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Mo Phillips

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Member Since: Before 2003

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A Promise.
By Mo Phillips
Sunday, November 17, 2002



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The TV was burbling quietly in the corner, the room lit only by the flickering light from the screen and the warm glow of a table lamp in the window. Dinner was several hours ago. Cassie had helped with the dishes before dashing upstairs to shut herself up in her room with a CD she had borrowed from a friend. Sam and Janet had changed into sweatpants and tee shirts and were now lying together on the couch. Sam was on her back with Janet draped over her, their legs intertwined, Janet’s head tucked under Sam’s chin, her eyes closed and a half smile curving her lips. Sam was stroking her back slowly, walking her fingers up and down her spine, dawdling in the hair at the nape of her neck before strolling back to the dip of her waist. They had not moved for more than an hour, content to simply luxuriate in the opportunity to lie quietly together. Every so often Janet would lift her head and they would exchange a soft kiss and a smile before she settled down again with a happy sigh.

Letterman came on but no one was paying any attention to him. Janet had drifted into a light doze but Sam had grown thoughtful, her hand now stilled in the small of Janet’s back.

“Jan.” Sam nudged her slightly with her chin.

“Mm?”

“I’m going to sell my bikes.”

Janet’s head popped up, an astonished expression lifting both eyebrows, “What? Why?”

Sam shrugged awkwardly, “I just am.”

Janet pushed herself up on one arm, “You love those bikes.”

“Yeah,” Sam admitted. She cupped Janet’s jaw in one hand, “But I love you more.”

“Sam.” Janet melted down and they shared a long kiss. When they broke for air she said, “You can’t sell your bikes.”

“I see your face, Janet, I know you hate them.”

“No. I don’t.” Janet protested, “I hate the idea that they might get you killed.”

Sam shrugged again, “Whichever.”

Janet pushed herself up so she was straddling Sam, sitting on her hips. She shook her head, “No. You cannot sell your bikes. I know what will happen. Every time you see a nice bike on the street you’ll get this kicked puppy dog look on your face and I’ll want to beat myself up because you look like that because of me!”

Sam blinked, “I won’t…”

“Yes, you will. You won’t be able to help yourself.”

“I don’t want you to have to worry about me, Jan.”

Janet smiled slowly, “I worry about you falling in the shower. I worry about you crossing the street. I worry about you barbequing.”

“What’s your point?” Sam lowered her brows at her.

Janet leaned down and kissed her softly, “Sweetheart, with what you do every day I know that every day could be our last. That’s why I won’t let you deprive yourself of something that you love. Do not sell your bikes.”

“But….”

Janet silenced her protests by the simple expedience of inviting her tongue into her mouth. Sam could not resist that temptation, sighing as their mouths slipped and slid together. Sam twisted and tilted them so that Janet wound up pinned beneath her long body. One of Sam’s hands was caught in Janet’s hair, the other roaming her torso, palming and squeezing the warm, pliant flesh. Sam broke out of the kiss,

“You changed the subject.”

Janet quirked her brows, “You noticed that, huh?”

Sam nodded, “I was paying attention.” She rearranged the tendrils of hair lying on Janet’s forehead, “Are you sure? I had my mind made up to sell. If you want me to I still will.”

“No. There is something you could do, though, that would ease my mind a little.”

“What’s that?”

Janet held Sam’s chin so their gazes locked together, “Wear a helmet.”

“I wear a helmet,” Sam said defensively

“Not always. I’ve done my time in the ER, Sam. I’ve seen the results of coming off a bike without a helmet… I couldn’t bear to see you like that.” Janet’s warm brown eyes were shadowed with anxiety.

“But I get helmet hair.” Sam pouted.

“Better helmet hair than brain dead.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll wear my helmet.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Then I can live with your bikes.”


The End.


Mo Phillips.




       Web Site: Mo Phillips SG1 Fiction

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