Sam and Janet made their way unsteadily to the bar and leaned over. "Another round," Sam said, flashing her best smile at the young bar-tender.
She looked around O'Malley's. The guys were sitting at a nearby table, waiting patiently for their drinks. She nudged Janet. "Damn; we've got some fine-looking men with us tonight!" she said.
Janet giggled – yep; she was drunk too. "Oh, yeah," she drawled, broadening her usually faint Southern accent.
"Sam?"
Sam turned from her perusal of the guys to look at the intruder. Fair hair, stocky build, about her height. "Have we met?" she said.
He blinked. "It's me. Pete," he said. "We met a while ago at McGinty's." He leaned in slightly. "You never called me back."
Sam laughed shortly. "I think you've got me confused with someone else," she said. "Let's face it; you're not my type." She pointed over to Colonel O'Neill. "See him; the tall guy with the gray hair and the brown eyes? He's my type."
Behind her, she heard Janet coughing wildly. "You okay, Janet?" she asked.
"Yeah," Janet said, giving another cough. She handed some money to the bar-tender and took the tray of drinks. "We've got boys to water!" she said.
"Okay." Sam giggled; she was so drunk right now! "Bye, Paul," she said carelessly.
"Pete," he said.
"Whatever." Sam waggled her fingers and the second tray. "Well, I've heard better lines," she said.
"Yeah." Janet snorted inelegantly. "And when did you develop a thing for the Colonel?"
"I don't have a 'thing' for Jack … the Colonel," Sam said. "But he is a good looking guy. Surely you can see that."
"I suppose," Janet said thoughtfully. "It's just hard to see him that way when I spend a good portion of my time listening to his complaints." She sniggered and the tray wobbled alarmingly. "For a rough tough Special Forces Colonel, he acts more like a five year old in the Infirmary."
"Anyway … what about you and Kawalsky?" Time for the biter to get bit.
Janet went red. "Major Kawalsky?" she echoed.
"Don't play innocent with me," Sam said. "You telling me you and him have never … you know … done the nasty?"
"Done the nasty?" Janet squeaked. "What the hell have you been reading lately, young lady?" Before Sam could reply, she got a dig in the ribs from her much smaller friend. "One word and I'll bring out my special big 'Colonel' needles at your next medical," Janet warned.
"Okay; I'll be good," Sam said meekly, immediately cowed by that threat. Although tiny, Janet was one formidable lady – even without what the Colonel would call her 'huge honkin' needles'.
"She's certainly not feeling any pain tonight," Kawalsky said, nudging Jack and jerking his head toward the dance floor.
Jack looked over to the dance floor, where Carter was dancing rather sexily with a tall good-looking guy about her own age. "Good for her," he said, lifting his beer bottle in a silent toast to her. "After slaving for weeks on that … what was it again?"
"A particle accelerator, O'Neill," Teal'c supplied.
"Yeah; one of those. She deserves to let her hair down."
Kawalsky sniggered. "I don't think that's the only thing she's gonna be lettin' down tonight," he said.
Jack's eyes narrowed when he saw that another young man had attached himself to Carter. Geez; they were practically having sex right on that dance floor! She was drunk, and those two young jerks were taking advantage of her loosened inhibitions.
He slammed down his beer bottle, then got up and strode over to the dance floor. "Mind if I cut in, Carter?" he asked.
"Sir!" she said, not loosening her grip around the first young man's waist. "I'm kinda busy now; maybe I'll fit you in later." She sniggered, then hiccuped.
"Yeah; take a hike, old man," the second young man said. "C'mon, Sam; wanna go have some fun?"
"Yeah; I'm in the mood for something fun," she purred, turning and placing a hand on each of the young men's asses.
"Carter …," Jack growled. "You're drunk. You're ditching these two yahoos, pouring yourself into a cab and going home … alone."
"Ja-ack," she complained. "Y'know; you might be my superior officer, but we're not at work." She regarded him with unnaturally bright eyes. "Besides; you're the one who told me to get a life."
"You heard the lady, old man," the first guy said. "Get lost, before we break those old bones of yours."
"You can try," Jack said softly. Those two idiots were so not a threat.
Carter seemed to agree. "He's Special Forces," she said. "He could kill you in thirty seconds and leave no trace."
"Yeah; right."
The two young men charged at Jack. He dropped one with a basic roundhouse blow, then pressed the other one up against the wall, cutting off his supply of air with three steely fingers to the windpipe. "Sam's leaving now," he said. "And not with you. Got that?"
The young man – barely able to breathe – could only nod with a wide-eyed panic.
"Excellent!" Jack said in his best Mister Burns impression.
Carter put her hands on her hips. "That wasn't very nice, sir," she said with a childish pout.
"Don't care," he grunted. "Are you leaving or do I haul you outta here?"
Her eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare!" she said indignantly.
He dropped to a knee and grabbed her arm, pulling it over his shoulder. Then he got up, hauling her over his shoulder. "Jack!" she said, kicking out at him.
He swatted her backside, a little surprised to feel the sharp bone of her hip. How much weight had she lost over the last few months? He went over to the guys. "Carter's had enough; I'll see her home, then I'm for bed myself." He yawned widely, feeling the effects of planet lag for the first time in a long time. Then again, it had been a hard day emotionally speaking.
"Uh, Jack …," Daniel said.
"Yes, Daniel?"
The archeologist squinted at him. "You know you've got a Captain on you."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Funny, Daniel," he said. "Night, guys. And Doc, of course."
With a now-still Carter draped over his shoulder, he made his way out of the bar and headed over to a waiting cab. He ducked and placed her on the back seat, then got in himself.
"Where to, buddy?" the driver asked.
He rattled off her address and slammed the door shut as the driver shot off with a screech of tires.
"That was very caveman, Jack," Carter purred as he settled her onto the seat. "Liked the testosterone." She slid her hand up his pant leg to cup his crotch.
"Sam …," he warned, lifting her hand off him.
"Well, you chased away my chance for a ménage a trois" – he was pretty impressed she could even get that expression out. She licked her lips. "The least you can do is have sex with me."
"Carter … you're drunk."
"Yeah?" She eyed him belligerently. "So what?"
"I don't take advantage of drunken women," he said. "Besides, you know I became involved with Laira. I'm not about to two-time her."
"Aw … that's sweet, Jack. But really … how long d'you expect to go without because your little playmate's on the other side of the … world?" She leaned forward and ran her tongue over the scar in his eyebrow. "Want you."
Much as he might have enjoyed making out with the pretty young blonde, he knew full well that she was going to feel like shit come the morning. "Carter!" He grasped her shoulders. "Sit!"
She pouted. "Yes, sir," she said, and proceeded to do so. In his lap. She wiggled her butt into his pelvic region. "I know you want me, Jack." She grinned evilly. "I'm not so drunk that I can't feel it."
She was grinding a sweet little rounded ass right into his most sensitive area – of course it was going to respond! He pushed her off his lap and she fell with a giggle onto the seat. "Behave, Carter," he growled, closing his eyes and feeling a tension headache pound behind his eyes. It was going to be one long ride home.
God … so much blood. Her hands were covered in the blood of an innocent people. A simple agrarian people who had the misfortune to be sitting on one of the largest veins of naqadah the Goa'uld had ever come across. They hadn't stood a chance.
The old and the very young had been killed outright. The rest had been taken as slaves – some of the most beautiful to become hosts – and the planet was rapidly strip-mined.
So much blood … all on her hands.
Sam woke up trembling and with tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked at her hands. Would she ever be free of the blood?
She got out of bed, her head spinning from all the drinks she'd had with Janet and the guys, and headed slowly into the bathroom. Stripping off her clothes, she switched on the shower and stepped under the sharp spray.
She put a hand under the water, looking at its pale skin in fascination. How could something so small and slim have wrought such atrocities? She closed her eyes briefly then grabbed her shower gel, depositing a great glob into the washcloth. She scrubbed it roughly over her hands, trying to get the blood stains out.
But the stains of her sin were internal – she knew that. No amount of scrubbing would ever wash her free.
Stained … she was stained with the blood of countless people. Her stomach lurched and she dived out of the shower to curl up in front of the toilet, vomiting repeatedly.
Once she was certain she wasn't going to throw up any more, she got shakily to her feet and dragged a toweling robe over her damp body. She rinsed out her mouth and sighed. God … if she didn't get some sleep soon, she'd go nuts. And she was to give a briefing to SG-2 tomorrow morning – this morning. She had to be at the top of her form.
She opened the cabinet and picked up the bottle of sleeping tablets. Just tonight, she told herself sternly, palming two of the pills into her mouth and dry-swallowing them. Just tonight.
Three weeks later
"Morning, Carter!"
She looked up as one Colonel Jack O'Neill leaned up against the door jamb to her lab, arms folded across his chest. "Sir; hi," she said, powering down her laptop and ejecting the floppy.
He regarded her curiously. "You look disgustingly healthy," he offered, sounding disgruntled.
She smiled slightly, accepting the silent accusation. She'd run into him last night at a little dive that had great beer. She had been pretty wasted, she recalled. "Never had a hangover in my life, sir," she said. She did feel good. She'd had six blissful hours of uninterrupted sleep and had managed to get in a half-hour on the running machine before heading for the lab.
He scowled. "That just … that's not fair," he said. He eyed her suspiciously. "Ya sure you didn't pray to the porcelain god at all?"
"Last night, sir," she admitted – she could give him that much, if only to prevent the pouting. Yes, folks; a six two tough-as-nails forty-something USAF Colonel was about two seconds away from an all-out pout. It was actually quite endearing.
"Cool." He pushed himself upright, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Anyway; better go. Going to P2 … yadda – more rocks for my favorite geek to marvel over."
"Artifacts, sir," Sam said, amused.
"Whatever," the Colonel shot back. "Whoa …" – he shook his head. "Except for the 'sir', you nailed him." He shook his head again, then gave her a cheeky grin. "Anyway, can't stand here dawdling in the land of the eggheads – rocks to go look at."
Sam put her hands on her hips. "Eggheads?"
He back-pedaled. "Not that you're an egghead." He paused. "Well, you are actually, but … in a cool way."
She chuckled. "Shouldn't you have made a beeping noise before backing up like that, sir?" she inquired.
He now wore a smirk a mile wide. "Teasing a superior officer, Carter? I'm proud of ya!"
She returned the smirk. "I learn from the best, sir," she said.
"Colonel O'Neill; report to the embarkation room!" the PA blared out.
"You're being paged, sir," she pointed out none too subtly, turning her attention to a strange piece of machinery SG-5 had brought back to the SGC yesterday.
"I can take a hint," O'Neill said. "Have fun with your … doohickey."
"Doohickey?" she queried.
"I believe that's the technical term," he said, offering her an innocent smile. "Anyway; I'm off. See ya later, Carter."
"Bye, sir," she replied absently, picking up the … doohickey. Damn the man; now she'd be calling it that for days!
Klorel strode over to the young dark-haired female, then gripped her chin to examine her features. "Young and lovely," he murmured, staring into her wide brown eyes. "Bow before your god!" he barked.
The female spat defiantly. "You are no-one's god!"
Klorel aimed his hand device at the defiant one's forehead. She cried out and crumpled to her knees with the pain. He went over to her and she shuddered with the remnants of the pain. "If my host were not a female, you would be mine," he told the young woman harshly. He gave a short laugh as the female's eyes finally showed fear. "You are a maiden – that is interesting. Perhaps my Jaffa should teach you a woman's proper place."
He turned and summoned his First Prime; Lor'aq. "Jaffa, kree!"
The tall, slim – but deceptively strong – Jaffa went over to him. "Yes, My Lord Klorel," he said.
"You will take this female and bring her to womanhood," Klorel said. "Then if she still lives, she will serve the pleasures of you and your Jaffa."
"My Lord …," the Jaffa said slowly.
"Lor'aq."
The Jaffa's eyes closed briefly. "I have done many things – performed many atrocities – in service to you, My Lord, but … I will not force myself upon an unwilling female."
"You disobey me?" Klorel was enraged. "I am your god – you will do as I say!"
"No; I will not," Lor'aq said. He looked at his god with … was that contempt? "A god would not ask me to defile a child like this." He indicated the terrified young woman.
"Then … you will die." Klorel smiled unpleasantly, then nodded to the other Jaffa, who aimed their staff weapons at Lor'aq.
Three bolts blasted out and Lor'aq crumpled to the ground. As the light of life left his eyes, he whispered; "I … die … free." Then he was gone.
Klorel looked down at the shol'va. "Throw his body out of the airlock," he said to his new First Prime. "Then you will show the female her new role in life."
The Jaffa dipped his head. "Yes, My Lord," he said. He and the other Jaffa left, bearing the body of the shol'va.
Klorel went over to the young female, who was breathing heavily. "He … you …," she said. "You killed him," she whispered, a tear finally falling.
Klorel laughed lightly. "After six days of torture, you cry over a Jaffa? Compassion is a lovely thing … in moderation." He pulled her to her feet, eyeing the slender form. "He called you a child – he was wrong." With a swift impatient move, he yanked off her robes, revealing womanly curves that had previously been hidden. "Beautiful," he said, then grasped her chin and covered her lips with his in a rough parody of a kiss.
Sam awoke, breathing heavily, then sat up, sweeping shaky hands through her hair. "Shit …," she muttered.
"Hey, babe." A heavy hand landed on her breast, curving possessively. "What's the matter? Bad dream?"
"A doozy," she admitted, looking at the handsome dark-haired young man. "I … uh … I have to go," she muttered, pushing the man's hand off her body. Had to get out of there. "Work."
"Yeah, me too." The young man sat up and eyed her warily. "Y'know; I'm not looking for anything serious – just passing through – but maybe I'll look you up next time I'm in town."
"If you want," Sam said. She wasn't looking for anything serious either. But these random encounters helped her cling to her humanity – made her feel something other than hatred and despair. If only for a few hours. She gave him a soft kiss. "I'll see you around, huh?"
Bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored.
I bore, you bore, we bore, they bore.
Bo-o-o-o-o-red!
Jack O'Neill – Special Forces USAF Colonel – was bored. Out of his gourd. To the point of actually shooting himself just so he could get the hell off this dust-bowl of a planet. But that would mean spending time with the evil Doc and her huge needles. He shuddered.
"Oh, my God. Jack; you have to see this!" Daniel was … excited.
Jack manfully swallowed a sigh, then tucked his P90 under his arm and headed over to his favorite scientist geek. "It's a rock, Daniel," he said patiently, looking at the item in question.
"The markings are English!" Daniel said. He blew some dust off the carving. "Old English – probably Elizabethan time."
Jack couldn't have cared less. "And …?" His free hand made a 'get on with it' gesture.
"So that could indicate that the Goa'uld …".
"Were being snaky pains in the butt on Earth as recently as the fifteenth century," Jack said. "And this affects us … how?" He snickered internally at the nonplused look on Daniel's face. "Helps to have a Masters in English History, Danny," he said.
Daniel shut his mouth with an audible snap. "A Masters … You have a Masters degree?"
"Yep," Jack said. "You don't think they'll let just any schmuck into Special Forces, do ya?"
Daniel still looked stunned. "Not as dumb as you look, huh?" he said.
"Did you even doubt that, Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c inquired.
Jack smirked, then paused. "Was that a slam, T?"
"You must choose your own interpretation of my words, O'Neill," the big Jaffa said before moving off.
Daniel chuckled. "He's getting better at the humor thing," he offered.
"Yeah," Jack said absently, still chewing over the Jaffa's comment. "Anyway; are you done here? My favorite TV show's on tonight and I don't want to miss it … again."
Daniel sighed. "Yes, Jack; I'm finished here," he said patiently.
"Great!" Jack bounced slightly on his toes. "Then pack it up and let's go home."
"Welcome back, SG-1," Hammond said as Jack stepped off the ramp. "How was the mission?"
"Oh, wonderful, sir," Jack said. "Sand and rocks – Daniel was in hog heaven."
Hammond just looked at him – that I am the General here – don't honk me off unless you want to spend the next six months chained to your desk signing requisitions look. "I trust your briefing will be a bit more informative, Colonel," he said.
"Yes, sir," Jack said, chastened – a little. "We'll be happy to debrief you after I've debriefed for a nice hot shower," he added.
"Permission granted, Colonel," Hammond said. "Dismissed."
"Yes, sir," Jack said, loping out of the embarkation room and handing his P90 to one of the SFs.
He'd joined the Air Force to try to gain control over his wild rebellious nature, but was the first one to admit it hadn't been entirely successful. He managed to channel a lot of his excess energy on his missions, but still tended to get … antsy. And quiet missions like this latest one brought out the worst of his insubordinate streak. Bo-o-o-o-o-ring!
He stuffed his fists into his pockets, then headed to the locker room, making sure the sign was turned to 'Male'. Due to the disproportionately high male to female ratio of active officers on this base, female personnel did not yet have their own locker room. Their own shower block had been requisitioned three months ago, but the cogs of USAF bureaucracy run slowly, and so far permission had not been given.
He went into the locker room, yanking off his BDU jacket and tee shirt. He rounded the corner into the shower area, then skidded to a halt. "Whoa, Carter!" he said, pulling his tee shirt back over his head. "Y'know these are the men's showers right now?"
She didn't respond – didn't even turn round to face him. Her shoulders were hunched and she hugged her knees to her chest, like a little girl. "Carter?" He went over to her and was shocked. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes huge and her hair stood up madly.
"Carter." He touched her shoulder. "You okay?"
She looked up at him. "Sir," she said softly. "Sorry; I didn't notice the time. I'll get out of your way."
"You didn't answer me," he persisted. "Are you okay?"
She squared her shoulders, then got up from the floor. "Fine, sir," she said, then touched her stomach. "Just a bit sick. Think I'll go to the Infirmary."
"You do that, Carter," he said. "You look like crap," he added affectionately.
A smile touched her lips. "Such a flatterer you are, sir," she teased.
Sam breathed in deeply as she hurried out of the locker room. Christ … falling asleep in the men's locker room! But that two-day party had so been worth it, she decided. For two days, she had danced and drank and had wild monkey sex with 25-year-old hard bodies. That life the Colonel had ordered her to get was a lot more enjoyable than she would have believed during her Academy years.
But maybe she shouldn't do the two-day parties during weekends. Not if it was going to impact on her job performance. She'd save herself for her next leave period – which was in about two weeks.
She knew that sleeping around was both stupid and dangerous. But she enjoyed it. A lot. She'd never experimented as a teenager – partly due to being General Jacob Carter's little girl and partly because she was working very hard to get into the Air Force. Then she worked on her degree to qualify for OCS. After the Gulf War, she began work on her doctorate, which took up most of her free time and then some. A personal life had been a myth to Samantha Carter.
She could almost hear her old Academy room-mate saying "You go, girl!". She gave a chuckle and headed back for her lab, smothering a yawn as she approached one of the SG-3 Marines.
"Hey, egghead," Major Reynolds said. The Marine had transferred recently from the Groom Lake facility – also known as Area 51 – to take over command of SG-3 after Colonel Makepeace was indicted for treason. He'd been working with the NID to steal technology from the SGC's off-world allies, but Colonel O'Neill had helped bust that little operation.
"Hey, jarhead," she said with a smile. Since they'd met a couple weeks ago, they'd indulged in a great deal of harmless flirting. It was fun. He was engaged, and she wasn't in the market for a relationship, but the flirting helped ease the tension both experienced in their respective jobs. "How's Caroline?"
"Good," Reynolds said. "We've set the date. June 15th next year."
"Good for you," Sam said. "Guess that means you won't be wanting wild monkey sex tonight, huh?"
Reynolds chuckled. "In your dreams, egghead; in your dreams," he returned in the same light tone. He looked at her. "You know; you look like shit, Carter."
She coughed. "Wow; and I actually thought you were charming!" she said. "At least for a jarhead." She yawned again. "Partied a bit too hard this weekend," she admitted. "I'll catch up on my sleep tonight."
"Doctor Carter!" Jay Felger came rushing up to her. "You're needed in the lab."
Sam sighed. "Thanks, Jay; I'll be right there," she said.
Pain. God … so much pain. She opened her eyes slowly, feeling her head pound, and looked around.
The room was squalid, lit by a single naked light-bulb, and was littered with empty bottles, dirty clothes and old newspapers.
She sat up, gasping as her pelvis protested the sudden movement. What the hell had happened? Where the hell was she? She remembered … singing – badly – … dancing … kissing. Rough, lust-filled kisses. Eager, grasping hands. Painful, bruising hands. Knives …
She looked down at her torso and saw gouges cross-hatcheted over her breasts. Oh, God … Head spinning, she forced her aching body to stand and reached shakily for her clothes. She had little memory of last night, but it was pretty obvious she'd had a rough encounter.
"Leavin' so soon?" a man slurred. "I ain't finished with you yet, baby."
Sam's head whipped round to find a tall thin man lurch toward her, holding a blood-stained knife. I am a Captain in the United States Air Force – this man will not hurt me again. "Yes, you are," she said, wincing inwardly at how scratchy her voice sounded.
"You liked it well enough last night, you little whore," the man said, swinging the knife nonchalantly by its handle. "Screaming and pleading …". He leered at her. "Couldn't get enough."
Sam stuffed her feet into her loafers, willing herself not to puke in front of this sick psycho son of a bitch. "I'm leaving," she said. "And pray I never see you again."
The man laughed. "Yeah?" He stepped quickly over to her and grasped painfully at one of her breasts.
She blinked as her vision grayed, but it seemed her body wasn't about to betray her yet. She brought her knee up into the man's crotch – he screamed and fell, dropping his knife. "Fuckin' whore!" he cursed, getting back up.
She scooped up the knife with a trembling hand and held it in front of her. "Lay one finger on me and I'll slit you from throat to dick and leave the entrails for the rats," she said. She forced herself to steady the hand. "I mean it." She backed away from him, dropping the knife, and left the dank little hole.
Trembling, she made her way out of the apartment block, swaying dizzily as the sunlight hit her. God … what the hell had she allowed to happen?
She let herself into her apartment and closed the door behind her, using both dead bolts and the key. Taking deep breaths to quell the nausea, she made her way through the small apartment, locking all the windows.
Her chest and pelvic area were very painful by now, and she knew she should really report to Janet. But that would lead to too many questions … questions she did not want to answer.
Almost mechanically, she headed for her shower and stripped off her clothes. She switched on the water and stepped under the spray. She had to report to the SGC in less than three hours, and Hammond would have her hide if she was late again.
She looked in the mirror and was dismayed. Was this skinny woman with the lank hair and gaunt face the bright confident Samantha Carter she'd once been? Sam Carter would never have allowed that bastard anywhere near her. So … who was she now? Another 'date rape' victim? Another one who'd "had it coming"?
She looked at the dirty hand prints over her body, the bruises on her ribcage, her thighs, the traces of blood on her inner thighs. Dirty … She was so dirty. She broke into a helpless sob, then picked up her nail brush. Had to be clean. She worked cautiously over her inner thighs, removing the encrusted blood, then tackled the less painful areas of her rib cage. Had to be clean.
Tears ran down her cheeks as the water pounded down. Clean. Had to be clean. Had to be clean. She began to scrub furiously. Had to be clean.