A/N another horrifically short chapter, but at least I actually wrote something – so there. School's been far too busy to think about fanfiction, but I'm really going to start making an effort now that it's the holidays. Cheers for the reviews.
Sam ran into (or rather, through) Jack as he was about to leave the base.
"Carter!" he said, "how's death?"
Sam ignored him.
"I've been thinking about what I can and can't do now that I'm…a ghost…and it seems that driving is something that may be a bit of a problem. And since I don't particularly feel like walking all the way home I was wondering if you could um…drive me?"
Jack listened to this speech carefully and seemed to be considering. He looked up to find himself being scowled at, and decided that this wasn't a good time to be annoying.
"Sure," he replied, "car's this way."
…
They sat in silence as Jack drove. Sam was concentrating fiercely on staying on her seat and not dropping out of the bottom of the car. Jack was weighing up the pros and cons of having his own private Carter that no one else could see or speak to. The pros were definitely winning.
They arrived at Sam's house a little while later and pulled into the driveway. Sam slipped through the car door and waved in thanks. She thought briefly about keys before walking through the wall of the house instead. It felt good to be home, especially after all that had happened. She settled down on the couch and sighed, thinking rather wistfully of the soft, silky cushions that she would be able to feel if she had a body. In this state sitting on the couch felt the same as sitting anywhere else.
….
After several hours Sam was bored. She had quickly discovered that as a ghost there was absolutely nothing that she could actually do in her house. She couldn't even turn on the TV. Even more disturbing was the realisation that she couldn't sleep. Bodies needed sleep – ghostly apparitions did not. If only she could have rung someone to talk to, but even that was denied to her.
She ended up spending the night walking around her neighbourhood hopelessly. She felt too restless to stay in the house, but walking around in circles was starting to become tiresome. She felt odd. It was a feeling that she couldn't quite describe, though words like disjointed and disconnected seemed to fit. In the end she stalked back to her house and lay despairingly on her bed.
This ghost thing was overrated.