I apologize ahead of time for this ranting created for my own catharsis, as "Jenna" just popped back into my life, too. Details have been changed to protect the innocent. And her. Oh, except the wedding train wreck. I'm not creative enough to have made that up.
Reviews always make me feel better... And this week, I could use it. We're supposed to "mend fences" Friday.
August 31st, 1997
Sam Carter threw one last t-shirt into the open suitcase on her bed before heading toward the knock on her front door. It was Sunday, sure, but she wasn't expecting anyone, and she was more than a little short on time. Sneaking a peak through the curtains on her way to the door, she pulled it open. "Doctor Jackson."
"Captain Carter."
He looked a little uncertain, and she raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"
"Uh... Actually, that's what I came to ask you."
The eyebrow went higher.
"Well, see, I asked Jack what we were doing next week, and he said we were on down time because you were on leave. And I just... I know things haven't been the easiest on you lately, and I wanted to make sure you were okay."
Things haven't been the easiest. Well, that was a euphemism if she'd ever heard one. She'd been on SG-1 a little more than a month and had already been sold to a warlord. And she'd accidentally sexually assaulted her CO. And gotten stabbed. And knocked out in an elevator. Oh, and her fiancee – ex-fiance, she reminded herself – had been dead just over a week. "I'm fine," she offered with a tight smile. Because at the moment, those things were the least of her concern.
He didn't buy it, still awkwardly standing on the porch. "Okay. I just... I mean, if you wanna talk, or..."
He meant well, and it made her feel like an ass for being short with him. "I'm sorry. Come in, please. I don't have a lot of time, though; do you mind if we talk while I finish packing?"
"Sure," he offered, stepping inside. And only as he followed her down the hall to her room did he ask, "Packing?"
"This leave has been on the books for awhile," she explained, bypassing the suitcase – her new teammate didn't need to see her underwear – and heading for the bathroom. "With everything going on, I guess I didn't mention it. I have to go to a wedding."
"Oh!" he said. Then, "That... seems like a lot of clothes for a wedding."
"It's not until next Saturday." Her voice echoed in the shower stall as she grabbed her shampoo and conditioner, then dug under the counter for a new bar of soap. When he said nothing, she glanced up to see him looking at her side-eyed. "I'm going early," she explained, sticking the bottles into a big plastic storage bag. "The rehearsal dinner is at their house, so we're painting and rearranging and borrowing tables. And then the bachelorette party is Thursday, the rehearsal and dinner Friday, the wedding Saturday. I'll be back Sunday night."
"Sounds like a lot of fun."
It was her turn to be silent as she dug out a new razor and tossed the can of shaving cream in the bag, too.
"Not so much fun, huh?"
She took a breath to answer, but couldn't find the words and just grabbed another storage bag.
"Don't like the groom?"
"I hardly know him." The only two shades of lipstick she ever used were already on the counter with her foundation, eyeliner, and eye shadow palette, and they went in the bag.
"You must be good friends with the bride, if you're there a whole week."
Upending it onto the counter, she opened the right-hand drawer instead, revealing the rest of her (totally ridiculous, as she wore none of it) stash of makeup. She had a feeling she was going to need it – for others, not herself – and started shoveling it away by the fistful. "I'm the maid of honor." Her few pieces went on top, and she zippered it shut.
"You sound... less happy about that than I feel like you should."
"I guess I need to work on that, then," she said. "Because for the next week, I am ever-faithful, staunchly supportive Sam Carter. Hold this."
She handed him another bag, the top held wide by the index finger and thumb on two hands, and he took it in kind. The cabinet behind the mirror was full of bottles and jars and tubes with names that sounded suspiciously like hair stuff, but what did he know? He just held up the plastic as she swept the entire contents of one shelf into it. "At least you're going prepared."
"Well, someone's gonna have to paddle the lifeboat," she said dryly.
One eyebrow peaked. "You don't think it's going to last."
That seemed to catch her off guard; her eyes swung over to stare at him for a moment before she let out a sigh. "I hope it does," she said sadly. "Really. I hope she's happy."
"The timing's just kind of rough for you," he surmised. She'd just lost the man she'd once meant to marry, after all.
"It's... a lot of things." Capping her toothbrush, she tossed the toothpaste in with her shower stuff, gathered up the bags, and headed for her suitcase. "I appreciate you checking on me, Daniel. I do."
"It sounds like I should have waited a week," he said. "What time does your flight get in? I'll bring ice cream."
She stopped to smile at him, though it reflected the sadness in her eyes. "Nine. And I think I'll need it."
~/~
Yes, she definitely looked like she could use dessert. Daniel left the grocery bag on the porch and headed down the sidewalk toward the curb where the taxi driver set her luggage and the giant, heavy bag that held her laptop. The setting sun made her look ten years older, gaunt, as she handed the driver a stack of cash.
"Did you bring that ice cream?" she asked as the cab drove away.
"Vanilla and rocky road." He grabbed her suitcase as they headed toward the house. "Do you wanna talk about it?"
"No."
"Okay." Snagging the bag off the porch with his free hand, he followed her inside.
