"Magnetism, as you recall from physics class, is a powerful force that causes certain items to be attracted to refrigerators."
- Dave Barry


The homecoming dance is surprisingly well attended. Liberty students are significantly less jaded than many of the other students at other high schools she has worked at. It's like they want to have the typical, carefree high school experience. There are students, of course, who just keep their head down and try to get through their four years as fast as possible - Steven Lyon comes to mind - but when the dance comes around, even Steven attends.

Sam, Daniel, and Vala spend their Saturday earning overtime by helping the dance committee decorate the gym. It's simple and sweet - balloons and crepe paper and some strings of tiny lights. The theme is "Out of this World" and there are paper stars taped to the wall and hanging from the ceiling. The school has hired a DJ and he arrives an hour early to set up. Sam sends the committee home to go put on their party attire once he arrives.

This Vala is much more fun than the coffee deprived Vala of the morning hours. She makes the kids laugh, dances around, sings, has a great decorative eye. And she grabs Sam and links their arms together like they are old friends and Sam, for some reason, believes it. It doesn't seem insincere.

"You're not wearing that, are you?" Vala asks her. Sam is in jeans and an oversized flannel shirt.

"No," Sam says graciously. "I brought a change of clothes."

"Come on then," Vala says. "Come get ready with me."

"What about me?" Daniel asks.

"You hold down the fort," Vala orders. "You just have to throw on a tie to look handsome, it will take you 30 seconds."

They gather Sam's things from her classroom and then go to the theater. Vala's classroom is apparently in the building adjacent to the theater but they go backstage to where there are a few large mirrors surrounded by lights and rigged dressing rooms - painted circles on the floor with curtains that close around enough space for one person - maybe two. There are racks of costumes, props, old sets.

"What play are you doing this year?" Sam asks.

"Wizard of Oz," Vala says. "It's a shame I have to cast students. I'd make a darling Dorothy."

Sam smiles. She wants to laugh but she isn't completely sure that Vala is joking.

"All right," Vala says. "Show me your dress."

When Sam pulls it out, Vala puts a knuckle to her chin. "Hmm."

"What do you think?" Sam asks.

"We know what you're going to wear to the funeral, but what about the dance?" Vala asks.

Sam rolls her eyes. "It's not my homecoming," she says. "Standing out wasn't my goal."

"The world is your homecoming!" Vala says, throwing her arms into the air. "Never miss a chance to show off. You have a small waist, legs longer than my entire body and a bodacious chest! You should be showing it all off as much as possible!"

"While I appreciate the compliments, I'll stick with my choice," Sam says. "What do you have?"

"Sequins," Vala says seriously. "Lots of it." She grins.

oooo

It's not exactly fun. She spends the whole night ushering couples out of dark corners, making sure no one is getting pregnant in any bathrooms or closets, and making small talk with parent chaperones who mostly want to talk about why their teenager is the best or worst teenager ever and every conversation ends with, "God, but I love them."

Walter stands guard over the punch bowl, serving little paper cups and glaring down anyone who looks like they might be tempted to even think about spiking it. The music is horrendous and loud and by 9:45 when things start to wrap up, the whole gym smells like sweat, hormones, and acne cream. Not a pleasant combination.

She's so happy there is a separate batch of volunteers coming in tomorrow to clean the place up. Once the last kid is picked up, it's almost 11:00 and she finally slips her heels off and carries them with her while they do a final walk through to make sure everything is locked and no one is hiding anywhere.

"I'm so tired," Daniel complains. "But I'm starving."

"Right there with you," Sam says, and yawns.

"Come on," Vala says. "Let's go to Denny's.'

"Ugh no," Daniel says.

"Yes, yes, my treat," she says. "Come on, you'll get a second wind and I want waffles."

"It's late," Sam says.

"You too, Samantha, come along." She's weirdly authoritative for wearing a pink sequin strapless dress and platform heels with her hair in pigtails but strangely, they both just sort of tiredly go along with it anyway.

The Denny's is bright and sticky and pretty busy for almost midnight. She's worried there might be students there, but she doesn't recognize anyone. Daniel and Vala sit across from her. She orders an egg white omelette and decaf coffee. Daniel orders a hamburger. Vala orders waffles and hot chocolate and when her hot chocolate comes, it's covered in whipped cream and she sticks her finger into it and licks it off.

"So," she says, once everything is ordered and they've nothing to do but wait for their food. "What's your story?"

"Yeah," Daniel says, his chin resting in his hand. He looks tired but curious. "Spill."

"No story," she says. "Just Sam."

"Ah, rubbish," Vala says. "You're beautiful but unmarried, brilliant but teaching high school, and you drive a motorcycle like you're some sort of daredevil."

"And Jack likes you," Daniel adds.

"Yes!" Vala says, pointing at her. "And Jack fucking hates everyone."

"No he doesn't," Sam says. "He's nice! He's friends with Janet and T and you, Daniel."

"No, he's a total ass," Daniel says. "I mean you're right, we're friends, but that took years."

"Really?" she asks, her forehead wrinkling. That description absolutely does not jive with the man she has met.

"He's really hard to crack," Vala says. "He just barely tolerates me."

"Barely," Daniel agrees. "He's quiet, private, and takes great pains to isolate himself."

"But," Sam says. "He loves his job, he loves his kid. He goes out with you guys." She is perplexed.

Vala shrugs.

"So what's your story?" Daniel prompts again.

"Um, military family. We moved a lot. I decided not to join the Air Force like my brother. My dad had a hard time forgiving me for that."

"Why?" Vala asks.

"It would have been the easiest way for me to get into Nasa. The quickest route." Sam sips her decaf. "Teaching high school and not being an astronaut really disappointed him."

This is the first time she's really spoken about her father since his death and instead of feeling sick in her stomach, each sentence makes her feel a little lighter.

"Teaching should not be a profession that inspires disappointment," Daniel says.

"Which is why you don't have a classroom of your own," Vala says. Daniel is saved having to come up with a witty reply when their food arrives.

"So," Vala says once they've tucked in. "Do you like him?"

"My father?" Sam asks. "He passed away last year."

"I'm so sorry," Daniel says.

"My condolences as well," Vala says. "But I was talking about Jack."

"Do I like Jack?" Sam asks. "Of course. He's very nice. I don't know him all that well, yet, but…"

"Are you attracted to him?" Vala asks.

"I…" Sam stops. "I don't know." She shrugs. "I don't know him well enough to form an opinion."

"Ugh," Vala says. "This is maddening!"

Daniel pats Vala's arm soothingly.

oooo

On the day the first serious paper of the semester is due, it starts to snow. Every period comes in looking a little nervous, but it is only her AP class that comes in looking terrorized. Three people are absent, Trevor included.

"Where's your teammate, Mr. O'Neill," Sam asks.

"Sick," Charlie says, putting air quotes around the world.

"Too sick for practice, too?" Sam demands.

"Probably not," Charlie says.

"I'll just have to have a word with the coach, then," she says.

Everyone shifts in their seats and looks at each other.

"Okay, let's get it over with. Hand them in," she says.

The papers come up to the front of the room slowly and she takes them all row by row and leaves them in a neat stack on the desk.

At the end of the day, she ushers everyone out of her classroom quickly so she can lock it behind her. She hurries to the weight training room. The football team works out for an hour before practice three days a week. She doesn't know how those kids handle school and the grueling practice O'Neill puts them through, but most of them seem pretty gung-ho about it.

She walks into the weight room and immediately brings her hand up to her nose. Never has she been in a place that smelled more like old sweat and feet.

"Oh my God," she says.

"You get used to it," Jack says. He's standing in the doorway to a small closet toward the back of the room.

"Do you?" she asks.

"Sort of," he amends. "Can I help you?"

"If Trevor Dunbar comes to practice, I'd like you to send him home," she says.

"What?" he asks.

"He cut my class because a paper was due today and told his friends he was sick," Sam says. "If he's too sick for school, he should be too sick for sports."

Jack rubs his face. "That puts me in a difficult situation, Carter," he says.

"Truancy directly affects club attendance," she says.

"Football is not just a club," he says.

"And school is not just a vehicle for sports," she says. "If he had no intention of working hard, then what the hell is he doing in my AP class?"

Their conversation is interrupted by the first few students come into the weight room. Sam takes a step back. She doesn't remember moving toward him but she's at the center of the room now.

"I'll take your request into consideration, Ms. Carter," he says. It sounds like a dismissal. He doesn't have to do as she asks, so she knows she'll just lose ground if she fights him.

"Thanks," she says, and leaves. She walks past Charlie on the way out.

oooo

She remembers to set her alarm for an hour earlier than usual. It puts her wake up time at five in the morning, but she's always slow to get going in cold weather. She lingers in the shower and keeps her blow dryer on far past when her hair is dry. She parks her car in a carport so she doesn't have to scrape snow off it, but it's still treacherous getting out of the complex and onto the salted roads.

It's not much snow, not enough to cancel school but it's enough to slow everything down. Her nose is running when she gets to work and by the first break, her throat feels scratchy. She scraps her plan to lecture and has them work in groups instead while she sits at her desk and sips at tea.

At lunch, she stays in her classroom and picks at her leftovers from last night. She closes her eyes for just a moment and then is startled to hear the bell that signals the end of lunch. During her impromptu nap, her nose has started to run.

She blows it as the first group of kids pour in carrying armfuls of puffy jackets and scarves trailing behind them.

"You okay?" asks a girl named Patricia. She's small, like really small. Comically small - and has flaming red hair and glasses. She's quiet and cares enough about physics to do well in the class but will never study it in college, never make a career out of it. She's quiet and watches everything around her with big eyes.

"Fine, thank you," she says.

"Because you kind of look like you might fall over," Patricia says. "Like, imminently."

"A little head cold," Sam concedes. "I'll make it through the day."

"Okay," she says.

"If I do collapse in a heap, feel free to call the nurse though," Sam adds.

"Noted," she says with a nod and sits in her seat. She sits in the second row behind the more unabashedly academic students - the students who may never actually leave college. They will get Masters degrees, doctorates, and then teach, drifting from university to university, seeking out tenure. That was Sam once. Three quarters through her doctorate and then-

"Ms. Carter?"

She looks up. Cassie is waving her hand exaggeratedly over her head.

"What?" Sam asks.

"Are you going to teach us something today or what?" Cassie demands.

She passes out their packets, explains the project amidst the chorus of both groans and happy sounds at the idea of a group project. Cassie looks pleased enough about it and Charlie looks like he knows he's going to be doing the brunt of the work.

"It's all in-class," she assures them. "You ought to be able to finish today. Anything you don't is due in class tomorrow. Got it?"

While they work, she emails Principal Hammond that she'll need a substitute for the morning because she will not be coming in tomorrow. By the time the final bell rings, she feels dizzy and lightheaded. Her face feels warm and her fingers cold and she feels like walking from her chair to her car and then driving home and then walking from her car up the stairs to her second story apartment is literally an impossible feat.

She's managed to get out of her chair and is fumbling with her keys to lock the door behind her when she hears voices in the hall.

"Hey," says a voice. "You okay?"

She looks up, her vision swaying a bit. Two blurry figures slowly come into focus. Charlie O'Neill and his father.

"Shouldn't you two be at practice?" she says, her voice sounding a little hoarse, even to her own ears.

"It's snowing," Charlie says.

"I canceled it for today," Jack says. "You all right, Carter?"

"I think I'm getting a cold," she shrugs. "I'll be fine."

"You're all flushed," Jack says. "And you're leaning against the wall."

"Conserving my energy for the walk to the car," she says. "I'm okay."

"We'll walk you to your car," Charlie says. "Right dad?"

"My chivalrous son," Jack says.

Sam doesn't feel like she's walking slow but they both keep shooting concerned looks at her and just before they walk out of the school and into the cold, Charlie takes her bag and her purse from her and puts them over his own shoulder. He's just about her height. They pass Jack's truck in the faculty lot.

By the time they get to Sam's car, she's coughing in a way that make her whole rib cage ache and her nose is running.

Jack tosses Charlie a set of keys and Charlie catches them.

"Follow us," Jack says. Charlie nods and heads back to the truck, handing the bags back to Sam. "Gimme your keys, Carter."

"It's Sam," she says. "And I can drive myself."

"Yeah, but I'll worry," he says. She's so tired that she just shoves her purse and him and leans against the freezing car, letting the metal soothe the burn crawling around inside of her. He fishes around and finally pulls out some keys. Sam collapses into the passengers seat when he unlocks the door.

He scoots the seat back, adjusts the mirrors while the defrost works. She hands him the windshield scraper from the floor by her feet and he scrapes at the window enough to see out of and gets back in the car. By the time they're ready to go, Charlie is idling in the truck behind them.

"Charlie is fifteen," Sam manages.

"He's a good driver," Jack says. "Has his permit."

"Your truck, your son," she says, letting her head rest against the window. Jack must remember where she lives because he doesn't ask for directions and it's not a long ride. Soon they are pulling up to the gate that protects her complex.

"Garage door opener," she mumbles.

"The old G-D-O, got it," he says, pushing the button clipped to her visor. The gate opens. He pushes it a few more times, making sure it stays open long enough that Charlie can pull through too. "Do you have a designated parking space?"

"28," she says. "Don't tell Walter."

"Huh?" he asks.

"Never mind," she says.

"Where can Charlie park?" he asks.

"Visitors space," she says. "Anything uncovered."

Jack rolls down the window and points and then drives slowly until he finds her space and easily pulls into it, even though it's a tight fit with a sharp turn.

"You're a good driver," she says.

"You should see me fly an airplane," he quips.

"Okay," she says. He blinks at her a few times and then kills the engine.

"Let's get you home," he says.

There's not much farther to go, but they they both faithfully follow her into the complex, up the stairs, down the long corridor to her little apartment. She's not had guests before. She's naturally pretty neat - a military father demands neatness - but she's not sure everything is safe for the eyes of males. She reaches into her pocket before she realizes that not only does she not have her keys, she's still not even carrying her purse.

"Allow me," Jack says and unlocks the deadbolt and then the door handle, pushing open the door for her. She'd left the heat on and the wall of warmth against her face feels heavenly.

"God," she says. "Thank you."

"No problem, Ms. C," Charlie says. "Feel better."

"You want to come in?" she asks. "I probably have some… water I could give you."

"Tempting," Jack says. "But you need rest. I hope you're not planning on coming in tomorrow?"

"No," she says. "I already told George I wouldn't be in."

"Okay," he says. "Take care. Come on, kiddo."

He touches his hand to his son's shoulder. She watches them for a few seconds and then shuts the door and locks it. In the bedroom, she drops her coat, crawls out of most of her clothes and into her bed where she sleeps and sleeps.

oooo

There's a knock on her door.

She's certainly on the mend, but after two days of barely leaving her bed, let alone her apartment, she knows she looks like she's been run over. She pulls the blanket around her shoulders, attempts to pat down her hair, and walks to the door. It looks like… T?

She pulls open the door.

"Samantha Carter," he says. "Are you feeling well?"

"Sort of," she says. "What are you doing here?

"I volunteered to bring you soup," he says, holding out a carton. It looks like take out, smells delicious.

"Wow," she says. "Thank you."

"You will be returning to school tomorrow, I hope," he says.

"Yeah," she says. "I'll be there." Tomorrow is Friday - she can make it through one day and then finish up resting over the weekend.

"That is extremely good news," he says.

"I'm flattered," she says. "Did something happen?"

"Your substitute is a man named Rodney McKay," T says. "He is extremely unpleasant. No one likes when he comes to Liberty."

"Oh, I see," she smiles. "So not exactly about me."

"We miss you as well," T adds. "But we truly dislike Rodney."

"Well rest assured," she says. "I'll see you tomorrow. And thank you for the soup."

"It was Coach O'Neill's idea," he says. "I will pass your message of gratitude along."

The soup is still hot, hearty and soothing on her raw throat. She eats it slowly, wiping her nose and watching the news on her little television. She emails back her brother - prints out the school pictures he'd sent of the kids and sticks them to her refrigerator door.

Finally, she digs through the little filing cabinet she keeps in the corner of the living room because there's nowhere else to put it, and pulls out the photocopy of the staff directory that she'd made. She runs her fingernail along the list of names until she finds what she's looking for.

O'Neill, Jonathan

It lists his office number, his work email, and his home number as well as his address. She picks the cordless phone up off the cradle and holds it in her hand for awhile. The polite thing would be to call him and thank him for sending her soup. It would be wrong not to call. Of course - she could tell him tomorrow, but if she'd brought him soup instead of the other way around, she'd be worried about whether or not he liked it.

She dials and it rings once, twice, three times - oh thank god he isn't home - once more and then-

"Hello?"

"Hi," she says. It isn't him. It's Charlie. "May I speak to Coach O'Neill please?"

"Sure, hang on," he says. And then, sounding farther away but still loud, "DAD! PHONE!"

She hears Jack distantly. "WHO IS IT?"

"SOME LADY," Charlie calls. And then, "Who are you?"

"It's Ms. Carter," she says, amused.

"Oh!" he says. "Hang on. DAD! IT'S MS. CARTER."

Immediately the connection clicks. "I GOT IT," she hears and then Jack says, "Hello?"

"You two have worked out an efficient system," she says, once she's heard that Charlie has hung up the other phone.

"What can I say, we're timeless," he says. "Nothing as good as the old ways."

"So, you sent me soup," he says.

"Well, I mean, I'm pretty sure T brought you soup," he says.

"T brought it, but he said it was your doing. What are you doing sending me soup?" she asks.

"Um."

"Well," she says, scrunching up her face. "That may have come out a little more hostile than intended."

"A little," he agrees.

"Thanks for the soup, Coach," she says.

"You coming to work tomorrow?" he asks.

"Yeah," she says.

"Thank GOD," he says.

"I hear there's someone name Rodney running my classroom," she says.

"Running it into the ground more like," Jack says. "Charlie said that he spent 20 minutes calling them morons because they couldn't, like, invent cold fusion on the spot."

"What?" she asks. "They're kids!"

"Rodney is an ass," he says. "Please come back."

"I'll be there," she says. There's a pause. "Anyway, I was just calling to say thank you."

"You're welcome, Carter," he says. "Even though I didn't do much."

"You've been very… welcoming to me," she says. "You've made Liberty feel like home."

"Well, we all want you to stick around," he says. "Don't let the snow scare you off."

"I like snow," she says. "I just don't like head colds."

"Do you ski?" he asks.

"Yeah," she says. "Well, I mean, not as much as I want. I haven't gone in maybe two years. But I like to ski."

"Charlie and I go as much as we can," he says. "Do you have your own skis?"

"In storage," she says.

"We'll have to go some time," he says. "I've been trying to get Cassie to learn. Maybe if you go, she'll come too."

"And Janet?" Sam asks. Jack laughs.

"Janet does not ski," he says. "She's not outdoorsy."

"That's part of the reason I moved to Colorado. Hiking, skiing, all the things you can do outdoors here."

"There are some great trails around Cheyenne Mountain," he says.

"I look forward to trying them out," she says. "I should go. Thanks again for the soup."

"My pleasure. See ya tomorrow."

They hang up and only then does she realize that he'd invited her both skiing and hiking. Nothing concrete, but more of solid plan than before she'd called. She also has the unspoken promise to help him with his motorcycle. Taking the rust off alone will be quite the job.

How does she keep getting tangled up with this man?

oooo

It's the last day before Thanksgiving break. She's going to San Diego for Christmas, so financially, it doesn't make sense to go for Thanksgiving too. It's all well and good. Denver Airport at the holidays is always a mad house, and she doesn't like to take-off or land on icy runways.

Janet invites her over for Thanksgiving and she accepts because it's the only invitation she's received.

"We do it at Jack's," Janet says after she's already accepted. "More space."

"Wait, who is we?" she asks.

"Me and Cassie, Jack and Charlie, Daniel, T, Jonas, probably Vala," she says. "You know. The gang."

"The gang," she says, uneasily.

"Of which you are a part," Janet assures her. "Do you have other plans?"

"No," she says.

"Good. Then it's settled," Janet says. "It'll be fun."

"Can I bring something?" she asks.

"You can help me cook, are you kidding me?" Janet says.

Sam smiles nervously. "Great."

She knows not a lot about cooking. She can microwave and she can bake - baking is just science. But she's never cooked a turkey, never even mashed potatoes. She likes to think she can do it, she just has no interest in it. What's the point of cooking for one?

Sam brings three bottles of wine when she arrives at Janet's house early Thursday morning. Cassie is still asleep, her bedroom door closed tightly.

"Three?" Janet asks, taking the bag.

"Two for dinner," she says. "One is an apology."

"What for?" Janet asks.

"My culinary abilities," she says. Janet doesn't dignify that with an answer, just rolls her eyes.

They spend the morning baking three pies - pumpkin, apple, and pecan. Then, when the pies have cooled enough for transport, they climb in Janet's car and drive the short distance to Jack's house.

Sam was 15 when she lost her mother, 30 when her father passed away. She doesn't exactly feel like an orphan - the word orphan conjures up images of dirty, neglected children, but she can't help feeling like one on this Thanksgiving. Jack's house is steamy and warm, filled with good smells and happy people. She's had two glasses of wine and is wearing a borrowed apron. It's a perfect fit - too short for Jack, probably. She hopes it didn't belong to his dead wife. It's a pale green and stiff in the way that suggests good construction, not newness.

Outside, there are patches of snow on the ground, but the sky is clear and the sun is shining. The temperature hovers around 45 degrees. Jack stays out on the deck. He's barbecuing the turkey, freeing up the oven for side dishes. Cassie and Charlie are planted in front of the television playing video games. T stands out with Jack and she and Janet and Daniel work in the kitchen. Janet and Daniel are arguing about corn bread versus regular stuffing and Sam sits at the small table on the other side of the counter, quietly peeling potatoes over a paper bag.

She doesn't feel left out, just separate somehow. They all seem like a cobbled together family and though she's here, she can't seem to figure out how to be a real part of it.

The slider opens and lets some cool air into the warm kitchen.

"Smells good," Jack says, coming in.

"Just onions in the pan," Janet says. "We're still hours away."

"I think I'm going for a beer run," he says. "Need anything?"

"Oh good, I started a list," Janet says. "You said this kitchen would be stocked!"

"It is," he grumbles glancing at the list she hands him. "Two pounds of butter? Celery… what the hell is cream of tartar?"

"In the spice aisle," Janet says.

"You'd better come with me, Carter," he says, his eyes pleading. She stands, unties the apron.

"I don't know anything about cooking," she warns. "But sure." Getting out of the house might help snap her out of her internal ennui.

"You kids want to go to the store?" Jack calls.

"On Thanksgiving? Hell no," says Cassie.

"Zombies won't kill themselves, dad," Charlie says. Sam pulls the apron over her head and lays it over the back of her chair. She tugs her sweater down a little. Her purse and coat are by the door.

"You're driving," she says as she shrugs into the coat and shoulders her purse.

Cassie was right - the store is both crowded and picked over. Jack carries a little basket while Sam tosses in things like butter and various vegetables.

"You're quiet," he says.

"Just thinking." She consults the list, though she's already memorized it. "Family holidays are always weird when you don't have much family left."

"Ah," he says. "I thought you had a brother?"

"I do," she amends. "But I'm much closer to his wife than I am to him. I'll see them for Christmas."

"I have Charlie," Jack says. "I was an only child and Sara had one much older half-sister, so Charlie doesn't really have cousins or grandparents or anything."

"That's too bad."

She locates the cream of tartar in among the spices and tosses it in the basket.

"Daniel has no family, Vala either. T's son lives up in Quebec and he doesn't get to see Ryan very often."

"We're a bunch of misfits," Sam says.

"Maybe," he allows. "But put a bunch of misfits together and you get a different sort of family."

"Wow," she says. "I didn't know you were such a sap!"

"Don't tell," he orders. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"We'll see," she says, promising nothing.

"It doesn't have to be hard, you know." he says. "Getting to know us, I mean. Trusting us."

"Okay," she says. "Maximum feelings talk achieved. Where's the beer?"

"Aisle 17," he says. She stares at him. "What? I like beer."

As they're staring at the beer she says, "I do trust you."

"Good," he says. "I'm a trustworthy guy."

She smiles but she has to force it a little. She trusts them, she just doesn't feel trustworthy herself. She feels like she doesn't deserve to be part of a family. She disappointed her father by not joining the military and choosing a low paying career, disappointed her brother by moving away from him and his family, even though he was never around. She's not sure she can stand to disappoint another family.

"Guinness?" he asks.

"Okay," she agrees.

He hands her the basket and picks up a case for each hand.

"That much?" she asks.

"Hey," he says. "Vala and Jonas haven't even arrived yet."

"True," she says. "Vala."

"Vala," he says, gravely.

"I should grab one more, shouldn't I?" she asks.

"Yes," he says. "Yes, you should."