"Oh, for God's sake, McKay! That's insane!"
"I think I'm right."
"And I think you're an idiot!"
Sam turned away from the annoying little pinhead – who had she pissed off in a previous life to deserve Rodney McKay? – and booted up her lap-top.
"Carter; stand down." Colonel O'Neill wandered into the lab with a smirk on his face. "He may be an idiot, but he doesn't know what we know."
"And why should I listen to you, Colonel?" the visiting scientist said. "What's your doctorate in?"
"Doctor …," Sam said, seeing the cold fury on the Colonel's face. Maybe he didn't have a doctorate, but he was intelligent and tough – he didn't deserve to be blown off as if he were the village idiot.
"You on the other hand, I could listen to you reading the phone book," McKay added, turning to Sam.
"Oh, brother," Sam muttered.
"Y'see; I've always had a weakness for dumb blondes." McKay smirked.
Ohhh, he's just begging for it now!, Sam seethed.
"Doctor McKay." The Colonel's voice was colder than she'd ever heard. "You are a visitor here. While you're not bound by our military code, Captain Carter deserves respect – both as an officer and as a scientist. How many of the known laws of physics have you broken recently?"
McKay – uncharacteristically – said nothing.
"That's what I thought." The Colonel stuffed his hands into his pockets. "You might want to ask Carter to show you the particle accelerator she built a few months ago," he offered.
"A … particle accelerator?" The scientist's eyebrows rose. "We are nowhere near that level of development."
Sam smiled at the cat-got-the-cream look on the Colonel's face; the mobile mouth quirked into a smirk, the deep brown eyes gleaming with mischief. Holy cow; he was one good looking man. "Guess again, McKay," he said. "Carter; get him into your files, then get someone to take him down to the basement."
And leave him there? Preferably with nothing to eat but lemon chicken? Please? "Yes, sir," she said. She accessed the files, then shoved the lap-top over to the still silent McKay.
"Now … follow me, Carter." The Colonel beckoned her to the door with a crook of his finger.
She went over to the doorway, and he drew her into the corridor. "Sir?"
"Carter; when was the last time you had leave?"
"Leave?" Sam pulled her top lip in between her teeth. "I … don't remember," she admitted.
"If you don't remember, it's been too long," the Colonel said. "You need to relax – you're too tense."
"Tense? I'm not tense," Sam said. "I've just always thought of myself as being … very focused."
"Tense," the Colonel told her. "I pride myself on my observational skills. And you – Captain Doctor Samantha Carter – are tense. Irritable. Distracted."
"So what's your prescription, Doctor O'Neill?"
"Take some leave, Carter. Get out of this mountain. Go … fishing!"
"Fishing?" Her eyebrows arched.
"Or … something." The Colonel tapped a finger to his lips. "Hey, it's August. Why not head for the Sturgis Cycle Rally?"
Sam stared at him. How did he know she liked bikes? "Sir?"
"Carter … I've seen that 1940 Indian of yours in the parking lot. Pretty sweet machine." He gave her a smirk. "So … go. South Dakota and cycle rallies wait for no man … woman."
"Sir … the rally lasts for a week."
"Yeah? So? And?" O'Neill sighed. "You're not gettin' it, are ya, Carter? As a Colonel; I outrank you. As 2IC of this whole damn base, I outrank you. I can order your ass outta here for as long as I want." His tone softened. "As your friend, Carter, I'm asking you to take some leave. Go get some fresh air, trade bike stories with hairy hippy guys, eat junk food."
Sam smiled. "How can I say no to that, sir?" she said. "Although maybe I'll leave the junk food out. That's more your thing than mine."
The Colonel snorted. "Yeah, like your beloved blue Jell-O is so damn healthy."
This from the guy who eats Froot Loops dry! Sam clamped down on that thought before it could be voiced. "Point taken, sir," she said.
Jack allowed himself a small pleased smile when he saw Carter roar away from the base on her Indian. If anyone needed to get a life, it was his favorite brainiac. And speaking of … "Hey, Daniel," he said to his other favorite brainiac.
"Hi, Jack," Daniel replied. "Was that Sam on that bike?"
"Yep." Jack stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Finally managed to get her ass off this base. Didn't even have to threaten her with court martial."
"I'm impressed," Daniel said. "So; how's Laira?"
Nice segue, junior. "She's good," Jack said, steering his best friend – yep; a geeky linguist with allergies was his best friend! – into the elevator. "She's pregnant – about seven months."
"Pregnant?" Daniel goggled at him. "Uh … wow. Is it yours?"
"Yep," Jack said, feeling a small grin tug at his lips. The days he'd spent with Laira had helped ease his anxieties about fatherhood. He'd been given a chance to do it right this time, and damned if he was going to mess up again.
"Wow," Daniel said again. "And … you're okay?" Daniel had been with him on that first mission to Abydos; had seen the shell of a man Jack O'Neill had been. But the geeky linguist and Skaara had helped pull him back from the abyss.
"Yeah; I'm pretty good," Jack said briefly.
Daniel smiled. "I'm glad for you, Jack," he said sincerely. "You deserve to be happy."
Jack clapped his friend's shoulder. "Thanks." Always uncomfortable with showing much emotion, he added, "So; what wonderful dusty planet full of rocks is up next on our schedule?"
Daniel sighed. "Artifacts – and I don't know."
"I am Klorel. You and your people will submit to my will!"
You're getting pretty cliché there, snake-boy, the host taunted.
Ignoring her was not proving to be as easy as he'd thought when he'd taken the Tauri three months earlier, despite the punishment he meted out on a regular basis. Although Goa'uld rarely communicated with the host body – unlike the scourge that was the Tok'ra – Klorel had actually come to appreciate the battle of wills. So many people cringed at the mere mention of his name that to have even one with a spark of bravery was a novelty.
And Klorel – like all Goa'uld – enjoyed new things. Deeply sensual beings, the Goa'uld chose the most beautiful hosts, then clothed the hosts in silken array. They lived in beautiful palaces and carried the ornate architecture into their ships.
But this host could also be tiresome. Her mind and will were extremely strong, and she had managed to wrest control from him only two weeks ago. It had only been for less than a minute, but for those few seconds he had felt an alarming awareness of his disembodiment.
He had swiftly taken back control and had flooded her system with enough pain to send her crumpling to the floor, sobbing in agony. She had learned her lesson about trying to take control, but it did not stop her from taunting him. It was time she learned another lesson …
He prowled around the large dungeon, stepping over the scattered bodies of those foolish beings who had tried to resist. One male – older than the others, with a wiry frame, dark eyes and a thinning pate – stared at him defiantly. Klorel flicked a wrist impatiently – far too old to be an adequate slave. "Kill him. Take the others," he instructed his First Prime.
He felt the host's distress and saw an image flash into his own mind. That of a man similar in appearance to this defiant one, but dressed in odd blue clothes – a uniform, perhaps? The uniform was not unattractive, and was decorated with several rows of brightly colored ribbons. Two silver stars adorned each shoulder. "Sammie," the man said, saluting a younger version of Klorel's host. "I'm proud of you."
The young Samantha Carter, dressed in a similar blue uniform, but without the ribbons and only a single silver bar on the shoulders returned the salute. "Thanks, Dad," she said.
This one reminded his host of her father. This was very pleasing. "Jaffa; wait!" he said, stopping Lor'aq from aiming his staff. "Do not kill him … yet. He does not deserve a swift death. Instead, I will teach him what it means to defy his god."
"You are … no god," the man said, his brown eyes locking with the host's blue ones. "I will die cursing your name."
"Yes; you will die," Klorel agreed, "but not quickly. You will die a thousand deaths until you beg me for mercy."
Sam stood in the shower, her face wet with tears. That man had reminded her so much of her father, and Klorel had taken advantage of her shocked surprise to teach her a lesson. At her hands, the man had died a variety of lingering and painful deaths – only to be revived over and over again in a sarcophagus. After three months of this treatment, he had been a shell of a human and had indeed pleaded for his real death.
He had been given it. But not a quick one. Instead, Klorel had found a dying Goa'uld and had implanted the man with it. He had watched with pleasure as the dying Goa'uld released a variety of toxins into the man, and the screams of pain had echoed through the mothership for nearly two weeks before both Goa'uld and host had finally succumbed.
She took the shard of glass with shaking hands and cut a careful line to the top of her thigh. Had to wash away her sins. She was so dirty – could never make up for what she had done to so many innocents … She should have fought the Goa'uld harder – maybe he would have killed her then instead of leaving her with this half life.
She drew a similar cut to her other thigh and watched the blood seep slowly down her legs to mingle with the water beating down on her. She took another swig of vodka – went down much more easily than whisky – then palmed several sleeping tablets into her mouth.
She needed a good night's sleep – she'd already missed the first day of the Sturgis Rally due to her nightmares. She was damned if she was going to miss the rest of it! The Colonel was right – she needed this leave. The idea of just taking off on her Indian for several days of biking was … exhilarating.
She washed down the tablets with the last of the vodka, then turned on unsteady feet to go to bed. "Ow!" She looked down and saw she'd stubbed her toes on an empty bottle of ouzo. She grimaced. She didn't even like ouzo – hated aniseed – but it had been the only thing in her drinks cabinet last night when the nightmares had hit her again.
So this morning, she'd gone out to the 7-11 and got a half dozen bottles of really good Stoli – why go half-assed? Yeah; there were cheaper brands around, but they didn't have the same rapid effect. Numbness – there was a lot to be said for it. She kicked a couple of empty bottles out of her path and fell into bed, closing her eyes – she'd clear them up later.
Ten days later
"Colonel O'Neill; where is Captain Carter?"
Jack shrugged. "I don't know, sir," he said. He went over to the phone and called the check-in desk. "Sergeant; this is Colonel O'Neill. Has Captain Carter checked in yet? I see. Thanks."
He put the phone down and turned to his CO. "She hasn't checked in yet, sir," he said.
"She was due to report back at 1800 hours yesterday," Hammond said. He looked at his watch. "It's now 1430. She's dangerously close to being declared AWOL."
"Sir – permission to go get her," Jack said, feeling the muscles in his jaw twitch in his anger. He'd been the one to push her out of this mountain for leave, but the least she could do was haul ass back on time! He'd broken a few – 'a few?' his mind cackled – rules himself in his time, but he'd never gone AWOL. Intentionally, anyway.
"Permission granted, son," Hammond said. "And you also have my permission to ream her off a good one."
"Yes, sir," Jack said.
He left his CO's office and headed rapidly to the surface of the mountain base, his annoyance giving him wings. "Jack!" he heard Daniel call.
"Daniel; I'm kinda in a hurry," Jack said shortly.
"I'm worried about Sam – she's not answering her cell," the younger man said. "It's switched on, but it's just ringing."
Now, that was odd. The Sam Carter that Jack knew was practically welded to her cell phone. He'd seen her with her phone clamped between her ear and shoulder, tapping into her computer with one hand and taking apart a naqadah reactor with the other one – the woman knew how to multi-task. "Probably just partied too hard at the rally," he said dryly, trying to hide his own worry. "Hammond's ordered me to get her butt back to base."
Daniel just looked at him. "I know you're worried too," he said. "I'm coming with you," he added. "She … might be in trouble."
Jack nodded briefly. The archeologist had toughened up a lot since he'd first met him and could handle himself well. Plus he and Carter had become good friends since the snake had been removed. "Okay," he said, and they got into his truck. "Let's go."
Twenty minutes later, Jack got out of the truck, withdrawing his nine mil. "Got yours, Daniel?" he asked.
"Yeah," Daniel said, swinging open his jacket to show the holster.
The two men passed by a gaggle of young women – unaware of the appreciative stares they garnered – and headed into Carter's pretty little apartment block. "Apartment 2C," Jack said and headed up the stairs with a long ground-eating stride.
He banged on the door of apartment 2C, surprised when it opened. Weird; Carter was usually pretty obsessive about locking up … okay; make that anal. He stepped in cautiously. "Carter?"
His foot met something that clinked and he looked down, seeing several empty bottles. "Quite some party," Daniel commented, pointing Jack toward a table, loaded with empty bottles.
"Christ …," Jack muttered, his spidy sense kicking in. He really didn't like where this was going. "Carter!" he called out.
"I'll check the bedroom," Daniel said, withdrawing his nine mil.
"Yeah; I'll take the bathroom," Jack replied. He headed for the bathroom and heard the shower. "Carter?" he called out. There was no answer. Crap. "Sorry if you're naked in there, Carter," he mumbled.
He shouldered his way in, coughing and choking on the steam that billowed out to greet him. "Geez … like it hot, do ya?" he complained. He opened a window to let the steam out, then headed to the glass stall. "Carter!" he barked. "So help me; I will drag that sweet little … uh … you outta there. You're this close to being AWOL!"
Still no answer. Maybe she wasn't even in. But then why would she leave the water running? This was bad. Really bad.
He yanked open the door and his heart leapt to his throat. Crumpled in the corner of the stall was one of his favorite eggheads with huge gashes in her upper thighs, clutching at a razor and surrounded by various empty pill bottles.
"Oh, God … Sam," he muttered, stepping into the stall and switching off the water. "Daniel!" he roared. "Call the Doc!"
"You found her? Is she okay?" Daniel appeared at the doorway. "Oh, my God …," he said. "What happened?"
"Daniel!" he snapped.
"Uh … right." The archeologist blinked at him then took out his cell, backing out of the small bathroom to give Jack room.
"Sam," Jack said firmly, grasping her chin. He slapped her lightly. "Wake up."
Her head lolled to the side and she took in a shallow breath. "Wake up, dammit!" he repeated, slapping her once more.
Her eyelids fluttered and she gazed blearily at him, with no sign of recognition in those usually bright eyes. "Blood …," she mumbled. "So … much … blood." Her eyes rolled back and she slumped against him, losing consciousness once more.
Several hours later
Jack paced the corridor outside the ICU, waiting for the Doc to come out. He'd had so many cups of coffee by now that he was practically bouncing off the walls – rivaling Daniel at his most hyper.
Teal'c sat in one of the chairs, his eyes closed, looking like a young giant Buddha. "Your pacing is counter-productive, O'Neill," he said calmly. "Captain Carter will not be helped by you driving yourself to exhaustion."
The big Jaffa was annoyingly logical – like that Spock dude from Star Trek. Huh; they even both did the eyebrow thing! Geez, now you're rambling, O'Neill, he told himself, forcing his legs to carry him to a nearby chair. "Christ." He scrubbed his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up idiotically.
Daniel and Kawalsky appeared and sat on either side of their CO. "Any news yet, Colonel?" Kawalsky said.
"Nope." Jack knew he was being surly, but he hated sitting outside an ICU while someone he cared for hovered between life and death. It cut too damn close to the bone.
"I don't understand," Daniel said, still in shock. "Why would she … want to kill herself?"
"Who the fuck knows?" Jack snapped. "Who knows why anyone does anything?" He clenched his fists, then gave a long groan. "Fuck," he whispered.
The door opened and Fraiser appeared in front of the Colonel. "Colonel," she said softly.
"Uh," Jack grunted.
"What's the word, Doc?" Kawalsky asked.
Fraiser pulled off her surgical mask and ran a hand tiredly through her hair. "It was touch and go," she admitted. "If Daniel and the Colonel hadn't gotten her here when they did, she might not have survived. We had to pump her stomach – she'd taken an exotic cocktail of drugs. Benzadrine, dexadrine, aspirin, codeine, demerol …".
"Janet … how is she?" Kawalsky persisted, seeing as Jack wasn't talking.
"She's not out of the woods yet, but it looks good," the petite medic said. "Once the effects of the drugs wear off, we'll be in a better position to judge." She smiled slightly. "She's conscious if you'd like to see her," she added. "Just a few minutes, though."
Jack didn't move; he was too aware of a tight knot of anger building up in his gut. She was a young beautiful woman with a giant brain who could have anything she wanted in life. Why the hell would she throw that precious gift away?
"Colonel?" Fraiser said. She touched his arm. "She … asked to see you first."
Jack took a deep breath, then buried the anger deep inside. Now wasn't the type to explode – Carter would be very fragile right now. "Yeah," he said and got up.
He followed the doctor into the ICU and drew in a breath. Carter was hooked up to an IV with a cannula under her nose to aid her breathing. She was dressed in one of those stupid hospital gowns that leaves your ass hanging out – the whiteness rivaled only by that of her face. Huge blue eyes stared out vacantly.
God … she looked so frail. Five nine, level three hand to hand and a USAF officer. But she'd never seemed so tiny as she did lying in that bed with various machines monitoring her life signs.
He went over to the bed. "Hey, Carter," he said.
"Sir," she said hoarsely. "Throat … sore."
"Yeah." He took a cup of ice chips from the tray and dug the spoon in. "Here," he added, putting the spoon to her lips.
She swallowed the chips. "Thanks," she muttered. She touched her throat. "Aches."
"That's from the GI tube, Sam," Fraiser said. "We had to pump your stomach."
Carter's brows rose, then she put a thin hand to her abdomen. "Oh," she said in understanding. Her lashes fell. "Tired," she mumbled.
"Then sleep, Sam," Fraiser said.
Carter turned her face into the pillow and sighed, drifting off. Fraiser turned to the Colonel. "She's just sleeping, sir," she said. "It's the best thing for her."
She put her hand to his forearm and tugged him away from the bed. "When I did her bloodwork, I found evidence of long-term abuse," she said gently. "She's been taking some pretty hard drugs for several months by the look of it."
Jack's gut clenched. He knew what that meant. "Then the next few days aren't gonna be pretty," he said. "What're you gonna tell Hammond?"
"I'll have to tell him the truth, sir," she said. "The Captain can't stay in the Air Force if she's an addict."
His gut clenched again. "Why not? They've done it before," he said. "Just … give it a few days, huh, Doc?"
Fraiser eyed him thoughtfully, her sherry-brown eyes flickering over Jack's impassive face. "A few days, then, sir," she said. "But if the General asks me outright, I can't lie to him."
"Fair enough."
Four days later
Pain. Rolling, agonizing, eyeball-piercing pain. Sweating and shaking, Sam Carter retched helplessly into the kidney bowl the Colonel held. "Why are you doing this to me?" she sobbed. "I thought we were friends!"
"We are friends, Carter," he said, pushing back her sweat-damp hair. "You need to get this shit out of your system."
"Aaaaggghh!" Another agonizing stomach cramp gripped her and she doubled over, wrapping her arms around her stomach. "Just … let me have something! Please?" She wasn't too proud to beg.
His brown eyes closed briefly and he took in a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said. "No dice."
She retched once more, now only bringing up water and bile. "I hate you," she muttered, lying limply in his strong embrace.
"I know," the Colonel said. "You'll get over it."
"Don't lie to me," she said hoarsely. "I won't be lied to." Fucking bastard. What the hell had ever made her think this son of a bitch was a nice guy? He wouldn't even give her an aspirin! "Fine." She pulled out her IV. "I'll get my own fucking painkillers."
"Doc!" O'Neill called.
Janet appeared and helped O'Neill wrestle Sam back into the bed and reattached the IV. Fucking traitor – shouldn't women stick together?
A soft hand touched his cheek. Jack lifted his head, groaning at the pain this produced in his neck, and looked around blearily. "Colonel?" Carter said softly.
He looked over to the soft voice and saw Carter looking at him with big, thankfully clear, blue eyes. "Hey," he offered roughly. "You look better."
She smiled slightly. "Feel like shit," she said forthrightly. "What happened?"
"I found you unconscious in the bathroom," he said, remembering with a shudder the fear that had gripped him at the gory sight. "The doc had to pump your stomach – she knows and so do I what you've been doing to yourself."
She closed her eyes. "Fuck …," she muttered. "Sorry to worry you."
"Worried," he said scornfully. "You know, you could lose your commission over this!" he added. "The Air Force has very little use for addicts." She flinched at the ugly word. "Yeah; that's what I said."
"I think you'd better go, Colonel," Carter said coldly. "I'm not in the mood for a lecture right now."
"Well, that's tough, cos I've only just got started." Jack knew you couldn't go softly-softly with an addict. "You're addicted to quite a cocktail of drugs and you tried to kill yourself – you're in for one hell of a lecture!"
"I didn't try to kill myself," she replied, having the gall to sound offended. "I'm not suicidal."
"Uh … Carter – I was there," he pointed out. "That razor and those pills said otherwise," he pointed out less than tactfully.
She looked at him, her eyes hard and angry, then her shoulders sagged and she began crying quietly. "I'm not suicidal," she said. "It's just something I do sometimes," she confessed.
"Why?"
"It feels better."
Now he was bewildered. "Better than what?"
"Everything else," she whispered.
Shocked at the depths of despair Carter seemed to be in, Jack did the only thing he could think of. "C'mere." And he pulled her into a giant hug, ducking his face into her neck while she cried her eyes out.
Two weeks later
"So … what now, Sam?"
Sam dug her spoon into her blue Jell-O. "I've contacted my dad," she said. "I'm going to stay with the Tok'ra for a while till I get my head on straight." She smiled slightly. "I can share intelligence with them about the System Lords and my dad will look after me."
Captain Sam Carter – the strong and capable Air Force officer – was no more. Now she was Sam Carter, plain and simple. And until she knew who Sam Carter was outside the Air Force, she couldn't move forward in her life.
She sniffed, detecting the aroma of apple pie, and smiled suddenly. "I give it … ten minutes before Colonel O'Neill shows up here," she said. The man seemed to have an antenna for pie; preferably apple, with vanilla ice cream.
Janet chuckled. "He's good, but not that good," she said. "He's on Edora at the moment."
"Right," Sam said. "Laira's due to deliver in a few weeks, isn't she?" It felt good to talk about something other than her own problems. "How's the Colonel doing, anyway? I mean … becoming a father again at his age." Not that she was sure of his age – somewhere between forty and dead – but she knew that if Charlie had lived, he would have been in his teens by now. And probably raising hell if he was anything like the Colonel.
Janet smiled. "He's coping well," she said. "And he's happy."
Sam returned the smile. "He deserves it," she said simply. The Colonel had been so good with her the last three weeks. He'd seen her through the horrible withdrawal and its attendant problems. She didn't remember much of those days, but did recall the Colonel holding her through the sickness, mopping her fevered body, letting her rail at him.
Then he'd supported her emotionally as she'd finally talked about the rape. She'd cried for what felt like hours in his arms, and he'd just held her and rocked her. He hadn't made any of those annoying 'Shushing' sounds that people made when they wanted you to stop crying. He'd just held her.
The hard-ass Colonel had a surprisingly soft center and she envied Laira. The Edoran woman knew the love of a good man. Would she ever know love like that?