remember the first time I saw it; I don't remember the day I started looking for it; I don't even remember the first instance I realised it was missing. After all, it's not exactly the kind of thing a guy intentionally looks out for, that look that passes between your best friend and the woman who, for all intents and purposes, is your sister.

They always had a certain degree of spark between them, everyone saw it. They had that kind of ridiculous flirtation that shot back and forth between two people like bolts of lighting; contained, but easily visible to all. I don't think anyone ever worried about them at that stage. I mean, sure, there was an attraction there but it was firework lust: out on display for all to see but, at the end of the day, as intangible and long lasting as the smoke it subsided to. No, they were good officers and the flirting was all in good fun.

However as the firework displays died down (as all fireworks of that nature are wont to do eventually) their attraction did not drift away into the smoke like everyone had expected. It did not fade away, but rather became something infinitely more dangerous. Gone was the quick and light-hearted banter that demanded everyone pay attention; in its place was a quiet and growing devotion, full of silent looks and the slightest of touches. This new engagement brushed over everyone like the fluttering of a butterfly's wing, soft and delicate, escaping attention except for those rare moments when a look, an act, a single word would hold your eyes and captivate your very being.

Everyone eagerly watched the fireworks. The butterfly … well, we all just let it fly past, pretending we didn't see it's fragile beauty whenever it happened to enter our field of vision.

Like I said, I don't know the first time I caught that look between them but, whether I see it or not, I know it's always there, lurking somewhere beneath the surface. Some days I find myself waiting for it, just waiting for that gentle brushing by and I know I'm not the only one who is doing so.