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She had to know that he couldn’t be the one to make a move, never could, all these years—not possible. He was her CO, for crying out loud. Something between them while she was under his direct command, in the spotlight of being on the most prestigious team on base, hell, in the whole damn Air Force, it could fatally compromise her career—and probably not his. Not fair, but that’s the way it was, and even saving the world a handful of times wouldn’t change it. She had to know him well enough to know that he’d never, ever ask for that from her, never make her have to say no to him—or regret saying yes.
No, he knew she wanted him, but not enough. Over and over he’d made it clear, as clear as he could, what he’d say, if she asked. But she didn’t want him enough to ask, not enough to take the risk of coming out into the open with him and trying to find a solution that wouldn’t ruin their lives. They’d solved so many impossible, world-ending problems—she had to know that if she really wanted to, they could solve this one too, somehow. It had always been her choice to make, and she had made it, and she hadn’t chosen him—and god knew he could see why not. She wanted him, sure, but more than she wanted him, she wanted to have her cake and eat it too; a life, a real life with someone else, and for when she got bored of that, the connection and adrenalin-fueled attraction that went along with saving the world with him.
To him, it was more; he’d let the world burn if it meant he could have her. Probably he would. Well, OK—he usually thought these days that the world, with her in it, was worth saving. But he’d move it and heaven both if she would give him the option of finding an answer that would let them be together. She had to know that. So, she didn’t want him enough. QED. She loved him, he knew that—but not enough.
And then one day she was standing in front of him right there in his own backyard, and it turned out he was wrong, dead wrong. As wrong as he’d ever been, and he’d been wrong some times. What he saw in her eyes made him go still, like he was trying to fly a plane through a planet. It was so exactly what he’d tried to make sure all this time that she never saw in his—pain, reproach, blame, desperation, longing, and above all love, so much love. And seeing it, he knew she didn’t know what he’d thought she had to know, she’d never known it—all she saw was him not loving her enough to burn it all down for her, and to hell with the cost to either of them. The thing he’d never ask was exactly what she’d needed him to ask: “Risk everything, for me, because I need you.”
So, OK, O’Neill. This is new information. Take it in quickly, evaluate, and make a new choice. He was an idiot, but he wasn’t a fool, and he wasn’t a coward. The moment wasn’t right, but there was a way to fix this—there’d have to be a way, now. Just get the timing right, for once.
—
And then they were on base back in quarters where he’d walked her from her dying father’s bedside. And her world was falling down around her, and his was standing there in front of him again, in pain, and his heart was wide open but he should keep his mouth shut until it was the right time, a fair time, for her to hear what he had to say. So he would wait. He could do that—he was good at that. Except—since when did Plan A ever save the day…
“Alright then, so here you are. Get some rest. Oh, and I meant to tell you, Jacob gave me a go to organize transportation for Mark, so I went ahead and did that, he should be here in a couple hours. And uh, do you want… I can have Pete brought here, if that’s…”
“No! No, but thank you, sir. For all of it.”
“OK. Well, like I say, you should get some rest while Jacob’s sleeping—you look beat. If you need me I’ll be in my office, or the infirmary if I’m not. Try to sleep yourself for a while, if you can.”
“I will, soon. Thanks. But, uhh, can you stay for a minute? Can we… talk?”
“Now? Yeah, sure, of course.”
He shut the door and leaned against it—in, but exit-aware.
“So… How’re you holding up?"
“Fine. Not great. I don’t know. Can we not talk about that, sir?”
“No, sure. So, what else?”
“Uh, I feel like I need to say something about… what happened.”
“What happened when?”
“You know when, sir. I just—I wanted to say, I’m sorry for interrupting.”
“Ah. Your… visit. No, hey, thanks for stopping by?”
He smiled at her, wryly—the asteroid was approaching, he could see that, but he was still trying to hold it up, to not risk taking advantage of her messed up emotions, to find a better moment to let the world go boom.
“Oh god, I’m so embarrassed—did she, I mean, I hope she understood—I don’t know what came over me.”
“You don’t? Yeah, she understood, pretty well actually. We broke up.”
“Because of me? Because of what I did? Oh no, that’s awful! I’m so sorry, sir!”
“Don’t be.”
“I really don’t know what to say. I made such an idiot of myself. This is all just… God, I’m so sorry.”
“Ohh, Carter. I said, don’t be.” He knew it wasn’t enough—she wasn’t hearing the hint, and she looked so tired, and she was sad and hurt and ashamed for no reason, and just, the hell with it, screw timing. He had the right to try to make this better, at least some of this, if he could, didn’t he? So OK—godspeed, O’Neill, and now for god’s sake just don’t make it worse.
“Listen, I wasn’t gonna say this now, with all that’s going on, but I should probly tell you, I’m thinking… I’m gonna retire. What do you think?”
“What? Why? Right now? In the middle of all this? You can’t! I mean I, we need you, the SGC, the planet needs you—you can’t just leave.”
“Well, I wasn’t planning to leave… everything. I was thinking, maybe—there’s this room where I put some things one time, and it’s gotten pretty full, and I was thinking, maybe, it’s about time to, I don’t know, take a look in there and see if there’s anything gonna explode, or whatever. Address the threat. With proper caution. You know?”
“Are you saying… what are you saying, sir?”
“You know I think I’d prefer Jack, not sir, for the purposes of this conversation?”
“Oh! Uh, then, what are you saying, Jack?”
Hearing her say his name out loud was a rush—but the wariness she said it with, he liked that less. He could still be wrong, this could still be one huge mistake—and he felt a whole lot less cocky than he was about to show. Impact in three… two…
“Well I’m glad you asked. I’m saying, Sam, and I know this is really crappy timing and I know I should have said it a long time ago, but I’m saying that if it’s OK with you, I don’t want you marrying Pete. In fact, I don’t want you marrying anybody that’s not me. I mean, you don’t have to marry me either, unless you want to some day, which would be nice, but first, I want to do a lot of other things with you and I don’t want to wait any more to start. Tell me if I’m wrong, but I got the impression that’s what you want, too.
And if I’m wrong that’s on me and I’m sorry and I won’t say it again, but I guess I’m really saying, I love you, Samantha Carter—you already know that. You’re the most important thing in the galaxy to me. In the universe. I’m saying, the goddamn world owes us something and I want it now, while my knees still kinda work. So I’m gonna retire, and then I’m gonna ask you to be with me. That’s what I’m saying. Huh. Been trying not to say that for a lot of years—feels good to stop trying. So… What do you say?”
Boom. For a second she stood, as still as he’d been at his house the moment he saw himself reflected in her eyes. Shell-shocked, hardly aware she hadn’t spoken. She shook herself.
“I say… wow.”
“Good wow? Bad wow? Go jump in a wormhole Jack wow? I’m running out of wows here Carter, put me out of my misery, huh?”
“Just, wow, wow. A lot to take in wow. I think, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you can’t do that—I can’t let you do that. It’s too much. You love this job. You’re needed here. It’s not right. You’d never ask me to do this—I can’t ask you to do it either.”
She was moving towards him, though—so close he could touch her, if he wanted to, and he wanted to, but he didn’t—not yet.
“Yeah, you didn’t ask me to. Look, I’ll back off if—if I was wrong, and you want—something else. But the retirement thing, that’s done. I fudged that a little bit just now. I already sent the letter. Hey, it’s right, it’s what I want—I’m doing it whatever you say. You’re not making me choose—I already chose. Call it a leap of faith, but either way, it’s time to change. Things don’t stay the same forever, whatever you do. They can always get much much worse. I’m getting sidetracked. So, you know, aside from those details, is it—is it just the job, or is it—something else? I’m asking you, Sam, what do you want to do about us?”
And now she was smiling broadly, keeping him waiting on purpose, and he knew it. And he’d wait as long as it took, if she’d just keep smiling like that—he’d wait forever.
“Us, wow. I think—wait, did you just propose to me?”
“What? No—did I? I guess I kinda did. I guess I kinda meant it, too. Overshot the target just a little bit, maybe. I can get down on one knee if you want, but, you know, bad knees—you might have to help me back up, and that is not the look I’m going for here. Did you say yes? Too soon?”
“I didn’t. But, I do. I mean yes, of course yes. Yes to all of it. I, wow. I love you, Jack, god I love you.”
And he reached out for her and he had her in his arms at last, and he knew he’d know how to keep her there, always. And the goddamn world was still turning but just for this moment there was nothing and nobody else but the two of them in it, two punch-drunk idiots in love, and she giggled—no other word for it—and she said,
“You know before I can really accept, though, I think you need to tell me some more about… the other things.”
“Mmm, yeah, I do, do I? What things are those?”
“If I remember correctly, you said you wanted to do a lot of… other things with me, first? What’d you have in mind?”
“Oh yeah, I did say that, didn’t I. Let me think now, what could I have had in mind. Uhh, I was thinking—fishing?”