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Glimmer
A glimmer is a faint, unsteady light. Sam sighed. Yep. That was a glimmer alright. And here she sat on a sandy beach on P3X something, arms around her drawn-up legs, chin propped on her knees, looking across a dark ocean made even darker by a cloud covered sky. There was a sliver of a moon showing behind dark clouds, but not enough to light the ocean below or the beach. Or the trees.
She and the Colonel had been stuck on this otherwise idyllic beach for ten days. Ten. Long. Days. They had worked together to build a shelter of sorts just large enough for two to sleep in, but not stand, using rocks they’d found scattered about half a click away and pulled near the tree line with a travois they’d made from fallen limbs. They made the roof from a poncho held in place by stones and covered their poncho roof with fallen tree limbs kept in place by another layer of rocks. The sound of a waterfall had led them to fresh water pure enough to drink. They were rationing the MRE’s from their packs, but Jack had proven to be a better fisherman with his hands and a makeshift spear than he’d apppatently ever been with a rod on his dock in Minnesota.
“I catch’em, you clean ‘em” he told her after the second day. “I think there’s a couple of flat rocks we can use to cook them.”
The fish had been abundant, small but tasty, flakey even. There was also some kind of crustacean resembling crab. With their MRE’s, fresh fish and almost-crab, wild vegetables, unlimited fresh water, firewood, and cover, they’d be able to stay where they were long enough to give Siler time to fix whatever was going on with the Stargate and get them home.
Sam wasn’t sure rescue was going to be soon enough. Having the necessities of life at hand meant lots of time to think.
And look. Way too much looking. And watching. Waking up the last two mornings draped across her CO’s chest was definitely not helping. She’d scrambled out of the little hut as quickly as she could, trying not to wake him up as she scooted through the opening. At least she thought he was asleep. His breathing was steady and he hadn’t moved. Had he?
She dropped one hand to the sand, drawing her finger through the fine grains to form letters. There it was. The heart of her problem. Literally. SC +JO encircled by a heart. She groaned and rubbed it out with the side of her hand.
She lifted her head just as the moon broke through the cloud cover. It only took her a moment to see where the Colonel was indulging in a swim for nothing more than pleasure. She could still hear his voice saying, “Carter, being stuck is no reason not to have fun.” And her own reply, “Not doing anything constructive is not fun, sir.”
Sitting on a beach watching your almost naked CO swimming in the moonlight qualified as something other than fun. But there he was, moonlight reflecting off the silver in his hair and delineating the muscles in his upper arms and shoulders as he swam. As she watched. And pretended not to look.
He swam toward where she sat, rising in a burst of spray to stand waist-deep water, shaking his head, and sending water flying before rubbing his hands over his face, slicking his silvered hair away from his face. As he moved out of the water toward the shore, the moonlight caressed the planes of his body, and she imagined her fingers touching him, following the streaming water down his chest, running her fingers through his chest hair, dancing across his abs, through the hair narrowing past his navel only to be caught in the waistband of the boxer shorts which clung to every part they were supposed to cover. Her fingers twitched as she imagined holding him in her hand.
“Carter, come on. The water is perfect.” He held his hand out as he came up to her, apparently oblivious to how she had just mentally felt him up.
“Not too cold, sir?” Obviously not, judging by appearances. She forced her eyes from his wet boxer shorts to his face.
“Nope.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, catching her shoulders as she tripped against him, her hands flattening on his chest for support.
She could feel his coarse chest hair beneath her fingers. She bit her lip to stifle the groan before it escaped. “Sorry, sir,” she said. But she wasn’t sorry at all. She ducked her head and didn’t see him lift a brow as her disobedient fingers strayed across his pecs, grazing a nipple when she stepped away. Nor did she see the other brow lift to meet it as she caught sight of his length and sucked in air.
“Carter,” he said, his voice low, his breath moving the hair on top of her head, his hands lingering on her shoulders. He tipped her face up to his with one long finger, as the other pushed a curl behind her ear. “Do you want to swim with me?”
“Sir…” please, swim, touch, make lo…
He must have heard something in her voice. “C’mere.” His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to knee. She buried her face in his chest, her arms going under his arms, her hands splaying on his back. She resisted the urge to flick her tongue and taste his skin.
“I know the word “vacation” is not part of your vocabulary, but Siler will have the Gate up and running soon. What kind of CO would I be if I didn’t insist my team take advantage of this tropical paradise.” He leaned away from her, rubbing her shoulders. “It’s just a swim, Sam. That’s all.” But she her heart added an unspoken “for now” at the end.
She stepped back. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts of chest hair and boxers, and more than a few dreams, she looked out across the water. “A swim would be nice, sir.”
He clapped his hands together. “Excellent!” His voice floated behind him as he ran toward the water “Last one in is a rotten egg!”
As she pulled off her BDU’s to her underwear, she thought about what she’d felt as he held her –the feel of his skin, the strength of his arms, the way he had turned his face into her neck, the feel of his lips just there against her neck, the shape she tried to convince herself she couldn’t feel pressed against her. She hoped Siler got the Gate working soon.
As she ran toward the water she remembered that glimmer also meant a little bit of hope.