They headed west with just about 150 bucks in O'Neill's pocket. He was going to give it
the General Hammond as a down payment on his debt, a debt he may never get the
chance to repay. Most of the things they had accumulated during their stay were in a
back pack in the back seat of the car. Their main concern, aside for not getting arrested
for trying to break into a government facility, was finding work so that they could have a
place to sleep, food to eat and hopefully a quiet corner to live the remainder of their days.
One night was spent at a highway rest stop dozing in the car. He had parked as far from the lights as he could and after they had used the rest rooms and found something to eat from the vending machines, they settled down in the front seat. Jack set the bench seat as far back as it would go and leaned the back at a more comfortable angle. Jacks long legs stretched out to the passenger's side, his head against the driver's side door. Sam lay against him and although they spread the musty old picnic blanket from the trunk on them for warmth he was a much more enjoyable form of radiant heat.
Driving through a town they found work in an Italian restaurant. One of the regular girls was down with the flu on a busy weekend. Sam waitressed and Jack bussed tables and washed dishes. Sam noticed, more to her annoyance than amusement, that one of the waitresses patted Jack's ass every time she passed him bent over the sink. The pay wasn't great but the tips were good and the owner was generous with meal for his employees. The food was delicious. They worked the weekend dinner crowd and Saturday afternoon wedding reception. With full stomachs, and enough money for their next meal, a full tank of gas and if they were lucky a cheap motel room they traveled on through northern Virginia.
The next place they found was a small cabin style motel in western Maryland. They decided they needed a decent nights sleep and a good hot shower and if they were lucky, a chance to wash their clothes. When they drove in the proprietor was on the roof of one of the cabins struggling with tar paper and shingles. O'Neill bartered a room and meals for his help with roofing repairs. The man also asked if Sam could help his wife with the laundry. They were too far out in the country for a commercial laundry to be practical but his very pregnant wife was having a hard time keeping up even with the light customer load they had in January. So they stayed for four days.
The cabin they shared was small with a bath and double bed. They slept in the same bed but O'Neill seemed to sink into a moodiness that wavered between depression and anger. Pounding nails during the day alleviated some of the pressure, but it allowed him no rest at night; if it weren't sleeting out he'd have taken a walk. In exasperation at the tossing and turning and getting up to stare out the window, Carter asked him what was bothering him. He stared out the window and spoke softly.
"In Herring Bay it was a little easier, I was Colonel O'Neill and I had my team, we were on a mission. Even though it was a little screwy, we were all sort of undercover; we were all on our way back home, had a goal, a set end. But now, who am I? What the hell are we doing? Do we keep grasping at straws and false hopes? Or do we just acknowledge that we are never going to get back. I've failed. I've failed you. I don't know who I supposed to be and am having a damn difficult time making this all up as I go along."
Then he sat on the bed and was quiet for a few moments, gathering his thoughts, trying to get out words that stuck in his throat, hurtful to say, hurtful to hear, hurtful to admit.
"If I let myself love you, you know, be with you, I'd be admitting defeat, saying there is no hope, no going back, that I am a failure. Why would you want a looser? And if we just keep on going on like this am I just being delusional? Putting up some false front, still the intrepid colonel, just to bolster my over inflated ego."
He held her hand and ran his other through his hair. "It's not what I want for you, not what I wanted for myself, living 'lives of quiet desperation'."
She had no answers for him; she shared all the same insecurities. But one thing she did know; she knew now that she would never leave him, even if he chose to maintain the façade of Colonel and Major or if he chose to put it all behind him. She would be loyal to this man to whatever end. Neither of them got much sleep that night.
She woke in the hour before dawn, thinking, looking at every angle and could see no way of returning to their present, this world's future. He had finally fallen asleep; his back to her with her arm slipped under his and her hand held tightly, pressed to his chest. She felt the tears pooling in her eyes, yes she had wanted him, at least to see what it would be like but not like this. She wanted it to be in their own time, in their own place, where they could have the luxury of exploring one another's feelings. Sam slipped her arm from his embrace and saw that the bruise on his back, from the deflected gun shot, was larger than her hand. Even in the dark room it looked purple against his skin. She wondered if he would blame her for screwing up their last chance, for not finding another solution. If she had to she could be the loyal follower but was that all she wanted out of life. Would an intellectual life be denied her, an academic career, a life as a research scientist, an explorer or even the most basics of needs human existence love, a family, children?
"You're thinking to loud."
"What?"
"I can hear you thinking." He reclaimed her hand and gently squeezed it.
"I trust you." Was all that she said but some of the tears slipped past her lashes.
One night was spent at a highway rest stop dozing in the car. He had parked as far from the lights as he could and after they had used the rest rooms and found something to eat from the vending machines, they settled down in the front seat. Jack set the bench seat as far back as it would go and leaned the back at a more comfortable angle. Jacks long legs stretched out to the passenger's side, his head against the driver's side door. Sam lay against him and although they spread the musty old picnic blanket from the trunk on them for warmth he was a much more enjoyable form of radiant heat.
Driving through a town they found work in an Italian restaurant. One of the regular girls was down with the flu on a busy weekend. Sam waitressed and Jack bussed tables and washed dishes. Sam noticed, more to her annoyance than amusement, that one of the waitresses patted Jack's ass every time she passed him bent over the sink. The pay wasn't great but the tips were good and the owner was generous with meal for his employees. The food was delicious. They worked the weekend dinner crowd and Saturday afternoon wedding reception. With full stomachs, and enough money for their next meal, a full tank of gas and if they were lucky a cheap motel room they traveled on through northern Virginia.
The next place they found was a small cabin style motel in western Maryland. They decided they needed a decent nights sleep and a good hot shower and if they were lucky, a chance to wash their clothes. When they drove in the proprietor was on the roof of one of the cabins struggling with tar paper and shingles. O'Neill bartered a room and meals for his help with roofing repairs. The man also asked if Sam could help his wife with the laundry. They were too far out in the country for a commercial laundry to be practical but his very pregnant wife was having a hard time keeping up even with the light customer load they had in January. So they stayed for four days.
The cabin they shared was small with a bath and double bed. They slept in the same bed but O'Neill seemed to sink into a moodiness that wavered between depression and anger. Pounding nails during the day alleviated some of the pressure, but it allowed him no rest at night; if it weren't sleeting out he'd have taken a walk. In exasperation at the tossing and turning and getting up to stare out the window, Carter asked him what was bothering him. He stared out the window and spoke softly.
"In Herring Bay it was a little easier, I was Colonel O'Neill and I had my team, we were on a mission. Even though it was a little screwy, we were all sort of undercover; we were all on our way back home, had a goal, a set end. But now, who am I? What the hell are we doing? Do we keep grasping at straws and false hopes? Or do we just acknowledge that we are never going to get back. I've failed. I've failed you. I don't know who I supposed to be and am having a damn difficult time making this all up as I go along."
Then he sat on the bed and was quiet for a few moments, gathering his thoughts, trying to get out words that stuck in his throat, hurtful to say, hurtful to hear, hurtful to admit.
"If I let myself love you, you know, be with you, I'd be admitting defeat, saying there is no hope, no going back, that I am a failure. Why would you want a looser? And if we just keep on going on like this am I just being delusional? Putting up some false front, still the intrepid colonel, just to bolster my over inflated ego."
He held her hand and ran his other through his hair. "It's not what I want for you, not what I wanted for myself, living 'lives of quiet desperation'."
She had no answers for him; she shared all the same insecurities. But one thing she did know; she knew now that she would never leave him, even if he chose to maintain the façade of Colonel and Major or if he chose to put it all behind him. She would be loyal to this man to whatever end. Neither of them got much sleep that night.
She woke in the hour before dawn, thinking, looking at every angle and could see no way of returning to their present, this world's future. He had finally fallen asleep; his back to her with her arm slipped under his and her hand held tightly, pressed to his chest. She felt the tears pooling in her eyes, yes she had wanted him, at least to see what it would be like but not like this. She wanted it to be in their own time, in their own place, where they could have the luxury of exploring one another's feelings. Sam slipped her arm from his embrace and saw that the bruise on his back, from the deflected gun shot, was larger than her hand. Even in the dark room it looked purple against his skin. She wondered if he would blame her for screwing up their last chance, for not finding another solution. If she had to she could be the loyal follower but was that all she wanted out of life. Would an intellectual life be denied her, an academic career, a life as a research scientist, an explorer or even the most basics of needs human existence love, a family, children?
"You're thinking to loud."
"What?"
"I can hear you thinking." He reclaimed her hand and gently squeezed it.
"I trust you." Was all that she said but some of the tears slipped past her lashes.