The new Carter.

See first chapter for details

Chapter One: Out of Shadow

She splashed water on her face to wake herself up, hoping that in her fully awakened state she would be able to think more clearly about the images and experiences that had plagued her in the depths of the night. Looking up, she saw the dark rings under her eyes that evidenced her recent problems with finding sleeps sweet embrace every night.

Never mind that her job didn't need her to look beautiful every day, or that she had frequently gone for months on less sleep than she got on average now. Of even less importance was what her colleagues would think when they saw her in this REM-deprived state. In fact, sleep wasn't really the issue here. The issue was how things just didn't seem to be the same to her now.

'No,' Sam Carter thought, as she looked in the mirror, 'things aren't the same anymore. They never will be, again.' Ever since her encounter with the alien entity Grace on the Prometheus, her emotional state had been irrevocably turned upside-down. She was a wreck. The slightest offset in her day sent her mind into a plummeting nose-dive, down an infinite abyss of possibilities, full of 'what-ifs?' and 'how-comes?'. She couldn't stop it. It was as if Grace had simply taken from her that most fundamental of traits, the one that got her through every-thing the SGC threw at her: her ability to control. Control herself that is, her thoughts, her feelings; the very course of her mind was no longer hers to plot...if anyone remained at the helm at all.

When each and every single night showed her things that terrified, confused, and humiliated her, the daily ability to control herself was thrown into disarray by floods of images and sensations from her nightly sorties with Graces influence on her subconscious. But how? How had Grace done this to her? And, more importantly, why?

Damn it, she was a soldier and a scientist. She knew how to think and how to fight and how to apply both approaches to any given problem. This was a battle, though, that she couldn't even comprehend. How can you win a struggle when the mere act of trying to understand the objective was beyond you?

'God, please tell I don't need to see Mackenzie,' she thought. Though intended as a little private pun for her inner ears only, meant to light her dreary mood, she was forced to confront the possibility that maybe she DID need a pshrink. Maybe she was finally coming unglued in the cranial region.

She could imagine Jack's comment now, upon finding out that his 2IC had been committed: "Well, someone that smart working with me, it's only a matter of time before I drive her absolutely nuts." Then Teal'c would chime in with his usual "Indeed" and Daniel would concur, though trying to comfort her at the same time, undoubtedly. "Jack, you do that to anyone with an IQ above double digits; I hardly think Sam's an exception to this rule."

She let out a harsh chuckle, looking down the drain to let the water coating her head find its way to the sewage system via her bathrooms plumbing, willing the influence that coated her mind and tormented her nightly in this fashion to follow suit. 'Well, at least I haven't lost my capacity for humor, even if it is the self-deprecating type at that.'

Tearing her mind away from this issue, she started to get dressed and prepare herself for work.

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Letting the wind whip past her, Sam raced down the last stretch of highway till the paved road that led to the entrance of Cheyenne Mountain. Her motorcycle hummed and growled like a fierce, wild panther, tearing through the long expanses of open road, leading the huntress perched on top to her field of battle: a lab full of neat experiments fit to distract her from whatever phantoms ofthe night might be resurrected to face her in the day.

She lifted a hand to wave hello/goodbye to the officers guarding the entrance to the base, slowing down to allow them time to lift the gate for her to get through without taking her head off. Finding her usual spot near the elevator, she parked her precious ride, giving it an affectionate pat before silencing the engine.

"Arriving in style today, huh?" she heard a familiar voice ring out from behind her.

"Good morning sir," she gave him a smile as she turned around. "How was O'Malley's last night?"

"Terrific, though it would have been better if you were there." He rubbed his stomach gingerly. "Teal'c and I had a steak eating competition. Ten points if you can guess who won."

"Oh, I'll feel guilty about not being supportive of you sir, but I'll have to go with Teal'c."

"Yep." He pressed the button to summon the elevator for them, having already flashed his ID to the man guarding the inner doors to the base. "Don't feel guilty, though. I swear, it's no wonder Teal'c never heard of a cow on Chulak. They were probably eaten within the first few years of the creation of the Jaffa." He cast a glance behind them. "Speaking of long periods of time, Carter..." he trailed off suggestively-

-'Oh god, please don't let him start about it; he can't have noticed already, can he?'-

-"how long are you gonna stall before you let me ride that bike of yours ?" He gave her a friendly, puppy-dog grin as they stepped into the elevator in an effort to help cajole a satisfactory answer out of her.

A look she was, by now, mostly immune to. "When llamas start spontaneously swearing in French, sir."

He frowned, obviously thinking about that. "I could order you to do it, you know."

She knew this tactic: he was just trying to get her to rise to the bait and become borderline insubordinate with him, because he liked the banter it created. Truth be told, so did she.

"Sir, do you really want me to get the Tok'ra to send Anise over during their next visit?"

His eyes widened in mock horror. "You wouldn't dare."

"Ah, the advantages of having an elder Tok'ra councilor symbiotically inhabit your father. Besides, she doesn't bug me nearly as much as she bugs you," she mused out loud, enjoying their little game. She even let a smile creep onto her lips at the thought of what having Anise visit would do to the colonel; or, to be specific, what Anise would like to use her visiting time to do with the colonel. Not that Carter would ever let that happen, of course; she liked and respected him far too much to subject him to that.

He gave a gruff sigh in response. "The evilness is strong in the Carter blood." He snuck a look at her after she didn't respond for a moment. "Carter?"

"Huh?" she started. Another stream of images and feelings had come flooding through her at that last thought. She had withdrawn into her protective shell to deal with them almost instantly, forgetting that her CO was standing right next to her.

"Where were you just now?" All levity was gone from his voice, his tone deep and friendly, but also concerned and a bit authoritative.

"Uh, thinking sir."

"Ah," he shook his head in understanding. "No wonder I didn't recognize what it looked like."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. She knew that was what the remark had been intended to do, and she didn't mind giving in like that. Quite the contrary, actually. If she couldn't maintain a semblance of control over herself, maybe it was good that others could help give a sense of order to her day to at least mimic that feeling of control.

All too quickly, however, the lightheartedness of the brief laughter faded from her and her thoughts sank back into the quagmire that every night produced in the recesses of mind, waiting to spring on her when she least expected it.

O'Neill, of course, being O'Neill, noticed and commented on it. "Seriously Carter, what's going on?"

'Oh boy, here goes.' "Nothing sir, I'm fine."

"Really?"

"Really." She even looked him in the eyes briefly to reinforce the point. She wanted to believe she was fine. Maybe by making him believe that she was fine, it would come true, some small part of her hoped. "I'm good. Why do you ask?"

The Colonel averted his glance a little and shrugged. "Maybe because you've been acting like half your mind is out in some distant galaxy half the time. We haven't seen you at meals recently. You're closed off and very brief whenever someone asks you a question. I haven't heard a single bit of technobabble from you in over two weeks, which I'm pretty sure is a record."

"Sir-"

"You avoid contact with us, always rushing out of the room at the first opportunity. You've had spats of rather violent irritation towards some of the lab techs recently. You even yelled at Daniel for his little rant about the Mayans the other day. Call me crazy but this isn't like you."

Sam sighed, trying to think of a way to "So I'm having a bad couple of weeks. It happens to everyone now and then. I don't need help, sir. It's like I said, I'm fine."

He reached over and hit the stop button on the elevator control panel. "That's a load of bull, Carter. You're not fine. I know all the stages of fine; you're not in any of them."

"I don't want to talk about it, sir." The words came through clenched teeth, her irritation building by the moment. 'What the hell does he know about what I'm going through? He has no right to try and intrude in my life like this.'

"Well, I do! You're a member of my team, damn it, I'm responsible for you. What's more, as my 2IC, I rely on you to help me make sure everything goes well when we're offworld, and I don't think you being in this state is really going to help us any."

Silence reigned in the enclosed compartment. She dared not lift her gaze to meet his, unsure of what her reaction might be. After his little outburst, she might break down in tears, or she might deck him. It was near impossible to tell. Either way, it would mean a serious reevaluation of her potential as a member of SG-1 and, most likely, a resulting reassignment, possibly outside the SGC altogether. No, best to steer clear of any potential disasters like that.

"Carter, c'mon. Talk to me, I'm right here." His voice was soft, gentle, ringing of a want to aid her in her plight, no matter what it was. "Whatever it is, you don't have to fight it alone, I can help."

She couldn't help it; she scoffed at him. "Yeah, sure you can, sir." She gave his title emphasis for good measure, a warning to her CO to back off.

Her CO, because he was Jack O'Neill, didn't heed said warning. "Sam," he took a step closer to her, "this isn't you. What's happened to you? I don't know what the problem is, but if you need help-"

"Sir, if it's all right with you, I'd really rather not be psycho-analyzed by a high-school dropout whose understanding of human psychology is more akin to that of a stray dog than anything else."

Her eyes never left the doors in front of her, and her tone never wavered while responding, a constant deadpan that left no room for misinterpretation. She vaguely registered his unconscious step back at her remark.

Her insides quailed at what had just happened. Her CO, her teammate, her friend had just tried to help her...and she'd attacked him for it. He had reached out, offering his assistance to a beloved comrade who was like family to him, only to see that comrade swat him away while spiting an acidic rebuke at him, belittling his abilities and his intentions.

The seconds rolled by, filled with a silence that was slowly deafening her beneath its massive presence. Slowly, carefully, terrified at what she would find there, she looked over into his eyes, expecting to see anger, surprise, indignation, and rightfully incurred rage.

What was actually there hurt infinitely worse than that. It was pain, disappointment, and a deep, lonely sadness that mirrored her own so greatly, see thought for a moment that she was gazing into a mirror, her own reflection casting images of her piteous state back at her.

"Fine." One word, it was all he spoke. He turned back to the control panel and resumed their descent. They spent the rest of the trip in silence. He didn't do or say a single thing, staring straight forward the whole time, giving her the solitude and silence he thought she wanted. Never once did she object.

When the lift stopped at her level, she got out. "See you at the briefing," was all he said to her, to which she dimly nodded. Then the doors closed and he was gone.

The elevator came to her floor and she disembarked. Her mind in its own little world, she somehow found her way to her quarters. Unlocking the door, she went inside. Depositing her bag on the table in the center of the room, she turned down the lights, letting her precious, lifeless experiments rest undisturbed by one very disturbed woman.

Old Carter never would have done that. She never would have said anything remotely like that to one of her friends, least of all to him, of all people. It was the proof she needed for a theory that had been running around her head ever since she had waken up last night with one name on her lips: whatever Grace had done to her, whatever change the alien had made, it was killing her. Slowly, it was destroying what was once was, turning her into a person she'd rather not get to know. If anything thing remained of the old Sam Carter inside of her, if any of it survived, it was dying. And there was no way for her to save it.

She looked at her watch: 0924 hours. A little over an hour and a half till the briefing started. She had time.

Walking to her bunk, she let gravity hurl her against the mattress. Curling up into a ball, in the embrace of the near total blackness of her quarters, she let the tears come, mourning the passing of the person she once was, the Carter everyone knew, respected, and loved. Exhausted by the emotional release, it was only a matter of moments before sleep took her once again.

TBC

P.S. I know, majorly angsty so far, but is it good? Don't worry, the sci-fi is coming soon enough.

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