ONE
NEVADA
Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter walked down the corridor at a slow pace, turned the corner and knocked on the door. No one answered. No one answered her door to her apartment. She inserted the key and opened it and found it strangely satisfying. She was alone. She'd always been alone when she arrived home, and that is why no one understood the appeal of staying at the SGC.
Her work, her life. Her brain, her research. Her equipment, hers to break and repair as she saw fit.
Carter's life, Carter's science and Carter's home.
She stepped inside, closed the door and inspected the pot plants lining the window sill. They had the best view of the desert and soaked in all the sunlight they could muster. They were also the perfect audience to yet another day of self-debate, self-pity and loneliness.
Nowadays it was the norm, to feel one-sided and out of place. A storm raged within her, fighting to stay afloat amidst the countering thoughts and emotions.
Will it work? Can it work? Must she make it work?
General O'Neill did this often nowadays, more than she liked to admit. It was 'certainly', then it was 'maybe' and finally it was 'not at the moment'. He was here and then he wasn't. Then it was 'see ya', 'sorry, there's been a delay' or 'I'm busy, rain-check?'
Assurance came from knowing she was at the right place at the right time.
Research and Development had been a noteworthy change. She needed it. After saving the world eight years, a change of scenery did her good. It resurrected her from the underground facility and placed her on top of the world where she could see for miles on end. Mind you, it was a desert, but even shrubs flourished in its harsh environment.
She flourished, with or without him.
Slipping from her dress blues, Carter grabbed a shirt and sweat pants, pulled them on and then walked for the kitchenette. There she watched the kettle steam up the glass cabinets above the countertop, retrieved a mug and scooped filter coffee into the large beaker. When the kettle boiled, the water followed behind and the contents mixed and darkened. She let it percolate for a while.
After a dismal night working, the stronger the better. Since all this contemplating left her sleeping less and working more.
She sat down, with knees tucked underneath her and stared at nothing in particular. In the corner of her eye, she noticed the picture she treasured as much as she treasured her father. Jacob never knew, but she respected his willingness to be there for her after he'd been absent early in her life. Though, she understood his career and what it required of him, what he sacrificed to serve his country, the path she'd walked, too. One brave decision altered his life for good. What if she'd made a decision to place personal ambitions above service? Would she had been a part of SG1? Would she have met the General, Daniel and Teal'c, who inspired her to be better, to be stronger, who inspired her to grow?
Did she have the same impact on their lives?
The steaming coffee misted the rim of her cup.
Absent of milk and sugar, she took a sip, savouring its bitterness, then closed her eyes. All this thinking awoke emotions she'd suppressed for years. She avoided them like he avoided them. She pushed ahead like he forged ahead. She ran just like he ran. Rules and regulations saved her. Obligation to her work saved her. It hid the truth. It sheltered her emotions. It caged her thoughts. It made her the soldier she needed to be in order to defend her country and loved ones. This is the life of an Air Force Colonel. The life of an astrophysicist. To serve for the greater good.
She glanced the picture once more.
So many memories, too many to repress. Too many to ignore and say 'I've moved on'. She hasn't. Nevada may have given her a means of escape, but it didn't quench the reality of who she is and what she wants. And now that there was a possibility, an opportunity, they drifted, as opposed to coming together and moving ahead together.
Grabbing the phone, she dialled the General's office and heard the aide say O'Neill wasn't available. She dialled his personal phone and got his voicemail. Was he avoiding her, when she looked for an inch of his support? Or was he at the cabin, reasoning the way she did presently?
She tried again, got the same result and threw the phone against the recliner. It rebounded, sliding over the coffee table's glass surface.
Staring at it merely fuelled her restlessness and doubt.
Her finger tapped the glass beside the phone. Tac, tac, tac, it resounded in her mind. Tac, tac, tac, it needed to stop. Tac, tac, tac, the silence became deafening, only her tapping finger clanged.
The General, where was he? What was he doing? She needed to see him, he was the only one who listened when her mind wasn't too kind, because it wasn't too kind today, not towards him or her work. And after everything he'd done for her and for the team, he deserved a means of explaining himself. He deserved the right to defend himself against this needless debate.
She took the phone and went through the routine twice more, then darted for her room. From within her closet, she fished out the duffel bag, cradling the phone between shoulder and ear, and arranged for a short vacation. Approved, she filled the bag with clothes, contacted the necessary superiors and was beamed to and from into the cabin's living room.
It was empty.
Neither would the General mind her staying.
Next, she inspected the immediate area and found it just like the last time SG1 visited, only it had her touch. Where she cleaned away, things situated. He hadn't moved anything, especially the photo of them fishing together. Even the team's photo stood proudly beside theirs on the fireplace mantle. Which meant, General O'Neill had never returned after that weekend, when they'd found the ZPM amidst Catherine's belongings.
Something was amiss.
Outside, she walked along the dock, her eyes glued to the spot where they'd sat side-by-side fishing and enjoying the peaceful camaraderie, then knelt there. She gazed at the mirrorless pond.
Her current state of mind could be blamed on exhaustion, being overworked and for lack of sleep. Logically, it did contribute a great deal to her shaky emotions and unreasonable opinions.
She stood.
And burying herself in her work drowned the aching feeling nagging at the back of her mind. And unfortunately, all the caffeine and energy drinks in the world could no longer suppress it.
Turning, she went back to the cabin and entered.
Or perhaps the moment she realized they could finally acknowledge each other on a more personal level was the same day she'd lost him.
Dammit, she was tired.
Watching her hands rest upon the kitchen countertop, an awareness lingered. That maybe Jack O'Neill would walk through the front door and a peace of mind would replace this infuriating argument. She needed his presence to settle and calm her down, to reassure her it's all in her mind. That it's not a fluke or a phase or a pretension. That since her father's funeral, it's been real and that they were still ironing out the kinks.
Hell, she needed sleep.
Her feet moved on their own towards the guest bedroom. In front of the bed, she angled sideways and plopped down gracefully on top of it. A handwoven blanket she pulled over her knees, curled into a snuggling form and closed her eyes.
This was nice. The chirping birds were soothing. The lack of noise mimicked the desert's sereneness, though it was different. It felt like home. Peace surrounded her, even if his presence lacked.
The sense of safety consumed her awareness, lulling her, and before long she fell asleep.
