The Waking Heart Author: Sonia (sg791012@yahoo.com) Category: hmmm. . . (I need help with this one.) Season: 8 Rating: PG Author’s Note: this fic is a response to Nanda’s irritation at "the fallacy that Jack can't really have loved Sara if Sam is the lurve of his life -- that his marriage must have been somehoow less than his relationship with Sam would/could/will be." Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 is not mine, and I don't make money from these stories -- they are for entertainment purposes only. Thanks go to Michelle L., my dear friend and beta! ______________________________________________________________________________________ I saw Jack today. I see him practically everyday, of course, but this was my day off. Apparently it was his, too. Mind you, I’ve seen Jack away from base many times, but there’s always a slightly surreal quality to these moments when I see him wearing jeans, his shirt open at the neck, hair carelessly ruffled, eyes wide and mouth relaxed from a rare good night’s sleep. I adjust to it pretty quickly, but invariably there’s that initial shock of recognizing the man of flesh and blood rather than the soldier. It’s strangely intense, mostly because he never diminishes into ordinary humanity like the rest of us do. There’s still something . . . imposing about him, despite the absence of uniform, gun, or - these days - the glossy wide desk with the VIP placard. But I digress. Today I was jogging in the park, something I haven’t done much of late, but Pete was out of town and I felt the urge to focus entirely on my physical well-being. I needed to get out of my head for a bit. It was sunny and not as chilly as you’d expect from a Colorado day in late Fall. I felt wonderfully light and unburdened as I trotted along the path. I was so absorbed in my breathing and the monotonous rhythm of my feet pounding the black top that I almost missed him. But suddenly he came into focus, sitting there on a park bench under a tree, about a hundred yards ahead of me. I raised my hand to wave, but then realized he wasn’t alone. I doubt if he’d have seen me anyway, because he was concentrating on the person sitting next to him. I felt myself slowing down, succumbing once more to gravity, as I realized who this person was. Sara. It never once occurred to me to mind my own business and keep running. Something just outside of conscious thought, a masochistic impulse perhaps, compelled me to stay and watch. So I casually sidled off the path across from them and dropped down to my knees behind a cluster of flowering bushes that had long since dropped their blooms. I extended my legs to feign a runner’s stretch, but kept my head up in order to watch them through the naked branches. Sara’s hair was longer than I remembered. Of course, it’s been years since I’ve seen her, but I always remember her with that short, golden-blond hair that framed her angular face. Her hair was now chin-length, more elegant and very flattering. She looked a little older around the eyes, perhaps, but otherwise the years had been kind to her. She still had that wonderfully slim frame - a dancer’s body with its lithesome grace. But unlike most dancers, she seemed quite unconscious of this grace. I’m sure that’s one of the things that had attracted Jack in the first place. She was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, looking straight ahead as she talked but occasionally glancing directly at Jack as though to emphasize a point. It was impossible to tell what she was saying, but it must have been interesting, for Jack was sitting sideways and leaning toward her, his entire body attuned to her words. Her hair was blowing slightly in the breeze, and at one point he reached out to gently retrieve a strand that had slipped into the corner of her mouth. He then tucked it behind her ear. She smiled, but didn’t stop talking as his finger touched her mouth, her cheek, and inadvertently stroked her ear as he secured the strand of hair. It was so intimate that it made me shiver. In my mind I could see them together as they must have been when first married. Sharing a house, a car, a bed. An image of the two of them, bare legs and white sheets tangled together, flitted through my mind, sending a tingle down my spine. Those nights of youthful abandon were lost to them - locked away when Charlie died - but the memory lingered. I could see that in the curve of Jack’s lips, in the flaring of his nostrils as he looked in her eyes. It was there in the tilt of her head, in the arching of her foot as she stretched her crossed leg toward him. I watched as Sara straightened purposefully, then rose to stand next to the bench. After a moment Jack followed her lead, though the languorous unfolding of his body suggested a reluctance to do so. As they faced each other, the casual proximity of their bodies spoke again of those years of intimacy. They surveyed each other for a moment, smiling companionably. But then Jack said something that made her face crumple, her chin drop. From a distance I could feel his dismay, his helplessness in the face of her vulnerability. Of course, I knew what he would do next. He pulled her into an embrace that crushed her face against his shoulder, and his hand reached around to stroke the back of her head. After an initial stiffening of resistance she relented, and I felt my own body relax as she collapsed against him with palpable relief. I knew that embrace. I remembered the soothing friction of his cheek against my neck, his breath warm and sympathetic on my skin. I knew the feel of his hand in my hair, and how the pressure of his fingers lingered on the back of my neck long after we’d parted. After all this time, he still loved her. He wouldn’t speak of it to any of us - God knows I’ve asked - but it was clear to me now that those feelings had not simply disappeared. I felt ashamed of myself for thinking that he was done with Sara, never saw her anymore, never thought of her. That’s not Jack. He’s loyal, and he never forgets. It’s one of the things I love about him. Yes, I’ve dealt with all that. After the denial and angst comes acceptance; otherwise one just goes mad. I loved Jack, and though he’d never said it, I’d collected enough evidence over the years to indicate that he returned the feeling. There just never was a way for us to do anything about it. We had our work to do and our lives to live. I was happy with Pete. And, as corny as it sounds, Jack had a permanent place in my heart. I’d learned that once I granted him this space, the regret and yearning were forced to find other lonely territories to haunt. Moments like these, though . . . When I saw such tangible evidence of Jack’s capacity for love, I felt a strange unfolding in my heart, as though it had been curled up tightly in sleep for a long time and had just awakened. I didn’t want to think too much about what this meant. Instead, I watched them walk together, presumably toward the parking lot on the far side of the park. Jack put his arm lightly around Sara’s shoulders. She rested her head against him for a bit, then straightened again. I watched until a tree obstructed my view, and then sat wondering whether or not they had arrived in the same car, or if he would have to stand alone and watch as she drove away. With a sigh I leaned backwards, resting my head against the cool, damp ground. I stretched my arms and legs, receiving the warmth from the sun, listening to the silence inside my head. But my heart was pounding now, clamorously awake and pumping blood through my veins. And that blood was steeped in the oxygen of this place, this vision . . . this love. Damn the man. ______________________________________________________________________________________ "It’s a shame that some folks can’t quite understand that the human heart is capable of loving more than one person. That’s why good relationships are so important, I think - because love is a choice - you have to pick which ‘loves’ you are going to nurture and foster, and which you are just going to allow that ‘secluded place of the heart’." (Michelle L.)