Dear Readers,

Well, my curiosity got the better of me and I hightailed it off to youtube and watched "Search and Rescue". To be honest, I didn't really like how they pulled it off, especially the ending where Sam is basically fired--that was completely rushed with no back-up, and it really bothered me. Anyway, based on the ending, however, I came up with this to feed my unquenchable hunger for more McCarter-ness, and...well...I should just let you read it. Don't forget to review!

Best regards from a Bookworm (and SGA McCarter fan),

Miss Pookamonga ;-P

For Ellymelly's Birthday. Again. :D

Living Through Hell

"So...what's it like, working with Woolsey?"

He lets out an annoyed huff and turns to look up at the glittering stars above him. "Like living through hell," he muses darkly.

She chuckles in spite of herself.

"What are you laughing for?" he snaps, whipping his head round to look back at her angrily. "You never had a picnic working with him either!"

She smiles and shakes her head. "I know, I know. But I don't get to do it every waking day of my life." Her gaze suddenly shifts away from him, and he sees her eyes flicker towards the bushes lining her backyard.

"You really hate him, don't you?" he asks quietly after a long silence passes between them.

She doesn't say anything, but the way she artfully tries to avoid looking at him is an answer enough.

He opens his mouth to say something that might somehow console her, but she suddenly speaks, surprising him and cutting him off.

"I hate them all," she sighs dejectedly, turning to gaze at the stars again, as if that will distract her from the raging fury she feels inside every time this subject is brought up.

"So do I," he agrees, fiddling with the grass beneath his fingertips. "You didn't deserve it."

He hears her sigh again, and he shifts his head once more to peer over at her sunken face. He's never seen her look so depressed, and it terrifies him. He's the one who's supposed to have emotional problems. Not her.

"I miss it," she suddenly whispers, her own fingers clutching at the grass and ripping it from the ground in tight fistfuls.

He gulps, fearing the strength of her suppressed anger but empathizing with her all the same.

She takes a deep breath and continues before he has a chance to reply. "I didn't think I'd miss it this much." I didn't think I'd miss you this much. "But I miss it almost as much as I missed SG-1 when I first left. And I'd spent ten years on that team when I moved."

He feels his heart clench upon hearing her confession. It both pains him and touches him to know that Atlantis has come to mean that much to her after only a year. He wants to say something again, but he doesn't think he can find any proper words without making her feel sadder or sounding incredibly awkward.

"I'm sorry," is all he can tell her. I really am. I wish I could say more or do something to make it right. I can't stand seeing you like this.

"I was just starting to get to know everyone...and then...they"—she spits the word vehemently, as if it is a curse—"had to get involved. And now I'll never get the chance again to..." she trails off, thinking of all the things she was on the brink of doing but now can never do because of some fatal mistake she didn't commit.

"Don't talk like that," he suddenly says, before he even knows what's escaping his mouth.

She shoots him a fierce look that frightens him to the bone. "Why not?" she says in a bitingly sarcastic tone that he's never heard her use before. "You do."

He doesn't know how or why, but that makes his heart swell up in indignation and he nearly sits up to scold her severely—something he would never dare to do in any other situation.

"You're not me," he almost growls, glaring at her. "You are not me."

She is taken aback by his sudden change of emotion, and her face softens in concern. "Ro—"

He interrupts her. "Don't ever think like that again. I'm the fatalist, the pessimist, the doom-and-die man, not you. You hold out hope. You—you..."

It hits her all of a sudden, why he's reacting this way.

"I didn't mean to scare you," she says softly, allowing her fingers to brush against his arm.

"You can't—you're supposed to be the strong one," he finishes sadly as his voice trails off, as he gives her puppy-dog eyes that melt her heart to the core.

"Rodney—"

"You keep me in line. I'd still be an arrogant little bastard if it hadn't been for you."

She feels tears brimming at the base of her eyes. Oh, god, is that how he really feels? She'll never be able to bear seeing him leave again.

There is another heavy silence.

"You delivered a baby," she suddenly says, racking her brain for something more worthwhile to say.

"Huh. That's nothing compared with having to deal with me," he mutters cynically.

Suddenly, a smile breaks out on her face. "True...you still are an arrogant little bastard."

He turns sharply toward her, a vicious frown contorting his face, but once he sees her gleeful smile, his demeanor softens and he smiles too. "I resent that," he tries to say angrily, but he's still grinning ridiculously like a schoolboy with candy in hand.

"For the record, I still hate you," she adds, her smile widening.

He lies back down, daring to intertwine his fingers with hers, and to his delight, she accepts the gesture.

"Good," he answers, and for the moment, all hell is forgotten.