Author's Note: Just another of my Sam Carter stories that I managed to dig up from my 10 year-old folders. It first appeared in fanzine form like many of the others.
Timeline: Nothing specific. It could have taken place any time in the first couple of seasons, Sam's still a major. No spoilers!
LUCK
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.…" Sam Carter let the rest of the all-too-familiar words wash over her. She had stopped listening some time ago already. It wasn't as if she hadn't heard it all before. The prayers, the words supposed to comfort the grieving family, the assurances that the sacrifice of a loved one hadn't been in vain, the salute, the folding of the flag – it was always the same, and always new. As was the pain.
She wasn't even sure why she had come. It wasn't as if she were family or even a close friend. Nevertheless, for some reason Sam had felt compelled to attend the simple service.
"Major Carter?" Suddenly a grey-haired man stood in front of her, stocky, sixty-ish, a total stranger. A faded black coat, hunched shoulders and the sunburned face frozen in barely concealed grief marked him as one of the mourners.
The service was over, and all around them, people were dispersing. Some small, huddled clusters of friends or acquaintances still stood talking in hushed tones, fitting to the situation, probably exchanging fond memories of the deceased. General Hammond was over by the open grave, bowed over a veiled, elderly woman who sat by the gravesite. He was holding her hand, talking to her, probably conveying his condolences. The few other familiar faces, all of them members of various SGC teams, were slowly making their way to parked vehicles.
"Thank you for coming, Major. It means a lot to us." A broad, callused hand was extended towards her, and Sam automatically reached for it, along with mumbling the expected sort of response. The almost pathetically grateful expression in the man's eyes caused a rush of shame to flood through her. She searched for something to say, something personal, something that would mean anything in a situation that defied any meaning. And she couldn't think of anything besides, "I'm so sorry, sir." Which felt inadequate - and rather stupid. Suddenly, inexplicably, she felt a lump swelling in her throat. As if sensing her mood, the unknown man smiled at her sadly. "She could never tell us what it was she really did at Cheyenne Mountain, with the secrecy and all that, but our daughter often mentioned you and how much she admired you. She was so proud to be working with you and the others there. She always said how lucky she was to get chosen."
"Yes, sir." Sam tried to swallow the lump. He was her father! At the realisation,Sam's mind suddenly seemed to equal a vast, empty field. She swallowed again. "She was a very special person. We were proud to have her, and she certainly deserved …." Ashamed, Sam stumbled to a halt. She deserved …what ? …Deserved to be chosen as an SGC member? … Deserved to get sent on dangerous missions on a daily basis? …Deserved to come back from one of those missions with so many wounds that Janet didn't know where to start patching her up? … Did she deserve to bleed to death? … Deserve to leave her family behind without ever knowing what had killed their precious daughter?… Who deserved anything like that? What kind of stupid nonsense was she blabbering here? "I'm sorry, sir. I really am. Your daughter was a wonderful person, and I will miss her. … We all will."
Slowly, the man in front of her nodded, and Sam couldn't help noticing that he was gradually losing the fight to suppress the tears he had so far been able to hold back. She realised that he was desperately trying to hang on to what little dignity he had still left. "We'll miss her, too. She was our only daughter, you know." A long-drawn, heavy sigh accompanied the words. His eyes darkened and got that far-away look that spoke of memories of better days rising to the surface. "Yes, we'll miss her," he repeated in a whisper.
"Dad?" Another man, younger, and clearly his son, had walked up to them. Softly he touched his father's sleeve. "We're ready to go." The fleeting, derisive glance he spared Sam told her that he certainly didn't share the old man's gratitude for her coming. Her uniform marked her as a member of the military that had got his sister killed, and he hated her for it - and for being alive. "Come on, Dad. Let's go home."
"Yes, son." The older man pressed her hand again and turned to go. "She was happy doing what she did, and she kept telling us how lucky she was to be doing something important for her country." Again he tried to smile, and through the smile, the tears finally started to fall. "Please, don't forget that, Major."
"I won't, sir. I won't."
Lucky! She had felt lucky!
"Oh, hell! Where's my luck today? I give up! No more! I'm out!" With an exasperated sigh, Janice Olmond threw her cards on the table. " This - is - just – not – my - day!" She eyed the stack of chips in front of her neighbor with a frown. "You, on the other hand, do seem to have reserved all the luck for yourself today, Doralee."
Doralee Miller - Doralee, never just Dora or Lee, or, heaven forbid, Dolly – smirked. Janice was right. Compared to the mountain of colorful chips on her side of the table, what was left before the other three players was only a pitiable sprinkling. This had been a lucky night for her - well, as far as card games were concerned, at least. "Glück im Spiel, Pech in der Liebe!" she chanted with a triumphant grin, a grin which soon faded. Obviously in the grip of a new thought, Doralee stared down on the tabletop.
Sam was pretty sure she knew what was going through the other woman's mind. Before the game, Sam had been in the back of one of the seldom-used science labs, retrieving some notes she'd left there earlier. Since she knew perfectly well where to look for them, she hadn't switched on any lights but had let the hall lights illuminate the place. Neither had Doralee when she'd entered, making straight for the phone and getting her call patched through. Doralee hadn't noticed Sam's presence in the dimly-lit lab. Sam hadn't meant to eavesdrop on her conversation, but, when she realised what was going on, there had been no other way out of the room, and so she'd had to listen.
"Hi, Eric, I'm just about to leave. I'll be home in half an hour, I swear, and we can…. Oh no, Eric! Not again, please, tell me, you're not going to Frisco again. That's the fourth time this month. Why? Tell me, Eric! Why? Why does it always have to be you?"
After a short time of listening to the placating noises from the other end of the phone line Doralee had sighed. "Of course, I understand that it isn't you who's making these decisions, and I know you have to go if they tell you to. It's your job, I know that. … It's … it's just … well … Eric, I'm … I'm afraid that sooner or later they won't let you come back here. It sounds as if your bosses are losing interest in the Colorado Springs offices. I'm so afraid that they'll close them down and move the whole company over to the West Coast on a permanent basis. And what then, Eric? What will you do then? Move with them? … What's going to happen to us then?"
Moments later, Doralee had slammed the phone down and, muttering a "Damn you, Eric!", had left the lab again.
Eric was Doralee's husband. They had bought a nice, old house in Colorado Springs the year before, which - as Doralee often complained - they both spent way too little time in together. From the call it had sounded as if Doralee would have another lonely evening ahead of her.
Sam knew that both, Doralee and Eric, were from California, and like most true and tried children of the sunshine state harbored dreams of going back there together one day – not today or tomorrow, but eventually, some day a long time into the future.
Now it seemed that the move would come sooner than they had expected, at least for Eric. Sam wondered what Doralee would do if the decision was forced on them. Would she leave the SGC behind to follow her husband? Doralee Miller was a fine officer and damn good at what she did. At the SGC, she had a great career ahead of her. Would she sacrifice all that?
Or would Doralee's husband leave his company and stay behind for his wife's sake? From what she'd heard, husbands seldom did. Most of the times, it was the woman who was expected to give up her job in the name of keeping the family together - even today. Things hadn't changed all that much.
How would Doralee choose?
Sam didn't envy her fellow officer. Doralee might have been lucky at the poker table tonight, but as far as her private life was concerned, things seemed a different matter altogether. It just wasn't fair.
Sam wondered what she would do if the question ever arose for her. Could she really give up the job she had chosen? The job she loved? More still, would she ever be asked to make the choice?
Before she could ponder the question further, a voice on Sam's left interrupted her musings.
"Huh? What was that?"
Anna Jenkins, another member of the irregularly scheduled ladies' poker night of the SGC frowned at her fellow officers. "Hey, Dora," she repeated when no one seemed to take notice of her. "What did you say?"
"What? What did I say?" Caught up in her marital problems, Doralee's thoughts apparently had a hard time making the journey back from the sunlit beaches of California to the small, unadorned room deep inside 'the mountain' in Colorado.
"That's what I was asking you," Anna nodded at her with a broad grin. "You muttered something, some sort of gibberish in some foreign language, and I didn't understand a word."
"Oh that." In an almost automatic response, Doralee chuckled again. "Glück im Spiel, Pech in der Liebe," she repeated. "It's an old German saying, something my grandmother used to say at least twice every other day. It's a very useful expression. You can pretty much turn it around to make it fit any situation."
"And what does it mean?"
"Oh, something like, lucky at cards, unlucky in love. Or lucky in love, unlucky at cards. Whichever you need. It was Granny's standard expression for everything to do with luck or the lack thereof."
"So, you're saying that because we lost all that nice dough to you tonight we'll be lucky in love instead? I might finally meet Mister Wonderful, and we'll live happily ever after?"
There was a sparkle in Anna's eyes that spoke of a certain margin of seriousness to the question. She'd been alone for quite some time now, and rumor had it that she was ready to start looking again - in earnest. With not much luck so far, Sam recalled. She and Anna Jenkins weren't what you would call friends, but she did hear about most things that went on at the mountain. In a close-nit community like the SGC, the gossip mill never stood still. Anna, apparently, wouldn't go out with anyone associated with her workplace, not after a disastrous affair with a young captain from SG-11 a while back. It hadn't lasted long, and when they'd broken up, Anna had not only vowed to never, ever start anything again with a member from another team, she'd also avoided the guy like the plague afterwards. Not an easy feat in a small place like the SGC. It also made for some awkward situations.
As for dating anyone from the outside, what chance was there of meeting anyone, if you were off planet for days, and caught up with post-mission reports, fitness evaluations, guns practice and stuff like that for the rest of the week? There simply wasn't that much time left in the day. Besides, the SGC personnel tended to stick together; those that didn't have any pre-SGC families anyway. And if it wasn't the mountain or the team that took up your time, you were often just too damned tired. Too tired to go the dress-up-and-go-out-for-an-evening-of-fun routine, too tired to get tickets for the movies, a concert or even a game, too tired to do anything besides fall asleep in front of the TV. Some life this was!
"Cool, if that's true, I want my Prince Charming, too, I've certainly earned it," Janice took the ball and ran with it, jerking Sam's mind back to the poker table. "He'd better be waiting in my quarters. I'm in no mood to go out tonight."
Janice eyed the lack of chips in front of her with a frown. She was divorced, had been for two years now, almost as long as she had been with SG-8; which was simply a coincidence, no connection, as she kept stating firmly when asked about the reasons her marriage had failed. Sometimes, life in the military just sucked, especially for a non-military spouse.
"Mister Wonderful for Anna, Prince Charming for Janice, lots of money for me. Sure, fair's only fair, isn't it?" Doralee agreed, laughing softly, and started counting her winnings. She was still stacking chips when, all of a sudden, she seemed to notice that the fourth member of their little party had kept suspiciously quiet throughout the banter. She frowned at Sam with a question in her eyes.
Sam didn't often join the poker round, though she wasn't a stranger to it either. At the beginning, Janet had dragged her along - because she needed the change. Now, she also came without the esteemed doctor, but still rarely on her own initiative. When asked to stay for a game or two, she sometimes did, and had to admit that she really enjoyed herself, but she seldom volunteered or sought them out.
From time to time, the other women talked about her and her reasons for keeping apart from them so much. Sam had overheard snippets of conversations often enough to be aware of it. They all seemed to agree that it wasn't because Sam was the highest ranking female officer in the SGC. Doralee and Janice both were captains, one Army, the other Air Force. Anna, the youngest of them, who'd become Janice's best friend soon after joining the SGC, was with the Marines and only a few more assignments away from the same rank. No, they were certain it didn't have to do with rank.
One day, Janet had admitted to her that the others didn't see her as that kind of a snob. They also didn't envy her the job of resident scientific genius. No, Janet had grinned and told her that the other women in the SGC were convinced that Sam probably just wasn't really all that interested in this kind of R&R. In their - of course strictly private - opinion the good major was simply way too serious. As if the fate of this and other worlds solely rested on her slim shoulders. Sam clearly recalled Janet's smirking face. She was sure the good doctor had relished rubbing it in - again. Janet never gave up getting Sam to spend less time on SGC things.
The simple truth of the matter was that Sam never quite felt that she belonged. She didn't go in for gossiping, had no hot love stories to share – let alone the desire to. Her dreams were hers alone, and her private life --
"What do you think, Major Carter? Do they deserve a meeting with Mister Right, the guy who can sweep a woman off her feet and straight into paradise?"
Again Sam snapped out of her dark contemplation. She knew she had been even quieter than usual, as if she was only going through the motions of playing. She might not be the soul of the party, but usually, she left the table with more than she came with. Poker was close to math equations, she'd once told them when the others wondered why she seemed to be winning more often than any of them. Add up the numbers and you came up with a good idea of what everyone held. Also, when the mood struck her she could bluff with the best of them. Today though, she'd lost just as much as Anna and Janice, which was everything the three of them had started out with.
When she failed to answer right away, Doralee gave her a little shove. "Earth to Major Carter! Helloooo! Anybody home? Are you still with us?"
With a slight nod of her head and an apologetic smile, Sam shook off the depressing thoughts that had kept her mesmerised. "Oh, sorry, but I'm not really in the mood for games today. I should probably head home and find my bed." She pushed her chair back and only then noticed that the others were already in the process of breaking up. "Oops, looks like you got the same idea." Sam winced.
"Not really," Anna inserted with a wry grin. "But shark Dolly here has cleared us plain out for today." She quickly dodged the swiping hand that tried to punish the forbidden abbreviation of its owner's name. "No money, no more cards!"
"Yep, same here, so I'm off for my bunk," Janice threw in. With a hearty yawn she stretched and reached for her uniform jacket. Then she chuckled. ""Though, on the other hand, maybe my guy is already waiting somewhere along the road." She snipped her fingers and wriggled her hips suggestively. "Let's make a little detour through a bar. Who knows what might turn up. … My prince! I'm coming, baby!" she announced with an almost feral grin.
"Hey, first choice is mine. I lost heaps more than you did," Anna protested, grabbing her coat as well. "So, by Doralee's rules, any guy we meet belongs to me."
"Dream on, honey." Janice was already at the door. "First come, first served. Let's see what we can scrounge up tonight, shall we?"
"Yeah, and let the best woman win." Anna was hard on her friend's heels. "Bye-dee-bye." A waving hand dismissed the two women at the table, who shared a wry grin at the devil-may-care antics of their colleagues.
Doralee raised a thoughtful eyebrow. "I wonder if they'll get lucky tonight." She sighed, obviously reminded of the too-big and way-too-empty home waiting for her. No, definitely no luck in that department for her tonight.
The night was uncommonly dark for the time of the year. Heavy clouds were concealing most of the sky, and only one or two extremely persistent stars managed to send their messages twinkling through the thick covering to greet the lonely walker. Finding herself strangely restless and unwilling to sleep after the poker evening, Sam had opted for a night walk in the nearby park to achieve the necessary fatigue. Before long however, she found herself reliving parts of the earlier conversation, particularly the one about the elusive luck.
"Pech im Spiel, Glück in der Liebe!" What had the other woman said it meant? Unlucky at cards, lucky in love? Something along those lines. Yes, and she, Sam Carter, had been one of the ones for whom the god of love would laugh. No luck at poker, but plenty of luck in love. Yeah, sure!
"Now what the hell has poker got to do with luck?" Sam muttered angrily. "It's got strict rules, usually more than half of the cards are out on the table for all the world to see or have been – so what's luck got to do with winning? Just memorise what has been out already and there isn't much room for what's in everyone's hand. It's basic math, not luck!"
"Luck!" she continued to rant. "Luck is largely overrated anyway. Any halfway intelligent person can make her own luck." Heatedly, she kicked at a stone that had the misfortune of lying right in front of her right leg. With a splash it disappeared into the dark, still waters of the pond.
"Games have nothing to do with luck." She kicked another stone off into the wild and not-so-blue yonder.
"And neither has love!" she added vehemently.
Because if it did, what would that mean for her? Plenty of luck in love? Now that was a screamer.
Sam Carter and luck in love just didn't go together. Period! A natural law that someone had laid down a long time ago and forgotten to tell her about. Sam Carter and lucky in love? Yeah! Sure! Time to bring on the next joke, for this one had grown stale.
Lucky in love!
Lucky? She? Sam Carter, the Black Widow? The Spider Woman, who devoured all males who dared come near her? Well, if they dared at all.
For one thing, she could count her recent so-called love affairs on the fingers of one hand.
There'd been Jonas. He had gone mad on some planet far away from home, playing God to a few simple souls, and had died for it in the maw of a wormhole to nowhere.
Next, Narim had fallen for her. Narim who had laughed with her about Schroedinger and who had shared his feelings with her. Narim who had given his home computer system her name. Narim who had probably died under the firestorm of a Goa'uld death strike together with his whole planet. Narim - who had been really sweet.
Then she'd happened to stumble over Martouf, the Tok'ra with the gentle smile. Though she had never been quite sure if it was Sam Carter he had adored or the memory of Jolinar, who had, after all, been his mate for more than a hundred years. Yet, there'd been something between them, and maybe it would have blossomed into more, given the time. But time was a quantity in short supply for some of them, and Martouf's had probably begun to run out the moment he laid eyes on her. Sam's nights were still haunted by the memory of the Tok'ra who had died in her arms in a cold, grey gateroom far from his home world, another victim of some fiendish Goa'uld strike.
Another really alien alien had been Orlin. He'd shown up one day on her doorstep, declaring his love for her, refusing to take no for an answer, and had slowly won her over to him. Strange as his whole existence had seemed to be, she'd been able to laugh with him. He had made her laugh. In the end, he'd disappeared in a cloud of smoke and light, and to this day, Sam wasn't sure if she could call him still alive or not. The only thing she was sure of was that she had caused his change, even if indirectly. As suddenly as he had appeared in her life, he'd left it again, leaving her the poorer. Somehow she still missed him around the house. With him there, it had almost felt like a home.
Well, and after those three aliens, Joe Faxon had come along, a human – an intelligent, interesting, good-looking, good-natured and absolutely non-military human. He had definitely had a crush on her, no, more than that, if he hadn't fallen victim to those devious Aschen, he would have pursued her in earnest, she just knew it. And she had genuinely liked him as well. She still saw his face looking over the rim of the Harvester, making sure she was getting away safely, before turning back to stop any Aschen from following her. He had sacrificed himself for her.
Oh yes, any guy who ventured near her definitely ought to be warned about the Carter Curse. They'd better keep a safety parameter around her with neon lights flashing a warning: "Stop! No further! Deadly female ahead!" They could top it with a skull for those who couldn't read. That should do it.
Lucky in love!
Three aliens dead, two humans perished, one Air Force major still alone. Some track record!
The hell with lucky, the hell with love. Who needed it anyway? She didn't! The next time some guy started making calf's eyes at her, she'd just shoot him herself right away. So much neater in the long run, no emotional ballast on her side, no trauma, no false hopes, no squashed flame!
Love! Bah!
Another stone died an ignominious death in the murky depths of the pond. With a resigned sigh Sam acknowledged that she probably wouldn't get any sleep tonight. After all, she was more than familiar with the signs, and her present state of mind clearly rang the death knell for a restful, sleep-filled night. She'd go back to the SGC. There was a lot of work waiting in her lab, work that would take her mind off those fruitless ramblings. With a little luck she might actually get a grip on the equations for the portable naquada reactor she had been experimenting with. Oh God, there was that word again. Sam Carter did - not - need - any -luck -- period. Not in love, not at work, not at games, not at all. No - luck!
God, how she hated the word.
"Hi Sam! How're you doing?" Janet Fraiser swept into the commissary like a fresh summer breeze. Her eyes were shining, a smile adorned her lips, and there was a spring to her step that spoke of happy memories still following her around. "Isn't it a wonderful day?" She looked disgustingly happy.
"Huh."
Sam knew she hadn't given the expected enthusiastic reply when she saw one of Janet's eyebrows rise at the ill-humored grunt.
"Oh-oh. What happened? Bad night?"
"No."
"Well? Then what?" Janet busily removed coffee, bagels, marmalade and juice from her tray and deposited them one by one on the table, apparently trying to hide the fact that she was inspecting Sam at the same time. And not all that unobtrusively either – usually Janet could do better than that.
Sam knew what her friend would see. Red-rimmed eyes with dark shadows under them, pale, lustreless skin, slumped shoulders, head sunk so low it almost touched the table top; all of it would speak of a distinct lack of sleep to her medical eye. The diagnosis didn't take long in the coming. "How much sleep did you get last night?"
"Hm?" Sam tried to stall. She wasn't in the mood for explanations; she wasn't even sure if she could explain her current depression.
"None, I guess," Janet swiftly answered her own question. "Sam, you go on like this and I'm going to order you to get some sleep."
With eyes that felt as if a bucket of sand had been emptied into them, Sam blinked up at her friend. That was a threat she'd already heard before, and it didn't move her one bit. Stoically she waited for the continuation, the good advice that was usually not far off, either.
"You've got to find something better to do with your nights than putter about in your lab, Sam. Those technical playthings of yours may be fascinating, but they are no substitute for sleep, or for going out and doing something interesting."
"Like what?"
"Like seeing a play, or a movie. Like going out dancing, or just for a beer with someone. Like listening to some good music, like really talking to someone – and I don't mean someone from the SGC or talking about quantum mechanics. I mean normal things. … Sam, you need to get a life." Running out of breath, Janet was forced to interrupt her impassioned speech. She gulped in some air and then took a long sip of her coffee, while still watching the exhausted woman opposite her from under her lashes. Suddenly a new thought seemed to occur to her. "Say, what happened to that bike you were putting together some time ago? Did you get it finished?"
"Yeah, I did. Siler helped me with a few things, but we got everything working just fine. Now it runs like the wind, really smooth and really fast." Sam felt a reminiscent grin appear on her face. "You should try it sometime. It's fantastic, honestly. You practically fly along the road and there is nothing that can stop you. It's … it's like complete and utter freedom." Sitting up straight, she beamed at the other woman. All her fatigue was gone. She could almost feel the wind tousle her hair, smell the heady mountain air all around her and hear her blood racing through her veins as she sped along one of the mountain roads around Colorado Springs.
"Sounds like fun," Janet remarked dryly. It sounded as if riding a motorcycle wasn't exactly at the top of her fun list at the moment.
"It is, Janet, it really is. You should try it." A new thought seemed to plop into Sam's mind. "What do you say, shall we go for a ride? Just the two of us? Maybe at the weekend? Cassie's still away on her school trip, isn't she? So you'd be free to go, and we could really have some fun together." She regarded her friend with an expectant look.
From the way Janet avoided her glance, Sam knew at once that her tentative hopes would be crushed. Apparently Janet had other plans for the weekend, plans that involved neither Cassie nor Sam - definitely not. Maybe her weekend plans had something to do with a certain, mysterious Dustin whose name Janet had let slip inadvertently last week. Dustin, who had no connection to the SGC or any other part of the military at all. Lucky Janet.
So she wasn't surprised to hear her say: "Sorry, Sam. I can't." It was said with genuine regret, but said it was. With Janet's words, the spark of hope and happiness blossoming in Sam's mind faded away again. No bike trip into the wide blue yonder. No two women on their own, needing no one, content in their own company.
Sam knew that Janet didn't think she should spend so much of her time with her. They were both members of the SGC, and sooner or later they'd talk shop, even on a weekend trip into the mountains. Janet had other plans for Sam. She'd told her time and again that she would like to see her with someone from the outside, someone to take her mind off the rigors of work. Someone who was nice and entertaining, someone good-looking - and preferably, someone male.
"Oh."
Yes, Sam was disappointed and, at the moment, just too tired to hide it. With something close to annoyance, she saw Janet suppress a smile. Oh, no! Next the motherly look would appear. "Well, Sam," Janet started gently, as she would have with her daughter. "I do have a life outside the SGC, and so--"
A commotion from the entrance of the commissary broke their concentration. A group of people had entered rather noisily. SG-5 and 8 from the looks of it. They were due off on a mission together today, Sam recalled. Janet would probably have to give them their pre-mission once-over in the next hour or so.
At the center of the group, Janice Ormond and Anna Jenkins were swept into the room. To the very obvious enjoyment of their teammates, the two women were having a heated argument, fragments of which drifted over to the two women at the table.
"Hey, he was mine. I saw him first," Janice exclaimed. "But you had to go and steal him."
Anna Jenkins smirked. "No theft involved at all; he chose me. We spent the whole night together. And wow, what a night it was!"
A chorus of whistles and catcalls from the male members of both teams followed. Realising what she'd said and where, Jenkins blushed a bright red, which only made the situation worse. A Marine simply didn't blush, as her teammates pointedly reminded her.
"Looks like Anna did get lucky," Sam muttered darkly, ignoring Janet's questioning look. Her depression was back.
All of that had been when? A week ago? No, not even that much - more like five or six days, Sam remembered. The poker game had been on Tuesday night, the talk in the commissary on Wednesday morning. Today was the Monday after.
Tuesday, Anna had been alive, carefree, laughing and full of hope for a new love. She'd met someone and spent the night with him. She'd been lucky, according to the strange rules of Doralee's saying.
Wednesday that hope and the knowledge of nice things to come had accompanied her through the Stargate into a new mission.
Thursday she was carried home through the gate on the shoulders of her team mates, bleeding from several wounds, victim to some stupid misunderstanding with the local population.
Monday she lay six feet beneath the ground.
And her father still called her lucky.
Sam swallowed hard. "Anna's luck didn't hold for very long."
"Whose does?" The soft voice next to her startled Sam. She hadn't been aware that she'd spoken out loud. Nor that someone had joined her. Glancing up, she recognised Doralee Miller, who smiled at her sadly. Sam had noticed her earlier, standing together with the rest of SG-5 and 8. She returned the smile. "Hello." It seemed inadequate, but was the best she could do at the moment.
"Everybody's leaving," Doralee observed with a nod at the movement all around them.
"Yes," Sam agreed. "We should, too." Together both women walked down the grassy path.
"I never thought we'd ever have to bury Anna. She was so sure of herself, so much the invulnerable Marine. She was even convinced she'd have to come rescue us one day," Doralee mused. She shook her head. "Strange, the games fate decides to play with us."
"You don't really believe in things like fate or luck, do you?" Sam asked. She was genuinely curious. It wasn't often that she talked to another member of an SG team like this. Personal matters mostly stayed out of conversations unless you really knew the other person well.
Doralee laughed softly. "No, not really. Though, I guess we all do to some extent, don't we?" She looked at Sam with a puzzled expression. "Don't you?"
"Fate?" Sam answered. "No, I guess I don't. That would be too easy. Something goes wrong and you blame it on fate. People give up responsibility for their actions that way. No, I don't believe in fate. " She shrugged. "And I have always believed that we make our own luck."
"Oh, I don't know. A lot can be said for the existence of luck." Noticing her companion's disbelieving look, Doralee Miller chuckled. "Have you ever noticed how often we call someone lucky when they get back from a mission without a scrape? How often we get out of a hairy situation without really doing anything? If that isn't luck, then what is it?" When Sam apparently couldn't supply an answer for her, she added: "Anna also believed in it."
"It didn't really help her, did it?" To her own surprise, Sam's voice carried a lot of suppressed anger. She wasn't really certain who or what she was angry at, but the feeling persisted.
"Do you really think Anna would agree with you?"
Startled, Sam stopped walking and looked the other woman straight in the eye. "Are you saying Anna would still call herself lucky? After all that?" Her arm swept a circle to the open grave.
"Oh, she'd have some choice remarks to make about what happened to her, but I am sure she'd still consider herself a lucky woman."
"You mean because she just happened to meet some guy the day before she died, and they spent a hot night together?" Sam snapped. Her anger hadn't lessened.
"Well, at least she had that night." Doralee smiled fondly. "You didn't know Anna the way I did, Major. She lived for the moment. That night was important to her. She never expected everlasting love. No one in our profession really does, I guess. We all know that nothing good lasts forever. So she took what she could get and called herself lucky. That was Anna." The sadness returned to the smile. "I'm gonna miss her."
Surprised, Sam heard herself say, "Me too." And she was even more surprised to realise that she meant it. She hadn't known Anna Jenkins very well, but she would still miss the happy-go-lucky woman.
They had reached the steadily diminishing row of cars, and Doralee stopped next to a blue sedan. "I'm off duty for the rest of the week. We all are." She shrugged. "Standard procedure, I suppose, after what happened. Well, it gives me time to clean the house. Not that anyone besides me is in it at the moment." Her eyes darkened.
Sam knew the marital problems were more than just rumors, but since the other woman didn't volunteer anything, she didn't press. "You'll be back soon enough. I'll be seeing you then."
"Too true. See you, Major." Doralee got in, and soon the big car moved into the street, leaving Sam alone at the curb, thinking.
Anna Jenkins would have called herself lucky because of a flighty affair, a one-night stand more or less, Doralee Miller had stated. Anna was dead, and her father was convinced she'd also thought herself lucky because she could provide some service for her country.
And she, Sam Carter, had spent a night raving and ranting at the world because she felt herself unfairly treated by the very same fate whose existence she had just denied. She'd demanded luck in love, though in the same breath she had also refused to acknowledge the possible influence of luck in her life. She had recalled all those unhappy, unfulfilled or unrecognised affairs - angry, hurt and feeling sorry for herself. But did she honestly have a cause for those feelings? Had she really made such a mess of her life?
For a second, faces seemed to pass before her eyes: Jonas, Narim, Martouf, Orin, Joe. Men who had each loved her in his own way at some time. Men who still held a place not only in her memory but also in her heart.
Well, at least, she'd had those moments. Which wasn't so bad after all, was it? Maybe she couldn't hang onto a relationship – if you could call any of them that. But how much worse to go through life without ever knowing any love at all. How much worse to be lonely and unloved forever.
Yes, definitely! If she didn't get the love feast, she'd be content with the crumbs for now. Maybe Doralee was right. Maybe good things seldom lasted long. Maybe a little love was better than no love at all.
Maybe luck did exist. Maybe one day, love would find Sam Carter as well. No more complaining, no more demanding, no more hoping against hope.
She was alive. She was one of the lucky ones.
Slowly, Sam walked on to her own car. A soft smile played around her lips. And unbidden, a familiar voice stole itself into her thoughts: "Hey Carter, how you doing?"
"I'm good, sir."
The End