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Next to her, the colonel rolled onto his stomach so he could see her face. His cheeks were slightly sunburned and his hair, now freed from his cap, was sticking up in impossible directions. She fought every urge to reach out and run her fingers through it. “It’s not bad,” he said, pulling up a long blade of grass to play with.
“It’s perfect.”
“The view’s good.” He squinted up at the horizon where three white-peaked mountains rose over the treeline. Like a royal family lording over their empire.
Sam let her head fall to the side, the bill of her hat guarding her eyes. He was staring down at his hands now as they twisted and pulled apart blade after blade of grass. “I bet the lake as fish.” She bit her lip and waited for his response.
Slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Sam pressed her teeth deeper into her lip to keep her own grin hidden. “You think?” he asked, his voice sounding pleased.
“We could find out.”
[read more]He lifted his gaze to the water lapping gently against the rocky shore just a few yards from where they lay. “I guess we have time, no?” That sounded downright hopeful.
“Sure, sir. Until Daniel and Teal’c, get back we’re pretty much stuck here.”
He snorted. “True. And catching some fish would actually be productive. Dinner and all.”
“Exactly, sir.” She watched his expression change again, this time to something akin to anticipation. “So?”
He looked up at her. She loved when he smiled like that—the way the corners of his eyes crinkled and how he quirked just one half of his mouth. There were so many better things she could think to do with him than fish. None of those would stand up to regulations, though. She realized a moment too late that she was still staring at him. Probably with her jaw all slack. She wouldn’t be surprised if there was drool. She fought the urge to wipe at her mouth then noticed the colonel’s eyes had gone black.
He slowly licked his lips, his hands actually stilling in the grass. And they stared. Sam was sure the distance between them was evaporating along with the morning dew. He was definitely getting closer. And his hand moved. Just a bit so that it almost touched hers. Oh god, she thought. Her eyes darted down to his lips of their own accord as her brain blared warning bells that were ignored by her body.
Just when she thought they couldn’t stay apart a second longer, a sudden blast of cool mountain air descended into the valley, tossing Sam’s hat from her head. Her hair whipped around her face for a second until she felt the colonel’s fingers pull it back behind her ear. She gave him a sheepish grin. That lopsided smile again—it was going to be the death of her career, she was sure of it.
“Fishing,” he mumbled, his voice a little raspy.
“Right,” Sam answered, slightly less rough, “fishing. Fishing is good.”
fanfic50 and started editing it in June 2018. Not sure why I never got around to finishing the edit or posting it.
Canon-divergent with the Ark never coming down, leaving the 100 on their own through the winter. Bellamy is on a mission, and Clarke isn’t totally sure she can trust his motives. But she knows she can trust him with her life so that has to be enough. At least, that’s what her heart is telling her.
3,834 words | [PG-13]
Clarke digs her fingers through the newly upturned earth, picking out rocks and other debris. They have onions and potatoes to plant. Across from her, Finn smiles, but then his expression darkens as a shadow passes over her.
“Hey,” Bellamy says, “I need your help with something.”
“Help with what?” she asks without so much as a glance at him.
“I found what looks like a cache of medical supplies. But I’m not sure if any of it is worth bringing back.”
That gets her attention. She cocks her head, the sun behind him, blinding her. “The stuff would be well over a hundred years old.”
He shrugs. “It was sealed up pretty tight.”
Clarke pushes a strand of hair off of her face. If the cache was sealed like the Art Supply bunker, the stuff inside could still be good. And even if the meds have gone bad, there might be other salvageable items or equipment. The hair falls back into her face, and she tries to blow it away. Unsuccessfully.
“How far away is it?”
“It’s a bit of a walk. We probably won’t get back until after dark.”
She stands up, wiping her hands on her dirty pants. “You think it’s worth it?”
He nods. “We barely made it through winter. We need all the help we can get.”
Of course, he’s right. It’s pretty much what they argued about all day yesterday—she wanted more help with planting; he wanted more help securing the fence. “Okay,” she says, wiping the strand of hair away again. “I’ll grab my bag.”
She’s filling bottles of water when Finn finds her a moment later. “You can’t seriously be going with him?”
“Why not?”
“Because yesterday he was talking about burying you with the potatoes.”
[read more]Clarke snorts. “He was just being Bellamy. He’s not taking me out to the woods to kill me.”
“You have no idea what he’s capable of.”
Are they really having this conversation again? She stuffs the bottles into her bag, counting to ten to regain her composure. “He’s kept us alive all winter. I trust him.”
Finn looks shocked. “Him? Bellamy? You trust him.”
“He’s not going to do anything. We’ll find this cache, I’ll check it out, and we’ll come back. Life will go on.”
“Then let me come with. I can keep an eye on him. And you won’t have to deal with his bullshit alone all day.”
“You ready, princess?” Bellamy calls from the gate as he adjusts the strap of his rifle over his shoulder.
Finn gives her a look that says, “See what I mean?”
“It’ll be fine, Finn. I can handle Bellamy.” Clarke stares at him until he gets the picture and leaves. She sighs.
“Ready?” Bellamy asks when she joins him at the gate.
She glances over her shoulder at Finn standing stiffly next to the dropship. “Ready.”
He doesn’t say anything else as they set off. In fact, he doesn’t say anything for a good half hour as they work their way east through the woods, avoiding their own traps. The sun doesn’t penetrate as far under the trees and the breeze cools the sweat on her back, making her shiver.
“How far away is this cache?” she asks, pulling a bottle of water from her bag.
“Getting tired already?”
“No.” She takes a sip and hands him the bottle.
“Then what are you worrying about.” Bellamy walks away with a smirk.
Sometimes she can’t stand him—he’s just as annoying and arrogant as when they landed. Hurrying to catch up, her foot slips, but Bellamy catches her easily.
“You okay?” he asks. She looks down at his hand still wrapped around hers, and he quickly drops it like she burned him. It’s hard to rectify the apparent disgust with the look of concern in his eyes.
It’s pointless to try and figure him out—she learned that a long time ago. “I’m fine,” she says, wiping her sweaty hands on her pants and ignoring the tingle his touch always causes. Sometimes she hates him for the way her body reacts. The way his stupid grin makes her heart trip. Or the way the butterflies flutter whenever he calls her “princess” in that amused tone.
“Come on,” he says softly, “We still have a ways to go.”
Overhead, birds call out the beginning of spring. Squirrels dash from tree to tree, collecting their stores from winter. One scurries right in front of her. Clarke stumbles to a stop and watches it shoot up the tree next to her where it sits on a branch chattering angrily at her. Clarke starts to laugh, but then her eyes drift down the trunk to a symbol carved in the bark. A chill runs down her back.
Bellamy notices her and stops. “You coming?”
She looks from the tree to him then hurries to catch up. “We’re close to Tondc,” she whispers.
He swallows. “I know. It’ll be fine. Just keep your eyes open.”
Her eyes do open, bugging out at his nonchalance. “The grounders will kill us if they see us.”
“We’re not going to get close enough to Tondc for them to notice.”
Clarke is suddenly on high alert. Every snap of a branch or crunch of leaves makes her heart race.
Bellamy squeezes her shoulder. “Clarke, relax. I’ve hunted here dozens of times. We’re safe.”
She gives him a bewildered look. He laughs then pushes the stray strand of hair behind her ear, making her tremble. “Do you trust me?”
“What?” She blinks at him, confused by the change of subject.
He licks his lips as he pulls his hand away from her face. “Do you trust me?”
She frowns. After everything they’ve been through—even as annoying as he is—she knows in her heart that he’d never let anything happen to her. Not on purpose. She nods, locking eyes. “I do trust you.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Okay. Then let's go.” He walks backward a few steps, taunting her. When she rolls her eyes and follows, he turns around with a chuckle.
She thinks about throwing a handful of mud at his head but decides it’s a little immature. Sure enough, the veer away from the grounder village a few minutes later, heading south along the dry riverbed. Bellamy seems to be in better spirits. In fact, he seems downright giddy. Which just raises Clarke’s suspicions. He’s up to something. She knows he’s not taking her out here to kill her, but she’s starting to doubt his story about the medicine.
“How much farther?” She stops to take another drink.
He slows then comes back. “Not that much. Maybe twenty minutes.”
She narrows her eyes, trying to decide what his angle is. “Did you see what kind of medicine there is? Names on bottles or anything?”
“I told you it was sealed up tight.”
“Then how do you know there’s medicine in there.”
He cocks his head. She arches an eyebrow and waits to see what answer he pulls out of his ass. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly like dealing with her takes all of his patience. “Probably something to do with the giant red cross on the side of the container.” He swipes the bottle and drinks nearly half of it before handing it back. “Any more questions, princess?”
She rolls her eyes. “Are you ever going to stop calling me that?”
“No.”
God, he’s so irritating. She mumbles a few choice curse words under her breath that would make her dad cringe.
Bellamy leans over. “What was that, princess? I didn’t catch it all. Something about performing certain acts on myself.”
She shoves him. “Shut up.”
He smiles back at her. There’s a twinkle in his eyes that ignites little fires in her stomach. When he looks at her like that, it makes it hard to breathe. She quickly turns away so he won’t see her blush.
It’s actually more like thirty minutes before he points to her right. “This way. Almost there.”
She’s pretty sure she isn’t imagining the excitement in his voice.
He stops at a wall covered in moss and vines, a stupid grin on his face.
“Bellamy-”
Then he pulls back the vines, and she realizes it’s not a wall. A set of steps descends into darkness. The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. He pulls a flashlight and battery-powered lantern from one of his bags. He hands her the flashlight and skips down the stairs, stopping halfway to look up at her. He raises his hand. “Come on, Clarke. You said you trusted me.”
His face is shadowed, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice that kills her. She takes his hand, and he helps her maneuver over the crumbling stairs. The lantern illuminates a ten-foot circle around them. Clarke sweeps the flashlight over the large room. Bellamy doesn’t let go of her hand as he winds through centuries-old debris. They come to a rusted metal turnstile. Bellamy easily hops over it then helps her across. More stairs lead them into what she realizes is a subway tunnel.
“This way.” His voice echoes against the concrete walls.
They inch along a ledge above the tracks that are covered in filthy water. Clarke tries not to think about what might be in the water. Or what is making the squeaking she hears. The farther in they go, the more nervous she gets. She shines her light on the arched ceiling far above them. The Cracks criss-cross the concrete, vegetation growing through some, others dripping water into the flowing stream below.
“Bellamy, I don’t know about this.”
He holds up the light so she can see his face. He looks completely calm which helps her relax some. “It’s not that far, I swear.”
He starts to walk again, but she doesn’t move, causing him to stop. This isn’t right. Why would they store a cache of anything in the subway? She sighs and drops his hand. “There’s no medicine is there?”
It’s a long time before he answers. “No.”
Her heart races—the darkness closing in on her. “Then why are we here?”
He licks his lips. “I want to show you something.”
“In the subway?”
“Yeah.”
She tilts her head, trying to see his face through the shadows. “Then why the whole story about the cache?”
He lowers the light, blocking her view of him. “I didn’t know how else to get you to come.”
He sounds so small. She’s not used to thinking of him as anything but completely in control of everything. It’s a little unsettling to see him so unsure. She takes a deep breath and points the flashlight at his chest so she can see him without blinding him. “You could have just asked.”
He stares at her for a long time. “After yesterday, I didn’t think you’d come.” He looks away, biting his lip.
Clarke lets out a breath. “We had a fight. We fight all of the time. It’s kind of what our entire friendship is built on.”
His head snaps back around. “We’re friends?” he asks, still with that small voice.
How could he not know that? “Of course we’re friends.”
He watches her for a moment. She wonders what he’s thinking. Then he turns and disappears into the darkness. Clarke glances around, heart pounding.
“Coming, princess?”
She hurries after him. Up ahead the darkness falls away some. Bellamy ducks under some tree roots growing out of the wall. Clarke does the same then stops with a gasp. They’re in another station. But this one is completely different. Every inch of it is covered in graffiti. But not the occasional anti-government slogans she’s seen tagged on various surfaces. This is completely different. She finally moves into the space. The floor has some kind of three-dimensional art drawn so it looks like a waterfall is pouring into a tropical lake. It’s actually kind of disorienting. The background extends partway up the wall behind it, but then someone else painted over it with an elaborate fantasy-scape. A few feet away is a swirling curling lettering that spells out LIVE LAUGH and the L of another word. But it’s also been covered up with a giant broken heart drawn anatomically correct. The entire room is covered in overlapping designs that must have been painted over years. Decades. Maybe the entire century.
Bellamy is sitting on the steps in front of a collapsed wall that must block the way to the surface. Even the rubble is painted. His smile reaches from ear to ear and lights up his eyes. “You like it?”
Clarke spins, trying to take it all in. “It’s amazing. How did you even find it?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he hops up and hands her the lantern. “I saved the best for last.” He nearly stops her heart as he starts scaling the debris up to the ceiling that’s at least twenty feet above them. She can’t see him anymore—he’s lost in the shadows. Then suddenly the entire space is flooded with sunlight. Clarke throws up her hand to block the light. Bellamy jumps down and comes up behind her. His hands on her shoulders send shivers over her entire body. Either he doesn’t notice or ignores it. He turns her towards the tunnel. The wall across from them is also painted in a mix of designs. She’s amazed at the talent.
Bellamy leans close, his breath warm against her ear. “Look up.”
She tries to ignore the tingling down her neck as she looks up. Her breath catches. The entire ceiling of the tunnel is covered. But not in the tagging or random art of the walls. No, it’s covered in a giant copy of Vincent Van Gogh’s Starry Night. It’s breathtaking. Water drips onto her shirt. She blinks and realizes it’s tears. Bellamy steps away from her, practically bouncing.
“I knew you’d like it.”
“I don’t even know what to say. This is-” She can’t stop staring. The attention to detail is inspiring. “God.”
“There’s one more thing,” he says, pulling her attention away from the ceiling. He beckons her toward him.
She goes without hesitation now, trusting him completely. He steps over to where an old tarp is hanging haphazardly from some rubble. He grabs the end and yanks it down, exposing a section of wall free of paint.
“What-”
“I thought you could add your own mark to this world. Don’t worry, I didn’t destroy any of the artwork. The tiles had already fallen when I got here.” He pulls something out from behind some scrap metal. “You’ll need this.” He holds out a box, opening it. Inside are jars filled with colors. “I got the charcoal and pencils from the Art Supply Store, but the paints took some time to figure out. The red was easy from the berries. The green and yellow took a little longer. Then I just started playing around with all of the plants and rocks I could find for the other colors.”
She can hardly tear her eyes from the jars. There are paintbrushes, too—all different sizes. Some look hand made. She picks one up, running her fingers over the soft bristles.
“Boar hair,” he says.
The whole box blurs as the tears escape. “You did this for me?”
He swallows hard. “I know you like to draw.”
She finally looks up at him. “This must have taken forever. How long have you known about this place?”
He gives her a crooked smile. “A few weeks. I found it while hunting.”
She bites down on her lower lip to keep it from quivering. She has to wipe vigorously at the tears before her cheeks dry. “I don’t know what to say, Bellamy.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
He puts the paints down then takes her shoulders, turning her towards the wall. “You don’t have to say anything.”
She stares at the blank wall for a long time. She can hear Bellamy on the other side of the station, rummaging in the junk. She has no idea how long she just stands there. She’s terrified she won’t think of anything to paint. She’s not even sure she remembers how. She looks around at all of the other art—people leaving their mark as Bellamy put it. All different styles and subjects. Her eyes drift back to the Starry Sky—it’s always been one of her favorite paintings. When she looks back at the wall she instantly knows what she wants to paint. She picks up the charcoal and starts sketching.
She draws and paints until the sun sets. Bellamy brings over the lantern and stands behind her. “What is it?”
She brushes flakes of dried paint from a grouping of trees. “It’s the story of us. Of the one hundred since we landed. Or it will be when I’m done.” She points to a boxy shape at the top.
“The dropship,” he says before she can.
She nods. “This is the river and the tree where we found Jasper. Here’s the garden already growing.” She reaches out and touches the yellow in the center. “The fire in camp.”
“This is me,” he says softly, pointing at a face taking shape over the dropship. There are other faces, but his is the most complete. She’s not sure why. No, that’s a lie. She knows exactly why.
Bellamy swallows slowly. “It’s beautiful.”
She’s suddenly aware of how close he’s standing—of the heat building. She kneels down to collect the paints and wash the brushes in the water he collected from a crack in the wall. “It’s nothing,” she mumbles. “Not compared to-” She nods at the ceiling.
He’s watching her when she stands. He doesn’t move or say anything for a long time. She resists the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. Or run. Then his hand moves slowly to her face. He brushes that same strand of hair behind her ear and runs his finger over her cheek, rubbing away what must be paint. Clarke can’t breathe. She can’t move. Can’t think. He steps closer. And closer.
“I’m glad you like it, Clarke,” he whispers. The way her name rumbles in his chest sends a tingle coursing through her body. When his other hand reaches up to cup her cheek she realizes he’s trembling almost as much as she is. He leans his head forward but hesitates. She can feel his breath against her lips. Her whole body vibrates with anticipation, but he doesn’t move. She suddenly gets it—he’s waiting for her to close the distance. He’s scared.
Well, Clarke is terrified, but she moves anyway. It only takes a fraction of an inch before their lips brush against each other. His are cracked but soft. He tilts his head slightly, his thumbs rubbing across her cheeks. Her heart might beat right out of her chest, and her entire body is on fire. Just when she thinks she can’t take another second of his touch, he pulls back. Only an inch and leans his forehead against hers.
“Clarke-” His voice is rough and catches in his throat.
She’s done talking. She slides her fingers into his hair and pulls him down. This kiss is firmer, the tentativeness of the first gone. Bellamy’s arms wrap around her body as he presses her closer. Then one hand slides up her spine to cup the back of her head as he deepens the kiss.
She gets lost in the kiss—it’s like none that she’s had before. It’s like the sun shining on her for the first time, filling parts of her she didn’t know were in the shadows. She’s lost all concept of time. There’s only her and him and their lips. Bellamy finally pulls away, panting. His hand slips from her hair, trailing down her cheek. His thumb runs across her swollen lips. “God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”
When she forces her eyes open, his pupils are completely shot and his hair is sticking up at odd angles. She bites down on her lip, trying to keep from smiling because this is supposed to be some kind of serious moment, but he looks so damn adorable. He cocks his head, his expression faltering. She runs her fingers through his hair, straightening it about as much as you can. She looks back at him, his face blurring as the tears fill her eyes again. The intensity of his stare threatens to burn a hole through her. To turn her to ash. Melt her into a puddle.
He’s still hesitating, uncertain. She leans forward and kisses him again. This time slow and careful. His touch is tender when he runs his hand down her side. He pulls her so close, she’s not sure where she ends and he begins. This kiss is even better than the last because it says so much more than, “I want you”. There’s more to it. There’s love.
The thought makes her gasp. Bellamy pulls back, probably afraid he did something wrong. The tears building in her eyes again probably won’t help dispel the idea. She holds him tighter, burying her face in his neck. He breathes her in. Clarke hasn’t ever felt this way. A few hours ago they were arguing about food and she could barely stand to look at his smug face. Now she can’t believe how she lived without him this close. Her stomach flips as another thought hits her. “Bellamy, I-” She catches herself before she can say the words because it’s ridiculous. There is no way she’s falling in love with Bellamy.
He tangles his fingers in her hair. “Clarke-” That’s all he gets out. There’s a loud bang from down the tunnel. They jump apart and Clarke feels silly for feeling like they were doing something wrong. Bellamy shoves his hand through his hair, his breathing ragged. “We should get out of here—it’s late.”
Clarke agrees. She hides the paints behind the rock while Bellamy shimmies up the crumbled wall to cover the hole in the ceiling. Then he helps her cover the painting with the tarp.
When they get to the ledge at the edge of the station platform, he turns and plants a quick kiss on her still-numb lips. She’s glad he turns away quickly so he doesn’t see the full-body shiver. He twines his fingers with hers and guides her out of the tunnel and back into reality. Because Clarke is still trying to decide if what happened was real or if she imagined it. Maybe there were sewer gases down there that made her hallucinate.
She touches her fingers to her puffy lips and knows that it was real. She kissed Bellamy Blake. And she liked it. She definitely plans to do it again.
“You know, Carter,” Jack said as they rounded the corner heading for the bank of elevators, “you could just come back to the SGC.”
She walked next to him, hands clasped behind her back but looking completely casual. He marveled at her. “I suppose.”
Their heels clicked on the polished stone floor of the Pentagon. Jack nodded at several startled servicemen as they exited an office to his right. They eagerly got out of his way. Rank did have some privileges he thought with a smirk.
“You don’t seem too enthused at the thought.”
She shrugged.
“And that means?”
That got a bit of a smile out of her. “I hadn’t really thought about it, sir. After Atlantis and the Hammond-” She trailed off, her gaze getting glossy. She shook her head slightly before continuing. “I’m not sure I want to go back to the field.”
They arrived at the elevators, and Jack slammed his thumb into the up arrow. “Carter,” he said, keeping his voice low, “you have to realize you are on the shortlist to take over for Landry when he retires. A very short list.”
She shrugged again, her eyes never quite meeting his. Jack frowned. At her, at the elevator, at the situation. She seemed to notice his agitation because she gestured with her head at the stairs. Jack shoved the door open with a little more force than necessary.
“You want out, don’t you?” he accused.
[read more]“I never said that.”
“But you don’t want to go back to the SGC.” She shrugged; Jack groaned. He couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. He took a deep breath at the next landing and turned to face her. She stopped on the stair below him, watching him intently. “You can have any assignment you want.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Is that a bribe?”
“If it has to be.”
The corner of her mouth quirked into a small grin. “A tad desperate?”
“To keep the greatest mind we have in the program? Damn straight.”
Her smile widened slightly. “Is that it?”
Jack swallowed hard—this conversation was suddenly going in a different direction than he intended. “Of course. You’re the foremost expert on the Stargate, we need you.”
“We?” She took the last step up to stand next to him. Right next to him—her body brushing against his.
The stairwell suddenly felt ten degrees warmer. Jack forced the lump in his throat back down and nodded. Carter gave him a sly smile before slipping past him.
He tried to ignore the way her dress uniform clung to her backside as she climbed to the next floor. “Maybe,” she called back over her shoulder, “I’m not ready to start taking orders from you again, General.”
Jack hurried to catch up with her, his knee protesting the quick movement. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If I take over as head of the SGC, I fall right back under your chain of command.”
“The head of the SGC takes orders from the Joint Chiefs, not me.”
She rolled her eyes. “We both know that’s not how it really works.” She continued up to the next landing.
Jack followed, more slowly this time. “Carter, what’s this really about?”
She stopped with one foot on the next stair and sighed. “I’ve been at this a long time, sir.”
“I know that.”
“Maybe I’m just... tired.”
Jack came to stand next to her, letting his long body lean against the cool wall. “I get that.”
She glanced up at him before continuing. “Maybe,” she said softly, “I’m ready to simplify my life.”
Jack frowned. “Simplify?”
Carter turned to face him, her hand suddenly on his chest and sliding up to his neck. He gulped in surprise. “Simplify.” She leaned into him, her whole body pressing against his. He shook involuntarily at her touch. She smiled at that. All these years and she still had that effect on him. He felt like a damned sixteen-year-old when she was around.
“Carter?” His voice was low and rough; he tried to clear it but it didn’t really help.
“Sir?” Her one hand snaked around his neck—long fingers sliding under his collar. The other inched down to his waist to settle around a belt loop. Jack kept forgetting to breathe.
“What are you doing?” This time it was barely above a whisper.
“Simplifying my life.”
Jack nearly fell over when her lips flitted across the tender skin under his chin. Warning bells blared inside his head—years of walls beginning to falter. Her lower hand felt it’s way around to his front and began to undo his buckle. He tried to jump back but only hit the wall. Sam pushed closer to him, her kisses now winding up to his ear. He shuddered.
“How is this... simplifying?” He could barely get the words out between gasps as her tongue did things to his ear he had only ever imagined in his daydreams.
She sucked on his earlobe as she pulled away, releasing it with a slight pop. She leaned back to catch his eye. “Let me put this in terms you will understand,” she said with a wicked smirk. “This is me making a move on you, Jack.”
He opened his mouth to reply but realized he had no response to that. She pushed his jaw closed with a finger, her grin growing with his awkwardness. After a moment, she leaned in again, her lips brushing against his this time. Both hands worked up to his face, cupping his cheeks gently. “Besides, can you picture me as a general?”
Jack let his eyes drift shut as her mouth closed on his. He could very will picture that, and it was a beautiful sight, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tight to him. “I like simple,” he murmured against her lips. “Call me Mr. Simple.”
Canon-diverent. Set sometime after Mechanicsburg is freed as everyone settles into life at Castle Heterodyne. Agatha thinks she knows how to fix Gil and Tarvek's relationship. She's usually right.
(This story was originally written in 2018 and has been updated for composition and clarity in 2020.)
1,065 words | [PG-13]
“That’s it! I can’t take it anymore!”
Gil stumbled to a stop as Agatha swung around to face him and Tarvek. They shared uneasy glances at the slight Sparkiness in her tone. “Wha-” he started to say, but she cut him off.
“The arguing and bickering. Can’t you two do anything without fighting?”
Another exchange of looks. Gil couldn’t even remember what they were fighting about moments ago, but he knew they’d been doing it. They fought over everything and anything and nothing. He wasn’t even sure why anymore.
“We’re not-” Tarvek protested, but Agatha put a hand up to stop him.
“Enough. I don’t want to hear it. I want you to fix it.”
They looked at each other, neither wanting to ask the question. Agatha sighed dramatically. “You’re both ridiculous, you know that. This isn’t as difficult as you’re making it out to be.”
Gil was so confused. “Making what difficult?”
Agatha rolled her eyes. “Getting along. Being around each other. You try so hard to irritate each other instead of being friends. You spend all your time pretending to hate each other—always pushing the other aw—when it’s obviously not what you want.”
“It’s not?”
The Spark flashed in her eyes again. Uh-oh. “No. And since you two are stubborn idiots, it looks like I’m going to have to fix everything like I always do.”
She wrenched each by the arm so they were facing each other then took a step back, expectantly. Gil stared at an equally baffled Tarvek.
“Agatha,” Tarvek said, slowly, “are you feeling ill?”
“I told you, I’m going to fix this constant fighting thing.”
“How?”
[read more]She forced them to face each other again. In fact, she pushed them a little closer until Gil’s toes bumped Tarvek’s polished boots. “Kiss.”
Gil was sure he must have heard her wrong except for the look of sheer horror on Tarvek’s face.
“What?” Tarvek squeaked at the same time Gil said, “don’t be absurd.”
“Why not?”
There were so many reasons this was ridiculous, starting with the fact that it was Tarvek Sturmvoraus of all people in front of him. His arch-nemesis. A sneaky-sneak. A weasel.
The gleeful Spark dissipated from Agatha’s eyes, replaced by a soft fondness. “I love you both, but I can’t watch you tear each other apart when-” She trailed off for a second, eyes closing. “Quit pretending you don’t want this. It’s just the three of us here. No one else is going to know. If you can’t trust me—if you can’t trust each other—then this isn’t going to work.”
What? She was insane. He didn’t want to kiss Tarvek. Ridiculous. And there was no way Tarvek wanted to kiss him. Tarvek thought he was a complete waste of space. He made sure Gil knew it every chance he got. Tarvek hated him.
Then why did he still have that look of terror on his face?
A pain grew in Gil’s chest until he let out the breath he’d forgotten about. “Agatha,” he said softly. “I-”
Tarvek looked away, a pink tint climbing up his neck. Gil’s heart hammered so loud he was sure all of Mechanicsburg could hear it. This wasn’t happening—was it?
“Enough games,” Agatha whispered, nudging them closer. “Just kiss him.”
Tarvek finally looked back at him with something Gil couldn’t begin to describe in his eyes, but it looked kind of like hurt. And Gil hated it. Just kiss him. The words bounced around his head. Quit pretending, Agatha had said. Damn. She was right.
Arm shaking, Gil slowly reached out, running his fingers along Tarvek’s jaw. There was just a hint of stubble there that sent a tingle down his spine that he thought had more to do with the idea of Tarvek not being one hundred percent perfect at all times.
Tarvek shivered under his touch. Wow. Gil had no idea he could do that. He cupped Tarvek’s cheek, bringing his other hand up to match the movement. His fingers slid along Tarvek’s earlobe, eliciting another tremor.
Gil was dying. Slowly and painfully. Everything else faded away—the room, the castle who was surely recording this moment for future blackmailing purposes, Agatha. The world slowed to a stop. There was just him and Tarvek and Tarvek’s eyes flicking down to Gil’s mouth. Dying.
“I-” Tarvek licked his lips, drawing Gil’s full attention so he missed whatever else Tarvek said. He couldn’t hear anything through the rush of blood between his ears anyway.
Quit pretending. Just kiss him. Enough. Gil tightened his grip on Tarvek’s face, pulling him closer as he leaned in. He paused a hairbreadth’s away, a lifetime of insecurities screaming in his head. What if he screwed this up like he screwed everything else up?
“Gil?” Tarvek breathed his name, and Gil was done with being afraid. He smashed his lips against Tarvek’s. They were soft and warm and tasted like the candies they’d been eating earlier. Tarvek’s hands made their way up his chest and around his neck, his fingers tangling in Gil’s hair, and damn, if Gil didn’t come unwound.
He had no idea how long the kiss lasted. There were years of pent-up frustration and longing and love. It seemed like forever and no time at all when Tarvek finally pulled away, panting, hand still twisted in Gil’s hair.
“Oh,” was all he said.
Gil leaned his forehead against Tarvek’s and tried to calm his breathing. “Yeah.” Equally as elegant, he thought. Then he remembered they weren’t alone.
Agatha clasped her hands together beneath her chin, a huge smile on her face. She was radiating Sparky energy. “Finally,” she muttered, bouncing on her toes. Then she wedged herself between them, wrapping her arms around Tarvek’s waist. Tarvek sighed into her hair, but his eyes were on Gil.
“You okay?” he asked.
What a dumb question. Gil nodded then slid his arms around the two of them, squishing Agatha between him and Tarvek. He pressed a kiss to the top of Agatha’s head. “Thank you,” he whispered. It seemed like the thing to say.
“You’re welcome.” Agatha nuzzled Tarvek’s neck and twined her fingers with Gil’s around his back. “Now maybe we can get some work done.”
Maybe, but by the look in Tarvek’s eyes, he wasn’t thinking about work any more than Gil was at the moment.
“Up and at ‘em, Jackson.”
A boot connected with Daniel’s side. He groaned and rolled away, snuggling deeper into his sleeping bag. His head was killing him—felt like a full marching band playing the 1812 Overture in there, complete with canons. The boot nudged him again, a little more insistent this time.
“Go 'way,” Daniel mumbled. He was vaguely aware of other voices around him but had neither the will nor want to get up or even to try and understand what they were saying. After a short discussion, the foot ground into his back and shook violently.
“Get up.” Daniel recognized Mitchell’s voice, but he sounded like he was speaking from a great distance. And through cotton. His brain fought to catch up to his senses while the treads of his commander’s boot dug into his tender flesh. Daniel frowned into the soft fabric of his bag. Flesh? Something wasn’t right.
He reached a tentative hand over his body and let it drift over his back and around the boot still planted there. Where the hell was his shirt? The foot moved, and then he felt someone squat down next to his head. When Mitchell spoke again it was softer and closer to his ear.
“That’s right, Daniel, wakey-wakey. Time to get up and face the music.”
What was that supposed to mean? And why the hell was he naked? The realization that not only was his shirt missing, but his pants as well finally broke through the dense fog in his head. He pushed up on one arm and looked around—his vision still fuzzy from sleep.
Somewhere behind him, Sam snickered, and Mitchell looked like he was enjoying things way too much. Daniel narrowed his eyes at the blurred outline of the man standing next to his head. Someone—Teal’c he realized a moment later—handed him his glasses. “Why are you all-” he started to ask when the world around him suddenly came into crisp focus. “What the?”
[read more]Mitchell snorted, eyes twinkling. “Looks like you had a good time last night.”
“I don’t remember.”
“No?”
“That does not surprise me, Daniel Jackson, you were quite inebriated.”
“I was?”
“Vala, too.”
“Vala?”
“Wha’s goin’ on?” Vala’s sleepy head popped up next to Daniel. Vala rubbed her eyes and peered around with a look of confusion before falling back into the mess of blankets around them.
Daniel realized a moment later that she was just as clothesless which caused him to vault from the pallet on the floor of his tent.
“Woah,” Mitchell said with a laugh, jumping away and holding a hand out to cover his view.
By then, Sam was giggling almost uncontrollably, and even Teal’c had an evil glee in his eye.
“Daniel, you’re naked,” Vala said with obvious amusement.
He glared down at her. “So are you.”
She pulled the sleeping bag away from her body to take a peek. “Huh. How’d you suppose that happened?”
Daniel’s frown deepened at the sultry way she said that and the all too easy grin that spread across her face. Sam erupted into full out laughter and was quickly joined by Mitchell.
“Perhaps,” Teal’c said, “there was something in the drink you partook in during last night’s wedding ceremony.”
“Ya think.” That got another guffaw from Sam. Daniel mentally chided himself for sounding way too much like Jack. Oh god. If he ever learned about this, Daniel would never hear the end of it. “They didn’t say it was alcoholic.”
“Maybe they have a different word for it,” Mitchell suggested.
Sam handed him his pants as she tried to school her face slightly. “Maybe they didn’t know it would affect you like this.”
“Maybe,” Daniel muttered as he pulled on his clothes.
Vala was still lying in the tangle of sleeping bags looking completely unabashed. “I just wish I could remember it. Must have been spectacular.”
Daniel groaned, his hands coming up to cover his face.
“Why do you say that?” Mitchell asked.
“Because I don’t think I can move just yet.”
“Oh, god,” Daniel muttered.
“That’s what she said.”
Sam busted out laughing again, Vala and Mitchell joining her after a few seconds. Even Teal’c chuckled. Daniel was sure of it.
“How long have you been waiting to use that line?” Sam asked Mitchell.
“A while. You’d think I’d get the chance more often. But nope.”
They continued to laugh as they exited the tent, Mitchell clapping Daniel on the back as he went. He could hear them still laughing outside. Daniel glanced down at Vala who suddenly flushed a rosy shade of pink. “I, um,” he stammered, “I’ll be outside.”
“Daniel-” He paused at the flap, shooting her a look over his shoulder. “It was a lovely night, we should do it again sometime.”
“Argh.” He quickly exited only to be greeted by more friendly ribbing and laughter. He was never going to live this down. Damn alien wedding parties. He really should know better by now.
