Stargate SG-1 fic: Heaven was Needing a Hero

[jennickels]

Heaven was Needing a Hero
by jennickels (aka Jen Connelly)
Stargate SG-1
Jack/Sam
576 words
rating: PG-13
WARNINGS: main character death

From the prompt: Jack is the one who ascended, not Daniel, requested by meteorfire at comment_fic.

don't own... wish I did, but I don't. No infringement intended.

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The pain is intense. Sam didn't know something could hurt so much. She bites down on her fist, pushes back the tears. There are cameras in here—in her lab. There are cameras everywhere. Prying eyes. There were always so many prying eyes. Her breath hitches as another wave of pain overtakes her. She's going to be sick.

This can't be happening. It just can't. He can't be gone. The wetness behind her eyes threatens to escape. She won't cry. Not when they're watching, waiting for some kind of confirmation. Breathe. In. Out. That's the only thing she can do—breathe. Everything else is shutting down, grief taking over. Breathe. Just breathe.

Slowly, her control returns. She stands up straight, smooths her shirt, refuses to wipe the wetness from under her eyes. That will just give it away.

Calmly as she can, she shuts down her computer, tidies her desk, and shuts off the light. She doesn't look at anyone as she walks the halls. If she didn't know better she'd thinking people were avoiding her as quick as they get out of her way. She's sure she hears whispers, but the words mean nothing.

She makes it just inside her front door before she collapses, the sobs coming in waves that rack her body. A heart-wrenching moan escapes from somewhere deep inside of her—from the very depth of her soul. This isn't right. Nothing is right anymore. Her house feels wrong—claustrophobic. The floor is too hard, the light too bright, the air to thick. She shutters then wraps her arms around her legs and cries into her knees until there's nothing left but an empty abyss where she thinks her heart is supposed to be.

Her phone rings. She doesn't want to talk to anyone. It's persistent. Daniel, of course.

"I should have told him," she says instead of, "hello."

"Sam-"

"I'm an idiot." She can tell Daniel's been crying, too, but her pain is too overwhelming for her to find the means to care. "He- I-" She gulps. "Now he'll never know," she whispers.

Daniel sniffs. "He knew, Sam. God, everyone knew." That doesn't make her feel any better. She hangs up while Daniel is still talking.

It's dark when she finally moves. She uses the bathroom and washes her face, refusing to look in the mirror. She's afraid of what she'll see there. Everything hurts, but mostly the pain is in her chest. A numbing ache that she knows will never go away. She rubs at it anyway.

From across the house the doorbell rings. She's barely aware of it. Probably Daniel. She debates ignoring it, but it rings again. And again. An urgent buzzing that hurts her ears.

It rings once more just as her hand lands on the knob. She yanks it open ready to yell. Nobody. She blinks. The porch is empty. She takes a step out, hugging herself. The street is quiet, calm. A wind picks up. It tickles the back of her neck, caresses her skin. For a second she thinks it lingers on her cheek. Then it's gone, a swirl of leaves kicking up from the steps. Sam sucks in a startled breath.

He knew, Sam. God, everyone knew.

Daniel's words repeat in her head. Her hand touches the spot on her cheek, still warm from the breeze. He knew.

"I love you," she whispers into the night air. Just in case Daniel was wrong.