Beauty in the Broken
Slivers
Sam hesitated just outside the curtain.
She'd been preparing herself for this ever since she'd left the operating room. Ever since she'd finally ceded the body of Samantha to Janet and her orderlies.
It had been time. She'd stayed at the dead woman's side for just over an hour. She'd been surprised at how keenly she'd felt the loss, especially given the fact that she hadn't ever really known her alternate self.
Except that she did—didn't she? Despite the very obvious differences between their realities, they were, for all intents and purposes, more alike than disparate. Inquisitive, intelligent, independent. A brother, one parent lost, the other still alive. Blond, blue-eyed, and taller than the average woman. Sam simply knew certain things, even considering her earlier protestation. She knew that Samantha would have wanted to die like this—quickly, and without fanfare. She was certain that she'd want her body preserved for study. She knew that she'd appreciate her alternate self sitting with her at the end.
She was certain that Samantha would be wearing her dead husband's dog tags. Sam would have worn them, too. Just like she would have worn his watch. It made sense to her—after all—her own Volvo was identical to the one her mother had owned before she had married Jacob Carter. Those things mattered. Little ways to keep an otherwise tenuous connection.
Still, despite all the similarities, the ways in which their worlds had diverged were critical. Initially similar educational paths had branched after high school—Samantha had pursued civilian higher ed while Sam had attended The Academy. Marriage for one, seemingly perennial solitude for the other. The near destruction of Samantha's world, and the relative security of Sam's.
A child.
A child.
Samantha had died in order to bring this child to Sam's world, sacrificing herself for him and his safety.
He's special. He's yours now. Love him.
This part was beyond her ability to grasp. This part of her alternate self's actions defied any logic that Sam could readily understand. Why bring him here, rather than simply stay in her own reality and raise him there?
Special how? Didn't every mother consider her child to be special? And how was she just supposed to take charge of this baby she'd never met? Never known? She'd never even babysat as a teen—let alone brought home strays to raise as her own.
As for having children—that had been something she'd only seriously considered a few times in her adult life. Jonas Hanson had wanted kids, but the prospect of that troubled, angry man as her children's father had made Sam physically ill. It had been the main reason she'd finally returned his ring. A few years ago, she'd toyed with the idea of adopting Cassie, but it had made more sense for Janet to step in. She'd settled into the role of 'favorite auntie' instead. It had been the right thing.
And then, there had been the past week, when she'd been waiting for a sign—any sign—that the vivid dreams and her own hoarded memories were the only souvenir she'd brought back from P3R-118. If she were being honest with herself, she had been assiduously avoiding thinking about the 'what-ifs' of what had happened between Thera and Jonah as much as possible. Sometimes, Denial was a lovely place to live in.
And now this cosmic wrench had been thrown in the works. As if a thousand different projectiles in her life were hurtling towards a single, volatile point of convergence. And, given the probable trajectories of all the wrenches she'd had tossed at her lately, it was inevitable that something would be impacted.
That had been the most terrifying part of this entire situation—the thought of leaving that operating room and coming face to face with what was next.
So, she'd stalled. She'd sat there, staring at the walls, at the blood still on her own wrist, at the dormant machines with their inert tubing and wires. She'd closed her eyes and listened to the silence. She'd scooted a little to and fro on the chair she'd been provided. She compiled a list of questions that she should have asked, things she would have liked to have known, had she been given more time. She'd tried to answer those questions, and been surprised at how easily some of the answers had come.
And then, at some point, she'd simply been ready. A moment had come when she'd known that what she was feeling wasn't grief as much as emptiness. That the loss of this woman—that even having known she existed—had opened a chasm within Sam that would forever be gaping. The most surprising realization was that Sam knew that she was going to be able to live with that chasm, and that it would be okay.
So, she'd stood. She'd washed the blood off her own hands. She'd found a towel in a random rack and wet it, using the moistened terry to gently wipe at the blood and gore already dried on the Doctor's face and neck. She'd reached around Samantha's throat and removed the dog tags there, inexplicably stricken when she'd discovered a man's ring suspended between the leather-edged discs. She'd gently tugged the blood-spattered rings from Samantha's fingers, and then unbuckled the watch from her wrist. Carefully, she balanced the items in her palm as she used her other hand to raise the sheet to cover Samantha completely. It had been Sam's attempt to restore some dignity to what otherwise seemed an utterly futile death.
She'd slipped the rings, dog tags, and watch into the pocket of her riding jacket. And then, she'd injected some steel into her spine and gone to look for the other victim here. The small one who was now left alone in a world to which he hadn't been born.
All of that had deposited her here, outside this isolation stall, her heart beating wildly, her breath tight in her chest. She felt like she often did before battle—wary, leery—her body primed for either fight or flight. The last time she'd felt like this had been as she'd climbed into the descent pod so many months before. Just before she'd been dropped from an Al'Kesh to land on Netu.
How ludicrous it was—that she was more nervous about meeting an infant than freefalling into literal Hell.
Come on, Sam. Pull up your big girl pants and get to it.
Ducking her chin, she drew in a calming breath, releasing it in a controlled exhale.
She could do this. She could—-
"Major Carter."
Startled, Sam turned and faced the speaker—a young sergeant who often did grunt work in the 'Gateroom. "Yes?"
"Sorry to scare you, Ma'am." The kid grinned, then hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "General Hammond and the others are waiting for you in the briefing room."
"Okay." Sam nodded, forcing what she hoped was a confident smile. "I'm just going to check on the child—"
"Baby Charlie?"
Word had spread—she should have expected that. "Yeah. I'm going to check on Charlie, and then I'll head down for the briefing."
"Yes, Ma'am." The kid grinned. "He's a cute little cuss, if you don't mind me saying."
Sam's smile faltered somewhat. "If you could please let General Hammond know that I'll be there soon, I'd appreciate it."
"Yes, Ma'am." With that, he backed up a few paces before wheeling around and hurrying away.
Sighing, Sam turned back around and, pushing the curtain aside, made her way into the unit. To her right was a bed, with both sets of side rails up. Someone had rigged a crib of sorts by raising both the head and the foot of the bed and shoving pillows between the rails and the mattress. From her current position, Sam couldn't see much more than the bedding.
Next to the bed, a nurse had been sitting in a chair, reading a magazine. As soon as she saw the Major, she leaned to the side, dropping the magazine to the floor next to the chair. Standing, she spoke quietly, indicating the crib with a movement of her head. "He's sleeping, Ma'am."
Sam glanced at the nurse. She'd been one of the people downstairs, working in the storage unit with Janet. It only took a moment to recall her name. "Lieutenant Banks?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"I won't wake him." Sam took a few careful steps until she was at the bed's side. "I just want to see him."
Banks smiled. "He's a cute little guy."
He was bigger than she'd thought he'd be. Chunkier, although she wasn't sure if that was the appropriate way to describe a baby. They'd removed his clothes, and he was dressed only in a diaper. He lay sprawled on his back, arms and legs flung wide, his skin pale against the light green of the infirmary sheets. His thick, tawny hair stuck out in unruly chunks, and his eyelashes were dark against his cheeks.
"We think he's around six months old. Maybe seven." Banks wasn't whispering, but her voice was very low. "He's only just cut his bottom teeth, although that's not really an indicator of age. Some babies start teething earlier than others."
"Was he injured?"
"He's got a tiny bruise on his forehead, but it looks like it's started to heal, so we really don't know when he got that." Reaching out, the nurse adjusted one of the pillows at the rails near the baby's head. "He does have a puncture mark on his left arm, just above his elbow. We think that someone took a blood sample from him within the last twenty-four hours."
"Why?"
Banks shrugged. "Your guess is as good as ours."
Frowning, Sam looked down at the sleeping child, fascinated when his little lips pursed up and his mouth began to work as if he were sucking from a bottle. "Any other injuries or trauma?"
"Nothing." With a little shake of her head, the lieutenant took a step backward, away from the bed. "We found him way over on one side of the storage unit. As far from the mirror as you could get in that unit."
"She probably came through and then got him as far away from the mirror as possible." Sam could imagine exactly how it had happened—could envision rematerializing within the alternate reality and then immediately getting the child to safety. It was what she would have done. "How long will he sleep?"
Banks grinned, a wry look playing around her expression. "Who knows? He's a baby. They kind of do things on their own schedules, Major."
"Ah." Sam watched as the baby stretched a little, then repositioned himself on his side. He smiled—maybe he was dreaming?—revealing deep dimples in his cheeks. Just like hers—
Just like his daddy's.
Oh, lord. Sam's breath hitched a little, and she stepped back from the bed, angling towards the door. She needed to leave. Ignoring the quizzical look the nurse was giving her, she turned and stammered her way through the curtain. "I'm going to go—there's a briefing—"
She'd made it to the nurse's station before Banks stuck her head out of the isolation room. "Major?"
Sam pivoted. "Yes?"
"I found this in his clothing. When we bathed him." The lieutenant held out her hand, palm up. "It was in the pocket of his overalls. I don't have any idea why they put pockets in baby clothes, but whatever. Anyway—it looked important."
Three long strides took Sam back towards the nurse. In her palm lay a little device of some sort—plastic, with what looked like a metal plug in one end. Small-ish, it was about the size of a finger.
"A thumb drive." Sam took the device, inspecting it. She'd only just started examining USB drives for use by the SGC. Obviously, Samantha had embraced the technology more quickly. "That's what she was talking about."
All of which meant very little to the nurse. She shrugged again, tossing a random gesture back towards the make-shift crib behind her. "I've got to get back to the baby, Ma'am."
"Go." Sam smiled. "Thanks, Lieutenant."
—-OOOOOOO—-
The briefing room table was covered in papers. General Hammond presided at one end, standing next to Daniel, who was pointing something out on what looked like a map. Teal'c and the Colonel were flipping through file folders, rearranging them into what seemed like a mutually agreed-upon order.
Siler worked at the far end of the room along with the kid who had come to fetch Sam from the infirmary. Between them, they'd gathered an impressive assortment of wires and cords, and were fiddling with what looked like a small, handheld computer. Sam had never seen it before.
On the General's chair, a large, dark duffel bag sat open, but empty. It appeared that they'd cleared all of its contents out onto the table. The briefing room looked like it had been turned into the staging area of an invasion. Or—at the very least—where a battle was being schemed out.
Hovering just outside the doorway, Sam glanced down at her jeans and leather jacket. It hadn't even occurred to her that she was still in her civvies until she'd seen everyone else in their basic dress. Maybe she should hit the locker room to change into BDUs. Hesitating, she angled herself back into the hallway, until she took another look into the briefing room and saw him looking back. Watching her.
His face was completely inscrutable—devoid of any emotion, or even expression—but his body was tightly on edge. Sam knew him well enough—knew his body well enough—to see that something had set him off-kilter. A tiny movement of his arm drew her attention to his hand. He held a piece of thick paper—cardstock? No. A picture. Deliberately, he turned his wrist just enough that she could catch a glimpse of the photograph. She instantly recognized it.
The wedding picture. From the year before. Samantha had propped it up against the lamp in her temporary quarters. She'd carried it with her back across realities. With a flick of his wrist, O'Neill tossed the photograph onto a pile on the table, then shoved his hand into his pocket, stepping backwards away from the table.
The Colonel's lips thinned as he cleared his throat. Once he'd caught the General's attention, he indicated Sam with a tilt of his head. "Sir."
Hammond looked over his shoulder, straightening when he found her in the doorway. Waving her over, he raised a hand and laid it on her shoulder. "How are you, Sam?"
"I'll be okay, Sir." Sam gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'll be better once we know exactly what has happened and why."
Hammond nodded, tightening his hand on her arm before letting go and turning back towards the paraphernalia spread out before him. "I know that it's been a difficult day, Major Carter, but if you're up for it, I think that you'll want to see this."
Sam moved until she was situated between the General and Daniel. "What is all this?"
"That's what we're trying to figure out." Daniel leaned down, tapping at a specific point on the map. "I think that this mark here is the Antarctic cavern where you and Jack were stranded that time."
Sam studied the map for a moment before nodding in agreement. "You're right. That's where we found the Antarctic 'Gate."
"I thought so." Daniel straightened, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. "Just to be sure, however, I sent someone to get my maps from my lab. I figured we could cross check the location from my own records."
"Smart." Reaching out, she pointed at another mark on the map, a few klicks away from the first one. "And this one?"
"I have absolutely no idea."
Sighing, the General shifted on his feet. "I'm afraid that our initial examination of these documents has raised more questions than it has answered."
"Oh?" Sam scanned the table. "What else is there?"
"Well, Jack and Teal'c appear to have found a series of medical notations and records."
"We have also encountered information regarding the politics of Doctor Carter-O'Neill's alternate Earth." Teal'c tidied up a small stack of folders directly in front of him on the table. "However, as of yet, we have not been able to ascertain why she considered this information so vital as to bring it to this reality."
"Maybe she was trying to warn us about something?" Daniel frowned over towards the other side of the table. "I mean—what other possible reason could she have for sacrificing herself how she did?"
"Maybe she just missed us and came back for a visit." The Colonel took a step backwards and lowered himself into a chair. "And she was a pack rat and just couldn't leave all this crap behind."
"What, like some interdimensional hoarder?" Daniel rolled his eyes. "That hardly seems very Sam Carter-like."
"That's just the point though, isn't it?" Jack gestured at the accumulated dross. "None of this seems very Sam Carter-like."
"Maybe that's because she wasn't Sam Carter." Reaching into her jacket pocket, the Major withdrew the watch, the dog tags, and the rings. Slowly, she laid them on the table next to Daniel's maps, wincing a little as they clunked on the hard wood. "She wasn't me."
O'Neill leaned forward in his chair, bracing his elbows on his knees, appearing to study his boots. Teal'c drew himself up to his full height, his dark gaze intent upon her. Even Siler and his minion had stopped fiddling with their electronics to look at her. Daniel moved a little closer to her, lending the comforting warmth of his arm close to hers.
Sam steepled her fingertips on the smooth table top, steadying herself. "I understand that the immediate reaction here is to assume that Samantha Carter-O'Neill and I are essentially the same person. And while we are—were—alike in many ways, we were very, very different in others."
"Sam, I didn't mean—" Daniel's tone was low and intimate.
"I know, Daniel." She met his gaze before taking another long look around the room. "But let's just try to figure this all out without making any assumptions that might seem logical in regard to me and my life choices but don't make sense for her. We don't know what was happening in her life when she chose to take her chances through the mirror, and we won't understand any of this until we learn more about her motivations."
"Quite right, Major." Hammond sighed, scanning his team with a level eye. "People. Let's get a move on. Remember that there's another person who has been caught up in all this. An innocent child whose future hangs in the balance."
As if she needed the reminder. Sam bit back a smile, thinking of the dimples in his cheeks, of the way his toes had curled as he'd slept. Of those dark eyelashes, that hair that refused to behave—his thick little hand splayed on the mattress. An infant, uprooted from all that he'd ever known and now orphaned. He deserved those answers.
Digging around in the other pocket of her jacket, she withdrew the thumb drive. She stepped around the General, aiming herself towards where Siler and his assistant had built a nest of electronic flotsam. . "Lieutenant Banks found this hidden in the baby's clothes."
"What is it, Ma'am?"
"A USB port." Sam held it out to him. "Before she died, Doctor Carter asked me to watch it, so my guess is that it will answer some of these questions for us."
Siler took the drive, examining it in the light from the computer monitor next to him. "It's different than the drives I've seen. I don't have a connector that will receive it."
"Me either." Sam reached out and picked up the small notebook-style computer that sat on the table. "Did this come out of her bag?"
"Yes, Ma'am." The sergeant nodded, giving the USB drive back to her. "Uheda and I were just trying to figure out how to rig it to work with our audio and visual displays."
The General clarified. "We thought that it might have some information on it that would shed some light on her actions. Tell us why she did what she did."
Sam flipped the little computer over, finding a likely spot and inserting the drive into the port. It didn't fit. Muttering, she flipped the USB device over and tried again. This time, it slid home with a sweet little "snick".
Uheda pointed towards the computer with a sad little shake of his head. "Even if the drive fits, the computer's out of juice, Ma'am. We haven't even been able to turn it on."
"What about the old fashioned way?" The Colonel had made his way over to peer at their progress.
"What—eight D batteries?" Sarcasm eked into Daniel's tone—just a bit. "Or maybe a nine volt?"
"No, Daniel." O'Neill leaned down and pulled something out of the tangle on the table, letting it dangle from his fingers as if it were a snake. To his credit, he at least attempted not to sound acerbic. "You don't need batteries if you have a cord."
"Well, Sir, that depends on whether that alternate reality uses the same kind of current that we do." Sam turned the device until she located the intake for the charging cable. "Was there a cord with this in the bag?"
"Ummm—" Uheda rifled through the cables in front of them until he'd found the right one. "This one was the only one in the duffle."
Sam took it, fitting the business end into the charging port. "Okay. Now we need a female coupler."
"Will this work?" Siler found one in his supply. "It looks like their tech is different."
"The prongs are slightly more widely-set than ours." Sam extended her hand expectantly. "Needle nosed pliers, please."
The General went to work on that request, fishing a pair out of a toolbox on the floor. "Will these work?"
Sam nodded, gripping the tool and getting to work on the prongs. It only took a second or two to bend the metal pins inward. She gave the pliers back to Hammond and then searched the table for an extension cord. "Nothing like jury-rigging your power source."
"Not like we haven't done it before." Daniel found a likely candidate in a box and offered it to her. "Maybe a surge protector would be best."
"Good idea." With a little grin, she fit the prongs into the plug, then forced it to seat as completely as possible. Uheda had already taken the other end and was positioned at the wall. At Carter's nod, the young man plugged the other end of the surge protector in.
A little light on the cover of the computer flickered, then started blinking.
"What's that mean?" The General frowned down at the computer. "Major?"
Siler answered before Sam could. "It appears to be charging, Sir. But since the unit now has a power source other than its internal battery, my guess is that it'll work as well as one of our computers would off of the cord alone."
Straightening, O'Neill nodded approvingly. "Thank you, Mr. Tesla. Or would that be Mr. Edison?"
Carter stepped backwards, throwing the Colonel a smile. "Actually, you should be thanking Harvey Hubbell."
"The space telescope guy?" Daniel's brows rose high above the frames of his glasses.
"No, that was Edwin Hubble." Sam tugged at the sleeve of her jacket, slipping one arm free. Shrugging the jacket off completely, she turned to lay it on a chair behind her as she continued. "There's only one 'L' in that Hubble, with an 'E' at the end."
"And the plug guy?"
"No 'E' at the end." She held up two fingers. "Two 'Ls'."
"Ah. My kind of people." The Colonel's lip quirked upward. Not really a smile, but not a smirk, either. "Thank Harvey."
"Ma'am?" Sergeant Siler connected two more cords at the back of the device. "Looks like their audio and video intakes are the same as ours."
"Small favors." She watched as Uheda took the other ends of the AV cords and plugged them into the large monitor mounted on the wall. "Teal'c—could you please—"
But he'd already grabbed the remotes that controlled the display and was keying in the appropriate channels. All of a sudden, the screen flared to life, and Samantha Carter-O'Neill's face was paused—larger than life—on the monitor.
"Do you want me to push 'play', Major?" Siler had opened the little computer, his finger poised over a button on the keyboard.
But it was Hammond that made the decision. He spoke as he was crossing the room back to his chair. "Go ahead, Sergeant Siler."
The picture wobbled a little as Samantha pressed something on the computer. Then she sat up, looking directly into the camera. Her hair was shorter than she'd worn it the year before—bobbed at her shoulders—the ends curling under in a way that made her look younger than her years. Behind her, dark wood provided a convenient backdrop, highlighting the blond of her hair, and the paleness of her skin. There were several lamps burning around her—it appeared as if she were recording at night.
She smiled into the camera—nervously—or maybe a little sadly—worrying a little at her bottom lip with her teeth before breathing out a sigh.
"First of all, I need to apologize to you, Jack. I know how you feel about cliches." Her expression softened, her teeth flashing in a quick, wide grin. "And what I'm about to say is a gigantic cliche."
Sam flicked a surreptitious look at the Colonel, who frowned down at the table top. The half-smile had faded, leaving a tightness in his face that bore witness to his discomfort. Looking away, Sam refocused on the screen in front of her.
"But here goes." Samantha scooted closer to the camera, taking a deep breath inward before raising a brow and continuing. "If you're watching this recording, then I must be dead."