Chapter 11: Old Acquaintances

"I'm sorry, Sam."

The softly spoken words floated in the room as she watched him leave. Sam closed her eyes and let the tears fall that she had fought to hold back while he was here. She struggled to sit up in her bed fighting off the pain of her still healing body. She moved her right leg up close and gripped her knee tightly. She rested her head against her knee rocking back and forth and wept muttering to herself, "What have I done?"

Four Months Later

"Are you ready?"

Sam sat on her bed staring into the distance, the words barely registering in her brain.

"Sam?" She heard the words again finally realizing they were directed at her. "Are you okay? You looked like you were a million miles away."

"Actually 25 trillion." She replied with a sad smile as her mind wandered back to the fateful mission six months ago to P3X-656 where her life had changed.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Jason, it's nothing. I was just reminiscing. What were you saying?" She said as she focused her attention on him.

"I said are you ready? I figured you would be beating down the doors to get out of here today."

"Ready as I'll ever be." She replied exhaling a breath as she lowered herself from the bed. "I know one thing for sure; I will not miss this bed," where she had spent the last four months, two weeks, and 6 hours, but who was counting.

"You've done great, Sam. You should be proud."

"Thanks…" Sam hesitated, "thanks for everything, Jason." She moved forward and hugged the therapist. "You know, you could have a career as a drill sergeant if you ever give up this gig." She teased him.

"I'll keep that in mind." He replied as he released her from the hug and rolled a wheelchair up to her bed. "One last ride for old time's sake?" He wheeled Sam to the entrance of the rehabilitation center. "I thought your friends Daniel and Murray were picking you up today?" Jason asked as he pushed her out the front doors. The only car in the patient pick-up area was a taxi.

"They're coming later; I have something I need to take care of in D.C." She pushed herself out of the wheelchair and headed slowly for the taxi.

Jason looked at her with a puzzled expression. "Are you sure you are up for this?" He asked as he handed the driver Sam's bags.

"Sir, yes, sir." Sam replied giving him a sloppy salute.

Jason smiled and returned her salute. "It's been an honor, Colonel. Don't forget this", as he grabbed one last item sticking it in the backseat of the taxi.

Sam closed the door to the taxi and looked out the window at Jason who had his hand up waving goodbye.

"Where to ma'am?" The driver asked diverting Sam's attention.

"Oh, um, Georgetown." She answered as she handed him a folded piece of paper.

The taxi driver looked at the address. "Nice," was his only reply.

They rode in silence as Sam stared out the window and the driver hummed some unknown tune and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. She did not want to talk and it suited her that the driver did not engage her in idol chat.

The quite peace of the ride was suddenly broken. "So…what laid you up at the rehab center? You in the military? You don't look the military type."

Sam turned her head from the window and looked at the driver resigned to the fact that she had to talk to him. "Lieutenant Colonel. I was injured." She turned her head back toward the window hoping he would take the hint that she did not want to talk.

"So what happened?"

Obviously missing the hint, Sam reluctantly continued. "I crushed my femur and fractured my pelvis amongst other things."

"Geez. Crushed leg, thats gotta hurt."

'You have no idea,' she thought as she unconsciously rubbed her hand over her leg. "Yeah."

"How'd it happen?"

"Classified"

The taxi driver, Walt, she was informed continued to pepper her with questions until they arrived at the address in Georgetown.

"Here we are, Colonel. Nice place. You live here?"

"Old acquaintance."

Walt helped her with her bags and left her standing in front of a beautiful old brownstone. It was not what she expected although she was not sure what to expect. It looked lived in, normal. There was a Boston fern in a planter by the door and curtains in the windows. A Washington Post was lying haphazardly near the door and mail peeked out of the mailbox. It was almost 5 o'clock so she thought she would not have to wait very long. She carefully climbed the steps and sat on the small front stoop to wait. She watched as people went about their lives in the quiet neighborhood. Mothers pushed baby strollers, homeowners walked their dogs, and joggers braved the streets.

Forty-five minutes later, a dark sedan pulled up to the sidewalk. The driver, a young airman, hurriedly got out and opened the passenger door for the occupant. Jack O'Neill exited the car reading a file with one hand, and holding a briefcase in the other. He acknowledged the airman without looking up and headed up the stairs to his brownstone.

Sam watched him as he exited the car. He was dressed in his Class "A" uniform, which she knew he abhorred as much as the Goa'uld. He had not looked up from his file when he started climbing the brownstone's steps. He was going to fall over her if she did not move or say something. Moving out of the way fast enough was out of the question so she gathered her courage and timidly spoke.

"Hi, sir."

Jack stopped when he heard her voice, the voice he had not heard in four months when she told him to leave. He looked at her taking in her appearance. She looked healthy albeit a little thin, wearing jeans and a simple white v-neck t-shirt. Her hair was a little longer than she normally wore it, but she had been laid up for the last six months. She was beautiful.

Words eluded him and only managed to stutter her name. "C..Carter?"

"Hi." She replied again with a small smile.

"Carter?"