Rigel (n) : awesomesaucery

Title: Ebb Tide
Author: Rigel
Fandom: Stargate SG-1 / Stargate Atlantis
Warning: Season 4 Casting Spoiler for SGA
Disclaimer: Not mine (alas!) Don’t sue!
Rating: G
Wordcount: 3232
Categories: Sam/Jack, Sam and Jack Friendship, Crossover, Gen
Thanks: To my super brilliant betas!
A/N: Written for seldear for the sjficathon
Also, this is purely speculative and will most probably be jossed within moments of posting – but I completely claim psychic powers if any of this happens. *grins*

Prompt: Jack visits Sam while she's in command of Atlantis. They try to find some quiet time together, only to be repeatedly interrupted.

---

"Come back like the sea with singing,
And light of a million stars."
Sara Teasdale

---

Jack tipped the snow globe and watched the swirling vortex of fake snow deposit itself over the miniature Rocky Mountains. It drifted down to rest atop the "Welcome to Colorado" sign held up by a cheery plastic gnome (or possibly a dwarf – the figurine had a distinct Doc look to him.)

It had been difficult to choose between the fine selections of souvenir paraphernalia at the airport. The delights of owning a choice artistic piece such as the stuffed and mounted Jackalope weren't lost on him (the bonus of the almost pun on his name an added incentive to buy.) But the slightly evil look in its eyes and the hint of rabid fang-like teeth had put him off.

After all, the Pegasus Galaxy already contained space vampires and a whole host of creepy creatures straight out of a B- Grade horror movie. He could just see McKay accidentally setting off some kind of Ancient device that would bring inanimate objects to life – and everyone knows that Jackalopes breed like... well, rabbits.

Bad idea.

It was probably a bit perverse, but it was the inscription on the base of the snow globe that had sold him in the end:

'Worlds Best Boss'

That missing apostrophe would drive Carter insane, but she would display it in pride of place on her desk just the same (and no-doubt grit her teeth every time she looked at the offending error.)

He figured it would take less than a month before she attacked with a sharpie pen and corrected it for her own peace of mind. Maybe less than ten days if he goaded her a little.

He set it down on the polished surface of her desk, surreptitiously nudging the pyramid ornament that was already there so that it was slightly askew. It had a vague mothership feel to it, what with the gold detailing and probable concealed weaponry. Of course, it clashed horribly with the snow globe – which was a complete anachronism in the otherwise tasteful décor of the office. It definitely drew the eye, in the same way that you couldn't help staring at a poodle with a ridiculous hairstyle. Or was it furstyle? He wasn't quite sure of the nomenclature.

That sharpie pen would come out of the drawer the moment he stepped back through the gate.

The passage to Atlantis had been surprisingly smooth. He had almost expected that minor bone-chilling jolt of vertigo that had accompanied the early days of gate travel. Traveling between galaxies had instead been rather mundane; one moment he had raised a hand in farewell to Harriman and stepped up the gate ramp and the next he was standing in front of an impressively impassive looking Sheppard. The man merely cocked a smug eyebrow and took his duffle, without so much as a hint of the snarky comment he had expected escaping his lips.

It wasn't quite true that he felt nothing on arrival, though. It was there, at the very edge of his awareness – a vague sensation that was hard to pinpoint, or even describe. If pressed, he might even have said it was as though the city was testing him in some way; probing his flesh and settling against his perceptions like a second skin – if only it wouldn't guarantee him a series of sessions with a concerned psychologist.

He remembered a night, years ago now, where Sam and Daniel had been conversing in low tones. They had thought he had drifted to sleep on the couch, half-full beer still clutched in his hand, and Teal'c was off kel'no'reeming in another room; so the topic had veered toward the more philosophical arguments that they were so fond of.

He had lain there; eyes closed, and let their conversation wash over him. Sam had mentioned Jolinar, something she rarely did, and it was the tone of her voice – more than anything else – that had caught at him. It was the way she described the tingling impression she received from others with naquadah in their systems - not quite unpleasant, but not quite welcome either.

She had laughed, but even with his eyes closed he could still picture the way her mouth would have tensed.

This wasn't the same kind of feeling, precisely. For one, it wasn't at all unpleasant. It didn't jar at him, or set his stomach churning with apprehension, it was more… natural. As if it had always been there, and only now was he noticing it.

It had been there the last time as well. Only then, he hadn't the luxury of time to contemplate it what with the possibility of impending doom and death and all that other good stuff. Perhaps it was all just because he wanted something to be there, to connect him to this place in a way beyond pure association.

"So, fishing, sir?"

He heard the 'sir' before the rest of her comment registered. Sam was standing in the doorway, hovering, which was unusual – it was her office after all.

Clearing his throat, he uttered the statement he'd been rehearsing all morning. "I heard you had a whole lotta ocean out here." Somehow, it wasn't quite as smooth as he had imagined it. "It was all in the memo."

She smiled, even bit her lip slightly – which he took as a good sign. He tried to look her over, without seeming too overt about it. Atlantis' BDUs suited her, but more than that, she seemed happy. Her steps were light and her shoulders straight. The small knot in the pit of his stomach tightened a little. It wasn't disappointment, but something… else. He clamped it back down.

"Is this for me?" She indicated the snow globe, and set down the report she had been carrying.

"Thought you might like something from home on your desk, Carter."

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. In six months of exchanged e-mails they'd finally reached the informal 'Jack' and 'Sam', but somehow they always slipped into old habits in person – at least at first. Maybe it was the uniform that did it, creating that barrier where he was still her CO.

"It's… lovely." She turned it over in her palms and watched the snow swirl within the glass. "I mean it."

He shuffled a little on the spot, feeling awkward. "It seemed perfect at the time."

She grinned. "I'm sure." Her comm set chirped and she pressed a hand to her ear, activating it. Her brows furrowed slightly. "Slow down, Zelenka. What do you mean it's taken over the lab?"

Jack choked back a laugh and swallowed it into a cough, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. He eyed the gnome/dwarf warily. Was that a slight twitch? Or just the effect of the light hitting the water and glass?

"No, no don't do that. You'll overload the crystal matrix and cause a lockdown and then we'll be really screwed. Put McKay on."

She put a hand on her hip and began tapping her fingers as Rodney obviously launched into one of his endless monologues. She rolled her eyes and made a gesture toward him that he interpreted as: 'everything's fine, but McKay's still convinced we're all about to die.'

"Well, send me the data that came with it." She paced over to her desk and tapped a command into her datapad. "I'm looking at it now. Did you format this properly? No, that wasn't a comment about your preferences, it just looks… unique."

A clearly audible increase in both pitch and volume emanated from the headset. He could almost make out the stream of panicked rambling from McKay.

"I'll be right there. Just don't touch anything else." She tapped the comm set again and sighed. "I'm sorry, Jack, but…"

"You've got a few fires to put out."

"God forbid," she said. "This shouldn't take too long. Why don't you get settled in, and I'll find you as soon as I put McKay out of his misery."

He waved her off with what he hoped was a casual 'I'll be fine' look.

**

Settling in turned out to be not really all that exciting. He unpacked his duffle: 4 shirts, 2 pairs of pants, socks and jocks, and the all-important pair of novelty boxers featuring Homer Simpson and a strategically placed donut with sprinkles.

And unsurprisingly, fussing over folding everything with military precision into the footlocker provided didn’t take much time either. Before long, he was back to staring out the window and admiring the view.

And the endless blue ocean.

Atlantis was a breathtaking location, he’d admit that; a gleaming city of metal and glass. On first glance it looked fragile, even delicate. But behind the towering spires and ornamental layout, he could see the bones of a city built for war – built to withstand a siege lasting generations.

However, it was still just as labyrinthine as the SGC. After several wrong turns and an interesting detour through a room filled with machines with blinking lights (he had given those a wide berth), he finally found familiar faces.

Sheppard and Teyla were sparring. He paused in the doorway, admiring the lightning fast reflexes that turned the sticks in their hands into a blur of motion. At first, he had the thought that there was an almost ritual-like attitude to the fight, as though it were a series of choreographed moves. But as the bout progressed, he saw the way that they adapted their styles, trying to force an error. Strike and counter strike; the sound of the blows making a mesmerising rhythm.

Teyla was lithe on her feet, her moves agile and sure. Sheppard pressed at her defenses, using his superior strength to gain advantage, his face a mask of concentration. But she slipped around his reach, forcing him to move across the floor where she could outmaneuver him.

Then again, she wasn’t above pulling out a dirty low-down tactic to win – as she proved when she took advantage of a moment when Sheppard flicked the sweat-sodden hair out of his eyes, and elbowed him in a way that made Jack wince to witness it. The man certainly fell with a thud that almost echoed around the room.

The applause was well deserved.

Sheppard was probably not quite so appreciative of the audience; the glower on his face testified to that fact as he left the room with his towel slung casually around his neck. He still managed a slight saunter, even though his whole body probably hurt like hell – the smug SOB.

Teyla inclined her head in greeting, and began to gather the discarded sticks, her bare feet padding silently across the floor.

"Is he always that impressive?" he asked.

A slow smile spread across her features as she thought through her answer. "Colonel Sheppard never makes the same mistake twice."

She didn't elaborate, and he inferred that this was high praise.

"Would you care to match me, General O'Neill?" she asked, proffering a set of sticks.

He was tempted but still demurred. "Bad knee," he explained.

"Perhaps some other time," she said.

The fact that she hadn't ruled out the possibility completely, made him like her even more.

"Were you looking for anyone in particular?"

"Not really," he replied. "Carter told me to amuse myself for a while; there was some kind of problem with McKay."

She brought a hand up to her face, but her eyes were still merry. "Is he still trying to fix that… never mind." She gave a bright smile. "Are you hungry at all?"

He followed her to the commissary. The route seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite tell if it was because he had taken it before, or if was something else; that strange sense that the city was somehow a part of himself.

The tables were mostly deserted; only a few scientist types in their long white lab coats were crowded into one corner debating each other with gusto, fingers jabbing into the air for emphasis. He tuned them out, out of long habit. A dubious skill, as Daniel would have said.

Ronon Dex was instantly recognizable. It wasn't just the fact that you could pick him out of a crowd at 100 paces, it was also that he couldn't think of any other member of the Atlantis expedition that would sit at a Formica-topped table and sharpen their knife collection during their lunch break.

He filled a tray, picking out a glass of blue Jell-o just in case, and sat with Teyla at the table next to Ronon. He passed a curious eye over the staggering array of dishes already piled up behind the neat row of knives.

"Ronon has a large appetite," Teyla explained, noting the direction of his glance.

"In all things," Ronon stated dryly, and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

"So, I'm guessing this isn't all of them," Jack said as he picked up one of the blades and tested it. It sliced through the air with deadly precision, its edge disappearing to a razor-thin line.

"This is my personal set." Ronon picked up the blade furthest to his right and began honing it with a small whetstone. "I call that one you're holding my lucky one."

"I don't doubt it," said Jack and set the knife down.

"I heard you were here for the fishing." Ronon speared an apple on the point of the knife that was in his hand and began to peel it.

"Something like that."

"You might try the South Pier, there's a good spot there."

"I'll keep it in mind." Jack watched as the peel curled away in one long strip before Ronon snapped it off and ate it.

"Jack!" He turned around as Sam slipped into the chair next to him. "Oooh thanks!" She grabbed the Jell-o from his tray and picked up a spoon.

"I'm assuming McKay hasn't burned down his lab?" he asked

"Hardly. I mean, at least not today. Everything's under control now." She exchanged amused glances with Teyla and Ronon.

"Then we aren't all about to die in some horribly painful way?"

"You know Rodney, he always has to do things his way." She shrugged. "I'm looking forward to saying 'I told you so' as a matter of fact." Her comm set chirped again. "Oh for the love of… What now, Rodney?"

He took the spoon from her hand and stuck it into the still untouched Jell-o.

"Just follow the diagram, it isn't rocket science."

"Digram?" he mouthed. Teyla shrugged and forked up another mouthful of noodles.

"I'll send Ronon, " Sam continued. "No, he won't just hit it with a hammer and you know; that might actually help in this situation."

Ronon flexed his hands and began fitting the knives into the concealed pockets and pouches around his body.

Sam pushed herself back from the table and stood up. "Sorry about this, Jack. I'll be back as soon as I've killed McKay."

"I'll be at the South Pier," he said, "catching dinner."

She laughed. "I'll bring the wine."

**

The water was cool. He leaned back against his palms and let his feet dangle, his socks and boots stowed safely away from the edge of the dock. There hadn't been so much as a hint of any fish so far, although every now and then he would catch a flash of silver among the waves.

It was almost enough to him wish that he wasn't going back to the mountain of paperwork and endless briefings where the folders they handed you were heavier than the phone book.

Almost.

He'd run the scenario through in his head a few times. Hand in his resignation and finally retire to a life he'd let go of long ago – the one where he could sit back and enjoy things. Spend his days out by the lake and his nights… Well, that fantasy he hadn't quite let go of, yet.

Problem was, that cabin in the woods was now several million light years away from what he wanted now.

Sam was true to her word; she slipped down beside him, the glasses in her hand chinking together as she set them on the dock.

"Care to do the honors?" She handed him a bottle of champagne.

"You said wine. What's the occasion?" He peeled back the foil and began untwisting the metal cage that held the cork in place.

"Oh, I'm sure we can come up with something. Besides, if I remember correctly, you said something about catching fish." She smiled, the light struck her hair from behind and he caught his breath.

"I said dinner, not fish."

"And?"

"I guess we'll be dining on air."

He opened the bottle with a muffled pop and poured as she held out her glass.

"To not accidentally burning down Atlantis," he proposed.

"I'll drink to that." She touched her glass to his.

The champagne fizzed at the back of his throat. It was enough to just sit there in comfortable silence.

Sam trailed a foot through the water and then kicked out, raising a splash. "You know, this was a good day."

He smiled at that. "If only they were all as great."

"Tell me about it. Although actually," she cocked her head to one side and regarded him thoughtfully, "you already have. Many times actually. Tell me it gets better."

"It gets better."

"Liar." She took another sip of her champagne.

"It gets…" He wanted to say easier, but that wasn't entirely true either. "It is what it is," he concluded. "So, what was the crisis today? Alien virus? Inexplicable galactic war being waged on your doorstep?"

"Nothing that drastic." She leaned back on one arm. "Rodney just insisted on putting together the new fittings for the lab himself."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"IKEA is the devil. I swear to God, there's something about it that makes men think they can just look at a jumble of screws and hunks of wood and think they can put it together in an afternoon and still have time for a beer."

He choked on his champagne which sent him into a violent fit of coughing.

"I mean, he insisted on using his own tools, despite the fact that every flat-packed piece came with its very own allen key, and then he tossed the diagrams and frankensteined the whole lot together. You can imagine what that looked like. And then he decided he could just make a few so-called adjustments to the rest of the lab." She threw her hands up in dismay.

"Definitely a good day, then."

"It's a good day now."

"We just need a few fish to turn up, and then it'd be perfect."

"There's always the whales." She kicked the water again

"Whales?"

"Don't ask."

"I'll ask Sheppard, then," he threatened.

"And don't do that either, it's embarrassing."

"You don't think it's flattering having a 300 ton animal named after you?"

"Would you?"

"I was rather grateful toward Thor, if you recall."

"That was a spaceship," she protested.

"And?"

"You're impossible, you know that."

"And yet, you keep coming back to me." He put an arm around her shoulders.

"The tide's coming in," she observed, but she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Let it come." He tightened his arm slightly. "You do know how to swim, right?"

//End//