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By BadgerGater

Email: [email protected]

Season: None, before the start of the series

Episode: None

Spoilers: None

Category: Drama

Pairing: Jack/Sara

Summary: A gentle little fic about living between two very different worlds

Rating: G

Warnings: None.

Disclaimer: Don't own. Love 'em though. : Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted without the author's consent.

Author's Note: Watch the episode Cold Lazarus... it not only shows us, it tells us, in Jack's own words "we were the greatest"....

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The sound of the front door opening awoke her.

Sara always slept lightly when Jack was gone, even more so when she knew that he should be coming home soon.

When she slept at all.

Their big bed was lonely, too big and empty when he wasn’t there with her.

Relief flooded through her.

He was home.

Safe.

She listened with the practice born of too many long separations preceding so many homecomings. There were telltale signs she’d learned to recognize, to tell her what to expect.

When a mission had gone well, when he was pumped up with success and the excitement of returning home, his tread would be light, bounding up the stairs with enthusiasm, laughter in his teasing voice. Those homecomings were the best, excited and passionate.

This one wasn’t going to be that way.

His steps were slow and measured as she heard him climb the stairs, belying a weariness that was more than physical. But at least they were even and steady, which indicated he wasn’t hurt. She’d learned to recognize that sound, too, the awkward gait of an injured man climbing the stairs.

At least, he wasn’t injured in that way.

His hurts, then, wouldn’t be the physical kind this time. But that wouldn’t mean they weren’t there or weren’t real.

All too often, he came home like this, silent, tense, subdued, haunted by what he’d done at the behest of his superiors and in the name of his country.

He sounded tired. She heard his footsteps stop at the top of the stairs, and knew he was looking in at their son, deeply asleep in the innocent way only a child could achieve. This mission must have been bad, because his steps paused outside the room, as if he couldn’t yet touch his son without tainting the boy with what he had done.

Finally, slowly, the steps moved on, to their room. He uttered no words of greeting, just a slow sigh that spoke somber volumes about his mood. She heard the gentle thump-thump of his boots hitting the floor, then his clothing rustled as he stripped out of his trousers and shirt.

Sara felt his weight dip onto the mattress, heard the soft sound of his body sliding against the smoothness of the sheets as he moved across the bed, spooning up behind her. She could feel the tension in his body, the tightness in his shoulders and hips as his arms wrapped around her, his hands finding hers in the darkness. His breath was warm on her shoulder, fluttering out in a deep sigh, his mouth nuzzling the nape of her neck. He smelled freshly clean, of soap and shaving cream.

Taking his hand in hers, she reached down and kissed it.

She loved his hands, so strong and so gentle.

Sara wasn’t naïve. She knew what he did, knew that these hands she loved and trusted were hands that could kill, probably had killed on this mission. She knew that danger and violence filled his time away from her. Part of her never wanted to know the truth of what he did and never wanted to share that part of his life, that dark and deadly part he kept walled up inside himself.

Yet, another part of her felt cheated, left out, denied the knowledge of the other half of his life, the life he lived without her, bonded to his teammates, living on the edge, his senses heightened to the fullest.

She knew that in some ways, that life was much more intense, more real, more *him* than any of the time he shared with his family.

And yet, he would never bring that life home to them, would never let its violence and ugliness touch them as it scarred him.

It was why he came home the way he did, nights like this, silent, distant, unspeakably needy, eyes cold and dark and bottomless, needing to touch her, to mold his body to hers, skin on skin.

Sara knew that she and Charlie grounded him, that they were the rock, the certainty on which his sanity rested. She knew that they held and guarded his soul while he was away, a burden that both terrified and comforted her with its responsibility and it’s significance.

Just as she knew that, if it were humanly possible, he would always come home to them, because they were his life, and his reason for being.

He loved them.

There was never a moment of doubt about that.

And yet, his homecomings weren’t easy.

It would take days for him to let go of missions like this, to let his heart thaw from the cold and steely dark world of his work until he could accept the comfort of his home and family.

Sara knew how to be patient with him. He was home with her, whole in body, his soul would soon follow. Time and understanding would ease the tension he carried, allowing him to relax and let go, bringing the sparkle back into his eyes and the laughter to his lips, until the Special Ops soldier was gone and he was once again Jack O’Neill, loving husband and dedicated father.

Yet, she knew that every mission took its toll. That every time, an irreplaceable bit of him eroded away, washed out by the horror he witnessed, and the violence he took part in; it was the price he paid for what he did and who he was.

She had wanted him to quit, had even worked up the courage to ask him to, once.

All he’d done was shake his head. “I can’t,” he’d answered, solemnly.

She’d understood. She didn’t like it, but she understood. He was never a man who could stand back and reap the rewards of those who did things he wouldn’t do, of those who accepted the ugly tasks and dirty jobs that had to be done. Jack O’Neill knew the world was hard and cold and unforgiving, and that someone had to do what he did.

And he couldn’t leave it to someone else, and still be who he was.

She was so glad he was home. Not that his return would make things instantly better. For weeks sometimes months, while he was away, she was a single mom, managing the house and taking care of Charlie all on her own. Then Jack would return, grim and silent and out of synch with his family. By the time he settled in, and she and Charlie got used to having him there, he’d be off again, for days or weeks or months at a time.

Sometimes, she felt like she was on a rollercoaster, careening wildly from highs to lows, sometimes scared, sometimes exhilarated, often frightened.

But always loved, and needed.

That made up for a lot.

Made up for everything, actually.

><><><><

Jack waved goodbye to the airman who’d given him a ride home and trudged wearily up the steps. He’d been back in the states for nearly 20 hours now, enduring endless debriefings when all he’d wanted was to go home to his family.

To feel human again.

With a sigh, he climbed the front steps, walked across the porch, and turning his key in the lock, entered, not bothering to turn on a light. He knew his way well enough that no illumination was needed. Quietly, so he wouldn’t wake Sara, he re-locked the door, setting his duffle bag in the hallway. Treading softly, he headed for the stairs, careful to avoid the third one, which squeaked loudly. How many times had he promised Sara he’d get it fixed, he remembered guiltily, but it seemed there was never enough time.

The house was silent. In the upstairs hallway, he came first to Charlie’s room. The door stood partly open, the room dimly lit by moonlight that poured in the window. Jack paused, leaning tiredly against the doorframe, looking in at his son.

Charlie slept peacefully, arms wrapped around the dog, Buddy, who thumped his tail in greeting but stayed snuggly curled up next to the boy. For a long moment, Jack watched, mesmerized by the gentle rise and fall of the boy’s chest as he slept, the purely innocent face. Oftentimes when he came home, Jack went into his son’s room, but not tonight. Tonight, he wasn’t ready to touch such a sinless child, not with his bloodied hands. Sure, he’d scrubbed them clean, not a telltale visual sign remained, but the blood was there nevertheless.

Finally, Jack turned away, taking the last few steps down the hall to the master bedroom. Moving inside as quietly as he could, he shed his boots and socks, shrugged out of his shirt and trousers, and slid onto the bed. Spooning up behind Sara, he reached his hands around to clasp hers.

She wasn’t asleep, as he knew she wouldn’t be. He could never sneak up on her… she slept lighter than he did. Must be the motherly instinct thing, he told himself.

Slowing his breathing, telling himself to relax, he sought the comfort of her touch, wrapping himself around her, sighing softly against the smooth skin of her neck, inhaling the scent of her hair.

He needed his family.

They made him complete, and whole, human and alive.

Sometimes he felt guilty for all the time he spent away from them, for the secret life his work demanded, for all the things that he couldn’t share with them. But another part of him needed them to be separate, to be pure and clean, not tainted by what he did, untouched by the ugly underbelly of the world he saw all too often in his work.

He cherished them more because they didn’t know what he did when he was away from them.

Sure, he knew Sara wasn’t some naïve teenager. She didn’t have any illusions about what he did, about how dangerous and violent it was, but she understood it and him, and loved him anyway. She provided him with a haven for healing his troubled soul, a place to come home to where he was Dad and husband, nothing more and nothing less, where he wasn’t a military officer, with life and death responsibilities.

His family grounded him in ways he was incredibly thankful for, and in ways he would never be able to express to them.

He felt Sara sigh, and lean back against him, her quiet acceptance granting him the peace he needed.

Now, he was truly home.

------The End---------