Readers: I'm winding up this story in the next few chapters. Because times a-wasting and I've received more than a few impatient posts, I've deleted scenes in order to end everyone's agony, including my own. If time permits, I will post those chapters as 'missing scenes from Face the Music.'
Thanks so much for the generous feedback, corrections and suggestions. If I forgot to thank you personally, I apologize tenfold. – HailDorothy
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PART 6
Body aching, Sam lifted her head off the conference table and looked around, then at the wall clock. Great! She'd fallen asleep just long enough to have a flash of the past. She and Jack at that Montana ranch.
Stifling a yawn, she confronted her true feeling about the experience. Four days, five nights with the colonel on that ranch and they never did talk 'it' out. The ability to skirt personal issues never has been either of our strong points. Sam hated confrontation of any kind, especially regarding Jack O'Neill. Yep, I'm a sissy alright. But when I do take the bull by the horns, he runs for cover.
A more disturbing thought reared its ugly head. Perhaps because we only made love one time doesn't fall under Jack's idea of 'serious crap.' Oh, no, what if he hadn't enjoyed making love with her? What if her ineptness had killed his physical attraction toward her? Maybe, he really did just appreciate her left brain now.
And let's not ignore the down and dirty of that sexual encounter. The majority of that underground mission the both of you were hot, gritty, and sweating. Nothing romance worthy with that scenario. Still, she'd never wanted anyone back then or now as much as she wanted Jack O'Neill. Sam recalled their physical and emotional meltdown that night. For Sam every sun in the universe had exploded. Afterward he'd declared that their lovemaking had broken all his past romance encounters, at least those he could recall. Then again, Jonah couldn't recall anyone but Thera.
Now he would have memories of making love with Kerry Johnson and Sam would have a similar recall with Pete, one that she honestly never set out to experience. The hum of an elevator door opening and closing on the SGC level triggered further regrets.
So why had she hummed that day in the elevator? Sam swore it'd been a Freudian slip. She had still been passionately in love the colonel. But she enjoyed the attention Pete lavished upon her. And in the beginning just like Narim and Martouf, the police detective had been a minor diversion nothing more. Men who looked beyond the uniform label that warned, 'No pawing this officer of the United States Air Force' and of course, 'Her brains a national treasure, don'cha know.' And although no pawing occurred, both aliens had respectfully treated Sam like a desirable woman. Something she longed to experience again from the one man she couldn't have, Jack O'Neill.
Only since her Prometheus stranding had Sam looked for a serious way out with Jack. Between her hallucination and his frigid treatment after her rescue, she believed that he no longer loved her, least not the way he once had. Well, according to Daniel, Teal'c, Cassandra and her father, Sam was quite wrong. Most of Dad's final words regarded her present state of happiness. He'd made it vividly clear about 'whom' he believed made her happy. And it wasn't Pete.
"Dad?" Sam asked as if expecting an answer, "I wished you'd told me this sooner . . . I wish you were here to guide me." She stilled a falling tear and stifled a sob. "I am such a bonehead!" Yeah, that one mega second of humming a stupid TV show ditty called 'Star—whatever' severed a happily-ever-after future with Jack O'Neill.
The conference room's soft lightening encouraged Sam's exhausted state. She shut her aching eyes then folded her arms on the cool surface of the table to rest her head a moment longer.
"Hey."
Sam jolted upright and focused on the adorable blue-eyed, brown haired girl sitting in the General's chair. Sam glanced nervously around. She was inside the SGC conference room, the lights still dim and General O'Neill but feet away with a door between them. Sam rubbed her sorry eyes and refocused on the smiling adolescent tapping a pen against the table in an annoyingly common manner.
"He's thinking ya know." The girl shoved off the table and spun the chair, nodding as she twirled past the general's office door, "about you guys." She giggled. "Woo, dizzy!"
"Grace?"
"Sam?" The chair continued to orbit. The girl's smile widened with playful glee. Sam ignored the childish antics then reached out and grabbed the chair, bringing it to an abrupt halt.
"Don't be a spoiled sport." Grace contorted her face.
"I'm not a spoiled sport."
"Testy."
"Grieving."
"Yeah, sorry about Dad and Selmak."
"Thanks." Sam rubbed her temples and stared the girl up, down and around. "I never expected to see you again."
"Yes, well your choice. Not mine." She extended her long skinny legs and smoothed the ruffled hem of her white-pinafore dress. Sam's attention zoned in on the girl's heart shaped face, shoulder-length, golden brown curls, steel blue eyes and dimples.
A shiver shot through Sam. "You're not real."
"Are too." Once again the disturbing familiarity of Grace's gestures and mouthy lip, that ten months later Sam refused to acknowledge. Because if she did, that meant that personal choices made since Prometheus had been based on a humongous erroneous apotheosis.
"Are not—" Sam snipped.
"Redundant."
"Exasperating." Sam countered.
"Fine. I'll give you that. So, let's go rollerblading or even better, take in a Hannah Montana concert. Get it?" She snickered and hung quote marks with her middle fingers. "Hannah Montana?"
"Oh, God, no."
"Actually it's not nice to take His name in vain. And oh, He has a lot to do with our little chitchat here."
"I was praying not cursing."
"Gosh, golly and go figure."
Sam glared at the freckled faced girl. "Just because you talk like General O'Neill doesn't mean you're real."
"Have it your way, Carter."
"I will." To realign her sanity Sam quoted, "Pi is a mathematical constant that represents the ratio of any circle's circumference to its diameter in Euclidean geometry, which is the same as the ratio of a circle's area to the square of its radius and it's approximately equal to 3.14159 --"
"Boring." Grace yawned and disassembled the pen then reassembled it minus the spring. The girl tossed the tiny spring over her shoulder, planted her fingers in her ears and giggled. "Fire in the hole!"
Sam rolled her eyes.
"Not working for ya, huh? How about we row our boat down memory lane?"
"I'll pass. Been doing that a lot today."
"Fine. I'll row alone down that preverbal creek." Grace's little girl voice altered into that of Jack O'Neill's. "Oh, here we go. Another scientist. General . . . please?"
Sam: "Theoretical astrophysicist. . . .Are we going to arm wrestle? And I'm an Air Force officer just like you are, Colonel. And just because my reproductive organs are on the inside instead of the outside, doesn't mean I can't handle whatever you can handle."
Jack: "Oh, this has nothing to do with you being a woman. I like women. I've just got a little problem with scientists. Ladies first."
Sam: "You know you really will like me when you get to know me, sir."
Jack: "Oh, I adore you already, Captain. You go, girl!"
Sam gasped. However random the selection, Grace relayed word for word conversations from Sam and the general's past.
"A bit over the top?" Grace's sweet innocence returned.
"Stop that!" Sam shut her eyes, hoping the stress induced image would vanish. She cocked one eye open to find Grace hadn't left. Just peachy, now she was blowing bubbles. What was it with Jack O'Neill and bubbles?
"I'm so not touching that evil thought with a ten foot pole."
"I wasn't thinking 'that.' Sam blushed.
"Do pigs fly?" Grace fluttered her lashes. "Actually, you were the one who blew bubbles as a kid." Grace nudged Sam's memories.
"Wow." Sam realized her mouth was as wide open as were her eyes and she clamped her lips shut.
Jack's tenor rolled smoothly off of Grace's tongue. "Do I look pissed? Yada, yada. Sweet. Peachy. Thor, old buddy, dear friend. Cool. Neat. Good morning, campers. Ya think? Does it say colonel anywhere on my uniform? We're off to see the wizard! Another pissing snakehead! Carter, what'd I say about touching? Hail Dorothy! Oy vey!"
Grace then proceeded to mimic Sam. "Man, oh, man. Welcome to my life. With all due respect, sir, that's not only illogical it's brilliant. It took us fifteen years and three super computers to MacGyver a system for the gate on Earth. I guess I've always had a thing for the lunatic fringe. Oh, boy. Let's not touch anything yet. I'm kinda fond of this era."
Before Sam could interrupt Grace blurted, "Inertial dampeners."
"Cool . . . and check. Phasers?"
"Sorry, sir." Whoops, that'd been a nasty mission, Sam grimaced.
"You know how much I hate clichés, Carter."
"That wasn't cliché." Sam vented louder than intended.
"Whatever." Grace flippantly waved her hand.
"Holy Hannah!" Sam shot out of her seat as reality registered.
"Holy buckets!"
Sam gawked.
"Needs work don'cha know?" Grace's Minnesotan accent held concern.
Sam mutely nodded and glanced at the general's door, expecting her antics to make him storm the conference room.
"Easy. Besides, he can't hear us—yet." Grace smirked, revealing a missing tooth. That was new—the missing tooth.
Unnerved, Sam sat back down. "I assume you're him," she looked toward Jack's dark office window.
"You assume wrong, Colonel."
"Just go." Sam threw up her hands in surrender.
"Three fries short of a happy meal, huh?"
"Getting there." Sam mumbled. "Now will you go away?"
"No. And I'm not all him. Take a serious look at me, wilya?" she pleaded in her childish manner. Sam did and saw an adorable vulnerable child begging for attention. Sam's attention.
"I am who and what you've wanted for so very long time. I am a part of that awesome man you're avoiding," she nodded toward the office. "And whether or not ya noticed, I'm a part of you, Samantha Carter."
Sam's head hurt. "Are you saying that you are a product of," she pointed at Jack's office.
"Well, you'd prefer the following definition: a human life resulting from the physical union between a man and woman that are of course, passionately and forever in love. He'd just say, 'Who's your, Daddy!'" Grace giggled.
"Funny." Sam huffed.
"He'd say that too." Grace snorted. "But yeah, that's the jest of it. I am a vision of what has yet to culminate. And if you don't do something soon, I may not ever be born."
"Oh, crap!" Sam had an epiphany.
"Hey how come, whenever I even think the 'c' word, I get a royal butt chewing?" She gestured above them. Before Sam could answer Grace smiled. "Grandpa Carter says, 'Hi kiddo,' and that you shouldn't worry about him, coz he's with Grandma. They want you happy and. . ." Grace glanced up. "OK, don't get your panties in a bind. I'm coming back." She turned and looked longingly at Sam. "Please, Mommy, don't make me wait too long. Tell my daddy how you feel. Go get him, now!"
"Grace!" Sam bolted upright in the hard plastic chair. She was alone. Oh, for crying out loud! She'd slept another ten minutes. Talk about procrastination. Hallucination or not, Grace's words were fresh in her mind and heart. Sam shoved to her feet, crossed the short distance and rapped on the General's oak door.
She heard the distinct squeak of his leather chair and boot steps. No answer.
"Sir are you in here?" She paced to the window to peer through the drawn shades.
"Nope," he glibly answered.
Sam sighed loudly then smiled at his teasing banter. This was a good sign, right?
"Give me a sec, Carter," his tone switched to business.
"Yes, sir." Oh, boy. Had she any chance in Netu to fix it—them and make Grace O'Neill a reality? She hoped so.
"Enter."
With a desperate prayer on her lips, Sam turned the knob of General O'Neill's door and entered his sanctuary.
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Hold onto your pants because the climax is near at hand . . . .Really!
PS: Please share whether you're enjoying the culminating conclusion of Face the Music?