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It Starts With A Dance

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This story is No. 1 in the series "Dancing, Comfort, Cabins, and Such". You may wish to read the series introduction first.

Summary: "...and this whole thing with Willow seems to be predicated on the ability to not talk about things."

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Stargate > Willow-Centered > Pairing: Jack O'NeillsmolderFR1533,4328276,19127 Apr 1127 Apr 11Yes

Chewbacca is more efficient than vibe-age

Title: It Starts With A Dance - Part 2
Author: smolder
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Stargate belongs to Brad Wright and Jonathan Glassner. The Buffyverse belongs to Joss Whedon.
A/N: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.




“I'm way too old for you,” he had stated the first time. Because Jack really hadn’t been expecting this. They had retreated to his previous little corner of the bar after dancing. He supposed that two people having a rather serious conversation about the merits of Chewbacca’s character in the original Star Wars trilogy, (Willow admitted to repeated exposure due mostly to her best friend since childhood – to which Jack heartily commended his taste) was more of a deterrent than his previous vibe-age had been.

And although the guy they had been trying to keep away in the beginning had backed off after the third dance, he had ended up walking her back to her hotel room. It was really more because they had been placed in the same hotel than anything else. Probably all of the people invited had. Yet another horrible security problem that was obvious to anyone using common sense and made them both laugh at the stupidity of people in charge.

That made them both laugh, that is, until leaning against her door Willow (still giggling) had reached up, hooked an arm around his neck, pulled him down a bit to her level, and kissed him.

Jack had blinked stunned for a moment. “Willow….,” he started trying to let the young woman down easy.

She glanced down for a second flushing. “I’m not usually this type of girl,” she admitted. “But, it’s just,” she stumbled with her words for a moment. “This has all been so comfortable, you know? Easy and uncomplicated. I don’t get a lot of that these days. So, I figured, hey,” she looked back up at him with a little self-deprecating smile, “carpe diem. Not that that has worked out so well for me in the past,” she muttered the last part under her breath.

And, Jack had to admit, it had been. Easy and comfortable. He had forgotten a bit how it was to talk about something other than work. To talk with someone outside the Stargate program and not have to worry about them asking certain questions. Always being on guard. Because Willow had the same thing. Probably not exactly the same, but she was in the same boat. There were things they simply could not talk about, for national (global, interstellar – damn, with the Quantum Mirror was it interdimensional as well now?) security. It was this mutual understanding, so there was no need to push or ask those sorts of questions. Sure there was curiosity, but there was respect. Neither of them would have been in that room, if the President didn’t believe what they did wasn’t important to the world.

He couldn’t miss either that she was pretty (beautiful really), smart, and funny. Willow seemed to have bits and parts of a lot of his favorite people while being completely and utterly herself. And with her there were no regs - no chance of screwing up team dynamic. Jack’s only last defense was their age difference; she was way way too young for someone like him. Which he pointed out to her.

She just gave him a funny little smile and kept her arms looped around his neck and her body pressed against him. “Believe me, in the circles I run in, you are so not old. And not to sound incredibly corny or anything, but it's not really the outside that counts with me.”

Jack stared at her for a long moment. “Your right,” he said eventually, “that did sound incredibly corny.”

Willow snorted and grinned brightly. “I just mean,” she took a breath before admitting, “my first crush and my first relationship were both guys but my last two have been women. The packaging isn't what matters the most for me.”

“You make us all sound like candy bars,” he said, smiling despite himself. Not military then, he had guessed as much from her demeanor, but he doubted she would be just freely spitting out things like that if she was. It didn’t bother him at all (seriously, when you’re dealing with alien cultures on a daily basis, you try really hard not to recruit homophobes or anyone who had any sort of strong prejudice. It didn’t tend to work out).

Willow giggled and played with his collar a bit absentmindedly, “One of my best friends does use the metaphor of cookie dough for her relationships.”

“No offense to your friend,” Jack said, holding back laughter and hoping she wouldn’t take this the wrong way, “but I just had to stop myself from all sorts of bad “half-baked” jokes.”

The woman in his arms laughed long and hard burying her face in his suit jacket to stifle the sound. Jack chuckled too, but looked down the empty hallway, realizing he had been simply holding the red-headed woman outside her room for a while now as they talked.

“I’m sorry,” she said looking up again and wiping her eyes. “It’s just if you know my friends that’s really funny.”

“Yeah,” he said awkwardly as the silence dragged out again.

“Sooo, Jack.” Willow bit her lip and looked up at him hopefully through her eyelashes, her invitation obvious.

And being with her was comfortable and fun and easy. Willow was right, there really wasn’t enough of that in his life either.

This time he leaned down and kissed her. Willow releasing her lip from her teeth and giving a little startled breath of surprised pleasure against his mouth. When they parted she gave him that same relieved, happy, pleased grin she had on the dance floor. And when she opened the door to her room and tugged on his hand, he followed with a grin.

And Jack definitely didn’t feel bad about his decision.
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