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am reminded.
Hey, nos', remember that thing you were poking me to write last night? Well, one of them...
Not all that great for Sam/Jack shippers... S8, bla,blah.
It's three months into this new relationship with Jack O'Neill that she finally (accidentally) corners him for the Talk. It's not that she wants The Talk, but it would be nice to hear him say something. Although she's not sure she wants it confirmed that he's only using her for the sex.
But having something is better than supposition.
"Jack." She got used to saying that a lot quicker than she'd thought she would. He still calls her by her surname, though.
"Carter."
He doesn't look worried yet. "Look, I... I want to know, Jack. I can't..." She squares her shoulders. "I need to know how you feel about me. I mean... I... I think I love you."
A shift. Now he looks uncomfortable. "Well, uh... yeah."
"That's not an answer." Dread slides into her gut.
"I don't..."
He's not meeting her eyes, too absorbed in whatever is on his desk (this is why she chose work. It hurts so much less). "You, uh. So. You're just using me. There's nothing... there."
"No."
For a moment, she can't figure out what to say, and when she does, it's a calm, "Then I guess this is it. It was... nice while it lasted."
"Yeah. Nice."
She makes it out of his office, before it begins to hurt. He hasn't dismissed her, but she doesn't think it matters. There's some part of her that wants to cry, some part that wants to rage. And a large part that wants to demand why it took her so long to decide to press.
Three months. And he only wanted her for the sex.
Carter's don't cry, and so she doesn't as she goes back to work. She buries everything in her lab.
Maybe later, she'll get drunk.
Later, when she has no one to go home to.
Which, maybe, won't be all that bad.
-f-
Not all that great for Sam/Jack shippers... S8, bla,blah.
It's three months into this new relationship with Jack O'Neill that she finally (accidentally) corners him for the Talk. It's not that she wants The Talk, but it would be nice to hear him say something. Although she's not sure she wants it confirmed that he's only using her for the sex.
But having something is better than supposition.
"Jack." She got used to saying that a lot quicker than she'd thought she would. He still calls her by her surname, though.
"Carter."
He doesn't look worried yet. "Look, I... I want to know, Jack. I can't..." She squares her shoulders. "I need to know how you feel about me. I mean... I... I think I love you."
A shift. Now he looks uncomfortable. "Well, uh... yeah."
"That's not an answer." Dread slides into her gut.
"I don't..."
He's not meeting her eyes, too absorbed in whatever is on his desk (this is why she chose work. It hurts so much less). "You, uh. So. You're just using me. There's nothing... there."
"No."
For a moment, she can't figure out what to say, and when she does, it's a calm, "Then I guess this is it. It was... nice while it lasted."
"Yeah. Nice."
She makes it out of his office, before it begins to hurt. He hasn't dismissed her, but she doesn't think it matters. There's some part of her that wants to cry, some part that wants to rage. And a large part that wants to demand why it took her so long to decide to press.
Three months. And he only wanted her for the sex.
Carter's don't cry, and so she doesn't as she goes back to work. She buries everything in her lab.
Maybe later, she'll get drunk.
Later, when she has no one to go home to.
Which, maybe, won't be all that bad.
-f-
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*sniffles*
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