Chapter Text
The fireplace is lit, and Daniel is sprawled on the sofa engrossed in a book. Teal’c has a few strategically placed candles and is sitting perfectly still with his eyes closed. Jack’s not sure if he calls it meditating now, or whether he still calls it Kel’no’reem. Through the small window he can just make out Carter sitting beneath the tree next to the lake, her back against the trunk as she gazes out over the water.
She’s been quiet, and he hasn’t wanted to push her. Losing her dad, breaking off an engagement, the sudden giddying knowledge that the Goa’uld are gone and the war is over is a lot for anyone to take in. He gave SG-1 leave, kicked Carter off the base for a week, and then packed the whole lot of them up to the cabin for a break.
Change is coming. There’s as much change coming to the SGC as there is between the one season blending into the next. Teal’c will leave; Jack’s under no illusions that he will stay now that the Jaffa are free and his dream fulfilled. Daniel got confirmation five days ago that he is on the next team out to Atlantis.
Which leaves Carter and himself. There are two folded pieces of paper in his pocket, already soft and worn from the number of times he’s taken them out, scrutinised them, and then folded them back up. He’s not sure about the timing.
For all Jacob’s confidence about what he thought Sam was feeling, Jack’s not finding it as easy to believe that she still feels something for him. That pesky little thing like her getting engaged to another man is always going to give him a bit of an issue with self confidence. Then there’s his age, and the fact that she’s way smarter than he is. And she’s hot. Like, really hot. So really, how could anyone in their right mind still think she may feel something for Jack O’Neill?
Come to think of it, Jack ponders, staring out at her sitting under that tree with her knees drawn up under her chin, Jacob probably wasn’t in his right mind at the time, given he was dying and all that.
Jack finds his hands creeping into his pocket again, fingering the folded bits of paper.
“Will you just go out there and talk to her already?” Daniel demands eventually.
“Huh?”
“You’ve been staring at her for days when you think we aren’t watching. Go talk to her and sort yourselves out,” Daniel orders, not lifting his eyes from his book as he turns the page. “She broke off the engagement,” he adds.
“Daniel Jackson is correct, O’Neill,” Teal’c adds, not opening his eyes. “You will achieve nothing if you do not speak with Major Carter, and if you do not speak with her soon she may find another.”
Jack stares at both men, neither one of whom is looking at him. He grabs two beers from the fridge, two coats from the rack, and slams the door hard on his way out, hoping Daniel falls off the couch.
The air is still crisp and cool, a hint of spring on the air but winter fights back bravely. It’s not quite drizzling, instead a fine mist of moisture hangs in the air and he’s grateful for the coat he snagged on the way out.
“You’re going to freeze,” he says by way of announcing his presence, as though the slamming door didn’t give him away. He tosses the second coat at her, and then drops to the ground beside her. She shrugs the coat over her shoulders, but doesn’t slide her arms in; accepts the beer but doesn’t take a swig, and doesn’t comment about the fact that he’s sitting close enough for his thigh to be brushing against hers.
The fine mist is deepening into a drizzle, but beneath the tree they are relatively sheltered with only the occasional droplet finding bare skin. The silence between them is comfortable, like a well worn shirt, and the beer slides easily down his throat. He knows her well enough to know she’s getting ready to talk, thoughts and ideas spinning and churning until she works out the correct combination and the words will spring forth.
“What’s going to happen to SG-1?” she asks eventually.
They haven’t spoken about work at all since arriving at the cabin two days ago, and while Jack’s enjoyed the reprieve he knew it was coming. He takes another slow draw from his long neck, and then reaches into his right hip pocket to withdraw the crumpled pieces of paper. The action tilts his legs and hips and he jostles against her, the warmth of her leg through worn denim pressing against his thigh. By the time he has the paper out he’s sitting against her, and she’s tucked in against his arm. It’s comfortable and easy and a thrill is racing down Jack’s spine at the nearness of her.
“What is it?”
He hands her both, and slips his arm around her back. She leans into him absently, skimming the words on the crumpled page now getting spotted with drops of water as the drizzle increases, bordering a light shower. In front of them, the lake is alive as the droplets strike the water, and their breath mingles together in the cool air.
She’s looking at him now, silently, digesting the contents of the pages, her head squarely on his shoulder and her knees tilted towards his chest. How, he takes a moment to marvel, is it so easy to sit so physically close to her and feel so at ease, so right, when it’s never been right to be so casual about distance?
“Will you take the offer?” she asks him.
“That depends,” he says carefully, “on you.”
She’s looking at him, catching her breath, biting on her bottom lip. Another jolt runs through him as he stares at her lip, red from her teeth and the cold. A fine dew is over her cheeks and her eyes are steady.
“What do you mean?” He thinks she knows what he means, but he also thinks she as scared as he is. The note of hope on her voice, the ever so slight curl of her lip and glint in her eyes reassures him that maybe, just maybe, Jacob was right.
“I need to know if I’m planning my future with you,” he says eventually. “If you say yes to your offer, it removes the chain of command.”
She’s smiling now, and he realises his hand is cradling her face, his thumb on her cheek and fingers in her hair. She’s twisting against him, sliding over his legs, both her hands on his face and suddenly they’re kissing. The kisses are damp rain and beer and promises that have never been spoken but always understood.
“I take it you accept?” he whispers, nuzzling behind her jawbone where the hairline curls behind her ears. The taste of her warms his blood.
“There was never even a choice,” she agrees, and wraps her arms around him, holding him close.
The rain is heavy now and they’re getting wet; his knees and back and hips are protesting the prolonged contact with the hard ground. He leans back against the tree and breathes her in, feels her warm weight against him, and watches the rain on the lake.
It’s like coming home.
FIN.