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PART EIGHT
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It didn't take a genius to realize that she wasn't coping.
Staring into the mirror, Sam studied her face carefully. There were lines on her face that hadn't been there before, lines that shouldn't have been there yet. That was ignoring the new scars added to her already abundant collection. Sighing, Sam splashed water onto her face and straightened up, wiping at the pale skin with hands stinging from the coldness of the water.
A pair of blue eye stared back at her, something haunted in their depths. She narrowed her eyes, glaring until her brow was furrowed and her lips pulled tight. She was stronger than this. She was stronger than the weak woman she had seemingly become overnight.
She was Sam Carter, and Sam Carter was a survivor. A fighter. Someone who never gave up.
Squaring her shoulders, Sam left the relative safety of the bathroom and made her way towards the commissary. Food sounded really good, and she knew that Jack wouldn't be there. He was never there between 1400hours and 1500hours; that was his 'Hammond time', time spent with the General, going over the base's functioning.
He was being groomed to take over as CO when Hammond finally retired, and he didn't make any pretence of not knowing.
As usual, the commissary was almost empty, only a few scattered souls sitting at tables and eating while thumbing intently through various magazines, reports and papers. No one spoke to her, and she didn't talk to them.
What was unusual today, was Daniel.
He was sitting at a table by himself, his head cradled in his arms. Sam flinched when she saw him like that. A part of her desperately wanted to go to him, to comfort him, but this Daniel wasn't hers. She didn't know him anymore; the limited contact she'd had with him since she came back had been mostly awkward, and she guessed that was because he knew about her and Jack screwing thanks to Janet apparently telling him everything. God, she thought miserably, the entire base probably knew.
Still, despite the awkwardness and tension between them, he was still Daniel, and right now, Daniel was hurting. Sam hated seeing Daniel like this, the obvious despair hurt her because Daniel was still a friend, and if anything, Sam understood what it was to lose someone you cared about. Sha're's death was more complicated than most losses, Sam conceded to herself, and she wasn't sure that Daniel would welcome her interference.
He looked up at and smiled briefly at her. A weak smile touched her lips, and she slowly made her way to him across the commissary, a feeling of relief at his semi-invitation for company.
"Hi," she smiled.
He nodded silently, before rubbing tiredly at his hair.
She knew the expression that was on his face. She knew it meant he wanted to talk, to argue, to vent. To be comforted by her.
And she was terrified, because he wasn't the Daniel she knew and remembered, and she wasn't the Sam he needed.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly, slipping into the chair opposite him.
She owed it to him to try though, hadn't he tried to help her when she first came to this reality?
"You don't have to do this, you know," he slurred.
Sam frowned as she gazed at him, noting the redness of his eyes and the shaking of his hands.
"Have you been drinking, Daniel?" As soon as the question was out of her mouth, she could smell the stale scent of old alcohol on him, and she flinched as his hand brushed over his rough stubble.
"So what if I have?" he demanded harshly, his fist landing limply on the table.
"Drinking won't make it go away, Daniel. It won't change anything," she said gently.
"What would you know?" he rasped. "How would you know what does and doesn't help?"
She swallowed roughly, closing her eyes. "I lost everyone, Daniel. Everyone."
"It's not the same," Daniel argued.
"No, it's worse, because I lost everyone!"
"But I did lose everyone!" he snapped, anger in his eyes as he glared at her. "Don't you understand, Sam? Sha're was the only person I had. Now I won't even have Kasuf and his family anymore..."
"You've still got Jack, and Teal'c..."
He gazed at her disdainfully. "They have their own lives, their own families."
She wanted to protest, and she wanted to argue.
"Daniel, I don-"
"Save it." He rose unsteadily to his feet. "I should have known better than to talk to you. You're not Sam... You can't help."
She stared after him silently, her heart thundering in her chest and the walls of the commissary starting to spin.
Not Sam.
Can't help.
Should have known better.
Sam scrambled to her feet silently, drawing ragged breaths of burning air into her body, her tray untouched on the table.
Not Sam.
She knew she wasn't their Sam, but she had been hoping... praying... wishing that maybe.. just possibly... hopefully this could work.
It couldn't.
She couldn't stay.
---
Clipping her briefcase shut with a firm movement, Sam stood back and let her eyes travel once more over the lab she'd started to call hers in the last few weeks since she'd been allowed to return to work. Her gaze rested on the cheery yellow walls - oddly enough, she'd really enjoyed the warmth and comfort they'd brought to the lab. They made it seem cozier than her old lab back home.
Back home... the words sounded odd, especially the place she was thinking of looked almost exactly like this place.
Shaking her head to clear the sentimental thoughts, Sam pulled her case off the desk with a smooth movement and marched out the door, refusing to look back as she flicked the light off for a final time, plunging the lab into darkness.
Strangely enough, she felt elated as she continued down the hall. Her back was straight and her head held proudly, determination and anticipation lighting up her features.
A fresh start, away from all of this, away from this incredibly tangled mess she'd created by coming here. Some place where no one knew her, where she didn't have to pretend to be someone she wasn't. And if she was running away, no one would blame her. Doubtlessly, everyone would breathe a silent sigh of relief that she had finally come to her senses and stopped trying to be someone she wasn't.
The manila folder was still untouched in the drawer in her desk at home. She'd have to read it, probably, and learn the basics about her counterpart's life, but that would be all. She wouldn't pretend to be her counterpart anymore. She was just going to be herself.
Now she just had to tell Hammond.
And Jack.
Her stomach lurched at the thought. She could picture the carefully masked confusion as he found out; imagine the slight raising of the eyebrows.
She'd miss him.
Even if he wasn't her Colonel, she'd still miss him.
Hell, having sex with the guy for the last few weeks caused him to grow on you.
They both knew they were living out an illusion, and Sam was growing tired of the sick, guilty stone growing heavy and solid in her stomach each time they touched one another in the relative safety of their darkened bedroom. Each time she cried out 'Colonel', she wanted to curl up and die, crying because it wasn't him she loved. And when he whispered 'Sam' in her ear, she knew it wasn't for her.
And the pretensions were starting to sting.
Straightening her dark maroon jacket and running a quick hand through her hair to straighten it, Sam knocked firmly on Hammond's door.
"Come."
She opened the door and stepped in, holding her briefcase stiffly by her side.
Actions seemed right for what she was about to tell him.
He frowned at her in confusion, and his eyes flickered to the person standing next to her. She hadn't realized he wasn't alone in his office when she marched in; she blushed as she turned to face the other person in the room.
Her mouth dropped open as she stared at the person next to her, the world silent and void of motion as she let her gaze travel of his familiar face... a face she hadn't seen for almost a year...
"Dad," she whispered.
His eyes glowed.
---
She couldn't tear her gaze away from him. Each time she tried to look away, to force her eyes to rest somewhere else in the room, her gaze always strayed back to him.
And his - or their - eyes were constantly resting on her, studying her, observing her.
Squirming awkwardly in her chair, Sam's hands fluttered nervously on the tabletop.
"So," she said eventually, her voice cracking as it sliced unevenly through their silence.
"So," he echoed, his lips tightening.
What did she say to him?
Hi Dad, I'm your daughter though I'm supposed to be dead, and you're supposed to be dead too. You're not supposed to have a snake in your head.
"George said that I'm dead, where you come from."
She nodded mutely.
"Cancer?"
Again, she nodded. What was wrong with her?
More to the point, what was wrong with him? Since when did he try to make conversation with her? Since when did he give her a chance to ask and answer questions.
He almost smiled gently. "It's Selmak, Sam."
She raised her eyebrows. "Selmak?" The Goa'uld that wasn't really a Goa'uld?
"My symbiote," he confirmed. "She saved me, Sam. And my Sam said she made me softer." A sad smile touched his cheeks.
She eyed him warily. How could she trust this person who had a snake in his head and an almost complete personality transplant?
Jack trusted him, and he hated the Goa'uld.
"How are you doing?" he asked softly, his eyes soft with concern.
"Why are you taking this so easily?" she demanded, ignoring his question. She couldn't fall apart in front of him, especially not now.
"Selmak helps," he admitted, smiling ruefully. "I came to terms with Sam's death a while ago... and I'm not saying it doesn't hurt to see you here, but it's a lot easier for me with Selmak."
She nodded, not completely understanding him, but willing to agree to stop arguments.
Sam just wanted to leave. She just wanted to pack up her bags and leave, go where no one knew her, where no one had to deal with who she was before she 'died'. For the first time, running seemed like the right thing to do. It also seemed a hell of a lot easier.
"It can't be easy for you," he continued, relaxing on his chair.
"It isn't," she agreed absently.
"When Sam died... a lot of people felt it when she died," he said softly. His eyes studied her carefully. "She was a good person, and I'm not just saying that because she was my daughter. She was a good person."
Sam nodded, her eyes stinging with tears. Yes, the Sam here had been a good person. Why else would so many people find it hard to adjust to the 'new Sam'. The one who was military. The one who wasn't afraid to make her mind known. The one who wasn't afraid to give as good as she got.
The one who wasn't dead.
"How's Jack doing?"
She flinched. Her whole body stiffened and her jaw tightened.
"Sam?"
"He's... he's okay."
"And Cassie?"
Sam hesitated. "I don't know. She lives with Janet."
He - she couldn't think of him as her Dad yet - nodded silently, disapproval lurking in his eyes.
"And what about you, Sam?"
What was this? 50 questions? "I told you, I'm fine."
"We think you're lying."
We. That freaked her out, hearing him say 'we', the same way Hathor did. Involuntarily she shivered.
Had the Sam of this reality encountered Hathor? Had the Sam of this reality hated her as much as she did?
Sam blinked. She didn't know anything about her counterpart, other than she was married, adopted Cassie, died and had a yellow lab with red flowers.
"I don't even know how she died," Sam whispered suddenly, her body sagging limply against the chair. "I don't even know what she looked like."
"She looked like you," he said gently, his face controlled.
"How did she die?" Sam asked desperately. "Please, I need to know."
"They didn't tell you?"
She shook her head. "They gave me a file with everything I needed. I didn't read it... it felt like I was prying."
He sighed.
"She died in a car accident," he admitted, closing his eyes. "It was raining, and a tire blew out as they were going around a corner. The car rolled and went straight into a tree."
Sam closed her eyes, willing the images her imagination was providing her away. "Did anyone else...?"
He shook his head. "Jack broke his leg and a few ribs. Cassie wasn't in the car."
Tears were stinging her eyes again, but she blinked them away and looked up to find her Dad studying her.
"What are you thinking, Sam?"
She hesitated, but she looked up and met his eye. "I can't stay here."
He closed his eyes and nodded in agreement. "I didn't think you would."
"If things were different-"
"They are different, and that's why you can't stay."
She couldn't argue with that.
"If you ever need anyone, Sam, I am here."
She smiled tightly, fighting to keep her tears at bay. "I know."
"So are the rest of us."
Swallowing roughly, Sam rose to her feet and picked up her briefcase.
"Good luck, Sam," he whispered, turning from her.
And as he turned, she caught a glimpse of grief, a single tear creeping from between his tightly closed eyelids.
This was for the best. She was hurting too many people by being here.
---
She was standing in their - his - bedroom, trying decide what to take, when she heard the unmistakable sound of the front door slamming.
Oh. Shit.
Calmly opening the bag, trying to act as though she wasn't terrified out of her mind, Sam deliberately ignored the thundering of his footsteps as he hurtled up the stairs. The bedroom door banged open, but she refused to face him.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.
"Packing."
"Why?"
Why was he being so dense?
"I can't do this, Jack."
"Can't do what?"
"This. Pretending I'm someone I'm not."
"But we've been over this. You're not pretending to be anyone anymore, you-"
"I'm married to you, aren't I?"
He floundered to a halt. "But-"
"It's too hard, Jack. It's not fair on me, and it's not fair on any of you. You don't mean to, but you all expect me to be her."
"What about Daniel?" he threw at her. "You can't leave him now."
"That's why I'm leaving," she said softly. "He wanted Sam, and I'm not her."
"He's just lost his wife, for crying out loud, he's going to need us!"
"He doesn't need me, Jack. He needs your wife, Jack, and I'm not that woman. I can't help him, he doesn't want my help. I just make it worse."
He remained silent, and she turned back to her packing. Couldn't he see that this was for the better? Couldn't he see she was doing them all a favor? And why did Hammond have to go telling him before she had a chance to get away? Why couldn't they understa-
His hands were on her arms, spinning her around, his lips meeting hers angrily.
"Jack-"
Her hands were on his chest, pushing him away, but he pulled her closer, his mouth opening her beneath his, his hands raking over her skin.
Fire burned where his fingers touched her, shivers journeying across her body. All she was aware of was him; his scent, his touch, his taste...
Skin slipped across skin, the sheets cold and crisp beneath her back.
"Jack," she moaned, her breath whispering across his skin. "No, Jack... no..." she writhed on the bed, struggling to breathe as his body covered hers.
But she was lying. They both knew it, and his hands flitted over her, his mouth drawing her to him.
"Jack," she whispered again, her body shaking, gasping as she pressed against him, limbs twining with intimate familiarity.
Once more. Just one more time.
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