Alternatives

The Man in Her Memory

Based upon Stargate: SG-1

Rating: T - WARNING: brief harsh language, darker content

- RMI - Takes place Season 3, between "Past and Present" and "A Hundred Days" -

- . - - - . -

The first night it happened, she picked someone who looked like him. Above average height, but not a giant. Toned muscle with a little bulk, but generally lean. Salt and pepper hair, cut short and tight. Strong jaw with squarely chiseled facial features. Clean shaven. Eyes that could see through her.

That was what she looked for the first time. She wanted someone like the man in her memory.

She had had . . . well, she couldn't remember how many shots of whiskey she had had that night. A lot, she presumed. She could see, and could generally think, and she had feeling in her limbs, but no emotions ran through her. She felt empty, yet fulfilled as the grief didn't swell with every breath. At least, she didn't think it did.

He saw her watching him from across the bar, and he sauntered over with a slight smirk. He didn't smile, he smirked.

The man in her memory hadn't smiled a lot either. He was a smirk-er.

He hadn't said much when he sat down, but neither had she. They just stared at each other with dark eyes. She reached across the space between them and put her hand on his thigh. He asked her if she wanted to take it somewhere else.

She told him that they could go to her place, it wasn't far. He could drive and she could get her car in the morning.

He stood up, placing his hands on her hips. They were worn, his hands, like the hands of the man in her memory. Her gripped her firmly, but not tightly. He leaned down and kissed her lips, no doubt tasting the whiskey. He helped her to her feet anyway.

Her legs were almost wrapped around his waist by the time they made it to his vehicle. Stumbling over each other, her back slammed into a car door. "This is me," he muttered, breaking his lips from her skin for a split second.

She craned her neck and saw the vehicle she was pressed up against. It was a dark green Ford pickup truck.

The tears came.

They didn't drip silently down her face, they came in racking sobs which cut off her air supply. He released her instantly and took a step back. "Oh my god, are you okay?" he asked.

He had thought he had hurt her, maybe in the impact with his truck.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry," she choked out. "I'm so sorry, I can't do this." She practically ran away from him, barely able to breathe. He was too much like the man in her memory.

She sat in her car for twenty minutes choking on her own tears. They finally fell silent and she drove herself home. Upon kicking off her shoes, she caught a glimpse of the team photo on the wall and the racking sobs returned. She went to bed, fully dressed, and cried like there was no tomorrow. She called in sick the next day, and went through the entire fifth of Jack Daniels that had been in her liquor cabinet.

It was the first fifth she had bought after graduating college, and had only taken a few shots out of it in ten years. One when she finally left Jonas, two when her father finally lost his battle with lymphoma, and perhaps a handful of other times. She left it sideways in the sink next to the glass she had abandoned after three shots.

After that, she avoided the men that looked like him. She instead went for everything else. Tall and lanky. Short and stocky. Guys who looked like they were linebackers in college. Young guys, often. Many of them were at least a few years younger than her. A lot of them were probably still in college. But she didn't care. She couldn't really feel it anyway.

She didn't know how long it went on. She went to work every day 9-5. Her team wasn't going off world because they were still searching for a replacement for their leader. Fridays and Saturdays she went out and drank, a lot. She almost always came home with someone who was usually gone by the time she woke up. She never felt hungover, just still drunk to the point of numbness. When she didn't go out, she drank at home at her kitchen table with the lights off.

If she tried really hard, she could hear his voice or see his face. No matter how hard she tried, she could never feel his skin. They had never gotten that chance.

She never dreamed. If she did, she didn't remember it. She always waking up the same. If she felt any different, she drank more. She trudged on. She knew that every day she lived like this she became less and less of the woman from her memory. But that was okay, she just didn't care.

- . - . -

Daniel pulled into her driveway, careful not to block the other vehicle, which he did not recognize. He walked up to her front door and pulled out his key. He wasn't really surprised to find the door unlocked. Sam had become apathetic in the past six weeks. He didn't blame her, not really.

But he was disappointed. Hell, he was angry now. She was slowly killing herself.

He looked around her home in disgust. She obviously hadn't done anything in six weeks except drink. There were more alcohol bottles than he could imagine. She must have bought the entire corner liquor store. The trash can was full, then the floor immediately around it, then onto the counter, then just lying around randomly.

He would deal with that later.

Daniel put his game face on and march into Sam's room. He grabbed the male arm slung over the side of the bed and yanked, pulling the young stranger to the floor. He was awake before he hit the ground and shouted.

He jumped up, grabbing part of the sheet to cover himself. "What the fuck, man! Who the fuck are you!"

"Get out," Daniel said in a dark voice. It wasn't a suggestion. It was a command.

"Now you listen here," the stranger started.

Daniel was not surprised that Sam said nothing, just watched silently from the bed. He turned around, went to the top drawer of the dresser and pulled out the pistol he knew Sam kept there. He pulled back the bolt as he turned and fully extended his arm towards the man. "I said get out." Daniel knew as soon as he picked it up that the weapon was empty, but the other man didn't know that.

The stranger grabbed his clothes, strewn across the floor and jumped into his boxers. "Psycho bitch," he muttered under his breath as he stepped into his jeans, still making his way down the hall.

Daniel lowered the gun and looked at Sam. She sat in her bed, elbows loosely around her knees and the blanket pulled up over her nude body. They were silent as they heard a car door open, slam closed, a car start and pull out of her driveway. He turned back around, getting into the dresser and pulled out an oversized t-shirt. He threw it over his shoulder at Sam.

"Put that on," he said, glancing over his shoulder. He put her pistol back in it's place and looked for the clip. It wasn't there. Maybe Sam hid it from herself so she wouldn't be able to kill herself in a drunken rage. Maybe. Maybe she simply lost it.

When he turned back around, she was wearing the shirt and had pulled on a pair of lounge pants. He stared at her.

She shot him a wrathful glare. "Don't even start." She marched past him, out of the room. No doubt on her way to the kitchen and more alcohol.

"Do you see what's going on here?" he asked in an angry tone, following her.

"Yes, Dad," she mocked him. Sam started picking up bottles, trying to figure out which one - if any - still had liquid in it. She found one and took a swig, shooting him another glare as she leaned against the counter.

"I never though I'd say this to someone: but you are damn lucky your father is dead. If saw you and who you are now, he'd kill you."

She flashed a sarcastic, sadistic smile. "Look's like I'm doing it for him," she hissed, taking another gulp of whiskey.

Daniel stared, unable to think. She was slowly killing herself, and she knew it. "I can't believe you're doing this to yourself," he finally said in a quiet voice.

"You don't know what it's like, Daniel," she hissed.

Her words stung him like scorpion. He paused for a second before slowly repeating her. "I don't know what it's like."

She froze as a realization came over her.

Sha're.

"Oh my god, Daniel, I'm so sorry."

He didn't respond.

She looked at the bottle in her hand, then around the room, then back to her hand. She almost threw the bottle onto the countertop. "What have I done?" Her hand covered her mouth as tears started to drip down her face. "What have I become?"

He took a few long strides to close the gap between them and she practically fell into his arms. She buried her head in his shoulder as the tears came. She started to shake. Daniel helped her down into one of the kitchen chairs before her legs gave out.

She gasped for breath.

"Daniel, what happened to me?" she buried her face in her hands. "I used to be good."

He took her hands from her face and pressed them to his lips. "You're still good, Sam. You've just made some bad choices. But it's not too late to change. It's not too late to be okay again."

She fell onto him again, draping her arms over his shoulders and tucking her face into his neck. "I never told him," she sobbed.

He brought his arms up and rubbed her back. "I know," he whispered. He placed a kiss to her hair. "I know."

- . - . -

She woke up to the smell of bacon. She felt awful. She knew it was probably because she hadn't had any alcohol in 48 hours. She and Daniel had thrown it all out. They then started to clean up her house, a little.

They would pause whenever her alcohol deprived mind would drift back to the man in her memories. She would collapse to a heap on the floor, propped up against the wall or a piece of furniture and cry until it passed. Then the tears would drip down her face as they continued, until she caught a glimpse of a team photo.

Especially the one where she stood between Daniel and Teal'c, their arms around her shoulder and her arms around their waists. She was laughing in the picture because the Colonel, standing on the other side of Daniel, had reached around and tickled her ribs.

It had probably been the most intimate way he had ever touched her. It came and went and no one had noticed. No one had mentioned that it was probably one step on the wrong side of the line.

She got up out of bed, throwing on her bathrobe and a pair of slippers. She walked into her kitchen to find Daniel at the table with the morning paper and a cup of coffee. Teal'c stood at her stove with an apron on and a spatula in one hand. He turned, mostly likely on hearing her approach, his apron said Kiss the Cook. "Good morning, Major Carter."

"Good morning, Teal'c." She gave him and smile and a quick kiss on the cheek before grabbing her coffee cup, filling it, and taking her seat next to Daniel at the table. He had pulled out the Life section for her.

She watched her two friends for a moment, both acting very domestically in her home. Tears started to drip down her face. She had no domestic memories of the man who now only existed in her mind.

Daniel reached over and grasped her hand, squeezing it tightly. She met his warm gaze and gentle smile. She wiped her eyes and returned the smile. Teal'c placed a platter on the table before sitting down. It had several slices of bacon and a stack of pancakes.

She wiped her tears again as Teal'c dished her a pair of pancakes, a slice of bacon and passed her the syrup. Daniel was right, it hadn't been too late to change. It was hard, but it wasn't too late.

- . - . -

Teal'c and Sam bade goodnight to Daniel, who was going to his own home for the night for the first time in a few days. Teal'c would watch over her.

That night, when she drifted off to sleep, the man in her memories came alive. They stood in a ice cave; the one in Antarctica. She wondered why they were there.

He smiled. He was wearing a button down blue shirt over a long sleeve white tee and khaki pants. She had never seen him in anything like it, but it looked perfect.

She opened her mouth to speak, but had no words. He closed the gap between them and placed his fingers on her lips. Her mouth slid closed.

"I know, Samantha," he said. "You never said it, and I neither did I. But I know."

He took one of her hands in his as the other cupped her face. His thumb wiped the tears from her eye. "I'm not gonna say it, because I don't need to. And I don't want to hear you say anything, because I don't need to."

He leaned forward and kissed her closed eyes before placing the sweetest kiss on her lips.

When she opened her eyes, he was gone. She was lying in her bed at home, her eyes moist. She looked around the dark room, and barely found her voice "I love you, Jack O'Neill."

- . - - - . -