He threw down his pen in disgust, realising he'd spent the last fifteen minutes staring into space--no, not space; rather, the inside of his own head--and clicking his biro. He had reports to read and file, an important memo he needed to complete and send to Hammond. The Haralian ambassador would be arriving on Wednesday and he had to make sure the VIP quarters were decorated with the correct coloured drapes--
He sighed, frustrated and put his head in his hands. Things used to be so simple. He rubbed his forehead. I was a soldier. A man of action. Now I push paper. I'm not a commander I'm a... a manager. I move reports around and give orders and let my teams, my friends, go through that 'gate while I stay here and negotiate with stupid diplomats and pompous leaders.
I wasn't there for them.
I wasn't there for her.
What if they had died...?
Unwarranted and unwanted ice filled his stomach.
What if I had lost her?
He regained some composure and shuffled some files.
You haven't. They're safe. All of them. This time.
What about next time?
He laid the files down carefully.
He tapped his fingers on the desk for a moment.
He leaned back in his chair and put his hands on his legs, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling of his office.
He sighed again.
Why is this so hard? Why can't I say... things... I want to say?
There was a tentative knock on his office door and he dragged himself back into reality. "Come in."
It was Walter. "Sir. I've bought the latest batch of reports for you."
"Thank you."
The sergeant sidled out.
He picked up the first of the new reports tentatively, and regarded it for a moment. Losing some internal battle, he picked up his discarded pen and started work again.
Carter lay on her sofa, bored senseless and more than a little miserable. Her face was scabbed and sore and her bruises ached dully. She knew she ought to feel grateful that she wasn't in a wheelchair like Teal'c, or wincing at the pain of broken ribs with her arm bound in a sling like Daniel, but after two days of total isolation, bar the occasional telephone conversation, she was feeling pretty depressed. She didn't think she could face the stares of the world, with her skin still healing from its ordeal at the blades of the saw-grass and she knew her appearance on base would warrant an angry Jack O'Neill ordering her home again but she was beginning to think it might be worth the risk, before she died of boredom.
And of course, it might remind Jack I actually exist.
She frowned at the alien thought, so unlike her normal self. Jack was probably busy or... busy. What right did she had to make demands on his time? What did it matter if he had completely failed to contact her and ask how she was feeling...?
She pummelled the cushion angrily and wondered how much therapeutic value she could obtain from a tub of Ben & Jerry's she knew was secreted in her freezer...
The sound of a car pulling up on her drive made her pause in her rootling for the elusive tub five minutes later. Curiously she peered through the spy-hole.
Her heart sunk.
Pete Shanahan was standing on her doorstep, a firm expression on his face. He rang the doorbell.
She opened her door warily. He blinked in surprise at her face.
"What happened?" he asked, tenderness in his voice, the frown dissipating. He reached a hand out to touch her cheek.
She recoiled from his touch, mouth compressed into a stony line. "An accident off world. I'll be fine. It won't scar."
He dropped his hand, the determined look returning as he heaved a sigh. "I'm glad. I came to pick up some stuff."
She nodded and moved aside so her could move past her, inside. The remaining boxes of his things were piled at the bottom of the stairs. He hefted them into his broad arms and paused for a moment.
His dark eyes rested on hers for a moment and she felt ill. "What happened to us, Sam?" he whispered.
She looked at her feet, feeling as if she might cry.
"I'm sorry."
"That's not an answer."
She met his gaze again, angrily. "It's the best I'm able to give. Was there anything else you wanted?"
He recognised the way her chin jutted out when she was at her most determined, and felt an overwhelming sadness well up within him. "Yes," he replied, smiling lopsidedly and she was left uncomfortably aware of his barely veiled meaning.
"Goodbye."
"Take care of yourself Sam."
The door slammed shut after him and a tear slipped from under her eyelashes down her torn cheeks.