Mornings and Love Part 24

Sam never saw a greyer morning. Cliché, but true. Everything felt dull. Even the songbirds that usually stayed in her backyard left, as though they too couldn't stand her presence any longer.

She sat at the kitchen table, looking out at her backyard garden through the windows. The bright colorfulness of the various flowers mocked her. The steaming coffee mug she held in her hand cooled to a simmer very quickly, and the hot coffee she'd drank sat at the bottom of her stomach, warming and chilling her insides. A lovely purple bruise was blooming across her upper left arm, marking her shame…

Did something so horrible always effect her like this?

Sam sighed. "Maybe I am cursed," she muttered. How many men had she pushed away that liked her? Easy: Hansen (although he deserved it, the bastard), Pete (well, he did stalk her…and he'd called her a slut, for crying out loud!), and now, Jack… She didn't quite know if it was her fault or his.

But mostly hers.

Wait a minute, she thought suddenly, sitting up, a flare of…strength, rippling through her. "I am not at fault," she said aloud, firmly, and dared any invisible aliens who might be lurking in the house to disagree. "It's time to acknowledge that it might not be anyone's fault. After all, I had a problem so I confronted him calmly about it, as an adult should. Then I went to him again, to try and be the bigger man – woman, so to speak. It's not my fault he went and got so drunk he could barely walk."

Feeling much more satisfied with her situation, Sam got up off the pity-potty and went out to the local hardware/gardening store. Though her guilt was not totally vanquished, she decided that cheering up that one bare corner of the garden was just what she needed to cheer herself up, too. Briefly thinking about her bike in the garage, she thought against riding it, or even working on it today.

Jack was right; she did need to relax. But she needed to relax her way, and gardening she liked. She liked it a lot.

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After buying four rosebushes, fertilizer, and some special "food" for them, and of course tiny picket fences for each of them, Sam drove home, humming happily. She didn't even go into the house; she entered her backyard through the garage and got a shovel from the shed.

Studying the corner fondly, she chose three of the rosebushes to put back there, in a triangle. Placing those yellow roses there (they had tints of red at the edges), she took the fourth, a pale pink, to work on in the front yard first.

Sam found a patch of dirt along the sidewalk up to the doorway and got to work digging the appropriate size hole. She huffed as she did it, as she wasn't used to the work anymore. But they were good huffs, not frustrated, angry huffs. As weird as it was, she missed work. Work like this didn't feel like work. It was nice, calming. She suddenly felt much more positive about facing Jack again, which she knew she would. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but soon.

She would just let the hangover and leftover drunkenness escape his body, first. Sam had to admit that, although she loved him with all her heart whether he was drunk or sober, that she liked him a hell of a lot more when he was sober.

Finally she was finished, and she wiped her sweaty brow before putting the shovel against the wall. She took the rosebush and, grateful that it was just a baby plant and not huge like they could grow to be, she took off the plastic container that held the dirt in place. She lowered the plant into the ground and sprinkled the fertilizer around it until the hole was filled and a mound very much the size of her belly surrounded the stem.

Sam wiped her brow again and stood back to admire her work. Proudly she fondled a bud that hadn't yet bloomed, then went out into the backyard to plant her other roses.

She'd just finished up about forty minutes later at 1130 when a buzzing in her pocket made her jump. Surprised, she realized it was just her phone. Oh.

"Carter," she answered automatically when she flipped it open and put it to her ear.

"Sam, it's Daniel. Jack didn't show up for the briefing today." He sounded worried.

"Surprise, surprise," she said dryly. "Try his house."

"We did, but he's not answering his cell phone or house phone!" Daniel said. "Sam, what's going on?"

"Just relax, Daniel. I wouldn't answer the phone if I were so hung over I couldn't see straight."

"Hung over? Sam…"

Patiently, Sam told him, "Jack's at his house. He's probably sleeping through the day without even realizing it. Whatever mission you guys have today, you might want to cancel."

"Um, oh, okay…You want to meet us there to help wake him up?"

Sam mentally sent him a "get real" look. "Not really."

"Me neither. But, Sam, he's not going to hurt his pregnant girlfriend. Teal'c and I don't stand a chance of waking him up without getting seriously hurt!" Daniel whined. Sam knew the whining was just to try and get her to come. It wasn't working.

She thought briefly back to the previous night; Jack grabbing her arm, twice, and marching her down to her car, shoving her against it. Only her arms had made rough contact with the car; she'd swerved her torso back. Not one thing was going to touch her unborn baby roughly.

Sam trusted Jack with her life and her love. But a small, forbidden trickle rebelled in her mind, not quite believing Daniel's words to be true. She mentally shoved that trickle of doubt aside and replied, "Daniel, please."

"What was he doing drunk anyway?" Daniel asked, frustration inevitable in his voice. "He knows pre-mission protocol."

Sam hesitated. She really didn't want everyone to know about their relationship arguments, and that little trickle of doubt had a brother, the trickle of guilt. The trickle of guilt was a slight to her pride and her confidence, but it stayed just a trickle. Still, her mind was made in a flash.

"It's my fault, really, Daniel. I," she hesitated, knowing that herself getting drunk with him wasn't a good lie; she and everyone else knew she'd never do that to her baby. "I egged him on," she settled for finally. "He didn't want to. I was rather…aggressive, so to speak…"

"Sam, you – you didn't!" Daniel gasped. "Tell me you didn't drink, too!"

That was a slap in her face, too. "Daniel, how could you even think such a thing?" Sam demanded, hurt. "I would never do that! My baby's the most important thing to me and I, I can't believe you'd accuse me of that!"

Sam could hear the immediate regret in her friend's voice when he hastily replied, "You're right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have thought…"

She heard the guilt in his voice and sighed. "It's not your fault," she said, "I kinda implied it…"

"No, you – well, okay, you didn't make yourself seem like an angel, exactly, but you're right, I know you better than that. I know you " Daniel paused. "I don't know what's really going on, but okay, I'll go wake him up. But if I get hospitalized, I'm sending you the bills!" he added jokingly.

Sam giggled. "Deal," she agreed.

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The next day, Wednesday, Sam did some light cleaning. A bit of dusting with the feather-duster, some quick vacuuming, and she cleaned the bathroom. She couldn't believe Jack had wanted her to let him do it; he wasn't around enough to do it regularly. It needed to be cleaned once a week at least.

By the time she was done with that, she decided to just throw the dirty dishes in the sink to soak before she loaded the dishwasher. With that, she plopped down on the sofa, a satisfied weariness tiring her body only slightly. It felt good to be useful again.

Frequently she wondered how they were getting along at the SGC without her. Every once in a while she'd wake up and get ready for work, only to find that her BDUs didn't fit anymore. Sometimes she'd wish she could go in, just to run a few tests…or maybe to study whatever "doohickey" a team brought back…it could get infuriating.

Sam sighed, and turned on the TV. Drat; even the Peanuts weren't on. She turned it off and paced her house, looking for something to do. Her itch for cleaning had been scratched; now her itch for entertainment needed scratching. She flipped through the Entertainment section of the newspaper; nope, nothing good in the theaters. Bowling?

Suddenly the doorbell rang, and she glanced at the clock, bewildered. It was 1200; who'd be coming to her house at 1200?

The doorbell rang again as she walked back into the front hall to open it. On the other side was Jack O'Neill.

Sam froze, torn between inviting him in and going out onto the porch with him. Would he even be there long enough to want to come in?

"Jack," she said hesitantly. He looked pained and slightly worried.

"Sam," he said, his voice croaking. He frowned and repeated her name after a cough when his voice was clear. There was a pause, and when he did speak again, he spoke with the air of someone who was about to have his head ripped off. "Last night…did you…did I… Dream?" he finished pleadingly.

"I wish it were," she said softly. "I did go over, Jack."

Jack lowered his head and rubbed his forehead, an urgent, regret-filled, "Shit," muttered. He looked up and Sam saw the sadness in his eyes. His mouth opened and closed a few times, no words coming out.

She stood aside and pulled the door open further along with her. "Come on in, Jack," she said.

A fleeting moment passed, and Jack cautiously walked in. He turned to face her as she closed the door, and another moment later they were tangled in a ferocious embrace, neither willing to let go of the other for several long minutes after.

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An unspoken agreement and truce went between them. Jack apologized for his coarse treatment of her the previous night several times, guilt blanching across his face at the sight of the bruise on her arm. She hugged him each time and whispered into his ear, telling him she loved him and that it was all right.

"How can you bear to touch me?" he asked her once.

She'd pulled back and smiled. "Because I trust you. Totally and completely, Jack."

Acceptance and understanding bloomed in his eyes, and she knew that he finally let go of the guilt.

Then she ordered him to take an Advil and go to bed before his headache got any worse.

"Join me?" he asked, popping the pill into his mouth.

Sam looked at him, surprised, then smiled. "Okay," she agreed, and minutes later he was spooned against her back, both falling into a gentle afternoon nap.