Title: We Were Rolling
Author: MissAnnThropic
Summary: Life in perpetual motion. They roll.
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Stargate but my rabid fan behavior. Alas.
His hands are on me. He's everywhere in and around me. He's all I know, all I find, and I'm happily lost in only him. He touches, his fingers dance, his lips flutter on my neck. He holds me and I move. He moves and I gasp. His lips part, first a sigh then a smile. I'm done in. He smiles. He smiles.
I giggle, and he chastises me, grinning the entire time, and I pull him closer to me. He's never close enough; you can't slide a note card between us. I laugh because I can, because he's here to hear. He laughs against my hair and I'm helpless and glad for it. I hold him tightly, to never let go.
He gathers me in his arms as we tangle in the sheets. And we're rolling.
Shouting fills my ears. Orders and cries of pain stitch together in the air and I click off. I'm in automatic, I'm not thinking.
And then he's at my side and I'm thinking all too much. I feel him press against my side, hear him yelling an order in my ear. I sense him and I freeze a moment in panic as it hits me that he's not invincible, that he can get hurt. He could die. If he gets hit with weapon's fire he could get torn apart. He can die. He can die.
He grabs my arm when I hesitate, it could only have been three seconds, and he shakes me. My name. He's saying my name, part desperate, part anger from that desperation.
I try to move, I try to obey, but I realize he's scared, too. I look at him and he's a tool. He's made himself only a means to protect his people, to protect me, and I can't stand it.
I belong at his side.
He drags me from the front lines, toward the gate, furious because he's absolutely terrified.
I pull to a stop because I am, too, damnit... I'm scared stiff he could die here and I won't go. I won't go. I won't go.
His grip on me tightens. He bruises me. He yells at me, enough to drown out the battle raging, and I look at him. He can't make me leave, he can't tell me not to care, and he knows it. He hates me and loves me with equal force because he knows it.
He's staring at me; I stare at him. We're taking two seconds we don't have to stare.
And then the world is fire. Heat searing, ears deafened, our bodies vulnerable. Debris so close, somewhere dangerously near, is flying, blown apart.
He lunges forward, toward me. His arms fold around me, he throws me to the ground beneath him. I smell burned flesh, I see his eyes widen and he's only half with me, only a fraction spared from only pain.
His arms cling this time, tighter, the grass beneath me crackles from the dry heat. He won't let go, he won't get off, and we're rolling.
I stare ahead, at full attention. I won't show a thing, I won't reveal, I won't give away. I won't give away him, I'm too good at this. Daniel, standing at my side, glances in my direction. I didn't slip, but he knows. Daniel won't say anything. The truth's still safe, because I won't give it away.
A breeze flutters strands of my hair. The grass beneath me folds in water-fed suppleness. I don't move a muscle. I'm a rock. I have to be. No one will take this from me.
I know people are speaking, words fill the air. I stare straight ahead. I won't slip. I won't.
Hammond's suddenly standing in front of me and I am taken by surprise. He doesn't look offended. He looks gentle, huggable, and he places a folded flag in my hands.
He's given it to me. I didn't slip, but Hammond knows. He won't call me on it, either. Not today, not any day after this. I bring the flag to my chest and lift my chin. I won't break. I won't. I won't.
People start to shift, they melt away and disappear and I'm alone. I don't look but I know Daniel's not far. He waits to care for me, to take me... somewhere. I don't know where he expects me to go, but I'll go anyway. He trusted Daniel to watch over me, and so I do, too.
Dark oak, smooth and reflecting the mid-morning sun, reflecting the sky. So naked and bare without its American flag for a blanket.
I won't break. He expected more from me. I can remember, though, those memories are all mine. I'll remember. He touched me, he smiled for me, he held me to him.
And we were rolling.
END
A/N: I am only a servant to the Muse, don't forsake me. Seriously, I don't know why the all-powerful Muse decrees in so many of my stories that Jack must die. I wish he didn't. I love Jack. Honestly. I have little say, however, and the story is what it demands itself to be. I feel the same way you all do, trust me. Just be grateful you guys aren't the ones with this kind of morbid dren festering in your brains!