Title: The Talk
Author: MajelB
Email: majelitab@lycos.com
Status: Complete
Pairing: Sam/Janet, est. relationship
Category: drama
Spoilers: Divide and Conquer
Season: four
Rating: PG
Date: October 17, 2002
Summary: Two pages, three people, and the fallout of Jack's forced confession.
Warnings: No, not really. No foul language, for a change, no violence… just three emotional people in a bar.
Author's Notes: Finally… an assignment for my creative writing class that I could actually *use*. <g> Please forgive me if this little scene steps on anyone's toes, but for Sam and Janet's sake, it just had to happen.
The
Talk
The
silver-haired man sat hunched at the bar, throwing glances in the direction of
the double doors at the entrance between swigs of his Sam Adams. It was as the
result of one of those glances, that he saw the tall blonde and shorter brunette
step into the room. He saw them both look in his direction. The blonde locked
eyes with him before turning, following the brunette to an open booth.
The
man lifted his glass and sighed. He held it at its base, in the palm of his
hand, and examined it. Examined the honey-colored liquid inside it, the layer of
froth floating at the top, watched the tiny bubbles float up from the bottom. He
took the glass into his other hand, then looked again at the blonde and
brunette. They were sitting on the same side of the table. He downed the rest of
his beer in two gulps. He set the glass down on the bar and slid off his stool.
He lifted his chin and walked toward the two women in the booth. He sat down on
the unoccupied seat.
"So
it's true. You two..." he said quietly. He had a nickel in his right hand
and his fingers toyed with it while his eyes traced the grains in the surface of
the wooden table.
"Yes,
Sir," the blonde replied, just as quietly. She watched the top of his head.
Her fingers danced with the brunette's. "I wouldn't lie about something
like this, you know."
He
raised his head. "No. I don't suppose you would."
"For
what it's worth… I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen."
"You
couldn't have known, Carter. I didn't even know until it was… well, until you
told me, actually." He smiled weakly in her direction and she lowered her
eyes. Her fingers tightened around the brunette's hand.
"No,
I guess not."
"So…
uh… how long? If, you know, you don't mind my asking."
"Nine
months," replied the brunette, firmly. The man's eyes darted to hers.
"Nine
months," he stated.
"Yeah,"
said the brunette. She looked at the blonde with a small smile. The blonde
looked only at the surface of the table.
"Well,"
he breathed and began playing with his nickel again. A hand reached across the
table and laid itself over his, stilling his fingers. He didn't lift his head.
"Colonel.
Jack. Please look at me," said the blonde.
He
didn't lift his head.
"Jack,
please. Please tell me that everything's going to be okay. That I… that I
didn't just ruin everything. Please look at me. Please, I'm so sorry. Please
don't be disgusted with me. Please don't hate me, don't tell me I threw our
friendship away."
He
lifted his head. The blonde's eyes were screwed shut and brimming with tears.
One broke loose and trailed down her cheek. He closed his own eyes and scrubbed
his hands over his face. The brunette was looking at the three hands clasped in
her lap.
"I
meant what I said, Carter. And I still mean it," he said after a moment's
pause. The blonde opened her eyes and inhaled sharply. "And besides…
there's more than one way to... care about someone," he concluded.
"We're family."
The
blonde sniffed and wiped her reddened nose with her finger. She choked out a
tearful laugh. He smiled at her then shifted his gaze.
"You
too, Doc. You take good care of her, ya' hear?" the man said, a serious
tone touching his voice.
The
brunette looked at him, then to the blonde, who squeezed her hand. The brunette
smiled.
"Yes,
Sir."
The
man nodded and laid both hands on the table, pushing himself up and out of the
booth. He straightened as he stood, lifting his chin and nodded again when the
blonde mouthed the words ‘thank you.’ He walked past the bar and set a few
wrinkled bills next to his discarded glass on the way to the door.
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